#already reread the first ones and I have a lot of things I want to talk about | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunboki · 25 days ago

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— HELLION INN. a Stray Kids fiction

🌖 : Lee Minho x implied! fem. reader

TROPE. dystopian! au, enemies to lovers, monster! au, apocalypse! au, “we have to get along to survive” au, angst, high stakes

WORD COUNT. 10k ⭑ 50min read

WARNINGS. gory descriptions, cursing, descriptive violence, implied intercourse, death, a dubcon kiss, talk of vomit/vomiting, lots of mentions of death, one mention of k*lling oneself, parasites, murder, inclusion of fire, injury, usage of guns, injury, knives, reader and minho are “hunted”, mature themes

AUG'S NOTES. it’s finished! i wanted to cry (out of happiness!!) closing the last part :) i truly love this piece, and, though it certainly isn’t all too lovey dovey compared to alternative fics of mine, i was so incredibly fortunate to be able to write for themes i adore! i hope my enthusiasm was able to be conveyed in the subject of monsters/apocalyptic au’s!! please enjoy<3

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. Receiving an ominous letter in the mail, a monster invades Seoul minutes later, carrying an uncanny sense of smell despite its blindness. Countless people have been slaughtered already, and with your letter as the only meager explanation to this madness, you find your feet leading towards the one place it said was safe: Hellion Inn.

or alternatively :

Minho won’t let you die. Not if it means letting this Monster get him or hell’s dawning itself. You’re going to survive. Together.

Run, something is coming. Go to Hellion Inn, you’ll be safe there.

Something? What is something? A terrorist attack? War?

Never had such a letter arrived at your doorstep other than this Tuesday, with the morning sunlight peeking through half-opened blinds casting your pajama-clad frame in its cascades.

And again, you reread and reread, questions raging in a distorted frenzy amidst your once just-wakening mind.

Little were you aware what would come. What already roamed Seoul’s streets, approaching closer, closer.

One objective resides in too many possibilities.

Find Hellion Inn.

Stuffing the letter in your pocket serves as the most sensible solution while you go over your options. If you didn’t have a clue about what dishes would be cooked, you’d check the ingredients first.

And yet, upon turning on the TV, you find your meal already served.

On a platter, dripping with blood.

“This just in, an unidentifiable entity is making its way through Seoul in a rampage. The creature is highly dangerous. It appears to lack vision, and speculation has deemed it relies upon its smell to discern other beings. The creature has not been detained at this time. Under no circumstances should citizens leave their residences, and in the case you’re on the street, please evacuate to the nearest shelter immediately. Further information will be released.”

Your blood runs frigidly cold, enough you swear you could’ve turned to ice.

All of a sudden, war or a terrorist attack doesn’t sound nearly as daunting as before.

A monster. Ruthless, bloodthirsty.

Monster.

Instantaneously are news sites everywhere exploding, posting footage, pictures, and accounts of the creature each second.

More and more and more until-

It all goes dark, your home plunged into a black abyss meagerly sustained by the sun’s rays, phone in hand ultimately powering off.

Electricity down. Fully.

This isn’t like a usual predicament of a public threat, not something you’re prepared for, nor something anyone was prepared for. There’s no drill for a monster, no tsunami shelter or high rise building to reside upon.

Was it obliviousness? Or were you all simply sheep to a ravaging wolf?

The latter seemed most convincing.

An exhale. No, a growl is what breaks your train of thought. Like the chuff of a tiger, curdling in its throat.

Above.

You can’t even bring yourself to move, can’t bear to breathe in fear you’d give yourself away as a shadow covers that once hopeful sunlight.

No shadow, but a thing. A monster.

How did it get here so fast? How.. how the hell is this happening?

The sound of tiles shifting on your roof makes your fingers twitch, eyes stuck wide.

The worlds apex predators turned into the prey.

Each pound of your heart lies evident in ringing ears, listening to those low, horrendous gurgles, repeating that same chuff before it shifts again.

Again and again, and you’re unmoving.

Leave. Run. Anything.

Yet, you can’t move a muscle, glued in place.

Until you do, and your legs act before you can process a thing. Grabbing for items, whatever it may be. Mind unable to process in its frantic state.

No. No.

A plea as your hand wraps around the doorknob, beginning down the apartment complex’s stairs in rapid descent, listening to the slow growls of the creature.

Don’t look behind, just go.

A mistake you find yourself making even when a life is on the line.

Your life is on the line.

And when you spare that single glimpse, murky lifeless eyes stare blindly back at you, bulging from its skull as if they never were intended to be there. Skin a hallowed, fleshy tone — ligaments hung awry.

Disorderly, distasteful. If you look close enough, you swear you could’ve seen a beating heart, watched the oxygen cells rush through a pumping bloodstream.

Gaping jaws hold copious teeth, ant-like incisors residing on either side of a ceaselessly smiling mouth, the corners of what appears to be lips ascending all the way up to nonexistent ears.

Four legs, two antennae atop its head. At least two times the size of a human.

Horrific.

Never had such a thing appeared so terrifying.

With the letter clutched in one hand and your powerless phone in another do you run, praying that nonexistent vision truly is nonexistent.

Well, until a car alarm begins to ring, and you feel your stomach climb to your throat simultaneously.

Because it twitches. Not even a glance-sort of reaction. The entirety of whatever neck that monster hones twitches to look at you with a nausea-worthy crack! of its ligaments. Those jaws parted, a flattened nose breathing in.

And then it lurches, and you don’t think you’ve ever ran as fast as you did now.

Far, far. As far as you can go.

It’s futile listening to gargled cries for help amongst rubble, the reaching of hands for your feet you can’t even spare a moment for as those scraping claws continue their perilous dance after you, scavenging on people as they go.

So the second an intact person comes into view—a boy, looking about your age (and freakishly calm at that) with fluffy hair and rounded cheeks retaining such youth—you’re racing ahead before you can even think, ramming through those convenience store doors in a flurry of panic and fear.

“Monster— Monster- there’s a monster we have to go-“

“Do you like grilled cheese?” He mumbles, and you wonder if he’s talking to himself or you, no less asking such a question during this downright apocalypse.

“No, no there is—“ A shriek pierces the air in the distance, the clutter of debris alerting the monster’s proximity.

You, in a frantic attempt to redirect his attention, place either hand on his shoulders.

“A monster. There’s a monster out there and if we don’t hide, it’s going to kill us.”

The boy licks his lips, cocking a contemplative brow before looking toward the freezer section.

“Freezer?”

At this point the creature might as well be turning the corner, and you don’t need to respond for either of you to go running as fast as your legs will carry you, stuffing yourselves into the biting cold just as the bells above the entrance door ring.

Scariest part is this customer is intelligent enough to open doors.

This customer isn’t human.

Like slow-motion you hear it. The pounding of your heartbeat in your ears, the lack of air in such a tight space, the monster’s rumbling.

Your hidden counterpart lodged himself into a freezer opposite to you, eyes squeezed shut the nearer clicking footsteps on tile sounded.

Click.

You don’t realize your eyes are closed until you open them, met with the monster’s face, hundreds of razor-sharp teeth lining its mouth, stretched into that same, chilling smile while it stares at you through the glass.

It can’t see you. It can’t see you. It can’t see you, You internally plead like a mantra, suffocating on the scream rising in your throat.

The loud clanging of a soup can the boy throws has the creature’s disfigured face whipping around, and you wordlessly communicate through mere terrified-eye-contact what either of you are thinking:

Run.

Without conscious you go flying, ramming past discarded groceries and tormented bodies into Seoul’s open roadway, void of any vehicle whatsoever.

Except for one.

It’s a tow truck, key still lodged into the ignition, window broken with streaks of blood lining the door where a middle-aged man’s body had been dragged out. He rests lopsided below the front tire, abdomen severed in half.

Grotesque.

“Car- Car!” You cry out, wildly gesturing for him to follow suit while you pry the driver’s door open, the monster’s frustrated growl enough motivation for the stranger to throw himself in as well.

In the nick of time you press down on the pedal, winding the wheel in a quick motion just as the hell-sent smashes itself from the shop, evidently angered.

“I’m Han!” The man occupying the passenger seat shouts, the hole through the windshield causing enormous amounts of wind to soar through the car and synonymously blur your senses.

“What?!”

“My name is Han! Han Jisung!”

Squinting whilst looking through your mirror at the wickedly approaching Monster, you veer past as many obstacles as possible — most being corpses — as fast as the engine will let you.

“Oh! Uh, I’m Y/N!”

Han nods, grasp clutched onto his seat the more you speed increases, recklessly maneuvering left and right as if dodging a crocodile.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t a crocodile, but a blood-thirsty beast wanting nothing more than to behead you. How sweet.

“Do you… Do you know how to drive?” He yells, and you raise your eyebrows, narrowly shifting past a shopping cart.

“If you count Mario-Kart as driving, I’m a pro!”

Han audibly squeaks his fear in response, eyes squeezing shut as if to not stare at the monster’s face nearing the mirror.

The speedometer cries out, vehicle shuddering as you near train tracks just at the edge of the city.

Hopeful.

Fleeting hope when the roar of a train’s whistle soars through the air, the look Han gives you doing little to sustain your already thinned sanity.

Perhaps you’ll die getting hit by a train than this monster.

Perhaps it’s better that way.

“We’re not gonna make it we’re not gonna make it we’re not gonna make i—“

“SHUT THE FUCK UP—-“ You screech, foot slammed as far down on the gas pedal as possible, the rumbling of the train’s engine deafening.

“HOLY SHITTTT—“ The man screams, mouth ajar as you soar over the tracks, preparing for impact only for a hair of the train’s front barely brushing over the car’s bumper.

Currently realizing you’re still breathing and not dead, you floor the brake, either of you launching forward in your seats while the endless train keeps the monster at bay on the opposite side.

Both panting hysterically, you place a hand on your chest, hoping to slow down the terrifyingly fast pace of your heart — close to bursting out of your chest.

Your passenger, Han Jisung, turns to look at you, eyes wide as saucers, a gradual open-mouthed smile growing upon his flushed, sweat-stricken face.

“That was.. sick.”

The flashlight flickers here and there, found in the tow truck’s trunk along with a med kit currently carried along by Han.

By chance did you end up in what remained of the red-light district, rubble dotting roadways as evidence of the Monster’s previous siege.

Amidst the held supplies, your pocket seems to ache with the weight of the letter, sitting there in its futile warning of what was to come, now arrived.

You hadn’t brought it up to Han yet, a persistent fear of blame lingering in the back of your mind. Was it your fault you didn’t react in time? Disregarded the letter?

No. There’s no time to regret now. Whatever past existed has been annihilated.

Night is approaching, and with that comes rising unease and a desperate need to find shelter.

Seoul’s red-light district had always been a taboo for Korea’s upper class. A hushed word, quenched beneath harsh scolding and wrinkled noses at the mere mention.

As if their own well-off sons don’t get driven there on a daily basis, ignorant to their own affiliation as if it’s a genetically determined trait.

Quite funny how none of that matters now. Not when it’s the end of the world, that is.

Every (once) building looks the same. Rubble. Litter lines the roads, cars strewn awry, wrecked into buildings, run over people.

A pattern lies in everything.

This pattern consists of fear.

Struck on faces, painted carelessly along torn apart surfaces and walls, splattering the cities ruby red.

Incessantly, you can’t help but fear. A natural biological response when in the presence of actual or perceived danger, inflicting sharp wounds throughout your body, mind on an endless neurological high of adrenaline-fueled paranoia.

How could someone not be paranoid when they were being hunted?

“In here.”

Han’s voice pulls you out of your head, turning where he points to a brick building, multicolored beach towel draped over a window torn to shreds, soil from plants staining the cracks of tiles, floor a mixture of blood and bacteria.

“It’s abandoned,” He notes, prying the creaking door open.

Abandoned isn’t the word for it. The inhabitants left as most people did upon hearing the news of invasion, although they didn’t get far, you’re plenty aware of that.

What a shame. Thinking they could escape, in their wake, slaughtered ruthlessly.

Instead of abandoned, call it evacuated, barren.

Inside, a radio runs in a constant string of white noise, the addition of broken air conditioning the only source of apparent life. Haunting, flickering lights cast the few rooms in an eerie, ghoulish green like that of a basement.

“I’ve been here before. There should be a mart nearby.”

Allowing his remark to sink in, you pause, a slight grin drawing upon your lips.

“You’ve been here before, in the red-light district?”

Phrase lingering amusedly, he stops as well, shifting on his heel to grace you with a similar smile.

“What? Not everyone can stand high and mighty in this society. Plus, there’s no need to pretend anymore when death is so close by.”

Your smile drops, and you suck on the skin of your cheek, a loud breath through your nose enough to continue the descent.

Perhaps you should change the abandoned description.

Just then, from the corner of your eye do you see a figure emerge, the glinting edge of a kitchen knife barely brushing your shoulder blade before you dodge to your left, the attacker colliding with an ironing board.

Mere seconds later the figure rises to their feet, identified as female, adorning lanky limbs and skin as pale and zombified as the surrounding room. Her lips are cracked and purple, eyes nearly black, blanketed with equally raven hair reaching the floor in length.

The girl looks like a creature, barely alive with the lack of coordination in her loose stabs, alienated stare vividly murderous.

Only by narrowly pummeling into the wall do you manage to immobilize her, Jisung’s efforts stalled.

Liquid obsidian blinks back up at you from where you’ve caged her to the floor, her nostrils flaring in hasty breaths, your own panting ringing in your ears.

“Look kid- I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? Now if you calm down and let me—“

A third of the steak knife puncturing the side of your thigh veers your head back, choked scream jostling your nerves tenfold. Bubbling blood slips from the wound, trickling warmth dizzying you into a foggy spell.

It’s not until a low bang! sounds that her arm, raised for another strike, falls limp to the floor, looking behind you to find Jisung holding a pistol, silencer attached to the muzzle, aimed directly at the girl below you.

Immediately, before you can release the unheralded screech compressing your lungs, Han hoists you up by your elbows, the jarring movement beckoning a squealed sob you bite your tongue containing.

Snatching clothing from a closet behind the door, the man rips the fabric using his teeth, returning to your slumped frame.

Reminding you to hold your breath, he aligns the makeshift bandage prior to tying it, your reaction becoming quieted as your eyes roll back.

And the world falls into a dark abyss.

By the time your lashes flutter open again, searing light invades your vision, the urge to open your eyes aiding a roaring headache.

Although, it appears you’re still in the same room, alternatively relocated to a futon on the floor, leg propped up using folded pillowcases and books.

“You’re up.”

Han enters the room, two metal cans of mashed spam and rice held in either hand, one of which he gives to you.

“You were knocked out cold,” He laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners, uncharacteristic to the fact he just shot someone.

“The shirt should staunch the bleeding. Eat.”

Staring down at your meal, you glance up, stomach churning in an unsightly manner merely considering food.

But you eat anyway, gulping the bites down despite the nausea.

“And the girl?”

Han takes a bite, scraping every last grain from the noisy tin without so much as a shiver.

“I took care of it.”

It’s your turn to laugh, confusedly surveying the teenage-boy-looking friend of yours.

“What are you? A hitman?”

He clicks his tongue, eyes thoughtfully flickering to the ceiling.

“I’m.. somebody who really wants to survive.”

All you do is return his tight-lipped expression.

Yet, truly accounting for your introduction, there’s a whole lot you don’t know about him. His past, his goals. What his life was like before.

He comes off as cheery and good-natured, disposition claiming he wouldn’t hurt a fly.

You’ve come to realize that isn’t the reality whatsoever. Because Han Jisung is exactly what Han Jisung said he was.

Somebody who really wants to survive.

You can relate to that.

“So.. Random note, random warning, no location?”

“Pretty much.”

Seated beside you, Han surveys the letter, reading over the contents a few times before folding it back up and handing it to you. He’s redressed your wound, utilizing the medical kit’s antiseptic and gauze to wrap the skin.

“Hellion Inn,” Han repeats softly, brows knitted. “Never heard of it.”

You shrug once more from your place on the ground, leg still propped while he squats to your left.

“If anything, it’s likely it was destroyed if it’s an actual Inn,” He mumbles, tapping a puffy bottom lip with his index, earning your half nod before you pause.

“We can still try it though? We can find a stick or somethin’, I’ll use it as a crutch.”

This time, it’s his turn to nod — rising up with a somewhat-assuring: “I’ll be right back” before leaving the room, returning after a few moments with a table leg, nearly comical in the proud manner he lifts the wood, jagged edges evidence of his severing with a knife.

After copious laughter do you glance at him, brow cocked. “This is really all you’ve got?”

Asking from your place beside him, you brace more weight onto the makeshift crutch, granting Han a side-long glance.

“If I had more I’d use it,” He huffs, watching you hobble slightly but remaining upright with worried brows, hands poised to stabilize your steadying adjustment.

That’s most important, you deemed, no matter how puny. A drag to the team means death; you won’t be that drag.

Tomorrow morning you’ll head out. Find somewhere else to occupy whilst searching for Hellion Inn.

The one remaining routine amidst the apocalypse is time, and as the sun cracks above a horizon once able to be admired and not envied, you’re helped to your feet, gathering bags slung over each other's backs. Additional clothes, torn tablecloths. Anything of even insufficient use.

You don’t think these streets had been this quiet since your grandparent’s time, with bustling citizens and raging business overtaking wherever you look. Now, it might as well be a ghost-town. No more cries for help, no more groans and moans in agony.

And yet, it’s almost unsettling as it is reassuring. Suffering has ceased. Cries for help drawn to a close.

Peace within death.

Trekking for only about a mile feels tumultuous, the ache already coiling in your bones like snakes seen slithering through rubble, waiting for rats to swarm decomposing carcasses in search of easy victims.

Seoul has become a jungle, eat or be eaten. It’s only a matter of time, a split-second ignorance, that can have you eaten. Perhaps by the true Monster, perhaps by your own kind.

The sight of broken columns and french doors parted in what looks to be a hotel in front of you redirects your focus, granting Han a hum of acknowledgment. His hand reaching for the pistol in a fashioned holster, yours coming to the kitchen knife held in your bag.

Wary, but slow steps paired with your hobbled ones make for the small bout of stairs, buzzing of flies caught in flurries littering goosebumps along your arms.

Something about this place is abnormal. That much is known. And if this is the so-called “Hellion Inn” (or what remains of it), your hope for sanctuary plummets in tandem with the temperature upon stepping in.

Cold. That dead, stale kind of cold, warmth from the heart void, no longer beating.

Matchstick providing barely enough light, you carefully pry open the squeaking doors in the second doorway, blade wielded close to your being. The putrid odor of decay perplexes your gag reflexes, allowing Han to take the lead in his observing endeavor.

Abruptly, your foot smushes against something below, and when you look down only to be met with a lifeless hand there, bulging, horror-stricken eyes staring back up at you, you hurriedly bite your lip to conceal the bubbling scream clawing from your throat, frothing like a brewing cauldron.

Han can only grimace.

It was here. You’re not sure when, but these wounds — these corpses mercilessly ripped apart — aren’t the doing of humans.

A bone chilling thought surfaces in your mind.

What if the monster is still here?

Your traveling companion spins around on his heel, hands placed on his hips. Honeyed irises momentarily flit between your paled frame to the obvious terror staining your features, his eyebrows raised.

“Hey, I know it’s scary, but the monster’s likely gone by now, and if we can find someone or a sign that’ll redirect us then maybe…”

His words trail off, suddenly all too familiar with the sound of chortled breathing ragged in his ears. Exhales stenching of rotted flesh, the scraping of sharpened claws on the floor.

And how you’re not staring at him, but above him.

Your palms slowly reach up to cover your mouth, taking the tiniest step back manageable.

“..It’s right behind me, isn’t it?”

Yet, before the Monster can swipe a clawed hand and hack off a limb, deja vu strikes in the form of another gunshot, not silenced, booming,

It soars right past your shoulder with pinpoint precision to land within the Monster’s side, collecting a shriek in return. The beast flails wildly as Han races from its clutches towards the unknown savior of his.

Fluffy hair, a torn, mud-stained jean jacket over his shoulders, white undershirt equally unkempt. The four of you survey the monster’s descent deeper into the hotel, not appearing to execute anymore attack attempts.

For now.

No less, you’re helped outside in your wobbly state, the shot-gun boy leading, another seeming to take up the rear behind you and Han. His companion, maybe. Just as you and Han are.

Sharper features oppose the shotgun-carrying boy’s downturned eyes with inquisitive, apprehensive ones. Lighter hair, jeans bagging by his shoes, white tee’s once graphic design smudged, unrecognizable. His own weapon lies in spiked boxing gloves, nails seemingly ruptured through the cushioned layers.

And when his eyes meet yours, you feel fire in your veins. Blazing, warming you from your toes to your fingertips.

“You guys alright?”

Shot-gun boy, introduced as Kim Seungmin, speaks first, spinning on his heel to regard either of you. Though, it’s hard for your mind to stay attentive, the feeling of Seungmin’s companions’ eyes incessantly boring into your back causing a wary twitch of your fingers.

“Lee Minho.”

His voice breaks you from that apprehensive spell, that watchful gaze of his surveying both you and Han with an unimpressed exhale.

“Don’t slow us down,” He scowls, shouldering past Han, lips drawn into a tight line. He heads for their own vehicle, a worn down truck narrowly resting in better condition than your earlier tow truck by the tracks.

Real friendly.

Seungmin, a tad bit more benign, gestures with a curt nod to the vehicle, ushering your injury-wielding self to sit in the passenger seat with Minho as driver, Seungmin and Han taking the truck’s bed.

Just then does the Monster make its return, bursting from the hotel in a seemingly rejuvenated spirit from before, gaping jaws aching to be filled.

You could only hope your flesh wouldn’t be the filler.

“This is why I hate introductions,” Minho, already slamming his foot onto the pedal, grumbles, not granting a response upon tires burning rubber over dusty roads as you speed off – a replay of your ride with Han on loop each time you see the Monster in your mirror.

Approaching closer, closer again.

It seems food becoming involved is a common theme, jarred when the truck swerves in front of a supermarket. Seungmin shouts from the back as he and Han race ahead, beckoning you two to follow them, your steps lightly hobbled with feeble help of the makeshift crutch.

“The hell do I have to be on babysitting duty for?” Minho, lifting your arm over his shoulder, grovels, and you fight the urge to whack him with your crutch, making through the desolate supermarket.

Weapons in clutch, it grows taxing trying not to grimace hearing clattering glass, the mental picture of those bulging eyes doing little for your already queasy stomach.

“It’ll hear us!”

With your horrible luck intact, this already dislikable stranger ends up being the same soul you're lodged into a bathroom stall with.

Minho hisses, furrow of his brows causing his face to scrunch with distaste, the loud clatter of soup cans and chip bags alike resounding from outside in the thick of the Monster’s carnage.

“No, it’ll hear you. More people means more death, and lucky for you, I’ll be off your hands in no time.” Now it’s your turn to retort, the man lacking of his usual boxing gloves, strap of Seungmin’s shotgun over a shoulder instead.

Wriggling yourself from his grasp, you hesitantly slide the notch to the door, movement only stopped by Minho’s lingering hand grabbing your sleeve.

“And what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m repaying a favor.”

Weighing your ability to walk well, you snag the shotgun from his shoulder, granting the man a wink and a: “Thanks for the shotgun”, before slipping from the stall, leaving his starstruck figure in tow.

Ignoring the biting ache in your thigh thanks to a discarded crutch, you savor cool metal beneath your fingertips, watching the blur of the other two boys racing past the Monster’s attempts of attack.

“Hey! Ugly fucker, over here!” You shout, chilled seeing blind eyes rip your way.

