#also yes the fire collar is an issue and it's not good

[darlingdia1007]

OMG hi I saw that you ate taking requests and I just HAD to request.

Could you maybe do a Stanley x F! Reader where they are an old married couple and resder is angry about something and keeps cussing and being a meanie. The twins are scared and looking at grunkle stan for help about this and to calm Reader down before she sets the shack on fire but Stanley just says this is normal and he intact finds it incredibly hot.😜😜

Beating the heat

(Thank you for requesting this one. It seems very silly honestly. I do apologize, it’s been a while since I’ve written a fanfic.)

It was around 1:30pm when the temperatures had reached its highest of 105° degrees and the AC wasn’t working correctly in the shack. Stepping outside wasn’t the best idea either since the wind would only blow hot air.

Stan and his wife were sitting at the kitchen table as they began debating if they should close the shack since it would become a bigger issue as the day went on. This heat was slowly getting to (Y/N) very quickly. Placing her hand on the collar of her shirt, she began to fan herself with her shirt. Beads of sweat slowly moved down her face as the breeze she created felt amazing.

“Even when you’re melting over there, I bet I can Make you melt in other ways~” a scraggly voice said in front of you. Stan had made one of his “flirty” remarks at you. Most of the time you would love them and shoot one back his way, but dear lord was it a bad time. “Hun, Right now isn’t the best time.” She said as she looked at him and rolled her eyes. This heat was really getting to her now. “Oh come on, you love that one!” He remarked as he got up from his chair.

Sometimes, even after the 30 years the two had been together, married, she could still get mad at him for reals sometimes. This was one of these moments. Getting up from her chair, she had quickly put your chair back into its place and entered the gift shop. An Idea that would probably save her life but she couldn’t do it till everyone was out of the gift shop.

Reaching for the open sign, she switched it to closed as to let people know they will be closed for the rest of the day. Now the only issue was getting people to leave the gift shop. Sitting herself down at the register, she began helping people pay out one by one. Around 20 minutes later, the last customer left. She smiled and waved goodbye to the woman and hurriedly locked the door.

A sign of relief left her lips as she ran a hand through her graying hair. Stepping away from the door, she went to the vending machine and began typing in the familiar code as she made her way down the stairs.

—————————————————————

“Grunkle stan, Why does Grauntie (Y/N) seem… mad?” Mabel had squeaked out from around the corner when leaving the gift shop and entered the living room where her grunkle was seated while watching the TV. “Mad? What do you mean kiddo?” He looked at Mabel in confusion when Dipper came from behind his sister. “She was all pushy and grouchy towards the customers when she was checking them out. She was also sweating pretty hard.” He wiped the sweat from his hands as he soon realized it was getting a little hot.

Stan sat there for a sec and an idea popped into his head, “Kids, go get your swim suits, we’re going to the pool.” Shouts of excitement lept from the kids.

——————————————————————

“Ford… hello?” She had made it to the last couple of steps as she placed her foot on the solid floor. It was surprisingly cold down here so the biggest smile crept onto her face. Standing next to the stairs, she closed her eyes and embraced the cold that was creeping over her body. Unknowingly to her, her brother-in-law heard her and was walking towards her. “Yes?” He asked as he looked at her.

“Oh good, you’re here! I need to ask the biggest favor.” She pleaded as she looked at him. “The AC is broken and I have no clue what’s wrong with it. Could you please save me and fix it? I’ll make you those sugar cookies you really like.”

His attention was quickly caught on when he heard that his favorite dessert was about to be made for him. “I’ll get right to it then.” A small smile was placed on her face as she began to go up the stairs when she heard a familiar voice that she was a little annoyed at.

“(Y/N) are you down here? Honey?” It was Stan. Her smile left her face when heard her husband calling her name. Finally making it to the surface, she came face to face with him. “God you look so hot when you’re feisty.” He quickly grabbed her and spun her around. She couldn’t be mad at him for long after that. A small kiss was placed on her lips as she held onto him, slowly melting at the affectionate she was being given from him.

“See, I told you I could make you melt.” He laughed as her face quickly became sour and pushed him away. “What? I can’t like my women a little feisty?! Hey, go get your bathing suit, I’m taking you and the kids to go swimming to beat this heat.” He began walking back to the living room as (Y/N) stood there at the small gesture.

Walking upstairs to their bedroom, the sounds of floorboard creaked as she made her way to their shared bedroom. Quickly reaching to the dresser to pull out her swimsuit, she placed it on the bed and grabbed the sunscreen, sunglasses, and the beach bag. Everything was packed and ready for the pool. The sounds of laughter could be heard from the outside porch as the twins were talking to each other. Mabel seemed to be the most excited out of the two of them though.

“Honey, we gotta be home before 5, I still need to make the cookies I promised your brother.” You had said as Stan walked out in his swimsuit. Those adorable striped swimsuits would never get old.

[pokemonshelterstories]

Ok, so. I have a Jolteon (called Needle). He's pretty young. I also have an Eevee (Speedy), who is older than Needle (he wears an Everstone collar). They're always together, since they get along well. Here's my concern; Needle has problems with his electricity discharge, and if he gets too excited, he quite literally sparks. And yes, he has plenty of enrichment. Is it safe for Speedy to be around Needle? I'm worried I might come home one day to find Speedy injured due to Needle's electricity.

have you gone to your vet with this? a jolteon should have good control over its electrical discharge even in an excited state. this is either a health or behavioral issue.

as far as hanging out with speedy, until you know what's causing the discharges, i would not let them play together unsupervised. although it's just sparking right now, if you don't know what's causing it, there's a chance it could get worse without warning. they should be okay to be together as long as you're there to intervene if something goes wrong, but you can't guarantee that while you're not present. just like you wouldn't let a fire type with poor flame control around other pokemon unattended, you shouldn't let a pokemon with poor eletricity control around others unattended.

[itsabouttimex2]

Yandere Alphabet: Red Son

Authority: Do they see themselves as above their obsession?

Yes, yes, and yes. A thousand times over. Red Son’s pride is unmitigatable, an ever-searing pillar of his person. Y/N is viewed as a silly mortal pet, with a collar to boot. Though his opinion of you might eventually improve to seeing you as something of a friend, it still wouldn’t be great.

Bread: Can they cook or bake? Is their obsession responsible for their own food?

So long as they don’t injure themselves further than a mild burn or cut, Y/N is allowed free roam in the kitchen, allowed to make themselves what they please. Good behavior earns them a little fridge all to themselves, stocked with healthy snacks and ingredients they enjoy- Red Son can be generous, when he wants to be.

Not that he won’t steal from your plate if the things you cook look good enough. In a way, it elevates your status with him, sharing food with you as family would.

If you do get hurt too bad, Red revokes your access to the stove, oven, and knives. He’ll starts to make your meals for you, with the addendum that you help with the non-dangerous stages of food prep. Of course, what’s actually happening is that he’s making extra portions of what he likes, then giving it to you. Let’s hope you like spicy food.

Cruentus- How do they respond to Y/N being hurt, both slightly and severely?

Immediate scorching of whoever dared to lay their hands on property of the Demon Bull Family ensues, and then continues until their flesh has carbonized. Red Son will clean and bind your wounds with a firm hand, viciously scolding you for daring to put yourself in a position where you might be harmed in the first place. “My family has a reputation to maintain, you numbskull! If anyone sees you damaged, what will they think of us?!”

This lecture will occur even if the perpetrator broke into the Demon Bull fortress and smashed down the door of your room to get to you. After some time has passed, he’ll feel slightly bad for blaming you, and bring you something sugary to drink.

If the wound is minor, like a cut or scratch, Red Son will scoff at the weakness of your skin and ignore it, mocking you as ‘whiny’ and ‘pathetic’. If the issue persists, he’ll steal a few high quality first aid kits from a hospital and throw them onto your shelf.

Disengage- What’s their response to being ignored?

Laughter. Mocking, howling laughter. And then an immediate removal of privileges and freedom until they ‘grow up’, in Red’s own words.

Enclosure: Where do they keep Y/N? Do they have a place for them at all?

In the Demon Bull Family’s Fortress. Y/N has a section in Red Son’s room all to themselves, with a little mattress and small shelf to fit several personal possessions. During the beginning of their captivity, Y/N will be shown a length of chain bolted to the wall with a shackle on one end- a warning that freedom is now a privilege, not a right. You’ll have to wear it all through the night for many months on end if you make any escape attempts.

Facade: Are they good at hiding their true intentions?

No. But that’s only because doesn’t even try. The most he’ll do is lie to his parents about the depth of his obsession- and they’re willing to believe (for a time) that he merely wanted an amusing little pet to keep him company.

Garment: Do they take control of Y/N’s clothes?

Yes, to a stifling extreme. Red Son will torch the entirety of your wardrobe in order to replace it with something more suited to him and the tastes of his family- expect lots of red and purple. Secretly, Red enjoys matching with you. He might spare a few pieces of your clothing from his fire if you argue to their sentimental value. Also, he’ll do your hair, likely in a way that resembles his mother’s style. He might even force you to grow it out so that he can pin it up in twin ‘bull horns’.

Again, he forces you to wear a collar stamped with the family insignia (pictured here twice, the Chinese word for ‘bull’, written in bone script), but good behavior will have him upgrade you to a large pendant instead.

Also, you’re getting a bindi/tattoo like his- but only after he’s shifted you from ‘pet’ to ‘sibling’.

Handicap: How do they handle Y/N being or becoming disabled?

Unfortunately, a disabled Y/N in the clutches of Red Son is very likely to be the victim of humiliation and dehumanization- for a time. As his affection and care for you grows, the blade of his pendulum swings. He switches quickly from constant mockery and boundary stomping to stifling care and strict restriction. One day he’ll be kicking your crutch or hiding your anxiety meds while you panic, the next he’s demanding you to relegate yourself to the constant use of a wheelchair and punishing you for not taking your medicine where he can see it.

Intertwine- How physical are they? Do they enjoy skinship and touch?

Red Son is pretty reserved in terms of touch- he’ll accept minor displays of physical affection, but rarely initiates. When he does, you can expect condescending headpats and lots of hair brushing. If you’re feeling particularly down, he’ll muster up a half-hearted hug, awkwardly thumping your back.

Jaunt: Are they willing to take Y/N out in public? Where do they go?

No. Not unless they’re willing to be led around by the aforementioned shackle, the chains rattling with each step taken. However, Red Son might teleport them to somewhere isolated and empty for a few minutes, allowing them a little bit of fresh air as a quick reward for compliance and obedience.

Kindness: What brings out the best in this yandere?

The Crystal Heir AU leaves him extremely protective towards Y/N, acknowledging their trauma and suffering- and he works to be a better person for them.

Alternatively, when you get very sick- Red Son will stay beside you all the while, stuffing you with water, medicine, and hand-made soup. Having you completely vulnerable only serves to make him softer, given that you can’t fight or sass him- he might even cuddle you once or twice, letting you rest against his ever-warm body.

Limitation: What holds them back? Work? Family obligations? Physical weakness?

His family’s goals and ambitions are always at the fore of Red’s mind, a perpetual desire to please them. Given the time he has to spend planning or tinkering, Y/N does have time to themselves- enough to plan or attempt an escape, if they can muster the courage.

Morals: What lines are they not willing to cross?

Any form of ‘rigorous’ discipline or outright abuse. Red Son doesn’t want to waste his time doing something like caning your thighs or whipping you hands, and wouldn’t ever beat you outright. You might get slapped on the back of the head or receive a sharp swat on your nose- but he wouldn’t really go any further. Also, no deliberately putting Y/N in danger. He’s just not risking it.

Nausea: Can they tend to an illness, or would they rely on a doctor?

He handles it himself. As mentioned before, Red Son plies you with water, soup, and medicine. He’ll restrict you to his own bed, sleeping in the guest room as you recover- and he’ll sneak in during the night to wipe the sweat from your brow and refill your glass.

Obcordate: What reminds them of Y/N?

Food and drink with warming (but not spicy) spices, like cookies with a dash of ginger and cinnamon. Stray dogs that would be better off taken in hand and brought somewhere safe. Any little flower that’s blooming all alone.

Pacify: How do they comfort Y/N? Do they even bother trying?

Jokes aside, he’s not too great- but there’ll be some mild, concerned effort. Maybe just lay your head in his lap and let him play with your hair- it’s more comfortable for him trying to give you a hug or pep talk.

Queue: Do they have something of equal or greater importance to Y/N?

His family. Red’s obsession with Y/N will never come before his love for his parents, even after they find themselves forcibly ‘adopted’.

Redemption: Could they grow out of their obsession and make amends with Y/N?

Unlikely, but not impossible. After several months/years spent spent with them, Red Son will grow more protective and less cruel, but his obsession never really fades.

Sobriquet- What nicknames do for they have for their obsession?

Many mocking and insulting epithets are bestowed upon Y/N, the most frequent being, you guessed it- peasant. If Red Son grows particularly angry, he’ll get more threatening with his wording, referring to you as ‘kindling’ or ‘firewood’.

After a few months spent in captivity, he might refer to you as little sister (妹妹) or little brother (弟弟). These moments are fleeting, but impossibly soft and genuine- and after a few months or even years spent acclimating to your new life, you might see fit to call him older brother (哥哥).

Troop: How many people do they obsess over? Is that obsession spread equally?

Just one- Y/N.

Underdog: Who‘s on the yandere’s side? Would they help out?

His parents are massive enablers, unfortunately. So what if their son has a little mortal pet? They want to take over the world- Red Son taking one of the mortals that they wish to subjugate as a slave/pet/companion does not bother them at all.

Though they do find you to be very cute- especially when Red Son forces you to dress and style yourself like a member of their family.

Vocalize: How do they justify their actions?

Red doesn’t bother- he doesn’t need justification. He wanted Y/N, so he took them. The end, with no regret.

White Whale: Why do they pursue Y/N? What caused this obsessive love?

Probably they do one or two nice things for him and he snatches them up, not unlike a human adopting a cute and friendly stray. The bulk of his obsession comes later, after he’s spent enough time to start caring about you.

Xanthous: What do they really want?

Approval, attention, and affection. Red Son switches from desperately seeking his father’s pride and love to demanding to have yours, finding it a much easier goal to achieve.

Youth: How old is Y/N in comparison to them? Younger, same age, or older?

Given that they’re almost invariably a mortal he finds amusing, Y/N is much younger.

Zealous: Do they pursue Y/N doggedly, or are they more laidback and casual with their approach?

Red Son is extremely casual the majority of the time- he’s entitled and prideful to the point that he sees nothing wrong with what he’s doing. Why would he be anything but relaxed?

Author’s Choice 1: What do Princess Iron Fan and Demon Bull King think of Y/N?

Iron Fan thinks of you as adorable when Red Son styles your hair like hers, and might even throw some of her old clothes your way- they’re abraded to softness and cozy to sleep in, offering some comfort during long nights. She’s not too opposed to having you as part of the family, even if she has to help her son “train” you into obedience and politeness.

The Demon Bull King uses you as practice for his future rule over mortals, making demands of you. He chuckles as you scurry about to fulfill them, trying hard to avoid his ire. Occasionally he’ll lift you by the scruff of your shirt, examining you closely. It’s fun to watch you yelp and kick, fearful that he’ll drop or crush you- he won’t actually do either, to his credit. It’s just funny to him that you think he might.

[disasterdoer]

Pairing: Dabi x GN!Reader

Warnings: NSFW/18+, kidnapping, captive darling, noncon & dubcon, BJ, head pushing/guiding, mind break(?) (reader is sympathetic after a bit), praise & degradation, calling reader "pet," reader calls Dabi "Touya," burning, punishments.

Wordcount: <1000 (700+)

Summary: A.U. where Dabi kidnaps you after he's killed Endeavor.

A/N: This is the first fanfic that I've ever shared. 🫣 I also don't write a lot anymore, so I'm hoping it's decent enough. This was originally a fem reader, but I wanted to be more inclusive, so apologies if I missed anything! I read this like eight times, but shit happens. My brain is fried and I wrote this in like an hour.

You resisted when Dabi kidnapped you, but after that first night when he punished you, you decided it wasn’t worth it. He had fucked you senseless, face buried the mattress as your tears stained the sheets. The fading burn on your hip is a constant reminder how he held you despite your pleas, the stinging sensation of the flesh now numb in your memories since your brain forcibly detached. The events are fuzzy at best and completely hidden at worst.

Besides, he treats you well enough, rewarding your obedience with some new clothes that you were sure were more for his eyes than your own happiness, your own toiletries, and a cute little collar with a “T” on it. Of course, if he takes you anywhere, they have to know you belong to someone. He even gave you your own bedroom to retreat to. Sure, he barged in sometimes and invited himself to your bed, but his heat was a comfort now. When you woke up to his palm pressed to your stomach as he held you close, it was almost enough to make you forget.

Every day, you watched the news with him while they replayed his video, time and time again. You heard the details of how his father abandoned him, that his father only married his mother for what her quirk could provide - every single day. After so long of hearing about that abuse, of seeing the anger in his face every time the number one hero showed up, one day you felt you couldn’t be mad at him anymore. Despite Endeavor being dead now, it wasn’t enough to soothe that fire in his heart. You felt sympathy for his broken childhood.

You hated it, and yet, for some reason, the way he looks at you makes your heart skip today.

"Why are you looking at me like that, Touya?"

Dabi gives a teasing smirk, his gaze still glued to your body as he replies, "Because I can, sweetheart. Is there an issue?"

"No." 

You’re so confused, but you can’t deny how badly you want him. You fight the urge to move closer, but as hard as you wrestle with it, you give in, scooting inch by inch closer to him on the sofa until your hand comes to rest on his cheek. Your thighs brush together, the warmth is all so familiar.

"I've missed your touch, Touya."

Surprise flashes in his eyes at the affection, but this is what he’s wanted since he claimed you, so he's not questioning a damn thing.

"Good pet, I knew you'd like it." he praises with a smile.

He caresses your cheek as he looks at you with a lustful grin, his touch becoming more daring as he slides his other hand to your inner thigh.

"Now, I want you to make me feel good, and I think you know how."

Your breath hitches as you bite your lip anxiously, but your response is immediate.

"Yes, Touya."

The verbal obedience is enough to make his dick twitch, but when your hands come to help him undo his belt and pants, that's when he knows he’s got you right where he wants you; completely and utterly his - body, mind, and soul. There was no need for restraints, no need for force, to manipulate your body how he wanted. As much as he loved having that power over you, hearing you choke on his cock while you rested your pretty hand on his thigh instead of pushing away screaming was so much better. 

Muffled noises of your pleasure vibrate around his dick as he toys with your nipples, earning a hum of approval from your captor. Your sweet tongue swirling around the head of his cock makes his eyes roll back. He places a hand to the back of your head, gently guiding you up and down as he lets out sighs of bliss. His attention is locked on you while you take every inch of him, pubes tickling your face, his scent filling your nose as you gag for a moment before he lets you back up.

"Good fuckin' pet." He grunts, head rolled back on the couch’s back.

He fucks your mouth at a steady pace, hips thrusting upwards as your mouth slides over him. Once, twice, three times, he spurts down your throat and you swallow every drop of the salty cum with a slight cringe. Though you’re much more willing now, it doesn't make the taste any better. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, shifting on your knees as you look up at him panting softly as you catch your breath. His eyes flutter, his palm reaching to caress your cheek, a smirk coming over his face.

“So obedient, so submissive. You finally know your place.”

[mokimoriwrites]

6/19 - Prince in a Tower (part 10)

Seanchais did drop off a thick book titled ‘Stipulations of Fae Contracts and Pacts’.

It looked like it was older than my great-grandfather and was nearly as thick as the down mattress on the bed I slept in. 

The section on blood pacts wasn't long, thank goodness, but it wasn't very… forthright either. 

I did manage to glean what I assume to be the most basic idea behind bloodpacts and their conditions from it. 

There were three main things. Firstly, he blood pact would force the signers and forgers to act according to the pact; generally speaking, consequences ranged from minor issues to severe pain if gone against and death if broken. Secondly, here were limits on what could be put into a blood pact, mainly things that could not be controlled and were against natural law were considered things that couldn't go into one.

That meant not forcing people to feel certain emotions, changing the weather patterns, bringing back the dead, or granting immortality, and other such things. 

Part of that was a relief when I finally came to an understanding of it. 

The final part was that the pact had to be willingly signed; a forced signing wouldn't affect anything, and the pact would never come to pass. 

So… what should I ask for in a blood pact? 

Wording was important, which was on nearly every page and was laid out very clearly in the introduction and conclusion of the boo,k which I skimmed over. Fae could, would, and always will find loopholes, grey areas, hidden meanings, and misunderstandings, and then use them to their advantage. 

The only good thing was that they couldn't lie, though I still can't bring myself to believe that to be the truth. 

I brought out a piece of paper and sat by the fireplace. It was hot enough already, and the fire just made it worse, but I didn't want these things written down and laid out for any of the servants to see… so best to burn it afterwards. 

Alright… if I'm going to be here for… a while le, ts say, then maybe my safety is something I can guarantee through this pact? 

Guarantee my safety 

I wrote, frowning because it seemed too simple. 

Guarantee my safety - Saoradh is not allowed to harm me. 

Better but not quiet… What if he had someone else harm me? 

Guarantee my safety - Saoradh is not allowed to harm me directly or indirectly in any way shape or form. 

Good… but also perhaps

Guarantee my safety - Saoradh is not allowed to harm me directly or indirectly in any way, shape,,e or form and will never allow harm to befall me. 

There… a good first thing! 

Now for a second… Can… Can fae have children? Would Saoradh and I have children if we got married? What about my parents? And their… Was my mother pregnant? What about their new baby? 

What about the Heathen and their people? 

Gods, there's so much to worry about…

I was up all night, and then through the day and through the night again and through the day, until nearly five days had passed and Saoradh was storming into my room. 

“What nonsense are you on about!?” He grabbed me by the collar of my robe and hauled me to my feet just after I managed to throw the papers into the fire. “Not eating! Not sleeping! Not taking care of yourself! Have you gone mad?!”

“I was trying to figure out the blood pact! You told me to think of things to add to it! The book said it had to be exact wording or horrible things could happen!” I was grabbing at the collar of my own robe, and it was choking me from how tightly he had it in his grip. 

“Is that so?” he glanced towards the ashes of paper in the fire before turning his gaze back to me. “Burned them, did you?” 

“Yes… i… I didn't want you to see them until they were done.” 

“I figured as much… go get bathed and changed. We’ll have lunch and then sign it, if you're all set?”

I nodded, collapsing onto my knees when he dropped me. “Go,” he motioned towards the bath, "I'll be waiting on the terrace.” 

I repeated my conditions to myself over and over again as I quickly cleaned myself up and dressed in a pale green tunic set with a pink robe over it, my hair messily braided behind my head. 

‘ Saoradh is not allowed to harm me directly or indirectly in any way,y shape, or form, and will never allow harm to befall me purposefully or knowingly. 

Saoradh is not to harm any children of mine, blood or otherwise, in any wa,y shape, or form, directly or indirectly, and will never allow harm to befall them purposefully or knowingly

My family must be returned to their lands, safe and as unharmed as they are as of signing this contract; they are not to be hurt by Saoradh in any way, directly or indirectly. 

