#at the start of the month I had a mysterious infection where I lost my voice for a few days

[sarellathesphinx]

Nothing like being ill twice in a month….

[myownwholewildworld]

wherever you go (a joel miller’s ff) - chapter 8

chapter 7 | series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 9

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader. (it's actually 2004 now)

summary: when death comes knocking, you can only answer the door.

a/n: eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek where do i even start 🥺 i’m just gonna say i’m sorry in advance and leave it at that, but if you read between lines you’ll understand. i do appreciate any comments, reblogs and/or likes you may want to leave! they do keep me motivated. as always, THANK YOU for reading. see you on the other side! x

warnings: 18+, mdni. a LOT of angst and drama incoming. cutesy fluff. established relationship (my babies 😭).  no smut in this one, don’t hate me! mentions of alcoholism and drugs as coping mechanisms. pet names (darlin’, sweetheart). clickers steal the show 😖. death everywhere so be warned. swear words. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 37. no use of y/n.  joel’s and reader’s pov.

w/c: ~5k.

tags aka the drama wagon (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!): @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrospurplerain @missladym1981

@fancyyoouu @smolbeanzzz @guelyury @bishtrouille

The patrolling shifts had increased around Chicago River and Interstate 90. The Rioters had allocated more resources to survey the borders of the area their people inhabited. In the following days to your disastrous incursion, clickers’ activity had peaked. They were coming closer, so it was decided to dispatch them as they neared.

You were all tired, but there was no rest for the wicked. They kept on moving eastwards, as if something was calling them. No one had been able to figure out why, but the answer to that question didn’t really matter. You suspected that something happened that night at the hospital ― maybe Sasha and her team did something they shouldn’t have.

You would never know, so you tried to stir your thoughts away from what would remain a mystery.

You rolled on bed, the early morning light shining a ray on your face. You grunted in discomfort. Your whole body ached ― those patrols were physically intense, but also mentally exhausting. After all, the infected had been people. A father, an auntie, a brother-in-law, a loving child… All those stories were lost to the wind, and you just hoped there still were people who remembered them as they had been before succumbing to the fungus.

You pouted ― That wasn’t how you wanted to start your day.

Still sleepy, your hand dabbed the bedsheets on your right, unconsciously looking for him.

Joel wasn’t by your side. You frowned in confusion and sat up on the bed, rubbing your eyes. As you got up and walked towards the en-suite, you heard Joel and Tommy talking on the other side of the door, where the living room was.

It was a heated argument ― an everyday occurrence lately. Since you three arrived at Chicago almost five months ago, the brothers appeared to headbutt very often. It didn’t take you long to realise that Tommy’s attitude had gradually changed over time, the alcohol being the main culprit. The bubbly, kind Tommy you had come to meet was buried somewhere underneath that ethanolic stench.

You missed his jests, his nonchalance, his light-heartedness. Buy you did understand him too ― he needed an escape from reality. You all did, really. It was just sad that was his choice of inflicting himself with absent-mindedness.

“You spent the night in the fucking cell, really?”, you heard Joel whisper angrily.

Tommy replied, but his speech was so slurred you couldn’t make out his answer.

“I don’t fucking care for your excuses anymore, Tommy, you need to get your shit together. I need you sober, for fuck’s sake ― the situation is getting dire here, we’ll need to leave soon. In this state, you can barely walk”, you knew Joel was getting frustrated attempting to reason with the younger Miller.

You contained a fatigued sigh ― Joel had tried his best these past months to help Tommy straighten out his path. But you couldn’t help someone who didn’t want to be helped. You just wished Joel understood that. But you knew he wouldn’t give up on his brother so easily. His only living relative.

You sauntered towards the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. You were in the middle of doing so when you heard Joel enter the room. His reflection appeared in the mirror in front of you and you smiled at him, your mouth full of toothpaste. The corner of his mouth lifted just slightly as he placed a heavy hand on the small of your back, his lips brushing your right temple. You closed your eyes at the soothing touch. You quickly bent over to spit the toothpaste and rinse your mouth.

“He’ll come around”, you said as his hand draped around your waist, yours stroking his forearm instinctively.

Joel humphed. “I hope so”, he muttered, his mouth pressed against your crown. “It’s not safe here anymore, darlin’, I think we should head somewhere else”.

“I hear Canada is lovely this time of the year”, you joked, hoping to lighten the mood. His expression didn’t flinch ― worry distorting his rugged, gorgeous face. “I know, I know… Could we wait a few days at least? Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve”, you blinked at him.

He considered it for a few seconds before giving in. “Alright, we’ll leave on the twenty sixth”.

You clapped your hands together, a smile widening your features. Joel cocked an inquiring brow.

“Well, Joyce is throwing a party on Christmas Day at hers and, uhmm, I kinda told her we were coming?”. His brow furrowed even more. “Pretty please?”, you begged, your fingers laced in a prayer.

You knew Joel didn’t like socialising nor big gatherings, but it was just one teeny tiny ask. You flashed your eyelashes at him.

“Okay, it won’t hurt, I guess”, he conceded reluctantly.

With an excited squeal, you turned around in his embrace, circling his neck with your arms. You stood on your tiptoes as Joel leaned forward to kiss you.

The day went by slowly. You had been assigned to the evening patrol ― your hunting duties put on hold until further notice. With all this clickers’ activity, it wasn’t safe to venture out. To your dislike, Joel had been in the afternoon one, so you kissed him goodbye when you took over. At least Tommy was with you.

You were stationed in the bridge on West Madison Street, the Lyric Opera of Chicago to your right. There was a total of ten people in your group, each one of you covering different positions. When clickers approached, you shot them through the rifle scope. It had become a mindless game, like the one you used to play in the arcade when you were younger ― Wolfenstein 3D.

Hours had gone by, and you had been standing up for so long that your feet hurt. You eyed the red, thick metal railing to your left and, with a little jump, you sat on top ― your legs dangling in front of you, facing southwards and the rifle conveniently placed on your lap. Tommy joined you a few minutes later.

He remained silent and so did you. Although he was somewhat sober, you could smell the alcohol on him. It was bad enough that he drank himself to oblivion in his free time, but it was not great he came to patrol with dulled senses.

You took a deep breath.

“Your brother needs you, y’know?”, you said with resignation. His eyes were fixed somewhere in the distance, but you could see the pain in them. “We’ll be leaving in three days, Tommy, and we both need you. This reckless path of yours could have dreadful consequences, not only for us, but for yourself… We are both here to help you out, but you’re shutting us out ― Joel is worried sick and, to be honest, so am I. And I get it, this world sucks… but you’ve got us. The people you are meeting up with… They aren’t good for you.”

He didn’t say a word for a long minute. It was probably not fair of you to pester him with your not-so-uplifting speech, but he needed to hear it. As much as you liked Tommy, what troubled you the most was that it would destroy Joel if he lost Tommy too. It had taken him a long time to open up, to start living again, and Tommy was undoing all that hard work Joel had put in.

He sighed heavily, turning to look at you.

“Do I? And please don’t get me wrong ― I’m happy for both of you. But you’ve got Joel and Joel’s got you. Again, nothing wrong with that, but it sometimes feels lonely, y’know? That’s what drove me to Laney and her group, they get me. Yeah, sure, the alcohol, the drugs ― it ain’t great, but it helps. But I know I need to get my shit together, believe me, I do, it’s just… hard”, he shrugged.

Your eyes softened, downcast expression. You knew you were just brushing the surface; it wasn’t just that he felt left out. This new world was devastating, it toyed with your mind, making you believe things that were never really there ― a figment of your imagination, of your worst fears.

You palmed his forearm to cheer him up.

“As hard as it is, I’m sure you’ll still come out the other end just fine”, you smiled, but he was evading your eyes. “You only need to reach out, Tommy. We’re here for whatever you need of us.”

You got home past midnight. You were so worn out, you just whispered goodbye to Tommy and headed towards your shared bedroom with Joel. The handle made a screeching noise, then the door creaked when you pushed it. You scrunched your face in frustration ― you didn’t want to wake Joel up if he had fallen asleep. He had trouble in doing so, his nightmares still haunted him.

You quietly closed the door behind you. The room was dark, the silence only broken by his faint snoring. You grinned ― he did snore, as much as it pained him to admit it. Tiptoeing towards your end of the bed, you scattered your clothes on the floor. Only wearing your panties, you sneaked under the bedsheets. There was no heating, but Joel’s body radiated enough warmth to keep you both cozy for the whole night ― so you curled up against his back, nipples grazing his bare skin, your left arm around his waist and your hand gently pressed against his chest. You could feel his ribcage raising with every breath he took.

He lulled you to sleep, your mind slowly drifting away. He really was your safe haven.

You smiled absentmindedly, a snug sentiment weighing in your belly. You kissed him where his shoulder blades met and whispered, “I love you.”

Maybe he dreamt it. He was not sure.

Maybe his unconsciousness made it up. He was not sure.

However it came to be, that “I love you” had been haunting his mind the whole day. His chest felt tight, a longing ache lodged in his core. Joel had not been able to get rid of that feeling ― being honest, he didn’t want it to disappear. As much as it was painful, it was also hopeful.

His heart fluttered with yearning at the memory, only coming back to reality when you elbowed his side. He had not heard what you said, but your features had lit up with your laugh. The biggest muscle in his chest skipped a beat at such beautiful melody.

“I bet you were the taciturn type as a kid, right, Joel?”, Joyce asked him, question marks dancing in her pupils.

“I was a normal, boring kid. Played a bit of baseball and went on a few fishing trips with our old man, but that’s about it. So yeah, I guess taciturn covers it”, he replied, spooning the stew into his mouth.

Tommy huffed taking a sip of the moonshine in his cup, but didn’t say anything.

The three of you ―Joel, Tommy and yourself― were in the canteen in the Art Institute of Chicago. Joyce, her granddaughter Ava, Walter and a few others were sat around the table, everyone sharing funny snippets of their childhood. Tomorrow was Christmas Day, which seemed to have lightened the mood a bit, some people had even sang some Christmas carols.

“What about you, sweet pea?”, Joyce turned her attention to you.

“I was a weird kid”, you admitted with a laugh. “Used to love bugs, and I really mean love bugs. I had a huge terrarium, a beautiful ant’s nest. I used to go out and picked some of them off the anthill in our backyard to bring them to my colony. Not gonna lie, it was fascinating seeing how the ants would work together to build their little glass community”, you shared while devouring Joyce’s stew. “Then one day, quite a few ants bit me as I was trying to relocate them to a different part of the terrarium, and they fucked me up real bad. Got a terrible infection, was in hospital for two weeks. When I came back, the whole colony was dead, my parents didn’t even let me have a look at it. It was heartbreaking. After that, I steered clear of any type of bugs. I cared for them, even named every one of them, and that’s how they paid me in return? Little bastards”, you cackled, shaking your head.

“You were indeed weird, sweetheart”, Joel muttered so low, you thought you were the only one who heard it.

You patted his hand with a chuckle, unconsciously leaning towards him, your shoulders touching. You always gravitated towards Joel, you just couldn’t control it. Your eyes met and you giggled ― his smirk widened.

“Guilty”, you whispered, his hand enveloping yours under the table.

You had forgotten Joyce was sat across you until she cleared her throat.

“So, you two lovebirds are a couple yet, or what?”, her not-so-innocent question caught you completely off guard.

Shit, shit, you thought, almost choking on your food. You had not talked to Joel about what you two really were. You loved him wholeheartedly, but you didn’t need to put a label to your relationship. At least not yet. You didn’t want to pressure him ― you knew Joel would come around when he was ready.

“Uh, well, we…”, you stammered, your heart racing so fast you thought you were going to throw it up in your bowl.

Joel’s hand gripped yours tighter.

“Yeah, we are”, he replied, matter-of-factly.

Your soul literally left your body. You scrutinised his face in awe ― your lips dissevered, sparkly eyes, speechless. A wave of relief washed over you. He did love you; you just knew it in your heart. The immense love you suddenly felt almost throttled you. If your brain was a functioning organ, you would have hugged and reciprocated him ― but your mind was still short-circuiting.

Joel’s hazel eyes held yours prisoner. He wasn’t a man of many words, but he didn’t need to be ― his orbs spoke for him. They were soft, tender, loving. You heard Joyce’s snicker, but your eyes could not leave Joel’s. There were so many things you wanted to say but couldn’t ― your heart was drowning in oxytocin.

“Why do you look so surprised, sweet pea?”, said the older woman, hardly containing a guffaw.

Before you could find any words to answer Joyce, a shrieking cry disrupted the festive atmosphere. People got up a few tables away from you, screaming so loud you couldn’t make out their words.

A few seconds later, another commotion took place but from the other end of the room.

“Infected! They are infected!”, someone shouted.

Panic spread quickly. People started running, cramming around the two exits. Pushing their way out, elbowing anyone in their way with no regards to children or the elderly. Then you saw a young girl in the middle of a circle, people trying to keep their distance from her. You recognised her from the patrols but couldn’t remember her name.

Then she propelled forward, tackling a man to the ground. He screeched loudly, trying to free himself.

“No, get away from me! Aaaarghhh!”, then silence.

You had gotten up. More cries came from the opposite direction, but you didn’t dare to look. Joel’s hand on your shoulder forced you out of your trance, and you turned to look at him.

His expression was a reflection of yours for a fraction of a second. The fear, but then the resolution.

“Move, move, we gotta go. Tommy?!”, his hands were on your back, pushing you to walk in front of him.

The younger Miller went in front of you, gun on hand, to find the way out. Then you remembered the firearm in your belt and swiftly gripped it. You were about to run behind Tommy when you realised. Suddenly stopping in your tracks, you turned around to face Joel. You looked at him intently, then to Joyce and her granddaughter.

You couldn’t leave them behind. Joyce was the best person you had known in a while. She was like family to you. And you had already lost all of your blood relatives. Joel had one look at you and understood you were not going to accept no for an answer.

“Joyce! Ava! C’mon!”, he shouted while approaching them. Joel picked up little Ava in his arms while Joyce ran towards you, thick tears blurring her vision.

You held Joyce’s trembling hand as Tommy guided you out of the building onto South Michigan Avenue. You looked back a few times, ensuring Joel was right behind you. Ava was sobbing loudly, her tiny face against the curve of Joel’s neck, wetting his t-shirt. The fearful look in his eyes told you a sad story ― you knew exactly who he was thinking of. A gut-wrenching feeling sat in the pit of your stomach.

The streets were crammed with people, everyone screaming names at the top of their lungs. You recognised a few faces: Walter, Eric and his mother, Troy, Kelsey…

“They’re coming through the bridge on West Adams Street!”, someone wailed.

All of you looked in that direction and saw a massive herd of clickers galloping towards you.

“RUN!”, you shouted at your group, pulling Joyce’s hand.

You all ran northwards, across Millenium Park. You could feel your lungs burning, your brain entering fight-or-flight mode, your heart racing so fast you were on the verge of having a cardiac arrest. But none of that mattered ― you were focused on getting out of there, all of you. Tommy, Joel, Joyce, Ava, yourself. You were going to make it out.

“Go to William Fahey bridge, it’s closer!”, Tommy yelled once on East Wacker Drive.

More clickers were coming towards you from the west ― you heard someone around you say that all the bridges on North Wacker Drive were packed with infected.

“They’re here! THEY’RE COMING!”, Joyce wept.

The whole moment was so hectic, with no time to process what was happening. You all sprinted to the only bridge in the hands of the government ― you had no other option. You were almost halfway through the bridge, just a few yards more and you would be on the other side.

As you were racing, you heard a gunshot behind you. You came to a sudden stop to check, letting go of Joyce’s hand ― Joel had just dispatched a clicker which had come too close.

“Joel! Come on!”, you begged, getting closer to grab him by his free forearm.

Then you saw them. Waves of clickers coming towards you, people falling to their demises. Your eyes widened, terror pumping through your veins. You shot a few of them, your aim perfect. But there were too many to fight, fleeing was your only real option.

“Don’t stop! Let’s fucking go!”, Tommy howled, waving at you.

Then chaos unfolded. Gunshots swirled around you. You all ducked behind a car to avoid the trajectory of the bullets ― the government soldiers were shooting to whoever attempted to cross the bridge, clickers and humans alike.

“Help!”, a cry to your left made you turned around in a panic.

Joyce was flat on her back, fighting off an infected. You couldn’t think, so you just reacted ― you leaped forwards, tackling the clicker. Knelt on top of it, its disgusting teeth snapped close to your hand. You felt a brief pang on your wrist as you lodged a bullet in its forehead.

With tears darkening your vision, you came off it and crawled to Joyce. Her eyes, devoid of life, stared at the cloudy, dusking sky. Her lifeless expression was filled with terror, tears still running down her cheeks. Blood was surging from her neck ― unconsciously, you covered the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

“No, Joyce, come on, wake up”, you whispered, grief tugging at your lungs.

She could not be gone just like that. But she was. Joyce was dead.

“Up! Lift the bridge!”, a man’s voice was carried by the wind.

Suddenly, the ground underneath you started moving up, the bridge parting exactly where you were. With no time to think, Joyce’s body rolled off the edge into the river as you tried to hold on to something to avoid the same destiny.

That something was Joel’s firm grip on your arm. His eyes wild with dread, he pulled you up and back into his arms. His trembling breath caressed your temple as he hugged you tightly. You knew he was as scared as you were, albeit for different reasons.

But there was no time for the shock to wear off. Off the corner of your eye, you saw little Ava running towards the edge, kneeling on the border, her tiny hand reaching into the abyss underneath. “Nana! Come back, nana!”, her wailing tone gave you goosebumps.

“No!”, you and Joel shouted at the same time, both lunging forward towards her.

And then she was gone too. The rotten hand of a clicker wrapped around her tiny wrist, and she fell off the bridge. Her piercing shriek was still ringing in your ears.

Joel and you remained flat against the asphalt, disheartened and broken.

“I had to let go of her for one second, you were falling, I―”, his voice faltered, his eyes broadened with remorse, transfixed on the exact spot Ava had disappeared from.

He was reliving his worst nightmare again. Your heart bled for him. For Joyce, for Ava. For yourself.

“Joel, don’t―”, you couldn’t finish. Don’t do this to yourself, you wanted to say.

“Get up! MOVE!”, Tommy shouted.

He had fended off the clickers who made it across the bridge before it was lifted. You hadn’t realised his efforts until you swept your surroundings and saw the bodies littered around you. Joel shook his head to clear his mind, casting off all emotions, and got up to his feet, helping you up in the process.

Then the three of you started running towards East Illinois Street while the government soldiers kept the clickers at bay as some of them tried to jump from one side of the bridge to the other ― this time, at least, they were aiming better than they did before.

You were still in living hell, with no chance to digest what had happened yet. It was like walking blindly through the darkness, unable to find the switch to turn on the lights. Your emotions had deserted you, at least for the time being. You needed to find shelter before you could shatter.

You raced for what felt like hours but was only minutes. You turned the corner on Erie Street, near Northwestern Hospital. The streets were filled with soldiers and uniformed police, shouting directions at the unhinged mass of people who were trying to find cover.

You stopped running, feeling like fire was consuming your lungs. Joel and Tommy stopped too to catch a breath. You bent over, hands on your knees, to aid your uncontrolled breathing ― Joel’s hand rubbed your back.

“Laney, wait up”, you heard Tommy say, and supposed that Laney and her group had made it out too.

You frowned when you saw blood dripping from your inner wrist on to your jeans. You turned your hand around to check the wound out.

Your breath didn’t reach your lungs. Teeth marks were imprinted on your skin, a grotesque sight. Your heart came to a halt, and then it pounded so hard your ears rang.

I’ve been bit, you thought, realisation dawning on you. Fuck, I’m bit.

Even though you were internally panicking like you had never before, you straightened your back and looked at Joel blankly. It felt like it wasn’t you who was talking, as if you were seeing yourself from outside your own body.

“Joel, I’ve been bit”. Your voice didn’t feel yours ― calm, ethereal.

He was watching his brother walk away, and then his eyes darted to yours in less than a second. His pupils were dilated, his nostrils flared, his lips pursed. A vein twitched in his jaw, his anxiety peaking to the highest level possible. You saw his hand shaking when he grabbed your wrist to inspect it himself.

Joel didn’t say a word. He didn’t have time to do so. You hadn’t realised that Tommy had stopped walking towards Laney and had drawn his gun as he was retracing his steps back to where you were.

“Joel, move”, the barrel was pointing at you, his hand steady.

Panic set in. Was he really going to shoot you? Just like that? Like your life didn’t matter at all? Like he wasn’t your esteemed friend? In front of Joel? Was this how you were going to die after all?

Questions flooded your mind, death knocking at your door.

Joel positioned his body in between you and Tommy ― one hand reaching back to keep you behind him, the other one in front of him at waist level, palm down, to keep Tommy away.

“Tommy, please―”, he implored in a hush.

You couldn’t see his face, but you knew his features were torn. His defeated tone ate at your conscience.

“She’s been bit, Joel. She ain’t coming with us, she can’t”, as much as Tommy wanted to convey a reassuring tone, he couldn’t.

Why was he talking like you were not there, like if you were already gone?

“Tommy, don’t do this. I lov―”, your heart sank to your stomach.

“Don’t say it, she’s dead”, Tommy cut him off before Joel could finish his appeal. “If you stay, you’re going to die. Come with me please, we’ll go with Laney and her group, we’ll survive this. You will survive this”, he nodded in your direction.

You were “this”. He was telling Joel he would get over you once you were dead. And you wanted him to listen. You were doomed, there was no coming back from this. You had seen people turn ― you had a couple of days tops before you would get lost to the fungus. Some people only lasted hours. If he stayed by your side to see you wither away… it would break him. For good.

“Joel, listen―”, you whispered, wrapping your fingers around his wrist ― a silent plea dying in your lips.

“No, don’t say a word”, he barely looked over his shoulder, unable to face you yet. “Tommy, I can’t. I just can’t”, he said under his breath.

“Choose then. Either you’re coming with me or you’re staying with her. But I won’t stay by your side to see you destroy yourself.”

An anxious knot formed in your throat. Was Tommy really going to make Joel choose between you and him? That was so fucking cruel you couldn’t believe your ears. You gaped, trying to say something, but Joel took a step back which forced you to do the same.

“Tommy, are you fucking serious?”, Joel asked, a shift in his tone from incredulity to betrayal.

“There’s your answer, I guess”, the younger Miller replied angrily.

Tommy simply walked off, not looking back, not even once.

Both Joel and you froze in place for a long minute, trying to wrap your heads around what just happened.

Your eyes drifted back down to the wound. Pus and blood oozed out. Your chest heaved, reality setting in. You were going to die. This was not what you had in mind for Christmas. How could this happen? Why you? Even with your mind racing with trepidation, you didn’t regret killing that clicker. What you lamented was that it had been for naught ― Joyce and Ava were dead.

“Hey, look at me”, Joel’s voice brought you back. His hands cradled your face, his thumbs sweeping away tears you were not aware of. “Look at me”, he repeated.

You looked up at him through damp eyelashes, memorising his face. His beautiful brown eyes were swirling with shock, with pain, with darkness, with guilt, with loss. His jaw was so clenched his lips were just a fine line. You momentarily shut your eyes, nestling your cheek into his hand before kissing his palm and taking a step back.

You could not look at him directly. The pain was too grave, too profound ― so insatiable it was consuming you. “You gotta go, Joel. Tommy is right. I’m… I’m dead. It’s just a matter of days, maybe hours. You can’t stay. You can’t follow me where I’m going.” The words escaped your mouth in shortened bursts, unable to keep a steady tone.

He took a step forward and cupped your chin, forcing your head up. His sad eyes captivated you, pulling you into their orbits, as if you were a tiny meteor dancing around too close to the black hole of his irises.

“Wherever you go, I’ll follow you. Even to the fucking edge of the atlas”, he muttered breathlessly. “I love you, so don’t ask me to leave you behind. I’m staying, till the bitter fucking end”, your heart dropped to your stomach at his confession.

This was not how you had expected things to be. You were supposed to have time with each other, all the time in the fucking world. And that time had just been snatched from you mercilessly.

Life was so fucking unjust.

You couldn’t stop the tears any longer ― they overflowed your waterlines, your vision so smeared you couldn’t see his face anymore. Your head tilted forward, until your face was buried in his chest.

Joel hugged you tightly, feeling like he was starring in a twisted horror movie. A dark void had replaced his heart, which had been completely ripped off his chest. He was barren inside. His breaths were shallow, they didn’t even reach his lungs.

Had he forgotten how to breathe?

“We need to get off the streets”, he managed to mumble, holding your hand and taking you away.

[into-the-lokiverse]

Who You Really Are (Loki, God of Stories x Reader)

Summary: When all appears lost to an aspiring novelist, the God of Stories sends a message of hope.

(credit to @lokitvsource for the gif)

You weren't sure how much further you could go on, or if you could go on.

For years, one of the biggest things you desperately wanted in life was to be a novelist. To entertain with stories of magic, power, action, romance, and a little nonsense.

