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burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 2 years ago

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DINE & DASH ───

chris o’doyle 𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “Deep in my enemy I find the lover.” — ‘The Cid’, Pierre Corneille

pairing. chris o’doyle x waitress!reader

summary. you meet chris o’doyle 3 times. the 1st, he’s got a gun pointed at you. the 2nd, you learn his name. the 3rd, you’ve got a gun pointed at him.

warnings. swearing, guns, mention of death, robbery, shooting

word count. 4k

a/n. i recognize this fic doesn’t actually have any romance in it, so considering the reception i might make a part 2😄 (perhaps with an emotional love confession and fluffy smut :o)

Now, here’s the thing about living in Boston, circa 1978, working at a diner: you’ve gotta buy a gun.

Especially because the shitty diner you work at is downtown. Downtown is utterly fucked at night, where all the doped up creeps, gangsters & prostitutes come out to play.

It’s by an off-chance (off-chance being that your boss was a day drinker who couldn’t handle the diner at night without throwing up) that you work the night shift.

So, the gun. You don’t know how to use one, buy one, hell, you don’t even know what you’re looking for; you just know you need to buy a fucking gun, because you cannot take any more attempted robberies at the diner.

(There have been several, at this point, and the only way you’ve avoided having the diner robbed blind is by pretending to be one of those rough-‘round-the-edges folk who could kill someone with a broom if properly motivated.

Think, the kind of person, who, if faced with a gun in a robbery, would laugh at the colour of your gun and smash your head in with a napkin dispenser.)

One night, you’re coming back to the cashier after refilling all the coffee pots, and a man you’ve never seen before is sitting at the front counter.

“Sorry ‘bout the wait,” you say, retying your alabaster apron, smoothing down the wrinkles.

The man - who looked exactly like those rough-‘round-the-edges folk - shakes his head. “No fault to you, girl.” He says, Irish accent curling around his words like a snake.

“So, what’re you havin’?” You say, lighting a cigarette, reveling in the nicotine-filled rush it sends right up to your brain.

The man inhales his own cigarette, staring at you intently for a moment. His gaze makes you squirm, running all over your body. It's nothing out of the ordinary for you, to be eye-fucked by a shady creep in the late night, but his attention is laser-focussed, like he could see through you.

“Mmm,” the man broke his silence, and his gaze drifted elsewhere, “d’you got red ale?”

Your eyebrows lift at the request, but you complied, grabbing a pint and filling it to the brim with the man’s choice of drink. When you hand it to him, he looks as surprised as you do: “What kind of Boston diner sells red ale?”

“You ask, darlin’, you receive.” The pet name is a conscious decision on your part; there’s something about the man that sets alarm bells off in your head, but you can’t place any context, so you try to appease him.

The man looks at you, then the beer, and then shrugs. “Fuck it,” he murmurs under his breath, and downs the whole thing in one.

You put out your cigarette, resisting the urge to roll your eyes; now, you’d have to fumble around, wait to see if he’d pay & leave or order something else.

However, he does neither, pulling out a shiny Colt Python from his leather jacket pocket, pointing it at you and cocking off the safety.

Your heart jumps in your throat, constricting your breathing, and your hands immediately come up. Everything happens so fast, and you can’t really process anything but your fear.

You consider doing your act, your confident, no-nonsense, rough skank farse, but something tells you he won’t believe it, just shoot you point blank. Those eyes of his, crystalline blue with little to no emotion tinting them, sends shivers down your spine.

“C’mere,” he gestures to you, “‘round the counter.” He’s chewing on the end of his wet cigarette, not having had the chance to pull it out and inhale.

You do as he asks, taking gentle, tentative steps in front of him. You walk carefully, so as not to startle him; make him shoot you.

“Where’s yer boss?” The man says, running a calloused hand through his brown hair, gun still trained on you.

You gulped, focussing on breathing properly. “He’s - he does- he doesn’t work the night shift.” You make out in a painful stutter.

The man raised a brow at this, finally pulling out his cigarette and leaving it on the ashtray. “Well,” he looked as if he was weighing his options, “you lot keep a safe in here?”

You nodded vehemently, your throat still clenched in fear.

“Go on then. Show me.” He waved the gun haphazardly, and you made quick work of the situation: grabbing the store keys from underneath the desk, and skittering to your boss’s office.

You pushed open the loud, creaky door then you immediately dropped to your knees and unlocked the safe. Inside was a jaw-dropping amount of cash, an amount your boss had conveniently failed to mention was being kept in the store — as well as a cute little Smith & Wesson .38.

Before either of you could tell what the other was doing, you’d gone in for the kill: he grabbed the cash, you grabbed the pistol.

Sure, your boss was an absent-minded fuck who always did you dirty by giving you the night-shift, but he was your boss, and a good one at that; he paid you on time, usually never said no to your vacation requests, and was generally well-mannered and kind. To top it off, you knew he had a real large family to feed.

“Sweetheart, I jus’ want the cash. Yer boss owes us a great deal of debt, alright?” The man said, his own hands in the air now. He had slipped his gun back into the holster that hung by his belt, and he knew just as well as you did that the slightest movement toward that area would have you shooting bullets like a fucking madman.

Never underestimate someone who was jumpy and holding a gun: they were trigger happy.

You inhaled and exhaled shakily, your fingers hesitantly brushing past the safety lever. “All of it?” you said helplessly, trying to erase the mental image of how your boss would look later, absolutely crushed that the store, his prized possession, had been robbed. Under your “watchful” eye.

The stranger considered this, his mustache curling as his face contorted around the idea. “…Most of it,” he settled on, cornflower blue eyes peering past the gun and instead landing on you.

“Why,” he continued, shifting the weight between his feet, “you wanna dip your toes in the water, doll?”

You recoiled, both at the pet name and the connotation you also wanted to rob your boss, but you knew that if he knew you were just going to give your cut back to your boss, the stranger would come back and rob the store all over again.

