#//including putting holes in all of his socks

[gas-stxtion-a]

//okay this is my last post about mpin for now i promise

anyway i will give mpin one thing, and that's the fact that the premise of a monster that can only hurt you if you attack it first *is* an interesting concept.

[moonchildstyles]

cloudburst

y/n and harry broke up. he goes on a date, and y/n drives in the rain.

wordcount: 8.5k+

—————

(Y/N) knew it was hypocritical to be feeling jealous at the moment—pathetic, even. She was there that night, she knew she was the one that ended her relationship with Harry. He was single, and there was nothing wrong with him going out with another girl; he could take her to whatever restaurant he wanted, including the one that they had found together last month. 

It had only been a couple of weeks, though. And, he had been the one that wanted to try and work things out with her. Harry had been the one that was insistent that they could work through this—the miscommunications, the lack of time together, the passive aggressive arguments—, but now he was the one moving on nearly immediately. She wanted to cry that it wasn't fair, that he was supposed to still be torn up about it the same as she was. 

It wasn't as if she didn't love him anymore or was itching to get out and meet other people, she was just finding herself more unhappy than she was happy when she thought about him. He had told her that he loved her, that he wanted her—needed her—when she had sat him down, she thought neither of them would be moving on this quickly. 

But, it's fine. It's whatever. Good for him. 

Locking her phone, she placed it face down on her kitchen counter with a startling slam. She didn't double check to see if she had cracked her screen, instead stepping away from the device all together as if it wanted to sulk just as back as she. If her phone was a good friend, it would delete the Instagram app as soon as possible; there was no reason to see any more pictures of Harry and his new friend at dinner. 

Forcing her head to clear, (Y/N) padded through her apartment with the intention of cleaning up. The last weeks had left her with heartbreak brain, chores having been pushed to the wayside as she recovered. When was the last time she went grocery shopping? Had she really run out of tissues or did she have an extra stash in some closet she'd been too lazy to check? 

She shook her head, taking the pile of dirty socks to her washing machine while her mind raced with distractions. It was late, but she could go grocery shopping, at least to pick up a few essentials so she didn't order in again for the next couple of days. Seeing the world for another reason instead of work would be good for her, she thought. Even if the thought of putting on shoes that weren't slippers made her want to tear up. 

After starting up the washing machine, she trudged up the stairs towards her room. The cloudy night called for something warmer than the ratted t-shirt and frayed shorts she had on, leaving her to rifle through the collection of sweats she had tucked in her dresser. No matter the garment she pulled out of the drawer, didn't seem to be enough; not thick enough, soft enough, warm enough. Leaving the pieces in a mess in the drawer, she didn't let herself think before she was drifting to her closet where there was a too familiar hoodie hanging up. 

The smell wasn't quite as strong as it had been weeks ago, but there was still a faint scent of Harry's cologne embedded in the fibers. It was truly nothing more than a plain black hoodie, the material showing wear in the way the strings were tied into a bow at the neck with frays at the end, holes lining the sleeve hems, and a lipstick stain smeared on the back shoulder in a shade she had on her bathroom counter. Though it was his hoodie, she had stolen it enough times that it lived at her home with Harry taking it back every now and then, imprinting himself on it for her to revel in once he gave it back. 

Taking her bottom lip between her teeth, she knew it was a bad idea. There was no reason for her to wear that hoodie. Really, it was surprising that he hadn't asked for it back yet—especially if he was going out with other girls. 

It would be crazy for her to wear it, right? It was not normal to be mourning a relationship she ended. That was not her hoodie.

She slipped it on, anyway. 

As much as (Y/N) was crazy, and hypocritical, and jealous, and insensitive—she missed him. 

This whole thing would be a lot easier if she wasn't still in love with him. If he had just broken her heart and ruined those feelings for him, she wouldn't be feeling insane as she pulled the sleeves over her hands and pretended as if she wasn't breathing in his scent. 

Going out didn't seem so bad when she had this on, though.

Collecting her bag and keys, she made a point to rush through the final steps of readying herself before she was going out the door. If she waited too long, she might end up crying in this hoodie instead. 

Outside, it was raining much harder than she had initially thought. Pulling up her hood, she attempted to protect her hair from the droplets though there were casualties that were immediately pasted to her face. By the time she made it to her car, the hoodie was beginning to grow heavy against her back, rain streaked down her bare legs (in the interest of getting out of the house, she didn't change from her shorts like she'd wanted), and her lashes made heavy with mist. 

Once safe inside her car, she pulled in a heavy breath. 

She could do this. While Harry was out at dinner on a date, she'd go pick up some spaghetti noodles and more cheese than she should eat in a week.

Because she wasn't upset. She wanted to be broken up. She's fine.

With a forceful turn of the key in the ignition, (Y/N) gladly focused on the mechanics of driving through the rain as opposed to everything else on her mind. The clean scent in the air filtered through the cab, comforting her more than she realized. 

No doubt, she could do this. 

Pulling onto the main road, she turned up her music to be heard over the sound of the rain beating against the windscreen. The pavement was slick, dyed a slate black with the help of the droplets, puddles growing in every small divot in the road. The streetlamp twinkled off of the gathered water, rippling with each added drop. Everything was just a bit bleary through the windshield, even with the reach of her wipers going in overtime to wipe away the streaks. 

While she was never a huge fan of driving in less than perfect conditions, especially at night, the scene out here tonight was a perfect match to the pit in her stomach. It made sense for the weather to act this way, she thought; she was too torn up for the world to be given a cloudless, warm night. 

The music playing sifted through a playlist she'd found the other day, her search having been nothing more than for "breakup music". While she didn't know every song, or if she was even allowed to be moping to the tunes considering she was the one that cut things off, the lyrics she could catch were felt in her chest with a weight on her lungs. The ones about the other party moving on before the singer was ready stung particularly sharp tonight.

Especially when an all too familiar song started up, a voice she'd heard thousands of times before pleading with his ex lover to keep from calling her new flame "baby". 

This song had come out long before (Y/N) had met Harry, written with another in mind, but she remembered listening to it back then. She remembered wondering just how heartbroken one would have to be to write stanzas just as these, how hurtful it would be to see your love finding someone else to take your place. 

(Y/N) automatically reached out to skip the song, not even knowing it was on the playlist despite it being an obvious pick, but her hand stopped short. 

It'd been weeks since she heard his voice, even longer since he sang around her. Even if this was through speakers, mastered and fit to music, it was something she'd been missing despite pretending she didn't. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, dropping her and back to the steering wheel as if she hadn't just submitted to self-torture. 

As the tune went on, (Y/N) no longer had to wonder what kind of heartbreak went into poetry like this. She was right where Harry used to be, wishing he would give her just a bit longer of pretending to be his baby before he chose another. 

She hadn't realized she was tearing up until her wipers were unable to keep her view from being blurry. The rain outside now paled in comparison to pools glimmering at her waterline. Her skin felt hot, resistant to the chill seeping through her vents. She didn't even make it through the full of the outro before she repeated the song once more, knowing it would only spur her tears on that much more. 

Before she knew it, her bottom lip was quivering before a broken sob puffed from her lips. She sniffled with tears racing down her cheeks, searing over her warmed skin. 

It wasn't her business, but did he share the same bite of sushi with this new girl that he'd also given to (Y/N) a month ago? Did he order the same bottle of rosé? Did he reach across the table to push her hair out of her face just as he did for (Y/N)? Was tonight going to be the first date they would relay to friends and family when asked how they had found someone so special? She had no right to ask any of these questions, but was Harry going to fall in love with this new girl? 

Did he think of (Y/N) at all tonight, like she was thinking of him? 

The idea of being on Harry's mind at all was enough to have her hands tensing around the wheel, but the thought of not crossing it at all had them shaking instead. Her eyes were flooded, hands wavering on the steering wheel, skin warm and nose wet. The rain beat down against the hood of her car with as much force as her heartbeat, riding the tempo as if she couldn't hear it well enough in her ears. 

She shouldn't've left the house tonight. It would be way easier to sob like this if she wasn't having to also keep track of the road in front of her and the slick pavement beginning to flood with more water than the drains lining the sidewalks could handle. At least she seemed to be the only one out on the road at the moment. 

Scrubbing her hand over her eyes, she attempted to clear them in hopes of regaining her focus. The song was over now and she planned on wiping that song and subsequent album from her vicinity as soon as she made it to the grocery store. 

By the time she blinked her eyes open, lashes sticking to one another under the weight of her tears, she was only a few hundred feet away from the vague outline of a stoplight. She hadn't even seen the light shift from green to yellow, let alone to the blazing red that shone overhead. 

Of course, now would be the time she saw one other person on the road, already creeping out into the intersection to use their own green light. 

In a knee-jerk reaction, (Y/N) stomped on her brakes. Her breath caught when she felt that tell-tale give under her tires, the feel of the back of her car shifting out of sync with the steering wheel. 

The broken rattling of her heart was replaced by the pounding of the beats against her ribs as she realized there was no way she was going to stop. She was currently gliding over the road, her tires unable to grip onto anything underneath them through the layer of rain on the pavement. All she could do was turn the steering wheel and hope that her car followed, hopefully missing the poor bystander who would learn that she wasn't paying as much attention as she should have been when coming to the intersection. 

Every thought in her head seemed to happen in slow motion, but the world around her raced by in a second. She could feel her mouth moving, her voice muttering curses that made no sense, but there wasn't a single sound she heard over her heartbeat. Beyond her windows, the rain blurred every moving shape, her foot still heavy on the brake despite it being a fruitless effort. 

Headlights shone against her face for a brief second before she cranked the wheel, spinning just in time as she hit the middle of the intersection. Her new bleary view showed off the vague outline of the pole of the stoplight for a brief moment before spinning out even further until she was facing the direction she'd come in, her car turning in a complete one-eighty in her lane until everything suddenly stopped with a metallic crunch. 

She heard the impact before she felt it. Her driver's side door whammed into the pole of the stoplight, denting through the layers of metal with the window cracking and breaking. Prisms of glass rained over her, grazing her face and tops of her thighs with prickling shards. Her dented door threaded to push in on her before stopping, leaving a pressure against the side of her body and a complicated way to get out of the vehicle once she found her head. Her dashboard was lit up with every caution insignia as if she had no idea of what had just happened. Through the broken window, rain began to stream in, seeping into the cuts on her face and legs. She shivered though she couldn't feel a single chill from the air, her body beginning to reel from the accident she had just found herself in. 

In the back of her mind, over the pelting rain and pounding heartbeat, she heard her breakup playlist filtering through the remaining speakers. 

A wretchedly familiar voice singing about fine lines and being alright. 

"Hon? Are you okay?" 

Turning to face the nice woman who'd come to check on her after witnessing her blunder, (Y/N) opened her mouth to respond. 

She burst into tears.

—————

Harry really needed to stop wearing this necklace. 

He'd known that for the last few weeks, and, yet, every time he'd thought to unclasp it and put it at the bottom of a jewelry box to never be seen again, he never had the strength to. Instead, he continued to wear it every day, absently playing with the single pearl sitting at the base of his throat. 

Natalie watched as he fiddled with the pendant, but he still couldn't get himself to stop his idle hands. 

He hadn't even wanted to be here tonight, anyway—he had to self-soothe somehow, even if that meant playing with the necklace his ex-girlfriend gifted to him. 

Natalie was nice enough, a friend of a friend of a friend who'd been around to some parties here and there, but she wasn't (Y/N). Harry had only agreed to come out tonight in hopes of giving him a reason to wash his hair and eat something that wasn't bread or coffee while sitting on the kitchen floor. Even with clean hair and an order of his favorite sushi cleared from his plate, he still felt slices of guilt; one for going out with someone while still being very hung up on his ex, and for going out at all with someone who wasn't (Y/N). 

Harry wasn't stupid, he'd caught the cell phones pointed in his direction when he and his date had been seated. If it wasn't up already, it was only a matter of time before those photos would be circulating on all of the socials and appearing on timelines. He could already picture the headlines for tomorrow morning, detailing the mystery woman on this dinner date while questions about his previous flame were posed. He just hoped (Y/N) would somehow be able to dodge these flecks of news—even for only a couple of days. 

Hopefully, he'd have a chance to talk to her before she knew. If she was open to hearing from him, he'd explain where he was coming from in even agreeing to this date, and maybe she'd take him back. If she knew he was still in love with her, willing to change his schedule, relearn how to communicate, start going to therapy weekly again, would it be enough to salvage their relationship? 

"But, what about you?" 

Being pulled from his head, Harry had to face Natalie with a blink of his eyes. She had been talking about a movie or something—or was it her last holiday?—, but he hadn't heard a single word. Another pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach. 

He thumbed over the pearl at his throat. "Um... I'm so sorry, wh—" 

Divine intervention came in the form of his phone vibrating in his pocket. He shot an apologetic smile at Natalie before slipping the device out of his pocket, eager to pick up for whoever was on the other side. 

Until he saw the contact name, anyway. 

(Y/N)'s mother. She was calling him. 

"Who is it?" Natalie asked, canting her head at Harry's startled expression. 

"Um... Jus'—uh—someone I haven't heard from in a while. I have to take this, 'm sorry." 

He didn't catch Natalie's reaction before he was rising from his seat and heading towards the front door with the phone pressed to his ear. Rain sprinkled over his head while thunder cracked in the distance. A darker storm was moving in. 

"Hello?" 

"Harry?! Harry, are you there?" 

"'M here, yeah. Is everything alright?" He'd never heard her voice in such a frantic state, especially not over the phone like this. Was she that upset over the breakup? 

"(Y/N)—It's (Y/N). She's been in an accident, and I—we—Her father and I, we're—She's alone. I-I know you two broke up, but she's in the hospital by herself and the nurse said she's not doing okay, she's—I don't know, I don't want her to be alone but I can't get on a flight until tomorrow morning and there's—" 

Frantic chattering continued on through the receiver, but there wasn't a single syllable that was able to breach his thoughts. 

(Y/N) was in the hospital. She'd been in an accident and was now at the hospital. Alone. She wasn't doing well while she was in the hospital after being in an accident, all alone. 

His stomach turned. 

"Wha—Where's the hospital? What hospital is it?" 

Was he having a heart attack? Every beat of the organ fluttered at the base of his throat, the chambers squeezed tight. 

He needed to find her. She couldn't be alone. She had to be okay and he needed to be there. 

Her mother shakily relayed the name of the hospital and room number, stumbling over the syllables until Harry had them seared into his memory.

"I-I'm so sorry to ask you, I know what—" 

"No, no," he shook off her words, "Th-Thank you for telling me. 'M going to her right now, I'll let you know how she's doing." 

Shaky goodbyes were shared with quiet sobs sounding on the end of the other line. Harry felt breathless as he stowed his phone away, hands shaking with fumbling fingers. His head was a mess. 

All he wanted to do was go—get in his car and go, be with (Y/N). But, there was Natalie sitting at their table, a dessert ordered to the table with their check of sushi and wine waiting with their server. There were people around them who would no doubt post about any kind of commotion he sounded tonight, perhaps even leak his location if hearing he was on the way to a hospital in the city. (He usually liked to see the best in others, but it'd happened before, these wild invasions of privacy). 

Despite every instinct pushing him towards the parking lot and abandoning the night, Harry forced himself to walk back into the restaurant. He held a thin grip on his control, but it was enough to get him back to his table with Natalie so he could quietly speak with her. 

"Is everything okay?" she asked before he'd even taken his seat. 

Swallowing, his throat bobbed as he shook his head. "No, actually. I—'m really sorry, Natalie, but I have to go. My, um, a friend of mine—they're in the hospital. I need to go." 

Natalie's features were marred with surprise, mouth dropped open with her lashes in a glimmering flutter up at him. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. That's so scary. No worries, go ahead I'll take care of everything. Call me when you can, okay?" 

Meeting the blue shimmer of her gaze, Harry felt his features tighten. She was much too nice for him. 

He wasn't going to call. 

Harry didn't say anything before he was rushing out of sight, only stopping at the hostess station for a slick second to tell the staff to charge the card attached to the reservation. Natalie was open to order whatever she wanted for the rest of the night, but she wasn't paying for a single cent. This would be his apology for never calling. 

It was with shaky fingers that he typed in the name of the hospital (Y/N) was at—all alone—as soon as he was in his car. Though his heartbeat didn't settle much, his head felt a bit clearer knowing that with every mile he was cruising down the street, he was growing closer to (Y/N). His hands couldn't stay idle for very long, consistently reaching up to the necklace around his throat. 

(Y/N) was going to be alright, right? 