But lately, as you sat before your desk, exhausted from the day job you relied on to pay the bills, you just couldn't bring yourself to move forward with your debut story. The plot felt too twisted to the point even you could barely comprehend it at times. The characters once vivid, were fading into shadows and dust of their former selves. And the scenes you envisioned in detail started to feel...unreachable.

And yet, you couldn not stop scribbling notes at every random moment of inspiration. You clung to the memory of your characters.

Like a parasite or an infection, the idea of your story plagued your mind for weeks, months to the point where it never seemed to leave you. You could barely think straight about anything else, even cleaning.

Half-drank cups of coffee at every corner of the desk, loose napkins with random thoughts written on them, a garbage can full of tissues, candy wrappers, and tea bags, a folder filled with printed images of your dark-haired, blue-eyed muse, and a stack of books that you checked out for "inspiration" but hardly touched.

The floor surrounding your desk had a thin layer of dust, wherever there weren't fallen pens you hadn't the heart to pick up, or papers you abandoned.

Am I meant to be a writer, or am I simply possessed?, you contemplated over a cup of stale coffee. Am I truly, clinically insane with obssssion? Am I doing the right thing, or have I finally lost my mind? Maybe I'm just crazy...maybe I'm wasting my time, doing the wrong thing that was never meant for me.

Or maybe I'm just not worthy of being the person who...does things. The person who flourishes in doing something they love.

But just as you were about to put your head down on the one free space on your cluttered desk, you spotted a mysterious note in parchment.

It read,

I believe in you.

I believe in every part of you, even in that couple of paragraphs you've stuffed in your desk (which honestly should be cleaned, but you won't do it.).

I believe in you because I know who you could become.

Because I know who you really are. You're a talented, blessed individual burdened with a glorious compulsivity to write and far too much fear for your own good.

But who you really are, it does not matter. It is all about the stories. The adventures.

There is a last refuge for the unloved and the desperate, and the persecuted.

When life gets too impossible, when life gets too terrifying, find hope in this, my talented scribe. That when all else fails, remember that you are a branch on the tree of life.

And in the center of that tree, there is someone watching over you, protecting you like he's always done before, and will continue to do so.

Your branch is just beginning. So marvel me, and marvel yourself with all you do. My blessing is with you.

For all time always.

Loki

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

“Every year, about 25,000 (UK) women who give birth — approximately 4 per cent — are so distressed that they meet the diagnostic criteria for post-traumatic stress disorder. That makes birth one of the biggest causes of PTSD in the UK according to the Birth Trauma Association charity – probably coming second only to sexual abuse and rape. Hundreds of thousands more women are traumatised. This is a major health crisis. And yet it is barely discussed…

According to figures from NHS Resolution, the arm of the Department of Health and Social Care that handles litigation, 62 per cent of the total clinical negligence cost of harm in 2022-23 (£6.6 billion) related to maternity.”

When my husband and I left for hospital on a Friday afternoon, we had no idea what would happen. The next few hours would change my life. For good and bad. It had all started with a cervical sweep the day before. I was 40 weeks and 4 days pregnant and, frankly, I’d had enough. My pregnancy had been uncomplicated in terms of my baby — she was healthy throughout, albeit had spent much of her time in the back-to-back position. But I had found the nine months increasingly difficult. From around 20 weeks I’d suffered from pelvic girdle pain, which, for me, meant increasingly agonising pain in my lower back. Walking and other everyday movements became difficult. The only place I felt vaguely comfortable was in water. Swimming was a relief.

Women are offered a sweep to help induce labour. A midwife inserts their finger and sweeps around your cervix. It’s about as basic as you can get. They’re trying to separate the membranes of the amniotic sac that surround the baby from your cervix. This then releases hormones, which may help start your labour. “Some women find the procedure uncomfortable or painful,” NHS guidelines say. I found it excruciating.

“Oh,” the midwife said, as I lay in a rather compromised position. “I might have broken your waters.” This didn’t make sense to me. I’d always assumed that when my waters broke, I’d know about it. Apparently not always, and I was instructed to call the hospital if contractions hadn’t begun within 24 hours as I was now potentially at risk of infection.

They didn’t start. And I did what I’d been asked. The voice on the phone was chirpy — everything sounded fine, stay at home, we’ll be seeing you soon enough. Half an hour later, my phone rang. “Where are you? You’re meant to be at the hospital,” the woman said angrily. I needed to come in immediately to be examined.

It was late Friday afternoon and it was busy. We took the last of the beds in maternity triage. And my waters broke in earnest. That solved the mystery, I suggested. No, I was told, and the water birth I’d hoped for was out of the question — too risky.

Strong and regular contractions started immediately. We were moved to a glorified cupboard that had been turned into a makeshift holding room. I was denied any pain relief because it was “too early”, and told that someone would bring me some paracetamol when they came to “examine” me.

It seems obvious when you think about it, but I had never been told what being “examined” meant. Nor thought about it. It sounds medical. But it’s literally a midwife sticking their fingers inside you. I was 3cm dilated. Plenty of time to go, apparently. It was 9.30pm. I felt sick and in enormous pain. Both were dismissed — until I vomited everywhere. And lost control of my bowels. This would happen several more times over the coming hours. I felt utterly ashamed. Again, it’s common — but I hadn’t been told.

I continued to ask for pain relief and continued to receive none. An hour later, I was 7cm dilated — in full labour — and finally received some paracetamol. There was no space on the labour ward. In just another half an hour, I was fully dilated and ready for the baby to come out. No one seemed to know what to do. The midwives were panicking. And that made me scared. This was my first baby. I didn’t know what to expect. We were rushed to the ward. Already, nothing had gone the way I wanted, or the way it had been talked about at National Childbirth Trust (NCT) classes. Eventually, I was given gas and air to ease the pain. But only for about 20 minutes. Apparently it was “distracting” me too much and I needed to push.

Two hours later there was still no baby and I was in agony. A doctor arrived, took a brief look and said cheerily, “You’re going to be fine. You’re going to get that baby out.” And then he left. My maternity notes state, “PLAN: continue pushing.” I have no idea what this refers to — like so many of my notes. There was no plan. If there was, it wasn’t one I had agreed to. Finally, after another hour the decision was made that the doctor would use a ventouse — a suction cup that sits on your baby’s head — to help deliver my baby. Apparently I consented to this, but I have no recollection of doing so. And I’m ashamed to say I didn’t know what was being asked of me. My doctor didn’t use the word ventouse. He used “Kiwi”, which is a type of ventouse. At the time, I didn’t know what either were.

I remember screaming in pain and then my daughter finally being born. She was placed on my chest for less than a minute. I was examined, told I had a fourth-degree tear that must be repaired and that I needed to sign a consent form for surgery straight away. “Look at the state of her,” my usually mild-mannered husband said. “How can she possibly sign a form?” I couldn’t. The writing on that form is barely legible, but they would not proceed without it.

I had no idea what had happened. I lay in an operating theatre in pain, silent tears rolling down my face. I was frightened. The anaesthetist was amazing and stayed with me while I was repaired. I am so grateful for that, at least. But I also feel guilty about it. It was half past three on a Saturday morning and she was the only anaesthetist on duty at the London hospital. Other women may well not have received the pain relief they needed because of me. “Will I be able to have any more children?” I asked as I stared at the ceiling.

After surgery I was moved to the high dependency unit (HDU) and reunited with my daughter. I finally held and fed her for the first time. That morning is a blur. My notes tell me we stayed in the HDU for five hours before being moved to a ward. It was there that I attempted to understand what had happened to me. I was in pain, barely able to move and soaked in blood. I asked various midwives to explain what had gone on. They repeated that I’d had a fourth-degree tear, but I didn’t know what that meant. One line, in scribbled handwriting, stands out when I look at my notes: “We don’t have any written info about fourth-degree tears.”

Eventually, a midwife appeared with some information they’d printed off after googling it. As I read it, I sobbed. I was 35 years old and thought my life was over; that I would be incontinent. And still no doctor came to explain. The medic who’d delivered my daughter was eventually marched to my bedside more than 48 hours later.

I am perhaps unusual in that I’ve always wanted children. We had done what many middle-class suburban couples did at that time and attended NCT classes. The underlying message of these was: try to avoid a caesarean section at all costs. “Natural” births were best, and even better just to breathe through it. No need for pain relief. I remember in our penultimate class bringing up the subject of tearing during labour. I had seen a TV feature on it that week and it struck me as important. “If most of us are going to tear to some degree, it would be really helpful to talk about that,” I remember saying. “It would be good to know how best to care for ourselves afterwards, that kind of thing.” The answer was no, there was no need. Instead, we proceeded to get on all fours and “moo” like cows and then practise putting nappies on a doll.

Up to nine in ten first-time mothers who have a vaginal birth will experience some sort of tear. The least invasive kind involves only the skin from the vagina and the perineum — the area between a woman’s vagina and anus. These tears usually heal quickly and without any treatment. Second-degree tears involve the muscle of the perineum and require stitches. Third and fourth-degree tears are the most serious. These involve not just tearing of the skin and muscle of the perineum but the muscle of the anus. In fourth-degree tears, the injury can extend into the lining of the bowel. These deeper tears need proper surgical repair under anaesthetic.

I don’t really have any happy memories of the first few days or weeks after we left the hospital. I was completely in love with my baby, but I felt shellshocked. I couldn’t process what had happened and there was no one who offered to help me. A different midwife was sent to our house every couple of days to weigh our daughter. I had no milk the first few days and she had lost a fair bit of weight. Even when my milk came in, I found breastfeeding painful and difficult, in large part because it hurt so much to sit down.

I cried quietly every day for several months. Often it would come completely out of nowhere. I’d be talking or watching television and I would just start to cry. Several midwives wrote in my notes in those early weeks the same phrase: “Mum is anxious.” I don’t think I was. I was traumatised. Several weeks later, I was told that I was “lucky” by the midwife examining my stitches. Apparently the doctors had done a “wonderful” job at repairing me and it looked “beautiful”. I now know that I was fortunate to be repaired properly and immediately after the birth. But the last thing I felt — then or now — was lucky.

After several months I desperately needed to have some control over my life again. I had never felt so helpless, lost and infantilised. But my overarching feeling was anger. I wrote to the chief executive and chair of the hospital to complain and was invited in for a debrief. The head of midwifery was lovely, apologised and followed through on her promise to try to prevent other women facing the appalling lack of communication I had. The hospital now has a specialist perineal health clinic too.

But the attitude of the consultant obstetrician whom I met with my husband floored us both. It was about six months after the birth, but I was still under the care of a consultant urogynaecologist. (I subsequently had two further operations: the first 14 months after giving birth to remove an undissolved stitch that was causing pain but hadn’t been spotted, and another six months after that.) My urogynaecologist had told me not even to consider giving birth vaginally again. The risk was too great, he explained. If I tore again, there was a 30 per cent chance I couldn’t be repaired and I’d be incontinent. The obstetrician said the opposite — don’t rule it out! I saw red. “How dare you,” I growled. I remember saying that he would never be so cavalier about a man’s body.

Every year, about 25,000 women who give birth — approximately 4 per cent — are so distressed that they meet the diagnostic criteria for post-traumatic stress disorder. That makes birth one of the biggest causes of PTSD in the UK according to the Birth Trauma Association charity – probably coming second only to sexual abuse and rape. Hundreds of thousands more women are traumatised. This is a major health crisis. And yet it is barely discussed.

“Birth trauma is a broad term, but generally it’s overwhelming distress that leads to a detrimental impact on well-being,” explains Susan Ayers, professor of maternal and child health at City University in London. Estimates “range massively”, she says, but having conducted research into birth trauma for almost 30 years, Ayers puts it at about a third. “If you ask women whether they thought they or their baby was going to die or be severely injured, then it’s around 19-20 [per cent] in the UK. But if people just ask women, ‘Was your birth traumatic?’ some of those estimates are up to 50 per cent.”

“I’M BEATRICE’S MUM,” EMILY SAID, introducing herself to a committee of MPs in March. “Beatrice died during labour at full term in May 2022.” Emily is one of a number of brave women who have shared their traumatic birth stories with the all-party parliamentary group (APPG) on birth trauma, during the first parliamentary inquiry into this issue.

“As soon as my labour started,” Emily explained, “I knew it wasn’t right, wasn’t normal.” The details are harrowing: a series of obvious but missed red flags and an attitude from medical professionals that can only be described as cruel. The midwife who shrugged her shoulders when Emily’s waters were meconium-stained; the consultant obstetrician who laughed at the “slimy” feel of that meconium while her hand was still inside Emily.

“The ultrasound scanning machine was brought in and showed that Beatrice’s heartbeat had stopped,” she explained. “At that point I begged, pleaded like I’ve never pleaded for anything in my life for a caesarean, and that consultant obstetrician refused. She said no. And she left.”

“It’s destroyed my life,” Emily says now. “I’m not the person I was before.”

This inquiry has been led by the APPG’s co-chairs, the Conservative MP Theo Clarke and Labour’s Rosie Duffield. They received more than 1,200 written submissions after asking women to share their experiences; that number doubles if you count the letters and emails they’ve been sent informally.

“The thing that’s really struck me is there seems to be a taboo around talking about the risk of childbirth,” Clarke tells me when I sit down with both women in Westminster. There shouldn’t be, she adds. “Something we’ve heard from a number of the mothers coming to speak to us is that there’s such a focus on the baby post-delivery, they almost forget there’s a second patient in the room, and that’s the mother.”

“I was constantly told by GPs that I had nothing wrong with me,” one mother, Sarah, told the MPs. She experienced a major tear that doctors and midwives failed to diagnose. “I was discharged two days later with [an] untreated tear, which very quickly led to enormous amounts of pain, incontinence, faecal incontinence and thinking I was going mad.”

“It’s very painful,” explained Jenny, who also experienced a serious tear that was left untreated, “but the long-term consequences of an unrepaired tear are that I had to give up my job. I’ve suffered PTSD, anxiety, depression. My activities are restricted. My life is impacted in that I have to meticulously plan my day around toilets.”

Another mother, Neera, lost three litres of blood and required more than ten hours of life-saving emergency surgery the day her daughter was born. The haemorrhage had not been picked up by staff. She said she is fortunate to have had the “means and support” to access mental healthcare over four and a half years of her five-year-old’s life. “I have personally spent over £6,000 and received more than 50 hours of mental health support,” she told parliament.

The women who have spoken to politicians as part of the inquiry had different medical experiences. But there were obvious similarities. Their concerns and their pain were dismissed. They were not treated with respect or, in some cases, like human beings. They felt helpless, angry and scared. “Nobody really cares about women,” says Kim Thomas, CEO of the Birth Trauma Association. “What we tend to find with most of these stories is there’s failure after failure after failure. Lots of things go physically wrong… and that continues afterwards in the postnatal period with really poor care.” Almost all women seeking out the charity say their experience was made much worse by the way they were treated during labour. “The number of stories we hear of women being shouted at by midwives or laughed at by midwives is quite extraordinary.”

Birth doesn’t have to be this way. And it isn’t for many women. But women, in England in particular, could — and should — be having better experiences than they are.

Let’s start with serious tears. The number one risk factor is being a first-time mum. There’s nothing much that can be done about that. But the next is having an instrumental vaginal delivery — and in particular one that uses forceps. “Data indicates that we use more forceps than other parts of Europe,” says Dr Ranee Thakar, president of the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists (RCOG). While rates in several European countries hover at around 0 per cent, a 2023 study of assisted births in 13 high-income countries found England used forceps in a higher proportion of births — about 11 per cent — than any other.

There are cases where forceps must be used. When babies are premature, suction would cause too much damage to the head. But that’s doesn’t explain the discrepancy. “It’s education,” Thakar explains. “We should be trained to do both [forceps and ventouse], so that we provide the best care to women and use the right instrument for the right baby and the right mother.”

The risk of a severe tear when forceps are used is at least twice as high as with ventouse: 8-12 per cent compared with 4 per cent. Women should be told this. The recent parliamentary inquiry heard other suggestions that might explain why forceps use in England is so high. The consultant gynaecologist and obstetrician Dr Nitish Raut explained that when poor outcomes of childbirth become part of litigation, the question, “Why were forceps not applied earlier?” will be asked. Although they can cause injury to mothers, forceps are the most effective instrument for getting a baby out. If a doctor tries and fails to deliver a baby with the less invasive ventouse first, a record will be made at the hospital trust. It was suggested by others that this might also be pushing some doctors straight to forceps use even when they might not be necessary.

“Training is a really key part of everything here,” Posy Bidwell, deputy head of midwifery at South Warwickshire Foundation Trust, told MPs. “If we can train people, we can prevent these injuries happening. Many midwifery students wouldn’t know the impact that these injuries are having on women.”

Newly qualified midwives did not know enough about perineal damage, and yet they’re providing one-to-one care to women. Current training did not seem to see it as a priority: while several aspects of maternity care are mandatory each year, suturing and perineal protection are not.

Neither doctors nor midwives appear to be taught how to routinely examine women after they have given birth either. Where this was once part of mandatory medical training, doctors are no longer encouraged to do it, Raut explained.

England is short of as many as 2,500 midwives, the Royal College of Midwives (RCM) estimates, although people are wanting to train and join the profession. Donna Ockenden, who is reviewing maternity services at Nottingham and who previously did so at Shrewsbury and Telford Hospitals NHS Trust, cautions against being too optimistic, however. The focus needs to be on retention. “Two midwives don’t equal two midwives,” she told parliament, “of we are losing midwives with 20, 30, 35 years’ experience… and they’re then being replaced by a more junior workforce, who are not being supported in those early days of their career.”

In the past decade and a half, the UK has seen several NHS maternity scandals — in Morecambe Bay, Shrewsbury and Telford, and East Kent. In all these cases, some of the poor care provided to mothers and their babies was because of a push towards “normal” or “natural” birth and a desire to keep caesarean section rates low. The RCM ended its campaign for “normal births” in 2017, but its legacy persists. Some NHS trusts still talk about them today. A culture of cover-ups and a lack of care remains in others. Just last month, the Care Quality Commission found that staff at Great Western Hospital in Swindon had been downgrading third and fourth-degree tears, “which meant they were not investigated as thoroughly as they should” have been. The c-section target was only officially dropped in 2022. Does RCOG now accept that it was a mistake? “It’s difficult for me to say years later whether it was a mistake or not,” Thakar tells me. “I think there was a general trend at the time to put figures to caesarean section rates. But now we know that, we don’t do that.” It was now right that women were offered a choice; she insists she hasn’t seen an attitude against caesareans more recently.

Aside from any physical and psychological impact, traumatic births are costing the country billions. According to figures from NHS Resolution, the arm of the Department of Health and Social Care that handles litigation, 62 per cent of the total clinical negligence cost of harm in 2022-23 (£6.6 billion) related to maternity. Of the £2.6 billion spent on clinical negligence payments that year, £1.1 billion (41 per cent) related to maternity. (As the fact-checking service Full Fact explains, the cost of harm differs from the amount actually paid out in compensation: the former includes an estimate of claims expected in the future arising from incidents in that financial year.) The year before, maternity services accounted for 60 per cent of the total clinical negligence cost of harm (£13.6 billion). NHS England spends about £3 billion a year on maternity and neonatal services.

There is such a long way to go. The government is well behind on its long-term target of halving the rates of stillbirth and neonatal mortality by 2025; the death of mothers within 42 days of the end of pregnancy is at its highest rate in almost 20 years. And while only a handful of trusts have been subject to official investigations, there are signs that poor care is happening across the country. Only half of maternity units in England are rated good or outstanding; one in ten is inadequate. That is a damning indictment of the way so many women are cared for.

One crucial area of improvement does not cost money at all. It requires a shift in attitude to one where women are treated with respect, listened to and allowed to make informed decisions about their bodies and babies.

When I first heard of parliament’s inquiry into birth trauma, it was never my intention to share my experience. Doing so has been upsetting and uncomfortable. But as I sat listening to other women talk about how giving birth had affected them so profoundly, it felt dishonest to stay quiet. Difficult births are not something we should feel ashamed of — much as I know many women will have been, myself included.

[fantasiawandering]

I've been struggling a bit lately and could use some advice from the hivemind. It deals with a lot of the emotional baggage I've been trying to carry lately, so I'm putting it under a cut if you're not in the headspace for that sort of thing right now.

So the relevant backstory: Dad was in love with Mum since high school, and when she died, he went to pieces. My sister, who'd been living at home, helping take care of Mum through the cancer, basically put her grief on hold to keep Dad going through the next six months. Then, on the way home from Mum's memorial six months after her death, he told my sister he was seeing someone. He met her at work when he returned from bereavement leave. Now, I do understand this is a man who never learned how to handle his own emotions. He'd always had my grandmother, then my mother, to manage them for him. But in the next year, he did pretty much everything he could to drive both of his children away for a woman who bailed on him the moment the going got tough. Without getting into too much detail, my sister checked into an institution a while back because she was having some pretty dark thoughts about her own life, and her triggers were feeling like a burden to the family. Mum assured her she wasn't, and that she'd always have a home as long as she needed it. But as soon as that woman moved in and Dad didn't need my sister anymore, he started emotionally abusing and berating my sister, telling her what a burden she was every day until she had no choice but to leave. This was in the middle of the lockdowns. My sister landed with one of the greatest people in the world, and they're living in poverty but relatively happy. Because of this, Dad has convinced himself that not only did he do nothing wrong, he was actually a great Dad, making sure his disabled child developed independence.

But after multiple infections thanks to the woman he was living with (who believed that COVID was "just the sniffles" and vaccines were poison, and as long as they drank colloidal silver they'd be fine), Dad now believes he's developing dementia. His doctor thinks it's actually "pseudodementia," which apparently is mental health related. But Dad watched his mother lost to Alzheimer's and nothing scares him more. And the second colloidal silver and celery juice didn't cure him, the woman he'd moved into the house bounced.

Now Dad's scared. And he's been pressuring us to move in with him to take care of him. My sister will never trust him or put herself in that position again, and I'm of the same mind. He used to do similar to me when I lived there. Meanwhile, I'm still sick with a mystery disease that has no cure yet. I've got GP who actually believes in Long COVID, and a series of specialists I can get to in under 20 minutes. They're basically hacking away at the hydra heads of my symptoms until modern medicine figures out where the heart is. I'm still very much disabled. If I get ANY infection, my immune system goes berserk and starts doing the equivalent of firing a bazooka into a crowd in hopes of hitting whatever is off. I'm just coming off of about 2 months of throwing up at least once a day from the havoc it's wreaked on my digestive system. I can barely take care of myself, let alone another person, and if I moved three hours away to a small town with no public transit, at a time when there's a provincial crisis and NOBODY can find a new GP, not only would I lose my health network, but I'd be essentially housebound in a way I'm not in the city. I also know that I physically cannot handle a three-hour commute either way on days when I have to go in to work, so moving in would involve giving up the career I've been working toward for twenty years.

For all of these reasons, I said no. His siblings are coming at me with varying degrees of "it's your filial duty." None of them really understand just how sick I actually am, but I also don't think that would change things. And I feel guilty. Despite knowing that moving into a place with no infection control could make me bedbound or worse, and that I can't afford to be without a GP or a medical team, I feel like I've failed somehow. I love my Dad. But I can't take care of him and keep myself healthy at the same time. I've been doing what I can from here since he first started feeling like he was losing it. Every other day, I call him and read him a chapter of Sherlock Holmes, and he's told the rest of the family how much he enjoys it. And sometimes it's exhausting to read for that long, but I do it because he needs me and it's something I CAN do. I've also offered to help with his banking and things, but he's turned me down whenever I offer.

Now, since I said no, Dad has said that he wants to sell his house and move into a care community, and that what's holding him back is knowing if he did, there'd be nothing left for me and my sister when he's gone. And I don't think that's an attempt at manipulation, I genuinely believe he's concerned, because he knows how much we both struggle currently. But honestly, neither one of us was counting on getting anything anyway, and as much as we're still deeply hurt by what he did (he also threw my mother's remains away and then informed us in an add-on to an email forward, which broke me in a way I've never been broken before, and when my sister called him out on it, HE got mad and said "it was none of your business, this was between a husband and his wife."), we still want him safe and not alone and scared. We've both told him as much, and that neither of us are the kind of people who'd be sitting around going "raaah, how dare he spend our inheritance! Who does he think he is taking care of himself?"

But it's not an easy thing to deal with, especially given that I'm the one he's leaning on hardest -- I think even he realized he didn't just burn the bridge with my sister, he nuked it from orbit. I've been crying on and off for the last three days. And I don't know how to get myself out of it. Anyway, if you've made it this far, thank you. And yeah, that's what I'm dealing with as I try to drag myself out of this funk. So here's where the advice part comes in. I've been reflecting on a lot of things, and one of the conclusions I've come to is I need something to DO. I fill my days when I'm not working with movies and playing video games with my sister, but I think I need a physical hobby. Something to do with my hands. Something that lets me create things.