Instead, you nodded curtly. You figured you could finally buy a gun with a portion of the money, so if this stranger ever came knocking ‘round your place, you could satiate his suspicion by pointing a piece at him.

The man let out a sigh of relief at the compromise reached. “Guns down,” he said, and you dropped your hand to the floor. He didn’t reach for his Colt Python, so you visibly relaxed as well.

After a few moments of mumbling under his breath and thumbing through the bills, he shoved two thirds of the cash into his leather jacket pockets, then tossed the rest into your trembling hands.

“Spend it wisely, darlin’. Don’t go buying all the pretty dresses money can afford - you’ll get caught.” With that, the stranger stuffed his pockets with his hands and exited promptly.

You gulped, beads of sweat trailing down your back and making you squirm — there was no way that just fucking happened, right?

Right? You thought. Jesus fucking christ, you really had to get a better job. A better place to live now, too; the stranger knew your face and your name — seriously, screw the diner waitress name tags meant to make you look approachable — so if you were, at any point in time, considered a loose end, they’d be coming for you next.

It’s only then, you realize, he never paid for the ale.

ii.

The second time you see the stranger is not even two weeks after the diner-robbery incident.

Following the robbery, your boss gave you time off so he could sort the mess out — as well as his debts, after you told him what the robber told you — and you found yourself with the small bit of cash you portioned off from the safe to buy a gun.

You followed word of mouth on where exactly to purchase a gun for days, keenly listening in on loose-lipped men who came in too late at night or too early in the morning to even consider the possibility that the sweet waitress who kept butting in to give them a refill could be listening.

Finally, you entered a bar in anticipation: one of the loose-lipped men mentioned a man who dealt out small revolvers that you thought would do just perfectly for space in your purse, right in that very bar.

Time was dripping drearily toward midnight, and the wad of cash wedged within the waistband of your flare jeans burned guiltily against you as you searched for the man selling — it wasn’t your money, after all.

You shook yourself mentally, however, reminding yourself to consider it hush money, or trauma money, for the ordeal you experienced. Then, you spotted the seller who’d been described: average height, lanky, wild brown hair. He was speaking animatedly at the bar counter, silver rings on his fingers gleaming in the dull bar light.

You slid onto the black, faux leather stool beside him, quietly informing the idle bartender you wanted a rum & coke, before leaning into the ear of the seller.

“Smith & Wesson, model 36.” you whispered huskily, then promptly preoccupying yourself with smiling at the barkeep and thanking him for the drink. You were a little nervous, getting involved in Boston’s underground crime world, even if it were just for a simple gun purchase.

The man stopped his storytelling to down his drink — red ale, you noted, brows furrowing at the unexpected nostalgia of last time — and speak to you without turning completely.

“Straight to business, are we?” He said silkily, and you froze, parsing through your memories to correctly match this voice with that voice— “Name’s Chris O’Doyle, and yes, thank you for “asking”, I can provide you wit’ a beautiful little S&W model 36.”

When you didn’t respond eagerly, in stark contrast to your previous behavior, the stranger from the robbery — Chris O’Doyle, you now knew — turned to face you completely.

“…Well, this is jus’ grand, isn’t it, doll?” Chris said, sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

“Fuck’s sake,” you blurted out, pinching your nose bridge. “I didn’t— why the fuck are you here?”

Chris raised a tentative brow, “I’ve got my fingers in all kinds of pies, darlin’. Can’t expect a smart Irish man not to, eh?”

“Jesus christ,” you murmured under your breath. You thought you wouldn’t have to see this man ever-fucking again, but as fate turned out, you just did.

You steeled your nerves: you’d buy the gun. It was just as well to buy it from him, so he could see you weren’t to be messed with. That, and so he wouldn’t go sniffing around for the money you gave back to your boss.

“I need a —“ You began, but were irritatingly cut off by Chris.

“—Smith & Wesson, model 36. I know, darlin’, I heard ya the first time. Now, let’s get out of here, I can’t just hand the thing over in here,” he said, before pressing himself flush against you and whispering in your ear. “Plus, it’s best you leave: some of the shitstains in here are gettin’ ideas, seein’ a pretty lady like you, all alone.”

Suddenly, Chris got up, and snaked an arm around your waist. “Darlin’!” He exclaimed, sounding drunk out of his mind, “I don’t- don’t wan’ go feckin’ home!”

“Play along, unless you wanna use that new gun of yer’s on one of the creeps in here later,” He continued sneakily under his breath.

Begrudgingly, you did as asked, and supported him up, trying to look like a tired wife dragging her dumbass husband back home. “I told you to quit fucking drinking!” you shouted, smacking him upside the head and dragging him by the arm.

“Christ, woman! Can’t a man jus’ have a wee drink?”

“Shut the fuck up, you damn headache!” You screeched back at him.

Okay, you admit: it was kind of fun to shout insulting names at the man who’d been haunting your dreams since that night.

You hadn’t been having the… best sleep, as of late. Always heaving, waking up at ungodly hours after the dream ended with the cold tip of Chris’s gun pressed neatly at your temple, always unable to get back to sleep for fear the dream would continue and you’d be shot dead in it.

When you and Chris had successfully averted all public eye, exiting the bar and stumbling to a street a couple blocks away where a car was parked, he let up the drunken husband act.

“Smart of you, y’know,” he informed you absently, leaning into the open window of his car. He continued by rummaging through the vehicle, trying to find the trunk key in his storage compartment.

“Smart of me to what?” you echoed back, looking up and down the street in case someone was walking past or driving by to witness your incredibly shady and conspicuous arms deal.

“To buy a gun,” said Chris, a certain lilt to his tone that made you know he thought it was the obvious answer.

“Yeah, well, you made sure of that.” you said with an eye roll. If you sounded comfortable, it’s because you were, at least a little bit.