Cocking the gun, your eyes narrow, focusing the sight on its head and–

Bang!

Echoing around the supermarket does a copper bullet gnash into thin skin, puncturing straight through, shell casing crinkling onto the floor below in tandem with a low groan of the creature.

Minho bursts from the bathroom moments later, still sporting a starstruck visage. Han and Seungmin go thundering right past back to the truck, the wild goose chase persisting.

What wasn't persistent was Minho’s arms wrapping around your back, hauling you over his shoulder like a sack of rice whilst chasing right after his counterparts.

As much as you’d like to thank him, your thigh still hurts like hell.

“Yah! That- hurts- asshole!” Shrieked between his hurried footsteps, you smack his shoulder blade defiantly.

Hopefully that serves as a thank you.

However, escaping is far from reach, and feeling presumably safe is equally residing far from grasp when, after finally being able to inhale without a stutter to your lung halfway down the road, the sharp snap of a tire blows.

And the truck flips over.

It was one thing maneuvering from the flipped car, shards of glass embedded in your skin beckoning pinpricks of blood, and another continuing on foot to wherever the two acquaintances planned to lead to.

The largest of things, however, was learning the name of this apparent destination.

Hellion Inn.

With Seungmin sustaining a minor head injury, Han luckily unharmed, and an also unharmed Minho reluctant to aid in being your temporary crutch, you’re given plenty of time for interrogation along the way — wondering just who the hell was responsible for the letter.

As far as their replies go, not a soul knows.

And at this rate, you can’t bring yourself to care about pestering for answers anymore, not with Minho’s aggravating complaining and equally as irritating, stupidly good-looking side profile.

So, the torturous walk to this supposed ‘Inn’ prevails, which, turns out not to be an Inn at all. Instead, it’s this metal, bus looking contraption, like a trailer.

Silver of the exterior tarnished, it hides within a surrounding forest entryway, vines curling around door fixtures as if with time, what remained would be swallowed by the greenery.

From the bus two more men exit, and you can’t help but wonder if this so-called Hellion Inn has just as many residents as an actual Inn.

Christopher Bahng and Seo Changbin introduce themselves hastily, quick to rush back into the bus and retrieve a medical kit. After enduring both the painful removal of glass, your reopened wound stitched, and Chris’s heart wrenching smile of assurance (followed by a pat to your kneecap after, ensuring an imminent heart attack on your part), you’re finally invited inside, introduced to the others.

Three more.

It’s a clown car. Definitely.

Yang Jeongin, Hwang Hyunjin, Lee Felix. Boys- no, men, with features you’d like to deem frustratingly attractive.

Maybe photoshoot, not a clown car.

No less, the seven interact with ease, Han intermingling as if he’d been by their side for eternity. A bonfire, expertly lit behind the bus hidden amongst foliage to conceal smoke, provides warmth in the night.

Cold, just as it’s always been. Even more so with autumn’s presence.

Yet, you find your eyes falling right back to him.

Minho.

Man of fire, whose gaze on yours feels like your ribs cracking apart, as if his fingers bend your windpipe every which way, rendering no air into your lungs. He is fire, licking at your skin in the most deplorable of ways.

And you crave it.

If he were Hades, you’d eat the pomegranate seeds like a fool just to feel his eyes on you again and again.

Selfish.

When he looks at you, you feel selfish. Perhaps it’s the stakes, perhaps your heart has grown too weak, beat too fast it falls for any and all. Adrenaline-induced love.

You aren’t naive like Persephone, aren’t blindsided by curiosity.

That latter is a lie. Especially when you shift on the log, purposefully scooting closer to catch bits and pieces of his conversation with Jeongin, listen to the perfect pitch of his voice, aided by the crackling of flames before you.

You wonder if touching him would rival those white-hot flames. Scalding your fingers till you grew numb.

You’d take that bet.

Fluffy fabric placed over your shoulders makes you flinch in place, sympathetic eyes of chocolate meeting yours.

Honeyed. Chris.

“It’s cold, stay warm,” He ushers, crouching to take a seat on your left.

Then do you register his actions. A blanket, the material a survivor of water’s toil and plenty of stains. But it’s warm, durable, and most importantly, sweet. Chris is sweet, you decide, a bit like this warm blanket.

Your nod of thanks doesn’t feel like it even slightly compensates for his kindness, though, for now, it’s enough.

Tomorrow, Chris, Changbin, Minho, and Jeongin will relocate the flipped truck. Haul it back, fix it up again. That’s what your sensible mind discerns, seemingly adopted into the group like any other as sleeping arrangements in the bus are modified for both you and Han.

Strays, huh.

A flickering gas lamp keeps your gaze glued to the ceiling where you lie, watching shadows twirl like a strange ballet along the walls. Near the front of the bus does Chris sleep, Changbin glued to his side, Felix tucked beneath his arm.

It brings a smile to your lips, watching them. Even Seungmin, with his more boundary-oriented persona, close to the others, his hand brushing against Hyunjin’s shoulder, Jeongin’s head.

Human beings, after all. Even when it all falls apart. And maybe, maybe in monsters as well, there is human. The need to be close, to feel skin on skin.

Counting heads, you find one missing.

“You should be sleeping.”

Minho flicks a lighter on and off, waiting to relight the gas lamp. He squats down in front of you, jeans stretched over muscular thighs.

Your brow furrows, wondering if he’d been here this whole time amidst your ignorance.

“Are you scared?”

His words dull your ability to reply, retort something smart. But, the tone keeps your mouth shut. Cool and calm, like when he spoke to Jeongin by the fire. Not taunting, nor instigating.

“No.”

The words are a lie, unveiled in the crease of a dirt-stricken face, chapped lips pulled taut.

His pinky finding yours verifies that fire theory. From the tips of your toes to the very top of your scalp you feel it.

Scorching. Hot.

Your skin seems to melt from your bones, but only you can see it.

There are lots of questions to ask. Wondering, hope. Why?

But he beats you to it. It seems you’ll have to get used to that characteristic.

“Go to sleep. Nothing can get you here.”

A lie, you know it well. Any second that monster can stumble here. Smell you, turn the perfect corner to find the bus, sheen shimmering beneath a full moon. Ravage each and every one of you beneath claws and blood.

But the letter, no, Minho says you’ll be safe here. That Hellion Inn will be your safe haven.

Tonight, you choose to believe that, falling asleep with his pinky twined with yours, his back to one of the side booths, focus trained on your features.

Safe.

“Hnn..”

Insistent poking to your cheek abducts you from your dream, bleary eyes straining to open. Jeongin sits up, bracing himself with his hands, youthful smile stretched over his face watching you. Meanwhile, the hellspawn guilty, Hyunjin, can’t help but laugh cheerily.

“Wah— I wish I had a camera!” Ebony strands peek from beneath a white ball cap, his voice carries from the bus for Felix’s head to peek in, echoing Hyunjin’s laugh with his deeper baritone.

Similar to Chris are you met with Felix’s kindness, his lithe form slipping past the bus doors to gently smooth back your bed hair, utilizing a hair tie on his wrist to bind the unruly strands before patting your head.

It’s easy to ache for anyone’s touch, you discover.

In the early morning, the car was retrieved by Minho, Chris, Jeongin, and Changbin, the low chatter of voices outside evidence of their progress restoring the once flipped vehicle.

When you step out, Changbin hands you a tin of steaming soup as meager breakfast you’re quick to thank him for, bringing the spoon to your lips whilst lingering near the car, watching them flit about, handing each other tools and screws alike like busied ants.

“You just gonna stand there or help out? Last time I checked you weren’t worried about appearances.”

Instantaneously, Minho becomes his normal, annoying self with each snidely sarcastic remark, cocked brows urging you to retaliate.

Unfortunately, your barely conscious mind can’t formulate something smart back, so you resort to serving as the tool-supplier, handing different ones here and there from a stool near where the Man of Fire works on the popped wheel.

His new title, apparently.

Man of Fire.

“Wrench.”

“Did you just call me a wench?” You scoff, eyes wide with shock at the murmured comment.

Perhaps you were blindsided after all by his nice face.

“Wrench.”

Or not.

Begrudgingly, you extend the wrench, scowl embedded in your expression he can’t help but crack a bemused grin at.

Attaching the wrench to a bolt to crank does his vein-littered forearms flex, and your throat feels unnaturally dry, forcing yourself to focus on something else in order to school an unaffected facade.

Nevertheless, by night, he’s.. different. Lacking cockiness, harshness.

Unspoken things, like when you’re stirred from sleep, dazed gaze settling on Minho across the bus, his fingers tenderly patting Changbin’s head when he stirs awake. They speak in hushed whispers alternative to Changbin’s boisterous presence.

And sometimes, amidst the other seven, you’re the one beneath his comforting hand. Those times nightmares plague your sleep, his careful hands tracing your knuckles, slow circles over your skin urging you back into the solace of sleep.

To you he doesn’t talk, just hums a low melody, wipes unshed tears from your waterline. Seeing his face makes you want to cry more, so you can be scooped into his hug.

Though, you doubt you’d ever let go, so you never allow yourself more tears. Maybe that’s for the better.

Because while you’re so selfishly enamored as night falls and he becomes that doting figurine bathed in moonlight, Minho is endlessly selfless. Wordless, but selfless.

The guardian of the night, sustaining a semblance of care and safety that silently engulfs the bus each time a star twinkles within the sky.

Then again, risks are always present. Missions out for food, stashing of possessions in case of invasion.

Windows of the bus covered, the group convenes that evening, leant over a book on the floor, huddled with knees held close to chests. Sharing things of value, adding more.

An old journal, spine tattered and moth-eaten. Inside looks to hold the secrets of the world, hidden within yellowed pages, hurried writing of smudged ink.

All of it, from the Monster’s mannerisms, exterior, presumed weaknesses. Written, documented. How such information was gathered is beyond you. Intricate, detailed.

Study after study, page after page.

In two days, you’re arranged to head out with Chris for a medical restock. The pharmacy isn’t too far from the Inn, and it’ll only be a few hours of collecting before returning back.

The morning of, Seungmin hands you his shotgun, and Chris takes Minho’s—the Man of Fires’—nail-wielding boxing gloves. Two backpacks, one goal.

Fortunately, the journey isn’t too grueling, filled with quiet conversation and query till barely divisible characters reading ‘PHARMACY’ come into view, slipping into the hollowed, whitened confines of a once thriving business.

Eerie, with medication strung awry, unknown blood splattered along a wall behind the register.

It’s almost funny how the money there goes untouched. What use is it now?

Captured within your peripheral does a door become of topic, shielded behind a hanging towel in the far corner of the pharmacy that you slowly pad over to inspect, fingers tentative in nudging to the side.

Though, it’s the sudden flick of lights, electricity, that makes you gasp, flashlight of little necessity as you part double doors.

The sight makes your heart stop.

Because beneath the disguise of a pharmacy rests a drug-den, a laboratory, first and foremost.

“Uh.. Does Seungmin have this in his journal..?”

Building long since redlined by the look of it, Chris is quick to join your side, muttering an awestruck: “Holy shit” you would’ve laughed at if it weren’t for your combined surprise.

Though, he places an arm in front of you as your foot moves to step inside, instead advising the muzzle of your shotgun to lead you, clearing the area before feasting on this monstrosity.

Countless test tubes litter every surface in sight, but it isn’t mixtures, isn’t a combo of products.

It’s insects, piled with them.

Many deformed in gruesome ways, trapped inside the tubes. Chris, hastily pulling an old camera from his bag, snaps photos, the shutter’s sound echoing around the room.

Yet, you can’t help but notice a near uncanny resemblance.

Incisors, bulging eyes, like the Monster.

No, it wouldn’t be. A mega ant? No, that thing is far from solely ant with its hulking size.

“Don’t you think this is just.. odd? I mean, they’re already up to their noses in cash from the drugs, I’m sure, so why the.. ants?”

Chris exhales slowly through his nose, shaking his head.

“My guess is as good as yours. And calling it a ‘guilty pleasure’ just makes me nauseous, I mean look at them, they’re.. infected.”

Fungal growth is clear as day, that’s agreed. The true question rests in reason.

Just what were they doing here?

The longer you linger, the more unsettling it becomes.

Because somehow, your gut can’t shake that resemblance to the Monster.

Your walk back to the bus is quiet, shrouded in nerves and a wanting for familiarity. Safe to say you both sigh in relief seeing that silvery, unmoving vehicle.

It’s almost comical how the uneasiness spreads, like whatever fungus altered the insects, contorting them in disfigured shapes, features. Overtaking the nine of you similarly.

Merely thinking about it gives you chills, Chris’s description, as you’re coddled into the bus with the others to explain, doing little for the vomit tempting your throat.

Effortlessly, your same silence washes over the others, paled as they acknowledge the identical resemblance you’d conjured before.

“You don’t think..” You’re feeble in attempting to disprove the suspicions, trembling of your fingers stilled only when Minho’s index traces your wrist.

Though, it isn’t night, and the look he grants you makes you wish for his touch even more.

Assurance, worn within the grooves of his face, repetitive stroke of his fingertip over a hammering pulse.

“I do think, show me the picture again.” Seungmin beckons, hurriedly flipping through his own notebook as he narrows his eyes on the photo Chris shows.

Seungmin, you learned, used to be an entomology major in Seoul’s most prestigious university. Studious, with a bright future nearing.

Interesting how easy those aspirations can crumble apart within a day, within seconds.

But there’s no purpose in reminiscing, is there?

Now resorting to gathered notes of the past, he finally stops at a page, finger glued to the scribbled notes. His other hand reaches to the photo, pointing to a tiny label taped to a test tube halfway outside the frame, writing messy and uneven, barely legible against the blur of the camera.

Ophiocordyceps unilateralism, or, in easier terms, zombie-ant fungus.

Thanks to Seungmin’s insight, his knowledge dictates the occurrence as “a fungus capable of infecting the mind of its host while simultaneously altering its body.”

So, in a horror-movie-esque, freakish way, a parasite.

Jeongin pipes up, and you swear at least four of you flinch at the sudden sound of a voice against leaden silence.

“But the Monster’s too big to be an ant, right? How could the—“

“What if it wasn’t an ant, but another animal? A bigger animal. Some scientific breakthrough where the host was able to be taken over, not by an ant, but by something bigger.”

The entirety remains consumed in a stillness, taking in the revelation they’ve just come to.

Fear is almost palpable. Nearly able to be tasted, smelt.

Han’s leg bounces anxiously, dirty fingernails reaching to claw at his hair, tearing at his scalp with visible shuddering Chris’s warm palm hopes to ease, placed on his shoulder.

“We’re being hunted by a parasite.” He croaks hoarsely in disbelief, tone pathetically cracking in terror.

A parasite, yes. This, however, is different.

The monster lurking through Seoul was planned, arranged accordingly under the guise of law and human greed for motive unknown.

A lone pharmacy, meant to cater to human health, now manufacturerers of human destruction.

This parasite is man-made.

Your spirit could’ve been staunched easily, dampened by the weight of discovery. Grown unwilling to fight anymore, unwilling to try surviving.

Who are we if not going for each other's throats? Why must someone’s greed become everyone else’s problem?

Something so selfish, so horrid it grew out of control, festering like a seed of hatred in one’s heart till spiky leaves and branches poured from their lungs and suffocated them.

For a moment do you entertain the doubts, the scornful attitude over the boiled egg in hand. An early breakfast the day after the realization, with the nine of you seated along the bus’s roof, legs swinging off the side while watching the sunrise.

You feel like the only people in the world.

And a bit longer seeing shades of orange and crisp blue bleed across the sky does it feel like it’s all worth living for once again.

So instead, you adapt.

Jotting down more details about the fungus, figuring out ways to combat it. Continual stocking of food, the usual.

Fixing things, keeping up with communication. Laughter and smiling, momentary glances to that Man-of-Fire making you clam up, just like before.

At least that was predictable.

A continual gas lamp, those same quiet visits of his within the night. And, more often than not, you’d find Minho’s pinkie linking with yours while he slept, without a nightmare or sleepless night as explanation.

In the mornings, you’d pretend like it never happened. Go back to cat and mouse, square one.

Hold my hand, but keep quiet.

I don’t want you to leave.

Plenty of things echo through your mind as dawn arises, when your lids twitch and disoriented eyes flutter open to find him beside you, peacefully asleep.

Most days, he’s gone by dawn, somewhere across the bus sleeping, leaving your groggy mind to configure his touch as a mere dream.

No matter the awe, your body betrays such an occasion, and you fall right back to sleep again hoping he could read your mind, keep that contact beneath the blanket.

Unbeknownst to you, the moment your eyes close, his eyes open.

But you’re already asleep when a gentle index traces your cheek, his lips parting with a slow breath.

“Pretty,” Is whispered, failing to echo around the bus in its hushed volume, a pinch of normality within the chirping of birds, the breach of an emerging day peering over sparse clouds.

“Hm?”

He wasn’t anticipating your response, breath catching in his throat.

“Hi Minho,” You murmur gently, greeting his surprised disposition as your lips wind into a tiny smile.

Involuntary. Lips quirking upwards the longer you hold eye-contact.

And surprisingly, Minho cracks a smile too.

It’s feeble, barely divisible apart from the twitch of his lips. Your thumb traces the crinkle, too sleepy to speak, too comfortable to act.

“Hi there.”

His hand returns your touch, finding your cheek to rest on, savoring the feeling of your skin on his, his on yours.

Stay here, don’t go.

I don’t want to be left alone again.

His brisk glance at your lips has your nerves buzzing beneath such a gaze.

Knowing, obliging.

Obliging as his head tips, as yours complies. Capable of fitting like the perfect puzzle as—

Seungmin mumbles something unintelligible in his sleep, and it’s all a dream once more how Minho slips from your hands as if he was never there in the first place.

Three and a half months at Hellion Inn passes in a flash. Research on combatants to the zombie-ant fungus prevalent, plenty of days spent crowded in the bus, throwing around possibilities and idyll conversation.

Monster sightings have become sparse, with the vast majority of reports informing of its scavenging of the city’s copious bodies.

A sense of relief until it runs out of flesh and craves more, which is where your apocalypse began all over.

Starting with that same, chillingly bellowed chuff at least half a mile out from Hellion Inn.

You don’t think you’d ever seen the eight of them move so quickly. Gas lamp extinguished, weapons cocked and loaded with ammunition ready to fire. Minho’s studded boxing gloves, Seungmin’s shotgun, Chris’s dual pistols. Plentiful traps arranged about the bus, ones you never anticipated having to utilize up till tonight.

How foolish you were.

However, the bus’s roof isn’t caved in by a claw, the nine of you intact for the remainder of the restless night, void of any more sound from the Monster.

Then again, the torment is far from yielding, with those same, restless nights becoming avidly frequent, Minho’s soothing capabilities tested as a nightmare per week triples in number.

In those times, you find comfort in each other, comfort in bodies snuggled together, in shared pain and happiness. In as much comfort support allows in the thick of a never-ending hailstorm.

As for you, you find that longing has folded itself into squares of eighteen from a once meager eight. Folded over and over that, the greater the paper grows with each parted fold, the greater that longing burns.

Burns, like the smoke billowing from a fire outside.

Location of the slow-to-set sun leads you to believe it’s around 3pm, your figure slumped to the floor of the bus.

Though, the missing factor rests in a lack of eight others who currently occupy the fire outside for dinner.

Yesterday, you and Jeongin took on a water restock, roaming about what seemed to be innumerable miles to repeat the walk with heavy packs of water all the way back, currently the cause of your exhaustion as you sleep into the evening the day after.

If only the sleep was peaceful, refreshing.

It’s not.

Well, it was. But not for long.

A shower, according to the flickering of your consciousness as you dream. Warm water droplets pattering on the tile floor underfoot, cleansing grime from your skin. Electricity.

And somehow, a peculiar name leaves your lips upon seeing a shadow behind the shower curtain.

“Minho.”

The sound of your voice is light in this dream. Awaiting, familiar.

Yet, the pit in your stomach grows, unnaturally.

You find the cause when pulling back the shower curtain, that same, leering smile of the Monster staring back at you as it lunges.

Not Minho.

Your vision goes black, only able to hear the ringing screech of your scream, the heat of the shower now putrid metallic. Blood, replacing the water.

It fills your senses, suffocating you slowly but surely. Overflowing from your nose, your eyes, till you cry crimson.

A sharp twitch of your hand jars you awake.

You’re not bleeding, not in a shower, no Monster in sight. Although, you’d be lying to yourself to say you can just forget it all, act like nothing’s the matter.

More so when you see Minho—recalling his name uttered so sweetly in your dream—standing at the bus’s doorway, seemingly a witness to your horrors as he closes the door behind himself.

Ah.

No, don’t look at me right now with that doting gaze, as if I’m something to be cared for, something delicate.

For once I wish you away, so I don’t begin to cry, so my love for you doesn’t become my ruin.

“And it was- it was right in front of me and—“

He sees through you each time, through the toughened exterior, the shake of your head when he asks if you need anything, want to talk about it.

He came in for an extra blanket, apparently. One long forgotten by now.

Spill your guts, but when it comes to him, you find your heart spilling with it. Words caught in a hyperventilating daze, your hands flail, eyes struck permanently bulging.

At some point, everyone starts to break. No time table to give you an estimate, forewarning.

It just bubbles until bursting.

“I don’t… I don’t want to do this anymore..” Voice a desperate plea, sobs wrack your body numb. “Why can’t…” You begin, eyes flitting to Minho.

“Why can’t we all just die together?”

Heaved between sharp inhales is your face taken between calloused hands, his brows knitted.

“Cause who’s going to take our place? Who else is alive?” He whispers, kneeled upon the floor, staring at you nonsensically.

“This once, let me be selfish. I won’t let you die. You can’t die because I want you alive. Do you understand?”

Slow to nod, bleary vision situates upon the man, cursing the dip to your usually strong tone — cracking, weakened.

“Can… Can I just.. forget?”

His eyes flit to your lips if only for an instant, like that time a month ago, stolen.

And for a moment, you think he may have just read your mind.

“Minho, please… I want to-“

Ah.

And he kisses you, and then, no, more. More and more, till you’re tangled up in sprawled blankets and sleeping bags. Smoke tainting the air from outside, calves dangling from his shoulders, toes curled.

Minho makes you forget, forget and forget, leaving you to helplessly utter his name past chapped lips — till another round turns into what feels to be a lifetime.

Your palms pressing to his jaw like a plea, head tossing back once more with a sound purely guttural.

It’s sloppy, it’s clumsy. Sweat-stuck kisses to sweat-stuck skin. Nails digging into already moth-eaten clothing, his lips permanently pressed to your pulse, hammering and hammering in a wordless incantation of bliss.

And yet, no amount of greedy, mindless sex, no amount of his doting kisses, his careful assurances, praises, can deter your mind from a reality unavoidable.

There’s no euphoria, no recovery your skin can even acknowledge as he flops to your side, both out of breath.

“.. Am I selfish for a pleasure I can’t even enjoy?”

Silence breached, your eyes flutter closed, an involuntary tear slipping down your cheek where you lay upon the bunched sleeping bag.

This had been a dream, to be burned by the Man of Fire. Allowing his kiss to brand you, his touch searing every ounce of skin raw.

Little did you know you’d already scorched it all yourself.

Cruel. Irrevocably cruel.

Not even clarity grants your senses, emotion muddled between undergarments feeling too tight and grimy and the lack of fresh air rendering sticky bodies into a cold sweat.

From beside you, his hand extends to your cheek, thumbing away the salty droplet with a weary smile.

“There is no selfishness, just… grasping onto what’s left. You’re not selfish for taking what you can get, not when everything is being taken from you.”

Hellion Inn was not your safety, it was the one gazing at you, the seven others outside.

