#but once he's out he's OUT and only specific triggers will wake him up

[the-troll-book-of-mormon]

dave & karkat both having nightmares after the game but dave's has him leaping out of bed throughout the night, and karkat's has him trapped in an inescapable paralysis hell that he can barely be woken up from

[daisyvisions]

✦ Day 19 - Face F*cking

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Pairing: academic rival!Changmin x afab!reader

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Word Count: 1.8K

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Warnings: Smut (18+, minors DNI), will consider this a dark fic, face fucking, blowjob, blackmail (sexual favor - don't read if triggering) , mean!changmin, slight fingering and mentions of it, slight handjob and ball massaging, dacryphilia?, some graphic descriptions, names used (sweetheart, whore, slut, good girl - wow that's the whole quad), a bunch of swearing, reader is basically being used here, let me know if I missed any more! Proofread once, will edit later if needed.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. A/N: Did not expect how this one turned out if I’m completely honest, but here you go! This was fun to write, different tone than what I usually do! Fun fact, story was based on this little Tumblr game I did long time ago.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Network: @deoboyznet

✦ Kinktober Masterlist ✦

“Love me or hate me, both are in my favour.”

A picture quote you mindlessly scrolled pass as you were on your phone taking a break from a paper that was due at midnight. It’s not that you procrastinated this specific essay. In fact, you could even do it in your sleep. That’s just how fast your brilliant brain works.

Today just seemed like any other normal day. Wake up, go to school, come back home, the usual routine. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. But not even your brain could conjure up the events that were about to unfold in three… two… one…

Ding dong.

You looked up from your phone, eyebrows knitting together in confusion from the sound of your front door ringing. Who could it possibly be? You didn’t plan any hangouts with friends nor did you order any takeout for dinner. You think for a moment to check if you had any deliveries coming in-

Ding dong.

You got up from your chair and placed your phone down on the desk to answer the door. As soon as you swing it open your eyes slowly look up to meet another pair of eyes you were definitely not expecting to see at all.

His figure leaning against the doorframe like the men you read in your books. But only this time, you wanted to punch him.

“Hey sweetheart. Missed me?” He smirks down at you.

“Changmin? What the hell are you doing here?” You question.

“I could ask myself the same thing-” He suddenly walks into your hallway uninvited. You scoff at his rudeness (not that you were surprised, he’s always like this with you anyway.)

“Cozy-” His eyes survey the room. “-didn’t expect you to live in a place like this especially with that icy attitude of yours.” He turns his heel to face you, you roll your eyes as you close the door and walk towards him, meeting in the middle of your living room.

“Why the fuck are you here?”

“No need to get aggressive, just here to collect that favor you owe me.”

“Favor? I don't owe you any favors what the hell are you talking about?” Your patience wearing thin as his words dance around you instead of getting straight to the point.

“Oh… you don't remember?” His eyes gleam with a hint of mischief. “Let me refresh your memory then-” He turns his back to you as he walks towards the couch and plops himself down, instantly manspreading and getting comfy as if were his own home.

“If I can remember correctly, you owe me a favor from helping ward off that jackass during Younghoon’s party. Grabbing my arm and pretending I was your boyfriend so that he could fuck off. Ringing any bells?”

“Yeah, and I thanked you for it-”

“No no no. You didn’t thank me.” He interrupts you. “You said ‘Never doing this again but I owe you one.’”

“That counts as a thank you-”

“C’mon now sweetheart. You’re smarter than that.” His black orbs staring you down, slowly making you feel unsettled. He suddenly gets up from his seat and walks towards you like a predator, slowly walking you backwards until your back hits the wall.

“Enough stalling. I’m here to cash in my favor now.” His hand resting at the side of your head.

“W-what did you have in mind?” Your voice slightly shaking. His other hands lifts to hold your chin before the corner of his lips slowly curl upward.

“On your knees…”

“I’m sorry?” Your eyes widen. Did he just-

“Are we speaking two languages? On your knees. Or else…”

“Or else what?” You try to play it cool and hide the fear coursing through your veins.

Suddenly, Changmin pulls out his phone, plays the video in his gallery, and shows it to you. You were like a deer caught in the headlights as soon as you saw the figure moving through the tiny screen. Said figure was moaning and playing with themselves like some kind of homemade porn.

It was you. It was a video of you touching yourself.

“Give that to me!” You try to reach for his phone, but Changmin already anticipated your moves by holding the phone high up beyond your reach.

“Nuh-uh. I didn't say you could touch my phone now did I?”

“Where the fuck did you get that?” Panic and anger radiating from your body.

“I have my ways.” He smiled at you as if he surprised a friend at their birthday. But this was not a gift at all.

“That was for my ex’s eyes only. How. Did. You. Get. It?” You attempt to reach for phone once again.

“Well, he's not the smartest of the bunch. Seriously you dated that idiot? Expected more from you.” He says with a disappointed tone.

“Changmin this isn’t funny. Delete that NOW!” You demand him.

“No can do sweetheart. Grant me my favor and I’ll consider. If you don’t, this hot as fuck video will be played in the auditorium for everyone to see. How will the whole school think of their precious little valedictorian now?”

As you look into his eyes, you could already tell he’s not playing around. You would know this, you see that look every time he would try to win against you. And you can’t put your whole reputation down the line. Not like this.

You gulp down the saliva in your throat and let out probably the biggest sigh of defeat you’ve ever uttered your life. You pulled the hair tie out that was on your wrist and hastily tied your hair as you sink down to your knees, looking up at him with the face of disgust.

“Such a good girl. Was that so hard?” He coos at you. “Now, get to it before I change my mind.”

You hesitate for a moment before you reach out your hand to touch his bulge. Your eyes widen in surprise and confusion as soon as you touch his already hard member.

“But you’re alrea-”

“What? You think I didn’t already touch myself watching your video?” He says this like it’s common knowledge. “Needed something to work with. And trust me, it fucking worked.” He smirked down at you.

“You’re disgusting.” You grimace at him.

“And you’re taking way too slow.” Changmin unbuckles his pants and instantly pulls out his cock from his boxers.

If anyone told you your rival’s dick was rock hard right in front of your face, you would’ve vomited. But here you are, in this exact scenario. His cock flushed pink with a hot mushroom tip oozing out with what you probably thought was the most delicious pearls of precum you’ve ever seen.

“If you want this done quick, you better listen to what I say got it?” He raises his eyebrow. You nod your head in response.

“Good. Now kiss it.” You immediately hold his length in your hand and close your eyes before giving the tip a light peck, already tasting him on your lips. You give another peck to his tip before kissing the under side of his cock. Planting each kiss gently but firm at the same time.

“Fuck that’s it. Keep kissing my cock.” Changmin hisses at the feeling of your soft lips. His hand resting on the wall the balance himself. He groans suddenly when he feels your other hand massaging his balls as you continue to leave hot kisses on him.

“You’re such a little tease you know that? That’s what I’ve always liked about you. Getting me so riled up all the time just wanna fuck the brat out of you.” He mumbles as he watches you.

You’re not gonna lie, hearing him dirty talk like that sends your core throbbing like a bitch in heat. You keep kissing his cock until you’re suddenly licking it, practically making out with it at this point.

And somehow you don’t even realize that you’ve stopped massaging his balls just to snake your hand under your skirt to rub little circles on your sensitive clit, trying to relieve the ache down there.

This action doesn’t go unnoticed by Changmin however, making him smile from ear to ear at the sight beneath him.

“Touching yourself now are we? You were always a selfish one.” He tuts.

“But that’s alright. I’ll allow it. Just thank me. Say it-”

You pause kissing his member to look up at him with a raised eyebrow, replacing it with your hand jerking him off.

“What?” You slightly tilt your head to the side

“Go ahead sweetheart…Thank me.” He holds your face with his free hand and places the pad of his thumb on your bottom lip.

“Thank me. Like the dirty little whore you are.” You scoff. Of all things, he’s still looking for that? His eyes go wide at your response.

“No? Rather take my cock instead of saying two simple words?” He pulls your bottom lip with his fingers, making you whimper from the slight tug.

“If you aren’t gonna thank me, then might as well treat you like a fucking slut.” As soon as Changmin says this he swats your hand away from his cock and grabs it firmly and squeezes your cheeks to open your mouth with is other hand and shoves his whole length inside.

Before you even have the time to process what’s going on, both his hands are grabbing your face as he fucks himself in your mouth.

Gluck gluck gluck.

That’s all the sounds you can hear ringing in your ears as Changmin groans in pleasure. He fucks your mouth with raw aggression, you’re sure your throat’s gonna bruise after this from how his whole length goes in and out. He’s bigger than you anticipated, making you slightly gag as small tears from fall from your eyes.

“You’re so pretty when you cry, especially when you’re like this.” He continues to fuck himself into your mouth. The way he manhandles your face as he quickens his thrusts has you getting wetter by the second.

And without warning he instantly shoots his hot load down your throat as his hips stutter. Swallowing the warm salty liquid as it infiltrates your taste buds… and it’s intoxicating.

You cough out and try to catch your breath as he pulls his cock out of your mouth, tucking it back inside his pants before letting out a sigh of relief.

“Such a good girl.” He looks down at you with a post orgasm haze in his eyes before zipping his pants up and walking towards the front door. Your eyebrows knit in confusion.

“W-where are you going?” Your raspy voice calls out to him.

“You didn't think I was gonna stay did you?” He turns the knob and pulls the door open.

Before he sets a foot out of the door he looks back at you over his shoulder and smiles one last time,

“You really should've just said ‘thank you’ instead…”

[trippinsorrows]

with me + part six

authors note: i'm very sorry in advance for how this ends, it was just getting wayyyy too long, and there was no good place to slice it in half, so i cut it before shit unfolds, so yes please don't hate me!!!

pairing: roman reigns x black!reader

status: in progress // masterlist

warnings: fluff, language, suggestive dialogue, angst

song inspo: ‘with me’ by destiny’s child

words: 6.5k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wanderingreigns

“Whoa.”

Mariah’s reaction is expected. Your living room, specifically the sofa, is occupied by several of Callie’s dolls. A tea party that you were so kindly invited to attend this morning. 

“Girl, you should see her playroom. Pretty soon the floor is going to be non-visible.” 

A small part of you regrets not trying to straighten up before Mariah came over, but this is also your literal best friend. You know she’s seen more than almost anyone else in your life, and she would never judge you, let alone over the state of your apartment when she has a child of her own. 

Mariah looks over at you with a raised brow. “He did all this?” You nod. “Why?”

“Because she’s his little girl and of course he’s going to spoil her. A quote.” You chuckle as you and Mariah decide to just sit at the kitchen island. It’s probably best to leave the dolls untouched as Callie’s likely to wake up from her nap wanting to play again. 

Mariah gives you a look. “You don’t find that weird?”

Confused, you ask, “what?”

Mariah shrugs and circles the top of her water bottle with her index finger. “I don’t know. He just found out about her, and now he’s buying her stuff? Seems like he’s trying to buy her love.”

“You don’t know Joe.” It’s an easy dismissal, because you do know him and know that’s the last thing on his mind. “That’s not him at all. He just wants to see her happy.”

Mariah looks unfazed and stands ten toes down, adding on, “then he should be here full time instead of randomly popping in.” You just look at her, slightly confused where this is coming from. “I mean, I’m happy she’s getting to know him, but this is all so messy, you know? He’s married. He has a wife, and he’s coming here seeing his secret child with his secret mistress.”

You can only look at her, stunned by her words, even if a small part of you knows there’s some element of truth. Joe swiftly dodged the only question you’ve asked about how and when he’s going to tell his wife about Callie. It was a valid question that deserved an answer.  But the things Mariah is saying, you can’t tell if it angers you because it’s not true or hurts you because it is. 

She seems to detect your conflicted emotions and reaches over with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be negative. I just remember how hard it was for you when you and Joe broke up the first time. I hated seeing you so hurt.”

“We’re not together, Mariah. We’re coparenting.” You hate how soft your voice is, giving away that her words now have your head spinning. 

“So you honestly mean to tell me that you have no feelings for him? None whatsoever.” You can’t give her an answer, or either refuse to. It’s another valid question but the answer isn’t as simple for you to express. You know you feel something for Joe, but that could just be because of the fact that you two share a child together. There has to be some type of emotional connection between any two people who create life. “Exactly. Just be careful. He broke your heart once before. Don’t let him do it again.”

Your feelings are so mixed, agreeing with certain aspects of what’s being said and disagreeing with others. Mariah has triggered some big thoughts, ones that you probably should sort through at some point. You’re just not eager for right now to be that moment.

“Enough about me, what’s been going on with you?”

You pray she knows you well enough to know that you’re desperate to change the subject. “What do you mean?”

“I feel like we haven’t spoken much lately, and I know that’s partially on me. It’s just been a lot on my end, I’m sorry.” 

She shrugs. “It’s cool.”

Something tells you that she’s just saying that, and there’s a level of bitterness towards you for the distance. But, you can’t allow yourself to be hurt by that, because it’s fair. Mariah has been too good of a friend to be ditched the minute your ex comes back around. 

‘How are things with Caleb? Are you guys getting along any better?” Caleb and Mariah have only been married for two years but have already hit a rough patch, enough where he’s temporarily moved out of the house. Last you spoke with her, they were supposed to meet up to discuss what they were going to do, especially for the sake of Miach.

“Did you see him at my place last time you were there?” Her response is all you need to know that that is still a sensitive spot for her as well. Understandably so, but her shut down is so cold and unlike the sweet, gentle friend you’ve always known her to be. You were always known as the outspoken, brutal friend, though it seems that maybe as the years go by, the roles are reversing. 

Unless there's something else at play.

—-------

Today is going to be a good day. 

For Callie at least. 

Your earlier conversation with Mariah, who seemed far too eager to leave when you mentioned Joe would be arriving in less than two hours, is still circulating in your head. You know she’s only trying to look out for you, and you’re very appreciative of that, but there was some undertone to the way she spoke to you that you can’t shake off. Like, it wasn’t coming just from a place of concern, but something else that didn’t seem as genuine.

“Mommy, why are we cleaning?”

Because mommy is too broke for a maid.

You instead settle on the answer, “because we want our home nice and clean, baby.”

“But, it is clean.” She’s not entirely wrong, it’s just every so often you like to deep clean, dusting, mopping, the extra shit that usually isn’t done with daily cleaning. 

Taking a break from wiping down your kitchen counters with some overpriced cleaner you picked up from Target, you see Callie is ready to be done, the dust rag you’d given here now sitting on the coffee table.

With a heavy sigh, you ask, “you wanna play, don’t you?” Her eyes widen and her head nods enthusiastically. A quick glance at the clock indicates that Joe should be knocking at your door any minute, so you try to buy some more time. “Alright, let mommy finish here, and I’ll come play with you.”

“Yay!”

Chuckling, you listen to the sound of her run in the direction of her playroom while you finish scrubbing the counters, even if they’re as clean as they can get. It’s most likely a result of all the overthinking you’ve done the past few hours. The older you get, the more you realize you’ve become that ‘i’m anxious, so let’s clean until we’re physically exhausted’ mom. Which, technically, isn’t a horrible thing, but it’s also probably not the best way to deal with your emotions.

Not that you’ve always been the best with that either.

And that’s when you hear it, the solid two knocks you’ve been waiting for all morning. 

Smiling, you call out for Callie who marches out seconds later with a doll in her hand. “You wanna see who’s at the door for mommy?” Callie looks rightfully confused. At the same time you taught her how to open, close, and lock the door because you never know what can happen, you stressed to her that she is to never open it without permission or unless during an emergency. So, you emphasize, “it’s okay.”

Shrugging, she skips, literally skips to the door. You chuckle. This kid has so much damn personality. Moving to the sink to rinse your hands, you move slowly, waiting for it.

A loud gasp. “Joe!”

You can mentally picture the absolute surprise and happiness splashed over her little face. Grabbing the towel to dry your hands, Joe walks in holding Callie who you haven’t seen look so happy since the last time Joe was in town. 

“Mommy, Joe’s here!” 

Kids announcing the most obvious things will always be hilarious. “He sure is.” Leaning against the counter, you focus on him. “Hey.” He looks good, but he always looks good. That was always the damn problem.

He takes in you for a second, eyes lingering longer than what’s probably necessary, “hey.” He easily returns his attention back to Callie who can’t seem to stop smiling, which makes you smile. You love seeing her so happy. "I missed you."

"I missed you too!" She glances over at you, partially contrite. “Mommy, I’m gonna play with Joe instead, okay?”

You pretend to be shocked, standing upright and crossing your arms and making a face before laughing, waving her off.

“That’s fine, baby, because I am going to take a nap.” It’s much needed. Your sleep has been kinda shitty lately, and you know yourself well enough to know that exhaustion makes you bitchy. And the last thing you want is to unintentionally take that bitchiness out on her. Even Joe. Walking up to them, you poke him in his stomach. Jesus, he’s ripped. “Help yourself to anything. Just make sure she doesn’t destroy my house, please. And make her clean.”

At that, her face sours, and Joe chuckles.

“You got it.”

Satisfied, you walk back into your room, deciding to close the door. Callie will absolutely welcome herself in if need be. Plopping down on the mattress, you stare up at the ceiling, taking in a deep breath, momentarily stopping yourself from closing your eyes. For a second, you forget that Callie is not alone and unattended, thus preventing you from sleeping.

Call it being an anxious, overprotective parent, you’ve never allowed yourself to nap when it’s just the two of you. Even when she’s asleep, and when you do, you set an alarm to wake you up every ten minutes, just to make sure she’s still knocked out. It makes taking time to rest pretty difficult, if not impossible, but it’s what makes you comfortable.

It’s an easy sacrifice to make for your child.

So having another adult around, her dad, of all people, is a nice feeling. You know she’s safe and watched over. And it’s what allows you to actually fall into a peaceful slumber. 

Just for a little bit.

—-------

It is, in fact, just for a little bit.

Because you’re awoken by your phone ringing, your mom on the other end wondering what time she can expect you and Callie to come over.

Shit. 

You completely forget that you’d agreed to bring Callie to see her as it’d been “too long," according to her. You partially agreed, realizing you haven’t visited your mom since the day everything went down, what with you reaching out to Joe again and that whole fiasco.

And that’s another thing.

Your mother has no idea he’s back in the picture.

Walking out of the room, you find them in the living room, of course, watching Toy Story 2. 

Callie’s eyes light up when she sees you, but that doesn’t pull her from her position, tucked right under Joe’s side on your sofa. If you had your phone, you’d try to snap a picture. 

“That wasn’t long,” he snickers, and you glare, stopping yourself from flipping him off.

You move over to the sofa, sitting on the armrest. “That’s cause my mom called and woke me up.”

“Grandma?”

Nodding, you explain to both Callie and Joe. “I forgot we were supposed to go visit her today.”

She moves up on her knees, asking, “can we go?” She looks over at Joe. “Joe can come with us!”

You consider her suggestion. Your mom didn’t even find out about Joe until you told her you were pregnant. You kept that part of your life a secret from her for good reasons. This doesn’t seem like the best way for her to find out, to drop it on her yet again. However, one look at Callie’s desperate expression, and you already know your answer.

“Of course,” you then add on, “if he wants to.” 

Callie, being Callie, answers for him. “He wants to!” She tugs on his sleeve, excitement bubbling. “You can meet my grandma!”

You glance over at him, “are you sure? I’m sorry, I know this was supposed to be one on one with her….”

He shakes his head, cutting you off. “If she wants to go, let’s go.”

You nod, praying this doesn’t end up being a bad idea.

—-------

“Mama!” You call out, watching Joe shut and lock the door behind him. Seeing that allows you to focus on where the hell your mother is. She usually meets you at the door when she knows you’re coming over. “Where is this woman?”

The car drive was pleasant enough, Callie talking almost the entire time, as expected. And Joe eating it up the whole time, also, as expected. 

You can see now he’s definitely going to be that dad. The dad who finds anything and everything his kid does to be adorable. You can’t wait for him to be on the receiving end of one of Callie’s temper tantrums and see how he handles it. 

“Grandma!” Callie suddenly calls, all the while keeping her hand in Joe’s. “I’m here!”

Finally, the sound of footsteps from upstairs as your mom comes down the stairs, home phone, yes, a home phone, held between her ear and shoulder. “I told her Bishop wasn’t gonna go for that, but you know how she is. Old fool.” It’s when she’s in the vicinity to see that it’s not just you and Callie, her eyes grow wide. “Cheryl, let me call you back.” 

Damn. 

You know that tone, that ‘let me talk to you’ tone. 

Thankfully, you get a brief save. The sight of your mom makes Callie drop Joe’s hand to sprint off to meet her on the steps. “Grandma!”

She leans down to pick up Callie, smothering her with kisses. “My favorite little lady.” 

Callie giggles as your mom descends from the steps, Callie on her hip, to approach you and Joe who’d, wisely, remained quiet up until this point. 

You watch your mom’s eyes land on him, but before she can say anything, Callie jumps in. 

“Grandma, this is Joe! He’s mommy’s friend and mine too!”

Fuck. Your mom’s eyes travel between him and Callie, once, twice, and on the third time, you know. You just know that she knows.

And that’s when you jump in, knowing you desperately need to speak with her. “Callie, why don’t you show Joe the play area?” 

Her eyes blaze with enthusiasm as your mom places her back on the ground. Callie’s little feet carry her back over to Joe who seems to understand you need to talk with your mother.

“Come on!” Taking his hand, she begins to direct him to the back of the house and through the sliding door. 

Your mom waits until she knows the two of you are alone to speak. “Girl, you done got my blood pressure all up.”

“Mama—”

“That’s Callie’s daddy, ain’t it?” She doesn’t even give you time to answer. “Don’t try to lie, either. She looks just like him.”

There’s no need in denying the obvious. “Yes.”

Her mouth drops open in rightful shock. “And just when did you plan to tell me he was back in the picture?” The questions keep coming, understandably so considering how you’ve just dropped this on her. “And why is she calling him by his first name?”

“Because she doesn't know,” you answer the second question, hating the disappointed look on her face. “We–he hasn’t told her yet.” 

“It just keeps getting worse.” She’s rubbing her temple and you just know she’s gonna need to take an Excedrin before the night is over. “Tell me everything. Now.”

And so, you do, starting with Callie’s initial question about her dad, to your phone call with Joe, his visit where he confirmed he had a daughter, all of it. And when you’re done, your mom is visibly shaken.

“Lord, he found out about her through social media?” You still feel badly about that, about a lot of it. “Well….does his wife know?”

You shake your head. “I don’t think so. We haven’t really talked about that yet.” Before your mom can protest, you add, “we will. I’ll make sure of it. He just wants to get to know her first. For himself.”

Your mom chuckles, obviously having studied the close interaction between the two of them in the few minutes she’s been privy to see them engage with one another. “seems like that’s already a done deal.” 

“Yeah,” you smile warmly. “He’s really good with her.”

And it’s the truth, Joe seems to be naturally good with a lot of things, but there’s something so impressive about his ability to interact and connect with Callie. It’s so natural. 

“So, are you two…..”

“No,” you shut that down immediately. “We’re just trying to navigate coparenting.”

Your mom nods but doesn’t say anything, and you know her well enough to know it’s because she doesn’t entirely believe you. But, she won’t push.

“Well.” She claps her hands together, nodding to the backdoor. “Let me go properly introduce myself, since you got me out here looking rude. Probably got that boy thinking I don’t like him.”

“I promise, he’s not like that.” You two start walking toward the backyard where you’re certain Callie is talking a hole in his head, describing the play area your mom put together just for her when she spends the night.

She places her hand on the sliding door but pauses to look at you, “let me just say this though, that is one fine young man. I see now why you had a hard time letting him go. The devil sure knows how to tempt people.”

“Mama!” You try to suppress your laughter as the two of you walk out, sure enough to find Callie on the swing, Joe pushing her as they share their own conversation. 

She walks up to him, wearing a warm smile, giving a wink to Callie. “I’m so sorry about that. My daughter just didn’t tell me you were gonna be here.” 

Joe, forever respectful, starts to indirectly apologize.  “I hope it's not a problem. If so, I can—”

She waves him off, “oh, hush.” She leans in to whisper, “you’re practically family.” He returns her smile as she introduces herself by name, he offers his, and your wonderful mother then informs, “well, this one is gonna help me tend to my garden, cause winter will be here before we know it.” She leans down and kisses the top of Callie’s head, as she’s stopped swinging and is instead sitting. Her eyes light up at the idea of gardening with your mom. The same way you used to garden with your grandma. A bit of a tradition being passed down. “And in the meantime, you two can go finish organizing the office.” 

Your eyes widen. No wonder she didn’t hear you all coming in right away. That room, once your bedroom, became your mom’s storage area and over the years has accumulated stuff on top of stuff. Nowhere near a hoarding level, but just a lot of things that she doesn’t want to part with but needs to organize. “Mama, that's not—”

“I don't want to hear no complaining. You really want me up on that ladder?” You roll your eyes, realizing she’s referring to the top of your old closet where she keeps the storage bins of memorabilia, mostly photos. “I'm not getting any younger. What if I fall? Then you gon feel bad.”

“You're so dramatic.” Your mom acts like she's 75 and at death's door sometimes. The woman is 52 and teaches a Zumba class at the rec center every Saturday. She could fall and jump right back up like nothing happened. 

She places her hand on Joe’s arm, smiling slyly. “You got this strong, handsome man to help you out.” One thing you’ve learned as you’ve gotten older is that your tendency to unintentionally flirt from time to time 100% came from your mother. Clearly. “Besides, if you do fall, you'll be fine. You got enough booty back there to cushion it.”

“Mama!” One glance at Joe, and you see him make a face that reads clearly 'she's not entirely wrong.’ At that, you shove him, not that it does anything. He's solid as a rock. “Fine, we'll organize your mess, but not for long. Joe is only in town until tomorrow night, and he did not come here to be a part of your cleaning crew.”

“I don’t mind,” Joe adds. Of course, he doesn't. He hasn’t seen it yet, and he’s a gentleman. “Whatever you need help with, I’ll do it.”

Your mom gives you another look and then looks at him. “I like you, Joseph.”

Callie lifts her head, adding, “I like him too!”

I like him too.

“Well, get to it. When we’re done, ya’ll can help me fix some dinner.” Her eyes then land on you. “Well, not you. You can make the lemonade or something.”

Joe coughs awkwardly, poorly hiding his laughter. “I’m getting really sick of ya’ll coming for me and my poor cooking skills.”' 

Your mom directs Callie to grab her caddy with their needed gardening supplies. “Baby, you are a lot of things, but a cook ain’t one of them.” She points at Joe, sharing, “remind me to tell you the story about how she almost burned down my house.”

“Okay, we’re gonna go now.” You grab Joe’s hand and lead him back into the house toward the stairs, which he motions for you to go up first, realizing after the fact that he probably did so to stare at your ass. 

This man….

Entering your former bedroom, you stretch your arm to show you just what you signed up for. He walks in, clearly surprised. “Okay.”

“Yup.” There’s items scattered all over, your mom clearly in the middle of trying to categorize the millions of family photos ya’ll have. “Still don’t mind?”

He shrugs forever unbothered. “There’s two of us. We’ll get it done.”

Sucking your teeth, you look around, trying to figure out where the hell to start. “Your optimism is annoying.”

Chuckling, his smartass remarks, “Glass half full, baby. Glass half full.”

“Yeah, yeah, well glass your ass over there and reach me the ladder. I need the box these pictures can go in from the top.” 

He follows where you’re pointing but also gestures to the closet. “That one?” Joe makes a sound and instead of following your directions, casually walks over to said closet, reaches up and grabs the box with all the ease of someone who’s 6’3. 

Smug expression on his face, he hands it to you as you glare. “Show off.”

Joe assesses you, eyes settling on your chest before redirecting them to your face. “Maybe I should have let you get up there. View and all.”

Holding back your smile is difficult, so you settle for biting on your bottom lip and bumping his side as you move past him. “Shut up.” You know his gaze is on you and that should bother you, his flirty comment should bother you, but it doesn’t.

It doesn’t at all.

—-------

“I still can’t believe you were a cheerleader.” 

There’s probably been a decent combination of conversation and organization in your time working together to ‘unmess’ your mom’s mess. That’s not entirely surprising though. Joe has always been immensely easy to talk to, to be around. And you couldn’t deny that you missed this kind of interaction with him, the most and maybe first since he’s re-entered your life. You wholly understand why he spends and devotes most of his time with Callie, but there’s a small part of you that’s missed this. 

Missed it being just the two of you. 

Chuckling, you comment, “you’re not the first. I was….different in high school and college than I am now.”

He’s intrigued, asking, “how?”

“Well, for one, I don’t party damn near every night anymore.” One thing you could never deny about your early days was that you always liked to have a good time, liked to make your expected appearances at whatever party of the week, or day, was happening. “Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t drink or smoke. That was never my thing. I just….I liked to have fun, probably too much fun more often than not.” You chuckle to yourself, grabbing a stack of photos to put in the container. “Now, I like to be in bed by 9:30, 10 at the latest.”

