#but honestly just feels like a hunger for more content

[thenotoriousscuttlecliff]

Seeing people say that we never see the Doctor and Ruby talking for more than 30 seconds makes me think 73 Yards and Dot and Bubble has just clouded their memories because the first four episodes of this era are almost nothing but the Doctor and Ruby talking and bonding.

Yeah, the Doctor-lite episodes meant we haven't had as much lately, but so many are going on as there's been none at all, as if every episode before 73 Yards was like Rogue where they were mostly separated in their own plotlines.

[worldlxvlys]

A CHRIS X READER THAT IS POC I BEG YOU ON MY HANDS AND KNEES BUT YK HOW THEY DID THAT COLLAB WITH SAM AND COLBY, TARA, JAKE, LARRAY AND JOHNNIE

BUT DURING THE COLLAB CHRIS WAS BEING REAL TOUCHY WITH THE READER LIKE WHEN SHE BENDS OVER HED PUT HIS HANDS ON HER CROTCH BUT NB SEES IT AND THEY EVENTUALLY F*CK PLS

last time

chris sturniolo x poc! reader

warnings: smutttt, p in v, cursing, unprotected sex, cream pie, choking, poc! reader, sexual jokes

a/n: writing for this friend group was so funnn

enjoyyy<33

“wait, ok chris! let me get up!” i exclaimed, laughing as chris squeezed his arms around me tighter.

we were currently at the triplet’s house with his brothers, jake, johnnie, tara, larray, sam, and colby.

when the entire group agreed we were hungry, i offered to make us something.

“so, what’s on the menu?” colby asked, eyebrows raised as he clapped his hands together excitedly.

“nothing, if chris doesn’t let me get up to make it” i spoke, causing him to glare up at me and squeeze me even tighter.

upon hearing the words, the entire group yelled at chris to get off of me, the hunger beginning to make them cranky.

“fine” he grumbled as he let go of me, allowing me to stand up.

i began to make my way to the kitchen when tara spoke up, “wait! i’ll help you” she smiled as she walked over to me.

once we got to the kitchen, which happened to be just out of earshot from the couch that the rest of the group resided on, she began to speak.

“so, you and chris aren’t together, right?” she asked.

i raised my eyebrows at her suspiciously at the statement, squinting at her. “why?”

she lightly chuckled at that, “i just noticed you guys are really touchy, but i don’t wanna assume anything” she said, raising her hands in defense.

i laughed at the gesture, “no, you’re ok. i don’t know what we are, honestly. i mean, we’re really close, probably closer than friends should be. but, neither of us are ready for a relationship, you know?”

it was true, chris and i had done some questionable things for just being friends.

it’s not like we had sex often, we just happened to get caught up in the moment once or twice.

…and a few times after that…. and a few more after those times.

but other than that, we had a completely normal friendship.

we were both aware of each other’s feelings, but we were content with where our relationship was at.

why risk messing everything up when we’re both happy ?

“so you guys don’t want to be in a relationship, you just want to act like you’re in one?” she pointed out, “that logic seems a bit flawed to me”

“you do have a point, but honestly? change is scary, and i’m not willing to completely dismantle mine and chris’s relationship because i got greedy” i spoke.

she tilted her head, squinting her eyes, “is that not what you’re doing right now?” she deadpanned. “you’re not worried that fucking around will ruin your relationship first?”

my eyes widened at the statement, “when did i say we were fucking around?” i defended, taken aback at how quickly she was able to figure it out.

“so y’all are? i knew it!” larray joined in, suddenly appearing next to me.

i quickly shushed him, not wanting chris to hear the conversation from his spot on the couch.

“keep your voice down, he’s right there! and where did you even come from?” i asked.

i glanced over to chris to determine whether he had heard the conversation, only to be met with his eyes already on me.

“you think he knows we’re talking about him?” tara whispered to us, catching his gaze on me.

“i don’t know, but girl he’s eye fucking the shit out of you right now” larray told me.

my jaw dropped at his words, a light giggle falling from my lips.

“oh our girl’s getting dicked down tonight” tara joined in.

“y’all have to stop” i spoke, the two collectively laughing at my flustered state.

suddenly, chris got up from his spot, beginning to walk over to the kitchen.

“oh shit, he’s coming over” i whispered to them.

“okay girl, go get your pasta and lobster” larray spoke, beginning to walk away.

“you got this!” tara whispered, walking away with him.

before i knew it, chris stood in front of me, a light smirk growing on his face.

“you guys talkin about me?” he asked, his hands finding their way to my waist.

“no” i denied, despite of us both knowing it wasn’t true.

"mmhm, you tell them how good i make you feel?” he asked as his fingers ran over the skin under my t-shirt.

“chris” i spoke, swallowing harshly.

“how you act all innocent in front of everyone else, but in bed you’re a freak?” he whispered into my ear.

“chris!” i scolded him, lightly slapping his chest. “what’s gotten into you?”

“what do you think? you’re walking around in this skirt, showing off your thighs. all i can think about is shoving my head between them” he spoke, his hands running down my body.

just before they could make their way to my thighs, a voice made us pull away, “you guys are real cute and all, but i’m hungry! chris, please just let her make our food” jake yelled from his spot.

his words caused tara to smack him upside the head, his face contorting into a wince at the feeling.

“what are you making anyway? we have, like, no food in our fridge” matt spoke up.

“oh, i know. i was just gonna make pizza rolls” i answered.

“we don’t have any pizza rolls” nick spoke, brows furrowing in confusion.

“yeah, we do” chris spoke, pulling them out of the freezer, “i bought her some”

i smiled bashfully at the statement, mouthing a “thank you” to chris.

he lightly nudged me with his shoulder in response, a smile of his own growing on his face.

“you two make me sick” colby spoke, “don’t be jealous, it’s not my fault no one buys you pizza rolls” i defended.

his eyes widened at that, taking offense to the words.

“ok, but wait, you said you were cooking something. this entire time i thought you were actually making us a meal” nick said, the group making noises of agreement.

“listen, y’all ! i’m not, nor did i ever claim to be a chef. i don’t know what you thought, but you were wrong” i spoke playfully.

“and nick, you know there’s no food, this is your house. where did you think i was getting ingredients from?” i asked as i placed the pizza rolls on a sheet.

“girl i don’t know, but pizza rolls aren’t gonna fill anyone up, those are like appetizers”

“ok then don’t eat any” i shrugged as i finished emptying the package.

“y’all can order something if you want, i’m really just craving pizza rolls” with that the group began to have a conversation about what they wanted to order.

“i’ll have some of your pizza rolls” chris spoke from beside me.

“good” i smiled up at him, before grabbing the baking sheet to place in the oven.

i bent over, pulling the oven open to place the sheet on the rack.

when my skirt rose up slightly, chris didn’t waist a second in placing his hand on my ass.

he quickly dipped his fingers into my panties, rubbing my heat.

he used his free hand to pull my front half back up, quickly covering my mouth with the palm of his hand.

“hmphhh” i lightly moaned into his hands, as his fingers explored my wetness, collecting my arousal on his fingers.

before i knew it, his fingers left my body, as he turned me around to face him.

he placed his fingers, which were now coated in my juices, into his mouth.

i watched intently as his tongue swirled around each finger, lapping at them like a starved man.

“hm, just needed a taste” he spoke, smirking at my shocked state, “you should probably close that”

“close what?” i asked him as i blinked rapidly, attempting to recover from his actions.

he nodded towards the oven with his head, “i don’t know how well they’ll cook if you leave the door open” he raised his eyebrows at me.

he was having the time of his life right now.

“uh- yeah, yeah you’re right” i spoke as i quickly closed the oven door.

“need some help with that?” chris asked as he stared down at my thighs, which were involuntarily clenching together.

i was doing my best to hold it together, but his actions turned me on far more than i’d like to admit.

“i’m fine” i spoke quickly, hoping he wouldn’t point out the fact that i was obviously lying.

but he, being chris, would never give me the luxury of sparing me from his teasing.

“really? you don’t look fine. you look like you need to be ruined” he whispered into my ear.

“chris, i’m not gonna have sex with you with all of these people in the house”

“really? don’t think that’s stopped you before” he spoke cockily.

“we said that the last time was gonna be it, remember?” i reminded him, placing my hand on his chest.

“yeah, you’re right, we have to stop. so we’re done doing this” he nodded his head at me.

“yup, that’s it. it’s done”

well, it was done. until-

“fuck, chris! yes, yes, yes ! right fucking there, holy shit” i did my best to keep quiet, as chris pounded into me from behind.

“one last time, just one last time” he whispered to himself while he drove himself in and out of me like his life depended on it.

“if this is the last time, i’m gonna make sure you remember that no one else will ever fuck you like i do” he whispered into my ear, chest pressing against my back while my eyes rolled into the back of my head.

“ you got that? can you say it back to me, princess? “

“i- no one, no one will ever fuck me like you do” i heaved out, fisting his sheets as continued to push himself deep inside of me.

“damn right” he rasped, as he gave my ass a slap, eliciting a moan from me.

“god, what did i do to deserve you? you’re so fucking good for me, holy shit” his head fell back as he moaned out.

“you feel so good in me, chris. don’t want anyone else, just you” i spoke back to him.

“yeah? am i making you feel good, baby? that’s all i ever want, just want you to feel good” he whispered, his fingers digging into my waist.

“you always do, baby. always feel so good with you” i moaned back.

my mind grew fuzzy as he went from giving sharp, quick thrusts to slow and deep ones, allowing me to feel every inch of him.

“love fucking you hard, but i gotta show you how much i care bout you” he spoke before burying his nose into my neck.

he placed a sweet kiss to the skin, before pulling it between his lips.

he sucked on the skin until it became darker, making it known that he had been there.

his arms wrapped around my waist, holding me close to his body as his cock stretched out my pussy.

“i don’t- fuck chris, it’s so good” i choked out as he continued to leave kisses against my skin.

“love seeing you like this, all fucked out under me. you’re so fucking beautiful, can’t believe you’re even real” he whispered.

“all yours, chris. you’re the only one who gets to see me like this”

i pushed my hips back into him, grinding on his dick, as he wrapped a hand around my neck to choke me.

“god, oh my-” he whined out his dick twitching inside of me.

“you gonna cum for me, chris?” i asked as i felt myself on the brink of my own orgasm.

“yes, yes, please cum with me” he whispered, head dropping to the crook of my neck as he shot his seed inside of me.

he continued to thrust into me, the coil in my stomach snapping as i coated his cock in my pleasure.

coaxing me through my orgasm, he gave a few more sloppy thrusts, before gently pulling out of me.

“did so good for me” he mumbled, pressing a light kiss to my shoulder.

“was that good ? did i hurt you?” he asked as he went to lay down next to me.

“of course it was good, chris. and i’m okay” i told him, cupping his cheek.

“good, let me clean you up and we can cuddle?” he asked, a grin taking over his features.

“yeah, sounds good“ i spoke as i heard my phone vibrate on chris’s nightstand.

when i opened it up, i was met with unopened text messages:

THE ULTIMATE CROSSOVER ❗️(10 MEMBERS)

matty b 💁🏻‍♂️ 9:01 pm

SHUT THE HELL UP ! WE CAN HEAR YOU ALL THE WAY OUT HERE

nick 👑 9:01 pm

oh great you guys pissed off mat

(i agree w him)

johnnie 🧛🏻 9:02 pm

i’m just waiting for my food

jake 🕸️ 9:10 pm

CHRIS STOP FUCKING AND TELL US WHAT U WANT SO WE CAN ORDER OUR FOOD

tara 👅 9:10 pm

YOU SHOULD’VE GOTTEN IT BEFORE THEY DISAPPEARED TOGETHER

TF WERE U EXPECTING DUMBASS

larray 💅🏽 9:15 pm

🍝+ 🦞

if it’s not snowing she ain’t going y’all

sam 👻🌝 9:34 pm

update: we ate your pizza rolls

colby 👻🌚 9:34 pm

we’re still hungry hurry up

y/n ⭐️ 9:41 pm

MY PIZZA ROLLS ???

FUCK EVERY SINGLE ONE OF U HOES

IMMA FIGHT Y’ALL 🤺🤺

chris 🦌 9:41 pm

oops

my bad guys

nick 👑 9:42 pm

chris come do the walk of shame out here so i can beat your ass 🙂

TARA 🧚🏻‍♀️ 9:20 pm

🌀🌀🌀🌀

masterlist

tag list: @lustfulslxt @flowerxbunnie @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @sturnssx @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @readerakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @rootbeerworshiper @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @sturniolololover @meg-sturniolo @yamamasjumpercables @vanteguccir @ineedchriscock @junnniiieee07 @breeloveschris @luverboychris

[pitchsidestories]

lovers II Keira Walsh x Williamson!Reader

masterlist I word count: 2468

a/n: Hi, we realized that it's our 100th oneshot which sounds absolutely wild, so enjoy. For the readers who wait for the Emily Fox fanfic it will come out next. <3

You were in love with Ibiza.

In love with the beaches and the sunshine, the palm trees and the blue of the ocean.

You were in love with the clubs and bars, your sister and her friends took you to.

But above all, you were in love with your sister’s best friend.

The afternoon sun painted the hotel room in soft golden light as you slipped into a short dress. You could still feel the salty air and the sun from earlier that day on your skin as you began applying mascara to your eyelashes. Except for a bit of hunger, you felt fully content.

“Ready for dinner? You look gorgeous by the way.“, Keiras voice said from behind you.

You hadn’t noticed her coming in.

You flinched, almost stabbing yourself in the eye with the mascara wand.

Keira smiled apologetically at your reflection in the mirror.

You watched as her gaze started to travel down your body, taking in every curve in your tight-fitting dress.

With a smile you turned towards her and bridged the gap between the two of you.

“Are you kidding? Look at you… Your curls are so pretty and soft.“, you whispered, gently running her fingers through her reddish brown hair.

You loved the way the salt water had restored Keiras natural hair texture.

“My curls? I just didn’t straighten my hair.“, she laughed.

Her cheeks flushed slightly, barely visible through the light sunburn on her skin.

Completely enamoured, you beamed at her: “I love it.“

You were about to lean forward to kiss her when someone cleared their throat behind you.

Your heart stopped while you pulled apart. You ran through possible explanations for this situation in your head, just in case you would turn around to face your sister.

Instead, Alex Scott watched the two of you with a knowing grin.

“You do? Oh hi, Alex.“, Keira greeted the former football player.

“Little Williamson is right though. She could have done something with fashion but…“, Alex said without finishing her thought.

You rolled your eyes, she had always tried to convince you to work in the fashion industry but you wouldn’t trade your job as an English teacher in Barcelona for anything in the world.

“She chose to teach people English in Spain and honestly, it was the best decision ever.“, you finished for Alex.

Keira laughed: “I agree with that.“

Leah appeared next to Alex in the doorway. Subconsciously, you tried to put more distance between yourself and Keira.

“Of course, you do, Kei. Because that way you can talk to someone in your mother tongue almost every day. How did the Catalan interview go again?“, your sister teased.

Her best friend released a tired groan: “Don’t remind me.“

Alex changed the subject, pointing with her thumb over her shoulder: “Now that everyone’s dressed up, let’s get some dinner in before we go clubbing.“

“Sounds like a good idea.”, you agreed in a good mood, the sea air made you hungry.

At the restaurant Keira studied the menu thoroughly before looking at you with an innocent smile on her lips.

“Everything here sounds so good, do you want to share?”, she asked.

“Sure.”, you replied happily. Above your heads the fairy lights were switched on and you could hear the waves crashing on to the shore in the background.

The romantic atmosphere was quickly disturbed by your older sister.

“Excuse me? I thought you’d share with me!”, she pouted, sending glances at the Barca player which could kill.

“What about your girlfriend? Doesn’t she want to share with you?”, Keira asked in return, cheeks flushed.

“Yes, Lee, no need to be that dramatic about it.”, Alex Greenwood intervened laughing.

“I’m not dramatic.”, Leah countered smirking.

“That’s just how she’s.”, you explained cheekily.

“Why don’t we order food for the table so we can all share?”, your girlfriend suggested hoping this would calm the Blonde Arsenal defender down.

“Yes, that’s perfect. I’m in.”, the two Alex’s declared grinning.

“Same, you too, Leah?”, you turned around to investigate your sister’s face, waiting for her reaction.

“Sure.”, she nodded, sounding much calmer already.

 “What about a first round of cocktails?”, Jess wanted to know.

“Please.”, Leah answered.

A few minutes later the drinks arrived at your table, beaming you toasted with her. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”, she responded grinning.  

The sweetness and the alcohol sparked the desire in you to touch your lover’s curly hair again.

“Stop it.”, Keira demanded giggling.

“I’m not doing anything.”, you remarked in a not guilty tone.

“Yes, you’re. Stop it.”, she bit her lip nervously.

“Fine.”, you sighed defeated, quickly finishing your cocktail.

After the last sip you stood up smiling delighted at the other girls. “Girls, are we ready for the club now?”

“Let’s go.”, Alex Greenwood chirmed.

The sun was long gone now, the moon and the stars shown brightly as you and your sister former and current teammates joined the Ibizan night life.

Something your sister and you both shared was the passion for music. While Leah preferred to sing you would take every chance you could get to dance. Before Keira your first love has been rhythm and beats.

“Come on, Kei.”, Alex nudged the red-haired woman who admired you from the distance.

“I don’t dance. I’m here for the drinks.”, she waved the sports journalist off.

“But I do. Come on, Alex.”, Leah remarked cheerfully.

“Coming.“, Alex laughed and let the defender pull her into the direction of the dance floor.

The other Alex jumped up as well, following closely behind: “Hey, wait for me.“

You caught Keiras eye from across the room and danced your way over to her. You were not ready to stop yet but you also didn’t want to leave her alone.

Keira reached for your wrist with a laugh: “Stop twirling around, y/n.“

“Why?“, you asked, spinning out of her grasp.

“Just because.“

You stopped for a moment, studying her face. There was something serious and pleading in her eyes that you didn’t understand. You only wanted to continue dancing with your friends. “Keira…“

You interrupted yourself, taking in a sharp breath in surprise as two hands laid on your hips and spun you around.

A man in his mid-thirties and clearly drunk grinned at you. His gaze traveled down to your neckline while he asked you something that your brain didn’t seem to comprehend. Apparently he wanted you to dance with him but everything about him made clear that he had other things in mind than just dancing.

You froze in place, not sure if you felt disgusted or disgusting.

Just when you were about to say something, your sister squeezed between him and you and pushed him back: “Sorry, no. That’s my sister!“

“And she’s already taken.“, Keira added. You hadn’t noticed that Keira had gotten up from her seat as well.

Leahs head whipped towards her best friend: “What?“

“Uhm…“, you mumbled as you watched the man retreat with his hands raised in surrender.

You desperately tried to find a good reason to change the subject but you just couldn’t come up with one.

“Who is it, y/n? One of your colleagues or one of the Barca girlies?“, Leah asked, her voice tinted with anger.

“It’s…uhm…“, you started and forced yourself not to look at Keira. Lying would be so easy right now. But did you actually want to keep hiding?

Your sister got impatient: “Just tell me.“

“Keira.“, was all you could get out and prayed that you made the right choice.

The two best friends looked at each other. Keira nodded slowly: “It’s me.“

“Wait, you?! When? How? She’s my little sister!“ Leahs eyebrows furrowed in anger.

Keira shrugged, trying to keep her voice calm: “In Barcelona… it just happened.“

Your sister turned towards you with her jaw set: “We’ll talk about this tomorrow morning!“

She stormed off without waiting for an answer and you quietly wondered where she would go.

Keira and you ended the night there and went back to your hotel room.

You walked out on the balcony overlooking the ocean, Keira followed right behind you.

“She’s really mad.“, you said nervously into the night sky.

The midfielder wrapped her arms around you and rolled her eyes: “She can’t be mad about this.“

You knew she had a point.

“No, Lee is more upset about the fact that we didn’t tell her.“

“Still. I can talk with her if you want me to.”, Keira offered while you kept watching the waves come and go which was scarily similar to your older sister’s temper. Deep down you knew she would eventually calm down.

“No, I’ll do it, it’s fine.”, you assured the Barcelona player before kissing her temple softly.

For a moment she closed her eyes under your touch. “She’ll be fine.”, the midfielder whispered in a convinced tone as her lips touched yours in a heartfelt kiss.

“What was the kiss for?”, you raised an eyebrow at her curiously.

“For good luck.”, Keira replied smirking.

“But she said tomorrow so maybe we could just go inside and..”, you begun rambling.

“You think that’s a good idea?”, your girlfriend interrupted you with a doubtful look on her face.

“No, I’ll do it now.”, you sighed, knowing fully well that some things shouldn’t be put on hold. Although you’d miss the comforting hug of the midfielder who pretended to hate them but always made an exception for you.

Cautiously you stood at the entry of the hotel room your sister and her girlfriend were staying in. “Lee, can we chat outside?”

Without a word the older blonde got up and put on her shoes, signalling that she was ready to talk to you outside.

For a while the two of you walked silently on the sand which felt still warm under your naked feet.

“So, you and Keira, huh?”, Leah broke the silence, sounding more curious than mad this time.

“Yeah.”, you answered timidly.

“Since when?” the defender continued asking.

“We got closer when she came to Barcelona.”, you confessed.

“That was forever ago.”, she noted slightly hurt by your reply.

“Yes, but we just started dating a few months ago.”, you added quickly. This much was true. Undoubtedly, you always had a soft spot for your sister’s best friend. The more time you two spend together, the more it became obvious that there was more than just friendship.

“And you didn’t tell me.”, Leah swallowed hard through that realization.

“You didn’t ask me.”, you reminded her.

“If you’re dating my best friend? How was I supposed to know.”, she retorted.

“No, in general, it’s mostly about you when you call me.”, you countered.

“I didn’t realize that. I’m sorry. But I thought you’d tell me such things.”, the defender apologized, her skin despite the tan turned pale.

“It’s okay. I guess we weren’t great sisters for each other recently.”, you admitted guiltily.

Leah nodded in reluctant agreement: “I guess we weren’t.“

There was a moment of silence between the two of you, not uncomfortable but thoughtful.

“But we could do better now.“, you said determinedly,

Your sister stopped walking. You only realized that wasn’t on your side anymore after a few more steps.

You turned towards her and caught her staring at you.

“Y/n?“, she asked.

“Yes?“

“Are you happy?“

You smiled at her: “Very.“

“With Kei?“

“Yes.“, you confirmed again.

Leah studied your face for a moment, searching for any indication of a lie before she finally nodded once: “Okay.“

“Okay?“, you echoed with hopefulness in your voice. You didn’t want to fight with your sister. You wanted her and Keira in your life.

Leah kicked up some sand with her shoe: “Yes, okay. I think I can live with that.“

“Good.“, you beamed and slowly continued your walk, waiting for your sister to take her place by your side again.

You thought your talk was over when your sister suddenly spoke up again: “Y/n?“

You looked at her, signalling her to continue.

“Just because you live a life outside of the public eye doesn’t mean I’m not interested in your life or I’m not proud of you.“

Her words caught you by surprise. You frowned at her in confusion. “Wait, you’re proud of me?“

“Why do you sound so surprised? Obviously I’m proud of you.“

You stared down at the fine sand under your feet: “Sorry.“

Another break in your conversation arose. Apparently, struggling to express your emotions properly ran in your family.

“Not everyone has the bravery to go abroad for work… I would not.“, Leah continued.

You looked back up at her: “Really?“

She nodded slowly: “You know how much I love home. And Arsenal. I just couldn’t.“

Hearing this filled you with pride but at the same time, you had to suppress a smile because you really couldn’t imagine your sister anywhere else.

“True, you’re such a homebody.“, you laughed.

Your sister smirked and gave you a small shrug: “See, we’re just very different.“

“Yes, but that’s okay.“, you assured her. You could feel the tension dissolve slowly.

Leah raised an eyebrow: “I will still have to talk to Keira though.“

You let out a groan: “Oh no, not the big sister talk.“

“Oh yes, even for my best friend.“

“Fine, but try and be nice, okay?“, you asked innocently.

“Of course.“

“Thank you.“

She reached over and ruffled through your blonde hair: “Anything for my little sister.“

You tried to get revenge. You two were laughing like children while you chased her down the beach.

You never heard anything about their talk. Both Keira and Leah refused to tell you anything and stubbornly maintained their silence. You didn’t care anyway. They seemed closer than ever and that was all that mattered to you.

The next days were spend at the beach, enjoying the sun and the refreshing coolness of the sea.

“No. I’m not going into the water.“ Keira shook her head determinedly. She had spend the morning straightening her hair but to you, that was not a reason to miss out on swimming.

“Come on.“ You impatiently pulled at her arm.

Leah appeared on Keiras other side, pushing her forward. “You better go now.“

Together you barrelled towards the sea, falling over each as soon as you reached the water. The rest of your friend group burst out laughing,

Keira pushed her now wet hair back. It started to curl at the ends already.

“I hate you Williamsons!“, she laughed.

You kissed her cheek: “No, you don’t.“

“Not really, no.“, Keira admitted and pulled you towards her by your waist to kiss you.

Leah grimaced in disgust: “Okay, but you don’t have to kiss in front of me.“

“Stop complaining.“, you rolled your eyes.

Keira grinned at her: “You better get used to it, Lee.“

[kingofbodyrolls]

End of the World (m) | myg

→ Summary: Your government has been telling you to prepare for war, just as a precaution given the recent political changes around your country. Did you listen and prepare? No. Are you paying the price now, friends all but gone, and your city burned to pieces? Yes. Survival instincts kicking in, you search for a place to rest, nourish your battered and hungry body, only to find yourself at the porch of a stranger. Will he help you, or leave you to your own demise?  → Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female) → Genres/AUs: apocalyptic, survival, co-dependency to stay alive + heavy angst, fluff and smut with a very small sprinkle of comedy. → Tropes: strangers to lovers + forced proximity & only one bed (because I love that shit) → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 21.3k 🫣 → Warnings + triggers: nuclear war (bombings), fire, death (people are dying so and some minor side characters die), blood and wounds (also features a lot), period blood, ptsd behavior and reactions, hunger (no access to food), anxiety attacks, hyperventilation, guns and knifes, shooting, self defense, m*rder in self defense, exposure to radiation. Minor character deaths. The ending is open and bittersweet. The story is just really grim and angsty and sad (but also comforting) 🤷 → Warnings (explicit: smut): oral (f and m receiving), nipple play/sucking, fingering, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, dirty talk, pleasing kink, protected sex (it might be the end of the world, but fret not Yoongi’s got condoms!), clit play, cockwarming, kissing, a small scene of public sex (they are outside on a hill, np people around). → Author’s note(1): So I have mixed feelings about it and the smut got less detailed than what I usually write (because I’m getting a bit tired of smut honestly, so sorry if it sucks), and I’m scared of what you’ll think of it— but here it is! I felt a lot of pressure with it, so I had my husband beta-ing it 😂 Which gave us a lot of laughs! I hope you enjoy it ⭐ → Read on AO3? [link]

[navi]: end of the world // end of the world: a flickering hope // shower drabble // whalien52 // end of the world: epilogue

A deep, ominous rumbling reverberates through the silence, a sinister caress against your ears. 

Eyes shut tight, your breaths are slow and steady, an island of peace in a sea of unrest. But the tranquility shatters as the rumbling intensifies, transforming into a relentless quake that grips your bed. You jolt awake, eyes opening just in time to be seared by a blinding white flash, burning into your vision with a harsh, unforgiving light.

Your ears ring with an unforgiving high pitched sound that makes it feel like your ears are bleeding.

You flinch, squeezing your eyes shut once more, but the world doesn’t let you escape. 

A cacophony of rumbling, shaking, and distant, panicked screams erupts around you. 

When you dare to open your eyes again, your bedroom has transformed into a nightmarish landscape— no longer a safe, enclosed space, but exposed to the elements. The dark sky looms overhead, thick with acrid smoke. Everything is engulfed in an oppressive, inky gloom that seems so dark, dark, dark.

You curl into yourself on the bed, eyes wide as you take in the scene around you. It’s like a nightmarish tableau image from a dystopian survival movie: the once serene sky is now obliterated, suffocated by a churning ocean of thick, acrid smoke. Flames roar hungrily around you, casting an eerie, flickering light on the chaos. The air is thick with the sound of terrified screams and the relentless boom of destruction. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your heart pounding furiously, as if it might burst from your chest at any moment.

The rumbling returns, more ominous this time, and you look up to see a fighter jet slicing through the smoke-choked sky. It releases a payload, and your heart clenches in dread. A deafening explosion follows as the bomb strikes, setting your ears ablaze again, and obliterating buildings and scarring the landscape. The screams of the people around you become a haunting symphony of terror. It feels like you’re trapped in an unending nightmare, each second more horrifying than the last.

You pinch yourself hard—so hard it breaks the skin, and a thin trail of blood trickles down. But the pain barely registers. You squeeze your eyes shut, then open them again, desperate to end the nightmare before you. This has to be a trick of the mind, an illusion, right? 

But the horrifying reality remains unchanged, pressing in on you from all sides.

No. It’s not a trick of the mind. 

The stark, horrifying reality sets in as your throat tightens and your body thrums with fear. This is real. This is happening—to you, to your friends—fuck. Your roommates. 

Panic seizes you as you leap off the bed, the house now a fragmented ruin, its sections strewn outside in the chaos. Heart pounding, you scramble through the wreckage, desperately searching for your friends amid the devastation.

Please, let them be okay—you can’t face this alone. 

You’re not prepared for this. 

You can’t do this. 

When the government warned about preparing for a potential war or a nuclear disaster, you thought it was a grim joke. You never believed it would actually happen—never believed it would happen to you. But now, the cold, harsh reality is crashing down around you, and the fear is suffocating.

Tears blur your vision, making it hard to see. The acrid air burns your lungs, and each breath is a struggle. The ringing in your head makes you dizzy. You cough violently, but you press on, driven by a desperate need to find your two roommates. You have to make sure they’re okay, no matter the cost.

A sound of coughing reaches your ears, and a wave of relief washes over you. You spot some of Hana’s belongings scattered on the ground, charred at the edges. The acrid smell of burnt fabric stings your nose. There, sprawled halfway on her bed, is Hana—coughing, crying, her eyes barely open, a picture of despair amid the wreckage.

“Hana?” you croak, your voice sounding strangled and unfamiliar, as if someone else is speaking. The dissonance sends your heart pounding even harder in your chest, the fear and urgency nearly overwhelming you.

