#endings are the bane of my existance and I never know how to do them

[heich0e]

my liege… how would sukuna react to you flashing him in exchange for chores…

roommate sukuna is the BANE of your existence.

he eats the leftovers that you were saving in the fridge (no matter how many sticky notes threatening death and/or dismemberment you put on them.) he leaves the balcony door open when he goes out to smoke, and the smell takes forever to leave the living room on humid days. and that's to say nothing about the never ending parade of hookups he has coming in and out of the apartment like a revolving door.

but the worst part is he's not actually a slob or anything. he's competent and handles his shit for the most part (at least more than most guys his age do)—but GOD FORBID he ever do a chore that you're supposed to be responsible for.

so one day when you're just too exhausted to take the garbage out, even though you know you're supposed to, the opportunity presents itself.

"well, well," sukuna singsongs when he notices the garbage you've been staring at resentfully for the past half an hour. you can tell he's overjoyed to have discovered a chore you didn't complete—as you often do to him—and point out that you've yet to take care of it. he leans over the back of the sofa where you're laying with a smug expression on his face. "you're gonna miss the garbage room being unlocked if you don't hurry up, y'know. the super'll lecture you if he has to unlock it outside of designated hours."

"the super loves me," you reply shortly as you glare up at him in annoyance. and it's true—the middle aged man who manages your apartment building has always been very sweet to you. "he lets me get away with anything."

sukuna snorts.

"i'd let you get away with anything too if you let me stare at your tits all the time without calling me out for it."

and that's when it hits you.

"hey," you sit straight up on the sofa, so quickly the crown of your head nearly hits your roommate like an uppercut. sukuna narrowly dodges away before the blow can strike.

"what?" he asks you, somewhat mistrustfully—suspicious of how you're staring at him.

"if i showed you, would you take the trash out?"

sukuna's lip lifts in a sneer. "i know where the fuckin' garbage room i—"

"no, i mean my tits."

and for the first time in possibly all of recorded human history (or at least his 20-something years of it) sukuna is left speechless.

but only for a moment.

as quickly as the look of surprise appears on his face it's replaced by something far more calculating—palpably more sly—as his lips curve in a smirk.

"depends," he says, kissing the back of his teeth like he's mulling the idea over. "if i take the recyclables too, do i get to touch?"

[cameronsprincess]

— summary: kook princess. kook prince. perfect match, right? wrong. you hated rafe cameron and everything he stood for. and he hated you. so when your fathers spring it on the two of you that they’d arranged for the two of you to be married, both of your worlds are flipped upside down.

— CW: 18+ only !! cocaine use, alcohol consumption, sexual innuendo, strong language.

likes, comments and reblogs are very appreciated <3

prev parts: one

series masterlist ⤑ taglist form

3 days later…

RAFE

“So.. Let me get this straight. Your dad, and Y/N’s dad, have formed some kind of plan to merge both companies.. And you have to marry Y/N for it to be the most successful?”

I snort. Leave it to Topper to have to go over the scenario a hundred fucking times before it finally clicks in his thick skull. I ignore him, grabbing the rolled up hundred dollar bill off the glass table and place it under my right nostril. Leaning forward, i place the other end of the rolled bill at the end of the perfectly formed white line, sniffing up the substance before dropping the bill and flopping back into the soft, white couch. Fuck, I love the burn this shit leaves behind. The way it makes my body tingle, clearing my mind of any bullshit I don’t want to think about.

Topper tries ruining my high again. “Rafe. C’mon man, we have to talk about this. What’re you going to do?”

I sit up, my eyes narrowed into thin slits at him. “There’s nothing to fucking talk about, Top. My dad and her dad have already signed our lives away. I’m supposed to marry the stuck up bitch in less than a month. I don’t want to think about it, so drop it.”

Topper groans, but thankfully, he drops the subject. I don’t know what he expects me to say. I don’t want to marry her. Marriage is the last thing I pictured myself ever doing, but even if I had decided to settle down one day, start a family, it sure as Hell wouldn’t have been her I chose. Y/N Y/L/N is the bane of my existence, and my polar opposite.

Where I like to have fun, and am riddled with issues from head to toe — thanks dad — she’s boring. She doesn’t get out, and she is issue free. Her family didn’t fuck her life up like mine did — well, until now I guess — and she doesn’t even want to change her ways. She’s stuck in the mindset of being the perfect princess. My dad always praised her when we were growing up. “Be more like Y/N, Rafe.” “Why can’t you act like Y/N? She’s a good girl.” and my favorite line “I wish I had Y/N as a daughter instead of you as my fuck up son”.

I shake the thoughts to the back of my mind. The last thing I want to do right now is think of fucking Y/N Y/L/N and the fact that come this weekend, the entire island will know we’re getting married. That’ll really fuck up my chances with getting any pussy before this wedding. That’s another thing. The girls still a fucking virgin. I mean, who the fuck is still a virgin at twenty-one years old? Y/N fucking Y/L/N, that’s who.

“You have to admit though, she is hot. And she’s a virgin, how longs it been since you fucked a virgin?” Top says, amusement lacing his tone as he lightly punches at my shoulder.

I roll my eyes. “She’s not fucking hot, Topper. She’s a bitch.”

Lie.

Y/N is a lot of things, but unattractive isn’t one of them. I would be lying to myself if I said she wasn’t fucking gorgeous. But I’ll never admit that out loud.

“C’mon Rafe. Lighten up. Maybe it won’t be so bad”

I bark out a laugh at that. It’s going to be fucking miserable. A loveless marriage. Handcuffs that I can’t break free from, even if I wanted to.

“Topper. Fucking drop it.”

He opens his mouth to speak but thankfully, Kelce comes barging through the front door. I quickly stand from the couch, making my way to my other best friend and mouthing a silent “thank you” to him for arriving when he did.

“Y’all ready?” Kelce asks, his eyes darting between Topper and I. Thankful for the intrusion and opportunity to drop this entire fucking subject, nod my head. “Let’s go”

-

The boys and I enter the Island Club. We come here quite often to just get drunk and forget about our shitty days. I am thankful for this tradition right about now. This whole marriage thing has had me stressed out for the last three days. I remember when Ward first came to me about it. He had told me that it was time for me to step up and do something good for the family.

“Son, a word?”

I roll my eyes, glancing at the girl laid beside me I tell her, “I’ll be right back”

My dad chuckles, his eyes glancing behind me and at the brunette that wears only my T-shirt and a pair of underwear. “Actually, you can get dressed and go. Rafe won’t be back up here until late tonight”

I roll my eyes, opening my mouth to protest, but my dad’s stern look has me quickly shutting my mouth. There’s never a point in arguing with Ward Cameron. He will win every single fucking time.

Turning to face Sofia, I give her a small smile. “Sorry, I’ll call you later”

She rolls her eyes but nods her head. She grabs her things from my floor before slipping on her white Nike tennis shoes and walking toward me. She positions all of her things in her left hand, her right palm pressed firmly against my chest as she leans up on her tiptoes and presses a long kiss to my lips.

My father clearing his throat has me pushing her back softly. “I’ll call you.” I say firmly. She turns and exits my room. Leaving me all alone with my dad.

“You won’t be calling her” He states.

My narrowed eyes find his. “And why is that?”

“Because, son. You’re about to step up and do something good for this family, and I won’t have you fucking it up by sleeping around with some bartender from the club.”

I scoff. “What’re you-” I begin to ask, but he cuts me off.

“You’re going to be marrying Y/N Y/L/N.” He says matter-of-factly.

“Rafe? You good bro?”

The sound of Kelce’s voice rips me from the memory. I slowly turn my head to face him, his dark brown eyes filled with slight concern.

Clearing my throat, I say, “Yeah. I’m good. Lets get fucking drunk”

Kelce and Topper nod their heads and begin making their way toward the bar. I follow them closely behind, but freeze in my tracks when I see her. Sofia. I never did call her, and it’s been three days since she was last in my room. I know she’s going freak out on me. If she doesn’t, i’ll be surprised.

I clear my throat and roll my neck before continuing my way up to the bar with my friends. I finally reach Kelce and Topper, they’re already ordering. “Rafe, whatcha drinking bro?” Kelce asks while looking behind his shoulder at me.

I open my mouth to speak but Sofia’s narrowed eyes landing on mine the second she hears my name has me clamping my mouth shut. I give her an awkward nod, debating on just leaving. That’s not who I am though, I don’t run away like a scared little bitch, so instead I order, “Whiskey. Neat.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’ll call me, huh? It’s been three days, Rafe. What the fuck?”

I hear Kelce and Topper snort out a laugh. I glare at the back of both their heads. I’m friends with fucking children. Turning my attention back to the short brunette, I sigh heavily. “Situations changed, Sofie.”

She scoffs at that. “Well, it would be nice to know that you had just planned on fucking me and never calling again. I wouldn’t have ever looked at you twice.”

Topper slings an arm around my shoulder. “I’m sure he would have called had he not found out later that day that’s he’s marrying Y/N Y/L-”

I throw my elbow into Topper’s side, making his arm fall from my shoulder as he groans in pain. “What the fuck was that for?” He demands.

I roll my eyes, and put my focus back on Sofia. “Look, like I said. Situations changed. I won’t apologize for not calling you, we never said it would be more than sex between us anyways”

Her mouth falls open and tears begin to well up in her chocolate brown eyes. I sigh. This is the thing about women. They always expect so much more than you’re willing to give. I never planned on having a relationship with Sofia, and she knows that. But now, I’m the bad guy because she was all but thrown out of my house and I never called.

She lifts her eyes toward the ceiling above her, blinking back her tears before her eyes find mine again. “Well, good to know. Let me get those drinks for you guys.”

I let out a deep exhale, turning to face Topper and Kelce. They both have shit eating grins on their faces. “What?” I snap.

Topper chuckles. “Nothing. You better hope she doesn’t spit in your drinks all night” He jokes.

I run a hand down my face. Tonight was supposed to help me unwind, not cause more fucking unwanted stress. “I never fed her lines of false hope, so I don’t know why she’s freaking the fuck out.”

Kelce chuckles this time, slapping a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t they all freak the fuck out when it comes to you? I mean c’mon Rafe. You can’t ever sleep with a girl without her expecting more.. I just hope you’re prepared for the long list that’s going to come for your throat when this engagement is announced.”

I sigh for what feels like the thousandth time tonight. He’s right. I have never been serious about any of the girls I slept with. They all wanted more, but every single time I felt they were getting to attached, I stopped calling or texting them. It was better that way. I didn’t want anything serious, and now, I’m being forced into something super serious. Fuck, my life really sucks doesn’t it?

“Here. Drink up, you need it.” I hear Kelce say. I turn to face him and he has his left hand extended toward me, my glass of whiskey in hand. I quickly snatch it from his grip and throw it back, downing the amber liquid in one gulp. Turning to face the bar, I slide the glass back toward Sofia. “Another.”

-

Two hours and multiple glasses of whiskey later, I’m drunk. The room sways a bit, and I reach my hand out to grip the patio railing. I hear Topper laugh from the right of me. “Dude, you’re fucking wasted.” He laughs out, placing his hand on my shoulder to help keep me upright.

“I- I am not wasted, Top. I’m just… Buzzed” I lie.

He opens his mouth to speak but he quickly slams it shut, the sound of his teeth clashing together has me turning my full attention on him. His brows are raised and his eyes look like they’re going to pop from his skull as he stares intently behind us.

“What the fuck are you looking at? You look like you’ve seen a fucking ghost.” I joke. But he doesn’t laugh, and that makes me nervous. Topper laughs at the dumbest shit, so for him to remain staring behind us with a look of pure shock in his eyes, it has me wondering what just happened.

My body sways to the side as I try to turn and face the direction he’s looking, but his hand on my shoulder has me stopping in place.

I narrow my blue — possibly bloodshot — eyes on him. “What the fuck, Top. Speak!”

He clears his throat. “I- Uh.. Y/N just walked in with some of her friends.”

That has my attention. I quickly turn my body, falling forward a bit but catching myself with the help of the railing again. She stands at the bar. And she looks fucking delicious right now. For a girl who has never taken it past kissing a man — if she’s even kissed a man — she sure knows how to dress the part of any other girl on this island. She wears a black, leather skirt that hugs her curves and ass nicely. A tight, white cropped top and a pair of black heels that add a few inches to her height. Her hair is up in a high ponytail, and all I can think of is wrapping my hand in it and pulling her head back as I fuck her from behind.

What the fuck? Why am I thinking of her like this? I fucking hate her. My soon to be wife. She’s a fucking stuck up, prude bitch. My mind tells me to stop staring, reminds me that I can’t fucking stand her. But my cock is screaming the complete opposite.

Without thinking, my legs begin to carry me toward her. I come to a stop right behind her, clearing my throat, causing her head to whip in my direction. The moment her eyes find mine, she’s rolling them. The act alone is fucking sexy. I picture her eyes rolling into the back of her head while my face is buried between her legs, devouring her sweet cunt. Fuck. Stop thinking of her like this Rafe, you’re just drunk, and horny. Any girl would do, but for some fucking reason, my mind is consumed with her.

“What the fuck do you want, Rafe” She sighs.

I smirk at the anger that radiates from her. “Just coming to say- just coming to say hey to my future wifeeee.” I slur. She rolls her eyes as they find mine again.

“You said hey, now run along. We don’t need to pretend to like each other right now.”

Maybe it’s just because I’m drunk, but her words stung. She really hates me doesn’t she? I mean, I hate her too. Don’t I? Yes, Rafe. She’s a stuck up bitch who acts like she’s better than everyone. But my drunken mind has me sighing as I say, “You really don’t like me, baby?”

Her body stiffens, eyes wide as she stares back at me. “I- Don’t call me that.”

I smirk. I have her worked up. Reaching out my left hand, I push a few strands of hair behind her ear before I run my fingers down the side of her face. She sucks in a shaky breath and flinches away from my touch.

“Rafe… Please just let me have a night out with my friends. In two days, we’re announcing to the entire island that we’re getting married, and I’d like to live the last two days of my life without you around… Lord knows I’m about to be stuck with you.”

My eyes narrow and I take a step toward her. You’re drunk, Rafe. Keep your cool. My large hands reach for her face, cupping her cheeks as I lower my face closer to hers. I don’t miss the way her chest rises and falls rapidly from my close proximity. She’s nervous. It’s going to be so much fun having her all to myself. Even if I hate her, pussy is pussy. And this is pussy that’s never been touched. She’s all mine to play with. To fuck. To break. To train. She’ll be my own personal whore by the time I’m done with her.

My glassy, blue eyes search her face. I half expect her to shove me away, and I’m so drunk I wouldn’t be able to fight back on it. But she doesn’t. Instead, her eyes find mine. That’s it, be strong baby girl. I like the tough girl act.

“Baby, you’re going to be crawling on your hands and knees begging for me to touch you. To kiss you. To please you. You can act like you hate me now, Lord knows I can’t stand you. But even I can admit, you’re fucking gorgeous. And I know you find me somewhat attractive.” I pause, placing my lips on the sensitive skin of her neck and leaving soft kisses, making her hiss in a breath. “I know this isn’t what either one of us wanted, but we have no choice… Why not enjoy the game?”

Her beautiful eyes narrow into slits and her lips thin. She blinks a few times before slapping my hands from her face. I stumble back a little, but catch myself on the bar, giving her a slow smirk.

“Fuck you, Rafe!” She hisses before grabbing her purse and storming off to the locker rooms.

I smile to myself as I watch her storm off. She’s mad now, but I meant what I said. She’ll be begging for more after I finally touch her. She can pretend now, and I’m not saying I’m falling for her. But Topper was right. She’s hot. Might as well enjoy the game and the perks, right? Letting out a small laugh, I turn and make my way back toward my friends, adjusting my hard cock that’s straining against my pants in the process. This is going to be fun.

RAFE TAGLIST: @rafeism @thelomlisrafecameron @rafegirly @f4ll-for-you @drewstarkeyslut @dilvcv @thewitchesofart @rafesgfxo @unsaidjaelinrose @abbybarnesstuff @itsmytimetoodream @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @r1vrsefx @yourfavborderhopper @moremaybank @rafetopia @rafemotherfuckingcameron @jade-is-jaded @lexasaurs634 @anqeliclust @presleyanswrites @carma-fanficaddict @rafescokenostril @madzzz0797 @slytherhoes @jscameron @jjsmarijuana @ijustwanttoreadlols @luversgirl @sugarcoatedstarkey @skyesthebomb @nirvanaissogood @stvrkey @vhour @emma77645 @rafeinterlude @superlegend216 @mannstarkey @spideysimpossiblegirl @redhead1180 @crgirlsworld @atorturedpoetx @carolinaxvz @maybankslover @cantstoptherecs @pradabambie @slut4ani @biggesthat3r @wearemadeofstardust @sylverdragon

[rizsu]

professional guide on how to boyfriend jujutsu kaisen ( men ).

⤹ list ﹢ gojō satoru, sukuna ryōmen, chōsō.

﹙ syn ﹚ having near-to-zero experience with serious romantic relationships, it's time to teach them how to romance. the journey won't be easy, but the results will hopefully be fruitful.

extra. songs: betcha (bbh), seven (jk), very nice (svt).

week one : how to flirt as if you were shakespeare. note. refrain from using big words because they sound ‘cool’.

GOJO SATORU — "you're hating on my vocabulary?"

slowly, but very surely, you can feel your stress-meter rise to its peak. if someone were to animate your current expression, there will be three veins protruding out on your forehead to show your stress. it's almost as if it's second-nature for satoru to be annoying. he isn't doing it on purpose, unfortunately, it's just the way he is.

i should've ignored his call, a voice in your head speaks, i really should've. you were enjoying your own presence, simply lazing around during your off-day when three rings disrupted the peace. groaning, you reluctantly picked it up.

"hello—"

"come to enha's bakery, PLEASE," satoru's rushed voice spoke, immediately ending the call after his request-demand.

annoyance dawned and slowly transitioned into confusion. first, he needs to fix his habit of cutting you off. second, with the tone of his voice, maybe you should go.

big mistake.

not only was he chewing your ears off with talking, he also ate half of your pastry. you weren't able to get a full sentence in, he just kept going. dressed in suit and tie, hair styled and gelled up, satoru looked handsomely professional. according to what you've gathered from his rambling, he's been set up with one of the higher ups' daughter for business purposes. he needs to woo her or he's gonna lose a significant amount of pay. the problem? well, his flirting skills aren't all that. his confidence can help him, but it'll only help for a fraction of the date.

"what's the issue? you're handsome," you started, sliding your pastry back to you. "you should be able to woo her with your face alone."

"you are not wrong—"

"i'm never wrong," you cut him off.

"let me speak. anyway, i was informed that she isn't one for looks alone. i don't care about her, but she's the daughter of some high fucker," his voice reeked of defeat.

you weren't well-knowledged in satoru's field of work, but you knew he had it against the "higher ups." well, you had no choice but to know. satoru often thought of you as someone he can be free with — so, in conclusion, you were the victim of his word-vomit moments.

the two of you fell silent, thinking about solutions to save satoru. eyeing the pastry, you pondered your brain. there has to be a way to help satoru. perhaps some walkie-talkies? no, those are too loud. follow him into the restaurant and monitor his behaviour? no, that's too much work. crash his date and ask him why he's cheating on you? no, that'll probably end in your death.

satoru himself is deep in thought, already annoyed at the date that's going to become the bane of his existence in eight hours from now. should he bring you with him? maybe, but you'll deny his offer. should he ask you to pretend to be his girlfriend? no, he'd rather ask without the "pretend."

oh he's fucked.

i'm so fucked.

