#At least these ones aren't itchy!

[drumlincountry]

Fieldwork week 5: I have so many insect bites that walking thru a thorn thicket feels kind of nice actually

[bowithoutadaemon]

Either I have gotten more sensitive or the mosquitoes that bit me last Friday were extra funky.

Instead of the bite just being slightly red these ones look like a bruise. So now my legs look like I got beaten put by a bunch of real tiny people.

There a picture behind the read more of my foot/ankle were there are multiple kinda close together. The other ~10 all over my legs look basically the same.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Quid Pro Quo | Michael Gavey x fem!reader

Summary: After being ditched by her friend at the Trinity College Christmas Party, she finds herself enthralled with learning the language of Michael Gavey | Word Count: 3.8k~ | Warnings below the cut!

Part Two: Carpe Diem Part Three: Veni, Vidi, Vici

warnings: virgin michael, semi-public sexual conduct, oral sex (m receiving), heavy petting

If she has to listen to Professor Wardon swoon over Ancient Greek and how it ‘drove him to pursue his dreams in extending his passion to other students’, she thinks she might actually fall asleep.

She's in a good spot to do so, nestled between two other students, the one on her right seemingly just as bored as her, and conveniently hidden behind a tall, lanky first year, who sits straight, with his head perfectly obscuring hers as he fixes his posture regularly.

Several times throughout, she's checked her watch, and yet the second hand never seems to move an inch.

Professor Wardon is just about to go on a lovesick spiel about Homeric Greek when the lecture concludes with a heaved sigh from every student as they sling their hefty bags over their shoulders.

“Remember I want 2,500 words on Les Liaisons dangereuses in my pigeon hole by next Thursday, before your Christmas parties!” 

“Oh joy,” she sighs with a grin to the girl walking shoulder to shoulder beside her as they leave, feeling noticeably lighter knowing that that's their last lecture before Christmas break.

“Christ, you're telling me. I can't be arsed to even right my own name at the moment, nevermind read 18th century fucking French.”

She gives a snort in reply, “Merry Christmas to us, eh? Should do what the French do and have a revolution or something.”

“Yeah, eat our lecturers or something.”

“Alright, I wouldn't go that far.”

“Anyway, I'm off to T Library, see ya, have a good Christmas and don't do anything I wouldn't!”

She waves her off as her friend disappears, the cold air of the outside nipping at her skin that manages to sneak beneath her coat.

Oxford University is not what she imagined at all. She came here very much feeling like an outsider, like there'd been some sort of paperwork mistake and it was supposed to be someone else in her place. 

The imposter syndrome seemed difficult to shift, but she'd at least managed to make a couple of friends since starting in September.

Languages had always found her well, and seemingly the only thing she managed to actually understand. People were inconsistent, cruel and fickle. Languages, though they shifted and changed, were firmly rooted in reason and understanding. 

As sad as it sounded, conjugating verbs, vowel shifts and rare dialects were the one thing she found herself itching to discover more about. The idea that there was more to uncover seemed exciting and scary at the same time.

And Oxford University was the best place she could be to do that.

All that said, her eagerness to get involved with her studies had left her social life with much to be desired.

In the first two weeks of university alone, she'd gained one friend and lost a boyfriend. And while they were drifting apart anyway, it was still a relatively large blow to her self-esteem and her confidence to actually get out there, socialise and make the most of her first year of freedom.

The only friends she'd made were those on her course. Priya, who'd just abandoned her to stick her nose in books about the Great Vowel Shift, and Anya, who…to be honest, rarely left her room. Seeming more like a ghost than anything else.

It was a wonder she was still a student, with how often she missed classes.

What Anya does do best, is manage to somehow rise out of her pit to drag her to Christmas parties that aren't even run by their college.

Which is why she finds herself somehow at Trinity College campus, where she eyes several scantily clad women wearing revealing Santa costumes adorned with itchy tinsel.

Anya is the sort of girl who, well, every girl kind of wants to be. So much so she sort of wonders why she hangs around with her. She's pretty, fit and fucking clever. Her only downfall is her taste in men, so often being Oxford pretty boys.

So it is absolutely no surprise at all, when two jägerbombs in, Anya has somehow slipped into the arms of one aforementioned Oxford pretty boy, seeming in every way a clone of the previous, with the exception of the way he pairs his Ayia Nappa top with his low rise jeans and the only effort to conform to  theme, is a pair of plastic reindeer antlers on his head bobbling side to side.

She grimaces as she watches them suck each other's faces off in a dark corner of the room, ‘Stay Another Day’ by East 17 blaring with a cheap crackle through the speakers as she makes her way through the bodies to somewhere quiet.

She sighs, nursing the rum and coke Anya had sloppily poured her in one hand as she closes the door behind her, shutting out the drunken squeals and cheers for the peace of a quiet common room.

It's still decorated, she notes, but empty. Maybe she could lurk here until Anya is done, if she ever will be.

The deep clack of a pool ball being sucked into a socket makes her jump, realising perhaps that she was not actually alone, as she'd previously thought.

The cool light hung above the battered pool table illuminates his deep red jumper, and the first thing she sees is the way he leans on one leg, standing straight as if he was imitating the rigid pool cue leant before him. The yellow lined detailing around the cuffs highlights his small wrists and big hands that stretch from it as he rubs blue chalk onto the tip.

Her eyes trail up the back of his neck, past the lazy waves of dark blonde hair, clearly due a trim at some point, and to his face, even from this angle able to see how his features sit. With a sharp nose and jawline, and black skinny glasses perched above his cheekbones.

She almost laughs at the way he's almost as tall as the light that illuminates the table, half-thinking that she might never have seen such a strange and yet interesting looking guy.

“Didn't fancy the party?” she finally says, alerting him to her presence.

She doesn't quite expect the way the light bounces off his sharp features, sinking his blue eyes in shadow as his head turns to her with an expression of boredom.

“Not particularly, no.” 

His voice is lighter than she thought it would be and part of her wonders if he's putting it on. He presses his glasses further up his nose before assessing his next shot, stalking around the table.

“Why's that?”

This time, when he answers, he doesn't look at her. He simply leans down, and aims.

“Not. Fucking. Invited,” he replies bitterly, missing a yellow, “that's why.”

Her fingertips moisten against the glass as the ice begins to melt, but she pays it no mind.

“So you're lurking about in here instead.”

He plays with the cue in one hand, barely sparing a second glance, a bitter, quiet laugh escaping him.

He misses another red before he heaves a sigh, straightening to look at her again.

“You here alone as well?” he asks dispassionately.

She smiles lazily and shrugs.

“My mate is…a bit preoccupied, if you know what I mean,” she replies, taking an awkward sip of the now watered down drink, “like you, I don't really think these are my thing either.”

He seems to consider her statement for a moment.

“Why come then?”

She shrugs again, “trying to be sociable.”

“With those vapid cunts? Good luck getting any intelligent conversation out of them.”

She watches as he picks up the blue chalk again, applying more when he doesn't even need it in sort of a nervous gesture, his blue eyes averted and pretending to assess his next move.

There's something about him. How judgemental he is and how he forms his words. Perhaps she hadn't expected this sort of guy to be so outwardly honest with his opinions, and for the most part, she can't say she disagrees with the message, just the way in which he said it.

“Can I play?” She asks, leaning over to put her drink down.

“What are you reading?” He asks so suddenly, and out of context, that she does a double take.

She raises her eyebrows, smiling, “Does my answer depend on if I get to play or not?”

There's no answer from him. Shocker of the century.

“Modern Languages.”

“Fucking hell,” he groans.

She's a bit too happy and dizzy on rum to get defensive.

“Is that one of those subjects that sounds way less interesting than it actually ends up being?”

She gives a breathy laugh, “just like languages.”

He hums, as if the answer didn't impress him, “more of a science and numbers man myself, obviously.”

For a moment, it's lost on her why it's obvious.

He takes a sip of his, no doubt, stale beer, wetting his lips after, “Your name is?”

She narrows her eyes teasingly, smiling as she leans against the table, “quid pro quo.”

She enjoys the brief confusion on his face, before he realises what she's said.

“Okay, okay, Michael.”

She smiles, “See? You know what that meant. Who says you're not a languages man?”

It's the first time he seems to duck his head, hiding a blush she's barely able to see.

“I don’t think the Ancient Roman idea of fair exchange warrants the title of ‘languages man’.” 

The blue chalk comes off on his hands as he fiddles nervously with it.

“So, am I bestowed the privilege of playing?”

He raises his head, and she can tell he's trying his damndest to not let a little beer-induced smile pass his lips.

“I suppose I could allow you to embarrass yourself in front of me for a bit, if you insist. We'll have to share a cue though.”

She doesn't have the heart to tell him her uncle was a pool player, and so by extension, has played pool for most of her upbringing. Rather, he finds out himself when she pots three yellows in a row.

It's either the alcohol or pity that kicks in when she misses the fourth, holding the cue for him to take.

“You being good at pool wasn't on my bingo card,” he mutters with some nervous teasing in his voice.

They go back and forth for a bit, missing some, potting some, with interspersed conversation between. 

“Thought you might have been a Norman-no -mates, like me,” he says quietly as he watches her assess her next shot. Bending to aim.

“You're not far off,” she replies, “first fortnight I was down a boyfriend. Since then, I've only been up two friends and one of them is in the other room  having ditched me for the shag of a lifetime.”

She doesn't see it until after she takes the shot, the way his eyes flit back to hers quickly as she rights herself to stand.

Was he checking me out?

As if he was lagging, he only laughs now at what she's said.

“What about you?” She asks, “no girls, or boys, on the scene?”

He blushes a lot when she asks that. And she can't help the fluttering in her chest she feels that someone might find her attractive.

“Can’t say there is.”

She stands close, passing the cue to him, electricity warming her fingertips as she grazes his.

“And why not?”

He scoffs bitterly, “have you seen me?” he mutters, wandering around the table, suddenly unable to shake the feeling of her gaze, “Not too many girls out there looking for the stereotypical nerdy math boy, really.”

“Hm,” she hums, “how unfortunate for them.”

He sinks a red, picking at his red jumper.

“Yeah, they're clearly missing out, huh?”

The bitter and self-deprecating tone of his voice makes her heart sink a bit. He's not a bad looking guy, she thinks. His style, glasses, hair, she would almost say look actually quite cute.

Maybe that's the thing he doesn't like.

“No interest? Or is maths the only one for you?”

He misses the next shot and sighs, holding the cue for her to take, “clearly, the only one I need.”

She steps close to retrieve, taking her time, looking up at him as she does. At this proximity, Michael sucks in a breath quietly, his lips, which she can't say she'd noticed until right this moment, parting and his Adam's apple bobbing as his eyes flit rapidly down her.

A warmth swirls in her gut at that.

She circles the table, “what about in the past?” 

He leans against the other side, his hand on the cushion, long fingers splayed on the green fabric. She has to shake her head to break her own trance.

“Can’t say my love life has exactly been a roaring success, honestly.”

The way he says it.

She wouldn't be surprised if he was…

Oh.

“So what? You're focussed on your studies?”

She misses. Too set on the conversation rather than the game.

He gives a mirthless laugh, “Sure.”

She rounds the table, holding the cue for him to take, but when he reaches for it, she pulls back with a smirk.

“So we've established you're not one for languages,” she starts, and Michael furrows his brows in confusion, “have you ever really asked for what you want? Ever?”

He seems to miss what she's trying to say.

“Have you been with a girl?”

At that, his eyes widen slightly, a blush crawling up his neck to the tips of his ears, cheeks near matching his shirt.

She knows she has her answer.

“Well…I…no, I haven't…”

At chest height, she can see the way his breathing elevates.

“And, hypothetically, if a girl expressed interest. What would you say?”

His lips part for a good few seconds before he gives a reply, “I’d…I um…I guess it depends who…”

It's like he's afraid she'll make fun of him for it. 

“What about, if it was me?” She asks, her voice lowering as she reaches out to pick some lint off his jumper, like it's the most normal thing in the world. His body goes all rigid as she does.

This isn't normal in his world.

Michael swallows thickly, “you're not taking the Mick out of me, are you?”

She shakes her head, “I just want you to feel comfortable asking for what you want.”

For someone who had so often thought about it, now when faced with the situation, he feels as if he doesn't know what to do or say.

She's still stood with the cue in one hand, close enough so that when she shifts her weight from foot to foot, her knee grazes his leg. It's interesting to watch him think so deeply about it. Convinced he's probably never thought of anything so much in his life.