In the small timeframe you’d known and spoken to Chris O’Doyle, you figured out three things about him: he was a penchant for the theatrical, if not a little bit of a procrastinator, was plenty lofty, and probably treated customers and friends like pure gold. You knew that if you were buying, he would be on his best behavior, and do all in his power to keep that happening, be it moving the sun, moon and stars — or kill someone.

“Now, what’s that supposed to mean?” Chris questioned, brow raised as he slipped out of his car window with the key in his hand.

You thinned your eyes. “Hm, I don’t know, maybe the fact you threatened me with a gun and robbed me blind has me worried for my safety?

He rounded the vehicle, unlocking the trunk and pulling the heavy metal lid up. “I didn’t rob you blind, sweetheart. I robbed your boss blind. And, the gun’s standard business practice. Protect the messenger, threaten the target, all that.”

You sighed exasperatedly, but ignored him, instead opting to pull the wedge of cash out of your pants. You handed the entire wad to him, then opened up your other hand to receive the revolver.

“You can count, right? Otherwise, your boss’s been robbed blind for a while.” Chris mocked, a sly grin spreading on his lips while his hand hovered above the trunk full of guns for the weapon of your choice.

Once he found the gun, you snatched the piece out of his hand impatiently, discreetly tucking it away where your bills had been. “I don’t want any more dirty money on me. Enough to buy this damn gun is all I need.”

“And a few cigarette packs it seems,” he shot back, clearly noticing the cash you handed him was short of the amount he originally gave you.

“S’not any of your business what I buy.” You said tersely, then quickly walked off and left him without so much as a goodbye.

After a second thought: “Now stay the fuck out of my life!” you shouted down the street, turning and not looking back.

iii.

The thing about living in Boston, circa 1978, working at a diner is that you’ve gotta buy a gun.

Now, you had gone ahead and bought a gun, but it was only ever supposed to be a precaution. Something you brought to work, or when you went out late at night.

And, of course you never had to use it: you did have normal, functioning common sense, so you never found yourself in situations where your gun became more than just something taking up space in your purse.

But with Chris O’Doyle, you found, you threw your common sense — as well as your precaution — straight to the wind.

It’s late at night, quite similar to all the other times you’d encountered the man, like a certain time of night had him summoned like a fucking demon, and he appears. Right in the middle of the diner, sitting in that same spot he’d pulled out his pistol and robbed you.

After a while, the incident stopped bothering you - as well as the fact you now owned a fucking gun - but you never did get Chris’s face out of your head, those piercing blue eyes. Said eyes were now staring at you straight, before trailing off, like the fucking criminal was embarrassed.

You don’t know what exactly was running through your head, but, again, Chris O’Doyle and you equaled common sense and precautions funeral, and you immediately dragged yourself to the breakroom, where you kept your stuff during a shift — including your purse — and you came back out with your shiny, unused Smith & Wesson model 36 gleaming in your hands.

“Fucking—“ Chris cursed, when he saw you come out with the gun, which was trained on him shakily. “Put the damn gun down! Jesus, d’you even know how to use that thing?”

You bit your lip, deciding not to answer his very valid, very biting question, for you did not know how to use a gun properly. “Just - what the fuck are you doing here, Chris?”

Deep in your mind, a more unbothered part of you wondered why you kept saying that when Chris appeared, like the mustached man was some creep ex who was stalking you.

“I’m just fucking peckish, girl. This is a diner, is it not?” He exclaimed, like what you were doing was manic and unexpected.

You stared at him incredulously, reluctantly putting down the hand that held the gun. You’d told him to, paraphrasing, “completely and totally fuck off”. What part of that did he not get?

“The part you don’t get, darlin’, is that I don’t care.” Chris shook his head, and you were so distraught you didn’t register you’d actually said what you were thinking out loud.

“God forbid you do!” You said, an infuriated laugh coiling around your words. “Order, then please grant me the blessing of never seeing you, ever again. Like I already fucking asked.”

Chris puffed up his cheeks, then blew the air out of them. “Red ale.” he said simply, looking like that was it, before continuing and making you freeze midway between quickly running to the kitchen to grab and fill the glass.

“And, eh…” he scanned through the plastic menu the diner offered, “a slice of Boston cream pie.”

You smiled at him tensely, hoping he knew it was fake as hell and meant to make him uncomfortable. “Coming right up,” you ground out through gritted teeth.

You thus disappeared into the diner kitchen - though not without first expertly hiding your pistol back in your purse - busying yourself with warming up the slice of pie in the ancient microwave your boss believed to be a holy grail heirloom as it was from his mother. It was loud, took too long, and always made the food too hot — but now, you were reveling in its flaws.

Loud means you didn’t have to hear Chris and whatever the hell he was doing, too long meant you could stall (and, pray he’d get bored and leave), and too hot meant that, later, you could privately make fun of him for burning his tongue, then have to blow on it and look like a little kid.

When it finished, you haphazardly threw it onto a plate, and filled Chris’s ale just half-way. If he wanted service here, fine, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to get good service.

Then, you handed it to him with a loud clatter on the counter, startling him out of his chain-smoking stupor. He made a face at your antics, but put out his cigarette and picked up the fork on the plate to begin eating anyway.

Finally, with having served Chris his stupid pie and stupid red ale, you could count down to the second until you never had to see him again, and you could finally erase him from your mind, forget how his gun felt trained on you, icy blue eyes digging into your spine.

However, much like you, it seemed an entirely different group of people with a grudge against Chris O’Doyle also threw common sense and precaution out the window when they saw him.

One moment you were pulling a cigarette out of the sleek, metal case sitting in the pocket of your apron, the next, Chris was jumping over the counter and shouting at you to duck.

You did as told almost immediately - his tone of voice had grown serious, cold, something you’d only heard briefly the night he robbed the diner.

Bullets tore through the diner, completely shattering and destroying the glass windows. The shots ricocheted against the walls, making the whole diner shake and feel like it was going to collapse. After a few more minutes of rapid gunfire eating at the building, something flew in from the same direction of the bullets.

