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sin-sidejob · 2 years

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Insidious Inside Job: Halloween pt. 2

Note: Inspired by skoshibuns fanart on instagram + I have songs linked with each segment for the specific portion that goes with the monster, the plot, or both + reminder, I may be an english major but this thing is barely proofread

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI, AFAB + GN PRONOUNS, RAW SEX (wrap that rascal), monster-fucking, tentacle fucking, inhuman creatures, furry fucking? One brief scene of alluded almost sexual assault/assault (that gets stopped and interrupted) incredibly vague nothing actually happens, drug use/roofied/narcotics, I guess, werewolf (slight A/B/O dynamics), breeding kink, talks of missing body parts and death, cockwarming, somnophilia the undead, zombies, doctor play, doctor kink, doctor/fake patient, living dead, experimentation with cadavers and dead bodies, mention of illness/cancer, various Halloween-y phenomena + probably more

Content: smut, spooky scary spectral holiday smuttening, monster and inhuman creature fucking, usual debauchery you can expect from me, dicks and pussy, inhuman and monster genitalia, reader has AFAB nethers/genitalia and a cunt but I don’t describe about tits so folks are safe, I used gender neutral pronouns all throughout as well. Mentions of underwear and generalized clothing but no bras or gendered articles of clothing. Southernification of Robotus (you’ll see) + probably more

! ! ! This is part two, with Reagan + Brett + Andre + Robotus + Myc. Part one, located here, includes Gigi + JR + Glenn + a bonus character ! ! !

Reagan Ridley: MAD SCIENTIST

• songs: Evil Eye - Franz Ferdinand

- You were used to the chaotic cadence that came with knowing and loving the reclusive Dr. Ridley, enjoying the maniacal dynamic and aiding her in her experiments, helping her tidy up should a test go awry. You aided her in all her endeavors, even the unsightly ones, and that dedication and mutual trust blossomed into friendship and then eventually love and list. Simple creatures, you two were, and instincts were a gravitational pull as equally potent to magnets as to mankind.

- The latter half of the year, when the weather turns and the leaves change and shed their green covers to don the classic golden hues, is when she came alive even more. She found energy in the fall and winter weather, more likely to be within the confines of her laboratory and adding scrawled, scratch-like lines into her notebooks and texts, running about with her coat billowing behind her like a shadow tethered to her, fluttering beside her with the grace of a conspirator.

- There were times when she would not need your assistance and you would be free and left to your own devices, wandering about the extravagant library and traipsing through the halls, snooping where you shouldn't, and happily receiving your punishments. Life was good and continued to be so, almost mundane in an unnatural, phenomenal way. There was no dark side of the moon to you, only the light because the shadows were your home, and the person you called lover languished alongside you in Moonglow-shaded craters.

- But your favorite moments had to be when it was you she was examining, you who she was teasing and playing with, black patent leather gloves that were entirely unsafe and unethical in a lab environment used on your form, drawing out pinpricks of chills. Especially now as Reagan hums at the sight of your disheveled state, silent beside her idle noises and internalized dialogue as if she is annotating already-written notes within the confines of her brain of you as her hands draw out more data to analyze, almost pulling all your secrets pool forth from moaning lips via her ministrations.

- Reagan is seldom tender or ginger in her touch, not in a harshness but more in a neutral, guiding, directing manner. Like moving you about with the same grace as working with her equipment and tools, movements memorized and muscles well-accustomed to all that you are. She can be softer, in aftermath moments where your body and senses can not make heads or tails of where the two of you ended or began, fully enwrapped and enveloped in one another like coiled vines of ivy, cascading upwards and intertwining in great efforts. But now, her touch is not soft, but steady and purposeful.

- Cold gloves remove clothing and secure straps onto your body, across your limbs, and holding you tight against a weathered and soft wooden table, built with the intention to be used for medical seminars and demonstrations. You lay, naked and taut upon a staged table in the center of an empty auditorium for the use of educational experimentation presentations and viewing seminars for research and study. The arena on her property is empty, no event planned for today, just the two of you in the grand room and feeling infinitesimally small, yet powerful simultaneously.

- "Not too tight?" Dr. Reagan Ridley asks softly as she busies herself with hovering over the straps that secure your wrists and ankles to the examination table, gloved hands running along oiled leather seams. "Perfect." is your answer and her smile matches the word, pride in her eyes at her wonderful assistant, her previous lover. "There's my darling, now what are te rules?" she asks, unbuttoning her labcoat to expose her blouse and slacks beneath, slinky and clinging to her body in a way that makes your firsts clench just so, palms opening and closing with the yearning need to touch.

- "Nuclear is stop, gradient is slow down, and prism is keep going, or good." you answer, squirming a bit against the restrains for show and shuffling your ass against the soft wood, feeling the cool air caress your exposed, already leaking pussy. "Wonderful," the Doctor trails off, wandering away from the table and leaving you to lay spread and scan your eyes across the planetarium-painted ceiling above and marvel at the gold leaf details in the stars and constellations, drawing you back in when she returns and adjusts her gloves with a small thwack, "now, where should we begin?"

- You don't respond immediately, not knowing how or where to answer, unable to distinguish a clear mood in her dark eyes for what she wants and what she is planning to take from you. The hesitation makes Reagan decide on her own, a dark chuckle emerging from her lips and settling in the base of your spine, curling like a funnel stormcloud. "Alright then, guess it's up to Doctor's orders." She smooths softened leather against your inner thighs and parts your lips, blowing cool air in puffs against your exposed cunt and clicking her tongue in notes as her mind wanders in fascination.

- "I think I'll start here, test your sensitivity first hmm?" she asks aloud, mainly to herself, the table raised to her waist so she can easily maneuver around you and toy with you, like a doll. It feels all like a pleasurable version of The Princess Bride's pit of despair but mixed with a sex dungeon and none of the latex. "There, how does that feel?" it feels good, decent, not enough as the first portion of her pointer finger breaches your walls, the texture not adding much besides a cooler sensation. You answer the same, and she hums before moving on, shifting in a manner reminiscent of a cat's sly sway.

- "Space for improvement, good." she comments, a stray hair falling into her forehead from her tight ponytail, dark hair pulled back and away from her face and allowing you to fully watch her move and her shifting expressions. She thrusts the finger into you, slowly and watching as you clench around her, gaping and closing in a rhythmic pattern. "And this?"

- "its g-good too," you choke out, shifting your head from looking at her to nothing, eyes shut and you try not to squirm, letting her venture as she pleased, "but not good enough?" Reagan asks, and you nod in agreement, prompting her to curl her finger upwards, matching with her second finger, and smirking, brows arching as she watches you grow more and more disheveled.

- "ah," you moan out, lip tugged between your teeth as you bite down, fists clenching and unclenching once the pleasure begins to initially build, feeling it bubble forth in your belly like a tide pool on the beach, collecting and growing as more gets put into it. "Now that's a reaction, keep speaking beautiful." she directs, curling in upward strokes from within your walls

- You nod, mewling a bit as your voice breaks and pitches, feeling her slide in another digit, pointer finger to ring finger all slotted. Her gloves are thicker, making the stretch a bit wider than what you're accustomed to, and you break a tad, grinding your hips down and wriggling, aching to get something more, and that something ends up being Reagan's attention.

- "Oh this won't do, I think you need some more advanced methods." Reagan murmurs, enjoying the look on your face as she steps back and out of your line of vision, holding back laughter as you whine and make confused tones, wondering why she stopped when she had finally gotten to the good part. "Easy now, just a moment, you can be patient for me, can't you?"

- "Yes, Doctor." She whips her head around and drops the tool in her hand, and you're worried for a second she didn't like you saying that but she arrives moments later with a silicone dick and a small vibrator in hand, accompanied by a sly grin. "Doctor, hm? We're keeping that." she states as she sets the items in her hands down beside you on the flat table, now away from your sight before you could see any of the specific characteristics or facets.

- You squirm again, chills from the exposed air finally overriding the pleasure in your veins and cooling your body. Reagan tuts at that, smoothing her dry glove up your thigh in an attempt to warm you up, "phrase?" she asks, gentle and present as she looks at you. "Prism." she smiles and nods before her expression shifts, popping the cap off a bottle of lube and warming it between her hands as she looks you over, a small smile emerging once she spots your cunt, clenching around nothing from the show she put on of her rubbing her palms together with her exposed forearms rippling.

- "Ready for me?" she asks, adjusting her gloves and then sucking off the slick residue from her one hand, purposely staring you down as she does it with intent. "Always, Doctor." a shudder that she fails to try and hide rolls through her spine at that, not fully used to you ever calling her that, especially when you're bare and at her mercy.

- "good answer." Reagan responds, lubing up the silicone and sliding it through your folds slowly, watching as you tense and begin to grind. Her hand plants your hip down still, forcing it to stop as she fixes you a warning look while she props the dick near your cunt.

- Sliding it in, she sinks the silicone dick deep into you and watches as your cunt takes it in, noting aloud how the gloves prepped you better than what she does manually glove-free. Keening out, you force yourself still and feel her hand move to instead grip your hip instead of planting it still, guiding you along in a tempo that matches the ministrations of her other hand, fucking the fake dick into you over and over slowly, picking up the pace gradually.

- "That seems to be treating you better. You agree?" barely managing a nod, you respond with a grunting moan as she angles the silicone against a spot of nerves, making you jolt and gasp. "I'll take that as a yes." Reagan jokingly responds to herself, reaching the hand once on your hip to reach away and grab the vibrator, eager to get your pent-up self breaking and shattering like glass.

- You don't realize what's happening, too blissfully unaware due to how she continues flicking her wrist, rocking the dick into you at a pace that builds tension but doesn't get that knot of pleasure unraveling at all. When the vibrator comes to life and thrums in her hand, your head whips up in that instant Pavlovian response, knowing she's about to make you see God.

- "Holy fuck please use that thing on me." you blurt out immediately, drawing a laugh from her that's dark while she fixes you a warning look, a brow raised and you rush to find your words. "Please, Doctor." Reagan hums, pleased, and then reaches down to plant the vibrator on your clit, rolling it in circles and shapes that make your legs struggle against the stirrup-like straps, body wriggling and squirming as it tries to get comfortable to handle getting fucked this way.

- "Well would you look at that, pretty damn effective." She muses, upping the vibrator speed casually with one hand as the other splits you open on the silicone cock with ease. "Next time we're going to have to test this with having both of your holes filled, probably get you squirting in minutes."

- The idea alone that she planted like a seedling in your head blooms, making you even more turned on if possible. The way the dick nestled the spots inside that already got you seeing stars? Multiplying the effect. And now the vibrator rolling over your clit and thrumming incredibly sends you over the edge, barely able to warn her coherently before you cum with a squealing moan.

- "Fucking gorgeous," Reagan marvels, fucking you through it and lowering the setting on the vibrator, still keeping it there but rolling it in softer, smoother motions while she gently fucks the dick into you, working through an orgasm that she manages to draw out for roughly a minute or so. "So goddamn pretty like this."

- She keeps going for a while until your legs stop shaking, then she removes the toys from you and moves about, undoing the straps and stirrups holding you then grabbing a nearby blanket and wrapping you up in it. You sit up and scoot over to the side of the table, legs hanging off as Reagan stands before you, smoothing your hair back and checking you over.

- She busies herself with rolling her fingers over the slightly indented marks where the straps were, double checking to make sure you were okay but she doesn't catch your adoring, sleepy look until you tap at her arm and then raise your hand to lift her chin, beaming dazedly at her. "Hi Reagan." you murmur, pressing kisses to her cheek and jaw lazily.

- "Hello yourself, feeling okay?" she asks, amusement in her tone as she looks you over, making sure you're fully covered in the blanket and warm, trying to prevent you from getting overly cold.

- You giggle and look up at her, grinning wide and honest, "I could not be any fucking better than I am right now, now gimme' a kiss." Reagan obliges, and everything fades as it always does around her, in the best and most comforting blur.

Brett Hand: FRANKENSTEIN’S MONSTER

• song: Body - Mother Mother or My Boy Builds Coffins - Florence + The Machine

- Brett wishes he could manage to carve a place for himself in your life and at your side with as much ease as he has with loving you, completely enthralled and enamored with everything you are, all that you’ve been, and all that you’ll be. He’s fascinated by you and the intricacies in your movements and routines, the way your brows furrow when confused or frustrated, the smile you don’t show unless you’re caught by surprise and unable to remember hiding it.

- He gathers these little facets of yourself like river rocks and stones, wearing them down in the revisits of his memory, rolling them flat and small but soft in the way he reveres them. If only you loved him like he loved you. If only you actually knew him, not just of him. You’ve met before, known of each other practically since his initial creation. Yet he’s not satisfied because he doesn’t know what it’s like to be with you, only knowing you at the arms reach that he has from you helping him and fixing him up.

- You’re an assistant to his father, his creator, an up-and-coming scientist fascinated with his methods in Reanimation and modern-age necromancy, hoping to study his techniques and model some of his talents with your own. His father, Dr. Quentin Hand, made all of his siblings as initial creations and had Brett last, the youngest and most rushed one of the collection. He was an accumulation of spare parts, the battered bits left in the barrel, a literal representation of what comes from patchwork scientific craft and lacking interest. That’s not to say you didn’t treat him kindly or matched his father's lack of enthusiasm.

- No, you treated him carefully, just like the rest of his siblings. You gave him extra attention and care, sewing back on fingers should they get snagged and fall off his hand, making a few jokes all the while you thread the needle and fish it in and out of his flesh about how his hand’s should be better taken care of, especially since it’s his last name.

- his heart was monitored and he prayed you hadn’t caught the speeding up of the pace, the rapid ba-bum ba-bum ba-bum of his pre-owned heart firing off in awe of you and your presence. If you did, you don’t mention it and you just continue hemming and stitching him back together, returning his ring finger back onto his left hand with care, humming all the while some song stuck in the back of your head.

- “there,” you nearly startle him, pulling him from his reverie with a pat to his knee as you sit up from your chair and clean up, putting your supplies away and disinfecting, “all fixed. Let me know if there’s any trouble with your seams again and I’ll patch you up — no sweat.” His eyes, one hazel and the other bright blue, peer up at you with nothing short of pure adoration. It’s always there, poor boy can’t do anything to hide it. He just loves you is all.

- "Thank you, I'm sorry you have to always fix me up all the time." Brett states, rubbing his arm subconsciously, truly meaning it and knowing it had to be at least a little redundant to mend him after every trip and fall or tumble down the steps. Poor thing had no balance, something you try to work on in your spare time between projects and lessons with Brett's father. You turn, taking your gloves off and disposing of them while looking his way, a sad frown on your face making his dissipate like smoke. "Why are you sorry for that? It's not something you can help, sweet boy, and besides --" you trail off while stepping near him and fixing his hair and looking down at his still-sitting form, "I'm happy to help you, its what I'm here for!"

- and with that, you depart, heading to another appointment to experiment under supervision, He dreads the days that come forward now, nearing when you would be leaving since your education under the apprenticeship of his father ends to a close. You'd be gone, with your own experiments and helpers, a life completely devoid of him. he likes to think you'd write him or call, maybe see his name scrawled in your looping cursive handwriting and hear your words drawn across a page and yearn to find your love within them.

- but even he, Brett, a lovesick optimist knows that would be too good to be true. Within the month, you'd pack and leave and the spanning acres of his family's estate would be empty of your presence. Your quarters would miss your belongings, the posters, and art on the walls, the little personal items and books littered about. It would be as if you were never there, but to Brett, he would always remember you being there. He may have been reanimated, but the days where you roamed the halls and came across his sight were the only days he felt truly alive.

- Little did he know that you had been planning your departure for years and hoped you would go about it, what exactly you would leave or sell, what you would pack, how you would pack, and who you would take with you. "Dr. Hand, I have a request," you start, making casual conversation while you've currently got your forearms embedded in a cadaver's inner organs, organizing things, "I was wondering if I could take one of the experiments with me when I leave early this week?"

- Doctor Quentin Hand is no meek creature, nor does his stature indicate such. he was almost frighteningly tall, but with age has developed a slight hunching slouch making him roughly 6'5 with the rugby player's stature. The man is thick and bulky, with a head full of auburn hair turning grey and the shade of sunned strands with his age. "Depends on which of the creations you'd call to you, and if they'd like to go. The eldest are off limits, but should one of the children agree, you are free to take them. But only one."

- he is currently invested in combining chemicals to inject within the bloodstream when reanimation is to take place later, and luckily so. He misses your entire face light up, beaming from ear to ear behind your surgical mask and eyes glowing with excitement. "I've already decided who I'd like to bring with me."