She coughs again, crimson droplets falling from her lips, staining the ground beneath her. The sight of her blood on the ground sends a wave of dread through you. Rushing to her side, you assess her quickly; her complexion is pallid, drained of life. Each shallow breath she takes seems an agonizing struggle, as if the very act of breathing is draining her strength.

She struggles to speak, but you gently shake your head, tears streaming down your face. Deep down you know she won’t survive this. Your throat tightens painfully, a lump forming as you grasp the harsh reality. She’s not just a friend; she’s your best friend. Your hands tremble as you reach out, brushing away her tears, feeling the warmth of her blood on your fingertips. You don’t care about the stains. All you want is to offer her comfort, to reassure her even as your own doubts and tears blur your vision. 

How could any of this ever be okay?

How is this your reality?

She leans into your trembling hand, her eyelids fluttering closed as she takes her final breath. A wave of anguish washes over your face, and you collapse beside her, your forehead touching hers. The weight of grief presses down on you, a suffocating blend of fear, helplessness, and nausea.

The distant screams jolt you back to the present, your chest tight with anguish for your best friend. With a heavy heart, you tear yourself away, knowing there’s another roommate who needs your help—Yuri.

Tears sting your eyes as you navigate cautiously through the debris. Your gaze fixates on a pair of shoes—whether they belong to you or Hana doesn’t matter now. Snatching them up, you slide them onto your bare, blistered feet, grateful for any protection from the searing ground and jagged remnants of the house strewn about.

You locate Yuri swiftly amidst the chaos; her bewildered expression a fleeting moment of relief. Your heart leaps at the sight of her alive. Ignoring the acrid smoke that burns your lungs, you pull her into a tight embrace with both of you coughing violently in the toxic air.

“What happened?” Yuri’s voice rasps through fits of coughing. Her wide eyes reflecting fear and confusion, her pallid face etched with disbelief.

“I don’t know,” you cry out desperately, clinging to Yuri as if your life depends on it, unwilling to let go for fear she might vanish into the chaos. Your grip tightens, desperate to shield her from the crumbling world around you.

Then, in the distance, alarms pierce the air with a relentless wail. A chill races down your spine, and as you meet Yuri’s gaze, an unspoken understanding passes between you—this is no accident. War has come.

You never thought this day would come, always dismissing warnings from politicians as distant, improbable threats. But now, as reality crashes down around you, you realize you should have listened. You should have prepared for the worst, braced for the impossible. Panic grips you as you face the stark truth: there’s no escaping it now. What the hell are you supposed to do?

The distant drone of planes echoes through the sky once more, and a chill of dread courses through your trembling body. You never imagined you’d fear the sound of airplanes, but in these shifting times, everything has become a harbinger of uncertainty.

The cityscape around you lies in ruins with buildings shattered and strewn like broken toys. The urgency grips you as you realize the only option left: escape the city. 

Now.

“Yuri, we need to move,” you declare urgently, your eyes wide with dread—for the uncertain future, for your very survival. You curse under your breath, trying to quell the rising panic threatening to consume you.

Yuri’s eyes remain wide, almost vacant, as if she struggles to comprehend the shattered reality that surrounds you both—a new world, unfathomable and bleak.

You snap Yuri out of her stupor, dragging her along as you navigate through the shattered bathroom. The toilet lies in ruins on the ground, shards of the shower surround you like jagged teeth. Despite the chaos, you spot the first aid kit amidst the debris, knowing it will be crucial in this harsh new reality.

Yuri’s voice trembles as she blurts out, “We need to take those pills. In the pouch. I got them just in case. They’re potassium iodide pills and will protect your thyroid if there’s radioactive iodine in the bomb.” You hesitate for a moment, then nod in grim understanding. Snatching the pouch from its battered position, you fumble with it until you locate the pills. Each of you swallows one with a gulp, the bitter taste clinging to your tongue like a grim reminder of the world outside. With a heavy sigh, you tuck the pouch back into the depleted first aid kit.

“We need to find bags and gather anything useful,” you mutter. Your mind races in overdrive as you calculate what essentials are necessary for survival in this new reality.

Amidst the cacophony of screams and the encroaching flames, you and Yuri spring into action, scouring the wreckage for backpacks. They will be easier to carry when every ounce counts. Your hands shake as you rummage through the debris, grabbing water bottles, clothing, and anything else salvageable. Panic sets in, your heart pounding, realizing you need food too, right?

You trudge toward the kitchen, but it’s a wasteland—shattered glass, twisted metal, and the acrid smell of burnt remnants fill the air. Nothing remains salvageable, not even a scrap of food.

Panic surges through you. 

No food? 

How will you survive? 

The reality hits hard: you’ll need to scavenge for food while fleeing the city. The wreckage around you is overwhelming, casting doubt on finding anything edible. How long can a person endure without food? The question gnaws at your mind, amplifying your fear and uncertainty.

Deflated, you sigh, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on you. Survival seems impossible, but you force a hopeful smile as you reunite with Yuri, masking your despair. The world around you is shrouded in darkness and gloom, every step a reminder of the bleakness ahead.

Screams echo all around you, a relentless assault on your senses. You try to block them out, but it’s impossible—the anguished cries of the wounded, the desperate calls for loved ones, the raw agony and fear permeate the air. 

It’s unbearable; a living nightmare.

You ache to grieve for your friend, but there’s no time to stand still, no time to mourn what’s lost. With a heavy heart, you force yourself not to look back at Hana’s lifeless form. Grabbing Yuri’s hand, you push ahead, driven by a single, desperate resolve: to escape this hellish city. And fast.

Your body shivers despite the fires warming the air slightly. It’s still cold in the middle of September. You glance down at yourself, taking in your attire—a satin nightgown, its lacy seams stained with blood. But you can’t afford to care, nor do you have time to change. Your sole focus is to escape this hellscape, to put as much distance as possible between you and the burning city before worrying about anything else.

You pull Yuri away from the remnants of your house, each step deliberate as you navigate the treacherous debris. The ground is a minefield of twisted metal and shattered glass, and you can’t afford an injury. 

Your heart races and your body shivers uncontrollably, but you force yourself to push forward. The streets are a nightmarish landscape of charred bodies, gutted buildings, and smoldering wreckage. The air is thick with the sounds of anguished cries and desperate shouts. Shattered windows, jagged glass, and twisted metal litter your path as flames roar high into the darkened sky.

You can’t fathom how quickly everything spiraled into chaos. In mere seconds, then minutes, the world you knew disintegrated into a living nightmare. 

Your legs feel like lead, your mind foggy and exhausted. The cold, smoke-laden air clings to your lungs, but you force yourself to press on. Yuri’s hand in yours is the only anchor in this hellish new reality, a faint source of calm amid the chaos.

Thankfully, you live on the outskirts of the city. 

Normally, you’d discern it was nighttime just by looking at the sky, but now, the sky is pitch black and choked with smoke. You avert your gaze from the devastated city and look toward what seems like a serene, calm direction. Is it an illusion, a cruel trick of your mind? 

Desperation tugs at you, urging you toward this perceived sanctuary, a beacon of safety amidst the chaos.

Yuri coughs harshly behind you, and you spin around, dread tightening your chest as she spits up blood. You try to reassure yourself, though deep down, you know it’s futile.

“I don’t want to die,” Yuri pants between coughs, her voice strained with fear. You grip her hand tighter, desperate to offer reassurance in a world where safety is a fleeting illusion.

“You’re not going to die,” you assert, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, a feeble attempt to dispel the pervasive fear. “We’ll find a safe place, find some food, and make it through— everything will be fine.” You try to infuse conviction into your voice, but the hollowness echoes back at you, revealing the truth you dare not acknowledge.

But maybe if you keep telling yourself that everything is fine enough times, reality will bend to your desperate wishes?

You’ve been walking for what feels like an eternity, your sense of time warped by the perpetual darkness above. There’s no sky to gauge the hour anymore— gone as the stars that once were.

Your feet ache, battered and throbbing with exhaustion, begging for respite. The need for rest weighs heavily on you, but the city’s relentless grip refuses to release you. The daunting truth forces a weary sigh from your lips.

Yuri trembles, tears mingling with the grime on her cheeks, and you can’t shake the thought that she might be falling ill. Dread gnaws at you—what if it’s something fatal?

Your legs refuse to carry you any further, and staying exposed on the desolate road is a dangerous gamble. You’ve sensed shadows trailing your every move—what do they seek? Your clothes, the rations you don’t have, your very survival kit? You dare not linger to discover their intentions, yet exhaustion demands a pause. You must rest, even as paranoia grips your weary mind, hoping for a brief refuge to steady your faltering steps.

Adrenaline surges, urging you to hasten your steps, desperate to lose the shadowy figures trailing behind. The cityscape thins as you approach its outskirts. The dwindling buildings offer fewer places to conceal yourselves. Despite the fewer options, you’re determined to evade capture. With a sharp turn, you pull a breathless Yuri around the corner, heart pounding in sync with the echoing footsteps behind you.

You slip into a ravaged boutique, its shattered door gaping wide for easy entry. The dim interior reveals racks of torn clothing and broken mannequins strewn across the floor. You guide Yuri deeper inside, settling her on the dusty tiles. Her pallid face stands out starkly in the oppressive darkness, a chilling reminder of the perilous world outside. The thought of losing another friend tonight claws at your gut, urging you to find safety and respite in this decaying sanctuary.

“How are you holding up?” you inquire, your voice tinged with apprehension. Despite your fear of the response, you must know.

She trembles, her voice quivering. “I’m not doing well,” she admits. Her eyes wide with unspoken dread. “I don’t think I’ll make it.”

“Of course you will,” you choke out, your voice cracking with emotion, unable to confront the specter of death. The memory of Hana’s bloodied face flashes vividly in your mind, tears tracing the path down your grimy cheeks. Why must this nightmare persist?

“You’re a lousy liar, you know?” she quips weakly, a grim chuckle escaping her lips as she coughs up blood, wiping her mouth with a trembling hand. She studies the red stains on her palm with resignation, exhaling heavily.

You furrow your brow. Deep down, you know your attempts at optimism are feeble at best. In your friend group, you’ve always been the pragmatic realist, but now, you’ll play the role of hopeful optimist if it means coaxing a smile from Yuri’s pale face. You bite back any further words, aware that Yuri can read you like a book, predictable as always.

You slump onto the frigid tile floor of the store, grateful for a brief respite from the relentless march. The cold seeps through your clothes, a bitter reminder of the world outside, but your weary feet finally find a moment’s reprieve.

You’re uncertain how much time Yuri has left, but you’re determined to muster every ounce of strength to lead both of you to safety, far from the chaos—this inferno of a city, this relentless war that has begun.

How long will this last?

The shuffle of broken glass on the tile sends a shiver down your spine, sharpening your senses. Someone approaches, and you’re defenseless. Panic grips you—this is bad. Very bad.

Footsteps echo ominously, a chilling reminder of imminent danger. Yuri’s gaze meets yours, wide with fear and tears threatening to spill. The certainty settles in—this is how you die.

A looming silhouette emerges—a figure cloaked in darkness; their presence ominous and foreboding. Dread creeps up your spine as you realize the danger before you.

You scramble backward, but the shelves halt your retreat, trapping you in a corner with no escape. Panic surges as time slips away—your feet ache, and Yuri’s condition weighs heavily. The man advances, his silence more menacing than any threat, his cold, unyielding gaze fixed upon you.

Uncertain of the stranger’s intentions—murder or something worse? Your heart races, adrenaline surges through your veins as he moves closer. In a split-second decision, survival instincts take over. You lunge, sinking your teeth into his arm, tasting the metallic tang of blood. Like a desperate animal, you bite down harder, unrelenting until he screams in agony and collapses to the ground, clutching his injured limb.

“You fucking bitch!” he spits, struggling to rise despite the pain.

You hiss through clenched teeth, rising to your feet, closing the distance to charge at him, a wild glint in your eyes. “Try me again, and I’ll bite your fucking dick off.” The threat hangs heavy in the air, punctuated by the burning cityscape beyond. Your blood simmers with adrenaline, a primal urge overshadowing your usual self-control. You’re not yourself anymore, but one thing is clear; you’re more than willing to follow through.

He flinches, a flicker of fear crossing his face, and satisfaction courses through you. Your grin widens as he scrambles backward toward the shattered entrance, then finally turns and bolts, disappearing into the smoke-laden darkness.

You exhale sharply, unaware you’d been holding your breath. Returning to Yuri, still hunched over on the floor, clutching her stomach, you kneel beside her, heart pounding in dread as you examine her stomach.

Carefully prying her hand away, the sticky warmth confirms your fear— blood, seeping from her abdomen. Swiftly lifting her nightshirt, you reveal a small yet troubling wound. Fumbling through your backpack, your hands find the first aid kit amidst the chaos, extracting antiseptic to cleanse the injury. With trembling hands, you cover it with gauze and secure it with tape, knowing it’s a temporary fix— but this will have to do for now.

“I think debris hit me when the first bomb struck,” she explains, her breath ragged and filled with pain.

“It’s okay. It’s not that bad,” you manage to say, forcing a smile that fails to reach your eyes. Who were you kidding anyway?

You settle beside her, allowing her head to rest on your shoulder. “Let’s rest. You sleep, and I’ll keep watch,” you murmur, scanning the shadows with wary eyes.

Her head nestles against your shoulder and neck. “But you need rest too,” she whispers. Her voice is barely audible over the distant sounds of chaos echoing through the shattered cityscape.

“I’ll sleep later. Don’t worry about it; just go to sleep,” you command, the edge in your voice betraying the fear and exhaustion gnawing at you. You didn’t mean to sound so stern, but the cold reality of the situation weighs heavily on your shoulders. You wish someone could offer you the same reassurance— tell you this is all just a bad dream. Soon you’ll wake up and everything will be as it was.

Or for someone to tell you this is all just a movie, and you’re just an actress playing your part in some bizarre doomsday flick. But deep down, you know you’re no actress, this is no movie— sadly, this is real life, and you’re just a twenty-nine-year-old woman with a dead-end job.

Guess you don’t have that job at the café anymore. There’s probably no café left standing. The place likely went up in flames like much else in the city.

You listen to Yuri’s breathing, its slow cadence a brief respite from the cacophony outside—planes droning, people fleeing, and the distant echoes of screams. In just a few hours, these sounds have become the new normal, yet each one still sends a shiver down your spine.

You keep vigil through the restless hours as you had assured Yuri. Time blurs in the suffocating darkness, making it impossible to discern whether it’s night or day. Hours seem to stretch like endless tendrils of despair. With dawn or dusk lost to the smoke-filled horizon, you gently rouse Yuri, steeling yourself to resume your desperate quest for safety.

Yuri’s voice, usually vibrant and full of life, now emerges as a subdued whisper. “So it wasn’t just a nightmare…” Her words hang heavy in the air, laced with the grim realization that this dystopian nightmare has become your bleak reality.

“I’m afraid so,” you admit, your voice echoing in the desolate store. “We have to keep moving. Get out of the city.” Your limbs ache with every movement, a constant reminder of the night’s horrors. Yawning, you rise and gently pull Yuri to her feet. Before venturing out, you take a sip of water from your dwindling supply, feeling hunger gnaw at your stomach. Food is a distant luxury now, replaced by the urgency of survival.

Stepping out of the store, you survey the aftermath; where once vibrant flames danced, now only smoldering ruins remain. The landscape is awash in gray and ash falling like snow, towering skyscrapers reduced to skeletal frames or gaping maws of destruction. Smoke billows thick and acrid, clawing at your throat with every breath, forcing a cough to escape. This city, once teeming with life, now lies desolate and unrecognizable—a shattered testament to a world irreparably changed. This was your home, but now it’s a forsaken wasteland, a haunting reminder of the relentless march of destruction closing in around you.

If you manage to escape this city, this will probably never be your home again.

Pressing onward, you drag a weary, ghostly-pale Yuri in tow. Each step feels like a battle against the weight of the world collapsing around you, but you refuse to relent. The streets stretch out before you, barren and haunting, a maze of debris and ominous shadows. You move cautiously, every sound magnified in the eerie silence of the ruined cityscape, knowing that survival hinges on reaching safety, no matter how small the steps.

You walk and walk. The road stretches endlessly into the horizon, an unrelenting path of despair. Gradually, the landscape shifts from the shattered remnants of the city to the bleak desolation of nature, though nothing remains green. Everything is gray and charred, the outskirts bombed into an unrecognizable wasteland. Each step is a journey through the aftermath of destruction, a grim testament to the world that once was.

Body heavy and feet blistered, you can barely drag yourself forward, and Yuri is faring even worse. You decide to stop, the weight of exhaustion forcing your hand. The world around you is silent save for the distant echoes of disaster. You find a small, secluded spot to relieve yourself, then reach into your backpacks for the precious water bottles. The liquid is a lifeline in this scorched, desolate landscape.

“I think I’m dying,” Yuri pants as she collapses onto a stone, her face ghostly pale, lips tinged with blue, eyes glassy and distant. The sight sends a cold lump forming in your throat, a suffocating denial choking you because you can’t accept this as reality. It has to be just a stupid fucking nightmare.

You glance at your arm where you pinched yourself yesterday. The tiny scar is a mocking reminder of your futile hope. You barely register the pain; all you want is for this nightmare to end, for the world to return to a semblance of normalcy.

“You’re not dying,” you insist, voice trembling as you crouch down to meet her gaze. But her eyes are distant, unfocused, as if she’s already slipping away. A tear escapes down your cheek, cutting through the grime of this hellish reality.

“Stop lying, bitch,” she hisses, her voice a fragile blend of defiance and despair. She rolls her eyes in mock anger, the gesture marred by the blood she spits up, staining the ground like a cruel reminder of reality.

“I can’t walk anymore, and my stomach hurts so bad,” she pants, tears streaming down her dirt-streaked face as she clutches her wound. Blood seeps through her shirt, a grim testament to her worsening state. You glance up at the sky, a bleak, gray expanse that offers no solace. Clenching your fist, you rage silently at the faceless enemies responsible for this devastation. It’s not just your friends; it’s the entire city, maybe the whole country. Fear gnaws at you as you realize you have no idea of the world’s state. Is it just your country? The entire world? You curse yourself for not packing a radio to stay informed.

You’re wondering if there would be any information on your phone, but you don’t want to use it, because you don’t have anything to charge it with. You want to save it for extreme emergencies. 

“We’re finally out of the city,” you say, trying to infuse your voice with hope. “Maybe we can make it to another house down the road that can help us.” The words feel hollow, and you both know the truth: Yuri isn’t going to make it that far. Her labored breathing and the pallor of her skin betray the grim reality.

She coughs up more blood, almost choking. “We both know the next house is in the next city, over a hundred kilometers away,” she rasps, each word a painful reminder of the hopelessness stretching before you.

You lower your gaze to the grimy, ash-covered road. She’s right, of course. It’s likely far more than a few hundred kilometers, and the trek ahead promises to be an endless, harrowing journey through desolation.

Ashes swirl in the air like snow, a haunting reminder of your ravaged city. For a fleeting moment, you glance back, taking in the sight of crumbling buildings, smoldering remnants, and the acrid stench of smoke that clings to your senses. The scene turns your stomach, and you double over beside Yuri, bile rising in your throat, the bitter taste lingering like a grim testament to the city’s devastation.

“I’m freezing… Will you stay with me? Wrap your arms around me?” she pleads, her voice trembling with cold and fear, tears welling in her eyes, mirrored in yours. You nod silently, your heart heavy with the weight of what’s to come. She collapses onto the ground, and you join her, enveloping her frail, shivering form in your arms, seeking warmth amidst the chilling winds that whisper of desolation and despair.

“Promise me you’ll do everything you can to get to safety, okay?” she stutters, tears streaming down her cheeks, mixing with yours. Your heart breaks because you don’t want this reality. You can’t bear to lose another friend, but you’re helpless. You’re no doctor, and Yuri’s injuries are beyond your ability to heal. It’s a cruel truth that gnaws at your soul. Anger surges through you, directed at whoever orchestrated this devastation upon your friends, your city, your homeland. This world has become a cold and merciless place.

You’ve always been an ugly crier, and this is no different, but neither of you cares as tears stream uncontrollably down your faces. “I’ll try my best,” you manage to choke out, the words catching in your throat amidst the despair.

“When I’m gone…,” she begins, and a chill runs through your body at her words, “will you drag my body over to those bushes?” Her voice is strained, barely above a whisper, as if even speaking about her own death is too much to bear.

Even though your voice is hoarse, your wailing echoes through the desolate landscape, a mournful cry that seems to merge with the howling wind. You nod silently, tears streaming down your face, blurring the bleak surroundings into a haunting blur of despair and loss.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible as she lays her head down on your shoulder. Her breaths are faint and fleeting, each one a fragile thread in the unraveling tapestry of her life. You hold your breath, feeling the weight of each passing moment as her heartbeat dwindles, a painful echo of the world falling silent around you.

Your fists clench involuntarily, a futile attempt to grasp the reality unfolding before you: sitting beside your dying friend in this bleak, shattered world. This isn’t how life was supposed to be—witnessing the unraveling of everything you hold dear. You never signed up for this torment, this heart-wrenching despair that consumes you. 

Why? 

The question lingers like a haunting echo in the desolation.

Yuri’s breathing slows to a crawl, each breath a strained whisper of life. You turn your gaze to her face, her eyelids fluttering faintly—she’s clinging to existence. The agony etched on her features is unbearable, and a chilling realization settles in: maybe death is a mercy in this ravaged world. Her suffering is too much to endure, and part of you wishes she could escape it. It’s a cruel acceptance, knowing that letting go might be the kindest act left, even though you really don’t want her to go.

The silence closes in like a shroud, burnt leaves swirling in the air, whipped by the relentless wind. It’s eerie, the smoke and ash embracing everything. Your hand seeks Yuri’s, fingers tracing to her wrists, and there, you check for her pulse—absent, lost amidst the desolation.

You scream and cry, heedless of any who might hear amidst the desolate landscape. This world, so callous and unforgiving, engulfs you. Tears cascade down like a torrent, emotions unchecked. You gasp for air in the acrid, ashen atmosphere, your body trembling uncontrollably.

She’s gone. Another friend, lost to this merciless world.

You sit there, by the side of the road, time slipping through your fingers like sand in a storm. Hours pass, maybe more, the world reduced to desolation around you. A lone figure passed by earlier, casting a glance your way, but the urgency of survival drove him on, leaving you and your dead friend to the merciless elements. The city’s ruins loom in the distance behind you, a reminder of the chaos that has consumed everything.

You know you must move, but before you leave, there’s a promise to fulfill for Yuri.

You relieve yourself and step back onto the road, eyes fixed on the distant horizon that seems miraculously untouched by the ravages of war. That glimmer of hope pulls you forward. You have to reach it. No matter the distance, no matter the obstacles, you must get there. 

It’s your only chance.

You walk and walk—days blur into weeks. Your clothes hang off your frame, tattered and too big. Bombings have become a constant backdrop, each explosion a distant rumble you barely acknowledge. The earth’s violent shudders no longer faze you. Hunger gnaws at you, a relentless companion, its grip tightening until you can’t even remember your last meal. Water, your only steadfast ally, has kept you moving; without it, you’d have long since fallen.

You trudge along the desolate highway, the city a distant speck on the horizon behind you. You have no sense of how far you’ve traveled, only that the remnants of your home have shrunk to a mere dot in your vision. The road stretches endlessly ahead, a bleak reminder of the ground yet to cover.

Dizziness is your constant companion now, your throat is parched as the Sahara despite your efforts to hydrate. Water is scarce, and you’ve been rationing it for days. Hope feels like a distant memory, and though the elusive horizon you’ve been chasing for weeks appears closer, it still seems maddeningly out of reach.

Your body feels like lead, your feet swollen and throbbing with every step. 

Sleep is a distant memory, haunted away by visions of blood-streaked faces, final breaths, and echoing cries. Bloodshot eyes and a disheveled appearance mark your struggle; you’re still in your tattered nightdress, stained with blood and reeking of fear and sweat. 

No food, no shower, just the relentless march through this wasteland.

You’ve lost track of time—is it still September? 

The biting cold cuts through you, your torn and ruined shoes barely offering any protection. You trudge onward, desperate to find shelter, weary of hiding in the bushes from strangers who might wish you harm. Paranoia grips you; every rustle in the distance, every shadow makes you jump. Trust is a luxury you can’t afford. You feel like you’re unraveling, teetering on the edge of sanity.

The roses have withered, frost seeping into your bones. The birds no longer sing at dawn, and the grass by the roadside shrivels to brown. In the encroaching darkness, the cries of the forsaken echo—abandoned by fate and by man.

When your eyes land on a solitary house down a side street off the main road, you can hardly believe it. You’re nowhere near your end goal, the neighboring city, yet here it is—a lonesome house in the middle of fucking nowhere. You chuckle, convinced you’ve lost your mind. Why would there be a house out here, untouched by the chaos? You blink repeatedly, but the house remains. Your feet carry you forward, despite your spinning head and the jumbled mess of thoughts in your mind.

The house, partially concealed by tall trees and lush bushes miraculously untouched by bombs, seems like a relic from a forgotten world. An old jeep, battered but intact, sits beside the porch with its white picket fence. You approach cautiously, every step feeling surreal, and lift your hand to knock. Your bloody knuckles leave crimson smears on the pristine white door, a stark reminder of the nightmare you can’t escape.

You lose track of time standing there, every second stretching into an eternity, before the door is abruptly ripped open. You find yourself staring down the barrel of a rifle.

“Who are you?” a male voice demands, harsh and suspicious, but the words barely register. Your vision blurs, darkness encroaching, and the last thing you feel is the hard impact of the porch floorboards against your head as you collapse.

Slowly, your eyes flutter open, your eyelids feeling like lead, gritty with exhaustion. Your vision swims, a blur of muted colors and shadowy shapes. You blink, trying to bring the world into focus. Through the haze, you make out a figure sitting on a chair not far from you. Panic grips your chest. 

Fuck. 

Where are you?

Your pulse quickens, and you jolt into a sitting position with a startled gasp, blinking as your vision finally clears; you find yourself in a bed, surrounded by bandages and the sterile scent of antiseptic. You’re in someone’s house—a man’s house, and he's seated across from you, watching intently.

He sports long, unkempt black hair that curls at the ends, paired with a ragged shirt jacket, torn jeans, and a plain black tee. His knees jitter nervously, as if he can’t find solace or calm in this chaotic world.

He sits clutching the rifle that had greeted your face before you blacked out. A cold shiver courses through you, fear gripping your heart at the thought of imminent danger. But if he intended to harm you, wouldn’t he have done it already?

He clears his throat, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade, harsh and demanding. His eyebrow arches in suspicion as he growls, “Who are you?”

His steely demeanor makes your throat tighten, but you swallow your fear and force out the words. “I’m Y/N. I live in the city. Well… I lived there, before…” Your voice trails off as the weight of your new reality presses down on you. Nervously, you bite your lip, eyes darting around the room. You’re in a bedroom—king-size bed, you assume. High open shelves are stocked with toilet paper, dry food, canned goods, plastic water bottles, multiple first aid kits, and warm blankets. The sight of these supplies leaves you gaping. “Are you a prepper?” you ask, disbelief tinged with a sliver of hope.

He scoffs, a bitter edge to his voice, clearly unimpressed by your assumption. “I’m not a prepper,” he snaps, eyes narrowing as he tightens his grip on the rifle. “Now, tell me what you’re doing here, unless you want me to shoot you.”

You gulp, your throat dry and tight— the cold steel of his rifle isn’t just for show. His steely eyes tell you he’s a man who will follow through on his threats. You need to speak quickly, clearly. “I’m fleeing from the city,” you sputter in a rush, words tumbling over each other. “My home is destroyed. I haven’t eaten in god knows how long, I’m thirsty, and I just want a place to rest and stay away from the war.” Your breath catches, lightheaded from the effort.

His eyebrows arch in surprise, the hard edge in his voice softening to a wary curiosity. “Have you been walking since the first bomb hit?” he asks, the malice momentarily replaced by a flicker of genuine intrigue.

You nod, exhaustion settling deep in your bones despite your unconscious respite. Time feels warped and meaningless. “How long have I been out?” you ask, the reality of your situation hitting harder as you notice you’re still in your tattered nightgown, a haunting reminder that it couldn’t have been long.

“Only an hour,” he replies, his voice a rough whisper. “I cleaned some of your scrapes and wounds.” He gestures to your arms and legs, now meticulously bandaged, the clean white stark against your dirt-streaked skin. The care feels almost alien in this ravaged world.

“Thank you,” you manage, offering a small, weary smile. The words feel foreign on your tongue. Despite the rifle and his guarded demeanor, you feel a sliver of tension ease in this fragile sanctuary.

“So you haven’t eaten anything in three weeks?” he suddenly shouts, disbelief cutting through his gruff exterior. His eyes scan you from head to toe, and you feel exposed, vulnerable under his intense scrutiny, making you squirm.

“Three weeks? That can’t be right... Maybe a week,” you mutter, your voice small as you fidget with the duvet covering your legs. You glance down at the bloodstained sheets, wondering why he placed you in the bed with your filthy clothes. But then again, in this shattered world, stained sheets are the least of your worries.

“It’s been almost three weeks since the bombings started,” he says, placing the rifle beside his chair. “I’m Yoongi, by the way. Sorry about pointing my rifle at you—it’s just...there’ve been people trying to raid my supplies.” He scratches his head, a nervous gesture that contrasts with the cold, hard edge of survival in his voice.

A sudden knock on the door startles both of you. You shiver on the bed, wide-eyed and afraid. Yoongi’s expression hardens as he swiftly picks up his rifle, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Friends of yours?” he asks, his voice low and tense.

Your eyes dart down to your trembling hands as a tear escapes, tracing a path down your grime-streaked face. “No,” you whisper, voice cracking, “Don’t have any more of those left.”

He notices the sadness in your eyes but remains silent, rising to his feet and heading toward the front door. You follow, a compulsion driven by a mix of fear and curiosity. As you move from the bedroom through a narrow hallway, you glimpse an open living room and kitchen space before reaching the door. Yoongi raises his rifle, mirroring the moment you first encountered him. 

Before he can react, the door bursts open, slamming into him and causing him to stumble back. A wild-eyed man, covered in dirt and smeared with blood, lunges inside. His crazed gaze locks onto you as he charges forward, a feral desperation in his movements.

“Give me food or I’ll kill you!” he shouts, launching himself at your exhausted body. You hit the floor with a heavy thud, groaning in pain, but adrenaline kicks in, sharpening your senses. As you claw at his skin, the man, wild-eyed and desperate, seems beyond reason, driven by hunger and survival—much like yourself. 

