YOU CLEVER DEVIL YOU HES BEEN IN A COMA THIS WHOLE TIME?! Oh My God I Love It The Plot Twists In Your

YOU CLEVER DEVIL YOU HES BEEN IN A COMA THIS WHOLE TIME?! oh my god I love it 😭😭 the plot twists in your writing Jesus

Seeing Things - Oops Baby

Masterlist

Summary: Being best friends with Frankie meant movie nights, drinks with the guys and a shoulder to cry on when you got your hear broken. He is head over heels for you but you don’t feel the same… yet a drunken mistake will tie your lives together forever!

Relationships: Frankie Morales x Reader

Warnings: Like AO3 I choose to give none. Read at own risk. 18+ (So... I am trying to update my other pics but the reaction I getting from this ones really giving me the motivation to continue it... so thank you and I hope you enjoy this update! ♥️ It's not a super long one but everything gonna become clear I promise!)

Series Masterlist - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

In the weeks that followed, the sightings of you only increased. You seemed to be everywhere he looked, asking him the same thing over and over again. 

Come back to me

He wished he knew what you wanted. Surely you didn't want him to leave little Esme? You would never have wanted him to hurt himself so why did you ask him to go back to him? You were dead!

"I brought you your favourites." He stated plainly as he pulled out the old bouquet of flowers Ben had brought you the week before. He poured out the stagnant water and replenished it with some from the bottle of water he'd stashed in his pack. Then, just as you had shown him on one of the many evenings you'd spent together, he arranged them carefully, sure to make sure they were just how you would have liked them. 

"I'm sorry I haven't visited sooner." He said as he got to his feet and rubbed the back of his neck nervously "Things have been busy with the baby and work... Don't want to bore you with the details but ya know... It's been hard." He let out a long sigh as he scraped his hand over his face to wipe away the traitorous tears that tracked down his cheeks "Esme's getting so big so fast." He continued "You should see her Titch, the spitting image of you! With the addition of my hair and eyes." He chuckled. 

His eyes traced over the words carved into your headstone. 

The words Here Lies carved in an elegant font followed by your first name and last name, 'Titch' at the end by request of Ben

Friend and Mother 

Forever loved

Never forgotten

Ben had selected the words. Frankie hadn't been able to bring himself to do it so the younger Miller had stepped up. Taking the 'anything I can do to help' statement he'd made to Fish when you'd died so literally. 

"Seeing you everywhere is killing me Titch." Frankie said after a short pause "Is this what you meant? Come to me, did you mean this? Because I am wracking my brains baby, trying to understand what it is you want from me." He sobbed "The guys all think I'm losing the plot but I know you're there. Just out of eyeshot or something and I know you're trying to tell me something so please... help me understand Titch." 

He paused, his eyes locked on the headstone as he let out a shaky breath before pleading one last time. 

"Please..." 

"Frankie." Your voice made him just and his head shot up, scanning the surroundings for you. 

"Frankie please..." You pleaded "Please don't leave me." 

No matter where he looked he couldn't see you. But he could hear you like you were right beside him. 

"What do you mean?" He begged, tears openly spilling down his cheeks "I'm here Titch... Baby I'm here!" 

"Please don't leave me, Frankie." You repeat, your tone breaking his heart as he desperately looked for you among the headstones "I can't do this without you." 

This statement let Frank's brows draw together. What did you mean by that? He was the one who'd been left behind. Your pleads disappeared like smoke on the wind and Frankie was left with the sound of his own breathing and the rattling of branches. He pressed his palms firmly against his eyes as he tried to slow his breathing, his pounding heart hammering against his ribs. 

"I can't do this." He whispered to no one in particular, allowing the dam to break "Fuck I can't... I can't cope with this." 

You didn't say anything else and Frankie audibly groaned before pushing himself to his feet. He didn't understand why you were doing this. Torturing him. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. 

...

"Well, ain't that better Lil' Titch?" Ben said as he finished fastening her babygrow "Uncle Ben's not so bad at this huh?" 

Esme smiled in reply, her legs kicking and arms waving in visible excitement before he scooped her into his arms and planted a big kiss on her cheek. She settled quickly on his shoulder and he smiled as she let out a little sigh and closed her eyes, falling asleep almost instantly. 

"Shit Titch... I wish you could see how perfect she is." He whispered as he placed a kiss on the infant's brow.

"Hands off... she's mine." Frank teased as he walked into the lounge, grinning as his best friend cuddled his daughter so closely.

"You gotta share the baby Fish!." Ben chuckled as he gently gingerly sat on the couch. 

“Yeah, yeah...” Frank grumbled as he waved off his friend, traipsing to the kitchen to fetch a beer. 

“How’d it go?” Ben asked when the older man reappeared, giving him a sympathetic smile as he watched him sit on the armchair across from him. 

“How’d what go?”

“Seeing Titch!” 

“Was fine.” Frankie shrugged, fooling no one once again. 

“There’s something you’re not telling me.” Ben pushed and Frankie groaned. 

“Ben…”

“You gotta talk about this shit man!” Ben pushed, pleading with his eyes for his friend to just open up to him. 

“You won’t believe me!” 

“Why would you-“

“I heard Titch again.” Frank snapped, keeping his voice low so he didn’t wake his baby. 

“What do you mean you heard her?” 

“I keep hearing her talking to me. Sometimes I see her and she always says the same thing!”

“Which is?” 

"To go back to her." Frank replied, scraping a shaky hand over his face. 

"Go back to her?"

"Yes, Ben!" He snarled "And today she was begging me not to leave her!" He choked "But she left me Ben!... I loved her and she left me all alone..." He trailed off as he broke down into tears, head in his hands. 

Ben got up and placed Esme in her Moses basket with practised ease before sitting on the arm of the chair Frank was sitting in and pulling him close. 

"I can't do this..." He sobbed and Ben sighed "I don't know what she wants from me." 

"Fish... this is just your brain's way of holding onto her." Ben sighed "We all deal with grief in different ways... Shit, I keep listening to the last voicemail she left me over and over again just so I don't forget her voice!" 

"No!" Frank all but shrieked "That's not what this is Ben! It's her I know it is!" 

"You can't seriously believe Titch is haunting you, man!" Ben sighed as he stood up to check on Esme as she started to fuss. 

"I don't know how else to explain it, Ben!" He growled "I keep seeing her everywhere and she keeps repeating the same thing over and over!" 

