#graphic description of a decaying body

[haeryna]

the purest shade of white ↪ okkotsu yuuta x reader ⸙͎｡˚⋆ 𓋼

summary: yuuta looks almost like an angel, you think to yourself grimly, as you shift on the balls of your feet. you haven't seen your best friend in a couple years now, not since he left for africa. too bad he's attempting to kill the kouhai that you're trying to protect.

tw: manga spoilers! anime watchers, do not read. mild angst but happy ending. starts at the beginning of ch. 139. naoya zenin is here and he is his classic asshole self. reader is in the same grade as yuuta, both in age and in terms of cursed energy. swearing because reader is a bad bitch. mildly suggestive. unironic use of "senpai" and "kouhai." slight descriptions of blood and injury, everyone is subjected to the author's attempts at writing dialogue and fight scenes. not proofread but at this point that shouldn't be a surprise. it is blatantly obvious that the writer also does not know how to end stories

notes: thank you for 100 new friends! :) poll is technically still up but i'm impatient and yuuta was winning by a pretty decent margin so here it is lol. divider by @/saradika-graphics!

"Yuuji!" you yelp, slicing the head off a curse with a clean stroke of your katana. Purple ichor splatters to the ground as you whirl, searching for the familiar head of pink hair. "Stay close to me!"

Behind you, Choso grunts with exertion, sending out another bolt of Piercing Blood. Panting, you weave through the curses, letting their corpses fall behind you. Yuuji, where is Yuuji?

As the last body falls, you can't but let out an exasperated huff at the sheepish grin on Yuuji's face. "Don't scare me like that," you chide. "How am I supposed to protect you if I can't even find you?" Yuuji opens his mouth to protest but you shake your head. "I made a promise," you tell him, pain rippling through your heart dully. Gojo-sensei was long gone, stolen away by one of the people he had loved most in the world. Grimacing, you sheathe your katana, mindful of the blood that stains your palms, as you try to ignore the memory of his words all those months ago.

If anything happens, I need you to protect Itadori Yuuji. I know they're going to pull something on him once I'm not there to back him up.

"Senpai, what should-"

Yuuji immediately tenses as your hand flies to the grip of your katana. "I smell a rat," you mutter, nose wrinkling as you turn to face Naoya Zenin, standing atop a bridge. He bares his teeth at you in semblance of a smile. "How perceptive as always," he mocks.

"Cut the bullshit," you snap, hand still resting on the pommel. "What do you want?"

"Fushiguro Megumi," is his rather bland response, and you shift your feet into the opening steps of Flowing River.

"What do you want with Fushiguro?" Yuuji yells, and the way Naoya's face twists makes you want to vomit.

"I think I'll have him die."

Cursed energy fills your body as you leap. Naoya's resounding cackle burns through your ears as you swing, barely grazing his shoulder. Before you can push forward off your feet, a heavy presence rests on your shoulders, locking you in place. All four of you freeze. Yuuji and Choso look horrified, and Naoya looks as though he's broken out into a cold sweat. But you know this feeling, feel it settle back into your body as if it never left.

Okkotsu Yuuta steps out from the building ledge, dark eyes unreadable. Your body sings. Yuuta, Yuuta, Yuuta! His hair has grown longer, bangs sweeping over his forehead, eyebags a little darker than they used to be. You can feel Rika's presence, swirling around you in a mass of death and decay. You're used to it. You've grown to crave it, even. His eyes meet yours, and for a split second, his facade cracks. Confusion, fear, and...regret?

Yuuta leaps, slamming into concrete and sending shockwaves deep into your bones. "Who's with Itadori?" God, even his voice is different, so different from the boy who said goodbye to you so long ago. You open your mouth to speak, but Choso beats you to it, brows furrowed.

"So you're Yuuji's executioner."

Blood turns to ice in your veins, and you can tell by the pained expression Yuuta has that you aren't hiding your emotions as well as you think you are. Naoya laughs. "I was going to tell you that, but you were being too emotional like the bitch you are."

"Who're you?"

Yuuta's voice is cold, but as Naoya babbles on, you can feel the horror settle thickly into your chest. Choso and Yuuji are talking behind you but it feels like you're underwater, you're sinking, drowning, and Yuuta must have come to a conclusion because all of a sudden he's surging forward-

You move before you can even think, steel clashing against steel. "Yuuji," you say, through gritted teeth. "Run."

A horrible grating noise fills the air as you let cursed energy flow through your body, shoving Yuuta's sword away from yourself. "I won't let you kill him," you hiss, body already shifting into Jagged Bolt. Yuuta's eyes flash as you surge forward, katana in hand.

"How would you describe my cursed technique?" you had asked Gojo, mindlessly swinging your feet. Gojo hums.

"Have you ever heard of Newton's Law's of Motion?"

You had crinkled your nose at that. "No?"

"An object in motion, stays in motion. Except you are the object. And your cursed energy is the motion." You remember how Gojo's lips curved slightly. "In other words, once you start, nobody can stop you."

You're crying, you realize with a start, as you cut a line into Yuuta's chest. Moisture seeps from your eyes as you twist your forearm into a parry, katanas sparking with each strike. Belatedly, you sense that Yuuji, your foolish, stupid, loyal kouhai has stayed, trading strikes with his fists between the precise movements of your blade. Your heart drops as Yuuta reaches for the ring on his finger.

No. No!

He twists it, and Rika appears behind you. Claws sink into your shoulder and you let out a cry of pain as she flips you into the ground.

"Be nice, Rika," Yuuta chides, as you hit the concrete. Blood spurts from your mouth as you choke, fingers clawing at the ground desperately for your katana. A piece of scaffolding is practically crushing your legs; instinctively, you know that if you try to break through it, you'll tear your limbs right off.

As Rika holds Yuuji up, you lunge desperately, uncaring of what you have to sacrifice. Inumaki's arm, the way half of Nobara's face had been practically ripped out of her skull, the remains of Nanami-san, the way that you were the one to find Maki's charred body-

I can't lose anyone else.

You scream as Yuuta pierces Yuuji's chest with his katana, cursed energy building in your legs as you prepare to shoot forward. Yuuta turns, eyes filled with an unidentifiable emotion as he sees you about to tear yourself in half just to reach Yuuji.

With a wave of his hand, Rika dives for you, and everything goes dark.

Yuuta had known you were special from the day he'd first met you. That spring, when Gojo-sensei had dropped him (and Rika) into a class of unsuspecting first years, he remembers that out of the four of them, you had moved so gracefully that he hadn't processed the katana in your hand until you'd pressed it against your throat.

"Gojo-sensei," you'd hissed. "What is this?"

While Maki, Inumaki, and Panda had been subsequently bruised up by Rika, you had dodged every single one of her movements until Rika had been (barely) called back by Yuuta.

"Another Special Grade," Gojo had hummed. "Just like you, hm?"

Special Grade?

What he hadn't realized then, he realized later; you weren't just special to him, but to the entire rest of the Jujutsu World as well. Special Grade Sorcerers were rare, Maki had told him. "You only have it because of Rika," she'd scoffed, "but she deserves it."

You quickly became one of his closest friends. You were fast enough to dodge Rika's ire, even laughing whenever she tried. You'd shown Yuuta kindness that he didn't think he deserved. You broke him out of his shell enough so that when he left for Africa, he felt as though he was standing with his own strength. His first katana had been the sister blade of your own, forged from the same metal by the same hands. The way your eyes had lit up when you saw it was a memory he cherished.

Somberly, Yuuta eyes the chains encasing your wrists and ankles, each decorated with the slips of protective paper that would nullify your cursed energy. Most sorcerers required only one. You required at least twenty.

He knows you, knows the way you always take the strawberry daifuku, leaving him the red bean ones even though he knows you prefer the red bean. He knows that you push yourself hard, harder than he's ever seen anyone work. But most of all, he knows your loyalty, how once your heart finally lets someone in, you'll never let them go.

Did you miss him like he missed you?

The chains are more for your own protection. He needs you to hear him out before you attempt to end his life for a second time. Yuuta knows now that Gojo must have asked you the same thing he'd asked him; to keep Itadori Yuji safe from the whims of the higher ups. Gojo, being the forgetful bastard he was, probably didn't alert you to the fact that he'd gone to Yuuta for help as well. Crouching, Yuuta eyes your body with a sad tilt of his lips. The injuries you'd sustained were immense, and it had taken quite a bit of his own cursed energy to reverse.

Will you forgive him?

You're asleep, breath hitching every so often. Yuuta wonders what you're dreaming of, before pushing the thought away. Tenderly, he cups your face in the palm of his hand, calloused fingers stroking your cheek.

"You need to wake up now," he murmurs, as your eyes flutter open, first in dazed confusion, before sharpening into panic.

"I'll miss you!" you'd cried, as you clung to Yuuta under the shade of the large oak. You were the first person he had told about his departure to Africa, and you took it hard. Yuuta had stood frozen as the first of your tears had dripped down your cheeks. It was the first time he'd seen you cry.

"I'll be back before you know it," he'd murmured, pressing a featherlight kiss to the top of your head. You'd looked up to him, eyes teary.

"Promise?"

"I promise," he'd said, interlocking his pinky with your own. A love like Yuuta's is a dangerous thing, you know, but in this moment you feel nothing but safe.

The first sensation you feel upon awakening is the dull ache in your (miraculously still attached) legs. The second is the warmth on your cheek. Yuuta is standing above you, hand gently resting against your face. Immediately you lunge forward, teeth bared. The rattle of chains stops you, and you swear. Of course he would have taken precautions. Yuuta looks almost hurt as you violently shake off his touch.

"Don't touch me, I swear to god I'm going to rip you apart."

Yuuta says your name sadly, but you're practically trembling with rage.

"He was just a kid, with the kind of power we wield, why the fuck would you listen to the higher ups?"

Yuuta echoes your name a bit more firmly, but you ignore him, tears building in your eyes.

"You're no better than the rest of them are you, you're just-"

"Senpai!"

Your heart stops as Yuuji pokes his head out from around the corner. They must have brought you back to Jujutsu Tech, you think distractedly. Just how long were you out?

"Yuuji!" you cry out, scanning his body for any injuries. He seems to be uninjured, but most importantly, he's alive. Tears fall down your cheeks. "Are you alright?"

Yuuji appears horrified by the sudden outburst as he hastily holds up his hands. "I'm fine, senpai, really, I'm sorry for worrying you. Okkotsu-san is actually on our side, I swear! It was a binding vow, that's why he had to actually kill me, but he did some really cool Reverse Technique shit and I'm all good now!"

Warily, you eye Yuuta, whose expression resembles that of a kicked puppy. "Okkotsu Yuuta," you say, voice hard. "Let me out of these chains right fucking now."

With a wave of his hand, the papers attached to the chains fall to the floor. Yuuta looks dejected as he looks away from you. "I'm so sor-"

Before he can finish you immediate tackle him into a hug, knocking the both of you into the floor as you bury your face into the soft slope of his neck. "You're such an idiot," you sob, unable to hide the rush of emotions going through you. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Tentatively, Yuuta wraps his arms around you, and you melt, pressing yourself closer to his body. "To be honest, I think Gojo-sensei is to blame. I think he forgot to mention to either of us that he asked us to do the exact same thing."

You let out a hiccupping laugh. "Of course he did. That forgetful asshole."

The sigh Yuuta lets out is shaky as he nuzzles the top of your head. "I'm so, so sorry," he tells you earnestly. "I must have scared you, and Rika's mad at me for making me hurt you like that. I think she likes you, even though she pretends not to."

You look up at him, really look at him, and see the look of adoration in his eyes as he stares back down at you. Thankfully Yuuji's escaped long ago, most likely understanding that you two would need privacy. "You came back," you whisper, and Yuuta's resulting smile makes your heart skip a beat.

"I promised you, didn't I?"

Before you can stop yourself, you pull Yuuta down for a searing kiss. He's so soft, and you nip at the plush of his bottom lip teasingly, pulling a whine from his throat. His large hands grip your hips, and in retaliation, you grab a fistful of his hair and tug. The breathy noise he makes goes straight between your thighs. You know he can feel your smile against his lips.

"I missed you," you breathe, pulling away. Yuuta looks dazed, lips kiss swollen, pupils so dilated that you can barely see the soft brown of his eyes.

"I love you," he blurts out, and your resulting laugh is airy as you press another chaste kiss to his lips.

"I've always loved you, Yuuta," you admit. "During Shibuya, I thought I wasn't going to make it. You were the only thing keeping me going."

The look in his eyes is fierce as he tugs you back into him, enveloping you in his arms. "You'll never have to worry about that again. You have my entire life. Where you go, I'll follow, and if I die, not even Death would be able to separate me from your side."

"Those sound a lot like wedding vows, don't you think?"

Yuuta's blush covers his entire face and you grin, pressing one last kiss to his lips. "Come on now. We have kids we need to protect."

As Yuuta leads you to where the others have convened, even under the dark circumstances you're in, the warmth of his hand clutching yours fills you with a giddiness you hadn't experienced in months. The sentiment is quickly dashed as soon as Maki opens her mouth.

"Fucking finally. Inumaki owes me 3,000 yen."

[blackenedsnow]

art the clown x a super suicidal reader?

riddles in red

WARNING: Graphic descriptions of self-harm, suicidal ideation, depictions of violence, gore, dark themes, unhealthy relationships, toxic affection.

PAIRING: Art the Clown x Suicidal! Reader

NOTE: Thanks for the request! I’m absolutely loving the creative freedom with this on! Stay safe, and remember this is purely fiction; if you're struggling, reach out for help. Enjoy!

SUMMARY: You're trapped in an endless cycle of self-harm and suicidal ideation, you find yourself inexplicably entangled with Art the Clown, whose existence brings a strange sense of comfort.

Your body is a canvas of fading bruises, healing wounds, and fresh cuts. Scars etched in your skin, carved by your own hands, tell the stories you can't say aloud. The pain brings clarity, a moment of reprieve from the chaos inside your mind – a moment where the world silences itself, and the only thing you hear is the rush of blood in your ears, the only thing you feel is the sting beneath the blade.

But lately, there's been another presence. Not the darkness in your head, but something – someone – that terrifies you more than your own destructive thoughts.

Art.

You don’t know when you first saw him. It was somewhere between one breakdown and another, between one failed attempt at escape from this world and the cruel joke that is still being here. He appeared, looming like a nightmarish figure from the deepest recesses of your subconscious. But he didn’t kill you. That was the weird part.

No, he just... watched. Smiled that grotesque, too-wide smile that stretches across his painted face, tilting his head in a way that says everything his silence doesn't. The first time you expected him to pull out one of his twisted tricks – a honk of a horn before plunging something sharp into your chest, ripping you apart for his own sadistic pleasure. But instead, he reached out with a gloved hand, fingers brushing against the bloodied cuts on your wrists, and you froze.

Art’s fascination wasn’t with violence in this moment. It was with you.

His cold, dark eyes, pits of inky nothingness, tracked every motion of the blade. You don’t know what disturbed you more: the fact that you let him stay or the fact that you weren’t scared of him. Not in the same way you should be. There was no fear of death, not anymore. There was only this strange, eerie comfort in his presence – in knowing that someone, even someone like him, saw you.

You once asked yourself: What’s worse than dying?

Now you know.

It’s living when you don’t want to. It’s dragging your feet through each day, heavy with the weight of a mind that’s been your worst enemy for as long as you can remember. It’s the numbness, the cold spreading through your bones like frost creeping across glass. And it's having someone – no, something – that embodies the very concept of death standing beside you, silent as a shadow, watching as you destroy yourself piece by piece.

But Art... God, he’s a riddle. A silent enigma wrapped in his black-and-white attire, his clownish garb juxtaposed against the violence he's capable of. You don’t know why he hasn’t killed you yet. He’s killed so many others, but not you.

Maybe it’s because he sees in you the kind of death that can’t be brought about by knives or guns or chainsaws. Maybe he sees someone already broken, already decaying from the inside out. Or maybe it’s because in some twisted, sick way, he loves you.

Love. What a joke. It’s never been something you understood. But when Art looks at you with those dead, hollow eyes, there’s something there. Not love in the way a human would feel it. No. This is something darker, more grotesque. It’s obsession, possession, fixation – a need to keep you close, to watch as you unravel further.

Art’s affection comes in small gestures. He’ll tilt his head as you press the blade against your skin, and he’s smiling behind that thick layer of face paint. Once, he handed you a knife, a gift of sorts, as if to say, “Here. This one’s sharper.”

You took it.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. His movements, his actions, speak volumes. The way his eyes linger on the red ribbons of blood trailing down your arm, the way he crouches beside you, close enough that you can feel the cold radiating off him, but he never touches. Not unless you let him. Not unless you want him to.

And you do. Sometimes, you let his gloved hands trace over the scars you’ve made, let his fingers curl around your wrist, a gentle but firm hold that tells you he’s in control – that he could break you if he wanted to.

But he never does.

He watches, a patient, twisted guardian of your own destruction. Sometimes, you imagine what it would feel like if he did decide to end it – to snap your neck with those disturbingly strong hands, to cut you open, spilling your insides onto the floor in a horrific display of artistry. But he never does.

Instead, he’s there, in the background of your life, a constant, silent presence. Watching. Always watching. And you don’t know why, but that’s enough. It’s enough that someone, even someone as monstrous as Art, cares enough to stay.

You don’t feel like a person anymore. You’re more a collection of bad habits, of scars and open wounds, of thoughts too heavy for any one person to carry. You don’t have friends. You don’t have family. You have Art. And maybe that’s enough.

The night he showed you his love was the night you came closest to dying. You were shaking, the blade poised above your wrist, fresh blood already pooling beneath you. Art was there, sitting on the floor beside you, mimicking your posture in that eerie, almost playful way of his.

You could feel his eyes on you, feel his anticipation. This was it. You were finally going to do it. You were finally going to end it.

But then, in a flash of movement faster than you could comprehend, he was on you. His hands wrapped around yours, taking the blade from your fingers with a gentleness you didn’t think he was capable of. His eyes bore into yours, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, you thought he was going to kill you himself.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he pressed his forehead to yours, a strange, tender gesture. You could feel his cold breath against your skin, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel alone.

Art the Clown, this inhuman, grotesque creature, had stopped you from killing yourself.

You don’t know why. You don’t know if you’ll ever know. But in that moment, you realized something.

You’re his.

He’s not keeping you alive because he wants to kill you himself. No. He’s keeping you alive because, in some twisted way, he needs you. Maybe he sees you as a project, something to mold and shape into his own image. Or maybe, just maybe, he cares.

It’s sick. It’s twisted. But in this cold, cruel world, You’ll take what you can get.

[crystallinestars]

Their reactions to your death

As it says on the tin, the HSR boys' reactions to your death. This is pure angst.

WARNING:

Contains descriptions of death (nothing too graphic, though)

Suicidal thoughts in Aventurine's part

Mentions of Aventurine's backstory

No happy endings, this is pure angst

Characters: Argenti, Aventurine, and Jing Yuan

🌹 Argenti

Argenti knew that taking you traveling with him was a dangerous endeavor. You had some combat experience as a Nameless, and he admired your determination to improve your fighting skills by frequently sparring with him. He warned you of the frequent dangers he faced as a Knight of Beauty in his pursuit of THEIR radiance, and despite his common sense telling him to let you go, neither his heart nor you were satisfied to sever the tender bond growing between you. Against his better judgment, Argenti caved to your pleas to join him on his journey.

At first, the days spent journeying with you were some of his happiest. The love blossoming in his chest filled his entire being, and he often swore to you that you must have been blessed by Idrila themselves because when he was with you, the entire universe glowed with radiant beauty. The world was more beautiful with you by his side, for that was how much of an impact your presence had on him.

Argenti soon came to regret his weak will for allowing you to come along on his perilous adventure. You were making a rest stop on a small planet when the Antimatter Legion invaded, set on destruction. Overwhelmed by enemy numbers, Argenti focused on protecting the citizens and trusted you to handle yourself. Though you were not on par with his strength, he saw you improve during your sparring sessions, and he wanted to believe in your capabilities.

When the battle was over and the dust settled, Argenti couldn’t find you. While calling your name, he forced his battered and bloodied body to move as he searched for you among the rubble. He soon found you, collapsed on the ground in a puddle of your own blood. Quickly rushing to your side, Argenti scooped you up into his arms to inspect your injuries. The gashes in your torso were deep—Argenti knew instantly they were fatal. He didn’t want to accept your death, but no matter how much he called your name, hoping you would magically come back to life and open your eyes, you remained still.

Argenti was no stranger to losing friends, as their knightly profession resulted in many of them dying. He still thought about his fallen comrades with an ache in his chest, unable to fully make peace with their passing. However, you were someone he cherished even more than his fallen friends. You were the first person he grew to love from the bottom of his heart, dare he say even more than his beloved Aeon of Beauty. You were the first person to instill such overwhelming joy and adoration in his being with your mere existence.

Gently taking hold of your hand, Argenti brought your palm to his cheek, his heart shattering at how cold your skin was. He remained like this for a long time, hunching over your body and cradling you close while holding your limp hand in his. He wept. Tears streamed down his handsome face, leaving behind wet trails among the dirt and blood smeared on his cheeks as he kissed the back of your hand the way he did so many times before, only this time would be the last. Argenti quietly apologized to you for not being there to protect you, for allowing you to join him on such a dangerous journey and lose your life because he wasn’t strong enough to resist his love for you.

The day you died, the beautiful universe as Argenti knew it, withered like a decaying rose. The things he once found beautiful were now rendered without that same brilliant splendor. Everything appeared bleak and ordinary. No matter how he tried, Argenti found it difficult to summon the love and appreciation he once had. It was as if you had taken that ability with you to the grave.

Worse yet, Argenti found his faith in Idrila shaken, leaving him questioning his devotion to the absent Aeon.

After all, how can beauty exist in a universe without you?

🃏 Aventurine

After he returned from a mission, Aventurine wanted to spend some quality time with you, so he took you to the local mall with the promise of buying you anything your pretty heart desired, no matter the price tag. Walking hand-in-hand, Aventurine and you were discussing which store to visit next when a man emerged from the crowd and stood in front of your pair. The man looked familiar to Aventurine, but before he had time to place the face to a name, the man drew a gun and aimed it right at Aventurine’s heart, screaming that Aventurine ruined his life and he would get revenge on him today.

The ensuing moments happened too quickly for Aventurine to react. The man pulled the trigger and a loud bang resounded through the shopping center, resulting in a cacophony of screams from the nearby crowd of shoppers. The bullet didn’t hit Aventurine, however. As if in slow motion, he watched you shield him from the assailant and intercept the bullet in his place.

His carefully crafted personal of smug confidence crumbled when you fell at his feet, replaced with rarely-seen panic as Aventurine saw red bloom at the center of your chest like an ugly rose. The terror of losing you overrode any other concern in his mind, and Aventurine barely spared a thought to the assassin, too preoccupied with stemming your bleeding with his jacket, not caring if it became ruined with blood. Somewhere in the background, he heard the man’s angry shouts as he was apprehended and carried away by security, but Aventurine couldn’t focus on that. All he had on his mind was ensuring you made it out alive.

He was so focused on stopping your bleeding, that the only thing that snapped him out of his panic was the sensation of your hand resting over his. Lifting his gaze to meet your pained one, Aventurine watched you mouth “I love you” before falling still moments later. Your eyes glazed over, staring through him into the distance, and Aventurine’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach.

Just five minutes ago he was happily holding hands with you, excited to indulge in a rare day off to spoil you, and how he looked down on your lifeless body cradled in his arms. You were gone and he will never get you back.

The ensuing days were a blur of police interrogations and IPC meetings, but Aventurine was glad to be busy. It was the only thing distracting him from his grief and guilt. It turned out that the assassin was a small company representative he screwed over a while ago for the sake of a mission, and the man wanted to kill Aventurine in revenge. A few of Aventurine’s colleagues said he was lucky to be alive, but that phrase made his stomach churn. Could it be considered luck if he lost you in the end? If so, then he doesn’t want to be lucky anymore.

When your funeral came, Aventurine almost didn’t attend. He couldn’t bear to face you with the knowledge that you gave up your life for his. That he stood here alive and well, while you lay lifeless in the grave because of him. But Topaz and Jade coaxed him out and he went, tuning out the entire procession or risk showing vulnerability.

After the hectic days wound down, the grief came in full force. Once upon a time, Aventurine found solitude as a saving grace after a long day of faking and scheming. Then you came along and wormed your way into his scarred heart, bathing him in a love and gentleness he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Sharing his home with you was an unfamiliar yet joyous experience, and he found comfort in knowing that you were waiting for him to return each day. However, now his home felt awfully empty and lonely without you, and the silence sometimes choked him. Your things were still lying where you left them before that horrid day, and Aventurine didn’t have the heart to move them, much less throw them away. After all, they held memories of your happy times together, proof that you once existed.

Insomnia became his companion. The grief and guilt weighed on him like a boulder and kept him awake late into the night, turning over possibilities of what he should have done so you would have survived. When his exhausted brain forced him to sleep, all he saw were nightmares. Some nights he dreamt of his mother and sister, and the fires and bloodshed that tore through their little encampment. Other nights he dreamt of being shackled and watching blood run down his fingers while a lifeless body lay at his feet, beaten beyond recognition. Sometimes, he dreamt about being on a date with you, hearing you say “I love you” and then watching you fall lifeless at his feet with a bullet wound in your chest.

Aventurine woke in a cold sweat every time. Usually, when he had nightmares, you were there to keep him company until he calmed down, but now, there was nothing but empty space where you should have been. He did not fall asleep afterward.

Your death weighed like a heavy boulder, suffocating him. It unearthed painful memories and reopened old wounds that never healed. Aventurine lost so much in his life: his family, people, planet, freedom, and now, the love of his life. Everything he treasured had been brutally taken from him, and the constant beatdown made it difficult to summon the will to go on. He might have pulled on a smile for his colleagues at the IPC, but in the solitude of his home, there were nights when he considered ending it all and joining you and his family in the afterlife. He probably would have gone through with those urges were it not for Topaz and Jade’s timely support. Their genuine concern for his well-being helped steer him away from such thoughts.

Having faced so much loss, Aventurine closed himself off from close relationships. He swore to never take another lover after you—he couldn’t bear to lose someone else again—but he does hold your memory close to his heart, much like he does with his family. He packed your things and stored them safely alongside his mother’s items, cherishing them as a memento of you.

Aventurine knows that one day he will reunite with you and his family. Maybe that day won’t come soon, but he finds comfort in knowing it will happen eventually. In the meantime, he resolved to push on and fulfill his goal of taking revenge against the IPC for the sake of everything they had so cruelly snatched from him. Just wait a little longer for him, alright? He will join you soon enough.

🦁 Jing Yuan

Having lived for several centuries, one would assume Jing Yuan had accumulated precious wisdom over the course of his long life. Though he remained humble, Jing Yuan liked to think so, too. Yet, entering a committed relationship with you, a short-life species, was not a wise decision at all. Compared to his long lifespan, your life was like a sparkler: beautifully bright but short-lived. Jing Yuan was fully aware that it would hurt him when he inevitably lost you, but love made people foolish, and he was no exception.

His long life and the loss of his beloved friends and mentor made him jaded, but being with you gave him that little spark of excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time. It felt good to come home to find you waiting for him, and it motivated him to finish his paperwork faster so he could hurry back to you. The lazy days of taking naps on your lap, going on strolls through Xianzhou, and drinking tea together were akin to a dream.

But as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. In what felt like a blink of an eye, you started showing signs of aging. Your skin developed new wrinkles and your vision worsened, but otherwise, you were still perfectly healthy. Nevertheless, the sight settled like a heavy blanket over Jing Yuan. It was a reminder that you were slowly but surely approaching the end of your life span. The realization weighed on his heart, turning his time with you bittersweet, but he resolved to make the most of your remaining time together.

After a few more decades, you developed health problems and were no longer as active as you used to be, so Jing Yuan paid for the best doctors on the Xianzhou to care for you, all with the hope of extending your life by just a few more years. Even one or two more would do.

Over the years, you took many couple photographs to capture the fun times but also to leave something for Jing Yuan to remember you by. He used to look upon them with fondness, but now as he browsed through the photos on his phone, his heart sank as he saw how you progressively aged with each new picture while he remained unchanged. Though he knew it was inevitable for your species, it still left a sour taste in his mouth.

A couple more decades passed by, and your figure changed even more. Your skin was wrinkled and your hair white, your vision was poor, and the aches and pains in your body prevented you from being active. Jing Yuan sometimes caught your melancholic gaze on him when you thought he wasn’t looking, and he knew his youthful appearance bothered you. You must have doubted whether he still loved you now that you lost your youthful beauty, but he did. No matter how much you changed, Jing Yuan’s love for you never waned, and he proved it to you by faithfully remaining by your side, showering you in compliments and affections the same way he did when he first fell in love with you.

Time marched on. Jing Yuan watched you slowly waste away in front of his eyes as you grew feeble with every passing year. Your time would come soon, and he would have to say goodbye to you. He was no stranger to goodbyes. He’s lost dear friends in the past, but the longing for his companions and the good times they shared together never quite left. He knew it would be the same with you because despite the short time you had been together, you had left a big impact on him. Capturing the heart of the Luofu General was no small feat, as he often told you with a playful smile. Rendering him practically kneeling at your bedside and grasping your hand with the fear of today being your last was no small feat either, though Jing Yuan never told you that part.

When your time was almost here, Jing Yuan spent all his free time at your bedside, desperately trying to get a few more moments with you. His laidback smile was ever present as he chatted with you and held your hand, but that mask faded when he felt your hand grow limp in his at long last. Though he was heartbroken to watch you go, he was glad that your death was a peaceful one, at least.

He did not cry for you. He had decades to prepare for your death, but your absence did leave a hole in his heart. He sorely missed the playful banter, cheerful laughter, and comfort you provided. Life returned to the same monotony it used to be prior to meeting you, but it felt incomplete without you. His house felt too silent, his bed was too big for him alone, and he still caught himself brewing an extra mug of tea out of habit.

Falling in love with a short-life species was not a wise decision, but despite the heartache Jing Yuan felt whenever he looked at photos of you, he knew he would make the mistake of loving you all over again if given the chance. It just hurt knowing he could no longer make new memories with you.

Maybe if he’s lucky, the mara won’t get him and he’ll get to keep these cherished memories of you and the High-Cloud Quintet until his last days. At least, he hopes such a small mercy can be granted to him.

[lefteagleblizzard]

ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲

Mike Munroe x male reader

Summary: In the eerie sanatorium halls, a Wendigo attack leaves you injured, pushing Mike's protective instincts into overdrive.

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. Mike and Jess are not together in this. Graphic description of injuries but not too deep. Angst. Happy ending. Heavy make out session.

You can consider this a part 2 of the fist fic i wrote for Mike but it can easily be read as a standalone. Thank you all so much for all the comments and likes on my first Mike Munroe story! Now I have an excuse to write more for him ☜(⌒▽⌒)☞

𝔅𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔶 𝔰𝔲𝔭𝔭𝔬𝔯𝔱

𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢'𝔰 𝔞 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔪

𝔗𝔴𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯

𝔄 𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢

𝔍𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔶 𝔞𝔱 𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥 Part 2 of it

Words counts: 4000

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The oppressive darkness of the sanatorium clung to every corner, the air thick with the stench of rot and decay. Your footsteps echoed faintly as you and Mike moved cautiously through the long, decaying hallway.

Mike was ahead, gritting his teeth as he wrestled with the stubborn door of the room that held a shotgun and ammunition inside. He was trying everything. Shouldering it, kickin it, using his weight to force it open, but it wouldn't budge. The door was rusted and seemed to be mocking his attempts to open it.

"Come on, you piece of shit," Mike growled under his breath, slamming his shoulder against the door again with a frustrated grunt. His breath came out in harsh puffs, fogging in the cold air.

You stood a few feet behind, your eyes flickered nervously around. Every distant creak or scrape set your nerves on edge. You couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching, lurking just beyond the reach of your flashlight.

A faint voice echoed from down the hallway. "Help... please... help me." It was Jessica's voice. Your heart skipped a beat, confusion and fear swirling inside you. Jessica? You thought she was dead.

"Mike, did you hear that?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, already taking a few hesitant steps toward the source of the sound.

Mike's eyes narrowed as he tried to focus on the task at hand. "What? No. I didn't- wait, what did you hear?" He glanced over his shoulder, but you were already moving down the hallway, drawn toward the voice that called out again, more desperate this time.