But you need to get him off you. 

Your heart pounds in your chest as you use your legs to kick him in the groin. He hisses in pain, and you seize the moment, tumbling him over. His back hits the floor with a sickening thud. You straddle him, screaming and hissing, your hands instinctively finding his throat. You press down, your vision narrowing to the singular focus of survival, fueled by desperation and fear in a world gone mad.

He fights you for control, his nails digging into your sides, tearing your nightgown. In a violent twist, he’s on top of you again, pinning you to the floor. You struggle against his weight, every muscle screaming, the cold, hard surface pressing into your spine. The room spins around you, and the desperation in his eyes mirrors your own.

But then, he’s yanked off you, dragged by his hair, Yoongi’s grip unyielding. The intruder’s wild eyes meet yours for a fleeting moment before Yoongi raises his rifle. A deafening bang is sent through the room, and the man’s body crumples. Blood splatters everywhere, painting the floor in a macabre pattern. The scent of gunpowder mixes with the iron tang of blood, and the room falls into an eerie silence, save for the ringing in your ears.

You scream, the sound raw and primal, echoing in the suffocating silence. Your heart hammers against your ribs, each beat threatening to choke you. Nausea churns in your gut as the reality of what just happened slams into you. Who the fuck is this guy? He just killed a man! Disbelief crashes over you, and fear grips your chest like a vise. The room spins, your breaths coming in rapid, shallow gasps as you teeter on the edge of hyperventilation, panic surging through your veins like ice.

You gasp for air, eyes wide with terror, as Yoongi throws the rifle to the floor. The stranger’s body lies motionless in a spreading pool of blood, a stark reminder of the brutality that surrounds you. Shivering uncontrollably, you try to crawl away from Yoongi and the corpse, each movement a struggle against your own paralyzing fear. Tears blur your vision as you sob, feeling like you’ve just traded one nightmare for another, the weight of this dystopian hell pressing down on you from all sides.

Yoongi approaches you cautiously, his voice low and soothing. “Relax, everything is okay,” he reassures, his hands extended in a calming gesture, fingers splayed to show he means no harm. Despite his gentle demeanor, you retreat further, wary and unsure if his kindness is a facade. The air is thick with tension, echoing the uncertainty of this dystopian world where trust is a luxury long lost.

“Okay? You just shot a man!” Your frantic scream echoes off the walls, each word laced with fear and disbelief as you feel the cold concrete pressing against your back. Panic rises, clawing at your throat. There’s nowhere left to go; you’re trapped, cornered in this unforgiving world.

“Yeah, he was going to kill us and steal my food.” his voice steady, as if justifying his actions were routine in this harsh reality.

You stare at him in disbelief, your gasping intensifying. “So that means he deserves to die?” The accusation hangs heavy in the air, tears streaming down your cheeks in rapid succession. Dizziness swirls through you, fingers tingling with adrenaline and fear.

“Relax,” he says again, his voice soothing yet unsettling as he moves closer.

You refuse to ease up. You want him gone, and you want this goddamn nightmare to end. You yearn for normalcy, for everything to revert to how it was before. You don’t belong here with this Yoongi, a stranger turned killer. How the hell are you going to escape this mess?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, his voice steady yet tinged with an edge of authority. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be gone by now.”

His reassurances fall flat against the pounding of your heart. You struggle to process his words; your mind feels clouded, suffocated. Each breath is a battle, your chest constricting with a pain so intense, it threatens to overwhelm you.

“Please, calm down. You’re having a panic attack and you have to breathe calmly,” he urges, crouching before you. Your eyes widen with fear, anticipating harm from this stranger. Yet, as his warm hand gently rests on your shoulder, its reassuring weight steadies your erratic breaths. Tears still streaming, you gasp for air, but gradually, your breathing steadies, the tension in your chest easing with each controlled inhale.

“That’s good. Listen, I’m not gonna hurt you,” he assures, his gaze piercing into yours to convey sincerity. You nod hesitantly. Despite the fact that he’s taken a life, his actions in tending to your wounds suggest he harbors no ill intent toward you. Surely, he wouldn’t go through all that trouble if his intentions were sinister, would he?

“I can’t believe you killed a man, just like that…” you mutter in disbelief, your voice tinged with horror. 

“Would you rather he killed us?” he asks bluntly, a shrug punctuating his matter-of-fact tone.

“No,” you reply, the certainty in your voice belying the tumult of emotions inside you.

“Look. It was either him or us. I’d rather live. This is just how life is now, I guess,” he says solemnly, rising to his feet and striding past the lifeless body toward the kitchen. He returns with biscuits and a water bottle. “Here, eat some crackers and drink some water. You have to start slow if you haven’t eaten in weeks,” he advises gently, handing you the items. Your fingers brush against his as you take them.

“You can take a shower; it’s in the bedroom. While you do that, I’ll get rid of the body.”

You nod, fingers trembling as you pry open the crackers and take a hesitant bite. They taste dry and unfamiliar, like they’ve been preserved for years. Your stomach churns in protest, unaccustomed to solid food after weeks of deprivation. Sipping water, you set both items down beside you. 

“Thank you,” you manage to whisper, offering him a small, grateful smile, relief flooding through you as your heart finally settles into a steady rhythm.

“No problem. You can grab some of my clothes in the bathroom. That poor nightgown isn’t doing much to cover you,” he says with a slight chuckle. You glance down and realize half of your right breast is exposed, your hands instinctively flying to shield it from view.

You’re embarrassed, cheeks burning, and you scramble up from the floor, not saying a word because the humiliation is overwhelming. Your breast has been exposed all this time, likely since the scuffle with the man, and Yoongi didn’t mention it until now? You rush back to the bedroom, pushing away thoughts of Yoongi seeing you half-naked and what he might do with the body in his living room.

In the bedroom, you easily locate the in-suite bathroom at the end; it boasts a large bathtub, a sleek shower, a toilet, and a spacious sink, all in matte black with subtle white accents, strikingly minimalistic. Approaching the bathtub, you turn on the water, feeling its warmth soothe your battered hand. It’s a strange sensation, one you haven’t felt in what seems like an eternity, and a rush of anticipation flutters in your chest at the prospect of a proper shower. As the tub fills, you shed your clothes, discarding the nightgown into the garbage—it’s beyond salvaging. Glancing at yourself in the mirror, what meets your eyes is a stranger, not the person you once were but a mere shell. Your skin is streaked with grime, your face swollen, especially beneath your eyes, and your hair wild and unruly.

Finally, the tub fills to the brim, and you shut off the stream, testing the temperature with your hand—it’s perfect, pleasantly hot, promising a thorough cleanse. Eagerly, you step into the water, noting the array of shower bottles within reach. You grab one, twisting off the cap to release a refreshing minty scent that envelops you. The shampoo and conditioner bear the same invigorating fragrance. Yoongi must have a thing for mint, you think to yourself with a faint smile, grateful for this small comfort after enduring the trials of the past three weeks. 

The notion that so much time has passed feels surreal, almost impossible to grasp.

You let the warm water envelop and soothe your weary body, a brief respite from the horrors that haunt you—before the bombings, before this relentless war. The shower gel lathers as you wash away the grime, shampooing your hair with a sense of renewal. For a fleeting moment, the sensation of cleansing almost allows you to forget the devastation that brought you here. 

But guilt grips you tightly, a suffocating embrace. You feel the weight of being alive when your friends are gone, their lives snuffed out mercilessly. The simple joy of a bath, forever denied to them, brings tears to your eyes, mingling with the water surrounding you. 

You can’t stand to stay in the tub any longer, despite not feeling physically clean. Quiet sobs escape your lips as you stand, chest tight with sorrow for what has been taken from you, and for what you can never reclaim.

Hastily, you snatch a gray towel, wrapping it around your shivering frame as tears trace silent paths down your cheeks in the mirror’s reflection. The ache for your lost friends deepens with each droplet that falls. Drying off with hurried strokes, the plush towel offers some comfort against your skin. You manage to towel-dry your hair as best as you can, seeking normalcy in the routine.

Then, a glimmer catches your eye—a toothbrush. The realization hits hard: you haven’t brushed your teeth in three weeks. Your gaze darts around the bathroom, finding only one brush. Is it gross to use someone else’s? Disgusting, maybe? You search the cabinets in vain for a spare, but finding none, you convince yourself it’s okay. You’ll sanitize it thoroughly, make it right. With meticulous care, you rinse the toothbrush under the stream, scrubbing it clean before applying toothpaste. 

The brush feels foreign in your mouth, yet it scrubs away the layers of neglect, refreshing your senses in a way you hadn’t realized you craved.

When you finish, you step out into the bedroom, scanning Yoongi’s dresser for any clothing that might fit. Not expecting to find undergarments, you ponder going without or resorting to his if necessary. Pulling on a pair of gray sweatpants, you cover your legs before grabbing a black t-shirt and slipping it over your head. Spotting a pair of cozy socks nearby, you hastily put them on and make your way into the living room, the unfamiliar garments a stark reminder of the upheaval your life has become.

You step into the living room, confronted by an unsettling contrast of cleanliness and calm amidst the recent violence. It’s as if the room has been meticulously scrubbed of any trace of the fatal encounter that unfolded mere moments ago. You can’t help but question whether Yoongi is unnervingly efficient at erasing the aftermath of death or if you’ve lost track of time while in the bath, leaving you to wonder what else might have transpired in your absence.

You spot a door tucked away in the dimly lit living room, its handle cold to the touch. Slowly, you push it open, and a shiver snakes down your spine at the grim sight that greets you. “Are those... bodies?” you choke out, a mix of revulsion and horror tightening your throat as you gaze upon the macabre pile in the corner of the yard. Yoongi turns around, his expression unreadable, having added the latest stranger to what appears to be a makeshift graveyard of those he’s encountered before you.

“Yeah?” he shrugs nonchalantly, as if it’s inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

“How many people have you killed?” you demand, hands on your hips, trying to steady your nerves.

He pauses, the silence stretching between you, each moment heightening the weight of his answer. “Five,” he finally admits, his voice carrying the weight of each life taken in this unforgiving world.

“Five?! That’s a lot— five too many,” you spit out in disbelief, the weight of his confession sinking into your bones. You can’t stand to dwell on it any longer. Death surrounds you like a shroud, and you’ve seen enough to last a lifetime. Turning away, you hear Yoongi’s footsteps approach from behind, each step a reminder of the grim reality you now face.

“Like I told you before, it was me or them. I was only defending myself and my home,” he shrugs nonchalantly, pushing the door open as you follow him into the living room. He settles onto the couch, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the pristine room that belies the violence it has witnessed.

“Did you have a nice shower? You smell nice,” he smiles warmly, pulling a blanket over his legs.

You gape at him—how can he be so calm? He just killed a man, and now he acts like it’s no big deal, no remorse, no hint of the violence that just transpired.

“I smell like you, and yes, your tub is very nice. Your clothes too. Thank you,” you reply, sitting down on the couch, keeping a deliberate distance between you. After what you’ve witnessed, it feels safer that way.

“You really held your own back there, with the guy. It was kinda hot,” he says, his tone as casual as discussing the weather or deciding what to eat.

Your mouth hangs open. Is this guy serious? 

“Something’s seriously wrong with you if you find that hot. Please don’t tell me you’re aroused or something. I’m not touching you or helping you with your boner—I barely know you,” you say, crossing your arms defiantly across your chest.

He chuckles, a deep, resonant sound that reverberates through the room, a stark contrast to the desolation outside. You gaze at him, stunned by the unexpected display of humor. 

“I’m not aroused and if I did have a boner, I could take care of it myself, don’t you worry. I just respect women who can fend for themselves,” he says with a smile, settling deeper into the worn cushions of the couch.

“Well, I know self-defense. My dad drilled it into me as a kid and teenager. Have you seen how messed up the world is? Even before this war or whatever it is, men were always preying on women or men, lurking in shadows, stalking, abducting them—doing who knows what. I had to learn to protect myself,” you explain, watching him nod in understanding, his eyes reflecting a grim acknowledgment of the world’s harsh realities.

“That’s good. Oh, I forgot to mention, I left your backpack next to the couch—by the way, you look good in my clothes,” he grins, rising from the couch and moving over to the kitchen.

“Want some dinner? I’ve got leftovers we can reheat,” he mumbles from the kitchen. You nod silently, your mind elsewhere as you walk over to your backpack. You hardly remember what kind of stuff you grabbed from home—hopefully clothes, maybe some underwear would be nice. Digging through it, you find only two pairs of leggings, three shirts, and a bra. Well, it seems like unlucky is just your color.

Doesn’t matter, you can go without panties. It might be a problem when your period comes, but that’s a worry for another day.

You hear a beep from the kitchen and join Yoongi there. Whatever he’s reheated is ready, and you take a seat at the round table positioned between the kitchen and the living room. Yoongi retrieves cold water from the fridge.

“So, you’re not a prepper, but you’ve stockpiled enough to survive indefinitely. Why?” you inquire between cautious bites, mindful of not agitating your stomach.

“Didn’t you listen to the government? They told us to prepare for anything, just in case. And I prefer to be ready. Call me a prepper if you want,” he shrugs, spearing his food with his fork.

“I noticed all your shampoo in the bathroom. What else have you stocked up on?” you ask, genuinely curious. You hadn’t prepared for any of this, refusing to believe something like a war could happen in your country.

“I’ve got spare clothes, solar-powered batteries, extra fuel for the truck, a backup generator for power outages, and even a well in the backyard in case the water supply is cut,” he lists with a chuckle. But your eyes widen almost to the point of popping out of their sockets; you’ve never encountered anyone so thoroughly prepared.

“What’s your deal then? You live out here by yourself in the middle of nowhere?” you choke out as you take a sip of your water.

“Yeah, I don’t like people,” he says with another shrug, and you almost spit out your water. Oh god, he’s probably one of those eccentric types.

“Let me rephrase that; I just prefer my own company,” he explains, his voice steady but with a hint of guardedness.

“Well, what am I doing here then?” you chuckle with a smile, though you feel some insecurities seep into your blood.

“You wouldn’t last another day out there. And it’s not that I don’t enjoy company. Maybe we can help each other out, stay alive together?” he shrugs again, and you begin to wonder if he can do anything else but shrug.

“Like make life more bearable together?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yeah. Just keep each other company. It is pretty lonely out here,” he sighs, carrying his plate back to the sink to clean and put in the dishwasher.

“We can do that,” you say, yawning and stretching your body, feeling the tiredness wash over you. You wish for a good night’s sleep, something you haven’t had in weeks.

“Sleepy?” he chuckles, flashing a pearly set of teeth and pink gums.

“Yeah. Honestly, I haven’t had proper sleep since the bombings,” you yawn again as Yoongi takes your plate and cleans it too.

“Then maybe we should go to bed?” he suggests, clearing the table.

“Yeah, if you can just show me to the guest room, that would be nice,” you yawn again, feeling the weight of exhaustion pulling you down.

Yoongi burst into laughter again, his voice echoing through the desolate walls. “Guest room? Y/N, there’s only one bedroom. You’re bunking with me unless you prefer the icy embrace of the couch.”

Your eyes widen, reluctance shadowing your thoughts as the idea of sleeping in the cold chills you. Yet, the notion of sharing a bed with him unsettles you; he remains a stranger, and despite his seemingly gentle demeanor, your instincts keep you on edge. You sigh, resigned to the exhaustion that weighs heavily on you. “Sharing a bed will have to do,” you mutter, your voice tinged with apprehension and weariness.

You both walk together to his bedroom, the air thick with a strange tension that makes your heart pound erratically in your chest. It’s not the first time you’ve shared a bed with a man without any sexual connotation, yet there’s an odd intimacy in this moment that unsettles you. You forego any further preparation, having already showered and brushed your teeth — though you remember something. 

“I used your toothbrush earlier, I hope that’s okay,” you mention tentatively, eyeing the bed, its sheets faintly stained with your blood. They definitely need changing. “Do you have clean sheets?” you ask, turning towards the bathroom where Yoongi directs you to the cabinet with fresh linens and mentions he has a spare toothbrush.

You strip the stained sheets off and swiftly tuck in fresh ones, craving the comfort of a proper sleep. The thought of lying in clean bedding is a rare luxury now. There’s just one duvet, though, and you wonder if sharing it will be a challenge. Shedding the sweatpants, you opt for the black shirt, its length offering modesty. As you settle into the bed, pulling the covers snugly up to your chin, you relish the cocoon of warmth, a brief respite from the harsh reality outside.

Yoongi emerges from the bathroom, his chest bare and marked by scars on his shoulder, wearing plain black boxers. You gulp involuntarily. Damn it, you shouldn’t be ogling him like that, but your cheeks burn nonetheless.

He slides into bed beside you but maintains a respectful distance under the covers, leaving a gap that allows a chilling draft to sneak beneath the duvet, making you shiver involuntarily.

“Cold?” he asks, his voice devoid of the usual teasing tone that has marked the day. Instead, it carries a hint of genuine concern, almost comforting.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to be a burden,” you sigh, shifting to feel the warmth against your front, trying to ignore the chill creeping up your back.

“We can huddle closer for warmth,” he suggests, and you ponder it briefly, realizing it might help you sleep better anyway.

“Okay,” you agree, and moments later, Yoongi edges nearer, his chest pressing against your back. Instantly, his warmth envelops you, quelling the shivers that had plagued you.

You drift into sleep soon after. Yoongi maintains his distance, his chest against your back serving as a reassuring anchor, his hands remaining still as he promised. Finally, the respite from constant danger allows you to embrace a much-needed slumber.

You’re drenched in sweat, heart pounding against your chest, breaths coming fast and shallow as you gasp, “Don’t leave me, Yuri! Please, Hana, don’t go. Please don’t die!” You twist and turn, tears streaming down your face, overwhelmed by fear and sorrow. Your eyes refuse to open, exhaustion and dizziness enveloping you, yet vivid images flash before your mind’s eye, forcing a scream from your throat.

A pair of strong hands grips your arms, shaking you gently, and you register a voice calling out urgently, “Y/N, wake up. It’s just a nightmare. You’re safe.” 

Oh, it’s Yoongi. 

Right, you’re in Yoongi’s bed.

A stranger you met only hours ago. 

Despite his reassurances, your body refuses to comply, shaking uncontrollably as the remnants of the nightmare cling to your senses.

“Can I hold you? Maybe it’ll help calm you down,” he suggests softly. Even though you can’t muster the strength to open your eyes, his voice anchors you. 

“Please,” you sob, and he turns you gently, your back against his chest, enveloping you in his arms. His soothing shushes echo, reminiscent of comforting a restless child—surprisingly effective. 

Gradually, your racing heart steadies, the tremors subside, and your breathing finds a steady rhythm.

You open your eyes to darkness enveloping the room. “I watched my friends die. Their faces haunt me almost every night,” you sob, burying yourself deeper into his embrace. Forget the fact that he’s practically a stranger; his comforting presence and the safety of his arms offer solace you’ve longed for. After endless days of running, hyper-aware and on edge, it feels strangely liberating to allow yourself this moment of vulnerability. You’re still strong, but right now, in his arms, it’s okay to seek refuge.

You feel his hand on your head, gently stroking your hair. “It’s okay. It will get better with time,” he reassures you.

Sniffling, you surrender to exhaustion, finding solace in his arms once more. Despite your initial reservations and the day’s unsettling events, you feel an unexpected sense of safety with him. Weariness overtakes your caution, and you drift into a deep sleep, cradled by Yoongi’s reassuring presence throughout the night.

When you wake, a sticky, uncomfortable wetness between your thighs jolts you into full consciousness. You sit up and glance at Yoongi, still asleep beside you, his long hair tousled and face serene, lips slightly parted with steady breaths. Dread fills your gut as you peel back the covers. The sight of blood staining the white sheets freezes your breath, a scream clawing its way out of your throat, piercing the quiet of the room.

Yoongi bolts upright, momentarily disoriented, his eyes darting around the room for danger. His gaze falls on the crimson-stained sheets and your trembling form. Panic flashes across his face as he instinctively reaches for you. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks, his voice low and raspy with sleep, cutting through the air like a blade.

You force yourself to calm down, the panic subsiding as you realize the source of the blood. “No, it’s just my period,” you pant, trying to steady your breath and racing heart. It hits you with a mix of relief and embarrassment—over a month since your last one, but the sight of the stained sheets fills you with shame.

Yoongi’s tension eases, his shoulders relaxing. “Oh,” he says, understanding dawning in his eyes. There’s no danger, just the harsh reality of life. He gives you a comforting look, a rare softness in his hardened gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you ramble, sliding off the bed, mortified by the mess. “I didn’t wear underwear because my panties were ruined, and I didn’t want to trouble you for your boxers. I don’t even have pads or tampons.” Your words tumble out in a rush, the embarrassment amplifying every second.

Yoongi sits up, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Relax, it’s okay,” he says, his voice steady and reassuring. “You can take some of my boxers. I’m not stocked up on pads or tampons, but you can just use cloth that we wash.” 

If you weren’t in a slight panic, maybe you’d notice how good he looks with bed hair and his bare torso, but instead, you rush out to the bathroom, still blushing from the unexpected intimacy and the rawness of the situation.

Yoongi joins you, a pair of his boxers in hand, as you futilely try to dry yourself with toilet paper. It’s no use.

“You should take a bath and wash off the blood,” he says, placing the boxers on the countertop. “I’ll take care of the bed.”

You nod, desperate to rid yourself of the blood, and without a second thought, you grab the edges of the black t-shirt you borrowed and pull it over your head, not caring that Yoongi is still there, probably watching you. His presence feels oddly comforting in this grim reality. 

“Nice ass,” he smirks as you step into the shower. You can’t believe he finds you attractive in this state—blood running down your thighs. How can you really look appealing like that? 

He’s either weird or into some strange shit.

You don’t reply, just shut the curtain fast, turning the showerhead on and letting the warm water caress your skin. The blood washes away, swirling down the drain as you clean yourself thoroughly. Damn, you really hate your period. Stepping out of the shower, you grab a towel and dry off. You spot some ripped cloth Yoongi left for you to use as makeshift pads. 

Yoongi is incredibly kind, you realize, and it brings a rare smile to your lips. You dress with the makeshift pads stuck in his boxers and then walk out, covering your breasts, not wanting to wear the shirt you slept in. The warmth of the shower lingers, but the cold reality of the dystopian world waits just outside the bathroom door.

In the bedroom, Yoongi has replaced the bloodstained sheets with black ones, blending seamlessly with the oppressive gloom outside. As he turns to meet your gaze, you can’t help but blush, standing there before him semi-naked. 

“Do you have a shirt I can borrow again?” you ask, your voice shaky with unsaid emotion and a confusing undercurrent of attraction.

He nods and rummages through his dresser, pulling out another black tee. You can’t help but wonder if black clothing is the only thing he owns, as if he’s trying to match the bleakness of the world.

“Thank you. I’ll just find my bra in my backpack,” you quip, the words sounding hollow as you step out next to the bed and search through your belongings.

“You don’t have to wear one, you know. You’re free to do whatever. If you’re more comfortable without one, it’s okay,” Yoongi says, his voice gentle yet firm. His words halt your movements. He’s right. You don’t really want to wear a bra; you’d only wear it because it’s the ‘proper’ thing to do. But he doesn’t seem to care about such trivialities, and comfort sounds far more appealing in this bleak reality. 

You stop searching for the item and simply pull on the shirt he’s given you, the fabric soft against your skin. 

As Yoongi gets ready with a shower and fresh clothes, you wander into the kitchen, your stomach growling. The dull ache in your abdomen also reminds you of your period, and you curse under your breath. Pain meds would be nice, but you have no idea where Yoongi keeps them. The thought of asking him feels like a small admission of vulnerability, something you’re not entirely comfortable with yet. But the pain is relentless, and in this world, there’s no room for stubborn pride.

Yoongi emerges from the bedroom, catching sight of you clutching your stomach. “Do you need painkillers?” he asks, his tone a mix of concern and practicality. He gestures to a cabinet. You nod, biting your lower lip as you move to find the pills, swallowing them with some water.

In the kitchen, you both work in a synchronized silence, preparing a simple meal. The quiet between you isn’t awkward; it’s a welcome respite from the chaos outside. As you eat, the distant sound of bombs punctuates the air, a grim reminder of the world beyond these walls.

Afterwards, you settle on the couch, the weight of the day pressing down on you. Yoongi sits beside you, the proximity offering a strange comfort. The silence stretches, filled with the unspoken understanding that, for now, survival is enough. The faint echoes of destruction fade into the background as you allow yourself a rare moment of peace, nestled in the fleeting safety of Yoongi’s makeshift sanctuary.

“Do you think we’re safe here?” you ask, turning to face Yoongi abruptly.

“For now, I think so,” he replies calmly, his gaze fixed on the flickering light from a nearby candle. The distant cacophony of destruction outside barely registers with him.

“You have a radio, right? Have you heard what’s going on?” Your curiosity is tinged with desperation. Three weeks of aimless wandering have left you clueless about the extent of the chaos—whether it’s confined to your city, your country, or if fleeing abroad could offer safety.

“Yeah, I do. It started with our country and the neighboring countries that were bombed, but now it’s escalated into a full-blown nuclear world war,” Yoongi answers, his voice tinged with resignation. “They say this might be the end of the world as we know it.”

Your throat tightens. 

The end of the world. 

Fuck. 

It’s a phrase that carries weight beyond comprehension. You fall silent, nervously fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. Yoongi notices your unease and his hand gently encircles yours, a silent gesture of reassurance amidst the chaos engulfing the world outside.

“I understand you’re scared, and it’s okay. I’m scared too,” Yoongi’s voice cuts through the dimness, his eyes reflecting a glimmer of something indiscernible. His honesty offers a rare comfort amidst the uncertainty that permeates every corner of your existence. “But there’s not much we can do about it, except try to stay alive. Frankly, I’m happy you’re here. At least we have each other in this shitty world.”

His sincerity touches you in a way that words struggle to express. Despite the looming dread, his presence brings a semblance of solace. “I guess you’re right,” you muse softly, a fleeting smile gracing your lips. The mere thought of not facing this bleak reality alone lifts your spirits more than you’d expected. “I’m also happy to not be alone anymore.”

“Come here,” he invites, arms open, a silent gesture that beckons you to his side. Initially hesitant, you meet his gaze with a questioning stare before relenting, offering a gentle smile as you scoot closer. His arms envelop you, pulling you into a comforting embrace as you rest your head against his shoulder.

In this moment, amidst the chaos and uncertainty, you allow yourself the luxury of comfort. It doesn’t diminish your strength or resilience; it’s simply a reprieve, a respite from the relentless struggle for survival. You listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, its reassuring cadence grounding you amidst your racing thoughts, reminding you that in this fractured world, even fleeting moments of solace are worth cherishing.

You’ve been grumpy for days—blame it on your period, though Yoongi has tirelessly tried to ease both your pain and your sullen mood. He’s taught you the art of baking sourdough bread, introduced you to new games, and even guided you through painting sessions, all while the world around you crumbles bit by bit. Each night, he holds you close, his warmth soothing both your body and your restless thoughts. If you denied feeling a spark between you, you’d be lying. It’s an unspoken tension that has simmered since you first met, and you’re certain he feels it too, though neither of you acknowledges it or acts upon it.

The reason for your inaction eludes you—is it fear of rejection, uncertainty about what this attraction truly means amidst the chaos, or simply the desperate need for companionship in a desolate world? You wrestle with these thoughts, wondering if your feelings are genuine or born out of circumstance. Perhaps that’s why you’ve held back, because deep down, you want to desire him for who he is, not just because he’s the only person around, and certainly not solely out of physical need.

You realize you’re nearing the end of your period because since yesterday, every little thing Yoongi does seems incredibly arousing. Folding laundry becomes a sensual act as you watch the muscles in his arms move, his focused demeanor igniting a fire within you. Even mundane actions like drinking water capture your attention, the movement of his throat and the bob of his Adam’s apple now irresistible to you. It’s clear you’ve got it bad, and you feel like you’re slowly losing your sanity.

Yet amidst this chaotic world, you’ve come to a profound realization: it’s not merely Yoongi’s availability that attracts you, but the essence of who he is.

“Do you want to get drunk?” he asks abruptly, pulling your attention away from your swirling thoughts after dinner. Both of you sit motionless, avoiding the cleanup that beckons. You blink at him, incredulous, but the idea holds a strange allure. The prospect of drowning the world’s chaos in alcohol for a fleeting moment seems oddly appealing.

“Yeah. What do you have?” you inquire, leaning forward across the table, eager to hear his answer.

“Only the hard stuff,” he replies with a smile, rising to clear both your plates.

You nearly choke on his words, a momentary blur conjured by your horny mind. The double meaning triggers a rush of both embarrassment and arousal, betraying your thoughts once again.

You assist in tidying up, your heart pounding inexplicably loud in your ears. There’s a nervous energy tingling through you, a strange excitement, as you settle onto the couch. Yoongi locates two mugs and heads to a well-stocked cabinet filled with an array of hard liquors. The sight leaves you momentarily impressed — the man is prepared for anything.

Returning with a bottle of whiskey, he notices your slight frown, likely recalling your distaste for its taste. Yet, any strong spirit would elicit a similar reaction from you. He sets down the bottle, retreats to the kitchen for ice, then returns to pour the amber liquid into your mugs.

“Thank you,” you quip, raising the mug to your lips and taking a cautious sip, grimacing at the harsh taste, eliciting a chuckle from Yoongi. He sips his whisky casually, as if it’s a ritual he’s performed countless times before — which, given his ease, might very well be the case. The amber liquid seems to suit him, and you strive to mimic his nonchalance, the flavor gradually becoming more palatable with each swallow. Eventually, a subtle warmth spreads through your body, a faint buzz that hints at relaxation in this tumultuous world.

He pours more whiskey into your mugs, and you drink, feeling the world blur around you, but Yoongi remains sharply focused in your gaze. His laughter cuts through the haze, accompanied by glimpses of his pearly white teeth and endearing pink gums, as he shares stories of his friends and their reckless escapades.

“Then Jungkook would leave the poor girl hanging,” he chuckles, a deep, resonant sound that brings a smile to your face and colors your cheeks. 

“But that’s so bad,” you manage to reply between sips. Despite being thoroughly drunk by now, you relish Yoongi’s company and the friendship you now share. His presence makes the chaotic world feel momentarily lighter. You’re grateful he’s as intoxicated as you are, though you suspect he handles his liquor with more finesse.

Your eyelids flutter, cheeks warm as your gaze lingers on Yoongi, captivated by his sweetness and kindness amidst the dystopian chaos.