"Fish-" 

"But then today she said something different." Frankie interrupted " She begged me not to leave her... Told me she couldn't do this without me..." He trailed off whilst nervously pacing his lounge "What does that even mean? She can't do this without me... She can't be dead without me? Doesn't make any fucking sense!" 

"Fish... Man, you need to calm down!" Ben pleaded, noting how breathless the pilot has suddenly become "This won't be doing your heart any good man!" 

"My heart's fine!" The older man grumbled.

"You say that but this can't be good for you!" Ben warned "Just take a breath man... I believe you, okay! I believe you saw her." 

"You're just saying that." Fish scoffed, rolling his eyes when Ben frantically shook his head. 

"I'm really not okay!" The younger man pleaded "Just... Just please." 

Frankie sighed as he ran a shaky hand through his mussed hair. His eyes then drifted to Esme who was staring over at him with her large, teary eyes. His heart ached and he was quick to scoop her up into his arms and lay a soothing kiss on the crown of her head. 

"I'm sorry baby girl." He whispered as he bounced her gently in his arms "I just miss your mummy so much." 

"We all do brother." Ben said as he placed a comforting hand on Frankie's back "I'm not trying to say that I even remotely understand the pain you're feeling brother but know that I miss her so much it hurts... And that I am here! Whatever you need..." 

Frankie nodded, giving his friend a weak smile before resting his cheek on the top of Esme's head. 

"I know Ben." He said softly "Thanks." 

"Any time." Ben replied, giving his friend a friendly wink before grabbing his stuff to leave "See you tomorrow for dinner yeah?" 

"Sure." The pilot replied softly "See you then." 

...

"Why the fuck did you pick a restaurant that didn't have a parking lot asshole!" Ben grumbled as he pushed Esme's pram along the pavement, the steep hill making it a little harder. 

"It had good reviews okay!" Will grumbled, "It's not that bad!" 

"You're not the one pushing a pram up a 90-degree hill!" Ben grumbled, pulling a smirk from Frankie. 

"You offered brother!" Frank pointed out, sniggering at the groan that he received in reply "I can take her if you're struggling."

"I am not struggling!" Ben argued and Fish threw his hands up in surrender.

"We're nearly there!" Will piped up "Just across the street."

The three of them reached the crossing, breathing a small sigh of relief when the restaurant came into view. Will crossed first with Ben following closely behind him. Something had distracted Frankie, leading him to step out a few steps behind his friends but your voice calling his name stopped him in his tracks and he looked to his left, your figure illuminated by a bright white light. 

"Come back to me." You pleaded as you always did and Frankie froze. Tears sprouted as he looked at you smiling back at him as you held your hand out to him "Come back to me." 

You disappeared as quickly as you appeared, a horn sounding before Ben screamed his name. Then suddenly he was flying for a brief moment before his body connected with something solid and he rolled over it before hitting the ground with a sickening crunch. 

"FISH!!" Ben screamed as he ran to the pilot's side, hands shaking as he took in his friend's condition "Fish stay with me." He choked as he saw how bent and broken the older man looked.

Frankie winced as he turned his head, noting how Will was standing with the pram as he frantically spoke to who he assumed was the emergency service on his phone. He also noted that the driver who had hit him was nowhere to be seen. 

Hit and run. 

"Ben." He coughed after he spoke, blood filling his throat at an alarming rate. 

"Shhhh." He hushed the man and stroked his hair, desperately trying to keep himself together "Just keep breathing for my Fishsticks!" He pleaded 'Please don't leave me..."

His last statement blended into yours. He could hear you again, pleading not to leave you and he only felt more confused. He was dying... it was clear that he was so surely he was going back to you. 

Surely you should be happy?

"Please, Frankie... Please don't leave me." 

You pleaded... your voice shaky. 

"I'm coming Titch." He whispered. His eyes fell shut as darkness took him. 

"What's happening?" You sobbed as hands moved you from the room.

"He's crashing!" Stated someone in the room and you shook your head as you were pushed into the hallway, still able to see everything through the glass walls of Frankie's room. 

"Please, Frankie... Please don't leave me." You sobbed "Please..." 

Another set of hands pulled you away but not before you witnessed them shock the man you loved, desperately trying to restart the heart that was supposed to save him. You were placed in a room where you had spent more time than you cared to remember in the past month and a half. Hours sat waiting for news on whether Frankie was going to pull through. 

He'd gotten the heart he so desperately needed yet for close to two months he'd been in a coma, fighting battle after battle. This was just the latest in a long list of complications he'd suffered. 

Kidney Failure... Infection... His body had even rejected the donor heart but that was something they had managed to detect early. It seemed his body just refused to get better, even if his mind wasn't willing to let go. 

"What's happening?" Asked Ben as he stepped into the room after being directed here by a nurse, his brows tightly drawn in concern. 

"He crashed." You sobbed as you threw your head into your hands.

"What?... What caused it?" 

"I don't know." You replied, shaking your head "They dragged me in here as they tried to bring him back... I haven't heard anything yet." 

Ben nodded solemnly as he sat down beside you, handing you Esme when you held your arms out to receive her. You needed to hold your baby. 

"Why won't he get better Ben?" You sobbed as your eyes locked with his.

"He's really poorly." He replied softly "He needs time to get better." 

"But that's just it... He's not getting better!" 

"He will, Titch." Ben assured you and you sighed. 

"How do you know that?" 

"Because he's got something to fight for." He stated plainly. 

The two of you then sat in that room for what felt like hours, glad of Esme to keep you somewhat distracted from what the outcome of this latest setback might be. The doctor appeared sometime later. His expression was difficult to read. 

"How is he Doc?" Ben asked, holding your free hand tightly in his. 

"We managed to bring him back." The doctor announced, "He's weak and we have had to up his anti-rejection meds." 

"He's rejecting the heart again?" 

"He never technically stopped." The doctor stated "We have been able to keep it under control with medication. He seems to be responding well though and we're hopeful." 

You both breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief, glad that finally, something was going right. 

"There's something else though." The doctor stated and both you and Ben shared a grim glance before looking at the doctor again. 

"What is it?" You asked, your voice shaking slightly. 

"He's awake." 

Next

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Me about to finally publish another chapter of a fanfic I haven't touched in YEARS: Finally it's perfect I hope it's worth the wait

AO3: we're being attacked

Me: ಠ⁠﹏⁠ಠ ಥ⁠_⁠ಥ

This one healed a part of me I didn't know needed healing ❤️

Stay (Joel Miller x Reader)

Masterlist | Request here!

