#(its bigger on the inside than on the outside)

[ihanflwr]

yea my boyfriend's pretty cool - nishimura riki (pt.1)

next part

IN WHERE; you try to make your ex, riki, jealous. it doesn't work out the best for you.

genre: a tinyyy bit angsty, fluff

warning: a little bit of cursing, suggestiveness, underage drinking.

not proofread! 🙆🏾‍♀️

it started off great. it was finally your birthday, and to celebrate, you invited all your friends and mutuals.

it's the first time you hosted something so big, especially for your own birthday. honestly, you just couldn't wait for everyone to leave already.

you didn't plan for there to be alchohol at the party, it just.. happened. so now you're technically responsible for a bunch of drunk teenagers.

(more under cut)

knowing you get drunk easily, you decided to not drink tonight. you can have fun while being sober.

"ugh, this is a mess," you grumble to ni-ki, "you're gonna help me clean this up right?" you tease, turning back to look at him. you blink in confusion.

he was just walking right behind you, and now he's gone? how long were you talking to yourself for?

you see him in the distance talking to a girl. you quickly approach him and wrap your arm around his, your grip tight.

it was almost midnight, and you guys were outside at your pool. your parents were pretty wealthy, so they could afford this big yard.

it's windy af so you have to squint to look up at ni-ki. he awkwardly nudges you away gently, going back to talking with that girl. they were acting like you werent even there.

you frown and reach for his arm again. he lets out an exasperated sigh. "not right now," he urges, briefly looking down at you and then contuing his convo.

you slowly look at the girl he was talking to, scanning her features. naoi rei.

she was older than you, and more athletic, and maybe even funnier. but your ego is never letting you believe that.

you have nothing against her, but why was she ignoring your prescense? maybe she's drunk. she notices your glare and smiles at you.

she isnt trying to be condescending, but thats the way you take it. your expression doesn't falter. infact, that just makes you angrier.

"i think i should leave you two alone," she says awkwardly, still smiling. "i'll see you inside! i think." she scurries away, going inside the house.

you turn to face ni-ki. knowing what's coming, he runs a hand along his hair and groans.

"what's your problem?" he asks, almost scowling at you.

"what's yours?" you retort. "i'm your girlfriend, but it seems like you have bigger priorities."

"i'm not allowed to discuss schoolwork with a classmate?" he crosses his arms.

"you can discuss schoolwork... at school."

"you mean mug every female that looks in my direction," he says passive-agressively.

"no i don't," you lie, not bring able to look at him.

"listen," he starts, taking a deep breath. "i don't wanna argue with you." he starts to walk away from you. you grab his arm and stand in front of him, blocking his away. which is stupid because he can easily just walk around you if he really wanted to leave.

"i don't either. just admit you were in the wrong," you mutter.

"why am i always in the wrong?" he asks, starting to get a little annoyed, now.

"i dunno, ask yourself that. maybe you should reflect--"

"this isn't gonna work," he suddenly interrupts. your eyes widen, backing away from him.

"what?"

"this isn't gonna work," he repeats. without further explaining himself, he walks away from you, heading towards the house.

for a few minutes, you keep trying to pinch yourself to see if this is just a dream. you look back at the house, faint music playing.

aint no way he's trying to go into my house after dumping me, you think to yourself. you take a deep breath to calm yourself down, but its no use.

you storm into the house, turning the lights on and shutting off the speaker. everyone turns to look at you.

"everybody needs to get the FUCK out," you yell, and everyone kind of stands there for a minute.

"hello? y'all deaf?" you shout again. everyone quickly scrambles to gather their stuff and cram out the door. in the crowd, you notice ni-ki's lingering gaze on you. obviously, you ignore it.

finally, it seems like everyone's out the house. your home is now a mess, and you only have 3 days to clean the whole place by yourself before your mom gets back.

tears threatning to fall at your eyes, you plop onto the couch and curl up into a ball, tightly hugging a pillow.

"bad bitches don't cry," you try to encourage yourself, but it makes you wanna cry even more from how corny that was. you squeeze your eyes shut.

you can hear soft footsteps approaching you. "whats wrong with you?" a concerned voice asks.

you slowly open your eyes and look up at the person. it was your best friend, sunoo. behind him was winter, biting her lip nervously.

you abruptly burst into tears, and winter and sunoo rush over to hug you. no words needed to be said. your soft sniffles and occasional whimpers is all that could be heard.

last night was ROUGH. you didn't even wipe off yout makeup, so you woke up with mascara stains all over your cheeks. you have a pounding headache after crying so much the previous night.

your mood lightens a bit when you see winter and sunoo laying on either side of you. it seems like they slept with you to comfort you throughout the night. you don't remember much, just a bunch of sobbing.

"you finally up?" winter asks softly. you nod, sitting up. she sits up too.

"are you gonna tell us what happened?" she inquires, putting a hand on your shoulder.

"mhm, just waiting for sunoo to wake up," you mumble. "but long story short, riki broke up with me."

"what!?" winter shrieks, making sunoo jolt up. he rubs his eyes.

"what happened?" he asks groggily, slowly sitting up as well.

"y/n and riki broke up," winter says with a slight pout.

"seriously?" sunoo gasps. you can notice them both reaching in for another hug. you place your hands in front of them.

"crying all day isn't gonna accomplish anything," you admit. you were moreso trying to convince yourself rather than your friends. winter hums in agreement.

"we should get started on cleaning up," sunoo proposes, getting up and stretching.

"you guys don't have to," you say gratefully.

"you're tell me you were planning on doing this by yourself?" winter raises an eyebrow. you gently elbow her.

"i'm tryna be nice here," you whine, and she giggles. it's so fun to tease you.

soon enough, you all get washed up and start cleaning. while cleaning, you explain more in depth about what happened last night.

"has he texted you after last night?" sunoo asks as he cleans the windows.

"i don't know, i haven't checked my phone in a while," you say while wiping the countertops. you stop what you're doing and pull your phone out from your pocket, taking off 'do not disturb.'

yup, 12 missed calls from ni-ki. and a bunch of text messages. you even got one from rei. you bite your lip and without hesitation, you block him.

"rei texted me," you say, clearly avoiding the point.

"and as for riki..?" winter asks, pausing her vacuuming to approach you and look over your shoulder to see your phone. sunoo shortly joins in, too.

"i blocked him, so i'm not really sure," you shrug and stuff your phone back in your pocket.

"damn, you blocked him quick," sunoo says, and he can't help but laugh. you nod.

random a/n: who wants to be moots plspls

"what'd rei say?" winter chimes in. you unlock your phone and open your messages.

"at 12am yesterday-- or today technically-- she just sent a paragraph of her apologizing and saying she hopes she's not the reason we broke up." you say. sunoo and winter silently read the text message before sunoo clears his throat.

"how'd she know you guys broke up?" sunoo asks. that's a pretty good point, you think. "either word got around very quick, or ni-ki scurried to tell her as soon as y'all broke up."

"i fear it's the latter option," winter says nervously, biting on her finger.

"i dont wanna go to school tomorrow!" you announce, leaning against the counter. "me and riki sit together in like every single class!"

"don't you have a good relationship with riki?" winter aks sunoo. "maybe you can talk to him."

"i guess i could," sunoo says hesitantly, "but i don't wanna start conflict."

"you don't have to," you reassure, "i can just confront him myself."

winter grins, as if saying "you know damn well." you shoot her a nasty look.

"what? you don't think i can do it?" you ask.

"how about we just take the simpler route," sunoo suggests, "you get a fake boyfriend to make him jealous."

"my life is NOT some sick wattpad fanfic," (🤔) you grumble.

"oh yea, what was the other message rei sent you?" winter asks. you unlock your phone once more.

"its her asking me if i can unblock ni-ki," you groan, rolling your eyes. "this is so stupid."

"take my idea into account," sunoo reminds you. you side eye him but he tries to redeem himself. "a bunch of hot guys like to get jobs at the 7-11 a few blocks away from our campus. don't ask how i know. but anyways, most of them go to our school so maybe-- just maybe-- you could shoot your shot with one of them. just a suggestion."

you cross your arms and turn to face him fully.

"you want me to work at 7-11 just so i can pull some guys?" you ask.

"pretty much," he gives you a thumbs up.

"that's kind of smart, though!" winter says, slinging her hand arpund your shoulder. "you should consider it."

'hmm, maybe," you sigh. "let's just focus on cleaning for right now?" you suggest, resuming your tidying. sunoo and winter agree, going back to cleaning up.

it's gonna be a long week.

pt.2 coming soon :)

[lemm-moxx]

Nightshade is a parasitic and infectious mould/flora that could also be considered a computer virus comparable to the Morris worm. N.S lives off the destruction and consumption of AUS, utilizing a Host to do this. N.S is sentient, though this sentience is rudimentary and comparable to one of a feral animal. Nightshade's only goal is to infect, consume and destroy.

CREATION Nightshade was created from a rare mutation of the plant Belladonna Atropa (Deadly Nightshade) (Hence its abnormal colour palette and name) It slowly evolved to be more complex over time. Its creation could be described as “out of spite.” HISTORY N.S's presence in the multiverse has been long-term but negligible to any influential party due to its flawed system. This Commonly resulted in burning through hosts and because of this a lack of a stable income of AUs. N.S has been considerably weak for the major part of its life due to these flaws. Though recently gaining a larger presence as a threat due to its first successful and longest running host, this presence was destroyed by the disappearance of said host. Sending the virus into a 7yr dormant period. This period of dormancy has only recently ended via the reappearance of said previously missing host.

Going By the name Bell. ( Previously Sans A. Belladonna)

Bell originates from the now destroyed universe known as Monstale. His height being 5'2, using He/him pronouns and his age unknown.

Bell's general Demeanour is irritable, antisocial and defensive.  He could be described personality wise "like a wet cat". 

A major interest is botany and floristics. Also previously owning a flower shop/florists in the universe known as snowfall. (now defunct) His main hobby is pressing and collecting flowers. Other minor interests/hobbies include learning niche trivia, cloud/stargazing and listening to music.

INFECTIONS

N.S lives off the destruction/consumption of AUS and people,  it forces its host into becoming compliant with this need. This is done through a system of infecting something, and then consuming it.

WORLDS How worlds are infected Inanimate objects such as flora or buildings need to be in contact with an already infected person or object for N.S to spread. The bigger the infected object the faster N.S is.

Stages of world infection #1 N.S begins to spread through the world/code internally,  via something similar to a root system.

#2 Once infiltrating the majority of the world , N.S starts to further infect and then consume areas starting closest to the root system.

#3 N.S becomes visible hitting the surface of the world, N.S starts going for living targets. Root system starts to coat the surface of AU. 

#4 The Sky starts to look visibly infected, a visual mark for when the majority of the au is consumed, AUs risk collapse due to lack of vital code at this point.

BEINGS How Beings are infected Beings are much more harder to infect due to the more their intricate nature created by their sentience (and a soul) Hosts need get past the surface of their target to infect, this is mostly done by a host attacking a target (e.g biting, cutting or scratching them) or a target becoming injured by N.S growth (e.g. scraping them self on a more jagged formation) Someone can get infected purely via contact with N.S, but it takes prolonged contact due to its difficulty.

Stages of PASSIVE infection 1# Surface broken, N.S lays down a root system in victim. 2# Starting near the roots, N.S starts eating victims from inside out. 3# Victim's infection reaches the surface, visible, victims are normally mentally gone at this point. 4# Soul left for last, after consumption. The victim dies, infected body's take longer to rot/dust than normal.

ACTIVE infection N.S when used consciously by the host, normally offensively. Active use consumes a lot of energy compared to passive due to creating a cover of mold instead of  this results in more conservative use. Unlike passive, active goes from the outside in. Creating a sudden cast of mold onto the victim (freezing them in place and removing the need to break past the surface ) and then following the same basic process but in the opposite direction. 

Hosts role Hosts are an integral part of Nightshade, the two parties being dependent on each other. N.S relies on hosts to spread itself, and fill N.S's primary directive and need of destruction. Hosts function as a catalyst for the virus.

Host infection Becoming a Host is only possible when infected with no current host, the infected ideally needs to be in the 1st stage.

Stages of infection 1# The surface broken, N.S lays down a root system in the host. 2# Starting from the roots out, the host is hollowed out and replaced with N.S.  3# N.S inserts itself into the soul, then modifies or ceases functions to create an artificial codependency in the host. 4# N.S coats outside of the host and between joints, being thicker near more fragile areas.

Modification Hosts throughout their lifespan are modified physically by Nightshade. Initial modifications serve to create dependency between the two parties. The main modification being on the soul, a host's soul is turned into a connection point between themselves and N.S, losing its ability to keep its owner alive. This makes the host's ability to live reliant on Nightshades state. After this modifications can vary from a thicker coating near injury prone areas, or adding a tail. N.S mainly does this while repairing an injury or while in possession of a stable source of energy. Modifications mainly serve to make a host physically more adept at accomplishing N.S's goals. Nightshade finds it easier to replicate animal features, so repaired or "improved" parts of hosts may contain more animal qualities than their original form. (e.,g replacing knocked out teeth with fangs, or a host having a set of wings added if called for)

Survival states Being triggered by severe injury, emotional states such as extreme fear, anger or distress. Hosts in this situation are mentally overridden by N.S,  also creating an impermeant excess of mould mainly in vital areas as an attempt at defense.

 Hosts can be categorized into three states based on visual indication.

1# Wacan - The base amount of N.S on a host, normally a thin coating over the surface.

2# Drusian - This state is transitional in nature, you can tell if the host is closer to either state based on the amount of mold overgrowth present. Hosts are still in control but are influenced by N.S.

3# Somnus -  Characterized by Head being covered, signifying a near full loss of control (a host may still have a small influence on their own actions in this state) Somnus tends to act similar to a feral animal.

WANNA SEE A NICER VERSION? (google doc ver)

[musubiki]

Didn’t you say once that Oscar was the one who like inherited or bought the place that they run the shop out of and live in? So… is Oscar technically the boss cause he owns the place?

THAT WAS AN IDEA I HAD YEAH!!!!!!!!! i do think its a very funny idea if mochi does not actually own the lease to the building so one of them has the leverage to hold it over her head. cant be mean to oscar otherwise hes gonna kick us out LOL

but i think she does own the actual shop!!! hed be more like a landlord at that point

i had that idea back before lime joined the m34th because reasonably at that point oscar would be the only one with actual income, but actually now that lime has a really good job it wouldnt be too farfetched to say that hes the one who bought the house........hm.....

[blkkizzat]

🗂️—𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟷........... THE STRONGEST ......filed under the that's not my jjk man series

visitor log: its midday and your clingy-ass boyfriend—gojo satoru—should be hard at work right getting rid of these doppels not knocking at your door—gotta be a fake... right?! classifications: bimbo!reader (canonverse of otaku!gojo's bunny!reader), yandere-esque Gojo, nipple play, recorded sex, lots of sex toys, dirty talk, panty theft, extreme overstim + slight omorashi. incidents: 4.4k .......shout outs to @yung-notorious for beta-ing some of this!

*knock-knock-knock-knock-knock*

Rapid, insistent knocks interrupt your laughter as you chat with friends, carefully brushing a fresh coat of polish onto your toes. You weren’t expecting anyone, but the familiar, overly enthusiastic rhythm—knocking out the tune of Rick Astley’s "Never Gonna Give You Up"—leaves no doubt who it is.

Satoru.

You sigh.

Although you haven’t seen Gojo much lately and are usually happy to see him, his timing this time irritates you for a couple reasons—first, of course he’d interrupt right in the middle of your much-needed girl time! You were desperate to hang with your friends again, especially after being stuck in lockdown for the last 2 weeks.

There was some juicy tea getting spilled on the call too! 

More importantly, you weren't in a hurry to get up from the sofa—especially with your freshly painted white toes you’d propped up on the coffee table to dry. The last thing you wanted was to ruin them by getting dust on them while answering the door when Gojo wasn’t even supposed to be here right now.

“BBL, y’all.”

Reluctantly ending the call, you switched over to your Ring camera app. 

Sure enough, the security feed loads to reveal Gojo, grinning up at the camera with his glasses perched on the brim of his nose and a large pink shopping bag in hand.

Huh? There’s no way he’s off-work already! 

Taking note of the time it reads 1:30 p.m. confirming that Jujutsu society’s strongest sorcerer is skipping out on work, again—pshh typical. 

“C’mon babe, let me in!”

Urgh, what was he even doing here?! 

Shouldn’t he be the one leading the charge to kill all the doppelgängers? The faster he exorcized them, the sooner you’d finally be able to go outside again.

This doppelgänger outbreak felt like covid quarantine all over and it sucked! 

Satoru needed to get his ass back to work so you wouldn’t waste the best years of your life cooped up inside!

“Go away, doppelgänger!”

You use the intercom feature to speak to Gojo, still not budging from the sofa.

Gojo pouts.

“But it's me, baby! Open the door Bunny bae, please I missed you princess—it’s been too long!”

Satoru’s annoyingly pretty baby blues look even bigger as he pleads into the camera, his lip quivering, making you roll your eyes.

It’s barely been 48 hrs since you’ve last seen him and he still blows up your texts all day! 

But the world’s strongest sorcerer was also the world’s clingiest—so you suppose his doppelgänger would be too. Although, you were pretty sure this was the real deal, that still didn’t mean you wouldn’t give him shit for skipping out on work.

“Huh, that’s funny because there's no way you could be my boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, the strongest—and the one who is supposed to be making sure I’m not stuck in the house for another 2 years. It’s been freaking 2 weeks already Toru, I’m going batshit in here!”

Pushing his glasses back in place Gojo hides his scoff, standing up straight. 

Shit.

He hopes you aren’t onto him. 

Sure, he could have contained this whole thing in a few days tops.

Despite the doppelgänger ability to mimic appearances and cursed energy patterns, Gojo’s Six Eyes could see right through it easily. His power allowed him to perceive the core of a soul with perfect clarity, instantly distinguishing the souls of a human and a curse.

But instead of resolving the problem quickly, Gojo made up all kinds of excuses to you (and especially to the higher-ups) about why it was taking longer than expected. 

The truth was, simple though—for once, just this once, he decided he had earned the right to be selfish.

Not having met you until after the covid quarantine, Gojo had never experienced that kind of isolation with you—and was immensely jealous that your last boyfriend had. Now that he had a taste of it, there was nothing he wanted more than to keep his lil bun-bun safely caged up, waiting for his return everyday (and he did try to make it back everyday).

Okay, so he is in fact being really selfish.

Luckily for everyone else though, most of these doppelgänger  curses are relatively harmless other than causing absolute chaos with their mere existence alone—unfortunately they could also be seen by people even lacking cursed energy.

Gojo took care of the stronger ones, the ones with more nefarious intentions, while letting the little ones continue to run loose—all so he could have you to himself. 

Unbeknownst to you, Gojo is intentionally sentencing you to what seems like a never ending cycle of boredom so that when he finally gets home you cling to him like a grain of sweet sticky rice. So eager for any external stimuli or interaction you’d be up for all manner of his perversions you’d normally shoot him down for.

That didn’t mean you weren’t still a brat though, making him work for it—something that Gojo also noted was his fault though for spoiling you rotten, not being able to deny you anything. So you pretend to be annoyed when he showed up, but Gojo knew the truth—those thick thighs of yours would soon have your slick running down. Your cute, slutty lil pussy dripping would start dripping the moment you’d hear his voice.

Yeah, yeah, he’d get rid of those things eventually—but Gojo was going to enjoy this quarantine with you for a bit longer. 

“Even the strongest need a break baby! I need my sweet lil’ energizer Bunny to recharge my batteries, eh?”

You crinkle up your nose seeing him wiggle his eyebrows on camera. 

He's such a dorky cornball.

“And this break…it’s approved by Yaga, hm?” Gojo whines at your questioning, not wanting you to deny him any longer nor throw technicalities in his face he didn’t wanna have to answer.

“Come on, Bunny! I even brought you real nice gifts to show you how much I missed you!”

The hot pink shopping bag sways in front of the camera, Gojo dangling it as if it were supposed to be a tempting treat. 

But he’d have to do better than some generic pink shopping bag to impress you!

You’ve gone back to your toenails, starting to apply the top coat while you let him squirm out there for a while longer. You knew he could break the barrier in the blink of an eye but you also knew that he was a big enough baby to want you to let him in on your own. 

Well tough luck brah.

“That sure doesn’t look like a Chanel shopping bag, Toru!”

“Um, that’s cause it’s not—Bunny you told me you don’t even like me picking you out clothes anymore!”

You clicked your tongue and rolled your eyes—of course you said that as whenever Gojo picked something out for you, it ended up being the most scandalous or over-the-top piece in the store. How he would even managed that at a classy brand like Chanel, you had no idea. (Though, little do you know, in reality, he always acted they were ready-to-wear while they were custom-made—just for you.)

“I got us some toys, baby bun! Don’t you wanna play with me?”

You don’t need to ask him ‘what kind of toys’ from the goofy ass expression that is on his face. 

“That’s not making me want to let you in at all, Doru!”  

“Hah? Wha—Doru!?”

“Yeah, short for Dopple-Toru.”

You try to keep a straight face but can’t help giggling as you sneak a peek at your phone, still putting on as if you're completely ignoring him. His expression on the camera is priceless though and you wish you could snap a screenshot of his mouth wide open, glasses nearly sliding off, looking utterly incredulous.

“Hey! Come on, Bunny bae, that's not funny! I know you know it’s me—and I also know your pretty pussy misses me!” 

Oh knew, it was your perv ass boyfriend and yeah you did miss him—but you missed your freedom more! And for that reason you are gonna make him think twice before trying to skip out on work again. Not to mention, for having the nerve to show up once you finally found something interesting to stave away your boredom other than him!

“Hmm, I don’t know—prove it then, Doru…”

While Gojo loves goading you into playing games and usually lets you win them too, after nearly 48 ‘grueling hours’ away from you, all he wants now is to simply relax in your company. Ya know, nothing too crazy, just the typical cuddles with him calmly resting his face on your titties while his cock nestles deep up against your cervix—just something casual.

Gojo calling your bluff, ups the ante.

“Heh, kay…”

You’re actually not paying attention this time, admiring your work on your toes and contemplating on the color you should paint your fingernails as Gojo goes silent for a moment. 

Yet once you hear a loud zip, the rustling of fabric, and a belt clank to the ground your eyes practically bulge out of your head as you grab your phone, bringing it comically close to your face while blinking multiple times just to be sure. 

Satoru quite literally has dick and balls out, dangling in the breeze, in front of the entire goddamn neighborhood!

And despite your initial horror and best efforts to remain upset, you pause, your inner slut causing a slight brain malfunction—as even from the small ring camera you can see his deliciously thick cock bobbing fully erect while his mushroomy tip shamelessly drips viscous globs of pre onto your welcome mat.

Thankfully your short-circuiting of common sense only lasts a few seconds before it starts functioning again.

“TORU HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKING SUGAR-FUELED MIND!? YOU KNOW THE HOA IS ONE MORE INCIDENT AWAY FROM KICKING ME OUT, RIGHT!?”

Sighing, you groan in dismay as you’ve been on thin ice with your HOA for a while now because of Gojo. 

Not only have you received the most noise complaints in the neighborhood by far, but he also made ‘alterations’ to your home by installing unsanctioned rows of cypress trees. Claiming it was a safety precaution to block the view inside your home from your ‘sketchy neighbors.’ He also ever so obnoxiously takes up 2 parking spots on the street so no one could even “park too close to scratch his Benz” and even sometimes double parked in front of your neighbors house when all the street parking was taken.

You would most definitely be kicked out if anyone in the neighborhood saw all of Gojo’s fairly large bits and pieces freely on display.

And yeah, Gojo did know that. 

He also knew if you got kicked out and had to move you’d have no excuse then not to move-in with him.

Where else would you be able to stay on such short notice? He soon turn that temporary situation into a more permanent one too.

Finally leaping to your feet, you practically trip over yourself—all thoughts of preserving your polish forgotten—as you sprint to the front door.

You can’t get there fast enough, yet as soon as you do, you don't hesitate to lower the barrier and fling the door open.

“Hey sweetn—”

Cutting him off, you grab Gojo by his collar and yank him inside before slamming the door shut behind you.

But you don’t get a chance to scold him. The moment you turn to face him, your lips suddenly meet his, and his large frame envelops yours into a warm embrace.

Your first instinct is to push him away, but even when meeting your furious eyes he just grins knowingly—twirling his pointer finger in the air above him. You frown, confused, until it hits you—Gojo has set up another barrier over your own.

No one could have seen him, but he’d let you believe that so you’d let him in faster.

Urgh, Toru is far too crafty for his own damned good.

It's your turn to pout now, having clearly lost this round badly. 

But Gojo doesn’t let the expression linger—his mouth is hot and hungry on yours again in an instant. Your soft lips are easily parted by his thumb as he slows to tease his way past your lips to glide his silken tongue into your mouth causing him to sigh—you taste sweeter than any candy to him.

The kiss soon turns more passionate as the strokes of his tongue flick longingly over yours, devouring you as he skillfully melts away your anger—in addition to all the bones in your legs. Reduced to a puddle of goo you completely forget you were just about to cuss him out as your legs now press together from the throbbing between your thighs. Your need becoming more agonizing as you grow dizzy from the lack of air.

When Gojo finally lets you breathe again, he chuckles at your dazed expression. Your lids are lowered and you press your body deeper into his own, clutching onto his collar as you nestle your face into his neck, savoring his scent washing over you. 

“So despite all that sass, I take it you actually missed me then?”

You nod eagerly against his skin, in spite of yourself. Even though he isn’t supposed to be here right now, you can’t hold back any longer how happy you are to see him.

“And my pretty Bunny girl is going to let me play with her now?—All of her?”

You gasp as Gojo does not wait for an answer before slipping a hand into your shorts. Hissing at your heat, Gojo swipes his thumb over the outer folds of your cunt and his fingers quickly are becoming soaked before they even got the chance to get up inside you.

Placing a chaste kiss on your temple Gojo's agile fingers had merely confirmed what he already knew: You’re utterly drenched—his needy, cute lil’ pussy was quite literally begging for him and who was he to deny her?

ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩

“F—Fuck! P-pussy too good. Keep the phone up though, nice and straight Bunny! T-That’s it, you’re the best! SHIIIIT— n’you got the cutest sluttiest lil cunny! C-Can you get a close up of how well my cock is digging out your pretty lil’ bunny hole?”

“Mmmgh!”

Gojo’s filthy words and his even filthier fat cock are bringing you closer to your ecstasy filled ruin as they push you past your limits, engorged veins scraping your walls with every thrust. You're covered in sweat and your entire body buzzes—quite literally as there are vibrating clamps suctioned onto each of your nipples. 

Mmmm, it all was driving you wild!

Not imagining yourself in this position when you woke up this morning at all.

Especially as initially, when Gojo said he bought toys, you thought he had meant fuzzy handcuffs, silken ropes or maybe even some more of that warm edible candle wax that tastes like strawberries—but all this!? 

You could barely see out of your bleary, tear-filled eyes completely caking your cheeks in streaks of your mascara that while supposedly waterproof, definitely is not Gojo Satoru proof. 

In addition to the mind-numbing bliss radiating off your swollen perky buds, your body was covered in some sort of edible oily slick. The warmth was initially similar to that of candle wax—yet morphed into anything but. This time the heat was coming from the flames your own body generated as the effects of the candied warming oil made every part of you saturated in the fluid buzz with need. 

Of course, after soaking your body with it down the tips of your toes and paying extra attention to your nipples, Gojo had been thoughtful enough to pour the most of the remaining bottle over your throbbing lil’ clit. 

Except now there isn’t just a shallow throb between your legs as the fiery sensation of every individual nerve in your cunt was cries out for him to ruin you harder. 

Your legs are wrapped around him impossibly tight as your heels dig into the small of his back and yet somehow, he still manages to snake a hand between your slippery bodies to pet his favorite girly spot on you—your clit. Toying with the swollen nub in a painfully slow manner compared to the intensified thrashing of his hips against your own. 

The motions only serve to push the heart-shaped platinum and pink sapphire adorned butt plug deeper into your ass with every loud vulgar smack of your wet bodies joining—the strange feeling of it jostling against the very walls his cock was drilling has you drooling as Gojo further tests the limits of passion he can push over.   

“C’mon Bunny, you're going to miss the best part, ya better capture it really well how much squirt I can pump out of this cute cunny—or we’ll simply just have to do another take. Not that I’d mind spending all day in your pussy…”

You're not in your right mind to scold him for trying to skip out on more work and you certainly don't have the full capacities to hold his phone up any better—what with your hands were tied together over your head to the bed. Gojo utilizing the fuzzy cuffs afterall.

You can’t even really see if you are getting the right angle as you desperately hold onto the device, keeping it straight and upright lest it slip and drop right on your head. 

“Always such a good girl for me huh, princess?”

Tuh—like he was giving you a choice!

You're unable to clap back though as your tongue, so lax from all the pleasure, sinks back to the roof of your mouth. The slobber gathered pools past your lips, over your chin, down your neck to your tits and Gojo is eager to slurp the train up your body and back to your lips, kissing you. 

It goes without saying, but Gojo in ‘director’ mode is absolutely diabolical. 

The reason being needs the perfect footage of him playing in your guts to make sure he had good enough material to fap to if you wanted him to spend more time away from you while he hunted down the doppel-curses.

“Be good for me a bit longer, ‘kay baby?”

Yet his gentle coos don’t match his demeanor. 

Glasses long discarded, Gojo’s own blue eyes looked crazed. He’s unconcerned with the sweat matting his hair to the sides of his face or the wave of slick your pussy splashes onto his taut abs. Abs are shuddering from just how tight of a hold your pussy has on him—working him overtime as his heavy pants soon twist into deranged lil whines.

“M-Me and my lil’ buddy missed our two girls so, so, s-sooo much—AH-HAH-F-FAHHHCK! G-Gotta show ya just how much!” 

Shamelessly, Gojo had dubbed his cock—his little buddy—the joke that would have emasculated some men but Gojo made it intentionally with the irony that he was anything but little.

“T-They were made for each other baby—lil’ buddy and the wet pretty girl between these thighs, yeah?”

The ham that he is, Gojo always sounds extra insane whenever a camera is recording, howling with amusement when he watches the playbacks. Yet in this very moment, he was as serious as a heart attack—and you definitely weren't laughing as your weeping pussy gets pounded into deeper into ecstasy filled oblivion. 

“Shhh—Stawwp, S’toruuuuu!”

Tsk, you still could form a coherent thought?  

That simply wouldn’t do for Gojo who is working so hard and bought all these new toys to see you come completely undone—and he needed you too soon as he wouldn’t last much longer in your squishy gooey core himself—not how your cunt was holding him in the wettest sluttiest lil hug. 

There's still one item left that he hadn't used yet though, that in trying to keep up his sleeve he'd nearly forgotten about entirely—his own brain quickly leaving itself on simmer by your greedy lil’ pussy sucking him in so sloppy.

Slightly changing your position for more leverage, he throws one of your legs on his shoulder slotting himself between your cushy thighs while he straddles the other leg. Fucking you sideways with increasing intensity from the bruising grip on your hips pulling your pelvis towards on him as he meets your thrusts smacking directly into your cervix.

“Heh, I know what will finish you off! Ya ready to cum baby? Squirt all on this dick you love so much, eh Bunny?—Yeah ya fuckin' will.”

When you don’t answer right away Gojo delivers a harsh slap directly on your clit, the moisture causing the increased sting to intensify sending your senses into a state of floating. Yet, bringing you back to reality, another harsh smack lands on your cunt and you jerk against your restraints, nearly dropping the phone on your face for real this time.

You don’t understand what he's saying to you but you not regardless, eyes rolling back into your head—every single pore on your skin submerged in pleasure. Completely unaware, you don’t hear the additional buzz of the final toy until you feel its silicone lips latching onto your clit while the rigid faux tongue juts back and forth across your bud.

Eyes practically leaving your skull for the second time today, everything flashes white, blinding you even with your eyes wide open. A scream so guttural it comes out silent, the ball of tension in you finally bursting as releases flushes through your entire body.

Cumming harder than you ever had before, you just let go completely, gushing around Gojo’s thick cock still pistoning in your now drenched pussy. The splash zone from your cunt is quite a bit more than usual as a giant warm wet spot begins to soil and expand underneath you both.

Ears ringing, Gojo sounds a million miles away as you hear him chattering on about something—the phone?

You wiggle your fingers, realizing you must have dropped it, but you’re still clueless about what has him so excited—until Gojo’s voice finally slices through your haze, yelling out in absolute wonderment—

“HOLY SHIT BABY, DID YOU JUST PISS ON ME??? MMM FUCK ME FOR REAL!?—SHIT! YOU WETTER THAN A WATER PARK BUNNY—SO FUCKIN NASTY! PLEASEEEEEE PLEASEEEE TELL ME YOU GOT THAT ON CAMERA!”

