#also they locked him in his personal hell and abandoned him bc they thought he was a party pooper

[matt-murdick]

Finn & Sage (TVD) + textposts

8 / ?

[akingdomscrypt]

Make a Mercy Out of Me

Part Three

Pairing; König x m!reader

Word Count; ~7.66k

Warnings; kinda sorta graphic depiction of stitching up wounds near the end. So if you don't like needles.. be careful.

A/n; König is a sergeant bc I said so and it fits my narrative. There's also plans in work for why he's a part of 141 & background knowledge on him. Lore. Eventually.

(we need more clips of this man istg-)

--- "babysitting duty" ---

You were a frustrating man to work with. You had hardly said much of anything during that sad excuse of an interrogation, at least nothing of much use. All they knew now was that there was someone out there who held your leash. Or, well, used to. You were a wildcard now, without someone to keep you on lock and key, and there was no way in the deepest pits of hell they could set you loose on the world with what they knew–which wasn't much. Not unless you were hanging off their every word or buried six feet under an unmarked grave.

"You talk about him like he's some sort of lab experiment."

"Mm." Well… "maybe he is. Who knows."

"He isn't some feral dog, König."

He didn't like it. As much as your words had ignited a–often ignored–spark in him, there was something itching at the back of his mind telling him you weren't trustworthy. That you'd stab him and the rest of the task force in the back the moment you were left to your own devices.

"We should keep him."

"He's a person."

"Not a good one."

"Neither are we."

They had to keep you, if at least for society's sake, on that straining lead. As any slack would surely be the catalyst of his very own demise.

I could make the world bleed.

The words were stuck on replay in König's mind, as well as the man who had spoken them. It was a horrible thought to have–but he couldn't help but find it.. intriguing. The idea made his heart skip a beat and the corner of his scarred mouth curl.

"He said he'd make the world bleed, König. That's fuckin' creepy as shite!" Ghost spat, arms crossed over his chest, as the two made the journey back to the rest of the team.

"You have said much stranger things, Ghost."

"You can't really be considerin' this." A few beats of silence from the larger man was all the confirmation Ghost needed. "Price would never agree to it."

"He said he could help."

"Help." Ghost huffed. "Right. Help with what exactly? He has no idea what we've been working on."

"Ja, he doesn't know. But what about that bomber? Could it be relevant?" Besides Mouse, the team had been tracking a much more persistent threat. Something that left behind more than just breadcrumbs in the form of mutilated bodies.

"...are you sayin' he could be involved in this?"

"He has been showing up right after every hit."

"Right." Ghost pauses in his tracks, turning his head slightly to look up at the other man. "So you think he's with them? Or.. maybe one of their targets?"

König comes to a stop too and takes a moment to mull it over. Could you have been a part of the group they'd been hunting these past few months? It was a little.. suspicious that you'd show up and take out another high-profile figure right after every strike made. Were you cleaning up their mess? Or your own?

"That's all the more reason to keep him, no? To find out? We know he has someone he reports to." There was also the fact that the explosion had gone off practically right under your own two feet. That had to mean something.

Just following orders?

"It's a little concerning when I of all people have to remind you that he is a very real, living, breathing, capable-of complex-thought person." König brushes off Ghost's concerns with a noncommittal shrug.

If they took the route of you having been just another victim of the explosion, that left many unexplained variables. Such as why you were a target–wouldn't one terrorist organization blend well with another? Why would they be at odds? It also leaves the question that, if you had really been abandoned by your crew, why had "she"–the woman who you'd mentioned–left you for dead? Was it legitimate? Or a ploy of some kind?

Then there was the more believable scenario that would tell it as; you hadn't really been betrayed by your group, or whoever held your metaphorical leash. And the explosion was some kind of distraction, a way to get their attention. Maybe–if one applies the theory that you were in cahoots with the people they'd been hunting–you had wanted to get caught. Or, maybe not you specifically, but whoever "she" was. Maybe you were sent as bait and they'd fallen right into that mouse trap–heh.

Maybe you didn't even know this was all a farce. That would make it all the more believable, no?

Either way, they need you here. For information. And if they played their cards right, if they burrowed their way under your skin and into your heart–like a damn parasite–you would give them exactly what they wanted. Lead them right to both the core of your organization and the group behind the bombing. And if the people or persons behind the bombing were by some miracle connected to who they had been tracking…

"He can help." His words help a certain air of finality to them, a small grin making an appearance under his hood.

Another sigh, but not a no.

Price wasn't as thrilled by König's proposal as Ghost begrudgingly was.

"You want to what." König wasn't a fearful man–unless he was ordering from a drive-thru, that shit was terrifying–but when the Captain looked at him like that. Let's just say he was forever grateful for the cloth that obscured almost the entirety of his face.

"Keep him." And if his voice comes out a little smaller than normal… no one mentions it.

To his right, König hears Ghost let out another heavy sigh. For a man who used to take a blowtorch to a hostage's skin and quite literally wears a skull stitched onto his face every day- if you'd asked König, he'd tell you the Lieutenant had grown soft. Or, well, soft-ish. He would still slit a man's throat without question.

"Why'd you wanna do that?" Gaz pipes up, giving König a blank, indecipherable expression. Coupled with his tone, König couldn't tell which side of the fence he was leaning towards. He knew Gaz, out of all of them, was the one with a more strict moral compass–something König both admired and thought of as foolish–but he also already didn't like their current hostage. So, discerning whether the other man would be for or against his proposition was a complex feat. König would have to walk that fine line, choose his words carefully, to sway Gaz's opinion in his favor.

"We could use his help." Is what König finally lands on. Not leaning too far into what Ghost had described as treating you like a tool, but not dipping into friendly territory either. An even middle ground.

"From what Ghost and I managed to gather," well, König had gathered. Ghost more or less just stood in the background as a silent spectator. "He claims he's been abandoned by someone he'd only refer to as "she". That this woman brought him here from wherever he came from to follow some lead- but that lead seems to have been a dead end."

"A dead end?" If Gaz's thing was compassion and strict morals, Soap's was intrigue. Puzzles and demolitions, that's all it took to draw in their resident impulse-driven pyromaniac.

"A dead end," König repeats, now switching his attention to the Scotsman. "Turns out there was no target, not really. Or, at least, that is what it appears like at first glance."

Soap's eyes light up when König moves to reach into his pocket, fishing for the blank note. Bingo.

"At first, when we pulled this off him, we had assumed it to be blank," he unfolds the crinkled-up paper, mud, water stains and all. König reaches his hand out to pass the note to Price, keeping the others on the edge of their seats. "But if you take another look.."

Price inspects it with a deep frown, then passes it to Gaz, who looks at it with a skeptical raise of his brow, next is Soap then Ghost, and finally back around to König. Upon closer inspection, past all the grime and stains, there was a faint red scribble.

"It is like there was something here," he mutters, smoothing a gloved thumb over the worn parchment as if that will somehow make the faded words clearer.

"But someone must've purposefully scrubbed it away." Ghost adds, seeming much more interested than he had earlier.

Any other person would probably have brushed the now-pinkish, washed-out markings as blood. And König almost had; after all, you were practically swimming in your own blood right now. Clothes stained with it far past recognition.

Even so, he knew that wasn't it.

The paper had a slew of things it was coated in–some recognizable, some not–, but blood was, surprisingly, not one of them.

"Dae ya think 'e knows?" Two.

"Maybe he was the one who erased it?" Three.

"We won't know unless we ask him. But,"

They all look over to Price, waiting for the man's next words with bated breaths.

"We can't jus' do it outright." Price's steely gaze lands on König and he subconsciously stands a little taller.

"König's got the right idea. We can't jus' kill 'im. Not yet." Four. "Not until we know everything he does."

"Aye, Captain." Soap grins, pushing up from where he'd been resting against a wall. He tilts his head in the direction Ghost and König had come from. "Let's go wear 'im down then, yeah?"

"Preferably before he bleeds out." Ghost reluctantly grumbles. "Bastard already looks to be halfway through death's door."

Price looks to König, cocking his head slightly to the right.

"You said he believes he was abandoned, right?"

"That is correct, sir." The corner of Price's mouth ticks up.

"So no one's coming for 'im then?"

A sick twist of anticipation began to swell in König's chest, and suddenly he was a lot more confident than he was a few seconds ago.

"Precisely."

__

The last thing you were expecting after those two giants left was for them to return with the whole damn crew. You'd be lying if you said the leader didn't make every inch of your being tense up. There was just something in his eyes; that cool blue, warmer than König's but still so cold, gave off a deceiving "I'm not a threat" while simultaneously saying "flinch and I'll kill you".

The dark-skinned man and the baby-faced one stood a little ways behind you, and closer to the door. The leader took a seat in the chair König had been sitting in–assuming the same position the Austrian had. Skull-face stood in the same place and König took his place on your right-hand side. Standing just far enough behind you to barely graze your peripheral but close enough where you could feel his presence looming near you. Invading your personal little space bubble with his, so close if he leaned any closer he'd be brushing up right against you.

The leader tried his hand at interrogating you again. It went a little something like this;

"Do you know why she left you?'

"Probably had something to do with my bad attitude."

He gives you an unimpressed look. You simply raise your eyebrows in question. You had broken your vow of silence, but that didn't mean you were going to make it easy on them.

"König said you could help us. Mind tellin' me what exactly you could do to help?"

"I have connections. People who owe me a favor or two." Or five. Hey, in your defense, you had been in the game for a while.

"Are these connections… legal?"

"I highly doubt you care about legalities if you are conversing with me still," Then, just to be a little shit, you add a snide, "sir."

You swear you hear a small huff behind you and you brush it off as a figment of your imagination. After all, you had lost a ton of blood.. It was a miracle you hadn't passed out again from blood loss. At this rate, you should probably be dead. Or, at the very least, comatose or something. Not back-talking the man who was very literally your golden ticket to freedom.

You blamed it on the blood loss. Made you say stupid shit.

"What else can you offer us?" In other words; why should we keep you?

"One less Brit in your ranks?"

"..what?"

"You all could really use some diversity."

There's a pregnant pause before,

"Is making jokes all you're good for?" Skull-face speaks up from behind the leader.

"What can I say? It is part of my charm."

The bearded man in front of you lets out a heavy sigh. Something about that sigh told you this type of thing wasn't new to him. A small part of you perked up with curiosity. You then proceed to beat that part of you back down into a bloody pulp.

"Are you goin' to take this seriously or not, Mouse?" The leader captures your attention again and you shrug. You really should take this more seriously… but the lack of vital, life-supporting fluid in your system was making you loopy.

And stupid.

"König?"

Very stupid.

A small grunt from behind you.

"Hast du darüber nachgedacht, was ich gesagt habe?" (Have you thought about what I said?)

The man in front of you frowns, looking from you to König, to you again. But he doesn't stop you. Someone probably should.

There's a terse silence before König replies.

"Deshalb sind sie hier." (That's why they're here.)

Despite your slightly dazed state, you smile a little to yourself.

"Did you tell him?" Now the leader looks even more confused, if not a little more frustrated. Good.

"Tell me what?" His glare is now trained on König, and you know you've gotten the giant into deep shit now. Even better.

"Nein."

And just like that you, very foolishly, let out a small puff of what was obviously an attempt at laughter. Though a poor one.

At this is rate, you'd sooner get yourself killed than cut loose, but your mouth seemed to have a mind of its own. It also seemed to be keen on digging you into deeper shit.

"It is a good deal.." you trail off, narrowing your eyes a little at the leader. It would be great if you knew their names. But no one seemed interested in filling you in on that, so you continue, "you all could really use the help. After all, the only reason you lot even caught me was 'cause I was having a bit of a bad day."

"A bit of a bad day?" Leader asks.

"Aye," you drawl. Your heart thudded a few times in your chest, slowed, then picked back up again. Really, you should be dead, slumped over in your chair, by now. "Got blown up. Stabbed a few times.. broke a few bones.."

You give a sloppy grin beneath your mask. Yeah, definitely shouldn't be awake right now. "Bit of a bad day."

"He's useless like this, Cap'." One of the men from somewhere by the roll-up door pipes up.

"Agreed." Skull-face huffs. "Poor guy's all hopped up on adrenaline. He's not much use to us now."

The leader–Captain?–scrutinizes you for a few more moments before exhaling heavily.

"Alright." He grumbles, standing up from the chair.

"König," the Brit calls on the man beside you but keeps his stare trained on you, as if daring you to utter another smart-assed quip. "You were so damn adamant about keeping 'im, yeah?"

It's obviously a rhetorical question and the atmosphere shifts, the tension in the air palpable.

The leader, or, you guess, Captain–these men and their pretentious titles..–adjusts the beige-colored, boonie hat on top of his head and signals something to the two men by the door. You hear the telltale clanking of the metal being rolled up.

"You're on babysitting duty, Sergeant," he says in that displeased rumble–one you had become very familiar with during the first attempt at interrogation–as he makes his way for the door. "So get his arse back in the van, we're moving to someplace more permanent."

The other three men proceed to file out after their Captain, leaving you alone with the, now fuming, Austrian.

Annnnnnd…

"Maus." He grits out from behind you. You proceed to, very smartly, not respond.

Shit.

Instead, you stay stock still even as König leans over you and unsheathes a knife from someplace on his person. One heavy hand gripping your, thankfully, non-injured shoulder and the other reaching around to rest the blade beneath your chin. He urges your head up with the tip of it until your eyes–oh, yeah, he was definitely pissed–lock with his. In the short time you'd known him you had almost forgotten how downright intimidating only being able to see those pale, glowing blues staring through your very soul was.

"Sie werden es bereuen." (literal; you will regret it. Contextual; you're going to regret this.)

He, while maintaining eye contact, removes the knife and brings it down to hover just above your waist. Your own gaze can't help but flick between his and his weapon-welding hand. Self-preservation, you call it. König, after all, has that sharp metal alarmingly close to your dick.

You choose to ignore the thrill that causes your breath to hitch, an unfamiliar feeling stirring somewhere in the deepest pits of your hindbrain.

You watch as he–in a strange show of caution–places the gloved hand that had been on your shoulder beneath the coarse rope, thumb and fourth finger keeping the binding in place, and swiftly slices through the thickly twined fibers. He then makes quick work of doing the same to the rope wrapped around your thighs and ankles. The barest hints of warmth emitting from him easily seep through the thin, ruined cloth of your pants. But before you can think too much about how long it's been since you last felt the touch of another not-currently-dying human being, König pulls back.

When you look back up to search out his gaze you find he is no longer staring you down, his own focus entirely on freeing you from the bindings. The lack of pressure on your worn body is a relief and the next breath that leaves you is shakier than the last–you choose to believe it's just your body coming down from its adrenaline high.

The last of the rope that had been keeping your lower half bound to the chair falls away to the floor with a soft thump and König retreats completely to move onto your hands. Thank fuck for your own fabric-clad hands, you aren't sure how much more of this non-threatening touch you could take before you fucking imploded or something. All you can feel is the slight graze of his deft fingers against your concealed wrists, and even that is muted. Courtesy of the current lack of decent blood circulation to your bound extremities.

After that final piece of rope is removed, you're being yanked to your feet. Off-balanced and stumbling as blood rushes back to every limb, you nearly come crashing straight back down. König's firm hold on your forearm is the only thing that keeps you from taking an embarrassing nosedive into hard concrete.

Panting heavily behind the fabric of your mask, you groan as the world swims around you. König only spares you a few seconds to steady yourself and then he's making a sudden appearance in front of you and trading out his grip on your forearm to engulf your wrist–and subsequently almost your entire hand–in one large hand. He wastes no time in tugging you forward to follow in his footsteps.

You realize quickly that the time between the rest of the group leaving and König's undoing of your bindings hadn't really been more than a few moments–half a minute at most–, as the other members of König's team were just now turning a corner and leaving your field of vision.

How embarrassing, you think, it felt like a fucking eternity.

König easily uses his tight grasp on your wrist to lift you up just enough so you don't have to make the small hop off of the elevated ledge and out of the storage unit–thank fuck it wasn't your injured arm. You aren't sure whether to be annoyed at his blatant show of strength–seriously, the movement seemed entirely effortless on his part–or grateful you didn't have to make the jump. Your depth perception wasn't exactly the best right now and you probably would've just fallen right over. You doubted you would have even had the energy to catch yourself.

The walk out of this seemingly abandoned facility and back out into the scalding heat–huh, they must not have taken you very far–was surprisingly quick. Your barely lucid brain blocked out the majority of the dizzying twists and turns it took to find the exit. And soon enough you find yourself back in the loading space of that damn van.

This time you are mostly conscious, so you're granted the wonderful opportunity of bearing witness to the burning glares of the three other men seated on the opposite bench. König takes his place beside you and actively decides to not even glance in your direction. Instead silently communicates something to the other passive-aggressive passengers. Well, skull-face was definitely more on the aggressive side of the spectrum, but you were mostly certain he couldn't do anything. Or so you hoped.

The baby-faced one was looking at you with more curiosity than anything, a minor hint of defense hidden somewhere in those–why the hell does everyone here have the same eyes??–vivid blues. That barely concealed interest was more terrifying than skull-face's obvious death stare.

The Captain turned his attention to the Austrian beside you, nonverbally communicating his displeasure with a hard glare and deep frown. Ah, the dark-skinned man must've been the one driving the damn thing.

After a few more painstaking minutes of having a half-assed staring contest with the two men across from you, you give up and let your eyelids fall half-shut. Still nauseous with blood loss and possible infection, you pant lightly within the confines of your mask. Heat continues to build in the suffocating cloth and you let out another soft groan, unable to help yourself when you slump backward against the metal wall of the vehicle.

The ground moving beneath you does nothing to aid your current lightheadedness and you find yourself focusing most of your limited attention span on not vomiting in your mask. That would be a hellscape on its own to clean, and the humiliation would probably kill you off before the budding infection had the chance.

It doesn't take much time before you can no longer fight off the exhaustion weighing down the big ball of throbbing pain that is your entire body and your eyelids finally slip shut. Before you have the chance to force your eyes open again–this is definitely not an ideal place to fall asleep–a sudden heavy thwack against your mutilated shoulder does the job for you.

Your eyes snap back open, fully alert as you search out the culprit. You find König giving you a blank, deadpan stare and the venomous words sprouting on the tip of your tongue quickly fizzle out when you notice the van has stopped moving. In fact, you two are the only ones remaining inside. The other four are piling up just out of earshot, the backdoors wide open and showing off- well, nothing. It's dark and all you can make out are vague shapes in the background.

You huff and go to stand but König beats you to it. Still holding onto your wrist, he gives a sharp tug and you stagger out of your seat. You send him a seething glare but find that his attention is no longer on you.

König pulls you out the same way he had the storage unit; efficiently lifting you by your arm and out of the vehicle. You barely manage to keep your balance when your boots touch solid ground again and just that little bit of exertion has you sucking in ragged gulps of air.

When the Captain glances over to you two, König makes a show of lifting your arm into the air as if to say got it and the Captain gives a small nod in acknowledgment. You don't have the wherewithal to give a shit about being treated more like an object than a person, brushing it off and trading it out to take in your surroundings instead. Besides, it wasn't something you were exactly.. unfamiliar with.

Surrounding you is another compound. More well-kept than the storage facility you had previously been in, but still obviously worn. The stark white walls were practically glowing in contrast to the pitch-black, starless night sky. Besides some crumbling and scuff marks here and there–most likely from environmental weathering over time–the cinder block walls were almost pristine.

Your fuzzy, mush of a brain briefly considers asking König where the hell they had brought you, but your tongue is like lead in your mouth. Not that it really mattered, you highly doubt he would've told you anyway. You were a prisoner, after all. A prisoner who they were only keeping alive on the off-chance you could help.

Help with what exactly? You had not a clue. Hopefully, they'd soon get their shit together and tell you sooner rather than later. Then again.. what would they do with you once your use to them came to an end? Would they just end up killing you anyway?

Floodlights abruptly make an unwelcome appearance, bathing the courtyard in a blindingly white light and knocking that train of thought right out of your head. You cringe away from the sudden brightness, squeezing your eyes shut momentarily before blinking a few times in rapid succession to adjust.

You only have the time to register the sheer size of the compound before you are being tugged forward again and into the said building. As usual, you silently curse König's unfairly long legs and subsequent far longer strides as you try your damnedest to keep up. The nausea, burning full body ache, and pounding against your skull have yet to lessen. If anything it's become more of an issue now that you're not running on pure adrenaline.

You find yourself fumbling over your own miscalculated steps more often than you make a successful one, König having to more or less drag the majority of your dead weight along with him. The behemoth of a man doesn't even have the decency to make it look like doing so is any struggle. Bastard.

The interior lighting of the compound is somehow far much worse than the blaring exterior. You squint against the harsh brightness and it takes a few seconds for your pulpy mess of a brain to make out the shapes and colors in front of you. Or, well, the astonishing lack of colors. Dull shades of grey coupled with a blinding light. Perfect.

Someone's talking. Multiple someone's, really. But your ears are too stuffed full of cotton to make any sense of what's being said. The most you can do is try to read their lips–which proves to be futile–and try to gauge the emotional state of the men in the room.

The plainly, uniform-dressed men standing guard seem to not at all have a problem with the crew that had brought you in. Though obviously holding a subordinate position in comparison to the team, they shared easy smiles and small laughs with the group. The Captain appears to be keeping up a polite kind of façade–was this not his base?–as he converses with the two newbies. Skull-face, mohawk guy, and the Captain's obvious favorite all stand behind the Captain in an organized order. With skull-face standing the closest–was he some kind of right-hand man?–babyface and the third man stood at a respectful distance. Not too close, but just near enough to assist if needed.

König kept you a little more ways away from the others, a firmer grip on your wrist than before. It would probably hurt if the remainder of your body wasn't currently one giant sore spot. You realize why when one of the guards spares a glance at you and, spotting your eyes on him, immediately shrinks back and averts his gaze.

Ah, this definitely wasn't their base. Made sense. They all were clearly European and unfamiliar with the normalities of wherever the fuck you all were right now. Faintly, you remember the dark-skinned man complaining about how weird it was driving on the right-hand side of the road.

You're snapped out of your own musings by a harsh pull on your arm. A small noise of surprise escapes you and, before you know it, the guards are moving out of the way and you are being escorted further into the building.

Going off the darkness you had awakened to, it is obviously late at night, maybe even well into the morning by now, and the only people you all pass are all exhausted-looking security personnel.

König follows behind the other four down corridor after corridor, dragging you along behind him. Eventually, you all make it out into what appears like a sort of gathering place or common room. For a split second you think they're going to stop there, but, no, they keep going. Down more confusing hallways and through nonsense doors.

Then finally, finally, it all comes to a stop at an unremarkable metal door. Nothing on it, not even a little window, with the exception of the room number plastered next to it.

You squint at the numbers, trying to make sense of the blurry shapes. There's a small tugging in the back of your mind and, if you were any more aware, you'd almost say it was familiar. Huh.

The Captain unlocks and pushes open the door, then, before you even have the opportunity to protest, König yanks you close and shoves you forward. You stumble–again, seriously, did they think you were made of fucking steel??–through the doorway and only barely manage to break your fall on the closet wall. You stand there for a moment, panting and bracing against hard concrete, while the others file in.

If it wasn't for the unnecessarily heavy thunk you probably wouldn't have realized that the door had been shut. Your vision blurs then blacks out for a split second while you catch your breath, and the only thing on your mind is; how the hell am I not dead yet?

You're only given a few more moments of rest then you're being pulled by the wrist again. Unable to even really feel your legs anymore, the sudden brushing of something solid against the backs of your knees is all you have to tell you you've even moved. You don't have to be told twice to sit, hell, you probably wouldn't have been able to hear them if they had given the order.

You drop your weight instantly, unable to hold yourself up any longer. You can't feel much through the fabric separating your fingertips from what's below, but from the slight give when you press down, if you had to guess, you'd say you were seated on a cot of some kind. It's not the most comfortable, but it's the best thing you've had in a long, long while.

Lifting your gaze at the sound of someone's voice, you blink rapidly in a vain attempt at refocusing your vision.

"Hm?"

All four men standing in the room give you vaguely concerned grimaces. Well, you assume König and skull-face do, judging by the crinkling of their limited expression.

"I said-" the Captain begins. Not that you hear any of what comes after that. Head full of cotton and feeling simultaneously like you're both floating and being weighed down by a ship's anchor, you're left futilely trying to read his lips. But that only makes the pounding in your head worsen and you screw your eyes shut again.

Cradling your head in your hands you lean down, elbows propped up on your knees. You suck in shallow, shaky breaths, fruitlessly trying to get the proper amount of oxygen to the lump of mass that is your brain.

When your eyes flutter open again the lights have been dimmed just enough to take the edge off, reducing the strain on your eyes, and you immediately slump in relief. You think you mutter your gratitude under your breath, but, really, you're far too out of it to be certain.

A few more muffled words and the soft thumping of footsteps later and the door opens then shuts one last time. You look up expecting to see nothing but an empty room, a little caught off guard when that behemoth of a man is still looming near the door.

"We should really get you checked out," König says, giving a brief once-over at your disheveled appearance. Giving a noncommittal hum, you take a look down at yourself.

You had not bothered to take full stock of your person since the initial confrontation–and even that was a laughable inspection at best.

Every inch of your exposed skin–which, truthfully, wasn't much–was coated in a layer of mud and your own blood. Your thin civilian outfit was in a similar state of disrepair; caked in blood, more mud, and bits of stuck-on foliage as well. Accompanied with the occasional tear and hole here and there, of course.

"I'll get a medi-" Before he even gets the word out you're launching yourself up and off the bed. Charging at him despite how unsafe that currently is and reaching up to slam your grimy, gloved hand over where you assume his mouth is.

König quickly and easily peels your hand away by the wrist, staring down at you with less anger and more of a really, what are you doing? kind of look.

"Nie." (No.) You breathe as your only explanation. You had had enough of fucking medical staff in your time before your years-long solo operation began. Unknown injections, emotionless stares, and needles. Needles, needles, needles. So many fucking needles. You didn't visit those sterile, frigid laboratories often these days–though you were still required to come in every now and again for a routine 'checkup'.

"No?" König finally breaks through your suddenly hazy headspace–this time said fuzziness wasn't the result of excessive blood loss. You'd rather it were.

"Nie." You repeat again, and there must be something in your voice–something unlike yourself, something a bit too human–because König relents without further question and drops your arm.

"I can't really let you die on us, Maus." He points out with a deadpan stare. Then, probably realizing that phrasing sounded a bit too worried, he adds, "What use would you be to us then?"

"Let me do it."

"You can barely stand up straight and you expect me to hand you a needle?"

"I would rather me than you or some pea-brained white-coat." You huff, narrowing your still very unfocused gaze up at him. You hope it lands, you can't really see clearly right now.

König holds your stare for a few seconds longer before letting out a resigned sigh and looking away. "Fine."

He gives your uninjured shoulder a nudge with a gloved finger and rumbles a low, "Sit down."

You're about to bite back with some witty retort but the words get stuck in your throat when you realize just how close you two are. In your rush to cut off the words spewing from his mouth, you had somehow ended up crowding into his space in a very.. unprofessional way. Chest puffed up in a show of defiance and, subsequently, pressed right up against the other man.

That same, unfamiliar twinge in the furthest recesses of your mind from back in that god-awful storage unit begins to stir and you jolt away sharply. Jumping back and scurrying over to the cot at a faster rate than really necessary, as if that simple touch had burnt you. And, to be frank, it had. Indirectly.

König cocks his head, analyzing you for a brief moment, then shakes it off. Thank fuck. Having quickly averted your gaze, all you hear is some faint rustling and then his legs appear in your line of sight. A small first-aid box materializes from his hand and you lift your own trembling one to take it.

"Thanks." You mumble. You were a monster, not impolite.

König makes a light huff and retreats. Grateful for the, mostly likely unintended, room to breathe, you fumble with the kit before finally managing to wrench the damn thing open. Placing the box beside you on the bed you ungracefully free your first victim from its confines; your thigh.

Stab wound number one, thankfully, has stopped bleeding. On the other, far less favorable, hand, the injury is already a burning, angry red. A light poke at the inflamed skin with your finger has you hissing against the sharp sting.

Deciding keeping up appearances was much less important than your health, you make efficient work of removing both gloves. Also soaked with mud and blood, they would do no more than worsen what was already the beginnings of a very, very serious infection.

There's a bottle of saline solution in the kit and you uncap that first. Folding the bled-through, makeshift bandage in half, you use it to catch the liquid rather than letting the filthy solution drip onto the floor. After flushing out the wound as much as you can–without running the bottle dry, you've still got another to clean–the next step is the worst of them all. Stitches.

If you had it your way, you wouldn't use them at all. You had a tendency to forgo using a needle and thread whenever you could–only stooping to that level when it was absolutely vital. Like right now.

Even then, you only knew one form of sewing; intermittent sutures.

Tearing open a sterile needle packet you, surprisingly enough, make easy work of threading the surgical cotton through the eye of it. Pinching the slice shut with your non-dominant hand, you position the end of the curved metal about a centimeter from where the damn thing starts.

The first pierce of the needle into your tender flesh forces a strained whine from your throat, eyes beginning to water. You blink away the budding tears, exhale a shaky breath, and tie the thread off.

One suture down, an ungodly amount remaining.

Your hand only gets more unsteady as time goes on. Making each stitch more lopsided than the last.

Your vision swims for a brief moment and you swallow back the growing lump in your throat. Come on now, you can do this. You've done this so, so many times before. What was so different this time around?

Just a few more to go. That's all. Then you will be done.. well, then onto the puncture in your shoulder. The shoulder that also happened to be connected to your dominant hand. Great.

"Maus."

You can do this- just stab, push through- wait no, not like that. Pull it out again. Now, do it properly this time-

"Maus." Black gloves invade your sight and you grunt, trying to look around them.

The next time the needle pierces your skin it goes in just short of perfectly–success!–but it's good enough. Will keep your blood in, at least. Then comes tying it off and- come on, don't be difficult now.

Just toss over- like tha- wait, no. Just lift and- fuck.

A low rumble is all you hear and then those gloved fingers are wrapping around your wrist once more and effectively halting your progress. You huff, looking up to glare at him only to find his own hardened gaze staring down at you.

"-keep trying, you are only going to hurt yourself." Wait, had he been talking this whole time? "Then what use would you be then, hm? You would be of no help if you died because of your own damn stubbornness."

You feebly try to tug your hand back, but he doesn't budge, simply using his other hand to pluck the needle from your hand. Narrowing your eyes, you do the only thing you can do; throwing hundreds of imaginary knives at that stupid smug look in his eyes and internally cursing him out.

After your two's little staring contest goes on long enough for your captured hand to start going numb, you relent. Letting out a heavy sigh and dropping your gaze.

König makes a small noise of approval and releases your wrist. You don't watch as he finishes up the mess of stitches sewn into your thigh, nausea returning with a vengeance and forcing you to shut your eyes again.

He finishes up relatively quickly, faster than you probably could have in this state, and rinses the wound again before pasting a bandage over it.

"I need you to look up."

"Hm?" Light pressure under your chin causes your eyelids to flutter back open and you frown.

"Wha-?"

"Up." He reasserts, using his guiding touch to urge your head up and out of the way. Forcing you to straighten out your shrimp-like posture and provide König with access to your injured shoulder.

Said shoulder that was more bruises and blood than it was untouched flesh; able to get a decent look at it now that König had removed the sloppy work that was your mess of torn fabric and duct tape.

He repeats the same steps you had to clean the wound and this time you watch. Less so keeping an eye on the weeping wound and more so on the hand sticking the–new, he had discarded the one used on your thigh–thin metal through your skin. He's surprisingly delicate with it, despite his size he is far more precise with his sutures than you had been. Carefully inserting the needle and tying off every knot with practiced ease. Unlike you, he hadn't foregone his gloves, and that's why you notice it when you do. Having been so attuned to his busy hands.

His gloves are still stained with your blood.

Coated in a thick, dried layer of it. Dark against the already black fabric, flakes of crimson chipping off and drawing your eye.

It was the only part of him that showed any hint of wear from the morning's efforts. Every other inch of his uniform was speck-free, not a single item out of place, scuff mark, or splatter of blood.

It didn't make much sense for you to be fixated on such a minor facet after the laborious events of today. There were so many other things to draw your attention. Like the repeated motions of the curved metal puncturing your skin over and over again, for example. Or maybe his close proximity–accompanied by that weird feeling again.

But, no. Every last bit of your remaining attention span was focused solely on your own blood marking his hands. You sounded insane, even to yourself and that was an entire feat of its own.

You release a small breath of relief when he pulls away, slapping on another thick bandage over your second, freshly stitched injury. Then comes a sudden sting right above your eyebrow and you jolt away with a hiss.

Refocusing back into reality, König is still standing above you. Only this time he's welding an antiseptic-soaked cotton ball, also tarnished with your blood.

"Cut is deep." Is the vague explanation you get, coupled with a small gesture to your face. "No stitches will be needed. But,"

He reaches down to rifle through the first aid kit and makes a soft sound of victory when he finds whatever he's looking for. Holding your face still in one hand, he dabs at the cut a few more times before switching sides and drying it off. König throws the dirtied cotton along with wherever he'd discarded the scraps of your clothes and other miscellaneous trash.

Next comes another burning sting as he presses something over the wound. A few 'something's.

"A few pieces of tape should do the trick." He muses as he smoothes the sterile strips against your skin, the faint metallic scent of your own blood flooding your senses. Gross.

You really needed some sleep, or maybe it was finally time to check yourself into some kind of mental reform. Seriously, this was getting out of hand.