"wait," you leaned into the table, sporting an expression that says 'i have an idea'.

"yes?" satoru mirrors you, eyes speaking 'tell me'.

"what if i teach you how to flirt? we should have enough time to teach you how to boyfriend, right?" your idea was good. it turned the gears in both minds.

satoru opens his mouth but presses it into a thin line. there's an obstacle in the way of making this idea perfect.

"sounds good but.. the date's... tonight."

"you are fucked."

he nods at your response, feeling the salt rubbing in his wound. i guess i should just—

"but, if we go now we'll have enough time. it's 11AM, we can do it," you tapped your index finger twice on your phone's screen, showing satoru the time. if you move now, success is evident.

"let's go then," agreeing, he stands up, stuffing his car keys into his pocket and opening his wallet.

—

you've run out of pillows and whiteboard markers. the last two hours were spent either scribbling nonsense on a mini-whiteboard or throwing objects at satoru. the teaching isn't working. every lesson you've gone through ended in satoru's failure. is it on purpose? you hope it isn't.

"satoru, for the last time, that does not sound like a real word!" your hand slapped the table, physically showing your frustration.

groaning, satoru throws his head back, "you said use poetic words!"

"what part of scrumdiddlyumptious sounds poetic to you?!" you deadpanned at him.

he slouches further down the couch, grabbing his phone to search the word on google. it took him only one minute to find the word and its definition. raising up from slouching, he leans over the coffee table, stretching an arm out to show you the word.

"scrumdiddlyumptious — adjective · informal 1. (of food) extremely tasty; delicious. 2. (of a person) very attractive."

reluctant to admit defeat, you weaponized the word being informal against him, "it's not formal! you will not use it."

satoru's high of being right dies down immediately. his mouth twitches, eyes looking at you with disbelief.

"babe, you cannot be serious right now."

"babe, i am so serious right now," you mocked him, not thinking too deep into his nickname. there's no meaning behind it anyway. you, too, use babe as platonic name.

eventually, satoru tuned out your voice. he returned back to his previous slouching position, staring at you blankly as your words go in one ear and out the other.

it didn't take long for you to notice his dejected aura. does he hate it that much? you wondered, feeling a slight pity for him.

"don't worry, satoru. it's just one date."

"i will be worrying," satoru counters you, already sour at the date-to-come.

if he were to be honest, the date isn't the problem, nor is the flirting. he believes his flirting skills to be at a decent level. he also doesn't mind spending money on others. it's just that he doesn't want to entertain her. maybe, just maybe, if it were you, he'd be more excited.

you didn't say anything after him, only shooting him an annoying smile. seriously, you don't know what's worrying him. he's basically every girl's eye candy — not to mention, he looks so much like a boyfriend right now. that doesn't make a lot of sense, but if others can see what you're seeing, they'll understand. his white fitted tee accentuates his upper body's muscles, the black sweatpants do its job, his hair that's still styled, and the silver wristwatch on his hand. simple, yet sexy.

SUKUNA RYOMEN — "i'm too old for this shit."

sukuna, your sweet sukuna. your sukuna who's most likely weighing out which option is the better one to shut you up. he doesn't know why he agreed to listen to your rambles at midnight, but he's too far in to call it quitsies.

according to what you told him, you gained the idea of teaching him how to update his romance. it all came crashing to you when you were in the third-quarter of an episode of some random dating show. you blanked out most of the episode, not paying attention as the main objective of watching it was to not stare into nothing while eating.

the show itself didn't interest you, but the concept did. the participants were blindfolded, being told to use their judgement of character to choose their date. they'd have to rely on their personalities and voices to attract someone — a pretty neat idea. looks aren't everything. unfortunately, they might just be for sukuna if he doesn't work on his attitude.

often does sukuna act like he's a fifty-five-years-old office worker named penelope in the management department: old, easily annoyed, and always has something to complain about. you're probably the only human on earth who can handle sukuna for more than a day. of course, this is due to you being similar to him — if not then exactly like him. your attitudes fit together like jigsaw puzzle pieces.

sukuna's hands are clasped together behind his head, one leg raised on the bed, and torso out in the open for everyone to view. he's actively listening to you, giving his judgement here and there.

you're sitting with your legs criss-crossed, a pillow in the middle of your thighs, and hands speaking their own language. the habit of using your hands expressively when talking will never leave you.

"...so, if you were to find a girl, you neeed to be kind! no one likes a man with a stick up his ass," you warned sukuna, moving your index finger side-to-side.

"you do," sukuna says, raising an eyebrow at you.

unfortunately, he left you speechless — but not for long! you soon regained your speaking skills after realizing you don't have a good comeback.

coughing two times, you started your lesson again, "anyyyway, always tell her she's beautiful, gorgeous, breathless, or whatever. everyone loves a little compliment about their appearance!"

almost as if it's an automatic setting, sukuna replies, "what if she's facially challenged?"

"OH—" your jaw dropped. "sukuna, you can't just say that!"

he re-positions himself, this time laying on his side with his arm supporting his head.

"if someone's visually impaired i'm telling them."

you sighed, feeling disappointed at his brutual honesty, "what do you even mean by visually impaired?"

"they're ugly," he shrugs.

his tone isn't serious, implying that he's joking but you know he isn't. sukuna's a man of his word; the truth is what leaves his mouth every time. you shouldn't worry — you really, really shouldn't, but what if that's what he thinks about you? are you facially challenged in his eyes? you've gone silent, allowing yourself to drown in the thoughts.

sukuna notices your silence, sighs, and jabs your side with his foot.

"if you're thinking that i believe you're ugly, then stop," he begins, continuing the foot-jabbing-at-your-side-movement when you don't respond. "you're beautiful, believe me. you know i don't lie."

that catches your attention. you feel a sudden heat creeping up the back of your neck. keeping your voice low, you questioned him, still unsure of whether he's being truthful or not, "are you lying?"

"i swear," his voice is firm, reaching his free hand out to your thigh. physical contact to him is very important!

you return to the silence, only this time you lock your eyes in sukuna's. it's up to you to believe whether he's lying or not, and honestly, you don't care. you know he never lies, and you rather enjoy your fantasy instead of the harsh reality ( if he's truly lying ).

CHOSO — "man, fuck all that."

throughout your entire life you never expected to meet someone like choso. he is, in your words, a bitch boy. acts like a bitch, very expressive with his facial expressions, sarcastic, a male, and the worst of all, a little thief.

you humbly thought baking with choso would've been a good idea for celebrating the end of your finals. oh you were so wrong. he's messy, ate half the chocolate chips, and has been stealing spoons of cookie batter. when you confronted him, he simply said, "we can always make more," and shrugged. the audacity!

there's only so much choso someone can handle before they explode.

"you dumb fuck, how can you get a wife with this behaviour?!" you scolded, slapping his hand away from the freshly baked batch of cookies with a whisk.

he immediately retreats his hand, looking at you with an expression that says 'have you gone insane?'

"don't look at me like that," you warned, raising an eyebrow at his very well-hidden annoyance at you.

choso rolls his eyes, this time reaching the uninjured hand for the sprinkles. he sneakily slides the packet to him, intensely watching you to make sure you don't happen to see him committing such a crime. mouthing a little "yes!" at his victory, he empties half the sprinkles in his hand and throws it into his mouth.

"an’ wha’ if i ‘on't care about a wife," his words are muffled due to his mouth being filled with the sprinkles. he tries his best to hide the crunch sound, lowering his head each time he needs to crunch on some.

your back's still turned to him, simply too busy with monitoring sugar-soon-to-be-caramel on the stove.

"you're gonna have to care soon. you don't wanna die alone!" you nagged, making a point to him.

his right eyebrow raises at your words, lips ready to move at your hypocrisy, "you yourself said you don't want a partner!"

"at this point," you stopped, turning around to face choso. "i'm gonna have to teach you how to be a romantic young man."

"what are you implying...?"

"it's time for dating lessons."

"no, thank you."

unfortunately, choso has no say in this household. he had to listen. you sat him down on the chair, making sure he focuses with all his attention and doesn't steal any of the desserts. believe choso when he said he tried to take you seriously. he really did, but your messy apron along with vigorously hand-mixing batter with a serious expression as you talked his ear off caught him off-guard.

"sometimes you even have to get on your knees, choso! i'm telling you."

"i'm not doing all of that," he disagrees.

"oh, trust me. when you're in love you will," you spoke, resting the hand-mixer down to draw an invisible heart in the air.

he doesn't give you a verbal response. instead, he squints his eyes at you. when one's gone, another is born. when one stress is gone, another is born ( your nagging ). he doesn't like it one bit, but at least it's coming from you. he'd rather have you down his ears — whether it's by using your vocals or channeling your inner mother and scolding him.

[arafilez]

MY EXTRA CREDIT ㅤ—ㅤ ﹙★﹚

ー☆ㅤㅤ [ pgw x fem!reader ] ㅤ੭𓂃 ㅤacademic rivals au, sugg 𓏧 it sucks when you are bad at a subject, but your academic rival helping? worse ㅤㅤ warnings make-out ㅤ﹢ㅤ2.5k wc ㅤ𓏧ㅤ req

You clutch your head in annoyance as you look at the marks in your Chemistry paper. It is stupid really how you aced every subject this term except this one, the awful one. Chemistry! The other subjects’ mark sheets lie neglected on your table as you go over it again and again trying to make sense of the mistakes in Organic, not that any of that made sense.

You hear a chuckle from behind you and your head shoots up in annoyance. Park Gunwook! The bane of your existence right after Chemistry, the demon that reincarnated from hell itself.

Your other classmates would describe the boy as sweet and helpful, and “too hot for a nerd” which is absolutely brainless of them because he isn’t sweet, he is evil, he isn’t helping, he specializes in teasing you, and he definitely isn’t “hot”. Ever since the beginning of high school you two have been competing in every class and one-upping each other at everything.

And it was fair because you loved competition, you were happy you had a reason to fire up and do your best, especially if you got to see the defeated face and glare of Park Gunwook after every result. It was not that he went easy but you knew your strengths and beating Gunwook just happened to be the biggest of them.

Until eleventh grade knocked at your door and you suddenly dropped in one subject and life has never been happier for Gunwook. His annoying smirks and taunting eyes after each term went by and you still didn’t get better at the said subject. Gunwook was on top of every rank, while you came later because you were too bad at Chemistry.

Agonising glances, and teasing remarks from Gunwook increased and so did the whispers in the hallway about the painful decrease in the ranks of one of the top students.

“How’s being a lesser rank again, y/n?” his voice cuts through your thoughts making you groan in annoyance, if only, if only you can ace this stupid subject you can just show him why messing with you is not fun!

“Shut up,” you grit, angrily slamming the paper back to its place and looking up at the cocky smile engraved on his face which you wish you could slap right off. Your teacher glanced at the two of you once and sighed before going back to his work.

“It sucks I know,” he puts a hand over his heart faking a pouty face and you search for it frantically before picking the compass up and pointing it at him and saying, “Leave my desk or only one of us is getting out of this classroom alive.”

He gasps before deadpanning and slapping the compass out of your hands and it hits the ground with a clink. “Sure, I would know, you Thomson’s model of atom,” as soon as the sentence leaves his lips your eyes widen and you scream, “What did you just say?”

Before you can strangle him the teacher comes up and coughs behind you saying, “You two to my desk, now!” The end-of-class signal goes off and you two quietly walk back to his desk as the other students leave.

“When will you two stop arguing?” your teacher breaks the silence and sighs and you two glare at each other making him groan quietly. “First things first, apologise to each other.”

“What?”

“Absolutely not.”

You two speak at the same time making him stand up and say, “Are you disobeying a teacher?” You quickly shake your head and Gunwook looks down before saying, “Well she started it.”

“Me? You called me the Thomson’s model of atom because you think I am incorrect and useless,” you scoff at him, folding your arms and he snickers, “Hey, you said it, not me.” You gasp loudly before fisting your hands and your teacher puts a hand in the middle and yells, “Enough you are not first-graders.” He was definitely not paid enough for this.

“Y/n, your chemistry scores are not improving and this is the pre-finals of your last year in high school. Your grade depends a lot on the finals, and so do your applications to universities so you have to improve by finals. What is going wrong?” your teacher asks and you shrug looking down. If only you knew what was going on!

“If you must know, Organic Chemistry can’t be done by mugging up, you have to understand the concepts,” he continues and you nod knowing he is right. “I wish I had the time to personally address your issues but since I don’t, I have a better solution, Gunwook will help you!”

Your head snaps in your teacher’s direction who has a determined look on his face that makes your eyes widen in horror. No way had he said that!

Gunwook will help you?

Gunwook will help you?

Heck no!

“But Sir, I never agreed to that,” to your relief, Gunwook speaks up but your teacher shushes him saying, “I will give you extra credit.” As soon as the sentence leaves his lips you know you are dead. Gunwook is the type to do anything, anything for extra credit.

“Sir I think I can do just fine by myself,” your desperate plea falls on deaf ears as he says, “I waited for that y/n, so trust me, I wouldn’t take this measure if I saw you improve. You didn’t and you clearly need help, a little can do a lot. I have seen your paper, your concepts are not clear and finals are in two months. If I was in your place, I wouldn’t take the risk.”

He has a point. You hate it, but he has a point. Too bad, you will not need Gunwook in this equation. You nod lightly to an agreement but hatch a plan to get rid of Gunwook.

“I don’t need your help,” you dismiss him as he tries to sit beside you in the library and cocks an eyebrow at your sentence. “Sure you don’t, do lie to someone who hasn’t known you for long,” he makes a face and continues, “Unlike me.”

“For fuck’s sake,” you curse under your breath as you turn towards him and say, “Where’s the harm if you just lie?” A weird noise leaves his mouth sounding like a half-gasp and half-scoff as he tries to calm himself down.

He can’t kill you, then he will lose both the extra credit and his non-criminal status. He is too young to go to jail!

“I am not lying to anyone, you will be tutored by me, whether you like it or not,” Gunwook states and sits down beside you forcefully pushing your bag towards you. Your glares and whines are futile as he takes out his chemistry notes and opens up a chapter on organic chemistry.

“So we will start with Haloalkanes and Haloarenes, you have your class notes right?” Gunwook starts and you smirk mimicking his deep voice, “You have your class notes right?”

“Don’t test my patience,” he states, running his hands through his hair and for a moment your breath hitches as your eyes train on his veins and messy lock before you blink and internally slap yourself. He is annoying, stupid and- god, you need more adjectives to define his annoying habits.

“Don’t test my patience,” you mock him, this time in a high-pitched voice, grinning when you see him take in a deep breath and say, “Real mature.” Rolling his eyes he goes back to arranging your notes and you scoff. He wants maturity, fine, you will give him maturity.

“Okay, let’s start with the basics, you know Darzen’s process right?” He looks at you hoping you have shut up in for good and he can proceed in peace. He was never more wrong.

“Yes, of course, the theory that says organic compounds do not have Carbon,” you say cheerfully as Gunwook chokes on air and looks at you. You fake your innocence and continue, “Or was it the one that says about colligative properties,”

Gunwook’s eyes narrow but he keeps quiet letting you keep up your act and you gasp quite dramatically saying, “Oh then it is the one that says atoms can’t be broken right?” Gunwook snorts saying, “Stop shitting around and answer me.”

“But I am answering you Wookie,” you say in a sing-song voice, batting your eyelashes knowing full well how much he hates being called Wookie from your mouth. “Don’t test my patience,” he warns, his voice dropping an octave before he cocks his head to the side and continues, “Sweetheart!”

You purse your lips and curse yourself as you scan his face, eyes lingering relatively longer on his lips. In what world do library lights make a person look attractive? Probably in Park Gunwook’s world!

“I am asking actual questions though,” you whisper as Gunwook cocks an eyebrow saying, “That mouth of yours does nothing but talk dumb.”

You know you are playing with fire already but what’s the harm you think as the next sentence leaves your mouth, “Do you want to know what else it does?”

Gunwook smirks as he slowly stands up and hovers over your figure all while keeping his eyes locked with yours and says, “Not really, I just want to shut it up.”

“Sure, try it,” you are in too deep to back out and one thing about a competition is you never back out. However petty the competition is you need to win!

Grabbing your jaw, Gunwook says, “Last chance to back out,” and you scoff saying, “What and let you win?” You know you have struck the chord you want to when he presses his lips to yours. Gunwook kisses you with an intensity that blurs the line between reality and dreams and you kiss him back with equal fervour.

The kiss is anything but soft, as Gunwook’s hands press against the base of your neck making him deepen the kiss and you fist his shirt to keep up with the pace. You find yourself gasping for air as soon as he breaks the kiss and looks at you asking, “That shut you right up, didn’t it?”

“Don’t know really,” you take in a breather saying, “I might need some more convincing.” Messy hair, loose tie, unbuttoned collar and swollen lips- you have never seen Park Gunwook this messed up. And to be the reason behind that boosted your ego more than it should.

Gunwook fixes his glasses as he sits down and cocks his head saying, “Sit on my lap.” Your face heats up as soon as you hear that from him. You have never seen this side of Gunwook and to say it is intriguing is an understatement.

You are quick to get back your composure as you stand up and pretend to pick up your bag saying, “What makes you think I will listen to you say?” Gunwook’s eyes train on yours and travels down your neck and down checking you out fully before returning your stare with a boring one of his own.

“Fine, leave,” his voice is taunting you and it makes you curse your past self for thinking he is not hot, clearly, you were out of your mind. You want to walk away, prove to him and yourself you were not attracted to him at all.

“Three seconds,” he whispers staring at you as he mouths the numbers backwards and when you stand exactly where you are he knows he has you right where he wants you. It would be a lie to say Gunwook isn’t equally attracted to you but he prefers to push that thought to the back of his mind.

His fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you and you sit down on his lap, the breath you had held for so long finally being released. He looks up at you, eyes sparkling with anticipation making you roll your eyes and whisper, “I hate you.”

A deep chuckle leaves his throat as he replies, “I wish I could believe that princess, but you didn’t leave.” You hate how much you love cocky Gunwook but you are not a person to back out as you pull him by his collar and say, “Shut up and kiss me.”

When Gunwook’s lips presses to yours, you let out a satisfactory hum tracing your fingers along his collarbones and to the back of his neck. He grips your jaw, deepening the kiss and bites your lower lips earning a surprised gasp from you. His tongue easily roams your mouth exploring every inch of it like a starved man.

A groan builds up your throat when you find him easily taking dominance making you run your hand through his hair trying to tie yourself to the last strands of reality left in your system. How many times have you pictured him to kiss you exactly like this, to finally lose his cool and abuse your mouth leaving you breathless?