-"Oh?" he doesn't even turn, swirling an open beaker that smells of disinfectant and acid, "who?". Dr. Hand shows no concern and even that worries you, knowing there was little love shown to the creations, and none whatsoever to your favorite. "I was planning to take Brett, the youngest of them."

-He waves a gloved hand and nods, "Of course, pack his things if he hasn't already. Be sure to invest in a lot of sutures and sewing materials as well, you will definitely need it." if you didn't need this formal apprenticeship, you would've killed him with his own reanimating equipment. "Yes sir."

- later, when you have cleaned up, changed, and wrapped up the experiment which once again went as a success, you settle down in your room and continue backing up your personal belongings into extra bags and suitcases for the items you gathered in your time here. A record plays, crackling initially but still pouring out the cadence of the Lungs album from Florence + The Machine as you wander about, clearing your shelves and delicately folding posters and emptying the walls.

- just as you flip over the vinyl to the b side, a knock rattles against your door. When you open it, you didn't expect Brett's tear-stained face to be the first thing you see. Nor did you expect him to rush and hug you, drawing you into his form and holding you close while he buries his head in your shoulder. "Why do you have to leave?"

- You think it's cruel, but it was always going to be a surprise for you to take him with you. The feelings were obvious and only reciprocated a few months ago. Sadly, you couldn't act on them until you got out from under the eyes of Doctor Quentin for Brett's sake and safety. But now that's not a worry, and you leave after breakfast tomorrow morning with the patchwork babydoll of a man before you.

- The sight enough is heartbreaking, especially with the direct feel of his tremors shaking through him, and then through you with the closeness. It takes several attempts to ease his cries and pry him up from your shoulder, stepping back to close the door behind him then flicking the lock shut before you cup his cheek and lift his head upwards. "Brett, sweetheart, how could you think I'd leave without you?" you soothe, thumbs rolling over his cheek and swiping tears away. "I wanted to surprise you but I think you need to hear it now, I'm taking you with me. I was never going to leave without you in the first place."

- Brett blinks blearily, wiping the tears from his multicolored eyes to stare at you openly and dart his gaze between your own eyes. "You're serious?" he asks, still buried in disbelief, "why would you want to take me, you barely even like me." Brett's met with laughter, not caustic or harsh and at his expense like what he's used to, yours is lighthearted and kind, just like your eyes. "Sweetheart, I care for you a great deal beyond just liking you." you say, taking his hands in yours, the ones you've constantly tended to like the rest of him.

- "What does that mean?" Brett asks, squeezing your hands tight and finding it impossible to look anywhere in the room besides your face. "It means I love you, silly thing, and I refuse to let you stay here any longer when you deserve the world. Let me show it to you." His tears reappear again but its relief, the feeling that swarms his body and makes him feel shrouded in Moonglow. You care for him, you love him, that his years of pining after you and hoping, praying for a miracle were worth it. You loved him, your silly ragdoll.

- "Say it again." he says, his hands moving from yours to your waist, brushing the bare skin where your shirt has ridden up with ease, aching to feel more of your warm skin in his palms. "I love you Brett." you murmur, forehead pressed to his as you press your palms to his chest, fingertips tracing the material of his henley while humming in a pleased tone once his hands begin to wander.

- "One more time." he whispers as he leans forward to catch your lips with his, admiring how your eyes flutter shut when he does. You kiss, lips shifting back and forth as you murmur how you loved him into his open mouth like a secret, and he'd cherish and protect it as such. Brett pulls back, palms cupping your warm cheeks just as you had previously with tender grace and you spot his tears have ended.

- "I will never let you down," he promises, smile bright and crooked, perfectly him and equally as charming, "I swear, you'll never regret this, never." and you know its the truth, not because he says it but because you've known for ages that there was no one else you'd care for this much. As if he was made solely for you, perfectly patchworked together.

- In an act of bravery or stupidity, you grab his hand and step backward towards your still-made bed, peering up at him from lidded eyes. "I know that, but how about you show me just how much you love me right here, hm?" you tease, loving how his mouth fell agape and his arms fled to your waist again, eagerness steeped into his actions like tea. "Can I?" brett asks, always the soft, chivalrous, perfect man. "Absolutely." you respond, already ushering out of the shirt and baring your chest to his hungry, heterochromial eyes.

- he spares no time in crowding you against the bed, climbing atop your languid form and pressing doting kisses at your lips then making his way down to your neck, eagerly leaving hickeys and marks while he undoes your belt and shucks your pants down. He bares your underwear to him and leaves you to kick off your socks with your pants, making a pile on your rug you don't mind at all. "Can I taste you?" he practically pleads, lifting up to stare down at you, beating you to the question you were just about to ask him, making you laugh once more, still that lighthearted sweet sound. "Maybe later, and then ill be able to suck you off. Right now I just want you in me, Brett. That okay?"

- he's torn between crying, busting a load in his jeans, or both. Brett just nods, lip tugged between his teeth and moving with all the enthusiasm of a hyperactive puppy, kneeling on the floor to help you slide off your underwear and nearly drooling the second he spots your bare cunt. He's running on more basic, bare instincts but wants nothing more than to flood your cunt with his cum and keep it there, keep himself there as long as he can. Never wants to leave you, and he never wants the marks and signs of him on you to fade either.

- "are you-" "yes I'm sure Brett, now can you please take your clothes off so I can ride you?" he nearly trips over himself in the process of standing and yanking off his shirt, which he does in that hot lift it from the back of the neck and tug it forward trademark style that has a new layer of slick pool forth. His jeans are mid-rise but are slung low, boxers peaking out briefly before he abandons those too, revealing one appendage you never had to mend. You're a bit glad, you ended up with a surprise too tonight, who would've thought?

- Brett returns, not knowing where to sit or lay until you shove him back to sit against the pillows upright, allowing you to sit on his lap and lay your arms over his shoulders while hovering, teasing before you to be gifted this man's virginity just like you were given his heart and soul. "You sure, baby?" you murmur, knees outside of his own and pressed chest to chest, "I can wait however long you need to." Brett grins, playful and teasing in his own way, and nips at your lip. "I'm okay, m'good, cant wait t'see what it feels like to be buried in you, probably even warmer than you feel right now." He emphasizes with a large and running up your bare spine, sending you arching and your knees threatening to buckle. You sometimes forget how big he is, and with the hefty dick bobbing near his stomach, you're not sure how you could have ever forgotten.

- "Take me then, babydoll" and he does, large hands encompassing your hips as he guides you to sit on his dick, slowly letting it enter and let you get accustomed, "there you go, nice and - fucking tight" Brett murmurs, voice deeper and getting you more riled up than you know what to do with. You had seen him bare plenty of times, but never fully, and the experience was doing you wonders right now as you rested for a moment and let him breathe before you started bouncing on him and making him cum way earlier than you know he'd like. You'd enjoy it anyway.

- He whines after a few moments, his hips shifting and making you both groan, his head falling back into the pillows and his fair falling into disarray, strands of auburn and reddish brown falling into his forehead. "Please, just fuck me, have me I just need you." Brett whines into your neck again, no tears this time as his arms wrap tautly around your form, allowing you to feel divinely sculpted muscles hold you tight and made your walls clench, relishing in his squeaking moan. You'd break him. good thing you know how to put him back together. "Easy baby, I've got you." you murmur, smoothing back his hair before you lower to your haunches and lift your hips, slamming back down and sending him yelling your name while biting his teeth into your shoulder.

- Oh yes, you were absolutely going to break him.

- You fuck yourself on him, feeling his hands grip and drag across your body as you use him, rolling your hips in shapes, occasionally spelling his name out through your gyrations and smiling to yourself as you watch him fall further and further into a mess, hair mussed, mouth agape and eyes tight shut. The skin of his lip is nearly broken open from how much he's bitten and tugged on it, puffy and reddened on his flushed and freckled face. Brett rises and clings back onto you, suddenly shifting his hips and fucking up into you, letting you hear louder slaps of skin against skin while he manhandles you. "M'gonna' cum, gotta' cum can I please cum — I wanna cum so bad, please." he begs, planting kisses at your collarbone and pulse sporadically between broken moans and pants.

- You never expected the reaction nor your own, unable to fight the feeling emanating from your soaked and silken cunt as he fucks up into it, stretching you wide in a way you'll never be tired of. "You can cum, go on and fill me, Brett, wanna' feel you for days. Please Brett, make me feel good." your boy delivers, jackhammering into you and making you cry out, tugging at his hair while his hands plant themselves at your waist in order to maneuver you around, biting deep at your shoulder when he cums with a broken, shattered shout of your name.

- The way his hips stutter in that frantic pattern, battering your cunt that has you squirming and grinding, you cum rapidly and heavily, whiting out and feeling your surroundings blur to nothing as you repeat his name over and over, clawing down his back as he slows and finally stops, holding you impossibly close. You take longer than he does recover and return to the world, head lolled back and breathing heavy, allowing brett to lay the two of you down and upon the pillows, wrestling the comfort and sheets over your sweat-slicked body and his.

- He always wanted to be a part of your life, and now, years later, he can't stop smiling and hasn't stopped since. Your silly, smiling ragdoll of a husband.

Andre Lee: W E R E WO L F

• song: Howlin’ for You - The Black Keys

- Andre was superficially open, not talking of more intimate aspects of his life but being carelessly free with the rest, and the personal factoids and tidbits emerge in passing comments in conversation send your brain whirling.

- he’s never answered any of your questions as to why he avoids full moons or why he’s unreachable during some times of the month, closest you’ve gotten was Myc cracking a joke about menstruation but you know damn well from a fuck ton of personal experience that he’s absolutely packing heat.

- he’d been sick the past few days, not fully present in meetings and a bit light headed. It got shrugged off as side effects from any number of drugs but you knew better. The disregard and dismissals that came from him when you showed concern were what made that worry and concern grow, manifesting and sprawling into a thorny expanse of knots tugging at your conscious, fixated on helping him.

- so you stand before an older home, 1920’s brick masonry hidden behind modern day paint, sidled beside the other brownstones on the block and fish out your key on the chain he gifted you, a little cartoonish duck smiling brightly while flipping you off, and turn the series of locks in the door while balancing some takeout on the other side.

- after several moments, you make it inside and lock back up, setting your keys alongside Andre’s in the bowl near the door and spotting the matching fuck duck keychain and smiling before making your way through the house, easily navigating through the darkness and making it to the kitchen to drop off some takeout for the egg drop soup he always ordered when sick. “Andre?” You get no response, the house quiet and your brows furrow while your lips purse, that worry unfolding again, “sugar? Where are you?” You get no response and your words echo in the house

- you get no response but you hear a groan, muffled and heady, soft and barely heard. But it’s his, and you drop everything in your hands upon the counter and follow the sound, brain a slurry of what ifs and remembering his medical history should you need it. By the time you make it back further in the house and to his bedroom, the doors locked shut. Real shut. You knock harshly and call to him, voice a bit desperate “Andre honey, you okay?”

- “go away.” It’s him, but not, deeper and meaner that the Andre you’re used to. It’s not a deterrent. “Not if you’re not okay, let me in.” You try the doorknob again and he shouts out “it’s not safe for you right now, go away.” He says more but you don’t hear it through the door. “What do you mean it’s not safe, Andre let me in.” you cry back, banging the side of a fist against the door, beating it loudly trying to persuade him to let you in. Probably not the most convincing manner.

- “GO! You’re not supposed to be here, m’gonna hurt you.” confusion could not even begin to explain what was going through your head, throat taut with fear, “Andre, I could give a fuck, I’m not leaving you like this.” He’s pleading in a sad rage, like a storm with no lightning, all thunder, “I don’t want t’hurt you, please, please just go.” You refuse, and say the same before you break the lock on the door then try and come in, not getting through until you back up and ram a shoulder into it once, twice, finally busting it on the third impact.

- he had warned you for good reason, and the yellow eyes that meet your gaze from a huddled, shadowed corner solidify that. “Should’ve run.” comes murky from him, his mouth moving oddly and you realize with horror he’s not in his regular body. It’s a larger, hulking form of shaggy fur in muted brown and chestnut hues, dusted with black and grey into a slurry of fur. A fucking wolfman was not on your list. “Werewolf?”

- “Yeah.”

- “Considering our jobs — this isn’t all too horrifying.” He bares his teeth, canines glinting, “I take that back — somewhat.” Andre chuckles, darker but remains curled in on himself in the corner of the room, staying far away from you. “Why am I not supposed to be here sugar?” You ask softly, stepping hesitantly further into the room and eyeing him warily, unsure about the entirety of this situation and wishing Elliot fucking Mothman had better-prepped staff for other forms of cryptids.

- “‘cause I’ll fuck y’ and I won’t stop.” He growls out, nails digging into knees bare of clothing and covered in fur, “not safe f’you, I could hurt you.” He doesn’t meet your eyes this time, eyes turned away and trying to shrink as far as possible into the corner, wanting to keep you at bay before his senses and instincts took over and took you. Andre doesn’t see you, but he feels you in the room. The way you smell and he puffs of breath, the thud of your heart.

- so he immediately clocks the second your pulse races at his words and how your heart flutters, along with your cunt. Andres eyes snap back to you just in time to see a shy but sensual smile on your lips. “What if I want you to hurt me?” Is what he hears from your lips, and he forces himself to sit still, ignore the erection against his thigh and the urge to fuck you until your womb got stuffed to the brim and he got you knocked up. “You better mean that.”

- “oh,” you strip yourself of your shirt and other clothes swiftly, like a subtle strip tease but far smoother and graceful than anticipated, “I mean it. Show me how much you love me sugar, I can take it.” You walk over to the bed on the other side of the room, curling up against the pillows and grin, spreading your legs and exposing the entirety of yourself, eager to mark off this box on your sexlist checklist. “Fucking better.” Is what Andre responds with, rising slowly and missing the tall ceiling by merely a foot, taking his gangly form towards the bed and closing his eyes, sniffing visibly and having his body falter, your scent encompassing any logic he had left.

- “look at that,” he chitters, teeth making his grin a bit more daunting, “already spread for me. Cute. Now turn around.” Andre orders, lurking before the bed as you shift, resting on your folded forearms and raising your ass in the air. “Good,” he praises, a hand grazing your arched waist while he settles behind you, “couldn’t follow orders earlier, but that’s just because you were worried, hm? Going to be good f’me now. I know it.” Andre settles himself on his knees behind you, arms planted on either side of your torso and he leans atop you, breath fanning your ear as he teases you, makes the eager nerves alight as goosebumps trail across your bare, vulnerable form.

- “gonna’ let me fuck you? Let me bury my cock in your pretty cunt over and over until there’s nothing left in you but me?” He muses, erection tapping at your ass and feeling much heavier than what you’re used to. You hum, trusting him to take care of you and fuck you right. “Mhm, let you stuff me like a fuckin’ brood mare, now please, c’mon and fuck me Andre.” He swats your ass with his hand, watching the fat of it jiggle and your waist bend high, “don’t have to tell me twice.”

- You bite back a few comments the second he brushes his flared, sloped cockhead into the opening of your cunt, the tip alone bringing a stretch of pain. Burying your head in the pillows around your forearms, you mewl and whimper aloud tossing both your head and your ass back. Andre’s one hand is beside your torso to plant himself while the other is on your hip, guiding your hips back towards him so he can slowly enter and sink his cock into you. "Atta' babe" he croons, breath fanning across your back in a way that makes your spine tingle.

- He lets out a whine that huffs hot air across your spine, sinking in his cock as much as your cunt can fit, several inches still untended to between where the two of you meet. His balls brush your clit when he bottoms out, and he stills, Andre's restless lungs beating his chest into your back and you can feel him through and through. "Fuck, tight little cunt, gonna' fucking break it." Andre groans low and heady as he begins to rock back and forth, in a humping motion that sends his balls smacking into your clit with little pats, making you grateful a hand now plays underside and holds your belly while the other holds him up, your body on the precipice of collapse with the angle, the feeling, all of it.

- "fucking stuff me," you blurt, pathetically trying to rock your hips back into his and you cry out each time, bulbous cockhead nudging your cervix with each shift, feeling him in your guts, "breed me full, knock me up." These were words you had used previously during sex with him, the concept not being new, only to the situation at hand. With Andre being fueled by rampant urges and instincts, barely holding on, your words were like an on-switch that sends him immediately pressing you into the bed and snapping his hips roughly, snarling. into the skin of your neck like he's on a mission, and in a way, he is. Meant to mate.