He smiles and looks over at the wall that still has many of your cheer accolades proudly displayed. “Obviously, you were pretty damn good.”

Shrugging, you push some of your hair behind your ear. Not that it does much. Your curls have always been voluminous and wild. “I was, but….it came at a cost to some extent. Cheer is insanely competitive, and I didn’t always handle that the best.”

Competitiveness was something you deeply struggled with when you were younger. Feeling like you had to be the best, not even better than anyone else per se, but the best that you could be. Always trying to prove that you were good enough.

Looking back now, you have a solid guess of where that came from and what drove it. 

Joe’s studying you, trying to gauge your comfort level with this conversation. “Did you like it?”

“I loved it,” you answer, honestly. “Until I didn’t. Shortly before college, I think, is when the love started to fade.”

“But you cheered in college too, didn’t you?”

You nod, explaining, “I got a scholarship for cheer, and I wasn’t about to put that stress on my mom to have her help me figure out how to pay for school when I had an easy ride.” Around that time is when your relationship with your mom started to strengthen, and the last thing you wanted to do was risk messing it back up by being selfish. You’d cheered damn near your whole life, what was another 4 years? 

“I like your mom,” he announces, almost suddenly. It’s unsurprising. Most people do. But, there is something that pleases you about her tentative approval of him and now his of her. 

“She’s really great. I don’t know what I would do without her, and Callie adores her.” You look over at him, playfully. “Not as much as she adores you, though.”

You can see the delight in his eyes. “Yeah?”

His disbelief surprises you. How can he not see how crazy Callie is over him? “Are you kidding me? That lil girl already doesn’t shut up, but she really doesn’t shut up about you. It’s Joe this, Joe that. The first thing she asks me when I pick her up from school is always if she can call you.” Deciding this is a perfect segue, you add on, carefully. “You know….you should tell her. I can promise you, she won’t be upset. She’s gonna be thrilled.”

She already loves you.

You don’t know if it’s too soon to say that, if it’s something you should even say vs let him hear from Callie herself. You just know that there’s probably very little he could do at this point to make Callie not love him. She’s hooked.

“Christmas,” he announces, adding, “I’ll tell her when I come back for Christmas.” 

This surprises you, as he hasn’t discussed his next visit up until this point. You also don’t feel the need to comment or counter his plan and timeline to tell Callie. You can’t think of a better Christmas gift for her. “You got the time off?”

He nods, providing specifics. “I’ll be here the day before Christmas Eve. Gotta fly back out on the 26th though.”

“Stay with us.” Where this comes from, you’re not sure, but there’s not a lot of regret once it's released. “I know you hate that damn hotel, and Callie would be thrilled to have you around 24/7.” Getting up off the floor, you carry the now filled container and move up the ladder you’d used a couple times because he’d been preoccupied organizing other areas. Sliding it back in the same spot, you descend down the steps only to feel strong hands grip your waist. 

Bringing you to the ground, he carefully turns you around, but that’s not what you’re focused on. What you’re focused on is how close he is to you, your chests nearly touching, his eyes burning into you. Instantly, your stomach is knotting. You know that look, know it all too well. 

“Joe….” Your voice is soft, much softer than it needs to be when trying to assert yourself. And you hate yourself for the tiny sigh that leaves your mouth when he brings his palm to your cheek. “We—we can’t—”

“I’m divorced.”

This man, so fine and kind, and damn near pressed against you is distracting, so much so that you’re briefly disconnected from what he’s just said. But, it’s forcing yourself to come back to reality that his words truly hit you. You’re not sure you could have ever guessed that statement would ever leave his mouth. 

Slightly in shock, staring at him with bewilderment, you stammer, “w–what?”

“Two months ago, Jadah and I filed for divorce. It was uncontested, and the state of Florida is one of the quickest when it comes to processing these things.” His other hand moves to your hip, holding you still, as if he knows you want to move away from him. “I got notice it was finalized a few days ago.”

You’re listening, you really are, but hearing is another story. This has to be some type of sick joke, some type of cruel prank ripped directly out the pages of a journal kept and maintained so long ago. Cause you’d absolutely written about this at one point, written about what it would be like if he were to leave his wife. 

You just never could have anticipated it would one day become a reality.

“I—I don’t understand.” Joe only found out about Callie less than a month ago, so there’s no way she was the reason for the split. Still, you have to ask. “Wh–why?”

Something flashes in his eyes. Hurt. “It was long overdue.” He doesn’t say anything beyond that, and while you expected more, you can also see there’s more to the story. More that he’s not saying, but it’s the brief glimpse of pain that prevents you from pushing. Whatever it is, it’s clearly difficult for him to discuss. 

“Oh.” It’s a stupid thing to say, but you’re truly in a state of shock and don’t know what else to say. 

The biggest and only issue that ever existed between yourself and Joe has always been his marriage, the fact that he was already taken. It was the only reason you ever broke it off with him, but now, he’s standing before you, telling you that this is no longer the case.

You’re all of the emotions: confused, nervous, happy, hopeful, and so many more that you can’t even label.

“I didn’t say anything at first, because meeting Callie was my priority. Establishing a relationship with her was a priority. And it still is, but…..” Your eyes shut as he drops his head in the crook of your neck. “I’ve missed you.” Your hands gradually lift to lay against his chest as he sighs into you, ‘I’ve missed everything about you.” Eyes remaining shut, your nails claw gently against him as he moves his mouth over your neck. “The way you smile, the way you laugh.” His hand on your back slowly inches downward. “The way you taste.” Your breath catches as his teeth graze your collarbone. “The way you feel when I’m inside you.”

“Joe,” you breathe, the air suddenly thick, your throat tight. Breathing is incredibly arduous in this moment. “I—”

“Mommy! Joe!”

Joe’s suddenly across the damn room, it seems like, as Callie enters at both the perfect and worst time with a smile, completely oblivious to what she’s just interrupted. “Grandma said come eat!”

Frowning, you glance at the clock and realize it’s most definitely dinner time and that your mom had most likely just had Callie help her prepare the meal instead of asking you two to help.

Huh.

She moves across the room, tackling Joe from the side and craning up her head as she excitedly asks, “Wanna see what I made? Grandma helped me!”

Leaning down to pick her up, he answers, “of course, I wanna see.” He begins to walk out the door as Callie calls out for you to follow behind.

And you will. 

You just need a moment.

Because what the hell just happened?

—-------

I’m divorced.

It keeps playing in your head, on a vicious repeating cycle, like that annoying song the radio plays every 15 minutes, forcing it down your throat.

For almost the entire time you were together, you infrequently allowed yourself to dream about what your life would be like if the circumstances were different, if he wasn’t already taken. If he wasn’t already married. And each time only left you feeling worse than before, because it was stupid. You were three years deep into the situationship; if he hadn’t left his wife by then, he wasn’t leaving her period.

It was a harsh pill that took you forever to swallow.

And even then, you knew that you could never be happy. Not with the knowledge that he’d left his wife for you. It may be bliss initially, but the guilt would have eaten you up and ruined things regardless.

So accepting and telling yourself that it would never work out long-term was what kept your head above water, especially in the two months after you broke things off. And once you learned you were pregnant with Callie, there was a new kind of stress, a new kind of distraction.

Not that it made you forget about him. Hardly.

Every check up, every milestone, every kick, your mind would wander to him. Wander to a fantasy world where you imagined he was with you every step of the way, the two of you preparing together for the arrival of your first child.

Even as the years went on and Callie got older, you still would find yourself from time to time imagining how different things would be if he was around.

Well, now he is. He’s not only around, but he’s going to be actively involved in Callie’s life for the rest of her life.

And he’s now single.

All of this makes for one fucked up emotional rollercoaster ride.

Dinner is an experience, only for you, maybe Joe to some extent. He’s always had a tendency to compartmentalize emotions though, unlike yourself. Granted, if it was a struggle for him, he did a damn good job not showing it. It also probably helped a ton that Callie talked a hole in his and your mom’s head.

You knew your mom could see something was up with you but graciously opted to not ask you any questions. You wouldn’t have any answers to give her anyway. 

And you indicated as much when you were back at your apartment, and Callie in her room gathering her favorite pajamas for bed. 

“I just need time to think.” 

It’s all you can offer him, because it’s the truth. There’s so much more to consider than you could have imagined, and it’s really hard to contemplate when you still have Mariah’s voice oscillating in the back of your mind, your insecurities, and even your mom. 

So many differing perspectives, it’s hard to focus and hear your own.

Thankfully, he accepts that answer, and you accept that you’re running out of different ways to escape confronting your own emotions. 

Maybe.

Because this day has already been exceedingly long, and you’re more emotionally exhausted than anything. So when Callie comes to you complaining of a tummy ache, you administer her Children’s Tylenol, lay with her until she falls asleep, and take advantage of this rare opportunity to turn your brain off and just rest.

The hard shit could wait.

—-------

“Mommy!”

There's a certain tone every person has that's reserved for emergencies, saved for moments when something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

This is one of those moments.

You nearly trip with how quickly you jump out the bed and sprint down the hall to Callie’s room. Hitting the light switch, your stomach drops when you see her.

On her side, in a fetal position, crying profusely. 

Rushing over to her, you see too that she's pale and a hand to her forehead reveals she's burning up. Sheer panic climbs up your body, settling into your stomach and the back of your throat. Still, you do your best to not show her your fear.

“Baby, is it your tummy?” You take a hand to feel her stomach, but she screams out in pain, making you jump from her reaction.

“Mommy, it hurts,” she sobs, and you're instantly moving the blankets off her, already knowing what you need to do. 

Hand on her forehead, you assure, “I’lll be right back, okay?”

You rush back into your room, sliding on the first pair of shoes that you come across. You grab your phone off the nightstand and throw it in your purse, all in under a minute, still too long. And as soon as you're back in her room, you waste no time in lifting her into your arms. 

She winces, so you reassure, “come on, baby. It's okay, you're gonna be okay.”

It's what you're telling yourself, the only thing keeping you from panicking. Unsure and uncaring at this moment if you lock the front door behind you, you carry her down the steps and into the dark of night, carefully but quickly buckling her into her carseat.

Hating to see her continue to cry, to be in pain, you kiss her forehead, “I’m gonna get you some help, okay? We're going to the hospital.”

She can only nod, and your eyes water. Your forever talkative child is rendered speechless by her pain. It crushes you.

Hopping into the driver's seat, you grab your phone, trembling fingers locating the address of the hospital. You hit share and send it to Joe before pressing the call button and tossing your phone into the passenger seat to zoom out of the parking lot.

Your phone is connected to your vehicle, ringing three times before he picks up, voice heavy with sleep. “Hey.”

“I need you to meet me at the hospital. I already sent you the address.” You do your best to remain calm and collected, to not scare Callie more than she's already scared. Even if you’re fucking terrified. “Something is wrong with Calista.”

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 | Wake up call

Sometimes you only really cherish things when they're taken away from you.

Tags/Warnings: Alien!Jungkook, Human!Reader, dystopian AU, space/Sci-fi/cyberpunk-esque, Enemies to lovers, Angst, Violence, Drama, romance, adult, angst, potentially triggering content, Hurt and comfort, JKs dad, major injury, angst, comfort, fluff

Length: 4.3k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

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It's pitch-black when you wake up, and it takes you a moment to realize that it's simply your eyes needing to adjust to the lack of light.

You instantly sit up in Jungkook's main resting spot, only to realize he's missing- instead standing at the main control screen, tapping away with his eyes reflecting the light of the screen in front of him. At a call of his name however, his face snaps towards you, the alien hybrid instantly walking towards you to cover your shoulders with a heavy blanket, before he sits down in the nest with you, clearly in a fight-or-flight state. "What's wrong?" You ask, and your sleepy voice and clearly drowsy state make him feel awfully protective over you-

and that's only partially due to his whole hormonal fiasco going on.

"We're passing a re-fueling station." He tells you, hushed and low in tone. "But the scanners show way too many ships in the area, so I'm trying to move us around." He offers as an explanation, unknowingly sitting closer to you, hands searching for any sort of physical contact with you before he just throws his pride out the window and moves to have you sit on his lap instead.

"Maybe it's just crowded?" You wonder, unsure why this is worrying him so much. But he shakes his head.

"Something's off." He simply denies, eyes focused on the large windows in the front of the ship, offering a wide view of whatever's going on in front and frontal sides- one of those windows being the one you're currently sleeping at. "I don't trust this." He shakes his head, arms slowly wrapping around you as he waits for the autopilot to steer the ship safely past the refueling station.

"Maybe it's.. you know?" You wonder, looking up at him- but he shakes his head.

"I'm.. I would've-" He sighs. "No one can really help me with my instincts because I am.. currently the only human-Bolku hybrid around, so not even Jin's mother can really.. help me understand what's going on with me." He shrugs, holding you in a relaxed, but almost clingy way. "I've simply decided to just.. take your words to heart, you could say." He tells you.

"What do you mean?" You ask, leaning into him a bit as the screen blinks with something- Jungkook looking once, before he puts his attention back onto you, apparently not alarmed by whatever message just popped up.

"You said the only life I can control is mine." He reminds you. "So I'll just.. let whatever I'm feeling run it's course, and learn to control my life instead of trying to just.. hiding in a vacuum." He explains, large ship coming into view in the distance, a few other's as well in close proximity. This catches Jungkook's attention, as he moves his body into a straighter position to properly catch a glance at the ID parts of the ships- required by law. It's typically a flag of the respective planet or organization, combined with a letter-number Identification, similar to a license plate back on earth.

And suddenly, Jungkook tenses up, eyes focused solely on one particular ship it seems like, as it passes by slowly. You're not sure what's wrong, when there's another warning tone, this time making Jungkook growl a little to himself as he gets up to walk towards the control console, tapping away.

He's scanning everything back and forth before he curses, slamming his hands onto the control board, jaw clenched, before he puts some different commands in, ship shifting, starting to steer in a very specific manner that makes the generators underneath your floor rumble in a new rhythm.

"I thought we were skipping this one?" You wonder, but Jungkook grimly shakes his head.

"We can't." He sighs. "I tend to forget that.. this ship is so old." He mumbles, clearly upset.

"It'll be fine." You try and reassure- and he looks at you for a good moment, before he grimly nods to himself.

Hoping that'll be the case.

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Jungkook is usually very much at ease when it comes to situations like these. He clearly knows his way around and is aware of how to act and what not to do in certain situations- year long experience giving him the necessary confidence to properly keep his job going.

But this time, he's on edge- never letting you out of sight, and even having checked multiple times before leaving the ship that the tracker on your new collar works perfectly just in case. He's also made you wear some of his clothes- says it's got something to do with other alien species' staying away from you if you smell like him, and in your eyes, it makes sense. Maybe his whole hormone-issue is just making him a little overprotective.

You understand that, somewhat. And you have to admit that his clothes are very comfortable to wear.

But something you also notice, for the first time, is what he's warned you about in your room, days ago. How everyone who knows his father will look at you with a certain sense of judgement- and this time, it seems like almost everyone seems to know him, because the looks are everywhere. It doesn't bother you too much- but you can feel with the way Jungkook's hand tightens around yours that it does affect him.

"Can we go eat something while the ship refuels?" You wonder, tugging on his hand to gain his attention, trying to pull his mind away from the admittedly tense atmosphere around you. He nods after a moment, nodding towards the employees currently attaching the giant tubes to the ship, before he walks away and towards the food section, numerous different small restaurants cooking quickly for customers sitting and standing close by.

"What do you want to eat?" He asks you, who's already scanning the pictures as best as you can- still not very good at deciphering the intergalactic standard writing. You should really learn it sooner rather than later- it's got to be annoying to read everything to you, after all.

"Uh.. can I eat this?" You ask him, pointing to a specific food covered in crispy fried dough- not because he pays for it, but because he also knows what humans can and can't eat.

Now this fact makes finally sense to you- because as someone who's partially human, Jungkook has to look out for certain foods as to not upset his stomach. For you, the consequences are much more severe, however, so he instead walks up to the counter to ask, just to make sure. The man behind, an alien with scars all over his face as if burned at some point, looks down at you, then at him, before he scoffs.

"She ain't gonna die from it." He says, but Jungkook is clearly not satisfied with an answer like that.

"I asked if it's safe to consume, not if she's gonna die from it." He challenges almost annoyed, a few close standing customers already clearly interested in the small scene.

"And I told you what I know. I don't usually have to feed 'em." The man replies, slamming down his large cleaver into the wooden counter in front of him, cutting a piece of meat in half.

"She can eat it just fine." A voice chimes up, deep and a little scratchy- and multiple things happen all at once.

First, people start to make room, averting their gazes as if an accident just occurred, and someone blasted their guts all over the place.

Almost at the same time, Jungkook pulls you close to him, shielding you in a way from whomever just talked behind you, body hiding you away like he needs to protect you from something.

And then, you poke your head around a little, catching a glimpse of the man.

He's clearly a Bolku with his tall build, even a good hand or two taller than Jungkook, body bulky and muscular, though the face shows the time this man has been alive. There's horns on his head curving backwards, and his eyes are what's the most prominent about him- small, halfway opened, but sharp in their gaze and a deep orange-y red, the color of pure confidence.

A shiver runs down your spine when you realize the small similarities you recognize however. This has to be Jungkook's father.

"Make two servings. I'll pay." The man orders, and the cook eagerly occupies himself with his job to flee the scene, quietly preparing the food. "Snatched a taste of human love, haven't you?" He laughs to himself, now having caught you peeking around Jungkook's arm, his eyes staring you down so much that you can feel your skin crawl.

"We're leaving." Jungkook mumbles to you over his shoulder, hand holding yours as his father chuckles lowly.

"Already? Your ship is barely halfway fueled." He says, sitting down at a table. "And the poor little thing must be hungry too. Aren't you?" He adresses you, but Jungkook hisses back towards you.

"Don't talk to him." He commands, and you nod, before you lean up towards him to speak closer into his ear.

"I'm not that hungry." You reassure him, and he nods, moving to walk away with you-

when suddenly, out of nowhere, someone tugs you away from Jungkook's hand, collar being pulled so roughly it causes you to violently cough from your throat being pushed together forcefully.

Jungkook shouts, but he's held back as well- whoever has you in their grip is bringing you closer to Jungkook's father, who inspects you from his sitting position. "Pretty thing." He comments, using his cane to tap at your thighs. "Healthy body. I wouldn't be able to resist either." He jokes, making who you assume to be his crewmembers laugh while you hold onto the front of your collar to help yourself breathe. "Ah, your mother needed one of those too. They always try and run off, don't they?" He comments, making Jungkook struggle.

You've never seen Jungkook's eyes shine in such a violent shade of red- almost as if his eyes are going to spout flames any second.

"I assume she's not for sale?" He wonders towards his son, who spits onto the ground right in front of his father's shoes, probably as a non-verbal answer. "Figured." The man says, pulling back his boot before he looks at you. "I'll be taking her anyways."

"She's registered under my name!" Jungkook argues. "I'll be sending out a patrol the minute you have to leave-" He argues, and his father laughs loudly.

"Your name means nothing in this system!" He barks back. "You have no worth, you bastard. Be happy I'll let you leave once your trash-pile of a ship is refueled." He warns.

You're starting to become tired fighting against the strong hold of whomever got their hands on you- causing your to breath harder and harder, oxygen not reaching your brain as well, causing you to become dizzy- and it's something Jungkook notices, because of course he does.

And another thing he realizes is that he knows you're in distress long before he spots the blinking red light of your collar, signaling something wrong with your vital signs.

And before you can do anything else, the edges of your eyesight begin to darken like a vignette filter, Jungkook's terrified gaze the only thing you can make out before you pass out, becoming limp in the hands of whoever is holding you.

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You're glaring at the man in front of you, refusing to eat anything that's offered.

He's already needed a large patch on his hand to cover up the aggressive bite you placed there hours prior after he tried to touch you- but he's intelligent enough to not try it again, it seems like. He thinks you're easy prey, probably- and that's what you used to be, and what you would've been if he'd been the one to find you back then.

But you belong to Jungkook- and Jungkook made you want to fight for your life, just to get back to him.

"Do you even know who he is?" The man in front of you speaks, trying to intimidate you with his gaze, but, for some reason you're not sure of, it doesn't work. "He'll abandon you the moment he finds a proper partner to mate with." He scoffs, and you just keep staring at him.

You don't believe anything this man is spewing- in fact, you're not even properly listening, rather trying to think hard of a way to escape this ship- entire layout foreign to you, since you didn't wake up until you were already on the ship. The only thing you know is that the entire interior intimidates you with it's perfect polished metal walls- something about Jungkook's old and somewhat worn down rooms and halls just makes you feel at home.

Or maybe it just feels like that because you fell in love on this ship.

So the minute you're left alone again after he insults you in Bolku language you don't understand, your brain is running at lightspeed.

Vents are out of reach, but maybe if you could push some of the furniture you could reach it- but someone might hear, and catch you in the act, making this whole plan incredibly dangerous. It's risk against reward after all- you're no use to anyone if you're dead. So you look around once more, checking out everything-

when you spot another vent, small but definitely in better reach than anything else. And the best thing is that once you're in there, there's no way anybody can reach out or crawl in behind you. The only issue?

You don't know where it leads. And from looking over Jungkook's shoulder at the general layout of his ship, you know that some vents lead straight into machines- and you're honestly not ready to be boiled alive.

Your decision however falls onto all or nothing- so you undo your collar at the emergency clip Jungkook had shown you, in case they're tracking you that way, before you crawl under the bed where the vent is, cover easy to remove as you crawl inside. It's tight, not much room and definitely not enough space to turn around now, as you move slowly, having left your shoes behind so that your socked feet don't make too much sound.

On the way, you can spot some vents you have to crawl over slowly, showing you numerous rooms of the ship. A kitchen, another prep room it looks like, multiple storage spaces, and then-

bright lights, clearly leading outside.

You crawl faster the moment you hear machines starting, finally able to see the drop-

and it's not only high up, but right next to a small engine that's clearly about to start if the radiating heat and slowly glowing metal were anything to go by. So either way- you're gonna get cooked alive, or you'll break your spine falling down.

You've got nothing to lose.

Safe to say you do end up cracking something- but the adrenaline is enough to push you through the pain, legs running faster than you ever thought you could as you make your way through the ship station, searching frantically for anything familiar so you can find your way back to Jungkook. If his father stayed true to his word, he would be allowed to leave- and you don't know how long you were out for, so you might already be too late.

Or would he wait for you?

You're searching around frantically when you can spot the familiar ship- large cargo door slowly closing, metal wall lifting, as you shout Jungkook's name as loud as you can- even though you just know he probably can't hear you.

You don't know how you manage even after tripping painfully so, but you reach the lifting cargo door just in time to jump up and lift yourself in-

when you feel warms in the back of your shoulder, something almost crawling down your back, the same feeling in another spot lower on your back, and in the back and front of your leg. It takes a good moment for you to slowly calm down, ship's door closing behind you, as the engines start, before you realize what's happening.

You've been shot by some sort of weapon, multiple times. And the feeling of something crawling, was simply your own blood.

It's ironic how you find yourself seeking at least some sort of warmth yet again under the blue plastic tarp- similar to how you first snuck onto this ship. But the tables have turned- and now, it seems like you'll find your end here too, between all the cargo and dust and by now familiar scents and sounds.

It could be worse.

Just like the first time, the large metal door hisses as it opens loudly, and once again just like the first time, you hear boots on the floor. But this time, you're not scared- this time you know who it is, and you find comfort in that.

Tarps are lifted. Cargo is inspected.

And then, the dark blue one you're hiding under is pulled back- but this time, he's not holding a gun, or a grim expression, or anything alike.

This time, he drops harshly to his knees as he pulls you close to him, holding you, uncaring of your blood staining his clothes.

This time, he wants you to stay.

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He's got you in his nest, while he steers the ship angrily, intercom blasting the sound of his father trying to get through his mind. But Jungkook is filled with nothing but rage and that need to finally break free from the shackles this man had put him in all his life.

"I saw her drop, kid." He laughs. "Stop trying to chase ghosts, you'll kill yourself too trying to move that thing any faster!" He jokes, spits at the old ship Jungkook has owned for years now. But what he doesn't know, is that sometimes, newer isn't better. Because this is a ship build during the third interstellar war-

this thing is meant to last.

And withstand.

So Jungkook lifts his face, eyes locking with the one's of his father moments before he lets it happen-

ramming right into the smaller jet ship painted white, causing sure damage to his own ship- but it's clear that whatever happened to his own, is nothing compared to the large gashes and dents in the exterior, communication cutting off as he watches the smaller white ship slowly lose engine after engine, fuel leaking without any gravity into the galaxy, fires burning out, until everything is quiet-

the wreck left behind him, just like his past.

Jungkook doesn't even check if the autopilot is really properly working- he only cares for you now, who's still breathing shallowly in the nest he slept in with you before, bandages already letting your blood seep through. He's not trained enough in human health to properly help you- he's unequipped as well, which just makes this all the more worse.

He can't help you. No matter how bad he wants to.

All he can do is wipe the sweat off your forehead before he holds you close again, curling up around your body, trying to hide you away from everything. When he heard you call, it felt odd- like a sound only in his thoughts, not clear, but definitely present. He didn't know at first what had happened- only when the security check signed to him that something was wrong in the cargo room down in the bowel of the spaceship did he check-

finding you yet again, just like the first time.

But this time, he's holding you in fear. He's not sure if he can even do anything if he reaches a destination- human health is something not everyone has enough knowledge in, and even if that's the case, the chances of finding a still practicing doctor for you are slim to none at the moment.

It's so horribly unfair.

He finally accepted not only himself but you- and now he's gonna have to watch you leave after all, the world taking yet another thing away from him, as if his childhood and adolescence wasn't enough. No- apparently his future is on the menu next, to be devoured with every breath you struggle to take.

The intercom rings, and Jungkook doesn't care for it- simply swipes his hand over the panel near the window to accept it, Yoongis surprised voice ringing out- tone changing quickly as he notices the blurred scene of Jungkook and you in the corner, transmission a little choppy due to the damage to the ship.

"I received an emergency signal- are you there?" He asks with urgency, and Jungkook just hums a reply. "Jungkook, what happened?" He worries, ship slowly coming into view of the large side windows, light blue paint flaking off the metal casing of the small ship.

"We ran into him." Jungkook mumbles, running his hand over your head in a soft manner, relishing in your warmth for as long as it's there. "He tried to take her- she snuck out.. got in last minute." He explains. Yoongi exhales a breath.

"Thank god-" He starts, but Jungkook wasn't finished.

"They shot her." He hums, voice emotionless, eyes a pale grey. "Now she's dying." He chuckles softly, looking down at you- you look like you're merely sleeping, resting against his body. "He's taking everything from me even past his lifetime." He scoffs.

"I'm tugging your ship to the nearest outpost- it's Aon, we should make it in less than half an hour max." Yoongi urges, saying something to what Jungkook assumes must be his human partner. "We have medical supplies on board. Is she still bleeding?"

No answer. Jungkook fails to see the point of one.

"Jungkook!" Yoongi barks. "Did you at least wrap her wounds? Anything?" He tries to find out, but the Bolku hybrid stays quiet- too mesmerized by sight of your eyes moving behind your closed lids. Your lashes are long. Soft. How come he's never noticed that? "Jungkook you gotta give me something to work with!" Yoongi whines almost, successfully connecting to Jungkook's autopilot, initiating the system to follow Yoongi's ship that's not in front.

Jungkook sighs. "I wrapped her up.. the best I can." He shrugs. "Now I'm letting her sleep."

Yoongi sighs. "What was she even shot with?" He wants to know, but Jungkook doesn't know. "Alright, I guess that's the only info I'll get out of you at this point." He mumbles to himself, before he cuts the intercom for the moment, quietly leading the ship to Aon- a small outpost set on a large meteorite, meant for simple refueling of smaller ships and temporary stay for some stranded people who didn't make it to the next bigger planet.

It's not much- but it'll do.

The only problem arises when Yoongi enters the ship and wants to look at you together with a doctor he'd found on Aon- because Jungkook just won't let anybody close to you, mind having slipped entirely now in the prospect of you being in such distress. It takes several people to remove the rather feral human hybrid from you, his eyes basically scanning every little move anyone makes as they check on you, everyone's nerves slowly relaxing. "Humans are truly odd in those things." Someone says, as he uses all four of his arms to properly put some bandages and patches onto your wounds. "They just sleep it off it seems like." He laughs, finishing up the patch on your back before he leaves you alone- and nods to the people holding Jungkook to let him go.

He immediately rushes back to you, tugging you closer, holding you tightly as you whine a bit in complain in your sleep, turning over to properly hold onto him as well.

"She'll be fine." Yoongi reassures, much to Jungkook's eyes turning round with wonder at that promise. "Humans are.. weird when it comes to ion guns." He shrugs. "It's just mostly tissue damage, some scratches here and there- but she'll literally sleep it off, like he said. She'll be fine- she just needs rest." He offers, causing a reaction he's not seen in years from the younger alien.

He cries, bitterly so-

but this time, it's tears of relief and happiness.

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"No no no no- come here." He scolds, pulling you close again to have you sit down on his lap at the main control console.