Saoradh must never force me to hurt another or use me to hurt another.

I will maintain agency over myself in all forms.

“I know I told you to be quick, but there was no reason to leave your hair unbrushed…” His brow furrowed as he pulled my seat out, hands undoing my braid and gently carding through the tangled strands. “Did you even dry it?” 

“I'm… worried about this pact. It sounds… terrifying.” 

“They aren't as bad as the name sounds. It hurts, the taking of blood always does, but it's just a prick and then it's over.” 

“What… What are the consequences of this contract?” 

I felt his hands still where they were fixing my hair before he continued. “Already thinking about getting out of it?”

“No! It's just that the book stated that the consequences could be…” 

“Horrific?” he pulled tighter than he needed to as he rebraided a section of my hair.

“Yes… If they aren't properly specified before the signing.”

“Did you read that whole book?” 

“No… I just read the blood pact section thoroughly and skimmed the rest.”  

“Well then, after we eat, we can go sign it.” He sat back in his own seat after deciding my hair met his standards. “As for the consequences, I don't want anything to dire… the last thing I want is to hurt you.” 

“So they would be…?”

“The standard. Pain is based on how much you go against the contract, with the most severe being if you break it.” 

“No death then?”

“No…” his hand reached out to grab my cheek, tilting it to look at the bruise he had left the last time he had been here. “I don't want you to die.”

He frowned, thumbing over the mark for a bit before sighing and gesturing to the table. “Eat, you haven't in days. When you're full we can sign the contract.” 

The contract was… terrifying. It was on a long black piece of parchment, every word in crystal white or blood red. 

Saoradh stood next to me and handed me a normal piece of paper and a quill. “You write yours down there, and I'll do the same. Then we can add them to the contract.” 

I was quick, the words still repeating themselves over and over in my head as I passed the paper to him and he to me. 

‘Eibhlin is never allowed to harm himself in any way, shape, or form directly or otherwise. 

Eibhlin is never allowed to lie to his husband and chosen servants in any way, shape, or form. 

Eibhlin will always answer with complete and earnest honesty when asked a question by his husband that includes the phrase ‘answer me honestly’ 

Eibhlin will concede to his husband in all matters that surround the well-being of himself and any children. 

Eibhlin will never leave Saoradh’

“You'll need to take out the bit about your parents being afraid.” 

I stared at him as he passed the paper back, the third item crossed out. 

I wrote the sixth thing I had been considering down instead. 

‘Saoradh must always be honest with me, no half-truths, hidden meanings, double meanings, secrets, or lies of any form.’

“If you’re ready, then?” Saoradh was watching me carefully, hand extended. 

“Yes, these five are fine.” 

“Wonderful.” He took his paper back and waved his hand over the three sheets, the words on both of ours were not on the pact's paper in dripping red… What I hope is ink.

I took a moment to read over the new words, ensuring that everything was as it had been written before. 

“To your satisfaction?" 

“Yes… How do we?”

“Just a prick, dear.” He held out his hand, a long, thick knife in the other. I gave him my own and looked away as his grip around my wrist tightened. 

The sting wasn't bad, but knowing what it would be used for was awful. 

“What do I-” I stopped as Saoradh sliced his own finger and pressed the blood to the pact paper. 

“Just like so beloved, go ahead.” 

I did as he had done, pressing my bloodied finger next to his and waiting. The contract flared a deep red color, and I felt something… ache within my head. 

I swayed on my feet, lightheaded and about to collapse. 

“There you are…” Saoradh helped me to the ground, kneeling beside me as the room spun before my eyes. 

“My parents…” I barely managed to get it out. I had signed the contract, and I wanted to see them now.

“They are dead, I killed them last week.”

I sobbed. I had thought as much when he denied the family portion of my conditions. 

“And we will be married by the end of tomorrow. Of course, we will have a more proper and grand ceremony next spring, but our official marriage will be tomorrow. I cannot risk you leaving me.” 

[banisheed]

TIMING: Recent LOCATION: Wicked's Rest State Park PARTIES: Nicole (@nicsalazar) & Siobhan (@banisheed) SUMMARY: Nicole must deal with a stranger who claims to be boning. CONTENT: no warnings

It was a good day to get boned. If Siobhan was being technical, which she was wont to do, it was always a good day to bone. Boning was an art she had perfected; no one boned like she did. Today, she was boning in the state park, which was her favorite place to bone considering that the likelihood of a human interrupting her intimate boning sessions was low. She liked to bone in peace, was that so wrong? A banshee ought to be allowed her private boning sessions. In some ways, maybe she was glad to be out of Ireland; there was no peace to be had boning there. If you wanted to bone, there were half a dozen other banshees that eyed that same place for boning. Siobhan had fought banshees off enough femurs to understand the relief of a solo bone session. Yes! It was wonderful to be here, in this horrible country, in this city that she didn’t care for, far away from home, boning! Indeed, it was a good day to get boned.

The firecracker pop of a branch behind her stirred her attention up like a prey animal; Siobhan stared between the tree trunks. The sun hit the tip of her steel trowel, shooting a ray into her eye. She groaned and dropped it and with it, the phalanx she’d just dug up. Blind, she groped around for her bone-bag—the banshees of Ireland would descend on her treasures with hunger and the instincts of boning were hard to dislodge. She caught the strap of the black duffel bag and yanked it towards her. The results of her boning tumbled out: a mandible, a sternum, a tibia, even a pubis. It was, after all, a good day to get bones. She hadn’t identified them yet, she wanted to be in the comfort of her own home, out of the heat. She didn’t dress for the weather, she never dressed for the weather. Today she dressed like she planned on robbing a bank: black cargo pants (pockets for bones) and a black turtleneck (bones could be kept in the collar) and black gloves (she just liked gloves). Maybe she would rob a bank later, the day was still young.

She stood up quickly, kicking aside her tools. “I’m trying to bone,” Siobhan said, aggrieved. It didn’t occur to her that boning meant something else to the humans. She only knew the true meaning of the word: the way that she used it. “This is a park; I’m allowed to bone here.” In truth, she didn’t know if she was, but she also didn’t care either way. In fact, it was more desirable to her if she wasn’t allowed to. She’d gone off the trails thinking it would make finding her impossible. The sun cleaved her eyes, and even holding her hand up and squinting, she couldn’t make out the figure approaching. How had someone found her? This spot radiated death; something big was buried beneath her feet and she wanted it. 

The pockets of her cargo pants were also good for knives. Her hand crept towards one on her thigh.

—

Nicole was at the station filing incident reports moments when her radio pinged. She stopped swaying on her chair and leaned forward, picking up the device and snatching a pen in case she needed to write something down. It wasn’t abnormal to move around the park, take on different roles, put out different fires. The crew was too reduced due to the dangerous conditions to stick to one job only. Most days, she was everywhere: the stations, the trails, the exhibitions, the gift shops, as were the other rangers, adapting to different demands. Whether it was injured wildlife, or issues at different campsites, or a collapsed trail, Nicole had to be ready to answer the calls and do her best to solve problems.

Some calls, admittedly, were less common than that. Hastings was radioing her to inform her about a suspicious looking figure, dressed in all black, venturing away from the marked area of the Whispering trail. He spotted it while guiding a group of tourists around the park and couldn’t turn around to deal with it. He trusted her to figure out what was happening. Hardly sounded like something to worry about, so Nicole ended the call, grabbed the keys to the vehicle and set out in the direction of the Whispering trail.

When she was there, it was a matter of finding the mysterious figure. She parked at the trailhead and continued by foot, aiding herself with her heightened senses to pinpoint human presence in the area. The footprints helped too. They suggested an odd choice of footwear to be trekking in the park. Perhaps, Hasting was correct in his assumption that there was more to this than a hiker with a love for the color black. Nicole walked slowly, quietly, knowing it was in her best interest to be silent around the trail. It didn’t get its name for no reason. But the fucking branch she stepped on had different plans. Fucking— She froze, gaze shifting amidst the trees, waiting on something to pounce. Blood pounded in her ears, until a feminine voice came through. Nicole decided against yelling at her to keep her mouth shut, because at least, the suspicious black figure revealed her location.   

Nicole wasn’t alarmed by the woman admitting her intentions for the hike. Slightly weirded out, sure, but not alarmed. Couples looking for intimate places in the forest— she’d encountered a few of them, unfortunately. It was always awkward and embarrassing for everybody involved. For her sake, Nicole hoped the woman and whoever she was with had all their clothes on. The sun breaking through the cracks illuminated the dirt path ahead of her, and Nicole trudged through the bushes and overgrown roots following the sound of the woman’s voice until she was in front of her. All black clothing in place, thank fucking god. However, nobody else accompanied her, and Nicole wondered if she misunderstood what was happening. 

She rubbed her jaw, closing her eyes for a second. Did she spot a tool on the forest floor? And a duffel bag? Bones? Yeah, it didn’t make any sense. Her shoulders screamed from the tension building. It was going to be one of those days. Ma’am, she hesitated before continuing to rehearse what she wanted to say. She was likely to test out a few options before opening her mouth. The woman didn’t look much older than she was. Some found that level of respect uncomfortable. Nicole found all levels of socialization uncomfortable. She opened her eyes, “Good—” fuck, what time it was, was it past noon? “Good…uh, m— yeah.” Worst of all, the woman looked familiar. Where would she know that kind of woman from? The fruit aisle at the grocery store? The pet store? A bar? Nicole’s options were limited.

Didn’t matter, she was going to handle this. “Don’t suppose you got a… reasonable explanation for—” she eyed the bag pointedly. No, reason didn’t exist in this town. When would she learn? “If you trying to bury your trash, we got places for that. Will show you, it’s called— the trash can.” She would worry about the trash in question being bones later. She was resolving one issue at the time. 

—

“Trash?” Siobhan huffed; the insult stabbed her as though she were the trash in question. The insult worked in layers, much like trash itself: the insinuation that Siobhan would litter, the insinuation that bones were trash, the insinuation that she didn’t know what a trash can was. A cloud passed overhead and Siobhan sighed, relieved that the sun’s unrelenting light was paused. In the temporary dimness, Siobhan regarded the human. She looked familiar. Where did she know her from? The grocery store? The pet store? A bar? Siobhan’s options were rather limited. She didn’t know her from any graveyards; the only people she met there were dead and the woman was—sadly—not dead. However, the state of living was mutable. Siobhan’s various knives sang a resounding “use me” in her head but there was something gaudy about a stabbing in a place like this. This state park seemed to beg for some cliff-pushing. 

“This….ealaín isn’t trash.” Siobhan gestured to everything scattered at her feet. The cloud moved along and the sun returned and suddenly Siobhan drew a conclusion as to the woman’s familiarity: she was dressed just like the strange, unfashionable humans that dotted the park. It was some sort of cult, she guessed. A strange cult that seemed to boast authority over the trees. They told her things she never listened to, such as how she wasn’t allowed to write messages in ‘red paint’ around campsites. Like the woman, they insulted her with their insinuations. She’d never be so tacky as to use red paint, it was blood. “The only trash here is your clothes. You look like you’re going to have a business meeting with a squirrel.” And she looked like she’d lose the meeting and the squirrel would run off with all her money. 

“And I do have a ‘reasonable explanation’: I’m boning. I said that. Don’t look at me like you don’t know what being boned is. I could bone you but…” She eyed her silly outfit up and down; she didn’t even want her bones. Siobhan waved her hand out, shooing the woman like an animal. “Go on. This is sexy woman business.” Siobhan paused. “Actually, do you happen to know where the nearest cliff is?” She grinned. “Say, one as big as—oh, for example, if one were to push you off it, one where you would die a slow and delicious death? One about that tall?” She imagined shattered spines. 

—

Nicole was on the slower side intellect wise. Stupid, but aware, if such a distinction could be made. Possibly why she managed to fool a couple of her coworkers into believing she was more capable than she was. Her eyes, however, worked perfectly, better than most. So the woman’s clarification was both unwanted and unnecessary. Sure didn’t stop her from opening her mouth, though. Why would it? “It’s— bones, I know—” she interjected, a hint of irritation edging her words. Did the woman believe her actions would somehow make more sense to Nicole by clarifying the bag’s contents? 

Her forehead creased, frown more pronounced when she heard the comment on her uniform. Nicole wasn’t going to let her get on her nerves. She wasn’t. This was absurd. But it didn’t stop the growing annoyance slowly replacing her confusion. The muscle in her jaw jumped as she clenched her teeth. “What are you— Squirrels don’t—” She buried the rest of the sentence with a sharp exhale. The woman was right, and Nicole hated it. Almost as much as she fucking hated the uniform, it was beside the point. She had to wear it no matter what. At least summertime allowed her to swap the button-up for a T-shirt. Not switching to shorts, though. She would never wear those. Thankfully, she left the hat in the vehicle. If she already looked stupid, she didn’t want to know what commentary the woman would have on that. 

The conversation was going nowhere. The stranger repeated her initial explanation, and Nicole should’ve seen it coming. “Right— You keep saying that like it makes sense” boning was sex, no? Even she knew the term. Unless definitions changed drastically during the years the jaguar trapped her in the zoo. The woman wasn’t here for that, no. But she had bones with her— A heaviness set behind her eyes. Some connection existed there, but where? What the fuck was she planning to do with— Her eyes widened. Did… did the woman…shoo her? 

Somebody else would’ve been offended or hurt by the diss. Nicole didn’t have the time or the energy to care about her appearance. She knew it wasn’t an issue. If anything, after all those years the jaguar exiled her from her own body, she was thankful she had one at all. Regardless of how the woman liked it or not. “In that case, we should both go then,” she grumbled, pointing back to the trail with a curt nod of her head. Whatever attractiveness this woman did or didn’t possess was repelled by her attitude. She wasn’t sane, that became evident. Who would bluntly admit wanting to kill somebody? Nicole took her murder intentions calmly, brain trying to piece together a reasonable explanation. It was impossible not to wonder about the woman’s mental well-being. Did she lick one of the mushrooms around the park? Happened twice last week, that they knew of. Rangers didn’t put nearly enough signs to discourage visitors. 

She reached for her radio, and considered calling Hastings, rope another ranger or two. But she didn’t act on it, thumb hooking on the belt instead. Nicole was capable of handling one odd woman. The park was full of them. But she couldn’t figure out if this one was dangerous or simply a nuisance. She wasn’t going to disclose cliff locations, logically, but half an idea formed in her head. “Don’t know, maybe I do,” for once her lack of facial expressions would help. “Been to every summit in the park. But— You don’t sound like the kind of person I’d— share that with. Don’t wanna be pushed off a cliff, you understand.” she glanced at the bones scattered on the ground. The size ruled out they belonged to humans. “Why don’t you explain what you do with the bones first?” 

—

Siobhan wasn’t sure that she liked this woman. She had a nasty habit of cutting her own sentences off, which was irritating, but on the other hand it meant she didn’t have to hear a full sentence from her, which was nice. In the end, it left a confusing taste in her mouth. The only words she enjoyed hearing were “yes” and “you’re sexy”; the woman gave her a lot of “no” and inane questions. “It’s boning. I’m being boned. These are bones.” Was it so hard to understand? Human minds always seemed to be shrinking; it must’ve been all the Ticky-Toks and processed foods. Any big, wrinkly brained human would’ve fallen to their knees weeping, praising her beauty and cutting the bones out of their bodies themselves. 

Siobhan stumbled back, pierced by the unfashionable-woman’s words. She crushed a phalanx under her wilderness-inappropriate heels. “What do you mean I don’t sound like someone you want to share a large, dangerous cliffside with?” She could understand the sentiment, she hardly wanted to share one with herself, but to be told that so brazenly was a shock. “I’ll have you know I’m very…very…” Very what? By her own doing, she wasn’t friendly. She enjoyed the sound of her voice too much to care to listen to other people. She was impatient, irritable, and arrogant. She didn’t like herself, she didn’t make herself into someone to be liked; she wasn’t meant to be enjoyed, she wasn’t born to be palatable. “Very sexy,” she said, as though it made her agreeable. It did to some people. The shallowness of humans was, ironically, a deep well for her to pull from. When it didn’t work, there was nothing to reach for. 

“I collect them,” she admitted with a measure of shyness; honesty tended to make her blush. “I—what do you mean you wouldn’t share a cliff with me? I’m very—maybe I didn’t want to share a cliff with you anyway.” Siobhan’s hands curled to fists at her side. Why did this suddenly bother her so much? To be the sort of woman that couldn’t be trusted around a cliff was the sort of woman she wanted to be. Yet, to be told so, to have it admitted to her…. There was no control here, Siobhan told herself. Yes, that was it. She needed control and this woman took it from her by deciding she wouldn’t show her a cliff. Siobhan was a contrarian; yes, that was it. She liked to do the opposite of a thing. If the woman said she wasn’t the sort to share a cliff with, then Siobhan wanted to be the sort. Yes, yes, all of this was it, and nothing more. Nothing else. 

“I wouldn’t push you off a cliff today,” she said. Tomorrow though, probably. And any day after that, definitely. “Why don’t you…” Siobhan tried to smile the nice way, not in her usual smirk. Her cheeks ached; was she doing it right? “Why don’t you show me one? I love a nice vantage point. I’m a little like a bird in that way.” Her mind flicked to Jade and the I-Piss. Jade would show her a cliff. “Are you familiar with Nelly Furtado? No, never mind, that’s not relevant.” Siobhan knelt, picking up the worn skull of some bird. She strode towards the woman, displaying the delicate bone in the palm of her hand. “‘We are the birds that stay.’ To see the blue horizon is a simple pleasure; the tops of trees like wild nests. This land is beautiful, don’t you worship it? Don’t you want to share it with a soul seeking salvation?” And as she believed that the woman’s attire meant she was a part of the strange tree authority cult, she meant the question with complete sincerity. 

—

“Sure… not seeing the—” What was the word Nicole was searching for— what did sexiness have to do with bones, boning or anything? “Correlation, don’t see the correlation.” And she doubted whatever explanation the other woman provided would be satisfactory. She expected more confusing words, strange behaviors and dead threats from her. “Sounds exactly like I said. Wouldn’t share a cliff with you.” Yet she had the nerve to be offended by Nicole’s negative to share information on the park’s landscape. And why the fuck was the word sexy being uttered again? Was this— a prank? Hastings' call was strange from the start, she should’ve read more into it. But why? Was there some noteworthy date she forgot about? She was fairly confident her birthday already passed. Sometime in— June?

She glanced at the woman, looking and sounding far less theatrical when she spoke again. Was that it? “Ah,” Nicole said to fill the silence she required to process the information. Collecting. That was less odd. People collected weird shit all the time, didn’t they? Museums collected bones too. Why the fuck wouldn’t she say so from the start? She remembered Yadiel, when he was ten, going through a phase where he kept all those stickers on fruit. Her mom didn’t find it so amusing when he stuck them in the closet drawer, though. She didn’t know what to do with the sudden memory of her brother. She didn’t want it, not now. If only that was something she could control. “Shouldn’t you— collect them somewhere safe?” not a closet drawer, or the middle of the forest. “They’ll get stolen here—” she trailed off, eyes drifting to the duffel bag, then the tool. 

Something else clicked. Possibly, the one thing that should’ve clicked from the start. She wasn’t collecting them inside the park, she was here to pick up new items for the collection. “Ah,” Nicole breathed again, embarrassment flushing her neck. She was unsure if the explanation was reasonable like she wanted it but— she appreciated the truth. “Alright,” she accepted it, a new assortment of questions quickly spinning in her head. How could the woman find so many bones in the short time she was in the park? Were collectors that talented? She didn’t ask any. She hated the phrase “ignorance is bliss” but— sometimes. Only sometimes, she could see value in it. 

Why was the woman switching back? Acting as if Nicole was wronging her for not wanting to die. She was used to being confused, but this was completely different territory. “What? You don’t want to share a cliff. You wanted to push me off it,” and why, were those words she had to speak out loud? She frowned, looking more perplexed by the second. Her face would freeze like that, surely, if she continued to talk to the woman. At least the murder offer was put on the back burner. For one day. Nicole liked that, she very much wanted to live. The breath that caught in her throat felt like a laugh, but why would she laugh about anything the absurd woman said? 

Deciding it was safe to go ahead and take the visitor where she wanted, and hoping it had all been an acute case of miscommunication, Nicole opened her mouth to agree. Before she could, the woman picked up something from the ground and walked toward her, carrying it in the palm of her hand. What was this, was she being offered a bone? “Not touching that,” her lips pressed into a thin line, her best attempt at a polite smile. Her eyes landed on the bone, briefly, because the alternative was staring at the strange woman who five minutes ago wanted to murder her. More words were spoken, and it was uncomfortable. Was she— was that poetry? A song? Who the fuck was Nelly Furtado? Was it the woman’s name? She was receptive to the tone, however, despite all the fancy words making it hard to follow. She chanced a glance, and to her surprise, the woman looked sincere. She supposed her voice wasn’t nearly as grating when she wasn’t dishing out dead threats either. 

But they were talking too much, Nicole was increasingly aware of the fact. She didn’t want to do that in this particular trail. And risk drawing one of those creatures the trail was infamous for. “Pick up your stuff, I’ll—” she let out a defeated sigh, “there’s one close. Not great for pushing— one of the best views, though,” the bed of bushes directly underneath didn’t leave her mind either. Precautions. She waited until the woman grabbed all her bones to move. She was not walking ahead, offering her back to be shoved when she least expected it. “You know— Nobody would think anything of you if you weren’t… dressed like that.”  

—

To reject a gifted bone was a terrible insult in banshee culture. Possibly because it was extremely difficult for a banshee to deny the liberation of a bone and so it must’ve meant that the other banshee was deeply and truly hated. This human couldn’t have known what she did, but Siobhan was wounded nonetheless. No one had ever rejected her bones before and she felt that even Regan would’ve accepted it. Siobhan slipped the skull away into one of her many cargo pant pockets where it clinked harmlessly against the other tiny bones there. She searched for her usual haughty anger but grasped only at hurt. It was a nice bone and she’d offered a line of poetry with it. Siobhan strode back to her bag, hips swinging as she was still in heels and the ground was uneven and she never learned how to walk like she wasn’t trying to seduce the air. She knelt down and stuffed her bones back into the bag and slung it over her shoulder. She was definitely going to push this woman off of a cliff now. 

“Dressed like what?” She asked, more than a little annoyed now after the terrible insult paid to her. And then there was the matter of the heat. Siobhan had never fared well in it: she was a banshee and a winter child and dressed with funeral colors almost exclusively. Sweat beaded around her forehead. “With the utmost offensive I don’t think I want fashion advice from someone who looks like they could be posing next to a department store catalog lawnmower.” She grumbled. “This is work clothing,” she said. “Clothes for boning,” she said. “Normally there would be more cleavage; I don’t dress like this.” Siobhan wiped her sweat away. There were more murders in summer, she thought suddenly. “In fact, if you hate this so much…” 

Siobhan dropped her bone bag suddenly, a move she’d regret later, and pulled her black sweater off. “There,” she said, stuffing it inside her bag and pulling it back over her shoulder. Immediately, her pasty, freckled skin screamed red under the sun. She had enough sense to keep her glamor on but not enough to have applied sunscreen; she didn’t think she needed it. Still, it was a relief to be out of her shirt. The cool wind grazing her sweaty skin was a feeling comparable to boning. “Happy?” She scowled. She could feel herself burning but said nothing about her glowing red skin. She tried to keep walking under the shadows where possible. “I don’t care what people think,” she said, “least of all you.” Never mind that she’d done this because of what the woman thought. If she made another comment, the pants were going next. 