The question warmed the backs of his eyes, flushing his skin. As much as he wanted—needed—to be at her side, Harry realized he wasn't sure what he was walking into. Her mother had said she wasn't doing okay—whatever that meant. What kind of scene was he going to walk into? 

Stop lights and brake lights passing in a blur through the growing rain, Harry made it to the hospital in record time. The pavement was slick, reflecting the glow of the streetlamps and the many car lights bumbling through the carpark. He didn't think before he was pulling into the first spot he found, parking at a sloppy angle before he was rushing out. 

With the rain coming down, his hair fell across his forehead, slicking to his skin. The droplets acted as the tears he was unwilling to shed until he saw (Y/N) in person. 

He marched his way into reception, shoes squeaking over the linoleum. Behind the desk, a woman perked up, spotting him with bored eyes before she perked up with recognition he knew too well. 

"Hi, um, how can I help you?" she sputtered. 

Unable to muster a greeting smile, he kept his eyes low. "I—um—I need to see someone, please?" 

The rest of the checkin passed in a daze, Harry only barely able to keep himself from begging to see (Y/N). He relayed as much information as he could, showing any kind of identification needed. He was more than thankful to hear that her parents had approved his visit during their initial phone call, something he filed away for later so he could thank them when he had a clear mind. 

The best thing he heard, the one that stuck glaringly in his mind, was the fact that she wasn't housed anywhere to be treated for critical pain. She was being held somewhere safe and hopefully comfortable. 

Following the given directions, Harry felt like a ghost as he floated through the different doors and elevators. He moved restlessly while he dinged through the floors, feet shuffling while his eyes were trained on the rising numbers. 

Was this the slowest elevator on earth? Or were they always like this? 

Once set free on the correct floor, Harry floated through the halls, sweaty palms pressed into the pockets of his pants. All he could focus clearly on was the room numbers pinned beside the doors, the thumps of his heart bubbling in his ears. 

After going down what felt like endless miles of hallways, the correct room number finally appeared before him. The door was shut, the lights inside dim. His hand hesitated on the door handle.

He had been so consumed with making it to her, to make himself feel better with the sight of her, that he hadn't really considered if she would even want to see him. If she wasn't asleep at the moment, would she just kick him out? She had been the one to break up with him, anyway. 

Before he could doubt himself any more, he pushed through, keeping his steps light over the linoleum. 

Just as he thought, the room was quiet and dark, rain streaking down the window. There was a warm glow coming from the standing lamp at the corner of the room, machines beeping along with the television with a made-for-tv movie playing. A whiteboard marked with her name was pinned to the wall, filled with stats and jargon Harry didn't have the mind to decipher. 

Amongst it all, (Y/N) was laid in the hospital bed with the thin covers pulled to her middle. Her eyes were shuttered, showing off the bruising underneath alongside the myriad of cuts over her skin. As peaceful as she appeared, sleeping away under the crumpled sheets, Harry couldn't help the tears that touched his eyes. 

With the door closing behind him, he drew closer to her bed. It didn't take much examination to spot the tear tracks glimmering on her cheeks, the swollen puff of her lips. It was the same way she'd looked when she had told him she didn't want to be with him any longer. 

Harry wasn't sure what broke his heart more: the obvious evidence of weeping on her features, or the fact that her tears would have skated over every cut and scratch marring her cheeks? 

He shuffled over the floor. He wanted to be at her side, hold her hand and let her know she wasn't alone anymore, but he didn't want to wake her. There was a reason that she wasn't allowed to head home after being checked out by the hospital team, the more rest she received the better. 

Instead, he gingerly made his way to her bedside, taking a spot in the uncomfortable chair seemingly waiting for him in the lamplight. With the way she was laid up in the bed, he had an unobstructed view of her relaxed features, some of the more notable injuries on her face bandaged up while others were left treated with nothing more than a glistening salve. She didn't look particularly comfortable, especially knowing how she usually liked to curl up with her hands to her cheek and legs to her chest, but this was better than nothing. 

Better than being in a wrecked car somewhere. 

The thought was sobering, enough to have those tears he had been urging away to resurface on his waterline once more. 

She was here. (Y/N) was okay—hurt, but well enough to be left to sleep on her own. She was no longer alone. 

He hung his head in his hands. He didn't want to think about what kind of accident would have put her here, blood on her face with machines monitoring every vital in her body. 

With those tears in his eyes, peeking up at her between his lashes, she looked like a watercolor painting. The edges were blurred, leaving the general outline of the person that filled his dreams and became his muse for the better part of the last year and a half. 

He couldn't believe the last month of his life. He'd lost her. And for what? Because he didn't think it was important enough to send her a text when he was going to be out later than initially thought? Because it was easier to let his schedule happen to him, as opposed to shaping his life around making enough time to spend time with her? Because why would he talk to her, tell her where he was coming from, when he could be passive aggressive and sweep everything under the rug instead?

The beeping of the heart monitor was the pitched baseline that anchored him to the room. Every dotted sound kept him from being swept away in the rivers of tears dripping down his heated cheeks. 

He could have lost her today. In the worst case scenario of this day, he would have received a very different phone call. He wouldn't have had the chance to sit at her side right now. He wouldn't have seen these healing injuries on her, instead having only old photographs to remember what life looked like on her. 

As cracked as his heart was at the moment, he would take these cuts and scrapes, this uncomfortable chair, the stiff set of her bedding, over any other ending this night could have had. 

The rain pelted against the window as Harry fixed his gaze to the love of his life. 

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, if it had been nothing more than a few minutes or if it had been hours at her side, until there was the soft click of the doorknob twisting with the door pushed open. Entering was a nurse in soft purple scrubs, hair pulled back and a clipboard in her hands. She had her eyes trained down before looking up to catch Harry wiping his eyes and (Y/N) unstirring in her bed. 

"Oh, hello," she murmured, voice soft as they were both aware of the patient in bed, "I didn't know she was having any visitors tonight." 

A barely there smile curled Harry's cheeks, his skin smooth of dimples. "Yeah, got here as fast as I could. Have you been helping her?" 

The nurse shook her head, "A little, but she's been asleep for most of it. Poor thing cried herself into exhaustion, so I doubt she really remembers meeting me." 

Her statement had his bottom lip quivering. Harry had to remind himself to be grateful she was even here to cry. 

"She's doing alright, though?" 

With a quick glance at the clipboard, the nurse nodded her head. "Yeah, she's doing much better—now that she's calmed down a little. We've just gotta keep an eye on her for tonight. She got a good crack to her head, so I want to make sure she doesn't sleep for too long tonight." 

Harry gave her a nod, a moment from offering to wake (Y/N) for her before the nurse stepped forward. In gentle tones with a hand to her shoulder, she woke (Y/N). 

Unlike her, she had been sleeping rather lightly, jumping awake after only a single call of her name. (Y/N) fluttered her eyes open, lashes sticking together from the dried crust of her tears, enough so that she reached her scratched hands up to rub the mess away. 

"Hi," (Y/N) greeted, her voice in a croak as she got her bearings. 

"Hello," the nurse responded with a gentle smile, "Sorry to wake you, hon. I just wanted to check on you, then you're good to go to sleep, again." 

"Okay," (Y/N) breathed, struggling to sit up. 

Without thinking, Harry surged forward, helping her as much as he could. The second he put his hands on her, (Y/N) jumped, having not seen him prior.

It was clear she was more than surprised to see him with the way her eyes widened, blanching at the sight of him. 

"Harry?"

He offered a quiet, thin smile, sitting back in his spot once she was stable, sitting up for the nurse. "Hi." 

Before much else could be shared between them, the nurse began running her tests. Small talk was shared between the two, (Y/N) glancing more than once in Harry's direction. His hands were a fiddling mess in his lap, watching with rapt attention as every evaluation was run. 

"Everything's looking okay—what I expected we'd be seeing," the nurse mused, writing down her information on the clipboard in hand, "But, how are you feeling? Any extra pain, anything you want me to take a look at or mention to the doctor?" 

"I'm fine," (Y/N) smiled, the expression less than convincing, "Nothing hurts any more than earlier." 

"Okay, okay," the nurse nodded, "That's good, let me know if that changes. I'll be back to check on you in a few hours, so get in your rest while you can." 

A pointed look was placed in Harry's direction at her last statement, a teasing curl to the corner of her lips. (Y/N) gave a sheepish nod. 

"Right, thank you." 

The nurse departed with a couple of well wishes and a reminder that she'd be back in a few hours. Once the door clicked behind her, a stiff silence settled between them. The only sound came in the form of the mechanical beeping of the machines around her and the ending of the television movie playing. 

(Y/N) had her eyes facing ahead, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. Harry stared at her. 

"(Y/N)—" 

"You're here." 

His throat bobbed as he heavily swallowed. "I am," he nodded, dropping his gaze to his picked cuticles in his lap, "Your mum called me." 

A furrow had her brow pinched. "Her and my dad are on vacation right now." 

Another nod, a strand of hair touching over his forehead. "They'll be back tomorrow morning, but she wanted someone to be with you tonight." 

Maybe it was the way her shoulders tensed, the glassy look that took over her gaze, or the pinch to her features, but something brittle settled in the air between them. Every breath felt delicate as he waited for any kind of response. 

"I'm sorry." 

It was his turn for his brows to knit together. "For what?" 

That fragile tension between them cracked. 

"You were on a date." 

Harry hung his head, lips thinning. He thought he would have more time to explain this. 

"'S not what it looks like, (Y/N)." 

She shook her head, voice quiet under her breath. "So it wasn't a date?" 

Sucking in a breath, his lungs squeezed. "I mean—It—Yes, it was a date, but—" 

The beeping of her heart monitor heightened, the pitch seemingly hitting higher than a moment before with the pace quickening. "So it is what it looks like." 

"(Y/N), 's more—there's more to it than that." 

(Y/N) only shrugged at his half-hearted response, her head hanging between her shoulders. 

Harry felt just as defeated as she looked now. This wasn't how he wanted to reunite with her, but he guessed beggars couldn't be choosers. This was the opportunity he had, and he wasn't going to turn it away. 

"What happened tonight?" he murmured, shifting the conversation away from his own blunders. Unfortunately, this avenue would be an easier section to stomach than anything she would want to know about his date. 

"I got into an accident." 

"I know," Harry gently prodded, "But, what happened? Y'usually only hit curbs, not anything else." 

His shoulders loosened when his teasing was enough to draw a huffed laugh from her, a slight smile softening her features. 

As much as they may have deteriorated recently, he did know her. He knew her better than he knew himself. 

"It was just raining really hard, and—I don't know—I wasn't able to stop like I thought. I slid and hit a pole, and... yeah." 

As much as he did like teasing her about her more precarious driving habits, he knew more than anything that she was cautious. It wasn't like her to settle into accidents like this—she rarely ever drove in weather like this anyway, let alone at night. 

"Y'never drive in the rain," he pressed, an unaired question bookending his words. 

"I know." 

Harry looked at her, waiting for more than those two syllables. It was fruitless, he knew. 

He hung his head, running an absent hand through his hair before his fingers found the pearl at his throat. Eyes on the floor between his feet, he couldn't look at her as he spoke once more. 

"(Y/N). What happened tonight?" This isn't like you. Why did this happen? 

The air in the room seemingly went still. 

When he chanced a look up once more, he saw her sitting in her hospital bed with sparkling tears in her eyes. His chest panged at the sight. He knotted his fingers tighter together, forcing himself to see from reaching out. 

"(Y/N)...," he started, voice decidedly more gentle than a moment before. 

She shook her head. "I didn't want to be home—and I was crying, and I wasn't paying attention and the rain was heavier than I thought—and just... Everything happened." 

What was worse? Hearing that she had cried more than once tonight, before she'd even got in her accident, or seeing her recount it with another set of tears racing down her cheeks? 

This time he couldn't help himself; Harry reached out to touch her wrist. Her skin was warm under the chill of goosebumps on her skin. While she didn't move to hold his hand like she used to, she didn't flinch away. That was enough, he thought. 

"Why were y'crying, lo—(Y/N)?" He internally cringed at his slip up. He had no place calling her anything but her name. "What happened?" 

Another shake of her head. "It's stupid," she sniffled, fluttering her eyes closed with the tears clinging to the tips of her lashes. 

"Not if it made y'so upset that y'ended up here tonight," he crooned, words a quiet lilt only for her to hear, "What happened?" 

"I—It's..." she cut herself off more than once, throat bobbing, "I don't... I was the one that broke up with you, I-I'm not supposed to be upset. It-It's not fair." 

Her voice was barely a whisper by the time she finished speaking. His hand on her wrist tightened, a snug warmth against her skin. He ran his thumb over the bone, pretending he didn't feel the cut just on the underside. 

He waited. 

Another made-for-tv movie started on her television. 

He waited. 

She took a deep breath. Her eyes still closed.

"You went on a date tonight." 

Harry's shoulders deflated. 

"(Y/N)—"

"No," she peeped, shaking her head with her arm stiffening under his hold, "No. You were on a date, and I'm crazy and I'm not supposed to be upset, but I couldn't handle it—I didn't want to be home alone an-anymore. I didn't think you'd be over it already since I'm not, but you-you can do whatever you want an-and I need to be okay with that. And, then you—your music, it started playing while I was driving and I-I—Harry, I couldn't stop crying and then I crashed." Her voice was clogged in her throat, muddy and thick. Her tone came in waves, ebbing and flowing until it gave out. "I'm sorry." 

There was no chance Harry had of keeping his own tears at bay as he listened. It was too much—all of it; hearing her beginning to sob over the thought of him being over their relationship, how just the sound of his voice over her speakers brought her to tears while driving, the fact that she'd seen photos of him out on a date had driven her from her home to get away from herself. 

He felt his skin flush, the warmth heading down his neck the same way his tears did. He sniffled his nose, his lips rolled between his teeth to keep himself from blurting out each thought he couldn't help but to have. 

He doubted telling her how much he loved her was going to be much help when she was so dedicated to the thought of him already finding someone new to replace her. 

"You—" he cut himself off when his voice came a croak, clearing his throat with his hand on her wrist. "Y'don't have to be sorry, (Y/N). You're not crazy, either—I don't know what I would do if I'd seen y'go out with someone else, either. Y—'M jus' sorry, I never—I didn't mean to—" 

"It's okay, it's okay," she murmured, shaking her head as she slid her arm out from under his hand, curling into herself while she refused to open her eyes. "It's not your fault—you—I ended our relationship, you can do whatever you want." A shuddering breath had her shoulders shaking, lungs rattling. "I-I'm sorry you're here instead of with her." 

Just short of climbing up on the bed beside her, Harry pulled his chair as close to her side as he could. There wasn't anything he could say—nothing that he could imagine would shift her mind on what she'd seen and decided was the truth. All he could do, even if it involved uncomfortable bending of his joints, was collect her into his arms and hold her. It was only then that the slow roll of her tears were let loose into full weeps, her face buried into his neck. 

She burrowed against him, sinking into him as if the last month hadn't occurred. His hands spanned over her form, familiar with every plane and curve. His fingers caught on the raised abrasions that could be felt through her thin gown, but Harry could only be grateful that those were the only evidence of her accident. The mechanical beeping of her pulse skittered high, enough so he worried that the nurse could be alerted of the disturbance. Nonetheless, he held her tighter. 

"There's nowhere else I want to be," he murmured into her hair, his voice watery like the tears running down his cheeks. 

Reaching towards him, (Y/N) wrapped her hands in the wool of his jacket, fingers clawing into the fabric in a tighter grip than he'd expected from her state. "E-Even tonight?" 

Her cry was thin and pathetic, causing Harry to pulse his arms around her once more. "Tonight—every night. As long as 'm with you." 

He could feel the flutter of her lashes as she cinched her eyes shut tighter. Her voice was barely a whisper when she spoke again, just audible given how closely he had her wrapped around him, "Wh-What about her?" 

He shook his head against her hair, his nose skating over her crown. There would be a time to really unpack why he found himself at a candlelit table with Natalie, including everything that was going through his head every time she spoke to him, but that wasn't tonight. She needed him, and all of the reassurance he could give more than he needed to clear his conscience and monologue over his feelings. 

"She's not you and that's all that matters to me," he told her, sincerity dripping in his tone, "All I want is you." 

(Y/N) cried in a blubbering sob, "I didn't think you loved me anymore." 

Harry's own eyes had to be shuttered closed then, a fruitless attempt in hopes of stemming the tears falling out of his eyes and into (Y/N)'s hair. "I didn't think y'loved me anymore, darling." 