“What?” he chuckles softly, catching your prolonged stare.

“Your lips look really soft…” The words slip out, your filter completely gone, the confession hanging between you like an unspoken truth.

“Kiss me and find out,” he challenges, a glint of mischief in his eyes. His gaze, deep and compelling, draws you closer until your noses almost touch. With eyes closed, you lean in, meeting his lips in a gentle press. The warmth of his skin against yours, the taste of whiskey on his breath, sparks an unexpected thrill. Your hands find his, fingers intertwining, and a soft moan escapes your lips, lost in the softness and warmth of his kiss.

Your mind swirls, a dizzying mix of alcohol and the intoxicating scent of Yoongi enveloping you. You feel intoxicated by his presence, as if he’s a drug you never want to quit. Kissing him feels like an escape from the harsh reality of the world outside, a brief reprieve where everything is right.

But as you reluctantly pull back for a breath, both of you panting, his eyes are filled with desire and a knowing smirk. Without hesitation, he leans in again, kissing you fiercely. His urgency overwhelms you as he presses you down onto the couch, your hand instinctively gripping his neck, desire pooling in your stomach. You ache for him, craving more than just his touch.

He pulls away with a grunt, his voice rough with desire. “I really want to fuck you. But I want to do it sober.”

You groan softly, the heat of the moment tempered by the clarity of his words. Alcohol fuels your desire now, but you yearn for a clear-headed connection. You nod in agreement, and he pulls you up from the couch, his touch firm and purposeful.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other in bed in other ways,” he adds suggestively, leading you toward his bedroom. You follow eagerly, a wide smile spreading across your face, anticipation tingling in your veins.

In the bed, little else happens beyond kissing, the alcohol still clouding your senses. You manage to undress each other and slip under the covers; your bodies drawn together by an irresistible pull, seeking solace and warmth. More kisses follow, each one infused with a sense of fleeting bliss and exhaustion. Eventually, Yoongi spoons you as he always does, enveloping you in a cocoon of affection that feels more profound than anything you’ve experienced before. It’s a fleeting moment of respite amidst the chaos of the world crumbling outside.

When you wake, the throbbing pain in your head pulls you back to reality. You groan softly, slowly coming to, feeling Yoongi shifting beside you. His arms are still wrapped around you, in a comforting embrace.

His voice, thick with sleep, breaks the morning silence. “Morning. Do you have a headache too?” 

You chuckle softly, nodding as you nuzzle your back into him, his warm, nearly bare body—save for his boxers—shielding his erection. “Yeah,” you groan, feeling the fatigue lingering, yet also acutely aware of Yoongi’s touch, his fingertips gently tracing over your bare skin.

“Want to take a shower together? Might help with the headache,” he suggests, his voice still husky with sleep. You nod, both of you slipping out of bed and padding into the bathroom together.

There, you shed your minimal clothing—a shirt of Yoongi’s for you, his boxers for him. It’s the first time you’re both seeing each other naked, a realization that hangs heavy in the air. For a moment, you simply gaze at each other, skin tingling with anticipation and desire, yet neither of you utter a word. You silently drink in each other’s presence, wondering if he finds you as appealing as you find him. The way he licks his lips with hunger suggests he does. You study his body: soft yet lean, pale skin a testament to a life spent indoors, away from the harsh realities of this broken world.

His dick appears soft, yet it pulses with undeniable arousal, sending warmth through your skin and stirring a primal desire between your legs. His appearance is captivating, his dark brown pubic hair adding to his allure, compelling you to join him in the shower.

He turns on the water, and as it sprays over both of you, a shared chuckle breaks the tension. “Do you want me to wash you?” he asks, his voice low and thick with need. You nod, craving the touch of his hands on your body.

Yoongi finds some minty soap, lathering it in his hands before placing them on your skin. Instantly, you relax, feeling like putty in his strong hands. His touch is soft yet firm as he moves from your neck down your back, to your ass, and then along your thighs and legs. His hands travel back up to your neck, then, standing behind you, they move to your front. He slowly caresses your breasts, teasing your nipples into stiff peaks, and continues down your stomach, past your crotch, and along the front of your legs. The intimacy and the warmth of his touch make you feel more alive than you have in a long time.

Shivers cascade down your spine, heat flaring not from the water, but from Yoongi’s touch. Your breathing quickens with each passing moment, his low and raspy grunts filling your ears.

Your knees grow weak, and a blissful moan of his name escapes your lips as your head falls back to rest against his collarbone. “Do you like it, babe?” he murmurs, his voice a deep, seductive rumble that sends electric tingles down your spine and a rush of arousal pooling between your legs.

Your body quivers, and you bite your lower lip in a futile attempt to contain your desire. Finally, you relent, panting, “Yes.”

His pet name for you sends your mind spinning with thoughts of him, intensifying your longing. You gather your courage and turn to face him, your eyes hooded with desire. He licks his lips teasingly, his gaze sweeping over your soapy, naked form with clear appreciation. His hands continue their journey, gliding over your skin, teasing and igniting every nerve. 

“I want to wash you too,” you pant with a chuckle, grabbing the soap and lathering it in your hands. You place your fingers on his warm, sturdy chest, gliding over his pectorals and teasing his nipples, drawing a soft, whiny chuckle from him. Your hands travel down his stomach, deliberately bypassing his half erect cock, moving instead to his legs and down to his feet. Then, you make your way back up, sliding your hands over his back, down his shoulder blades, to his firm, round bum, which you squeeze with playful delight, before caressing down his thighs. 

You’re now sitting, face to face with his erection, and you can’t help but stare. To you, cocks have always just been cocks, but his looks almost like a work of art. It grows longer with arousal, and you stutter at the thought that he isn’t even fully hard yet. He already looks so long and girthy, and you can’t wait to feel him inside you.

You glance up at him, his eyes dark as obsidian, his mouth slightly agape as he watches you. Your hands move to his dick, now free of soap. He releases a needy groan as you wrap your fingers around him, beginning to stroke gently.

He keens at your touch, his back pressing against the shower wall, panting as the warm water sprays over you both. The only sounds are his grunts and the rhythmic patter of water, so you keep going, pleasuring him with your hand, feeling the intoxicating power of his reaction to you.

“Fucking hell, seeing you like that on your knees… you’re making me weak,” he pants, his black hair plastered to his head, his face flushed with a deep blush.

You smile, relishing the effect you have on him, and it spurs you to stroke him faster. In a surprising move, you wrap your mouth around his cock. He grunts in pleasure, relishing the sensation of your warm, wet mouth enveloping him.

You breathe through your nose, setting a slow, deliberate pace. His hands find purchase in your wet hair, fingers gripping as his body trembles with each movement of your lips and tongue.

He pants and grunts your name, the sound echoing in the steamy shower, until he gently pulls you off. “It’s really good. But I don’t want to come yet.” His voice is ragged, filled with both desire and restraint.

You rise to your feet with a smile, capturing his lips in a deep, fervent kiss, moaning softly into his mouth. Your hands snake around his frame, pressing your body tightly against his. His cock presses against you, igniting a wildfire of need within you. Pulling back, you gaze into his eyes, the intensity of your desire mirrored in his dark, lust-filled gaze.

“Let me finish washing you up, and then we can continue this in bed,” he suggests with a teasing smile. You nod, shivering as his hands glide over your body, washing away the soap with gentle, deliberate touches.

Just as you’re about to step out of the shower, he grabs your hand, stopping you in your tracks. “I haven’t washed your hair yet,” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate.

Your stomach does a somersault, a horde of butterflies threatening to escape. No one has ever done this for you. No one. He steals your breath away with how soft and caring he is, while he still maintains his roughness. 

You walk back to him, and he’s already ready with shampoo in his hand, lathering the liquid on your scalp. You moan in delight at its minty scent filling your nose, feeling and loving the drag of his fingers on your scalp, giving you a thorough clean. Then he washes the soap away and does the same with the conditioner focusing on the ends of your hair. When he’s done, you turn around, wrap your arms around his neck, and kiss him. 

It’s wild to think that at first you were put off by his strong behavior—though he did point a rifle at your head, and killed a man in front of you—but this, this is truly something special you could never have imagined. Never had you thought you’d fall for this rugged, rough, but also very sweet and soft man.

You don’t say anything, but gesture for him to let you wash his hair too. You find the shampoo and gently give him a scalp massage, pulling moans of your name from his lips. You squirt a bit of conditioner into your hands and lather the ends of his hair. He closes his eyes while you work, and, damn, he looks so handsome, so serene like this.

You give him a chaste kiss. “I’m done.”

He chuckles, and you each do a final rinse, making sure no soapy residue is left. Then you both step out of the shower and grab towels to dry off. Playfulness bubbles between you, even though you’re both aroused, the tension almost tangible in the steamy bathroom.

“Do you have a condom? I’m not on the pill anymore, and I didn’t make it to my appointment to get an IUD inserted,” you ask, already debating whether you want to risk it. With no birth control, you run the risk of getting pregnant, and you don’t really want that, but you also really want to fuck him.

“I have condoms,” he says, opening a cabinet and pulling out a large box.

“Holy shit, 500 condoms! What are you going to do with those?” you ask, flabbergasted and laughing at the absurdity. You’ve never seen a man with so many condoms. You wonder if he has a lot of sex or what his deal is. Did he plan this?

“Before you ask, because I can already see those wheels inside your brain spinning, it was a good deal, and it was a long time ago, but they’re not expired yet,” he chuckles, the sound low and deep, shrugging slightly as he scratches his still wet hair.

You laugh, taking the box from his hands and walking naked into his bedroom. The absurdity of the situation doesn’t dampen your desire; if anything, it heightens it, making the moment feel even more surreal and intense. The world outside might be falling apart, but in this room, you both find a strange and intoxicating solace.

“Do you fuck a lot of women, Yoongi?” you ask teasingly, holding the box in your grasp.

“I haven’t had sex in over a year, so no,” he chuckles, though his tone darkens slightly.

“So what are you going to do with all these then?” you ask, grabbing a foil packet and watching as a few more tumble out.

“Hopefully fuck you many times,” he teases with a grunt, standing before you at the edge of the bed. “Would you like that? Fuck like rabbits until the world falls apart?”

Your heart races at his words, the raw intensity of his desire matching your own. 

For a moment, you had completely forgotten the state of the world, but with him, it hardly matters. “Fuck yeah. Take me on the bed, then fuck me in the shower, the kitchen, the couch, the floor—I don’t care, just get inside me,” you rasp, sitting down on the bed.

He pushes you down, and you giggle as he hovers over you. You shimmy further up the bed, and now he’s eye level with your exposed pussy. He licks his lips teasingly, his gaze dark and hungry. “Can I taste you?” he asks, his voice a sultry whisper.

You giggle, spreading your legs wider to make space for him. “Yes, please,” you breathe, your voice catching. You don’t care how needy you sound; the anticipation electrifies your skin, your body already trembling with desire.

One of his hands grips your thigh, and you let out an airy moan as he squeezes, drawing closer. “You look so pretty,” he murmurs, his voice a sultry promise. “Can’t wait to taste you.”

The world outside fades away, replaced by the intensity of his gaze and the heat of his breath on your skin. As he leans in, your senses ignite, every nerve ending alight with a mixture of need and surrender.

He takes a moment to savor your pulsating pussy, still damp from the shower, small water droplets glistening on your skin. With both hands, he gently parts your folds, groaning at the sight of your exposed hole. With eager anticipation, he dives down, his lips latching directly onto your sensitive clit, making you grab the sheets in pure ecstasy. His tongue traces a path to oblivion, and for that moment, you’re consumed by him, and him alone.

His tongue is a perfect blend of warmth, softness, and roughness, unforgiving in the way it laps and sucks at your clit, sure to bring you maximum pleasure in a short amount of time. It’s insane how skilled he is with his mouth, and you arch into his expert touch, your fingers tangling in his long black locks instead of the sheets. The world outside is forgotten, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of his tongue and the undeniable connection between you.

“Yoongi... it’s so good,” you moan, feeling your pussy clench around nothing. “Fingers, please.”

You can feel him smirk against your folds, his mouth never leaving your clit as a finger teases your entrance. Slowly, he slides the first digit inside you, and you let out a needy moan, relishing the small stretch as he works you open.

“Like this?” he asks, momentarily pulling away to flash you a teasing grin, fully aware of the power he holds over you and how much he’s affecting you with his skilled tongue and probing finger. The anticipation and his relentless teasing send waves of pleasure coursing through you, leaving you breathless and craving more.

You bite your lip and nod, your body trembling as he begins to finger you with increasing vigor. It doesn’t take long before he adds a second finger, the slight stretch sending jolts of pleasure through your core. Your fingers clench in his hair, your legs closing around his head as you edge closer to your orgasm.

“I’m gonna come,” you pant, tugging at his hair, the desperation in your voice driving him to suck harder on your clit and thrust his fingers faster. The intense rhythm of his movements sends you spiraling, each stroke and flick of his tongue bringing you closer to the edge.

Sucking noises fill the room, amplifying your sense of being utterly consumed by bliss. Your heart races, each beat echoing in your ears as you gasp and moan his name, the sound raw and desperate. The coil inside you finally snaps, and you clench around his fingers, your release surging through you like a tidal wave.

“Yoongi…,” you moan, your body vibrating with intense pleasure, tingles cascading over your skin. Your clit throbs with oversensitivity under the relentless ministrations of his tongue. He pulls away, smirking at you with lips glistening with your essence, the early morning sun filtering through the curtains and catching on the wet sheen.

In your bliss, you barely register that it’s the first time you’ve seen sunlight in weeks. The world outside may be changing, but in this moment, nothing else matters but Yoongi and the ecstasy he’s brought you.

"You taste so good. Are you ready for my cock, babe?" he smirks, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, savoring your essence.

“Yes, please, fuck me now. I want you and your dick,” you pant, your voice laced with need. You’ve been waiting for this moment for days, finally free from your period. Not that it would have stopped you, but you’ve stained the poor guy’s sheets enough already.

Yoongi moves closer, tearing open the foil packet and pulling out a condom. He puts it on with practiced ease, then pushes your legs further apart, kneeling in front of you. He spits on his cock, teasing it with his hand, and the sight sends a shiver down your spine. He’s finally going to enter you, filling you completely, and the anticipation is almost unbearable.

“Ready?” he asks, his voice low and filled with desire. You nod eagerly, your body trembling with anticipation.

“You’re so beautiful, do you know that?” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. One of his hands squeezes your thigh, and you feel the head of his cock teasing your waiting entrance.

No one has ever called you beautiful before, and you’re momentarily speechless. Instead, you give him a shy smile, your face heating with a blush.

Slowly, he begins to enter you, and you moan at the delicious stretch as he pushes in deeper. Yoongi grunts, “Shit. You’re so tight!” The comment makes you chuckle, inadvertently tightening your walls around him.

“Fuck. Don’t do that yet. I’m seriously gonna come any minute if you clench like that.” You stop laughing, trying to steady yourself, focusing on relaxing your inner muscles to give him space.

Finally, he bottoms out, fully sheathed inside you. “Damn. You’re really squeezing my dick. I’d forgotten what this feels like,” he gasps, his voice filled with pleasure and awe.

“Hopefully it’s good?” you ask breathlessly, your arms reaching to hold your thighs and press them down to your stomach, giving him even deeper access.

“Fuck, yeah. It’s amazing. You’re amazing,” he groans, smiling as he begins to pull out only to thrust back inside you, eliciting a moan of pure pleasure from your lips.

“You too, Yoongi, you’re amazing,” you murmur, biting your lip, reveling in the sensation of his thrusts, his balls slapping against your pussy with each powerful movement.

He leans down, your legs falling to the side, and captures your lips in a heated kiss while continuing to thrust into you. Your tongues dance together, and you taste yourself on his lips. He groans into your mouth, the sound driving your lust higher, and you teasingly bite his lip. 

He kisses you again, then pulls away to trail kisses down your throat, over your collarbones. The intimacy of the moment strikes you, making you realize how deeply connected you feel with him. You’re consumed by this, by whatever it is that you and Yoongi have right now, and it feels overwhelmingly perfect.

His lips trace a path down to your breasts, latching onto a nipple and teasing it stiff with expert flicks of his tongue. He sucks hard while his other hand finds your other nipple, rolling and tugging it between his fingers. You writhe beneath him, moaning uncontrollably as waves of pleasure surge through you. Your hands lie flat beside you, completely surrendered to his touch.

“Fuck—Yoongi! Do you… do you want me to ride you?” you gasp, your voice choked with pleasure.

“You want to?” he asks, his mouth leaving your breast to meet your gaze, eyes dark with desire.

“Yes, otherwise I wouldn’t ask,” you chuckle breathlessly, pushing him away gently. He gives you his hand, helping you up from the bed. He lies down, his cock hard and glistening with your juices, ready for you. You crawl over to him and straddle him with vigor, your stomach burning with lust. Grabbing his cock, you guide it to your entrance and then slowly sink down, letting him fill you completely. 

“Ah, fuck. It’s so good!” you moan, your body shuddering with pleasure as you begin to ride him, each movement bringing you closer to ecstasy.

When you look down, his eyes shine with awe and raw arousal, his hands gripping your hips as you begin to set a steady pace. 

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” he rasps, your name escaping his lips in a passionate grunt.

“I always look good,” you chuckle, feeling bold and safe in his arms, reveling in the rare self-praise.

“Shit. Confidence looks sexy on you,” he moans, his hands sliding from your hips up to your breasts, fondling them with a firm, appreciative touch.

You smile back, your thighs working overtime to bounce on him, hands braced against his chest. You lean down to kiss him, pulling away just enough to whisper, “Yoongi, I’m close again. Are you close too?”

He grunts, his cock twitching inside you, a clear sign of his impending release. “Yeah, I’m close. I’m surprised I’ve lasted this long.”

“Will you please touch my clit?” you ask, your eyes hooded with lust. His fingers land on your clit, working circles, sending electric pulses through your still-sensitive nerves. 

“Shit,” you moan, followed by his name, as your body clenches and you release fluid around his cock, stopping your movements and panting for air.

“You did so good. Let me take over now, ‘kay?” he asks, biting his lip. You nod, feeling blissfully tired. His hands travel back to your hips, gripping you firmly as he begins to thrust up into you. His pace is fast and hard, hitting your already sensitive g-spot, making you cry out in both pain and pleasure, your walls fluttering around him.

“Fuck,” is all he says as he comes into the condom, filling it with his warm release. You scream his name and shake, slumping down onto his chest.

“Are you okay?” he asks, gently nudging your cheek, feeling the tears there and brushing them away.

Out of breath, you manage to say, “Yeah. I think I came again.”

He chuckles, stroking your hair as he hugs you close. You linger in the moment, savoring the intimacy—him still inside you, albeit softening. It’s blissful. The safety he provides, his minty scent, the warmth of his embrace. You feel cherished and secure in his arms, wishing you could stay like this forever.

“Damn. I feel so tired now, but at least I don’t have a headache anymore,” you chuckle, your head resting on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart gradually syncing with yours.

“Me too,” he laughs, the sound resonating through his chest, filling you with warmth.

“Maybe we should just stay like this until you get hard again, and we can go for another round,” you suggest, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his warm skin.

“You’d like that, huh?” he teases, his hands threading through your hair.

“Yeah,” you affirm, feeling overwhelmed by his presence yet craving more of it.

Safe to say, you remain nestled together, igniting another round and many more throughout the day. You’re amazed at Yoongi’s stamina, though he did mention something about his balls aching, so as night falls, you settle into a comfortable embrace in bed. 

In the days that follow, you fuck on every imaginable surface, putting those 500 condoms to good use.

One day, the sun that had graced your windows for weeks disappears, replaced by an eerie gray sky again. The familiar sound of something flying in the air makes you shiver and crouch down in fear. 

“What’s wrong?” Yoongi asks, his face etched with concern. The fear in your eyes tells him something’s terribly wrong.

“Bombs,” you mutter. As the words leave your lips, the first explosion shatters the ground nearby. You scream, terror coursing through you. Not this again. You thought you’d grown used to it, the bombings having become sporadic and distant. But now, they’re hitting too close to home.

Yoongi rushes to the window and peers outside, his expression tense. “It’s close. We can’t stay here. We need to leave,” he says, urgency lacing his voice.

Your eyes widen in fear and panic. “What do you mean? Leave?”

“Yeah. It’s not safe to stay here anymore. We can take the truck, try and stay alive. It’s better than staying here and dying,” he says, already moving about, pulling out pre-packed bags.

“You have ‘to go’ bags ready?” you ask, staring at him in disbelief.

“Yeah. I didn’t think I’d have time to pack anything in a rush,” he explains, four bags already laying at your feet. “There’s food, water, clothes, and a medical kit,” he says, then walks up to you, looking you in the eyes. “It’s going to be alright, okay? You’re safe with me.”

You gulp and nod, the sound of another explosion reverberates through the walls, shaking the ground beneath you, fear propelling you into action. Grabbing two of the bags, you follow Yoongi outside to the truck.

The world outside looks bleak. Thick clouds of smoke and ash cover the horizon, turning everything gray. Trees are falling, and in the distance, buildings blaze with fire. The scene mirrors the devastation of your hometown—bombed, ruined, and left you with nowhere to go. Now, you wonder, where will you go?

Your ears ring, and your head spins. Your breaths come quick and shallow as the acrid smell of fire, death, and destruction fills the air. You’re tired of it, longing for the world you once knew. But that world is gone, replaced by this new reality of chaos. 

You follow him to the truck, glancing at Yoongi. Despite everything, you find solace in his presence. This new life may be filled with death and destruction, but with Yoongi by your side, you know you have a fighting chance.

“Hurry. We need to grab more supplies from the shed,” Yoongi urges, pulling you along after you’ve tossed the bags into the truck.

Inside the shed, Yoongi opens a large box, revealing an arsenal of firearms stashed from top to bottom. Your mouth falls open in disbelief. “You have more than just one rifle?”

He chuckles, the sound tense against the backdrop of imminent danger. His movements are swift and precise. “Yeah. Like you guessed, I was prepared for this.”

You gulp, the gravity of the situation sinking in. You’ve never met anyone like Yoongi—someone so prepared for the worst, for the end of the world. Someone ready to fight for his life, and now, for yours too. 

He hands you something, and when you look down, you realize it’s a knife, sheathed in worn leather. “Why are you giving me this?”

“To defend yourself. You said you could handle yourself, so use this,” he replies, his shoulders shrugging as he stuffs a variety of guns into a backpack, slinging his rifle over his shoulder as if it’s just another day in the office.

“Yeah— with my bare hands. I’ve never used a knife before, let alone a gun,” you stammer, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. The world has become so twisted that now you need to carry a weapon just to stay alive.

“I don’t care. I’ll do my best to protect you, but if something happens, you need to be able to protect yourself,” he says, his voice firm but his eyes soft. He hands you a leather harness, and you look at him with wide, questioning eyes.

“Put this on, so you can holster a gun and the knife,” he says, motioning for you to turn around as he helps you secure the leather harness.

“You make it sound like it’s zombies out there,” you gulp, the gravity of the situation hitting you hard. Everything is escalating again, and you know you need to leave—fast.

“Babe, it might as well be zombies. It’s either them or us.”

You freeze for a moment—those words, ‘them or us’ send a chill down your spine. Even though it makes you feel sick, you know he’s right. If you want to survive, you might have to make some very uncomfortable decisions. You clench your hands, fastening the leather harness around your shoulder, then holster the knife and the small gun Yoongi has given you. You pray you never have to use it, but if it comes down to it, you know it will always be you and Yoongi before anyone else.

Yoongi hurriedly grabs more supplies from the box, stuffing them into his backpack and securing them to the belt he now wears. You notice an additional knife, a smaller multi-tool, flashlights, batteries, and finally, he hauls canisters of fuel into the truck’s bed.

“Come on, let’s get going,” he urges, darting around the vehicle. You yank open the passenger door, heart pounding, and jump in. Yoongi climbs in, turns the key in the ignition, and the truck roars to life.

As Yoongi reverses out of the driveway, a low-flying plane thunders overhead. You glance out the window just in time to see a bomb drop. The next moment, your ears ring painfully as your home for the past months disintegrates in a fiery explosion. Plywood, drywall, banisters, and concrete fly through the air, and you scream, tears streaming down your face.

Yoongi remains unfazed, his focus unbroken as he speeds down the main road, leaving the obliterated remains of the house behind.

From the window, you watch in horror as the house disintegrates, consumed by smoldering flames. The structure collapses, reduced to rubble in seconds. Gulping, you feel your body tense and your mind race, barely processing the close call.

“Try to take deep breaths,” Yoongi advises, snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts. You hadn’t even noticed you were on the verge of hyperventilating. Placing a trembling hand on your chest, you focus on its rise and fall—proof that you’re still alive. Everything will be fine once you escape this nightmare, you tell yourself. Everything will be fine. But no amount of positive thinking can mask the grim and harsh reality. Tears blur your vision as you cry, the enormity of your new world crashing down around you.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Yoongi says, his hand landing on yours, grounding you. It always does. You’ve only known Yoongi for a few months—maybe half a year—but time has become a strange, elastic concept since the bombings started. Despite the short duration, you’ve grown dependent on him, on the safety he provides. The thought of losing him, like you lost your friends, terrifies you.

“I just hope we make it out,” you choke out between sobs, your fists clenching and unclenching. You know you need to calm down; fear won’t help you now. But the prickling sensation of dread crawling under your skin feels all too real, a constant reminder of the uncertain future and the precariousness of your life.

His grip tightens, offering a small but significant comfort. “We will,” he assures you, his voice steady despite the chaos. “I promise.”

The landscape outside the truck is almost unrecognizable. The once lush green trees and bushes are now gone, replaced by gray ashes and fire. Everything is barren, dying. 

Bombs continue to drop around you, each explosion sending a shiver down your spine. A lump forms in your throat, but you’re thankful for the truck’s metal shell that muffles the sounds of chaos. You don’t have to hear the people dying, unlike back in the city where the screams still haunt your nightmares.

The road is bumpy, marred by craters and debris, a cruel reminder of the unrelenting reality of your new life. Each jolt and rattle of the truck underscores the harshness of this world, a stark contrast to the life you once knew.

“If anybody comes up to us, shoot first and ask questions later. Got it?” Yoongi’s voice is stern, his grip on the steering wheel like a vice. You gulp and turn your head towards him. “What?” you ask in disbelief. You don’t want to shoot anyone. Your hand finds the gun holstered in your harness. You really don’t want to.

“You don’t know what people want. They might want to kill you. Just shoot them in the leg so they can’t walk,” he explains, his focus sharp on navigating the wreckage of the desolate road. The once-bustling streets are eerily empty, a haunting silence hanging in the air.

You think about his words for a moment, trying to rationalize. Shooting someone in the leg isn’t as bad as killing them, right? It’s a compromise you can live with, or so you hope.

“I really hate this,” you groan, your tears subsiding. Your heart still races, but you force yourself to focus on Yoongi, his voice, and the urgency of getting the hell out of this town. The reality of your situation presses down on you, heavy and suffocating, but you know you have to keep moving forward.

“Where are we going?” you ask, changing the subject. You don’t want to think about killing someone, or shooting them. Better think about something else.

“One of my friends’ places, maybe we can stay there,” Yoongi says, his voice thick with emotion. You can tell he’s worried about his friend—wondering if they’re okay or not.

“Jungkook. Remember I told you about him?” he asks, a fleeting smile crossing his lips. It’s a melancholy smile, tinged with fear and uncertainty.

You nod, gripping the door handle as the terrain grows rougher. The world outside the window is unrecognizable, a desolate wasteland of gray ash and smoldering fires. The once lush and vibrant landscape is now barren, dying, the remnants of civilization crumbling away.

Time blurs as you drive, the hours indistinguishable from one another. Eventually, you spot the outlines of houses on the horizon, but they are no longer standing. They’re crumbled and reduced to rubble, much like Yoongi’s home. The sight tightens your throat with dread, an eerie premonition of what might await you at Jungkook’s place. Your heart breaks for Yoongi, for the fragile hope he clings to in this devastated world.

Yoongi stops the car in front of the destroyed house and jumps out of the truck. His face is unreadable, but you catch glimpses of sadness and anger as he clenches his fists and frowns, taking in the wreckage.

You get out too and join him, your throat and heart tightening at the sight. You scan the ruins for any sign of his friend but find no one. You’re unsure if that’s a good thing or not. “Maybe he made it out?” you suggest, your voice meek and filled with sadness as memories of losing your own friends flood back, and tears well up in your eyes.

“Maybe,” Yoongi responds blankly. You reach out and grab his hand, lacing your fingers with his, offering the support and comfort he’s given you so many times before.

“It’s going to be okay,” you reassure him, slowly beginning to believe your own words. With Yoongi by your side, you feel like you might actually have a fighting chance in this godforsaken world.

“Thank you,” he whispers, leaning into you. The ashy air caresses your cheek as you both turn back to the truck. 

You get in and drive off, the road ahead uncertain, but the bond between you stronger than ever. You’re in search of a place to stay, a place to escape this relentless dystopia, and for the first time, you feel a glimmer of hope.

It feels like you’ve been driving forever, the sky a perpetual twilight, offering no clue to the hour. You push through, finally finding a piece of nature that remains green, untouched by the devastation. Yoongi stops the car and begins unloading the bags, including some you hadn’t noticed before.

“You’ve got a tent too?” you ask in disbelief. By now, you shouldn’t be surprised by his preparedness, but each new revelation still catches you off guard.

“Yeah. We can also sleep in the truck though,” he replies, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of danger.

“The tent is fine. But do you think we can keep warm?” you wonder aloud, unsure of how cold the night might get. You can’t even recall what month it is—April, May? The days and weeks blur together in this endless struggle.

“Yeah, we’ll just huddle together,” he assures you. His confidence is comforting, and you believe him. He sets up the tent with practiced ease, pulling out a thin mattress. After a small meal, exhaustion overtakes both of you, and you head into the tent. Yoongi wraps his arms around you, his body warmth making you feel safe and secure.

Despite your weariness, you struggle to fall asleep, feeling restless. Sensing this, Yoongi soothes you with his hands, leading to you making love, feeling the spark between you, so vital in this broken world, helps you finally drift off to sleep, your bodies intertwined, finding solace and unity in each other amidst the chaos.

In the morning, you think, the air is thick with smoke, small rays of sunlight filtering through the dense clouds above. You stretch and yawn, watching as Yoongi builds a fire, the two of you eating a small meal to regain some energy. The warmth of the fire and his presence beside you offer a fleeting comfort in the bleakness of the world. As you kiss, savoring each other’s company, the air feels warmer than you expected, a small reprieve in the otherwise harsh landscape.