"Now," König pulls away for the final time, doing a brief scan of your exhausted form and nodding to himself. "Sleep."

You half expected König to leave it at that, to exit the room like the other four had. And probably lock the door behind him. Your hopes are crushed when he takes a seat a few feet away from your cot, settling into an uncomfortable-looking chair you hadn't noticed beforehand.

Oh, right. The Captain had assigned him as your personal babysitter. How fucking lovely.

Scooting back to slump against the wall furthest away from the other man, you send him a weak glare. Wanting nothing more than to argue that you can't sleep like this–not with him watching over you like some damn stalker–you find that when you try, you can't.

For what feels like the millionth time today, your eyelids droop until you cannot resist any longer. Falling completely shut and likely not going to open for a while, you give in. Unable to find it in yourself to give a damn right now.

Besides, you could.. moderately trust König wouldn't murder you in your slumber. He hasn't yet. And that seems to be enough for your sleep-deprived brain, as sweet unconsciousness soon drags you under.

___

One | Two | Masterpost | Next

___

(finally figured out how to tag y'all properly! Sorry bout that. Thought I was doing it right this whole time 😞)

@cptg00s3 @ruthgrimxiao @20nerd04-blog @gloma08 @mikahrh @in-down @hauntedapplefarm @mello-life69 @unkn0wnd3ad @tayaisback @starre-eyes @ravage-reposts @suhmie

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[scoobydoo-andnancytoo]

Reading Secrets Can Kill but I Share My Every Thought Chapters 5-8

- gym teacher borderline misogynistic ab cheerleading to Carla instead of just calling her irresponsible - Hal Morgan -> Hal Tanaka - Hal ran against daryl for class prez and im wondering if that's bc of Jake - Hal being blackmailed to write essay for Jake, maybe didn't actually copy an essay for this one - Jake has locker 515 - I don't think we know his locker number in the game ? which is a bummer bc that would be a simple fun tie-in - nancy uses a little lock picking kit which would honestly be a more fun puzzle/mini game than JAKE on the phone (esp bc puzzles feel so scarce in the remastered one to me) - Connie's bracelet inside locker so maybe he blackmailed her for it instead - i like Connie and Nancy being friends in the book - daryl sees her and smiles his "porsche driver's grin" whatever the hell that means ???

- daryl talks way too openly about her being a detective, idc if no one else is in the room - nancy ABANDONS investigating the video lab to ask Daryl to go for a coke. this is the biggest difference from the games because nancy wouldn't even stop sleuthing if Ned was deathly ill in those, meanwhile here's a man she just met and revved her engine at (never getting over that) and she's putting her case on the back burner - she literally tells daryl the last thing she wants to do rn is solve mystery. she's got it so bad wtf - Nancy's brakes aren't working as she's going downhill far too fast 😱 and Jake was poking around cars as she and daryl were leaving so Jake might be a lot more dangerous than he was in the game - they almost end up in an intersection until nancy veers them into the shoulder and after she almost kills them both she starts GIGGLING bc her car is due for inspection soon. ok girl. - her brakes were cut 😱 and then her car EXPLODES so....the affinity for explosions is the game seems to be in line w the book - hey maybe now nancy can get her dream Ford gt-e whatever convertible - after they got flung by the force of the explosion he's holding her and nancy is just thinking ab how "fabulous" daryls arms feel around her. GET A GRIP NANCY U ALMOST DIED - she and daryl had been kissing and now she finally, finally remembered Ned exists and feels bad lol - nancy thinks it's Jake and daryl asks what she's gonna do and she says "talk to him about it. first thing tomorrow" and personally if someone cut my BRAKES i would not simply chat with them about it ??? - bess and george are also like "hey maybe tell the cops instead of just talking to the guy who tried to kill you" but nancy is "confident she can handle him" HE CUT UR BRAKES !!!!!!!! what r u talking about nancy - Jake is dead now and i hope nancy will suspect daryl considering he knows she thinks it was him who cut her brakes and might have done it to ~protect~ her - I thought nancy would've been the one to find him when she went to confront him but ig not - Jake got beat up before being pushed down the stairs so im wondering if that'll be daryl but w/o him killing Jake - it seems like no one is pretending to be or acting sad that Jake is dead so ig the game fits the book - I would still pretend tho like??? - daryl does not seem to have found the body - even with all this nancy makes a point to make Carla jealous and kiss daryl's cheek she's soooo into him - nancy breaks in to Jake's locker pt 2, evidence tampering edition: wire cutters!! so he def tried to kill her, - nancy would bet her "$50 designer jeans" that Jake made the video and im stuck on the $50 part like who are we considering designer here??? - she finds an article ab walt (blech) having a football injury and if he couldn't play in the all state Champs he'd lose his scholarship but he "poo-pooed" the injury. you guys. i can't do it w this dialogue that is TERRIBLE - he also had SAT answers in there and I wonder if that's what Hal vs the essay from the game - I wonder why they changed that? it's interesting figuring out all the differences - desperate to know what he has on Connie tho !!!! - Brenda Carlton catches her committing a felony! idk who this lady is - OK investigative reporter girlie and nancy should team up and have an enemies to lovers arc forget Ned forget daryl idc - nancy is VERY murdery in this book between wanting to push Jake down the stairs and going "she promised herself one day she was gonna close that reporters notebook for good" like this is not the same girl detective that only blocked moves and never went on offense at the end of DAN - video lab has been trashed (hey maybe you should've investigated it before and not gone for a death ride w daryl instead !!!) - magically, the one not-trashed area has Jake's evidence tape - walt "hunk" hogan doesn't seem to be using steroids he's just badly injured and hiding it for the sake of his scholarship :( - this just seems messed up that he could lose it over an injury and is maybe doing worse damage to his body as a result - someone is hiding in the supply room of the video lab 😱 luckily she was smart this time and ran instead of confronting them - OK nvm door won't open and she hears footsteps behind her, confrontation imminent but also I feel like it'll just be daryl or smth and he saw her running but wasn't the one in the video lab

[hezuart]

That anaversary aizen looks absolutely fabulous, he looks like a figure skater xd.

I heard along time ago the last arc of the anime was being animated finally bc they pulled a 90s sailor moon were the last season was not either animated or dubbed untill decades later.

I recall near the end of the current 366 episodes there was an episode were the creapy demon ppl woke up in hell and we're all bitter, and there was the other guy who was like, iM cOmEiNg FoR u IChIgO, but then is never mentioned again after and I'm like,why? Why is lt there just plopted randomly into a different arc that seams unrelated.

And locking aizen up underground seems ok, but It deff won't hold, and he will. Escape, and he will kill, you either need that one spell from star, dubbed, the darkest spell of moon the undaunted, a powerfull dark spell that killed immortal beings, that came from best character, eclipsa, the queen of darkness.

We need that.

Or stick him I'm crystal like eclipsa was in star. Is there no one who could trap him in ice or crystal for all eternity.

How about throw him into the centre of a volcano trapped and caged , forverr being killed by heat?

I assume there's space travel, send I'm into a black whole, were a black whole don't fuckin care if your immortal or fat, you will die

:3

Yes, I love anniversary Aizen. His original octopus-butterfly hollow design was ugly so I'm glad he's back to being the fashion icon he is.

Locking Aizen up underground once is one thing, doing it twice after saying he got more powerful by just sitting there, and he escaped to battle the Quincy Soul King God... is another. I think he should have escaped at the end of the Quincy arc. That is the only feasibility.

I heard the anime is coming back for the Quincy arc as well, but because of COVID its probably going to be delayed. (I'm not gonna watch it until the Rain section of the arc then I'm dipping out. I'm only here for Zangetsu)

and funny that you mention that hell scene in the manga :)

-> spoilers for the new BLEACH 73 page anniversary chapter / thoughts/critique on it

So hey you had a premonition! Syazel .... returned? And his hole is outside of his body??? for some reason???

(I didn't understand the explanation or why / how that happens and what that means for the hollow)

And my friend and I were laughing because out of ALL the things. Kubo could do in this anniversary. He gave Syazel his dick back after going to hell. That is iconic. (that's where his hole was located, and now that its not on his body ... well...) This is the funniest thing Kubo has EVER pulled. Kudos to you, sir.

The entire internet is freaking out over Ukitake being in hell. Honestly Kubo has done far worse, and we've established that Soul Society is a corrupt system that hasn't changed, so I'm not surprised he would pull something like this.

At the same time, Kubo 1. cheated his audience. 2. continues to prove me right that he cannot bring himself to kill his characters

1. Hollows who have commit murder in their human life are sent to hell. Syazel and Aaorniero are two of these hollows, and yet, when they are killed, there is NO gates of hell scene. We see them there later in the hell chapter (which was more of a promotion for the fourth movie and I didn't believe it would hold any merit)

But the same goes for Ukitake. We never see the gates of hell take him. What, was hell late? Did hell's gates get lost like an uber before picking him up? It's bull. Withholding such vital information from your audience, not showing the gates of hell when they should pick up this soul IMMEDIATELY is ... I mean its a lie. Kubo lied to his audience.

2. Now we are told powerful shinigami are sent to hell when they die. First of all that sounds like a security threat. Wouldn't shinigami want revenge for that? Or attempt to escape? Why would they still hold loyalty after being sent to a prison of eternal suffering?

Also "Yhwach and Aizen" were the only ones keeping Hell's gates closed is way too convenient and doesn't really make any sense. I feel like Aizen should have deliberately gone to hell to retrieve powerful shinigami / hollows for his army instead of keeping it /closed/.

This is definitely a Kubo-doesn't-know-what-he's-doing-and-is -making- stuff-up-as-he-goes, but it might have a pinch of merit because of previous plot lines.... but either way, there's some big plot holes here, but again, its Kubo, so I expected nothing less.

Again, he can't kill off his characters. He introduced zombification, he introduced immortality through the hougyoku, he has Orihime and Hachigen's reversal / rejection abilities. He brought back Luppi, friggen.... a character who's entire upper half of his body was incinerated. Like.... come on. No. He's dead, you can't bring him back like that. That's a cop out and just weird. You're taking away consequences and grief.

(Also Yamamoto and Unohana deserve to be in hell far over Ukitake, they've done some fcked up stuff in their pasts unlike him)

Also Kubo's favorite character is Mayuri, which.... you're allowed to have a favorite problematic character. But Keeping said character alive and bared from the consequences of abusing his daughter, murdering innocents, and experimenting on your own squad members? Nah. Nope. Kill him, Kubo. Kill this dude.

(his weird attachment to Mayuri is probably why he keeps bringing Syazel back, since Syazel is Mayuri 2.0, but Syazel is the bad guy who does face consequences for his actions while Mayuri is not)

~

Also, I'm certain Kazui and Orihime are going to be THRILLED that their precious husband/dad is going to hell when he dies :)

(I just... Rukia teased Ichigo about leaving Orihime at home. She teased him about having a house wife who he leaves all the chores to. Orihime had two panels. She checks on her son who promised he would be at home and sleep. Kazui fcking breaks his promise like it never mattered to him and JUMPS out the window after pretending to sleep in front of his mother. ... An 8 year old... alone... in the middle of the night.)

Orihime is abandoned. She is not invited to SS, she is not informed of what is going on, her son leaves her.... I...

Orihime is a side character. She doesn't matter anymore. She hasn't mattered for a long, long time.

A part of me is glad she had little screen time, since she tends to waste it, but another part of me is embroiled with rage.

I've even see people try to defend this. "Orihime and Ichigo can't be together ALL the time, that's an unhealthy relationship!" and I'm like guys... that's not the point. The point is Orihime is not part of Ichigo's other life. Any shinigami stuff from now on is none of her business. She's going to stay at home while Kazui and Ichigo go off and save the world. Ichigo is going to be fighting by Rukia and Renji while Orihime watches from the sidelines, or worse, doesn't even know what is going on with her husband and son. Orihime is going to be uninformed and abandoned, because she has not proven she is capable of fighting by their sides(go on, @ me. I will fight this. She's a failure.), and also because she prefers a human life over a dead one. Which is ironic, because she married a dead man. Ichigo is a shinigami, and he will be one forever. god forbid she ever meets his Zanpaktou. She would tremble in fear at the monsters her husband harbors in his soul, especially when she realizes they don't care about her and would rather see her dead. (Zangetsu would absolutely kill Orihime. Not sure about Kazui, but Orihime has not accepted Zangetsu, she does not like either of them, and the feeling is assuredly mutual.) frick now I want to make a comic about this

Also still frustrated over Zangetsu's shikai / bankai regression. Kubo once again lied to his audience. Ichigo has no bankai. How ridiculous is that? The main character of BLEACH doesn't have a bankai. Insulting.

(RIP to Chad. He doesn't exist anymore. He's just gone. No mention, no cameo. Gone.)

Kazui is a demon child. That character from the novels? Hikone? They're the same character. Literally same personality, same power level. Its worse because Kazui is a liar. He constantly goes behind his parents' backs. He can summon creepy fish and creepy eyeballs and open portals like is ANYONE aware of this? How has SS not kidnapped Ichigo's son and experimented on him / locked away his powers yet? All substitute shinigami require a reiatsu controlling / spy badge to keep them in line. Where is Kazui's? Or is he just a weird fullbringer?

I was worried Kubo was gonna try and pull a knock off Boruto but luckily he kept the focus on Ichigo and the others. But that being said, Ichika and Kazui are now just... sort of there? Kazui was kinda just.... having his own adventure that doesn't matter to the plot at hand, and Ichika had some nice characterization at first but she just hid behind her dad the whole time.

I have a feeling Kazui is gonna step in at the last minute or do some major behind the scenes thing that indirectly interferes with the main plot so no one will realize how powerful and dangerous he actually is. Its sad because Ichika is the superior character in personality and likability, but she clearly is not going to have a bigger part in this.

Ichigo having a normal life after everything still feels extremely boring and uncomfortable to me. Everyone's like 'I'm still bLEACH!" but.... BLEACH just... doesn't feel like BLEACH anymore. It hasn't for a while now.

~~~

There's two new shinigami characters. Didn't care for the girl, but the Sign Language kid who talks to animals is adorable ... however... he just reminds me of Chad, and I just... it hurts knowing Chad has essentially been deleted. Chad and Orihime are officially benched. They have chosen the human world, and Orihime has given Ichigo his spawn so she has no more use/purpose to him anymore... ////sigh

~~~

Also. This is claimed to be a new "arc". So is the BLEACH manga coming back? What is happening. I thought Kubo was tired and didn't want to do BLEACH anymore. I thought Shounen Jump cut him off. People made so many excuses for Kubo and why the past two arcs have been so badly written the past 6 years and now almost everything they've attempted to defend him with has been revoked.

BLEACH is going to continue to screw up its plot lines and characters, so Its probably best for it to stay dead but I've seen a lot of Kubo stans drooling over this content, they're desperate for BLEACH's return, but its already given out all its possible revelations. There's really nothing else to top here. It's just going to make things up as it goes along ,and I'm not really here for half-assed writing like that, especially since the damage of rushing the previous manga has already been done. Kubo and Shounen Jump are riding off a money nostalgia. None of this was planned.

Honestly though.... overall feeling of this chapter, not as bad as it could have been.

Syazel stole the spotlight, and he's my friend's favorite character, so that's all that really matters.

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

“Just keep breathing. In and out. You’re doing great.” 11 with lewthur but with caretaker Arthur again bc it’s my favorite okay

HELL YEAH (source)

(context: instead of dying in the cave, lewis was “saved” and taken hostage by the station people, who also found reverb trapped in the arm. and they wiped vivi’s memories. juuust to be thorough)

Arthur never really expected to find Lewis anywhere they went – not after the first few times, it was just setting himself up for disappointment – but if he'd thought about it, he would have said that he was hoping not to find him here.

Lewis hated doctors, hated anything medical, hated white walls and being trapped and this place was the worst possible place for him. Underground and freezing cold, devoid of any real signs of life, full of cold, clinical language.

But as soon as Arthur noticed the musical theme of the place, a sick feeling of anticipation started to settle in his stomach.

That only got worse when they eventually found a room with a working computer. Arthur instructed Vivi and Mystery to watch the doors, and then started to search through the files – it seemed to just have a database, along with some other tools he wasn’t confident enough to touch yet. Most of the listed subjects weren’t human, were some kind of spirit or magic creature – but there was one, listed as human subject, that made his heart drop.

Harmony. He knew that name, remembered Lewis as a tiny child and that name sewn into the back of his shirt but if anyone said it he’d panic or shut down–

He committed the room code to memory and took off, not even bothering to give the other two a we’re going! first. The tunnels turned into a blur as he raced through them, barely stopping to check the signs for which way to turn.

Then, finally, they made it to the right room, and he slammed the door open. There was an observation window splitting the room in half, and he looked through it and–

–oh. Oh, god.

It was unmistakably Lewis, even with his hair out of its usual style and hanging in limp, dirty coils over his face, slumped over in the corner and god he’d lost so much weight–

“Shit,” he faintly heard Vivi breathe behind him, “shit, is that a person-?”

He didn’t have time to answer her, he had to get in there – but the door to into the test chamber was locked, someone must have left it like that when this place was abandoned not too long ago. He was reaching for the set of picks he’d stashed in his vest when he picked up a faint noise from behind the glass and his head jerked up.

Something... dark and smoky – mist? Fog? – was seeping into the chamber. Slowly, it took on a shape that looked almost... human. Its head – if it could be called that yet – was already focused in on Lewis, who was still unresponsive.

There was no time to pick the lock, he could feel it. Instead he backed up and balled his prosthetic hand into a fist and rammed it into the wall as hard as he could, and the glass, as it is wont to do, shattered.

He forced his way through the newly-made hole, paying no attention to the shards around the edge, and scrambled a couple steps forward before that thing had its eyes on him. It was forming a face now, glowing and sick green in a way that felt too familiar, in a blurry half-remembered way.

“Well, look at this!” it crowed, swirling slightly upward. “You’re actually here! It’s like a little reunion.”

Then it was moving for him, and there was nothing he could do to fight something that wasn’t corporeal –

And then Vivi stepped in with her bat at the ready, and Mystery hopped in after her, and the thing visibly recoiled, looking between the two of them. Its eyes settled on the dog for a moment, and it hissed. “You.”

Arthur didn’t pay too much attention to them – he was already moving for Lewis, dropping to his knees in front of him and with the monster at his back. 

“Lewis?“ he said, keeping his voice soft. He must have heard him, because his head picked up–

–and then he lunged back with a small gasp, eyes going wide with fear. He only got a little ways before something stopped him with a loud clank – he was bound to the wall.

“Lewis, it’s okay-” Arthur reached out to him with one hand, trying to reassure him, and then snapped his attention to the chains. He kept up a steady stream of reassurances as he worked, “it’s okay, you’re safe now, you’re going to be okay, just hang on.”

By some incredible stroke of luck, for which he spent a moment silently thanking whatever-was-watching in his head, whoever was in charge of the security in this place had made the common-but-still-embarrassing mistake of buying from a company that sounded fancy but didn’t actually have any idea how to make a lock. He shimmed it open in barely a second and the entire thing fell apart.

He looked back to Lewis, who still seemed frozen – had he even recognized him yet? – and scooted a little closer, reaching out again. This time he didn’t flinch away, and Arthur was able to close the distance and put a hand on his cheek. It was tacky with dried tears or sweat – it was impossible to tell – and his eyes were almost sunken, surrounded by dark circles.

“Lewis, it’s me,” he tried again. “I’m here now.”

He drew a little closer and then Lewis practically fell into him, burying his face in his shoulder. His breathing was shaky, unsteady, and if he was trying to hug him he was too weak to even get his hands up to his shoulders. Arthur just held him for a moment, rubbing his back with one hand, trying not to pay attention to the outline of his ribs and spine.

“We need to move,” he said after a moment, remembering that Vivi and Mystery were still holding back that thing. “Can you walk?”

“...dunno,” was the hoarse, almost-whispered reply.

“Okay. Just lean on me, okay? I’ve got you.”

They stood up together, Lewis’s legs shaking and threatening to give out before Arthur caught him and supported him a little more. This time, Arthur remembered to call out to Vivi as they were headed for the exit, and he briefly saw her head jerk around before he looked back towards the hole they’d made in the glass. He briefly struggled to get Lewis over the hole without scraping his knees, he couldn’t lift his legs high enough – and then Vivi was on his other side and, without another question, lifting him up and dragging him along, and they all started to run.

They were almost to what looked like a fire exit, when Arthur heard that indistinct whispering that had preceded the spirit’s arrival earlier. He saw wisps on the edge of his vision and could only try to move faster. Vivi suddenly disappeared and Lewis dipped forward, slowing both of them down significantly. The spirit was forming again next to him, that same sick grin stretched across its face–

Vivi’s bat connected with the thing’s chest and it exploded in a shower of ice-blue light.

When the light cleared, there was a frozen impact of ice shards in its chest, and it was visibly reeling. Vivi stared at it for a second, and then turned and ran for the others again, and that was everyone’s cue to start moving.

Arthur shouldered the door open, and thankfully there were only a few stairs, and he could see the bright orange of their van through the trees.

“Vivi, you drive,” he said when they were getting close to it.

She stared at him for a moment, visibly bewildered by this request. “What? I can-”

“Please.” He couldn’t leave Lewis alone, and she didn’t know what was going on, didn’t know how to help.

Maybe she could see or hear his desperation, because she didn’t argue anymore, just nodded and headed for the driver’s seat.

“Where are we going?”

“Home.”

Arthur helped Lewis up the steep ledge of the van’s back doors, and then they both dropped to the ground, and it was silent for a moment as the van’s engine whirred to life and they started moving.

It didn’t take much longer for Lewis to start hyperventilating.

Arthur was there in an instant, pulling him to his chest again, and forcing his own breathing to be even and slow as he rubbed his back and murmured reassurances. “It’s okay. You’re safe. We’re gone, you’re never going back there. Just keep breathing. In and out. You’re doing great.”

It wasn’t long before he devolved into what might have been weak, hiccupy sobs, though he was too dehydrated for any actual tears. Arthur started carding one hand through his hair.

“You want some water?” he asked after a while. Lewis just nodded unsteadily against his shirt. 

Arthur pulled away a little and grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler. He helped Lewis drink, guiding the bottle with his hands.

After that, Lewis just stared at him for a while, and then reached out and put a hand over his.

“This... is you? You’re... real?”

His voice was still weak, but not quite as ragged as it had been before. Arthur picked up his hand and squeezed it.

“Yeah. I’m here. I promise.”

--

Lewis spent most of the next day pretty out of it, sleeping occasionally only to jolt awake at the slightest disturbance. Arthur barely left his side the entire time, except to grab water or something light to try to coax him to eat. He was always there to hold him and offer reassurances that yes, he was here, this was real, he was home and he wasn’t going to go anywhere.

At some point, pretty late in the night, Lewis was curled up against Arthur’s shoulder again, at the end of another bout of weak sobbing. He lifted his head only barely to speak.

“I still... smell like that place,” he murmured.

“You wanna take a shower?” Arthur answered, sitting up a little.

“Mm... too much work...” he laid his head back down again. “Don’t want you to leave...”

“I’ll help. C’mon.”

So Arthur pulled off the papery gown Lewis was still dressed in and helped him bathe, replacing the smell of sweat and disinfectant with the flowers and sweet vanilla of the bath soaps. He didn’t say anything about the large, messy, still-healing gashes in his side, just gently washed away the blood still left around the wound. He worked shampoo and conditioner through his hair, detangling the messy locks until they lay almost flat against his neck. The gentle rhythm lulled Lewis almost to sleep, swaying slightly as he sat in the bath, Arthur humming softly to him.

Once that was done, he helped him into clean pajamas, finally rid of every lingering trace of that fucking facility. Lewis’s own bed was dirty from him lying in it, so until the sheets could be changed, they both laid down in Arthur’s room instead.

They laid there in the darkness, the only sound a distant fan running in some other part of the house, and for a while, were just silent.

“...thank you,” Lewis said eventually, not opening his eyes.

“Of course,” Arthur responded immediately. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You came for me,” he continued. “I thought you were...”

Oh. He wasn’t just talking about the bath.

Arthur sat up a little, putting one hand on Lewis’s face and tilting it up toward his. “Hey. Look at me. I will always be there for you. No matter what. I’d look forever if I had to, okay? I would never leave you in a place like that.”

Lewis nodded slightly, and then went back to curling up against him.

“Thank you,” he said again, a barely-audible whisper.

[tsukifanbase]

Obey Me! Brothers Realize They Don’t Want M/C to Leave Devildom

Authors Note: aaaaaa not much to say here except.... enjoy!

Warnings: fluffffyyyy, lil bit angsty but like so is all of my writing hehe, nothin too bad

-----------------------------------------------

Lucifer:

- idk i feel like luci already kinda suspected he had fallen head over heels for you

- i alsoo feel like he probably tried to push you away after he noticed you had stolen his heart

- never fear though, dear (m/c)! because lucifer didn’t quite account for how difficult it would be distance himself, either because you kept popping up at just the right time or because he subconsciously missed you :)

- anywhosie roll the tape lol

- lucifer vaguely wondered where all the time had gone

- just a few moments before, he was grinding through a ton of paperwork for your return to the human realm, and it hit him like a ton of bricks

- you were leaving

- it stunned luci, sure, he had known you were leaving at some point, and he was literally signing papers confirming that very fact, but it hadn’t quite clicked for him yet

- for a moment, he felt no sadness about your leaving, only shock and confusion

- not about how fast the past year had moved, more so, luci found himself hating the thought of not having you by his side

- it stunned him, keep in mind, all this time luci thought he was keeping you at a distance, when in reality, maybe you were so easy to love that he hadn’t even noticed when he let you get closer

- lucifer snapped out of it, and glanced around his office, his eyes landing back on the paperwork that he had abandoned

- the date printed across the paper was the same one he had memorized so long ago, the day you were leaving

- luci pushed himself away from his desk, and practically ran walked quickly to your bedroom

- you didn’t notice when he walked into the room, you were distracted, staring at a framed photo of the brothers and you at some event you went to in the past

- you were smiling, and lucifer felt himself melt when he saw that

- and in that moment, it didn’t matter that luci used to see you as a distraction

- because he realized that he loved you

- and with that new knowledge, his next move came easily

- after all, lucifer would never allow someone he loved so dearly to ever slip through his fingers, ever again

- “lucifer?”, your voice broke his train of thought, he was smirking at you, you weren’t quite sure when he had begun observing you, it wasn’t that you really minded though

-”is something troubling you?”, although he had that flippin gorgeous smile spread across his lips, you always had a knack at knowing when something was wrong

- lucifer didn’t stop smirking, but he made his way over to you

- “may i?”, luci gestured for you to hand him the photo, which you did pretty much immediately 

- luci lifted the photo up closer so he could see you better, and then he chuckled as he handed the item back to you

- he pointed at mammon, “i seem to recall having to pour my drink on him that day”, lucifer chuckled to himself

- you looked surprised for a second, then squinted your eyes at mammon in the photo, his shirt was half drenched in an unknown, red liquid

- “i always wondered how he got soaked!”, luci smiled at you, then crossed his arms knowingly

- “do you want to know why?”, lucifer’s eyes remained glued on you, you were seemingly caught off guard, you then nodded

- “why?”, you asked, tilting your head slightly

- “he planned to ask you to dinner with him that evening”, luci seemed embarrassed for a moment, then his smirk returned 

- “so why did that warrant getting a drink poured on him?”, you questioned, and lucifer took him eyes off you for the first time since he had entered the room, he sighed, then brought his gaze back to yours

- “because i recognized how much i hated sharing someone that was mine”, he chuckled, a light pink spreading across his cheeks, “especially with mammon”

- now i wish i could say you looked shocked, you didn’t, you looked smug as hell lolol

- “i don’t want you to return to the human realm”, lucifer lightly picked up your hand that wasn’t holding the photograph, he figured he would be straightforward

- you grinned at him

- “then i guess i’m not going back to the human realm”

Mammon:

- okay okay so lets be real here we all flippin knew mammon had a crush on you

- that included mammon actually

- he didn’t suppress his feelings like luci, in fact mammon had always been pretty open about the fact that he liked you, a lot

- mammon also realized you were leaving soon

- and that put faze one of his plan into action

- his logic was pretty flawed on this one y’all, but mammon figured, you couldn’t leave if hypothetically your transfer papers weren’t signed, or you were late for school that day, orrrr... i think you can see where i’m going with this

- mammon was determined, he would not let you leave devildom that day

- and that brings us to you, an hour late for school already, because your alarm hadn’t gone off

- you pulled on your uniform, and double checked that all your bags were packed, before making a mad dash out of the house of lamenation 

- you checked your watch as you ran to the school, yes, you had definitely missed most of first period, but as long as you were in the school by the end of the day, you would be returning to the human realm without an issue

- or so you thought, turns out mammon had a million different things planned to keep you by his side indefinitely

- he had bribed your first period teacher to give you detention for being tardy, since he knew the teacher probably would have let you off the hook, seeing as it was your last day

- and yes, mammon spending his money on someone other than himself was usually unheard of, but who can say? desperate times call for desperate measures

- sometime before lunch hour, you wandered into the bathroom, making sure you looked decent, after all, you hadn’t really been able to check your appearance that morning

- in the mirror behind you, you saw three lower class demons wander into the restroom, giving you an evil smile that you just knew meant you would be late to your next period

- it was then that you realized something abnormal was clearly wrong

- the demons that had entered after you hadn’t said anything, nor made any more to hurt you, they simply stood by the door, knowing you weren’t going to take any chances with trying to get past

- they were keeping you in there, so what was their motivation?

- someone must’ve put them up to it 

- eventually you were able to leave, the demons seemingly lost interest, you sighed and made your way to detention- it took place during lunch hour

- you took your seat in detention, and after a bit, you heard your teacher, that was supposed to be monitoring you, leave the room

- the teacher didn’t return, and the bell for your next class rung 

- you walked over to the door, and attempted to open it

- the door was jammed

- because of course it was

- instead of yelling for help, you sighed and pulled out your phone

- you had a pretty good idea of who could’ve been behind all the bad things that had happened to you that day

- your phone barely rang once, before mammon picked up 

- “hey, (m/c), what’s up?”, you could almost feel the nervousness dripping off his voice

- “mammon, why am i locked in a classroom right now?”, you replied, and just as you could hear mammon’s nerves, he could nearly hear the absolutely terrifying, ‘im gonna kill you’, smile that you had on your face

- mammon chuckled nervously, “sorry (m/c)! it’s for your own good!”, then he hung up

- you scowled at your phone, then went to call levi to tell him to come let you out

- it was pretty clear that mammon didn’t expect to see you sitting in your last class of the day, one of the classes the two of you shared

- he walked in with a big, smug smile on his face, which very quickly turned to a look of surprise, then fear

- mammon nearly walked out of the classroom, luckily the teacher was there to drag him back in by his jacket

- he sat down next to you, and attempted to pretend like nothing was wrong

- “hiya (m/c)! how’s my favorite human’s day been?”, you stared at him blankly

- the teacher still hadn’t started the lecture yet, so it gave mammon time to finally admit and explain his master plan to you

- he was sheepishly glancing away from you by the time he was done whisper rambling, he mumbled out a quick and quiet, “’m sorry, okay?”

- the teacher finally started lecturing the class about devildom history of something, when you broke out into a fit of quiet laughter

- mammon completely disregarded the teacher, blushing furiously, he thought you were laughing at him

- “hey it’s not that funny”, he pouted a bit before you seized your laughter, and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself

- “you know you could’ve just asked right?”, you giggled a bit after you whispered that to him

- “huh?”, that caught mammon off guard

- “you could’ve just asked me to stay here with you”, pink dusted your cheeks, “i like you too mammon”

- you just killed him good job

Leviathan:

- ok ok ok levi is bb

- it took a little while for levi to actually trust you

- cos we all know that it takes a while for babe to warm up to people

- but hun when he finally does start wanting to be around you, you can bet that you’re his new bff

- it’s so cute like 

- by the end of your stay in the devildom, you’re hanging out with levi pretty much every day (i say pretty much bc he is an introvert, he likes his alone time, so while you spend most of your time together, expect that he’s gonna want to be by himself sometimes)

- anyways

- you two got to know each other really well through hanging out so much, and levi caught feelings really quickly

- you were the first real person to ever show interest in the things he liked, and the first person to really listen to him 

- you were kind to him, and also assured him that you enjoyed your time spend together, even when levi tried to insist you would never want to hang out with a yucky otaku

- so that brings us to the day you had to leave 

- you had spent the morning in levi’s room, and had noticed that he was being clingier than usual (although ‘clingier than usual’ for levi literally just means that he was sitting like an inch closer to you than usual lol)

- the two of you were just about to beat the final boss in your favorite video game

- you hadn’t really noticed how much levi was staring at you, after all, your focus was completely trained on something else

- but i assure you, levi found himself glancing at you every few seconds, almost like he was trying to make sure you were still there

- it flustered him, and levi found himself blushing at the thought, but he cared for you more then he ever could have imagined

- remember, levi hadn’t ever really had a true friend, other than henry, of course

- he had been lonely for so long, and now that he had someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life beside, who could blame him for not wanting to let you out of his sight?