“Good fucking riddance, Chris O’Doyle!” A voice called from outside, Several vehicles could be heard driving away as quick as they came, not even bothering to check if Chris was dead or alive.

You guessed that they — whoever “they” were — were a confident bunch, but unfortunately for them, Chris was still alive following that clownish display of gunfire.

Hidden beneath the diner counter, you laid against Chris’s bandy chest, his arms holding him close to you, like he was a kid and you were his prized balloon. One of his hands petted at the crown of your head, almost soothingly, while the other hand fumbled with his signature Colt Python.

Then, an ear shattering boom exploded from the “something” that was thrown into the building. You supposed it also set fire to quite a few things, for the water sprinklers set off and soaked the entire building.

For a long moment, it was just you and Chris, laying on the floor beneath the diner counter, sprinkler water soaking you both. Your hands were clenched impeccably tight on his leather jacket sleeve, and his hand had, like on autopilot, begun carding through your locks comfortingly. It seemed to comfort him more than you however, his breathing sounding stilted, and, with your pressed right up against his chest, you knew the situation had shocked him.

“That happen to you often?” you said, disregarding all questions that were clambering around your head for this softer, more considerate one.

Sure, the man maddened you to no end, and you still had dreams of him shooting you in the diner or jumping you in the street, but you were human, and he was too. Chris seemed like the kind of man who was inured to all sorts of sick and twisted things, so this event having shocked him surely had to be a large one.

And so, you knew it was empathy that needed to be used here; you recognized the struggle of a human vulnerable.

“More than I’d like,” Chris whispered back, his eyes shutting closed, surely replaying the entire situation behind his eyelids.

You could digest this all later, and he could talk about it later - if he wanted - but for now, it was just you and him in the diner, your voice gentle, his touch shaky.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #chris o’doyle #chris o’doyle x reader #chris free fire #chris free fire x reader #cillian murphy fluff #chris o doyle #free fire

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sadslay · 2 years ago

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HEY can you dorg a rick grimes x readertsxdr wbere its enemies to lovers i really life your fsanfics AND think rhye are super cool.

- CLOSER⋆☆ 𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

warnings — depictions of heavy violence & gore, coarse language, mentions of cannibalism [terminus era], light nsfw content/fluff

if there is true evil in this world, it lies in the heart of man kind.

when the world fell it became all the more evident that evil was rooted into humanity, and it only took a devastating, world-ending event for me to realise. those who were left in the world didn’t need to fear the dead that roamed the earth but instead they should fear the people that survived.

after weeks of traveling up and down the various railways running across georgia i was finally on my way home. my back ached and my feet were almost numb. i had been walking all night, never stopping because if i did, there was no way i’d be able to start again. i had endured weeks of unrest and uncertainty all to avoid the brutalities of my brother's ideologies.

not that my brother knew but the real reason i left our hellish home was to protect the greater good, not because i particularly cared but because i couldn’t bare seeing helpless people coming to us for refuge only to be thrown in train carts to have their heads served on a platter days later.

i dreaded each step that pulled me closer to home. every part of me just wanted to turn around and forget about everything i had left behind but i couldn’t. as evil as they were, they were still my family. as my eyes rose to the horizon - the sun barely peaking through the tree line - i noticed something about a mile down the road. i momentarily froze, my eyes narrowing as i focused on the pair.

it was two men, leaned up against an old rusted vehicle, causing my steps slow as i continued to cautiously creep closer. listening to them closely, i began to listen in to their quiet conversation. one man was wearing a leather vest and had straight hair that went past his ears while the man beside him was wearing a brown suede jacket and his hair was curled and tinted slightly red, along with his beard and chin.

i moved off the road, walking towards the treeline only to catch their attention seconds later. "hey!" one of the men yelled as they both rose to their feet.

my hands rose into the air in the blink of an eye, choosing to leave my pistol hidden as i crept back onto the road. “i don’t want any trouble.” i spoke firmly, my eyes wandering between the two men as the man with curled air pulled a barrelled colt python, keeping two hands on the gun as he kept it pointed to the ground. “m’just passin’ through.”

"passin' through?" one of the men asked, his southern accent as clear as day as his head tilted to the side by half an inch.

i nodded, staying still as i stood opposite to the two men. "just headin' home." i added, lowering my hands slightly, only for the man's gun to rise. "will you get that thing outta my face?" i scoffed, my hands freezing beside my shoulders.

the bloodied man looked at me for a moment before lowering his gun, placing it back inside the holster attached to the belt sitting around his waist.

"you have a group?" he asked, both his hands resting on his hips.

i shrugged weakly, finally dropping my hands back to my side. "guess you could call 'em that." i mumbled, internally debating if i should tell the two men of terminus, although i'm sure my brother would find a use for them.

“that didn’t answer my question.” the man with the gun quickly responded, his southern accent thickening as he spoke.

"kinda did," i smirked, weakly shrugging my shoulders as my eyes narrowed. a moment of silence fell between the three of us, the soft wind blowing through our hair as we all stood on the long-abandoned road. "can i go now?" i asked.

the two men looked at each other before their cold eyes returned to mine. "you heard about terminus?" he asked, his hand momentarily leaving his hip to vaguely point in the direction of the community before returning to his hip.

"yeah." i responded nonchalantly shrugging my shoulders. "if yer know what's good for ya, you'll stay away."

i'd soon realize my word of warning was not merely threatening enough to keep them away.

i was standing beside the grill where my mother was cooking some of the freshly marinated mystery meat when a grin appeared on my mother's lips. "hi," she smiled. "heard you came through the back door, smart." she added, causing me to spin around to find the two men from the highway along with a tall slender woman, holding a katana and a younger boy wearing a brown sheriff's hat wandering towards us. "you'll fit right in here." she added, flipping a small portion of meat.

shit.