"Help me, please!" Jessica's voice cracked with pain, and your mind raced. You moved quicker, following the sound into a side room, your flashlight shaking in your trembling hand.

It couldn't be real. It wasn't possible. But the voice was so familiar, so desperate, that you couldn't stop yourself from moving toward it. Your legs seemed to act on their own, driven by a faint hope that somehow, Jessica had survived.

The voice came again, more desperate this time. "Help... please..."

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears as you moved cautiously into the room. The floor was littered with debris, broken furniture, shards of glass, and piles of crumbling wood. The walls were covered in mold, and the air smelled of damp rot.

"Jessica?" you whispered, your voice shaking slightly as you scanned the room. "Jess... where are you?"

The voice, once a call for help, turned into a twisted, distorted mimicry of Jessica's scream.

A figure dropped down from a broken window above. The Wendigo landed with a sickening thud, its bones pressing grotesquely against its pale skin.

The remnants of torn and dirty clothes still clung to its body, a reminder of the human it once was. Its face, a twisted mess of teeth and sinew, sniffed the air, its milky-white eyes darting around the room, searching for movement.

They're blind, they only see those who move.

The creature's head snapped to the left, its limbs twitching unnervingly as it started to replicate Jessica's voice again. "Help me. help..."

The mimicry was perfect, the voice identical to Jessica's, but there was something horribly wrong with the way it was spoken now that you heard it up close. It was hollow, empty, as though it was toying with the memory of the girl you had once known.

You didn't dare to move.

You didn't even breathe.

It was close now, inches from you, its breath hot and rancid against your skin. You could hear the crackle of its joints, the faint click of its jaws as they opened and closed, tasting the air.

Just when you thought the creature would tear you apart, the deafening blast of a shotgun shattered the tense silence. The Wendigo's body jerked violently as the shotgun's impact threw it against the wall with bone-shattering force. The creature let out a shriek, the noise echoing through the room.

"Don't you fucking dare touch him!" Mike's voice rang out, fierce and raw with emotion. He stood in the doorway, shotgun still smoking in his hands, eyes blazing with fury.

He was at your side instantly, his hand grabbing yours and he yanked you out of the room with a sense of urgency. "Run!" he commanded, and together, you bolted down the hallway, your heart pounding in your chest.

You could hear the Wendigos now, their guttural snarls and skittering movements echoing through the corridors.

"I swear, if you ever do something that stupid again, I'll-" Mike began, his voice tight with fear, but before he could finish, another Wendigo screech from behind you.

It was gaining on you both, its skeletal form moving unnervingly fast as it closed the distance. It leaped at Mike, its claws outstretched, aiming to tear him apart.

"Mike!" you screamed as the creature tackled him. Mike grunted as he used the weapon as a makeshift shield, blocking the Wendigo's swipes as they slashed toward his face. The Wendigo screeched, its jagged teeth gnashing together as it tried to claw its way through the weapon. Mike grunted, his muscles straining as he shoved the creature back, the shotgun rattling in his hands.

Its claws raked against the shotgun as it was knocked out of his hands in the process. The weapon skidded across the floor, out of reach, as the creature lunged at Mike again, pinning him to the ground.

For a terrifying moment, you saw the Wendigo's claws hovering inches above Mike's throat, its grotesque mouth open wide as it prepared to strike. Without thinking, you grabbed the machete that had fallen from Mike's belt and charged forward, your heart racing as you swung the blade with all your strength.

The machete barely cut through the thick skin of the Wendigo's head, but it stopped moving. The creature collapsed on top of Mike, its lifeless body twitching.

Mike let out a breathless grunt, shoving the body off him with a groan, his chest heaving from the effort as he turned to look at you.

Mike's eyes were wide, his face a mixture of shock and gratitude. He ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair.

"Holy shit," Mike breathed. "You saved my ass." His voice was thick with emotion, his usual cocky smirk absent as he stared at you in awe.

Mike's gaze softened, his lips parting as a slow, proud grin spread across his face. The adrenaline still pumped through his veins. You had saved him. You had fought for him. And now, as he lay there on the ground, bruised and battered, he couldn't help but feel a surge of possessiveness and admiration.

How did I get so lucky?

Mike's thoughts raced as his eyes traced over your form, taking in the way you stood, strong and capable and in that moment, with you standing over him, your chest rising and falling with exertion, sweat glistening on your skin, he wanted nothing more than to pull you down to him, to feel you against him. He imagined pulling you close, his hands wandering, his lips finding yours, desperate and hungry.

"You're incredible, man" Mike said, his voice softer now, more intimate. "I mean... I always knew you were tough, but that-"

He was cut short when the sound of another window breaking snapped him back to reality.

Another Wendigo burst through it, moving with a terrifying speed. Its claws were outstretched, eyes wide and blind, as it lunged directly for you. The machete slipped from your grasp, clattering uselessly to the ground as the creature slammed into you, knocking you off your feet.

You hit the floor hard, the impact knocking the wind from your lungs. The Wendigo's claws raked across your side, leaving a fiery slash that tore through your flesh. You cried out, clutching your side as blood soaked through your shirt.

"NO!" Mike screamed, his voice raw with terror as he scrambled for the shotgun. The Wendigo grabbed you by the leg, its claws sinking into your skin as it began to drag you toward the window.

You thrashed against the creature's grip, panic flooding your senses. The pain from your wounds made it hard to focus. The Wendigo's strength was overwhelming, its bony fingers tightening around your leg as it pulled you closer to the jagged glass of the broken window. The debris on the floor slashing your skin in the process.

Mike was on his feet in an instant, the shotgun in his hands as he sprinted toward you, firing wildly at the wendigo. He kept shooting, missing a few times, the desperation clear in his voice as he cursed under his breath.

Your vision blurred from the pain, your limbs heavy and weak as you tried to fight back.

"Get off him!" Mike roared, his voice full of desperation as he fired again, this time hitting the creature square in the chest. The impact sent the Wendigo stumbling backward, its grip on you loosening just enough for Mike to reach you.

With a grunt of effort, Mike grabbed your arm, yanking you back to your feet and into the room. You collapsed onto the floor, your body trembling from the pain and adrenaline while Mike closed the door.

He was at your side in an instant, his hands hovering over your wounds, his face pale with fear.

They were deep. Three long, jagged cuts across your back, blood pooling beneath you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Mike cursed under his breath. His hands were shaking as he pressed them against the gashes in your side, trying to stem the bleeding, but there was so much blood.

The pain was unbearable, but seeing Mike like this hurt even more.

"Jesus, this is bad. God, I'm such an idiot." he muttered, his voice trembling.

You groaned in pain, the agony in your side intensifying with each passing second.

"Mike..." you croaked, trying to get his attention, but he wasn't listening. His hands were still pressing desperately against your wounds, blood staining his fingers as he kept cursing under his breath.

"This is my fault. I should've-fuck, I'm so fucking stupid. Why did I let you come here? Why didn't I-"

"Mike, stop..." you whispered, your voice weak from the pain.

But he wouldn't stop. He was spiraling, the guilt consuming him as he rocked back on his heels, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"We need to get out of here," Mike muttered to himself, his voice strained with desperation. He looked down at your injured form, his gaze flicking between your pale face and the blood soaking through your clothes.

The Wendigos were still out there and you were in no condition to run. Mike's mind raced as he tried to think of anything, anywhere, that might offer some kind of safety. His eyes darted toward the hallway as he recalled the old map he had found earlier, remembering the position of the nursery.

"There might be something there," he mumbled, more to himself than to you.

He leaned down and scooped you into his arms, cradling you as if you weighed nothing. You winced at the sudden movement, the pain in your side flaring up, but Mike's grip was steady, firm, holding you as if he was afraid to let go. He held you close, bridal style, your body pressed against his warm and sturdy chest as he began to move.

"I've got you" he muttered, his voice barely audible over the sound of your labored breathing.

His heart pounded in his chest as he carried you down the darkened hallways, the dim light of the flashlight casting long, eerie shadows across the walls. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant sound seemed like a threat, and Mike's grip on you tightened with each step. He refused to let you go.

"Just hold on," Mike said through gritted teeth, his eyes darting around the narrow hallways as he moved cautiously.

Your head rested against his chest, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was pounding hard, faster than usual, fueled by adrenaline and fear. The pain in your side had dulled to a throbbing ache, and you couldn't help but notice how tense Mike's body was, every muscle coiled like a spring ready to snap.

"Mike" you managed to rasp out, the pain making your voice hoarse. "You're... freaking out."

"I'm not freaking out," he snapped, but the slight tremor in his voice betrayed him. He swallowed hard, his gaze flicking back to the path ahead, "I just... I need to get you fixed up. I need to-"

"Mike" You reached up, your hand weakly brushing against his chest, trying to calm him. "I'm not dying."

He didn't respond immediately, and when he did, his voice was low and shaky. "You don't know that."

You tried to force a smile, though it hurt to do so. "I've had worse."

"Yeah? When was the last time you were clawed by a fucking monster?" His eyes darted to yours, his fear masked by frustration. "You're bleeding all over the place, and it's my fault.

"It's not your fault," you said softly, trying to catch his gaze. "I chose to come with you"

"And I shouldn't have let you," Mike muttered, more to himself than to you. "I should've made you stay behind."

"You know I wouldn't have stayed behind," you replied, a weak smile tugging at your lips. "You can't get rid of me that easily."

His jaw clenched, and he didn't respond, his eyes fixed forward as he continued down the hallway, his arms never loosening their hold on you.

You didn't know how bad the injury was, but the blood that soaked through your clothes was enough to tell you it wasn't good.

You felt the world spinning slightly as he moved, your vision blurring at the edges. It was getting harder to stay awake, harder to keep focused on anything but the searing pain in your side. The sounds of the sanatorium echoed around you. All you could hear was the frantic beat of Mike's heart against your chest.

Your eyelids felt impossibly heavy. "Mike..." you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He snapped his head down to look at you, eyes wide and desperate. "Don't. Don't you dare close your eyes," he growled, his voice rough with panic. His arms tightened around you, almost painfully so, as he quickened his pace. "Stay with me, damn it. Stay awake. You hear me? You're not going anywhere."

But it was so hard to focus. The exhaustion was pulling you under like a heavy tide, dragging you down into the dark. Your eyelids fluttered, and you heard Mike curse again, his breath hitching. "Hey! No, no, no. Look at me. Look at me!" His voice was sharper now, laced with fear. "Stay awake. We're almost there. I swear, we're almost there."

The strain in his voice pulled you back, just for a moment, and you forced your eyes to open a little wider. His face was set in a scowl, but his eyes were wild, desperate.

Mike finally reached the nursery. It was a small, decrepit room, the paint on the walls peeling, and the furniture broken and scattered.

Mike set you down on one of the dirty beds as gently as he could, his hands trembling slightly as he pulled away. You winced again, the movement sending another sharp wave of pain through your body, but you forced yourself to stay quiet.

He hurried to the other side of the room, his eyes scanning the shelves and cabinets for anything that might help. He found an old, dusty first aid kit, half-hidden beneath a pile of debris.

Mike knelt beside you, his hands still shaking as he opened the kit. Inside were a few old bandages, a small bottle of alcohol and a torn-up sheet that he could use as makeshift bandages. He tore the fabric with his teeth.

It wasn't much, but it was all he had.

The silence between the two of you was heavy as he peeled off your shirt. Mike's hands hovered over your wounds, his face twisted in concentration at the deep gashes torn into your side.

He poured the alcohol onto the wounds, the stinging sensation making you clench your teeth to keep from crying out. He was doing his best to be gentle, but the pain was still excruciating.

"Shit... sorry... I'm sorry," Mike kept repeating under his breath, his eyes flicking between the injuries and your face. He looked as though he was about to break, his guilt consuming him.

"If you wanted to get my shirt off, all you had to do was ask." You said, your voice soft despite the pain radiating through your side.

He didn't smile, didn't give you that sarcastic comeback you had been hoping for. His jaw was still set, his lips pressed into a thin line as he focused on wrapping the gauze around your waist.

"Don't joke about this," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "You're bleeding everywhere, and I-"

"I'm serious!" you interrupted, forcing a grin through the pain. "If you wanted to play the hero, you could've just asked. You didn't have to engage in a whole monster attack just to impress me."

He refused to look you in the eye, his jaw clenched as he muttered something under his breath, too quiet for you to make out.

You saw the fear and guilt etched into his face. He was scared. More scared than you'd ever seen him before. His focus was singular, driven by the overwhelming need to fix the damage, to keep you alive.

The usual cocky, confident air that surrounded Mike was gone, replaced by a quiet panic that seemed to consume him.

You knew you had to say something. Mike was drowning in guilt, and if you didn't pull him out of it, he might never forgive himself.

Time to try again.

"Come on, Mike," you said, your tone playful despite the situation. "You're not enjoying the fact that I'm shirtless in front of you? I thought this was, like, your dream scenario. You, me, a creepy sanatorium, and a lot of body contact."

You were expecting at least a flicker of amusement, a quirk of the lips, anything that showed he was still the Mike you knew. But there was nothing. His silence only made the fear gnaw at you more.

Your hand reached out to gently touch his arm. "Mike, I'm serious. You saved me. You're the reason I'm still here, okay?"

His shoulders tensed under your touch, and he finally looked up at you, his expression conflicted. You could see the guilt still etched into his features, the self-loathing that twisted his mouth into a grimace.

"But you still got hurt," Mike snapped, his voice rising slightly with the weight of his emotions. His hands clenched into fists, the bandage half-finished as he pulled away, unable to look at you. "I wasn't fast enough. I should've... I should've done more."

"Done more?" You raised an eyebrow, trying to inject a little more lightness into your voice. "What were you supposed to do, Mike? Punch the Wendigo in the face? Because I'd like to see that."

For a brief moment, you thought you saw the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of his lips, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"Hey," you said softly, reaching out again to touch his arm, this time gripping it a little tighter. "Look at me."

He hesitated, his jaw tightening, but after a moment, he turned his head toward you, his eyes meeting yours.

"I'm still here," you said quietly, your voice filled with as much reassurance as you could muster. "Thanks to you."

Mike's eyes flickered with something, some internal struggle playing out behind them.

"For a guy who spends half his time flexing and trying to show off his heroics," you began, leaning back slightly on the bed, wincing a little as the pain in your side flared up. "You're really bad at taking credit when you actually save someone."

That got a reaction. Mike's brows furrowed slightly, and he glanced at you, confusion mixed with frustration.

"I'm just saying," you continued, pretending to be casual as you gestured with your hand, the blood on it had now dried up. "You've got the whole 'tough guy' thing down, but when you actually do something heroic, like, I don't know, saving my life, you act like it wasn't enough."

Mike's frown deepened, but this time there was a spark of something familiar in his eyes, something like the Mike you knew.

"Not everything is a joke, okay?" Mike muttered, though there was a hint of exasperation in his voice now.

You grinned. "I know it's not a joke, Mike. I'm just trying to remind you that you're not a screw-up. I know you're used to making dumb decisions, but this wasn't one of them."

For a brief moment, Mike looked like he was going to argue, but then he let out a quiet, exasperated huff. His lips twitching in a way that told you he was fighting back a smirk.

"There he is," you teased lightly, your grin widening. "I knew you were still in there somewhere."

Mike's shoulders relaxed slightly, and for the first time since the attack, his expression softened. He shook his head, finally finishing the bandage on your side. The corner of his lips tugged upward as he tried to suppress a smile, a trace of his usual cocky confidence returning.

"You're an idiot," Mike muttered, but there was a warmth in his voice that hadn't been there before. He met your eyes again, the weight of the guilt starting to lift.

"I had to learn from the best," you shot back playfully. "You're pretty good at being an idiot yourself."

Mike chuckled softly, a sound that sent warmth through your chest despite the pain. "Yeah, well... guess I can't argue with that."

You leaned back against the pillow, the tension in the room finally easing. Mike's usual sarcastic demeanor was starting to slip back into place.

"I never really thought I'd spend a night in a creepy-ass sanatorium being patched up by a guy who probably spent his teenage years trying to impress girls with bad one-liners." You said, trying to keep the conversation going.

Mike snorted, shaking his head. "First of all, my one-liners were legendary. They even had you blushing when I dropped them on you. Second, I'm pretty sure I'm saving your life right now, so maybe a little more appreciation, huh?"

"Oh, believe me, I appreciate it," you replied with a grin. "But you have to admit, this is pretty far from a normal night out."

"Yeah, well, normal's overrated," Mike said, his tone lighter now. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, his eyes lingering on the bandage he had just finished tying around your waist. "But... seriously. I'm glad you're okay."

That fear hadn't fully left him yet.

"I'm okay because of you." you said, your voice softer now, more serious. You sat on the bed, looking up at him and wrapping your arms around his neck.

Your lips were sealed tight so you wouldn’t produce any sound of the pain still lingering.

Mike met your gaze again, his expression conflicted, torn between the guilt that still lingered and the relief that you were alive. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. Instead, he just stared at you, his eyes dark with emotion.

Without warning, he leaned down, his hands gripping your face with a force that nearly made you gasp. His lips crashed into yours with a desperation that took you completely by surprise. The kiss was rough, almost violent in its intensity, his breath was hot and ragged, each exhale trembling with the intensity of the emotions he was trying to keep in check.

His tongue pushed past your lips with an almost feral hunger. The roughness of his tongue mirrored the intensity of his kiss, his movements sharp and demanding, as if he couldn't get close enough to you, couldn't feel enough of you. His tongue explored your mouth, not gently, but with a wild fervor that made your heart race and your body tremble under him.

You responded instinctively, your arms tightening around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, your body aching yet craving the connection he was giving you. His weight pressed down on you more as the kiss deepened.

His breath grew hotter, more frantic. His fingers tightened on your skin, almost painful, like he was terrified to let go, his tongue still working against yours, desperate to drown out any space between you. You could feel his desperation in every frantic breath, his rough kisses stealing away any sense of time as he devoured you.

His hands slipping from your face to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, needing more.

Needing you.

You could feel the heat of his breath as he pulled back only for a fraction of a second before diving back in, his lips pressing into yours with renewed force.

Your lungs burned as the kiss deepened further, but you didn't care. All you could focus on was him. On the raw, unfiltered emotion in every press of his lips, every tremor of his hands. Mike's hands roamed your body, careful to avoid your injury, but firm enough to hold you in place. His breath was hot against your skin as he kissed you with a kind of hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you gasping for breath. His eyes were dark, clouded with emotion, his lips slightly swollen from the intensity of the kiss. His hands still cradled your face, thumbs brushing softly against your skin as though trying to calm himself after the storm he had unleashed.

His breath was shaky, his body trembling slightly as he looked at you with a mixture of relief. "I promise. I won't let anything happen to you." he whispered, his voice hoarse.

No matter what would happen next, you had Mike. And Mike had you.

And that was enough.

If you liked this story please leave a comment, I love reading them <3. Next week I think I’m gonna post a Mike Munroe jealous fic with smut! Hope you’ll like it ♡

[elikajinnie]

I Let The World Burn For You - N.R

P: Serial Killer!Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Graphic Descriptions, Murder, Manipulation, Attempted Murder, Injury/Blood, Teasing, Angst, Obsessive Behaviour, Bullying, Mind Games, Ni-ki is a nerd.

Synopsis: You’ve always loved crime shows, captivated by the mystery and mind games, but you never expected to live in one. When a killer develops an unsettling obsession with you, you’re thrust into a deadly game where you’re not just a target—you’re the centerpiece.

note! i have just finished 1/2 exams and i got a shining A+ (thanks to the allnighters) so i finally got more time to write :) requested by @totallynotj3zz

READ THE TEASER BELOW

Read part 1 and 2 at the end

--

You stumble down the creaking, narrow staircase, your breath coming in ragged gasps as panic claws at your chest. Tears blur your vision, streaking your face as the blood on your trembling hands smears across the banister. You don’t dare look back. You can’t.

Above you, his voice echoes through the decaying walls, low and mocking, sending chills down your spine.

“Run all you want,” he calls, his tone light, almost playful. “You know I’ll catch you.”

Your foot catches on a loose board, nearly sending you sprawling, but you grip the railing and push yourself forward. His words follow you, slithering into your ears like poison.

“You can’t hide from me. You know that, don’t you? I’ll always find you. Always.”

The air is heavy with the smell of dust and mildew, but it does nothing to muffle his voice.

“You and that little curiosity of yours,” he sneers, his footsteps steady and unhurried. “That’s what got you into this mess. You wanted to see what was behind the curtain, didn’t you?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, your legs screaming in protest as you take the steps two at a time.

“No one else deserves you,” he continues, his voice dipping into something darker, more possessive. “Only me. And if I can’t have you…”

You swallow back a sob as his words twist, their meaning sharp as a blade.

“…then no one can.”

Your foot hits the landing, and you dart into the next corridor, the peeling wallpaper and flickering lights a blur around you. Still, his voice lingers, wrapping around you like a noose.

“You’ll be mine in the end. You know it. Why keep running, darling? Why deny the inevitable?”

You bite down on your lip to stifle the cry threatening to escape. The hallway stretches endlessly before you, and the sound of his steps—slow, deliberate—echoes closer, as if he’s right behind you.

Your chest burns as you push forward, forcing your legs to move despite the overwhelming ache. The hallway feels endless, the dim, flickering lights above casting warped shadows that seem to close in on you. Each creak of the floorboards behind you makes your heart skip a beat, his taunting voice dripping into your ears like acid.

“You can’t run forever,” he hums, his tone like a lullaby meant to unsettle. “Every step you take just brings you closer to me. Don’t you see? This is fate. You were made for me.”

A sob escapes you before you can stifle it, your body betraying the terror that threatens to consume you whole. You glance frantically over your shoulder, but the staircase behind you is empty. He isn’t there, and yet his voice sounds as if it’s just over your shoulder, like he’s breathing down your neck.

You shove open a door at the end of the hall, the old wood groaning on its hinges as you stumble into what looks like a storage room. Rusted tools hang on the walls, their edges sharp and unforgiving, glinting faintly in the pale light from a single bare bulb swaying overhead. Your breath catches as you scan the room, desperately searching for a way out.

“There you go,” he purrs, his voice impossibly close now, like he’s whispering directly into your ear. “Hide, if it makes you feel safer. I like when you play hard to get. It makes it so much sweeter when I finally catch you.”

You slam the door shut and lock it, your shaking hands fumbling with the rusted bolt. The sound of his footsteps grows louder, heavier now, deliberate in their approach. You back away from the door, your eyes darting around the room. The windows are boarded up, thick planks of wood nailed across the frames, no hope of escape.

Your breathing is shallow, uneven. Your hands curl into fists, fingernails biting into your palms as you try to will yourself to think. Focus. Focus.

Then, silence.

The footsteps stop. His voice is gone.

Your heart pounds in the stillness, the quiet almost worse than his taunts. You strain your ears, listening for anything—any sign of movement, any sound that could tell you where he is. But there’s nothing.

A soft knock on the door shatters the quiet, making you jump back with a gasp.

“Are you scared?” he asks, his voice calm now, almost tender. “You don’t need to be. I’ll take care of you. I’ll make this quick.”

The doorknob jiggles. Once. Twice. Then, a violent bang as he slams against the door, rattling the frame.

You scramble backward, your hands blindly reaching for anything, and they land on something cold and solid—a wrench, heavy and covered in dust.

Another bang. The bolt starts to bend under the pressure.

“I’m coming in, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a sickening glee. “Let’s end this little game, shall we?”

The door bursts open, and there he is, silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway, his figure towering, his shadow stretching across the floor like it’s ready to swallow you whole.

But you’re ready this time. Your grip tightens on the wrench, and as he steps into the room, you swing.

--

Read the request here

Read part 1 here and part 2 here

[solspina]

Omission in Angelism

Luis Dante ⋆˙⟡

a short blurb inspired heavily by a thread by @lemon-russ and @squishyowl that i came across earlier! this isn’t proofread, so i apologize for any mistakes :)

trapped within an endless and grotesque night terror, dante is forced to watch the worst of his fears spring to life. fear reveals his deepest secrets to him, and he may only come to terms with them within the waking world.

warnings: very gorey in the beginning, lots of blood, graphic descriptions of a very bloody environment, reverse hurt/comfort

the pulpy floor seemed to yield with every step dante took forward. blood splashed onto the golden calves of his armor with every sickening squelch the ground made, occasionally accompanied by the snapping and cracking of fragile and decayed bones. trapped pockets of air were released from the endless heap of flesh beneath his feet, emitting muffled gurgling in their wake. the air was thick with the stench of rot and putrescence, and it pooled in his throat with every shallow breath.

this was no battlefield; he had walked through those before and come out relatively unfazed. he had seen the bodies of his brothers, and been able to identify each one by their faces and mourn them as individuals. that wasn’t the case this time. instead, each face engraved into this unholy amalgamation of human meat was indistinguishable. if he looked hard enough, he could make out the shapes of different body parts. hands, feet, arms, faces here and there, all cauterized together into an unholy organic mixture.

and yet he pressed on.

he seemed to walk for what felt like days, each step a thousand pounds heavier than the last. the crimson decay had began to absorb into his armor, soaking his feet with flesh and blood that clung to the elegant gold like it were simply white fabric. with each stain upon him, it spread its will to engage in coalescence with him, to unite him with its rot. voices had begun to speak to him, but they spoke only of his failures, the ones that drove daggers into his soul like knives. “you need to apologize” they hissed at him. “you will never be forgiven” they echoed. “the angel is gone” they declared. “you have nothing left” they told… no, reminded him.

in the beginning, they were merely haunting whispers, barely audible over the squelching under his footsteps, growing louder and more insistent as he limped into the endless unknown every step he took amplified their presence until, their volume had begun to drive him insane, for they whispered even as they screamed curses at him. they spoke of unworthiness, of guilt, of life.

“dante…”

every noise around him ceased as he heard her voice, choked and raspy behind him. she was no illusion.

sanguinius wasn’t either.

crimson red poured down from her lips like a waterfall as she choked. the angel sat behind her, one hand wrapped tightly around her throat, and the other steadying himself on the ground as he buried his teeth deep into her neck, taking pleasure in her pained whimpering and desperate gasps for air, each sound of suffering a symphony to his ears. her body convulsed from every attempt to breathe, but only blood could escape from her mouth when she exhaled. sanguinius’ fingers dug into her soft skin, undoubtedly breaking the flesh open as red poured from where his nails penetrated it.

he smiled upon noticing dante, upon witnessing his son fall to his knees in desperation as he reached a hand out to touch her, his eyes reflected nothing short of misery upon seeing his personal serf’s skin turn pale and limbs lay limp in the grasp of the angel.

“no…” dante pleaded, his voice trembling with fear and desperation. he knew his pleas would fall on deaf ears, but he could not stop himself. “father please,” he choked out as tears began to flow from his eyes. they streamed down his face, mingling with the blood and grime that covered him in a thick film of the disgusting thing that he walked upon. “she’s all i have left, father” he cried. his voice broke under the weight of grief and fear as he searched for any ounce of mercy within sanguinius’ eyes.

“dante…” she called out again in a whisper mixed with a whimper.

“please!” he begged once again, the tears now flowed unrelentlessly from his eyes. “i can’t lose her, my lord. please!” his voice cracked with each anguished plea.

this was her end. her eyes had finally began to close, and dante got to watch the life within them fade. the angel had only tightened his grip further, digging his nails further into her throat as he absorbed every drop of blood she had left within her. dante began to sink into the flesh amalgam beneath him without noticing. it grabbed him, even as he screamed while being pulled under and consumed. he did not focus on his own sinking. his focus instead on his serf and her final moments of life. “she means…” he pleaded one last time, his voice barely a whisper, too choked by both emotion and the hands around his throat for his words to be coherent. for the first time in his life he wished that he could live a little longer, if only to save her. “everything to me.”

silence had finally befallen him.

“dante?”

“dante!”

she screamed out his name as he jolted awake. he gasped for air, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. the sensation that he was being strangled remained fresh on his neck, his breathing was fast and erratic, each attempt a desperate attempt to fill his lungs as he trembled. his mind still situated on a reality in which she was gone.

no. she was here. she sat in front of him on his bed, holding a cold towel to his head with one hand and wiping his tears with the other. he had cried in his sleep, his fears expressing themselves even outside of his nightmare.

“dante, are you okay? i heard you crying from my room and i-“ he lunged forward without second thought, trapping her in his arms, enveloping the solidity and warmth of her body against his. his tears had begun to soak her shoulder almost immediately, and his fingertips dug into her back so harshly she knew for a fact they would leave bruises.

once her shock had faded, she too held him tightly, her heart breaking at the sight of her master’s anguish. “it’s okay, dante” she whispered, her voice gentle and soothing against the whirring of the flagship’s engines. “i’m not going anywhere.”

she continued to hold him as his heartbeats began to calm, her fingers gently stroking his back in a soothing rhythm. “you’re safe,” she murmured, her words a soft lullaby even up against the hardened exterior of commander luis dante. “we’re both safe.”

“please stay.” he asked, his voice muffled against her shoulder. she hummed in response, in the tone of a question. “stay with me… please.” his request highlighted the true volume of the situation. she and dante were close, and he had been vulnerable before, but never once had he openly asked for comfort, let alone asked to share his bed after one of many night terrors. who was she to deny her chapter master?

she invited herself under his blankets, the mattress already warm from dante’s few hours of sleep. the familiar scent of him enveloped her as she slipped under the covers. before she could even say goodnight, he’d moved closer. his chest found itself against her back, and his arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly as if he were afraid she would disappear. he buried his face into her hair, inhaling the smell of her perfume as a reminder of her presence. she was not gone. she was here.

he mulled over words that guilliman had said to him a few days prior before he closed his eyes once more. the primarch was right. perhaps a serf was no longer a fitting title for the woman who lay next to him. he remembered his nightmare, the vivid image of himself falling to his knees, sobbing, panicking over the thought of losing her. she means everything to me, he’d told himself… told sanguinius… within his sleep.

if the only way of ensuring he got to hold the only person who could so easily ease his terror this close every night was by making her his wife, so be it.

[sleepy-steve]

@steddieangstyaugust 09/08 // upside down

wc: 2.6k // rating: M // cw: excessive description of injury/blood/wounds // tags: previous first kiss, canon divergence, post-s4, steve harrington whump, this man is so injured it’s crazy, so injured and so self-sacrificing

part two to day 8 but can be read alone ♡

divider credits @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Steve drops down into the unfortunately familiar grey-blue atmosphere of the Upside Down. His feet hit the ground, and despite the bandana covering his nose and mouth, he feels the death and decay enter his lungs as he surveys his surroundings. It’s much worse than before. It’s heavier, like inhaling steam, but sits cold in his chest. A sign that he shouldn’t have returned. A reminder of how dangerous this was. The ground shakes with tremors as Steve pulls on the rope, testing its stability before tying it to the nearby destroyed remains of a trailer. In this state, he couldn’t be sure whose it was. The giant crack in the earth had all but destroyed the trailer park, but it was close enough to where they’d exited those days before, panicked and rushed, Dustin near inconsolable about having lost Eddie.

“Buddy, buddy, look at me,” Steve had said, grasping his shoulders. “We’ll come back for him, okay? I will come back for him.”

“No!” Dustin cried. “No, Steve! I can’t lose you too!”

Steve wouldn’t promise it, but he let the matter go at the time. He waited until after he’d been admitted to the hospital, receiving treatment for an infection in the bat bites. Bringing it back up once they’d all received medical attention only had several people yelling at him. He was warned, commanded, begged—repeatedly and earnestly—to not go back into the Upside Down. That it wasn’t safe. That he needed time to heal. That there would be no point. That Eddie was gone, and even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t want Steve to risk his life going back in to find him.

“Steve, you’re literally in a hospital bed,” Nancy had said, her steely tone covering her concern. “You can’t be serious.”

“Listen, Harrington,” Hopper had sat beside him, voice stern. “You are not to go back there. Do you understand me? We can’t lose any more people.”

But Steve wouldn’t be swayed. And so he was alone. Searching the Upside Down for a man that was believed to be dead.

His flashlight swung in an arc, illuminating the destruction around him. Deep, cavernous fissures in the ground are lit up by the flashlight. Eddie couldn’t have gotten far, with how seriously he was injured. Once the earthquakes started, Dustin said he tried to drag his body out of the wreckage, but it was almost impossible. He took cover until the shaking ground settled enough for him to walk. When he went back, Eddie’s body was gone. Steve pulls debris aside, the movement tugging on his barely healed scars, searching areas that someone could hide in. The scar around his neck burns. Steve had to find him.