- and while that could’ve been deemed as possessive, it seemed levi was just acting out of fear

- he was afraid, because he really didn’t want to see you go

- you dealt the final blow to the boss, causing the credits for the game to roll, and you let out a sigh of relief

- you turned to grin at levi, and give him a high five in celebration, you lowered your hand when you noticed that levi was already staring at you

- his expression not quite blank, levi looked sad 

- “levi?”, you tilted your head at him curiously, that seemed to snap him back to reality, and caused a deep red blush to settle on his face

- you smiled briefly before standing up to put the controller on a side table

- “is something wrong, levi?”, you turned back towards him to ask your question, “you’re not exactly as happy as i thought you would be after beating that boss”, you giggled to yourself when levi covered his blush with his hand, he was probably embarrassed that you had noticed 

- “no, nothing’s wrong”, you could barely hear him, he was mumbling 

- you went back over to where levi was sitting, kneeling so you were at his level 

- “you’re sure that nothing is wrong?”, you placed a hand on levi’s knee in a soothing manner, his blush deepened, any physical contact usually did that to him

- levi was covering his face with both his hands now, then he said something, his speech was muffled by his hands, you couldn’t make out what he said

- he huffed, then dropped his hands from his face to cross his arms across his chest

- “could you stay with me?”, levi whispered, “please?”, this time you heard him clearly, and you smiled in a way that made him go fuzzy

- you carefully raised one of your hands up to levi’s cheek, cupping his face, then you pressed a kiss to his other cheek

- “i thought you’d never ask”

Satan:

- okay so pretty much here’s the run down

- satan typically wasn’t one to share his reading time with anyone else

- while it was extremely easy to ignore outside distractions while he was concentrating on a book, satan still preferred to read in isolation

- something about the calming atmosphere, no other care in the world but his book, it was satan’s getaway from the hectic life he lived

- he never was willing to share that getaway until he found you reading in the library about a week into your stay in the devildom

- it was the first time that he wasn’t even remotely annoyed by another person’s presence during his reading session

- of course you weren’t silent, but he found himself comforted by your being there

- ever since that point, it was pretty common to find the two of you reading in the library together

- although satan found himself drawn to you even when neither of you were reading, sometimes he would find himself sitting on the edge of your bed, doing his schoolwork while you played a game on your d.d.d.

- if satan was being honest with himself, you were probably the first person he had never gotten angry with

- you never gave him any reason to get upset, and he adored that about you

- you were like a breath of fresh air

- that brings us to the evening before your departure

- you had slipped into satan’s room while he was sitting at his desk doing schoolwork, he noticed you entered, but it was so normal for the two of you to seek each other that he really didn’t feel the need to comment on it

- you settled yourself on his bed, and quickly lost yourself in your book, not noticing when satan would occasionally peer back at you over his shoulder

- it was probably about an hour after you had entered the room that satan finished up the paper he was writing

- he glanced over at the clock, internally sighing at how late it had gotten, then he turned in his chair to look over at you

- you had your head propped up on your hands, but your eyes were closed, and your breathing steady- you were asleep

- satan walked over to where you were lying on his bed, lightly taking your book from you and placing it on the bedside table, before he pulled the covers over you

- satan sat down on the bed beside you, carefully, so he wouldn’t wake you

- he smiled when you mumbled something in your sleep, and moved a strand of your hair from your face

- “i wish you wouldn’t leave me yet, my dear”, satan turned away from you to turn the lamp off, allowing the room to be engulfed in darkness

- “so who do i ask to rip up my transfer papers?”

Asmodeus:

- hmmm well we all know that asmo adored you in every way

- he finally had someone to go shopping with! someone who wouldn’t eat his things or steal everything once he paid

- the two of you were pretty much inseparable, it was cuttteee

- you were a regular on his social media, and all his fans loved you just as much as he did

- asmo insisted on helping you do your makeup and choose your outfit one day early in your stay, and from that day on, it was pretty normal for him to burst into your room each morning to help your fashion game 

- and pretty soon he was taking you to all his favorite shops and treating you to delightful food (he wanted to take pictures of it for his fans)

- the day you were supposed to leave the devildom, asmo woke you early, as if this were just any other day

- he decided to treat you to a special going away shopping trip, and said that anything you desired was as good as yours

- let’s get to the scene!

- asmo was holding up a shirt that was exactly your style, he had always been good at picking things you liked

- needless to say, you weren’t really focused on the shirt, and asmo would’ve been delighted to know that he was clouding your mind

- you didn’t want to leave the devildom, not only because you had come to see the brothers as family, but because you didn’t want to leave asmo

- all the time you had spent together had made you realize just how much you cared for him, and you were pretty much just waiting for asmo to ask you to stay

- “hmm? what’s this? my dear (m/c) you’re not getting distracted by my beauty, are you?”, he teased, glancing over the shirt before placing it back on the clothing rack. 

- pink spread across your cheeks, and you shook your head, before going to look through the accessories 

- you were close enough that you heard what he said next

- asmo let out a deep sigh, “i just can’t seem to focus today, knowing that i won’t be able to shop with my dear anymore”

- you turned to face him quickly, speaking before either of you really recognized what you said, “then why don’t i stay?”, you covered your mouth after those words slipped past your lips

- you looked up at asmo nervously, and found him staring back at you with utter awe, then it turned to joy

- asmo dropped whatever clothing he was holding and ran over to hug you, his grin brightening the room 

- “do you really mean it?”, asmo asked hopefully, to which you nodded, and he squeezed you into another hug, you sunk into his embrace 

- “i’m so glad”

Beelzebub:

- ok other than asmo, i think beel was probably the fastest to warm up to you 

- although that could’ve been because of your talent with cooking (honestly you could just be making box mac and cheese and beel would still love that you were cooking for him XD)

- it was probably a few days into your stay when beel was casually complaining about being hungry, he was usually ignored by his brothers when his stomach rumbled, so needless to say, he was a little bit surprised when you offered to make him something

- he nodded, followed you to the kitchen, and boom you got yourself a lovable, hungry boy as your new bff

- from then beel pretty much came to you ever time he was hungry between meals, because while he could make himself food, he enjoyed your company and honestly just liked it when you cooked for him

- that means we talkin about midnight snacks, brunch like every day, afternoon meal, you and beel were spending a lot of time together

- beel started coming to you not only because he was hungry, but because he wanted to see you

- you would tell him stories about the human world and about your life while you made cooked, and beel started to love the faraway look in your eye as you reminisced

- he found himself drawn to you, your familiarity, something about you felt like home, although he wouldn’t have put it that way

- beel only realized that he liked being around you, and when he found out you would be leaving him soon, he only seeking you out more

- you guys were sitting in the kitchen, it was early in the morning, before breakfast

- you were making pancakes, still rubbing the traces of sleep from your eyes

- little did you know, that was probably the first time ever that beel didn’t really feel like eating, and he zoned out staring at a pancake thinking about that very fact

- if he wasn’t hungry, then why did he ask you to cook for him? why did he seek you out, and wake up early to go ask you to do something that wasn’t necessary?

- “beel?”, you asked, noticing that the pancake you had set in front of him a few minutes prior was still untouched

- you walked over to where beel was sitting and placed a hand on his shoulder gently, he felt himself relax into your touch, “are you okay?”, you asked him quietly, you were just a tad bit concerned that he wasn’t eating, you had never seen a piece of food survive in front of him for more than three seconds before

- and just like that, beel spoke before he even truly realized what plaguing his mind himself

- “can you stay in the devildom?”

- you stared at him in brief surprise before your face broke into a smile

- “sure, if you eat the pancakes i made you”

Belphegor:

- ok ok ok ok so we all know that belphie had some trouble with humans when he first met you

- butttt as soon as you two became friends, he started noticing all the things he used to love about humans, all within you

- you found joy in little things, lived your life taking on every new challenge, one after the other gracefully

- you were empathetic, and it always stunned him, but you never got angry with belphie after he tricked you

- if anything, you treated belphie with more kindness than he deserved, because you recognized that he tricked you, and kinda sorta tried to kill you, because he was in pain

- because he needed to blame someone else for his sister’s demise, so it wouldn’t break him

- anyways, once belphie began trusting you, he wanted to be around you constantly which you were totally okay with haha

- you reminded him of someone who was dear to him once, and it made him want to stay by your side forever

- okkkk so needless to say, belphie was 1000% a bad influence on you haaa

- like he was clever enough to get away with things he shouldn’t have gotten away with

- for example, lazy boyo was lazy, so he would show up to class late pretty much every day

- however, unlike other students, belphie would just kinda appear in his seat at some point during the class

- it made the teacher question if they were going crazy or if belphie had just been there all along and they hadn’t noticed

- like the teacher would literally do a double take, like they’re scanning the room to ask someone a question and their eyes land on belphie, and they just go, ‘hang on’

- you rarely saw belphie doing his school work, yet he would always have perfect grades

- anyways back to the original point

- belphie had curious ways of getting what he wanted, and that was no different the day you were scheduled to leave 

- the two of you were sleeping, it was nearly noon, and you had been contemplating your escape from belphie’s arms for the past hour

- you had to be at RAD by the end of the school day, and at that rate, you would have missed the goodbye ceremony completely

- so it was either risk upsetting diavolo, prince of the devildom, or your sweet, sleepy boy

- you decided to take your chances with the one you knew better, and began the process of removing yourself from belphie’s grasp

- you took a deep breath of relief once you were out of bed

- it wasn’t like you didn’t enjoy cuddling with belphie, deep down you probably wished you could stay curled up with him forever, but you knew that you had to leave 

- you wandered into the bathroom connect to belphie’s room, and started brushing your teeth

- when you finished brushing, you turned back towards the bathroom door, where belphie was leaning, rubbing his eyes and yawning

- you froze, and then you gave belphie a guilty smile, “good morning, bel”

- belphie crossed his arms, “where do you think you’re going?”, he never liked being woken up early, it always put him in a bad mood

- you looked at belphie curiously for a second, had he forgotten you were leaving? now that you thought about it, he really hadn’t ever acknowledged that you would be returning home, not once had you ever talking about it

- “i-”, you started, unable to finish your train of thought, as bel interrupted you

- “you’re leaving?”, he asked, but instead of sounding angry like you expected, his tone with playful, and you finally noticed a folded slip of paper bel was holding between his fingers

- you tilted your head at him, “bel?”, he smirked at you and stepped closer, holding out the paper for you to take

- you took the paper from him carefully and unfolded it, scanning over the printed words

- it was a document, one regarding your residence in the devildom, and at the bottom of the paper, was lucifer’s signature

- “bel? what is this?”, you glanced up at him, he was staring at you in the most loving way you could imagine

- “the paperwork that means you can stay”, belphie said carefully, picking up your hand and playing with your fingers

- you stared at him in disbelief before pulling him into a hug, “thank you, bel”

[jangofctts]

I just think kami would want to show you everything and everywhere he loves and I also think that at the end of him showing you his favourite spots he’d sneak you into his ship and it’s cramped and you’re pressed too close but he is living! Because it gives him the excuse to touch you and your just trying to say I it’s bc it’s so small in here but then he starts kissing your neck and he runs his hands up your thighs and when you turn to look at him he kisses you and it gets too hot and your clothing can’t come off fast enough so he just shoved your panties aside and your shirt up so he can grab what he wants.... god he’s so hard bc it’s like his dream to fuck you in his shop and when he finally slips his cock into you he moans so fucking loud because he has to hold himself back so hard I-

EHEH I WROTE A LITTLE DRABBLE FOR YOU 

ct-8966 kamikaze (kami) // fem!reader

warnings: a wee bit smutty. also im comPleTEly ignoring the blueprints of a MA/AT shIP so please dont yell at me ewkkejwh

“Kami, we’re not supposed to be down here,” you whisper. Your heart squeezes like a fist when the he looks over your shoulder and flashes you a cheeky grin. He reaches for your hand that you readily give and tugs you closer to his crouched from behind the pile of cargo crates. You despise the way your cheeks heat from the mere brush of his shoulder against yours, warm and free from his armor.   

“Wouldn’t be fun if we were,” Kami shoots back. “C’mon, I just repainted her.”

Your grumbling protests are quickly silenced as he leaps up, dragging you by the hand across the hangar in a wild sprint. 

The ship does look nice. The fresh coat of paint takes away from the various blaster marks and the seemingly permanent dirt stains ingrained into the platting.   

“Do you like it?” Kami asks, tugging you closer until you’re both standing on the deck. He’s painted the interior too, a wash of teal, geometric lines and the basic shape of a rising sun over the hatch that sections off the front of the ship. 

“It’s alright, I guess,” you tease. “I’m surprised you didn't paint me as one of those pin up girls.”

A burst of laughter rings through the space. “Blanche would kill me. ‘Sides--we all know Bruiser would wanna take that job.”

You roll your eyes and continue the spur of the moment tour, eager to see whatever Kami deems worthy enough to show you. Another insight into he is as a person and not just that chaotic front of a cocky pilot--

But of course nothing ever goes as planned with him.     

“Damn,” he grumbles as the heavy footfalls of the night shift patrol echo near the ship. “Up we go.”

“Wait!” You hiss as Kami shoves you towards the ladder. “We cant both fit.” 

“You callin’ me thick?” He asks, attempting to mask his smile. It doesn't work.  

“Enormously thickheaded, you buffoon.”

Just as you say it, the white wash of flashlights run over the neighboring ships and fuck--you’re so fired. “We don’t have a choice. Move that voluptuous behind and we’ll have a fighting chance.” 

You bite your tongue, saving your retort for later and storm up the ladder, Kami close behind. Your suspicions are confirmed--the tiny platform right before the cockpit is far too small. Big enough that if Kami spooned you, you might be able to squeeze in two bodies and well--the pilot does just that. What the fuck. 

Kami tucks his foot in and above the ledge just as the reach of the flashlight crawls over the insides of his ship. You don’t care that Kami clutches you to his chest, arms locked around your shoulders as both of your hearts hammer wildly inside of your chests like a million feathered wings. The light lazily bounces around then disappears. You don’t realize you've been holding your breath until the footsteps fade away--your lungs deflate with a long sigh. 

The low reverberation of Kami’s chuckle beside your ear sends a shiver down your spine. Kriff--he’s tucked in close. Near enough that each time he breathes the warmth of his soft exhales disturb the fine hairs on your temple, tickling lightly over your skin. You clench your jaw. 

You squirm, cursing internally when the hem of your shirt rides up your side--it’s too fucking cramped in here. And dark. Kami’s hand is nothing but polite resting on the swell of your shoulder and stars, maybe it’s an accident when he moves it to your hip--calloused thumb resting right over your waistband. You bite your tongue and force yourself not to shiver when he sweeps the digit up...and then down...skimming that strip of much too sensitive skin on your side. 

“This is my favorite place,” Kami murmurs, his lightly chapped lips catching on the ridge of your ear. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and bite your lip, convincing yourself that the light circles he’s rubbing into your skin isn't pushing you towards madness. “What--spooning me?”

You feel Kami’s laugh vibrate through his broad chest, the tip of his nose nuzzling into the dip where your jaw meets your throat. “Pfft--you wish. I’d cuddle a clanker before you.” 

“Liar...” 

Kami’s shoulders lift with a shrug. “Maybe.” His hand inches higher, sliding your shirt to your ribs, the touch still light--tentative and allowing you that space to tell him to fuck off, leave it how it is and stay friends. Just friends. As if this past year was not spent orbiting around each other in a dance of witty banter, playful jabs and those lingering looks that are found in the lull of conversation. You always thought he had such nice eyes--crystalized honey abandoned in a glass jar as the first rays of dawn feather over it and turn it golden.   

When the plush shape of his lips tenderly touch your neck you shudder--a singular match that roars to life and alights your chest with heat. “Kamikaze.”     

He sucks in a shaky breath, removes his hand from your side and cups your chin. He shifts as much as he can in the limited space, almost draping himself above you so that the angle isn't as sharp when you look at him. 

There’s just enough light to see the muted tints of his red hair and the teal of his tattoos. He smiles and, Kriff, he's gorgeous. “Kiss me.”  

You don’t need to be told twice. You tangle your fingers into his short hair and yank him into a desperate kiss, both of you groaning in satisfaction. Maker, this feels so right--tangled in his arms as he’s gripping onto you so tightly, as if he’s terrified that you’d slip through his fingers. That this could be a dream and hell--it very well may be one, but you know a dream could never feel like this. 

He tilts his head and deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue past the seem of your lips and licking deep into your mouth--greedily seizing anything you’re willing to give. You blame the amount of space for how heated it gets, pressed so close with the risk of his body molding to yours as your lips lock with frenzied hunger. Making up for lost time you think--  

When you both apart for air, chests heaving with exertion, Kami mumbles your name and plants a chaste kiss right between your brows.  

Goosebumps follow in his wake as Kami’s fingers dance over you tummy. He Then takes your hand in his and guides it between his legs, a growing hardness glaringly obvious contained within his blacks.“’M thick in other places too, y’know...”

You grin. “Prove it.”

[skiller0dani]

Only Me | Carl Grimes

Summary: Ron gets a little handsy with you, but in order to prevent Carl from losing faith in his new home you don’t tell him. When Carl finds out, he decides to punish you. 

Pairing: Carl Grimes x Dixon!Reader

Word Count: 4.5k 

Warnings: Language, Fighting, Yelling, Smut, Unprotected Sex, Dirty Talking, Fingering, Kinky Sex, 

A/N: I know Carl is underaged at this point in the series, so if that makes you uncomfortable you can pretend he and the reader are 18. :)  also I made Carl kinky af in this bc there is a serious lack of Carl smut and I just want him to dominate me so badly hnnnngggg 🤤🤤  

Masterlist

Truth be told, Alexandria made you uncomfortable. 

Everyone within the steel walls was totally okay pretending that the rest of the world wasn’t completely fucked. They had jobs, school, picnics in the park, it all felt a little too ‘normal’ for you. You had a nook you liked to hide away in, it was a small abandoned treehouse in one of the backyards. You could see over the wall, watch the walkers roam around and see the city in the distance. You know it’s odd that you feel more comfortable out there rather than in a perfectly safe camp. The people here were nice and welcoming, and they greeted your group as if you were neighbors who just moved into the neighborhood. They acted as though you weren’t from out there, and that you weren’t covered in walker guts when you first strode through the gates. Few knew where to find you when you decided to hide away, and one of those few people was your boyfriend- Carl. 

“Thought I’d find you up here.” You hear a voice say below your treehouse, but when you look out you see Ron. A smile stretches across from your face, Ron is nice. He’s been a good friend to you ever since you got here, he’s been trying to help you adjust from living out there to living here in Alexandria. He’s introduced you to people, shown you around, and brought you to all the cool spots that the adults don’t go around. One of them being your treehouse, he’s one of the only other people who knows you’re probably here if you disappear. “Hey Ronny,” you smile as he climbs up the rope and into the treehouse. He has a comic book in his hands as he sits on the mattress next to you. You open the book you snatched from Carol’s stash and you continue to read but you can feel his eyes on you. Ron is cute, you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t a good looking guy but nobody can compare to Carl. You love Carl, and not just because he was the only one around- but for so many other reasons. 

“I figured Carl would be with you.” Ron says, his voice tight. You don’t know why there is so much tension between them, they were friendly at first. But the closer you got to Ron, the more the tension between them grew. “He’s on a run with Rick and Aaron.” You say, not really paying attention to him as you continue to read. It’s a history book on some battles from the 1940s, it didn’t really strike you as interesting but it was better than sitting and doing nothing. “Oh cool, now I get to actually spend time with you.” Ron says and you look up from your book, your eyebrows pinching together. “What do you mean?” You ask Ron, who hasn’t even opened his comic book yet. Ron leans back against the wall of the treehouse, his legs stretched behind you as he looks up at you. “Well you always seem to hang around Carl.” Ron says, and he attempts to say it playfully but you can feel the tension behind it. You laugh uncomfortably, turning to focus your attention on your book. “He is my boyfriend after all, I love being around him.” You defend weakly, you’ve never been the verbal confrontation kind of person. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Ron rolling his eyes. 

“That doesn’t mean Carl is the only guy in your life, I miss you y'know?” Ron says, his comic book still laying at his side- unopened. You shift uncomfortably, feeling a different kind of tension rising in the air as he slides closer to you. Your heart begins to race in your chest as you cling to your book tightly. “W-Well Carl is the only guy in my life… in um that way…” You respond, your voice quieter than it was before as you nervously stumble over your words. “He doesn’t have to be.” Ron whispers as he reaches up to tuck hair behind your ear, and you can feel his breath fanning over your cheek. You don’t answer as you glue your eyes to the page even though you’re not reading it. “What does Carl have that I don’t? What makes him worthy of getting to hear your pretty moans?” Ron whispers as he leans closer, his lips a few inches from your ear. Ron reaches forward and pulls your book from your trembling hands before resting his hand on your bare thighs. Why did you choose to wear shorts today? “I can hear you two at night, I can hear you moaning for him. Begging for him- but I know you’re only doing that to make him happy. You’re too kind Y/N because I know you want me, I know how your body reacts when I’m around. I’ll bet you’re dripping through those little shorts right now aren’t you?” Ron whispers huskily, his hand sliding up your thigh. 

You feel panic pulsing in your chest as you freeze in fear, the only person you have ever wanted and will ever want is Carl. “That’s not t-true!” You protest with a squeak as his hand finds the spot between your thighs reserved only for Carl. Ron chuckles as he continues to inch closer, his lips trying to find yours but you keep turning your head. “R-Ron please stop-” You gasp as you begin to squirm away from him. You expect Ron hasn’t been near many girls his age and Enid would likely cut his balls off if he tried this- but you’re too afraid to do anything to stop him. He’s bigger than you, stronger than you and walkers you can easily take down with confidence. They’re stupid, and they’re dead but people? You’ve always had a hard time dealing with people. That’s probably why he’s so sure you want him- you haven’t voiced otherwise. “Hey baby you up there?” You hear Carl call from the ground and Ron yanks away from you. Your chest is heaving as you scramble to exit the treehouse. You know you should tell Carl about what happened but you can’t, mostly because you’re afraid Carl will kill Ron. But it’s not just that, Carl is so happy here, he feels like this place could be a home. You don’t want to ruin that for him, you’ll just avoid Ron. When you drop to the ground in front of Carl you immediately press yourself into his chest, and he slowly wraps his arms around you. “You okay?” He asks, his eyes flicking up and noticing Ron sitting in the treehouse. You nod quickly, not turning to look at Ron as you grab Carl’s hand and begin pulling him away from the treehouse. “You sure everything is okay?” Carl asks, his anxiety rising as you frantically yank him away from the treehouse. You weren’t doing anything with Ron… were you? 

“Y-Yeah everything is fine! How was your run?” You ask, trying to change the subject before you break and tell him what happened. You turn to give him a quick kiss as you start towards the house and you keep looking over your shoulder to make sure Ron isn’t following you. Carl’s eyebrows are pinched together, he knows something is wrong but he won’t force you to tell him. “Went fine, got some good stuff. Nothing eventful happened.” He said, his hand locked with yours as you continue to walk at a brisk pace. You finally release a breath once the door is closed behind you and when you open your eyes you see Carl looking at you with a confused expression. “What aren’t you telling me?” He asks, crossing his arms and you begin to panic. You can’t ruin this place for him, people are important to Carl and if he doesn’t trust the people here… then the security and confidence he has in this place will disappear. You want him to believe this place can be home, you don’t want to destroy that for him. “I just… I had a nightmare last night. That you got bit. I’m happy you’re home safe that’s all.” You say, your eyes glued to the ground. You feel his arms around you, pulling you into him and you hold him so tightly. You want to scrub the feeling of Ron’s hands and his dirty words off your skin, you need to feel Carl’s hands on you. 

“Don’t worry, I’m okay. No bites.” He says, smiling into your hair as he presses a kiss to your head. You nod and release a breath before pressing your lips to Carl’s again- taking him by surprise at your eagerness. Your hands grip the collar of his shirt as you deepen the kiss and Carl’s hands land on your hips. You press your chest into his and you feel his breath hitch when you reach down to grab him through his jeans. Carl’s hands press against your shoulders and force you back, “woah just- hold on. You never jump me like this.” He says, concern etched into his face as he looks down at you. Your chest is heaving as you hold him tightly, “I need you. I’ve been so wet all day… please…” You beg, not wanting to tell him the real reason behind your want for his cock. Carl groans when you say that and he reaches down to hoist your legs around his waist. “What if we get caught?” He mumbles between kisses as he heads to the stairs to go up to his bedroom. You begin pressing kisses to his neck as you bite and suck the spot you know makes his knees weak, “then whoever catches us is gonna get one hell of a show.” You smirk as you can feel his growing bulge. Carl carries you into his room and kicks the door shut behind him before he drops you onto the bed. 

“Let's hope it’s not my dad.” Carl smiles as he leans over you, his lips finding yours. His hands find yours and trap your hands above your head as he grinds his cock into your clothes pussy, causing a moan to escape your lips. “No let’s hope it’s not my brother or you’ll get an arrow in the ass.” You laugh and Carl winces at the thought of Daryl catching the two of you. You try to free your wrists but Carl holds them tightly, “be a good girl and keep your hands above your head before I have to tie them to the bed.” Carl warns as he releases you and you can feel a rush of arousal head straight to your core. You love it when Carl gets dominant and rough in bed. You bite your lip as you keep your hands where he left them even though you itch to disobey him, just to see what he’d do. Carl reaches down and slowly unbuttons your shorts before pulling the zipper down at an agonizingly slow pace. “Faster baby, I need you in me like now.” You whine as you wiggle your hips, hoping to hurry him up. Carl’s eyes are dark as he looks up at you, “don’t rush me, good girls wait.” He says as he slowly pulls your shorts down. You groan and throw your head back impatiently. Carl tosses your shorts aside and presses a kiss to each of your hip bones before reaching for your panties. You curl your fists into the sheets, trying not to move or rush him because you know if you do he’ll only go slower. 

Carl’s pupils blow wide open once he sees your glistening folds, “you really are needy for me huh baby? Look how wet you are.” He hums as he runs a finger through your folds and you whine as your hips buck up. With his other hand Carl presses your hips back to the mattress before giving you a look, “stay still.” He orders, his voice stern and you bite your lip and nod. He returns his attention to your pussy as he slowly pushes two fingers inside you and your eyes roll back. He begins a steady pace of slowly and gently thrusting his fingers into you and you feel the heat rising in your body. When he curls his fingers inside you, you keen into his touch as you bite your lip to quiet yourself. “I want to hear those pretty lips moan for me baby.” Carl says, his voice low and husky as he watches you unravel at his touch. You back arches as his pace quickens, “oh fuck Carl- faster baby.” You beg and he obliges, his fingers beginning to thrust inside you quicker. You begin to pant when his thumb comes to roll small circles over your clit, sending jolts of pleasure to shoot through you. “Baby please don’t stop!” You cry out, your hands nearly ripping the sheets as you curl your fists tighter. You feel yourself getting closer and closer  and when Carl harshly thrusts his fingers into you, your coming around his fingers. 

He pulls off you and wipes his fingers on his jeans before he tosses you your clothes. “Baby I need your cock now.” You beg shamelessly as he turns to reach for his hat. Carl smiles as he leans over to press a kiss to your lips, “we can’t fuck in the middle of the day Y/N. We will get caught, I’ll make it up to you tonight. I promise.” He smiles and you groan as you pull your clothes on, he’s right and you know it. Carl laughs at the pout on your face, giving your ass a slap as you walk out of his bedroom. “You coming?” You ask him as he lingers in his bedroom, you see his eyes scanning the room for something. “Yeah, I just need to find my knife. Be down in a bit.” Carl smiles before kissing you quickly. You skip down the stairs and feel arms around your waist, you try to scream for Carl but a hand slaps over your mouth. “Be quiet.” You hear Ron whisper as he pulls you to the kitchen, away from the stairs. You feel the fear creep into your chest as he pushes you against the wall, his hand still over your mouth. “I heard those sounds you made for him, they were forced weren’t they? You want me, I can feel the heat between your legs Y/N. Don’t deny yourself the pleasure, I know my cock is bigger than Carl’s…” He whispers lustfully into your ear, before pressing a chaste kiss to your neck. You struggle slightly against him, your eyes wide as he looks into them. When you hear steps down the stairs, Ron pulls away from you and casually moves to sit on the counter as Carl comes around the corner. 

“Woah, Ron uh hey?” He says, jumping slightly as he wasn’t expecting Ron to be here. You’re still leaning against the wall, your chest heaving as you gape over at Carl. “Just wanted to say hey, heard you went on a run today.” Ron says, looking at Carl and completely ignoring you. Your heart continues to race in your chest as you feel panic just being in the same room as Ron, he’s dangerous. Carl’s eyes glance between you and Ron, “yeah I did…” He trails off as you brush past him and to the front door. You need air, and you need to get away from Ron. Carl looks back at Ron, “everything okay?” He asks, crossing his arms and Ron smiles. This is exactly what he wanted, he wants Carl to doubt you. “Dunno, when she came down the stairs her shorts were unbuttoned. She asked if I wanted to see her new thong.” Ron said with a shrug and Carl felt nauseous. So something is going on between you and Ron. Carl nods numbly as he turns to lean against the couch. You’re cheating on him aren’t you… with Ron. Carl feels anger boil in his chest as he looks up at Ron, “are you fucking my girlfriend?” He snaps and Ron’s eyes widen. He bites back a smile as he looks at Carl in shock, “she’s your girlfriend? She never told me you were together.” He says, not answering Carl’s question. Carl feels his heart drop as he turns and heads back up the stairs, he can’t be around either of you right now. 

When the door opens you turn and your anxiety spikes when you see Ron. He winks at you as he skips down the stairs and you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You know you have to tell Carl, Ron is starting to scare you. You don’t know how far he will go, you don’t feel safe. You enter the house and when you don’t see Carl you head up the stairs, and see his door closed. “Baby?” You say loudly before you open the door, and you see him sitting on his bed, not bothering to look over at you. “Carl there’s something I need to tell you-” You start but he stands and when he looks at you, the anger and pain on his face is unmistakable. “So you are sleeping with Ron.” He snaps, crossing his arms and your eyebrows shoot up. You shake your head as you try to take a step towards him, but Carl steps away from you. “What? Carl no I swear I’m not! I don’t know what Ron said but it’s not true.” You try to explain but he laughs bitterly as he turns away from you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Oh really? Because he didn’t even know you were my girlfriend.” Carl snapped and you felt your heart break, were. “Am I not your girlfriend now?” You ask weakly and Carl doesn’t answer as he continues to face the window. You feel lightheaded as you stand numbly in the doorway, is Carl breaking up with you? “Carl he… he touched me.” You whisper but Carl’s head snaps over to look at you. “Touched you how?” He asked, and you can see the anger building in his eyes. You look down at the floor as your cheeks flush and tears build in your eyes, “b-between my legs and he kissed my neck. I didn’t want him to, whatever he said it was a lie.” You say softly, the tears beginning to trickle down your cheeks. You look up and see Carl’s fists curled and his chest is heaving and there is a dangerously angry look on his face, “he touched you… without your permission?” He asks, his voice tight and you nod slowly. As soon as you nod he’s out the door and heading down the stairs with you not far behind him. 

“Carl, don’t hurt him it’s not worth it.” You beg as he storms down the street, heading right to Ron’s house. The dark look in his eyes tells you that he’s not really listening to anything you’re saying. You have to jog to keep up with him as he storms up the porch and straight into the house without knocking. “Carl please,” You plead again as Carl nearly runs up the stairs and down the hall to Ron’s room. Carl throws open Ron’s door, and Ron jumps up from his bed- a shocked look on his face. “Hey man you good?” He asks but Carl is already swinging his fist into Ron’s left cheek. Ron stumbles back, holding his face as it begins to swell. Carl storms towards him and takes his knife out, pressing it to Ron’s throat. “You ever touch her again and I will kill you, you even look at her the wrong way and this knife is going into the base of your skull.” Carl growls before he shoves Ron backwards. When Carl turns you see a panicked look on Ron’s face, and Carl grabs your hand and pulls you out of the house. Carl pulls you down the street, his pace hasn’t slowed since he left Ron’s house. “You should have told me.” Carl snapped and you can tell he’s angry. “I-I’m sorry!” You stammer but he doesn’t calm at all. Carl yanks you into the house and up the stairs. 

“You kept it from me, made me worry.” Carl snaps as he slams his bedroom door closed behind you. You stay quiet as he releases your wrist, “you made me think you were fucking him.” He says, his voice low. When he turns to look at you, you can’t help the wave of arousal that rushes through you. Carl takes 2 long strides and is standing in front of you, pushing you by your shoulders, “on your knees.” He instructs and you immediately drop to your knees in front of him. Your hands reach up to unbuckle his belt, the trembling making it hard as you pull the belt through the loops of his jeans. Carl doesn’t say a word as you unbutton his jeans, “baby I’m sorry. I should have told you.” You whisper as you look up at him. You know he’s angry but his eyes soften as he reaches down to stroke your cheek, “baby you seem to have forgotten the rules. You never keep anything from me, and you belong to me. I think you need to be reminded who fucks you the way you like it every night.” Carl says, his voice sweet but his eyes dark with lust. Your breath hitches in your throat as your body gets hot with lust, you squirm a bit as you free his cock. It slaps up against his stomach, the head red and leaking as it pulses. You open your mouth, waiting for him. You know what kind of mood he’s in. Carl grips the back of your head as he slowly thrusts his cock into your mouth, a groan falling past his lips. “You’re mine.” Carl grunts as he begins to thrust into your mouth. You let your jaw go slack and you relax your throat, to allow him to go as deep as he wants to. 