As you sit there, a sense of unease washes over you. The hairs on your arms stand on end, and you lift your head from Yoongi’s shoulder, scanning the area for any signs of danger. The rustling in the nearby bushes makes your heart race, but you see nothing.

“What’s wrong?” Yoongi asks, pulling you tighter against him.

“I just feel like we’re being watched…,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, as if afraid the very air might betray you.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have made the fire,” he replies, his voice tense. “It gives away our position.” He drags his feet through the dirt, smothering the fire with soil and stones.

“Just to be safe, I think we should move,” he suggests, standing up and pulling you with him. His grip on your hand is firm, reassuring.

You nod, the weight of the situation sinking in. Better to be cautious than caught off guard. The world around you is hostile, every shadow a potential threat. Together, you gather your things and move on, seeking safety in an uncertain future.

Then you get back on the road. You’ve traveled so far out that you have no idea where you are, but you hope you’ve left behind whatever presence you felt before. You turn to Yoongi, smiling at him, feeling a glimmer of safety and happiness despite the bleakness of your life. He’s your light, keeping you hopeful in this desolate world.

Suddenly, a harsh sound pierces the air, followed by a deafening explosion. The earth shatters next to the truck, sending it spiraling into the air. You scream, clutching onto anything you can, as the vehicle flips and lands on its roof. Your seatbelt catches you, holding you in place as the world turns upside down. The ringing in your ears is unbearable, distorting your voice as you try to speak. “Yoongi—are you okay?” you manage to choke out.

He grunts, “I’m okay. What about you?”

“I’m fine,” you pant, feeling the blood rush to your head. The urgency to escape floods your senses. 

Yoongi frees himself from his seatbelt and falls to the ground with a thud, groaning in pain. Despite the agony, he pushes through, helping you free yourself and dragging you out of the wreckage. Both of you are alive, miraculously. The injuries seem minimal—Yoongi’s knuckles are bleeding, but that’s about it. You look around at the desolate landscape, the truck lying on its roof, shattered glass everywhere, and you realize just how close you came to losing everything. But as long as you’re together, you have a fighting chance in this godforsaken world.

“Fucking hell, my head is spinning,” Yoongi grunts, wincing in pain.

You suggest grabbing the bags from the wrecked truck, finding some painkillers for both of you, and treating his bruises. He nods, his eyes scanning the desolate surroundings. “We should ditch the truck and move on by foot,” he says, standing up and looking toward a large hill on the horizon. “Maybe we can make it up there?”

“Good idea,” you agree. You grab the bags, your weapons, and, hand in hand, you begin navigating the rough terrain. The landscape is a mix of green patches and dying vegetation, the minimal sunlight choking out what little life remains. Without photosynthesis, you wonder how anything will survive.

You walk until exhaustion sets in, reminding you of the long trek you made before meeting Yoongi. Weary, you decide to make camp, forgoing a fire pit this time. Setting up the tent, you collapse into sleep, the days and nights blending together under the perpetual gray sky.

One morning, after what feels like endless walking, you attempt to scale the hill. It looms vast and imposing, perhaps more of a mountain than a hill. As you drag your tired bodies up the elevated trail, Yoongi breaks the silence. “Do you also feel like we’re being followed?”

You nod, a shiver running down your spine. You’ve felt the presence since yesterday, a constant shadow lurking at the edges of your perception. But what can you do until it reveals itself?

“Keep your hand close to your gun and knife, okay?” Yoongi instructs, his voice tense. He remains on guard, eyes darting around as you continue your climb. You don’t have the energy to chase shadows, especially when survival depends on reaching the top of this mountain hill. The weight of the unknown presses down on you, every step a reminder of the perilous world you now inhabit.

The air grows thinner and colder as you ascend, prompting you to make camp again. You eat and attempt to sleep, though you’re always alert, wary of whatever or whoever is following you. Despite the tension, you manage a light sleep. 

In the morning, you stretch your body and gently kiss Yoongi awake, then strap on your leather harness and weapons. As you step out of the tent to grab something to eat, your blood runs cold. A man is rummaging through your supplies, his eyes wild with hunger. He turns, and your gaze locks with his. 

Panic grips you.

Yoongi emerges from the tent, instantly assessing the situation. His hand flies to the gun in his jeans pocket, drawing it with practiced speed as he steps beside you. The man looks between you and Yoongi, unafraid. He’s a mess, dirtied by war and bombs, eyes red and feral. For a fleeting second, you wonder if he’s even human.

“Touch her and die,” Yoongi warns, his voice cold and venomous. 

The man charges at you, and for a moment, you freeze, memories of a similar encounter at Yoongi’s house flooding your mind. But this time, your instincts kick in. Your hand finds the gun, you draw it, and aim at the stranger’s leg. Heart pounding, you clench your teeth, close your eyes, and pull the trigger. 

A scream rips through the air.

Yoongi is at your side in an instant, taking the gun from your trembling hands. The stranger falls to the ground, clutching his thigh as blood oozes from the wound. You pant furiously—you did that. You hurt someone. The realization makes you feel sick.

“You just defended yourself. It’s okay,” Yoongi reassures, patting soothing circles on your back. 

You nod, trying to believe him. You didn’t kill the stranger; you defended yourself. It’s a grim comfort in this bleak reality, but it’s something.

“What should we do about him?” you ask, still panting, your body tingling with the aftershocks of adrenaline.

“Just leave him,” Yoongi replies with a shrug, quickly gathering your things and dismantling the camp. The stranger’s screams of pain echo through the air, but Yoongi shows no mercy, just cold pragmatism. You’re grateful he doesn’t kill the man outright, though you know he will likely die anyway.

You move on, leaving the wounded stranger behind to fend for himself. Deciding against climbing all the way up the mountain to avoid the bitter cold, you continue your journey. Time becomes a blur of setting up and breaking camp, bombs still scattering the ground around you, but you keep pushing forward, driven by the hope of escaping this nightmare.

Eventually, you find a small hill overlooking the sea. The view is hauntingly beautiful—a stark contrast to the desolation around you. “Do you think we could swim to safety?” you ask, staring at the sparkling blue water, a surreal contrast to the barren landscape.

Yoongi chuckles darkly. “I think we’d die of exhaustion and drown before making it to another country or island.”

“We’re probably gonna die of radiation anyway now,” you spit, setting your bags down on the ashy ground. The sea, still blue and inviting, feels like a cruel joke.

“Yeah, we might feel some radiation effects in a few years, if we’re alive by then,” Yoongi says, putting his bags down too.

You both sit in silence, the weight of your predicament settling in. The world as you knew it is gone, replaced by a harsh, unrelenting reality. But for now, you have each other, and that fragile connection gives you the strength to carry on.

For a moment, you just stare at each other, surrounded by a world that has fallen apart, crumbled into something unrecognizable, gray, and dead. But he’s alive, and so are you. You’ve made it this far, and it makes your heart pound. Your lips crash into his—hungry for his touch, for the feeling of being alive, for safety.

The kiss ignites into a frenzy of lustful touches as you strip, indifferent to the fact that you’re outside—there’s no one else around anyway. You kiss him deeply, touching him like it’s the last time. The world is ending, and your desperation fuels your desire. You grip his hard cock, your mouth finding him, sucking, kissing, pleasing until he stops you with a growl, saying he wants to be inside you. You want that too. Laying down on the ground, you welcome him into your warm walls like you’ve done many times before. He knows how to please you, his touches and kisses driving you wild. 

You want this moment to last forever, but you’re acutely aware of the uncertainty of your future. You don’t know if you’ll be alive tomorrow, next week, or next month or even in a year. But you know Yoongi, and he grounds you. 

With him, it’s okay if the world is ending—as long as you have him.

Bombs continue to fall in the distance, and tears escape your eyes, a bittersweet reminder of your probable fate. But at least you have Yoongi by your side. Your breaths mingle, your hands lace together, and he kisses your neck, making love to you like it’s the last time. 

Time on this earth feels borrowed. You lose yourself in his touch, in his kisses, feeling breathless and alive despite the encroaching darkness.

→ Author’s note(2): hi! Since I posted the teaser I’ve been really stressed, lol. Because I felt so pressured by your expectations, so I really hope that this has turned out well 🥹 I love that so many people are interested in the story, so I just hope I did it justice! Please let me know? Again, this is based on my very real fears, but mingled with fiction. I tried my best to make an open ending, so you’re free to interpret it as you please (this is very intentional because of something I might explain later, lol). Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed it. I had my husband beta-ing it, and he fixed at lot of my poor gramma, got flustered by the smut and said it was too descriptive, and it said this wasn’t as detailed as I usually write smut 🤣 Anyway, he said he wanted more ‘survival’ with oc and Yoongi— and I completely agree. But I don’t have any more words, and I’m honestly afraid to make it too much into ‘The Last of Us’ or something else I watched (seeing as I’m not really familiar with writing apocalyptic stories, lol). But I hope it was still okay, at least 🥹

What did you think?? 💜

→ Taglist: @idkjustlovingbts @lovelgirl22 @gimeow @sweeetas @viankiss @goldietigers294 @this-most-assuredly-counts @futuristicenemychaos @funnygirls-things @ysljoon @livingformintyoongi @as-hs-blog @urmomluvsrose @yasmineixyjay @purpleheartsandarock1 @alextgef @coree730 @wobblewobble822 @coldcoffee2121 @zzoguri

[hollowdeath]

i recently came across your blog and i’m literally in love

i’m here because i can’t stop thinking about (adult) soft dom harry that tries to stay gentle but can’t hold himself back :(( brainrot is real

honestly do what u will with this i’m just happy to share it

AAA now you're speakin my language here !!! i will GLADLYYY sit here all day n think abt this one…

content warning: smut!!!! oral sex, penetration, 18+

word count: 750

soft dom harry who wants to let you know he's in the mood by asking you if you'd like a back rub, a foot massage, anything where he can just get his hands on you…once he does he can't help but let his hands wander, his lips following soon after, and he'd quickly get carried away and have you covered in bites before you even realize it…

harry would be so eager to get your clothes off he'd nearly rip them off you as you giggle, telling him to slow down with a teasing voice. he'd be a bit ashamed at first, apologizing with a shy smile before being more careful with you, savoring the feeling of taking your clothes off of you. but if your panties are in the way, he feels no remorse in roughly ripping them off of you to get what he wants.

everyone already knows how i feel about harry and oral…he'll be soooo teasingly slow with you at first, loving the way you squirm and beg for more just before he completely loses himself in your pussy. he'll overstimulate you after you already came to the point of desperation, practically having to push him away from you just to get a moment of rest. he'd still want more, sometimes even convincing you to let him keep going despite your exhaustion. but it's okay because he lovesss to tell you just how much of a good girl you were afterwards, praising you endlessly while holding you close to him to calm down your trembling body.

or, if you gave harry oral, he'd hold your face with his hand as you got started. "so pretty," he'd tell you, encouraging you with his moans and praise. soon he'd get lost in the pleasure, his hand traveling from your cheek to your hair as he starts gently moving it out of the way for you. before long he has all of it completely wrapped around his hand, using it to push your head a bit faster and deeper onto him. his hips would thrust into your mouth out of desperation and cause you to gag. pulling your hair back, he'd carefully make sure you were okay, really okay, before pushing your mouth back onto his cock with the same force as before.

harry being afraid to hurt you as you adjust to his cock inside of you, carefully watching your facial expressions as he slowly pushes deeper into you, the hunger in him growing the longer he looks at you. after you start moaning, whimpering, grabbing for harry's shoulders, he knows you're enjoying yourself and starts to let his guard down, thrusting at a consistent pace before pulling you in for a heated kiss. from there he just falls apart, his grip on you bruising the skin, his thrusts aggressive and sloppy, his teeth sinking into your neck in the most vulnerable places. he's like an animal just chasing his high, using you for his pleasure.

you try not to whimper too loud because then harry comes out of his state of bliss, realizing how aggressive he's being with you before slowing back down. you'd always beg him please, please harry, it's okay, because you secretly love how overcome with lust he gets with you. but he really doesn't want to hurt you, so he tries to stay focused, but we know he just can't help himself…as soon as his eyes droop closed you know he's desperate again, burying his head in your neck as he practically growls into your skin. "fuck, [y/n], feel so good…"

it's not long before harry's pounding into you, waves of pleasure taking over his body. sweating, gasping for breath, hands digging into your hips as he warns you that he's about to cum. sometimes he's aware enough to pull out and finish on you, but other times he's truly so lost in the moment that he cums inside you, his hips flush with yours as you savor the sensation. though he's always a bit flustered afterwards, making sure to ask you plenty of times if you're okay, or if he hurt you, or if you need anything. once he knows you're good, he'll instantly start getting ready for round two because he just can't get enough of you.

[thankyouthankyouthankyou for sending this in, this is pretty much exactly what all of my daydreams of harry consist of lol]

[rivendell-poet]

May I request a SFW Alphabet for Legolas? Regardless, thank you for feeding us well <3

Of course you may! Thanks so much for the compliment, hopefully this helps feed the hunger as well <3 (And thank you so much for the request!)

*･༓˚✧❝𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭 - 𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬❞‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « SFW Alphabet »

Wordcount : 2.7k (not including questions wordcount)

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?) Legolas is fairly affectionate, he loves you and very much wants you to be aware of that, but he doesn't show it in obvious ways. His main way is spending time with you, simply being next to you and listening - staring at you with a quiet focus mixed with adoration. He also does a lot of little gestures, like getting up ahead of time to order breakfast for the both of you because he knew you wanted something hot. Or not getting out of bed at all, and staying put for hours because he knows you've been having a rough few days and you seem to get less nightmares when in his arms.

Does also do traditional shows of affection like giving you gifts (either very extravagant or literally a flower he found that was pretty).

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?) Legolas doesn't have too many friends, so when he has you you're very dear to him. Very much becomes a ride or die for you - and is willing to do a lot of things for you. Slightly concerning at times. You'll mention something almost impossible as a joke and he'll get his plotting face on, and you have to reassure him that the plot to usurp Elrond is just a joke.

Very much wants you and Aragorn and Gimli to like each other (if you don't) but doesn't understand that he's supposed to socialise with the three of you once he's introduced you guys. Just stands in the corner and stares at you anxiously because he's scared you won't like each other. You and Aragorn coax him back into socialising.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?) Somewhat foreign concept to him, elves aren't big on physical touch, so he doesn't initiate at first - simply because he doesn't know what they are. Once he's learnt what they are he'll occasionally initiate cuddling, but generally just comes near you and you have to pull him over.

More enjoys just lying in you, honestly. Is very happy to simply lie next to you and snuggle closer, although the two of you debate if this is a 'proper' cuddle.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?) Settle down in the way that you'll always be together and know you both love each other until the end of the world? Because he wants to do that. In terms of having a home and living there forever? Legolas does want a home, but he sees 'home' as less of a specific house and more a general location - Mirkwood is home to him, and he doesn't feel the need to be more specific. He enjoys the aspect of wandering and doesn't want to be tied down (also knows you'll both go to Valinor eventually - so what's the point in building something here?) If you really want to settle down he will, and he's content as long as you let him go off on a small adventure every now and then.

Legolas is not incredible at the act of cleaning itself, but is nothing if not determined. He will clean up that stain using nothing but water and his own shirt, even if it takes too long. Cleans up if he wakes before you. Also, his very presence seems to repel dirt - so you've got that covered. He's decent at cooking, not incredible but works well with a lot of ingredients and it tastes good. Excelles in recepies that require patience, can stand there and stir whatever needs stiring for ages. (If he's bored he has been know to watch food cook, claims it's more interesting than you think.)

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?) Elves only fall in love once, so he truly doesn't want to do this. He will stick with you through thick and thin, would walk through fire for you. The only way I can see him ending it is if the relationship became abusive, because he would try to solve and problems the two of you have.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?) Again, his love for you is the one love he'll have in his life - he is very committed. Will be with you, and probably be committed to an unhealthy amount. To him, marriage isn't necessary but a show of commitment. He's always wanted to get married to you, but he wants to save proposal for that special moment. Also understands it's a much slower affair in human culture. (Bonus : His wedding outfit is a slightly more extravagant version of the outfit he wore at Aragorn's coronation.)

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?) Legolas is very gentle physically, he's generally quite gentle but takes extra care with you. Is very relaxed around you, so a lot of the time when he hugs you or holds your hand it's with almost no force at all. Is very light, so enjoys being able to lay on you without crushing you. Emotionally he leans to gentle, but it's not a conscious choice as he's naturally very caring so doesn't want to upset you. Also sees no reason to not be himself around you, so doesn't try to tone himself down.

Knows he's not great with human emotions, so cares very deeply about learning them. Will sit down with you every now and then to check how you're doing, and if you're happy. Tries to learn your different faces and tells as well as what emotion goes with them. He does pretty well, as he is a very observant person. (Is secretly proud of himself for correctly identifying a lot of your moods.)

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?) Legolas is fine with hugs, but prefers a little warning. Doesn't like it if you hug him really tightly and pin his arms in your hug - it makes him feel trapped and vulnerable. Plus he can't hug you back. Is good with tight hugs if you let his arms free, although he can never master giving them quite tightly enough. Can never quite master hugs in general, to be honest. You can feel when he hugs you because it's always a very timid start. You have to teach him it's ok to hug you tighter as well, and he does get it eventually. Likes putting his head in the crook of your neck, regardless of your height dynamics.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?) Accidentally confesses it by calling you 'melleth nîn' while he's complimenting you. You pick it up and question him about it, and he's just like 'yes?'. Of course you're the love of my life, I'm courting you. So of course I love you. Doesn't understand the big deal until you explain it to him. Is apologetic, but confirms he means it. (This is also how he realises that proposal is actually a big deal, and he should make sure to have it be romantic and at an appropriate time.) Will still use it very liberally however.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?) More jealous if someone is having a lot of physical contact with you than if their flirting with you, simply because he views it as more intimate. Still, he isn't a very jealous person by nature as he's confident you love him - you're his one and only, so he's your one and only. If he does get jealous he simply inserts himself into the conversation and slowly becomes more and more obvious by dropping hints. (Will plead he doesn't understand human culture the first times he does it.) If it's in a setting where it allows, he sometimes does over-the-top tricks to show-off for you.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?) Enjoys gentle but long kisses, so that's the kind he tends to initiate. These are on the lips, and you can always tell he wants one because his eyes will slowly focus more and more on your lips before looking to your eyes, as if asking permission. Sometimes if he's feeling mischevious he'll sneak up on you and announce his presence with a soft, very light kiss to the neck. Always in the same slightly unusual but specific place so you know it's him. He enjoys the kisses he likes to give, although a good way to make him slow down and snap him out of him overthinking is a kiss on the cheek. He'll stop and gently put his fingers to it before smiling at you.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?) Is very good at impressing them with fancy tricks, is less good at actually interacting with them. He just hasn't seen many kids so they're a very new phenomenon to him that takes some time to figure out. You have had to stop him giving knives to small children so they can try and replicate his tricks. You know he won't actually let them come to harm, but you don't want him to give their parents a heart attack. Ocassionally, if a child has done something especially odd he stops and blinks at them, processing whatever they've done. This face never fails to make your laugh.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?) As an elf, he needs to sleep a lot less than a human so gets up earlier than you almost all the time. If you're a heavy enough sleeper he'll often get out of bed a little before you wake up to freshen up the house, make you coffee/tea if you like that in the morning. If you've expressed preference for a particular food he might cook that. However, he almost always comes back to you before you wake up so you can wake up together. If you're a light sleeper he is more than happy to wake up and simply spend hours in your arms, very occassionally falls asleep in them so when you wake up you have a half-asleep elf cuddling you.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?) Often a bit more energetic than you, but enjoys simply sitting down and relaxing without the need to do anything. Will drag you out to look at the stars if they're pretty enough, although gets pretty good at guaging whether or not you'd want to that specific time. If you're a heavy sleeper he gladly goes to bed with you, if you're a light sleeper he joins you most nights but every now and then stays up a little later. Is very concious to be quiet so you aren't awoken.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?) Doesn't really occur to him to tell you a lot about himself. Will gladly talk if it comes up, and every now and then you have a few hours where you ask questions about him and he answers them. Even with things he struggles with he is very open, although more reserved and probably wouldn't say until a few months into dating. The times he talks about himself without prompting are usually stories he thinks you'd enjoy hearing - likes to do this while it's quiet and there isn't anything going on.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?) He's waited thousands of years to fall in love, he's very patient with you. Happy to talk you through steps a third or even a sixth time without complaint, the instructions just as clear as the last time. The only things that really anger him are when you act recklessly, although that's born out of a fear of losing you rather than anything malicious. Will go over and talk to you instead of bottling up his anger, and is transparent about it.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?) It depends on what the topic is. Some topics, like that specific boque you liked with these flowers that had a certain scent and the third rose wasn't in full bloom, he remembers very well. Also good with your armour and personal details. However details that are more 'human' or not very important to him he sometimes struggles to remember. Is still enthusiastic and engages when you share these things with him, however. He just doesn't always remember them as well. If he feels their slipping from memory he sometimes randomly asks you.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?) He remembers your first day in Mirkwood, and how amazed you'd been by everything. His favourite part of the day was when he realised how bright the stars would look to you after you'd been in Mirkwood's night. The two of you had gone to the top of the trees together and stargazed in each other's arms as you tried to identify the constellations in such a different place. He loves it because it was the blending of the most important things in his life, and your willingness to love him even when he does stuff like this.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?) He's grown up for a lot of his life surrounded by guards, so he understands the annoyance of having several people around you everyday. Which is why it's just him! But seriously, he sees the duty of being a guard as an honour - so does enjoy being near you and being prepared to protect you. However, he's good at going into combat so isn't as much 'on guard' as he is simply spending time with you, only a thought in the back of his mind of him doing this to keep you safe. He's most vulnerable when sleeping or trying to go to sleep, so very much appriciates you being there - even more so if you hold him.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?) Is very good simply because he has the time to do so, and the patience. He's going to be awake for a few hours without you, so why not use those hours doing something for you? Pretty original with this gifts and dates, as he has the means to get variety and the best of the best. Isn't a super craft-y person but you can tell he's really thought about you when he presents you with a gift he's brought. Legolas isn't the best at everyday tasks, although that's more because he had them done for him most of his life. He does try.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?) He was a prince, so there are some aspects in which he's slightly spoiled. Although he could do a lot of basic tasks, and tasks that are needed in the wilderness, he does sometimes struggle with more basic things. He's also confident that he'll figure it out, so often doesn't tell you and just keeps struggling. Very occassionally forgets he needs to do things himself if he wants them done, so will leave something out and then be confused why it hasn't been fixed before remembering.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?) Quite concerned with his looks - he's an elf. A small part of him thinks elves are mainly known for their beauty, and if he doesn't keep it up you'll lose a lot of love for him/he won't be the elf you married. Cleaning and braiding his hair is often how he tries to regulate his emotions. If he's particularly stressed he'll spend a lot of time brushing and re-braiding his hair, sometimes to an obsessive amount.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?) Would not feel whole without you. When he fell in love with you, he gave you a piece of his heart forever - and that piece will always be with you, even if you break up. There's a piece of him missing when you finally pass away, and he'd much rather have Luthien's gift than be without you for all eternity.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.) After Gimli introduces him to them, Legolas becomes enamoured by crystals. Collects lots of them, knows how they form and what they symbolise. Has a 'crystal of the week' which he puts on a special black velvet stand and admires it. His reasons for crystal of the week are very cryptic, and he doesn't seem to have particular likes. Will point out random crystals that 'remind him of you'.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?) Needs someone who appriciates greenery. You don't have to go on hikes with him, or be gardening, but when he shows you something incredible he wants to see that look of wonder in your eyes. Especially when his whole life he's been trying to turn Mirkwood back into the beauty it is after Sauron's defeat, it's an important part of himself that represents healing to him.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?) Not a heavy or a light sleeper, although he seems aware of his surroundings - even in his sleep. Sometimes goes to bed later than you if you're a light sleeper as he doesn't sleep as long, and he doesn't want to wake you when he gets up. Will happily stay with you just before you wake up for early morning cuddles, however.

A/N : Thanks so much for requesting again! And again, hope you enjoyed! Also, special thanks to you Xiao - both one of my first requesters, but also one of the first people who interacted with my works <3

thank you for reading *･༓˚✧wish to be tagged?

[blackdollette]

"tearing around in my fucking nightgown." | s. reid

hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have, but i have it. - lana del rey

⊹₊⋆ synopsis: you were hardly at fault. spencer had taken a late shift, and you needed to settle your nerves somehow...

fill out the taglist form! : @thirtyratsinasuit @auggiethecreator @oliviah-25 @sleepysongbirdsings @pleasantwitchgarden @emma-e-a @bellasprettywords

female!reader x spencer

word count: 1.2k

contents: spencer takes the late shift at work, masturbation, cunnilingus (flashback), no proofread

you had been tossing and turning in your disheveled bedsheets for minutes that seemed like hours.

your hair laid in a scruffy mess on your head, your silk nightgown clinging to your flesh in an awkward fashion. it was a few minutes past midnight, and because of spencer’s absence, you were beginning to lose your mind. you were somehow sweaty in the bedroom that was always just a touch too chilly, a sticky film coating your skin.

you rolled over once again with a groan, wishing that spencer hadn’t taken the night shift. you couldn’t see anything in the blackness of the bedroom, with the exception of the sparse streaks of moonlight that seeped in from the window and the monotonous flicker of the time that flickered on the small digital clock beside you, seeming to be mocking the same sensation that played in your mind.

you’d gotten so used to the feeling of spencer’s big arms cradling you to keep you warm during the night. you longed to feel his body pressing up against yours as he shifted and mumbled in response to whatever he was dreaming about.

you tossed in the sheets, stretching out your arm to grab your phone off the bedside table. honestly, you were surprised that you were able to keep yourself together for so long. you thought you were going to crack hours ago. you scrolled down your call list, landing on the name titled with a heart symbol. you clicked the call button and waited for the recipient to pick up.

the phone rang once, twice, and many more times until you went to voicemail. frustration began to coil in your gut as you tried to call back, each time resulting in the same outcome. you couldn’t begin to explain this pathetic feeling of hopelessness and desperation that had overtaken you. 

you mindlessly scrolled through your old messages with him, missing him more than anything. you sat up in the bed holding your knees to your chest as you reread your texts with him. a smile tugged at your lips each time he said something corny in response to something provocative that you said. 

you stumbled upon an image that he had sent you from his office. he had positioned the camera from a higher angle, capturing his leaned-back position and a sneaky hand that pulled the waistband of his trousers down just enough to give you a sneak peek of his boxer briefs. he had a cheeky little grin on his face, his fluffy hair falling in perfect tufts over his forehead. the picture seemed to be crafted by the gods, from the lighting to the slight surge of lust it filled you with. it was perfection.

you felt a familiar heat pooling in your core as the image filled your head. your breath hitched as hunger began to fill the empty void in your mind. a switch flipped inside of you quickly and your hand had already found its way to your lacy panties.

you were almost surprised at how needy you had gotten so quickly. you were practically clawing at the skimpy material of your nightgown. 

your mind was flickering with images of him and you on your most intimate nights. him having you lying on your back as he pumped two fingers in and out of you, his soft words as smooth and sweet as honey…

“y-yeah, right there, spence…” you whimpered out as his slightly calloused fingertips brushed against your cervix. “oh yeah..? well… how does this feel..?” he began to curl his fingers ever so slightly, making your breath hitch as he rubbed slow circles onto your puffy clit. you rolled your hips against his hand, eager to feel him in every part of you. the simple act brought a smile onto his face, letting him know that he was doing something right.

he pressed his fingers against your bladder, making your whole body jerk. startled, he chuckled. “how does that feel?” you tried to formulate audible speech, but he began to pick up the pace, taking pleasure in the way you drooled and stammered. your pussy mimicked the lewd noises of your lips, the sticky sounds of your cunt almost too good to be true. “yeah… listen to that, baby…”

your fluids of arousal dripped along his fingers, trailing down his veiny hands. the folds of your pussy fluttered around him, greedily swallowing his digits. you pressed your legs together as that unmistakable band began to tighten in your stomach, but he pushed your legs open, letting his hand rest on your inner thigh. “c’mon, baby. i’m not done with you yet…” 

you were falling apart, the rapid beating of your heart syncing with the way your cunt pulsated. a stupid little grin was plastered on spencer’s face the entire time. he loved the way he could make you go dumb for him, the way you turned into silly putty with a few pumps of his fingers. the inside of your sticky walls felt like velvety silk around his fingers. 

he couldn’t take his eyes off of your puffy lips and tear-glazed eyes. to him, there was no greater pleasure than making you feel on top of the world. 

you bit your lip hard, the iron tang of blood filling your mouth as he connected his lips to your cunt just as your orgasm was on the way. he flicked his tongue on your swollen pearl, mumbling mindless praises into your core. 

your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he found the perfect rhythm between his tongue and fingers. he grabbed a handful of his hair, grinding your hips against his face. he groaned deeply into your body. “t-that’s it, honey… use me…” you shuddered each time he swirled his wet tongue across your folds.

the weaker you became, the faster he went. the room filled with the hungry sounds of the base of his hand slapping against the entrance of your hole as he fingered you at lightning speed. his chest heaved up and down, your overstimulated moans becoming louder. “o-oh my gosh, spence… i-i… i can’t take anymore..!”

his mouth was already filling with the delicious taste of your cum, but he wanted to maximize your orgasm to its fullest. he dug into you, wrapping his arms around your thighs as he buried his face into your body, not even taking a second to breathe. his tongue hungrily ran up and down your slit, making the band in your stomach snap. “s-spencer, i’m cumming..!”

~

you snapped back to reality from the feeling of your body convulsing around your fingers. you panted rapidly, looking down and seeing the wet, sticky mess that you created all over the bedsheets. beads of sweat rolled down your forehead as you looked around the room as if you had just woken up from a nap.

your eyes landed on the clock, reading the time. 12:48am. you sighed deeply. you hadn’t meant to get lost in the overwhelming feeling, but you just couldn’t resist it. it had almost felt as if spencer was actually there. but something good had come out of it.

you found your eyelids getting heavy with exhaustion as you slipped back under the covers, pulling the blanket over your warm body and setting your head onto your pillow. you looked at spencer’s side of the bed, taking in his absence. lifting up your head, you switched your pillow with his, setting your head back down and inhaling the heart-warming scent of him, finally being blessed with the gift of sound slumber.

author's note: i'm sick :((

[lawchwan]

love alphabet (sanji)

summary: just another alphabet for our favorite perverted romantic chef

disclaimer: there are some spoilers of skypiea and Whole Cake Island in some alphabets so be warn with that. and obviously some alphabets have nsfw content. Also some alphabets have fem terms, which was not my intention, i’ll edit them once i have the free time.

crossposted on ao3

A = Affection (PDA, what sort of affection they give)

You are talking to the king of PDA. If you’re someone who cannot handle pda, then you need to start handling it with Sanji. He loves to be hands-on with you, literally, declaring to the entire world how much you mean to him. This man just outright loves you, and he’s not shy of showcasing it.