"hey mary, could you fix each of these new folks a plate for me?" alex asked, briefly looking across at me, giving me a weak nod.

that's when he looked at me, his eyes filled with a type of betrayal that cut deep. only when the woman with dark brown hickory dreadlocks spoke.

"why do you do it?" she asked, stopping a few feet away from the grill that alex and i stood in front of. "why do you let people in?"

alex offered them a smile, taking two plates from my mother's hands. "the more people become a part of this, we get stronger." he explained, a sentence i had heard dozens of times. "that's why we put up the signs," my eyes met the man's standing behind the woman, his face now clean from blood. "invite people in. it's how we survive." alex continued, began to wander over to the younger boy, extending one of the plates to him before mumbling, "here." before giving the second plate to the woman.

i took the next set of paper plates from my mother before wandering across to the two men who i had met on the highway mere hours before. his eyes were now focused on alex, scanning his body carefully before stopping at the pocket watch that dangled from his waist. his icy blue eyes snapped in my direction as i took another step closer, and all in a heartbeat he had smacked the plates of food from my hand before wrapping one hand across the top of my chest, pulling me up against his chest as the end of his gun rested against my temple.

"where the hell you get that watch?" the man snapped, looking at alex as he kept my body restrained against his.

"put the gun down!" alex stressed, stepping back as the stranger's weapons rose, creating a spaced-out semi-circle defending the unappointed leader of the small group.

my hands latched onto his forearm, trying to ease the immense amount of pressure he had applied to my chest. "you want answers handsome?" i sneered, my voice lower as my face paralleled his. "put down the gun 'n i'll give 'em to ya." i tired to bargain, keeping my voice low.

"i see your man on the roof with a sniper rifle." he spat, tightening his grip across my decolletage as his fingers dug into my shoulder. "how good's his aim?" he snickered, his hot breath blowing onto my cheek before he turned his attention back to alex. "where'd you get the watch?" he yelled, his voice demanding and stern.

"don't do anything! just put the gun down!" alex's instructed, his voice weary and riddled with nerves.

i let out a sigh as i noticed alex trembling, his very cowardness making me roll my eyes. "i've got it." i muttered, causing alex to look at me before turning to the sniper on the roof. "tell 'em to back off." i instructed.

although the idiot was my brother, it didn’t mean i liked him. he cowered at the first sign of danger, his entire body would shake and he could be incapable of forming a complete sentence without becoming a stuttering mess. so when he turned back to look at our mother, it didn't surprise me that he wanted her approval.

"back down!" mary yelled, causing the sniper from the rooftop to disappear.

"listen to me." i snapped, keeping my voice relatively quiet giving us some sort of privacy as everyone stood three or four feet away. "there's a lot of 'em, be smart about this," i whispered near his ear, causing him to shoot me a look of disgust.

"where'd he get the watch?" the man repeated, beginning to sound a little like a broken record.

scoffing at his question, i turned my head a little more, his coarse beard tickling my cheek. "i don't know." i hissed. "i got here an hour before you did." i spat.

"what about the riot gear?" he questioned, turning his body to face a man a few meters away covered in black riot gear, taking my body with his as he spun again to face a blonde woman wearing a red poncho. "the poncho?" he snapped in my ear.

before i could respond, my brother walked into the courtyard, his hands up by his shoulders. "got the riot gear off a dead cop." gareth explained, the man spinning in the direction of my brothers voice, taking me with him. "found the poncho on a clothesline." he added.

i pushed myself onto the tips of my toes and leaned into his before whispering, "don't trust him."

the stranger flashed me a look of confusion before turning his focus to my brother, breifly point his gun at gareth before pushing it back into the side of my head.

"you talk to me!" he demanded.

"what's there left to say?" gareth queried, his eyebrows pinching together as he continued. "you don't trust us anymore."

"gareth!" i snapped, only for him to bitterly snap, "shut, up. it's okay." he took in a breath of air before continuing. "rick what do you want?" gareth asked.

rick. now i had a name for the idiot that didn't listen to me.

"where are our people?" rick yelled, his grip tightening even further as my skin began to turn into an ivory white from the pressure.

a devilish laugh escaped from gareths lips. "you didn't answer the question."

bullet shells littered the floor. a bullet scrapped across my shoulder causing me to fall to the group as rick and his people ran off. by the time i had gotten back up to my feet they were gone and the commotion had gone with them.

⋆☆⋆

watching gareth’s goons bring in rick and few other people from the train cars and lining up along the slop trays, i stood by gareth with my assault rifle in hand. eight men were lined up, each of them squirming and fidgeting as butchers worked beside them on medical tables, cutting into the bodies of unidentified victims. victims that had been taken while i was gone.

“alright.” gareth mumbled, giving his goons the okay to complete the brutal task of taking out each of the men.

a man with a bat swung the silver weapon hitting a young blonde man on the opposite end to rick and the other man from the highway. as he fell unconscious, a second man wearing a clear apron using his hand to pull up his head before slicing his throat, allowing a crimson fountain to spew from his neck into the tray.

the men began to grunt and scream as the goons moved along to the next victim. as i stood beside gareth, i looked across to find him watching each slaughter intently. he was no longer my brother. in the weeks that i had been gone gareth had turned into an unrecognizable monster. i had known about the cannibalistic urges that had consumed gareth before i left but when i returned, i had discovered how bad it had become.

“what are you doin’ this for?” i asked in a hushed whisper, my eyes remaining focused on rick and the man from the highway as they stared right back at me. “they look somewhat useful.”

i could feel gareth’s eyes watching me, his eyes burning holes into the side of my head before turning his attention back to the slop trays. “they’re threats.” he answered plainly. “hey guys!” gareth called out, catching the attention of his goons. “what were your shot counts?” he asked, pulling out a note book and pencil from his back pocket.

“38.” the man with the knife answered, standing behind the next victim waiting for them to be knocked out.