Mike, Will, and Eleven were looking for Dustin, after having visited Max, when they showed up at Steve’s hospital room. As Dustin readied to walk them out, Steve asked Eleven to stay back to ask her a question—earning some distinctive looks from the others—and once the boys were gone, handed her one of the Missing Person posters that Wayne Munson had hung up around the relief centre.

“Can you look for him?” Steve had asked, desperate at that point. “If he’s still… if he’s down there, will you know?”

Eleven gave him a quizzical look, but nodded. “If he is there, I can find him.”

He’d waited patiently—tried not to fidget, to keep quiet—while she put a blindfold on, the small radio Dustin had brought to Steve set to static. The seconds ticked into minutes as Steve watched intently, waiting for an answer.

“I see him,” she finally said. “He’s… hurt. Lost.”

Steve’s heart was in his throat. “Is he… alive?”

Eleven nodded. “Alive,” she confirmed.

Feeling like the air was being sucked out of his lungs, Steve’s hands went to his hair. He’d hoped, god, he’d prayed, that it was true. That they hadn’t lost Eddie. But that meant he’d been stuck down there for almost a week now.

“D’you—can you see where he is?” Steve asked.

She was still for several moments, mouth pulled into a frown, before she shook her head. Trying not to be disappointed, he focused on the important part. Eddie was alive. For now, at least. But he had to work fast.

“Okay, uh, listen,” Steve said. “Can you please, uh, not tell anyone else? That you know this.”

When she pulled her blindfold off, she gave him a look that was far too knowing. “Friends don’t lie, Steve.”

“I’m not asking you to lie,” He quickly clarified. “But this is to keep everyone else safe. If the others find out that he’s alive, they’ll try to go back in to find him.” He takes a breath. “It has to be me, no one else.”

“Steve, it is not safe there.” Eleven looked over him. “You are still sick. It will get worse.”

“I know, kid,” Steve sighed. “But I have to save him.”

In the end, Steve convinced her to promise to keep it to herself—unless someone asked directly, and unless he hadn’t returned within six hours of going back—with the added compromise that he would tell Robin where he was going. He checked himself out of the hospital that afternoon, signing multiple forms that indicated he knew he was going against medical advice.

Telling Robin of his plan was never in question. He couldn’t lie to her. Sitting her down at his house, he asked her to please not tell anyone, to only involve anyone else if he hadn’t returned in six hours, as he promised Eleven. Robin begged him not to go through with it, reaching an almost panicked state as she tried to convince him to stay. He can still hear her tearful voice in his mind, looping over and over, a reminder of what he’s sacrificing.

“Steve, please, you can’t do this, at least not without someone to help you!” She’d held onto his arm, stopping him from loading items into a backpack.

Steve turned to her. “I’m not going to drag anyone else into this with me, Robin. This is my decision. Everyone’s already made it clear they don’t think it’s a good idea. I gotta go alone.”

“At least let me come with you!” Robin tried, following him as he searched for a flashlight. “At least you wouldn’t be alone.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders, stopping her. “I can’t let you do that for me. It’s too dangerous.”

Robin shrugged him off, tone growing angry. “So what are you doing then?! Going alone when it’s too dangerous for me to come with you? You’re not even fully healed yet, Steve! You could die down there!”

“I have to try, Rob,” Steve sighed. “I have to. He’s trapped down there.” 

“We could organise a rescue, just don’t do this alone!” Robin yelled, reaching the end of her patience.

He took her hands in his. “No one else needs to put themselves in danger. Hopper was right, we can’t lose any more people, but I can’t just leave him down there. I can’t, Robin.”

Steve knew Robin would understand, at least, why he needed to do this. The kiss. The one that haunts him. The one he and Eddie shared behind the RV, right before they marched back into hell and they lost him. Robin knew—more than anyone—what Steve would do, that his mind wouldn’t be changed. Not for something like this. Because Steve was self-sacrificing to the point of harm for anyone important to him. And this was bigger. There was more at stake—she could tell by the way he spoke about it, with how serious his tone was. She cried and held him tight, finally demanding that he come back at the first sign of danger, and promising him that they could regroup and try again. Just as long as he came back.

Heart aching as the conversation replayed in his mind, Steve shook himself. He needed to focus. The increasing pain of his scars was distracting enough, and he couldn’t afford to lose time. Already having searched for what felt like hours, Steve’s strength was starting to waver. The crimson storm clouds rolled overhead. The weight of his emotions—the guilt, the wish that he’d handled things differently—was starting to feel impossible to carry.

It ate him alive, the way it all went down. The connection between them had been undeniable, Steve constantly finding himself drawn to Eddie, and Eddie endlessly getting back up in his space. It all culminated in a shared moment that turned into a timid kiss, which quickly turned desperate and heavy. It all became too much, too fast, too real—

Steve had panicked and asked him to stop, but it just came out wrong, and Eddie wouldn’t hear him out. He’d wanted to keep going, god, he’d never been kissed like that. Not with so much heat and desire and need. But he also didn’t want it to just be that. He felt something between them that was magnetic and electric and set his heart ablaze in a way he hadn’t felt before. He just couldn’t get the words out. Left speechless by the feeling of Eddie’s tongue in his mouth and his body pressed up against him. He wished he’d just been able to verbalise what he felt. I don’t want this to be meaningless. I’m not just trying to get a quick lay at the end of the world. I think this could be something special. I want it to be.

If only his mouth had cooperated with him. But Eddie had misunderstood his faltering for rejection, and ran away… And they had more important issues to deal with. Despite wanting to approach, to explain himself and set the record straight, Steve knew it would have to wait. Except Eddie had done the very thing Steve told him not to do. Ran right into danger, played the hero, and sacrificed himself. Yes, it meant Dustin was saved, and for that, Steve would always be grateful. But Eddie was gone—lost.

Lost but alive. This is the thought that keeps him moving. Keeps him searching despite his body screaming in agony. Some of the wounds feel open, the sickly cold seeping under the bandages and mingling with his blood. His back burns and aches—the abrasions from being dragged on the ground, dry and splitting—the pain of it sinking deep into his muscles. Making it harder for him to move. Every breath is laborious, he feels like he’s drowning. Steve pulls down the bandana, coughing heavily. The strange particles in the air get sucked into his lungs as he tries to catch his breath. The wounds around his stomach bite into him, feeling worse than when he arrived at the hospital, where infection was starting to take hold. He can’t give up.

Every second feels precarious. Steve hasn’t heard the chittering or hissing of any creatures down here, thankfully, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. The atmosphere alone is dangerous enough. Like the Upside Down was rejecting his presence, and the longer he stays, the more it tries to destroy him. How could Eddie be alive in this place?

It’s been hours now. The flashlight illuminates another chasm in the ground, reminding him of how unachievable his task is. Steve drops his backpack to the ground and leans against a more solid looking destroyed trailer, the back of his head hitting it as he looks to the red-clouded sky. His legs ache from walking. Daring to look down, he notices dark spots starting to stain his shirt. He swallows heavily, mouth dry, the taste of rot on his tongue. A wave of nausea rolls over him. He wills it down, knowing that if he vomited now, the pain in his wounds would only grow, and he’s not sure he can handle that. 

Dread starts to seep in, and for the first time since he arrived back here, Steve starts to think that maybe he can’t do this. Maybe he can’t rescue Eddie. Not on his own. Not in his current state. Even if he found Eddie now, how would he be able to help? He can barely support his own weight right now.

Steve slides down the side of the trailer, hissing in pain as it drags against the scars on his back. The ground trembles beneath him. Another reminder of the impossibility of what he’s trying to do. He checks his watch. Three hours since he left, half of his time is already up.

“Fuck…” Steve breathes, trying to keep his cool. He could do this. He had to do this. He reaches into the backpack, pulling out a bottle of water. The plastic cracks as he twists the lid off. The water does little to ease his nausea. It’s with his eyes closed, praying for some strength to return, when he hears it.

A… gasp?

Steve’s head turns sharply toward the echoing sound. He drops the water bottle back into his bag, pulling out his nail bat and scrambling to his feet. The sound comes again from his right. He steps slowly, bat raised. His heart hammers in his chest. Following the sound, pain temporarily forgotten, Steve makes his way carefully around the destroyed trailer, avoiding debris.

The sound gets louder. Steve approaches a chasm in the earth, two half destroyed trailers on either side. Shattered glass and half melted metal litter the ground. With the bat in his hands, the flashlight is tucked under his arm, shakily brightening the space ahead of him. He leans over the edge, feet planted wide, and looks down into the darkness. It’s shallower than he thought, cracked with blocks of earth jutting out of the walls. 

With no immediate danger in his eyeline, he lowers the bat and aims the flashlight down into the cavern. As the light shines over, he sees dark splatters over the rocks, and Steve hopes it’s not blood. He looks lower, brows pulling together as he follows the splatters deeper into the rift. He hears what sounds like a rattling inhale, head snapping up, a few feet ahead of where he currently stands. Taking a couple tentative steps, he scans the depths carefully, searching for the source of the sound.

The splatters are larger, darker, decorating the earth as he follows the light. An odd shape catches his eye, and he directs the flashlight at it. Steve squints, trying to make out the object, as the light barely illuminates that far down. It takes a moment before he recognises the familiar pair of boots, anything else hidden by another overhanging piece of earth.

Steve doesn’t hesitate, shoving the flashlight between his teeth, and sliding down the edge of the chasm. He shakily drops to a set of rocks a little ways down, looking for a safe enough spot to move down again. Leaning against the rough walls, he shifts another step lower, pain in his back and sides screaming at him. It’s a precarious descent, but he manages to reach the bottom. Steve shines the flashlight ahead, brightening the space. When his eyes adjust, he takes a few cautious steps before dropping to his knees, bat falling to the ground with an echoing clunk.

Eddie lays on his side. He’s covered in dried blood, clothes torn, curled defensively with his knees up to his chest, eyes squeezed shut. Unable to see any sign of movement, Steve’s chest tightens, fearing the worst. Was he too late?

He reaches out with a trembling hand. “Eddie?” he breathes.

Eddie jolts, eyes snapping open, taking in a deep, rasping breath. His breathing settles. He focuses on the man above him. “…Steve?”

[corazondebeskar-reads]

the art of breaking: part two

the art of breaking, part two: theory of decay

very dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

NOTE: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. this fic contains themes of abuse and extremely dark content.

words: 10k

summary: joel knows just how to make you his forever. a sequel to "the art of breaking"

warnings (new warnings in red) and story under the cut; reader discretion is advised.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

warnings: dead dove do not eat, non-con, dub-con, very dark!Joel, BAD bdsm etiquette, not SSC/RACK compliant, sadist!Joel x masochist!reader, coercion, corruption, manipulation, isolation, gaslighting, glory hole, reader gives tommy a blowjob (joel and tommy do not touch), body modification, permanent marking, captivity, sadism, masochism, pain play, extreme punishment, whipping, impact play in general, mentions of vomit (no description), oral, vaginal, reader x other men, degradation, humiliation, Joel sees reader as property, inadequate aftercare, blink and you miss it piss "play," straight up abuse this time guys, overstimulation, forced eating, needles, voyeurism, objectification, human furniture/ashtray, cigarettes, consumption of non-food items, nipple/clit pumps, this one might be worse than the first idk sorry

Again, I cannot say this enough. This is a dark fantasy and should not be taken as representative of a good d/s relationship—it’s abuse masquerading. Just because I wrote it doesn’t mean I’m condoning it. 

Please read responsibly. 

i. dessication

When he goes to work, he leaves you free to roam the house and do your chores. For shorter trips out, he tends to put you in your cage. There’s no real reason, but it keeps you in a good place. You’re always softer, quieter when he gets back and lets you out. 

He couldn’t do it all the time, of course. There are things needing to be done. Plus, every day, he gets to come home to you knelt, waiting by the door with dinner kept warm. He could afford a housekeeper, but then you’d have nothing to keep your mind and body occupied when he’s away. 

Of course, sometimes he leaves you chained up in the basement. He can’t always be nice, after all. And the thing he loves to come home to most, second only to you kneeling at the door, is your exhausted body still tied where he left it, bearing the marks of his latest pleasure. 

Sometimes, he just leaves you in stocks to contemplate all the raw kisses from his favorite whip. Sometimes, he has you pinned to the table with a vibrator strapped to your clit for the day. On the lowest setting—he’s not a monster. 

Well. It starts on the lowest setting. He can do whatever he wants with it through a handy app. It was the only way Tommy could convince him to upgrade to a smartphone.

But today, you’re just set about neatening up. Neither you nor Joel are messy— though he does have a tendency to empty his pockets wherever he’s standing—and it’s not a huge house. You finish up early and have time to read while supper’s in the oven. 

You’re already kneeling when you hear the key in the door, eyes down, hands behind your back, but you have to tense up not to flinch when you hear a second pair of boots.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” drawls a voice you don’t know. 

The only reason you don’t panic is because Joel’s boots enter your field of vision. You’re intimately acquainted with them—literally—and despite the fresh layer of dirt, you’d know them anywhere. 

“Ooh, damn, she’s good,” says the voice.

Joel chuckles and reaches down to stroke your cheek. “Told ya.” 

You melt a little against his hand, letting the pride in his voice warm you.

He rubs his thumb over your cheek and lets you press a little kiss to the digit before stepping back to take his shoes off and dump the handful of change and crumpled receipts on the foyer table. “C’mon,” he says, snapping his fingers so you know he means you, too.

You resist the urge to look at the stranger, but you don’t like the way he lingers to follow you instead of following Joel. You can feel his eyes on your exposed flesh, the dress just short enough to show off your cunt when you crawl. 

No one has ever come into the house before. At least not when you’re out and about. You don’t know if Joel’s had company while you’ve been in the basement or something; you’ve never even thought about it. All you know is that it’s been a long time since you’ve seen another person. 

It’s terrifying. 

You go to kneel between Joel’s feet, but he stops you. “Turn around,” he says, guiding you with firm hands to face forward. 

He laughs when he sees that you’re still staring very carefully at the carpet. “Y’can look at him; he ain’t gonna bite.”

The other man, who has settled in the armchair facing the couch, laughs too. “I might,” he says.

“No, you won’t.” Joel’s voice goes hard for a moment, and you don’t need to see to know he’s glaring. 

It makes you feel better. So what if someone’s looking at you? Joel’s still protecting you. 

He lifts your chin up so you have to look at the other man. He’s broad, though not as much as Joel, with dark curls and dark eyes that make you feel like he wants to cut you open and see how you tick. 

“This is my little brother, Tommy,” Joel says. “Go tell him hello.” 

“Hello,” you say quietly. 

“C’mon, now, go give him a proper greeting,” Joel nudges you with his foot. You crawl over to Tommy and kneel between his legs. Your gaze darts from him to Joel, teeth worrying at your lip. 

“Don’t embarrass me, girl,” Joel warns.

Tommy lifts your chin with his hand. “He wants you to suck me off. Go ahead.” 

It’s nice, but it’s not his permission you need. You risk one more glance at Joel. 

“You heard him. You got two seconds, sweetheart, before you’re gonna regret it,” he growls.

“You goin’ soft? You usually have ‘em trained better by now,” Tommy teases, but his words have Joel seeing red. 

You sit back. “What?”

“Sorry, sweetheart, did you think you were special?” Tommy says with a nasty smirk. He pats your face. “Poor thing.”

You look at Joel, tears welling up. 

“What, you think I had a house full of equipment that’s never been used? Y’should be grateful. All my toys before you had to suffer some trial and error. I got it perfected now, and you’re wasting it, being a fuckin’ disobedient bitch.” 

You close your eyes tight and choke back a sob. He’s never, ever spoken to you like that before. When you turn back to Tommy, you have your mouth open wide and waiting.

He leans back. “Well? You gonna make me do all the work?”

“Can I use my hands, please?” you say, eyes darting from Tommy to Joel. 

“Great, now you got her all nervous,” Tommy bitches, and Joel rolls his eyes. 

“Go ahead,” Joel tells you gruffly. You’ve been so good. So obedient. Maybe he shoulda warned you that he wanted to show you off. No, he thinks, it’s not his fault. He didn’t owe you a warning. You should just accept it and obey.

You’re shaking when you tug open the button of Tommy’s jeans, fumbling with the zipper. Apparently, it takes long enough that he grunts and knocks your hand away, pulling his cock out. 

It feels like a trap. Joel has not explicitly ordered you to do this. But he doesn’t usually try to trick you. 

“For Christ’s sake,” Tommy snaps, and yanks you forward. You get with the program quickly, wrapping your lips around him and trying to do your best. 

He’s smaller than Joel, but it’s a decent cock. Not that it matters to you. Despite not having to gag on him, you can’t breathe anyway, too preoccupied. Why is Joel doing this? Is he going to punish you for it later? 

And the worst thing, the thing that keeps bouncing around your brain as you try to get Tommy off: What happened to the other girls? Did he get tired of them and kick them out?

Was he not going to keep you?

You don’t notice you’re crying, but Tommy clearly enjoys it. He moans and holds you down as he cums down your throat. You aren’t ready, though, and sputter a little, coughing and leaking his cum down your chest. 

“Jesus Christ,” Joel snaps. He gets up off the couch and yanks you away from his brother by the hair. “What the hell's the matter with you today?” 

“I’m sorry,” you cry. 

“Shut up,” he says, and drags you out to the place you visit in most of your nightmares, despite only having been there once in reality. 

The Pit. 

ii. consumption

When he comes to get you in the morning, you’re wrecked. Deflated, no more tears left to pour down your cheeks. For now, at least.  

The sun is against his back when he opens the gate, reaching down for you with one strong arm. Bathed in the golden light, he is every inch your savior, and when you’ve climbed out on shaky legs, you prostrate yourself at his feet the way he likes. 

He’s still mad, though, so he steps one filthy boot on your head and grinds your face into the mud. He pisses on it for good measure, the hot stream dripping down your hair and face onto the soil. 

He’s got a switch in one hand. With you effectively pinned in place, he wastes no time in swinging it down on your ass. 

You scream and sob as he beats you. When he finally stops, when he’s drawn every bit of his anger in welts against your skin, he lifts his boot from your head and squats down. 

“Why d’you have to make me do this?” He’s solemn, sorrowful. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” you say, focusing on controlling the hysterical sobs wrenching from your chest. 

You don’t know what will follow, so you remain still, not daring to move without an order. 

“I should drop you off at a fuckin’ whorehouse,” he mutters. He pulls you up by your hair, and you scramble to your knees. “You can learn to suck who you’re told to suck.”

“Please, sir, please don’t, please—” It’s too much. You stumble, sobs wracking your body hard enough that you can’t move. You collapse in the grass with his hand still holding your head up. 

He lets go, letting you fall. 

You crawl to his boots and kiss them, mud be damned. It wasn’t like you weren’t covered in it anyway. “Please, sir, I’m so sorry, please don’t—” you say between sobs. 

“Please don’t what? You think you’re in any position to be askin’ for anything?”

“Don’t get rid of me, please; I promise I’ll be better; I can be good.”

“I’ll think about it, if you can fuckin’ earn it.”

“Please, please let me try to earn it.”

He squats down and helps pull you to your knees in front of him, cupping your filthy face in both hands. “I don’t wanna send you away. You know I love ya. But if you can’t be good, then what’s the point, baby?”

Your sobs are subsiding out of the pure elation that comes from his gentle touch. “I’ll do anything,” you whisper.

“I know ya will. You don’t really have a choice.” He sighs, shaking his head. “I’m gonna get you fed and taken care of. But you’re about to have one of the worst days of your fuckin’ life.”

You choke on a sob and sway a little. The fear and the hunger are like a fog over your brain. 

“Hey. Listen t’me.” He holds your hands in one of his. “You’re gonna learn, and it’s gonna be real hard for ya. But at the end of it all— if you take it all like a good girl—you’ll be forgiven. Got it?”

You look up through tear-sodden lashes, lip quivering, and nod your head. 

There’s no part of you anymore that registers an issue. No warning bells, no red flags, no hair raising. 

You follow him to the bottom of the patio steps, where he nudges you to kneel back down, folding over so your face rests against the soil. You wait while he goes inside, unsure of how much time has passed until he comes back out with a plate of eggs, scrambled with cheese and little bits of sausage. 

That raises some alarms. Not to the way he treats you, but more of a signal for what to expect. It’s protein-heavy, which isn’t necessarily unusual, but it smells delicious. And there’s no way you’re getting to eat that after behaving so badly. 

You’re half right. He squats down next to you and scoops up a bite with the fork. You don’t take the bait; you know that’s not for you. 

He moans exaggeratedly when he chews, grinning all the while. And then he scrapes the rest off the plate into the dirt in front of your face. 

“Ah, ah. Not yet,” he says, and you close your eyes at the sound of his zipper being yanked down. 

“You get wet from that beating earlier?” he asks.

You nod, even though he’s already reaching down between your legs and shoving his fingers in your cunt. He brings back his shiny hand and strokes his cock. 

“Look at me, baby,” he says, shifting onto his knees so when you open your eyes, you’re faced with his fist pumping away at the red, angry head. “Coulda been you. Shoulda been, but bad girls don’t get what they want.” 

You whimper. It really does hurt your feelings, but you know you have nothing to say for yourself. 

“Open. Maybe you’ll get lucky, and get some fresh.”

You obey immediately, squeezing your eyes back shut as soon as he starts to cum. A little bit lands in your mouth, which you hold open.

“You can swallow that. But don’t eat yet.” 

He walks away, puttering around on the patio. You try to work up the nerve for his command, stomach churning. Maybe it’ll still taste fine. Maybe cold semen and dirt won’t ruin it that much. Maybe. 

If you hadn’t earlier, you believed him now about it being the worst day of your life. He certainly wasn’t starting out small. Sure, you’d eaten off the floor before, but inside the house. The house you clean, so you know how sanitary it is. 

But thinking about doing this makes you want to cry. And when he tells you to get started, you do cry. Just a little. 

“You got about six minutes,” he says, checking his phone for the time instead of the eternally broken watch on his wrist, “and there better not be a single crumb left. Get your ass up here as soon as you’re done.”

You’re not sure how long it takes you, but it must be nearly the whole six minutes, because by the time you’re knelt at his feet on the patio, he says, “Cuttin’ it damn close, sweetheart.” 

He’s playing fucking Candy Crush, legs kicked out on the little wooden table in front of him. He’s got you knelt at his side, and after a few minutes, he digs into his breast pocket and hands you a smushed carton of cigarettes. 

You draw one carefully out of the pack and extend it to him, letting go once he’s pinched it between his lips and pulling out the lighter. Carefully, you ignite the tip for him and tuck it back away. You go to give the carton back, but he shakes his head.

He pulls the cigarette out of his mouth to blow smoke. “Hang onto that for me. And this,” and he hands you his coffee cup. 

It’s not the first time he’s used you as a table. He tried using you as a footrest but found it less satisfying. You try to sit and work through your nerves, try to ignore the terror that he might not keep you if you can’t endure the day. 

It’s a good thing that he drained you of any concept of dignity long ago, cut you open, and let it ooze away like pus from an infection.  

“Open,” he says absently, not bothering to look away from his game.

Your eyes and mouth snap open, and he taps the cigarette against your lip, letting the ash fall onto your tongue. You jerk back a little but correct it immediately.

He quirks an eyebrow. “I’ll give ya a pass this time. But keep your mouth open, tongue out, and don’t fucking swallow.” 

He’s clearly happy to spend the afternoon like this. He goes through a second cigarette and still doesn’t let you swallow or spit. Your knees ache from the planks of the deck. 

He gets up and goes inside for a few minutes, taking his empty coffee cup with him. You don’t dare drop your position, though. 

When he comes back out, he hands you a bottle of beer, condensation already dripping. He resettles to watch the game on his phone. 

Anything resembling hope is trickling out. He hates watching things on the little screen, peering at it through his glasses. But he never smokes inside the house, so he’s resigned himself to this for the sake of your punishment.

It makes you feel less than the ash on your tongue. 

By the time it’s over, your mouth has long gone dry, itching with the ash of four cigarettes, when he stands up and stretches. He leans down and holds your chin before spitting in your mouth.

“There ya go. Swallow.” 

And you do. When you cough a little as the ashes cling to your dry throat, he pries your mouth back open and spits again. 

It helps a little. 

iii. dismemberment

You’d only been in the Pit once before. The first time was arguably your worst offense, which was good, Joel thought, that you still hadn’t topped that misbehavior. 

But as glad as you are that it hasn’t happened a lot, it means you don’t really know what to expect. When he brings you into the ensuite, you know this routine enough that you kneel on the shower floor, barely flinching when he turns only the cold tap, and the faucet sputters to life. 

He never gets in until you’re shivering, so while he gathers fresh clothes and towels, you scrub the mud from your body. When he checks and finds you satisfactory, he turns the knobs until the water runs warm. 

Your shivers don’t subside for a few more minutes, though. Not until you’re practically done cleaning him with the spongey loofah. Hot tears burn in the corners of your eyes, though only a few slip loose.

When he turns around and takes it from you, you thank him for letting you wash him. 

He gives you a smile, hand cupping your cheek.

“Of course, baby. Don’t worry. I’m going to help you remember how to be my good girl.”

But first, before he can follow up on the threat, he washes the mud and piss from your hair with gentle hands, massaging your scalp. You hold still, head tipped back, and let the tears come harder.

He notices but doesn’t comment. It’s normal now, when he takes care of you after a hard punishment. Or, in this case, in the middle of one.

You go to speak, to pour out your regrets and devotion, but he shushes you.

“I want you quiet ‘till I say otherwise,” he says. “Nothin’ outta you unless it’s an emergency. Got it?”

You nod, and he helps you to your feet, drying you with a soft towel and taking care around the raised welts on your ass. There will be some nasty bruises tomorrow, but when isn’t there? Your tits have mottled spots of yellow fading, and the shape of Joel’s hand around your throat basically never leaves. 

He gives your raw, burning skin a sharp smack, sending you off to put on the dress he’s laid out for you.

He tells you nothing, just leads you to the truck. The drive is quiet, apart from the crooning voice on the radio. It’s a bit of a drive, and you park in a broken-up lot surrounded by rusty chainlink fence. He grabs your hand and takes you across the street to a dilapidated building. A cheap banner is tacked above one of the doors. 

Joel hands a bill to a man, who opens the door just enough for you to squeeze in. It doesn’t take long to figure out where you are.

“Been a while since I brought you someplace nice, baby. Hope you like it, ‘cause we’re gonna be here most of the night.”

That’s the understatement of your life. He hasn’t taken you out of the house in over a year. You’re not sure you remember how to exist away from home, clinging to his arm as he leads you through the club.

You can’t decide what will be worse, but you don’t have to wonder for long when he drags you around to an empty stall. He’s not there to use a hole. You’re there to be one. 

He clips your collar to the wall with just enough slack that you could pull back to breathe if the person on the other side doesn’t let you. 

He takes the ring gag out of his pocket and dangles it in front of you. “You need this, or are ya gonna be good?”

“I’ll be good,” you say immediately, a phantom ache in the hinge of your jaw. 

“You sure? ‘Cause if you have to ask later or I have to make that decision myself, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“I’m sure,” you whisper. 

“Good.” He pats the side of your face, two sharp smacks in lieu of a caress. There will be no softness for you tonight. 

He waits to talk to you until your mouth is full. You look miserable, but you don’t hesitate. It’s not to the standard he’d usually require, but you’re both aware of the hours ahead, so he lets you pace yourself. 

He crouches down near you. “You like that? Some random dirty prick in your throat?” 

You, of course, can’t answer, but your eyes close against the hurt.

“It’s fucking disgusting. You think I want to let just anyone use you? I could fuck any hole I want. I could go out there and have every cunt and ass and mouth. You know why I won’t?”

Your eyes flick over to him, but you don’t try to answer, don’t stop what you’re doing. 

“Because they ain’t you, sweetheart. You’re my perfect girl. Nicest I’ve ever had. And if I got something this nice, and I don’t share it with my brother? You don’t even suck him off right? How do you think that made him feel, baby?”

He keeps it up, past the point where he feels like carrying on, but he can tell it’s wearing you down faster than the relentless facefucking. You’re starting to work your jaw, joints popping in between visitors, but even that doesn’t compare to the way you’ve started to shake when he’s scolding you.

“I know you’re tired, baby. I hope you remember this fuckin’ lesson because I’m not sacrificing two nights of sleep again to repeat it.”

You whimper around the stranger’s cock, which encourages them to fuck into you harder. But Joel knows the tears in your eyes aren’t from that. 

“Yeah, you were bein’ selfish, huh? I couldn’t fuckin’ sleep with you out there, and now I’m up all night with you here.”

There it was, he thought, watching you break. A little too early; it was going to be tough to keep you going. But nothin’ did you in like the thought of having hurt him in the process. 

And it was true. He never slept with someone out in The Pit. Too fuckin dangerous. He kept watch on a camera. He needed you scared and sorry, not dead. 

He watches as you choke down the stranger’s seed, looking like you might retch. He shuts the little sliding door for a few minutes and gives you some water. After you’ve rehydrated and seem a little less green, he opens it back up.

“Alright, get ready for the next round.”

In the truck on the way home, he keeps you tucked close to his side. Between the dark, empty highway and his coat wrapped around you, you start to doze off. 

He nudges you a little. “None of that now. Ain’t finished with you yet.”

You whimper, not in protest but in exhaustion. Despite how hard you try to fight it, you’re fast asleep when he pulls into the driveway. 

He thinks about waking you up anyway, to follow through on his word. He carries you inside and up to the bedroom, still deliberating, but when he tries to set you down on the bed, you cling to him desperately, even in your sleep. He manages to wriggle the coat off you and lays down beside you. He’ll just let you both rest for a little while.

You wake up, mid-afternoon, shaking all over. Joel awakens moments later, eyes wide as he tugs on your arm to roll you over. 

“Oh, baby,” he says, and moves to get out of the bed. “Knew I shouldn’t have let you go to sleep.”

But you grab onto him, lip trembling. 

He knocks your hand away. “I‘ll be right back, jus’ hold on.”

You’re curled into yourself, sobbing, when he gets back three minutes later. 

He hands you a water bottle anyway. “Sit up; you need to eat. It’ll help.”

Somehow, you find the strength to struggle and wriggle your body into sitting. He brings you to lean against his chest while he leans against the headboard. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, a kiss pressed to your head. 

You start crying hard all over again. 

“I know. M’sorry. I should have talked to ya last night, huh? S’that what you’re all worked up about?”

You nod. There you are, sitting in his bed, when you hadn’t fucking earned it. But he doesn’t shove you off or hurt you for it; he just feeds you a protein bar and lets you sip at the water between bites. 

After he’s given you the last of the bar, he has you slide down to your knees by the side of the bed.

“What happened?” he asks.

“I disobeyed and embarrassed you.” 

“I didn’t ask you what you did wrong.”

“Oh,” you say softly, and have to think. “I didn’t understand, at first. That you wanted me to suck his cock.”

“And after you did?”

“I—” you don’t want to say it. You know he’s going to be mad. He doesn’t like when you question things like this.

“Is this because Tommy said you weren’t special? ‘Cause you know better.” 

“No, I just… why did you get rid of the others? What did they do?” 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, and cups your face in one hand. “I don’t think that’s anything you gotta worry about. Not anymore.”

“But how will I know how to do better?”

“You already are. None of ‘em ever made it this far. They talked big talk but couldn’t back it up. Some of ‘em didn’t want to give up the things you have, some of ‘em couldn’t handle my expectations. I told you, you’re the nicest thing I’ve ever had. You’ve let me make you exactly the way I want you to be.”

“Even though I was so bad the other night?”

“Yep. Because you took every consequence, and I know you’ve learned your lesson. And you’ll probably fuck up again someday. But if you keep wantin’ to be better, I’ll keep teachin’ ya.” 

You can’t help but cry again. You’re so tired and so tired of crying. 

“What, were you worried I was gonna replace you with some new young thing someday?”

You nod, and he clicks his tongue disapprovingly.

“I’m gettin’ old, sweetheart. I don’t want to keep breakin’ in toys that ain’t worth my time. I just finished puttin’ you back together exactly the way I like ya. You stay my good girl, and you’ll be mine ‘till I die.” 

It doesn’t stop your tears.