Summary: After being betrayed by a FEDRA agent, losing your belongings and getting severely injured, you have no choice but to steal and kill your way to survival. But when Joel and Ellie become your next targets, you never could've imagined how they'd save you in more ways than one.

Word count: 8.2k

Warnings: smut, 18+ content, MDNI, PIV sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f!receiving), violence, descriptions of killing, descriptions of injury, guns, blood,

A/n: eek, I'm so in love with this fic! I'd love to know what you think, and if you have any Joel x reader ideas, requests are open so send them my way! :)

As the sun sets beneath the tree-lined horizon, you can’t help but think about how worryingly close to death you are by now.

Spring brought cold winds and heavy rain, washing away the den you’d managed to live in for a few months. It’s a wonder it lasted that long, really.

You could’ve managed. You’ve managed for years now; your whole life, in fact. You never could remember your mother or your father, if you had siblings, if you had friends. All you know is you were 6 years old when Outbreak Day destroyed the world, and you’ve been alone from then on, lucky enough to get brought to a QZ and lucky enough to escape it when you were 15.

You could’ve managed the shitty weather, until you were betrayed, by a FEDRA agent no less. One you’d dealt with for a few months now, smuggling whatever drugs he wanted into his QZ in exchange for the food and medicine and warm clothes they had there. You never wanted to go back, could never let yourself get locked behind those walls again, but you had to admit their resources were far better than any you could attain out here, alone in the infected world, and so you made it your business to get your hands on it.

It was a week ago now. The agent - whose name you never bothered to learn - must’ve been caught with the gear he got from you. Of course, FEDRA let him off easy, as long as they gave him a name. Your name.

So instead of pocketing a new med kit and a crate of food, you got beat, shot at, nearly tortured before you could make your escape into the shrubbery and away from the small legion of agents that came for you. But not before the agent you’d dealt with led them to your base, where they burnt your every belonging, every piece of tattered material and weaponry and sentimentality you owned.

And so here you are, no food, no clothes but the ones on your back, one gun with just a few bullets left and a blunt knife hidden in your boot. And you’re fucking pissed.

Pissed that you’re dying. Pissed that over a decade of fighting, looting, trading had been burnt to ash in just moments. Pissed that the bullet wounds in your torso weren’t enough to kill you, but just enough to let you live in agony, spurred on by hunger and dehydration.

Even the small stashes you’d spent years placing strategically around a good 25-mile radius were useless without a map of their locations. Which you had made, obviously - you haven’t survived this long out of luck. You’re smart, you know how to traverse this world, and you know how to protect yourself. But everything got fucking burnt.

So perhaps you don’t know how to protect yourself at all, because you’ve spent the last week wondering how you could’ve been so stupid as to let this happen.

It’s not like you’d trusted the agent. You don’t trust anyone.

But you worked with him, and somewhere along the line you must’ve slipped, told him where you keep your base, let him choose a meeting point when it should always, always be you to choose. You can’t even remember what it was, what error you made. Untreated bullet wounds do an awfully messy thing to your mind.

You collapse through a string of branches and shrubbery, landing with a wet thud on the muddy path. You’ve stumbled into a clearing, and with as much strength as you can muster, you pull your cheek away from the dirt and look up to see the old building you’ve been looking for. A small, weak smile tugs on your lips. A glimmer of hope.

It used to be a doctor’s surgery, as far as you know. Written on the decayed wooden sign was ‘Dr. Hardman’s Healthcare Services’, though it was so faint it was almost unintelligible, and the cracked blue floor tiles gave a clinical air to the place, even in its decrepit state.

Obviously, it would have been looted beyond recognition within a week of Outbreak Day. 

But there were those stupid enough to go in and search it anyway. And that’s why you always came back to places like these over the years.

The first time you did it, you were 16, not long free of the QZ and still getting to grips with life on the outside. With surviving. It was a different building, a warehouse somewhere near Philadelphia as far as you remember. One you hoped would have something left, anything worth taking. It didn’t - but it did have people. Other looters, a small group of around 3, all of whom had split up to search while leaving a pile of rucksacks near the front entrance. It was incredibly easy to take what you needed, and you learned then the brilliance of lying in wait for others to bring their resources to you, and taking, and running.

It was sleazy, and you’re not proud of it. But it’s the only way you could survive those first few years, before you cemented your foundations, able to source your own food and build solid relationships and make decent trades that let you survive.

And now, you have to do it all again, because your shit’s all burnt and your blood’s surely depleting and breathing is starting to get really difficult.

You just hope it’ll be simple, that they won’t even realise what happened, ‘them’ being whichever unlucky soul happens to stop by first. Not because you’re afraid to kill - you accepted a long time ago that it was something you had to do to survive - but because you really don’t think you can survive a fight. 

You don’t even pick yourself up from the floor where you fell. You’re just about hidden below the bushes, with a good view of the building, and the mud you’re lying in has warmed up from your body heat, providing much needed comfort as the rain continues to pour.

You spend a few hours like that, falling in and out of sleep, when you finally hear voices. Two, you think, though you raise your head to see properly and sure enough, there are two people making their way up the path to your right. It’s an odd pairing; there’s a man, tall, rough-looking with his beard and messy hair. The other is a woman, a girl even, she can’t be more than 16, you think. His daughter? Perhaps. She’s excitable, almost galloping up to the house, shouting back at the man who seems to only grumble in response.

They’re far enough away that you’re confident you won’t be seen, but close enough to just about hear them, straining your ears against the rain’s pitter-patter.

“This place is creepy, dude. Do we have to stay here?” The girl whines, spinning herself around a pillar that stands at the entrance, childlike.

The man grumbles, stopping before the steps of the building, looking up at it with a hand rested on the strap of his rifle. You’ll have to get them while they’re asleep, you think.

“Yes, Ellie. We do. I’ve gotta stash of some things left here, and it’s the only proper shelter for miles.” His voice is low, southern you think, and undoubtedly appealing. Not what matters right now.

“But Joel-”

“Just get inside.” The man, Joel, enters first, clearly protective of the girl - Ellie, you think he called her - as he finally gives her the go ahead to follow him in. The door shuts, and your head falls back to the ground, knowing it’ll be a few hours yet before you can make your move.

Joel and Ellie. You remember their names as you start to fall back asleep, figuring if you had to kill them later on, it’s the least you could do.

