#but there were really only a handful of those assholes and HUNDREDS of us

[biblicalhorror]

Denver pro-Palestine protestors delayed Pride yesterday and ended up taking over the main stage, and in response, the organizers said they're "collecting community input and evaluating our sponsorships and affiliations," which is huge!!! Criticism of corporate sponsorships at pride is hardly anything new, and yet I've NEVER seen the organizers make a statement like that before. Almost all of the news coverage about the parade mentions the protest!!

I'm just so proud of my community and so hopeful for the future. <3

[tetzoro]

☽◯☾ - ALL TOO EAGER

꒰ synopsis ꒱ : Eren accidentally stumbled upon his newest side gig, pleasuring himself before thousands of viewers. But honestly, it’s all for his favorite creator — you.

꒰ content ꒱ : MDNI. eren jaeger x reader ; virginity loss (eren), unprotected sex, use of nicknames (baby, pretty girl) — WC : 2k

⭑ 𓂃 ꒰ New Moon ! ꒱ ― kinktober masterlist

camboy!eren who started doing solo videos because he was bored. somewhat of a social reject even long after graduating high school, he spent a lot of his nights furiously pumping his cock to whatever videos he’d find online.

camboy!eren who saw other guys do solo videos and make a lot of money, so he thought, why not? after a few clicks, he had an account and was ready to go.

camboy!eren who grew quickly in popularity due to the breathy groans he’d let out that ultimately led to soft whimpers when he was cumming all over his finely tuned abs. not to mention he had a pretty dick.

camboy!eren who finds your page one day and it quickly becomes his favorite. whenever he’s fucking his flesh light, he has your video on in the background just wishing you were really here with him. he has to refrain from moaning your name, trying to keep his words to a minimum as rides his high with your sweet mewls echoing in his head.

camboy!eren who discovers that you make videos with other guys and realizes his daydreams don’t seem so far fetched. that is, until he realizes you only do it with one guy — your boyfriend. he becomes obsessed with these videos regardless, pretending that he was really the one who was fucking you instead of the asshole with the small dick.

camboy!eren who leaves filthy comments under your videos, bragging that he’d fuck you better than your boyfriend (regardless that he’s never actually had sex). overtime, they just grew more relentless and he even went as far as sending you links of his own little videos.

camboy!eren who’s heart falls to his ass when he sees you finally reply to him, sending him a message that practically begs him to test out that theory of his, explaining that you and your boyfriend were no more.

and of course he was all too eager to accept.

the messages between you two only grew in velocity as time went on. as it turns out, planning up a meet up was extremely difficult. he learned you didn’t live so far away but with the way both of your schedules were set up, it would take some time before you had a weekend to meet up. 

so the texts turned raunchier, unable to hold back any longer. eren knew you were getting over your ex but he couldn’t stop his fingers from flying across the screen, ensuring you that he would please you like no one else. afterall, he’s watched your videos for so long, he knows what spots you would always target, what kinds of things would have you coming undone with a sweet cry. it was all achingly committed to his memory.

the fact that you were more than receptive to his bold claims, borderline just as obsessed as he was, turned him on to the point where just his hand and one of your old videos on didn't cut it anymore. both of you still did your shows, but almost every night you’d switch to facetime and get off to each other properly.

the soft whimpers and moans you let out as he watched you finger your cunt, begging for him to come over and help you out had his body growing taut with desire. only a few more days and he’d finally have you all to himself and he was more than ready to prove how good he could be for you.

but in all honesty, if eren had known that those few (hundred) comments he had left on your page would bring him to this moment, he would’ve started flooding your chat a long, long time ago.

the plan was simple: get together, have a practice round, then give your viewers a real show.

never in his life had he been so mesmerized, so in awe of the person before him. or rather, under him. the inescapable truth that he’s never done this before has flown straight below the radar – for now.

the reddened tip of his cock nudges along your clit, pressing into it and watching your body jolt in retaliation. every reaction he pulled from you had him wanting more, craving it more than he craved his own release. to please you has been his main goal but he didn’t realize that in doing so, he was already teetering on the edge of losing control.

“ready for me, pretty girl?” eren asked, trying to keep his voice level but the slight shake in his tone betrayed him. the fact he was going to lose his virginity to the one who took up each and every one of his fantasies seemed surreal.

it was more than he could’ve imagined whenever he’d fist his cock in the dead of night, wishing and manifesting for a moment like this. all too beautifully you were sprawled out under him, preening to his touch.

“please, eren.” as soon as the plea left your plush lips, he had no choice but to start pressing into you. inch by inch, he sunk himself in, his fingers tightly gripping onto your hips. 

every coherent thought he’d ever had disappeared into a haze of pleasure as soon as he bottomed out. slack-jawed and frozen, basking in the warmth of your cunt enveloping him way better than a fleshlight could ever. there was no way he could ever return to it, not with you pulsing around him, silently begging and pleading to milk him right then and there. a part of him almost gave into his urges, letting himself spill into you without another thought but he knew he had to get you there first.

eren slowly came back to his senses, looking down at you and almost instantly regretting it. there’s no way you could be faking any of it, not with how close he is. you, with your watery eyes, pupils dilated as they were lost and swimming in pleasure. it was clear every part of you wanted this as much as him.

plap, plap, plap.

the sounds of him thrusting into you started to fill the otherwise muted room. his hips had a mind of their own, driven by a primal instinct as he took in your beauty. after seeing your expression morph into something more blissful than the heavens, he couldn’t hold himself back from pounding into you. everything felt too good – so tight, so warm. 

“fuck-” his voice betrayed him, cracking under the weight of his bliss. he bares his teeth, doing what he can to block anymore traitorous sounds that escape him and reveal how much he’s at your mercy. but it’s all for nothing as the next words slip out of his mouth, nothing more than a hiss. “you feel so fucking good.”

there was no way he could stop as he thrusted into you, your slick completely coating his cock, allowing him to sink into you faster, deeper. the way you writhe and whine beneath him, nails digging into his shoulders before dragging along his back forced a whimper to slip past his lips. 

his ears felt all too hot, the tips undoubtedly burning up because of the utter vulnerability of it all. thank god his hair was long enough to cover them, the haphazard half bun he had tossed it up in earlier was cascading down, almost annoyingly obscuring the beautiful view before him.

“talk to me, baby.” he grunted, wanting to hear the praise fall from your lips. “tell me how it feels.”

“feels s’good, eren —” the air in your lungs gives away as you gasp out, your hands digging into the duvet as leverage to ground yourself with. eren can’t hold back a grunt as you arch your back so your chest is flush against his, nipples brushing together with each thrust.“touch me more, please!”

without a wasted breath, eren’s hands mindlessly slide along your body, fingers trailing along every curve and dip as he begins to map it, desperately wishing to commit it to his memory. everything about you was so soft, so addicting that he didn’t want to let go. 

“so good to me, such sweet manners f’me.” he coos, the slight condensation dripping from his tone. the fire that was pooling in his abdomen ignites more as he takes in your expression – half lidded eyes that were only focused on him, your heaving chest that only enticed him more. one hand pushes your hips back down into the mattress as his other one cups your chest, thumb brushing over your pert bud. “just makes me want to give you more.”

“please–!” your legs locked around his waist, lulling him in deeper, causing his hips to stutter at the new angle.

“y-yeah? you want more?” all of the muscles in his body tensed up, an impending doom settling in as his release threatened to spill prematurely. halting his motions, he presses his forehead against yours, trying to steady himself and push away the high he could practically taste. after counting down, the urgent need to come simmered away right before your hips started to move against his own. “fuck, o-okay. i’ll give you whatever you want, baby.”

eren can’t help it but need something to steady himself and with the way his body was trembling in overflowing pleasure, he opted out from grabbing onto you — it was much to risky. instead, he reached over, grappling the bed frame as he delivered each thrust with a needy precision, setting a new pace that had you both crying out in a sinful harmony. each time he sunk back into you, cock all snug within your walls, he could feel you clench around him with the sweetest whine of his name parting from your lips.

another groan bubbled up from his throat but by the time it escaped his mouth, it was a full blown whine. from someone who was known for his guttural grunts, the whine was unexpected.

there’s no way to tell where his body ends and yours begins, all he knows is that one of you is trembling, shaking and he has a sneaky suspicion it's him – not that he’d ever admit it though.

his world was brought back down to your center of gravity as soon as you tugged on his long locks, melding your lips against his in a kiss that threatened to take away all of his remaining sanity. there was no more room for air as his lungs filled with the sweet hums you couldn’t contain. 

you pull away from the kiss for a moment, a sheen of passion covering them in a way that looks like gloss – undeniably enticing him for more. his lips involuntarily chase after yours, not letting you get a moment of reprieve from his intensity. how could he? 

he didn’t want to stop as he carved his way into you, trying to erase all semblance of the other men that you had been with — especially the nasty ex he decided he hated. to have fumbled someone like you must’ve meant he was an absolute dumbass. his loss was eren’s gain and he would make sure that you knew that by the end of the night.

“‘m close, ‘ren.” the sweetness of your voice coiled deep within him, on the verge of snapping. 

“me too.” he grunts, gritting his teeth as he tries to stave his release. despite desperately rutting into you, he could barely pull out. your legs lock him in, your thighs trembling all around him as you come undone with a cry of his name. there was no way he could hold back anymore, shoving himself as deep as he could as he shook and whined with his orgasm. “‘m cumming – fuck, ‘m cumming. all for you, take it, baby, please–”

after the last rope of cum spilled into your pulsing cunt, eren let out a shudder, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. the room fell quiet yet again, save for the sounds of your shared breath, your lungs fighting for air. eren falls to your side, careful not to crush you as his arms encircle your waist and pull you closer to him.

“shit-” eren gasped, his pulse still racing. 

“and that was just the warm up.” you laugh softly, hand trailing down his abs. “you ready to turn the camera on now?”

[joelmillerisapunk]

Vicious

Dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Masterlist ★ Wordcount: 1.8k

📽 —★ Summary: In the quiet solitude of your own home, you revel in the rare freedom of an empty house, indulging in forbidden pleasures on a hot summer day. The unexpected arrival of your dads buddy Joel turns your casual rebellion into something far more thrilling.

📽 —★ Warnings: 18+, mdni, reader is in college but is called a "school girl", wears a uniform that has a skirt. Joel and reader are both kinda assholes to each other. Mentions of smoking cigarettes and drinking beer, age gap (reader is early 20's, Joel is whatever you would like but in my mind 40's or older) p in v, uses of slut and whore, in this world and my daydreams Joel is able to get off multiple times without a break (I am not going for supreme accuracy I am going for porn), if I missed anything please let me know

📽 —★ Notes: Hello, welcome to my comeback fic. Please note that I am very rusty since posting my last fic in July 🫠 but I am very excited to be back writing, reading and posting once again! I hope you enjoy. I've missed being here with all you lovely humans so much 🥹

📽 —★ A big thank you to my wonderful friends for reading/hyping me: @milla-frenchy @evolnoomym @thundermartini and @syd-djarin who also helped me with the mood board 💋 love you all so much. And of course @saradika-graphics for the lovely divider

“I’m home!” you shout the second you walk in the door. Dead silent, no response. You shrug as you make your way to your room but pause halfway up the stairs. No one. That means you can do whatever the hell you want. You walk back down, throwing your backpack to the floor an head to the kitchen, grabbing one of your dad's beers from the fridge, taking it out to the deck. You retrieve your hidden cigarette pack taped beneath the table outside. You grab a cigarette and light it up as you lean back in the chair, opening your legs until your feet rest on either side of the lawnchair. After a stressful day at school, you need some kind of relief. Plus, your schoolgirl uniform is much too uncomfortable on a hot summer day, causing you to undo the top few buttons of your white blouse, allowing the small but cool breeze to graze your exposed skin.

“I always thought you were a bit of a slut.”

You look up to see your dad’s buddy Joel leaning in the doorway, a lit cigarette hanging from his mouth as well. Instead of jumping up, snapping your legs shut, or covering your chest, you give him the finger. That guy can go fuck himself.

“And so polite too.”

“Joel, the last thing I need right now is you and your opinion. School sucked, and I don’t give a shit what you think of me.”

“Christ, kid, I was only fucking with you. I mean, you do look trashy as hell, but that’s okay. I like trashy.”

“Are you hitting on me now? Really? You’re like seventy.”

“Try again sweetheart,” he says, stepping out onto the deck. You try to ignore him as he walks closer until he stops directly in front of you.

“You like the view, asshole?”

“I don’t know,” he says, leaning down and tilting his head. “I wouldn’t have guessed white. I mean, you don’t seem like the innocent type. More like a black satin sort of girl.”

“Oh, don’t you know?” you reply, taking a drag from your cigarette. “We have to wear white panties too. They check us every morning. We line up in a row, and they make us lift our skirts so they can see what we have on under them.”

“I’ll have to see if they have any openings. Sounds like a good job.”

“Oh fuck you. Besides, you wouldn’t know what to do with one of us, let alone three hundred.”

The bastard sinks down until he’s squatting in front of your now wet panties, still smoking as he admires the view. You finally reach down, open your legs wider, and give him the finger with your hand right in front of your cunt. If he wants to look, he can fucking look at that.

“If you didn’t want me, you’d be in the house already instead of sitting there with those pretty legs open.”

“Is that what you think?” you ask, trembling in spite of yourself. He’s a huge dick, but he’s also right. You do like teasing him, and the thought of him going home and jerking off over you is fun.

“I know it,” he says, sitting down at the bottom of the chair.

“And what would you do with a girl like me? I’ve probably had more sex than you’ll ever have. Better sex too.”

“What, with some stupid school boy who fucks like a jackhammer, hoping he’s found the right hole?”

You look at him, rolling your eyes and shaking your head before butting your cigarette.

“Why don’tcha unbutton that shirt some more? Let me see how you’ve filled out.”

“Jesus Christ. What do you think my dad would say if he saw you eyeing his daughter up and down like a piece of meat?”

“What do you think he’d do if he saw you sitting here spread eagle, smoking a cigarette and drinking his beer? His sweet little angel, showin’ off for his friend?" he responds playfully, raising his eyebrows.

You sit up in the chair, never breaking his gaze as you undo the next two buttons of your blouse, revealing your naked chest.

“You’re not going to do a thing,” you say, reaching down and opening your shirt just enough for him to get a glimpse. “You’re going to sit there and drool over my body.”

“Is that whatcha think?” he chuckles. “What's actually going to happen is that I'm going to bend you over and fuck you until you cry.”

“You’d probably come the second you got a glimpse of my pussy. I bet you’re so hard right now you can barely think."

“Try me,” he says, moving up between your legs. His hand now under your skirt.

“Let go and I’ll show you,” you say, your voice nearly catching in your throat. He moves his hand in an instant. You reach down, gently touching the lips around your clit through the thin white fabric. Joel watches the entire time, never taking his eyes off of your hand. “Is this what you want?” you say, pulling the white cotton to one side, exposing your pussy to his greedy eyes.

“It’s a start,” he replies as he moves closer. He lifts your legs up over his knees. You are silent as he unzips his pants, and as much as you try not to watch, you can’t help yourself. He reaches in, and in one fluid motion, his cock juts out of his boxers.

“Jesus,” you say as he begins to stroke himself slowly. He’s only partially hard, but his cock is big and thick, and you are on dangerous ground.

“Just like those high school boys?” he asks, reaching out, grabbing you around the waist. Before you can protest, he pulls you up onto his lap, his hard cock stuck between your pussy and his stomach. His other hand joins the first until his fingers dig into the cheeks of your ass. His face is inches from you.

“You don’t have the nerve,” you say, not willing to look away.

Joel wastes no time as he tears your blouse open, the last remaining buttons flying off as he pulls it down over your shoulders, your bare breasts now fully visible. He tugs it down even further until it slides off your arms, leaving you topless.

“I’m going to fuck you, baby. I’m going to push those panties to one side, shove my big cock in you, and then listen to you scream.”

“I’ll tell my dad,” you whisper.

“No you won’t,” he says, sliding his hand all the way beneath you. As he holds you tight, he slips his fingers beneath your panties and then inside your now soaking wet pussy, working them in and out for a few seconds before bringing his hand up to your mouth and pushing his fingers between your lips. You gladly lick your excitement off his thick digits, feeling his large cock grow against you.

“You’re going to come in seconds," you whisper. “If you even make it inside me. You have no idea how sweet my little cunt is."

“Guess we’ll have to find out. But first, let’s see if you’re right, or if you’re just a filthy little slut who needs another dick.”

Before you can think of a response, he lifts you up, pushing your panties to one side, and then guides his large cock into you. In one swift motion, he’s deep inside of you, and you are on his lap. You try to suppress a moan as he pulls you closer.

“You knew this was going to happen the second you saw me. And so did I,” he adds.

He begins to move slowly, feeling him slide in and out of you each time you tighten your grip. Fuck, he feels good; his cock hitting your walls in all the right places. It’s not fair.

“And you’re a whore,” he says, moving his mouth down your chin, making his way down your neck.

“You’re an asshole,” you mutter, causing him to thrust harder.

“Which is why you’re letting me fuck you.” His hands run through your hair, gripping it in his hand as he continues to fuck you. You moan louder, trying to hold back a scream as his fingers grip tighter and tighter around your hair. You can feel his balls throbbing against you as his breath quickens. You are on fire as his cock pumps into your wet, hot, sensitive pussy, causing both of you to groan loudly. You can tell he’s close to his own release; you can feel your pussy convulsing, and you start moving on him harder. He grabs your hips, holding you still as he pounds himself into you. His balls clench tight as he groans loudly in ecstasy, his breath harsh with lust. His climax soon follows after, rope after rope of hot liquid exploding inside of you. He stays buried inside of you as the orgasm takes over him completely. After a few moments of catching his breath, Joel looks at you and mutters between breaths, "Just because I came doesn’t mean I’m done with you.”

And then he pulls out of you, flipping you over, pushing you down onto the deck chair and your panties to the side so you can feel him against you, his cock still dripping. But then, somehow, he’s back inside of you, fucking you into the fabric of the chair. “You might be cute, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop.”

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, feeling his weight against you, pinning you down. When he reaches an arm around your neck, you begin to moan. Oh god, don’t stop Joel. Don’t stop fucking me; I’m gonna come.”

“That’s right, baby. Come for me. Come like the little slut you are.”

“Fuck!” you cry out, feeling yourself let go completely. You shake and tremble as you clench around him. His breath picks up as he’s close to his own orgasm.

“I’m going to come in this pussy one more time.”

“No!” you beg, needing to at least pretend to resist when in fact you don't want this to ever end. The thought of him coming in you again makes your pussy tighten in anticipation. Then finally, when it seems he won't ever come inside of you, he does. Your entire body begins trembling, fighting against another orgasm. As you feel him pull out of you, he turns you over, putting his hand in your panties and cupping your cheek. Your eyes open wide, and you can feel the warm liquid dripping from your thighs. He looks down at his own cock. It too has started to twitch.

“Look at the mess you made," he whispers, placing the tip of his cock into the wetness. "You'd better clean this up before someone sees. You're going to lick every drop,” he commands. You nod. "Good girl."

As you place kisses along his cock, licking away any remaining semen, Joel watches in amusement. You stand up, looking up at him.

“Are you satisfied?" you ask.

“For now," he smirks, turning towards the house. "See ya tomorrow." With that, he goes up the porch steps, his back to you and makes his way home, only to be back tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after.

[rhaeheartzsquirrelz]

Hiii,

By any chance can you write academic rivals for either Ellie or Abby?? It doesn’t have to have smut but I just need some angst and tension >:)

YES OFC I CAN?! chat idk how to write Abby to the point where it’s accurate so I’ll stick to Ellie (for now). And uhh this is my first time writing this trope cus ive lowkey never really liked it 😕 BUT I HOPE YOU DO!! Also, I hope its not too long 4 u 😇

Paper Thin Hatred

Ellie Williams x FEMALE Reader || Academic Rivals (fluff)

You’re going in blind, no summary needed.

Warning(s): Sexual tension; making out, mentions of drugs and violence (though it’s not described). Use of y/n like once. (blehh).

A/N: I tried my best gn. If you see any mistakes, no you didnt. I’m not the best at writing angst, i hate sad stuff, so Idk if I did a good job lol.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅���┈•✦

You hated her.

Hated how effortlessly smart she was, able to ace every test without the need to lay even a finger on her notes. How she could easily attract everyone and anyone with a single look. How every teacher in your school had this.. bias on her. She was the exception, the favourite. It was unfair and stupid.

No matter how hard you tried, how hard you worked, it was never enough to pass her. There was nothing you could do. Study? Already tried it, ended up two points off from her perfect hundred percentage. Tutoring? Done, but it was never efficient and only wasted the little time you had after school. You had tried everything. But you still came no where near where she was.

Ever since the first grade, you’d been competing with her, butting heads on every test, every assignment, and even every small quizz. From announcing your test scores to the class after realizing you’d topped her to keeping them a secret after finding out you scored lower than her, you’d grown to despise her.

This girl, who you despised, was Ellie Williams, the top student at your school. She was, also, a dickhead to everyone else but her teachers and, surprisingly, you. She’d never think to uttered an insult in your direction, let alone bring your name up in her shit talking sessions. Even so, she was still a stuck-up brat. Thinking she was better than everyone else, demanding respect and attention.

But, even with all these reasons you hate her for, you couldn’t help but admire her carefree spirit. Holding a blunt in the bathroom and smoking it through with her group of friends. Who all, by the way, were assholes. Bullies, to be frank. You didn’t understand why Ellie hung out with a bunch of losers when she could easily make friends with someone like her, someone as smart and collected. She didn’t care. And, sometimes, you wished you didn’t either. The two of you were opposites. You wanted to forget about the grudge you’d been holding against her but you just.. couldn’t. Not when you your competitive nature shook it’s ugly head everytime you were near the auburn girl.

You cared too much, you couldn’t just flip a switch and change that?

It was none of your business, is what you’d tell yourself everytime you found your thoughts wandering off to her. And, either way, having her hang out with those kinds of people meant she would be sure to slack off. Peer pressure was a real deal, and you silently wished it’d throw Ellie down from the title of being the school’s number one student.

You were practically praying for it.

⊹₊⟡⋆

With a push on the doors, you enter the library. Backpack over your shoulders, hands stuffed in the pockets of your jacket, you look for a good place to sit. Choosing an empty corner, you got to work; Pages flipping, pen writing, and keys typing, you were almost finished with an essay of yours.

That was, until Williams showed up. A strong push on the doors you’d just came from, she confidently walked in with her hands in her pockets. She looked around to find herself, and the crowd of fans behind her, a seat. Fans, as in her loser friends. They only hung out with her because she was relevant. And she only hung out with them for free cigarettes, weed, and whatever the hell she had going on. She wore a dark blue hoodie with her usual grey sweatpants. As confident as she was, she looked fucking homeless; even though you found yourself raked over her figure.

She was lean, well built, and, clearly, visited the gym frequently. You’d never seen her flex though, only on her social media did she show off those biceps of her. Not that you cared.

When Ellie’s green eyes spotted you, she let out a devilish grin before walking over to you. Her friend group followed behind like a bunch of dogs.

“Hey, sweet thing.” Leaning a hand on your table she played with one of your pens. Without hesitation, you snatched it from her hand and gave her the dirtiest look on the face of earth. “What do you want? You know the library isn’t for fucking around, right?” With your voice as hostile as ever, all you wanted was for Ellie to fuck off. More so her friends. “I’m whispering.” She was, matter of fact she was being pretty respectful. Quiet and polite, yet so bold and confident. It pissed you off. Everything the bitch did had your blood boiling. “Anyways, what are you up to? Saw you all by yourself, need some company?” She was mocking you, evident in the way she looked down at you. As if to keep you in your place. You wanted to shove a fist in her smug little face. “I’m good.”

No way Ellie would listen to you. So, with a motion to her friends she pulled a chair beside you and sat down. Her sorry-ass friend-group walked away with a bitter chuckle. How unlucky could you get? Legs spread with her arms inbetween them she gave you a smile. Her eyes roamed over your form and then the table infront of you. Everything was neatly organized, perfectly arranged. “Need help with that essay? Or ya’ just gonna be stubborn?” You chose being stubborn. “I don’t need your help, nor do I need you to be near me.” Turning your attention back to the computer, you hoped she’d just get bored and leave. But it seemed like your annoyance only fueled her amusement, because she couldn’t keep herself from leaning closer and resting her chin on your shoulder. “Stay still.”

Like hell you would. Recoiling, you sigh in frustration. “Why the—“ An arm interrupted and pulled you back into position and she, again, rested her chin on your shoulder. Ellie was fucking strong. And, you’d only just now realized the physical power she had over you. She not only had the smarts, but she had the body. God damn it, she was better than you at everything. “Let me help.” Who the hell did she think she was? Helping you? Just because she aced every test? That didn’t mean shit. She had no right to tell you what to do, make you do what she wanted you to. Clenching your jaw, you faught the urge to push her off you and instead opted for a less obnoxious way to escape; to leave.

“I don’t need your help, like I said before I’m good.” Shrugging her off of you, you stuff everything back into your backpack with organization being the last thing on your mind. “I was trying to be nice, why the hell are you so damn stuck-up?” Scoffing and leaning back against her chair, the auburn haired girl crossed her arms and looked you up and down. The quiet action had your nerves on edge, causing a fire of insecurity to spread through your body.

She’s judging you, probably thinks you’re stupid. Maybe even thinks you’re overreacting. Is it your body she’s quietly examining or your mind? Is she noticing the curves or the faults of your figure? Either way, you needed to get the fuck out of there.