- "ah, oh fuck, Andre." you keep crying out his name between crying out incoherencies, encompassed by the way he absolutely fucked the breath from your lungs, knocking everything out of you and then drawing it back in just as he slots in, and out of your drenched, dripping cunt, slick now sprawling from his dick and balls, your thighs, to the torn and tossed sheets beneath. There's a fleeting, barely conscious thought of now knowing why sex was called the beast with two backs, the words of Othello never even a full thought as you get plowed from behind.

- oh yeah, you were never going to leave him to deal with a full moon alone, not if this is what your good deeds and diligence get you - being bent over like a broodmare and fucked like it's a need to survive, to breathe. You are livin' good.

- "taking me so damn well, gonna' pump you full, fill you over and over until others no space inside that I haven't covered." he rambles, hurried and frenzied and deep in pitch, snapping his hips rapidly as the sound of skin slapping melts into a blur with the heavy pants and breaths, the snarls and moans and groans the two of you let out, animalistic and primal, fucking elite and top tier in your honest, raw-dogged opinion. "Gonna' give you a child, claim this fucking pussy, all of it, s'all mine."

- You groan out, burying your head in your forearms and feeling his weight atop you, the way he keeps bullying his giant dick into you and fucking you apart, working you like dough in the way he works you over. "Like that? Like me marking you up, being Andre's breeding bitch?" he snarls, sounding so potent in your ear where his head hovers, splayed across your back while his hips do the work.

-"Just feel that," he murmurs, hand pressing into the fat of your belly to press against where he thrusts into you, making you squeal into the pillows as he shows off, his demeanor so contrasting than how he usually is, even in a raging fuck, "gonna' fill you to the brim, baby, already stretching you wide. Belly full of me."

- "God, please — fuck," you're babbling, fucked out and quote literally drooling upon your forearms and the pillows holding your head up, as backing into his thrusts and mewling with the brush of his balls against your clit, everything wet and sloppy, "wanna' be bred, wanna' be yours — I wanna' be yours." Andre lets out snarling laughs, darker than abyssal skies, into your shoulder blades which he litters with nips and bites of sharp teeth, little pinpricks adding to the utter euphoria of getting absolutely pounded.

- "gonna cum, arent'ya?" he drawls, leaning to huff through his nose near your ear and you smell him, sex and musk and earthy amber, you wanna drown in it. "Go on, soak this cock so I can fuck you stupid." It takes a few thrusts later, but you do and you absolutely blackout, the world turning into a white canvas that slowly lifts as you feel Andre fucking into you, pace hurried and faltering as he babbles rapidly, stitching together curses and praise like an ornamental garland.

- Cum is absolutely pouring at that point, rivulets stuck in smears across your ass and thighs, drenching his balls and making them smack wetly against the mouth of your cunt. He's come already at least twice by the load of it and is working on a third orgasm that makes your ass ripple with the force behind his thrusts. "All mine, no one gets to see this, have this, my pretty mate." he's talking to just himself at this point, assuring insecurities while nearly fucking you through the mattress, hell it's a miracle the bedframe hasn't broken. Or the wall.

- You whimper and moan weakly, just taking it at this point because all you feel in your bones is the warmth of orgasmic bliss, full lethargy and no intent to move, feeling so sated and tender than you could simply pass away with a beaming, I just had sex grin that would out do anyone else's, besides Andre's. What plucks the strings of reality a bit is a moment his teeth latch onto your shoulder, marking rows of teeth into a bite marking you as his. He fucks you through it, coming with a shout of your name that is more of a gravelly howl than anything, cum literally flooding your cunt and dripping down everywhere, making a mess of everything.

- Andre's near whimpering, fucking into you weakly while his erection softens inside you, laying on top of your form before wrapping his arms around and having you both shift onto your sides, him spooning your considerably smaller form in his considerably sized state, completely enveloping you in his hold, warmth, and love, soothing your fucked-out and pumped-full state onto the precipice of slumber.

- "M'love you." he mutters into your neck, nuzzling against your pulse as his arms coil around your belly, ensuring you stay in his arms and snug around his dick, "love you too." is what you reply, sounding not like your own voice in the exhausted, airy lilt. It's the last thing you remember before being woken up in the morning to an apologetic and scruffy Andre, back to normal with a plate of breakfast in hand.

- "Andre, honey, we are definitely going to be doing that again."

Robotus Alpha-Beta: D E M O N

• songs: Devil’s Advocate - The Neighborhood or Have A Cigar - Pink Floyd

• fanart: by @olexxx right here

- you’re desperate, and tired of calling after things in the light and day that don’t answer. You now call out for and beg for something from the night, standing in the crossroads with a box of offerings in your hands and a plea so heavy on your tongue it weighs you down like an anchor to a boat, dividing the seas currents in cleaverlike strokes. Crying out into the night, screaming for an answer, yelling out that you’ve done the right things brought the right stuff, made the right calls, you’re frustrated and distressed in the middle of this night, clad in clothing that the wind whips around your form, slinky against your chest and thighs. You’re a vision of desperation in this witching hour, and who would he be to deny your broken-hearted, bargaining pleas?

- “mighty pathetic looking, aren’t you, pretty thing.” He strolls out from the tree line, hands in his pockets of the seersucker suit he wears, hiding his eyes in the shadows while he meanders his way over dirt path and dandelions, plants dying in the markers where his footprints lay. “Pray tell, what brings you to my spacious lay of the woods?” He drones, and you’re too consumed in your own ordeals to fully analyze his appearance and demeanor, ready to bargain and barter down to the bones should it go that far.

- “I just wanna’ deal. That’s all.” You start, laying the tin box down on the ground between the two of you where you stand in the clay dirt and ash of the crossroad, pitch black sans the one flickering, sad looking streetlamp. “What will you take for sparing someone’s life?” Is what comes from your lips next, and he’s almost surprised at the dedication you show in selflessness, musing to himself in the ongoing internal dialogue that you should get one of those flimsy gold stars.

- “Depends on a lot my dear,” the demon drawls, hands gesturing in a manner that reminds you of evangelical television preachers or cable game show hosts, “who am I curing and what ails your beloved patient?” He picks the dirt from his fingernails and you wish you pry out the nails from that tin box you got from a coffin, and force them one by one into his skull for his nonchalance, his disinterest in a deal that meant more than the world to you.

- “my friend, she’s sick. Cancer. I want her cured and for her to live a healthy life and die naturally of old age. What will you accept in exchange?” You’re direct, straight and to the point, shoulders squared and eyes flint and steel, fire flickering in the shards of your irises. Refusing to let him abuse a loophole, you’ve stressed every requirement and plan — ramming the nails in straight. “Straight to the point, I like that.” He drawls, crooked grin smarmy and slimy in the snake oil style, making you envision car dealerships and the price is right but shrouded in brimstone and fire. “The question isn’t what I’ll ask of you, but what you’re willing to offer, dear.”

- he claps his hands together, a MontBlanc pen appearing in his hand and a weathered paper, looking older than your entire bloodline in the way it looks like if the wind blew a fraction harsher, it’d disintegrate. “Alright pet, lay your offers on the table and I’ll see what I’ll accept — but remember,” the demon before you with sky blue eyes pauses, looking like a walking business advert with his suit and tie, shiny cufflinks and a glittering Patek Philippe watch, “no promises.”

- you bite back the myriad of things you’d like to say to this bastard in human flesh-trimmings, but you need your friend more than anything. She’s your world. You’d give your own up for her, and you plan to do exactly that. “My entire self —“ he raises his brows, lips splitting into an amused grin and attempts to interrupt, but you wave a hand and fix him a look, the don’t fuck with me while I’m talking stare, “for part of the week, for the rest of my natural, long and healthy life. You’ll get Tuesday through Thursday, and I will be free to do what I wish the remainder of the week, every week. Sans holidays which I get to myself.”

- he’s still smiling as if it’s within the job application but looks about as pained as if he’s suddenly contracted a bout of irritable bowel syndrome. “And you’re completely mine the entirety of those three days, the full 72 hours?” You nod, face as polished as stone, equally as cold and ungiving. Hes never encountered a wayward soul like yours. Intrigue mars his mind more that he’d care to admit, but it makes the results of bartering so much better. “We have a deal then.”

- he scrawls in loopy old fashioned cursive, slanted and sloped in a manner that reminds you of history class, and fills in the blanks of his document signing your life away to him. He flattens the paper, then signs it himself and hands it to you to sign as well. You spot the larger A and B initials, shortened to AB, but can’t make out the last name, only the large R and the mussed squiggles behind it. Doctorish scrawl, hasty and impatient.

- you sign your signature and life away, not regretting it the instant you get a series of texts from your friend, her energy and liveliness returning in an instant. You pocket your phone then get dragged forward by the elbows, calloused fingertips and softened palms cup your cheeks before drawing you into a fleeting kiss. He pulls away and before you can act, he vanishes in a cloud of ash and dust, the contract within your grip and an emptied tin box at your feet. A kiss to seal the deal.

- you don’t see him until the next week, spending your time with your loved ones and with your best friend, cherishing and relishing in how she’s safe and healthy again and she would always be. The chime of reality rings twelve times, the man appearing in a click of loafers against the tile floors outside your apartment and wraps of his knuckles against the front door, coming to collect you. You’re alone and have been, making sure to be in the comfort of solitude once your first day as a demon’s bitch begins. AB opens the door and strolls in, hands in the pockets of some pinstripe slacks and a chain dangling from near his hand to a slim pocket on his suit vest, thin white stripes against navy fabric making his already tall form elongate.

- the demon struts in with the casual air of devil-may-care, eyes like a cats in how they’re languid but attentive, drawing everything in and sitting until something interesting pulls his direct attention forth. “Quite a home you’ve got here, just you?” AB muses, sauntering with the air of a spoiled house cat. “Yes, just me, now can we get on with whatever you have entailed for my next 72 hours, the suspense Y’know, got me absolutely hooked.” You respond, end of your sentence dripping in sarcasm like a freshly immersed pen nib into an inkwell and equally as dark.

- “impatient too, aren’t you just a bag of tricks,” he muses, lulling and faux cadence in a demon's silver tongue taste, “all in due time. Best to wait and see you squirm.” AB stands before a bookcase, fingertips tapping along spines of books then dusting over a picture frame with your friend, weary Polaroids paling in comparison to this snapshot of her and you several years ago, faces lit in the warmth of lanterns in summer sunset. He holds it longer than he’d deem appropriate, and he doesn’t seem to care or know why.

- “are you always this articulate or does it come with the Armani suit?” You snap, knee bouncing as you sit on the couch, lips chapped from how frequently you’ve gnawed on them in your nervous state, wanting to lose your sanity but unfortunately finding yourself incredibly lucid and stable. Against all odds. “Naturally, pretty thing, some creatures possess decorum and manners — I see you speak from inexperience.” He teases, setting the frame down and wiping his hands on his slacks, adjusting the cufflinks that glitter with initials laid in obsidian and platinum.

- He continues speaking, giving you no opening once more to speak or further deride the demon before you, meandering about your home as if he was not just showing the place, but was trying to sell it as a realtor and making the process as painfully personal as possible. "Do you have a tendency to get squeamish or easily frightened?" "I doubt it, due to how there's a demon I'm casually conversing with, so I'm going to have to say no."

- He chuckles darkly, and you see a glimmer in those glacier eyes of something far colder, and you mark it down for later. "Clever, but such a costly trait. Mind your tongue." You sit and take it in stride, having been braced for an overgrown petulant toddler playing around in daddy's suits. "Since you're being so patient," he mocks, he rolls his sleeves to the forearms after shucking off his jacket and snapping it away in a move that makes you think of hammerspace, "we'll get started. You are to shadow me as I go about dealing. Mind your tongue, presence, and entire demeanor. You are here to help me, gain insight on a modern human mind and soul, not to aid anyone but me due to how I control something far greater than your own life."

- He doesn't hesitate to gut you in the way you've been hung out to dry, hollowed like a side of beef swinging from a hook in a walk-in freezer, dripping onto a frozen floor in tandem with your bravado slipping. AB glances over your expression and smiles, childish and juvenile in a charming, redeemable fratboy sort of way. "Alrighty, now let's get you started."

- and with a snap of his fingers, the two of you began the first day of deals. It flew by, as they all would, you watching from the sidelines or removed from sight to watch as a deal went down. You could clock the bastards who were overly cocky, thinking they could outsmart someone so much older than them it was like the universe looking upon Earth's moon. Planet to sand grains. Pathetic - no match.

- the souls would fade one by one and you would spend your hours prior to the deal observing them from the outskirts in strangers behaviors, deception now a part of your ensemble in equal to your rings or shirt. "Did you observe me before we struck my deal?" you had asked later on in the duration of your servitude, roughly a year into your partial work weeks under the eye and lens of the demon. He laughed, a chiding yet lilting sound that resembled when storm clouds rumbled when the sun still shone, "Oh absolutely I did, my dear, quite entertaining and almost heartwrenching the way you went about your plans. Absolutely precious."

- AB speaks over his cocktail, Pappy Van Winkle bourbon dark and syrupy in the basin of his Waterford crystal glass, sliding about the thick ice cube like molasses, "I will say you have been the most entertaining of my companions in a long time." The way he says it lingers and you assume it's longer than you could perceive, centuries being seconds to the being beside you. It is a fleeting moment of wistfulness before he clocks his newest wayward soul and stalks forward, running a hand through his hair and barely messing his strands up, the greying streaks in his auburn hair falling upon his forehead like a staged motion, queued up to go for a movie scene.

- You tried not to watch more than you needed to when having to help him with his deals, but this time in the low light of a seedy corner alley bar, he glittered like the cufflinks he always wore. Dark obsidian and platinum, simple yet something so potent about it resembled him. If you hadn't sold your life away to the entity, he'd resemble a side character from American Psycho, far too charming to make it into the main role. It was harder to hate him than how he looked, the manner in which you dealt your days away gave you your friend back and a more stable life, albeit the hellish tasks.

- You didn't quite care for how much you cared for him, why you get enamored with him and all that he encompassed. It was disastrous and bordering a Stockholm syndrome, or at least that's what you told yourself when indulging in ice cream and childhood movies. What worsened your situation was an event that occurred in your off hours, out with friends and enjoying yourself in a night of freedom and levity. It went wrong, as you assumed it could, but had not expected the situation to unfold as it had nor the end result to your night.

- "I still don't understand, you crushing on your boss? Understandable, not doing shit about it, perplexes the fuck outta' me." Rory, a friend from high school mentions and brought a series of laughs from your booth at the club. "It's improper-" You're suddenly cut off. "Since when did you ever give a shit about proper?" another friend chimes in, and you sigh before downing the remnants of the drink before you. You get up, go to the bar to get a drink and avoid the terrible topic along with trying to escape the environment altogether. It's not your scene, too loud and overwhelming. It gets even worse after the initial sips of your drink when the world turns hazy and you don't know where you're going, nor whos leading you away.

- "Move them this way, out of the light - there, I told you no one was going to find us here." one of the two figures surrounding your hazy, barely conscious form voices, the other laughing along as they work at your shirt before a dark laugh comes from the opening of the alley, and a glint of polished silver meets the glare of a streetlamp. Its something out of a noir film but you're relieved when you hear his voice, trying to sit up and failing. His name falls from your lips, faint and sad sounding, and his glacier eyes melt away into a darkness never seen before even in the furthest of depths within the oceans.

- It takes no time for him to dispatch the two who had drugged you, the rage pouring off of him in waves you can almost see, even in your bleary state. It's as if someone coated your brain in a fog and dipped it in some liquid nitrogen. "Oh, pretty thing, what have they done to you." is what he says when he crouches near your form, bloodstained but almost holy, a savior without wings. You try and answer but he shushes you, lifting you into his arms securely with the strength beneath his tall, barrel-chested form. The two of you dissipate from the alley and leave behind blood trails no one will find, bodies gone as well to languish on hooks in rings of hellfire AB will personally see to.

- The next thing you recall after being saved up in his arms is waking in a bed far too luxurious to be your own, and enveloped in silky sheets and even silkier pajamas, deep navy blue wrapped around your form so comfortably you just snuggle back into the pillows before you fully wake to reality with a start, remembering what almost happened and sitting up, flying out of bed and wandering out to figure out where the fuck you were.