You’re nice like that.

You really regret the whole ‘lying face down in the mud for 6 hours’ thing once it’s time to actually get up. Everything hurts, the rumble of your stomach aches against the wounds that puncture it, and the dirt has soaked through your clothes and onto your skin so thickly that it almost weighs you down.

But it’s now or never, so you all but drag yourself towards the building, doing everything you can to hold back the whimpers that threaten to break through your lips.

You enter the back way, a quieter one, where the frame is empty of a door and - hopefully - where you’d be able to sneak in without detection. The front entryway was too obvious, too bold, and if they expected anyone to come in, it’d be through there.

There’s an upstairs, but it’s pretty miserable, even by the current day’s standards. You’re fairly confident they’ll have stayed downstairs; the reception area was particularly favoured among the less experienced travellers, though from Joel’s apparent knowledge of the area and the gun on his back, you suspect he’s not one of them.

You’re right; they’re not in the reception, so you continue to tiptoe through the halls, checking through windows and the gaps in doors before finally hearing a slight rustle coming from the end of the corridor.

You smirk, slightly endeared to these two; they’d made a good choice. One you always make whenever you spend the night here. They’re in the clinic’s bathroom - for some reason, bathrooms in any building were always forgotten by looters. As if no one would think to sleep there. It’s a small but cosy space, close enough to the front door to make a quick escape, but just hidden out of way enough for it to be easily the safest spot to hide.

There’s also no window into the room for obvious reasons, and while that’s served you well many times while you stayed here, right now you curse as you plan your next move to get in and out undetected.

The rustles are quiet, not the movements of someone awake, but turning in their sleep. You wrap a hand around the door handle, giving you full control of its swing as you open it as slowly as you can manage, your other harm held tight against your aching torso.

The door opens easily, silently, and you’re grateful. Joel is lay closest to the door - his protectiveness on show again - using his bag as a pillow. Dammit, you think. The girl, Ellie, is lay against the back wall, her frame noticeably much smaller than his from where you’re crouched, watching from the small slip in the door.

You search the room, the hint of desperation you’ve managed to push down for this long finally creeping up on you, your head suddenly going dizzy.

Then, you see it.

Ellie’s backpack in the corner of the room, by Joel’s feet, tucked under one of the sinks. Within arms reach if you can just fit in at the right angle.

You push your arm through the gap, trying to find balance with your free hand while not leaning against the door so much that it opens further and inevitably hits Joel, waking him. If the guy’s as experienced as you think he is, your pained, whispered gasps alone may be enough to do that. But you carry on, twisting at the elbow and pressing your cheek against the doorframe, flailing your hand until it finally, finally brushes against the dense material of the bag.

Relief floods you, and for a moment, you almost don’t feel the pain anymore. You strain further, your fingertips pulling the bag towards you just enough to be able to properly grab it, and you’re almost reckless with the way you snatch it through the door and back away quickly.

You stand on shaky legs, not even thinking to check the contents of the bag; you just needed to get out now. You head for the front door, letting the wall guide you there as you lean against it for support, the dizziness stirring in your head once again.

Then, you hear it.

The unmistakable sound of the safety being taken off a gun. One you’d produced yourself too many times to count.

“You’re gonna put that down, and you’re gonna walk away. ‘Else i shoot you.” 

It’s him. The man, Joel.

His voice is far more gruff now than it was before, when you were outside. You turn to face him, still clinging to the wall, the bag still in your hand. His expression is a mix of anger and nonchalance; like this was more of an annoyance to him than anything else. He just wanted a good night’s sleep, but here you were, padding through the shadows and stealing from them.

He’s about as happy as you’d be in this situation.

“Put it down,” he repeats himself, louder this time, the unwavering aim of his pistol pointed right between your eyes.

He must’ve woken up Ellie, because you hear movement from the room behind Joel, and next thing you know she’s creeping out the door with her eyes wide open. “The fuck is going on?”

Joel curses, rolling his eyes, and you just watch their strange dynamic unfold. “Get the fuck back in there. I’m just dealing with a little… problem,” he turns back to you.

You really didn’t want it to end like this. You never do. But this is the way it goes, more often than not. Still, the girl’s spunky, with more life than you’ve seen in anyone for a very long time. And he, well… he’s hot, and if that isn’t a good enough reason to feel bad about killing someone, you don’t know what is.

There’s no doubt in your mind that you can pull it off. You’ve been in this situation a thousand times - gun pointed at your head, no escape route in sight - and you’ve left every time with your pockets full and a handful of dead bodies behind you.

You brace yourself to launch, to throw the bag at the man then draw your gun just as fast, but you’re cut off by a shriek-like sound from the girl, “oh, shit.” She’s looking at you, but at your face; you follow her eyes down to your abdomen, and yeah… shit.

You’re bleeding. Like, really bad. You’ve been bleeding for 7 days now but this is a fresh, gushing stream of blood that spurts from the left bullet wound and mixes with the mud that cakes you into a dirty, sticky mess.

The dizziness hits you again, for longer now, and you stumble. Any escape plans are long gone as everything blurs together, nothing but one tall shape and one short one visible before you, and Ellie speaks again, “dude, is she… dying?”

Yeah. Maybe.

The two exchange more words, but you don’t hear them. They could’ve been screaming into your ear, just one inch from your face, for all you know. Your senses cloud completely, you think you feel yourself fall, and then… everything turns black.

—------------------

You groan, fighting the heavy pull of your eyes to stay closed, completely disoriented. Your eyes flicker open for moments at a time then shut again, your brain seemingly not ready to wake up yet. You’re already going into overdrive, though. 

Because you feel really fucking weird.

You’re warm. The room you’re in is warm. The bed you’re in is warm. You haven’t slept in a bed in years, and yet here you are, soaked in sheets as light as clouds and laying on a mattress that cradles you like a child.

The pain is gone. A dull ache sits in your abdomen, but it lulls, more like a stomach ache than a week-old and most likely infected bullet wound. 

You feel good.

Weirded the fuck out, but good.

You use your strength to lift an arm, groaning again, rubbing the tiredness from your eyes. You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear a gasp from across the room, and suddenly there are feet hitting the floor and a loud shout, “Joel! She’s awake!”

The voice is familiar, probably the only thing around you that is, but you can’t place where. Its owner has left the room as you finally scan it, pulling yourself to sit upright. 