I've had to put a lot of what I used to do on hold. My brain still hasn't healed enough to write reliably. I started knitting, but COVID did something to my eyes, and when I look at the knitting for more than a minute or two, the rest of the world goes blurry and I can't see clearly again for another thirty minutes. I have similar problems with the beadwork I used to do. Anything that involves leaving the house is iffy due to my health, so it's got to be something I can do from home. So. Any ideas? What brings you joy?

[i-am-vita]

Someone Looking for You (pt. 1)

👉 Previously: Someone Who Loves You

Bogard x Ghost Rose Oc (afabReader)

+2,000 words

👉 My Masterlist, Oc Ghost Rose Masterlist, Scruffy Bogard Inspiration, Bogard's Sexy Spy Wife Headcanons

Sorry I haven't been as active as before in the fandom. Got a new job and a flu barely two weeks in, started some character design classes, went to a Dia de Muertos weekend to Michoacan (to foreigners, the place where Pixar went to look at for Coco) and came back with a stomach infection... I swear I've been back a officing for a month and a half and already went to the doctor three times.

But more importantly, I reached 100 followers in October and didn't realized!!!

I noticed I had some new followers here and there but never thought to look up the numbers. Thank you so much, people, for choosing me, even with my inconsistency. Have the first part of Some Who Loves You next chapter as a little treat. I've had it started for a while but unsure of how to proceed. Maybe some peer presure helps.

Moots and interested people I remember: @fanaticsnail @jintaka-hane @cinnbar-bun @gingernut1314 (look how swiftly I play around that new Tumblr rule of not letting you tag more than five people in a row) @writingmysanity @feral-artistry @indydonuts @since-im-already-here

Summary: After your night together weeks ago, Bogard is set to find you and uncover the mystery of your identity. Could you really be the love he thought lost all those years ago? Warnings: Scruffy Bogard. Swearing. Hidden identity. Regular canon violence. Expect: They Have History. Lovers to Strangers to Lovers. Use of You, not Y/N. Change of pov. FemOcReader, fem pronouns. Probably better English, but don't hold your breath. I've been subjected to testing crappy Visual Novels for a month and a half. My time tenses may be worst than ever.

.

His footsteps were hardly the only noise in the lively nightlife of this island.

Cantinas and dance clubs filled the main street with music and laughter. Their patrons too busy to pay attention to the solitary scruffy man in the brown overcoat wandering the night, aiming his time.

Any other time, Bogard would be eager to be back in his room for the night, get rid of these street clothes, shave the scruff off of his face and report back to his superiors after a good night of sleep.

It hadn’t been like any other time since that night.

The night he was ailed by that damn cheap interrogation serum. When you stayed to nurse him and, eventually, helped him bear the side effects with your body. Only to wake up the next day alone with a small note of yours. The calligraphy style too similar to that of the notes from his lost love he still kept. Read and reread so many times over the years he could recognize the lines and letters like the palm of his hand.

Hope flooded his heart.

That dreadful emotion had been crushed years ago when he accepted his one and only love was lost to him forever. Bogard had buried himself in work, focused only in his career at the marine and serving along Garp. His leisure time was occupied in activities to engage in logic rather than indulge his feelings.

If a need arose, he took care of it with promptness and no attachment. And if his eye catched a likeness to the one he had lost… then maybe he could indulge himself after all.

Until he had entered that bar one night and you were there.

The alluring new guard of The Contact.

How had he wished for you to turn around and let him see your face. To be just a regular man getting in a bar, free to revel in the company of a beautiful stranger, instead of an undercover marine agent meeting with one of the most notorious intel dealers in the Grand Line.

By some chance, his wish was granted and his properly ordered life was shattered.

He had gone to a graphologist to analyze the written notes and see if it was possible to be from the same person. The expert told him that, despite the similarities in the calligraphy style, there were details that suggested they still could have been written by different people. The inclination of letters, some twirls here and there.

That specific style was popular years ago among the young women of society. It only proved that both women had similar upbringing and were taught by private tutors during the same period of time.

To the expert it wasn’t much, but to Bogard it was everything. Because to him it couldn’t be a coincidence. Not after that night and how you were with him.

Oh, he had come to question his sanity over the last weeks.

Wondering if he was just so desperate for sincere affection and connection that he was projecting his longing for his lost love in an unsuspecting woman who happened to show him more kindness than he was used to from a one time lover.

Both you and her memory deserved better than that.

He thought he would see you again soon and confirm or deny his suspicions. Bogard didn’t know which he preferred.

The next reunion with The Contact came and he couldn’t find a trace of you after the meeting.

While he and your boss discussed and exchanged intel about the group trafficking with those serums that were after them the last time and how to take them out, his eyes kept returning to your figure standing guard at the bar. Long hair falling down your back, a dark dress encasing your seductive figure, your face turned away from his insisting gaze…

After the meeting, he stood from his seat and looked over for the last time, but you weren’t there anymore.

He didn’t know what he was expecting. For you to leave your spot and run into his arms?

Another meeting came next week.

Bogard arrived some minutes earlier and he could swear he saw a feminine figure slipping away into the darkest shadows of the bar, where he didn’t have a good sight.

You were avoiding him.

Damn it.

That night, Bogard had been reluctant for you to stay to aid him with the side effects of the serum, but you had and offered the comfort of your body. He knew he had lost control at some point, too gone in the aphrodisiac’s effects.

Had he done something to hurt you or offend you after all?

Were you mad at him? Did you regret that night?

What was he supposed to do now? Ask the Phantom Captain for an introduction like he was a suitor looking to court you?

If he had actually known his interlocutor, Bogard may have realized that’s what your boss was half expecting for you two to do since the first moment he caught the longing gazes. Your reluctance to speak of your feelings was getting on everybody's nerves.

Something had to be done about you two before the careful plan the Phantom Captain and Garp had been brewing for months was ruined.

Bogard was so deep in thought walking back to his safe room after that second meeting it took him several minutes to realize he was being followed until his assailants were almost on him.

Just regular thugs with no training or special abilities.

The five men ambushed him, two of them aiming to immobilize him. Bogard had those unconscious on the floor in a few seconds.The other three were tricky, but he had one’s arm in a lock with a hand before the other two could react.

All of a sudden, both assailants fell to the floor, holding their knees and screaming in pain. Sharp blades pierced their joints and then flew back towards a dark alley.

Bogard threw the man he was holding to the floor and ran to the alley finding nothing, but a sweet flowery and fruity fragrance in the air.

Were you following him on your own volition or your boss’ orders?

Did you care for the intel he had to deliver or himself?

He needed to get to you and third was the charm.

Tonight, all his enhanced senses were keen on the presence following him in the street. It took all his will to not turn around to try to find you among the crowd of night goers.

He had to time it just right.

Tonight, you will be in his arms again.

.

You just wanted to make sure he was safe.

Those smugglers were still on the run and some had seen him. Even if they didn’t know Bogard’s real identity, he may have become a target. They may still have some of that interrogation serum. Even after you and your crew managed to track them that night and take down their lair with most of their supply.

You had asked your crewmate Meg, an expert perfumer and chemistry, more about those cheap serums and it had left you livid. If you hadn't been there to… treat Bogard’s ailment, it would have been much worse to him. He could have hurt himself; wander outside, lost in the pain and frenzy, and hurt someone else.

It was a matter of the common good.

Vice Admiral Garp had the means and connections to guide Marine resources to take down those smugglers. Bogard was their main contact with Garp. He needed to be protected.

That was all.

The fact he was the man you had loved and almost married in your youth was minor. You had burned that bridge when you decided to put his well being over yours and ran away from your engagement.

He was about to reject a most excellent promotion to stay with you, not knowing that his promising career was the only reason your family had allowed your relationship. Your brown-noser of a stepfather would lose his opportunity of having a well connected son in law.

You were ready to postpone your engagement with Bogard until he was better established in his career, and you still wanted to go to university. There was no need to rush and lose opportunities when you had the rest of your lives to be together. Until you discovered your stepfather scheming to get rid of your beloved and marry you off to some marine Captain that best suited his ambitions.

Accidents happened and even the most promising young officers could fall in the line of duty and nobody would be the wiser.

At 18 years old, with a mother that would agree it was better for you to just call off your engagement and go with your stepfather’s plan of finding you a better suitor, and no other adult close or well-off enough to ask for help, you couldn’t find a better solution than to run from home.

You broke his heart.

You knew you had to.

You were cruel in your break up, publicly enough so your family were sure you hadn’t run away together when he accepted his commission overseas. You also had to be sure Bogard wouldn’t look for you when he came back and you weren’t there anymore.

The heartbreak had been agonizing, but it had to be done. No matter how misguided your actions were, you wouldn’t tolerate being a puppet of your family and any harm coming to the young man you loved.

No matter the pain, both of you would be fine and thrive on your own.

It had to be enough.

Or it had been until Bogard had walked in that bar and you discovered it was him and Vice Admiral Garp whom your captain had been intel dealing with this whole time.

And now all the operation could be at stage because you couldn’t stop thinking about that night.

Been able to be near him again.

Talk to him, touch him, nurse him. And then more…

You had hidden from his sight every meeting since then. Fearing to be unable to hide your real feelings. To run into his arms and uncover yourself.

But your feelings were not important.

His safety was.

That’s why you had followed him every night after, assisted him when he was attacked, and ensured he arrived safely to his destination before you went back to your crew’s safehouse.

That’s why you were here this night, following him through the night crowd…

Bogard stopped abruptly in his walk, looking intently at some point ahead of him and then walked to an adjacent street.

Well, fuck.

Who had he spotted that had made him change his route like that?

You ran to the crosswalk while surveying the street, but nobody else seemed to be on his chase. The sight of his brown overcoat turning a corner ahead indicated you of his path. Your own black long coat fluttered in the air as you ran to keep up with your pursuit of him.

As you turned the corner you found yourself running right into a tight embrace. Momentum spun you in half a circle while strong arms surrounded your smaller form and brought you against a firm torso. A swift hand halted yours from reaching to your knives’ pouch tied to your thigh.

“Forgive me. I know I deserve it, but I would rather not be stabbed tonight,” Bogard murmured in your ear, sending shivers down your back.

“Rick…” you sigh his name unconsciously, completely taken by surprise.

“You’re very hard to catch.” His grip on you relaxed, but his arm remained around your waist, anchoring you to him and warmth of his body.

His hand raised yours to deposit a soft kiss on your palm.

“To catch… Did you set me up?!”

"I needed to see you."

"You had seen me."

"You know what I mean." A gasp escaped your lips at the intensity of his gaze.

It took you several seconds to realize you weren’t wearing your lace mask and Bogard was able to see your full face. Even with the illusion over your real facial features and skin tone, you felt almost naked under the scrutiny of his eyes.

Oh, no, what had you let yourself fall into?

.

.

.

[jodilin65]

This is the third night I felt well emotionally. I’ve also had more energy. Not that I’m complaining of course, but why do I have more energy? Better thyroid levels? Not being infected anymore? Sleeping with the nose strip regularly? All of these things?

And just what made me anxious earlier in the month? Maybe it really was the vitamin D pushing me out of my comfort zone. I gained a couple of pounds back that I lost so I know I can’t be too close to normal. It’s either be fatter and calmer by being a little out of range or be in range or very close to it and lose weight while I feel like shit. Totally not worth it!

Andy definitely isn’t feeling well. The poor guy got covid but he says it’s been mild so far. He’s still able to taste and smell. He’s taking time off and isolating himself. He thought it was a cold at first.

It’s amazing Tom and I never got covid but I guess we can thank that on the fact that he retired right after it broke out.

We went to Walgreens early yesterday morning instead of CVS because we agreed it would be easier if I ordered online. Damn, was it cold out there!

The reasons I decided to start sharing my journal online were mostly because it was fun and created additional backup copies. After that, I realized that if my words happen to help anyone in any way who may read them along the way, then that was great too. I know that any of the sites could shut down at any time but I like the idea of my words living online long after I’m no longer living.

Although I still write for myself first and foremost, I like to think the byproduct of that is contributing to future generations and providing them with a glimpse of what life was like in these times.

I’ve also come to see that I need to stop explaining myself. That’s one more thing I need to work on besides eliminating the socialization part. Occasionally, as I write about various topics, I catch myself trying to clarify details for readers to understand what, when, or where I’m referring to. I’ve realized that this approach is counterproductive and I need to stop this since readers are welcomed observers rather than a focal point. Besides, a little mystery never hurt, did it?

[itskatieloves143]

The Little Human 💚💗

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

The Obey Me crew accidentally brought a human child to the devildom instead of the exchange student

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

~Part 2

~Obey Me Asmodeus and Satan (seperately)

~GN!3Y/O!Reader (pronouns they/you)

~Platonic

~Fluff with the OBM boys trying their best to take care of a little human

~(mild cursing)

~not proofread

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

A/N: The last part may be a little delayed because I just came back from the ER since my wisdom tooth got infected and I feel like shit right now. Sorry about that!!

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

Satan💚

–He was reading the newest book in a series he really liked when a human toddler started tugging on his sleeve asking him to read to them

–Thought this was adorable and of course agreed

–His heart melted when you fell asleep next to him

–He texted the brother’s group chat asking who you were

–He was surprised to realize you were the exchange student

–He gladly read to you whenever you wanted him to and even started teaching you how to read

–Soon enough you could read and write in several human and demon languages(he's just that good)

–Of course he felt very accomplished by this

–Still thought it was cute to see you stumble and spell or pronounce something wrong occasionally

–He thought it was really funny to see a little kid like you speaking in complete sentences instead of babbling like you should’ve been

–Doesn’t really notice that you follow him around and hang out around him a lot more than you do the others until someone points it out

–You both commit hate crimes against Lucifer

–He bought you a little headband with cat ears on it and thinks it’s so cute that you wear it everywhere

–When he’s not around you sit outside and his cats keep you company

–You watch detective shows together

–He ordered you a detective costume and you both run around trying to solve mysteries together

–He’s made it a habit of reading to you before you go to sleep

–You can’t sleep until he’s read to you

–He’ll gladly carry you but also thinks it's cute when you want to walk behind him

–He’ll hold your hand just incase you trip

–The two of you randomly yell out quotes from books

–He tied a little bell to a ribbon and tied it around your neck so you couldn’t get lost (not tightly)

–You now jingle when you skip around and it’s the cutest thing

–That combined with your cat ears is just-

–You sit with him while he studies

–He teaches you Devildom history

–He’d teach you human realm history but he doesn’t even know where you’re from so whatever he told you may not even be accurate

–He takes you to cat cafes with him

–Thinks it’s so cute when you meow at the cats attempting to communicate with them

–He tries not to get angry around you (or at you) and when he does one of his brothers usually take you away before too much happens which he really appreciates

–Once you ended up getting hurt (not badly but you scraped your knee at least) because he got angry and he couldn’t even look in your direction for a week

–His brothers had to convince you that he didn't hate you which made him feel even worse

–His heart melted when you apologized to him with teary eyes thinking it was your fault

–He reassured you it wasn’t and promised to not leave you again

–When you have to leave he gifts you your favorite book for him to read to you

–He gets really upset when you leave and gets angry much more often over the next few months following you leaving

–He sends you books in the mail every 2 weeks for you to read (children's books of course)

–Gets really happy when you write back to him and send him little drawings you've made

–He adores you and would do anything for you even if he gets frustrated with you sometimes^^

Asmodeus💗

–Came into his room and had to rush to stop you from drinking one of his perfumes

–Actually started feeling bad for stopping you when you started apologizing with teary eyes

–He showed you how to use it properly and thought it was so cute how you were so amazed at such a simple concept

–He thinks its so adorable when you tell him how pretty he is

–Does your makeup for you when you ask

–He introduces you to having a skincare routine really early on which is very helpful for when you get older

–He buys little baby robes for you to wear

–Expect to have tiny versions of all his clothes because he loves to have you match with him

–Dresses you everyday

–You’re in every picture he takes of himself

–Thinks it’s precious when you ask to hold his hand when you walk around RAD with him

–Will gladly carry you (and does all the time)

–He’s that one aunt that pinches your cheeks everytime you see her

–If you have long hair he will always style it for you before going out

–If you have short hair he will still put bows in it and barrettes (yk, the works)

–He takes you shopping all the time

–Anything you touch he puts in the basket

–Loves buying you all the cutest stuffies and toys he can find

–Loves seeing your reactions to getting so many toys

–The only place he won’t take you with him is to clubs

–1, because he wants to hook up with people sometimes and 2, because he doesn’t want you to get overwhelmed or anything by all the lights and people

–He came back drunk one night to find you asleep in front of his bedroom door waiting for you and he thought it was just the cutest thing-

–He picked you up and took you to his bed and the two of you slept together

–Loves to have you sit on his lap while he does his makeup or scrolls through Devilgram

–Asks for your opinion on outfits

–You two gossip all the time

–No one who listens knows what the two of you are talking about but Asmo gets it

–He got you one of those kids makeup kits once (you know the ones) and tried teaching you how to do your makeup with it

–Only to be disgusted at the quality of the makeup it had and eventually just let you use his

–He definitely addicted you to bath bombs

–He helps you bathe properly (idk if this is a normal thing or not but when I was 3 I couldn’t take baths by myself either and had to get help)

-You are always covered in bows

–Pop music

–Watches Disney movies with you

–Totally babies you

–Spoon feeds you even though Lucifer tells him you can eat by yourself

–When you have to leave he’s actually bawling

–You go home with like 5 suitcases worth of clothes you’ll grow out of in a few months

–He sends you a bunch of clothes and toys in the mail and has Lucifer let him come visit you for holidays and such

–Is so sad when you leave that he doesn’t go to any parties for 3 whole weeks

–You’re his precious little human and he loves you to the moon and back

[digital-corruption]

I meant to post this sooner, but the sinus infection threw me off my game before I could finish it. Technically this exists in the Haunted by the Past universe as Epilogue Part 2, but it works as a stand alone as well. Sorry, it's a long one, but I didn’t have the heart to cut it.

The Island

“If you won’t tell me where we’re going, can you at least tell me how much longer?” I pushed.

We'd been driving for a few hours now to our mystery vacation spot that Jake refused to divulge. In the past 6 months he had taken me to a few surprise weekend vacation spots, but they were usually just inns in very scenic locations. This time he was even more anxious and stressed about our arrival to the location.

“Not much longer,” he smiled.

I looked out the window at the wooded road. The forest was starting to thin and then suddenly cleared. The great open sea was before us as the road descended towards the waterfront.

“Oh wow,” I gasped.

“It’s a great view,” Jake grinned.

As we approached the waterfront, I noticed an island not too far off the coast. I expected Jake to turn into the hotel there along the waterfront, but instead he continued to the docks.

“We're going on a boat?” I looked at him quizzically.

“How else do you get to an island?” his grin only got bigger as he parked the car.

My excitement just kept growing as I got out of the car. To further my surprise, Jake grabbed our luggage from the back. We'd be spending the entire weekend on the island, not just the day. He saw my gleeful smile and couldn’t help but mirror it as well. He took my hand and led us towards the ferryman waiting for us at the docks.

“Jake and MC, I presume,” the ferryman smiled. “Please let me take your suitcase and find a seat. We’ll set off right away.”

“What? Just us?” I asked confused as Jake handed over the suitcase. He kept his backpack on him.

“I did mention the owner owed me a favor,” Jake reminded me of a conversation we had long ago.

“What do you mean?” I questioned.

“You will have the inn to yourselves this weekend,” the ferryman chimed in. “As agreed upon.”

“The entire inn!?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“And as agreed, the staff will vacate the property after dinner and return in the morning for breakfast service,” the ferryman continued.

Jake smirked, “In other words...”

“The island will be deserted,” I gasped.

“And with internet,” Jake grinned. “See? It is possible.”

I poked him in the gut and got on board the ferry. Jake followed me on and we sat down towards the front, immediately holding hands.

“You’re planning something,” I eyed Jake as the engine started.

“Am I?” he teased with a sly smile. “I guess you’ll have to see when the time comes.”

I poked him in the gut again.

--

As much as Jake was trying to make it romantic, it was still eerie to have a 20 bedroom inn all to yourself with a skeleton crew to look after your needs. When we arrived, we were quickly shown to the best room, the honeymoon suite with its fabulous view looking out onto the sea. I could’ve stared at the rolling waves all day, but Jake wanted to explore the island instead.

It wasn’t a terribly big island. You could walk the longest distance in less than an hour, but the island did have beautifully manicured gardens at the back that you could get lost in. As the center of the gardens there was a large bird bath with benches around to sit and relax, which we did for a short while before continuing. The end of the gardens themselves opened onto a field that led to a steep cliff face that the waves crashed against.

“I can’t believe this place,” I turned to Jake in amazement. “I still don't understand how. It must cost a fortune.”

“Worth every cent,” Jake smiled at me. “I heard the nights are even more amazing here.”

“We’ll have to come back at night. I wonder if they have any blankets we could borrow,” I thought out loud.

“I'm sure we can find some,” Jake replied. “Come on, you haven't seen the beach yet.”

We continued our exploration of the island past the docks where we landed down to the beach that faced the continent. As the beach was more protected, the waves were calmer and made for a great swimming beach if the weather was right.

“I want to come back during summer,” I gushed.

Jake laughed, “Of course you do, but we can't possibly afford the summer rates.”

I sighed and took off my shoes and socks to dip my toes in, “Yup, that's cold.”

I still walked down the beach along the water’s edge to marvel at the coastline as the sun started to set. When I turned around to face Jake I noticed he had been taking photos of me with his phone. I smiled at him and he took one last one, then smiled back.

“We should head back for dinner,” Jake suggested.

“Oh right, that sooner we finish dinner, the sooner the staff desert the island,” I nodded and walked back to Jake.

--

Back in the room I changed into a casual dress for dinner. Jake stayed in his hoodie and jeans, not that I had expected him to change. It weirded me out when he wasn’t wearing his hoodie, like he was missing a part of him.

Jake’s eyes lit up when he saw me step out of the bathroom after I freshened up. He put his phone away and smiled, “You’re so beautiful.”

“Won’t you accompany me to dinner, good sir?” I teased.

Jake stood up from sitting on the end of rhe bed and walked over to me. His eyes were tender and loving. “How could I ever say no to you?”

Jake caressed my cheek as he lowered his lips to mine, barely touching them. Our foreheads pressed together as he looked deeply into my eyes, teasing the tiniest gap between our lips.

“This is a slippery slope,” I bit my lip.

Jake brushed the tip of his nose against mine and smirked, “Room service is still an option.”

I shook my head, “We have the entire place to ourselves. We might as well appreciate it.” Jake nodded then took my hand to lead us down to the dining room.

The room as warm and cosy, looking out on the gardens outside. The staff didn’t bother with menus as we had already made our requests for our dinner when we arrived. So we just sat at the candlelit table in the middle of the empty dining room enjoying our drinks and making idle conversations until our dinners were ready, which was the best prepared food I had ever eaten accompanied by the finest wine I had ever drank. Even Jake had some of the wine as he no longer had to fear attack, he could simply enjoy life.

After we finished eating and enjoying the mood, we went to stroll the island at night. The gardens were lit by fairy lights, which transformed it into a magical wonderland. Even though we had explored it during the day, it felt completely new at night.

Eventually we reached the back of the gardens and approached the cliff. At some point Jake had made the request for blankets and pillows. It was all set up and waiting for us. As we approached the blankets, I felt a chill and shivered. Jake wrapped his arms around me from behind.

“Look,” he whispered in my ear. I turned to see his attention on the dock. The boat had just set off from the island. “There they go. It’s just us now on this island.”

I bit my lip to hold back the overwhelming emotions. We had been through so much together that even now this still felt like a dream. My eyes closed so my other senses could take over. I wanted to burn every single part of this moment into my memory. Suddenly I felt cold again. Jake was no longer behind me. I opened my eyes and saw him.

Under the clear, starry sky there he knelt before on one knee. In his hands was a small opened box which held the brightest star of all. His voice shook as he had not expected the next words to be so difficult even though we both already knew my answer.

“M-MC...” he stuttered.

“Yes!” I exclaimed.

“I didn’t finish,” he smiled.

“You didn’t have to,” I grinned.

“You told me to do it properly,” he pointed out.

“Ok, ok, go again,” I gave him a moment.

He laughed, feeling a bit more at ease now. “MC, to say you complete me is an understatement. You are my everything. Life isn’t life without you in it. So what I'm trying to say is...” he took a deep breath before continuing, “Will you marry me?”

I smiled from ear-to-ear, but now even my voice shook. “Yes,” I responded softly.

Jake’s face lit up brighter than I had ever seen him before, but he was motionless as if he was in shock.

“The ring,” I whispered.

“Oh,” he blushed.

He carefully took the ring out of its tiny box, then gently lifted my hand to place the ring on my finger. At this point I couldn’t wait any longer and threw my arms around him, nearly causing him to fall over. He sat back onto the blankets, pulling me with him. There we cuddled for most of the night just listening to the waves crashing on the cliff enjoying each other's warmth, truly and completely in love.

[traveleroffarawayplaces]

Soo, a little insight to my lost au..