Suddenly, it dawned on you that when you had let go, you had quite literally let it all go. 

You could die—and if you could muster the strength to move you surely would have raced out to the backyard to quickly dig yourself a whole to do just that in. Yet that clearly would not an acceptable conclusion for your degenerate perv of a boyfriend who is acting like a sinner saved—praising pussy like a newly reborn evangelist baptized in the essence of your erotic filth. 

His elation is simple as he figures how much you really had to trust him to be able to let go and lose yourself to him to that extent—now he wants to lose himself to you as well.

Easily drowning all inside your sloshing pussy like he never swam—Gojo doesn't stop, your pissing only encourages him to fuck himself further into a pussy drunk state to rival your own cock-induced stupor.

Yet, somehow he still maintains enough control to effectively lavish praises for how naughty and shameless your lil pussy is. 

The frenzy drives him directly to his nut, eyes dilate further and slobber frothes past his lips while spearing his cock into you with renewed vigor. Whimpering and stuttering his words and hips alike.  Gojo presses your leg draped across him back against you to be sandwiched between the two of you as leans forward to further ravage your swollen kiss bitten lips again. 

Twisting you up like a pretzel and near the point of passing out from overstimulation you his insane joyous laughter sounds miles away as he topples over his peak pumping ropes of his vicious cum—that he’d been saving up for all you over the last two days—into your battered creamy core. 

Gojo’s thrusts begin to slow but he’s in your guts just as far pushing cockhead right against your cervix stealing your lips into another fiery kiss.

Once Gojo finally lets you breathe air again, you’re completely out of it, the dopey blushing smile on your face. The embarrassment from pissing all over him is completely forgotten as hearts all for him linger in your eyes.

Sex with Toru was never dull to say the very least.

“There you go, there’s my good girl, huh Bunny? Not bored anymore baby?”

Gojo smirks down at you knowingly while peppering your face with sweet loving kisses as you’re steadily drifting off, allowing every exhausted nerve to claim you.

It's still a good minute before Gojo slides out of you, seeinghis discarded phone next to you—it's still recording. A mischevous smile plays on his lips.

Wanting to capture the aftermath of his handiwork, Gojo sweeps the phone across your body, thumbing off moisture from your dewy soft skin soiled with warming oil and sweat. Making sure to linger longer on your lightly heaving chest and the sporadic quiver of your thighs.

Zooming in even closer, Gojo’s two long fingers to part your swollen lips open, admiring more of his work—his masterpiece that was the copious amounts of cum and piss dribbling out of your abused lil’ hole down to the crack of your ass. 

Now Gojo really has a dilemma—he wants to keep filming you as his cum, ever so slowly, trickles out of you. He thinks this scene would make the perfect time-lapse of the creamy sap seeping from your cunt like sugar maple. But he’s also fighting the urge to also suck all the creaminess out of you himself—the cum rimming around your puckered lower hole tempting him to Gojo start there and slurp and suck his way up your clit. 

Truly, he never gets enough of how his taste mingles with yours—and he’s quite curious to know how the additional waterworks will add to your delectable flavor. 

You were so fucking filthy and so willing to try new things all thanks to this doppel quarantine causing you to make this big a mess in the first place.

God he needed this.

More. 

He had to have more from you. 

Gojo couldn’t possibly bring this all to an end anytime soon.  Cooing against your inner thigh Gojo makes a promise to your cunt.

“Heh, don't worry pretty girl, I'ma give you six more months of quarantine at least! Can't wait to—” 

“—TORU, ARE YOU FUCKING SHITTING ME RIGHT NOW!?!?”

Whoops.

Yeah he definitely thought you were already fast asleep—teehee.

......RESULT: PASSED 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚜𝚕𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍—𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚒𝚗’𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚎.

that's not my jjk man series (visit series page for full animation)

comment and reblog! next up toji, already finished posting—10/20

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Rage Becomes Her

Aemond x bastardTargaryen!female

Summary: of all the Targaryen bastards he could have underestimated, it should not have been her | Word Count: 3.8k~ | Warnings: smut, Aemond being a fat douche, mentions of sex work, angst, oc described as having Targaryen features

No day was as cursed as the day her mother looked between her bloodied thighs, glancing up at the faces of her friends and common women, with shame and fright. The babe between her legs was pink and crying, their skin glistening with afterbirth, and a tuft of silver hair atop their tiny head.

What was survival, when the Gods had bestowed a Targaryen bastard into her belly.

Her own daughter lived as her mother did, learning the ways of the body and pleasure. She could recall the first time a man leered at her. Only two and ten and barely formed into the shape of a woman. Somehow the silver sheen to her hair made men think they could have her before her ripening. Plucked from the tree too early.

If only her mother could have resisted the irresistible pull of greed. Purses of gold coins lined her pockets, paid to her with the virtue of her only daughter.

An income. Nothing more.

It was only when she died, that she formed her own protection. Madame Sylvi gave her more freedoms than the usual whores. Bestowed upon as her ‘choice’. Something she had known little.

The brothel was tucked away in one of the narrow, winding alleys of King's Landing, a hidden enclave where nobles and commoners alike sought the pleasures denied to them in the light of day. The air was thick with the scent of incense and the low murmur of whispered promises. Sweet ones, from between the lips of whores.

The men who paid for the service or fucking a young woman with silver hair were usually all the same. Drunken fools with egos far bigger than their cocks, eager to stick whatever they pleased between her legs to make themselves feel like men.

She rarely spared it much thought. She moaned sweetly and whispered hushed mutterings to inflate their already fragile masculinity. Did what she had to do to survive, like so many around her.

But she would be remiss not to think about her most recent patron. One whom she had stolen from Madame Sylvi, who did not seem particularly precious about the loss, seeing as the One Eyed Prince simply crossed the threshold to her room instead. As long as business was within her four walls, she was content.

He was, at first, quiet and required work and effort to calm his fraught and tense muscles. But like most men, the second he sheathed himself inside her, he was a man driven by the inescapable warmth of not only her cunt, but by the comfort of what it provided. However false.

The night is seared firmly into her memory. His body heavy with Milk of the Poppy, he staggered as he pulled his clothes off, and for some time he was unable to become hard due to its calming effects. And she saw the familiar pang of annoyance most men got when their fleshy counterparts would not do as the mind commanded. 

She will never forget the look upon his face as she knelt in front of him, took his heavy manhood in her palm and pressed her lips to the shaft, stroking upwards with her touch and tongue. Beneath him like this, his face angled and sharp, one could be mistaken he was a statue. His skin resembled such porcelain. Made smooth by the hands of the Gods themselves. 

He had looked upon her as if she were an entity of the Seven Heavens. And when she took him into her mouth, his breath hitched, and his hands instinctively tangled in her hair. The sensation was overwhelming, a blend of pleasure and relief that washed over him in waves.

She moved with an expert's grace, her rhythm steady and unhurried, drawing soft moans from his lips. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist; there was only the warm, wet heat of her mouth and the exquisite torture of her tongue. He closed his eye, surrendering to the pleasure, feeling the tension in his body slowly melt away. Aemond's grip tightened as he guided her movements, lost in the sensation and the raw intimacy of the act.

He fucked in very much the same way. With urgency. As if someone were to take her away.

Was it some necessity this great man needed, away from the bustling court and the duties of his birth?

Or she reasoned he fucked her because he was simply bored of Sylvi.

But as it became more and more regular, she began to realise that her forbidden parentage played a more significant role than she had first thought. He wanted someone who looked so like his ideal, but someone who ultimately was destined to remain, steadfastly, inferior.

Aemond Targaryen pushed open the heavy wooden door, its creak swallowed by the hum of conversation and laughter inside. He pulled his hood lower, shielding his face from prying eyes. Though he was a prince, here he was just another man seeking escape. Several women crowded him, offering wine, their bodies and services with doe eyes and lips framed with rouge.

The back of the brothel was shrouded with silken curtains, providing no real privacy but rather giving one the security of feeling it. Pale pinks, lilacs, warm amber glows bounced off the stone walls, a warm emanating through the space as if walking through honey, and willing to be drowned in it. It was a dangerous feeling indeed. The warm, sticky call of a woman’s body.

The first time he saw her he did not like her. The whore with silver, golden hair. She had a bastard’s taint on her bloodline despite its noble sheen. There was a part of him that refused to admit that despite the muddied nature of her birth, that she was beautiful. He was still willing to be held by Sylvi back then, cuddled against the woman’s breasts like a babe.

It was different now.

Sylvi regarded him, using her body as somewhat of a shield, to part him and the heavenly depravity that lay across the threshold. She said nothing, and simply extended her hand, to show her palm. Aemond noted the surprised look in her knowing eyes when she felt the weight of the purse, the familiar tune of coins ringing true and greedily.

She fetched a hefty price compared to the others. One Aemond was willing to pay for her company.

When he pulled the silks aside and stepped within her lair, she was seated as usual, upon a chaise draped with rich fabrics, her posture relaxed and yet alert. Her hair, so much like his own, caught the flickering candlelight, like looking up to the stars when one was too deep in their cups, only to find the silver light stretching across their vision.

Only the muffled music was heard, and the rapid thud of his heart.

The fabrics lay like water on her skin, cinched at her waist. The translucent material had her rosy buds perk beneath it, the glimmering and blushing shade of pink almost alike to her own flesh in the low and intimate amber light. She did not need to show herself to entice, he thought.

“My Prince.”

She greeted with a soft, warm melody of enchanting, in a manner that eased his shoulders but not his soul. He regarded her face the same way Sylvi did to him. One eye glazing over her familiar features. 

His motions were easy to memorise. He would do no more than was necessary, as most patrons did. He would strip from his clothing, lay between her thighs and take her roughly. Preparation for someone as lowborn as her, and getting paid for it, was no necessity for a customer, nevermind a prince.

There were glimpses where it was enjoyable. But Prince Aemond was guarded, sometimes so much so she hardly thought him capable of the act. But he would surprise her. And once he was done, he would lay beside her, and he would talk, with only their flesh as comfort.

Sometimes, like right at this moment, he would just lay beside her, running her bright locks, ruffled from their salacious acts, through his long and slender fingers. She often thought he looked like a lost soul, eyepatch discarded and bared in this wretched place for her to lay her eyes upon. And then another thought lay under that still. The thought that this man before her had such hate in his heart for his half sister’s children, and yet visited her every other evening to sink into the haven that her own existence offered.

An existence she was sure he internally loathed.

But it seemed he loathed himself more than anything else.

“Do you dream of being more than you are.” Not a question. An inquisition shaped as a demand.

She hesitated, knowing that her answer must please him. "My dreams are inconsequential, my prince. My only desire is to serve you and to bring you comfort."

He smirked, satisfied with her response. "It is the natural order of things. Your role here suits you, providing solace to those of us born to higher stations."

She felt her brows furrow in annoyance, but tried to soften her features, his keen blue eye boring into her face. Your role here suits you. And what was that exactly? A whore who merely existed to be a sheath for men’s blades whenever it suited them. A vessel, nothing more.

"I would never forget, my prince," she said softly, her eyes downcast. "Your presence is the only thing that gives my life meaning."

Aemond reached out, his hand cupping her cheek. "Sometimes, I wonder if there is more to you than just your services to me."

Her heart quickened, but she kept her voice calm and composed. "I am whatever you need me to be, my prince."

Often, that was all it took to sate him. 

He would always come back, in varying moods, and she felt the reins on her white-hot temper begin to slip, the flames rearing to the roof of her insides the more delicate insults came out of his mouth. Those among her argued that he cared for her deeply. But how can a man care for a woman and say such hurtful words in exchange?

A bastard, indeed she was. But her existence strayed the line between demanding some semblance of respect, drawn to her by the milky skin and pale hair that he recognised in himself. She pondered this contradiction endlessly. Why did he come to her, night after night, seeking her presence, only to remind her of her inferiority? What was it about her that captivated him, despite his disdain?

Her thoughts often wandered as she prepared for his visits, trying to unravel the mystery of Aemond Targaryen. Did he see something in her that he could not find elsewhere? Was it the shared blood, tainted as it was by her illegitimacy? Or was it simply the thrill of asserting his power over someone who mirrored his own visage?

“You seem troubled.”

“It is nothing,” his response was cool, followed by the discarding of his hood, only turning when she urged a decently full glass of wine into his hand.

“You forget, my prince, that I am well-versed in the art of reading men. Tell me, what burdens you tonight?”

Stealing the wine from his lips, he cannot help the wandering of his fingers, tracing the golden spun locks of her hair that glow moonlit as he touches them. “Your features betray you,” he muses, “do you ever wonder what it would have been like, had you been born legitimate?" he asked, his tone laced with condescension.

She hesitated, searching his eyes for any hint of sincerity, but found only the cold amusement that so often accompanied his words. "It is not my place to wonder such things," she replied, her voice steady. "My fate was decided long before I drew my first breath."

He tilted his head, studying her. "And yet, you bear the mark of our blood so clearly. It must gnaw at you, knowing you could never rise above your station, no matter how much you resemble the dragonlords of old."

"Perhaps," she admitted softly, "but we all have our roles to play, my prince. Even those born amongst lust and lechery."

Aemond's fingers continued their path through her hair, his touch both gentle and possessive. "You speak wisely for one of your birth," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "It is a pity you were not born to a higher station. You might have made an interesting rival."

"Or an ally," she suggested, daring to meet his gaze.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Or an ally," he conceded. "But as it stands, you are here, and I am there. The order of things remains unchanged."

"And you come here to see me," she retorted, her gaze unwavering. "What does that say about you, my prince?"

“I enjoy you.”

"Or perhaps the dragon seeks something he cannot find elsewhere."

Aemond’s expression hardened, his pride pricked by her words. "Do not presume to understand me. You are here because I allow it."

"And you are here because you need it," she countered, her voice a seductive whisper. "What drives you to seek solace in the arms of a bastard? A whore?"

He pulled back, his eyes narrowing. "You speak too boldly-"

"I speak truth," she said, her gaze unflinching. "Something even a prince cannot escape."

Aemond regarded her for a long moment, a mixture of contempt and fascination warring within him. She was a puzzle, a riddle wrapped in the enigma of her bloodline. He hated and desired her in equal measure, drawn to the mystery of her existence.

She let out a breath, surprised when his fingers wrenched around her face, tugging her towards him. But her expression never faltered. “I wonder who is the depraved cunt who sired you,” Aemond murmured, deep and low against her face.

“Prince Daemon or the late King Viserys, it does not matter. Half of the whores on the Street of Silk knew the shape of their cocks-”

Aemond's grip tightened, his eyes blazing with fury. "Watch your tongue," he hissed, his breath hot against her skin. "You may have Targaryen blood, but you are still a whore. Do not forget your place."

She winced but refused to look away. "And yet here you are”. Her voice was steady, defiant, challenging him despite the pain.

His eyes narrowed, the fury in them warring with something deeper, something he could not name. "I am a man who indulges in his whims," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Nothing more."

"Is that all it is?" she whispered, her voice softening, searching his gaze. "An indulgence? Because if that's true, you wouldn't keep coming back."

Aemond's grip loosened slightly, his fingers trailing down her cheek. "You know nothing of my reasons," he said, a trace of vulnerability slipping through his hardened exterior.

He looked at her for a long moment, the conflict within him evident in his eyes. "You remind me of what I am and what I can never escape," he said finally, his voice a raw whisper. "The blood we share, the legacy that binds us. You are a mirror, showing me my weakness. The weakness of my House."

"And you, my prince, are the reminder of what I could have been. The life I was denied, the nobility I can never claim."

Aemond's hand twitched, a sudden urge to pull her close, to feel the warmth of her body against his, but he forced himself to remain still. He could not afford to show that side of himself, not to her, not to anyone. In another world, she might have been born legitimate, a sister to him, one he could wed, bed and breed at his leisure.

And yet.

"You speak of nobility as if it is something you could ever grasp," he said, his voice softer, yet still laced with condescension. "You will never be more than what you are now. A whore, a bastard, a mere footnote in the history of my House."

Her eyes flashed with quiet anger, a smouldering fire that burned beneath her calm exterior. How dare he speak to her this way? He knew nothing of the struggles, the pain, the countless indignities that had shaped her life.

"How fortunate you are, my prince," she said, her voice measured but tinged with bitterness, "to never have known the struggles of those who are less fortunate. To speak so easily of things you can never truly understand."

Aemond's gaze hardened, but he did not interrupt her.

"You may see me as nothing more than a whore and a bastard," she continued, her words steady, each one a dagger aimed at his pride. "But you know nothing of the world outside your gilded cage. You have no idea what it means to fight for every scrap of dignity, to claw your way through a life that was decided for you before you even drew breath."

Aemond's jaw clenched, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and something he couldn't quite name. "You forget yourself," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You forget to whom you speak."

"And you forget, my prince," she shot back, her voice unyielding, "that respect is earned, not given by birthright alone. And certainly not because you have a dragon."

A silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken truths and simmering tension. They stood there, locked in a battle of wills, neither willing to back down, both caught in the web of their shared blood and conflicting worlds. There was a strange respect in his gaze. As if he had seen the same flames that captivated him.

Slowly, she reached into the folds of her dress and pulled out the purse Aemond had paid her that night. She held it out to him, her hand steady. "Take it back," she said quietly, but firmly. "I don't want your coin."

He stared at her for a long moment, the purse heavy with silver between them. Slowly, he reached out and took it from her hand, his fingers brushing against hers. The touch was brief, but electric, a spark that neither could ignore. He could not help the smile that rose to his face, testing the weight of his coin in his palm. Looking down upon the woman in front of him with a cold but unyielding respect.

The events of that night lingered in Aemond's mind, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. The war was intensifying, and the tension within the Red Keep was palpable. It was during one of these tense small council meetings, that Aemond found his thoughts straying.

“Prince Daeron’s dragon, Tessarion, has at last taken to wing. Your brother expects to join the fight soon.” 

He half listened to Lord Wylde, his head half turned, eyes darting to listen to the cries of the smallfolk so loud it was as if they were in the room. Screams. Cries of terror.

“Dragon!”

“Get inside!”

“And when he does…the Hightower host will be unstoppable.”

He acted on instinct, feeling the hot whips of something he would not admit was panic at the back of his neck. The doors gave way to a bright, sunny afternoon. His one eye squinted to peer into the blue abyss, narrowed to the appearance of a great beast.

A dragon, its silver scales gleaming in the sunlight, descended from the sky.

Silverwing.

And there, riding atop the great beast, was her. Her silver hair flowed behind her like a banner for war, and her eyes, filled with determination, met his with an intensity that took his breath away. Aemond's mind raced, understanding dawning on him as he realised the implications.

Rhaenyra's recruitment of Dragonseeds had borne unexpected fruit.

She guided Silverwing to soar over King's Landing, her movements graceful and confident. She made several passes, almost as if she were flouting. The dragon's powerful wings created gusts of wind that rippled over Kings Landing, sending leaves and dust swirling, with smallfolk and merchants knocked off balance.

Aemond stood there, watching in a mix of awe and resentment. There was a part of him that couldn't help but admire the sight, the sheer power and majesty of the dragon, her commanding presence. But another part of him burned with anger. The idea of a bastard riding a dragon, flaunting her newfound status above the city, challenged everything he believed in.

What did that make him? How was he special if bastards could claim dragons? The exclusivity of his birthright felt tarnished, the unique status of House Targaryen diluted.

She seemed to sense his gaze, turning Silverwing to circle back and hover momentarily over the Keep. Her eyes locked onto his, a silent challenge in her gaze. She was revelling in her newfound power, asserting her place in a world that had tried to deny her.

Aemond's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning white. He liked her, there was no denying that. She fascinated and infuriated him in equal measure. But the sight of her riding Silverwing, basking in her defiance, stoked the flames of his inner conflict.

As Silverwing ascended higher, leaving King's Landing behind, Aemond's eyes followed them until they were mere specks against the sky. He stood there long after they had disappeared, wrestling with the tumultuous emotions swirling within him. Admiration, anger, attraction, and resentment collided in a storm that he couldn't quell.

The sun was setting by the time Aemond reached Vhagar. The great dragon stirred, sensing her rider's agitation. Aemond's resolve hardened as he climbed onto her back. With a command, Vhagar spread her immense wings and launched into the sky, the force of her takeoff shaking the ground below.

The flight to Dragonstone was swift. The wind whipped through Aemond's hair, his mind racing as fast as the dragon beneath him. He couldn't let this challenge go unanswered. 

As Dragonstone came into view, the outline of Silverwing against the darkening sky confirmed his target. He urged Vhagar to increase her speed, but the older dragon's pace couldn't match Silverwing's agility. Aemond's frustration grew with every beat of Vhagar's wings, the gap between them refusing to close.

She watched him, the man who had insulted her, bedded her, wronged her, as he turned his great beast mid-air, her own dragon purring against her touch atop the peak of a tower of Dragonstone. Even from afar, she could sense his frustration, the simmering anger that radiated from him, and she revelled in this unique reaction, savouring the way it felt.

For a moment, their eyes met, and in that silence, a thousand emotions passed between them. He glanced back over his shoulder, watching as she sat firm atop her beast, the wind whipping her hair around her face. The tension in the air was palpable, but there was also a sense of resolution, a quiet acknowledgment of the lines they had drawn.

That this was no surrender.

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[velarisdusk]

Unveiled Pleasures

Day 4: Virgin | Rhysand x Reader word count: 4.3k author’s note: this was not a kink i thought i had but during planning, the thought of rhys getting a dark look in his eyes, losing himself and going feral when he finds out…… yum :) ✦ . Kinktober Masterlist . ✦

A blizzard rages outside, snow swirling in the darkness. It’s been relentless; for two days, its winds clawed at windows and howled through the night. Snow accumulates in thick drifts outside, burying Velaris in a frosty silence. Inside the townhouse, the warmth of the fireplace provides a cozy, safe haven.

You and Rhysand are curled up together on the couch, wrapped in a heavy blanket. The house is quiet; Amren is back at her apartment, Cassian is in Illyria (Gods help him, you can’t imagine the storm there), Azriel’s away on reconnaissance, and Mor winnowed to the cabin last night, claiming she needed some “alone time.” But you had a feeling she just wanted to leave the two of you here, together. 

You’ve known each other for centuries, since you were all young and reckless, before the world became complicated. Over the years, you’ve become more than friends — you’ve become constant in each other’s lives, someone to rely on through war, heartbreak, and everything in between. For a while, there was something between you — something unspoken but undeniably there. The way his hands lingered when he touched you, or how you’d catch him looking at you a little too long.

But whatever it was, it never grew beyond that. Time passed, and eventually, it seemed like he’d moved on. You told yourself you had, too. You never let it become a big deal, never let it interfere with the easy friendship you shared. It was just… there, hovering in the background, a feeling you’d long since learned to live with. And now was no different, chatting and playing card games on the couch, sharing a blanket by the fireplace. You would’ve thought it cliche if not for the fact that you’d been in this exact scenario more times than you could count — and nothing had happened.

Nothing will happen. 

“Place feels off,” you muse absently, shuffling the two cards in your hand as you consider your next move.

Rhysand chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair. “Off how? Too quiet without Cass?”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “Well, yeah, that… but also just calmer.” You glance up at him, noticing the way the firelight casts soft shadows across his face. “We’re usually out doing something or surrounded by other people. Just not used to this much quiet, I guess.”

He nods thoughtfully, drawing a card from the deck and placing it face up next to the 10 of clubs. Ace of hearts. “That’s true,” he agrees, glancing at the cards on the blanket. “But it’s a nice change of pace, don’t you think? A well-deserved one.”

You eye your own cards — 10 of spades and ace of clubs — two pair. You toss two peppermints into the makeshift betting pool. “Raise. It’s definitely safer,” you say with a shrug.

Rhys matches your bet, tossing in two more mints. “Safer? From what? Drunk fae trying to chat you up? Or Cassian making an ass of himself with every female in sight?” His brow quirks up as a grin spreads across his face. 

You burst out laughing, the image of Cassian’s failed attempts at flirtation all too vivid. “Both, actually,” you manage between fits of laughter, shaking your head. “That last time at Rita’s… that was something.”

Leaning back against the couch, he shakes his head with a mischievous grin. “Do you remember that awful line Cass used on that poor girl? Something about his sword and–”

You burst out laughing, nearly doubling over. “Oh gods, don’t remind me. He really thought he was being clever.”

Rhys chuckles, rubbing his jaw. “He always thinks he’s clever. Like this—” He suddenly leans toward you, his voice dropping into a ridiculous impression of Cassian’s deep tone. “You ever heard the phrase, ‘bigger the sword, bigger the—'”

You both dissolve into laughter before he can finish, your sides aching from how ridiculous it sounds.

He grins, gaze still playful as he mimics Cassian again, this time reaching out and gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “But then he’d get all serious,” Rhys murmurs, his voice dropping lower, soft and teasing now. “He’d do this… look into her eyes and say, ‘I could spend hours just watching the way you blush, imagining what else I could do to make you look like that.’”

The sudden shift in his tone and the warmth of his hand against your cheek make your breath catch. You freeze, the playful atmosphere suddenly charged. He holds your gaze, the firelight flickering in his violet eyes, and for a moment, it’s hard to remember this is supposed to be a joke. 

You laugh, but it’s quieter now, more nervous. “Cassian really said that?” you ask, but it’s hardly louder than a whisper. 

Rhys doesn’t drop his hand, his thumb absentmindedly brushing your skin as he looks at you. “Well,” he says softly, his smile softer now, uncertain. “Maybe not like that… but, I guess… something like it.” You feel your face grow warm, a quiet tension slipping between you. His eyes search yours, and something unspoken passes between you both — something neither of you can ignore anymore. 

His voice is quieter when he speaks again, as though he’s only just noticing the change himself. “You okay?”

The question feels loaded like there’s more behind it than just casual concern. You nod, but your voice is stuck in your throat. You can’t tear your gaze away from his. He’s still so close. Rhys leans in slightly, his thumb moving to brush along your jawline now, the motion slower, more deliberate than before. His eyes flicker over your features, lingering on your lips for just a second too long. 

You swallow, heart pounding. “Just… surprised.”

“Surprised?” His brow lifts slightly, but his tone is softer, more serious now. “By what?”

By the way his touch sends a ripple of heat through you, by how your heart races under the intensity of his gaze. You don’t say that though. Instead, you let out a shaky laugh, trying to play it off. “That you’re taking this Cass impression so seriously.”

Rhys huffs a quiet laugh, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. His fingers pause for a second, lingering on your neck. He doesn’t move away. “I’m not, really… just… You’re looking at me differently,” he says softly, almost like he’s noticing it for the first time. The room feels suddenly smaller, the crackling fire and storm outside fading into the background. 

You hold his gaze, your heart pounding. There’s a question in his eyes, and you can’t help but feel the pull between you growing stronger. You’re both so close now, the warmth of his skin against yours more pronounced. 

Without breaking eye contact, Rhys’ hand gently slides down to rest at the back of your neck, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. His gaze drops to your lips, and for a moment, time seems to stretch.

He leans in slowly, giving you the chance to pull away. His lips brush against yours in a soft, tentative kiss. It’s a slow exploration, a testing of the waters. When you don’t move away, his kiss deepens, his lips melding with yours as the warmth between you ignites into something more intense. 

As the kiss between you and Rhysand grows more heated, the heat becomes almost unbearable. Clothes are shed in a frenzy of passion, and you find yourself in your undergarments, sinking to your knees on the plush carpet before him. The firelight flickers across the room, casting a warm glow that dances over both of you. You start to reach for the waistband of his boxer briefs, but suddenly, uncertainty creeps in. Your hands falter, and you pull back just enough to look up at him, a mixture of nervousness and determination in your eyes.

“I’m not really sure what to do,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “It’s my first time.”

Rhysand’s eyes widen, his expression shifting from surprise to an intense, almost reverent focus. He takes a moment to process your confession, clearly stunned.

He speaks softly, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief. “After all these centuries, you’re still–”

He pauses, searching for the right words. “You’re still a virgin?” His gaze sharpens, the intensity of his stare turning into something more primal. 

When your only response is a nod, a slow, hungry smile spreads across his lips. “Gods, that’s incredible,” he breathes, his voice low and tinged with a dark thrill. Leaning in, his breath warms your ear. “You have no idea how much that turns me on. The thought of being the first one to touch you like this…” His hand slides over your head, fingers threading through your hair with a possessive caress. “The first to make you feel things you’ve never…” He inhales deeply, his nose brushing against your neck, “–felt before…”

Rhysand pulls back slightly, his hand gently gripping your chin, and he tilts your face up to meet his eyes. “You have no idea how much I’m going to enjoy this… Guiding you through it, showing you everything…” His eyes flash with a mix of hunger and satisfaction. He traces his thumb over your lips, his touch charged. 

“Not everything; I’ve read romance novels,” you clarify, shifting your weight back onto your calves.

Rhysand’s lips twitch and he lets out the barest breath of a scoff, shaking his head as if in awe. His eyes flicker with a dark amusement as his hand trails from your jaw to the nape of your neck, fingers toying with your hair. “Romance novels,” he repeats, his tone light, but the glint in his eyes betrays something darker. His thumb brushes your cheek, and his lips curve into a slow, teasing smile. “Well, then… you’re practically an expert, aren’t you?”

You feel the weight of his gaze as you fumble for a response, a nervous laugh bubbling up. “Well, I mean–”

Rhysand cuts you off, his voice edged with raw desire. “I’m going to show you everything you need to know.” His grip on your hair tightens just slightly, his eyes locked onto yours with a possessive intensity. “Just focus on me and let me take control,” he murmurs, his voice low. “If you need anything, you speak up, alright?” The intensity in his gaze makes you feel like you’re melting.

You nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and excitement, and his gaze doesn’t waver. His fingers trail lightly over your collarbone and down to the swell of your chest, his touch a teasing whisper against your skin. With a deep breath, you lean forward, your hands cautiously pulling down his underwear, and Rhysand’s breath hitches slightly as you expose him. “That’s it,” he murmurs, his hand resting lightly on your head, guiding you as you lower yourself, taking him into your mouth.

The room is filled with the soft sounds of your movements and his encouraging murmurs. As you cautiously take him into your mouth, you focus on finding a rhythm, the unfamiliar texture and warmth making your pulse race. Your hands rest lightly on his thighs, feeling the tension in his muscles as you move. Each gentle stroke is executed with trepidation and eagerness, guided by Rhysand’s soft, approving sounds.

Rhysand’s hands gently cradle your head, his grip firm but tender. “Damn,” he groans, his tone laced with surprise. “You’re a natural.” His praise sends a shiver through you, mingling with the heat of your desire. Though he guides you slightly, his touch remains light and encouraging. His voice drops to a low murmur, filled with adoration. “That’s it, just like that,” he urges, his breath hitching as you experiment with different motions. His nails gently graze your scalp, and he lets out a soft, appreciative groan when you press a flat tongue to the underside of his cock. “You feel so good, baby. Just keep going, you’re making me lose my mind.”

Every word from him makes you more determined to continue, your movements growing more confident as his reactions heighten your arousal. “You can take me deeper, I know you can,” he murmurs, his voice low and urgent. “You’re doing so well, you got it,” and his hips start bucking into your mouth. Your own breathing becomes shallow as your throat constricts around him, the new sensation is overwhelming yet intoxicating.

With a low groan of approval, Rhysand suddenly shifts, his hands coming to rest of your shoulders. “Hold on a moment,” he says, helping you up from the floor, and guiding you back onto the couch with him, a dark hungry glint in his eyes. 

A hand reaches under you, deftly unclipping your bra with a single, smooth motion. He moves the other to the waistband of your underwear, and he slides both off of you tantalizingly slowly. He discards them with a casual flick, leaving you completely bare and vulnerable under his intense, appreciative gaze. 

“Go on, let’s get you a bit more comfortable,” he says, adjusting you with deliberate care so you’re sprawled out comfortably across the couch. His gaze smolders with hunger as he moves between your legs, his breath fanning over your inner thigh. 

The anticipation is almost unbearable as he begins to tease, his tongue a tantalizing caress that makes you gasp and shiver. The sounds of his enjoyment mingling with yours create a symphony of shared desire, each touch sending waves of sensation through your body. 

Just as his tongue delves deeper, the sensation blurs your senses, making the room seem to spin and float. The combination of his skilled tongue and the disorienting rush of winnowing overwhelms you with a euphoric intensity. When your vision clears, you find yourself in Rhysand’s bedroom, his tongue still lavishing attention on you. He takes his time to savor every part of you. His movements are masterful, each flick and stroke of his tongue tailored to make you writhe in pleasure. He alternates between gentle, teasing laps, and more focused, firm strokes, finding the rhythm that has you gripping the sheets. 