Obviously, this was much better than those midnight thoughts! You run your hands through his arms, groaning at the fact that the boy in fact did work out. A lot. A shiver runs down your spine when Gunwook bites and nibbles lightly on your lips making you lightheaded.

Gunwook fingers trace along your jaw and collarbones and he holds your waist with his other hand tracing slow circles on the exposed skin below your shirt. You feel a light haze settle over your senses as he starts leaving open-mouthed kisses down your cheek and jaw. You take in a quick breath when you feel him sucking lightly down your neck and you lean back hoping he has more access.

Hooded eyes, heated glances and fidgety hands. You feel almost blessed to see Gunwook like this.

He attaches his lips to yours and your mind empties everything as it fills with thoughts of him, his senses, his touch, his smell and his everything. If Gunwook wasn’t holding your waist, you surely would have melted to the ground by now especially trying to wrap your head around the intensity with which he is kissing you.

When you part, albeit breathless, silent anticipation fills the air as you look everywhere but his eyes. A red hue adorns Gunwook’s neck and face as he coughs softly to gain your attention. When you look back at him, reality drips back and you manage to croak out a sentence.

“If you kiss me like this after every lesson I wouldn’t mind being tutored really,” the voice is breathy, soft and slightly desperate, very unlike you, but it feels worth it as soon as a smile etches its way into Gunwook’s lips.

“I don’t need tutoring excuses to kiss you like this, princess,” he whispers back and your eyes widen but before you can comprehend he makes sure your brain shuts down again.

Pressing a soft peck on your lips he giggles as you stare at him in shock.

ー☆ㅤㅤ [ ara's notes ] ㅤ੭𓂃 ㅤtysm 🥭 anon for requesting, not my best work but the picture is giving me a lot of hope lmao ㅤ𓏧ㅤ libraryㅤ zb1 shelfㅤ navi

੭ 𝅄ㅤ ꒰ TAGLIST ꒱ ㅤ⏤ㅤ fill this or comment or ask to be added.

@haneagerr @slytherinshua @aaa-sia @yeosayang

@haecien @sxmmerberries @gong-fourz

some dialogues from @urfriendlywriter & @girlwithherheadinthestars tysmmm, they are awesome !!

ㅤㅤ(ㅤㅤ© arafilez on tumblrㅤㅤ)

[justagalwhowrites]

Bane of My Existence - A QZ Joel Miller One Shot

You and Joel Miller have never gotten along, always at odds whether working together or avoiding each other. But when a smuggling job goes bad, you discover that there might be more to his harsh demeanor than meets the eye.

Pairing: QZ Smuggler!Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Enemies to lovers; Joel is bad with emotions; hurt/comfort; canon typical violence; injury that's probably poorly handled because I don't medicine; vague threat of SA (not by Joel, not made to reader); unprotected vaginal sex. Joel carries reader but look... My Joels are all 6'5" and strong as hell, especially in life threatening situations. Man can carry anybody. I'm in love with him because he's a big strong man. No description of reader.

Length: 8.9k (sorry)

A/N: A lil one shot gift for my beautiful bestie @dundienominee :)

Full Masterlist | AO3

“Hell no.” 

Of course Joel Miller said hell no to working with you. Of course he did. 

You weren’t surprised at Joel’s reaction when his smuggling partner, Tess, brought you to their safe house in the QZ. He’d never been the president of your fan club. 

“Joel,” she sighed. 

“Fuck no,” he said. “Not bringin’ her anywhere, she’s a goddamn liability.” 

“Joel,” she said again, sterner this time. 

You, however, just smirked, watching him pace and glare at you, his face getting flushed as he did. 

“She takes stupid fuckin’ risks,” Joel said. “She’s cocky, she’s…”

“Saved your ass from infected?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. 

You knew you were adding fuel to the fire. Tess glared at you for it. Your smirk grew. 

“Wouldn’t have been near the fuckin’ infected if it weren’t for you,” he snapped. “Not. Goin. With. Her.” 

“Well, you don’t have a choice,” Tess said, standing up a little straighter and crossing her arms, staring her partner down. “She’s the one with the contact, they agreed to two people meeting them and she has to be one of them…” 

“How the hell’d you make a contact?” Joel turned his full attention to you, his eyes molten hot and angry. “Anyone you touch ends up fuckin’ dead…” 

“Oh fuck off,” you snapped before you regained your composure. “Don’t get pissy with me because big bad Joel Miller isn’t the top of the smuggling heap in the QZ…” 

“I ain’t pissy!” 

“…Not the top of the heap in anything at all, really…” 

“That’s it!” Joel stalked over, looking like he wanted to slug you. Instead, he just put his finger in your face, a slightly unhinged look in his eyes. “You think I’m doin’ a goddamn thing with you…” 

“You don’t have a choice, Texas,” Tess came and stood beside you, her arms crossed as she looked to Joel. “You burned the bridge we had with the FEDRA officer I need to buy off to get our next round of pills inside, I can’t go on this run because I have to deal with the mess you made when you couldn’t keep your shit together. We want to actually be set before shit gets snowed in for winter? We need her connection. So. You’re going, you’re leaving tonight, and you’re not going to fuck this up. Got it?” 

His jaw tightened. 

“Got it.” 

“Good,” she looked to you. “Your contact knows you’re coming?” 

“They do,” you said, serious now and completely ignoring the wall of muscle who was still standing uncomfortably close to you. “The walk back is going to fucking suck but it should be worth it. Good with the split?” 

“Good might be a strong word for 60/40,” Tess said, shaking her head a little but grinning all the same. “But I’ll take it.” She looked between you and Joel. “Trusting you two to not kill each other out there. Don’t make me regret it. See you in a few days.” 

She left the two of you there in the threadbare apartment without another word, Joel’s glare practically drilling a hole into your skull. 

“Together again, eh Miller?” You smirked at him. 

He didn’t respond. He just went and sat heavily on the worn couch before lying down and closing his eyes. 

“What, didn’t get enough sleep?” You asked, going and standing over him. 

“Slept fine,” he said, eyes still closed. “Just would rather spend the few hours we have before we leave the QZ not listenin’ to you.” 

You rolled your eyes but took a moment to look at Joel when he wasn’t glaring at you. 

It was a rare occurrence, seeing him when he wasn’t scowling and pissed. He let himself relax down into the cushions and the lines in his face eased. As much as you hated to admit it - and you did hate it - Joel was beautiful. Frustratingly so. What’s worse, he’d somehow gotten better looking in the years you’d known him. Jerk.

You’d first met him before you came to the QZ, almost 10 years ago now. You were holed up in your own little corner of Boston, doing your best to stay out of the way of FEDRA, infected and raiders alike. 

It was basically a full-time job, even more so since you’d become the last person standing. A job that you failed at the day you met Joel Miller. 

And, as much as he liked to blame you for it, he was the one who showed up in your corner of town. You’d been napping through the worst of the afternoon heat in mid-July when you heard a clatter: someone tripped one of your alarms. 

“Fuckin’…” 

He swore loud enough that you heard him from your perch and you watched him shake glass out of the wrinkles of his shirt. 

“Someone’s here,” the second man said, much quieter. “That ain’t no accident…” 

The two men moved slowly, cautiously, their rifles raised as they searched for whoever it was who set that trap. When you thought they were far enough away, you started to move, slowly and quietly, going to sneak up on them and take them out before they could do the same to you. 

But as you drew close, you heard it. The clicking. 

You gasped, close enough to the strange men that they heard it and close enough to the clickers that they did, too. 

“Move!” The larger man snapped out of his moment of shock first, shooting forward and grabbing you and throwing you to the side before shooting at the incoming infected. You scrambled to get back up, fumbling to get the knife you’d been readying to thrust into that man’s back. 

It turned out, you didn’t need it. At least, not for the infected. The two men made quick work of the clickers and turned to you, your knife raised and ready to take at least one of them down with you. 

“The fuck are you doin’ out here?” The larger man said instead. 

“The fuck do you think?” You snapped. “Go on, do it! Kill me, take my shit, whatever it is you’re going to do…” 

“Don’t much like killing women,” he said, looking to the other man, their guns still in hand but pointed to the ground. They looked alike, these two. Like they could be related. 

“What, because I’m a woman you think I’m not a threat?” You asked, brows raised before realizing that you probably shouldn’t be egging on the large, armed men in front of you. 

“Not really, princess,” the younger man said, voice teasing, and you considered throwing your knife at him. 

“Should count yourself lucky that we don’t,” the older man said. “Why don’t you come with us, out pickin’ up just a few things and then headin’ back to the QZ…” 

“Right,” you scoffed. “Because I really wanna live under fucking FEDRA.” 

“Guessing you want to live,” he said. “Got news for you, princess. Even we’re steerin’ clear of this area of Boston after this. Lot more infected than we bargained for. Your little hideout ain’t gonna be safe much longer. Assuming you want to keep on living, QZ’s your best bet.” 

“And you’re just, what, inviting me along out of the goodness of your heart?” You scoffed. “Please.” 

“Don’t much like killing women and don’t much like leaving people to die, either,” the other man said. “Seem capable enough. Come with us, at least out of this part of the city. Would rather not have you added to the infected population.” 

You ground your teeth for a moment, considering. They could easily over power you. You were out numbered, out gunned and they were both large and strong. 

But… you had been noticing more and more infected lately. You hadn’t left your hideout in almost two weeks and you were low on supplies. Part of the reason you hadn’t dared venture out in so long was the seemingly constant press of infected you could see from the best vantage points in your building. You’d been starting to worry that you wouldn’t have a good opportunity to leave for supplies again. And, if you did, you were starting to worry your home would be overrun when you got back. 

These two were the closest thing you had to a safe option out. 

So, you took it. The pair introduced themselves and you were right, they were related. Joel and Tommy Miller, smugglers who lived inside the Boston QZ. They were strong, smart, capable. Handsome, too, not that it really mattered. What mattered much more was your ability to keep each other alive. 

And, it turned out, you were useful to them. Enough that they wanted you around as help for other runs outside the QZ. It made sense, you knew certain corners of the QZ better than anyone else seemed to. It had been your territory - at least, in some way - for a long time. 

Then, it happened. You’d taken to calling it ‘the incident’ for lack of any better word. You were out on a smuggling run with Joel and another man, Harvey. In spite of the fact that you’d been working together for years, Joel had never really warmed up to you. He tolerated you at best and it seemed like growling was his preferred form of communication where you were involved but you always made it back to the QZ in one piece when you went out together. You watched each other’s backs - you were proud that your kill count was higher than his and that you were almost positive he’d be dead by now if it weren’t for you. 

The three of you were at the edge of the city, heading to rendezvous with someone from a small settlement in New York State when you heard it, the first, distinctive shriek of infected. 

Suddenly, there were dozens of them, maybe more than 100, far more than you were capable of handling even if you had unlimited ammunition. 

And, like a fool, you froze. 

You’d scouted ahead and saw no signs of them, no indication of anything more than one or two strays that had been ambling around. You had no idea where they’d come from or how they’d come to be here but that didn’t matter. They were here, they were bearing down on you and you couldn’t seem to make your body move, the shock of the sight making you completely shut down. 

It was Joel who saved you. 

“Move!” He’d grabbed you by the collar of your shirt and thrown you behind him as he fired at the infected, pressing back as quickly as he could while laying down cover fire. Harvey joined him, their guns up and blazing as you tried to force your body to listen to you. “Fucking run!” 

Your limbs decided to obey then and you moved as quickly as you could, turning and firing behind you when it felt like you had a moment to spare. 

But you misjudged that moment once. Just once, but that’s all it took. Infected were closer behind you than you realized and Joel dove in between you and the reaching, groping thing. 

“Joel!” You shrieked, desperately trying to get a shot off that wouldn’t hit Joel as he strained to hold back the runner who was snarling near his throat. You were about to shoot when Harvey tackled the creature, knocking it off of Joel but into the mass of infected that was closing in quickly. 

They swarmed him and he screamed and you took aim as Joel scrambled to his feet. He shoved you on before you could fire and you stretched to shoot around him but he nearly threw you away from the swarming monsters and your screaming companion. 

“He’s gone!” Joel yelled as you stared at him, aghast. “He’s gone, we have to fucking move, now go!” 

You kept turning, looking back toward the sound of the snarling and the screams. 

“We have to go back!” you said. “We can’t just leave him like that, we have to at least shoot him we can’t just leave him, we…” 

“You should’ve thought of that before you fucked up!” He kept pushing you forward, toward the QZ. “No point in gettin’ us killed to save a man who’s already dead.” 

Joel had gone from seemingly finding you to be a nuisance to hating you then. He refused to even be in the same room as you let alone leave the QZ with you again. 

It took you a long time, after that split, to figure out how to survive. You’d become dependent on the cards you got from smuggling to get by but you couldn’t leave the QZ on your own and expect to make it back in one piece, not with how things had devolved with raiders and infected in recent years. You found a small group who was going out from time to time - which is how you met Tess - and you cobbled together a living. 

You never worked with Joel again. 

At least, not until now. 

You sighed and perched in the window, watching the QZ go by and thinking of the best way out of the city once the sun went down. You tried not to think about the likelihood that Joel would kill you while you were outside. 

It was a long walk ahead of the both of you, 30 miles each way through infected no man’s land, not that raiders hadn’t been trying their damndest to get a foothold. But you had a connection there who had been growing marijuana and had a hell of a crop they were willing to trade for plenty of ammunition and antibiotics. You’d been orchestrating this trade with Tess for weeks, both of you carefully avoiding the sore subject of Joel. The initial plan had been you and her heading out but then Joel beat the shit out of a FEDRA guard for some imagined offense and they were suddenly without the connections they needed and suddenly, Joel became part of the plan. Lucky you. 

Once darkness started to fall, you picked up a little stone that was stuck in the frame of the cracked window. You took careful aim and flicked it, watching it sail to hit Joel square on the forehead. He twitched in his sleep, grimacing, but he didn’t wake. 

You looked around a moment, searching for something else to use against him. You found it in the form of a wad of paper that you had to stretch to reach but you did. You tightened the ball and aimed, throwing it. It didn’t make it quite as far, bouncing off his hands as they sat folded at the base of his chest. He didn’t even flinch at that. 

“Dammit,” you muttered, looking around again. You found a rubber band then, perking up a little as you picked it up. You arranged it carefully on your fingers, pulling it back and aiming it like a gun, targeting Joel’s nose. His oddly beautiful nose. Not that you ever really thought that way about him, of course. You shot the rubber band and it flew, snapping right where you’d aimed it. He jerked awake and you turned quickly so it seemed like you were just looking outside into the night. 

“Wha…” He mumbled. 

You turned your head to look at him as he sat up, seemingly disoriented. 

“You hit me with somethin’?” He asked. 

“What would I hit you with, Joel?” You asked. “I was about to come wake you up, though. Can’t get a late start because of your lazy ass…” 

“Show you lazy…” he muttered, hefting himself up off the sofa. “Let’s move.” 

You gave Joel this much, the man was efficient. You’d forgotten just how efficient in the years it had been since you’d last worked together. He cut through the QZ quickly and smoothly, the knowledge of routes run by FEDRA guards seemingly innate as he knew exactly when and where to avoid and how to do it. In what seemed like no time at all, you were outside the walls and starting into the ruins of the city. 

“Got a safe house about an hour’s walk,” he said, setting an almost punishing pace as you moved alongside him. “We get there, wait for daylight, press on in the morning.” 

“Oh, because you’re the decision maker?” You asked, brows raised, even though you agreed with him. “Just expect me to fall in line…” 

“You know what, princess?” He rounded on you, forcing you back into the wall of a building you were passing. “You’re lucky I came out here with you after the shit you’ve pulled…” 

“Shit I pulled? I fucked up!” You all but yelled at him. “I know it! I think about that all the fucking time, that he’d still be alive if it weren’t for me! I don’t need you to fucking remind me, I know what I did and I’m sure you’re fucking perfect and that no one’s ever died because you fucked up…” 

“You don’t know a goddamn thing,” he growled, pressing closer to you for a moment and his eyes were dark and dangerous. For a moment, you thought he might kill you. Or kiss you. He didn’t do either. Instead, he just stepped back, looking you up and down once. “Keep your shit together this time. Don’t want to die because of you.” 

Tears burned your throat and eyes and you swallowed them and walked a few steps behind Joel, trying to keep an eye out for signs of infected and raiders and trying to make sure that Joel didn’t die. Even if it was just out of spite. 

The next day was easier than you expected, too. You made it quickly out of the safe house in the morning and dodged a hoard of infected, skirting around the writhing mass of them lying on the street. You didn’t really feel like you could breathe until you were outside the city, where the air was cleaner and you didn’t feel the specter of what happened years ago looming over you. 

You and Joel mostly ignored each other, watching the tree line as you kept an eye out for whatever might be lurking for you there. But, every now and then, you thought you caught Joel looking at you out of the corner of your eye, his head snapping around the moment you seemed to take notice. 

After walking for most of the day and covering 20 miles, the two of you stopped and made camp, Joel deeming it safe enough to make a small fire. You watched him after the two of you had eaten and settled, the light casting flickering shadows on his face. 

Joel, you were almost loathe to admit, was an incredibly good looking man. There was a roughness to him that you found almost comforting in the world you were both trapped in but there was beauty to him, too. The symmetry of his features, the plush of his lips, the cut of his jaw. You wondered what he was like before all this, not just when he was younger but before this world had a chance to sink its teeth into him. Maybe you would have been friends then. Maybe something more than friends. 

“How’d you end up smuggling?” You asked, not able to keep sitting here in silence any more. 

“What?” He asked, looking up from where he was cleaning his gun. 

“Smuggling,” you said. “Doubt you were born a smuggler and you don’t seem like you were a drug mule or something in the before times. How’d you end up doing it?” 

“How does anyone end up doin’ anything?” He asked. “Needed cards, people needed drugs. If people want to pay me for ‘em, I’m not about to argue.” 

“So that’s it,” you said. “You woke up one morning and thought to yourself ‘I think I’m going to tell FEDRA to fuck off today by running drugs’ and started a whole new career.” 

He sighed but didn’t say anything. 

“I don’t buy it,” you continued, sitting back against the tree you were propped against. “There’s something else…” 

“Not your business if there is.” 

“So there is something else!” You said, almost smug. “I’m on the right track, excellent.” 

“You always this nosy?” 

“Usually,” you said. “Let’s see… Maybe Joel Miller just likes an excuse to hit things.” He scoffed but didn’t say anything. “Not that? Interesting… Maybe Joel Miller gets off on breaking the rules. Is that it? You have authority issues?” 

“Can we go back to not fuckin’ talking?” He asked. 

“Not authority issues then,” you nodded, ignoring him. “Well, that leaves just one other theory.” 

You were quiet, looking away from Joel and fighting the urge to smirk as you did. It only took a minute of silence before he sighed. 

“Goddammit,” he said. “What. What’s your theory.” 

You let the smirk happen then, looking back at him. 

“That Joel Miller doesn’t feel alive unless he’s about to die,” you said. “And that Joel Miller needs to feel something so he decides to do the thing that almost kills him because what else is there to have?” 

He watched you for a moment, his eyes hot and angry, before he looked back at his gun. 