“Hey,” he says. “What do you need?”

It startles you. “What?”

“What do you need? What’s gonna make you feel better, baby?” 

You’re not sure when the last time you’ve had to think about something like that is. He’s been taking care of you for so long now. 

“Whatever you want,” you say. 

“No, baby, that’s not what I’m asking.”

“That’s my answer, though,” you realize. “I need to feel whatever you want me to.”

“God damn,” he whispers. “I fucked you up, huh?”

Your lip trembles.

“No, baby, I didn’t mean that in a bad way. It’s just kinda incredible. Jesus. How could you think I’d ever get rid of you? There’s not a fuckin’ bit of you that isn’t mine.” 

Your cheeks burn, so you bury your face into his palm and press a kiss to the center. 

“You want to know what I want, is that right?”

You nod. 

“I wanna fuck your pretty little mouth. And then I want to order us some fuckin’ takeout and eat it in the bath.”

It makes you smile just a little. 

“Yeah? That sound good, baby?” His thumb rubs against your cheek. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright, open up for me.”

You wrangle yourself into position. The initial weight and taste of him sends warmth through your bones for the first moment since he dragged you outside. 

It’s sloppy, the way he fucks your throat, in a way it usually isn’t. It’s always messy, but his thrusts are erratic. You can’t keep up with his pace because there simply isn’t one. It’s not long before he’s holding you down and pumping his cum down your throat.

It trickles down and cleanses everything in its path. You’re lighter, like you can breathe again. You thank him sweetly, pressing a kiss to his twitching cock. 

He’s panting, but strokes your cheek with one hand. “That’s my good girl. Feel better now that I washed all those other guys outta your mouth?” 

Technically, he had done that last night, had shoved three soap-covered fingers in your mouth in the gross club bathroom. Wretchedly, it had the side effect of making you nauseous, and he had insisted on doing it over after you threw up.

But this felt more pure to him, more consecrational in a way. The soap might have cleared the actual evidence away, but his come was your wine and wafer. 

“Yes, sir,” you say into the flesh of his thigh where your head rests. You kiss there for good measure, eliciting a pleased hum from him that sends you preening a little. 

He lays back on the bed, leaving a hand on the top of your head to stroke your hair while the other gropes around for his phone. “What do you want, baby? Lo mein?” 

“Oh, yes, please.” 

He feeds you noodles in the bath and then eats you out until you fall asleep. 

iv. reduced to bone

You’re on your knees in the basement, bent forward over a metal pipe placed at just the right height to nestle into your hips and keep them tilted up in the air. Stocks hold your head and wrists in place, tits hanging just below. The wood is slowly dampening as you drool around the ring gag. 

“Got a surprise for you, baby,” he had said when he led you down. “You know how you keep beggin’ me to hurt you worse, and I have to keep tellin’ you I’m not tryin' to wear you out?”

“Yes, sir?” 

“Well, I think you’re going to like this.”

That had been… well, you’re not entirely sure. A while ago, maybe, but your brain wasn’t the best judge of time right now. After he had secured you here, he had dragged out the little machine. It’s sitting under your torso somewhere, thin clear tubing stretching out like a web he’d caught you in. 

There’s no noise but the hum of it, which you’ve gone pleasantly numb to. The pressure is unending, each nipple and your clit being tugged into the tiny cups relentlessly. 

It tingles, just on the side of too gentle to be fulfilling on its own. That’s okay. You’re pretty sure you’ll be in delicious, mind-shattering agony soon. 

This you know because, well, it’s Joel, but also because of the tools he’s laid out on the little wheeled cart and left for you to stare at. 

A thin cane. Clover clamps with a length of chain. A tawse with a tapered, pointy tip. A wand. 

It makes you dizzy to look at. 

Also, you know because it’s a Friday night. Joel enjoys you however he likes any day of the week, but he’s careful about saving the deepest of his cruelties for Fridays. Because mind-shattering wasn’t really an exaggeration. When he gets like this, you sometimes don’t surface enough to take care of yourself for a day or two.

On those occasions, he never leaves you alone. Doesn’t want to, both because he loves when you need him that deeply and because you’re so soft and pliant. Truthfully, he thinks he could do anything to you then and you’d thank him for it. 

Which is why he’s got Tommy coming over tomorrow. It’s not that he thinks you need to be out of it to avoid a repeat of last time. He knows you learned your lesson and you’ll be good. 

But he’s got something special in mind that he needs help with. It’ll just be easier for everyone if you’re at your most agreeable. 

And yeah, you owe Tommy a blowjob. One of the ones that make Joel feel like he mighta died and somehow gotten through the pearly gates by the grace of your devotion. 

Plus, he’s pretty sure you’re going to love his plan, and he wants you unprepared, so you’ll cry real pretty and be truly desperate to show him your appreciation. It’s been on his mind since that night a few months back when you didn’t seem to believe him about never letting you go. 

He’s never fucking letting you go. There’s nothing in this world that could take you from him. He’s made sure of it. 

Sometimes, he has to remind himself that you don’t know you’re married. 

He thought about telling you that night, so you’d understand the depth of the commitment he’s made. But he doesn’t want you to take it the wrong way. Doesn’t want you thinking you need to act like a wife . 

He’d had a whole bucket of bullshit cooked up to excuse it, but when he told you to sign the paper, you hadn’t questioned it. Hadn’t questioned that you couldn’t see what it was, only the line where he pointed. You’d signed the fucking paper and never asked a goddamn thing. 

He was glad. He didn’t like lying to you. This was just one of those hoops to jump through in a world that didn’t understand what you shared. 

When he comes back down, your eyes are already glazed over. Your body shines with a thin layer of sweat, and your chest is heaving as you squirm. It’s gone beyond gentle. The waves of suction have you whimpering soft and high, barely louder than a breath, but nearly constant. 

He chuckles and strolls over, crouching down to wipe the sweat off your brow with the bandana from his pocket before it gets in your eyes. You give him a truly pathetic look, eyes wide as you drool helplessly. 

“Not so nice now, huh?” 

You whine. 

He strokes your cheek with an exaggerated pout before sliding two fingers into your mouth, pressing down on the back of your tongue. It tries to curl around them, eliciting another cruel laugh. 

“Jesus, girl. S’there anything that would stop ya from gagging for my cock?”

You shake your head. Even if you weren’t spread by the ring gag and choking on his fingers, you’re beyond speech. Too far deep. 

Joel actually doesn’t mind when you talk. He’s got no rules restricting your speech (well, most of the time). As long as you’re respectful, he likes the company. 

But he really likes when you go quiet like this. When he’s pushed you so far that you can’t . 

“Look at you, all worked up. We haven’t even gotten started, baby. You gonna be able to take it?”

You nod, whining, and he pulls his fingers out of your mouth and wipes them on your cheek. 

“What was that, baby? Couldn’t quite understand ya.”

Tears spring to your eyes as you whine again. 

“I’m just teasin’,” he says and kisses your forehead. “I got ya. I know you’re gonna be my good girl and take everything I fuckin’ want.”

He reaches down and tugs the tubing until the cups pop free of your breasts. You cry out, but it turns into a desperate moan when he tugs the one off your clit. 

Yeah, he coulda turned the pump off first so they just fell off, but where’s the fun in that? 

He’s grinning wickedly as he reaches back up to your breast. He barely, just barely, brushes over the side of your nipple, and the sound you make goes right to his cock. 

“Fuck, you’re so swollen.” He has to remind himself he’s playing the long game; he just wants to pinch and pull so badly. He’s pretty sure you’ll scream, even though normally it wouldn’t be much at all. 

But he wants to fuckin’ torture you tonight, so he’s going to drag it out. He wants you incoherent and beaten down when he’s done, so far gone you’ll stay there for days. 

So he’s gotta start soft. He drags his fingertip around your areola, not quite brushing the nipple but tracing the ring left behind by the cup. You twitch, shoulders jerking back, and he grips your breast. 

“None of that, now,” he croons, letting go and switching sides to torment your other breast. 

It’s holy, in that way you never quite understood. Not like the Jesus kind, though you never were much for church either, but in the way that people chase salvation through empty bottles and sharp needles. 

With the wand and the tawse, he breaks you down again and again and again. But that’s the thing about Joel. He reduces you to pain or pleasure or the delicious apex of both that brews between your thighs, and then he cleans you back up, puts the pieces back where he likes them.

He makes you come until you cry, and then, when you’re sobbing and exhausted, that’s when the night really begins. You’re twitching and jerking at the barest contact, writhing with every snap of the cane. 

It’s so, so good. Until it isn’t. But he’s running that damn mouth of his, that sweet, filthy mouth, and you can’t not take it. Your tears are gone, all run out; he likes to wring you dry. And he keeps rubbing his hand over your hypersensitive flesh, already raw and ruined, and murmuring soft words and sweet taunts. 

“Look at you,” he croons. “My pretty little toy. You’re so beautiful, suffering for me like this, baby.”

And so you do. You suffer for him. There’s nothing left in your little subby brain right now but Joel Joel Joel. 

You’re dry. He almost can’t believe it. The only time you’ve not been a sloppy, soaking mess was when he broke your finger. 

He whistles low and slow. “Shit, baby. Guess you have some limits after all, huh.” 

It’s impressive that you can even lift your head enough to shake it weakly. An overwhelming fondness washes over him. 

“ Aw. Takin’ it for me anyway, were ya?” He comes around and squats near your head, unhooking the gag and easing it out of your mouth. He rubs gentle circles on the hinges of your jaw as you whimper.

“Did so good for me, baby. Lemme get you outta there, and I’ll give you my cock.”

You shake your head, tears spilling over, but you don’t have a voice. The words don’t come together in your mind, just devastation.

His grip turns tight, forcing you to look at him. “No? You tellin’ me no?”

You shake your head again, lip quivering. 

“You don’t want my cock?”

You shake your head harder and try to reach for him, hands flexing where they’re bound in the stocks. Trying to make him see just how bad you want his cock. 

Luckily, he understands that much. “You wanna stay there? Baby, my knees ain’t gonna like fuckin’ you here.” But he can tell from the way your face crumples that he still isn’t quite getting it. 

“Are you tryin’ to tell me you want me to keep goin’?” 

You nod and he slaps you, a sharp strike that catches you by surprise.

“Stupid girl,” he says, scowling, and gripping your chin tightly between his thumb and forefinger. “I decide when we’re done. The whole point of this was not to ruin ya. This ain’t a punishment. Well, it wasn’t. Might be, next time.” 

He stands up, shaking his head. “Dumb fuckin’ cunt.”

It hurts worse than the cane did. 

When he sees the heartbreak on your face, he sighs. “Ah, shit. Look, I know you’re just tryin’ to please me. But you’re makin’ me feel bad for tryin’ to be careful with ya. If I take it too far today, you won’t be able to take as much anymore. I ain’t breakin’ you.” 

You’re sobbing too hard to respond, but you don’t try to argue or struggle when he releases you. You crawl to lay kisses to the toes of his boots and nuzzle your cheek against them.

He sees it for the apology it is. 

v. parched to dust

This time, when Tommy Miller takes out his cock in front of you, you’re ready. And there’s no way in hell you’re disappointing Joel again, so you wrap your lips around him, not quite eagerly but with enough determination that no one could fault you.

When you drag the second consecutive orgasm from him, he tugs you away with a fist in your hair, panting and gasping. Joel swats his hand away and beckons you back to his lap. 

“ Jesus,” Tommy finally says, tucking himself back into his jeans. 

“Told ya it was just a bad day,” Joel snipes. 

“Sorry,” Tommy says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shoulda figured. It’s just… you’re a little soft for her, yeah?”

“Course I am. But I’m not soft on her.”

You know he loves you. You do. But hearing him admit that he’s soft for you makes your chest ache. 

“Got another surprise for ya, baby,” Joel says, rubbing his hand over your back. 

You’re overwhelmed. It’s not that he doesn’t give you things or do things for you; it’s that it’s never such a big deal. It just is . He takes care of you. That’s how this works. Not gifts and surprises. 

You bite your lip so you don’t question it, but he sees through you.

“Now I know you don’t remember. D’you even know what day it is?” 

“Saturday,” you say. “You’re home.” 

He shakes his head, but it’s betrayed by the smirk. “You’re right, baby. But what’s the date?”

You actually have to think for a minute. You hadn’t crossed off the calendar this morning like you usually did, and yesterday’s activities have you a little rattled. “It’s um, it’s August 19th?”

“That’s our anniversary, baby.”

Your brows scrunch as you try to think back. That’s not right. Your first date was in February. You moved in sometime early in June. You’re not sure what his metric is, but August doesn’t make sense. “Um. Are you… are you sure?” 

He doesn’t get mad like you thought he might. He just laughs. “Course, I’m sure, baby. It was the night we came home from your folks’. When you agreed to be mine.”

Your face heats. “I’m sorry—”

“Y’ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry about, baby. I didn’t expect ya to remember. But you’ve been mine for two years now, and you’re still worried I ain’t gonna keep you. But I’ve been thinkin’, and I know how to prove it to you.” 

If this doesn’t convince you, he thinks, nothing will. Never mind that his whole goddamn life revolves around you. Never mind that you’ve worn his collar for the last 731 fuckin’ days. 

You’re busy wondering why he made you suck another man’s cock today if he cares about your anniversary. But then again, you’ve long accepted that what he wants won’t always make sense. It’s not your job to make it make sense. It’s just your job to do it. 

“C’mon, let’s go downstairs,” he says. 

You swallow hard around the sudden fear, and he laughs. 

“What? Had enough yesterday?”

“No, sir,” you say. It’s mostly the truth. Mostly. 

He shakes his head. “Not today. C’mon.”

Now that he moves, you follow. 

Tommy’s already in the basement, which almost gives you pause, if only because his movement startles you. 

Joel has you hop up on the padded table instead of the metal one, typically a sign that either you’re going to be here for a well-extended time or that he’s going to fuck you on it. 

Tommy’s setting things you don’t recognize out on the little cart, but you don’t try very hard to look. Looking makes your breathing get a little ragged, so you look at Joel instead. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, bending slightly to give you a kiss before he begins to slowly circle the table, fastening straps over your body. 

He’s left the dress on, which is weird, too, but you’re not complaining. It’s always a little chilly down here and even though you know you shouldn’t, you’re glad he’s not made you bare yourself completely in front of Tommy. 

It’s a lot of straps. You watch curiously, if not a little dazed, as he secures your ankles, thighs, stomach, chest both above and below your breasts, arms in three places, neck, and head. 

The one around your neck clips to your collar, not adding another band or choking you. But you’re unable to lift your head and neck at all. 

When he’s done with the strap across your forehead, he smooths away the worry lines that crease beneath it. 

“Just need ya to hold real still. You’re probably going to like this, but don’t fuckin’ come.”

“Yes, sir.” Your eyes are wide and worshipful as you wait for further commands. 

“Be real good for Tommy, okay?”

Your heart pounds in your throat, but you promise immediately. 

He hops up to sit on the spanking bench nearby. 

“Where first?” Tommy says. 

“Hip,” Joel says, settling in to watch. 

Tommy goes about his business and pulls the bottom halves of the table apart, wrenching your legs open slowly. He spreads them wide and slides a stool over, situating himself right up by your cunt, and flips the hem of your dress up over your belly button. 

You whimper and try to look at Joel for any indication of how you’re supposed to behave, but the restraints don’t allow enough wiggle room. 

Something cold smears across the front of your left hip, and, much to Joel’s surprise, you break. You’re still raw in more than one way from the previous day. 

“Please, sir,” you blurt, lip trembling and eyes squeezed tight. 

He hops down, brow furrowed, and comes closer, raising a hand to Tommy to pause him. 

He cups your face. “Please, what, baby?” His other hand rubs up and down your side. 

You force your eyes open to look at him, blurred through waiting tears. 

“Please, can I have a gag?” you say. Your eyes are scrunched, and fists clenched. 

He strokes his hand over your cheek. “‘Course you can. Good girl.”

The praise keeps you calm while he steps away. When he comes back, you open your mouth wide, and he settles it between your lips. 

You nearly cry in relief when you feel the little bulb press inside, not much different than the head of his cock. A few tears spill over when he leans down to kiss your forehead. 

“Atta girl, he says, pinching your chin before returning to his perch. 

The warmth of his touch lingers, and you let the pressure of the gag distract you from where Tommy starts to move again. You suck on it steadily, eyes fluttering shut when you feel the unmistakable scrape of a blade across your hip. 

Shaving. He’s shaving you. You can’t fathom why, with only peach fuzz reaching there. And you think maybe it’d be a cold day in hell before Joel let anyone shave your pubic hair. He liked it kept trimmed but not too neat. 

“I’m from the seventies, baby. Women’re supposed to have a nice healthy bush,” he had told you fairly early on when you were just dating. He hadn’t told you to stop shaving and waxing, but of course, you had. 

Warm water washes over the area with a washcloth not far behind. Tommy’s firm hand does a final sweep with something cold. 

“Alright, honey,” Tommy says, his voice almost seeming fond , “just hold still and be a good girl, okay?” 

As if you’d do anything else. 

You startle a little at the loud buzz that kicks up, and Tommy rubs gloves fingers over the opposite hip for just a moment. 

And then he gets to work. It hurts . But the pain clues you into what’s going on, and you come to the only logical conclusion: Joel’s having you tattooed. 

You start to cry, the feeling of being loved and owned overwhelming. You don’t hear Joel’s chuckle, buried as it gets under the gun in Tommy’s hands. 

You thought it was overly cautious of him earlier, to worry about you having an orgasm during anything involving Tommy. But you get it now. The pain itself is bearable, almost delicious, but the rush of euphoria in your veins from the mere concept is intoxicating. 

It goes on and on. Maybe it’s only half an hour. Maybe it’s four. The pain cycles, fading to a soothing heat before building back up to a scald. 

You don’t realize it’s over right away. The buzz of the gun plays on in your brain even when the room falls quiet. And Tommy’s doing something to it, probably wiping it down, but your skin still rages. 

Joel hops down and comes over to the side of your left leg. “Shit, that’s fuckin’ gorgeous,” he says to his brother. 

“Looks damn good. Hey, she’s got a real pretty pussy, huh?” He says, elbowing Joel. “S’funny, watchin’ her leak all over.”

Joel peers over, running a finger over your cunt, and laughs. “Knew you’d like that,” he says.

You whimper. 

He pulls out his phone and snaps a photo. “Want to see, baby?” He asks though he’s already turning the screen to you. 

The skin is red and irritated, but the ink takes your breath away. In shiny black, right there on your hip, sits a blocky “JM” surrounded by a circle. It looks like a fucking brand. 

Your eyes fly to his, whining desperately and praying he understands. A sly grin spreads across his face, and the tip of his middle finger traces oh so gently up your slit. 

“Come for me, baby,” he says, not bothering to touch you further. He knows you won’t need it. 

Vision blacking out, you writhe uselessly against the restraints as the pleasure batters through you. You’re only vaguely aware that the loud keening sound is coming from you, but it’ll register later when you feel the raw ache in your throat. 

Tommy whistles. “Sorry I doubted you, princess.”

You whine through the aftershocks, tears welling up again at the thought of the tattoo. You hope Tommy would leave so Joel will fuck you. 

Then you remember him asking, “Where first?” just as Tommy drags his stool around to the right side of your torso. 

Joel comes with him, rolling up his sleeves and tinkering with something on the cart. They both touch your arm a lot, fingers roving and adjusting you. You start to tune it out until Tommy lathers a spot on the inside of your wrist. 

Once it’s been shaved and cleaned, someone presses something against the spot for a moment. 

“Well?” Joel says. 

“Lines look clear to me,” Tommy says. He’s leaning close to your arm. 

Joel doesn’t walk away this time. As the gun kicks back to life, he stays with his hand resting on your upper arm, looming over Tommy’s shoulder. 

It’s easier this time, now that you know what to expect. It hurts, but you’ve had worse and probably will again. You’re feeling a bit too dizzy, though, when it finally stops. 

“This one’s for you to see,” Joel says, starting to unlatch the straps. He frees your arm first and then your head and neck, plus the gag. The ache makes itself known as soon as you shift a little. 

You peer immediately at your wrist, and a strange clenching tears through your chest. A few inches below your palm lays the dark outline of Joel’s thumbprint. 

“Oh,” you whisper, a strange tingling spreading through your limbs. “Oh.” 

“Knew you’d like it,” he says, lips curling into a smug smirk. 

Once you’re untethered, he peels your dress off so the fabric won’t brush against your hip. 

“There’s a protein bar and a bottle of water on the coffee table,” Joel says. “Go eat and wait by my chair.”

You’re swaying a little but he helps you down and makes sure you can stay on your feet before he removes his hands from your waist. 

You make your way upstairs in a daze. Truthfully, you don’t really remember it. When they come upstairs, you’re knelt in your place, wrapper and empty bottle on the table. 

“Good girl,” Joel says, lowering himself with a little groan into his recliner. He shifts around and pulls his cock out. “C’mere.”

You hop up immediately, and he takes you by the waist to help you settle where he’s fully hard already.

“Don’t move,” he says, to your great disappointment. “None of that,” he scolds at your pout. “It’s my turn. Just relax.”

Tommy sets the gun and equipment up to the side of the chair. You settle against Joel’s chest, snuggling in and resting your head on his shoulder so you can watch. 

Joel’s other hand, the one not waiting in place, comes up to cup the back of your head. He bends his head down to kiss where he can reach. “You’re being so good. Just a little bit more, and then you can take this cock.”

“Do not come on her tattoo, Joel,” Tommy says. 

Joel laughs, but Tommy smacks his arm. “I’m serious. It’ll fuck it up and probably infect it. Don’t fuckin’ do it.”

“I’ll wait ‘till it’s healed, don’t worry.”

You moan and clench around him at the idea, which only encourages his pleased chuckling. 

Tommy takes your hand, peeling it from where it rested against Joel’s chest, idly brushing through the hair there. You let him, letting it go limp and unresistant.

He presses your thumb against an ink pad and pushes it down on a piece of paper, rolling it carefully. He repeats the process a few times before he’s satisfied. Wiping it clean, he coats it one more time before pressing it against Joel’s wrist.  

You stare, rapt, as he traces the lines of your fingerprint onto Joel’s thick arm, framed by dark hair. It sits in parallel to the watch on his other wrist. 

“Where d’you want these?” Tommy says after he’s wrapped up and started to pack away the equipment. He’s holding the papers where they tested your print.

“The safes. One in each office,” Joel says. 

It’s weird, certainly, but so is Joel, so you don’t give it much thought. 

He’s cradling your face in his palm, looking at you with something so tender and ferocious that you can’t possibly look away. He thrusts up into you, his other hand tight on the hip opposite the tattoo.

It hurts, but, well, you don’t mind. 

The way he fucks you open now is slow, cruel after making you sit still for so long, but he’s savoring it. Savoring the way you can’t help but stare at him in worshipful bliss. It’s like a drug, the way his attention makes you hazy. He’s got you hooked, addicted, right where he wants you. His. 

Not a damn part of you that isn’t. 

The smirk curls across his face, and his hand curls around your neck, abandoning the gentle caress for something you both understand as love. You come on his cock when he tells you, every time he tells you, as he leaves you gasping and clutching his forearm, not prying him away but holding on as the room spins. 

When he fills you, he kisses you deeply, hand back around your throat as his mouth takes the rest of your air. You collapse against his chest when he lets go, and he holds you there with a smug, satiated smile and a soft kiss to the top of your head.

You doze in and out in his lap as he and Tommy share a bottle of bourbon. 

“Damn, I shoulda brought Daisy over. You haven’t had someone for her to play with in a while,” you hear Tommy say through the fog of your brain.

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Joel says. His hand is scratching at your scalp and it feels so good you almost forget Tommy is talking.

“... my wife and your little pet—” he’s saying.

You don’t mean to open your eyes, but you catch his as soon as you do. He laughs. “Yeah, I got a wife. I’m not as mean as my brother, here.” 

You find that hard to believe, but also, you don’t really think of Joel as mean. He’s strict, sure, and he has high expectations. But he takes such good care of you, and you want for nothing. 

The phrase stirs something odd in your head. Do you want for nothing? Well, it’s at least partially true. You don’t want anything, not a thing you have or don’t have. You’re happy with whatever Joel gives. 

It’s probably the same thing. Besides, you wanted that career; you wanted to put on a face, a mask, and pretend to be someone who gave a shit about the company’s reputation. And you were wrong, so wrong. And Joel’s always been right. So what do you know about what you want?

Joel’s rumbling voice startles you a little where you’re tucked against his chest. “She was one ‘a mine, y’know,” he says to you. 

Tommy’s wearing a sly grin. “Yeah, until you scared the shit out of her,” he says, laughing. “Poor little thing didn’t know what to do with herself.” 

“She wasn’t like you,” Joel says. He waits as if he expects a reaction, but you don’t stir from your safe place in his arms. 

“Nah, not everyone’s as fucked up as y’all,” Tommy says. “I ain’t a sadist,” he says to you, a glint in his eye. “Don’t get me wrong, I do love puttin’ her in her place, but mostly, I just like havin’ my pretty little wife at home.” 

Joel’s watching you; you can feel the heft of his gaze. But you’re so blissed out, so calm right here in his lap, dripping his seed slowly around where his cock still fills you. 

“Would that bother you? Playin’ with a girl who used to be Joel’s?” Tommy goads.

You think about it for a moment. “She ever get his mark?”

Tommy grins, teeth like a shark. “Nope.”

You hum, unbothered, and nuzzle your cheek against Joel.

“Attagirl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your head. “Knew you’d learn this time.” 

You gaze at his thumbprint on your arm. The cells around it will grow and die, but not his claim on you. 

It’s almost comforting, you think, that by the time that fades, there’ll be nothing left of you anyway. 

bonus: the art of breaking playlist

thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who asked for a part two and expressed love for the first. I will admit I am INCREDIBLY nervous to publish this both because it's kind of fucked up but also because so many of you loved the first part and I'm scared this won't live up to your expectations.

please, if you enjoyed this, let me know! soothe my anxiety lol. and if you don't want to publically do so, anon is always on.

i love you!

[minty-drop]

Yandere demon x reader

Type: small story

Authors note: reader is gender neutral for all readers to enjoy. Armaros is referred to as it, because it does not have a gender nor needs one. It is not a sensual demon so no need for those bodily parts. This fic will be quite Graphic in description when it comes to creepy stuff, not so much gore in my standards but be warned. This can be taken platonically or romantic, due to the fact Armaros itself can distinguish them properly.

Warnings: forced captivity, forced proximity, mentions of uncanny bodily image, mentions of body horror, blood, murder.

Beads of sweat trinkled down your forehead, meeting the cold, moist air that made it cling to you. The disgusting stickiness of its fluid was an unpleasant sensation that made your insides crawl, hot breaths puffing out of your mouth in a desperate attempt to hear something, anything to distract yourself from the sickening sound of bones popping and the wet squelch of limps dragging across the aged stone, staining it a crimson red with each movement.

The world wasn’t what it looked like, walls disorientated as if they were alive themself, thick bricks squirming within your vision as black and white spots danced over them. Every movement was uncalculated, unable to comprehend it when the overwhelming feeling of dread and haziness overtook you, strangling you in a grip so tight it hurt. You were so close. So close to that feeling of death you so wished would embrace you. Yet you were never satisfied with that desire, the hope that this would all end, even if you never got to see the sun rays glimmer on the tree tops again, the seas crashing waves and the sweetness of life.

Bitterness is all that was left down here, to rot and decay along with you. Every desire, every wish and prayer that you could be something was stripped away from you just like that. So close to the door yet so far away from freedom you could barely make it out. You hated it, the thing that took everything away from you. How foolish you were. Now stuck in this endless and mindless torture, no matter how much you pleased and cried, begged for mercy on your soul.

It stared. Its long, uncanny limps that stretched to long and its eyes. Its eyes you could barely look into before you wanted to vomit. In these times of sorrow, it told you things. Things you didn’t want to hear as it dragged its nail a crossed your pale cheek, cutting into the deprived of sunlight skin effortlessly, down to your lips and then to you neck, grassing your jugular teasingly, mockingly. No voice, no emotion, nothing except the cracking of its neck bending unnaturally to meet your gaze that wandered away from it. This was it, the rest of your days, down here in this wicked cellar, surrounded by mold and decay and the metallic smell of the red liquid that clumped to together, smeared all around the walls.

You couldn’t look at it. You can’t. You won’t. You won’t give it the satisfaction. Your couldn’t. Chucks of flesh between its jaws was guzzled down into its tattered and rotting throat, blood pooling out of the gaps onto the stone. Those poor young men who’d happened to stumble down into this hellhole were quickly caught by it. You should have thanked them, for trying to save you, but you didn’t. It wouldn’t like that. It didn’t like it when you looked away from it, when you looked at them. It was a split second, a fraction of a moment your eyes met, before those teeth came down onto the poor man’s head, ripping it clean off his body along with part of his clavicle.

The last of your adrenaline had kicked in at that moment when it started to tear into the second man to death, sending your body flying towards the mangled stairs. With each quick step the wood pierced into your calf’s, but you didn’t care, even when your vision blurred, you could still see the light on the other side, waiting for you to return. A sharp pain shot through your body like lightning, a wet scraping feeling on your now exposed ankle bone made you cry out in excruciating agony. Please. Please let me die. Everything hurts. Please. Until a power force tugged you back down the stairs, head clashing into the wood with each descending step. The wood sliced through your fingers in your desperate attempt at clawing your way back up.

“Please”

Snapping out of your daze and shivered at the cold presence now by your side, its watchful gaze burning into the back of your head. Everything was feverish, now hot and gross as your body heat increased by 10 fold, anxiety building up within you sending your mind into a panic. You refused to turn its way. And it didn’t like that one bit. A sudden movement in the corner of your eye caught your attention, until it caught you. Dislocated fingers wrapped itself around your head, almost entirely encasing it whole as you were forcibly turned to face it.

A wet, thick layer of saliva was coated onto your cheeks, cleaning your wounds from the nasty fall, or was it to enjoy the rich flavour of your blood? You tried to turn your head away, you can’t look you can’t. But it refused to let you go. Teeth bared at your disobedience. With a swift motion, it slammed its hands on the other side of your head, bending abnormally to better accommodate the position. Now trapped between its arm and body. You can’t look you can’t. Please look. Look.

It hurt so fucking bad. It hurts. Please stop. Please.

look at me

[hoshipills]

The world is ending

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x fem!reader

Genre: strangers to ???, Angst, Action, Zombie apocalypse, tiny bits of fluff.

Warnings: blood, zombies, death, profanity, Soonyoung gets hurt pretty often, sometimes there is graphic description of wounds but its not too bad.

Word count: 11.5k

Summary: The world is literally ending. Zombies roam the streets, and blood paints the sidewalks. You didn't know how you will survive in this nightmare. Then you met him – a man with mysterious eyes who saved you from a bunch of zombies at the last moment. The survival of one suddenly became survival of two, side by side, every day a fight. Soonyoung knew how to get through, and you realize you might actually be in love with this man.

Note: I am sorry for taking longer than said 😭😭😭. My exam paper was so hard, I had spent my time re-watching hidden love. also not at all proofread.

Comments and reblogs are appreciated!!

Taglist: @kwonshiho @heeseungthel0ml

Your head throbbed with a splitting headache as you groggily peeled yourself off the couch. The nap was supposed to be refreshing, but instead, you felt like you’d been hit by a truck. You squinted at your watch lying on the table.

16:08.

You sighed, lifting your head and rubbing your temples. The apartment was unsettlingly quiet, a silence that gnawed at your nerves. Something felt...off.

Dragging yourself to the living room, your brows furrowed when you noticed your roommate wasn’t around. Her bedroom door stood wide open, the bed unmade, but the room was empty. You shuffled to the kitchen, half-expecting her to pop out with some lame excuse about losing track of time, but all you found was a sticky note clinging to the fridge: "I’ll get some groceries, there are barely any in the house."

Your stomach growled in agreement, reminding you that the morning’s toast and pasta weren’t cutting it. You yanked open the cupboard doors, only to be greeted by an expanse of barren shelves. Great. You’d have better luck finding food on a desert island.

Two hours later, you frowned. The corner store was a mere fifteen-minute stroll and she wasn’t exactly the type to leave that long without a word. You punched her number into your phone, but each ring that droned on without an answer cranked your anxiety.

