Left 4 Dead x Reader Oneshots

"A token." (Nick x Reader)

CW/ cussing, wound cleanup, Y/N implied to be a stripper in the past, maybe a little OOC it's been months since I've played.
(NICK STANS COME GET YALL J U I C E I SEE THE REQUESTS)

TL;DR- A lone survivor meets new friends, and more importantly, an old one.

   A horde. Fuck. Never a good thing, especially since it's been damn near 3 days since I've found anywhere safe to camp. I grit my teeth and aim my gun, taking three final shots before it clicks uselessly in my palms. I curse quietly, before throwing the chunk of plastic as hard as I could, directly between the eyes of a half rotted zombie skull. Gross. I pick up my bat, taking wild swings into the crowd of fowl smelling sick. As I finally get into a rhythm, I'm dragged from my hollow thoughts by a loud "Motherfucker!" followed by a collection of shouts and curses. I hear a familiar name, but then again, it's a pretty common one.
  It couldn't be him, knowing that bastard, he wouldn't survive this long.
  So, without a second thought, I ran to the source of the voices, slamming whatever came across my path with the business end of a bloodied bat. As the voices grew louder, a saw three figures come into view. They stood too surely to be infected, so I knew it was safe to shout.
  "Hey!-" I was cut off by multiple weapons being pointed at me, I quickly lifted my hands up. "Listen, I'm not infected. My name is Y/N L/N, and I'm here 'cause I'm lost as hell, and I don't think I can spend another night hiding in a tree." I slung my bat over my shoulder, listening closely for the horde I'd been attacking.
  A large, friendly looking man smiled at me, before turning and shooting at a few zombies that'd crept from around the corner. I noticed that there was actually four in the group, but one was being covered on all sides by the remaining three. I couldn't make out any features, but I noticed his white suit had a nasty gash, and it was turning his clothes into a deep crimson. Suddenly a horn sounded, another horde? This soon?  I noticed they were struggling to keep him covered, so instinctively, I took my place beside them, guarding the man and bludgeoning anything that tried to get to him. I hissed as a burning drop of bile from a recently deceased Boomer hit my arm. The woman beside me glanced over with a quick 'You okay?' gesture. I nodded and took a step forward, slamming my bat into the neck of an infected with a sickening crunch. Slowly, but surely, the horde thinned. Once it grew to manageable levels, the large man who'd smiled at me picked up the wounded man. It clicked that I didn't know their names, yet I'd fought alongside them nonetheless.
   'Damn, the apocalypse really does stuff to a person.'
We sprinted, the young woman beside me shooting at any infected as we saw a glimmer of hope in the form of graffiti on the wall. A safehouse, fucking finally. We bolted even faster, our breathing heavy as we approached our destination. God, finally I'll be able to sleep, even for just a second. I was probably running on adrenaline and whatever was in the strange syringes I found when looting houses. As we ran through the door, I ushered everyone in and slammed it behind us, locking it just as a few of the zombies pounded against it.
  My breathing was heavy, and I turned around to face the group. They eyed me cautiously, which was to be expected, really. I held up my hands, dropping my bat as the youngest of the males ushered the injured one onto an old mattress.
"So, as I said, I'm Y/N. You all are?"
   The first voice was the youngest man, he was attractive, but not quite my type. "I'm Ellis!" He spoke with a southern drawl, and his energy reverberated around the room like a shockwave.
  "Rochelle." Said the woman I'd stood next to. Her skin was dark, and her eyes seemed to swirl like a river, determined and certain, but tired.
" 'M Coach, I run this little menagerie." The man, Coach, smiled. He was the tallest of the group, he had bags under his eyes, and seemed to be the heaviest of the group.
I glanced over to the huddled form, noticing that Ellis seemed to be almost nervous about treating him.
"Hey, Ellis. I can handle that, if you want. I'm pretty good with a med kit." He looked up at me, his big blue eyes reminding me of a puppy. He nodded and stepped away, leaving me to take his place.
  I sat down beside the figure and began examine him, finally getting a closer look at his face. My blood ran cold, and I felt heat rise to my cheeks. It was him. I shook my head and pulled off his blazer, unbuttoning his shirt and mentally scolding myself for wanting to stare at his bare torso. He looked up at me, his eyes wide as I bit my lip and began to work on his wound. I noticed Ellis had slowed the bleeding, but it looked as though the cut would need stitches. I looked in the med kit, shooting a silent prayer as I found a bottle of medical alcohol.
"Alright, Nick, this might sting." I poured the alcohol in the wound, earning a harsh hiss from Nick as it hit the bloody flesh.
I paused as I heard him start to talk. "Hah.. Damn, 'n I thought seeing you off the pole was the worst thing I'd feel today..." He chuckled, his voice breathy and raspy. I rolled my eyes and fought the urge to smack him as I pulled out a needle and stitches from my own personal med kit. I began to stitch the wound, wincing as I watched the needle pierce skin. I always hated this part.
  Once I'd finished stitching him up, I gave him some water and let him sleep, my mind wondering to the past...

   The light was harsh on my skin, but I took it in stride. The heavy tap of my heeled boots drawing the crowds attention.

  There was a new man in the club tonight. He was well dressed, but I could tell it was a façade. His hands fidgeted, and his eyes darted from place to place, he was a crook in everything but appearance.
 
  His wandering eyes settled on me, and sharpened. I saw his chest rise with a sharp breath, and I knew I'd have a private show tonight.

  20 minutes later, as if on cue, my manager walked in. "New dude wants you in Room 5. He's got a ring on, so make sure to not go heavy with perfume. Go make your bag, Babes." She left with a friendly smile. I made sure my make-up was corrected, then headed off to Room 5.

That was my first mistake.

  I was snapped from my thoughts by the sound of someone shifting in the bed. I turned and saw Nick looking up at me, tiredness clear in his finely aged features.
  "'N here, I thought I'd left you in New Orleans.." His voice was laced with exhaustion, making it gravelly and deep. I ran my shaky fingers through my hair, unable to contain a bittersweet smile.
  "Karma's a bitch, eh?" I joked back. I felt a resentment I didn't think I could feel course through me as I thought to our first meeting.

   The dance was uneventful, but the conversation after is what struck.

"Hey, wait up for a second."

"How can I help ya', Mister?"

"What's your name?"

"'M sorry, you're real cute, but us dancers aren't allowed to give out personal information."

"I can tell you don't just wanna be a dancer. You do wanna be more than a dancer, right?"
 
  I felt something pierce me, like a knife.

   Hot rage flooded through me, but I couldn't deny that he was right.

  "Even if I wanted to, I could never."

  Tears pricked my eyes, but I held them back. I turned to storm off, taking one look back.

"...I'm Y/N. Don't ever come back. "

  And I slammed the door behind me.

  I perked up from my thoughts as I felt a hand brush against my arm.

  "You did it, y'know." His tired voice crept, sending chills through my spine.

  "Did what?" I faced him, glancing anywhere else.

  "You're more than a stripper." He idly explained.

  "..Not really. I danced until this damn apocalypse came. then I ran."

  "No, but you are. You saved me, despite having every right, and reason, to leave me and my crew for dead. You risked your own ass for us. You patched me up with more skill than any of these dumbasses could. I owe you a bit." His eyes were hazy with tiredness, and I knew a fully conscious Nick would never say this. Despite that, I found myself sighing and laying back next to him, playing with his hair as he lazily nuzzled into the crook of my neck.

  We were both tired, touch starved, and in need of anything reminding us of life before this hell. We can't be best friends, but at the very least, we can be a token of familiarity.

And in the apocalypse? That's all you really want.