Its basically a corruption au, but intead of the victims just being zombies, i decided “Hey! Lets add two kinds! The zombie kind and the remeberence kind!!

The zombie kind is your typical corrupted zombie. No memory, just controled by ‘The source’

The remeberence kind fight like how the victims did before they got infected. However everything they see is different then whats actually happening. Say a hero was a remeberence lost, and they were fighting one of thei allies. The lost hero would see a villian or someone that they hate instead of there friends. All words they say would be altered also. If the hero yelled out the villians name, their allies would hear the lost hero call out their names

It depends on how they got infected,

Bite: 2-6 days,

Scratch: 3-7 weeks

Exposure: 6 weeks- 2 months, chance of not infected possibly.

The order of what changes:

Well, personality changes, but this is the order:

The black infection (1-3 hours after getting the injury, always even tho the diff time it takes, always a couple hours after you get it) it burns for some, others it iches and others still don’t feel a thing. Depends on the person.

Personality starts to change little by little (continues until full transformation)

The their eyes change (halfway through the transformation), everyones eyes are similar depending on the fandom. The loz universe’s eyes switch colors, like their eye color is now the scalea and the pupil is now white, etc for so on and forth other fandoms)

(If you want to know what I have for other fandoms, just let me know. I got Amphibia, and Ninjago and so much more al drawn out and such. But for the fandoms I got none in, feel free to make you’re own similar eyes!!)

Then they start to forget things, like simple words to memories. (Varies depending on how much you wanna make them suffer)

Then their voice changes, it still sounds like them, but its also… different

Finally once their personality fully different (some like villians become more sad/depressed and some heroes become more cruel for example) There apperence changes, from where they got infected outwards, by now the source talks to them and in this final stage is when they realize that they are gone, infected and there is nothing they can do.

In some other cases, if they were only exposed for a bit, there is a small chance that they actually defeat the infection, and the blackness thing would receed, leaving only a mark, before vanishing 1-9 days later. Then they get a small period (1-9 days) of being immune to the sickness, or until a small mark on the inside of one of their wrists fades away then they can get injured again.

Then, there is the cure. Called the white flower cure. It doesn’t actually get rid of the corruption, but instead it changes it so the victim actually is aware of whats happening (they don’t have memories of when they were infected, they slowly get those the longer they are cured.) and makes the infection more postive.

The cure can only grow when there is no uncorrupted people. Once a Lost had seen their reflection, only then can they be given the cure.

If a Lost sees their reflection, the world is more hazy and the victim underneath understands that what they see isn’t the truth. All the lost who had seen their reflection had always mysteriously vanished… hmm thats probably important.

The only way to get rid of the Lost corruption is to get rid of the ‘source’.

I’ll probably add more as I go, but this is just the simple summary. There is probably a whole lot more which I may add later, but some things I want to see what you guys think!!

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

Rafe Cameron x reader (pt 3)

Summary:  You, a pogue and Rafe Cameron, a kook are friends of benefits, secretly of course. But what happens when you get pregnant?

Part 1 // Part 2 

A/N: Here is part 3!! Please please please read the author’s note at the end! Thank you so much for the continued support of this. You all are AMAZING. I love y’all. xx

Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: {OPEN} CLOSED

I am currently taking requests for:

The Vampire Diaries/The Originals

Elijah Mikaelson

Damon Salvatore

Criminal Minds:

Spencer Reid

Derek Morgan

Supernatural (I’m only up to season 2, so please don’t request something with spoilers)**

Sam Winchester

Dean Winchester

Outer Banks (Netflix):

John B Routledge

JJ Maybank

Rafe Cameron

********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

There was screaming and cries all around you. What happened? Oh right, someone shot a gun. There was a pang in your side, huh, that kind of hurts. When you looked down you could see your white shirt turning red, that looks like blood. Is it mine? Looking at the eyes in front of you, you could see a panicked Rafe. He didn’t look high anymore, they looked normal, like the ones you fell in love with. Turning your head, you could see John B rushing to you out of the water. Then you let your eyes fluttered closed.

John B and everyone around watched in horror. He was quick, catching you before you fell against the sand. “Y/n!” Slowly he went to his knees, with you in his arms, your back against his chest.

“What the hell, Rafe?!” John B yelled, looking up at Rafe. 

As soon as that gunshot rang out, Rafe’s high was over and he was back to reality. “I-I didn’t mean too!” His hands go up to his head, gripping at his hair, “Is she alive?” 

JJ pushed Rafe out of the way and dropped to your side, holding his hands against your stomach, “Someone call 911!”

Kie screamed. JJ was yelling about being stupid for bringing the gun in the first place. Pope was yelling about keeping pressure on the wound. John B was yelling at y/n to stay with him. Hands were shaking him, “Rafe! We gotta go man, the police are on their way.” Topper. He was in a haze, watching the scene in front of him. He doesn’t remember doing it, but his feet carried himself through the sand and to his truck.

“Oh god, JJ there’s a lot of blood.” John B cried, rocking back and forth.

“I know dude, I’m trying!” He looked around, “I need more towels!”

John B looked around, “Where the hell is the paramedics?!” His hands were gently rubbing your cheek, “Please, please stay with me.”

Kie and Pope quickly returned with the towels gathered from the beach.

Pope dropped to y/n’s side next to JJ and put more towels, but the blood just kept seeping through. “Kie, run up to the road and flag them down.” Pope instructed. Kie nodded before running off.

John B cradled you in his arms, “I can’t lose her…I can’t.”

That’s when JJ and Pope knew, you were the mystery girl he was in love with.

~

“Please, let me ride with her!” John B begged the paramedic, who shook her head, “I’m sorry son, you can’t. Is there anything else we should know about her?”

John B nods, “S-she’s pregnant. 2 months…” The paramedic nodded before hopping into the back with you.

JJ grabbed John B’s shoulder, “Come on man, I’ll drive you. We’ll follow behind.”

“She’s coding!” Is the last thing he heard as the doors shut and the paramedics drove off.

~

John B’s knee bounced up and down as he sat in the hospital chair. His head was in his hands. It had been 4 hours since they arrived and there was no word. He’d called your mom, but she was out of town with your dad and wouldn’t be home until tomorrow.

“She’s going to be fine, John B.” Kie comforted, “She’s strong.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” John B looked up when he heard JJ yelling. Walking through the waiting room doors was Rafe and Topper.

“Please, I just wanted to make sure she was okay.” Rafe begs, “I don’t want to start anything.”

“You’re the reason she’s fighting for her life, asshole!” Pope yelled.

Kie stands and goes to the boys as people begin looking around, “We’re all going to get kicked out if you idiots don’t shut the hell up!” She whisper yells, “JJ, Pope, go sit back down.” JJ and Pope didn’t move, “I said go.” She gave them a little shove and they finally obliged and sat back down.

“Please, Kie, is she okay?”

“We don’t know. We haven’t heard anything.” She points to chairs on the opposite side of the boys, “Sit down.”

Topper and Rafe follow Kie’s orders and sit down.

“If she dies, it’s on you Cameron.” John B snaps, looking up at Rafe before standing and storming off.

~

After two more long hours, a surgeon walked out into the waiting room, clip board in hand. “Is the family of y/n y/l/n here?”

All the pogues, Topper and Rafe stood from their seats. 

“You all are family?” The surgeon asked.

John B nodded, “We’re her family.”

“Our mother loves to adopt kids.” JJ comments when he sees the surgeon looking at all of them. The surgeon continues to look at them weird before shaking his head, “Alright.”

“How is she? Is she and the baby okay?” John B asks.

The surgeon motions back to the chairs and sits down. They follow and all sit back down, John B at the edge of his seat.

“It was touch and go for a while, but she is one lucky girl. She lost a good bit of blood and she coded in the ambulance. However, we finally managed to get a pulse when she arrived. Then, we took her straight into surgery. The bullet was a through and through, hitting her spleen. We did have to remove the spleen, there was no way around that. However, she’s going to have to be very careful the rest of her life because now she’s going to be prone to infections. But other than that, she should make a full recovery.” The surgeon explains.

“is..what about the baby?” Kie asks, “Was the baby okay?”

The surgeon nods, “fetus is fine.”

“Can we see her?” JJ asks.

The surgeon nods, “Only 2 at a time though. I’ll have a nurse show you to her.” The surgeon stands.

“Thank you, doctor.” Rafe holds his hand out to the surgeon who nods, returning the hand shake and walking off.

The pogues and two kooks share glances, Pope asks, “So, who’s the first two?”

Rafe knows he won’t be one of the first two, so he doesn’t even try it, “John B, you and Kiara go back first.”

~

Rafe waits patiently in the waiting room with Topper and the other pogues. You were going to be okay.. and so was his baby. His mind’s running a million miles a minute. It had been confirmed, you were pregnant with his baby. He’d overheard some girls at the Boneyard talking about it and that’s when he stormed off to you. Was that what you wanted to talk about when you stopped by his house that day? He’d been such an ass to you. The drugs had taken control of him and he just let it, which caused him to lose the best thing that happened to him. He wondered how you’d ever forgive him after this.

~

John B was the first one you saw when you woke up. His hand was holding yours and he was smiling through his tears, “Hi..”

You smiled weakly, “Hey.”

He gently pushed hair off your forehead, “I thought I had lost you.”

“What even happened?” wincing you laid your head back on the pillow, “This shit hurts.” John B looks at Kie who nods, “I’ll go get the nurse,” she stands from her chair and exits the room.

“Well, you got shot.” He chuckled softly, rubbing his thumb along the back of your hand, “You saved my life and managed to get shot while you and Rafe fought over the gun..”

“Oh.”

He nods, “Yeah.”

“The baby?”

“Perfectly fine.” He smiles and places a kiss on your hand, “They had to remove your spleen, but the doctor said you’ll make a full recovery.”

You weakly bring your hand up to his cheek, wiping a tear, “Don’t cry. You’re going to make me cry”

“I’m sorry, I thought I was going to lose you.” He uses his hand to wipe the other cheek, “I couldn’t lose you.”

~

It was JJ and Pope who came in to see you next. They stayed for a little while before you had to kick them out because JJ kept making you laugh, and it hurt. The next person that walked through your door was Rafe, carrying a bouquet of flowers.

“Can I come in?” He asked from the door.

You nodded and sat up a little, “Yeah.”

He comes in and sets the flowers on the bedside table, then stands at the end of your bed. He looks like a mess. His hair was messy; his face red and splotchy. His hands were shaking as he gripped the edge of the bed. He hadn’t had his drug fix since before you were shot and he could feel himself drifting into withdrawals.  

“Y/n I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” He whispers, “All those things I said that night, I didn’t mean them. It was the drugs. I was stupid enough to try them.”

“Why did you do it, Rafe? The drugs? You always told me that you hated them..”

He nods, “I know and I did but I got in a fight with my dad. About you. Someone saw us on the mainland together and he snapped on me. Then I went to a party with Topper and it was just there. And I thought one time wouldn’t hurt. But then I got hooked.”

“Why didn’t you call me? I could have helped you.”

He shakes his head, “I don’t know, I was stupid. After my dad said all those things, I thought it would be best to push you away. I didn’t deserve you and you didn’t deserve to be with a joke like myself. Then yesterday I overheard someone say you were pregnant and I snapped. I was high when I came to talk with you at the Boneyard.”

“Yeah I know. You had the same look in your eyes that night at your house.” You looked down at your hands, “Rafe, you scared me that night. I mean you were a completely different person. You weren’t the man I fell in love with.”

He rounds the bed to come to your side, taking a seat in the chair, “I know.. but I’m going to stop. For you and for the baby.” He takes your hand in his, “Then we can be together and be a family.”

You slowly pull your hand from his and set it back on your lap, “Rafe, I don’t know if we can be a family.” You whisper, “I’m a pogue and you’re a kook. Always will be. Your family will never accept me or this baby.”

“Screw my family. I love you and that’s all that matters. I don’t need my family’s acceptance.” His eyes are filling with tears, which match with yours.

“Rafe, I don’t know if I love you anymore. After everything that has happened, you showed your true colors.”

“But it was the drugs, y/n. I’m going to stop, I’m going to get help for you and for the baby. That wasn’t me.” His bottom lip trembles, “Please, I need you.”

~

It seemed like you had a big decision to make. How would you choose between the two?

John B had been your best friends for years. He’d been there for you when a stupid boy broke your heart. He’d taken care of you anytime you had one too many one night at a party, He opened his home to you whenever you needed a place to stay. He was available any time of the day, ready to talk if you needed it. If you called him crying about a bad date with a guy, he’d “I’ll be right there.” And then he’d show up at your house, your favorite candy in his hand and would hold you for hours or listen to you talk. He talked about you all the time to Pope and JJ, but he never let on who it was. They never knew who he was in love with until that night you were shot that you were his mystery girl. You were his everything and he was your person.

But Rafe Cameron. He had been just another guy you fell into bed with. He was the asshole everyone warned you about. However, that’s not what you saw in him, you saw someone different. He would open doors for you. He held your hand whenever he could and would give you a kiss whenever the moment allowed. It was like he couldn’t get enough of you. He carried you on these dates every Saturday, never missing a beat. He treated you like a princess. He made you laugh, more than anyone ever had. He was a softy around you, not the hard ass everyone else saw. He made you feel beautiful. He didn’t make you feel you were different than him. He called you every night before he went to bed to tell you about his day and he’d listen to your rants to the late hour of the night. You didn’t know this, but even around his kook friends, he defended your honor. He never let them talk bad about you. Rafe Cameron was your first real love.

How could you choose between your first real love or your best friend?

~

It had been 2 weeks since you had been shot. You had decided it would be best to recover at your own home instead of at John B’s. You needed time to think about your decision and being at your home could give you that. Both boys came by your house every day to check on you.

John B showed up one morning a basket in his hands. It was filled with your favorite candy, salty snacks, bubble bath and your favorite scented candles.

“What is all this?” You ask, smiling. You sit up in your bed and pause the show you’d been watching.

He gives a small shrug and walks over, “A little care basket from me and the pogues.” He gently sets it in front of you, “Kie helped me pick out the bubble bath and candles.”

“John B you didn’t have to do all this.”

He takes a seat on the edge of the bed in front of you, “Well, you did kind of take a bullet for me. I’m pretty sure a basket wouldn’t make up for that, but it’s a start.” He chuckles.

“Well, thank you. I really appreciate it.”

He nods, “anything for you.”

A quiet silence fell upon the two of you and he cleared his throat, standing, “Well, I guess I’ll go and let you rest.”

You grab his hand as he stands, “No, stay? Please?”

“You sure?”

You nod and pull the covers back beside you. He then slips off his shoes before climbing in bed next to you. As he gets comfortable you slip under his arm and lay your head on his chest, getting comfortable yourself. This wasn’t anything new for the two of you, however, after the spoken feelings, there was a difference.

~

Your recent cravings ended up being cheez its and pickles and you were currently munching on some, Rafe sitting next to you in the bed. The two of you had just put in a movie.

Rafe scrunched his nose up as he watched you eat the cheez its and pickles, alternating between the two with each bite.

“What?” You ask, popping a cheez it in your mouth.

“I just don’t see how that tastes good.” He chuckles.

“It’s like the best thing every.”

He shakes his head at you, “You’re adorable..”

You blush, “You won’t think I’m adorable when my hormones decide to change gears on you and I’m pissed because you put your shoe in the wrong place in the closet.”

He gives a small shrug, “I’m prepared for it.”

“We’ll see about that, Mr. Cameron.” The two of you went back to watching the movie, but not a few minutes later, Rafe spoke up.

“I talked with my family last night and told them about you and the baby.”

You quickly paused the movie, “Okay… how did that go?”

“Well, they were pissed at me at first, but after they calmed down, my dad and Rose agreed you could move to Tanneyhill, live in the apartment over the garage.” He smiles, taking your hand in his, “We can move into the apartment… and be a family.”

“Rafe, that all sounds amazing..”

“I can sense a but in that.” He frowns.

“But I don’t know about us yet.”

“I’ve come over every day to check on you… I’ve brought you flowers and whatever you were craving.” He looks at you in disbelief, “I’ve sat here for hours and watched movies with you. And I’ve been clean since the night you got shot.”

“I know and you’ve been so amazing,” You take your hands in his, “and I’m so proud of you, but first of all, I’ve never formally met your family and they’re just offering to house me? For how long, until the baby comes and then we’re kicked to the curb? It just sounds too good to be true. Plus, you broke my heart that night, Rafe. You were an asshole and you said some hurtful things.”

“You don’t know about us because of John B, isn’t it? You’re in love with John B?” He quickly got off the bed, “I can’t believe this.”

You winced as you sat up on the edge of the bed, “Rafe I never said I was in love with John B! John B has nothing to do with this.”

“I can give you so much more than him, y/n. I have money, I can provide for us. John B can’t even keep himself afloat! He barely scraps by! And that’s MY baby you’re carrying.”

“Yeah but I don’t want money, Rafe! I want love and support, money or not. If you really knew me, you’d know that! Plus, it doesn’t matter who’s baby it is. It is who’s there for me and the baby that matters. Just because I’m carrying your baby doesn’t mean I have to be with you.”

“I can give you the world, y/n. At the tip of a hat, we can have anything we’re going to need. You and the baby will have anything you need.” He crouches in front of you, “You wouldn’t have to work, you can stay home with the baby. We would never have to worry.”

“Rafe, you aren’t listening to me.. I don’t want money. I don’t care if you have money coming out of your ass, I don’t want it! I want you to show me this is what YOU want. That you won’t leave me high and dry when things get bad or you decide you don’t want to be held back because you have me and a baby to think about. I have a future to think about. A future that will also have an effect on the child I’m carrying.”

He stands and runs his hands through his hair, “Okay. Okay…” He looks at you, “I will show you that I’m ready for this. That I’m ready for the responsibility of taking care of you and our baby.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch him take one knee in front of you, his hands taking a hold of yours, “Marry me.”

*******************************************************************************************

Part 4

A/N: AHHHHH  Our very own Rafe Cameron has dropped to one knee and asked her to marry him. What will she do?? Who will she pick?? 

Please leave a comment or message me who you think she should pick!! I’m seriously stuck on which boy to choose so I may let you guys decide. 

Obx taglist:  @emmalvei-blog , @tregua-oca , @weirdbiwitch , @losers-club6 , @treestarrrrrrrr , @omgwhattheeven , @normatural , @lreincarnationl , @laurenron , @junkiemuppettxx , @beth-winchester21 , @divcrdown , @timotaychalabae , @moose-squirrel-asstiel , @tangledinsparkles , @prejudic3 , @fratboystark​ , @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch​ , @turtlee-says-rawr​

Won’t let me tag: @lanarichards5 

[iampikachuhearmeroar]

sometime in this last week, or this week coming, my blog has turned/turns 10. god. a decade old. a whole ass chunk of my life i’ve spent on this hellsite. when i began on here, i was a kid. a lost, lonely, depressed and anxious 15/16 year old kid. a kid scared of her future. a kid confused about her future. what to do for uni. to change schools or not??? to do drama/acting at uni or english/philosophy or to move 8hrs away to another regional uni to “escape” her “washed up, dead end hometown” that was so typical of all the pop-punk music that she was listening to at the time.

she was a tad overdramatic, loud, “funny” (as described by her school friends) and terribly forgetful in regards to homework and school assignments. she was angry at the world, most especially the catholic school she was fucking sick and tired of attending. but she was convinced that since she was the so-called “funny girl”, that she simply couldn’t be depressed or anxious. she believed herself unloveable because she didn’t look like a weird mixture of hayley williams and emo-pop queen lights. but now, i no longer believe that i have to look like the women that i looked up to in the ~emo scene~. fuck beauty standards. i am loveable.

in the years since joining tumblr, i’ve managed to get through business college, my undergrad degree and, well, failed out of postgrad due to obvious burnout and health issues amongst other things. although i’ve lost many friends irl and many followers/mutuals online on here. for those who’ve stuck around to see me get through all of this, thank you. to all the friends/casual mutuals that have since deactivated or only followed me for a short time then unfollowed; thank you.

like obviously i was never/have never been a massive popular blog on here, like thebootydiaries or vampireapologist (who has since deactivated a couple of months ago) with tens of thousands of followers. my follower count is still close to the 8,000 range at 7,892. obviously that’s still a lot of people (and of course, porn bots lmao and many, many non-active blogs), enough like one super old post from like 2012 tumblr pointed out, enough for a small to medium sized city or town, or something like that. i don’t know how many people i’ve really reached. i really don’t know how i actually amassed this small army of people.

i am aware though, that on other platforms like snapchat (lmao does anyone even use it anymore in 2021???)/instagram/youtube/tiktok etc, i’d PROBABLY be considered as some type of ~micro influencer (🤮🤮)~. hell, i actually had a bot slide into my notes about being one on here on this hellsite back in 2019. i don’t know if i’ve ever actually ~influenced~ anyone on here with my shitposts (when i started making some) or my personal posts. i don’t know my reach. even though, now, i do occasionally get featured on buzzfeed listicles (although pay me buzzfeed along with the OPs of those original embedded posts), i still don’t know how many people i’ve reached… and even with my very occasional checks of google analytics lmao. on top of this, grappling with the loss of followers at times is much, much easier than it was when i began on here and the first few years following that. i know that my follower count doesn’t determine my worth and stuff.

but over these 10 years, i have grown. i turn 26 this year. back in 2011, 15/16yo me never thought she’d be here. she was partially down the suicidal thoughts hole, with things about ~picturing her funeral and wondering who’d bother to turn up. if only she could pretend to be dead for a day to see who’d give a fuck~ and 16-18yo me was defs down it with her HSC hellscape thoughts in 2012/2013. that 3rd floor tafe/tech women’s bathroom window drop and the thought of scarring her class for life (and that cool dude from catholic school that she crushed on who ended up at tafe with her) with jumping out of it onto the concrete below. instead, she just posted on fb about ~being a failure~ etc which ultimately did lose her a bunch of facebook friends lmao. it was practically the same thing. her mental breakdown after the end of her hsc, where she let her earrings go green and get infected in her ears because “fuck self care, bc what the fuck is it??? i’ll never get better! let me fucking wallow in my self loathing bc it’s the only thing that i’m fucking good at!!!” so i no longer have my ears pierced. oh! it was just all too fucking much!!

i am happier today. i no longer have those semi-suicidal thoughts. hell, i almost died in 2020 from a fucking bowel aneurysm, after my stomach tumour excision surgery. that forced me to put things into perspective. i appreciate the little things . i appreciate the very few friends that i actually have. yes. i’m still depressed and anxious. some days are still shitty and hard. but nowhere as hard and shitty as they were back when i began on here 10 years ago.

how the fuck last 10 years have gone past, with my ass on here; clearing out my blog and caring more about doing that than my uni work (lmao whoops); having made some lifelong friends both internationally (from the US) and long distance domestically in australia, it’s been a long ride; i honestly have no fucking idea. obviously over these past 10 years, i’ve debated with myself over and over and over again whether i should delete/deactivate this account or not. would it make me healthier??? more than likely. but then when i have meltdowns or just inner ramblings i have to get out somewhere, where else to post??? on fb?? obvs not. it’s “attention seeking” or the like on there. no one will read them. no one will resonate. but on here??? even if i got/get one “like” in the notes or one “yo i feel this” response in the tags or replies, it feels like i’ve reached someone??? okay yeah. i know this place IS NOT therapy and i’m not using my followers as amateur (or probs even actual professional) armchair psychologists…. which is a thing i think people need to stop doing internet-wide: but that’s a whole other post that i reblogged a few days ago lmao. i really need to get another therapist, actually lmao.

but it’s the community i’ve found hard to leave. i have what feel like friends, when i’ve never been employed (still as of yet); and when all of my irl friends/acquaintances are working and doing the whole ~adulting~ and ~grown up life~ thing right. it’s also the frenzied rabidness of spite with hating staff’s godawful ideas. the memes. oh the memes. and also the RaWrInG 20s XD emo scene reemergence on here that’s kept me here. the messy petty drama from time to time of big blogs fighting it out.

this place really is bizarre and fun sometimes. and also the fact that i can still hide behind the ridiculous “roaring pikachu” URL that i made all those years ago. i am anonymous. it’s freeing. but on fb it’s all like “WHY WONT YOU ADD A BANNER IMAGE AND TELL US 20 FUN FACTS ABOUT YOU!!!!!???? LET PEOPLE WHO HAVENT SPOKEN TO YOU IN 10 YEARS KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU BECAUSE WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE!!!” and the same goes for Corporate Hellscape Facebook™️ (linkedin) but in the professional sense instead. y’all know fuck all about me really. besides my posts. and i love that and live for that. okay yeah. y’all know more about my mental health than my fb feed obvs… which is probably a terribly unfortunate thing. but still.

over the last 10 years then, my superiority complex for being ~so original and intelligent~ or whatever the fuck i had in high school, has all but ebbed away. i’m not that smart just because i went to uni. hell, i literally did NONE of my in-class work and none of my philosophy readings in uni….. so i have fuck all idea of how i got through undergrad like that lmao. i’m not original when so many people can articulate the same thoughts that i have, but like, sometimes better, on a post (even though sometimes/most of the time the Tumblr User Hot Takes Tuesday™️ takes on here are fucking awful lmao). but still. originality is not something i really have anymore. or really had in the first place lmao.

so will i deactivate after these 10 years, like i’ve been saying for so, so long??? i honestly have no idea. but just know. thanks guise. have a nice gpoy selfie day XD. grab your wands. your tardises. grab your war paint. grab your whatever the fuck other fandom specific stuff that was one that hella cringe post from 2011 til 2015 random tumblr. that relic is as old as time itself. just as this mysterious roaring pikachu is for someone whose too loyal to leave this W E B B E D H E L L S I T E that’s just as much of a train wreck as she is. lmao.