"I-I do, I do," she countered, shaking her head in his neck with her grip tightening on him, "We-We just never saw ea-each other anymore, and I-I thought you were mad at me all th-the time and I thought we'd be happier apart—b-but I was wrong and—" 

"It's okay, it's okay," he soothed her, starting a circuit of his palm over her back, "I-I understand. But now we know—you're all I want, an-and I'll do anything to make it work with you." 

"You're all I want," she whimpered, voice tight, "Don't leave me." 

While a part of him was soaring knowing that she was still in love with him, that this wasn't over the way he'd thought, he was still more than heartbroken to hear that she was so torn up and broken herself. She thought she had no choice but to end the relationship in hopes of making both of them happier elsewhere. He never imagined himself making someone he loved feel that way. 

"I won't." 

—————

Rubbing the lack of sleep out of his eye, Harry stood back as (Y/N) checked out of the hospital. Her mother was twined to her side with her father looking just as distraught, though he was better at giving his daughter space. They'd come straight here as soon as they landed only a couple of hours prior, walking in on Harry who had stayed far longer than the originally carved out visiting hours with (Y/N) still in his arms. 

Gratitude was exchanged between them—Harry for coming to (Y/N)'s side at a moment's notice, and her parents for telling him at all and letting him be there for her—with a thread of stiffness lingering afterwards. Harry couldn't blame them; the last they'd heard about him was the fact that he'd been dumped by their daughter along with all the reasons why. They didn't know what had come of the night before, yet, only seeing the aftermath of their tear puffed faces and his arms wrapped around her.

Truthfully, Harry wasn't even sure where he stood with (Y/N) at the moment. Promises uttered through sobs after a traumatic event wasn't something he was going to hold her to. Even if he wanted to believe she was still in love with him and wanted to be with him like she'd said last night. 

Armed with paperwork and parents at her side, (Y/N) nodded to the nurse at the checkout with a plastered smile. Though they were still clear on her skin, the cuts and scrapes she'd earned in her accident didn't look so bad when she smiled with light in the eyes. 

Though he was still a bit too far away, he could hear the mumblings of a quiet conversation happening between (Y/N) and her parents. He was sure she was going to go home with them, and sort out everything else that couldn't be helped with a night at the hospital, but he'd wait until he knew she was safe before he'd leave himself. 

He watched from the corner of his eye, giving them privacy, though he could see (Y/N) waving off her parents before stepping towards him. It was a lingering departure, her mother refusing to let go too readily, though she eventually resigned herself to head down the hallway towards the bank of elevators with her husband and her daughter's paperwork. 

(Y/N) took shy steps towards Harry, empty hands a fiddling mess. 

"You're still here," she said, voice quiet to match the waiting room. 

He shrugged, a small smile having curled the corner of his lips. Was he supposed to remind her that she had asked him to stay, or keep that ex-boyfriend barrier in place? (If it was even still standing, given the way she'd fallen asleep in his arms just hours before).

"You're doing alright?" he asked instead, scanning over the planes of her face as if he didn't have them memorized already. 

She nodded. "Just sore, but I think I'm just going to feel that way for a little while. My head's doing better, though—I still have a headache, but I don't think it's because of the accident." 

Though she ended with a laugh, Harry figured she wasn't sure what to make of last night anymore than he did. 

"'M happy you're alright," he told her, sincerity weaved through his words, "Are your mum and dad taking y'home?" 

"Yeah," she nodded, looking over her shoulder to the couple waiting at the elevators, "I think my mom wants me to stay at their house tonight, but we'll see." 

"Oh, y'don't want to spend hours watching soap opera reruns tonight?" Harry teased, a sly smile touching his lips. The curl only stretched when (Y/N) laughed. 

"Not particularly, but who knows," she said, sparing another glance over her shoulder to see the audience waiting on her, "Um, we talked a lot last night." 

"We did, yeah," he nodded, throat bobbing as swallowed, eyes dropping from her own, "But, we don't—'m not—If y'don't feel the same way as y'did last night, 'm not going to ma—" 

"I do," she cut him off, a bright chirp that matched the spark in Harry's chest. "I do feel the same, I mean. We should probably talk a little more, though, right?" 

A dimple dented Harry's cheek, suddenly feeling incredibly more alive than just a heartbeat before. "Probably." 

"Are you busy tomorrow? In the morning?" 

It didn't take a second thought before Harry was moving his schedule around to keep his morning stark open tomorrow. Those meetings could be moved—maybe even made into an email or a quick phone call. 

"Not for you." 

The blooming smile she gave him was reminiscent of the first time he pulled that flirtation on her. 

"Good," she quipped, "I'll call you tonight or something, then. Maybe we could get breakfast tomorrow?" 

"I'll be there," he cemented, "Jus' tell me when." 

The rewarding light in her eyes made it easy for Harry to forget the last month of his light (except for the night he'd just spent with her, of course). 

"I will," she told him, "Bye, Harry." 

Maybe it was the way she hesitantly stepped towards him, or the shy way she had her lips rolled between her teeth with a budding smile, or the memory of her warmth against his chest, but Harry didn't think before he was collecting her into his arms. (Y/N) melted into his chest on instinct, wrapping her arms around his middle. He could feel the mush of her cheek against the cuff of his shoulder. Despite the sterile scent of the hospital clinging to her, underneath it all was the familiar fragrance of her shampoo and sweet body lotion she somehow never ran out of. 

Drawing away first, (Y/N) only put enough space between them to get a look up at Harry. Though her eyes were bloodshot, bags darkening underneath, and the shadow of her tears lingering in the corners, he'd never seen anything more beautiful than (Y/N)'s eyes. 

"I'll see y'tomorrow." 

"See you tomorrow." 

Long after she untangled herself from his hold, Harry still felt (Y/N)'s warmth long enough to carry him home and keep him company until his phone rang a familiar tone later that night. 

—————

ahhhhhh I never write angst so I hope this turned out all right! thank you sm for reading, and sorry for any mistakes! if you have any ideas or anything at all send them in!

[bbokicidal]

Hello! The dick analysis was so 🤤🤤🤤 and you’ve become my virgin!skz dealer now! 😍😍😍

Speaking of which, what kind of subs would skz be? Could you write some hcs pls?

(Ps: I hope the headache you had has gone away! 🫶)

Have a wonderful day (or night depending on when you’re reading this)! ❤️❤️❤️

I'm about to do some bombass 5-STAR themed makeup but I'll write up some quick head canons, sure!! (Also my migraine has mostly gone away lol, ty for well wishes !!)

Chris :

Softest bottom ever, so compliant and eager to please.

Power... bottom? Maybe? Mm, not the right word. More of; He'll do anything you ask and he miiiight fuck you on his own a little if you're edging him and he knows he can't take it anymore.

So obedient. So so obedient, so sweetheart coded. Just there to make you feel good 'n gets soooo flustered with his ears and neck all red in embarrassment from having all your attention on him. <3

Minho :

Brat !! Brat I say !!!

So bratty, so mean. Cannot keep his mouth shut because he's always whining or biting back about how you're moving too slow or you're not going hard enough with him.

Be mean !! Spit in his mouth to assert dominance. That'll shut his ass up. <3

Changbin :

Pillow Princess Bin <3

The sweetest angel in bed. Less of an eager pleaser than Chris and more just - happy to be there, enjoying the moment, basking in the worship and adoration you shower him in.

Sit on his face and suffocate him. Man likes to eat, 'n that includes your holes. ;)

Hyunjin :

SO loud. So so loud, so whiny. Constantly moaning. Literally produces the PRETTIEST sounds you'll ever hear when he's subbing !!

The type to enjoy nipple clamps and wearing lacy lingerie for you because he knows just how much you like how lean he is <3333 (im tweaking out im just inserting my own fantasies in here now)

Looooves to be edged. Wants you holding a vib to the tip of his pretty pink cock until he's actually spraying cum and shaking so much he can't breathe. Also likes to have his ass ate, I don't make the rules. (I do.)

Jisung :

Bottom. BITCH.

Aka not a sub very often but when he does???? Mmm Mm MMMMM. So so so submissive, enters subspace so fucking fast when he's feeling a bit down. Also a very good communicator about what he wants/needs for the evening!!!

Honestly? I think his favorite thing to do while being submissive is dressing up. He likes wearing the big hoodies, the frilly socks, having his hair pinned back and sitting w his cute lil anime girl legs.

Felix :

Alright I'm gonna say on one hand, I can see him in cute pink clothing with garter belts and stockings and sleeves covering his hands, etc etc etc. Whimpering, hair in bows and pigtails, all cute 'n shit.

Another part of me says he's just so vanilla when hey subs and it's bc he doesn't prefer subbing. He really only subs when you either A) ask him to so you can experiment, or B) he needs you to blow him. :)

Definitely a moaner tho. <3

Seungmin :

An actual dog, bro.

Growls, bites, even spits at you sometimes. A brat, fr! Buuuuut if you put him in his place then he's sooooo compliant and whimpering like the good puppy he is.~

The type to hump your leg if you deny him his needs, biting at your thighs and even eating you out with long licks to get your attention until you flip him over 'n suffocate him by sitting on his face. <3

Jeongin :

I really don't see him as submissive,,,, ever. So I'm gonna say he's really only submissive when he's by himself.

Has definitely used toys before on himself, has taken it up the ass. Did enjoy it but won't admit it aloud bc he's too shy. <3 But !!!

He did let you in on his secret a lil later on, and now if you ask reaaaaaally nicely and have it all planned out, he might let you peg him until he cries. <3 (Face down ass up Innie?? MMMMM)

[milkyboybluewriter]

Why Bill Hates Dipper

Ever since the Book of Bill came out, I've been pondering why Bill seems to love tormenting Dipper.

I don’t doubt Bill Cipher could find amusement in anyone and everyone’s suffering but he seems to take a special interest in hurting the youngest Pines.  This even goes back to their first interaction where Bill blows a hole in Dipper’s chest before Dipper had said a single word to him, as opposed to Mabel whom he ignored despite her attempt to tackle him moments beforehand.

In Sock Opera, Bill repeatedly harms Dipper’s body with forks, drawers, stairs, drowning, and who knows what else off-screen.  And in perhaps the darkest moment of any Gravity Falls media, Bill’s note from Journal 3 boasts about his ‘grand finale’ of killing Dipper, making it look like a suicide, and forcing the poor boy to wander the mindscape forever.  

During Weirdmageddon Bill repeatedly ridicules Dipper after Ford’s capture, teasing him with insults, Ford’s body, and burning his precious journals in front of him before ordering his Henchamniacs to eat him. In Mabel’s Bubble he responds to Dipper’s rejection by turning Fake Wendy into maggots and delivers an ominous warning to an obviously disturbed Dipper. 

This trend of tormenting Dipper has only intensified with the Book of Bill and Thisisnotawebsite.com.  Every mention of Dipper in the book is an insult or mockery, including two pages dedicated to embarrassing moments of his young life.  Meanwhile, on the website he tries to trick Dipper into staring at the sun until the boy goes blind.  

So why does Bill seem to have a special interest in making Dipper Pines miserable?

It could be as simple as the bully picking on the victim.  Maybe Bill thinks Dipper takes himself too seriously and wants to knock him down several pegs.  Or perhaps Bill resents Dipper for being the closest to what he considers Lawful Good among his family, or for trying to be a hero while categorising the town’s weirdness in opposition to Bill’s desire to create chaos and misery, or because he’s the primary antagonist and Dipper is the primary protagonist?

But Bill probably doesn’t hold Dipper in high enough regard for that to be his only reasoning.  In fact, Bill appears to have a very low opinion of Dipper, in comparison to certain other members of the Pines family. 

In both Book of Bill and Dipper and Mabel’s Guide to Mystery and Non-Stop Fun, Bill claims to like Mabel, comparing her free-spiritedness with his desire to spread turmoil. To him, fun and chaos are the same thing and Mabel’s all about having fun and doing whatever she wants, whatever other people think of her.

Ford worshipped Bill for a time, and is the one who summoned him and created the portal.  Feats Bill was so pleased by, that he apparently grew some degree of affection for Ford if the Book of Bill is to be believed; telling him about his past, ‘gifting’ him with dead rats and the like.  Even though Bill answered Ford's attempts to escape him with horrific torture, Bill still offered him the position of Henchmaniac when he achieved physical form, implying he was willing to put their past aside, on his terms.

Bill’s interactions with Stan are limited to entering his mind and the final battle.  Perhaps, as a fellow conman and trickster, it could be argued Bill might approve of Stan’s crimes even if he’s not exactly impressed by them.  But Thisisnotawebsite.com makes it clear that any affinity he may or may not have had for Stan is gone.  Now there’s only bitterness and rage at having been bested by someone he deems a joke.

Sounds familiar. 

Because it was Dipper who brought the others into Stan's mind and taught them how to fight back against Bill.  Dipper found Wendy and Soos, rescued Mabel and got the ball rolling on the resistance movement that led to Bill’s defeat.  In Mabeland especially, Dipper proves his tenacity by being the only one capable of resisting what Bill declares is his most diabolical trap. 

And when Dipper proved he had the strength to refuse his greatest temptation, Bill reacted by turning heaven into hell for a few moments.  Again, a member of the Pines family had rejected his promise of granting their greatest desire.  But this time, it wasn’t the genius Ford who’d rejected him and threatened his plans, it was the meek little boy - the lesser twin in Bill’s eye.  

Dipper isn’t wild like Mabel, brilliant like Ford, or cunning like Stan.  He’s just a kid trying his hardest to do what’s right.  A concept Bill no doubt finds hilarious. 

It’s one thing to be bested by a foe you respect or admire, but it’s quite another to be beaten by someone you consider a joke.  

But he was.  Repeatedly.  First by Dipper and finally by Stan.  

And it probably drives him mad. 

[ellecdc]

We need dating remus lupin general headcanons with YOUR wonderful writing. Please. 🫶🏻

I don't know if this is my best work - but hopefully this is what you were looking for. Thanks for being here with me &lt;3

Dating Remus Lupin Headcanons

This man was completely oblivious to the draw he had on other people – including you. His quiet, sarcastic, mischievous but kind persona meant he had a lot of admirers that he never did anything about 

I fully believe Remus Lupin was the biggest flirt without necessarily realizing it (or if he did realize it, it wasn’t a conscious action - he really didn’t mean to be flirty, he just was)

Also don’t believe he knew how fuckin’ hot he was: denim jackets, oversized cardigans and knitted jumpers, converse, beanies - like he always looked so comfortable and casual but so put together despite of it?

Stealing his clothes is actually a dream of mine – his denim jacket with patches sewed on and a hole or two????? Need it

Curling up in one of his sweaters and warm socks by the fire? Fuckin’ hell 

His friends knew better than to ever try to (outwardly) set him up with anyone since he was so damn stubborn, so they would just happen to be in the library at the same time as you [the person they’d seen him bantering with in class time and time again] and also just happen to say hey and decide to catch up with you and then also just happen to sit at your table since they were already standing here talking to you anyway.

Forced library dates that neither of you really realized were dates, courtesy of his friends 

Remus caught on after a little while what his friends were trying to do, but didn’t mention anything in case you hadn’t realized yourself; he wouldn’t want to embarrass you

And welcome to the one thing we all sort of hate about Remus Lupin: he of course believed nothing would/could/should ever come about between the two of you

I believe him to be somewhat flighty – the second he realizes he’s falling for you, or, God forbid, realizes you’re falling for him – he hightails it 

Not for long though, I really don’t see James Potter letting him get away with that (Remus is stubborn so he gets ‘his way’ for at least a little before James forces the two of your out of your mutual misery)

I think you guys would grow closer and closer without ever actually saying anything about it:

Sitting beside each other would turn into leaning against one another

Leaning against one another would become the odd cuddle session 

Walking together to class would turn into a gentle hand on the small of your back guiding you through the castle (but also to keep you close) [this is that mentioned unknowingly flirty side] 

Hand on the small of your back would turn into his arm around your shoulder or your hand in his 

And he would prefer it this way, afraid that saying anything would make it too real (flighty), or, that you would deny having feelings for him and that would hurt in an entirely different way

You tried to be okay with it – to pretend that you were satisfied with whatever Remus was willing to give you because, come on, he was one of the most popular boys in school, he was the most well-liked Marauder, he was super smart and a powerful wizard, and he was so sweet to you.

But after a while, you couldn’t deny how much this unspoken space between you was weighing on you – particularly the somewhat routine periods where he’d completely shut you out

Was it you? Had you done something? 

Was he seeing someone else?

Were you just imaging this whole ‘thing’ between you?