His hands are relentless, roaming your body, occasionally tracing the curves of your thighs or the sensitive skin of your hips. He clasps your hands tightly, anchoring you as his deep, guttural moans vibrate through you, heightening every sensation and leaving you squirming with need. 

Amidst the physical pleasure, Rhysand begins to invade your mind with a barrage of filthy, electrifying thoughts. His voice, though unspoken, reverberates in your mind like a seductive whisper. “It’s going to feel so good when I fuck you,” he promises. “Picture how good it’s going to feel when I’m buried deep inside you, how you’ll be trembling under me.” The mental imagery is a pleasant surprise — he shows you vivid scenes of him thrusting into you with relentless vigor, making you gasp and shiver. “It’ll feel so much better than your fingers, darling.”

“Can you see it? Feel it?” he sends into your mind, his thoughts a sultry whisper caressing your consciousness. “Feel me pushing into you, filling you completely. Every thrust, every stroke… I want you to feel every inch of me, how your body will mold perfectly around my cock.” The intensity of his words only drove your arousal to a fever pitch, leaving you moaning and writhing with an urgent need. 

His thoughts also weave images of you coming undone, of him making you see the stars with his touch. “I’m going to make you come so hard, you won’t know what to do with yourself. I’ll have you screaming my name, begging for more.” The raw, possessive desire only drives you closer to the edge, each thought and image adding to the pleasure building rapidly within you. “You’re my sweet little virgin now,” his voice growls in your mind. “But not for long. By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll be begging for my cock every chance you get. You’ll be a little whore for me won’t you? Needing to be filled again and again.”

When your climax finally crashes over you, it’s intense and all-consuming, leaving you gasping and trembling. Rhysand’s mental presence remains, a constant, darkly, satisfying presence as you ride out your orgasm. 

After you’ve come down from your high, Rhysand pulls back slightly, his gaze dark and hungry. He leans over you, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks softly. “See how easy that was? You’re going to be amazing, just like that. “

He shifts, positioning himself between your legs, his cock slick and hot against your folds. As he aligns himself, his voice is thick with desire “Feel how hard I am for you? Feel how much I want you? I’m going to fuck you so good, make you feel things you never imagined. You ready for me, sweetheart?” He looks up from where the tip of his cock lines up with your entrance, eyes locking onto yours with a burning intensity.

You meet his gaze, your voice trembling slightly but filled with determination. “I… I want you, Rhysand. I need you.” Your breath hitches as you look up at him, the vulnerability in your eyes matched by a fierce desire. “Please, don’t hold back.”

Rhysand’s smile turns predatory, his eyes alight with satisfaction. He maintains eye contact as he pushes inside, inch by inch, savoring every second of your tight, untried body struggling to accommodate him. “Does it hurt?” his voice drips with mockery and satisfaction when you squeeze your eyes shut. “Does it hurt having this pussy stretched out for the first time?” He watches your reactions intently, delighting in them as your expressions shift from nervous anticipation to surprised pleasure, your brows furrowing with the intensity of it all. 

He cradles the back of your head, tilting it down toward where your bodies are joined. “Look at that,” he breathes, his tone full of wonder. “Look at how you wrap around me. So… fucking tight — it’s like you’re sucking me in.”

The mewl you let out would be embarrassing if not for the overwhelming pleasure and mind-numbing stretch of his cock inside you. “Rhysand, please,” you whisper, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you try to steady yourself.

“Please, what? What do you want me to do, darling?” his voice is a lazy drawl, as though he has all the time in the world to tease you, to make you beg for more. His hips are still, the need to move evident in the tense muscles beneath your hands, but he holds back, watching you writhe beneath him.

“Please, Rhys, just move,” you whine, your body yearning for more, the slow stretch making you desperate. “Just want you… Want you to move.”

“Move?” He raises a brow at you, feigning confusion. “Move where? Move off of you?” He starts to pull out, slowly, torturously, and for a moment, the sensation feels good — until the realization hits that he’ll leave you empty. Without thinking, you wrap your legs around him, arms clinging to his neck to keep him in place.  

He chuckles darkly, a low, amused sound. “You’ll have to be more specific, I need to hear what you want, or…” He pulls out further, the head of his cock barely inside you now.

“Fuck me,” you gasp, your voice trembling with need. “Rhys, fuck me, please.”

The glint in his eyes is dangerous, primal. He leans down, brushing his lips against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

He thrusts back into you, slow but deep, filling you completely. “You feel that?” he murmurs against your neck. “You’ve never had anyone touch you like this before, have you? I’m the first… and I’ll be the only one to make you feel this way. Your fingers don’t even reach this deep, huh? You can’t even pleasure yourself the way that I will.” His words are gentle, but the power behind them is undeniable. “So pure, so untouched. You’re mine now. I’m going to make sure no one else gets to fuck you like this.”

The way he speaks, the deliberate pace of his thrusts as he starts to push in and out of you, has you melting beneath him, pleasure and helpless surrender pooling in your belly. Every inch of him fills you perfectly.

“You’ve no idea what you do to me,” he whispers, his thrusts growing harder, deeper. “Look at how you take me, so well. So fucking tight and sweet, like you were made for this,” he growls, his breath puffing against your skin as he thrusts again, deeper this time. “You feel that, darling? That’s me, stretching you open, shaping this pretty pussy so it’ll only ever fit me.”

A gasp tears from your lips, your body overtaken by the sensation of him inside you, deeper than anything you could have imagined. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your legs trembling as you try to keep up with the rhythm he’s setting. “Rhys,” you whimper, your voice soft and breathless. “It’s so… so much.”

He leans down to capture your lips in a heated kiss, a dance of tongues and lips, exchanging breath ang longing. When he pulls back, his voice is a low rumble. “It’s going to be more, sweetheart. So much more. You can take it though, I know you can.”

You shudder at his words, the physical and mental onslaught of pleasure overwhelming. “Rhys, I–” you gasp, struggling to speak as your mind spins. “I’ve never– fuck! I didn’t know it could feel this good.”

“Of course you didn’t,” he purrs, his pace quickening slightly, making you moan with every deep stroke. “You’ve never been fucked before. You didn’t know what you were missing, did you?”

Your breath catches, your hands fisting in the sheets as his words sink in. The sensation of being filled, stretched, and dominated by him is getting to be too much. “Rhys, please,” you whisper, “please, don’t stop.”

His lips curve into a wicked smile. “I’m not stopping. Not until I’ve ruined you for anyone else.” He thrusts into you harder now, making your body jolt with each sound of skin against skin. “No one else is ever going to fuck you like this. You’ll always want me. You’ll always need me.”

The pleasure building inside you is almost too much, the sensation of his cock slamming in and out of your tight heat. “It feels so good!” you cry out, your pretty noises spurring his desire. “I– I can’t… believe how good it–”

“You like that, don’t you?” he growls, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You like the way I stretch you out. The way your body squeezes me like it’s never going to let go.” He moves faster, his thrusts becoming rougher, more demanding. “Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me how much you love it.”

Your head is spinning, your body trembling as the pleasure builds. “I love it,” you gasp, your voice high and breathless. “I love the way you feel inside me, Rhysand.”

His eyes harden, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. “That’s right. You love being fucked by me, don’t you? You love the way I make you feel, the way I take your virgin cunt.” His hand slides down your body, gripping your hip to keep his unrelenting pace. “And I’m going to keep fucking you until you’re screaming my name, until you can’t think of anything else but how good my cock feels inside you. So innocent… But not anymore, darling, you’re going to want this every single time you see me.”

Your muscles shake as you respond wantonly. “I want more, I want you to fuck me harder.” Rhysand groans, flipping you over without pulling you off his cock. His hands grip your hips as he pulls you closer, his cock slamming into you with renewed force.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he growls, his voice rough with lust. “You don’t even know what you’re asking for. But I’ll give it to you, if that’s what you want?” He glances at you for confirmation, though he already knows what he’ll see.You’ll look back at him with a blissful nod, your eyes heavy and barely open. You cry out as his pace turns punishing, far beyond what you’d imagined during those restless nights spent desperately rubbing your clit to thoughts of him. You can barely catch your breath as he fucks you for all you’re worth. 

“That’s it,” he groans, his voice thick with desire as he pulls you up, holding you flush against his chest. His hands wander over you, the swell of your breasts, the soft skin of your neck. “You’re going to come for me again, aren’t you? I can feel it. You’re so close. You’re going to come all over my cock, aren’t you?”

You can’t speak, your voice lost to pleasure. “Rhys, please,” you gasp, your hands gripping the sheets as you feel yourself hurtling toward the edge. “I’m so so close.”

He teases your ear lobe between his teeth as he whispers, “Come for me, go on. Show me how good it feels to have your virgin cunt fucked for the first time.”

“Feels so good, feels so–”

With a final thrust, you fall apart, your body convulsing as your orgasm rips through you. Rhysand’s name is a broken moan on your lips as the pleasure floods through you. Rhysand watches you as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, his pace never slowing. “That’s it,” he coaxes you through it. “That’s my girl. You’re mine now, sweetheart. Only mine.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

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[punkshort]

i know who you are | 7. the week

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Joel is on a mission to win you back. You struggle with your feelings and visit an old friend for some perspective.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, pining, sad!Joel, amnesia, slow burn, physical violence, wounds/blood/injuries/gore, vague reference to suicide (Joel remembering his incident after Sarah), alcohol consumption, non-descriptive smutty memory, mentions of murder (adults and children), mentions of pregnancy (not reader)

WC: 7.7K

A/N: I took some liberties with the background of the Fireflies, it's not exactly canon.

Series Masterlist

Somewhere in Northern California

It took two days.

Two full days of freezing temperatures and frigid wind as he traversed up and down mountains, through snow covered forests with little to no shelter, but he finally made it. Right before nightfall, he approached the edge of the town you grew up in. The town your parents still lived in ten years ago. The town that holds a history of you and everything you hold dear.

It was too dark and he was too tired to enter the town and go any further, but fortune smiled upon him for the first time since he left Jackson when he spotted a dilapidated woodshed tucked into the forest. It was small, no bigger than a bedroom, but it would do. It would be the first time in two days he would get to sleep with a roof over his head, and he desperately needed it.

He grossly overestimated his ability to survive out in the wild. He did it before, of course, but life in Jackson made him soft. Made him complacent. Made him weak.

Time took its toll on his body. His age was an offensive reminder every time his knees creaked or his back twinged. He wasn't as fast as he used to be, nor as strong. But he was determined and stubborn, two things that would never change.

With hands trembling from the cold, he jabbed his knife into the lock and broke it with ease, a small triumph in an otherwise unforgiving journey. The shed was mostly empty, save for a pile of wood and an axe. Plenty of room for both him and the horse.

After he scattered some oats on the floor, he grabbed his rifle and marched back out into the snowy tundra to do a perimeter check, knowing he would fall asleep the moment he allowed himself to slow down. By the time he deemed the area safe, he retreated back into the woodshed and lit a fire in the tiny furnace to warm up a bit.

Once he got feeling back in his fingers, he cracked open some stew and ate it cold straight from the can, too impatient to warm it up and too eager to get some rest. The wind howled outside, practically screaming at him with every gust: How could you say that to me?

The horse nickered softly, her head lowered, one back leg cocked as she began to doze off. He laid on the wooden floor, partially resting inside his sleeping bag, ready to strike if there was an intruder. The back of his wrist laid against his forehead while he stared blankly at the ceiling, wondering for the umpteenth time if what he was doing was even going to work. If he would even be capable of finding your house in this town, let alone finding any pictures still in good enough condition to bring back to you.

But it was all he had.

You had mentioned to him when he was sick, after you saw the photo of Sarah, how you wished you had pictures of your family. You looked so somber and distant and he was once again reminded that even though you lost them ten years ago, in your mind you only lost them months ago.

He couldn't imagine losing Sarah twice. Waking up one day, thinking she was alive and healthy and late for school just to be told she was killed mercilessly ten years prior and died in his arms. You were so much stronger than him. You always were. You were told your whole world changed, your family gone, and then tossed into a house with him, pressured by everyone every damn day to regain your memories and become a completely different person when he knew deep down if the same had happened to him, his answer would lie at the end of a barrel. But unlike before, he might not flinch.

You really fucking hurt me, Joel.

He rubbed his face aggressively, the pain and anguish in your voice haunting him. This trip left him with too much time to get lost in his thoughts, too much time to wallow in his grief and replay every single painful memory from the past several days.

Sighing, he dropped his hands to his chest and tried to think about something else. Letting his eyes drift shut, he let his mind wander back to before. Before your accident, before he fucked everything up, back to a time when you were happy and stupidly in love.

"What's cookin', good lookin'?" he heard your voice behind him.

He grinned as he stirred a pot of sauce on the stove while you wrapped your arms around his midsection, burying your face against his back.

"My accent rubbin' off on you now?"

You giggled and let go, walking over to grab the bottle of whiskey and pouring you each a glass.

"Maybe."

You handed him his glass and clinked them together before taking a sip.

"How was patrol?" he asked, turning his attention back to the pasta.

"Boring," you replied, hopping up onto the counter next to him, swinging your legs back and forth. "Jesse has a lot of work to do. He's not seasoned enough to be out there without one of us."

He nodded thoughtfully and lifted the spoon up to your lips to taste the sauce. "Needs lemon," you said, licking your upper lip while he snatched a lemon from a basket in the corner of the kitchen and sliced it in half.

"Yeah, I know, but he's got potential. Just gotta get him to focus a bit more. Gotta be more aware of his surroundings."

You hummed and rubbed the back of your neck with a wince.

"You hurtin'?" he asked, but you shook your head immediately.

"Just tired."

"You sure?" he said while he strained the pasta. "I can rub your neck later."

"Oh, well in that case, yes. I'm absolutely aching over here," you said with a smile.

"Don't tempt me, baby," he told you, setting down the pot before wedging himself between your knees, his hands rubbing over your thighs. "Might not stop at your neck."

"Is that right?" you teased, pulling your lower lip between your teeth playfully.

"Mhmm. First it's your neck, then shoulders," he said, pressing a gentle kiss against your lips, "then your back," he dragged his hands up your back and pressed you forward, nearly pulling you off the counter.

"Then what?" you asked breathlessly, arms loosely draping around the back of his neck.

"Before y'know it, you'll be pullin' at my belt, tellin' me you got an ache someplace else 'n you need me to stuff you full of my cock." His hands dragged up and down your back, his mouth nipping gently at your throat as you tipped your head back with a gasp.

"You know me so well," you murmured, a lazy smirk spreading across your face when you felt the urgency behind his touch.

"Yeah I do, baby," his words getting lost against your skin, "know you like the back of my hand. Know what makes you tick. What makes you feel good. Know what makes you scream my fuckin' name." His lips slotted over yours urgently, the pasta cold and long forgotten as you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him close.

"Take me to bed, Joel," you begged after you pulled your head away, breaking the kiss and then quickly latching onto his neck. "Need you. I want - shit!" you cursed when one of you accidentally pushed a plate off the counter and it smashed into pieces against the floor.

"Leave it, don't care," he said, picking you up and pulling your attention off the shards of ceramic littering the floor. "I'll clean it up later."

His eyes popped open, the echo of your giggle from that night bouncing around his skull. It was almost laughable now, thinking he felt lonely before compared to how he felt in the middle of fucking nowhere with only a sleeping horse to keep him company.

He wasn't stupid. He knew he would need to do more than bring home some pictures to convince you to forgive him. But it was a start, and maybe, just maybe with time, you would come to understand what you meant to him.

And if he was really lucky, he might end up meaning something to you, too.

It was stupid and it didn't mean anything.

That's what you kept telling yourself ever since Joel left and you found yourself curling up in his bed at night instead of yours.

His bed was more comfortable. His room didn't store the bad memories of your fight. It was simply easier to sleep there.

It certainly didn't have anything to do with the way the sheets still smelled like him. Like the soap you both used combined with the outdoors and a hint of his sweat. And on the third night when you picked out a flannel of his from the closet and wrapped it around yourself, it was only because it was a particularly frigid night.

You didn't miss him.

Well, you missed having another person in the house, sure. But you didn't miss him on some deeper level. Maria and Ellie were wrong. They had no idea what they were talking about. They had no idea what was going through your head, what you were feeling, what you were struggling with.

There was no possible way you could have feelings for Joel. Not after everything he did and said. Not after the lies and the cheating and the deception.

But then why, when you were struggling to fall asleep at night, did your mind always wander back to the way he looked at you in the meadow, or the way his arms felt wrapped around you on the back of the horse, or the way he made you laugh when you played Monopoly?

And why did it feel like a part of you left with him that night?

"Pathetic," you muttered to yourself, pulling the sheets tighter and rolling over onto your side, his soft, worn flannel like butter against your bare skin. You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing the memories from your mind and instead, replaying what he told you about the hospital.

He almost killed you. He was seconds away from putting a bullet in your head and only after presumably begging for your life did he let you go, and then he had the nerve to keep that information from you not only once, but fucking twice.

He was protecting Ellie.

But he still shouldn't have lied.

With a groan, you rolled onto your back and stared up at the ceiling, sleep so far out of reach you didn't even feel like trying anymore. Then a thought occurred to you:

You weren't the only one he let live. There were two other people in Jackson who were there, who were shown mercy and didn't appear to hold any resentment towards him for it. In fact, they seemed rather happy with the second chance they were given.

You hadn't seen Ben or Lisa in a long time. The opportunity never presented itself for you to seek any perspective from them about that day.

Perhaps it was time to change that.

It took him a few hours to scope out the town and venture out of the woods, but by late morning he was heading down what looked to be one of the main thoroughfares in town, eyes squinting against the blowing snow as he tried to pinpoint the location of town hall.

All he remembered was your street name but he had absolutely no idea how to find it, so his plan was to break into the town hall and find a map. From there, he prayed Ellie's drawing was truly accurate enough to narrow down your parents' house.

He was freezing. His face was numb and his back was fucking killing him from riding so much, but he was so close. If he was lucky, he could find your house, get what he needed and head out all before nightfall. Maybe he could even spend another night in the woodshed. It wasn't so bad. At least he was warm.

As he continued to steer his horse down another road, he couldn't help but think Tommy was right about the storm. It was providing him some cover, just in case there were survivors around that wouldn't take kindly to his intrusion. He just hoped it would blow through in a day so his ride back would be clear.

After another thirty minutes of wind whipping at his face, the cold penetrating his coat and several layers underneath, he finally saw it. It was a smaller building than he imaged it to be, but the sign was clear. Hoping that the town size was as small as the town hall, he steered his mare down the drive and through the parking lot, making sure to take in his surroundings, confirming he was truly alone before he slid down from the saddle and trudged through the snow to the front doors.

He wiped away the snow from the window, peering inside before heading to another one and doing the same. It appeared to be empty so he tried the door, unsurprisingly finding it locked. He pulled out his knife and worked on the lock, his fingers stiff and his ears so cold he could barely feel them anymore. Finally, he broke the lock but when he shoved the door, there was something blocking him on the other side.

"Shit," he muttered, glancing around, kicking and dusting snow off the surrounding area, looking for a brick or a rock. Giving up, he grabbed his rifle from the saddle and angrily made his way to the nearest window, smashing the butt of his gun against the glass repeatedly until it shattered. He gasped for air, not realizing how much energy he was exerting before he continued, knocking out as much of the glass as he could.

Sticking his head inside, he looked around. The place seemed empty. It was quiet, covered in dust and debris. Untouched dust was good. It meant nobody had been there in a while. Human or otherwise.

He crawled through the window, taking great care to not catch on any jagged edges. He held his breath, ears straining for any noise that might give someone away, but all he heard was the howling wind outside. This is your fault. Still, he kept his guard up. He walked room to room, finding his way to the lobby and searching the front desk for a map.

"You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," he grumbled as he opened and shut each drawer in the desk, only pausing to snatch up an old protein bar and shoving it in his pocket.

With a sigh, he looked around the room. There were a couple benches, chairs that were moved and tipped over, papers scattered about but his eyes were drawn to the portraits on the wall. There were a few paintings of men he would never recognize, unknown sheriffs and mayors, and some framed pictures of the staff, but the one that really drew his attention was the large map on the wall next to the front doors.

It was a road map of the town. Simple, but it was all he needed. He rounded the desk and shined his flashlight over the map, studying it, searching for where he was before looking for your street.

"Grant Street."

"Grant?" he repeated, his fingers lightly skirting up and down your bare back.

"Mhmm," you confirmed, eyes closed, a small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips as you buried your face into his neck.

"That's funny," he said, his hand wandering past your waist and over your ass.

"Why's that?"

"Grant's my Mama's maiden name."

Your eyes opened and locked onto his. "Maybe it's fate, then."

Maybe it was.

Grant was only four blocks north. It didn't look like a very long road, either.

He could do this.

He was so close.

Lisa answered the door with the same look of surprise as before, although this time she was clutching needles and yarn in her left hand while the fire quietly crackled behind her.

"Hey," you said, arms wrapped around yourself as the snow storm continued to swirl behind you. "Can I come in?"

"Oh! Of course!" Lisa said, stepping back, "how rude of me. Can I get you something warm to drink?" She closed the door behind you and took a step towards the kitchen. "I just boiled some water for tea, it's still hot."

"Tea sounds lovely, thank you," you said as you hung up your coat and scarf, trying your best not to make a mess of melted snow all over her floor.

She told you to make yourself comfortable while she prepared your tea, so you wandered into her tiny living room, the space seeming a little larger now without your two imposing men.

"Where's Ben?"

"Working," she said, setting down a teacup and saucer next to hers. "I put a little sugar in it."

"Oh, thank you, that's perfect. I like it sweet," you replied, sitting down on the same couch as before and bringing the cup to your lips.

"I know, I remember," she said, and when she sat down and fixed her billowy top, you noticed for the first time the small bump protruding low on her hips.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and she followed your gaze.

"Oh, yes," her tone soft, "I'm due this spring."

"Wow. Congratulations, Lisa. That's wonderful, I had no idea. I thought I would have seen you from time to time at the infirmary," you explained, setting down your tea.

"Nick agrees to see me after hours, sometimes he makes house calls," she said, picking up her needles again.

You titled your head to the side. "Why do you want to be seen after hours?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes fixed on the yellow blanket she was making. "I still find it difficult sometimes to face some of the others in town, I suppose. I know I shouldn't but the guilt sticks with me."

"Guilt?"

Her eyes flicked up to yours and she shifted her weight. "I know Ben mentioned the Fireflies to you." She held out her wrist, showing you the small moth-like symbol tattooed there. "I'm not sure how much you know or remember-"

"Actually, that's why I'm here," you said, taking a deep breath. "Joel told me everything. About the Fireflies. About the hospital."

Her eyes widened, the needles abandoned in her lap.

"Oh."

"Yeah," you said, chewing on your lip and glancing at the fire. "He told me what he did there. Told me he spared us, let us go."

"Yes, he did," she agreed softly.

"Can you tell me more about that day?" you asked, dragging your eyes back to meet hers. "I'm having trouble understanding how I could have known this before and still managed to fall in love with him."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

You laughed dryly and shrugged. "I mean he almost killed us. He killed countless innocent people, friends of ours I'm assuming, and I'm expected to believe I just looked past it? We just looked past it?" You motioned between the two of you. "He's a murderer, Lisa. He-"

"We're murderers," she corrected, and you fell silent. "We killed innocent people. We helped lead a revolution that resulted in hundreds of deaths, and where did that get us? Nowhere! People weren't any better off. In fact, they were worse. Friends and family killed, caught in the crossfire, tangled up in this idea of freedom and safety and giving their lives to an empty cause."

You swallowed as you watched Lisa's face, her eyes fiery and her tone hardened, transforming into a different version of herself before your very eyes.

"What Joel did..." she trailed off as she thought back to that day. "We did bad things. So did he, but he single handedly cut the Fireflies off at the legs. He stopped the insanity, stopped the war, stopped the ridiculous experiments and half baked ideas to save the world, regardless of the lives lost along the way. You don't remember, I understand, but allow me to explain."

"Please," you begged softly, "please tell me everything."

She rested a palm against her swelling stomach and leaned back. "We realized we made a mistake pretty early on," she began, "but we didn't have anywhere else to go. We had been living in the wild for so long. We were tired and hungry and weak and we fell for it. Fell for the sales pitch when they found us. We were told we wouldn't have to fight, but they didn't tell us what they expected us to do."

"W-what did we do?" you stammered, sitting on the edge of your seat.

"We killed people. Innocent people, point blank. FEDRA soldiers. Civilians who ratted out our location for extra food for their family. Children-" her voice wobbled a bit as she looked down at her stomach. "Children who were experimented on, vaccine prototypes tested on, who became horribly disfigured a-and screaming in pain, begging to be put out of their misery-"

"Okay," you said, cutting her off and taking a deep breath, unable to hear much more. It was becoming clear why Joel kept this from you, and although you had a right to know, you were beginning to understand his motivation. He was trying to protect you.

"Anyway," Lisa continued, flicking a tear from her cheek, "we planned on getting out. We couldn't do it anymore. Then, Joel showed up."

You held your breath, waiting for her to continue.

"We were doing perimeter checks. Loosening a spot in the gate so we could sneak out later that night. Then we heard the gunshots. And at first, we thought some infected got in. It was the perfect distraction, so we grabbed our gear and made a run for it."

She paused to take a sip from her tea, her eyes looking miles away.

"We almost made it. We were in the parking garage loading up a vehicle when he snuck up behind us. Told us to lay face down on the ground with our hands behind our heads. We never saw him and it wasn't until later we found out he was all alone. The whole time we were convinced it had to have been a group of men. It seemed impossible for one man to do what he did, but somehow..."

She trailed off again and cleared her throat.

"He gave us a second chance when we didn't deserve it," she said solemnly. "You and Ben dealt with the weight of what we did far better than me. I still struggle with the guilt, I can't..." she looked up at you, "I hope you never remember."

A chill went down your spine and you nodded.

"Try not to hold it against him," she said, offering you a small smile. "We've all done terrible things. It's not all black and white."

It ain't black and white.

"Yeah, okay," you replied quietly, standing up from the couch, your mind reeling. "Thanks," you added, motioning to the tea before she walked you to the door, "and congratulations again."

"Thank you," she said, rubbing her belly, her green eyes sparkling. "I'm glad you stopped by. The truth is sometimes ugly, but that doesn't mean you don't deserve to understand the whole picture." You nodded and bent over to shove on your boots. "Joel's not a bad man. I'm sure he was just trying to protect you by leaving some things out about our past. He would have told you eventually."

When the whole goddamn world ends and all you got left is one or two people you care 'bout, you'll do whatever you gotta do to protect 'em.

"Yeah, I'm starting to realize that now," you said, shrugging on your coat with a wry smile.

The whole way home, you practically kicked yourself for not visiting Lisa sooner. Maybe it would have made a difference, maybe not. But it finally felt like a missing puzzle piece was back in place and you could begin to make sense of your confusing feelings for Joel.

Ellie was incredibly talented.

He needed to make sure to remind her of that when he got home because even through the blowing snow, in near whiteout conditions, he was still able to figure out which house was yours because Ellie's drawing was so detailed, so accurate that it almost felt like he had been there before.

He was eager and impatient. He just wanted to get inside and get what he needed and leave, but before he did, he peered inside the windows and did a walk around the whole house three times, just in case. It was a small brick ranch and if the snow wasn't so thick, he would be able to see the black shutters framing the front windows, just like in the drawing.

He shouldered open the side garage door first, a pile of fluffy snow spilling over the hard concrete as he stumbled in and shimmied open the roll top door so he could bring his mare inside.

He pat her between the eyes, murmuring his thanks for being so damn tough and sprinkled some more oats on the ground before slipping inside the house.

The door from the attached garage led right into a kitchen, which, by the looks of it, was rifled through on more than one occasion. No doubt some survivors had come through over the years and turned the place upside down for anything useful, but that didn't matter to him. What he needed wouldn't be stolen.

Glancing at the fridge, he paused when he saw some photos stuck to the door. He leaned his rifle against the wall and shook his head, curls flinging melted snow over the dusty floor, then bent over to examine the pictures. Most of them didn't have you and he began to worry he was in the wrong house after all, but then he saw it: at the very top was a picture of four people, all wearing summer clothes and Mickey Mouse ears with the Cinderella castle in the background. A middle aged man and woman bookended a young man, lean but muscular with his arm draped around your shoulders.

You were younger, maybe still in high school, and your hair was longer and lighter, but he would recognize that smile anywhere.

He carefully plucked the photo from the fridge and brought it closer, his eyes raking over every detail of the picture, from the brightness in your eyes to the cotton candy pink sky behind you.

You looked so happy.

Nothing like the way you looked when he last saw you: broken and bruised. Ruined and dejected. Because of him.

You spared my life just to break my heart.

He blinked and pocketed the photo before turning around. The living room was in worse condition. It appeared someone must have stayed there at one point because the couches were shifted around, an armchair wedged in front of the door, cushions flung around haphazardly.

He had to move furniture out of the way, dig around a bit through broken bookshelves, but he managed to finally unearth an old photo album. Resting on one of the couch cushions with a huff, he took a few moments to flip through it, smiling now and then when he saw an especially cute picture of you. The wind outside was howling so loudly, the old house creaking with every gust that he couldn't hear when footsteps slowly crept up behind him and knocked him unconscious with the butt of his own rifle.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

He knew better. He should have scoped out the inside of the house before getting distracted. But he was too excited and too eager to get what he came for that he forgot his own rules. And he took for granted the snowstorm would hide his tracks.

Now he was hunched over on the living room floor, leaning against the wall with his wrists tied behind his back while five raiders went through his things.

"Hey man, don't you like peaches?"

"Fuck yeah I do, give it here."

Joel groaned, the back of his head throbbing, thick, sticky blood slowly trickling down the back of his neck.

"He's waking up."

"Hey, princess, how's the head?" one said with a sinister laugh. Joel ignored him.

"You got some nice shit. Wanna tell us where your camp is?"

Joel opened his eyes and glared at the man in front of him, wearing a leather jacket and leather gloves and a black bandana pulling his dark, wiry hair off his scarred face.

"Fuck you."

The punch came fast and hard across his jaw, making him see stars for a moment. The other men chuckled and got back to dividing up his things.

"You wanna try that again?" the first man asked, crouching down in front of him. Joel tugged on the rope holding his wrists together. The knot was tight but it wasn't foolproof. He just needed a little time to loosen it up.

"Don't got a camp."

"Bullshit," the man barked, spitting against the wall next to Joel's head. "Ain't nobody out here with this kinda gear and a goddamn horse roughing it all alone. Now, just tell us the city and we'll take it from there. We'll even let you live."

He heard one of the other men scoff but the rest remained quiet, and if Joel wasn't already convinced they were planning to kill him either way, he definitely was now.

"Boise."

"Boise?" he repeated, and Joel nodded, twisting his hands behind his back, feeling the coarse rope burn against his skin. The man in the leather jacket sighed and hung his head before landing another blow, this time across the mouth. Joel's lower lip got snagged on his teeth and tore. Blood trickled down his chin as he angrily whipped his head back towards the raider.

"I told you what you wanted!"

"You fed me a bunch of bullshit is what you did," he said, kicking Joel in the ribs. He gasped for air, doubled over against the wall, coughing and spraying blood across the faded floral wallpaper. He wondered if your parents did the wallpaper themselves, if your mom picked it out, or did the house already come like that?

Joel tugged harder on the rope, feeling it start to give. He needed to stay focused. He needed to make every move count if he wanted to get out of this alive.

The raider pulled a revolver from the back of his pants - Joel's revolver - and flipped it over in his hands. Back and forth, back and forth. Then he leaned forward and pressed the barrel against Joel's forehead.

"I'll give you one more chance, asshole," he said, his dark eyes boring into Joel's, "tell us where your camp is or else I shoot you in the fucking head."

"What the hell was he doing here anyway?"

"Shut up, Mike," the guy in the leather growled, eyes still trained on Joel.

"No, but seriously. There's nothing in this house worth taking. We've been through this neighborhood months ago."

The raider's eyes flickered around the room and Joel tugged harder on his restraints when he looked away. Then the man spotted the photo album lying face down on the ground.

"What's this?" he asked, lowering the gun and picking up the album. He began to flip through it and Joel felt the rope finally give. The raider let out a low whistle and slid a photo out to look at it closer. "Don't tell me you came out in the middle of a storm just to find something to jack off to," he teased, holding up a photo of you in a yellow bikini by a pool. He flipped the picture back around and grinned. When he went to stuff it in his pocket, his attention momentarily diverted, Joel took his opportunity to strike.

In the blink of an eye, he snatched the revolver from the raider's fingers and shot him in the temple, his body immediately falling limply to the side. Wet, sticky blood sprayed all over Joel's hand but he just tightened his grip on the gun, taking aim and bringing down another one of the men while they were still too stunned to move.