The room’s actually really, really nice. It looks normal, like the bedrooms you saw in those old Hollywood movies you’d managed to find one day. You’re lay on a king-size bed, set inside a carved wooden frame, with matching side-pieces and a dressing table directly across from you. There’s a white wardrobe to your right, and just beyond that, a large window where the curtains are blowing back slightly, letting you see out into the neighbourhood. It’s quiet, but pristine. It’s normal.

It’s weird. To your left is the only door, presumably where the other person who’d been in there with you left from, making that a no-go in your escape route. Window it is.

You swing your legs off the bed with a whine, the ache in your stomach intensifying. It’s only then that you notice the bandages wrapped around your torso, perfectly neat and clearly fresh. Like someone had been replacing them.

You hear two sets of footsteps, one is quieter but quicker, running up the stairs outside your room. The other is much heavier and slower, and the juxtaposition of them both causes a sudden flash in your mind of the pair you recently met -

“Hi,” Ellie says, having reached the top of the stairs and charged into the room before you could even comprehend your own trail of thoughts.

You just stare at her, in what must’ve been the most confused and annoyed expression you’ve had in your life. She stares back, with a mischievous look on her face that both sets you on edge and endears her to you at the same time.

Joel appears then, the same scowl on his face as he’d worn before you passed out, terribly unimpressed as he stares down at you on the bed.

For fuck’s sake.

“Where am I?” You ask, given up on your plans to get out of there. Your body’s too tired.

“Bill and-” Ellie starts, but Joel quickly shuts her up with a sharp glare. “Oh shit, erm, it’s a secret. Can’t tell you where you are.”

You roll your eyes, looking around the room again before setting your eyes back on the two. “Why am I here?”

“We saved your lucky ass,” Joel replies, his tone almost mocking. He shifts from the doorframe, walking towards you and folding his arms, stopping only a metre away from where you sat. “Shoulda’ killed you when I had the chance, but this little pain in my ass,” he nods towards Ellie, “insisted we save your life. After you fuckin’ stole from us.”

“To be fair, she didn’t get very far,” Ellie quips, then addresses you directly, “you fuckin’ fainted, dude. I thought you were dead!”

Joel just grumbles at her interruption.

You squint, leaning your head back in a poor attempt at a stretch. Your body is screaming at you to move, to walk around, to remember how to function. You push the desperation down, not ready yet to try anything, not with those two just staring at you.

You push them instead, unsure, untrusting. “You’re saying you just decided to save me? Just like that? After I stole from you?”

Ellie nods enthusiastically, smiling. Joel grunts again. He does that a lot, you’ve noticed.

You huff, looking away, unsatisfied with their answers. “Should’ve let me die.”

Joel sighs, unfolding his arms and throwing his head back in annoyance. He points at Ellie, as he makes his way out of the room. “Fuckin’ told you this was a bad idea.”

He leaves. It’s awkward. Ellie just continues to stare at you as you hang your head, hands clasped in your lap, trying to figure out what to do next.

“We literally saved your life, you know,” Ellie breaks the silence. You look up at her as she continues, “you were so nearly dead. It was so weird. You were literally-”

“Yes, yes, I get it.” You interrupt her, rubbing your aching head. It’s silent for a little longer, still awkward, and you let out a sigh. “Thank you. For - for saving me.”

She smiles. A big, cheesy grin that somehow lifts your mood with its genuinity. Then she gestures to the door, the one Joel had disappeared from minutes before - “it’s him you need to thank. He’s the one who carried your sorry ass 3 miles to get here.”

You laugh, something foreign to you after all these years, and she giggles back. The air between you both seems softer now, lighter, and the tension that filled your body when you woke up has dissipated completely. You think she can sense that it has, too.

“Frank told me to tell you there’s fresh clothes in the closet, and the shower’s out the door and on your right,” she points in the vague direction she’d described. “We’re having a barbeque later, just come downstairs when you’re ready.” 

You nod, and she leaves you with a final smile. You take another look around the room and sigh, wondering just what you’d gotten yourself into.

—------------------

Bill and Frank are fucking lovely. Bill’s a little grumpier than his partner, but just as sweet all the same, and you couldn’t quite wrap your head around the little life they’d built together.

When you came downstairs after your shower, you’d bumped into them in the kitchen, preparing food and drinks to bring outside for the barbeque. Frank explained how things worked, how they live off the land, growing and making everything they could ever need to live happily here forever. How Joel had helped them stay safe, setting up the large metal gates that surrounded their small, solely-occupied community. It sounded like he really cared about them, and then Frank told you about Ellie, how Joel had taken her under his wing and they were travelling together on some sort of mission that they couldn’d built together.

That was a few hours ago. You were alone now, sat in the living room, listening to the soft music of the radio and the laughter of the group outside. You didn’t feel like joining them; they wouldn’t want you there, a looter and murderer, and even if they did you weren’t the type to make friends. It’s a dangerous habit in this world.

So instead, you sit on your own in the house, feeling a little sorry for yourself and really craving the sausages you could smell cooking outside.

You hear something behind you, turning around to see Joel traipsing in through the back door. He kicks his shoes off, making you smile at the politeness from such a rough, grumpy man, and stalks through the house towards the kitchen. He stops when he sees you.

The two of you just stare at each other, for a good few moments, the kind that feel like hours.

“What’re you doing in here?” Joel asks. You can almost sense something honest in his tone. Like he genuinely wondered why you were here, alone, and not out there with them.

“Thinking,” you just reply, quietly.

“‘Bout what?” And there it is again, that earnest intrigue.

You shrug, not sure what to tell him. “What to do next, I guess.”

Joel furrows his brows, and begins to stride towards where you sit on the couch. He walks slowly, hands buried in his jean pockets, before taking a seat on the chair across from you and relaxing into the cushion.

It’s strange seeing him act so casually, so normal, when just days ago he’d had a gun pointed at your head and every intent of pulling the trigger.

You suppose he feels the same about you, sat on a floral-print couch, covered in a far-too-big plaid shirt and - for lack of a better word - sulking.

“So what’re you gonna do next?”

He’s looking at you, fiercely so, his eyes unwavering from yours. You don’t know whether to look at him, or the floor, or your hands fidgeting in your lap - his stare is uncomfortable and intoxicating, all at the same time. You opt for your hands.

“I don’t know. All my shit’s gone. That’s - that’s why I was there. At the clinic. Ste-… taking your stuff.” 