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

Sweet Pandemonium - Gally (The Maze Runner) Part 8 of 16

Ugh...not proof read but yolo✌🏻

~~~~~~~~~~

You felt everything blur together as the days passed. Oh, weeks. Or was it months? Hell, years could’ve passed and you wouldn’t have been able to tell the goddamn difference.

You felt numb to most things. You were on autopilot, nothing made you happy. You felt like you could never smile ever again. The only thing making you feel was if the friends you had left were in danger, and that was almost all the time.

You didn’t have a chance to feel something other than panic.

Those were your only feelings most days, panic and numbness.

Mysterious people taking you to some foreign facility and still, you felt nothing and panic all at once. You weren’t even concerned about your feelings, you just wanted your friends safe. Not even the rich display of various foods made you feel happy. Even when a food fight broke out and everyone else was laughing, foolishly feeling like the torture was finally over.

You felt you didn’t have the right to enjoy anything, not even letting yourself relax under the shower head that ran actual hot water.

You weren’t really that surprised when Thomas discovered the horrifying secrets of the facility, that they were really W.C.K.D. Every inkling that Thomas felt was usually right. But you still followed him and Teresa, the only people that you felt truly connected to, out into the Scorch. 

Miles and miles of sand and destroyed buildings.

You remember running, so much more than when you were in the Maze. The mall. The Cranks. The Flare. Everything felt fuzzy. Feeling so tired after realizing that W.C.K.D. would never stop searching for you and your friends. Winston getting infected...you didn’t shed a tear. You physically couldn’t, you didn’t have any more tears left to shed.

It’s like a part of your soul died with...

No.

...no.

You couldn’t think of it...

The thought would sent you into a crazy frenzy of tears...you couldn’t think of him. Not when your friends depended on you.

On the outside, you seemed fine. Not like a girl who just lost a person she cared about. You played the role well, you knew that. Despite never smiling or showing any other emotion then panic and concern, it was like nothing happened. Your friends were too wrapped up in everything to notice how you were. Not their fault, of course, you knew that too. 

You didn’t really want anyone to worry about you, but Teresa did. She noticed, she cared. Even going out of her way to try and help you before you were chased by the Cranks in that mall. You told her just enough about your mental state without getting too specific, but she knew how bad it was and that there was nothing she could do to help you. It was appreciated though. She made sure to keep an eye on you when all your other friends thought you were fine, and almost grateful that you weren’t a mess, it motivated them in a way.

But how wrong they were. Everyday, on the verge of a breakdown whenever your mind would unconsciously drift back to that dreadful day. Your friends didn’t see you shed one tear after that day. Most of them just thought you got it all out that day. You wished that were the case... 

Walking miles through the desert. Running through a lightening storm, and getting super freaked out when Minho actually survived getting struck with the volts of electricity. 

Immediately not trusting Brenda and Jorge after they strung you upside down after finding out you all came from a W.C.K.D. facility. Then eventually coming around to them after they helped you escape from another attack. Being saved by the Right Arm, enemies of W.C.K.D., which meant they were allies to you, but you still didn’t allow yourself to feel safe. Everything was suspicious to you. But you were thankful that the doctor Mary was so willing to treat Brenda.

Seeing your friends sitting together, smiling and enjoying being in each other’s company was enough for you, you were happy for them, even if you weren’t happy yourself. Although, one friend was missing.

You looked around to see Teresa on a small cliff, overlooking the area. You made your way up the rocky hill until you found her. “Hey...” You voiced.

Teresa turned around a little startled, but soon weakly smiled when she saw you. “Hey.”

“What’re you doing up here?” You asked while sticking your cold hands into your new jacket pockets, coming to stand right beside her at the edge of the cliff.

You heard Teresa take a deep breath, taking the time to admire the sunset before speaking. “You know how I said I started to remember things...” You nodded, confused. “I remember everything now...I remember my mother...and you.”

You furrowed your brows. “Me? What-”

“In the Glade, after Thomas stung himself...he remembered more than what he said that we worked for them...he remembered you.”

You had no idea why you were tearing up, yet you were. “What did he remember?”

Teresa was tearing up as well, but she had a small smile growing on her face. “We’re family, Y/N...”

Your mouth with slightly agape, but you slowly started to shook your head as you backed away. “That’s not...”

“I didn’t believe it at first either. I truly didn’t until I remembered it myself...we’re cousins, Y/N. You’re all I have left, and I need you to believe me.”

Your head felt like it was running a million miles a second. “This is too much to take in, Teresa...”

“I understand, I just wanted you to know that. I don’t want you to hate me...”

“Hate you? Why would I hate you?”

Teresa looked away from you quickly. “Nothing...”

“Teresa-”

“Please, just go. I’m sure they’re wondering were you are.”

You didn’t want to leave, but if she needed her space, then you’d give it to her. Plus, you felt like you needed to go and take the time to think about what she told you. You didn’t remember things like her and Thomas...could she actually be right? Could you two actually be related?

“Y/N?” Thomas asked, causing you to jump a bit. “Is Teresa okay?”

“She just told me...she told me-” You stuttered, causing him to go wide eyed. “She said you remembered me, Teresa and I...is it true? I’m a Teresa’s family?”

Thomas walked up to you, placing a gentle hand upon your shoulder. “Yeah.” He whispered. “You are...” He sighed. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you sooner, or convinced her to tell you.”

You suddenly smiled, genuinely, for the first time since the Maze. “I have family...”

Thomas smiled at you, ruffling your hair. “Yeah. I need to go check on her, okay? Why don’t you go back down? The boys were wondering where you went.”

You nodded. “She seemed upset about something, Thomas. Just letting you know.” He nodded, appreciative, and walked up the hill as you walked down. 

You had a cousin, a cousin who was alive, and it was someone you already cared about. You didn’t think you’d actually have family after leaving the Maze, you thought they must’ve been dead. But you had one family member left, Teresa.

You smiled...you had family. Life was actually looking up now. Or so you thought.

You finally understood what Teresa meant by her saying that she didn’t want you to hate her. She actually betrayed the Right Arm, betrayed her friends, betrayed Thomas, betrayed you. She told W.C.K.D. were the group was located. The bombed the camp, killed Mary, captured so many kids, captured Minho...

You tried to save him, you really did. But all that did was get you captured in the process.

Being hauled into the large aircraft with Minho, you saw Teresa give you a sad look. But all you did was glare at her. Your only family betrayed you, only after minutes of telling you that you two were related. Some family...

You looked out to see Thomas, but the door of the ship soon closed.

You were trapped once again...

~~~~~~~~~~

oof, that was a bit rushed. even I hate it lmao sorry. next chapter will be better🙄

[royalpain16]

Princess Charlene’s Family Opens Up About Her Lengthy Illness

ERIN VANDERHOOF

DECEMBER 8, 2021 1:12 PM

When Princess Charlene returned to Monaco in November after illness kept her in South Africa for at least six months, it seemed like the absence that sparked gossip and an international mystery was finally over. But within a few days, Charlene canceled her planned appearance at Monaco’s National Day ceremonies and her husband, Prince Albert, told a local newspaper that she left the principality to seek further medical care, sparking another round of rumors about the state of their marriage. The speculation only intensified when the couple’s 9 6-year-old twins Prince Jacques and Princess Gabriella were photographed holding signs that said “We Love You, Mommy” and “We Miss You, Mommy.”

For the first time, her father Mike Wittstock is opening up about his daughter’s lengthy convalescence, telling South Africa’s YOU magazine that he believes his daughter will soon be on the mend. “My daughter used to swim 20km a day,” he said. “Based on the way she used to train, I know she’s tough and will get through this and come out much stronger.”

Wittstock said that he and his wife, Lynnette Wittstock, didn’t actually get to see their daughter during her stay, due to COVID concerns. “[There are] our ages—we have to be very careful,” he said. “I also didn’t want to possibly infect her because she’d been through so many medical procedures and was vulnerable.” So they resorted to other means to stay in touch. “We spoke regularly on the phone and I speak with the twins,” he said. “We have a great relationship.”

Chantell Wittstock, Charlene’s sister-in-law and the spokesperson for her foundation, also spoke to the magazine to deny a recent Page Six report that Charlene “almost died” earlier this year. “This is simply not true,” she said. “She had difficulty eating after all the procedures and so yes, she lost a lot of weight, but it was because she could only have soft foods and liquids.”

Chantell also denied that Charlene’s extended stay in the country she once represented in the Olympics had anything to do with Albert. “Albert loves and supports Charlene 100%,” she said. “Their marriage is strong and they fully support each other.” She responded to rumors that Charlene had been living alone in an apartment above a chocolate factory while in Monaco. “Charlene will not be living in the apartment—which is the family’s apartment by the way—on her own. She and Albert have properties all over and stay in different ones depending on where they are needed. I can definitely tell you that if she’s there it will be with Albert and their children.”

Chantell also elaborated on the mental effects of Charlene’s illness. “She had a lot of procedures in a short space of time,” she said. “She was under a lot of stress at the time. It was extremely traumatic for her to go through all the pain, procedures, and scrutiny from the media while being away from her family and children. She missed them terribly and it wasn’t easy for her.”

According to Chantell, Charlene did stay busy during her stay in South Africa by getting involved in charity projects, such as starting a food program for children and making blankets for a nearby school on her sewing machine. “Helping others is what drives her,” she said. “It’s what she’s all about.”

A family friend who wished to remain anonymous told the magazine that Albert and Charlene’s marriage is strong. “Their marriage has endured many storms and attacks over the years and will no doubt continue to,” the source said. “I have known Charlene for many years. She’s determined to get stronger and recover so she can return to her husband, children, and duties.

-Vanity Fair

[floralseokjin]

;club zombie (m)

In a world overrun by zombies, you’d think everyone was a goner, but the reality is much different. A steady diet of brains lets a zombie exist as a fully functioning human. Just ignore the part where they’re technically dead… In fact, these days, the amount of zombies outweigh the humans. A lot jump at the chance to be turned. Beg for it. 

Kim Seokjin controls the underground of Seoul. No one would dare cross him. That’s how most of the world goes these days. You wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of a zombie now, would you? However, you don’t quite see it like that. Spending most nights dancing at the club he owns, you catch his eye. It’s never the wrong side if you’re underneath him, right…?

pairing; kim seokjin x reader  genre/warnings; zombie! seokjin, mafia boss! seokjin, smut, oc has a ring kink (relatable), gets angsty two thirds in, some type of romance bc of course it gets fluffy towards the end lol words; 17,113

listen to; friction // 555 

⇢ Part of the Deadly Intentions collaboration. With @btssmutgalore​, @kpopfanfictrash, @underthejoon, @lamourche , @prolixitae and @taetaetrashhh, who organised the whole thing and created the moodboard! 

Please forget everything you’ve ever known about most zombie portrayals in books, movies and tv series, because this is totally different. The idea and inspiration came from the television adaptation of iZombie. If you’ve watched it then you have a better vision of how the zombies in my story are portrayed. If not, then please just give it a go lol. It may sound wacky, but it’s Halloween! So here’s to the 🧟🍆!! I hope you enjoy! 

You could hear Seokjin’s footsteps, boots clanking up the wooden stairs, and your stomach lurched in anticipation. He’d made you wait two frustratingly long hours, which was hell considering you hadn’t had time to be alone together all week. You were beyond excited for him to finally get his hands on you. Your body had long got used to craving him down to the very bone. 

He came into sight, the image of you draped along his bed rooting him in his tracks. Your robe barely covered your modesty. Nipples visibly hard against the silk. Sometimes there was no need for underwear. Not when it got torn off most of the time. He needn’t waste his money anymore. You let a slow smirk stretch across your face. “How do you want me tonight, Sir?” 

No need to greet him with a hello neither. What was the point? He’d told you to be in his home ready for him when he got back. Bedroom. He’d made that very specific. There was no need for pleasantries. Not when you knew greater ways to please him.

Him. 

Kim Seokjin. 

How did you get here again? So easily. So willingly. Like you’d wanted such a thing from the moment you’d laid your eyes on him. You had. Seokjin wasn’t your husband, nor boyfriend. He wasn’t even a casual hook up. In some ways he was more than any of the above. In others, he was less. It was an arrangement. The most simplest kind. Sex. With the city’s most dangerous man. 

No one in Seoul would dare cross him. Hell, this whole country. Maybe it ran deeper than even that. No, what were you saying? It definitely did. You just didn’t want to know. You didn’t want to know the details. You didn’t even want to think about what they could be. To you, the man you shared yourself so openly with could never be what they all described him as. Not when he’d shared so much with you too. It was puzzling to think people actually feared him. He had never frightened you. In fact, you’d only ever known him as gentle. Even when he had his icy cold hands wrapped around your throat, fucking into you so hard his bed, amongst other things, were fit to break. 

Yeah. This wasn’t the turn you thought your life would take. But then again, this world wasn’t exactly the same place it had been four years ago. The human race had to grow a thicker skin. Most changed completely. See, Seokjin wasn’t just your average crime lord. He was a rotter. So was over half the population. 

Dead and rotten on the inside. Cold and smooth on the outside. The correct scientific term was Undead, but in simpler, more familiar terms, they were zombies. Not your average text fiction kind though. No flesh rots. No foul smell. No incoherent noises, that sent a bolt of terror and dread through your body. No, the undead were able to live as fully functioning humans for the most part. A reality that took a little while to make sense of, but as it did, the world everyone had known began to change. Drastically.  

Unsure how it all started, although known to have been caused by some crazy scientist type, the disease, as it was called—now more of a lifestyle—had swept through most of America before their government and medicals could get to grips with it. It was as it was known in fiction. A zombie apocalypse. The whole world went into lockdown, flown into madness. Panic and strife were universal. The infected were destroyed and the potentially infected were quarantined. It was there they began to understand the infection. 

The virus still burning through the veins of the innocent would be extremely difficult to handle. The were, by lack of knowledge back then, your “cannon” zombie. Unable to speak, unable to think, and their eyes sunken, black and lifeless. If given the chance, and some had been, they would tear at the flesh of the uninfected, feast on their brains. However, kept under a close eye, locked and controlled in a box room where they couldn’t see out but an array of people could see in, medicals soon discovered there were ways to quell the deep, ravenous need they had inside them. Portions. That was the key. Starved or gorged of human brain just turned them frenzied. The need as a fresh, baby zombie was insatiable but with a controlled diet the world became a little more normal again. 

If you could ever call it normal. Human greed was at an all-time high. Who didn’t find it amazing that you could be a certified zombie while also retaining your human life? Who wouldn’t want to be dangerous? Feared? Who wouldn’t want to live potentially forever? The list went on, and that didn’t include countless governments’ motives. Soon the infection had spread willingly throughout the world. It caused fresh havoc. Some countries who hadn’t even wanted to get caught up in the mess, perished because they were too small or undeveloped. But most were smart, scheming. Here in the East a plan was concocted. 

Somehow they found the individual who created the virus. Whether they went willingly or were forced no one would ever know. Their identity still remained a mystery even after all these years. Together some of the countries’ top scientists helped mutate the sickness into something “better”. Injected straight into the veins, there was no longer a fear of the infected losing control. The Undead were created. Just another form of human, but with a hunger for brains. It took a total of eighteen months for the world to be okay again. 

Now that was all just a memory. Zombies were considered the norm, accepted into society long ago. A recent consensus found that just under 60% of the world’s population were undead. Humans the minority. They lived like humans, worked like humans and had families like humans. Although not in the traditional sense. The undead could still have sex. The men could still cum, by some grace of god, lucky them, but they were infertile. Women too. Reproductive system dead like the rest of them. 

Of course, just because there were a lot of humane rotters, didn’t mean there weren’t bad ones amongst the mix. Like you said, humans were greedy. Mostly for power, and being a rotter in the right place, right time gave people tonnes of that. They weren’t truly immortal though. That was well known. A shot to their rotten brain would kill them. Nothing else. That’s where the infection resided. 

To be turned there was a system. Applications, interviews, contracts…a waiting list for the injection that would alter your life forever. However, it didn’t work like that most of the time. The world wasn’t so perfect. Corrupt would be a better description. There were other, more simple, ways of turning. A bite or a scratch. Or even sexually transmitted within the first year of infection. There was nothing the government could do about it, and there were many illegal zombies rooming the country. And try all they might, no matter how many times, scientists couldn’t change the way infection took place. 

They also couldn’t change the compulsion for brains. Yes, there was no lost control in the beginning, but starved of brains for too long, devolved them into the “cannon” zombie once again. It would take months of starvation, but after the deed was done, it was impossible to be reverted back. Thus they were destroyed. As you could guess, crime levels had not lowered. They had only gotten worse due to gluttony. 

Donors now offered their brains up once dead, in a bid to keep portions up. There was complete control when it came to that, but again, that didn’t stop some rotters. Over the years, a lot more murder victims had been found missing a brain. But you digressed. It wasn’t all bad for the undead. They didn’t starve. They could still eat normal food, just oddly needed some extra spice. Their tastebuds has pretty much been destroyed after the turn, so hot sauce was their best friend. Scientists had also created “fake” brain. Think of it along the same vein as fake meat for vegetarians. A substitute. It didn’t give complete satisfaction, but it helped. In fact, they had quite an array of foods now, sold at any local convenience and grocery stores. For some reason brain sushi always made you laugh when you saw it. Surreal. Fast food stores had also caught on. Yes, Big Brain Mac was a thing now… What more did they want? As long as they had the real thing each month, life went on as normal.

They looked normal too. You’d forgotten to mention that one. Sometimes, with the help of hair dye and fake tan, they looked just like their past selves. There were a couple of giveaways though. If they weren’t high maintenance. Their eyes had changed an ice grey after the virus had taken hold, skin pale and cold, and hair turning white. Sometimes fully, but more often than not streaks or wisps of it. Oh, and their heart rate was ten beats per minute. They were dead after all. Pretty much. It  was only when they lost themselves, did they turn into something horrific. Eyes black, sunken into their skull, cheeks gaunt, close to rotting. You’d heard they could also fall into a zombie trance when experiencing intense emotions. Depending on the situation it had different levels of severe. You had never seen this though. You knew very well, that was a benefit for certain zombies. A scare factor. Intimation factor. Like you said, there were many who used their rotter status for evil and crime… 

Which put Seokjin in a very grey area. 

He controlled the underground of this city. You hated using the word mafia, naïve to it all. Something fictional to you, but that’s exactly what was going on. An organised crime syndicate. The oldest son of a wealthy and corrupt family, Seokjin was always heir to the blood soaked throne. He was extremely powerful, even more so than the city’s law enforcement. Actually, you knew for a fact he worked side by side with them a lot of time. Probably called most of the shots. He’d been human in the beginning, when he’d first become in charge, not long before the virus began spreading, but of course that had soon changed. You’d heard stories of how his turn came to be, but you took those with a grain of salt. They were hearsay in your eyes. You’d never been one for rumours and gossip. 

As it would have it, you’d only ever known him as undead. You started working at his club just over a year ago. How you got there wasn’t important, you just liked to dance, and dancing was a must at Club Zombie. Cheesy name, but it got the custom. It was almost a sort of tourist attraction. An after dark one. Humans and zombies alike. The dancers were both too. It could be a seedy place sometimes, but you didn’t mind dancing around a pole for men when their money was involved. The day was yours, the night was easy; just dancing, putting on a show. Besides, you were safe. Seokjin never let anything happen to the women that worked for him. 

This was the place you could find him at the most, although strictly professional he never brought danger here. The rumours surrounding him were probably what made the club so popular to begin with. He wasn’t stupid. A zombie mob boss, what fiction was made of. Everyone lapped it up. Some nights he sat right up front, quite literally a throne on a podium, surveying the bar and dance platforms. It helped that he was extremely good looking. Got the humans with a kink all riled up. Such soft, movie star looks when you truly studied him. Jarring in a way. A white streak running along the front of his dark hair, parted at the forehead reminded you of what he was. That and his cold, grey eyes. 

It was working at Club Zombie where he soon began to take an interest in you. It was glances your way at first. When you made your way to the dressing rooms, or more often than not, when your eyes met as you danced and twisted around the pole. You wouldn’t admit it back then, but it did send a thrill up your spine, fresh confidence washing  over you. Even more so when the glances turned to smiles. They could be better described as flirtatious smirks if you didn’t know any better. Because why would anyone like Seokjin want you? He had this whole city at his feet. You were a no one. No, you were imagining the signs. He might’ve not even been looking at you. 

But he was. Or course he was. You just couldn’t believe it. Not until one night when he’d asked you to join him for a drink. Halloween night, to be precise. Not that you cared for the holiday. It was just another day. 

You were the last one to leave the club. Usually the first, you’d misplaced your cell phone. Took you twenty minutes to find it, fallen behind one of the sofas in the dressing room when you’d flung your jacket down in a hurry not a few hours ago. You were in a hurry when you made your way across the bar, heading for the exit, hand in your purse trying to now find your car keys. You didn’t want to keep Yunho, the barman, waiting any longer. But he wasn’t the one left. 

Seokjin was stood behind the bar when you looked up at the call of your name. A peculiar sight. In all the time you’d been here you hadn’t once seen that. The fact he knew your name was even more mindboggling. You opened your mouth to apologise to him, presuming that was why he was asking for your attention, but you got no where. Not when the question he asked stunned you to silence. 

“Care to join me for night cap?” 

You weren’t one for drinking, never had been funnily enough, but you ended up agreeing. You told yourself it was because he was the boss. You couldn’t say no to him, but the racing of your heart as you sat down argued it was something different. 

He drank straight whisky, poured you a glass of rosé you didn’t request. Did he see you as that kind of drinker? Classy. Unless it wasn’t classy at all because you knew nothing about alcohol. You thought he’d stay behind the bar, lord of the house, but to your surprise he came out to meet you. You heart beat even faster when he sat on the stool next to you. You prayed hard that rotters didn’t have an acute sense of hearing. Your knowledge was failing you, but logically, going by that dumb fucking fiction, you’d have to assume they did. He knew you were nervous mess right now. How embarrassing. 

He bared his teeth and made a wincing sound as he took a swig of his drink. It was nice to know the burn still affected him, and you watched him tilt the tumbler this way and that, staring at the swirling amber liquid as he did so. Maybe he was giving you time to relax. Maybe he just wanted to sit in silence. Who knew. His rings clanked against the crystallised glass. He always wore them. Large silver bands, dark coloured jewels encased in the centre. He had beautiful hands now that you saw them up close. Wrists too. His shirt sleeves rolled up to the middle of his veiny forearms. The watch he wore was more expensive than anything you’d earn in five years. Maybe a lifetime. You were clueless. 

Momentarily distracted, it took you those five minutes to realise you’d never so much as had one conversation with him. He was mostly the untouchable boss who was more like a statue to awe over than a person to share friendlies with. There were other men who worked closely for him here, woman too. Those were who you went to if there was a problem. A drunken customer. A shift you couldn’t make. An emergency you had to leave early for. In fact, even when you had gotten this job it wasn’t by his judgement. So this made the exchange even more awkward considering you’d never said so much as two words to him. You sipped on your wine for something to do. The taste wasn’t all that bad actually. 

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?” 

You had been so used to the silence you jumped a little from your seat at the sound of his voice. He sounded curious, and you glanced his way to see him giving you his full attention now. Body angled to you; eyes so intense they made you a little unnerved. Fuck. He’d definitely heard the racing of your heart then. Mistaken it for something else. 

“Afraid? No.” You decided to be honest. Or at least as honest as you could be. He didn’t need to know you were even more unsteady now than you had been not ten minutes ago. All because of…thoughts, that had entered your mind upon noticing his long, deft fingers. Not that you knew they were skilled, but it was just a hunch. You shrugged in what you hoped was a casual manner. Voice straining to be very much the same. “My nail technician is a zombie. My running buddy at the gym. My doctor.” 

To your surprise he chuckled. Deeply amused by something. “I didn’t mean that.” Oh. Had you misunderstood? How embarrassing. “Are you afraid of me because of who I am?” 

You blinked slowly. His status. That was what he was referring to. You slowly shook your head, making sure to hold his gaze as you replied. “No.” You shocked even yourself, because you really did mean it. Maybe you were reckless. Your parents had always said such words. You were drawn to the unknown. The excitement got you giddy, but this—he—was something new. 