- "there you are, dear, feeling okay?" is what greats you, AB sitting at a couch reading from a book that once again looks more ancient than your entire bloodline, genuine concern feeding into his expression and making you blink, sleep still laden in your heavy eyelids begging you to go back to sleep. "You saved me." he shrugs off your comment, rising to meet your form in the doorway and taking you by the shoulders, trying to turn you around back into the bed you left. "Go on to bed, I'll bring you something-" he fixes you a look, "its an order, go rest. Your loved ones know you're safe and sound. Now, bed."

- You fall back asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow, and the next time you wake there's a change of clothes on a chair near the bed, a plate of food on the nightstand, and a pitcher of water with clean glasses readily available. In no rush, you take your time eating and then getting ready before padding barefoot out into the home you find yourself in, spotting AB finally in a kitchen you'd drool over in an issue of Architectural Digest. "There you are, rested?" you nod, cupping your glass of water in your hands and seating yourself down at a barstool beside the kitchen island, glancing around at the sprawling chef's kitchen, "they've been taken care of." AB trails off, in a casual button-down and slacks, leaning against the countertop with his arms crossed over his chest, taking a second before he looks over at you with steely, ice eyes.

- "No harm will ever come to you." your brows furrow at that, wondering why he would care so much about a person he literally owns. You voice it out loud and he guffaws, looking at you incredulously as if the answer was always there, and in a way, it had been. "Dear, you're mine. Contract bound and now, by design. No one ever lays a hand on you let alone exists a second afterwards." The glass in your hand is set down and you lean back in your chair, staring at him and wondering if the entirety of the past months of partnership you were not the lone one pining. He validates it when he approaches and falters, warming once you breach the gap and take his hand into your smaller one.

- You finally break, grasping for him and hugging him close as his bulkier form bends to hold you, knees bent in order to acclimate to your seated position. He rubs your back as you shudder and shake, warm broad hands soothing you down and facing you until he kneels and looks up at you. "I promise you, you're safe." and you want to say you believe him, but you still don't feel it, just take his hand off your knee and imbed it into your heart so he can feel how it beats, how the fear creeps into your lungs like an infection. there's no need, for he cups your cheek and tilts your chin to meet his gaze. Then it's over.

- the waiting ends, and he kisses you, tender and delicate and something so utterly unlike him that it takes you aback, almost slack-jawed for a millisecond before you realize it's him kissing you and you relish in it, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him closer until he's caged you in, safe from harm. He groans, and you part your legs at the sound, letting him fully press against you in the chair and wrap around you. "My pretty thing." AB groans against your lips, and you whimper at the sound of it so broken on his tongue, so different than the calculated and meticulous tone he took.

- "Prove it" is what flies from your lips as you bite his, feeling him grin darkly against your mouth as he lifts you into his, different from the bridal carry form the other night with how he hefts a handful of your ass into his palms while your legs wrap around his waist while he carries you into the other room. "Gladly." is whispered once he deposits you into a lavish dark bed, his own, and strips himself of his shirt and bares a chest scattered in auburn hair matching in grey streaks like his head, making you wonder about what lies lower.

- He doesn't make you wait long, and he strips himself of his boxers and pants, planting himself above you and grinning at how you observe his body and movements, letting you gasp in surprise once he lets a shudder roll through and some red markings reveal themselves, cuffs and bands of red marks paired with inscriptions of languages so old they outdated writing itself. You trace a few as he undresses you, mouth over them lavishly and kiss them tenderly, trying to show and give all the love you can to make up for what he's missed.

- "Never going to let anyone touch you," he murmurs, breathless against your skin as if he's the one rendered weak before you, "only mine, m'all yours. Gonna' keep you safe and sound." AB's wrecked already and he's hardly touched you let alone himself, the evidence leaking and resting heavily upon your now bare thigh. You feel not just safe and content, but powerful and hungry, greedy for what lies within arms reach. You get granted a freedom in his presence finally, and you take every step in stride.

- "All mine," purrs your voice in his ear, tugging on auburn locks and feeling your body thrum like musical cords when he groans low and deep, reverberating from a barrel chest that covers your form, "going to make me feel good? Treat me right, make a mess of me? Show me just how much you actually care and that I'll always be yours? Go ahead, AB, give me your all."

- "All?" he growls darkly against the column of your throat, nearly snarling if it wasn't for the pleased smirk present with teeth with slight points, "oh dearest, ask for more, don't you know I'd give you everything?" he murmurs low stripping you fully bare and letting rough and calloused palms from another lifetime's work wander your body, mapping out your skin like a cartographer. At that moment the words were euphoric enough, but his hips grinding against yours until he slotted against your weeping cunt was the emphasis to your already wavering body, the final blow to your grip on reality. Oh, what a plunge it was.

- AB rocks against you, forehead knelt down against your collarbone in a piousness akin to prayer and nudges his swollen cock against your cunt, hips grinding once, twice, before he slides into you and fills you. It's a stretch that makes you cry out, nails embedded in his skin near his markings as you whimper and cry out his name. Your chest squirms and your hips remain stilled, his broad hands encompassing your hips as he does so. With his head against your shoulder, he gets to see himself disappear into your slick-soaked pussy, and the sight is too moving for his eyes to handle. Thumbs bruise your hipbones while he stills then asks you questions he repeats several times before you process them, already hazy and fucked out and he hadn't even actually fucked you yet.

- "May I move?" your body reacted before you could even form a response, legs shifting so you can take him in deeper and fuck up back onto him, nearly squealing out as you feel him absolutely stuff your cunt, walls clenching and sending the both of you into a hurried frenzy. "There's your answer." you bite, literally and figuratively as your teeth sink into his ear. His hips stutter and you smirk, so proud of yourself before locking your legs and rolling him beneath you, still seated on his cock but now residing on top, beaming down at him with your hands planted on his marked, hair-covered chest.

- You don't even warn him before you slam your hips down, relishing in how he jolts and buckles, eyes shutting then opening back up, so torn between the feel of you and how you look, an angel of his own making seated above him and using him like a throne, getting yourself off and being nothing short of resplendent. AB thrusts his hips up to meet your grinds and ministrations, one hand splayed across your ribcage while the other snakes down to rub at your clit, beaming with pride when he feels you shudder and falter.

- "You're so pretty." comes broken from the demon beneath you, reduced to merely a man with the way you use him, treat him, love him and fuck him all at once, centuries worth of longing packed away emerging forth into glacier eyes now as warm as spring skies, and the look he gives you sends you over the edge as a crushing blow. He catches you, sitting up and wrapping his arms around you as the orgasmic, earth-shattering waves take you under. He anchors you, falteringly weak thrusts getting him to where you are in seconds, cumming and stuffing you full with a cracking groan against your heated flesh.

- He holds you, sitting upright with his arms wound around your torso and holding tight, hands splayed across your back and side as your head nestles into the crook of his, nose at his pulse and smelling hints of rosemary and bergamot and ash, and you burrow closer, wanting to sink into him like bed, he's more comforting than down comforters and pillows anyhow. It takes a while before the witness behind your eyes fades, his humming being what plucks you forth from an orgasmic abyss and you smile against his skin, soaking up the silence and him breaking it.

- "About that contract-" you joke, and AB laughs breathlessly before turning to you with a devious smirk, hands wandering and eliciting a squeaking moan from your lips, "I think I'd be open to renogiation." he murmurs, breath fanning across your mouth before your lips meet his and he hums, licking into your mouth and staking claim to it just as he had you.

Magic Myc: Z O M B I E

• song: Under My Skin - Jukebox The Ghost

- You'd been there when Myc's dead body got carted in. There were more people making jokes, cruelly grateful for his absence compared to the small group that actually missed him, and mourned him. And you were one of the very few who loved him enough to grieve his loss in such a manner it would even overpower the longing of the moon should it ever lose the sun and stars.

- He wasn't everyone's taste, hell, he was barely your taste. But you still loved him anyway and trying to work, eat, and live without him got harder and harder since he got eradicated from your life as swiftly as one strikes down a cleaver against a cutting board, final, irreversible. Permanent.

- You had thankfully been granted leave, getting enough pitying looks to send you to the comforts of home only to realize that home made it worse. All his things were there, little knickknacks and gag gifts Myc had gathered over the years, polaroids taped to the walls with glimpses of misadventures. One that gutted you the most was a picture of you, Andre, and Myc, the two of you smiling wide while Myc lifted the two of you up for the picture, all flipping off the camera and laughing like hyenas.

- Andre had been a rock of support, the two of you leaning on each other to cope and work through the loss, not knowing how to handle the loss, Andre losing a best friend and you losing a lover. It crushed you, the chasm of grief and depression consuming you whole, entangling your ankles and dragging you down in the depths like being snared in a siren's trap.

- the point where you broke down wholly and entirely, letting out ugly cries with the snot and tear tracks, getting puffy with reddened eyes in the freedom of your home. A formerly shared home is now all yours. The brownstone mocked you, once an inviting and fun space now too bright and whimsical to be fitting for one mourning a lover. A friend. A soulmate.

- in the midst of your breakdown and rattling full-body tremors, you don't hear the back door locks slowly turn one by one, the keys only belonging to one person, long dead. You don't hear something entering your home and locking back up, in the perfectly redundant routine that belonged to an everyday pattern. You don't hear Myc return into your life because you're too busy crying about him leaving it.

- "I leave for five seconds and you've already gone batshit - damn and I thought I had problems" his voice startles you, making you nearly fall off of the couch when you whip your head around to stare at him, eyes wide and mouth agape in disbelief. "You're not real." is the first thing you utter, terrified to move in case the illusion your grief-wracked mind conjured would dissipate and vanish, leaving you alone in your loss and the empty house, pathetic and sad enough to best a wet kitten.

- "You'd think that, but here I am, alive and unwell." Myc responds, sarcasm prominent but still an underlying fond tone only belonging to him comes out. It's rougher, dirtier almost in a backroad gravel kind of way like his vocal cords got tossed through a concrete mixer. "Gonna' say hello or what?" he teases, gesturing with a tendril or two and extending them, wanting a hug from his favorite person. You practically leap over the back of the couch in an effort to reach him, launching yourself into his body and nestling your head on the underside of the mushroom cap, feeling fanning gills brush the top of your head in addition to the bulbous partial veil that glows and humms against your head.

- He still smells like earth and musk, pollen and petals. and weed, and you've never been more relieved to smell the absolutely pungent aroma of weed in your life, laughing while you cry into where his neck would be. "You think I would just ditch you? No way, stuck with me for the rest of your little life, shitheel." Myc mutters, bumping your nose tenderly with a blunt nudge of a tendril, making your nose scrunch and a smile appear on your puffy, crying face.

- "wait, how are you even here?" you ask, leaning your head back enough to look at him in the dim light of your home, shadows cast over his form and hiding the majority of it sans little segments and divots of bioluminescence and ornate patterns. "You died Myc, how in the fuck are you even alive?"

- he doesn't immediately answer, and you step back to pace with a hand running down your face, immediately ranting and getting wrapped up in the concept of Cognito Inc. doing another stupid and silly science project without considering ramifications and wondering just how this will blow up once more when it concerns the love of your life, Myc.

- when he's remained silent, not saying a word in the midst of your rant about Reagan and how she's got to stop playing god, you realize he hasn't said a word and turn to find him standing very still and looking down to his tentacles as if in deep thought. Worrying, consuming, deep thought.

- "I-," he starts, moving to turn in your direction, almost looking past you, or through you, making your anger fade as concern takes over, "I don't know."

- You haven't been this worried in a long, long time. "Honey, what do you mean you don't know?" Your concern multiplies, swarming nervous moths within the cage of a chest you have, fluttering in your ribcage and making your bones itch. "Myc, do you remember getting here?".

- the uncharacteristic silence speaks enough volumes to have filled a home library, making you send a few hurried texts to the gang group chat and ignoring the silly contact names in lieu of finding a solution to this as fast as possible and trying to keep Myc stable. You turn and flick a lamp on, unable to find reason in the darkness, and barely stop the scream that almost fled your throat.

- "I just wanted to see you, I don't know how I got here-" he pauses, unaware of the terror in your eyes and the tears welling along the seams of your lower lids, threatening to overflow with the sight of him, "I just wanted you."

- You wish you were crying for other reasons beyond the sight of him, maybe even some happy tears with how he came to you because he loves you, dragged his undead self all the way to your backdoor to you.

- You cry instead at the state of him, the chunks of flesh and tissue missing, the greenish ghastly hue to his surface, tears and gouges in places where his body's mass would fill. He is dead. undead technically, and in your shared home's living room sounding close to tears himself with how confused he sounds and you're just about to break down at how butchered he looks. He is yours, and he was supposed to be fine always. Why did this happen, and why to your Myc.

- He says your name, and it is so broken it doesn't suit him. Myc's a jovial, mocking asshole that makes you feel loved, even with pet names accompanied by curse words and expletives. You respond to a few more texts and enlist the help of Reagan and ask Andre and him to come immediately. You barely have the energy to continue standing, so you absolutely don't have the strength to deal with this alone.

- You gather him close, sitting the two of you down on the couch and just try and breathe, sit there with each other and pretend things will all be okay and wait in the meantime for Reagan and Andre to appear in order to get some ideas going on what to do or how to go about this entire situation, the others on standby and there for support should you need it. You've never been more thankful for the friends you have.

- "M'not going to leave you." Myc says, determination steady within his now weathered voice, as if it was skinned and tanned like an animal hide in the sun, "I don't wanna' go." Your hands grip him tighter as your fingertips trace over patterns and textures on his surface, humming a note against the light within his partial veil beneath the cap.

- "Nothing could take me from you, and I won't let anything take you from me either." is what you choose to comfort him with, knowing that humor was a strong suit and that comedy wasn't something to include just yet, reality to raw to disinfect with the sting of punchlines.

- Andre and Reagan soon arrive, disbelief covering their features the instant they enter the door and a litany of questions follow with Andre's tears as he and Myc hug, bubbly watery giggles erupting forth from both him and you at the relief. Reagan pokes and prods, then takes notes from what you could tell, and remains as confused as you are.

- after a while and many frustrating moments, the two leave back to their respective lives. Andre promises to come the next day and Reagan plans to run tests bright and early tomorrow. Nevertheless, the night is yours with him and the two of you alone. You try and make the best of it by familiarizing yourself with the way it felt to be enveloped with Myc, to feel those tendrils around your frame holding you close.

- and as with all things with Myc, it turned sexual suddenly and rapidly, making you appreciate his ease in removing you from a current situation with his attention, touch, and care. A gift tethered in mycelial networks and fungi.

- the two of you don't even make it to the bedroom, Myc being so eager to have you in any which way, he fucks you on the floor against the plush living room carpet, letting you know how thankful he is for your precious ass in his life (both literally and figuratively) as he fucks you to delirium.

- next thing you know, you have his voice in your ear while two tendrils splay your bare thighs open, tentacles notched in the crook of your knee and thigh as he pumps the tips of three appendages in and out of you, commenting and praising you for how slick you are and how welcoming your cunt is to him, like a homecoming once your greedy pussy sucks him in like even your spongy inner walls missed him.

- "god you're so fucking wet, all for me right? getting all gushy and messy for me only." his words hit just the right buttons, perched and murmured right beside your ear as he thrums, twisting the tips of his appendages within you and barely showing signs of him being affected. The two little tendrils that have collected droplets of slick tease and prod at your ass, occasionally breaching the tight ring of muscle and allowing Myc the pleasure of hearing that broken, higher pitched cry you moaned out with his name on your tongue, grinding into his ministrations and begging for more.

- "mhmm, all for you Mikey," you moan softly, brokenly, in a way so soft it competes against battered butterfly wings, "all yours, always yours, even m'pussy." He laughs, fucking you harder at that like a reward, groaning happily and letting the waves of pleasure spread rather than him holding back and halting his own enjoyment. Now he can fuck you.

- “damn fucking straight.” He curses, fucking you with earnest while he sits behind you, feeling flush and warm while he feels you tense and clench around him. Then follow suit once he breaches your ass, fucking into you shallowly and slowly there, easing himself in and loving the way your jaw falls slack and your hips seem to have a mind of their own. You prop your feet at an angle and use it to better fuck yourself on the makeshift cock and tendrils of Myc’s appendages, loving how you felt him in both holes and stuffed full, practically gushing around him and soaking the couch cushion beneath the two of you.

- good thing they’re washable.

-“all mine, always gonna’ be mine.” He mutters, movements stuttering as he nears orgasm but tries to hold out, “my baby gonna’ let me stuff them full? Until it leaks, hm?” You nod, voicing a yes against the skin of his closest to you and cry out once his tendrils brush at your cervix as you grind down and thrust back and forth against him.