This is only a house, Minho is your home.

Fifth month arising, a conclusion is met. Amongst not-so-helpful input, bickering, and plenty of runs to libraries to gather more books on Ophiocordyceps unilateralism for a very studious Seungmin, he presents a possibility, an option.

Of its known enemies, the zombie-ant fungus doesn’t have many. There was the initial hypothesis on ways ants protect from the parasite, but with the Monster already infected, those methods were out of the question.

Then came the breakthrough.

Torrubiellomyces zombiae, or T.Z. An additional, fanciful word for a more powerful parasite. A Hyperparasitic fungi, zombie-ant fungus’ predator.

Create an ultimate beast without known opponents? Simply double the size, the power.

That’s where T.Z arrived, the species a core option for the Monster’s destruction. Get the spores on the Monster’s skin, and stay alive until it takes over and stabilizes the fungus’ infection.

Much easier said than done, which left room for the organized members of the group separating steps into phases.

Phase one focuses on collection of the spores. Extra photos Chris took that first encounter in the pharmacy unveiled the likely presence of the desired spores, which Felix, Hyunjin, and Seungmin have been elected to collect as Team C.

Phase two regards locating the Monster, introducing the presence of a harpoon gun (an idea Han loved (for the sole reason of fooling around with the harpoon gun)).

The point of the harpoon will be coated in collected spores, teams of three with three members each (A, B, and C) dispersed throughout the surrounding area the monster before Team A shoots.

And of course, courtesy of Han’s mention on what phase three should be:

Run like hell.

Phase two enacting in exactly a week, Hellion Inn spends its days in preparation, plaguing each breathing moment with gathering necessities and ensuring utilities are present.

Between those lines comes the lividity.

Kisses in the night, his kisses. The shared cockiness, incessant teasing when the others are around as original as it comes despite such tenderness in private.

Your souls bared, secrets spoken into the air for only your ears to hear.

While the others sleep, you love till your heart hurts, watching him fall asleep against your palm where he’d kissed each of your fingertips minutes prior.

“I love you,” He whispers one night, his nose buried into your cheek with a heavy sigh.

There’s not a single doubt within your mind, a hesitation, a hint of surprise.

Plenty of times it’s been said without words, repeated in the peck he presses to your skin.

“I love you too.”

And you repeat the words in a kiss to his lips. Slow, careful.

Savor. As if it were your last.

Dark clouds wrinkle your vision, spitting rain nothing short of irritating as you, Han, and Minho slip through cluttered underbrush.

Gathering of the spores had been successful by Team C according to the flare gun’s signal, and Team A—consisting of Changbin, Jeongin and Chris—tracked the location of the monster.

Itaewon hasn't changed apart from the lack of bodies, assumed to be the Monster’s doing. Debris prominent, scavenging animals littering the streets without the usual congestion of people.

When the second flare blooms into shaded sky, that’ll be the indication the last stage: shooting the monster, is underway. For now, the three of you wait, listening in as hurried footsteps of Team C come thundering towards you.

Seungmin offers the vial, Minho lifting the harpoon gun to plunge into what appears to be an oddly shaped mushroom, your arm already lifted to the sky to fire Team B’s own flare gun.

Half way. Not done yet.

Now for Phase three, but, prior to the “run like hell” notion.

Jeongin is the retriever of the harpoon gun, angling through side streets past a lingering monster in the center to deliver the catalyst.

Almost there, almost–

His foot clashing against the metal of an alleyway trash-can disrupts that peace, and synonymously do you feel all breath held.

Chris was supposed to deliver the shot. Jeongin was supposed to make it to Team A unnoticed.

The world seems to grow mute, Han’s wrenching scream from beside you fallen upon deaf ears as the Monster’s gaping jaws beeline for Jeongin, claws extended, the boy kneeling to the ground.

Then, a ping! resounds, and your eyes are slow to open in fear his mutilated body would sit there, bright eyes lifeless.

It’s almost slow motion seeing it. Centimeters from Jeongin’s face does a palm outstretch, twice the size of his head, fingers twitching as if frozen in space.

Then you see it.

In the middle of that palm, the mere edge of the harpoon—only able to get halfway from its sheath—embeds.

Cavernous jaws of the creature part, incisors poised as if disbelieving of the matter itself. Disbelieving of the parasite taking over, altering its blood stream.

Wilt.

White, almost decaying in the manner the alternate fungi destroys the weaker one, its muscles failing, body freezing.

You half anticipated the creature to at least try fighting in the meantime, land one last swipe.

But the more time ticking past as you lean forward disproves any chance of movement, able to physically see the blood cells permeating the creature ashen, once curved claws diminishing simultaneously like that of crumbling embers.

Just then does Hyunjin’s voice breach your focus, curdled in urgency. It’s his cry that beckons Jeongin back to his feet, racing back after the others, tip of the harpoon still wedged within the Monster’s palm.

Oddly enough, as you watch the last of it dust into the wind as if melting, it doesn't feel real.

Too simple, uncanny. As if millions hadn’t extinguished in its horrid maw—a single parasite killing off the apocalypse bringer as easy as that.

Yet, it wasn’t easy at all.

Testing every last ounce of your wish for life, wish for a reality snatched from not just you, but eight others’ fingertips.

It was taxing. Surviving, experiencing the start of new love you didn’t think could sprout among a wintery wasteland included.

But it did sprout, and the way you’re the first person Minho’s eyes drift to speaks that loud and clear.

Twin blossoms of the most brilliant colors, growing brighter the nearer they are.

Closer than love, truly.

We made it.

The Monster is gone.

There isn’t a word spoken as you make back for Hellion Inn, make back for home. The crunch of footsteps along gravel rings in your eardrums, breath exhaled from parted lips, matted, grease-ridden hair the least of your concern. No joyous shouting, no celebratory behavior in the slightest.

What is there to celebrate anyway? So many lives lost, too many to mourn.

Progression of your footsteps carries each soul with it, allowing them a final sleep in their eternal resting place.

Sleep well, Seoul.

“It’s all over.”

Whispered amidst roaring flames, you can only stare at the pharmacy as fiery flickers—vials, chemicals, ants included–swallow whatever has been left, torching hell’s origin once and for all.

One last stop. One last goodbye to all that was, the last chapter.

Without a word, Minho’s pinky links with your own.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

FIC TAGLIST. @linocvp1d

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nadvs · 2 months ago

Text

out of bounds (part five)

pairing zach maclaren and soccerplayer! female reader

rating mature 18+ for smut (zach is subby and packing) (and you can’t convince me otherwise)

summary zach has never been the type to rebel, but when he meets you at a soccer camp where you’re both working as counselors, which has a strict policy against dating between staff, he’s tempted to break the rules for the first time.

» part one | two | three | four

» masterlist

The setting sun is an orange sliver behind the clouds over the lake, promising a colder night as you sit by the campfire.

It’s been another tiring day and lights out can’t come soon enough. You check the time on your phone to see you have twenty minutes left of free time before campers retire to their cabins.

Zach sits across the fire pit with Malcolm, surrounded by chattering kids.

“It’d be nice if our campers actually wanted to spend time with us,” Ami says to you quietly, sitting next to you.

You laugh, noticing that a lot of your girls are sitting around Zach and Malcolm, talking and staring at them in awe. They’re not subtle at all.

“I have so much to tell you, by the way,” she adds.

“About…?” you ask, your eyes inconspicuously drifting towards Malcolm.

“Yeah,” she says. “He came over when you and Zach went on your little date.”

You laugh again to cover your nerves. Ami was already asleep when you made it to your cabin last night. This morning, you briefly chatted with her about how you ran an errand in town with Zach, making it sound as boring as possible.

You’re still putting up the front that you have no romance between you. You’re not sure you’re doing such a convincing job and it’s been feeding your anxiety.

“We went shopping for work,” you reiterate. “We’re just friends.”

“Sure,” she replies, unconvinced. “He’s totally looking at you like you’re a friend right now.”

You glance up to meet Zach’s gaze, the corner of his lips quirked up, his eyes on you. You smile at him and look at Ami again. You haven’t told her a thing. Not even that you and Zach confessed your feelings for each other.

Admittedly, it’d be nice to be able to gush with Ami about your flings. She’s become a good friend over the two weeks you’ve been working at the camp and she tells you everything about Malcolm. But you respect Zach too much to give in.

“Okay, maybe there’s a tiny possibility we like each other, but we’re not doing anything about it,” you offer quietly. “So, what happened?”

“I’ll tell you tonight,” she says.

You nod. You already decided that when you get to your cabin, you’ll tell her that you’re going to the dining hall to have a video call with friends. If she insists you stay, you’ll say you’ll be loud and you don’t want to bother her in case it goes late.

In reality, you’re planning to go to Zach’s cabin tonight. He’ll have the place to himself. And you can hardly wait.

It’s complicated and a bit guilt-inducing to be lying so much, but when you glance across the fire again and see Zach’s bright smile, you know he and his comfort are worth it.

Ami falls into conversation with another counselor and you text Zach to tease him: what’s with the staring? you’re making it a little obvious maclaren.

It’s not until after lights out when Malcolm leaves their shared cabin for his shift that Zach showers, tidies up, sits on his bed and pulls his phone out to text you that he realizes you texted him a while ago.

He’s been riddled with anticipation all day. It’s been hard to focus. You didn’t exactly directly confirm you’d be coming over tonight, but it seemed to be an unspoken plan between you two.

And the fact that you bought condoms last night has been turning over and over in his head. He won’t rush you, he wouldn’t dream of it, but he hopes tonight is the night.

He replies to you: I can’t stare at you? Come on. You’re asking for the impossible here.

And because he can’t wait, he texts again: You want to come over tonight?

Five minutes pass. Then, ten. All he has left to do is reread his texts to you. Maybe he came across too strong.

Come to think of it, your first text calling him out for staring could have been serious. What if you’re not teasing, but actually upset with him?

He’s drafting a text to apologize if he said anything wrong, but you reply: be there soon.

When you knock on Zach’s door, he opens it within seconds and you rush inside.

“Sorry,” you tell him, pulling him in for a hug. “Ami was filling me in on some stuff.”

“All good,” Zach says, although in reality, he was kind of freaking out. He leans to kiss your forehead and his body warms when you tighten your arms around his torso. “Where’d you say you’re going?”

“Taking a call.” You squeeze him once more, his body firm against you, before leaning back to cup his face and pull him down towards you.

Your kiss is gentle, its tenderness proof of just how much you’ve missed him. All the tension in his body fades like you’re pulling him out of a bad dream. He’s relieved that things between you are okay. Your touch shows that you’re still in this like he is.

“Hi,” you whisper in relief.

“Hey, baby.” His deep voice is like velvet, the word spilling out of his mouth as if he’s called you that a million times before.

“How was your day?” you ask.

“This is the best part of it,” he replies. You smile and kiss him again.

When you settle on Zach’s bed, sitting across from each other, you look around his small cabin, laid out like yours, items neatly tucked away.

“Thought you said you were messy,” you say, playfully pushing his shoulder.

Zach takes the opportunity to hold your hand, cupping it, stroking his thumb over your fingers in his lap.

He gazes at you, at how effortlessly pretty you look in your comfy clothes, at how quickly you make his blood go hot and his body go tense just from a hug and a few kisses.

“I cleaned up,” he says. “Think I’ll have to mess it up again so Malcolm doesn’t get suspicious, though.”

“I wonder if he and Ami talk about us,” you say. “She’s been teasing me about liking you ever since our first night here.”

“Did you? Like me then?” Zach flirts.

You look down, smiling shyly, thinking back to the night you kicked the ball around under the starry sky, getting to know each other, bodies lightly brushing together.

“Yeah,” you confess. “Did you?”

“I liked you since you told me there was only one fork left.”

“So, the first thing I said to you?” you laugh, rolling your eyes.

“What, you don’t believe me?” Zach brings your hand up against his chest as he feigns offense. You laugh together and he dips his head to kiss the back of your hand, eyes locked on yours.

He’s acting like he couldn’t wait to get you alone again. You feel the same way. It’s ridiculously hard being in the same vicinity all day and having to act like you haven’t kissed or touched each other.

Now, he’s merely inches away, his heartbeat pounding against your palm, the tension between you thickening by the second.

Zach lowers your hand on his bed. His blanket is soft. His stare is tender. You look down at the way his big hand covers yours and you quickly notice the thick ridge of his erection beneath his sweatpants.

It makes the coil in you tighten, knowing he’s already as turned on as you are. You discreetly feel for the condom in your pocket to make sure it’s still there.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Zach offers, tilting his head towards his desk. You see his laptop propped open.

You smile, endeared over how considerate he is not to rush anything, especially when he’d so clearly do something else.

The other night in your bed has been on your mind. He was so hard and so big in your hand that your heart is already hammering at the thought of seeing him naked, of feeling him inside you.

“Sure,” you simply say.

He asks you what you’d like to watch and you pick one of the first movies you see, figuring you won’t be watching much of it anyway.

You lie on your side in his bed as he queues up the movie and tilts the laptop screen towards you. The smell of his strong, calming body wash wafts over you as he settles behind you.

Zach plants a kiss on your shoulder once he props himself onto the pillow, curling behind you. He knows you can feel how hard he is, but before he can worry about you feeling uneasy, he reminds himself of how much you’ve reassured him that you want him, too.

“You’re the big spoon type?” you ask with a soft chuckle as he shuffles into position.

“You sound surprised,” Zach mumbles behind you.

“So, you don’t want to be the little spoon? Ever?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say no,” he replies, earning another giggle from you.

The movie’s opening credits roll over the screen, but all you can focus on is the sensation of Zach’s large hand against your thigh, dragging to cup the crook of your hip as he pulls your body against him.

You arch your back to press against his hard length. His hold on your hip tightens, a shudder leaving his lips.

Zach tries to concentrate on the movie, but he’s so hard that it aches. His eyes refuse to look at the screen; they want to trail over the peaks and valleys of your body, to take in your pretty face.

He shifts to nuzzle against your hair, relaxing simply from the smell of your shampoo. His palm glides up past your hip, over your tummy, resting right under your breasts, where he can feel the wire of your bra beneath the thin fabric of your shirt.

Your stomach rises and falls, his hand moving with every one of your breaths. Having to keep a distance from you all day is hard. Being this close and not touching you how he wants to be touching you is somehow even harder.

All Zach can do is shut his eyes as he nuzzles in and expels warm breaths against the back of your ear. He tells himself to just cuddle you for now, to go slow.

“I feel like I can’t get the smell of campfire out of my hair,” you admit with a laugh. “Sorry if it-”

“No, no, you smell good,” he mumbles. He glides his hand back and forth across your waist and slowly presses his lips against the side of your neck.

You bite your lip, lowering your palm over your stomach. Zach quickly raises his hand, clearly concerned he did something wrong, serving as a reminder to you of how much he appreciates your direction and praise.

“It’s okay,” you say. He realizes you’re lifting up your shirt. “You can touch me if you want to.”

You guide his hand under your top, feeling his palm on your breast. Warmth pools in your stomach when he almost inaudibly groans.

“If I want to?” he whispers with a nervous chuckle. “Of course I want to.”

He gently squeezes, swallowing the lump in his throat as the soft cup of your bra bunches between his fingers.

His touch is soothing, his breath ragged. He spends so much time slowly massaging you that it begins to feel like torture to not have him making direct contact.

You’re sure that he can feel how hard your nipples are under your bra, but you let him decide the pace this time, let him decide when you can move to the next step.

“Can I take this off?” Zach finally asks, his hand skimming over your bra strap.

You wriggle to pull your top off then lean forward, your back still to him.

“Yes,” you say with a note of relief.

Zach plants wet kisses on your bare shoulder as his hands wander to the back of your bra, unhooking and guiding the straps down your arms. You press your back up to him again once your bra hits the floor.

He feels your bare breast against his hand and he’s thrown back into how nice the swells of your flesh felt in his mouth, how hard and perfect your nipples were against his tongue.

He stimulates you with gentle pinches, kneading softly, making you buck your hips back against him.

“God, I love these,” Zach rasps, fondling you. “I just…” He trails into silence.

“What?” you breathe.

He only kisses your shoulder again as he continues to touch you, his cock twitching against you.

You turn to face him and Zach doesn’t waste a second. His lips are soft and wet when they press against yours as he drags his thumb back and forth over your nipple.

You pull back, nose nudging against his.

“You just what? You can tell me,” you reassure him softly.

His heart is racing, wishing a part of him wasn’t still scared that he’s too much for you, that how deeply he feels for you will freak you out. He’s never thought of himself as an insecure person, but right now, one negative word from you could shatter him.

Goosebumps bloom over his skin when you caress his jaw, your hand against his cheek. He’ll say what he’s thinking, even though he’s afraid.

“I just want to make you feel good,” Zach says.

You smile, tilting your head to kiss him again.

“You are,” you say when your mouths part. “All I ever feel with you is good.”

Your words make him dizzy, pushing him to capture your lips again, rougher this time. When his tongue dips into your mouth, you let out a moan that makes him feel like he might go crazy.

Zach sucks your bottom lip as you tug at his shirt, willing him to pull back and take the clothing off. His shirt falls onto the floor behind you with a soft thud and he pulls you tight against him, the sensation of his bare, hard chest against yours utterly perfect as he kisses you.

You’re lost in the moment, making out slowly and heavily. The sounds of your hungry kisses and the movie playing and the wind rustling through the trees just outside his window fill your ears.

You eventually shift to straddle him, coming up for air as you sit up, thighs locked around his hips. Zach gazes up at you in awe, eyes drifting up and down, taking in your every feature.

You can feel how soaked your panties are now that you’re settled on him. You drink in the planes of his muscles and the ridges of his abs and the line of hair below his bellybutton that trails down past the elastic of his sweatpants.

You knew he was muscular, but it’s surprising how much he’s hiding under his shirt. As you look down at his half-naked form, you take in how every plane and edge of his is hard and sharp, except for his eyes. They’re always kind, looking at you softly like you can do no wrong.

“Hi,” he says, voice low and smile lazy. He cups your hips gently, biting his lip as he gazes at your breasts.

“Hi,” you breathe.

“You’re so pretty,” Zach whispers, his half-lidded eyes and messy hair and swollen lips the picture of drunken bliss. You thank him through a soft laugh.

You can feel it in the air that he wants to go all the way, too. But to be sure, you dip into your pocket to pull out the condom.

“Do you want to?” you ask, holding it between your fingers.

“Yes,” he says, paired with fast nods. “Do you?”

“Yes,” you say with a small smile.

“I never go this fast,” he admits impulsively. He typically dates a girl for at least a month before he takes this big a step. But things just feel so right with you. He can’t resist you. He doesn’t want to.

“If at any point, you want to stop-”

“Trust me, I won’t want to stop,” he interrupts.

You giggle at his enthusiasm, leaning over to kiss him again, your hands splayed on his hard chest, the wrapper of the condom crinkling.

“Same for you, okay?” Zach says. “We’ll stop if you want to stop. I won’t be mad.”

You laugh again against his lips.

“What?” he says, amused.

“I kind of can’t imagine you being mad at me.”

Zach smirks, his hands gliding up the curve of your spine. He’s completely weak for you. He’s okay that you can tell.

“Me, neither.”

Your lips meet again and a gentle whine escapes his mouth when you thread your fingers through his hair, grinding against him.

His hands drag down to your ass, squeezing. Another groan sounds from the back of his throat as you roll your hips over him, his cock hard against your middle.

He can’t even control his own body, his hips involuntarily bucking up towards you. His pants feel tight against his erection, the sweet friction of you grinding making his muscles weak.

His throat tightens when he feels you shuffling to take your pants off.

“Let me help,” Zach whispers. “Please.”

“So sweet,” you praise as his thumbs hook under the band, pushing your pants down your thighs. Your words make him move even faster.

Your pants are soon bunched at the end his bed and you straddle him again, left only in your underwear. Zach inhales sharply when he feels the bare curve of your ass without much fabric left in the way.

He sighs in satisfaction, groping you, pushing against you so that you’ll grind at the pace he wants you to, offering him a little more relief.

You lean back down to kiss him and eventually perch up on your knees to tug down his sweats, leaving him in his boxers. You palm him, feeling the wet drop of precome he left on the soft cotton.

You meet his eyes, his desperation for you clear. He’s completely at your beck and call, hanging on what you’ll do next. You’ve never had this much power over anyone before.

You want to please him just as much as he wants to please you. You tilt closer to him again, your cheek pressed against his, knowing how much he loves to be complimented.

“I can’t wait to feel you inside me,” you murmur in his ear.

“Shit,” Zach says with a disbelieving chuckle. He’s in heaven. “Repeat that for me.”

“You like hearing how bad I want you?” you say, dipping a hand in his boxers. He nods wordlessly, too in awe to speak, and when you feel his cock in your hand, the desire deep in you pricks every inch of your skin, your stomach twisting.

You start to stroke him gently and heat rushes through his body. He’s never had someone know how to talk to him. He’s always been a bit embarrassed of how much praise he wants.

Other than offering gentle encouragement, he typically stays quiet during sex, never asking for compliments even though he desperately wants them. But you give him what he needs so effortlessly, understanding him in his entirety.

“So big,” you whisper. “I’m going to have to take some time to adjust to you.”

He feels like he’s going to wake up soon, because this can’t possibly be real.

“As long as you need,” he says through a strained voice.

You smirk against his skin, kissing his cheek as you skim your fingers over him.

“Take these off,” you encourage him, pulling against the band of his boxers.

“Yes,” Zach obeys in a hush. He shuffles to take off his last piece of clothing as you prop up on your knees again.

You nearly gasp when his cock springs out, craving him with everything in you. You start to gently pump his length, eyes flitting between how big he is in your hand and how captivated he looks, watching you palm him.

“That feels so good,” he breathes in a whimper. His breaths are shallow and soft and slow as you touch him.

He’s in disbelief over how incredible his feels, how perfect you look, how hungry his body is for you.

Beneath the hot, overwhelming lust you’re feeling, you can’t help but be endeared at the way his hand is trembling when he picks up the condom lying beside him, having it at the ready, nervous and excited.

“Here,” you say softly, holding out your hand to take it.

Watching you doing this part for him, rolling the condom down his shaft, puts him in an even deeper fog of bliss, making him feel reassured and so incredibly wanted.

You lean over him, perfectly lined up, his tip pressing against your panties as you kiss his lips.

“I can be slow?” you ask.

“As slow as you want,” he mumbles against your mouth, the air thick with anticipation.

“Yeah?” you whisper.

“Mhm,” he mumbles dreamily. The control you have over him, the way he’s hanging on your every word is addictive.

“You’re going to be patient with me?”

“Yes,” he breathes.

Now that you know just how much praise turns him on, you feel more comfortable to speak to him in a way you’ve never spoken to a man before. To tell him what he wants to hear, but is too shy to ask for.

“You’re going to be a good boy?” you whisper.

“Oh, my God,” he groans, his voice thick with pleasure. He could come just from listening to you talk like that. “Yes. I promise. Yes.”

You kiss him deeply as you push your panties down over your hips. He helps you strip, hands clumsily cupping yours, painfully desperate for you at this point.

With a shaky breath, you sit up to look down at him and grip him at his base, lining his cock up against you.

When you slowly start to sink onto him, Zach’s breath hitches, a strained moan spilling from his lips when he feels how hot and wet and tight you are. You exhale in pleasure, keeping your eyes locked on his as you get used to the pressure.

You swallow hard when you get to a point where you need to stop, holding yourself up on your knees, your hands splayed on his toned stomach. He’s stretching you out so much, nearly putting you on the cusp of pain.

“Take your time, baby,” he whispers, his hand resting over yours. “I don’t want it to hurt you.”