Joel pushes out a breath of air, almost a laugh but not quite. It’s not mocking, though - not like his tone was earlier. It’s understanding, like his way of telling you, “I know.”

And then he says it. “I know.”

You just nod, and he continues, “you gotta be more careful out there. Anyone less caring than Ellie woulda let you die there on that floor.”

“I’ve done this my whole life,” you shoot back. “And if it weren’t for - fuckin - this” - you point to the bandages round your torso - “I’d have killed you both and left you with everything you have.”

Joel rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of something playing on his lips, like the beginnings of a smile. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and maintaining his stare. His brow is cocked upwards.

“Well, ain’t we lucky you had your little problem there, huh?” You scowl at him, finally meeting his eyes and being almost surprised by the sheer depth of them. There’s pain in those eyes, you can see it because it matches your own, and yet there’s a kindness in them that you’d not seen in the man until now.

“And what about you?” You ask, feeling bolder now. “Why didn’t you let me die?”

“The kid made me help you,” he answers with speed, like he’d rehearsed it. You can tell there’s something on his tongue, something waiting to spill, and so you stay quiet. Coax it out.

“And… those wounds, you didn’t get them from some average Joe’s gun. And someone your age, someone who must’a grown up in this hell… you don’t go stealin’ from people like me for the fun of it.”

You nod, offering him a small smile, one that says thank you. You think it’s the only form of thanks he’ll accept. 

“I did want to kill you, though.” Joel says, so casually he could’ve been telling you about the weather that day.

You huff. “And I wanted to kill you.”

His eyes stay trained on yours, and you don’t look away this time. It’s close, intimate. “I really don’t like you.” He seems to lean in as he says it.

“I don’t like you either,” you reply, mirroring the sly turn of his mouth.. Your answer seems to satisfy whatever it was he was looking for, and he nods.

“Good. We’re on the same page then.”

In unison, you back away from one another. “Yeah,” you say, though it’s redundant. “We are.”

With that, Joel stands, offering his hand to you. You just stare at it, unsure of what he wants. “C’mon,” he says, gesturing outside. “Come and sit with us.”

You think on it for a moment. You still don’t know what you’re going to do next - where you’ll go - and you certainly don’t want to make friends. But here’s this man, with his calloused hands and the scars on his face that tell a thousand stories, and you just can’t seem to say no to him.

So, you take his hand, letting him help you through the doors and onto the lawn where the three others sit drinking and lauging. There are a few burgers and hot dogs left out, which you eye up hungrily, making Joel laugh. Bottles of wine and whiskey sit on the table, a few cans of soda for Ellie, too, and two empty chairs sat round the camp fire waiting for yourself and Joel to sit down on. A feeling of joy spreads through you at that, the fact they’d thought to leave a chair out for you. You try to ignore it.

—------------------

The night is filled with laughter, and drinking, and telling stories of a world long gone that make your heart hurt and your mind spin with wonder.

Joel’s distant, and you have a feeling that’s just how he is, the type who prefers to watch and listen than be the loudest person in the room.

Ellie, for whatever reason, has taken to you quickly. You think it’s because you’re one of the first women she’s hung out with in a long time, someone she can relate too, and for all the attention she gives you, it’s nice in a way. Albeit overwhelming.

That’s what all of this is, really. Overwhelming.

Because you don’t live here. It’s not your home. None of your things are here. None of your things are anywhere but that wretched pile of ash, most likely collapsed in the rain and buried in mud by now.

And though you won’t admit it, it hurts. It hurts to have lost it all. It hurts to have to start again. It hurts to have these people, these great people, showing you so much hospitality and knowing you’ll have to leave because this won’t work. It can’t work. Friendships can’t work, and by god, whatever it is you’re starting to feel for Joel cant work either.

You’ve stayed at Bill and Frank’s for four days now. Three nights from when you woke up. And in that time, you’ve found yourself drawn to Joel in a way you’ve never felt before. He’s distracting. He talks, and even without having to try, you hang on to every word he says. You wonder if he feels the same way. You don’t talk much, at all - only if you absolutely have to. And yet when you do, he’s there, listening.

The one you do talk to, more than the others, at least, is Ellie. You see some of yourself in her, you think. Someone lost in a world that had given up on her before she even had the chance to try.

And that scares you, too. If there’s one thing you’re not, it’s someone to look up to, and yet that’s all the kid seems to do.

It’s something you think about as you pack your bags.

You’re not stealing anything, per say. Except the bag. And the things you’re putting in it.

But it’s what you need to do in order to leave, and get out of their way for good. If that means losing a shirt or two and a pack of sandwiches, then so be it.

It’s late, around 3am, when you’re sure everyone will be asleep. You tiptoe down the stairs, holding the back tightly to your side, checking behind you every few minutes knowing that Ellie’s as sneaky as she talkative.

You slip through the front door, the cold night air hitting you like a brick. You curse yourself for not packing a coat, it must’ve slipped your mind as you rushed, but it’s too late to go back now.

You head down the patio steps, your only priority now being to get out of there as quick as you can. You’d managed to disable the security on gate 1, it should mean you can slip out pretty easily, and then it’s back to your old life again. Back to survival.

You didn’t think you’d feel as sad as you do right now. You’ve been alone for so long, convinced yourself that it’s what you wanted… but loneliness never felt like this. It never hurt. And now, as you make haste away from Frank and Bill’s house, away from Ellie, away from him… you wonder if the bullets hurt less.

Until you’re stopped, that is. 

“Where the hell are you goin’?”

The similarity to your first meeting with Joel isn’t lost on you.

Except now, as you turn around to face him, it isn’t anger drawn across his features. It’s hurt. Real, deep, hurt. Heartbreak, you’d be inclined to call it, if you didn’t know better. If you thought that was possible.

His eyes drop down to bag you’re holding, clearly full, then up again to meet yours. His expression saddens even more, somehow.

“You’re leaving.”

It’s not a question.

So you don’t answer.

It’s hard to tell if he expects you to or not. But in this agonising silence, he calls your bluff, because he knows you have something more to say.

“I have to.”

He shakes his head, and answers just as quickly as he had a few days earlier in the front room. Except it’s not rehearsed. It’s raw, and desperate, and pleading. “No you don’t.”

Tears brim in your eyes, stinging. “I do. I do, Joel. It doesn’t work. Friendships don’t work. And this-“ you stop yourself from gesturing between you, from finishing your sentence at all. He knows what you were going to say. But he still pushes you.