Without a word, you pull your backpack over a shoulder and bolt towards the door. The door that looked heavenly as you pushed it open. The outside air felt so much better, so much more comfortable. Your body wasn’t tense anymore, nor was your breathing shaky and stiff. The cool breeze entered your nose and you took your time to relax. Just when you were beginning to cool down, you hear this agitating voice from behind.

“Will you listen?!” You felt a tug at your wrist in which you were turned you around to face Ellie. Who was now infront of you with furrowed brows, a narrowing gaze, and that.. look on her face. The subtle expression she had was too difficult to decipher, so you gave up on even bothering to put energy into her. Especially right now. She was staring down at you, probably trying to coax out a response. “I wasn’t trying to piss you off, alright? I just..” Your heart felt like it could practically jump out your chest the more she stood there. So close yet so far. “I didn’t think you’d get mad. I.. I’m sorry for being all up in your space.” Maybe her apology was your last straw because the next thing that came out your mouth left her feeling rejected— as you’d describe it.

“You think walking around with straight A’s makes you all that?” Your furrowed brows meet her, now, raised ones, she looks confused. “I don’t give a damn about how you feel, never have never will. You’re some stuck-up wannabe and I’d rather stay the hell away from you. Got that, Williams?” You were speaking your truth, telling her what you’d been wanting to since the day you first met her. “I don’t need anything from you. I’m fine by myself.” The hostility in your words made Ellie take a step back, her expression showing just how surprised she was. The tension was thick in the cool autumn air. The breeze blew past you and you had to force yourself to meet her eyes— Her eyes that has this look of disappointment within them. Why? You wanted to ask. But, then again, you didn’t really care.

“Yeah. Alright.” Was her response, her voice quiet and low as she looked down and fidgeted with her two hands. Intertwining her fingers, picking on her nails, and even squeezing her thumb. Her jaw clenched and she averted you completely. “I’m sorry..”

You’d just bruised her ego.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

The week before spring break, you were in class worrying your pretty ass off about all the busy work your teachers had given you. You’re talkin’ stacks of assignments and essays. Videos to watch, quizzes to answer, and books to read. With a sigh of exhaustion, you wait impatiently for class to begin. It was a typical monday, everyone was sleep deprived and already knocked out with their heads on their desks. It was a depressing sight.

But, one thing that was nagging at you all weekend was Ellie. Ironic or not, you had a heavy heart ever since you walked away from her that friday afternoon. The way she looked down, her brows furrowed with embarrassment, and her hands fidgeting with one another. The moment replayed in your head every night, causing you to loose focus on sleep and studying. Since when had you been so soft?

You hated her. So why would you feel bad? Especially after she practically mocked you because, apparently, she knows it all.

You shake the freckled girl out of your mind and focus on the lecture as class began. Weirdly enough, Ellie wasn’t present. She never missed a day of school. Was she skipping? Probably out smoking with her friends, or even snorting god knows what up her nose. You couldn’t care less, especially when you now had the advantage of attending the lecture. You were learning a new unit and were now ahead of Ellie. It was perfect. Too perfect. —

Class had ended and you were packing yourself up before your professor approached your desk. Papers in his hand, she placed them down infront of you. You looked down to find the notes from today printed onto them, they were neatly organized and well prepared. Your professor had reallyyy had made sure to make it look good.

This was an example of how being favoured benefited the stuck-up, freckled girl you called Ellie.

“Hey, y/n, would you mind handing today’s notes to Ellie?” The tall, blond, middle aged man gave you a smile. “I know you two share dorms in the same building.”

Why was that your problem? It was her job to make sure she attended class, why the hell were you chosen to do such a task? But, you couldn’t say no to your professor, not when he clearly favorited Ellie.

“No, I don’t mind. But, uhm.. what room is she in?” Your luck was so sore that you wished you’d skipped class yourself.

“Dorm four-o-eight.” He patted the papers before stuffing his hands in the pocket of her pants and walking back to the front of class.

Sometimes, you swore the universe was working overtime to make you suffer. Punish you for whatever you’d done in your past life. You never understood why you and Ellie always, somehow, ended up in the same classes, same hallways— Hell, the two you saw each other everywhere. Malls? Restaurants? It was like you were being followed.

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

With a loud knock, you awkwardly wait infront of Ellie’s dorm room. It felt weird standing there, mostly because of the argument you had with her a few days back. What would you even say to her? Would she even open the door? Maybe she’d shut it in your face to get back at you. All you knew was that you a task; give her the notes from class and leave. It’s not anything would go wrong, right?

The door clicked unlocked and Ellie swung it open. You were greeted with her tired expression. She stood tall, a hand on the door knob with the other scratching the back of her head. She wore a tanktop and this was the first time you’d seen her muscles. Of course, without realizing it, your eyes were practically glued to them. They were toned and stood out like a sore thumb. For a second, you wondered what else she was hiding under that tank of hers. She looked.. pretty attractive and you’d be lying if you said she didn’t. No wonder almost every girl was fanning over the 5’6 nerdy auburn.

Snapping out of your trance you meet her gaze and notice the bruise on her left eye. It was purple with a hint red. And, it definitely looked like it hurt. Did she really get into a fight? You called it. Maybe with one of her friends. Or because of her friends. That’s probably why she wasn’t in class— Either way, all you needed to do was hand her the notes and leave.

Holding out the stack of papers, you met her green eyes before she grabbed it from your hands. Her fingers, seemingly intentionally, brushed against yours for a brief moment. She flashed a smug grin as she read over it and shook her head with amusement. “Notes, huh? You makin’ sure I’m caught up, princess?” How the hell was she so.. playful after that argument, especially after that fat black eye. Did she even care? My god, was she even bothered as much as you were?

“Mr. Nunez told me to give them to you. It was against my will.” You corrected, hands dropping to your side, you turn your head to find an appropriate way to leave. Ellie, somehow, caught onto that, “Hey, you wanna come inside? I uh.. I wanted to.. talk to you. I guess?” The freckled girl, shrugging with a sheepish expression, stepped asife and motioned for you come in. The invitation was friendly, but the sight of her fucked up room made you rethink your decision. Clothes everywhere, clouded air, probably from smoking, and.. were those her fucking boxers hanging from her bed frame?!

“Ignore the mess, I’ve been.. a bit busy.” Yeah, she looked busy with that fucked up eye of hers. You took a second to think. It wouldn’t hurt, right? Plus, you’d get to see her “secret” to being the top student. Was it the way she studied? Did she cheat?

“Fine. But I’m not staying for long.” Oh, you’d be leaving the second Ellie let slip something even close to condescending. You weren’t having it with her anymore, not when she acted like royalty.

Entering her dorm, you plop yourself down onto her bed. Staying away from her clothes, which you were sure smelled, your hands stayed in your lap. You looked around, as Ellie placed the notes down onto a nearby surface, raking over the candid photos on her wall, the trinkets on her desk, and the collection of gum wrappers stamped on her dresser. She had a life, a fun one at that. But, you spotted no sign of school work.

You hadn’t realized she was sat beside you, her hands fidgeting with the strings of her pajamas shorts as she looked down. “On.. friday.” Ellie began, clearing her throat before taking a second to collect her breath; which was shaky. “I genuinely wasn’t trying to make you mad. I’m not as.. stuck-up as you think I am, I really wanted to help. Considering I’ve never even.. uhm had a proper conversation with you? I thought I’d be nice and do something good.” She shrugged out her explanation, and it make sense. You were even considering it. She looked genuine enough, maybe she was telling the truth. But the hate in you only made you see the bad.

What was the “bad” in the current situation? You didn’t really know.

“I know you.. have this grudge against me. You hate me. And, I don’t really know why.” The hint of vulnerability in her tone had your walls came crumbling down. Maybe you were naive for it but you shake your head and furrow your brows. “Hate is a strong word..” And its exactly how you had described your feelings towards Ellie since the day you two had met. “Maybe I’m just.. jealous.” Why were you being honest? You didn’t really know. You seemed to know absolutely nothing when it came to the auburn haired girl. Everytime you opened your mouth your thoughts immediately began slipping from your mouth. “You get good grades without even trying. I mean, all you do is smoke and.. fuck around.”

All you got in response with a scoff and a soft, “is that what you think?” What else were you supposed to think? “Well, I guess I do smoke. But I study. Not as hard as you, of course, but I do my best and.. well, I guess it pays off.” Leaning back on her arms, she gave you a smile. “Your anger’s justified, I don’t blame you, Princess.” And right when you were about to give her a smile back, though it’d be an awkward one, you watch as her hand shifted to resting ontop of yours.

She was making a move on you.

Flinching at the touch, you pull your hand away with an averting gaze. Was this what she wanted this whole time?

“Sorry.” Ellie shifted to pull away from you, giving you space on the bed. Your heart was racing at the small touch, not to mention you were so damn close to her. Your thighs were a shift away from touching and you suddenly felt hot. The room held a loud silence, a piercing one at that. It was awkward, uncomfortable. Both of you waited for eachother to say something, to utter a word and lighten the mood.

“I’ve always found you.. interesting.” Ellie chose to step up, placing her hand on your thigh and swallowing her nervousness down. “You’re smart, y’know? Even though you’re extra sometimes, I’ve always.. wanted your attention on me.”

For a second, you took a second to process her words, process the hand on your thigh. Her? Ellie Williams? Interested in you?

“If I’m being honest, I don’t even care about school, nor do I give a damn about my grades. I just.. ever since I realized you noticed me whenever I get a better grade than you.. I guess that’s been my goal. I don’t care about the stupid assignments, the fuckass tests, all I seem to want is for you to just.. look at me.”

What. The. Actual. Fuck. What was the hell is going on? Is she confessing some sort of.. love for you? Did she like you? Why the hell would she like you?

You couldn’t keep your reaction in check. You held your breath in shock, unable to really.. think of something to say. You felt stuck, unable to move and unable to say anything that would make the situation better. It’s like everything you thought of only seemed to make the situation.. more awkward and complicated.

After a good second of just staring at her, you clear the lump from your dry throat and try not to focus on the hand resting on your thigh. She was getting real bold, and it made you nervous. “I uhm.. that’s.. Ellie, that’s a lot to.. process..”— “So don’t.” So don’t? What in the world was this bitch on? Molly? “I’m being completely honest. Kiss me. If you like it then.. then things won’t be as complicated anymore. You’ll know—“ “Kiss you? Are you.. high or something?” Green eyes widening, you assumed her confidence was bruised by the way she slumped down and flickered her eyes away. You didn’t need her being all upset, she had no reason to be. “I’m not high.. I’m being honest. Can you really not tell?”

No, you couldn’t!

“Ellie.. that’s an insane thing to.”— “Just once won’t kill you. It’s a kiss. One simpe press on the lips.” First of all, where did this even come from? The whole kissing thing? And.. why did she have that fat bruise on her eye? Sighing, you pinch the bridge of your nose. The hell were you supposed to do? Negotiation always worked? There was no way you could kiss her, you hated her. All your life you’ve only wanted one thing; to was crush her. But, knowing all she’d ever wanted was.. well, your attention.. it had you sort of baffled. How could that be possible, seriously?

“What happened to your eye?” You avoided the subject of kissing, knowing you’d probably give up and let her do whatever she wanted to. Now, you were expecting a simple answer. Straightforward and easy to understand. You were tired of thinking.

“I beat up a kid for.. uhm, well.. talking about you?” She shrugged out, averting your gaze with a sheepish smile playing on her lips. “It’s stupid, I know. But, it didn’t happen in school so I’m not like.. suspended or.. something.” She took a second to clear her throat, “and, I didn’t wanna come to class with this fat thing around my eye.”

It was beyond stupid. Completely insane! Maybe all that smoking really had fucked up that brain of hers. It was the fact that she’d done it for you that had you taken aback. She had no reason to defend you after you’d practically told her to fuck off. Not to mention the fact that she knew you hated her. It didn’t make sense. But, maybe that black eye was enough proof that she actually might care. Actually might like you. But, could you really be sure? What if she was lying and all of this was just some sick prank?

You tilt your head to get a better look at her eye as it seemed like it was beginning to swell. “Right.. and uh, what was that kid saying?” Your question wasn’t a hard one, not for anyone but Ellie. Ellie who seemed to be struggling to find her words. Her fidgeting fingers gave it all away, not to mention her averting gaze.

It was.. sort of cute.

“Just how you were—.. I don’t wanna think about it.” She was, clearly, still bothered by the incident. She cared more about what some kid said about you than what you’d said about her. But, why? You seriously couldn’t wrap your head around it.

“Are you mad?” The green eyed girl gave you a glance before going back to fiddling with her fingers. Her hair covering most of her face as she had it down. “No, I don’t think so?” As truthful as your words were, they had you, yourself, confused. Why weren’t you mad? Usually, you’d blow up on her if she even tried talking to you. Maybe her confession had made you all mushy.

“I don’t get it, Ellie. You beat up a kid for me?” She raised her head and turned to yoy, her expression was clear then. Slightly furrowed brows with parted lips, she was still upset over the whole situation. She really must be with that bruised eye. You decided to drop the questions for now and shifted on her bed. “Can I get my kiss now?” By the time you’d leaned back against your two arms, Ellie had turned to face you. She had this look of determination and it, honest to god, had you considered her question.

“You’re not getting a kiss..”— “Alright, give me a good reason why.” Stubborn as hell. She’d never quit, you knew that. If she’d gone years just getting your attention what else could she have up her sleeve. It was just a kiss.. right? “For one, I’ve known you since the first grade. It’d be weird. Second of all, you’re Ellie. It just doesn’t make sense.” Kissing her would only cause complications, you didn’t need that. And, it’s not like you wanted a girlfriend, you had studying to do. “Those are all the reasons why you should kiss me. I don’t want some.. french kiss, just give me a press on the lips.” A small press on the lips was too much to ask for.

“What do I get in return?” Was your final question, knowing the right answer would probably lead to you making an irrational decision and kissing the girl you hated most. “Your feelings figured out. You want that, right? I’ll show you how you feel about me, please.” This bitch really was crazy. Pleading for a small kiss? She could have anyone else on the campas kiss her at an instant, so why was she asking you?

But, then again, you didn’t want to feel confused anymore. One small press on her lips as you could finally tell her you didn’t feel anything for her, then she could leave you alone. Without the need for your attention, Ellie would be sure to slack off and let her grades drop.

With a deep inhale, you lean closer. Your heart, somehow, was racing in your chest, almost going to jump out. You didn’t understand why but, your palms were suddenly sweaty and it was growing hotter in the room. The sight of Ellie staring at your lips had your mind going fuzzy, your throat goong dry. Her warm, calloused hand came to rest on your cheek as she finally pressed her lips against yours. Your mind probably went numb for a second because it took you a good while to process it all. She didn’t pull away after a peck on the lips and continued tapping kisses on your lips. It had your hands shaking, face warm, and eyes fluttering shut. She was a good kisser, the way her lips tasted, the way her thumb ran over your cheek, even the way her breath tickled your heated skin. She was damn charming and you couldn’t help but kiss back.

Before you knew it, the auburn haired girl’s hand had came to rest under your shirt and on your waist. She felt around your skin as her tongue entered your mouth and began exploring. Your stomach was fluttering like crazy, you could feel it flip everytime Ellie let slip a noise you’d never even thought you’d be able to hear. Not to mention the sound of the kiss, it was embarrassingly clumsy. Maybe because both of you were a nervous wreck. All you could think about was being in the moment, not what would happen after the kiss, not what you could do to get score higher than Ellie. Everything else seemed to disappear around you, leaving only you and the girl you were kissing relevant.

With a slight smile, she pulled away and made her way to your jaw. Placing open mouthed kisses there and, occasionally, sucking on your sensitive skin. You bit back a moan but it only backfired when she fully wrapped her arms around your waist and pulled you against her chest. “I wanna hear it, Princess..” Oh, hear she did. Your lips couldn’t contain the lewd moans and whines that dared, and succeeded, to escape. They were, undoubtedly, music to Ellie’s ears. She was enjoying all of it. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this..” She whispered inbetween marking you up, her hands roaming over the bare skin of your back with a hint of desperation. As if she wanted to feel all of you, have you skin-to-skin with her. “Ellie..” Was all you could really moan out, which had her flecked cheeks red. Completely and utterly red.

And, in that moment, you’d realized just how wrong you’d gotten Ellie. She was never competing against you, all she wanted was you. Sure, you still hated how effortlessly smart she was, but, to be frank, you were willing to let your walls crumble down. Her silent confidence made you completely and utterly weak, your hate was as paper thin when it came to her. She was able to crumple it up before easily tearing it down. With a few words Ellie was able to get you to melt into her. Into the kiss.

Maybe, just maybe, you didn’t hate her as much anymore.

[star-suh]

Hardcore

Bang Chan x Male Reader

cw: idol au, dom top chan, pwp, facesitting, deepthroat, hair pulling, marking, spanking, slapping, choking, degradation, fisting, gaping hole, bit of dumbification, jackhammering, mating press, breeding, cum swallowing, hate sex, ripping clothes, cockwarming.

an: 😬 this man makes me go feral sometimes

—

yn was laying in the couch, his head hanging over one side of it. gurgling sounds could be heard in the living room, chan was there fucking the other's mouth “fuck at least that throat of yours can do wonders with my cock. you really know how to milk one hmm?” he slapped yn's cheeks and resumed his pace, forcing the other to deepthroat him. “maybe this is the only way to make you shut the fuck up for once”.

chan an yn were idols, each one from a different group, and they just began to hate each other for an unknown reason. every time they passed each other in the backstage of the music shows or year-end awards shows they looked at each other with anger plastered in their eyes, those glares were like hundreds of daggers stabbing at each other. until finally one day the tension exploded, their companies contacted them to do a collaboration (as a way to put an end to the rumors that the two hate each other's guts) and that's how we ended up here right now, chan banging the other's mouth, pulling his hair to thrust hard and deep.

with some final thrust chan came inside yn's throat clogging it with his thick cum, the other trying to swallow it but ended up spitting some of it “fucking asshole i almost choke–” not wanting to hear his annoying voice chan sat on top of yn, riding his face. chan gets up so that yn can breathe a little and sits on him again, repeating the action a few more times.

yn was stunned, there was so much happening that he doesn't realize when chan rips his shorts and underwear leaving his ass bare, “what the fuck you son of a bitch those were my favorite shorts”, “ask me how many fucks do i give” the other responded.

without warning chan impaled his thick fuckmeat on the tight hole, drawing a guttural moan out of him “you… asshole” tears rolled down his face while he punches chan in his chest “you're breaking me in.. hngh.. half.. you. bastard”..

chan positioned yn in a doggy style with the excuse of not wanting to see his face “this way i won't feel so disgusted” he mentioned. yn didn't pay attention to him since the only thing he focused on was how good chan's cock felt inside him. chan began to spank yn, enjoying the recoil caused by that and how it was slowly taking on a reddish color.

looking for a way to be able to thrust much rougher chan put his hands on the sides of yn's neck and began to choke him, also using it to push yn back so his cock goes deeper. yn's eyes were rolled back, spit coming out of his mouth, sex was clouding his mind and all he wanted now was to cum and get it over with quickly.

the room was now a mess, it reeked of sex and sweat, chan and yn have been fucking for hours. in the mating press position and he squeezed so hard that chan had no choice but to release his load inside the other. “why the fuck do you came inside.. it's disgusting coming from you” yn slapped chan but he didn't seem to like it, so he decided to do some payback, "fine, you son of a bitch, if that's what you want, then i'm going to get all my semen out of you. just don't complain later” suddenly, yn found himself in the jackhammering position. chan was being much rougher than he had been before, his cock never failing to hit that sweet spot. when he emptied his second load inside of yn chan said in a mocking voice “ow.. i'm so sorry yn i came inside you again”, “you did it on purpose you fu-aughng!!” yn cried feeling a sudden stretch, then he realizes chan was fisting him. his fist going in and out smeared with his semen "what do you think now yn? should i continue until there is not a single drop of cum inside?", yn could feel chan's fist making its way into his insides, how the knuckles scratched his prostate deliciously, he could feel every vein in chan's muscular arm "you're going to pay… for this.. augh.." he cried.

after finishing his fisting session, chan stopped to appreciate yn's destroyed hole, how agape it was and how it was clenching into nothing "it's cute how he tries to wink at me" chan joked, “i don't think you're going to be able to walk these days”.

chan folded yn and resume the fucking, but this time the thrusts were sloppier yn could feel that chan was already reaching his peak and that was when he took advantage and started scratching chan's back leaving long red and burning marks as part of his revenge, in addition to biting and twisting his nipples and punching his firm delicious pecs, "let's see how you'll cover those marks, imbecil” yn laughed with the last strength he had...

the next day yn woke up feeling sore down there and feeling a heavy weight on top of him, then chan wakes up too, realizing that they both fell asleep on top of each other with the top's cock still inside yn's ass "get off of me" yn pushes chan and when he tried to sit up he couldn't due to the pain he was feeling "hahaha deserved" chan laughs. suddenly he feels a slap on his back that hurt his wounds making him scream in pain "goddamn it… it hurts a lot”. “deserved" yn murmurs, struggling to stand up to go to the shower.

[mianexil]

POV: He heard/saw how someone was planning to harm you .... this trope for togame jo plssss

◇ POV: He heard/saw how someone was planning to harm you ◇

(pt. 2)

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💫 [ Hey, my cute Jo Togame lovers, your man is finally here. I usually don't write headcannons with him because I'm not really into him yet. So let me know in the comment: Is it worth adding this turtle more often? In that case, I think I'll have to think about him a little more often. ( I also added Choji here) ]

💫 [ The reaction of the Windbreaker boys when they heard/saw that someone was going to harass you. Don't worry, cutie, you're under the protection of these boys ]

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ㅡ Togame, Choji

Togame

The light of the beautiful festival lanterns reflected in your eyes as you walked along the food stalls.

The white yukata with the image of a red poppy rustled from your movements, and your heart was full of joy, because you will spend this fireworks festival with your boyfriend, who once again decided to work in the festival shop. Hearing the sound of your geta, Togame was distracted from hanging traditional masks on the shelves.

Your boyfriend slowly broke into a satisfied smile.

《 You look wonderful, pretty girl. This yukata suits you very well 》

After cooing for 15 minutes, you decided to go get dango.

Jo returned to his work when he suddenly heard 2 male voices behind him. However, the long-awaited visitors turned out to be not the most pleasant news this time.

《 Dude, girls in yukata are fucking hot. Did you see that chick in the white yukata with red flowers? She's definitely my type 》 - 《Well, go to her. She's not going anywhere in those shoes anyway 》

If only these assholes knew what a chilling look awaits them right behind their backs. The green eyes darkened, burning the guys with a look from under half-lowered eyelids.

Their guffaw was interrupted by a single movement. The poor guys' view was blocked by masks, and then heavy hands fell on their shoulders.

《 Shall we go talk? 》

The sauce on the sweet dangos glistened so appetiingly while you were carrying a box of them to Togame's shop. However, there was no one there. You started to turn around, looking for your boyfriend in the crowd, when you saw him walking towards you along the path in the warm light of the festival lanterns. Jo was smiling, relaxed, waving at you with his hand, which contained 2 new bottles of ramune.

《 Hey, baby, I bought us drinks 》

With a relaxed drawl, the man leaned over to you so that you could feed him sweet dangos from your hands.

That evening, you never found out that some 2 idiots slept through all the fireworks, lying in a log by some tree in the forest near festival street.

Choji

This active boy just couldn't help but invite you out on the weekend. You've already got used to the fact that one day off with him is one new adventure, because he can't stay at home, and he doesn't want to go without you.

《 Y/N, Y/N, let's go, let's go..》

And so, you found yourself in some crowded park after a long walk. Wanting to let your legs rest, you told Choji that you would go to the bench. In response, your boyfriend nodded with a big smile and said he would bring you sweets from an ice cream van nearby.

While you were catching your breath, Tomiyama was standing in line for a cold treat. It was noisy in the park, but the conversation of some jerk behind stood out from the rest of the background. The guy was talking on the phone, constantly laughing in some kind of nasty, raspy voice.

《 Yes, man, I noticed her a few minutes ago, and she's been sitting on the bench alone all this time. You should have seen her whore's flared skirt, she's one hundred percent looking for attention and I'll give it to her, hehe. It's been a long time since I've had a pretty girl 》

Choji followed the gaze of the guy who was staring right at the unsuspecting you.

How dare he utter such disgusting words in your direction!? Does he really want to die today? It seems Choji has just got a new rival.

A flame flared deep in Tomiyama's eyes, darkened with anger, and a joyful smile on his lips was replaced by an expression as if he wanted to kill here and now.

The nasty guy with the phone had to be distracted from the conversation because of the gaze of the head of the Shishitoren boring into him.

There was a tense silence. Choji stared in silence for a few seconds before speaking.

《 Isn't she beautiful? Tell? Yes?...But that's not for your eyes 》

The poor guy didn't even have time to be displeased when Tomiyama already rushed at him.

Usually in a fight people aim at the jaws or cheekbones, but God, this crazy boy was definitely aiming right at the bastard's eyes.

You jumped at someone else's scream and saw a crowd gathering around something.

Of course, you immediately realized that your boyfriend might have caused this commotion. And you weren't wrong. Running closer, you immediately saw the flashing yellow jacket of Shishitoren.

It was a bit difficult, but you had to pull Tomiyama away from his new rival victim. Otherwise, that jerk definitely wouldn't have survived.