Siobhan’s black bra was also ill-suited for the weather and ill-suited for physical activity and though she’d been uncomfortable before, each step propelled her into new states of discomfort. “How close is it?” She’d push the woman and be done with it and sleep inside the big freezer she used for dead bodies. 

—

Nicole didn’t think she was getting a headache. She knew it. The pressure behind her eyes grew heavier and unrelenting the longer she spent time with the woman. Why was she so abrasive one moment and then acted— acted what? Strange. Childish. Nicole watched her pick up her bones like a kid who was chastised and had to put away her toys. Nicole didn’t get it. Though there wasn’t much she got about anything in the first place, it wasn’t surprising. Once it was all over, at the very least she would be an interesting story to share back at the station. She should focus on that.

The woman seemed annoyed as she stood, ready to go visit the promised cliff. Good. Nicole didn’t allow herself the satisfaction of pissing someone off too often. It went beyond the type of interaction she was comfortable with. The snarky back and forth would make her anxious. But this woman deserved contention. What was the— a taste of her own medicine. English idioms were fucking absurd. The woman defended her outfit and the corner of Nicole’s mouth twitched, one side curving imperceptibly. It wasn’t a smile, she lied to herself. “And this is mine,” she pointed out, hand pulling down the hem of her shirt. One thing was true though, she wasn’t the person who should be offering any kind of advice. “Fucking hate it. Can’t do much about it,” she shrugged. She didn’t know what effect it was supposed to have on visitors. It didn’t inspire authority. To Nicole, it almost felt like dressing like a clown.  

“Don’t hate yours, I’m saying it draws too much—” Nicole didn’t finish her sentence, eyes widening when the woman dropped her bag and started… undressing. What the fuck— “I didn’t— I wasn’t— I meant… the black. Nothing wrong with—clothes are fine. No— not everything. Those aren’t hiking shoes,” she looked down, eyes darting on the ground instead of the woman flashing her. Though could a bra be considered— This was a prank, of course. And now her coworkers came out from behind the trees and everybody would have a laugh. She’d try following along, but in reality, she’d be humiliated. Nobody showed up, however. It was only them on the trail, the realization that it was a real human interaction she was having sinking slowly. “You always take things to an extreme?” she questioned with a scowl, glancing up at the woman. She kept her eyes from wandering anywhere but… the vicinity of her face. Because she couldn’t look her in the eyes either. 

“Right,” if the woman didn’t care about her opinion she had a weird way of showing it. Nicole couldn’t take any word that came out of her mouth seriously. Once she was done with her little show, Nicole was able to expand on her initial comment. “All black makes you look like a fucking cartoon robber,” what was so wrong about gray, or that military green, or brown? She processed her words, and her eyes widened in fear. “Keep the rest though, please” she added, for safety measures. This was not the type of woman she should be interacting with. Where were the simple people? Nicole needed at least one more year of being back in the human world to be able to deal with her. 

Hoping no other acts of exhibitionism would be committed, Nicole turned her attention to the path ahead. The other was ready to go too, it appeared. Not that she trusted anything or anyone at the moment. Logic and reason were buried on the ground where the bones used to be. “Ten or fifteen—” she huffed out an answer, casting a side glance when they finally got on the road. Was it too much to hope for a quiet stroll? “Could be more, with inappropriate footwear,” she reached behind her, searching for something in her back pocket. She held out a small tube of sunscreen for the other woman. She had a feeling she would be bright pink in no time. “It’s no bone but— uh, will keep you protected”.  

—

What was the world coming to? Did the humans think of their cults as work now? Siobhan grumbled, trudging over uneven ground, kicking the occasional rock. In her time, cults were a fun hobby, not work. “Take it up with your leader,” she said. “You shouldn’t walk around looking that ugly. It’s insulting.” Even the usual black cloaks were more flattering. She kicked a few more rocks, most tumbled back down to her feet, so she kicked them again. She wished she was still boning. Even to prove a point, or whatever it was she was trying to do—the whim melted out of her mind with the heat—this was one step too far. All this physical labor for what? A cliff? Why couldn’t she just stab her? Watching humans spatter like crushed insects was fascinating, yes, but now, with all this walking, was it even worth it? Siobhan counted at least ten good stabbing spots in the woman’s back. Oh, but it was so hot. Why even bother with that? 

Energy drained out of Siobhan quickly and only stubbornness kept her moving. “Am I not hiking in these shoes?” Poorly, she thought, each step threatened a twisted ankle. “They are shoes I am hiking in. Ergo, hiking shoes.” Her grip on her bag tightened. “Extremes?” Her laughter shot up like a howl, sending one poor bird flying off in a lopsided flight. “Live long enough, and mild becomes synonymous with boring.” Which was a rather verbose way to say yes, she realized. Did she always talk like this? And in this weather? Under these circumstances? Maybe she ought to start grunting one word at a time. “I am a robber,” she said. There was no praise for her straightforward response, which disappointed her. She gave up any attempts to speak less immediately. 

“Ten or fifteen what? Feet? Miles? Minutes?” Siobhan scowled at the distance. Could the woman be leading her astray? She wanted to go back to her house now—she missed the air conditioning. Siobhan snatched up the sunscreen. She squeezed the cool cream into her hand and spread it across her red shoulders. She offered no thanks, despite how her skin was soothed. She ought to have rejected it, as the woman did to her bone, but the day was getting to her. “How far away is it now?” She asked. And again, not even a full minute later: “How about now?” 

—

“My… leader?” Somehow, Nicole managed to look dumbfounded. As if she didn’t learn by now who her hiking partner was. Did the woman truly not know the National Park Services? She walked slowly, due to the other’s poor choice of shoes, as well as her own paranoia. She didn’t trust her not to do something if she kept her back toward her for too long. “My… leader,” she repeated, kicking one of the rocks that landed by her feet. Tossing it as far away from the trail without much effort. “Out of my control, I guess. Too high up the chain. Will have to keep— offending you with my ugliness,” she shrugged, half a smirk reaching her lips at the thought of insulting the woman simply by existing in a stupid uniform. Better than any real confrontation, Nicole figured, and carried on.     

The woman wasn’t wearing hiking shoes. Didn’t matter what bullshit argument she was spewing, she had to know that. So, no, Nicole didn’t fall for the bait, tempting as it was. It wasn’t often she was certain about things, she would’ve enjoyed the chance to call out her terrible outfit and footwear, but— better keep her mental peace than get roped into another pointless discussion. Her silence seemed to be an affront to the other woman, whose howling laugh made Nicole flinch. Her eardrums were intact, but she wished she had her earplugs with her, should another one of those… attacks come. She tensed as the bird flew past them. Knowing they were stepping away from the dangerous areas of the trail wasn’t enough, she grabbed the woman by the wrist and rushed her as much as her stupid, inappropriate hiking shoes allowed. She almost told her not to try that laughter again, but— don’t must sound like do in the other woman’s head, so she relented. 

Why did she continue to speak and act as if she was much older than Nicole? it made no fucking sense. A decade older at most, no? She clenched her jaw, fighting the snappy remark long enough that her exasperation vanished. “Live long enough, you revert to acting like a child?” she asked flatly, though she admitted to herself— At this point, she was intrigued. 

The admission that she was a robber would have been concerning, if Nicole could take anything that came out of the woman’s mouth seriously. That ship sailed long ago. Granted, she kept that piece of information in the forefront of her mind, should it become relevant at any point. Though it was difficult to keep anything important in her head, when there was a persistent voice chiming in behind her. “Minutes,” she grumbled. Did she forget to say that part aloud? Shit. It happened sometimes. Her mouth got tired and stopped uttering words. Sometimes, they stayed in her head, in a senseless mess that couldn’t be untangled, so they didn’t get a chance to come out. When the other accepted the sunscreen, Nicole kept her eyes ahead, paying little attention. “Make sure to get your back,” not that her polite advice would be well received, of course. 

And if Nicole briefly hoped that her gesture would be perceived as conciliatory, those hopes were stomped on the ground by inadequate shoes when the woman called out, asking when they would arrive at their destination. Nicole let out a weary sigh. Should she let herself be pushed now? It would end this painful interaction, after all. A broken rib was potentially less horrible. She was finding joy in pissing her off, surely. She couldn’t allow that. “We’ll get there when we get there, you’re the one who wanted the cliff, no? Can take you to one of the exits, if you prefer.” What else could Nicole have done? This wasn’t a woman who would’ve taken a ‘please step out of the trail’ kindly. “So what is it?”

—

There was no relief under the unrelenting sun. The merciful trees shielded her as much as their pitiful branches could, but scorching rays of heat dappled through the leaves. It wasn’t this bad back with the bones and Siobhan guessed her misery must’ve been a combination of things: the woman’s ugly fashion and general unpleasant attitude; the physical labor; the wasted time; the lack of bones; her own blistering annoyance at everything. “Not a child,” she whined like one. “How many times can you stand the same words? The same events? How long until predictability grinds your mind to a paste? The same things over and over again—if your life is boring, you lose your years. The passage of time turns to sludge.” Siobhan’s grip on her bag tightened as she tried to remember the years she passed in exile. As humiliating as her false commands were, they were all she remembered. In forty years, what remained were a handful of hope drenched moments. Everything else was the unending, unrelenting shame. 

“Is that what you want?” She added, allowing her bitterness to keep her legs in motion. “To forget your life? A lack of fun is merely a lack of life.” In someone else’s mouth, it may have sounded inspirational, but Siobhan intended nothing of the sort. She pulled the words from her throat with an acrid conviction; as much a product of her current state as it was her hatred for this truth—wouldn’t it be nice to be boring? She couldn’t bear it for long, the self-hating itch of her mind burned as terribly as the sun. Forty years, she thought. If she had to pass another second like that again, waiting for nothing, she’d shatter the world. How could she endure anything so monotonous again for the rest of her centuries? It was better, always, to live in extremes. 

It was easier too. In extremes, one did not need to think. Siobhan had never been very good at thinking for herself. “I can’t reach my back,” she said. In truth, the act of rubbing one’s own back was an embarrassingly ungraceful gesture. “I’m not going to try. Are we there yet or not?” Clearly not, the horizon was still swallowed up by tree trunks. The exits were tempting; each human-made path of trampled grass pulled her attention. And she watched them until the trees swallowed them too. She liked to think each of those paths led back to the parking lot, where she desperately wanted to go. 

“No,” Siobhan said. She didn’t know which way the official exit off this trail was, but eventually the sliced paths between the trees thinned out until there was only the trail they walked and she knew that leaving now would probably be a longer trip than simply finishing what they started. “You’re stuck with me. In fact, we’re glued together. Forever. Always.” Siobhan liked the idea only because she thought it would horrify the woman. How terrible was it to be going about your tree cult business with someone like her trailing behind? “I’m going to come back every day. I’m going to be boning. I’m going to find you. I’m going to remind you that your fashion is ugly.” She smiled, now accepting the unrealistic idea as the fuel for her jellied legs. If only she could get to the cliff, and then turn this woman’s life into a nightmare as punishment for…well, actually, this was her idea. 

“Are we there now?” Siobhan punished herself enough; she was full of punishment, unable to make room for one more. It would simply have to be deferred to this unfashionable cult member. 

—

“Could’ve fooled me,” Nicole argued under her breath when the woman whined childishly, after being called childish. She seemed to believe she had to prove Nicole wrong, if the weird existential rant that followed was anything to go by. Nicole frowned, hearing words she only understood on a surface level, growing annoyed with herself for being unable to keep up when the other was trying to outsmart her. She shook her head, “Got the wrong person, I don’t think about that stuff,” she opted to lie, in hopes of getting out of a conversation erring into a more serious discussion. “But you got me, I’m not fun—or have a life. Suits me fine.” 

After what had to be the third or fourth insinuation that the woman was something beyond human, Nicole was forced to reckon with the fact. Usually, she preferred making conjectures about supernatural species after lunch. Mornings were often reserved for Nicole to live under the pretense that she worked at a relatively normal job in a slightly weird town. Nothing more. But not even that peace of mind the woman was willing to grant her. Despite her appearance, she claimed to be old. So what? Vampire old? If her reaction to the sun was anything to go by… possibly. Nicole reached for her neck, instinctively brushing the fang marks there. Sure as fuck she didn’t want to find out if her hunch was right. 

“I want peace,” she answered curtly. Why should she need more than a dog to care for, walls to keep the cold away, the comfort of a solid mattress and a kitchen to make a warm meal? When she’d lived the alternative, no— when she’d survived the alternative, it was easy to find fulfillment in small luxuries. “I won’t live several lifetimes like you have, though.” Hopefully, she’d reach a hundred in good condition, a sound mind. To make up for the decade she’d lost to the jaguar. That would be nice. The universe repaying her for what it put her through at a young age. She didn’t linger on her hopes and dreams, focusing on the fact that despite living for many years, the other woman didn’t know shit about life either. Nicole had expected years would bring wisdom and experience, but looking at her companion, anxiety wormed its way into her chest. Was she doomed as well?

Hearing complaints about the sunscreen, Nicole shot a judgemental glance back, ignoring the small pang of pity she’d never dare voice. “I’d offer, but I wouldn’t hear the end of it,” going anywhere near a woman who had stated her intentions to push her off a cliff was plain stupid. She shook her head, answering the second part of the sentence instead. No, they weren’t fucking there yet. Like they weren’t two fucking seconds ago, when the woman asked the same question. They were getting somewhere, however. The path twisted before them, the trees growing dense, canopies closing in for long stretches, then trunks peppered along the trail as the sky revealed itself again. 

It should’ve been a sight that brought relief within Nicole, a step closer to getting rid of the nuisance she’d stumbled upon, but the woman had a different idea. Stuck. Glued. What? Nicole looked back at her, realizing how pleased she looked for coming up with such an evil plan. She smirked despite herself, because the woman’s vindictiveness made her stride faster, stupid inappropriate shoes be damned. Whatever worked for her. “You sure about that?” She drawled through her smile, tugging at her shirt. “Would have to hand you one of these, if you plan on being glued… voluntary ugliness,” she was thankful the woman didn’t know shit about her, otherwise she might have believed she was joking with her. She wasn’t. Didn’t know how to, of course not. “If you say so. Sounds to me like you’re the only one who’s gonna suffer,” because Nicole was slowly getting the hang of the woman’s tantrums. While she’d never had what it took to be a good conversationalist. If anything, only one of the two would find her silent company aggravating. 

“Got no issues with you boning, by the way. Could’ve gotten away with it— if you didn’t dress like you came out of— Scooby Doo,” an information sign ahead of them indicated they were close to the summit. She let out a sigh of relief. “So maybe you didn’t. Want to get away with it, I mean. Maybe you wanted someone to find you,” she mused, forehead creasing. Was that it? Children wanted attention, didn’t they? Most people did, she supposed, though she was foreign to that concept.  

Thankfully, they reached the end of their path a moment later. Crisp air filled her lungs, a much needed dose of oxygen after walking up the trail with an argumentative woman behaving in erratic ways. A wide area of foliage and rock extended ahead of them, giving them a panoramic view from one of the highest points in the park. The sun was at its tallest, rays unforgiving on their skin sure, but illuminating the horizon and showcasing the best of Wicked’s Rest woodlands. The sky was a bright blue, with scarce wisps of clouds that refused to give any kind of shade. Sweat beaded her forehead, but it didn’t matter, it all made up for the trek to get there, and the company she’d brought along the way. She breathed out, taking it all in for a moment, heightened senses attuned to the sounds of nature, allowing the vast landscape before her eyes to speak for itself. A minute passed, then she straightened her back, pointing at the distance. “We’re here. Viewpoint over there, careful with the boundary, or—” No, she didn’t know how that sentence was supposed to end, so she refused to finish it. With a nod, she encouraged the woman to go ahead. “Forgive me if I don’t walk farther than this, I have a murder threat to my name”.

—

The apartments weren’t empty, they were filled with dust—it was the thought that coursed through Siobhan’s mind as the woman claimed not to have a life, not to desire fun. She thought of herself—she was always thinking of herself—and the empty apartment. No, not empty. There was the dust and there was her. If she stayed in one long enough, she became convinced she memorized the pattern of the wood grain. What was the point in furnishing a temporary space? What was the point in doing anything else but her duty? Which then, those forty years, demanded that she wait. Siobhan winced as she recalled it. The humid air transformed into the stuffy aroma of an unused space. Surely, the woman had no idea what she was referring to.

“You’re part of a cult,” Siobhan said. “That’s fun. Clearly you need fun. Clearly you need something.” The idea that anyone could live happily with nothing made her shiver. And then, the idea of peace made her laugh. “No such thing as peace.” Siobhan sneered. “Fate will disrupt you; it always does. And what then? Why desire a falsehood? This world has never known peace.” She should’ve asked the woman what she meant by ‘peace’, as Siobhan herself was unconvinced of it and unsure of the exact definition. However, it was more fun to deny it outright. In her estimation, they were beyond amicable philosophical discussions now. 

But they were not beyond murder. Siobhan imagined it, yearning. She was going down her mental list of all the different kinds of sharp, pointy things—cleaver, stick, fork, particularly sharp pencil—when the ugly-dressed woman dared to interrupt her again. Nevermind the fact that they were having a conversation. “I was not asking,” she said and then: “no, you will not.” It would be a touch of poetic irony if she used a stick to kill her; killed by the very thing she worshiped in her unfashionable cult. “You are attempting to dissuade me from gluing myself to you. You are attempting to pretend as though it would not annoy you. You lie. I will not have to wear the ugly clothes.” Somehow, she was struck with the rather distinct feeling of being treated like a child. The stick she planned to use transformed into a dull, rusted saw. “You’re the one that will suffer.” She was struck with the rather distinct feeling of acting like a child. 

Where was that damnable cliff? “I don’t want to be found. I don’t…” Siobhan’s voice faded away. Didn’t she? Why had she worn the outfit? Because she looked good in it, yes, but who exactly was she expecting to be seen by? No one, of course. But then why? “I don’t wear ugly things, it’s the principle of the matter. The principle of not being ugly. You wouldn’t understand.” But was that enough to explain it? Did that even make sense to her? Siobhan shifted, forever displeased with her own seemingly contradictory nature. “I am not someone who dreams of being found by another.” But wasn’t she? 

Where was that damnable—oh, there it was. Siobhan met the cliffside. The tops of trees like a quarry of green greeted her, the glorious sun embraced her, and the cloud waved to her, rolling over head. At once, her unpleasant attitude dissolved; it was impossible to be mean in the face of nature’s beauty. “Thank you,” she said, and spun immediately to the woman with alarm on her face. If she knew to take it, if she accepted it—she swallowed. Maybe she wouldn’t? Maybe— “I take that back. I take that back.” But it didn’t work that way; she’d said it, the fae magic was out there. “I had decided to use a rusty saw to kill you actually,” she said quickly. “Not the cliff. If you wanted to…” Disgusting. Was she really inviting her over? “Do nothing. Do absolutely nothing. Go turn around and leave. That’s what I want.” 

—

Park Rangers belonged to a cult, according to the woman. One more reason for Nicole to believe she wasn’t talking to a human. She rarely met people who cared so little about concealing that side of themselves. Hell, she could count the number of people who knew about the jaguar in one hand. Not this woman, no. She was too clueless or too proud —perhaps a mix of both— to care about secrecy. It made their previous misunderstandings slightly less annoying. Only slightly. Nicole couldn’t let the murder threat go. She looked back at the woman, who laughed bitterly. She’d given up acting like a child, speaking instead like the jaded old woman she kept claiming to be, talking about fate being disruptive and shit. Nicole couldn’t figure out exactly what emotion weighed in her throat as the woman gave her verdict, —the world has never known peace— but it was tight, and it dragged down its chest like lead. Didn’t she know that too? Didn’t fate disrupt her life at every turn? Maybe peace was an impossible thing to achieve, but Nicole was stupid, wasn’t she? It was previously established. So she’d keep believing in it, hoping for it. Like the idiot she was. She cleared her throat, the only audible proof that she heard what the other said. 

“Not much of a liar,” she grumbled, as the woman doubled down on her “evil” intentions. She kept on walking like she had places to go, finally, so Nicole nourished that energy. “At least you’d have fitting shoes—” Why was the woman attempting to convince her of how awful she was? It was often the other way around, no? People liked to pretend they were better, kinder than what their actions revealed. Nicole trudged past the forest that was her perpetual confusion, determined to follow the conversation. This woman was weird. Contradictory. She was certain that she could cause any of Nicole’s suffering. As if. It was amusing, almost. But the words were consistent with a self-centered monologue. “I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference,” she dismissed the claims. It was meant to be reassuring, though if the woman’s goal was to cause the suffering— it was likely to have the opposite effect. 

No, she didn’t understand. The list of things Nicole didn’t understand grew longer with each passing day. The other woman wasn’t achieving anything new. “You’re right. I don’t understand,” another thing they could agree on, regardless. She paid no attention to the empty comments and the woman’s fixation on ugliness. She was full of shit, Nicole gathered as much. If she was honest about not wanting to be found— “Gotta be better at hiding, then. Camo print… next time,” perhaps, left to…bone unsupervised, she’d be able to find the elusive peace she claimed not to believe in. 

Cliff-watching didn’t last long. Certainly not for someone who faced the scorching sun to reach the destination. Nicole was wrong, nothing new, it wasn’t a good cliff to push people off. Right, that had to be it. She was displeased, annoyed to be pulled along for this in shoes that looked more like torture devices. The woman didn’t ask for a picture or anything. Nicole considered offering to take one, but again, they were too near the cliffside for her liking. Safety first.

Half expecting a snarky remark after witnessing such a disappointing cliff, Nicole was surprised to hear a thank you. Too abrupt to suppress the expression on her face. She accepted the words with a shrug, aware that she didn’t need them. “You’re welcome, but it’s my jo—” she was cut off by the woman taking her thank you back. Nicole frowned, confusion bringing out a dry laugh, “what— too polite for you?” she almost rolled her eyes, but chose to ignore the outburst. Being thankful seemed to disturb the other woman to the point she needed to get back to making death threats. Fucking weird. Nicole hummed, eyes narrowed. It was a much weaker attempt, though. “You won’t find one big enough,” she dared her, emboldened by her logic. If the woman expected her to cower in fear, she should’ve tried something else. In fact, being friendly to begin with would’ve set off her flight or fight response quicker than cliff-pushing or sawing ever could. 