You laughed once. 

“So predictable…” 

“And why do you do it?” He asked, looking up at you, the rage barely contained on his features. “Must have a reason, right? Livin’ outside the QZ as long as you did, fuckin’ around outside it now, what is it? You got some kind of death wish?” 

“Yes,” you said, looping your arms around your knees. He blinked at you in surprise for a moment and you laughed a little. “I’m not nearly as mysterious as you, it’s not some secret…” 

“Why?” He cut you off, gun set aside now. You frowned but he pressed on. “You got a life, why do you want to just throw it away…” 

“You call what I have a life?” You asked, brows raised. “Never thought you’d be so generous in regards to anything related to me…” 

“Ain’t it?” He asked. “Sure, it’s not what it was before, can’t just do what we did then but…” 

“You think that’s it?” You gaped at him. “That I miss being able to go to fucking happy hour with my coworkers or grab dinner at Chili’s so I might as well drop dead?” 

“That’s not…” 

“I lost people, Joel,” you snapped. “I know everybody did but when I say I lost people, I mean I lost everyone. By the time you and Tommy found me, there wasn’t a single person left on Earth I knew. My parents turned in the outbreak, they bit my brother and his wife and their daughter. I survived with my fiance for a while but he got shot by a FEDRA officer when we were trying to make our way to the fucking QZ and then I was alone. I stayed out there because, what, was I supposed to go live with the people who killed him? No thanks. What the fuck is there? So yeah, you know what? I smuggle shit. I like the risk. I like telling FEDRA to fuck off. I like being able to handle myself because I’m the only thing I can count on. Don’t act so fucking surprised that I’m not thrilled with life in the QZ just because you brought me there.” 

Joel was quiet for a moment and you just squared your jaw and looked away, arms crossed tightly over your chest. You knew you shouldn’t let Joel get to you the way he did - especially not after you’d picked at him and pushed him here - but he got under your skin the way no one else left alive really seemed to. You hadn’t spoken to anyone about your fiance, not in years. It was a wound you’d long set aside, a casualty in the war on humanity that had hollowed you out so much that it seemed like you couldn’t really feel anything unless you were on the edge of your own destruction. Or, apparently, picking a fight with Joel fucking Miller.

“Could be worse,” he said eventually. 

“Yeah, well.” 

“M’sorry.” 

You looked at him then, brows knitted together. 

“What?” 

“Said I’m sorry,” he said, voice a little gruff. “Didn’t… didn’t know. Wasn’t trying to… I’m sorry.” 

You blinked for a moment, trying to get your bearings. Of everything you’d expected to hear out of Joel Miller’s mouth, I’m sorry wasn’t it. 

“I’m sorry, too,” you said eventually. “If you want to talk…” 

“I don’t.” 

“Right,” you nodded. “Well…” 

“I got first watch,” he said, picking his gun back up. “Get some sleep.” 

The next day, you reached the trade you’d arranged, the woman you’d run into a few times when outside the QZ there with her partner. They hauled so much marijuana out - wrapped tightly in old newspaper - that they had to use wagons to carry it all. You unloaded your haul and the trade went smoothly, Joel lurking toward the back and standing guard, keeping a surly watch over the whole proceeding the entire time. It took some doing to pack all the pot into your bags but you managed it, thanking the couple and starting back toward the QZ. 

You were close to where you’d stopped the night before when it happened, the snarl of infected crawling over your skin. 

“Fuck,” you slung your rifle down from its place over your shoulder and turned to where the sound was coming from, seeing a cluster of at least a dozen infected moving for you. You shot, catching the first in the head and you watched it drop. 

“Go!” Joel yelled, planting his feet and taking aim. 

“Fuck you!” You snapped, ignoring him and shooting. “I can handle myself.” 

He growled at that but didn’t say anything else. Instead you stood with him, side by side, trying to pick off the group that was charging for you. For a moment, you thought you’d done it, that you were in the clear. 

And then, Joel’s gun jammed. 

You realized it when you didn’t hear any more gunfire coming from beside you as the remaining infected drew closer. 

“Joel!” Your eyes darted his way and you saw him trying to force the lever back, to no avail. He looked to you and the infected and back to you, his jaw squared. 

“Get back to the QZ,” he said, not giving you a chance to respond. Instead, he charged forward, gun held not like a firearm but a staff and he swung it, hard, so the butt of it slammed into the skull of an infected as three others dove for him. 

“Fuck!” You yelled, ignoring him again. Like hell he was going down out here like this, like fuck you were letting this asshole die for you. You took careful aim, taking down infected that you were confident you could headshot without putting Joel at risk, just one bullet going wide and exploding on the bark of a nearby tree, the rest finding their mark. And then he was on the ground, just one infected left, too close to him for you to be able to shoot and it wasn’t that you chose to do it, not really. It was more like instinct, flying forward, shedding your backpack and dropping your gun as you did, wrenching your knife from its place at your hip and jumping onto the back of the creature, your arms going around its neck as you yanked back on it, hard. 

Your weight threw it off balance and it shrieked, starting to claw at you, twisting in your hold to see if it could sink its teeth into your skin. It bit as best it could at your arms but the thick of your coat kept it from getting any further and you struggled to adjust your knife to drive it into the thing’s neck but you couldn’t get it, not without letting it go.

“Goddammit!” Joel was panting for breath and you could barely see him out of the corner of your eye as he scrambled to his feet. You tightened your grip on the infected, the stink of the rot of it from the inside out making you gag, and it slammed you back into a tree, catching you off guard. You barely registered the sound of your skull hitting the wood before you passed out. 

***

You didn’t listen. You never fucking listened, why could you never fucking listen? 

You were the single most infuriating person Joel had ever met. Stubborn as hell, independent to a fault, seemingly desperate to pick every fight you could find. Of course you didn’t fucking listen to him. You never had before, why would you start now? 

Seeing you that close to infected - again - was terrifying. 

This was why he didn’t want to go out like this with you. This, right here. Because he knew you wouldn’t listen, he knew you’d wind up in this situation, knew he’d have to deal with the fear and the pain of you dying when it was his fucking fault why couldn’t you just fucking listen?

He’d thrown himself at the infected to give you a chance. One of you was probably going to die out here and he wasn’t about to let it be you. Not when he’d already done so much, gone so far to try to make sure you fucking survived. Because dammit, if he couldn’t make sure one of the few people he actually cared about actually lived, what was the damn point? 

But did you take the chance he was giving you? No. Of course you didn’t. 

And all he could do was watch in horror as the thing you’d jumped on top of slammed you into a tree with a sickening thud, one he could hear above the snarling and snapping of jaws. Your body went limp and you slid from its back to the earth, landing in an unnatural looking way. No one who was in control of their limbs fell like that. His blood was ice and he moved without considering, roaring as he ripped his knife from his belt and tackled the infected who was turning to go after your throat. He hit it so hard he rolled with it, the creature’s mouth reaching for him as he held it back. They came to rest on the ground, that thing on top of him and Joel slammed his knife into its neck again and again, until it went quiet and still and Joel was bloodied and panting for breath. 

He shoved it off him and he half crawled to you as he got to his feet, not willing to wait until he was standing to start moving. You were still when he reached you, your head thrown back, half on your side, mouth open. 

“No, no, c’mon,” he pulled your coat open to get at your chest to try to do what he thought was CPR - not like there were fucking certifications for it in the QZ - but, when he did, he realized you were breathing. He lowered his head near your mouth and could hear the soft, shallow sound of your life and he sat back on his heels, taking a deep breath. 

So he hadn’t gotten you killed. Not yet, anyway. At least there was that. He let himself sit with the relief for a moment before checking you over, looking at your throat and wrists for signs of a bite but didn’t find any. Another lucky moment. 

“Alright princess,” he said, tapping your cheek lightly. “C’mon. We gotta get movin’, let’s go.” You stayed still. His stomach twisted. “Know you like to fuck with me but now ain’t the time, we need to get out of here, time to wake up…” 

He half expected you to respond then. You’d love this, the fact that he was damn near panicking because you were hurt. He knew you’d want to draw it out. 

But you wouldn’t be stupid about it. You wouldn’t put them at risk, not really. 

“Fuck,” he swore, adjusting your limp body as best he could before lifting you to his chest. The hair at the back of your head was matted with blood. He tried not to think about what that might mean. “S’alright. You’re gonna be fine, just… You’ll be OK.” 

He kept thinking that, over and over, as he carried you, looking for somewhere he could protect you for a while. 

It took him time to find it, a farmhouse with overgrown fields that looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. The door was hanging open, creaking on its hinges, and Joel brought you to the kitchen island, setting you gently on the dust-covered formica. 

“Stay there for a minute,” he said, leaning against the counter to recover his strength and his breath for a moment. “Gotta… gotta make sure we don’t got company.” 

He went through the house room by room, barricading the doors on the ground floor and pleasantly surprised to find most of the top floor intact, no holes in the roof or broken windows. He gathered some blankets from the main bedroom and carried them down to where he’d left you. He propped your head up gently, pouring some water on a cloth and cleaning the cut there with care before covering you with a quilt and pulling a kitchen chair up beside you. He checked to make sure you were still breathing before sitting down, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, hands folded almost in prayer. 

He should have told Tess to fuck off. He knew better, when it came to you. There was a reason he’d avoided you ever since that day everything had gone wrong. Hell, he’d been avoiding you before that, too. 

From the moment he’d met you, he liked you a little too much. You were the exact kind of woman he’d gone for before, one who was capable and strong and a total fucking smart ass. He liked a woman who challenged him, one who made him think. You did those things, you did those things like it was second fucking nature, all while being one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, before the outbreak or after. 

He knew he had to keep his distance from the beginning, that he’d get too attached if he let himself. But you were a valuable partner, so he did his best to keep you at arm’s reach while going on runs with you and his brother. He thought that had been enough, that he’d done a good job of protecting himself from the disaster that waited at the end of any form of attachment in the life he led now. 

And then he saw you freeze in the face of infected. 

He was so afraid in that moment that it shocked him how fast he made the call. The decision to put his body between you and the infected was an easy one. He wanted to make it back to the QZ, to his brother he’d found some reason to live for over the last few years, but he wouldn’t want that if you didn’t come back, too. But you didn’t fucking listen then, either, too busy trying to do the same damn thing he’d have done in your position. If you hadn’t been with him, he’d have tried to save Harvey. He was a good man, he’d watched Joel’s back plenty, Tommy’s too. He deserved a better end than the one he got. 

Joel just couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk you. 

He let himself rage at you about it. Even though it wasn’t your fault, none of it had been. He’d known it then but even more so after. Years later, outside the QZ, he watched as a large hoard worked its way south for the winter, just passing through. You couldn’t have seen them coming, no one could have. 

He never told you that. Because, after the day you froze, he was far enough away from you that he wasn’t going to have to watch you die and he wasn’t going to have to carry the blame if you did. He couldn’t do that again. He knew that much of himself, he knew what he wasn’t capable of surviving. If you were out of reach, he’d have room to breathe. 

But you were still leaving the QZ. He hadn’t known that, at first. He’d just assumed you’d stay put and take the shitty jobs FEDRA offered to get by. He hadn’t even known that Tess knew you, not for years. It wasn’t even her that told him you were still smuggling, it had been a FEDRA guard. He’d overheard your name when Tess was handling a trade and put two and two together. He damn near marched over to your apartment that second and demanded to know what the fuck you were thinking. But he didn’t. He kept it together, he kept listening for news of you, kept waiting for the day that he knew was waiting for him, the one where you didn’t come back and he’d find out about it from some other smuggler or some asshole guard who found out when you didn’t show up with his supply of pills.

And then your name came up when he was trading with a FEDRA guard. It was a small deal, some pills for cigarettes and liquor, just enough for one guy. He was a new client of Joel’s, one he was happy to have. His demand was low and he was good leverage for bringing shit through the gates, turning a blind eye for a good deal on drugs. He just hadn’t seemed to learn quite yet that Joel wasn’t a friend. 

“You know other smugglers, right?” He asked, glancing at Joel as he counted the pills out in his palm. As though Joel was stupid enough to short change a fucking FEDRA officer. 

“Suppose,” Joel shrugged. “Why?” 

“There’s this one…” he talked about a woman who was coming and going, one who was cocky and beautiful and hadn’t caved to his demands for sex the last time she came through and he tried to blackmail her. Joel ground his teeth but kept quiet as he prattled on, eventually pocketing the pills and handing over the cigarettes and booze. “Anyway, wondering if you think she’s the type who’ll give in or should I stop wasting my time and just take it?” 

Joel’s hands curled into fists. 

“Take it?” Joel asked. “Take what, exactly.” 

He looked at Joel, incredulous. 

“C’mon,” he said. “You know. They never fight too hard against a uniform but it’s more fun when they’re at least a little willing.” 

Joel’s punch came so quickly the man didn’t have time to put his hands up. He took him to the ground fast, blow after blow raining down on the man’s face until the air smelled like copper and his knuckles were split. The man gargled on his own blood below him, desperate gasps that sounded something like “please” but he couldn’t be sure. Joel grabbed him by the collar, his head lolling limply to the side as he tried to breathe. One of his teeth was hanging on my a thread.

“Keep your fuckin’ hands to yourself,” Joel panted. “Tell your fuckin’ friends. I hear about any of you messing with women around here? I’ll kill you.” 

Joel dropped him back to the ground and flexed his fingers. He thought he might have broken part of his hand. Wouldn’t be the first time. At least this one was worth it. 

“Pleasure doin’ business with you,” he said, fishing around in the man’s pocket and taking a pill from him. He popped it in his mouth, chalky and bitter on his tongue. “For my trouble.” 

He left the man there in the alley, knowing full well that he’d just shot his whole team in the foot. He didn’t much care. 

The irony that it had landed him here, outside the QZ with you unconscious and your haul on the forest floor was almost too biting. Maybe he deserved it. Maybe he’d been doing this wrong all along. 

You groaned and Joel’s head shot up as you started stirring on the counter, your hand going to the injured part of your skull. 

“Easy,” he said gently, getting up slowly so he wouldn’t startle you. “Took a nasty hit to the head, you were out for a while.” 

“Ow.” 

Joel laughed a little at that. 

“Glad you think it’s funny,” you said, sitting up. He rushed to help you and you gave him an incredulous look as his hands found your back and your hand. “Jesus, I feel like I got put through a meat grinder…” 

“Well, s’long as you ain’t bitten, think we can handle that,” he said, taking his hands back now that you were sitting up. 

“Amen to that,” you said, stretching a bit before looking him over and then looking around, a small frown on your face. “Where are we?” 

“Farmhouse,” Joel said, shoving his hands in his pockets just to give them something to do. “Think about a mile from where we were. Can find our way back OK. I’ll have to, your pack is still out there.” 

“Shit,” you said. “Yeah, we can’t afford to come back without it, I traded my entire stash for my share of the pot…” 

“We’ll find it,” he said. “Don’t think anyone else is comin’ through here any time too soon.” 

You nodded slowly before looking back to him, your eyebrows knitting together before you flinched, your hand going to the back of your head again. 

“Will you actually listen for a change and take it easy?” He asked, going to check the wound. “Jesus, bane of my fuckin’ existence, not doing a goddamn thing I tell you…” 

“Why are you still here?” You asked, ignoring him yet again, fingers finding the gash on your head and tugging at it until it started bleeding again. Joel sighed before pulling your hand away. “Hell, why’d you bring me here at all? You just said I’m the bane of your existence, why the fuck did you go through this much trouble? You could have just left me there, taken my pack, kept all the haul for yourself…” 

“You really think I’m capable of that?” He asked, brows raised. He knew he hadn’t exactly been kind to you over the years but fuck, he didn’t think it was that bad. He pressed the wet cloth to your head again, watching as the red filtered over it. 

You shrugged. 

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Yeah, alright, you piss me off more than… shit, about anyone else I’ve ever met. You’re the bane of my existence…” 

“So…” 

“Will you let me talk?” He snapped. “Fuck, woman, always gotta be right, always gotta have the last damn word, always gotta do whatever’s gonna get you into the most trouble…” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry that I managed to save your fucking life today,” you snapped back. “Please forgive me!” 

“I don’t want you saving my life if it costs you yours!” He yelled. 

You pulled back from him sharply, eyes wide as you blinked at him in shock. He shook his head and pulled the cloth away from your skin. At least the bleeding had stopped again. 

“Don’t fuck with it anymore,” he said, dropping the bloody fabric to the counter. “Gotta leave it alone so it can start to heal, head wounds bleed like a motherfucker…” 

“Joel,” you said quietly, watching him. 

“What.” 

“Joel,” you said again, eyes still on him. “You… What did you mean you don’t want me saving your life if it costs…” 

“I don’t…” He cut you off before he took a deep, centering breath. “I don’t want anybody dying for me but… Christ, it can’t be you. Yeah, you’re the bane of my existence, you piss me off so much sometimes I swear it’s like you got a goddamn degree in just how to do it but you make me feel more alive than anything else left and I can’t…” His heart was pounding so hard it felt like a bruise. “I can’t lose you, especially not when I could stop it. Not when I could save you. I need you to stay alive, OK? I don’t want anyone else to piss me off the way you do, I want you to be the one getting under my skin every goddamn day…” 

“Joel…” 

“Still not gonna let me finish?” He gaped at you. “Fuck, I’m tryin’ to…” 

You didn’t let him finish that time, either. Instead, you kissed him, your arms going around his neck and pulling him roughly against you, your lips so soft and warm and demanding on his that it felt like you were trying to swallow him whole. 

It was like the logical part of his mind only worked for half a second after that. He knew, in that moment, that he should probably hold you back. Talk things out, make sure you didn’t hurt yourself - you’d just had a head injury for fuck’s sake - but that part of him vanished, consumed by you and the way you kissed him like you were trying to climb inside his skin. 

His arms went around you, pulling you to the very edge of the island so your pussy was pressed tight against his quickly hardening cock. 

He couldn’t help but grind himself against you, the zipper of his jeans harsh contrast to just how soft he knew your pussy would be and the last bit of resolve he should have held snapped. Your fingers fumbled at the snaps on his coat, pulling it open before going to the buttons on his shirt and he did the same, desperate to get at your skin and suddenly not caring that it was nearly freezing or that the two of you had nearly died not all that long ago.

His hands found your breasts, sliding inside the cups of your bra to cradle the soft warmth of them and you moaned into his mouth when his thumbs found your nipples, gently brushing them before working them in little circles as they pricked against his skin. 

Joel had tried to not think about this with you. It was tempting, always tempting, but he knew better. He tried to limit his thoughts of you to frustration and anger but he often failed at that. He had failed at it often enough that he had an idea of how you would feel in his hands, how you would taste on his tongue. He thought he would have known enough to be prepared for it if it ever happened. 

He wasn’t. 

You were, somehow, so much better than he’d ever let himself imagine. You were so goddamn soft, like the whole of you had been spun out of silk, tenuous and tender. There was something almost inherently wrong in how he was touching something as soft as you but he shoved that nagging guilt aside, too obsessed with feeling more of you. If this was how your tits felt in his hands, how your lips felt on his, how your hands felt in his hair, he had to feel inside you. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to think about anything else if he didn’t get to be inside of you, his mind would always be trying to create the way you would feel, to know how warm you would be, how safe he would feel in you and how calming it would be to know that you were safe, too, because nothing could reach you if he was there inside you, nothing. 