He’d get increasingly agitated – almost like he simultaneously wanted you closer to him and further away from him; you’d never know how to help him in these moments

He’d speak more sharply to you, spoke less in general, and downplayed your friendship/relationship when other people would comment on it 

“We’re not even that close, we just study together sometimes” you head him say to Marlene McKinnon

“It’s not like that” he told Benjy Fenwick when he asked if you two were dating 

“She’s just a friend.” He’d said to Sirius, and that one hurt because why would he lie to his best friend? And what about you made it so difficult to see you as more than a friend?

Maybe you really had completely imagined the whole thing in your mind? Maybe he really didn’t care for you at all.

You began to pull away – less study dates, more excuses as to why you couldn’t meet up after class, sitting with Lily or Mary at quidditch games instead, staying at Hogwarts on Hogsmeade weekends – anything to avoid having to face the friend that you quickly realized you were halfway in love with who never even gave you a second thought

He did give you a second thought, though – in fact, he gave you a first thought as well as a third, fourth, fifth and sixth

“Do you think I did something to offend Y/N?” He asked James and Sirius one day – the two exchanged a knowing look 

“Why do you ask?” James asked with a smirk

“I think she might be avoiding me.”

“Does that bother you, Moons?”

Remus scoffed “of course it bothers me”

“I thought she was just a friend?” Sirius taunted

“Sod off...”

Remus couldn’t ignore it anymore – you weren’t just a friend. Never could be in his mind, he doubts. He would be your friend for the rest of your life if that’s all you ever wanted from him – but he’d probably always hold a candle for you; that’s why this divot you seemed to be carving between you two hurt like hell

He decides to do something very un-Remus like and face this head on (thoughts and prayers)

“Hey Y/N” he said gently as he approached your table in the library 

You seemed surprised at seeing him and started packing your things up

“Oh, hi Remus...” and the lack of your usual ‘hey Rem’ furthered his suspicions. “I was just finishing up, actually.”

“Have I done something to upset you?” He blurted suddenly. His assertiveness threw you off kilter – was he...talking? About feelings? You paused in your haste to pack your things

“No?” you said in the form of a question – you knew he picked up on it when the space between his eyebrows dwindled 

“Are you sure? I just feel like you’ve been avoiding me lately.”

You were starting to get frustrated. “What do you want, Remus?” You asked sharply. He winced.

“I just miss you, is all.” He admitted quietly as he played with a fray on his sweater between his tantalizingly long fingers.

“What exactly about me do you miss, Remus? You have plenty of friends; I hardly see how Sirius, James or Peter can’t fill the same role.”

He guffaws – actually guffawed! The bastard. “What are you on about?”

“What are you on about, Lupin? I’m tired; I’m tired of being called a friend while you keep me closer. I’m tired of feeling like I’m being played by arguably the most important person in my life. I’m fucking exhausted – so tell me exactly what you’re ‘on about’ Remus, and make it count because I’m done.”

“No! No, not done; don’t be done.”

“What do you want, Remus.” You whispered dismally. 

“You.” He whispered back

“Don’t fuck with me, Lupin.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at you a little bit. “I’m not. I’m not, I swear it – I’m sorry if you’ve felt played by me. I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel anything but loved because... because I do – I love you.”

“Love me?”

“Love you. So much.” He professed as he dared to step closer to you. When you didn’t seem entirely averse to his proximity, he moved to close the gap – enveloping you in a long-needed hug. “I’m sorry.” He apologized again.

“You should be” you murmured petulantly from his chest.

He chuckled and pressed his lips to the top of your head “let me make it up to you?”

And he did – you spent that evening on the astronomy tower, enjoying the view of the stars as they melted into the forbidden forest along the horizon and the rest of the Hogwarts grounds – and he told you his secret, that he was a werewolf

You were the first person he willingly told – James, Sirius, and Peter just figured it out on their own and there was no hiding from them

You were the first person he chose to let in – so uncharacteristic of the lycanthrope, but that just went to show how serious he was about making it up to you and garnering your trust

This changed everything 

There was no more pushing you away near full moons, in fact – he got nearly downright territorial 

No one else was allowed to sit beside you – that was Remus’ spot

He was irritable and snappy with everyone, but instinctively melted at the sight of you

“I can’t believe we survived Moony all these years without Y/N – she’s like a sedative” Peter muttered as he picked up the cards Remus had thrown at him in a fit during their game of exploding snap. There was no sign of that Moony now – smiling down at you as you sat curled up in his lap like he had nowhere else he’d rather be

I believe Remus was the king of trinkets – his dorm was littered with little bits and bobs he found that he thought were cool/interesting

He started gifting you little things once you began dating 

An enamel pin that made him think of you 

A small pewter wolf 

A cool rock that he thought looked like the colour of your eyes (you didn’t see it, but who were you to argue?) 

Little themed snow globes

Flowers he found on his walks 

Pretty beads/crystals 

Tealight candle holders 

The ribbon from a box of chocolates he got from his mum that he thought you would like

Acts. Of. Service. This man didn’t come from money, the way he saw his dad spoiling his mum was through his actions – so this caring attitude came super naturally to him 

Fixing up your tea/coffee the way you like before you’ve even thought about it 

Carrying your bags/books for you 

“Your shoe’s untied, dovey. Give ‘er here.” He said as he patted his thigh for you to place your foot so he could tie it for you

If you got sick/under the weather, he’d totally do your homework for you (his friends have done the same for him due to the moons – pay it forward)

I think he’d be so soft and needy after a moon – just melt into whatever love and care you’re willing to show him; give you complete control and take care of him.

It may have been super hard to get Remus to give love a chance – but once you got it, you were stuck with him because he was not going anywhere 

Loyal to a fault 

He’s so afraid of losing good things that he’s willing (and desperate) to do anything and everything he can to keep it [i.e., you]

Thankfully, you make it very easy to do <3 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mission Control 16

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, blood, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

When the monster emerges again, you refuse to look at him. He leaves without trying to get your attention. Is he off to smear more blood on his hands? Or is he just trying to get away from the violations he’s committed in this place? Can he even fathom the pain he’s caused? 

You stay by the fire for the night. You put a pillow under your head and sleep on the floor. Your angry burns as hot as the flames and the morning greets you in an exhausted haze. 

You busy yourself by cooking. Your human instinct draws you to eat but by the time you have a plate ready, your hunger dissipates. You leave it on the table to rot as you pace around the cabin. 

You look around the front room and it’s worn walls. You examine where his fist snapped the planks then stand in the doorway of the bathroom. The dingy tub drips and the mirror is cracked in the corner. You turn and head into the bedroom. 

You kick the door open and shiver as you peer around. The bed is made tidily. The corners are so tight, like a military barrack. The armoire looms against the wall. You turn away from it and approach the shelf in the corner. You stare at the images of yourself, of your former life, of your family. 

You grab onto it and throw it all to the ground. It takes several tries to tip it but you do. It crashes and breaks the monotony of that prison. You stumble back and shake your head. What is wrong with you? 

You spin and race from the room. The cabin blurs around you and you skid to the front door. You twist the handle and wrench it open. You grit your teeth as you stand in the frame and stare out into the shadows between the trees. Your eyes scan the patchy grass turned grey with the wintry decent. 

Fuck it. You won’t stay. Even if you won’t escape, you won’t stay. 

You hurl yourself forward. You stumble down the stairs and your socks soak with the first step over the frosty ground. Your second step is more confident and the third produces an odd metallic click. Then suddenly a pang rips through your foot and calf. You shriek in agony and horror as you collapse. 

You gnash your teeth together and writhe and whine. You shake in sheer pain and struggle to even get your shoulders off the ground. Your eyes flood and your cheeks stained with tears. You raise your head and look down at your foot. The spike is lodged into your heel and extends up into your leg.  

The sight churns in your stomach and you angle to puke onto the frozen strands of grass. More than the scene of gruesome mutilation, the agony makes you hurl. You can’t bear it. You’ve never felt anything this horrible in your life. 

You know you shouldn’t take it out but you can’t leave it in. The spike might be keeping your foot connected but you’d rather have the whole thing off. You sit up then splay again. You’re dizzy with the effort as your blood slowly seeps out around the base of the spike. 

You push yourself up again and hunch forward with all your weigh. You reach for your leg, bending it as you wretch again. You swallow the bile and touch the metal. A blinding whiteness strikes only to be shrouded in a smothering black void. 

You wake again. Shivering as the winds barrel over your body. You blink up at the clouds as your leg throbs. You look down at the nightmarish wound and drag yourself back towards the step. You notice the hole where the spike erupted up from. A trap. 

Stupid, stupid. 

You manage to get yourself up the steps before you pass out again. You sprawl and rouse with another tide of vomit spilling onto the porch. You heave as you use your uninjured foot to push towards the door. 

You finally get inside. Trembling in pain as much as the frigidity. You need to get the fire going. If you don’t bleed out, you’ll freeze to death. 

You get halfway to the couch before you devolve into another blank valley. You wake again to the wailing winds and the crisp cold. You won’t get that far. 

You grab the edge of the tattered rug and roll it around you. You don’t stop until you hit the couch. You quiver against the hard frame and chatter violently. Another swell of unconsciousness overwhelms you. 

A strike of lightning cuts through you and you wake screaming. A sudden pressure on your heel has you whimpering and begging. Your eyes are awash in agony and your body is pulsing violently. There’s a coil around your ankle and the clunk of metal on wood. 

You blink and find yourself no longer on the hard floor. You lay on the bed. The pain remains but you know the spike is gone. You shiver even as you’re trapped beneath at least a dozen layers of blankets. You can’t move. You won’t even think of it. 

Your head pounds and your body buzzes. How did you get here? There’s no way you got here on your own. 

The answer stalks in. His eyes meet yours and he hesitates before he comes to the bed. The vessel that was once Captain America lowers himself stiffly onto the mattress. His puts his rough palm to your forehead. He makes a guttural noise of disappointment. 

He’s disappointed? It’s his fault this happened. You laugh but the tension it cords in you sends another storm of pain through you.  

You wheeze and whine until you’re too weak to even spasm. You feel the sweat slaking down your body. He pulls down the blanket and you shiver worse than before. 

“I... have a fever,” you say aloud. He tilts his head as if in agreement. You let your head drift to the side and groan, “let me die.” 

He rests his hand on your shoulder and squeezes. He lowers his head and stays like that, as if he’s thinking, preparing for something. He peels the blankets down past your feet. You look down at your bandaged leg. 

He touches your calf daintily. That alone is like a zip of electricity. Your vision speckles and goes black again. Even as your thoughts fizzle to darkness, you still feel the pain. There is nothing else. 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

miscellaneous fellow honest headcanons

These aren't following any prompt in particular, these are just thoughts I had when I saw the guy hammin' it up and then turning on us.

Some of these headcanons are informed by fan art I've seen and discussions I've had with friends, while others are purely me.

Curiouser and Curiouser...

He calls people “little lads” and “little ladies”.

Fellow has a very noticeable laugh. Like, he grunts and snorts and has tears rolling down his cheeks. (He tends to laugh at others’ misery, thinking of it as “retribution” or “payback” for the injustices he has suffered himself.)

Bro shaves using a knife (yes, he shaves because he is a grown ass man) because razors are hella expensive.

He uses that cheap cologne and cakes it on THICK. This, in his mind, gives off the impression that he’s a well-off and put-together individual you should tooootally trust.

Also the type of person that lays it on thick with his words. If he’s trying to impress a date or something, he’ll shower them with so many compliments it almost seems fake. But no, he’s just the type to simp hard when he happens to be genuine 💀 most of the time he’s faking it though—

He’s very street smart, but in a way where he confuses hostile people by talking over them and acting overly friendly. They usually stuns them long enough for him and Gidel to skedaddle.

If he gets dumped, he'd be the pathetic whimpering boyfriend that begs for his ex to take him back. When they inevitably don't, he mopes all day about it.

He chain smokes and aggressively drinks as a coping mechanism on his bad days 😔 and sometimes he gambles (like, on those scratch-off cards) hoping that he'll strike it rich and buy him and Gidel a better life...

Basically, he generally does not have his shit together but tries his best to pass like someone who does (and usually succeeds at it).

Fellow appears in public wearing his full suit, but at home (ie whatever ratty temporary housing their boss found for them before they move on to the next place) he just wears a T-shirt and lounges around in boxers (and sometimes socks with holes in them).

He uses those disposable eyeshadow wands that snap in half at the slightest bit of too much pressure. Fellow acts like the Claire’s kid makeup he uses is the luxury stuff, but Vil can tell the pigmentation isn’t all there and there’s MAD fallout.

He may be broke AF and have his moments of emotional spiraling, but he has pretty decent budgeting skills. Fellow lives for sales and does extreme couponing to stretch their money as far as it will go.

He invests in other cost-saving methods like wearing shoes until the sole is literally flopping off and just adding water to residual soap in a pump bottle to make the soap "last longer".

Fellow is really good at cutting food (bread, beans) thin to conserve it. Yes, this is a reference to an old Mickey Mouse cartoon—

When he was younger, he had dreams of being an actor (and, more specifically, starring in musicals). That's why he's often humming, swinging around his cane, and/or whistling as he's on the prowl for idiots to sucker—they're remainders of his thespian days before his dreams were crushed into itty bitty pieces.

Man looks like he'd be great at tap dancing.

Before his current gig, he tried a bunch of other scams including a MLM at one point to get by. His signature spell came in pretty clutch in those days too.

Fellow’s not that good at reading or spelling—in fact, he was never a particularly strong student. (“I didn’t fail school!! The schools failed ME!!”) He’s easily frustrated by academics and thinks there should be more hands-on and practical skills taught in learning institutions.

I think it's a given that he and Ruggie would be besties since they both want to eat the rich but I also think Fellow would kiss ass to Azul and then rage about how shitty + entitled Azul is (Azul reminds Fellow of his boss)💀 Scammers hate other scammers because they're both competing to scam the same people--

Even though Fellow is an asshole to most others (well, when he’s not flattering them to lure them into a trap), he’s always nice to Gidel and puts him first. If there’s ever a situation where they’re short on something (clothes, food, etc), Gidel gets priority. This is why Gidel has a full outfit (even if parts are patches or mismatched) whereas Fellow himself has a glove that is so worn out there’s a hole in one of the pinkie fingers.

Fellow may not be blessed with a bounty of magic, but he’s quick on his feet and good with words. Because of these skills, he’s talented at spinning bedtime stories, which he often tells to Gidel to help him fall asleep on nights that are particularly cold and nasty.

Gidel still believes in Santy Claws and wishing upon stars, and Fellow doesn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. He’ll figure it out on his own one day, Fellow thinks. He just doesn’t want to be the one to ruin those childhood joys for him.

Playing pretend is another shared past time of theirs. It helps Fellow get into character before he goes off to swindle people, and it gives Gidel a way to express himself in spite of being mute. They have a routine they do together where Fellow pretends to be a doctor diagnosing a patient and Gidel takes down notes for him as his medical scribe. Yes, this is a Pinocchio reference—

They actually have many more games they play (mainly because they cannot afford other forms of entertainment). Some of the games are clever ruses conjured by Fellow to teach Gidel survival tips and tricks: the who-can-make-their-piece-of-bread-last-longer game, hide-and-seek (from the authorities), etc.

For special occasions, Fellow saves up some money on the side to grant Gidel little luxuries, like a box of crayons to doodle with.

Gidel hugs Fellow’s leg or waist to cheer him up when he’s upset. He also hides behind Fellow when he’s scared or feeling shy.

He’s just really attached to Gidel cuz they have no one else in this cruel world, just them against the world 😔 He sees a lot of his younger self in the little boy… the opportunities lost because of their circumstances… “It’s alright, Gidel. Leave it to Fellow-sama.”

[kryannoy]

see me in a bodysuit

DAY 10 | OCTOBER 29 | BODYSUIT

genre: nsfw, smut characters: sub!lyney x dom!reader summary: he rides up the leg thingy in a teasing manner to show off more skin while smirking, ended up being fucked warning: dry humping, nipple sucking, cumming in pants

Lyney wants to surprise you. Now, he always does surprises because after all, he is a magician. But this and that aren't the same. Those are for his audience including you, but this is something he wants to do for you and only you.

He has practiced on this trick of changing clothes in the blink of an eye. It is a tricky move for the Great Magician Lyney, it was a walk in the park.

He has prepared the perfect outfit to show off to his audience, which is you, who is already seated on the couch of your lovely home, waiting for him to start his performance.

He begins with a few card tricks as a warm up. One, two and on the third card trick he flipped the card around and voila! He is now in his little skimpy black bodysuit. He gives you a wink and a bow to end his performance. You couldn't help but to whistle out at him teasingly. You're already eyeing him from top to bottom. His thigh high socks and garter are still on, he only replaced the suit.

You usher him to come closer and he obeys. "Impressive," you compliment. His grin is still on his face.