◇ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ◇ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ㅡ ◇

[itsthestutterforme]

Should We Try Again? 1/2 (toxic!Rafe Cameron x toxic!reader)

Summary: Rafe tries to accuse you of cheating, and you did some snooping of your own. And when Rafe found out you went through his phone, you were in for it.

Notes: GIF is not mine, all mistakes are my own, Topper is a really good friend in this fic, reader is black, dark themes (choking, threats, arguing, name calling, overall just toxic behavior)

If any of these making you uncomfortable, pls don’t read. Take care of yourselves.

**

You and Rafe had one of your fights again. The yelling match, screaming in each other’s face kind of fight.

The kind of fight where the police gets called because someone heard glass breaking and shouting.

This particular time, he logged into your Instagram and founded close to 50 DMs from guys commenting on your stories where you posted your OOTDs.

You never opened any of the DMs but there were too many to go unnoticed.

“Do you get off on having other guys want you or something? Huh?” He starts as he abruptly forces his way into the bathroom where you were showering.

“What are you talking about, Rafe?” You snark, ringing out the water from your hair.

“What the hell is this?” He rips the shower curtain open.

“Rafe!” You scold, shutting off the water so none leaks onto the floor. He shoves his phone in your face and repeats, “What the hell is this?”

“They’re DMs, Rafe. Why are you talking to me like I did something wrong?”

“Because you did do something wrong by not blocking these sons of bitches. You like the attention, don’t you? You fucking slut.”

“Don’t you dare call me a slut, asshole. It’s DMs. They don’t mean shit!”

You close the shower curtain so you can resume your shower when he ripped it open again.

“Oh it means something when they’re sending dick pics, Y/N! They want to fuck you!”

“It doesn’t matter if they want me because I’m with you, Rafe. Not them.” You tried to reason.

You were already exhausted from work and you really didn’t need this right now.

“You’ve been sending them nudes, haven’t you?” “Are you fucking serious, Rafe?” “Do I look like I’m joking right now?” He says flatly, his nose flaring angrily.

“No, I haven’t sent anybody nudes. I didn’t even know they sent me dick pics because I don’t open them, Rafe.” He gives you a pointed look and you crossed your arms as a challenge.

It was clear you weren’t going to shower in peace so why not add some fuel to this fire.

“You’re such a hypocrite, you know that? Shame on me for having fifty unopened DMs but everything is okay when you have hundreds of opened DMs?” You antagonize, slowly stepping out of the shower with suds still on your body.

You watch as his face fell for a few seconds before it hardens once again.

“You’ve been going through my phone?” He asks. “Of course I have! Because I know you’ve been in my phone, desperate to find secrets to use against me. So I figure why not dig up some secrets of my own.”

“Y/N,” he warns lowly, taking a step towards you.

“What did you find?” He wrote down a few things about the cross.

Like where he’s already looked and potential places where it might be. But he hid those notes behind a passcode in his journal.

There were also a few texts of Ward asking ‘if it was taken care of’. Garret’s body.

There was no way you could figure out the passcode, right?

“What are you so scared I would find?” You questioned, purposely being vague. There was no point in being specific, if he was going to connect the dots for you.

His anxiety got the best of him and he wraps a hand around your throat, giving it a warning squeeze.

“Stop being cute and tell me what you saw.” He orders.

There wasn’t a constant pressure so you were able to breathe fairly normal. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t change his mind.

“I only went through your social media and some of your messages. Nothing else.” His hand twitched around your throat when you mentioned messages.

“I just wanted to see if you were texting others girls.” You added, wrapping your hands around his wrist.

“What else?” “Nothing else, I swear.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Y/N.” “I’m not lying to you.” He pulls away from your throat and you instinctively touched your collar bone.

His gaze softens when you stepped away from him. He itched to get close to you and apologize for over reacting, but he still wasn’t sure that you didn’t know about the gold and the bodies.

So his hands remained by his sides, tightening every so often.

“What are you protecting?” You asked cautiously. “Don’t pull that shit again.” He states before storming out of the bathroom and slamming the front door of your house.

That was a few days ago, and you haven’t spoke to each other since. The most interaction you’ve had was him viewing your story. That’s it.

You’ve been going straight home after work, not wanting to interact with anyone unless you had to.

But a small part of you wished you’d come home to Rafe waiting for you on your door step or him come to see you during your break.

But he never did. That was enough for you to come to the conclusion that he stopped caring about you.

He was so worried about protecting something or someone that was willing to choke you out to protect it.

You’ve seen him anxious about a few things but nothing set him off like you did that night.

You were watching one of your comfort movies with your fleece blanket wrapped around you, eating some stir fry you ordered on UberEats when your phone chimed.

Topper: hey you doing okay?

Tossing the phone back on the bed, you used the chopsticks to dip a piece of beef into the speciality sauce before eating it.

Your phone chimed again.

Topper: We were friends before you started dating Rafe, remember? I care about you too.

You: I assume Rafe told you everything?

Topper: Just that you had an argument and you’re on a break

You: Well that’s an oversimplification.

Topper: I’m throwing a party tonight. You should come.

You: I’m not exactly in the mood to get hit on by a bunch of drunk dudes.

Topper: Stick by me and you won’t have that problem.

You: You’re right. Instead, you would have a Rafe sized problem.

Topper: I’m not scared of Rafe.

Topper: Just come by for a few. It makes me feel uneasy that you’re by yourself at home all this time.

Topper: Please.

You: Fine, Topper.

Topper: Great! I’m on my way.

**

You hated yourself for how quick your eyes locked in on Rafe as soon as he walked into the party wearing a navy blue shirt and a white hat that matched his white cargo shorts.

He dapped up a few guys that greeted him by the front door and looked straight up to where you were sitting next to Topper.

He found you almost immediately with an expressionless face.

Your heart skipped a beat that he looked for you but that feeling of elation left you as quickly as it came.

He didn’t reach out to you for three days. No call. No text. No apology. He was done and now it was your turn to feel the same.

“You two are like magnets,” Topper says from behind you. “Toxic ones,” he eventually adds with a chuckle.

“I knew you were going to say that,” you teased, playfully hitting his shoulder.

Sadness kicked your gut when two girls approached Rafe, one of them ran her hands over his chest as she went to whisper something in his ear.

“I’m going to grab another drink.” You said when you notice Rafe coming up the stairs with the girls.

“I’ll come with you,” you gave him a look. “What? I meant it when I said stick by me. Let’s go.”

He lets you lead the way and you go down the second set of stairs but you stopped abruptly, peering down at your jewelry.

Everything you were wearing was gifted to you by Rafe, even down to the earrings. You still wore the R golden plate necklace and matching anklet. You had his signet ring on your thumb because that was the only finger it could fit.

“Everything okay, Y/N?” Topper questions. Rafe was watching the entire interaction from the loveseat you and Topper were just sitting on.

You bent down to take off your anklet and moved to take off your earrings next.

“Can you help me take off the necklace?” You asked, pulling off the ring and placing it with the other jewelry.

“Sure,” he agrees, pushing your passion twists out of the way.

You felt his warm hand brushing against the back of your neck when he unclasped the necklace.

He put the necklace in your outstretched hand. You walked back up the few stairs you crossed and approached Rafe whose eyes were still trained on you.

You let out a shaky breath before taking his warm hand into your own and giving him the jewelry. You were beginning to miss his touch.

Guilt flashed across his face, looking down at his hand. You avoided his gaze and left him without another word, rushing down the stairs and Topper followed after you.

“Well that was dramatic,” one of the girls says, rolling her eyes while her friend eyes the gold carat in Rafe’s hand that easily amounted to 75k.

“Can I have the earrings?” She asked and before Rafe could respond, she reached for them anyway.

Rafe caught her hand in a tight grip and she whimpers at the pressure.

“You’re hurting me,” she groans.

“No one told you to touch what’s hers,” he shoves her to the ground. “Hey! You asshole!” Her friend snaps, standing from the couch and helps her friend to her feet.

He doesn’t spare them another glance as he digs in his pocket for a baggie to do a few lines.

“Y/N,” Topper calls, finally catching up with you in the kitchen. “Are you okay?” He asks you, examining your face for anything he could read.

“You should check on him,” you poured yourself a shot in a small solo cup and knocked it back, barely making a face.

“I’m checking up on you,” “It needed to be done, okay. All of it were just reminders of what I don’t have anymore.” You explain, pouring yourself another shot.

“That was very brave for you to do.” “Then why do I feel like shit?” You huffed after taking another shot and he stops you from pouring another one.

“Because the break up is still fresh, Y/N.” He looks at you like you’re going to fall apart before his very eyes.

His soft eyes examines your face for any micro expression that could give away what you’re thinking.

“Look, Top. I know you’re trying to help and all but if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to cry.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“I want to enjoy your party. Your birthday is tomorrow. You shouldn’t be spending it watching me cry.”

“That’s not happening. I’m not leaving you.” He shakes his head and you took his hands into yours, much like you did with Rafe.

But Rafe’s hand were warmer.

“It doesn’t make you a bad friend. I’ll find Sarah.” He studied your face once again and you gave him a soft smile.

“Go,” “Alright,” he says, not bothering to hide his disappointment. “I’ll come find you in like ten minutes.”

“Take your time,” he leaves the kitchen and you let out a deep sigh. You shouldn’t be here.

But you didn’t have the heart to ditch Topper on his birthday rager.

You pressed your palms into the cool, granite countertop and bowed your head to release the tension in your neck.

You hadn’t realize someone was in the kitchen with you until you heard footsteps and someone’s low voice. To your surprise, it was Pope standing on the other side of the counter.

“Sorry, were you saying something?” You asked softly, the shot were slowly starting to get to you.

“I said you are too pretty and insanely smart to be treated like an option.”

That was the nicest thing anyone said to you. You haven’t felt valued in a long time.

“Thanks, Pope. That really means a lot.”

His mouth fell open at your words. “You know who I am?”

“Yes I know who you are. Your family makes the best seafood boils in town.” You explained with a chuckle.

“She knows my name,” he said to himself, which he quickly realized you can hear.

“I should haven’t said that out loud,” he admits and you let out a laugh.

“You’re cute,” he scratches the back of his neck to hide how flustered he way. “Um, are you hiding from Rafe in here?”

“Yes, I am.” You admitted, crossing your arms. “Well if you want some company, my friends are by the bonfire outside. If you want to join. O-only if you want to. I’m not trying to force anything or-“

You interrupted his rant to say, “Sure. I’ll go with you.” You took a solo cup and swung by the keg on the way out, offering some to Pope.

“By the way, what makes you think I’m insanely smart?” “I’m a TA for Mr. Patterson. He still uses your test as a grading key.” He explains after taking a swig of your beer.

“Of course he does. I loved his class.” You admitted with a chuckle. “What is this?”

JJ stands from the chair and motions between you and Pope with his ringed pinky.

“I told her she can hang out with us.” “Hey, JJ.” You greet with a small wave.

“‘Sup, sweetheart. Want a hit?” He offered a blunt to you and you graciously accepted.

He had a grin on his face as he watched you take a hit. He expected you to cough or at least have your eyes water from the potency but much to his surprise, you exhaled the puff of smoke slowly without a fuss.

The mix of the weed and the tequila was throwing your head in a spin. “Never pegged you to be a pothead,” “I’m full of surprises, Maybank.”

A drunk Rafe stumbles outside in search for you when he finds you laughing with Pope and JJ.

JJ noticed your shivering whenever there was a breeze and peeled off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders.

Rafe wasn’t even aware what was happening until his vision started to blur.

He was crying.

[yoyomomiko]

[ONE] — Ghosts = $$$

☆ `` SPECTRAL SCAMMERS ``

☆ — summary: when cartman comes up with yet another 'get rich quick' scheme, he forces his friends, and you, into starting a ghost hunting service. armed with a mix of makeshift equipment, a questionable van and no actual skills, you begin taking jobs to "exorcise" haunted houses.

warnings: strong language, cartman being cartman.

(a/n): first chapter is out and honestly I don't really know where this is going!! also, I'm extremely sorry for the short length of this chapter :< --- usually, first chapters are always shorter! i'll try my best to make the other chapters longer :)

wc: 1932

★ m.list

★ series m.list

[NEXT] ->

The cafeteria was a chaotic mess as always. Muffled chatter, students fighting, and the occasional shout from the lunch staff scolding some kid for trying to sneak an extra carton of milk. You sat at the usual table in the far corner, picking at your food. Across from you, Stan and Kyle were arguing about some documentary they watched in History, while Clyde was halfway through his second slice of pizza.

"Alright, assholes, listen up!" Cartman's voice cut through the arguing boys. He slammed his tray onto the table for everyone's attention, the loud sound making Tweek flinch so hard he almost spilled his coffee.

"Oh, great, what now?" Stan groaned, leaning back in his chair.

"You're gonna thank me later, Stan." Cartman cleared his throat, glancing at everyone sitting at the table. "Because I just came up with the best idea of my life. No, of your lives, too, because you're all gonna be a part of it."

Kyle raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Let me guess, some new way to scam people out of their money?"

"Yeah, Kyle, because having ambition is such a crime." Cartman shot back, rolling his eyes dramatically. "But no, this isn't just a scam. It's a business opportunity. A gold mine. And all you losers have to do is stop being such whiny little bitches and listen to me for five seconds."

"Dude, just get to the point." Stan muttered, his hands resting on top of the table as his brows furrowed together.

Cartman smirked, leaning forward on the table as if he was about to deliver a secret. "Ghost hunting."

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the distant crash of a tray hitting the floor somewhere across the cafeteria.

"Ghost hunting?" Clyde repeated with a mouthful of pizza.

"Yes, Clyde, try to keep up." Cartman snapped. "Think about it. Those dumbass ghost hunting shows on TV. People eat that crap up! We can charge idiots in this town hundreds of dollars to 'investigate' their haunted houses and get rid of their spooky little Casper problems!"

Kyle shook his head with a sigh. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Even for you, Cartman."

"It's not stupid!" Cartman shot back, slamming his fist on the table hard enough to make Tweek jump again.

"People are stupid, Kyle. They'll pay us to run around their creepy old houses with flashlights, pretending to find ghosts! And if there's no ghost? We'll just make one! Bang on some walls, throw some stuff around... Boom, paranormal activity."

"That's literally fraud." You pointed out, resting your chin on your hand. "You realize that, right?"

Cartman waved you off as if you mentioned something as unimportant as the weather. "Pfft, no one's gonna care. We'll make them sign waivers. Legal waivers make everything legit!"

Stan exchanged a doubtful look with you, then glanced back at Cartman. "This sounds like the kind of thing that gets us arrested. Or worse, sued."

"Oh my God, you guys are so dramatic." Cartman groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "Look, do you want to spend the rest of high school broke and boring, or do you wanna be rich and badass?"

"Rich and badass does sound kinda nice..." Clyde admitted, earning a glare from Kyle.

"Clyde, seriously?"

"What? I need the money! My dad cut my allowance because I spent it all on skins in Fortnite."

"I can't believe I'm surrounded by morons." Kyle buried his face in his hands.

"Ghosts aren't even real!" Tweek blurted, his hands shaking as he gripped his cup. "What if we mess with something we don't understand? What if we summon a demon or-"

"Tweek, for the love of God." Craig interrupted, his voice flat and bored. "You're not summoning anything. It's fake."

Tweek's eyes darted to Craig, then back to Cartman. "B-But even if it's fake, what if- what if people find out?! What if we get exposed or something?!"

"Tweek, no one cares about your paranoia." Cartman rolled his eyes. "Besides, it's not like we're actually gonna run into any ghosts. We're just taking money from idiots who think their houses are haunted because their furniture makes weird noise."

"I dunno, dude." Kenny finally spoke up, voice muffled by his hood. "What's the cut? Like, how much are we each getting?"

"Ah! The voice of reason! Don't worry Kenny. We'll split it... Fairly."

"Fairly?" Kyle immediately narrowed his eyes. "That means you're going to take the biggest cut, doesn't it?"

"Uh, duh, because it's my idea." Cartman shot back. "But you'll still get plenty. Enough to buy whatever poor people stuff you need, Kenny."

"Works for me, I'm in." Kenny shrugged.

"Dude!" Kyle exclaimed, looking betrayed.

"What? I need money!"

You sighed, glancing around the table. "So let me get this straight." You started, mentally preparing yourself. "You want us to break into random people's houses, pretend to find ghosts, and charge them a fortune for it? Do you even have a plan for how this is supposed to work?"

"Of course I have a plan!" Cartman replied, puffing out his chest. "Step one, we make a website and some fake business cards. Step two, we spread the word around town. Step three, profit."

"That's not a plan." Stan muttered, leaning back in his chair again.

"It's a great plan." Cartman's brows furrowed together. "And you know what? If you don't want in, fine. But when I'm rolling in cash and you're stuck eating this nasty ass lunch food, don't come crying to me."

Stan groaned, rubbing his temples. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but fine. I'm in. Only to make sure you don't burn someone's house down."

Kyle threw his hands up with a groan and a roll of his eyes. "Oh my God. You're all insane."

"Come on, Kyle." You smirked, nudging him with your elbow. "It could be... Interesting."

Kyle stared at you as if you just suggested jumping off a bridge. But after a moment, he sighed heavily. "Fine. But if this ends in a disaster, I'm blaming all of you."

"Perfect!" Cartman grinned, looking around at his newly recruited 'team'.

"Welcome to the South Park Paranormal Crew, bitches. First job is tomorrow night. Bring flashlights and maybe some fake blood."

Craig glared at Cartman. "Tweek and I never said we were joining."

"I don't care about you losers, go sit on a dick or something." Cartman shot back.

Craig's eyes narrowed, his piercing gaze burning holes through Cartman. "You know what? I'm in, fatass." He spoke through gritted teeth, to which Cartman smirked.

"I-I guess I'm in too." Tweek stammered, his hands shaking uncontrollably.

"Amazing! What do you guys say we have a meeting at my house this night to prepare for tomorrow?" Cartman held a smug and confident look.

"Do we have a choice?" You sighed, already tired of this.

"No. Eight o'clock sharp!" He declared. "Don't forget that, fuckers!"

.

.

.

.

Later that night, the group crowded into Cartman's basement. The space was a mess, an old couch shoved against one wall, half empty soda cans all over a coffee table, and a mysterious stain on the carpet that no one wanted to investigate. You sat quietly between Kyle and Craig, who were both visibly annoyed.

Cartman stood at the front, a whiteboard behind him covered in messy scrambles of ideas that looked more like the ramblings of a lunatic than a business plan. He held a marker in his hands, which he twirled dramatically before slamming it against the board.

"Alright, assholes." He began, pacing in front of the group. "Step one of becoming the greatest ghost hunters South Park has ever seen: branding. We need a website, a killer name and a look that screams 'these guys are legit'."

Stan rolled his eyes from his spot on the couch. "It's hard to scream 'legit' when you're using your mom's basement as headquarters."

"Shut up, Stan!" Cartman snapped. "Do you have a basement we can use? No? Then sit your ass down and let the professionals handle this."

Craig crossed his arms, leaning a bit closer to you, his knee brushing yours. "You don't even know how to make a website, do you?"

"Of course I do!" Cartman lied, puffing out his chest. "It's easy. You just... Click some buttons and stuff. Besides, we have Kyle for that."

Kyle straightened, glaring at Cartman. "Excuse me? Since when did I agree to be your tech support?"

"Since you're the only one here who isn't a complete moron when it comes to computers!" Cartman replied, his tone annoyingly smug.

"Watch it fatass!" Stan snapped as Craig snickered.

Kyle opened his mouth to argue but stopped when you nudged him gently. "You might as well just do it." You whispered. "The sooner we get this over with, the better."

Kyle sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Fine, but I'm not doing this for free."

"Whatever, Jew." Cartman turned back to the whiteboard. "Now, let's talk names. We need something catchy. Something cool."

"How about we call ourselves 'Paranormal Posers'?" Craig deadpanned, earning a laugh from Kenny.

"I've got it!" Clyde exclaimed, clearly excited. "What about 'The Phantom Chasers'?"

"Lame." Cartman dismissed immediately, crossing it off the list. "We need something badass like 'South Park Paranormal Commandos'."

"Or we could just call it what it is." Stan muttered. "'Cartman's Latest Scam'."

"Do you want to get sued, Stan?" Cartman shot back. "No one's putting my name on this thing."

After another twenty minutes of ridiculous suggestions, and several rounds of arguing, you all finally settled on a name. Specter Squad.

"Simple, memorable, and cool as hell." Cartman declared, underlining it three times on the board.

.

.

While Cartman and the others brainstormed more ways to make themselves seem legit, Kyle sat at Cartman's ancient desktop computer, typing at it furiously.

The homepage was basic but effective.

A bold header reading "SPECTER SQUAD: South Park's Premier Ghost Hunting Team" in glowing green text, complete with a stock image of a haunted house in the background.

"This looks so fake." Kyle muttered to himself, shaking his head as he uploaded a photo of the group. It was a hurriedly taken selfie from earlier that night, with Cartman front and center, beaming like an idiot, while everyone else looked irritated.

"Fake is fine." Cartman said, leaning over Kyle's shoulder. "People don't care about professional. They care about scary. Make it spooky."

"Spooky costs extra." Kyle shot back.

The rest of the group gathered around as Kyle added more details to the site.

Services

- Full Paranormal Investigation

- Ghost Removal

- Cleansing Rituals

Reviews

Janet H. - "Specter Squad saved my family from a scary ghost! Worth every penny!"

Sal F. - "I thought my apartment was haunted and they proved me right. Highly recommend!"

"Who t-the hell is 'Janet H.'?" Tweek asked, pointing to one of the reviews.

"Some lady I made up." Cartman replied, completely unfazed.

.

.

With the website finished, you all moved on to advertising. Clyde and Kenny volunteered to print out flyers, which they plastered all over the school the next day. On lockers, bulletin boards, and even the bathroom stalls.

Cartman, meanwhile, moved to social media, creating an Instagram page and spamming hashtags like #HauntedSouthPark and #GhostBeware.

"You think anyone's actually going to believe this?" Craig asked as everyone watched Cartman upload a blurry photos of an attic claiming it was 'evidence' from a recent investigation.

"Of course they will." Cartman replied confidently. "People are dumb. Trust me, by this time tomorrow we'll have our first client."

★yoyomiko ★miko

[sk3erkrou]

My Thoughts on Hogwarts Legacy

This is something that has been on my mind recently as more discourse about the topic is coming to the forefrunt of the internet. Hogwarts Legacy and, honestly, the Harry Potter franchise as a whole.

As I see things, there are 5 groups of people when it comes to "THAT wizard game."

"Hey, I don't want to play it because of my own personal reasons. But if you want to play it, I hope you have fun."

"Hey, I do want to play this game because of my own, personal reasons, but I understand that you're not interested. That's cool."

"This game gives money to a transphobe?! Awesome! I just bought two copies."

"You want to play this game for your own reasons? You're a transphobe piece of shit. I won't stop until you know you're a piece of shit."

"Harry Potter? Hogwarts Legacy? I haven't played video games since I lost 2 weeks of my life to Banjo Kazooie in 1998."

If you fall into either category 1, 2, or 5, then right on. You're doing the right thing. Keep it up.

However, if you fall into either category 3 or 4, you are a fucking problem and you need to cut the shit and grow up.

Personally, I fall into category 1. I feel I have made my views on the game and franchise fairly clear. But also, I have a good friend who learned to read because of Harry Potter. I grew up with the franchise and it was a huge part of my childhood, and recognizing that I no longer want to engage in the franchise felt like a huge loss to me, and took some time to reconcile with myself. But, again, I have made that decision based on the larger franchise and not simply this one game. And, also again, these are my OWN PERSONAL REASONS. If you're interested, I will gladly share my thoughts in a civil manner, and only ask that you understand my thinking, not that you agree with me, or try to convince me to change my mind.

Now, to address category 3. Deep breath, here.

If you are doing anything at all because you know it will make the lives of people worse, then fuck you right to hell. Yes, this group of people also generally goes hand in hand with a specific red hat and an orange demagogue. If you find yourself in this category, get help. Go to therapy and ask about this concept called "empathy."

Category 4.

I will repeat: if you are doing anything at all because you know it will make the lives of people worse, then fuck you right to hell. Setting up websites to track Twitch streamers to see who is playing Hogwarts Legacy? Going to channels and harrassing the streamers for wanting to play the game? I would argue that people in this category or worse than those in category 3 because while those in 3 as assholes, they are blowing money on something they don't actually care about to try triggering someone while people in this group are going out and actively attacking people for engaging something that they want to experience for, and repeat after me, THEIR OWN PERSONAL REASONS. I saw in one chat that someone mentioned they wished executions were legal because people were doing something they didn't like. Sounds an awful lot like some people who built some gallows outside of a notable large building in the US back in the beginning of January 2021, doesn't it?

Here's where things really boil down on Hogwarts Legacy. The game is made. It's done. Rowling has been paid or will be getting paid. You attacking people for enjoying the game isn't going to stop that. But there's a lot more people than just her in the mix, here. Think about all the hundreds of people who have spent YEARS working on making this game, and trying to make it the best game possible. They have also been paid and are continuing to get paid. Controversy has surrounded Hogwarts Legacy pretty much since it was announced. And it wasn't cancelled.

Here's where I see things going with the game: it is the outrage of the day. Somewhat surprisingly, the outrage of Hogwarts Legacy's release is overshadowing the much more recent information about Justin Roiland. People will continue to be upset by this game for a while, and eventually that will fade, as all outrage does.