“Only I get to touch you.” Carl says, his voice low and you know he’s talking more to himself then you. Your hands rest on your thighs as Carl’s hands gently wind into your hair, his thrusts getting rougher. Tears spring in your eyes due to him constantly hitting your gag reflex, and drool begins to dribble down your chin. “Fuck baby, you take my cock so well.” He groans as his hips begin to stutter and you know he’s close to coming. His hands grip your hair tightly and soon you feel him coming in your mouth. Once you’ve swallowed every last drop Carl pulls you up and yanks your shorts and panties down your legs. “Bend over.” He says harshly and you immediately bend over his bed, your ass up for him. Carl runs a hand over your ass as he runs his tip up and down your folds. After a moment of him not doing anything you turn your head to complain when his hand comes down on your ass, leaving a stinging sensation that has you dripping down your thighs. “You wear these sexy shorts for Ron baby?” Carl asks, his hand coming down on your ass again. You gasp as you smile, you shake your head as your forehead presses into the bed. “No baby, I wear them for you. Only you, I promise.” You whine and his hand comes down on your other cheek, and you moan. “Who makes you feel like this?” Carl asks and you admit, jealousy looks really good on him. 

“You baby, you do!” You cry out as he spanks you again. Your cheeks are bright red and stinging when Carl soothingly rubs a hand over them, and you’re panting. You feel Carl press the head of his cock into your folds and then he stops, “beg for it.” He demands, his hands coming to rest on your hips. “Please fuck me, please I’ll never talk to Ron again I promise. Baby I need your cock, I’ve needed your cock all day please fuck me, only you make me feel this good only you.” You plead and Carl hums in satisfaction as he swiftly enters you in one thrust. You gasp as your fingers curl around the blankets. Carl begins to thrust into you hard and fast, leaving you a panting, moaning mess underneath him. “Who do you belong to?” Carl grunts as he continues his brutal pace and you whine, “y-you baby.” You moan, your body jerking with every sharp thrust. “Yeah baby that’s right, you’re mine. Only I get to fuck this pussy got it?” He snaps and your mouth hangs open when he reaches under to thumb your clit. “Y-yeah baby only you…” You gasp as you feel yourself nearing your end. “Baby please can I come?” You beg, knowing you need his permission before he’ll let you. Carl continues to thrust into you, sweat trickling down the side of his face, “yeah baby come around my cock. I want to feel you,” Carl groans, his voice softer than before. As soon as the words leave his mouth you’re squeezing around him and crying out into the mattress as you gush around him. “Fuck I’m gonna come…” Carl moans and you whine feeling him sliding in and out of you, “come inside me baby.” You beg, you need to feel his come inside you. With a few more sharp thrusts Carl is coming inside you, his hips stuttering before they stop. The both of you are panting and covered in a sheen layer of sweat as he slowly pulls out of you, and you whine feeling so empty. 

You roll over to lay on your back and Carl collapses next to you. “He didn’t touch you under your clothes did he?” Carl asks, his hand finding yours and you shake your head. “No, he more… brushed me on the outside of my shorts.” You tell him and he nods before turning his head to press a kiss to your sweaty forehead. You snuggle into his chest, “you should have told me. I would have done something sooner.” Carl whispered, and you know he feels guilty… like this is his fault somehow. You press a kiss to his collarbone as you look up at him, “I know. I just didn’t want you to feel like we weren’t safe here.” You explain and Carl squeezes you to him tighter. “All I care about is keeping you safe, I love you. If he ever tries anything again, promise you’ll tell me.” He says, looking into your eyes. You lean up and press a long, slow kiss to his lips. “I love you, and I promise. I’ll tell you. But maybe I shouldn’t if it means you’ll fuck me like that in the middle of the day.” You smirk and Carl groans, his hand pinching his nose. “They definitely heard us.” He whines and you laugh. 

“Daryl is gonna kill me.” 

[schnees-and-schnugs]

All of the Schnees for the character meme? Yes, even Jacques. Klein counts as well. :3

Weiss

How I feel about this character: k-k-kween

All the people I ship romantically with this character: *cracks knuckles* SUN, blake, yang, jaune, neptune, ironwood, etc etc.

My non-romantic otp for this character: her relationship with ruby is adorable. Also her relationships with winter and whitley.

My unpopular opinion about this character: something that has been bothering me about weiss recently is that now that she is the Emotionally Mature One (tm), she's just not allowed to have internal struggles? This was super obvious with her conflicts with her siblings in v8. We don't see her have any second thoughts about her and winter going different ways and just seems pleasantly surprised when winter calls her. When willow tells her that whitley felt abandoned by her and that's why he lashes out, we don't see weiss have any normal feelings that would come with that sort of revelation.

If the last time I had seen my older sibling (one that I look up to and am close with), they were severely injured and following a man I considered a dictator- I would have second thoughts? Show a little worry? Idk. If my mother revealed to me that I hurt my little sibling by leaving them alone in a household with two abusive parents and that's why they hate me, I would feel a least a little guilt. Even if I shouldn't, I would. And again, second thoughts about my past choices.

Instead weiss is just constantly self assured in everything she does and shows no complexities (emotions wise) that we saw from her in earlier volumes. And I understand it's supposed to show growth, but it just comes off a self centered and callous much of the time, esp in her arc with whitley.

One thing that I wish should happen with this character/has happened: *bangs pans and pots together* let! her! have! a! conversation!with! her! brother! please!

Winter

How I feel about this character: disaster eldest sister energy

All the people I ship romantically with this character: cinder, marrow, ironwood, harriet?

My non-romantic otp for this character: her and her family uwu + penny.

My unpopular opinion about this character: don't really have an unpopular opinion about winter. I wish they would have addressed winter's complicity in what ironwood was doing in-show, bc her fight with ironwood just kinda rang hollow to me. I was just thinking "winter your ass was up there on the screens with ironwood in mantle oppressing them don't act like you were never okay with it". Winter stans don't @ me.

One thing that I wish should happen with this character/has happened: I want to see her actually have an arc with her brother instead of it getting half assed for time like they did with weiss and whitley (I know it sounds harsh but I'm salty).

Whitley

How I feel about this character: I get overwhelmed looking at his face I want to squeeze his cheeks so bad

All the people I ship romantically with this character: oscar, penny

My non-romantic otp for this character: him with his family, TEAM POWR

My unpopular opinion about this character: I would like to see him talk more with characters instead of only existing to be Dues Ex Whitley. Please.

Also I feel like whitley's turn around was a little too unrealistic? I appreciate that they tried to show that whitley is a good person with a consience underneath all of his survival mechanisms, but an abuse victim like whitley can still be a good person while realistic suffering from the after effects of being groomed and manipulated for years. Whitley showing realistic concern for his father would not have made him a bad person or hindered his healing process. Whitley seemed to truly be attatched to his father, even if it was unhealthy.

They even had whitley bring him up ("after what you did to father") and had shown whitley in jacques' office afterwards. But it was framed in a way that whitley's concerns were trivial and should be dismissed and disregarded (as shown by weiss basically telling him that whitley should get over it bc she's trying to save the world and shoving him aside). It's only until whitley goes along with what weiss wants and forgets everything that he was upset about before is when he's seen as a good person, and it was just a little too quick and convinient for me.

Like.... Whitley should be allowed to be upset about his father, his family reputation, and his mother locking herself up in her room. Even if it's trivial to weiss, whitley at that point had nothing else and was alone. And the resolution to that was basically "whitley gets over it because he saw ruby talking on the broadcast about how they need help and overheard weiss mention family to may in an argument". And idk. It just rubs me the wrong way.

One thing that I wish should happen with this character/has happened: I wish he would have had a conversation with weiss to flesh out their relationship and I also hope that they handle his relationship with winter well whenever they choose to do it.

Willow

How I feel about this character: I have a love hate relationship with this woman

All the people I ship romantically with this character: klein, ironwood, watts, qrow

My non-romantic otp for this character: her and her family.

My unpopular opinion about this character: her cracking a joke about how she's above drinking in the dark was so tone deaf djdjsjsj. Like ma'am u were just neglecting your 14/15 year old son during a literal apocolypse and he had no adult around at all to look after him at all for his physical and emotional needs. I dont think I need to explain how horribly abusive that is. Yes, before she was doing the same thing but at least whitley had staff, klein, and hell, even jacques around. And when whitley is rightfully angry at her about it, her response is to crack a joke at her own expense like heehee even I'm not that much of a drunk and I just-

I know that scene was meant to make me like willow but it literally did the opposite for me lmfao. She should have at least apologized.

One thing that I wish should happen with this character/has happened: I hope they don't pull a qrow on us and show willow just going cold turkey with alcohol esp after they drilled into us just how dependant she is on it. Like she's even lower functioning that qrow to the point where she was barely in her children's lives while they were being abused, so to have her just quite easily is just going to leave me thinking "so she could have quit like this anytime while her kids were suffering?" Not saying that that's what they're going to do, but just not something I want to see.

Jacques

How I feel about this character: bitch ass

All the people I ship romantically with this character: pain and suffering

My non-romantic otp for this character: more pain and suffering

My unpopular opinion about this character: a quick death was too good for him. He should have been forced to live in destitution as t the mercy of the ppl he caused pain to. This would have been better justice wise, and the schnees would get some sort of closure.

One thing that I wish should happen with this character/has happened: I wish we got to see him interact with willow and whitley. Esp whitley, since the fandom seems to think him and his father are a 2 for 1 deal, but yet we've only ever seen them interact once?

Klein

How I feel about this character: the goodest man on remnant

All the people I ship romantically with this character: willow

My non-romantic otp for this character: the schneeblings

My unpopular opinion about this character: nothing really

One thing that I wish should happen with this character/has happened: hope we see him interact with schneeblings that aren't weiss for once.

--------

I have A LOT of thoughts about this family. Too many.

[jensungf]

𝐌𝐘 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 🌌 𝐡.𝐫𝐣

summary: he was your best friend. you should’ve been happy when he went to go ask that girl whether or not she was his soulmate. so why was the universe pulling at your heartstrings now?

pairing: reader x best friend!huang renjun genre: fluff + soulmate!au word count: 1.6k warnings: none

6:23pm. you rolled your eyes as you read the time. where the hell was he?

your focus drifts to the onyx swirls dotted on your wrist, and you subconsciously trace all the scribbles making up your tattoo. you had been impatiently tapping your foot for what felt like forever, but in actuality, was about ten minutes. maybe i should just leave, you thought ruefully as the digit on your lit-up phone screen changed once again.

you had been through this too many times for you to simply count with your fingers. it was almost like clockwork at this point. despite this only beginning months ago, you knew the cycle. renjun would encounter someone, and would feel compelled to chase them down and ask if they were possibly his soulmate. unfortunately, it always ended in rejection.

you were always the one to comfort him when he returned with the same answer like always— that they had found their soulmate or they didn’t feel any connection at all. despite your annoyance of having to be inconvenienced at random hours of the day and having your quality time with him interrupted, you knew deep down it hurt you just as much as it hurt him.

yet you never once considered the reality that perhaps he would actually find his soulmate one day, and how that mere possibility would change your entire life.

if renjun was seriously going to confront that girl with a simple question of whether or not she was his soulmate, what was taking them so long? surely he would’ve texted you by now if he was successful, knowing you were still waiting for him. or at least let you know he was on his way back.

you winced at the thought that he might be too busy engaging in other endeavors, ones that involved less talking and more touching. you shook your head in an attempt to rid yourself of those thoughts, burying the odd feelings that made your stomach twist and turn. no, that wasn’t the renjun you knew. he wouldn’t be as daring as that despite his growing impatience to find his soulmate. besides, you wanted him to find his soulmate. there was no reason for your heart to twinge at the chance that maybe this time was the right time. you were his best friend. you were supposed to be happy for him, and hope for the best.

you hastily unlocked your phone, typing out a very annoyed albeit passive aggressive text to your heck of a best friend who decided to abandon you in the middle of your weekly dinner date to chase down a girl. you should’ve just left him moments ago, yet your feet stay planted in your spot outside the moomin plushie store.

“stupid renjun,” you muttered under your breath as you realized that the sky was beginning to settle into a hazy cloud of purple and pink. dusk was always your favorite time of day, yet you couldn’t help but feel a bit embittered that renjun wasn’t here with you to enjoy the view with. just when you were about to click send, a shadow casts over your figure and you lift your head.

“hey,” renjun says simply. his hands are shoved deep into his cream-colored denim jacket and he gazes at the sky instead of at you, causing you to stare quizzically at him.

“so....” you cock your head at his silence and wait for him to answer the obvious question. however, he makes no move to look you in the eyes. you hesitate, unsure what to do at your best friend’s abnormal silence.

usually he would be telling you that it wasn’t the right person and he had made a fool out of himself again or something along those lines, but this time, he remained silent. his eyes still avoid yours and you feel panic bubbling up in your chest. why was he acting like this? had something gone wrong?

“can i... try something?” he breaks the silence, asking quietly, almost as if he would break glass if he spoke any louder. he leans in slowly, and you freeze, your breath hitching. your mind screams for you to move away, to question what he was doing and whether he was in his right mind. yet your heart palpitates erratically and you make no move to turn away. his dark brown eyes gaze into yours, and you feel your head spinning.

despite your daze, you somehow feel your head nod ever so slightly, almost out of pure instinct with no control of your own body.

albeit with great reluctance, renjun takes this opportunity daringly. he closes the gap separating you both and gently presses his lips against yours. you melt into his warmth, closing your eyes as your hands subconsciously reach up to pull him in closer by gripping his jacket. his hands raise up to gently cradle your head and his lips feel like velvet, pliant against your own. the kiss is delicate yet firm, all hesitance dissipating as the seconds pass. you both pull away for air, but it felt as if you had just taken a deep breath of air for the very first time in your life.

people had told you about how they felt when they found the one, and you had never understood what they meant about how one person could make them feel just right until that very moment. how complete you had felt. your heart tugs almost as if you had finally crossed the thin line separating you from friends and lovers, something you never knew your heart had been aching for until now. you had always had renjun in your life, but you never knew how much he made you feel whole until this very moment. like he was the last missing puzzle piece that had finally found its place in your life, and nothing more could rival the feeling of this very moment.

he rests his forehead against yours and smiles meekly. your head was still reeling, and renjun moved his hand to gently cup your cheek. your mouth opens ajar, as you wrack your mind for the right words to say. “i… what? injunnie—”

he cuts you off by pressing another soft kiss to your lips. your eyes widen at his impulsive action, taken aback by how uncharacteristic that was. “i know you have a lot of questions, but i couldn’t resist,” he admits as pink dusts his cheek.

he entwines his hand with yours, fitting like two puzzle pieces as he leads you to the park bench. he looks up at the hazy sky once again with admiration before explaining.

“i never understood why it was so difficult to find my soulmate, when my tattoo was one of the more common ones,” he confesses as he glanced down to his moon tattoo. although it was indeed not as uncommon as yours, you had always admired the beauty it held, how beautifully and different it was drawn compared to the generic crescent symbols you had seen before.

it was as if renjun had drawn it with his own hand, with every tiny detail matching precisely with his art, his masterpieces. you look at yours, your wrist adorned with tiny scribbles of planets, stars, and even the sun scattered around all in one area.

suddenly it dawns on you. the space separating the sun and planets and stars is no longer empty, instead replaced with a replica of a moon. 

renjun’s moon.

“ever since we reunited with each other, i’ve been feeling more and more desperate to find them because i couldn’t help but feel something towards you, and i couldn’t live knowing you weren’t mine. at least— not until now.”

renjun is absolutely glowing when you look up at him.

“i guess you’re my universe, y/n,” he scoffs with a smile. his eyes meet yours, but despite the firmness in his voice, his telltale signs of embarrassment say otherwise.

and you believe him, because when he smiles at you, it’s as if you were the one who put the sun and moon and stars in the sky, as if you were the center of his galaxy. as if you were his universe.

“i never realized how much i needed you, until i saw that girl. she told me that she was the sun to someone else’s galaxy, and that’s when i realized that i had been trying to push away the pull towards someone who was always beside me for too long. somehow who should’ve been with me all along.”

you both locked eyes before bursting into laughter at his cringeworthy yet heartwarming confession. “when did you become such a cheeseball?” you snort. he locks you in a loving chokehold and your heart nearly skips a beat.

“we both wasted our time, didn’t we?” you remark with a carefree smile. all the worries, the gut feeling that made your head spin, the questions of why you couldn’t feel happy when it came to not having him, disappears within a simple kiss. the puzzle was done. the masterpiece was completed, but what was funny was the mere fact that you had no idea anything was even missing in the first place. you looked down at his wrist, now full with doodles of your galaxy. it glowed just like yours.

“we can make up for lost time.”

you nod and bask in his presence, gazing up at the stars scattered across and the luminescent moon peeking out against the darkness of twilight sky.

soulmates were an odd thing— to simply leave it up to a mere tattoo to connect you both when you had been connected since the very beginning. but you couldn’t have asked for anything more, when fate had already decided that you were his universe, and he was your moon.

you completed each other.

author’s note: i wrote this for @yongiefilms to thank her for being such a good friend and also bc i needed an excuse to post smth while i work on my main wip! i seem to have a curse where i cant write blurbs cus they end up turning into drabbles. oops? also i spent wayy more time on the header than the actual story lol ANYWAYS yay to my first renjun fic <3

[red-hood-vigilante]

hbo spn storylines, drabbles, ideas, thoughts, wishlist, whatever you may call it. it’s messy, nothing makes sense and pretty sure a lot of these contradict each other

more of sam at stanford with jessica/flashbacks. jessica potentially lives but is revealed to be a demon (but she developed actual feelings for sam and really did come to care for him because a demon falling in love with a human would be SO interesting) OR she lives but her memory gets wiped like dean did to lisa OR she dies like she did but she is a ghost that haunts sam (he welcomes it but eventually he lets her go -> character arc). he still dreams about her though and he has her keepsakes with him wherever he goes, her rings, her favourite book, anything that was left of her from the fire

you have to be extremely careful when making deals with demons because they are cunning and evil creatures. they will follow the rules of the deal but will find loopholes to put some sadistic twist on the terms. you want money? of course, too bad you’ll be arrested for fraud before you can use any of it and spend the next ten years in jail before i drag you to hell. you want a perfect husband? sure he’ll love you. in fact, he’ll love you so much he’ll keep you locked up in the basement to keep you safe etc etc. saving a person often becomes the person that causes or leads to your death.

the creation of jack: after s5, when lucifer is trapped in the cage again lucifer fuses his own soul with a human soul to create jack, who escapes to earth to find sam and castiel. i have a longer post about this saved in my drafts

lucifer is trapped for good in the cage after s5 but if he was to return again, dean would kill him while sam would kill michael - this would be nice parallels and a sort of fulfillment of the “one brother must kill the other” prophecy because one brother DO kill another brother, just not their own

more azazel and how he came to the plan of how to free lucifer; opening a hell gate earlier, more experimentations with the demon blood etc

mary was infected with the blood when she was a baby, sam is the first and only second generation special child (longer post about that here)

personally, i want to see more and know more about john and mary’s relationship. when mary died, john and mary had fulfilled their destiny (having sam and dean) so does that mean that his love and dedication to mary post her death was falsely fabricated by the angels to ensure sam and dean would grow up in ideal conditions to become hunters? or maybe, after mary’s death, john wakes up from the spell with two kids he doesn’t recognize and a wife he thinks he loved, but the memories of the past years of his life are like a fever dream; he never wanted to live in a town like this nor was he interested in having kids? but here the house is, and here are his kids, but now he’s alone and empty and with no answers. (idk i just find john and mary and their relationship very fascinating) if the latter, if john and mary see each other again it’s like the spell activates again and they become blindly in love with each other, but once gone, they return to their confused and hazey state of mind, like just woken up from a coma

i do like mary coming back but i love how in s5 when she wasn’t found in heaven it was hinted that she was just discarded because she had fulfilled her “purpose” and i think this adds to the whole notion of how heaven and angels can be really cruel AND how mary is this mythical, religious figure to both sam and dean and we only get to know her through their lenses, like religion and faith

ruby is present for a longer amount of time to make the reveal even more shocking. at one point or another, dean does actually trust her and they all work together on cases for a while. ruby’s backstory as a witch is more explored. i like her death in s4 because she’s in this total state of euphoria and has achieved a goal only she was entrusted with, and she is so convinced sam will understand, until sam holds her down while dean carves her heart out. so we either keep that or she serves lucifer for a while (until he kills her which she is happy about because of her blind loyalty to him, could again mirror dean and john/castiel and heaven) or she serves lucifer and like crowley she realizes lucifer will kill demons after humans (redemption arc, but i don’t really like that, let her be evil!!)

dean and sam helps bela out of her deal and she becomes their go-to person when they need a magic item or book. she doesn’t like it but she owes them. regularly hooks up with jo.

angels are really hollow soldiers - they only follow orders and don’t understand the concept free will or choice or individuality at all. they are extremely righteous and strike without warning often on a whim, often very bloody (explosions a la castiel in swan song). if something fall into what they consider justice they will kill it. no concept of love, attraction or gender. real form can’t be perceived by humans unless they want them to, which leads to eyes melting (pamela) or breaking a person’s mind (in 5.16 zachariah actually says that sam and dean sees him in his vessel bc they’re ‘limited’. so.)

castiel, anna, maybe uriel and some others are exceptions to this, but only becomes so after longer exposure to human’s world. even then, they don’t change their violent whims, just the reasoning and where their loyalty lies

hbo spn is s1-5 stretched out for 8-10 seasons with the aesthetics of s1-2. i’m cutting out demon dean, purgatory, the mark of cain, the men of letters, the alphas, leviathatan, god being the real villain all along and the other worlds because it was just too much and far remived from the roadtrip aesthetic. keeping kevin, charlie (she is introduced via ash bc they’re hacker friends), the trials, rowena, uuuh the angels falling is such an interesting concept but idk if it would fit. maybe metatron? but his motivations are different. soullessness + the concept of souls might be kept if it’s explained better. i’m torn on whether or not to include the campbells

hell, heaven and purgatory are explained but only seen in glimpses, keep these ideas ambiguous and up to interpretation outside of what we hear. remember the line ‘hell is...well, it’s like hell. even for demons’? leave it at that. the exception is 5.16 bc that episode fucks so hard

if we end on swan song and let the show be the tragedy it is, i want to keep the ambiguous ending. is that sam or lucifer? if it’s sam, will he contact dean or walk away? we will never know! there is also no ‘the world is ending’ more than once, it really lost its impact after the second or third time.

idk how i feel about the men of letters - it is logical that there would be organized hunting and an established network and system on how to do things, but for the sake of keeping it hbo-style and grounded, there are no networks beyond the roadhouse and singer’s salvage yard.

i want sam and dean not have a permanent home except the impala, motels and impala ONLY. the bunker had potential but it was just for the sake of convenience it was there with all the lore and answers they needed when it was necessary. maybe eventually they do stop travelling so much when it becomes more about the Big Stuff instead of the episodic cases that requires driving all the time but it will be like an abandoned house in the middle of nowhere. i want sam and dean to never have a physical house as a home but they scrape together whatever they have make something similar to a show

as the show progresses, sam and dean become pretty hated by other hunters because they’ve started apocalypse and have an increasingly shitty reputation. and john was an infamous good hunter but also a dick. everybody knows that people who work with the winchesters often end up dead, that one brother will sacrifice anything and anyone to save the other and that they frequently work alongside demons. even the ones they DO work with (jo, ellen, bobby, rufus, bela) are hesitant to be involved with them

sam’s powers are strong but after killing lilith and the truth revealed to him, he represses the powers in shock and fear of how blinded he was by them and the rush of power they gave him. a little more about how sam fears what the lust for power and strength did to him. he continues to repress his powers, often to a dangerous point where he will be on death’s door as a result of not using them. when meeting jack and mentoring him in using his powers, jack asks him about sam’s powers after sensing them. sam eventually decides to lead by example and embraces his powers again, but remains extremely careful about using them (this also fulfills dean’s arc of having to let go of the holy-innocent-pure-ideal-not a person but an idealized version of sam-little brother sam he has put on a pedestal for so long)

bobby is viewed as a father figure by sam and dean but bobby makes it clear he doesn’t want that burden or relationship in his life after his wife died. he makes this clear to them too, but sam and dean have fucked up perceptions of parental figures so they don’t think bobby means it (they just latch on to whatever parental figures they can find)

we see more of sam’s relationship with the side characters; sam and jo hunt together on occasion, he hangs out with ash and talks hacking when visiting the roadhouse. he and ellen loves playing poker together. if anything, dean is the one who’s isolated - he only ever really cared about mary, john, sam and cassie, and never really had any friends. sam is way more well adjusted and sociable after spending time at stanford where he’s had conversations that didn’t only revolve around dead bodies and lore. 

this could also feed into dean’s extreme abandonment issues and isolation he feels and how this would affect his psyche

sam and dean are both unknowingly prepared to become the perfect vessels; sam loses his humanity by becoming more and more like lucifer (defying his father and his will) while dean becomes prepared by doing what michael did; casting his brother away in his time of need (blindly following his father and his will). very much like in s4 but even more intense and brutal (i love angst :))

we see different hybrids; demon/human (antichrist), human/(arch)angel (nephilim) and demon/angel (???), but none of them are all powerful bc narratively that’s really boring. they’re strong but have very specific powers that affects them and/or their surroundings in catastrophic ways (but no other worlds bs, we stick to the road trip aesthetic, keep it grounded). i want the only all powerful character to be god but he doesn’t show up at all, he’s the ultimate absent father. is it chuck? we never find out!

powers would for example include giving people diseases, force anyone close to them to tell the truth (not consciously, it’s just the air around them), read minds, create storms, light things on fire when they’re angry, make people hallucinate etc. like fucked up shit but not things that are too grande because again - that’s really boring

abbadon, the princes of hell and the four horsemen are more fleshed out villains instead of the one season reign the each had. 

being a prince of hell is a title that is inherited - after azazel dies, sam gets the title because he is the one with azazel’s blood in him OR meg does, but idk if that would be as interesting (if she actually was his daughter)

it remains a horror show throughout, lots of gore and blood

the moral code and ethics of the brothers are the opposite of the beginning; dean thinks in black and white, sam sees shades of grey and individuals instead of what they are. however, as the show progresses, their train of thought becomes opposites; dean becomes more open to how people are true evil and how monsters are often victims of their circumstance while sam becomes harsher and less forgiving after ruby’s betrayal along with finding out the truth of his existence and how there’s been demons around his entire life. eventually they’re on the same page and they see the circumstances. 

on the other hand; i also really fuck with the idea of dean maintaining his black and white morals on that all monsters=inherently evil, humans=inherently pure and good, but he is the only human on team free will. sam is half demon, castiel is an angel, jack is a nephilim, rowena is a witch, garth is a werewolf, mary is a zombie etc

demons become demons in hell by agreeing to become the torturer and thus giving up their humanity to be free of pain, does that mean they could become humans again by regaining some humanity? by doing good deeds? (potentially this is confirmed with jessica and how she came to love sam; genuine love and care for a human could reverse the demon process?) this also means dean was a demon in hell but was purified/turned back again when castiel raised him. this also plays into dean becoming like michael; in trying to absolve himself from what he did in hell he becomes ruthless, unforgiving and righteous to evil, much like the angels, regardless of his personal connection to a person and what he would consider “evil”

dean and pacifisim: after dean is cured from being a demon/the mark of cain/is made aware of his blind righteousness that he used as an excuse to kill, he becomes firmly determined to reign in his anger and violent tendencies by becoming a pacifist (like sam in s11) as a way to redeem all the blood he’s spilled. of course in his profession and true dean fashion he won’t be able to do it 100% so he decides to only act in self defense, and he only goes batshit violent on the offense when it’s about protecting sam

OR. dean’s self righteousness becomes his own downfall; the belief that all evil must be eradicated, refusal to see the circumstances and the shades of grey is what pushes him to lose his humanity and become a demon and therefore, in a potential ending the ruler of hell, because i think it would such an interesting journey from a to b, that dean starts out human, revels in his holiness, executes and kills in the name of his own holiness in the belief that he’s becoming the ultimate angel, the ultimate hero when it’s doing the opposite. if this happened then sam would take the opposite route; starts as a human, becomes more and more demonic, stops himself and returns to his hopeful and optimistic self, has faith and humility and that is what makes him ascend from abomination to purified and holy (trials). 

this could be a perfect 10 season structure as well: s1-5 are when sam and dean start off humans; dean becomes holy and as close to an angel a human can be, while sam drinks the demon blood and almost becomes one to gain the freedom and power he wants, but begins to turn it around to send lucifer back to hell. s6-10 is when dean becomes the unholy and sam becomes the holy even though neither realize because now there’s no grand master plan - this is who they are, who they choose themselves. don’t know how this ould end though; either as normal humans again (but there wouldn’t really be a ”normal” after everything) or they really go off the rails with sam like ruling heaven (not as god though, just as a good and just man) and dean ruling hell. castiel is human and stays on earth with jack.

the gothic americana aesthetic is kept throughout the entire show and is only shot on film

after s5 castiel returns to heaven to help restore order, and he takes charge for a little while, but eventually returns to earth after trying to introduce democracy to angels who didn’t get it. in his place, anna takes over and she rules heaven well (after trying to kill mary when going back in time she isn’t killed by michael, but narrowly escapes and remains in hiding to heal until castiel reaches out and finds her)

when finding out they are The Vessels and will be brought back regardless of what they try, sam and dean explore what this means more. dean throws himself into dangers and to protect others. he is burned, blown up, stabbed, electrocuted, beheaded and eaten, but wakes up the next morning in his bed without a scratch, without any pain and memories of his deaths. he revels in this untouchability. sam kills himself over and over only to be resurrected again and again by lucifer. he remembers the pain and blood.

that being said, while dean is like angel royalty, sam is demon royalty. the demons don’t go after him, they don’t hurt him. some even offer up themselves to be drained of blood, even after lilith’s death. it makes it really difficult to stay clean but he pulls through with dean and castiel actually supporting him. to help sam get through his addiction, dean stops drinking alcohol and they go through their withdrawal together

the angels almost worship dean as the michael sword and have an open disgust towards sam for being lucifer’s vessel - they always answer dean’s prayers and calls for help, they follow his orders if need be and don’t hesitate to heal him if he needs it. sam could pray until his vocal chords bleed or call out for help while holding his guts in his hands; none of the angels would come to his aid. the only one who answers sam’s prayers is lucifer as a voice in sam’s head or a hallucination. sam could call demons to help him out but he refuses

sam isn’t the first hunter to drink demon blood, to try to enhance his own abilities using the supernatural as a means to get there - there are hunters who have altered themselves with parts from werewolves and vampires to become better hunters, like the styne family (the guys from s10), blurring the lines again of what’s good and human vs what is evil and inhumane

if angels can’t find a vessel to volunteer, they will force them to say yes - the how is not important, only that the ‘yes’ is said, whether its meant or not, any verbal yes will do. the angels never sleep and they never eat, which is disturbing to sam and dean who are exhausted all the time and eat scraps whenever they can

castiel, like all other angels, is taught to despise and not care about sam winchester at all, but the more castiel gets to know sam, he becomes fascinated with him, how lucifer’s ultimate vessel, starter of the apocalypse and destroyer of god’s creation can be so kind and gentle, so full of faith, acceptance, optimism and hope. in dean castiel sees a good man, yes, but also a man who’s bloodthirsty, rages, revels in war, resorts all problems with violence, loves conditionally and expects unquestioned loyalty. sam too, has a darkness and bloodthirst in him, but it only comes out in glimpses. castiel thinks it’s funny, how sam turns out to be the opposite of lucifer while dean is so alike michael

[periminkle]

Orphic | 04

After moving into your own place, it seems life is finally going your way; the path to independence leading you to a quaint suburban town where even the grass seems to grow a little greener. Although a shocking encounter leads you to believe that perhaps appearances can be quite deceiving.

pairing: hybrid!jk x reader (first person)

genre: hybrid au, angst, fluff

word count: 7.6k

rating: PG-15

warnings: swearing, descriptions of blood and cleaning wounds, mentions of cannibalism (o.o)

author’s note: mMMm setting deadlines is effective but exhausting, so the pacing of this might be a bit weird? also im def not late bc it’s still sunday in some timezones so ;))

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I stared intently at the grungy nick in the otherwise spotless wall, mind racing a mile a minute.

The better half of the last hour had been spent pacing back and forth, gaze unmoving from the unconscious man in fear of missing the twitch of a finger or the flutter of an eyelash. His complete stillness persuaded me to check on his pulse frequently, glad to feel the faint, yet steady, beat beneath layers of smooth skin.

When I received a second call from my cranky saviour to inform me that he was nearly here, I forcefully sat myself down and practiced that infamous square breathing that every zen yogi swore by. By the persistent bouncing of my knee, it was evident that the yogis had failed me.

Rain was pounding down in thick sheets onto the pavement outside and at this point I was convinced the world had it out for me, using every trick in the book to further complicate this surely doomed rescue mission. Nonetheless, I optimistically hoped that the incoming storm would soon subside.

My unfortunate lips dealt with the brunt of my merciless canines, rendering the skin raw by the time a distinctive series of raps against the sturdy door caught my attention. It was the very same pattern in which I’d regularly knock on the door to the cleaning storage, craving the company of someone other than the three musketeers I’d gotten to know better than my own blood.

Although I ordinarily would be enthusiastically welcomed and greeted with nothing less than a wide, heart-shaped grin, the circumstances now were undoubtedly exceptional. Thus, the crinkle between his brows and the disgruntled glare fixed on my sheepish smile were to be expected.

Needless to say, Hoseok was not impressed.