Your left hand grabbed onto his plush thigh and gave it a squeeze before hooking a finger into it, pulling and letting it snap back in place, ensuring you make eye contact the whole time.

He turns his hips a little bit more towards you and pulls the bottom of his bodysuit upwards to show off more of his skin. Not going to lie, you got turned on by that; him acting like horny slut. You spank him one time before pulling both leg holes upwards until his ass is exposed. Lyney lets out a moan, grabbing onto your shoulders for support. He's already hard and it's visible through his bodysuit.

He moans more when squeeze his ass again. The pout on his face is adorable. He wants you to touch his aching cock but you keep squeezing his ass and thigh. Lyney had enough, he sits on your lap so he can grind on you himself.

"Please! Touch me down there," he whines into your ear, hips bucking into you.

You decided to indulge him without any further teasing since he has prepared a magic show all for you. Your hand reaches down to his cock and he begins to rut even more. Your other hand goes behind him and moves the panty aside to touch his hole.

Lyney whimpers as he buries his face into your neck. You put more pressure onto his hole and purposely not putting it inside. You can tell he was trying to maneuver his hips so your finger will slip inside but of course you're not going to let that happen. So, you scrunched the panty and held it up like a wedgie, using that to handle him better. It creates a delicious tightness around his cock yet allows him to friction on his hole. You guided him to continue grinding down on you.

He was whining like a little bitch in heat and moaning so loud as if he purposely wants to let everyone know he's being fucked so good.

His movements became faster and sloppier, chasing his own euphoria, back arching so deliciously that his nipples were poking. You bend down and sucked on his nipple through the bodysuit while pumping his swollen cock. He lets out a high pitched moan that surely will be heard by your neighbors.

"I'm close, so close!" Lyney warns but only seconds then, white cum spurts out through the fabric, staining the bodysuit and a bit on your hand. He came so much it drizzled down to your pants. You give him some time to catch his breath before laying him down on the couch.

"Oh, we're not done yet."

[punkshort]

Chapter warnings: language, violence, angst

A/N: this chapter might be a little slower than the rest, but I felt like it was important to establish how they are surviving. I tried to keep it spicy and interesting but please stay with me, I believe I have some great stuff coming up :)

Chapter Ten

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak

AU (the only thing I kept was the outbreak, Joel, and Tommy's characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. I may include Ellie one day, I just haven't planned that far)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. The outbreak happens, and you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

October 2003

Pittsburgh, PA

It had taken you nearly a full month to make it 400 miles, having to stop frequently and rest for a couple days here and there, but you were halfway to Chicago. Your bodies were not used to the constant exercise, and it required you to rest more than you expected. Joel suspected you were both deficient in some capacity since all you had eaten was canned and processed food for a month and exerting much more energy than normal. You were holed up in a small cabin outside of Pittsburgh, about 10 miles away from reaching the city. Joel had broken into the cabin late last night, and the two of you collapsed into bed once he confirmed the place was empty. He had planned to stay here for a couple days, wanting to make sure you were both as well rested as possible.

The next morning, Joel was looking around the small basement of the cabin, his flashlight bouncing off the dirty concrete walls while you went through the clothes left in the dressers upstairs, determining which ones were suitable to swap out. With winter fast approaching, you both needed to find clothes with longer sleeves and extra layers.

His flashlight scanned over a rusted metal shelving unit in the far corner. He walked over to inspect the items, finding mostly cleaning products, insect repellant, paint, and other chemicals. At the very bottom he found a hunting trap which he picked up to examine, pleasantly surprised to find it was still functional. He took it upstairs and placed it on the small kitchen table, then went to find you in the bedroom, where he heard you opening and shutting the dresser drawers.

The queen bed was covered in clothes, women's clothes on the right and men's on the left. On the floor you had tossed three well-worn hunting jackets, and on the other side of the room was a pile of discarded clothes that looked like they were meant for warmer months.

"Makin’ some progress up here?” he asked, bending down to take a closer look at the jackets and opening the pockets to see what was left behind. He triumphantly pulled out a few batteries and a lighter, shoving them in his jeans pocket. He picked the jacket up and shook the dust off before trying it on.

"Yeah, we got some good options. I think the guy's clothes will fit you, her clothes will be a little baggy on me but that's fine, I can do layers," you said over your shoulder as you scooped up loose socks from the top drawer and tossed them on the bed, getting to work matching and rolling them up. "Did you find anything useful?"

Joel put the jacket back on the floor and picked up a second one, trying that one on before settling on the third, which was a little big on him, but the thick leather kept him well insulated. "Yeah, actually, I found a hunting trap. I'm gonna go out a little ways and see if we can catch somethin', I think we need more protein, we've been needin' to take too many breaks lately."

"You want me to come with you?" you stood up after matching up the last pair of socks.

"Nah, I won't be long, you keep workin' on this stuff here." Joel grabbed his rifle and the trap, closing the front door behind him and setting out into the woods.

The cabin was surrounded by a thick forest but there were a few trails that must have been forged by deer given how tall the grass and narrow the paths were. Joel walked carefully into the trees, staying alert for any threats. Out this far into the wilderness, infected weren't the problem. The pair of you hadn't come across any more people since that night in his apartment a month ago but he made sure you stayed off the roads as much as possible. You weren't as quiet or withdrawn anymore, but he noticed you were becoming hardened by the world you were forced to live in. He had seen the slow progression as you both learned how to take down infected as efficiently as possible. He remembered when you first had to do it: you were so scared he could see the switchblade shaking in your hand as you snuck up behind a dormant runner. As the weeks went on and you practiced more, you became more comfortable taking them down, but he also saw the hardness growing in your eyes. He knew it was just a product of your environment and it was essential in order to survive, but some nights when he was unable to sleep, he laid awake and imagined a world where he could be a shield for you, taking all damage, and you could be your warm and sweet self again, safe under his protection.

Being out in the wild without the comfort of an apartment helped quell his feelings for you a little. He was less distracted when he had to always be on high alert, forcing his thoughts off you and onto survival. But whenever you stayed in a safe spot for a few days, like this cabin, he eventually found his thoughts wandering back to how soft your lips were against his that night, the curve of your hips in your dress, or the way you moaned into his mouth. The forced proximity and the illusion of safety usually meant his body ended up finding yours in the middle of the night and pulled you close to him. You never mentioned it, and neither did he, but he knew it was a byproduct of trying to stamp out his feelings for you. It was almost like his mind was saying one thing, but his body was refusing to obey. So, whenever he woke and found himself tangled in you once again, he didn’t allow himself to savor the moment and quickly removed himself from you before his heart swelled and he would be lost in you all over again.

It was about a ten minute walk from the cabin before Joel found a good spot to place the trap. It was near a big bush that looked to be home to some kind of animal based on the prints in the dirt. He took a pink scarf out of his pocket and ripped a piece off, tying it to the tree branch above the trap. As he followed his footsteps back, every minute or so he tore another piece off and tied it to a branch until he reached the cabin. He pushed the door open and set the rifle down by the door. He heard you singing softly to yourself in the bedroom, completely unaware he had entered the cabin. The first instinct he had was to chastise you for not being more aware of your surroundings, but the part of him that was desperate to protect you ultimately won, and instead he stood in the kitchen to listen.

You left the bedroom with an armful of rags you had made from the summer clothes in the corner, lyrics softly leaving your lips when you saw Joel standing there and yelped out of fright.

“Jesus, Joel, you scared the shit out of me!” you exclaimed before taking your pile of rags to the couch and setting them down. “How long were you standing there?”

“Just walked in a minute ago,” he replied, giving you a small smirk. “Found a good spot for the trap, I’ll check it before sundown. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” He shrugged the hunting jacket off and draped it over a chair.

You nodded and headed over to the cupboard to see what the previous residents left behind.

“Are you hungry? We have some soup here, and some canned stew. What do you want?” You turned to face him with your hand on your hip, but his gaze seemed unfocused and his thoughts far away at your question. Moments like this felt so domestic and it made him ache. What did he want? He wanted everything you had to offer. He wanted to turn back time and take back what he said to you, before he ruined everything. He wanted domestic bliss where you made him dinner and he had you for dessert. He didn’t want to be fighting for your lives while you ate expired Dinty Moore.

His gaze refocused on you and replied, “I’ll take the soup.” He reached into his jeans pocket and found the lighter from earlier and got to work setting up a small fire outside while you rummaged around for pots to heat up the canned delicacies that awaited you.

Joel had just left to check the trap before it got too dark, and you were left scrubbing the pots in the sink until your fingers felt raw. You dreaded any time he left. You hated being away from him, and not because you were scared, it was something more. You figured it out when one morning about a week ago you woke up wrapped in his arms again, for maybe the third time, but that morning was when you realized you only truly slept well when he sought you out in the middle of the night to pull you close and breathe you in. You were always disappointed when he woke up and pulled away from you so fast, leaving you feeling ashamed for being the only one who wanted it to continue. You had to constantly remind yourself it meant nothing, that Joel only had wanted one thing from you by replaying how mad he got for not sleeping with him that night. He never apologized for it, and you know you shouldn’t care anymore, but sometimes when you let your thoughts wander, it bothered you.

You put the pots back in the cupboard and raked your fingers through your hair aggressively, looking out the window to see if you could spot him. You hadn’t had any moments between you like that day in the subway when you saw the heat behind his gaze as you ran your hand up his arm. You convinced yourself afterwards that you had misread the situation, that the look in his eyes was not one of passion, but one of disapproval, and the embarrassment for the way you behaved sat with you for the next week. Eventually, the embarrassment faded when your focus was redirected to surviving in the wild and learning how to take down infected. You were both becoming pretty good at it, so long as you had the upper hand and noticed them first. Only twice did Joel have to use a gun to take one down, so your ammo reserve was still well stocked. But there was something feral that triggered inside you when you watched him kill: the little curl his upper lip made when he made contact, the fire in his eyes when the adrenaline kicked in, the way the muscles in his arms moved from the force of piercing a knife through their skulls. There had to be something wrong with you, nobody should find something like that attractive.

You heard his boots walking up the small porch, but you put your hand on your gun, just in case you were wrong. He opened the door, smiling proudly and holding up a dead rabbit to show you, and set the rifle back down in the corner by the door.

“I’ll go skin it, get it prepped for later. We can finally have a real meal for dinner.” Joel said, still holding the rabbit in his hand. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his smile faltering a bit when he noticed your expression seemed a little distant. You shook your head and smiled.

“Nothing, I’m fine, just distracted today,” you assured him, then turned around to find a small bag of rice you had seen next to the soup earlier. “I’ll make this to eat with dinner.” You plopped it down on the counter and went back to the bedroom to review the clothes you had set aside. Joel’s eyes followed you until you disappeared around the corner. He could tell something was wrong, but he knew better than to push it.

Joel was right about needing more protein and rest. You both felt recharged after just two nights but allowed yourselves the luxury of one more night indoors before heading off towards Pittsburgh. The morning you planned to leave was when Joel had let his guard down and you awoke entwined with him again. It was early, the sun hadn’t even risen yet. You knew the longer you let him do this, the more hurt you would ultimately inflict upon yourself, but as hard as you tried you just could not bring yourself to be the one to end the embrace. So, you squeezed your eyes shut and willed yourself back to sleep.

Joel stirred when the sun shone into his eyes through the thin curtains, squinting and yawning. As usual, he detached himself from you quickly, frustrated with his subconscious once again. After using the bathroom, he went outside to start a fire. The air was crisp and there was a sharp autumn wind that took his breath away. He huddled in his new jacket and shifted from foot to foot as he waited for the fire to flare up. He looked up into the sky, trying to detect if any rain would be heading your way, but the forest blocked most of his view. He heard the cabin door swing shut and twisted around to watch you walk down the steps wrapped in one of the other hunting jackets and carrying a kettle in one hand and the jar of instant coffee in another. He reached out to take the items from you so you could go back inside and grab two mugs and a spoon. He sat down on one of the thick logs used for stools that were surrounding the firepit and waited for the water to boil. You came back out with the mugs but also had a couple bowls and packets of instant oatmeal.

“’Morning,” you greeted groggily, setting the items down on one of the empty logs and choosing a spot next to him. You yawned, looking around the forest and buried your face in your coat when the wind picked up.

“Sleep ok?” Joel asked you, knowing full well he was setting you up to ask about the way he woke up clutching you, but much to his relief, it seemed as though that topic was never brought up.

You nodded, saying, “Yeah, better than usual.” And left it at that.

Neither of you were morning people and generally didn’t speak much until coffee hit your system. You had been lucky so far and found reserves of it at most of the places you stopped, but you had to dip into the stash from your apartment when you made camp in the forest. You sipped your coffee and ate your oatmeal in silence.

“Next time we find a sporting goods store, we oughta look for a bow and arrow, somethin’ silent,” Joel mused as he scraped his bowl. “We should learn to hunt out here. With winter comin’, it would be a good skill to have.”

You agreed, grabbing both bowls and the kettle while he picked up the mugs and snuffed out the fire. It was probably pointless, but you cleaned your dishes and put them back. It was unlikely the owners of this cabin would find it again, but it just felt wrong to leave things messy. This cabin provided for you both when you needed it and keeping it clean and in its original condition felt like the best way to thank it.

After breakfast, you packed up all your new clothes and replenished any food and rags you could fit in your packs and headed back out on the trail towards Pittsburgh. The forest was thick and lush, and offered a lot of cover, so you were able to make decent time getting to the city, arriving in the early afternoon. You approached a cliffside, stopping there to eat lunch and rest for the first time since you left the cabin. Joel didn’t want to start a fire and attract attention, so you ate some granola bars, peanuts and shared a can of peaches while you surveyed the city in the distance.

“So, what’s the plan?” you asked him, taking a sip from your canteen.

“Well,” he began, shoving the wrappers from the granola bars into his backpack, “I figure we should steer clear of the city proper best we can, especially the QZ. They won’t ask questions; they’ll just shoot on sight if they see anyone.”

You looked up at the sun in the sky, trying to determine the time. “We will have to find somewhere in the city that’s quiet, we won’t make it through before sundown.” You told him, looking back from the sky to meet his gaze. He nodded, impressed.

“Yep, you’re exactly right. Good girl.” he said, the compliment making you flush. “If we stick to the outskirts, maybe we can find a small shop or somethin’. But we’re gonna have to take turns takin’ watch, I don’t trust bein’ this close to soldiers.” he warned you, and you nodded in understanding. After you had spent a few minutes resting, Joel stood up, checking his revolver and tucking it back into his pants and zipping his backpack closed. You followed suit, shoving a rag back into your pack that you used to wipe some sweat off your forehead, and you both soldiered on towards the city.

It was approaching dusk as you and Joel finished clearing out a gas station in a quiet part of the city. There were only three runners inside, and you made quick work of taking them down silently. You helped Joel drag the last body into the men's bathroom, closing the door behind you. Joel wasn't thrilled with the building: it was filled with huge broken windows and left you too exposed for his liking, but the sun was waning, and your choices were limited. There was a small office tucked in the corner that you had emptied of the rolling desk chair and a few boxes of receipts so you could spread out your sleeping bag on the floor. Joel insisted on taking first watch, and you propped the door to the office open with one of the boxes so you could hear if there was any trouble before tucking yourself in.

Joel sat on the rolling chair by the front door, hiding in the darkness behind an aisle, every so often standing in a crouch to glance out the large windows for any movement. He was getting tired, but he still had a couple more hours left on his watch before he woke you. In an effort to keep him awake, he wandered over to the small electronics section behind the cash register, perusing the items on the shelves. His gaze settled on a Timex analog watch. He pried open the package and attached it to his wrist, adjusting the time to match the clock on the wall, assuming it was correct before sitting back down in the chair.

You had about 20 minutes left before he planned to wake you up. Joel was just finishing some beef jerky when he saw flashlights bouncing off a building about a block away. He straightened up in his chair, tossing the bag of jerky to the side, and hoisted the rifle onto his shoulder so he could see through his scope. He watched behind the aisle as a group of four men walked down the street in the direction of the gas station. He could see they were armed, noting knives in their boots, pistols holstered at their hips and two of them held military grade assault rifles. As they came into view, Joel scanned their clothes for any type of military insignia but found none. How did they get those assault rifles?