“If I wanted to do— What?” Nicole blinked at the woman. Did she— miss part of the conversation? Shit. She must’ve been too inside her head to realize it. But no clarification was supplied, instead, the woman seemed adamant about going. And do… nothing? What? Nicole looked behind her, in case a wild animal was creeping nearby, causing the sudden shift. No. Only other hikers reaching the summit. “Right. Uh— Can’t do that. Nothing. Doing my job and shit right now, but—” she gestured back to the trail, “if we descend the other way we’ll find my car. I’ll leave you at one of the exits.” She hesitated, looking over at the viewpoint. No picture then? No picture. Her loss. She shuffled back to the trail, waiting for the other woman, eyebrows furrowed tightly as she replayed the conversation in her head. Whatever she missed, she wouldn’t know until she was alone. For the time being, there was a not-too-happy woman right in front of her, finally ready 

to leave. “I uh— can make the way back entertaining for you, if this wasn’t up to standards,” her frown eased, a small smirk creeping on her face instead. She made sure they were too far gone from the cliff to finish her thought. “Go over what you can and can’t do at the park. Rules. List is long, got plenty of time.” Torturing could go both ways, no?

—

Siobhan walked alongside the ugly-dressed woman, defeated. She did not bone, as she planned. She did not toss this woman off a cliff, as she wanted. The only victory she could claim was knowing that the woman intended to annoy her, but inside the monotonous drawl of her voice listing things-for-Siobhan-to-do—they were rules and thusly things-not-to-do but to Siobhan they were a to-do list—she found an odd measure of peace. The woman’s voice laid out before them as the sounds of the forest did, underscored by the crunch of Siobhan’s heels. She might’ve seemed tortured—stomping around as though she could stamp out the heat—but her erratic thoughts were scooped out. The section on littering only reminded her that she would litter later; something compostable, she wasn’t a monster. The section on after-hours visitation cemented plans to come in the dark. The woman droned on and Siobhan, a chronic insomniac, was sleepy. 

When she crawled into her car, she didn’t consider that it was that feeling—the tension withered from her muscles—that the woman was referring to. Instead, she thought it was odd that a cult should have so many rules. What a boring cult that was and she’d be back to tell the woman all about it. 

[reddogf13]

Outlast 2: Deliverance CH 11

Also on A03

Status: Incomplete

Rated: M - Dead Dove Do Not Eat This takes place in the Outlast 2 universe after all.

Previous chap: CH: 10 Sleight

Next chap: CH: 12 Wyrd

__________________

~Ch: 11 Dysania~

John was let go from the jail. He didn't return a report that day. That night Blake received more warnings from his dreams. He was running in a blind panic through the dark dirty mines. Roots snagging on him as a danger he didn't see, but could feel, approached. When he made it to a room lit up by torches he had found Lynn. Covered in clay with nothing much but some light clothes ware. Heavily pregnant, but also no longer with her whole front split in half from her hips to her collar bone. Organs spilling from the opening to collect in a bloody pile at her feet. “Look what they did to me!” She screamed at him. Blood mixed tears falling off her face. “You planned this!”

He pleaded. “No! No I-”

“You helped cover Jessica's! You wanted me dead next! You kill everyone you're close to!”

“No! I never wanted-”

“Angel of Death! Who are you after next? Is that why you keep Val free? Have her do your dirty work?”

“I want to help! I can-”

“Save everyone? You can't save them! They're all monsters who should rot with Knoth! There's nothing good in them! You saw it all and swept it away like with Jessica's murder! You told them it would be okay! Is it though?! You want to save a town of rapist baby killers?! You deserve to burn with them you disgusting piece of shit! A spineless coward! How did I ever love you?!”

He felt a pain not only in his chest, but from his arms. His head shot down to find many skinned hands clawing into him. Loutermilch's voice taunting him. “You can't hide your sins, Blake.” His arms yanked Blake back into a suffocating darkness.

Shutting his eyes tightly before he broke free from the painful grip. Eyes opening to him sitting up in bed, wheezing through a tight chest. God, maybe I can get that doctor to give me an inhaler. He got up to face the day with a trickle of energy. Book in hand to record what they had in stock. Meeting up with James for updates.

“No more food was stolen.”

“I know, everything should be settled now.”

“You caught the thieves? What'd you do with them? In jail now?”

“No, I said I would make arrangements to make them a messenger between me and Val.”

“You really went with that? I'm tellin' you they'll stab us all in the back. We're gonna wake up one day and find everything gone or on fire.” He grumbled. “Well, what did you tell them?”

“If they follow the rules, I'd help them through given rations.”

“A waste on those who do anything but help.”

“They do, a few are working already.” Puffing up the numbers, last thing Blake wanted was for James to start harassing people. If it sounded like a group was mixed in he'd be more cautious on going after someone.

“Who?”

“Names are between me and Marta.”

“I should know if they're working for me.”

“It's not necessary. Are they working? If yes, then there's no issue. If no, then get them working or tell Marta if they're a problem.”

“Tsk, I don't need to tell Marta. I'll handle the damn heretics myself.”

“You'll treat them like everyone else. I better not hear you starting witch hunts!”

Glaring down at Blake. “Or you'll what?”

Returning the glare he threatened. “I'll let Marta decide what.”

His confident glare shattered. Looking anywhere but toward Blake as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah... Okay… Long as they work and don't cause trouble. Guess it ain't so bad, then.”

“Good.” He ended the conversation. Leaving the farm lands back toward Mathew.

Separating dosages out from multiple pill bottles on a long counter and into small envelopes. Readying to pass out medicine for those needing it at the required time. He was becoming a doctor in training of sorts inside a small house turned hospital. Picking up first aid knowledge from Blake, who was always taught these things as common. “Hey.” Mathew smiled in greeting across the counter top.

“Hey, how's the supply holding up?”

“Doing fine. We won't run out of painkillers and most the other stuff until next month. Antibiotics we still have bottles left over in the back that aren't being used.”

“I'll do a count to be sure… Your dad tell you of our recent talk?”

“... Yes… He's trying.”

“What did you both take?”

“Food and medication that one day. We avoided taking anything until there was no choice.”

“Mm.” Could be lying. I should have interrogated him earlier before John talked to him. But if anything else was taken, I'll find out. Tapping his pen against the book. “What do you think of Val? Why'd you join her?”

“Used to see her all the time when she lived in Temple Gate. Val wasn't always like she was back around Knoth's death. She used to be gentle, caring and supportive like a mother was. She was a better listening shoulder then Knoth was. Some of my best friends were her kids. After she left I only saw her in brief meetings. Never talked directly with her after that, that was all my dad. After Knoth gave the commanded with the kids a few months back, me and dad lost our faith. I was one of the lucky few to slip by. Due to a few years age difference, if I was younger I would've been one of those with slit throats. Be prepared like lambs for the slaughter. I passed the school rooms of the younger kids before that day. Lessons were all about celebrating their deaths… That they could all be some hell spawn coming to kill everyone. Friends, family, didn't matter. They didn't know if they were some enemy against God. Told that-” His eyes watered. “... That everything will be fine. I watched my younger friends- by their parents own hands. Some took quick care of their many kids in one go. Val didn't have that mercy. She saved all those kids then- we all watched how she had to go on the longest. Rounds since the early morning carrying into the night. Knoth didn't allow anyone to help her, it was “Her duty to carry out.” Only gracing her with a break at mid day. Which didn't help at all.

… I can't imagine how unbearable the next rounds were. Knoth smiled the whole time she had to line up her kids for the pyre to be cut. Comforting them to stop crying before she stabbed them to death. Whole time Knoth sang songs of how God would carry us through it all. Val distanced herself from Knoth after that, then Temple Gate altogether.

Speakin' of the nightmares we suffered. She held secret gatherings on the cliff side by the lake to talk freely about that stuff. She fled with many others after a while. Me and dad stayed because we were afraid to run. We joined her cause after things were getting too bad in Temple Gate. Knoth's paranoia shot through the roof. Ordered Marta to kill all the heretics on nightly rounds. Lynch mobs got you in the day. Neighbors we knew, who openly refused to join Val, were killed for no reason. Because Knoth's paranoia of who else would run to join her got worse. Over time others wanted to escape, but no one knew how. Knowing how Val used to be, dad snuck out to meet her in the old meeting spot by the lake. We became coyotes - smugglers for people to reach the mines. Things were… Okay. For a short time.

Me and dad thought we'd eventually join the safe haven Val was making. After we saved as many as we could. Then it felt like too much with Val after a while, but we didn't know what else to do. Val-... We don't know what happened. Dad guesses she had a slow fall off after killing her kids. A lot of us were having nightmares about that night. Some seeing other sins they committed. She talked in secret of all the nightmares she had, repeating that night. As if that day wasn't enough for her to suffer through once. She lost her gentle compassion and it was replaced by a obsession for sin. As well as other things I won't say. Death had surrounded us on all sides. We stopped our smuggling for Val, afraid she'd go down the path of Knoth soon enough.”

“What about those in the basement?”

Mathew loosely shrugged a shoulder. “There was no plan for them. We just saw the chance to get them out of cages and we did. Where they fled from there was their choice. I'm Sure they all went to Val though, along with a p-” Cutting himself off. “Some others.”

“Mm, … That night someone died in the hall. What do you know? You didn't just run home.”

Mathew tensed, looking away without saying anything. Eyes flicked back and forth before he took a deep breath. “When I was running back home. I saw someone running toward the hall.”

“Did you recognize them?”

“It was too dark. I couldn't see any details about them.”

“Why didn't you say this earlier?”

“Afraid of what would happen if I did. I just wanted to get out of there. Didn't want to get involved.”

“I can understand that.” Recalling his own past. “Thank you Mathew.” Dipping his head before going to count meds. Recording everything was where it should be, he moved on. Weird to think Val was different less then a year ago. Was she really that caring or just more so than a lot of people here? Someone who threatened to leave a cut was preferable against a torture rack. Maybe John could tell me more of what was before. If he comes back at all. The second day passed by without John coming forward. Blake thought of giving him more time, but he couldn't wait for Val. The longer she refused to follow rules the stronger the possibility she could plot something. Leaving the barn he saw no alarming changes in the food taken for the day's meals. Stepping back through town to follow his daily routine. Closing his notebook to protect the pages from the falling snow. It had gotten so much worse these past few days. Wondering if he'd be able to make it to town in all this white. If he couldn't manage that, things would be a lot more serious. A chunk of dirt road was cleared of trees, but that only got them part of the way. The journey would still take a day or two on foot. He stopped under the covered porch of the burned church to open up the book again. Marking down his options to go over on what seemed best to pull off. Writing paused when his sunlight disappeared before Marta's shadow. She stood by his side waiting to be acknowledged before speaking.

“Yes?”

“I'm suspicious of one of the healed.”

“Are they tagged?”

“Can't tell. They all wore hand wrappings of some kind, even before the trap. Looked around the barn for anything and noticed one actin' strange by the fields. Managed them into a vice in the middle of their work. Couldn't slip away while James locked them down on tasks. They avoid me when I approach. If I do surprise them in getting close, they freeze up.”

“Weeeell, can't imagine why...” Looking Marta up and down. “You're very approachable. What do they look like?”

“All covered in black, same as your skittish shadow.” She let out an amused snort. “The others stand aside, but they don't freeze like them.”

“Mathew said he saw someone running toward the hall while he was running away. Maybe they’re the same?”

“I did manage to catch them walking when I kept my distance. It's been a long time, but I still recognize their steps.” What she said next turned his blood cold. “ If I saw their eyes I could be more certain. Val was one of the few with bright blue.”

“You think she's hiding with the healed?!”

“Bet on my soul. I haven't seen her outside the walls. Not since before our hunts started to be ruined. Same time when the healed were integrated. Have you?”

“Which one is she?”

“Ain't much to distinguish her from the others in black. I only know them by their steps. A set pace to make time without disturbing the peace. Hard for you to pick up, but-” turning to head inside the church she tipped her cane back. “That one leanin' on the rain barrel.” Gesturing behind her before stepping further inside.

Blake took a long sweeping glance to not seem too noticeable. Spotting the one Marta mentioned, ages away to the point he had to squint, leaning against a water barrel wrapped heavily in baggy black cloth to hide their form. Keeping their head down with face concealed by more wrappings if not by the large overhung hood. Even their hands were covered by gloves. Most the healed just wrapped them for easy bandage replacement. Blake pretended to write a few things down before heading inside to speak further. “What's she been doing?”

“Mainly keeping to schedule as every other healed since John was caught few days ago. Working 'til dinner then sitting in the hall, but not eating a thing. After that, head back toward the homes of the healed. Disappearing from there to I don't know where. Can't get close enough without scaring 'em off.”

“That's it?” He assumed she'd be doing a lot more. “Has she still been following me?”

“She'll take a look at you, but nothin' more. I'd say it's just 'cause I'm keeping close.”

“Dammit.”

“Want me to keep following?”

“Yeah, make sure they don't do anything, but Don't get too close. I don't want to ruin John's chance of talking if she's too nervous. Either he convinces her to make a deal or we'll handle them some other way.” Ready to dismiss her when he added. “And keep them away from me if they get too close.”

“Stay aware. I'll keep up the rounds.” Leaving him to continue his work.

When the sun set he picked up his dinner. On the way to his room he took a moment to look over the hall. Now that he was looking, it was noticeable that one wasn't eating. Not even having a cup to possibly drink from. Marta was sitting in the far back corner, eating her own dinner while watching the room like a hawk. Moving on he carried his bowl of vegetable mixed rice soup to his room. When this is over maybe we can pick up hunting again. Setting his food down on the table. Grabbing full buckets under his roof leaks to toss out the hallway window. Placing them back for the next time his roof dripped. Tell Liam about the leak. He reminded himself for the thousandth time. Transferring numbers between books as he finished his soup.

His sleep going as peaceful as the last. Running blindly through the caves with heretics at his heels. Thoughts racing on why he was here. Was it to talk things out? Was it to fix something? How could he stop them? If he tried talking would they only kill him? He had to talk to Val. She's the only one they might listen to. But he had no idea where she was or if she'd listen. Where's John? Wait- His eyes opened in bed after his mind caught up with him. “Dammit.” He mumbled with a rub of his eyes. Hearing the loud dripping of his roof he checked the bucket. Filled to the brim he got up to toss it out. When he chucked the water into the falling snow he noticed one in black making their way back to the healed area. He hoped they were heading back from talking with John. His time for confirming an answer was almost up. Blake rubbed his tired face in turning back to his room. Falling back into bed with a shove of the bucket back under the leak. Most hoped to dream of their loved ones face, but not him.

Lynn impaled on a collection of thorny branches coughing up blood. When he tried to desperately help her off she laughed at him. “You did this, what are you doing?” She laughed. “Some leader, why don't you tell them to do it?”

Who? He looked back to see a gathering of clay covered heretics. What? Facing Lynn when he saw himself covered in clay without any clothes.

“Look at you. You're just like them! How could you join them! After all they did to me! Don't you understand! They killed me and you're rewarding them for it!”

“I wanted to help.”

“You helped with Jessica and now with me.” Her voice drilled into his head. “Your sins won't stay hidden forever.” Pointing down to one of his arms.

Branches painfully pierced through his skin as they slithered from the inside out. He ripped them out in reaction to the choking vines. The sounds of his bones cracking to the vines woke him up wheezing. He sat up to look at his shaking hands. Covered in sweat he winced at the Light pooling under the door telling him it was morning. He felt unusually hot like the start of a fever. While it was still early morning, before anyone would be up, he decided to go cool in the river. Towels in hand he walked to the branch off of the river. It was safe there as it didn't meet the mine runoff yet. When it came to bathing he used the small shower in the great hall. Annoyed at it, because half the time it would stop and go on giving water. Deciding to just use the river when he was up for it. Setting his things aside he walked right into the water without undressing. Using it as a lazy way to wash his clothes. He looked down at the water, his reflection standing out with the sky Grayed by clouds. Various scars covering him that he could see directly on his arms. Smooth skin turned rugged by old burns. A similar patch marked the lower left of his face. The skin untouched by fire growing a 5 o'clock shadow he'd need to shave eventually. Eyes following the trail of the rest of his scars. Remembering where some came from like the dips in his hands. While others he wasn't sure, Remembering all the stupid things like running into shin high cacti. His attention drifted off to parts of Temple Gate in the distance. Adding more to his mental map of the place. He remembered a few areas, despite being chased through them. Others almost, but after fixing so much it didn't look the same. Was it bad, what he was doing? I can't leave now. I gave them all hope, I fixed their lives, what would I be if I just walked out now?

Lynn's voice drilled into him on who he was for staying. -A pathetic man who sides with killers because it's easier than going home to an empty apartment.-

They're not all monsters. They were doing what they thought was best. They've changed.

-Keep siding with them and see where it gets you. You’re too comfortable around the same ones who wanted you dead.-

He dunked his head under the water to drown out his thoughts. Listening instead to the water flowing by. Soaking in the cool stream when he saw Marta's blurry figure above the water. He sat up on the shallow shore to hear what she had.

“John wants to speak with you.”

He nodded and rose out of the water. “Coming, Need to get dry.” Sloshing water off him as he dried enough to put his shoes back on.

“That skittish was talking with John.”

“Mm.” his head dipped down. “ Where'd they meet?”

“They met outside the center of the healed blocks. Off in the forest away from everyone. Didn't hear what they were sayin'. Could tell both weren't happy though.”

“Great… Do you remember what Val was like? Before the children- em.” Cutting it there with a clear of his throat. “Was she always so- aggressive?”

Marta looked off to the side. “No.” Letting out a rough hum when she looked back. “More of, off.” Walking with him down the dirt path.

“Off how?”

“She always brushed off what was expected of her. Unruly toward her father, who trained her to take a deacon position. Calming down after he passed. When she got older and did gain the position, she was looser than her father and grandfather. Taking work Knoth snubbed, but she'd sweet talk him into it. Carein' for kids was one of 'em. Knoth stated It was “Women's work” and Val had “More important things to do.” Being a deacon. did fit her though. Soft on matters, but stern when correction was needed. Somethin' she picked up from her mother, who was a teacher. She made sure the kids studied hard and got to where they needed to be for mass. Knoth had her sacrifice a lot to keep carein' for those kids. No matter, Val made sure the kids knew he had to be respected. As well as keepin' up with handed down orders.”

“She ever hurt anyone?”

“Before, no. She'd never even done corporal punishment, like what Knoth leaned to. There was a slow shift when she was given orders to prepare the kids. Back talkin' Knoth far more than she used to. She wasn't so patient when he gave her deacon orders. Preferring to spend time with the kids as time dwindled. Knoth calmed her down after a few arguments before the day. That didn't happen after the kids were gone. She dropped her duty's to question what was going on. She tried talking to me about it by the lake, but I refused to listen to her questioning of Knoth's actions. I noticed she was missin' a necklace that showed our symbol after that. Her talks turned to Raging at anyone, including me about it all. Turning aloof she wandered around at night, defying Knoth's curfew. He tried being patient with his chief deacon. Thinkin' it was getting better when her nightly walks calmed her rage. Listening better to his calming words rather than giving hollowed looks. Until he got word she was makin' some concerning offers to people. Keeping details secret, but hinted heavily of sexual want. Instead of dragging her in, he convinced her to talk with him. The last conversation they ever had.

Things started out calm. I was present on the side in case Val couldn't be wrangled in. Knoth gave her a bunch of words that this would all pass. That he knew it was hard for her as well as everyone else missin’ their children. She needed some prayers and would be set back on the proper path after some spiritual healing. It looked to be working until Knoth got to speaking of God's forgiveness. How he would bless us all in the end. I saw a look in her eye that I knew well from my youth. It was the one time I was ahead of her. She lunged at him, almost sliced his throat if I hadn't blocked her. I'd wielded that weapon long enough to handle it, but struggled to shove her back. If you ever looked hard at that pick when I had it, it used to curve slightly down. She struck it hard enough to dent it almost straight by its middle. Sparks flew off our blades when I did shove her back. All of us stood by trying to understand what happened. She looked the most taken aback.”

“That you blocked her?”

“More like by her own actions. When Knoth spoke her name she fled from the building. He continued yelling her name and she continued ignorin' him. I wasn't used to the chase yet and stood still by Knoth's side. He didn't send me right away neither, Knoth was confident she'd return when demanded to. Knoth sent her a letter to give herself up and that he'd be merciful when she did. When she didn't, I was sent to fetch her with a lynching mob in the night. She was long gone with only a letter announcing her departure left behind. Nothing felt the same after that. Buildings she used to run went from warm and inviting to being left quiet and cold. From then on Temple Gate was shedding members to join her side. What heart Temple Gate had left after the children was ripped out. Nobody trusted one another, everyone was a possible enemy. I was angry at them all. Why risk they're souls, why betray the one who gave them everything? Did they hate God? Did God hate them for what they've done?” Breathing out, tired by the memory's. “More so at Val for starting it all. If only she didn't, then this or that wouldn't have happened. But it would've all the same without her being the main cause. A festering rot eating at us that no one knows where it started anymore.” Going quiet as they reached the hall.

Blake asked Marta to bring John while he changed. Drying off quick as he could in his room to redress. Coming out around the time John stepped in.

Appearing exhausted after possibly arguing with Val since being let go. “Twenty-seven.” Handing in his answer.

“How'd she take it?”

“Not happy, but I've been telling her we should've done this a while ago.”

“That why you didn't run after being dyed?”

He nodded. “She tried convincing me to run, but I took the gamble on it working out. Things were getting worse and if this didn't happen… It wouldn't have gone any better. Took a lot of convincing, but I'm sure she sees it the same now.” Tapping the table before continuing. “She doesn't want to risk anybody coming to pick up the rations. Can they be dropped off at a certain spot?” Voice just as tired hinting defeat already before Blake could answer.

“Depends where.”

“Past the lake to about the eastern mining mountain river.”

“That's a bit far.”

“Yes, it's the halfway point. You could transport it all fast across water and stop before the rapids. Its not close to you, but also not too close to us.”

“Alright, I can do that, but I need to check if we have a boat. Might need one built. I'll aim to get a week's rations out soon if not by the end of the day.”

“I know there are a couple tied to the small fishing shed. Good for what we need it for.”

“I'll go see after this. Is there anything you recommend that they need?” Opening up the door for John to add things on.

He tapped the table before fidgeting with his hands on if he should say. “More medicine. It helped some recover the last time, but others are still bedridden with a nasty cough. High fevers and heavy wheezing.”

“How cold is it up there?”

“If it's not snowing we get regular frost. The insides are no warmer unless we get some bonfires going.”

“Could be pneumonia. Do you have anything up there?”

“No, when Knoth stopped bothering with management due to the end of the world's approach. So did they. Scavenging enough to hold off until the next day. Never expected to still be here at all. When Knoth died and the sun still rose they figured out quick that they needed to pick up the pieces.”

“Alright.” Jotting down some notes. “Maybe I can make some care packages on top. Blankets, meds, matches, bandages. Would a cooking pot help?”

“Greatly, they've been using rock slabs or sticks for cooking.”

“Okay.” scribbling it down. “Anything else?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Since everything's settled and there won't be anymore theft, you can pick up hunting again. Long as you don't go favoring Val in where the meat goes.”

“No sir, promise.”

“Tonight I'll announce the agreement.”

“Uh, should we do that?”

“People are gonna ask why I'm sending a bunch of stuff across the lake.”

“Yeah, but- people are gonna be pissed.”