“What if what I want is…you?”

The tension deepens like the tone and volume of his voice. And without effort, a smile finds its way to her face when she looks at his expression. He's frozen stiff, for once, not knowing what to say.

So nothing shocks her more when he grabs the pool cue as a means of pulling her to him, and he has to duck considerably to press his lips clumsily to hers. He's eager, that much is true, but it's clear he's inexperienced. But instead of causing discomfort, she thinks it's quite endearing.

The pool cue clangs to the floor as she braces her hands on his shoulders and chest, guiding his lips with her own in a slower, more careful movement. She feels the edge of the pool table bite into her lower back when he presses her against it, clearly excited, if the hardness that's flush to her stomach is anything to go by.

The hands she had been staring at not half an hour ago are bruising as they trace her waist and hips, with a grip tight enough to tell her exactly how much he's enjoying the experience.

For a moment, they're not in a common room alone, against a pool table, with ‘Cheetah-licious Christmas’ playing in the room over, the bass of which rumbles through the floor and into their chests.

The kiss lasts a long while, and she has a feeling he wants to savour it as if it's the last time he will ever be able to do it. 

One of her hands snakes its way to the back of his head, fingers gripping at his hair to pull him closer as either of them tilt to aid more contact between them. And at the little amount of tugging, Michael whines into her mouth, prompting him to pull away.

He looks halfway between mortified and pleased, his glasses having skewed to one side with the eagerness of what they'd done. And she laughs a bit, reaching up to fix them, which seems to make the mortification fade somewhat from his face.

Michael looks down between them, where his obvious erection is pressed to her, and pulls away slightly with a scarlet blush.

“Shit - sorry-”

“It's fine,” she reassures, “no need to be embarrassed.”

The words alone would be enough, if her hand hadn't snaked between their bodies to brush her palm over him. And if it were possible, his flush spreads to his neck, words failing him once more.

Her eyes flicker up to his, their lips all kiss-bruised and swollen.

“If you don't want to-”

“No, no, I want to…” he says, immediately embarrassed about how quick it was.

She smiles, one hand palming him through his jeans and the other trailing up his chest, “Sit down.”

He backs up to sit on a nearby sofa, watching with a kind of adoration as she makes space between his legs, her eyes glimmering at him as she slowly undoes his belt.

“If at any time, you need to stop, tell me.”

He gives a nervous laugh, his stomach muscles tightening, wondering probably if this is really happening to him, “Not sure I will want to…”

She smiles reassuringly, watching as his lips part as she palms him through his boxers, trying to suppress how impressed she is with his size.

It's always the skinny white guys.

“Well, the offer's there.” She smirks, pulling him from his boxers, Michael gives a suffered breath, feeling her touch on him and also her breath so close. He almost feels dizzy. The thought of this happening in this situation, with a party going on next door, is dangerous and exciting in equal measure.

She knows he has very limited experience, so decides not to tease him too much.

Michael gasps softly as she licks at the base of him, drawing a wet line with her tongue along the vein underneath, all the way to the tip. She concentrates her efforts slightly on the sensitive spot there before closing her mouth over the head of his cock, sucking gently.

She feels the way his thighs tense, and the blue disappearing as he closes his eyes. His fists are tight beside him, knuckles white, like he doesn't know if he should touch her or not. All he knows right now is that this feeling is brand new, and the sensation is so much already.

She pulls herself from him to run her tongue over his length, one hand moving to his hand, to encourage him. His blue eyes crack open just a bit, to understand what she's trying to tell him.

And she fights the urge to smile as his longer fingers swipe across her temple into her hair, his touch tender, soft and unsure as he holds her by it. 

Her lips wrap around him once more, pushing him further into her mouth, taking him steadily and slowly at first. Michael's hips move barely, chasing the friction that he's getting on his cock when she bobs her head on him and hollows her cheeks.

He watches with parted lips and warm cheeks, moving her hair away so he can watch himself disappear into her mouth over and over. Her hand massages the rest of him, giving him two unique sensations in one, something that earns her a deep, throaty moan.

When her eyes open to look at him, he thinks his heart stops in his chest for a split second. He closes his eyes, not able to bear the way she looks with his cock in her mouth if she looks right at him, feeling that if he did any longer he wouldn't last.

The sounds he emits don't stop there as she increases her pace on him, pressing her tongue to the underside of him and taking him deeper into her throat, humming around him at the heady scent of his skin.

It's only when she takes him as far as he will go, working hard to control her gag reflex that he gives the first genuine buck of his hips, tightening in her hair and a far-too-loud moan. If anyone in the next room were quiet and paying attention, they'd likely know exactly what was going on.

“Fuck-”

It only serves to spur her on as she pulls back, moving in a more steady, quick rhythm, that she is sure Michael is loving judging by the rate of his moans and the way he chokes out his words.

His stomach clenches and unclenches, his high creeping up on him as her mouth tightens around his length. 

“Shit - you need to - I'm gonna -” he chokes, weakly tugging her hair in an effort to pull her mouth off him before he cums.

If she didn't have his cock in her mouth she'd smile.

Her hand squeezes the base of him, and Michael throws his head back slightly, a long shuddered and choked moan reverberating through his chest. She swears she feels his thighs shake as she stills, warm ropes of his cum taste musky at the back of her throat.

His loud moan is followed quickly by more softer ones as her throat contracts to swallow as much as she can, briefly increasing the tension and friction around his sensitive length.

When she pulls off him with a pleased sigh, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Michael sits up slightly, having to gather his breath.

“Fucking hell…”

She takes it as a compliment and rises to her feet, her hands smoothing her skirt back down.

And she squeaks in delight as Michael quickly tucks himself away, barely doing up his jeans buttons before backing her up to the pool table again, kissing her fervently.

“What about you…do I…” he starts when he breaks away, panting softly. She smiles at the notion but shakes her head. This experience was for him alone.

“Not right now, don't feel inclined to,” she reassured, her hands on his chest, feeling the way his heart is beating rapidly beneath it.

“Right now?” he asks with a quiet, unsure tone, “does that mean…there's gonna be a next time?”

His tone is careful, and yet, she is able to detect something like desire there. An excitement for more, without seeming too eager so that he's not let down if she says no. Something that makes it clear he is 100% on board.

She bites back a grin.

“Quid Pro Quo, Michael.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorsky @fan-goddess

[vhstown]

love our a.m.

— hobie brown x gn!reader

summary: Hobie hates mornings, but the ones with you aren't so bad.

warnings: hobie pov, fluff, alarm clock murder 😱 /j semi-edited

word count: 0.8k

a/n: wrote at midnight in like 2 seconds 🙏 p shabby but it's ok a little ooc hurt nobody thank you qiuwey for title idea ly

BRRIIIIII— Smash!

It didn't even get past the first ring. That was the third alarm clock Hobie had broken so far. If was almost a skill by now; he didn't even have to open his eyes. In fact, it was too bright to open his eyes. Everything was too much in the morning. Too bright, too loud, too cold. Why was it so bloody cold?

You. Or the lack of you, for that matter. The lack of you — and the back of you facing him. He stopped himself from moving you when he noticing the gentle rise and fall of your breath — that faint exhale he could listen to forever. Well, maybe not forever, given the way his arm was now cautiously hovering over your sleeping form.

Hobie inched just a little forward, peering over, his face tensed. You were asleep, alright. He couldn't tell if the expression on your face was a smile or a frown. For a moment, Hobie debated getting up and rotating his entire bed to stop you facing the wall, but his strength was only used for destroying appliances this early in the morning, it seemed.

With a sigh that had much more frustration than he'd like, the punk fell back against his pillow. He wasn't being needy, or anything, was he? Sure, he hadn't seen you in a while, and he hadn't held you in a while, but he could wait until you woke up at the very least — right? Hobie tried checking the clock, but it had already suffered fate of his fist. Truthfully, he hadn't slept a wink. Hobie thought about you often enough, sure, but you were all that had filled his mind last night — and arms. He surpressed another grumble. Not needy, of course — maybe a little cold.

You looked so warm — and comfortable. It'd be a crime to wake you up (not that he was much more lawful around you, but he didn't want to anyway.) The fact that his short-lived scrap with the alarm clock didn't alert you was a mystery. The wretched thing was from you, Hobie recalled: brand new from that little junk shop near the docks, now as good as a drumkit without sticks. There was probably a spring he'd dislocated somewhere on the floor for him to step on later. Another reason to hate mornings.

His pillow was starting to feel uncomfy. And the mattress. And all of his clothes. It was freezing now, as well. The blanket was too far, and was also probably too itchy, of course.

He relented, but not entirely. It was far more uncomfortable for him to try and keep his weight off of you, arm moving over your side and bent an awkward angle. If he wasn't so needy, this would be enough. No, this was enough, obviously... Hobie wished he had a second alarm clock to punch right now.

A sudden twitch of movement from you — and Hobie nearly punched himself. He held his breath, the muscles in his arm straining as you moved under him. He debated letting go (though he wasn't holding on much in the first place), before you were still. Hobie let out a quiet exhale.

It was a second later that your fingers curled around his. Then you squeezed his hand. Hobie's eyes flew open; his breath was trapped in his chest again.

"Hey..." He wasn't sure if he was just whispering to himself. "...You awake?"

Another squeeze to his fingers. Hobie sucked in his stomach. The expression on your face looked more like a grin. He had been, what one may call...

"You little—" Fooled.

Hobie couldn't finish his sentence before you turned to bury yourself in his chest, arms slotting between his to wrap him in a hug.

"Little what?" Your voice vibrated against his chest, still somewhat sleepy but awake enough to prove your guilt; you'd been awake all this time. All he could do was pull you more against him, closing his eyes in defeat. "Thought so."

Hobie sighed, soaking in your warmth as his body curled around you. He was like a bug to a radiator; the strange accuracy of that thought made him frown. He wasn't as small as a bug, but he could be as small as he wanted around you. Maybe one morning you'd hold him, but was more than enough, for now. He opened his eyes again when you shifted, yours narrowed by a faint smile.

"Morning," you whispered. The word didn't sound so bad coming out of your mouth.

Hobie leaned down to kiss your lips, if only for a moment, before pulling you back into his chest.

"G'mornin'..." he mumbled, yawning and closing his eyes again.

It was warm, comfortable. The sunlight had mellowed and the only sound was of your breathing, soft and even. Hobie hated mornings, but this one wasn't all that bad — not with you in it.

He decided he'd apologise about the alarm clock later.

🕸️🔭🎸

oho thank you for reading ^^ im trying to write more often but i have exams like... every week now so 💔 tis life but i hope u enjoyed

reblogs & feedback appreciated as always <3 find the rest of my atsv stuff here!

[anniebass]

I'll admit I still do not understand what is the business with American bedding.

Like, in writing I use the word blanket, but to me it equals the slightly itchy thing preferably made of wool, like this:

and that, to me, is sensory nightmare to sleep under if close to naked. The itch! The woolen itch!

So blanket isn't a precise enough word to call the thing you sleep under.

Now, I think generally in Europe we sleep under duvets, which to my understanding are something like this:

I think this is the standard in hotels all over the world. It's made of cotton, comes in innumerable funky colors and patterns (I have the hay one, its's super cute), it has a zipper or buttons on the shorter side and is cheap and easily washable, because you rarely should wash the thing you put inside, this thing:

It's cotton, filled with goose/duck down, very breathable. It doesn't have any sort of zipper or buttons, it's sewn shut, and instead of washing it you hang it on a clothesline/balcony exposed to sun to air out whenever you change your sheets. These can be quite expensive and should last up to 10-20 years. You should wash them like every two years. Some people prefer this thing to be made of wool or bamboo (polyester not advisable, it burns).

Also, I don't know how Americans call this thing. Is that a duvet, and the previous thing is a duvet... condom? So many questions.

Now, the biggest question:

What the fuck is a comforter.

Is this the thing Americans sleep under? Please, it's been a huge source of confusion in my writing. Blanket is too vague, too... crashing on your buddy's the couch to convey the nice warm fluffy pile you should sleep under.

So blanket's out, duvets are EuRoPEaN, but comforters are just... alien to me. I've never seen a thing like this in my life, ever. Do you have several and swap them? Aren't they bulky? Isn't washing and storing them tedious, if you have a family and every bed should have 2-3 available? Is this why your houses and cars are so big?

At least assure me those have natural filling and are made of cotton. Please, I care about you guys.