Grabbing your jacket and keys, you decided to go look for her yourself. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the streets in shadows of the trees. Your footsteps echoed in the silence, each one louder than the last.

You quickened your pace, your eyes darting around, catching every movement in the corner of your vision. Something was definitely not right.

Then, you rounded the corner. You froze.

Zombies.

Freaking zombies.

Dozens of them, staggering around like they were on a really bad bender, eyes glazed over, their slow, jerky movements more terrifying than anything you’d ever seen in a horror movie.

Your body shuddered as realisation settled in.

Is this a fucking apocalypse?

You stumbled backward, trying to remain as quiet as possible. Your mind raced with a thousand thoughts. Where was your roommate? Was she safe? You pulled out your phone again, hands trembling, and tried calling her once more. Still no answer.

A groan from behind snapped you back to the present. One of the zombies had noticed you. It turned its decaying head, its blank eyes looking into yours. You let out a shriek at the sight of its grotesquely ruptured face. It wasn’t the wisest move, you realised it as soon as you saw it move toward you. You grabbed a thick pipe lying on the ground and sprinted from there, hoping that you would make it to your apartment without any more obstacles.

You ran for a while safely but with your amazing luck, you were met with more zombies, hurdling as if they had been waiting for you to arrive. You lifted the metal pipe up, gathering up every bit of courage you could and swung it hard. Blood sputtered and the zombie fell to the ground. You inhaled an unusually large amount of air through your mouth and continued to swing the pipe so that it could strike the heads quicker.

The metal slipped out of your sweaty hands at a particularly rough strike, and you froze in panic. You saw a zombie, right in the corner of your face.

This was it, you were going to die. You shouldn’t have come looking for your roommate; you should have been in your room, sound asleep, not caring about the mess that the world had become.

You closed your eyes, accepting your fate.

That’s when a tight grip encircled your wrist and tugged you forward to run. You opened your eyes to see the man who had just saved your life. You followed his lead, wherever he was taking you .He stopped, scanning the surroundings for any creatures, gasping for breath.You were a little distant from him when you finally noticed the baseball bat that he was holding in his other hand.

Before you could utter a word, he flung the bat in your direction without warning. “The fuck?” you yelped, ducking just in time to avoid getting brained by the flying object. You were about to burst out and question him about his actions but you looked back to see a zombie that just crumpled to the ground as the bat hit its head with a thud. You instinctively moved away from it, right to this man’s back.

He approached the fallen zombie and retrieved the bat, keeping it in hand for later. He finally looked at you. “What were you thinking? Standing in between them?” he questioned as he approached you and you took a step back.

“I thought I was gonna become one of them,” you muttered.

He shook his head. He looked like he wanted to say something but he didn’t. “We should leave for a safer place,” he said and you nodded.

“Where is your apartment?” he asked and you answered without any hesitation, “Just 2 streets away.” His mouth twitched, “Perfect. We are going there.” He looked at you to see if you were on the same page as him. You exhaled shakily and led the way. He followed you with the bat in his hand. You kept your trust in him, after all, he saved your life a while ago. Moreover, in this mess, you had no other option.

You shuddered at the sound of a thud. Another zombie down.

These fucking zombies.

You started walking, this time closer to him than before. Your area wasn’t busy even in the bustling city. Perhaps that was the reason why there weren’t many of them around. You reached your building and checked your pocket for the keys.

They were there, thank the lord. You were afraid you had lost them on the way.

You both took the steps, reaching your flat on the first floor.

You froze for the second time that day and the reason was same.

Zombies.

A few of them, loitering near your apartment door, their lifeless eyes fixing on you with hunger.

He stepped in front of you, gripping his baseball bat tightly. "Stay behind me," he ordered, his voice low but firm. Without waiting for a response, he charged forward, swinging the bat. The first zombie went down with a sickening crunch, its head caving in under the force of the blow.

You scrambled to the door, hands trembling as you tried to fit the key into the lock. The sickening thuds of the bat striking flesh and bone echoed through the hallway, making your skin crawl.

You finally managed to get the key in and turned it, the door swinging open just as he ran to the door, a few zombies he missed following him.

"Hurry!" he yelled, his voice strained. You darted inside, holding the door open for him as he backed in, using his bat horizontally to give one hard push to the zombies. Once he was inside, you and he, together, forced the door closed as they tried to enter as well. With a heavy grunt, he exhaled and slid down the door, collapsing to the floor.

His hand shook, lips quivering as his panting never seemed to end, his chest rising and falling.

You didn’t know why you thought he was some kind of superhero, not afraid of anything. He was just like you. Just as afraid, just as terrified.

It took you time to notice he was crying. Small sniffs and low sobs escaped his mouth. You settled yourself beside him. What could’ve happened before you met him? Before he saved you? How many people he watched turn into the living dead?

“Hey, it’ll be alright,” you said, though you weren’t sure if you believed it yourself.

“I watched them, my friends,” he sniffed, “Only I was able to survive,” he mumbled.

Your heart sank. You didn't know what to say, so you simply sat beside him, offering silent support. The room was quiet except for his occasional sniffles and the distant groans of zombies outside. You both knew that the world had changed forever, and survival was a daily struggle. You couldn’t process much of the situation, given the hurry and panic you were in. Now, your mind is being flooded with worry, realising that you were actually in an actual zombie apocalypse and your loved ones were also in danger. You, however, didn’t let any of it show on your face.

“Soonyoung,” he said suddenly.

You turned to him and blinked in confusion.

“My name,” he clarified. “I’m Soonyoung.”

“____,” you replied, giving your name. He nodded, taking a deep breath.

“What do we have here?” he asked, looking around the apartment.

“Not much,” you admitted. “My roommate was supposed to get groceries but….” You trailed off, unable to continue. He nodded, understanding.

“Let’s search then,” he said, getting to his feet. You joined him, moving through the apartment to gather supplies. You found some canned food, a few bottles of water, and a first-aid kit. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

You laid your findings on the dining table. “This should last us a few days,” you said, looking at him. He looked a bit sceptical , eyes tracing over the little to no food on the table. Eventually, he nodded his head.

He rested on the bed, his body sore from the earlier fight. You took on the job of preparing two sandwiches with the ingredients you managed to gather. There were four pieces of bread in the refrigerator, and you found a nearly empty mayo bottle on the kitchen counter. Perhaps it was kept there to be thrown out that day. You were glad it wasn’t, as suddenly the last bits of mayo seemed more precious. You squeezed the bottle to get every bit out, adding some leftover corn and called it a sandwich.

You handed him the sandwich. “I am not exactly a chef, just think of it as some gourmet meal,” you said with a dramatic sigh, trying to make him smile as he had been gloomy for a while now. You got it, the situation you both found yourselves in wasn’t the most ideal but a little smile wouldn’t hurt anybody.

It might’ve worked. He smiled as he took the sandwich and bit it, “Mmh, worth a million,” he murmured with his mouth stuffed. You bit back a smile, eating your own sandwich.

You hadn’t noticed it in the chaos but he was handsome. His face lit up when he smiled, reaching all the way to his eyes. There was a strange glow there, mysterious and bright, it made you want to learn about him more.

He continued eating the sandwich, his shoulders relaxing a little as he relished the simple meal. 

You couldn't help but notice how weary he looked, almost exhausted. The bags under his eyes were more pronounced, and his breathing was still laboured. 

He finished his part of the meal rather quickly. You were still munching on yours, slowly biting and chewing every bit thoroughly. 

“ You are a slow eater, I see.”, he said, getting up from the bed and stretching his body. 

You were mid-bite when he spoke, cheeks filled like a squirrel's. His sudden comment caught you off guard, but not in an unpleasant way. You swallowed your mouthful of food before replying.

"Ah, habit," you offered, a little sheepish. "I've always taken my time while eating. My mom always said rushing through your meals isn't good for your digestion."

Silence fell over when you were reminded of your mother and your family’s safety. your appetite disappeared as your chewing got a little bit slower. 

Soonyoung noticed the way your eyes lost their shine. He moved closer to you, hesitant at first but then sitting down beside you on the bed. His voice was gentle as he spoke, his eyes fixed on your face. "Eat up, we need some strength if we want to make it through.”

You nodded, forcing yourself to take another bite. The taste was bland, but you knew he was right. You both needed all the strength you could muster. As you chewed, you glanced at Soonyoung. He was gazing out the window, lost in thought.

“ Soonyoung.”, you called out his name and he looked at you. 

“ What were you like? You know, before all this.”, You asked, finally completing your sandwich. 

“ I am not that interesting. I have a usual job in a company, few quirky friends and a routine life.”, he spoke, his voice low.

“You never know,” you shrugged. “Sometimes the most normal lives end up having the craziest stories.”

“ Yes but mine is as boring as watching paint dry," he said. 

“ If the painting is good enough, I would watch it dry," you said and he laughed. “ Perhaps but mine won’t have that many colours.”

“ Excuse me? Are you trying to imply that only colours make the painting?”, you said and he shrugged.” you can’t paint without colours.”

“ Yes but you know that's not what I mean.”, you playfully rolled your eyes. After a while the room fell quiet and you spent time looking out the window at the moon.

-

It was already 2 am, and both of you were exhausted, your eyes aching for some rest. You had settled down on the bed, watching as he got up and started moving towards the door.

“Where are you going?” you asked, your voice heavy with fatigue.

“To the other room to sleep?” he replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I think it's safer if we sleep in this room with the doors and windows locked,” you said, glancing around the room. He paused, considering your words.

After a moment, he nodded, coming to the conclusion that you were right. He picked up some bed sheets, preparing to sleep on the floor. You frowned at first but then realised what he was doing.

“You can sleep beside me, I really don’t mind,” you said, your voice gentle. You watched his face, searching for his reaction.

Soonyoung hesitated, looking down at the sheets in his hands. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice cautious. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You offered him a reassuring smile. “I’m sure. Besides, it’s safer if we stay close. Just in case anything happens.”

He nodded, though still looking a bit uncertain. He put the sheets aside and moved toward the bed. “Alright, if you’re okay with it.”

As he settled beside you, there was a brief moment of awkwardness. Both of you were acutely aware of the closeness. You could feel the warmth radiating from his body, a comforting reminder that you weren’t alone in this nightmare.

The silence was broken by a thought that had been nagging at you. You turned to him, voice soft and earnest. “Thank you for saving me.”

He let out a sleepy chuckle, a sound you hadn’t heard from him before. It was unexpectedly melodious, “It was hours ago. Don’t mention it.”

“But it doesn’t change the fact that you saved me,” you said.

There was no immediate response, and you turned your head to see him fast asleep beside you. His breath was getting even and the exhaustion was clear on his face. He must have been really tired.

-

Two days in and the power went off. The pitch darkness in the nights was scary, but not as scary as those zombies downstairs, you rather not open the windows to see them. You both had been sitting in the bedroom most of the time, occasionally venturing to the kitchen for food. Soonyoung had apparently lost his phone while on the run, and you were left with just yours for any information.

But it was barely useful. With no proper signals, you decided to check your messages for any updates or safety measures from the government or authorities.

Your eyes immediately caught sight of a message you had received. "Soonyoung, come here," you called, waving him over to take a look as well.

“ Attention, all survivors. This is an official message from the government. We understand these are harrowing times, and your safety and wellbeing are our top priority. We advise all survivors to remain indoors for the time being. Our teams are working tirelessly to establish safe zones and provide essential resources such as food, water, and shelter. Stay strong, remain hopeful, and do not panic.”, You read it out and glanced at Soonyoung to see his face not amused at all. He looked away from the phone and groaned as he layed back on the bed.

“ Do not panic.”, he repeated, “ How can we not?”, he left a sigh of frustration, running his hand through his hair. 

You put your phone down and nodded along, knowing there wasn’t much you could say.

Four days in and it started to drizzle, adding to the mess.

If anything you have learned about Soonyoung in those four days is that Soonyoung loved to talk, a complete opposite to you who would much rather sit and listen. You learned that he went to karaoke every weekend for stress relief and had an obsession with tigers( he showed you a tiger charm in his wallet as proof). He learned that your favourite colour was lavender and you had a soft spot for kids. 

“ …and I just fell on the grass. There was mud all over my pants. It all just happened in front of her and she didn't talk to me for the next 5 days.”, he pouted slightly. 

You chuckle at his face, finding it a bit too cute for your liking. 

He finally finished his yap of the day and rested on the bed, waiting for you to sleep as well but your mind was occupied by the fact that the small drizzle was growing into a thunderstorm and you were freaking terrified of thunderstorms.

You tried to play it off cool, smiling like usual and made your way to the bed and slept beside him, taking in a deep breath. 

Your hands slightly tremble around the blanket on top of you, you pull it further up your face, hoping it would mollify the sounds of the thunder. 

he turned his body to face you and asked, “ Afraid of thunder, are we?”

You shook your head and closed your eyes tightly. The first thunder hit and you practically flew out of the bed by the way you got up, opening your eyes. You pressed your lips into a thin line, glancing at Soonyoung who gave you a blank stare. 

“ Yeah, totally not afraid.”, he muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm.

You tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. “It’s silly, I know.”

“It’s not silly,” he said, getting up and you were taken aback by how sincere he sounded.  “We all have things that scare us.”

You appreciated his attempt to comfort you, but the next clap of thunder had you jumping again. He sighed, moving closer to you, slightly wrapping his arm around your shoulder, “ Is this okay ?”, he asked. 

You didn’t bother responding as you wrapped your arms around him tightly. He tightened his grip as well, slowly laying down so that both of you could drift off to sleep. 

You felt so safe under his touch, it surprised you. He was gentle with every stroke he gave to your shoulder, mumbling sweetly into your ear that everything was going to be fine. For a moment, you forgot about the zombies and the thunder, all the fears and worries vanishing. It was just you and him, it created an unknown fuzzy feeling in your chest. 

Six days in and you reached your final stage of grief: acceptance. You both now just laid on bed, staring at the ceiling that suddenly seemed interesting. Even Soonyoung ran out of his rants which was getting weird as you were getting used to it.

Soonyoung opened his mouth finally, “ There is a guitar in the other room, is it yours?”, he asked and you turned your face to him, who was looking at the ceiling intensely. “ No, my roommate’s," you reply, returning your gaze to the ceiling.

“ Musician?”

“ No, a hobby.”

You saw him nod from the corner of your eye. 

After a pause, he spoke again, “ Can I play it?”

You turned your head to look at him, seeing a spark of curiosity in his eyes. "Sure, why not?", you said. "It's not like we have much else to do."

Soonyoung got up from the bed and went to the other room, returning shortly with the guitar in his hands. He sat down on the bed, in front of you, a bit closer than usual. He strummed a few chords, tuning the instrument until it sounded just right.

You watched him, fascinated by the way his fingers moved effortlessly over the strings. "Do you play often?" you asked, genuinely curious.

He smiled, a bit shyly. "I used to but later got busy with life."

You nodded, understanding. "Play something," you encouraged.

He started playing a familiar tune of a song and you quietly hummed along.

He began to sing. His voice was more huskier and deeper when he sang and you liked it. You could tell he loved music. He had a faint smile on his lips as his fingers moved on the guitar strings. You closed your eyes to feel the rhythm more.

When he finished, you opened your eyes and saw him looking at you, a small smile on his face. "That was beautiful," you said softly.

"Thanks," he replied, setting the guitar aside. His gaze was fixed on you and you stared back. There was something about his eyes that pulled you in. You even noticed it in the past few days when he rambled. His eyes were so expressive, a glow always lingered in there no matter what. 

He slightly hummed the song he sang before, back to his position of laying on the bed. You blinked, forcing yourself to look away. There was a flutter in your chest for a reason you couldn’t figure out why. You have been trying to ignore that feeling for a while. Is it the growing affection for him for being by your side or is it because you simply found him attractive? With the world as it was, figuring out feelings was definitely not on your to-do list.

Eight days in and you were drowning in boredom. Soonyoung said it was actually nine days but it didn’t matter. What really mattered was the decreasing amount of food in the kitchen and the increasing amount of worry in your head. 

You have been eating very conservatively, you were sure that you even skipped eating for a day, but the food was just not sufficient.

You both knew that in a day or two, you must go outside to get some food but both of you haven't talked about it yet. He instead began practising taekwondo kicks and you wondered how many talents that man had up his sleeve. You weren’t complaining because it was quite entertaining to watch him.

You sat on the edge of the bed, watching Soonyoung nail yet another perfect kick. You’d lost count of how many times he’d practised that move, but it still made you smile a little.

“Does it ever get boring?” you asked, half-joking, half-serious.

Soonyoung paused, wiping the sweat from his brow with a grin. “Boring? Never. But, you know what is getting boring?” He pointed to the almost empty kitchen. “Pretending we’re not running out of food.”

You sighed, glancing over at the nearly empty shelves. “Yeah, I guess ignoring it isn’t working anymore.”

He dropped down beside you, “We’re gonna have to go out there, aren’t we?”

“Looks like it,” you replied, though neither of you moved. A few more moments of silence passed before you finally stood up, heading to the closet.

“What are you doing?” Soonyoung asked, curious.

You pulled out a big bag, throwing it over your shoulder with a smirk. “Getting ready. This is for all the food we’re about to haul back.”

He let out a laugh, “Optimistic?”

“You have to be,” you shot back, smiling despite the nerves creeping in.

He shook his head, still smiling, and stood up to join you. “Alright, let’s do this.”

-

Soonyoung took the lead as you both stepped out into the street, the big bag slung over your shoulder. You gripped the handle of the bat in your hand, ready for anything.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Soonyoung asked, glancing back at you with a mix of concern and teasing.

“More ready than you are,” you counter, trying to keep the mood light.

“Is that so?” he grinned, raising an eyebrow. “We’ll see about that.”

As you rounded a corner, the grocery store came into view. Soonyoung signalled for you to stop. A handful of zombies milled about near the entrance, oblivious to your presence—at least for now.

“Great, just what we needed,” you whispered.

Soonyoung’s expression grew serious. “Alright, quick and quiet. Let’s get this done.”

You both moved closer, and the first zombie turned toward you, letting out a low groan. That was all it took to alert the others.

“Here we go,” Soonyoung muttered, stepping up to take the lead.

You moved inside the store as he distracted the zombies. The first thing you saw was a piece of clothing lying on the ground. You ignored it and moved to shelves that had some chips packets. You shoved them all inside. 

You heard a zombie groan that made you shiver. There were zombies even in the store as well? You groaned in annoyance before running from there to the fridge where it had a stack of water bottles. You put them inside as well. 

You looked back to see Soonyoung in the store now, facing four zombies.

His hands gripped the shelf of paper towels by the edge and pushed downwards which made the four zombies crush beneath it. You gasped at the sight of blood spreading near your leg. You jumped through it to grab the 2 cereal boxes on the opposite shelf. It was fruit loops, not a bad cereal to eat as a meal, right? You still shoved the boxes into the bag, ignoring all sorts of questions.

You moved forward to other shelves, hoping to find any other proper edibles. Your eyes caught hold of the huge pack of crackers. That one pack alone could handle your hunger for a week. You lounged towards it but another zombie came from the corner, ready to attack. Taking the broken piece of shelf from the ground, you continue to go in the way- you weren’t ready to give that pack up. 

You balanced the bag in your one hand while using the other to hit the zombie with the broken piece, landing both your weapon and the zombie on the ground. Your hand reached the pack of crackers, admiring the delicious snack for a bit, you put it in the bag, already feeling the bag getting too heavy. Your hands could barely manage the weight of the bag, you kept everything you could, everything you found to be not damaged. You swung over your shoulder, eyes scanning your surroundings for Soonyoung, so you could go back to your house. 

He was at the far end of the aisle, fighting off two zombies. He was cornered between them and a rack of rice flour, looking desperate. One zombie had its grubby hands around his neck, and you shouted in panic. The noise distracted the zombie just enough for Soonyoung to push it away and try to slip through a gap between the zombie and the shelf.

You dropped the food bag and grabbed a heavy package of grains, hurling it at the zombie. It went down with a thud, and Soonyoung stumbled into view. Your heart dropped at the sight of him—blood seeping through his shirt and pooling around his stomach. The sharp edge of the shelf had torn his shirt and sliced into his torso.

Panic surged through you. You dropped to his side, your mind racing. “Soonyoung!” You called, but he was barely conscious, cursing under his breath as he gripped his stomach. His eyes were tightly shut and he put his arm on your shoulder for support.

You barely registered the food bag as you frantically checked the wound, your hands trembling. Blood was flowing too quickly, and you needed to do something—anything—to stop it.

The torn piece of cloth before crossed your mind. “ Soonyoung, wait for me?”, you said softly before getting up and running to the aisle you saw earlier. The cloth was still lying on the ground, and you thanked the gods for not letting it cover with any zombie blood.

You tied the piece around his stomach, pressing it tightly to avoid blood loss. He hissed in pain, his hands turning into fists to control himself from being loud. The last thing you would want is to attract the attention of the zombies. The cloth got stained red as well, but it was the best you could do under those circumstances. You helped him stand up, knowing you have to find a more closed and safe place for him to heal. 

You could feel your eyes becoming watery, your one hand holding the food bag and the other supporting him to walk outside. You saw a zombie at a distance. You took a deep breath, preparing to drop the food bag and find a way to deal with the zombie, but before you could act, you heard a whoosh and a sickening thud.

The zombie collapsed, its head crumpling under the force of a bat. You turned your head to see a man- probably younger than you with his boyish face. 

He strode towards you, “ are you guys okay? "he asked. He seemed to realise how stupid the question was when he glanced towards half- conscious Soonyoung leaning on you. “ shit.”, he muttered under his breath before turning his head to look around, “ uhm, follow me.”, he said as he picked up the bat from the ground, safely guarding while leading towards a path you weren’t sure of. Visibly, Soonyoung was getting weaker every passing second and you tried your best to take more steps. There were a few zombies along the way which the guy managed to hit successfully. It didn't take him more than 1 strike to take them down and it wasn’t a surprise seeing his buff arms. You finally reached a place. It was a café, ‘ coffee beans’, the board read. There were huge windows which were covered by curtains and the lights around it were broken. The guy knocked on the door of the café and a woman peeked out to see who it was before opening it fully, she frowned upon seeing us behind him. The guy didn’t give her enough time to reach before allowing himself inside and gesturing to you to come inside as well. 

You did, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. He closed the door behind you and you were met with stares of about 20 people, some of them were in uniform by which you could tell they were the staff. 

“ Chan, you were only sent to bring water. Who are they?”, the girl who opened the door spoke to which a few people nodded. “ Send them out immediately.They seem infected”, a man spoke hastily as he gave a nasty look to both of you. 

“ Oh, Mr.Yoon, they are no danger.” Chan tried to speak but Mr.Yoon only gave an angry glare, “ I am the owner, I can decide who stays and who doesn’t”, he said and for a minute you were afraid you were actually going to be sent out. 

Chan stepped forward to him, “ Mr.Yoon, he clearly needs help. I have a plan.”, he tried to persuade him. Mr.Yoon was about to throw a comment but Chan cut him off, “ They could stay in the store room until tomorrow morning. If they turn, we’ll be safe as the door will be locked. If not, we can help them out.”

The cafe owner looked sceptical. ” we can’t just-”, an old lady began.

“ I have food and water in this bag.”, you said, hoping it would convince everyone. They all seemed defeated at that and there were a few murmurs before they agreed. 

Chan led you to the storeroom. “ Can I get a first aid kit?”, you asked when you reached the storeroom. Chan excused himself somewhere before returning with a kit. “ Just take what's needed. If something happens, we need the kit, right? There is only one.”, he said and you didn’t object, taking a long roll of bandage, cotton and antibiotic cream. He also handed you a water battle to which you could only look at him gratefully. You stepped inside with Soonyoung on your side. The door was closed behind you. The room was like a typical storeroom, with boxes of unused supplies stacked away, a small window which allowed some evening light inside. There was a bulb as well, but it barely produced light. There was a mop aside and the thing that crossed your mind was how good of a weapon it would be. 

You quickly laid Soonyoung on the floor, leaning him against a wall as you removed his shirt and the piece of cloth you tied around his wound. You left a shaky breath at the sight of his blood covered torso.

He winced loudly when you started to clean his wound, his mind clouded with pain. He half opened his eyes, keeping his focus on your face. 

“I’m alive?”, he mumbled as he tried to smile. “ Keep quiet.”, you replied, reaching for the antibiotic cream. He reached to grip your free palm tightly as you started to apply the cream to his cleaned wound. He left a loud yelp.

“I am sorry.”, You mumbled while still focusing on the wound, “ I am so sorry.”

You could only imagine how it hurts. The wound wasn’t too deep but it was big. It stretched from the side of his lower abdomen, curving upward to just beneath his ribcage.

You quickly rolled the bandage over the cut and dressed it. 

He left a groan as he tried to sit more properly but you stopped him by gently placing your hand on his shoulder. “ I didn't know you could do this.”,he left a pained laugh and you settled yourself beside him before replying, “ I just know the basics. I guess I did well enough under pressure.”, you said and felt his hand grasp yours slowly. You didn’t refuse the touch, holding his hand back.

“ I feel better.”, he said, barely moving his lips.” Thanks.”

You shook your head in response, “ It was the least I could do.”

He stayed quiet after that, drifting off to sleep as his head laid on your shoulder.

The morning you woke up with the sunlight hitting your eyes through the window. You shuffled on the ground, holding soonyoung’s head to rest it on a box beside instead. You noticed how you were still holding hands. Your cheeks grew hot slightly as you separated your hands, standing up to knock on the door.

After a while, a voice spoke through it, “ Hello?” you recognised the voice to be Chan's.

“ We are fine.”, you replied and the door opened. Chan’s eyes scanned the both of you, sighing in relief to see neither of you turned.

“ I think he needs rest.”,you said, eyes trailing over the dressed wound.

Chan nodded in agreement, before leading you outside for some food. You ate some bread and that was enough to fill your stomach. As it was a cafe, they said they had enough coffee so you were offered a cup as well. You drank it gladly, savouring the flavour after a long time.

Chan sat in front of you and there was a small girl beside him. “ This is my niece, Yerim”, he said. 

You were surprised to see that she actually gave a blinding smile to you. You couldnt help but smile back, bending down to introduce yourself, “ I am ___”, you said.

“ Hello.”, she said shyly, scooting closer to her uncle. She stood quietly as Chan started speaking, “ Don't worry about others, they will come around.”

You nodded, remembering the weary looks you received that morning. “ By the way, thanks for bringing us here.”, you made sure to thank him and he just laughed, “ No big deal. I did what felt right.”

“ So this cafe..”, you began and chan immediately caught on your doubt.

“ Ahh, when zombies broke out, the customers here and the staff, we locked everything when we saw it. The cafe owner was also here yesterday, you…uh…met him yesterday, Mr.Yoon.”, he said and you nodded in understanding. You were just grateful they let you stay.

It was afternoon when Soonyoung woke up. Chan helped you get him to one of the tables. He ate a few crackers and drank a can of juice. 

Soonyoung didn’t speak much as he went back to resting in the storeroom again. 

It took him a few days to heal. You just spent the time sitting with Yerim who grew more talkative as time passed. She kind of reminded you of Soonyoung by the way she ran her mouth continuously. 

As soon as Soonyoung began to recover, he started moving around the café in an overshirt Chan had given him, which he wore buttoned up as a makeshift shirt. Unlike you, he talked with everybody and nobody gave you those weary looks anymore. 

They all grew fond of Soonyoung, except that cafe owner- who wasn't much fond of anyone anyway. He quickly became one of the people who helped around, making sure everyone ate.

The only people you talked to were Chan and Yerim. You sometimes helped Soonyoung. When you weren’t helping, you took care of Yerim as Chan went to help instead.

Apparently nobody used the storeroom, so you made it your personal space. Soonyoung and you alone went in there at night to sleep or to talk. He was back with his rants and you almost squealed in excitement. You missed them too much for your own sake and you think you could listen to him talk for years straight. 

Everybody finished their dinner, getting ready to sleep. Some slept on tables or chairs, some on the ground as they used curtains as bed sheets.

You found yourself in the storeroom, waiting for Soonyoung to come. You peeked into the box in boredom. Your eyes caught an old, ornate box half-buried under some crumpled newspaper. You pulled the box out and wiped off the layer of dust. It was a music box. A feeling of nostalgia filled your insides, remembering your childhood days when one of these laid around in your house.

The box’s latch was rusty but still functional. You carefully opened it, and a soft, melodious tune began to play. A smile spread across your face. You listened to the sound intently when soonyoung walked in, gasping slightly as he saw what was in your hand.

“I haven’t heard a music box in years.”, he said, crouching down to look at it. You handed it over to him and he carefully studied it.

“ It's definitely an old model, probably my grandma owned one like this.”, he said and you chuckled. 

He abruptly got up after placing it on the ground, moving his hips in a way that made you laugh, “ are you seriously dancing?”, you asked though you wouldn't really call whatever he was doing a dance. 

“ You wanna join?”, he said, stretching his hand forward for you to grab. You looked at his hand and then his face. There was a warmth in his eyes, a sincerity that made it hard to resist. You took his hand, allowing him to pull you gently to your feet.

The two of you started to sway together, your movements tentative at first, trying to match the rhythm of the music box. Soon, you found yourself laughing and moving more freely.

“See? Isn’t this fun?” Soonyoung said, his voice bright and cheerful as he twirled you around slightly.

You laughed again, the sound mingling with the melody. “Definitely fun. I forgot how nice it feels to just... let go.��

As you danced together, you couldn’t help but notice how natural it felt to be close to him. It was so easy for him to make you laugh and make you feel at ease. 

-

You honestly don’t know how you ended up in this position. The morning sunlight filtered through the small window, casting a warm glow over the storeroom. There you were, cuddled up against Soonyoung. His arms were wrapped around you tightly, his head nestled in the crook of your neck, snoring quietly. You tried to shift, but his hold on you only tightened. All you remember was closing the music box and falling asleep together on the floor.

Soonyoung stirred beside you, his breath warm against your neck. He blinked groggily, the confusion of waking up in such an intimate position slowly turning to realisation. His eyes widened as he registered where he was, and he pulled away slightly, his cheeks flushing a deep red.

“Oh,” he said, “Uh, good morning?”

You looked up at him, your own cheeks heating up. You tried to form a coherent response, but all that came out was a nervous laugh. “Good morning,” you managed, your voice soft and awkward.

Soonyoung fumbled to get up but ultimately remained seated, his face still flushed. “I didn’t mean for—” he started, but his words stumbled. “I guess we just... fell asleep.”

You nodded, trying to regain your composure. “Yeah, I guess so.”

The two of you sat there for a moment, the silence only filled with Soonyoung’s continued attempts to smooth down his dishevelled hair.

“ uh, I will go check up on Yerim.”, You said before getting up and rushing out the room before it could get any more awkward. 

-

After breakfast, you watched Soonyoung. He was helping Chan and Yerim with some supplies, moving around the cafe.

Soonyoung was digging through a box of canned goods, chatting away and laughing at whatever Chan was saying. He looked completely at ease, like he was born to bring a bit of brightness to any situation. He even took a moment to playfully ruffle Yerim's hair when she handed him a can.

You leaned against the counter, just observing. Everything he did felt so familiar.

How long have you known him? A month or two? But why didn't it feel like it? 

It felt like you have known him for years, as if you grew up with him in the same neighbourhood, skipping stones in the small pond near your house and swinging till the evening shadows faded into the dim lights of the park.

Maybe it was you in your previous lives or a parallel universe- if they ever existed. But you knew there was some connection. It lingered in your heart, you couldn’t tell what it was but it was there and you could say that with your whole chest.

Your thoughts were interrupted when he looked in your direction to make eye contact. He winked at you as he caught you staring. You rolled your eyes in an attempt to conceal your flared cheeks.

He laughed before going back to his business. 

The day ended and all that replayed in your mind was the way he winked in your direction. That night you ate a packet of chips for dinner and as usual, waited for him in the storeroom. He bought himself a packet of chips as he didn't eat anything yet, plopping himself beside you on the ground.

His face shone in the light of the dusk, hands carefully tearing open the packet of chips—none of it going to waste. He looked at you with those eyes. Those eyes that glossed more than they ever did, lips slightly apart.

He was beautiful.

And no, you didn't mean beautiful like the rain but beautiful like the storm before it. Not like the sunset but the wildfire burning through the night.

He was breathtaking.

"____, you are staring," he said, tossing a few chips into his mouth.