“I know, let me handle them. I won't mention you, I'll keep it to “hidden connections”.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Maybe you should stay in tomorrow. Get some rest.”

“I will. Looks like you should to.” Gesturing to Blake, still burning from his fever.

Sweat building already at his collar. Noticing now how dry his mouth was. “Yeah, I might.” Already wanting to go sit back in the river. Trading their goodbyes, Blake went out to gather up the supplies. Testing one of the boats John mentioned earlier. Assisting James with the gathering of rations. Dreading for when he'd have to make the announcement. All he wanted to do was sleep after running around all day. Taking a cold shower to dull the fever, refusing to cool. Picking up a box of meds from Mathew. Fearing maybe he caught something more serious than a possible flu he kept one bottle. Careful to gather up everything else for the boat delivery. A pile of blankets from storage and some cooking pots. Setting them away with the loaded food ready to be sent. Looking at the horizon with the setting sun he turned to James with a group of healed. “Take it to the mouth of the river. Place it on the shore closest to the mountain.”

“You want us to go now? What about the announcement?”

“I'm going to make it after you leave. The Voltaire get what they need and you won't be here for the riot about to happen.”

He laughed. “Pfft, you best keep Marta close.” Pushing away from shore to get the boat moving. “They may be wantin' a hanging over this.” Rowing away with the others.

“Ugh.” He sighed. Taking deep breaths the whole way to the hall. Passing by the whole town eating inside to the front of the stage. Seeing Val among them sitting at the back. Knocking on the podium's top to gather everyone's attention. “Alright, ...” Not sure exactly how to announce this. “After some discussion I have made a diplomat between us and the Voltaire. They will be passing messages between me and Val to handle any conflicts that arise.” Murmuring whispers bubbled up from the crowd. Quieting down when he spoke again. “I gave the Voltaire an ultimatum three days ago. Either they start following the rules we go by, or else. If they agreed, I would help by giving rations and other supplies.”

Receiving the expected simultaneous. “What?!” From the crowd. Followed by many outraged voices. “You can't do that!” “They already stole our food and now we're giving them more?!” “They haven't worked for it!”

He shouted over the crowd. “They agreed and I've already sent the first week of supplies!” But they only got louder. Standing up to crowd at the stage edge.

Silenced by Marta. “QUIET.” She ordered as she walked to the front. Standing by the stage as a physical reminder for everyone to behave. The smarter ones stepped back to their seats.

“Thank you… They agreed and I sent the supplies. Everything was carefully considered. I counted out how well we can hold without those supplies and we'll be fine well into next year. This deal only stays as long as they follow the rules.”

The shouting picked up again. A particular man caught all of Blake's attention. “And what if they don't?! What if they steal more anyway?!” His words were no different from everybody else's. Something about him however, unsettled Blake by his looks. Reddish brown hair turned partly white by a burn across his scalp. Half his face carved by massive gashes. One giving him a false permanent half smile. He'd seen many scars before, having him question why this was so different. “What if they kill one of us?!” Blake had to face away from him when his stomach threatened to come up.

Marta snapped the crowd quiet. “Ay.”

“Then they won't be getting anything and I'll send out the guard to hunt them down.”

“We should have killed them!” The riled up crowd chanted. “Kill 'em!” “Kill them!” “Kill them!”

“No, I will not be doing that!”

“Why not?!” Some at the front started questioning. “What are you gonna do to them then?”

That half scarred member spoke again. “Throw them in jail where they'll leach our supplies anyway? Heretics deserve to be crucified for their sins. Leave 'em for the vultures to feast!”

Blake was stuck staring at them. A clawing sensation gouging at his brain to remember them. His ill feeling knotted into a furious fire. Marta gave him a look, asking if she should step in. He gestured a rejection with a wave of his hand. Answering the question. “If it comes down to it. They'll be jailed.”

“This is stupid!” “Why should we help them?! They never helped us!” “Let them starve!”

“Because they deserve as much help as everyone else here. The decisions been made, there's no changing it now.”

“Why?! They killed so many of us across that mountain!” The front standees refused to back down. “Tortured us, chased us down and ruined every waking moment of our lives!” “How many of us were mangled?!” “This isn't fair!”

Blake couldn't contain himself any longer. His blood pulsing in his skull alongside a dreaded rage he felt so strongly only once before. “Look at me!” Pointing to his scarred body.” Don't you dare question me on what's fair! you did all those things to me and more! Did you all forget you hunted me all over this town?! Stabbing, beating me down, never giving me a moment's rest. You would've killed me if you caught me. All those kids, what about them?! Do you deserve forgiveness more than the ones who left after killing theirs? All those after who were tortured on racks, starved and murdered. How many of you stopped to think what's fair? Or what about how you all tortured my wife after a plane crash!” Tears threatened to leave his eyes. “When I finally got her back after suffering you all. You killed her! Ripped apart and celebrated over her dead body! You know what would have been fair? If the end did come and wiped this town to ashes! All of you dying a slow death to fall into a deep boiling hell. Why should I help any of you?! What did I deserve to have you all hate me?! What did Lynn do?! We wanted help! We wanted to go home! Now she never will! Because of you! I should have left you all to rot! It's what you all deserve!” His hardened stare broke to look away as the tears fell. The crowd shut down, heads hung low without knowing what to do.

Marta motioned toward the crowd, shuffling them back to the tables. “Go sit.” Given less as an order to suppress their opinions, but more so to give Blake much needed space.

When they backed away Blake could feel himself crashing. Sick to his stomach on shaky legs while tears threatened to fall. His racing heart needed him to run away from the problem. “I have to go.” He spoke quick before heading to his room. Collapsing soon as the door shut behind him. Curled into a sobbing mess against the door his hands wouldn't stop shaking. Crying past them. “I'm sorry Lynn.” Repeated into the night. “I’m so sorry.”

[my-own-walker]

On The Other Line - Epilogue

note: sorry this took so fucking long i literally forgot about it lmao. many thanks to the anon that reminded me.

summary: the happy happy ending, marital bliss and such

warnings: none, just like fluffy stuff

+++

The vanity mirror in front of me lit up my face unforgivingly. I sat staring at my reflection, all too critical of the person staring back at me. Sighing, I picked up my moisturizer and got to work. An attempt to not feel so gross.

It had been years since Colin and I made the promise to each other to be together. 6, actually. 6 years ago to the day.

The date held a certain significance to both of us. Exactly two years after Colin's plea for us to give things a try behind the library, we got married. It was a small ceremony in the Easttown Fire Hall, the cheapest venue. The reception began as soon as we said our 'I do's.' We cleared out the makeshift 'altar' and it became our dance floor.

Small, yes, but also beautiful. I wore a vintage gown. A yellowing babydoll fit floor-length dress with deteriorating lace detailing and sheer fabric sleeves. It was my grandmother's. Colin had only proposed a few months prior. He was so excited to marry me, we rushed the whole ceremony. Looking back, I wouldn't have it any other way.

He wore a deep blue suit. He stood so stiffly at the altar it was as if he was in the police academy again. He cried as he said his vows. We danced all night in mutual bliss, surrounded by our closest family and friends. My Uncle Nick cried, too, when he made his speech, harkening back to the night we first met in his bar. It made him happy to take ownership of the beginning of our relationship like that.

Our first dance was to 'Waterloo Sunset,' by The Kinks. I didn't want anything sappy. Colin cried regardless.

Our tradition became going on a date every year on our anniversary as if we were only first dating again. We owned a house together, yet he'd still show up at the front door and ring the bell, flowers in hand like he was picking me up for our first date. He'd go visit his mom for the afternoon and get ready there, all so he could make things seem authentic. I loved how fresh it made things feel.

Only this year, I actually had butterflies. Not first date jitters, of course. No, this year I had a secret. One I was going to tell Colin about at dinner, or whenever it felt natural, I guess. Putting the brush down, finally satisfied with my work, I opened the bedroom closet to see a dress with a note attached to it.

'I saw this and thought of you. I can't wait to see you tonight. Love, Colin.'

I giggled to myself at his terrible handwriting. I unpinned the paper and brought it to the box I kept all of Colin's handwritten notes in. The dress was a precious brown floral mini-dress with a ruched chest and a white Peter Pan collar. There were puff sleeves and a tie in the back. It was exactly something I'd wear. My heart swelled when I noticed the price tag on the sleeve (the actual price hastily scribbled over by Colin) and saw it was from my favorite vintage store in town.

I slipped it on, softly praying it would fit, and to my surprise, it zipped up with no issue. A wave of nerves and nausea hit me. I doubled over slightly, scared I'd ruin the dress, trying to let it pass.

The doorbell rang so I forced myself to straighten up, slip on some shoes, and meet my 'date' at the door. I turned the knob and saw Colin standing on the step, wearing a brown shirt that matched the color of my dress perfectly under a suit jacket. His tie was knotted pristinely, signaling to me that it was his mother's handiwork. He had a bunch of daisies in his hand, my favorite type of flower.

'Holy shit,' he breathed, drinking me in.

'Oh shut up,' I giggled, feeling shy like I was a teenager all over again.

'That thing looks fuckin' awesome on you,' he grinned. 'I did a good job.'

'Ever the humble man, Zabel,' I quipped.

'Well, Mrs. Zabel, shall we?' he suggested, extending his hand to guide me out of the door. We walked arm-in-arm to the car, daisies now in my hand. He was sure to open the door for me demonstratively, further playing up the chivalry.

The restaurant he picked this year was a pretty good distance from home. I wasn't surprised to see it was an Italian place when we arrived. His favorite. The meal went well. It was a place we'd never tried before but we both ended up loving it.

Shortly before the dessert menus came, Colin produced a small box from his jacket pocket along with a handwritten letter.

'Colin, you didn't have to do that,' I whined.

'Uh-huh, yes I did,' he smirked. 'I don't wanna hear none of that shit, you're my wife and I want to spoil you.' He slid the box over the table to me and gestured with his hand for me to open it. I looked down and weighed the object in my hands.

I looked up at him, gazing through the strands of hair that had fallen in front of my eyes disapprovingly, knowing he spent all too much on an insignificant 4th wedding anniversary. I opened the tiny black velvet box to reveal a pair of dainty gold dangly earrings. One a sun, one a moon, each one possessing both of our birthstones.

'These are beautiful, my gosh,' I breathed, getting all choked up. 'I didn't get you anything nearly as nice!'

'You didn't have to get me anything, gorgeous,' he replied with a smile.

I took the earrings out of the box and put them on, then took a moment to admire how they looked on me using my phone's camera. I grabbed the letter off the table and slipped it into my purse for safekeeping.

'If I read that here I'll probably cry so embarrassingly we'll never be allowed back,' I laughed. 'Now my gift to you.' My stomach lurched at the thought. I couldn't exactly pin down why it made me so nervous to tell him my secret.

Colin took the card out of my hand and opened it. It was a regular anniversary card, but I made a very intentional writing error.

'The 3 of us have an amazing year ahead?' Colin read aloud.

'Mm-hmm,' I nodded, smirking.

'Who's the third?' he laughed, trying to make fun of my mistake. I didn't reply. I just sat there smiling until I saw the look of understanding wash over his face. 'No...'

'Yes,' I grinned.

'You're pregnant?!' he exclaimed, as calmly as he could, given we were in a public setting. I nodded. 'How long have you known?' His words came out in a breathy whisper. Tears brimmed in his eyes. He couldn't contain his smile.

'Just a couple of weeks. I figured it could wait until today.'

He sprung out of his seat and came over to the other side of the table, taking me by my hands to pull me to my feet.

'We're gonna have a baby,' he declared as he wrapped me in a tight embrace. 'I'm gonna be a dad.'

He pulled away, holding me at arm's length, looking at me with sparkling joy in his deep brown eyes. I had never seen a smile so big on his face. I was at a loss for words. His utter delight with the news told me everything I needed to know about our future.

+++

The happy ending Colin deserved :') I'm literally so sorry I forgot about this story idk what happened lmao. Thanks again to the anon that reminded me and thanks to all of you for your continued patience!

[dadsbongos]

chapter 3 - hungry howie's big date

2.6K words

warnings - mmm? daddy issues, i think that's it

prev. chapter / masterlist / next chapter

It’s during third-period chemistry with his favorite lab partner, Chrissy Cunningham, that Eddie is interrupted from work he was actually looking forward to. By Michael Wheeler of all people.

“Journalism Pass!” Mike holds up the back of his sister’s badge to Mrs. Clink and she bats her hand dismissively.

Chrissy tightens the scratched plastic goggles around her head while Eddie leans his hip against their work table, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently, “Yes, Wheeler?”

“There’s a showing of Rocky Horror that I wanna take Jane to this weekend.”

Eddie snorts, peeking over his shoulder at Chrissy, pressing the palm of her hand into her glossed lips to keep back her giggles, “That’s an R-rated movie, wonderboy.”

“Yeah,” Mike rolls his eyes, “and I still can’t date my girlfriend unless you’re dating her sister. So we both have good points.”

Brows shooting to her hairline, Chrissy “woah”s at the little guy’s audacity.

Eddie gestures flippantly to the lanky mess in front of him, “Right? Worse than Henderson, I tell you.”

She wide-eyed nods in agreement.

Returning to his cash cow, Eddie tilts his head - eyes narrowed, “So what? You wanna double-date at Rocky Horror?”

“No, obviously not,” looking through his peripherals, Mike notices Mrs. Clink staring at them a little too hard and turns so his and Eddie’s backs are facing the woman, “I just need you two to be out on a date so I can take out Jane. I also need you to get us into the movie and then leave. Or sit in a different row.”

So demanding, so unfavorable.

Eddie sticks out a hand, palm up, “Fifty. Now.”

Through a positively murderous stare, Mike asks, “What makes you think I have fifty bucks on me right now?”

A long huff passes through Eddie’s nose, “You’re a spoiled, conniving, upper-class nerd and you’re one of my best friends,” he curls his fingers into a fist twice before shoving his flat palm closer to Mike, “Now cough it.”

Similarly sighing, Mike bends down at the knee and yanks out a folded stack of crinkly ten-dollar bills from his sock.

Snatching up the money, Eddie pats Mike’s head as one would a dog, “Now if you wanna complete your Munson-ification process, stop carrying fat wads on your person,” he slaps the pad of tens against the bridge of Mike’s nose, “Everyone knows you’re rich, Wheeler - don’t flaunt it.”

Before Mike gets the chance to properly defend himself, Eddie tucks the money into the snug waistband of his boxers and shoos him away.

“I’ll figure out something for my beloved shrew, but right now Cunningham and I need to light scraps of metal on fire for an hour,” Eddie nudges Mike back by the shoulder and returns to the girl’s side.

She’s tugging on her rubber gloves while Eddie puts on his own pair of safety goggles.

“You know anything interesting going on this weekend?”

Blinking, Chrissy hums before the blankness brightens, “I think there’s an H&M sale in Indianapolis featuring some Laura Ashley stuff. She might like that.”

“Something easier on my fifty-buck budget, please?” he watches her light the Bunsen burner.

Shaking her head, Chrissy pouts, “Sorry, Eddie.”

“No worries,” he stares up at the water-stained ceiling, “I’ll just have to get my own idea.”

And getting Eddie to have his own idea is like asking a teen movie to not rip off the movies before it.

Eddie’s van sputters up to the Hopper cabin precisely two minutes after he said it would. Black backdrop and twinkling stars watch you shoo Eleven off and they awkwardly pull their collars and glance away when your father sternly calls your name before you can follow.

“You’ve had a bad attitude lately,” his hands are on his hips and he’s barely gotten out of his uniform, “I know you’re growing up and need your space, but if you’re gonna go out with this guy then I need to know who the man is.”

And flashing, headache-inducing red lights blare in the back of your mind at the idea of him meeting Eddie. So you resort to manipulation, “He’s a friend of Mike’s - isn’t that enough?”

“No,” he removes the Sheriff’s hat he’s always claimed squeezes too tight and runs a hand through his hair, “I barely like Mike. You expect me to like a senior he’s friends with that I’ve never even met?”

Glancing back, you can barely make out the pinched brows and overly invested lean of Eddie Munson’s concern through his tinted windows.

“Eddie Munson,” you’re too tired to fight and your eldest daughter intuition tells you Jim’s pager is about to go off soon anyways, “that’s the friend.”

“No!” he puts both hands up, evidently distressed, and you find joy in the way his gray hairs must be growing in, “No way.”

“Yes way,” you shrug and waltz towards the van, waving off your father, “I like him so play nice!” and you aren’t totally sure if you’re really saying that to piss him off or if it’s true. Jim opens his mouth to retort, so you lug the passenger side door open and shout before he can, “Can’t hear you over the pager that’s about to go off in two seconds!”

And before you’ve even got the van door closed, his pager does - in fact - go off.

Eddie wants to ask, and you see that, so you just nudge him with your elbow and he pulls out of the dirt driveway quickly.

“Intense fight there,” Eddie hisses through his teeth, “Honestly, I was about to put earmuffs on the kids - it was scary.”

It’s his way of prodding. Avoiding rejection by pretending it could be a joke and then still getting hurt if you turn him down.

“He’s just been up my ass ‘cuz I’m not going to college.”

Eleven comes forward, face puffing up between yours and Eddie’s seats, “You’re not going to college?!”

You shove her back by the shoulder, sick to the stomach at the idea of explaining your life plan (or lack thereof) to your little sister, “What’s the plan for tonight, Munster?”

“For them,” he braces, arms stiff and eyes nervously flickering between you and the rearview mirror, “an R-rated movie. For us? Leaving before the movie to go somewhere totally romantic.”

Avoiding rejection by pretending it could be a joke - his true specialty.

“Sounds spectacular,” you muse, and his arms loosen from their ramrod-straight position.

Totally romantic ends up being at Lover’s Lake next to his van. A threadbare, plaid blanket with a mysterious black stain in the upper right corner is laid over surrounding grass and rocks with a Hungry Howie’s Taxi yellow pizza box in the middle. You suspect the pizza is room temperature by now, but Eddie is nervously picking at his shoelace as he waits for you to sit down, so you choose to not say anything.

As soon as you sit beside him, Eddie shoots up onto his feet, hands bracing you for patience, “I almost forgot!”

Eddie slams open the back doors and disappears inside, you hear a clunk and curse before he tramples back out, uneven-footed and stumbling. A boombox in both hands, he sets it down and presses play.

The borderline waxing poetic opening guitar to Cinderella’s ‘Nobody’s Fool’ crackles over the speakers and Eddie hurriedly turns it down to a gentler hum.

“As long as you don’t listen to the lyrics, it’s kind of romantic,” Eddie pops open the Hungry Howie’s box and grease stains dot the top, “You probably don’t know, but most metal ballads- “ he gestures to the boombox leaking out Tom Keifer with raised brows, “even hair metal ballads - are not super romantic.”

“I can pretend,” you lean over his outstretched leg and brush against his leather-clad side to grab one of Howie’s infamously thick slices, “This is already the most well-thought-out date I’ve been on.”

And you haven’t been on many dates. Eddie knows that, too, but he decides to keep his big trap shut.

The pizza is room temperature by now, but Eddie so nervously tucks an arm into the swirling pit of his stomach and you decide to keep your own trap shut. Eddie can’t say why he’s so nervous - it shouldn’t matter whether or not you actually like him. It really, really shouldn’t, but he can’t help but hope you do.

“Uhm, so,” his eyes look nice under the shiny little pinprick stars, and you chastise yourself for focusing on that when he’s trying to talk to you, “I’m more than happy to listen if you wanna bitch about your problems with the old man. Not that you would be, you know, bitching bitching, just complaining. Yeah, complain. ‘Cuz you’re not a bitch, you know that- “

“Thanks, Eddie,” you cut him off, a hand on his shoulder. You finish off the slice of pizza in your other hand and shrug, “I mean, bitching doesn’t sound too bad if you actually mean it.”

“‘Course I do,” he turns to face you completely, the gentle swoosh of the lake water under moonlight easily forgotten in favor of you, “Trust me, sweetheart, if anyone gets parental problems, it’s me.”

“Well,” you normally have trouble talking about things like this, but something about Eddie makes you feel open. Like a social worker’s dream, he is the softest couch and sweetest candy bowl, “He’s always busy with work - way too busy for me and Jane. And when he is home, it’s about me not going to college and Jane’s stupid high school romance and my attitude as if he’s not the dickhead that causes it all in the first place…” you sigh, a physical weight off your chest, “Only good thing to come of his bullshit lately is that I get to paint in my ex-mom’s storage unit downtown.”

“Ex-mom is an interesting term.”

“Diane wanted to adopt me as a last-ditch attempt to save the family after their birth daughter died,” the years of this exact thought process echoing around your head prevent you from shutting up, “And then she decided she wanted nothing to do with either of us and just,” you make a ‘scatter-off’ motion with your hands, “Left behind divorce papers and then Jim was a wild alcoholic and wilder smoker until Jane came along and then… suddenly he wants to be better.”

The clarity hits you like a stack of bricks, that you spilled your guts embarrassingly fast and that mortification makes you look over to Eddie, who stares back with wide eyes.

“Anyways…”

“No, just- “ he grins and you can’t help but grin back, “I’ve never had someone actually trust me to just let go like that,”

“I’m glad to be the first.”

If Eddie truly had no inhibitions, he would’ve said he wants you to be his last.

And he doesn’t know where that comes from.

“What do you paint about?” so he leans back on his elbow and breaks the thick air. Shatters it completely like it was nothing to begin with.

You cringe preemptively, “My feelings.”

“Oh, a poetic type,” he punches your shoulder softly, “It’s cool, I write songs about that. All the mucky shit.”

You turn onto your stomach, propping your head up on your elbows and ignoring the soft ache it initially stirs in your chest, “Will you ever show me one of your songs?”

“Only if you show me your art.”

“You’re moving a bit fast.”

“Nah, that’s only - like - first base.”

You two linger there. Soft eyes and pouty lips and pizza cooling under the night sky. He hums, entirely to himself, and you lean forward to nudge his arm.

“What’s going on in your pretty head, Munster?”

“Honestly,” he’s quiet. So much quieter than he normally is, and that’s as scary as realizing his rejection hurt your feelings, “I’m just thinking about how you’re not nearly as mean as everyone says.”

“Yeah,” you turn onto your back, eyes up at the stars instead of Eddie’s kind face, “people usually assume you’re a bitch when you’re not smiling at them 24/7.”

He doesn’t respond, and that would be terrifying if he wasn’t motioning for you to continue.

“I mean, I’m not surprised,” so continue, you do, “People usually just expect women to smile and nod to whatever they say as if there’s no thoughts or feelings to each person,” at his persistent silence, you inhale sharply, “First base was actually my feminist rant all along.”

You look back over to Eddie and he’s smiling so big and wide, all for you - at the fear of misspeaking, he intentionally makes himself BooBoo the Fool, “I love Debbie Harry.”

“Oh my God!” you swat his shoulder and he falls onto his own back.

“I’m kidding,” his head swivels to lock eyes with you, sweet bambi eyes nothing except sincere, “but feminism is metal. Equality for all, I fuck with that.”