“What the hell?” the typically friendly janitor barked out, huffing out his frustration at having his slumber disturbed. “You do know that it’s almost two in the morning right? How did you even get in here? Why couldn’t this wait for tomorrow?”

His hair stuck up in a multitude of different directions, evidently having rolled out of bed, slipped on a jacket and came to my rescue. The wrinkled, blue horse character on his pajama set eased some of my nerves at the familiarity of its nose, in the shape of Hoseok’s smile that was, understandably, nowhere to be found with the current circumstances.

I gripped the distressed male by his lithe shoulders, imploring him to slow down. “I’m not coming in tomorrow. Listen, this is gonna sound absurd but—”

His eyes drifted past my smaller form and I firmly shook at his torso to prevent him from spotting the other man. “Hey! Eyes down here.” A hint of curiosity bled through his agitated exterior when he focused on my stern exterior once more. “You can’t freak out, okay?”

Hoseok shrugged his approval, murmuring, “Yeah, I get it, directly disobeying the head researchers is pretty satisfying and all, but did you really have to drag me into this? Especially when you know I start early on Saturdays?”

At the reminder of his strict schedule, I withered marginally as I originally hadn’t intended to involve him at all. A shameful appreciation began to eat away at my conscience, grateful for his presence in spite of my outrageous request. I wouldn’t know what to do if Hoseok hadn’t come through and in my eyes, he remained an angel who was too good to be true.

“I’m sorry, I promise this is really important.” I brought my arms back to my sides, glancing down at my feet in order to organize my swirling thoughts. “I wouldn’t call you if it wasn’t an emergency.”

What I didn’t notice while lost in my reverie was Hoseok’s rebellious stare, wandering over the injured man’s form. “What the fuck?” He gently shoved me aside, stumbling deeper into the laboratory. When he was planted by the stranger’s table, he repeated, “What the actual fuck?”

My head tipped back in exasperation, disappointed that not even my last minute backup strategy was going according to plan. “Hobi, please.”

I could practically envision the gears whirring in his head, a natural reaction considering the mutant in front of him. When he finally craned his neck back to me, he mumbled with wide eyes, “Say sike right now.”

“Stop talking for two seconds.” I groaned, marching up to position myself between the janitor and the table in an attempt to calm him down. Immediately upon noticing his trembling digits, I reached out to clasp them within my own quivering hands. “Listen, this experiment they’re conducting? From what I know, it’s all some screwed up excuse to inject animalistic characteristics of their choosing into humans. And their track records point to a lot of predator species.”

“Predators? Wha—why would they even want to create a predator-human hybrid?” Hoseok took a tiny step back and out of the fear that he would flee, I fiercely clamped down onto our conjoined limbs.

“I don’t know yet,” I faltered. “But, honestly, I couldn’t care less because of how unethical they are in their approach to this project.” At his puzzled expression I somberly gestured to the unmoving lump in the corner, willing myself to postpone any tears for a safer location.

Hoseok must have connected the dots at the midnight black shade of fur peeking out underneath the fabric matching the colour of the hybrid’s ears and tail, as his stare hardened and his breathing began to even out from the rapid pace it was at before. “I’ll need more details later on, but let’s get him out of here first.”

At his command, I retracted from Hoseok's hold, scoping out the rather barren area for something other than the masses of files and papers strewn about. “You think we can carry him together?”

Simply comparing the difference in size between the stranger and Hoseok, there was no doubt the copious, hulking mass of muscle outweighed my friend’s slimmer figure. Our combined strength would have to somehow prove formidable against his bulky body.

Hoseok’s grimace spoke volumes about his faith in that idea, although there wasn’t much of a choice considering the alarming time crunch and our limited accessibility to other parts of the laboratory. Due to my blind confidence in the ostensibly foolproof scheme I constructed, the only cameras shifted were directly located in the path from the front entrance to the changing room to the upstairs lab.  

Oh, how I was regretting that naivety now.

Using an abandoned stretch of fabric that had been stuffed into one of the drawers I rummaged through earlier, I covered his immobile body with the thin cover to provide some decency and act as a layer of defence against the torrents outside.

While Hoseok stood directly behind his head, leaning forward to loop his arms underneath the hybrid’s triceps and around his chest, I grabbed each of his ankles, cradling them to my abdomen. Even with our best efforts to avoid any of his wounds, there was no way to avert the countless scratches and bruises that littered every inch of visible skin. We counted on the sanguine belief that he wasn’t conscious enough to feel any of it, reluctant to use any tranquilizers when we weren't aware of how much juice they’d already injected him with.

“On the count of three?” Hoseok asked.

With a nod, I tightened my hold and widened my stance. “One, two,” after taking a generous inhale, I heaved, “three!”

The two of us managed to maneuver the stranger down the length of the dingy hall before we were forced to gently place him onto the ground, desperate to grant our aching muscles the break they demanded. Currently, construction was being done on the elevator, which meant that the flight of stairs was the next obstacle to be tackled.

I lost the brief, but fierce, battle of rock-paper-scissors and endured the frightening prospect of marching down the stairs backwards—in the dark. All because Hoseok was unwilling to sacrifice the slightest bit of his comfort for the both of us to step sideways.

It was safe to say the stairs themselves took ten minutes to clear.

On the first floor, we were able to cross over to the main entrance in a breeze thanks to the spacious nature of the lobby. After scurrying to Hoseok’s car and laying the hybrid in the back seat, I returned to the lab to dutifully lock up the front door and jogged back to the vehicle.

Hoseok sent me a befuddled brow lift from the front seat when instead of the passenger’s side, I hesitantly stood a stride away from the driver’s door. “He’s fine, hurry up already so we can get out of here.” He motioned to the space beside him with the flick of his chin, his bed head dancing along with the movement. “It wouldn’t look too great if anyone caught us right now, especially with the man-cat knocked out cold in the back. Plus, the lab just radiates spooky vibes at night, look at my goosebumps!”

“Okay, okay, give me a second,” I grunted, opening the door to the back seat as I bowed inside to avoid a painful meeting with the roof of the vehicle. While gripping the back of the stranger’s skull with one hand and his upper back with the other, I lifted his torso and slipped inside. Tenderly, I placed his head on my lap.

“What are you doing?” Hoseok stared at me through the mirror, evidently unnerved by my proximity to the man. “He could literally wake up at any minute and there goes your throat!”

“Or he could get juggled around from your shitty driving and open his injuries again,” I countered, “which I think is a lot more likely, no?”

He scoffed, taking full offence to my jest. “Never mind. I hope he throws you out the damn window for calling my driving anything less than spectacular.”

The rush of excess blood coursing through my veins as a result of my overactive heart pounded in my head, nearly loud enough to block out the boisterous revving of the engine echoing throughout the empty lot. Tires squeaked against the pavement, jolting the hunk of metal into action as we sped away.

“Where were you thinking of leaving him?” he asked, taking a breath before mumbling, “that is, if you thought about this at all.”

“Hobi!” My jaw dropped dramatically at his not so subtle jab, shaking my head as I commented, “You’ve been hanging around Yoongi too much lately. I mean, all this sass couldn’t have come from nowhere.”

He slowed down behind the only other car in sight, flicking on his signal to turn. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not, I was just commenting on your drastic change in behaviour,” I rebutted, crossing my arms across my chest at his determination to aggravate me tonight. “For your information, I actually planned this out for weeks; who do you think got the key card to the upstairs lab, the keys to the building itself, moved all the cameras—

Despite the leather seat between us, I knew he was sporting a sly smirk, for his conceit was bleeding through his supercilious tone. “And who begged me for help halfway through this ingenious plan?”

My jaw clenched shut, astounded at his cheeky retorts. At first, I was unsure of how the relationship between the jovial custodian and the chilly facade that Yoongi donned among strangers would progress, but judging by the sheer number of occasions in which I’d walked into a room with the two chatting away—gummy smiles all around, it seemed to be advancing better than expected.

“Whatever, you came anyway.” I sank back into my seat, careful not to disturb the comatose man peacefully resting on my thighs. Hopefully he was narcotized enough to remain oblivious to the various disturbances around him and would only rouse when the sun made an appearance.

Hoseok blithely sneered, pressing harder on the pedal as he spun the steering wheel to the right. “Yeah, well it’s kind of hard not to when you claim that Hyunho’s going to sue your ass for thousands of dollars.”

“And was I wrong?” I recalled our earlier conversation, where I hadn’t yet mustered up the courage, much less the patience, to confess to the details of my crimes. In a panicked state, I simply presented the consequences which would follow Hoseok’s absence—Hyunho’s wrath.

“No, now you’re just gonna get your ass handed to you by Namjoon and Yoongi,” he countered. “But I guess you’ll save some money while you’re at it.”

Merely the thought of their reactions to my late night escapade made me want to shrivel up in a ball. “Who said I’m going to tell them?”

“You’re not telling them?” The car slowed as he gradually came to a graceful stop behind a red light, turning his torso to face me with the help of his hand on the central console. “You know better than to release the man-cat, he’ll just get caught again.”

Rolling my eyes like a petulant child being scolded, I muttered, “I’m not releasing him.”

“But you can’t deal with him on your own either!” he snapped, the lack of sleep shortening his tolerance. After a pause to regain his senses, Hoseok rapidly shook his head and twisted back to focus on the empty roads ahead.

"Listen," I gritted out between my teeth, my own temper flaring. “I think you’re forgetting that I was well aware of the fact that I would be housing some kind of animal for a while, just didn’t know he would be this big.”

“Or this dangerous? This costly?” His firm grip on the wheel tightened, knuckles turning white as his emotions boiled over. "You’re not prepared to deal with him, I'll just take him back to my place."

A puff of air escaped my throat at his ridiculous solution, stating, "You live with your sister. There's no way she won't find out."

"Like you're any better off," he quipped, staring me down through the rearview mirror. "You live alone. If he were to do anything to you, we’d be none the wiser about it."

"Well, we can't risk anyone discovering his existence. There's no other way.” By watching the stranger’s chest rise and fall with each elongated breath, I was able to simultaneously avoid Hoseok’s prying eyes and collect my own thoughts.

While impatiently waiting for his arrival back at the lab, my mind had trudged through copious possibilities, overwhelmed with the pressure to choose the right one. Eventually, I came to the disconcerting conclusion that, be that as it may, the most secure option remained to bring him back to my place.

I reassured, "Don’t worry, I cleared out my bedroom so that there’s nothing in there that could potentially be used as a weapon. We'll secure him down, lock the door, and I'll camp out in the living room."

"Y/N, we don't have any clue what this guy is capable of,” Hoseok stressed, worry colouring his voice as he sharply gesticulated with his free hand. “Hell, look at him! He has cat ears, Y/N, and do not get me started on his tail.”

I stole a glance at the accused appendage in bewilderment, unsure of why that aspect was at the forefront of Hoseok’s concerns regarding the mutant boy. “What’s wrong with his tail?”

“My point is,” he accentuates, “we have no idea what we’re dealing with here. What if he has some kind of monstrous super strength and his diet consists of human flesh? He could probably rip right through any restraints and bam! That'll be the end of you."

I held my tongue at ridiculing his absurd speculations when some sort of man-cat hybrid was currently strewn across the back seat of Hoseok’s run-down Corolla; a dim display exposing the current, ungodly hour of the early morning.

“Do you have any better ideas?" Although my question was met with radio silence, we steadily continued on the potholed path headed away from my house. I spoke up again, "Where are you taking us?"

"We're going to Namjoon's place, and we're gonna think of a better alternative all together."

"Hoseok," I seethed, fists clenching next to my thigh. "He'll make us take him back. We're already too far in to go back now."

The car jerked violently due to the bumpy road and being suddenly reminded of the wounded boy, I shot out to grab at his thin waist in order to nail him to the seat. Despite my best efforts, crimson liquid soaked through the thin blanket and I cursed under my breath.

"I can't leave you there alone with him!"

"Please, we'll be careful." A beat passed as I greedily inhaled the fresh air flowing in through my open window,  gathering ideas to negotiate. "I'll stay awake the whole time and I'll text you every hour."

Regardless of my pleas, the car kept at its incessant pace to Namjoon's apartment. Sweat began to accumulate at my temples at the unsure fate of what censure awaited me. To distract my nerves, I gripped the fabric that covered the man’s body, tugging it over his shoulders to rest just below his chin while pressing a bunch into his side in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

Past the low hum of the vehicle, a gentle utterance met my ears. I lifted my head to inquire whether the sound was merely a figment of my fatigued imagination when Hoseok repeated, "Every half hour."

My eyes widened, darting to examine his stoic expression from the rearview mirror. "Yes! Yes, yes of course. I can even do every ten minutes if that’s what you want." I shrugged my shoulders, pointing out, "I'll be up all night anyway."

"No, I'm good. Unlike some of us, I don't deserve to be punished for my crimes and would like to salvage the little sleep I can get," he declared as he performed a U-turn at a wide intersection.

My grin expanded exponentially at the change in direction. "Suit yourself."

I allowed my thoughts to clear, tracing a clear droplet on the window as it raced to engulf another, merging into one, larger globule that ran down the smooth expanse until it was out of sight. Unknowingly, I mindlessly carded my fingers through the stranger’s dampened strands; more so for my own comfort than for anyone else.

Before I knew it, we’d arrived at my quaint cottage and with the addition of another individual residing under its roof, the place seemed tinier than ever. Hoseok and I shuttled him over to my bedroom as gracefully as we possibly could, aiming to avoid whacking into any obstacles along the way.

Other than his lengthy legs knocking into two door frames, we were clear.

The second his back met the rigid mattress, we collectively released a weighty exhalation from the excessive exertion that strained both our physical and mental states. Although the chances of the stranger waking up now were low, seeing as he was out like a light throughout the whole journey, I hurried to collect the sturdy ropes that I purchased in advance.

“Ooh, you’re into some kinky shit, huh Y/N?” Hoseok quipped, taking the material from my hands.

My eyes rolled back at his stupid antics, glaring at the pleased crinkles forming next to his drooping eyes. “Ha ha, very funny. Now help me tie him up, so I can kick you out of my house.”

“And what’re you gonna do to him when I leave?”

Snatching the rope that he stole from me, I shoved Hoseok to the side by pressing against his firm bicep—which definitely carried more than his fair share of the hybrid on the way here—and grumbled, “Guess If you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself.”

Hoseok burst into a short fit of contagious laughter, invoking a couple quiet giggles that I was unsuccessful in fighting down. As he raised the stranger’s arms to the bed frame, I looped the braided, nylon material snug around each of his wrists. Along the way I checked to ensure that the restraints weren’t too tight before moving onto his ankles to repeat the process. Luckily enough, his height stretched the entire length of my minuscule bed with his feet dangling off the ledge.

“Tell me you brought more tranquilizers in case?” Hoseok asked immediately upon securing the last knot. Throughout a tedious explanation on how foolishly lax I was behaving with the hybrid, he went back to inspect my handiwork, tugging the ends of the cords closer together into a grip that nearly cut off the hybrid’s blood flow.

Over his nagging, I sneaked a victorious grin as I displayed the syringes I’d nabbed from the lab. He spent a few more minutes fiddling with various safety measures consisting of the pepper spray he stealthily retrieved from my purse, the bedroom door’s lock and an air horn that he remarkably pulled out of his coat’s pocket. Although it was questionable if the blaring sound would awaken even my closest neighbours due to the sheer distance between our houses, I didn’t dare attempt after imagining old Sangmin marching over here on his rickety cane to bark my ears off.

Refusing to bother expending effort on pondering over the rationale behind Hoseok’s little magic trick, I blithely shooed him out before any more ridiculous objects could be plucked out of his jacket.

The last straw was his finger approaching the sensitive button on said air horn. Unwilling to face the consequences of his brash actions, I slammed the front door closed behind Hoseok, the space suddenly void of his rowdy antics. I wearily blinked the drowsiness out of my eyes, the stillness and tranquility of the early hours slowed my heart rate from the fast paced, action packed night.

My sock-clad feed padded their way back to the bedroom, snatching my phone out of my black hoodie to fiddle around with an app that I discovered upon moving out. In order to relay my continued existence to my family, I scheduled texts to be sent every week, which would prove useful at this time as well. Knowing my own forgetful nature, one update to Hoseok would slip my mind, and either four, furious men would burst through every available entrance or I would have the whole police force upon my front steps in minutes.

To prevent such a disastrous event from taking place, I tampered around with the settings and added the fretting male to the list.

I halted in my tracks when faced with the mundane sight of the four walls where I spent most of my sleeping hours, not a hair out of place other than the addition of the injured hybrid on my dirtied bed. The crimson stains jolted me into action, retrieving my brand new first-aid kit and finding it hilariously ironic that the dressings were going to be used on the very same criminal that broke in to steal such supplies.

In order to fight off any cold that could have possibly slithered its way past the weak barrier draped over his body, I peeled the flimsy, sodden cover off and replaced it with a puffy comforter. Traversing through the storm that continued to rage outside definitely put a strain on his already weakened state, and his pale countenance wasn't very reassuring.

I slid the blanket down to access the sullied wound at his rib cage and grabbed a couple pads of gauze to firmly press onto the area. Thankfully, some blood had already begun to coagulate around the edges, so I didn’t have to wait too long for the trickling stream to cease. With a clean towel, I wiped the surrounding skin to get a better look at what I was dealing with, grimacing at the bruises forming galaxies across the jagged edges of ripped skin.

He was in worse shape than either Hoseok or I could have predicted. At this realization, the fleeting worry that he might succumb to the severity of his wounds grew, festering a nasty doubt in my mind.

Deciding whether to clean the laceration commenced another strife within the whirlwind of emotions inside my head, but I poured a few drops of antiseptic onto a cotton ball anyway, fearful of infection. As I tried my best to carefully dab the soaked material across his wounds, I peered up at his face to search for signs of consciousness.

My eyes involuntarily softened at the small cuts littered across his neck, travelling past his jaw and over the slopes of his hollowed cheeks to his forehead, which was partially hidden under his dark locks. When the cotton was thoroughly besmirched with a blend of bright crimson and a muddy brown, I drenched another and advanced up to other regions after the more serious lesions were taken care of.

A closer look at his sinewy torso allowed me to examine the scars scattered all around, mostly clustered around his upper arms. Absentmindedly, I wondered whether their appearances were linked to the cruel methods of the laboratory. How had he gotten within their clutches in the first place? For how long was he suffering under the justification of being an experiment?

What were they trying to accomplish with him?

My mind raced with all the different possibilities of what could have brought the hybrid into this situation in the first place, and before I knew it, I was pushing back the disheveled strands on his forehead to clean the last of his cuts. There were definitely more on his dorsal side, but I wasn’t willing to undo his restraints and flip his hefty weight over on my own. I would either wait until he woke up or ask Hoseok to stop by again after his shift.

In my current position, I was close enough to feel his warm breath fanning across my skin, observe the tiny brown mole under his lip and how utterly breathtaking this man was underneath the cuts that marred his skin. He was undoubtedly attractive at first glance, although I wasn’t able to appreciate his masculine features while under the stress of saving him.

Once every laceration in my reach had been disinfected to the best of my limited abilities, I swiftly bandaged his side again and stuck Spider-man themed band aids onto the smaller cuts in memory of the Hello Kitty ones that decorated his body earlier. I settled back on the chair, admiring my handiwork and fighting back the looming threat of dormancy that approached with every elongated blink. My head leaned back as I crossed my arms, thinking that a little snooze never hurt anyone.

I was blind to the cocoa orbs drinking in the darkness.

The bright light streaming in through the numerous cracks between my blinds prodded my eyelids apart, pupils struggling to adjust past the groggy haze of an unexpected slumber. Rather than revelling in the bountiful energy supplied by a restorative nap, an obnoxious cramp in my neck made its presence known alongside the bleak, obstinate tingle of dormancy that lingered within every tightened tendon, pulsating throughout my entire body.

Although the pain gradually ebbed away after I rolled my head around in wide semicircles, I knew from experience that the ache of sleeping in an uncomfortable position would linger.

Gold streaks were painted on the hardwood floor as a result of the sun’s harsh rays, a stark contrast to the dusk of a few hours ago. As I began to fuzzily recollect the memories from yesterday, I spotted the growing number of discrepancies between the room I’d seen before I closed my eyes and now, from the open door to the ruffled sheets, devoid of any sign of life.  

Fortunately, I seemed to be in the same position, seated on the tough chair that I snoozed off in a few hours ago. However, I found it odd that it was particularly difficult to do much else than squirm around, and that was when I realized the problem lied in the nylon material tied around my wrists and ankles, binding me to the furniture.

A cold dread washed over me, much like a freezing bucket of ice being poured over my head. The hybrid escaped.

Well, at least he didn’t exact his fallacious revenge on my sleeping form.

“Awake?”

I squeaked at the whiplash that followed the movement of my head twisting a second too quickly, intent on identifying the furtive speaker. My eyes widened exponentially at locating the muscular hybrid, black ears twitching at my cry and tail swishing in curiosity. Being clad in only boxers, I shifted my gaze away out of instinct, a fiery blush overtaking my features despite having ogled the man’s ripped physique before.

It felt completely different when he was unconscious and my only intent was to treat his multitudinous wounds though.

He slowly blinked, clearly finding my astonishment puzzling with the bewilderment laced in his orbs. Waving a large palm in front of my face to get my attention on him, he calmly said, “No hurt.”

The tight rope that currently hindered my motion was definitely the same one that had been previously occupied with restraining the hybrid to the bed. Yet the very same male stood in front of me, free as a bird. “H-how did you get out?”

Instead of answering verbally, he extended his defined arms out to the side, imitating the position he was tied up in, then robustly swinging both limbs towards one another. So he broke through those thick, durable ropes with sheer strength and willpower. Comforting.

The tranquilizers laid scattered across the floor, much too far to even consider reaching them.

“Where’s your blanket?” I questioned, suppressing the tremor in my voice as I found it outrageous that my throat was still intact at this point. There was no guarantee that he wasn’t harbouring any motives to rid the world of my presence, but the fact that he wasn’t actively making any moves to rip my heart out was a good sign.

The mop of dark chestnut swayed along in the same direction that he tilted his head over to; a habit revealing an emotion that I couldn’t place on the stranger. “Warm. No like.”

His broken English revived a flurry of trepidation. I recalled the night of the break-in, the terror and hysteria that I’d buried away under the incorrect pretense that a burglar never hits the same house twice.

I didn’t know if that sentiment applied to kidnapping the criminal and using your place as his hideout, as well.

As I noisily gulped, I felt his stare dart to my esophagus and in a wild panic, my wide eyes met the doe-like curve of his own. The hybrid edged closer to my trembling form before treading past me, out of sight. I closed my eyes in preparation.

This is it. Goodbye world, it was pretty shit while it lasted.

I heard the rustling of fabric behind me and silently applauded the man for thinking of a quick and easy suffocation to reduce the amount of clean up afterwards.

His bare feet slapped against the floor, trekking over to my front again. When a couple seconds passed and none of my airways were blocked nor was there any piercing pain to be felt, I cautiously cracked an eye open to see the stranger standing there, the puffy blanket from before wrapped around his broad shoulders.

“Good now?” he inquired with a bunny-like smile.

My jaw dropped slightly as I nodded, attempting to formulate a sentence but coming up empty. The stark contrast between the brawn enveloping his body and his innocent features threw me in for a loop. This must have been part of his grand scheme to ruthlessly murder me—lulling me into a false sense of security before executing me on the spot.

Outwardly, the hybrid appeared to possess more human features than his animal counterpart, leading me to wonder which instincts ruled over the other. Was he more level-headed and rational or was he unable to suppress his bestial instincts? Did he get sudden, violent mood swings or go on occasional, bloodthirsty rampages?

The lack of knowledge I had regarding the man, who had somehow gained the upper hand through his brute strength, was worrying. A tinge of regret for not skimming through a few files on said hybrid before Hoseok’s arrival made me softly curse under my breath.

As I shifted in place, I was reminded of my own predicament. “So, uh, any chance you’ll let me go?”

With his broad grin still on full display, he made his refusal clear by shaking his head back and forth. It was worth a try. “Not fair. I tied, now you tied.”

His childish logic caught me off guard and a bark of laughter shook my stiff shoulders, marginally relaxing at the prospect that he might postpone the bloodshed for a later time. The mystery laid in how he could distinguish my harmless intentions from the head researchers’ diabolical ones. Maybe it was the lab coat?

I made a mental note to never wear my own lab coat in front of him.

A grumble snapped me out of my reverie. I observed the stranger’s startled features as he glanced down at his abdomen, then, unabashedly, back up to my face. Recalling his screams of horror back at the lab, the barbaric treatment he received there was indisputable and based on his raging stomach, I guessed that it had been a while since he’d eaten anything of substance.

Of all times, Hoseok’s ridiculous words of the hybrid’s diet consisting of human grade meat played back through my brain and jitters erupted over my limbs, wanting to please the man before he was picking his teeth with my freshly cleaned bones.

“Hungry?” I prodded, pushing other priorities to the side in favour of feeding the rumbling beast.

His dark orbs immediately lit up with pure, unadulterated glee. The hybrid gracefully tied the ends of the fabric around his neck like a cape and rounded closer to me with mirth written across every crease on his countenance.

Unsure if his giddiness was attributed to the assumption that I was offering up the meat lining my organs, I squirmed in protest, attempting to cause a ruckus in order to spur his excitement towards another source of protein in the fridge.

Not having much choice in the matter with my limited range of motion, I watched in worry as he scurried out of sight again. “Hey, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here and—”

Despite being prepared for his unpredictable nature, a yelp flew past my lips when I was effortlessly lifted into the air, chair and all. His forearms caged my thighs as he gripped the bottom of the seat, hot pants of air blowing onto the back of my neck from his position.

His elation was practically tangible as he flew past the open doorway and sped off through the foyer. He must have ventured deeper into the house while I was blissfully unaware, since his strides towards the kitchen were filled with nothing but confidence in every step.

Hastily, I spat out, “I’m not that delicious, trust me! My budget’s been pretty strict this month, so I’ve just been eating junk, and I don’t imagine that’ll taste very go—”

The force holding me upright loosened when we reached the fridge, permitting my feet to find the floor. “Dee-lee-shiz?” He tried to imitate, turning to point straight at me.

“No! No, no, not delicious.” I corrected, violently shaking my head.

His outstretched arm retracted to his side, staring like a hawk at my chin tipping towards the metal cooling box behind him, and I repeated, “Delicious.”

As he flung the door to the refrigerator open, nearly ripping it right off its hinges, he yelled, “Dee-lee-shiz!”

Utter fascination at the chilled temperature and the rather meager array of food etched onto his features, sending relief through my veins. I encouraged him to ravage the tenuous stock of food while simultaneously rejoicing at successfully having deterred him from eating me alive.

Packs of eggs, blueberries, condiments, and essentially anything within his reach was hauled out, forming a growing heap on the countertop. When a zucchini found its way into his grasp, he took one puzzled look before chomping down on one end. I wasn’t too sure how raw zucchini would taste when eaten as though it were a cucumber, but he seemed pleased enough to take another bite that resounded throughout the space with a loud crunch.

I reclined back into the stiff chair, content on observing the ravenous hybrid empty my fridge and taking an occasional nibble on snacks that piqued his interest. Although, his grab at the bundle of raw chicken was when I decided to voice my concerns. “Ah, that has to be cooked!” At another tilt of his head, I explained, “You could get sick if you don’t cook it.”

By his furrowed brows, I deduced the concept flew over his head, but he threw the package onto my lap anyway and peered down expectantly. “Cook.”

“You tied me up, remember? I need some mobility to cook.” I tugged at my subdued arms to demonstrate my current inaptitude.

He hummed in thought, enveloping his lower lip between his lengthy canines as he weighed the pros and cons of being able to consume the meat by setting me loose. Finally, after clearly expressing how torn he was between his hunger and his teasing, it seemed that he’d come to a conclusion when he latched onto my left forearm.

Just as I was about to jib that I was no longer on the menu, a searing pain ripped across my wrist. I hissed through my teeth with my fists clenched as I teared my tender arm out of his grip, protectively cradling the limb to my chest.

He flinched away from the sound, taking a step away from my defensive form. At the sight of my disgruntled frown, he withered into himself, chin to his chest while I examined my sore wrist, whimpering at the edges of the flaming red, torn skin. I was a second away from viciously reprimanding him for the bruise that was more than likely to form by tomorrow, but one look into his guilty, fearful eyes made me pause.

With his strength, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he possessed the ability to do much worse, which didn’t seem to be his intent from all the fretting—ears tucked into the crown of his head and tail hanging low. As he seemed to be repenting without a chiding needed on my end, I redirected to a softer approach. “It’s fine, just be more gentle next time, okay?”

“Mm,” he complied weakly, his prior enthusiasm having substantially deflated. Before I could dismiss the topic and entice him with more food, he knelt down to my ankles, gripping the rope with both hands this time as he effortlessly tore the material apart, careful not to graze my legs in the process.

A shiver crawled down my spine at the display of power, mentally noting that there was probably enough strength in his fingers to flick my stunned form across the room; yet the man proved his duality by proceeding to grab one loose end of his makeshift cape and gently tie it around my unscathed wrist. “No run.”

Surprisingly enough, I hadn’t made it a break for it as soon as I was liberated. Although I sustained minimal injuries, he expressed his remorse and made no moves to consume my flesh, which was another good sign. As more time passed, he was revealing to be more and more of a passionate bunny stuck in a wrestler’s body.

After all, I hadn’t gone through all the trouble of kidnapping him just to sprint at the slightest sign of trouble. I confirmed, “No run.”

Some of his original ardour reappeared at my acknowledgement, along with a faint giggle that evoked a tiny smile on my own face. I figured that with his minimal experience revolving around homemade dishes, simply slapping on some salt and pepper to flavour the meat with a side of boiled vegetables would suffice. Thus, I took the package from my lap and got to work.

Cooking with another, rather useless, individual essentially attached at the hip was difficult, to say the least. In the beginning, the man fired question after question, curious about every ingredient and spice going into the dish, but after realizing that he lacked the correct vocabulary to obtain the information he sought, he became a silent observer.

Basically, he followed me around like a lapdog while munching on another zucchini to occupy his restless hands.

After pulling him around left and right, occasionally giving a soft tug on the blanket when he would unintentionally zone out, I finally threw all the components into a single pan, deciding to serve a simple stir-fry. With only the expanse of the puffy fabric between us, I was constantly elbowing the hybrid while mixing the ingredients together, which I considered a redeeming form of payback for his carelessness with my arm.

While the mouth-watering scent of lunch wafted around, he extended the wrist connected to mine, sidestepping over to the island to fish for a bag of baby carrots before coming to stand next to me by the stove. Spotting my stare, he flashed another blinding grin and I couldn’t help but imagine long, bunny ears extending off the top of his head, his slender tail replaced with a fluffier ball of fur at the back. That seemed to better suit his ardent personality.

The chicken gradually changed colour as the exterior of the vegetables softened, and I brought the meal along with the chair by the fridge over to my tiny two-person table, prompting him to take a seat in front of the steaming plate. I expected him to ravenously dig in and devour every crumb, yet he refused to move a muscle, staring out the glass doors to the backyard and into the forest instead.

“I hurt.” He stumbled over his words, somberly bringing his gaze to my cocked brow. “No mean to hurt.”

Thinking back to the scuffle that seemed eons away at this point, I flashed a reassuring smile his way, explaining, “I get it, you were injured. Um, I was kind of mad at first because you broke my door and everything,” I offhandedly gestured towards the broken contraption, “but I forgive you.”

“No.” He clenched his jaw, analyzing the surface of the table as if the words he was searching for were etched on the surface. “Now. Sorry now, too.” To drive his point home, he delicately grabbed the arm not wrapped in the blanket, streaks of red decorating my wrist like a tight bracelet.

I hummed my understanding. “Ah, I told you it’s fine already,” I reassured, patting his hand.

Content at my acceptance of his makeshift apology, he began to dig into the chicken. His nose twitched at the unfamiliar taste, but he made no complaints. Anything was better than nothing, in the end.

I let him enjoy his food for a bit before asking, “Did you have a name? Something like J3?”

His eyes went back to scanning the outdoors, the sound of his chomping coming to an abrupt halt when he spotted a sad lump on the porch.

“Bud?” he inquired, the light glimmering in his irises.

The nickname stumped me, as I had difficulty imagining Hyunho or Minzy affectionately calling their experiment ‘bud’. “What are you talking about? Is that your name?”

His finger poked out to the cylindrical pile of tuna outside, then back to himself, “Bud.”

Befuddled now more than ever, I tried to laugh it off and nodded my head towards the plate again, silently advising him to continue eating.

Unfortunately, he didn’t seem too keen on evading the topic, whimpering in frustration at either my lack of understanding or his incapability of properly communicating due to the language barrier. His unending appetite was going to be put on hold for this. As he stood up, the chair behind him screeched, and he clutched on to the blanket, pulling me towards the back door.

Refusing to allow history to repeat itself, I rushed ahead to slide the hairband off and pushed the door open, allowing him to slip through. I figured that when the man drifted off to sleep tonight, I could replace the rapidly decaying tuna in hopes that my kitty would visit again.

While I was lost in thought, he undid the knot connecting the two of us and sprinted into the forest.

His back disappeared within the thickets fencing the towering maple trees and I froze in place, my jaw going slack in an ugly mixture of bafflement and betrayal, believing that he had simply taken advantage of my hospitality then ran off. Although, all attempts at making sense of the hybrid’s actions were cut short when familiar noises of horrifying, crackling sounds met my ears, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.