His hands reluctantly left your breasts and slid down to your waist, finding the button on your jeans. You quickly, clumsily kicked off your boots and lifted your ass from the countertop so he could slide your jeans and panties down, leaving you all wet and swollen and bared for him. 

“Fuck,” he panted, looking down at you for a moment before reaching one callused finger forward and almost reverently tracing your dripping slit. You groaned, your head going back in pleasure, your hips almost jumping toward him. 

“Joel,” you whispered, voice so goddamn needy. The sound went straight to his cock, skin stretched tight and balls aching. “Please…” 

“I’ve got you baby,” he said, opening his pants and tucking his jeans and underwear below his throbbing sex. “Make you feel so good, just…” 

He took his cock and brushed the head against you and you looked down to where he was about to push inside you and gasped. 

“Holy fuck,” you panted, looking at him, your eyes wide. “Joel, you’re… Are you going to fit?” 

“I’ll fit, baby,” he said, looking down again and notching the head of him inside your wet heat. You groaned as you stretched around him, fingers digging into the skin at his nape. He pushed the first inch of himself inside and stopped, looking back to you. He took your face his hand and your eyes searched his, desperate longing written there. “Just watch me, I’ve got you.” 

You didn’t say anything, you, just nodded quickly. His other hand went to the small of your back, angling you just so as he started to thrust into you, pushing in a little and then pulling back before going again, claiming more and more of you with each stroke until he was fully within you. He stilled inside you and pressed his forehead to yours, your eyes on his own, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your breath on his skin. 

He’d been right. Inside, you were fucking perfection. He could feel how you stretched over him, how your body perfectly took and held his own. You were so soft there it seemed impossible, like the world should have destroyed anything this delicate and supple. But you felt so like you, too. The heat of you was almost overwhelming, the strength of you sharp and clear when your cunt fluttered over him, already nearing your orgasm with telltale little spasms holding him tight.  He wanted to consume you and be consumed, devour and be devoured and he needed to fuck you deep and hard and leave part of himself inside of you or he might never think of anything else ever again. 

“Fuck, Joel,” your breaths were sharp and shaky. “I’m so… you’re so big, I’m so full, I… You have to move, I need you to fuck me, please fuck me, please, I need…” 

“I’ve got you, baby,” he said, gently angling your head just so. “Give you just what you need.” 

He kissed you as he started fucking into you, setting an almost punishing pace as he moved inside you. He drank down your desperate groans, savored the way your fingers scrabbled over his shoulders and neck and back, got lost in the spread of your thighs as you kept trying to take him somehow deeper. As if there was more of you for him to take, as if there was more of himself to give. 

Your channel grew tight over him and he knew he wasn’t going to last once you came but he was afraid he wasn’t going to even make it that far. He’d already given up on pulling out, he’d deal with the whatever fallout came from filling you up, but he had to feel you come when he was inside you. He was desperate for it, needed to feel how you’d draw so tight over him and pull his come from his body into yours, he needed it. He drove deep and found the spot inside you that made your legs clench a little tighter, fingers clutch a little harder. He pressed into it and held himself there, more rocking into you than fucking into you, grinding the head of him into the very softest part of you as your cunt drew tighter and tighter over him and you pulled away from his lips to cry out as you came. You throbbed around him and he could feel every part of you there, the pulsing of your body and the satisfaction of your cries damn near ripping his own orgasm from him. 

He pulled you close and tight as he came, feeling like his whole being was pulled down low and sharp inside him as he spilled deep into you. Your arms loosened on him but you still held him gently as he all but collapsed into you, his head on your shoulder as he panted for breath. 

“Fuck,” he managed after a moment, still deep inside you. 

“Yeah,” you laughed a little. 

He sat back from you, eyes searching yours again now that you’d both started coming back down to Earth. You reached up and ran your fingers through his curls, brushing them back from his face as he started to notice the cold air again for the first time. 

“Bane of your existence, huh?” You asked, teasing lightly. 

“Yeah,” he said, smiling a little. “My whole damn existence.” 

You smiled a little back. 

“Think I can work with that.” 

[reminiscingtonight]

baking kitchen mess (aitana bonmatí)

Recipe For Relaxing (Aitana Bonmatí x Reader)

A/N: Barca you're massive 💪

[WOSO Masterlist]

It’s been a long day.

First, your ever lovely girlfriend drank what was left of the coffee and left for an early training without even telling you.

Then your alarm clock seemingly forgot how to do its job, leaving you, still barely awake with no caffeine in sight, to scramble to make it to work on time.

The meeting you slipped into was already in motion, multiple eyes zeroing in on you as you tried to sneak in undetected. So with a healthy dose of tiredness and shame following you to your classroom, you really hoped that your rambunctious lot of third graders would magically surprise you with manners fit for royalty.

It really shouldn’t have irked you as much as it did when all twenty-five of them seemed to catch the wiggle-bug. Nobody was able to sit for more than a couple minutes without jumping or shouting what was on their minds.

By the time the clock signaled the end of the school day you were more than ready to rip out your hair. As politely as you could you wished all of your students goodbye, waving at their grinning faces as their parents herded them away.

Any hope you had at relaxing was dashed when you noticed the cars lining the street all the way up to your driveway.

Sighing, you drove a bit further away before parking on the curb, knowing better than to expect the girls to leave you a clear spot to park in your own driveway.

Mumbling under your breath you stepped over the shoes discarded carelessly by the door. Although you could hear laughter wafting from the living room, you took the side door to get a well needed beer from the fridge. As much as you loved Aitana and all twenty of her clubmates, you needed something to help rewind before even entertaining the idea of playing host.

The second your foot crosses the doorway leading into your kitchen however, you freeze. Your fingers tighten against the doorframe as you take in the sight in front of you.

Something was baking in the oven, but dirty bowls littered your counters, as did half-used ingredients. Flour covered almost every surface, even tracking throughout the ground. 

Clearly the girls had never heard of leaving things as they found it. 

You shut your eyes, jaw clenching so hard that you know your dentist will be giving you an earful when you see her next.

“Aitana Bonmatí Conca, what the hell did you do to my kitchen?!”

The chattering ceases instantly. 

Angrily turning around, you stomp into the living room to give the girls a piece of your mind.

You’re met with wide guilty eyes, the footballers looking scolded before you even started. 

“Hola bebé, you’re home early.” Aitana gives you a timid grin but you’re not amused.

Your nose flares angrily as you take another step forward. Everyone flinches when you shove a finger into Aitana’s chest. “Clean up my kitchen. Now.”

The air is silent as no one dares to move.

You quirk an eyebrow, tilting your head to make eye contact with the rest of the team. “Now! Pronto! Move your asses girls! I wanted it spotless yesterday!”

It’s like a hurricane storming when everyone scrambles up all at once. Quiet apologies are thrown your way as they pass by, everyone eager to escape your anger.

Aitana tries to sneak away with her teammates but your hand clamps down on her arm before she can even take a step.

“I love you?” she tries, deflating when she sees your unamused look.

“Aitana, babe, love of my life, I love you but you’re the bane of my existence. I’m exhausted and would love it if you could reign in the girls and not make messes for me to clean up.”

A look of determination crosses her face as Aitana nods quickly. “I will do a better job of cleaning up.”

“Thank you,” you sigh, relaxing a bit when Aitana timidly leans forward to give your forehead a soft kiss.

Your girlfriend takes it as a win when she wraps her arms around you and you instantly sink into her hold. The exhaustion from your day seemingly catches up to you as you sway dangerously, ready to go to bed despite it still being early. 

Sighing, you rub at your eyes before gently pushing Aitana off of you. “Thank you for putting up with me. ‘M sorry for yelling.”

“It’s okay, I’m sure you’ve had a long day. Is there anything I could do for you?”

Humming, you give her a kiss when she leans forward for one.

“Could you go get me a beer and tell the rest of the girls that they don’t have to hide in the kitchen from me?”

“I--” Aitana winces. “I think we’re out.”

When Ingrid pokes her head out of the kitchen a couple minutes later, selected by the bunch as the least likely to get her head bitten off by you, she’s met with the sight of you sitting on the couch, feet thrown up on the table as you mindlessly flip through the TV.

You hold up a stack of papers towards the Norwegian. 

“Got a new team bonding activity for you heathens.”

Aitana sighs when she catches sight of the rest of her teammates with each of their own personalized shopping lists at the store down the street. 

“She got you guys too?”

[zhaobear]

28 (teaser)

It takes you 28 weeks to leave Kim Gyuvin, but only 28 days to run right back.

PAIRING : kim gyuvin x fem reader

GENRES : fluff, crack, eventual angst, with a happy ending, enemies to lovers au, strangers to lovers au, rich girl au, bakery au, falling in love in france!!

WORD COUNT : 1209 (teaser), estimated to be 20k

SUMMARY : when you pack your bags and move to france on a whim, you don’t expect just how many challenges you’ll meet — whether it’s your difficulty in adjusting to the new country, the harsh truths of the fashion industry, or most infuriatingly, pastry chef kim gyuvin, whose immense talent doesn’t stop you from deeming him the bane of your existence. despite yourself, his shop soon becomes more of a home than you’d like to admit, as gyuvin’s delicious creations and honest words slowly worm their way into your heart and show you that affection is more than just a monetary transaction.

WARNINGS : profanity, might be suggestive, red hair gyuvin x blue hair mc, mc wants to go to fashion school and gyuvin owns a pâtisserie (both are 20), mc is a bad bitch but sometimes superficial/spoiled but!! has char development, gyuvin shows love by being a little shit, i apologize for the banner graphic design is not my passion

AUTHOR'S NOTE : happy gyuvin day!! i wanted to finish this whole fic for his bday but i'm not quite there yet so take this teaser <3 if anyone wants to be tagged for this lmk and i'll start a taglist! i'm super excited to finish this fic even though gyuvin already got rid of his red hair......i will pretend it's still there

"NOT TO BE RUDE OR ANYTHING, BUT COULD YOU MOVE THE CRYING SOMEWHERE ELSE? YOU'RE AFFECTING BUSINESS." 

Your mouth falls open. Out of all of the words you expected to hear from the employee with the red hair, these weren't at all what you imagined.

The sheer nerve of a stranger — you can’t help but fume. Your status has led you to experience all sorts of men,  most commonly the kind that fall to your feet at first sight, begging you for a mere minute of your time. You’ve unfortunately experienced their rotten sides too, particularly the petty insults and misogyny that come with your industry. You’ve also experienced the raging anger when they realize you take too much pride in yourself to become their dolls. 

But to be insulted so brazenly on the first meeting, given your name, your reputation — men do not dare. 

“Well, excuse me for choosing your store to have a mental breakdown under. I couldn’t exactly—”

“Excused.”

“What?” You seethe, your face growing hotter by the second. 

“You’re excused,” the boy repeats simply, before turning back to the door. “If you want to sit inside, you’re welcome. Please just don’t cry outside of my shop,” he calls over his shoulder. 

The door closes behind him before you can even say anything back. You’re frozen in place, shocked by the pure shamelessness of the boy. Surely no manager would let their employee act this way? You’ve never been much of a Karen, but you’re tempted to find out. 

Finally, you look inside the store, peering through the glass door. Despite yourself, you’re pleasantly surprised upon the realization that you’ve stopped under a pâtisserie. Although none of the French bakeries have made any lasting impact on you, the decent crowd inside the shop has to amount to something. 

A variety of pastries are neatly lined on the glass shelves, clearly crafted with great care and intricacy. Almost all of them are unfamiliar, but your mouth waters anyway. You didn’t even know it was possible to crave something you’ve never had. 

You observe a flash of red hair saunter behind a door at the back, and all your cravings disappear. That bitch. You’d rather die than sit inside the shop and let him win, but you cajole yourself with the thought of making a complaint as soon as you find the right person. 

You push the door open, greeted by the bell that chimes overhead. 

Warmth. 

That’s your first impression of the store, and it’s not just the significant temperature difference. Something about the aura of the shop itself, the quiet but contented chatter of customers and the soft music spilling through the overhead speakers — you hate to admit it but it gives you a sense of comfort you were missing in the past three days. 

You shake your head. Pull yourself together. 

You storm past the line of customers, immediately met with their indignant shouts and protests, and stop in front of the young boy manning the register. His eyes widen, flitting back and forth between you and the customer he was helping. 

“Miss, I—I’m sorry but you can’t just cut in line like that…” he trails off nervously. His expression makes you think of a nervous rabbit, cornered by prey twice his size with nowhere to go. Twitchy nose and all. It’s kind of cute, and a part of you feels bad. You know he didn’t do anything wrong, but maybe the intimidation will get him to help you faster. 

“I need to speak to your manager.”

The boy balks, clearly unsure how to respond. He covers his confusion with a small smile. 

“I’m sure whatever it is, I can assist you. Can I ask what the problem is?”

“Look, I appreciate you trying to help, but the best thing you can do for me is just get me the manager,” you huff. “Please,” you tack on awkwardly, feeling worse at the small flash of hurt in his eyes. The boy nods and leaves, disappearing behind the door at the back of the store. 

You tap your foot impatiently, ignoring the string of curses the customers in line direct at you. Already irritated with the amount of time they’re taking, you consider leaving, about to turn around until the door finally swings open. 

However, you’re not prepared for the man who emerges from the back. You gape at the sight of the red-haired boy, who raises an eyebrow at the sight of you, giving you an infuriating once-over. 

“Is something the matter?” He asks coolly, like he didn’t insult you mere minutes ago. Like you’re just a regular disruption and not — not you. The heir to one of the most widespread fashion companies in the world. The girl with everything. 

“I asked for the manager,” you hiss. But the boy’s face only brightens at the word, a casual grin spreading across his face. 

“Looks like you’ve found who you’re looking for,” he replies, raising his hands. “Manager by day, chef by night. What can I do for you?” 

Your hand clenches into a fist against your will, the need to punch the cheeky smirk off his face overpowering you. You hold yourself back, instead matching his attitude with a sickly sweet smile of your own. 

“I thought most managers were aware of basic customer service. But I suppose I expected too much from a hole-in-the-wall place like this,” you simper, watching his face turn the same shade as his hair.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” the man splutters. “I—I have five star reviews on Google!”

You try not to snicker at how quickly you’ve caught him off guard, schooling your expression into something that you hope is cool and unconcerned. “Well then, I’m sure Google would love to hear my thoughts instead. No use being here if I can just put a few dents in those five stars, right?” You shrug noncommittally and turn around. 

“Hold on,” the boy says, a hint of desperation in his voice. You face him, trying to smother the smug smile threatening to overtake your features. “Would a free pastry help?”

“Hm,” you feign contemplation. “I don’t know. None of the pastries in Paris have been particularly outstanding to me yet.” 

“Oh, I’m sure that won’t be a problem here,” he answers, smiling. The smile looks genuine enough, but you notice it doesn’t reach his eyes. His gaze is stuck on you — calculating, wary, like he’s still trying to make sense of you. “Yujin-ah!” He calls out without taking his eyes off you. The boy from earlier emerges behind him, refusing to look at you.

“Yeah?” He glances at the redhead with a lingering hint of that bunny-like anxiousness. 

“Get her a kouign amann on the house for me, please.” He finally breaks eye contact with you to look at the smaller boy with a gentle smile that you can tell is reserved for him. Yujin nods, hurrying to grab the pastry. 

“If it’s not to your liking, you can mention me personally in the review. The name’s Kim Gyuvin,” the redhead says, giving you a maddening wink before walking away. You splutter at him indignantly, but to deaf ears as he vanishes behind the back door.

[myfairstarlight]

Alright, let's talk about Colin's entrapment line and why Penelope offering an annulment was significant, shall we? Arguably the most controversial part of this season, isn't it?

I'm not going to delve too long on the entrapment line again actually, but to summarise, Colin has been traumatised by a similar situation before, and right now, he's hurt. And the thing about being angry with your best friend is that you know what to say to hurt them the most. We see it in Eloise's and Penelope's fight, as they threw each other's insecurities in the other's faces. Colin, two episodes ago, was defending Penelope against Portia, who was accusing her of entrapping him, so yes, his mind will jump to that first. But also note that the whole time he refuses to look at her, because he knows his words are cutting and will hurt and he knows his resolve would break if he looked at her, which is contrasted by Penelope directly looking at him to tell him she loves him and did not mean for this to happen like this. He does not look because he knows she loves him, this is not Marina's situation exactly who only wanted a way out and did not see him as much else than a means to an end, and that's why it's so much more difficult to deal with for him. Penelope loves him.

And he's already almost lost her once, as angry and hurt as he is, he cannot fathom the idea of letting her go, when he remembers how empty he felt without her letters, or at the idea of her with Debling. So he's still here, determined to marry her.

So now we get to e8. The marriage was not technically consummated, and the Lady Whistledown business is finally settled. So Penelope offers the annulment, to set him, and his family, free from her mess.

They never directly address Colin's entrapment comment again, but with Penelope offering the annulment, it is now implied she's been thinking about this the whole time. It is a very real possibility that by that point, Penelope already knew she was pregnant, and it's been speculated if she told Colin in that scene after Francesca's wedding or not (I personally don't think she did, to not add to his guilt at that moment, and perhaps to not influence his decision, knowing she would be offering the annulment soon) and it parallels Marina's situation again, except in this case, Penelope does not wish to trap Colin with a baby, even if it is his. She knows how much Marina impacted Colin, and does not wish to do the same thing she had prevented Marina to do. The best part about this though? Colin is stunned (Edit: I changed the adjective here as someone rightfully pointed out I was exaggerating by saying "flabbergasted" when his reaction is more on the subtle side the English language is the bane of my existence). Frankly, he probably forgot he even said that, the same way he forgot about his "I would never dream of courting Penelope Featherington" comment - those were words said in the heat of the moment he never actually believed. Not once has Colin thought of either breaking the engagement, or get an annulment even after the betrayal.

He could have still eloped with Marina even after learning the truth, but he didn't because she was not honest with him from the start. He learns Penelope has been living a double life this whole time, and yet he stays.

It is significant that Penelope listened and acknowledged Colin's point of view, the same way she asked him to simply stand by her side and support her. Also note that she never says "our family", she says "you or your family".

Despite already being married, this whole time, it did not feel like they were, and she knew that as long as there was still this barrier between them, she could never truly be part of that family, but it's alright, she could live with that, she has mended things with her own after all, and she can support herself. Whatever the outcome, she'll be alright, she believes.

Fortunately for her, she does not get to find out what that future would entail because Colin absolutely hates the idea of letting her go.

Because after all, she's a mess, but she's his mess.

[celli-ohs]

and scene!

A seven-part written series taking place at EN High School, featuring Enhypen, with supporting roles from Tomorrow x Together, &Team, BoyNextDoor, Fromis_9, Le Sserafim, NewJeans and Illit. Loosely based off of Enhypen's official series En-Drama.