Jungkook is not letting you do anything whatsoever, even though your wounds are healing well. He's also become, while still moody as ever, incredibly touchy. As if that scare had flipped a switch and showed him how quickly you could be taken away from him again, it seems like he's decided that there's really no reason anymore to take things slow or be afraid of anything.

"Hey Jungkook?" You wonder, leaning your head back against his shoulder to look at him. He hums, not looking away from the control screen in front of him, and you giggle, still a little sleepy and low on energy due to all the medication you're taking. "I like you." You say, and this time, he chuckles-

turning his head to press a kiss against your cheek-

because he finally understands what you're trying to tell him.

He finally gets it.

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[daechwitatamic]

Vice;Grip || chapter 2 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose.  A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!! //

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out.

Section Specific Warnings: depiction of a depressive episode, recreational drinking and bar scenes, allusion to oral (f. receiving), kissing, rough sex/man-handling, explicit penetrative sex, dirty talk, aftercare, didn't venture fully into writing dom!vernon but i have been informed i wrote something that might be in the realm of a dom drop, language obviously, reader is called a gendered slur by a stranger, law-breaking :), actual fluff for a second, allusions to drug use, car sex

wc: 6900

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

1 yr, 5 months ago

The onset of spring brought a lack of color. Grey clouds hung full and heavy, low over the city skyline. Grey crept into the corners of your apartment, darkening rooms during daytime so that you needed to keep lamps on even in midafternoon. Grey crept over your body, into your limbs. Days stretched and nights inched; you only got out of bed because you had to feed the damn cat.

That's part of why you'd gotten the cat in the first place, after a particularly long episode a few years ago, when Chan had presented you with a list of things he thought you should do to combat the blues, as he'd put it.

He meant well. But he always came at your depression like a problem solver, like just doing the right things could make it go away.

And sure, his suggestions were things that would help - get outside, call someone, don't isolate, shower even if you aren't leaving the house, drink some damn water - they weren't a cure. They were better reminders for when you were okay - good at keeping you okay for longer stretches. But when it was already too late, when the grey came, they all sounded fucking pointless. 

Anyway. The cat had been a good idea. 

is it bad?? 

Chan did his best. He was a good best friend. He just didn't understand it.

The answer to his question, you thought, as you flipped your phone over so you wouldn't see the notification if he followed up, was yes. Yes, this time was particularly bad. But you didn't have the energy to type those three words. 

Terrible friend, your brain accused, and it was right. 

You managed to drag yourself to work, to at least show up so you could continue to pay for your apartment and your damn cat, but not much else. You existed on cans of diet coke and microwave meals. You doom-scrolled until sunrise, then slept an hour or two at most before getting dressed for work. You left texts unanswered, the mail piled up. So did the dishes. 

Chan came by, once, did your dishes for you. It made you feel worse - useless and pitiable. You'd rather he just go away, but you held it in; you knew that would only hurt his feelings.

You learned from your mistakes, one thing that could be said in your favor. 

“Have you called your doctor?” he wanted to know.

What was the point? There wasn't a stop hating your life pill. 

“What if you tried painting?” he asked.

“What if you just let me be?” you countered, finally tripping over the line from embarrassed apathy to defensiveness. 

That pout again. “It might help,” he said. “Don't most famous artists do their best shit when they're down?”

“Get out,” you deadpanned. He dropped it, knowing this was a bigger issue, a bigger argument, than this current episode, a complex situation that went beyond the boundaries of your brain chemistry.

He put the last of your now-clean plates away. “Let's go somewhere,” he suggested.

“Chan,” you groaned. “I’m tired. I can't go gallivanting -”

“You're not tired, you're depressed,” he argued. “And going outside will help you.”

“I might have to kill you,” you said seriously, and he rolled his eyes. 

In the end, he let you win. He'd been around long enough to know that eventually you'd venture outside again, hit the bars with him again, text first again, laugh at his stupid memes again. It was just a waiting game. 

Still, when he left, you sat on the edge of your couch with your chin in your hands. On the living room rug, the cat rolled and showed you its belly. 

“Not you, too,” you groused. 

The cat did a few alligator rolls and then scampered into your bedroom and under the bed, as if chased. 

You sighed. You made your way to the spare room, which had been shut - to keep the cat out. To keep your ghosts in. 

Your easel was still set up in the corner. You were kind of surprised it wasn't covered in cobwebs. You'd been sketching just on paper last time you'd worked, trying to make decisions that way so you wouldn't waste a canvas, and it still sat there. 

You inched closer, ran your hands over your brushes. Took a step back, eyed the paper and your sketches. 

It was bad. Thank god you hadn't put it to canvas. 

You pulled the paper down, crumpled it in your hands. You chased the cat out with a gentle nudge of your foot, and closed the door again, keeping both cats and ghosts on their respective sides of the door.

There was no rhyme or reason to your brain, no map or calendar to follow for the starts or stops. But eventually, the clouds broke. The grey gave way to baby buds of green, yellows pushed through soil, determined to meet the sun.

You texted Chan - drinks??

He responded - about time!!!

You texted Vernon - hello, its me

When he didn't answer, you tried again - sorry for the radio silence. 

Still nothing. 

You checked his socials, saw that he'd been doing his thing - a smattering of selfies, some group shots with the guys he played music with sometimes, a few nature shots: the moon, once, and what looked like the river at night. 

The silence stretched. You gave up, considered it over. Grieved a little, because it had been good. 

You went out on a night that teased summer even though it was months away, sank into the familiar blur of too many shots - not enough to be a problem, but maybe enough to make problems. 

Under the club's ever-moving lights, you took a selfie, your drink and cleavage both showcased in the shot. 

Send it to Vernon, the urge to make trouble suggested, and you listened without hesitation.

And - finally - an answer.

come here after?? 

You smiled a tiny, victorious smile and knocked back the rest of your drink. 

omw.

Later, he gave you a rare and devastating pout as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smoothed fingers down the still-shaking inside of your thigh.

“What'd you make me wait so long for?” he complained, those sharp eyes sparkling with mirth. When you shrugged, still a little mindless from your high, he gave the same spot on your thigh a playful slap. “Don't do it again.”

1 yr, 4 months ago

busy tonight?

not busy but.

???

not in the best mood.

bet i could fix that.

yeah. idk.

why don't you let me try? 

“What's wrong?” you cooed, teasing, when Vernon let you into the apartment. 

He didn't smile, didn't play along, and it sobered you quickly. 

“Don't want to talk about it,” he muttered, crowding into your space. “Wasn't that big of a deal anyway.”

Just want the fix you promised, he thought. 

You moaned like liquid gold when his first kiss was a bite. Encouraged, Vernon gripped you by the shoulders, pushing you back against the wall hard enough that he heard your breath escape in a single huff. He hesitated, eyes searching your face; a question.

You lifted your chin, eyes shining with something hard. When he kissed you again, you threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled, hard enough to make him hiss; an answer.

His pace was frenzied from the start, your legs around his waist and the wall holding you up. His hand curled around your throat, not squeezing, but sliding up to grip at your jaw instead, keeping you from tilting your head back, closing your eyes, losing yourself in how he felt slamming his hips flush against yours with dizzying smacks.

When you whined that you were close, he pulled you away from the wall and lowered you both to the ground, the wooden floor of his entryway cold and hard beneath your spine. It didn’t matter, didn’t do anything to stop the vortex tightening below your stomach. You slapped a hand over your face as it distorted in pleasure, Vernon kneeling between the legs you still had gripping his waist, one of his hands braced on the floor next to your head, holding his body over you.

“That’s right,” he breathed, gritted teeth flashing over you, forehead wrinkling as his own release closed in on the chase. “Just fucking take it when I fuck you into the floor.”

Then he was pulling out, breaths hissing through his teeth as he straightened up, one hand pumping himself furiously until strings of white decorated your stomach, cooling immediately in the apartment’s chilly air.

His breathing was ragged as he sagged back onto his heels, and you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, watching him warily.

Then he stood and slipped into the hallway bathroom, the light clicking on and illuminating the unlit entryway where you’d just fucked. You heard the sink run, then shut back off, and Vernon returned. He knelt gingerly - you could see his knees were red from kneeling on the wooden floor - and cleaned your stomach first, then gently between your legs.

You sat the rest of the way up then, watching him carefully as he sat back on his heels again, avoiding your gaze. Something about the moment felt like a thing alive, unfurling between you like a casablanca lily under the refracted light of the moon.

You spoke at the same time.

“Vernon?”

“You okay?”

You swallowed, rubbed absently at your elbow where you’d smacked it on the floor during the position change.

“I’m fine,” you said tentatively. “Are you?”

He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, and then peering through his fingers at you for a second before dropping them again. “Thought I hurt you.”

You shook your head. “I’m okay. I would have said something.”

He nodded, relief starting to bring feeling back to his hands again. He stood and reached a hand down for you. When you took it, he closed his fingers around yours and pulled you to your feet.

“I know we don’t usually do this,” you said, rubbing at the parts of you that had been on the floor - the backs of your legs, your ass, “but could I take a super fast shower before I go?”

“Yeah,” he said, so quickly that the word almost trips on itself. “Of course.”

He led you into the bathroom, rummaged in the disorganized linen closet for a clean towel, pressed it into your hands.

“If you need one, too,” you said easily, as he reached around you to turn the water on so it could heat up, “I don’t mind if you join me.”

He paused. “You sure?”

You shrugged, then leaned over to put your hand under the spray, testing to see if it was still cold. “It’s your shower.”

Under the stream of warm water, you turned to face him, front to front, looking up at him with clear eyes. Something in your expression was so open, Vernon couldn’t help but feel both the desire to step into the space you seemed to be offering him as well as the desire to get far, far away from it.

He’d been so angry before you’d texted, furious enough that he’d bruised his knuckles punching the doorframe; now, as the chemicals in his body settled down, he felt those knuckles throbbing. He was disgusted that he’d lost his temper, guilty that he’d taken any of that anger out on you, who had nothing to do with it.

He was scared of the desire he felt to be closer to you, just for tonight. Scared that fucking you hadn’t been enough to soothe whatever it was that roiled inside him, like it usually was. Scared that he felt like he needed more than sex to heal this particular burn.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and part of him thought he was apologizing in advance, like he knew already he’d run scared at some point. “For being so...”

He didn’t know what word fit best. 

“I told you,” you said, pressing a little closer, “I would have said if I had a problem.”

“Okay,” he said, frowning a little. “If you’re sure.”

Then he reached over and brushed a thumb along your cheekbone, chasing away a rivulet of shower-water. You closed your eyes for a second, and he swore he could feel you lean into the touch, just slightly.

He didn’t know how to explain how he felt. Kind of like he’d done a hot-coal-walk; the exhaustion that came with an adrenaline crash, the vulnerability that came after facing down something big, that need - the burn inside him needing cool water before it could quiet down.

With the shower off, the silence in the bathroom was loud.

“Do you…” Vernon started, then stopped. His heart hammered, the adrenaline returning. He covered the moment by toweling his hair roughly and pulling his hands through the strands so they’d lay right. “Do you want to stay for a little bit? I was gonna order delivery, maybe watch something before I finish my assignment.”

He’d expected you to think about it, to turn it over in your mind the way you turn his things over in your careful hands, the way you turn him ass over head with just a smirk. Instead, you nodded right away.

“Yeah,” you said, like it was no big deal. Like you did this all the time. Maybe you did, just not with him. “I was starving, actually. I could stay for an hour or two.”

On his couch, the leftovers of the food scattered on his coffee table, you reached for his hand, ran a thumb imperceptibly along his purpled knuckles. You didn’t ask what happened, just brought them to your lips and pressed the lightest kiss before putting them down again and reaching for your noodles, as if it hadn’t happened at all.

That was when Vernon saw the potential of it, an entire picture, framed and labeled: you could hurt him so badly if he let you, if he let it get that far. For whatever it was that burned inside him, you were the cool water… but you could absolutely be gasoline, instead.

1 yr, 3 months ago

If you closed your eyes, you could pretend the light that passed over your closed lids in a repetitive pattern was the sweep of a lighthouse beam. You could pretend that the rumbling bass of the music was the roar of the ocean. You could pretend that you weren’t here, in a shitty bar, but at the seaside. You could pretend that you weren’t alone. You could pretend that you weren’t you.

You drained your drink and caught the bartender’s eye, gesturing for another, sliding the sweating glass away from you once you knew a new one was coming.

“What are you drinking?”

The voice came from your right, and you lifted tired, disinterested eyes to find the source of it.

“G and T,” you answered, because it was one fewer syllable than saying gin and tonic and maybe that one syllable would do the dirty work for you and tell this guy that you didn’t want to talk to him.

“Nice,” he said, like you’d said something interesting, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. You didn’t return the question, just slid your phone screen on and opened your messages.

wyd

drinks at my hyungs place. wbu

damn. guess i have to settle for one of these very mid prospects at the willow

damn thats a sad story. if only you had a better option

if only my better option werent busy at his hyung’s

no one said i had to stay here. ur at the willow?

yep

The guy to your right tried again. “The DJ tonight kind of sucks, huh?”

You looked back at your phone.

don’t leave

You smiled into your drink, a thrill dancing through your bloodstream. The lights and music didn’t seem as garish as they had ten minutes ago.

“My boyfriend’s on his way to pick me up,” you said flatly to the guy who kept trying to talk to you, “so you might want to find someone else to complain about the DJ to.”

The word tasted like lemonade on your tongue - acidic and sour, sweet and refreshing, taste buds blooming and shriveling in tandem. Even the knowledge that it was a flat-out lie didn’t stop your heart from beating faster.

You expected the guy to get up and leave, maybe throw you a dirty look on his way. Instead, he seemed to call your bluff, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to read you.

“I don’t think I’d let my girlfriend go out alone looking like this,” he said evenly, and you let out a derisive laugh.

“The fact that you just said the words let my girlfriend probably has a lot to do with why you’re here alone,” you countered, a flash of victory slicing up your spine when you saw his face flush.

Before he could retort, you hopped down from your barstool, pushing your way into the crowded dance floor. You didn’t even want to dance, you just wanted to get away. If Vernon wanted to find you, he could come find you. He’d told you not to leave, he hadn’t said make it easy for me.

He found you anyway; he made it look easy. He stepped around a group of guys talking in a circle and into your space, like he was following a path, like he knew there’d be room for him.

You were happy to see him. You were happy he came. You were happy to breathe him in, to feel the warmth of his body and smell his cologne and hear your name tumble from his mouth like a statement. You were too drunk to tuck these truths away into pockets and folds where they would be harder to find.

You stepped to him and wrapped your arms around his neck. If he was surprised, his body hid it well. His hands came to rest on your lower back, pressing you closer to him as you leaned up to find his mouth.

You kissed him slowly, at odds with the frantic bassline vibrating under your feet. You let him tip your head back, changing the angle, sweeping your mouth with his tongue until you both tasted lemonade.

“Happy to see me?” he asked, a hint of a smirk on his face, one eyebrow arched in question and one half of his mouth twitching into a smile.

You didn’t have it in you to lie, so instead you said, “Your place?”

He led you outside.

As luck would have it, the idiot from the bar stood beside the front door, a cigarette between two fingers. His expression darkened when he recognized you, then further when he saw your fingers linked with Vernon’s as you stepped into the quiet night.

“Your girlfriend’s a fucking bitch,” the guy bit out, dropping the cigarette butt and stepping on it.

Vernon’s eyebrows shot up.

Evenly, he said, “She’s not -”

She’s not my girlfriend. You felt your stomach swoop, and you felt yourself flinch.

“- a bitch. She’s just smarter than you.”

Vernon tugged on your hand, leading you across the street to his parked, waiting car.

You tried to bite back a smile, and he looked sideways at you, his own lips twitching.

“What?” he demanded.

“What?” you parroted.

He scowled at you, but his lips were just smiling. “What?” he asked again.

You laughed. “Let’s go,” you said. “The bitch wants to kiss you more.”

You expected his smile to sharpen. Instead, something in it seems to soften, changing from teasing to actual affection.

“Alright,” he said, turning to start the engine. “Can’t really say no to that, can I?”

“You could,” you mused, as he pulled away from the curb and the bar slid into nothingness behind you, “but I just don’t think you should.”

1 yr, 2 months ago

wyd

melting

srsly

no, seriously. i am laying on my living room floor like a starfish trying not to turn into liquid

come to hyungs

its too hot to move

i have an idea, come meet me at hyungs

You frowned at your phone. Of course your aircon died during the only heatwave you could remember in your entire adult life. Your whole body felt sticky; you were pretty sure you were stuck to your floor.

It was too hot to move.

what’s the idea??

you’ll see. i’ll order u a car. can you bring a couple towels?

“Vernon, no,” you laughed, your voice echoing.

He shushed you through laughter, both of you leaning on each other as you stood at the edge of the yard, the grass tickling the bottoms of your bare feet. Upstairs, at his friend’s place, you’d thrown back a few shots for courage before following Vernon out here, and you were feeling them, your head swimming like your body might soon be.

“It’s a circuit, see?” he tried to explain, pointing through the night, as if you could see through all the fences and over all the hedges. “Five yards, five pools, and then we end up right back here and we get in the car and go. Just follow me, don’t stop for anything.”

“Someone’s gonna call the cops,” you complained. “And these neighborhoods all have cameras.”

“That’s why we keep moving,” he said, his grin so excited and so un-Vernon that you almost couldn’t bear to say no to him. “No one’s gonna call the cops if we’re already gone - it’s not worth it. You ready?”

You hesitated. “You’re good to drive us out of here?” you checked.

He held up his hands as if to show innocence. “Only had a beer,” he promised. “But I’ve got something fun in the car for after, if you want.”

You felt your grin turn wolfish. “Okay. I’m right behind you.”

“Try and be quiet,” he warned, then took off running across the yard, cannonballing into the pool with a splash.

You tore off after him, leaping into the water and suppressing a shriek when the cold water hit you. You felt instantly sober, jittery with adrenaline, alive with laughter. You spluttered your way to the surface and pushed water away from your eyes, trying to find him through the shadows.

He was already climbing out the other side, water running down his back, the muscle shifting in the half-light as he hoisted himself back onto the pool’s deck. You hurried across the pool, climbing up beside him, giggling wildly.

“Shhh,” he warned, but he was giggling too as he led you carefully over the fence to the next yard.

As soon as you crept close enough to the pool to jump, a motion-activated light came on, flooding the yard white and causing you to cover your eyes.

“Quick!” Vernon told you, grabbing your arm and pulling you in with him as he jumped.

You let out a stream of bubbles and water rushed into your mouth. You felt your feet hit the bottom and you pushed off hard, surfacing quickly.

Again, you followed him across the pool, both of you laughing and whispering, “Hurry! Quick!” as you climbed out and headed around the house to the front yard.

“Okay, this is the hard part,” he told you, both of you shivering as the night air caught up to you. “We have to cross the street, hop the fence, and then the pool is around back.”

“I’m ready,” you promised, with a particularly hard shiver.

You sprinted across the street, both leaving wet footprints on the pavement. His hand felt warm in yours when he helped you over the fence, warm on your body when he held your waist as you climbed down.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you muttered, but giggles still spilled out of you.

“More fun than melting, right?” he asked, and you thought that you’d seen him smile more tonight than in whole months of coming together at night.

You thought you might move mountains to see him smile like this again, gums showing, open and honest, happy.

Then you were underwater again, swimming hard to keep up, following Vernon through the night as he pushed his way through some hedges and held them apart for you.

You made it to the last house before someone caught you, slamming the back door open and shouting, “Hey!”

“Go, go, go!” Vernon cried, laughing with such abandon that it sounded like goose honks, pulling on your hand as you both stumbled, dripping, towards the car.

You’d set towels on the seats before starting, so you tumbled into the car and he peeled away, both of you laughing wildly as you left the neighborhood behind.

It was miles before you calmed down, gasping in breaths and trying to hold them before exploding into laughter again.

“I’d better not end up on the news,” you scolded. “I’m in my underwear.

He gave you a searing sideways look. “I noticed.”

You felt yourself warm again, despite being in soaking wet clothes.

“Where next?” you asked. “Home?”

He let out a breath that was almost a sigh. “I don’t really want to go home,” he admitted. Then, “I was having fun with you.”

You considered this. “Not to be a cliche, but… I know a place.”

The quarry was quiet, surrounded by only trees; without posted lights, everything seemed to be just varying shades of black - the black of the water just darker than the black of the stone ledges just darker than the walls of trees just darker than the sky sprinkled with stars above you.

“We have to be careful,” you warned him seriously. “If you slip and get hurt, it could be bad.”

He turned the flashlight on his phone on and set it next to the metal rungs that jutted out of the stone, a makeshift ladder for the swimmers who came here during the day, when swimming was allowed.

“It’s going to be way colder than the pools,” you added.

“You’re not selling this very well,” he pointed out.

“Don’t be a chicken,” you teased.

He eyed the water. “I’m having second thoughts.”

You nudged him in the ribs, which caused him to squirm away, hands batting at yours, a noise emitting from him that made you laugh out loud.

“Are you ticklish?” you demanded. “How did I not know?”

“Come on, are we jumping or what?” he asked, laughing, still trying to keep your sneaky hands away from his ribs.

“Yeah, that’s probably the only way to actually get in,” you admitted, still laughing a little. Your abs felt a little sore from how much you’d laughed tonight.

You stood on the edge of the stone, toes curling over the ledge, Vernon’s hand tight in yours. You stood on the edge, the ink-like water beneath you rippling slightly, marring the reflection of the constellations high above you. You stood on the edge of something, knowing full well you were afraid to swim.

He counted you down, and together, you jumped.

The water was freezing - it hurt, it stung, and you shrieked and laughed as you surfaced. A foot from you, Vernon was shouting.

“The towels!” you told him, already swimming towards the little dot of light that marked the ladder.

Shaking and shivering, you reached your towel, wrapping it around yourself. Behind you, Vernon jogged up, making noises like a disgruntled horse as he found his own towel.

“Oh my god,” he groused, grabbing for you. “I’m freezing, come here.”

He opened his arms, the towel behind him like a wingspan, and you stepped into the space, letting him wrap his arms and his towel around you. You stood shivering together, trying to let your body heat chase the cold away.

You wrapped your own arms around his middle, pressing yourself closer as your legs shook, shivers rolling up your spine in waves as your body fought the chill. 

“C’mere,” he murmured above you, holding you a little more tightly, his own teeth chattering. 

It was the first time, you realized as you turned your head to rest your cheek on his chest, that you’d held each other. It was the first time you’d been between his arms when you weren’t fucking, the first time he’d tightened his grip around you for a reason other than gratification. 

You didn’t want it - didn’t want to know that it felt nice in his embrace, didn’t want to know that it fit right and felt safe. You didn’t want to know that you liked it, didn’t want to have to fight against the humiliation of wanting more.

As soon as the full-body tremors died away in the warm, sticky night, you stepped away, eager to put distance between you again. 

Later, he looked over at you from the driver’s seat of the car, red-eyed, his smile stretching slow and thick like putty. When you straddled his lap, his hands searching out the bare skin of your back, you rocked against him and pressed open-mouthed kisses to the column of his pretty throat until you were pulling groans from him with each pass of your hips. 

Forget, you thought, as you pulled your underwear to the side for him. Forget every single thing but this.

When you slipped an arm behind his neck and pressed your foreheads together as you lifted and dropped, you weren’t sure whose memory you were hoping to erase with this most recent pleasure-chase: yours, or his.

1 yr, 1 month ago

There was no map or calendar to this thing your brain did. It was summer, the sun shone, and yet the days bled together again, sunsets swirling down the shower drain.

The last time you’d gone radio silent, the last time your world had gone grey without warning, Vernon had answered in kind. His own silence had shouted for him until you’d tempted him back.

This time, he didn’t resort to silence in retaliation to yours. Instead, he kept trying, relentless. If you’d had more presence of mind, you might have wondered why.

wyd

[ ]

yo. whats the deal

[ ]

i will have you know that this is very insulting

[ ]

don’t get mad but im coming over

“What the fuck, Vernon.”

“I said don’t get mad.”

“It doesn’t work like that. What are you doing here?”

He leveled you with a look. “You gonna let me in?”

“Literally, no.”

You hadn’t showered in days; your apartment was probably grosser than you were. The cat milled around your ankles, trying to weasel its way outside, and you hopped from foot to foot trying to nudge it back inside.

“Why not?” he asked.

You huffed, annoyed. But the annoyance was the first thing you’d felt all day, and something inside you clung to it, desperate for more of anything but the crawling nothing that’s kept you company for days.

“Because,” you grumbled. Because there’s nothing for you here. Because I have nothing I can give you. “I’m… just not in the mood.”

He stepped back from the door so you could see more of him. “I’m not asking you to be.”

“Then why are you here?” The words fell between you, heavy. If you hadn’t been so low, if you hadn’t gone all day without eating, if you hadn’t been on your thirtieth hour without sleeping, you would have known better. You would have realized that you were asking, if you aren’t here for sex, then what are you here for? 

You wouldn’t have asked a question that you didn’t want the answer to.

He met your eyes. He seemed to teeter on the edge of telling you the truth, giving you the real answer. Then, he muttered, “Got bored.”

You knew it wasn’t the whole truth, and he knew you knew it, and yet neither of you were willing to look at it directly.

“I fail to see how that’s my problem,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

He watched you for what felt like a long time, face serious, eyes glittering and attentive. Then, instead of answering, he repeated, “Are you gonna let me in?”

You frowned at him, but there was a little more pout to it than anger. “I’m all gross,” you said, instead of answering.

Something in him softened - it was visible on his face, in his shoulders, like he knew this was your way of saying yes. “So let’s shower,” he suggested quietly.

You felt trepidation, like part of you expected him to stay soft, to try to take care of you. To your relief, Vernon acted like everything was normal, scrunching his face at you when the water was too cold as he stepped in, washing his own body in silence and letting you do your thing.

He didn’t try to hold you, didn’t ask you when you’d eaten last, didn’t try to talk about it - didn’t try to fix it. He was just… there, and this - along with your first shower in days - was somehow revitalizing in itself.

You pulled on clean sweats, which was better than the day-four sweats he’d found you in. “The apartment’s kind of… sorry,” you mumbled, looking around the living room, feeling a bit of that familiar shame crawl up your neck as you noticed the evidence that you hadn’t been picking up, or running a vacuum.

Vernon flopped backwards on your sofa, unphased, one arm bent behind his head. “We’ve been doing this for almost a year,” he pointed out. “I know how it usually is.”

It isn’t usually like this. And neither are you.

You wondered when it happened - your ability to finish his half-thoughts, your ability to know what he meant when he only said a fraction of it.

You stood awkwardly beside the couch where he was lounging, and he looked up at you with a tiny, amused smile.

“What do you wanna do?”

What you really wanted to do was cocoon yourself in blankets again and put on repeats of a show you’d already seen. But now you had to look functional. You might be mad at him for showing up like this, now that you thought about it.

“I dunno,” you said, which was close to the truth.

“You wanna eat?”

“Honestly?” you asked, pursing your lips a little. “No.”

“Okay,” he said easily, and it struck you again how different this was than how Chan treated you when you were low. Chan would have already had the food delivered, and would be chasing you around the table with loaded chopsticks, demanding you take a bite.

“Can we just… watch something?” you asked, unsure.

Vernon wordlessly reached for your remote and held it up to you, nonplussed.

You wondered if it was an act, how easy this was, how unbothered he was, how he seemed to just understand what wouldn’t help.

You knew it wasn’t; you’d been around long enough to know that Vernon’s demons weren’t all that different from yours.

You settled somewhere between his body and the back of the couch, one leg bent over his legs, one of your arms over his stomach and his arm curled around your shoulders.

“This is weird,” you muttered into his chest, and his laugh rumbled under you.

“Why?” he asked, his smile big, like he thought you were particularly funny. “Not used to being big spoon?”

Not used to cuddling - with you.

“Yeah,” you said, because that was easier.

On your TV, a show ran through several episodes, the changing scenes splashing you and Vernon with changing colors, casting his face blue and then white and then black and then red and then blue again. Sometimes he’d watch, sometimes he’d scroll on his phone. You mostly felt his heart beating under your hand and let your mind whir.

At some point he started mindlessly (or not mindlessly, who could know) stroking your back, gentle touches brushing up and down, slow, slow, the way he always was. At some point you shivered, goosebumps rising along your arms, and snuggled closer to him. At some point he shifted you from slightly beside him to on top of him, a second hand slipping under your loose tshirt and joining the first in tracing stripes up and down your upper back.

You shifted against him, something coming to life with a shudder like the furnace in your parent’s basement on cold autumn nights. Heat worked its way slowly from your core to your stomach, down your legs.

He kept his eyes on the tv, innocent, but you could hear his heartbeat. It couldn’t lie and pretend.

You shifted again, squirming until you’d worked his t-shirt up just enough that you could touch skin, too. You trailed your own fingers over the inch of exposed stomach you’d found, and delighted in the way you could feel him start to harden beneath you.

Then, you delighted in your delight. It was the first good thing you’d been able to feel in almost a week.