- “please Myc, wanna’ cum, want your cum, want you to make me feel good.” You drawl in a plead, hands smoothing over him beneath you and sliding up and down his cock, reaching a hand to play with your clit until he smacks it away and replaces it with an appendage and shakily strokes and he gets closer to cumming. He shakes beneath you, Myc shuddering and stuttering once he voices his nearing euphoria.

- he cums, flooding your cunt and having it spill forth, pollock-like flecks of cum splattering your inner thighs and allowing you to slide better and take him in, cumming shortly after with a scream of his name and an orgasm that lasted nearly a solid minute, senses gone and world as white as fresh snowfall.

- there’s silence for a moment, your back resting against his front, tendrils not still inside you caressing and tending to your sweaty, tired body. “Hey, hon?” He draws you out of your reverie to turn to look at him, “pretty good for a dead man.”

- “fuck off, dear god.”

- Myc cackles and leans back into the couch cushions and pillows, and the joy that thrums in your heart soothes the ache of his death, loving him in any state, even when he’s being a little shit.

—Happy Halloween—

Tags: @cognitosclowns @radioactivebowtie @mollicutes @carnalcringe @bluebaronness @flyingspicerack

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triplenuggetshowdown · 1 year

Text

List of insane dndads moments because there are so many:

- ron successfully hiding in his pants

- the entire character of scam likely and his introduction. Insane Anthony move

- trapping a man in a door and putting hologram pants on his head so that he looks like just pants from both sides (i cant read this without laughing)

- "I silence his ass with a kiss!"

- hermie revealed as a theatre kid preparing for the role of the joker

- mambo #5 is a plot point

- The fucking battle of the band's. Ron's nat 20, nick and glenn stealing the car, henry answering the scam likely call. a perfect storm.

- Pyramid explosion during the lord of chaos arc. Iconic darryl moments

- darryl going back in time WITHOUT the dms knowledge and the players editing the actual podcast episode forever. Iconic darryl moments 2

- beheading a high level vampire they were NOT SUPPOSED BE ABLE TO KILL with a fanny pack

- using the extending sword as a pole vault during the 1st grandaddies fight + using the orbs to teleport the kids (this was just rad honestly)

- the deck of many things: Glenn kills a squirrel, levels up, summons death, gets trapped in guitar

- not to mention scamlikely return and immediate alignment change into wellactually

- SIBLING FIGHT! Ashley and anthony using embarrassing fan fic as the greatest weapon. Glenn and jodie start fighting for no reason. Wait what's canon and what's not? I love this epsiode

- Ron's friend beth may played by Anthony burch

#i love this podcast #dungeons and daddies #dndads #dndads season 2 #dndads odyssey

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carlsdarling · 10 months

Note

pregnancy fics are sooo cute!! what about carl x pregnant reader (can be his or someone else’s) where she’s starting to visibly show and carl finds it soo hot

New beginning

Y/N is pregnant and her boyfriend is not thrilled when she starts to visibly show. But Carl finds it just sooo hot... Bit of a plot, then sex. Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw, pregnancy sex, unprotected sex

You were out on the veranda crying. Jared, the guy you came to Alexandria with who also made you pregnant, had just told you how off-putting he thought it was that you were really starting to show your pregnancy. You were now in the sixth month and could no longer hide the fact that your belly was growing. As if you hadn't suffered from the effects of pregnancy yourself: Your jeans would no longer fit and you had to resort to dresses, your breasts were twice as big as they had been a few weeks ago; they ached and strained, your ankles were always swelling and you felt nauseous every day.

Jared enjoyed the big breasts, but not the big belly. It was as if you had made that baby on your own! He even told you to reduce your food intake so as not to gain more weight. At first you thought he would follow you outside and apologize, but that wasn't the case. You left the veranda to take a walk around Alexandria. After all, should Jared be worried and come searching for you (which he probably wouldn't). You wondered unhappily if Glenn was saying such spiteful things to Maggie, too, or if Rick had ever said them to Lori. But you doubted it. Now that you and the rest of your group were safe, it turned out that Jared was not the person you had thought he was all along. He was now beginning to show his true self. Earlier in the evening, he had shamelessly tried to flirt with Ron's girlfriend Enid, but she had brushed him off.

Sadly, you walked through the streets of the city. There weren't many people around at this time of night, and you were thinking about maybe going to see Enid to talk to her. Maybe you could spend the night there. Because you weren't sure what to do next with you and Jared. Arriving outside Enid's house, you realized that she and Ron were probably already asleep - everything was dark. "Great," you sniffled, and turned discouraged to go back home.

"Hey, Y/N," you heard a voice and were startled. You saw Carl standing on the dark street and then he came towards you.

"Hi, Carl," you said, quickly wiping your tears.

"Are you crying?" he queried, concerned.

"No," you lied.

Carl, however, was not fooled. "What's wrong?" he asked, hugging you gently. "What are you doing out here alone at this hour, in your condition?"

"I... Jared and I had a fight," you said lamely. "I was going to stay over at Enid's, but she's already asleep."

Carl looked at you thoughtfully. "Do you want to come to our house?" he then offered. "We have a guest room." You pondered for a moment, then agreed and followed him to the house where he lived with Rick, Michonne and Judith. "What were you guys fighting about?" he asked kindly.

Tears welled up in your eyes again. "Jared doesn't find me attractive anymore," you sobbed. "We haven't had sex in weeks. He...he doesn't like the big belly. He said it's gross." Ashamed, you looked to the side. Carl would surely feel the same way about this as Jared did.

Instead, he gently took hold of your hand, stopped, and looked at you. "Then he's an idiot who doesn't deserve you," he said firmly. "You're beautiful." His eyes desirously grazed your swollen breasts and bulging belly beneath your red summer dress. You looked Carl in his one eye. The scar was hidden, as always, behind the bandage, which you didn't think he needed at all; you had seen his wound once, briefly, and didn't think it disfigured him or that he should be ashamed of it. Carl had such a cute face.

"You really mean that?" you asked, trepidatiously.

"Yes," he confirmed softly, gently stroking your belly. Standing in front of his door, you kissed tenderly, and immediately you felt arousal building up inside you - it had just been too long since you had last engaged in sex.

With a heavy gasp, you disentangled yourself from him. "Carl, this..."

"Don't you want it?"

You sighed. "Yes, I do." Screw Jared. He hadn't been so mean to you for nothing. And if he didn't want you anymore - there were other guys who did. You snuggled up to Carl and kissed him again. You went up the stairs, and he pushed you into his room and closed the door. Breathing heavily, you sank onto his bed, kissing and caressing each other.

"May I see your belly?" he whispered. Blushing, you slipped off your dress. Carl looked adoringly at your body, and you could see how aroused he already was. "This is getting me so horny," he said, caressing your belly and the protruding navel, then kissing it until he slid his tongue lower and began eating you out. You arched your back moaning his name and buried your hand in his hair as he kept teasing your clit with his tongue, circling it and caressing your belly. He let go of you before you cum, laying down next to you and kissing you. "I wish I had breed you myself", he pouted. „It’s so hot.“

You felt his erection rubbing against your hip quite hard. "Get undressed too, Carl," you whispered, your voice husky with desire. He obeyed, and the sight of his fully erect cock only increased your arousal.

"Are we sleeping with each other?" he asked - unsure if you actually wanted to.

"Yes please," you murmured in his ear. You turned on your side so you were lying with your back to him, so your belly wasn't in the way. He moved closer to you, sighing softly as he kissed your neck and gently penetrated you from behind, eliciting a moan from you. He felt so good, and clearly he was completely hot for you. "Oh, Carl," you sighed as he slowly began to thrust into you, alternately petting your breasts and belly.

"You are so wet and tight," he moaned, pressing himself against you and increasing the frequency of his thrusts. Again and again he hit your most sensitive spot, it nearly blew your mind.

"Carl, I'm cumming," you said, clutching at the sheets and biting the pillow as the orgasm literally overwhelmed you. You felt Carl shoot his load into you, some of it landed onto your buttocks, the hot liquid seeping into the sheets. He moaned so loudly that someone had certainly heard you.

Afterwards, he played with your hair and looked at you lovingly. "If you don't want to, you don't have to go back to Jared," he suggested. "You can stay with us, too. With me. I don't mind that the baby isn't mine. I'll make you another one. Preferably right now," he joked, and you realized he was ready for you again. "I like you," Carl confessed. "I've just never had the guts to ask you out because you're in a relationship."

"Not anymore," you said firmly and smiled happily. "I'd love to stay here with you, Carl.“

He grinned. "Then it's definite."

#the walking dead #twd #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes smut #carl fanfiction #carl grimes #carl grimes imagines

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paintyoureyeswithavividmind · 10 months

Text

close to home | chapter forty

plot: the reader joins Abraham and Eugene on a run, and they find themselves surrounded by saviors

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 3,603 Warnings: violence, blood, typical twd A/N: thank you for reading!!! Let me know what ya'll think so far? Sorry updates have been slow; I've been so busy! I'll try to update as much as I can this week, but I'll be in Boston for a long weekend :) so updates will be slow this weekend (if any at all, tbh)

It was nearing dawn; you probably only had another forty minutes before sunrise. You knew the plan, and you knew exactly what to do. Daryl had tried to talk to you about staying home, but this time you refused, and he didn’t ask a second time.

You were against the compound’s wall with Michonne and Daryl, waiting for one of the saviors to bring out Craig. The other savior was already killed by Daryl.

As soon as Michonne found her moment, her katana pierced through the savior, and everyone swarmed in. You followed Daryl and Rick into the building, walking swiftly with your AK-47 raised. Your heart was pounding, and your stomach was a knot. You hadn’t been able to eat anything the past day.

“Check the doors, find the arsenal,” Rick whispered.

Everyone was in pairs for the mission, and everyone had a job to do. Naturally, you were paired with Daryl, and your job was to cover while certain groups went into the rooms and took care of the problems.

You glanced at Daryl, who looked like he was entirely in control. You knew he was worried because he had asked you to stay behind, but he seemed fine now. In fact, he seemed capable. You felt safe with him by your side.

The group slowly worked from room to room until the fire alarm blasted. You swore silently to yourself as Rick led you, Daryl, and Michonne down the hallway.

You were in some corridors and heard machine guns echoing down the long hallways. When bullets hit the wall closest to you, Daryl pulled you backward, and you all ducked for cover.

Somehow, you and Daryl got split from Rick and Michonne, and he pushed you forward. You could hear him yelling at you to run, but you kept looking back to back, sure no one was gaining on you.

You checked your left before hesitantly turning the corner when someone grabbed you. You brought your elbow back hard, and the man dropped you. Your knees hit the ground, and you swung around, aiming your gun.

But Daryl beat you to it. He hit the guy in the face with the butt of his gun and continued the assault after the man fell. “Don’ ya ever touch her!” He yelled, mercilessly caving the man’s face in.

“Daryl, (Y/N)!” You heard Michonne yelling.

You stood and grabbed his arm, pulling him. “We gotta keep going!”

At the end of the hallway, Rick and Michonne stood above a few dead bodies. You and Daryl ran over, and followed them to further push into the building.

***

The sun was up when you stepped outside. You were dripping with blood and sweat and breathing heavily. But you did what you came here to do. The group quickly scoped out the area, checking out the cars before you started to breathe easily.

Tara and Heath decided to leave for their two-week run, and after a quick goodbye and good luck, they were gone.

You were leaning against one of the cars with Glenn, sitting silently and taking a moment to collect your thoughts when you heard an engine rumble.

You and Rosita opened fire when you saw a man on a motorcycle taking off and then quickly getting shot off. You and Glenn joined everyone else in running and watched as Daryl tackled the man and punched him a few times.

“Where’d ya get the bike?” He asked.

When you looked at the bike, you realized it was the bike Daryl had lost, but you weren't know how the saviors got it or how he even lost it to begin with. You were so focused on that that it took you a second to realize a woman was speaking over a walkie-talkie.

“Fuck,” You muttered, feeling your stomach tighten when you heard who she had captive. You closed your eyes briefly to control yourself and glanced at Glenn, who looked like he would lose it.

Rick attempted to make a deal with her, but it didn’t work, and when she stopped answering, both Daryl and Rick tried to get the answers from the man on the ground.

“Guys, guys!” You yelled, “Stop it. There was no static on the walkie, meaning they were close. If they had taken a car, we would’ve heard it. That means they’re on foot in the woods. Daryl and I can track them,”

“Good idea,” Rick said, “It’s gonna take us a while to find it, though.”

“Then we better get moving,”

***

You were the first to find the trail. You almost didn’t believe it after nearly an hour of searching. But everything Daryl taught you was right in front of you. The trail was human, and you counted six different footprints.

So you and Daryl led the group while tracking. It was almost two miles before you found an old slaughterhouse, and the irony of it didn’t escape you.

There was a small argument about what to do, you and Glenn being at the forefront of going in. Eventually, you won over and were about to open the door when it opened itself, revealing Maggie and Carol.

You breathed a sigh of relief when you saw them, and after Glenn hugged his wife, you wrapped your arms around her. You could tell something was wrong, so you didn’t say anything to her. You cupped her face for a moment before letting her hug Glenn again and going over to hug Carol--who seemed much worse.

“Your friends are dead, all of them. So you might as well talk,” Rick said to the savior.

“Let him burn,” Daryl said.

You watched Rick interrogate the man as you grabbed Daryl’s arm. He glanced at you, at your pale face, and gave you a nod. You knew he was asking if you were okay, so you gave him a nod.

“I’m Negan, shithead,” The man said.

You flinched when you heard the gunshot and the man’s body drop to the floor, but you knew it was over. It was over; you would get the rest of the food from Hilltop, and everything would be okay.

***

You didn’t return to Alexandria until after dark. You had to go back to the outpost, scavenge everything you could, and then drive home. You were exhausted as you and your family walked up to your house.

Michonne cooked a speedy dinner while a few of you cleaned yourselves up, yourself included. Carol chose not to eat and instead tucked herself into her room.

Michonne and Rick ate upstairs, so you ate in the kitchen alone. Although Tora joined you, and you shared your food with her. She had put on all the weight she had lost, and you knew it was because a lot of the neighbors fed her too.

After eating, you were about to go upstairs before you paused, hand on the railing and one foot on the first step. Your mind consumed you with images of the day and the people you murdered. You shivered and turned around, headed to see Daryl.

By the time you reached his door, you were crying, and when he answered your knock, you managed to choke out. “Can I sleep with you?”

“C’mere,” Daryl said, pulling you into a hug.

You cried harder at the contact and hugged him tightly, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning your cheek against the center of his chest. His hand pressed against the back of your head, and you closed your eyes, relishing in the feeling of him.

The two of you stood there for a few minutes as you calmed down, and when you finally pulled away to brush away your tears, you lightly laughed. “I’m sorry, I’m okay…”

“No, ya ain’t, that’s okay,”

You nodded and took a deep breath. “Thank you, Daryl.”

He led you over to the bed before turning off the lights. The bed was cold as you climbed in, and you didn’t waste a moment before cuddling up next to him when he laid down. He didn’t flinch once, and he didn’t seem to tense up at your touch.

“I didn’t like it.” You quietly said. “I know we had to, and I know I made my own decision. But I didn’t like it.”

You felt him nod. “I know, ya shouldn’ like it. It’s good that ya don’.”

You looked up at him, his soft shirt against your cheek. Aside from the soft glow of a clock radio on his desk, you couldn't make out his features in the dark. Daryl turned to look at you and then leaned forward, kissing your lips quickly.

You smiled when he pulled away; he’s only initiated a few of a few kisses you’ve shared, and each one was sweet. It was like he knew when you needed it most, and that’s when he gave it to you.

Daryl kissed you again before letting his head fall back against the pillow, and you made yourself comfortable in his arms.

***

The following days after the outpost was quiet. Life continued on in Alexandria, with a bit more food to go around. You could sense that everyone’s energy was picking up at that, and more run groups were going out to bring stuff in. You went on a few of them but mostly stayed in the community.

Carol was going through something, and you tried to be there for her. She told you she was sick of the killing, and you agreed with her but didn’t know how to stop. You didn’t know if you could stop. Because you didn’t have the choice to.

You spent each night with Daryl, quickly becoming your favorite thing in the world. After the night you shared, you asked for one more. And then the night after that, he asked you where you were going when you tried to go to your bedroom. After that, you followed him down there each night. Now Tora followed you down and slept with you at the foot of the bed. Michonne noticed your absence and only teased you a little.