"Fuck!" one of the remaining three men screamed as they scrambled for cover. Joel ducked behind the couch and held his breath, straining to hear the scuffling of their boots, trying to pinpoint where they were in the small room. When he heard one of them accidentally knock against the kitchen table, the wooden legs scraping against the linoleum, he straightened up and took aim, taking out another man with a bullet right between the eyes, but unfortunately one of the last two men got a shot in as well.

The bullet grazed against his left bicep. Joel hissed and ducked back behind the couch. He would deal with it later.

"Come on, man, we can work something out," one of the men called out after a minute. "Let's just go our separate ways. Act like this never-"

Joel jumped up and shot the man in the cheek, the bullet traveling through his mouth and out the back of his head, leaving brain matter that looked like globs of gelatin dripping down the kitchen cupboards after he fell lifelessly to the ground.

Joel stepped towards the kitchen, now only one on one. He got cocky. He was feeling too confident with how quickly he took out the group. He didn't even see it coming when the knife lodged into his side, just above his hip. Without thinking, he yanked the knife out, twisted around and jammed it into the final raider's throat, watching as he fell to the floor, choking on his own blood, and didn't look away until he stopped twitching.

Adrenaline still coursed through his veins and he used it to his advantage, his left hand pressing weakly against his wound, the wound in his arm preventing it from being very effective while he searched the dead bodies of the men for anything useful. He had brought some first aid with him when he left Jackson but he was too far from home, he would need antibiotics, at least, if he was going to make it back.

Of course, he came up empty, so he snatched his first aid kit from the table and stumbled down the little hallway, searching for a bathroom. He knew it was a lost cause, the raiders already admitted to clearing the place out months ago, but he had to try.

He flung open the medicine cabinet with a grunt, the pain beginning to set in now. Pressing his bloody fingers against the stab wound as hard as he could, he rummaged around the cabinet, leaving paths of red everywhere his fingers touched, then tried the drawers under the sink.

Nothing.

"Fuck," he muttered, collapsing onto the cool tile floor as he began to sort through his first aid kit. There were no towels left but he was sitting on an old bathmat. He groaned in pain when he lifted his hips to pull the bathmat out, shook out the dust and dirt, then pressed it against his side, bringing his knee up to hold it in place.

With trembling fingers, he threaded a needle. He wiped the blood from his hands on his shirt, but they were stained red. Ripping open his jacket and flannel, he lifted the two other layers he had on underneath and lowered his leg to get a look at the wound.

It was deep and he was losing a lot of blood, but he was fairly certain the knife wasn't long enough to knick any organs. His stomach wasn't swelling, that was a good sign.

He only had a small bottle of antiseptic, so he used most of it to clean the wound and then the needle, saving a little bit to use on his arm later.

He took several quick breaths in, hyping himself up, then paused when he first shoved the needle through his skin. Tears sprung up, blurring his vision, but he blinked them away.

Focus. Focus. Focus.

In and out, in and out, he slowly stitched himself up. The angle was awkward and the stitches were ugly, but it got the job done: the bleeding stopped. His heart was hammering in his chest, sweat poured from the sides of his head, mixing with all the blood drying on his face and beard. He slumped to the ground with a pained groan, lying flat on the floor in a pool of his own blood, staring up at the ceiling. He just needed a moment to rest, a moment to catch his breath and then he would go.

Would he ever see you again? Would you ever even know why he came out there? Would you always wonder what happened to him? You told him you cared about him, but was that even true anymore? After what he did?

"C'mon, baby, gimme a sign," he whispered to himself, "gimme a sign that I still got a chance in hell 'cause if I don't, I'm not sure I got the strength to make it home." Tears welled up in his eyes again and this time he let them fall. He sniffled and waited. For what, he wasn't sure. Divine intervention? Genius to strike? A brilliant idea to form? But all he heard was the blowing wind outside.

The tile felt so cool against his burning hot skin. A small voice in the back of his head told him the longer he stayed there the weaker he would become, but he was just so tired. He rolled his head to the side, his eyes about to slide shut when he saw it: a dusty, opaque orange bottle rolled all the way against the wall underneath the sink.

Blinking a few times, he wondered if he was imagining it.

He wasn't.

Stretching his arm out, he slowly reached underneath the vanity and pulled out the half empty bottle. Holding it above his face, he squinted at the letters on the faded sticker.

Penicillin. Use as directed by your dentist.

His breath caught in his throat when he read your name on the label.

He finally got his sign.

"What happens when we die?"

"What?"

You rolled over onto your side to face him, wrapping your arm around his waist. He looked so peaceful, lying in bed like that. His eyes closed, face relaxed. You repeated your question.

"Don't know," he said, cracking open one eye to look at you. "Haven't died yet."

You giggled and he smiled, pulling you closer. He smelled so good. Like the rain and sex and smoke from the fire.

"I mean... do you think there's a heaven?"

He hummed and kissed the top of your head, his fingers lightly trailing up and down your bare arm.

"Yeah, I do."

You swallowed nervously and drew invisible circles into his skin, making him shiver.

"Do you think..." you trailed off and he froze, picking up on your tone.

"What, darlin'?"

"Do you think we'll make it? To heaven, I mean?"

His eyebrows pinched together. "Why wouldn't we?"

"You know why," you replied softly, "we've done bad things, Joel."

"Yeah, but we ain't bad people," he reminded you, then rolled over, pushing you onto your back so his arms caged you in. One knee slotted between yours and you spread your legs, hooking your ankles around the backs of his thighs.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he said, dipping his chin down and pressing his lips firmly against yours. You sighed, your shoulders finally relaxing. "Besides, this is heaven right here," he murmured against your mouth, feeling you smile.

"Ain't nothin' better than this."

You awoke with a gasp, your heart fluttering wildly in your chest. That was the first time you had a dream about Joel, and something about it made you uneasy.

You had slept in his bed the entire week, wrapped in his clothes, and today was the day you had expected him to come home. Shrugging off the dream to no more than your subconscious fixated on his return, you forced yourself to get out of bed, fixing the sheets so it wouldn't look like you had been sleeping there and then headed to your room to change and freshen up.

The past couple days you had secretly hoped he would come back sooner but you refused to let it show. If Ellie or Dina or Maria asked you about it, you played it cool, or at least you thought you did. But every night you stayed up as late as you could, curled up on the couch all alone, waiting. Every time someone walked by, your body stiffened and your pulse raced, expecting to hear his heavy footsteps walking up the porch, but they never came.

But today was the day. The seventh day. His note said a week, and you knew if Joel was alive, he would stick to his word.

His absence afforded you a lot of time to think. Time you didn't realize you desperately needed, and now that you were able to process everything clearly without his overwhelming presence muddying the waters, you felt confident you knew what you wanted now.

All day at work, you were distracted. Nick had to call your name repeatedly to get your attention on more than one occasion, and by the fifth time you felt guilty. He didn't say anything, though. He understood. By then, most of the town knew Joel had left. Word spread like wildfire, especially once the storm passed through. It didn't take a genius to figure out how difficult it would be to survive all alone in those conditions.

Then the rumors started.

You tried to ignore them, but it was hard. When people began drinking and getting loud in the dining hall, it was impossible not to hear.

When you heard a man claim he saw Joel's horse frozen in a river during patrol, you stopped going to the dining hall to eat.

It was dark, it was just a deer, Tommy had told you later after he went out to the river to check, but it still shook you up.

When the sun set on Jackson on the seventh day and Joel still hadn't returned, the fear began to take hold. Your stomach churned, making it impossible to eat the following morning. You had hardly slept, the bags under your eyes dark and heavy. Nick begged you to take the day off but you insisted you needed to stay busy, although it didn't help much. On your lunch break you tried to casually walk by the main gate, the one near the stables, hoping to catch a glimpse of him returning, but you had no such luck.

So you went back to work. You kept your hands busy, tried to keep your mind occupied, but it was impossible.

I'll spend the rest of my life makin' it up to you.

You couldn't get those words out of your head. The guilt was weighing you down as you grew worried that was going to be one of the last things he ever said to you.

"Went on a date the other night."

"With who?"

"Cindy, from the kitchen."

Ricky laughed heartily and Andrew smacked his shoulder with the back of his hand.

"Shut up, man. We're on watch, we can't be giving ourselves away."

"It's the middle of the goddamn night and we haven't seen any infected in weeks. It's too cold for them, they're all frozen somewhere waiting to thaw in the spring," Ricky said, shouldering his rifle.

"Yeah, but still. You never know. There's more than just infected out there."

Ricky chuckled and shook his head. "Tommy telling you ghost stories again?"

"Raiders ain't ghost stories, asshole," Andrew shot back.

"And raiders never make it this far up the mountains, asshole," Ricky replied, mocking Andrew's tone.

Andrew grumbled under his breath and strolled away from the tower, towards the gate, his eyes scanning the treeline. He couldn't see a damn thing. It was pitch black and deathly quiet.

He turned on his heel and began the slow walk back towards the tower where he could see Ricky unwrapping a granola bar and pulling a paperback book from his back pocket.

Just as he was about to chastise him for letting his guard down, he heard twigs snapping in the woods. He whipped around, bringing his rifle up so he could get a better look with his scope.

"What the hell was that?" Ricky's whisper materialized in his ear.

"Dunno. Something's out there."

Ricky lifted his own rifle and scanned the trees as well, both of them holding their breath, waiting for another noise.

"Maybe-"

Then they heard more twigs snapping and pine trees raking against fabric. Louder this time.

"Fuck," Ricky muttered nervously, his palms growing sweaty inside his gloves.

"There," Andrew said lowly, and Ricky followed his aim. Something was approaching in the dark. Something big.

"I got it."

"No, just wait a second," Andrew said, squinting through the scope. Then his jaw went slack when he realized what it was.

"It's a horse."

"What?"

"It's a fucking horse, bro," Andrew repeated, his voice rising a little.

When it finally emerged from the forest, they saw the rider slumped over, covered in snow, their face buried in the horse's mane.

"Holy shit," Andrew said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and racing towards the ladder. "Radio Tommy!"

"W-what do I say?" Ricky stammered, fumbling with the radio dial.

"Tell him it's Joel!"

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[thatfeelinwhenyou]

SAFE & SOUND — part 1

Navigating one year post-apocalypse, when the dead began to walk and the living proved to be no better, you decide that trust is a luxury you can no longer afford. But after a run-in with a group of seven peculiar survivors, you learn that there are bigger problems than just the undead roaming the streets. You also start to wonder if there’s more to survival than simply staying alive.

word count: 14k

MASTERLIST

Rotten.

The can of tuna you’ve risked your life to retrieve from the mart in the next neighbourhood is rotten. Just like everything else roaming the streets.

The smell hits you first, sharp and metallic, curling through the air like a mocking laugh. It’s only when you peer into the greyish sludge that you know for sure. Gagging, you launch the can across the dimly lit room. The clang as it hits the wall feels louder than it should, echoing against the hollow silence. A greasy smear marks its path before it rolls to a stop.

Your stomach tightens, but not from hunger—not entirely. It’s exhaustion, or frustration, or both, a familiar cocktail of feelings that churns in your gut. You press a hand to your stomach, willing it to stay quiet. The small victories matter now, even if they’re as simple as keeping quiet.

“Figures,” you mutter, wiping your hands on the knees of your tattered jeans. The word feels heavy in the thick silence of the abandoned community building you’ve been calling home—a makeshift fortress that’s only just kept you alive for the past year.

The windows are boarded up with planks you scavenged from nearby wreckage, letting in only the faintest cracks of moonlight, casting fractured shadows on the walls. The small corner where you sleep is enclosed by a barricade of furniture you've managed to tie together with ropes and scraps of cloth you’ve gathered. It’s not perfect, but it’s held so far.

Outside, the telltale groans of the undead float through the night air, mingling with the distant sound of screams and breaking glass. You’ve learned to tune it out, to pretend that the world hasn’t fallen apart.

But every so often, when the noises grow too close or too many, the illusion shatters, leaving behind a pit of fear in your stomach that no amount of fortification can fill.

You lean back, letting your head hit the wall. The cracks in the paint catch against the rough weave of your jacket, the sound gritty and small. Your mind drifts back to that fateful day, the day everything went to shit.

You’d only been living in Seoul for a month, you were barely unpacked, just starting to memorise the labyrinth of subway lines, the shortcuts to your university. University acceptance had felt like the first step towards something bigger, something brighter. You can still see your parents’ faces, lit with pride, when you shared the news. Getting into a university in Seoul—it’s like gaining instant bragging rights for life.

Except now, none of it matters. Those things out there couldn’t care less about your alma mater, whether you’re earning a six-figure salary or pulled from the gutter. To them, you’re just another meal on legs—flesh, blood, and bone all blending into the same, mindless craving.

You’d always thought you’d know what to do in a zombie apocalypse. Every movie and survival guide said the same thing:

Avoid the cities. Get out fast.

So when the news started to break, you didn’t hesitate. You grabbed a bag—essentials only—and set out, determined to make it back to your parents in the province. You didn’t even pause to think about how impossible it might be.

But the city had other plans. You hadn’t even made it ten blocks before the streets were overrun. A tide of chaos, of screams and shoving bodies—alive and not—forced you off course.

The community building was a last-ditch refuge, its doors flung open to anyone desperate enough to run for them. You’d barely made it inside before the barricades went up. It wasn’t the plan, but then again, nothing about survival ever is.

At first, it felt like a haven. There were enough supplies to keep everyone fed—if barely. Dozens of survivors shared the space, most of them too old or too scared to leave. The rations were thin, one meal a day if you were lucky, but it was enough.

You and a handful of the younger survivors took turns venturing out, gathering what you could from nearby shops and houses. It wasn’t much, but it worked.

For a time.

When the convenience store was stripped bare, you moved to the supermarket. When that was picked clean, you ventured further. Each trip took you deeper into danger, the risk growing with every step. Supplies dwindled. The fear grew sharper, harder to ignore.

People started to die—some to the undead, others to hunger, and still others to the kind of cruelty that only surfaces when survival is on the line.

You learned quickly that it wasn’t just the zombies you had to fear. You’ve seen it firsthand: the way desperation changes people.

At first, it was small things—arguments over ration sizes, whispers of distrust. But then the small petty arguments turned into fights, and fights turned into bloodshed.

One by one, people either left to take their chances elsewhere or fell victim to the chaos within. A high school student, he had barely turned eighteen, stabbed a man over a tin of peaches. A woman abandoned her own mother to save herself when the barricade was breached.

Survival strips away more than flesh—it strips away the pretence of civility, leaving only the raw, animalistic instinct to endure at any cost. It’s not just the undead that keep you awake at night—it’s the memory of what people are capable of becoming.

So when the barricade failed during a particularly viscous storm and you’d barely escaped with your life, you dragged what little you could salvage to this corner of the building, patching up the holes as best as possible. Alone, because it was safer that way.

Now, alone in the faint light of your makeshift fortress, the weight of it all presses down on you. The loneliness, the hunger, the constant, gnawing terror—it’s all too much. But you shove it aside, because there’s no room for weakness here.

Weakness gets you killed.

Your stomach growls again, insistent, and you grit your teeth. You’ll have to go out again soon. The thought sends a chill through you, but there’s no other choice. Survival doesn’t wait for fear to subside.

Taking a deep breath, you stand and reach for your weapon—a rusted crowbar that’s seen more use than you’d like to admit. Tomorrow, you’ll go out again, search for food, risk what’s left of your life to keep it from ending.

For now, you sit in the dark and listen. To the groans. To the screams. To the sound of your own ragged breathing. And try not to dream.

A loud thunk from below jolts you awake, not that you were fully unconscious in the first place. Your entire body goes rigid as you strain to listen. Another thunk. Then a scrape, like something heavy being dragged across the ground floor. Your mind races—it could be the wind, or maybe another scavenger. Or it could be them.

Your grip on the crowbar tightens as you slowly push yourself off the floor. You tiptoe toward the staircase leading down to the lobby. The wooden stairs creak under your weight as you inch down them, and you wince at each sound. They might as well be gunshots in the stillness.

Sweat beads on your forehead as you reach the landing and peer into the dark hallway beyond. Shadows shift and flicker in the faint moonlight filtering through cracks in the boarded-up windows.

The dragging sound comes again, closer this time, and your grip tightens until the ridged metal of the crowbar bites into your skin. Then, a growl echoes from the darkness. Low. Guttural. Not human.

You back up instinctively, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum. Your foot catches on a loose piece of debris, and you stumble, barely catching yourself on the railing. The noise you make is small but loud enough to stir the growling into a frenzy. The shuffling grows faster, more erratic.

They’re coming.

“Shit,” you hiss under your breath, scrambling back up the stairs. You’ve rehearsed this scenario a hundred times in your head. Go to the second floor. Block the stairwell. Wait it out. It’s worked before, but something tells you this time is different. There’s too much noise, too many of them. And you’re already running low on supplies.

By the time you reach the top of the stairs, the first figure emerges into the faint light below. Its flesh hangs from its bones in sickly, yellowed strips. Empty eye sockets seem to bore into you as it lets out a chilling moan. Behind it, more shadows lurch into view, a grotesque parade of decay and hunger.

You’re out of time.

Slamming the door to the stairwell shut, you shove a heavy desk against it and wedge the crowbar beneath the handle for good measure. The door shudders almost immediately under the weight of their assault, the moans and growls growing louder with each passing second. You back away, your mind racing for an escape route.

Your eyes dart to the boarded-up windows. It’s a long drop, but there’s a fire escape just a few feet out of reach. If you can break through the boards and make the jump, you might stand a chance. It’s a gamble, but so is staying here

And if you’re being honest, you’d rather plunge to your death than be torn apart limb by limb.

Grabbing a chair, you smash it against the nearest window. The wood splinters and cracks, but it holds firm. Behind you, the door creaks ominously as the barricade begins to give way. Desperation fuels your next swing, and the boards finally snap, leaving a jagged hole just big enough to climb through.

You don’t think—you just act, hauling yourself up and out onto the narrow ledge outside. The cold night air hits your face, a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere inside. Below, the fire escape beckons. You take a deep breath, brace yourself, and leap.

For a moment, you’re weightless. Then your hands slam into the metal railing, and you scramble to pull yourself up. Your palms sting, and your muscles scream in protest, but you don’t let go. Not when survival is so close.

Behind you, the door finally gives way. The sound of splintering wood and the enraged cries of the undead spur you into action. You don’t look back as you climb down the fire escape, each step taking you further from the nightmare above, and closer to the nightmare below.

When your feet finally hit the ground, you allow yourself a moment to breathe. But it’s short-lived. The streets are no safer than the building you just escaped. Shadows move in the distance, and the faint echo of shuffling feet reminds you that you’re never truly alone.

With nothing but the clothes on your back, you start to run. You don’t know where you’re going—only that you can’t stop. Your legs burn, your lungs ache, but you keep moving, fuelled by a singular, desperate thought: keep going. Always keep going. Because if you stop, even for a moment, it’ll all be over.

The groans follow you, relentless and hungry. You don’t dare look back. Instead, you focus on the narrow alleyways and shadowed streets ahead, praying you don’t make a wrong turn.

You finally spot a building—an auto store with its doors hanging slightly ajar. Without thinking, you rush inside, slamming the door shut behind you. Your hands fumble for something—anything—to block it, and you grab a rusted toolbox, wedging it against the frame. It feels pathetic, barely a barrier, but you convince yourself it’s better than nothing.

Your breaths come fast and shallow as you scan the room. Rows of dusty shelves cluttered with tools and car parts stretch before you, their contents untouched for what feels like decades. The air is stale and heavy, carrying the faint tang of motor oil. For a fleeting moment, the oppressive noise of the streets is muffled, and you almost feel safe.

But the reprieve is short-lived.

Voices. Human voices. Low, urgent, and drawing closer.

Your stomach twists as panic sets in, sharp and paralysing. You reach for a loose screwdriver on the floor and dart behind a shelf, crouching low. Dust clings to your clothes as you press yourself against the cold metal, willing yourself to disappear.

The door creaks open, and the toolbox scrapes uselessly across the floor. You curse silently under your breath. What a waste of effort.

Boots scuff against the ground as they enter. Voices—male voices—filter through the stale air, rough and laced with tension. “That was close, fuck.” one mutters, his voice shaking. You can hear him catching his breath, the fear in his tone unmistakable.

Looks like you weren’t the only one running from the horde that came out of nowhere.

“What the hell is The Future doing in the city?” another snaps, frustration cutting through the hushed atmosphere.

The Future...?

"They're looking for us, what else?" a third man grunts, his voice deep and gravelly.

"Talk about obsessive,” a fourth says, anger simmering beneath. “We escaped more than six months ago. How are they still trying to track us down?"

“That community… they’re worse than the dead. I’d rather take my chances out here than go back there.” Five.

“You don’t get it. They’ll hunt us down. They always do,” Six.

"I mean… We stole almost six months’ worth of supplies. And a van. I'd hunt us too." This one is a little cheeky. Seven.

"Shut the fuck up,” the gravelly voice growls. “You think this is funny?”

Your mind races. A community hunting them? You’ve heard of survivors forming groups. Hell, you were part of one. But this… this sounds different. Darker.

You press yourself closer to the shelf, your gip on the screwdriver so tight your fingers cramp. Seven men, at least—that’s how many voices you can count. Could you take them? Absolutely not.

For now, the only option is to stay hidden. You force yourself to breathe slowly, silently, and focus on their words, desperate for answers. Whatever these men are running from, you need to know if it’s worse than what’s already out there—or if it’s heading straight for you.

Just then, a faint groan slices through the oppressive silence, this one agonisingly close. Your head snaps around, heart thundering against your ribs like a trapped bird.

Right there, not more than a foot away and obscured beneath a grimy sheet of cardboard, something stirs. The groan rises in pitch, raw and guttural, as the cardboard shifts, revealing a face ravaged by decay. Skin, or what’s left of it, clings to its skull in uneven patches, and its milky, dead eyes lock onto yours with an almost sentient hunger.

You freeze, the breath hitching in your chest as time seems to slow. The stench of rot floods your senses, almost choking you, and a cold sweat slicks your skin.

Before you can react, the creature lurches, its skeletal hand shooting out with horrifying speed. Filthy, jagged nails scrape against your leg, finding purchase in the fabric of your jeans and digging into the flesh beneath.

A piercing shriek tears from your throat—raw, primal, and louder than you intend. The sound ricochets off the walls, each echo feeding the panic clawing at your mind.

Desperation surges like a tidal wave, drowning out coherent thought. You kick wildly, your boot connecting with the thing’s chest, but its grip is unyielding. The screwdriver slips in your sweat-slicked palm as you fumble to raise it, your muscles trembling with adrenaline-fuelled terror. Its grip tightens, nails biting deeper, and for a moment, the sickening thought flashes through your mind: You’re not getting out of this.

But then instinct takes over. With a desperate cry, you swing the screwdriver down, the metal driving into its skull in a sickening crunch. the sound reverberating through the stillness like a death knell.

The zombie spasms, its hand loosening slightly, but not enough.

Your vision narrows, fury and survival instinct blending into a single, overpowering force. You strike again, and again, each impact a visceral symphony of shattering bone and yielding flesh. The stench grows worse, cloying and metallic, as blood splatters your hands and face.

Finally, the creature goes still, collapsing into a lifeless heap at your feet. Your chest heaves as you stagger back, the screwdriver slipping from your trembling fingers to clatter against the floor. The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the rasp of your own ragged breaths.

"Fuck," you whisper, the word barely audible over the pounding of your heart. Your gaze drifts down to the bloodied mess staining the floor, bile rising in your throat. You swallow hard, forcing it down. There’s no time for weakness—not now, not ever.

When you finally look up, your stomach twists into knots. Seven figures stand over you, their faces obscured by shadow but their postures unmistakably tense.

One of them steps closer, the metallic glint of a pistol catching the dim light. Your breath hitches as the cold barrel presses against your temple, its unforgiving weight a reminder of how precarious your situation has just become.

"Who the hell are you?" One of them growls, his voice low and dangerous. The question hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken threats, as you stare back at him, your mind scrambling for a response that might just keep you alive.

You swallow hard, your mouth dry as sandpaper. “Just… just a survivor,” you stammer, your voice barely a whisper. The cold barrel against your temple makes your skin crawl, but you force yourself to meet his gaze. Your heart pounds so loudly, you’re sure they can all hear it. “I didn’t know you’d be here. I’ll leave. Please.”

"Drop the act," another voice cuts in, this one sharp and impatient. "The speaker steps closer, his silhouette lean and wiry, eyes narrowed. “You think we’re stupid? You’ve been listening in.”

“What should we do with her?” someone else pipes up from the shadows. His tone is casual, but the words make your stomach drop. “She could be one of them.”

“I’m not!” you blurt, your words tumbling out in a rush. “I swear, I don’t even know who you’re talking about! I just ran in here to hide!”

The gunman doesn’t lower his weapon, his piercing gaze locked onto yours. The air is thick, suffocating, as he scans your face, searching for any hint of deceit. The silence stretches unbearably until someone else breaks it.

“There’s seven of us, and she’s a girl.” one points out, this one almost amused. His tone is light, but his eyes glint with curiosity. “Not exactly the kind The Future kept around. Didn’t they kill most of their women? Called them weak or some shit.”

"Doesn’t mean she’s not a threat," the gunman mutters, but the tension in his stance eases slightly. The barrel wavers, though it remains trained on you. "Start talking. What are you doing here?"

You take a shuddering breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts. "I was running from a horde," you say, jerking your head vaguely toward the door. Your voice is steadier now, but your trembling hands betray your fear.

“Where’s the rest of your group?” he asks, his tone laced with suspicion. “How many of you are there?”

“There’s no group,” you reply quickly, shaking your head. “It’s just me. I’ve been on my own for months.”

"On your own?" A man near the back crosses his arms, his posture sceptical. "That’s a load of bullshit. Nobody lasts this long alone." His blonde hair gleams faintly in the dim light, a beacon that would make him laughably easy to track in broad daylight. You wonder how someone so conspicuous has managed to survive this long, especially when they’re clearly being hunted.

"I’m telling the truth," you insist, your voice firm despite the quiver in your hands. “I’ve got nothing to hide. My place got overrun. I just needed somewhere to hide.”

“What place?” the blonde man carefully makes his way in front, crouching slightly, levelling his gaze with yours. The question hangs heavy, and you know your answer could mean the difference between life and death.

“A community building,” you answer, your voice quieter now. “It’s just down the street. I can show you if you don’t believe me.”

“Show us?” Another man scoffs. “You said it was overrun? Why the hell would we follow you to a place that’s crawling with them? Are you stupid?”

You bite back a retort, your frustration simmering beneath the surface. “I’m not lying,” you say, your voice sharper than before. “Look, I didn’t survive this long just to let a bunch of men decide whether to shoot me in my fucking head for being in the wrong place at the wrong bloody time.”

The man with the blonde hair tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he can’t quite solve. Then he speaks again, his tone quiet but firm. “Can we trust you?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you hold his gaze, unflinching, and nod once. Slowly, deliberately. For a moment, no one speaks. You can feel the weight of their stares, assessing, calculating.

Finally, a simple, subtle raise of the blonde’s hand is all it takes for the gunman to lower his pistol. The others, though still wary, seem to follow his lead. Relief washes over you, but you keep your face neutral, refusing to show weakness.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Jungwon.”

His name is Jungwon. It strikes you as a strangely gentle name—garden—yet nothing about him feels soft.

"If you’re lying," Jungwon warns, his tone like steel, "you won’t get a second chance." It doesn’t take long for you to realise—he’s the leader.

“I understand,” you reply, your throat tight. The words feel hollow, but they’re all you can offer.

"What’s your name?" one of them asks, his voice brighter but no less wary.

"Y/N," you reply. "And you?"

He hesitates before giving you a small, guarded smile. “Sunoo. And don’t get any funny ideas. We’re a small group, but we bite.”

The faint attempt at levity doesn’t go unnoticed, but it does little to ease the knot in your stomach. You nod again, glancing at the others. Their eyes still linger on you, like predators sizing up prey.

“You said there’s a horde,” Jungwon says, cutting through the moment. His tone is all business now. “Where’s it coming from?”

“South,” you say, your voice steady but curious. “Wait, weren’t you lot running from it too?” Your eyebrow arches as you ask, testing the waters.

“Don’t ask too many questions, or I might just kill you,” the same man who held the pistol to your head snaps, his tone as sharp as the glare he fixes on you. Tough one, you think grimly. Definitely not the friendly type.

“How big is it—the horde?” he demands, his words clipped and impatient. His posture is rigid, his eyes narrowing as though he’s daring you to lie.

“Big enough,” you answer grimly, your voice heavy with the weight of what’s chasing you. The memory of the mass of undead flashes in your mind—their grotesque forms, the relentless moans. You push it aside, forcing yourself to focus. “They’re close. If we stay here much longer, they’ll find us.”

Jungwon doesn’t hesitate. “Then we move,” he declares, his voice calm but firm, leaving no room for debate. It’s a tone you’ve heard before in those who’ve seen too much, those who lead because no one else will. “Grab your things. We leave in five.”

You swallow hard, scanning their faces. They’re already moving, collecting bags and makeshift weapons, their movements practised and efficient. You take a breath, forcing your hands to stop shaking.

“There’s a motel north-east from here, just off the horde’s course.” you say, stepping forward slightly, trying to sound confident. “I cleared it out once when I couldn’t get back to the community building. I can take you there, wait for the horde to pass, and then I’ll be on my way.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you feel the tension in the room shift. The air grows heavier, colder.

Jungwon’s sharp gaze locks onto yours, his expression unreadable, but it’s not him who speaks. The man with the sharp tongue—the one who held a pistol to your head earlier—lets out a humourless laugh. “Who said anything about letting you go?” he says, his voice dripping with malice, as though your suggestion was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard.

The silence that follows his words feels suffocating, heavier than the looming threat of the undead outside. You try to keep your expression neutral, but the knot in your stomach tightens with each passing second. Your eyes flick to Jungwon, hoping for some sort of reprieve, but his face remains impassive, impossible to read.

“I’m not looking for trouble,” you say carefully, your voice steady despite the tremor in your hands. “I’ve survived this long on my own. I don’t need your help, and I don’t want to be in your way.”

The gunman scoffs, the corner of his mouth curling in disdain. “Bold words for someone who had a gun to their head five minutes ago.”

“Enough,” Jungwon cuts in, his voice slicing through the tension like a knife. The others fall silent, though their postures remain taut, their eyes still fixed on you. He steps forward, his movements slow and deliberate, as if gauging your reaction with every step.

“We don’t know you,” he says, his voice measured but carrying an edge of steel. “You could be useful, or you could be a liability. Either way, we’re not taking risks.”

Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to stand your ground. “I’ve already told you—I’m not with anyone. No group, no weapons, no agenda. Just me. If you think I’m lying, you’re wasting your time.”

He watches you for a moment longer, his dark eyes scanning your face for cracks in your resolve. Finally, he speaks. “You’ll come with us,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We’ll see what you’re worth.”

Your stomach twists, the flicker of hope you’d allowed yourself extinguished in an instant. Your jaw clenches, but you nod. There’s no point in arguing—not when they hold all the cards.

“What if she’s dead weight?” the pistol-wielding man mutters, his arms crossed as he glares at you.

“Then she’ll stay behind,” Jungwon replies coldly, his eyes still locked on yours. The words send a shiver down your spine, but you refuse to flinch.

The group moves quickly, their actions smooth and practised as they gather their supplies. You take a moment to glance at their makeshift arsenal—rusted blades, a machete, a pistol with a half-empty box of ammo. It’s not much, but it’s enough to survive. Barely.

Jungwon’s voice cuts through the room again. “Time’s up. Let’s go.”

The group falls into formation, their movements synchronised, like they’ve done this a hundred times before. You find yourself in the middle, flanked on all sides, nothing to defend yourself with. Even the mere rusty screwdriver taken away from you.

Their message is clear: you’re not one of them. They don’t trust you.

As you step out into the night, the cool air hits your face, a sharp contrast to the oppressive heat of the room. The streets are eerily quiet, the faint groans of the undead carried on the wind. Your heart pounds in your chest as you scan the shadows, every instinct screaming at you to run. But there’s nowhere to go—not empty-handed, and certainly not without them gunning you down before you even make five feet.

Jungwon takes the lead, his blonde hair catching the faint glow of the moon as he moves with purpose. You follow closely, your senses on high alert. Every shuffle of movement, every distant sound sets your nerves on edge.

Sunoo sidles up next to you, his steps light and almost casual, though the wariness in his eyes lingers. “Don’t let Jay get to you,” he says in a low voice, his lips curving into a faint smile. “That grump always tries to come off scarier than he is. He’s actually a bit of a softie.”

Jay. The name sticks in your mind, sharp and blunt at the same time, just like the man it belongs to. You glance over at him—his posture rigid, eyes scanning the shadows like a hawk. There’s nothing soft about him now, not the way he grips the pistol or the sharp edge to his jaw as he walks a few paces ahead.