But you know what won't pass? The hurt caused by people to other people over this game. Your friend, who you disagree with about the game, sitting in their home, playing the game, is not going to hurt you. Streamer playing the game and you don't want to watch it? THEN FUCKING DON'T. Full stop. For fuck's sake, people were buying subs to a twitch stream just so they could continue harrassing the streamers after they made the chat sub-only. Fuck you. Grow up. And like I told the people in group 3, get therapy.

Actually, everyone should go to therapy, but that isn't the point of this.

Here's what my point of view boils down to: let people enjoy what they enjoy and stop shitting on things just because people enjoy them. Yes, the situation here is more complex and nuanced than that, but every situation is. And if any part of this rambling has made you angry or upset for any reason, I'd like you to think about why that is. I am not advocating for people to play the game or not play the game. Honestly, I just couldn't give a fuck what you want to play in the privacy of your own home. I just want people to be better. Treat people better. Be better people. Recognize that everyone on this planet is, at the very least, deserving of being treated like a person and deserving of love. And if you can't understand that fact, did you really understand Harry Potter at all?

[morganski-19]

The One With the Second Date

“Ok, I’m not sure what I was expecting to happen in the end,” Ryan explains as they leave the theater, “but it wasn’t that.”

Nancy laughs. “It was a stereotypical romcom, they were always going to end up together in the end.”

Ryan and Nancy walk down the sidewalk. Ryan’s hands shoved into his jacket pockets while Nancy’s are at her sides.

“I just think that she was much better with the other guy. They had way more chemistry.”

Nancy nods with another laugh.

They come to a stop outside of a parking garage. Ryan turns toward her. “My car’s in there,” he points awkwardly to the garage.

“My bus stop is right over there,” Nancy points across the street.

Ryan lets out a nervous huff. “You know, we didn’t really get to talk much tonight. With seeing a movie and everything. My parking’s for the whole night. And there’s this nice ice cream place around the corner that we could go to. If you wanted to.”

Nancy smiles. “Sure.”

“Sure?” Ryan looks generally surprised. “Sure, yeah ok. It’s this way.”

He leads them across the street and down one block. Turning at the corner and halfway down, there is a small ice cream shop. They walk in, a family and one other couple at the tables. But otherwise, it’s empty. Nancy looks at the options, debating which to choose. While Ryan immediately knows what he wants and asks the employee. One scoop of vanilla and one cookies and cream. Making sure to note that they needed to be rung up together but were in no rush.

When Nancy chooses the honey vanilla flavor, Ryan beats her to register to pay.

“You know I can pay for us at least once,” Nancy jokes. She instead pulls out a few dollars and slides them into the tip jar.

Ryan laughs. Taking back his change and dumping it into the jar as well. “It was my idea, so it’s my money.”

Nancy walks over to the table in the corner. “So, I need to plan the next date and then I get to pay?”

“Yeah,” Ryan stutters. There’s been a nervous energy with him all night. “That would work.”

“I promise I don’t mean anything by this question, I’m just generally interested. Why are you so nervous? We’ve already been on one date.”

Ryan sets down his ice cream, rubbing his palms on his pants. “I’ve been on what seems like hundreds of first dates. It’s down to a routine at this point. But as far as second dates go, there’s only been a few. And most of those times, it never went anywhere else, and I was back on the app the next morning.”

Nancy nods, showing that she’s listening.

“I get that’s just how dating can be, sometimes. Especially through dating apps. But I just want something that lasts more than a week or two, you know?”

“I do.” Nancy stares down at her ice cream. “I kind of gave up dating for a while for the same reason. It was just horrible date after horrible date. So I gave up.”

“What made you try again?”

Nancy sighs. Debating how much she should tell. “My best friend, who also lives across the hall from me, got a new girlfriend.”

“Oh,” he says. With a mix of shock and concern.

“There’s nothing there, I promise. Back when we were in college, there was a phase where we both liked each other but didn’t know. Part of me kind of always harbored those feelings for her, but it was time to finally let them go. Whatever we could have had was over, it was time to recognize that.”

“And you though going on a dating app would help with that?”

Nancy lets her hands fall into her hands. “That makes me sound like an asshole. I swear that I didn’t agree to go on a date with you just to get over my stupid feelings. They played no part in deciding to go on a date with you.”

Ryan reaches across the table and gently pushes Nancy’s hands out of the way. “I believe you, for what it’s worth. We’ve all been there at some point.”

“That makes me feel a little better.”

“I appreciate you being honest with me. I,” he pauses. Taking a deep breath. “I really like you, Nancy. You’re probably the best person I’ve met on one of these apps.”

Nancy smiles. “Same here.”

They fall into a comfortable silence. Finishing their ice cream and heading outside again. When Ryan goes to shove his hands into his pockets again, Nancy stops him. Taking his hand into hers. They walk back to the street where they would need to part ways. Nancy waiting for the bus and Ryan crossing the street to his car.

“Would it be ok if I drove you home?” he asks. “It’s dark and way better than a bus.”

“Yeah, that would be ok.”

She follows him to his car and directs them to her apartment building. He finds a spot down the street and parks. Planning on walking her to her door. With full explanation that she can tell him no.

Instead, she rolls her eyes and gets out of the car. Waiting for him to get out. He does, stumbling over his step a bit.

“So, for our next date,” Nancy talks as they walk up the stairs. “I was thinking that we could to this Mexican place I love.”

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

“And it’s my idea so my money, right?” She stops in front of her door. Facing him.

He laughs. “That was the deal.”

Inside of Steve and Robin’s apartment, Robin is staring through the peephole. Having heard Nancy come back and got curious. That’s all, curious.

“What the hell are you doing?” Steve asks. Looking unenthused.

Robin shushes him. “Nancy is back from her date. She’s talking with the guy outside the door.”

“Let me see.” Steve pushes Robin out of the way, looking through the peephole. “Oh, he’s cuter in person.”

Robin slaps his arm. “Don’t encourage this.”

“How am I encouraging this? I’m behind a door, she can’t hear me. Also, it’s too late for that. I was there for the pre-date crisis.”

“And she still went out on the date?”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah well, she seemed to really like the guy. Argyle even did his weird stalking thing he does and found nothing bad. He checked out.”

Robin pushes Steve out of the way again, looking through the peephole once more. “Oh no, she’s doing that face. You know that face.”

“I am well aware of the face.” Steve leans up against the wall next to the door. “Why is this bothering you so much? She’s allowed to date if she wants to.”

“I don’t know,” Robin groans. Letting her forehead thunk against the door. “She just deserves so much, and she’s been on so many dates and none of them have been good. I’m just . . .  looking out for her. That’s all.”

Steve hums, disbelieving. Pulling out his phone.

Steve: I think Robin is jealous of Nancy’s new guy

Eddie: Oh wow, what a shocker

Eddie: Do you not remember the two-hour long pity session she conveniently had after Nancy had the first date

Steve: They’re out in the hall right now, Robin can’t stop looking at them through the peephole

Eddie: Can’t she just pretend to take out the trash like a normal person

Steve: Are you going to go do that now?

Eddie: Yes

Eddie: I need to see this guy in person

Back in the hall, while all of that was ensuing, Nancy and Ryan were saying goodbye. Not exactly making any moves toward it. Until Eddie opens the door, with a half full bag of trash in hand, interrupts it.

“Oh, hey, Nance. I didn’t hear you get back,” he says, nonchalant. Looking over at Ryan with fake shock. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Nancy sighs, catching onto Eddie’s play. “Ryan, this is my roommate Eddie.”

Ryan holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you, man. Nancy’s told me about you.”

“Same here.” Eddie shakes his hands. “I’m just gonna, thank you.” He steps in between them to head down the hall to the trash shoot. Leaving them alone again.

“I should get going,” Ryan says, pushing his hands into his pockets again. “It was really nice to see you again.”

Nancy smiles. “Yeah, it was. I’ll text you later when I’m free.”

“I’ll be looking for it.”

There is a break of silence. Expectation in the air. Ryan shrugs in the direction of the stairs. “I’ll see you later.”

“Oh my god.” Nancy stops his from walking away. Grabbing his face and pulling him down. Pressing a kiss to his lips. He’s shocked for a second, before pressing into it. “Have a good night,” she says after pulling back.

Ryan steps backward, a blush covering his face. “Yeah, uh, yeah. You too. I’ll text you later. Yeah. Bye.”

He turns to walk down the hall while Nancy snorts to herself. Eddie comes back around the corner with a teasing smile.

“Don’t even start, Munson.” Nancy walks into the apartment.

“Oh, I wasn’t going to say anything.” He closes the door behind them. “I was just merely observing.”

Nancy glares at him while taking off her earring. “Observing?”

“He seems nice,” Eddie teasing tone.

“He is nice.”

“Is he a good kisser?”

“There it is.” Nancy walks to her bedroom. “Night.”

Eddie leans on the back of the couch. “No, I wanted to do the after-date gossip.”

“Maybe tomorrow.” She closes the bedroom door.

Eddie sighs, pulling out his phone to see many new texts from Steve.

Steve: Holy shit, she kissed him

Steve: Robin is not taking that well

Steve: She’s trying to play off her jealousy as protectiveness

Steve: Maybe we should warn Nancy about the tirade she’s going to get tomorrow about the dangers of kissing random men

Eddie: I don’t know, the guy was pretty respectful about it

Eddie: He was smiling like an idiot when I passed him in the hall

Eddie: And Nancy seems happy about it

Steve: This is going to be both entertaining and a pain in the ass

Eddie: Agreed

Eddie: I take it Robin isn’t going out tonight then

Steve: Sadly not

Steve: There goes our plans

Eddie: Damn, I kind of really want to kiss you right now

Steve: You know

Steve: No one is ever in the laundry room this late

Eddie: I could do some laundry

Steve: Meet you there in twenty

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low,

@thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady,

@apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417, @stevesbipanic,

@fearieshadow, @eightpackdiaz, @au79burger @bookworm0690 , @practicallybegging,

@potato-of-the-lord, @autumncrocusandladybug, @estrellami-1, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @gregre369

@my2amgaythoughts, @ellietheasexylibrarian, @emmabubbles, @eriquin, @grtwdsmwhr

@croatoan-like-its-hot, @dreamercec, @dreamy-jeans137, @morallyundefined

[darsynia]

The Smoke That Roams (post-apocalypse AU Bucky/Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | lmk if you want to be tagged for Bucky fics!

Summary: You and Bucky find each other after the world almost ends

Length/Warnings: 3,080 | sex, allusions to violence

Notes: I tagged this on AO3 as 'romance and survival soaked in metaphor,' lol. It's post-apocalyptic angst. Stop typing, Darsy.

Excerpt:

You weren’t afraid of him, you realized. You were afraid for him. He was a supersoldier, but he wasn’t immortal. Bucky often went off by himself without saying anything to you--but what if someday he didn’t come back? 

A pillow landed on the queen sized bed beside yours, followed by a blanket, followed by Bucky, who threw himself onto his back beside you with as much care as he’d tossed everything else. He was so warm you could feel the heat radiating through the space that separated you, even though none of it carried through to his tone.

“You’re safe. Go to sleep.”

It was… exactly what you needed.

The Smoke That Roams

You used to compare him to a solid, cold hunk of metal. Non-reflective but uncorroded, with a metaphorical melting point so high it’s practically unreachable. A weapon when thrown but otherwise safe, foundational, inexpressive.

That was before he touched you.

Bucky Barnes is not safe. He is expressive, though. Just not with words.

now

The world isn’t destroyed. There are still plants, there are still animals, and there are still safe places to spend time. The planet may actually be better off now than in the last few hundred years, because the humans who were in the process of ruining things just barely failed.

There are no regulations, no government-enforced exclusion zones, only good- and bad-intentioned people living day to day. You figure humanity has around twenty years of 'every man for himself' to realize how difficult it is to grow crops and sustain life. Until then, everyone’s subsisting on canned food and shelf-stable meats while hating every second of it.

Boredom is an unexpectedly dystopian pandemic, post-apocalypse. Books still exist, so there’s that. Unfortunately, even if there were experienced people to keep the electrical grid going, it’s completely unsustainable without an accompanying society. When you’re really depressed, you picture various survivors all around the world hunkering down to read Jurassic Park or Gone Girl next to pine-scented candles or last year’s Pantone table tapers. Once, you imagined a group of miserable assholes warming their hands next to a bonfire of Live, Laugh, Love wall hangings outside of a Cracker Barrel. It helped. You doubt any Karens survived the apocalypse to object.

then

You survived out of luck, if you could call living in the aftermath of a failed nuclear response ‘luck.’ 

Given the honest-to-fuck alien invasion, those nuclear strikes should have taken out the whole area. Instead, a strange golden dome repelled the worst of the damage, but you knew better than to assume it would stick around. After gathering some important provisions (including a gun and all your ammo), you spent some time bundling up your lawnmower’s spare gas can. You'd read The Stand. There's no way you're strong enough to pilfer gasoline from an underground tank.

That was when you found a leather-clad warrior man standing beside your motorcycle. He didn't seem surprised to see you. “You know how to ride this?”

“You after parts or gas?” you asked, hand on the butt of your gun. You were high on survivor’s guilt and low on bravado. He noticed both.

“A bodyguard,” Bucky told you sardonically.

He eventually told you the real reason, but at the time you’d pulled courage out of the sulfuric smell of danger in the air and suggested you watch each other’s backs.

now

“Still awake?”

You roll over to see Bucky’s familiar shape standing at the window, outlined in moonlight.

“Yeah. It’s too quiet.” Yesterday the two of you had retreated further into the mountains, judging your previous temporary home too close to the river after seeing two small groups using it for through travel.

“Never thought I’d like the quiet this much,” he muses.

Getting up, you move to stand beside him, still dressed in multiple layers to ward off the colder elevation. “That’s because it matters why it’s quiet.”

He doesn’t look over, but his smile is gorgeous in the dim light. “That’s a war reference.”

“You’re damn right.”

The two of you stand in silence, watching the shadows of the nearby trees play in the wind until he speaks again, gruff and oddly defensive.

“I was right about the shelter.”

“There’s a radio? Was it the right kind?”

“Yeah. Months worth of food, too.”

You’re embarrassed at how excited you are at the thought of MREs. “That’s great,” you say, reaching out to touch his arm. It’s sopping wet. Turning to look at him more fully, you see that his hair is wet too. He’s been dripping the whole time he's stood there; there’s a halo of wet, dark spots on the floor around him that feel almost symbolic.

“Most of the food was untouched. Ghosts don’t eat much.”

“How many?” You have to dredge to find enough moisture to rub your vocal cords together.

“Just one. Buried him in the woods pretty far out, washed up in the river.”

Bucky leaves so much unsaid, but you’re good at decoding him by now. This new cabin is miles from the river. As a good ‘bodyguard,’ though, you have one more clarifying question. It’ll matter, if you want to stay here for longer than a week or two.

“Was there evidence of-- did someone else--”

“Self-inflicted.”

“Yeah, aren’t we all,” you sigh, pushing away the guilt of relief.

then

You learned him slowly.

Bucky didn’t need a bodyguard as much as a body, or more accurately a second person to help carry the items he was gathering. It made sense; even a loner like him wouldn’t separate from the other Avengers without a reason. Their version of ‘strength in numbers’ was too complicated to understand and he didn’t really explain, but it had something to do with scattered communication, whatever that meant.

The parts he needed were in military bases, abandoned (and guarded, which was fucking terrifying) high rises, and one notable item was in a corn field. Eventually he gave you his motorcycle and upgraded to one with a sidecar.

You didn’t ask why it was wet when he showed up with it, but you had an idea of why he might have needed to clean it off.

By then you were used to sharing a room with him, dressing and undressing when he was out of the room or faced away. He didn't seem to mind, but you couldn’t really tell, and he didn’t say. 

You were more like coworkers than anything else, to the point that he barely spoke once one of you started readying for bed, like an unwritten boundary. Not that night. He’d broken into a hotel with two beds, one for each of you. That night, instead of his usual steady rhythm of breaths that eventually lengthened into sleep, there was just pensive silence.

Silence was the worst part of your new life. Silence allowed doubts and fears to creep into the gaps between breaths, clawing out space for larger worries. Bucky was quiet, but he was rarely silent.

“It’s not cold,” he finally said, almost accusatory.

You didn’t know how to respond. You weren’t cold, you were in shock. Death was everywhere and nowhere; either you fought for your life or saw the evidence of those who’d lost that battle. Each choice came with terrible necessity. Had that sidecar been a necessity? 

The flashlight clicked on. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m not cold.”

You weren’t afraid of him, you realized. You were afraid for him. He was a supersoldier, but he wasn’t immortal. Bucky often went off by himself without saying anything to you--but what if someday he didn’t come back? 

A pillow landed on the queen sized bed beside yours, followed by a blanket, followed by Bucky, who threw himself onto his back beside you with as much care as he’d tossed everything else. He was so warm you could feel the heat radiating through the space that separated you, even though none of it carried through to his tone.

“You’re safe. Go to sleep.”

It was… exactly what you needed.

now

“I need to build it as high up as I can,” Bucky says.

“Not ‘we?’” you ask, nowhere near as breezy as you hoped.

“I need you to be here, safe.” He reaches out and grabs your hand with his smooth, river-damp metal one, squeezing just too much. It’s as calculated as it is unintentional, like your relationship. “This time, ‘safe’ is not with me.”

He can run for days, heal his own wounds, kill in so many ways it would take a week to list them all, and you still don’t want him to go alone.

You don’t say that, though.

Instead, you tuck yourself against Bucky’s chest, wrapping your arms around his drenched torso. There are no dryers, no radiators to hang your wet clothes on, no fireplace to dry them by. It’s a message.

He holds you close in the moonlight, his river water soaking into you, your unspoken love seeping into him.

then 

Bucky learned you fiercely.

After begrudgingly joining you the first time, he slept beside you from then on, handling it the same way he handled everything: with little explanation and an air of inflexibility. Suddenly you were two people who slept (slept, mind you) together, the metal plates of your lives shifting perfectly to fit that new reality. 

You didn’t fully understand what it all meant until the night Bucky went for a walk instead of getting into bed. He’d killed a man right in front of you that day--brief, brutal, and bleak--and you'd waited for him to come back, alone with your own brutal and bleak thoughts. Had survival destroyed your morality? Why had he been beautiful as he’d ended the attacker’s life? Couldn’t things go back to the way they were? You didn’t ask for this!

Then it hit you.

Neither did he.

You got to travel with him in 2019 because someone did things to him in the 40s that he’d never asked for.

Bucky came back, but that didn't help you purge those horrible thoughts, not until he sighed in obvious annoyance and threw an arm over your hip, dragging you back against his chest like it was an obligation.

Only then could you sleep.

And so could he.

now

The moon is too high to shine through your borrowed window anymore, so Bucky leads you back to the bed in the dark. He guides your clothes over your head and down your hips as unerringly as a marksman who knows the specs of his weapons. When he kisses you, it’s sloppy and imprecise, like he doesn't have time to come up with a plan other than 'must touch, now.'

He drops you onto your back on the bed and straightens up, stripping off his shirt. You figure that out by the sound the sodden fabric makes on the hardwood floor, a wet thunk followed by the metal pinging noise his belt buckle makes.

A strange realization hits you: for the first time since everything went to hell, you don’t want water stains on the floor. This could be your place, yours and his. The thought warms the places where you’d pressed up against Bucky’s wet clothes, but soon his kisses do that for you, furnace-hot yet gentle as the curl of smoke from your frequent campfires.

You burn for him, and you have since before he touched you with intent and looked at you with desire. 

then

Post-apocalyptic isolation was finally getting to you.

The warehouse was cold, impersonal, and dangerous enough that no one lived there, despite being a single building surrounded by miles of possibly-fertile fields. Back when it was operating, that had protected the county population, and now that it was not, its position could best be called strategic. No one could sneak up on you if you were diligent, but the monotony of guard duty was wearing on you. So was the wind coming off of the unrelenting central plains.

You'd never seen Bucky that frustrated before. He came to bed each night tense and sullen, even angry, and instinctively, you’d done your best to give him space. It was only in the last few nights that ‘space’ had included sleeping separately, despite the chill of early autumn that seeped into your bones from the concrete floor.

Day five of that singular brand of loneliness happened to be day thirteen at that location. You weren’t sure how much more you could take.

“Let me help you.” Your tone was wounded, but you didn’t raise your voice.

“You are helping.”

“There’s no point in me watching for nonexistent scavengers when whatever you’re doing isn’t working down here! Especially since--” Your words turned to ash in midair. You’d been about to say ‘especially since you won’t sleep with me anymore,’ which made your relationship sound vastly different than what it actually was.

Bucky smiled for the first time in days. “Go on.”

“No way. Mad Max himself couldn’t drag it from me.”

“I think I saw that one,” he said, swiping a precious candy bar from the special stash and sitting on a stack of pallets. “Sand and cars?”

You choke out a laugh. “If any of the filmmakers are still alive, can you even imagine--”

“They probably murder anyone that brings it up.” Bucky wrapped up the rest of the candy bar and held it up like he was about to toss it to you. “Tell me.”

Your chest felt like you’d swallowed lighter fluid. He looked happier than he had in days, and you had no idea if telling him the truth would toss a match or douse it.

Well, you lived with enough fear as it is.

“Fine,” you said with fake annoyance. “I was going to say that it’s hard to sleep without you breathing on my neck and hogging the blanket.” The plan was to be flippant, to avoid seeing his response, but an arsonist can never look away from their own blaze.

Bucky was still sitting the way he had been before, but you could see the tension ebbing from his shoulders. His metal hand relaxed its grip on the pallet with the same slow relief as the growing smug look on his face.

“Yeah?” he asked, impudent and inflammatory.

“Yeah. Give me the candy bar.”

“Oh, I will,” Bucky grinned. He stood up with the kind of confident menace that had sold many an action movie ticket.

“Oh my god, turn that off!” you yelped, poised to run. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Sand,” he said. You bit your lip as he continued, “I can use it to shore up-- Never mind.”

Bucky’s gaze was intent as he started walking in your direction. It was the same kind of focus he used to defend your lives, with only difference being the impudent light in his eyes. You backed away (never turn your back on a predator) as swiftly as you could, heart pounding in your delighted chest.

Seconds later you realize he’d herded you against a dividing wall and he was still advancing. It was absurd, sexy as hell, and the aforementioned lighter fluid had completely replaced your blood volume. One touch and you’d be aflame. 

Bucky didn’t touch you.

He stopped mere breaths away, leaning his metal forearm on the wall. Bucky brought the half-wrapped candy bar up where you could see it and then ripped away the wrapping with his teeth, his eyes glittering with challenge. Holding your gaze, he brought it to your mouth.

You were breathing so heavily your breasts grazed his chest, sparking brushfires each time. Still, this was a contest of sorts, and you had precious few chances to go toe to toe with this man. You waited until the heat of your mouth smeared the chocolate on your lower lip, and only then did you move--shoving his hand to the side and arching up to kiss him.

His groan ignited something in both of you. He pulled you close with a rough hand at your thigh, curving your leg around him and taking charge of the kiss. It was exhilarating, full of the heat of something long-desired. You grabbed at the fabric of his shirt, dug your fingernails into his hair, your other hand skating over the bare metal of his arm.

Suddenly he pushed back on the wall behind you with enough force to shake the cinderblocks, eyes wild, hands at the hem of his tank top. You nodded, scraping your elbows in your haste to strip off your clothes. It took just seconds before you were on each other again, Bucky half carrying you to the corner of the warehouse where you’d piled up your bedding. He was already pumping his fingers in and out, sucking a brutal kiss on your neck even as he knelt on the pile of ragged quilts.

“You are so fucking strong-- yes, like that,” you gasped out with your eyes screwed so tightly you saw a spray of sparks. The white-hot pleasure practically rang in your ears, and then he was there, splitting you apart and putting you back together, with the taste of him healing the gaps.

“You smell just like every morning I wanted to do this,” Bucky growled into your skin. The pinpoint pain of his fingertips digging into your hip was so real, so him that you were speechless. All you could do was drag your lips across every inch you could reach, arching your back to drive the two of you toward the wreckage of your former selves.

When release came it was a second nuclear event, him panting into the join of your neck and shoulder, your hands buried in his hair.

now

There is a luxury to darkness and patience, one you never would have guessed at in the Time Before.

Bucky doesn’t have to see the ecstasy on your face to know his expert caresses are sending you skyward. You don’t have to watch him throw his head back to know he’s about to come apart inside you.

He’s seen the silhouette of your body backlit by the sunset as you ride him.

You’ve watched the lethargy of pleasure-bought peace lift months of his guilt.

Things will never go back to the way they used to be, but just as you’ve learned to navigate the chaos of the current world, you’ve also learned the comfort of being truly known.

Tomorrow, Bucky will head up the mountain to build one piece of a larger device various Avengers have been constructing across the world. Stark had called it a cosmic smoke signal, a last-ditch effort to call for rescue. After all this time, you’re not sure your heart is in it anymore. It’s engaged elsewhere; you haven’t just learned to adapt, you’ve learned to thrive with Bucky at your side.

Still, the others are counting on the two of you, and it’s all about balance. Whether the next mission is a fiery trip to the stars or the steady puff of a hand-built cookstove, you’re ready for what comes next.

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

[alwaysonf1]

oopsy?

Pairing: Charles LeClerc x Hamilton!OC

Genre: Slice of Life; Fluff

Word Count: 4.4k

Warning: Canadian NHL team shit talking. Middle fingers.

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: N/A

As much as Iman doesn’t mind and is one hundred percent on board for all the filming and hanging out with the drivers, she's happy that it’s not an every day of the week and every class kind of thing. There’s a level of mental capacity it takes to deal with the people around her while doing this that she can’t maintain every day.