You nod gratefully. No matter how bad he wants to feel all of you, he’s so relieved you’re doing what you need to do to feel good. He wants to give you nothing but pleasure.

As you take the time to get used to his size, he takes the opportunity to savor every sensation, to appreciate how incredible you look naked, perched up on him.

You slowly put the rest of your weight on him, burying him inside of you all the way, feeling him hit you deep. You almost can’t believe how big he is and how a man this well-endowed isn’t arrogant or egocentric at all.

You meet his gaze again, seeing the sweet way his face pinches with pleasure, looking like he’s so damn grateful that you want him like this.

When you start to gently roll your hips, his length pressed hard and tight inside you, he pulls your hand towards his mouth to kiss your palm.

“Feels good?” he whispers.

“Yes,” you reply through a lustful moan. “So good.”

You start to rock on him a bit faster. Zach can’t hold himself back. It’s like his voice isn’t his, spilling out of his mouth in low, feeble groans from the pleasure of your soft heat wrapped around him.

“Oh, fuck.” His voice weakens. “You’re so tight. Fuck.”

It’s the sexiest sound you’ve ever heard. You thought he whimpered before, but compared to the way he’s whining now, that was nothing.

“Keep making those sounds for me,” you tell him. He’s flattered and so relieved. He’s not confident that he could stop whimpering, no matter how hard he tried.

“Anything you want,” he says shakily.

Your moans tangle in the air together as you start to roll your hips faster, finding a perfect rhythm and filling the room with the sounds of your body meeting his. Zach has to look up at the ceiling, urging himself not to come, not yet, not until you have.

You lean over, chest pressed against his as your lips meet hungrily. Now that you’ve adjusted to his size, he starts to slowly thrust up into you.

The friction against your clit sends sparks through your body, pulling a breathy moan out of you. Between quick kisses, he calls you beautiful over and over, praising you even more than you’ve been praising him.

His breath is hoarse and uneven, hands cupping your hips to help support you with every bounce. You melt into each other with perfect ease, past the initial nerves, moving like you’ve done this together before.

“Just like that,” he whispers as his fingers dig into your skin. He’s lost in the pleasure, revelling in the feeling of you wanting him as bad as he wants you.

One hand stays on your hip while the other drags up your back, caressing your jaw, tilting your head so he can leave kisses on your cheek. When he starts to thrust into you harder, ecstasy rushes through you.

“That’s perfect,” you moan, writhing. “You’re perfect.”

He tilts his head back, eyes squeezing shut, fighting every urge to come. Perfect? He’s never been called perfect in his life.

Within moments, heavy gasps tumble out of your mouth, your body going stiff. You both feel sweet release, unravelling together, hot pleasure flooding your bodies. His hips stutter against yours as he groans through his orgasm, feeling you quiver around him at the same time.

He’s in a haze when you collapse on top of him, your head buried into the crook of his neck. You’re both sweaty and breathless, reeling, shockwaves making you shudder.

“You okay?” he whispers, twitching inside you. “Was it good for you?”

“Yes,” you breathe. You didn’t expect anything less from Zach, already having seen his sweet and affectionate nature so many times, but the care he’s showing you is making your heart feel like it’s weightless.

It’s too soon, way too soon, but you can’t stop your mind from racing to the thought that you can see yourself eventually falling in love with him.

After he cleans up, Zach comes back to lie next to you. He pulls you in so tight that getting any closer to each other would be impossible. His kisses are featherlight over your collarbones, knowing he can’t leave marks any higher, the sounds of his lips puckering on your skin sweet.

You spend countless minutes like this, still naked together under his covers, your breaths slowly starting to even out, both thankful and recovering.

“It feels like I’ve known you for so long,” he admits. He pulls back a little, meeting your eyes as you both rest on his pillow. “Is that crazy?”

“Not crazy,” you say with a wistful smile. “I feel it, too.”

Zach runs his hand up and down your side, drifting over your back with every other stroke. You’re exactly what he always imagined the perfect girl would be like.

His laptop is still playing the film, a dramatic track softly spilling through the speakers.

“You like the movie?” he jokes quietly.

“The first ten minutes were great,” you laugh. “I picked well.”

He chuckles, squeezing your hip.

“What time is it?” you ask.

He lifts his head slightly, draping his arm up over you to check the time on his computer.

“10:37,” he says.

“I should go,” you sigh. His arm tightens around you, shuffling closer to you.

“I want to hold you a little longer,” he replies.

“We’ll get found out,” you giggle. “I’ve already been out of my cabin for so long.”

You secretly hope he’ll say it’s fine, you can just tell your cabin-mate where you really were, and that if a few other counselors know, it’s okay.

But he shifts back, kissing your forehead, leaving a bittersweet feeling sitting on your chest. Blue eyes meet yours and he seems to notice the sadness in your gaze.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Stay the night?”

You smile, knowing he’s putting your comfort above his right now. He’s already shown you how important it is to him to not get caught breaking the rules.

“I shouldn’t,” you say.

“You don’t want morning cuddles? For real?” he teases. You laugh.

“Maybe next time,” you say. He breathes a sweet chuckle, adorably burying his head into his pillow.

“So, you want to do this again?” he asks, voice muffled.

“Yeah,” you say. “Do you?”

“I do,” Zach says quickly, moving to press his lips onto yours. “Again and again.”

You smile under the kiss. It’s nearly impossible to tear yourself away from him, but you do.

When you stand, you bend to collect your clothes and he helps, quickly finding your panties bunched up on his bed.

“Sit down,” he says softly.

“What?”

“Sit.”

“Don’t order me around,” you tease, but you sit at the edge of his bed, your clothes balled in your hands.

Zach smirks. It’s never been easy for him to make decisions, to be assertive, but when it comes to you, it’s not as big of a challenge as he’s used to.

You watch as he leans down, lowering close to the floor, his hair still a mess. He unbunches your underwear. It’s wrong to let you leave so soon, his heart wringing at the possibility that you’ll feel cheap, like all he wants from you is physical. The least he can do is help you get dressed.

He drags the fabric up over your ankles, your calves, your knees, fingertips ghosting over your skin.

You lift your hips off the bed as he pulls your panties up and you notice his jaw tighten when he sees you up close.

“What?” you say playfully.

Zach scoffs. He already knows that next time you’re alone together, he’ll ask to put his head between your legs and feel you reach your peak on his tongue.

“You know what,” he says.

Once your panties are on, you rake your hand over his hair, touching him lovingly. He gazes up at you, a soft smile on his face.

“I don’t want you to go,” he says, tone hushed, brows turned down in sorrow.

You agree. Leaving simply because there’s a slight chance it could lead to you losing your jobs feels ridiculous right now. But you’d never forgive yourself if you played a role in Zach being forced to leave a place he loves so much.

You’d rather crack a joke than remind him of the fact that you’re risking something every time you’re together in secret like this.

“You’ll have the chance to be the little spoon next time,” you promise. His smile widens as he laughs. “Does Malcolm usually come back here in the morning after an overnight or does he just go straight to breakfast?”

“Straight to breakfast,” he says. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” you shrug. Then, you start to put your bra on, giggling when he quickly stands to help you with that, too.

He kisses you long and deep before you leave, watching you to make sure you make it to your cabin.

Thankfully, Ami’s asleep when you enter. You’re not sure how you look right now, but you’re almost certain you’re not the picture of someone who just got off of an innocent video call with friends.

The next morning, Zach’s brushing his teeth when his phone buzzes with a text from you. you awake?

He replies: Yes, good morning!

You text: you alone?

He texts: Yes… :)

The knocks on his door are rapid, but quiet. When he opens it to see you standing in your uniform, arms crossed as you glance around the campground blanketed in sunlight and morning dew, his heart flutters.

“You said something about wanting morning cuddles?” you say.

Zach beams, pulling you in, shutting the door and kissing you gently. Falling asleep last night without you next to him hurt his heart even more than he expected.

“I think we have a good five minutes before people start leaving their cabins,” you say. “Then I’ll sneak out.”

“Can we take our clothes off?” His fingers dip beneath the hem of your t-shirt. Your cheeks warm at how desperate he is to touch you, even for innocent hugs.

Your clothes are soon a pile on the floor, and you’re snuggling in his bed in your underwear, facing each other like you did last night.

“There,” you say softly, nuzzling into him. “It’s like I never left last night.”

Zach’s body is buzzing, overjoyed that you miss him just as much as he misses you, that you’re so sweet that you come to spend a few minutes with him before the day begins.

“You need to turn around,” you tell him. He catches on and complies immediately, making you laugh at his speed.

You wrap an arm around his broad frame, pressing your cheek against his back, not feeling like much of a big spoon with someone so tall.

Zach lets himself shut his eyes for a little, breathing calm, sleepy breaths as you hug him. He’s never met anyone like you. He’s never felt so seen. So cared for.

He can’t stop thinking about last night, a little nervous you felt slighted having to leave after doing something so intimate.

“How do you feel?” he asks. “About last night?”

“Sore,” you say with a laugh. Admittedly, you can feel tenderness where his body met yours.

“What?” he mumbles sadly. “I hurt you?”

“No, baby. I’m not sore in a bad way,” you reply. “I had a good time.”

He sighs like a weight has been lifted off of him.

“Me, too,” Zach says. “And you can call me baby whenever you want. Just for the record.”

“Got it,” you whisper with a smile.

You continue to talk together. Five minutes go by way too fast. You rush to get dressed when you hear people talking outside, worried you won’t be able to leave without being seen. Thankfully, the coast is clear when you sneak out.

The crowds in the dining hall are loud and rambunctious, a hard contrast to the slow, peaceful way Zach started his day. As he stands in line to make his breakfast plate, he spots you a few people in front of him.

You’re everything he could ever want in a girl and every second not right next to you, not holding your hand, not talking to you, feels like a waste.

He’s completely infatuated. His heart is already yours. He steps forward a little, hoping he can somehow fall into conversation with you.

But seconds later, Ruby approaches him, holding her clipboard, to ask about a shift change. Maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t closer to you. It’s better to avoid any chance of being seen wearing the obviously enamored look he’s sure he always has around you.

Zach is glancing at the chart when he hears one of his campers say your name in confusion. When he looks down at Oliver, he notices the boy’s eyes aren’t on you, though. They’re on Zach’s name-tag.

“Why do you have her name-tag?” he asks loudly.

Cold flushes through Zach’s body as he glances down and sees the shiny plastic rectangle hanging off the lanyard. In the scramble to put your clothes back on this morning, he realizes he must have gotten your name-tags mixed up.

When you heard your name exclaimed, you immediately turned around. Now, you can see that Zach’s eyes are wide, looking lost as Ruby and a few kids look up at him, waiting for an answer.

Your mind is jumbled. You feel for your lanyard. You’re not wearing one. You forgot to grab it from Zach’s floor this morning. And then, he took yours without making sure that it was his. His must still be in his room.

You run with an idea that pops into your head, thinking back to the first time you talked with Zach in this very building, listening to his teasing about how impressive it is that he never lost his name-tag in all his years of working here.

“Okay, I get it,” you say loudly, stepping towards him and holding your hand out. “You’re hilarious.”

Zach meets your eyes, confused. You look down at Oliver, shrugging.

“He’s wearing it because he’s trying to make a point. He was telling me how easy it is to lose your name-tag and I was bragging that I’d never lose it.” You look at Zach. “Where’d you find it?”

Relief settles into Zach’s tense muscles. You and your quick thinking just saved you both.

“Outside, by the staff cabins,” he plays along. “Don’t be so sure of yourself next time.”

You laugh as he pulls the lanyard off over his head, handing it to you.

“Funny,” you say sarcastically, hoping nobody asks where his name-tag is. “Thanks, Oliver.”

“Yeah, good eye,” Ruby says with a laugh. Your gut tells you she’s not suspecting anything, but your anxiety refuses to let you fully relax.

For the rest of the day, you can’t get how freaked out Zach looked when he thought he’d been found out right in front of his aunt out of your head.

You don’t have any drills scheduled with him so after dinner, during free time, you stand by the lake with a few other counselors and text him: can you come by the dock to talk?

“Good thinking this morning,” Zach says to you when he approaches you, quiet enough so that other staff don’t hear him. You notice he has his name-tag now.

“Thanks,” you say with a nervous smile. “Think we got away with it?”

“Yeah,” he says confidently. You nod, looking out at the fire, your brows pinched in worry. “You don’t?”

“That was like, our third time almost getting caught,” you say. “What if we’re not so lucky next time?”

Zach’s stomach drops. Maybe if he was more rational, he could agree that it’s harder to hide than he thought. But right now, his heart doesn’t care about being rational. It’s too busy cracking.

But, because he’s never been good at telling people that they said something he doesn’t want to hear, he nods.

“Guess we’re not that good at keeping the secret,” he agrees, forcing himself to joke away the discomfort.

“It’s so much harder than I expected,” you say. “Do we just… cool things down, maybe?”

Zach looks down at you, his throat tightening. How’d things go wrong this fast? You were naked together last night, whispering sweet things to each other, and now, well… this kind of feels like a break-up.

“You think that’s best?” he asks.

“I hated seeing you so worried this morning,” you confess. “I know how important this job is to you.”

Zach scratches the back of his neck. You don’t miss the way his face drops. You couldn’t miss it from a mile away. You want to reassure him that you still want him. That you’re suggesting this because you care about him so much.

“I think it’s best we do what we originally said we were going to do,” you offer. “We wait until the season’s over and pick up where we left off and go on that date we talked about. Is that okay?”

Zach sighs. No. It’s not okay. He wants to touch you every possible chance he can get, even if it is in a stolen moment he knows he’s not allowed to have.

But he’s never been good at being upset with people. It seems that while you bring out so many sides of him, that piece of him remains unchanged. He’s hurt. But in his usual way, he buries it, not letting it see any light.

“Yeah. You’re right,” he says. “Hope you’re ready for the best date ever.”

You smirk, finding relief in his words.

“Can’t wait,” you say honestly. Zach gives you a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes and heads back towards the campfire. You already miss him.

That night, you step out of the bathroom in your pajamas to see Ami sitting on her bed, scrolling through her phone.

“Did you see that it’s gonna rain this weekend?” she says to you, eyes glued to her phone. “What do we even do with the kids then?”

“How bad is it supposed to be?” you ask. You settle on your bed on the other side of the cabin.

She looks up, about to answer, but her mouth stays open, no words coming out.

“That bad?” you laugh.

“Um, what’s on your chest?” Ami asks with a scandalized smile.

You look down to see that your pajama top slid down when you sat, revealing the marks that Zach left on you last night.

“What do you mean?” you play dumb. But she’s not falling for it. She laughs and stares at you with a knowing look.

“I mean, the hickeys.”

(part six)

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#zach maclaren and reader #zach maclaren and you #zach maclaren and y/n #zach maclaren x y/n #zach maclaren x you #zach maclaren x reader #zach mclaren

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honest-moth-of-silver-grove · 1 month ago

Note

hc for adrian having a girlfriend or s/o prior to his mother's death. they're human and maybe her apprentince or something. and the church takes her too, but before they can burn her at the stake, dracula shows up and rescues her because he knows lisa was fond of her. during adrians and draculas fight maybe she interbenes at a critical moments so drac doesnt kill him and alucard gets away but she's now a prisoner of dracula w/n his castle. and maybe she befriends the generals?

A/N: Aw, man. Sometimes I wonder if Lisa did have an apprentice, that maybe Dracula wouldn’t be as anti-human as he ended up being, or if she could start to turn him to see the error of his ways sometime before Alucard and Dracula end up in Adrian’s childhood bedroom.

Apologies for the delays in updates. But my brain went WILD with this request so it’s a long one, I hope that makes up for the less frequent posting. Anyway, I hope you enjoy these somewhat bittersweet (then depressing then bittersweet again) headcanons! (Also this is unbeta-ed and prob grammatically messy as hell, so read at your own expense lol.)

Word Count: 6.2k

TW: Canon Typical Descriptions of Graphic Violence; Brief Mentions of Sexual Violence; Canon Death; Descriptions of Torture (the church is high-key fucked up here) 

Adrian W/ A Human S/O Reader (Who’s Also Lisa’s Apprentice, Prior to Her Death):

━━━━━ ❂ ━━━━━

The Beginning:

Okay, so let’s get one thing straight… FIRST OF ALL, Lisa would adore you!!! Like, you make her baby boy happy and you’re smart??? What else is there to it? And then to top it all off, you’re super sweet and kind and interested in learning about medicine and the world around you!

Lisa meets you once over dinner and she’s already planning the wedding in her head.

Adrian is smitten, because of course he is, but in an adorable, somewhat restrained way. He doesn't have a lot (ahem, ANY) experience in this department, so he’s hesitant to take things forward with you, mainly because he doesn’t want to scare you off or make you suspicious about what he is. (It’s hard to make out with someone when you have two big vampire fangs in the front.)

Adrian is young, like you. So, on top of all the complications, he feels no need to rush things. Sure, he’s heard a few whispers here and there about Dracula having a son, a son who according to rumors and gossiping villagers is to rise as the antithesis of Dracula. It’s all silly superstition, but it does stay fixed in the back of his mind. What would this future legacy mean for his relationship with you? And, should it ever come to pass, would you even be a part of it?

That’s neither here nor there though, and in the meantime, the two of you simply enjoy the talking phase. You get to learn more about each other's interests, and beliefs, but mostly, you spend time in proximity to one another— you remain busy attending to his mother, learning all you can about healing while he, just a table over, spends his time rereading one of his many favorite tomes.

I honestly don’t see you meeting Dracula until you and Adrian are like a fully committed couple. I’m pretty sure you would have to have been Lisa’s apprentice for a while and/or lived with the Tepes in their Lupu cottage for months before Lisa finally breaks through Dracula’s protests and makes him officially meet you.

I don’t think that meeting would happen in Lupu either. No, I imagine it would have to take place at Dracula’s castle, just in case you were to freak out, you’d have no way of escaping and telling any others.

I can almost see your reaction being similar to Lisa’s upon first entering the castle, especially if Adrian is already at your side. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure Dracula is terrifying, but there’s also a giant telescope in the next room calling your name so….

Much to Adrian’s relief, this newfound information doesn’t make you frightened of him at all, if anything, it simply reignites your fascination with him. You throw rapid-fire questions at him: If he's part vampire, how come you’ve seen him eating human food? Does he need both food and blood to satisfy each of his halves? If he needs blood, he could take some of yours you know…

Your penchant for learning softens Dracula a little. For a brief time, he wonders if, perhaps, it was as Lisa said, that the humans could change, that humanity was changing for the better.

He sits across from you at their grand dinner table, watching you intensely as you and Adrian talk about the recent literature you’ve read. You’d no doubt feel Dracula’s all-powerful gaze on you, making you turn to him and… Wait, did you just smile?!

You’ve got guts, Dracula will give you that.

Knowing the family secret, you can’t exactly break up with Adrian, nor do you have any desire to. I wonder if Dracula would have rings made for the two of you, maybe commission a new family portrait or two.

You stay with Lisa in Lupu during Dracula's travels. Adrian is around, although he's always off between the castle and their cottage, so you never feel entirely alone or vulnerable. Your life is perfect! It’s better than you could have ever imagined!

That is, until…

━━━━━ ● ━━━━━

The During:

When the Church comes to take Lisa, you beg them to see reason. You cry and scream, hell, you even try to fight your way out at one point, only for both you and Dr. Tepes to be overpowered by the Church’s henchman.

The two of you are taken, violently, to Targoviste, where you’re thrown into dark, damp cells with little to no light. Freezing, you huddle together for warmth, each trying your best to reassure the other, that all will turn out well. Adrian was still around, right? He’ll have to come home to find you missing, he’ll come and rescue you. And Dracula was due to return soon, correct? Surely, they’ll come. Surely, they’ll stop this madness.

It’s a few days later, after hours of interrogation and brutal torture that you realize with a heavy heart, that no one is coming to rescue you. And what’s worse, that these so-called men of the cloth cannot and will not listen to reason. You’re starved and beaten, your hair is sliced off so close to your skin, that they take bits of your scalp with it in some places. And despite initially being imprisoned with Lisa, you find yourself being separated from her for longer periods.

The men try everything to get you to turn on her. They tell you if you recant her wicked ways now, say she used her evil magic to trick you, your sentencing will be easier. You could still live— they dangle betrayal in front of you as a last lifeline. You don’t take it of course. You love Mrs. Tepes, and you know she’s no witch. You muster what little might you have left, spitting at the men as you tell them to go to hell. You swear she’s innocent, that she knows nothing. Hell, at one point, you find yourself confessing to having manipulated her! You don’t think they buy it though, if the poor doctor’s screams from down the hall are anything to go by.

The night they light the pyre, the night of Lisa’s murder, you’re sick on more than one occasion. You scream your throat raw, begging them to burn you first! That she was innocent! That you corrupted her! That it was all your doing! But to no avail.

In a scene that could only rival the Crucifixion of Christ himself, you look up through tear-soaked eyes to see Lisa, enshrouded in flames, begging Dracula to show mercy on her killers, to forgive them, that they know not what they do. “I know it's not your fault,” she cries out, “But, if you can hear me, they don't know what they're doing! Be better than them. Please!”

You sob and wail, watching as your would-be mother-in-law is burned alive. You scream out for someone, anyone! To please help you, save you! With Lisa’s last words echoing in your mind, you can’t help but fear Adrian’s and his Father’s reactions, should they find you both killed.

Oh, gods…

You don’t know what makes you feel sicker… The barbaric display you’re witnessing now or the hypothetical one that threatens to wipe out all living people in Wallachia once Dracula learns of what’s happened. You need not wait long for an answer.

In a fury of fire and grandeur, Dracula’s head appears, molded in flame, demanding to know what has happened to his wife. You cry out to him, apologizing profusely, saying you begged them to burn you first! You scream out how they refused to see reason, they killed her for helping! Injudiciously, in your indignant anger, you plead with Dracula to release his fury on the priests who did this, to send them to hell to be tortured for eternity for this unforgivable transgression!

With the silent fury of a gathering storm, Dracula’s fiery visage speaks calmly as his anger grows concertedly less. "I give you one year Wallachians,” he finally decides. “You have one year to make your peace and remove any marks you have made upon the land. One year, and I'll wipe all human life from the land of Wallachia. You took that which I love, so I will take from you everything you have and everything you have ever been. One year."

No sooner than he spits out the words, a coil of fire bursts from his image, winding itself around your body. The guards surrounding you gasp and flee, avoiding the coil’s tail as it whips back and forth, hoisting you into the air.

The fiery coil burns your skin, and the smell of even more burnt flesh makes you gag. If you had any bile left over at all, you’re certain it’d come up yet again. The pain is like a thousand stinging nettles and boiling water constricting your arms and midriff all at once. Your vision grows blurry as you feel your body move through the air, your nostrils taking in one last wretched breath of sulfur and smoke.

━━━━━ ◉ ━━━━━

The After — Part One:

When you awake you find yourself laid, practically bare, a heap on the floor within Dracula’s castle— the evil Lord himself only feet away, raging over his magic well— as shards of his magic mirror whip around him at incredible speeds. Your head is pounding, it feels as if it might explode, and your arms… Fuck.

Where the supernatural coil grabbed you, your skin was red and raw, small pockets of blisters already beginning to form. Your arms tremble uncontrollably as you try to move them, the pain that’s consuming your nerves is far too intense to hold them steady as you sit up into an upright position.

It doesn’t feel real; nothing feels real. It feels like a nightmare. It had all been perfect, everything was perfect— you all were happy! How did it turn into such horror so fast?

Shakily, you rise to your feet and clutch the remains of your clothes to your chest in an attempt to preserve your modesty, although it’s more of a subconscious act on your part. Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion, yourself included. It’s like the air is heavier here somehow, its weight filling your lungs and weighing you down.