“hey!” gareth yelled, catching the attention of the good with the bat. “your shot count?” he asked.

“crap man, i’m sorry.” he sighed, causing gareth to let out a disappointing sigh. “it was my first round up.” the man weakly defended.

“after you done here, go back and count the shells.” gareth instructed. “kaylee won’t be gathering them until tomorrow.” he added, beginning to write a note down in his book. “four from a, four from d.” he began to count, wandering closer to the remaining men.

a man beside rick, that i hadn’t seen before began to squirm before grunting, “hey, let me talk to you for a minute.” his voice was muffled as he repeated, “let me talk to you!”

gareth sighed before reaching out to the man, pulling the cloth from his mouth. “what?” he spat.

“don’t do this.” he pleaded. “we can fix this.”

“no you can’t.” gareth replied nonchalantly, attempting to pull the cloth back into the mans mouth as continued to reason with my brother.

before gareth could put the cloth into the mans mouth, he continued. “you don’t have to do this.” he repeated. “we told you theres a way out of all of this.” he tried to reason, taking a few heavy breaths before continuing. “you just have to take a chance. we have a man that knows how to stop it.”

did he mean a cure?

gareth looked up from his book. “he has a cure. we just have to get him to washington.” the desperate man explained. “you don’t have to do this man. we can out the world back the way it was.”

“we can’t go back bob.” gareth mumbled, finally shoving the cloth into bobs mouth causing him to mumble gibberish.

he then knelt down in front of rick, taking the cloth from his mouth before muttering, “saw you go into the woods with a bag and come out without it.” he paused for a second, rick turning his head to the right by half an inch. “had to pull my spotters back before we could go look for it.” gareth explained. “what was in it?” he asked, waiting for ricks response but got nothing. “you hid it right? incase things went bad. smart.” he weakly grinned. “we’ll find it but it’s too dangerous to go out there right now.”

gareth had become to desperate. he pulled his knife out of his pocket, pointing it at bobs neck. “what was in it?” he snapped. “i’m curious, and it was a big bag. you really gonna let me do this?” he asked, flicking his head in bob’s direction.

“well let me take you out there.” rick responded, no doubt pissing gareth off more then he already was. “i’ll show you.” he continued.

“not gonna happen.” gareth responded sharply. “this might.” he added, once again his head motioning towards bob.

“there’s guns in it.” rick finally answered. “ak 47, 44 magnum, automatic weapons, night-scope, a compound bow and a machete with a red handle.” he listed. “thats what i’m gonna use to kill you.”

bold. threatening your captor as he had a knife pressed up to your friends neck? very bold.

gareth laughed, shoving the cloth back into his mouth before patting ricks shoulders. “thanks.” he smiled, walking back towards me as he put his notebook into his back pocket. “you have two hours to get them on the dryers. i’m gonna go back to the public face. we need to dial it all in by sundown!” he instructed.

but before his goons could respond, gunshots came from outside and just as gareth went to radio more of his men, a ground shaking boom went off causing us to all loose balance.

“stay here until i know what’s going on!” gareth yelled, running out of the room, leaving me and three of his goods with the four prisoners.

“so we just sit here?” the man asked me as i regained my ground, standing on my feet with my rifle firmly in my hand.

“you got a job to do.” i instructed, motioning towards the men that was fallen.

this was one of the few times i was grateful to be on gareths good side. i had a silencer attached to the end of my assault rifle which allowed me to take down the two butchers on the other side of the room without the brainless goons noticing. and with two more shots - each of them to the head - both of those brainless goons were on the floor, leaving the four prisoners startled.

slinging my gun over my shoulder i ran over to the four men, pulled my knife out the black leather holster strapped to my thigh. i knelt down, cutting the zip ties that had been used to keep them restrained. as i began to cut bobs i looked across and rick and the others.

“out that door, theres a hallway that leads to the armoury, all your shits in there.” i explained, motioning my head towards the door gareth had gone through moments prior. “you get your people ‘n get outta here.” i added, moving across to rick, beginning to cut through the tie.

“thank you.” bob spoke, his voice shaky but genuine as he stood up to begin searching the room for a weapon. “why are you helping us?” he asked.

i scoffed as i cut through rick’s zip tie, allowing him to stand up, following bob’s actions of looking for a weapon. “i should’ve taken down all those stupid signs.” i muttered, moving along to the man from the highway, beginning to cut through the zip tie.

“why didn’t you?” rick asked, his hand pointing at me accusingly.

“i thought he might’ve changed!” i snapped, moving along to the final prisoner. “doesn’t matter now,” i mumbled to myself. “i can get out to that tree-line where y’all hid your bag in about five minutes.” i announced to the group of men. “i’ve got a view of the train yard from there so i can keep an eye out for you and your people.”

“why should we trust you?” rick muttered, his voice bitter and mistrusting as i freed the last man. "you could've told us this place wasn't safe."

i stood up, handing my knife to the man i had just freed before turning to the others. "do you have dementia?" i asked rhetorically. "i warned you assholes not to come here." i snapped, taking a step closer to rick, looking up into his eyes as i muttered, “you don’ have to listen to me, but my brother’ll kill the lot of yer the first chance he gets.”

rick did nothing. he just stared at me. rolling my eyes at the mans stubbornness, i pushed past him, wandering towards a door that led out to the courtyard, disappearing from their sight.

⋆☆⋆

i watched ricks group - larger then i thought- run towards the tree line i had been hiding in for the past hour or so. hundreds of geeks swarmed terminus as flames bellowed from the numerous builds and warehouses. by the time i had reached the group they were preparing to leave. swinging my gun over my shoulder - not wanting the significantly large group to think i was a threat - i quietly approached them. as i grew closer, i made the idiotic mistake of stepping on a dried stick, sending a loud crack throughout the woods.

"the hell are you doin' 'ere?" the man from the highway spat, pulling away from a lady that had short grey hair.