Bonus: he loves to be extra in front of Zoro, just to rub it in his face, only to get a groan and an eye roll of disgust from him (and the entire straw hats really, even Luffy couldn’t stand it)

B = Babies (Anything you want about babies)

“Oh, you want babies? Say less, ma’am, I’ll throw all the condoms and contraceptives away. When and where and I’ll give it to you” he says, with heart eyes and nosebleed as you mentioned in passing about babies.

In all seriousness, Sanji does have a soft spot for kids. He is a very gentle man and often really caring towards kids. If you remember at the end of enies lobby, the way he handled Chimney with such care after her exclaiming about how hungry she is how I imagined he’d be with his own kid, and maybe even extra doting and caring. Also chopper and Sanji’s interaction during skypiea… I don’t think I need to add more… (Although Chopper is 17 years old/was 15 during skypiea, it still applies)

C = Cuddles (How they cuddle or are cuddled)

Oh that man loves to cuddle. He may not be the most fleshy, he does however have the warmth that can counteract as a blanket and that’s enough of you. He, like law in my previous love alphabet, loves to be the small spoon, except he is more open about and doesn’t care about one says about it.

D = Darling  (Pet names) 

He’ll throw in any affectionate nicknames that he could think of at the top of his head and will say it with no shame. But I do think he’s the type to say “darling,” “my love,” “my sweet,” and “angel.”

He also has more pet names/nicknames in the bedroom and calls you goddess/god and mommy/daddy. He one time slipped up and called you mommy/daddy in front of Zoro, and Zoro mocked him for all eternity until you confronted him… : )

E = Enamored (how hard do they fall when in love)

It's Sanji we’re talking about… this man will lay his eyes on any woman and he’ll fall head over heels. But when it comes to you, there’s a slightly subtle change. While he still maintains his chivalry and flirtatious act, he does put in extra effort with you. If he makes Nami and Robin a parfait, then you’ll get extra toppings and flavors of your liking. Honestly, their food—still being better than how he would serve his male crew—would start looking underwhelming next to yours, but it's not that they’re complaining. Matter of fact, they, mainly Nami, thank you for having reciprocal feelings since Sanji hasn’t been going at either woman.   

F = Firsts (A first on anything you pick)

The first time Sanji cooked for you was special. You were sitting in the kitchen, alone with him, as you happened to catch a case of “midnight hunger,” and there he was, a handsome cook cleaning the dishes as he hums to himself. When you made your presence known, the blond man turned with his usual charismatic smile and turned the sink before doing so.

“hey, (y/n) darling, what are you doing here?”

He seemed genuinely to be ecstatic to see you in the kitchen, even though it was god-awful late at night, he didn’t seem bothered for some reason. You were about to mention how hungry you were, until the grumble of your stomach spoke for you, only for you to look away, flustered. Sanji simply chuckled as he stated sweetly, “I guess I know why…”

And there you were, as much as you didn’t want to wear him out, he was very insistent and ended up cooking up something upon your request. You just sat there, ogling at the cook as he worked his magic. You stare at his hands, veins popping up handsomely due to the force he is exerting, whether through cutting vegetables or holding onto the sizzling pan, as you place your head onto your hand. You didn’t say much to not distract him, but, man oh man, was he attractive just cooking for you.

“oh, how I wish those hands were on me…” you thought to yourself as you began analyzing his physique with your eyes wandering from his blond locks to his tiny yet built waist, down to his thick ass. Your head was heading to perverted places where you might need a quick shower afterward.

He seemed to have noticed that you were staring at him, so as he finished with his finishing touch, he began declaring, “Voila!”  as he handed you the dish. You were brought back to reality after he spoke up, and you looked down at your dish.

“Oh, wow does that look good,” you say, softly yet excitedly. He just shrugged and hummed with a confident smile before handing your utensils. As you had your first bite, you closed your eyes as you moaned in glee; you truly never doubted him when it came to food because that was perhaps the most delicious dish you ever had. He simply just looked at you admirably, as he mimicked your look towards him when you saw him cook, even down to the head-on-chin position.

Once you were done, you sighed and let out a phew due to your fullness. “How’d you like it?” Sanji spoke up with a smile as he took your plate.

“That was amazing, Sanji… Thank you so much,” You say with gratitude as you hold his face with one hand, and he leaned against it. He mirrored you, only this time he leaned in before he wiped the corner of your lips the remaining sauce while he maintained eye contact.

“Missed a spot,” he whispered to you before licking his finger, winking, and taking the plate to the sink. He then had his back to you with a smirk while you looked at him in awe.

God, does this man drive you crazy…

G = Good Morning (How do they wake you up)

You best believe that you’ll be getting your morning kisses daily from him. If he wakes up before you, he’ll just lift himself and stare at you with love sparkle all over his blue eyes, he’ll probably even run his fingernail against your skin before kissing you awake. He’ll paint that beautiful smile as he says with his gentle morning voice, “Good morning, sunshine.”

That’s on his lazy days though, other days, however, he might just wake you up with breakfast in bed. He’ll set aside the tray before he gently shakes you until you wake up and informs you that he made you breakfast.

He is such a romantic, it warms one’s cold heart.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs?)

His hugs are so warm… I don’t know what else to add. He just adds a layer of comfort to him, just like his cuddles.

I = In Labor (Labour and Delivery)

He’s an absolute mess and honestly, you might have considered kicking him out during delivery. It’s not that he’s a dick about it or whatever—matter of fact, poor dude’s just trying to help—, but he’s acting like he’s the one giving birth due to his nervousness and is making you feel worse about the situation. If he wasn’t your love and/or the father of your child, you’d have kicked him out and had Zoro or Robin fill the role for support (you’ve thought of Nami as well, but she’d probably be squeamish and leave the room).

And once that child’s out, he’ll probably cry at the sight of your beautiful creation and kiss you on the top of your head while he praises you and compliments the beautiful bundle of joy.

“You did it… You’re so amazing,”

J = Jealousy (Are they jealous? How do they handle it?)

And the winner of the most hypocritical individual award goes to; Blackleg Sanji. You might have to beat him for it, because how the fuck is he allowed to flirt with other women, yet he beats men whom you’ve given the same energy?

All jokes aside, this man will probably glare at the person who’s attempting to get closer to you. He’ll probably start causing chaos if anyone were to lay a hand on his partner and he doesn’t care, he’ll stop when the one who gets the beat down promises he won’t look at you again.

K = Kisses (How do they kiss? How often?)

You finally understood the addiction to nicotine when you first pressed your lips against his. No matter a peck or a full-on passionate, his lips were simply addicting and you just crave them every time you look at him. He places a cigarette on his lips, and you envy the tip of the cigarette for it is covered by his lips when it should be your skin that is covered by his lips.

He kisses you very often, maybe a little bit too often, disgustingly often. But he’ll tone it down if you ask, and he’ll give you kisses throughout the day, he can never leave a day with no kisses for you.

L = Loyal (How loyal are they?)

Contrary to popular belief—and the jokes I’ve been making earlier—, Sanji’s pretty loyal. Sure, he may flirt with multiple women, which is a bad habit, but he never thought of sleeping with them now that he’s with you. He mainly claims it as just acts of chivalry, but truly he never intends on coming off as overtly flirtatious nor does he have any intentions of cheating on you, and he will always find a way to prove it.

M = Memory (Their favourite memory about you?)

The first time you declared your love for him. Underneath that charismatic aura, Sanji’s a broken man who believes that love is not by his side. Sure, he is aware that he has platonic, or rather familial love from the straw hat crew, Zeff, and the workers at Baratie, but he never would have thought that he’d find genuine romantic love and he was on his journey of accepting that.

Until you came along and ruined it, and Sanji couldn’t have been more grateful that you did. When you two happened to be kissing each other after an intimate session, you held him and uttered those three words, only for him to be gasping and widen his eyes in astonishment.

“What?”

You looked at him with a loving smile and holding onto his delicate face, “I love you, Sanji…”

You made Sanji’s heart flutter as he looked at you with glossy eyes and he laid on your chest and you began stroking his locks. You didn’t want him to respond if he didn’t want to, you simply just wanted to let him know, only for you to hear a whisper,

“I love you too…”

N = Never! (Dealbreakers)

Never mention his biological father, and don’t you ever try to reunite them. Sanji considers Zeff as his real dad, he taught and treated him like a father would to his son, so if you’d reunite them, he’d be over the moon. Reunite him with Judge and Sanji will feel betrayed that you would put him in a room with his abuser.

No amount of “but you guys are family” will cut it.

O = On the Rocks (How do they make up?)

Sanji’s the type to apologize through meals. He’ll obviously talk to you, but no matter how mad he is/you are, he’ll not leave you hungry. You two will start apologizing to each other and admit your mistakes. The one thing you love about Sanji is that he respects you too much for you to be upset, even if you’re in the wrong.

So you’ll simply just talk it out and kiss afterward… which may lead to more action if you get my drift.

P = Playtime (Any headcanons on sex)

Sanji loves to call you goddess/god, no matter if he’s domming or subbing. He just loves the thought of worshipping you and gliding his tongue all over his skin.

He also enjoys giving you oral or fingering you, doesn’t matter where you guys are, he’ll always find a way to have a taste of you, claiming “It’s the best flavor I’ve ever tried.”

Q = Quiet Time (How do they wind down?)

The perfect wind-down for Sanji is simply cuddling in bed or cooking alone with you. Sure, it may seem very cliché, but Sanji’s a cliché man and he knows it, especially when you call him out on it, but he doesn’t care.

What better way to spend some quiet time than when you have your partner with you, am I right?

R = Rapture (What makes them happy?)

When you value him and remind him how loved and important he is. Given his childhood, it is easy for him to slip through the mindset of self-loathing and ending himself, which resulted in his sacrificial personality. While you were never a cure for it, you did help him ease through those tough times, and he grew to appreciate you for your effort and how you don’t perceive the way others do.

Your overall love and appreciation for him means so much to him, thus resulting in making him happy.

S = Soulmate (What do they think of soulmates?)

Oh, he hands down believes in soulmates. First off, he’s a Pisces, and every Pisces I’ve met believes in soulmates. Secondly, he is a romantic at heart, soul, and body so he believes that there’s someone out there that will complete his soul.

T = Together (What do you like to do together?)

Cooking, of course, and also shopping. This man will go broke for you and he’ll be happy to go into debt for you, as long as you are happy and content, please, by all means, make his pockets hurt (but you won't because you love him too much to ever go through that).

U = Unyielding (How do they handle interlopers on the relationship?)

Sanji will karate kick them on their way out. “How dare you to try to meddle in OUR perfect. Beautiful, loving relationship?! Who gave you the absolute right to try and take my sweet partner away?! I’ll beat you to a pulp!” Sanji would exclaim as he proceeded to ambush the person who tried to interlope.

V = Vulnerable (Are they vulnerable often? How do they handle it?)

Sanji would not be as vulnerable as you’d think when you first met. Sure, he’s very emotional in tune and can hold you days on end when you just want to cry out about whatever’s bothering you, past or present.

Just like Law, once he gains trust, that’s when the floodgates are open and he starts becoming vulnerable and talking about his trauma. Please hug him and promise you won’t throw him under the bus with all of that, he needs emotional support and love.

W = Wedding (Wedding headcanons)

He’ll make sure he’ll make your wedding a day you won’t ever forget. I imagine your guys’ wedding being extravagant yet still intimate, inviting only the straw hat crew—yes including Zoro—, Vivi, Zeff, and most of his workers of Baratie from his end. He made sure you had some cake testing before the wedding and was mostly in charge of the catering, despite it being his wedding day.

Despite you were the bride, Sanji was more of a bridezilla than you were, and you had your fair share of freak outs, but not to the extend of Sanji’s to which you had to calm him down. Eventually, however, everything was settled—thanks to you and the rest of the straw hat—and you had a beautiful wedding by the beach.

(idk he seems like someone who would want a beach wedding.)

X = (E)x (How do they handle exes? What do they do if they see them)

He’d act the same with interlopers when it comes to your ex, especially if that ex had done unimaginable heinous things to you.

Meanwhile, his exes might have to run away because otherwise, he’ll start acting “too friendly,” and may slip up a few details about their previous relationship, which results in you being insecure.

He eventually apologizes, genuinely avoids his ex, and never interacts with them.

Y = Yearning (What do they do when they miss you?)

Another pillow sniffer and clothes (panties) stealer. Yup, that’s it, nothing else to add there. Just read my law’s one and just switch law with Sanji and you’ll get the same effect.

While he’s always snatching your pillows and clothes when you’re away, whenever he’s in the kitchen, he’ll even cook your favorite food to remind him of you. Even though he cooked it himself, he can’t help but be reminded of you and your sparkling eyes of joy when you see him cook your favorite meal.

NSFW

 He loves your enthusiasm so damn much, and God does he crave to see it again, especially when you have that similar sparkle when he undresses in front of you and showcases his pink-tipped cock to you.

Where were those panties when he needed them?

Z = Zzz… (Sleeping headcanons)

He loves it when you guys are in spooning positions. While he prefers being the small spoon, he loves to wrap himself around you with your chest on his. The feeling of you being snug beside him makes him feel like he can protect you and there’s no better feeling than that.

characters are owned by oda. i will not tolerate nor accept translation, reposts on other websites, or plagiarism. divider made by mmadeinheavenn.

[har-rison-s]

fear or endearment | coryo snow x fem!reader

a/n: hello people of tumblr. yes, i'm getting on the train of writing for coryolanus snow (save me). he's just so writeable before the 10th games, i feel. after that i lose any touch with him, honestly, idk. bad man. welp! enjoy this little short blurb i thought of while i was at work yesterday (no connection, tho, just day dreaming). happy reading &lt;3

warnings: none except snow's manipulative, calculating personality; this is pre-10th games snow btw

word count: 1,894

gif credit goes to owner &lt;3

“you only like me because i bring you free stuff,” she says, her lips wearing a smile that holds the sadness of the half-joke she just made. it’s only an ironic way of saying the truth, and she thinks him a fool not to admit it. her hands get busy with carefully emptying the messenger bag full of food leftovers and pastries that the kitchen in her house deemed as unworthy for her family.

“not true,” coryolanus says with a gentle shake of his too-perfect head, eyes looking at her instead of raking over the gifts she’s brought. they’ll keep him and his family away from hunger for a week at least, if they plan carefully, “i like you regardless of that.”

she shakes her head with more conviction. it’s one thing to lie to himself about it, it’s another to tell the lie to her face. her face that has seen the brutal truth in people, her eyes that can see through any facade. it’s the reason she doesn’t watch television unless she absolutely necessarily has to – the facade built up around the ugly truth makes her sick to her stomach. “oh, yes, and my dream is to become a peacekeeper.” her sharp tongue responds.

coryolanus considers her words and the sarcastic look on her face, the faint grin she wears. he doesn’t like being confused, and yet she makes him feel that way very often. sarcasm is her companion in every conversation, and coryolanus suspects he might be one of the only people in the world she shows her bare soul and heart to, and even then she shows very little. her rebellious nature, though, is what makes him worried for her. sometimes he thinks he ought to follow her in her ways, even though it wouldn’t be easy. it would also be going against everything he’s fought so hard to have, and would continue to fight for.

coryolanus shakes his head in confusion, his cheeks blushing just the faintest tone of pink and curls trembling along with his head movements. she laughs fruitfully at knowing she made him confused, her head hanging back for a moment. she closes her bag, its contents emptied on coryo’s kitchen table, and looks down on them. “i know you wonder why i say things like that,” she looks up at him again, and coryo nods, his lips bit back in a faint smile, “can’t help it. must be some security mechanism in me, to joke or draw irony in serious matters.” she shuffles herself onto the table’s surface, now getting the view of coryo in front of her instead of having to wring her neck around every time to just look at him standing beside her. coryo nods again and smiles wider. “sometimes i want to shut up, but i just can’t seem to. and that tends to get me in trouble quite a lot. you know that well.” 

ah, yes, her rebellious nature that gets in the way of her education and reputation up-keeping. he might just be her only friend at school, because no one wants to associate themselves with such a rebellious girl as her. sejanus has been nice to her, but coryo guesses he lacks the courage to talk to her. coryo makes a grin and takes a step closer to her. her genuine eyes find his again and she searches them for some bit of truth. it’s hard for most people to guess what he’s thinking, but not for her. “i like you for that,” coryolanus tells her, and she furrows her eyebrows because by looking into is eyes she knows it’s the truth that he’s telling.

“hmm,” she just hums in surprise, “i know it upsets you, too. and that you worry about me, and that’s why you get me out of trouble, even if you don’t have to. you and your perfect attendance and grades, perfect attitude.” she counts off, and it almost sounds like she despises him for all these things. coryo shakes his head, eyelids fluttering while looking at her still.

“you of all people know how imperfect i am,” he says, “look where i have to live,” he gestures around the kitchen. but her smile drops, “it’s almost nothing compared to your place.” 

“where we live doesn’t say much about us,” she responds, “so many people at school think i’m this spoiled princess of the capitol living in my great mansion with mother and father.” she rolls her eyes. “only thing perfect about me are my grades, and even they are being pulled down because of my attitude.” she sighs. coryo nods, understanding, and stays close to her. “i’m really a rebellious child whose parents hardly have patience for. it’s not like i try to get into trouble, it just so happens that my opinions don’t go well with everyone else’s. i know i’m not the only one, but i might be the only one with guts to say those opinions.” she shrugs. “you know that associating with me can get you into trouble, too.”

coryo nods. “but it hasn’t this far,” he responds with a kind smile as the two of them look at each other. she wishes she could respond with a smile half as true as his current one, but her character has been beaten down. her eyelids flutter and she looks down at her hands. 

“why do you get me out of trouble, then? why do you worry about me?” she asks quietly. “we both know you shouldn’t.” 

“you don’t believe me when i say it,” coryo says, reminding her of the beginning of their conversation. she looks up at him again, chin raised. he’s wounded by her disbelief. 

“what?” she asks in half a whisper. coryo tilts his head, his facial expression saying that his answer should be obvious. his hand hesitantly reaches out to hers in her lap, gently coating her intertwined palms. she’s almost forgot how to breathe. he’s never touched her hands before. it’s always a hand at the small of her back, on her shoulder, arms around her. never the hands. it almost seems like he was saving them for... something.

“i like you,” coryo says just as quietly, hand over hers and eyes looking at her, this intense emotion suddenly between them in the air, “not just for the free stuff. it’s the depth of your heart and kindness,” one i know i’ll never have, “and your courageous nature.”

she smiles. “you have courage, too, coryo,” she tells him quietly, and finds herself lost in him now that he’s so close to her. his ice-cold heart warms at her using the nickname for him. she intertwines their fingers now, raising the formed knot higher between them, so that it would enter their line of vision. coryo looks at it, and his heart lurches in his chest, making him feel nearly on the point of fainting, “you do,” she says again, “you just need to... channel it in the right direction.” she utters in a the quietest of whispers. 

coryolanus doesn’t dare a make a noise even though his throat is dry and he needs to clear it, but he fears anything louder than a whisper might ruin everything, even his heart feels like it’s hammering too loud in his chest, “like this?” he asks in a faint voice, and she furrows her eyebrows at the weird question, but doesn’t get to doubt it because coryo is pressing his lips to hers, adding even more value to their moment together. 

for a person who is always able to calculate things to come, she is surprised because this she didn’t calculate at any point. but she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t waited for him to do this, to take a next step, for at least a few weeks now. her courage faded away any chance she had to do the same, to be the one who takes the first step. 

she grips his hand between them even harder, and her other hand goes to cradle the side of his face, but after the first few kisses their hands untie and she uses both of hers to hold his face, while coryo is too shy to touch her. she pulls away, both of them out of breath, and they look at each other. stunned. thrilled. without words to say about what they just did. 

“yeah, like that,” she finally breathes in response, always having something cheeky up her sleeve, “only...” she takes both of his hands in hers and places them on her waist, where they fit nearly like a magnet. coryo breathes a quiet sigh of relief, it was where he thought of embracing her, but somehow lacked the guts to do so. looking at each other, she nods at him and coryo makes a small smile. “i know you like me now,” she says quietly, and coryo even chuckles, “you wouldn’t be so nervous about me otherwise.” 

he nods, succumbing to the defeat of her cracking him, and stands between her legs that dangle off the side of the table. his hands on her fit right in place, both of them feeling that they’re always meant to be there. “sometimes, uh...” coryo shakes his head, a little nervous to say what he wants to, but she urges him on with her hand on his cheek serving a comforting touch, and he blushes when he looks at her, “sometimes i don’t know if i like you or i’m scared of you.” he admits.

it makes her laugh out loud, as if it was the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard someone say. her head hangs low, and then rests against his chest once her laughter has started to subside. coryo feels embarrassed that he admitted that now, but he wraps his arms around her nonetheless. he knows she means no harm. 

she looks up at him, hands on his chest, and gets real close to his face again, “you better figure it out real soon, coryo,” she tells him, “i don’t want to be with someone who’s scared of me. i want them to be with me because they like me.” she says truthfully and coryo nods. he’s never really been around a girl or woman who’s made him feel like she has. it’s hard to explain, but her rebellious nature, her unpredictability are what scare him, but also what endear her to him. make him like her so much. makes his heart jump out of his chest when she speaks against a professor or simply flees a classroom. 

“i like you,” coryo assures her, “and i’m glad you want to be with me, too.” he says and they smile at each other. she nods at him and leans into his chest into a long embrace neither of them really want to get out of. 

coryolanus is scared of the consequences of her actions, scared for where it will make him end up. but life with her has colour. he doesn’t exactly want to give that up because he might get in trouble. he finds a way out of it with his wit and charm, anyhow. whatever problems she could get him into by being herself he can easily get out of, so maybe taking risks isn’t that deadly of a thing. not for her.

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part 2

[libingan]

— wolf’s den. (final chapter.)

summary: after finding yourself lost in the forest, you accidentally stumble across a wolf’s den. unfortunately for you, his intentions are dark and possessive—he's chosen you to be his mate, dragging you into a nightmarish world where escape seems impossible.

cw: kidnapping, dark content, noncon, power imbalance, possessiveness, violence, cannibalism, death, wolf hybrid! ghost x bunny hybrid! reader

here it folks, the final chapter! it’s done, it’s over! thank u guys for eating this shit up but honestly i feel like this was one of my… idk? i dont want to say bad, but it’s definitely not my best lolz

writing dark content isnt my forte lmao this is actually my first time writing something this gorey HAHSHWSHW

part 4 | the aftermath

the oppressive nature of simon’s control became a constant, unrelenting force as your pregnancy progressed. his obsession with ensuring your safety transformed into a tyrannical dominance over every aspect of your life. the freedom you once had was now a distant memory, replaced by a suffocating confinement that left you feeling more like a prisoner than a partner — which you always were.

the heavy metal collar around your neck was a constant reminder of your restricted autonomy. chained to the bedpost, you were confined to a small area, barely able to reach the meager portions of food simon allowed you. the food was meticulously rationed—just enough to keep you alive but never enough to fully satisfy your hunger. this arrangement made you feel like an object rather than a person.

simon’s visits were marked by his cold efficiency. he would come into the room with an air of detached concern. “you know the rules,” he’d say with a chilling calmness as he checked the small amount of food left for you. “you’re only to eat what i’ve provided. it’s for your safety and the baby’s.”

“this isn’t living, simon!” you would protest, your voice tinged with frustration. “it’s a prison! i need more space, more freedom.”

“this is for your own good,” simon would respond with a steely edge. “you don’t understand the risks involved. i can’t afford to be lenient.”

the psychological toll of your confinement was severe. each day blended into the next, marked only by simon’s harsh rules and the stifling sense of isolation. his rare visits were a grim reminder of his control, each encounter underscored by his relentless authority.

when labor began, it was sudden and brutal. the first sign came with a sharp, searing pain that made you gasp and clutch the bed. a warm rush of liquid between your legs signaled your water breaking, soaking through the bed and creating a damp, unsettling mess. the shock of your water breaking was followed by an intense wave of contractions that took your breath away. the pain was relentless and overwhelming, radiating through your lower body with an intensity that left you writhing.

the contractions came in waves, each one more excruciating than the last. you gripped the bed, your bunny ears drooping with exhaustion and fear. the room was filled with the sounds of your struggle, the heavy breathing, and simon’s calming yet authoritative voice.

simon’s reaction was a mix of urgency and a controlled demeanor. his wolf ears perked up with concern, and his tail flicked restlessly behind him as he rushed to your side. he moved with grim efficiency, his hands firm yet surprisingly gentle as he took in the scene.

“breathe, love,” simon instructed, his voice a blend of authority and reassurance. “focus on your breathing. we need to get through this.”

“i can’t fucking handle this!” you gasped, tears streaming down your face. “it’s too much. i need help!”

“you can handle this,” simon insisted, his grip on your hand steady. “push through the pain. we’re almost there. you’re strong, and we’ll get through this together.”

the hours dragged on, marked by your strained breaths and his unwavering support. simon’s hands guided you through each contraction with a combination of force and tenderness. the room, once filled with hope and life, became a grim tableau of pain and exhaustion. your bunny ears were drooping with fatigue, and your body trembled with each wave of labor. simon’s wolf ears twitched with a mix of anxiety and determination, and his tail was stiff with focus.

finally, after what felt like an eternity of agonizing pain, the cries of the newborn pups pierced the air. the relief was profound but short-lived. you lay back on the bed, utterly exhausted, your body trembling from the ordeal. simon’s expression shifted from intense focus to something darker as he held the tiny, blood-slicked bodies in his hands.

as you lay there, spent and weak, you saw simon’s gaze turn from the pups to you, and then to the blood-soaked room. your bunny ears twitched in fear, and you were barely able to muster the strength to speak.

“simon?” you whispered, your voice cracking with exhaustion. “what the hell are you doing?”

simon’s eyes, once filled with awe, now revealed a disturbing hunger. his wolf ears perked up with a predatory gleam, and his tail flicked with primal excitement. he ignored your plea, his gaze locked onto the tiny bodies.

the blood from the pups pooled around you, and simon’s primal urge became palpable. his fangs elongated as he brought one of the pups to his mouth. the sickening sound of tearing flesh filled the room as he bit down, consuming the fragile body. the blood flowed freely, staining his hands and face.

“no, simon, please!” you screamed, your voice hoarse and desperate. “you’re killing them! you’re killing me! please, just stop!”

simon’s primal instincts had completely overtaken him. he continued to devour the remaining pups with a ravenous intensity, each bite more brutal than the last. his wolf tail lashed wildly, and his eyes were filled with a primal, insatiable need. the blood smeared across his face and hands, and the room was filled with the grotesque sounds of consumption.

the once-innocent cries of the newborns were replaced by the sickening squelch of flesh being torn apart. as simon’s hunger drove him further, the blood from the pups mixed with the blood flowing from your own body. the room was now a grisly scene of blood and gore, and the smell was nauseating.

when simon had finished with the pups, his gaze turned to you with a predatory hunger. the blood, now staining the bed and the floor, heightened his primal urge. his wolf ears were twitching with excitement, and his tail was stiff with anticipation.

simon’s movements were slow, deliberate, and unsettling as he crawled toward you on all fours. his predatory gaze never left you, his wolf ears twitching with each labored breath you took. your body was weak from the intense labor, and your attempts to move away were pitifully ineffective. the blood loss had left you trembling and disoriented, and the pain was excruciating.

“simon, no…” you whimpered, trying to crawl away, but your strength was gone. “please, don’t do this. i can’t… i can’t…”

simon’s eyes remained fixed on you, his hunger growing more intense with each passing moment. “you’re so weak,” he said, his voice low and chilling. “i’ve seen what you’re capable of. you won’t be able to get away.”

he moved closer, his fangs bared and his tail flicking with anticipation. your bunny ears drooped, and you felt a surge of panic as you realized the full extent of your helplessness.

“no, please, simon,” you pleaded, tears streaming down your face. “i beg you. don’t do this to me. i need to live. i’m begging you. please, stop!”

but simon’s primal instincts had completely overtaken him. driven by his wolf instincts, he closed the distance between you with an unrestrained ferocity. his fangs sank into your flesh with a brutal force, the pain was immediate and excruciating. it was a brutal, fiery torment that radiated through every fiber of your being, far surpassing any pain you had ever felt. you screamed, the sound tearing from your throat in a raw, desperate cry. the room seemed to spin around you, and your vision became a blur of anguish and disorientation.

in those agonizing moments, fragments of your life flashed before your eyes. memories of happier days, the faces of loved ones, and the dreams you once cherished flickered like haunting shadows. each memory was a stark contrast to the searing pain you were enduring, creating a disorienting, tragic montage of your past.

the weight of despair pressed down on you as the blood flowed freely, mixing with the remnants of the pups. your strength waned rapidly, and each breath became more labored. the cold, harsh reality of your impending end settled heavily upon you.

as simon’s relentless bite drained you, the room grew dimmer, and the pain became an overwhelming wave, dragging you down into darkness.

the finality of the moment came as simon’s primal nature overwhelmed all restraint. his wolf instincts had taken over completely, and the room, once filled with the hope of new life, was now a scene of unspeakable horror. the walls bore witness to a tragic end, driven by simon’s uncontrollable instincts and primal hunger.

tags: @daniella666girl @lolololololhanma

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Chapter 7 - Like Water

Read on AO3

<<First Chapter - < Prev Chapter -

Contains: No Y/N (2nd POV but Reader is an OC), Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Plus-sized Reader/OC, female Reader/OC, Everyone learns new things about each other, Manipulation, PTSD, Doll has a tragic backstory, Lots more introspection

~4.3k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above but honestly nothing particularly bad happens this chapter either. Maybe we're rounding the corner on that.

John’s hand closes around yours, and he lets you draw him out into the rain.

He’s likely no stranger to getting rained on— It’s not hard to imagine him and his boys trudging through all manner of inhospitable climates, carrying heavy gear, on high alert for danger. But this is different. This is not about survival, not a mission with objectives to fulfill. It’s just the two of you.