You didn’t respond. It didn’t feel necessary, and he didn’t seem to expect an answer either. Your gaze trailed to his lips as he chewed on the food.

The world was literally ending and all you wanted to do was kiss him. You wanted to hold him so close to your body, limbs tangled, and your hands running through his hair.

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly, and you felt your heart skip a beat. "Are you okay?" he asked, slightly concerned that you weren’t even talking, just staring at him in silence.

You nodded, but the truth was far from simple. How could you explain the wave of emotions raging inside you? How could you put into words the way his presence ignited a spark in your chest?

"Yeah, just... thinking," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Thinking about what?"

You, you wanted to say, let him know how much you craved him but you couldn’t. The words died in your throat. "Nothing in particular."

He crumpled the empty packet, throwing it beside him. He softly smiled and leaned back further into the wall. He looked almost ethereal, and it took every ounce of your self-control not to reach out and touch him.

He frowned slightly, his gaze on your shoulder. He brought his hand to dust something off from there and that was the last straw. You closed the distance between you, your lips pressing softly against his. But quickly, you pulled away. What have you done? He might have already been thinking you were a creep, and now you made a move which confirmed that.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice trembling. "I- I shouldn't have done that."

"It's okay," he said softly, his voice tender. "We're both just… touch-starved."

You freeze for a millisecond but then quickly shake your head, your eyes locked onto his. "No," you said firmly, feeling a wave of frustration, why would he even think so? Sure, you didn’t put the way you felt for him in words but wasn’t the way you stared at him enough? Like he was the only person you ever wanted to look at?

"I didn’t kiss you because I was touch-starved."

He remained quiet, his eyes searching yours, waiting for you to continue. "I would never kiss someone just because I'm touch-starved," you paused, "or because I am bored." He looked away, processing your words. The tension could literally be felt in the air, every moment stretching out like an eternity. Something seemed to hit in his mind. He pressed his lips together, hesitant to speak the words swirling in his mind.

“Then tell me,” he finally said, his voice almost pleading. “Tell me you meant that kiss.”

He shifted his gaze to you, and suddenly you felt nervous under him. Your teeth grazed your bottom lip slightly and you swallowed a bit, gathering your words.

"Soonyoung, I—" Before you could finish, he pulled you into a kiss, this one more passionate, more desperate. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as if he couldn't bear to let you go. You melted into his embrace, your hands tangling in his hair, his locks as soft as you had imagined. His hand made its way to your face and he held it gently, trying to bring your face closer than it already was.

He pulled away just to lean in once again, this time going for your neck and gently grazing his teeth against the skin there. You gasped at the sudden feeling.

His mouth immediately zeroed in on the area where you gasped, gently nipping and sucking the tender skin there. The feeling of his hot, wet kisses against your neck was intoxicating and he pressed his body even closer to yours. His one hand rested on your shoulder, the other tightly gripping your hip.

You closed your eyes and threw your head back, giving him more space to kiss easily.

A surge of shouts engulfed your ears. He pulled away immediately at the sound, hyper-aware of the shouts that were coming in from the other room. Your mind couldn't even process the loss of touch due to how loud the sounds were. You thought a zombie might have attacked. You were about to stand up when he pressed his hand on your shoulder to let you stay in place. If anything happened, he wanted you to be the last one to get hurt.

Just a minute ago, his face was filled with passion and intensity you had never seen before. Now his expression was replaced by a much more serious one. He got on his knees to check through the small opening of the door and your speculations were confirmed by the way his face fell into panic, his hand moving to grasp your hand.

He looked over at you and you understood what he meant.

Time to run, again.

There was no use sitting in the room forever. Sooner or later you must go outside and you let that be this time.

He swiftly got up from his position, moving urgently as he held your hand tightly, pulling you up. His hand gripped the door knob, pushing the door open. It drew some attention, a zombie twisted its head towards you. Soonyoung’s grip tightened on your hand. He pulled you along with him to run forward.

You both halted when you realised that there were more zombies than you had thought. The door was open and the curtains on the window were ripped. Two zombies lunged towards you and Soonyoung immediately got hold of the mop at the side. He began hitting them and you slightly left his side to take the broken wooden leg of a table for a weapon of your own. You started to fight as well, using all your strength to take down the zombies, not only for yourself but the people around you.

Your eyes caught Chan briefly, who had Yerim at his back, trying to protect her as he shoved the zombies with a table he lifted up. Yerim didn't cry. She closed her eyes tightly, keeping all her trust in her uncle, moving according to his body moments. 

The lady fell down near the corner, her spectacles landing on the ground as well. You ran towards her to help her up. Another zombie made its way towards you when you reached her. You handed her spectacles quickly before striking the zombie roughly. The lady muttered a thank you but you could barely consider it, holding her hand to pull her towards a safer place. 

Chan noticed you, taking yerim by his hand to get near you in a hurry. 

“ How did this all happen?”, you asked in a slow whisper, looking at your surroundings for any threat. “ some bitch really just opened the door.'' Chan whispered back, hoping the profanity didn't catch Yerim’s ear. You let out a sigh, taking Yerim with your other hand, “ So where now?”, you asked. 

A groan was heard behind Chan’s back and he turned swiftly to hit it on the head before turning to you again, “ Just the safe house we talked about before.”, he said and you remembered the one time he mentioned about a safe house nearby.

Before you could respond, more zombies pushed through the broken window. The room was filling quickly, the café turning into a death-trap. 

Wait, where was Soonyoung? Your eyes traced the place in one brisk moment, finding him at a corner. “ Soonyoung!”, you shouted.

His eyes looked with yours briefly. Soonyoung swung his mop, his moments still powerful and determined but there were too many. He shouted, "Go, get to the safe house! I'll hold them off!"

"No!" you screamed, your heart pounding in your chest. You swung the wooden leg, smashing a zombie's skull. Yerim whimpered behind you and Chan closed her eyes with his hand. The lady stayed put behind all of you.

Soonyoung looked at you with desperate eyes. "Just go! I'll find you!"

But as he spoke, a group of zombies managed to break through, separating you from him. You could barely see him through the chaos, his figure disappearing into the swarm of them.

“No, Soonyoung!” you cried out, your voice breaking with fear and worry. But Chan grabbed your arm, his grip firm and unyielding.

“We have to go, now!” Chan yelled, pulling you back.

You resisted, your eyes locked on the spot where Soonyoung had been. “I can’t leave him! We have to help him!”

Chan shook his head, his eyes filled with sorrow. “We can’t do anything for him right now. He’d want you to be safe. We need to get to the safe house.”

Tears blurred your vision, but you knew Chan was right. Reluctantly, you turned away, clutching Yerim’s hand as Chan led you through the chaos. The lady followed you behind. You saw a few other people making their way out, probably to the safe house as well. The café owner was one of them, even his weak self trying to thrash the zombies.

The fight to the exit was brutal. Zombies lunged from every direction, and you fought with everything you had, your muscles burning with exhaustion. Chan was beside you all along, fighting with his all might.

A zombie grabbed your arm, its fleshy fingers wrapped around your bicep. You, in a haste moment, removed its hands from you forcefully, pushing it down. You used the wooden leg in your hand to hit it furiously again and again, even when it fell down and looked like it wouldn’t move. The flesh of it burst and blood oozed out like honey. A screech stopped your moments and you panted heavily from the action.

The three of you finally burst through the door into the street. The fresh air hit you like a shock, but there was no time to savour it. Chan didn’t stop, didn’t let you pause. He pulled you forward, his pace relentless as he led you towards the safe house along with Yerim and the lady.

As you ran, you couldn’t stop glancing back, hoping against hope to see Soonyoung behind you. But all you saw were more zombies.

You didn't really know when you had reached the safe house. All the run, your mind was filled with him.

Soonyoung.

You didn't know if he was even alive and it ate you inside out. You regretted every single thing. You should've never left. You should've stayed even if it cost you your life. 

Chan’s stretched out hand made you snap back into the present. He was holding out a handkerchief and that's when you noticed your damp cheeks. 

You accepted it but didn't take it to your face to wipe the tears away. You looked at him.

His face was bruised, little wounds all over. His eyes still remained soft as they settled on you and he ignored the blood trickling near his lips. You looked behind him and at a distance Yerim was with the lady, safely seated on the ground.

“ From what I’ve seen of him, I think he would be safe.”. He said, a sad smile forming on his lips. 

You sniffed more, trying to let some words out of your mouth, “ You don’t understand, Chan. I don't know- I don't know what to do.”,  It was hard to express it in words. You never felt like this before. It was a strange kind of emptiness. It was so profound, consuming you like a void. You could feel it by his absence beside you, not knowing where the hell he ended up. 

Chan stared at you in silence and placed a reassuring hand on your arm. You didn't pay much attention to it, your mind still replaying the scene in the café, the last time you have seen him. 

The night seemed to pass and you just laid on the blanket on the ground, prepared by the guards there for everyone to sleep. 

If you closed your eyes, it took you back to the incidents in the café, Soonyoung disappearing into the crowd of zombies. Slowly the sorrow turned into something else as a question arose in your mind.

Why did he make you his responsibility? 

He would’ve had it easier if he just minded his business, left you when he got the bag of food and searched for a safe house himself.

But he didn't. 

And it infuriated you. 

It infuriated you that he cared for you, took you with him wherever he went even though he knew it would be way harder to survive while having to keep you safe. It infuriated you that he hadn’t been selfish, that he didn’t even take a second to think about himself, that he put you first. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying your best to erase the overwhelming emotions bubbling inside you.

The morning arrived later than you thought, the sun’s morning rays prickling your already strained eyes. You shut your eyes and turn the other way around to avoid them. 

You got up after some time, lazily eating a banana on Chan's insistence. You spent your day sitting near the window to see if Soonyoung would arrive. With the evening arriving, your hopes were crushed and you moved from your place to see Chan playing with Yerim. 

Chan smiled up at you and a grin formed on Yerim’s dusty face as well. The sight finally brought a small smile on your face and Chan’s smile widened.

You sat next to Yerim, allowing Chan to stretch his body for a while. 

In a span of 5 minutes, Chan came back running. “ He is here! He is here!.”, he said, standing in front of you. You knitted your eyebrows together in confusion. 

Chan took a few seconds to even his breathing. “ Soonyoung, he is outside.”, he said. You didn't wait further, getting up to reach near the window and see him outside. He was injured, definitely with his slightly limping leg and bruises that littered on his neck and shoulder, traces of blood on his face and hands. Despite his state, your shoulders relaxed at the fact he was still alive and you took a satisfied breath after a long time.

You turned to the guard, waiting for him to open the door. Your face fell when he didn't.

“ Umm… there is a survivor outside.”, you said, pointing towards the door. 

The guard looked at the café owner who had a scowl on his face. “We clearly saw him go into those zombies, he could’ve been bitten.”

Your face grew hot in anger. “ He is not.”, you said.

“ How do you know that?", The man questioned back but you had no answer. You just knew he wasn't bitten but it was a gut-feeling with no proper proof to back it up. 

“ We can’t risk these many people’s lives just so you could be with your boyfriend," he continued.

You glanced at the people around, leaving a deep sigh. You knew he was right- you can’t be selfish about this. But the thought of leaving him out alone was horrifying.

You glanced back at the window to see him outside as he looked around cluelessly. 

You closed your eyes to think for a moment, weighing out all the possibilities and their consequences. You finally made a decision that made sense to your heart.

“ Then let me go out instead.”, you said, your voice calmer than before. You heard a few gasps and you were sure the loudest one was from Chan.

“ If you go out, there is no way back in.”, The guard said, his hand tight around the door handle. 

Chan shook his head, taking a step forward. “ Are you insane? You can not go out! He could’ve been-”, he stopped seeing your glare. 

“ He is not bitten.”, you said calmly, walking towards the door, “ I know he is not.”

Yerim stood in your way with her pouty lips and all you could do was pat her head and move past her.

Chan let out a frustrated sigh, his lips twitching, “ And what if you are wrong?”. You pause your moments, “ And what if he is not? He would be all alone.”, you breath out, “ If he is bitten,”, you said slowly,” Let it be, this is the least I could do for what he had done for me.”, you said before standing in front of the door. 

The guard waited a minute to see if you would change your mind. When you didn't speak a word, he pushed open the door. The last thing you saw was Chan's and Yerim’s sad eyes  before you stepped outside. Soonyoung's eyes fixed on you as you came out of the warehouse.

There he is, in all his glory, smiling up to you as if he didn’t have you worried to death for the past 24 hours. 

You ran to him and engulfed him in a hug, squeezing the soul out of him. He hugged you back with the same energy, lifting you off the ground slightly. You moved your head back to see his face that still had a smile etched up on. 

He moved one of his hands to your cheek, caressing it gently, looking at you with those brown eyes.

Then He kissed you. It was sudden but it was not a surprise. You kissed him back gently, arms still holding on to him, afraid that if you let go, you would lose each other once again. 

He pulled back slightly and then began peppering little kisses on your lips. One, then another, then another, his lips light and soft against yours. When he deemed it was enough, he put you down on the ground again and noticed your moist eyes.

Without your own knowledge, tears flow down your cheeks, making them damp.  His face softens as he sees you. Your face was more worn out than he remembered a day ago.

Your cries become muffled when you bury your face in his chest. 

“ I thought..”, you try to begin but you fail as you cry more into his chest. “ I am here now, right? I am safe.”, he tried to reassure you.

And it was true. He was safe and that was enough.

Just then you realised, he cared for you simply because he chose to. It wasn’t a duty or an obligation but an action that came from his heart. 

And you cared for him too. You cared for him enough to be with him, even in death. If not, you wouldn’t have been here.

After staying like that for a moment, he spoke, still holding you close to his chest, “ Let us go inside? It’s not safe to stay outside.”

You pulled away, biting your lip. You gulped slightly, “ About that, uhm, They wouldn’t let you come inside.”

His eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “ Why?”

“ They are afraid- that you could’ve been bitten," you said slowly.

He frowned, looking at the warehouse at a distance to notice that the doors were actually closed. He looked back at you.“ Then why did you come?”, he asked.

“ Because I want to be with you.”, you answered too quickly.

“ No, just go inside," He said hastily and shook his head, trying to be calm. His hands moved away from their previous position on your waist.

 “ It’s too late. They won’t let me back in either, and even if they did, I wouldn’t go. I’m staying with you.” , you said, trying to get closer to him again but this time he took a step back.  

“ Are you out of your mind, ____? Why would you put yourself at risk for me? ”His voice raised slightly but you didn’t budge. You scoff, your concern long gone and replaced with anger.

“Don’t act like you haven’t taken risks for me,” you shot back. “I thought we were in this together.”

“That is different!” His voice grew more urgent, his words coming faster. “Trust me, I want to be with you too, but there is no other safe house anywhere nearby!” He gestured helplessly to his wounded body. “And—look at me.” His voice cracked as he continued, “It won’t matter if I survive.”

“It matters to me.”, you said with a low voice. “ If you think I would leave you alone, you have known nothing about me.”

“ You are just being reckless.”, he tries to counter. “I’m just being honest,” you replied, your words coming quickly as you moved closer to him. You gently placed your palm on his cheek. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment as he subconsciously leaned into your touch, his breath catching in his throat.

He sighed, opening his eyes and looking at you with a mixture of frustration and tenderness. “Alright,” he said finally. “ Let us go before we come across zombies, I am tired of fighting them.”

As you both moved away from the closed warehouse, you searched for a place to rest and regroup. The sun was getting hotter and Soonyoung was getting more tired. After walking a short distance, you spotted a small, abandoned tent partially hidden behind a cluster of trees.

You helped Soonyoung inside. Once inside, you both settled onto the ground. As you wrapped a blanket around both of you to keep warm, you heard the distant thrum of a helicopter. Your heart skipped a beat. The sound grew louder, a shimmer of hope bubbled in your chest.

Quickly, you grabbed a blanket from the tent’s corner and, with Soonyoung’s help, you unfurled it outside, using it to signal the helicopter. You waved it back and forth.

Soonyoung’s eyes were locked on the approaching helicopter, his face a mixture of hope and anxiety. You both continued to wave the blanket, your arms growing tired but your spirits lifting with each passing moment.

The helicopter circled above, its searchlight scanning the area. Finally, it began to descend slowly, landing nearby. You both signed in relief and Soonyoung threw his head back in happiness. You were finally truly safe.

His hair flew with the harsh air coming from the helicopter.

You used to read poetry in highschool. Often, these poets compare their partners to a flame. You never understood that. How could a person be like a flame? How could a person ever be a flame? When you saw Soonyoung then, you got it for the first time. Soonyoung was like a flame. He burned like one and made you yearn for him. 

You recognized the feeling in your chest, the way your heart thumped against your rib cage every time his eyes met yours. This was more than physical attraction or the affection you thought you developed over time. This was love.

And It felt right. Everything felt right with him.

“ I think I love you.”, you said without thinking, it was more of a confession to yourself. “I love you.”, you corrected your words. You didn’t have any doubts anymore, you didn't think anymore. you love him and that's all you could think for then.

He widened his eyes, his gaze flickering from the helicopter to you. It would be near you in a minute when he tightened the grip on your hand. He didn’t speak and that was fine for you. You didn't say you love him expecting him to say it back.

The helicopter reached near you. He climbed in first, stretching out his hand to help you get in as well. You grasped his hand and get it in. You both sat next to each other. 

“ Are there any other survivors?”, one of the soldiers asked and Soonyoung shook his head, “Not any I know of nearby.”

The soldier mumbles something to the pilot and the helicopter slowly moves back up to the high altitude. You looked over at Soonyoung to see him deep in thought. You wonder what he was thinking about and you hoped it was about you, your confession.

The sound of the blades made your ears numb, even in the heavy noise, you heard the words that escape his mouth.

“ I love you too, ___.”

for anyone who came this far, thank you for reading!

[clayderogatory]

"Under the Red Light of the Crimson Moon."

a/n note: happy spooky season! since the poll received so much positive attention and many yes-es...i decided to write this! it will be posted on my ao3 after as well! also this playlist was very much my vibe im going for so if you like music while reading, this one is perfect! also, this is a VERY plot heavy and descriptive fic as well. warning, this fic does have dark content, if that is not for you, i do not suggest reading! This will also be a multipart series/multi chapter fic!

pairing: vampire!leon kennedy x gn!reader.

word count: 7.2k

tags: mystery, last name already established, graphic depiction of death, corpses, blood, language, heavy mentions of religion, romanticism, neck biting, alcohol use, mentions of other resident evil characters, no smut!

description: you are a doctor/researcher who gets sent to the eerie town of Hythe to investigate and help the strange deaths of the townsfolk. soon, you hear talk of the strange manor upon the hill to the north, and you decide to investigate.

━━━━━━━━━━━━⊱⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⊰━━━━━━━━━━━━

The town of Hythe was certainly one of much mystery, certainly even from the townsfolk there. The place was always described as eerie, where something was always off. Many people were ill quite frequently, and many were mysteriously killed by an unknown source. With many letters sent and through your curiosity being piqued, you had ultimately decided to see what was all the trouble. The train ride there had been rather pleasant, mainly through the blissful and tranquil countryside of Europe. It had been a wonderful sight to see, the thick green trees whose branches spread to the sun and it's radiant rays, the soft green grass across the plains that would hastily pass by, and the occasional cottages that you would see with families tending to their little farms—it was all rather charming. It truly made you wonder what could be so wrong?

When you arrived at the town of Hythe, that was when it all clicked in your mind. You stepped off the train to a town that was particularly and overly gloomy. The roads and houses were primarily made of stone and dark wood, and while lit oil lamps were filed along the slightly cracked streets—the air was thick and filled with the scent of death and decay. You scrunched your nose at the horrid smell that entered your nostrils, “It smells like shit..” A mumble escaped your lips as you tried your best to not breathe in more of the air around you. You walked through the dark town, the dark and grey clouds above hid away the warm and bright rays of the sun, to which it left the area seemingly forlorn. The townspeople were no better, anyone that was shuffling by were pale and thin. You assumed no one had seen the comforts of the sun in years, as you shifted glances with the townsfolk who just so happened to pass by you. They had seemed rather intrigued and quite curious by your presence in the town of Hythe—after all—no one ever willingly visited this place.

Luckily, you had the ability to stay at the nicest inn the town could offer. After all, with a well paying job such as yours, you could afford more than the average person could in this economy. You had carried your personal bags made of the richest full grain leathers—a generous gift from your father when you were entering your career as a doctor and a researcher. In an alleyway, you had heard the sobbings of a woman and two children, clad in all black, as they tragically wept over the corpse of what you assumed as her now dead husband. An elder priest accompanied them as well, he was saying his deepest prayers along with the family and praying that the man’s soul would be guided to heaven to rest in God’s safe embrace.

You could only watch with a sense of pity as you took notice of the body itself. The corpse seemed fresher, as if it happened the night before you arrived. The muscles were all stiff as the man’s face was contorted into a pale, and horrified expression. The man looked petrifyingly angular, as if someone had suctioned up much of the muscle mass in his body. The horrible odor filled through the air and unfortunately right into your nostrils as your face turned to one of pure disgust. No matter how long you had been in the medical field, you never had much of a tolerance for the dead. The one thing that stuck out to you the most was a large and uninviting bite mark along where the man’s jugular vein would be. The blood had been dried to a rustic red color and part of his cream colored—now stained in a dried crimson—shirt ripped apart to reach the man’s neck. Whoever would…or even could do such a thing like this?

You decided to investigate further as you carefully and slowly stepped closer, the smell was absolutely putrid, but you could manage to keep moving for the sake of your own curiosity and personal research. You had pulled out a small leatherback notebook and a writing utensil out of your coat pocket as you politely cleared your throat to grab their attention. “My deepest apologies during this time…but I could not help but notice this predicament before me…would it be alright to inquire about what may have happened?” You asked sweetly and kindly, after all, the family seemed to be heavily distraught from the traumatic sight before them. No one could blame them for feeling that way, of course.

“He..he left last night for a drink at the t..tavern…and he..he didn't come home! He was only thirty eight…” The woman exclaimed as her tears kept falling from her bloodshot and tired eyes. “And he was found in this state?” You replied and went to walk over to observe the body yourself. “Indeed…my dearest Simon..” She whispered as you kneeled down to have a better look. Judging by the state of decomposition, it seemed to be around one in the morning that he was killed, with how it was now an early eight in the morning. “It was most certainly a homicide…that is too odd of a puncture wound to inflict on oneself…” You spoke in a soft and hushed tone—almost to yourself even.

You lightly traced your hand just barely above the wound, not enough to touch—but you were certainly focused on it. The wound was unlike anything you have ever seen, it was almost too neat for it to have been any sort of weapon. There was no gunpowder or scorch marks on his cold and dead skin, so it couldn't possibly have been a pistol—or any gun for that matter. Hell, you didn't even know if they constructed bullets that thin. A knife certainly had too thick a blade, the wound would have instantly killed someone in the particular area as well. It would have left too jagged a cut as well, with the flesh being more torn into and creating a larger opening than what was presented before you. The man would have suffered more bloodloss in that particular case as well, and it wasn’t quite the case here—considering how there were only a few streams of leftover blood that had previously oozed and dripped down from his sternum and farther down his exposed chest. The marks that were left behind, equally parallel to one another, were so precise and thin…and yet, so intimidating to look at. “Excuse me…if I may ask who you are?” The priest questioned you as you were finally snapped out of one of just many of your investigative trances.

You had turned to the Priest once more before getting your thoughts together once more, “Dr. Coulston…although, you could just call me [Name].” You spoke calmly, regardless of there being a corpse right next to you. The priest’s light and stormy grey eyes lit up with the hint of familiarity, “Ah…you must be the doctor we have sent for.” They all had disregarded the decaying corpse for a moment to greet you. “I am this town’s main priest, Osmund Saddler.” He introduced himself as you gave a generous bow. “I truly thank you for your kindness, Father.” You formally addressed the man as you straightened your posture once more. “If I may ask…have there been many deaths much like this one?” You had opened your small notebook after asking and awaiting an answer to note down on the sheets of paper made from the finest wood pulp. “Indeed…it is the work of the Devil himself! I sense his presence around these corpses, may their souls be guided to Heaven…” Saddler had exclaimed and made a small motion of the cross with his hands. You hastily wrote everything you possibly could while he spoke, and also the details of the actual body itself.

Middle aged man, thirty eight years old. Name was Simon. Expression twisted into one of horror. Estimated time of death, 1:00-1:30 in the morning. Fatal wound of two precise and thin puncture wounds to the jugular vein. The body looks extremely thin, very unhealthily. The body was found in an alleyway just a few meters from the train station to the town of Hythe. Deaths like this are increasingly common, according to Father Osmund Saddler.

“May he rest in peace…” You clasped your hands together and uttered but a small prayer for all the families whose loved ones perished in such a grotesque way. Once you had rested your arms and opened your eyes once more, everything seemed to have calmed down more. “One more question…is there anyone here that could provide more information on these murders?” You inquired as what seemed to be some townsfolk hired by a funeral home started filing in to claim the body to prepare it to be embalmed and buried. “There is one you could try…he frequents the town square quite often. His name is Chris Redfield.” Saddler suggested as you wrote down his name and the place. “Thank you very much.” Your lips curved upwards into a smile as Saddler returned the gesture. “Of course, I hope to see you soon, Doctor.” It was after that where everyone had started to go their own separate ways, and you headed to the inn so you could book your room and leave your bags there. It wasn’t too much of a walk from your previous stance, and it was on the wealthier side of the town. You had walked along the stony paths of the streets, the low, but sturdy heels of your leather shoes making a soft clack with every step you took. You looked around the town to gather some needed insight for the town that you would be staying in for some time now.

There weren’t many shops on the outside, everything was indoors and secure. You assumed it was from the amount of murder along the streets of the town. Anyone that was even outside regardless looked awfully frightened. You could hear their hushed whispers to one another, their gossipings, all about the man’s corpse you have just seen with your own two eyes. News seemed to spread around quickly in this town, although they probably had nothing else better to do with their lives. Just waiting to see who will be struck dead in the thick and dreadful cold of the night! You quietly hummed to yourself at the thought, it would make quite the mystery novel—you held onto that idea in your mind for later usage.

After you had lived in your own psyche and wandered around for but a moment, you reached the inn. It was at the least a little more welcoming than the rest of the town. It also had some stunning views of the mountains much further away in the distant landscape of the area. Through the windows of the inn, you could see the warmer and more comforting candlelight coming from indoors. It provided at least a small sense of security that most of the town very clearly didn't provide with its natural gloom. You gently opened the door and with a grunt, you hauled your bags into the entrance. There was a small golden bell that gave a cheerful jingle as you walked in. As you did, the bell provided the innkeeper the sense that someone had entered. She stood behind a wooden desk with a damp rag in her hands to clean.

“Welcome! How may I assist you?” She gave a warm smile as she placed the rag in a small compartment underneath the now cleaned, polished, hardwood table she stood behind. She had her slightly reddish–brown hair up in a messy ponytail, some of her hair falling onto her pale face that adorned icy blue eyes. She wore her work uniform that was just plain and simple, a red dress with puffed sleeves and a white lace at the ends. There was an ivory white ribbon upon the bust of her dress. She wore a faded dusty pink apron as well, but one eye-catching detail you had noticed was a sterling silver necklace she wore with the charm being a silver feather with a deep blue sapphire near the tip of the quill. You walked up to the counter and placed your bags down next to you with a small sigh escaping your lips. “I will need a room to stay in…for..quite a while. I was asked to come here in regards to the investigation of the murders.” You replied and put your hand upon the freshly polished wooden countertop. “Ah! Everyone in town has been talking about you…thank you for helping us, really.” She gave a pleasant smile before turning around to get a small room key for you. “Of course…and if it is no trouble..would you happen to know anything about these murders that have been rampant?” You had pulled your small leatherback notebook and writing utensil out once more in the hopes that she would know something.

“Well…my older brother has been looking into it a bit. He has told me it always happens in the complete dead of night. Every victim perishes the exact same…may God have mercy on their souls..” A soft sigh escaped her lips as you wrote everything she said down onto the parchment paper of your notebook. “And who is your brother?” You looked up for a brief moment, your eyes laced with that desire to know more. “Chris…Chris Redfield. I’m his sister, Claire.” She introduced herself and placed a key on the desk. Your eyes glimmered at your recognition of the name she spoke of. “I have indeed heard of him…do you know wherever he may be currently?” You wrote down her name next to his, and wrote a little margin note saying they were siblings. “Hm…I couldn’t say as of right now..but he has told me he was going to investigate the strange manor upon the hill to the north of town at some point.” Claire responded to your inquiry and leaned forwards against the countertop. It was a little improper, but you paid it no mind as you wrote down that important detail as well. “Manor? What is strange about it? Why is your brother going to investigate it?” You rapidly questioned, one after the other. Claire had to take a small pause to be able to properly answer your questions.

“Well…the manor has been there for..who knows how long? This village has been around for centuries…that manor along with it. It’s very rare to spot someone ever going inside or out…but one time..I did see a young man enter back inside. I couldn’t make out much of what he looked like…but he had a sort of dirty blonde hair from what I can remember. Regardless...my brother is a constable. He’s been on this investigation as well…he was the one that sent the letter to you.” Claire explained with a hand resting upon her soft, rosy cheek. You had checked your notes thus far.

Chris Redfield and Claire Redfield—siblings. Chris is a constable. Manor on the hill to the north, no one really comes in or out often. Young man with dirty blonde hair spotted once while going inside.

“I see…I thank you kindly.” You slowly nodded your head at Claire as she gave you the key to your room. “Of course! Name please?” She got out her own sheet of parchment paper to note down that the room would be occupied. “Dr. [Name] Coulston.” You replied as Claire nodded to herself as clarification and wrote down everything she needed. “Alright! We will charge you at the end of your stay.” She smiled and put the paper and fountain pen to the side. “And the room is the second door on the right!” She quickly added as you started to carry all of your possessions once more.

You had hauled your bags and items to the door, second from the right—you had remembered, and you opened the wooden door with the small key Claire had given you. The inside of the room was simple, but it was quite comfortable. There was a window to your left that gave you the same stunning views from when you first saw the building. The mountains that surrounded the town truly were a sight to behold, along with the thick forests at the feet of every mountain. Inside of the room was a queen sized bed to your right hand side, a rich mahogany nightstand next to it as well. Atop of it was a silver tray with a fresh box of matches to the side and a few candles with its silver candle holder. Next to the nightstand was a door that led to a small and private bathroom, as well as there being a few bookshelves filled with all kinds of books, a mahogany desk, a few nice portraits hanging around, a large vanity mirror hanging from the wall, and a fireplace that was currently unlit. You had placed your bags down at the foot of the bed and hung your coat on a coat hanger that you just noticed was beside the door. You then just took a moment to just lay down. So much had happened within the past one to two hours that you felt nearly exhausted. You decided that a nice nap would surely do you justice as you got comfortable and your eyes naturally closed on their own to drift into a comfortable slumber.

When you had finally awoken, it was night already. You didn’t even know you could potentially sleep that long—but the train ride had been quite long and you dealt with the whole mystery of the corpses and finding people. It all made your head spin from the stress, but you had a responsibility to solve it all. You slowly arose from the bed with a groan and a stretch, you could feel and hear the snapping of your bones as you felt the ability to move around without a soreness once more. You had ultimately decided to do some more investigation in the night, for you may have had the chance to catch the culprit whilst in the act! You had taken your coat from where you had previously hung it earlier and you slipped it back on. Then it was proceeded by fixing your hair to look a little more presentable than when you had woken up, and from one of your bags—you had pulled out a dagger of your own. If there was a chance that someone would try to go after you, you wanted to be ready at any given moment—and certainly considering the way of how these innocent people were being murdered, you knew you had to be wary and prepared for anything that could happen.

You picked up your satchel and filled it with some essentials. A first aid kit, small snacks for the road,and some stored money. There was always one person who would hide what he knew behind some sort of paywall—or if you needed something for dinner. Once you had personally felt ready, you slipped your shoes back on and left your cozy inn room for the unsuspecting mystery of the town of Hythe. When you had slipped out, as if the town already wasn’t overtly depressing, at night? It felt terrifying. You quietly wandered the streets on your own, the only sources of light coming from the scarce few of the oil lightposts on the sides of the street. The only thing you could hear were the clacks of your heels with each step on the cobblestone streets. You tried to keep your composure, the dread now finally kicking in as you could feel your body tremble from paranoia. You checked a few alleyways, and only finding complete darkness enveloping the space. You had turned your head towards the opposite way of the last alley you looked into, before you found a cold hand grabbing you by the waist and dragging you into that shadowy crevice of the alleyway. A scream escaped your mouth as your body was suddenly pressed up against another, with a complete absence of any warmth at all.