They were getting closer, but Joel still couldn’t tell if they were planning on entering the gas station or if they were just passing through. His hands began to sweat as he gripped his rifle tighter, his body tense and ready to strike. They were about 50 yards away when one of the men laughed at something one of the others said. The rest immediately shushed him, but it was too late. They froze as an unfamiliar noise echoed through the air from a dumpster they had passed half a block ago. Joel frowned, unable to identify the noise, but based on the reactions of the men, they knew. They whipped around, their backs now to the gas station, all four aiming their guns in the direction of the noise. It sounded like a high-pitched screech mixed with a gasp, then a distinct click, click, click. He heard one of the men swear under his breath, his voice sounding shaky as he shifted his weight back and forth nervously. The one next to him tried to get him to be quiet, but his nerves got the best of him, and a shot rang out, making Joel jump in surprise. In his peripheral, he saw you fly out of your sleeping bag, scrambling for your gun. He crouched as low as he could without sacrificing speed, and made his way over to the office, wrapping his hand over your mouth as you twisted around about to shout out to him. He put a finger against his lips, and only when you hastily nodded did he slowly remove his hand, turning back around to hide behind the front counter with you peeking over his shoulder, watching the scene unfold.

Two infected came ambling towards the group. At first, they stumbled and were slow, but when one of them shifted his weight and slid on some loose asphalt, they both let out a horrific scream unlike anything you had heard before and charged towards the group. Neither of you could understand the creatures you were seeing: they had a fungus growing all over their bodies but primarily on their heads, a mouth was the only facial feature you recognized since the fungus had completely grown over the rest of their faces. Blood had stained their throats and chests, their clothes were ripped and barely hung on, and underneath their skin looked wrinkly, but upon closer inspection, it appeared to be more layers of fungus.

The assault rifles were spitting bullets and bouncing off the clickers, as if the fungus acted like some type of armor. One of the clickers jumped on the man who had slipped, viciously ripping into his throat while its fingers dug animalistically into his chest and blood pooled in the street below him. Another man saw his opportunity and pressed his pistol to the back of the clicker’s head, firing and watching its body drop to the pavement. Then without hesitation, he aimed his gun at his friend’s head and fired, his body jerked once and stilled. In the meantime, the second clicker had made short work of the other two men, one already ripped apart on the ground while it continued its assault on the other. The man did the same thing: walked up and shot the clicker in the back of the head, and for good measure shot the other two men on the ground. He was now the last man standing, panting for breath as he bent over to rest his hands on his knees. That was when he noticed the blood seeping through his jeans and trickling down to his sneakers.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself, sitting down in the road to lift the pant leg. Joel could see the telltale imprint of teeth and blood when the man aimed his flashlight at his leg. He dropped the pant leg back down and hung his head between his knees. Joel tightened his grip on his rifle, expecting the man to come to the gas station in need of first aid, but before he could blink, the man lifted his pistol up to the side of his head and fired, dropping lifelessly to the side and joining the pile of dead bodies in the road.

Joel twisted around to try to shield your eyes, but it was too late. You let out a shaky breath, one tear sliding down your cheek as you looked up at him, his face full of concern. His eyes traveled down and reached his hand out to cup your face, his thumb gently wiping the tear away. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you had to resist the urge to lean into his touch.

"You alright?" he whispered to you in the dark. You nodded, breaking the contact and standing up.

The whole attack took less than five minutes. Joel approached the broken window and leaned out, listening intently to see if the noise had attracted any more infected or people. You waited as Joel went to each window multiple times to confirm nothing else was around. Satisfied, he turned back to you, your eyes wide and still gripping your gun at your side.

"I don't think anyone else is around," he said, placing the rifle next to the office chair. You nodded, tucking your gun in the back of your jeans.

"What the fuck was that?" you asked, staring at the bodies. "So these things are evolving now?"

"Seems that way," Joel answered, leaning tiredly up against the wall. He fought to keep his eyes open, but you could see he was exhausted.

"Go get some rest, I got this," you told him, "I'll wake you if I hear or see anything at all, I promise."

Joel wanted to resist and tell you he wasn't tired, but a yawn pushed through and gave him away. "You sure?"

"Yeah, go ahead. You need your rest, and we have to get out of this city tomorrow." You waved him off towards the office and went to sit in the chair after you grabbed his rifle, using the scope to get a better look at your surroundings.

Joel didn't bother rolling out his own sleeping bag, he just tucked himself into the one you were using, your scent enveloping him as he drifted off.

The sun rose about an hour ago. You waited as long as you could before deciding to wake Joel. He seemed so tired last night, you wanted him to get as much time as he could, but you knew you needed to leave. Once you got back into the forest, you could rest again. You went to the back office, carrying a to-go container of dry cereal in one hand, and found him snoring on his side with his back to the door. You popped a few pieces of Cinnamon Toast Crunch in your mouth and leaned down to gently shake his shoulder.

Joel whipped around at your touch and grabbed your wrist firmly, his eyes wild. You dropped your cereal in surprise.

"Joel! It's me," you yanked your arm, but he still held your wrist in his grasp and it was starting to hurt. "Joel!" you said again as loud as you dared. He finally realized and let you go, stumbling back a bit as you rubbed your wrist.

"Shit, sorry, must have been havin' a bad dream, you alright?" he asked worriedly, opening the sleeping bag and reaching forward to examine your wrist. He brushed his thumb tenderly over the red mark he left, the gesture making you melt and leaving you with a pang in your stomach.

"I'm fine, it's ok," you said, taking your wrist back and turning away from him, trying to create some space. "We should get going, eat something quick and I'll refill our packs with any supplies I can find."

"You sure you're ok?" he eyed you carefully. He hated how you shied away from his touch. You nodded, opening up another cereal from the shelf and continued to eat while you inventoried the food in your packs.

You shouldered your backpacks and guns after you ate, getting ready to head out. After stepping out onto the road, Joel frisked the dead bodies and picked up some more ammo for your handgun, along with two extra flashlights. He checked the assault rifles, too low on ammo for him to consider taking one, but he did remove two of the knives and sheathes strapped around their ankles, handing a set to you. The roads seemed quiet, so you took advantage and got a move on, silently threading your way through the city.

November 2003

Cleveland, OH

The weather was turning cold and rainy, even a couple nights leaving a dusting of snow that melted early the next morning. You trudged along behind Joel in the pouring rain, trying to stay hidden and dry by walking underneath a raised highway. It was risky, being close to the roads, but Joel didn't see much choice. The weather hasn't been cooperating for a couple days now, and your journey had significantly slowed down. He glanced at his watch, seeing it was around 4pm. It was getting darker earlier now, and the storm clouds just made it worse. He sighed, shaking the water droplets from his curls, and looked around. You were near an exit ramp. He saw it led to a suburban area maybe two miles away, clusters of smaller one story homes that the builders made as close as possible to one another in order to sell more houses.

"C'mon, this way," he said over his shoulder, bringing you out of your reverie. You looked in the direction he was leading you and quietly celebrated to yourself. You were tired and soaked, you didn't want to set up camp outside again and the possibility of sleeping on a mattress gave you a second wind.

The two of you hid in some thick decorative bushes looking down a road called York St. All the houses looked very similar and close together, the biggest differences being the color the owners had chosen for the siding. Joel had kept watch for about an hour in this position, waiting until it got dark so he could see if any of the houses had flashlights or lanterns inside. You were squatting next to him, trying to control your shivering but the rain was pouring down hard, and your clothes were dripping wet, even under your jacket. Your teeth chattered as you inadvertently leaned against him for some warmth. Focused intensely on the homes in front of him, Joel's body tensed at the unexpected contact. He glanced down at you and saw your soaking wet hair and your lips a darker shade than normal.

“Alright, let’s see if we can get into this one right over here, follow me.” he said, helping you stand into a crouch as you jogged over to the yellow house on the corner. Joel peered inside the windows for a minute while you stood watch with your arms crossed, keeping an eye out for any light or movement on the street or houses. You heard a snap behind you, and you turned to see Joel had used his large hunting knife to break the doorknob. You sighed with relief as you followed him inside, shutting the door behind you.

You swung your flashlights around the room, Joel rushing to the windows and closing all the curtains as you inspected the house. It was small: a living room, kitchen, one bathroom and two bedrooms. Joel went down into the basement to make sure it was clear while you emptied essentials from your pack in one of the bedrooms. You pulled out a somewhat dry set of clothes and tucked them under your arm, heading towards the bathroom. You took your jacket off to hang up on the shower rod to airdry and got to work peeling the soaking wet clothes from your body. You figured you could just toss the shirts you were wearing and pick up new ones here, but you really liked the jeans you had so you did your best to lay them out to dry in the tub.

After you put some dry clothes on, you started to feel a little better, but you still couldn’t shake the shiver in your bones. Joel mirrored your actions after he came up from the basement, changing into fresh clothes and hanging up the wet ones to dry, making sure to take the keychain out of his pants pocket and transferred it to his new ones, and then met you in the kitchen where you were rifling through the cupboards to see if there was anything worth eating. You pulled out a bag of trail mix, some canned tuna, and a few cans of mixed fruit, setting them on the small table while Joel rooted around for some forks.

You were hungrier than you realized and ate quickly, all the miles you walked today catching up with you.  Joel finally broke the silence after he finished a can of fruit.

“Which room did you want to sleep in?” he asked. This was the first time you stayed indoors where there were two sizeable beds. He wanted to give you the option, give you your space. You kept your gaze trained down at the bag of trail mix in front of you, considering his words. You knew he was giving you a choice, and it was completely up to you now on what the sleeping arrangements would be.

“I liked the room I put our backpacks in, why don’t we stay in that one.” you replied, still not looking up. We. Joel’s pulse sped up and he tried to hide his grin. You made the choice to stay the night with him, you wanted to be with him. It was probably just a habit for you, or maybe you were afraid to be on your own, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to be apart from you, either, regardless if his reason differed from yours. 

That night, he heard you softly snoring, laying on your side with your back to him like usual. This time he deliberately turned over and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him. He breathed in your scent and nestled his face at the back of your neck as you let out a contented sigh, and small smile played across his lips as he closed his eyes.

Chapter Eleven

Taglist: @chiogarza.

[neon-junkie]

Chef!Crosshair x Server!Reader Headcanons

This has been stuck in my drafts for a while, so I figured I'd tidy it up, and hit post. Reader is gender-neutral. 2k words. I think Crosshair would deffo be a chef in a modern setting! A little self indulgent as I'm a bartender/server... hehehehe...

Crosshair isn't quite the top dog, but second in line. Still, he runs the kitchen, and Maker forbids anybody to step out of line when Crosshair is on shift.

Or in general, for that matter. Crosshair has no problem breaking one of his chefs down to tears if they forget one simple task, like day dotting food stock, or ensuring that the fridges are at the correct temperature.

"A baby could do this job better than you. Why can't you pull your karking socks up, and get some sense through your thick skull?!"

Crosshair is a big meanie, to put it blankly. He has respect for those who do their job right, but if you're acting like an idiot in his kitchen, then all hell will break loose.

He's snappy to the front of house staff, too. Including the servers. Didn't scrape the plates enough? That deserves a telling off. Rushing him for orders? Fuck off. And if you dare steal a chip? Might as well die.

Crosshair doesn't like mess, clutter, or laziness, and everybody knows damn well how much it irritates him. Just don't be stupid, essentially.

Anyway, you've applied to this popular street food style restaurant. It's not posh, far from it. The food is fatty and filling, the perfect hangover cure, and you're guilty of being a regular.

The Manager, Hunter, doesn't seem surprised when you apply, and your interview is essentially a chit-chat, getting to know each other, seeing as you've already met from coming in on the regular.

It's finally time for you to put your uniform on, and be introduced to the rest of the staff. Everybody is lovely, to say the least, as you've met them before from being a customer.

Then you go into the back of house, and meet those who have blessed your stomach time and time again.

Hunter's eyes trail the kitchen before he asks, "where's Cross?" and another staff member shrugs whilst replying, "out the back."

Hunter, after letting out a grumble, leads you to the back entrance, explaining that this is the staff smoking area. Just as he's about to step outside, the door opens, and a tired-looking man in pristine chef's whites stands in the doorway.

He lets out another puff of his cigarette before discarding it, only to choke on the smoke as his eyes meet yours. His hand comes up to clear his throat, and you notice the tattoos and burn marks scattered over his toned arms. He's clear of jewellery, but you instantly know he's the type to wear rings and chains when he's off shift.

"Cross, I want to introduce you to our new server," Hunter pulls his gaze from yours, and after saying your name, Crosshair fails to make eye contact with you.

Only now do you notice his face tattoo, darkly contrasting against his silver hair. Is it dyed? Or is he really this stressed out from his job?

"Nice to meet you," Crosshair mutters as he extends his hand, and shakes yours. "Now, if you'll excuse me. I have stock to count."

And with that, he's pushing past you and Hunter, disappearing into the kitchen.

Hunter turns back to you with a sigh, "he doesn't talk much. Not a fan of strangers, but I'm sure he'll warm up to you."

Oh, how right Hunter is.

Your first week went well, and you're slowly starting to establish a place for yourself within your new work environment.

Today is your usual weekday shift. Not too busy, but not slow paced either. The lunch rush has finished, and you're tasked with cleaning up tables. Another stack of plates is brought into the kitchen, and you're going through them one by one, scraping the leftovers into the bin before stacking them on the shelves for the pot washer to clean, when he's back from his cigarette break.

You can feel somebody's eyes on the back of your head, practically burning a hole through your skull. Curious, you peer over your shoulder, and lock eyes with Crosshair.

He's attempting to prep some vegetables, and narrowly misses his finger whilst chopping them, his gaze fixated elsewhere. Only, once your eyes meet his, Crosshair looks back to his task, acting as if he wasn't just staring at you.

So, you turn away, only to look back at him when his voice fills the air.

"It's nice to have some competence around here," Crosshair comments. You let out a soft "hm?" so Crosshair continues. "Most of the other servers leave their plates a mess, barely scraped, stacked in the wrong order. It's nice to have a server who knows how to do their job."

"It's not like it's hard," you say with a shrug.

"Exactly," Crosshair looks back up at you, and you notice the upwards turn to his lips.

You return to your task after matching his smile, and you're both content with the silence in the air.

Once finished, it's time for your break. Whilst you would usually ring your staff food through without a second thought, you decide to ask Crosshairs permission first.

"Hey, I know you're doing prep, but do you mind if I ring my food through? I can wait if-"

"-What would you like, Sweetheart?" Crosshair asks, wiping his hands clean as he makes his way over to the grill.

"Uhm… a burger?" your mind falls blank, mostly because you're not used to having a chef seem this happy with cooking.

"Is that it?" Crosshair raises his brow. "Come on, you can come up with something more creative than that. Tell me what toppings you like."

Before you know it, you're going into depth about exactly how you like your burgers. All the while, Crosshair is nodding in agreement, and even chimes in with comments here and there. You soon ring your order up, and whilst waiting for it to cook, you return to cleaning your tables, all whilst your heart is pounding with butterflies in your chest.

Back in the kitchen, Crosshair catches himself smiling as he cooks your meal. He doesn't even realise how sappy he's being until he squirts the burger sauce onto the bun in the shape of a heart, soon to be hidden by a patty cooked to your liking.

"What's got you all cheery?" Hunter questions as he peers in the kitchen, bewildered at Crosshairs content expression.

Crosshair slips his emotional mask back on as he meets his brother's eyes, "just excited for my cigarette break."

One month into your new job, and you're more than happy here. The customers are nice, your coworkers are great, and the food is to die for!

Sure, you're in the honeymoon phase, but you'll enjoy it whilst it lasts.

Crosshair is slowly opening up to you, but he's been the toughest egg to crack. Whilst everybody else has no issue with jumping straight into conversation, Crosshair tends to keep his mouth shut, minus the odd hum and one-word reply here and there.

Only, you've seen him speak to others. Well, not speak… scream! Crosshair has no issue with shouting at his cooks over the smallest of things. He's even barked at the other servers, too. You know that he's overall disliked within the workplace, but sometimes, you can understand Crosshairs point of view.

He's right. It's not hard to do your job right, keep your area tidy, and be efficient. Maker knows how your co-workers manage to screw the smallest of things up, and sure, you've made mistakes here and there, and always bent over backwards to fix them.

But despite Crosshair's tough demeanour, deep down, he's a real sap. Or at least, he is towards you.

You've noticed that you can get away with certain things, such as nibbling on a few leftover chips whilst waiting for orders to be plated up, or using different abbreviations when ringing up orders.

You didn't even realise that wasn't the norm, until a fellow coworker commented, "Crosshair lets you eat the leftover fries? He swatted my hand away when I tried to do that, just like everybody else."

Maybe it's because you bring Crosshair a cup of coffee to his liking at the start of every shift? Or because you always let out comments here and there about how good the food is presented?

Maybe it's just because Crosshair has a thing for you, as much as he denies it. You are his favourite server, but Maker forbid that anybody knows, despite it being painfully obvious.