When the underbrush twitched, leaves fluttering from the movement of an animal hidden within their cover, a sinking feeling entered my chest. And that was the moment I met the vibrant, emerald eyes that had dug their own space within my heart.

[soulwillower]

narcissist  • bill denbrough

(bill denbrough x reader)

(title taken by the song narcissist by no rome)

requested:  hi i was wondering if you could do another fan-fiction of bill denbrough x reader and bill used to be friends with the reader until he became popular and started bulling the reader also the other losers are popular too so the reader has no other friends. when ever she comes home shes ussually crying or blaring music oh and her parents only care about there job then there daughter but you can do whatever you want from there

warning: swearing, mentions of shitty parents, mentions of bullying, lil angsty, fluffy ending, unedited and poorly written 

[losers + reader are 16+ in this.]

hi i may come back and edit this bc i think its choppy, also the user that requested this deactivated their account sometime since i last talked to them :( i hope they’re okay <33 this is for them!

2.2k words

♡

it was one of those days that really should have been fantastic. 

you woke up happy and not tired, you had the chance to actually make it to school on time and grab an apple on your way out the door, your parents even said good-bye to you as you left. and then today at lunch, you were eating on your own and you didn't quite feel as lonely - after that, nobody had come towards you and shoves your shoulder in the hall or knocked your books out of your grasp.

so yeah, it wasn't much but you take what you get, honestly.

and now you're walking home, headphones in your ears and drowning out the world around you as music blares at you from all sides, consuming your thoughts and creating a sense of security that you never found within the walls of your own home nor the halls of your school.

"y/l/n!" a voice barks, and you turn your head quickly, startled as you pull a headphone out of your ear. your stomach falls to your ass as you lock eyes with the only face you didn't want to see staring back at you.

bill denbrough.

he looks completely hazardous as he walks towards you, a teasing smirk on his lips. you already want to cry and he's not even opened his mouth yet - but you know when he does you'll loose the tiny shred of hope you had left for a good day, because he made your life a living hell.

well, you suppose it wasn't really just him, but he certainly didn't help whenever he would snicker at the words uttered by your peers, or the way his mouth seemed to tease you just as much as his eyes did.

and if your life was a silent film, bill had the means to force your world into an array of technicolor screams and and an endless, torturous laugh track that started with a joke at your expense and continued through your day until you ran into your indifferent parents as they stared at their laptop screens and barked work orders into their phones. everything you did, bill's domineering laugh haunted it.

and you know bill could take your silver screen tragedy and turn it into a major motion picture film starring you, the sad delinquent without a caring family and a disputably unappealing social life, and him - the star boy of the town, the dream boat, the handsome devil himself.

he could do that, but instead he just continues his ways, every day hurting your already smashed-out heart and stomping it into a messy pulp on the ground he floats upon.

although despite this, you know he wasn't ever really the one saying it. it doesn't matter, because he stands there and watches as you're berated and sometimes even cracks that brilliant smile of his at a real funny jest at your expense - and that was the most painful part of every day. because you used to be friends. you used to bring that same smile out all the time.

but in a much, much different way.

you and bill had a falling out so long ago that you barely remember what it was like to have him always by your side. all you can remember is feeling the complete opposite of how you now feel - you used to feel so powerful. but you'd gone and lashed out at bill after the stress of your absent parents, resulting in you doing some very terrible things that caused him to abandon you and find new friends.

"d-did you hear me?" he says with a lifted brow, staring down at you with a boldly irritated look. your throat feels dry and you shake your head, "leave me alone, bill." you squeak out, your legs starting to carry yourself faster down the sidewalk towards your neighborhood. but of course, there's that damn laugh again and his long legs carry him back to you effortlessly.

"i s-said, m-mrs. graham told me she lent you a copy of the s-scarlet letter. i need it."

you swivel your head to stare at him. "what." you say, completely unsure of the complete lack of animosity behind his words. is that why he's here? he needs something from you? you want to scream as you let your feet fall against the pavement, nearing closer and closer to your house.

"you r-really are a d-dumbass, aren't you? i said i n-need the book." he says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. what's he doing, walking with you right now, asking to borrow a book? he's not your friend, as he reminds you every day, so why is he suddenly trying to act like it? "well i don't have it." you say honestly, "it's in my room. get it from one of your friends." you utter, mind flashing to the faces of the losers who, really, were absolutely not considered losers by a popularity standpoint.

the losers were the life of every party, they were the 'cream of the crop,' they were the most popular kids in school. and as much as you hated to admit it, they were the reason that you weren't friends with bill anymore. you and him were the best of friends when you were younger; your moms had been friends for a long time and when they both had kids the same age, it was like a match made in heaven. so for the first fourteen years of your life, you and bill were close to the point that you somehow fell for him along the way.

which is why it hit even harder when you went to high school and the losers started to pull bill away from you unintentionally. and even the losers didn't mean to do it. other people loved bill because of his charismatic, gently leading nature. they loved him because he was handsome and funny and caring.

and they hated you, so bill had to start conforming to that stereotype. and now, almost four years later, you still flinch when you catch a glimpse of the losers in the hallway or when you meet a certain pair of green eyes.

"n-none of my friends have it, y/n. that's wh-why i'm asking y-you." he insists and you swear you're about to scream or cry. maybe both.

in the end, he follows you to your house and you dig out the scarlet letter.

"fine, i gave it to you, will you leave me alone?" you mumble as you turn to meet bill, who hasn't moved a muscle since grabbing the book. bill huffs beside you, a strange and unexpected silence falling over you as the air changes in the room.

his eyes are swimming over your empty walls and you're suddenly embarrassed because you have no photos of you with friends to hand up. and he can see that. "you ch-changed your r-room." he says next, rocking on his heels.

you're so nervous about what he's going to say that you almost stutter like him. "y-yeah, of course i have since middle school." you reason, looking around and noticing all the ways it's changed since he and you were friends. now the walls are a new color, posters of your favorite bands hanging up, covering the spots where photos of you and bill and even georgie used to hang proudly. you aren't sure where those photos are anymore, but you know they're not here. it still hurts too much to look at them.

"why? i liked it b-before." he says, sounding honest. your heart drops and you look up at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“you’re joking.” you say, arms crossed. he glares at you, the animosity obvious in his green eyes. “you know why i changed it all.” “what, y/n? i don’t know what you want from me.” he snaps and you nearly scream at the irony of his statement. “you’re a narcissistic dick, you know.” you mutter, crossing your arms. and you believe it, which makes it even worse to realize that you still love him, despite that. you sigh, sitting on your bed and dropping your face into your hands.

slowly, the mattress dips beside you and a warm body slides next to you. you look at him out of the corner of your eye suspiciously.

“y/n.” he whispers, but this time his voice is soft and you’re just confused. he looks at you, eyes flickering downwards a few times and confusing you. until he’s leaning forward and his eyes are closing and... oh god -

you jerk your head away from him like he's a hot pan and he opens his eyes and stares at you. you want to fucking sob. "bill, are you kidding?" you whispering, noting how broken you sound to yourself.

your mouth continues before your brain can filter it. "come on. i can put up with the incessant teasing, the rude remarks, the dirty looks. whatever. but if you're going to try and make fun of me in this way..." you trail off, afraid that if you keep going you'll actually cry. he looks lost and nervous.

"can you just leave?" you whisper, avoiding his eyes and picking at the hem of your sleeve.

"y-y/n, but-" he starts but you let out a half sob, "no, bill, this is not funny. this is really fucked up." you say, the words slicing through the air like a sizzling knife.

"its n-not a j-joke." he says quietly, but he stands up and scratches his neck. your eyes snap up to watch him with an apprehensive feeling of hope blossoming in your chest. as he turns to leave, you catch his wrist. he looks at you, cheeks red and a defeated look across his features. "what did you say?" you ask quietly. he just looks at you, as if he doesn't want to say it again.

and you can’t believe he won't willingly say it - because he’s that ashamed.

"you've made my life hell, bill. you can't just act like everything's changed because you tried kiss me just so you could make fun of me." you say, tired of his shit, "you're a terrible person for what you've done, especially if you know that i still have feelings-" you try to cut off your frustrated ramblings but it happens too late and you sigh. "leave." you say simply, dropping his wrist.

he kneels down instead, though, so he can try and meet your downward tilted eyes. "p-please, y/n. i'm s-sorry. i don't want to h-hurt you any-more." he whispers, tears welling in his eyes. you look at him, shocked to hear him sound so vulnerable. you realize you aren't sure when the last time was you heard him sound so sincere.

"i kn-know you can't f-forgive me. i don’t d-deserve that. b-but maybe, one d-day, you'll s-see that i feel r-really awful. a-and i need to make a ch-change." he's saying these words and it's like your world is clicking by one still frame at a time and you realize fleetingly that he's done it - bill denbrough has finally turned your life into a major motion picture.

"so... that-what was-" you stammer and bill shakes his head, leaning closer and gently placing his hand on your jaw. you don't flinch this time.

"i w-wanted to kiss you for r-real, b-because... because i've w-wondered what it would f-feel like for y-years." he says, staring into your eyes. “so i’m s-sorry to put you in th-that situation. i-it’s just a crush, y-you don’t have to w-worry.”

your heart starts flipping as you stare at him, lips parted in shock. "what?" you ask, feeling dumb because no way is this happening.

no way is bill denbrough, the boy who learned just how to make your bad days just a little worse, confessing that he's wanted to kiss you for a while. and no way are you admitting to yourself the same thing.

“i l-like you, i think. i w-want to know you a-again. i hate not talking to you e-every day.” he says, staring into your eyes. you smile lightly, resolve breaking and he beams, happier than you’ve ever seen him.

so yeah, it was one of those days that really should have been fantastic. and as you sigh a shaky breath and lean forward, bill closes the gap with a soft press of his lips to yours and you suddenly dont care what the day should have been, because you have a feeling that what's happening is going to change the course of the rest of your life.

his lips are a presence against yours; a force that knocks the wind out of your chest as his hand caresses your cheek and lightly licks your bottom lip. you’re putty in his hands, and you both know it.

you just have to trust him.

as you pull away, though, you take one look at him and realize that yes, he will wait for you because this is bill, and he will show you how much he cares.

"c-can i stay? p-please." he asks, looking insecure and making you smile softly. "yeah, bill, of course you can."

he smiles fully, pulling you into his chest before rising up to flop on your bread, star fishing and tugging you to lay with him. you laugh slightly, heart pounding just as hard as his own

"we have homework, bill." you state, knowing the boy despite all that you'd been through. he grumbles, nuzzling his nose into your shoulder with red cheeks. your stomach flutters with nerves and butterflies.

[bigbrotherlouis]

the bag of chips scene from 'i ate you up the day we first spoke' for the director's cut meme!

whoohoo i actually loved writing this scene and i’m so glad someone asked about it yeeee

(director’s cut meme)

everything eases back into normal. tk picks nolan up for practice, because nolan’s car is inexplicably always out of gas, (this is true, i read an article about it somewhere) and ties nolan’s ties for him on game days, and follows him into his living room to eat all the good snacks nolan hides on increasingly higher shelves.

“how did you even get those?” he asks when he comes out of the washroom and finds travis eating illegal all-dressed his mom had sent down in his last care package. he’s pretty sure they were hidden, like, on top of the cupboards this time. he literally had to throw them up there. (food, when you move countries, is a really big deal. i always want to keep the mutlicultural aspect of a lot of hockey players in mind, because i was a young multicutural person in the united states, and home foods is usually a good way to do it. all-dressed are pretty distinctly canadian, and my cousin gets her parents to send them to her in california, so i borrowed that from her. also i liked the image of TK climbing on the counters to try and get at a bag of chips.)

tk shrugs and crams a handful of chips into his mouth. “smart thinking.”

“those are mine.”

“i don’t see you eating them,” tk says smugly and nolan thinks about it for precisely point two seconds before he launches himself at the sofa. (no thoughts, head empty)

it’s a familiar ritual, this one. tk cackles, going limp so he can noodle off the cushions onto the floor, the bag still clamped in his hand. he scrabbles backwards until he’s out of reach of nolan’s admittedly long arms.

“sucks to suck, babe,” he gloats, except nolan is not emphatically giving up, those are his chips, and he’s not going to let his idiot of a best friend eat them all. tk grunts when nolan lands on his lower half, hard, and pins down his legs so he can’t escape. he sits on tk’s knees and ignores the yelling. (travis “has never shut up once in his life” konecny strikes again)

“mine,” he says savagely, snatching the bag out of his hands. tk huffs, shoving at his legs.

“it’s rude— not to— share— fuck, patty, what are you doing in the gym?”

“some of us don’t skip leg day.”

“yeah, well, some of us aren’t built like a fuckin’ ox,” tk complains, as if he’s not just as in shape as nolan is. “i can’t even fuckin’ pinch you because you’re wearing jeans.”

“now who’s the smart think—  fuck!” (not you, pat. not tk either but still not you.) he shouts, flinching and rubbing at his side. that pinch is definitely going to bruise. tk uses it as a distraction to roll them, nolan’s shoulders thudding painfully against the floor, and straddles nolan’s stomach with his thighs. there’s another struggle but tk gets hold of nolan’s arms, pins them under his knees so nolan’s fists are at his sides. he’s effectively trapped. (too many nolans but what do you do when writing m/m. also this isn’t specific to this scene, but especially in hockey with all its nicknames, i like to write people’s internal narrative with whatever name they probably think of themselves as. that’s why nolan isn’t pat/patty here, and why tk is usually not travis)

“still me,” tk says, grinning at him with undisguised glee. he works the chips free and sits up, putting his weight just under nolan’s ribs so all the breath gets knocked out of him for a second.

“fucker,” nolan hisses, trying and failing to wriggle his way out. “what the fuck, teeks?”

“that’s what you get for not growing up with brothers, bro. gotta fight to survive. survival skills.”

“bud, you don’t even know. sisters have nails and they’re not fucking afraid to use them,” nolan says, his best murder glare in effect. he probably still has the scars in some places. (i know i do) tk snorts.

“sorry, i don’t see you scratching me here,” he says.  

“let me go and i’ll scratch you up real good,” he threatens and then his brain catches up with his mouth, his face going red as he realises what he’s maybe implied. “uh.”

tk doesn’t take the obvious chirp, just raises an eyebrow. there’s a considering look on his face, one that makes nolan want to squirm more and it settles somewhere down deep in his stomach. (so i wrote this scene because i needed a turn for both of them, relationship-wise. iirc, there’s been a few places where tk’s interest might be noticeable, but nothing super concrete for pat or for the reader. meanwhile, on tk’s side, he needed clear signals that pat’s into him before he tries to tell him again.)

“uh,” he says again because his brain is just fucking offline and his arms are still locked under travis’ legs and travis burns hot because nolan can feel it against his skin, through his t-shirt, and this is all going to get incredibly, incredibly awkward in about three seconds. (unfortunately, i love a good run-on sentence to build tension) he’s pretty sure popping a boner because a teammate is sitting on you is, like, not something you can get away with by laughing.

tk shifts, sitting up the tiniest bit, and reaches out the hand that’s not currently occupied with the fuckin’ chips— probably all crushed to hell now, anyway (foreshadowing!! also strategic last mention here so we know that tk is still holding them, and then they aren’t mentioned until the shoe drops for optimal dramatic effect) — and brushes his fingers against nolan’s cheek. he traces the blush from his cheekbone carefully down his neck, pausing to thumb at his jaw, and then bumps his fingers against his collar, where it disappears down into his shirt. (i really liked building the tension here. also this is fully just projection bc i would love to touch patty’s blush once in my life)

“you’re glowing, pat,” he says, so soft, and it makes nolan go redder. he glowers at a spot by tk’s ear, unwilling to look him in the face and see whatever is written there. (would tk actually tell nolan he’s glowing? probably not, but fictionally it gives the reader a good picture of what nolan looks like to someone else. i didn’t want to overuse red-- which didn’t quite feel like a strong enough word-- or blush, so glowing it was.) tk hooks his index into the collar and there’s a moment when nolan thinks he’s going to pull it down, see if his blush goes all the way down his chest— it does, if he’s embarrassed enough. it’s fucking terrible— and he turns his head away, dragging in a breath through his nose. he’s, like, so incredibly fucked that he can’t even think about it without going dizzy. (you’ll probably see this a lot if you look for it in my writing, but i like to add in a “like” or something similarly bro-ish when things get particularly emotionally fraught, to keep it more realistic. also i think it’s funny. anyway, i like the contrast of tk not being able to take his eyes away from something he wanted and nolan not being able to look at it. characterisation, wahey!) it’s better to just not look.

of course, it’s the exact opposite of what tk wants.

“hey,” he says. “look at me.”

nolan refuses, a muscle ticking in his jaw. (this is hot to me idc) tk lets go of his collar to pull on his hair instead, just a little tug of a piece by his ear, and nolan can’t quite bite back the punched-out sound that he lets out. (also hot.)

“look at me,” tk says again, an edge to his voice, and nolan does. tk won’t stop until he does, he knows that well enough. (another look at their dynamic and how well they know each other) he lifts his chin, just a tiny bit, because he’s not going to do anything without a fight. tk’s hand tightens in his hair and it keeps him in place, nailed— ha— to the floor. (i write for the people whose brains make inappropriate jokes at the wrong moments) he couldn’t move if he wanted to, watches helplessly as tk leans down.

the hope in his chest is so thick, nolan thinks it might actually smother him, stop his heart. he’s breathing fast and shallow, almost on the verge of panting, and jesus fuck, isn’t that embarrassing. he’s so desperate, he could squirm with it and he briefly remembers travis months ago, writhing on his very rug and how much nolan wanted to help. he can smell snow again, sharp in the back of his nose. (this does the double work of calling back to an earlier scene-- ya girl loves a good callback-- and also building the anticipation some more. the snow reference reminds the reader that this is still a werewolf au, even in the midst of this. also, once when i was like fifteen, i read something about how to write kisses/romance and it talked about picking one or two aspects of the kiss to focus on-- breathing, hands, the feeling of someone’s mouth, etc. i still use that advice.)

tk shifts his weight and nolan has enough time to think holy fuck, is this happening? before travis fucking konecny upends the bag of all dressed-flavoured crumbs all over his face. (OKAY a lot going on here! it’s one of my favourite moments, really. first of all, here’s the resolution of all the chips talk! sure, i could’ve just abandoned them, but the subverting of expectations was a lot more fun and the story still wasn’t quite ready for them to kiss yet. second, this is tk chickening out. he had two choices and he chose violence. or, like, the buddies option, which is amusing to me because this is not buddies, boys. finally, the full name was necessary to convey nolan’s disappointment and anger, as was the full description of the chips. nolan is upset, and he’s going to notice these things, and that shows up in his internal narrative.)

“got ‘em,” he crows over nolan’s sputtering, letting himself get bucked off onto the floor. nolan wipes furiously at his face, all his feelings a confusing mix of horny and angry and confused, all with the thick overtone of humiliation.

“you’re a fucking dick,” he says and it’s flat, but tk is gloating too much to care. (he’s not, he’s trying to cover, but nolan’s too embarrassed to realise)

“you should’ve seen your face, pat.”

nolan glares daggers at the carpet, the chips spread out everywhere. it’s going to be a bitch to clean up. tk had better help. (makes sure the punch landed, and to give a final resolution.)

he leans against the sofa and waits for tk to tire himself out, listening to the laughter and trying not to get too angry or, like, cry. his neck feels hot, prickling uneasily. he rubs at it with his hand, startles when tk kicks him gently in the ankle. (in order for tk to not come out of this looking like an asshole, i needed him to make up his obliviousness by being observant in other times. and in order for tk to notice patty being mad, i needed to give patty actions that could be noticed, like not laughing along with the joke)

“sorry if i made you mad,” tk says quietly, all the giggles finally worked out of him. “you looked tense (no shit bud) and i thought it would make you laugh.”

it’s not tk’s fault nolan thought he was gonna, like, kiss him. (”like” again, to break up a too-honest moment) it was a dick move but tk doesn't have a cruel bone in his body, so: “it’s fine,” he mumbles and shrugs his shoulder. “it was funny.”

tk preens for a second. “i know.”

“you owe me a bag now.”

“i’ll buy you a family-sized pack. i’m sure they’ll ship it down here, amazon or ups or somethin’.” (patty’s attempting to be normal and tk is attempting to make amends.)

nolan nods and scratches at his face, tipping his head against the couch cushions. (little motions like him scratching his face aren’t super necessary for like plot or development, but it helps humanize characters and i like to add them in whenever i can, as long as it’s not overkill. they can also be helpful in pointing to emotional state without directly saying it.) it’s quiet for a few seconds, just the sound of them breathing heavier than usual, and it would be so normal. should be normal, by all counts, but nolan still kind of wants to crawl into a hole for while. wants to push tk out of the apartment and eat ice cream and google ‘how to stop a crush,’ like his sisters used to do when they were upset. he’s already googled it, a few days ago, and there was nothing but maybe someone’s offered good advice since then. (people make an impact on you, and family even more so, and i always like reminders of how close nolan seems to be with his sisters. also, it’s funny.)

tk flicks him on the wrist. (this is something that tk does consistently through the story, and even though it’s not super important to this scene, it establishes a behaviour in the larger story. that’s important too!)

“pat,” he says and it sounds it’s not the first time. nolan blinks.

“yeah?”

“i just asked you if you were hungry.”

“oh. uh. no, not really,” he answers truthfully. tk wrinkles his nose.

“do you, like, have anything in your fridge to eat?”

“mm, probably not.”

“typical,” tk mutters under his breath, as if he ever has anything regularly stocked besides protein powder and bacon. (protein rich foods that are easy to eat after a full moon, or after a workout) at least nolan has eggs pretty consistently. (also a protein rich food that’s less easy to eat after a full moon, but are easy to make when you aren’t a werewolf) “wanna go get sushi?”

nolan thinks about it. shoves his sweaty hair behind his ear and considers going out to their favourite place and pretending he’s not still fucking mortified. and, like, a little turned on. it makes him nauseous. (i get such physical reactions to emotional things that i write everyone into having them) 

“no,” he says. he’s not facing tk but he can still see him deflate, his shoulders hunching over. “i don’t— no.”

“okay. that’s… okay.”

“i think i’m getting a migraine,” lies nolan. “think i’m just gonna lay down.”

“do you need me to stay with you? keep you company?”

nolan’s shaking his head before tk even finishes the thought. “no, trav. i’m fine, i promise.” (the trav here works as a signal that something isn’t right! it’s why tk looks at him for so long in the next line.)

tk studies him for a long minute, his eyes searching the side of patty’s face presented to him. nolan keeps his expression as blank as possible and stares hard at his feet.

“text me if you need anything,” he says finally, the words coming out slow and gentle. it’s a lot to handle. “i’ll come back.”

“i know. i will.” he won’t, but that’s not for tk to know. he doesn’t move when tk goes out the door, squeezes his eyes shut when the door doesn’t slam into its frame, (tk’s taking care of him, still!) and decides to leave the pile of crumbs to deal with later. (the climax of this scene happened a while ago so this is another little reminder of what happened, just so it’s solidified in the reader’s head after the longish comedown. i end scenes a LOT like this-- two actions, and then a callback-- because they’re simple and effective, and usually sound great!)  /fin

ahh thank you so much for asking!! this was really fun to, like, process through and remember my logic for! i was actually really nervous writing this scene, because i knew the tension and the break had to be PERFECT for it to land right. but i do like how it turned out so at least there’s that. ily!!

[junghelioseok]

pronoia.

↳ you can definitively say that you did not sign up for this.

◇ namjoon x reader ◇ zombie apocalypse!au | college!au ◇ 15k [1/1]

notes: a very late birthday present for @imaginationofacrazyfangirl, who i kind of like for some reason. 

⇢ pronoia (n): a state of mind that is the opposite of paranoia. a suspicion that the universe is conspiring in your favor.

warnings: some violence obviously. some gore. mostly just me trying to be funny. irreverent humor, zombieland jokes, and a couple bad philosophy references bc idk what i’m talking about. exactly one (1) brooklyn 99 joke. yoongi is lowkey a badass bc u cannot convince me his crafty, conniving ass wouldn’t be good in this kind of situation. jk’s ready to risk it all for a twinkie. tbh this is kind of a mess and the ending might be rushed but i still worked really hard on it so please leave feedback sndfjfkjsksds 🙈

It’s too quiet.

Fluorescent lights flicker overhead, the dull hum fading into the background as water starts dripping somewhere to your left. Your heartbeat quickens, thudding erratically against your ribcage as you suck in a deep breath and tighten your grip on your baseball bat.

It’s hard to believe that just three days ago, you were a regular college student. Three days ago, your biggest concerns were finding a decently paid summer job and getting through your last philosophy lecture without daydreaming about the cute teaching assistant bending you over his desk. But now, sandwiched between two rows in the back of your university’s biggest auditorium, you have several new concerns. Bigger concerns.

And first and foremost among them, are the zombies.

To be honest, you still aren’t entirely sure how it happened. The last emergency alert had killed your phone’s battery for good, and you’d only just managed to catch a glimpse of the words “mutated virus” and “nationwide epidemic” before the screen faded to black. And a good thing too—the undead guy trying to sneak up on you from behind definitely would have gotten you had you not seen his reflection in your now-useless hunk of metal and glass.

Thank god for the softball unit in high school gym class, you think to yourself, trying in vain to wipe the blood and brain matter off of your bat. Sure, you didn’t think you’d be utilizing those skills to kill zombies, but at this new low point in your life, anything that aids your survival is a home run in your book.

Deeming your weapon sufficiently clean, you tuck it back into a makeshift sling you’d fashioned out of an old scarf, adjusting it so that it lays flat against your spine. With both hands now free, you begin inching toward the back exit. There’s a growing ache in your bladder that you can no longer ignore, and you send a quick prayer up to any gods that may exist before cracking the auditorium door open, glancing left and right down the seemingly empty hallway. Silently, you count to ten.

After a few more moments of deliberation, you decide the coast is clear. The restrooms are at the very end of the hall, and you can’t help but feel like the little gendered stick figures are taunting you as you cautiously make your way toward them, your shoes silent against the linoleum floor.

You are approximately fifteen feet away from your destination when you hear footsteps. Your heart kicks into overdrive at the unsteady rhythm—a short tap followed by a long dragging sound, as if the approaching individual were limping. For a moment, you debate running for the nearest bathroom and barricading yourself inside, but enclosed spaces are a bad idea according to every zombie movie you’ve ever seen, and you aren’t particularly keen on the idea of becoming zombie food.

Instead, you steel yourself and turn around, pulling out your bat. The approaching zombie doesn’t look like a student���in fact, you’re pretty sure he was your trigonometry teacher for a semester during freshman year—but that’s hardly important right now.

What is important, however, is the black-and-white figure that’s just rounded the corner behind the limping math professor-turned-zombie. And it’s running toward you—fast. Far faster than any of the undead beings you’ve seen, and, upon closer inspection, faster than most of the human beings you know.

And that can only mean one thing.

“Jungkook!” you exclaim, half in surprise and half in horror as the dark-haired track star pulls even with your former professor and swings at his head, using all of his momentum and landing a solid crack. The zombie crumples to the linoleum floor, blood and viscera seeping from the crack in his skull, and you frown in distaste before looking up at your classmate. “Uh, hi?”

“{Name}?” Jungkook asks in disbelief, skidding to a stop. He’s wearing a single boxing glove on one hand and wielding a smashed wine bottle in the other, and you almost want to laugh at his appearance. After all, you’re about ninety-nine percent sure he was wearing the exact same thing at the last house party you both attended. But now—with a bloodied zombie still twitching at your feet and the imminent threat of even more coming after you—probably isn’t the best time to bring that up.

“It is you,” Jungkook says in disbelief, his eyes widening. “Are you alone?”

You nod. “Yeah. You?”

Jungkook nods back. “Yeah. You’re the first person I’ve come across who hasn’t—well… you know.” He gestures downward vaguely.

“Yeah. I know.”

For a few seconds, the two of you stand in silence, ruminating on how everything managed to change so quickly. Just last week, you and Jungkook were regular college students. He ran track and and co-captained the campus dance crew, and if it weren’t for the fact that you were lab partners, you aren’t sure you ever would have met. But after months of sitting together in class, equally stumped by the biology textbooks you were forced to buy and elbow-deep in formaldehyde far too often for your liking, you’ve grown to consider him a friend. And right now, you really, really needed a friend.

“Jungkook,” you begin, laying an arm on his shoulder, “I need your help.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” he says, shaking his shaggy hair out of his face like a dog and glancing around the hallway. “We should team up. I mean, we’ve been lab partners for months so we already know we work great togethe—“

“We’ve failed almost half of our lab reports, and you nearly set the table on fire last Tuesday,” you cut in. “But that’s not the point. The point is the current state of my bladder and how you can help me with it.”

Jungkook blinks. “Uh.”

“I need to pee,” you clarify.

“And what exactly do you want me to do about that?”

“Come with me,” you reply, grabbing his wrist. Jungkook lets out a protesting grunt when you begin pulling him down the hallway toward the restrooms, struggling even more vigorously when you try to make him follow you inside.

“This is the girl’s bathroom!” he gasps, wrenching out of your grasp.

You stare at him. “The entire city is overrun by zombies and that’s what you’re worried about?”

“It’s weird!” he protests. Nevertheless, he trots in on your heels, peering around curiously as you bang on the wall of the nearest stall in an attempt to draw any lurkers out into the open.

“Check for zombies, idiot,” you instruct when Jungkook gets distracted by his own reflection in the mirror. “I don’t wanna get eaten.”

He huffs but complies nonetheless. Raising his broken wine bottle, he glances into each stall, kicking open the doors with unnecessary force. “Clear,” he reports once he’s checked the last one, offering you a mock salute. The effect is ruined by the bright red boxing glove still on his hand, but you bite back the snide remark on your tongue and instead walk into the nearest stall.

“Plug your ears or something,” you tell him as you lock the door. “I don’t want you listening to me pee.”

“Why the hell would I listen?” Jungkook retorts, sounding thoroughly horrified.

“Some people are into that,” you reply, wagging a finger at him despite the fact that he can’t see you through the closed door. “It’s called urolagnia. Don’t kinkshame.”

“I don’t want to know why you know that,” he grumbles under his breath. “Shut up and pee already. I have to go too.”

“But this is the girls’ room,” you snipe, finishing your business and stepping out to wash your hands. Jungkook takes your place inside the stall while you turn on the sink, eyeing his reflection pointedly in the mirror. “You’re gonna get cooties.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Ha, ha,” he says dryly. “You’re hilarious.”

And then he’s turning around, flipping you the bird before slamming the metal door in your face.

You shrug, unfazed. “I know I am,” you say, addressing your own reflection in the mirror. “Also, do you by any chance own a car?”

///

“This feels like a bad idea,” Jungkook mutters, eyeing the quiet parking lot. It’s nowhere near full, but there are still several dozen cars scattered around, empty and abandoned with no owners to be found. At the far end lies your prize—a black SUV with tinted windows and a bicycle strapped to the roof. “Should we make a run for it?” Jungkook asks. “I mean, we don’t really have any other options if we wanna make it out of here with our brains intact, and—”

“Hang on a sec,” you interrupt, grabbing his arm. “We can create a diversion first. Give me your wine bottle—I’m gonna throw it.”

Jungkook hugs the glass bottle to his chest, eyes round and expression aghast. “And leave myself defenseless? What do you want me to do, punch the zombies away?”

“That’s literally what you did ten minutes ago,” you point out, rolling your eyes. “Do you have a better idea?”

He pauses for a long moment before a resigned sigh leaves his lips. “Fine. I get to throw it, though.”

“Whatever,” you reply, waving a hand at him. “Knock yourself out. Or them. You should really knock them out, on second thought.”

Jungkook wisely chooses to ignore your rambling, hefting the bottle and testing its weight. Rearing back, he tosses it in a perfect arc, and you watch in fascination as it somersaults through the air before crashing down onto the asphalt in an explosion of shattered glass. “There!” you hiss urgently, tugging on Jungkook’s sleeve when a zombie immediately lumbers out from behind a nearby sedan, searching for the source of the noise. “We run on three, got it?”

“Got it,” he whispers back, watching raptly as several more zombies follow the first. “One…”

“Two…”

“Three!”

Together, you make a mad dash for the SUV. Jungkook gets there first, skidding to a stop and trying the driver’s side door only to find it locked. “I’ll check the other side,” you tell him, glancing around to make sure the zombies are still distracted. “Work on breaking a window or something, fast!”

The sound of a throat being cleared stops you dead in your tracks. “You’ll do no such thing,” a low voice drawls. A moment later, the platinum blond head of Min Yoongi—a reclusive senior you only know because he deejays at your favorite club every Friday night— pops out from behind the hood of the car, his dark eyes narrowed at you accusingly. “We got dibs on this one.”

“Yoongi?” you ask in surprise. “What are you—wait. We? Who’s we?”

“I’m we,” a new voice announces—one that you’re very, very familiar with. Kim Namjoon steps into view behind Yoongi, and you aren’t sure whether to be horrified or thrilled to see your philosophy TA alive and well, with what looks like a metal fence pole perched on his shoulder like a bayonet. “Hey, {Name},” Namjoon says, offering you a small smile. “Fancy seeing you here, of all places.”

“N-Namjoon,” you stammer, your heart skipping a beat and racing to catch back up. “You’re… okay.”

“More or less,” the tall man replies agreeably, shrugging. Then he glances toward his blond companion, raising a quizzical brow. “Come on, Yoongi. We’ve got room for two more, don’t we?”