“A new face, hm?” You noticed it was a man’s voice, and from what you could gather, he had a seemingly Spanish accent. “It’s been forever since someone new came around..” He whispered as you felt his hot breath right where your jugular vein would be. You struggled in his grasp with quiet grunts, “Let…go of..me!” You cried out as you stomped on his foot with all your might and escaped from his hold as he howled in pain. “Mierda…” He cursed as he tried lunging for you again, to which you narrowly escaped with a yelp. “Get away from me!” You yelled and managed to get steady on your feet once more, dagger in hand. “Feisty, eh? So typical of humans..” He muttered as he ran up to you and managed to trap you once again, you struggled as he pinned you up against the wall and opened his mouth to seemingly bite you. His canine teeth were much larger than the normal person’s, and his eyes glowed red in the darkness that enveloped your bodies. You couldn’t make out any other defining features as your heart felt it would jump right out of your chest from how fast it was beating. Thump, thump, thump—it was all you heard as his teeth advanced closer, and you just thought it would be the end. You braced for an impact that never came, for when he was just about to dig his teeth into your neck, you heard the sound of a bullet being fired directly into his shoulder. He cried out in pain as he let go and tightly gripped onto the side of his shoulder where a crimson red blood was flowing down his arm. You looked over and saw a quite large and burly man from outside the alleyway holding up a now recently fired rifle. “Get away from them!” He yelled as the man who attacked you frowned with displeasure and dissipeared into the night once more.

You panted for your breath as the adrenaline from being in a near death experience, your mind felt hazy and your senses amplified tenfold. You had no idea what had just happened, and when you had just got back to your senses, you saw the man who saved you standing in front of you. “Are you alright? You aren’t injured, are you?” He asked and offered a hand for you. “No…I-I’m alright..” You stammered quietly as you were slowly calming down from the events that just transpired. “I truly thank you for saving me…I thought I would have died there for sure..” You whispered as the man in front of you nodded in response. “These have been happening all over town…thank God I found you before you were injured.” He gave a hearty smile that you couldn’t help smiling back from his friendly demeanor. “Right…what’s your name?” You asked as you both started walking out of the alleyway and back onto the cobblestone street. “Chris…Chris Redfield.” He stated as your eyes widened, you were lucky enough to find everyone related to one another. “Oh! Yes..yes I was going to look for you! I needed your help on investigating…all of this..although it did just happen..” You rambled a bit before continuing, “I met your sister, Claire..at the inn. And earlier this morning Father Saddler mentioned you after I first came across a corpse who suffered a similar fate as to everyone else.” You finished talking as the both of you walked along the street together. “I see…thank you for taking the time to investigate this issue as well. It’s been happening for…years now at this rate.” Chris looked to you as he replied. “I’ve come to the conclusion that…we may be dealing with a larger threat than I may have thought.”

“And what may it be?” You asked and looked to Chris for his answer. He seemed slightly uneasy at the idea of it, but it came out in a hushed tone of his voice, “Vampirism.” You were familiar with the concept, there were always those extremely paranoid of the sort. Garlic, stakes to the heart—you had heard it all, for it actually to truly exist? The thought was utterly terrifying, especially considering the fact that you had just been potentially attacked by one just but a few moments ago. “V-vampirism? Surely you jest…” You stammered, your voice so utterly uneasy from the idea. Chris shook his head in response as the two of you kept walking down the street, and you truly felt your throat constrict in a bout of nervousness and fear. “As much as I wish I was wrong…considering the events we have just witnessed..and the events that have been occurring..I fear it may be the only answer.” He spoke quietly as a somber mood fell over the two of you like a blanket draped over a bed. “Then what are we to do? They will keep harming innocent people…” You whispered as your brain tried to wrack itself for any sort of clue or answer, obviously they had to find some sort of compromise—but it wasn’t like you exactly knew the general nature of vampires.

“Do you think they live in the manor on the hill?” You inquired as the two of you continued to stroll with one another, Chris pursed his lips and put a hand to his chin. “It’s probable…” He replied as a thought seemed to appear in your head. He could tell by the way your expression changed, “No, you seriously cannot be thinking about going there!” His voice was raised a little as you looked back up to meet his eyes. “I could be able to try to talk with them! Maybe we could reach a compromise…” You suggested the idea as it made Chris a little distressed at the idea. “Vampires are dangerous, Doctor. We don’t know what to expect from them…” He replied and put a hand to yours with concern, you could only sigh in response as you looked away to your right before making eye contact once more. “Chris, if we treat them with hostility, they would only show it back. Let me try to make things right..because I do want to help this town..innocent people shouldn’t have to die.”

“If you say so…but you better stay safe..but know if they try anything, I’ll have to step in.” You nodded at his conditions, “I agree to your terms then.” You both carefully walked back to the inn, but for a moment as you walked, you exchanged glances with another man that had walked by. You noticed a brief red glow from his eyes and what looked to be blonde hair. His clothing was particularly formal, although it was hard to make out due to the dark colors of it blending in with the shadows of the night, but you immediately whipped your head back to looking in front of you with a small gasp escaping your lips. Chris looked at you concerningly for a brief moment as he decided to say nothing as the two of you made it back to the inn once again. Claire was still behind the desk as it seemed she was tidying up the place, at the jingle of the door opening, she looked up and noticed the two of them walking in. “Chris! [Name]! What are you two doing out so late in the night?” She walked out from behind the desk, took off her apron, and placed on the front desk before she made her way over to the both of you. “I had gone out to investigate the pressing issue at hand—” You had started before Chris had finished your sentence, “Along the way, they were attacked by one of the perpetrators. A vampire.”

Claire’s icy blue eyes went wide with the statements as she almost couldn’t figure out what to say. “A..a vampire? Truly?” She stammered as you and Chris nodded your heads in sync. “Chris saved me from one…and then..as we were walking back..I swore I saw another.” Your voice gradually decrescendoed as you spoke, for it grew quieter with every word that came from your lips. “Another?” Claire asked with shock as you managed a solemn nod. “Indeed…he had this blondish hair and his eyes were tinted as this..this crimson red. I could swear they glowed..” You recalled from only a few moments prior to now. “Well…let us all be eternally grateful that everyone is unharmed..it is late in the night, dear. You should head to bed and get some rest..” Claire put a gentle hand on your shoulder with a comforting look. “Indeed. We could rendezvous in the morning with some breakfast and tea to discuss what we shall do moving forwards.” Chris agreed as everyone decided to part ways for the night and wait for morning to speak on such issues. Of course, you weren’t as tired as the other two as you recorded your experiences down into your notebook so that it wouldn’t potentially be lost in your vast memory.

In an alleyway of Hythe, not particularly far from the inn, a vampire attacked at around ten-o-clock at night. Noticeable characteristics were crimson red eyes, large fangs at the canine teeth and slightly smaller fangs where they would meet at the premolars. The vampire that attacked had a smooth Spanish accent, more akin to that of Spain and not of South America origin. The second vampire I had seen while walking was not hostile towards me or Chris Redfield, but he had the same crimson red eyes but his hair distinctly blonde and he had dressed like a gentleman.

You had placed your fountain pen back down after closing it shut after writing. There was a lot to report, but it would provide useful later on. Afterwards, you had taken a relaxing warm bath to calm your nerves and to relax you enough to be able to sleep through the night. You dressed into your nightclothes before slipping into bed and drawing the covers over your body as you lulled into a gentle and peaceful slumber once again.

When you had awoken at around eight in the morning the next day, the outside was still just as gloomy as the day before. Even if it had all felt like an odd dream, you vividly remembered everything that had happened prior. The corpse in the alleyway, the attack, excetera. You had risen out of bed to dress yourself once more as you slipped on your coat lastly. You were going to meet Claire and Chris out for breakfast in the inn, since there was a small dining hall that was in the inn as well. You had stepped out of your room after getting ready for the day as you had now just recently met up with the siblings once more, the fresh smell of warm tea and pastries filling into your nostrils and somehow calming any nerves you may have had. “Good morning, you two.” You had spoken politely as you sat down across from them. “Good morning! How did you sleep?” Claire asked as she took a bite into a small cream puff she had made that morning. “I slept well enough…although..everything from last night is still on my mind.” You replied as Claire poured you a cup of warm chamomile tea. “Mine as well…at least we know who is behind all of this..the only question is how are we going to prevent it from happening again?” Chris responded as he took a quick sip of tea after speaking. “Well…I did say I would try to talk with them..” You responded as they both looked to you as if you were crazy. “Talk with them?! Doctor..I am not sure that is the best idea..especially after one already attacked you!” Claire exclaimed before Chris put a hand up to signal to calm down. “It’s the best we can do…it’s hard enough to try and kill them as it is.” He responded as his sister huffed.

“Oh alright…just..stay safe, [Name].” Claire looked at you with a hint of worry in her expression, but there wasn’t much else you could do. You were willing to make the sacrifice to help the others in need here in the village, and who knows? Maybe you would learn more in the process, and as a reasearcher, you always loved to accumilate more and more knowledge about the world around you. “I was planning to head over to the manor after breakfast…all I know about vampires are what people say about them. Although you can never truly believe everything you hear…” You had taken another sip of your tea and a bite of a warm cinnamon roll. “I do not believe they are regarded as very kind..but I am not sure. We only have the encounter from the other night to go off of.” Chris strirred his tea and drank the rest of it before setting the cup down. “The one who attacked me last night certainly wasn’t very nice…” You mumbled before finishing your breakfast and standing back up afterwards. “Thank you very much for the meal…it was truly delicious, Claire.” You gave a soft smile in her direction and dusted off your coat with. “Of course..please stay safe…vampires may be unpredictable..although it really is all a mystery.” She whispered and went to clean some plates up. “Of course..thank you both for everything..” Your lips curved into a smile again as you gave your final goodbyes before going back to your room, grabbing your satchel yet again, and leaving to go to the manor. You walked along the roads of the town again, you even peered into many of the alleyways to find if there were any corpses in them, but to your surprise, there weren’t any at all.

You had asked around to see if anyone knew where to find the manor, and they all gave a similar answer of following the main road north until you see the hill. So you had listened to their advice, and with every step—every clack of your heel on the cobblestone tiles only heightening your anxiety as you reached the edge of the town, and you spotted the manor upon the hill. There was a bit of a misty fog around as you walked up the path to the manor itself, the path was of dirt as you walked along it warily. There were many trees along the path that had obscured some of your view, but you ultimately pressed ahead. The one thing that you did notice the closer you got to the entrance, was the abundance of multiple types of red flowers in the front. Although the main ones you could make out were some beautiful near maroon roses and an assortment of brightly colored red poppies. It was fitting now that you knew of their true identities, but to say that they weren’t beautiful would be a lie.

You had climbed up the steps to the grand front door of the manor, it was a little intimidating as you gently took one of the door handles and used it to knock on the door precisely three times. There was only silence as you waited for a response, nothing thus far—so you knocked again. Three times, but with a bit more power to them. Your first justification was if they didn’t hear your previous knocks, your second justification was if the myth of vampires being nocturnal was really true, and your third justification was that perhaps no one was home. “Hello? Is anyone home?” You called out quite loudly as you couldn’t even peer in through a nearby window. All of them were covered by maroon curtain drapes from the inside, so there was no luck there. You had sighed and thought to just wait, and as you turned on your heel to leave, you heard the creak of the door behind you opening which made you flinch slightly and hastily turn around. When you had done so, you had locked eyes with the same man who walked past you yesterday night. You could see him a lot more clearly, he had those same red eyes—albiet not glowing anymore, a dirty blond hair that was short in the back but a little long in the front, considerably pale skinned with faint red blemishes, and a rather muscular look to him that was shrowded by his previous clothes. Of course now he was a bit less formal, with only a frilled off white shirt that had showed part of his chest, and high waisted black pants with some gold detailing down the sides.

“...may I help you?” He finally spoke as his eyes nearly pierced your very soul with how intimidating they were. You had nervously chuckled and cleared your throat as you tried to keep your ground and your mind level headed. "Good morning, sir...if I could just have a moment of your time—" You had started before he cut you off, "I have no time for such insignificant nonsense." You blinked a little awkwardly as he tried closing the door before you sprung forwards. "Wait! Wait...please, I truly mean no harm..I just wished..to ask a few questions is all." He stared at you in thought before wordlessly opening the door further for you. You quietly thanked him as you walked into the manor and looked around.

There were candles everywhere, and all of them were lit to make up for the lack of natural lighting from the outdoors. Blacks, reds, and golds were certainly an abundance as the color palate of choice for decoration. Everything looked a little outdated than what was considered normal at the time, and some things looked seemingly medieval, which had further intrigued you. Paintings filled the rooms upon the walls and many of them were a bit eerie to say the least. The blonde haired man led you to the drawing room where he sat down on a couch and motioned for you to sit on the one across from him, which you did so with grace.

"Thank you for the invitation, sir. There were just a few questions I would like to ask of you or anyone else that lives in this home. Could I have a name?" You pulled out your notebook and writing utensil once again and flipped to an open page. "...Leon. Leon Kennedy." He replied as you both firmly shook hands, his grip being a little tighter than yours. "And you will not find the others here at this hour," He simply stated and crossed his arms. "They are on...business."

"...business?"

"Business."

You blinked a few times and noted that down as you nodded your head slowly. "Right...and..what type of business...might I ask..?" Your words were slowly paced, you couldn't help but not believe what he was saying to an extent. "It is information I cannot tell you, my sincerest condolences." You had written that down too. "Alright...well, if I may switch our topic a little..do you know about the recent murders here in Hythe?" You curiously inquired with your eyes glinting with that desire of knowledge. To hear the perspective of someone more on the outskirts of town and who may have been one in on them in the first place certainly intrigued you. "Well...yes, I have. They have caused a bit of commotion here." Leon nodded. "Indeed they have...would you happen to know anything on why they are happening?"

Leon visibly went stiff as he tried to think of something to say to that question. "Ah..well...I do know..some..." He meticulously chose his words carefully as you nodded. "Do tell then, I am all ears."

"It would be considered blasphemous...I doubt you would believe me." Leon murmured as his red eyes looked down a little sullenly. "I can assure you..I will hear out anything you are willing to say." You gave a sweet and affirming smile as he nodded and thought out what he desired to say. "Well...would you believe me if I said we weren't quite..human?" Leon whispered just loud enough for you to hear him. "I could get behind the idea...do continue." You replied calmly as he nodded. "Well...we are..vampires. Everyone in this manor. We don't mean to intentionally kill..it is the only way we can feed..and we have so little that even just a drop of blood causes us to..spiral." He confessed honestly as you wrote it all down without even looking at the paper.

"So I see..my theory was correct then..how did you all arrive here then?" You asked as Leon crossed his legs. "Well...I suppose we have been here longer. This manor is..quite old." He blinked a few times and scratched his chin. Many of his answers were a bit short lived, you had noticed. At least you were getting them, so you couldn't complain too much. "Intriguing..." You whispered and nodded. "Could I have the names of the others who do reside here?" His lips curved into a prominent frown as he stared at you. "Why is that necessary? Are you from the Church?" He got a little defensive as you straightened your back out of nervousness. "No! Not at all...I am just a researcher and a doctor. I came here of my own volition."

"How am I to know that you are not a liar?" Leon stood up and towered over you, his muscular frame intimidating you further. "You will have to trust my word..please. I truly mean no harm!" You stood up afterwards to try and get on an even playing field. He scoffed and looked to you with an unconvincing expression. "Well, I know one thing. Humans are liars, and how could I let one go after knowing quite the secret?" You gulped a little and backed up when he walked near you. "I.." You couldn't get a statement out as your arm was then grabbed by him at some supernatural speed.

"It seems we will have some new company here for quite some time." He smirked a little as he could practically hear your heart pounding and the blood rushing through your veins as you stood there in fear.

Unfortunately for you, your already precarious situation had just gotten a whole lot worse.

━━━━━━━━━━━━⊱⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⊰━━━━━━━━━━━━

thank you all for reading!! there will be more parts after this and this is (again) posted on my ao3 if you want to leave a kudo/comment! thank you for reading! :)

[whorediaries-09]

i wanna be yours;

pairing- sirius black x barista!reader warning(s)- tooth decaying fluff. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- totally self indulgent.

masterlist for the 'the seven lives'

the slut club

if you like your coffee hot let me be your coffee pot

he doesn’t fancy coffee much, he’s more of a tea person.

much to his dismay, james drags him to the one of the small downtown cafés in london. james likes his sweet coffees, it helps him focus, he insists. sirius thinks it makes him more inattentive; if that were to be possible. he thinks his friend would still be chasing colourful butterflies or pet dogs that curl up near sirius’ legs.

however, the feeling quickly dissipates. when his eyes fall on you. you’ve got your hair up in a messy bun, writing down orders on a piece of paper. a slight smile curved upon your lips. the apron you wear is dirty, and he imagines it smelling like freshly baked cookies and coffee. he feels his heart skip a beat when you turn your head around at the sound of the charms above the door jingling. the smile on your lips broadens, the soft sunlight reflecting your features.

he feels a weird warm sensation calm down over his nerves, as you wave to his friend.

‘hi james, what can i get you today?’ you ask. even your voice is ethereal.

‘just the regular, darlin’- he jolts sirius in his ribcage, causing him to stomp on his foot, ‘-and whatever this dolt likes,’

his hand grips his ribcage as the pain of the soft blow dissipates over his body. he rolls his eyes, and he walks nearer to the counter, behind which you stand, taking in the sight of you. you chuckle softly, and he thinks it’s music to his years. he’s pretending to trail his eyes over the menu, trying to choose what he wants. truth be told, he has no idea about what he’s seeing. cappuccinos espressos, lattes, americano, they all seem fancy, foreign words to him. he chooses the safest option, to not make a fool of himself.

‘i’ll have a masala chai, please,’ he says. james stares at him in silence. he watches his eyes as you walk away back into the kitchen, he knows that look. it’s been years since he’s seen it on his friend’s eyes. but he knows it, he remembers it.

‘okay so one caffé mocha for james and one masala chai for-?’ you speak. sirius thankfully enough, catches up to your words. he leans closer, letting his hips sabotage the counter,

‘for sirius,’ he whispers, as if a secret to be kept between you and him. he doesn’t miss the flush on your skin or the way your eyes cradle over his appearance or way you unconsciously lean slightly closer to listen to him. you nod, everting your eyes.

‘one masala chai for sirius,’

it’s the best one he’s had, he thinks.

*-

you smudge the sticky lip gloss on your lips, fixing stray strands of hair on your head. it’s silly you think, to expect sirius to come back to the café. he wasn’t with james the other day he came in. but still, a part of you heaves hope that he’ll come in.

to maybe, just ask your name.

you’re busy eating your lunch, balancing yourself on a tool while reading a book. it’s not a very lovely book, with weird phrases and graphic descriptions containing nothing very interesting, but you think you’ll survive. it’s just for time pass, you convince yourself, letting the taste of your lunch relish on your tongue. it’s not a very busy day, with only a few customers dropping by, along with james. so, you’d finally convinced him to try something new out of the menu. he’d reluctantly chosen a caramel iced frappe. he was a very picky person, and you remembered how remus had introduced him to coffee, the first time he’d walked into the shop.

you never saw remus again, james became a regular. a picky person thing you supposed, to drink something new from the only shop they knew and liked.

you wondered whether sirius was a picky person too. it was a strange looming feeling, one that echoed into your brain and made you feel like a teenager high on hormones. but who wouldn’t be? the man exuded an aura of charm, his words and voice as smooth as velvet. it was idiotic you supposed, to be enamoured by somebody who didn’t give you more than his name.

still, it makes your stomach turn happily with dopamine, when your hopes turn into reality and the forsaken man that had been on your mind turns up. he carries a very chubby baby in his arms. you silently appreciate the flexing veins on his tattooed biceps as he walks towards you.

‘the chai was fire,’ he says. his eyes wander over to your uniform, trying to catch your name tag. there’s none he realizes, before his eyes fix on your face.

‘maybe you’ll try a coffee today?’ you say, a shy smile on your face.

‘surprise me darling,’ he says. the way the r rolls off his tongue makes you stomach do somersaults.

‘i’ll try my best,’ you say, dashing off into the kitchen.

it’s a hazelnut mocha caffé you bring back. you’re not sure whether he would appreciate the slight nut like taste on the drink, but it’s still worth a try. more cliched than a try really, bringing a cute customer your personal favourite drink.  

you write his name on the cup with as much precision as you can on the curved surface. try to make the dots on the i’s look more carefully drawn along the paper. you silently hope he notices your effort.

‘what have you got, for me now, hot stuff?’ he says, a cheeky grin on his face. he enjoys the tiny flush the appears across your skin and how you bite your lip at the nickname.

‘are you flirting with me because your kiddo has eaten up the cookies on the counter?’ sirius’ eyes wanders to the baby in his arms, and he grabs a tissue to wipe off the dust of his cheeks.

‘he’s not mine, i’m his godfather. it’s james’ kid,’ he explains, letting out a soft chuckle at the baby’s antics.

‘father like son i suppose,’ you drawl, handing him the latte. he looks at the cup, wondering what you’ve got him for a surprise. he hopes it’s not one of the sweet things’ james’ buys. it’ll make him sleepy, and he won’t be able to take care of harry as he’d promised.

‘how much do I owe you -?’ he stops mid-sentence, in a dilemma to use nicknames or not. he wants to know your name, let it simmer on his tongue before he lets it out. thankfully, you get the deal. so you give him your name.

he thinks it’s beautiful.  

*-

‘hi baby, what are you drawing?’ your voice is soft. you hand sirius his masala chai, rutting your hips against harry’s side of the table. he fiddles with his crayons, drawing random scribbles on the piece of paper. his striking green eyes stare at you, before he blabbers, his words not so clear yet,

‘a motohcych!’

‘ouhh,’ you hum, pushing your fingers through the mop of curly hair atop his head. you scratch your nails softly on his scalp, enjoying the sound of his chuckling.

‘is it prehhy?’ he asks, a shy smile on his face as he finishes scribbling on the paper. you’re not able to make out much from the black colours, but the innocence in his voice makes your heart melt. you press a kiss on his chubby cheek, and he giggles,

‘it’s very pretty,’ you say, bopping his nose.

‘whah do you like? i wihh drawh thahh’ he says, struggling with his words. you find it adorable. but when you speak out your answer, it’s more for sirius than harry,

‘flowers maybe? like yellow ones?’

*-

on a particularly busy day when, sirius walks in your café, it’s not a very empty space. and neither are you to be found anywhere. he hopes you’re in the kitchen somewhere, preparing your coffees. over the times he’s come over, he’s learnt you’re a shy thing. he’s not much of an observer, but somehow you make his eyes stop. you make him observe and learn things.

so sirius puts the bunch of flowers he’d bought on the table, alongside a note for you.

when you find them, they’re barely blooming, buds of yellow flowers. it makes your heart flutter when you find his note. a boost of serotonin runs through your body as you sabotage the tissue, searching for his number. it’s dumb, you think, but it’s also a hope that blossoms within you. you however find none.

you’re distracting by your name being shouted across the kitchen, asking for a hand in help.

*-

you’re freezing, as the rain patters over the sidewalk, just barely missing your shoes under the sunroof. you urse yourself for not bringing in your umbrella or a raincoat. now you’re stuck under the rain, with nowhere to go until the rain stops.

you’re saved by an angel with red hair who comes along the way, carrying an extra umbrella, with a toddler curled up in her arms. her eyes are striking similar, an emerald green you could recognise anywhere.

‘harry?’ you ask, looking at the toddler. he flashes you a beautiful grin, throwing grubby hands at you. you pinch his cheeks, smiling.

‘you must be lily,’ you say, turning to the woman. she stares at you flabbergasted, her mind seemingly rendering to her memories,

‘how do you know me, sweetie?’ she says, giving you an extra umbrella.

‘sirius- um well he comes to the café very often. he usually brings your adorable kid around,’

her eyes scan your features, as a look of realization dawns upon her. she squeezes your shoulder, slowly walking away into the rain. it pitters over the plastic of the umbrella, and she smiles, a soft look in her eyes.

‘give the umbrella to sirius, the next time you see him,’  

*-

sirius is jittery when he walks into the café. he hopes to catch you, even though he knows it’s not your shift. but there’s something about the aftermath of rain and petrichor which heightens his hopes. he tousles with his raven dark strands, hoping he doesn’t look too bad. you’ve made him shy. in a way, where he’s too intimidated to speak his feelings out directly. but he’s a man with plans.

his heart threatens to jump out of his chest when he finds you there. it’s the work of gods, or perhaps the work of his faith. he walks towards the counter, and you catch his eye. he thinks your eyes carry the most magnificent twinkle when you see him. your eyes linger on his lips a tad bit longer for it to be just friendly and his heart almost jumps through his ribcage. he’s almost forgetting his plans when you smile so sweetly at him. for a moment, he thinks it’s meant just for him.

‘hi darling,’ he greets, leaning towards the counter. his hips jolt at the metal, and he takes out his phone. you nod, acknowledging him.

‘do you think you can help me with…a crush?’ he says. he watches your breaths stops in your throat, as a dark sadness reflecting in your features.

‘maybe,’ you whisper, a quiet disdain succumbing your voice. you don’t meet his eyes. over the time he’s observed you, he realised that you don’t meet anybody’s eyes when you’re sad or angry. it’s a way of bottling up your emotions and eating them up till your stomach churns.

‘you wanna see a picture?’ he asks, trying to not react to the sadness on your face.

‘sure,’ you say. his heart almost shatters when you keep your head low, not meeting his eyes. he unlocks his phone, sliding it between your face.

your reflection stares back at you, and you jump. with surprise or glee, he can’t decipher. the sadness on your features has dissipated, your eyes glowing with hope and emotion. he stares at his reflection in your eyes, and he thinks he’s the prettiest reflected through the colour of your irises. he bites his lip when you don’t say anything.

he’s waiting in contemplation, wondering what your next move is, when you lean against the counter, closer to his face, breathing him in. he secretly thanks himself for chewing on a gum before he came in.

‘i think you should just ask her out on a date. she’ll be foolish not to say yes to you,’ you say, your eyes full of mischief. you’re grinning, as he counts the wrinkles beside your eyes.

‘you think so?’ he says, leaning closer, and almost brushing his lips against yours. almost letting himself taste you. he thinks if he has a taste, he won’t be able to stop himself from devouring you, from ravaging you apart.

‘i bet so,’ you say, smiling before your hand cradles his face, pushing his lips upon yours. he groans, capturing his lips with yours. he tastes coffee and vanilla on your tongue, melting away into his tastebuds. he loves it, he thinks, when you slide your arms across his neck, pushing yourself deeper into a passionate fury of build-up tension and hormones. his heart flutters with serotonin, and he tangles his fingers into your hair.

he doesn’t fancy coffee much, but he’s never found it more endearing than this moment.

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

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking (if you want to be tagged, reply under this post!)

[undeadcourier]

This is the second in a series of posts meant to explore both real-life cases of radiation sickness and the sci-fi concept of ghoulification in some depth. Graphic descriptions of the physical deterioration of the body are included for informative purposes; reader discretion is advised.

For this second case study, I examine the effects on the human body of exposure to moderate levels of radiation over a long period of time, with a focus on the real case of the Radium Girls, in particular Mollie Maggia. 

Marie and Pierre Curie discovered radium in 1898, launching the Radium Craze. Radium was believed to have numerous health benefits and restorative properties and was used to treat arthritis, hypertension, schizophrenia, and even stomach cancer. It was also used in tonic water, toothpaste, and cosmetics, among many other products. 

After William J. Hammer created a glowing green paint made from radium and zinc sulfide, radioluminescent paint became popular in use on watches and clock dials. Three factories that used radioluminescent paint on watches and clock dials saw incidents of severe radium poisoning in workers, in Orange, New Jersey, Ottawa, Illinois, and Waterbury, Connecticut. 

Dial painters working for the U.S. Radium Corporation, most of whom were between ages 14 and 20, were assured they were safe and were not given appropriate personal protective equipment while exposed to the radium dust they used to mix the paint for the dials. Managers encouraged them to use their lips to create a fine point on their paintbrushes, necessary in the precision work they did, which caused them to ingest small amounts of radium during their shifts. In addition, the radium dust coated their hair and dresses, and some women, believing the radium to be harmless, even deliberately painted their teeth and nails to make them glow. Dial painters ingested about 76 microcuries of radium per year.

In addition to consuming radium in the paint, the dial painters were exposed to the radon gas that resulted from the decaying radium, increasing their exposure to around 13000% more than the maximum annual dose. For comparison, standing next to the Chernobyl meltdown would result in about 30 rem of radiation exposure. 10 rem is the lowest annual dose linked to an increased risk of developing cancer. 200 rem is enough to cause severe radiation sickness and death, and between 300-400 rem is regarded as a lethal dose.

When ingested along with food or water, roughly 80% of radium is excreted, but the remaining 20% travels throughout the body where it is deposited in the bones, emitting alpha particles as it decays and irradiating the cells on the surface of the bones. New bone growth results in radium being deposited deep into the bone where it remains.

The typical period of exposure among the dial painters was two years. Some developed mouth sores after only a month of working at the factories, but for others, symptoms took longer to appear.  First, the women would have felt fatigued and anemic as their damaged bones could no longer replace their red blood cells. 

Because they were primarily ingesting the radium, their mouths were often the most affected. By October of 1921, Mollie Maggia—who'd already had to have a tooth removed—returned to the dentist's chair to have even more of her teeth extracted. The radiation damage to her bones inhibited blood cell production, which in turn prevented the wounds from healing. The ulcers became necrotic and constantly oozed blood and pus. 

Throughout that November, Mollie's condition grew steadily worse, and in addition to the pain in her teeth and jaw, her hips and feet became sore.

As the painters' radiation sickness progressed, their joints would become stiff and severe pain in their limbs limited their mobility. The radium ate through their bones, leaving them perforated in a honeycomb pattern and prone to spontaneous fractures. The women's spines and long bones fractured and shortened.

Some of the women’s skin became so thin that even a fingernail scratch could cause it to split open.

Tumors the size of grapefruits or footballs developed on their bodies, and they suffered from blood disorders, menstruation issues, and sterility.

By January of 1922, Mollie was in constant, unbearable agony. Her teeth were rotting in her mouth and falling out before they could be extracted. In May, Mollie’s dentist was horrified when her jaw crumbled at a gentle touch. He proceeded to remove her jaw, not by an operation, but simply by pulling the disintegrating pieces out by hand. That summer, Mollie’s throat became painfully sore, and she experienced spontaneous bleeding from the jaw. By September, the radiation had eaten through the tissue of her jugular vein to the point of hemorrhage. Mollie's mouth and throat flooded with blood, and she died.

Mollie Maggia was the first from the U.S. Radium Corporation to die, just short of her 25th birthday, in 1922. 12 more women died the following year and another 50 fell severely ill.

[rotworld]

26: Swan Song

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

the sorcerer-king of the fallows is neither alive nor dead. he's the only one who can help you now. you just hope he isn't holding a grudge from the last time you saw each other.

->original work. contains graphic descriptions of gore and decay, forced/political marriage, mass murder, memory loss.

.

.

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No one would believe you if you told them that the Fallows were once the gem of Tiralossa. They would question if this twisted, sickly swampland is really known by such a pastoral name.

But it was, and it is. The trees were not always jagged, malformed things, pale like bone. The grasses were green and gold and swayed gently in the wind, unlike this sparse gray prickliness jutting from the mud. Where there is now turbid water and soggy peat, there was once a small kingdom in its budding springtime youth. The boughs of orchard trees grew heavy with succulent fruit and petals danced in the Meadowlands on sweet-smelling breezes. 

There are few who remember it and many who are eager to forget. A curse lingers here. You can feel it the moment your shoes sink into the damp, clinging muck and the chilly fog curls around your skin. The wind carries the sound of distant screams and the scent of blood. No birds sing and no beasts graze. The Fallows hunger for anything that dares to live with a lover’s eagerness. Bodies claimed by the mire remain where they fell years after, preserved in grim, gaunt-faced stillness by the murky waters of the bog. 