Your idea of living life on the edge was dancing in hardly anything, not warming to a man who discussed crime over breakfast like it was nothing. Did God knows what when he wasn’t sitting in this club. 

He nodded in almost confirmation. “Thought not. Just wanted to be sure.” He spoke with a certainty. Like he already knew this information before you did. What vibes were you giving off here? Or was he always this confident and sure when it came to assuming others’ thoughts and feelings…

“Why?” It came out slightly more accusing than you meant it to. 

It took him a moment to answer, taking a swig of his whiskey again. You thought he was going to ignore it all together. In a way he did. “Did you know that any human who fucks a rotter in the first year of their transformation gets infected too?” 

You took a moment to let that sink in. The casualness of his tone cut with the crude language took you by surprise. You swallowed. “I did.” Everyone did. It was the largest cause of illegal turning. Even a condom wouldn’t save you. 

He scoffed in amazement. “It’s amazing how biology works, even for someone dead like me.” 

When someone described themselves as dead it never ceased to blow your mind. It was hard to believe that someone as handsome as Seokjin was rotten to the core on the inside. Black and decaying. You let a wry smile play at the corners of your mouth, replying before you took another mouthful of your drink. “This world isn’t what it used to be.” 

He didn’t bother to agree, instead taking a moment of silence before he hit you with another question. “Did you also know that we don’t have any sexual urges for a while after we’ve been turned?” 

This time it took you everything to hold it together. The shock close to becoming visible on your face. You suddenly thought of every time he had glanced your way in the past few weeks. Each smile he had given you. Just like the one he was giving you now as he waited for your reply. “I heard it varies from r-zombie to zombie.” 

You stopped yourself at the R for Rotter. Yes, he had used the word not moments before, but it was always such a grey area. Mostly used as a derogatory term, by humans—usually the older generation—who couldn’t get their small, little brains around the reality of the world today, it had become increasingly popular over the past couple of years. Now, it was just accepted. Like everything else this day and age. 

“Correct.” He continued to smile. If he noticed your slip-up he didn’t care to mention it. “This may be TMI but mine’s only recently appeared again.” Something squeezed in your gut. “A few months ago. Maybe longer. I don’t know. With work and the stress I think I ignored it for longer than I should have.” 

“Oh.” That was… Yes, it was fact all sexual desire left when first turned. Most for a couple of months, maybe a little longer. You didn’t know the ins and outs, but three years seemed steep. He was a busy man, it made sense, but… Fuck. Who were you kidding? You were just distracting yourself with nonsense now. Anything to not have to acknowledge what was really going on here. But you had to. “Not to be rude Mr. Kim, but why are you telling me this?” 

No one, and you mean no one, called him by his first name. Not anyone you knew anyway. It was easy to see him as none other than Seokjin, your Seokjin, now thinking back, but a few months ago he was just your boss with the intimating aura. The one who wouldn’t dare be interested in you. That all changed that fateful night. 

His lips curled. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to be friendly or if he was greatly amused. Maybe both. “Seokjin. Call me Seokjin.” 

You swallowed. His name felt foreign on your tongue, but you needed to press on. You needed him to confirm the hunch now coiled in your chest. “Seokjin, why are you telling this?” 

A beat of silence followed. He actually glanced away from you as he went to speak. “I’m incredibly attracted to you.” You let out a shaky breath, unsure you could say anything back even if you tried. He chuckled awkwardly. Such a human reaction. You found your heart warming. “Forgive me. I’m rusty at this.” 

He sounded way out of his depth, which was incredibly amusing for someone like him. You wondered how long he had been thinking of confessing this. How long he’d been trying… He’d taken his chance tonight. 

“You’ve noticed me staring a lot?” His eyes were back on you now. You didn’t know if you were imagining it, but the harshness of the grey had begun to soften. The coldness, warming up. 

“Yes,” you murmured. Your throat felt dry. You wouldn’t have described it as staring, but to say you hadn’t noticed would be an outright lie. 

“I just can’t take my eyes off you,” he admitted with a slight sigh. “I love watching you dance because it’s the only form of interaction I have with you.” Without realising, you squeezed your legs together. Your face was flushing, you could feel the heat prickle your skin. 

“My view gets obstructed a lot of the time, or my attention is needed elsewhere but I always try...” He cleared his throat. “I always try to admire you.” 

His words bloomed against your skin, sending a warmth all over you. Call you weak, it didn’t matter. An attractive man was complimenting you. You did not question him. He was short and to the point with his words. No sugar-coating. You admired that. 

You smirked his way, confidence washing over you. In a way, you felt like you had the upper hand here. He was the one who had confessed in uncertainty. “You should get better seats for the show.” 

His eyes widened a little in shock at your brazenness. You’d surprised him, and his mouth stretched into a grin, a bewildered laugh leaving him as his browline furrowed. It was a glorious sound. “I really don’t scare you? Disgust you?” 

“Of course not.” You replied so surely it would be difficult to doubt you. Maybe you were stupid. Maybe this was all part of his masterplan, but there was a small self-destructive part of you that didn’t even care. “Would I be working here otherwise?”

“You got me there,” he silked. Gaze holding yours. 

The most deepest of desires began to come alive inside of you. Swirling around in your gut. Desires you’d held at bay because it was laughable to think you’d ever be in with a chance with someone like him. And perhaps a larger part of you was ashamed by your longings. Kim Seokjin was a bad person by definition. It didn’t matter how charming he was. How potentially misunderstood he was, or how secretly sensitive he was. Romanticised theories that should make you sick at yourself. This was wrong, a small voice whispered furiously in the back of your head, but when had that ever stopped you? 

You hesitated but went for it anyway. It was too late. You’d made your decision. “If we’re confessing things... You’re way too pretty to be as dangerous as you are.” Half a glass of wine and you were already losing yourself. 

He cocked a black, perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Pretty? That’s a new one.” He chuckled quietly before making a joke. “These genes come from my mom.” Such a normal thing to say. You wanted to believe he was just like anyone else. Or maybe you truly didn’t care… 

“Mr. K–Seokjin,” you corrected yourself quickly. The concept of being on first name terms would take a while to get used to. You took a breath and went for it, fingers reaching for his hand that held his whiskey. What did you have to lose? His lust for you was real. The ball was in your court. 

You circled patterns against the skin between his thumb and index finger. It was stone cold. A sensation you were still not too used to, or maybe it was because this touch meant so much more. Despite the ice, he was marble smooth. You looked at his face. True beauty. He was staring right back at you, holding his breath, waiting for you. Hunger roared inside your body now. You tried your best to keep it under control.

“I know it’s out of hours and I’m not really dressed for it anymore but... I could dance for you right now if you like?” 

You tilted your head to match your question. He copied, giving you a small smile, tone teasing when he spoke. Low and oddly soothing. “Private dances aren’t allowed.” 

“You’re the boss. You make the rules.” You watched him hesitate, mulling your suggestion over in his head. It was actually kind of cute. Had he not expected you to accept his advances so easily? 

He pulled his hand from the tumbler, his fingers gingerly reaching for yours and you clasped onto them. “Mm?” You prodded, watching him all the way. He gave you a tight nod, and that was all you needed to continue. 

Rising up from your seat and leaving your purse at the foot of the stool, he followed you as you guided him by the hand to a set of centre red plush sofas. They curled around a small table, in perfect view of the largest stage. Not two hours ago this place had been filled to the brim, this section worth a hell of a lot of money considering where it was placed, but now his club was empty, safe for you and him. The reminder sent a thrill up you. 

You slowly pushed him down to sit, hand on his chest before you let go and stood over him. A grin on your face. “Best seat in the house. No obstructed view.” 

He didn’t reply, but the look on his face was almost giddy. You spun on your feet, back to him as you slinked away, towards the centre pole, kicking off your shoes. You didn’t get much of a chance to dance with it, this place saved for the ones who had been here longer. So this was an added excitement. 

“This would be highly unprofessional in business hours,” he called after you. His laughter fizzling off when you began to lift your sweater over your head. “What are you doing?” 

You turned back to him, a shy smile on your face. “I can’t entertain you in this.” You threw the mustard knit to the floor. “Will it do?”

He scoffed. Eyes a little wide, pupils starting to blow out. “You could be in anything. I wouldn’t mind.”

You appreciated the sentiment, but you didn’t know if you agreed. You’d removed the showy lingerie you’d been wearing tonight in favour of something more comfortable; a black cotton bralette, and you still had your leggings on as you gripped the pole with both hands. It wasn’t your best outfit, but you hoped it sufficed. 

How odd it was to swing and grind in front of your boss. A man you hadn’t had anything to do with until tonight. Dancing to no music was strange, too. You had to imagine the beats and sounds in your head, praying you didn’t look too wooden, but somehow it began to feel increasingly intimate. Seokjin was a silent spectator, but it didn’t bring you a sense of unease. Excitement coursed through your veins, but you didn’t dare look at him while you moved. This was a reality you still couldn’t get your head around. 

You didn’t know how long you were at it for, lost to the soundless rhythm, but soon enough you needed to catch your breath. He was still sat where you placed him but his eyes were fully black now, trained on your figure. As if in a trance It took a moment for him to notice you had stopped. His legs were spread open, giving you a very great eyeful of his crotch. A couple of buttons on his dress shirt lied open that weren’t before. It gave him an almost bedraggled look. You say almost, because his hair was still perfectly parted at his forehead. You suddenly had the mental image of your fingers running through it, tugging at the ends as he fucked you into the very sofa he sat on. You blinked away the dirty thought, taking a few deep breaths. 

He also blinked, albeit slowly, outstretching one hand to beckon you. “Come here.” He croaked; voice thick with something that made you burn up. 

You smirked. “That’s against the rules.” Private dances were strictly forbidden. 

“Am I not the boss?” That was so. You laughed, and obeyed instantly, descending the metal steps to make your way to him. “You move exquisitely,” he complimented as you did so. His voice a little more human now. His eyes however, were anything but. Close now, inches apart, you saw the light grey that ringed the dilated pupils. It made him look unreal. Showed him for he really was. Undead. However, fear was the last thing on your mind. 

“Can I touch you?” 

“I thought you made the rules?” This back and fore only thickened the desire in the room, but you truly did appreciate his manners. That, and you really wanted him to touch you. You wanted to touch him too. 

Straddling him slowly, your knees pressing into the soft velvet of the sofa, his cold hands met your waist and you jumped in shock, giggling in reaction. He did nothing but hold on as you attempted to dance atop of him. You say attempted, because you were basically grinding on him by now. You wrapped your arms around his neck, loving the way his breathing was laboured. Chest rising and falling visibly. 

You felt his erection quickly begin to from under you, and it wasn’t long before he acknowledged it. In his own way, of course. “Forgive me for being inappropriate.” He apologised in advance. You held your breath in curiosity. “But have you ever fucked a rotter?” 

With a lack of oxygen you replied instantly. “No.” 

He swallowed. His dick twitched in his expensive slacks. “Are you opposed to it?” 

You replied with only truth, confidence and desire. “Not if you’re the one in question.” 

The noise that tore from his throat was nothing you’d ever heard before. A man starved, finally given the chance of relief. He flew at your mouth, movements hasty and rough. You gladly matched them. Everything was cold, something you weren’t used to at all. Not like this anyway. His tongue like ice ran along your own, both wet but drastic in temperature. It was a contrast that sent your nerves into overdrive. Sensitivity at its highest peak. You clung to his shoulders, rolling your palms over the thick flesh and muscle, as you moaned quite shamelessly into his mouth. 

His hands found your face, gripping you tight as he continued to kiss you furiously. You were close to burning up, heart pounding in your chest at your new reality. A groan from him puzzled your mind as he tore away. “Not here. Not yet,” he rasped, lips wet because of you. He tried to keep him distance but failed, falling into your mouth once again to taste you. “I won’t fuck you in a place like this. You deserve better than that.” 

You clung to him now, deflation beginning to drop to your gut. You were riled up, ready for him, he couldn’t take it away now. Not when he was solid between your spread legs. You gasped when he took your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging it carefully. Everyone knew the dangers of a zombies’ teeth. One false move and it was game over. The risk just seemed to turn you on all the more. You were sick. Sick for him. 

“But I want you so bad. I want to make you feel all the pleasure in the world,” he divulged. He sounded so passionate, so desperate, fresh waves of longing and need flooded your body. Heat pooled against his cock. “Will you let me do that right now? Just a little bit?” 

“Yes,” you practically exclaimed. Overcome and out of breath. You didn’t know what that request pertained but you would take anything for even the slightest bit of relief. 

You had a better understanding once you found yourself under his large, solid body. Spread out on the velvet like your tainted mind had imagined not fifteen minutes previous. He kissed down your neck, lapping at the skin like you could fill him up. A sensation that had your eyes closing, feeling powerless but loving it. Even more so when you felt him between your breasts. It was a wonderful fusion; to be boiling hot but feel his cool, marble touch all over your body. His hands roamed you, familiarising himself with the woman’s body. Every bump, curve and dip, your soft moans encouraging him, until he couldn’t take anymore. 

You pulsed when you felt his long fingers curl behind the waistband of your leggings. “Can I take these off?” He looked you straight in the eyes as he spoke, as if he was reading your face for any hesitation. There was none. You nodded firmly, a trembled ‘yes’ leaving your throat. 

He pulled you forward in one swift motion, propping you up against the plush backrests. He was out of breath, jaw slack and eyes still practically black as he crouched, beginning to tug down the black fabric, your legs thrown over one of his shoulders. You didn’t realise he’d strip you of your underwear too. You were very naked, very quickly. Your bra the only thing left. 

“Beautiful.” He uttered, eyes between your legs before he looked up at you. “You’re beautiful.” 

You smiled at him, something he couldn’t seem to be able to bear, because he was on your mouth again in a flash. He kissed you greedily, low moans escaping him in regular sequence. Spoiled, he made his way down your chest, finding the swell of your breasts to flirt between. It wasn’t long before the fabric was pulled down, one nipple in his mouth while he rubbed the other with the pad of his thumb. That had you moaning, your legs wrapping around his hips to keep him latched to you. Cramped on the sofa, cramped under his body, but loving it. Pleasure swirled and grew heavy in your stomach. Arousal beginning to pool between your legs. It wasn’t long before you were grinding yourself against his body uncontrollably, desperate for some relief down south. 

He pulled away when you began whining, teeth lightly grazing the flushed peak as he went. You gasped. Maybe it really was the danger that turned you wanton. Seokjin grinned your way as he sunk to his knees on the floor. He knew it too. He was already learning. You watched with bated breath as he spread your legs, giving him a very intimate view. You’d be self-conscious by now, maybe even uncomfortable, but not tonight. Not with him. 

You pulsed against his thumb as he touched you, and all you could do was watch as he carefully began to rub at your clitoris, feeling it engorge beneath his cold touch. You moaned softly, hips circling ever so slightly, enjoying the almost cruel pleasure. Your arousal spread, wet noises squelching under his skin, lewd in your ears. 

He looked up at you, eyes black, ringed silver grey. They made you shiver. So did his words. “Can I taste you?” His hair had become out of place, finally, falling in his eyes, and you reached for it, running the white and black strands through your fingers before nodding. 

He dived straight in, those plump, almost blue-red lips encompassing your clit. You gasped as he sucked, pushing into him and clutching his hair in your fist. His cool tongue laved you almost hesitantly at first, searching for what you liked and what made you moan, until he grew confidence. You forgot he was familiarising himself again after so long. Hazy with lust, his movements weren’t calculated. They were made with haste and a fervent urge; hands wrapping around the underside of your thighs to hold them and pull you closer. Letting him feast until his heart content. 

He only pulled away to catch his breath, minutes later, face from the nose down shining with a colourless substance. The same substance coated the heat between your legs and apex of your thighs. Probably stained the sofas too. You were sticky and burning up. Not even the the touch of his cool finger could control it as he ran the digit down your folds. He stopped at your entrance, tip pushing in slowly. You throbbed around nothing, desperate to be filled. He noticed of course, and he made to remove his rings. 

You stopped him. “Keep them on.” You’d already felt the cool metal of his rings against the inside of your thigh when he’d been enamoured with your centre and everything it had to offer. You wanted more. A hell of a lot more. 

He raised his brows in surprise, pausing before shrugging. “Anything for you.” You tried to suppress your moan as he pushed his index finger inside you, palm up, cold metal pressed against your swollen folds. He shifted closer, curling the digit against your velvet-like walls. He seemed to like the feeling, humming to himself, before he studied your face closely.  “When was the last time someone had you like this?” 

You cocked an eyebrow, smirking. “What? Like this specifically? In this bar, spread out naked on the VIP suite? Never.” 

He gave a low chuckle. It shot through your body. “You think you’re funny.” You tried snarking him back but he slipped a second finger inside you, straightening them as he went.  “No but,” he began, slowing thrusting them in and out. Your jaw grew slack as you watched him, the quietest of strained moans leaving you. “I just want to know how many people I have to contend with.” 

That made you laugh. But fine, if he was so curious. “It’s been a while. Nearly a year.” You’d been single since then, your last relationship ending badly, and hook up culture wasn’t what it was since the virus. You smirked his way. “So, no one at all.” 

“That’s great for me then.” He laughed heartily, almost as if he wasn’t three knuckles deeps inside you, and wasting no time getting intimate between your legs again. 

You came hard. Shaking all over when he finally relented his tongue. Covered in a sheen of sweat and out of breath. He continued the movement of his fingers at his leisure, looking up between your body. The tips of his hair were wet and clung together. It wasn’t him—the undead incapable of sweating—but your arousal, which he seemed to be unable to get enough of. In all honesty, it seemed it he was unable to get enough of you full stop. Still determined to please you. 

He shot his fingers deep, ripping a moan from your chest as your back curled. “You’re still sucking me in. What a greedy cunt you have.” Your burned at his crude words, squeezing around his fingers. “Do you consider yourself greedy?” He spoke low and calm, but you could hear the slight quiver to his voice. It made you feel powerful. You hated that word. Greed. But for him… It was different. 

“If it’s for a pleasure like that, then yes,” you laughed breathlessly. 

He tutted, curling his fingers along the ridges of your insides. Coaxing you. Enjoying the way your lower body contorted. “You flatter me. I would say I’ve reverted to novice status again after all these years.” 

You didn’t think so. Unless that was the reality of someone like Kim Seokjin between your legs. He got you coming so good, better than you had in a long time, so maybe it was both options shared. “Somethings you never forget,” you told him simply. 

He didn’t reply, instead rising up, kneeling on the edge of the sofa instead. You lifted your legs to accommodate him. His fingers got deeper and you tightened around them again. “I’m greedy too, you know?” He almost warned, his free hand gripping the back of your neck to tilt your head. Ice. He was speaking as he held his breath, moaning slightly when you did. “I want you to cum again. Please.” He always remembered his manners, even when impatient. 

You faltered. You didn’t know if you could. Yes, it still felt good to have him inside of you, but you were too exhausted to go again surely. He leant over your body, caging you with his solid one as he murmured into your ear. “I want the visual ingrained in my mind forever.” He snapped his wrist hard against you. The pleasure made your eyes roll back. 

“O-kay–!” You gasped out, nodding your head eagerly, gripping onto his shoulders.  It was a big fuck you to the exhaustion. You wanted to cum again too. 

Your body withstood his vicious pace, walls clamping down on him every time he thrusted into you. You were hot and sweaty again, held down by his large build, which only added to your delight. You imagined he was fucking you. Desperate for the real thing. 

“You trust me a lot,” he mused, your hands in his hair now. It was surprising to you that he let you touch it like this. You looked at him curiously, wondering what he could mean, and felt his movements slow. You realised just how hard you’d been holding your breath, gasping for it at the tiniest of reprieve. “One accidental scratch and that’s it, game over. You’re one of me.” He spoke in an almost disarming whisper. It did not frighten you. 

You moaned at the dragging of his fingers, before smiling lazily. “You’re not so foolish.” You’d already taken note that his fingernails were perfectly trimmed when you’d admired his hands at the bar. 

“Maybe not. But in other ways…” he drawled off, lips millimetres from yours. You wanted him to kiss you so bad. “I enjoyed being a fool between your legs. On my knees…” You moaned softly, enjoying his words, eyes still glued to his mouth. It moved away; your chest grew heavy in disappointment. 

“Would you get on your knees for me?” 

His question had you squeezing again. The smirk told you he felt it. “Right now?” You asked, maybe a little too eager. 

“No.” He laughed. “Not right now. Tonight is about you. But next time...” 

You took a shaky breath and nodded. “Gladly.” 

“Good girl,” he smiled at you. The praise went to your head, somewhere else too, and he let go of your neck, readjusting himself to begin picking up the pace again. You watched down your body, lifting your folded legs nearer your chest so you could have a better look at his hand as it pleasured you. His veiny forearm tensing with the force of his thrusts. You were so wet you glistened in the overhead lighting—so did the dark jewel on one of his rings—and you squelched noisily around his fingers, sucking him in over and over again. Greedy, you were. 

“Fuck.” Seokjin cursed under his breath, distracting you, and you found his eyes were locked between your legs too. Mesmerised. “Delectable, as ripe as a peach…” It didn’t take you much longer to cum again. You felt sorry to whoever would sit in the VIP lounge tomorrow night. 

Afterwards, once you’d both calmed down—you, dressed but still quite shaky, and he, now composed but hair still in disarray—he asked if you’d accompany him for dinner at his house next time he was free. You agreed quite instantly. You knew what it meant, and you needed it. Needed him. You also agreed when he insisted he’d arrange for a car to take you home that night. You had your own, but you’d had something to drink, regardless how small, and that just didn’t sit right with him. He’d get someone to drop off your vehicle the next morning. 

Before you left, he bid you goodnight with a kiss to the cheek and thanked you for a lovely night, emphasising just how much he was looking forward to dinner with you soon. Just the thought had you up for hours when you found yourself in bed, alone, but still warm and sated from your two orgasms. 

Seokjin’s house was stunning. A far cry from from your dingy apartment on the tenth floor of an ancient tower block. You were used to it now, but back then you had felt very out of place in such a beautiful home. He arranged for a car to pick you up, very much like the one that had dropped you off home four nights ago. A sleek black thing, with darkened windows. You didn’t know the name, a car was a car, but again, way out of your league. Four days was a short time in someone else’s perspective, but to you it had dragged by. Especially having to see him every night since while you danced in the club. Glances and knowing smirks just made it harder. You understood though, he was a busy man. He called you in the morning, apologising for the short notice, but he’d found a break in his schedule. If you agreed not to be at the club tonight, he could arrange dinner at his place. 

You hadn’t hesitated. Had been preparing all day. The longest soak in the bath you could manage without turning into udon. You even brought the wax strips out. Found the most elegant dress you owned in the back of your closet. A blood red, floor length piece. 

His phone call had felt very formal, but that was him all over, you had only just started finding out. You weren’t 100% sure, but the 0.1% didn’t matter… You were going to have sex together tonight. The thought made you giddy. It was only the shock of his house that distracted you as you stepped inside. Large and elegantly decorated, it did not look at all like you’d imagined. Not that you’d tried to. It was impossible to wonder what an undead mobster’s home would look like, but as a bachelor, it definitely wasn’t this. It almost seemed lonely to have just one person living here. You kept those thoughts to yourself though and let him lead you into the lounge, where, and you assumed this, a butler of some kind handed you a glass of champagne. This was not your world. 

He even had members of staff to cook for him. Food you knew for a fact belonged in michelin starred restaurants. His dining room was grand, the beautifully carved mahogany table able to fit six people. Perhaps this place was once his family home. It made sense. He sat at the head, while you were placed directly opposite him. The distance was a little unnerving, but he was able to converse in small talk exceptionally well. It was lighthearted and casual, and soon eased you up. 

You found it intriguing when he doused everything he ate in hot sauce, unable to stop yourself from giggling and he looked up, confusion etched in his features before he realised what had amused you so. You had no idea the need was that bad. 

“Nothing tastes good without a little kick,” he explained, putting the bottle down. “Even the brains.” 

You laughed. “You must go through hot sauce by the gallon.” 

He smiled before reaching for his glass of red wine. “Me being a rotter really doesn’t phase you, does it?” He still seemed to be unable to get over the surprise. 

You gave him a small shrug, picking up your cutlery. “It’s the world we live in now.” You sounded like a broken record. That was your explanation for everything. 

You waited for him to continue the conversation. There was a pause and then– “Thanks to your father.” 

You froze, an instant sense of dread filling you at the casual remark. You swallowed, looking across at Seokjin. “H-how did you know?” 

He raised a perfect eyebrow as he brought the glass to his mouth. You watched half the red liquid disappear. The clank as he put it down on the wood made you flinch, and your heart thudded as you waited for his reply. He gave you smile. It didn’t seem fully loaded. “Is that you undermining my power?” 

Whatever his intentions were you panicked regardless. “No, I just–” 

“Don’t worry, this isn’t some kind of trick. Some kind of revenge...” He interrupted with a quick chuckle. Relief flooded you. Not that you had thought such things explicitly, but Seokjin was the man he was… Your lust hadn’t made you forget that much. He had found out what you’d spent the last three years or so trying to hide after all… 

“I have brought you here to fuck.” Despite your alarm, something squeezed in your gut and pulsed between your legs at his frankness. “I’m just curious... You hide it well. Why?” 