Yoongi grumbles something under his breath that sounds like acquiescence, and Namjoon grins, patting him on the back. “Welcome aboard,” he says, turning back to face you and Jungkook. “We’ve got to move fast. You’re Jeon Jungkook, right? I’ve seen you around the track field. Can you do me a favor and watch my back while I open this door?”

Jungkook nods, accepting Namjoon’s brief handshake and the metal pole he hands over. Namjoon then pulls a wire coat hanger out of his jacket pocket, and you watch, awestruck, as he jimmies the car door open.

“There aren’t any keys,” Jungkook points out, peering over the taller man’s shoulder to get a glimpse of the ignition. “Now what? Does anyone know how to hotwire a car?”

“Yes,” Namjoon and Yoongi say simultaneously.

“Well, only in theory,” Namjoon adds when Yoongi rolls his eyes and brushes past him to duck underneath the steering wheel. “Yoongi’s the real expert here.”

“That makes me sound like a criminal,” the blond man grumbles as he sets his toolbox on the ground and gets to work. “For the record, I only know how to do this because of all the times my keys have gone missing. I’m not the fucking Pontiac Bandit.”

“Sounds exactly like what the fucking Pontiac Bandit would say,” you and Jungkook say at the same time, high-fiving each other.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “This isn’t even a Pontiac,” he grumbles, hissing through his teeth as he pulls a few wires free and begins fiddling with them. “Quit watching me and make yourselves useful. Go check the trunk for supplies, or something. Christ.”

Namjoon hums thoughtfully, eyeing the surrounding cars. “That’s actually a good idea. There might be something useful in some of these other cars too. {Name}, why don’t you come with me? Jungkook should probably stay here and keep watch.”

Your mouth goes dry at his suggestion, but you nod hurriedly before your brain can short-circuit at the sound of your name leaving his lips so casually. “That… yeah. That sounds good. Let’s do that.”

“Good luck!” Jungkook calls cheerily as you walk off, earning himself a hard kick in the shins from Yoongi, who’s still flat on his back on the floor of the car.

“Dude, shut the fuck up! Do you want to die?”

Jungkook looks properly abashed. “Right,” he says, lowering his voice. “My bad.”

To your left, Namjoon muffles his laugh behind his hand. Yoongi lets out an exasperated sigh, and you grin, waving at the two before departing with Namjoon. Together, you wander deeper back into the maze of abandoned vehicles scattered around the lot, peering inside for anything that might be useful. Stopping at a sedan with open windows, you slip a hand inside and unlock the door. There’s an unopened bottle of soda in the cupholder, and Namjoon smiles as he reaches into the backseat and pulls out a few grocery bags.

“Try popping the trunk,” he suggests.

“On it,” you reply, searching for the right button. Namjoon walks around back to open the lid, grinning triumphantly when he sees what’s inside.

“More groceries,” he says, hefting another bag. “And half a case of bottled water. This should be enough to get us started.” Beckoning for you to join him, he hands over the three bags before hefting the case of water over one shoulder. “You okay? I can take a bag if you want.”

You shake your head, threading your baseball bat through the handles of each bag and hefting it onto your shoulder. “I’m fine. Thanks, though,” you tell him, trying to ignore the way your heart rate picks up when he gives you a look of approval, a small smile curling the corner of his mouth and dimpling his cheeks.

“So,” you begin as the two of you start trekking back toward the SUV, “where are we headed, anyway? It seems like you and Yoongi have a plan.”

Namjoon nods. “We do. There’s a reported quarantine zone up north—it’s all over Twitter.” Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, he pulls out his cellphone, along with a massive battery pack. “I’ve been conserving my phone battery as much as I can, keeping track of any news, and I think it’s our best bet.”

“Smart.” Ruefully, you pull out your own device and show him the black screen. “My phone died ages ago.”

“You still might be able to charge it,” Namjoon points out. “The electrical grids haven’t gone down yet. And I know Yoongi’s got a cord back at the car, so we can charge our devices on the road too. He’s got all sorts of stuff—this battery pack is his, actually. I couldn’t find mine.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” you mutter, thinking back to every time he’s misplaced his laser pointer or lecture notes during class.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly. Off in the distance, you spot a few zombies shambling along, no doubt searching for their next meal. Silently, you and Namjoon begin walking faster.

Yoongi and Jungkook are both seated inside the car by the time you return. Jungkook hops out to help you load the bags, and you shoot him a grateful grin as you climb into the backseat alongside him. Namjoon takes the passenger seat, kindly plugging in your phone while Yoongi adjusts his mirrors with a frown. “The engine’s gonna draw their attention,” he says. “They probably won’t be able to get us in the car, but hang onto your weapons just in case.” Then he pauses, glancing back at the metal pole in Jungkook’s hands and the wooden bat in yours. “Well. We’ll need to make a stop and get actual weapons.”

“We can try the police station,” Namjoon suggests. “I’m sure others will have had the same idea, but it’s really our only option. Then we’ll have to load up on food, water, and gas.”

Curiously, you peer into the grocery bags sitting on the floor between you and Jungkook. “Most of this stuff’s perishable. We’ll need to get non-perishable stuff if we’re going to be on the road for a long time. How far did you say that quarantined zone is, Namjoon?”

“I didn’t. I’m not actually one-hundred percent sure myself. Social media is a mess, as you might imagine.” Turning around in his seat, Namjoon shows you his Twitter feed—conflicting news alerts interspersed with grisly photos of the destroyed city and panicked requests for aid. “The last emergency alert said that the military base just outside of city limits is safe, but I’m not so sure.” He scrolls down, revealing several videos of zombies staggering around a helicopter, and upon closer inspection, you realize that they’re in full military garb. Horrified, you take his phone to get a closer look, thumbing down the page to reveal even more atrocities.

“Shit,” Jungkook breathes, sidling over to look over your shoulder. “That’s not good.”

Yoongi sighs, eyeing both of you in the rearview mirror. “Yeah, no kidding. The only thing we’re sure about so far is that the infection started in the south, so heading north is our best bet. And hopefully, we’ll find—”

THWUMP!

Namjoon’s phone clatters out of your hands as the parked car suddenly tilts, swaying dangerously to the left before all four wheels return to the asphalt once more. Horrified, you stare at the huddled horde of zombies that has suddenly appeared at your window, bloodstained hands trying in vain to reach you through the glass. “Yoongi, I think you need to drive now!” you shout, wincing as they begin thumping on the window in earnest.

The blond man curses when the car rocks again, his eyes flickering between the dashboard and the zombies swarming on Namjoon’s side of the car. “Oh, fuck. Fuckfuckfu—HA!”

The engine roars to life, and you watch as the zombies closest to you flinch at the sudden noise before renewing their efforts, banging on the window until spiderwebbing cracks begin to form.

“Dude, floor it!” Jungkook yells.

Yoongi doesn’t need to be told twice. The car lurches forward, tires squealing, and you yelp as you’re slammed back against the seat. Instinctively, you fumble for your seat belt, ignoring the stunned look Jungkook shoots you in favor of buckling yourself in and watching the undead horde recede in the distance as you pull farther and farther away. “Holy shit,” you mutter, your head falling back against the backrest, your chest heaving with uneven breaths. “Holy fucking shit.”

Yoongi huffs out a sardonic chuckle as he slows ever so slightly to turn onto the main road. “Yeah. Welcome to the apocalypse.”

///

It’s odd, seeing the city you know and love in ruins. Billowing black smoke rises in the distance, filling the air with an acrid stench and a metallic tinge that you don’t want to think about. The roar of the SUV’s engine sounds like a siren’s song in the eerie silence of the streets, drawing unwanted attention from the undead. Everywhere you look, soulless eyes follow. Some zombies even try to chase the car, but they are quickly left behind as Yoongi slams down on the gas pedal, weaving past overturned vehicles and prone bodies.

You don’t wait to see if any of the bodies will rise up again.

Namjoon begins fiddling with the radio as Yoongi turns down yet another street, heading downtown. Static blares from the speakers, and you watch his frown get deeper the further along he scrolls through the stations. “Nothing,” he mutters after a few long minutes. “That’s not a good sign. The infrastructure is crumbling.”

Jungkook tears his gaze from the window. “What do you mean?”

Namjoon switches off the radio, letting silence envelop the car for a few seconds before speaking again. “I mean everything that sustains our way of life—the things we take for granted most days, like running water and electricity and the internet. We aren’t going to have them for much longer. Without workers to run things, we…” He sighs. “I figure we have maybe a week, at the most.”

“And then what happens?” you ask, your voice soft.

“I don’t know,” Namjoon admits. “To be honest, we might not even survive long enough to find out.”

“But we have to try,” you murmur. “Sure, we’re outnumbered and weaponless, but we have a car. We’re faster and smarter. I don’t think things are hopeless just yet.”

Namjoon shakes his head at your optimism, but Yoongi’s nodding, meeting your eyes in the rearview mirror. “Don’t mind him,” he advises. “Joon likes to overthink things and work himself up into a frenzy, but I think we’ve got a chance at making it through. Besides...” He gestures out the window with his thumb. “We won’t be weaponless for much longer.”

The car rolls to a stop in front of a square brick building that you recognize as the police station, the dark windows overlooking the street like gaping mouths. Most of the glass is broken—even on the higher stories—and you shiver at the sight of the jagged edges glinting like teeth in the wan afternoon sun.

“So... getting inside won’t be a problem,” Jungkook says dryly.

“Guess not,” Namjoon says, frowning. “Somebody definitely beat us here. Should we chance it? Everything could already be gone.”

“We’re already here, man,” Yoongi drawls, already beginning to open the door. “We may as well check it out.”

Cautiously, the four of you pile out of the SUV, eyes darting left and right as you make your way toward the front door with Jungkook in the lead. It’s hanging off its hinges and the glass is pocked with bullet holes, and a frown spreads across your face as you trace one lightly with your index finger. “Looks like there was a fight,” you murmur quietly to Namjoon, who’s standing just behind you with a rather large rock that he must have just picked up from outside. Yoongi takes up the rear with a hammer grasped tightly in his hand, and you bite back the Thor joke that’s sitting on the tip of your tongue.

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s here anymore, though,” Jungkook says, winding his way farther into the lobby. “Think these elevators still work?” he asks, gesturing at the twin metal doors on the far wall.

“Not worth the risk,” Namjoon decides, walking over to the stairwell and opening the door. He peers inside before gesturing for you to enter, allowing everyone to step past him before quietly shutting the door and eyeing the two sets of stairs branching out from the landing. “We’re looking for the station’s armory,” he whispers. “What do you guys think? Up or down?”

“We could split u—” Jungkook begins to suggest, but you cut him off before he can even finish the sentence.

“And get killed off one by one like in every horror movie ever? Are you serious, Jeon?”

Jungkook blinks. “Fine. What do you think, then?”

“I think the parking garage is probably downstairs,” you muse, peering over the railing to look at the lower landing. “And it doesn’t look like there’s another level below that, so I’d say going up is our best bet.”

A smile curls the corner of Namjoon’s mouth, dimpling one cheek as he follows your lead and glances downstairs. “Nice observation,” he says once he’s straightened up again, laying a hand on your shoulder. The gentle pressure sends a shiver up your spine, a butterfly taking flight in your stomach on fluttering, iridescent wings. It’s all you can do to smile back, thanking him softly as he retracts his hand. Already, you miss the warmth of his palm.

“Let’s go,” Jungkook says, effectively ruining the moment as he begins the ascent with his pole at the ready. Yoongi follows, and Namjoon gestures for you to go ahead of him, tucking his rock under one arm.

“It’s not the best weapon,” he says when he catches you looking, a rueful chuckle escaping him.

You grin back. “Better than nothing.”

Up ahead, Jungkook stops on the second floor landing, pressing his ear against the door. “I can’t hear anything,” he grumbles, fumbling for the doorknob and cracking the door open. “But it looks like the coast is cle— oh, shit!” Jungkook pulls the door shut again, his eyes wide.

“What happened?” Yoongi hisses. “What did you see?”

“There’s a bunch of them in the corner,” Jungkook whispers. “They’re… eating something.”

“Someone,” Yoongi corrects wryly, earning himself an elbow in the ribs courtesy of Namjoon. “Sorry,” he mutters, not sounding very sorry at all.

“How many are there?” Namjoon asks.

Jungkook pauses, casting his gaze upward as he does a mental tally. “At least seven or eight that I saw. There could be more though.”

“Did you see anything that could’ve been an armory? Some place where weapons would be stored?” Namjoon presses.

“Nah. Looked like a bunch of desks, mostly. Offices and whatnot.”

Namjoon nods slowly, tapping his chin. “Okay,” he says after a few seconds of deliberation. “Let’s keep going.” He takes the lead this time, stepping past Jungkook to the next staircase, and you follow after him, struggling to keep up when he elects to take the steps two at a time. His long legs span the increased distance with ease, and it takes every ounce of self-control you possess to refrain from staring at his flexing thigh muscles.

One flight of stairs and several instances of shameless ogling later, you find yourselves on the third floor, tiptoeing through a darkened hallway lined with doors and peering inside one by one.

“These all look like interrogation rooms,” Yoongi grumbles after a few fruitless minutes.

“Nope, this one’s a closet,” Jungkook pipes up, walking inside and exiting with a mop. The door slams shut behind him, and he winces under the absolutely withering glare Namjoon shoots at him. “My bad,” he whispers, offering the taller man the mop. “But on the bright side, I think this might be a better weapon than a rock.”

Namjoon sighs and accepts the mop. “Fine. Let’s make the rest of this search quick though. And be quiet,” he adds, with a pointed look at Jungkook. “We might be close to where the weapons are kept now, since we’ve left the administrative areas behind.”

And as it turns out, he’s right. The very next door you open is a room with a multitude of industrial shelves and racks lining the walls. Much to your disappointment, most of them are empty, but a more thorough search turns up a couple of handguns along with several cases of ammunition. Jungkook finds a stockpile of smoke grenades that he refuses to part with, and you roll your eyes as he shoves them into his pockets. “What the hell are smoke grenades going to do against zombies?”

“You never know,” Jungkook retorts. “Besides, I don’t see anything else in here. Do you?”

Dejected, you shake your head. “No, I don’t. Guess Namjoon was right—someone had the same idea as us.”

“It’s better than nothing,” Namjoon says, picking up one of the guns and peering closely at it. “Who here knows how to handle a firearm?”

Yoongi grunts. “My uncle used to take us hunting on camping trips. I’m not a great shot, but I’m all right.”

Namjoon glances over at you Jungkook. “What about you guys? No?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Do shooting games count?”

“No.”

“Okay, then no.”

Namjoon sighs and hands the other gun to Yoongi, who accepts it and checks the safety before tucking it safely into his belt. You watch as Namjoon checks his own gun, unloading the magazine and inserting a new one. “I take it you know a thing or two about guns,” you remark, inching closer to him as he engages the safety with deft fingers.

“My grandfather was a cop,” he replies softly. “He taught me a lot before he passed away.”

You bite your lip as his brow furrows, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”

He shrugs, his gaze sliding up to meet yours. “It’s alright. It happened years ago.” Then he glances down at your hand, his expression softening just the tiniest bit. “But I appreciate it. Thanks.”

The next few minutes pass in silence as the four of you complete your sweep of the room, peering at the bottommost shelves for any equipment you might have missed. “Hey,” Yoongi says suddenly, his voice hushed. “Hand me your bat, {Name}.”

Both you and Namjoon turn to face him. “Why?” you ask curiously, handing it over and watching as he lays it on the table and pulls his hammer from his waistband.

“Nails,” he says shortly. “Found some in that drawer and figured I’d make you a proper apocalypse weapon.”

“Wait,” Namjoon interrupts, striding over as Yoongi begins hammering nails into your wooden bat. “You’re making too much noise. Someone’s going to hear us.”

“Uh, it’s kinda already too late for that,” Jungkook hisses from the entrance. He’s peering through a little square window that sits about two-thirds of the way up the door, and flinches when a bloody, pale fist slams against it, splintering the glass. “We’ve got company, guys,” he grunts, pressing his full weight against the door and wincing as the glass shatters over his head. “Anyone got any bright ideas to get us out of here in one piece?”

“No,” Namjoon says slowly. “Unless…”

“Unless?” you press.

“We need a diversion,” he says, shaking his head. “But I don’t see how we’ll create one unless… well, unless one of us goes out there and leads them away from here. But that’s asking way too much, and—“

“I’ll do it.”

All three of you whirl around to face Yoongi, who looks thoroughly unfazed by the sudden scrutiny, picking idly at a frayed corner on his jacket. “You can’t be serious,” Namjoon says, finding his voice first. “It’s dangerous.”

“So is staying here,” Yoongi replies. “Besides, aren’t you always going on about the greater good? Altruism and Comte and all that shit? Let me do this, man. I can handle it.”

“That’s not—” Namjoon stops, rubbing the bridge of his nose and letting out a heavy sigh. “That’s not the point. It’s just not practical, Yoongi. You’ll be vulnerable if you’re alone.”

“No, I’ll be fast,” Yoongi corrects, pulling out his gun and clicking off the safety. “You think we’ll do any better as groups of two? I don’t.”

“But—“ Namjoon tries again, his brow creasing, but Yoongi shakes his head and strides to the door.

“I’m gonna go left,” he says, his hand on the handle. “We came from the right, so you guys should be able to retrace our steps and get out.”

Jungkook stops him before he can exit, pressing a handful of smoke grenades into his palm. “Hang on,” he says, his throat tight. “You might need these.”

Yoongi pockets them, nodding. “Thanks, man.”

Namjoon looks like he wants to argue some more, but finally bites his lip and nods, his face resolute. “Good luck,” he says after a long, heavy pause. “Stay safe.”

Yoongi flashes you all a crooked grin. “See you soon.”

And then he’s flinging open the door, swinging his hammer into one zombie’s skull and kicking another in the knees. Namjoon stays in the doorway, shooting any and every zombie that he can see through the smashed window. You can just barely hear Yoongi jeering insults over the sound of gunfire and stumbling footsteps, the occasional thud of something heavy against the linoleum floor letting you know that Namjoon has successfully found his mark.

After what feels like an eternity, Namjoon finally pulls back from the window and turns back to you and Jungkook. “Coast is clear,” he whispers. “Let’s go.”

“And Yoongi?” you ask, anxiety roiling in your gut at the thought of the blond man facing the horde of undead alone.

“He’ll be fine,” Namjoon says automatically, and you know he’s trying to convince himself just as much as he’s reassuring you. His grip is tight on his gun as he wrenches open the door and ushers the two of you out into the hallway, and even in the dimness you see the worried glance he shoots over his shoulder, lingering on the corner that Yoongi has disappeared around.

“Come on, Joon,” you murmur, nudging his arm gently. “Yoongi’s gonna beat us back to the car at the rate we’re going.”

That draws a soft chuckle from your companion. “You’re right,” he murmurs back. “Let’s go.”

///

As it turns out, however, Yoongi does not beat you back to the SUV. The blond-haired man is nowhere to be found, and you see concern etch itself permanently onto Namjoon’s forehead as he peers around the eerily quiet street. The air feels too still, and every crunch of gravel from underneath your sneakers sounds like a gunshot.

“He’ll be back, right?” Jungkook whispers urgently to you while Namjoon is out of earshot, his doe eyes wide and beseeching. “You don’t think he got…”

He trails off, and you shake your head, unwilling to even think of the possibility that harm has befallen the blond-haired man. “Yoongi’s tough,” you declare. “He’ll be back any minute, and we should be ready to take off when he does. In case, you know, he’s still being chased.”

“Right,” Jungkook says, glancing over at Namjoon, who’s standing closest to the driver’s side and is suddenly beginning to look very sheepish.

“So… I can’t actually drive,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as your jaw drops.

“Wait, you can’t drive? Don’t you live off-campus? How do you get to class?”

Namjoon shrugs. “I usually bike. Sometimes I walk to class, if the weather’s nice.” Then he pauses, dejection settling on his features. “Although I guess I won’t be teaching classes again any time soon.”

Your heart sinks. You know from the syllabus that he handed out on the first day that this was his first semester as a teaching assistant, his passion for philosophy shining through in every lecture he’s given. “You’re a great teacher,” you tell him, intent on cheering him up. “I learned so much from you. I mean, nobody likes moral philosophy, but you somehow managed to even make that interesting, which is pretty damn incredible.”

Namjoon huffs out a laugh. “Thanks. You were a pretty damn incredible student, yourself.”

“Why, thank you,” you tell him with a grin.

Beside you, Jungkook rolls his eyes and pretends to retch. “Fine, I guess I’ll drive.” Grumbling, he swings open the driver’s side door and plops down onto the seat, adjusting it for his longer legs. “Now how the hell do I start this thing?”

Namjoon clears his throat awkwardly and tears his gaze away from yours, reaching underneath the steering wheel and pulling out a tangle of wires. You stop listening as he explains to Jungkook how to spark them together and instead turn your gaze back to the looming police station, watching intently for any sign of Yoongi’s return. Crumpled newspapers and stray plastic bags roll by, buoyed by the spring breeze. Across the street, a lone pigeon roams, head bobbing as it searches for crumbs.

“Looking for me?”

You jump, letting out a surprised shriek as Yoongi’s blond head of hair suddenly pops out from behind the trunk. “Jesus Christ, Yoongi, what the hell? Where did you come from?”

“Originally? My mother’s womb,” he replies, shrugging. The movement draws your attention to the sleeves of his jacket, newly tattered and splattered with crimson, and any witty retort you might have had is immediately swallowed up by concern.

“Is that blood? Oh my god, is that your blood?”

Your shout alerts Namjoon and Jungkook, twin looks of concern marring their faces as they clamber out of the SUV and join the two of you. “No, no—I’m not hurt,” Yoongi reassures, dismissing your worries with a wave of his hand. “Things did get a little dicey, but it all worked out in the end.”

“How exactly did you escape?” Namjoon asks.

Yoongi grins crookedly. “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

Jungkook blinks. “What?”

“If I couldn’t beat them, I had to join them,” Yoongi elaborates, gesturing to his tattered, dirty clothing. “I stumbled across the evidence room while I was trying to find another way out, and got an idea. This—” he gestures at the red stains splattered across his clothing, “—is actually spray paint. The police must’ve confiscated it from graffiti artists or something. Then all I had to do was rip up my jacket and limp a little and, well, here we are.”

“And that worked?” you ask in disbelief. “You just… pretended to be a zombie and walked out?”

“More or less,” Yoongi says with another shrug. “Now come on, let’s blow this joint. They could find us any second, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t really wanna die just yet. Pretending was enough.”

You have about a million more questions, but Yoongi takes his spot in the driver’s seat before you can ask any of them, readjusting the seat and promising an inquisitive Jungkook that he’ll teach him how to drive the hotwired vehicle next time. The rest of you take your seats as the engine roars to life underneath the blond man’s skilled fingertips, and with a squeal of tires against asphalt, you are off once again, heading toward the great unknown.

///

“Wait, wait, no, stop!”

Yoongi slams on the brakes at Jungkook’s shout, the car skidding to an abrupt halt. “What is it?” he demands, his gaze darting around frantically as his fingers reach for his gun. “Is there a problem?”

Jungkook winces. “Sorry. I was talking to Namjoon, actually.”

Yoongi visibly relaxes, shaking his head as he resumes driving. Namjoon glances back at Jungkook, his eyebrows disappearing behind his dark hair in silent inquiry. “Yes?”

“The radio,” Jungkook says, gesturing at the dashboard buttons that Namjoon has been fiddling with incessantly for the last several minutes. “Go back to the last station for a sec.”

Obediently, Namjoon turns the dial. Staticky white noise fills the air, and Jungkook frowns. Then a few jumbled words filter through the static, and he lets out a triumphant shout. “There!”

“Huh,” Namjoon says, leaning closer to the speaker. “I can’t understand a thing they’re saying. We must be out of range.”

“But we must be getting closer—I think I can make out a few words,” Jungkook says. “Everyone shut up and let me listen…” He trails off, and for a few moments, there is only the sound of garbled static and the low whir of the tires against pavement. Then Jungkook flops back against the seat, a pensive frown settling on his face. “Huh.”

You nudge his shoulder. “Well? What did you hear?”

“Not a whole lot,” he admits. “And I can’t be sure that what I heard was right, but… I think the broadcast is coming from Sonyeo City.”

Namjoon purses his lips, his chin jutting out in the way it does whenever he’s deep in thought. “Sonyeo City… that’s about six hours away, isn’t it?”

Yoongi hums. “Yeah, just about.”

“Do you think…” you trail off, hesitant. “Do you think that this means Sonyeo City’s… safe?”

“There’s no way to be sure.” Namjoon casts his gaze out the window, and you get the feeling he’s looking far beyond the crumbling streets and dark buildings, to the horizon where there still may be a glimmer of hope. “But at least we now have a destination in mind.”

The rest of the ride is quiet. Namjoon keeps the radio on just in case another snippet of discernible audio comes through, but none of you manage to catch anything important. Yoongi stops at a gas station to refuel, and a few minutes after that, finally manages to find a grocery store that looks to be mostly intact and devoid of any immediate threats.

“Let’s get this bread,” Jungkook proclaims as he slides out of the backseat, walking toward the entrance of the store. “And by bread, I mean Twinkies.”

You gape at his retreating back. “Is that a Zombieland reference?”

“Maybe,” he replies, shooting you a playful grin over his shoulder.

Shaking your head, you follow him through the automatic doors and glance around the interior of the store. Row after row of shelves take up the majority of the room, with an open space on the far right for fresh produce and glass-paneled refrigerators lining the wall. Behind you, the doors slide open again with a whoosh, and you turn to meet Namjoon’s eyes as he steps inside with Yoongi. “We should lock the doors,” you point out.

“You’re right,” Namjoon agrees, inspecting the metal frame surrounding the glass.

“Hang on,” Jungkook interrupts, eyes wide as he watches Namjoon fumble with the mechanism. “Are you locking us in?”

“For the time being,” Namjoon says absentmindedly, still focused on the door.

You walk over to Jungkook and pat his cheek. “He’s not locking us in; he’s locking them out. Or would you rather have a horde of zombies stumble in while we’re grabbing supplies?”

“... fair point.”

“Exactly.”

Yoongi, meanwhile, is gazing around the store, leery as always. “Hello?” he calls, his voice cutting through the silence. “Anyone home?”

Not even two seconds later, a shambling, shuffling figure emerges from a far aisle, moving surprisingly quickly despite its odd, lopsided gait. Two more follow, and Yoongi raises his gun, clicking off the safety and narrowing his eyes.

Toward the other end of the store, you spot another zombie dragging itself along the floor, leaving a trail of streaky, bloody handprints in its wake. Three more shuffle out from behind a display of watermelons, heading toward you, and you tighten your grip on your nail-studded bat as they draw ever closer.

Shots ring out behind you, but you don’t chance a glance backward. Out of your peripheral vision you spot Jungkook on your left, bringing his metal pole down onto the crawling zombie’s head with a sickening crunch. Leaping into action, you swing at the closest zombie’s head. It was once a woman, you notice—long stringy hair falling around her decaying face, the bottom half of her jaw visible through the peeling skin. “Sorry about this,” you say, wincing as your bat makes impact. The nails catch in her skin, her neck cracking under the force of the blow, and you yelp as she falls over and the other two zombies take her place.

“Watch out!”

Namjoon’s voice suddenly sounds from behind you, and you instinctively duck as he sprints over and shoots one point blank. Jungkook takes out the other, driving the pole through its chest before pulling it out and smashing it over the zombie’s head. “Are there more?” he asks, slightly out of breath.

“Not sure,” Yoongi says, rejoining you. “I would think most of the lurkers were drawn out by all the noise.”

“Better to be safe than sorry,” Namjoon says. Walking over to a checkout lane, he grabs a pile of plastic bags and an abandoned cart. “Let’s stay together and take the aisles one at a time. We’ll take as much as we can carry.”

“Don’t forget bottled water,” you pipe up, pointing at the stack of water bottles piled next to the door. “We’ve already drank most of what we have. And if we’re getting canned food, we’ll need a can opener too.”

Namjoon follows the direction of your finger. “Good call.”

“I’ll get it,” Jungkook volunteers, jogging over to select a twenty-four pack of bottles and heaving it into the cart. “Now what?”

“Let’s grab the can opener first,” you say. “Maybe some other utensils too. Sound good?”

Namjoon nods. “Sounds great,” he says, handing you one of the bags. Jungkook and Yoongi accept the other bags that Namjoon doles out, and together the four of you head farther into the store, scanning the signs until you come across the one labeled household goods. It’s clear that others have been here before you, but a quick raid of the shelves yields two can openers and a set of silverware, all of which you deposit into your bag. Namjoon grabs four unbroken bowls, mismatched and in varying sizes, and you hold out your bag for him to drop them inside.

Next up is the canned food aisle, where you stock up on various vegetables and far more beans than you care to think about. Jungkook grabs a box of instant coffee, and Yoongi disappears for a few seconds and returns with a massive jar of vitamin supplements. “Gotta stay healthy,” he says in response to your raised eyebrows, adding it to the growing pile in Namjoon’s cart.

“Speaking of healthy, we should grab some produce,” you say. “It won’t stay good forever, but we can at least get some apples and oranges. And we should probably grab some stuff for dinner too. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving.”

As if on cue, Namjoon’s stomach rumbles. “Dinner would be nice,” he admits with a sheepish grin. “Let’s finish up here and then eat in the car. We probably don’t want to stick around here for much longer than we have to.”

After some discussion, the four of you decide on sandwiches for dinner and set about gathering the necessary ingredients. Yoongi wanders to the deli area to pick out a selection of meats that haven’t yet spoiled, and even manages to locate some cheese. You peruse the produce, selecting a head of lettuce and several ripe tomatoes while Namjoon fills a bag with apples and grabs a bunch of bananas. Jungkook raids the bread display, shoving two whole loaves and a box of dinner rolls into his bag. Several bags of chips and a pack of juice boxes later, you are ready to go, heading back out into the parking lot where the SUV is parked.

“Wait!” Jungkook suddenly yelps, stopping dead in the middle of loading the trunk. “I forgot my Twinkies!”

“Are you serious right now, Jeon?” you hiss, watching in disbelief as he hurriedly drops his bags and turns back toward the entrance.

“Yes,” he says stubbornly, already beginning to jog away.

Yoongi groans and flops down into the driver’s seat. “Sartre was right,” he grumbles under his breath. “Hell is other people.”

Namjoon gives him an astonished look, mouth already open and ready to question what exactly his friend knew about the French existentialist philosopher, but quickly snaps back to the issue at hand when you abandon your own bags and dart after Jungkook. Immediately, Namjoon follows, nearly tripping in his efforts to keep up with you, and you whirl in concern when he lets out a sudden, startled shout. “What is it?”

Namjoon grimaces, brushing a stray lock of dark hair off his forehead. “Sorry, it’s just—holy shit!”

A skeletal, gaunt hand is grasping at Namjoon’s ankle, and you gasp when you realize that it belongs to the female zombie from before, her milky eyes gazing unseeingly out from beneath stringy hair. Cursing, Namjoon shakes her off and fumbles for his gun. Pointing it down, he aims and pulls the trigger.

Click.

“I’m out of bullets,” he whispers in dawning horror.

You reach for your trusty bat, tucked away in its sling on your back, but the handle keeps evading your grasping fingers, the nails catching in the fabric. Your palms begin to sweat as Namjoon kicks at the zombie, stomping on her arm and cracking all the bones. He’s glancing around frantically for something he can use as a weapon, but to no avail. And all the while, the undead woman continues her dogged pursuit, crawling after him with one good arm like a lopsided cockroach, teeth gnashing furiously in anticipation of her next meal.

“NOT TODAY, MOTHERFUCKER!”

Jungkook barges onto the scene with his metal pole in hand, glinting dull silver in the flickering fluorescent lights. He smashes the zombie over the head once, twice, three times before relenting, his chest heaving with exertion. Namjoon sucks in a deep breath when she finally falls limp, reaching out to clap Jungkook on the back. “Wow,” he says shakily. “Thanks, man. That was a close call.”

Jungkook straightens up and hefts his weapon over his shoulder. “And that’s why we have rule number two here in Zombieland,” he says proudly.

Namjoon asks the question before you even have a chance to stop him. “What’s rule two?”

Jungkook grins a grin so wide, you’re surprised his mouth doesn’t fall off altogether. “The Double Tap, of course.” Then his gaze flickers downward, to where a familiar blue-and-white box lies crumpled against the linoleum. “Oh, no. My Twinkies!”

You sigh.

///

Dinner—if it can even be called that—is a quick affair, eaten while huddled in the SUV and parked in an alley. The sun is setting rapidly, dipping beyond the horizon and bathing the surrounding buildings in a fiery orange glow. It’s been mercifully quiet for the past half hour, broken only by the occasional crunch of a chip or a slurp from a juice box.

Yoongi starts driving again after he’s polished off the last of his sandwich. Dusky twilight cloaks the city in purple—turning it into something strange and unfamiliar. Normally, the streets would be aglow with lit lamps and illuminated homes, crowded with people returning home after a long day of work or classes. Now, though, the streets are silent and abandoned. The few zombified citizens you pass are quickly left behind, and you know you aren’t imagining the melancholy air that’s settled over your companions, nestling deep into the nooks and crannies of the SUV, stagnant and unshakable. It grows stronger the farther Yoongi drives, the buildings getting shorter and the space between them growing longer, and your heart breaks a little in your chest when you turn for one last look at the city you’ve all come to call home.

You can’t quite explain it, but somehow, you know you won’t ever be coming back.