You said his name, and he finally looked down at you, eyes nearly black in the unlit room.

“What is it?” he asked, and his voice was suddenly so low it sent shivers tumbling down each vertebrae and tripping over to your limbs. “Want me to make you feel good?”

No, you wanted to say as you answered his question by pulling the hem of his t-shirt higher, encouraging him to lift up so you could pull it off. No, just want you to make me feel.

1 year ago

Everywhere Vernon looked, all he saw was circles. Circle of red in his bowl when he inhaled. Circle of condensation on the table when he lifted his beer. Circle of light reflecting from his phone case, laying in the setting sunlight, to the ceiling. Above him, the ceiling fan circled lazily, nowhere to be.

And you - you and him. That was a circle, too. A cycle, at least, which was close enough in his opinion. Text, hook up, skitter back to your respective places, wait out the next weekend. It was as rhythmic and routine as waves breaking and then getting pulled back out only to come shatter on sand again. It was out of his control, up to forces far greater than he was.

Vernon’s friends had texted to hang out and he’d declined. He told them he was seeing his parents, but really, he just wanted to be alone. He wanted to watch the ceiling fan circle, he wanted to let his brain go staticky quiet, he wanted to burrow deep into things that made him feel less.

But he still, somehow, wanted to see you. He wanted to be alone, and being with you didn’t feel like not getting that.

It was a little scary, he thought, that you were the exception. That he could be with you without feeling the uncomfortable pressure of being with others, of having to be on, of having to fake cheerfulness and keep up with chatter that only exhausted him.

Vernon wasn’t a kid. He knew what it meant.

whats up

honestly not a lot. want me to come over?

Yeah, he did. He did, even if you weren’t going to hook up. He did, even if you were just going to lay on opposite sides of the couch and scroll on your phones. He did, and he hoped he’d end up with his arms around you, and he hoped he’d make you laugh at least once, and he hoped you’d stay and just be there with him after.

When you came over, he asked you how you felt about it - about him, about you and him. He asked by laying you on your back in his bed, by brushing fingertips along your face. He asked you by sliding your leggings away gently, pressing his mouth to each inch of your inseam as it became exposed to his dimly lit room. He asked you by kissing you through the lace you wore for him, then kissing the same spot once that lace was on his floor.

He asked you when he crawled up your body until his tip teased at your entrance and you whined, shifting to try to take him. And - when he took it slow this time, teeth scraping at your neck and then tongue hurrying to soothe the sting, his arms bracketing your body like he was sheltering you from an incoming storm.

(Maybe, he considered, he was.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was worthless in the face of this storm’s wrath.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was the fucking storm in the first place.)

And you heard his question loud and clear. You pulled on your leggings as soon as you were cleaned up, popping your hood up over your head as you searched for your phone. You kept your eyes on your screen as you waited for a car to come, murmured, “Later,” on your way out the door.

Vernon’s apartment rang with quiet. He was alone, he’d gotten what he’d wanted.

He’d also, it seemed, gotten his answer.

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thank you so much for reading!!! i'm always happy to hear what you think!

[jinkoh]

if you want to get hurt so badly

sunwoo x gn!reader

part of my soulmate series

summary: you'd always assumed you didn't have a soulmate but as it turns out you do—and he is very keen on helping you with your struggles...

wc: 2k

tags: soulmate au (sharing bruises), angst, hurt/comfort, mental health issues, suggestive, sunwoo is so mean but also very sweet;

warnings: graphic depictions of self-harm—pls be honest with yourself and do not read if that is potentially triggering to you, and reach out to someone if self-harm is something you’re struggling with. there is also a brief mention of suicide, but no one is actually suicidal and there are/were no actual attempts or plans on that. do not read if you're under 18.

a/n: been a while since i posted anything for my soulmate au so it was about time i think~

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You shouldn’t be doing this, not in this empty lecture room or at all. But it seemed so tempting, the blade of your scissors drawing you in like a siren’s call. The thought had been there a zillion times and it wouldn’t be the first time you’d given in. But it’d been a long time since. Still, you remembered the feeling of it so well. With every time you’d given in, the hurdle to take a blade to your skin had weakened, fear and shame overpowered by the desire for that sweet release you were craving so much. It was only this once, just to see how it feels and then suddenly you woke up with scars on your wrist that you hoped no soulmate would have to share with you. Not that you really had any hopes to have one, because if you did they must have been really good at not getting hurt. It was more likely you didn’t have one, and it seemed fitting, really. You’d always felt alone anyway, even in a room full of people, even in between family or friends. It was ridiculous to think that someone like you could possibly have a soulmate. No, it was just you. Just you and your scissors, like now, in this empty lecture room. You glanced around one more time anyway, to be safe, but of course everyone had gone by now. You opened the scissors, your hand shaking as you held it against your wrist. Then you pulled it down, feeling that familiar sting as it broke your skin. It wasn’t a deep cut, just a scratch, but it was enough to draw blood, little red beads appearing in its wake. It was enough to hurt, too.

You raised the blade once more, about to draw it over your wrist again, but you got interrupted by the sound of the door being forcefully pushed open.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Your head snapped around to the source of the voice and the scissors you were holding clattered to the floor.

“Nothing,” you pressed out, staring at Sunwoo like a deer caught in headlights.

“Nothing?” He raised an eyebrow, as he slowly stepped closer. You instinctively hid your wrist beneath your hand, as if there was any way you could still hide this from him after what he’d seen. To your surprise though, he didn’t pay attention to your arm. Instead he pulled up his own sleeve, revealing a thin red line on his smooth skin. “Does this look like nothing to you?”

For a moment you stared at the mark, unable to connect the dots. It wasn’t bleeding, but it looked just like the scratch you’d inflicted on yourself. You glanced at your own bruise, to compare, to make sure. 

“What? Surprised?” He scoffed. “Well, I could have imagined something better too. Mainly someone who isn’t keen on leaving ugly marks on my skin.”

You felt overwhelmed, still not quite able to comprehend all of this. Shame and horror welling up within you. You hadn’t wanted anyone to know about this part of yourself, about the intrusive thoughts that had been haunting you since you were a teenager. And Sunwoo specifically didn’t seem like the kind of person who would understand, and yet he was the person you were confronted with now, your soulmate. You barely even knew him and you could probably count the times you’d talked to him on one hand. Sure, your friend circles somewhat overlapped, but he didn’t seem to be that close to your friends and you weren’t that close to anyone.  There were a few classes you had together, that he mostly slept through and you’d been to his place once, to pregame, but even then you hadn’t exchanged a single word aside from hello. And that was supposed to be all the connection you had. But somehow, through some twisted joke of fate, this person was your soulmate. A soulmate you’d never thought you had in the first place. And that meant he’d seen it all. Not just today, but every single day, every single instance when you’d given in. The thought that every bruise you’d ever left on your body had appeared on his skin too made you feel exposed and naked. You couldn’t help but wonder what he must have felt when he’d seen them. Pity? Anger? Disgust? 

“I didn’t know,” you whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Didn’t know what? That I’m your soulmate?”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “Yeah.”

“Well, now you do. So don’t you dare even think about that again.” You thought his expression softened a little, something akin to worry in his eyes. But then he bent down to pick up the scissors that had fallen to the floor, and when he raised his head up, his face was cold again. 

“What’s so great about this anyway?” He asked, turning the scissors in his hand to inspect it. His gaze followed the movement as he opened the silver blades, bringing one of them up to his wrist like a knife. Your eyes widened in shock and you instinctively wanted to grab his hand to stop him from cutting himself, even though you’d just done the same thing to yourself. But Sunwoo had no intention to do it in the first place, flipping the scissors back around and holding them out for you to take. Unsure what he was expecting you to do, you reached out, but he pulled away again before you could get a hold on them. His free hand came up to your jaw, tilting up your chin and making you look at him. “If you want to get hurt so badly, just come to me next time. I’m sure we can do something for you. But no more of this bullshit. Understood?” 

It wasn’t that he was cutting off your airways, but you still struggled to breathe, the situation pressing down on your chest like a heavy weight. You felt panicked, but there was also a weird heat crawling up under your skin and making it prickle. 

“I asked you a question.” His grip tightened when you didn’t respond, making it borderline painful. You felt tears stinging in your eyes but you willed them away, trying to withstand his gaze.

“Understood,” you choked out. 

He let go then, a small smile on his lips as he handed back the scissors. “I knew you could behave,” he whispered and his voice made shivers run down your spine. “I’ll see you around then.”

You tried to stay out of his way after that, too ashamed of yourself to face him. The scratch on your wrist was healing, and you fought the urge to pick at it, because you knew he would see. You also fought the urge to add new wounds too, but it was getting impossible to bear. Every time you held back just brought you closer to tipping over, the need to do something burning under your skin. You tried a zillion different coping mechanisms and alternative behaviors but nothing was quite able to scratch that itch. Still, you couldn’t, you shouldn’t, not when he would see it all. Just come to me next time. You didn’t think that he’d actually meant it and if anything it had sounded more like a threat than an offer. But as you were running out of options, you found yourself at his doorstep, anxious and sleep deprived and drenched from the rain that’d been pouring down nonstop for days now.

Sunwoo opened his door with a cocky grin, leaning against the frame. “Oh? A lost puppy?”

You didn’t even have the energy to indulge his stupid teasing, too desperate and miserable to pay it any mind. “You said you’d help me.”

“Sure did.”

“So, do something,” you pressed out, your arms wrapped around your body to try and keep you warm. “Make it hurt less. Or make it hurt more.”

He stepped aside. “Come in.”

You had expected him to be rough with you, distracting you from your stupid urges by making it hurt, filling the void inside of you with pain. But instead his touch was sweet, warm and gentle. It was hard to bear, because you didn’t think you deserved this kind of affection, and maybe because you didn’t think you’d ever received it before either.

“You can be mean, you know,” you eventually mumbled.

Sunwoo lifted his gaze from where he’d been kissing you neck, his hand that’d been pushing under your shirt coming to a halt. “Do you want me to be?” It wasn’t a flirty, teasing question. His tone and his eyes on you were serious.

“I—I don’t know—didn’t you say you’d make it hurt?”

“I didn’t. And I won’t.” He propped himself up a bit, just to lean down and brush his lips against yours. “I’m not going to help you self-destruct.”

You felt caught. It was like he’d set out a trap for you, and you fell right in, believing he’d let you use him to hurt yourself, just to be confronted with whatever this was. 

“So then, what?” You choked out, not meeting his gaze with your teary eyes. “What’s the point?”

“I don’t know,” he reached for your wrist, softly pressing his lips against your scarred skin, “I thought you could use someone treating you gently, since you struggle to be gentle with yourself.” He left another kiss on your skin, “Do you want me to stop?”

The tears were spilling out now, running down your cheeks and soaking his pillow. You shook your head, “No.”

“Good,” he whispered, leaving your wrist to rest above your head to attach his lips to yours again, his thumb brushing your tears away. “Just leave it to me.”

 “Can I ask you something?” you whispered, tucked into Sunwoo’s arms.

He hummed affirmatively.

“How did you know?”

“Know what?” His voice tickled against the back of your neck, “That you’re my soulmate?”

“Yeah.”

“You had the scars to bruises I remembered worrying about. I just knew it was you.”

“From the start?”

“Pretty much.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it.”

You kept quiet for a moment, your hand finding his that was wrapped around your waist. You let your fingers run over his skin and he opened his palm to let you trace the lines. “How do you feel about it?” you eventually asked.

“Hm,” he considered for a moment, “relieved?”

“Why?” How anyone could feel relieved to find out you were their soulmate was beyond you. 

It was silent for a while and you wondered if he would reply at all, but then he mumbled a response into your hair, barely audible, “because you’re alive.”

You’d thought you’d cried enough already, but now you felt yourself choking up again, tears welling up in your eyes. “You thought I'd kill myself?”

“I only ever saw your pain. How could I be sure you wouldn’t? How could I be sure you didn’t?” he pulled you closer to his chest, “I wanted to be relieved when there weren’t any new marks coming, and I wanted to be proud of you. But there was always this fear—I had no way to tell if you’d stopped hurting or if you’d stopped breathing altogether.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing? You’re still here. That's what matters.”

“Still, I did it again,” your voice was trembling and you wanted to curl in on yourself, make yourself small enough to disappear, “I let you down.” 

“No, no, you didn’t,” Sunwoo gently urged you to turn around in his arms, making you look at him, “there’s no way I could feel let down when you’re hurting.” He cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your wet cheeks, “And today you didn't do it. Today you came here instead, isn't that a win?”

“Is it?”

“It is.” He kissed the tip of your nose “And we’ll keep on winning from here on out.”

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[xoxoavenger]

happy birthday!! sorry you have so many angst, but could you do one with bucky where he turns into the winter solider and hurts reader? if you don’t wanna do it that’s fine too I just love your bucky works

thank you!! this is so sweet!

Everything

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

word count: 2733

warnings: so sorry this isn't proofread i'm just so exhausted, angst, some violence but nothing specific

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Bucky is afraid he'll always be scared.

Y/N is sleeping on his right side, never his left, because he doesn't trust his left arm. He's been out of HYDRA's control for years, but he doesn't know what the arm will do. He doesn't trust himself, and he sure as hell doesn't trust that arm. But he can feel himself tense when Y/N rolls on top of him and her fingers brush the metal.

He doesn't sleep well, and he thinks that Y/N knows that, but they don't talk about it. She settles back to sleep, and he looks over to see it's three in the morning. He knows he needs to go to sleep, but he doesn't want to. He knows tonight will be a nightmare night, and tomorrow is a mission, so he can't wake Y/N up.

She can tell as soon as morning comes and they get out of bed for the mission that he hasn't slept.

"Babe," She mutters after they put their suits on. She has a hand on his face, thumb brushing against the bags under his eyes.

"It's okay," He grabs her wrist, trying to smile for her benefit. She sees right through it, bringing a hand to his chest. He pulls her hand, using her wrist to guide it to his mouth and kiss it. She feels her face warm at this, that a man she has been with for so long can still make her feel this way. She grabs his other hand, his metal one, but watches him pull away a bit.

"When we get back, we'll have a nap. Well, a shower, then nap." She tells him, pushing a hand through his short hair. She had told him to cut it when he asked, knowing that it was important to him to get rid of that part of his past. She didn't want him to think of himself as a a villain anymore, and he never had long hair when he was a hero with Steve.

"I love you." He tell her, and she just pulls him in, kissing him in a way that tells him she loves him too.

They walk out of their room and meet with the rest of the team, who's already halfway through their coffees and are moving to the Quinjet. No one is talking, it's too early in the morning, but it's supposed to be an easy mission. They were all ready to get it over with and have their alone time.

It's silent as they walk to the hanger, Natasha handing Y/N a coffee in a tumbler. Y/N is so grateful, she sighs in relief.

"Thank you." She takes a sip as they walk up the ramp, then coughs. "Oh my god, did you put alcohol in this?" She knows Natasha is Russian, but this seems a little crazy. "It's six in the morning!"

"Just a little." Natasha winks, and Y/N rolls her eyes. She downs more of the coffee and steps over to her regular seat, Bucky sitting next her. Always on her left so his arm is as far as possible.

"Want some coffee?" She asks, lowly, even though she knows he won't want any if Natasha snuck alcohol in there. She's only seen him drink a few times, only with the Avengers or with her. He got drunk once, and it was actually quite cute. He told her he loved her about a million times, then started crying, then told her that if he were ever triggered somehow by the words that she needed to get as far away as possible, to stay away from him, because he would never forgive himself if something happened to her.

"James," She had said, pushing his hair away from his face. She was slightly tipsy, not as bad as him, but she knew she needed to assure him. "No one will trigger you, okay? And if anything did ever happen, I would never blame you." She kissed his forehead, letting him lean into her. They were on the floor, but Y/N couldn't get him up on her own so that's where they'd stay.

"You don't understand," He cried, pulling at her shirt. She just shushed him and rubbed his back, because clearly he'd worked himself up. "You've never seen me like that, and I would never forgive myself." He sobbed, and she has never seen him cry like this. She rocked him gently, rubbing his back.

"Baby," She whispered, hoping this somehow helps.

"Promise me," He begged, and all Y/N could do is nod. She didn't exactly know what she'd promised, but she needs him to calm down.

"I promise." She told him, and they stayed on the floor until the next morning, Y/N only getting up briefly to grab a pillow and the blanket off their bed.

Y/N doesn't know why she's thinking about that night, but it makes her upset. She looks over at Bucky, who's really serious right now - obviously, it's right before a mission. She puts a hand over his, and he automatically interwinds them.

"I love you," She tells him, looking up at his face. He looks down, a small smile on his face.

"I love you too." He whispers. She looks down and finishes off the drink, the caffeine and alcohol rushing through her body. She can't wait for this mission to be over, because she can tell how tired Bucky is. She just wants him to be able to sleep.

Bruce, Steve and Bucky jump out of the quintet, Sam following with his wings and Tony in his suit. Y/N, Clint, and Natasha follow on foot when Clint lands the quintet, and Y/N suddenly realizes Thor wasn't there this morning.

"Where's Thor?" Y/N whispers to Natasha as they walk the short distance to the HYRDA compound.

"Hell if I know." Clint is the one that grumbles an answer, the three of them keeping an eye out for anyone that may be hidden. They can hear the siren though, so it's pretty obvious that it was all hands on deck.

"Y/N, you remember the map?" Natasha asks as they split from Clint.

"As if you don't have it memorized." Y/N tells her as they enter the already unlocked door. It was actually still locked, but it had been blown off its hinges by someone. They walk through the halls, guns held at the ready,

"I do, but that's not my job." Natasha smirks as they both turn left down a hall. "Hey, did you watch that new movie yet? The tennis one?" She asks, turning and taking out an agent before they even see the two girls.

"When would I have had time?" Y/N asks, looking down a hallway and making sure it was clear. She's used to Natasha's multitasking by now, not even questioning when the red head asks about something completely unrelated to the mission.

"I think tonight we should watch it." Natasha says, right as they run into three HYRDA agents. "You take left, I take right." They ran forward, knowing they couldn't win a straight shoot out, and began hand-to-hand combat with the men.

"I can't tonight." Y/N grunts out as as he chokes a man with the retractable wire Tony recently made her. Natasha has one guy choked between her thighs and the other on the floor with her widow bites. The men are taken care of in a couple moments, the girls not even breathing hard.

"Why not?" Natasha asks as they step over the bodies and continue down their path. They see another agent, which is starting to seem weird.

"I have plans." Y/N mutters, knowing her nap with Bucky is going to take most of the day after they get back. Another agent. They're taken out quickly, but now the two girls know something is going on. "There's a lot more agents now."

"It could be because we're getting further into the building." Natasha tells her, and Y/N nods. She hopes it's just that, but something seems wrong. "What are you doing tonight that you can't watch the movie?"

"Tasha," Y/N groans, going to the left when two more agents show up. They take care of them even quicker this time, warmed up now, but Y/N knows something is going on now.

"We need to go quickly." Natasha knows too, and they pick up their pace. They see even more HYDRA agents. They take them out, but they're starting to get hit now. Y/N can feel a bruise blooming on her ribs, blood on her thigh from the bullet that had grazed it.

The girls were deep in the building, close to the information they needed. They were breathing hard, and Y/N knew Natasha had to be hurting even though she wasn't limping. They were about to turn into the room with the information when they heard yelling. They made eye contact, because this isn't a normal sound to hear on a mission.

"I'll check it out, you get the information." Y/N says, nodding to the room. Natasha agrees and then they split, Y/N running toward the sound.

"We have a problem!" Steve says over the coms, and Y/N almost startles.

"What's going on?" She asks, the yells getting louder. They start to get more clear, start to sound like Bucky's. Her heart drops, and no one responds.

"Stop!" Steve screams, and Y/N can feel chills. She turns the corner and sees about fourteen agents all on Bucky, holding him to the ground. He's struggling, but there's just too many of them. Steve's shield is on the ground, and Y/N is frozen for a second as she watches six men hold Steve to a wall. They're struggling, but it's not enough. She's about to slide for the shield when she hears one of the HYDRA agents yell.

"Dobroserdechnyy," Y/N doesn't know Russian well, but she knows that word. That's one of Bucky's trigger words.

She leaps into action, sliding to grab Steve's shield and free him first. If she can get him free then they can help Bucky, but she can't take on fourteen agents at once. She uses Cap's shield to get a couple agents off him, freeing him enough that he can fight the rest away. She hands him the shield quickly and he nods, Russian words pounding into the back of her skull as one of the agents continues to say them.

"We need help!" She yells into the coms, starting on the men around Bucky. She hears Odin being spoken and knows they're screwed.

"Get away!" Bucky yells, realizing she's there. Around the men restraining him she can see part of his face, enough to discern the panic in his eyes. "You promised! Leave!" And she finally realizes what he meant.

"Tovarnyy vagon." The man finishes, and everyone goes still for a moment. That is until Y/N kicks into gear and knocks out half the agents before they know what hit them.

"What's going on?" Sam asks in the comms.

"Where are you?" Tony grunts out.

"The Winter Soldier," Steve mutters into his comm link as Bucky raises from the ground, eyes glassed. He's speaking with the other man in Russian, and Y/N wants to kill him.

So she does.

It wasn't a hard decision, pulling out the gun and shooting the man who turned the love of her life back into a brainwashed killer. She didn't even flinch. But the Winter Solider didn't like that, turning sharply to her.

"You've gotta get out out of here." Steve steps in front of her as Natasha runs from around the corner, data file hopefully stuck safely on an information stick in her pocket.

"I can't leave him." Y/N says as Bucky begins to stalk toward them.

"He doesn't want you here." Natasha argues, grabbing her arm. "You know he doesn't." But she can't leave Bucky.

"Hulk, we need you." Steve says as he begins to fight the Winter Solider. Y/N slides out of Natasha's grasp and runs to him.

He backhands her immediately.

She falters, sliding against the wall. She feels stupid, but she runs back to him.

"We have to knock him out!" Steve yells to her, throwing his shield. The Winter Solider catches it and flips it back, the other three heroes dodging. Y/N elbows him as hard as she can, but he just flinches like a fly hit him and starts to choke her. She grabs a knife from her belt, not sure what to do with it. She would never actually stab him, not wanting to hurt him any more than he needs to. Her vision begins to swim, and she jams the knife into the metal plates. He lets her go just as Steve throws the shield again, and this time it does hit the Winter Solider. He doesn't go down, but Natasha's widow bites cause him to kneel.

"He's going to kill you and then us." Natasha mutters as she kneels, choking the Winter Solider until he falls unconscious.

"We can't," Y/N starts to say, but she begins to cough. Her injuries are catching up with her, and her throat hurts. She reaches a hand up, and she can feel the swollen skin of her throat. "We can't tell him." She rasps out. Her head is pounding, not only from Bucky's backhand but from the rest of the fighting with the agents.

"Y/N," Natasha shakes her head as she stands. She's looking at Y/N's neck, and she knows that even if they keep him backhanding her from him, there's no keeping the bruise forming on her throat. Y/N takes a deep breath, and even that hurts.

"Let's just go home." She whispers, looking at her lover passed out on the ground.

~

Bucky hasn't talked to anyone in three days.

Y/N and Bucky usually lived together, but Bucky holed himself away in a private room and refused to speak to anyone. Y/N was worried about him; so worried, in fact, that she told Fury, who told her that he was at least forced to sit on a call with a therapist once a day.

"Let me see him." Y/N demands on the third day.

"He needs time." Steve tells her. Steve had seen him last night for the first time, and Y/N was ready to burn down the building to make Bucky come out. She may have done it if she didn't think that he would just burn with it.

"You told him what happened." Y/N accused. They were right outside Bucky's room, Y/N about to break the door down.

"I showed him the video." Steve admitted, and Y/N felt the urge to punch Captain America.

"I'm gonna kill you." She says lowly, watching Steve's eyes widen.

"He has the right to know, Y/N. You can't protect him from everything." He tells her. She just shakes her head.

"I could at least try, which is better than what you did!" She yells back, clearly hurt.

"I've known him for longer! You can't tell me how to treat my best friend."

"He's my best friend too!" Y/N cries. She's about to scream again when the door between them opens. She turns to see Bucky, looking rough but still gorgeous. She wants to run out to him, but she knows that would be a lot for him.

"You broke your promise." He whispers, looking at her. It's silent as Steve begins to back out of the area.

"I couldn't leave you." She tells him, turning fully to him and resisting the urge to reach out.

"I hurt you." He's crying now, so she does reach out. He flinches but she holds tightly, and he grabs her just as tight.

"It wasn't you." She whispers, tears leaking out of her own eyes. "You would never. And I know you don't trust yourself, but I trust you, James. And I always will. That hasn't changed, and it never will." She puts a hand on his face, rubbing the bags under his eyes just like she did the day of the mission.

"I love you. I don't deserve you." He tells her, but she shakes her head.

"You deserve everything, James Barnes. Everything." They fall together into a kiss that's too perfect and passionate to be real.

"I just need you." He tells her after they separate momentarily.

"Then it's a good thing I'm never leaving." She smiles as they come together again. 

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler @thefandomplace @mcueveryday @icequeen1371 @kenzi-woycehoski @multifandom-boss-bitch

[animeomegas]

How would Shikamaru and his alpha react to finding out he’s pregnant again? Like they planned on one or two and already have three and now pregnant with a fourth because their birth control keeps failing. Especially if people think Shikamaru is doing it on purpose because of his obsession.

I have a feeling that this isn't what you had in mind lol, but here we are XD

cw: abortion

"It's positive?" you asked as Shikamaru came out of the bathroom, looking exhausted.

"Yep," he said, collapsing down on the sofa next to you with his eyes closed. You heard the muffled sounds of some sort of children's toy activating as he sat on it, but you both ignored it.

"Again?"

"Yep."

"Damn," you let out a breath and sank back into the couch until you were fully reclining just like your mate.

You both sat in silence for a while as the information sank in. You already had three children, an eight-year-old daughter, and two sons, five and three respectively. Your eldest was the only one you had planned.

"What are we going to do?" you asked finally. "We can afford it money wise, but we're spread thin as it is, another baby would-"

"Stop talking," Shikamaru said firmly, stopping you in your tracks. He opened his eyes and heaved himself upright. "If you speak about it out loud, my obsession instinct might...it might..."

"It might trigger and get weird like last time," you finished in sudden realisation, remembering the way Shikamaru had switched over night from booking an abortion to being distraught at the thought and refusing to follow through. "It hasn't triggered yet?"

"No," Shikamaru said calmly. "So, I'm going to fetch a clan medic right now, just for a 'routine health check', of course. Nothing else."

He was planning to trick himself into denial long enough to have an abortion. You shouldn't be so surprised by how intelligent your mate was after all these years, but you still found yourself impressed by his quick thinking.

"Right," you agreed. "Do you need me to come with?"

"No, it's just a routine health check, there's no need," he said, calmly getting up from the sofa and walking to the door. You followed him out and watched him slip on his shoes.

Everything was moving quickly, but you felt like the quickly forming burden had just been lifted from your shoulders. You simply didn't have the time and energy to give to another pup, it wouldn't be fair on anyone.

"And after my health check," Shikamaru continued, opening the door. "I am booking an appointment to have all my problematic organs removed."

That made a lot of sense. You had already been sterilised once but the surgery had reversed itself, something you only realised when Shikamaru already had the positive test in his hand. If he simply didn't have the necessary requirements for a baby, there would be no more babies. And maybe, just maybe, you'd finally have a form of birth control that actually worked.

"I'll watch the pups, and I'll be here when you get back," you promised, trying to reassure him as best as you could without mentioning anything specific.

Shikamaru nodded, took one final deep breath, and then stepped outside, shutting the door gently to avoid waking the two youngest pups up from their naps.

You stood for a moment, processing everything that had just happened, before a wave of determination washed over you. Your mate was going through something difficult that he had to do alone, so you would do everything in your power to make sure he came home to a clean house, delicious dinner, hot bath, and a massage.

You rolled up your sleeves, energised and ready to make the most of the remaining 20 minutes of nap time. It was time to clean like you'd never cleaned before.

[gl1tchy-4rt]

MORE ELDRITCH LORE

Hello everyone!

Sorry For not posting for a while...

I was busy with school but now I'm back! And I'm going to continue with The Eldritch Tower AU, specifically with the forms they can take

Using our beloved Gustavo as example!

Look at him :) what horrors is he going to expose us to? I don't know but we are going to find out! HEY @technically-a-kiwi COME SEE THE HORRORS

Enjoy!

WARNING: Body Horror, Guts, Spoiler of The end of Evangelion (the mote of light part) And Very, very long post!!

• Human (Eldritch Human)

Their human part and the form they take to interact with The Mortals, suspected to be their original form before 'The Elder of the beginning' turned them into Elder horrors.

Usually they are as normal and expressive as most humans, all of them with their own distinct personality... That's until they start to tap into their powers, when that happens they tend to go quiet and calm in order to not lose control.

• Glimpse to The Eldritch

Even when they had stated and proved their Eldritch status, or when they don't even remember being Eldritch (Yes, that can happen in some realities), Humans still try to push their buttons, or sometimes some Humans can try to attack them for no good reason: That's when they access this form

A little glimpse of their true form to tell humans to back away or bad things will happen, when they have to use large amount of powers they take this form.