John looks at you like you’re the moon and all the stars in the sky, like you can’t possibly be real. Every time he thinks he has a handle on you, you surprise him. You surprise yourself too.

You spin across the lawn until you’re dizzy and nearly stagger over. John catches you, steadies you, smiles back when you give him an unfocused grin. “Your turn,” you suggest. It would be good for him to shed his own burdens, let himself be childish, remind him that the world doesn’t have to weigh so heavy on his shoulders.

It can all be so much lighter together, somehow.

He spins twice, water sluicing off the brim of his hat, and then wraps himself around you, hoisting you into his arms to spin again, and again. You both laugh, clinging to each other tightly, and something in your chest unlocks, lets go for the first time in days. Maybe the first time in years.

You’re not afraid of him anymore.

John spins one too many times and overbalances, the two of you tipping over onto the wet grass, John uttering a soft “Fuck!” as he folds so that you land on top of him. You look down as he looks up, both of you still laughing, water dripping down your faces, catching in his eyelashes, the hat no protection at this angle. His eyes reflect back the stormy skies, turned almost gray in the early twilight.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he asks, pushing your wet hair back from your face. “I l— I like having you around.”

“I’m starting to like being around,” you admit.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You lean down and kiss him, no more that a peck, tasting rainwater on his lips. “Lets go inside.”

It takes him a moment to register what you’ve said. The kiss, no more than the barest press of lips, has him stunned. There’s a part of you that’s stunned too, even at your own actions, even though it shouldn’t come as any surprise. You’ve known you would kiss him since the first time he kissed you, maybe since the moment that Ghost dumped you in his lap, you only thought it would take more time.

You thought everything would take more time, but John has his own gravity, a way of stretching moments into little eternities. It’s only been a few days really, but you feel like you know him. Like maybe you can trust him too.

He helps you to your feet, and you walk back to the shelter of the porch hand in hand. It feels like a new beginning for you both, something giving way between you. John has breached your once impenetrable walls, and you aren’t afraid, despite the imbalance. For all his overtures, it will be a long time before he offers himself up to you the way you must for him. John only wants to show you the best parts of his heart, but you’ll show him how to bleed, how to hold the shadows up to the light, how to hold space for all the things that make him who he is. He doesn’t have to chain up his demons like dogs out in the yard. All that hungers is starved for something denied it.

You will love all of him, or none of him. What hungers in you will settle for nothing less.

There has never been any room in your heart for settling for only parts of someone. The home you grew up in was filled with love and acceptance. Your parents loved each other, loved you unconditionally, respected each other, held space for the good and the bad, settled every argument with calm discussion. If you build a home with someone, it will be following that blueprint. If you ever do have children, you want to give them what you had.

Before you go inside, you scrub one of the towels over your head and toe off your shoes. John follows close on your heels.

“I’m going to get changed,” you say. “And then we can have tea, and talk? I think we might have some things to discuss.”

“Could run you a bath to warm up,” he offers. “Don’t want you getting sick.”

“Maybe later. Tea for now.” You move out of range before he can reach out for you, and hurry up the stairs. He wants to kiss you again— You can feel his want like the scorch of a wildfire, the heat of his eyes following you up the stairs. Only once you’ve closed the door to your room do you hear him on the stairs, his weighted footsteps just audible above the drumming of rain on the roof.

You strip off your wet clothes and stare into the closet with a grimace. You’d been wearing jeans and pullovers for the last few days, but you don’t want to pull denim on over your clammy thighs, and your only pair of sweatpants were in need of a wash even before you were taken here. Rude of the boys not to wait until after laundry day to kidnap you and upend your life. You’re not certain that wearing a cute, brightly coloured dress will be constructive, but it’s the majority of your wardrobe. The Kinsey kids had loved all your bright, swishy skirts, and it had made it easy for them to spot you when you went to pick them up from school, despite the fact that you’re so short. At least everything has a conservative hemline, coming down to mid-calf or to the ankle.

You find a blue t-shirt, a mustard coloured skirt and some tall socks that tie with a silky ribbon above the knee (and out of sight), and throw a cardigan over top of everything. It’s comfortable. You hope that John doesn’t read into it.

He steps out of his room the same time you open your door, and you meet in the narrow landing, looking at each other. He’s wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that clings to his still damp skin, his eyes warm as they travel down and back up to your face. Heat prickles over skin that was chilled just a moment ago. “You look nice,” he says. “You always do, but this is— I mean— You just look beautiful.” He rubs the back of his neck, boyish smile sheepish.

You feel like a teenager with her first crush. Without fear to hold you back, it’s so much harder to ignore the desire that burns the tips of your ears and drips like melted sugar into the pit of your stomach. “Thank you. You look, um. Fit.”

Both of you laugh, and the tensions breaks some, enough to get you both moving again. He heads back to the kitchen, reaching it just at the kettle starts to whistle. He busies himself making tea. “I’ll get started on dinner in a minute too— Figure tomorrow we can go to the shops, get your paints, get groceries. I won’t ask you to cook, but you might like different things than I usually get.” There’s an ease to his movements now, like he’s finally relaxing too. He’s been careful not to show it, but he’s been having a hard time getting used to this new reality, same as you.

When he sets the tea to the side to steep, you touch his arm gently. “Hey, John,” you say. He turns toward you, and you wrap your arms around his middle and hug him.

He curls around you instantly, pressing his face to the top of your head. “What’s this for?”

“Do I need a reason?”

His laugh reverberates through you. “S’pose not, Doll. I just want to know what I’m doin’ right so I can keep doin’ it.”

“Don’t worry so much. I know how hard you’re trying to make this easy.” You hum, breathing in the smell of laundry detergent and rainwater and John. “Well. Easier.”

“I want to keep you,” he mumbles against your hair. “Want you to want to stay.” The shiver of raw emotion surprises you. “I’ll do whatever it takes.” There’s an edge to his voice, desperation that cuts him to the bone. He’s been alone and lonely for a long time. Longer than he’s been here, certainly.

There’s slight resistance when you pull back, like he’s reluctant to let you out of his arms now that you’ve placed yourself in them, but he doesn’t hold on. You look up at him. “You don’t have to do anything, John. We’re just getting to know each other. Most people have the luxury of taking their time. We’ve kind of been thrown together, instead of, you know, going on dates like normal people.”

“Would you let me take you out? You already look so good, we could go somewhere nice.”

“What, right now? John, it’s pouring out there.”

He looked out the window, like he had forgotten the weather entirely. “It’s always raining. We don’t have to let that stop us.”

“Actually, I think we should,” you say firmly. “We can go out another night.”

His shoulders droop slightly as he pours two mugs of tea. “I know. It’s just— Today has been good. Really good. Don’t want that to stop.”

“We don’t need to go anywhere to make it a date. We can have dinner and a movie right here.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, accepting the mug of tea he offers you. “Sure. I’d like that. Let’s get started on dinner. What can I do to help?”

He doesn’t let you help much (something you’ll have to address at some point. He’s not a bad cook per-say, but you know you’re better), so you putter around and clean up your art supplies, arranging some candles on the table. You can feel his eyes on you, and when you turn he looks away, never fast enough to hide that ridiculous, hopeful smile, his blue eyes bright. Bad beginnings be damned. Maybe you can forget how it all started— It’s not like it’s his fault, is it? He didn’t ask for his former subordinates to kidnap him a companion. All he’s done is like you, and ask you to stay.

And Lola likes him. That has to count for something.

You sit next to him at dinner rather than all the way at the other end of the table. His knee rests against yours, and his eyes flicker in the candlelight as he watches you, satisfied by your nearness.

After dinner, he washes the dishes and you dry them and put them away, your arms brushing each other occasionally. It’s nice— Domestic and cozy, so easy to fall into a rhythm with him. You catch yourself daydreaming about making it work, wondering what that could look like, and his words from the first night come back to you in a rush. We’ll have to come up with a better story for our kids.

It had horrified you only a few days ago.

Now you’re not sure how you feel.

It’s so hard to keep your head on straight with this man. You almost miss the fear, it kept you smart, kept you wary, and now you’re considering throwing caution to the wind after one good day, thinking about how it might not be so bad to give him anything and everything he wants. To trust him blindly, implicitly, and hope for the best.

You pick some movie to watch, and sit on your little red couch with your legs stretched out instead of the big one where he could sit beside you. A little distance might help you clear your head some. He doesn’t say anything, but he moves closer before the movie is even halfway through, sitting on the floor next to you with his back against the couch. You shift a little closer and drape your arm over his shoulder, and try not to giggle when he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

The rest of the movie become background noise. You’re aware only of every point of contact along your arm, the way he holds your palm over his heart and rubs his thumb across your knuckles, the prickle of his beard through your sweater, the way he feels warm and solid when you shift closer still.

When the movie ends, neither one of you moves, until a question slips out of your mouth. “Have you ever been married, John?”

His head tilts back to look at you. The room is dark, barely illuminated by the scroll of white letters over a dark screen. He hesitates a moment before speaking. “Yeah. Once.”

“What happened?”

John sighs, his thumb tapping now. “We met at some party in London when we were teens. I had just turned eighteen, just graduated from the academy to the regular service, and we had this spark— I was head over heels for her so quickly. Always thought you could only fall in love like that when you’re eighteen. We got married when I was twenty but I wasn’t home much, got deployed just about right away. I don’t think she took things as seriously as I did. Can’t blame her, we were young, she was still getting her degree. I just didn’t realize how much we weren’t on the same page until she got pregnant.” His mouth set in a hard line under his moustache for a moment. “She didn’t want to be a mother, had bigger ambitions for herself. So I took a bit of leave, brought her to the clinic. It was what was best, probably for both of us, but I felt like the whole world had just fallen out from under me.”

“Oh.” You weren’t exactly sure what you had expected him to say. You bring your hand up to his opposite shoulder, half of a hug.

“I couldn’t blame her. Wanted to, but she had the right. I wasn’t home enough. Wouldn’t’ve been right for me to beg her to change her mind. But that was the end. We both walked out of that clinic knowin’ it.” He tucks his chin into the crook of your elbow for a moment, breathing raggedly. It’s not until you feel the hot splash of tears on your arm that you realize that he’s crying, and trying very hard not to.

“Oh. Oh, John, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” You swing your legs down and kneel beside him, pulling him into your arms. “It’s so hard to do the right thing sometimes, isn’t it?”

John wrangles you into his lap like it’s nothing and presses his face to your shoulder, just breathing. You stroke his hair, making soothing sounds while he gets himself centred again. “Fuck. ‘M sorry, Doll. Didn’t want you to see me like this.” His arms loosen enough for you to pull away and look at him in the darkness.

“You’re not a fortress, John. You’re just a man. It’s okay to cry.”

“Haven’t seen you cry,” he says. “Even after everything. You’ve kept it all together.”

“No I haven’t. I just cry in the shower so you won’t hear me.” You pat his cheek, wiping away an errant tear with your thumb. “Didn’t want to break down in front of you, knew you’d fix me up. Wasn’t sure if I could trust you.”

“Wasn’t?” he asks hopefully. “Do you trust me now?”

“We’re getting there. It takes time, John.”

He huffs, a rueful smile taking over. “I know it does. Guess I’m still impatient. Want to kiss you for bein’ so sweet, makin’ everything so much better. But I won’t rush you along.”

“You want to kiss me?”

“Every minute since I met you. Haven’t I been obvious about that?”

You shake your head, laughing. “No, I mean right now. I would like to, if you’re—” You don’t get a chance to finish your sentence, because he cuts you off with a kiss, your request breaking through his restraint like water through a dam. He starts soft, cupping your face delicately, and when you kiss him back it turns languid, possessive, his tongue sliding against yours, head tipped to the side so he can get even closer.

He breaks the kiss to rearrange you in his lap so that you’re straddling his hips, legs spread wide to accommodate the size of him. Now you really wish that you’d worn jeans, just to have an extra layer of fabric separating you. This feels dangerous, like playing with fire, but you ignore the warning and let him pull you back in again, threading your fingers into his thick, soft hair.

His hands are everywhere now, sliding under your cardigan and feeling out all your softest places, the rolls above your hips, your plush thighs, gripping the curve of your ass to notch your hips closer together. He steals your breath when you let out a shuddering gasp, licking into your mouth. His want makes you dizzy— You’re not sure if anyone has kissed you like John does, like he needs you more than air. It’s frightening, but it sets a fire in your blood that could consume you in a moment if you let it. You want to burn up, let go, watch all the things that hold you back blow away like ashes on the wind.

But you’ve always been more like water.

John kisses down your throat, but he surfaces a moment later when you freeze in his arms. He sighs, thumb brushing across your jaw. “You’re not ready for this.”

“I’m sorry—”

“No. Don’t be. I don’t want you to push yourself, not when it comes to this. Don’t let me get ahead of myself, Doll.”

You nod. “I’ll try.”

He kisses you again, just softly, sweetly, slowly. And then he lets you go.

John’s hand rests on your thigh as he drives down the road. The countryside that passes by is muted, brown and gold fields, farm houses, fence posts, animals, and you see it without really paying it much mind, half focused on the texture of John’s hand under your own, the rough scars on his knuckles, the dusting of hair, the way his musculature fits together, the crooked fingers that didn’t quite set right. You can feel him smiling— He hasn’t stopped since you asked if it would be alright to go to Aberdeen, to an art store you used to go to with your mum. It’s further away, a long enough drive that you felt silly for asking, but John insisted that he didn’t mind.

Maybe he means it when he says he’ll do anything to make you happy. It’s strange, and you feel like you haven’t earned that, but it’s nice too.

Part of you is still thinking about last night, about kissing him. You feel the imprints of his hands everywhere he touched you, as though branded onto your skin. There’s a tension, although you’re not certain if it’s real, or if it’s just the slight burn of shame for the way you touched yourself after, once you’d said goodnight, one hand clamped over your mouth to keep yourself silent and the other between your legs. You haven’t been to church in a long time, but it’s hard to shake Catholic guilt even now.

You press your thighs together at the memory, and very pointedly don’t look at John. It’s better if you can believe that he doesn’t notice the effect he has on you. It saves you a little embarrassment.

Although there’s really nothing to be embarrassed about, is there? He’s not very good at hiding his own attraction, if he’s even trying. You both know it’s mutual now. It is what it is.

Once you reach the outskirts of Aberdeen, you give him directions on how to get to the art story. It looks exactly the same as you remember, even though it’s been at least a decade since you’ve been there. It’s like walking into a memory, the smell of paper and paint and the slight dusty smell of a shop with slow turnover tickling your nose. If you close your eyes, you can slip back in time, to when you came here with both your parents. You hadn’t lived far off, so you walked there on nice days, and your dad would sit on the bench outside with Rob Roy, the big dog flopped over on his feet. Sometimes you’d sit with him, when your mother got talking to the woman that worked there, but you always looked at everything first, from the shelves of ink bottles that shone like precious gems, the copic markers, every colour imaginable laid out in neat rows, the tubes and bottles of paints. You loved to touch the brushes, feel the different types of bristles. Back then the softest, swishiest brushes were your favourites, but you’d grown to prefer a hard flat brush once you’d started developing your own style.

“Are you alright?” John asks, touching your shoulder, dragging you back to the present.

You must look so foolish, standing just inside the door with your eyes closed. “I’m fine,” you say quickly. “Just remembering.”

“You know, if you ever want to talk—”

“Oh, good morning. Was thinkin’ I imagined the bell.” A friendly, round-faced woman comes bustling out from between the narrow shelves. She looks at you for a long moment, running her hand through her short-cropped grey hair. “You’re Angie’s girl.”

You nod. “Um. Yes.” You hadn’t expected to be recognized.

She steps forward and hugs you tight. “Christ almighty, s’good ta see you. Back in town ta see your gran, are you?”

“Not today. I recently moved back to the area. Not in town. Out a ways. Just wanted to come out here.”

“She’s getting back into painting, but she needs some supplies,” John chimes in.

The woman— Faye, if you remember right— studies John briefly, and then looks back at you, a conspiratorial smile on her face. “Found yourself a big, handsome fellow, did you?”

“I needed one that could get things off the top shelf for me,” you joke. “He has his uses.”

Faye chuckles. “I’m sure he does. D’you just need paint, sunshine? Or brushes, supports— Your mam like gesso boards, are you the same? We still carry the brand of oil paints she liked. Know you used acrylic when you were a girl, but…”

You start talking, and John wanders off through the store, looking around at everything. Can he feel the ghosts here too? You hope that if souls do cling to the earth, that they haunt the places that they loved, and not the ones where they died. You’d hate to think of you mother trapped amongst the flux of strangers traveling through Piccadilly Circus, or your father in some London hospital. You’d rather think of them together, here, or in the little house they’d moved to in Manchester, or on some beach in Barcelona, where they met.

“You’re a lot like her, you know,” Faye says when she rings it all up, tucking everything into the box that sits on the counter between you. John’s in the middle of carrying some canvas and boards out to the truck, already tallied up.

The observation surprises you. You’ve always seen more of your father in you. “You think so?”

Faye nods, smiling warmly. “It’s the way you talk. Some of your mannerisms. Even the way you dress, all those bright, beautiful dresses. Angie’s definitely your mam, and she’d be so proud of who you’re becomin’.” She winks as John re-enters the shop. “She might not have loved your Englishman, though. Doesna seem a bad sort, but he’s still English.”

You laugh, but it’s a bit watery. John wraps a comforting arm around your shoulders while he pays, a funny smile on his face. When the two of you settle back into the truck, he watches you for a long moment as you run your fingers over the business card Faye gave you. “What?” you ask, sneaking a glance back.

“Thank you for bringing me here.”

“You took me here.”

“No, I mean— This place means a lot to you. I’m glad you asked. It was well worth the trip to see you smile like that, talkin’ about things I don’t understand in the least.” He reaches over and squeezes your knee. “I don’t mean to pry, Doll, but what happened to your parents?”

“I don’t want to ruin the rest of the day. Let’s not talk about that right now.” You tuck the card into your pocket and buckle your seat belt. “It’s still hard to talk about.”

He nods and backs out of the tight parking lot carefully, his hand leaving your knee to brace against the back of your seat when he turns to look. “In your own time, Doll. It just clearly hurts you and I— Well, I guess I can’t help, but I can at least listen, when you’re ready.”

“Thanks, John,” you say. “We’ll get there.”

There’s a lightness in you now, like you pulled open the curtains and opened the windows in a room long left dark and closed off. It feels good to open up. It feels good to look back, for the first time in ages, like you’re returning to some vital part of yourself, an oxbow lake reconnecting to the river, sediment washing away what kept you apart.

And it’s different— You aren’t the same person you were a week ago, let alone a decade, but that’s a good thing too. You’ve been afraid to change, worried that the years would turn you into someone that your parents wouldn’t recognize.

But you carry them with you. And you aren’t afraid to change anymore.

Image Credits: Banner Dividers

[another-lost-mc]

Gonna be completely honest tho. Like yes they are hot in the vampire au but I would be terrified. Like I hate needles and all of that and idk I just feel like I'd be too freaked out for it to be enjoyable? Does that make sense??

A/N: Honestly, same here, anon. lol I think my own MC would find the whole situation exhausting mentally if not physically. There's a lot of valid reasons why any MC might not want to get caught up in this whole mess.

In a lighthearted vampire AU, the characters might feel that vampirism is more of a nuisance than anything else. Ultimately, I think they'd still try to prioritize MC's wishes and comfort over their own needs. It would motivate them to find an alternative solution for blood/feeding (especially if it were a long-term/permanent condition).

This Sucks! | Why They Don't Want to be Vampires Vampire!DEMON BROTHERS x gn!Reader, 0.5k words, SFW Content warnings: references to canon-typical vampire behaviours including biting/blood-drinking. More from the vampire!au

─── LUCIFER

Lucifer doesn’t like depending on anyone for anything. This would be an extra burden for you personally, and the last thing he wants is for life at his side with them to be even more challenging. His brothers would be unbearable if he tried to claim your blood for himself, and he knows in his heart he doesn’t want to share you. (A trivial concern is that his fondness for Demonus, even a blood-infused version of it, might be ruined by vampirism—it’s one of the few luxuries he allows himself to indulge in.)

─── MAMMON

Mammon's too greedy to share you. If you don’t want to donate your blood, that’s even better—that way no one gets to feed from you! He’s also going to be busy figuring out how he can capitalize on blood alternatives if the condition isn’t temporary.

─── LEVIATHAN

Levi's disappointed because vampires in anime are so hot cool, but he’s intimidated by the physical intimacy of it. Oh, and he hates the thought of others wanting to feed from you too. (What if you compare them and you prefer feeding the others more than him?!)

─── SATAN

Human pop culture is so inconsistent with their monster lore. Satan understands that the reality of feeding a vampire (or in this case, seven of them) is daunting and less appealing than the fictional version you've read about or seen in movies. Besides, he has enough anger management issues to deal with—bloodlust would be an extra hassle. He's one of the first to volunteer to find a better a solution for feeding if the vampirism is permanent.

─── ASMODEUS

Asmo doesn’t want to drink anyone’s blood. Wouldn’t it make his breath smell? What if it gets all over his clothes? If he drinks from you in his bed, the stains might ruin his expensive Devilmoth silk sheets! He might seem superficial about it, but his biggest complaint is the possibility that feeding might scar you or hurt you in some way. Leaving his mark on you sounds appealing, but not like that—especially if you're already hesitant about the idea. (He's secretly worried one of the others might try to talk you into something you don't want to do, and he wants to make sure his own judgement isn't clouded so he can help protect you.)

─── BEELZEBUB

Beel has so many issues with hunger and self-control that the thought of being hungry for your blood upsets him a lot. He’s so scared of hurting you, and when he’s out of control with hunger it's difficult to stop him. What if the others can’t subdue him in time? What if—? No, he doesn’t even want to think about it.

─── BELPHEGOR

Belphie assumes that drinking blood would act like a stimulant, so the last thing he wants is to feed from you. Why would he do something that makes him more energized and makes you tired in the process? (He’s not sure he can convince you to only feed him, and the idea of having to share you with the others—except for maybe Beel—is intolerable.)

[whorediaries-09]

heartbeat;

pairing- fwb!sirius black x reader warning- hurt/comfort, 18+ content, substances, cheating. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- also this has so much sex for no reason at all-

little train. masterlist of 'the seven lives' series

' you thinking that the songs coming on to tempt me i need to be alone like the way you left me '

heartbeat;

the waves scandalised on his feet, the sand running through the gaps between his toes. the sun hung low, a strange crimson glow bathing through his features. salty air blew into his hair, scents of burnt leaves tantalizing his nostrils as late july crept around. the cigarette burnt through his puffs, the burnt ash flying with the air, leaving the roll with an orange glow. the dusk of the twilight enamoured him. he took another puff from his cigarette, letting the burnt feeling settle on his tastebuds.

‘hey,’ your touch was all too familiar on his skin. from feeling his skin to touching his skin, he’d grown to like your touch. it didn’t shudder his thoughts or nerves. it was familiar, a burn that he liked.

‘hi,’ he said, as you pulled the from cigarette between his lips. wrapping your lips around it, you pulled in the tobacco, letting it intoxicate your lungs. he watched the tip glow red, the smoke leaving your lips as he wrapped his arm around his shoulder.

‘never took you for a beach kinda guy,’

‘no?’

‘nah. with all those abs and all. more of a mountain and trekking guy i guess,’

‘well i have surprised you then.’ he said pulling your body closer. his finger slid between the strap of your bra through the t-shirt. he drew faint circles on your shoulder, enjoying the goosebumps that arose on your skin, and how your shook under his touch.

‘or maybe you have your fantasy with a beach fucking gateway. you do, don’t you?’ he chuckled, a deep rumble from his throat. hiding his face in the crook of your neck, he blew a breath of warm air on your skin, letting the wind cool it.

‘you really know me don’t you,’ he whispered. he heard your heart beat, growing its pace.

‘honestly, i don’t know what you’re waiting for,’ you replied, your tone low, laced with a veiled hunger. your hand crept around his neck, pulling him closer by the black t-shirt he was wearing. smiling against his mouth, you crept your hand into his locks.

‘in public?’ he smirked. you laughed, hitting his chest with a light blow.

‘no,’

but when his lips met yours in a fanatical frenzy, you found your mind reeling, pressed against the cold wall of his hotel room. it was numbing, as his lips bit all over your skin, marking you all over, his touch spreading a blossom of lust within you. you arched your hips, as he carried you to the bed, throwing you on the mattress.

pushing back a moan into your throat, you gulped as he tore your shirt off, ripped off your pants. your hands slid down to the zipper of his fly, but he slapped your hand away, his fingers circling your clit.

‘did i say you could?’ he said against your mouth. you could see the clouds of lust hidden in his gray irises. he increased the force of friction upon your clit, circling the sensitive mound more aggressively. you breathed heavy.

‘n-no’ his fingers met the warmth of your cunt, his rings cold against the heat of your throbbing hole.

‘so wet, just for me huh?’ he teased, sinking his teeth in the nape of your neck.

‘it’s never dry when you’re around, black,’ your chuckle was caught halfway with a whine as he slid his fingers into you. he curled his fingers into you, pressing onto your sensitive spot. you arched your hips, trying to get more friction.

‘that’s right sweetheart, ride my fucking fingers. cum on them. let me have a taste,’ he said, watching you unravel on his fingers. he liked the control over you, how you turned into putty just into his hands. he liked you to see you melt, to watch you become breathless, surrender to him. he liked how he knew your body like it was his. as if he could sculpt you out pore by pore with his eyes closed.

‘fuck,’ you whined as he latched his tongue onto your clit, sucking on it, letting you closer to the release. you were feral, breaking through the latches of your sanity as his tongue lapped on you, your thighs shaking around his head, pulling him closer. he could feel the clench of your walls around his fingers, the shaking of your thighs as you pulled him closer, letting him consume you.

he smiled against your cunt, devouring every bit of your sanity as you unravelled on his tongue, letting your orgasm paint his tongue and fingers. when he got up from between his legs, he pushed his fingers into your mouth, letting your taste fuse with your tastebuds.

‘you taste so good, you know that?’ he said, adjusting his torso between your thighs. you smiled, wrapping your hands around his neck as he pushed into you.

‘i know,’ you said, your tongue slipping into his mouth, as he gasped into your mouth. your walls stretched around his neck.

‘you better fuck me like you mean it, black,’ you demanded, as he groaned, pulling his cock out and thrusting into you again.

‘trust me, i always fuck you like i mean it, sweetheart,’ the way the nickname rolled off his tongue had you clenching your walls around his girth. he rammed into you, his hand meeting your throat, feeling the beat of your cunt and heart under his control.

‘sucha dirty girl,’ he moaned, rubbing circles on your clit with his thumb. you arched your hips, as he pushed the back of your head into the mattress. through the constriction, you felt the numb whiteness of pleasure consume you, your over sensitive cunt throbbing as you felt his pubic hair rub rough against your skin.

‘just for you, black,’ he smiled, running his fingers through his raven strands.

‘yeah? just for me?’ you nodded, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to your body. his hand left your throat, pinning your hands over your head. he enjoyed the look of your breasts bouncing before latching his mouth on your nipple.

‘fuck-black, just like that,’ you groaned, as he pushed a rather rough thrust into you. the hoarseness in his voice was laced with a low growl paired with a rhythmic thrust brought you over the edge, as your orgasm unravelled and you painted his torso with your juices. he craned his neck at the sight, releasing himself into you, painting your insides with his cum. panting, he fell onto your body, his cock still buried deep inside you.

‘sweetheart, you get me so soaked,’ you tease, enjoying the soft bliss of his warmth.

‘always my pleasure, sweetheart.’

*-

‘always my pleasure, sweetheart.’ the bartender said, pushing the glass of his drink towards him. he wrapped his lips around the glass, drowning the bittersweet drink down his throat. in the crevices of the dim light of the bar, he could see you, pushing your hips against the crotch of your new boyfriend. it was disgusting, how his hands roamed all over your body, his lips latched onto your neck.

he should’ve seen this coming. he should’ve believed james when he told him about the bastard. he should’ve seen past the barriers of fucking, the barriers of sex in hidden hotels, seen past the potential of rendezvous affairs in parking lots. he should’ve seen it earlier.

but sirius black was a stubborn man. he would get anything he wanted. so, he found himself at the bar, when your glass was empty with a loser of a boyfriend. he found himself on the edge of breaking his jaw when his hands crept on your thigh, tantalizing over your core. he could see it on your face, even if you were hidden in shadows. he could read it in your expressions, the little breathes that left your lips, the way you gulped, the curt curl of lips on your face.

he tapped his finger on his thigh, bouncing his leg. the bartender was fluttering his eyelashes at him, his sandy dusty hair falling in front of his eyes. he could see the honey glazed irises through the strands, as he licked his lips. sirius wasn’t foreign to such attention from women and men alike. it came with him being dashingly attractive and more than just a hollow shell to look at. his charisma could break through a brick-wall, if he wanted to.

but what he was foreign to was the fact he had somebody else on his mind. he didn’t have a subtle history of one-night stands or flings. it was raunchy, and he had left the culture for good, having unintentionally broken many hearts. but sirius black’s sex drive wasn’t to be extinguished so fast.

a stupid drunken night he’d hooked up with his best friend, you. he’d fallen into a void he thought he could escape. but he’d already fallen down the rabbit hole of madness, a stupor of lust, greed, and highness you brought down from heaven. it was a promiscuous affair, and neither of you backed up, and it became more than just a stupid hook up ‘accident’. it became an arrangement of sorts, a clandestine affair hidden within the darkness of parking lots or scabby motels. it was inescapable, and soon he found himself reminiscing the touch, the feel of your skin.

but even through the feelings he’d tried to ignore, he felt himself drowning into the need of your touch. in this drunk stare, he took the bartender and the girl who’d been practically eye-fucking him, to his flat it was angry and frustrated; he needed those feelings out his system. so, he found himself between a guy and girl, in a haze of lust. it was lore to be kept hidden when the girl scratched her nails deep into sirius’ back, her red lipstick marked all over his torso. the bartender took sirius from behind, stretching him out, as sirius rutted the girl’s guts into his mattress. his hand wrapped around sirius’ neck, placing his mouth on his, retching him with bruised lips.

he felt his orgasm tug low at his stomach, as the girl’s walls clenched around his cock. sirius dug his fingers into her waist, drowning in the high of alcohol and lust that wrecked his system. he missed your touch, your feel, your nasty words that helped him crawl down the euphoria of pleasure. in the distant cacophony of the low moans and skin-slapping, he found himself emptying into the condom.