“A softie?” you murmur back, your voice sceptical. “He doesn’t look the type.”

Sunoo chuckles quietly, his expression lightening. “Oh, he’s a pain in the ass, no doubt about that. But trust me, when it comes down to it, Jay always looks after the group. Even if he’s a bit dramatic about it.”

You don’t know whether to take that as reassurance or a warning.

“Does he look after the strays too?” you ask, your tone laced with cautious humour.

Sunoo raises an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a playful smile. “That depends,” he says, his tone light yet probing. “Are you planning to stay a stray?”

You don’t reply, and the silence stretches just long enough for it to become uncomfortable. Sunoo seems to take the hint, letting the question hang unanswered. His smile fades slightly, but he doesn’t press further.

Instead, he shifts gears, his voice dropping low enough to avoid drawing the attention of the others. “So, this motel of yours,” he begins, tilting his head. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” you reply, keeping your voice steady, though the scepticism in his tone pricks at you. “It’s just a place I found. Empty, at least the last time I checked.”

“And if it’s not?” he presses, his brow furrowing as his sharp eyes flick to your face. There’s no malice there, just careful calculation, as if he’s trying to figure out if you’re bluffing.

“Then we’ll deal with it,” you say firmly. “Like I’ve dealt with everything else.”

He studies you for a moment longer before nodding, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips. “Fair enough.”

You nod back, though your attention is already shifting, your gaze flicking from Sunoo to Jungwon, before landing on Jay. He hasn’t so much as glanced in your direction since leaving the shop, but you can feel the weight of his presence, like a storm cloud hanging overhead. Softie or not, there’s no denying he’s dangerous.

This whole group is dangerous. Not just in the way they pointed a gun at your head. You’d have done the same if the roles were reversed.

No, it’s something deeper than that. It’s in the way they move together, a silent understanding passing between them. It’s in the way they trust each other without needing to speak. That trust feels foreign to you.

Distrust is second nature now, woven into every fibre of your being. It has kept you alive, but here, it feels like a barrier, separating you from the unspoken bond that holds them together. They don’t trust you, and you can’t blame them. You’re the outsider, the unknown element, and trust is a commodity none of you can afford to give freely—not for you, and certainly not for them.

The group moves swiftly through the shadowed streets, their footsteps light but purposeful. You walk in the middle of their formation, acutely aware of how exposed you all are. Every darkened alley, every overturned car feels like a trap waiting to spring.

Suddenly, Jungwon raises a hand, his entire body going still. The shift is immediate—the group halts in unison, their movements instinctive, like a well-oiled machine. Your breath catches, your heart pounding like a drum as you strain your ears. At first, there’s nothing but the faint rustling of the wind. Then you hear it—shuffling, faint but unmistakable, just ahead.

“Eyes up,” Jay mutters, his voice barely above a whisper as he tightens his grip on the pistol.

The group edges closer to the corner of a crumbling building, each step measured and deliberate. Jungwon moves first, peering around the edge with slow precision. His posture stiffens, and when he pulls back, his expression is grim.

“A group of them, about thirty, maybe more.” You feel a chill run down your spine.

“South?” Jay hisses, his sharp glare cutting through the dim light as he looks over his shoulder at you. “You said they were coming from the south.”

“They are,” you snap back defensively, lowering your voice but unable to hide the edge in your tone. “How was I supposed to know they’re crawling here too?”

Jay lets out a low, humourless laugh, his head shaking lightly. “This is exactly why we didn’t believe you when you said you survived the city all alone.”

Before you can respond, a voice cuts through the rising tension. “Now’s not the time for this,” someone says—the voice calm but clipped, firm enough to settle the brewing argument. You glance towards the speaker, realising you still haven’t put a name to his face. “Why are there so many of them tonight?”

You shake your head, the unease in your chest growing heavier. “Tonight is… different,” you admit, your voice wavering slightly. “There seem to be more of them roaming the streets. It’s like something’s drawn them here.”

“Yeah, like a scream of some sort.” The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. Slowly, one by one, the group turns their heads toward you.

Your stomach drops, and you open your mouth to protest, but the conversation is cut short by a sudden, guttural growl. One of the zombies has noticed you. Its milky, lifeless eyes locking onto the group as it lets out a low, haunting moan.

“Shit,” Jungwon mutters under his breath, his grip tightening on the hilt of his blade.

The moan spreads like a signal, the rest of the horde turning their decayed heads in unison. Their shuffling quickens, their jerky movements laced with unnatural determination.

“Here they come,” Jay snaps, his voice sharp as he raises his pistol.

“Sunghoon, they’re coming from the back too!” Sunoo’s voice rises in alarm, his gaze darting to the rear of the group. You whip your head around, your blood running cold as more figures stumble into view behind you.

“We can’t fight them all,” Sunghoon says, panic bleeding into his usually calm tone.

For a moment, everything feels suspended—the groans of the undead growing louder, the sharp intakes of breath from the group, the suffocating realisation that escape is narrowing with every passing second. Then, with a voice like tempered steel, Jungwon breaks the paralysis.

“Move!” he commands, his voice slicing through the chaos.

The group breaks into a run, weaving through the narrow streets and abandoned cars. The sound of shuffling feet and guttural growls follows close behind, a relentless reminder of what’s chasing you.

Your lungs burn, and your legs ache, but you keep moving, driven by pure adrenaline. As you round a corner, the motel comes into view—a squat, two-storey building with boarded-up windows. Relief surges through you, but it’s fleeting. The dead are still on your heels.

“There!” you shout, pointing toward the motel. “We can barricade ourselves inside!”

Jungwon nods, taking the lead as the group sprints toward the building. Jay fires a few shots over his shoulder, each one finding its mark, but it only slows the horde momentarily.

“Go, go, go!” Sunoo yells, holding the door open as the group piles inside.

The moment you’re inside, you move instinctively, grabbing a nearby desk and shoving it against the door with Sunghoon’s help. The others pile on whatever they can find—chairs, shelves, anything to hold the door shut. The pounding starts almost immediately, a grim reminder of how little time you have.

“We can’t stay here,” says someone whose name you haven’t learned, his voice trembling as he steps back, his wide eyes darting between the barricade and the rest of the group. “They’ll break through eventually.”

Jungwon turns to you, his dark, calculating eyes pinning you in place. “You said you cleared this place before,” he says, his voice steady despite the chaos. “Is there another way out?”

“There’s a back exit,” you say, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “But it’s narrow. If they cut us off—”

“We don’t have a choice,” Jungwon interrupts. “We’ll make it work.”

The pounding intensifies, the barricade creaking under the strain. The group exchanges tense glances, their exhaustion mirrored in each other’s faces. Your palms are slick with sweat as you clench your fists, the urge to act warring with the mounting dread in your gut.

“Let’s go,” Jungwon says sharply, gesturing for the group to fall into formation. He starts toward the back, his movements quick and precise, but you grab the edge of his shirt, stopping him in his tracks.

“Give me a weapon to defend myself with,” you say, your voice low but firm.

“No,” he replies instantly, not even breaking his stride.

Your grip tightens, forcing him to pause. “Jungwon,” you say, your tone urgent but measured, “I can see you care a lot about your group. I also know that when push comes to shove, I won’t be your priority. If you can’t guarantee my safety, then I need something to defend myself with.”

He hesitates, his brow furrowing deeply. The pounding against the barricade grows louder, each crash like a warning bell, and you can feel the impatience bubbling beneath your skin.

“Please,” you press, your voice softening but losing none of its intensity.

For a moment, he stares at you, the tension in his jaw betraying his internal debate. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he reaches into his belt and pulls out a small, serrated knife. “Fine,” he says, his tone clipped, handing it to you. “But you stay close to me. No exceptions.”

Relief floods through you as you take the weapon, the cool metal solid and reassuring in your hand. “Understood,” you say, nodding quickly.

“Move!” Jungwon orders, his voice cutting through the noise. The group springs into action, heading toward the narrow corridor that leads to the back exit. Your heart pounds as you grip the knife tightly, your eyes darting to the barricade one last time.

The group moves quickly, the narrow corridor pressing in on all sides. Every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet feels deafening, every shadow a potential ambush. Jungwon leads the way, his blade gleaming faintly in the dim light as he keeps his focus locked on the path ahead.

“Stay close,” he mutters, glancing back at you for a fraction of a second before returning his attention forward.

The pounding on the barricade grows faint behind you, but a new sound takes its place—the unmistakable shuffle and groans of the undead echoing off the walls. The noise comes from ahead and behind, a cruel symphony that makes your stomach churn.

You’re surrounded.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” you don’t even know who is speaking, all you can tell is—he’s panicking.

The group halts, frozen as the reality of your situation sinks in. Jay takes a sharp breath, glancing over his shoulder. “They’ve cut us off,” he says grimly. “We’re trapped.”

“Keep moving,” Jungwon orders, though his voice is taut with tension. “We fight through. There’s no other choice.”

As if on cue, a wave of zombies emerges from the shadows ahead. Their decayed faces twist into grotesque mockeries of hunger, their milky eyes locking onto the group. The moans grow louder, their jerky movements speeding up as they close the distance.

Raising his pistol, Jay fires a clean shot, dropping the lead zombie, but the rest surge forward undeterred.

You tighten your grip on the knife Jungwon gave you, your palms sweaty. The first zombie lunges, and Jungwon meets it head-on, his blade diving into its skull with practiced precision. Another takes its place immediately, forcing him back.

“Behind you!” you yell, spotting movement in the shadows. A zombie stumbles toward Jungwon, its bony hands reaching for him.

Without thinking, you surge forward, driving your knife into its temple before it can lay a hand on him. The impact sends a jolt through your arm, but the creature collapses instantly, its lifeless body hitting the ground at Jungwon’s feet.

He spins around, his eyes widening for a split second before narrowing in acknowledgment. “Thanks,” he mutters, before plunging his blade into another.

You barely have time to catch your breath before you spot it—a narrow opening in the wall ahead, barely visible in the chaos. It’s just large enough to squeeze through, and beyond it, you can see an open street.

Your heart pounds as the thought crystallises in your mind: freedom. You could run. You could escape. You could leave all of this behind and save yourself.

The idea is tempting. The promise of survival so close you can almost taste it. But as quickly as it takes root, something stronger rises to smother it. Something within you that won’t allow you to abandon them. These people—dangerous and distrustful as they are—are fighting to survive, just like you.

Your gaze flickers back to the group. Jungwon, his blade slicing through the air with deadly precision, glances back to check on Jay before taking on another zombie. Jay’s pistol rings out, his shots deliberate and controlled, his sharp eyes scanning for threats to the others. Sunghoon swings a crowbar with brute force, stepping in to shield Sunoo when he falters.

They’re… looking out for each other…?

You hesitate, the knife in your hand growing heavier with every passing second. It’s not just survival fueling them—it’s something more. Something you haven’t seen in a long time.

After everything—the chaos, the selfishness, the betrayal—you didn’t think there was any humanity left in people. Not after what went down at the community building.

You’ve seen what desperation does to people, how it strips them bare, leaving nothing but fear and greed in its wake. You can still see the faces of the ones who abandoned their own blood. The ones who took more than their share, who fought over scraps while others starved, who left others behind to die just to save themselves.

And yet, here you are, watching this ragtag group fight not just for themselves, but for each other.

There’s something different about the way they move. It’s primal, yes, but not animalistic. They swing their weapons with purpose, shouting warnings to each other, putting themselves in danger to keep one another alive—not because they have to, but because they choose to.

They’re holding on to something—civility, camaraderie, maybe hope. Or maybe it’s the uncanny refusal to let go of what makes them human, even when the world around them is anything but. It makes your chest ache, this flicker of humanity you thought was long dead.

You aren’t sure why—not entirely. Maybe it’s the look of determination on their faces. Maybe it’s that fleeting look of surprise in Jungwon’s eyes when you saved him that stays with you. The unspoken gratitude, the trust he gave you in return. Maybe it’s the fire in your chest that refuses to let you be like the others, the ones who ran when things got hard. To hold on to what little humanity you have left. Or maybe it’s something simpler: you just don’t want to survive alone anymore.

Your gaze shifts back to the horde. More are flooding into the corridor from both sides, their moans growing louder. The group is outnumbered, overwhelmed. If you leave now, they won’t make it.

Your grip on the knife tightens as the choice solidifies in your mind. The opening in the wall calls to you, but you can’t move toward it. Not when they’re still fighting. Not when leaving would mean becoming one of them.

You take a step forward instead, slashing at the nearest zombie before it can reach Jay. The creature collapses, and Jay’s head snaps toward you, confusion flickering across his face. He doesn’t say anything, just nods once, almost imperceptibly, before firing at the next target.

The path forward is a blur of movement and noise. You don’t think, don’t question. You just fight.

“Over there!” you shout, pointing to the opening. “There’s a way out!”

Jungwon’s head snaps up at your words, his dark eyes meeting yours. Something flickers across his face—something unreadable, a mix of surprise and something else you can’t quite place. He nods sharply, his voice steady even as chaos erupts around him. “Stay with me,” he orders. “We’ll make it out together.”

The group presses forward, fighting with renewed determination. You stand your ground, slashing at anything that comes too close, your heart pounding as adrenaline fuels every movement. The horde presses in, relentless, but inch by inch, you force your way toward the opening. For reasons you can’t fully explain, you stay close to them.

Jungwon moves ahead, his blade a blur as he carves through the oncoming zombies. You’re at the rear now, turning back occasionally to strike at anything that gets too close.

A zombie lunges from the side, its grotesque face inches from you before you drive your knife into its eye socket. The creature crumples, but the force of it pulls you off balance, and you stumble, landing hard on one knee.

“Get up!” Jay barks, his voice sharp but charged with urgency. He fires a shot over your shoulder, the bullet whizzing past to take down another zombie that had been closing in on you.

You scramble to your feet, gripping your knife with renewed determination. The narrow opening is only a few feet away now, and the others are already pushing through. Sunoo slips through first, then Sunghoon, the two of them pulling at debris on the other side to clear the way for the rest of you.

“Move, move!” Jungwon shouts, his voice cutting through the cacophony. He’s still holding the line, his blade flashing in the dim light as he keeps the horde at bay.

You shove Jay forward toward the opening, your pulse racing. “Go!”

With a grim nod, Jay ducks through the opening, leaving you and Jungwon alone with the horde. The zombies are almost upon you now, their grotesque moans filling the narrow space. Jungwon glances at you, his face slick with sweat and streaked with blood.

“You first,” he says, his tone brooking no argument.

“Not a chance,” you shoot back, slashing at a zombie that gets too close. The blade slices through its rotted neck, sending its head lolling to the side as its body collapses. “They need you. I’ll be right behind.”

For a moment, he stares at you, something flickering in his dark eyes—frustration, maybe, or something closer to understanding. Then he nods once, a sharp, decisive motion, and the two of you fall into a rhythm. His blade swings high while your knife strikes low, each movement synchronised as if you’ve been fighting together for years.

The opening is right there, but the horde is closing in fast. A zombie lunges at Jungwon from his blind spot, and before you can think, you shove him aside, your knife plunging into the creature’s chest. The impact sends both you and the zombie crashing to the ground, the stench of rot filling your nose as you wrestle against its weight.

“Y/N!” Jungwon’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp and commanding. He pulls the zombie off you in one fluid motion, driving his blade into its skull. “Get up, now!”

He hauls you to your feet, his grip firm but not unkind, and together you bolt for the opening. The others are waiting on the other side, their faces pale and drawn but alive. Sunghoon reaches out, grabbing your arm to pull you through just as the horde slams into the debris you’d hastily piled to block the passage.

The group collapses onto the open street, panting and bloodied but alive. The sound of the horde pounding against the barricade is deafening, but it holds—at least for now.

“Everyone okay?” Jungwon asks, his voice steadier than it has any right to be. His eyes scan the group, lingering on you for a fraction of a second longer than the others.

“Barely,” Sunoo mutters, leaning heavily on Sunghoon. “That was too close.”

Jay stands a few feet away, reloading his pistol with practised efficiency. He glances at you, his expression unreadable. “You could’ve run,” he says flatly, though there’s something in his tone that isn’t quite accusatory.

You meet his gaze, your grip tightening on the bloodied knife in your hand. “So could you.”

Jay snorts, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Fair enough.”

Jungwon steps forward, his blade still clutched tightly in his hand. “We need to keep moving,” he says, his tone brisk but quieter now. “The noise will draw more of them.”

You nod, your heart still racing as you fall into step with the group. The streets ahead stretch out in shadowed uncertainty, but for the first time, you feel a flicker of something you haven’t felt in a long time. In the presence of people—people who aren’t trying to eat or kill you.

When the group reaches the edge of Seoul, where cracked asphalt gives way to gravel and the looming forest stretches into the horizon, everyone stops. The air is thick with tension, the only sounds the distant rustle of leaves and the crunch of boots on dirt. The group exchanges wary glances, but it’s Jay who breaks the silence.

“Surely she’s not coming with us back to camp,” he says bluntly, his voice cutting through the stillness like a knife. His pistol hangs loose in his hand, though his sharp gaze flicks to you with suspicion. Then, he turns to Jungwon. “We still don’t know anything about her.”

“She helped us escape,” one of them counters, his voice steady but calm. He’s tall, with an easy confidence, though his tone carries just enough weight to make Jay glance at him. “That’s got to count for something, doesn’t it?”

Jay doesn’t look convinced. “It doesn’t mean she’s not a liability, Heeseung.” he counters, his voice clipped. “We’ve all seen how that ends.”

“I’m standing right here, you know,” you say, your tone flat but laced with frustration. You’re too tired to hide the edge in your voice. “If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t have stuck around to help.”

“Helping doesn’t mean you’re trustworthy,” Jay shoots back, narrowing his eyes. “Plenty of people are helpful—until they aren’t. Jake, why don’t you remind Jungwon what happened the last time we trusted someone?”

Jake—leaning against a nearby tree with his arms crossed—glances at Jay before speaking. His voice is lighter, more measured, but no less pointed. “She was armed,” he says, nodding toward the knife still clutched in your hand. “If she wanted to hurt us, she’d have done it by now.”

“She practically did,” Jay fires back, his glare intensifying. “With the way she brought that horde down on us.”

You stiffen, your exhaustion bubbling over into anger. “If you think my pathetic little scream brought in a horde that big, then you must be denser than I thought." you bite out, your tone dripping with incredulity,

Jay takes a step closer, his expression darkening. “Then why don’t you care to explain why there were so many of them tonight? You said so yourself—it’s different. Something’s drawn them here.”

The accusation hangs heavy in the air, each word sharp and biting. Your chest tightens, frustration mingling with the lingering fear from earlier. “How the hell would I know?” you snap, your voice rising slightly before you force it down. “You think I have all the answers? I’ve been on my own for months. I don’t know what’s out there any more than you do.”

“Exactly,” Jay counters, his voice cold. “You’ve been on your own. No one to vouch for you. No one to trust you. Why should we be the ones to take that risk?”

You open your mouth to argue, but Jungwon raises a hand, silencing the brewing argument. “Enough,” he says, his voice calm but commanding.

“You said you’ve been on your own." Jungwon turns to you, his dark eyes meeting yours, unblinking.

You nod slowly, meeting his gaze with as much calm as you can muster. “That’s right.”

“Then why didn’t you run?” Jungwon asks, his voice softer now, though no less searching. “You could’ve left when you saw that opening.”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and weighted with meaning. For a moment, you hesitate, your chest tightening. The truth feels raw, vulnerable, but you know it’s the only chance you have. “Because I’ve seen what happens when people leave others behind,” you say quietly, your voice steady but laced with emotion. “I… was left behind. It’s not who I want to be.”

The group falls into an uneasy silence. Even Jay says nothing, though his expression remains guarded. Sunoo glances between you and Jungwon, his face unreadable. Heeseung exhales slowly, lowering his machete just slightly, his knuckles no longer white from gripping the handle.

“She doesn’t seem like a threat to me,” Sunoo finally says, his tone softer now. “Besides, what’s one more person? It’s not like we’re overflowing with allies.”

“She could slow us down,” Jay argues, though his earlier venom seems to have dulled. “What if she can’t keep up?”

“I kept up with you just fine back there,” you snap, the words spilling out before you can stop.

“And she saved Jungwon. Knife to the skull. Pretty impressive, actually.” says the cheeky one you remember from the auto shop. His tone is casual, but it carries just enough humour to make Jungwon roll his eyes.

“Very funny, Ni-ki,” Jungwon says, exhaling through his nose. His expression remains unreadable as his gaze sweeps over the group.

He’s quiet for a moment, clearly weighing the risks, before finally speaking. “She comes with us, we'll figure the rest out at camp." he states firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Jay mutters something under his breath, but he doesn’t protest further. Sunoo gives you a quick smile, while Heeseung offers a small nod. Ni-ki shrugs, already turning back toward the forest path.

The journey to the camp is long and fraught with silence. The group moves with practised precision, their formation tight as they navigate the dark, twisting paths that grow denser with every step. You trail close behind, clutching your knife tightly. The blood and sweat drying on your skin makes you feel grimy, but the real discomfort comes from the sharp looks Jay still throws your way whenever he glances back.

Eventually, the dense trees give way to a clearing, revealing the camp nestled among towering pines. A cluster of tents, a single battered van, and a manmade lean-to are scattered around the space, surrounded by a crude barricade of fallen logs and scavenged metal.

“Home sweet home,” Sunoo mutters, his voice tinged with fatigue as he pulls the barricade open just wide enough for the group to slip through. The camp is eerily quiet, save for the distant rustling of the forest.

You glance around, scanning the area for signs of other people, but it becomes clear that the group before you is all there is.

Weird. They don’t have much, but leaving an entire camp unattended like that is reckless, bordering on suicidal. It’s the kind of decision that makes you question their judgment.

Now you’re even more confused about your perception of these people. Are they confident? Brave? Or are they simply stupid?

It’s hard to tell.

But whatever the reason, it leaves you uneasy. Because in a world like this, confidence and bravery can look an awful lot like arrogance—and arrogance gets people killed.

“Who’s on first watch tonight?” Jungwon asks, his tone brisk and businesslike as his eyes sweep the camp.

“Jake and Ni-ki,” Heeseung replies, dropping his machete with a heavy sigh.

“Erm... both of them are already passed out over there.” Sunghoon’s voice is dry, almost amused, as he points toward the lean-to.

Your gaze follows his finger, and sure enough, you spot two figures sprawled out on the uneven ground, tangled in what looks like a half-hearted attempt at bedding. One of them is snoring softly, an arm flung carelessly over his face, while the other lies curled into himself, his back rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. They’ve managed to find the least uncomfortable positions possible in a place like this, but it’s clear they’re out cold.

Jungwon pinches the bridge of his nose, a gesture that speaks to his weariness more than any words could. “Brilliant,” he mutters under his breath, the exasperation in his tone cutting through the quiet. He looks like a man who carries the weight of everyone around him, even when he doesn’t want to.

The group shifts awkwardly, the tension thick enough to press against your chest. Your fingers twitch around the handle of your knife, an unconscious reflex as you weigh your options. You don’t owe these people anything. And yet, when the words leave your mouth, they surprise even you.

“I can take first watch, and one of you can cover me after.” Your voice is steady, but the exhaustion leaks through at the edges. You don’t offer because you feel like you owe them. No, the truth is simpler: you know you won’t sleep. Even with your body screaming for rest, every muscle and bone aching from the day’s events, your mind is wide awake. Very, very awake.

Jay scoffs immediately, the sound sharp and derisive. “Like hell we would leave you on watch alone, what if you run?”

The comment makes your blood simmer, but you clamp down on the flare of frustration. Instead, you meet his glare with a level stare. “Jay, I’m really not in the mood to argue with you,” you say, your tone firm but not aggressive. “If you don’t trust me, then you can take first watch with me.”

The challenge in your voice is unmistakable, and it hangs in the air between you like a taut string. Jay’s lips press into a thin line, his gaze hardening as though he’s deciding whether to call your bluff. You hold his stare, refusing to back down, even as the silence stretches.

Your heartbeat drums in your ears, but you keep your expression steady, determined not to show weakness. You don’t know if they’ll ever trust you, but you’ve survived too long to let someone like Jay intimidate you now.

Jungwon sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose again, as though trying to contain the growing tension in the camp. Finally, he lowers his hand and looks at Jay, his expression firm but calm. “I’ll take the first watch with her,” he says, his tone leaving no room for debate.

Jay’s mouth opens, likely to argue, but Jungwon cuts him off with a sharp look. “Get some rest. We’ll need everyone at least awake tomorrow.”

Jay clicks his tongue but doesn’t push further. Instead, he mutters something under his breath and stalks off toward the fire, dropping onto a log with a pointed lack of grace. The others disperse as well, settling into their makeshift bedding or sitting quietly by the fire. Jungwon turns to you.

“Come on,” he says, motioning toward a ladder tied to the side of what looks like a precariously constructed watchtower. “The view’s better up there.”

You follow him, gripping the ladder tightly as you climb. The watchtower, built from scavenged wood and tied together with ropes and wire, creaks slightly under your combined weight but holds firm. When you reach the top, you find a narrow platform with a rough wooden railing. From this vantage point, the camp feels small, a fragile sanctuary surrounded by endless darkness.

Jungwon settles near the edge, resting his blade across his lap as he scans the treeline. His posture is relaxed, but his eyes are sharp, constantly moving as though anticipating the worst.

You sit a few feet away, your knife still in hand, though you’re not entirely sure what good it will do against the night. For a while, neither of you speaks, the silence broken only by the distant rustling of leaves and the faint crackle of the fire below.

“Do you always volunteer for shit the rest doesn’t want to do?” you ask, breaking the quiet.

Jungwon glances at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not always. But someone has to do it. Might as well be me.”

You nod, your gaze drifting to the dark forest beyond the barricade. “You don’t trust me either,” you say, your voice quiet but not accusatory. It’s a statement, not a question.

He doesn’t answer right away, his eyes fixed on the horizon. When he does speak, his tone is measured. “It’s not about trust. Not entirely. It’s about knowing what people are capable of when things go bad.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “Yeah. I’ve seen what people are capable of.”

Jungwon glances at you again, his expression softening just slightly. “What… happened?” he asks, his voice low, as though he knows it’s a loaded question but is willing to bear the weight of it.

You hesitate, the memories clawing at the edges of your mind, threatening to drag you back into a place you’d give anything to forget. Frankly, you don’t want to answer. You don’t even want to think about it. But the past has a cruel way of lingering, forcing you to confront it over and over again, like an open wound that refuses to heal.

“The community building,” you begin slowly, the words bitter on your tongue. “It was supposed to be safe. A place where people worked together. Where we helped each other survive.”

“At least, that’s what we told ourselves. But things changed when the supplies started running low. Suddenly, it wasn’t about helping each other anymore. It was about who could take the most, who could get out alive.” You pause, your fingers tightening around the knife in your hand as the images flood your mind. The arguments over food, the mistrust that spread like rot, the way desperation revealed the ugliest parts of human nature.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the words spill out, raw and jagged. “I watched people turn on each other. Families. Friends. People who’d shared meals, shared stories, who’d promised to have each other’s backs. They fought over scraps. They left others behind without a second thought. And when the barricade fell… when the dead came through…” Your voice wavers, and you clench your jaw to steady it. “They didn’t just leave the weak behind. They trampled them. Used them as bait. Anything to save themselves.”

Jungwon doesn’t say anything, but his gaze remains fixed on you, his expression unreadable. You can’t tell if he’s judging you, pitying you, or just listening. Maybe it’s all three.

“I’d like to think the ones who made it out remember that place the way I do,” you say finally, your voice quieter now. “But I don’t think they do. I think they tell themselves it wasn’t their fault. That they had no choice. Maybe they’re right. But I had to see it, and I have to live with it.”

Jungwon watches you carefully, his expression unreadable but not unkind. After a moment, he asks, his voice low and steady, “Is that why you choose to survive alone?”

The question cuts through the quiet night, striking a nerve you hadn’t realised was exposed. You hesitate, your gaze falling to the dark ground below. “Maybe,” you admit softly. “It’s easier, I guess. No one to rely on. No one to disappoint you. No one to leave you behind.”

Jungwon doesn’t say anything immediately, but his silence feels deliberate, as though he’s giving you space to continue. You exhale slowly, the memories pressing against your chest like a weight you can’t shrug off.

“When you’re on your own, the only person you have to worry about is yourself,” you say, your voice hardening slightly. “If you make a mistake, you pay for it. If you survive, it’s because you earned it. There’s no one else to blame, and no one else to lose.”

Jungwon’s gaze doesn’t waver, and there’s a gravity in his eyes that makes you feel exposed. “But it’s also lonely,” he says quietly, as though he’s not asking but stating a fact.

You swallow hard, the truth of his words settling uncomfortably in your chest. You don’t answer, but the silence between you speaks volumes. Jungwon shifts slightly, resting his forearms on his knees as he speaks. “Not everyone would’ve made it out of that and kept going,” he says quietly. “Most people would’ve given up. You didn’t.”

You blink, his words catching you off guard. They’re not exactly comforting, but there’s a sincerity in them that makes your chest tighten, like a wound you’d forgotten you were nursing.

“I don’t know if that’s something to be proud of,” you admit, your gaze fixed on the dark forest beyond the camp.

“It is,” Jungwon says firmly, and there’s an edge of conviction in his tone that makes you glance at him. “It means you didn’t let it break you. And that’s harder than most people realise—keeping yourself from going insane. Stopping yourself from letting this fucked-up excuse of a world swallow you whole. You didn’t give in, and that counts for something.”

You study him for a moment, his face lit faintly by the moonlight, his blonde hair swaying lightly in the night breeze. His expression is calm but resolute, as though he’s been through his own version of hell and come out with his soul intact.

You’re not sure how to respond, so you don’t. Instead, you let his words sit with you, their weight lighter than the memories they’ve momentarily displaced.

“You’re not as rough around the edges as Jay seems to think,” he says after a while, his tone lighter now. “But you’re not like the others either. You’ve got... fight in you.”

You glance at him, arching an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

He smirks. “Take it however you want.”

“But that’s not what we do here,” he continues. “If someone falls behind, we don’t leave them.”

You turn to him, searching his face for any hint of deception, any sign that this is just a comforting lie. But his expression is earnest, his eyes unwavering.

You’ve been on your own for almost six months. You don’t even remember the last time you had a conversation this long with anyone. Words, when they did come, were usually short, functional—commands barked at yourself to keep moving, or fleeting exchanges shouted during desperate encounters.

This, sitting and talking, feels foreign. Unnatural.

It’s not that you haven’t come across other survivors. You’ve met people. Survivors who had extended a hand, offered you a place in their groups. Some seemed kind, others desperate. But you rejected them all. Trust is a luxury you can’t afford, and joining a group means opening yourself to betrayal, to risk. You’ve seen what people are capable of when the stakes are life and death. Better to keep moving on your own than rely on someone who could turn on you at any moment.

Still, sitting here with Jungwon, his calm voice cutting through the quiet night, you find yourself oddly enjoying it.

“Must be exhausting, caring about people.” you say, a faint, almost reluctant smile tugging at your lips.

Jungwon chuckles softly, the sound low and almost foreign in the stillness of the night. “It is,” he admits, his gaze flicking briefly to the camp below. The firelight dances across the faces of the others, who are finally beginning to settle down for the night. “But it’s worth it. At least, I like to think it is.”

You watch him for a moment, the corners of your mouth quirking slightly upward. “Did you know each other? Before?”

“Yup,” he says, leaning back against the rough railing of the makeshift watchtower. The faint moonlight softens the hard edges of his face as he speaks, his tone lighter now, touched with nostalgia. “Childhood friends. I’d just started university, and they wanted to come check out the campus. It was supposed to be a quick visit.”

He pauses, his gaze drifting toward the dark expanse of trees surrounding the camp. “We just so happened to be together when everything went to shit.”

The simplicity of his words doesn’t mask the weight they carry. You imagine the scene—an ordinary day, plans for the future barely set in motion, torn apart by chaos. You wonder if he thinks about how different things might’ve been if the timing had been just slightly off. If he’d been alone, or if they hadn’t been there together.

“Lucky, I guess,” you say quietly, though the word feels wrong in your mouth. Luck doesn’t feel like it belongs in this world anymore, not when it comes with such brutal cost.

“Yeah,” Jungwon replies, his voice softer now, almost like he’s agreeing and disagreeing at the same time. “Lucky.”

“What happened?” you ask cautiously, sensing the weight of his memories but curious nonetheless.

He exhales slowly, the breath heavy with remembrance. “We started out as a big group—most of the faculty ended up holed up in the auditorium. We thought we’d escape the initial chaos for the time. But someone got bit early on and hid it from the rest of us. They turned in the middle of the night. It took out half of us before we even knew what was happening.”

You swallow hard, the familiar pang of loss and horror creeping into your chest. “And the rest of you?”