[hyuuukais]

⋆₊‧⁺˖⋆˚.⋆ ͙͘͡★ LOOK UP TO THE STARS

pairing ▪︎ han jisung x fem reader

synopsis ▪︎ sent out on a mission to a neighbouring QZ that's gone radio silent, y/n falls into the hands of a post-rebellion group after things go terribly wrong. giving up on rejoining her squad, she joins the group on a trek to find a missing member, the group leader's sister. what's supposed to be a not-so-simple trip out and back to their base becomes a one-way ticket to the end of everything they know.

warnings ▪︎ general (on ml)

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

CHAPTER FOUR ▪︎ ALL BEDS ARE FULL, SORRY (6.9k)

Long grass tickles your knees through the holes in your jeans. Turns out, people don't mow their lawns anymore once the world has turned to shit, meaning you have to suffer from itchy knees when occasionally walking through someone's yard. Basic apocalypse problems. That and, you know, infected zombies who want to eat you. Very comparable issues in your opinion.

The city neighbourhoods are overgrown and broken in several ways, ranging from small potholes to entire streets caved in. Evidently, this has made your trek to the hospital nearly impossible. More than once have you slipped on, tripped over, or ran into something. Spatial awareness does not appear to be your strong suit, but hey, at least you have good aim. That's gotta count for something.

"Hold on, I have to check the map..." Chan slows down, swinging his bag off his shoulder.

The street you're on is bigger, shops lined up and down the long road. Most have been broken into, windows shattered and things tossed over inside. Few remain somewhat untouched, ones that look like they were abandoned long before the apocalypse hit, with wooden boards where doors or glass should be. Up ahead is a small music store, or at least you assume it is based on the hanging sign of a guitar. While Chan looks over the map with Jeongin, you wander to the storefront.

Through still intact windows, you can see a few open instrument cases lying around, big and small. There are racks of CD's and vinyl records, some displayed on the back wall above the counter. The door opens with a slight touch, dust invading your senses as you walk in. By the counter is a jukebox, but when you try and use it, it doesn't work.

"Obviously, it's dead," You say to yourself. "It's been too long."

On the opposite side is a beaten up piano, keys yellowed but none missing. Scratches line the side facing the front, and you notice they aren't regular scratches, they're tally marks. You don't stop to wonder who put them there or why, shoving it to the back of your mind. Pressing down on a key, it makes a sad noise, but noise nonetheless. You smile, playing around with the piano, bringing a finger to one end and brushing it over to the other end. The noise is makes isn't pretty; it isn't like a symphony or any kind of trained musician, but a way to say I'm still here.

Loud banging comes from above you, like someone punching a door over and over again. You're quick to leave the store, not wanting to stick around and find out what, or who, it is. You imagine it's the same person who left the marks on the piano.

You rejoin the others on the other side of the street, stopped in front of a small café. Chan has outlined a route in red, running a finger down it when he explains to the others how this'll go.

"We're here, okay?" He points to a red dot on a long street. "We need to get here," He points to a blue dot, "Jeongin helped me make a route, but it's gonna be hard. Really, we should be able to head straight then down this side street onto the next main road where the hospital will be down just a bit, but that-" He gestures to a large truck on its side down the road, blocking your way, "-creates an issue. As you can see, there's another side street we passed a while back we can get through."

"Doesn't that bring us closer too?" Han steps in. "Look, the hospital is here. Now we don't need to backtrack, right?"

"No," Chan shakes his head. "There's a blockage there too, conveniently. But going down this alley leads to another neighbourhood we can cut through, then backtrack to the hospital since it opens up to the main road over here."

"Honestly, you lost me at the truck," Hyunjin admits. "Lead the way and we'll follow."

Chaeryeong laughs, holding onto his shoulder. Her laugh is contagious, and soon enough everyone is shaking.

"Okay, it wasn't that funny," Hyunjin chuckles.

The walk back to the side street doesn't take long. Half-way down is some sort of barricade, similar to ones you've seen in diagrams in your QZ. Although it looks old, there's a truck parked by it that looks too clean to belong there. No people hang around, so you ignore it, following the group through the alley.

It opens up to a cul-de-sac, and an eerie feeling falls over you as you walk the road leading out to where the hospital should be. It's too quiet, and you realize how long it's been since you've seen any infected. You slow down, turning in a slow circle to take in the surrounding houses. Something isn't right, but you can't place what it is.

"Everything okay?" Felix puts a hand on your shoulder, noting your expression.

"When was the last time we saw any infected?" You ask, but he doesn't answer. "Felix, when?"

"Um, right when we entered the city, I think," He answers. "Why?"

"Isn't that weird?"

He has no chance to respond, a loud boom setting off in the distance. The ground underneath you shakes, and you can see a cloud of smoke in the distance rising over the rooftops. Chan steps forward, hands on his hips.

"I think we know where the hospital is."

-

Squads occupy the outside of the hospital, and you have no idea how you're getting in. You watch the patrolling soldiers walk their routes, memorizing where they go and when from behind an abandoned car. The plan is for you and Seungmin to gain entry using your QZ knowledge as access, having taken out two soldiers further away from the hospital and stealing their uniforms. They fit well enough and you hope no one will notice the way you had to cuff the pant legs or the way the arms of Seungmin's shirt were just too short.

Strolling out from behind the car, you take the lead and make your way to the hospital entrance. Passing the first few soldiers is easy, nodding a greeting as you walk. Your palms sweat and your heartbeat quickens as you get closer and closer to the doors. For a moment you think you'll make it undetected.

"You two, stop right there." Your feet are glued to the ground, Seungmin stopping beside you.

When the soldier walks around, you keep your eyes forward and put on your best salute. He's taller than you, and you can smell his cologne when he gets closer to you, examining every inch of your body. In the corner of your eye, Seungmin tenses when the soldier places a hand on your waist.

"Feel like I'd have remembered a pretty thing like you walking around here," He smirks. "Say, what's your squad? You apart of fourteen-four?"

Fourteen-four is here?

"Yes sir," You respond, voice steady.

"So why are you here?" He lets go of you, detaching the walkie-talkie from his hip. "Let me get in contact with Squad Leader Seo, sort this out."

"No!" You panic, and his eyebrows raise at your outburst. "Sorry, sir. There's really no need to do that, she actually sent us over to ask about any progress."

"Progress?" He questions.

"Yes sir." You think he's caught your bluff until he stands back, hands on his hips and looking up to the clouds.

"Why didn't she just radio? Would've been easier, ah, well, you're here now." He motions you forward. "C'mon."

Instead of heading straight to the front doors, he makes a right and leads you to the side of the hospital where a hole is blown through the wall. You look at Seungmin, silently agreeing that must have been what you heard earlier as the smoke still lingers around the edges. Stepping over the broken wall, you enter the hospital where there are soldiers everywhere.

"We've cleared out this half of the main floor so far and sent Squad Twelve-Oh-Seven upstairs, but haven't heard back yet." He leads you through the rubble, greeting fellow soldiers as he goes. "As you can see, we haven't found them yet, otherwise we'd be gone by now. Another squad is being sent out and should be here within the hour to check out the lower levels. We think they may be somewhere in operating rooms or emerge, but we haven't gotten that far.

"That enough for Seo?" He turns to face you. "I know she likes to be thorough with these kinds of things. Too thorough sometimes, but you didn't hear that from me."

"Should be enough, sir," Seungmin answers. "Mind if we take a vehicle back with us? We didn't have enough to spare for just two soldiers."

"Sure, of course." The man leads you back out. "Don't know why Squad Leader Seo would make you walk out this far without one, even with limited resources. How long it take you?"

"We had someone drive most of the way, so not long," Seungmin answers when you fail to think of something. "Thank you, sir."

Taking the keys, he salutes again and you do the same. You get into the passenger's side, sighing heavily when Seungmin starts driving away.

"What the fuck!" You exclaim. "What the actual fuck? We are literally going the opposite direction we need to go now. How is this supposed to help us get into the hospital? What, are we gonna drive straight through?" You see Seungmin shrug in the corner of your eye. "No, no, stop it. That's not happening."

"It's not a bad idea-"

"Yeah, it's a terrible idea! Aren't you supposed to be the smart and logical one in this friendship?" You cross your arms; he makes a left turn. "The one who stopped me from breaking into Minho's office, for example? In case you need a reminder?"

"Still the smart and logical one, but now the frustrated one." He parks the car outside of a hotel. "This plan was fool-proof and we managed to mess it up. If we go back, they'll know something's up with us and contact Seo. That is, if they haven't already."

You sigh. "So what now- oh, damn it."

Shrinking down in your seat with the stolen cap pushed over your eyes, you hear a knock on Seungmin's window. Glancing over, you see Chan standing with a stern look on his face. Disappointment is radiating off of him in waves and your stomach churns. Before, you'd been okay with this, the look in his eyes when you messed up with the gas; now that you've spent more time with him and have been on the receiving end of his love, you can't stand it.

"What is this?" Chan motions down the vehicle, another pickup truck replacing the one you had to give up much earlier in this journey. "Very nice, but how is this helping?"

"That's what I said," You mumble before you can stop yourself and Chan directs his attention to you.

"Would you like to answer?"

Seungmin steps in. "They thought we were there to check in and were already suspicious of us. I figured the least we could do is take something useful we can use."

"Okay," Chan rubs his forehead. "Here's what we're gonna do. Get out of the truck and come inside."

Stepping out, you follow Chan into the hotel lobby. He does a series of knocks on the boarded-up door and it opens seconds later, Chaeryeong greeting you as you walk in. The others are sitting around cleaning weapons and preparing to take on what lies in the hospital, Han and Jeongin standing immediately as you and Seungmin enter the building behind Chan. You hang your head low, avoiding eye contact.

"So, no access to the inside, but we have a truck again." Chan claps his hands together. "The occupants were suspicious of these two, so we can't use them again."

"Why were they suspicious?" Han asks, crossing his arms.

"We had to pretend to be a part of another squad in order to stay under the radar, but it was clear the guy in charge didn't fully believe us at points," Seungmin starts. "There's a ton of soldiers on the inside searching for people, I'm guessing the same ones we're here for. Another squad is being sent out to aid them."

"As if there aren't enough of them," Hyunjin scoffs. "Can't we just sneak in through a side they're not on?"

"Yes," Chan says slowly. "However, we don't know what's in there. The whole point of this deception was to get in the safest way possible, searching the area in plain sight. Using a different entrance means not knowing what we'll walk into, and we don't know how much ground they've already covered-"

"We do," You interrupt. "Sorry, um, we do. They mentioned most of the main floor is done, but they haven't touched any operating rooms or emergency, which should be on the other side."

You can see Chan taking in this information and thinking of a new plan, his eyes unfocused just a bit when he looks away from you. He turns and walks around in a slow circle, stopping when Felix speaks.

"What if we used ourselves as bait?" He proposes, gaining everyone's attention. "Listen, we have great snipers who can keep an eye on us from here since we're not too far from the hospital. The rest of us can pretend Y/n and Seungmin found us getting ready to storm the building on their way back to the squad. When they take us away, and hopefully Y/n and Seungmin with us, we can take out the guards and make our way through."

"That's a good idea," You say, nudging Seungmin with an elbow.

No one speaks after you for a good minute and you start to sweat. With a sigh, Chan starts nodding.

"We can try that, but we need to be very careful," He says. "Han, Chae, try to get a few floors up if you can and keep an eye out from there in case things go wrong. Stay on the same floor, but take different rooms."

They agree in sync, grabbing their weapons and heading toward the stairwell.

"Wait," Seungmin takes a small device out of his pocket. "This was in the back of the truck, brand new. Or at least, not used yet, so they won't pick us up over them hopefully. Let us know when you're in position and we'll move out."

"Most likely, we'll be coming out from the other side of the hospital, so we'll also call to let you know when we vacate so you know to bring the truck around." Chan accepts the other walkie-talkie from Seungmin, lifting it to his lips while pressing the button on the side. "Got it?"

"Loud and clear," Han answers into the device. "Over and out!"

He salutes as he walks backward to the door where Chaeryeong is waiting for him. You look at your team; you, Seungmin, Chan, Felix, Jeongin, and Hyunjin. A good team, you think, a very good team.

Getting back to the hospital takes a bit longer walking, leaving the truck behind for the two to come get you after. There's no need to rough up the four men you hold onto, hands bound by rope behind them. Chan took the wrapping off his arm to reveal a nasty cut left by an infected, but it looks enough like it was created by a weapon to pass. Jeongin dramatizes his limp, Felix has a bruise left on his cheek from a previous night, and Hyunjin wears a shirt with old blood and holes on the side. Once the soldiers realize the injuries are old or fake, you won't have much time to execute your plan.