Author's Note: this is going to be a rollercoaster folks! I wanted to basically make a crack/fluff version of En-Drama. I thought the stereotypes they put the members in were cute and fitting of them, but was like "what if I made them all losers lol" and that's how this series was born! disclaimer, the plots for my works are not the same as En-Drama, this is all just for shits and giggles! btw, everything is connected, so stay tuned for each member! lmk who you're most excited to read!!

Status: ongoing

ATTENTION: reply/comment for taglist

and scene! masterlist

I Can't, I Have Rehearsal

socially awkward!park sunghoon x reader; high school au; crack, comedy, fluff

What happens when you get seated right next to the most handsome boy in your entire grade? Well you thought it'd be a great excuse to get to know him better, but the guy won't even talk to you! After a mishap in the science lab, you come to find out that Park Sunghoon, the cold-hearted prince of EN High, isn't in fact rude, he's just afraid of women.

Show Must Go On

secret softie!park jongseong x reader; high school au; crack, comedy, fluff

When you told the waitress to give your compliments to the chef, you didn't expect the chef to come out and thank you personally, and you really didn't expect the chef to be your classmate Park Jongseong. Realizing how bad this could be, he has you keep it a secret. That shouldn't be too hard for you to do he thinks, but you're full of surprises- and slip ups.

Lights, Curtains, Action!

popular!sim jaeyun x reader; high school au; crack, comedy, fluff

You weren't a very sociable person. Sure you had some friends, but you preferred to stay home on your days off. Your family has other plans though, and you're forced to explore the great outdoors during summer break. On your adventure, you never thought you'd find rowdy Sim Jaeyun, otherwise known as Jake, sitting patiently at the docks waiting for a single fish to bite his line. You also never thought he'd reel in your missing shoe before an actual fish.

All the World's a Stage

younger!kim sunoo x reader; high school au; crack, comedy, fluff

You've known Kim Sunoo since middle school when your friend Jake introduced him to you as his 'little brother'. He was a sweet and funny boy. But over the summer, something changed with Sunoo and suddenly you feel your heart skipping a beat every time he looks your way. You'd think he's finally grown up and matured, but there he goes again, quoting some random romcom and you're reminded he'll never see you the way you do him. Or does he?

Tough Act to Follow

loser!lee heeseung x reader; high school au; crack, comedy, fluff

This had to be a mistake. It couldn't be true, how could you end up being seatmates with the biggest loser in school, Lee Heeseung?! You can feel your social status plummeting with every word he speaks to you. But on a late walk from the convenience store, you witness something that changes your view of Heeseung drastically. And maybe he's right, the Sonic the Hedgehog movie is actually kinda good.

Break a Leg

tease!nishimura riki x reader; high school au; crack, comedy, fluff

Nishimura Riki was the bane of your existence. You can't tell where your hatred for him begins and ends. Every day is a constant battle of teasing between the two of you, and you have had it. One day after an accident, Riki shows his true colors and now his insults start to make your heart race, and it's not because you're angry. Surely you've caught something, right?

No Business Like Show Business

student body president!yang jungwon x reader; high school au; crack, comedy, fluff

When you flunked that math test, you didn't think it was that serious- until your teacher assigned you a tutor: Yang Jungwon, student body president. Honestly, you didn't really know the guy, he seemed like the type to be strict and responsible. Except he isn't, Jungwon is just some guy. You'd argue he's even worse at math than you. His friends thought it'd be funny to elect him as president when the poor boy was out for a pee break. So now you're wondering if you should get a tutor for both of you.

[leclerc-s]

there’s no separating work husbands

series masterlist

rowan todd i now realize i have been silently suffering for far too long.

bailey winters LMAOOOOO!!! SUCK IT!! rowan todd you have no room to talk winters.

daniel jones-ricciardo suffering from what?

fernando alonso third-wheelitis

sebastian vettel that's not a word. fernando alonso it is now!

logan sargeant how are we supposed to believe that those two are mature adults?

ollie bearman better question, how are any of you adults?

alex albon sometimes it's a miracle any of us have lived as long as we have

yuki tsunoda I'M BACK BITCHES!

rhys jones has he always been here? isabella perez he muted us after pierre left RB and only popped in to make fun of pierre every once in a while.

rowan todd there he is, the bane of my existence.

yuki tsunoda little me?

lance stroll i'm convinced who's afraid of little old me was written for yuki, mae, and penelope.

charles leclerc now why would you tell them? mae jones-verstappen we can read this you fake bitch.

pierre gasly YUKI!!

yuki tsunoda PIERRE!

max jones-verstappen they're married. the faster we admit it the faster it's over.

mick schumacher that sure doesn't stop you from third wheeling daphne and daniel. max jones-verstappen sometimes i have to fight the urge to punch you schumacher.

yuki tsunoda if it helps, you're my favorite gasly rowan.

pierre gasly what the fuck yuki?

freya vettel this is yuki's 'breaking my silence' video.

yuki tsunoda rowan still visits me, unlike someone.

rowan todd it's true and he feeds me in return.

lance stroll because fuck the french right?

yuki tsunoda yes!

daphne jones-ricciardo i don't think i've ever seen a third-wheel and the significant other ganging up on the other person in the relationship.

sebastian vettel rowan and yuki like to defy the odds.

mick schumacher like alex and george when they dare each other to do stupid shit.

george russell SHUT YOUR MOUTH SCHUMACHER!! alex albon shut up mick!

ollie bearman i'm never introducing my girlfriend to you people.

isabella perez well you have to because i'm your mother.

pato o'ward you must oliver!

gael perez leave the poor boy alone oh my god.

dulce perez says the nosiest bitch in this group chat.

rowan todd i've been kicked out of my own apartment by my own boyfriend.

bailey winters it's almost too funny i have to laugh. rowan todd zip it winters.

isabella perez wait, they actually kicked you out?

rowan todd pierre told me, 'yuki forgot to get something, can you go grab it for us?'

rowan todd i thought they were sending me to yuki's car, but noooo!

rowan todd they sent me to the fucking store to pick it up.

daphne jones-ricciardo sometimes i genuinely feel bad for you rowan

dulce perez why sometimes?

daphne jones-ricciardo she chose pierre. this is no one's fault but hers.

mae jones-verstappen well you're the one who invited them both to your party, so if anything this is your fault.

natalia ruiz was she supposed to know rowan would decide, 'yeah, i want that french fucker.'

penelope trevino just start a pierre gasly hate club. have yuki and esteban join you.

isabella perez ooh! i'll join too, i'm still mad he ate my churros that one time. natalia ruiz count me in too tf. mae jones-verstappen i have pent up rage against pierre for making fun of me after my break up with max. count me in too.

isabella perez pierre's kind of an ass, why are you with him rowan?

rowan todd i can fix him (no really i can)

daphne jones-ricciardo remember what the ending line of that song is? 'woah, maybe i can't'

penelope trevino but she did?

natalia ruiz pierre is an asshole on the outside but on the inside he's a huge softie. we all know this.

mae jones-verstappen but it's so funny to shit on him.

daphne jones-ricciardo just hang out with yuki without him. make him suffer.

rowan todd that's actually a smart idea. brb going to ask yuki to grab lunch with me.

liked by yukitsunoda0511, gaelperez, daphnejonesricciardo and others

rowantodd not pictured is yuki screaming for help because pierre almost set the kitchen on fire. i was also sent to get the groceries while pierre 'hung out' with yuki.

tagged: pierregasly, yukitsunoda0511

view all comments

yukitsunoda0511 thank you for having me rowan!!

↳ rowantodd you're welcome to come back anytime yuki, but please leave your assistant at home.

↳ pierregasly this is slander against me.

landonorris i need to find someone who looks at me the way yuki looks at pierre

↳ baileywinters so guess who's single now.

↳ landonorris baby no! i didn't mean it like that!

user52 damn third wheeling in her own home

↳ user79 it seems like they're forcing pierre to third wheel them

user61 what dignified little lady martini is!

user25 pierre gasly having a yorkie as a pet was something i never expected when i became a formula 1 fan.

↳ user14 and this man still makes 🐶 jokes.

nataliaruiz not all of us can have a joris third wheel but at least yours feeds you.

↳ rowantodd at least it's not lando.

↳ penelopetrevino he sucks but only i can shit talk him.

↳ landonorris thanks mom!

user89 what a cute family, pierre, his ex-wife rowan, his husband yuki, and their child martini.

❤️ by rowantodd, yukitsunoda0511, and others

pierregasly ah, my two loves, yuki and martini.

↳ rowantodd this is why i've never written a love song about you.

↳ danieljonesricciardo this is why she got a divorce from you.

estebanocon ah, my favorite member of the gasly family, martini.

↳ rowantodd this is why you're her favorite alpine driver, besides jack

↳ jackdoohan aw shucks i'm honored.

olliebearman if martini goes missing, just know it wasn't me.

user35 everyday i'm reminded that martini is a 'happy divorce day' gift pierre got for rowan.

↳ user66 THAT'S WHY THEY HAVE A DOG??

↳ user35 oh yeah, martini is an 'i'm happy we got a divorce' gift.

jeremyrenner is that tripod guy?

↳ rowantodd please stop.

↳ pierregasly i refuse to believe jeremy renner knows me as tripod guy. i've never been so embarrassed.

↳ isabellaperez is this worse than tom holland referring to you as tripod during the monaco gp?

↳ gaelperez sebastian stan and anthony mackie also know you as tripod.

↳ pierregasly i've never hated myself more.

↳ yukitsunoda0511 HA!

pierre gasly end my suffering.

esteban ocon LMAOOOO!!! SUCK IT BITCH!!

lewis hamilton oh no. what happened now?

pierre gasly THEY'RE GANGING UP ON ME!! I AM SUFFERING!!

sebastian vettel i thought we had another pr nightmare on our hands.

isabella perez no, everything is calm on that front for now.

rhys jones i can start a rumor about daniel being pregnant with max's child?

daniel jones-ricciardo why am i always the victim of his crimes?

rowan todd SUFFER LIKE I HAVE SUFFERED YOU CROISSANT!!

yuki tsunoda I'M STEALING THE GOD!! SHE'S MINE NOW!

pierre gasly YOU LEAVE MARTINI ALONE TSUNODA!!

charles leclerc STEAL HIS DOG YUKI! HE TRIED TAKING LEO FROM ME!!

daphne jones-ricciardo did they go out to get lunch without you?

pierre gasly how did you know?

dulce perez it was her idea.

pierre gasly i hope you have issues with your mic in paris daphne.

rhys jones i hope you piss in your tractor of a car pierre.

lance stroll he's scary. keep him away from sharp objects.

rhys jones i'm making it my mission to scare my sisters haters. pierre gasly, you're at the top of my list.

carlos sainz he's what the people describe as feral.

lando norris this is a trick to divert pierre's attention from rowan and yuki.

pierre gasly WHERE ARE YOU PEOPLE!!!

rowan todd YOU'LL NEVER FIND US!!

yuki tsunoda YOU'LL NEVER TAKE US ALIVE!!

pierre gasly i'll find you two. i swear.

rowantodd has posted new stories

hanging without pierre, this is the best experience either one of us have had. oh look who decided to crash my yuki-time. that was my desert...

taglist: @burningcupcakefire @arkhammaid @applopie @sunflower-golden-vol6 @lorarri @bb-swift @thewannabewriter @mypage-myfandoms @stopeatread @hobiismyhopeu @lilsiz @alessioayla @niniluvsainz @au-ghosttype @six-call @justtprachisblog @nichmeddar @landonorizzz @unluckyyoshi @cool-ultra-nerd @kami10471633 @1nt3rnetgf @fernandoswarcrimes @arieltwvdtohamflash @brekkers-whore @natcha888 @camdensreg @mycenterfold @dear-fifi @georgeparisole @dan3avocado @nikfigueiredo @namgification @jensonsonlybutton @weekendlusting @trouble-sistar @lesliiieeeee @leclercsluv @33-81 @theseus-jpg @sarah-thatstings-ann @minmira95 @casperlikej @formulaonebuff @hopenshaw @ijustgomessitupx @hwalllllllelujah @doodlehunz @prongsvault

¡leclerc-s speaks! took the weekend off but i’m back! convinced this isn't my best work but it still delivers on humor (i think)

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

[ericsprincess]

checkmate

You catch your brother's annoying best friend doing something in your room.

~~~

“....oh, and by the way, Sunwoo is coming over tonight to watch a movie,” 

You stop mid-folding a t-shirt and look at your brother in disbelief. He can’t be for real, you think. This is like the third time just this week. 

“This is like the third time just this week,” you frown at your brother that’s standing in the doorway to your bedroom. “Doesn’t he have his own place and his own roommates to annoy?” 

“Yeah, but his roommates are working on some school project, so he doesn’t want to distract and annoy them much, until they finish it,” your brother shrugs. 

“So, he’s just coming here all the time to annoy us?” you groan and throw the semi-folded t-shirt on the pile. 

“Well, he’s not annoying me. Come on, sis, he’s not that bad. He really likes you actually, you’re just so mean to him all the time,” pleads your brother. 

“Are we talking about the same Sunwoo?” you ask. “He literally just asks me the most dumb questions all the time and does things to spite me.” 

“Yeah but that’s how Sunwoo shows his affection,” your brother laughs. 

“By the greasiest overacted flirting?”

“Basically. If you saw beyond his overdone fuckboy persona you would see he’s actually really nice. He’s just playing it up in front of you, because he wants your reaction and attention,” smiles your brother. He seems to find this whole situation amusing, and this annoys you even more. 

“I find it really hard to believe it,” you frown. “But okay, he can come, but it’s your responsibility to keep him on the leash, understood?” 

“Sure thing, sis,” he shoots you finger guns. “Gotta run to school, see ya!”

“Bye..” you sigh. You really, really love your brother, but when you agreed for him to move into your spare bedroom to save up on his university costs, this is not how you imagined it. You did not expect to sign up for a 2 in 1 package, that is your brother and his annoying raccoon of a best friend, that is now the bane of your existence. The worst thing is, that Sunwoo is not even doing anything actually bad, he’s just being annoying and you never know how to react to his teasing. 

You hold up one last sock, and it’s without the pair. Seems like a deja vu, that something is missing. Great, lately it seems that the laundry machine is taking way too many sacrifices.

~~~

This is already a long day and it seems that it will never end. You left for work and now you’re sitting there, mindlessly typing on your computer and pretending to work. You want to go home so badly, but you’re not even looking forward to that much now, that you’ll have a visitor. 

I’ll just get food and stay in my bedroom, you think. But usually, that doesn’t deter Sunwoo from going to bother you under the pretense of “saying hi”. He’d just knock once and open the door without waiting for a reply, as if everything belonged to him. Maybe I should just lock the door.

DING! Your thoughts get interrupted by your phone announcing you just got a message. DING DING!