Obvious to everyone, but you.

You finally catch on during one stressful shift. A customer, as cursed as they are, broke you down to tears. You remained stiff lipped whilst taking a beating, but the second you entered the back of house, tears started rolling down your cheeks.

Hunter takes the burden of the customer off your shoulders, and orders you to go and take a moment to yourself out back.

The fire exit door swings open, and you storm out, holding back a choked sob as you take a seat on one of the many empty crates resting against the building.

Your head falls into your hands, elbows resting on your knees, and finally alone, you begin to cry.

Only, you're not alone. Crosshair is on the other side of the door, back resting against the wall with a forgotten cigarette pressed between his fingers. He can hear you crying, and after swallowing his feelings, and allowing them to settle in his uneasy stomach, he discards his cigarette and decides to approach you.

"Customers, huh?" Crosshair questions as he takes a seat beside you, not bothering to ask if you need a friend. He knows damn well that you do.

A series of incoherent words fall from your lips, but Crosshair can piece them together. You're venting about what just happened, mumbling and babbling away, blowing off steam with your favourite chef by your side.

In the midst of offloading your anger, Crosshair decides to weave his arm around your shoulders, and gently pull you into his grasp.

He doesn't even realise what he's done until your head comes to rest on his shoulder, lashes fluttering against his sensitive Adams apple, still venting away whilst a hand caresses your shoulder and back.

"And you wonder why I work in the kitchen," Crosshair comments, earning a laugh from you.

"Maybe I should switch, and start working in the kitchen with you," you say with a light chuckle.

Despite his stomach turning at the idea, Crosshair puts on a smile as he replies, "that wouldn't be so bad. I'm sure I could put up with you."

"Put up with me?" you repeat with a gasp, straightening your back to meet his eyes. All Crosshair does is give you a shrug, with a cheeky grin on his lips. "Phfft, I'd be the one putting up with you. I've seen how you bark at your chefs," you continue.

"I don't bark," Crosshair says with a playful glare. "I bite."

You can't help but let out a laugh, soon returning your head to his shoulder. "You wouldn't bite me," you boast.

Crosshair allows his cheek to rest against the top of your head. "I might do," he says eagerly, "but only if you waste stock."

"Oh, I'd definitely burn a burger or two," you admit, knowing damn-well that you're a riot in the kitchen.

In the midst of your nattering, Hunter makes his way through the back of house to find you, knowing that you're taking a breather outside.

Only he stops once he overhears your voice, and a certain chef talking to you.

Smiling to himself, Hunter decides that you don't need him - you have somebody else to take care of you, somebody who has been eager to talk to you, but is far more timid than he lets on.

Hunter's little plan is going smoothly, now that Crosshair is finally speaking to you, rather than keeping to himself in the kitchen.

After all, Crosshair is the main reason why you were hired. It's his own fault, drunkenly admitting that he thought a certain regular customer was attractive, and definitely his type.

Fate took its course, and Hunter found your CV in his pile only a few days later.

You were beyond perfect for the job, and maybe, just maybe, you'll be even better for a certain chef.

[donnieisonfire]

Dan from Law,

Phil from Media & Editing

HEY YALL!! if u've never seen this b4 then this is chap 1 and THIS is chapter 2! chap 2 has SMURT so if ur a minor, pls go :( sorry lol maybe ill eventually make a smut-free fic...maybe. Basically, its an office romance/smut fic. But make it Dan and Phil.

AO3 LINK!

This and all the other parts of this fic will probably be explicit, and this one is PURE smut, so...yah. You've been warned! Tags & actual fic below cut lol

TAGS :

Post nut clarity, fingering, dan being a SLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAG, mentions of Phil liking danny boyo back :0

Daniel’s head was loud that night.

He’d been trying to shut it out, trying everything, trying everything to avoid the guilt that would surely come after if he caved in, gave in. He’d played some ‘Power Washing Simulator’ and once that didn’t distract him, he knew he was fucked. 

Last resort: Cold shower. It would be his first idea, normally, to calm himself down, but that only works if you’re stressed, not trying to *avoid* touching your dick like some horned up teen. I mean, the temptation is right there. But, it was either this or lay down, and he knew how laying down would end.

Dan stepped into his bathroom, grabbing at the hem of his black t-shirt. He pulls it over his shoulder blades and pops his head through. He puts his thumb under the band of his pyjama pants and pushed them off. He turns the knob (haha) on the shower, the water splashes down, hitting his arm a bit. He hisses slightly at the cold. He adjusts the temperature so the water is just about under room temperature before he takes off his socks and unpeels his boxers from his overly sweaty thighs. His hand being so close to his half-chubbed up dick is tempting, but he doesn’t.

‘One really fucking good wank isn’t worth that guilt, Dan, don’t.’ His mind blared.

The cold water attacked his back, London’s water quality around the parts he lives in is pretty shit, it was like hail more than water that was supposed to be calming him currently. It’s not working. Of course it’s not working, because why would his cold ass shower actually do it job?

He takes a shaky breath as his arm moves, his wrist twisting at the joint to turn up, his middle and pointer finger trailing, following, up the vein on the underside of his shaft. “Fuck…” He whispers. He was gonna regret this. With his other hand, he turns up the temperature of the water. He was giving up, giving in. He’d tried everything he could but it seemed every fibre of his being wanted him here, touching himself, his perverse mind full of some unfortunate guy that probably just saw his sorry ass and bought him a coffee for shits and giggles.

Once the warm water shines through the cold, he wraps his left hand around his dick and slowly drags his right hand’s middle finger down from his shaft to his ass.

He sighs as his fingertip feather-touches the rim of his hole, all of his thoughts, including his guilt, would soon fade away and he’d be left, panting as he fingered himself with his mind empty of everything and everyone except Phil.

Hey, at least the warm water was helping relax his muscles.

He exhales as he slowly inserts his middle finger inside of his tight ring of muscle, getting to the second knuckle before stopping himself and giving himself a breather. His fingers were quite lanky, much like the rest of him, so they gave him an easy orgasm most days, made it easy to reach his own bundle of nerves without using too much time or lube - helpful, considering how expensive both were to him nowadays. His breath is shaky, his body is slumped against the shower’s wall tile as to hold himself up as his legs weren’t confident enough to do it solely by themselves. Dan’s mind was full of Phil, the blonde semi-curls, even the grow-out of his brown hair turning to blonde was sexy to Dan.

The way Phil looked directly at him…Phil must’ve known what he was doing, impossible not to. It’s obvious. Or maybe it isn’t, and it is simply Dan’s minds way of wishful thinking. However, tonight, just tonight, he’ll indulge in the thought that Phil wants him even near as much as he wants him. Dan pushes his finger in deeper, curling it, fishing for that stupid spot that makes his eyes lull to the back of his head. Once he found it, he knew. He lets out a small groan, followed by whisper-calling out Phil’s name, albeit very shakily.

“mhmm..” He begins to move his finger, pushing it in and out of himself - stopping just before his finger leaves himself, just to push it back in him as quickly as possible, missing that ‘full’ feeling. He pushes his finger inside the tight ring of muscle and begins to move his finger to the side, starting to try to stretch himself so he would be able to accommodate a second finger. After a few minutes of this, while lazily stroking his cock, he managed to get himself to the point of where putting another finger in him wouldn’t hurt. He slowly slips the second finger in, to the second knuckle, starting the exact same process as what he done with the first finger.

“fuck..” He whispers, as if anyone but *his* lonely ass would be able to hear him.

He curls his two fingers before pushing them in further. His breath hitches as he finds his prostate, his two fingers now bottomed out in him. His arm was beginning to ache, he had to hurry. He hated hurrying. The impending doom of the warm water running out was rushing him as well. Dan focuses on curling his fingers in time with left hand stroking his length with his right.

He makes sure to rub his soft palm over his frenulum. “God-“ he groans in response, he pushes his head back against the tile wall.

By now, his mind was dedicated to just Phil now, his brain was a college of different mental screenshots of the way Phil’s blue eyes stared into his own while he sucked his two fingers, licking the whipped cream off of the digits. Dan’s hips thrust up involuntarily, he was close.

The way Phil carelessly paid for his coffee, the way Phil had basically bribed him to spend his break with him, it all concluded that Dan’s little crush maybe was reciprocated, and that maybe he had a chance. He could see whatever Phil was packing. Now, his imaginations were full of all the different guys he’d fucked. All the tall ones, around the same height as Phil (and himself), were pretty hung. Phil could be hung.

Dan bit down on his lip, his hips pushing up for one last time as his fingers pushed exponentially hard on his prostate, and come pushes it way out of the tip of his dick, coating his hand and the floor of the shower, although it was quickly washed away by the oddly-aggressive water. He sighs heavily, waiting a few moments before removing his fingers from himself. During those seconds, he takes his hand off his dick and washes away the come. “Fuck me.” He mutters to himself as he takes out the fingers.

He puts his right hand under the stream of water, that was now nearly room-temperature. He takes a few moments before he turns off the shower. This month’s water bill is gonna hurt if he doesn’t get over Phil, and soon.

He grabs a half-damp towel from his radiator, of which had broken 4 months ago, and scruffs his hair with it, getting most of the excess water off before he ties it around his waist. He walks over to his bathroom sink, staring at himself in the mirror above it.

And there was the guilt. It hit him, and it hit pretty hard. He sighs, this wasn’t his first fight with post-nut clarity and, if Phil continued to plague his mind, it wouldn’t be his last.

He washed his hands, using his new soap he had treated himself to. It was supposed to smell like lavender. It infact did not, then again, it wasn’t ever going to for £1.99. He splashes his face with water, like his water bill wasn’t fucking high enough. Sad bastard. He dries off his face, turns off the tap and turns off the bathroom light as he walks out, trudging himself to his bedroom to go lay, damp, in his bed and sleep - like he had wanted to all damn day.

[daisyswift3]

hey I'm pretty new to gaylor stuff and am just wondering, why are the daisy socks important? Just wannna know how crazy I should be going over this lol

Hi and welcome to the gaylorverse!! 🤗 The daisies are one of the most obvious pieces of gaylor/kaylor evidence and they were the nail in the coffin for me when I first fell down the rabbit hole 🌼

It all started when Karlie and Taylor took a trip to Big Sur, California in early March 2014. They took a bunch of pics of their trip and this daisy makes a cameo in many of them (you can search “big sur” on my blog to read more abt it). The most important of these pics is the one where Karlie tags Taylor as the daisy on the dashboard and captions it w “best road trip ever.” This is referenced in Don’t Blame Me—“I once was poison ivy but now I’m your daisy.” Also “trip of my life” is a double entendre here bc she’s not only talking abt tripping on drugs but also abt this road trip. To add more evidence to this theory the original handwritten lyrics include a drawing of a daisy that looks exactly like the one on the dashboard w the same positioning and all.

Plus Karlie was a literal VS angel hence all the angel/heaven imagery in Don’t Blame Me and many other songs—“Halo hiding my obsession / I would fall from grace just to touch your face / Lord save me” // “Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes” // “I know heaven’s a thing, I go there when you touch me,” etc. And when she was making the song (1:00 of this vid) she said she wanted it to sound religious.

She mentioned in this vid that she has repeatedly used clothing and jewelry as easter eggs over the yrs which is why the daisy socks are a big deal. She’s extremely intentional w everything she does (she’s a mastermind after all) so it’s unlikely this is all a coincidence. She still uses daisies in her art and wears lots of clothes w daisies to this day which is one of many indicators that they probs haven’t broken up. Here’s a great post showing many of these instances. Here are some other times she’s worn daisies: (x)(x)(x)(x). There are countless other times daisies have shown up but I don’t have time to cover them all.

Fletcher and Kelsea Ballerini, who are Taylor’s friends and were invited to her after party not long ago, also took a trip to Big Sur in 2022 where they took a pic identical to the 2015 Vogue photoshoot pic and Polaroid shown above. This photoshoot was a recreation of their 2014 Big Sur trip. See here and here. This issue was released on Galentines Day, the same day Style was released as a single.

Also, Girl in Red recently mentioned at the eras tour that Serotonin, which has the lyrics “put me in a field with daisies,” was Taylor’s most listened to song. Taylor gifted her a painting she made w these exact lyrics.

[multiwreckedmess]

February Filth Fest - Day 4

Pairing: Hyunjin x gn!reader Kink: Public Sex WC: 2k (...whoops) Summary: It’s a bit of a hobby of Hyunjin’s to put on a show wherever he goes. Including the club. Especially the club. (Club bathroom fucking with essentially a stranger) TW/CW: protected penetration, spit as lube, sex with essentially a stranger (both parties are enthusiastic), Hyunjin in a skirt, reader has a “hole”, awkward reader, too many pet names (reader: pet, thing, toy, gorgeous, beautiful, pretty, handsome, love)(Hyunjin: sir, mommy, god)

Once again dear god this is fiction don’t do this, it’s not a moral guide or a life guide. It’s not meant to represent Hyunjin or stray kids in any way shape or form.

There is nothing that makes him feel sexier than the heavy thrum of the bass shaking through his ribcage as eyes rake over his waifish form. Somewhere between genders, at least for the night, Hyunjin doesn’t care who finds him attractive, just that they do. Labels were not to get hung up on, not while the lights were low and the music stunting all attempts at meaningful conversation.

A smile tickled the corner of his mouth looking at you, poor uncoordinated pet, grasping to the one person they knew in the crowd. A perfect plaything. Letting himself take on the walk of a demigendered sex demon he cuts his way easily through the crowd towards the cement wall you had clung to. Just out of your friend's line of sight he stood, cocking his hip to the side and fixing his gaze on you, knowing smirk playing his lips. Beautiful bait for an oblivious sea creature.

The heat of an intent stare bores its way through your thick skull. “That…person…” you wonder to yourself, “they couldn’t be….” Hyunjin dips his head, a polite nod of recognition. You point at yourself, mouthing the question “me” even more obviously than the flailed pointing. Hyunjin nods again with the patience of a saint. It’s all a part of the game. Making something beautiful between two strangers is easier when they aren’t so fucking self absorbed. He exhales a short chuckle as you bump into other patrons, half walking towards him and half looking behind you to check that no one else had thought he were talking to them.

You feel more like a squid on land than a human, somehow both bulbous and flat at the same time,  looking at the person who siren-like has beckoned you away from safety.  Slim sculpted legs adorned with knee high socks and topped with a bright green shiny pleated mini skirt and ripped crop top, the person in front of you can only be described as an angel made of neon filth. Hyunjin’s blonde hair pulled back into a half ponytail, pouty lips falling into a half smile as he watches you look him over.

“May I?” He places his arms over top of your shoulders familiarly, asking for forgiveness more than permission as you dumbly freeze and babble. “The name’s Hyunjin. Or sir. Or mommy, if that’s up your alley. Never daddy though.” His tone is pitched just so that it slots conveniently between the wavelengths of the music and can carry effortlessly from his lips to your ear.

You try to sway to the rhythm like everyone else, shifting weight between your legs, gliding your torso in the opposite direction. Nothing fits quite right with the music or the mood and the sudden self consciousness nukes any flow you feel you gain from the seconds of attempting to groove. A gentle guiding hand moves from your shoulder, trickling all the way down the column of your spine to your low back, and presses you pelvis to pelvis with Hyunjin so closely that you each slot a foot between each others legs. “Explore,” Hyunjin urges in your ear, “I’m the only one watching. No one else cares right now. It’s just us.”