Their followers and Half-Eldritches can take this form, often triggered by the Elder's power.

• Mini Eldritch

The Mini Eldritch form is tricky since it can be multiple forms, from angel-like or otherworldly to humanoid or animal-like, let's take a look at these two examples:

Tendril-like: A mass of eyes, fleshy tendrils and veins with a shape that vaguely resembles a human torso, it usually grows to cling and grab unto the walls and ceiling, they take this form when recovering from mayor injuries, sometimes during their sleep and when they... "Trully" stretch their limbs.

Humanoid EVA-Like: A 4-5 story tall humanoid monster with a "human exoskeleton" it's a smaller version of their full Eldritch form, it's more powerfull than "The Glimpse" but also way more unstable, Full of tumors and bones sticking out, This form is usually triggered when the Eldritch is Threaten.

• Full Eldritch

When Humans fool too much with the Eldritch, then they stick their noses there they shouldn't, even when some clearely overworldly men tell them not to do so, they can cause an "Early awakening" Eldritch are only meant to wake when the Sun dies and it consumes The Earth but here we are...

An Awake, City-sized, Underdeveloped Elder God, Yet it's more than capeble to put an end to this World...

To avoid feeling unnecessary trauma and pain, it completely shuts down it's human side, leaving a monster that only runs on instincts.

It's flesh and bones melted and full of tumors, Pulsating vains and rotting flesh, a body falling apart trying to protect it's insides... why trying so desperatly to survive?

So it can Truly awake...

• True Eldritch

Finally it separates from it's cumbersome body, it shows it's True Full form, It spreads it's wings as it's body acomodates to the laws of this universe, as it's glow drowns the skies, it's form extends beyond the stratosphere, becoming this massive, winged Elder God.

It finally reconects with it's Human side once again, it's human part, it's mind and emotions, after so much pain and "bottling up" itself...

It's free.

It feels Liberating, Euphoric… The others can feel it's joy, The other Elders, The Half-eldritch, It's closest followers, they can feel it, they free themselfs from their own bodies to Join the Liberated.

If The Earth is safe, they just leave, Flying endlessly through space, in eachothers company until The Heat death of the universe, then it's time to move on to a new life and another reality.

If The Earth is Too far gone, they stay a bit longer and can upon... a bit of help...

• "Mote of Light"

Born from the Blood of the Eldritch and The compassion of the Human, Made of the same Flesh of it's True Form and taking the form of his Human Form...

It can't speak or really think, but they are really friendly and inocent, they can break the laws of physicics in order to complete their only task, their only purpose... "Liberate" people, Introducing themselfs in a friendly manner to the humans and Releasing them from their bodies, letting their souls go to the afterlife were they will enjoy eternity.

Normally only one appears, which is quickly dispossed of, but when the "Early awakening" happens and The Earth is too far gone, Billions of them flood the world, They take all the living beings in the world, leaving The Earth as a baren wasteland...

They are kinda like the Rei clones in the ending of "The End of Evangelion"

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

HOLY SHIT DID I WENT ALL OUT WITH THIS 0_0

Anyways, As i mentioned, i was pretty busy with school but now and next week im free of work!!

So i'll keep of posting more Pizza content :)

Okay everyone that's all for this Post!

Buh-bye y'all!! And let me know if you want more Pizza Lore ;)

[tenko-thinks]

*pops into existence* i know you do oc x canon but ima make it more accessible grehehe!

(Annoying tsundere F reader x uppermoons “specifically a ver pissy gyutaro”)

•u• if you do this for meow… i will leave you a green apple 🍏

Fret not I also do x readers w specific traits he ho and omg... green aple...

Upper Moons with an Annoying "Tsundere" fem!Reader

Cws : Gyutaro sucks but like that's it, other than that, none I think

Ft : Kokushibo, Douma, Akaza , Gyutaro

♡ --- ♡

Kokushibo

Now Koku is from the sengoku era. And is wholly unused to a woman like you.

But.. Not in a bad way, per sey.

He finds your outbursts somewhat amusing in a futile animal attempting to escape a predator kind of way.

He wants to break you in. Turn you into an ideal wife for him. Perhaps with a small amount of fire in you if possible.

The demon can't deny the charm of you getting flustered and swatting at his clothing or squawking when another person calls out your affections.

It's part of what draws him to you, with your uniqueness. If only you were a little quieter..

It's a very amusing sight. Upper moon one with a firecracker of a woman banging on his chest. And he allows it.

Douma

Douma, unlike Kokushibo is used to all sorts of ladies. And your unwillingness to behave has him intrigued.

Of course he could just kill and eat you. But where's the fun in that?

He wants to know what makes you tick! It's all a game to upper two. For his own amusement.

Goes out of his way to trigger outbursts from you. Whether it be by breaking your personal space or whispering something into your ear of a not so clean variety.

You're annoying? Babygirl so is he. Match made in hell.

He may keep you for his entertainment, loving to egg you on.

It makes his day to day far less boring, after all.

Akaza

"Lord give me the strength to keep my vow."

Akaza likes to keep a calm facade, but he is quick to agitate. So how you bagged him? Beyond anyone.

Every day you test his internal moral compass of not even laying a finger on a woman because God does he want to throttle you.

Never has he wanted to actually harm or kill you but ohh the urge to smack you upside the head is there. His self restraint is otherworldly.

The two of you get into verbal arguments a lot about affection neither of your dumbasses can even hold hands without a "You touched me" "NUH UH" moment.

In the end, akaza does care for you. Hence staying with you but please. For his sake of not popping all of his blood vessels at once. Chill.

Gyutaro

Godspeed girl.

Gyutaro deals with his sister every waking moment of his life. So he thinks he's equipped to handle you just as well.

Haha. Wishful thinking on his part.

When you have your outbursts of yelling at him despite his coddling no longer is he playing the game of pacifying you.

He does love you in his own very, Gyutaro way. And has done his best to show it in a non fucked up demonic way.

You start yelling at him again? Fine by him. He's going to let you starve for all he cares. For a day or two. He won't let you die. But like hell he lets you leave when there are so many other more attractive men in yoshiwara.

His insecurities will get the better of him eventually and he'll snap back. Using all of yours against you until you're on the ground in front of him sobbing.

Ignore him all you want, he and Ume are going to be the only thing you know. Because you dug your own damn grave.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Trimax Thoughts Vol. 5 Pt. 3

Here we go again. (Gah I'm so behind sorry guys) More thoughts on Vash's no good, very bad mental health, this time focused on trauma symptoms and his uncharacteristic lack of foresight and planning when it comes to confronting Knives.

[ID: A panel from Trigun Maximum Volume 5. Vash is hunched over among the rubble. He is not drawn in extensive detail, being merely eyes, an open mouth, spiky hair and a mass of feather-like projections covering his whole body and culminating in a single large wing protruding from his back. End ID.]

Again, this is going to get a little heavy, and became quite long. You have been warned.

(Sorry, the image of fluffy Vash has very little to do with anything... other than the fact that he is actively having a breakdown in that scene I guess. I just really wanted to include that panel. Lol.)

To start with, at the very beginning of my read of the manga, I commented on how Vash clearly demonstrates some pretty textbook avoidant behaviours. Then I took note later on of Vash's concerning lack of self-regard, resulting in little thought being given to a future for himself after confronting Knives.

Well. It gets worse I'm afraid. 👍

Vash displays enough clear signs of trauma in the manga that I am convinced he actually meets criteria for a PTSD diagnosis (specifically surrounding July). I'm a student in this field, not a professional, but I'm going to loosely run over the trauma symptoms he displays. <-This is important for the point I am trying to make.

Category 1: Intrusive Memories

Flashbacks - Yeah, all throughout Volume 5 as the memories of what happened all come rushing back at once (with Hoppered and Meryl unfortunately caught up in his trauma-induced breakdown. rip you two I am so sorry)

Nightmares - A bit harder to say. There aren't nightmares about July it seems, on account of his having forgotten the event. He dreams about Rem frequently though, it can be assumed, only for her to be wrenched away from him shortly before waking. This was in Volume 1 of Trigun.

Severe Emotional and Physical Reactions to Reminders - Volume 2 of Trigun, shortly before Fifth Moon. Vash freezes in place when he spots the doctor, which clearly triggers some kind of faint recognition and sense of horror. He doesn't notice Knives approaching until he is right in front of him.

Category 2: Avoidance

Of Thinking/Talking About It - Vash notably doesn't actually question anything to do with July, which you would think he would, if he can't remember anything. He just knows that the city was destroyed and Knives was there - up until Fifth Moon, I don't think there was any doubt in his mind that it was Knives who was responsible. After this, he spends two years in hiding, out of fear of himself and a lack of desire to engage with reminders of his past.

Category 3: Negative Changes

Hopelessness - For a guy who wants people to have hope... he doesn't allot much to himself... :(

Memory Problems - The core issue before Vol. 5. Vash had no idea what happened in July. He even blocked out part of Fifth Moon.

Negative Self-Opinion - "I should never have been born." "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry" :(

Difficulty Maintaining Close Relationships - Always leaving people without saying goodbye. Still rarely calls Meryl and Milly by their names. People have to chase after him if they want him around.

Detachment - His go-to when everything gets too much. See the Leonof fight for a good example.

Difficulty Experiencing Positive Emotions - "Ya always smiled all cheerfully, but it was so empty it hurts just lookin' at ya."

Category 4: Physical/Emotional Reactions

Always on Guard - He can't use his real name most of the time. He trains all the time; has to respond quickly to ever-present danger.

Self-Destructive Behaviour - ...it's Vash. :/

Irritability/Angry Outbursts/Aggression - Very much so. Anger is a driving motive and we see this flare up whenever Knives is so much as mentioned. He even gets uncharacteristically short with Meryl when she tries to stop him from confronting him, and Vash does not tend to be very rational or composed in situations where he is genuinely angry. <- I will be coming back to this point.

Overwhelming Guilt or Shame - ...again. It's Vash. :/

Other Complications that can Arise:

Depression (this should go without saying. he's fighting so hard to feel every scrap of fleeting joy he can)

Suicidal Thoughts and Actions (I went over this before. These have cropped up in almost every volume so far and I expect this to get much worse)

Eating Issues (This appears to be Stampede specific, but I thought I'd mention it anyways)

So, uh. I hope this is enough proof. He clearly does have severe trauma, and well, that's not really a surprise, considering what actually happened. Vash inadvertently killed an entire city's worth of people. Absorbed them, even. Deeply traumatic for someone who doesn't want to hurt anyone at all - but this is not the only part of July that was traumatic.

Let's go back to the aggression part of the response - the "fight" aspect that sometimes arises when put in stressful situations that reminds one of their trauma. See, Vash's anger is something we as readers see a lot in the story but that's because we primarily see major scenes where he is pushed to his limits. In all actuality, for those parts in between, he's a chill and friendly guy. Does he get irritated? Quite easily. Does he always have a bit of simmering resentment in him? Sure. But this is not the explosive kind of rage we see when he is confronted with Knives. Usually, Vash is more prone to introspective melancholy or bitterness than violent rage - for as much as we see it, the latter is actually rather uncommon.

So, too, is the way he "confronts" Knives. Vash is typically very in control of himself; he's confident with his skills, clever and adaptable, and generally speaking, very good at planning out his next moves. In a gunfight, for as much as he would prefer not to be wrapped up in it, he is in his element. Even when there is uncertainty, he still eventually takes decisive action. ...except where Knives is concerned.

[ID: Two screenshots from the Trigun manga. The first is from Volume 5 of Maximum. Vash aims his gun with a serious expression and says "I've finally caught up with you... Knives." Knives looks at him, taken aback. The second image is from Volume 2 of Trigun. Vash shouts as he raises his gun rapidly to aim at Knives, blurred with quick vertical lines to make the speed of the motion obvious. His expression is furious. Knives looks at him, part of his face shadowed, again, looking taken aback. End ID.]

...hello? Sir? Why are you just pointing your gun and like. Not doing anything? Like he keeps aiming his gun and then just... holding it there. Even Vash in Stampede fired on Knives' weapons. This guy, for all his rage, hasn't unleashed a single shot unless the situation forced him to. In fact, Vash's entire wording surrounding Knives and how he is going to stop him is also extremely vague. He says things like "settle the score" and "send him to hell", which, to me, initially implied killing him... but Vash has no issue using the word "kill", and he never actually says that about Knives. He says he's going to stop him, but fails to actually specify how. I cannot stress enough that this lack of foresight is actually deeply uncharacteristic of him.

But here's the thing.

[ID: Part of a panel from Trigun Volume 2. Vash's thoughts are set on a white background. They read "We... I... should never have been born." End ID.]

He switches his wording here. The subject of the sentence changes from "we" to "I". Even in his mind, he can't muster that kind of sentiment about his brother. He's angry with Knives, even hates him... but I strongly disbelieve he actually wants him dead. Knives is his brother, man. That still means something to him.

You might be wanting to pause me here and ask why I framed the confronting of Knives as an aggressive response due to trauma, as opposed to just vengeance/retribution for Rem and for July. Yeah, well, there's an interesting contrast to be made here. Look up at the two confrontation images again.

Before July, Vash is level-headed when confronting him; angry, but in control. After July, he is yelling and openly bitter and wrathful. There's even a difference in him looking for information on Knives and his associates. In July, he's just asking around. There's none of the darkness we see in the series proper. By contrast, his mood does a sharp turn after July whenever Knives is so much as mentioned. More than that, there's this, too.

[ID: Knives stands facing Vash so only the back of his head can be seen. His head is next to Vash's gun. Vash looks startled. A speech bubble shows two exclamation points. End ID.]

...Vash is... actually scared here. Knives is approaching him and he's frozen due to the feeling that something sickening happened, even though he's the one holding the gun. July was stressful and terrifying for Vash even before the angel arm went off, and dare I say, already traumatic.

Vash knew two things in that scene, and pretty much only two things:

His arm was transforming uncontrollably, something he had no clue prior to this it could even do.

Knives wanted him to "release" his power, which would "swallow" everything in the place they're in. Clearly Knives intended harm to others with whatever power lay dormant in Vash.

This is already a terrifying situation - body horror on top of the certainty that something horrible is about to happen if he loses control - and it shows. He is visibly panting and struggling with the exertion of trying to suppress it, and Knives is not helping in the slightest by asking him piercing questions like he is, taking advantage of Vash's vulnerability here to make him tip over the edge and somehow admit that it was all a lie and deep down he feels the same as Knives. Now, notably Vash doesn't deny occasionally feeling hatred for humanity - he just tells Knives to "stop it". But Knives, instead, doubles down with his questioning.

This is not the only time in this scene Vash has tried to get Knives to stop. Knives does not stop at Vash's distress. Vash tells him to stop, he doesn't. Vash points his gun at him (again, he doesn't fire), and Knives still does not stop. In a last ditch attempt to reason, Vash somehow psychically transmits the faces and feelings he has towards all the people who were kind to him - you can see some of the residents of July, Ship 3's Luida, Doc, Brad and Jessica, and probably others he's met on his travels. Knives loses it and shoves him on to the ground.

I think Vash was well within his right to take self-defensive action here - and indeed, I really think that's what happened when he fired the angel arm at Knives.

Look, I really like it when intentional mistakes are made and characters have to deal with the consequences, and I think there are scenes in which this can apply to Vash (namely, I can think of more than a few drawbacks to his passivity in early Trimax, and his conflict with Wolfwood holds a lot of complexity on both sides)... but I have to be real honest with you, I don't think this is one of those times. I disbelieve this was a fully conscious choice on Vash's part.

For one, we've established Vash does not actually want Knives dead. Second... I may just be reading into this too much, but again, there's something in the way the eyes are drawn.

[ID: A set of panels from Trigun Maximum Volume 5. Knives is drawn with an intense expression; he looks confident, but there is a "thump" sound. Knives looks down, brows furrowed and sweating, to see the barrel of Vash's angel arm pointed at his chest. In the last panel, a gap between Knives' fingers reveals one of Vash's eyes, blank and devoid of iris or pupil. End ID.]

I'd initially thought the blank eye thing had to do with the release of Vash's power from the angel arm, but that appears to not be the case. It doesn't coincide with the charging of the arm - the arm is active and charged past the point of no return here with Vash's iris and pupil still visible during Fifth Moon, and we see Vash's eyes blank well before the angel arm forms in Volume 5, when he is undergoing intense flashbacks to the destruction of July. Vash's eyes even go blank when his powers are not active at all - again, during the start of his flashbacks.

[ID: A set of screenshots from the Trigun manga. The first is from Trigun Volume 2. Vash's eye, with iris and pupil and a welling tear, can be seen between Knives' fingers, as Knives screams "Destroy them all! Vaaash!". The second is from Trigun Maximum Volume 5, where Vash is hunched over on the ground as his body sprouts feathers and lines appear on his face. He is in clear distress and his eyes are blank. The third is from Maximum Volume 4. Vash screams and throws his head back. A close up of his eye shows it is blank, welling with tears. End ID.]

I am about 80% confident, give or take, that the blank eye thing pertains to Vash's mental state - as in, how mentally present he is versus him being out of control and checked out of reality. He needs to be snapped out of it - thoughts of Meryl and how she needed help, Elendira's intervention... but there was nothing to snap Vash out of his panic and that flood of raw emotion during July. It was a spur of the moment automatic response - the angel arm is a gun, Vash is very confident with a gun to the point its basically instinct, he's being pinned and trapped and something he doesn't understand and can't control is happening to his own body, people might be about to get hurt - he wanted it to stop.

Unfortunately, the worst possible consequences were a direct result of his desperation. Vash's automatic attempt at self-defense took out an entire city and swallowed all the people within it.

I do think that if it was self-defense over an active choice, the outcome would be pretty much the same and doesn't weaken the scene. For one, this would mark pretty much the only time we see Vash act in close to pure self-defense. He has such a disregard for his own safety, it's incredibly heartbreaking to think that the one time he actually did try to defend himself, it resulted in such a horrible tragedy. It might explain why, after remembering bits and pieces from Fifth Moon onwards, he becomes even less compassionate with himself and even more prone to just... taking the pain. Second, the effect is the same as if Vash chose to fire the arm consciously, because due to Vash's terrible sense of self-worth, self-defense is not a reasonable excuse to him - even though it was a traumatic experience for him, even though he would likely understand someone else in his position, he is going to treat himself as though the blame lies solely on him, regardless of the automaticity of the action itself. Vash blames himself and whether or not the reader determines his actions to have been automatic or conscious, he is going to treat himself the same either way. He is going to forever carry that guilt with him no matter what the intent behind the arm's firing initially was.

With the context of July now, I don't think I can believe that his lack of willingness to kill is purely Rem's influence anymore. I think Vash truly, honestly, does not want to harm or kill anyone; his abhorring of (in his eyes) unnecessary violence is genuine. (This does not mean he never gets angry or hates people - we know he can and does!) But it's like there's a middle step between Vash's anger and Vash getting close to lethally pulling the trigger, and that middle step is "stop it".

Stop doing this. Stop hurting people.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

When faced with someone who wants to hurt others, who actively causes harm and won't listen to reason, Vash becomes dangerously hyper-focused. The closer that person is associated to Knives, the less control he has over his own anger, and the more he goes on the warpath. The problem is though, that Vash has made a promise to Rem, sure, but also he really doesn't want to hurt people, but then he also wants it to stop, and when your options are limited, sometimes the fastest and most effective way to make it stop is... to just kill the person. And I strongly believe this is why, in the heat of the moment, his usual calculated actions become less well thought out and almost vague, because... well... he's fighting with conflicting pieces of himself. His morality and his bleeding heart make him want to spare people, but that explosive aggression that is primarily a trauma symptom (!!!) is demanding he take immediate action to just make it stop.

That's really what it boils down to. All that aggression and emotion comes bubbling out of him, because he's just so tired... and because that's... well. Trauma.

(Yes, I will comment later on how Knives' anger is just as much a trauma response, but I'd like to have a little more info on him before I analyze too much on that front. Kind of fascinating how their go-to reaction is anger for the both of them, but put towards wildly different goals. These twins can fit so much mental illness in them.)

[theredhoodedcryptid]

(MAJOR SPOILERS FOR GOTHAM KNIGHTS GAME, specifically the Labyrinth)

An analysis of the Labyrinth and the BatFam

(In other words this post is really long)

So, I was doing some research on the Labyrinth for my fic (Silent Hearts and Silent Knights) and I found something very interesting regarding each BatFam members experience from Gotham Knights.

I'm using Rubi's video compilation of characters as my reference, I played as Tim in my play through and it's exactly like this video's Tim so I'm going on the assumption that there are no other possible outcomes.

Here's my keynotes for those who don't want to watch the video.

(I would like to say that due to the fact it is a game, some things aren't concrete. Rubi just goes back and forth in certain areas to trigger stuff whereas I just went under things to continue on.)

Things that happen regardless of the character (I call this the Beginning Sequence):

Character wakes up and starts walking, making various little comments. (Anything notable will be put under said character)

Character runs into spikes on wall, dies and wakes up (If you duck under the spikes the character will not experience this)

(Female voice) “Inside of Gotham’s walls…”

(Male voice) ”Rule you one and all…”

Character enters the "Flame Room", a small puzzle requiring you find the right path out.

(Voice of the Court) “Give up, it would be.. So much easier”

Character immediately hits a dead end and turns around only to find a different path then before.

Character enters the "Rotating Spike Room", which is pretty self explanatory: three large spinning columns with an assortment of blades that the Character must find a way around.

Bruce's voice expresses disappointment in the Character. (I can't remember if at this point if it's same thing said for each Character, but the point is the same)

Character stumbles, clutching head as they approach the first room (This is something every character does entering a "Major Room" moving forward)

Now, this is where things get interesting because the order and experience is different.

Somethings I want to quickly point out that are the same for every character in this section, which is certain rooms I like to call predetermined sets (all have two passages, left and right, but from my understanding they lead to the same thing):

Table Room: room is a half circle table with three dead court members wearing suits, candles and scrolls on the table, it's covered with spiderwebs and blood appears to be on the floor, and two statues behind them. A moth is floating around one of the candles. Laughter starts when character enters the room

Phonograph Room: room has two green armchairs with a table in between them and a floor lamp behind the left chair, a red circular rug with the Court logo in gold is under all this. On the small side table is a phonograph that plays old distorted instrumental music. The music echoes and distorts even more as you walk away (I wasn't paying to close attention but I think the song is different for each character, or at least a different part of the same song is played.)

Computer Room: room is bathed in red light. Its a rather large computer/monitor set up, reminiscent to the set up in the Belfry and the tech hums, images of Court members with a red filter. A dead Alfred sits in a chair near the set up. After examining the body it disappears in a puff of smoke and ash.

Here is each character's experience:

Jason:

Jason need’s a moment once he stands up before letting go of the marble slab (they all wake up on), also mentions it smells but never can identify what it is.

After the beginning sequence he enters the Table Room.

After leaving the Table Room he had a weird vision of himself dropping from the void ceiling floating towards himself in the air choking, then floats back and then up into the void ceiling.

Enters the Phonograph Room, after leaving the room Bruce's voice says something rather mean to him (I can't remember anything Bruce said to each of them, but it wasn't nice. Ya know, the whole point of this place)

Enters the Computer Room. After leaving the room he has a vision of himself “teleporting” around, pointing his hand at his head, maybe a gun?  Disappears into smoke and ash when walked through.

Enters a room bathed in green, sees a Lazarus pit, sees himself in normal clothes rise out of it with a crowbar which he raises above his head and starts attacking Batman. Court Members actively encourage him to kill stating they are the same, Real Jason says they're not. Vision characters disappear but the pit stays.

Barbra:

After the beginning sequence enters the Phonograph Room.

After leaving the room sees herself (maybe wearing a court mask) randomly teleporting towards herself, tilting head creepily before disappearing.

Enters Computer Room.

After leaving the room Bruce's voice says mean things.

Next she enters a room where Bruce’s grave is open, bats fly out of it and his voice calls out that he needs Batgirl for help.

After exciting this room she see's Batman's body get dragged around a corner, but we never see who does it.

Bruce's voice says some more mean things.

She stumbles into Gordon’s old office, Gordon complains about Batgirl. There’s a recording of Gordon’s death on the table, Babs feels guilty for not being there.

Dick:

After the beginning sequence he enters the Phonograph Room.

After leaving this room he see’s himself just fall out of the void, like his parents. His vision body is very dead and disappears when walked through/by.

Immediately after there’s the broken Bat signal, GCPD officers crying out that the city is falling and wonder where Batman is.

He then enters the Table Room.

After leaving the room he see’s a vision of himself being creepy/ kinda teleporting around, like Babs.

Stumbles into the next room, see’s his dead parents at the circus. Interestingly when they disappear they leave behind Court masks (maybe this refers to Dick’s own hidden ties to the Court)

Tim:

Tim is the only one straight up fall after waking up and trying to stand up, he is also the only one to explicitly state that is smells like death.

After the beginning sequence he enters the Table Room.

First vision is also of him creepily teleporting around, but unlike Dick and Babs, his version walks past him then dissolves. D and B’s versions forced them to walk through their visions. T's forced itself through him.

He then Enters the Computer Room.

After leaving the room he has the same Bat-signal vision as Dick.

Vision of himself kinda twitching and glitching on the floor before becoming limp and disappearing.

Enters the next room where the Robin suit is an a locker covered in cobwebs and "Wanted: looking for new Robin" posters. Bruce's voice is stating that he wants a Robin that's anyone other then Tim.

(I think I forgot it in a couple places, but every character experiences Bruce saying mean things)

And lastly every Character after their last vision sees Bruce stumble around a corner and disappear before starting the leaving the labyrinth sequence, which is the same for all of them.

So, here's my interpretations for all this. Specifically with how the Court plays on each of their fears:

Babs: When she became too injured to be Batgirl and became Oracle. They play on her fears about how she couldn't be there, even though it's not her fault. Mainly focusing on her dad.

Dick: Falling, literally. Failing both his parents and Bruce.

Tim: His fears about what Bruce thinks of him, about his place as Robin and his place in the family.

Jason: Here's where it's really interesting, Jason is the only one to have only one extra "room/vision" aside from the base ones they all experience. The Court tries once to hurt him with the Pit, and Jason firmly says that he's not that anymore. The court no longer tries after that. The others try to fight anything said, but rather weakly and they half believe it. Not Jason, he firmly says no. It's like after his death his fears aren't something the Court can understand or replicate.

I think it's also interesting how Tim differs from the others in some of the basic interactions, which I've already stated.

Anyways, it's rather late the time I'm writing this, but I thought it was really interesting. The developers could have stuck with the same base with only minor changes for each character, but they went pretty far out. It's one of the things that makes me love this game.

[captainremmington-13]

A Lady Made of Snow

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own The Hunger Games franchise, the images above, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, or any of the characters in this fic other than Bellova. I also do not condone the beliefs or actions of Coriolanus or Bellova.

SUMMARY: Coriolanus hands Bellova over to Dr. Gaul, knowing that she is his only chance to regain control of her, and subsequently, his future.

⚠️Warnings⚠️: THIS IS A DARK CHAPTER. It contains violence, torture, verbal/physical abuse, mention of suicide, Coriolanus and Dr Gaul being evil, swearing

A/n: I’m s o sorry this took FOREVER to write, it took me a long time to figure out what direction I wanted to take the plot☹️

Coriolanus shivered, pulling his expensive trench coat tighter around his body. Dr. Gaul’s lab was always cold, and she refused to turn up the temperature, as she claimed it would compromise the well-being of many of her beloved mutts.

The doctor, his boss and mentor, walked into the small room, standing at his side. She looked down at the unconscious Capitol heiress in the middle of the room, and smiled brightly. 

“I daresay this is the prettiest lab rat I’ve ever worked on.”

Coriolanus nodded wordlessly. He had always had a hard time understanding how Dr. Gaul was able to treat humans like dolls without feeling remorse. Now, he was finally starting to get it.

Bellova laid on a metal table, dead to the world. She was completely nude, which would’ve flustered a younger, weaker Coriolanus. But in the present situation, he was much more concerned with what Dr. Gaul had in store for her. 

There were thick leather straps secured around Bellova’s ankles and wrists, preventing her from leaping off the table and trying to escape. Even if she somehow undid them, there were Peacekeepers right outside the laboratory door that would intercept her in a heartbeat.  

Dr. Gaul set her case of equipment on the stand next to the table. She opened it up swiftly, revealing a plethora of tools. There were several syringes with odd-colored liquids inside, sharp instruments that gleamed menacingly in the brilliant white light of the room, and a variety of unidentifiable objects (which Coriolanus assumed she’d invented herself). 

“What are you planning to do?” Coriolanus asked. 

Dr. Gaul gave him her signature crooked grin. “Pull up a chair, Mister Snow.”

Coriolanus did as he was told, moving a chair from the corner of the room to the side of the table. Once he sat down, Dr. Gaul spoke again.