A loud noise shocks you back to the present, nearly making you stumble over in fright. At least you would have, had Adrian not used his superspeed to catch you before you fell. One of his gloved hands grasps your left arm directly over the burn, causing you to let out a hiss. His rectangular eyes look wider than you’ve ever seen as he releases his grip, looking over your battered form.

“(Y/N) ...” Adrian says, his voice serious and quiet, barely a whisper.

You shake your head furiously, unable to trust your ability to speak without breaking. Upon Adrian’s gentle insistence, you feel your mouth opening, and the words slipping out, scraping against the back of your reddened throat as they exit your frail body.

“They killed her, Adrian…” you whisper, your voice quivering. “I, we tried to stop them, they just wouldn’t listen!” Somehow, your eyes begin to water again, despite your earlier certainty that your body had no water nor tears left in it at all.

“Once she realized they wouldn't listen to reason, she lied and told them I was innocent. She told them she had manipulated me, that I was just a child, that I didn’t know what I was doing, that she never got the chance to teach me!” A feeling of guilt consumes you as you speak the words aloud, and soon enough, your body is once again plagued by uncontrollable sobs.

Adrian listens intently to your words, his brows furrowed. You watch through teary eyes as a range of emotions flash across his face: anger, hurt, pain, sorrow, and finally… acceptance. Your beloved hardens his gaze, choking down whatever grief he may be feeling. At the present, Adrian knows, there are more pressing matters at hand.

You follow Adrian’s steely gaze back, seeing his Father where he is bent over his summoning circle, cursing in a language that is foreign to you before he switches back to Romanian.

“One year! It will take me one year to summon an army from the guts of Hell itself!” Dracula proclaims, promising to enact vengeance for the death of his love.

“No.” Adrian counters, slipping out of your grasp.

“Adrian,” you whisper, warningly. “Don’t—”

“What do you mean, ‘no’? That woman was the only reason on Earth for me to tolerate human life!” Dracula retaliates, enraged his son could even conceive of such lenience.

“Then find the one who did the deed,” Alucard proposes. “If you set loose an army of the night on Wallachia, you cannot undo it, and many thousands of people just as innocent as her will suffer and die.”

“There are no innocents! Not anymore! Any one of them could have stood up and said, ‘No, we won't behave like animals anymore.’"

“(Y/N) did.” Adrian points out. “She tried to take all the blame, in an attempt to save Mother’s life.”

Dracula looks over at you with blood-red eyes, contempt clear on his face. “And yet,” he snarls, “Here she stands, and my Wife, your Mother does not!” He hisses the last word, livid that out of the two of you, you were the one who survived.

With large, fearful eyes, you watch as Adrian closes the gap between him and his Father.

“I won't let you do it. I grieve with you, but I won't let you commit genocide.”

“Adrian,” you warn again.

The next bit happened all so quickly.

Faster than you could blink, you watch, helpless, frozen in horror as Adrian charges his father, his longsword drawn. Despite their vampiric speed being unrecognizable to the untrained human eye, you swear you watch the scene unfold in slow motion. Adrian charges first, but Dracula, roaring in a fit of rage, counters faster— his Father’s elongated claws slash diagonally across Adrian’s chest, before his fist pauses, still embedded deep within your lover’s gut.

You don’t have time to think before you act. To you, Adrian has the abilities of a god, but to his Father… It was clear there’d be no match. You have no clue how you got your hands on it, no idea as to how you even managed a successful hit, but the next thing you know, a triangular shard of magic mirror is impaled in Great Lord Dracula’s back, put there by your very hand.

Too terrified to even breathe, the only sound you can hear beyond your racing pulse is a wet, gory squelch as Dracula retracts his claws from Adrian’s body. You hear the spray of blood before you see it, a rush of bright red blood gushes onto the marble floor between Dracula and his son.

Standing at his impressive full height, Dracula turns ever so slowly, ever so menacingly, to face you. His pupils are that of a blood moon, his sclera so bloodshot they practically look as black as night. In that second, you know you’ve fucked up.

You cower as Dracula raises one hand to you, instinctively shielding your neck from his nasty bloodied talons. With surprisingly repressed strength, Dracula backhands you, the force sending you flying backward, smashing into the base of one of the curved bookshelves lining the walls of his summoning room.

With his focus still on you, Dracula stalks toward you. Knowing it’s now or never, you scream at Adrian to flee. “Run!” The words rip out of your raw throat, sounding like an eleventh commandment.

You see Adrian, previously stunned by his Father’s disregard for his life, holding together the gaping wound across his chest. He has no time to even spare you, his beloved, a last look before evaporating into clouds, his cloud of bloodied mist bolting for the door, fleeing as fast as his injured state would allow him.

Dracula only turns to watch as his son, his very possibly fatally wounded son, flees the confines of his castle. For a moment it is silent— only the sound of both yours and Dracula’s heaving breaths echo across the chamber.

Clenching his clawed fingers into a fist, Dracula says nothing as he too makes his way to the castle doors, leaving your bruised and broken body alone in the dark.

━━━━━ ❍ ━━━━━

The After — Part Two:

Somehow, Christ only knows, you find your way to one of Lisa’s old labs and do a half-assed job of patching yourself up. You find your burns and dislocated shoulder to be the most painful of injuries.

Thankfully, Lisa had taught you enough about setting a patient’s shoulder that you managed to smash it into an adjacent wall, popping your joint back in yourself. The burns you wrap in honey and milk-soaked linen gauze, wincing every time the bandages brush against your skin. It’s awful work, slow work too, but you must have managed it alright because you find yourself patched up and passed out in one of the castle’s kitchens a few hours (or days? had it been days?) after that.

You eat raw vegetables and berries— nothing that requires cooking. Lord knows you couldn't prepare anything successfully now even if you were to try. Eating your foraged meal in silence you debate your next steps. Do you go back home? Would your family even welcome you home after your long and unexplained absence? And if they, along with all the humans in Wallachia were ultimately to be driven from the land, did it matter anyway?

‘Oh god,’ you think. You have to warn them, have to make them flee before a year is up. But where would you go? Where could you go? Greater Styria was a possibility, although it was not by any means an easy journey, and the climate there was much colder than your folks were used to here. You shakily rise to your feet and set out to find a map within one of the Castle’s many libraries.

After a good night’s rest, you find your mindset with a newfound determination: you will go home. You were going to get your family on the move and then… Then, you’d come back here.

You knew, in all likelihood, that returning to Dracula’s castle after the fact entailed certain death. But you also knew, things would get worse if he were to be left alone.

Dracula may not have ever loved you for a daughter-in-law. Hell, he may not have ever loved anyone aside from Mrs. Tepes, but you promised her while huddling together that first night in those dingy cells that no matter what happened, should either of you get out alive, you would not leave Adrian and Vlad. “They need humans, (Y/N),” Lisa coughed into your ear. “And most importantly, humanity needs them.”

Dracula would resent your company, he would want to be rid of you. But you could not be rid of him, not after what Lisa had asked of you.

‘Besides,’ you thought, ‘Nobody should have to grieve alone.’

The journey back home to your parents is majorly uneventful. Sure, it was touch and go for a while, your body was exhausted after the ordeal you endured, and your wounds had gotten infected once or twice. Thankfully, you had the mind to pack with you any potential treatments you might need.

It felt good to be home, to be amongst family again. You couldn’t stop crying and hugging everyone when you first arrived. You kept the details to a minimum but made it clear they needed to be the hell out of Wallachia before a year. You told them you had found an apprenticeship, that the woman was kind to you, but while in Targoviste, you saw the burning of a witch, and soon after the face of Satan himself appeared in flames, threatening the crowd. It caused a panic, you see, and you had gotten trampled in the process.

You didn’t bother to explain that the woman you were learning under was this so-called witch and that this Satanic figure was her husband. Nor did you tell them of your half-inhuman partner. You knew had you told the family the whole truth, they might have cast you out as a devil worshiper and a liar and choose not to heed your words.

Your warnings spread through your extended family like how ivy creeps up a stone wall. A fair part of your relatives in the country believed you enough to agree to uproot their lives and settle outside of Wallachia: some settled on Syria, others had decided on Greece, Egypt, or Rome. The more skeptical ones who hemmed and hawed over the validity of your claims agreed to move into the countryside, a decent distance from any major Wallachian city or village.

When you were certain they’d heed your words, you told them you could not stay with them, your Mother wept for three straight days and your Father could do little to console her. As much as it broke your family’s heart, you knew that your need to return to Castlevania was larger than yours. You weren't just doing it for your family, you were doing it for every family across the land. You couldn't be selfish. Mrs. Tepes was the most selfless woman you had met, and she taught you well. If you meant what you said to her when you first met, that you wanted to help people, you would need to buck up and accept the consequences of that.

Your journey back to the castle was much more melancholy than your journey home. You could almost feel the whispers of the tortured souls Dracula had slain before blowing cold air into your ears, begging you to turn back. Nevertheless, you continued. You entered Castlevania to find you were alone, however, that would not be the case for long.

Months later you had fallen into somewhat of a predictable routine within the castle and its new occupants. Dracula had recruited two humans to serve as his war planners— men by the names of Hector and Isaac, respectively. You appreciate the levity Hector, and his undead pets bring, and you admire the intelligence and loyalty Isaac has. You just wish they weren’t going along with Dracula’s plan.

You tread carefully as you find the time to express to each of his Generals that you wish they wouldn’t go through with this plan. You explain humans are not the kind of species to give in to subjugation, they will revolt eventually. You suggest the vampires come up with some sort of tit-for-tat system with the humans instead like, for example, promised blood servants would equal vampiric protection for that territory.

It’s safe to say no one is impressed with your centrist ideals, so eventually stop taking part in the conversation. You silently hang around Hector, and just listen with a sorrowful expression, satisfied with knowing that if you can’t change the Generals' minds, you can, at the very least, make them somewhat uncomfortable.

When Carmilla arrives, you’re immediately put off by her little display of insolence. Unlike yours, her dissent doesn’t seem to come from a place of concern. You make a mental note to keep an eye on her.

It’s during the General's next argument that you receive a ray of hope: “We are quite certain that Alucard sleeps at Gresit.”

You feel your body grow lighter.

“So, that means,” you speak aloud to yourself more so to anyone else, “Adrian is alive?”

You’re met with a handful of annoyed glares from the other vampires as Isaac continues: “And that there was recently a Belmont there.”

Upon hearing Carmilla berate the others for not sending night creatures to the ancestral Belmont home, your smile falls and your improved mood falters. These Belmonts were famous monster hunters, famous enough to frighten your current vampire company. That means, if there was a Belmont in Gresit, at the same time as Adrian, as Alucard, whatever the hell he’s going by these days, it could prove disastrous for your love. For all you know, he’s still recovering from the wounds dealt to him by his Father. And if this Belmont, this monster hunter strikes first and asks questions later, he may accidentally kill the only living vampire in existence who stands against the very nature of this war.

‘How ironic,’ you think solemnly. Just as fast as the universe gives you hope, it rips it away once more.

You excuse yourself, and make your way towards Hector’s forge, aiming to distract your distraught mind with some cute reanimated pets.

Shortly thereafter, Hector joins you. He asks if you truly did not know Dracula’s son was still alive. You shake your head ‘no’, telling him how you had prayed every past night to any God who would listen, that they would send their holy armies and angels to guard him, but no, you had mostly just feared he was dead.

You spend the rest of the night talking to Hector about Alucard, Adrian as you knew him. How smart he was, how much the two of you used to laugh, and how much he looked just like his Mother.

“Perhaps that’s why,” Hector supposes, “Dracula could no longer bear to see him.”

You say perchance he’s right, conveniently leaving out the part where the Father and Son duo almost fought to the death right in front of you.

The conversation with Hector reignites something within you. You feel as if you had been praying all this time for an answer, and this was it. Alucard was alive, and so was Belmont. You understand now what needs to be done.

Your lover must once again fight his Father, and this time, he must win.

Your silent observations allow you to learn of Carmilla’s scheme fairly early on, as well as Godbrand’s demise at the hands of Isaac, yet all that time, you say nothing. You keep your mouth shut and your eyes down. If Carmilla divides Dracula’s army and court, she will inevitably make it easier for Alucard and Belmont to destroy him.

The Generals, and even Dracula himself, believe you are mourning the loss of your love for the second time, as his demise will be inevitable the moment he meets his Father and his armies— or at least, that’s what they assume.

When Carmilla has Hector send special night creatures to the remains of the Belmont home, you attach a letter around one of the creature's necks, hoping your love will notice it, and if he doesn’t, you pray he instinctively outwits the traps that await for him within his Father’s castle.

━━━━━ ❂ ━━━━━

Beginning Again:

The night Dracula chooses to move the Castle to Braila, you manage to speak with him one last time.

You bring him some tea, even though you know he won’t drink it, and you tell him, for what must be the hundredth time, how sorry you are about all that’s happened. You apologize for not being able to do more to save his wife. You tell him that if you could do it all over again if you were given a choice between who they should burn first, you’d demand it be you.

Dracula turns away from the fire to look at you upon hearing those words.

“She was fond of you, you know.” He says, sounding far away as if lost in a distant memory. “She was overjoyed at the thought of gaining a daughter”

You nodded along a hurt smile on your face. “It was my honor.” Gathering your courage you continued: “Even though it didn’t work out, I want you to know I loved your wife very much… And,” you kept going. “I love your son very much.”

Dracula said nothing. He simply turned his attention back to the flames within his study’s fireplace.

“It’s not too late, you know,” you prod gently. “If Adrian is alive, he could still come back, we could still be a family-”

“No!” Dracula’s low growl sent shivers down your spine.

For a moment you feared he would rise to attack you or perhaps berate you further, but no such action came. Instead, the former Great Lord Dracula’s shoulders deflated back to their hunched position, as he fell silent once again.

Quietly, you made your way back to your room, shutting and locking the door behind you. If you had any tears left at all, you would have shed them throughout the night. Instead, you merely lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if there would even be a tomorrow to awaken to.

Pleased to still be alive at this point, but feeling increasingly suffocated by this overwhelming sense of doom, you spend the next day cooped up in your room, on your knees, the rosary in your hand, whispering prayers of safety for your loved one. You couldn't explain it, but at the time, you felt compelled to recite prayer after prayer and reveal all the fears and worries in your heart.

You speak out to Death, to God, to all the angels and saints, and beg them to grant Adrian safe passage as he completes his task of saving humanity— it’s something his Mother would have wanted after all.

Amidst your fervent prayers, you feel the Castle shake and creak, but you soon realize something is off: it keeps jerking from side to side, several times, way too many to be a case of a single relocation. Your heart races, and in the pit of your gut, you know this is it:

The Alucard has come.

Your love has come back for you.

You scramble behind the door, poised with a wooden stake in hand (just in case, you never know), and wait.

And wait.

Following a crescendo of metallic crashes and screaming, you hear more crashes, this time lesser in intensity and they’re accompanied by the distinct scent of fire, sulfur, and burnt flesh.

It terrifies you, bringing such horrible memories of your almost demise to the surface. You look down at the burn scars on your arms and feel physically ill. Every time you shut your eyes to blink, you see the corpse of Ms. Tepes, burning alive right before you as if no time has passed at all, as if you’re trapped in the permanent hell of that memory.

The overwhelming ornery atmosphere in the castle only grows, seeming to suddenly flood your nostrils and every pore.

You watch in shock and horror as thousands of soot-colored transparent ghouls burst through your doorway, the shock of the impact sending you reeling into the bed. Tortured faces of all shapes and sizes circle you menacingly, before bursting through your room’s glass window, vanishing just as fast as they came.

Within an instant you feel… lighter, freer almost. It’s as if something major has changed, but you don’t know what.

Timidly, stake still in hand, you make your way down the castle corridors. Unfortunately, you have to take several detours, your regular route being cut off by giant holes in the architecture. A good portion of the castle looks like it had been hit with cannon fire.

You sincerely hope that whatever caused that damage is no longer rampaging around these halls, lest you stumble upon them yourself.

By the time you reach the throne room, the sun is just peeking out from behind the horizon. The sight of it flowing freely into the castle interior lifts your spirits with hope. Sunlight means no vampires. No vampires means…

You follow the originating path of the sun’s beams, finding three figures illustrated against the sunrise. One of them is a burly-looking man, with a large frame and broad shoulders. Another is a woman, at least, you’re fairly certain they’re a woman, with curly hair, dressed in flowing blue robes. And the third is….

You don’t even need a second glance to know who the third person is.

Crying out his name, you run towards your long-lost lover, almost losing your footing over all the debris covering the floor. But just as he would before, and just as he always would, your lover, Adrian, catches you before you can fall.

The two of you cling to each other for dear life, just silently sobbing, feeling grateful to be in one another’s embrace. You’re not sure how long the two of you stay intertwined like that, you just know however long it was, it could never be enough to make up for how much you missed him this past year.

“Adrian,” you clutch his coat, “I thought you were dead! I thought he had killed you! I was so worried.”

“He almost did,” the strange broad-shoulder man reveals in a teasing fashion. You watch as the robed woman elbows him in the gut.

“Alucard,” Adrian says, regaining your attention as he grasps your hands in his. “I am Alucard now.”

You look into his golden eyes, sensing while this is still very much the body of the man you loved, this Alucard before you, is not the same person that your Adrian was. After all this time, it feels like quite the loss, and yet, you cannot fault him for it. You are unaware of the journey he’s been on, of the sacrifices he’s had to make. God knows your character must have changed as well, living amongst a vampire court and necromancers for just under a year.

You back away from your love, temporarily ignoring his concerned expression.

“Hello Alucard,” you say, extending a hand, “My name is (Y/N). And I’d very much like to share a drink with you if you’d let me.”

“Don’ know about Alucard,” the broad man mumbles, gripping his side in pain, “But I’d very much like a drink. Or five.”

“Trevor!” The robed woman scolds.

“What?”

You smile at the three of them, feeling beyond blessed that your love has found such wonderful new friends.

When you had first fallen for Adrian, you assumed your family would consist solely of him, his mother, and his father, that you’d spend the rest of your days learning medicine in a little cottage nestled in Lupu. That simple life was to be yours. But now, it’s all changed. And Alucard is all that remains of that family you once loved.

You gaze out into the forest beyond the castle grounds, closing your eyes and sighing as you feel the morning’s sun on your face.

Yes, it was true Mrs. and Mr. Tepes were gone.

It was true that the old Adrian could never come back.

But if you had to choose a new life, a life here amongst a gorgeous castle, with your former lover and his two new friends, well… you doubted you could pick a better one than that.

A/N 2.0: WHY DID THIS TAKE ME SO LOOOONG? Who knows? Anyway, it’s here now. And hey— did you pay close attention to the symbols in the dividers? Go ahead and look back if you didn’t, just a silly little fun symbolism storytelling. Oh, also, I will finally be updating The Queue List to reflect all the asks I’ve since answered and posted to not confuse people checking on the status of their ask/new readers.

If you liked reading this, please REBLOG! Likes are great but reblogs spread my work much further.

If you really, really liked reading this, Consider Buying Me a Coffee <3.

#adrian tepes x reader #alucard castlevania #alucard x reader #alucard x you #alucard imagine #adrian fahrenheit tepes #adrian tepes #alucard #castlevania imagine #castlevania x reader

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cupidbedsy · 6 months ago

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𝗵𝗼𝗺𝗲 | 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 ♔

➪ summary: afer many milestones of her brothers, she finally comes home for the first hughesbowl

➪ warnings: none (surprises?)

➪ word count: 2.6k

➪ file type: fic + one insta post

➪ sunny's notes: i'm pretty sure this was the first hughes bros fic i wrote so i definitely had to go back and rewrite a bunch of it. for a little context you're a famous youtube vlogger :) also i would definitely reread this one because a lot has changed and i wrote like a thousand more words for this one

hughes brothers masterlist || nhl masterlist || taglist || navigation

⟹ Sunday, December 3, 2023 @ 3:30 in the morning - Naples, Italy

“Hello everyone, my name is y/n, and welcome to my channel if you are new here and welcome back if you’re not! It is currently,” She pauses to take a brief look at her watch, “3:30 in the morning on Sunday, December 3. I am very much still in Italy, but not for long.”

The video cuts and now her camera is sitting on her desk, the windows are opened and the lights are adjusted to be a little bit brighter. She smiles brightly at the camera before she starts talking again, “So you’re probably seeing this mid-December ish whcih means you kind of already know what is going on, but. I am officially flying and moving back home.

“Italy has been such a great experience and I’ve had so much fun here, I’ve learned a ton of new things and I am so grateful for everyone I’ve met. If you know, I’ve been here for almost three years now and I think I’m starting to realize how homesick I am. It’s super nice and amazing here but if I’m honest, I kind of miss ‘the land of the free’. That was a joke, the land of the free part, trust.”

She laughs and continues, “Anyway, the main reason I have decided to come home now is because of my brothers. If you also don’t know, I have three younger brothers, Quinn, Jack, and Luke who are professional hockey players. Quinn plays for the Vancouver Canucks and the other two play for the New Jersey Devils. I honestly have missed so much of their careers, Luke especially and I just really want to be there for the first ever ‘Hughesbowl’ I think they’re calling it.”

She wipes her eyes, trying not to let the tears fall. She looks around at her room and then back at the camera, “So, I’m flying into New York this morning, my flight leaves at 7 so I should probably get going in a little bit. But yeah, I’ll see you guys when I touch down in New York!”

Videos play of y/n getting ready for the airport, all of her luggage behind her. She navigates her way through the airport, stopping to get some food at the Starbucks and a small drink before sitting and reading her book. After the montage, she is now in a car looking a little tired but her smile is still plastered on her face.

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

⟹ Sunday, December 3, 2023 @ 10:21 in the morning - New York City, New York

“So as you can see, I am now in New York!” The camera pans to a girl in the driver's seat, “This is my American homie right here. Oh, it’s so weird being back, everyone still can’t walk and drive to save their lives.

“Anyway, Julia and I are heading to drop my stuff off at her place and then we’re going to go get some brunch, I think? We’ll, or I guess, I will go sightseeing. I leave for Vancouver tomorrow night so I can rest up before the shorter flight. It’s honestly, kind of fun being back home, everything is kind of like how I remembered. I might also break into Jack and Luke’s apartment to steal some Devils merch so I can wear it to the game, but yeah.”

“Do the boys know you’re going?” Julia asks, pulling into the parking lot of her apartment complex.

Y/n shakes her head, “Nobody knows except for you and Tiffany, my friend who lives in Vancouver. So that will be an additional bonus to the game. I’ve set up some things with the arena and I guess, actually, some of the team know so Brock, Petey. I think Jesper and Nico know too, we were talking a little bit earlier together when I got here. Alright, I will see you guys sometime soon!”

Another quick montage plays, Julia and y/n are out and about, going from store to store while y/n gapes at all the things she remembered about visiting Jack before she left. At one point, there was a video of her successfully sneaking into her brother's apartment and stealing one of their beanies they kept on the countertop.

The next video was of her collapsing onto a bed, “We’re home! It is now almost 10 o'clock here and I am going to get some much-needed rest. Tomorrow I think we’re going to meet up with a few more of our friends which I don’t think I’m going to vlog. Which means, I will see you all when I am headed to the airport!”

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

⟹ Monday, December 4, 2023 @ 7:00 in the evening - John F Kennedy Airport

“It was already 5 and I am here at the airport,” Y/n pans the camera around before focusing it back on herself, “I am actually starting to get so nervous about this. I mean in a little over 24 hours I get to see my little brothers for the first time in almost 3 years. Wow, that is crazy to say. I ended up going out to an early dinner with some of my friends so I am definitely full for this plane ride. I am going to be landing in Vancouver around 10, basically, I’m going to be falling asleep when I get there.