bro

>hey sis

>btw

>i need to stay late in school because something came up

>so i just told sunwoo the door code and he’ll let himself in

>just so that you’re not surprised he’s already there

>gotta go, love you byeee

>also dont kill him pls lol

you

>oh for fuck’s sake

You groan. This can’t be real. 

~~~

Ugh, finally home. You angrily punch the door code and wait for the door to unlock. Immediately you kick off your shoes, fling a laptop bag away and mentally brace for greeting the awaited intruder that should be already there. 

You march into the living room, already pre-pissed off but - there is no one there. No one laying on the couch in sneakers, spilling crumbs of your snacks between the seats. No one playing the console, yelling at the game. No one drinking a beer, putting it on the table without a coaster and loudly burping. Suspicious.

Maybe he bailed, you think and your mood is already getting brighter. So you just decide to go to your room to chill. You open the door and - 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” you shriek. You’re standing in the doorway, stunned, looking at Sunwoo, who’s frozen like a deer in the headlights. As he should be, since he’s absolutely not supposed to be in your room, the one single place in your apartment he’s banished from. 

And what he’s totally absolutely not supposed to be, is standing over your opened laundry hamper, with half of its content thrown outside of it. 

“N-nothing,” he stutters and awkwardly steps away from the little mess of clothes. Interesting. This is the first time you’ve seen Sunwoo without his confidence and cockiness. His face is getting red and he’s looking genuinely nervous. 

“Nothing my ass. What are you doing in my room?” you push. 

“Nothing, really, I was not doing anything,” he anxiously shakes his head and takes a step back. You suddenly catch a glimpse of something familiar. 

“What’s in your hand?” you ask, but before he can even try denying having anything, you step forward and snatch the item he’s squeezing in his sweaty palm. You immediately recognize it. 

“Kim Sunwoo.” you growl threateningly. 

“Y-yes?” 

“Kim Sunwoo. So not only you impose all the time, not only you steal my food and make a mess. You even dare to go to my room? And steal my fucking panties?? AND THEN LIE ABOUT IT?” you’re furious. 

“I-i am really sorry, Y/N, please don’t kill me! Or-, or, please don’t tell Y/B/N about it,” he pleads, with big eyes and face red from embarrassment. This is not how you usually see him and you’re finding out that you’re quite liking it. He’s actually kinda cute when he looks all helpless and caught off guard. Your anger is quickly getting replaced by mischief and you decide in a split second that you’re going to have fun with it. 

“Why shouldn’t I?” you raise your eyebrow. “Why shouldn’t I tell my brother that I caught his best friend stealing my panties? What are you even stealing them for?” You have a hunch, but it will be more fun to pry this out of him. 

“I…I just…I just wanted them..” he takes a step back. You take one step forward. 

“Why?” 

“Because…” Sunwoo looks like all he wants is for the ground to open and to swallow him whole so he doesn't have to be confronted. “...because they smell of you..” he whispers. He has nowhere to step back to, his back is touching your dresser.  

You’re so close to him your chest is barely touching him. You can feel his fast breathing and heart pounding. He’s much taller than you, but you are the one in charge in this situation and you’re almost drunk off the feeling. Especially, since it’s Kim Sunwoo, the bane of your existence, for the past few months. 

“So you’re really a pervert, aren’t you?” 

“N-no I swear I’m not!” he rushes to deny, but you can just somehow tell it’s not quite like that.

“I can feel your boner. Kim Sunwoo, you even like this, don’t you? Do you find it hot that you’ve been busted?” you accuse him. “Oh geez, my brother will be really devastated to hear that his best friend not only is a pervert, but also gets off on it.”

“Y/N, please, don’t tell him, I- I will do whatever you want! I will behave from now on, I swear!” he pleads. “I’ll return all of the other ones too, I promise!” 

“Other ones?” you’re in disbelief. You probably shouldn’t feel this way, but you’re finding it really hot that this pest which kept annoying you for a long time, is secretly so attracted to you that he resolved to steal your panties to sniff and masturbate to. It’s so disgusting and yet you’re getting wet at the mere mental image of Sunwoo holding your used panties to his face while jerking off frantically. 

“So here’s the deal,” you start. “In the exchange for my silence, you’ll do whatever I want for three months, okay?” 

“Okay, okay, deal, thank you,” he nods desperately. He’s looking all pathetic, with a red face, almost watering eyes and with a boner tenting his pants. You’re so wet and it gives you the worst idea.

“We can start now,” you step away from him and lie down on your bed, bending your legs at the knees, feet at the edge of the bed, your skirt falling back, exposing your legs and underwear. 

Sunwoo looks frozen.

“Come here,” you scoff and he snaps out of it and rushes to you. He kneels on the ground in front of your bed and hesitantly reaches out, but it’s like he’s not actually sure if he can touch you. 

You roll your eyes and pull off your panties yourself. “What are you waiting for? A written invitation?” 

“Sorry, sorry,” he hurries with an apology and puts his face between your legs immediately. He starts eating you out eagerly, whispering “Thank you, thank you”. 

He’s surprisingly not bad at it. He doesn’t seem to be too experienced, but what he lacks in experience, makes up for in enthusiasm. It’s almost like he’s making out with your pussy. 

He’s slowly licking over your folds, gently sucking on your clit, his tongue is hot, wet and feels so good. He’s slowly building up the intensity and it feels so good, you can’t help but moan a little, even though you’re really trying not to. 

Sunwoo looks like he’s enjoying himself too, with one of his hands rubbing over his clothed cock, and you have half a mind to mock him for it, if only making a coherent sentence wouldn't be so difficult right now. 

You’re getting close, with his tongue flicking over your clit, but you decide you don’t want to come like that. You grab him by his hair and tear his head away from your pussy. He whines about it and makes an attempt to get back to licking you, but you’re holding him too firmly. He must be in pain, but he doesn’t seem to care about that. 

“Come up and fuck me, before I kick you out,” you let his hair go. He seems surprised, but not wanting to anger you further, he quickly takes off his pants and underwear, while you move up higher on the bed. He joins you on the bed and you’re not wasting time, grabbing his hard cock and pulling him close to you. He whimpers in pain, but complies immediately and pushes inside your pussy. He’s hovering on top of you and it seems like he’s not daring to move yet. Actually, his face is getting closer and all of the alarms in your head start ringing. 

Oh shit, you wonder, he wants to kiss me. Your hand quickly flies up and you grab him by his jaw to stop him. You blindly pat with your other hand on the bed quickly, until you find what you’re looking for - your discarded panties. You ball them up and stuff them into his mouth. 

“Don’t get stupid ideas, Sunwoo,” you say. “If you want more of the taste, this is the only thing you’re going to get now.” you warn him and to get him to move you slightly kick him with your heel. 

He gets the hint and starts fucking you immediately, already with a fast tempo. It’s clear neither of you is going to last long. But you have to admit he feels really good. It’s just a passing thought, as you are staring at his blushed face, with your panties stuffed into his mouth and his eyes glossy, but you already know you’re going to make the most out of this “deal”. The thought of having Sunwoo as your plaything for three months is so arousing, that it’s what gets you to come, while he’s fucking into you.

Your squirming and moaning is so strong, you almost throw him off yourself, but he has enough presence of mind to hold you tightly, while he fucks into you fast and hard. Not before long he’s cumming into you, eyes close and whimpering. You can feel his cock pulsate in you and you squeeze him closer to you with your legs, so you can feel it even better. 

He spits out the panties and snuggles a little into your neck as he’s catching his breath and you graciously give him a few seconds of this before you’re kicking him off you. 

You’re both a mess - half-undressed, sweaty and disheveled. You throw him his clothes. “Put it back on.” He does and just awkwardly stands, obviously not sure what to do now. 

“We’re done here…for now. You should go to the living room to wait for my brother and I really hope I won’t see or hear you anymore tonight, so you better behave. And if I catch you in my room again, the deal is off and I’m telling everything, understood?” you threaten. 

He nods and hesitantly goes to leave. He’s actually really cute, when he’s all obedient, you wonder. It melts your heart a tiny bit. You probably shouldn’t like it so much. 

“Hey Sunwoo?” you call after him. He turns back. 

“Y-Yes?” 

“You forgot something,” you smirk and throw your panties at him. He catches them and looks at you, confused. 

“Put them into good use, until I see you next time, would you?” 

He looks completely embarrassed, but nonetheless he stuffs the panties into his pocket and literally runs out of your room, while you laugh at him. 

Best deal of my life, you think and head to the shower. 

[bloodyinkandquill]

Follower Sword x Reader

ok i definitely need to check the wiki for him, i must go now my people need me/ref

ok so originally this was egobworder x reader but i just could not fulfill their request because i didn’t know what to write for him, but they reached out to me and we decided on follower sword instead! alright let’s do this

- You were never a huge follower of Illumina, that isn’t to say you didn’t worship him but you didn’t go as far as some of his followers, they could be… a bit much to say the least, so when you ended up with one of his most devoted followers, who had been blessed by his magic, that was a surprise

- Sword is very awkward about anything and everything to do with relationships, he was worried to hold hands because it might be sinful you just gave him a gentle whack and grabbed his hand, he blushed but didn’t pull away, eventually he got confident enough about it to initiate the hand holding, he’s very formal about it though, you just smirk at his old way of speaking and hold his hand, gods forbid you ask to kiss for the first time

- His wings are so pretty, they almost have a purple aura around them, he doesn’t like them being touched however, eventually he let you touch them, they felt like silk on your hands, you were very gentle but having you touch them made him melt, eventually you helped him preen them, he turned to butter under you, thankful since he couldn’t fully preen himself, you watch videos on birds to understand how to do it better, and make yourself blush over a certain fact

- You know him being such a devoted follower that you came second, most of the time first place isn’t there but anytime he is or has some important event around him Sword puts him in the forefront of his mind, after all he got chosen by the deity, you understood but did wish he would be a little less formal about it, you never made a thing over it though

- Sword gives you sweet nicknames, his lilac, his orchid, dove, they’re so pretty and make you smile, even if he says them while speaking like it’s the 1800s, you never mind his way of speaking, even if it was a little hard to understand at first

- He gives you a special charm he made himself, he said it will give you protection and good luck, it’s so sweet and you keep it with you at all times, you can see him smile a bit every time he sees you with it, maybe around your neck or in your pocket, you end up getting the habit of fidgeting it when you’re nervous, or just need something to play with to pass the time, if you haven’t seen him in a few days you look at it and think of him, maybe kiss it softly and smile at it with flushed cheeks

- He’s not huge on touch, but he will touch you sometimes, even if he blushes like crazy and gets all embarrassed over it, whispering ‘forgive me for this sinful act’ and you’re like ‘bro we are holding hands I don’t think Illumina cares’ but he still does it, you roll your eyes and kiss his cheek, he blushes heavily but you can tell he likes it by his small smile

- He’s also not that into dates, he prefers just to spend time in your presence, his love language is likely quality time, even if it’s parallel play* it makes him feel so loved, and so you just hang out near him with a smile

hope these were good! i kept writing words wrong because i’m in my russian class and so focused on the lesson because it’s ok russian case, the bane of my existence

* (the act of doing two separate things, with each other, for instance one person is on their phone the other drawing, but you still feel loved, it’s more commonly a love language in neurodivergent people)

[artsyjedi]

A Moment | Mick Schumacher x Reader

summary: what’s going on in Mick’s mind and you meet a little of his world.

author’s note: i found this written in a old notebook and decided to rewrite. there’s no beginning or end, it’s truly just a piece of moment between you too. english isn’t my first language, so please be nice!

warnings: none

Mick Schumacher was something.

He had that smile that could sweep you off your feet. His voice was soft and he loved to show how much he loves you whenever he can. He was a private person, always leaving more questions than answers to the curious ones.

He was your boyfriend. And he could easily be the love of your life.

“Are you coming today?” He asked you, his voice muffled by the shirt he was putting on.

“You want me to?” You raised your voice for him to hear you from the bathroom.

Mick doesn't often invite you to the races. In fact, he doesn’t often invite you to anything that requires any sort of public or social gathering that goes beyond your families. At first, right at the beginning of the relationship, your friends were skeptical of it, trying to open your eyes on how weird it was that your boyfriend never seemed interested in taking you anywhere people could see that he had a girlfriend.

You never gave much thought to it. You trust Mick. You had already noticed how uncomfortable he can get around too many people, or how he looked annoyed with some questions from the journalists or even fans.

“Of course” he made his way towards you, hugging your waist from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder. Ocean blue eyes meeting yours through the mirror.

You tried, but the excitement smile appeared on your face when you saw he truly meant it, “Give me five minutes”

He smiled at your reaction, spinning you to face him. His hands ran through your hair.

“Don’t worry, we have more than five minutes” he gave you forehead a quick kiss.

“Wait, what am I gonna wear?”

“Anything you want, ich liebe dich so wie du bist. You can wear pajamas and would still look beautiful”

Mick smiled and left you alone to get ready. He lied down on bed, following each one of your movements. He found amusing how you tried to do everything at once, mumbling to yourself a full conversation.

He loved these little things about you.

Sometimes, Mick could be found wondering if he was enough for you. When he mentioned this insecurity to his friends, they said he was going crazy, you’re Mick Schumacher, how could you not be enough? they said as if it was clear. As if he, being who he was, meant something.

Then, when alone, trapped inside of his mind (which he knows is always a dangerous thing), he can’t help to think that’s the problem of it all. That if he had a different last name, a different story, things would be easier.

He knows how it’s like to be harassed by the media, treated like a machine or a piece of meat on display for the vultures to eat. Mick grew up like that, having to learn how to talk, walk and act. All the eyes were on him and his family, even before his father’s accident.

Mick wondered if he was selfish by pulling you into his mess. Everyone on his life faced all the bad things a public person, or being related to one, can face: cars chasing them, people camping in front of their house trying to find something to publish about, to create rumors, get information on his private life, on his dad.

Just the thought of something occurring to you was enough to send a shiver down his spine.

“Mick?” you snapped your fingers in front of his face, sitting beside him and caressing his leg. “You’re ok?”

“Just thinking”

“A penny for your thoughts?”

“Not that important” he pulled you to a tight hug.

“You think I look good?”

“I think you look like the bane of my existence and object of my desires” he dramatized, winning a genuine laugh.

“I should never have watched Bridgerton with you” you shook your head and got up, adjusting your outfit. “Now let’s go, big boy! Your team has a race to win!”

“Yes, ma’am!” he pretended to salute you.

The paddock was… energetic, to say at least. You knew that there were gonna be hundreds of people but you never actually managed to get a hold of how many. Part of you were glad Mick hadn't left your side and always kept touching you somewhere, making his presence known. When he went to give some interviews, he had you at his eyesight.

Questions about you popped up now and there, the more respectful ones didn’t ask anything personal and only said they were happy for us. Mick answered everything like he was taught to: answer without exactly answering. But anyone could see the happiness and passion on his face.

Mick introduced you to everyone and you thought how funny and sweet it was that the older ones acted more protectively, like older brothers. And when you got to the Mereces garage, Lewis stole you faster than Mick could notice. He and George were side by side, showing everything to you while your boyfriend took the opportunity to discuss something with the mechanics.

“And Toto and Susie are like his race week mom and dad, when Corinna isn’t here. Gina becomes a little sister too” George explained. You were loving every second of it. For the first time in months, you were completely part of Mick’s world.

“Mick can be very private, we didn’t actually think he would bring you” Lewis admitted, closing half of his jumpsuit and leaving it hanging on his waist.

“I was surprised too, believe me” You turned around to see Mick, unintentionally mimicking his serious frown face. You smiled. God, you truly loved him.

George and Lewis shared a known and amused glance.

A few weeks prior, they found out Mick was in a serious relationship and annoyed the younger one until he opened his mouth and told them everything. Of course George shared it with Carmen. Ocon also started to pick on him on why he hadn't told them anything. And Mick was honest in his answer: he was afraid. It was understandable, everyone has been in that position, sharing the same fears - and they knew it could be trickier to Mick due to his personal reasons.

“He wants to protect you” George smiled “That’s why he doesn’t show you off”

“That and because he’s afraid you’ll notice he’s not that big of a deal” Lewis said playfully and louder for Mick to hear.

“Yeah, I figured” you shrugged. “Not noticing he’s not a big deal, but the protection thing. He worries too much sometimes”

The other two drivers adjusted their posture when noticing their reserve driver was approaching them.

“So… Do you have any siblings or cousins who are as beautiful and nice as you for this guy?” George pointed towards Lewis, who let out a loud and surprised gasp.

“None that are single, sorry Lewis” you laughed, feeling Mick’s arm around your shoulder. You hugged his waist, pulling him closer to your side.

“I’m not a jealous person, so everything should be fine”

“Oh God, shut up” George rolled his eyes and said his goodbyes. Lewis did the same, going to get properly ready.

You could still hear the two discussing something.

“You have a great family here” you comment, looking up to your boyfriend.

“And now you are part of it, so it got a thousand times better” he kissed you.

“You know that I love you, right?”

“But?”

“But now I see how everyone falls for Lewis, like… Wow” you laughed and so did he, remembering a conversation you two had a few nights ago, about how Lewis was the most beautiful driver on the grid “I mean, I knew he was pretty but in person? He’s literally a god!”

“Do I need to be worried or something?” He was facing you now. You tried not to laugh at his attempt to pretend to be angry.

“I mean… do you look hot as he does with the jumpsuit hanging?”

“Wait for tonight and I'll show you, alright?” he whispered in your ear, hugging you closer.

“I think I’m gonna prefer you without it” you whispered back, biting his ear lobe quickly so no one could see it.

“Please, respect the elders!” Toto’s thick accent made you jump in surprise.

“And the single ones!” The social media added.

Mick Schumacher was more than something: he was everything. Your everything.

[storm-angel989]

Idea: Val's Teenage Daughter is at school and she is crushing some boy from her class (or something like that) and HE LIKES HER TOO and gives her a flower, and later on Val (or her uncle's, I don't know) found the flower hidden in her backpack, because she was embarrassed of telling them (or scared of their reaction, whatever your think is best)

Hi friend, 

Sure thing! Take a peek below! This was super cute to write!

<3 Mandy

Ninth grade dances were going to be the bane of my existence. 

As I looked around at the kids I had known most of my life, I tried to imagine dancing with any of them. I couldn’t really- I had known the others way too long, and had way too many memories stemming back to kindergarten for me to see any of them as anything other than a sibling like friendship. 

Except for one. 

He had moved to our school from the greed ring at the start of the school year. Quiet, handsome with dark hair and brown eyes. The first time I looked at him I felt a feeling in my belly I had never felt before. 

“Oh, someone has a crush,” my best friend teased me when I told her as we got ready for afterschool practice. 

“Yeah, I guess,” I replied as I pulled on my swimsuit. “But it doesn’t matter. Did you see the other girls in class? He literally can pick anyone and they’d swoon.”

My best friend rolled her eyes. “Yeah, not anyone. But come on, we’re going to be late and I don’t want to swim extra laps because you’re crushing, hard.”

As the weeks passed, I found myself seated next to him in more than one class. We exchanged a few words, passing remarks about assignments. At lunch he sat with the rest of the boys, and during study hall, he sat in the front row, his pencil constantly moving across blank paper. By mid September, curiosity finally got the better of me and I asked him what he was so busy working on.

Sketching was the answer. Pages and pages of drawings, detailed outlines of objects and characters from his favorite shows. 

“These are really good,” I praised him. 

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right, you’re just saying that.”

“No, really, I would know. My Aunt Velvette is an artist,” I told him. “She designs clothes, and she draws on literally everything. One time, she left her sketchbook in the office and she made my Uncle Vox turn around and go back to get it. We missed our flight. My dad was super pissed.”

That elicited a laugh. From that point on, he made it a point to sit by me, to share his sketches in between classes. And the more we talked, the bigger my crush grew. As the halloween dance grew closer, I imagined that there was one way I was going- and that was as his date. 

Two weeks before the dance, he presented me with a red rose. Standing next to my locker at the end of the day, I flushed bright red. Was this really happening? 

“I get it if you think dances are lame, but you didn’t say you had a date, so I was wondering if you’d be mine?” He asked. “Or if you do think its lame, we can go get pizza or something instead?”

“How about the dance and then pizza?” I suggested as I took the rose from him. 

“It’s a date,” he agreed. 

Joy overflowed from my chest. The bell rang and we both took off towards our respective rides- him to his bus, and mine to the limo. I slid into the seat, staring at the ruby red petals. I had a date. Not only a date, but the date! 

“Did you have a good day?” The driver asked.

My stomach dropped as realization flooded through me. I had a date. That meant I needed to tell my Dad. And my mom. And my Aunt Velvette and Uncle Vox. The notorious V’s. Hastily, I shoved the rose in my backpack and pulled out a book. 