"Back so soon?" The soldier who took notice of you earlier calls out.

You wait until you get closer to reply. "Found these guys on our way back not too far out arming what looked to be homemade bombs. Managed to get some info out, claiming they're part of the rebellion." You push Chan and Hyunjin forward. "Not that it exists anymore."

"Funny you say that." The soldier gets closer and you catch a glimpse of his nametag this time; Officer Song. "Wanna know what, or maybe I should say who, also doesn't exist?"

Sweat beads on your forehead, a chill running down your spine. "What- er, who?"

"You two," He says, pointing his fun directly at your chest. "Grab them."

Another soldier comes out from behind him and you try to protest, but with a swift kick to the back of your knees, you're down, and so is Seungmin, another soldier pinning him down fully. You're yanked back up by your hair, hands instinctively reaching up, and he grabs your wrists, bringing them behind you roughly. Crying out in pain as you feel the twist, he binds your wrists together with real handcuffs, not like the rope you used for your own group. Soldiers descend on the other four, taking hold of them. You're lifted up from your underarms, a hand coming out to grab your upper arm tightly and you wince; he grabs at the same place you got stitches, and Jeongin narrows his eyes.

"Story time." Officer Song leads the group of soldiers through the hole in the wall, bringing you down a long hallway as he speaks. "I touched base with Squad Leader Seo, letting her know her soldiers were on their way back. Funny thing is, she had no idea what I was talking about. So I described you." He turns a corner, opening a door. "Took her a second, but she said she didn't have anyone in her squad who looked like either of you, and her squad isn't big so I know she's not lying."

As you enter a room, the soldier holding you tosses you to the ground like you weigh nothing, sliding over the linoleum floor on your side. You flip onto your back, trying to maneuver to an upright position.

"Stop squirming." A boot lands in your stomach and you yelp, but the message is recieved and you stop moving, lying on your side and watching the others get tossed beside you through your hair.

Only Hyunjin and Felix are tossed beside you, the other three being brought to another room, separating you. Officer Song stays behind with a select few soldiers, the door locking when the others are gone.

"What exactly was your plan? Come in here right under our noses and steal our supplies?" Officer Song crouches down in front of you, face close enough to feel his breath on your cheek. "Or was it information you were after?"

You don't answer.

"Considering our chat and your silence, I'll assume the latter." His fingers gingerly brush hair out of your face and you shudder. "Your plan would have worked if not for Seo, or the evidence you left behind." At your confusion, he continues. "Maybe don't leave the bodies you stripped on their patrol route."

Realization dawns on you, but you know he's right, that was stupid of you.

"Still not speaking?" Officer Song gets up, strolling away with his hands on his hips. "Maybe one of them?"

He eyes Felix, but the younger man refuses to make eye contact. The bruise on his cheek is slightly worse now and your heart aches at the sight.

"No?" He grips the back of Felix's head by the hair, Felix's mouth falling open with a sharp inhale. "Okay. Then you, pretty boy?"

He looks over at Hyunjin, who stares daggers at the man. Officer Song laughs, letting go of Felix to stand in front of Hyunjin, not bothering to crouch this time. In an instant, his gun is pointed at you.

"Don't think I haven't noticed the way you're looking at her." He clicks the safety off. "Answer me, or I'll shoot."

"You wouldn't," Hyunjin speaks through gritted teeth.

"Try me."

A bullet pierces the wall beside your head and your ears ring, breath temporarily snatched from your lungs. Through the ringing, you can hear Hyunjin panicking, calling out your name. You can't make out many words, but you see Officer Song smack Hyunjin across the face, leaving the room with one soldier to watch over you. The soldier does nothing when Hyunjin shuffles over to you.

"Y/n?" The ringing is starting to subside. "Say something."

"Hyunjin," You don't know how loud you're speaking.

"You're okay," He says. "We'll get out of here, okay? Somehow, we'll get out."

It feels like forever, waiting for Officer Song to come back. No one enters or exits your room for a long time, and when they do, it's only to switch shifts watching over you. At some point, you managed to sit up against the wall behind you.

The room you're in isn't big, assuming it was once a private room for a patient. Several beds are stacked and shoved to the right side of the room, a couple of side tables piled in the corner. IV drips are thrown in the general direction of the furniture, landed on top and around things, some still leaning upright. A window stretches from the door to the end of the wall, but the blinds are drawn and dirty.

"Hey," You call out to the soldier standing guard, a plan forming in your head. "Any way I could use the washroom?" No response. "Please? Pretty please?"

"Fine, if it'll shut you up." The soldier leaves his post, leaning down to pick you up from the armpit.

Your timing is a little off, but you fling your body forward and bite him in the leg. His shout is cut off, tripping over your body with a thud. Rolling out from under him, you move your body on top of his, back to back. He's squirming under you, but you're quicker than him, twisting your arms up and around his head. Pain shoots up into your shoulders as you lift yourself up hard, handcuffs cutting into the man's neck. Under you, he gasps for air and you pull harder, feet braced on either side of his body. You see his hand moving to find his fun, so you step on his fingers with your heel. Soon enough, his movement lessens, and then stops altogether.

"That was weirdly hot," Hyunjin's voice brings you back.

"Come here and take his gun," You order. "We're lucky he has a silencer, cause we need to shoot these things off."

You get off the body, lifting your arms up to show off the metal binding you. Hyunjin uses his foot to carefully knock the gun out of the holster, turning around to grab it with his hands.

"Felix, can you be my eyes?" Hyunjin asks as you turn your back to him, moving your hands as far away from you as you can. "Guide my aim so I don't shoot her in the back."

"Wouldn't want that happening." You see Felix move between you in the corner of your eye. "Down a bit, no, too down. Okay, to the left slightly or you'll shoot her hand off instead- good! Stop! Okay, and go."

A smothered shot sounds, and your wrists are free from one another. One side is longer than the other, but at least you still have both hands. Taking the gun from Hyunjin's hands, you shoot the cuffs off of him and Felix. All three of you are stuck with metal bracelets for now, not daring to shoot too close to the skin. Moving to the window, you squint through the blinds and into the dim hallway.

Night must have moved in, only a lantern seated on top of a bed in the hall providing light. You can see two shadows, two people having a conversation, but they're stretched out as if they aren't standing too close to the lantern. Opening the door enough to stick your head out, you don't see any others. The two nearby are in the room next to you, door wide open, and on the other side are double doors blocked by upturned tables. Directly in front of you are windows mimicking the ones in your room, a door further down falling across from the soldiers. You close the door.

"I might be wrong, but I think the others are in the room across from us, but we need to be careful getting inside. Beside us are some soldiers, so either we take them out or we sneak inside," You tell Hyunjin and Felix. "The door isn't exactly aligned with theirs, so we might be good to sneak, but there's a lantern that'll cast our shadows if we get too close. It looks far enough down as to not cause issue, but we need to pay attention to distance, okay?"

"I like it when you're in leader mode," Hyunjin sighs.

"Flirt later," Felix rolls his eyes, but his mouth betrays him, pursing his lips to suppress a smile. "Let's do this before they try and check on us."

"We also need to keep in mind they probably have a guard watching over them," Hyunjin points out and you nod. "So whoever goes in first needs to be ready to take them out. I think Felix should lead, even though it's your plan Y/n. He's the stealthiest out of us."

"I'm good with that as long as he is." You nod.

"Sure, sure," Felix agrees. "You don't happen to have your knives, do you?"

"Afraid not," You say unhappily. "Chan only let me carry one, and they took it off me. He was supposed to bring me my others when Seungmin and I found a secure way in, and when the plan changed I guess I forgot to grab them."

He's not happy with your answer, but neither are you. Retrieving your knives should have been your number one priority, but you suppose you're lucky in a way because at least this means they didn't confiscate all your weapons for when you finally escape. Felix crouches down as he opens the door, taking a few steps then pausing. His hand flies behind him when you try to join, telling you to keep your distance. After a beat, he moves again, motioning you forward when he's about halfway to the door. His body is pressed against the wall, eyes darting between the lively room and down the dark hallway.

Voices get louder and you see the shadows on the floor get bigger. When one of the soldiers emerges from the room, you drop down and shuffle backward until you lightly touch the leg of the table blocking the double doors. You stay in that position, watching Hyunjin shut the door of your room quietly, and observe the soldier. No one breaths as the soldier strides up to the lantern, and you have no idea how Felix hasn't been spotted considering how close to the door he is now. The soldier picks up the lantern and twists it out, darkening your surroundings further. He waves goodnight to his fellow man, taking the lantern as he goes in the opposite direction of your crew.

As you move back to where you were before, you knock lightly on the door to let Hyunjin know he's okay to move out now. When you get closer to Felix, he places a hand on the doorknob and waits for Hyunjin to join you. Once he's by your side, Felix is quick to open the door and get up into a fighting stance, you and Hyunjin following close behind. The door shuts behind you and you brace for a fight, but nothing happens, the scene in front of you seizing your lungs.

Nothing could have prepared you for seeing the man in front of you again. Standing behind Chan, he freezes like a deer in headlights as you make eye contact, dropping the keys in his hands onto the floor. Chan rubs his wrists where the handcuffs were just seconds ago, stepping out of the way, the only boundary between you and him. Seungmin and Jeongin are off to the side, red marks visible where their handcuffs used to be as well, and the metal still dangling off your wrists feels heavier than ever. You force air into your lungs, swallowing roughly. There's a sting behind your eyes that you've become an expert at ignoring.

"Why are you here?" You ask, keeping your voice as steady as possible.

"I could ask the same thing." Minho is over in three long strides, arms wrapping tightly around your shoulders. "Thought I didn't believe in ghosts, yet here you are."

Emotion strangles you as you reciprocate the hug. So, he did think you were dead after all. This brings you little comfort, imagining his nights after what took place. Did he get nightmares? Did he dream of you dying over and over again like you dreamed of him leaving over and over again? Did he blame himself? Does he blame himself?

"This is a nice reunion and all," Jeongin starts. "But can we get this show on the road? We don't have all day."

"Hold on," You say. "Why are you even here? And why are you helping us?"

"Seo contacted me after your cover got busted, and I was on my way here anyway as support." Minho detaches from you, nodding his head toward a bag on the floor next to the door. A body lays on the other side of it overturned, unclear if they're dead or unconscious. "It was easy enough finding out where you were, a bit harder to get a big bag of weapons in here undetected. I lied and said it was for Song."

"Have I ever told you I love you?"

"No," He smiles, bunny teeth on display. "And don't you start now."

"Wasn't going to," You punch him lightly in the shoulder, dropping in front of the bag. There wasn't a huge selection, but you already had the gun. You grab the two knives and strap one to your waist and one to your thigh, grabbing an empty holster for your new gun. "All set."

"Did you see the doors at the end?" Minho asks, you and the others nod. "Go through there and run. Don't stop until you've gotten to the other side. I wasn't able to grab it, but Song has a map of this place. There should be a stairwell on the other side behind another set of doors, get down to the parking levels and out."

"We're not leaving here," Chan steps in. "There's a reason we came here, and I intend to stick it through."

"Do you not understand the risk you're taking right now?" Minho looks at Chan like he's crazy. "You're going to get yourself, or one of your crew, killed. I'm assuming you're after the same people we are?" Chan nods stiffly. "As far as we know, they're located in the emergency wing, but it's riddled with infected from the outbreak. They've been trapped here for god knows how long. Do you really think they'll show mercy? Those people are probably dead anyway."

"Those people have someone important to me," Chan says, taking a handgun from the bag.

"And you'll risk it all for them? You'll risk your people?"

"Anyone who doesn't want to come can leave instead." He checks his ammo, shoves it in his belt. "You know where to go if you want out."

No one moves, no one says a thing, all in silent agreement: we are not leaving you. Minho turns to you, putting a hand on your shoulder.

"You don't have to do this," He's all but pleading. "Come with me. Lie, say they took you hostage."

"I... I can't," You stand your ground. "I can't do that Minho, not after everything."

"Please, Y/n, consider it for a moment-"

"I had months to consider going back! Months, and you didn't even come looking for me. Months where all I could do was sit with a broken leg and wonder how you could leave me like that. Months replaying that moment in my head where you made the decision to leave." The sting behind your eyes is back, your throat raw. "Months trying to feel at home again, months that you were no longer it."

Your words hit Minho and you see his throat bob when he looks away from you, hand sliding away. "I made a promise not to let you die."