“I’m glad,” a sudden memory makes you giggle, and at Eddie’s curious stare you expand, “I actually dumped Jason Carver in freshman year because he said women should obey their husbands.”

He gags histrionically, “I’d never say that.”

“I figure.”

You’ve heard from older women the dangers of getting wine drunk with no men to kiss - being that sauced with that intense a romantic urge could kill someone, you’ve heard. And it’s strange - how just being around Eddie can drive you as mad as the stories you’ve heard.

You turn again, onto your side now, “Are you drunk?”

He looks at you like you’re nuts and you’re almost embarrassed at the fact that Eddie can actually drive you so crazy, “No.”

“I’m not drunk either.”

It takes him a painfully visible minute until finally, the lightbulb above his wild hair dings alight and Eddie excitedly matches your position. He tenderly puts a hand on your cheek, calluses purely lovely on your skin as he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

The ache in your chest that you imagine is what the prolonged poison of having no man to kiss when wine drunk hits, you nod, bizarrely giggly, “It’d feel like a personal attack if you didn’t.”

Maybe you were scared for nothing. Eddie seems like a sweet guy with sweet intentions and sweet words. His kiss is sweet, too. It tastes like the tomato sauce of Hungry Howie’s pizza and the weed he smokes and no sinister third thing lingers.

Eddie, however, feels sick. He needs to talk to Mike and he knows Wayne would punch any other guy straight in the head for doing what he’s done to you. He likes you. He likes your bitterness and your anger and the way you roll your eyes at his antics and he wants to soften your edges and he wants to be your one moment of sunshine. He can’t do that if he’s taking money to date you, so he needs to talk to Mike.

But for now, he likes kissing you on his old blanket with the coffee stain he can never get out and cold Hungry Howie’s pizza an arm’s length away.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Eddie has never doubted himself to the point of getting a hideous stomach ache, not even when he had to perform with Corroded Coffin in middle school, “I think I’m falling in love with her, Wheeler.”

“That’s perfect!” Mike, on the other hand, is purely ecstatic, teeth on display as he smiles, “Just keep taking her out, but without me paying you - Jane and I can keep seeing each other and you two are happy. Done deal, Munson,” and this excitement gives him the courage to smack Eddie on the arm, “Just be cool about it.”

“So just don’t tell her?”

“Exactly.”

His stomach twists tighter at that idea, but he swallows it down and pretends to be a little bigger than he is.

“Fine,” finally, he sighs it out, “We don’t talk about it.”

“We don’t talk about it.”

~~ how we rockin? good? good?

going outta state for like 3 days and remembered i should probably update this while i have it

[bl00dgutsgl0ry]

Let Me Feel You For a While

Pairing - Zhongli x Fem!Reader

Warnings - 18+ NSFW SMUT DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU ARE A MINOR PLEASE!!! Breeding kink (im sorry), slight blood, marking/biting, accidental voyeurism? THIGH RIDING YES PLEASE, AND SHARP TEETH MAKE ME DROOL. Oh btw spoilers for the Farewell Archaic Lord I think? General spoiler warning for genshin.

Word Count - 1.7k.

 Other Comments - You guys have NO IDEA how much I love Zhongli oh my god I love him. I slept on him at first but ever since my eyes were opened I realized how wrong I was for that. Anyway enjoy!!

@sadpsychologist @barbqtos​

      Zhongli had money, he was just dumb and never brought it with him; too used to the routine of just making more Mora if he ever needed to buy anything while he was an Archon. This being said, that also meant he had one of the most elaborate bedrooms you’d ever laid eyes on. The room was filled with rich browns and shimmering golds, his bed sheets made from the finest silks. Archons never really slept, which meant the Zhongli had made this room as ethereal as possible just for you. 

     You were laying across the cold white gold sheets, hair clinging to your forehead from the sweat. Your fingers were dancing around your clit, rubbing harshly at times before dipping into your wet cunt and pumping them in and out roughly. You were so horny it was uncomfortable, and since you had gotten accustomed to your lover's large member, your fingers were doing much for you. You needed something better. You shakily stood from the bed, before kneeling down and pulling out the box and you guys only got into when the two of you were really in the mood. You quickly found what you were looking for, as it was the largest thing in the box. You pulled the dildo out of the box before quickly shoving the box back under your bed.

     Zhongli didn’t really like when you took matters into your own hands, as he wanted to always be the one thing that made you melt. He wanted to pleasure you in ways that you never would have imagined. At this point you were quickly pumping the dildo in and out of yourself, lost in the pleasure as you moaned out loudly. You weren’t worried about anyone hearing since you were alone in the house and Zhongli wasn’t going to be home for a while. You can imagine your shock and horror when you opened your eyes to see Zhongli standing in the doorway, dick already straining hard against the large man’s dress pants.

     “Ah you finally noticed my presence.” Your face was even redder when those words left his lips. How long had he been standing there watching you fuck yourself roughly with the large silicone tool. You let out a low whimper, beginning to pump the object in and out of yourself again, too worked up to be embarrassed. You heard Zhongli chuckle lightly before the loud sounds of his dress shoes against the hardwood floor could be heard. You felt Zhongli’s gloved hands halt your movements before brushing your hand away and pulling the dildo out, setting it aside for cleaning at a later time. Soft desperate whimpers falling from your mouth as your chest heaved up and down. Zhongli pressed soft kisses to your face, his gloved hands running up and down your naked body, brushing against your nipples causing you to jolt.

     “You’re so sensitive my dear.” Your hands were looking for purchase on any part of his body, finally landing on his strong biceps. You squeezed his arms hard, wiggling around and continuing to whimper.

     “Nothing feels as good as you Zhongli, please… please help me. Fill me Zhongli, stuff me.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, your lips swollen from chewing on them.

     “Well it looked like you were having a good time with the dildo sweetheart.” Warm embarrassment bloomed in your chest and you desperately tried to pull Zhongli down by his collar. Zhongli’s lips attacked your, passionately biting at yours, Zhongli’s sharp canines drawing blood before he swiped it away with a quick flick of his tongue.

     He continued this assault on your flesh as he went lower. He made sure to mark you anywhere that was visible, it made his pride swell when he saw you walking around Liyue trying and failing to cover up bitemarks and deep purple hickies. Zhongli pulled back to admire his work, before propping himself up on the edge of the bed. Strong arms manhandled you, forcing you to straddle his thigh. You blushed profusely when you realized what Zhongli wanted you to do.

     “But- but your pants Zhongli, I don’t want to ruin them…” A small smile and eyes filled with pure admiration poured into yours. He carded his fingers through your hair, pushing back any strays behind your ear in the process.

     “My dearest, you have always been so considerate, but for tonight don’t worry about anything, just do what comes natural to you. My clothes can be cleaned, and if not I will buy another pair.” Zhongli’s hands gripped your hips tightly, starting to move you back and forth on his thigh. You clit was ecstatic to finally be getting some friction, moans already being ripped from your throat. The ex archons dick was uncomfortably hard, outline clear as day from how hard it was straining against his slacks. Once you finally got yourself into a rhythm he let one of his hands fall from your hips, giving in and palming himself through the thick fabric.

     You moans began increasing in volume and frequency as you got closer and closer to the edge. You gripped onto Zhongli’s broad shoulders, your body quickly becoming tired. The man in front of you noticed this, letting his hand return to your hip as he helped steady your rhythm once again. Tears were threatening to fall from how good you felt, everything starting to become light and fuzzy as you continued to get closer to your climax.

     With a couple more rough thrust against his leg, the coil deep in your gut snapped, sending waves of please surging through your body. Your back arched hard before slumping into Zhongli’s chest. He kept your hips moving, letting your ride out your orgasm on his now soiled pants.

     “My love, do you still want me to fill you up?” Zhongli’s voice brought you back to reality, where you realized how hard he was. The thought of Zhongli filling you to the brim reignited the fire that was just extinguished in you. You nodded reverently before rolling off his thigh and onto your back, presenting yourself to him. A low groan sounded from Zhongli’s throat as you spread your leg wide, the site of you littered with markings making his brain go fuzzy; his only focus now on making you both feel good. You’ve never seen Zhongli rip off his close at such a speed before, until he was stark naked and crawling on top of you; caging your head with his arms.

      Once again Zhongli began to attack your neck, except not as rough, not wanting to cause more pain than pleasure. Without warning, he slammed his dick into you, since you had already worked yourself open for him. Despite this, your walls still clung tightly to him, his large cock dragging deliciously against your walls as he hit all the right places. Both of your were on cloud nine, as he ruthlessly pounded into your.

     Normally when the two of you had sex, right before Zhongli came he would pull out and cum onto your stomach which he of course would clean up later. Not for any particular reason as to why since you were on birth control, it had just become a habit. This time however you wanted to do things a little different. You were getting close, and you could tell he was as well, as his breathing became more uneven and more low pitched noises started coming from him. Your walls fluttered around his cock, causing him to shutter and let out a low grunt. Before it was too late, you tightly wrapped your arms around the ex Archons next, and pulled him down closer so your lips were mere centimeters away from his ear.

     “Cum in me Zhongli, stuff me with your cum. I want every drop of it please I wanna feel you inside me even after you pull out. Archons please please Zhongli let me feel you cum. Breed me.” Zhongli’s eyes widened, those words causing something to snap in him as he was hit with another wave of pleasure, his thrust still maintaining their power but becoming more erratic. You could feel Zhongli’s calloused fingers rubbing quickly against your clit, sending new waves of pleasure through you. The moans coming from the two of you were matched perfectly, as the two of you got closer and closer. With a couple of final thrusts, Zhongli sheathed himself in you as deep as he could go, cumming shooting deep into you. The feeling of his cum filling you up is what sent you over the edge, cumming for the second time; your mouth falling open to form a silent scream. You could feel Zhongli beginning to ooze out of you as he pulled out, which made you shiver.

     “Let’s get you cleaned up shall we darling?” Zhongli was still a little out of breath as he stood from his position on top of you, holding his hand out to you. You grabbed a hold of him, before catching him off guard and pulling him back down.

     “Let me stay full for a little while longer.” Sleep was slowly starting to take over, as your eyelids couldn’t stay open. Your words went straight to Zhongli’s dick, but that was an issue he would take care of himself. For right now, he just pulled you into his chest, allowing you to drift off into blissful slumber.

[forestgoblinvibes]

141 x Male!reader (shifter Au)

So! I wanted to give y’all more information about the shifters in this AU before posting the first chapter (should be out soon)

These questions are some i have worked on for a while. Since while I’m making this a Modern Warfare AU. The character you read as, and the questions/rule’s below all come from a separate project I’m doing that was worked into this!

From this point on, questions from me made after I post this will be in green. Questions in blue will be from my lovely readers!!

To start:

What is a shifter in this AU?

Good question! A shifter is a person, who’s born with the ability to shapeshift into an and animal whether it be an avian, reptile, aquatic animal and so in.

This also means some people can be shifters of domesticated animals like basic cats and dogs. Not everyone has a more wild creature.

Can a shifter turn a human?

Another great question and no. That would make them a were-creature and that’s not what I’m going for. While it would be cool it can also create many issues.

What are the physical differences between a shifter and human?

It depends. In my story 90% of shifters look just like any other human being. From head to toe you really can’t tell.

Now! That doesn’t mean it’s always like that. Shifters have ability to let more animal features take over their features.

Some examples include: an avian allowing feathers to grow through their hair or they pupils became slit shapes. Or a reptile having faint patches of scales. An aquatic having gills while swimming in a pool. Or some having claws out on a regular basis. Or faint markings like spots or stripes.

It all depends on the person, and partially on how accepting the community around them is.

Are there shifters who prefer living an animalistic life?

Yes! In the shifter community these people are known as “ferals” or “nomads”

And their not looked down upon. Some people admire them and their protected under hunting laws.

In fact that brings us to our next question!

What kind of laws are in place that go against or protect shifters and humans from each other?

Let’s start with the protection laws! And I’ll just list these off for the most part.

Shifters cannot hunt a human obviously. If a shifter harms a human there must be a probable cause for self defense or protection of property or family. This goes the same for humans to shifters

Any shifter who wishes to live a nomadic/feral lifestyle is REQUIRED to let areas of power such as (police offices, hunting and game wardens and mayors ect) know who they are and what their form looks like. They are always required to wear a item of identification such as collars, scarves, chains or specific plants to make hunters aware that they are not game.

Following this rule, if a normadic shifter is killed with malicious intent (meaning the hunter saw and choose to ignore the shifter’s identification) said hunter while be charged with murder and punished accordingly. But if a shifter is killed and lacked any identification an investigation will take place and as long as the hunter is proven not guilty nothing can be down and any family members who may more the death will be given compensation for the tragic accident

There are serval laws that protect shifters and humans from discrimination against each other. A shifter can’t be fired/not hired for being a shifter or specific animal and vice versa

Shifters do need hunting license, this was agreed upon to help protect local while from dwindling or overgrowing of the area lacks many predators. They do not need licenses for flying or swimming though

And while I think of more laws or are given ideas I will add to this

So are there only predator shifters? What about bugs?

Fabulous question! To start no! Shifters can be predator or prey and they both live happily with each other. There are deer, horses, even mice and such. Prey shifters have laws protecting them from predators shifters as well to insure peaceful living. But there are no bug shifters, for me it’s not the best? I feel like they’d be to small and I’m to much danger that even if there was they’d live happily in hiding to avoid being squished

At what age does a shifter first change?

Well normally this’ll vary person to person from how they take care of themselves to stimulants around them. But on average most shift by 16 and this earliest shift recorded was at 3 years of age

Why are shifters a dying species?

That’s because of humans sadly. Before laws and regulations were in place, when shifters were first discovered humans were scared. And what does one do when scared? Protect what you know and kill what you think is dangerous. It took serval years long ago to reach peace

Are there clothing differences for shifters in the military?

So this idea comes from a TikTok artist and I do have their permission to use this idea. The artist is (@the_dumbestbitch)

But yes, Chirps (the reader) is not the only shifter in the military and obviously not the first so there was some trial and error to find a military uniform that worked if a shifter needed to quickly shift. Obviously no shifter wants to be naked when they shift back so after some testing. A special skin tight clothing was made.

These clothing items were normally one a piece sleeveless suit that went on under all their gear. So In emergency’s or when needed a shifter could quickly shed their gear and turn. All while being able to shift back and not be as naked as the day they were born.

Do shifters have more then two forms?

Yes and no? So to start the two forms are their human and animal. That’s a given, but some people can have more than one and this depends on family lineage. Now a wolf shifter and a feline shifter can have kids together. But the child in question will only take after one parent (so no hybrids/ligers and so on) but here is where bloodline comes into play. Say a human and a shifter get together, they can have kids, those kids have a 50/50 chance of coming out fully human or fully shifter no in between. And a child from a human and shifter could only have those to forms.

Now! If two shifters have a child no matter of the animals the bloodline is stronger and depending on the strength of said like going further back the child had a chance to have more then two forms. This all depends on how common it is in your families history. Take Chirps for example

Chirps comes from a strong feline family, mother was a tiger, father was a panther. Grandma was a lion and grandfather was a panther. It goes back a long way with a few wolves at one point but never a human so the shifter gene is incredibly strong in chirps.

So chirps could have more then the two. He’s never tried. So who knows?

But for the most part extra forms come down to two basic things. Bloodline and emotions. Fear is a powerful thing. Anger can be a dangerous fuel. Sorrow can be a blanket that suffocates. All of this can be portrayed in the form someone takes. All these emotions can unlock new and dangerous things.

Are any 141 members going to be shifters?

Honestly I don’t know. What do you think? I truly want options from others. I want the reader to feel unique and special. (In my experience AND THIS IS MY OPINION. I AM NOT SHAMING OTHER WRITERS) but when it comes to reading shifter story’s a lot of it is the omegaverse or smut driven and there’s nothing wrong with that. I just want something for readers that’s not smut driven. And yes I know there are plenty of incredible writers who have story’s that aren’t driven by smut. But at the same time I don’t find a lot of shapeshifter story’s

How tall is a shifters animal form?

This is intierly based in their human highs. For example a normal adult lion can be anywhere from 6/8 feet tall nose to tail (I think)

Now this is how it works to me? Say someone whines a shifter lion is 5,5. Their animal from while average out at 6 or so feet tall. Their second form will never be smaller then a normal animal.

But they can be bigger!! Agin, take Chirps for example. As a human he’s about 6,3 (almost as tall as ghost. Dennis is 5,10)

An average adult panther is about 5/7 feet from nose to tail and height is normally 2.33 inches (I think) so for Chirps there is a big different in normal animal height.

Wanna know how I fix that? With the magic of being a writer of creative liberty hahahaha.

Anyone, Chirps Panther from stand at about 7 feet tall at the shoulder. He’s a big bish (taller then ghost like that) but this leaders to another question asked but a friend.

Can shifters pick and chose their size when that large or in general?

And the answer is yes, with practice. So for Chirps his ‘true height’ while in animal form is 7ft at the shoulder. Which in most scenarios is extremely impractical, especially in situations where stealth is required. Chirps rarely using his true height, only in cases like chapter one where he needs to carry someone on his back to safety while also fighting. It’s a bulkier form even if he’s still slender. Normally he chooses a height of about 5.10 at the shoulder. Still large but more comfortable for him. The smallest he’ll normally shift to is that of an average panther.

What inspired me to make the shifter Au Chirps story in general?

A lot actually inspired me for this AU and the story in general. The episode Shapeshifters from “love death and robots” played into my inspiration for the AU. And “Teen wolf” inspired some of the ability’s or lore for my actual story. As well as “wolf blood” (does anyone temper that show?). And even “supernatural”. And some things like eye colors, abilities and weaknesses are inspired from these shows as you’ll see in further chapters.

But for now this is it. This will be pinned on my blog for easy access. If you have any questions please, please ask them! I’ll be happy to answer them on here!!! Same for suggestions that I can go off of for the story to come!! And with that, have an amazing time!! Don’t be scared to reach out!!

[primofate]

Otome Game Dicussions

Click here to see my and others’ recommendations

Some recommended websites that list and review ENGLISH Otome games:

https://www.englishotomegames.net/list (super comprehensive list. I love going here to check out if I might have missed something. They even list out RPGs that have Otome/Romance elements like Persona 3)

https://otomekitten.com/2020/05/06/otome-games-in-nintendo-switch-english/ (My go to for walkthroughs but also does good reviews. Read with caution though cause it will definitely have spoilers.)

https://store.aksysgames.com/collections/otome (Aksys games is one of the companies that “localize” or translate Otome games to English. A lot of their work is wonderful. I just randomly visit this page to see if there’s anything they’re about to release. Nothing that interesting here. Idea Factory is also another company that localize games, but their website doesn’t feature Otome games, so I’m skipping it.)

Otome Games that I’ve played (You can ask me/message me about them just to discuss, fangirl or whatnot!) (Favourites are marked with *)

Switch

Collar x Malice series* (2 Versions)

Code: Realize series (They have several versions)

Piofiore*

Cafe Enchante

Ikemen Sengoku

Steam (PC) 

There are a lot of Otome games on Steam. The issue is about quality. 

Amnesia: Memories*

Ozmafia*

Our Life: Beginnings & Always* (Not really an otome game. What makes an otome game an otome game is that the MC is usually female. This game however is LGBTQ friendly and the MC is gender neutral/however you want to make them. Really interesting. Lots of dialogue and nice story. Lots of choices.)

Nightshade

PSVita

Bad Apple Wars*

Period Cube*

Psychedelica of the Black Butterfly

Psychedelica of the Ashen Hawk

Hakuoki series (Has several versions)

7′Scarlet

Nintendo DS/3DS (a LONG time ago)

Tokimeki Memorial Series* (The OG that got me into Otome Games. It was in JAPANESE but there were some talented FANS who translated it into English and I was able to patch and play the game in English. What Godsends.)

Other game genres I’ve played that has romancing/otome elements

Fire Emblem Series* 

Harvest Moon/Story of Seasons*

Persona Series*

Obey Me!*

Inuyasha: The Secret of the Cursed Mask (PS2) (Yes, this Inuyasha game had romance elements. You could romance/build a relationship with ALL the characters from Kagome all the way to Naraku.)

Summon Night 5 (PSVita)

Rune Factory (never actually played this but it’s pretty popular)

[neopuppy]

Dive Into You: Part 2. (M)

Preview: “You’re not seriously just fucking with her to get back at me are you? It’s not like everyones talking about you being dads problem child here.” Jeno’s arms fold over his chest. Bicep muscles straining under tight sleeves.

“Shouldn’t you be happy? I’m allowing you to spend alone time with your church girl. You should be thanking me nono.”

Pairing: brothers Jeno/Haechan x female reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Genre: pwp, church boys AU, smut, love triangle, brothers nohyuck

Warning: daddy issues, sacrilegious themes, explicit language, master manipulator Haechan, innocent Jeno, virgin reader, corruption, bible quotes

Smut Warning: oral(F receiving), slight sensory deprivation, fingering, all in church.

Intro—>

Part 1–>

“I told the new family in town that you’d be showing their daughter around boys. I expect you to be on your best behavior.” Pastor Lee slaps a hand over Jeno’s shoulder with a firm grip. “No funny business.”

“You got it, father. You know, like because you’re a pastor.” Haechan snorts, pouring hot steaming coffee into a ceramic mug.

“Ha ha ha, you’re hilarious. Make sure your brother acts right. People around town are already talking enough about my atrocious parenting skills. Word travels fast in these small towns you know.” Pastor Lee adjusts his tie in the mirror. Stepping out of the front door with not even a wave goodbye. Jeno left rubbing at his shoulder with irritation.

“What time do you want to head out?” He questions, eyes burning into Haechans back.

“Oh, I can’t do that ‘show the new townies’ around thing today. Got a brunch date in the next town over with someones mom.” Haechan turns, leaned back along the kitchen counter blowing steam from his coffee.

“What?? She’s your girlfriend now. Aren’t you supposed to hang out with her tonight?” Jeno’s eyes widen befuddled. More in disbelief his brother would be two timing you, familiar with his antics.

“Your point?” Haechan scoffs, checking messages through his phone. Petty smirk on his lips sending you a ‘miss you’ text.

“You’re a dog. You’re not seriously just fucking with her to get back at me are you? It’s not like everyones talking about you being dads problem child here.” Jeno’s arms fold over his chest. Bicep muscles straining under tight sleeves.

“Shouldn’t you be happy? I’m allowing you to spend alone time with your church girl. Should be thanking me nono.”

“Dick..” Jeno mutters, grabbing his bag to head out. Not wanting to spend another minute around his brother.

“Wait a minute..” Haechan grabs a hold on Jeno’s arm, pulling him back into the kitchen. “Take good care of my girl today yea?” Jeno’s eyes squint as his brother sneaks a $20 bill into his side jacket pocket.

“Maybe get her a milk shake or something. Whatever it is you kids drink. We’re not really going on a date tonight if you know what I mean.” Haechans eyes shift around mischievously. Knowing damn well Jeno knows. Knowing exactly what to say to get under his skin.

Jeno grips at Haechans collar, huffing against his face. Anger seething through fingertips aching to bring his brother physical pain. Jaw tightening, resisting the deep urge inside building for years everyday.