It was comfortable. You loved it. And it meant your relationship with the man was growing, which was all you wanted. You weren’t sure what the two of you were. You didn’t even think you’d ever have a title for it. You just wanted to be with him.

Unfortunately, that day wasn’t today. You were going out with Abraham and Eugene, and you were running late. You were supposed to meet them at the gate ten minutes ago.

The door slammed shut behind you, and you jogged down the porch steps. Daryl was sitting out there, working on the motorcycle he had received.

“Hey,” You smiled at him. Daryl looked up at you and, in his own way, smiled back. You laughed. “I’m going out with Abraham and Eugene, so I won’t be back for a while.”

“Why they ask you again anyway?”

You shrugged your shoulders, knowing he didn’t mean it offensively. He was worried about you. “I guess 'cause I wasn’t going out on the run today, and Abraham wanted another person with him. You know how Eugene is.”

“Yeah, well, Eugene likes to stare at ya legs, so if he starts make sure ya smack him,”

“I know. Why do you think I wore these jeans today?” You sarcastically asked. "Figured I'd give him something to look at."

Daryl looked up at you with a glare, and you started laughing. “I’ll see you later tonight.”

You were smiling as you left and chucked when you heard him yelling at you to be safe. Your heart fluttered as you picked your speed up to a jog and rounded the street to the gate.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You told them as you approached.

“With the community having power, I assume it’s safe to say that each house comes equipped with a clock. Both digital and analog. I know you to be a smart woman, so I know you know how to reach them. We were supposed to meet when the big hand was at the twelve, not the three.” Eugene told you.

“Oh, shove it, you wanna do this or not?”

***

About an hour later, you walked a few paces behind Abraham and Eugene. Your gun swung slowly as you walked, and you kept your eyes open. It always felt good coming out here after being locked up in Alexandria for so long. You didn’t like it, but you felt more in control when you were. You knew it was because you were so used to fighting to survive that this is what you were now.

And besides, the two of them have had tension for weeks now, and you didn’t want to be there when the hammer dropped.

Unfortunately, you were, and you tried to get Abraham from leaving after Eugene said he didn’t need him anymore.

“Real nice,” You said to Eugene. “I’ll keep watch; you look around for what you need to, okay?”

You ignored the response he gave you as you walked around the ground level of the building. After ensuring you and him were safe, you sat at one of the bench tables and dug through your bag for the food you’d packed.

Eugene took forever looking at the area and rattled off things about the equipment that you vaguely understood from chemistry class in college. Still, it had been a lifetime ago, so you didn’t pay much attention.

Finally, he ate, and you thought he was done, but he continued for another hour before he was ready to go. You locked up the place tight before heading back to Alexandria.

It was at least a few miles, but you’d make it before sunset.

You were about a mile into your journey when you started to feel odd. You couldn’t place it, and Eugene didn’t notice anything.

You heard someone whistle and you both froze. You grabbed your gun and brought it to eye level, scanning the surrounding area. A few more whistles sounded and then a group of people appeared from the woods off the road, all with guns pointed at you.

“Put the gun down, baby girl,” One of the men said, approaching you with a gun that was much more powerful than yours.

You dropped the gun to the ground.

“The other one,”

You gave the man a look before taking your pistol out of the holster and putting it on the ground. The same man came to you, took your machete, put it in his belt loop, and then patted you down. His hands lingered too long on your ass, and you bit your lip to keep yourself from doing something stupid.

Eugene was shaking next to you as he was searched, and you could already see him sweating.

A different man approached you with shoulder-length blond hair. Half his face was a burn scar. You would’ve focused on that if you didn’t recognize the crossbow he had. You recognized it immediately, of course. Which meant that the people in front of you were saviors.

“Well, we were tracking somebody else but look at this,” The blond said as he circled the two of you. “Where are you guys heading?”

Neither of you said anything. You were still as ice while Eugene was shaking.

“That’s okay; we know who you guys are,” The man said. “This is actually perfect; I’m so glad we found you guys.”

He approached you first and grabbed your arm. “Let’s go, move.”

His grip on you was so tight that it hurt, and he pushed you forward. Eugene was a few feet behind you, and when you looked back, he pushed you forward so hard you fell. You felt your knees sting against the asphalt and knew it was scraped pretty well.

“Jesus,” The man mumbled, dragging you to your feet and pushing you forward again.

“You’re confusing us with someone else,” You tried. “I don’t know who you’re looking for.” That part was true. The run group went in the opposite direction, and no other groups were scheduled to go out today.

“We’re not,” The man said. “Unless you’d rather just take us back to your camp. Seems like you guys are doing pretty well.”

“Bite me,” You said, pulling your arm away from his grip as you walked.

The saviors led you off the road and into the woods, where they picked up the pace. You could hear Eugene struggling behind you, and nearly whimpering when he was pushed forward. If he weren’t such a coward… but that wouldn’t matter. There were only two of you.

“Whoa, whoa, there they are,” The man said. He grabbed your arm and dragged you down. “You know them, right?” He nodded his head.

You looked at the train tracks, and your stomach dropped when you saw Daryl, Rosita, and Denise. What were they doing here?

“No, I don’t, go to hell,” You spat at him.

The man turned, pulling a gun out and pressing it against Eugene’s head. “Do you know them?” He asked him.

“Yes, yes, we do.”

You sighed as Eugene folded, but you didn’t exactly expect anything better. The man chucked and grabbed Daryl’s crossbow, standing up to aim.

You moved to stop him, but another one of the guys grabbed you and pushed you onto the ground. You groaned against the ground, dirt caking your face. He was putting pressure on your spine and face, and you couldn’t fight him off.

You heard the arrow fly and closed your eyes, hoping someone missed. But you knew it was a direct hit. You knew the sound of the weapon too well.

The blond man grabbed you by your braid and pulled you up, holding a knife against your throat. He walked directly behind you, using you as a human shield to climb the small grassy hill. The other men had already made themselves known, and the one beside you had Eugene with a gun to his head.

Your eyes met Daryl’s, and you shook your head slowly, trying not to tell him to do anything stupid. God, he looked pissed. You could see him fisting his hands repeatedly and his chest rising and falling quickly.

“Drop the guns, now!” The man holding you said. “Now!” He kicked the back of your knee, and you dropped. You felt the tip of an arrow against the back of your head, but you didn’t close your eyes.

You’d never seen that look on Daryl's face before, and it scared you. He reacted off his anger so much, and you prayed that he wouldn’t do that now. You would be dead before you knew the man fired the crossbow.

The man holding Eugene had him kneel next to you.

Daryl was visibly shaking with anger, and it only worsened when the man started speaking again.

“You got something to say to me? You gonna clear the air? Step up on that high horse? No. You don’t talk much.” The man said.

You curled your hands into a fist and closed your eyes momentarily, willing yourself to breathe. Two men collected their weapons as the man talked about the crossbow.

“I should’ve done it,” Daryl said.

“Oh, what’s that? Seriously, I didn’t catch what you said.”

“I should’ve killed ya,”

The man pushed the crossbow into your head a bit and you winced at the sharp point of the arrow. “Yeah, you probably should’ve.” The man said.

He continued, taunting the two of them about who he was aiming at and something about business arrangements. The only thing you registered was that the man holding you hostage was named Dwight. You could only stare at Daryl. You were always safe with him. He wouldn’t fail you. And neither would Rosita.

Dwight threatened to kill Eugene if Rosita and Daryl didn’t comply, and you looked over to watch as he began to freak out.

“You wanna kill someone, start with our companion hiding over there behind the oil barrels. He’s a first-class a-hole and he deserves it so much more than us three.” Eugene said.

Your first thought was Abraham, and you wanted to scream at Eugene for being such a coward. And as Dwight sent a few men to check it out, you couldn’t believe your eyes when Eugene bit down on Dwight’s dick.

As Dwight started screaming, bullets fired, and you ducked, rolling down the hill. You landed next to someone who’d been shot and quickly grabbed the gun. Your body shook as you pressed the trigger, firing at the saviors around you and breaking towards the tree to cover.

Once hidden, you looked back and watched Daryl slit a man's throat to get a gun, and Rosita took down another savior.

“Daryl!” You screamed. He wasn’t taking cover.

You angrily shot at more saviors, who’d also taken cover. Walkers were drawn out by the sound, and you turned, firing at a few that got too close for your liking. When the gun clicked empty, you swore and reached for your machete before you realized it had been taken.

You turned to look behind the tree to see where your family was when you felt the presence of someone behind you and felt something hard hit the back of your head before it went black.

#daryl x y/n #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl fanfiction #twd #daryl twd #daryl x you

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rubyscarbuncle · 1 month

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So, in the aftershow talk Anthony laments about season 2 but honestly? I love season 2.

I think season 1 had a lot more clear of an objective, and a lot more clear of a structure, but that’s kind of perfect for the story of season 2 right?

season 2 is a story about being a teen. It’s about all the ups and downs and struggles and heartache and everything about being a teen, it’s about crushes, and emotions, and fathers, and weird mustaches, and it’s about the incredibly gen z/alpha experience of trying to figure out what you can do in a world that feels like it’s doomed by the people before you. It’s a very teen story. It’s very proud of this, and it does it very well, and while I can’t say whether or not it was *intentional* I think the structure and flow of season 2 is perfect for that story.

It starts off with a decently defined structure in school, with a vague but simple enough goal to reach, then you’re thrusted out into the world, having to make big choices for yourself and that’s when it starts to get… Messy. Things aren’t as simple as they used to be, there’s lots of moving pieces, people who are going to be making their own decisions that you can’t really change, there’s a lot of things going on. And it even feels difficult to lean on the people you care about but you do it anyways.

I think season 2 has had some of the best pc to pc emotional character interactions of the entire series and I don’t think you get there without season 2 being structured the way it is. Season 2 being so much more loose and more focused on the players pushing the plot I think purely serves it for the story it ends up telling. I don’t think you get moments like Scary siding with Willy and even while lashing out and eldritch blasting still being hugged by Linc and piled on by everyone to show she’s cared for in a season like season 1. I just don’t think that happens, because I don’t think everything being the way it is and the more almost tv show like structuring of season 1 would allow for that. It had plenty of great emotional moments, but I think the teen nature of it being messier and more impulsive and trying to figure out who you are and where your place in the world is absolutely benefits from a looser structure and goals that are less neatly defined.

The dads have, for the most part, figured themselves out as people even on episode 1 hitting. Sure they all grow and learn and change, but they never stop being those people they are during episode 1, they just become better versions of themselves. Even Glenn. Debatably. (he definitely changed but he might have become a worse person, like he’s a stoner who plays a guitar and says “far out” at the start and by the end is creating big vats of oil to blow up an entire commune and pissing in the sand lying down.) They’re adults, they have their priorities, and they know who they are. We’re in a freaky situation, we’ve been through a lot, let’s get our kids, let’s get tf out, let’s maybe try and fix some things because we’re not totally monsters or anything. Bing bang boom.

The dads have very clear outlines, but the season 2 cast has very strong vibes.

They’re a lot more chaotic, loosely defined, and their outlines are less immediate, but in exchange they are absolutely vibrating with energy and possibility and chaos and all of these interesting dynamics and things that never feel forced because, well, they’re still figuring themselves out! By all rights, they SHOULDN’T have those same defined outlines to their characters that the season 1 cast had.

The entire story is about being messy, and finding your way in life, and I think season 2 does that perfectly, and I think none of the incredible stuff that everyone brings to the table works without Anthony doing what he did and doing the incredible job he did. Good shit king.

#dndads #dndaddies #dungeons and daddies #dndaddies season 2 #dndads season 2 spoilers #dungeons and daddies season 2 #dungeons and daddies season 1 spoilers

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sheriffgrimes-archerdixon · 2 months

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Comfort

Request: can you do one where Daryl comforts reader after she has a nightmare? Thank you!

Tw: nightmare, description of panic attack, blood, gore, usual walking dead stuff. If sensitive to any of these please read with cautious or skip past this one! Thanks loves!!

NOTE: IF YOU’VE SENT IN AN ASK THAT HASN’T BEEN ANSWERED PLEASE RE-SEND. MY INBOX SAYS IVE GOT 10 ASKS BUT ISN’T LOADING ANY OF THEM. WHETHER IT BE A GLITCH OR WHATEVER I DO NOT KNOW BUT PLEASE RE-SEND IF YOU THINK IVE MISSED YOUR REQUEST/ QUESTION.

Havnet been able to watch TOWL either that’s depressing asf but oh well. Sorry for the delay my heads been all over the place (:

This is awfully written and isn’t entirely “plotted” correctly so excuse the crappiness. This was written over like three months so… sorry for the delay

The loud whistle abruptly wrapped around the sky, sending chills down your spine as you froze in place but it was as if you had lived this exact nightmare before. But it was worse… a lot worse… the sound of the whistling continued all around you as you walked further into the darkness all alone your eyes scanning around frantically before your eyes fell upon the familiar body of Glenn. Slumped. Head completely squished. Like a watermelon… your stomach churned in disgust a shaky breath leaving your lips, your eyes then turning to see Abraham the exact same way but it didn’t stop— your eyes followed the row of your people. Your family. Carl, Rick, michonne, Daryl, Aaron, Rosita, Jesus, maggie… every single one of them limp on the ground slumped and weak. Brains splattered everywhere. Your hand trembled to cover your mouth before you spun around looking for the saviours the whistling growing louder but no one seemed to be around you. Whatsoever. The headlights of vans were a blurred picture. Your breathing grew heavier tears forming in your eyes as you turned around again to face your people their bodies rotting, turning into the dead… glenn reaching out for you, Daryl crawling on his chest ricks cold blue eyes boring into yours, muttering some kind of sentence over and over again. “All your fault” tears threatened to fall as you stumbled back panting heavily before a hand tightly gripped onto your wrist, your head snapping to the side as your eyes met with Negans your jaw dropping as a ear piercing screech left your mouth as darkness slowly surrounded you.

“Y/n!”

A voice yelled and your body jolted awake, your eyes filled with terror as your eyes found those familiar blue ones. Daryl. Alive, well, okay… you panted staring at him terrified he was stood a slight distance away from you his eyes searching yours concerned, you were still in your bed Daryl’s concern clear before he sat down on the edge of the bed making it dip down slightly “bad dream?” Was all he asked and all you could do was nod the terror visible. Your skin was coated in a layer of sweat that wouldn’t go away Daryl carefully getting closer to you as he soon reached his hand out without much of a warning and grabbed onto your hand his touch hesitant and unsure at first but as he got more comfortable he tightened his grip giving your hand a squeeze. “I’m here.” He spoke gruffly voice still worried as he kept his eyes on you. “You died..” you whispered Daryl blinking confused for a second, but didn’t say anything allowing you to continue what you wanted to say however his confusion wasn’t of what you said— no— more so of the fact that you were afraid to lose him. That on its own shocked him beyond belief and broke his heart all at once.

He hadn’t ever had anyone who was scared of him leaving before, it saddened him almost, the feeling of not being needed or wanted had been etched into his soul ever since he was a young boy. But seeing it come from you it unlocked a certain feeling within him a soft feeling that he didn’t entirely understand. “It’s okay. I’m right here.” He assured gently. “You and the others all died…. One… by one.. negan hit you over the Hed with Lucille and killed you all… I was the only survivor.. you— you all blamed me for something I didn’t do… i- I couldn’t stop it! I- I couldn’t stop you from dying.. I— I wanted to I needed to but I couldn’t reach you—“ your breathing grew my quick as you practically began hyperventilating. That scared Daryl on its own but he quickly got to work, grabbing onto your shoulder gently and making you look at him

“Breathe.” He muttered out softly your chest continuing to heave up and down over and over again daryl murmuring little nothings to you to try and sooth you until eventually you were curled up in his arms, his grip on you tight and secure, comforting, his hand trailing up and down your back. “I thought I lost you.”

He only shook his head “never. You’ll never lose me… can’t get rid of me that easily.”he kept a hold of you continuing to help you breathe and calm down until eventually you were more relaxed. He just held you as you remained in silence. “I love you. And I don’t want to lose you ever.” You murmured to him, Daryl’s heart aching slightly and he held you closer to him, not sure how to respond to that, before he pressed a small kiss to the top of your head “you won’t lose me.” He reassured, before bringing you down to lay with him, soothing you beside him, as he helped calm you down until you were settled in his arms.

“Oh and y/n..” he trailed off,

“Hm?”

He smiled softly “I love you too.”