“And what?” He begins to walk towards you, as slowly, as painfully, as usual. 

The words are gone from your mouth, I forgotten but unspeakable, too powerful to tell him. But he knows. He knows.

And before you know it, he’s reached you. It’s the closest you’ve been yet, closer than when he sat across from you on the couch. His breath fans your face. Your fingers brush his, and you tell yourself it’s not on purpose.

“And what?” He whispers, not because it’s nighttime, or because you’re already so close. But because he’s scared.

Then he kisses you, leaning in so heavily you think he’s trying to fuse you with himself, to keep you there forever. And in that moment, that’s all you want. You kiss him back, dropping the bag and wrapping your arms around his neck while his go to your waist, the kiss deepening and his tongue slipping into your mouth.

You moan, spurring him on, his crotch now pressed flush against yours. You let one hand fall from his neck, glide down your bodies and slide between you, palming his already half-hard cock. Joel groans into your mouth, bucking his hips and kissing you so desperately that your teeth collide and you miss one another’s lips at times. Neither of you care.

Before you can realise what’s happening, Joel’s sweeping you up, hooking your legs round his waist and holding you up by your thighs. He’s careful to never break the kiss, to never let go of you, and you hardly recognise the movement as he begins to carry you back inside the house.

Your escape bag is left behind on the grass.

Joel’s careful as he brings you upstairs, quiet, though his need for you never falters. It’s hot, passionate, and his grip on your thighs leaves bruises that you hope will last forever. 

He nudges his bedroom door open with his back, letting you fall in, entangled together. He finally breaks your kiss, the both of you gasping for the air that your noses alone weren’t enough to breathe. 

You land on the bed, bouncing softly below Joel’s gaze. He’s quick to climb on top, guiding you backwards so your head hits the pillow, just as soft as the one you’ve been sleeping on the past few nights.

And then, for the first time since he discovered you trying to leave, the two of you just… stop. Joel lifts a gentle hand to your cheek, brushes his calloused thumb across it, watching you with a cocktail of amazement and care and the same fear you saw before in his eyes. 

It’s sweet. It’s gentle, and soft, and there’s a voice in the back of your head telling you it’s something more. The same something you weren’t able to say when Joel caught you leaving.

Now, you don’t know what love is. 

You’ve never known what love is. You’ve seen films, old pirated copies you’d been able to find on your travels, that you watched tucked away in a camping tent on the DVD player you looted from some old store. You’ve heard music, sweet tales of love and loss, told through melodies and lyrics that seemed too much like fairytales to be true.

You don’t know what love is, and yet for all the stories you’ve watched and heard, this feels pretty damn close.

You don’t know how, but Joel sees the struggle behind your eyes. The way your mind spins at a million miles an hour.

“Hey. You okay?” He whispers, his southern drawl sultrier than ever.

You nod, but it’s not enough. “No, come on. I need to know you’re okay.”

“I’m okay. I’m okay, Joel,” you breathe, and he seems appeased. 

“Alright.” He kisses you again, much slower this time, letting your lips slide together like they’d been made to fit just right.

The kiss becomes heated, the same passion rising within you both again, and Joel reaches for the rim of your shirt, pulling it over you with a quick check for your agreement. You lift your arms, letting him expose your already braless chest, and you’d be lying if you said the way his eyes light up and his cheeks fill with blush didn’t fuel your ego.

You take his shirt off next, then reach for the zip of his jeans, but he stops you. You look up at him, confused, and he just smiles before leaving a chaste kiss on your lips.

“Not yet.” He murmurs, before kissing down your neck and onto the plane of your chest. You moan, hands tangling in his hair as he leaves marks across your skin, finally reaching the peak of your breast and sucking it into his mouth. Quiet gasps fall from your mouth, sensual, basking in the feeling of his hot tongue on your nipple.

“You like that? My mouth on your tits?”

Another loud moan leaves your lips at his words, dirtier than before and making wetness flood at your core. Joel grins - your eyes are closed, but you can feel the stretch of his mouth on your breast, and your grip on his hair tightens in response.

He finally, finally starts to move to where you want him. His fingers are painfully slow as they work to pull your jeans down, revealing your soaking wet cunt to him, and the groan that escapes his throat at the sight only makes you more needy.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so pretty.” He moans, spreading soft kisses along your public bone, centimetres from where you need him. “How bad d’ya need my tongue, honey?”

You could scream at how badly he’s teasing you, but you’re able to hold it, responding in a way you certainly weren’t proud of. “So - so badly. Please, baby, please.”

Your hands flex in his hair, tugging on the strands haphazardly, and the way his breath speeds up against your core lets you know he likes it. On your word, he delves into your cunt, dragging his tongue over your folds and burying it in your clit.

“Shit, shit, Joel - ah -“ your moans are getting louder, more needy, desperate as he tortures your cunt and licks across your bundles of nerves again and again.

You arch your back off the bed, not even in control of your own body at this point, his tongue now plunging so deep inside you that you can hardly remember your own name.

He fucks you with his mouth, moving his lips against your hole as his tongue curves around your walls, curling in a way that makes you whine so loud you fear any one of the others in the house would hear you. Joel doesn’t seem to care though, his only focus being on you, your pleasure, your screams for him.

“J- Joel, please, I’m gonna -“

You regret warning him. You regret the words as soon as they fell from your mouth because he fucking stops.

“What? Baby I-”

He shushes you, climbing back up to meet your lips, calming their begs with sweet kisses. “It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s okay. I gotcha.”

His hands roam over your sides, teasing the edge of your breasts, one still wet from his mouth and sensitive in the cool night air. He kisses you again, making you moan as the taste of your own wetness hits your tongue, and you’re sure you can feel his cock swell against you at the sound.

He must feel it too because he desperately pulls his jeans off, throwing them behind him with no care for where they land. He does it without breaking your kiss, a grace to his movements that mesmerises you, leaves you victim to whatever he wants and needs as long as you get to feel his skin and his touch and his taste.

“Have you done this before?” Joel’s words are croaked, broken apart by the tightness you left in his throat, by your words and your touch alone. So much so you hardly hear him, too lost in the realm of desperation to register that he’d spoke.

“Baby?” He taps your chin, making you finally open your eyes and look up at him, drowning in the brown husks that meet your gaze. “Baby, have you done this before?”

You swallow, nodding your head so quickly that it makes you dizzy. Or maybe it’s the way he starts to grind against you, his bare cock slipping between the wet folds of your cunt, threatening to slip inside while leaving you so empty you could cry.