“The seven of us, plus a few others, managed to get out alive,” he says, his voice tinged with a faint bitterness. “We thought our luck had turned when we ran into a group of people in military uniforms. They had tanks, rifles, the works. We thought we were safe.”

“That was The Future, wasn’t it?” you ask, recalling the name you’d overheard the others mention earlier.

Jungwon’s gaze sharpens, his expression darkening. “Do you really not know anything about The Future?”

You shake your head slowly, a knot of unease forming in your stomach. “No. I’ve been on my own for months. I’ve seen groups, but nothing that sounds like what you’re describing.”

Jungwon leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His voice lowers, taking on a colder edge. “They’re not a group. They’re an organisation. Big. Made up of military personnels who went rogue when they realised the government couldn’t control the outbreak, and high profile politicians started to abandon the people to save themselves.”

Your stomach twists uncomfortably, the weight of his words sinking in. The idea of a well-organised, militarised group with no one to answer to makes your skin crawl. “And you escaped from them?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

He nods, his jaw tightening. “Barely.”

“If they’re so strong,” you press cautiously, “why did you leave?”

Jungwon’s lips press into a thin line, his gaze dropping briefly to the dark ground below before lifting to meet yours again. “Their way of surviving… it’s messed up,” he says, his tone grim. “It isn’t about helping anyone—it’s about control. They take what they want. Supplies, people, anything they think they can use. If they decide you’re deadweight, just another mouth to feed, they won’t hesitate to…” He trails off, the unspoken words hanging heavy between you.

Your throat feels tight. “Is that why Jake said they’d gotten rid off all their women?” you ask tentatively, the memory of Jake’s earlier comment sharp in your mind.

Jungwon’s expression darkens further. “Not all,” he corrects, though the words do little to ease the growing unease in your chest. “Just those who, to them, served no purpose. And not just women. Children. The elderly. Anyone with a disability, or even someone who was sick—whether it was visible or not. If you couldn’t pull your weight or be useful to their ‘mission,’ you were as good as dead.”

Your stomach churns, bile rising in your throat. “That’s not survival,” you say quietly, your voice shaking slightly. “That’s—”

“Evil?” Jungwon finishes for you, his tone bitter. “Yeah. It is. They hide it under words like ‘efficiency’ and ‘necessity,’ but it’s just cruelty. That’s why we left.”

You can see the weight of the memories in his eyes, the lingering shadows of everything he’s seen and done to survive. For a moment, the silence between you feels suffocating, the distant rustle of the forest doing little to break the tension.

“How many of you escaped?” you ask, though you’re not sure you want to know the answer.

“Doesn’t matter, we’re all that’s left.” he says simply, his voice carrying the weight of names and faces you’ll likely never know.

He leans back against the watchtower railing, his shoulders sagging slightly as if the weight of the past has settled there. “We’ve been running ever since. Trying to stay ahead of them. Trying to survive without becoming like them.”

The knot in your stomach tightens further. The apocalypse had already stripped the world of so much—life, hope, humanity—and now it seemed to have given rise to something even worse.

You glance down at the camp below, at the group who had been wary of you, who still didn’t fully trust you. Yet despite everything, they’d chosen to leave a place like that behind, to hold onto something resembling morality.

“Must’ve taken a lot,” you say quietly. “To leave. To fight back.”

“It did,” Jungwon replies, his voice steady but tired. “But if surviving means losing everything that makes us human, then what’s the point?”

His words linger in the cool night air, settling deep into your bones. For the first time, you realise that you and the group aren’t so different after all. Just ordinary people, barely on the cusp of adulthood, thrust into a world that demands you play the role of protectors. Not because you’re ready, but because the ones who should have been there to protect you failed. Now, all you have is each other, forced to fill the gaps left behind by the people who should have kept you safe.

"But why are they still trying to hunt you down?" you ask, the question slipping out before you can think twice. It lingers in the air between you, heavy with curiosity and unease.

Jungwon’s jaw tightens, his gaze shifting to the dark treeline beyond the camp. For a moment, it seems like he might not answer. Then, with a quiet sigh, he leans forward again, his elbows resting on his knees.

“Because we didn’t just leave,” he says, his voice low and edged with something darker—regret, perhaps, or anger. “We took supplies. Food, medicine, weapons. Enough to give us a fighting chance out here. To them, that’s unforgivable. They don’t see people. They see assets. Resources they think they own.”

You feel a chill crawl down your spine as you process his words. “You think they’re after the supplies you took?”

“It’s not just about the supplies,” Jungwon replies, his tone grim. “It’s about control. We embarrassed them. Made them look weak. To The Future, that’s worse than losing anything physical. If they let us go, it sets a precedent. It shows people that they’re not invincible, and then what is to stop others from doing the same?”

Your stomach churns. “So they’re chasing you to make an example of you.”

“Exactly,” he says, his voice colder now. “They want everyone to know what happens when you cross them. And they won’t stop until they get what they want.”

The weight of his words settles heavily in your chest, the reality of their situation sinking in. It’s not just survival they’re fighting for—it’s freedom from a force that refuses to let them go. You glance back at Jungwon, his expression calm but laced with something harder, something forged by experience.

“How long have you been running?” you ask softly.

Jungwon exhales, the sound low and tired. “Almost six months,” he admits, his gaze fixed on the treeline.

There’s a pause before he continues, quieter this time, as though saying it aloud makes it more real. “Although… we think we might have lost them. For now. But we’re always ready to keep moving. Always looking over our shoulders.”

“Every time we think we’re safe enough to settle down, they find us,” he murmurs. “Like an obsessive ex-girlfriend, you know?”

The analogy catches you off guard, and you chuckle despite the seriousness of the conversation. It’s a strained laugh, but genuine—a brief flicker of something human in the midst of everything bleak. “The kind that won’t take a hint?”

Jungwon huffs a small laugh of his own, though there’s no real humour behind it. “Exactly.” He glances at you, a shadow of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Except this one’s got a lot more firepower.”

That explains it. Why they were so willing to leave the camp unattended, why they carried more supplies on their backs than they could possibly need. It wasn’t out of carelessness or greed—it was strategy. They packed light enough to keep moving, but just heavy enough to make sure they wouldn’t have to stop.

Everything they did was calculated, preparing for the worst. Ready to run at a moment’s notice if the situation demanded it.

Ready to disappear without a trace.

The fire below flickers, its faint glow casting long shadows across his face. For a moment, you see the weariness behind his sharp exterior, the cracks in the armour he’s built to protect himself and the people he cares about.

“You said tonight was different—you said there were a lot more of them than usual. Why did you think that way?” Jungwon asks, his tone low and measured, though his eyes flicker with unease.

You hesitate, chewing on your thoughts. The question pulls at loose threads in your mind, unravelling memories of the streets you’ve come to know too well. Images flash behind your eyes—the empty alleys, the shifting shadows, the silence that stretches too long before it breaks. You’ve always trusted your gut, and tonight, it screamed louder than ever.

Something is wrong.

“The city is… unpredictable,” you reply carefully, the words slow as you try to make sense of the thoughts swirling in your head. “Some days, the streets are empty. You might see the occasional horde passing through. They linger for a bit before something else catches their attention—a noise, a movement, anything that draws them away.”

“But hordes… they’re creatures of habit,” Jungwon listens intently as you continue, his brow furrowed, tension tightening his posture. “The noise they make keeps them together, pulling in the surrounding stragglers to join their little marching band. It’s a cycle. And that’s what makes them manageable. You can figure out their patterns, track the way they move, and avoid them if you’re careful.”

“But tonight, though…” You pause, the words lingering on your tongue like a bad taste you can’t quite spit out. “It wasn’t just one or two. It felt like they were coming from everywhere. Every direction.”

Jungwon’s gaze flickers to meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. His expression hardens, the flicker of dread in his eyes matching your own.

“Like someone put them there.”

The words hang in the air, thick and heavy. As soon as you finish, the thought sends a chill down your spine, settling deep in your chest. The silence stretches between you both, tense and oppressive, as the weight of the implication sinks in.

The idea that someone—anyone—might be capable of coordinating something so horrifying is almost impossible to comprehend. Almost.

“Do you think it was deliberate?” you ask, your voice quieter now, as if afraid to hear the answer.

Jungwon exhales slowly, his expression hardening. “Truth is, we don’t know for sure. We were in the city earlier, scouting for car parts to fix up the van. That’s when we thought we ran into members of The Future. But one thing about them—they don’t fuck with the cities. They stick to the communities near their base, taking whatever they need—supplies, weapons, fuel. They think the cities are too dangerous, too unpredictable.” His words hang in the air for a moment before he continues, his voice darker now. “But the way the hordes moved tonight... it felt like someone wanted them to sweep the area.”

The thought settles over you like a heavy fog. “But you don’t think it’s them? The Future?”

Jungwon shakes his head, though the hesitation in his expression is hard to miss. “It’s not their style. They don’t deal in chaos—they deal in control. And releasing hordes into the city? That’s reckless. Dangerous, even for them.”

“If it wasn’t them...” you start, but your voice falters.

Jungwon’s gaze sharpens as it meets yours, steady but grim.

“Then it’s someone else."

You sense that the weight of the conversation is more than you can handle for the rest of the night, and you know Jungwon senses it too. The quiet lingers between you, heavy but not unpleasant, the kind that almost invites you to leave the darkness of your thoughts behind.

“Should I go wake Jake and Ni-ki up for their shift?” you suggest, breaking the silence. You’re not sure whether the talk with Jungwon has helped ease some of your inner turmoil or if the sheer exhaustion from the day’s events is finally catching up to you, but your eyelids are growing heavier with every passing second.

Jungwon shakes his head slightly, his voice calm and even. “I’m actually just going to keep watch for the night. You can turn in if you’re tired.”

You blink at him, his words jolting you back to focus. “What?” you ask, disbelief lacing your tone. “In that case, we’ll take turns. There’s no way I’m leaving you up here alone the entire night. I can only imagine what Jay’s got to say when he wakes up tomorrow and finds out.”

Jungwon’s lips twitch, and then, to your surprise, he laughs—a genuine, unguarded laugh. The sound is startlingly warm, almost foreign in the bleakness of the night. For a moment, it feels like the world around you isn’t as broken as it really is.

“Fine,” he says, shaking his head in mild amusement. “You can rest first. I’ll wake you in an hour.”

His words carry a gentleness you hadn’t expected, and it throws you off balance more than you’d like to admit. You study his face—the slight crinkle at the corner of his eyes, the faint trace of a smile still lingering.

You hesitate, your exhaustion pulling at you, but the lingering sense of distrust—of everything, not just him—roots you in place. “You sure?” you mumble, your voice heavy with fatigue.

“Yeah,” he says with a faint nod, his eyes scanning the dark forest beyond the camp. “I’ve got it.”

“Alright,” you finally agree, leaning back against the railing and letting yourself relax just a fraction. “But don’t forget to wake me.”

“I won’t,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost reassuring.

The weight of the day presses down on you like a blanket, and despite your reluctance, you feel your body begin to give in.

Leaning back against the rough planks of the watchtower, you close your eyes, telling yourself you’re just resting them for a moment. But the distant rustling of the trees, the faint crackle of the campfire below, and the steady presence of Jungwon beside you lull you into a state of half-awareness.

At some point, you shift unconsciously, your head tilting until it finds something solid—warm. You’re too far gone to realise what’s happened, the exhaustion dragging you under.

masterlist | part 2 - warmth

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

notes from nat: i'm adapting a new form of writing specifically for this setting. i think i mentioned before how i struggle describing present moments over writing thoughts and monologues. lo and behold, turns out an apocalypse au is all about the present moment... i'm taking this as a challenge and honestly don't have high hopes. but i sincerely appreciate the read from all of you! things will start picking up in the next part~

perm taglist. @hajimelvr @s00buwu @urmomssneakylink @grayscorner @catlicense @bubblytaetae @mrchweeee @artstaeh @sleeping-demons @yuviqik @junsflow @blurryriki @bobabunhee @hueningcry @fakeuwus @enhaslxt @neocockthotology @Starryhani @aishisgrey @katarinamae @mitmit01 @youcancometome @cupiddolle @classicroyalty @dearsjaeyun @ikeucakeu @sammie217 @tinycatharsis @M1kkso

taglist open. @sungbyhoon @theothernads @kyshhhhhh @jiryunn @strxwbloody @jaklvbub @rikikiynikilcykiki @jakesimfromstatefarm @rikiiisoob @doublebunv @thinkinboutbin @eunandonly @wilonevys @sugarikiz @jellymiki @adoredbyjay @rebeccaaaaaaaa @baedreamverse @bamguetismee @flwwon @l1s0ro @st4rgirl1235

[blondejellykitty]

₊♡ ˚⊹ i know all your secrets ₊♡ ˚⊹

୨୧ percy jackson x mortal reader ୨୧ percy's never told you what or who he really is, a hero, a demigod, the son of an olympian god. when he finds you reading a book of the history of the very family he's secretly apart of its safe to say he isn't too happy. a/n: (1.06k words) the plan i had isn't planning, i hope you see the vison i had for this 🩷

Percy had gotten an iris message from a newer satyr. One, his good friend Grover had introduced him to, asking for help on his first demigod retrieval mission he originally said no.

Not because he didn't want to help him, he actually quite liked the guy but because it was one of the few days he wasn't busy with classes at New Rome. And he was looking forward to spending that time with you, his lovely girlfriend back in New York.

But the sooner the day arrived the more Percy felt worse for not even offering to help the younger satyr. He used one of his professors' phones to call you.

Percy promised you he'd be back the following day at the latest. He'd hoped that it wouldn't take too long to get back to you, especially since the unknowing demigod was in New York already.

By the time he traveled all the way back to Camp Half-Blood, the early hours of the morning had come and gone. Meeting said satyr he was willing to help and off they went to find another godling.

Percy in all honesty lost track of time.

Sure he was paying attention to looking for a 'wild troublemaker with curly brown hair' also known as another child of Hermes. But most of his attention was in his own head thinking of all the things he wanted to do when he got back to you.

Lunch had long been and passed, so the thought of eating dinner with you made him walk a little faster.

They'd been practically up and down all of the city looking for this one half blood. Their scent being carried in the wind or hiding amongst the mortals.

Finally they were led to a big beautifully mosaic building, After staring at the bold lettering above the huge open doors for a moment longer than usual Percy read 'Historical Library'.

The inside was just as elegant as the outside. He could almost feel the dirt his shoes were bringing in with each step on the shiny marble floor. As imposing as the outside looking, the inside seemed even bigger. The pair had agreed to split up and began their search.

Walking past row after row of towering shelves stacked with books that the more he walked the finer and older the books got.

Once he'd reached the end most of the books were sitting in rows on tables encased in plastic, which needed a key to be opened. The faded books looked frail and aged with time. Only one case was open and the book inside was gone.

Behind the long bookcases was a small area to sit at, with tidy seats and clean desks. There in a far corner was no doubt the fragile book. Along with notebooks and paper scattered on the small table.

A small stack of books were stacked next to the desk to save space. But more importantly sat there delicately flipping a page, was you.

Percy knew you lived in New York obviously that was how he met you, but not in this area. As he made his way over, all thoughts of the reason he was here left him.

He could read what you were reading, he could read it perfectly because it was greek. Why were you in a historical library reading an ancient looking book about Greek mythology he had no idea, he was about to find out though.

"Beauty?" He had to remember to whisper.

Your head whipped up from leaning down to read looking at his wide eyed making you look like a deer in headlights.

"Percy! What're you doing here?" Your nervous laugh rang through his head as you tried to place some blank papers in order to cover the book you were reading.

Why didn't you want him to know. Was it because you'd started to pick up on the Greek names he'd accidentally dropped in conversation or was it that deep down you knew he wasn't normal? Either way it left a whirlwind of nausea in his stomach.

"I'm here because uh- actually never mind. Why are you here?" He couldn't even lie to you, he'd tried much earlier into your relationship, when he had to go back to camp. He ended up saying he had an apprenticeship at his dads fishing company...

"It's nothing really just uh, learning?" You couldn't even meet his eye. You were still picking at the edges of the paper in front of you as he sat down on the old wooden chair next to you.

"Please tell me?" Percy was glad you both were in such a quiet place because he was sure his voice was quieter than a whisper.

You huffed and unwillingly leaned towards him. You bore an angry glare which in any other circumstance he would have thought was cute but right now made his heart sink with fear.

"You know I can't lie to you. All I'll tell you is that it's a surprise. Okay?" Your eyes seemed to shine with worry as you looked up at him from your hunched frame.

"A- a surprise?" Percy had never been more confused in his life.

So you hadn't figured out about him? Or maybe you had and you just didn't care. No, no that couldn't be it. You just had very odd luck that you'd picked a Greek mythology book and not something else.

"Yes, for your birthday. Now go back to whatever you were doing and forget all about this hm?" You spoke with a soft smirk.

For a moment Percy truly wondered if it were possible you were a child of Aphrodite and had used your charmspeak on him, he did always feel completely compelled to do whatever you'd ask of him.

A loud thud echoed through the large room and a curly haired boy dressed in yellow went running through the middle of the room.

Chasing after him was none other than the young satyr who seemed to have forgotten both his hat and his boots in the chase.

Percy glanced back at you, although startled by the sudden noise you made no note of the half goat boy who'd made a quick appearance.

Leaning down to kiss your soft cheek he uttered a quick goodbye and went running off to catch up with the chaos unfolding down the hall.

[rinnstars]

after school!

spending your time with rin after school

itoshi rin x reader : fluff, drabble, not proofread + likes n reblogs are appreciated <3

rin thinks he can stay in this position for an eternity - his hands wrapped around your body as though fitting perfectly like puzzle pieces, eyes fixated on you and your phone - playing god knows what, his face melting into the warmth of your neck. he hopes you don’t turn around to notice his red face, he hopes you don’t feel his hands shakily lingering on your frame, he hopes you don’t realise he’s practically stuck on you like glue - its uncharacteristic of him. he knows logically with the scorching sun outside already peering through the thick curtain he always covers his windows, with the practically spoiled air-condition in his stuffy room, with the much bigger bed that he’s pressing you onto just one side of it, he can afford to move away. its terribly hot but he thinks he’s more addicted to you, the feeling of you on his hands, the feeling of you so close to him as though this was truly where you belong, the feeling of you so close to him that youre practically one together. he scrunches his face slightly, feeling you move within his arms, shifting into one that’s more comfortable for you whilst smiling at your phone playing one of those videos or games he just doesn’t quite get. but he thinks he can get used to it - getting used to you right on his bed everyday after school like you basically live here, getting used to dedicating his afternoons just lying down doing nothing with you, getting used to being yours as much as youre his.

he thinks about how much it has all changed since he’s met you, let you enter his castle of brick walls, get you to stay with him. afternoons like this used to spent on sweating himself off walking home to get rid of all his frustrations, wasting his time away and still avoiding that convenience store, lying down thinking about the past. yet now, he’s here on his bed from the cold bus ride with you, getting an ice cream from another convenience store that’s meant for you and him, lying down with you and thinking about both of you. he didn’t think he could ever get so close - he’s too afraid, he hates people too much, he doesn’t crave it he thinks, but who is he kidding? he craves it, the validation you give him by beaming at him like youre his whole world, the affection you give him through holding his hands, pecking at his face, combing his hair that just feels so much more than him doing it himself. its love, he knows: and just this once, he’ll give in to this addictive feeling, he’ll melt into this sugary-sweet feeling you give him, he’ll drown inside this unknown waters that envelop him completely as though hugging him.

maybe it wont last long - teenage love and all its angst he listens to songs like those. but he believes in both of you, you’ll be the exception, you’ll stay right here in his embrace, you’ll be his for the lifetime and if the world permits, in all of his lifetime and all parallel universes. sometimes, he finds himself dreaming of the future long past now, long away from this childhood bedroom of his still messy, long away from school that he practically only goes to see you - pulling at your matching necklace you bought with him at the arcade to kiss when he wins every and any football match, merging your body with his and becoming one just like now in a apartment at the seaside that you always chatter about with that crescent-eye grin, seeing you with a white veil in an all white room to profess yours and his love that wrapped around him like a jacket in a cold and harsh world. and he hopes it stays like this - he’s always being too idealistic, too dreamy, too passionate that sometimes it backfires - crumbled apart dreams under his brothers feet, crumbled apart test papers he’s thrown into the trash, but never crumbled apart love letters, photo albums, love of you and him.

he thinks too much - smiling as he notices your eyes closed, your head becoming heavy on his arms, hands letting go of the phone that drops lightly onto his sheets. for now, he should sleep too, dream the same dream you have, melt himself right onto you so he can wake up later - finish his homework with you on his desk, chat with you about everything and anything, and still have energy for his night exercise routine. and for now, he’ll indulge in this after school routine that he wishes could last forever, even when you two graduate, even when you two become adults - that the universe wont be cruel enough to separate the both of you, soulmates in his eyes.

[ilovemitsuya]

sylus x reader (fluffy,angsty?)

summary: “During a mission, I sustained serious injuries and was hospitalized. Though Sylus couldn’t visit me, he sent Mephisto in his place. When I was discharged, I wasn’t expecting him to be outside.”

“I’m not going to lie to you two.” Jenna said, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned back against her desk. “This mission isn’t like the others we’ve done. That facility is more unstable than we initially thought. The few teams we’ve sent to investigate before found nothing at all.”

Crossing my arms as I studied Captain Jenna’s face.

“So why send just the two of us, then?” I asked.

“Why not a full squad if it’s that dangerous?”

“Because we don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with. A bigger team could draw too much attention.“

“And if we find something… unexpected?” Tara asked.

“You report back immediately.” Jenna said, her tone firm. “Don’t try to take on anything alone if it’s beyond your capabilities. This isn’t about being heroes.”

There was a beat of silence before Jenna pushed off her desk and took a step closer to me and Tara. “But you’re not going in blind. We’ll have a team on standby if things get too hot. You need to trust your instincts and watch each other’s backs.”

Glancing at Tara, she gave me a reassuring nod.

Tara and I turned to leave, but Jenna’s voice stopped us just before we reached the door. “And remember.” she called out, “If things start to go sideways, you get out. Do you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.” I replied, glancing over my shoulder at her.

With that, Tara and I exited the office, both of us knowing that we were walking into something dangerous. But we had our orders.

———————————————————————

The facility loomed over us, the metal creaking with the weight of its own decay. Tara and I moved cautiously through the halls, weapons at the ready, our footsteps echoing against the cracked concrete.

Dust hung in the air like a fog, making each breath feel heavy. We’d been searching for signs of Wanderers for hours, but aside from a few ominous claw marks on the walls, there was nothing.

Tara walked a few paces ahead, her sharp eyes sweeping the darkened corners as she scanned for any signs of movement.

“This place gives me the creeps.”

“The readings are coming from this sector.” I confirmed. “It’s like there’s a cluster of energy sources in the storage area up ahead. Something’s definitely drawing them here.”

Tara nodded and pushed forward, keeping a steady pace as we approached the large metal door that led to the storage room. She placed a hand on the door’s surface, glancing back at me. “On three?” she whispered.

I tightened my grip on my gun and gave her a quick nod. “On three.”

“One… two… three!”

Tara shoved the door open, and we moved inside in a swift, coordinated motion. The room was just as the rest of the facility, old crates and equipment lay scattered across the floor, and the walls were covered in peeling paint.

I took a step forward, my eyes sweeping the room for any signs of movement. But then, there was a flicker of motion in the shadows, too quick to pinpoint at first.

I turned to Tara, but she had already seen it. Her eyes narrowed, and she raised her weapon in the direction of the disturbance.

“Stay sharp.” she said, voice tense. “I think we’ve got company.”

I reacted on instinct, surging forward to intercept it with a gunshot.

It swiped at me with one of its jagged claws, forcing me to block the strike with my forearm. Pain shot through my body as its claws tore through my sleeve and left deep gashes across my skin.

Before we could even do anything, the wanderer let out a loud roar and smashed its claws against the support beams around us. A low rumble vibrated through the building, and the ground beneath us trembled. Dust rained down from the ceiling, and a series of cracks split the concrete walls, spreading out in every direction.

“Get out of here, now!” Tara shouted, sprinting for the exit.

I turned to follow her, but the ground heaved under my feet, and a section of the ceiling gave way with a deafening crash. I stumbled and fell, barely managing to roll out of the way as a massive metal beam slammed down where I’d been standing. The room shuddered violently, and the walls seemed to cave inward.

“Tara!” I called out, but my voice was drowned out by the roar of collapsing debris. I saw her struggling to keep her footing near the exit, but then another tremor hit, and a cascade of rubble came crashing down, forcing us apart.

I fought to keep moving, dodging falling beams and lunging over shifting pieces of debris. But it was no use. The floor buckled beneath me, and I felt myself falling through the collapsing structure.

The impact knocked the wind from my lungs, and pain exploded through my side as I hit the ground hard. I tried to move, but my legs were pinned beneath a heavy chunk of concrete, and the darkness quickly closed in around me.

The last thing I saw before everything faded was the shattered remnants of the facility above, crumbling like a house of cards. Then, there was nothing.

———————————————————————

The steady beep of a heart monitor was the first thing I became aware of as I drifted back to consciousness.

The world came back in hazy fragments, a faint antiseptic smell, the dull ache radiating through my entire body, the blinding white light overhead. I blinked slowly, the ceiling tiles came into focus. I was in a hospital room, covered in bandages, and every muscle felt like it had been dragged through hell.

A groan escaped my lips as I tried to shift into a more comfortable position. The movement must have caught someone’s attention because I heard a chair scrape back and then footsteps rushing closer.

“Hey, hey, take it easy.” It was Tara’s voice, low and familiar, filled with a relief I hadn’t heard from her often. She came into view, her face creased with worry. Her eyes softened when she saw I was awake, and she let out a breath that sounded like she’d been holding it for a long time. “You’re finally awake. How are you feeling?”

I managed to lift my head just enough to give her a weary look. “Like I got hit by a train.” I rasped, my voice rough from disuse. “What happened to me?”

“You were inside when the building collapsed.” she explained, pulling a chair closer and sitting down beside me. “By the time we got a rescue team in there, you were unconscious and pinned under the debris.” Tara’s voice wavered slightly, and she quickly looked away, as if embarrassed to show how much the whole thing had shaken her.

“You’ve been out for a while.” Her tone was a little lighter now, a hint of humor breaking through. “Can’t believe you’d scare me like that. Do you know how annoying it was waiting around here?”

A faint chuckle escaped me, though it quickly turned into a wince.

“I should let the doctors know you’re awake. They’ll want to check you over.”

I gave a slow nod, already feeling exhaustion pulling at me again, but I didn’t want her to worry. “Go ahead.” I murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, the room fell silent again, and I found myself staring at the ceiling, fighting the familiar feeling of emptiness that came whenever I was alone. I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath.

I wished Sylus were here. There was no way he could just walk into a hospital like any normal person.

I was about to close my eyes again when I heard a soft tapping on the window. My eyes snapped open, and my heart skipped a beat as I turned toward the sound. There, perched on the narrow ledge just outside the window, was a black crow. Mephisto.

I struggled to sit up, limping a little as I reached out to unlock the window. It slid open with a creak, and Mephisto hopped inside, a small bundle of wildflowers clutched in his beak. They were ragged and windblown, a little wilted from the journey, but I could tell they’d been picked carefully.

I took the flowers gently from Mephisto’s beak, my hands trembling slightly. There was a small note tied around the stems with a piece of dark string. I untied it and read the familiar handwriting: “Since I can’t be there. Take care of yourself. – S.”

Sylus couldn’t come to see me himself, but he’d sent Mephisto instead. His way of saying he was there, still watching over me.

“Thank you.” I whispered

Mephisto tilted its head and gave a soft caw, as if acknowledging my words. Then, it took off out the window again.

I sank back against the pillows, holding the flowers close. It wasn’t the same as having Sylus here in person, but it was enough to know he was thinking of me.

———————————————————————

As I lay in the hospital bed, I reached for my phone on the side table and unlocked the screen. My fingers trembled slightly as I typed out a message to Sylus.

I hit send and waited, my heart beating a little faster than it should. The minutes dragged on, and I started to wonder if he'd even seen my message. But then, my device buzzed with his reply.

Typical Sylus.

The response came almost instantly, as though he'd been expecting my question.

I glanced back at the window, half expecting to see the crow still there. It made sense. Mephisto had always kept an eye on me, by Sylus’s command.

I stared at the screen, my chest tightening as I read his words.

There was a long pause before his next message arrived.

It was the closest thing to comfort I would get from him, even if he couldn't be here with me.

———————————————————————

The final paperwork was a blur, the nurse’s instructions fading in and out as I focused on keeping steady. I was bandaged up and aching from head to toe, but at least I was getting out of the hospital. They’d wanted to keep me a few days longer, but I’d insisted on leaving.

As soon as they handed me my things, I slipped into my jacket and headed outside.

When I pushed through the front doors, a figure was leaning casually against the side of the building, half hidden in the shadow cast by the streetlamp. Sylus. He looked up when he saw me.

“Sylus…” I said, managing a small smile as I walked over, but his expression was tense as he straightened up, his eyes quickly scanning over my injuries.

“You’re stubborn for a hunter.” he muttered, his tone flat, though I could tell by the way his eyes lingered on my face and my bandaged arm that he was probably worried.

“The hell are you doing out here so soon? You could barely stand a few hours ago.”

“They were going to keep me trapped in there another week,” I said, trying to sound lighter than I felt. “I couldn’t just stay there doing nothing.”

He gave me a sharp look, he slipped his arm around my shoulders, guiding me firmly to his car parked a few feet away.

“You’re barely out, and here you are, thinking you’re ready to run around already.”

I tilted my head, raising an eyebrow.

"Since when do you drive anything other than that death trap of yours?"

"Since I figured you might not be up for riding around on a motorcycle after getting half crushed under a building."

He helped me into the passenger seat, taking extra care to ensure I was settled in before closing the door. He didn’t say anything as he walked around and got in himself, but the silence felt heavy, like he was holding back from saying a thousand things.

We drove through the streets in silence until we reached the edge of the city. I realized where we were going the moment we turned onto a narrow road.

“Your place?” I asked, glancing over at him.

He kept his gaze on the road. “You’re not going home alone in that condition. Not happening.”

I knew better than to argue, so I just nodded.

When we finally arrived, he was already at my side, opening the car door before I could even move. I tried to slide out on my own, but he offered his hand, steady and warm, and before I could argue, he was lifting me out of the seat.

I groaned, shaking my head. “Sylus, I can walk. You don’t need to—”

“Too late, sweetie.” he smirked, his arms sliding under my legs as he pulled me up, holding me effortlessly in a bridal carry. “Just sit back and let me do this.”

I sighed, trying to hide the warmth creeping up my face. “I’m tough, you know.”

“I know you are.” He glanced down, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he carried me toward the door. “But you’re hurt, and besides,” he added, leaning closer, his voice softening, “sometimes, you need someone to take care of you.”

Inside, he led me to his room and gestured for me to sit on the bed. “Wait here. And don’t try moving around.”

I managed a small, sarcastic smile. “What, you think I’m going to run off?”

His gaze darkened. “You have a habit of being reckless.”

Before I could respond, he was already disappearing into the other room, returning moments later with a small first aid kit and a glass of water. He knelt beside me, unwrapping some of the bandages on my arm with practiced precision.

“I already saw the doctors for this.” I said, watching him closely. He ignored me, dabbing disinfectant on a fresh cut and glancing up with a glint of warning in his eyes.

“Clearly, they didn’t do a good enough job if you’re in this condition.” he replied, his tone clipped.

I sighed, not bothering to respond. Instead, I watched his hands move, careful but efficient, his expression focused as he replaced the bandages. He was so quiet, so steady, so… unlike his usual self. His eyes kept flicking up to meet mine, only for a second, before going back to my injuries.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” I murmured, not sure if I was talking to him or to myself.

He paused, his hands stilling for a moment, before he looked up, his expression unreadable. “And if I don’t, who will?”

I watched him as he worked, watching how he gently wrapped fresh gauze around my arm, tightening it carefully.

His fingers lingered over the bandage, as if making sure it wasn't too tight.

"Is this too tight?" he murmured, his gaze flicking up to meet mine.

"No... it's fine." I whispered, feeling my heart hammering in my chest. My words were barely a breath, and I wasn't sure if he heard me, but he continued anyway, his focus unbreakable.

"You can tell me if it hurts." he said softly, his gaze locking onto mine.

"It doesn't hurt." I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. But the truth was, all I can think about is how his fingers felt against my skin.

“You could have been killed.” he suddenly said, the faintest tremor in his voice. “And you didn’t think to tell me, or anyone, what you were dealing with out there?”

I looked down, feeling that familiar pang of guilt again.

“Tell me next time before you go off on one of these suicide missions.” he snapped, his jaw tight. “Or better yet, stay out of places where buildings collapse on you.”