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mrdixon · 2 months

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A Rugged Muse | Chapter 4

pairing: eventual daryl dixon x f!reader

wc: 3.8k

warnings: SMALL TIMESKIP (it’s like a few weeks), reader has feelings, daryls short tempered, i love lori idc, lots of filler plot till we can get to the juicy stuff 😇

summary: going out with daryl.

A/N: sorry this chapter took so long and ended bad. cant even promise a better next chapter. but i at least hope you arent bored :/

a rugged muse masterlist | regular masterlist

The faint sound of crickets filled your ears as you stared out at the dark mass of water in front of you. You had taken solace in the lake behind the camp, finding yourself here late at night when you couldn’t sleep.

Glenn worried about you when you did this. Though there weren’t any walkers in the area he still didn’t trust leaving you alone in the forest at night, then again he didn’t like leaving you alone anywhere. You were so happy to have your older brother back, but not happy that he was nagging you so much. You may be a grown woman but he still saw you as his baby sister.

A rustle from behind you startled you, your body turned quickly and reached for the dagger by your side. You relaxed and turned back to the lake at the sight of Daryl. You heard his soft sigh as he stepped out from behind the bush and moved over to where you sat on a huge rock. His crossbow was placed next to you as a sort of partition while he sat next to you.

You leaned back on your hands, turning your head to look at him again. His eyes were set dead ahead while his arms rested atop his knees. It became a thing where you two would follow each other around but not say anything, just keeping the other company. At least that’s what it felt like.

You liked it to be completely honest, it was nice having someone else who kept you at ease instead of just Glenn. Even though Daryl didn’t say much, he still made an effort… of something.

“Did Glenn send you out to watch out for me?” You snorted, watching his eyes flicker as if coming to. He grunted in response, lifting his thumb to his mouth. You sighed, turning back to the lake. He still wasn’t much of a conversational person. The silence was comforting nevertheless and you couldn’t help but look at him from your peripheral.

You’d been noticing Daryl a lot more recently. You’ve pretty much established the fact that he was attractive to you, even if he didn’t speak much. He seemed to care about you at least a little bit seeing as how he’s been pretty much following you around camp. You at least considered him a friend, and hoped he thought the same of you.

You were starting to get tired so you stood up and stretched, yawning a little. Daryl’s head tilted upwards to look at you and started to get up as well.

“Tired?” He mumbled to which you nodded and grabbed your dagger.

“Yeah, I’m gonna head in. Should get some sleep and make sure Glenn isn’t stressing his ass off.” You chuckled and swore there was a smirk on his face at your comment. He bent down to grab his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder before turning to you.

“I’ll walk ya back, wouldn’ wan’ ya gettin’ bit.” Daryl tapped your shoulder gently before walking ahead and into the forest. You followed quickly after him, watching your step and making sure to be quiet so you didn’t awaken anyone, or anything.

You noticed he huffed a little when he walked and he grabbed the strap of his crossbow to keep it secure. His muscles flexed a little when he did this and the artist in you tried to keep that in your mind to draw later, after all your art block had lifted. As creepy as it sounded, Daryl was one of your most drawn subjects right now. You couldn’t help it, he was just such a fun thing to draw.

Your face hit his back and he looked over his shoulder at you, stifling a snort.

“Ya good? We’re ‘ere,” he stepped out of the way and watched you as you bowed your head in embarrassment. You hoped he didn’t just see you gawking at his arms.

“Thanks,” you mumbled and walked in front of him to get to your tent. You felt a hand touch your elbow and looked back to see him pull away.

“Ya wanna go huntin’ tomorrow? If ya got nothin’ ta do I dun’ mind teachin’ ya.” Daryl shrugged as he fiddled with the strap of his crossbow, his eyes darting around anxiously.

Your heart fluttered a little. You had told him a couple days ago about how much you wanted to go hunting and “do something useful.” He remembered.

“Yeah,” you nodded and smiled softly. He squinted at you and nibbled the inside of his bottom lip, shifting his stance side to side. “Yeah sure, you want me to meet you?”

“Mm,” he shook his head and started to turn away. “I’ll come getcha,” he waved his hand dismissively, not giving you a moment to respond.

The moonlight shone down on him through the trees as he stalked off. Your eyes were drawn to his back, his muscles rippled as he walked. Those broad shoulders always caught your eye. It was admirable how quiet he was, you could barely hear his feet hit the ground when he walked. You caught yourself staring at him again, sighing deeply as the older man disappeared into the night. You placed a hand on your chest in an attempt to slow down your heart rate which was racing for some reason.

You had just known Daryl for just a few weeks yet your heart raced every time you saw him. You didn’t want to think much about it though, at one point you just assumed he didn’t like you. You honestly didn’t care much either way, the friendship was nice… if you could classify what ever your relationship was as a friendship.

Shaking your head, you turned to your shared tent with Glenn, opening the flap as quiet as you could before slipping in. Glenn was laying on his side, curled up in his sleeping bag. You tried not to disturb him as you moved over to your side of the tent and slowly moved into your sleeping bag.

“What’s going on with you and Daryl?” Glenn mumbled sleepily and you jumped a little. You sighed as you lay on your back and stared up at the ceiling.

“Nothing is going on,” you murmured but it kind of sounded like a question. “Really, nothing.”

Glenn shifted in his spot as he let out a huff and faced you, his eyes were closed but you could tell he was awake and wanted to keep the conversation going.

“You two are going out?” The way he worded the question felt like he was asking if you two were going out. That’s what you assumed at least.

Your breath got caught in your throat and you coughed, shaking your head. “What? No… no I barely know him.”

“Not what I meant,” he shook his head, “tomorrow?” You froze as you caught your misinterpretation, biting your lip.

“I…” you mumbled, rolling over to face him. He looked back at you sleepily and tucked an arm under his head, waiting for your response. “Yeah, we’re going hunting.”

Glenn snorted, rubbing his eyes while you glared at him for laughing. “Oh god, you like him.” He tried to hide his grin from you, catching the pillow you threw at him.

“I do not,” you hissed quietly. “I barely know the guy, plus it hasn’t been long since…” You choked on your own words, thinking about your god damn ex again. Sure it’s been seven months, but no matter what, you couldn’t get over him. Glenn noticed and sat up, sighing as he gently threw your pillow back.

“You still hung over that guy?” He flinched a little when your head snapped over to him, your eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Okay, okay… but c’mon (Y/N). He was an asshole, and I’m not saying I fully support this thing going on between you and Daryl but hey, if it seems like something you’re willing to go for then do it.” You closed your eyes at his words, grabbing your blanket and pulling it over your head. Your older brother sighed, rustling around as he got back into his sleeping bag, “just think about it.”

You mentally eye rolled, there was no way. You couldn’t like Daryl, he was older… more brash and a little bit aggressive. It’d be an odd couple the two of you. Still, a part of you yearned. What for? You didn’t know, it wasn’t important. Whether you yearned for the warm feeling of being loved or him. You kicked your feet frustratingly, earning a scold from Glenn. You hated this feeling, you didn’t want to trust it. Not after what happened before, not after that warm feeling was quickly taken away from you. You couldn’t even imagine losing someone you loved now, in the apocalypse. The thought made you shiver.

You don’t think you could ever love again, especially with the current circumstances. It’d be nice… but not now. You shook your head in a lousy attempt to clear your thoughts, turning over to try and get some shut eye. You sort of dreaded tomorrow.

The sound of tarp rustling woke you up, immediately sitting up to rub the sleep out of your eyes. Glenn turned to you apologetically, “sorry to wake you. I’m gonna head out soon.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “huh? You're leaving?” Your older brother nodded with a soft sigh, shrugging as he packed his bag.

“We’re running out of things, the others need me. I’m the only one who knows my way around Atlanta,” your eyes widened. Atlanta was completely infested with those walkers, your thoughts from last night rushing back to you. If something happened to him…

“What if you get hurt?” You frowned, tossing your blanket off to the side as you crawled over to him. He sighed deeply as you continued, “can't you just draw them a map?”

“No,” he shook his head, continuing to pack the things he needed. “It’s best if I go out there with them, safer for them. Safer for me, for us.” He looked at you and frowned at your expression of concern.

“If you die I’ll kill you,” you muttered unpleasantly. Glenn cracked a smile, nudging your shoulder as he shook with silent laughter.

“Sure thing, you have fun on your little date.” You groaned, pushing his head. Glenn toppled over, his body shaking with laughter as he quickly recovered from the fall. “I’ll be back soon, don’t have too much fun.”

Glenn quickly gave you a pat on the head and dashed out of the tent before you even had the chance to push him again. You let out a soft sigh, reaching up to ruffle your hair before crawling around the tent to grab your things and be ready by the time Daryl got there.

You felt a little excited for your little outing with the older man, unsure if it was for the hunting or the man himself, nevertheless you quickly got ready. Putting on some comfortable clothes, you grabbed your daggers and attached them at your thigh, you doubted you would be using them for hunting but you wanted to bring them anyway. A low grunt from outside signaled that Daryl had arrived, his voice confirming your suspicions.

“(Y/N)?” His voice was soft in contrary to his usual tone. You slung your bag over your shoulder and stuck your head out of the tent, seeing the archer standing by a tree. You shot him a small smile before getting out and walking over to him. He eyed you up and down innocently, shrugging before leading the way. “Saw a few rabbits down ‘ere.”

You followed after him like a lost puppy, trying to mimic his skillful step through the forest. He looked over his shoulder at you and scoffed a little, shaking his head. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a half-smushed pack of cigarettes, grabbing one before offering one to you.

“No thanks,” you shook your head, “I quit.” Daryl nodded respectively and shoved the pack back into his pocket before grabbing a lighter and lighting his.

His lips wrapped around the end, taking a deep drag before blowing the smoke out the side of his mouth. The smell of tobacco occupied the area around you two. He glanced at you from his peripheral, taking another drag before asking,

“Any reason ya quit?” He coughed, “if ya wanna share… ‘m jus’ wonderin’.” You chuckled softly at his flustered tone of voice, you wondered if he was always this nervous.

“Ah just…” you shook your head as you looked up at him. The truth was, you used to smoke a lot with your ex, even more so after the breakup. You would've taken Daryl’s offer but decided against it. “…wanted to break habits,” you shrugged and looked ahead again.

Daryl nodded and continued to walk in silence, not wanting to push the matter further. Seeing the forest so clear was odd, before you wouldn’t have questioned it but it felt so weird to not hear or see a walker every five minutes. The two of you continued to walk in peaceful silence, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the tranquil forest. Your companion soon pointed to what you assumed was tracks, though they looked like a rock fell very strategically… Daryl let out a soft grunt as he dropped the butt of his cigarette onto the ground, stuffing it out with his heel.

Daryl’s crossbow slid off his shoulder and into his hands, beckoning you closer. You moved next to him, brushing your shoulder against his. He glanced down at you, gently maneuvering the crossbow into your hands. Your eyes widened as you stared up at him in confusion, his rough hands brushing against your skin as he guided your hands onto the crossbow.

“You ever use one of these?” He grunted, a hint of amusement dwelling in his tone. His eyes flashed with hilarity when you shook your head frantically. He gave you a light pat on the back and walked ahead, assuming you’d follow. “You’ll be fine, I’ll help ya out.”

You helplessly followed after him, the weight of the crossbow already straining your arms. No wonder Daryl’s arms were so nice, he had to carry this hunk of material every day. You stopped in your tracks as soon as his palm was held up towards you, his fingers curling up to hold one finger up, signaling you to be quiet. He swiftly moved behind a bush and you quickly followed, crouching down next to him.

Daryl pointed outwards to a small clearing where a rabbit was nibbling on some grass, you nodded and lifted to crossbow to aim towards the rabbit. You heard a snort from him, feeling a hand tap your own to lower it. You turned to him and furrowed your brows, he shook his head before wrapping an arm around your shoulder and placing both his hands over yours. You swallowed nervously as he guided you to properly aim at the rabbit.

“Now press the trigger,” his breath was warm against your neck, making you flinch slightly and pull the trigger. Unfortunately you did not hit the rabbit and ended up scaring it off, Daryl immediately got up and huffed in annoyance. You sighed, feeling your heart beat faster. He was just so close to you, screwing you over in the process. Daryl stood with his hands on his hips, biting the inside of his cheek to not blow up at you. Admittedly, it was your fault you missed the shot.

You stood up cautiously and handed him the crossbow with a guilty expression, “sorry.” Daryl took one look at you and huffed before snatching the crossbow back. He wasn’t about to scream at you, but he didn’t respond anyway. You didn’t say anything else as he started walking, and you followed after quietly.

Daryl held his head up, though his eyes were scanning the ground for the rabbit’s tracks. You just followed him mindlessly through the forest even though you were so sure he’d shoot you dead right here and now. His patience was running thin though, you two had walked towards where the rabbit should be, but didn’t find it. His fingers tapped against the material of his crossbow, clearly trying to keep himself from losing his shit.

Soon you met the end of the rabbits tracks, they simply disappeared. Daryl let out a deep sigh, rubbing his face with one hand as he grumbled something under his breath. A rush of guilt flooded through you, after all it was sort of your fault for missing the shot. Now there was no dinner, but hopefully the supply run group would come back with food…

“I’m really sorry Daryl,” you mumbled timidly. You didn’t want to piss him off but your shyness quite literally did. He hissed under his breath, turning to you.

“If only ya didn’ miss the damn shot, could’ve had food by now.” Your stomach dropped as he walked by you, bumping his shoulder into yours. You felt that was a bit unfair, it’s not like you missed on purpose.

You looked over your shoulder to find Daryl bitterly stomping his way back to camp. He may be attractive but he really did irritate you sometimes. His head turned once he heard you angrily walk over to him, passing him with your own shoulder bump.

“The fuck’s yer problem?” He growled before catching up to you. Your eyes rolled as you avoided his gaze, shaking your head.

“What’s yours? I didn’t even do anything bad,” you grumbled annoyed. “I apologized twice already.”

“Yeah well an apology ain’ gon’ do shit fer us if we don’ even have food ta eat.” You rolled your eyes again, not wanting to deal with his bullshit right now. “Wasn’ even tha’ hard of a shot.” Your blood boiled at his remark. It wasn’t even the difficulty of the shot that made you miss, it was the fact that he was breathing up on you.

You whipped around to face him, narrowing your eyes. “If you weren’t so close and breathing down my neck, I would’ve made the shot. I just got spooked.”

“Tha’ shit ain’ gon’ fly in this apocalypse. Ya gotta deal with gettin’ spooked or else yer gonna die from a damned walker,” he drawled lowly. “Surprised ya hadn’t already.”

You were done. Choosing to ignore him, you pushed through the forest and sped walked your way back to camp, ignoring his protests.

The remaining members of the group noticed your tense expression, most raised a brow while others chose to keep silent. Daryl had quite the temper and frankly? You weren't about to deal with an angry Dixon right now.

Said Dixon emerged from the forest shortly after, his brows furrowed together in irritation. His head whipped around the area, looking to Shane.

“Ya know where Merle is?” He let out a grunt as Shane sighed deeply, knowing Daryl wouldn't like his answer.

“He’s out on the supply run with the others,” you watches as Daryl rubbed his face, rolling his eyes in the process before storming back off into the woods. Shane looked over at you with silent acknowledgment to your assumed argument with the brazen man before Lori stepped in and placed a hand on your shoulder reassuringly.

You sighed softly as you let her lead you through the trees and towards the lake where the other remaining women were, folding laundry. Lori sat you down and gave you a gentle smile before calling out to Carl, telling him to stay close.

“So what happened?” Lori chuckled softly, though concern could be heard in her voice. You shook your head and lifted a hand to rub your eye.

“He’s just got a loose screw or something.” The rage in you was sweltering, but you found it in you to keep calm. “I missed a shot with his crossbow, and he blamed me for ‘losing dinner’.” Lori laughed at your finger quotes, shaking her head.

“I would say that’s just a Dixon thing… but trust me, it’s all men.” She chuckled lightly, “my husband is like that sometimes. Not as extreme as Daryl but y’know, he had his moments.”

You tilted your head slightly as you looked over at her, “I didn’t know you and Shane were married.” It wasn’t completely secret that the two were fooling around but you didn’t think they were married. Though you immediately realized your mistake.

Lori stared at you with wide eyes, glancing over your shoulder to see if Carl had heard before shaking her head. “No, no… Shane and I aren’t married. I mean Rick… he’s uh..” she cleared her throat and you got the hint.

“Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to assume—” She cut you off with a gentle shake of her head, looking out to the lake awkwardly. Your assumption was quite dumb anyway, Lori and Shane wouldn’t be so secretive about their relationship if they were married…

You looked down at your lap and sighed gently, the silence was making you think again. Especially about that dumbass… Daryl. How arrogant of him to blame you for missing that shot when really, it was his fault for jumping you. And the fact he got so heated over it? Absolutely infuriating.

Lori tapped your knee gently and your head snapped up to meet her gaze. She nodded behind you and when you turned, the man you were just fuming over was standing there. Daryl was still tense but you could tell he felt guilty, or at least sorry for blowing up. He didn’t have to say anything before you got up and followed him back into the forest, the silence deafening.

“Look…” Daryl started slowly, halting in place and turning to look at you. “’m sorry fer yellin’ at you, but ya gotta admit tha’ was a shit shot comin’ from you.” All feeling of relief was taken from you at that moment, rolling your eyes as annoyance flooded through you.

You turned away from him but he caught your arm, turning you back to face him. He took a deep breath before glancing down at your legs, pointing to your daggers.

“Ya know how ta use those?” You narrowed your eyes at his question before responding in confusion.

“Yeah…? You just stab… whatever it is… you’re trying to, I don’t know, kill??” You shook your head and looked at him as if he just asked a really obvious question, which he did.

“No—” He groaned, placing his hand over his eyes as if trying to ground himself. “No, like. Can ya throw ‘em?”

Good point, you didn’t.

He took your silence and awkward expression as your answer and started to walk again, waving you to follow. This back and forth walking was really taking it out of you.

“’kay, then ‘m gonna teach ya because I do not trust you with my baby.” You snorted softly as he referred to his crossbow as “his baby.” You found it slightly endearing.

You just hoped this lesson would go well this time because you did not want to deal with a frustrated Dixon twice in one day.

taglist (comment on masterlist to be added!) @arson1893 @ryoujoking @abi67sblog @sm4-rty @skunk-dude @dontsassmecastiel @scudslut @xmaeyonaiise @welcumetomyescape @duckybird101

#divider by cafekitsune #mrdixonposts #a rugged muse series #daryl dixon #the walking dead #daryl x reader #norman reedus #twd daryl #daryl x y/n #twd fanfiction

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blooming-violets · 3 months

Note

Hii! Can I request a Joel miller x fem!reader where Abby goes to golf town on reader instead of Joel and Joel is in Ellie’s position watching her get killed. Just utter angst💔🥲thank youuu❤️

An Eye For An Eye || Joel Miller x fem!Reader

A/N: I meant to do this from Joel's pov but somehow ended up in Reader's pov. Enjoy some death! (Also threw in a little Glenn from the Walking Dead winkwinknodnod in there, too)

Fire rained down on the infected as the people surrounding them tossed molotovs over the wrought iron gate.

The heat of the flames bathed over their skin to push the wintery chill from their bones.

Joel could feel your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, clinging protectively onto him, as he slowed their horse next to Tommy’s. When your grip didn’t loosen to climb down, he gave your hand a gentle pat of encouragement.

“I don’t like this,” you whispered in his ear. There were too many people. More than you were anticipating. Large groups of strangers were never a good sign.

His head tilted back towards you, his eyes closing peacefully at the feeling of your cold breath against his cheek, “You worry too much. We saved that woman’s life. It’s fine. We need a place to ride out the storm. Just behave yourself.”

You replied with a quiet laugh. Joel Miller was the king of worrying too much and the master of bad behavior. Who was he to tell you otherwise?

“You’ve gone soft, grandpa. I blame Ellie,” A kiss was placed to his gray peppered beard before you jumped off the horse. There wasn’t even that big of an age gap between you two but you were still fond of the nickname, simply because it made Joel groan every time he heard it.

Joel smiled, following you off the horse, “I blame you both. I only have this gray hair because of the shit you two put me through.”

The moment the garage doors closed to block off the incoming swell of snow flurries, a weight of dread settled in your stomach. You ran a mittened hand over the hind haunches of your horse to wipe away some of the snow in an attempt to help soothe your unease.

“Hey, I heard you guys saved Abby?” A short haired woman approached you with a warm, but hesitant, smile. “Thanks for bringing her back to us.”

You looked over and did your best to flash her a smile of your own. Trust had to be built somehow. You might as well try to start here.

“Oh, yeah. No problem.” You tugged off your mittens, stuffing them in your jacket pocket, and reached out your hand to shake.

“I’m Mel,” she spoke softly. “Nice to meet you.

You returned the greeting. She seemed nice enough. For now. First impressions meant nothing in this world. Everyone could act kind until they weren’t. You’d been fooled one too many times to take that sort of chance again. The moment she let go of the hand shake, she turned to Tommy to repeat her introductions. Your guard was on high alert, trying to take stock of anything you could use as makeshift weapons and plot the best hiding spots.

Joel slipped his arm around your waist. He could sense your worry and pressed his lips against the side of your head, smelling your hair, as he spoke.

“Don’t worry,” he mumbled into your hair. “Tommy and I got this covered. We’ll hang out for the night. We can take turns staying awake so someone’s always on watch. Then we’ll be gone in the morning after the storm.”

“That sounds like some famous last words,” you grumbled.

The three of you were led into the room off of the garage. A large wooden bar sat against the wall and you took note of the half filled bottles of alcohol cluttering the surface.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad afterall,” you nodded to the drinks, giving Joel a cheeky wink.

He hid a smile by scratching at his beard and turning to the new people, “What are y’all doing out this way?”

A man with a baseball cap answered, “Oh, just passing through. You three live nearby?”

Tommy took that as an invitation to invite them back home to restock their gear. As if you wanted these people anywhere near your family.

It was clear neither party really trusted the other. There was a tension in the air as each individual tried to make sense of the other. Both parties were searching for hidden dangers. Your eyes sought out everyone, studying them, trying to find their strengths and weaknesses. It was Abby quietly conversing with another man in the corner that caused your heart rate to spike. You didn’t like the way they were whispering. From behind, you could tell her body language was tight, nervous. Your stare stayed trained on the pair as they whispered back and forth. Even as they stood quietly in the shadows, trying to appear relaxed, you could tell she was mulling over something in her head.

Your hand found Joel’s and you gave it a small squeeze. You leaned in closer, standing on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Maybe we’re better off risking it in the snow? We can find some place to stay that’s not here.”

Before he could reply, Tommy was throwing around more introductions.

“I’m Tommy,” he announced to the group. He was too calm for your liking. Too friendly. Something was wrong. This wasn’t right. They had to leave. “This is my brother…Joel. And this is his partner-”

You couldn’t hear his introduction of you. You were too busy watching the change in Abby. The entire room fell silent. Her shoulders tensed. Her jaw tightened, flexing subtly as she ground her teeth together. Her back straightened up to attention and she shifted the shotgun in her hands.

You knew it the second Joel did.

This was bad.

“Y’all act like you’ve heard of us or somethin’,” he muttered, trying in a last ditch effort to soothe out the peace. His arm instinctively pushed you protectively behind him just as gun shot rang out.

“That’s because we have,” Abby said as the trigger was pulled.

You let out a scream of terror, watching Joel yell in pain, his leg shooting out from under him, and tumbling to the ground.

“Joel!” You collapsed down to his side, throwing your body protectively over his head to block him from any more bullets.

“No!” Tommy shouted.

Two men were on him before he could even move. They pinned his arms down, throwing him back against the bar, and struggled to hold him steady while he thrashed wildly against them. You couldn’t help him. You refused to leave Joel. All you could do was watch in horror as Tommy was bashed repeatedly in the top of the head with the grip of a pistol until he went limp. You had no idea if he was dead or knocked out. Thick lines of blood trailed out from under his hairline and waterfalled down his vacant face.

You reached for the knife hidden in your back pocket. The second someone grabbed your arms, you slashed out, making contact with someone’s cheek.

But there were too many of them and so little of you.

The knife was wrestled out of your grasp. You were being dragged away from Joel with two men clamping down tightly to your arms and throwing you up against a window. The back of your head bounded against the glass pane causing a shooting pain to ricochet through your brain.

“No!” You could hear Joel cry, his voice deep with worry. “Get off her! Don’t fucking touch her!”

He struggled to get up but his leg was useless under him. Blood spurted from his thigh and soaked into his tattered jeans. He tried to take down the person closest to him but all it took was a bullet whizzing by your left ear, instantly deafening that ear, and shattering through the window behind your head for him to stop.

The howling wind burst through the broken, jagged hole to swirl snow around the room. The cold caught in your lungs, mixing with your panic, to make it difficult to breathe. You gasped for air, eyes watering, as you stared helplessly back at Joel. The look of anguish you found staring back at you was enough to break your heart. He knew you had been right. He knew he should have listened. They couldn’t trust these people. He knew.

But it was too late.

It took two men to pin his arms up against the back wall as if they were about to crucify him. His ragged, angry breaths filled the room to meld together with the howling wind.

“Don’t hurt her,” he panted out with a hiss of pain. “Don’t hurt her. Me. Hurt me. Not her.”

It was hard to hear him. You reached your hand up to cup over your left ear where the bullet had shot past. You could feel the stickiness of blood leaking from your burst eardrum. Subtly, you tilted your right ear towards him so you could better understand what they were saying.

Abby had leaned down in front of him. She was breathing nearly as heavily as he was. Fury etched into her every crease and a burning hatred scalded Joel in her sights.

“Joel Miller,” she whispered. Not asking. Not confirming. A statement.

“Who are you?” He shot back.

“Guess.”

Your eyes slipped close with dread. You knew Joel had no idea who this woman was. Joel’s past was filled with all colors of evil. She could have been anyone. It didn’t matter who she was or what Joel had done to her. Everything he’s ever done to survive, every horror, every act of ruthless murder would be flashing before his eyes right this very moment. He could pick any one out at random and it would be enough for someone to want revenge. He didn’t care who she was. She had her reasons and she was probably right for wanting his life. His past was bound to catch up to him eventually. He was just sad you had to be here to bear witness to his end.

The resignation you saw settle slowly onto his face was enough to push the tears stifled in your eyes down your cheeks.

“Why don’t you say whatever speech you got rehearsed and get this over with,” he spat out at her with a scowl. “I’m the one you want. Neither of them ever did anything to you. They’re innocent and deserve to live. Kill me and be done with it.”

“No!” You cried, begging them for his life. “No! Please. Please. I need him. Please. Don’t do this.”

Joel turned to your cries and gave you a half hearted smile. If they killed him, the one they were clearly looking for, then there was a chance that you could go free. If there was a chance to save you, he would take it. Always.

Abby took notice of the look on his face when he stared back at you. She turned between the two of you and a dark smile grew across her face. She stood up, walking from Joel over to you.

The move was all it took for Joel’s panic to immediately kick in, “Wait, stop! Leave her out of this! I’m the one you want!”

Abby grabbed a fistful of your hair and jerked your head back to expose your neck. She leered back at Joel, “Do you love her?”

He tried to lunge forward to reach them but was held back by the men. The blood loss from his leg was making him weak. You could see the color paling from his face. His eyes were turning bloodshot.

“Leave her alone!” He shouted, his voice coming out like a pained roar. “She didn’t do anything to you!”

Abby tossed your head back and walked over to the bag of golf clubs at your side. You watched her browse through each one before pulling out the one she wanted. She held it up to the light from the broken window to admire the view.

“I said,” she whispered, the sound deadly. “Do you love her?”

A scream of rage ripped out from Joel’s throat, “Yes! Fuckin’ dammit, yes! I love her!”

A look of sorrow flashed across Abby’s face like she wasn’t entirely sure this was the plan she originally wanted to go through with. She down at you with regret, “Then I’m sorry to do this. It’s not your fault. But revenge is revenge. An eye for eye, if you will.”

You swallowed, eyes widening as you stared at the end of the golf club, realizing exactly what was about to happen but being useless to stop it.

You were not going to leave this cabin alive.

“Joel Miller killed someone I loved,” she sighed. “I am going to kill someone he loves.”

“No!” Joel screamed. From behind Abby, you could see him thrashing violently against the men. He caught one of their hands in his mouth and bit down as hard as he could, mauling his head to the side with a jerk, as the sound of snapping bones echoed through the freezing air. The man shouted in pain as his finger was nearly ripped straight from his hand thanks to the death grip Joel had with his teeth.

Another gun shot rang out to silence everyone. This time it flew over Joel’s head and the bullet lodged into the back wall.

“Enough!” Abby shouted. “Hold him down, dammit.”

“Then hurry up and get this over with!” The man standing at your shoulder yelled back. “Before he bites off more of Jordan’s fucking fingers.”

The sound of your cracking skull was all you could hear as the club came straight down to make perfect contact with the top of your head. You hadn’t even seen her lift it over her to strike. You had been too busy trying to keep Joel in your sights.

You slumped forward, falling onto your knees and holding yourself up with your arms.

“Joel,” You mumbled through the delirium setting in. Your brain was rattled. Hot blood washed away your blurring vision until all you could see was red. “Joel…stay…me…with me…stay…”

Wack.

Crunch.

Wack.

Splash.

Your breath strained in heaving, gasping wails as your brain function rapidly declined. Blood showered down around you, seemingly falling from the sky like rain drops on a dreary evening. It reminded you of the way rain clings to the leaves to roll down their waxy surface and drip in warm drops down onto your forehead. A pleasant, familiar feeling. If you looked skywards, you wouldn’t see a ceiling, but a forest canopy of wet, green leaves.

Your arms shook under your weight to hold you up and pushed you back into a kneeling position. Your body swayed on unsteady legs, unable to focus on any one particular part of the room. The socket of your eye had been shattered. Your eye bulged in your head and hung loosely out of your skull.

You remembered the first time you found Joel. Over a decade ago. Smuggling supplies back and forth into the Boston quarantine zone. He had hated you. Thought you were annoying and never shut up. You’d pester him with a million questions, desperate to learn all his survival techniques. Somehow he never managed to shake you from his gasp. At some point along the way, you had weaseled your way into his hardened exterior and made a home inside his heart. He could complain all he wanted. He enjoyed your company.

Crack.

Your body gave out. You slumped onto your side.

From this position you could make out the hazy vision of Joel through your one working eye. There were tears streaming down his face. You’d never really seen him cry before. Not like this. His mouth hung open in a scream but you could no longer hear what was being said. You didn’t need to hear to know he was wailing out in agony for you. This was the kind of torture being inflicted on him that was meant to destroy his soul. This was worse than his own death. This was going to break him.

Oh, Joel.

He was on his stomach, arm outstretched, desperately trying to reach you.

You remembered the late nights of sitting around a campfire, with a cup of stale, weak coffee shared between you two, out in the woods. Joel always hated campfires at night. They were dangerous, easy to be seen, but you had convinced him to give it a try just this once. Just long enough to heat up your coffee. The coffee had tasted watery and bitter but his lips tasted sweet and soft. The risk of the fire was worth watching the way the warm orange glow danced across his skin.

Your fingers twitched out to reach for him.

If only you could touch him.

One last time.

You stretched your arm as far as you could.

Crack.

You were reaching blindly. Both your eyes are gone now. No sounds. No sights. No pain. Only Joel.

In the darkness, you reached for him.

His calloused tipped fingers brushed across your bloody hand. He was only close enough for your fingertips to reach but they laced together the best you were able.

A smile flashed onto your dying lips.

Crack.

You didn’t need to see him to know him.

His face exploded behind your blinded vision to greet you in the dark. Always sweaty and covered in dirt. Salt and peppered hair. Eyebrows tugged low in a permanent frown. The slope of his strong nose. Pouted lips peeking out from under his unkempt beard. The frown lines etched into his forehead that would soften whenever he caught sight of you. The warmth of his arms wrapped tightly around your body to keep you safe from the chilly nights.

His quiet whispers of “I love you” spoke into your ear when he thought you were sleeping.

He hardly ever said those words out loud to you when you were awake but he never had to. You could see his love through his every action.

Even now.

His last act of love he could ever give you was to fight against his restraints and reach far enough for his fingers to graze yours. So you knew you weren’t alone. So he could keep as safe as he was physically able to.

So he could touch you one last time.

I love you, Joel Miller.

Crack.

This was fun a little side step away from my usual beloved Andrew Garfield muse. I don't think I'll write for Joel much in the future. Not because I don't adore him but because I just write for a different fandom and struggle to do both at the same time. But I enjoyed a little peek into some Joel angst for my Sunday afternoon.

#the last of us #joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fic #joel miller one shot #the last of us spoilers #the last of us fic #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfic #tlou #joel tlou

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