The simple command from them is all it takes, hypnotic as his voice is, to lose yourself. The buzz of his touch at the base of your spine still lingers. You let your vision go hazy and unfocused, zoomed out to give way for your other senses. Hyunjin licks his lips, feeling your body grow more pliant, eyes glassy, as you slip into a trance with him. A small laugh yanks your tenuous thread, your brain hurtling back down through the atmosphere and smacking into your system. Naturally your vision snaps to where you think the source of the sound is. Are they laughing at me? Do I look dumb? Your eased mind revving back into full panicked monitoring. Hyunjin presses your heads together, your eyes naturally falling to the floor to avoid his. “Now what did I say about others, my pet? Just us.” Sweat drips from their brow to yours. Their scent is intoxicating, filling your lungs and hazing your mind. You could bury yourself in his collarbone if it meant you could be surrounded by it twenty four hours a day. “There you go gorgeous, that’s it. See how easy it is to just move with me? Just us like this. Moving together. It’s so natural.” Every word falls from their lips sticky and sweet to gum the cogs in your brain further. “It’s so natural to enjoy another person like this, right?” “God you’re so beautiful,” you babble sheepishly. “I don’t remember ‘god’ being an acceptable title for me, pet, but from you I’ll accept it.” “Sorry sir, sorry mommy, sorry Hyun-” you babble until they kiss you hungrily, stealing the breath from your lungs. They love your star dazzled expression as they pull away from you, strand of spit still bridging your lips. “Again?” You ask perhaps a bit too naively. Two nimble fingers tuck themselves neatly under your chin, fixing your head in place. “Oh pet, of course if you ask like that.” His lips meet yours more gently this time, almost an apology for the force of the previous kiss. Tongue brushing the soft pout of your lip he asks for permission to explore you. It doesn’t matter to him that it's out on the dance floor. That people might be looking. To the contrary, he likes it. Licking into your mouth messily, his purpose is to entertain and delight himself, you, and whoever might care to watch. Smeared lipstick nearly rubbed to nothing, leaving a rosy ring on both your chins, you look as debauched as you feel. Whatever dance you’d been pretending to attempt morphed into mutual slow grind, leaving thighs damp with the others fluids. You’re practically moaning into each other's mouths with every hypnotic swivel of your hips. Hyunjins cock strains against the sleek modal fabric of his panties, ready to change your life. “Hey pretty, wanna play with me?” He gasps into your mouth. “I wanna play with you.” “Mhm, yes, badly, please,” you hesitate for a brief second, “mommy?” You try the title on your tongue. Your nose crinkles, it feels bitter, ill fitted for you. Hyunjin throws his head back laughing, “keep trying handsome. I’m sure one of them will suit what you want me to be for you.” Fingers weaving through the hair at the back of your skull he gently tugs your head back, exposing the front of your throat and taking the sensitive flesh there into his mouth with a sharp suck. Your eyelids flutter with a throaty groan. “God damn.” A sideways smile unseen to you crosses Hyunjin’s face. “That works for me,” he thinks. “I’ll add it to my list for next time.”

Breezing past the door, Hyunjin backs the both of you into the nearest stall, dingy exposed bulbs flickering as the doors slammed. At some point the bathroom had looked cool and industrial, now looking unclean and unfinished, corners left with growing dark grime stains.

“How do you like to play?” Hyunjin pants, sweat dripping from his locks down forming a glistening sheen on his skin. “I-I-don’t know. I fuck I-” “Do you fuck or get fucked,” Hyunjin whispers the question in your ear urgently. “Get.” He hums, grasping your ass. “Alright doll. I can do that tonight if you wish.”

You hadn’t truly considered the other option. He’d been so dominant the whole night, leading you passed every goal post with enthusiasm. “Oh, I just assumed-” “Because I take control?” He tsks, “you can get fucked and still control the scenario. Very old fashioned.” Words catch in your throat and you let out a choked out sorry. “Oh it’s very fine, my toy. Do you want to be a good toy and get stuffed nicely full of cock? I promise I’ll fill you so nicely.” His hands worm their way over the lobes of your buttocks to fondle your little hole.

Gasping you nod and wiggle back, trying to trick his fingers past your entrance. “Please,” you mewl. “Please take care of me sir.” The title comes out easier to you. Hyunjin smiles. “Sir?” “Hyunjin.” “Of all the pretty sounds your vocal chords make I think I like my name the most.” He bites your shoulder as he thrusts a single digit in. Writhing in his arms he coos at your cute little whimpers as he starts to stretch you out for him. “Oh please, please,” you chant and fuck back into his palm as he sucks small red welts into your skin.

“Touch me,” Hyunjin gasps, pulling his panties to the side, erection springing free and tenting the stiff fabric of his skirt lewdly. “Anywhere. Touch me. And don’t stop those beautiful sounds.”

Once your hands begin to roam its hard to settle them. Smooth hard muscle ripples over his lean body, leaving pits and valleys for your fingers to trace. You follow the rough hem of his crop top up to brush thumbs over his nipples. Hyunjin moans distressingly loudly, filling the small bathroom regardless of who may hear. “Good pet. So gorgeous. Keep going, keep exploring my love.”

With newfound confidence you lick a droplet of sweat traveling from his chiseled jawline to his neck. Salty and hot on your tongue your stomach tenses and curls as he shivers. A second finger is added to the mix to properly scissor you open. Your hands dive up his skirt, precum already smeared over the head of his cock. Velvety and heavy in your hand you trace the veins up to the hilt, circling your first finger and thumb around the base. “God you’re so-Hyunjin you’re so perfect.” You murmur, sucking back a pool of drool forming in your mouth.

“Oh pet, you don’t know the half of it,” he pulls his fingers from you, smirking as you moan from the sudden emptiness, and makes a show of tasting you off his fingers. Leaning down he pulls a small gold foil packet seemingly out of nowhere, fisting his dick with one hand as he tears the condom free with his other and teeth. Gathering the spit in his mouth he watches the dripple travel down your crack, pressing the rolling slick into your hole with his thumb. “Now stay with me, okay love?”

The pressure from him entering you forces a groan, “Hyunjin.” The door vibrates with each thrust, the metal flexing outwards and snapping back, threatening to burst. Long arms wrapping around you he pounds you, hands splaying and playing with your front from your hole to your chest. Painting you in fluids as though it were finger paints or glow paint at a rave.

“Good toys are meant to be played with, right,” he whines. “You’ve been such a good toy this whole week you deserve to be pleasured.”

“Mhmmphf,” you try to respond but your tongue hangs numb in your mouth.

“Be a good pet and speak.”

“I deserve to be pleasured.” The phrase spills into one slurred word ending in a moan. “Oh please Hyunjin, please god, fuck.” Your jaw locks with a grunt, muscles tense and ready. You cum, greedy hole spasming around his length, you muscles pulse and shake until they are spent and loose. A ragdoll for him to fuck into with abandon.

He holds your hips tight, keeping you up as he chases his high. It’s his favorite part of the whole production, watching his partners spent frame twitching with opposing wants. Overstimulated but full of desire, begging him for something only he can solve. He can feel his climax in the back of his thigh as it shakes. Thrusts erratic but direct he slams into you fully, pumping into the condom with a strangled moan, knuckles white and grip bruising.

Sitting back on the toilet he pulls you down with him, softening dick pulling from you. “My beautiful toy. My silly pet. My sweet little thing.” Hyunjin dotes a flurry of pet names hoping one will strike the right chord with you. A small gesture of his thanks, of his praise.Leaning you back against his chest your hearts beat in one. The music sounds muted from the heavy cement walls between you. Sticky with bodily fluids you sheepishly exit the bathroom together. A man claps sarcastically and you duck in shame. “Don’t hide yourself, pet, that was the performance of a lifetime.”

Originally the prompt included feminization which i know nothing about so I didn’t try to fulfill it exactly. I just sort of made Hyunjin genderfucky. Honestly...the entire time I was thinking about how my sexual awakening was Him in the Powerpuff Girls and just decided that was my inspiration for this AU!Hyunjin.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

I know you written already of God killer cat fight already but what if there a scenario play differently that they decided to "play" with their food, as in they just sit on a nice pillow that their already consumed gods before holding liked a sick puppet they control while unfamiliar gods from different worlds they already consumed fight their opponent as a form of entertainment for them but not the others as they see how the god they are fighting slowly breaks of both body and spirit

And as the god lay on the ground begging for death they granted them but it's more horrifying as the bodies of said god children that they killed before dragged them to their void as it's meal all while looking at Zeus to see what he will do as knowing he can't do anything at all as the human side won this round

-You were amused when Brunnhilde approached you, knowing exactly who you were, despite being in the form of a cat, curled up in Goll’s arms, as she had thought you just a normal kitty.

-You agreed, but chose your opponent, a vile, evil god, who brutally killed all of his children as a way to gain more power.

-Despite being a void, a god killer, you did have emotions, you did have a conscious, so those you absorbed, those you destroyed, were only those unworthy of their life.

-Zeus knew he could not go against you, but you assured him that you would only be fighting this once and requested a short stone pillar be built in the center and a plush pillow be put on top.

-Zeus didn’t care for the god you were fighting, a long-forgotten god, due to his crimes, but his power would have helped the gods, had you not been selected as his opponent.

-You were carried out by Goll, like the feeling of innocence the child gave off, and she sat you down on the pillow before running backstage.

-The crowds were confused, many asking why a cat was fighting, as many couldn’t tell who you were, but those powerful enough, Zeus, Odin, Hades, Shiva, and a few others were able to tell who you were almost instantly and knew that this round they would be losing.

-Your opponent came out, not knowing you, and began to throw a tantrum, demanding to know why he was paired against a cat?! He turned, ready to end this instantly as the match began.

-You lifted your paw, a crudely made sock puppet on it and you began to wave your arm around, throwing this god around with ease, making jaws drop all over.

-Your opponent surprised you, being still so mouthy, despite you easily handing things, playing with him, not even breaking a sweat.

-You yawned deeply, showing your fangs as you looked down at your opponent minutes later, who was bleeding and broken, gasping for air as he had broken several bones, including most of his ribs.

-He reached up, begging you for mercy and you glared, sitting up and opened your mouth, a voice coming from you, but your mouth wasn’t moving, “Tell me, did your children beg you for mercy?”

-His eyes widened, looking up at you in horror, your eyes piercing down into his own before your spoke, lifting your paw, “Beg them.”

-Right out of a horror movie, the ground began to shift as something began to break out from it, the bodies of children, fourteen of them, clawed their way out, broken, decayed, brutally murdered years ago.

-Screams filled the arena as you spoke, speaking not only to your opponent, but to everyone in attendance, “When you betray the ones that rely on you the most, you don’t deserve any kindness.” This was a warning to the gods, to do better or else.

-Many turned in disgust as the children approached their crying father, begging them to stop, apologizing to them.

-Only when you heard the apology, the children vanished, being only an illusion and you opened your mouth, a mini black hole appearing as you inhaled his body, destroying and absorbing him in an instant, leaving you the clear winner.

-Jaws were dropped all around, you heard no cheers, no jeers, nothing but silence, it was soothing for you, while unnerving for others.

-Goll came and fetched you and you were content on your pillow in her arms as she brought your backstage to a quiet viewing room and got you some whipped cream, which your thoroughly enjoyed, waiting for the other matches to finish before you would make your decision about this world.

[frikatilhi]

Jere keeps asking/informing Bojan about his OF ideas, sending different pictures and videos to get opinion if this is still fine or already too much. Meanwhile Bojan is sweating, jumping at every message ping and checking them while hidden in a corner, to the point that it pisses off everyone else in the studio. He can't say not to send them to Jere but can't ignore them either because the phone is burning a hole in his pocket.

Anon, I think you just wrote your own fic, this is perfect.

I got several prompts about Bojan's reaction to the OF, so here's a little something about that.

Bojan can’t believe it has come to this.

It used to be that musicians would make a living selling records and performing live. Nowadays you need to sell tons of merch to even break even, have an online presence and be accessible to your fans and be relatable and funny and flirt with your bandmates to keep them guessing and keep generating fucking content, all the time.

But he wasn’t aware that the hustle included Onlyfans now too, apparently.

Bojan can appreciate Jere trying to make the most of his success and fame. He has clearly done some Scarlett O’Hara type “I shall never go hungry again!” pact with himself, determined to strike while the iron is hot, and make up for his meager earnings by any means possible.

It is none of his business how Jere chooses to make his money. If posting cheeky little skits with Häärijä is going to make people throw their money at him, who is he to judge.

So there really is no problem for Bojan. 

The only problem is that he is lying awake, 1 am Slovenian time on December 1st, knowing full well that the first post of the calendar has been live for two hours.

It’s probably nothing too risque, anyway, he reasons. He has watched those two idiots film their stupid skits enough times to know that they like to joke around, shitposting their way through life. It’s probably just them in santa hats doing… the stuff they always do. Maybe a little suggestive, but nothing actually pornographic. 

But also, knowing those two, knowing what they truly are capable of, he wouldn’t put anything past them.

So of course he is curious. Who wouldn’t be?

He can’t just ask Jere. He just can’t. He’s been trying for days to craft a message that would convey the exact joking, teasing nonchalance that would make Jere share the stuff with him without him asking directly. But everything he comes up with is too transparent. Asking Jere would mean admitting that he wants to know. And Jere can’t know how much he wants to know. 

He also can’t join Onlyfans. He just can’t. Because that would mean… Too many things. Things Bojan is really not ready to prod or poke at.

It would also be totally icky. Watching Jere in… situations without him knowing that Bojan is watching, even though he is clearly okay with anyone and everyone seeing it, feels somehow wrong. If he can’t man up and talk to Jere and tell him how much he wants to see him naked, what right does he have to sneak around and pay money for it?

But also, he really, really wants to see what’s there.

So you can see his dilemma.

He holds off for two days. But then the online reaction to the newest one reaches him, and he sees a mention of the socks. It is the opening he needs. He taps a text.

me Watafak is this I hear about Joker Out socks making an appearance on OF???

Jere Did you like it?

me I haven’t seen it jesus christ

Jere No just us, Käärijä and Häärijä 😝

Jere You not subscribe? 😥

me Wtf you mean, of course not ☠️

Jere Bojan poor 🙁 🙁 

Jere Wait

In a minute, Bojan’s phone dings as a sign of a new email. The pop-up notification shows the beginning of the subject line:. You have been gifted a subscription to–

me You didn’t.

Jere This one on me! 😊

Jere And Boju…

Jere Tell me what you think after you watch 🤭😘😉

*

(okay sorry for ending it there, I know you wanted his reaction to the actual videos, but I don’t think I have it in me to write about him looking at those apron strings hanging between his buttocks and him imagining picking them up with his teeth, I am already hanging by a thread here)

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

wip ask game uhhhhhhh "light" for the word !!!

Eyes flick towards him, but Peet doesn’t stare back. Instead, he focuses on his feet, which are covered in socks, and the socks are very dirty, and there are holes in them, and he really should not be wearing them at all! They are rotten!

“Step on sticks, never cracks,” Peet hums, lifting his rotten-socked feet in exaggerated, almost dance-like ways as he moves around a light pole. “Steps on stacks, never cricks, never bones, small bones.”

He had eaten a diggle earlier today. Diggles have very small, very thin bones, you see, and he more often than not accidentally crunches one while devouring their meat. Messy business. Messy business, it is. So many tiny bones.

“Tiny bones!” Peet exclaims, standing on one leg and gesturing grandly into the township. He casts his eyes onto the shoes of everyone who walks or stands nearby; mostly boots, mostly dark, mostly worn and tattered and poor and none of them wear only socks. “They get teeth in your stuck��st-stuck in your teeth! Stay away! Never step!”

The people around him are speaking. Murmuring. He catches glimpses, and they make something trapped inside his chest flutter around like a sad bird.

~~~

They dance for a long time, bathed in moonlight, staining their shoes with dirt, and after a time, they find that their feet fall into a rhythm, moving to a music all their own. Their bodies are quick to follow. Their hearts, even quicker.

~~~

There’s another stoplight, and Niki eases into the brakes. Her fingers drum against the steering wheel. It’s pitch-dark outside, Wilbur’s passed-out-drunk beside her, Niki has no one to help her, and she doesn’t know what to do.

~~~

A car rumbles past. Wilbur lifts his head to watch it go.

“You reckon I could make it in the big life?”

Wilbur doesn’t look away from the road. “The big life?”

“Yeah,” Tommy answers, slapping his sneakers onto the ground as he steps. “The big life. Y’know, singers and celebrities and all that crap.”

“Oh, please no.”

“What? I reckon I could make do!”

“You would be eaten alive.”

Tommy moves into a resentful silence, but only for a moment. As another car passes, he adds, “I don’t think I’d be eaten alive. I don’t think the like… industries are filled with cannibals.”

“Mm. You’d be surprised.” Wilbur’s smile is tight.

Tommy scowls at him. “Like you’d even know. The most you’ve ever gotten is a few views on a crappy youtube video.”

Wilbur finally turns from the road, glancing at his friend. The sun is unbearably bright today, casting its blinding light onto everything, including Tommy. Wilbur blinks and stares ahead.

He doesn’t even remember why he and Tommy are here, in this city, on this sidewalk. They’re walking down it and he doesn’t know why.

“If you put them up on spotify then you might get a little more attention.” Tommy is speaking. He’s speaking, and Wilbur has not been listening. “But no, you go, ‘oh, I was born in the nineties which means youtube is the only option for my depressing music career, woe is me!’ It’s invigorating, Wil.”

“Invigorating? You mean infuriating.”

“Whichever one means that it grates on my nerves.”

“That’ll be infuriating, then.”

“Alright. I’m real infuriated by you and your old-school tendencies.”

Wilbur huffs.

It’s quiet between them, thick with the rapid thoughts of someone trying to figure out what to say.