And it was true; you had done this before. Not many times, and only when necessary. The first time was before you left the QZ, with a boy your age who was just as curious about what all these new feelings and hormones actually meant. FEDRA was terrible at many things, and sex education was one of them. Another time was with a FEDRA agent - ironically, you thought - one who’d promised you food and shelter but left you in the dirt as soon as you smuggled in the pills he needed.

You’ve done this before, but you’ve never done this before. You’ve felt skin on skin, sweat dripping down your neck, a tongue in your mouth that felt foreign but explored your body all the same.

But you’ve never felt this passion. The way your body cries when it loses his touch. The way your mind is alive with sensation and need, begging to feel his fingertips and hear his voice in your ear again and again until the coil inside you unfolds and you give yourself, endlessly, doubtlessly, to him.

You don’t know how he knows. And you don’t know how you know that he knows. But Joel’s eyes pierce yours, his breath falls into your open mouth, and there’s just something in the way he looks at you that tells you his every desire is the same. 

He needs you like you need him.

And so he begins to pump his cock, moaning into your mouth as you close the distance between you, wrapping your arms around his neck once again. Where he feels most secure against you.

“Shit, I-” He mumbles against your lips, half incoherent, and you break the kiss. Your eyes search his, looking for whatever it is that’s tripping him up, and it’s only then that you realise just how much he’s begging for you. How his hips grind against yours with so much need that he could cum right there and then, you think.

And fuck, it turns you on.

“Need your cock, Joel. Need your big cock filling me up so badly.” You moan into his mouth, not even kissing him anymore, just letting your heavy breaths fall into the cage of your lips pressed together, perfectly fit.

He buries his head in your bare neck, revelling in the soft skin that greets him there, a canvass for his touch as he peppers kisses and bites across your throat and over your collar bone.

His hands settle on your hips, draggin you as close to his own as possible, and you wrap your legs around his waist again on instinct. He presses his forehead against yours, willing his eyes open, though you watch how they flutter and it makes you need him more.

Joel whimpers, catching himself from falling as he brings up to your cheek, stroking it gently. “You can do this, baby?’

Your heart warms at his words, blooming flowers only made for him. “I need it. Joel, I need it, I need you-”

Before you can finish, he’s heard you, pushing the bulging head of his cock into your cunt as you try to stop a scrambled scream in its steps. Joel’s head burrows further into the crook of your neck, teeth bearing down on the skin so hard that you’d scream if you weren’t already incapacitated by the fullness of his cock inside you.

You moan in unison, gripping him like your life depends on it as he bottoms out, tears brimming in your eyes as he draws himself away from you and slams back inside again.

“Fuck, Joel, so fuck - so fucking good,” your moans break the thick sound of skin on skin, as Joel slams into you again and again, aching your hips and scrambling your brain into nonsense. He groans, the hand that rested on your cheek now balanced on the pillow beside your head, allowing him to fuck you harder, deeper than before.

Sweat paints your skin, reflecting in the moonlight that seeps through Joel’s curtains, matching the thin veil of the man above you. You wince as the headboard begins to smack against the wall, hitting it again and again, making the unyielding pace of his hips all the more heady as you drown in his sounds and his scent and his thrust.

“Babygirl, fuck, fuck,” he’s getting closer, you can tell, and it takes everything you have not to come right there on the spot.

Instead you flex your hips, meet his thrusts with legs still tight around his waist, pulling him further, deeper inside you. “Need to fucking - ah, ah - J- Joel I need to cum.”

His head frantically nods, still buries beneath your jaw, before he musters the strength to emerge from his new-found home in the crook of your neck and meet your eyes once again. He rests his forehead against yours, both sweaty and sliding, but neither of you care as his hips rut faster and faster into the warmth of your cunt.

“You- fuck, you can cum, baby. Need ya to come for me babygirl.”

At his words, your desperation unfolds, tethers of pleasure unraveling from your core and tightening around his cock, still fucking inside you without respite. He groans, his pace finally faltering as he feels your warmth coil around him, welding his hips against yours where he finally releases ribbons of thick, hot cum inside you.

Joel collapses on top of you, careful to rest at least some of his weight on the hand beside your head, but otherwise burying as much of himself into you as he can. His cock stays inside your cunt, plugging you with his cum, and in your post-orgasm haze you can hardly think as you bring a hand to the back of his head, stroking his hair and letting him rest atop your chest.

“Don’t leave.”

You don’t hear him at first. Truly, you don’t. You know he’s said something, felt the vibrations of his whispered pleas on your skin, and yet you’re still so caught up in the sweat and the smell and tingling of his body on yours to even register his words.

But he’s desperate. He’s sad, and hurt, and hopeful. Hopeful that tonight meant as much to you as it did to him. Hopeful that you weren’t about to continue your plan and leave into the night, as much of a ghost as when he’d found you.

“Don’t leave,” he repeats. “Stay.”

For all the shades and emotions and words you’ve seen in his eyes, there’s something in them now that you can’t place. You wonder if he even knows what it is himself.

You just nod, gasping slightly as he takes your small, delicate action as all the confirmation he needs to move, keeping you tethered together as he rolls onto his back and pulls your limp, shaking body on top of his.

Joel’s hands finally move from their vice grip on your waist, one wrapping tightly around your back, holding you to him, the other cradling your head. You crave him, his touch, and leave kisses on any expanse of skin you can find on the scar-riddled chest you find yourself huddled against. The one you wish you’ll never have to leave.

It’s hard to say how you know you’ll fall asleep first. Maybe it’s because he continues to move, to soothe, as you drift off in his grasp. Maybe it’s because he has his mouth pressed against your ear, whispering promises of togetherness that melt into a dream of hope and sweetness, one that stains the very sheets you’re lay in.

Maybe it’s the way he’s fucked you so good, you can hardly keep your eyes open.

Whatever it is, it works, and your eyes drift shut in the wake of his touch. You hold him, sinking into his softness with an ease you’ve never felt before, and his last murmurs before you finally fall into your dreams fall into the air like smoke.

“Just stay. Please, stay.”

Oh my fucking god oh my fucking Godzilla animation idea for the dca what was I made for from Barbie after the Ruin dlc after they cleaned up the daycare and they're just waiting there maybe a happy ending maybe not

Deep sea creatures when they find out about the fan art people do of them

the deep sea creatures when a scientist shows up with a flashlight outta no where