“I am going to run a scan of her brain while she’s still unconscious. See what went wrong with the serum I gave you. Then, I will determine what the next course of action should be.”

“What do you suspect happened that reversed the serum’s effects?”

“Her sheer willpower,” the doctor replied. “Miss Reginelle has always been extraordinarily strong-willed, it is not completely surprising that her mind was able to fight against them and win.”

“Is there something that triggered it specifically?” 

Dr. Gaul pursed her lips. “I don’t have a clue. But perhaps with a little…persuasion, we can get her to tell us. That way, we can ensure that the same mistake is not made again.”

.

.

.

After a thorough physical inspection was conducted, Dr. Gaul determined it was time for Bellova to wake.

As Dr. Gaul pushed the needle that housed the serum that would bring her back to consciousness into her arm, Coriolanus found himself holding his breath. He paced back and forth, wringing his hands anxiously. He wasn’t sure why he was so afraid. She was completely helpless, strapped down and trapped in the laboratory, and yet she still seemed to pose a threat.

After a few moments of silence, Coriolanus saw Bellova’s eyes open slowly. The sharp gaze in her pupils immediately told him she was still her true self. That wouldn’t last for long, thankfully. 

Bellova squirmed, tugging at the leather straps. She looked frightened, even more so than when Coriolanus had wrapped his hands around her neck.

“Where am I?” she croaked.

Dr. Gaul cackled quietly, the harsh noise echoing slightly throughout the room. “Oh, little bunny, you’re in my lab. You’ve been here so many times, you must recognize it.” The condescending lilt in her voice made Bellova’s pale face flush pink. “Or perhaps your mind is too frazzled to think properly.”

“I can think just fine, thank you,” Bellova hissed. “And don’t call me bunny. Now untie me, or I’ll make you wish you were never born, you sick, decrepit bitch.”

Coriolanus stifled a laugh. The fact that Bellova still possessed the courage to hurl insults while completely vulnerable was truly astounding.

Dr. Gaul just smiled wider. “Oh, but what’s the fun in letting you get away? Mister Snow and I are going to help you, make you a much better version of yourself. Isn’t that what you want?”

“No-“

“Too fucking bad,” Coriolanus interrupted her, casting her a cruel smile. “You don’t have a choice in the matter.”

Bellova’s body tensed as she tugged on her restraints, clearly wishing she could hit him. This only amused Coriolanus further.

Dr. Gaul leaned down, her lips inches away from Bellova’s right ear. “If you don’t stop struggling, I’m going to slit your pretty little throat and cut up your flesh to feed to my babies.”

Bellova shuddered, and squeezed her eyes shut. She was clearly trying her hardest not to cry. 

“I don’t care if you kill me,” she whispered. “A brutal death is better than a lifetime of domestication.”

Dr. Gaul looked at Coriolanus. The gleam in her eye told him that she had an idea. 

And knowing her, it was bound to be a gruesome one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as Coriolanus stepped out of the elevator and onto the floor Dr. Gaul’s lab was located on, he was able to hear the screams. 

He winced, and gripped the strap of his satchel tighter as he strode down the hallway. He’d started to get used to the ear-splitting sounds, but that didn’t make them any more pleasant.

When he entered the laboratory, he hung his bag on a hook on the wall and headed towards the isolated experiment rooms. Dr. Gaul had set aside most of her other projects and left them to her assistants and the other Gamemakers. 

She was hellbent on breaking Bellova past repair. 

“How is it coming along this morning, Dr. Gaul?” Coriolanus asked as he swept into Bellova’s room cell. His mentor looked up from her work, and gave him a knowing grin. 

“Our little bunny seems to be just as stubborn as the first day we began playing with her.” 

He sighed, walking over to where Bellova laid. She looked awful. Her hair was matted, the whites of her eyes were bloodshot, and she was clearly malnourished. She was shaking, undoubtedly from pain and exhaustion.

After all, Dr. Gaul had been literally poking and prodding at her for almost four days straight. 

“When are you going to just give in?” Coriolanus asked, his tone dripping with venom.

“Fuck you,” she spat, crying out a moment after. Dr. Gaul had pressed a device that delivered an electric shock throughout her body to her neck, making her convulse and twitch. 

“Mind your manners, little girl,” she snarled. “Or I’ll increase the pain tenfold.” 

Bellova closed her eyes again, as if trying to disassociate to escape her reality. 

Dr. Gaul walked around the table to stand at Coriolanus’s side. 

“She’s not going to give in,” she murmured. “She keeps saying that she’d much rather die. There’s a high risk she’ll try to commit suicide. Her death would cause commotion within the Capitol’s elite, and I can’t have such disorder disrupting the peace we’ve worked so hard to instill.”

Coriolanus exhaled sharply. “So what do we do? Pretend she’s a rebel and turn her into an Avox?”

Dr. Gaul shook her head. “That would make you look extremely suspicious. You would also be seen as a threat to the Capitol. No, the only option we have is to create a new version of the serum. One that will take a stronger hold on her brain and make her truly, completely compliant. And you will never have to worry about any…unsavory behavior from her again.”

Coriolanus nodded. “I think it may be wise to keep a syringe with me at all times. That way, if something does occur, I can quickly take back control.”

The doctor gave him an approving pat on the shoulder. 

“You’re thinking more and more like a true Gamemaker every day, Mister Snow. Perhaps I’ll meet with the others soon and discuss having you join us officially.” 

Coriolanus smiled to himself, glancing once more at Bellova’s defeated form. 

Snow lands on top indeed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week later, Dr. Gaul called the Snow penthouse, requesting for Coriolanus to head to the Citadel immediately. It was nearly midnight, so the doctor had to call almost three times before a groggy Tigris answered.

As he pulled open the laboratory doors, his heart pounded annoyingly fast. What if something had gone horribly wrong? What if Bellova had finally succumb to the torture, and her death would be the end of his climb to glory?

“Come in quickly, Mister Snow,” Dr. Gauls voice sounded. Coriolanus did what he was told, hurrying to Bellova’s room, trying to hide the panic that was threatening to overwhelm him.

When he threw open the door, he stopped dead in his tracks. 

Bellova no longer looked like a corpse. In Coriolanus’s opinion, she looked absolutely perfect.

Her hair has been washed and brushed, ridding it if the mats and tangles it had acquired in the past several days. Someone had clearly styled it, as her naturally straight hair now fell in mesmerizing curls across her back and shoulders. A makeup artist had covered her bruises and various scars, giving her skin a glass-like finish. Her body was covered with a light pink dress adorned with lace and cutesy bows, which contrasted her original personality so much that it was comical. A pair of white socks covered her feet, which matched perfectly with the dainty heels she wore.  

Coriolanus thought back to when Tigris was a young girl, and played with porcelain dolls. They had been a gift from her mother, and she treasured them more than anything. That is, until they were lost during the war. Coriolanus vividly remembered the single picture Tigris still had of her dolls, which she had kept on the wall of her room for years. Their perfect but lifeless figures were nice to stare at, but lacked character and depth.

It was almost eerie how much Bellova resembled them.

“What did you do to her?” Coriolanus blurted out, cringing internally at how unprofessional it had sounded.

Dr. Gaul smiled proudly. “I fixed her, of course. She put up quite a fight, though. Wouldn’t stop screaming and kicking until I had sedated her. Then, I did some minor brain surgery to remove any trace of the old serum before injecting the new one. This one should be completely devoid of flaws.”

He glanced at Bellova, who was still out cold on the experiment table. “So…has she lost her memory again?” 

The doctor sighed. “I hope so. But there is no true way to tell until she is awake.”

Coriolanus felt his patience start to deteriorate at an alarming rate, and grit his teeth to prevent himself from loosing his temper. “Please wake her up now, then.”

Dr. Gaul raised an eyebrow, and he could tell that she was inquisitive of his desperate tone. He didn’t understand why. Didn’t she know how important this was to him? If Bellova wasn’t truly fixed, he would have to spend even more of his time and energy protecting his reputation against the damming information stored somewhere in her mind.

But if Dr. Gaul was truly confused about his urgency, she didn’t vocalize it. Instead, she grabbed a terrifying-looking device that somewhat resembled a gun and pressed it to Bellova’s temple.

As soon as she pressed a red button, the device sent a shock through the unconscious girl’s body, causing her to jolt awake. Her grey pupils darted around fearfully, and she let out a pitiful whine of distress. 

Both the mentor and the apprentice held their breaths, anxiously anticipating Bellova’s first words.

Bellova’s lips, which has been painted over with a shiny cosmetic gloss, trembled ever-so slightly. She made eye contact with Coriolanus, and he swore he could feel his heart leap into his throat. Not in the romantic sense, of course. It was simply the thrill of being in control. 

“Coryo,” Bellova whispered, reaching out to him.

Coriolanus slowly walked towards her, taking one of her hands cautiously. Despite her innocent appearance, he didn’t trust her just her. 

After all, she’d tried to kill him mere days ago.

Bellova’s eyes swarmed with large tears, gripping his hand tightly. “I’m so confused, w-what’s going on? Why am I not at home? Am I sick?”

Coriolanus barely held back a groan of frustration. He’d have to lie on the spot, again. It was hard enough the first time, and he would have to alter the facts now that the initial lie was no longer completely relevant.

But before he could start weaving the web of deceit around Bellova’s fragile mind, Dr. Gaul spoke up.

“Silly girl, don’t be worried. You’re just having your routine checkup.”

Bellova’s brows furrowed. “Checkup?”

“Yes, my dear. I have to poke around your brain every once and awhile to make sure you’re alright.”

“Oh,” she replied simply. She turned to Coriolanus once more, her expression one of utter helplessness. “But…why am I so…Coryo, I don’t understand. I don’t understand myself, or anything or…”

Coriolanus met Dr. Gaul’s piercing gaze. Her expression was blank, but it told him everything she needed to know.

He was so close to winning the game he’d played with Bellova since they were children that he could practically taste it.

All it would take to secure his eternal victory was a handful of well-chosen words.

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊❆ ‧

TAGLIST: @daenerysqueenofhearts, @squidscottjeans, @euphemiaamillais, @gracieroxzy, @effectwalker, @vxnilla-hxrddrugs, @mystargirl-interlude, @have-a-nice-day-k, @that-daughter-of-hephaestus

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments! Again, I deeply apologize for the long wait for this chapter, I promise the next installment will come out much faster🖤

Also, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

[insxghtt]

could you do more bella x bpd reader? maybe like a specific moment or symptom that they help you through? -🐞

omg you just read my mind i love this

hypersensitivity — bella ramsey x bpd!reader

Bella was one of the best people you’ve ever met. Not only because they were a great partner, the love of your life, extremely beautiful and talented and smart, but also because they had the ability to see people for who they were.

When they heard your diagnosis for the first time, they weren’t scared like everyone else. They listened quietly, nodded, and gave you one of the best hugs of your life. You cried. A lot, actually. Bella stayed there and dried your last tear with the sleeve of his green sweatshirt. Then, he held your face with his two hands and kissed your cheeks.

“You’re still my girl. Nothing changed”, they said.

And really, nothing changed. Of course, now Bella could understand you more. They were able to realize the things that bothered you. Like, for example, strong smells that made you grumpy, movies that made you more emotional, songs that made you cry, changes in your routine that made you feel stressed.

They also realized how scared you were of the judgment from other people. You always heard that you were just “too much”. Too emotional, too angry, too depressed, too intense. And some words triggered you so bad that made you want to hide from the world forever.

Once, you invited her to dinner with your friends from high school. You knew it would be hard for you and that you would need him there. School was not easy and the memories would probably hit you like a punch in the stomach.

“I can’t even believe that you found someone”, one of your high school friends said to you. “I mean, I thought you’d be single forever. You were always so exaggerated when it came to love.”

She said it like it was a joke. Well, it was an awful joke and not funny at all. Plus, the use of the word “exaggerated” was the worst part. You tried your best to hide how much that bothered you and just laughed, but the tears in your eyes were already about to fall. You hated that. It was like you were about to overflow. Your blood was burning, the pain in your chest was insufferable. Thankfully, none of them seemed to notice while you held back your cry. Except, of course, for Bella.

Without even saying a word, they looked at you and immediately knew you wanted to leave. Bella was very good at reading you.

“Shit, darling, i forgot to tell you that Pedro invited us to have breakfast with him and his sister tomorrow morning”, Bella said, interrupting your friend who was about to tell a story about one of your first crushes.

Bella really was good at acting. 

“Really?”, your voice cracked a little from the tears you were holding back.

“Yeah, he said he wanted to see us before going back to LA.”

“You’re friends with Pedro Pascal?”, your high school friend asked you, her tone sounding a bit envious.

What a bitch, you thought. Now you remembered why you decided to push her away after your graduation.

“Yes”, you answered, sounding more confident now.

“Anyway, we should probably go now, it’s getting late and we need to wake up early”, Bella continued.

“Okay…”, the girl gave you a fake smile.

You and Bella said goodbye to all the people and left the restaurant, heading back to their car. Bella had their arm around your waist and you saw them rolling their eyes as soon as you walked out of the door, which made you giggle. Somehow, you forgot about how much the words of your “friend” hurted you.

Bella opened the car door for you like they always did, and after you were inside, they walked around and got on the driver's side.

“Are you okay?”, Bella asked with a soft tone.

You smiled, looking at those beautiful brown eyes.

“Yeah”, you whispered. God, you loved them so much. “I’m okay now.”

[ryaiga]

The One God Forbade

Chapter 1

Pairing - Captain Price X GN!Reader X Lieutenant Riley

MDNI 18+ PLEASE.

WORD COUNT: 6.3K

Summary: You survived an interrogation but don't remember anything except the pain you endured and Captain Price saving you. Once you recovered, you were left with more questions with seemingly no answer.

AUTHOR’S NOTE AT THE END! 

WARNINGS/CWS/TWS: GRAPHIC SCENES(DETAILED GORE, there will be a warning and a spacer just for it so you can skip), Military terms that might be wrong, Drinking, Childhood trauma, mention of abuse, death and mentions of death, talks of scars, implied rape.

Spacers/Headers by: @mmadeinheavenn , @imlevis , @animatedglittergraphics-n-more , @wanwanparty

{(N/n) = nickname}

It was a surprise Kortac didn't sign you from the get go. You knew of a couple of their members, König and Horangi specifically, only by mere whispers. You were the new recruit on base. Anyone and everyone would kill to have your spot, a vacancy was opened and granted to you to join Task force 141. Nobody saw it coming, you'd always thought it was the best soldier from your squad who'd be nominated, but everyone including you was blindsided by the choice. 

You were home, on leave for only a week after a grueling mission your platoon had to complete and after recovery. Intel was needed and special ops teams Alpha, Delta and ,your squad, Echo were tasked to gather it, eliminate all threats if faced and by any means get said intel. Other squads joked (some meant what they said) that you didn't belong in the army, but rather a mercenary group like Kortac. The lengths you'd take to accomplish a mission gave you that title. It was a switch, something even you can't control. What lays in your wake is the multiple sights of mangled and bloodied corpses, those whose faces were intact belonged to people you have never come across once in your life.

That mission made your attempts to sleep futile, it haunts you every night when you rest your head. You were separated from your team, trying to exfil but ended up amidst an ambush. Everyone knew how skilled a soldier you were, but never had taken you for the type to sacrifice yourself for the means of your fellow squadmates' safety. You'd make headway to a couple of your injured comrades, shooting at enemies who’d even think of taking a step forward. Dragging them back to the safety of the group, you’d left them to get first aid, hell you even threw your back up kit on top of one of the injured before running to the last man. The few before him received shots to their limbs, nothing that would render them dead, but the last man had more than just a shot. 

Rodney was Echo team’s Field Team Leader(FTL) and had been by your side pulling the injured and returning fire on the enemies. That was when a stray IED happened to go off, you swore that a pebble triggered it but you didn't have the time to think about it. Luckily for the both of you, it wasn’t close to do deadly damage but it was enough for the building in front of you to shake and a piece of rubble had fallen onto Rodney’s leg as he was trying to get up after the explosion. You had been scraped by flyaway shrapnels but one happened to embed itself into your thigh, right above your knee. Seeing that he had it worse, you made it a priority to get that injured comrade out of the way first so you can focus on Rodney after. You’d almost — or hell quite literally — thrown the man to safety and dashed for Rodney, using the momentum, you attempted to kick the rubble off and thankfully it did. Placing a tourniquet on Rodney’s leg so he didn't bleed out. 

You'd only manage to drag him halfway to the group, before a crazed hostile came charging at you with a knife. Stupid as it was to bring a knife to a gunfight in a literal sense, you reached for your pistol and raised it to shoot the hostile, hearing a click instead of a shot going off. An empty mag, you chuckled. Shouting for Rodney to crawl the rest of the way and yell for someone, you holstered the pistol to exchange for your trusty karambit. You've been in hand to hand combat for training but for some reason this was different. You found yourself on the ground quicker than ever, despite being top in your batch. 

The man stood over you with a sinister look, with a grin stretching from ear to ear. “Another American added to my collection, I won’t kill you so soon. Not yet at least, we still need to know how you found this place. And dear little soldier, oh how much fun I’ll have torturing you and keeping you barely breathing.” He proceeded to plunge the knife into your side, somehow missing everything vital but you convinced yourself that it would be blood loss that kills you at this point. You’d rather die quiet than betray the military. Blacking out due to the shock, the last thing you heard Rodney yelling for the rest to fire at the man and not just stand there with their dicks in their hands. At last it was too late, the team had to exfil but not without calling it in and letting the team who was aiding us with the mission about the situation at hand. A rescue mission for a fellow soldier.

 Neither you nor your team knew that the intel was for Task Force 141’s next deployment, you were the bait Laswell had deployed. It was to ensure that the ring leader didn’t take the situation seriously, a random military team out on patrol happened to stumble upon a measly little operational base they had out in the sandy town, a perfect bait. Bringing back the intel to the team at base, Laswell gave Price the details of your rescue, unbeknownst to you of course.

TORTURE SCENE AHEAD, AVOID IF YOU AREN’T COMFORTABLE WITH SUCH

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

You woke up to the sharp and pulsating pain in your side, vision blurred and arms shackled to a metal table, you remembered what happened. You braced yourself for the worse, nothing like good old torture. The next 8 hours felt like hell, from waterboarding, branding you with a metal rod that was heated to the point of it glowing bright orange, to nails being pulled starting from your toes then to your hands, you endured every second of torture being thrown at you. Sure it was horrible, but you kept your mouth shut by any means possible. Every time a nail was pulled ever so agonizingly slowly, you bit your lips to the point that blood dripped down your chin and that the pain was now numbed, you no longer felt it. You closed your eyes, counting every second.

1, 2, 3, 4- “How did you find this compound?” 9, 10. 30600. 1, 2, 3- “I know you can hear me!” 7, 8, 9, 10. 30610- Another slow pull of a nail, this time it was your right pinky toe, no nails on the right foot 8 hours, 35 minutes, 20 seconds into being kidnapped. Yeah they took a whole 5 minutes to torture your pinky toe for information. 

1, 2, 3, 4, 5- the door to the room opens again, a different man enters. This time with a trolley with surgical tools. You could see a scalpel, clamps, retractors, suction, staples and energy systems, you could tell this man enjoys the torment he inflicts. With the orchestra of surgical tools laid out in front of him, he was the conductor who was gonna lead your screams into a melodious conforment of the perfect harmony, a symphony to his ears. 45950. 

1, 2, 3, 4, you felt him cut open the top of your hand, using the clamps on the nerves and playing with them, all without anesthetics, you growled as your face contorted to the pain. Cauterizing the incision, “You know, I had enough sessions like this, I could get a medical license just from how talented and skill I am with my tools.” Deranged as he sounds, you kept counting. 50400. It is now 50401. You had enough when you felt him grab your belt buckle. That’s where it happened. You blacked out. The last that you remembered.

Back at base, Laswell called for the last mission briefing after Price gathered the boys and informed them of what was going on. After which Price and the few members of Task force 141 geared up. He led them onto the helo and they flew out to the sandy plains you were left at. 3 hours after the incident was called in. 

Laswell had informed him of the prestigious yet silent soldier that was being considered for his team. He’d lost a recruit in an earlier deployment, one he took to heart. Like many from the past, another scar added, that lay permanent by his chest and the haunting that left him shaking and restless at night, another one failed by his very leadership. Making even the unshakeable captain wake in cold sweats and trembling and to his vices in the attempts to be grounded to earth once more. So to hear that he was getting a new member that was as or more skilled than the one before, meant that the military was willing to sacrifice yet another valuable asset if it meant that his team was complete from every angle. A well trained sniper, hardy in hand to hand, a versatile team player yet nothing more than your skills were known. Similar to his lieutenant, you were an enigma. Not even a drop of ink was placed about your past and how you came about the military. Your file had a picture, a battle hardened soldier who completed every mission with ease and precision of high caliber, but no other name besides (N/N). You hadn’t been rewarded with a callsign, no one knew enough about you to even give a title to your talents, unlike Soap or Ghost. Price read up on your previous missions, but to his disappointment (or amazement), every debrief on the details stated that no one saw how you executed. It was always done and over with by the time the rest came to you, and it happens within mere seconds. A regal display of crimson red, a mural of your skill assets that leaves even your FTLs in fear of ever being your enemy. However, No one was ready for what was to come. For you’d gain a title like no other, a prestige as high as the greatest artist known to man, the difference being that it came not from art. But from your ungodly fits to kill and survive, a display left out to strike fear in any person who wronged you.

Price and his team sat in the helo, adrenaline slowly creeping along their nerves as they awaited for the pilot's call to jump. “Hope we get there in time, wouldn't be good if we found ‘em KIA. Laswell seemed rather fond of the enigma.” Ghost briefly spoke, an utter breath that Price barely caught. Nodding in response, Price wanted to see what you were. How you handled the predicament you were in, knowing full well if it was one of his men, that they wouldn’t even think of breaking. Could he blame you? Not even your platoon had knowledge that you were against a group of skilled mercenaries guising as cartels selling American weapons on middle eastern soil. He’d seen what they’ve done to the soldiers before you, they never made it home and if they did, it was a closed casket ceremony. 

Needless to say you were in desperate need of saving if you even want to think of coming out alive. Ghost reminds the rest that they aren’t to hope too highly of your chances, another tag and body bag might be amongst them on their return. A slim chance that you’d even be crawling out that hellscape. It was a bad omen that Price hated, he didn’t like the thought of a rescue being a failed attempt before it even began. Before he could even try to save the person. The helo landed miles away from the building, too many for the team’s liking. It meant time was wasted traversing the dunes, and time was not on their side.

They managed to reach the building on the 14th hour, Gaz situated at a high vantage point and taking out any guard that would alert the others and prevent the team’s entry while Price and the other two got closer. Price split the teams, Gaz with him and Soap with Ghost. Ghost and Soap would make the initial breach, having that Soap was their demolitions expert. Gaz made his way to the other side of the building with Price to flank and surprise any enemies with the possible off chance of stumbling into you during the sweep. Over the comms, he gave the signal. A blast shook the building, he’d hear a handful of footsteps rush towards the other two, giving it a second before kicking the shitty metal door open. Entering the 4 story building, they cleared the first floor with ease before coming across a walkie talkie on one of the now dead tangos. “Goddamn it! Kill whoever that was, we need to handle-” the person on the other end was cut off and without a second for Price to ponder what the situation was, more enemies came barrelling down the steps, managing to count 6 as they entered a room for cover before a gunfight ensued. Soap deployed a 9 banger - a flashbang that would go off 9 times back to back - a headbanger experience for the poor dead men walking. Using that as a distraction Gaz took out 3 enemies before Ghost and Price eliminated the remaining few. 

Ghost and Soap rushed to the second floor while he and Gaz went to the third. ‘Faster’ echoed in the back of Price’s mind. The team only managed to clear 3 rooms when a gut wrenching cry and a shot going off not long after was heard. It came from the fourth floor, He waited for the two below them and got into formation. Leading his men into the unknown, they hurried up the flight of stairs. Looking down the dimly lit and putrid corridor stood 4 rooms, only one of which was closed, something wet leaked from its crack but the lighting made it hard to distinguish what it was. After clearing other rooms of hostiles, Price had Gaz stand guard by the stairs, Soap covering his and Ghost’s six. His clothed hand slowly reached the grimy steel knob, twisting and pushing it open to find that it was locked from the inside. You had to be there, surely. He tapped Soap and motioned for him to breach with a thermite. Bracing for the explosion, the thermite goes off rattling who stood by the door no doubt, using the initial explosion as a distraction, Price enters. 

He’d heard of soldiers crawling away from death’s grip, but nothing he’d seen or heard would have prepared him for what he had just walked into. Before Ghost could turn to clear and call out on the comms, Price stopped him and the other two from entering. A war torn soldier wasn’t an unusual sight but the horrors he’d just laid his desensitized eyes on was enough to remind him of what he once feared back when he was a young recruit in the SAS. A trolley with surgical tools and a lone pistol stood at arms reach of a small figure wearing a familiar uniform, hands busy with what he could only assume was the soldier’s face, chains jingling as they continued with what they were doing all whilst embracing the sun’s warm grace. That wasn’t what shook him, a metal table typically used to interrogate people stood to the right of the room. The chains that held you down were broken, the spot where the chains were welded to the center of the table had an upwards dent - you ripped the chains off the table with sheer force.

A man in surgical garments sprawled on the table, innards now turned out for all to see. A spectacle made out of human intestine, organs pinned outside the man’s body by multiple scalpels that went through the metal and blood viciously splattered around his corpse. Price wished he could say that was it but the gruesome art went beyond just insides turned out. The man’s entire nervous system was intricately laid out around his organs, decorating the entire table in a mix of thin blue threads barely visible amongst the puddle of red. The nerves still connected together in a web, not severed in any section, the extreme precision to carry such a brutal butchering left Price speechless. The scene was as if it paid homage to the Blair Witch Project, or worse a page from a sacrificial ritual. Price could only hope that the man was dead when all of this was carried out.

Another, laid on the floor not too far between the man on the table and inches away from the door. A pistol in his mouth, brain matter laid out on the ground, his face frozen with a plea for mercy. That was what he was standing in, and what had seeped out the door crack. Yet another lay in front the soldier Price was facing, neck snapped and his dead body laid to rest sitting up right by the wall in front of the aforementioned soldier, a metal rod shoved into his mouth and the sharp end had protruded out his torso. Price took another step forward before he heard a whimper to the left most corner of the room, their target - the head honcho of the operation - sat bare and huddled. His clothes on the ground at arms reach yet the man was too afraid to take a step forward. As though he would meet the same fate as his men if he took even a breath of air.

“(N/n)? It’s Captain Price, Laswell sent Task Force 141 to rescue you.” Price spoke softly, not wanting to surprise you, unsure of the current mental state you were in. Especially after what was laid around you and the torture you went through. “Are you injured?-” You didn’t answer, instead opting to slowly turn. Price made the right call, the state you were in was dire. “Ghost, call for exfil ASAP, (N/n) is alive but in serious condition.” Price called out to his right hand man with urgency and a slight tremble in his voice. 

Your eyes. He’d thought that when he first met Ghost, that his eyes were the epitome of cold and soulless. But somehow yours went beyond that, for a lack of better words. A frigid cold looms behind those dull and matte black pupils, reminding of the cold he once faced during a deployment in Russia during a winter’s snow storm, striking his very core cold. Bangs sticking to your bloodied face by sweat and grime from the hours of torture you endured. A chunk of your skin hanged off your face, a knife cut and what looks like one of the man’s attempts to rip the skin out and off your face. It started right above your eyebrow traveling down to your lips. He was hopeful that it was repairable, it wasn’t a wide injury, barely missing your eyes and narrows down where it ended in the middle of your upper lip, still connecting at both ends to your face by what looked like a thin fishing line. You were stitching your skin back to your face. Your hand had a butchered attempt to stitch a wound close with one hand, nail beds down to your knuckles had trails of dried up blood. Uniform stained a dark red, mixture of your injured comrades blood from the fight and yours, the side of your torso had a big patch of blood. Sleeves rolled up, bright red burn marks running down your entire forearm, the man before you had branded you with the very metal rod that was now embedded in him. On your other arm were 12 lines stitched into your skin, 8 weren’t freshly stitched in, leaving Price confused and curious as to what it was. 

END OF TORTURE SCENE

Price could see the soldier mouthing something softly. His ears strained to hear the soft word, or numbers when he realizes that you were counting out by tens and adding to a bigger number before repeating. The hours you were torture. He slowly approaches you, calling out to you. It took a solid minute for you to realize what was going on. Signs of a soul return to your eyes, glossing over as soon as you hear your name. Arms slowly raised to surrender and it starts to tremble when before they were as still as though belonging to the world’s best brain surgeon. Tears drip down your cheeks, face still emotionless. You were dazed. The sound of the chopper’s propeller came to earshot, fresh sunshine scalding your back through the glassless window.