But today isn’t one of those days. Today they’re at a track and that’s one of her favorite places to be no matter where it is.

NOLA Motorsports Park hasn’t seen any real IndyCar action since twenty fifteen, but it’s still a place that some teams use when they want to test and practice in a place where it wouldn’t really be expected. Though there were times they did open the public stuff and in about a month there would be a McLaren sponsored karting tournament for kids already in and new to the world of motorsport. 

Iman looks forward to that day because she enjoys helping the kids with their races and even more so helping them understand how their karts work. She was even going to be in charge of a more informational segment that she knows is going to be boring as hell, but hopefully insightful for kids and their parents.

The sport can be hard enough getting into it and she wanted to make it easier for them. Even if she felt a little like a fraud speaking as her path hasn’t really been from the ground up like half the kids there.

But at the moment what she’s most happy about is that she isn’t the one making the drive to the track. The place is over an hour from her apartment and though it rarely feels that long it’s nice to have someone else to do it. 

Though she could do without being sandwiched between her brother and her new frenemy, Lance.

“It’s a Canadian sport. And they are original, how could you dislike them? They have more championships than Seattle has in years playing. I mean I like them too, but come on, Iman.”

The entire rant is funny and it’s the same argument they’ve had twice now after he found out that she enjoys hockey. They’ve talked a little about football too, but the moment she enacted her duty of humbling a Canadian it’s been a back and forth of him being flustered over her dislike of almost all the Canadian teams in the NHL. Most of it being due to her disdain for certain players - most of which for petty reasons and some because they’re assholes.

She reaches out and pats his leg, giving him a soft and kind look that’s only playfully condescending.

“How about we pick this back up when a Canadian team breaks their thirty year streak of not winning the Stanley Cup. Something multiple players in Seattle have done in that time period.”

“You went there?”

“I went there.”

Lance huffs and puffs. He tries to say something, but every time his mouth opens he closes it again. If I didn’t notice the way he wanted to laugh and the resignation in his expression I would fear I’d genuinely offended him, but I know I hadn’t. Poor man knew it was the truth, even if it was a painful one.

“It’s their year.”

“Who’s year?”

He sighs. “I don’t know. One of them.”

“Leafs?”

At that he makes a face that can only be read as disgust.

“You’re mad at me and you don’t even like them.”

“I’m obligated.”

“I get it.”

Because she does. That conditionally and sometimes fake patriotism got the best of her too.

She opens her mouth to bring them back to common ground by shitting on Vegas, but for the tenth time there’s a pull at some strands of hair at the back of her head. Eyes narrowed she turns her head to look at her brother. Who doesn’t even bother to look away or remove his hand.

“Why?”

Lewis shrugs.

Rolling her eyes she reaches up and pulls on one of his braids, earning a swat to her hand.

“Don’t pull my hair,” he says.

“Then don’t pull mine.”

And he does it again.

Like the child she sometimes is, she goes to retaliate, but the van rolls to a stop and she settles for glaring at him.

“Ha.”

“Oh, shut up.”

With the last word she follows the others out of the van, “accidentally” kicking Lewis on her way out. By the time he’s out and able to get her back she’s already standing at the front of everyone barely suppressing a gleeful smile. He joins the group and flips her off in a covert way and she does the same.

Not them doing that on the low mattered since the cameras weren’t focused on the group yet. Every camera person is huddled together talking amongst themselves.

“Is that a McLaren indycar?” Alex asks.

“Sure is.”

Daniel raises his hand, a broad smile on his face. “Are we going to get in it?” 

“Maybe.”

That seems to shock everyone, but there is some giddiness to it. One would think that a group of men who raced for a living and who would be back to doing it in about a week wouldn’t be so eager to get into a car. But then again that’s the driving force of why some of them do it for a living.

Before anyone can say anything else Anne walks up and the camera surrounds them. Anne gestures to Iman and she takes her cue.

Iman hitches her thumb backward. “This is where I do a lot of my internship work during the school year. Though it’s not often used for pro-racing, it is used for testing. And that’s what McLaren’s Indycar team is doing here for the next month or so. And today you’ll be helping me with work. 

“All of you know there is some level of secrecy going on with this stuff, but everything you see and hear today will be things that are known to the public or that no one cares about anyone else knowing. Plus, this testing is for this past season's car, not the coming one.

“We’re going to get a tour of the place and then get to work. Any questions before we get things going?”

The group is quiet and after a few seconds Iman nods and then turns. She leads the group up to the pit lane where McLaren mechanics await them. There are greetings and then another explanation of what they’re doing there. Then they’re led off on a tour of the spaces. They field questions from the drivers and to round out the tour they end up back in front of where they started.

“Okay, so we’re trying to figure out what went wrong with this engine during one of the races this season. We had to replace the whole thing and it didn’t become a priority to take it apart and find out, so that’s what we’re doing now to see if there’s anything we need to change in the future,” the head mechanic says.

He looks around at everyone in the way one does when ensuring that they have a listening audience.

“Okay, so you’ll see what Iman and our team do to figure that out. I know this could be more exciting, but we decided this is a good glimpse to really show what she does and in a way we’re comfortable showing. You’ll pair off and our people will explain what’s going on. Feel free to ask questions and point out any oddities you see, we need all the eyes on this that we can get. It’s all preliminary, so they won’t be at it for long and then that’s where the fun begins.”

He shares a mischievous smile with Iman and by the looks of everyone it makes them a bit unsettled.

“What does that mean?” Lance asks.

Iman shrugs. “You’ll see. Now go get changed.”

They do what she says even though she could see the questions they want to ask. 

About ten minutes later everyone returns in coveralls. Iman is already dressed in the clothes she works in so she’s sitting on a rolling chair when they return.

“Ready?” she asks.

They nod.

“Okay, I’m not going to treat this like a class room so everyone in groups of two and then you’ll be with one of us.”

Much like all Iman’s years of school, all the drivers freeze. Then they all scramble toward their chosen person. Despite the small group - or because of how small it was - some end up losing out. It takes all of her not to burst into laughter when Carlos goes for Charles and Lewis snatches up the Monégasque. Which means Carlos is with Daniel. The man pouts while Daniel grins ear to ear, but you could tell it was more playful. 

Lewis and Charles laugh at their antics and Iman knows that those two groups are going to be a chaotic mess.

And because she’s so busy holding back giggles at their nonsense, she misses the chance to grab a group that doesn’t contain her brother. She knows that part of this whole thing is wanting them to be together, but she would be a bad little sister if she didn’t act indignant about it.

“I guess I’m stuck with you too,” she says, rolling her eyes.

Lewis grins. “Yes, you are. You’ll love it. Won’t she Charles?”

Both men turn their heads to face each other and they share similar grins. Then they turn to her and she sees devious intentions in their eyes. Iman feels like they’re plotting against her and she doesn’t like that.

“Of course. We are a delight,” Charles says.

Now she really knows they’re going to be a handful. Though she hopes putting them to work will help.

“Sure, you will be. How about using that delightfulness to help me disassemble this.”

She gestures to the problem engine. She’s to take care of that one while the others look at two others. Both of them cling to their little creep show and then finally nod and help her disassemble the thing. Lewis is a little competent in it because she always talked about it and forced him to learn, but Charles is a little surprising to her. But it’s nice to only have to give a little guidance and get to focus on her work.

Of course she gets so into it that she forgets that she should probably talk to them a little after Charles clears his throat. By the sounds of it he’d been trying to get her attention for a little while.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“You work for McLaren?” he asks.

“This year.”

“Only this year? They seem very okay with this for such a short time.”

“Once before, but for a shorter amount of time then. I’ve done about four internships, two of them with them. One in Nascar and another for a different IndyCar team.”

“Wow, that’s a lot. How do you find the time?”

“I don’t. Just chaos twenty-four seven.” She laughs. “But to be fair, the first IndyCar was when I was a senior in high school. They were doing a program for kids of that age to get them interested and I was a test subject. Since my mother worked for them it was more likely they’d get better feedback versus the kids who might be scared saying anything could get them blacklisted.”

“Really?”

Iman smiles. “Really. There weren’t many issues and nothing major though, so it was fine.”

“No, I mean in high school?”

“Yup. It’s what happens when you tell the people in your life what you want to do for a living and they have the connections. The moment my mom knew I was serious she had me applying everywhere and brought me in to shadow her and anyone else she could have agree. I was annoying, but good enough that they didn’t tell her to stop.”

Talking with Charles is easy and the conversation is one that helps her focus on the task of disassembling the unnecessarily greasy mess that is her side of the engine. Something is peaceful about it too. Nice even.

When she looks up and past Charles to her brother Iman sees a weird expression on Lewis' face. It’s one he wears when he knows something or thinks he knows something and a weird smile. She wants to question it, but thinks better of it. Knowing Lewis it will irritate her and there is a part of her brain that is sure she knows what that look is for and she refuses to address it.

Not stepping into that shit show. Nope.

“Okay, what happened?” Lewis asks.

“It stopped the car completely and then when we went to check it there was a small-ish fire.”

“Excuse me?”

“I was the furthest from the fire, Lew.”

There’s some grumbling, but his expression and body language mellows out. Not much though. For some reason Iman looks to Charles for support, but instead she’s on the receiving end of a look that gives off mild anger and a silver of disappointment. Of course she doesn’t know Charles well enough for her to fully understand his expressions, but she’s familiar with the reactions of siblings.

Iman groans. “Oh come on. Not you too.”

“I’d be mad at my brothers for it as well,” Charles says.

Lewis fist bumps the man and they both stare Iman down as if expecting something like an apology from her. One that she isn’t willing to give, because while she gets the worry and is appreciative of it - especially when Charles barely knows her - this is her job. She’s made a career choice and these kinds of situations are the kind of shitty parts that she expects and that need to be expected. Especially from people who’ve seen their fair share of chaos and tragedy in the world of motorsport. She knows that that’s probably why they’re worse about it. But Iman also knows that there’s something more to it.

Instead of indulging them she rolls her eyes and focuses on the engine. They join in after a couple seconds and she guides them through it, telling them the running theory on what they think caused the fire and answering the questions they have about all the ways their hypothesis could be true.

The help feels nice. They don’t slow her down at all and even if they did she realizes that she wouldn’t mind it. Their interest makes it enjoyable.

By the time they finish they’ve mostly ruled out what it wasn’t but have no confirmation on if what McLarens mechanics think went wrong did. It’s frustrating, but Iman knew enough about the job to know that eliminating possibilities was sometimes better than finding the answer right away. In this case it meant she could catch anything that was also an issue, but didn’t get its chance to show out. And there were at least two of those issues she had to document.

Iman follows the other mechanics to give a report and compare notes and she returns changed into clothes she brought with her. When she emerges on the track the drivers are also back in their clothes and standing in front of some of the newest cars from their respective brands or the creators of the engines their F1 car uses.

Lance is looking at her with a raised brow as she enters their field of view and the others appear curious.

“What’s happening here?” Daniel asks, though with how giddy he is Iman knows he knows.

“Friendly race.”

As if they weren’t professional drivers that did this multiple times a year an electric kind of excitement filled the circle. It’s classic teenage boy behavior as they nudge each other and talk shit.

Anne steps in and grabs everyone’s attention.

“We’re going to have a friendly race. Everyone will be paired up and though there is only one tandem here, you can’t be paired with your teammate.” There is some groaning from the Ferrari boys. “And, because we have a McLaren IndyCar driver here waiting around, Pato O’Ward, will be joining in on the fun.”

Pato appears the moment his name is mentioned. He wears a wide smile and shyly waves to the group.

“Hey, guys. Hope you don’t mind me crashing this.”

“Dibs!” Daniel yells.

Everyone startles, but then it’s a bunch of eye rolling and some bashfulness from Pato.

“That’s fine, Daniel. I was going to choose who gets who, but it's free for all. So pick yo…”

Before Anne can finish what she’s saying everyone scrambles and Iman crosses paths with Lewis. She knocks into him, sending him a little off kilter and with enough force that he ends up next to Carlos and her next to Charles. 

“Hey!” he shouts.

Iman waves. “Hi.”

“You know what.. How dare… Why?”

“I haven’t caused you suffering in a while, which I’m obligated as a little sister to do. Also I’ve driven many Mercedes. I want to try out a Ferrari. Plus, even if I didn’t go for Charles the odds of me reaching Carlos before Lance chooses between him and Albon were low. Shit end of the stick, Lew.”

Everyone laughs as they watch a series of emotions play on the man’s face. He huffs and puffs as he tries to find the words.

Realization dawns on Lewis’ face.

“Wait. No. You’re not racing. You can’t… This isn’t… No.”

Every sentence he starts is clearly going to lead to the interaction turning from funny to a little more serious, so Iman lets him work through finding his words.

“Then you shouldn’t have taught me how. I’m not the one who got grounded at his big age for letting me race a car by a woman who is not their mother.”

Alex snickers. “Wait. He did?”

“Yup. Of course she couldn’t make it stick, but she was trying hard to figure out all the ways she could.”

Lewis winces, probably remembering it. Then he rolls his eyes and sulks. “Fine.”

With a much gentler smile Iman walks over and places a kiss on Lewis’ cheek and ruffles his braids, then retakes her spot next to Charles. Though he fights against it she watches the sulking stop

“Okay, just don’t cry to her or dad when I kick your ass.”

“Bring it.”

Anne retakes control of the conversation and directs everyone to their cars. They’re all given helmets, because this is hot lap adjacent. 

“Everyone will get one lap, then you’ll swap. This is about speed and I know that every one of you is capable of doing this in this type of vehicle, but I’m reminding you all to be safe. Nothing crazy unless you’re sure you can execute it without risk to yourself and everyone else. Got it?”

There’s a chorus of agreement.

They all discuss who is going first, but Iman just directs Charles to the driver’s side. He looks at her with a brow raised in question, but then he follows her gaze and sees that Carlos is taking this lap. He smiles and nods.

Once in the car they strap in and Charles takes a few deep breaths. They’re given the signal to get into place and they get into a formation that works for them. Charles looks at her, a smirk on his lips that is equal parts cocky and confident.

“Ready?”

“Yes, I am.”

He extends his arm, his hand in a fist. Iman bumps it without question. Then they both turn forward and wait for the go ahead.

Despite seeing it at the same time as Charles and preparing herself, Iman's heart drops to her ass once he hits the gas. It takes a few seconds for her to chill out and by then they’re on the first turn. 

Charles drives seamlessly and despite the blur of their surroundings Iman doesn't feel like she’s going terribly fast. Then a Mercedes sails by and then another. Without having to think about what’s happening. He is pushing it, but he’s holding back. 

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t let loose Charlie.”

He barely glances at her, probably to gauge if she means it, and then he pushes it. In about ten seconds he’s passed one of the cars in front of them and is fighting off the other. The others behind them catch up and it’s a battle back there, but it’s irrelevant to the one in front of them.

At every instance he tries to get around the Mercedes she knows Carlos is driving, but despite almost getting past he misses the mark by half a second. Before they know it they’re crossing the finish line barely behind the Mercedes. There’s a three way tie for the others about two seconds later.

And then everyone exits their cars. There’s some bragging and arguing. As Charles and Iman change sides he lightly bumps into Carlos with a frown on his face. He’s trying to seem upset, but the smile he’s wearing is wide.

“What about being comrades?” Charles jokes.

Carlos laughs. “Not here.”

Iman slides into the driver’s seat and takes a few deep breaths as her fingers trace the steering wheel. Nerves creep in, but they leave her the moment she feels a hand on her shoulder. She turns to see Charles looking at her with a bit of concern.

“Are you okay?”

“A little bit of nerves. Nothing I won’t shake as I put them behind us.”

That brings back the smirk that he wore when he was behind the wheel. There was obviously going to be some uncertainty about her being the only non-driver in the race, but as she smiles back at Charles she realizes he didn’t bring that up or seem bothered when she snatched him up from someone who he’d seen do this for a living. It was a nice reassurance. Even if she knew damn well she could hang with the big boys. At least in this kind of situation, behind an F1 car was another thing entirely.

A muffled shout interrupts the moment and Charles puts down his window, revealing Lewis with his own down. He’s smiling, but it’s that stupid lazy one he puts on when he’s feeling himself. 

Annoying man.

“Ready to lose, Immy?”

Of course he uses that nickname while being annoying.

“You should be asking yourself that, LuLu.”

“Well, I am a seven time…”

Iman flips him off and he shuts up, looking appalled. Charles puts the window back up while laughing, but she catches Lewis’ returning the gesture.

Again Charles reaches out and they bump fists. Then it’s lights out and away they go.

In comparison Iman’s take off is delayed, but despite the few inches everyone has in front of her when she does get going, she closes and surpasses it. She puts her speed over one hundred and keeps it there on the first turn. Lewis pulls ahead and so does Lance, but she manages to evade being boxed out and puts a little over a second between them. 

The next turn has her losing speed a little, but she regains it and keeps herself next to Lance and Daniel for the straight and then on the next turn, she guns it. With ease she ends up in front of Lance and then she’s next to the Mercedes. Lewis increases speed, but it doesn’t beat her out. In the final turn she does what she did in the last one and pushes the car to its limits. The last few feet before the end of the track are a close race, but at the last second she pushes further.

With her speed the car goes past the finish, but it’s a second or two before her brother crosses the line. Everyone else trails by a second or more and then they all leave the car. Iman is shaking from the speed and the excitement. Charles rushes over and pulls her into a hug she happily returns. 

“That was great. No, excellent. You crushed it,” Charles says.

“Thank you.”

There’s some shit talking, but they all praise her.

Lewis is pouting, but it’s not fooling her at all. He’s the last to pull her into a hug and it’s tight. 

“You did fucking phenomenal, Immy. I didn’t expect that. You blew away all expectations,” he says.

As he pulls away he kisses the top of her head and refuses to let her go. Pride shines on his face and she feels even more proud of herself. She feels like she’s the shit. There are no delusions of grandeur on the level they’re at, but she beat multiple professional racers at something adjacent to their own game and that’s good enough.

“I did learn some things from the best,” she says.

He laughs, throwing his head back a little and then pulls her into another hug. They pull away and Pato walks up, patting her arm.

“Maybe you should be in Nascar, that was better than your IndyCar test,” Pato says.

“Her what? You’re what?” Lewis moves so fast to look at Pato and Iman that he should have whiplash.

“Uh…”

Pato winces. “Was that supposed to be a secret?”

“Iman Marie Hamilton. You’re what?”

He moves toward her just as she ducks behind Charles. With how serious - but not in a bodily harm way - he looks she’s sure Charles is going to move out of her brother’s war path, but he reaches a hand around and takes hold of her shirt. As Lewis tries to get around him he moves with her, using the shirt to leverage her.

“Maybe we should forget this and go to dinner.”

Sweet Charles is trying to de-escalate, but it’s not working and that’s in part because he can’t stop himself from giggling. Which turns Lewis ire from just  Iman to both of them.

“LeClerc. Is this the war you want?”

Everyone holds their breath and seconds tick by.

“Yes.”

And without a word Iman breaks into a sprint with Charles following suit. Carlos has chosen Lewis' side so he goes for his teammate. Pato and Lance run interference for Iman while Alex and Daniel join in the sport of being the first to get to Charles. It’s chaos and it dissolves into laughter and labored breathing so quickly. Yet none of them stop.

You’d think they were all a bunch of children and not very much grown adults. But it’s so funny that Anne puts the camera people to work chasing them down for all the actions.

[kairos-polaris]

Let's talk more about Mercy and how she would feel about Gideon the Second Edition

You are Mercymorn the First, Saint of Joy (Mercymorn Cristabel sounds terrible but this is your favourite name, a piece of Her). You are planning to kill God and destroy his empire.

The plan has been underway for five hundred years but what's five hundred years when you have loved him for a myriad. You love God, you worship your Lord and you hate him the way you can't conceive hating anyone but him. How thoroughly he owns you, his daughter, his sister, his Lyctor, his saint.

So, you engineer a plan to bring down the Apocalypse. Really, to open the Tomb but you have thought of her as the Apocalypse for too long to give up the habit.

You seduce God to create a living offspring of his, one born to be a key to the Tomb. In that you succeed, you think as you look at an infant with Alecto’s eyes in your fellow saint's arms.

Gideon, the one most devoted to your God, explains of his affair, how he thought this infant was his (and wouldn't you laugh and laugh and laugh if you could think of anything but the infant's eyes). They named her Gideon, the Saint of Duty says. Do you want to give her a new name, he asks. But that's not the actual question, he is asking if John plans on keeping her. Her, this child with Alecto's eyes that somehow ended up in John's genes.

You expect John to refuse, instead he holds out his arms to Gideon and asks to hand the infant over. Kiriona, John says and if you didn't know better you would think him awed. But you do, so all you feel is wariness and you steel yourself for questions.

Augustine confesses. He always did flinch first, always turned to John. That was why he was favoured by God, his beloved Lyctor. He tells John about Dios Apate and the plans to kill the child on the steps of the Tomb (you pretend to not see how at those words John’s grip on the infant tightens).

And John plays his usual role of a benevolent god (an act, never truth, John is too much of a vengeful asshole for that). He looks at you with his “I am not mad, just disappointed” look and he sighs and acts like it's you two who are unreasonable and not his ever expanding Empire or his eternal conquest.

It doesn't matter in the end, how willing John is to stop his mission. In that moment all you care for is John's confession to Cristabel’s murder. Because she didn't have to die.

He lied. He lied. He lied. You should feel angry but all you feel is grief, ancient and bottomless. And you feel betrayed and all you want is to slide your hands into your Lord's body until it unravels into atoms and subatomic particles, until there is no John left.

You stray your hand. John is holding the infant, after all. It would be a waste to kill it so far from the Ninth. (You imagine you and Augustine are alive for the same reason.)

-

There is no forgiveness and you can see it in the Emperor's eyes when he looks at you and Augustine. John doesn't forgive or forget but that's okay, you don't either.

The infant grows quickly, looked after mostly by the Saint of Duty. You don't think about how she is yours, too. Her hair is red as yours used to be and she is too young to look like you or John.

The child takes a liking to you for some reason, clinging and following you around whenever you visit Erebus (really, John? There are better places for raising children). The child stares at you with awe in her eyes, she whispers she loves you the one time you carry her to bed (it is the last one too).

She isn't your child, you tell yourself. You have no attachments to her and you don't care, you were ready to kill her. John's empire already took countless children her age and will continue doing so, what's one more?

Kiriona Gaia, the Heir to Emperor Divine, is not your daughter and you feel nothing about her. It would be easier if only John didn't accept her quite so readily. You don't feel anything when you see the child try and fail to not cry after you snapped at her.

You spend sixteen years believing John's daughter is yours, too. You spend those years trying to forget you are related, despite John's attempts to play family. You aren't quite sure what to feel when Kirona starts looking more and more like Wake.

You burst out laughing when you get the results of the genetics tests. There is no match between you and Kiriona, so it must mean she is Wake's. Truly a woman dedicated to a cause.

You start sobbing right after. The child is not yours and you are relieved. She is John's only now.

You don't care (you let Kiriona hug you next time you see her and she smiles at you so brightly as if this was the best gift she was ever given.)

[enriquemzn262]

Spain is currently going through a massive shitshow: last week the area around the city of Valencia was hit by a meteorological phenomenon called DANA, which is basically a massive amount of rainwater, the equivalent of a month’s worth, falling in a single day, which generate massive flash floods all over the region, killing hundreds and leaving thousands homeless.

The main issue has become the effectively non-response of the Spanish government, which has done fuck all to help many of the affected towns and it peoples, while at the same time rejecting all sorts of international aid, from France to El Salvador, in a weird bit of geopolitical save face, because apparently the central government can’t really directly intervene in the region as it is one of the many autonomous regions of Spain that’s always one bad electoral year away from declaring independence, so they have to tip toe around the local politicians, which seemly also don’t give a shit about the emergency, only caring about their own grip on power, to ensure they don’t use an unilateral response as an excuse to secede.

All of this has culminated in thousands of extremely pissed off Spaniards, who just want someone to help them, and therefore, are taking matters into their own hands, helping in whichever way they can, while actively cursing their leaders, to the point today the king of Spain, his wife, and the president of the country were insulted and thrown mud at by the angry locals as they attempted to visit the scene of the disaster almost a week after it all came crashing down.

Meanwhile all kinds of horror stories are coming out, from a son who traveled from his hole to look for his missing parents, only to find the body of his dad still trapped inside his wrecked car, people committing suicide after realizing no help was coming, others realizing the bodies of those trapped inside cars are now rotting away and there’s nothing they can do about the stench, to the usual assholes, the okupas, taking advantage of people getting out if their intact home to help those in need, to basically break into their now empty homes and claim them as their own (which is somehow legal in Spain).

It’s both extremely sad but also hilarious than my country Colombia, a place rife with corruption and government incompetence, can mount up a much more effective and comprehensive relief campaign in less than a day than the supposed first world nation of Spain, all because natural disasters keep happening here, so we have solid institutions tasked with dealing with them, which in theory Spain should also have, given than DANA and other kinds of natural disasters are also relatively common there, yet here we are.

Oh Spain, you never really did recover from the 2008 recession…

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 28

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📖Chapter List.

Author's Note.

I was lying last time. That wasn't a biggun. THIS is a biggun.

'Be careful, Dad.'

'I will, baby.'

I realize the others. 'Oh. And you too, I guess.'

'Real funny,' T-Dog signs, unimpressed.

The strongest of our group spare us no last glances as they turn away, with only five bullets and a handful of bolts between them. I sit next to Lori on the small bench, watching their backs retreat. The Thanton Memorial hospital. There it is, tall and beige like a school, but really more of a Hellbox filled with nasty surprises behind each one of the hundreds of little black windows. Glad it ain't me.