Namjoon begins fiddling with the radio dials again as Yoongi turns onto the highway, a burst of static breaking the stifling silence in the car. Jungkook startles slightly at the sharp sound, looking up from where he’d been staring out the window. “Is that the station from before?”

Namjoon hums in affirmation, adjusting the volume until the white noise is just a low buzz. Jungkook settles back into his seat, but you can see that he’s listening carefully, his knee bouncing in anticipation.

And then, without any warning whatsoever, a voice comes through the static, clear as day.

Testing, one, two. Is anybody out there?

If you’ve still got a functioning brain and at least one ear, congratulations! another voice chimes in, brighter than the first. You’re listening to 2J! Straight out of Sonyeo City, we’re your premier source of zombie news—

—your only source, really—

—and we’re here to bring you all the latest so that you can stay safe out there, the second voice continues as if there was no interruption at all.

Unfortunately, the first voice says, adopting a more somber tone now, there isn’t a lot of good news. We’re still in the dark about how this epidemic started. Reports claim that it began in a city in the south, which multiple sources have confirmed, but the government has yet to put out an official statement regarding the situation.

They’re being pretty dodgy about the whole thing, to be honest, the second voice continues. The first emergency alert said it was a mutated virus, but the second claimed it was a contaminated water reservoir. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was some super-secret experiment gone wrong, Jin.

Honestly, me neither, the man named Jin says. But that’s enough of the conspiracies for now, Jay. Let’s talk survival! First thing you’ll want to do, dear listeners, is head north toward Sonyeo City, where a quarantine zone has been set up.

Jungkook releases a long, pent-up breath. “We were right,” he whispers. “Thank god.”

Namjoon flashes him a little smile and cranks up the volume, listening carefully as Jin’s voice fills the car.

Your best bet is to drive, of course, hop in your car and get going. Stock up on gas and non-perishable food, and some weapons certainly wouldn’t hurt either.

If worst comes to worst and you have to kill a zombie, the best way to do it is to smash its head in, Jay pipes up. You can also break their kneecaps to slow them down, but that won’t kill them for good. They’ll keep coming as long as they can still move—and if they bite you, you’re a goner.

Now onto ways to avoid zombies! Jin says, perhaps a bit too cheerfully. One thing I’ve noticed during my research is how quickly their optic nerves deteriorate once they’re infected. In fact, the rate of deterioration is second only to that of their vocal chords!

And now tell them what that means in plain English, Jay prods, laughing.

Jin chortles. Basically, they have shit eyesight, especially in the dark, he clarifies. If it’s nighttime and you find yourself surrounded somehow, your best bet is to stay quiet and move slowly. If they hear you, well…

You’re a goner, Jay supplies helpfully.

Exactly. Thanks, Jay.

No problem, Jin.

And that brings us to the end of this broadcast, Jin says, clapping his hands. Thanks for tuning in today, and we’ll see you next time.

Until then, this has been 2J. Stay safe out there!

There’s a dull click, and then the static resumes, filling the silence left in the wake of the broadcast. “Well, at least we’re headed in the right direction,” Yoongi says after a few long moments. “It’s a long drive though, and I don’t think I can stay awake for much longer. We might want to start looking for a place to sleep for the night.”

“That’s a good idea,” Namjoon says. “I’m pretty sure we’ve all been running on pure adrenaline up to this point, so we definitely need some rest. We’ll start fresh tomorrow morning.”

Mumbles of agreement all around. Ten minutes later, Jungkook points to a quaint little farmhouse on the right side of the road, the windows dark. “Think anyone’s home?”

“Guess we’ll find out,” Yoongi replies, slowly pulling off the road and into the winding driveway, watching for any movement from the house or the surrounding fields. The hum of the engine doesn’t draw any unwanted attention, and you breathe a tentative sigh of relief as he parks the car beneath a large oak tree. Together, the four of you pile out and approach the house, weapons at the ready.

“Should we knock?” you whisper, looking at the little brass knocker in the middle of the front door. “Ring the doorbell, maybe?”

“Can’t hurt, right?” Jungkook jabs his thumb into the button by the doorknob, listening intently as the bell chimes inside the house. After a few beats of silence, he shrugs. “Guess no one’s home.”

“And the door’s locked,” Yoongi says, trying the knob. “Maybe they’re away on vacation or something.” Wandering over to a nearby window, he jimmies the frame, a wry grin crossing his features when it pops open easily. “They should probably invest in better locks, though.”

One by one, you climb through the window. Namjoon is the last one inside, folding his tall frame through the small space, and as soon as both his feet touch carpet, Yoongi shuts the window again and closes the curtains. “Don’t wanna be seen from the street,” he explains as he pulls out his cell phone and taps the flashlight button, illuminating the room in harsh white light. Namjoon does the same, as does Jungkook, and you pull your own phone out as well—now fully charged from the long car ride. A quick sweep of the house reveals that it is indeed empty, and Jungkook whoops when his flashlight falls upon a rifle mounted over the fireplace. Further investigation reveals two more pistols in a cabinet, along with ample ammunition, and Yoongi grins as he loads all three guns and hands one over to you.

“You ever shot one of these before?”

The gun is heavy in your palm. Slowly, you shake your head.

Yoongi glances over at Namjoon slyly. “Why don’t you give her a lesson out back, then?”

You don’t miss the way Namjoon’s ears flush pink, his feet scuffing nervously against the carpeted floor before he chances a look at you. The smile that he offers you is warm but hesitant, and when he speaks, his voice is even more so. “Sure,” he says. “I can show you how, if you’d like.”

“I’d really like that,” you tell him, the butterflies erupting in your chest when his smile widens. Together, the two of you head toward the back of the house, taking a detour to the kitchen where Namjoon grabs an armful of empty soda cans. His shoulder brushes against yours as you walk, but neither of you pull away. Even as you step onto the wooden patio that leads into the rest of the yard, you remain side by side, admiring the full moon that hangs bright in the sky, providing just enough illumination to view your surroundings.

“I suppose we should start with the basics,” Namjoon begins, his gaze alighting on a low fence lining the property. Jogging over, he lines the cans up on the wooden beam before returning to your side and gesturing for you to raise the pistol. His fingers skim across yours as he shows you how to disengage the safety, and your heart skips a beat when he explains how to reload once you run out of bullets, his large hands guiding yours through each step.

There’s a damp chill in the evening air, but you don’t even feel it. Namjoon is so close by this point, his chest pressed almost flush against your back as he shows you how to aim. His fingers wrap around your wrist, warm and gentle, and you shiver when he speaks again, his mouth at your ear, his voice rumbling through his chest.

“Ready?”

You nod, almost afraid to breathe as your finger finds the trigger. Namjoon’s grip on your wrist loosens but doesn’t disappear entirely, and you steel yourself for the recoil as you finally pull the trigger. The loud crack has you wincing, but Namjoon is laughing, the sound deep and husky as he urges you to lower the gun.

“Nice shot.”

You turn to look at the fence, now missing one soda can. “Oh, wow,” you breathe. “That was… kind of therapeutic, actually. Can we try again?”

Namjoon grins. “Of course we can.”

///

Ten cans and a box of ammunition later, you and Namjoon find yourselves lounging on the steps of the patio, staring up at the velvety night sky. “I’ve never seen so many stars before,” you murmur, a little awestruck by the sight. “But now that we’re away from the city and all that light pollution… wow. It’s amazing.”

“It’s beautiful,” Namjoon agrees, his gaze lingering on you for a moment too long before he collects himself and looks up at the sky once more.

“I wish I knew more constellations,” you say, laughing softly. “I can really only pick out the Big Dipper. And even then, I can only find it about eighty percent of the time.”

“What about the Little Dipper?” Namjoon asks. He scoots a little closer to you, pointing upward. “Do you see that really bright star up above the Big Dipper? That’s Polaris—the north star. It’s the end of the handle.”

You follow the trajectory of his finger curiously, eyes widening when you spot the smaller, but still distinctive, spoon shape. “Oh! Yes, I see it now. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it before.”

Namjoon chuckles. “I can show you where Orion is too,” he says. “That’s as far as my knowledge of constellations goes, though.”

“You know more than I do,” you reply, smiling up at him. Softly, you lay a hand on his arm. “Thank you for showing me.”

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, cheeks dimpling as he gazes down at you. This close, you can see all the stars reflected in his irises, his skin glowing silver under the luminescence of the full moon. And in a sudden surge of boldness, you allow your hand to slide down until it’s laying atop his, your fingers settling in the spaces between his own.

Namjoon glances down at your intertwined hands, his lips twitching with a barely restrained smile. “You know,” he murmurs, his breath visible in the chilly air, “I’ve always kind of liked you.”

You blink at the admission. “Really?”

He huffs out a soft chuckle, his chest rumbling with the sound. “It’s crazy, right? But it’s true. Ever since you sat down in the front row on the first day of my class with a bright pink pen and no laptop… do you know how rare it is to see someone take handwritten notes in this day and age?”

Your cheeks heat up. “You noticed that?”

“I did,” he replies, taking your hand in his and twining your fingers together properly. “Do you remember that essay the professor assigned? It must have been the second or third assignment—the one about moral responsibility in modern society?” At your nod, he smiles and continues. “Yours was the best one I read, hands down.”

“Yeah, he talked about it for three days straight,” a new voice says. Whirling around, you see Yoongi’s head poking out the back door, smirking like the cat that ate the proverbial canary. “He wouldn’t shut up about it. It was annoying as hell.”

Namjoon groans. “Seriously, Yoongi?”

The blond man puts his hands up innocently. “Just stopping by to make sure you guys weren’t dead,” he says before letting the door shut again, chortling to himself.

Namjoon sighs and turns back to you, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry about him. He doesn’t have much of a filter.”

You giggle and squeeze his hand. “Don’t worry about it. He’s gone now, so I can finally do this.”

Namjoon tilts his head curiously. “Do wha—?” he begins to say, only to be cut off by your mouth on his. The kiss is soft and slow, your lips moving lazily against his, and by the time you pull away, both of you are breathing much more heavily. Namjoon’s hands find their way around your waist, tugging you close, and you nestle deeper into the warmth of his embrace, enjoying how it wards off the chill in the air.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, you know,” you murmur, pressing your lips to his cheek.

He chuckles and chases after your mouth, his nose bumping affectionately against yours. “Yeah. Me too.”

///

You wake up the next morning to golden sunlight streaming in through the window and an arm wrapped firmly around your waist. Namjoon hasn’t opened his eyes yet, his hair sticking every which way, but his grip on you tightens when he feels you begin to stir. “Good morning,” he mumbles, finally cracking an eye open and smiling down at you.

“Good morning,” you whisper back. You’re positive that you look like an absolute mess—hair in disarray, face crusty from sleep, body desperately in need of a shower—and yet Namjoon is staring at you like you’re the most beautiful creature he’s ever laid eyes on, dimples dotting his cheeks as he reaches up to stroke your cheek with his thumb. You reciprocate with a kiss to his palm, and he grins. Grabbing your chin, he tilts your face up so he can kiss you properly—his lips soft and gentle against yours. It almost feels like an ordinary morning, and for a few moments, you can pretend that there isn’t a monstrous epidemic running rampant through large swathes of the country. For a few moments, you’re just a girl and a boy, basking in the idyllic haze of each other’s presence.

But then there’s a knock on the door, followed by Yoongi’s low drawl. “Get dressed and come eat, lovebirds. Sooner we get on the road, the better.”

You break apart from Namjoon, giggling when you see the dopey grin stretched across his face. “Why are you looking at me like that, you weirdo?”

His grin only widens, his arms looping around your waist. “It’s just funny,” he says. “Waking up with you, Yoongi yelling at us—this is the first ordinary morning I’ve had in a long time. And I’ve missed it. I’ve missed it a lot.”

“So have I,” you murmur, burying your face into the warm cotton of his t-shirt and allowing yourself one more moment of normalcy before getting out of bed. Walking into the bathroom, you are pleased to discover that the water is still running, and Namjoon even manages to unearth some unused toothbrushes and toothpaste from underneath the sink. The bristles are a little too stiff for your liking and the water has a metallic tinge that refuses to dissipate, but being able to brush your teeth makes a world of difference. There’s a noticeable bounce in your step as you make your way downstairs with Namjoon, and Yoongi and Jungkook pick up on it right away.

“Someone’s chipper this morning,” Yoongi says without looking up from his bowl of dry cereal. “The sex was that good, huh?”

“W-we didn’t…” Namjoon stammers, his cheeks flushing. “That’s not what we—”

You squeeze his hand, stopping his rambling in its tracks. “Let them think what they want,” you advise. “They’re just jealous of your dick game, anyway.”

“Ew,” Jungkook grumbles, throwing an apple at you. “Way too much information, {Name}.”

You shrug, just barely managing to catch the piece of fruit. “You guys brought it up first. Not my fault.”

The remainder of breakfast passes quickly. Yoongi and Jungkook head outside to start loading the car while you and Namjoon scour the house one last time for anything that might be useful, and within the hour, you are back on the road toward Sonyeo City.

“You know, this Jin character sounds like a piece of work,” Yoongi grumbles from the passenger seat for what feels like the millionth time. Jungkook is driving today, which leaves you and Namjoon in the backseat with the eclectic collection of food and weapons you’ve amassed. The four of you are listening to the 2J broadcast again, and after a rather lengthy discussion of zombie evasion techniques, Jin has lapsed into telling the worst dad jokes you’ve ever heard.

What does a vegetarian zombie eat? Graaains!

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Yoongi groans.

Morning turns into midday, the sun high in the sky. The road winds on, through green cornfields and grassy plains and the occasional small town. Several times, you spot a zombie or two shambling around aimlessly through the windows, but they’re quickly forgotten as Jungkook slams on the gas pedal. You get the feeling that he’s relishing the lack of an enforced speed limit, and taking full advantage of the empty highway.

It’s late afternoon by the time you arrive on the outskirts of Sonyeo City. Off in the distance, you can see taller skyscrapers rising up, gray and hazy against the horizon, but the area you’re in right now seems to be the warehouse district. Low, squat factories sit on either side of the road and a branching network of railroad tracks weaves throughout, but everything is eerily still and deathly quiet. No smoke rises up from the smokestacks, and you’re pretty sure you spot a train that’s been toppled over onto its side before Jungkook hits the gas again and takes you deeper into the city. The buildings get taller the farther you drive, but you still have yet to see any signs of life besides the occasional bobbing pigeon or scurrying rat.

That all changes when the car rounds the next corner. It looks as if a bomb has gone off in one of the largest brick buildings lining the street, covering the entire block in a layer of rubble. Zombified citizens mill around in the debris, and Jungkook slams on the brakes, his eyes wide with panic.

“Dude, just back up and try another street,” Yoongi says when he doesn’t move. “They haven’t noticed us yet.”

“No, that’s not it,” Jungkook says, his voice shaking. “We’re… we’re low on gas. Like, really, really low.”

Yoongi takes another look outside and blanches. “Are you fucking kidding me? We’ll get killed if we try to refuel now!”

“I’ll—I’ll get us as far away as I can,” Jungkook stammers, throwing the vehicle into reverse and beginning to back away from the mayhem. He clears the corner and continues backward for another two blocks before the car slows to a full stop, a groan escaping his lips. “Fuck.”

Glancing out the window, you see four stray zombies stumbling toward you. “Uh, guys? We have a bit of a problem.”

Namjoon curses and begins digging through the stash of weapons at his feet, pulling out several long knives and an axe you’d taken from the farmhouse. “We don’t stand a chance without a car,” he mutters as he pulls out supplies. “Yoongi, grab the gas. I’ll watch your back while you fill up the tank. Jungkook, be ready to drive at a moment’s notice. {Name}...” He grins, handing you the rifle to join the pistol you already have at your side. “You’re on sniper duty. But save it as a last resort, okay? Gunshots will draw even more attention to us, which is the last thing we need right now.”

“Got it,” you say, accepting the box of ammunition he slides over and ignoring the way your heart begins to pound in your chest. “Stay safe out there, okay?”

Namjoon presses a quick kiss to your mouth, ignoring the disgusted sound Jungkook makes. “I will, don’t worry. Be back soon.” And then he’s hopping out of the car, joining Yoongi at the gas tank and scanning the street for any approaching threats. The four zombies at the end of the street are still a block and a half away, but the distance doesn’t make you feel any better as you watch Namjoon and Yoongi standing out in the open, unprotected. Through the open window, you can hear Yoongi cursing, hands shaking as he opens up the gas can.

Bang!

A young man bursts out of an apartment complex just up the street, the door slamming against the brick wall behind it. Even from a block away, you can see the frantic expression on his face as he dashes outside without taking proper stock of his surroundings. Your mouth opens to shout a warning—beside you, you can see Jungkook about to do the same—but it’s already too late. The zombies are upon him before he can even scream, rotting teeth tearing into his flesh and ripping chunks away until he’s reduced to a huddled mass of blood and viscera on the ground, deathly still and silent.

Then, to your absolute disbelief, the man is crawling to his feet again, his stance lopsided and his expression blank. Half of his jaw has been torn away, exposing teeth, and your stomach squirms at the sight of his fresh wounds still oozing crimson.

“Holy shit!” Jungkook screeches, whirling around to face you with wild eyes. “We need to get out of here!”

“I know, dumbass!” you yell back, craning your head back to check on your other two companions only to nearly jump out of your skin when the door flies open in your face.

“It’s me!” Namjoon shouts, sliding into his seat. Up front, Yoongi is already seated, his chest heaving with uneven breaths. “Drive, Jungkook!”

Jungkook lets loose a colorful string of curses and fumbles to start the engine, eyes skittering between the steering wheel and the approaching zombies. “Come on, come on—”

“WAIT!”

All four of you whirl around, searching for the source of the unfamiliar voice. A split second later, a young man with fluffy blond hair pops up in your window, followed quickly by another man with longer, dark brown hair. “Please wait!” the blond man entreaties, wincing when you let out a startled yelp and slam a hand against the glass. “Please!”

“Who the fuck are you?” you gasp.

“My name’s Jimin, and this is Taehyung,” he says, glancing over to where the zombies are rapidly approaching. “You have to take us with you!”

Jungkook chooses that moment to butt in. “What the fuck? No way! How do we know you’re not infected?”

“We’re not!” It’s Taehyung who speaks this time, his voice low but no less urgent than Jimin’s. “Please, you have to believe us.”

“How do you expect us to do that?” Yoongi growls. “We don’t know you—you could be trying to kill us, for all we know.”

“Why the hell would we kill you?” Jimin yelps, looking offended by the very idea.

“We’re not zombies, I promise” Taehyung adds, frowning. “No need to be so paranoid.”

“I think a healthy dose of paranoia is a good thing in this situation!” Yoongi snaps.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Namjoon’s pensive expression, his chin jutting out in the way it does when he’s focused. “Joon? You okay?”

His frown deepens. “I think we have to let them in.”

Yoongi balks. “Dude, what the fuck?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “No, seriously. Remember what Jin said in that broadcast—about how quickly an infected person’s vocal chords deteriorate? There’s no way they’d be talking if they were infected. Absolutely none.”

Jimin claps. “Exactly! Now can you please unlock the door?”

You look at Namjoon, who nods. Jungkook groans and Yoongi slaps a hand over his eyes, but you nod back and reach over to flip the switch, the door unlocking with an audible click.

“Thank you so much,” Jimin chants as he piles into the backseat in a mess of limbs. “Thank you. Holy shit, thank you.” Taehyung follows after him, slamming the door shut, and you grunt when Jimin scoots over to give him a little more room and nearly elbows you in the face.

“Careful,” Namjoon cautions, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging until you are practically seated in his lap. Beside you, Jimin and Taehyung make themselves comfortable, carefully avoiding the bags of supplies on the floor as Jungkook starts the car.

“Thanks again,” Jimin repeats earnestly once he’s settled in. “I know it must’ve been hard sticking your necks out like that, but we really do appreciate it.”

“Why were you even out in the open like that?” Yoongi asks, narrowing his eyes at Jimin. “Isn’t there supposed to be a quarantine zone somewhere in this godforsaken city?”

Taehyung nods. “Yeah, it’s in the city center, past the river. We were headed there ourselves, but then the explosion happened.”

“You guys must’ve seen it,” Jimin says. “Few blocks back, rocks and garbage everywhere? We think it was a gas leak, but who knows? It totaled our car, and we’ve been on foot ever since.”

Yoongi looks a little abashed. “Sorry to hear that.”

Jimin shrugs and offers him a crooked grin. “It’s all good. We’re still here now, and we’re still alive. That’s really all that matters.”

///

As it turns out, Jimin is a cadet in the local police academy—something you discover when his jacket falls open to reveal an impressive array of weapons strapped to his belt. Taehyung is an art history student, but between his fondness for paintball and his childhood on a farm, you quickly find that he’s almost just as well-versed in marksmanship as Jimin.

In the last ten minutes, however, Taehyung has fallen oddly silent. A glance over at the brown-haired man reveals that he is staring out the window, lost in thought as buildings rush by. Jimin is still chattering about the academy to a very interested Namjoon, but you don’t miss the occasional furtive glance he gives his friend, his brow creasing briefly in concern before he manages to smooth his expression out again.

Up ahead, you catch a glimpse of the river—a ribbon of blue snaking its way through the city. “There’s a big bend in the river, kind of like a horseshoe, right around the downtown area,” Jimin explains. “I think it was some kind of fortress back in the day, before the rest of the city was built around it. Most of the walls are still standing—historical preservation and whatnot—so the only way to get there is by crossing the bridge or going through the tunnel. And I’m like ninety percent sure they’ve already closed the tunnel down.”

“Bridge it is, then,” Yoongi says. “You know how to get us there?”

“Yeah, you take a left at the next light and then—”

“Can we actually stop here for a minute?”

Everyone glances back at Taehyung, who seems to have finally found his voice again. “Stop?” Namjoon asks, a frown etching its way across his face. “Why?”

Taehyung sucks in a deep breath, his gaze darting over to an unassuming brick building on the corner. “It’s just that… that’s where my little sister lives.”

And in an instant, you understand. You understand why he’s been so quiet this entire time, and why he’s been gazing out the window so wistfully. Jungkook steps on the brake, and the car rolls to a slow stop at the curb. “I get it,” he mutters, his fingers tight around the steering wheel. “I’d… I’d want to check too, if it were my brother.”

Murmurs of agreement all around. Taehyung smiles weakly, mumbling his thanks, and Jimin takes his hand with a reassuring smile. “Come on, Tae. Let’s go get Eonjin.”

“I’ll come too,” Jungkook volunteers, hopping out of the driver’s seat. “You might need the extra help.”

Yoongi sighs and exits the car as well, glancing back at you and Namjoon. “Guess I should stretch my legs too. You two wanna watch the car?

You nod. “We can do that.”

Yoongi nods back and follows the other three men into the building. You watch as they disappear into its dark depths, letting out a soft sigh.

“Do you think they’ll find her?”

Namjoon hums. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I hope so, for Taehyung’s sake. But I really don’t know if they will.”

You sigh again, shifting into a more comfortable position on his lap and letting your head fall back onto his shoulder. His arms tighten around your waist, and you shiver as his warm breath caresses your neck. “I’m glad my parents are overseas on a cruise right now,” you say softly. “They posted photos just yesterday, so I guess that means that whatever this epidemic is, it isn’t a global thing.”

“You’re lucky,” Namjoon mumbles. “I haven’t heard from my parents yet.”

You stiffen in his embrace. “You�� you haven’t? Oh my god, Joon, I’m so sorry.”

He tries to shrug off your concern, but you don’t miss the way his throat bobs harshly as he swallows. “It is what it is,” he says after a few seconds. “I’ve heard from my sister, at least. She says she’ll be making her way here in the next day or two.”

“That’s good,” you murmur. You don’t know what else you could possibly say, and Namjoon, luckily, seems to understand.

“Yeah.”

Silence falls over the two of you, then—each of you lost in your own thoughts. Even though you’re so close to your destination now, it still feels far—as if it’s a mirage that will disappear if you so much as breathe the wrong way. You don’t know what awaits you, and for a moment, you’re terrified of the possibilities. But Namjoon’s arms remain wound around you, his presence warm and reassuring even now, and you think to yourself that maybe—just maybe—everything will be all right.

And then Jimin’s banging on your window again, forcibly pulling you out of your stupor. “Guys! Guys! It’s Tae—he’s been bitten!”

A beat passes. His words take a second to register in your brain—Tae, bitten—almost as if they don’t make sense together. It’s a sentence you never wanted to hear, and your limbs suddenly feel like they’ve been submerged in water, slow and heavy and dragging.

Namjoon, however, is up in an instant. “Where is he now?” he asks, throwing the door open and laying a hand on Jimin’s shoulder as he blabbers on. “Is he bleeding? Is he hurt anywhere else?”

“No, no—” Jimin looks close to tears. “It’s just—it all happened so fast. We were in Eonjin’s apartment but she wasn’t home, and then this guy came out of nowhere and—and…” He trails off, gesturing weakly behind him. “Look for yourselves.”

Yoongi and Jungkook stumble their way out of the building, supporting a pale-looking Taehyung between them. Blood drips down his wrist and onto the sidewalk, and the sight of the bright red liquid shakes off any stupor you might have been under. Delving into the backpack full of supplies from the farmhouse, you pull out the first-aid kit, brandishing it in the air as you jump out of the SUV. “He’s losing way too much blood,” you say, pulling out a roll of bandages and a tube of ointment, handing the rest of the kit over to Namjoon. “We have to stop it.”

“This isn’t exactly a safe spot for medical procedures,” Yoongi points out, gesturing around the street with his free hand. “We’re out in the open, totally exposed.”

“Then we’ll get back in the car,” Namjoon says. “We can drive and patch him up at the same time.”

“But he’s infected,” Jungkook whispers. “What happens when he… y’know. Turns?”

None of you have an answer for that. Jimin’s running his hands frantically through his hair, and you can practically see the desperation swimming in his honey brown eyes. “We can’t just leave him behind,” he murmurs. “We can’t.”

“Then we won’t,” you tell him, stepping up to Taehyung and slathering a generous amount of ointment on the bite wound. Then you pull off a short section of bandage, tying it around his upper arm like a tourniquet. “We’re going to get you in the car now, Tae. Is that okay? Can you still walk?”

Taehyung blinks dazedly, his brown eyes taking a few seconds to focus properly on you. “I… I think so. Hang on. Lemme try.”

Namjoon nearly drops the first-aid kit. “Wait, did you just talk?”

Taehyung blinks again, swaying slightly on his feet. “Yes?”

Your eyes widen as realization dawns. “Wait, but infected people can’t talk. Their vocal chords…”

“... deteriorate,” Namjoon finishes for you. “Yeah. So then that begs the question: why can Taehyung still talk?”

For the second time in as many minutes, none of you have an answer. “Tae,” you try again. “How do you feel right now?”

Taehyung’s mouth pulls down into a slow frown. “I feel… slow. A little muddled, I guess? No brain eating urges or anything though, which is nice. Brains probably don’t taste very good.”

“No,” you say, exchanging a glance with your equally flabbergasted companions. “I can’t imagine they would.”

///

Not twenty minutes later, you are driving across the bridge that leads to your final destination. A rather formidable wall with an even more formidable gate stands in your way, and you watch as several guards peer out from over the top, weapons drawn and at the ready.

“Stop right there!” the guard stationed on the ground commands, his gun trained on the SUV. “Get out of the vehicle with your hands up and identify yourselves one by one.”

“My name is Kim Namjoon,” Namjoon says, clambering out with his palms extended. You follow after him, stating your name as well, and the guard directs both of you to stand against the wall, calling for a man named Seokjin to come check your vitals as your companions continue introducing themselves.

A minute later, a smaller door to the right of the gate opens, and out walks a man wearing a white coat and a genial smile. “Sorry about this,” he says, adjusting his stethoscope. “Proper procedure and all that. You can never be too careful, right?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you tell him, pulling the collar of your shirt aside so he can listen to your heartbeat. “This is hardly the worst thing to happen to us in the last few days.”

The young doctor laughs—a high, squeaky sound that reminds you of a windshield wiper. “Touché,” he says, waving Namjoon over so he can listen to his heart as well. “Well, look at that! You both appear to be alive—congratulations! It’s nice to meet you.”

His laughter is contagious, and you can’t help the answering giggle that bubbles up in your chest and escapes into the open air. “Nice to meet you too, Doctor.”

He grimaces, flapping a hand at you. “Please, call me Jin. Everyone does. Doctor makes me sound way too stuffy.”

The sound of the familiar name has your eyebrows flying up into your hairline. You exchange a glance with Namjoon, who looks equally shocked, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he ventures, “Jin? Does that mean you’re one half of the 2J radio broadcast?”

Jin’s face splits into a delighted grin. “It sure does! Were you guys listening to us?”

You nod. “It was the only station we could find. I don’t think we’d be here if it weren’t for you and Jay.”

His grin broadens. “His real name’s Hoseok, actually—I had to talk him into the nickname. Took me ages.” Then his expression sobers. “That’s great to hear about the broadcast, though. Really. We weren’t sure that we were reaching people, but it’s nice to know that we definitely are. Thank you.”

“Thank you,” you tell him earnestly.

Jin grins. “You’re welcome,” he says, waving goodbye as he moves on to check on everyone else’s vitals. He makes friendly smalltalk with Yoongi, Jungkook, and Jimin as he listens to their heartbeats, but frowns when he reaches Taehyung, regarding him a little more closely. Jimin looks on anxiously, twisting the hem of his jacket, and you and Namjoon wordlessly sidle closer, ready to defend your friend if the need arose.

“You look a little pale,” Jin says, but his voice isn’t accusatory. “Are you feeling okay?”

Taehyung shrugs vaguely, his eyes unfocused. “I’ve been better.”

Namjoon chooses that moment to step forward, keeping his voice low and guarded. “Jin, you know a lot about the zombies, right?”

Jin nods. “I’ve been conducting research, yeah. It’s slow going though.”

Jimin eyes Jin warily. “What would you say if we told you that one of us was immune to the zombie virus?”

Jin’s mouth falls open, his gaze immediately landing on Taehyung again as he leans closer and stares intently at his pupils. “Immunity? Now that’s interesting,” he mumbles to himself, rubbing his hands together. “That could change everything.”

Taehyung blinks blearily at him. “What are you going on about?”

Jin just laughs. “They’re clear,” he calls to the guard, who nods and returns to the guardhouse. Once he’s gone, Jin claps his hands together and beams. “All right!” he exclaims. “Let’s get you all settled in, shall we?”

“What are you going to do to Tae?” Jimin asks suspiciously, scooting a little closer to his friend.

“Absolutely nothing, if I don’t have his permission,” Jin promises. “But guys, think about it. Someone who’s immune? I could learn so much about what’s causing that immunity if I ran a few tests… maybe even find a cure, eventually. It’s an incredible opportunity.” Upon seeing Jimin’s lingering distrust, however, he stops and laughs again. “But honestly, I won’t do a thing if he doesn’t want me to. Right now, I just want to help you get settled in. All of you need lots of rest and a proper meal. Doctor’s orders, okay?”

Jimin nods. “Fine.”

Up ahead, the gate is slowly beginning to creak open. Jin is welcoming all of you to Sonyeo City, but you barely hear him. Your focus is on Namjoon and Namjoon alone, his presence warm and reassuring as he finds your hand and laces your fingers together. 

“Ready?” he asks.

You suck in a deep, steadying breath and squeeze his hand. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

[solarcitymelodies]

HEYYY IT'S HALLOWEEN MONTH and I went over my Goosebumps Theories and Ramblings on my school computer (bc I did it all in study halls lmao--) and like omgomg okay so

Basically, the entirety of the first movie was an attention stunt. Literally. Like, think about it, y'all. Slappy knew Stine could just undo anything that happened by writing a new story. He knew he couldn't cause that much lasting damage and that Stine could stop him easily.

The whole creating an army and whatever was done to get Stine's attention so Slappy could finally say, after YEARS of being locked away, "hey, you're horrible and I feel so unimaginably angry and betrayed because of what you did to us!!"

And there's,,,, a LOT of implications that all the characters weren't always locked up, or at least Slappy wasn't, and he seems to have a relationship with Stine that runs a lot deeper than what's on the surface.

Like... This clip. Just listen.

https://youtu.be/gEC1WbYzZYk

around thirty seconds in there's a line that just SENDS me and also literally proves me right

"I was your best friend, and you turned your back on me."

Y'ALL????

Also the whole calling Stine "papa" thing....... Like idk if you're thinking what I'm thinking, but personally I'm thinking Stine originally created Slappy as his son. Or, I don't know, someone who was supposed to be his friend, because we've seen Stine is... Uh....... Quirky™ and very likely has trouble making friends and such. Mostly I'm leaning towards the father/son vibe bc it would be really weird to call your friends "papa" (if anyone makes a daddy joke I will literally eat my own shirt on GOD) but like. Eyes emoji 👀

And some food for thought, after he had Slappy locked up he created Hannah. Hannah wasn't in the second movie, nor was she ever mentioned AT ALL. To say she could have met a similar fate isn't far fetched.

So basically my point here is Slappy just desperately wanted attention from Stine because as far as he was concerned, his own father abandoned him and imprisoned him. He was mad as hell, and he had perfectly good reason to be. All he wanted was a family, man. And he got ✨trauma✨ and ✨daddy issues✨ instead

This is all just looking into Slappy's character and his relationship with Stine but I have other theories and stuff about how magic in the goosebumps movieverse works so... That's probably upcoming,,,, 👉👈

There's probably typos in here it's 1 AM rn