"You already broke it when you left."

Shaking his head, he steps past you and opens the door. "Get ready. Be careful with the table, it's squeaky, and move quietly."

Exiting the room, he strides over to where the soldiers are, and you can see now it isn't actually a room but a counter wrapping around the corner. The soldier starts to swing around in the chair he's in, but Minho places a hand firmly on the back and stands to block you from view. Your heart aches as you look away, focusing on the task at hand. The table isn't heavy, but it takes most of you to move it in a way that doesn't create noise, angling enough to nudge the door open and get through one side. You're about to go through when you pause, looking back to the room you were kept in.

"Hold on," You say to Chan, who's holding the door open.

"We don't have time-"

"I need to check something." You hope the importance translates into your tone. It must because, after a long look, Chan sighs and nods you off. You backtrack, opening the door with care and closing it behind you.

The man lies still on the other side of the room, head facing away from you. Already, purple bruises have formed on his neck, cutting off behind his ears where you see a small tattoo of someone's name. Getting closer, you can see a heart beside it and your stomach drops, hand hesitantly pressing at the hollow of his neck under his jaw. Nothing, no beat, and you fight the sick feeling rising up your throat. He was human. He had loved ones. He is dead, and you killed him.

Unable to stand being so close to his body any longer, you leave and hurry out of the double doors where Chan waits for you. The others aren't there, and you assume Chan instructed them to get to the other side in case something happens. It won't be long until a soldier notices the table has been moved, so you take Minho's advice and run.

More rooms with patient beds occupy this area, debris and old, used medical supplies strewn across your path. You slip once on a discarded needle, but Hyunjin catches you before you hit the ground. The door on the other side takes some effort to get through, Chan and Seungmin using their full body weight against it. On the other side, you can see part of the ascending stairway has collapsed, covering one side of the door. You go down, Chan leading the way to the parking garage, and you're only a little bit confused.

"Why are we leaving?" You ask, staying close to Chan.

"We aren't, but it'll be easier to get into emerge this way rather than through the hospital since we can circle around to the back door." He pulls open a heavy, metal door and lets the others walk through before him. "Keep an eye out for infected."

"Always," You say, voice echoing.

A creaking noise is heard from your left, a groan right after, and you already know the challenge ahead. The way out is in the same direction as the inhuman noises, the only way out. The path ahead is clear of obstructions, but stepping down from the door, your feet are met with shallow water, enough to cause issue when you continue to walk slowly. The water comes up to your ankles, sloshing with every move you make. Sounds of groaning and croaking get closer, and you fear they've heard you. Dim lighting gives you an advantage, but you still stay low, using the broken down cars as cover. In front of you, Jeongin stops suddenly causing you to bump into his back, but he doesn't stumble.

Water sloshes noisily between the cars in front of you and you just barely spot the head of a zombie emerging from the narrow passage. Its body twitches in various spots, the shoulder, the neck, each finger on the left hand. You hold your breath as it walks across the open area, hitting a car on the other side straight on. You almost laugh, almost. Jeongin waits until the infected has successfully moved past the car before continuing the journey. The exit seems so far, yet so close as you crawl painstakingly slow.

Finally, you cross onto dry land as the ground begins to ascend. Up ahead is the garage door, light seeping through the open half. Jeongin crawls under, barely managing to squeeze through, holding it on the other side for you to join him. Once with him, you grab the other end and lift it for the others to fit through. The garage door creaks loudly and you hear the cry of an infected from inside.

"Hurry!" You whisper shout to Felix, Chan, and Seungmin as they join you, Hyunjin quick to follow after you.

Right as Seungmin is crawling under, he's jerked back, hands grabbing the air for something to hold onto. The door is getting heavier in your arms, and you can't reach out for him in fear of it dropping and shutting him in completely. Chan turns around quickly, taking hold of his arm and pulling forward until Seungmin lands a kick to the zombie's face, leaving it stumbling backward down the incline, a splash indicating its failure. You and Jeongin drop the door with a loud thump, arms aching.

"Let me check that," Felix instructs him to sit on the curb of the driveway you're now in. Seungmin hisses as his pant leg is shifted up to reveal a nasty gash running the lower half of his calf, a smaller scrape parallel to it. "Shit, we need to stitch this up. Jeongin?"

"You've got it." Jeongin hands Felix a small pouch with medical supplies out of the waistline of his pants, snug between his skin and belt. "I don't know how they didn't find this on me."

"Hey, did Jisung ever call on the walkie-talkie?" You hear Hyunjin ask Chan in a low voice, standing a bit further from the group.

"Yeah, luckily it was right when, ah, Minho?" Hyunjin nods. "Right, okay. He called when Minho arrived and I haven't had the chance to call back, I should now actually."

Chan walks away and you bring your eyes back to Seungmin, his face contorted in pain as Felix stitches him up. It isn't as clean as the ones Jeongin did on you, but not bad either. Hyunjin joins you, arms coming around your front as he stands against your back. You can hear Chan conversing with Han, but he's wandered too far for you to make out any words.

"Feeling okay?" Hyunjin asks, directly in your ear.

"Huh?" He must be referring to the encounter with Minho. "Oh, yeah, I guess so. It... it felt kind of good to tell him all that. I can't help but think that's going to be the last time I see him though, and it hurts."

"You've got us now, you'll be okay without him." You want to argue that, tell him how a piece of your heart will always be missing without him. It's not as simple as who you have with you currently or not. He took care of you when you had no one, and you chose to leave him as he did you. Instead, you slide away from Hyunjin and sit next to your best friend on the curb where he's rubbing his now clothed leg.

"Stop trying to die on me." You flick him in the shoulder.

"I should be saying that to you," He replies, sticking out his tongue. "So, Minho-"

"We are not talking about him right now," You cut him off. "I literally just escaped that conversation with Hyunjin."

He hums in response, amused. Chan comes back into view, explaining that Han and Chaeryeong have left the hotel after spotting a group of soldiers heading in their direction and you ignore the way your chest tightens. "They've gathered any items we left in the lobby and will be taking a long circle to meet us back here since it's pretty closed off. We clear?" Everyone nonverbally agrees. "Good. Now, someone help me with these doors."

He moves to the emergency room doors where it's clear somebody has tried to pry their way in before, leaving one door open on an angle. Jeongin steps up, taking hold of the other door and pulling, Chan doing the same. The door Chan pulls barely budges, the angle jamming it in place, but Jeongin's opens with surprising ease. You're all about to move in, but Jeongin sticks a hand out to block the entrance. He lifts a finger to his lips, moving down to his knees.

"Look inside," He whispers.

So you do, and you see more infected than you've ever seen in an enclosed space. Most are standing up completely still, body parts twitching in places like the infected that pulled Seungmin down. All the beds are full, infected left to fester after the hospital closed its doors to new patients. How the fuck were you supposed to get through now?

---

notes ▪︎ not looking good!!! and ouch, poor seung... at least he isn't dead tho !

─── taglist : @chaeryred @toplinelix @channie-143 @staysinbloom @manuosorioh @hanjisunglover @xxstrayland @puppyminnnie @hanjsquokka @kpopsstuff @ot8girlfie @quokkabite @linoslawayslinos @reapers-lover @hannieslittlerockstar @kiki0113 @nishiriks @nxtt2-u @moonlightjam

reply or send an ask to be added ^ 18+ only. green means i can't tag you

[shadow4-1]

Sweet n' Silly Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Headcanons (SFW & NSFW)

Ghost is a character who has so many different facets of his personality that he represses for one reason or another. Sometimes, though, he can't hide things well enough. Here are a few headcanons (NSFW Under The Cut):

Ghost is very picky about the masks he wears. If he buys them pre-made (which is rare - he likes to make his own, he can sew), they have to be a very specific type of fabric. Of course, it has to have all the tactical advantages, but it has to be SOFT most of all. All of his clothing is soft for that matter. This man will NEVER, I repeat NEVER, be caught dead in anything starchy or itchy or scratchy. Even his bed sheets are that crazy 1000 thread count cotton. He likes soft things.

Speaking of soft things, Simon carries around a very small square of quilted fabric in whatever extra pocket he might have. It's actually a piece of a handkerchief his mother sewed for him as a child to keep him from taking his baby blanket with him to school. It's old and tattered and stained, but he carries it with him anyway. It's been with him through thick and thin (and the grave). He doesn't need to sleep with it, but if he's severely stressed, he'll hold onto it and examine it for a little bit. Sometimes, that fabric feels like it's the only thing tethering him to earth.

Would absolutely love to get his nails professionally done, but because of his appearance, he doesn't want to intimidate some poor nail lady. Instead, he opts to give himself mani-pedis. Sometimes, if he's feeling rebellious, he'll bust out his trusty bottle of black nail polish and go for it. It's not like anyone'll see it under his gloves. And God forbid if you walk in on him painting his toenails. He WILL kill you.

Ghost has some interesting food habits. He'll honestly eat whatever if he has to, but he would much prefer to eat simple, almost childish foods. He likes things like pasta, sandwiches, juice, and pudding. God, he loves pudding. A giant bowl of hot mac n' cheese and an entire 6-pack of prepackaged pudding is his favorite meal. He KNOWS its bad for him and it totally fucks up his very specific diet he uses to upkeep his frame, but he can't help it.

Has an intense skin care and oral care regimen despite the fact that almost no one will ever see it. His smile would make you go blind because he practically bleaches his fucking teeth - and also because he chose to smile with teeth.

He's quiet for a multitude of reasons. Yes, it's because he's observant and wants to be in control of his surroundings. But it's also because deep down he's still a shy boy. He can stand up for himself and others if he has to, he's grown into that part of himself. But as for meeting new people, he's shy. He doesn't know you, and he doesn't know if he WANTS to know you. He'd rather just eye you up and let your actions speak for themselves. And that's why Johnny is one of his favorites. Something about a person who can outwardly show their genuineness is his kryptonite (although of course they don't have to be as much of a puppy as Johnny - take for instance Price or Gaz)

Absolutely detests physical touch unless he initiates it or it's fleeting. Handsy people piss him off. But a light punch to the shoulder, a tap or two? It makes him feel normal. Normal people aren't afraid to touch each other in that casual sort of way. Ghost is kind of normal. At least he tries to be.

Fucking sucks at flirting. He comes across as dry and uninterested even if it's the opposite. He just hopes the person he's interested in can pick that up so they don't run off thinking he's a prick. If they do then fuck 'em. Ghost is happy being by himself. He's been alone for so long, what's another few years.

Has a very silent praise kink. If his lover tells him anything good about him, goes straight to his ego. He won't show it, but that "I like being with you" went straight to his cock and made him puff out his chest. Of course you do. He's great. He's always been great. Now he's really going to show you how great he is.

Ghost is a huge scent guy. He's very picky about what scents he enjoys, and if he has a lover, he can and will throw out all of their expensive fragrances (and soaps and lotions, etc). His lover HAS to smell a certain way to him, and he'll supply them with whatever he deems appropriate. By the time he's done, his lover will have to adopt a whole new skincare routine. Smelling like sex is obviously one of his top picks, although once again, he'd never say that aloud.

He's a very, VERY visual creature. He knows it makes him come across as a creep, but he loves just watching his lover. He loves picking up on their mannerisms and their quirks. He loves watching their body move when walking or showering. He loves seeing wet stains in his lover's underwear and indentations of his teeth in their skin. He truly devours EVERYTHING with his eyes.

Gets aroused by the weirdest of things. Bare hands on metal, that section of skin in between the collar of a shirt and a throat mic, blowing bubbles in gum. Sometimes, he's hard for nearly an entire mission because someone's voice is too raspy in the comms. (And yes, he's an avid ASMR lover. Those tingles he gets goes straight to his dick and he's ashamed about it. He would absolutely die if his lover sees his search history. They can't know he wants their tongue in his eardrums - no one can.)

Rarely jerks off. He represses all of his sexual energy until he physically can't anymore. He knows it's because deep down he's traumatized. Pleasure is something he doesn't feel like he's allowed to have. His lover should be allowed to have it. But him? No. Jerking off feels like such hedonistic behavior. He feels like a degenerate after. No jerking off. Besides, the more pent-up he is, the sexier his dreams get.

He's always been afflicted by crazy dreams - mainly nightmares. Sometimes, though, especially if he's pent up his dreams get sexual. For the most part they're pretty tame, par for the course sex dreams but when he really gets pent up? When he feels like he's going to burst? His dreams get so realistic they might as be reality. He gets rough and possesive and fucks his lover into his mattress only wo wake up and have to come to grips with the things he's WILLING to do to them. He's so used to being disciplined that the moment that mask drops he can't look at himself in the mirror.