Gaz calls out to Price, “They’re here! Let’s go!” Price immediately takes off his shemagh and drapes it over your head, covering your face before standing to your left. He gave you a shot of morphine he had on hand to help with the pain. Grabbing your left arm, wrapping it over his shoulders, bending both of you and carried you bridal style as you were in no condition to walk - your toenails gone from the torture and the piece of shrapnel still in your thigh, he could only imagine the pain you were going through. He carried you out the room, ordering his team to escort the two of you to the safety of the chopper. Before he could descend the stairs, you spoke softly. “My karambit. Find it, I can’t lose it. I won’t leave without it.” The team shoots Price a confused look before turning to each other. “What are you waiting for? You heard the soldier. Quickly find it.” Price commands, he feels your breath starting to get labored, he hurries the guys and tells Gaz to follow him out.

The medics on board administered emergency first aid, shooting you with a dose of adrenaline to make sure you stay awake during the flight. They had laid you down on a stretcher. Not long after you, Price and Gaz enter the chopper, Ghost and Soap follow suit with your karambit in hand. Soap walks to your side, kneeling before he places your Karambit safely onto your chest and grabs your left hand to be placed on top of the knife. “Rest easy now (N/n), you and your karambit are safe.” Soap shot you a comforting smile as he spoke with a tone to reassure you.

Beeping. You hear the sound of a heart monitor beeping to the same rhythm as your heartbeat, however it was muffled. Eyes fluttering open, squinting due the harsh and glaring light that was directly over you. Consciousness returns to your still body. A body that didn’t feel like yours, sore all over and strapped down to the bed, limiting your movement. Your vision blurred, you attempted to analyze the room. Aside from the continuous beeping of the heart monitor, the fluorescent lights that had basically served as a flashbang buzzed like white noise. Reminding you of the time when you were living in that shitty college dormitory, but there wasn’t that stale air that was permeated by the pungent scent of body odor from athletes who freely roamed the halls. Instead, it was the smell of disinfectant that was greatly welcomed. The A/C hummed quietly, you soon realized it was a hospital or medical bay that you were in. 

Something was off. How did you get from that dry and sweltering room that was stained with the smell of mold and bodily fluids to this clean environment. You scrapped at your foggy memory, who came? Was it the military who came to your rescue or did the fuckers who tortured you, who sold you off as a token and bargaining chip to a client? Panic creeps up your leg, feeling it coursing through your veins. You quietly looked for a way to get out of your restraints, not wanting anyone to hear you scheming away.

Your eyes spotted a paperclip that was left right on top of your cover, probably dropped from a clipboard. You started to shimmy under the tiny metal paperclip, it inches to your reach and soon you popped it into your mouth to bend it in a way that allowed you to lockpick the 4 locks that held your restraints against the bed. You hurried, taking off the restraints that were on your hands and started to work on your foot. 

You only managed to free one foot when you heard someone walk into the section of the medical bay that housed you. Your heart starts beating aggressively quick, the sensation made it as though your heart was in your throat and actively trying to suffocate you. Before you were able to formulate a plan, someone was sliding the thin curtain aside. "They should be out cold, that wasn't an average dose of sedative Capt. Had to get Alex to hold 'em down with me and he just got back too." Scottish man but he wasn't alone, you glared at the curtain to gauge how big the Scot was. Standing at 6'2(1.88m), nothing you haven't encountered, a build fit for a soldier. You weren't gonna take your chances though.

You leaned to grab the flower vase that stood tall on the bedside table, readying your other hand with the paper clip to fling it at the man as hard as possible once you distracted him. The curtain pulls back and sure enough he was distracted talking to the other person accompanying him. You threw the pot straight at the Scottish man's face, catching him by surprise and stumbling onto the ground with his hand on his nose. The pot didn't break, if you weren't trying to escape and it was safe, you'd be laughing in the back of your mind. Immediately turning your attention to the other man who merely looked at his buddy on the ground groaning in pain. You took that as a free opportunity to get the man. You flicked the paperclip hoping to at least get it embedded into the side of his neck.

However, to your horror, he leaned back just in time to dodge the clip. It pierced the concrete wall next behind him. Before you were able to do anything, he turned to you and pinned you down against the bed. Your wrists in his hands and above your head, you tried to pull away but to no avail. You started to buck your body against his, trying to get him off. This only causes him to yell at his comrade, who's whining and rolling on the ground in pain. "Soap if you don't get up and help me pin their legs or hell, even get the doc, so help me I will ensure the lavys are nice and grody just for you to clean till next month." The man that you almost stabbed in the jugular with a goddamn paperclip has his body on your torso, just so you’d stop struggling, had an annoyed look similar to a dad reprimanding his son for breaking a glass and not bothering to help. 

“It’s Captain Price- Calm down Echo 2, we aren’t going to hurt you. You're back at base and safe.” Captain Price? Price? You heard of his name. Rodney had mentioned that name before, something about a transfer. You stopped fighting back, as he mentioned you’re safe now and realized you nearly killed a higher up, you apologized. He slowly got up, wary that you’d try to pull something. Especially after that stunt. “You had woken up several times the past few days, manic on several occasions. We had Soap watch over you in case you woke up and chose to attack the Doc.” 

“Permission to speak. How long was I out? And are my platoon mates safe?” You asked after Price gave you a nod. “A week, your body was weak from blood loss. The doctors helping you had stabilized you. Removing the shrapnel in your thigh, stitching the remaining skin that you hadn’t stitched back onto your face, treating your stab wound and the burn you had from the branding. Your platoon was brought back safely thanks to you Sergeant (N/n).” It came back to you. The ambush during exfil, dragging injured man back, Rodney, the counting, the questions, and you don't remember much after that. Funny how it all went down within 24 hours.

The doctor came in with a Soap who wasn’t too happy to open the curtain. Doc ran a couple of tests to make sure you were clear for rehab. Your recovery was a speedy one and rehab was smooth sailing. The platoon came to visit you, those you saved came to show their gratitude. Some silently cried as you laid in the comforts of your hospital bed. You were still trying to register what happened, how you got 3 more stitches on your left arm. You had 8 on your arm from your past, marking those who wronged you. 

One belongs to your deadbeat dad who abused you and your mother when you were younger, he died mysteriously. All you recalled was the newscaster covering his death as a brutal and grotesque murder that the nation had witnessed in years. Your mother knew what happened but she never disclosed that information, not to the cops and especially not you. You had stitched a blood red thread into your arm.

Another was a friend who left you to die after a crash that nearly rendered you paralyzed, you remember crawling with only your arms trying to get help. 

Six belonged to each member of a jock clique who trapped you in the college’s equipment shed and took turns abusing you in too many ways yet you didn’t remember how. All you could remember was limping away in your tattered clothes covered in bright purple bruises that covered your body and a permanent red line that went around your neck. 

The last one belongs to a guy who was close to one of the jocks, he somehow had entered your dorm room and attacked you after coming home from a long study session in the library. A scar ran from the back of your right bicep down to its shoulder blade. What amazed you was that you never remember what happened after those traumatic moments. All you knew were they’d end up dead one way or another.

You ran your hand over the stitches, something about it is soothing to you. Last thing you remember was seeing Captain Price walking up to you, and the mangled bodies scattered around you. Before you could get lost in your thoughts, Rodney came to visit. “(N/n)? How you holding up?” He pushes the curtain aside with his crutch and sits on the chair sat beside your bed. “As good as I can get Echo 1. How’s the leg?” The two of you made small talk, he told you that the rubble had broken his leg and that the medical team had to place a metal rod in there to treat the issue. He also mentioned something about gifts being dropped off and placed in your cage. Shocking considering you weren’t close to the team, “You know, if it weren’t for the bandages covering your face, I wouldn't know what you’re thinking. But your eyes speak volumes, it was thanks to you that we got to come home safely. At the expense of your own safety. I don’t think any of us could show just how grateful we are and could never repay you for it.” you didn’t say much, purely unsure what needs to be said. You simply reached for his shoulder, resting your hand on it. “Rodney, it's my job as much as yours to keep the rest safe. The least I could've done.” Rodney looked up at you with great admiration.

“I came here to let you know something. All I can say is that I left a good word in for you.” You were confused by what he just said and was about to ask what he meant by ‘left a good word in’ when he got up. “The platoon is waiting for you to fully recover, they want to head to the bar. I know what you’re about to say, ‘It's fine FTL, I’ll sit it out’. Not this time Echo 2, we’ll be celebrating your return before we get some down time.”

About 2 weeks after the incident with Captain Price and Sergeant Soap, you were given the all clear to head back to cages. The stab wound was still limiting your range of movement but at least you weren’t bound to the hospital bed or the confines of the rehab room. Being able to wear your uniform felt good, however you had to stop by the base’s surplus store to buy more balaclavas considering the huge scar on your face. You weren’t one who loved being stared at or given attention for no reason. When you walked in the surplus store, the lady working the cashier stared at you the entire time. You didn't hesitate to grab a couple pairs of gloves while you're at it. You immediately wore one of the all black balaclavas, walking out with a new cap as well, it didn't hurt to add a cap to your wardrobe, especially since you didn't want to look like a clothed bald. You chuckled at the thought, now you don't have to worry about your hair not meeting the requirements, you could even grow it out if you wanted.

You made your way to the cages, finding the aforementioned gifts on yours. The platoon had gotten you new clothes like multiple thin long sleeves to wear under your t-shirts or uniforms, balaclavas, a bunch of hats. A lot of gifts for a second in command that hadn’t bonded with the team much despite being with them for years now. What caught your eyes was a trophy, you picked it up. It reads ‘Best 2IC of the year’. You felt eyes staring holes into your back, “You guys know that you can’t sneak up on me right?” you turned to see the platoon hiding by the doorway, they came charging in. They picked you up and started to toss you up into the air, clearly happy that you were back. They never once seemed to like you until now, you can’t deny it, it felt good to feel appreciated. But you’d never show it.

They let you shower and change out to something more comfortable. You had chosen to wear some cargo pants, one of the thin long sleeves under a windbreaker you owned, not forgetting the balaclava and cap you bought. Once you changed, they carried you out to one of the trucks Rodney drove and hopped in after you. The drive to the bar was chaotic, the boys were singing alongside the handful of ladies who braved war alongside you. Music blasting through the truck, you could barely hear your own thoughts. The truck halts to a stop, now at the infamous bar that every soldier from base would frequent, The Old West. They were known for their top shelf bourbon and scotch. The guys dragged you in, the bar had an oaky scent that was somehow comforting. You and the platoon had taken up the biggest table and since the bar offered food, you ordered some mozzarella sticks to share with them. After sitting and chatting with the platoon, Rodney bought everyone a beer to celebrate. A cheer was called for and it being a weekend, the bar soon became loud with everyone joining in to cheer you guys. 

After a while, you needed a moment to yourself. You had made your way to the bar, sat on one of the bar stools and had ordered a shot of vodka and a glass of whiskey. You didn't realize it but you were shaking, you weren’t used to being in a ‘huge’ crowd. Thankfully you had sat at the end of the bar and somewhat away from the noise. That's when you spotted Captain Price. He was talking to the bartender and hadn’t noticed you, how could he especially with how you looked now. And you’d like for it to be that way, still feeling bad for nearly killing him. You down the vodka with ease, nothing you weren’t used to considering how it was one of your many vices that helped you forget about the atrocities that you had committed over the years. You pulled your phone out to scroll the news, blankly reading it and enjoyed the whiskey.

“Care for another soldier?” Somehow you didn’t see the captain saunter his way next to you. The bartender had placed 2 drinks in front of you, that was the talk that he had with the bartender. Not wanting to be rude, you humbly accepted the drink. “At ease soldier, I'm here to enjoy a drink just like everyone else.” He turns to you and shoots you a smile. You simply nod. It stayed that way for the remainder of the night, with the occasion of either of you calling the bartender over for a refill. It wasn't as uncomfortable or awkward as you thought it would be.

Rodney spots the two of you and comes to say hi, “Captain, sergeant. Hope y’alls enjoy yourselves as much as the rest of the bar.” he chuckles, arm around your shoulder and beer in his other hand. “Hope this one right here will do you good captain, it’ll be sad to see ‘em leave. But it's for a better cause. Anyways, (N/n) the rest wants to leave in a bit, thought to let you know!” Rodney walks back to the rest, albeit a little wobbly than you’d like. You turned to ask Price what Rodney was on about but he was already up and had paid. ”Drinks on my soldier, see you the next time we meet.” 

So many questions, yet nobody answers them.

A/N: Raiga here! This is the first chapter of the TOGF series, heads up that this will predominantly focus on your rs with Price, I might change the way this is heading as I do have a couple ideas on how to carry this story. I want to preface that the dynamic is not going to be too romantic. All this while writing my first GN! oh so many first! so do give feedback as it is greatly appreciated. If you’d like to be a beta reader, shoot me a message as it would help with releasing each chapter faster. 

The first chapter was mainly to give you an idea of the ‘mc’s’ behavior. Sorry if it’s much, most of it is based on my experiences. So if you happen to dislike it, I wouldn’t fault you. But I do hope you are able to enjoy the story! I’m also trying to avoid having the boys be OOC too much, I want it to feel more authentic as it can get if you were to fall in love with your captain despite it being forbidden.

Till then, that’s all from me! Raiga out.

IF YOU’D LIKE TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST, LEAVE A REPLY!

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@thychuvaluswife @tiny-kasper

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞

pairing: joel miller x tess servopoulos

genre: smut, romance, angst, hurt comfort, minors dni

word count: 9.4k

summary: To put it simply, Tess did not want to exist but did so anyway. She stared blankly at everyone and everything. Her mind and heart urged her to make the smart choices. She was quick to eliminate the possibilities that might cause her death. She assessed the weak links of the group. Stayed clear away from them. 

Smart choices. She blamed that part of herself for wanting to approach the Millers.

Or alternatively, the story of how Joel and Tess met and how they came to be.

warnings: canon typical violence, suicidal thoughts, mention of past suicide attempt, grief, loneliness, mild spoilers for the HBO show/podcast, timeskips, joel has a bit of a pain kink, piv, marking, biting, hair pulling, dirty talking, oral sex (female receiving), blood, wound cleaning, mention of body hair, dissociating for both

a/n: yes I changed the title from "the seed" to "spitfire" due to a specific scene that wasn't yet written (or even an idea in my brain) when I posted the sneak peek. I've been in love with these two ever since I watched the gameplay and my love only grew with the show. writing this was definitely out of my comfort zone but I enjoyed it and hope you guys will enjoy reading it 💜

Tess was alone. Her loneliness burned through her skin, hallowed out her eyes, and drew deep lines across her face. She was so very tired. Every muscle ached. Even her heart. She didn’t want to cry about it. Early on she figured that the wetness of her eyes meant nothing to this new world. It didn’t gather sympathy. Only made her into a mark. Once she saw her reflection in the water. Before she was made a part of the group. It made her feel sick to her core. Everything was just so meaningless. It didn’t suit her to show that weakness. It wasn’t worth the strain on the muscles of her face or the ache in her heart. 

The group found her. There was an issue if she was worth it or not, but thank god for her wits and unyielding tongue, she was made part of it quite quickly. They were heading to Boston. 

She didn’t bother with learning their names. They all did despicable things in the name of survival. Horrid things. Things that gave her nightmares and forced her eyes to open at night. She would wake up drenched in sweat, her heart racing as she looked up at the stars. The stars she remembered gazing upon with her family. A husband. A son. All gone. She closed her eyes in a weak attempt to shut down her mind. But of course that didn’t work. It never did. In fact, she was quite sure it did the opposite. Memories would come rushing back. The moment she held him for the first time in her shaking arms. The moment she left him locked inside his room. Condemning him to live out the infection alone. 

She could still hear the banging of the door sometimes. 

A month later a pair of brothers joined them. Joel and Tommy Miller. Tommy did most of the talking, convincing them that they would be a helpful addition. The other one—the older one, Tess guessed, was not as keen. Clearly joining just to be near his brother.  They were quick on the trigger which was enough for them to be included. Tess had no intention of befriending them. Or anyone else for that matter. But Joel. . . she could see some use that could come out of him. She could see a pain similar to hers. Something that ate him from the inside out. His gaze only softened when he thought no one could see, and only when he was staring at his brother. It would usually be something mundane. Either Tommy would be cleaning out his rifle or putting on his shoes. In those times Joel’s eyes became soft, dark grief blurring the lines of the color. 

The group dwindled. Most of them died, one by one. Leaving only a handful of them. Tess didn’t know why but she had this insufferable instinct to stay alive. She didn’t understand it. Before the outbreak she never fancied herself being a person who contemplated the meaning of life. She just lived. She had a job, a husband, a cute son. That was meant to be her meaning, wasn’t it? During the night when darkness stretched out and drowned out the shine of the stars, she found herself thinking about it a lot.  Tess knew she didn’t want to live. It was suffering. Hell on earth. It was meaningless. Why was she here when so many others weren’t? Tess scoffed when people mentioned divine punishment. It was stupid. She might be a shit person now, and hell, maybe she did deserve to be punished for the things she did and was going to do. But during the brief period when she was wandering alone, she met some good people. Not a lot. However, she would spit in the face of a god who had decided those handful of people should be punished with the rest of them. 

To put it simply, Tess did not want to exist but did so anyway. She stared blankly at everyone and everything. Her mind and heart urged her to make the smart choices. She was quick to eliminate the possibilities that might cause her death. She assessed the weak links of the group. Stayed clear away from them. 

Smart choices. She blamed that part of herself for wanting to approach the Millers. A simple exchange for her smarts for their muscle. Tess never had this need to group up with anyone specific in their little crew before. No one had really spiked her interest. Neither Tommy nor Joel seemed like the brightest bulbs in the box but, she had to admit, they had a hell of a way to survive. Tess wasn’t strong. Sure, she aimed right and could stab someone in the neck, but those talents didn’t necessarily mean that she was strong where it counted. Granted, her biggest weapon was manipulation. She hardly found regret when she tricked someone. Why should she? Nothing mattered. 

She observed the brothers. Joel was a lost cause and Tess was pretty sure the older brother hadn’t uttered a word to any of them since he joined. His hardened gaze was enough to make anyone cower in fear and stay away. Tommy on the other hand. . .  he was approachable. Tess could see that whatever had broken Joel hadn’t had the same effect on his brother. Tommy talked to her sometimes. Asked her where she was from, how did she end up with the rest of this messy bunch—his words not her’s. Tess did answer, some part of her hoping that the titbits of her life would reach Joel. In return for the information she gave, she learned about them as well. Not a lot, but little was still something. 

One day she gave the brothers her last can of fruit. She had been hiding it for a while and was planning on eating the sweet, albeit out of date, peaches when her period came. She always ached for something sweet during those times. But she had a plan in motion and in the long run, Tess knew that this small, purposeful, act of kindness would do well for her. 

She was right. A week later cold had started to settle into the earth, Tommy brought her a jacket. She didn’t ask where it came from. Nor did she comment on why it was still warm. With a thanks touching her lips, she put it on, ignoring the uncomfortable churn of her stomach. 

Joel still didn’t talk to her. Tess noticed him staring a lot. During moments when the fire was crackling, heating up their sore bodies, she was allowed to sit closer to them. She didn’t remember the last time she strived to be closer to someone. She was doing it for her own benefit, of course, but still, Tess had forgotten how to approach people without frowning at how ridiculous it felt to talk about the blossoming flowers. Or the weather. 

Every day she felt worse without knowing how to make herself feel better. Every day opening her eyes proved to be more of a struggle. She was in purgatory. Destined to repeat the same sad cycle. 

Tommy made her feel a little bit better. He talked endlessly, even when words didn’t need to be said. Tess knew the signs men made in order to distract themselves. Tommy was in pain. At least his own version of it. He lived it differently compared to his brother. Joel sulked, kept to himself, locked himself up tight like a stubborn walnut. In this aspect, Tess felt closer to Joel. She was very much the same. Her desire to talk about her feelings was close to none, and in moments she succumbed to that desire, she felt embarrassed the next day. Almost shy. She recognizes it’s a stupid emotion to have in a world on fire, but something she couldn’t help. Her body had a mind of its own, disobeying her in the most crucial moments. An example of this would be her breathing. She was sick and tired of it. 

If there was a god, and she was doubtful of the fact, Tess would want the deity to convince her why she should keep going. What was she fighting for? Why was she here? It was foolish to think there was a higher purpose, she knew there wasn’t one. So why was her body keep fighting on her behalf? 

She had too many questions, she realized. 

No wonder nobody bothered to show up and spill the cosmic beans to her.

Joel wasn’t expecting Tess to join him during his watch. Or maybe he was, he had no idea what the hell his brain was thinkin’ anymore. He’d noticed the looks. Something was stirring and he could sniff trouble comin’ from a mile away, unlike Tommy, who seemed to be too eager in making friends instead of watching his own goddamn back. Joel had met Tess’s gaze approximately once. Her eyes were green and he thought about how much brighter they must’ve been before all hell broke loose. Now it was a muddled color, a shade of green you would find at the bottom of a polluted lake. Joel didn’t remember why he had looked into her eyes. He thought it was because she said something, or maybe it was Tommy that had said something first. He couldn’t tell the days apart. Every moment bled into one another, turning time into one nonsensical blob.  

Tess sat across from him, the fading embers made her skin glow a warm orange. The night had begun to grow longer, the day shorter. Luckily, they were getting close to Boston. Joel couldn’t wait to get rid of the nonessentials that surrounded them. Tommy was fast asleep along with the other two people who remained in their crew. Without realizing it, Joel hugged his rifle tighter. Tess’s eyes followed the moment. Her gaze lingered on the rifle for a moment before meeting Joel’s gaze. She didn’t say anything and it made Joel feel awkward. He cleared his throat and spread his legs wider. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, understanding instantly that this exact question was what she was hoping for. She doesn’t smile, but her lips mimic the shape of it. 

She answered. “Nope.” 

Silence. 

Since when was Joel disturbed by silence? Never. Not even when it was absolute strangers he was with. He never felt the awkward nature of it. Silence had become his friend, his confidant. He spoke to it without making a sound. In the dead of night, he would move his lips, talking to it endlessly. He had to. He had to or he would go insane—or maybe he’d already passed the line separating the two. Joel wasn’t sure. The line was a blur.

Now, the silence felt menacing. His skin grew taut, his bones stiff. His mouth dry like sandpaper, he swallows, then again and again. Filling his mouth with saliva only for it to go dry a moment later. 

“I’d rather be alone,” he grunted, internally flinching at how loud he sounded. Joel was hoping this would be the end of it. The sentence paired with his glare was an excellent people repellent. 

She only shrugged, garnering his greatest weapon useless, “And I’d rather stay.”

Joel didn’t know what to say to that. He found her statement to be utter bullshit. No one wanted to stay with him. He wasn’t blind, he could see that over the months his brother grew uncomfortable around him. Hell, not even himself. Instinctively, he touched the scar on his temple, still fresh, pulsing under the pads of his fingers. If she noticed, she didn’t ask. 

It wouldn’t have mattered if she’d did. Joel wouldn’t have answered her. 

“I know you’ve been sniffin’ around for information,” he said in a firm tone, leveling her with a stern gaze. He felt his cheeks burning but couldn’t quite understand why. It was a cold night. “I ain’t gonna give you anythin’. This ain’t a get-together. We’ll travel to Boston with our skin still in place, if lucky, and that’ll be it.” 

“I agree.” 

Joel raised an eyebrow, his fingers tightening around the long muzzle of the rifle. “See you say you understand,” he grunted. “But you’re still sittin’ there, eager for a conversation.” 

“I never said I wanted a conversation,” Tess answers, her brows inching closer as she assessed him with a humorful smile. It made him feel stupid. Like she was in on some kind of joke that he wasn’t aware of. “I don’t care about you, Joel.” 

He blinked, confusion etching into the growing lines of his face. His lips parted, the air between them tense for multiple reasons. Tess sighed and leaned back as she arched her back, her spine craving from the pressure. She looked like a cat in a sunbeam. 

“I don’t care about your brother either,” she confirmed something that Joel already knew. “And if I’m being honest, I don’t really care about myself either but here I am, trying to survive. Get to Boston, hope that FEDRA is better there.” 

“It won’t be.” 

“Well,” she answered, her voice growing soft along with the green of her eyes, slightly brighter compared to that swamp color. “A girl can always dream.” 

Unlike her, Joel did not soften. In fact, he hardened. He moved his jaw, locking it tight. His shoulders stayed firm, and his gaze, devoid of any color, looked directly into her own. 

“Was there a reason for you you tellin’ me you don’t give to shit about my brother and I or did I miss it?” 

“I’m just keeping everything out in the open,” the light faded in her eyes and Joel relaxed upon seeing it return. “I don’t care about you two, you don’t care about me. So how about we make this trip a useful one for the three of us.” 

Joel barked a silent laugh, “Are you suggestin’ we team up?” his smirk stretched from one side to another, it felt like his lips cracked with the unpracticed expression. He bared his teeth to her. Leaned forward, the dying embers warming his neck and reddening his cheeks. “There’s no reason for that. We’re already in a group.” 

“They’ll be dead soon. And so will we, if we don’t have each other’s backs.” 

“I ain’t trustin’ you,” he answered and Tess seemed to understand. He could see it in her eyes. He shook his head. “Look, you seem smart, but you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree. What do you suggest? That we run away the three of us? If that was somethin’ I wanted I would just run along with Tommy.” 

“But he doesn’t want to,” Tess cut in, looking at him between dainty eyelashes. Joel sucked in a breath, his chest expanding uncomfortably. “Isn’t that the whole reason you joined us? Tommy wanted in. Though I’m sure he’s regretting it now. After seeing what we’re capable of as people.” 

“He knows what needs to be done,” Joel hissed through clenched teeth. “Don’t pretend you know him. You don’t.”

His anger simmered pleasantly under his skin. He greeted this emotion with open arms, he enjoyed feeling the rage. It made him sharp, made him briefly forget about the world he was a part of. The hot anger made him see nothing but red. After years of building and building, it felt good to be allowed to destroy. He would stare at his hands a lot when no one was looking. He would get scarred either way. Building and destroying. It didn’t matter. With the latter, he’d not often felt regret. 

“Is he scared of you, Joel?” 

“Excuse me?” 

The words struck a cord within him. He couldn’t understand at first. And when he did his simmering anger came to a boiling point. In that moment, he wanted to shoot her. He wouldn’t. Tess was defenseless and it would cause more trouble than his trigger-happy fingers were worth. Besides, he still had somewhat of a conscience, at least when it came to the people who he was semi-in close relations with. 

Tess, knowing well that she managed to crawl under Joel’s skin, smiled. 

“He’s scared of you,” she repeated, making Joel’s ears burn. “That’s why he doesn’t want to be alone with you. I saw how you two operate, you’re still trying to protect him from it, aren’t you?” 

“He’s a veteran,” he croaked. “He doesn’t need my protection.” 

“I’m not saying he’s not dangerous, or less violent than you. But when push comes to shove, you gladly take that responsibility away from him.” 

“So what if I do?” Joel spat. He had forgotten that he was trying to make this woman go away. Blood rushed to his ears and he heard little when it came to their surroundings. All he could see was Tess. She was looking at him with curiosity and a hint of something else. A familiarity. “He’s the only thing I have left. Hell will freeze over before I lose him too.” 

“Too?” 

Shit. Joel was in deep. He wanted to shut up but couldn’t, he felt like she could understand him. Even parts of him he couldn’t quite understand yet. But despite that sudden need to share the thought he hadn’t even shared with Tommy, Joel kept his silence. He pressed his lips tightly together. 

“I guess that was stupid of me to say. Of course, you lost someone else. We all have,” she met Joel’s glare and slowly got up. She fixed the crumpled part of the jacket Tommy gave her, which Joel felt ridiculous— who cared about being neat? Must’ve been a force of habit—and she turned on her heel. 

“I’ll leave you to it. I think I’m going to try and catch a couple of hours before it’s my turn.” she stopped before she disappeared completely. Joel expected her to turn around but she didn’t. “Thanks for the conversation.” 

And with that, she left. 

“Dammit,” Joel grumbled from underneath his breath. He hadn’t expected the conversation to go as long as it did. He settled back into position, relaxing his muscles and legs. She had asked to team up but left without pressing on the matter. Joel found that to be weird. He also couldn’t deny the fact that he enjoyed the back and forth. Some sick part of him liked the challenge, it almost felt like dancing, which he wasn’t half bad at before the outbreak. 

He let out a sigh and touched his scar again. He didn’t trust himself or his thought process anymore. He especially didn’t trust his hands. They had betrayed him once, who was to say that they wouldn’t betray him again? Joel didn’t want to be here. He went on for family, something he often said to Tommy, his only family late. But if he was going to be honest, he would rather make the shot than be here. Surviving. Alone. His only purpose in life taken from him. 

Joel would never see Sarah. He would never hear her laughter or watch her grow old. 

He would never get to see her graduate. 

He would never get to walk her down the aisle. 

She was gone, forever. And that notion was still unfamiliar to him. He couldn’t believe it, he doubted he ever could believe it. His guilt really came streaming in when he found himself glad that Sarah couldn’t see all of this. She didn’t see the runners, the clickers. She didn’t witness humanity turning on itself. She didn’t see what Joel had become. And god knows he would’ve been so much worse if she were alive. He would’ve done everything to keep her alive and well, not a soul he would topple over for the sake of her. 