“Gonna give me a black eye nono? What will father think when he finds out his bad seed is also abusive?” Lips curling with a slick grin. Haechan the expert on how to push Jeno’s buttons. Worked on himself well to get exactly what he wants.

“That’s what you want isn’t it?” Jeno clenches the fabric between his fist, arms shaking with rage. “You’re the perfect one, I’m the fuck up. You’re the one dad brags about, I’m the one he pretends doesn’t exist.”

“You think your daddy issues would get your little church girl turned on? Should I tell her how you cry yourself to sleep wishing you were me?” Haechan snorts, loosening from of Jeno’s grip. Hands smoothing out his freshly ironed shirt.

“I’ve never wanted to be anything like you. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

“That’s not true nono..” Haechan pulls on a jacket. Fingers twirling around keys. “You know how much I love my car” with a cocky wink matching a shit eating grin Haechan heads out. Leaving Jeno festering in his anger. Fists slamming against the counter. Back tense with underlying hatred, hatred for himself. Tired of how easily Haechan manages to provoke him.

——————————————————————————

Jeno’s nervous, pissed off, feeling anxious. Pacing back and forth in front of your house. He didn’t have much of a choice with the looming threat of getting shipped back off to Jesus camp hovering his mind. The idea to ditch this whole ordeal passing his thoughts more than once. It’s not that he liked you, but it’s also not necessarily that he didn’t like you. Convincing himself he just hasn’t gotten any for too long now. Dick probably desperate for anything at this point. Nothing related to how cute you looked with your lips all swollen after kissing him. Jacking off at home that night reliving the events long forgotten.

Forget about stroking himself off in the shower the next morning again. Or the other five more times since. No he didn’t like you, not really..

“Aren’t you one of Pastor Lee’s sons??” And older woman carrying bags of groceries approaches. Lipstick covering her two front teeth, over sized dress hanging from her body.

“Oh uh.. yes I am. I’m supposed to.. show your.. daughter? Around today..” Jeno stutters out, mentally slapping himself.

“Oh..” the woman adjusts a bag in her hold, throat clearing. “What about that lovely brother of yours? What’s his name again?”

“Haechan..” Jeno’s eyes shift, looking away. How did his brother manage to convince everyone he was such an angel. A modern day fallen angel, roaming earth in disguise.

“Ah that’s it..” she makes a sound of disapproval, bag dropping on the porch. “A polite young boy would have offered assistance.” Voice lowly whispering as she unlocks the front door. Jeno’s eyes darting between the groceries and woman, cursing himself yet again for coming off exactly how everyone says.

“I’ll call her down.” She steps inside. Loud shouting vocals calling out your name. The sound of foot steps against stairs following. Your figure appearing, dressed up to impress. Jeno’s throat itching, swallowing, adjusting his collar.

“That’s not your bike- is it?!” Your mothers shrieking voice questions. Eyes bulging out, taking in the sleek black motorcycle off the sidewalk.

“I’m here!” Your smile falls, only spotting one brother waiting for you outside. Not the one you’d expect even. You subtly give a look around, searching for someone else maybe hiding in surprise. Jeno unfortunately does not fail to notice.

“That is my bike Ma’m.. it’s safe. I promise.” He holds up two helmets. Craving to crawl into a hole under your moms scrutinizing gaze.

“I’m not so sure about this..” she mumbles. Eyes glaring into Jeno, trying to put the fear of God...fear of a strict crazy mother, in him.

“It’ll be fine mom! He has a helmet! I’ve been on a motorcycle with dad before!” You lean up, pecking your mothers cheek. Summer dress twirling up with air as you run forward. Jeno catching a glimpse of your underwear. Shifting a helmet over his groin momentarily.

“I thought Haechan was coming too?” You asks, taking the helmet held out for you. Typically being his brothers helmet, little did you know.

“He’s busy.. errands out of town or something.” Jeno mumbles, avoiding your eyes. He’s being weird, but then again you didn’t know him well enough to confirm he wasn’t always this way.

“Oh.. well I guess I’ll see him later anyway.” You frown, tugging at the light fabric of your dress. What a waste. “You ride a motorcycle?”

“Yea.. I don’t have a car so.. you’ve been on one before you said?” Jeno’s brows furrow. Eyes trained on your feet, teeth digging into his lower lip. You had to wear cute strappy sandals with a summer dress. That just made sense, to show off your cute freshly painted toes..Jeno’s brain feels like its turning in his skull. Lips begging for mercy to let out a scream.

“I actually haven’t. Just said that to make my mom shut up.” You lean in close. Lips grazing his earlobe as you whisper. Words muffled, Jeno blinking slowly. Perfume wafting around his head, as if this could get any worse.

“Uh..” Jeno steps away abruptly. “Put that on!” His voice awkwardly shouts to you, chin jerking toward the helmet in your hands. Head shaking, pulling on his own. Straddling around the bike seat, engine coming to life.

“Am I supposed to hold on to you?” You stand to Jeno’s side. Admiring the shining black bike, fitting for his character. At least physically.

“I..” Jeno’s breath catches under his helmet shield. Only now realizing you’ll be riding with him around today. Legs parted on him.. arms squeezing his abdomen.

“Jeno??..” you pull on your helmet with confusion. He wasn’t much for words it seemed. So opposite of his brother.

“Uh.. yea.. just hold on to me..” he sighs to himself. Sounding more displeased than intended. Uncomfortable awkwardness travels through you watching his shoulders slump. With reluctance, you lift your leg. Straddling Jeno’s back, bad day to wear a short dress..

“This is kind of..” your lips purse together, center a little too close to Jeno’s body. More than close, right on him. Cotton airy smell coming off his black jean jacket. Scent fresh and clean, hair lingering of lightly scented shampoo. His broad shoulders covering majority of your view.

“You should.. hold on tight.” Jeno licks his cracking lips. Foot kicking up the bikes lock. With another look toward your mom motioning the sign of the cross. You lean your body forward, chest pressed up on Jeno’s wide back. Arms circling around his small waist.

Jeno’s own thoughts rolling in like rapid fire. Throat squeezing in, heat between your bodies pressed together moving between his legs. Trying to focus on anything, anything but your breasts pressing into him. Anything besides your smooth thighs around him. The memory of kissing you too vividly choosing to repeat itself.

“God be with you!” Your mothers voice screams out. Bike engine too loud as Jeno rides off. Your dress blowing behind you, smile covering your face. Chin on his shoulder, admiring the view of your new home.

Could only be an even more perfect moment if it was Haechan you were wrapped around..

——————————————————————————

“That’s it? A diner? That’s the tour of the town?” You twirl around the cherry sat atop melting whipped cream. Chocolate shake looking unblended and less than appetizing.

“There really isn’t much to do here..” Jeno mumbles, chin tucked into his chest. Basket of half eaten fries more interesting than you apparently.

“I could have told you that..” you murmur in response. Sitting back in the booth with boredom. Jeno does the same, brows furrowing in thought. A minute or five of silence passing. He grunts lowly, pulling his phone out.

“Look at you two!” Mark jogs over sporting a huge smile stretched across his cheeks. Red and white striped apron covering what looks like an all white uniform.

“You work here?!” You sit up, eyeing the uniform. Almost too fitting, a too old altar boy working part time at a cheap fifties diner.

“Well of course, phone bills don’t pay themselves! Timothy 6:10 For the love of money, is the root of all kinds of evil!” Mark proclaims, finger waggling about like a mad man. Your lips pulling back over your teeth in...displeasure.

“Right..”

“Fucking shit” Jeno groans, kicking at a foot under the table. Tsking as thumbs slam down at his phone screen.

“Ah Jeno! Proverbs 21:23! Whoever keeps his mouth and his tongue keeps himself out of trouble!” Mark places hands on his hips. Lips pursed together with disappointment.

“Yea..sorry Jesus. Whatever.” Jeno mumbles again, eyes not moving from his phone.

“Gamers right” Mark shakes his head your way. Eyes lighting up, taking your own phone out.

“What do you play??” you scoot in closer to Jeno. Closing the space between the two of you in the booth. His shoulders stiffen, curling in hunched over the table.

“Kartrider..” Jeno barely whispers. Catching enough of it, familiar with the game.

“I play too! Oh! I bet I have a better rank than you!” Laughing unlocking your phone, swiping the game open. “Look at my character, she’s so cute!”

“There’s no way you’re better than me....I’m always top ranking in this county..” Jeno’s eyes widen. Forgetting about his current race, watching you hold up your phone with laughter.

“Come on, let’s race. I’m gonna kick your ass!” You lean in closer, reading out Jeno’s ID as you enter it in. “Add me!”

“Language!” Mark sighs, head shaking with both of you. “God’s children have truly fallen. After everything the lord has done for us.”

“Come on Jeno! Play me! I’ll go easy on you” nudging at his side with a wink. Your smile grows, finally something you can do together. Jeno dragging you around downtown past rusty antique shops. The only thing that caught your interest a quant little family owned bookstore. Learning fast he wasn’t much for conversation. Face appearing pained and uninterested with every word from you.

“Don’t feel like playing anymore..” Jeno shuts his phone, screen turning black.

“What?! Aw come on. Can’t stand the thought of a girl beating you?” Jeno leans back, eyes taking in your face slowly. All he cared about was winning, competing in stupid games just to achieve a high ranking. You’d win of course, he’d never let you lose.

“Just don’t feel like playing anymore.”

——————————————————————————-

“Thanks for showing me around, the one street you took me to.” Your voice drips with sarcasm. Hopping off the back of Jeno’s bike. He removes his own helmet, hair flopping around messily. “Was fun I guess.”

“Yea well” Jeno holds out his hand for the helmet you borrowed. You hold it under your arm, brow quirking in confusion. Your hand slowly lifting, placing in his. Jeno’s eyes widen, staring at your hands held together. Too many feelings rushing at him all at once.

“Helmet!” Jeno shouts abruptly, hand flying away from yours like you’re too disgusting to touch.

“Geeze, fine. Sorry...” you place the helmet on the back end of Jeno’s bike. Turning away, without even a goodbye. He grabs your elbow, your foot stopping mid-air.

“You..” head turning, staring down where he holds you.

“Yes?” You implore him to continue. Jeno’s hand dropping from you when you fully turn to face him again.

“You.. you really like my brother..?” Jeno’s eyes fall to the ground. Thick dark eyelashes shadowing across his cheeks.

“Yea of course. Is that what this is about Jeno? I really do like him, I would never use someone.” You smile, bouncing back on your heels. Jeno’s lips suck in with frustration.

“Wish I could say the same about him.” Jeno mumbles, turning his engine back on.

“What was that?” Voice raising, trying to speak above the loud roar from the motorcycle. Jeno flicks down his helmet shield, speeding off. Cloud of dust surrounding you. Smacking at the air coughing out, bike disappearing behind dusts.

“Fucking jerk.”

—————————————————————————-

“Haechan! Where are we going? The church?!” Your shoes lift up dust. Arm in his hold pulling you toward the small old building.

“Where else would we go baby? Can’t go to my place, the holy spirit’s home.” Haechan laughs, pulling a lanyard from his back pocket. “Besides, this is my dads church you know right? It’s like my property too, we’re safe here under God’s watchful eye.”

“Isn’t this.. I don’t know. Sacrilegious?!” You anxiously follow him inside. Haechans easy smile comforting you, arms wrapping around your waist. He steps back down the center aisle. Pews displayed at your sides, Haechan leading you one in front. He pulls you to the center of the pew, sitting with hands on your hips.

“This feels..” you start, chest rising and falling faster as guilt passes through you.

“Wrong? God didn’t make us this way..” his hand smooths down your bare thigh. Passing the fresh new dress just for your date tonight. Fingers skirting between your thighs, one playing at a side covering your mound. “..for us to not touch and explore..”

“It’s just..” your hands grip at the front of the pew behind you. Where you’d normally kneel to pray..

“Just?..” Haechans eyes gaze up at you. Pure sin and danger hidden in the face of an angel. Tongue sliding up your other thigh. “You’re so sweet.”

You sigh in defeat, legs quivering, upper body doing the work to hold you up. His head dipping under your dress, nose pressing into your slit. Cotton from your panties shoving between you. Soft moans sounding from underneath, Haechans tongue licking at your underwear. Enough to properly soak them up, allowing drool to freely fall from his mouth. You gnaw at your lip, gathering up your dress fabric in one hand. Admiring the way the beautiful boy between your legs eats you up.

Haechan lets out a dreamy sigh. Long fingers stroking up and down your thighs. Teeth biting your at core with cloth between. Your stomach folds in, curling closer to where he sits below you. Fingers wrapping around the sides of your panties, tongue lapping at your inner thighs.

“Body of a virgin can heal more sins than body of christ you know..” underwear at your knees. Haechan leans back in, lips wrapping around your clit. Tongue swirling around, suctioning between. Your other hand lifting to your mouth, biting down on your thumb. Muffled moans and whines echoing around the church walls.

Haechans eyes stay on your face, tongue rolling your clit around. Hands squeezing your inner thighs, pulling back, clapping down slaps. Your hips jolting forward with suppressed cries. Everything about him was absolutely depraved. Looks deceiving from the boy your mother had always warned you about.

“Don’t hide your pretty sounds baby.” Haechan pulls away. Lips shining, coated in your wetness. Glares from the colored glass reflecting off his skin. Red tinted eyes sparkling up at you. Haechan reaches for your wrist, yanking your hand out from your mouth. His lips part open, tongue swirling around your entrance. Sucking up the wetness gathering around.

“Oh God!” You shout out, neck loosely dropping back. Tears on the brink of escaping the corners of your eyes.

“That’s it baby. You pray to me now.” Haechan groans, mouth closing over your entire mound. Eyes rolling back into his head, swiping up and down your core. Hands finding his hair, fingers digging into his scalp. Haechans tongue thrusts into your tight entrance, muscle working extra hard to enter.

“Oh my God!” Body shaking, ass digging into the pew. Hips twitching forward, grinding against Haechans face. Chin covered in your wetness, tongue wiggling inside you. Fingers finding way to your clit, pinching and rolling the bud. “Oh my God!!”

Haechan groans inside you, scalp in pain from your pulling. Cock hardening in his jeans, taste of innocence in his mouth nearly orgasmic. You taste too fucking good, nothing like that used up whore from earlier..

“I-I c-can’t!” Haechans fingers work at your clit. Rapidly sweeping back and forth. Tongue sliding out, jaw hung open. Eyes return to your face, smile breaking out over his cheeks.

“You can.” He pants, tongue hung out lazily lapping at your hole. Clit pinched between two fingers, massaging every little nerve. “Cum on my tongue.”

Your head drops forward, tear slipping free. Haechans raspy tone saying those words driving you past your limit. Ass lifted off the pew, core convulsing. Haechans tongue placed against your fluttering entrance. Catching all of your release. You weakly fall forward again, forehead resting on top of his messed up hair.

“So good.” Haechan moans words out, licking clean the wetness seeping from you. Neck lifting, hands cupping your cheeks. “Taste.”

Tongue pushing between your parted lips, trying to catch your breath. Haechan laps at your tongue, realization hitting you in seconds what he’s making you do. Tasting yourself between your lips. His tongue covering every corner inside your mouth. Haechans hands return to your hips, pulling you off the front of the pew to straddle his lap.

“You want it?” His hand digs into the back of your hair. Jean clad dick shoving between your thighs at your heated core. Weakly nodding, eyes half open lazily pecking pouty lips. Haechan lays back down flat across the pew. Warm hands rubbing up and down your back soothingly. “Come here.”

Your head nods, under his command. Mind controlled by whatever he’s saying, telling you ‘I want it- no matter what it is.’ If it’s from Haechan- give it to me, now. You lay down on his chest, kisses continuing. Hands squeezing around your ass, pulling up your dress. Hands flying down hard with mean slaps. Fingers gliding down finding way between your legs again. Skimming up and down your slit from the back. Soft moans passing between your swollen lips.

Body tensing, sounds of the large entrance doors opening up with a slam. Haechans eyes open up staring into yours, brows lifted. His lips purse out with a silent ‘shhh’, earning a rapid head shake from you. Familiar smirk pulling at his lips, free hand clamping over your mouth. Your eyes widen, lips pressing into the palm of Haechans hand. Fingertips circling around your needy entrance. Panic rushing through you as loud foot steps approach closer and closer.

Your forehead shoved up against Haechans. Mouth closed off, silent whimpers falling out behind his hand. Finger sliding inside you, his lit up eyes watching your expressive eyes react. The fear and curiosity alone could make him cum.

“Are you kidding me!” A flash light shines over your faces. Mark standing at the end of the pew in disgust. Your head lifts quickly, ripping Haechans hand off your mouth. Cheeks heating up absolutely mortified. Moving fast, adjusting your dress to cover up. Haechan stays laid down, eyes fluttering shut with irritation.

“Fucking cock block.” He whispers to himself, sitting up. Tent in his jeans extremely evident.

“I knew you stole my keys again Haechan!” Mark clicks the flash light on and off angrily. Both of you covering your eyes. “and you! Mary of Magdala! You should be ashamed! Think of your mother!”

“Dude, chill.” Haechan stands, hands held up trying to block the bright light from his eyes. “We weren’t doing anything.”

“Weren’t doing anything?!? If people found out what you were doing, this one would be getting pelted with stones!” Mark passes the light over your face. You cringe, hands coming up to hide yourself.

“Mark, quick, what’s the verse about fucking that really cute voice of an angel choir boy?” Haechan throws him a knowing look, pulling a lanyard from his pocket. Marks eyes widen, snatching his keys away.

“Don’t steal my keys again! Next time I will be telling your father!” Mark scurries away, door slamming behind him.

“Oh my God he’s gonna tell your dad!” You panic, pulling your dress down. Attempting to wipe away any mascara that could be on your cheeks.

“Nah he’d never, can’t risk everyone finding out about Renjun. Don’t worry baby, I got something on everyone.” Haechan pulls you in, gently pecking your lips. Your senses relax, mind torn with stress still. Who the fuck were you right now..

“You know..” Haechan turns you around, hand scooping your chin. “I’m gonna fuck you. Right there.” He holds your jaw up. Eyes on landing on the altar.

“Jesus will know all your sins after I’m done with you.”

Part 3–>

Taglist:

@seuomo @unknown5tar @sunoosi @safariria @nctlover94 @underjeno @nanascupid @jenorenle @scruffiejelly @mel-yjh @count-your-shadows @sunflowerhae @johnjaespeach @nctflix @notsooperfect​ @skrtbeepbeep​  @lanadreamie​ @nctstrawberrycow​  @meonlightuniverxse​ @sunshinedhyuck​ @haechanswhore​ @brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr​ @kpopmultiifandomm​ @d1nne​ @neobanguniverse​ @pewpewpwe00​ @abitofafan​ @haechansworld​ @born5sos​ @bockhyun​ @prettychannie​ @xuyiyangstan​@alexameliamg​ @ahsshilee​ @jeon-jungkook-is-actually-god @xwanna127x @heyitsbreeeeee @tarolovebot @loveyukhei @eleanorfreakingchan @classic-antifood @winwiniee @sheytanni @player23 @wavetease @nahyuckk @n0hyuck @doyoungssouthernbabygirl

[thunderheadfred]

💥Bakugou HC's💥

Aged-up pro hero Katsuki for all of these. Some NSFW beneath the cut. Minors do not interact.

- - - - -

General

He’s scary good at everything he tries. Every. Single. Fucking. Thing. It’s infuriating. Has zero patience when other people can’t immediately master a skill. Never let him teach you anything. Not that he’d offer, nerd.

He WILL offer, though. A lot. He can’t believe you still can’t Do That Thing. Tsh. Like THIS. You're gonna hurt yourself, Dummy.

But hold on. Of course you have unique skills of your own. You work hard to improve yourself. Trust me, he's the first person to notice. He doesn't praise anyone lightly, so when he raises his eyebrows and whispers he's impressed, your heart will go thermonuclear.

Perfect spelling and fully punctuated texts. Never uses abbreviations. Employs a grand total of four emojis, all of them angry faces. Constantly leaves you on read. He's busy, dammit.

Doesn’t smile or laugh in public (except sarcastically). His real smile is a crooked, fragile thing. Never make him feel self-conscious about it, or you might not see it again for weeks.

He does not talk about his private life to the press. Ever. Will K.O. rookie reporters who can't keep their big mouths shut.

HOweVER: he's intensely kind to his fans. There is a whole photographic sub-genre of little girls in cosplay hugging Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight like he's a Disney Princess.

Too smart for his own good. Emotionally hyper-vigilant. Overthinks every interaction to hell and back. Will act like he's not listening but actually hears every single word in a ten-block radius.

INSECURE AF. 110% convinced he will never be good enough. Terrified of his loved ones leaving him behind. Does he do anything to assuage his fears? Like... talk to anyone about it? Hell no. That would require admitting he has fears to begin with.

Seeing people upset makes him upset, especially if he doesn't know how to fix it.

The epitome of being mean because he cares. He genuinely does not seem to comprehend that monosyllabic grunts and lopsided shrugs are not actually that comforting.

Because he was such a brat growing up, he wants to make up for it now. Sort of. In his own way. Look, he's trying, okay?

He smells - so - good. Obscenely good. He doesn't wear cologne; are you joking? There's the burnt-sugar caramel candy smell of his quirk, for starters. And since he sweats deadly ammunition, he showers and wipes himself down almost constantly. He always smells clean. Like a fucking meadow.

Never got that growth spurt he was hoping for. He’s a short man - not even THAT short - but he has a Napoleon complex anyway. If you’re taller than him, the collars of your shirts will all be stretched out. He’s constantly dragging you down to his level. He will assert himself all the fucking time; the pissing contest is never-ending. Don’t wear tall shoes unless you want him to drag you around on a leash. If you’re shorter than him, that’s good. That’s very good. He likes that.

He’s an incredible cook, but everything he makes is a nuclear fire challenge. Adapt or starve.

- - - - -

Dating

Makes artisanal, nutritionally flawless bento lunches for both of you. When people assume his S.O. makes them, he gets fucking pissed. Damn right your co-workers are jealous of my cooking.

Your pet name is Dummy. Don’t like it? Fine. You can be dumbass.

There will be zero PDA in this relationship. His hands are shoved so deep in his pockets you can’t even try.

Intensely private with the press. But with his friends, he will brag about you nonstop. Bakugou Katsuki has the most talented and attractive and intelligent S.O., and anyone who doesn't recognize that is blind. Were you assholes even listening?

A mutual buddy definitely recorded one of these drunken brag-rants and sent it to you for safekeeping. Do not let Katsuki find out about it, unless you enjoy having an ash pile for a phone.

Gets jealous about everything, at least at the start. He calms down eventually. Kinda. He stops saying shit to you about it, anyway, because he learns to trust you. But anyone who so much as looks at you in a too-friendly manner will get the death stare of a lifetime.

He’ll throw all kinds of temper tantrums and the two of you will argue about every tiny fucking thing. He’ll scream out car windows, he’ll ball up his shirt and gnash on it. But he will never raise his voice at you. He’d rather die than make you feel unsafe.