Unsure what to do, you took a mouthful of food. The chewing letting you think for a moment. Did you really want to divulge your family affairs with him? He was a man of few words and considering what he was—dangerous and undead—you couldn’t be sure to trust his intentions. Maybe you’d made a mistake coming here. Letting his words and actions cajole you. 

“Good?” He asked, watching you eat. 

You looked at him and nodded. Wiping your face with the napkin placed on your lap you decided to give him some of the details. Not all. “It’s not something I want to be associated with.” 

Seokjin frowned. “You don’t agree?” 

You shook your head. That had come out wrong. “I don’t agree with my parents’ greed.” 

When the zombie virus had hit four years ago your father, a highly gifted scientist, had been one of the first to try and recreate it. To produce something better. For what, you didn’t quite understand. He had no desire to turn himself or his family. No, you guessed it was for the fame, the money…the glory… In the end, it took a number of people to create such a thing, but yes, he’d been one of them… Your mother had been so proud. Sick. That was still what you thought now. Turning the world into undead creatures who needed human brains to survive seemed utterly bizarre. Disturbing… But like you said, the glory seemed to be their fuel… 

You hadn’t spoke to either of them in two years and prior to that, conversations were few and far between. To cut them out of your life hadn’t been a sudden decision though. Your whole life you’d always felt like you didn’t belong. Born to the wrong family. Maybe that was a problem with you. An issue you didn’t want to give much thought about, but one thing was for certain, you didn’t think anything like them. You’d spend most of your life rebelling. Maybe you were still doing so… The club you worked at would see them foaming at the mouth. You, surrounded by the people your father helped create. And Seokjin… Seokjin was a man your parents would be horrified to see you with. That thought brought you great pleasure. 

“You don’t get along?” You shook you head in reply. Surprisingly it was enough for him. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.” Or maybe he already knew that… He probably knew everything about you. He’d been humouring you all this time. For some reason that didn’t scare you like it should’ve. It was quite reassuring to know that despite everything, you were the one he wanted. Maybe your self esteem was shot to pieces. Maybe you were just an idiot. 

You smiled. “Thanks.” 

He jerked his head towards the direction of your plate. “Let’s not get distracted for too long. Dinner is getting cold.” 

You ate with more small talk. He asked if you’d ever been out the country and when you’d replied yes, he insisted that you tell him all about Japan, like he’d never been there before. Maybe he hadn’t… You didn’t ask. In all honestly, you were positive he was trying his best to relax you again after his slight interrogation. It was endearing. 

Once dinner was done and his staff had taken the used dishes away, you suddenly remembered what was to come next. You began to feel a little out of your depth. The night at the club had happened out of the blue, but this was pre-planned. Nerves itched at your skin, just wondering how this would go down now, but that didn’t mean you weren’t excited. Giddy. 

“You really do look so beautiful tonight.” He praised quietly, admiring you from across the table. He had already told you that when he’d greeted you at his door, but you would never get enough. “I feel a little underdressed.” 

You scoffed. “You look perfect. As always.” He was always found in a suit, so his attire for tonight was nothing new. Apart from the velvet suit jacket he wore. It was fancy, something you could never imagine him gracing the club with, and the cream embroidered shirt underneath suited him beautifully. His hair tonight was swept above his forehead, accentuating his breath-taking bone structure. 

He closed his eyes as he smiled in silent thanks. When they opened you noticed they were getting darker, grey almost unnoticeable from where you sat. You suddenly thought about him between your legs. You squeezed them together under the table, trying to quell your dirty thoughts. You think he noticed, or maybe he was remembering back too.

“I’m surprised you can’t feel it,” he mused on cue. 

“Feel what?” You sounded slightly shaky. Out of breath. 

“My need for you is practically raging from my body,” he explained simply. 

Something heavy dropped into your gut. Confidence began to wash over you again. It was nice to feel this powerful. “You hide it well.” 

“Do I?” He laughed. “I must have more self control than I give myself credit for. I’ve been agitated ever since that night… Unable to stop imagining getting my hands on you again.” 

You let out a tremble of a breath. More images flew around the forefront of your mind. The coldness of his hands caressing your body. The ice of his tongue inside your mouth, against your skin, laving against your… You closed your eyes, unable to cope. He murmured your name softly. As if he was desperate for you to look his way again. You obeyed. “I’m so incredibly attracted to you.” 

You could hear your heart thudding against your ribcage. It almost felt strange, like it didn’t belong to you. When you chuckled, it didn’t sound like you either. Your lust for him was taking over. Time was nearing. “You already said, Seokjin.” You liked the sound of his name as it curled off your tongue. 

He chuckled back. “Am I boring you? I thought flattery would be first protocol.” 

You continued to laugh at his choice of words, shaking your head. “There’s no need. I’m here, aren’t I?” 

He held your stare. It was almost like he was staring inside of you. “That you are.” He sounded like he still couldn’t believe his luck. He rolled his shoulders. “Well. I can still say what I like. It’s all true. I’m not trying to manipulate you here.” You chose to believe him. “Although... You don’t look like someone who falls victim to such things.” You shrugged, playing it casual. Maybe he was correct. You’d long stopped giving men the power to get inside your mind. You hoped it would hold with Seokjin. 

“I’ll cut to the chase then.” He continued, realising you weren’t going to divulge anything that could confirm his assumptions. “One night won’t be enough. I want to enter a sexual relationship with you.” 

Your eyes widened. Surprise visible on your face no doubt. Call you naïve, maybe clueless, but that possibility hadn’t crossed your mind. A one off was all you’d imagined. Seokjin had thirsted after you for months now, it seemed. Until he couldn’t ignore it any longer. In your head, one night would have been enough for him. What was so special about you? It seemed ludicrous he’d want something permanent. Taken aback, all you could do was listen to him. 

“These,” he paused, “urges I have, they’ve been suppressed for far too long. I have curiosities. Maybe they’ve always been there, morphing with the passing months...years.” He shrugged, and you wondered why he had stifled himself for so long. You also wondered why you. Why were you so special?  “It wasn’t until I noticed you that these thoughts...fantasies, became unbearable.” 

You took his words like they were information at a business meeting. In fact, he was talking to you like such. It was strange. He was talking about imagining fucking you most probably, and here you were just nodding your head. You squeezed your legs under the table again. You were hot. Your excitement was building again and you were trying your best to control yourself. This wasn’t normal. You shouldn’t be here, but your desire for him seemed to have crept up and snaked its way around your throat. 

“I don’t want to overwhelm you but I need things to be in black and white.” 

“I understand.” 

“You do?” He raised both eyebrows in surprise. You felt powerful with the knowledge you kept proving him wrong. “Your pleasure is my utmost importance. All of my fantasies include you enjoying yourself. Rest assured. However,” he looked down at the table. Was he flustered? Feeling awkward? How unusual. “There are some things I want to indulge in that aren’t to everyone’s taste. I do not wish to trap or force you into anything. If you don’t agree, then that’s that. No hard feelings. This isn’t a sweet or romantic joining. I don’t know if I’m truly capable of that…”

You puzzled in your head. What an odd thing to say. You hadn’t so much as thought about this being anything about romance. You knew where you stood. You hoped he wasn’t assuming that’s what you thought. You’d given up on love and romance a long fucking time ago. “I don’t expect it to be,” you added, wanting it to be clear. 

He paused, smiled slightly and then chucked. “Then you understand I have this animalistic need to take you any which way I’m allowed.” He made sure your eyes were locked when he spoke. So he could see your reaction. It was hard tying to keep your expression neutral as you imagined just as he’d said. The corner of your mouth definitely twitched. Of course he saw. You could tell by the way he tried to suppress his smirk. 

“I can be patient if you need more time.” He continued. “I am very much insistent that it’s you—there is no one else—however, if you disagree or discover I bring you no joy, I expect one day I’ll find another.” You admired his honesty. “Also. Selfish of me I know, but if you agree then there must be no other sexual partners during our attachment. Please.”  “Seokjin...” You began, guessing he’d finished his proposition of sorts. 

“I know.” He interrupted before you could say anything. “This is a lot to take in. You’re overwhelmed.” 

“No,” you insisted. “I agree. I’m willing to give this a chance.” 

He let your words marinate before swallowing. “What I’ve said doesn’t scare you?” 

You scoffed. “No.” You’d already knew sex with him wouldn’t be conventional. You’d found that out from his very brazen attitude and mouth the night you were spread against the club’s VIP sofa. Your only mistake had been thinking it would be just once. You felt giddy knowing there would now be endless encounters. You craved him just like he craved you. It was a new sensation, something that had only been been simmering since you caught his eyes on you as you danced, but it was powerful and steadfast, and needed to be sated. Tonight. 

He nodded to himself, seemingly deciding then and there to start taking action. “We’ll take it slow. Learn from one another.” 

“That sounds good,” you agreed, unconsciously sitting up straighter, leaning in almost eagerly. 

“Tonight,” he hushed. “Tonight I just want to feel you. Pleasure you. To become accustomed with your body and what you like.” 

You let out a shaky breath. You could almost feel the impending pleasure running through your veins. You’d had a taste of it a few nights ago. “I feel very much the same. Tonight is just the beginning.” 

He exhaled through his nose, jaw tensed before he looked you straight in the eyes. Raising his hand he beckoned you. “Come.” You were beginning to see a pattern, and just like that you obeyed. His tastes were of the dominate kind. You would gladly listen. 

Rounding the corner you made your way over and stopped right in front of him. He scraped his chair back, making room between him and the table, and motioned you to slot in between. 

“When you said you’d get on your knees for me…” He reminded you. A suggestion of sorts. Maybe it was put that way to soften the order. 

Your eyes widened, looking at the door that lead into the kitchen. “Here?” 

“Don’t worry.” He smiled, taking your hands. “No one will will come in. They shall be leaving soon anyway. They won’t interrupt us.” 

You listened, finding yourself in his lap, dress crumpled around your middle, creasing to no end, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. Not when you could feel his erection pressing into you. You took initiative. Rising up to let your palm caress him. You’d been dying to get your hands on him ever since the night at the club. To feel him full and thick and long between your fist, in your mouth, in your– You reached to kiss him. He slipped his tongue inside your mouth like he’d been waiting for it, grunting when you gave his dick one quick squeeze. 

“Seokjin,” you breathed, lips sticky as you pulled away. “Forgive my manners. I never confessed my attraction towards you too the other night.” It was easy to let him do all the talking, but you wanted to let him know you were 100% into this because you wanted him too. It didn’t go one way. You weren’t just agreeing to this for the hell of it. 

He reached for your face, rubbing the apples of your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “No need to flatter me,” he smiled, dropping one thumb to the edge of your mouth. He tugged your bottom lip down slightly and met the tip of your tongue. “I guess my tongue did the persuading, mm?” 

You swiped across the cool flesh and pulled away with a grin. “Trust me, if there was no attraction that wouldn’t have happened.” 

He laughed, genuinely amused, before grabbing you by the hips, pulling you into his chest. “Enough chit chat. I thought you were supposed to be sucking my dick?” 

Just like the rest of him, his cock was cool. Something you had never experienced before. It was swollen, filled with blood, but ice cold. Impossible, yet here you were. Knelt between his spread legs, laving him against your tongue. You had the intense urge to please him as best you could. Show him what he’d been missing all this time and just worship the beautiful, pretty gift between his thighs. He seemed to be unable to get used to the hot, wet velvet of your mouth, eyes glued to you, watching every move you made with soundless gasps. His hands gripped the arms of the chair at first, knuckles purple, until he decided he couldn’t hold back any longer. Taking your hair in his fists, his rings cold against your scalp, he held on tight, finally letting himself moan when you slackened your jaw and slid him down your throat as far as you could take him. 

He liked it when you choked on his dick. He froze every time, digging his fingers into your scalp. He liked when you slicked him with your fist, thumb circling the sensitive slit that pooled drops of precum all over the place. He really had fought off all sexual urges for so long it seemed. You wondered if he’d even attempted to pleasure himself? It wasn’t something you were brave enough to ask, but you were brave enough for other things…

You wanted him to experience all the pleasure he’d been missing over the years, tongue pointing and going south, licking thin but long lines up and across his scrotum. He gasped, the noise choking in his throat as he jerked, chair legs screeching against the tiled floor. You shuffled closer on your knees, holding his cock tall in your hand so you could slowly suck one of his balls into your mouth, softly caressing the cool encasing with your tongue. You made sure to look him in the eyes as you did so, feeding of the reactions he gave you. His mouth fallen open in a soundless groan. 

You smirked as you pulled away, pleased with yourself, and began kissing up his length, swirling your tongue across the cool marble, pressing your plush lips in the flesh; getting him obscenely wet. His fingers found their way around the back of your neck, holding you firmly as you popped him back into your mouth, sucking intently on the head of his cock, your fist working the base of him, slick noises filling the air, mixed with his low, staccato moans. 

When you began getting lower, hallowing your cheeks to accommodate him, your tongue tracing patterns along the underside of his thickness, his hands flew to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair to stop you. You pulled back instantly, waiting for some kind of response from him. He was close. Dangerously close. You understood that. 

“I want –” He cut himself short, voice gruff, and cleared his throat, hips jumping when you kissed the tip of his cock. He tried again, taking one hand to caress your face. “I want to cum on your face.” Your legs squeezed together. Excitement overcoming you. “Please.” He added that as an afterthought, forgetting his manners with the urge to cum. 

You smiled, slowly taking his hand from your cheek to guide it to the base of his cock, exchanging yours with his. He gripped himself tightly, and you squeezed your palm over his fist. Giving him permission with a sordid whisper. “Be my guest.” 

You waited for it on your knees, between his spread legs and watched as he raked his beautiful hand over his equally as beautiful cock. Slowly at first, exploring the pleasure and then he sped up, jerking the top in tight, quick motions, chair legs screeching across the floor again as raised up, tightening his hold on your head to keep you in place. His breathing laboured before a strangled roar left him. 

You prepared yourself, closing your eyes as you felt the first spurt hit your nose and drip down your top lip. The second flew across your left cheek. Unlike the rest of him, this substance was searing hot, shocking you so much you gasped. The third spurt, stronger, landed in your mouth. You swallowed and savoured the taste. It wasn’t over. It just kept coming, coating your face and congealing in the air, as Seokjin furiously tried to get every last drop out. Savouring the pleasure, moaning in sweet relief until he grew weak from exertion, collapsing into his seat.

You peeled your eyes open, cum glooping from your right eyebrow and onto your eyelid and watched him with awe. All that filled the dining room was his rough breaths as he tried to get a hold of himself. He ran his clean hand through his hair, strands of white falling down, and finally took a look at you. He was silent for a long time, eyes still black, the crescents of silver sending a shiver up your spine. He leaned over, pulling some of your hair behind your ear, saving it from the mess that coated your face. He looked at you with wonder and amazement in his eyes, like he was trying to retain the image of you like this forever. 

When he spoke, his voice sounded different. Softer, warmer. Weaker… “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on…” Two of his fingers ran along your bottom lip, spreading some of his cum along the way. “Like this…” He awed. “It takes my breath away.” 

He reached behind you, his embroidered napkin coming into view. The set was probably more expensive than your outfit. He began cleaning your face up, and you let him obediently, still kneeling on the hard floor. It was all worth it though. For him. For what was to come. 

When he was done, he threw the soiled cloth to the table. There was still some cum on his fingers, where he’d rubbed your lip, and he opened your mouth, dotting your tongue with the fluid before he stuck two fingers inside, holding the muscle down before he prodded you to suck them. You did so, mimicking how you had pleasured his cock, letting your tongue trail along the expanse of his rings. He groaned, the other hand cupping your face to make you look at him. He opened his mouth, sounded beside himself. “The things I want to do to you...” 

You got no sleep that night. Fucking one another until the sun began to shine through his drapes, and then some more, letting him enjoy getting familiar with the sensation again, but also feeling a pleasure like no other yourself. No man you’d ever been with had been into sex this much, and his stamina, his strength, was like nothing you’d ever experienced before. He fucked you, quite literally, to glorious, pleasure-soaked tears. Three years really hadn’t hindered his skill at all, but he blamed it on his greed, incapable of taking a compliment. Nonsense, but you soon got used to that charming personality trait… 

The weeks had rolled into months, and you continued just like that. Meeting and fucking any chance you got. It was him who called the shots. He was a busy man after all. You worked to his schedule. Fucked to his schedule, and luckily for you, you were in a position to drop work every time he called. Direct permission from the boss. 

True to his word, you took it slow. Going further and further each time until your body was trained to him. His was trained to you too. What he liked, how he liked it and when to do it. You knew how to read his moods and work with it each time you met up for sex. There was a mutual trust between the two of you, and you would give your all if it meant pleasing him, because it brought you pleasure too. 

Sex had always been just something you’d done. The guys got their rocks off and maybe if you were lucky, you’d get one orgasm, probably gifted by your own hands. Even when in love, sex hadn’t been this enjoyable nor exciting. It was all new with Seokjin. You lived for pushing yourself to the limit, finding something new and trying it. Greedy. Maybe that was the correct word, Seokjin had been right. You were greedy for one another. You’d be dammed. The desire and the pleasure you just knew you couldn’t get from anyone else. The chemistry was on a totally different level, and it just kept getting stronger. 

Seokjin did have a softer appetite though. It wasn’t all hard and extreme. That was the beauty of it. He wasn’t a one-sided dom who used you as some kind of sex toy. He was gentle and caring, even when he had you tied to his bed, blindfolded and at his mercy. Sometimes he just wanted you. Raw and passionate. An unspoken vulnerable. You think in a way, even though you would never say it to his face, he sought comfort in you. On days when he was tired or stressed, he wanted you. Only you. There was a comfort there. And you gladly obeyed. How could you not? You were flattered he chose you to share this with. Touched, in a way. 

Your bond only grew, until any awkwardness was a thing of the past. You could tease one another, joke around. It was surprising at first to find out someone like him could become embarrassed and shy when provoked about certain things. Like how he had been so formal in the beginning. He insisted it was because he was so awkward about his extended inexperience fighting head to head with the raging desire he had for you… It had sent him frenzied, until he had to do something about it. You were so glad he had…

Your relationship for the most part was left undetected. It was chosen that way, to keep things strictly professional at work, but also you suspected it was something more. He requested for you not to tell your friends or family, and the only one who knew about your arrangement on his side, was the driver who took you to and from his home. Seokjin’s line of work came with danger, and even though you didn’t voice it, you guessed that danger spread to anyone he was involved with; family, friends, lovers…

You say mostly undetected because of course there had been a slip up somewhere along the line. Working in such close proximity, perhaps you had been foolish. The club was always packed, someone was bound to pick up on it, and unluckily for you, it happened. Give you a major reality check to go with it. 

You had been involved with Seokjin for near to three months when it did, juggling nights at work and nights spent with him. More often than not, both at the same time. That night wasn’t one though. He was away from the club altogether, so you got changed at your usual pace, surrounded by the rest of the human girls as they chatted. That night rotter talk filled the dressing room. There had been one watching one of the girls, Jaeha, dancing. He’d taken a shine to her and asked her out for dinner at closing time. She’d agreed, but now she was getting doubts, some of the other girls laying uncertainties in her head. Of course the conversation had turned to sex. It always did where men were concerned. But this was different. They were talking about having sex with a zombie. It was times like these you were thankful there was separate dressing rooms for the human and undead girls. Although some would probably still carry on the conversation regardless. 

“What about you?” 

You looked up, realising that Jaeha was directing the question your way. “Hm?” You played dumb, even though you had been listening to every word of the conversation. You just didn’t want to answer. 

“What would you imagine it feels like being with a rotter?” 

You gave a small shrug, realising you had no choice now and turned away as you replied. “I don’t know.” 

“Wait. What was that?” She exclaimed excitedly and you inwardly sighed. You guess something about your body language hadn’t been believable. “You have?!” You gave another shrug but she wasn’t having any of it. “Look me in the eyes and say you haven’t!” 

You faced her again, defeated, realising you had about half a dozen other pairs of eyes looking at you too. “Fine. I have.” 

A couple others squealed. Maybe it was an age thing. You were a few years older than a handful of the girls. At twenty-two you had probably been easily excitable and naïve too. Scrap that. You definitely had been. 

“Who?!”

Shit. She really wasn’t going to drop this, was she? You were hoping admitting to it would have been enough. You did up your jeans as you dismissed her. “It doesn’t matter who. It’s just sex. No different.” 

“No different? But they’re cold,” she whined, shuddering at the thought. “Doesn’t that feel weird?” 

You opened your mouth but found yourself stuck. This conversation was making you feel uncomfortable. Thankfully, a voice came to your rescue. 

“You just get used to it.” You looked to your left to see Yeeun coming into view behind 

the group of girls. She’d been here nearly the longest, your age, maybe a year older. She kept herself to herself most of the time, but you guessed she wanted to put this conversation to rest. That, and maybe put you out of your misery. 

Jaeha turned and opened her mouth to ask more questions, but Yeeun spoke over her. “Jaeha, just make sure to be careful if you decide to go for dinner with that guy, yeah? Undead doesn’t mean he’s inherently bad but coming to a place like this should make you think. Keep your wits about you.” 

Just like she’d wanted (and you) the conversation died. Everyone left soon after that, you close behind, but Yeeun was still getting changed, distracted by her phone. You stopped by the door as an afterthought, wanting to say something to her. “Thanks,” you called, waiting for her acknowledgment. 

She slowly turned and smiled. “No problem.” You watched as she shoved her cell into her jacket pocket. “Um, you got a minute?”

You nodded, unable to guess what she wanted. She sighed, almost like she was psyching herself up. “First, this isn’t me trying to get up all in your business, alright?” You nodded again, slower this time. A sicky feeling in your stomach. “Everyone else may be clueless when it comes to who you’re fucking, but I’m not.” 

You tensed. Maybe you’d misinterpreted her motives. She was trying to put you out of your misery yes, but it ran deeper than that. She was trying to save your skin. She knew. How? You were always careful to never talk in public with Seokjin. Yet… maybe your reluctance to leave early like you used to do roused suspicion from her. Maybe she’d seen you both leave together… Foolish. You panicked, played stupid. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

She stared at you, calling your bluff. “Be careful, okay? You’re an adult, you can do whatever the hell you like, but just don’t forget who he is.” You kept quiet. There was no point denying it. “And I’m not on about him being undead. He’s...” She hesitated before deciding to go for it. “Just don’t forget he’s responsible for a lot of this city’s darkness.” 

Unexplainable anger filled you. You didn’t like being judged, but more than that, the idea of someone judging Seokjin made your blood boil. She didn’t know him like you did. How kind he was when you were alone, how gentle… He wasn’t what people described him as behind closed doors. But what was the point? You knew you couldn’t tell her that. She’d just laugh at you, tell you how deluded you were. Maybe that’s what you were scared of... That you really were deluded. In over your head… 

You watched her shrug on her jacket, her mind at ease now that she’d warned you. “You don’t have a problem working in his club though?” 

She froze before pulling out a cigarette from her pocket and chuckling. “It’s money, babe.” She placed the rolled tube in between her lips and spoke through it. “We all need it, and at the end of the day, I’m not the one fucking him.” She finished with a casual shrug. As if she had no worries. You had plenty. 

You swallowed, careful to keep your voice steady. “Well thanks for your concern. I’ll bear it in mind.” And the you left, wiping away a stray tear from your left eye. 

You didn’t tell Seokjin about what happened that night, certain that Yeeun didn’t care enough to tell anyone. She wasn’t like that, hated gossip like you. You were also worried that if he found out, he’d do something. You didn’t want her to get fired. She said she’d needed the money after all. Maybe your worry went even further than that… You didn’t know. If Seokjin was as bad as everyone seemed to think, you really didn’t know… 

So you kept it to yourself. But you couldn’t shake the exchange. Seokjin noticed there was something wrong with you instantly. You saw him two nights afterwards, seeking distraction in the only way you knew with him. Sex. He was tired after his “business trip” and you went along with it, using it as a way to explain your unusual behaviour, so the sex was quick but indulgent. Definitely needed. You clung to him because you’d missed him. You clung to him because you were beside yourself. Torn and unable to truly feel fine. You’d thought being reunited again would reassure you. But it didn’t. 

“Smoking again?” You asked him after you were done, watching him reach for the pack of cigarettes he kept on the nightstand. 

He chuckled, knowing you hated the dirty habit. The addiction. Maybe in a way you were a hypocrite. “My insides are rotten anyway. What can it do to me?” He was correct you supposed. Rotten to the core. He was untouchable. 

However, to your surprise he put them back, wrapping his arm around you like it had been. Your head on his chest, protected from the chill by a fur blanket. His temperature always seemed to get you after sex, your own levelling out. Plus with the winter months now it was harder. He wasn’t the best to cuddle with after sex, an activity that seemed to be happening more often, so you had to separate your bodies with warmth. You let silence spread over you both, lost in your own head with a whirlwind of thoughts. 