So, he didn’t want Sarah to be here with him. No. Even if it was painful to admit, he didn’t want her to see all this. He didn’t want her to live through this hell. 

Joel wished he had the strength to join her instead. 

“One day,” he promises her, whispering into the silence as he often did. “We’ll be together, baby girl. I’m sorry, your dad is a coward.” 

Tess burrowed into her jacket. Her neck felt cold, and her fingers numb. She stared at Joel’s back from where she was crouching at. Finally, they had managed to drag their asses to a city and after waiting around for an hour or so they spotted a group heading their way. They had a decent-looking car and were too cheerful to not have the supplies that they needed to make the last walk to Boston. She watched as Tommy stumbled forward, clenching his stomach and heading to the middle of the road. She hated this part. No matter what anyone thought of her, she did not enjoy taking advantage of the naivety of people. Just because she used weaknesses to her advantage often, didn’t mean she enjoyed it. 

However, she did notice a growing blood lust in her. She didn’t like the tricking, but she sure as hell enjoyed the fighting. Tess never dubbed herself a violent person. At least not before, but somehow, after months, she found it as a decent enough release. There were no drinks on the road, only the sweet satisfaction when her bullet met its mark. 

The car screeched to a halt. A man came out, looking with worry but also suspicion. Tess’s gaze moved from Tommy to Joel. He was tense, thick fingers ready to take aim if anything would happen to his brother. The man leaned forward, asking if Tommy was alright. He was. Before the man could react, Tommy’s fist collided with his chin. The stranger stumbled forward, two other men came stumbling out of the car. Joel shot one in the left without hesitation. He came out of hiding and so did Tess. She always had Joel’s back. At first, she thought she did this because she needed Joel. After a while, she noticed this wasn’t quite the case. It was a month to a flame kind of situation. She wanted to be near him. She wanted to be the one to take down anyone who thought they could harm them. 

Them being her, Joel, and Tommy. 

Joel didn’t like wasting bullets. He took out his knife and plunged it into someone’s neck. The sound should’ve horrified her, but she just felt a sick thrill rushing up her spine. This was the world they lived in now. One born out of violence. 

The three men fell and immediately their crew started raiding the vehicle. Just like Tess suspected, the car was in good shape, they could’ve used it. Tess felt Joel’s presence right next to her, his broad shoulder brushing against hers. Joel and Tommy made a habit of checking in with Tess to ask what they needed most. Even if Joel had said no to the team-up, they had become one, without knowing. While the other two looked in the trunk, Joel leaned into Tess’s ear, his hot breath fanning her dirt-ridden skin. It felt oddly nice. 

“This car won’t hold the five of us,” he said in a hushed tone. “Let’s ditch’em.” 

“Look at you finally warming up to me,” she teased, the corners of her lips twitching. Joel frowned but still, she could see a tenderness in his charcoal eyes. “Do you have a plan?” 

“I mean, isn’t it obvious?” he shifted uncomfortably, pulling the rifle to his front. Tess’s gaze dropped to the weapon briefly, her eyes immediately shooting back up to meet his. She didn’t need him to spill it out. Tess knew exactly what he meant, and honestly, he didn’t mind the straightforward plan. They would’ve done the same—this was something Tess repeated herself constantly, she believed it. 

“What about Tommy?” Tess asked, unlike Joel and her, Tommy knew their names. She didn’t think he cared about them but still, despite all they’d done, the younger Miller still had a weird code that he tended to follow. 

“He’ll understand.” 

Everyone had their mantras they tended to repeat. Even if they didn’t quite believe it. Saying they would’ve done the same, was Tess’s, and saying he’ll understand was Joel’s. Maybe Tommy did understand, Tess never bothered to ask or check-in. 

Her sole focus was getting the three of them to Boston alive. Honestly, she didn’t know a bigger thing in this world to show that she cared. They’d grown close in odd ways. Tess would throw over them a blanket or jacket when their teeth clattered at night. She found this to be peaceful, her soul easing just a bit at the familiarity of the action. And when they were on the road, the brother began to cage her in, having her in the middle. Tess hated hiking. She always fucking tripped. They caught her, every time. Their conversation skills lacked, someone would eventually strike a nerve but Tess knew over time, that would grow strong as well. 

Funnily enough, they didn’t kill them. When Tommy got a sense of what was happening, he guarded Joel’s back. Family came first after all. Joel beat them, knocked them out, and left them bloody and whimpering. Tess watched with fascination. He had so much rage. She should’ve been used to it but she wasn’t. Every time he heard a bone crack, her breath hitched. Joel had something else driving him, that was her only explanation. His gaze would become dazed and he would bare his teeth like a wild animal. She often saw that Joel wouldn’t hear no one in this state, only on rare occasions he would hear Tommy. 

The man was consumed by violence. He drowned in it. Yet she knew he longed for something else. Something similar that Tess longed for as well. Neither of the brothers told her but she knew. No one could hide the pain of losing a child. And he knew she showed it as well. Hiding that kind of pain was unbearable, unthinkable. In some sense, she was happy that she showed it. It meant that he was with her, always. Be it good or bad. 

When the beating stopped, one still remained conscious. His faze was swollen, crimson blood pouring from his mouth. Joel took a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back so their former crew member could look into his eyes. She wondered what they saw. Would she ever be the end of that gaze? She figured that wouldn’t be the worst way to go. 

“You’re goin’ to forget about us?” Joel growled. “Understand?” 

The man whimpered something similar to a fuck you but Tess couldn’t quite tell. Joel snarled and his fist whirred through the air, landing the finishing blow. 

When the three entered the car, Tess could see the small movements of their chests. Barely there. The concrete they were laying on stained with red. 

They weren’t good people. 

And she couldn’t find it in herself to care. 

Boston QZ was most certainly better than Detroit. At least for the time being. It was still shit, but Tess felt that she could breathe better here. Fedra was easier to persuade with goods. Goods that she had no trouble getting her hands on, thanks to the Millers. They worked subtly at first, learning the routes and making “friends” among the smugglers that already had their respective spots and partners. 

Tommy and Joel stayed together while Tess stayed alone in the apartment opposite from them. Sometimes she would look through the dusty windows, stealing brief glances at Joel and Tommy. They sat on the couch a lot. Talked a lot. During nights when Tess woke up drenched in sweat and her heart ramming in her chest, she found solace in seeing a dim light pouring through their window. It made her feel less alone. 

After a week, she noticed a blue butterfly on their window. One time she felt brave enough to ask about it. She was already in their apartment so it felt like the perfect moment. 

“What’s with the butterfly?” 

Joel’s eyes slowly moved to the delicate decoration, his gaze lingered. “Apparently Tommy took it from Sarah’s room. He kept it all this time and thought it would be good to finally hand it.” he sounded almost wistful. 

That was the first time Joel mentioned Sarah to Tess. She found herself speechless and didn’t say a word. A warmth she had forgotten blossomed in her chest and spread through her body like wildfire. Her ears started to ring, her heart started beating too fast. The warmth she felt turned into something sickly hot, so hot that she had trouble breathing. She thought herself to be spiraling. Her eyes couldn’t focus and her breath came out in harsh pants. Joel’s presence loomed near her. Just his presence without any physical touch. He slightly leaned forward, ready to place his large hands on the span of her back if she needed it. She swallowed, refusing to ask for the comfort. 

It wasn’t the fact that she was touched by Joel’s non-existent confession that he had lost his daughter. It was the fact that she was right and this man shared the same pain as she did. Her mind went back in time, images blurring into a sickly dark color until it stopped on a certain September night. She’d skipped dinner, running late that night. When she arrived home she saw the empty plates and a portion left out for her, pasta with a pre-made marinara sauce. Without touching it, she looked around, finding their home to be uncharacteristically silent. Tess didn’t know what possessed her to do it, but she took a knife with her as she entered the living room—

“Tess,” Joel called, his voice dropping an octave. Still not touching her. “Tess, are you alright?” 

“I,” she shook her head. “I’m fine.” 

Tess knew how to influence Joel. It wasn’t the same with Tommy, the younger Miller was more eager to believe in everything and anything. Joel was easier. He didn’t want to think, he didn’t want to plan, which made it easier for Tess because she always had a plan. Responsibility weighed heavily on Joel’s shoulders and he wanted nothing more than to give that away. 

But sometimes Tess forgot that Joel read her just as easily. 

She felt his palm resting between her shoulder blades. She let out a breath then. His hand eased the tension of her back, moving up and down and back up again. Her shoulders dropped and so did her head. Joel continued to do this until her breathing returned to normal and she found her voice again. Never would she thought that the same hands that destroyed so easily could be her sense of comfort. 

“Thanks,” she croaked out, her voice shaky. 

“You’re good,” he answered. His hand had stopped moving but still laid heavily over her back. “I had the same—if not worse— reaction when Tommy showed me the butterfly. I was furious. . . this thing that we feel, it ain’t ever gonna get easy.” 

Her resolve started to crack. She imagined her blood pouring through the gaps like thick tar. That’s how it felt and it hurt as much. Still, it fucking hurt. She would never heal from this, she would never have that hope again. At least that was what she believe back then, before a girl showed up saying that she was immune. 

Tess sucked in a sharp breath through the gaps of her teeth. Her eyes were wet. She struggled to keep it all in, a knot big as her fist clogging her throat. 

The curve of Joel’s nose pressed against the side of her cheek. His eyes were closed. Two hands came to her sides and skimmed down her forearms. His hot breath fanned her cheek and she felt his lips. They were chapped and rough against her tender flesh. He didn’t kiss her, but he might as well have. 

“His name was Jason,” she choked and her nostrils flared. It was unbearable. The way she felt. She just wanted all of it to stop; her shivering, her tears, her thoughts, her flood of memories. But it didn’t. 

Tess didn’t remember much after that. She didn’t fall or collapse, she didn’t sob loudly with parted lips. She cried silently, exhaling sharp pants. The streaks burned her face. Her bottom lips quivered. Sometimes during that, Joel had pulled her towards the couch she so often saw through her own window. His arm never left her shoulder and occasionally he brushed his knuckles over the shimmering wetness that glided down her face. 

It was nice and unexpected. Somewhere along the journey, Tess managed to gain more than she had hoped for. She was looking for a soldier. Someone who would be use of her physically. Fighting the battles she could not when her wits weren’t enough. Joel proved to be more than what she thought of him. She gained so much more. 

She gained a friend. Someone who understood her. And honestly, what more could you ask during the end of times?

You keep going for family. This was another thing Joel said in moments of vulnerability. A reminder of sorts. 

It was raining when Tommy left him, it was raining still. Tess’s boots smacked heavily against the wet pavement. She had heard the rumors before confirming it from Joel himself. Tommy had joined those nutcases called the fireflies. The younger Miller had left them both. Some part of her didn’t want to believe it. She had seen the signs of it but it was still hard to believe Tommy would actually leave Joel. Despite their differences, they were strong together, and in a world like this, that was something you wouldn’t want to give up. 

The fireflies must’ve brainwashed him. Tess could see no other way. 

The door was already open when she got there and it creaked after she entered and closed it. Joel was sitting on the couch, his legs parted and hands cradling his face. He didn’t make a noise as Tess approached him. She knelt in front of him, curling her fingers around his wrists. They barely closed around the bone. 

“He left,” he said. “He fuckin’ left to save the goddamn world. Again.” 

Tess clicked her tongue, a soft smile gracing her countenance. She slowly shook her head, “They never learn.” 

Joel sighed and pulled his hands away from his face. His arms dropped to his knees along with Tess’s hands. He just stared at her. His gaze unfocused like he wasn’t there. 

“He’s gonna get himself killed,” Joel bristled. Only then Tess noticed his hoarse voice, as if he’d been shouting for a good ten hours. Her fingers twitched above his forearms, she did a brief scan. She took in the sight of a broken chair, the shattered glass on the floor. It must’ve been one hell of a fight. “He promised to let me know what he’s up to thanks to the radio. Every Sunday he said. Like that makes this situation any goddamn better.”

Her gaze moved back to Joel. In the dark of the living room, she had failed to notice the dark circle slowly forming around his eyes. Lighting struck and she saw it more clearly. The sudden burst of light gave him a menacing look. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest, a soft gasp parting her lips. Goosebumps pebbled over her skin so fast that it stung. 

“He’ll be fine,” Tess said, her words empty to her own ears. 

“You don’t know that.” 

“I don’t,” she agreed. “But I know that Tommy is capable, he’ll find his way. Eventually.” 

“I did this,” Joel said suddenly, ignoring her words that was meant to comfort him. “I keep saying he understands what needs to be done. I can’t help it. I still see him as that hopeful kid before that moron shipped himself off to war. Somethin’ died in him Tess. I don’t know what’ll happen to him if the last bit of his goodness also dies. He’s not like us. Hope feeds him.” 

Not like us. 

So Joel had noticed it too. That there was more to them than common losses and the way that they dealt with it. Joel saw her as bit of destructive as he was, only in different ways. Tess was surprised to see that this notion didn’t bother her. It was more like a relief. A brush of soft waves burying her feet into the sand. She didn’t want to act or pretend to be something that she wasn’t. She wasn’t kind, she wasn’t good. Joel saw that. He saw parts of him in her that allowed him to confess things he probably didn’t even confess to his brother. Joel always saw Tommy as light and himself as darkness. Tess could argue that Tommy’s “light” wasn’t exactly something good or useful. She found it more to be a defense mechanism for tricking himself that this world had more to offer—but she’s rather cut her tongue off than say that to Joel. He had enough going on in that thick skull of his. 

“Then you have nothing to worry about,” Tess answered, watching as Joel furrowed his brows. “Fireflies are nothing but hopeful idiots believing that things might change.” 

“I don’t want him to live in a delusion.” 

“Then let him see what the world is for himself. You’ve done enough. You can’t shield him forever.” 

His pupils ate away the color of his eyes that was already dark to begin with. Tess held his breath while his gaze searched for something, flitting over every surface of her face. Something shifted in the air. Tess could feel it needling into her skin, her heart heavy with a desire she had completely forgotten about. Her skin prickled and her fingers twitched. 

Joel breathed heavily, not moving an inch. His eyes dropped to her lips and she could see the hints of confusion burrowing into his rugged features. Tess wasn’t known for her patience. Especially not now. She closed the distance, crashing their lips together, devouring the mourning man hungrily. Joel leaned closer and his legs spread futher, allowing Tess to inch closer to the gaps of his body. 

She slipped her tongue between his lips and he threaded his fingers into her hair. He tasted like moonshine and the artificial, bitter taste of pills. She felt blunt nails against her scalp, burying themselves into the dry skin. Joel pulled and she went, baring her neck. He tugged on her locks harder, pressed his lips against her neck. She felt teeth and tongue. Joel bit into her, again and again, marking her, pouring his need to possess and keep those he cared for close to him. 

Tess returned the gesture in kind. Her hands went up the flannel of his shirt and she dragged her nails down his back. She heard him hissing into her skin. She keened at the sound, demanded more of it. When she did it again, Joel groaned. He dragged his lips up her neck and all the way up to her temple where he breathed heavily. 

“Harder,” he rasped, his own fingers making their presence known by pulling at the roots of her hair. “Make me feel it, Tess.” 

His Texan drawl had become deeper with pleasure and pain. Tess bit his bottom lip and pulled as she slowly got up. She shrugged off her jacket and plaid, kicked away his jeans and boots. She wanted to feel him as well. She wanted to feel the rough drag of the worn fabric of his jeans, wanted to feel his hands on her bare skin. Joel’s gaze was all-consuming, devouring. Tess straddled his lap, the ache in her thighs growing as she accommodate the width of his hips. Joel wanted no time spreading his fingers over the expanse of her back, feeling the small scars that lingered there. 

She was braless and Tess knew he liked the fact that she was. Her nipples pebbled with the cold of the room, the dampness of rain seeping through the walls easily. Joel wasted no time taking the peaked flesh between his lips. His hands cupped her waist and her head fell back at how harshly he sucked. Her back arched, pushing more of herself between those sinful lips. He swirled his tongue, nipped the aching flesh. Arousal pooled between her legs and Tess felt the fabric sticking to her folds, making her shift over his lap. 

Tess could feel how hard Joel was through his jeans. She rolled her hips, both of them moaning at the sudden jolt of pleasure rolling over their heated skin. 

She gripped his hair and yanked his head back, a groan vibrating through his chest. Tess kissed him hard, he sucked her tongue and in return, Tess grinned and bit him. He hissed into her open mouth. “Do you feel it now, Joel?” 

“Shit—I do,” he guided the sloppy roll of her hips, his hand dropped between her legs, thumb grazing over her throbbing clit. “Can’t wait to bury myself deep in this sweet pussy, spitfire. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Me fuckin’ you hard so you can’t think anythin’ else.” 

He’d called her spitfire, she hadn’t expected herself to enjoy that as much as she did. That nickname would be reserved for when it was just the two of them. 

“That would be ideal, yes,” she purred, cradling Joel’s face, she pulled up his gaze. “Hopefully you’re not just all talk and no bite.” 

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. I’m plenty of bite.” 

Much to her surprise, Joel smirked, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. She couldn’t help herself and pressed her thumb against the shiny swell of it. He kissed her thumb then cupped her ass, urging her to lift herself on her knees. Tess did exactly that, hovering in the air as Joel unzipped and pulled himself out of the confinements of his jeans. Some part of her wanted to strip him, see him bare, and connect every scar with the drag of her tongue. However, at this given moment, she felt dazed, as if everything that was happening around her was buried under a sheer patch of smoke. There was a tremor to her thighs. Joel’s hands slowly gripped her thighs, kneading the muscle. 

“You sure ‘bout this?” he groaned, the slick sound of him fucking his fist deafening. She clenched around nothing, arousal dripping down the inside of her thighs. 

“Yeah,” Tess gasped.“I want this.” 

She took him inch by inch, a hint of plain blossoming between her legs as Joel stretched her wide. Tess didn’t remember the last time she had sex. She forgot about the importance of preparation. The thoughts of want and need were too consuming. Besides, it wasn’t important. Tess knew that the pain would soon turn into something pleasurable. Her walls fluttered and squeezes around him, trying to adjust to his size. Her nostrils flared and Joel pressed his lips into her chest, peppering the delicate skin. 

When she was fully seated, he dragged his palms across her back and then slid his hands to the front of her body. He squeezed her breasts and brushed his thumbs over her nipples. Every part of it felt incredibly good. Having him buried so deep made her feel alive in a way that she had forgotten. 

“How does it feel?” he asked in a hushed tone, the tip of his nose cold as it brushed against her clavicle. His thumb dug into her hip bone. 

“Shit, Joel. You’re seriously packing, I never would’ve thought,” a puff of laughter parted her lips. “But to answer your question—yeah, it feels fucking good.” 

Joel groaned, flexing his cock. Tess shuddered, a gush of arousal wetting them both. One hand slid up to rest between her shoulder blades while the other followed the curve of her behind. “Tell me if. . .” he swallowed. “Tell me if anythin’ feels not-good, a’right?” 

His voice was soft, the way he spoke slow. And he was so incredibly awkward. It was endearing. Her nails bit into his broad shoulders, her body relaxing in a way it hadn’t ever since the infection spread. 

“Alright.” 

The rain grew louder, drowning out their moans.

Pleasure rolled over her again and again. Like everything, they connected in this aspect of their lives as well. Their bodies were in complete harmony and in constant movement. Tess would push herself up with the guidance of his arms and Joel would snap into her. The pacing of his hips was hard and fast, with every stroke Tess could feel her lungs emptying and burning. The fabric of his jeans scraped against the delicate skin of the back of her thighs. 

Joel’s rage seeped into her with every thrust, she could feel it. The grief, the pain, the betrayal. She allowed him to use her. The relief wouldn’t last but it was better than nothing—and it also allowed her a moment of a blank slate that made her see stars. His movement became rough, his feet planted against the hardwood floors, he fucked her nice and deep. Just like she wanted. Tess could think of nothing else. Only the way his big cock split her into two and how she wanted this to be the only thing she felt until she died. 

Her orgasm shattered through her, black dots hovering across her vision, she pulled Joel close. He happily buried his face into her, facial hair tickling her skin, his velvet tongue poking out between his lips to taste the salt. She shivered, her entire body contorting with the strangle of pleasure. Briefly, she couldn’t breathe. Everything felt too much, too sudden. Joel pushed her down, burying himself deeper as he slightly raised his hips off the couch to fill her more, if possible. He groaned at the way her walls fluttered, how it threatened to squeeze him dry. His hand slid back to the back of her neck and harshly forced her to lean in for a searing kiss. 

When the tremors of her body subsided, Joel pulled out. His cock jutted dark between his legs and leaked for her. She felt him against her stomach, wet and warm, as he jerked himself with sloppy, urgent strokes. He inhaled a sharp breath. Hissed between clenched teeth when he came, hot ropes of come splashing over the soft swell of her stomach. A shudder crawled down her spine, a whimper parting her lips. 

Joel took deep breaths of her scent, groaned into her. His cock continued to throb against his palm, the tremors of his orgasm still raking across his body. Every muscle clenched and taut by the force of it. 

“Fuck,” Tess huffed, loudly. Her lips moved over Joel’s forehead, the tension that drew lines into his face momentarily gone. “You were right, you definitely have a bite, Miller.” 

“Fuckin’ told you.” 

Tess couldn’t see his face but she knew he was smiling. 

Joel saw red. 

His fists ached, his breathing was uneven, shudders rolling throughout his body over and over again. Blood dripped to the floors of their shared apartment. His knuckles were split and when his gaze dropped to his hands, he moved them, hissing at the blossoming pain. Tess wearily sat on the dusty couch, her body looking like a ragdoll.  The jacket Tommy had gifted her all those months ago was tattered and she had a swollen lip. 

Joel saw read when he saw Tess laying on the cold concrete, a group of men huddled around her, kicking her to the curb. 

He didn’t even remember pulling out his knife. Didn’t remember pulling out his gun. It was late. He’s gone out to look after her when she didn’t return when she said she would. It was supposed to be as simple drop-off, which is why Tess had insisted Joel stay behind. Looking over her, Joel promised himself to never stay behind again. He fucking knew something would go wrong and he was right. 

He was so tired of always being fuckin’ right. 

Joel wasn’t sure how much of it Tess saw or heard. He killed them all and didn’t stop when they dropped down one by one, rage blinded him, consumed him. The wretched feeling only disappeared when he heard Tess groan, a faint whisper of his name following. He dropped the man he held by the collar—maybe calling him corpse would be more fitting than man? Joel was fairly certain he was already dead— he scooped Tess up from the ground and carried her to their shared apartment, carefully so that FEDRA wouldn’t spot them. 

Somewhere between the months, Tess moved in—though could it really be called moving in when you owned nothing? 

“Well, I feel like shit,” Tess groaned, her voice hoarse and scratchy. She could barely open her eyes. She held her head, wincing at the pain. “Those little shits didn’t want to pay up. Fuckin’ new meat is always the worse.” 

“Forget about that now,” Joel answered. He moved closer, the chair scraping along the floors. He had a bit of antiseptic left, the last of their batch, and poured some over a dirty cloth. “This is gonna sting.” 

“Just get it over with.” 

She didn’t say much after that but Joel could tell that it did, in fact, sting. He wiped away the blood from her face, gently cupping her bruised jaw. When he was satisfied he’s clean every wound, he threw the cloth stained with red to the floor and brushed a strand of dirty hair behind her ear. Tess leaned into the touch. It was subtle, but when Joel felt it he allowed his hand to linger. 

“We should get you washed up,” he muttered. 

Tess snorted and shook her head, “Are you kidding me? The water is freezing cold. There’s no way in hell I’m gonna take a shower at this hour.” when Joel raised both brows she added. “I slept dirtier.” 

“I’ll join you,” he said, running his hand up her thigh. He swallowed, it was true Tess slept dirtier, but he didn’t think he could handle seeing her like that any more than he had to. And the scent of blood was making his stomach churn. “Please.” 

Tess observed him for a moment. She often did this whenever Joel uttered the word ‘please’. It wasn’t something that he often said, which he did on purpose so the word could carry some weight. It became like a code among them, making the other realize that the other was serious about what they needed. 

She sighed, “Fine. Be grateful you’re basically a radiator with legs.” 

Joel didn’t have it in himself to smile at the playful quip. 

He carefully led Tess to the bathroom, supporting her as they entered the small, dimly lit space. They stripped each other slowly. She unbuttoned his plaid shirt as he pushed her ripped jacket off of her shoulders. Between every article of clothing that was removed, they pressed their lips over every newly exposed skin. 

Tess stood under the water, her bruised and battered body tense with pain. The water cascaded down her, mixing with the dirt and blood that stained her skin. Joel watched her silently with his brows furrowed. That rage was swirling in his stomach once more, and he regretted that he finished them off so quickly. His protectiveness a poison both to him and to those around them. If they lived in the world before, this would have became a problem, but not now. Now people ached to be protected, they ached to be taken care of. No matter how much they refused. 

Joel stepped into the shower behind her, allowing the water to drench them both. His arms encircled her, pulling her close, their bodies pressed together. The shock of the cold water against their skin was momentary as Joel’s body heat was enough to warm her chilled skin. Tess leaned into him, her curves brushing his semi-hard cock. He ignored it. 

Joel’s hands moved with deliberate care, tracing the outline of her body, avoiding the tender spots that were still sore. He focused on each wound, gently cleansing them and removing any debris. Tess winced occasionally but remained silent. The water rinsed away the remnants of their harrowing experience, carrying them down the drain as if washing away the past. Joel knew he would be doing this many times after this, and she would be doing the same for him.

Against the numbing cold, Joel’s fingers carried warmth. She let out a sigh and allowed her head to fall back over his shoulder. They only had water to clean her. No soap. They’d used up their last bar a week before and forgot about replacing it. He cupped her breasts, gently lifting them to allow the water to cleanse everywhere. Tess hissed at the cold, her nipples pebbling. 

Satisfied that she was cleansed of the caked blood, Joel’s hand slid between her legs, middled finger sliding between her tender folds. The digit was suddenly enveloped in a searing heat that made him groan. He dragged his teeth up her neck and tugged her earlobe. 

“My spitfire,” he said, the nickname bleeding over his tongue. Saying it made him feel uneasy, but it was too late now. Tess didn’t answer her other than let out a soft gasp. 

He wanted to say more. And he knew Tess wanted to say more as well. But neither said anything. Unsaid confessions running along their bodies and being drained into the sink just like the water that made them short of breath. He’d hoped what he said was enough to convey. He couldn’t do more than that. Even that was too much to say in a cruel world such as this one. 

He turned off the faucet, and the rush of cold water ceased. He reached for a threadbare towel, enfolding her in its embrace, absorbing the moisture clinging to her skin.

Their eyes met, speaking volumes without the need for words.

Joel lead her to their bed and sprawled her over the sheets, the cold drops seeping into the fabric. He rarely stood naked in the apartment, both of them were careful to keep clothed nearby. But in this situation, when both of them were wet and cold, it seemed dumb to stop and put their clothes back on. Tess spread her legs for him. His cock stood dark between his legs, hunger twisting in his stomach. She had a pretty cunt. The soft curls a shade lighter compared to her hair, he sat on his knees, spread his hand over her sex, felt them underneath his fingers. 

“I don’t want you goin’ on your own anymore,” he stated. “I don’t care how ‘easy’ the job seems. You ain’t goin’ alone, understood?” 

He knew she understood but waited for the nod of her head anyway. And when she did, Joel gripped her thighs and lifted them, allowing her legs to rest upon his shoulders. He dipped in, hungry for a taste. Slowly, he kissed her folds, diving his tongue in between, groaning as she coated his tongue. 

“Shit—Fuck—Joel, that feels so good, god.” 

Feeling her pulse around him oddly enough, made him feel relieved. Joel sucked her clit between his lips and swirled his tongue over the sensitive nub. Tess arched into him, her hands laced in his dripping hair, she pulled him closer. With a groan, he traced the rip of his tongue around her entrance and pushed the soft muscle in. He fucked her with his tongue, licking into her with rapid strokes. His own need ached between his legs, it was easy to ignore when he felt her fluttering around him. Joel parted her with both thumbs and buried himself deeper. Tess cried out his name, the neediness of it making him smile. 

He hummed loudly, the reverberations from the sound made her thighs tighten around the frame of his face. It didn’t take her long to come undone with his mouth. Her back arched, and Joel moaned as her nails bit into his scalp. Her body convulsed and with a moan, she gushed around his tongue, whispering his name over and over as if it was a prayer. 

Joel continued to work his jaw, sloppily dragging his tongue down her soaked folds. He loved these moments. Her body would become loose and pliant, seeing her like that made him feel almost glad. Tess tugged on his hair, prompting him to look up. She smiled down at him and dragged her thumb across his shiny lips. 

“Your turn, Miller.” 

I still can't believe this reached 9k words, it my head it was supposed to be 5k lmaodvf if you reached this far, thank you so much for reading! writing in third person isn't really my strong suit but I hope this was okay!

sending everyone all the love and hugs xx