"i just saved your life jackass, a thanks would be nice." i snapped, continuing to walk closer to group.

a tall man with amber hair and a thick mustache stepped forward from the outer circle of the group, both his hands holding onto some sort of military grade machine gun. "i'm sorry honey, who the hell are you?" he asked in an even thicker southern accent then ricks.

"she saved our lives." a man spoke sternly, his hand extended holding my bowie knife i had given him no more then an hour prior. it was the man from the slop trays. "here." he smiled.

"save is a strong word." rick muttered, his eyes meeting mine a few seconds later. his hand sat on his hip - which seemed to be a habit of his - while the other wiped the bottom half of his face. "we barely made it out alive." he spoke a little louder.

choosing to ignore rick's idiotic comment, i turned my attention to bob. "you." i pointed at the stranger. "you serious about that cure?" i asked.

bob nodded along to my question before turning a dark haired man standing beside the taller redheaded man. he had a black mullet and a poorly shaven face, he was also shaking as he stepped forward, one hand rising into the air as he spoke, "that would be correct ma'am." he answered, also having a thick southerner accent. "my names eugene porter and i know the cure to save this mess." he spoke proudly.

"you still need a ride to washington?" i asked, my attention remaining on the two men standing beside each other.

"we-well yess ma'am." eugene stammered.

"i know a place 'bout a days way from here." i noted, nodding my head in the general direction. "s'got a bus round the back, s'been there since the beginnin'." i added, the very news making the two men smile.

"nah." the man from the highway grumbled, causing me to spin in his direction as i let out a sigh of frustration. "las' time we listened to you we ended up 'ere." he spat bitterly, throwing his hand across his chest as his jaw clenched.

"sorry, listened to me?" i repeated sarcastically, my eyes widening in shock as the man stood there, looking at me as if he was ready to knock me out. "i told you fuckin' idiots to stay the hell away." i spat, my voice unintentionally rising as i grew more frustrated.

"hey!" the man with the moustache hissed, causing me to spin back in his direction. "where the shit is this damn bus?" he demanded, taking another step closer to me.

i exhaled through my nose, trying to control my temper as i explained, "'bout a days trip." i repeated. "n' if it's alright with eugene i'd like to help-"

"you're not comin' with us." rick cut in, his voice forceful and alarming as he stepped closer to me, making sure his point was heard.

looking up at rick, who stood a foot or so away from me, i forced a smile onto my lips. "didn't ask you cowboy."

"hey!" another voice cut in, this time a woman i hadn't seen before. "she's got a bus, lets just check it out." she insisted, her eyes focused on rick as he seemed to be some sort of leader amongst the group.

"fine." he grumbled, his jaw remaining clenched as his head tilted to its side, another mannerism that he commonly did. "but hand over your weapons." rick bargained.

i turned to face rick, our bodies now parallel to each other as looked up at the infuriating man. "i ain't givin' you shit." i spat. "we're surrounded by geeks n'i need to protect myself." i explained, although nothing was getting through his dense stubborn head.

"it's not negotiable."

⋆☆⋆

walking up the squeaky white church steps behind ricks group, listening as he interrogated the priest that had let us into the church to begin with. it was poorly lit but well kept as we wall stood in the isle, listening to rick as he continued with his questions.

“how’d you survive here for so long?” he asked, holding his daughter, judith on his hip. “where did your supplies come from?” rick continued.

“luck.” the priest answered. “our annual canned food drive, things fell apart right after we finished.” he continued, a grin plastered on his lips. “it was just me.” he continued as rick passed his daughter to carl, who i had learned was his son. “the food lasted a long time, ‘n then i started scavenging. i’ve cleaned out every place near by.” he paused for a moment before continuing. “except for one.”

“what kept you from it?” rick asked, resting his hand on his hip.

“it’s overrun.”

thats how i ended up waist deep in mirky, geek filled water in a thrift store basement. it was a situation i did not intend on being apart of, but here i was, marching through the grey water to protect the wimpy priest had run and frozen to avoid an old withered librarian.

rick was taking down a near by geek that had lunged towards him in the blink of an eye, allowing me to take one step forward before grabbing onto the back of the librarians head. with all my body weight i pushed the decaying body toward a near by shelf, smashing the geeks head against the metal pole. the sounds of its skull cracking and its blood oozing down into the water let me know my job was done.

"grow a pair dude." i huffed, pushing decaying body into the water before scanning the near by shelf for canned goods.

sudden movement coming from the opposite side of the small flood room caught my attention seconds later. by the time i had tracked through the filthy water, sasha was lifting a plastic container above her head before slamming it down onto the head of the water bloated geek. once the commotion had simmered down, i spun around to collect more unspoiled cans only to bump right into rick.

our bodies pushed right up against one another as his calloused hands firmly held onto my shoulders. the sudden closeness caused me to freeze. his frame was undeniably larger then mine as his body towered over mine, a few damp curls falling forward as he looked down at me. as much as he was overbearing and generally unpleasant, i couldn't deny that he was somewhat alluring.

"you alright?" rick asked, pulling me out of my hypnotic state allowing my eyes to meet his.

i pulled myself away from his grip, weakly nodding. "fine." i mumbled, pushing past him to begin the tedious job of gathering all the canned goods.

⋆☆⋆

holding onto the wooden shovel with both my hands as i dug further into the ground, i heard chatter coming from inside the church. rick and his people were deciding what to do with my brother and the last remaining people of terminus. i continued to dig a shallow grave as the group squabbled and fought over the fate of people i used to call my friends and family. my back ached and my arms felt like jello as i finished off the four foot deep hole -no where near deep enough to bury each and every body - before turning to face the group.

“we’re burnin’ ‘em!” i announced, causing every pair of eyes to look over at me in the dimly lit moon light.

“why?” abraham asked, his voice sounding almost sarcastic as he stood meters away from me with bloodied fists. “this ain’t the time for barbecuin’ sweetheart.” he chortled, his very words causing me to scoff as i pushed the shovel to the ground.