“I also finished this book which will be in a different video but it was so good and I’m so glad I got to read it. I’m rambling too much, I will see you guys in Canada.”

Footage of the plane played, looking down at the ground below. In the middle of those clips, were videos of y/n either trying not to fall asleep and also her reading. Then, clips of her dragging her luggage through the airport and out the doors to find her friend's car.

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

⟹ Monday, December 4, 2023 @ 10:13 in the night - Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada

“Oof! It is nearing my bedtime. Also, Tiffany just mentioned to me how weird it looks that I’m coming all the way from Italy with just a suitcase and carry-on. Don’t worry, I didn’t leave my stuff in Italy. I shipped most of my things here to Vancouver because I’m planning on living with Tif over here for a while until I can afford my place. And who knows, maybe Quinn will kidnap me and force me to come live with him.

“That is completely beside the point there. I have now been in three different countries and two different continents in basically 24 hours theoretically if we look at it from completely one time zone, Pacific. I’m going to cry actually, whether that is because of exhaustion or because I get to see my brothers in less than 20 hours, I don’t know. I will see you guys tomorrow, probably somewhere close to the time I leave for Rogers Arena. Tomorrow is the day.”

The video ends with her sighing with a smile on her face, both happy and nervous for the upcoming events to happen. She went to bed that night, comfortably in another bed instead of an airplane seat once more. Tomorrow was going to be a lot and she could only hope everything went to plan.

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

⟹ Tuesday, December 5, 2023 @ 6:23 in the evening - Rogers Arena

“I am now standing outside of Rogers Arena on this very cold day in Vancouver. I am really wishing I brought another coat, somehow I still have not trained my body to be adaptive in the cold.” She rolls her eyes but smiles nonetheless, “We’re going to go meet with some of the people who are helping me pull this off and if everything works out you should be seeing the video Tiffany is taking from behind me mashed with another video my friend is taking from the stands.”

『••✎••』

Y/n stands nervously in the tunnel, playing with her fingers and picking at the skin around her nails. She bounced slightly on the balls of her feet as she listened to the skating come to a halt. It was like her eyes were trained to find her family no matter where she was or where they were. As soon as everyone stopped and got into their lines, she let out a deep breath when her eyes focused on Quinn standing alongside the others.

His hair was longer, that was for sure. He looked older, more mature than the last time she had seen them. The last time she had actually talked to them was a few days prior, probably about a week ago. She had texted them a few times but other than that, she was too nervous she would accidentally slip up and tell them about her plan.

Her eyes moved and they zeroed in on Jack who was conveniently also standing next to Luke. Her eyes widened a bit when she saw Luke, he was taller, much taller than she remembered. Jack almost looked the same in her opinion, the only thing different was his hairstyle but even then, he looked like the younger brother who used to pester her when she wouldn’t make his Mac ‘n Cheese the way he wanted her to.

On the other hand, the boys were standing, looking at the ground while their feet shuffled back and forth to help keep them steady on the ice. Jack and Luke shoved each other once or twice playfully throughout the opening speeches. Quinn had a million thoughts racing through his head. This would be his first time playing against Luke on big league ice, his first time playing his brothers as captain of his team, the first time they would all be playing together in the NHL on the same ice and she wasn’t here.

He would never hate or relent his older sister for wanting to go off and study in another country, it was an amazing opportunity. He was, however, upset about everything that she had missed of his. Luke’s draft, Luke’s debut, Luke’s first goal, the start of Luke’s rookie season, Jack’s record-breaking season, him being announced captain, his first game as captain.

While Jack and Luke weren’t thinking about this, Quinn couldn’t help it. Y/n was his big sister, the person he had looked up to for his whole life, the person who took care of him when he took a big hit on the ice, the person who helped him through his first relationship, the person who made him soup when he was sick. She was practically everything to him. And it hurt that she wasn’t here.

“This isn’t something we normally do, but we figured since it was a special occasion we would make an exception.”

Everyone in the arena had practically gone quiet at the words, no one knew anything extra was happening tonight. A lot of friends looked at each other in confusion, the teams eyed one another - some knowling and some just as confused as the fans -, y/n got even more nervous as the words she had drilled into her head were spoken out loud.

“As everyone knows, this is an incredible thing happening tonight, three brothers playing against each other.” The said boys rolled their eyes once more but still had smiles on their faces, “We do know that there is one person missing however.”

Many fans of y/n who happened to be in the audience knew almost exactly what was happening at this moment. While she hadn’t hinted at coming back home, who else would they have been talking about? She was the only Hughes in question who wasn’t here.

“As she told me when she got here, she couldn’t miss another big milestone for her brothers. So after being away in Italy for 3 years, please welcome famous YouTuber and older sister of Quinn, Jack, and Luke Hughes, y/n Hughes!”

Cheers erupted as she stepped out onto the ice and she waved a little to the fans before being almost knocked to the ground by a body tackling her. Luke’s arms wrapped around his sister tightly, his head resting on hers. She smiled softly and wrapped her arms around him as well, “Hi Lukey.”

His voice was soft, “Hi.”

“When’d you get so tall?”

“I’ve always been tall, you’re just short.” He pulled away, his hands resting on her shoulders as he looked at her. His eyes slightly glistened with tears before he pulled her into another hug. He murmured something at first, causing y/n to have to ask him to repeat it, “I’m really really really really really happy you’re here. I don’t think I could’ve gone another six months without you.”

She frowned and squeezed him a little tired before he ultimately pulled away and let Jack scoop her into a hug as well. Compared to Luke’s, Jack’s hug was relatively short because he was now antsy. This would be the first time in years that he would be playing in front of her and he wanted to make her proud. So when he pulled away about a minute later she looked at him confused. He only smiled at her before speaking, “I got the zoomies now.”

She threw her head back as she laughed, shaking her head at him. Her eyes moved round once more to see Quinn standing a foot or two away from her. When she opened her arms, he all but dove into them like Luke had done earlier. He, however, shed a few tears as his head buried into the shoulder. She patted his back and suddenly she realized how many eyes were actually on them. So while she wanted to continue her reunion with the three of them, she whispered something into his ear and he pulled away nodding.

She waved one more time at the fans as the applause and made her way to the stands where her parents were. Once she was even slightly near her parents, Ellen pulled her into a hug, asking her a bunch of questions about when and how she got there.

『••✎••』

After the game, y/n stood with Jim and Ellen as they waited for the boys to be done. She was in the middle of catching them up on her trip here when someone came from behind and hugged her tightly, slightly lifting her up. She squealed and turned around to hit Jack on the arm, “Hey!”

“What?” He said innocently as he threw an arm around her shoulder, “Can I not hug my sister who I haven’t seen in three years?”

“Of course you can.” She wrapped her arms around his torso and side-hugged him, “You just can’t pick me up.”

He scoffed a little, “Someone’s picky.”

“Where’s Luke and Quinn?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know. I was too excited to see you.”

At that moment, Luke and Quinn made their appearance right behind Jack and hit him over the head. Y/n rolled her eyes before hugging each of them, Quinn’s being a little longer than Luke’s. They all stared at each other once they stopped hugging and then they looked at their parents.

“Can we go get dinner?” Jack asked.

She rolled her eyes, “Only if you’re paying rich boy.”

He shrugged before walking ahead of them. Y/n looped her arms through Quinn and Luke’s, walking down the hallway out of the arena, “Ah my favorite boys.”

“I heard that!”

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 『 instagram 』

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mimimui · 1 year ago

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comma after dearest (genshin impact)

wherein (character) reacts a certain way to a grammar mistake you made in your letter (or was it?)

includes: kazuha, ayato, thoma, xiao, zhongli, alhaitham, kaveh, scaramouche

tags: a bit unserious writing, fluff, i am obssessed with "it changed the meaning, did you intend this?" forgive me, not proofread

a/n: not sure if anyone's done this before, but take it as my apology for not having written in a while (╥﹏╥) my fever + colds are killing me & i have a lot of scheduled things to do for school aaaa. maybe i can write this with other fandoms as well ? (and character x character ships hehe) .. enjoy !

kazuha notices it immediately. aside from all the work with the fleet, he spends time reading—or rereading—your letters. written messages aren't uncommon when he's at sea, but this letter was different. had you made a mistake with your punctuation? no, it can't be, you've always opened your letters with "my dearest kazuha".

he blinked at the words, now seeing a comma between the word 'dearest' and his name. as much as he was confused, he was flustered. if this wasn't a mistake, and that you intentionally called him your dearest, then it's a shame you can't see how absolutely smitten he is for you right now.

ayato is busy going through papers and folders when he sees an envelope slide under his door. he chuckles as he reads his name in your writing, carefully picking it up and opening it. you have a habit of writing him letters and sliding it under his door while he works, which ayato finds very endearing.

when he reads "my dearest, ayato", his smile only widens more, finding new motivation to finish his assignments for the day so he can get to you as soon as possible. he knows how much effort you put into writing these short, yet loving, letters when he places this one on his (already full of other letters) pinboard.

thoma takes a while to realize, but when he finally notices it, his heart rate increases by a concerning amount. he loves you so much to the point that when he reads "my dearest, thoma", there's hearts in his eyes. thoma's so much happier after reading your letter, and now he's doing everything smiling.

ayaka told him he looks brighter than usual today, and ayato even asked him if he received good news. of course, he was shy about this, but he told the kamisato siblings it was nothing to worry about. though, he continues to do his work with a little bounce in step.

xiao denies it. he thinks he's read it wrong at first, but when he looks over at it again, it is confirmed that you did write him as your dearest. forgetting about the rest of the contents of the letter, xiao began to contemplate. an error like that was unlikely, especially since you're fond of writing.

the next time you meet, he has a hard time trying to bring up the topic. he knows you meant what you wrote, but he wants you to confirm it. when you tell him, "yes, i mean it." he tries to hold back a smile. keyword: tries.

zhongli adores the salutation. or rather, he adores you. he appreciates the sweet, small detail you added in. zhongli hurriedly, yet carefully, writes you a letter back, addressing you as "my dearest, (y/n)" and replying to the contents you had in yours.

he never really indulged in using endearments, but ever since your letter, he's only even been calling you his 'dearest'. when greeting you, when asking for your attention, when talking about you, whenever. zhongli's never said it outloud, but you know he absolutely loves that nickname now.

alhaitham is amused. he thinks you genuinely made a mistake in your letter, but doesn't address it until he returns to sumeru. when you see him again, he brings it up, expecting to be able to playfully taunt you about it. but he was so wrong.

"but you're my dearest. how is that wrong grammar?" you say, turning the situation around and teasing him instead. alhaitham wanted to tease you so much that he didn't bother to think of other possibilities. he's defeated, and all he can say is, "...i have no reply."

kaveh doesn't know how to react to it. should he be flustered, or correcting you for the mistake? was it even a mistake? he does write you a letter back, but best believe he immediately asks you about it as soon as he comes back home. "did you intend this?" he says, showing you your letter.

when you nod your head, all the shyness and blush that should've came in before came in now. kaveh uses the folded letter to cover his smile, but it's too wide and too bright to even try to. when you tease him about it, he strongly denies having his heart race from it.

scaramouche chooses to ignore it. he knows you wrote that punctuation on purpose, but he doesn't want show that he's thinking about it. this ultimately failed when he doesn't write you back, and you knew something was up with him. once he returns and he acts indifferent, you bring it up.

his eyes widen as he looks away, realizing he forgot to reply to that letter. scaramouche hesitates before quietly apologizing, mumbling something about 'my dearest' and 'running out of paper'.

thanks for reading (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

#genshin x reader #kazuha x reader #ayato x reader #thoma x reader #xiao x reader #zhongli x reader #alhaitham x reader #kaveh x reader #scaramouche x reader

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thankskenpenders · 11 months ago

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Happy new year, everyone! Welcome to 2024, the year that will mark the 10th anniversary of Thanks Ken Penders. I'd like to go over my plans for the blog for this year.

First of all: in the very near future, I'll have a post with my thoughts on Sonic Dream Team, and I'm sure I'll write one last Sonic Prime review once the final episodes drop on the 11th. I've also been sitting on an unfinished piece about the Sonic LEGO sets. I wanted this to be longer and more detailed piece that not only reviewed the sets but also went into the weird disconnect between homogenized image of Sonic the Brand and the actual fiction it's based off of, but it'll probably end up getting cut down a lot just so I can put something out. Let's just say I did a fun little thing with one of the sets.

Second: yes, I would like to return to regular TKP updates this year. As I've said many times, I wanted to do this in 2023, but I've been suffering from creative burnout after finishing SLARPG and have generally been unable to focus on any of my creative goals this past year. I'm hoping that this year will be better and I'll be able to get back into the swing of covering Archie Sonic issues. Even doing one issue every week or so would be vastly preferable to continuing the hiatus. I'm still only halfway done!! But aside from burnout, my other main hurdle is that I need to reread my own archive to refresh myself on all these things after nearly three years away. This will take some time.

The thing is, though, this year I'll have an extra incentive to go back through my previous writing and brush up on all things Archie Sonic. Because you see...

I've decided that I want to make a video essay about Penders. The comics, the copyright battle, The Lara-Su Chronicles, everything.

The why

I've thought about doing this before, but I never committed to the idea. I was too busy with gamedev, or I thought it'd end up being too long, or I figured that there were already enough videos on the subject, or I just lacked confidence in my ability to put together a video essay. So I told myself it wasn't meant to be, and let the multiple YouTubers who have cited me as a source on their own Penders videos fill that void.

Recently, though, a few things have happened that have convinced me it might be time. For one, YouTube video essays/media retrospectives/etc. are just getting longer and longer. When Quinton Reviews is out here doing 21 hours of videos on Sam & Cat, a subpar Nick sitcom that only lasted one season, I don't feel so crazy for wanting to make a video about several hundred comic books and two lawsuits that'd be at least an hour or two long lmao. Admittedly, I've also been self-conscious about doing a long video essay like this as a trans woman who has yet to do any vocal training. But these days I feel like I see a lot more transfem YouTubers who have done little to no vocal training, and that's given me more confidence on that front.

But the big one was Hbomberguy's recent plagiarism video. As I sat there watching it, I kept thinking about the time I found a CBR article that was just a crude 800 word summary of my two previous articles on Penders, published by a CBR writer who's put out over 4000 articles since 2019. If I've already been plagiarized before, and my writing is so frequently passed around as a go-to source on Archie Sonic drama, then I wouldn't be shocked if there were YouTubers out there straight up just plagiarizing me. I don't watch other peoples' videos on Archie Sonic, so I'd never know! So if people are just gonna paraphrase me when covering these topics anyway, why not take matters into my own hands and make what I would consider to be the definitive video on the subject? If hacks like James Somerton and iilluminaughtii can churn out these shitty video essays and people will still watch them, surely it can't be that impossible to make my own, right? (And also, uh, Hbomb literally told me I should make the video lol. If you're reading this, thanks for the encouragement.)

The what, how, and when

So here's the plan.

Part of this video essay will be an adaptation of my Medium article on the recurring themes of Ken's Archie Sonic run, with its content touched up and expanded upon. There were a few things I skimmed over in the article because I didn't want it to get too long, but again, people are out here watching ten hour videos about bad Nickelodeon sitcoms now. I can get away with elaborating a little more. I can add a few paragraphs talking about the Chaos Knuckles arc, or throw in a little more historical context I've discovered in the years since.

After covering the comics, the back half(-ish?) of the video will be dedicated to the copyright battles and their ensuing controversies, trying to give an accurate picture of what actually went down, the sheer scale of how bad Archie fucked up, and what our takeaways should be. This will have some similarities to my New York Magazine article on the subject, but I'll be rewriting it from scratch. I REALLY had to keep things short for that article because I was already way over the expected word count, and my tone was a little more straight-laced than normal because I was trying to keep things Professional. I can riff more and insert more of my own opinions this time, like I normally would.

I'll inevitably have to touch on some of Ken's Bad Tweets when discussing things that have happened after the lawsuits, but I don't want the video to just devolve into a list of times people got mad at him on Twitter, so I'm gonna try to keep that to a minimum in favor of focusing on his actual work. Things like the Scourge the Speed Demon incident and his continued statements on certain characters' copyright statuses probably warrant mentioning, though. And finally, assuming that the book really does come out this summer, I would like the grand finale of the video to be about those first couple chapters of The Lara-Su Chronicles.

I don't currently know when this video will get done, but it'll probably be in the back half of the year, especially with me waiting for the book to either drop or get delayed yet again. But I've actually already started writing a bit of the script, and will keep chipping away at it for a while.

So, uh, yeah, look forward to that? Wish me luck?

#tkp post

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natsgrave · 5 months ago

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THE MANUSCRIPT | wanda maximoff

the only thing that's left is the manuscript. one last souvenir from my trip to your shores. now and then i reread the manuscript but the story isn't mine anymore. i do not give permission for my work to be copied or translated on other sites. plagiarism is a crime!! masterlist whispers of heartache m.list

It was a serene Saturday afternoon, and Y/N and Wanda were cozily ensconced in their favorite spot in the living room. The fireplace crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the room. They were wrapped in a shared blanket on the couch, Wanda's head resting on Y/N's shoulder, a feeling of contentment enveloping them.

"Y/N," Wanda began softly, breaking the comfortable silence. "Have you ever thought about what our wedding would be like?"

Y/N smiled, tilting her head to look at Wanda. "All the time. What about you? What do you imagine?"

Wanda's eyes sparkled with excitement as she shifted to face Y/N fully. "I've always dreamed of an outdoor wedding. Somewhere surrounded by nature, maybe a beautiful garden or a vineyard. Lots of flowers, twinkling fairy lights, and the sun setting in the background."

Y/N nodded, picturing the scene vividly. "That sounds perfect. I can see you walking down the aisle, looking stunning in a dress that flows with the breeze. I'd be waiting for you at the altar, feeling like the luckiest person in the world."

Wanda blushed slightly, her smile widening. "And what about the ceremony? How do you see it?"

"I think it should be intimate," Y/N said thoughtfully. "Just our closest friends and family. I want it to feel personal and meaningful. We could write our own vows, speaking from the heart about our journey and our love for each other."

Wanda's eyes misted over at the thought. "I love that idea. Our own vows, spoken with all the emotion and memories we've shared. It would make the moment even more special."

Y/N reached out, taking Wanda's hand in hers. "And after the ceremony, we could have a reception under the stars. A big tent with fairy lights, good music, and delicious food. Lots of dancing, laughter, and love filling the air."

Wanda squeezed Y/N's hand, her heart swelling with happiness. "Yes, and we could have a dance floor set up in the middle of the garden. Our first dance as a married couple would be to our favorite song, something that means a lot to both of us."

Y/N grinned. "Maybe 'Can't Help Falling in Love'? It's timeless and beautiful, just like you."

Wanda's cheeks flushed with warmth. "I love that song. It would be perfect for our first dance." ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Y/N stood in the middle of the sprawling garden, taking a deep breath as she surveyed the space. This was where their dream would come to life, where Wanda's vision of a perfect wedding would unfold. The garden was a beautiful, verdant expanse, with lush greenery and vibrant flowers blooming everywhere. It was a picturesque setting, and Y/N could already see the transformation beginning in her mind.

The first step was to ensure the area was properly prepared. She had spent weeks coordinating with a team of landscapers and gardeners, making sure every detail was perfect. The grass was meticulously trimmed, and the flowerbeds were overflowing with colorful blooms. There were roses, lilies, daisies, and tulips, each chosen for their vibrant colors and sweet fragrances. The garden's natural beauty would serve as the perfect backdrop for Wanda's special day.

Next, Y/N focused on the seating arrangements. She wanted to create an intimate yet elegant setting for their guests. She decided on wooden chairs with white cushions, arranged in neat rows facing a beautiful archway covered in flowers. She enlisted the help of a skilled florist who spent hours weaving flowers and greenery into the arch, making it a stunning focal point.

As she supervised the setup, Y/N couldn't help but smile, thinking about how Wanda's eyes would light up when she saw everything. She knew how much this day meant to her, and she was determined to make it perfect. The ceremony area was taking shape beautifully, but there was still so much more to do.

Moving on to the reception area, Y/N envisioned a large tent set up in the middle of the garden. The tent would be draped with white fabric, creating a soft, romantic atmosphere. She worked closely with the rental company to ensure the tent was spacious and elegant, with enough room for dining, dancing, and mingling.

Inside the tent, Y/N decided on round tables covered with crisp white linens. She chose centerpieces of wildflowers arranged in mason jars, adding a touch of rustic charm. Each table was set with fine china, polished silverware, and crystal glasses, creating a beautiful contrast with the natural setting. Small, flickering candles were placed around the centerpieces, adding a warm and inviting glow.

The dance floor was another important aspect of the reception. Y/N envisioned a wooden dance floor under the stars, surrounded by twinkling fairy lights. She spent hours stringing the lights across the garden, ensuring they were evenly spaced and would create a magical atmosphere once the sun set. The lights would not only illuminate the dance floor but also add a whimsical touch to the entire area.

Y/N also arranged for a small stage where the band would play. She and Wanda had chosen a local band known for their ability to set the perfect mood, from soft, romantic ballads to lively dance numbers. The stage was decorated with more flowers and lights, blending seamlessly with the overall theme.

The food and drink were carefully selected to match the garden setting. Y/N worked with a caterer to design a menu featuring fresh, seasonal ingredients. There would be a variety of appetizers, a sumptuous main course, and a selection of decadent desserts. A long wooden bar was set up at one end of the tent, stocked with fine wines, craft beers, and signature cocktails. Bartenders were instructed to create custom drinks that reflected Wanda's tastes, adding a personal touch to the celebration.

Finally, Y/N turned her attention to the smaller details that would make the day truly special. She designed a welcome sign made from reclaimed wood, with elegant calligraphy welcoming guests to their wedding. She also created personalized wedding favors-small potted succulents with tags that read, "Let love grow." These would be placed at each table setting, giving guests a beautiful and lasting memento of the day.

The final touches were in place. The garden was a vision of beauty, filled with vibrant flowers, twinkling lights, and elegantly set tables. Y/N stood at the entrance, her heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. She hoped that Wanda would love what she had done, even though the day wasn't exactly what she had envisioned for them both.

As Y/N took a deep breath, she felt a presence beside her. It was Natasha, one of Wanda's closest friends and someone who had been a rock for both of them through the planning process.

"Hey, Y/N," Natasha said softly, her voice filled with warmth. "You did a really great job with everything. It's absolutely beautiful."

Y/N turned to her, a grateful smile spreading across her face. "Thanks, Nat. That means a lot coming from you. I just wanted everything to be perfect for her."

Natasha nodded, her expression thoughtful. "It is perfect. Wanda is going to love it. You've put so much heart into this, and it shows."

Y/N looked down, her hands trembling slightly. "I just want her to be happy."

As the music started to play softly, signaling that the ceremony was about to begin, Natasha gave Y/N one last encouraging smile. "Are you ready?"

Y/N took a deep breath, her heart aching but resolute. "Yeah, I'm ready."

Natasha gave her one final squeeze before walking towards the seating area, leaving Y/N standing at the entrance. She watched as the guests took their places, the garden filling with an air of anticipation and excitement.

And then she saw her— Wanda, looking breathtakingly beautiful in her wedding dress, her eyes sparkling with happiness taking in the beauty of the garden and the thoughtful details that Y/N had put into making her dream a reality. Wanda's gaze found Y/N's, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. Wanda's eyes softened, and she mouthed, "Thank you," her expression filled with gratitude and love.

Y/N managed a bittersweet smile, nodding slightly as she mouthed back, "You're welcome."