“It was fine, thanks for asking,” I said as nonchalantly as I could. 

As soon as I got inside, I hurried up to my Uncle Vox’s office. As carefully as I could, I took out my homework, being sure to keep the rose hidden. Thankfully, my Uncle Vox was too busy working on his computer to say more than hello and I busied myself in my homework. As soon as I finished, I gave him a kiss on the cheek and rushed back downstairs. I knew I couldn’t risk them finding the flower. It would have to stay in my backpack until I could put it in my locker the next day at school. 

The more I thought about it, the more I cheered up. In fact, I wouldn’t even tell them I had a date to the dance! I would just say I was going with friends. This way, I could avoid all the questions I knew my family would have. In relief, I hung my backpack on the door. 

“So, did anything exciting happen today in school?” My Aunt Velvette asked over dinner.

I felt the color rise in my cheeks. Quickly, I shook my head and shoved a bite of chicken into my mouth. 

“Really?” my Dad asked.

I quickly lifted up my water glass and took a sip. I shook my head again.

“Oh, well. I got a note from your teacher today saying you have a test that needs to be signed? You’re not doing so well in math?” My father asked with his eyebrow raised. “Did you have Uncle Vox sign it?”

“I didn’t sign anything,” Uncle Vox said as he took a sip of water.

“Oh, I, uh, yeah, I forgot about that,” I said quickly. “I’m sorry, I just…it’s really hard this year.” Or the head that I stared at was super cute. 

Valentino exchanged a glance with Vox and Velvette. 

“I’ll take a look at it,” Vox said. “Not a problem, math gets a little more complex in high school, nothing I can’t walk you through.” He stood up and dropped his empty plate in the sink. 

I watched as he walked over towards where my backpack hung. 

“No, wait, Uncle Vox! I can get it out,” I said quickly as I jumped up. 

“Why? Something in here you don’t want me to see?” He teased as he dug around in my bag, “I promise you a few bad grades won’t kill your GPA. What color is your math book again? Yellow?” He paused, “now where did this come from?” 

I felt my heart sink and my cheeks flush as he pulled out the crumpled rose. Vox looked to Valentino and Velvette. 

“Okay, fine. I sort of got asked to the dance, I wasn’t gonna tell you, but I..” I blurted out. I turned to run and hide in my bedroom but Uncle Vox stepped in front of me.

“You have a date? To a dance? And you wern’t going to tell us?” Aunt Velvette exclaimed. “Reader!”

I buried my face in my hands as embarrassment rushed through me. 

“Why not?” My fathers calm voice broke through the silence. 

“Because, I didn’t want him to be interrogated and I really like him!” I exclaimed in frustration. “You three are the most powerful overlords in hell, it isn’t like he can just come to the door and pick me up like my friend’s dates do. You’re gonna want to meet him, and that alone is intimidating and I…it isn’t fair!” 

“You are taking this way too far,” my Aunt Velvette said. “And being super dramatic. Take a breath.”

“Yeah, we won’t threaten to kill him more than once,” my Uncle Vox said lightly.

“Don’t tease Vox,” Aunt Velvette retorted. “Babygirl, come sit next to me.” 

Slowly, with my gaze down, I sank into the chair next to Aunt Velvette. She wrapped her arm around my shoulder. 

“Hey, you can always come to me. We might be the overlords of hell, but I promise you I’ll keep the boys in line,” she told me with a sharp look to Valentino. “And I promise when he comes and picks you up, we’ll be on our best behavior. Right, boys? You don’t ever need to keep secrets from us. Got it?”

Slowly, I nodded. She released me and planted a kiss on the top of my head. 

“Good. Now, let’s talk about that math test…”

[anon-e-miss]

Reformation - 7

Though Prowl had been aroused enough to tell Jazz, valve interface would most likely be doable so long as they took it nice and easy, he did not think there was any rush to test it. After a two orn long heat, Prowl’s gestational tank was plenty full and his intimate circuitry well deserving of a break. In generally, Prowl deserved a break. He had left his leave open, as was a common thing with working Omegas, given there was no knowing when a heat would end. Some Omegas had short heats, only a few mega-cycles, some had cycles that lasted a quartex. Two orns was a reasonably long heat and even though Omega formatting with stood it well, the longer the heat, the more worn out an Omega was after. Jazz knew from experience Prowl worked hard, too hard to take especially good care of him. Now he had an idea of what might have pushed Prowl to fixated on work and nothing but. It must have been easier to live when he had the distraction of work. How sick had he felt every time Alphas tried to use their fields to make him cow? At least when Jazz had seen it happen, Prowl had never flinched. He was far stronger than he thought he was.

“This is not terrible,” Prowl said, showing Jazz how the armour look. The armour was made of a particularly flexible alloy, and styled with many plates. It flowed over his belly. More plates could be added, along with silicone panels, as his forge extended. Provided, the proto-spark did not reabsorb.

“Is it comfortable?” Jazz asked. Really, that was the only thing that mattered.

“It is,” Prowl replied. Jazz had ordered a new chestplate as well. It hugged his wells rather than compress them and was adjustable as well. He looked good. “I suppose I should see Ratchet.”

“Did ya want me to come with?” Jazz asked. “If ya wanna be alone, that’s yer right.”

“Morale support would be good.”

Jazz was happy with that answer. He did not want Prowl suffering due to the fact Jazz had sparked him up. It did not matter that it was a risk of heats and ruts and one he had been conscious of when he approached Prowl. It was probably his suspicious nature due to his line of work and upbringing, Jazz had not been keen to see just any random Alpha go off with such a valuable Autobot. When he had decided to approach Prowl, he had been prepared to be rejected and to take the rejection like a grown aft mech but he had also been ready to book the room next to where Prowl ended up and to make sure the Alpha that took him was not some Alpha spy. Knowing what he did not, the idea of Prowl being taken prisoner was considerably more horrific. It would be horrifying for any Omega, everyone knew what would happen to a captive Omega, but for Prowl… on some level it would be that much worse.

“I know you took an open leave so I can guess why you’ve come for an examine,” Ratchet said when the treatment door closed. “Just why is this bane of my existence here?”

“Love ya too Ratch,” Jazz replied.

“He saw me through my heat,” Prowl replied. “He heard my spark ignite but I don’t recall feeling anything.”

“I generally trust a Polyhexian’s audio horns,” Ratchet said. “Especially ones as trained for snooping as Jazz’s.”

“I thought the same,” Prowl sighed. 

“Lie down on the berth and I’ll do a scan,” Ratchet directed. “The armour is new.”

“Jazz ordered it,” Prowl replied. “The armour I was wearing pinched my protoform.”

“Good choice,” Ratchet said.

“Ori suggested it,” Jazz replied.

Ratchet opened a holo-emitter and took out a small wand. He ran it over Prowl’s spark. Given the two orns of overloads, Prowl’s spark was swollen and full of excess energy. The scanner documented every reading, noted that the increased depth of Prowl’s spark’s corona was within normal range for an Omega freshly out of heat. Everything was normal. The temperature was elevated but stabilizing and the rate of its pulses was normal as well. It was good, if Prowl’s spark had absorbed the protospark, that was fine, but it was important to observe an Omega’s spark regardless whether you thought they had taken or remained open, there were sometimes complications with an Omega’s spark that needed a medics intervention.

“Look here,” Ratchet said. Jazz saw Prowl tense his jaw before he also turned his helm to the screen.

***

“Is that normal?” Jazz asked. The protospark was oblong, instead of spherical and it looked dense in weird spots.

“It’s splitting,” Ratchet replied. 

“Oh wow,” Jazz stared.

“Twins…” Prowl whispered.

“Sometimes in splitting, one or both will reabsorb. It’s a vulnerable time for any proto-spark but proper splitting takes additional energy and proto-sparks don’t always have it in them.”

“Is there something I, or we should do?” Prowl asked.

“Overload is about the only thing you can do,” Ratchet replied. “No merging. It can confuse them.”

“Can I even carry twins?” Prowl asked and he blanched when he realized he had spoken it out loud.

“Twin carryings are a bit riskier than singletons but only by a small percentage,” Ratchet replied. “There’s no reason for me to believe you’ll have any trouble.”

“I am not a natural Omega,” Prowl replied. Ratchet tensed.

“That is not on your medical records,” he replied.

“I did not want anyone to know,” Prowl said. “Mecha that knew, my fellow enforcers, they treated me as something even worse than an Omega.”

“I don’t gossip about patients,” Ratchet assured him. “I think if I did I’d have Jazz and Punch both after my helm. And, sorry Jazz, I think your originator scares me more.”

“Fair take,” Jazz replied with good humour. There was no doubt in Prowl’s processor that he would be dangerous if he  thought someone had wronged Prowl.

“Your physiology is no different than a natural Omega’s,” Ratchet told him. 

“My pelvis was broken before the reformation was complete,” Prowl explained. “I do not know if it was reconfigured correctly.”

“Let me do some scans,” Ratchet said and he did a detailed scan of Prowl’s pelvic girdle. When it was done, Prowl’s skeletal structure was displayed on the emitter, along with his various components. “I can see the connections between your valve and gestational tank are normal. So is the connection between your gestational tank and forge. The channel between your spark and forge is straight and wide, which is ideal and your pelvis, though it is thicker where it was broken, is well shaped. Every thing looks exactly as I would want it to.”

“Thank you,” Prowl replied.

“Take another orn off,” Ratchet said. “I want to see you again in an orn to see how to split went and I want you to take it easy.”

“Is that really necessary?” Prowl asked. “I prefer to work than to malinger.”

“Necessary is debatable in circles,” Ratchet replied. “Alpha medics might have you back in the fields picking talc but I know better than them. Letting your code settle before you are surrounded by them is ideal.”

“I understand.”

Twins. Holy Primus. 

“Jazz?” He asked.

“My place or yours?” Jazz asked.

“For… oh… you intend to nurse me,” Prowl said.

“I intend to take responsibility,” Jazz replied.

“As you should,” Ratchet interjected. “Go with Jazz to his hab. I know what yours looks like. His at least won’t look like a prison cell.”

[fiddles-ifs]

[ID: A banner-style graphic featuring a coyote's open mouth on a dark black background. Orange all-caps text near the bottom of the image reads: "happy birthday Greenwarden." /end ID]

Happy birthday to my firstborn problem!! I'm trying really hard to not think about how long it's actually been, but to celebrate Greenwarden being mysteriously old I'm posting a former Patreon snippet! I'm also announcing that 1) I quit me day job, and 2) I'm going to be compiling a bunch of Greenwarden shorts that would have gone up on Patreon if I had kept it up. More on that to come when I get all my ducks in a line.

GRAVEROBBING AND NECROMANCY FOR DUMMIES

Marianna & Tracker. 16+. Grimdark Fantasy AU. Scofiddle Pepper Rating: Bell Pepper.

Content Warnings: Blood, minor wounds, implied mind-control, mentions of death.

Mausoleums always have a certain smell — mold, mildew, cracking damp stone. The decay of rock and mortar, but never flesh. The sarcophagi are tightly sealed with both wards and wax, partially to keep the smell at bay. No air, nor Light, nor hands will ever creep inside them. The Silent Mercies do their grim work and do it well, keeping them locked up tight. Then they leave — that's the extent of their dues to the dead.

They can count themselves lucky. Corpses don't exactly make great company. Particularly when some of them are itching to come back.

You can't help but feel like there are eyes on you, your torch cutting through the dark, damp guts of the tomb. An intrusion. Indigestion. The violent, flickering orange light makes the shadows greasy. You'd use a magelight, but you're already dancing on the razor-thin line between bravery and stupidity; you don't want to risk waking something. Someone. 

They were people once, allegedly, but you know what pride morphs people into.

Particularly powerful necromancers resist even the cleansing fire of holy Light, their sentience existing in each molecule of ash, slowly piecing themself back together with sheer will and hate. It may take hundreds — maybe thousands — of years, but eventually they will come back. So, the Temple does what it can. The liches are bound, still conscious, and placed in a sarcophagus. The sarcophagus is sealed — with prayer, with wax, with chains and locks both physical and magical — and a mausoleum built around it. The Silent Mercies make their rounds indefinitely, strengthening the wards and installing ever more complex locks. Hundreds of years turn into thousands.

The hopeful end result is a stark raving mad lich warlock that will, if all goes well, blissfully prefer the judgment of the Light before they suffer one more second of silent, unmoving, stagnant solitude. Time and again the methods of the Temple are proven effective. Terrifying, and effective. Most choose to vacate their own bodies than live in the dark for an undetermined amount of time. Unable to move. Unable to see. Slowly withering away, mummifying, rotting in your own skin. Whatever you’re going to find will not be human anymore – if it was ever human in the first place.

You cross the dusty, time-ravaged stone floor to the sarcophagus at the far end of the room. It's a short walk. Mausoleums are traditionally small, most especially the ones outside of temples, reserved for the vilest of the old guard, the lichkings who dared to try and defy death. Beings that rejected humanity, even rejected immolation, and should not under any circumstances be within spitting distance of a residential area.

Zoning laws: the bane of all undead tyrants. 

There's only one — which is nerve-wracking. It sits placidly on a raised dais set with small, half-melted candles, as if it’s waiting for you. A frozen slime trail of old wax meanders down the dais, caught in time. The thrum of magic tickles your fingertips. Brushing, like a cat would, up against your palms and skittering up your arms. Both a beckoning and a warning. Temptation.

It's wrong. A singular coffin is like finding a singular roach. Not wholly uncommon, but it sets your teeth on edge. 

It means one of two things: either the Temple managed to burn the master’s undead servants, even the stubborn ones. Or, worse – they’re afraid of what it might do with nearby corpses, even sealed away.

Your arms itch. You set your torch in a conveniently placed wall sconce and start working to get your mind off things.

The Temple of Light may not like to admit it, but what they do is magic. The prayers wielded by their paladins and clerics are incantations; the talismans created by their monks are charms, woven out of somewhat less mathematically inclined sigils. Magic. They hang and burn people for it in the streets, but it keeps their mausoleums tightly locked and their church in power.

Like any spell, a prayer can be broken with a little bit of reverse engineering. And you are very good at breaking things.

Maybe it's the uniqueness of your situation, or maybe you were just created with something special, but seeing the patterns in the weave and weft of magic comes second nature to you. Almost like a physical thing. A golden projection of arcane artistry.

It's a complicated spell; the Woodsman lived hundreds of years ago, long enough that even its very name was forgotten. The ward is centuries of layers, each one getting more and more complex as the Silent Mercies learned what incantations and motions were most effective at keeping the dead at bay. Trails of cold, melted wax dripping down time. A beautiful puzzle, just for you. You're always half-giddy, knowing that you may very well be the only one who can truly see the work, the history behind it, and that you might be the only one smart enough not just to break it to pieces, but coax it open.

Enough. You need to be fast.

Your forehead tenses, brows knit as you start reversing half a millennia of spellcraft. Delicately, slowly, you work out the motions, but in reverse. A twist of your hand, fingers curled, your arm moving in hypnotic diamonds and stars and spirals. Shapes designed to trap and contain. The fingers on your other hand open and close in the same fractal rhythm half a canto ahead, parsing out the right steps in the dance before you walk the dancefloor.  You're a conductor, ripping carefully crafted sheet music to shreds. The torch flickers.

There's no sound but your own short, elated huff of laughter when your hand slides into place at the ward's terminus. Deep in your hindbrain, a lock falls open with a satisfying click!

“Don't move.” 

Oh. That's a sword — you feel the tip of it caressing the nape of your neck. Slowly, carefully, you raise your hands to the sides of your head. You’re unarmed, and thankful you have gloves on.

“Turn around.” 

It’s not like you have room to argue.

You’re face-to-face with the tip of a shiny, well-polished blade. The silver coating makes your back teeth itch. You feel it vibrating, still coming down, hypersensitive to atomic changes in the air. You’re also face-to-chest with an extraordinarily tall cleric in their classic white and gold armor. An immediate, violent chill settles into your spine.

She’s hard-faced, hair cut bluntly short; she gives you the impression that her only expression is scowl. You prepare yourself to fire and run. It’ll set your research back months – maybe even a year – but you’ll live.

“Explain yourself.” You’re taken aback by that – you do a quick three-point look around the room and with your head and then spread your hands out a little further.

“I mean,” you say, “I think we both know I’m not supposed to be here.”

She doesn’t like that. Her hands choke a little tighter around her sword grip, leather squealing and platemail clicking as she shifts even deeper into a fighting stance. The sword gets a little closer to your face. A sweat breaks out between your shoulder blades.

“You’re a mage.”

“And you’re a cleric.” Impasse. Stand off. Stare down. Neither of you are willing to make the first move – maybe she’s hoping for a peaceful resolution. That you’ll go gracefully to the stake.

Fat chance, but something changes when she opens her mouth to reply.

You don’t like the look that falls over the cleric’s face – wide eyed, eyebrows to the hairline, mouth half-open. The blood leaving her face. The slight tremble in her steady hands. Fear.

Slowly, you twist your neck to look behind you.

The Woodsman’s coffin is open – a deep, yawning blackness slides out of it, liquid trapped inside thin film. On the coattails of the light-drinking sludge, a skeletal hand slides, damn near leisurely, out of the sarcophagus. What follows is a horror of ancient science. Half human, half… something else.

The antlers crown its head, but the head is canine, deep pinpoints of light inside empty sockets. Mummified skin knits across bone, thin as paper and patchy in places. Its teeth are bare to the world and yellowed with centuries. You watch the slick, black flesh form an amorphous mass beneath the skull, the arms nothing but bone haphazardly slapped onto an overgorged slug.

You were hoping it wasn’t in there – everything you’ve learned told you it had probably vacated its body years ago. There had been no activity for so long – no plague of nightmares, no major possessions, no strange activity in the flora and fauna  – and yet. The Woodsman slithers out of its unlocked tomb on a tide of melted void-flesh, rises on it until it has to bend, its shoulders scraping the ceiling of the mausoleum. It opens its mouth wide – skin and gristle clinging to its jaw in loose strings – and shrieks.

It’s shrill and piercing. You’re concussed, briefly, slapping your hands over your ears. You feel it – in your head. Scraping the inside of your skull, dark wordless whispers in your hindbrain. It knows you. It sees you. It’s in your head.

The cleric pushes you behind her, nearly to the door in the tiny mausoleum. You’re confused – still concussed. You don’t run.

“Go!” She shouts, swinging and hacking at the growing sea of rotting flesh. She swings too wide – the silver-steel scrapes against the walls of the mausoleum and sparks. The Woodsman just keeps growing. One by one, the candles and torch are swallowed whole. A deep, endless black. A tidal wave of nothing. 

You’re not about to argue. You turn tail and run out the door.

Two steps past the tomb, you stumble to a stop. A quick, hard-breathing glance behind you lets you know that the cleric already isn’t doing well. She’s fighting like an animal, punching what she can’t cut. Every slice is swallowed up by more reeling, lightless flesh. You still feel the Woodsman’s scritching little claws, furrows in your soft, pliant brain. Every iota of you recoils away from it. But that cleric – she let you go. 

You look down at your hands. The dark leather gloves, fingertips worn, the edges frayed.

Shaking, you slip them off your hands and leave them in the grass.

You grab the back of the cleric’s breastplate and yank her back into fresh air, swapping places in one smooth transition. You don’t know what she sees. If she notices the dark, blue-black corrupted skin of your hands or the bright runes squirming over your arms while you reach deep in yourself for something destructive. The bands around your wrists and throat mark you as a Thing – something broken loose. The Woodsman tugs at your tattered ghost leash with an interested spiritual hand, head cocked. Your programming demands you kneel for consumption, and your knees twitch before you get yourself back under control. You almost see a wink of recognition.

Little homunculus, the Woodsman whispers, curling around the base of your skull like a cat, so far from home.

“Shut up,” you say, and light up the room.

The Temple of Light has claimed the lichkings reject holy fire and immolation – they just haven’t tried something hot enough. Your fire is pure destruction, white with heat, blinding against the greasy black corruption sludge coating the walls. The Woodsman shrieks – pain, rage, confusion. Spikes of pain explode behind your eyes, and you burn them away too.

You wade through the muck, scorching it all to ash, beating the Woodsman back until it tries to seek refuge again in its sarcophagus, huddling in the pit. A child taking refuge in a cellar.  Curled at the back of a cell. Useless, useless.

You reach out with a flame-licked hand and clamp down hard on its muzzle.

“Shut up,” you hiss, and watch fire make cracks in its skull. It rakes your arms with bony claws, opening bloody gashes in your flesh. The blood sizzles and evaporates almost instantly. 

The Woodsman’s head explodes with a loud crack, bone shards ripping through the skin of your cheek. The rest of it goes limp in a heap. What’s left, you turn to coal dust, just in case. When you’re done, all that’s left of the Woodsman is a greasy soot stain coating the floor, walls, and ceiling. It’s a little gruesome. Reminds you uncomfortably of blood.

You coax the flames back in, lower and lower, wobbling with exhaustion, until a comfortable, warm dark swallows you. There’s light in it – ambient, soft reflections of the moon outside. The sarcophagus is a welcome resting spot, using its high lip to stay half-standing. Even then, you see little spots in your vision, the edges going blurry. A few drops of blood slide out of your nose and splatter on the ground. Your ears are ringing.

“You’ve got red on you.” You jump.

The cleric is standing there, wiping blood and slime off her face. One of her eyes is nearly glued shut, an open wound on her brow pouring red down her cheek and under her collar. You give her a once-over before you weakly tilt your chin up.

“So do you,” you say. She nods – holds out her hand.

“Marianna.”

Cautiously, you cross the floor on shaky legs to take it, and give her your name. The one you picked for yourself – it feels nice. To introduce yourself, for once. She almost crushes your hand. You’re comparatively weak.

“You saved my life, mage,” Marianna says. You grin with a mouthful of bloody teeth, an acknowledgement.

Then, your body finally gives up. You’re blissfully unconscious before you hit the ground.