“we’re burning them.” i repeated more clearly, taking a step or two closer to the group as i continued, “‘til there’s nothing left but bone ‘n ash.” i pushed my way past the group, making my way to the first body lying on the church floor. “now, you can either help me or fuck right off.” i spat as i picked up the mans hands, pulling them over my shoulders like a backpack before pulling the heavy corpse back outside.

a trail of deep red blood followed me as i pulled the body outside, nonchalantly dropping the body into the newly dug hole before marching back inside to find the group had dispersed, the only person remaining was rick. he stood and watched me closely as i made my way to the next bloodied body, beginning to pull their body towards the door.

“you jus’ gonna stand there ‘n watch me, or yer gonna help cowboy?” i asked, never once stopping as i neared the church steps.

without speakinh rick held onto the mans feet, lifting him up as he helped me carry the corpse down the steps before dumping it into the near by grave. we continued this same action two or three more times before we eventually reached my brother. i stood by the almost unrecognizable face, frozen as i had realized he was finally gone. my last piece of surviving family had been torn away from me in front of my very eyes but here i stood, helping the very man that killed him, drag his body out to the mass grave.

“you alright?” rick asked, his voice almost startling me after almost half an hour of silence.

i looked up at the man, his greying beard more prominent in this lighting as the moon shone through the church windows. “m’fine.” i hummed. “there wasn’t much left of him anyway.” i added, picking up his shoulder as rick picked up his feet.

another silence fell between us as we pushed my brothers body into the now full grave. as rick stepped back, i leant forward, grasping onto my brother as i search his pockets, finding a lighter. standing up, above gareth as he laid limp brought me a sense of closure as i sparked the lighter, watching the small orange flame flicker in the wind before dropping it into the grave. the bodies were soon engulfed in flames as i stepped back, sitting down on the near by steps where rick followed my actions.

“m’sorry about bob.” i spoke quietly, as the church doors blew shut while i watched the flames roar as smoke bellowed into the skies above.

“it wasn’t your fault.” he spoke calmly, almost authoritatively as he watched me closed from the other side of the steps, mirroring my action of leaning up against the balustrades.

i let out a breathy chuckle at ricks generic response. “i’ve been takin’ the blame for his shit since we were kids.” i mumbled, my laughter slowly fading as i was reminded of the terrible person he had become within the last year or so. “he wasn’t always like this you know.” i spoke, my voice a little softer, almost sympathetic.

“a cannibal?” rick questioned, a weak smirk creeping onto his lips as he looked across to meet my eyes.

i let out a giggle before muttering, “yeah.” i took in a deep breath of the cool night air, the smell of burning flesh now beginning to fill the air as the fire continued to grow. “‘nd ‘n asshole.” i added earning a weak exhale of laughter to slip from ricks lips. “he was actually a good guy, but this world changes people right?” i asked, my question filled with rhetoric intent but more or less sounded like a genuine question that required an answer.

“right.” rick replied.

i looked across at rick, his face lit up by the auburn flames detailing every feature, especially his eyes. “did it change you?” i asked after a beat of deafening silence, observing him as his eyes looked back at me.

i knew the answer. i think we both did. the world changed you, no matter who you were before, but as i sat beside rick, no more then a foot or so away from him i almost saw a glimpse of an older version of him. the way his eyes looked into mine and the way he had himself positioned showed me who rick was before all of this. he was no longer the up tight, overbearing asshole i had gotten to know over the past few days.

i turned to the side, my body now facing rick as i asked, “your not scared of me are you?” not giving rick an opportunity to answer my last question.

“could ask you the same thing.” he mumbled, his head cocking to the side as he now mirrored me, our bodies paralleled with one another.

a laughed escaped my lips as my eyebrows pinched together as i tried to decipher the meaning of bus question. “why should i be scared of you?” i teased, already building a list in my mind of all the reasons a normal person would fear rick grimes.

“i’ve killed people.” rick spoke quietly.

“who hasn’t?” i replied sarcastically, weakly shrugging my shoulders.

“innocent people.” he added.

“so have i.” i compared, knowing there was no possible way that anyone could top the things ive done. “‘nd not just at terminus.” i added. “we do what we need to survive.”

“i killed your people.” rick challenged. “your family.” he added, his head slightly tilted to the side as he waited for my response.

“trust me, if i had an inkling of love left for my family you’d be in a whole world’a hurt.” i teased, earning a breathy chuckle from the man before he lent in closer.

his soft breath tickled my cheek as he whispered, “threaten me again and i’ll have you begging for me to stop.”

“i don’t beg.”

“we’ll see about that.” he smirked, his accent more apparent then ever as he inched a little closer.

i mimicked his actions by inching closer, his breath now hitting my lip as i mumbled, “you are infuriating,” in a low whisper.

as his lips parted, his hand began to rise. it felt like an entire life time but within seconds, ricks lips hovered near mine - barely touching - as his hand connected with my neck. the near by fire crackled on as his lips met with mine with desirous and ravenous intention. momentarily out bodies swayed together before his hand snaked its way down my body before resting at the tops of my hips. and suddenly everything began to move so quickly. ricks hands tugged at my hips, leaving them partly exposed as he pulled me across to his lap. i craved a sudden closeness, pulling myself closer to rick our bodies molded together like two puzzle pieces.

rick leant upwards, kissing you with every fibre in his body had his hands controlled your hips movements while your hands latched onto the base of his neck. his beard prickled against your lips while your finger tip’s entangled themselves in his dampened curls. after a moment you could feel ricks hand inching upwards, his cool finger tips creeping beneath your tightly fitted shirt as small gasps and moans left your lips. ricks hands quickly made their way back down to your hips, bringing to roll them to create some friction between you.

“who’s beggin’ now?”

this was my first time writing rick so- this is defs terrible- i am so sorry

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