God. Nine miles. Two days. Sharpsburg, East of nowhere. We really made it. I guess I knew we would.

'You know this place.'

Herschel's already looking at me when I turn to him, his moustache curled around a smile.

'Just a feeling,' He adds.

'You're a mind reader,' I decide, regarding him with suspicion.

Herschel Greene; a wizard disguised as a Georgian farmer. I knew there was something up with him.

He doesn't respond, because I guess he don't want his cover blown. That or... Well, he's waiting for an answer.

'My Momma lived in this town.' Is all I supply him with after a time, because it ends the same way most stories do.

'I'm sorry.'

I shrug. It ain't anybody's fault. 'I don't know why I didn't tell nobody.'

'This town means something to you. We don't always share things like that.'

I guess. 'What about your Momma?'

'My Mother died when I was fairly young.' He admits easily, like somebody at peace. 'One day, my brother and I noticed she'd gone out into the rain to water the plants, and things were never quite the same for a long time after that.'

Oh. I've heard of that. People getting old, forgetting where their bedroom is, who their kids are.

It's hard to imagine Herschel as just a boy with a Momma.

Some days, it's even hard to imagine myself as just a girl, even though that's what I still am.

I offer him a lame smile.

'Let's talk about something a little happier,' He suggests, while over his shoulder, a flashlight glares across the inside of one of the second storey windows. 'I'm starting to think it's the end of December. That would mean it's Christmas soon.'

The light disappears.

I ignore it.

If only them pharmacies we checked this morning had anything in them besides rat shit and dust.

'Jesus' birthday party,' I muse.

That gets him to laugh. I think he's tryna distract me. 'Yes. It could even be tomorrow.'

'Really? How do you know?'

'Well, I suppose I don't. Do you like Christmas?'

Everybody likes Christmas. That is, at least, everybody likes presents.

'Yeah. My Meemaw had a really pretty tree.'

'The minute it turned December first, Maggie and Beth would always force everyone to put up ours.'

'Do they believe in Santa Claus?'

'Not anymore, I'm afraid.'

'And you?'

His eyes glint mischievously. 'Of course I do.'

I consider it. 'I don't think I do. I don't believe in the Easter Bunny, neither.'

Or God, but that's a different story.

'They didn't ever come to your house?'

'They came a few times, but I think they forgot about us. My friend Dylan said they're made up. The Christmas after that, I stayed up late to spy on Santa, but I just saw Merle and Dad carrying presents in from the truck. I never told them.'

'I guess Santa was too busy that night.'

'If he is real, I hope he's okay. The Easter bunny has lots of chocolate to eat, but... Santa might be hungry.'

I wonder if the walkers have made it to the North Pole yet. Knowing those assholes, they definitely have.

'You forget; — Santa has magic.'

'That's how he makes the sleigh fly, right?'

'Right. And all those cookies and all that milk... Well. He's got more than enough to last a lifetime.'

'So, you think he's okay?'

'I'm sure of it.'

'I would like some cookies and milk, too.'

The old man only laughs again, giving my knee a gentle pat as Carl leans forward, his mouth moving around some words.

When the boy gestures to me, Herschel translates.

'He asked me what we were talking about. He wants to tell you it's okay; Santa forgot about him too, one year.'

Carl sends me a thumbs up, trusting that the message got across well enough.

It did. I feel my smile widen.

It's wiped away when Lori suddenly lurches forward between us. Her chest wracks, wracks, wracks, a soft wad of phlegm flying past her lips and landing at her feet. My hand goes to her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly, as if that's gonna do anything useful. Her lungs, they must be clogged up like sponges filled with yoghurt, all that sickness and junk coming back up the way it went in.

Herschel's on his feet, bringing his thin hand down on her back, knocking the phlegm out of her.

I glance over my shoulder.

Lights; more of them, swooping over the glass, appearing and disappearing and reappearing.

A gunshot lighting up a window.

Please be okay, I think. Lori won't make it like this.

Facing forward again, Lori's got her hand splayed over the base of her throat, coughing dryly. She takes the water bottle Carol is offering to her, and gulp, gulp, gulps down the last of what's inside, deflating when she's done, cradling her big belly.

Are you okay, I ask aloud as I loosen my grip on her, hoping it sounds how it's supposed to sound.

She smiles at me in the slightest of ways, putting her hand over mine before I can pull it away.

She nods, I'm okay, honey.

I nod back, because that's good. I don't believe her for a second, but that's good.

'There was a gunshot,' Beths signs to me, then.

'I know. I saw.'

She continues signing even as she turns to Herschel, a habit by now. 'That was loud.'

'Don't worry. Anything that heard it will be too slow to make their way over here.'

'I hope so.'

We sit without talking after that, watching the windows of the hospital light up with gunshots every now and then, as if it were a football game on TV. I count them, the flashes. The one I saw while Lori was coughing, that's one. That one there, that's two.

Rick used to talk about the day he woke up in the Grady Memorial Hospital sometimes. Right now, the only parts of the story I can remember are the ones where he'd hesitate to continue, staring at something in the fire the rest of us couldn't see, before he muttered about the way there wasn't one wall in the entire building that wasn't dirtied with blood, not even in the children's ward.

Hospitals just ain't what they used to be, is what I learned from him.

There's definitely more than just rat shit and dust in there.

I glance at Beth, asking her, 'Any noise?'

Her lips crumple into a thin line as she answers, 'Nothing.'

Just when I swear Herschel is about to bow his head and start praying, the front doors swing open.

Mouse perks up, his tail ramrod straight.

That's Dad, T-Dog, and Maggie walking out.

Where's Rick and Glenn?

The three of them are panting, dishevelled, but nobody hurt. Nobody bit. That's always the first thing I look for.

Thing is, though, they're all looking at me like I've won a shitty prize and I just don't know it yet.

What now?, I almost feel like saying, but don't.

The further in we walk, the darker it gets.

Does anybody really like the dark?

The flashlights carve out pockets in the walls and floors around us as we make our way down corridor after corridor. My heart skips a beat each time we pass the body of a patient or a nurse or a person in regular clothing, all with a bolt or a bullet buried somewhere inside them. We sidestep their limp arms in turn, their puddles of blood. I ain't ever been in a horror house before, but I imagine this is worse. I imagine it'd prolly feel a whole lot less like you're being walked to the gallows for execution, and that the blood would be fake.

If I had my locket, it would be clutched between my fingers right now, but the soft spot beneath my throat is completely bare. When I woke up this morning to my empty palm, I knew right away what'd happened. I didn't bother to ask what he did with it.

Passing another body with a bolt skewered through its face, my Dad reaches for it, pulling it out.

Clicking it back onto his bow, he notices me watching him.

'Keep going, baby.' He signs to me, black blood smeared down the side of his neck. 'Not far, now.'

T-Dog comes to a stop in the middle of the corridor a minute later, his flashlight revealing Glenn and Rick standing together just up ahead. Not hurt. Not bit. They look up from what they've been doing, which looks like taking turns kicking the wall.

T-Dog lowers the flashlight to their feet.

There it is.

The Harley-sized hole in the wall.

Now that I'm looking it, I can see what they meant. Nobody else is fitting through that thing, not even Carl.

Still no use, is the sentiment written all over Rick's face.

It looks like they've tried their best to widen the gap, but it's made out of solid brick and we're fresh outta jackhammers.

Will she fit? 

Yeah, I think so, Is the gist of what I can tell they're saying to each other.

We got this piece off here, but it the rest isn't budging. We don't have any bullets left to shoot it.

Maybe... we can do what I said before? Find another pharmacy?

Sure. When you find one within twenty miles of here, you let me know.

You're right. That was dumb. Sorry.

There are no other options. The medicine Lori needs is in that room, and it's like I said. She won't make it, otherwise.

'Listen. There are keys on the desk.' Dad explains to me, his stern expression contoured harshly by the flashlights surrounding us. He takes my wrist, guiding me to crouch with him at the base of the wall, pointing through the cracked bricks. I strain to make out the desk with the keys at the back of the room on the other side, before I meet his gaze again. 'Do you see them?'

'Yeah. I saw them.'

The desk ain't the only thing in there.

'We need you to grab them and unlock the door for us.'

We both know I also saw the walker standing idly in the corner, head bowed to the floor, waiting.

'We'll be able to kill it when the door is open.' He adds when I don't respond, as if he needed permission. 'I can't from here.'

'My heart is beating fast.'

He nods. 'That's a good thing. And this meathead is dumb. Are you dumb?'

I puff my chest out, shaking my head.

'That's right. You don't need to hear them when you're smarter than them. You're always smarter than them. Okay?'

'Okay.'

That's what he's told me ever since I went totally deaf. I don't need to hear them when I'm smarter than them. It's not as if we've had the opportunity to test the theory out, since there's so little walkers that I ain't had to kill one yet, but I trust him.

Twisting around, he gestures for Glenn's flashlight and catches it easily, giving it a few test clicks.

He hands it to me. 'Remember what I taught you?'

I give a nod, feeling the weight of Merle's knife sitting in the sheath on my thigh.

'Good. And be careful of the glass on the floor, okay?'

'Okay. I got this.'

I can do this. I gotta, for Lori and the baby. It'll make for a funny story one day, anyway. I can do it.

'You got this.' He agrees. 'It's gonna smell you, but you're not gonna panic. Easy stuff.'

'Easy stuff. Okay.'

'Okay?'

'Okay.'

With one last look at the group, I take a deep breath and grab onto one of the exposed bricks, contorting myself until my head and one of my arms is through the gap. I pause for a moment, trying not to breathe too much as I watch the walker follow invisible patterns along the floor with its eyes. Once its head is tilted away from me, I brace my hand on the floor, pushing myself through.

Oh, God. What was it I just said? I can do this?

The flashlight blinks on and off as I land on the other side, grabbing it, giving it a shake.

The desk is illuminated in a circle of light, centre stage.

The dead body twitches in the shadows. I slowly get to my feet, silently warning it to stay right where it is if it knows what's good for it. I'm smart. I can read and write now, and my Dad taught me how to stab the thigh first, so the walker will collapse and make it easier for me to reach whatever cavity I can stick my knife in. If this thing gets too close to me, it's gonna get the Dixon treatment.

Uh huh. That's right, I scold it, chin held up. The Dixon treatment. Ain't nobody want that!

The pieces of glass on the floor glint in the light as I tip toe my way through them, stepping up to the desk.

Dad said the keys are here. I saw them. They should be right here amongst these dusty papers — Ugh, God, don't sneeze. Don't. — or maybe even on this folder? What about the shelves above the desk? How could they just disappear?

When I turn the light on the walker, it's looking at me, eyeballs wet, reflecting the light.

It's smelt me.

That's okay. I'm okay. We knew it would.

It starts its slow shuffle towards me as I turn my attention back on the desk, casting about it twice as quickly now, batting the alarm clock, the pen pots, the stethoscope, everything out of my way and following all the pencils and random office supplies down to the floor. Kneeling, I look around, making sure the keys haven't gone down with them or fallen between the desk and the cabinets.

A glint of metal.

I gasp. They have!

I must've accidently knocked them off while I was choking back all that dust in my face.

I stick my hand into the slim gap, but — Ugh. — I can't get it any farther than my knuckles!

I'll have to make it wider.

Abandoning the flashlight, I grab the side of the desk, using all my strength to shove it even just one inch to the side.

Shit, it's heavy. They got bowling balls in here, or what?

The wheelie chair bumps into my ankle. I act on instinct, my hands shooting out, bracing against it. I look up. The walker's slouched over it, reaching for me. My elbows, they buckle. Shit. The seat slams into my shoulder — Ouch! — but you know what. This'll do. This works. I just need these stupid keys. I ignore the walker and its stench of old meat, focused on nothing but the keys.

I'm not gonna panic. It's what I used to do, but I've learnt since then. I'm better!

A couple shoves, and the gap is just wide enough, wide as it's ever gonna be.

Easy stuff. Easy stuff.

The seat suddenly gives way. The body rolls, cracking its cheekbone on the floor. Don't matter. I got the keys. I'm back on my feet and running to the door, feeling out a random key and shoving it in the lock, twisting it. It's the right one. The door opens.

Maggie pulls me out by the arm. It's if there's a fire blazing behind me and I'm about to go up in flames.

That's it. I'm out!

I fall into her stomach, protectively held there.

Thank whoever's still up there. Or maybe, just thank me.

Rick and Dad push past my shoulders, marching into the room and unsheathing their blades, powerfully driving them both into the walker's skull. Blood splatters as they yank them out, droplets landing across the glass cap of the flashlight on the floor. It tints the light and everything it's cast onto a bright red, flickering. Dad picks it up, wipes it on his thigh, and hands it back to Glenn.

Grinning proudly to myself, I hold up the keys up like a trophy head for everyone to see.

Maggie releases me, smiling breathlessly down at me in relief.

'Well done,' T-Dog exclaims with his hands, sharing a high five with me.

Kneeling in front of me, Dad cups my face in his hands. He don't give a damn about the keys. Are you okay?

'I'm okay. The keys were down the side of the desk. I couldn't reach them. I had to—,' Shoving at the air, I enthusiastically mime the struggle, making Maggie chuckle behind her hand. 'The walker was trying to get me through the chair.'

He smiles, wagging his thumbs across my cheeks before lowering his hands. 'I told you. Meatheads. But not you.'

'Not all the time, anyway.'

'You should've come back out when you couldn't find the keys.'

'Sorry.'

'It's alright. There won't be a next time. You did good.'

Then, taking the keys from me, he stands back up and returns to Rick's side in the dark room.

I stay right beside Maggie and Glenn as they make quick work of the storage room door, pushing it open. Their torches illuminate the shelves on either side of them, which to everyone's relief, are completely untouched, lined with all kinds of medicine. It wasn't all for nothing. Without bothering to read many of the labels, they swoop their arms through the masses of bottles, catching everything in their open backpacks and zippering them back up, before nodding to each other and stepping back outta the small room.

Let's go, Rick says as he shoos us forward. We're all eager to get the Hell outta this place.

Stepping through Thanton Memorial's broken glass doors, daylight breaks across my face.

The fresh, cold air floods into my dusty lungs.

When Carl spots me, it's like the bench burns his ass. He's calling my name as he comes running at me, crushing me in a hug that almost sends us both toppling over into the snow. A giggle is squeezed from me as I hug him back, feeling my bones creak under the pressure. Wow. For somebody who ain't eaten anything other than a bit of rabbit for the past two days, he sure is strong.

Pulling away, he holds both my shoulders as he worriedly exclaims something to me.

You're the coolest, bravest person ever, I'm gonna assume is what he's saying, I don't know how you did it!

He pulls me in for another, quicker hug.

When Herschel appears over his shoulder, I get the real story. 'He's telling you we were all very worried.'

Oh. Is that right?

Ow!, The boy scoffs as I land a punch to his shoulder, forcing him offa me.

'Tell him he's talking to Harley Dixon,' I say.

As the sentiment is passed on, Carl rolls his eyes at me, making a retort.

'He wants to remind you of the time he hugged you after you cried from a nightmare.'

Ow!, He complains again when I punch him.

As he rubs sorely at his shoulder, he can't help but giggle along with me.

'Come on,' Herschel interrupts us, herding the two of us back toward the group. 'Very well done, sweetie.'

'I was only a little scared.'

'Of course. This is Harley Dixon I'm speaking to, isn't it?'

Too right. 'Yes, it is!'

Stepping up to the crowd, we gather around the bench as Rick takes a seat next to his wife, uncapping the bottle of water in his lap. Her face looks awful pale-like, paler than the snow packed under our boots. Still, despite the effort it must take, she manages a smile. Her hands shake as she takes the water, watching Rick tap a small bottle of pills against her open palm until two tumble out. 

Being trapped in that room was one of the scariest things I've done. I can say that, now. But as she tips her head back and swallows the pills down with a gulp of water, I'm hit with the feeling that I would do it all over again if I had to.

She sighs, body swaying. We can only hope that it works.

As Rick soothes circles onto her lower back, his gaze accidently meets mine.

'Thank you', He signs, looking like he means every bit of it.

His blue eyes start to water just like they did last night, except there ain't no fire I can blame it on this time.

I only give him a single, shy nod, grabbing onto my Dad's hand. He don't need to thank me. I love Lori, too.

Then to everyone else, he says it again; Thank you.

Carl's hugging me again.

I don't bother punching him this time. I don't wanna do it, anyway.

Being back in Sharpsburg is different to what I thought it would be.

Aside from the old blood smeared across the roads, the way everything seems to have gone through a nightmare and fell back asleep shortly afterward, Sharpsburg is the one place we been that has not bothered to rot away quite yet. There ain't no bombing craters where parks or stores used to stand, no toppled police barricades, army trucks, no bruises from the week everything ended.

Petey's general store is still exactly where it always was, right next door to the news agency, the record store, the locksmith. I don't keep my head down like I planned to. I don't pretend I never knew this place, or the people in it, because I did. I hold my chin up to the light of the setting sun as we walk through the forgotten town, unafraid of the memories I can see behind each and every door.

You know this place. I did. I do. For a long while, it was pretty much the only thing I knew.

Each weekend, I would jump out of Dad's truck the second he pulled up on the handbrake, door slamming as I ran into my Mama's open arms. It would be late afternoon, sometimes twilight. There was no school the next day, no quizzes or beatings to worry about. Not on the good days, not when I was cruising down the sidewalk on my bike with a dollar note in my hand, on my way to Petey's. He would always insist on letting me pick an ice cream out for free, but it never worked. Have-it-her-way-Harley, he always called me, the nickname a hearty chuckle in his mouth. The wind was in my hair on the way home, because I had one back then, dollar note replaced with a fruity-flavored glob of ice cream frozen to a stick. Sugar melting onto my fingers, washed away in the play pool after dark.

I used to do things like that. We all did, I suppose.

As we pass by an empty parking lot, I notice the rainbow streamers of a lonely, fallen bike blowing around in the wind like a white flag. I wanna ride a bike again. Just for a minute. Maybe two, I think, as I hold my gaze on it for as long as I can.

Eventually, we make it to a park. Of course, I recognise this place as well, and so does my Dad.

That's why I can feel him staring at the back of my head.

I never stopped to think about how he knows Sharpsburg, too. He was right there with me on the porch of Petey's store, most the time, smoking cigarettes in the sun with melted ice cream drying out on his collarbones. He remembers it, too.

We used to come to this park all the time; me, Momma, and Dad, on the rare days they got along.

I got to pretend I was a different kid looking in on the three of us and thinking, What a nice family. I wish I was her.

Now, the monkey bars look more like the giant ribcage of an old beast rather than something I'd wanna play on.

A shrivelled walker, curled over the seat of one of the swings, lets the wind brush its fingers along the ground.

Everyone has a Before.

Even that walker.

Even if our Befores were all very different, at least our Afters are all the same. We're all here, sick, hungry, tired.

The park's trees and fences fall away after a while of more walking, making way for a suburban street.

Coming to a stop in the middle of the road, the ache in my feet worsens to a pang, pang, panging.

'Everything alright?' Glenn's asking me as a wave of tiredness suddenly washes over me.

'My feet hurt.' I answer. 'And don't say sorry.'

'I think we're going to stop soon. Don't worry.'

Rick considers the houses lined up in front of us, hands on his hips, as Dad walks up to us. 'What's wrong?'

'Her feet hurt. And are you tired?'

I could fall asleep right here in the snow. 'A little.'

Even when I was lost in the woods outside Herschel's farm, I still don't think I ever walked this much and for this long.

Giving me a regretful look, Dad offers, 'Do you need me to carry you?'

'I'm a big girl,' I tell him, yawning.

'I know. I asked you a question.'

They wait on my answer. I think about fighting it a minute longer, but I just don't have it in me. I'm reaching up for my Dad before I even realize it's what I'm doing, letting him lift me onto his chest as I wrap my arms and legs around him.

I could've definitely handled it. Yeah. It's just that, maybe it's okay if I don't for a while.

I can already feel my eyes drooping shut. I'm gonna fall asleep right here.

It's suddenly a lot easier to feel like just a girl, now.

My chin hooked over his shoulder, I watch through my heavy lids as Rick does a double take on something laying on the ground, turning to pick up what looks like a fallen street sign. The moonlight swells over the clouds, spilling onto the metal.

Brushing the frost off, he reveals the words, Bolton Drive.

Bolton Drive. To me, this was always just Dylan's street.

If we turn left here, there's some bigger houses down the way. I think it's prolly what my Dad's telling the group right now.

We're on the move again right after that, heading further into the suburbs. I'm saved from walking, instead snuggling into my Dad. It's almost impossible to shield my face from the oncoming winds as I peek out over his shoulder, the moon a silver ball in the sky behind us. I bet it's just about the only place left without any walkers, including the North Pole. If I were a bird, maybe I would forget all about Earth and just fly up there. I could look back down on it all like from a faraway window, watching as it slowly spins.

At a harsh gust of wind, I close my eyes, and the moon and all the stars vanish.

Sleep sweeps me up quickly. My mind floods with murky colors, then black, swirling like a shower drain.

When I open my eyes next, we're approaching a house I don't recognise.

'Shhhh,' Dad's soothing me, looking about as exhausted as I feel. 'It's alright. I'm putting you down.'

My feet slowly setting on the ground, Maggie takes my hand before I get the chance to feel the loss of Dad's warmth. We wait shivering at each other's side as the men clear out the house. Rick eventually sticks his head back out, waving us inside.

Climbing the porch, we huddle into the narrow corridor and spread out into the nearest room, the lounge room. Dad's already got a fire going for us as we make ourselves at home on the sofas, the hot breath of the flames quickly starting to melt the frost stuck to my coat. I hug myself, breathing deeply and slowly to try fight off the urge to fall right back asleep. As I notice Carl approaching, I scoot over to make room for him and his Momma, who settles her weight down on the sofa with the help of Maggie and Glenn.

I feel a little bad for being carried, even if I needed it. Lori made it all the way here on foot, deep into a sickness and carrying a baby inside of her. A lotta people might think a lady like her is weak, but they'd be wrong. There's many ways to be strong.

My Dad stands from where he was knelt by the fireplace, peeling off his beanie and sitting beside me.

As I look around the room, all I see are tired faces.

Mouse plops himself between my feet, the poor guy's fur ice-cold beneath my hands as I give him some pats.

We'll be warm soon, buddy, I think.

Everyone's attention is stolen when Rick steps up to the front of the room, fiddling with his beanie in his hands.

He gulps on nothing, nodding to himself. 

'I know we're all very tired,' Herschel translates for me as the words come, even though his arms must feel like they weigh a thousand pounds. 'Been tired for months. But let's just make the most of this and try to relax tonight. We've got a fire. We've got walls. Medicine. It's a Hell of a lot better than those garages back in Newnan. T and I will melt some snow for us to drink, and we got some food we just found in the kitchen. We'll take turns for watch through the night, but there's not much out there. You saw.'

Carol hesitates to raise her hand, shaking her head as she asks a question.

We turn back to Rick. 'I don't know. I don't like staying in one place long, but I'm thinking there's only a few more weeks left until Spring. It's not impossible to think we can tough it out here. There's not many other options right now.'

It looks like we're staying in Sharpsburg for a few more weeks, then. At least until the cold dies down.

There are worse places to end up.

'Try to warm up in the meantime.'

Leaving us to stew in thought, Rick and T-Dog pull their coats on tighter and disappear through the archway.

'You know something?' Beth asks after a minute or two, the only light in the room coming from the fire. It lends her face a pretty, dim glow as she glances at her Dad sitting next to her.  'Daddy thinks it's gonna be Christmas tomorrow.'

Oh, that's right. I'd almost forgotten.

Glenn sends him a, No shit?, sort of look.

'I just figured it would be about that time.' He explains, making Maggie light up. 'I have a sixth sense for it.'

My Dad scoffs, shrugging. 'Well, I don't have a calendar. Why not.'

Wait? Really?

'So, it's Christmas tomorrow?', I ask him, as if we ain't just making all this shit up.

Something so simple, the prospect of waking up on Christmas morning tomorrow even if it ain't in no official way, even if we ain't even got a tree, let alone a star to put on top of it, sparks excitement throughout the room. Yes, it's Christmas tomorrow. From the smiles breaking out on everyone's faces, Maggie giddily gripping onto Glenn to give him a shake, I can tell it's Christmas tomorrow.

Feeling just a little bit more awake than I did a moment ago, I exclaim again, 'It's Christmas tomorrow!'

My Dad seems to find this very amusing, smirking side-long at me.

There ain't much to say in the way of how our Christmases used to go, especially the ones after my second birthday, but I still remember seeing the church all lit up with decorations at night whenever we happened to drive past it. I always liked that.

Carl must exclaim the same thing I did with almost twice the energy, because Lori and Rick laugh.

'I can't believe,' Maggie gushes, 'I forgot about Christmas!'

'It's not your fault,' Glenn jokes, petting her shoulder. 'We've been busy trying not to die.'

'Good point.'

'I'm sure the Lord will forgive you,' Beth says.

'Yeah. He started all this shit, anyway.'

Maggie waves her hand around. 'Hey. A little respect for the Atheists in the room?'

When everyone turns to look at me and Dad, a round of laughter breaks out.

'We're only in it for the presents,' He agrees.

I nod. It's true.

'Me, too,' Glenn says.

'I just wish I we had some,' Beth pouts.

'We're alive,' Herschel argues, looking around at each person in the room. 'There's no present better than that.'

Aww. That cheesy line earns him a funny look from Maggie, who pulls him into a deathly-tight hug.