“Hey,” he prodded gently after a little while, wanting you to look at him. “You’re lying to me. You’re not tired.” You didn’t bother to deny it. He sounded hesitant when he carried on. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” 

You stayed silent for a moment. unsure how to begin, but you knew you couldn’t continue like this. You needed some type of reassurance from his mouth. Selfishly, you needed your conscience eased. You explained with a question, at least you hoped you did. “Do you like being who you are?” 

Seokjin tensed under you, his expression becoming guarded and you instantly feared you’d crossed a line. He knew you were referring to his status, not his being. Something pretty much off limits. Discussed vaguely in the beginning, your joining was never about that. Now it seemed like a forbidden subject. You understood Seokjin saw you as an escape. He didn’t want to discuss work, and you didn’t want to hear it. Yet, it was looming over you, like an ominous presence. You needed something. You could live with who he was if he was as unsure of it as you were. You were positive. He just needed to be honest with you. 

You waited patiently, and just as you resigned yourself to stone cold silence, he spoke. 

“It was handed to me. I don’t particularly have a choice. It’s all I’ve ever known.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that was bitterness in his tone. “My father is frail now. I don’t know how long he has left. I want to make him proud, regardless of how stupid it sounds. It’s fucked up, I know that. Especially with life as it is now.” 

You’d long given up trying to make your father proud, but you understood. Seokjin’s experiences were vastly different to yours, but you understood. His was a matter of life or death, you were sure of it. Yours was just the gradual estrangement from the people who had raised you. He confirmed the seriousness of his detriment in his next sentence. 

“There’s nothing I can do about it. It’s my life. It’s expected of me. If I refused, said no... Ran away like a coward... God knows what would happen to me.” 

Cruel of you maybe, but it was warming, reassuring to know he’d had such thoughts. Soothing to know in a lot of ways, he didn’t want this life. Selfish of you like you’d known. Trying to ease your own conscience, but here in his arms perhaps you really didn’t care. You didn’t care what Yeeun thought, what others would think if they ever found out. Your parents… None of it mattered because you knew that deep down, in his core, Seokjin was a good man. Rotten or not. He was good to you, and all that mattered. Yes, you were selfish, but you didn’t care. 

“Fuck.” He cursed quietly, voice thick with emotion before he laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. “What a world we live in. When being a motherfucking zombie is considered normal and the least of your problems.” 

You didn’t laugh along but kissed him softly. You think it stunned him, shutting him up instantly when you pulled away, until he exhaled, pulling you into another, longer, even sweeter kiss. He wrapped you in his arms tightly and you’d never felt safer. He got you onto your back, rolling on top of you, the fur separating your bodies, just, and your need for him burnt away inside your chest. 

But he pulled away before you could do anything about it, opening his mouth to say something, expression hesitant. You cupped his cold face, trying your hardest to spread some of your warmth through his body, silently encouraging him to speak. He smiled thankfully. “I didn’t choose that either, by the way. This rotter body.”

Your forehead furrowed, trying to make sense of his words. “That shocks you,” he noted. “I know why. You think I wanted this, just like everyone else.” You opened your mouth to deny it, but what was the point? You hated gossip, like you’d said so many time before, never listened to it, but you had let it sink it’s way into your mind without realising. 

Greed. You thought he was like all the rest. Seeking power. Your attraction to him overshot your distaste for the ghastly act of will, but maybe deep down, you’d hoped it wasn’t true. 

“It’s okay,” he reassured, twisting slightly to kiss the palm of your hand. Then the tips of your fingers as you sought the touch. “I know what people say about me. They’re wrong though.” 

“What happened?” You were whispering, asking without thinking. You didn’t want to pry but Seokjin had never shared this much before. You didn’t think he’d ever shared this much before. To anyone. 

“A miscellaneous deal gone wrong. I won’t bore you with the details, but I was scratched.” Your eyes widened, heart ached for him. How wrong people were. How wrong you were. “I took it in my stride, still do. I guess in some ways it helped me, in others not so much... But,” he stopped himself, letting his eyes close as he kissed your fingertips again. When he opened them the grey looked sadder than usual. “Who will follow after me? The family name gone. Although maybe that isn’t a bad thing.” He added with an afterthought, chuckling humourlessly. “I would want no kid of mine doing this. I don’t know. What I’m trying to say is, if there was ever a cure, I’d take it in a heartbeat.” Your own heart beat loudly in your chest. “Wishful thinking, right?”

You were stunned to silence now, trying to make sense of everything. You wanted to reassure him. There was adoption, he needn’t have to dwell, but then it seemed like such a human, vulnerable thing to get hurt over. It made your throat tighten, eyes well up. You had never imagined his anguish over being undead. He always seemed so casual, so put together. His human life was stolen from him cruelly and he was just left to deal with it, alone. You didn’t care if that was his by choice or not. It made sense now, that in ways he had hidden from himself, and why. He was ashamed. He wasn’t greedy, he was lost. 

“I don’t think so,” you murmured, caressing his face. “If they can mutate the disease and inject people with it, they can find an antidote.” 

He smiled sadly. “Do you think they want that? This world is a corrupt place. Everyone has their own selfish reason’s for letting this disease take over.” He was correct. A cure would never be made by any official. But there could be other options. One day. Hope wasn’t lost. 

“You can still live a normal life,” you insisted. 

“I can never age. Who would want that? Amongst other things. I have everything against me.” 

Something strong tore through your chest. It almost took your breath away, but you couldn’t voice it. You were too afraid. “I don’t think so.” You replied instead. It was hard to keep your voice stable. “What’s inside is more important.”

He chuckled sadly. “Angel, I’m rotten on the inside. Maybe on the outside too.” 

His pet name warmed your heart, always did, but his words made it weep. You swallowed, coating your dry mouth and squeezed his face, clinging to him, hoping he’d understand what you were trying to say. “Not to me.” 

He smiled, his eyes warming up and leant down to kiss you. “Thank you.” You held him close, sinking into his mouth. The cold was unnoticeable. He did understand. You could feel it in his kiss, taste it on his tongue. 

He drew back slowly, just before he lost himself entirely. He had more to say before then. “I have never felt more comfortable with anyone than I have with you. More human...” He trailed off and laughed quietly. “Even when I was one.” He kissed you once more. Like he couldn’t keep away. Hands holding the sides of your face, he lingered, your breaths mingling. 

“You care for me without judgement. That’s never happened before. I’ve never had that feeling.” 

You squeezed his wrists in silent understanding, eyes glassy. You couldn’t speak if you tried. Couldn’t let him know you felt exactly the same, in fear of bursting into tears. He understood though. Of course he did. 

And that’s where you were now. This present moment. The aftermath of such a confession only bringing you closer together. There were silent boundaries that had been made that night. Seokjin did not wish to go into detail about his days, nor did you want him to. You were at ease now, knowing you had been right about him, the others wrong. Yes, he wasn’t perfect. No one was. Yes, maybe if you knew the cold, hard facts, you wouldn’t be able to bear it, but you were happy being ignorant to that. It wasn’t greed that drove you, for Seokjin and all the pleasure he could give you. He had been wrong. You made him see that. It was a selfishness, and that was okay. It had to be. They were two different things. You were selfish for the happiness he made you feel, and likewise for him. 

For the first time in your life, you were truly happy. Felt truly understood and not judged, and so did Seokjin. Despite your different life experiences, you were the same in your hearts; yours alive, his rotten, but it didn’t matter—and that’s why you’d been so drawn to him. Twin flames in this dark, overbearing world. You knew the weight of such words, but you didn’t care. Not when you had something good, something pure, and you were clinging to it with all your might. 

As much as you had put him on a pedestal in the beginning, not quite believing he’d chosen you, wanted you. Potentially put your worth on his choice, it didn’t matter. Because he had done and felt the same. He had always been thankful you’d made the decision that you had. He was thankful that you wanted him. Still, even now. In ways, you had given him certain confidence and esteem that he’d been lacking. Similar to how he helped bloom yours too. Made you feel beautiful, sexy. It was not one sided with you two. It was real, and pure, and shared. Your admiration for one another. Your love…

Yes, this had been a simple arrangement. Sex. But it wasn’t so simple anymore. You both understood that. There would come a day when you’d have to acknowledge it, your feelings… It was potentially soon, or you could just keep hiding for a little while longer, but it would happen. Seokjin didn’t think he was capable of love after his turn. You remembered him saying something similar the first night you spent together, about romance. You knew now it was because he hated what he was. Undead. He had already lost so much of himself over the years, and to become infected only tore away more. But he was wrong. He was capable. You felt the love he gave you every day. Even if it was the silent kind. It shone from him, warmed you up when you clung to his ice cold flesh. 

So yes, you were selfish, so was he. But you didn’t care. Not when you had one another to hide behind. 

“How do you want me, Sir?” You silked the words, excitement bubbling away in the pit of your stomach. That was your little thing. What you called him sometimes. When he was in the mood for it. 

He smiled at you, but it didn’t seem to reach his eyes. You tensed, studying him almost intently now. Maybe there had been a reason he was delayed. You opened your mouth to ask if everything was okay, but he beat you to it. 

“No need for that tonight.” He sounded exhausted, beaten. You realised how terribly you’d misread the signs, feeling a little guilty as you sat up, tightening your gown over your chest. He walked over to his bureau, steps heavy on the wooden floor. Long ago had you come to accept his insistence on wearing shoes indoors, but you watched him step out of his boots now. Loosening the red tie around his neck before removing it completely. 

You waited politely for him to continue in some way. Not wanting to push an explanation for his depleted mood. He removed his rings one by one, dropping them into a glass bowl. That’s where he spoke to. “Today’s been hard. I–“ He stopped himself, unable or unwilling to go on. You wondered if you should press him. You realised keeping things bottled up like he did wasn’t good. But you were scared. Scared it could ruin things. You bit on your bottom lip, hard, stifling yourself. 

He turned to you then, a longing in his eyes. You knew that look very well. It was a yearning for you. “I just need some solace.” 

You nodded slowly, outstretching your arms for him to meet you. He rounded the corner of the bed in a few, quick strides and dove into you. His mouth finding yours in a deep, intense kiss. You wrapped your arms tightly around his shoulders, feeling him squeeze his around  your chest, like he needed to make sure you were really there. He spoke no more and that was okay. 

His mouth and tongue found your neck, kissing the skin like it could kiss back, until he ceased and held his face in the crook, hugging you tightly. You ran your fingers through his hair, unsure what else you could do. Your chest felt sad and heavy, his mood affecting you immediately. But you needed to be strong. You kissed at whatever part of his face you could reach, your turn to make him feel good. Make him feel loved. 

Somehow your lips met again, tongues slipping together, going from slow to fast. His anguish over what was unknown to you, turned into an urge to forget. An urge to bury himself so deep inside you, he’d forget the outside world. If not just for tonight. You would gladly give him that. Give yourself that. 

Your hands ran along the tops of his arms, squeezing the muscles as you went, moaning softly when his tongue slipped into your ear, the coolness sending a shiver up your spine. You quickly found the buttons of his shirt, undoing them in equal haste, revealing the expanse of his chest. His hands tugged at the tie of your gown, getting it to fall open and reveal your chest. He cupped your breasts softly, like you would break if he tried any harder and slowly got you onto your back. Your gown slipped open fully, rendering you bare to his eyes, and he let out a sweet sound of awe. He loved your body. Always had. Always would. 

You tugged where his shirt tucked into his slacks, and he ripped it from his body, desperate to get as naked as you. It wasn’t long before he was, lying atop your body, staring into your eyes as he caressed your face. His heart was beating a little faster than usual, like it did when he was aroused, yet still not that of a human heart. It never would, but it had become oddly soothing these days. 

“Not too cold?” He asked, voice thick with something that had you reaching for him, holding him close. 

You smiled. “No. I like it.” 

He returned the action, rubbing your noses together affectionately. Your heart swelled in your chest. Fit to burst. You closed your eyes and let yourself sink when his mouth began travelling your body. Your chest rising and falling visibly as he found his way between your legs, making love with his mouth. 

In fact, out of the hundreds of times you’d had sex, tonight was the closest you’d ever gotten to such an act. It just felt different. More vulnerable than ever before. Sweeter. It filled your hole body, elevated you. Took you to places you’d never been before. 

He pushed inside you slowly, indulging in your velvet warmth, and when he began to thrust it was to a tantric rhythm. Your back arched, your toes curled and all that you felt was warmth. No matter how cold his flesh was, his glow engulfed your body. You wanted it to never stop. 

“Tell me you’ll always want me,” he rasped into your ear. Silver and black eyes burning into yours when he pulled back to view you. It was the most defenceless thing he’d ever requested of you. Exposed in the darkness, you shone, giving him the confidence to plead for such a thing. 

You held his face tight, voice a hushed whisper, but it didn’t make it any less true. You didn’t know what the future held, nor what would unfold. But you were sure of one thing. There would never be a time when you didn’t want him. You were his, and he was yours. 

“Always.” 

[cherrywoes]

ichi. (acanthus.)

SAKURA GENTLY RAN HER fingers across the soft, barely there pinpricks of hair at the back of her head. The knots had been too large to untangle without time and copious amounts of conditioner, and while she lamented the loss of growth, she found she quite liked the style. There was enough hair left on the top of her head that it could easily cover the uneven lengths of hair clinging to the bottom half of her scalp. She peered at herself through a small hand mirror Tsunade had provided her and didn’t like what she found. She looked too pale, malnourished, and the once healthy glow she had when she was free had vanished. She looked every bit the prisoner they had made her to be.

Any hope she had previously shriveled up and died when she looked at the crimson mark upon her forehead. When she touched it experimentally, it zinged! into the back of her brain where she felt strange bolts of electricity bounce back and forth within and route back to the mark. It was a very harsh reminder that she was no longer Sakura Haruno—she was someone else, someone who killed her teammates because her pride wouldn’t let her admit to her own weakness.

She gave Tsunade the mirror and pointedly ignored the curious look the Hokage sent her out of the corner of her eye.

“Your trial will be as straightforward as it can be, given the circumstances.” Tsunade tucked the mirror into her pocket with a sigh. She looked tired, as well, as she always did since she had become Hokage. Using sake as her coping mechanism didn’t do her any good, either, despite her younger appearance; Sakura could see it weighing on her, the drag of age and idleness. “I don’t think there’s much you can do in your own defense except to be honest; if you’re lucky, the elders might put you in for an extended prison stay—or they could also execute you outright.”

“Isn’t that what everyone wants though?” Sakura pulled her knees to her chest and squeezed them in an attempt to comfort herself. She didn’t have Naruto to reassure her that everything was okay; he was outside of the village, tracking down an errant Sasuke—his life had boiled down into an endless chase of their former teammate. It was all he could think about the last time she had seen him, his mind focused on dragging him back to Konoha even if it was the last thing the Uchiha wanted for himself. He would hate her, too, for this. “For me to be executed?”

Tsunade frowned. “They want answers, Sakura. The families of the men and women you killed, the wives and husbands and sons and daughters—they all want to know why you did it.”

She closed her eyes, faces flashing through her mind in a quick succession. Yamanaka eyes; Hyuuga eyes; the large frame of an Akamichi, smiling, offering her slices of fruit. “I guess they’ll be disappointed when they learn it was because I lost my abilities and killed them instead because of my own stupidity.”

“You underestimate them, Sakura.” The blonde woman shook her head slowly and gathered up the worn and dirty clothes she had left hanging on the side of the basin. “They’re going to hate you for it. It’s your decision whether or not you give them further reason to hate you even more, or prove them wrong and make up for your mistakes.”

Sakura opened her eyes and stared obstinately at the wall, listening to the words unsaid: if they even accept your apology to begin with.

She didn’t expect acceptance at all.

When Sakura took her first step outside in months, the sun made her eyes water uncontrollably. It was no longer winter within Konoha—not that she had ever favored it to begin with—but autumn, the trees turning from green to a myriad of shades between orange, red, and yellow hues. The grass beneath her shoes was crisp, on the verge of decaying and preparing for the next winter, and filled the air with a familiar scent she hadn’t been sure she would ever experience ever again. The sun was comforting and warm as it surrounded her in a suffocating embrace, her skin already starting to turn rusty red with a sunburn. She didn’t mind it, though—it was almost a reminder of the life she had lied to keep and lost.

“Sakura.” Kakashi stood, waiting for her outside the doors of the prison complex. He was early and nearly on time, Icha Icha Paradise’s sienna cover just barely visible from behind his back, tucked away into his pocket. He looked as tired as Sakura felt, dark eye bags highly visible against his skin, so much so that it looked as if he had earned two right hooks to both eyes. “Are you ready? Or do you want to bask in the sun some more?”

Once, she might have thought he was teasing. But the look in his eye, the tone of his voice, all denoted that he was serious, that he would risk being late if she wanted to sit in the sun and burn just a little bit longer, to feel the freedom that had been taken from her by her own actions. She considered it, momentarily, looking to the sky. The light burned her eyes and a single teardrop fell from her right eye and slid down her cheek. “No.”

“Alright then.” He looked unsure, then, eyeing the ANBU guards that stood behind her in their respective Raccoon and Panda masks. She had never seen them before until now, but she knew that Kakashi didn’t recognize them, either, and it was most likely a deliberate move on the council’s part. “Let’s go then.”

The walk to the Hokage tower and, consequently, the council chambers where her trial would be held, was not a peaceful procession. People, ninja and civilians alike—faces she didn’t recognize, she thought with some relief, even though guilt gnawed at her heart—screamed at her, got so close that spittle flew in her face when they yelled obscenities at her. When words failed, they began throwing rotten fruit, vegetables, and even pots of molding and old food. Several slices of sour cantaloupe slid down her cheek, juices clinging to her skin, gnats flocking to the scent. Her ANBU did nothing to prevent them from chucking a pot of scalding chicken broth on her, either. They were for the public’s safety, not hers; and even so, they wouldn’t have stopped them even if they had been ordered to, she figured.

When it touched her skin, burned like acid and lit her body on fire, she didn’t scream. Burnt, acrid flesh was not a pleasant odor, and combined with the chicken broth, it sent several civilians away with nausea. She could hear them exclaiming over the stench with their faces pulled into looks of disgust, both at the people who had thrown it (fondly, because it was ‘justified’, however bad it smelled) and at Sakura as she trudged by, her skin livid red and breaking into fever. The flesh of her arm, some of her neck, and flecks on her cheek would scar, if the agonizing pain sending her brain into a white fog was any indication.

Kakashi, walking ahead of her at a leisurely pace, was forced to remain impartial. She could understand him, of course, in that aspect. The village would turn on him, too, and then he would truly have nothing left. His team was disbanded, Naruto had devolved into a man on an impossible mission and false hopes, Sasuke had left the village and become Orochimaru’s apprentice and, afterwards, his killer, and Sakura, his final remaining student, had become his protege, his perfect copy—a friend killer, a ninja killer, just as he was.

Perhaps, Sakura thought as she fixed her gaze on Kakashi’s shoes, fate worked in very obvious, very deliberate ways, and was not as mysterious as anyone ever said it was.

Sakura arrived at the Hokage tower dripping with steaming chicken broth, mold clinging to her clothes from various entrees of old food, and reeking of weeks old tea that was just on the verge of becoming kombucha. Shizune waited for them, her face harsh and pale and completely emotionless. If she had any opinion on her former friend’s crimes, she gave no indication of it, her mouth pulled into a straight, thin line, her lips as white as her face.

“They have already convened and arrived at a verdict.” Shizune’s dark eyes darted to Sakura momentarily, the pain there deep and unfathomable, and then back to Kakashi, flicking over the ANBU guards and the growing crowd rioting around the entrance of the building. “Her presence wasn’t necessary.”

Her. As if she was a thing to be spoken of, an object. Once that might have angered Sakura, might have forced her into an enraged spiel, but the only emotion she could muster up at the derogatory tone was faint irritation that was suffused by the harsh throb of the burns on her arm.

“Tsunade’s orders.” Kakashi shrugged. He glanced back at her, then at her burns, and sighed. “At least heal her. Those burns could get infected—”

“I am under order not to provide care to Sakura Haruno under any circumstances.” Shizune shifted uncomfortably at that. “As is the rest of the village. Basic necessities, and nothing more.”

Her former sensei said nothing else and Sakura refused to open her mouth and beg Shizune of all people to heal her. She should have been able to heal herself, yet she had not even a scrap of medical chakra to speak of and risked cutting off her own arm in the process. It would probably be preferable to the festering, infected blisters she would gain in the coming days—if she was even alive to experience it.

She suffered in her own silence, closing her eyes against the pinpricks of hot white light that threatened to send her into unconsciousness. It was easy to block out the pain when she was stuck in her head; her pain tolerance was high, but without the help of her seal, of Tsunade’s healing advice and her medical chakra, she was reduced to biting her lips to stop herself from squalling and collapsing onto the wooden floor beneath her feet. Blood flowed into her mouth, metallic and bitter, like the blood that flowed from her teammates’ veins.

Sakura didn’t know how long she stood there in a half daze, flanked by her ANBU and Shizune and Kakashi talking quietly in front of her in short, stilted sentences. Their opposing affections for her prevented them from talking casually; Kakashi’s guilt prevented him from hating her and Shizune’s righteous sense of justice prevented her from offering her even a shred of pity. They spoke in whispers, so she could barely make out what they were saying, but she could read lips as well as any ninja; mentions of war, famine, disease—which made no sense to her, for what could have happened in the span of five months?

“Shizune. Kakashi.” Tsunade’s descent down the staircase, assisted by the wooden handrail, was slow and awkward. She was a little too hunched over, favoring her right hip and leaning heavily on the wall to support herself. Her gaze darted to Sakura. “Sakura. You came here for nothing. The decision has been made. I’m sorry.”

Kakashi stilled to the point that she wondered if he was even breathing. “They’re going to execute her?”

“Execution… would be a mercy at this point.” Tsunade produced a scroll from her pocket. Shizune’s strangled gasp was loud enough that it caught the attention of the ANBU. It was a thin scroll, no bigger than an index finger, and lined with gold and red trim. Sakura had never seen such a scroll in all her life, but with the way Kakashi went pale and Tsunade looked so defeated, she had to wonder what fate could be so awful, so terrible that even her nonchalant, uncaring teacher would appear to be frightened and disgusted. “The orders are clear and the vote was unanimous. Sakura Haruno will be given to ANBU, given a rank within the War Operations party, and shipped to the frontlines by dawn tomorrow.”

Shizune inhaled sharply. “It’s a death sentence in its own right.”

“Sakura isn’t suited for war,” Kakashi advised, voice breaking slightly. “They couldn’t agree on anything else? Not even execution?”

Tsunade shook her head slowly, guiltily. “Execution was too clean for them. A prison sentence was a slap on the wrist. The people wanted blood—so they gave it to them. Let her spill it for the name of the village, for the people they lost, they said.”

“And what if she survives?” Sakura couldn’t ignore the thread of concern that wove through Shizune’s question. “What about after the war?”

Tsunade looked at Sakura, then, her mouth turned downwards into a deep frown. “Then she may be free; but she can never return to Konoha.”

Nothing else needed to be said. Tsunade passed the scroll to Kakashi and vanished back up the stairs to her office, Shizune following without a glance back. The ANBU removed the chakra cuffs on her wrists, and while it might have felt like a cooling sensation when it returned to her system, all she felt was pins and needles, her nodes brimming to life with malicious energy. She rubbed her wrists tenderly, avoiding the burns as much as she could, and felt Kakashi’s hand land on her shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“Come on.” He veered her towards the back exit, where the crowd wouldn’t be able to see her. “We’ll go to my apartment, fix you up, and grab some supplies. Then… Then we wait.”

Wait for her inevitable departure and then, most likely, her death, of which Kakashi would probably never hear about.

“Kakashi-sensei?” She croaked. She could feel tears threatening to spill down her cheeks, burning her lash line and a knot forming in her throat. “Can I ask you for a favor?”

He paused, hand reaching for the knob of the exit. “Of course, Sakura.”

“Take care of my parents for me, please.” Sakura blinked rapidly to clear the tears from her eyes, the pain in her arm dulled to a numb sensation. If she hadn’t lost all of the nerves in it, she would count it as a blessing, even if she deserved it. “Without me, I don’t think they…”

“Don’t worry.” Kakashi ruffled her hair with a playful hand. It wasn’t quite as effective as it had been when it was shorter, but she could feel the affection within it besides. “I’ll watch over them, Sakura, I promise you.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, and he pushed open the door, sunlight spearing through the crack and enveloping her in its oppressive warmth once more.

That night, if Kakashi had any complaints about Sakura sneaking into his room and hugging him tightly, sobs wracking her lithe frame for the first time in months, he didn’t say anything. If she noticed him hug her back, tears running delicate rivers down the striped pillowcase he laid his head on, she gave no indication, pouring her soul out for possibly the last time in the safety of the arms of someone she loved.

Dawn broke, and with it, so did the remnants of Kakashi’s heart.

prologue | masterlist | 二 (ni)