As the wedding march began to play, Wanda turned and started her walk down the aisle towards her groom, Vision. Y/N's heart clenched as she watched Wanda move gracefully, every step taking her further away from the dreams they had once shared.

Y/N found a spot at the back, where she could quietly watch the ceremony without drawing attention. She saw the joy in Wanda's eyes, the love between her and Vision palpable. It was a beautiful ceremony, filled with heartfelt vows and tender moments.

As Wanda and Vision exchanged rings and sealed their union with a kiss, Y/N couldn't hold back the tears any longer. They flowed freely down her cheeks, a mix of sadness and acceptance. She was happy for Wanda, truly, but the ache in her heart was undeniable.

Natasha found her after the ceremony, pulling her into a comforting hug. "You did great, Y/N. It's okay to feel what you're feeling. Just remember, you're stronger than you think." Natasha placed a reassuring hand on Y/N's shoulder. "You're incredibly strong for doing this, Y/N. Letting Wanda go and still making sure her day is perfect— it takes a lot of courage and selflessness."

Y/N sighed, her eyes glistening with tears. "I just… I love her so much. I want her to have everything she's ever dreamed of, even if it means I'm not the one standing beside her."

Natasha gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Wanda is lucky to have someone like you in her life. And remember, you're strong enough to get through this. You've shown that already."

Y/N nodded, wiping her tears away. "Thanks, Nat. I needed to hear that. I just… I need a moment."

Natasha gave her a reassuring pat on the back before heading back to join the other guests. Y/N took a deep breath, looking around the garden one last time. She had poured her heart into this place, for Wanda's happiness, and that was something she could be proud of.

As she walked away, leaving the newlyweds to their joy, Y/N felt a sense of closure. She had given her all, and now it was time to find her own path, her own happiness. The garden, with its beauty and memories, would always be a testament to the love she had for Wanda, a love that was selfless and true.

Ans now, the only thing that's left is the manuscript. Now and then Y/N reread the manuscript, but the story isn't hers anymore.

hi, everyone! i hope you like this one, i really don't know how to feel about this... i hope this is good enough and reblog is highly appreciated!

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strawberrybuni · 5 months ago

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I MISS YOU MORE THAN ANYTHING

Pairings(separate): Satoru x reader, Suguru x reader, Kento x reader, Toji x reader, Choso x reader Summary: You had a bad accident that gave you amnesia, and you no longer remember him, and he just can't seem to move on Word Count: 4.1k CW: a LOT of angst, hurt no comfort :( A/N: I'd rather jump into a volcano than make choso cry tbh

GOJO SATORU

Satoru was someone who never bothered with dating. After all, he was such a busy man, he didn't really have time to even think about all that, yet he somehow managed to find time for you. The two of you were damn near inseparable, twin flames if you will.

You were a talented sorcerer, a grade 1 and always improving. He always took so much pride in your growth and how you strived to continue to get stronger alongside him. You two used to spend as much time together as possible, but now he's grateful if you even respond to one of his texts.

About a year ago, you two were on a mission, and a curse user caught you off guard, getting you bad with an attack. You had suffered some pretty intense injuries, it was a miracle you were even still alive. However, your injuries came with a permanent scar, amnesia.

Your memories were completely shot, either in bits and pieces, or just completely gone from your head altogether. Unfortunately for him, he was completely wiped from your brain. Even worse? Your attitude towards him took a complete 180. The fire of once being his twin flame now completely put out with zero chance of it being relit. He wasn't sure if you not remembering various events of your life altered your personality and the way you thought, but you practically hated him now.

Any time he tries to speak to you, he's met with glares, eye rolls, and half assed responses. It didn't stop him from talking to you, though. He would rather you be rude to him than never talk to him again.

Satoru is a man who never spoke on how things affected him or how they made him feel. No one knew how he reread your old text messages over and over again, or how he cries sometimes over the loss of you. No one knew how he lost countless hours of sleep just looking over your vids and pics that you two had taken when you were still together.

No one knew how he was dying on the inside.

“You gonna stay up here moping all day, or try talking to them?” He was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts as Shoko came to stand beside him.

He had been in his usual spot watching you from above as you trained with the students. He had been lost in thought, fantasizing about how the training would’ve been going if things were as they used to be.

“Nah, I already bothered them today. Maybe I will later though.” He responded with his usual grin, but she saw right through his facade.

They stood there in silence, just watching, the faint sound of laughter filling the air. To Satoru, it almost felt like the universe was laughing at him. First he loses his one and only best friend, and now he's being forced to lose his one true love. Love really is the worst curse of them all, huh?

“You can talk to me, you know,” Shoko finally spoke after a few moments, not wanting to see her friend suffering alone. “It's fine, there's nothing to talk about anyways.”

“But there is Satoru. You might think you have everyone fooled and thinking that you’re unbothered by what happened, but not me. You don't.. have to go through all this alone.”

He mulled over her words for a few moments before shrugging slightly, deciding to be somewhat honest. “I guess I just.. don't find any point in talking about it. They don't love me anymore, and that's that. All I can do is accept it and go forward. If I push too much, they'll end up hating me more than they already do.”

He didn't want to accept it, though. God what he’d give to have you by his side once again. There aren't any lengths he wouldn't go to just to have you remember him. To call him Toru again. To love him again.

“Well that's surprisingly mature of you.” she teased with a sympathetic smile, causing him to pout. “Heyyy! I can be mature!”

She laughed at his whine, then smiled softly as she rubbed his back. “Just know we're all worried about you, okay? If you ever need anything, I’m a text away.”

He nodded with a smile, not bothering to say anything as he watched her leave. His smile slowly faded once she was out of sight, his attention being on you once again. He brought a finger up to pull his blindfold down around his neck as he watched you, letting out a shaky sigh.

“I really do miss you, sweetheart.”

GETO SUGURU

You were out and about with your friends, having a good day out in the nice weather. You had since recovered from the accident you were in, the same accident that gave you a nasty case of amnesia. You had lost a decent portion of your memories. Fortunately, you remembered most of your friends and they’ve all bee a great help in helping you readjust.

“So uh.. how’s it been between you and Suguru?” One of them asks out of the blue. Suguru, your boyfriend before your accident 6ish months ago who was no longer playing that role in your life. “I mean, there’s nothing really going on, we talk sometimes if that’s what you’re asking”

“Well I was just wondering because he’s kind of sort of..” Your friend trailed off, motioning discreetly in a direction to which your eyes followed. Your eyes made contact with his as you found him to be leaning against a wall not far from where you and your friends are, a frown instantly gracing your lips. “Give me a moment."

You got up, incredibly upset as you made your way over him. You had felt a lot of sympathy towards him given the circumstances. You couldn’t even imagine what it would be like for your lover to suddenly no longer remember you. So, you agreed to try and make a relationship work, but after a few months, you found you just aren't into him anymore. No matter what you did, you just couldn't find that love for him again. So, you broke it off and offered to just be friends, not for him to borderline stalk you.

“What the fuck Suguru? Why are you here?” You ask, since this isn’t exactly the first time he’s appeared ‘randomly’ where you happen to be. “I just happened to be in the area.”

“Bullshit. That’s your excuse every time I catch you lurking. I know I said we could be friends, but this is the opposite of how friends should act.”

Suguru frowned at your words. He hated when you referred to him as just some friend. He didn’t want to be your friend, he wanted his title as your boyfriend back. Yes he agreed to being friends, but that was only so he could continue to try and recapture your heart.

“Well apologies Y/N, I actually was in the area I just.. was curious about what you were up to and followed for a bit.”

“Do you not realize how weird that is? What if I’m on a date, then what?” His frown deepened at your response. “You’re already going on dates?”

“Oh my god I can’t keep having the same conversation with you.”

Time and time again, he would insert himself into your personal affairs as if he was still your boyfriend. He’d get pushy for answers, needing to know what you’re doing. He just misses when you’d give him those silly little updates on what’s going on throughout your day. All of your selfies, your audio messages. God he misses it all. He didn’t mean to act like a creep, but he couldn’t help himself.

“What I do in MY dating life is MY business. We are not a thing anymore Suguru, get that through your head.”

“How do you expect me to do that, huh? How do you expect me to be okay with watching you go out with some other dude, to let him know you like I knew you. For him to attempt to love you the way I loved you. You’re being unfair, no?"

“Honestly I'm being really fair. I have done nothing but try to make things work because you seemed like genuinely a nice guy. Unfortunately, it didn’t play out how we hoped it would. I set my boundaries in us just being friends and you’re the one continuing to push my boundaries again and again. So no Suguru, you’re the one being unfair.”

You were right, and he knew that, but he just can’t go on without you, and doing this almost made him feel apart.

“Look Suguru, because I’m so generous, I’ll give you one last fucking chance. Push my boundaries again and I’m blocking you. Got it?” You asked, to which he nodded. “Got it.”

He watched you return to your friends, hands in his pockets as he left. He had no intentions of stopping, he just was going to be smarter and sneakier about things. You’ll love him again one day, he has to keep believing that for the sake of his sanity. He just has to.

NANAMI KENTO

Your feet dragged against the carpeted floor as you made your way down the hallway to Kento’s apartment. It felt like it went on forever as the feeling of dread bubbled up in your chest at what you were about to do.

Bringing your hand up, you gently knock a few times, anxiously awaiting for him to open the door.

“Ah, Y/N, I didn’t expect to see you. It’s a pleasant surprise, I was actually in the midst of cooking if you’d like to come in.” Kento’s face was kind, eyes almost pleading for you to accept his offer. He missed you in ways you could never even begin to imagine, which is why it was making it so hard for you to go through with this.

“Thank you, but that's okay. I just um.. I came to return this to you.” You held out your hand, your engagement ring resting in your palm.

Kento felt his mouth run dry.

“What? Why.. why are you..” He tried to find the words to speak, his mind unable to comprehend what you're doing, thoughts going a mile a minute.

“I'm sorry Nanami, I really really am. I’ve been trying to find those feelings again, to feel what I felt before the accident, to remember you. I just.. it’s been months now and I just can't go on with this engagement, because at this rate I don’t know if I’ll ever feel that love for you again. I’m.. I'm sorry.”

You truly felt remorseful, he seemed like such a wonderful man, you can understand why you fell for him in the first place. But for some reason, you just weren't in love with him anymore. The love you once felt for him was long gone.

Ever since your accident, the two of you tried everything to get you to remember. Hell, he’d be fine with you falling in love with him all over again. He doesn't care, just as long as you two are together.

You’re the love of his life, you’re the oxygen he breathes. Irreplaceable. No one could ever compare to you in his eyes, he just can't live without you. Your wedding was supposed to be in a few months, and what was supposed to be the happiest day of his life was slowly slipping through his fingers, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“No, no no, wait please Y/N. Can't we just try a little longer? I don't mean to be pushy but I feel like we were really getting somewhere and–” Please don't do this. “But we weren't, I was just forcing it because I didn't want to hurt you–”

“I just don't understand why we can't keep trying, we had so many plans together Y/N. Marriage, kids, a house in Malaysia.”

“And that sounds lovely but Nanami–”

“Stop calling me that.” The air around you two fell awkwardly silent. “Call me Ken.. please.. like you always have.” His voice was broken, defeated. He's dealt with so much loss in his life, he couldn't bear to lose you too.

His days have become so devoid of the color you once brought to his life. Before you, he was simply going through the motions of life because that's what he had to do. Now that he’s had you, he doesn't know what to do with himself anymore. He doesn’t want to go back to how it was before you.

“I’m sorry I just..” He sighed, a hand coming up to rub his face. He didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, he really didn't, but god he was so desperate to try and get you to change your mind. “You’re everything to me. Without you I just.. I'm a shell of a man. Things aren't the same without you by my side. Please can't we just keep trying for a little longer? We could have a breakthrough.”

You listened to his ramble, but you weren't budging. You didn't think it was healthy for him to keep holding onto something that just was no longer written in the stars.

“I can't anymore Kento, I don’t.. I don't want to do this anymore, I'm sorry. I think continuing to try is a lost cause, and only it's filling you with false hope.” He remained silent at your words, nodding in reluctant acceptance, knowing pushing the envelope wouldn't end in his favor.

“Alright.. may I request one last thing from you, before you go?” He asks, fighting back his tears and emotions. “Please, stay for dinner. Cooking for you was something that always bought me joy and.. I'd like to at least sit and eat with you one last time.”

You thought for a few moments before nodding, it was the least you could do. You'd give him this one last thing before you leave for good.

Originally, Kento wasn't going to go back to sorcerer work, since he didn't want to risk his life and leave you alone, but after you had left and he thought it over again, he decided he would accept Gojo’s request for his assistance.

He had decided on his plan. Once this final mission in Shibuya is all said and done, he'd leave for Malaysia, and maybe, just maybe finally have a better life for himself there.

What could possibly go wrong?

FUSHIGURO TOJI

Love was something Toji never thought he'd ever try again. He had no interest in commitment in the slightest. If it wasn't just a quick fuck or a dynamic that benefitted him in some way, he truly just couldn’t give a damn.

That was, until you appeared in his life.

What started out as just a friends with benefits type relationship, it slowly morphed into the both of you desiring more from each other.

You both understood each other. You were both from tragic backgrounds and dark pasts, and you two accepted good with the bad from one another. You two were so happy and in love.

Until the accident.

You were a curse user like him, and went on missions the same way he did. However, one really bad impact to the head had you in the hospital for a good few months. You were in a coma, and everyday he prayed that you would wake up. Although, now he kind of wishes that you did.

When you had awoken, you had lost various memories, including him. You didn't remember meeting him, all the moments you two shared, when he finally started telling you he loved you, none of it. And it killed him, not that he’d ever say it aloud.

When he told you how he was your boyfriend, while yes you found him to be very attractive, you just didn't feel the same about him anymore. You were always a closed off guarded individual due to your trauma. Yet for some reason back then, you allowed him into your heart. This time, however, you had zero interest in that.

Toji felt so many things. He was angry, confused, and heartbroken. How could you not remember all the times you two shared? Why did you not even want to try? Why didn't you care?

All the self improvement you helped him with all went down the drain. He just didn't care about anything or anyone anymore. Losing his first wife was hard, it destroyed him. Now he's losing you, except you're not even actually gone. You're right there, before his eyes, and has to watch you continue to live your life without him.

“Shiu! That stupid mission was a– oh, um, hi Toji.” You awkwardly greeted him as you entered the office, not expecting to see him during your visit to Shiu. The tension in the room grew thick as Shiu cleared his throat. “I'm uh, gonna go smoke this. I'll be right back.” That bastard.

An awkward silence hung in the air before Toji decided to break it. “So, you seein’ anyone?

“I don't really think that's–”

“It's just a harmless question, doll.” His tone is borderline condescending, you let it slide though. “I was, not anymore though.”

Toji bit back a laugh at that. He liked to believe that deep down in your subconscious, you needed him just the way you always have, and that you’d never find another person who’d make you feel as he did.

“Yeah? And why's that?” He pressed, wanting any indication that his theory had any basis in reality. “Why does even that matter? It’s none of your business.”

You shot him down. Any time you two bumped into each other, he always pulled this. He'd get far too nosy about your dating life and you were tired of it. You understand that you two were in love before and that it's hard for him, but he needed to let it go. You weren’t interested and that was that.

“Ya know, if you ever want–”

“No.”

Toji frowned, irritation bubbling his chest from your immediate rejection. “I wasn't looking for a relationship doll, just a good fuck. You really think I wanna be bothered with you again? I barely wanted to even when we were together.” He spoke harshly, none of his words even being true.

He hated himself for the way he was treating you, but he just couldn't stop himself. Hurt people hurt people, after all.

“Just tell Shiu to call me. I'm leaving.” Before he could say anything, you were already out the door, refusing to take his attitude any longer.

Whatever, he was fine before without you anyway. He'll continue to tell himself that doesn't need you until he finally tricks his mind into believing it's true.

CHOSO

Loud knocks at your door awoke you from your sleep, having fallen asleep by mistake on the couch. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you reached for your phone to check the time.

Nearly 2AM.

“Y/N?? A-Are you in there? Please I-I just wanna talk.” A once all too familiar voice sounded from the other side of the door, and you knew it was him.

Choso, the man who apparently was your boyfriend before your accident.

A sigh left your lips, you already knew what this was about. You had blocked him on everything because you believed this would be beneficial to him. You felt this would help him move on, because that's simply what he was going to have to do. Yet he just wouldn't.

You reluctantly made your way to the door, taking a deep breath before opening it. He looked like a mess. His eyes were bloodshot, red and puffy from what you could only assume was from hours of crying. His stripe on his nose was dripping, as if his emotions were pouring from it. He truly looked pitiful.

“Choso..” You felt awful, you really did. You didn't mean to cause this man so much pain and turmoil, but you weren't going to fake being in love with him. That wouldn't make the situation any better.

“W-Why? Y-You– you blocked me? Why?” He stuttered out, once dried tears slowly beginning to wet his face once again as he started to cry, his breaths coming out shaky and broken.

You let him inside, worried about him having an anxiety attack and nosy neighbors being in your business.

“Choso I'm really going to need you to breathe–” The second the door is shut, he’s pulling you in for a tight hug, his body shaking as small cries leave him. “Choso–”

“I-I’m sorry, I-I’m sorry. I just need t-to touch you” You suppose you could give him this. “Okay but you're squeezing me too tight, you're going to hurt me if you don't loosen up.”

You two stood like that for a few moments. You offered comfort to the best of your ability, rubbing his back soothingly. You knew you needed to calm him down as much as possible for the news you were going to break to him.

“I think.. we should sit and talk.” Your soft voice broke the silence. You gently removed yourself from his tight hold, guiding him to sit on the couch.

“I.. blocked you because I felt it’s for the best” You turned your head away from him, the sad puppy dog look in his eyes making you feel far too guilty. “I know before my accident we were together and in love but.. I need you to understand that I no longer feel that way. I don't remember you anymore–”

“B-But that doesn't mean you c-can’t remember one day, right? R-Right??” That was something you didn't have an answer for.

“I don’t–”

“B-But you remember everyone else, w-why not me? Why don't you r-remember me?” He begged for an answer, shaky hands coming to hold yours, squeezing them tight. “T-There has to be s-something we can do right? Maybe Shoko could d-do something, anything. We just need to–”

“Choso, please just stop.” You felt a pang in your heart as his shoulders slumped, but you had to throw the cold water in his face. “There is nothing that can be done. I'm sorry, I am. I wish for your sake that I could wake up with all my memories of you back but I just can't. I'm just.. not interested in you in that way anymore.” You slowly pulled your hands from his, resting yours in your lap as you continued. This really sucked.

“I thought maybe we could be friends, and over time either my memories would return or I'd develop feelings for you again but.. I just don't feel that way towards you. And you're so.. clingy. The way you are is unhealthy Choso. You have to move on.”

His eyes went wide at your words, his world shattering before him as he rapidly shook his head. “No. No no no I-I don't want to do that. I can't do that p-please.”

“You're going to have to. I know I was your first love, but I promise you'll find someone else who will–”

“I-I don't want anyone else I-I want you. I don’t want to e-ever even think about m-my life without you p-please, I’ll do a-anything Y/N please.”

He was becoming hysterical again and you're far too exhausted to be able to properly calm him down. Besides, he'd just do what he's been doing for the last two months. He'll cry and cry until you feel guilty enough to change your mind. Not this time.

“I'm sorry Choso, but I need you to leave. It’s over” You stood up from the couch, wanting to be done with this conversation. Giving him the cold shoulder was something you didn't necessarily want to do, but he was leaving you with no choice at this point.

As you approached your door to let him out, you heard a thud from behind you followed by a hand grasping your ankle to prevent you from going any further. The sight before you as turned your head to look only worsened how you felt.

He was on his knees, his head down, grasping your ankle in a final desperate plea. “P-Please… d-don’t do this to me..”

It was your turn for your shoulders to slump, but your mind was already made as you whispered “Please, don't make me call Yuji..”

You felt his grip loosen at your words, before completely releasing your ankle. He slowly rose to his feet, his eyes trained on the floor, knowing if he looks at you, he’ll completely crumble and he wouldn’t be able to leave. He doesn’t say another word as he leaves, knowing there’s nothing he could say that would change your mind.

“Goodbye.. Choso.” You said for the last time before closing the door.

#jujustu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #geto suguru #nanami kento #fushiguro toji #choso #gojo x reader #geto x reader #nanami x reader #toji x reader #choso x reader #jjk x reader

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bunnyreaper · 1 year ago

Text

𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖗𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖈𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖘 𝔞 𝔰𝔬𝔞𝔭 𝔪𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝖕𝖙 1 — 𝖕𝖙 2 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 wc - 5.7k warnings - 18+/nsfw, dom sub dynamic, eventual romance/smut, medium burn? notes - first part of my owner!soap x pet!reader, woohoo! i already regret writing something centered around texting and calling lmao, crying!! the formatting is killing me!! anyway, also on ao3! and if you wanna send a request, pls do! ♥

Lonely girl looking for owner.

Posting on this subreddit again was probably a mistake—but a deep-down part of you clings to the hope that this time will be the time you find someone, the time you get to go home to him.

At least this time, you'll be better at spotting the signs right off the bat—if only you can take off the rose-tinted glasses long enough to take note.

Your inbox is flooded with the usual kinds of messages—unsolicited pictures, low-effort one-sentence wonders, and so-called doms jumping straight to the part where they call you a nasty whore with no actual consideration for the person you are.

You're just about to give up, delete the post, and ignore all chat requests when a message arrives in your inbox.

From: squeakycleanscot

Subject: Lonely guy looking for girl

Hi,

Saw your post and knew I had to message. You sound like everything I'm looking for and more.

I'm a little younger than the age you put on your post, but I think I fit your other requirements. I'm 27, Scottish (yes, with the accent), and in the army, I hope that's a turn-on rather than a turn-off.

When I'm not deployed, I like cosy nights in, preferably with my love by my side. Don't mind a night at the pub either, especially if there's a Celtic match on, not that anywhere near here shows them.

I'm looking for something longer term like you mentioned (would love to collar my girl one day, which is probably ironic considering I'm a wee bit scared of dogs.)

Happy to send a picture if you'd like :)

Hope to hear from you soon,

Johnny.

You reread the message, turning his words over in your mind.

Something about his message has your attention—it at least suggests he has a brain in his head and a heart capable of empathy, and that maybe he's serious.

You begin typing your reply instantly, your fingers moving so fast you have to type and retype so many parts to rid the message of all of the overexcited mistakes.

hi johnny,

scottish?! is it bad im already imagining how your dirty talk will sound?

it's funny, i always wanted to join the army growing up, but it never worked out. maybe it's for the best as now i'm not immune to enjoying a hot man in uniform... which I'm assuming you are ;)

cosy nights in are my favourite too! I'm a bit of a homebody and love being snuggled up more than anything. i have to let you know in advance that you have some stiff competition in the form of my giant teddy bear, barnaby.

i'm looking for something longer term too, or at least not a one night kind of thing—a collar one day would be the dream <;3

if you send a picture, ill send one back, nothing sexy just yet though, if that's okay?

have you met up with someone off here before? just curious about your experiences!

y/n

As soon as the message is sent, the overthinking kicks in—was that too much? Is he going to think you're weird?

You shuffle in bed, turning over between the sheets and trying to flick through other apps as you wait for a reply—otherwise, you'd just be staring at the notifications bar waiting for that silly little robot face to pop up.

Johnny doesn't leave you waiting long, only a few minutes passing from your last message.

Maybe you'll find out sooner rather than later just how my dirty talk sounds ;)

I tried to sneak in before I was old enough, but they caught on. Served since I was 18 though, you'll have a lot of stories ready from me if you're ever willing to listen. Not sure if the uniform is anything like you're thinking though, in my unit it's mostly just t-shirts, tac vests and trousers.