‘fuck,’ he whispered as he felt the warmth flood behind his back. he felt the liquid slide down his thighs, lips latched onto the skin of his neck. it brought him a strange sense of discomfort. it wasn’t the first time he’d had a threesome, but somehow, he found himself hating it.

‘i need to go clean myself,’ he whispered. they nodded. sirius stood there, lingering, his waist uncharacteristically swaying.

‘you guys can clean yourself in my bathroom - and stay here for the night if you’d like. i-um i’ll sleep outside,’

he saw the girl giggle and wrap her arms around the bartender before wrapping her lips around his waist before he walked out into the hallway. he’d have to change the sheets the next day, he decided. even burn that were about to be stained with the deeds of strangers. it felt like a backfire of his plan but he was too tired to fight it.

*-

you knew better than to respond to sirius’ text. you’d seen him bartender and a blonde girl home. it was a ploy, to make you jealous. you could read it in his face. but you were so tired of being the chase, of being the prey. you needed him to hunt you down, make you his. perhaps all he needed was a little push. so, you’d decided to the guy at work a chance. he was cute-physically at least. as the evening went on you realized he was nothing but a hollow shell, just a pretty thing to look at.

internally you cursed marlene who’d given you this ‘awesome idea’ to woo sirius and make him jealous. sirius black was a stubborn man and he’d make anything his if he set his eyes on it. all he needed was a little push over the edge to pursue his interests. a little push for him to set off the ticking bomb that was his anger issues. he’d bash out and admit his feelings any day. but it was the push he needed. so, you’d tolerated the guy throughout the evening hoping the sex wouldn’t be half as bad.

how wrong you were. his touches were rushed. but it wasn’t a sensual rush that led you into a headspace of arousal. it was a rush to see you naked. there was no foreplay what so ever, neither was there an effort to make you feel good. all he wanted to do was explore his pleasure, let down his high of euphoria. you didn’t even feel yourself close to the edge when he pulled out, chasing your lips with a bruising kiss.

you groaned, as he fell near you, panting slowly. his hand wrapped around your waist and he nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck. his beard tickled the skin, and you found yourself hating it. it wasn’t like sirius’ soft stubble. it was scratchy, raising the sensors of your comfortability.

it was rabbit hole of fucking madness. you’d found yourself falling deep into the grave of lust and greed when sirius had hooked up with you on a drunk night when the summer air was humid. you found yourself filling the void of his heart without realizing it. you found yourself gaining a power, a control over him nobody else had. you found yourself falling with him, deep into a dorm of madhouse. it was inescapable, and somewhere along the clandestine rendezvous in hotels and parking lots, you allowed yourself to not escape.

you had messed with sirius, and you knew it was a bad news. and now he was messing with you. so, you turned around your screen of your phone on the nightstand.

‘had a threesome after so long.’

it was vulgar, short, yet enough to set you off the edge. even if you knew it, the confirmation made it worse.

‘why don’t i fuck you good enough?’

‘well, you’re fucking some loser from work.’

‘i’m fucking him, that’s not my boyfriend.’

‘big talk sweetheart, you went on a date with him. he’s your co-worker. as good as a boyfriend.’

‘he’s as hollow as your mother’s fried brain.’

‘rude.’

‘you agree with it.’

‘i do.’

you let out a short breath.

‘so…’

‘meet me in five.’

‘right.’

*-

‘right,’ he said, munching on a fry. you chuckled, wiping a stripe of mayonnaise from the side of his lips.

‘that bad of a fuck huh?’ he teased, even though you could hear the bitter tone laced in his voice. sipping on your milkshake, you shrugged.

‘sooo bad. he didn’t even last like…10 minutes.’

‘i mean he must have never had sucha good pussy before,’ he whispered, leaning closer to you. it was a vile thing to say in public, but you were guarded by the windows of his car. you chuckled, throwing him a nervous blow of your tongue.

‘i’m not wrong,’ he winked.

‘i mean i must believe you. you’ve your experiences.’ you said, a stern tone in your voice. throwing the plastic cup into the polythene, you climbed over the seat, straddling his hips.

‘fuck,’ he groaned, arching his hips. when you unbuttoned your skimpy blouse, shoving your breasts into his face, he latched his mouth onto your nipple. you moaned, craning your neck, and hiding your fingers into his silky strands. this wasn’t a part of your plan…but how could you resist his mouth upon your body, his teeth marking spots on your skin as he fervently kissed you into a stupor till your mind went numb.

still, this felt different, when his finger explored your cunt through your underwear, rubbing soft on your clit. there was something in his eyes, a fire of agony, a fire of desire. something more than just lust. he unzipped his pants, letting out his cock.

‘fuck me,’ you said, your mouth against his. he raised an eyebrow.

‘no foreplay?’

‘oh, fuck you, black, it’s so wet already,’ you groaned, rubbing your cunt against his skin of his girth. a devious smirk tasted upon his kiss bitten lips.

‘it’s so wet for me, isn’t it?’ he said, positioning the tip of his cock at your core, teasing your slit.

‘yes, yes,’ you groaned. when he entered you, it was a delicious stretch that burned through you. he grabbed your neck, pressing so slowly on your artery.

‘look at me, look at me, sweetheart,’ your eyes glazed over his, and you found yourself lost into the crevice of madness into his gray eyes. he rammed his hips into you, your thighs shaking as he did so. he brought your face closer to his, and licked over your lips.

‘you’re such a sweetheart for me. such a slave for my cock, even though you’ve got a stupid boyfriend at home,’

*-

when sirius dropped by your office, he didn’t expect you to be… for a lack of better words, making out with your co-worker. the heat from the coffee he’d been holding seeped through his fingers. he felt his brain sizzle with emotion, an anger that soaked his nerves with a nausea an overwhelming desire to fucking bash that bastard’s head. his heart pounded threateningly against his ribcage, his feelings swallowing him whole. his eyes burned from unshed tears. he saw red, fucking red when you slipped your hand into the bastard’s pant, going down on your knees, licking your lips.

in the middle of the fucking day, in your office cabin you were ready to offer head to that excuse of a boyfriend. it was disgusting, gross- it made him feel things he’d never felt before. he felt obsessive, as a strange sense of possessiveness took over his senses. he felt his blood boil, his head reeling with viciously violent thoughts.

he stood there, watching through the curtain of his unshed tears as you felt somebody who wasn’t him. his hands shook as he walked out of the office, throwing the cup of coffee into the bin. truth be told, he wanted to ask you out, ‘gain a pair’ as james told him, since ‘it wasn’t too late’. he wanted to take you to dinner, a proper date with all the ‘gentlemanly shit,’ as marlene suggested.

‘you won’t break your heart,’ a famished lily had told him as sirius fondled with his godson’s cheeks. remus agreed with her, giving him a piece of chocolate as encouragement. and for the first time in their life, sirius thought, they were wrong. they were wrong. you wanted nothing more than sex from him. your heart wasn’t his, even if his was yours. you didn’t wear your heart on a sleeve like he did. you weren’t his to lose. but it still hurt.

it still pitied a fire into his stomach. a fire of agony, a desire. a fire which was fuelled by the diesel that was you. by the diesel that was your touch, your feel, your scent, your smile, your words, your body. by the diesel that were you. he decided perhaps, it was time to go. even if he wasn’t ready to go, perhaps he was. perhaps that’s how he’d be healed, if he ran away from you. from the ecstasy that you brought him. if he fled his thoughts that were full of you.

*-

sirius wiped his hands on the side of his apron. as someone who’d never baked a day in his life before, peter’s advice helped him to make a darn good cake. it came out as a regular sponge, but he had an eye for decorations. from a boring old sponge cake, it was transformed into a beautiful cake. now he could only hope harry would like it.

he took a picture and sent it to you. he didn’t ignore you, as he thought he would, but he certainly never met you physically. he never met you alone in shabby corners or was left alone with you. perhaps you were done with him. but you were his friend, a damn good one at that, and he couldn’t let that bond break just because you didn’t want anything to do with him. perhaps he’d never be good enough for you.

‘you going today?’ you texted.

‘no i made this cake for myself.’

‘just answer the damn question god damn.’

‘obviously i’m coming.’

‘that’s what she said.’

‘middle school boy humour.’

‘hmmm… i know.’

the bubbles appeared and re-appeared on his screen. he didn’t text you back until you got off whatever you had on your chest.

‘can you… come over?’

he found himself questioning the text, instead of replying right away. he wasn’t ready to go, not yet. but he didn’t want to leave with a broken heart either. luckily for you, he was damn good at making bad decisions.

‘yes.’

*-

‘yes,’ your moan muffled against the pillow as his cock plunged into you, his finger tips sinking into the soft flesh of your ass. the dress you were wearing for the party had been long discarded on the floor. you could hear him whimpering as your finger bruised circles on your clit. your walls clenched deliciously around his cock, your orgasm at the brink of your sanity.

sirius’ tatted hand wrapped around your neck as he brough your shaking body closer to his. he pushed his slender fingers into your mouth, as you gaggled around them, spit drooling around his fingers. the room was filled with the sound of skin slapping and guttural moans. it wasn’t a drunk accident. the both of you were very sober when you decided to ravage each other.

‘you’re sucha nasty-’ he moaned, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as you clenched tighter around him. he was feral, as he hit a particularly deep spot inside you at this position. it made you see fucking stars, and you practically screamed as your thighs shook.

‘i’m sucha nasty girl, no? just for you black,’ you whispered, your throat raw with the guttural moans and screams that emitted out of your lips.

‘that’s right sweetheart,’ he said, his voice low and rough. you nodded, as you broke the sweat, your orgasm escaping through your body as he licked a filthy stripe from your neck to your ear.

‘fuck,’ he gasped, as he emptied into you, his seed filling into you like white ropes. he pinched your skin, as his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he came down from the high of the pleasure you brought him.

your weak body fell slump onto the bed, and you turned around on your back. you brought him down by looping your finger through his silver chain. you slipped your tongue into his mouth, teeth sinking into his lips. he twisted his fingers into your hair, hungrily consuming the saccharine taste of your lips.

‘stay?’ you asked, breathless. sirius could feel a pool of anger pit into his stomach.

‘no,’ he on your lips. he could read the hurt in your eyes but he thought he just imagined it. obviously, he did. he had to stop falling into the spectrum of your attraction. he had stop being there, hanging in there just to be your little sex toy.

‘why not?’

‘i- i can’t,’ he said, getting up, distancing himself from you. he could feel his heart break as you covered yourself with the sheet under you.

‘you’ve a boyfriend.’ he whispered, as he put on his clothes.

‘that didn’t stop you from brainfucking me the other night-‘

‘i-i was out of my mind.’

‘i- i want you to stay.’

‘no.’

‘please.’

‘i’m sorry.’

‘why?’

because i don’t recognise you anymore. i don’t recognise the girl i once had. the only thing i recognise is the not half as bad sex. i’ve lost you.

‘i- i want you to know, i’m ready to go.’ throwing you a sad look, he left without giving you an explanation.

*-

sirius had found you sitting at the bar. you weren’t expecting him of course. you hadn’t reached out to him ever since he’d left. he hated to say it, but he missed you. incurable was the void his heart had created. he missed something that wasn’t him, someone who wasn’t his. he had boiling anger surging within him, but he wanted to see you. his heart overruled his brain, so he approached you.

‘hi,’ he said. he half expected you to bash out at him. but you didn’t. instead, you gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

‘hey,’ you said. taking a sip of your drink. i’ve missed you.

‘so alone in a bar? on a thursday night?’

‘yep,’ you said, a little too cheerfully to be honest. his hand gripped yours. your heart broke. he wasn’t ready to go, not yet.

‘are you okay?’ he asked. you crept your hand around his neck. there was something in your eyes. something he’d never seen. something too pure for it to be just lust. something of an unreadable lore.

‘can we talk in private?’ he thought about your question. the last time, talking in private turned into a fuck session where he’d realized he didn’t recognise you anymore. but he was damn good at listening to his heart when you were around.

so, he agreed which resulted him taking you home. your hands wrapped around his waist as you held onto him. the skimpy dress you’d been wearing didn’t provide much of a coverage through the cool air. the engine of his motorbike died as he stopped it at your house.

it was a quiet feeling that submerged the both of you. your minds and hearts were full of unsaid words. a seething rage of desire settled deep into your nerves. you wanted nothing but to grab him and kiss him stupid. tell him how much you loved him. but you needed to talk. talk about your feelings and his. talk about the mad rabbit hole you’d fallen into.

‘hi,’ you said, unlocking the door. he smiled.

‘so, what did you want to say?’ you twiddled with your mouth. now that you had him, you didn’t know how to say anything. you walked towards your table, and poured a glass of water for yourself, a fake liquid courage. he stood on the other side, waiting patiently for you to say something.

‘for a lack of better words, i have no idea how to say this. but i still will. because i can’t go long without getting this off my chest,’ you voice broke, and you felt your cheeks heat up as the words left your mouth.

‘in simple words, the guy i was dating was a ploy, to get you jealous. i thought a little push would get you to admit how you felt. i- i’m in love with you.’ you said, whispering the last part. you met his eyes, hoping he’d say something. but there was nothing. a pregnant silence where none said anything.

‘so you’re telling me you’ve loved me for all this while?’ he spat, exploding into a fume of anger you’d never seen seethe within him before. you nodded.

‘i- i’m in love with you, sirius.’ sirius felt his heart explode. anger spilled into every crevice of his heart and he felt his words spill before he could control himself.

'fuck this! what even are we? are we best friends? are we fucking? are we dating? something in between that?' he said, slamming his wrist on your table. his eyes wandered over your body, taking in your features through the silky skimpy dress clad on your body. he stopped at your lips.

you could feel the heat radiate off his body when walked towards you pinning your body to the cold wall behind your wall. his hand crept on your cheek, finger stroking at your mouth. he leaned closer, brushing his nose against yours, his hair tickling your face.

the fury agonized a fire within him which only you could extinguish. it spread into his gut, crawling out with an intensity of lust. he could feel you melting into his touch, like you always did.

'i wish we never fucked, and i mean that.' he said, a cold threat laced into his voice. even in the spiral of lust or greed, you'd never seen his eyes so dark. you'd never seen the pure genuine anger which crumbled him into shattered pieces. still, you felt his touch ignite your skin, melting into the tension, the diesel of desire. it was the fire you liked playing with. gripping his t-shirt collar, you pushed his mouth near yours,

'do you mean that?' he brushed his lips against yours, taking your lower lip between his teeth.

'no, not really,'

a deep rumble held onto his chest when you pushed your mouth onto his lips, converging your feelings deep into his brain. he felt his heart thump angrily against his ribcage as he held onto you. in the mist of the clouds, he found you to be his muse. he found himself seeing nobody but you. you’d gotten him hooked.

when you parted, he was breathless, a stupid smile plastered on his face. his cheeks were dusted pink. he leaned his forehead on your temple, as you chuckled. your arms wrapping around his waist.

‘tell me you love me too,’ you said, a tone of insecurity laced into your voice. he crept his hand on your cheek, stroking his finger onto the skin.

‘look at me, sweetheart.’ when you met his eyes, an unfamiliar shyness took over you.

‘i’m yours. you’re mine. i love you too. let me take you out tomorrow?’ he said against your mouth.

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

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

taglist (for series)- @iqr-x

(if you want to be tagged please send a request through my inbox. specify whether you want to be tagged in just the series or all my upcoming works.)

[yanderes-galore]

Marcoh from fear and hunger romantic concept? Our big boy needs more love<3 (gn darling)

Of course! Here's some Marcoh content :) Sorry for the long wait! I hope I get his character correctly!

Yandere! Marcoh Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Manipulation, Violence, Clingy behavior, Blood, Murder, Death, Kissing, Dubious/Forced relationship.

Marcoh used to be a thug before jumping on the train due to being on the run.

He was raised in the streets and often got into fights, even if he didn't like it.

Despite seeming intimidating... Marcoh doesn't actually like the idea of killing.

Looking past his built stature, Marcoh is a protective and friendly sweetheart who genuinely wants to do good.

When you first meet him, he's on the train.

He comes off as reserved, timid/shy despite his unnerving gaze.

He's very cooperative with you when you speak with him.

He towers over you... yet seems so considerate.

He's more of a gentle giant than anything, but knows how to defend himself and others.

Marcoh is remorseful about his past and even expresses in some dialogues about wanting to move on.

(His Abandoned Shack Dialogue is adorable-)

You probably ask Marcoh to join your party, even offering to help Olivia find a wheelchair to take her with you.

Marcoh seems surprised for a moment but agrees.

After all, isn't there safety in numbers?

Marcoh is such a teddy bear at times.

To others he's this intimidating thug and boxer, one who could obliterate someone in seconds.

But with you? He opens up and even makes insightful dialogue on certain areas.

You can't help but smile sadly when he brings up the idea of settling down with someone or retiring....

He still has dreams... but you aren't sure if escape from this festival is possible.

With Marcoh, his dark behavior slowly grows within him.

Honestly, his biggest concern is making sure his fellow contestant(s) safe.

He may not enjoy fighting... but it's an important skill he even tries to teach you.

Marcoh's feelings slowly begin to take over as he strolls beside you.

For example, when he mentions about having a new start in life... he thinks of you.

Never wants to say it... but he can't help but glance over at you in thought.

I just like the idea of this big strong man being so timid around his love.

He hovers around you like a body guard, but while he looks scary he's just resisting the urge to hug you close.

Marcoh would want nothing more than to protect his beloved during the festival.

No matter what it takes.

This is a man who could beat the life out of someone, blood covering his hands and clothes...

But then he'd coo over you, check if you're hurt, and kiss your forehead or something.

He's mostly a sweetheart.

He isn't sadistic, just concerned and wanting to protect those he cares about.

Marcoh tries his best not to scare you.

He knows his strength comes off in such a way... but he promises he just wants to protect you.

Marcoh isn't really one to get jealous easily.

If he is, he usually keeps to himself and says nothing about it.

Of course you should have other party members... strength in numbers...

But sometimes he wishes he was the only one you needed.

He's somewhat lucid about his darker feelings, which is why he's quiet about it.

Although... the festival's whispers certainly do nothing to help his emotions.

Marcoh's behavior has stages during the festival, if we're assuming the festival influences yandere obsessions.

At first he's silent with his emotions, just acting as a body guard.

However, as you gain party members and continue to face horrors beyond your comprehension... Marcoh's sanity dwindles and his feelings turn darker.

The longer he's with you he starts to open up more... perhaps even developing softer and more romantic emotions towards you.

Okay... maybe he is jealous that he has to share you with two others...

But why do these feelings feel so... wrong?

Marcoh's dwindling sanity no doubt makes his feelings towards you corrupt due to the fesitval.

He wants to confess... but he was hoping to do that once you both survive.

How tragic.

He may be quiet, but he keeps glaring daggers at your other party members.

Eventually... Marcoh isn't going to be a sweetheart anymore.

Soon, due to the festival, you're going to be sitting in a puddle of blood... encased in Marcoh's arms.

You see... there's just so much danger in this Festival/Prehevil in general.

All this whispers just keep getting to Marcoh....

Perhaps said murderous whispers are right? You'll be in danger if he doesn't help you....

What better way to help than kill the other contestants near you before they do the same to you?

To be fair, Marcoh tries for a long time to ignore the voices.

He lasts until mid-way through Day 3 before he snaps.

By the end of it, he's covered in blood and has you tightly secured in his lap as he leans against a wall.

He whispers apologies, saying he didn't want to scare you...

You keep squirming, even after he kisses your forehead, lips, and neck...

He's trying so hard to comfort you.

You're sobbing, covered in blood like him as he tightens his grip.

"So sorry... I just needed to do this. Can't you hear the voices? They were going to take you from me... I'm protecting you like I should!"

It's such a drastic change.

When you first met, he just wanted to help everyone.

Now, as your fates come to a close and the final deadline ticks down, Marcoh killed your party... it's just you.

It will always just be you...

Right up until you Moonscorch together.

"I'll never leave you... I'm just sorry I couldn't get us out of here... but that's okay, at least we have each other...!"

[to-the-stars8]

Reviving Love

Jason Todd x Reader AO3

Chapter 2

Jason hadn’t meant to stalk your Instagram page, but it was too tempting. Your profile was public and you posted just the right amount that he could put pieces of your life together from the time he died to the present. Eventually, he had scrolled down far enough that he surprisingly found a picture of you and him.

By the shit mid-2000s Instagram filter and the poor iPhone quality, it had to be right when the two of you started dating. Jason subconsciously ran a hand over his cheek, feeling the stubble and small scar on his jawline as he stared down at the smooth-skinned, rosy-cheeked boy in the photo. It had been before the years got to him, and it was almost an anomaly to see himself so content. He’d forgotten he had been at one point.

Jason shut off the phone, the picture brought him back to reality. Even if he did see you again, he felt too unattractive to ever approach you. No, the scars on his body and the bitterness that hung off every word he said would probably turn you away. He sat on his bed, thinking about how if you saw him again you would probably be deeply disappointed. 

And, scared because, as far as you knew, he was dead. That much would be obvious. 

Jason cursed Dick again for bringing you up. He didn’t know if it was pathetic or not that he was thinking of an old flame from back when he was a little more than a teenager. Surely, you probably hadn’t thought of him in years as it looked like you had moved on with your life. In any case, he was happy about it and tried to do the same. 

The only time he’d ever thought of you before was when you popped up occasionally in his dreams. He’d wake up, and wonder what the fuck that was about. Then he would get up to work out, cook, or anything else so he wouldn’t dwell too much on the thought of you. 

This time, Jason got up to get something to eat as hunger was starting to burn at the corners of his stomach. When he opened the fridge, the light illuminating the dark room, there was nothing. Well, almost nothing. There was a pickle jar, expired cheese, and some beers but nothing that would constitute a good meal for a growing boy as Alfred would say. Defeated and hungry, Jason resigned himself to the horrible fate of having to leave his apartment to go to the store. Groaning, he pulled on some pants and a hoodie before grabbing his keys. 

It wasn’t too late in the evening so plenty of people were still going about, leaving work to return home or going out for the night. Honestly, Jason didn’t find it all too bad. In fact, in a certain light, Gotham could be nice. In a late eighties neo-noir kind of way. The sound of the people on the street with the traffic in the background under the light rainfall made Jason feel at home. It was the diamond in the rough. 

The light rain was a nice relief from the lately warmer weather as summer was finally fading away to let autumn in. Luckily, the store was right around the corner from his apartment, so being outside in the light drizzle wouldn’t be too much of a hassle. 

The store owners greeted him as he entered. Another thing he liked was this part of Gotham, the one not seen by people like Bruce. It was familiarity, a general tough, arms-length kindness that was much appreciated by him. 

“We’ve got those cigarettes you like so much, Jason,” The old man said. “Those imported ones, ya know?” 

“You know I can’t pass those up,” Jason laughed. “Let me grab some groceries and I’ll come back up here to grab ‘em.” 

With a laugh, Jason playfully waved off the old guy as he did the same, wandering down one of the many aisles. Bread, cheese, meat, and soda—The meal made for a growing boy. Jason wandered up and down for a little while, pausing at the selection of condoms before laughing to himself. Nah, he wouldn’t need those any time soon. 

He was about to turn down another aisle when he bumped into someone. “Shit, sorry,” He said, finally looking up. 

Just his fuckin’ luck, he had bumped into you.

[hwajin]

#! — sᴋᴢ ᴀs ᴠᴀʟᴇɴᴛɪɴᴇs

genre: fluff, smut (no warnings, very soft smut, minors dni)

pairing: skz x gn!reader

note: happy valentines day! hate this day sm but have some fluffy headcanons to grow just a bit more delulu <3

Ⓒ︎ hwajin, all rights reserved, do not repost or modificate content

ᴄʜᴀɴ

cmon now. CMON NOW he issss the fucking best valentine are you kidding. WILLLL buy you a million roses and a teddy bear and take you out to such a fancy restaurant that you feel bad for letting him pay the full amount but boi insists. nothing you can do. if you argue saying that valentines day is a day where BOTH ppl in a relationship gift each other he simply shushes you and stops listening cuz he'd be "crazy not spoiling you". and when you think the surprises stop after you come home you're oh so wrong. his special present is a set of lingerie that you've mentioned you liked, like months prior but he remembered, and he's so eager for you to put it on to see if he got the right size and all — eventually the night ends in making out for HOURS on end before having chan's face between your thighs, and then your face between his ones, and then literally fucking like bunnies because honestly why not, it's the day of love after all, right?

ʟɪɴᴏ

doesn't give the day too much credit tbh and you're super thankful for it! you love to just give each other a small, thoughtful present and spending the whole day lazing around in bed together. because while none of you make it a big deal you do enjoy just sheer togetherness. be it watching a movie, getting distracted midway to kiss and touch up each other, to go back to watching and giggling about whatever plot is unfolding itself, to go back to kissing down each other right after the movie ends, enjoying the lazy sex you can indulge yourself in. like no crazy positions, no crazy neediness — it's just a matter of expressing love and feeling the other just this much closer, reaching your orgasms almost simultaneously which is almost way too cheesy for you to stay serious. you'd then hurry towards kitchen because a bit of cardio calls for hunger to arise, and you'd have the funnest time cooking something up together, the dish not necessarily tasting all too well but you're only happy to be together.

ᴄʜᴀɴɢʙɪɴ

bitch takes you out to an expensive dinner and spoils you to damn dizziness 😫😫 he doesn't make a big deal out of the day if you don't want him to tho, to him it doesn't matter much if you wanna celebrate the day all big and eventful or simply wanna go out and eat and watch a movie after. he's fully subordinating to your wishes. fucking loves being spoiled tho as well!!! to the outside it seems that he doesn't care much about valentines day, arguing it's a day like any other and that it doesn't need february 14th to show your partner some love. but internally he LOVES and DIES for the idea of being taken care of and pampered like literally the whole day. from the first moments he's opening his eyes in the morning, feeling your lips around his semi hard on and the sweet taste of pleasure pooling in his lower tummy to open mouth kisses right after he came down your throat all the way to having you ride him at 10 in the morning, not even fully awake yet but eager to please your boyfriend on a day he claims to be so indifferent about. loves to come downstairs and have breakfast prepped for him, whining that it wasn't at all necessary but he LOVES it so so so much. takes you to dinner eventually and pays for everything and fucks you in the car to make up for your efforts prior <3

ʜʏᴜɴᴊɪɴ

he's a very lowkey over of valentines day. he tries so so hard to be indifferent about it and not too cheesy but he's too romantic for that plan to succeed. tho with him it's very toned down and soft, nontheless. he would surely prepare a painting for a gift, and whether you draw or not yourself he'd love the idea of you making him something as well, not just buying simple jewelery or spending money on him. like he loves anything self made, for him that's the number one proof that you had thought long and hard about a good gift and have tried just as much to make it look decent. for him that truly is pure love. loves to lazy around in bed half the day before remotely getting up and anywhere near the kitchen to prepare some breakfast, giggles at you when you suggest to try some of these typical valentines day recipes where everything is heart shaped. he loves seeing you all giddy and excited about it tho so he'd never even think about saying no, even better when all your food actually turns out decent in the end. he loves sitting down with you in bed and drawing you in his little notebook while you read some novel to him out loud, anything that has a romantic story line sells the both of you. you eventually end the day without noticing it much, hours flowing into each other until the both of you doze off in each others arms while the sun sets slowly behind the windows.

ʜᴀɴ

doesn't account the day too much importance and is excited if you don't either, THO he will make an effort to prepare a small gift, fully based on what you like. you like flowers or jewelery? he buys you a little bouquet or a pair of earrings. you like chocolate or have a favourite hobby? he'll get you your favourite sweets or whatever equipment he knows your hobby requires. he doesn't want a valentines day present to be something plain and basic and rather focuses on making you as happy as possible and involving into your interest! will honestly want to stay in bed the whole day to fuck, i feel it in my balls. "valentines is the day of love, so why not make love?". the sentence doesn't leave him without a smirk because he knows he's being silly, he also knows that since you don't really have any other plans sex IS gonna be the single activity occupying literally you're whole day. which he argues is quite romantic in itself.

ғᴇʟɪx

OK CMON NOW baking heart shaped cookies and making heart shaped pizzas is a MUST are you kidding!!! felix is so all in on valentines day it's almost too cheesy for your liking but it's felix after all so <33. it does warm your heart tho, seeing him wake up so very excited to start just spoiling you with presents (i KNOW he has a cake prepared which he baked the day prior, anything to leave you shocked in pleasurable surprise), says he has a bunch of little presents for you that you will get step by step throughout the day because he's a king of the effect when it comes to presents. starts off the day with THE prettiest boquet of flowers you have ever laid eyes on, followed by a dainty necklace that you might have mentioned to him without any intentions but he's an attentive boyfie who WILL remember any little accessory that might have cought your interest ever!! proceeds to cook and backe for you, happy when you say you wanna join. his final present is a movie night he had planned (hence all the cooking and baking, who watches movies without an unholy amount of food be honest) and you think you have fallen in love with him even harder.

sᴇᴜɴɢᴍɪɴ

teases you the MOMENT you're opening your eyes in the morning and asks where his presents are at. proceeds to be surprisingly sweet tho throughout the day and reveals that he actually prepared some little gifts for you, got you stuff like flowers and a plushie, maybe something like a promise ring as well which he apologized for being too cheesy but you nothing but loved the idea. you'd promise each other to never take the rings off only to laugh about each other right after, but internally both of you know you'll keep that promise, as much as you're making fun of it now. the rest of the day will proceed like any other tho, maybe spent more in each others company than you normally would. you'd read together, set up the living room to watch a movie, get distracted to kiss each other for like an hour straight without noticing until after the movie has ended. like it's a very lowkey day because seungmin argues you don't need this one day and can shower each other in love every single day of the year, but the sublte romance still shines through his actions at the end of the day, on this day more than on any other.

ᴊᴇᴏɴɢɪɴ

my man built a whole blanket tent the day prior before he went to sleep to surprise you with his little plan and you swear you have never felt love like that before. ALSO had movies picked out already just so you won't waste too much time on picking out before you can even start to enjoy any, will have some of every genre too in case you aren't in the mood for romance (cuz who says valentines day is only for romcoms tbh). you will pick a romcom after all tho cuz the vibes are nothing but calling for it; pillows and little fairy lights everywhere, a bowl of popcorn and drinks next to the mattress, your head on jeongins chest, giving the occasional peck to his neck which makes him visibly shudder in his place - you'd want to watch nothing but a romcom in that kind of atmosphere. he would have gone the extra miles to light up some candles as well, arguing that because he's normally not the most romantic guy he wanted to make an effort on valentines day at least, after all <3.

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