Honestly, the constant bickering is really just... uhh... passionate communication. Eventually you both hash out the important things. You'll learn how to step around his landmines and actually make your points, and he'll learn to open up. A little.

Once you meet his mom, Katsuki starts to make a lot more sense. His family just... emotes like that. Eventually, you and his dad form a spousal support group consisting of exactly two lifetime members. He teaches you the Bakugou family semaphore you need to survive a long-term relationship.

Katsuki can dish it out but absolutely cannot take it. The only person who can level with him about serious issues without explosive fallout is his dad. Or, on a lucky day, Kirishima.

If you give him a legitimate criticism (even gently!) he will take it about as gracefully as a knife to the gut, because it confirms everything he hates about himself.

To your never-ending shock, you’ve made him cry. Yes, CRY! You monster! More than once! His lip gets all *trembly* and his eyes get all *watery* and all you want to do is hug him, but. No. He’ll storm out and wander around for a few hours before coming back with the problem perfectly solved.

He always takes your advice to heart. No, he will NOT talk about it, stop asking.

Gets mad if you don’t snuggle him on the regular. Will drag you into his lap with a pissy little grunt. There might be two seats on this couch but you will not be needing both of them.

Takes pictures of you while you sleep.

Takes even more pictures of you when you're awake but think he's out of the room.

He looks at all these pictures when he's away on high-stakes jobs. He gets all bleary eyed and sleeps in a salty puddle without you. NO ONE WILL EVER KNOW.

You don’t have to meet him at the door or anything, but when he says “I’m home,” you’d better answer fast. If he doesn’t know your precise location in 0.05 seconds, he will assume you’ve been kidnapped. He never checks the fridge for notes. Never assumes you've gone down to the konbini for a snack. No, it’s kidnapping every time.

A terrrrrrible bed partner. He goes to bed at senior citizen hours and will never fuck you after sundown. He snores SO loud. Runs hot and sweats through the sheets. Slaps and elbows you in his sleep and aggressively spoons you with his loud, sweaty body. You WILL want to suffocate him. Separate bedrooms aren’t such a horrible idea......

BUT HANG ON, because in the morning he transforms into an honest-to-god angel. He's half awake, his guard is non-existent. Morning Katsuki is a doting kissy-faced marshmallow man.

If you can wake up before the ass-crack of dawn, he will pamper the fuck out of you. You are royalty for one (1) hour only, and he is your bleary-eyed slave. You want a cuddlefuck? You got it. Hugs? Kisses? Take as many as you need. You want a perfect, fluffy, NON-SPICY omelette with a heart drawn in ketchup? Here it is, gorgeous.

Then he gets in the shower and the spell is broken.

- - - - -

💥bang BANG💥

Let’s get the obvious out of the way: this here is an ASS. MAN. He'll spank you with his quirk; doesn’t matter if you’ve been good or bad. Wants to see you wince when you sit down later.

Likes pounding you face down with a vice grip on your waist.

Unfortunately, even with all that said... he doesn't exactly have the feral beast sex drive you were expecting. He’s married to his work and has the fuddy-duddy habits of a once and future valedictorian. Only fucks you when he has the time and energy to fully dedicate himself to it.

But ohhhh. Shit. When it's time? It's TIME. The man will rush for nothing. Stamina for days. Making you cum as many times as possible is a point of pride. Yeah, you passed out once.

You’re gonna need those days off when he’s done with you.

That dick THICC.

Sends unsolicited dick pics. Only after you’ve been dating a good long while - he doesn't show that shit to just anyone. But yeah, don’t check your phone at work. He won't cum without you; those pictures and videos are time bombs. You better get home. Now.

Physically dominant as FUCK, but won’t verbally degrade you unless you ask. Well, let’s be honest. Unless you beg.

Praise him and reap the rewards. A long hard ego stroking will get him off more than touching his cock ever will.

Will grab your hair and fuck your throat. Will also stop immediately if you need him to.

The two of you have safe words and gestures. Even for vanilla stuff. He’s paranoid about scaring or hurting you. He insisted you both sign a color-coded ‘love contract’ that he meticulously formatted in a word processor. When you gave him guff about it, his blush was the darkest crimson you’d ever seen.

Coin-flip: he will sometimes be unbelievably gentle in bed. Doting and affectionate, taking perfect care of you. Like, it’s baffling. There’s no warning, the switch just flips. When you want him to be extra-rough and mean, he’ll sweetly worship you instead. For hours.

Bonus: he likes being penetrated. But of course he’s got a complex about that too. Super intense power bottom. You will never fuck him hard enough. He’d like to see you try. Hit his prostate just right and he might literally explode.

You'll live happily ever after but he will say he loves you out loud exactly once. Maybe. If you're lucky. And you're both about to die.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

Jmart with 1?

so i made this prompt entirely too complicated. i've kind of had this idea for a while and used this prompt as an excuse to write it lol. i need to put more safehouse fics out in the world, right? also can be found here on ao3

1. things you said at 1 a.m.

It's too cold, after leaving the Lonely. It shouldn't be this bloody cold in London in September—it feels like it's below zero—and Martin's teeth are chattering as they walk back from the Institute. His fingers are freezing. Jon's shivering, too, clutching Martin's hand with both of his, leaning towards Martin as if he is a heater. It feels like they need winter coats, hats and scarves and gloves to block the wind, but the wind isn't blowing at all; Jon Knows, without even trying, that it's really just 10°C outside. 

Martin hasn't completely shaken off the remnants of the Lonely yet. He's out of it, taking long moments to respond when Jon says anything; his eyes are still a faded gray. And he's shaking so hard that Jon can feel the vibrations all the way up his arm. He's tired. He keeps swaying into Jon's shoulder, unsteady on his feet. Hold on, Martin, Jon keeps saying. We'll be home soon. He squeezes Martin's hands. Numbly, slowly, Martin squeezes back. 

They go to Martin's flat, because Jon doesn't have one and the Institute isn't safe. Martin's fingers are numb with cold (Jon Knows without trying), fumbling around his key without getting a good hold on it before Jon reaches for it and asks if he should do it. Martin nods, quiet, and Jon lets them in. 

It isn't any warmer in Martin's flat. Not surprising, as deep as the Lonely had seeped into Martin, but it still hurts Jon a little to see, the cold seeping into his bones. They sit on the couch, vaguely speaking of dinner; Jon isn't hungry, but he knows Martin needs to eat, and so he presses the issue, thinking only of all the times in the beginning that Martin had pressed him to eat or brought him tea. He makes the tea this time, makes it the way he remembers Martin making it once, before the Unknowing, and brings the mugs into the living room. They never do make it to dinner; Martin is quiet, responding numbly, or not at all, to questions, and Jon isn't doing much better. Martin talks of moving to the bed—well, really, he tells Jon to take the bed and Jon says absolutely not, thinks It's your bed and I won't leave you alone —but it never happens. In the end, Martin falls asleep on the couch, his head tipped back against the back of the couch, his mouth half opening, shivering violently in his sleep, his tea going cold on the coffee table. 

Jon finds every blanket in the flat that he can and piles it over Martin, practically cocooning him in them. It's clumsy work; Martin's comforter keeps sliding off, and the afghan from the couch gets tangled in the extra quilts. But it looks warm, and that's all that matters, that Martin is warm. 

(There's fog in the flat, just a little, creeping over the floor. The Lonely is here with them, seeped into both of their bones, but it's sunk deeper into Martin, and all Jon can think is that he won't let him go. He won't let Martin be lost, not again. Not if he can help it.)

There are no blankets left. Jon pulls his own coat over himself, and then—trying not to feel too entirely pathetic—Martin's. It's large and warm, warmer than Jon's own; it smells like Martin, too, Jon's nose pressed against the collar. But Martin isn't gone this time, isn't off somewhere cloaked too heavily in fog for Jon to reach him; Martin is right here. Jon can hear his deep, shaking breaths, feel the comforting weight of him on the opposite side of the couch. 

He fumbles through the layers of coats and blankets and finds Martin's hand again. It is the warmest part of him, as he's falling asleep, his hand in Martin's. 

---

Jon and Martin sleep on the train to Scotland. They're both exhausted, both worn out, and both, somehow, still freezing. They shouldn't be this cold. Jon Knows they shouldn't be this cold. 

Martin's brought blankets, and he insists Jon take one; he's been better today, more there, more… Martin, and he wasn't happy that Jon didn't leave any blankets for himself the night before. Jon's so cold—even in a jumper and a coat, and with the sun coming through the window—that he doesn't argue. (Well. Only a little, only to see Martin's face screw up in mock irritation in a way that might make Jon melt a little inside.) He takes the blanket. It smells like Martin, too. 

They sleep, and Jon wakes up still cold, fingers still freezing, bones aching—except on one side, where he and Martin have slumped against each other, Jon's head on Martin's shoulder, and Martin's head against Jon's. The warmth seeps through the layers of blankets and coats and all of it. 

Jon stays there, leaning heavily into Martin, for a long time after he wakes up, not ready to move away from the warmth.

---

There aren't enough blankets in the safehouse. 

There is only one bed, which helps. One large bed—Daisy must have liked her space. But still: it makes the discussion over blankets easier. (They argue a little over who will take the bed; Martin tries to take the couch, and Jon tries to take the couch, and it begins to get ridiculous. It just makes sense, in the end, to share the bed.) Between the two of them, they pile the sheets, three quilts, and the blankets Martin brought on the bed. It still isn't enough. The bed stays freezing, and Martin stays freezing, too. He's been layering jumpers, scarves, even wooly hats, and pushing the same towards Jon; he looks like someone braving a blizzard, or sick with a cold, and Jon tells him so. He worries, afterwards, that he's crossed the line, made a joke about something distinctly unfunny (reverted back to a version of himself that he'd rather forget), but Martin just laughs a little and says, "If I'd known this would be the effect of working for Peter, I might've invested in more winter clothing." Jon laughs, too, and accepts the scarf and hat when Martin pushes it his way. 

There's a box of firewood out by an old shed. Jon doesn't bother speculating what it might be for. They build a fire in the hearth, that first night, and that helps. Read books they've both packed on the couch, their knees touching through the layers of blankets, and it's the most peaceful Jon's felt in a long time. 

The cold creeps back in, though. Even with the blankets, even with the ancient heating system in the house turned on, even with Martin in the bed with him ( Martin, who Jon has missed tremendously for seven months now). The cold and the fog and all of it; it creeps back in while they are sleeping, when Jon is too distracted to notice. 

He wakes up sometime in the middle of the night, shivering, teeth chattering. There is a quivering in the blankets, a sort of shaking, and Jon knows that Martin is shivering, too. The fog is creeping back in; somehow, the Lonely hasn't left them yet. Jon reaches out and brushes his fingers over Martin's arm; he hisses a little at the contact. One or both of them are as cold as ice; he isn't sure who anymore. 

His mind immediately begins racing, searching for any sort of alternative to the blankets and the jumpers and the socks and scarves. More jumpers in the suitcase, he thinks. The coats. Maybe they can conserve some warmth with the curtains, or some ridiculous thing like that. Anything to keep Martin warm. Somehow, two of the blankets have ended up on his side—Jon isn't sure why—so he attempts to rearrange them, pushing them over to Martin's side, and slides to the edge of the bed, ready to retrieve more things from the suitcase. But Martin's voice, rising blearily, sleepily from the other side of the bed—"J'n?"—stops Jon in his tracks. He hadn't realized that Martin was awake. 

Martin yawns, twisting in the covers, his teeth chattering a few more times. "What… what time s'it?

"1:07 a.m.," says Jon automatically. He shivers hard a few times on instinct, wraps his arms around himself. "I-I'm sorry, Martin, I-I… didn't mean to wake you."

"Mm, wasn' really sleeping anyway…" Martin yawns again, rubbing at his eyes. They look bigger, somehow, without his glasses, dark and soft in the dim light of the room, and Jon loves him so much. 

"I… I wanted to get you more blankets," Jon says, forgetting for a moment that there aren't any others—he revises, "O-or… something else to keep you warm. Something… y-you looked cold, I mean."

Martin blinks a few times in disbelief. Looks out at the blankets at the bed and pulls at the two knit ones from his own flat, like he can't believe they're there. "Jon, you… gave me the blankets back," he says, voice stiff thick with sleepiness. 

Jon chews at his lower lip, shudders all over as another wave of cold hits. "Y-yes, well, they'd… ended up on my side of the bed, somehow, and you… you were cold, as I said, and I…" 

"Jon, I g-g-gave them to you for a reason," Martin says, sounding more awake, and maybe a little fauxly put out; he's clenching his jaw as he talks in an attempt to keep his teeth from chattering. " You're cold, Jon. You were sh-shivering in your sleep!"

It's Jon's turn to blink in surprise now, caught off guard by Martin's words. "Yes, b-but you… you need the blankets more than I do, Martin… th-they're your blankets, and you've been freezing since the Lonely, a-and…" He looks out at the room. He can't see the fog anymore, but that doesn't mean it's gone. "I don't want to lose y—" he starts, stops. Martin might not be his to lose. Amends: "I-I don't want you to be lost, not again, a-and I…"

Martin makes a faint sound of what might be disgust. "This is ridiculous, Jon," he says, and Jon allows himself to worry for a second (Has he gone too far, saying I don't want to lose you, assuming Martin wants this kind of contact, when Martin only said he loved Jon, not love?), before Martin continues: "W-we were both touched by the Lonely… we've both been alone for so long, w-we…" He stops, rubs a hand over his face. Jon can feel him shivering from here, all the way across the mattress. (King sized. Why does Daisy need something this big?) 

Martin lowers his hand. His eyes are wet; Jon can see, and he worries still that he's gone too far. But then Martin's reaching across the mattress, his hand extended towards Jon, and saying, "W-we should just… it'd be warmer if we, um…" 

Jon slips his cold fingers through Martin's; Martin squeezes his hand, so gently that Jon's chest aches a little. He says, his voice soft and sleepy, "... C'mere?" 

Tentative, Jon slides across the mattress, through the nest of blankets towards Martin's broad, soft chest. And then Martin's arms are sliding around him. Martin's embracing him, hands soft and just as cautious against Jon's back. And Jon can't help it anymore; he melts into the embrace. Winds his own arms around Martin, pressing as close as he can physically get (arms around his shoulders, face pressed into his neck). It's easy, too easy, because Martin has been gone for so long and Jon just only now got him back—he's thinking of the tapes and Martin slipping away down the hall, Martin being taken into the Lonely, Martin's voice saying he wouldn't be coming back, and it's all too easy to cling to Martin hard as he can. They're both still freezing, skin chilled to the cut, but… Jon can feel it dissipating. Something warm is growing between them, he thinks. Something. 

"How did neither of us think of this?" Martin whispers. There's a quiver in his voice, just subtle enough that Jon can't tell if he's laughing or crying. "Two days we've been freezing, bundling up, a-and throwing blankets at each other like we're jumping onto a grenade… a-and neither of us thought of this?"

"I missed you," Jon whispers. He hears a sharp gasp from Martin, like he might cry, and it only makes him hold on harder. He's never held Martin like this before, never. (They hugged, before the Unknowing, but that was quick and awkward and over too soon, and Jon had foolishly thought there would still be a chance for this when he came back.) He's never held Martin like this before, but he knows he never wants to stop. He presses his nose against the hollow of Martin's neck and says again, "I missed you, Martin. So much. I… I don't think I can begin to tell you how much." 

Martin takes a few trembling breaths. Ducks his head to press his lips against Jon's forehead—Jon leans into the affection of the touch, the warmth. "I've… missed you, too," he murmurs. "So much, Jon, I… staying away from you, a-after you came back… I thought I'd lost you, a-and it… it almost killed me."

"I'm here," says Jon, "I'm here, you're here," and he kisses Martin at the soft spot under his jaw. Presses closer into the bubble of heat they've created, threads his fingers through Martin's hair and adds, silently, I'll keep you warm. 

When they wake, the next morning, the cold is gone, and so is the fog. Like it was never even there in the first place. 

[crackinwise]

Mondo having a thing about coating Taka with hickeys and Taka having a thing about very much enjoying the process is a good headcanon I've seen used several times, in both fic and art.

I see it causing an issue for them at least once.

Kiyotaka has the syllabus and upcoming events memorized before he and Mondo have a "session" so he won't be caught broadcasting his love life unwelcomed. Besides, he always fears he'll be accused of being hedonistic and immoral just for using some free time to feel wanted by the man he loves.

Meanwhile, Mondo knows to keep it below the uniform collar, but that's a lot of fair game there. After one night where they get carried away, Taka's torso from the base of the neck down looks like a leopard. Taka looks like he lost a fight with an octopus. But it's fine because a)Taka wanted it, and b)he can still look presentable in public with them covered.

But, the next day at gym, the class is told the schedule had to be rearranged and everyone is to head up to the pool. Taka instantly panics.

As everyone starts walking, he grabs Mondo's arm and pulls him to the back of the group.

"Mondo," he hisses, "I can't go to the pool!"

"Why?"

Taka fully despairs for a brief second. "If I take off my uniform, everyone will see the marks you've made!"

The caveman part of Mondo's brain makes his chest want to swell with a mixture of pride and possession, but it plummets down to become a lead ball in his stomach the instant he notices the unshed tears and fear in Taka's large eyes.

"It's okay. S'okay, I'll figure somethin out. Let's just get goin," Mondo promises him.

He can't let Taka feel humiliated. He mostly trusts his classmates by now--Taka would never have another middle school experience--but this wasn't a couple hickeys to get teased over and laugh off. Their peers' first reaction might be to get Taka a bodyguard and Mondo a muzzle. The teacher might investigate; Taka's dad might be called. Mondo shakes away the mental image of a mortified Taka and tries to actually problem solve.

He couldn't picture Taka sitting the period out on the bleachers and risk being a bad class leader. Taka could lie about feeling sick or needing somewhere else to be to work on his Talent, but he wouldn't. Taka wouldn't forgive him for pulling the fire alarm either. He didn't know of any clubs Taka could help at this hour. Would anything at the pool hide him when they got there?

Mondo's head snaps up with an idea and he walks faster to catch up with the classmate who made swimming pools her domain. "Asahina!"

Hina stops hopping around excitedly next to Sakura and turns to address him. "Mondo? What's up?"

He starts to whisper while also glaring at any classmates daring to curiously rubberneck. "I need a favor. Do ya have one of them, like, swim shirts? Y'know, surfers and shit wear 'em?"

"A rash guard?"

"Sure."

Hina frowns, apologetic. "No, I never thought to bring one here since the pool is indoors." She gives him a once-over. "And I'm not sure we'd be the same size."

"It's not...for me." Mondo rubs the back of his neck anxiously. He makes sure to keep his voice low. "It's for Taka."

"Since when does Ishimaru prefer a rash guard while swimming?" Kyoko asks, suddenly appearing on Mondo's other side, startling him.

"Holy fuck! Who who asked you?!" he yelps.

"You're not as quiet as you think you are," she helpfully warns them. "Here, let's walk to the side a bit."

The three step to the outside of the pack of students to continue talking a bit more covertly.

"Now, Oowada, what's this about?" Kyoko asks, eyes sharp.

Yeah!" Hina loudly whispers back. "Is Taka all right? Him asking for cover is concerning, ya know!"

Mondo's defensive annoyance threatens to flare up. "He's fine, but he can't go in the pool today. I can't tell ya why, so don't ask."

Maybe if another teacher needed help, but Mondo didn't know of any and unless one walked down the hall, he couldn't beg them. Or the headmaster!

"Oi!" Mondo's outburst causes Hina to jump. He lowers his voice once again, "Kirigiri! I need ya to ask yer dad if he has anythin he can call for Taka to work on. Like, now, for the whole period."

Kyoko's cool eyes narrow at him. He knows she's still trying to suss out his motives.

"If it were just for you, I'd demand more of an explanation, but this is for Ishimaru, right?" Even as she asks, she has her phone out, texting the headmaster. Mondo catches a glimpse of her text starting with "URGENT" and feels a wave of appreciation.

Finished, she looks from her phone back to Taka, still uncharacteristically silent and walking yards behind everyone else. She notes how he's hugging himself and darting his unfocused eyes around.

"Hmm." Her hand is up to her chin in thought. "Well, all we can do is wait for my father to answer me or make an announcement on his own. I could always just lie and say my father requested him."

"Y'know damn well he'd hate that and give us both detention when he found out," Mondo gripes. He understands why Taka refuses a little dishonest help, but it's still frustrating as hell sometimes.

"Yes," she agrees, her voice was as level and confident as always, "but that depends on how much he'd rather be tricked than show off your love bites."

"Right? Damn."

Hina, still close by and listening, covered her mouth to muffle a giggle.

Then Mondo's steps faltered. "HEY!"

His shout echoed around the hall, causing a few students to eyeball them. Makoto was clutching his chest, about ready to imitate a fainting goat.

Kyoko didn't so much as blink though. "It's as if you forget who I am. But don't worry, I'll take all the blame for lying to Ishimaru if it comes to that."

"Thanks," Mondo sighs out. "If you two didn't help, I was gonna pay Hiro to predict a pool disaster big enough to stall."

That causes Hina and Kyoko to realize the severity of the situation might be more than simple awkwardness.

"You know Hiro would try to charge you, like, hundreds of dollars for that," Hina says, worried. "Maybe thousands. Is Taka really that embarrassed by a hickey?"

Mondo swallows thickly but doesn't answer. He feels incredibly guilty. He feels like a danger to Taka's reputation for a new reason than the usual ones that sometimes haunt him. He knows hormones and his lack of self-control are a bad mix, but add in Taka enthusiastically praising his mouth, and he has zero hope of restraint.

They arrive at the changing rooms for everyone to switch into their swimsuits before going to the pool. The other students file inside while Mondo, Hina, Kyoko, and the trailing Taka hang back.

When Taka stops in front of them, his wide eyes finally focus on Mondo. He glances at the girls then says, hopefully, "Any, um, ideas?"

Mondo worries Taka is going to have a panic attack with the way he's breathing and clutching his blazer closed. As if the marks were magically visible through his uniform shirt too.

Kyoko brings her phone screen up to her face to check for a reply, then shakes her head at Mondo. Hina wrings her hands.

Deciding he's just going to kidnap Taka for the rest of the day and risk his boyfriend never speaking to him again, Mondo starts to grab Taka's arm.

The P.A. system squeaks on. "ISHIMARU, YOUR ASSISTANCE IS NEEDED IN THE HEADMASTER'S OFFICE, PLEASE!"

All four friends sag with relief. Hina does a little cheer, gives them a thumbs up and skips into the girl's changing room. Kyoko nods at Mondo's thankful expression and follows her inside.

Taka runs his fingers thru his hair, laughs bubbling out of him. He has no idea what had happened to save him, but he wasn't going to question it just now. He squeezes Mondo's wrist once with his left hand and smiles to convey he was never upset with his partner about the situation. Then he proceeds to speed-walk to the office.

Mondo's frayed nerves want him to break the rules and embrace Taka, but his impulsive actions have caused enough problems today. He turns to go get changed for the pool, his caveman pride starting to return after helping to protect his Kiyotaka.

Following this, Taka didn't let them have another "session" for a month, and when he did he made contingency plans to be nowhere near the pool for a full week.