I'll prepare my best snuggling arms for if we ever meet. You should inform Barnaby now about his replacement, mind.

Can't not send a sexy photo though, sorry lass, all my pictures are. I'm sure you understand, lol

Haven't met anyone, had a few conversations but nothing worth pursuing, and had kind of given up until I saw your post.

His message is the perfect mix of sexy, sweet, and sincere—and if that is the essence of the man, you know he's everything you're looking for.

You try not to think too hard about a hot Scottish accent calling you all your favourite names or telling you exactly what to do, or even those stories he has to tell, as the idea is all too exciting.

Reading his message, you instinctively reach out to pat Barnaby when you see he may end up replaced—hopefully the poor bear will understand when he has to vacate the bed for this sexy soldier man.

looking forward to it. can I start putting in requests now for bedtime stories too?

i still wanna see, maybe in your sexy-not-sexy pic?

barnaby will be devastated by the news, and you may have to give him hugs too (but not for too long, or i'll get lonely!!!)

same here, about things not going anywhere... or people turning out to be a bit scary, so you're not allowed to let me down, okay?

Maybe the last part of the message was too much, but your heart is already soaring with unbridled hope—along with that hope comes doubt too.

Each second waiting for a reply drags, and you take to re-reading his messages and clicking on his profile to investigate.

It's largely empty of posts, but there are tons of comments across different communities—including his aforementioned football team, r/Scotland, and eyebleach.

Clearly, he's a softie at heart.

When his next message comes through, it's an Imgur link with a short message.

Here we go, a few months old though now. Don't have anything more recent from work :)

You take a moment or two to steady yourself before you tap the link. While you definitely feel like you and Johnny have already started to click, if he's not your type then it probably won't go anywhere...

It's a situation you've been in before—great conversation, similar interests but no physical attraction, and back then you didn't have the heart to break it off straight away.

You tap the link and are greeted by a full-body shot of a tall, well-built man in tactical clothes. His hair is a neatly trimmed mohawk, and while his face isn't crystal clear, he's clearly fucking handsome. His biceps bulge from the gray tee stretched over his torso, his large hands are covered with gloves and grasping a gun.

Your eyes trail to his long legs, thick thighs encased in camo and strapped with various holsters. All in all, the picture is perfect. You find yourself zooming in desperately to get a better look at his face, the handsome jaw lined with stubble that you can already imagine between your legs. The whole image and every new detail has you squirming in your bed, and cheekily wishing to save the image to your phone.

holyfwucj

holy fuck

Like what you see?

i need a hug from you urgently.

now i feel shy...

It had crossed your mind ever so slightly that Johnny may be out of your league, or that he simply may not be attracted to someone like you, which would be a complete shame. Now you've set eyes on him, you want him even more—want to kneel at those feet and stare up at his hulking figure while he tugs on a leash around your neck.

Hopefully, just like you, he'll be smitten from the first glance.

Scrolling through your camera roll, you decide you don't exactly love any recent photos of yourself. The ones at your last work event have you looking far too corporate, and the only image from your last night out was taking in a bathroom mirror in the local Wetherspoons—neither of which is ideal.

You crawl out from the warmth of your sheets, kneeling on the end of the bed and posing as you point your camera in the mirror that sits across the room and captures you perfectly. Before you start snapping, you adjust your top to make sure too much isn't on display, even though it's strappy and cropped, and definitely a little bit more on the tantalising side as far as your pyjamas go.

Hopefully, Johnny likes the pose and the outfit... and you. You can see your smiling face just to the side of your phone as you press to capture the picture—and when you return to your inbox to send the picture link, a message is waiting for you.

I already know you're gorgeous. Don't leave me hanging, bonnie.

okay. this is me now, all ready for bed!!

Holy fuck yourself.

And I'm assuming that's Barnaby in the background.

If he notices the pose, he doesn't comment on it, instead delighting your heart by commenting on Barnaby instead.

sure is! he's ready for snuggles and sleep.

Can you do me a favour?

That message makes your heart skip because usually when something like that is asked, it's followed with a request for nudes or something sexual—and while that is a large part of something like this, you crave the connection first, crave someone actually sticking around and getting to know you.

depends on what it is!

Tell Barnaby to keep looking after you until I get there, yeah?

does that mean you're coming for me?

One day, if we're both lucky.

seems promising so far, Johnny.

Get some sleep, yeah? Maybe tomorrow night I'll give you a bell.

The idea of this conversation ending is heart-wrenching, but at least sleep will bring you closer to that possible phone call. Hearing his voice, now that will be even more incredible.

how do you expect me to sleep after telling me that? so mean!

Patience, bonnie. Be good for me?

You clench, your thighs squeezing together as arousal rushes through you. It's like he knows exactly how far to go, what buttons to press, what you're looking for.

It's the right kind of commanding, toeing the line perfectly between flirtatious and in charge. A lot of guys you've talked to have rushed it made commands too early, and sent you running. Johnny's words, be good for me? You can't help but want to behave.

okay, but I see how this is going to be :(

Bet you look so fucking good with a pout ;)

now you're just being a cruel tease, Johnny...

Sorry, I'll stop. Sleep, yeah, for me?

cuddling up to barnaby now.

You decide to attach another picture, your eyes screwed shut and cheeks squished as you wrap yourself around the bear and cuddle up under the sheets.

talk tomorrow?

Of course, bonnie, sweet dreams <;3

You lock your phone, your eyes feeling relieved as they adjust to the darkness.

For a brief moment, you just clutch your phone to your chest and recall the picture Johnny had sent, how much you'd love to be wrapped up in his arms tonight.

He's the only thing on your mind as you drift off to sleep.

-//-

Your dreams are tumultuous, starting off with a nightmare of being chased and chased until your legs give out, only for you to find salvation and safety in a stranger's arms—one who seemed vaguely familiar.

The first thing you do when you wake is roll over to check your phone, elation overtaking you when you see a notification from Johnny already waiting there—already he's blessing you with a good morning message.

Good morning, sweet girl.

Attached under the picture is another image link, and clicking on it brings up an absolutely gorgeous picture of Johnny, lazing in bed. There's just enough light in the room for you to see the brightness of his eyes that you couldn't see before—his mohawk is mussed, and his smile is easy, drawing you in.

He's even more handsome in this up close photo, you can only imagine what he looks like in person, right before you.

morning Johnny <3 how did you sleep?

Like a baby. Yourself?

not the best, but I swear you were in my dream.

Sorry to hear that, but oh already? What did I do?

I mean, it was a bulky guy with a mohawk but he didn't have your name, I think it was meant to be you though.

You recall the safety you felt in the arms of the strange figure, it was serene, and everything you hope to feel when you find the one—hopefully that's Johnny.

My dreams were shite, you didn't show up.

i'll try harder to be there tonight!!

Promise?

promise.

God, he's so fucking sweet. It's hard to imagine he's into all the things you mentioned in your initial post, at least right now. But you're all too familiar with how appearances can be deceiving—you wonder what else your sweet Scot is into.

You peel back the covers and head out into the kitchen, flicking the kettle on mindlessly as you keep your eyes fixated on the screen—not wanting to be even a minute late to answering Johnny's texts, even though it seems there's a natural lull in the conversation.

You return your focus to making your tea, and your thoughts don't drift from Johnny for even a moment, as you ponder ways to keep the conversation going. Admittedly, you have a million and one questions you want, but you don't want to come across too... eager? clingy? Like some serial killer fiending for information?

It's crazy the way your heart yearns for him so soon—and it's crazy the way that you wish he feels the same as you do. You wonder how his day is going, and if he's staring at your phone waiting for your message.

With tea brewed, you set it on the coffee table and flop onto the plush couch, rushing to open the app when a new notification pops up.

What's your plan for the day?

lazy day, binge-watching... texting you? wbu?

I have to work for a bit, but I'll message you when I can.

On a weekend? That's horrible, but I imagine they run a tight ship over there.

You rush to follow up your message with something else.

will you still be able to call tonight?

Aye, give me your number, I'll save it!

You send off your number and don't hear anything from Johnny for a good few hours. You pass the time watching one of your favourite shows, and trying to resist the urge to go scroll down Johnny's profile once more.

The next time a message pops up, it's well past lunch.

Cute profile pic on whatsapp.

Johnny has clearly added your number to his contacts and spied your picture on the app. You blush thinking of him seeing you in that costume—especially after he knows what you're into.

it was Halloween, I swear!!

You make an adorable little kitten, lass.

imagination running wild now? ;)

Aye, but I'm a gent.

hopefully not always...

Oh, you'll see. Talk to you tonight, kitty.

talk to you then <;3

Now you're just itching, waiting for the hours to crawl by for Johnny's workday to end, so you can talk to him again, so you can finally hear his voice.

What will it sound like saying your name? Whispering sweet nothings in your ears?

The hours pass slowly until a different notification lights up your phone as you cuddle into your sheets.

Hey, it's Johnny! Just got home.

You scramble to click on the pop-up, spying his own profile picture in the corner—tapping on it to view it closer.

It's the Johnny you recognise, smiling wide with his arm slung around another man. He looks so ridiculously happy, probably due to the pint in his other hand. The more you look at him, the more you can't believe you're talking to this man, that he wants to talk to you.

You quickly add him to your contacts, putting a heart next to his name, before you return to the chat and begin to type.

i'm not the only one with a cute pfp!!

Three sheets to the wind in that picture, actually.

i can tell <3

Ready to call?

whenever you're ready!

The image of him floods your screen, the screen pulsing as it waits for you to accept. Your fingers tremble as you press the button, and you fall silent as you press the phone to your ear, nerves gripping at your throat.

"Hi, bonnie." His voice drifts from the phone speaker, sweet like honey and warm like sunshine, with that gorgeous accent too.

"Hi." You squeak out, silently cursing at yourself for being so nervous and seemingly unable to speak.

A melodic laugh follows your words, amused but not cruel or mocking. "Are you nervous?" His voice is soothing, his concern and sweet nature evident.

You cradle your burning cheek, feeling the way your blush spreads across your smiling face. "Just a little, can you blame me?"

He's laughing again, and you hear a shuffling noise that suggests he's getting comfortable. "Don't be, I'll look after yer, I promise."

Fuck. You could get used to hearing that. "I really like your voice." You admit, whispering into the phone with a ridiculous grin on your face.

"I like yours too, you sound so sweet."

You drop your voice lower, giggling mischievously. "Only sometimes."

"That's what I like ta hear." The way Johnny's voice dips as he says that has your insides fluttering, but you can only assume he's returning the favour. His tone returns to its usual charming tone as he asks, "How was your lazy day?"

"Well, I kind of spent a fair bit of it distracted, thinking about this important call I was going to have tonight..."

"Oh aye, I should get off the phone so you can wait then."

"Funny. How was yours? What do you even do day to day, anyway?" You ask, voice brimming with curiosity—there are so many things you want to ask, but you imagine his job can be secretive.

"Lots of training, and sometimes paperwork, which is right shite."

"Not when you don't have someone under the desk keeping you company." You laugh, taking the chance to flirt. If you were into Johnny after reading his messages, actually hearing his voice is only making your attraction soar.

A quiet fuck can be heard, as the man on the end of the phone heaves out a breath. "I'll have ta look into getting you clearance if you keep talking like that, lass."

"Glad to be of service, what can I say?" You find yourself in a giggle fit at your own silliness, a mix of nerves and joy at enjoying yourself so much.

"God, I love yer laugh." The deep sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten.

The drug that is Johnny is already so intoxicating.

"I'm so glad you can't see me blushing."

"I'm no'." He sounds so indignant about that. "But I could listen to that laugh all day, really."

If only he could see you pout too. "Now you're just trying to make me blush more."

He chuckles, his voice dropping dangerously flirtatious again. "Maybe I am, nothing you can do about it."

"Now I'm pouting."

"Better not pout in front of me, lass." His suggestive tone makes you shiver.

"Oh, why's that?" You ask, playing coy.

"'Cause I'll just have to start kissing ya, might even nibble on those soft little lips."

You suppress a delighted squeak, already so flustered at even the idea of a kiss. "I'm not hearing a downside."

"No?"

"Nope."

"Might not be gentle with you, though."

"Good thing that I like it rough." The words are out of you before you can reconsider, but they have exactly the effect you intend as you hear Johnny inhale sharply.

"Ach, you and yer wicked mouth."

"You have no idea..."

He lets out a rough exhale, his voice turning gravelly and deep. "Fuck, bonnie."

"Hey, I'm only repaying the favour, I've been squirming desperately pretty much since I picked up the phone."

He whistles approvingly, his voice now teasing and playfully menacing. "Just you wait til I'm really in ya head."

"You're already making good progress." You admit.

"Oh aye?"

You hum contentedly, eyes flickering shut for a moment. "I'll be imagining your voice as I fall asleep tonight."

"I'll just have ta send yer voice notes to drift off to, so I can end up in your dreams again." You can almost hear the smirk in his voice.

"Already spoiling me, too."

Fuck, how is it this man seems to know exactly what to say? Everything that comes out of his mouth takes root in your brain and sends your thoughts running wild—it's like he's already in your head, or as if someone made him in a lab.

"I'll spoil ya every day, if you're ever mine."

You groan in frustration, unbelieving that a stranger can be so seemingly perfect. "How are you even single, Johnny?"

"I could ask you the same. Taking everything in me to not ask for an address right now, if I'm being honest." He huffs a laugh.

While the idea is thrilling, you know you should have at least some sense of preservation, and shouldn't blurt out your postcode for this strange man you barely know. "I'm worth the wait, I swear." You whisper your promise.

"I'm sure yer are. But to answer your question, my work keeps me busy a lot, and this lifestyle isn't for everyone." There's a hint of vulnerability to his voice, and you sense such a fact is a sore point in his personal life.

In the fantasy of all of this, you suppose the reality of the situation isn't something you'd stopped to consider. Life for a man in the military was surely so different from a regular 9-5. "I'm guessing that you're away a lot?"

"Aye, sometimes for just a few days, sometimes for months, all depends." His admission is soft, as if you can hear in his tone that he's waiting for you to bolt.

If that's the big 'catch' when it comes to Johnny, you can breathe a sigh of relief. "Yeah, I guess you need someone strong and loyal to hold on and wait for you."

There's a tense silence, something lingering in the air.

"Hard to come by, I've found."

The thought makes your stomach twist in the worst possible way. Johnny, at least on the surface, seems so worthy of love.

You chance the question that's on the tip of your tongue, hoping Johnny doesn't mind your reckless curiosity. "Have... you been cheated on?"

"More than once, gets less surprising over the years." He finishes with a sad laugh, as you can tell he tries to infuse humour into the whole thing.

"That's... horrible."

Being sent away from your home to face gunfire and warfare, all to keep the people back home safe... only to be betrayed by the people back home who love you, who are supposed to wait for you. It's a gut-wrenching thought, and your heart aches for the man.

"A few of the lads here have a similar story."

"So the army, not for the faint of heart, and dating an army man, not for the faint of heart." You sigh, though you don't feel put off by the thought.

"Exactly. That you then? Faint of heart?"

"No. I mean, inside I'm clingy as hell, and I'd miss you like crazy every day until you got back..." Your emotions overtake you, as you imagine a future where you'd have to kiss the man goodbye for maybe months at a time. "But I get the feeling that what we could have would be worth the wait. Hypothetically of course."

At that, Johnny laughs, and his light tone returns. "Don't want to get too far ahead of ourselves, aye."

You don't want to get ahead of yourself, you know you shouldn't, but the way you and Johnny have clicked is unlike anything you've felt before. "But... I have a good feeling."

"I do too, already dreading putting down the phone."

"I'm not planning on it anytime soon, even if I have to be up early tomorrow."

"So do I, alarms set for 4."

You do not envy his lifestyle one bit.

"That's awful! I'm gonna be so cranky tomorrow, I might have to use my lunch break for a nap." You admit, preemptively yawning into your hand.

"You one of those perpetually sleepy girls?"

You nod, even though he can't see it. "The sleepiest."

"Barnaby is a lucky bear, getting to cuddle up to you so much."

You burst out laughing at the hint of envy in his words. "Are you... jealous?"

"For now, but soon the tables will turn." He faked an evil laugh, that only makes you giggle harder.

"Oh, you think you can give better snuggles than him?"

"Oh, I know I can, bonnie. The bear can't wrap his arms around yer, can't whisper sweet things in your ear..." His voice dips back into that seductive, teasing tone. "... Can't trail his hands down to that pretty little pussy."

Once more, you flush with desire, every nerve alight as Johnny's words wash over you—although it seems like almost everything he says has your body reacting. "You have an interesting way of cuddling, Johnny."

"Didnae say I was actually gonna do anything once my hands got down there."

"Well, I wouldn't be opposed."

"When you're in my arms, you wouldn't have a choice, lass." The dark, dominant voice makes you shiver, makes your submissive instincts awaken.

"Oh yeah?"

He hums slowly. "Once you're mine, you leave the choices to me. Johnny knows best, yeah?"

"Johnny knows best." You whisper breathlessly, the words coming out automatically, like they just feel right.

"Steamin' Jesus, can already tell yer gonna be the death of me."

"Can't have that, your family won't get your death in service payout!" You laugh awkwardly, before a sense of guilt rears its head. "Sorry, grim joke."

"I don't mind. You should hear some of the ones my Lt. comes out with, he's a right sick bastard." He chuckles.

"Never want to make light of it and hurt you, though."

"Telling jokes makes it easier hen, you'll be wishing me dead in no time at all."

You gasp, shocked by the prospect. "I'd never!"

"Not even when I deny you from touching yourself for my entire deployment? Months of nothing at all?" The sick grin is evident in his voice.

"You wouldn't, that's so mean. You're too sweet for that."

"Aye, for now, but don't you like a little bit of meanness, if yer into men like me..." The edge to his voice and the truth to your words has you trembling.

"Maybe..." You singsong in response, not wanting to give away just how much you liked the idea of his mean side.

"Bonnie..." He tuts disapprovingly. "Don't play coy."

You shudder out a breath as you squeeze your thighs together for relief. "I just don't want you to bully me too much right now, I'm already soaked."

"Is that right?" He seems delightfully surprised by such a revelation.

"Mhmm."

"I'm fucking rock hard if it helps, think I have been since last night..." You hear him shuffle, and you try not to imagine what's happening on the other end of the line, or how he looks lying in bed with said hardness.

When he groans hungrily down the line, you feel yourself quake once more. "The sight of you on your fucking knees... Christ alive."

You can't help but giggle at your unintended teasing. "It wasn't on purpose, I thought it was cute more than anything."

"Adorable and naughty, could cum just looking at it." He huffs.

"You're just flattering me, besides, I could say the same about your picture."

Every part of you flushes thinking of the first photo he sent, all muscle and alpha male—it's like he was the physical embodiment of dominance, and just looking at him makes you want to kneel.

"You like the military get up?"

"Love it, more than I probably should."

"Oh aye, bet you'd love for me to order you around?" His words are playful, but underpinned with a hint of promise. "All in due time, eh?"

"All in due time. What's your rank, anyway?"

"Sergeant."

"Wait..." You take a deep breath as you consider your question. "Can I ask for your last name or is it too soon?"

"Mactavish."

Johnny Mactavish—you should remember to give that a quick Google search later.

"Sergeant Mactavish." You test the name on your tongue, trying to imagine him at work, following and giving orders.

"Sounds too good when you say it, bonnie." He laughs.

"Thank you, sergeant." Your affectation of the word is entirely intentional, as you attempt to rile him up with the use of his title.

The throaty groan that leaves him is addictive.

"What else do you like to be called?"

"Depends on what you want to call me really, but I like... sir."

"I like it too, will have to remember that for the future, and just torture you with sergeant in the meantime." You can't help but giggle as you flirt.

"Oh don't worry, am keeping score." He growls playfully. "Wait til I get ma hands on you, bonnie."

"You're keeping score?" You gasp, a heady mix of fear and arousal coursing through you almost urges you to be even more of a teasing brat.

"Aye, spanking arm at the ready."

"My pouting lips are ready."

"Won't be the only thing you use them lips for."

Fuck fuck fuck. Not that you hadn't thought about it already, hadn't already let your mind drift to what his cock might look like—whether it matches the size of the man—now you're definitely thinking about it. Fixated on it, craving it.

Some cards are best kept close to your chest so early on, so you change tack and go a different direction with his flirtation. "Yeah, with you in the room, I'd probably be smiling a whole lot."

The two of you continue to chat, you asking what you can about his work as he asks about yours, and you fill him in on the boring world you live in, which seems especially boring in comparison to taking down cartels and traveling the world.

The conversation never stops being easy, the flirtation and innuendo always right there at the tip of your tongues as you tease each other relentlessly—giving as good as you get. All night, you're practically grinding against your duvet as you get lost in Johnny's dulcet tones, and you find yourself just letting him speak for the sake of getting to hear more of his voice.

As Johnny is about to ask you more about your background, you're overcome with a harsh yawn that you desperately try to stifle. Your eyes have been shut for the last hour at least, but with the command Johnny has over your nervous system right now, it's been easy to stay awake.

"Tired, bonnie?" He asks, voice laced with sweet concern.

"Yeah..." Your voice falls quiet, as the thought of ending the call makes your throat constrict. "But I don't wanna stop talking."

"Me either, but av got bad news."

You know what's coming, and you know it isn't remotely anywhere near the end of the world, despite what your heart is telling you right now. "Go on."

"I have to go." Even he sounds sad about such an outcome.

"It's not even that late?" The clock reads 2 am.

"Gotta get a wee bit of sleep before I hit the gym, and then get off ta work. Don't you have work too?"

"Work from home tomorrow, so it's not too bad. Not fair though, I wanna keep talking." You admit quietly. It's too much too soon, but you're overwhelmed, the tide of your emotions crashing over the edges.

"Tell yer what. Next time we call, we can try leaving it on while we sleep."

Your heart flips, as you almost whimper at how cute the gesture is. "Are you trying to make me fall in love with you?"

"Obviously." There's that gorgeous laugh again. "Is it working?"

"Just a little, but that might be the lack of sleep talking, I might be going slightly insane."

Johnny sighs, and it's clear he's battling to keep a handle on his self-control. "Rest, bonnie, I won't be able to work knowing you're not sleepin'"

You sigh too, accepting your fate. "Okay, just for you."

"Just want what's best for you, you need your sleep."

Your head spins at how utterly sincere he sounds—the care in his voice after such a short amount of time serves to drive you even deeper into this infatuation. "Already?"

"Can't turn it off, am just protective by nature, bonnie. If you were my girl, you'd have a bedtime."

And that makes your cunt clench and your heart soar. "Johnny..." You whine.

"Yeah?"

You hesitate to say what you want to say next, but everything within you is calling out for him, desperate to be in his arms. "Don't make me wait too long to meet you, please."

His laughter is sweet, conveying a sense of understanding more than anything. "I'll try ma best, supposed to be off on Friday."

"5 whole days."

"Sure you don't wanna wait a bit longer?"

You shake your head, mumbling a sound to convey your feelings. "Feels right, don't know how to describe it... do you feel it too?"

Johnny takes a deep breath, his voice shaking slightly as he speaks. "I do, lass."

"Good." You couldn't even attempt to fight the idiotic grin on your face, or how warm you feel inside and out. "I'll get some sleep, talk soon."

"Goodnight, bonnie. Sweet dreams."

You wait for Johnny to end the call, not wanting to push the button yourself and have his presence fade away. When your screen dims, you resist the urge to text him more, opting instead to put your phone on charge and roll over to Barnaby—wishing it was Johnny instead.

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