'I think there actually might be something better.'

Glenn sticks a finger up, standing and disappearing into the kitchen.

When he returns, he's cradling a bunch of shiny wrappers in his arms, dumping them all onto the coffee table. Snack packs. Crackers and cheese, salami and cookies, bread sticks, peanut butter. Those really are snack packs! What a lucky find!

Nobody hesitates. We all grab one, ripping the seals off and huffing the tasty smell that comes out.

'You just found these in there?,' Asks Beth.

'Yeah,' He answers, flopping back onto the sofa. 'They were in the pantry. There's cans, too.'

'I'm in love with whoever lived here.'

Mouse is staring at me as I pick up a piece of salami, so I toss it into his mouth.

I save the next one for myself, groaning at the nostalgic taste of school lunches.

'Better?' Glenn signs to me like a smartass, knowing damn well this is the best thing I ever tasted.

I stick my food-covered tongue out at him.

Blehhh!

Unexpectedly, he does the same thing back. Eugh. Gross!

When Carl notices what we're doing, he sticks his tongue out, too. Even grosser!

'Come on. Enough,' Dad tries to warn me, buts he regrets it a second later when a wet glob of salami lands in his lap.

This is what Rick and T-Dog walk in on as they come through the archway, holding cookware filled with chunks of snow and ice in front of them. My Dad's smacking the salami onto the floor as if it were fresh dog shit, Carl and I trying not to choke on our food, laughing at him. Mouse spinning in circles like a lunatic, spurred on by the chaos, making Carol laugh like she means it. Not that puny, polite little chuckle she does sometimes; a full belly laugh, holding onto Maggie for support. They was only gone a few minutes.

Rick smirks as he shakes his head, deadpanning something to the effect of, I see you found the food.

They set the cookware in front of the fire and join us on the sofas. 

'Why's everyone so happy?', Rick asks as he sits on the ottoman, confused, delighted, because there has to be a reason.

'It's Christmas tomorrow,' I gladly tell him.

'Oh, really?'

T-Dog asks the others, 'Wait, what? How do you know?'

'We don't.' Herschel admits, throwing Mouse a cube of cheese. 'But we deserve a Christmas, don't we?'

Yeah, I see the word slip from Rick's mouth.

'We deserve some eggnog, too,' T-Dog adds, making himself laugh just like he always does.

'Tell me about it.'

'Cover your ears, kids,' Carol tells us, even though she's laughing, too.

I hear that right? As the deaf one outta the two of us, I jokingly gesture to my ears. I can't hear shit, anyway!

As everyone laughs all over again, my Dad reaches out to try and cover my eyes, but I bat him offa me. Nice try.

'You got the card, now, kid.' T-Dog tells me, like it's some secret club I've joined.

'I got the what?'

'The card. I got mine, too. 'Oh, yeah? Is it because I'm black'?'

Carol smacks him. 'Whatever.'

'Next time your Dad gives you in trouble, you can pull the, 'Oh, yeah? Is it because I'm deaf?'

That's silly!

'Don't give her ideas.'

'Too late,' I grin devilishly. 'I got the card, now, Dad.'

He rolls his eyes, trying his best not to laugh, too.

'You can't do that, Harley.' T-Dog mimes. 'Oh, yeah? Is it because I'm deaf?'

'What did I just say?'

Sorry, man, T-Dog chuckles, biting on a tiny bread stick.

What's eggnog, Carl asks his parents curiously, reminding us why we're talking about 'cards' in the first place.

Eggnog is a milky-lookin' drink that got booze in it, which is why Rick and Lori brush off the question. I tried it once, during a party at my Meemaw's, after one of my Uncles shrugged and said, Fuck it. Tasted like garbage sprinkled with cinnamon.

'Let's just stick with what we have,' Herschel suggests. 'There must be some other traditions we can do?'

'Our family used to share a favorite moment from that year,' Beth says. 'Maybe we can do that?'

'That's a great idea, Beth.'

'I got one.' Glenn raises his hand. 'Finding that car in Atlanta.'

'Oh, that was good.'

'Sad we had to leave it.' He agrees. 'I also liked the time I fell into a dumpster after we left the CDC.'

'What?,' Maggie scrunches her nose at him.

'Looking back at it, it was pretty funny.'

God dang, I remember that day. I was sitting off to the side with Sophia, watching the scene unfold together.

'Morales had to grab your ass to pull you out,' I tease him.

Rick tries to hide the fact that he's chuckling, as Maggie asks him what he was doing in a dumpster.

'We'd lost everything. We were searching for supplies, but I saw some yellow boots and I wanted them for Harley.'

Everyone croons, Awwww.

'I remember those boots, actually.' Beths recalls. 'What happened to them?'

'I fed them to the cows,' I shrug, so I don't gotta bring up the farm, where I left them in our tent the night it all burned down.

'Hey. I risked my life for those boots.'

Rick corrects him, 'I think you risked your ass, is what she just said.'

'It's what I said.'

'I got one.' My Dad says, dipping a cracker in some peanut butter. 'The day we put Glenn in the well.'

'Remember how he squealed?,' T-Dog giggles.

'No,' Glenn tries to convince us, doing a very bad job of it. 'I don't remember that. Never happened.'

'That walker was next-level gross.'

Next in the line to share, I decide, 'My favorite moment is when I found Mouse.'

'He loves you, doesn't he?,' Maggie smiles.

I throw him another piece of salami, hoping that the answer would be yes.

Carl tells everyone his favorite moment from this year was sneaking off into the woods with me, but his parents both give him a look, so he wisens up and changes his answer to something a little less totally forbidden; going to shooting practice.

When it's Lori's turn, she mentions a time she pushed Carl on the Greene's swing.

Rick's favorite moment is beating Herschel at checkers, something that the old man lets him get away with sharing.

'Gotta be seeing Daryl wake up after surgery,' T-Dog says after that, startling me with how suddenly sentimental it is.

The firelight flickers back and forth on the rug for a few moments.

My Dad subtly replies, Thanks, man.

'I was gonna say that, too,' I say to be funny.

'Yeah,' Glenn backs me up. 'You totally were. In fact, I change my answer, too. Favorite moment; Meeting Maggie.'

The woman pouts up at him, grabbing his hand, threading their fingers together.

'I change mine, too.' Dad says. 'The moment I found out Harley wasn't bitten.'

'That's mine, too.'

'Me, too,' Just about half the group nod, agreeing.

Then, everyone's coming up with different answers, talking over the top of each other. Bringing Harley back safe from the gas station, is T's second answer, but he also has a third and fourth and a fifth, because he just can't pick one. Making it outta the CDC alive. Finding the farm. Saving Glenn after he gave blood. Herschel's favorite moment is all the moments he's kept his daughters safe, an answer that earns him a big hug from both Maggie and Beth this time, because, I don't know what I'd do without my girls.

Rick and Glenn finding Daddy safe, Beth says, and then Maggie; That's mine, too.

I find myself with a hundred new answers, too. The moment Jacqui and I kicked up all them butterflies outta the grass as we ran to the house, after she told me my Daddy was alive. The morning Maggie made us scrambled eggs and tea for breakfast. All them times I shared a peach with someone while we sat in the sun. Lori making that joke about Maggie and Glenn being in love, and how I gagged at it back then. I can't forget about the time Carl hugged me as I cried, as Dad cut my hair, as I petted a cow's nose or fed a chicken.

All the little things and the big things, but also all the sad things. In a way, I'm grateful for them, too.

If Jacqui was here, or Sophia, or Momma or Meemaw, or my cousins, who could be anywhere by now, dead or alive, or Morales or Eliza or Louis or Miranda, who I ain't sure if I'll ever see again, or even our dog Tank, I like to think they'd be grateful for me, too.

'I told you, didn't I?,' Herschel smiles. 'No better present.'

After that — After Glenn starts to tear up and we all tease him for it — We decide to wrap it up for the night.

'I love you guys,' He blubbers, like we didn't already know, like we haven't almost died for each other a hundred times over.

Okay, buddy, Dad's saying, reaching to pat his shoulder.

'I think it's time to turn in.'

Beth covers her mouth as she yawns. 'Yeah. I'm so tired.'

'Tell me if anybody sees Santa Claus,' T-Dog says non-committedly.

'I'm going to grab the blankets and pillows from upstairs.' Rick announces, standing up. 'Who's on first watch? Me?'

I'll do it, My Dad offers, letting Maggie comfort Glenn, but he's turned down.

He was frostbitten from head to toe only yesterday. I wouldn't let him out there, neither.

I can do it, T-Dog decides, and that's that. 'Maybe it'll be me that sees him.'

No fair, Carl whines.

Rick leaves and brings back down a whole bunch of bedding that he plops on the floor, giving everyone free reign to pick out what they want as T makes himself scarce. I pull out a small pillow and what must be a toddler's blanket, letting Dad help me get settled on the sofa. I lay with my head against one arm rest, Carl resting his against the other. Both our Dads tuck us in.

'Goodnight,' He signs to me, knelt just beside the sofa. 'You still hungry or thirsty?'

I shake my head, yawning. 'Just sleepy.'

'You were very brave today.' He tells me, earnest eyes boring into mine. 'Not many kids would do what you did.'

'I just wanted to help Lori and the baby.'

'I know. They got a better chance, now.'

'Does that mean I get to name the baby?'

He smirks a little bit. 'We'll see.'

I glimpse Beth muttering to Hershel over Dad's shoulder, sharing a big blanket. I sign, 'Would Momma be proud, too?'

His face falls. The words hit him right in the heart, a poisonous bolt. All he says is, 'Yes.'

'Good,' I manage to reply, right before my eyes start to droop closed.

'Goodnight,' He signs again.

Placing a kiss to my cheek, my Dad pulls back and lays his own blanket down on the floor in front of me, laying facing the fire.

Rick was right. This is a Hell of a lot better than those garages back in Newnan.

I would like to help T-Dog spot Santa, I really would, but I just can't stay awake even one moment longer.

I'm being shaken gently.

Groaning, I open my eyes. Dad's face is inches from mine, all the windows behind him filled with grey daylight.

Adjusting the crossbow on his shoulder, he signs, 'Good morning.'

'Good morning.'

Sitting up, I groggily take in the sight of the group still laid out across the room, fast asleep. All except for Dad, and also Rick and Carl. I see them standing in the archway, both dressed for the snow just like Dad is, whispering to each other.

'Get your coat,' Dad says, and before I get the chance to ask what's going on; 'We're going searching for presents.'

We're what?!

After waking Glenn and putting him on watch, the four of us set out into the neighbourhood. The sun slowly rises from behind the falling snow, eclipsing the roofs of the houses around us and washing the morning in a soft, pink and yellow hue. It's quiet, peaceful, just how it always is before the day fully starts. Carl, Mouse, and I are rowdily running down the sidewalk, disturbing it all.

It's Christmas. According to us, it's Christmas, and ain't nobody here to tell us otherwise!

Dad and Rick follow after us until we make it to the park, the two oldies totally left in our dust as we make a beeline for the playground and pounce on the metal merry-go-round. It's been so long since I went on one of these. It feels like we're breaking a rule, a rule that nobody said aloud, but we ain't. Our Dads told us loud and clear that today, we're allowed to do whatever we want.

I'll spin us, Carl's laughing as he pushes on one of the handles, Mouse wisely standing back.

I still remember to hold on tight. Here we go!

Once he's picked up enough speed, he makes a jump for the platform. He skids around like a drunk, landing on his ass. He hugs the closest handle. The world spins into a multi-coloured smear. I just can't stop laughing, not even if I tried.

As the ride slows down, it feels like I'm 'bouta hurl up all that salami I ate last night.

Again!, I shout.

The next time we come to a stop, we round on the sight of Dad and Rick standing off to the side, watching us.

'Wanna get pushed?,' My Dad asks us, nodding to the swings.

I jump off the platform. 'Yes!'

Rick effortlessly peels the dead walker I saw yesterday offa the seat, throwing it aside and helping me on. I'on know how long we swing for, but the warm, pink sun spills and spills between the trees until it's on my face, making me forget the cold.

Spring is right around the corner, now.

This whole nightmare is almost over. I can just tell.

One of these days, the sun will crest the horizon and the snow just won't come.

It doesn't take long for us to make it back to town square.

'Where should we start?', Rick asks.

'I want to look in Petey's,' I answer right away, pointing to the storefront. 'But Carl can't come.'

Obviously, it's because I'm gonna be picking something out for him, which is why he starts giggling when Dad translates.

Rick ruffles the boy's hair, nudging him in the opposite direction. 'It's a plan. We'll search over here.'

'There's a toy store that way,' Dad adds helpfully.

'We'll check it out. Good luck.'

'Good luck. Watch out for elves.'

He laughs a bit as I whistle for Mouse, who runs after us. 'We will.'

Passing barrels of wrinkled flowers, Dad sticks his fingers between the automatic glass doors and forces them open, pulling his crossbow down as they roll apart on the tracks. Out of the darkness, a human-shaped shadow stumbles toward us.

It drops to the floor before it can even open its mouth.

Lowering his crossbow, Dad nods me forward, tugging his bolt outta the walker's wet face.

Look around, He says, wiping the blood off on his thigh.

The first thing I check is the comic section, of course. I'm hoping they got the series Carl likes, the one with the kick-ass astronauts and the evil aliens on the cover that I can't remember the name of. Captain Noel and the Astronauts, or something like that. I read it just the other week while he was dozed off, just to see what all the fuss was about. Weren't hard to see why he likes it.

As I step over a fallen sale sign, Mouse sniffs around the shelves, skulking around the corner.

Approaching the display stand, I skip right over the magazines and check out the comics, flicking through the covers. There's pictures of supervillain scientists, monsters, ninjas in impossible poses, wielding metal stars. They's all dumb-looking, so I'm sure Carl would eat them up like hot cakes for breakfast, but I really want the alien one. He been after the next volume since we met him.

There's a tap on my shoulder.

Hm?

Glancing up at Dad, I watch as he pulls a comic down from the highest rack, holding it out for me to see.

Captain Nate and the Awesome Eight, The quirky logo reads. 

Grabbing it up like it might disappear before my eyes, I feel the pages crinkle under my fingers. This is the one!

Volume Four, It says at the bottom. The final mission.

I hold up three fingers to Dad.

Understanding, he flips through the comics again before handing me the third volume.

I take it, hugging them both to my chest before signing, 'These are for Carl. He loves them.'

'Really? I thought they were for Beth.'

Pssh. He ain't funny. 'Let's keep looking. We need something for her, too!'

He puts the comics in my backpack for me, following me around the store to continue our hunt for the perfect presents.

For Beth, I find a couple bottles of nail polish in the tiny makeup display, throwing in a black tube-thing that reads, Mascara, along with them for Lori, or maybe for Maggie. I ain't sure. I ask Dad what he thinks, but he got even less of a clue than I do.

I decide to throw in a second tube and some eyeshadow thingies just to be safe.

For Rick and Herschel, we decide on a pair of woolly socks for each of them. You just can't go wrong with socks.

When we find some shirts with silly phrases on them, I know instantly that they would be perfect for Glenn and T-Dog.

Lastly, Dad makes us grab a bunch of random things that we need, like canned food and lighters, before we turn into the pet aisle. Mouse is there, nosing a package of tennis balls along the floor. He looks confused when they roll under the shelves. I crouch down, pulling them back out. It looks like he found his own present. He watches me stash them in my bag, pink tongue lolling happily. 

On our way out, I pass by the rack again, stealing a girly magazine off it that I think Carol will like.

Carl and Rick meet us back on the street, both their backpacks suspiciously fatter than they were the last time we saw them.

'How'd it go?'

Good, Rick says, as Carl tries to get a peek inside my bag. 'Want to swap?'

Before the boy gets to close, I fend him off, giggling as he wrestles me.

'Sure.' Dad pulls him offa me. 'Hard to get a present for your kid when they're right beside you.'

'Exactly.' Rick chuckles, offering his hand to me.

I take it, blowing a raspberry at Carl's back as he walks off with my Dad in the opposite direction.

The store Rick and I check out is the record store, Jameson's Jams, just across the way. After he scopes the place out, coming up empty, it's safe for us to go in. The smell of dust and plastic swarms us I look around at the tubs of record sleeves and CDs.

'It used to be tidy in here,' I sign to him, even though he could prolly guess that.

The doors close behind him, shutting the snow out.

' Did you go here often?'

'All the time.' I meander up to the nearest bin. 'My parents loved music.'

As I pick up an edgily-decorated sleeve that catches my eye, Rick steps up to my side.

'Something tells me their music taste clashed,' He jokes. 'Am I right?'

No. 'They both had bad taste.'

Scoffing, I throw the sleeve back, walking around to the other side of the tubs.

Chuckling to himself, he glances down at the record I'd been holding. It fits my Dad to damn T. I don't take it with me, though, because we ain't got no way to play it. It'd just be a waste of space, so I crack open a CD instead, taking out the paper.

Tossing the useless part back in the bin, I look up to see Rick already looking at me.

He's frowning, his brown hair poking out from underneath his beanie, curled over his faint wrinkles.

'What?,' I gesture impatiently.

What's he want?

I hate to admit it, but there's a little stain of bitterness left inside me after what he did to my Momma's photo.

It weren't like it was on purpose, but it didn't have to be.

'I'm sorry,' He signs, the tubs separating us by at least ten feet feeling more like a hundred.

'It's okay,' I brush it off. 'I'm not mad at you.'

'I know. Trust me, I can tell when you're mad at me,' He smiles for a fleeting moment. 'I'm apologising, anyway.'

'That was the only photo I had of her, you know.'

'I know.'

'Her name was Lindsey.'

'I know. Your Dad talks to me about her, sometimes.'

'Why did you throw it?'

He pauses, picking at a sticker on the wood before fessing up, 'Shane makes me angry, honey. I was angry. I threw it.'

'Angry? Not sad?'

'No. Not sad.' He shakes his head. 'We were all past that when we saw the truck leaving the farm.'

'He gave me the locket. My Dad threw it away the night you burned the photo.'

'Yes, I know. He talked to me about that, too.'

'He did?'

'He was going to let you keep it.'

'Why didn't he?'

'You know why.'

Yeah. I do. I don't even know why I asked that. He threw it away for the same reason I'm not allowed to talk about Ronnie.

Rick changes the subject, the tension in his shoulders melting away as he signs, 'Thank you. Again.'

'For the hospital?'

He nods. 'You were brave.'

'Dad said the same thing.'

'It's true. Even I would have been scared, and I'm thirty-four years old.'

'You're never scared.'

'I'm scared all the time.' I'm pretty sure he didn't mean to say that. I wait until he says something else. 'Thank you.'

Hell. He shouldn't make me laugh like that. I'mma breathe in all this dust. 'You're worse than Glenn.'

'What do you mean?'

'You can't stop saying 'Thank you'. He can't stop saying 'Sorry'. Feet hurt. Sorry. My ears ring. Sorry. It's funny.'

'He's sensitive,' Rick agrees fondly.

'I know. He cried last night.'

A muted chuckle. 'That's right. He did.'

As I look off to the side, something on the wall catches my eye.

Guitars. A lot of them.

Abandoning the piece of paper, I run over to them, stepping onto a chair and pulling down an electric guitar.

Rick is eye-level with me when he comes over. 'Your Dad said he knows how to play.'

Nodding, I give the strings a dramatic thrum.

It must be painful, going by the way Rick looks like he's just heard nails going down a chalkboard.

I can't help but laugh, turning to hook it back up. Like the record and the CD, it would just be a waste of space. Electric guitars don't sound so good if you don't got anything to plug them into. Acoustic ones, however, they're perfect anywhere.

Hopping onto to the next chair over, I pull down a classically wooden guitar, cold to the touch. 

When I strum this one, Rick gives a thumbs up. It'll need tuning, but that's a piece of cake.

Jumping down, I have a thought.

'How the Hell do we hide this from him?'

He looks the thing up and down. 'We might have to give it to him now.'

Aw. 'That's not as fun.'

'How about this — You hide behind me. When we see him, you jump out. Is that fun?'

Hmmm. 'Okay. Let's do that!'

Carl's a lot harder to appease than I am, which must be the reason Rick lets out a little sigh of relief. 'Great.'

'It needs a shoulder strap,' I decide, grabbing one from the rack nearby and ripping it outta the plastic. I try to figure it out, turning it over to get a good look, but then I just pass it off to Rick's mittened hands. 'You know how to put it on?'

'Let me try.' He accepts the challenge, kneeling in front of the guitar.

Buttoning each end of the leather strap to the metal attachments, it looks like he's got it.

He hands it back, raising his brows at me. 'Remember to jump out. We have to get him to crap his pants.'

'It's a plan.'

Before we meet back up, we stop by the thrift store next door so that Rick can grab the shirt he'd had in mind for Carl, a simple thing with a superhero he likes on the chest. As we leave through the front doors, Rick herds me in behind his back.

We're only waiting in town square for a minute or two before he signals me that they're coming over.

When I feel the time is right, I jump out!

Rahh!

Dad don't quite crap his pants, but his eyes do widen ever so slightly. In Dixon terms, he's chilled to the bone.

My back-up man watches on, laughing.

I hold out the guitar once the moment's passed, hoping it's obvious that this is his Christmas present.

Woah, breathes Carl as my Dad takes it carefully, Mouse's tail batting around wildly at his ankle.

We watch as he drags his thumb down the strings, remembering what it feels like. Slowly, he starts to smile.

Looking up at me, he seems very, very pleased. 'Thank you. I love it.'

'Merry Christmas!'

'We knew we couldn't hide it from you,' Rick explains, 'So we scared you instead.'

'Did it work?'

Dad nods, frowning as he mouths the word, Terrifying, before kneeling to wrap me in a hug. I kiss his cheek.

'Did you get everything you wanted?'

Nodding again, Dad stands and passes the guitar to Rick, seeing as he's already wearing his crossbow.

Pulling it on, Rick nods in the direction we came from. 'Let's head back, then.'

We make it only five feet before we notice Carl isn't following us.

Looking back at him, he points at the parking lot across the street.

We follow his finger.

Across the street, the lonely bike with the streamers still lays there in the snow, next to a couple other bikes.

We glance between each other, a glint of something cheeky in our eyes.

We're all thinking the same thing, ain't we?

It's a long walk, anyways.

Who the Hell bikes in the snow, is what a sensible person would ask themselves as they saw us race past their house.

We do!, is what I'd shout back at them.

We're zooming down the streets of Sharpsburg like we're late for a wedding, the most ridiculous sight the apocalypse ever did see. Rick, taking the lead just like always, with a guitar bumping around on his back as he pumps the peddles of a pink bike. Carl on the little one, its rainbow streamers blowing out on either side of him without a care in the world. Mouse, sprinting to keep up.

He's going so fast; I think his ears might just fly off and smack me in the face!

It's a challenge to not fall off the handlebars of Dad's bike just from laughing so hard.

I clutch onto it harder as we crest over the top of a hill. Rick goes flying down first, then Carl. Dad wraps an arm around my stomach, hugging me to his chest as we both laugh against each other. We're next. My stomach lurches. My toes go numb. Then we're free-falling, and the tyres are shaking beneath us and the handlebars are jiggling all over the place, the wind racing past us.

Sucking in a deep breath, I let out a shriek of, Wuh-Hooooooo!

My heart's beating outta my chest like when a walker's got me in its grasp, when I feel most alive.

Whatever day I've said is the best day of my life — This is it, now. Hands down.

Rick reaches the bottom first, doing a fancy little skid in the snow and glancing over his shoulder at us to see our reaction.

Carl gives him a thumbs down, making him laugh as he turns back around.

The hill flattens out into more suburbia.

We slow down to a more leisurely pace for the rest of the ride back, and simply enjoy the morning together, trailing the sidewalks like a bunch of kids. The sun is well into the sky now, shining through the frigid air without any clouds to cover it up.

When I spot the house in the distance, I'm almost sad.

As we pull into the driveway, bumping over the curb, Glenn stands from his seat on the porch steps.

Hey, guys, He's laughing, perplexed.

Rick answers him with a few flicks of his bell, braking to a stop.

Where'd you go?, He asks, as I jump down from the handlebars.

Carl dumps his bike on the ground and holds up his backpack, shouting, Presents!

He gawks. No shit?

No shit!, He exclaims, running straight past him and up the porch.

I catch Rick sharing a funny look with my Dad, but he lets the swear word go. It's that type of day.

The adrenaline-high don't leave my body even as I follow everyone inside the house, stepping into the busy lounge room. We're greeted by the rest of our group, who are more than awake by now, hugging us as we come through the archway. They're completely beaming. It's obvious. They've heard the great news — We went out in the early morning to do Santa's bidding, for no other reason than because we managed to live long enough to, and because we deserve it. For once, we can ignore everything else and it'll all be okay.

Shrugging off my backpack, I set it down on the coffee table. Carol and Herschel tidy away the empty snack packs as Dad, Rick, and Carl set theirs down, too. Everybody's eyeing the bags excitedly, tryna see if they can make out the goodies inside.

'You guys are sneaky,' T grins, wide enough to show off the gap between his two front teeth. 'Sneaky!'

'Where did you go?!,' Maggie wants to know.

She lounges back on the sofa, Mouse jumping into her lap.

'Town square.' Rick's looking livelier than he has all Winter; all year, maybe. 'We left while you were all asleep.'

T seems to have an epiphany. 'It's you guys!'

'What?,' He asks.

'You're Santa!'

Realizing the man is pulling our legs, Rick rolls his eyes.