[possessionisamyth]

Look, listen to me, come closer. Nope, too close, take one step back. Okay, thank you. Now open your ears and hear what I'm saying.

Whole Cake but sanuso, BUT Sanji has fully transitioned via Ivankov and her poster has not been changed from the bad drawing yet. This means when they go to pick up Sanji, the disowned son, they are meeting Sanji the trans woman who cannot marry another woman ala Pudding. Not because of the gay thing, but because Charlotte Linlin expects babies from all her married kids.

Hold on, I'm not done. There's more, but it's below the cut cause I'm nice.

Okay so clown 1 and clown 2 arrive with their convincing arguments or alternative threats ready to go only to see Sanji and immediately call Judge so they can check. Is this the right person? Judge said a son didn't he?

Vito: "You have two daughters?"

Judge: "No. One daughter."

Vito: "There is a woman here calling herself Sanji."

Judge: "Sanji is my bastard son. He has the same eyebrows as the others, and he's blonde."

Both of the retrievers look at Sanji who fits the bill except for being a pissed off looking woman.

Vito: "Uh, you know what. We'll just bring 'Sanji' to you and you can make your best judgement."

Judge: "You'd better."

Sanji arrives. Reiju is doing her absolute best to remain appearing emotionless, but the giggles are being held at bay by a thread because this was the best possible way to get out of this marriage. Sanji the escape artist wins again in her eyes. The tri color brothers? They immediately start laying on the mockery and sexist comments of which Sanji is Not A Fan, but they threatened Zeff, and she needs to see how this is going to play out before doing anything. Judge? Absolutely pissed. He cannot give any of his other sons to Charlotte Linlin because they have actual value in his eyes. He was supposed to be giving the trash away, and the one thing Linlin needs out of any marriage deal is grandchildren. Grandchildren Sanji cannot provide with the one kid Linlin planned to give up ala Pudding.

Judge will either have to figure out a magical de-transition method that is instant (not possible in the time they have left). Give up one of his valuable sons (extremely not wanted). Or lie about Sanji's gender and go through the deal hoping they can get out unscathed until this is "fixed".

They opt to lie. Sanji who kept her hair short, only because longer hair was too much of a hassle in the kitchen, doesn't even have the option to be dysphoric due to the lengths the Vinsmokes are going through to pass her off as a man. Like. It's extremely pathetic. It's sad. It's one of Usopp's "I can't do X disease" level of awful and bad except Usopp's little lies were at least coming from someone cute.

They put a fake beard on her. Reiju is responsible for her make up. Clothes are tailored to hide the obvious curves. Sanji is making every step of this process as difficult as possible. There's nothing no one can do about her voice, though it's only slightly pitched up from before her transition. They tell her not to talk and slap the exploding handcuffs on her to make sure she doesn't. They say she's half mute or something, and Linlin says something like husbands are best seen and not heard. They buy it. They fucking buy it. Sanji isn't sure who's more stupid, the Vinsmokes for putting her through this fluke, or the Charlottes because they fall for it hook line and sinker. Her beard starts to fall off halfway through a meal and they rush her back to her room.

There are multiple mishaps where she's almost "caught", and her brothers are annoyed because they have to put in effort to cover for her unless they want to be auctioned off. Reiju is putting in a lot less effort to cover for her. But Sanji is tired. She is angry. She wants to go home. The fake beard is itchy. The clothes aren't her style. She misses her cute stilettos that Usopp lovingly sharpened the heels on. She is getting some entertainment from making trouble by nearly exposing her 'secret', but it does nothing to ease her worry of the ticking time clock to this farce of a wedding.

Pudding is nice at least. A little touchy, but nice. Sanji is so tempted to compliment the young girl, but the bracelets around her wrists are a very cold reminder not to.

Usually I have more to write where I go over the whole arc with this kind of headcanon, but I don't. Have some snippet ideas.

Usopp yelling out, "What did they do to my babygirl!" in earshot and Sanji giving him the wettest most pathetic sad cat eyes because she loves when Usopp calls her that and she wants TO LEAVE.

Sanji revealing her gender at the altar, and Pudding having a lesbian awakening.

Sanji actually taunting her brothers with a reversal of the sexist commentary they were throwing at her and then saving them.

Hearing multiple Charlotte kids question why Judge lied about having another son, and that they would've accepted a daughter to marry into the family. Some even say a daughter offering might've even prevented the whole assassination attempt thing.

Usopp gently putting Sanji's spiky stilettos on her feet like Cinderella and her prince, and she gets a horrible nosebleed. This happens moments before she's being dragged off to remake the wedding cake.

Pudding is still having the split genuine thirst and fake angry reactions to Sanji where she's just like (thumbs up emoji) in response.

Multiple cut scene styled flashbacks where random Charlotte kids realize Sanji was very obviously a woman, and they'd been too stupid in the moment to pay real attention to her slip ups.

Injured Sanji giving the double middle finger to the Vinsmokes as they part ways.

Luffy seriously asking Sanji why they didn't put her in a wedding dress. Were they too stupid to see she's a girl? He could tell it was really obvious so why didn't they?

Sanji in an irritated voice explaining to Luffy what they put her through, and then placing her hands on her blushing cheeks as she explains she only wants to wear a wedding dress once. She pointedly looks at Usopp and flutters her lashes. Usopp gets all bashful and smiley and starts a whole spiel about how if they got married it'd be way grander than what the Charlottes could come up with. Sanji is swooning. Nami is moments from throwing them both overboard for being way too mushy.

You got that right? Okay, good. Have a nice evening!

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Hey Yves wanna see my wicked cool tattoo? 😏* pulls up my sleeve to show him a large bold ‘YVES’ tattoo’d on my forearm*

"Ah." Yves uttered softly as he bent down to inspect the ink work. But his eyes aren't focusing on the artist's skill, rather, the way your body reacts to something foreign invading it, like a tattoo. He took note of any redness, texture or anomalies on the artwork.

He already knew that you were about to get one, Yves was even flattered that out of all the words and quotes you considered, you preferred his name to be permanently a part of your body. He only wished that he could have been the one who worked with the tattoo gun, that way, he could obtain more data regarding your skin and flesh. Moreover, this was one of the few rare instances where he could (begrudgingly) further study your behavior towards pain while allowing himself to directly inflict it onto you.

Yves would have taken in all the reactions, micro or macro, while enduring the needles too, but alas, he has to rely on pixels from the hidden cameras and microphones. It's definitely better than nothing, but there was just so much wasted information without him being physically present there, up close and personal.

You weren't sure if Yves liked it. He's staring at it blankly while gently tracing the pads of his fingers against your bare skin. It felt tingly.

"I'm flattered." He smiled. Yves knew you got this just to see how he would react, not necessarily because you wanted to be branded with his name. It's plain. Yves looked back up to you.

"What do you think about it?" He asked, somewhat catching you off guard. So you started to explain, fumbling over your words but pointing out the obvious: you wouldn't have gotten it if you didn't like it.

He hummed in response. Caressing your forearm tenderly as you watched him with anticipation.

Maybe you expected him to freak out, Yves seemed like the type of person to be discouraging permanent body modifications. You thought he would disapprove of it, at least to a certain degree.

But you're unsure what to make of his attitude, he's ominously vague about it. So you decided to ask him directly about what he thinks, straight to the point and no fluff.

Your direct question was met with a loving kiss on the forehead.

"You're adorable." He murmured. Cuddling you against him. Instinctually, you wrapped your arms around his torso while he went on to run his manicured fingers through your hair.

"What else can you tell me about it?" He whispered while holding you close.

You stuttered, you didn't know how to answer that. So you hesitantly told Yves you have nothing else to say.

He stayed silent and continued with his affectionate touches. Somehow, you felt uncomfortable not saying more, so you began grasping at straws. Telling him about how you love him so much, and you wanted to have his name on you for some reason.

You elaborated more than you needed to, somewhat cringing at yourself the deeper you fall into this chatty spiral. But you kept on going because it increased your unease when you stop talking.

While you're distracted and sounding like a broken record, Yves took the opportunity to usher you to the living room sofa. He rummaged through your bag, which is a normal occurrence on its own, so you never stopped to question why he is going through your belongings hourly.

He pulled out a tube of tattoo aftercare ointment that was given to you by the parlor, unscrewed it open and dispensed a pea sized amount of cream onto his fingertips.

Yves wordlessly urged you to continue blabbering by body language alone, showing that he is very interested in what you have to say and subconsciously encouraging you to overshare as usual.

He applied the cream onto your tattoo, alleviating it of any itchiness or soreness. The entire time, latching onto every word you said and permanently etching them into the sulci his brain.

It didn't even register in your mind that Yves knew how to care for a fresh tattoo despite not having one himself. You didn't realize how he automatically knew what to do, where to find it and what to use, as if he was there when the tattoo artist had explained it to you.

You simply accepted that Yves knew what was good for you and allowed him to act accordingly without your explicit permission.

You accepted that Yves will take care of everything.

[seirindono]

Mel!! Which of your scarves is your favorite? And which is your least favorite?

Phew, I finally found the post for you anon

If we're talking about her personal collection, her favorite is of course the one she wore all the time in her AU. She didn't have it when she woke up here so you haven't seen it, but she misses it badly.

There aren't any she hates, but she would rather not wear the itchy or worn ones.

She received a lot from readers over the years too!

[laceandsilkhandkerchiefs]

Perhaps a little bit inspired by my travels lately, I've been thinking about a flight attendant with a horrible, itchy, messy cold.

Personally I'm thinking about this in the so-called "golden age of flight" (late 1950s-1970s) because of the high standard of makeup and dress that flight attendants were subject to at that time, but many airlines still currently use that model so this also works perfectly well in the modern day!

Anyway, a flight attendant waking up the morning of a big flight (at least 6 hours long) with a completely blocked up nose and a sandpaper throat. They groan internally- whatever plague the man in first class on their last flight had has clearly infected them. Still, they get up and start to get ready- they won't get paid if they aren't on the flight, after all.

The pressure in their head shifts while they're in the shower, and a tickle grows in their nose. They sneeze frequently, and by the time they get out of the shower their nose is a dusty pink color. They're annoyed by this, but put makeup over it (trying to ignore how the brush irritates their nose and induces several more powerful sneezes). By the time they're dressed and ready to leave the house, they've managed to convince themselves that they'll be able to get through this flight just fine.

A few hours later, as the flight takes off and the change in pressure begins to give them a sinus headache and clogs their ears (symptoms they usually never have to deal with due to all their experience on airplanes), they begin to realize that this isn't going to be as easy as they thought. Still, they have a job to do, and they're going to do it to the best of their ability.

Flash forward to halfway through the flight, and they're not sure how much longer they can keep going. They've touched up their makeup multiple times, yet they can feel their nose becoming visibly chapped as it continues to run incessantly. Their sinus headache has reached almost unbearable levels, due in large part to the sheer number of sneezes they've been stifling and holding back. Finally, one of their coworkers tells them to go take a break, an order which they gratefully accept. They spend the next 10 minutes locked in one of the bathrooms, sneezing themselves silly (and pretending no one can hear them, even though they absolutely can). They then resolve to reapply their makeup, fix their hair and uniform (which are now decidedly askew) and muscle through the remainder of this flight.

Spoiler alert: that doesn't end well for them.

