#jake otto

the ranch themed fragrantica thingy 🪵🍊🐮

Enjoy the twist - E x

Title: “Too Close”

(Set in the Fear the Walking Dead universe – post-season 3, Troy lives)

The storage room at the outpost smelled like dried blood and mildew—like most places these days. You were sorting through supplies, counting canned goods and ammo by flashlight since the power had cut out hours ago. It was late, quiet. Everyone else had gone to sleep or patrol.

You didn’t hear the door creak open behind you.

“Y’know,” came a familiar voice—low, rough, teasing—“it’s a little dangerous to be alone these days.”

You didn’t turn around. “Troy, get out.”

You heard the click of the door closing, the unmistakable sound of him locking it. Your stomach tightened.

“Not very welcoming,” he drawled. “That any way to treat someone who just risked getting caught sneaking over the wall for you?”

You finally looked at him. Shirt half-unbuttoned, dirt on his neck, wild hair like he ran through a storm. He looked like the end of the world. And you hated that he made your heart race like this.

“You’re insane,” you muttered, turning back to the shelf. “If anyone finds out you’re here—”

“They won’t.” His voice was closer now. Too close. “Unless you start screaming.”

You felt the heat of his body behind you. No touching yet—he was good at drawing it out. You hated him. You hated how much you wanted him.

His fingers finally landed on your waist, slow and deliberate. “Tell me to stop.”

You should’ve.

But instead, your breath hitched.

“That’s what I thought.”

He spun you gently, crowding you against the shelf, hands gripping your hips like he owned them. The kiss was rough, desperate—like he hadn’t touched anything real in days. Your hands found his chest, meant to push him away, but you dragged him closer instead.

It was filthy. Quiet moans, frantic fingers. Your back hit the cold wall, his mouth moved down your neck, biting just enough to leave a mark where no one could see. His hand slipped under your shirt, calloused palm burning against your skin. You clung to him like you needed it—like you’d been waiting for this.

“Someone could come in,” you whispered against his mouth.

His smirk was criminal. “Then be quiet.”

And God, you tried.

Everything blurred into heat and tension and the smell of sweat and dust. When it was over, you were panting, flushed, clothes rumpled. He didn’t say a word as he kissed your shoulder, zipped himself up, and stepped back with that satisfied glint in his eye.

“Missed you,” he said, casually, like you hadn’t just done something reckless and dirty in a place where anyone could walk in.

You fixed your shirt, still catching your breath. “Don’t come back here again.”

He only smiled. “Sure, darlin’. Whatever you say.”

He slipped out the same way he came—silent, like a ghost.

You didn’t see Jake until later that night.

He met you just outside the main building, smiled as he reached for your hand. “I was getting worried. You were gone a while.”

You leaned into him, heart still racing for all the wrong reasons. Guilt echoed in your heart.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Just got caught up doing inventory.”

Jake pressed a kiss to your forehead, sweet and warm and safe.

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It was dangerous falling for Troy Otto.

Even more dangerous when you were in a relationship with his brother.