“I don’t get to pick and choose which missions are dangerous.” I replied.

“And I’m supposed to sit back and just watch you throw yourself into the line of fire?” His voice was low, but I could hear the worry simmering beneath it.

He was silent for a moment, his expression hardening as he reached over to brush a strand of hair from my face.

“And next time, you’re telling me about this kind of mission. I don’t care if you think it’s nothing.”

My expression softened as I looked up at him

“I’m okay now.” I whispered.

He stared at me for a moment before he gave a reluctant nod.

“Try to rest here. I’ll get you some fresh clothes.” he said, guiding her down gently. “I’m guessing you don’t want to stay in those all night.”

I took the bundle of soft, comfortable clothes he offered.

“Thank you, Sylus.”

His lips quirked into a gentle smile, running his fingers lightly through my hair, guiding me to lie back against the bed.

“Enough fighting it, sweetie.” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You need to rest.”

I started to protest, but he pressed a finger gently to my lips, shaking his head. “No arguments,” he said softly. “Just close your eyes.”

He pulled a blanket over me, his hands lingering as he tucked it around my shoulders, and as my breathing slowed, I felt his fingers brush my cheek, tracing gentle patterns along my skin. The last thing I saw was him watching me, his expression filled with something I couldn’t quite place, a mix of worry, relief, and maybe… something else, something deeper.

“Sleep.” he whispered, his voice a barely audible murmur. “I’m not going anywhere.”

———————————————————————

The soft rise and fall of her breathing filled the room. Sylus sat beside her, one leg folded over the other, his arms crossed as he watched her sleep. In the dim light, she looked peaceful, a stark contrast to the worry that had been etched into her face earlier. He’d seen her like this before years ago.

He could still remember that night, when she’d slipped through his fingers.

He reached out almost instinctively, brushing his fingers against her cheek. She didn’t stir, but his touch softened, lingering there, feeling the warmth of her skin against his fingertips.

Unable to bear it, he slipped his arms around her, drawing her close, careful not to wake her. She was warm, her head resting against his chest, her body relaxed in his embrace. He pressed his cheek against her hair, letting himself take in her scent, the steady beat of her heart.

“You don’t get to do this to me again.” he whispered, his voice rough, barely audible even to himself. “Not this time. I won’t lose you. Not again.”

if you made it this far thank you sm for reading! I appreciate you feel free to request ♡

[froggibus]

Sex Rocks! - AMAB! Venture

Pairing: AMAB! Sloan Cameron x fem! Reader (reader uses fem pronouns + has a pussy)

Genre: smut/NSFW

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Sloan is in for much more than they bargained for when they find a statue with magical properties—and you might be the only one who can help them out

CW: porn with plot, AMAB! Venture, sex pollen (but it’s a magical sex statue), dubcon, masturbation, showering, dirty thoughts (abt reader), slight voyeurism, blowjob, hair pulling, face fucking, cum swallowing, cock riding, mating press, multiple orgasms, protected AND unprotected sex, doggy style, multiple rounds, overstim, lots of cum, (think that's everything) use of the word shaft (im so sorry i hate this word but there’s only so many synonyms for dick)

yes the title is a pun ^.^ i meant to post this way earlier in the day but i got distracted and didn't end up finishing til tonight and it came out WAY LONGER than i thought. this is fr the longest smut ive ever written. anyway venture whores hope you all enjoy <3

It must’ve been Sloan’s lucky day. After barely an hour of searching, the glittering artifact they’d been looking for seemed to jump right out. Though the dusty gold colour blended in with the shimmering sand of the cavern, the three pink gems of the small statuette seemed to call to them. 

The figure was cold to the touch and buttery, barely bigger than the size of their hand. It was shaped like a beautiful curvy woman, with full breasts accentuated with the pink stones and a thick tummy—the likeness of some old, forgotten deity that Sloan could never remember the name of. 

They took out a soft piece of cut cloth and wrapped the statue before tucking it in their pack and beginning the short trek to the surface. Sloan buzzed the whole way up, that warm tingling washing over them. The kind they always felt when they found a new artifact, or when you laughed at one of their dumb jokes. 

As the surface came into view, the golden sunshine just beginning to dip below the horizon, the warmth grew stronger. It had been a hot day, and it seemed that though the sun was setting, the heat had not yet begun to dissipate. They took a long pause, letting themself rest on the rocks outside of the cave.

Wiping the sweat away from their forehead, they took a big drink from the canteen of water they’d brought along with them. It was a short trek, they weren’t usually this sweaty and parched from something so basic—but with the warmth of the day at its peak, they shrugged it off.

The car they’d taken was only just down the trail, maybe ten minutes away. With one last sip of their cold water, they tucked it into their pack and started the walk back. The sky was turning pink as they set off, but slowly turned to purple and then the rich black of night.

Despite the day’s end, the heat only grew more unbearable with the walk. Their thighs cramped as they made their way down the trail, their heart beginning to race. Whatever, they tried to ignore it and power through to the car.

Sweat coated Sloan’s forehead and chest by the time they made it to their vehicle. Their hair was slicked to the back of their neck, and the t-shirt they’d been wearing was rendered near see-thru. 

“Jeez,” they sighed, tugging off their t-shirt.

They tossed the sweaty fabric into their backseat along with their pack before sliding in the front seat to drive. They kept the AC on full blast the whole trip back home, though it did little to stop the boiling in their blood. 

Sloan was just pulling off the highway when a gasp forced its way out at the sudden tight feeling in their pants. They risked a glance down to their hard cock now straining against the thick fabric of their carharts. They shook it off, turning onto their street and trying to ignore the feeling of the bulge in their pants only growing with each minute.

It was almost painfully hard by the time they made it home. Sloan almost forgot their pack in the back of the car in their race to get inside and free their aching cock from the fabric that confined it. 

A sigh ghosted their lips when their cock sprung free from their boxers and they wrapped their sweaty palm around it. Their core was near sweltering, their cock throbbing in need. 

With a glance at the door to make sure it was locked behind them, Sloan spat in their hand and started to spread it across their aching cock. A shiver crawled its way up their spine, acting as a brief reprieve from the heat that threatened to consume them. They clamped a hand over their mouth and began to slide their hand up their length.

With barely a touch, they were already so sensitive. Pre cum dripped down the tip, pooling across their fingertips and mixing with the saliva already spread over their skin. They squeezed harder, dragging their hand up and down faster. Their muffled moans vibrated against the clammy skin of their palm, their eyes falling shut as their hand fell into a rhythm.

Thoughts of you filled their head. Thoughts of your smile, of your warm skin, of pinning you to the bed and using you however they pleased. Sloan gasped, opening their eyes as they came into their palm.

Fuck. Cum rolled across their fingers, down their still hard cock and collected into the hair at the base of their pubic bone. They smeared the remainder of the cum on their thighs, shaking off the aftershocks of their orgasm and deciding a cold shower would solve both the mess they made, and the throb between their legs.

With their clean hand, they dragged their backpack with them all the way to their bedroom, tossing it in the corner before grabbing a towel and heading into the bathroom. They didn’t wait for the water to warm before stripping and stepping beneath the brisk stream.

The cool water settled the burning beneath their skin—but only just barely. Much to Sloan’s dismay, it also did nothing to soothe the ache between their legs. It was almost embarrassing, having an unrelenting boner for no reason like they were in school again.

They sighed, squeezing some coconut scented body wash into their hand and slicking across their cock. They didn’t bother to change the water back to warm, instead opting to let the frigid stream drip down their back. The nice smelling soap felt much, much better than their own spit—but they could imagine a few things that would feel even better.

Like your pretty lips wrapped around their tip, those kind eyes of yours pleading at them to cum in your mouth and—Sloan moaned, fingers clenching around their hard length. Just the thought of you touching them, or them touching you, was enough to have Sloan gasping and furiously jerking their cock.

Drops of soap flew away from their palm with every stroke, splattering the tile of the shower in front of them. God, wouldn’t they love to do that to you. What they wouldn’t give to do that to you. To have you lay down in front of them, completely at their mercy while they fucked you relentlessly and left you covered in their cum.

Their cock twitched, and then they were cumming. Wave after wave of hot cum burst out, coating the tile in front of them before being washed away by the water. Hard, shaking breaths wracked their chest as their senses returned to them and they could once again feel the cool water against their tanned skin. 

As they looked at the cum mixing with the water down the drain, all they could think was ‘what a waste.’

It only took ten minutes after their shower for the tingling in their cock to become unbearable again. The heat had returned almost immediately—and with a vengeance—but they’d managed to ignore the tenderness between their legs for only ten minutes.

Sloan was glad they didn’t bother putting their clothes back on as they settled into their bed and grasped their shaft once more. Cumming once or twice a day was normal for them, but this was something else entirely. Something had to be wrong.

Sloan pushed away their fears and started once again stroking their dick, leftover water and precum acting as a lubricant for their hand to easily slide around. They closed their eyes, and let themself think of you once more. 

How their cum would look running down your thighs, or splattered on your back. How nice your hands would feel gripping their cock, how you’d just beg them to fuck you.

Sweat dripped down their chest, wetting their tummy and the dark hair at the base of their cock. How long had they been jerking off this time? They risked a teary eyed glance at the screen of their phone—had it really been almost twenty minutes since they laid down in bed?

Twenty minutes and they were no closer to coming, but their dick was growing uncomfortably hard. A sigh passed through their lips. Their hand wasn’t enough, they needed something more, something hotter. 

Their mind went to you, pleasure hazed thoughts wondering if they called you, would you come? Would you help them? Before they could think it through, their fingers were dancing across the screen. Just the sight of the tiny contact picture of you at the top of their screen had them squeezing tighter, thick drips of pre cum rolling down their tip.

Sloan lets themself fall back into bed, their mind dancing away to thoughts of you sinking down on their cock. They roll their head to the side, their eyes catching sight of the bag they’d carelessly tossed in the corner just before their shower. 

Could the statue have done this? There were myths surrounding it, sure, but this? The thought was preposterous a week ago. Now though, with their insatiable lust, the thought doesn’t seem so crazy to Sloan.

Shit. They shouldn’t drag you into this. If it really is the statue, they don’t want to expose you to this. They reach for their phone to ask you not to come, to send you away, but just as their palm reaches the cold metal, the front door clicks open.

“Sloan?” You call, peaking your head in the front door. As soon as you’d gotten their message, you’d left your house. You’re talking more to yourself than them at this point, tiptoeing through the dark of their home. “I used the spare key you gave me to get in…are you here?”

Sloan bit their lip at the sound of your voice, risking a glance to the bag that contained the statue. Maybe inviting you here wasn’t such a bad idea after all. 

“In here!” they call. Their voice is raspy, dripping with the need radiating from their core.

You follow the sound of their voice to the closed door of their bedroom, warm light leaking out from the cracks. It’s Sloan, and they don’t sound like they’re in danger, but something about their voice…

You push open the door. It takes two seconds for you to scan the room, two seconds for your eyes to fall on Sloan—sweaty, writhing and desperately jerking their cock in bed—and two seconds for you to turn away, covering your eyes.

“Shit,” you gasp. “I–I didn’t mean to walk in on you.”

But it’s strange. They called you here to help them, they knew you were going to come into their room—was this what they needed your help with? You couldn’t help but clench your legs at the thought, a heat rushing to your core.

Sloan’s voice cut through the darkness of your hand. “I-it’s okay,” they say. “You can look.”

You slowly peel your hand away from your eyes. Though they covered themself with a blanket, you could still see the glistening skin of their chest, and the up-down motion of their hand beneath the fabric. 

Sloan knows it’s shameless of them to keep stroking their cock while talking to you, while you’re right there watching—but they can’t stop. Now that you’re here in front of them, the pressure’s increased tenfold.

You squint. “What’s going on?”

“I found that statue.” They keep jerking off.

“And?”

“The rumors about it were true.”

“Fuck,” you curse. 

When they’d been telling you about the myths behind the statue, you’d both laughed it off, stealing wanton glances at each other as you did. They’d assured you it wasn’t possible, that there was no scientific reason a statue would bear unto its users an insatiable appetite for sex.

Seeing them now, though, all sweaty and desperate, has you thinking they were wrong. 

“Sloan,” you say calmly, stepping in the room and gently shutting the door behind you, “what can I do to help?”

They bite your lip, and it’s just now that you notice their eyes are almost completely black in lust. A shiver runs up your spine. 

They pull back the blanket. “Touch me,” they swallow. “Please.”

You glance at their thick, throbbing cock dripping in precum. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted, wrapped up in the worst possible way. It wouldn’t be right—they’re clearly not thinking straight. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Sloan’s not sure whether it’s the statue, or their frustration, or some terrible combination of the two that prompts them to say, “oh don’t tell me you haven’t been wanting me to fuck you for months.”

Their brazenness sends another wave of heat to your core, your underwear suddenly feeling wetter than usual. “Sloan,” you say carefully.

“If you’re worried about consent,” they rasp. “I want it. All the time. For months, too. I think about it nonstop.”

Their words ease your nerves, and you find yourself approaching their bedside. Your eyes stayed glued to their cock and the hand furiously stroking it. “What do you think about?”

They watch you, dedicating each pump of their length to you. “I think about you while I fuck myself. I think about—about fucking you, and having you bounce on my cock and—god.”

You sink down on the bed next to them, wrapping your hand around the one rubbing their dick. “Let me.”

They slide their hand away, letting you take over. Already, your hand feels a million times better than theirs ever did, the ache in their core finally beginning to relent. They lay their head back, watching your hand glide across their sticky skin.

They suck in a breath. “Fuck,” they look at you through their lashes. “Use your mouth.”

You’re taken aback by their command. Their cock looks so inviting, dripping wet and throbbing in your palm. It’s bigger than anything you’ve ever had which only makes you want it more.

You look them in the eyes while you lick a bead of precum away from the tip. Sloan shivers, wrapping a hand in your hair and pulling you down. You gasp as you take their cock into your mouth, wrapping your lips around it. It’s salty, a mix of sweat and precum, with a strange undertone of coconut—but it’s just how you imagined it.

Your jaw strains to take them into your mouth, their tip hitting the back of your throat after only a few seconds. You gag slightly, but Sloan only pushes your hand down further, groaning at the warmth of your mouth. This was exactly what they needed.

As soon as you start to see black spots, they pull you off. A strand of drool connects your lips to their length, dripping and coating your chin. They hum at the sight of you, so filthy already.

“Do you like how it tastes?”

You’re so flustered, so bewildered by the situation that you can only nod, clenching the base of their cock. You put your lips back on their tip and eagerly slide down for more. Their calloused fingers still tug at your hair, using the strands like reins to push and pull you how they see fit.

Sloan watches you intently the whole time, admiring the spit that coats your mouth and the way your throat bulges when they pull you a certain way. They’ve dreamt about fucking you for months now, but none of their wildest dreams could ever compare to this.

Despite the way your eyes water, Sloan pulls you down further. You look so fucking cute choking on their thick cock—they can’t help it. When you finally slap a hand against their thigh, they let go of your head and watch you gasp for air.

“Get on your knees,” they command.

You can only nod, not trusting your voice with the way your throat burns. The dominance in them only makes you wetter, a noticeable throbbing rushing through your clit. You’re all too eager to settle on your knees at their bedside.

They cup your chin, swiping their thumb across your lips to smear your drool and their pre across them. “So cute,” they murmur.

You lean back in to take their cock once more, but they tsk at you. Just as you tilt your head in confusion, you watch as Sloan grips their cock and rubs the messy, wet tip across your mouth. They smear it all across your face, making a mess all over your cheeks and nose.

A whine slips from your lips before you can stop it, but Sloan only laughs at it and finally lets their cock slap against your mouth. You open wide and take them once more, rolling your tongue over their length.

“So eager,” they tease, their fingers resuming their position in your hair, “if I’d known you’d be such a slut for me, I would’ve fucked you months ago.”

Sloan watches the shame glimmer in your eyes, followed by pure pleasure, and doesn’t miss the way you rock your hips against the floor. 

It only takes a few minutes of you on your knees before they’re coming, pushing your head down so you have no choice but to swallow their cum. Your eyes shoot wide as the hot cum spills in your mouth, pulling back from their cock and opening your mouth so they can see it.

“Good girl,” they purr. “Now swallow.”

You nod and obey without a second thought, licking their cock a few more times after to clean up the excess. “Sloan,” you say quietly, your voice raspy from the way they just fucked your throat.

“Hm?”

“Do you have condoms?”

They tap the nightstand that you’re sitting next to. “You wanna fuck me?”

You pass them the condom, eagerly waiting as they lay back in bed and roll it over their cock. Though they’re slow to put it on, you don’t miss the way their hands shake in anticipation.

Sloan watches you the whole time as you strip, discarding your clothes as quickly as you can. You climb onto the bed and straddle their waist, a knee on either side of their hips. Their hands clench your waist tightly, fingertips digging in hard enough to bruise. 

Usually Sloan would be happy to let you adjust, but with the warmth of your pussy right there, they can’t wait any longer. Using your hips as leverage, they thrust up into you, the tip of their cock bottoming out against your cervix.

You cry out, burying your head against their sticky chest. “Sloan,” you whine.

“Sorry,” they pant, but continue thrusting into you.

You relax into them, slamming your hips into theirs to meet their rhythm. It’s painful at first, both the stretch of their cock and how deep it reaches—but it’s amazing, too.

Sloan barely thinks as they pound in and out of you, using your own body weight as leverage to get their cock deeper and deeper with each thrust. Your whines are like music to their ears, complemented by the rhythm of matching groans they loose every time their cock brushes your cervix.

You cum so hard you swear you go blind for a second. Everything is hot, your vision goes white, and all you can focus on is the way your cunt is gushing around their cock, juices coating their thighs. You go limp on their chest for a minute, letting them fuck you like a toy while you recover.

Sloan’s own orgasm isn’t far behind, their cock twitching as they spill into the condom—though they’d much rather spill into you. They almost draw blood with how tightly their nails dig into your sides, and the only word they seem to remember is your name.

Even though they’re unbearably hot and their cock is so sensitive it hurts, they still need more. 

“Can I keep going? Tell me I can keep going.”

You’re exhausted from the brutal pace they’ve set, but their cock fills you so well and they sound so desperate, you have no choice but to say yes. Upon your agreement, Sloan is flipping you onto the mattress beneath them and bending your legs to your chest. 

They can get deeper like this, and Sloan knows it too. They start their pace off slower this time, trying to give you time to recover before their own need takes over. They hold your hands, pinning them above your head while they fuck you.

Their eyes lock with yours as they increase the pace, the tip of their cock hitting that spot inside of you perfectly every time. There are tears in your eyes from the pleasure, but it only makes them harder. 

“Too deep,” you whine, squeezing their hands with as much strength as you can muster.

“You don’t love having me fill you up?” They mumble into your ear, “if I can’t stuff you with my cum, I’ll fill you with my cock.”

You gasp and squeeze your eyes shut, their dirty words sending you over the edge. You try to clench your knees together but Sloan’s body is in the way. They fuck you through your orgasm, squeezing your hands back with every bit of pressure you squeeze theirs with.

“That’s it,” though their words are soft, they punctuate each one with a thrust, “cum on my cock.”

They slide their hands down your body, resting on your hips once more. Their thrusts start to get sloppy, and you know they can’t last much longer like this. You reach up, desperate for something—anything—to ground yourself, your fingers coming in contact with their hair.

Sloan whines and cums in one sloppy motion, resting their head on your neck while they lazily thrust through their high. Soft groans and whines vibrate against your collarbone.

It takes a minute for them to collect their strength again, pulling their cock out of you. You look at them through tear blurred vision, eyes widening at the cum soaked condom dripping into the wild tangle of hair at the base of their length. There’s a ring of white around their cock from it all, and the only thought crossing your mind is how badly you want to lick it off.

Sloan can’t decide whether to admire the sheer amount of cum filling the condom, or be disappointed that they weren’t able to fuck it into you instead. They pull it off of their cock and toss it onto the floor—it’ll be a pain to clean later, but they don’t care. They reach into their nightstand for another one, but your hand wraps around their wrist first.

“You’re still hard?”

As if in reply, their cock twitches against your leg. Though the searing heat has finally begun to fade, the pure need coursing through their veins has not.

“You’re done already?” They counter.

“N-no,” you say quickly, though your pussy feels unbearably sensitive in the cold room. “But you don’t need to use that.”

They look down at the purple wrapper in their hand, then back up at you. Their eyes practically glitter in anticipation. “Raw?”

You nod shyly, reaching out your arms to beckon them back to you. You’ll never be able to match their insatiable pace—you know that—but you told them you’d help, even if it means letting them use you like a fleshlight.

They plant a kiss to the base of your throat, a devilish twinkle in the dark of their eyes. “Roll onto your knees.”

With their help, you roll onto your stomach and pull your knees up, arching your back to give them access to your dripping cunt. Too tired to keep your chest up, you rest your cheek against the single pillow in their bed and let yourself relax.

Sloan’s hands retrace the marks they left on your lips earlier, positioning you perfectly to line up with their cock. They land a harsh slap to your cunt with the head of their cock and slip it in all at once, relishing in the gasp that leaves your lips.

They rock their hips into yours, reaching up to tangle a hand in your hair. With one hand gripping your hips and another in your hair, they piston into you. You bite your lip to try and cover the onslaught of moans they fuck out of you and pray that Sloan doesn’t have neighbors—although at this point, they’ve probably heard enough.

“Feels even better raw,” they groan, balls slapping against your clit with a particularly brutal thrust. “S’like it was made for me.”

The burning in the pit of your stomach grows at their dirty words, your pussy utterly gushing around their length. Without the condom, you can feel the desperate throbbing of their cock, feel every twitch of their tip when they bottom out inside of you. They reach everywhere inside you, rubbing places you didn’t even know you had.

Waves of pleasure roll over you, each more intense after the last. Your pussy flutters around Sloan’s cock, but their pace doesn’t slow. They keep slamming into you, lewd slapping noises loud enough to cover your desperate moans. They tug your hair hard, pulling you closer, and roll their hips against yours.

Their cockhead brushes your cervix and your eyes roll back in the sharp pleasure that travels through your pussy. Drool leaks from the side of your mouth and your moans transform from fully formed words to stupid sounding babbles.

Sloan releases your hair from their grip and moves their hand to massage your ass. “Sounds so cute when you whine,” they coo breathily.

Your senses all come flooding back to you when you feel the first spurt of their hot cum inside of you. Your tummy flutters with butterflies, your pussy contracts, and you cum with them. Both of you writhe in bed against each other, Sloan’s desperate, near primal pants like music to your ears.

“Fuck,” you groan as you collapse into the bed.

They keep their cock inside of you, shallowly thrusting their cum back in. “Please don’t stop,” they whine. “Please, I-I need more. Please.”

Your whole body burns, your pussy is so sensitive you’re not sure you’d even be able to cum again. “Sloan,” you sigh, looking back at them. 

“Please. Please let me keep using you. Please. You don’t even have to do anything but please let me use this pussy,” they pinch your clit in emphasis. “Please.”

“Well, with begging like that,” you joke.

Sloan wastes no time slamming their cock back inside of you, and though you can hardly feel the harsh slapping motion, you can tell their pace has slowed. You lay there, sweaty and hot and with their cum dripping out and being fucked back in.

Sloan murmurs praises to you while they thrust, their mind half gone from how fucking horny they are. They can see cum dripping down your pussy, down your thighs and it’s so filthy and it’s so hot and all they want is more. They pound into you, chasing that final high they may or may not get, desperately gripping your sensitive skin until there’s marks.

Finally, they cum again, their hot cum gushing until you’re so full it starts to burst from the seams between your pussy and their cock. Sloan watches it leak out in a trance, as if in disbelief that not only did they fuck you, they also just fucked you raw.

The heat has completely faded from their body, and as they pull out from your cunt and watch the cum drip, their cock finally starts to soften. “Are you okay?”

You manage a weak thumbs up from where you lay in the bed.

Just as they go to put on their pants, their cock twitches again, and the heat comes rushing back. Sloan sighs, looking at you guiltily, “think you can do a round 2?”

overwatch masterlist | masterlist

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

[spyder-junkie]

I just cant stop thinking of Earth-42! miles with a reader that falls for prowler first.

(had to rewrite this post because it didnt save the first time *frustration*)

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

EARTH-42 MILES MORALES X Reader

I imagine you’ve snuck out, leaving your apartment in the middle of the night unbeknownst to your parents.

Youre walking down to your house under the cover of darkness when quickly you notice your being followed.

You curse silently.

The man behind you is much bigger than you are, and youre not sure you could fight him off if it came to it.

You start taking random turns, leading the man away from your apartment building, but as you being to pass an alley way, he grabs you, ducking you in.

He has you against a wall, his forearm holding your neck to the bricks.

“Youre real beautiful, do me a favor and keep quiet.” You flinch as his voice, hands shaking as your eyes begin to water.

Then suddenly theres a ‘whoosh’ and the man falls to the ground, dead.

You look up to your rescuer, and its the prowler, a well know criminal in the area.

Your heart beats in your ears as he begins to walk away, boots clanking down the sidewalk.

You run after him.

“Thank you!” You say, jogging to keep up with his strides.

“You really saved my ass.”

“It’s dangerous out at night.” He huffs, voiced warbled by the mask. You let out a little chuckle.

“Yeah…” You stop walking.

“Could you walk me home? please?”

The prowler stops walking, most likely contemplating what he should do. Then he lets out another sigh.

“You owe me.” He states firmly, turnning around to face you.

You smile, carefully wrapping your hand around two if his clawed, gloved fingers and leading him in the opposite direction.

The walk was almost silent, you taking occasional glances at the villian by your side. You noticed he had two thick braids that cascaded down his neck.

What you didnt notice was the glances he spared at you.

When the two if you reached your apartment, he watched as you climbed the fire escape to your window. You open it, climbing inside. Then you pole your head back out, mouthing a ‘thank you!’ and waving down at the prowler.

you wait expectantly for him to wave back, smiling once he finally does.

Then he disappears.

You didnt know if you would ever see the masked villian again.

So imagine your surprise two weeks later when theres a knock at your window.

It was around 8pm, you were working on a school assignment when the sound of metal tapping glass hit your ears.

You turn in your spinning chair, eyes widened at the sight of prowler crouched in your window.

You rush to unlock it, pullibg up the glass pane and letting the night air in.

“Missed me?” You ask, trying to mask the shaking in your voice.

“Do you have a digital alarm clock?” He asks, ignoring your question all together.

You think for a moment.

“I might have my old one in my closet.” You say, not giving him a chance to reply before you turned on your heel.

You expected him to follow you, but he didnt, staying perched in the window and looking around your bedroom from the outside.

He waited as you rummaged through your things.

Then suddenly you emerged, holding an alarm clock, the cord trailing behind you.

What do you need it for?” you ask.

“Mechanical parts.” was his vauge reply.

, you hand it to him.

He held it in one of his clawed hands, getting ready to depart. That was until you crossed your arms and loudly cleared your throat.

He looked at you.

“Thank you?” You raise an eyebrow.

“……..Thanks.” He mumbles, just before jumping off the fire escape and disappearing again.

The next time you see him is well over a month later.

Its a little past 3am, and you’re well into needed sleep.

Then theres another knock at you window.

A bunch of knocks actually. You hear the metal tapping sound until you rise from your bed, annoyed to say the least.

When you see Prowler at your window once again, you pick up the pace moving to the window to open it.

This time, as soon as you life the pane, he steps in.

Or he tries to, he trips, his body hitting the ground softly next to your bed.

“Woah- are you alright…” You ask, panicked.

He doesn’t answer.

“Prowler….?” You ask, closing the window.

Still no answer.

“pleasedontbedeadpleasedontbedeadpleasedontbedead…” You press your ear to his metal chest, bending down to his laying position.

Hes breathing.

You sigh in relief.

You sit and think for a moment before carefully sitting him up.

You try your best to remove all the parts of his suit, placing them in a neat pile in your closet as you go.

You realize theres a flesh wound on the side of his ribs, and a couple cuts and bruises elsewhere.

After immense debate, you hesitantly press the button on his mask, letting it move to the side to reveal his face.

Hes…handsome, you realize, and much younger than you imagined. There was a cut on his face and a bruise by his hairline, there was a bit of bleeding in his scalp, you assumed thats what caused him to pass out.

You tiptoe to the bathroom, grabbing a first aid kit and begining to clean him up with a warm rag and bandages.

You even unbraid his hair, dressing the wound in his scalp and braiding it back in a way that wouldn’t irritate the healing.

He doesnt stir in the slightest, seemingly a heavy sleeper.

After you’re finished, you carefully move him to your bed, and cuddle up beside him. You get close, but dont touch him, then slowly you drift off to sleep.

When Miles wakes up, his initial response is panic. He begins to look around, trying to pinpoint where he is.

He flinches as he lifts his arm to rub the sleep from his eyes.

“Good morning.” You say, emerging from the bathroom dressed for school the day.

He watches as you begin to do your hair in the mirror.

“G’mornin.” He mumbles, still watching you.

“How are you feeling?” You ask. He looks down, analyzing how you dressed his wounds.

“Im fine. Sore. You aint do too bad here.” He says. Now you can really hear his accent without the mask.

“Good. Good… you scared me yknow, I was worried.” You mumble.

Miles furrows his eyes, but he keeps quiet.

He watches as you grab you bookbag and your keys.

“Your suit is in my closet. I set out clean towels in my bathroom if you want to shower. My dad is gone for the day, you can make yourself something to eat if you’d like. Leave whenever you want, just please close my window when you go.” You say, hand on the doorframe.

“Okay………..….thank you.” he mumbles, still staring hard at you.

“You’re welcomeee…..” You leave the sentence open.

“…..Miles.” He says softly.

“Miles.” You repeat.

“Get some rest.” You say, opening the door.

“And dont be a stranger.”

His gaze lingers on the doorway even long after you’ve left.

And when you come home, Miles is gone.

The towels are in the hamper, his suit is gone from the closet, your bed is made, and the window is closed, its like he was never there at all.

But then sitting on your desk, theres $300 cash and a small note.