Carl goes on to ramble all about our adventures. By the way he's miming it all out, I can tell he ain't leaving out our visit to the playground. Everyone's watching him with nothing but joy in their eyes, adding comments here and there, laughing.

When Beth notices the guitar, my Dad proudly shows it off to the room.

'Harley found it,' He signs, reigning everyone back in, reminding them to use signs. 'Pretty, ain't it?'

Herschel turns to look at me. 'What a wonderful, wonderful gift.'

'I got more,' I tease, giving my backpack a tempting wiggle. I can't wait to give out the rest of the presents!

'Let's just get right into it then, right?,' Rick suggests. 'Go crazy.'

That's all the permission anyone needs.

As the three of them open their backpacks and start handing out presents left and right, I get to opening mine.

The first things I pull out are the stupid shirts for Glenn and T-Dog, walking over to them and putting them in their hands. Maggie's laughing her ass off as they hold them up to their chests, cluelessly peering down at the text. I step back to admire my work. Sorry I'm late, T's shirt reads, and Hell, it's even funnier than I imaged it would be, I was doing my hair! I think he's laughing something like, You little punk, before he glances over at Glenn's to see the damage. I'm with stupid, His says, except the arrow is pointing at his face.

Aw Hell naw!, T-Dog unabashedly laughs.

'Put them on!,' I demand, taking the fabric in my hands. Glenn helps me out, pulling it over what he's already wearing and straightening it out so the message is on full display. T-Dog does the same thing, even if he does call me a punk again.

'How do we look?,' Glenn asks me and Maggie when they're done, giving a stiff twirl.

'Don't answer that,' T-Dog says.

I give Maggie her gift next, the Mascara. She plants a kiss on my cheek and pulls me in for a tight hug, releasing me so I can head over to the other ladies. Carol gratefully takes the magazine, Lori and Beth Oohing and Aahing over the makeup.

It's no 'Electric Spring Citrus', but Beth still seems very touched by the bottle of yellow polish.

Next, I pull out the tennis balls. Boy, does that get Mouse's attention. I rip off the seal, sending them all bouncing across the living room floor, almost tripping some people over. Mouse darts after this one and that one, chasing them all over the place as I hand the socks to Herschel and Rick. They're both delighted, taking turns giving me a hug. We was right. Ya can't go wrong with socks.

'Carl and your Dad have something for you,' Rick tells me as he pulls away, pointing over to them.

I tap Carl on the shoulder, and when the two of them turn around and realize me, his face lights up.

Harley!, He's exclaiming.

He digs through his bag and holds out my two presents. 

'Thank you!,' I sign, taking them. Oh, wow. A diary and a packet of colored pencils. I don't gotta squeeze my thoughts into the margins, no more. I got fresh, blank pages, enough to prolly last me a whole year. Giving Carl a hug, I hold up a finger; Wait.

Reaching into my backpack and feeling out the comics, I pause just to be dramatic, before I pull them out for him to see. His jaw drops as he snatches them up. All them months hearing him complain, and watching him read the same volume over and over, makes it all the more satisfying to see him flick through the pages, realizing with mounting horror that it's everything he dreamt of.

Thank you, He's shouting, Thank you!

'Wanna see what I got you?,' Dad says next. 'You can both play with it, but it's for you, okay?'

'Okay! Show me!'

Carl and I crouch down with him as he unzippers his backpack. What he pulls out is not like anything I would've expected.

A big, flat white box with a photo on the front of some kids kicking a soccer ball into a little pop-up goal in the sun.

'Can't play soccer without a goal.' He smirks as I take the box in my hands, ready to tear it open with my teeth if I gotta.

They both help me pick the tape off the cardboard, pulling it open and turning the whole thing upside down. The goal slides out. Having finally been broken out of the confines of its box, it immediately springs into shape, almost smacking us all in the face.

Dodging it with a laugh, I exclaim, 'Thank you, Dad!' 

'Do you like it?,' He asks.

'I love it! How do we set it up?'

Looking about, he finds a small baggie of metal stakes that fell out with it, and a page of instructions.

I lean in closer to take a peek as he skims over them, but it all looks simple enough.

'Easy,' He decides. 'We can set it up in the front yard, yeah?'

'Yeah. I'm gonna smoke you both so bad.'

Dad thwacks my arm with the piece of paper. 'Hey. Who said I'm playing?'

'Oh. So, you're scared.' I nod empathetically, feeling smug. 'That's okay. I'm rusty, too.'

'Seriously?'

'I only won three medals when I was in school.'

'I'm old, kid. I'm in my thirties. I'm pretty much dead.'

'Loud and clear. You're scared of losing.'

He rolls his eyes. 'You're a brat. Don't cry when you lose.'

'I've never cried in my life, Dad. Ask Carl.'

As soon as he passes on the question, Carl levels me with the most, Get serious, expression I ever seen in my life.

Whatever. 'I'll still win!'

'We'll see,' He says as I glance at the rest of the group.

'This was so thoughtful of you guys,' Maggie signs from her seat on the sofa, doing that little pout she does.

With all the presents handed out, I take my time looking around the room. T and Glenn are still wearing their t-shirts, of course. If I could have it my way, they wouldn't ever wear anything else. It looks like Rick and Carl gifted Glenn a magazine about race cars, and T-Dog a flashy, gold chain necklace that he manages to make look cool. Lori and Herschel are wearing new matching jackets, the material purple and puffy. They look like father and daughter, sitting there like that, Lori's head resting on the old man's shoulder. Beside them, Carol's blowing air onto Beth's painted nails, while Mouse lays on the floor, gnawing at the tennis ball he must've decided is his favorite.

And Rick. He's not pouring over a map. He's not frowning to himself as he cleans a gun. He's not snapping at one of us to, Stop that, We need to stay focused. He's just smiling faintly next to Glenn, refusing to reveal to anyone this was all his idea.

'I'm just glad there's no wrapping paper to clean up this year,' He chuckles, looking at Lori.

The woman smirks, shaking her head. Bad memories, I guess.

'Every year,' He continues, gesturing to an invisible pile in his lap, 'We would end up with this much.'

'You're not the only ones.' T-Dog scoffs, like this is a lifelong issue he's faced.

'Oh, yeah. You were a garbage man, weren't you?,' Glenn remembers.

'Minimum wage, brother,' He agrees, bringing the pizza-boy in for a bro-hug.

'What have you got there, Harley?,' Maggie asks as they pull apart.

'A soccer goal,' I excitedly answer, before holding up Rick and Carl's presents. 'And a diary and pencils!'

'I don't want you to think it's for schoolwork with Lori,' Rick says. 'Carl just told me he's seen you journalling.'

'I love it,' I shake my head. 'Thank you.'

That bitterness that I'd been feeling toward him, it disappears just as quickly as it came.

'You haven't been writing anything bad about me, have you?,' Glenn asks threateningly.

'Just a little bit,' I shrug.

'She's a brat, isn't she?,' My Dad jokes.

'She's a total brat.'

'Hey! I don't like you, either.'

'Well, Merry Christmas, everyone.' Maggie says to wrap things up. 'Time to take this outside. We got a game to play.'

'Sounds like it,' Rick agrees.

'Come on.' Dad stands back up, grabbing the soccer goal and the stakes.

Jumping up and pulling on Maggie's sleeve, I exclaim up at her, 'We should be on the same team!'

'Girl power,' She agrees, frowning stubbornly as we descend the porch steps.

Mouse goes running out into the snow with his tennis ball. Dad heads over to the fence, setting down the goal and pushing the stakes through the rubber loops to secure it to the ground. I tell him I hope he did a good job of it, because me and Maggie are gonna be making every goal we shoot for. It's Dad and Carl versus us two girls, so the competition is even fiercer. We gotta win!

'We got this,' Maggie goads as T-Dog takes up the goalie position.

Carol pumps her fist in the air. 'Let's go, girls!'

Everyone starts cheering us on as Maggie kicks the ball straight over to me. The game's begun! I stop it with my foot, watching as she skirts around Dad, shouting for me. I boot it back to her at just the right moment, running forwards.

Maggie dukes Dad, left, right, left, before she kicks it right between his feet and back to me.

I stop it again with my foot.

Carl's on me, suddenly. He tries to use his foot to steal the ball away from me, but I don't let him!

Keeping him at arm's length, I line up my shot with the goal. I've done it a million times before. What's one more!

I rear my foot back, and—!

T-Dog's far too big and slow to see it coming. The ball shoots right past him — Goal! — and crashes into the meshing.

'Point for the girls,' Rick announces from the sidelines.

Maggie runs up to me, grabbing my hands and squealing happily, with the boys sulking together in the background.

We end up winning. There's a few close calls here and there, but we're just too quick on our feet for them to really get any smooth moves in. As the winning goal is made by Maggie, Carl stomps his foot into the snow, complaining, Aww, man!

We use every last bit of energy we have left in us to play for the rest of the morning. For once, not just for getting out of bed, or making it through the day. We manage to get a couple more rounds of soccer in before somebody throws a snowball at my Dad while he's trying to kick a goal, and then it all devolves into a snowball fight. There's no teams or rules; just clumps of snow flying across the yard, people falling over, Rick laughing, and Glenn getting dogpiled to the ground until Dad has to come and rescue him from us.

Nobody's really winning, but I don't think anyone's keeping count, anyway. Nobody's losing, either.

Except maybe Carl, when he tanks a snowball directly to the face.

I gasp. Youch!

He wipes it off with a grin, scurrying off to start preparing some returning fire.

I hurry to join him behind the wall of snow, bulking up my snowball before launching it at one of the adults.

It hits Glenn in the jaw. He lurches; falls onto his ass.

Me and Carl share a high five!

To think I was dreading coming back to this town, when it's actually given me one of the best days of my life.

Is it bad I'm happy the world ended?

Probably, but I don't care.

FIVE MONTHS LATER.

I can hear light birdsong in the trees.

We've stopped again, on some highway or other. I'on know. They all look the same to me. Grey road, winding up a hill, flanked on both sides by a strip of dirt and twigs. While the others get outta the cars, slamming their doors shut and grouping together to discuss what's next, I turn my head away from them and gaze out the passenger side window. The sun warms my face. I remember back during the Wintertime; we hardly ever saw the sun. Hell. That was forever ago. Nowadays, we been fending off heatstroke, feels like.

I close my eyes, relishing in the sounds around me. Leaves brushing, idle engines rumbling.

There are a lot of moments like this for me, where I'll just ignore what everyone else is doing and listen. I'll listen to anything. The car radio, if anybody's got it playing, even if it's a song I don't like. A river flowing. A deer trilling. It's the best part of my day.

"We got nowhere else to go," Herschel's suddenly saying, and then I'm opening my eyes again.

The group is gathered around the hood of the car I'm sat up in, splaying a map out for them to study.

"When this herd meets up with this one," Maggie points, "We'll be cut off. We'll never make it South."

"What'd you say it was? About 150 head?" Dad estimates.

"That was last week." Glenn's shaking his head, squinting against the sun. "It could be twice that by now."

I've heard this exact conversation about thirty times over by now.

That herd from last year; It's thawed and split into two, and neither are getting any smaller. The more they walk, the more they pick up. It's how it's always gone. They been following us, and we been running. That's how that's always gone, too.

We had a couple places we holed up for a while. Sharpsburg served us well while it lasted, but we had to move, eventually.

Now, we're back on the run.

"The river could've delayed them," Herschel suggests. "If we move fast, we might have a shot to tear right through here."

"Yeah, but if that group joins with that one, they could spill out this way."

"So, we're blocked."

We're always blocked, I want to tell Maggie. You know this by now.

In moments like these, I think back to the day we had that snowball fight and try to remember what everyone's smiles looked like.

"Only thing to do is double back at 27," Rick says, "And swing back this way."

Rick's different. For Rick, I think back to the bike ride.

T-Dog's getting frustrated. "We picked through that place, already. It's like we spent the past five months going in circles."

"Yeah, I know. I know."

"Is this what we're doing, then?"

When Rick nods, T-Dog asks him, "Is it alright if we head down to the river to fill up on water, then?"

"Sure. Knock yourself out," He says as they disperse, Maggie rolling up the map.

Herschel whispers something to Rick, then, and I can't quite catch it. My hearing aids ain't that good, but I know it's about Lori because they glance over at her in the car behind me. It's probably the, She can't keep doing this, conversation. Like always, Rick's wiping his sweaty forehead, bullshitting his way through an answer, and like always, Herschel is patient with him. They know he's right.

Lori's about to burst, way her stomach's been looking these days. She's gonna give birth any day now.

I'm just glad she got better and stayed better.

That was a nasty sickness.

Herschel leaves Rick to think about what he's said, making an opening for Dad to ask him to go hunting.

I'm surprised when he turns to me. "You wanna come, chicken?"

There's that Southern twang I once forgot the sound of.

'Come hunting with you?,' I sign, just outta habit. Sometimes, my voice is just too loud for me to bare.

"Yeah. You can stretch yer legs a little. How 'bout it?"

Not wanting to spend one more second in this car, I agree by opening the door and jumping onto the tarmac.

He whistles for Mouse, and then we're walking into the treeline.

"Carl says it was blue, but the boy's blind," I ramble to Rick as we walk along the train tracks, keeping an eye out for animals.

"Between the pair'a ya," Dad muses from in front of us. "You almost make a full vegetable."

"Shut up, Daddy. You ain't funny."

He snickers a little before facing forward again, crossbow at the ready. "Sure I ain't."

"Anyway." I sigh as he pushes a leafy branch outta the way. Rick ducks under it, and then me. "Like I's sayin'—"

When I look up, the sight that greets me has all words dying on my tongue. I slowly catch up with Dad and Rick, who have also completely forgotten about the story I was telling. It weren't very interesting, anyway. Something about a frog Carl and I found the other day. The sun beats down on us as we look out over the sheer drop just in front of us, and at the rolling, green hills in the distance.

Well, I'll be goddamned.

That right there is a whole ass prison.

End Notes.

Okay that's it. I cannot edit this chapter any longer. What's done is done!!

WE ARE FINALLY IN SEASON 3 !! It only took a year and 28 chapters.

I'm very glad to be back in canon again, but writing Christmas with the group was so fun. Also very glad to be able to write Daryl's accent and slang properly again haha. It just didn't translate into sign language. I know some of you will also be relieved that we're not using it much anymore.

As always, I really hope you enjoyed!

Thanks for reading! Until next time! 💙 :)

[beautifulfuckup99]

Hello!

Hope your having a wonderful day! I just got done reading "Those Damn Eyes" and "Those Damn Lips" that I was wondering if I could request a Yoongi x f!reader? Maybe they become roommates then to friends then to lovers? Or maybe Yoongi is working on his Solo stuff that the reader feels neglected in a way and needs comfort. I have so many Yoongie ideas that they could go on. 😅 but I love your work and can't wait to read more! Have a good day!

And I will happily take on any Yoongi ideas. Trust that, lol. This will be a part 3 of "Those Damn Eyes". It's like ya'll want this as a series... **Wink, Wink**

Title: Those Damn Hands

Warning(s): SMUT! (Obviously...), Strong Language, Talks of Neglect, and Talks of Abandonment Issues... Some Hurt/Comfort for ya!

Author's Note: Enjoy!

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

Your eyes were unblinking.

Unmoving.

You were focused, completely tuned in to the way those slender fingers wrapped around the other hand of some random gentlemen.

Those damn hands…

How handsome was your boyfriend tonight? You couldn’t focus on the hundreds of other people walking around this event. It wasn’t fair. Even when pissed off, your eyes stayed on him.

On those damn eyes. Those damn lips. And those fucking hands. The hands that had been used to create this amazing song playing at the moment over the loudspeakers stationed beside the DJ stand.

“Lyrical genius.” Your best friend Hobi says from next to you at the bar and you jump slightly. How long has he been there?

“What?” You ask after taking a deep enough breath, causing Hobi to laugh.

“That’s the talk around this party. Your boyfriend is a lyrical genius…” He explains and you hum. You were proud of your boyfriend at this moment. He’s earned that title. He lived for music. Yeah, he said his major was communications cause it was ‘realistic’, but you saw it in his eyes anytime inspiration struck, and that was always. He was made to make music.

“Well, glad he’s a genius in something…” You mutter as you down the rest of your drink, causing your friend to side eye you. “Don’t.” You sigh, knowing his look.

“If you’re pissed, you should confront him.” He says and you snort at the thought. And be one of those asshole girlfriends that turns a night sour cause they’re upset?

“Months. Five months straight of him being… A ghost in our apartment. How do I finally bring up my issues with that? Look around. He worked hard for tonight.” You shrug, but it was a bitter statement. You felt like you were living with a stranger, which only added to the stress of what would happen after next week.

“Face it, Hobi. Come next week, we’re graduating. Leaving this place. You’ve got that internship at that dance company for Broadway, Yoongi made his first record as a co-producer. We’re officially all… grown-ups.” You scrunch your nose as you watch your boyfriend continue to associate with others, a huge smile on the face that you haven’t gotten to look at for longer than five minutes here and there.

“Y/N, are you… What are you saying?” Hobi whispers and you straighten up.

“I’m tired. I… I’m gonna go. Don’t tell Yoongi. Let him… enjoy this night.” You say. You didn’t fit in here. You felt like you stuck out. Like it was clear to everyone who was better than who. You set your empty glass down and walk through the crowd, ignoring Hobi’s calls for you to come back. You just needed out…

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

“Y/N?!” You hear as soon as the front door swings open. You sit up from the bath you’re soaking in and wait, knowing the frantic footsteps would lead to your bedroom and therefore your bathroom.

Just as expected, the bathroom door swings open and Yoongi is standing there, wet from the rain and gripping a bouquet of roses. You sigh softly. Flowers? Really?

“What are you-“ You’re cut off by his upset tone.

“Why didn’t you tell me they rejected you?” He asks and you wrap your arms around yourself slowly.

“I’m in the bath, Yoongi…” You try softly, but your bottom lip quivers. You didn’t want him finding out yet. But come next week, it’d all be obvious. You were denied an internship at your dream publishing company. And to add insult to injury, that was the same day Yoongi declared he needed to ‘focus’, and basically locked himself away from you for about five months.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before. What the hell, Y/N. You tell Hobi about you being rejected but not ME? Your BOYFRIEND?! I-“ You finally interrupt him, feeling angered by his anger.

“Because you weren’t here! You weren’t fucking here!” You scream and Yoongi pauses. “You left! Every night! Gone, in the studio, working on your stuff, and I… I understood. I… I didn’t wanna distract you, but… fuck, Yoongi!” You feel tears burn your eyes as the frustration pours out of you. Yoongi watches you with shame clear on his face. You sniffle a bit. “I didn’t wanna… stress you out.” You admit quietly and Yoongi frowns, walking over to the tub and kneeling down to get to your level.

“You should’ve come to me. Told me. I… I’m never too busy for you…” Yoongi says quietly, and you feel yourself start to let go of your grip on your feelings. You begin to cry, letting it out as he holds you tight to him. You grip his shirt, head going to the cork on his neck. He smelled so good. It felt so good. Being able to be held by him again. After months of barely interacting.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He whispers as he holds you. “Hey. That publishing company is gonna regret never hiring you. You’re the best damn thing out there, and you’re gonna find your own way...” He says as he holds you tighter.

“I feel like… Like I fell flat on my face…” You cry softly. Yoongi pulls back to wipe away your tears.

“I’ll help you up, Y/N. Always.” He nods and you look at him finally.

“You… You’re not gonna… leave me?” You ask quietly.

“Leave you? Why would I…-“ You cut him off.

“You’ve made it. You’re… making connections now. And… Here I am. With nothing figured out, nothing-“ He stops you.

“And you think I have shit figured out?!” He asks in shock.

“Yes! Yes, I think you do.” You say quickly like it was obvious.

“Then you don’t know me at all. Do you? Y/N I’m going with the flow every day. I don’t know about tomorrow or next week or next month. But… I do know the one thing I will always make sure is consistent… is you and I. Always.” He says quietly and you watch his eyes as they trail all along your face. You feel your cheeks heat up. You haven’t felt his heavy gaze on you in so long…

“Yoongi..” you whisper as he starts to lean in.

“No more talking…” he says quietly before his lips press against yours. Both of you letting out the pent-up sexual tension that had built up these past few months…

Without hesitation, Yoongi grabs your naked frame, lifting you from the bathtub. You gasp at the sense of cool air hitting your wet body. He carries you right over to the sink as you make quick work of his jacket.

“Off. Now.” You practically growl and Yoongi smirks.

“Someone’s a little-“ You cut him off.

“Fuck me. Now.” You order, practically begging. Yoongi moans softly at the order.

“Yes, ma’am…” He says quietly. “But… first...” He moves down on his knees in front of you and spreads your legs. “I’m starving…” He whispers before pushing his hair back from covering his eyes. You moan at the sight. “Spread them for me, baby. Show me where my tongue belongs...” He whispers.

You shiver at the statement and lean back against the mirror. You reach a hand down and spread your folds slowly as you pant with need. “Please. R-Right here…” You whisper as you tap your clit. Yoongi moans softly.

“Oh fuck…” He breathes out before leaning over to lap at your clit. You grip his head full of hair and waste no time in grinding against his tongue.

“Oh my… fuck. I-I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you...” You whine quietly as your head rolls back.

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

“Baby?” You ask quietly as you walk into Yoongi’s old bedroom that he had turned into his work room when you two became official. He shared your room with you now. Like a normal couple should.

“Hey. You’re up? I thought I left you passed out…” He teases and you hum, walking over to his desk that he was using to work on an instrumental with his laptop.

“Failed your job, big man. I’m up.” You tease back quietly as you softly push his chair back from his desk. He raises an eyebrow and smirks, pulling your bare body on to his lap. He was only in a pair of boxers.

“I can be up too. If you give me something to work with…” he jokes, and you hum as you rub his bare chest.

“I wanna feel it…” You whisper before reaching down to his boxers. Yoongi leans back in his chair as he watches you with dark eyes. You get his cock out and softly stroke the length, moaning softly as the tip twitches from the cool air.

You kiss him sweetly as you lift yourself a bit to slowly sit on his semi hard cock. “Oh… fuck. Good girl…” Yoongi groans softly as you sit fully on it, feeling how it begins to grow harder inside of you.

“Oh… oh… oh…” You moan as your breath hitches higher with every sound. You grind against him, making Yoongi’s eyes roll shut.

“You’re so fucking warm…” He growls lowly before he puts you right on his desk, bumping you against his laptop as he grabs your face to kiss you hotly. Your hands wrap around his neck fast as he wastes no time in fucking you yet again. The entire night had already been full of sexual euphoric pleasure, but now, after a two-hour Power Nap, you were ready to continue. Lots of loss time to make up for, ya know...

“Feels so good…” You whine as you lay back on his desk, making a mess of the papers and neither of you cared at this moment.

“You’re addicted…” Yoongi taunts quietly as he looks down at you, licking his bottom lip as he stares at you with hunger clear on his face.

“Like you aren’t...” You pant as you wrap your legs around his waist while he fucks you faster.

“I love you…” Yoongi shivers quietly as he hovers his face close to yours. You push his hair out of his face and stroke his cheek with your free hand as you try your best to look him in the eyes, but he’s hitting that spot just right.

“I’m gonna cum!” You cry out as you pump your hips against his faster, chasing you own orgasm.

“Awe… you’re pushing yourself on to me. How cute. You want it? Hm? You’re desperate for it, huh..” Yoongi taunts quietly as your eyes roll back. “So pretty…” he praises quietly as he reaches down to rub your already sensitive and swollen clit while he watches you in awe as you start to cum on his cock, pulling yourself off of it as your juices squirt out of you.

“Oh fuck. That’s so fucking good…” He moans at the sight before picking you up and carrying you off towards the bedroom. “You’re gonna do that again.” He states certainly as you moan quietly for more…

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

The next morning, you wake up to Yoongi not in bed yet again. You sigh and head off to find him, throwing on a random shirt of his for the journey. You see him in the kitchen making breakfast and smile softly as you hop up on the counter.

“Morning…” he yawns at you, and you raise an eyebrow.

“Did I really tire you out?” You joke slightly, but there’s some worry in your voice that makes Yoongi smile.

“Yes. In the best way possible. But… I’ve been working on something.” He says. You pause in confusion until he motions for you to follow him, handing you your mug of coffee. You follow him to his studio room and see his laptop is open still.

“A new song?” You ask.

“A new beat.” He nods and hands over the headphones. You slowly put them on, and he presses play. A slow, R&B beat plays sensually from the laptop. You bob your head along to the beat until you hear it. The beat drops into a slightly faster tempo and faded in the background, you hear it. Your moans.

“Baby!” You squeal as Yoongi smiles, pleased with himself.

“I didn’t know till early this morning that the mic was still on when we… were going at it. But… sounds pretty good, right? I’ve got it labeled already...” he nods, and you see the label is: ‘Mrs. Min’. You pause and look at him in surprise. “Not yet. No ring on me. But… there will be. Soon.” He assures with a nod, and you hum.

“So. Until there is a ring on you… change that label…” You say simply, and he chuckles.

“Always challenging.” He teases softly before sighing. “Fine. No Mrs. Min until there’s a ring…” he nods as he wraps his arms around you.

“I can’t believe you’re using my… noises…” you mutter as you shake your head in disbelief. He chuckles.

“Y/N. No matter what,” he grabs your hands with his warm ones. You stare down at those damn hands with soft eyes. “I’ve got you. You’ll never fall on your face. As long as I’m around…” he says. You blush gently and he tilts your chin up to look at him.

“I love you.” You whisper sheepishly before kissing him tenderly, grabbing a hold of those damn hands.

The ones that would always keep you safe…