[everytimewetouch-dot-mp3]

<< previous

omega disciple shen yuan au pt 2 electric boogaloo

cw for the sex pest again but…mans will not be returning lmao (nor will that theme, probably)

shen yuan is nine years old when the brothel madam—nainai, she insists—starts having him run errands. picking up tea from the mings’ shop down the road, dropping off letters and packages for people around town. he’s gotten stronger, healthier. the farmers who sold him must not have fed him much. he’s gone from stick thin to youthfully soft; the dark smudges beneath his eyes have lightened. the village sits in a mountain, on a plateau that jiejie says was formed when a huge demon blew the peak off the mountain a thousand years ago. shen yuan doesn’t believe her, but he stays wary all the same. he knows what mountain range they're in, after all. he knows just as well as everyone else about the immortal masters up on the peaks. he isn't thinking about it. he's not a cultivator.

he is still young, his heats still dry and soft. they don’t make him work when it comes; all the brothel aunties bring him silks and blankets and help him nest, and nainai makes sure there’s always at least one auntie there to look after him. distantly, shen yuan knows that heats are supposed to be a hassle for grown omegas. he's staunchly not thinking about it—instead he sits cuddled up with jiejie or gege or one of the aunties and reads them stories. heats really aren't so bad.

nainai and all of the aunties always said if he starts to feel heat sick while he’s out running errands, he has to come back immediately. it's a little overbearing, honestly. he isn't stupid; he knows how to take care of himself. he hasn't frozen up since that time with that alpha, and he knows to run away if something happens again.

he's been a little warm the past few days, and his nose has been really sensitive—irritating, really! he curses the shitty author in his heart every time a guest with a rancid scent strolls into the brothel. but two little symptoms don't mean it's pre-heat. gege got him a journal to track his heats with, and it's not supposed to come for two more weeks. he's fine.

so he hides his fever and stifles his gags when nainai asks him to to go drop off a package at the tea shop and pick up more of some special tea. uncle ming, the tea shop owner, always gives him candy and snacks and stuff when he comes by. there’s no way a little fever is gonna make him miss out on free candy. whether he’s nine or twenty-nine (his age is another thing he isn’t thinking about. sometimes he almost forgets he was grown just two years ago. sometimes he forgets that none of this is really real. don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it), free sweets are free sweets.

the sun is setting, so nainai tells him to be quick. the tea can’t wait until the morning—the prickly man is coming again tonight, and it’s some special blend he needs as soon as he arrives or something. shen yuan doesn’t really care; he’s just excited to go see uncle ming. so excited he runs the whole way there. it’s still light when he goes inside. uncle ming gives him snacks and sweets, pats his head and praises him for being so helpful. he catches shen yuan up on the neighborhood gossip—there are rumors about this person, that person is pregnant again.

they keep talking until after the sun goes down, and when uncle ming realizes it, he tries to convince shen yuan to stay for the night. his wife and daughter, both betas, are away, and he doesn’t want to send shen yuan to walk back in the dark alone. he’s an omega too, and he says he’d walk shen yuan there himself but his nose isn’t good and it’s dark out. with no way to tell if someone was sneaking up on him, he’d be in danger. it’s fine though. shen yuan’s nose is good, and he’s not stupid. the thought of spending a night away from his nest makes him itchy. plus, he’s already late getting the tea back for that man, and nainai said it was important.

uncle ming scents him with one of his wife’s cloaks, then wraps it around his shoulders. hopefully, he says, the scent will scare off anybody looking for an omega to bother. auntie ming’s scent is nice—not like the aunties at the brothel, but it still makes shen yuan feel secure. the cloak is a little long, but that’s fine. the walk is only ten or so minutes. he’s sure it’ll be fine.

he’s wrong.

it’s been two years, and nothing really even happened, but shen yuan still remembers that alpha’s scent. there’s no reason to remember it. nothing really even happened, just a kiss on the forehead. a hand on his thigh. eyes dark and possessive, like he wanted— but nothing happened. that alpha’s probably on his way home from running some errand, same as shen yuan. he picks up the pace.

the scent follows him, and his middle starts cramping, and when shen yuan accepts that maybe he was closer to his heat than he thought, he starts running. gets maybe three steps before his legs get tangled in auntie ming’s cloak, and before he can hit the ground, there’s a hand pulling the fabric tight against his throat.

that alpha coos at him, calls him sweet. he’s scarred now, ragged claw marks tearing from his eye down to his neck, and shen yuan remembers nainai’s bloody hands after she took the man outside. nainai isn’t here now. shen yuan should’ve stayed with uncle ming.

later, he says he only remembers flashes of what happened that night. hands on his face, his thighs, inching between his— sharp teeth dragging along his neck. he remembers that alpha’s voice, but not what he said. he remembers crying, remembers saying he’d scream if the alpha didn’t stop. he doesn’t remember screaming. he remembers a tingling under his skin, a tightness in his belly, a rush and a wave of something he’s never felt before. he remembers opening his eyes and seeing the alpha lying dead on the ground, his chest caved in and blood dripping from his eyes and his nose and his mouth.

shen yuan remembers picking up the box of tea, half spilled on the ground, and turning to run. he remembers bumping into a man with the coldest eyes he’d ever seen, but a scent that felt familiar. remembers looking up at him from the ground, saying please, please, please—but not what he was asking for. he doesn’t remember anything else.

[xappetites]

this was supposed to be a little Price thought but it got away from me and it's 1112 words

warnings: fem!reader who's decided kids aren't the best idea for her, mentions of sex and breeding kink, brief mentions of a disordered relationship w/food

“Are you still planning on children?”

It takes John a minute, in the post coital haze, to understand the question his wife whispers from the bathroom doorway, naked in the easy way of years together.

She stands there, skin reddened in the places he was just holding onto like a lifeline, and she looks at the towel in her hands instead of him. It’s steps, between them, but they turn to ice for John, a little Siberia in the middle of South East London.

“Loaded question, isn’t it, love?”

“You brought it up,” she breaks the frost, moving to settle on the edge of the bed, right next to him. Her towel is warm, he realizes, as she works it over where he’s drying itchy with sweat and cum. Barely wet and gentle on his skin.

And John knows what she means, can still feel the words on his tongue: I’ll fill you, love, fill you ‘till it takes. He doesn’t regret them, doesn’t want to regret them because it gets him there in record time, does the job so well for him that just thinking about them has his cock hardening again to the warmth and the wetness and the subtle pressure of her hands.

But that’s all it is, a fantasy that ends here, when he cums. He doesn’t spend his days imagining his wife pregnant in his daily life. In fact, now that he thinks about it, the thought’s strange, leadens his stomach with an irrational sort of anxiety. He spends too much time away, too far removed from this unstoppable woman, to think of her vulnerable and not feel a certain kind of madness tugging at the threads of his self control.

“Do you want children?”

He counters, buys time, though he knows it’s unfair to twist the question on her. They talked about it, once, before the marriage, when they felt younger and the future seemed so terribly malleable. John said it might be good to have a couple. But he didn’t want to be a Christmas dad, seeing his offspring every four to six months and have them cry in his arms because they don’t recognize a man who’s more thought than father to them.

He’d planned to retire, cut back at least, before he’d consider any children. And now he can’t, not with so much to do. He couldn’t sit by a desk and watch other people forced into the kinda shit only he —and Kyle and Soap and Simon— will voluntarily sign up for. So it’s looking more and more like it might not happen for him, and he’s comfortable with that.

But they’d agreed, back then, on an indefinite but small amount of kids. And now his wife, the one with an actual life and a home where she welcomes him, is not looking at him as he refuses to answer. Not until he hooks his fingers in the crook of her knee and smooths his thumb over her thigh. She sighs at the touch, leaves the towel in favor of drawing nonsense patterns over his stomach.

“I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to have children, John”

He frowns, but waits in silence. There’s something sad hiding behind the fleeting smile she gives him, something guilty that makes him brace himself for movement. The impulse he’s felt since the moment he fell in love with her, to fight for her, against the world. Like he’s an attack dog, built for violent resistance in her name.

“My body feels off, some days, like I don’t belong in it. I skip breakfast sometimes, I leave the metro a station back, for the walk.”

Her voice is soft, but her eyes are unrelenting, now that she’s started. And she rushes through the admission, makes it a simple stating of facts, like making the shopping list.

“I don’t think I can survive having someone else in this body without hating them, and a baby doesn’t deserve that. I don’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

John’s heart balloons in the quiet of the moment. He can’t help the lopsided smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth, which he realizes isn’t a reasonable reaction. But it’s this, the clarity and the unflinching honesty, why he adores her so completely.

Whatever ache is in the confirmation of closing this particular door, outweighed by the pride of knowing she trusts him with the naked, uncomfortable truths of her. And that, John supposes, is what burns at him and he doesn’t know how to put into words when he talks about filling her up, when he thinks about breeding, in the most primal, basic sense of the kink. He just wants to make himself a part of her, wants to know her to the last little cell and live in the spaces between them.

“So if you want to have children, I think we would have to consider other options.”

That comment brings John’s focus snapping back to her hands, to the way she spins her wedding band, tugs on it until it hits the speed bump of the knuckle, a gesture he isn’t sure is conscious but that telegraphs exactly where her head is at.

“You’re all I want, love. No hypotheticals.”

“John—“

“No,” he catches her hand, pulls it back to his chest. He uses it to anchor himself, sitting up to kiss away whatever objection she’s cooking up. “I don’t say what I don’t believe in, right?”

“Right,” her stance slackens and her body tilts forward so her torso slots against his, a perfect fit.

“Won’t bring it up again, love.”

“I like it,” it’s a mumble against his neck, his jaw, that turns into kisses that follow the line of his beard. “Just wanted to let you know, in case—“

John simply hums, keeps the groan in his throat, the one she likes best; because however tempting her sweet weight is on him, he’s weighing his options for breaching the other touchy subject this impromptu conversation raised, on a cold morning in the middle of his first week home in a while.

“About the eating—“

“I have it handled,” she says, stretching and twisting until her legs end up on each side of him again, "I'm trying."

"Ok. But you'll let me know if you need something from me, right?"

She nods, pulls back from him just to grin like she's misbehaving, or just about to.

"Could I have another round for now?"

And John laughs against her until she's squirming at the feeling of his whiskers on her skin, 'cause how could he ever deny his favorite girl.

[the-elusive-soleil]

Some things that might have happened if the Valar had gone to war with Morgoth immediately after the Silmaril theft, and evacuated the Sindar, Avari, and very first Men to Aman to escape the continental destruction:

Nobody swears any Oaths. Feanor doesn't get the chance to, because the Valar go after Morgoth before he can.

He would have liked to go help with the war, but the Valar have made it clear that the Eruhini need to keep out from underfoot, and Ulmo is actually enforcing this one.

Feanor does contribute weapon designs in exchange for the promise of the Silmarils being returned to him ASAP.

(We have the sun and moon, I feel like I should say. The Valar made them when they needed light sources for the war and it was clear they weren't getting the Silmarils back all that soon.)

There's a lot of excitement when the new arrivals show up. Olwe is ecstatic to see his brother again - with a Maiarin wife and a daughter, too!

Thingol is upset about losing his realm and also grieving his friend FInwe, but cautiously intrigued to meet Finwe's family.

Feanor has become High King of the Noldor at least in name, but in practice what's developed is that Fingolfin and Maedhros and Caranthir and Turgon handle a lot of the day-to-day and Feanor is so busy crafting that he never noticed the shift. No one is super interested in telling him.

Thingol very nearly breaks it all open by accident, but they avoid a crisis just in time.

The Avari disappear into the outlands and forests and assimilate as little as possible.

Thingol and Melian start up a new city, but it's...not quite the same.

Luthien is restless. Her parents' new city might not have a girdle, but she feels fenced in anyway - partially with her parents not wanting her to stray too far in this strange new place, and partially because she's the one and only half-Maia and stunningly beautiful and everyone wants a piece of her, so to speak.

Funnily enough, certain of the Feanorians know exactly how those itchy feet feel, and her father doesn't hate them in this timeline.

She's not into hunting to kill things, really, but Celegorm teaches her this neat trick that sometimes you can just say you're 'going hunting' and head off to the woods to do whatever you want, like running just for the sake of it or dancing without anyone watching you, and no one will ask any questions.

She ends up spending a lot of time with him and the twins and Aredhel.

(Celegorm and Luthien eventually get married, because why not.)

(Melian gives her blessing on the condition that their firstborn son marries Nimloth, who goes along with it because she trusts Melian's foresight. Or, alternatively, they might have a daughter who marries Beren when he comes along; that'd be a fun twist.)

(The point is that Elrond and Elros eventually exist. They aren't in need of adoption, but they develop a surprising bond with their uncle Maglor.)

Almost forgot, the dwarves got brought over, too.

Caranthir does a lot of the negotiation with them, since his bluntness meshes best with their ways.

They and the Men keep having new generations be born and die, and it's...an adjustment for the elves.

Finrod, nonetheless, becomes great friends with a Man called Balan and his folk.

Caranthir encounters a Haladin woman named Haleth when she comes to court to arrange for greater independence for her people. He's in love at first sight. It takes her a little longer.

None of Caranthir's family understands why he'd choose to go through the eventual heartbreak of losing a spouse, but he ignores them all, and gets married anyway.

They have an astounding number of children. This is partially because they have better proximity and aren't in survival mode, partially because it takes them a sec to figure out how human conception works, and partially because Caranthir wants there to be as much Haleth in the world as possible before she's inevitably gone.