“Thanks again, Hermosa……-Miles”

[dadsbongos]

dungeon meshi gave me an excuse to write clone porn

2.6 k words / warnings - readers have boobs and vagina, oral (laios + reader receiving), thigh fucking, porn without plot like none at all, not proofread + written while sleep deprived

summary - on your honeymoon, you and laios have a special kind of shapeshifter encounter

~~~

“Who keeps two towels in the whole house?” you grumble, pulling on the shoes you’d kicked off just minutes ago.

“Like I said, they probably keep some in the shed,” Laios is directly behind you, shoes on and wired to step outside, “Vacation houses out here are rare, but their sheds are more useful for storage than farming tools.”

“Still, did they not think to prepare a little more?” your frustration is not so easily tempered, “They knew a king was coming, didn’t they?”

“I’m sure they did,” Laios opens the front door for you, ushering you outside, “Marcille seemed pretty sure she set this up nicely for us. It’s just a short walk around the back, I could go by myself if you want to finish showering?”

His suggestion makes you sigh, you shake your head, huddling closer to him as chilled wind scathes your damp skin, “I’m just annoyed, it’s nothing for me to be so hostile about… Sorry for losing my mind.”

“I don’t mind,” he smooches the crown of your head and ventures around the house. You chase after, having to keep a hand dragging along the wall to avoid tripping.

“Laios!” you wail, unable to make him out with gray clogging your whole vision, “Laios!”

“Yeah?” you slam into his chest, letting out a muted ‘oomf!’ at the impact.

“It’s so foggy out here,” you grumble.

“It is, guess I forgot how terrible it could be.”

“Dunno how you could forget anything like this.”

Laios groans in irritation at the weather, blindly reaching out until he’s got a hand on your shoulder. Once he’s certain of your position, he reaches out again, “Here, take my hand, I don’t want you to get separated from me.”

You take the hand extended and let Laios tug you towards the shed. By the time you’re inside and the hanging overhead lantern is lit, a sudden discovery is made.

There are two extra bodies among you. You hold one Laios, and the Laios across from you holds the hand of your copy.

A gasp echoes through the room, distinctly Laios-like in passion.

Seems a monster has crossed your paths.

One Laios is taller, a mere two inches, and you think if you really stare that same Laios’ chest is slightly bigger too. He’s also smiling, beaming really, right off the bat while the second Laios’ excitement is more contained to shaking hands and meek giggles. To be fair to both, they thought they’d never see a monster again so you let the strange giddy slide.

However, your duplicate is scary in how precisely Laios remembers you. Your hair is a bit bouncier and lips more glossy than current, but she’s undeniably accurate. Its legs, the swell of its breasts, the mold of its waist -- almost as though you’re gazing through a mirror.

“This would probably be easier if it wasn’t just us,” you think aloud, looking at the two Laioses only to see them poking and prodding at one another.

“They don’t seem too keen on figuring out which is which,” your copy mumbles, earning a glare from you.

“It’s a shapeshifter!” the slightly shorter Laios (who you’re now electing to dub Laios A) shouts, “I haven’t seen one of these in forever! I thought I never would again!”

The other one, Laios B, nods and yanks Laios A’s hair experimentally, then groping his bicep, “It really feels just like I do! Soft, but firm skin and the hair texture’s exactly right!”

As if thinking in sync, the pair slowly turn towards the yous. Four hands turn unto you both to squeeze and roll down the planes of your body. Or, bodies, considering they’re petting down your copy as well.

“Practically identical!” Laios A squeals, kissing your cheek then your copy’s, “Even the plumpness of their cheeks feel the same!”

“Glad you’re having fun,” your dupe cuts in, “but shouldn’t we try getting rid of the fakes before they get rid of us?”

Oh, that little wench.

“Let Laios have fun,” you smack its arm, “You should know this is rare for him now.”

“That attitude’s terrible! He could die if we keep messing around!” it glares at you with an accusatory finger-wag, “I bet you want us to waste time, you fake!”

“You’re the fake, you fake!”

Laios A has to restrain you with both arms around your waist -- while Laios B does the same for your shifter -- to prevent you from knocking a fist into its stupid, fake face.

“There’s gotta be a way to figure out which ones the real one without breaking into fights,” Laios B fusses, hugging the shifter tighter to soothe her. Which, in turn, only agitates you more because what if that Laios is the real one, and he’s in horrible danger holding that monster?!

“We can’t just cut ourselves open,” Laios A’s chest reverberates at your back, then his hand skims down the front of your stomach, fingertips dipping just beneath your waistband, “But maybe we could tell each other’s behaviors apart some other way…”

“Oh, so it’s like that?” you tilt your head back to stare up at Laios A.

He nods, terminally serious despite the pinkish hue trailing from his cheeks to his neck, “It’s like that,” he then darts his eyes between you and your copy, “Can we?”

The real question seems to be: can you two get along for now?

Are you so devoted to Laios that you’re willing to play nice with something so grating?

You sigh and reach up to cup Laios A’s cheek, “Yeah, we can.”

Both Laioses rush to undo the tie of their trousers, only to be stopped by you and your copy -- the two of you falling onto your knees, creeping hands under Laios’ shirt and beneath his pants.

Yanking the soft material down to unveil thick thighs, Laios A above you gasps quietly at the cool air brushing his exposed skin. Your lips climb the meat of his leg, noting that Laios B’s thighs are looking a little rounder. Not that it matters, you’ll gladly bite and suck both.

Fingers dancing along the apple of your cheek redirect your attention, Laios A’s face tinged crimson. You smooch the bone of his hip, nails scaling along the back of his thighs to pull him closer. Beside your face, his cock hardens, color deepening towards his mushroom tip; he keens for more attention, unintentionally smearing leaky precum over your face as his erection twitches. You smooth a thumb along his underside before chastly pecking the weepy head.

Laios B’s hands strip your copy’s shirt, lifting it to paw at its breasts. He kisses down the column of its neck before reaching out for you as well. Rising onto your feet, you run your hands up Laios B’s back to shirk off his top -- Laios A awkwardly lingering behind your clone. His hands find the waistband of its pants, snaking beneath the lip to plunge into its panties.

You press a kiss to Laios B, he doesn’t turn to return the affection, but you recover quickly by pulling down both you and your duplicate’s bottoms. Laios A’s neck cranes over your copy’s shoulder to snatch your lips for himself. Laios B’s hands warm and calloused from labor as they careen up your waist to rid you of your shirt as well. He sucks a violet array from your shoulder to jaw, grinding his turgid girth between your thighs -- your wetness welcoming him.

Laios A moans at the sight of himself thrusting along your soaked slit, fingers quickening inside your copy until its own slick is rolling towards the floor. While Laios B releases muted groans and puffs into your ear.

“Need to be inside you,” Laios A whines, kissing your copy’s lips before striding past all three of you towards the center of the room. Laios B and you tilt to watch him.

Laios A quickly flattens his back against the floor, cobblestone acclimating to his rising body heat, he pulls you down by the waist -- then beckoning your copy via wave. One of his hands cradles your waist while the other smoothes along your copy’s thigh. Silently urging it to kneel over his face, all while his twitching cock bobs toward the apex of your thighs.

“Want to know if here’s the same, too,” Laios A murmurs into your dupe’s thighs, sharply jerking his hips towards yours.

Suddenly, large hands are burrowing into the thicket of your hair, swerving your eyes to Laios B. Your tongue lulls in time with your copy, lips brushing hers around the base of Laios B’s flushed head. Needily, he mushes your faces together, thrusting between the wet cavern of your mouths. Hands just as soft as yours slither beneath you to work Laios A inside you. Laios A snaps his knees up, feet on the floor, to aid your copy’s effort. His hips buck up, punching air from your chest as he pops into your hole.

A louder mewl slithers past your copy’s lips, Laios A’s tongue lathering its slit before pausing at its clit, bathing the bud in extra attention. His thumbs splay it open just for easier access to tongue-fuck. Meanwhile, your sleepy bouncing rhythm is interrupted by abrupt, sharp humping throwing you off balance. The only reason you don’t fall over is Laios B stubbornly holds your head still, fucking the sodden gap between yours and your clone’s faces; otherwise leaving you to your own devices. You manage to catch yourself on Laios A’s chest, firm muscles flexing beneath your palms with his throaty hums and whimpers of pleasure.

Your tongue clashes with your clone’s -- soft and wet and warm.

Pulling both your heads back, Laios B rearranges you so your clone is left squealing around his balls while he slaps the meaty weight of his cock on your tongue. Sliding toward the back of your throat, his face flushes as he hungrily coaxes your head further down. Until your molten cheeks meet the protrusions of his pelvic bones.

A hand bigger than yours (though smaller than the one in your hair) rests on your flexing tummy, pressing against the bulging evidence of which Laios is inside you. Laios A groans at the feeling, and you quickly fumble your hand over his, pressing harder with a delighted gasp that ends in a gag and choke. Their sizes are indecipherable, and if the mood were different you could almost be ashamed by how perverted it makes you seem.

Laios B throws his head back as your throat spasms around his tip, lip cinched between his teeth and brows furrowed. He forces your head side-to-side, reveling in the bend of your muscles shifting to accommodate his dick. Laios A, however, stretches his hand (a little uncomfortably) so his thumb can swish messily against your clit. Your volume grows, quickly overpowering both Laios B and your own duplicate. Spurring Laios A to hasten, jostling you with his powerful drilling paired with stimulating your clit.

The other hand of Laios A has found one of your clone’s tits, squeezing and padding the nipple with his thumb. She’s grinding down against his nose, hips jumping and muffled mewls just barely scratching past its lips into the sensitive sack of Laios B’s balls. Spit gurgling down its chin, drying against its breasts and Laios A’s hand.

Drool steadily pools at the pucker of your own lips, pushed out everytime B shoves in -- saliva splatters his hips, dripping down his thighs and soaking his base as well as your entire lower face. The quicker he fucks your face, the sloppier and wetter it gets. Which is certainly in character for Laios.

But so is the way the one on his back is staving off his burgeoning orgasm to make sure (both of) you finish first. Something he always tries.

Laios A’s hips snap up firmly, crooking up into you midair, deep as possible to ensure all his cum is milked by your cunt. He moans into your clone’s cunt, now content to let his tongue hang out as it fucks his face -- his hand still squishing its tit.

Yet something he always fails.

Laios usually cums before you, but he’s also got the stamina to soldier on until you drop.

Determined, Laios swirls your clit, fevered thrusts slowing to meet your bouncing on his cock. Another slush of saliva oozes past your lips, lubing the shapeshifter as you cry around its erection. Laios fucks you through your orgasm, evidently loving how cum spews from your weeping cunt -- leaking down his cock, over his nuts, and spilling onto the cobblestone below.

Faux Laios spits cum down your throat with a few final aggressive jerks. Your clone is the last, and the quietest, shy huffs scarcely audible between skin on skin and both you and Laios’ noisy crooning.

The shapeshifters tumble off, thoroughly exhausted, and you fare no better collapsing into Laios’ chest. He leisurely jabs the last of your energy from you before pulling out altogether. Sweetly pecking your forehead, Laios murmurs something you don’t quite catch before he rises -- still naked -- to drive off the imposters.

Snagging both by the back of their necks, Laios herds the pair towards the back wall, then scooping you up to carry towards the main house. Once your doppelgangers are locked outside, Laios can focus on getting you in bed.

You pinch the juncture of his neck, yawning into his chest, “Clothes…”

“I know, I know,” he slumps against the door upon getting inside, laying his head over yours -- eyes fluttering with drowsiness as soon as he crosses into the master bed, “I’ll go back when the shapeshifter’s dealt with. You brought more clothes, right?”

You nod clumsily. Then peek at him through heavy lashes, “How do you know I’m the right one anyway?”

(you trust him to know which you was which, you just want him to bask in this)

Laios grins, visibly excited to share as he slips you beneath the sheets, “You’re always loud when we have sex, so I knew the version of you trying to be quiet couldn’t be it. And it was too shy about sitting on my face -- we’ve been together a while so you should be used to it by now,” his expression grows somehow brighter before disappearing from your sight, voice lively from the bathroom, “Could you tell which me was me?”

“Mhm,” you wait for him to return with a damp washcloth before mumbling your own reasoning, “The other one was too rough, kept shovin’ my head. And he never kissed me,” you fling a hand out, and Laios moves his head so your palm lands on his cheek, “Which was very unlike you.”

“You’re so smart,” he muses, shifting to kiss your palm before lacing his free hand with yours and retucking it in bed so he can properly clean the mixed cum between your thighs. Then, suddenly, he’s frowning.

“Aw, what’s wrong?”

“This might actually be my last time seeing a monster, unless it's a corpse Izutsumi brings me…”

“Poor baby,” you’ll never understand his fascination -- monsters are deadly and terrible and most are ugly as sin, but you’re useless to denying Laios anything so you always indulge him, “You could sing me the mermaids’ song, would that help you feel better?”

Laios sits up straighter, finishing cleaning you off, “Can I sing to the end? I never get to finish it.”

“Of course, you can.”

Quiet, hysterical giggles leave Laios’ mouth as he slides into bed beside you, hugging you into his chest before clearing his throat to begin singing.

(you have to keep pinching yourself awake to actually let Laios finish the song before falling asleep, but his grateful little kisses on your hairline are enough thanks)

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

On Tattered Cloaks

Part four of this pirate!au. You didn't really think your husband wouldn't track you down, did you? ~4.5k words

Quiet sobs start to fade to disbelieving giggles. It really was that easy. All of your husband's promises had vanished with just one careful plan and a few moments alone.

You were actually getting away. You actually managed to flee his presence without letting him catch you. It's all made worse at how painfully simple it was.

He had been nearly perfect in the market, everything you had missed in the years apart. He wanted to build you a garden, a home away from the sea. He saw a life with you.

But that doesn't change that he has a life without you. Something better, something bigger without you to drag him down.

The wagons continue none the wiser to your suffering. Hours of being trapped in your own thoughts eventually come to a halt, as dirt roads turn to stone once more. Voices pick up as the wagon comes to a stop, and the canvas parts to reveal the old caravan leader.

He offers you his hand, and you hope you don't look like you've been crying as you take it. He helps you down as you murmur shaky thank yous for his generosity.

"Ah, here, you'll probably want this," he says, gently releasing your hand to pull out a decent-sized coin purse. It's filled with enough coin to buy you food and lodging for a few nights, and a ticket to the next town.

You falter, eyes darting between him and the coins, "I– Oh. I can't take this. You've already helped me so much."

His expression softens as he takes your hand and places the purse in your grip, "You've had a long journey. Take it. I insist."

"But," You start as he pulls away, "I can't pay you back."

He shakes his head faintly, sympathy crossing his features, "The look on your face was clear enough, dear. I know the signs of someone running from something. Allow me to help, at least this much."

Your shoulders slump, his words make tears want to fall all over again, "Thank you."

He shoos you along kindly, "Just be careful. It's dangerous to travel alone."

You offer him a smile and he returns it before focusing back on his cargo. You slip into the crowd without another word, heartbreak is heavy, but the old man's words make your steps a bit lighter.

It doesn't take long for you to find another caravan, offering its services to Central City. It's an easy decision to make. This town is far too small to stay in, and far too close to Star Port. All it takes is a few coin from the merchant's purse, and you're seated and traveling to the next city.

You fidget with the hair pins in your pocket as your thoughts inevitably return to your husband, to Jason. Was he looking for you? Is he relieved that the burden of his past is gone?

It's irrational, but the feeling of being followed makes your skin prick, makes your head turn to check over your shoulder as the Central City gates approaches. There's never anything there.

The guards wave the caravan through without much inspection and you find yourself in a brand new city. It's strange, to be in a city with no port. There's no cries of gulls and no smell of the sea. It's nothing like Gotham, nothing Iike Star Port. It brings a sense of security.

You're quick to leave the other travelers as the wagons stop, and you're even quicker to weave through the crowd. You make your way from the fancy, wealthy district and towards the seedier, tavern lined streets.

It takes longer than you'd like, going through the inns and taverns to look for a job, to look for somewhere to stay. Eventually, you find a sign outside of a grimy looking Tavern called The Wildcat, looking for a barmaid or barman to apply inside. The pay doesn't look exceptional, but it does offer free room and board.

The old man at the empty bar doesn't even bother to look up when you walk in. "Excuse me," You ask, "are you still hiring for the bartender job?"

He doesn't spare you a glance, just focuses on the glass he's cleaning, "yer too soft."

"I– what?" You ask, taken back.

"Yer too soft," he repeats, finally looking up at you, "couldn't handle the types we get in here."

That makes you straighten out, "I can handle whatever drunks find their way in here." It's the truth. The long days spent searching for any information at Gotham's docks prepared you enough for that.

He looks you over, but something in his eyes changes as he studies you closer. He nods, like he found what he was looking for, "Yer room is upstairs. Last door. Your shift starts in an hour."

You blink, "I– okay."

"Don't cause any trouble," he mumbles grumpily and goes back to cleaning the same glass.

It takes you more shifts than you expect to learn the owner's name. He eventually grunts out 'Ted Grant' between showing you the best way to kick the taps to get them to work. Within a few short weeks, The Wildcat becomes something like a home.

Your coworkers, who only seem to come in when it suits them, joke with you and introduce you to the best parts of central city. Cissie King pulls you onto tables to dance and she shares stories of how she misses living by the sea too. She's your first friend that's completely yours in a long time.

Ted knocks more than one handsy patron on their ass for you, and there's a story to him you haven't quite been able to get him to open up about. He pats your shoulder the first time you hit someone yourself, and murmurs how you remind him of his niece.

It's almost perfect. It really would be, if it wasn't for the dreams. Dreams of your husband, the way he used to hold you, the sound of his laugh, the color of his hair, the warm touch of his hands. His promises echo in your head, that you're his, you'd always be his. That he's going to find you, no matter how long it takes.

It makes you snap awake, grabbing at your blankets and eyes darting frantically around your empty room. Your gaze always settles on the hair pins set on your vanity. The ones you can't seem to get rid of. The silver rose seems to glimmer when you look at it.

There's an ache in your heart during mornings like this, where a part of you so desperately misses your husband. You trace the petals of the rose. You never dared to wear it, never risked even the possibility of being recognized.

The day seems to pass in a strange haze, like the calm before a storm. Not even your weekly lunch with Cissie eases the edge in your body. Every stranger seems like a threat. By the time you've returned to The Wildcat for your shift, you're jumpy.

Ted notices and waves you off to deal with the kitchen, lazily grunting that he can handle the bar himself. It's a blessing in disguise that he does.

A red-headed man swaggers through the door, and drops down at the bar. For a second, your heart drops with the idea it's Roy– but, no. Ted huffs out, "Thought I banned you, West."

The man shrugs, a boyish smile on his face as he brushes off his dark long coat, "That was ages ago."

Ted grumbles something, but you don't hear the rest of the conversation. You just see the glint of guns at the strangers side and the way his eyes lock on yours through the serving window. It makes your skin prick and the feeling of danger set in.

Nothing in his face gives away anything, but a part of you feels that he knows. He knows who you are. He knows Jason.

"Hey. Eyes off my staff," Ted snaps, waving a hand at the stranger.

'West' smiles widely, "Don't worry so much, old man. I was just leaving. Give my best to Cissie," he drawls, making his way out the door. He shoots you a wink as it closes behind him.

Ted grumbles over how he didn't even buy anything, but you can't focus, overwhelmed by the feeling of how wrong that felt. It has to be impossible, whatever that was, it can't be connected to your husband.

It's what you tell yourself as your shift ends, as you turn restlessly over in your bed, as the day passes until the next night. It's what you keep repeating right until a hooded figure walks into The Wildcat.

It's busier tonight than normal, but it doesn't stop the man from walking through the crowd and sitting in front of you at the bar. You can't ignore the figure, even if you do delay serving them by talking with other customers. The sensation of walking into a trap curls in your gut when you finally speak to him.

You ignore your unease as you smile, professional and pleasant, "What can I get for you tonight?"

You can't make out their features, concealed by the shadows of their hood, but their cold, low tone sends chills down your spine, "Rum, if you will."

"Coming right up," You chirp with a sweet smile, quickly busying yourself with pouring their drink. You set the glass in front of them, "Can I get you anything else?"

"No," They answer evenly, gloved fingers curling around the smooth glass before downing the drink with a single swing.

You take the cue to return to your other customers, but the tension doesn't leave your shoulders. He's watching you, calm and collected as his fingers drum rhythmically on the hard surface of the bar.

The night continues like this, he denies any more liquor, and even the patrons who usually are unruly and flirtatious seem mellowed in his presence. It's unnerving, so much so you find yourself in front of him again, "Would you like to close your tab?"

He nods slightly and reaches under his cloak to pull out a pouch full of coins, dropping it to the bar.

You tilt your head, whatever amount is in there greatly exceeds the cost of a single rum, "It's only a few coppers."

He seems unbothered by this, leaning forward to speak in a gravely tone, "Keep it."

Your unease is visible now, like you can feel the walls closing in, "I couldn't possibly."

The hooded figure merely chuckles and it makes you jolt, the sound quiet, low and cold and all too familiar. Chills run down your spine as he speaks again, amused, "Don't protest on my account. It's a gift."

"A gift," You ask, strained. There's no way. It's impossible it's him. You'd been so careful.

"A gift," he echoes, and his voice has a strange tone, an implication there's more to the offer, "a gift for the pretty bartender."

You pick up the pouch reluctantly, "Is there an occasion for such a generous gift?"

His fingers resume their drumming, voice still low and amused, "Call it an appreciation for beauty."

You blink, then lower your tone to match his, "Does this gift have a price? Perhaps, sir, you'd like to know when my shift ends?"

His fingers still and he tenses at your coy tone, he murmurs, almost absentmindedly, "Perhaps I would, love."

You lie easily about when you'll be free. It surprises you sometimes, how easily you've come to lie.

The hooded figure hums, you tell yourself you're imagining the disappointment in his tone, "I shall be waiting for you then, darling."

"Outside," You ask, keeping the shake that threatens to make itself known in your voice at bay, "In the alley?"

He laughs softly and nods, "The rear of the tavern will do just fine, love."

"I look forward to it," You say happily. Another lie. You have no intention of being anywhere in this city by the end of the night.

"As do I," he drawls, and for a moment neither of you move. It's a standstill, and his complete attention focuses on you in a strange, familiar way.

You watch with bated breath as he finally rises from his seat and leaves the tavern. You don't relax, immediately mumbling to Ted that you think you're going to be sick.

He doesn't get an answer out before you're taking the stairs to your room two at a time. You tug your cloak on, throw whatever you can carry into a small bag, shove the hair pins into your pocket.

You scribble an apology for Ted and Cissie onto paper, chastising yourself for not leaving after the red-headed man stared you down yesterday. You dump out the hooded figures' coin purse, quickly counting out the coins.

You freeze when you see coins aren't the only thing in the bag. There's a ring. It's beautiful. So visibly expensive and so obviously something you would wear, it makes you sick. You leave the coins for Ted. You drop the ring into your pocket alongside the hair pins with shaking hands.

Your mind races with plans and the best routes to get out of Central City as you scramble down the stairs. You stop yourself just before you take the back exit. It's too obvious. It's where he'd be waiting.

You sneak into Ted's office, it's more of a closet with a window really, and push the glass open. You drop out the window quietly into the tiny garden, the only light to guide you coming from the tavern and the moon.

You make your way carefully to the adjacent stables, constantly checking for the hooded figure over your shoulder. The shadows of the night conceal most of the area, but there's enough light to see the horses stirring within.

You wake one of Ted's horses, a young mare you convinced him to buy to help pull a wagon. You murmur a soft apology to Ted, and hope the obscene number of coins you left make up for this.

You saddle the horse quickly, and pull your hood low over your head as you pull yourself onto the mares back.

It makes your heart race, as you guide the mare from the stable, how many hiding places there are. How easily Jason and his crew could be around any corner. You head for the city gates, and goosebumps rise on your skin every time you check behind you.

There's a heavy feeling in the air, the shadows seem to reach for you as you encourage your horse out the city and onto dirt roads. You have a terrifying thought that you're being tracked. It gnaws at your mind relentlessly.

You grip the reins tighter as you ride faster. You're so far from the ocean, you've been so careful, and as you get further from the city you start to convince yourself you overreacted. It must have been nothing, only a traveler interested in the poor and pretty bartender working in a cheap tavern.

The thought is comforting, it's what you convince yourself of as you guide your horse towards an inn along the road. The hour is late, and to continue traveling only risks thieves and highwaymen.

You stable your mare, and with one more glance over your shoulder, you enter the inn. It smells of food and ale and dirt, but it's clean enough. None of the patrons seem familiar, but you pull your hood lower nonetheless.

The staff member standing over the guest book looks friendly enough as you walk over, "May I get a room for the night?"

They nod, almost uninterested, "Would you prefer a single or double?"

"Single. I also have a horse in the stable," You supply, anxious to hide away in any room they give you.

"Very well. Four silvers for the night and one for the stable," they answer, "and your name?"

You hand them the coin and lie about your name. "I'll return with your key in a moment," they say, and disappear through a curtain.

You glance towards the door as you wait. It's unexplainable, but you half expect to see Jason barge in, sword drawn, just as he did at the ball so many moons ago. It takes longer than it should for the innkeeper to come back.

"Is everything alright," You ask when they finally hand you your key.

They pause, then smile, "Apologies for the delay. We've had quite the day here today. Everyone is tired and eager to rest."

"Oh," You prompt, "is that so?"

"Indeed. We had a group of rowdy sailors stay last night, and they only left this afternoon," they answer.

"Sailors," You say, a little strained, "we're somewhat far from the ocean, aren't we?"

They nod, "They were picking over a map, quite the strange bunch. They caused a few fights with the other guests. Their captain was quite a sight."

"Their captain," You breathe out airily, heart in your throat. Any mask of a simple, curious traveler is hard to maintain as the inn keeper talks.

"Yes, his presence demanded attention. Dark red hat, more scars than I've ever seen, unruly hair. He was very intense, even as his crew joked around him," They answer, "but he paid fairly."

"I see," You mumble, forcing a smile to your face as you place a gold coin on the desk, "I do enjoy my solitude so, and I would be very grateful if you discouraged anyone from the idea that I was ever here."

The innkeeper's expression visibly shifts, greed and interest sparking in their eyes, "Of course. Your generosity is welcomed. We pride ourselves in dissuading anyone who inquires over our guests."

You smile again and head to your room in a daze, any comforting thoughts of the hooded figure not being related to Jason disappear. You have the urge to get back on your horse and keep riding. But it'd be a sure way to get hurt or robbed if you did.

You have no choice, but to wait until dawn. You settle in for the night, on edge. Sleep doesn't come easy, and the rest you do have is plagued by the color of your husband's eyes and the sound of his voice.

You're out of your room at the first rays of sunshine peeking over the horizon. It's a habit now, to tug your hood low as you drop your key on the inn keepers book. You ignore the hunger in your stomach and head straight for the stable.

The reassuring sight of your horse doesn't make you stop short, but the hooded man holding her bridle does. Neither of you speak as he pets her with gloved hands.

He's clearly no stable worker and you cross your arms at the sight, an attempt to hide your nervousness. You weigh your options, before speaking, "You're touching my horse."

He turns his head slightly at the sound of your voice, "Aye. So that I am. She's a fine stead." His voice has a subtle edge to it, almost menacing. You don't miss how his hand clenches around the reins, firm and unwavering.

"Are you going to keep touching her," You ask, and for all your plans and escape attempts, you can't think of a way out of this.

"Why shouldn't I? Such a fine beast deserves some attention, don't you think." He would sound playful, almost nonchalant if it wasn't for the challenge in his voice, daring you to confront him.

You exhale softly, stepping forward, "As much as I'm sure she adores your attention, I have somewhere to be."

He makes no move to release his hold on your horse's bridle, and you can feel how his gaze roams over you. He shrugs, dismissive and his tone dips almost condescendingly, "Do you now? What a shame. I was just beginning to delight in our little conversation."

"What is there to delight in," You bite back, fed up with the arrogance he exudes.

He lets out a laugh, his grip tightening on the reins before releasing it completely. He drops his hand to the pommel of the sword slung on his hip. "Ah, there's the spark I've been hoping for," he muses, voice low and laced with humor, "You're not one to bow down easily, are you, treasure?"

You stiffen, and it's like jumping into a cold river in the early morning and a harsh punch to the gut. He called you treasure. There's only ever one person who's called you that. It's a chilling, unarguable fact that your husband has tracked you down with a relentless determination.

Your eyes dart, scrambling for a plan. He has a sword. He's too close to your horse. You'd be lucky if you outrun him. He likely paid off anyone in the tavern that would help.

He steps towards you, tension mounting, "What's the matter, love? You've gone so quiet."

"How?" You ask sharply.

He tuts, unimpressed, but his voice is laced with satisfaction, "Well it wasn't luck, treasure. Do you think I'd be foolish enough to rely on mere luck when it comes to matters as important as this? No, no, my love. I used every resource at my disposal. Connections, favors, whispered words in the right ears, all to find you"

You imagine he looks smug right now, that despite all your careful steps, he still found you, "Take off your hood," You bite out.

His demeanor changes, any playful mockery gone as his hand tightens on his sword, voice dripping with danger, "Why should I?"

"Why wouldn't you?" You retort, hands dropping to your sides. It's not a secret who either of you are anymore, even he hasn't said your name, and you haven't said his.

He stares at you, as if weighing the pros and cons of the action, "Very well, treasure." With a steady motion, he draws his hood back, revealing a cascade of dark hair framing his face, the sunlight illuminating his features, rugged and determined and familiar, Jason.

He looks harsher. It's only been a handful of months but something about him seems off. His gaze is more intense, shoulders more stiff.

You try to reconcile your memories of your smiling husband with the man in front of you as he sets his jaw, "You look different," You tell him.

There's suspicion in his eye when you drop your hood as well, but his gaze darts over you greedily. "It has felt like an eternity without you. The months where I couldn't find you..." his voice trails off as he studies you, "it shouldn't be surprising that I look different."

"It was nothing compared to when you were missing," You say flatly, trying to keep your emotions in check.

Your husband's gaze darkens, and pain and frustration etches themselves onto his features, "Perhaps that's true, treasure."

His voice grows bitter, but his longing is clear as he continues to speak, "Yet, every moment apart feels like a lifetime. This aching absence, the unbearable uncertainty, it haunts my soul day and night. Can you blame me for taking drastic measures to find you?"

"Drastic measures?" You ask, voice pitching with surprise.

Jason's face hardens, eyes gleaming with a dangerous intensity, "I have left no stone unturned, no resource untapped. I've sent men to scour every corner, paid off every informant, and spared no expense."

He stares you down, voice resolute and unyielding, "So let me make one thing clear, treasure, I am not the same man I was before I lost you. I won't hesitate to use whatever means necessary to keep you by my side."

Your breath hitches, "I– your crew must hate me for that," You say softly. What you really mean to say is, 'you must hate me for that'.

His eyes soften as he registers your words and he closes the distance between you two, "Hate you? No. No one hates you, my love. You're a part of me. They understand that."

The way he says it sounds like a fact. You're not completely sure if it is. "Treasure," he continues, "my heart bleeds for you more than anything in this world."

"Then why was it so easy for me to leave?" You choke out the question that's been haunting you since that day in the market, hands curling in the fabric of your cloak.

Irritation flashes in his eyes, clearly you struck a nerve, "Easy? You underestimate your own cunning, love. I should have been more cautious that day, but don't mistake my momentary lapse of judgment as weakness on either of our parts."

You scoff and he steps forward to hook his finger under the clasp of your cloak, drawing you closer, "I was blinded by my own heart. You should know you've always had a way of making me lower my guard."

Your eyes widen. He's close. You can see the flecks in his eyes, the older scar lines on his face. Your voice is strained when you speak, "Why are you doing that?"

His brow furrows slightly, "Doing what? Talking to you?"

"Yes!" You lament, "that! Humoring me. What's your plan?"

"You want to know my plan," he drawls, dropping his hand from your cloak, "I'll tell you, my love. Allow me to make this perfectly clear, I'm pursuing you, humoring this conversation, leaving that ring for you," your fingers twitch towards the ring in your pocket unconsciously, a movement he devours eagerly.

He leans down, voice lowering as he continues, "because my plan is simple. I'm not letting you go again. I'm not allowing you to slip through my fingers and disappear into the ether."

His gaze is unwavering, studying your every reaction to his words, "What, no protest, treasure? No arguments?" He straightens back out, "Perhaps you recognize the futility of resistance by now."

"I don't know. I didn't really think I'd get away the first time," You admit quietly, his words swirling in your head.

A wry smile tugs after his lips, and pride over his ability to hunt you down and your own ability to get away slip into his expression. "Yes, it was rather an impressive feat, how long you managed to hide," he confesses, begrudging admiration in his voice, "But rest assured, my love, it won't happen again."

"Why couldn't you just let me go," You ask, pained. That should be what you really want, to free him and you of the endless waltz around each other. But a secret, small part of you is happy to see him.

He breathes out your name, voice longing and resigned, "Every fiber of my being screams for you. My heart and soul belong to you, they always have."

He says your name again, softly, gently. He grabs your arms, wrinkling the fabric of your cloak as he meets your eyes steadily, "I cannot let you go."

Part Five

[cokou]

❝ EMBARRASSING MOMENTS DURING SEX PT2 ❞

[Multi Character Fic] [マルチキャラクターフィクション]

Summary* quite literally the title, embarrassing things that happen during the do. Warnings* NSFW Note ✉* ~ I feel sadz ong😵‍💫 || MORE FOR LAW AND THE OTHERS LOLZ // do not translate, transfer, or reform. This is my only account (exp. Ao3), will not be crossposted in any other platforms. // Masterlist // PART 1

❝ TRAFALGAR LAW ❞

—Back when you asked him to try out toys with you and he agreed, when the toys arrived he immediately disagreed and demanded a refund from the seller because apparently you ordered those 20 inches dildo's and he gave you real scolding afterwards. (Its not exactly DURING the deed but..) [-373 Aura]

—WHEN he insisted that no one would hear you in his office because no one was currently on the ship since he sent them on an expedition and Shachi bursted on the door making you guys scream in shock. Law panicked and accidentally roomed you outside the ship, IN THE SEA NAKED.

❝ EUSTASS KIDD ❞

—Back when he invited Killer on a threesome, then when it came to the bedroom the two of them decided to fight on who's going inside your puss puss and Killer called Kidd 'selfish' because he already felt you before and they decided to have a battleground in your room.

—When you were riding him so fast that you accidentally slipped of the bed taking him with you on floor and you twisted your foot. [-210294844 aura😥]

❝ AKAGAMI-NO SHANKS ❞

—He asked Benn what position he should do to you, INFRONT OF YOU, and he recommended helicopter style. 'What the fuck'. (Not exactly DURING the thing but😭😭)

—When you were away from him at the time since you had to take care of a mission and you got a call from Benn that Shanks needed to speak to you, his dick got stuck on your teddy bear's thread and almost cut his circulation off. (☹️)

❝ SABO ❞

—You both agreed to use a condom for safety purposes, unfortunately, the size you bought was a size bigger than his. During the deed he didn't realize it came off INSIDE YOU, so now you're in the hospital getting rid of the stuck condom. Advance Happy Father's Day, Sabo.

—Unknowingly, you two didn't notice that Koala was in the same room as you guys while she slept. In the middle of the session she screamed "SHUT UP" and jumpscared Sabo, causing his dick to have a tereible cramp and, (not suprisingly) rushed him in the ER.

P.S. he almost broke his dick.

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