Hurin Thalion and Morwen have three lovely children. Nienor probably has a different name. Lalaith lives to an astoundingly old age, healthy as a horse.

Tuor and Idril, of course, get together. Turgon is a bit less enthusiastic about it this time, what with Tuor just being A Guy and not Ulmo's champion, but when would that ever stop Idril. Tuor does die eventually, but they have a good life till then.

Feanor ends up liking the Men and dwarves a lot more than anyone thought he would. He learns All The Languages, and loves to swap techniques with the dwarves and bounce off Men's ingenuity.

Also, the Sindar introduce a radical notion called marriage counseling, which is apparently something you invent if you're coping with Arda Marred instead of trying to maintain an assumption of perfection. They've also invented family therapy. Feanor and Nerdanel, and really the whole House of Finwe, benefit hugely from this.

Oh, and elf/dwarf relationships become hugely popular among the Noldor, because when your dwarf spouse dies you can literally go see them at Aule's house still as long as you're discreet about it, so no one bats an eye when Celebrimbor announces his engagement to the craftswoman Narvi some time down the line.

[maemaemania]

rushing water

little short story about pidge that takes place in the same timeline as my main pidge fic just a bit beforehand. i hc that pidge couldnt swim when they all first went up in space and they figured it wouldnt be any problem,,,, until it was.

CW drowning

---

Pidge hated nature. 

Ok hate was a strong word. They really really didn't like it. Sure they were the paladin of the green lion guardian of the forest and blah blah blah but that doesn't mean they had to like trees or dirt or mud or water. Especially mud and water. Mud was sticky and wet and itchy. It would get inside their armor and they felt like they were losing it whenever it touched their skin. Then the water. If it isn't in the shower, pidge hates getting wet. It makes their clothes heavy and cling to them and weigh them down then all the water in space isn't exactly clean and some of it makes them itchy when it touches their skin. They had sensory issues and mud and water were their biggest enemies because of it. They didn't understand why Keith never had this problem after all he was autistic too why didn't it affect him? It's not like they wanted their teammate to be uncomfortable too but it would make them feel better knowing they were not the only one. So as the team trudged through an uninhabited planet full of thick forests and layers of mud lets just say pidge was not having a good time. At least the air was breathable and they didn't need their helmets.

“This sucks,” they said as they swatted another giant leaf away from their face only for it to swing right back around and knock them over which earned a giggle from the team.

“Aren't you supposed to be in tune with nature and all that jazz?” Lance asked as he helped the younger paladin up off the ground, “I mean this should be your element.”

Pidge fished their glasses out of the mud with a huff and gave them a good shake to get the mud off before putting them back on, “this is not my element. My element is space and science and computers not nature. Nature can suck my di-”

“Pidge!” Shiro interrupted before they could finish, “language.”

Pidge threw their arms up in mock defeat, “I don't even have one of those, how am i not allowed to even say it?” they asked and Lance snorted while Keith rolled his eyes at the two of them. 

“No you can't,” Shiro told her. “Where did you get such a pottymouth?”

Pidge chuckled at that. “Potty mouth?”

“Shiro nobody has said that in like years.”

“Except for old people.”

“Yeah I gotta agree with them on that one shiro.”

“I don't need you to agree with me.”

“Oh shut up lance.”

“You shut up, mullet!”

“Guys!” Pidge yelled to get their attention, “as much as i find entertainment in Lance and Keith’s useless gay pining-”

“That's not-”

“What we're looking for should be just over there.” they pointed past a valley to the other side where a large patch of trees filled to the brim with fruits stood.

“Perfect. Good work pidge.” Shiro ruffled their hair which Pidge pretends to be annoyed by but internally they’re beaming at the praise. Shiro did remind them of Matt afterall so it was the closest they could get to their brother’s praise in space.

“Thanks shiro! Though I still don't think any of this was worth it for some alien fruit.” They said as they rubbed at the collar of their suit where some mud slipped in, “I've got mud in places mud should not be and desperately need a shower.”

“Wow you're actually willingly taking a shower? We’ve prayed for days like this.” hunk said as he made his way down the hill side with the others. Pidge would have thrown something at him if it wouldn't cause him to fall. If he had his helmet on they would have. Instead they followed the rest of their team down and felt better seeing it was dry dirt at the bottom of the valley instead of more mud.

“Weird,” they commented as they bent down to look closer at the ground, “everything else is covered in mud and water but this part is bone dry. Feels kinda hollow too." Pidge stood back up and as if on cue a loud crack went through the ground beneath them and they froze as the others turned to them at the sound.

Lance, who was the closest to them, reached out first. “Walk over to me and go slow,” he said as he held a hand out to them while the others kept a close eye on the ground ready to grab their fellow paladin if need be. 

Pidge took a deep breath then made the first step. There weren't any cracks so that was a good sign. They took two more and the ground still made no move to give away anymore so they figured they could move a little quicker. That was a mistake. They were nearly about to grab Lance's hand when the ground finally gave way beneath their feet and they felt themselves falling and heard someone yelling their name.

Pidge could hear the sound of the water before they hit it, loud and rushing fast. An underground river. Just great. The main reason pidge hated water was because they couldn’t swim. Yes it was embarrassing a paladin of voltron and former garrison cadet couldn't swim but they just never saw the point. They explore space not the ocean in fact they majorly prefer vastness of space over, as they would put it, the horrors of the ocean or any body of water for that matter. The family had tried to teach the youngest Holt to swim plenty of times when they were little but nothing ever stuck. Not to mention little katie would cling to their brother and refuse to let go even in pools. He would always just laugh and tell them that they were safe with him and he wouldn't let them go. They wished he was here now as the water dragged them down and forced its way into their lungs when they could no longer hold their breath anymore. It burned. It burned down their nose and throat and exploded in their chest. Is this what drowning feels like? They thought. God it's awful. It hurts so bad. I can't breathe. Then it all went dark.

•••

It was like it happened in slow motion watching the ground give way beneath pidge’s feet then seeing them disappear below the surface. Lance tried to reach out for them but it was too late. They were gone.

“PIDGE!” he yelled as he peered over the edge and watched their body disappear into the water. “Shit! They can't swim!” He looked up to the others and already saw Hunk taking out the spare rope he brought.

“Lance you're the second lightest-” Shiro started but Lance was already tying the rope around himself and getting his helmet on. 

“I'll get them back.” he said before jumping down the hole after them.

Lance hit the water far more gracefully than Pidge did and turned on his light looking for that familiar hint of green. Finally he saw them floating in the water and swam over. The closer he got the more panic set in when he noticed they weren’t moving besides the small spasms their body gave to show the water was already filling their lungs. He wasted no time in grabbing them and heading towards the surface, making sure they got up first. When he got back above water he tugged on the rope and held onto pidge tight as they both started getting lifted out the water and back up to the hole. They still hung limp in his arms. 

They got back up and Lance handed Pidge off to Keith while Shiro and Hunk helped him out. Keith quickly took pidge to a more stable part of the ground and laid them down.

“They're not breathing,” he said, taking their chest piece of their armor off to start CPR. The rest of the team gathered and watched as Keith did compressions on a body that was way too small to no longer be moving. “Come on, pidge. Come on,” Keith muttered under his breath as he continued to try and revive the kids he's come to know as a little sister. Their face was pale and their lips blue and cold but Keith was not stopping for anything. They heard a loud, mechanical roar in the distance, no doubt the green lion wondering what the problem was with her paladin and that only aided Keith to keep going. If the green lion was still going then Pidge was alive. Finally their eyes shot open and their chest shook as they started to cough up the water that had once invaded their lungs. Keith and Shiro were helping them sit up and Shiro gave their back a firm pat so the rest of the water would come back up too. When it was all finally gone they took a gasping breath and slumped onto Keith's shoulder. Shiro continued to rub their back.

“Easy there Katie,” he spoke softly. “Deep breaths just like that.” 

Pidge tried to do as he said and take deep slow breaths until finally their breathing evened out. Their nose and throat still burned but at least they were alive. Suddenly their body lunged forward and they threw up a mix of water and mud onto the ground. Tears threatened to spill over just from the pain alone but pidge refused to let them fall. They didn't like crying. A hand touched their cheek and gently tilted their head up so the others could see them.

“You with us Pidge?”

Pidge blinked a few times and squinted in an attempt to see who was talking to them. Finally they realized it was Lance and gave a small smile. “I'm ok. My lungs burn and I can't see for shit but I'm ok.” They were slowly helped up off the ground and braced from the side when their legs nearly gave out on them. They tried to shake it off knowing they just needed a few minutes to recuperate.

“We should get them back to the ship and into a cryopod.” Hunk tried to whisper it so Pidge wouldn't hear but they did.

“No. No cryopods. I hate them. Theyre cold and disorienting. I'm not going on one.” as much as Pidge admired Altean technology they hated those pods. How could they be capable of healing the body from injuries yet absolutely suck to be in? Granted Pidge just wasn't a fan of the cold seeing as they were anemic but still. They didn't like things messing with their head and they always came out of the cryopods confused and their brain would feel fuzzy for a bit after. Coran and Allura always assured them that it was just an after effect of them waking up out of a deep sleep but Pidge still didn't like it. Trying to get them into a pod was a fight every time and Hunk had the bite marks on his arms to prove it.

No one said anything in response so Pidge took that as a win (it wasn't) and was sure that meant they wouldn't get put in a pod (they will). They did let Keith give them a piggy back ride back to the castle. Sometimes they did like to enjoy just being a kid.

[beoneofus]

“ c’mon, baby, you can do it.. ” paul cooed, raising a single hand to your sweet, dripping lips with a smirk; using his thumb to slowly swipe away the strawberry juice that coated your lower lip. “ just try n’ guess, gorgeous. ain't that hard. ”

but it was indeed hard.

you see, it wasn't too long ago the boys revealed they each had powers. not just david. It sure was news to you, cause as far as you could remember, it was only david who ever showed a smidge of the tricks he had up his sleeve. the other three sure were sneaky, deceiving and overall secretive, but you didn't think they'd keep something like having powers, hidden.

when dwayne confessed to it, you grew curious. this is what led to the situation you were in now.

In a chair, hands bound behind your back and eyes covered by a blind fold. paul had the great idea to show you just how fun these said powers, could be, which is why as soon as you were left helpless, he deceived you of all your senses. well - almost all of them. your touch and hearing was still very much in tact, that's why the itchiness of the rope was making you frustrated and so were they.

but, also the fact that you couldn't identify the fruits they fed you. you knew the texture of the one you recently took a bite of was familiar, but putting your finger on it was rather difficult. this is why you shouldn't fake advantage of your eye sight, is what you noted to yourself.

“ dwayne, ” you whimpered, lips trembling while you arched your back off the chair; desperately trying to rid the irritating scratch of the thread from your wrists. “ please make him stop, I don't wanna get punished. ”

that was the deal. you get three freebies, but if you fail to recognize the forth fruit, you were to get punished. and so forth.

“ no can do, honey. ” his voice was right next to your ear, quite low. It made you jump, because you didn't even feel the brunettes presence next to you. this caused him to chuckle, all while he tucked a lose piece of hair behind your ear; the brush of his fingers electric, and addicting. you almost leaned into his touch, but stopped yourself since you realized he denied your wishes.

“ fine, ” you gritted your teeth, pinching your brows together angrily; the ‘fold shifting ever so slightly against your face. “ have it that way. I'm not kissing either of you ever. again. ”

there was a small silence that fell over you three after you said that. it was... stiff, to say the least - and the atmosphere fell into one of glacial tones. it was uncomfortable, nearly scary.

you then heard a low chuckle come from your right, and you could only guess it was the blonde you tended to favorite. “ oh, sweetheart... ” he mocked, voice sickly sweet; a single knuckle caressing from your upper cheekbone, down to the corner of you'd mouth. “ you really should learn to keep your mouth shut, sugarplum. ”

“ it could help you in the long run.. ” dwayne mumbled from behind you, his chin now resting easily on your shoulder. lips hovering just over the skin, on the side of your neck; damn near on a certain vein.

“ nooow, though - ” you felt a presence linger above you, before.. SLAM!

“ we, ” paul had harshly placed his hands on either of the chairs arms, caging you in, taller frame dominantly closed in to hover over your own. you seemed to be... stiff; swallowing. he took note of that with a smirk. “ - aren't goin’ so gentle on you, baby. so buckle up, sugar. ” he smacked a kiss to your cheek, before bursting into laughter.

“ the funs just beginning! ”