It wants you, too. The land fights you for every step. The mud suckles at your shoes and sloshes around the ends of your cloak, trying to drag you into the embrace of the swamp. The trees sway towards you with their twisted, grasping limbs. You trudge through fog that sticks like cobwebs. The wind is cold breath on the back of your neck and a ceaseless, seductive whisper.

“Rest your head, lovely one,” it purrs purrs. “Come back into my arms.” Several times, your feet are caught in a snare of tangled, waterlogged grasses that feel like hands wrapped around your ankles. But you move slowly and calmly, trudging onward through the gloom. The Fallows coos and sighs your name. It will not try to trap you in earnest yet, not while you walk deeper into its forever decaying heart.

You walk until you find the ruins. Only the strongest stonework has survived the ravages of time, crumbling pillars and lone, lichen-speckled arches half-sunken in the mud. There is a circular patch of rough, weatherbeaten flooring that was once fine terrazzo marble, the colorful speckles dulled and covered in moss. The air feels different here. You stand in the center and you think you can hear the clink of crystal goblets and the distant laughter. With a deep breath and great reluctance, you lift your hand and cast the sigils of beckoning. 

“I seek an audience with Erazem, Sorcerer-King of the Fallows,” you declare. Your magic is a weak, strangled trickle, barely enough to conjure a sprout to bloom, but it doesn’t matter. Your call doesn’t have to reach the far side of the Veil. 

The air shifts when you speak the words. You hear music and clattering footsteps, the sounds of a ballroom. Stone scrapes stone and walls rebuild. The old palace does not appear in its former glory but as a decrepit phantom. Torches burn with eerie blue flame and climbing vines snake through the spaces in the walls and floor. 

You see silhouettes, the layered gowns and puffed doublets of courtiers slipping past the corner of your vision. They slink just beyond the grasp of shadows but you glimpse them in those fleeting moments when they dance close. Glassy eyes and blue lips. Ragged silks and water-stained cloaks. Desiccation and decay. Their steps are squelching, leaving muddy footprints behind. Some are missing hands, or eyes, or lower jaws. Are they ghosts or restless corpses? They watch you and whisper. 

“Do my eyes deceive me?” 

The darkness churns. A shadow slips free, inky tendrils falling away to reveal a tall figure in a trailing robe of black and indigo. It was a beautiful garment once, each draping layer glimmering softly as if woven from the night sky, but its luster has faded. The long sleeves hang limp and tattered. The cinching sash at the waist is gone and it hangs open, revealing not flesh but the pale line of a sternum and the delicate curl of a ribcage. Behind bars of bone, a still heart emanates a sickly green glow.

The Sorcerer-King steps forward gracefully, the ragged black train of his robe crusted and dragging with moss and filth. Glowing emerald eyes peer at you from behind a curtain of long, unkempt hair, black as ink and flat with dampness as if he just crawled out of a watery grave. He draws closer, stopping on the other side of a circular tile in the center of the floor with the floral crest of his fallen kingdom adorning the stone. Close enough to reach out and touch. You watch each other carefully.

“Erazem,” you greet him.

He nods. “Consort.” His lips don’t move when he speaks and his voice is an echo, a sound that fills your head.

“I’m not your consort.” 

“You would have been,” he says wistfully. “You nearly were. And here, where time does not truly pass, you nearly are forevermore. The anticipation grows unbearable at times.” He glances down and presses a hand to his ribs, the ghostly light of his frozen heart glimmering between his slender fingers. 

“I need your help,” you admit. 

Erazem’s gaze meets yours.  His lips, dry, cracked and bloodlessly pale, stretch into a smile. “My help?” he echoes, savoring the word. “How curious. Do tell. Would you like to sit?” 

He gestures to an armchair that wasn’t there before, shiny red velvet on a wooden frame. It’s situated beside a tall arched window. Beyond the glass, a raging inferno runs wild across the Fallows. It’s not a natural fire but a magical one, vivid green and moving with predatory intent. It races across the hills and tears through the orchards, snatching birds from the air and slithering up the walls of half-timbered houses to crawl through the windows. 

It does not burn what it catches. It rots them. Skin turns loose and sloughing, spotted with mold and festering necrosis. Joints soften, hands falling apart one finger at a time. Eyes dribble liquid from drooping sockets and hair falls out in scalp-sticky clumps. And they won’t die. The fire won’t let them. They will rot, they will fall apart, they will writhe in the mud and scream until their lungs are shriveled, but they will not die. 

One cannot risk a killing curse against a conjurer, for every conjurer is capable of retaliating with a curse of their own at the moment of their death. And so the fire binds but does not burn, rots but does not kill, and the Fallows becomes both alive and dead, kingdom and prison, for all of time.

Your stomach churns and you turn away from the window. The haunting glow of the curse-fire flickers against Erazem’s face. 

“We are a fickle people, are we not?” he muses. “One day, I am the true king and chosen one. The next, I am a tyrant deserving of an execution that never ends.” 

“You’re missing several steps in the middle,” you tell him.

His shoulders shake with soft laughter. “There is that blistering honesty I have missed so terribly. Tell me, what became of the one who destroyed my fledgling kingdom?” 

You swallow hard. “He was pardoned.” 

“Perhaps I should be flattered,” Erazem says. “To be hated so terribly that the Conclave could excuse the undeath of everyone unfortunate to live under my rule—”

“He wants to marry me.” 

Erazem says nothing for a moment. Eerie, unnatural silence fills the air. His court is motionless and speechless, even the softest scandalized whisper suddenly gone, the dark droplets hanging from the tips of their hair refusing to fall. The air is frigid. The oppressive damp stench of the swamp fills your lungs. He reaches out, his fingers grazing your cheek no more firmly than spider’s silk. Curtains peel back and a new window opens on your other side, the light pouring through it almost blindingly bright. You don’t look because you don’t have to. You know what he sees. 

That’s the rosy glow of a castle dining hall you know all too well. You’ve served there for several years now, a royal conjurer in the court of its king. You owe him. You have ever since you fled the Fallows years ago, stealing away in the night to escape a king who grew ever more covetous and an engagement you did not want. Most would not have accepted you upon hearing where you’d come from. Most would have turned you away, not willing to risk the ire of the Sorcerer-King. But there was great need for a conjurer and you would do anything asked of you. Anything at all.

Anything but this. 

“A political marriage.” Erazem’s gaze as he looked through the window frightens you. He could be warm and kind and endlessly charming, but he could also be unfathomably cold and cruel. He liked to hold you when he returned from the dungeons, still drenched in the blood and viscera of those who displeased him. “Ironic. What drove you to him now drives you back to me. And your groom-to-be, skilled cursewielder that he is…” He pauses, turning his cold gaze upon you. Before you can shrink away, he rips at your cloak and the robes underneath. He clicks his tongue when you fight and struggle against him and flicks his fingers, his magic sapping away your strength. 

He is your opposite, as always. Your magic is beckoning and growth, the swell of life. 

His is banishment and withering, the void of death. 

You sag in his arms and he wraps an arm around you as though to dip you in a waltz. He leans in, his hair falling in a black curtain that blocks out everything but the curse-fire green of his eyes. His other hand tugs at the neckline of your clothes until he finds what he was looking for—a mark of binding, raised and discolored like a scar, seared into your chest. “I wondered why your call to me was such a faint whisper. Your magic is trapped.” He traces the mark with his thumb, smiling bitterly. “Why did I never think of that?”

You fight not to shiver when his eyes flick up to your face. You knew the risks when you came here. If you had any other choice, you would’ve taken it. But the binding is unbreakable, as absolute and endless as the fire that claimed the Fallows. You would rather lose your magic entirely than have to coax it from the whims of a mercurial, kingdom-annihilating husband. 

Erazem chuckles. “I jest,” he says. He covers the mark and lets you go, watching with faint amusement as you stagger and fight to stay on your feet. “Such a thing is beneath me. I would have had your heart in time.” He paces, his hands clasped behind his back, circling you slowly. “You were right to come to me. No other can aid you. Even in life, I may have lacked the power to fully remove such a curse. But now…” He shuts the window to your loathsome past with the flick of his rest. Green light sizzles around his fingers and his skin grows translucent. 

You watch him warily, clutching your torn clothes together to shield your skin from the chilly air. “And in return?” you ask.

He chuckles and the sound echoes in your head. “What do you think I might ask for in return, my consort?” 

“Isn’t there anything else I can give you? Anything else you want?” 

He turns towards the other window, watching the Fallows die and live and die again. “I have my kingdom. I have my courtiers and my subjects. I have power unlike anything I could even imagine before. I have life everlasting, such as it is. There is only one thing I yearn for.” He looks back at you and your heart skips a beat.

There he is, just as you remember him. That’s the kind face that greeted you when you first arrived, trembling and afraid in the back of a carriage. Those are the lips that kissed the back of your hand and spoke an oath that you would be free here, unbound by any obligation. He was a conjurer, too. He understood what hardship you had faced, how you had been used and traded and sent into battle. It would not happen again.

“We are fallow,” said the Sorcerer-King, your husband to be, as he tucked a flower plucked from the Meadowlands behind your ear. “We have been pruned and prodded and beaten down to give them what they desire. This is our season of rest, my treasure. You will bloom when you are ready, not before.”

Tears sting your eyes. You love him almost as much as you fear him. “Will it hurt?” you ask hoarsely.

Erazem smiles softly. “It will sting for a moment. A prick to the skin, over the mark. You will not feel the rest.” He holds out his hand, flames swirling around his fingers and dancing in his palm. “I will be gentle. I always am, with you.” 

Your hand is shaking. The air above his palm is frigid and frost kisses your skin. When you touch him, he closes his fingers gently around yours and pulls you into his arms. You squeeze your eyes shut but the pain never comes. For a time, he just holds you. He buries his face against your neck, breathing in your scent. One of his hands drifts down to your back and he starts to move slowly, his other hand still clasping yours. He encourages you to move with him. To come forward when he steps back. To follow his gentle swaying. 

He’s dancing, you realize. Leading you in the smooth, romantic steps he taught you years ago, a waltz unique to the Fallows. His smile brightens when you meet his gaze almost shyly, self-conscious just like you were the first time he brought you to the ballroom for a private lesson. You press close together, chest to chest. You close your eyes and breathe deeply.

You smell flowers. 

Startled, you open your eyes to the silvery glint of starlight. Erazem spins you and your steps click smoothly over a smooth, polished stone floor. You’re surrounded by the revelry and excitement of a grand ball, colorful tapestries hanging on the walls. A star-conjurer has lit the tall, muraled ceiling with constellations and a false moon and everything is deep, midnight blue. Through the stone-framed rounded windows, you see the Fallows—rolling hills and lush, verdant trees, sparkling lakes and thatch-roof houses. 

“Love?” 

You look up into soft hazel eyes. He’s wearing his finest robes, the starry ones that fold across his body with elegant, billowing sleeves and a sash at his waist with silver embroidery, but his hair is unruly as always. It’s coming loose from the single long braid he tied it in earlier, unraveling on his shoulder. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. 

Your face feels unbearably hot and your eyes are stinging like you’re about to cry. You look around the ballroom, trying to get your bearings. When did you get here? “I don’t know,” you say, your throat constricted and your voice thin. “I…I feel like I just woke up. Like I was having a nightmare.” 

His expression softens. “Would you like to sit down?” 

“No.” You hold onto him tightly. “Please. Just hold onto me.” 

“Of course.” He sways gently, keeping you close. “Is there something on your mind?” he asks, his voice quiet and gentle. Your heart is racing and your palms are slick with sweat. “You can tell me. I will listen, I promise. I would do anything to put your mind at ease.”

“Would you wait?” you whisper.

Erazem tilts his head, brows furrowed in confusion. “Wait?” 

“Would you…” You look around nervously. At the tapestries with the royal crest, and the false moonlight, and the courtiers gathered with smiles and congratulations on their lips. “Would you postpone the wedding?” Erazem doesn’t answer and your fear builds to shivering panic. “I always knew this would happen to me,” you admit, the words coming quick and quivering with fresh tears. “I’m a conjurer. Of course I knew. This is what happens to us, we get traded around and married off and whatever else we have to do. And this is the best thing I could ever hope for, marrying a king who’s like me. But I’m still sad, and I’m still afraid. You scare me sometimes. I don’t think you mean to, but you do. And I just, I don’t—”

“Love.” Erazem cradles your face in his hands, his thumb swiping away a tear just as it starts to fall. His eyes are shining like he’s about to cry, too. “Of course I can wait.” 

You inhale shakily. Your heart feels lighter. Why were you so sure he would refuse? You had the strangest feeling of deja vu until just a moment ago. “Really?” you ask sheepishly. 

“Yes,” he says. He really is crying. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him do that before. His tears keep coming, sliding down his cheeks and gathering on his chin. “Darling, I will wait as long as you want me to. We…” He stops, swallows, and wipes his face with his hand. “We have all the time in the world.”

No one would have believed you if you told them that the Fallows was once the gem of Tiralossa before, but for just one night, they would. Tonight, for just a moment, they say the fog cleared and the gloom lifted. The thin, crooked trees were great giants with fruit so plentiful it weighed down their leafy branches. The grass was golden and green and pillow-soft, and the green hills seemed to stretch on forever. They say the Meadowlands bloomed beneath the full moon in such joyous splendor that it smelled like spring for miles.

[nethhiri]

Marooned: Chapter 52

Kid x FemReader x Killer

Warnings: Torture, murder, violence, gore, body horror, "medical" procedures, graphic descriptions, general despair

Deliverance

All Kid could see when he closed his eyes was your broken body. He was afraid to sleep. He was shut in his workshop, sick with worry, while they pursued you. Kid tried not to think about what could be happening to you and funneled that energy into making something that would eviscerate your tormentors. Killer had brought him meals every now and then, only to find him clutching your jacket on his desk with his face buried in it, in a restless sleep. Whatever remained of the white on your jacket was smudged with the black and red of Kid's makeup. He was in this position when he got the news they had found where you were being held. From the second he heard it to the second his feet touched land, the Kid Pirates were preparing to raze the small marine base and everyone inside it until there was nothing left. 

Every Kid Pirate was raring to wreak havoc, but before Kid released them to do so, there was one rule: Warthin was to be taken prisoner, as was anyone who was still alive at the end. They cleared the few ships that were docked, making sure you weren't on any of them before Heat lit them up. There would be no escape for these marines. Kid had swapped his regular arm for the one he had been working on. It was bigger, stronger, and tipped with monstrous claws. Killer's punishers had never been as sharp as they were now. Minerva was pawing the ground and snorting, waiting to guide the two of them with her nose. 

The boar took a wide stance, bucking her head a few times before lowering it. Her red-brown fur started to turn a silvery-gray. It was something that you had been working on with her. If any animal was going to learn how to use haki, it would be something as smart and stubborn as a boar. Maybe it had been wishful thinking and a bit of boredom in the beginning, but the more you had trained with the boar, the more it seemed like it was possible. Minerva had only been able to achieve partial armament the last time you had trained. Now, the enraged boar was fully coated in the metallic gray of armament haki. 

On Kid's order, Minerva surged forward toward the main building of the base, haki protecting her as she smashed through walls. Kid and Killer were on her heels, following her path straight to you. They expected to have more resistance on their way to you, but they never expected the boar to have armament haki. Mini had been bowling over and trampling most of everything in her way. She was stopped only by a thick concrete wall, too thick to break through. 

"We'll take it from here, girl." Killer slapped Mini's flank, giving her the go ahead to run wild. 

Kid's massive clawed arm easily passed through the concrete, rendering it into ribbons and revealing a large stairwell. Mini had done most of the hard work for them, rocketing through all the outer walls and leading them straight to you. Every marine that they ran into on their way to you turned to run and was instantly smashed into the wall or crushed by Kid's arm. Killer had the wherewithal to grab keys off the bodies if they had any. He knew you had seastone restraints, which could not be removed any other way. They ran down flights of stairs. The base was deceptively small with a large portion being underground. After what seemed like nonstop running, they finally made it to the bottom of the staircase. There were a few different hallways stemming from the main opening. They were about to split up when they heard the faint echo of what sounded like your voice. They looked at each other, as if verifying that they weren't simply imagining that it sounded like you. 

Both Kid and Killer had renewed energy, that small echo giving them hope that you were still alive. They tore through the guards, the dungeon-like surroundings getting more damp and smelling more like decay as they went deeper. They approached the last cell in the corridor, at first, thinking the only contents were four dead marines. Killer was the first to realize that it was three dead marines and you. In the dark, he couldn't see the rise and fall of your chest to indicate that you were still alive. All he could see was glass held tightly in your grip and the marines you had felled with it. Kid's chest tightened when he recognized the wounds Warthin inflicted upon you. It tightened further when he saw how limp your body was. Maybe they had been mistaken. Maybe they hadn't heard you after all. Neither of them said a word, too afraid that there wouldn't be an answer if they called out. 

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Killer opened the cell with one of the keys they grabbed from someone. There were already tears in Kid's eyes. He could tell you were dead. There was simply no way for someone to survive in this condition. They squatted down by you, Killer reaching out to feel for a pulse with some hesitancy, not sure if he was ready to know for a fact if you were still there. He pulled away swiftly and caught your wrist as a reflex as he sensed malice oozing from you. He watched the glass fall from your hand, only to be caught in your other hand, and aimed at him once more. This time, Kid stopped you with his devil fruit. The shackles around your wrists were ordinary metal. 

You thrashed against their hold, trying to break your hands free. The tears in Kid's eyes fell over his cheeks. Seeing you like this reminded him of the time all four of them had to restrain you because you thought you had been recaptured. Now he realized why you had been so afraid. Kid tried to snap you out of it gently at first, though quickly escalated to yelling when it was clear it wasn't getting through to you. Killer didn't know what else to do since you couldn't see them, so he placed your hand on his mask, something that would feel familiar and recognizable. He saw relief flood your features as you accepted that the two of them were truly there. 

As Killer went through his key collection, trying them on the seastone binding your ankles, you took off the marine jackets you had put around yourself and struggled to put one of them on properly. You didn't even complain as Kid helped you. As much as you didn't even want him to look at you like this, you needed help. To protect your last shred of humanity, you didn't want to be bare. It was a miracle that you had the energy to slash at them when they first came to you. You were sticky with sweat and your breaths were rough and ragged. You were unsure if you could even stand up on your own. 

There was a clunk and a feeling of heaviness being lifted from you as one of the keys eventually took the remaining shackles off. You immediately tried to use your powers to heal some of your wounds. You didn't want to completely heal them, as it would trap the infection in. You only wanted to heal them enough that you weren't in agonizing pain every time you moved. Nothing happened, your body too tired to function. Through tears, you tried to push yourself up. Against the wishes of both Kid and Killer, you tried walking out yourself, only to stumble from sheer exhaustion and the inability to see where you were going.

"Look at you, girl. Your flesh is rotting from your bones, just like ours. As good as dead. Once they realize that they'll leave you there."

"Stop," you whimpered, clutching your ears to block their voices.

"No one wants a broken toy. That's all you ever were anyway. Just a toy."

Everything was overwhelming you, the taunting, the near-relief, the exhaustion, the pain, the doubt that this wasn't real. "S-stop," your voice cracked.

"You can leave but you will never leave us behind. Just drop dead. It's better for everyone."

"SHUT UP!" You felt your knees buckle under you as you gave in to full-on sobbing, your dignity and pride fully eroded by shame. 

You were swiftly caught by Killer, who scooped you up for the second time since you'd known him. "Hush, darlin. I've got you now. Rest." And just like the first time, you felt safe enough to black out.

"Killer, take Y/N back to the ship," Kid's voice was low, barely counting his seething, boiling anger. The only thing that was more dangerous than an angry loud Kid, was an angry quiet Kid.

Killer nodded, but paused. "I've got just as much of a right to revenge as you." It was almost a territorial type of warning to Kid, not to leave him out. Of course Killer wanted to make sure you were safe. He also wanted to make sure these assholes got what they deserved.

A sick smile took over Kid's face. "Let's slaughter these fuckers." Kid stomped on the head of one of the already dead marines on his way out, completely flattening it with a meaty squelch. 

Killer handed you off to Heat, who had already had his share of destruction. Heat's face softened into one of reassurance as he realized that you were still alive. Killer didn't need to tell him anything. Heat took off towards the ship with you firmly in his grasp. When Killer was sure that he had gotten you there safely, he returned to Kid's side. From the corner of his vision, he watched Minerva flatten a man between her head and a brick wall and rip open another with her tusks. She had the right idea. Killer presented the blood from Warthin to her and asked her to find him. 

Killer sliced marines left and right with his punishers, running through them as her followed the boar. Kid was beside him, using the claws of his arm to rip open the bellies of marines they passed. His devil fruit sent any bullets shot at them, back into the shooters. Kid pulled the nails from nearby furniture and walls, sending them into some of the marines that came after them, pinning them to the walls alive. He was going to save them for later. Killer cut down the door that Minerva led them to, just in time for Kid to yank the gun from Warthin's hands. The man had it held in his mouth, about to leave the earthly plane the coward's way.

"I don't fucking think so." Kid pulled metal pipes from the walls and coiled them around Warthin. "Yer gonna get a much slower death." 

As the pipes immobilized him, Killer leapt forward and landed a solid punch to his jaw, knocking teeth to the floor. 

Warthin spit blood. His speech was strained from the tight grip Kid had on him. "All this for some used up fucktoy." He didn't think that they would come after him, let alone find him. He had severely underestimated how much they valued you. At this point, he knew he was fucked.

Killer hit him again, this time hearing a crunch in his nose. He wanted to do so much more. He wanted to bludgeon Warthin until he was a sludge of unrecognizable meat. Both he and Kid knew that you would never forgive them for taking your prey, even if it was revenge on your behalf. They would make do with every other marine that was left. 

Warthin coughed. "She's already dead. Why do you bother?" His voice rasped.

Kid laughed. "As if she would go out that easily!" 

"She's gonna be real happy to see you when she wakes up." Killer put emphasis on his words as he punched Warthin a third time, watching his eyes roll back briefly. 

"Huh?" He was incredulous. "She- she's dead! I saw her! She has to be!" The blood drained from his face. "You're going to kill me now, right? You're not going to leave me with her, r-right?" He was becoming more frantic as he realized his grand fuck up. He knew what you were capable of before the devil fruit, and with it.... he hoped Kid crushed him until blood spurted from every orifice, because that would be preferable to whatever you would do if you got your hands on him.

Even Killer laughed this time. "I can't wait to see how she takes you apart."

Kid crushed him harder within his metal cocoon. "Ya weren't very nice to our girl." Kid snarled, "I'm gonna watch as she turns ya inside out. Then puts you back together. And does it again and again." With every sentence Kid squeezed slightly harder. Warthin's ribs splintered inside his chest, like green branches being snapped in two.

The man screamed, blood leaking from the corners of his mouth. "Kill me! Just kill me!" 

"PITIFUL!" Kid spat. He smashed Warthin against the wall until the man lost consciousness, barely refraining from turning him into a flesh pancake. "YER LUCKY I DON'T PEEL YER FUCKIN SKIN AND USE IT TA WIPE MY ASS!" 

The two men continued their rampage on the way back to the ship with their prisoner. They took their time on the return trip, Killer let his punishers rest, preferring to use his fists so he could feel the meaty crunch of facial bones breaking under his punch. He and Kid grabbed opposite limbs of a marine and pulled until they felt the joints dislocate. He was added to the group of prisoners suspended behind Kid by metal restraints. Kid sent metal flying, impaling several men and lifting them from the ground with his fruit, adding to the prisoner count. The particularly weak ones, Kid shredded by bombarding them with metal shrapnel. They weren't worth keeping. Kid and Killer kept on long after everyone else had finished, chasing down every last person living at that base and killing them. 

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A wet nose prodding your hand woke you up. If not for that, you might have woken up in a panic. Mini's presence had immediately calmed you. You could tell you were in the infirmary because of the familiar smell of antiseptic. It was just you and Mini. You dragged your hand weakly across the fur of her head and she licked your hand softly. You let out a long breath, relieved that you were finally safe. Though you were shortly taken over by a suffocating humiliation, slowly sliding yourself over the edge of the gurney and lowering yourself onto the floor so you could be closer to Mini. You buried your face into her coarse fur, grabbing it with your hands, and released the sobs that had been building up, grateful that her fur muffled your cries. 

There was a mixture of anger, disgust, and shame leaking out through your tears. Your skin crawled with the touch of unfamiliar hands. The unwanted memories bubbled through the gouges in your skin where the flesh was beginning to rot. Your entire body ached and burned with various infections and bruising. You reached under the medical gown you were wearing and touched the burning on your chest. It was hot against the pads of your fingers and your hand was sticky and foul-smelling when it came away. The other wounds were the same. You couldn't risk healing it and trapping the infection inside to fester. You could fix the flesh, but couldn't get rid of the infection with your fruit. 

However little sleep you had gotten gave you enough energy to crawl over to the counter and pull yourself up. Your legs and arms shook with exertion and a fine sweat broke out on your body. Mini stood behind you so you could hold onto her to stand and move. You felt around for the various bottles in the cabinets, trying to remember what each one was, either by where you had placed it or the shape of the bottle. They all felt similar. The smells of each didn't help either, as you had never bothered to commit the smell of each to memory when you had eyes. Hot tears reappeared on your skin. You placed your hands over where your eyes had been and willed them to appear. Without even a scarred portion remaining, your devil fruit couldn't heal them. You couldn't make matter, just manipulate it, and eyes were too complex of an organ to render from any other flesh. You slammed your fist on the counter in frustration. Useless. You're fucking useless. You grabbed all of the small tinctures and took them like shots, whipping each one across the room where they shattered, after you had drained them. Fuck it. I don't care. 

You leaned into Mini and walked to the small infirmary bathroom with a few things you grabbed from the cabinets. Gritting your teeth to keep from crying out as you felt the wounds tear open while you moved, you made it to the bathroom. Your breaths were heavy and you felt lightheaded.

"No one comes in." You were shocked by the sound of your own voice, how raw and strained it was. 

Mini snorted her understanding and sat in front of the door. No one was going to see you like this any more than they already had. You pressed your hand to the back of the door after closing it, using your fruit to make it vanish into the wall. Eliminating the door was the only way you felt secure and protected. You sank to the floor and crawled into the tub, turning the shower head on. You curled into a ball on the cool ceramic, letting the warm water seep into the flimsy medical gown and soothe your skin. Now even you couldn't tell what were tears and what was water. Several hours passed before you were ready to proceed.

After removing the gown, you felt around for the scalpel you had brought with you. The two main wounds were the ones on your leg and chest. The skin around the wound on your leg was tender and tense. As you felt it, you could feel pieces fall away. You made a rough mental map of the extent. Before beginning, you shoved part of the gown in between your teeth to bite down on. You could use your power to cut off the nerves to your leg so that you wouldn't feel it, but without your eyes, you needed to guide yourself somehow. First, you couldn't feel much as you began to remove the dead flesh from the wound. As you started to get deeper into living flesh, twinges of pain soared up your leg. Every stab wound had coalesced into one large one during your time in the cell. You groaned and bit down as the pain blossomed. The blade had made it into the living flesh. Staying at that level, you carved out the rest of the degenerating tissue. Each stroke of your blade cut away evidence of your torture and sent a fresh searing pain straight into your heart. Even though you were only cutting your leg, your entire body was reacting. Your muscles clenched and you could feel snot and tears soaking your face. After successfully concealing most of your pain, the gown fell from your mouth as you let out a final shrill cry. You could feel your hands shaking and you put them on your thighs to calm them. The warm rush of blood oozing into your hand was a reassuring sign that the deeper tissues were alive. You steadied your hands enough to tear strips from the gown and tie them around your thigh. Your chest would have to wait until you recovered from this first round of debridement. It was heaving with the breaths you sucked in trying to dull the pain. Using your fruit, you started healing the edges of the raw area, though it was too tiring to continue. 

You sank back down into the tub, the steady patter of water dimming the ache. Whenever fever took hold, you turned the water cold and when the chills returned, you made it warm again. Before you could heal yourself further, you needed to regain more strength. Your appetite was non-existent and you took small sips of water when you could stomach it. The medicines you ingested were tearing your insides up, making you feel queasy and crampy. The exhaustion of feeling like shit, non-stop weeping, and your body trying to repair itself took over and carried you into a motionless slumber. 

Your dreams were haunted by the visage of the last person you saw, just as he had threatened. Warthin's face and voice echoed in your mind and tormented you all over again. Then they would morph into Kid and Killer, saying the same awful things. It wasn't the nightmare of Warthin laying his hands on you that woke you up, but the nightmare of the two people that cared for you the most telling you that you were nothing to them. Familiar voices calling you a worthless slut transformed into the same voices calling your name and you were startled awake, breathing hard and disoriented.

"IF YA DON'T ANSWER ME I'M BREAKIN THE WALL DOWN!" Kid's voice was tinged with worry rather than anger.

You cleared your throat. "I'm- I'm fine." 

"LIKE HELL YA ARE!"

"Just leave. Please," you replied weakly. Your heart rate was picking up. 

A lower, calmer voice answered, "Darlin', let us help you."

"You can help by leaving me alone." Anxiety was building in your chest.

"Are you sure-"

"Leave me the fuck alone!" Your voice was shrill and cracked and the vicious tone shocked you as it left your mouth. 

You heard muffled arguing followed by silence. The sobs returned as you immediately felt guilty for screaming at them when they were only trying to help. Something about the threat to come in had triggered you. This thin wall was your only barrier protecting you from the world and you weren't ready to face the world. You hugged your knees and forced yourself to stop hyperventilating. The water that had been calming was now overstimulating, so you shut it off. Taking a deep breath, you reassessed your injuries. Your leg was raw and achy, but the overall feel of it was better. You shivered at the thought of starting on your chest and decided to do something else. Your face was swollen, no doubt due to the fractures within it. It wasn't noticeable compared to the magnitude of the other injuries until you yelled. There were other aches too, deep ones, in your mid back, where your kidneys sat, in your stomach where you don't remember being kicked but it felt like you had, and between your legs. It was difficult to banish the feelings of disgust and to keep from heaving. All these things were easily healed with your devil fruit, providing instant relief, yet still left you feeling drained. 

You felt around for a towel and dragged it into the tub with you, pulling it over yourself like a blanket. You were going to have to leave the room soon for food and more medicine. The fever was finally starting to break. It wouldn't fully dissipate without you first getting rid of the still-infected tissue on your chest. The tiniest pangs of hunger were developing, a sure sign you were headed in the right direction. You struggled to reminisce on more pleasant times with Kid and Killer, not for lack thereof, but because the most recent nightmares kept clawing back to the forefront of your mind.

The next time you woke up, you were drenched in sweat, shaking, aching so intensely it felt like your bones would snap. The grotesque 'W' engraved in your skin was being seared into your soul. Millions of molten-hot needles were being pressed into your skin. The infection had definitely would its fingers around you again. Maybe you should have rid the wound of the necrotic flesh when you had the chance. 

You blindly searched for the scalpel with your hand, finding it where you left it. Taking a deep breath, you used your fingertips to find the edges of the bad skin. The breath was almost instantly let out in a shaky yelp as you stuck the blade in. This was far more painful than the leg. Your hands were quivering so much, there were hesitation marks where the blade bounced off the skin as you shaved away the dead tissue. You took many breaks this time, respiring so fast that you became lightheaded. Consciously, you slowed your breathing rate until it was safe again to cut. This cycle repeated over again until you were halfway through. With the next cut, you were rushing because your mind was threatening to fade. The blade was brought down too quickly against your collarbone, causing it to glance off and go off course. It was an amateur mistake to point the blade side towards you. It should have been facing slightly away. The blade was beginning to dull, in spite of that, it was still sharp enough to slice into your neck. 

A warm sensation traveled down your hand, dripping onto your chest. You dropped the scalpel and put your hand to your throat, where blood was streaming out at an alarming pace. At first your devil fruit did nothing. You were too panicked to focus. The cut wasn't that deep, it was into an artery though, which had a fair amount of pressure behind it even though you hardly had the blood pressure of a living person at all. You could feel the blood run down your arm and drip from your elbow. The adrenaline seeping into your circulation forced you to have a moment of clarity, enough so that your fruit flickered to life and healed the nick. You leaned back in the tub, head tilted up as if you were looking at a higher power. What am I doing? After a few minutes of calming your body and making sure you were still alive, you were ready to do something braver than you had ever done. 

You gathered up your towel, which now had wet spots from your amateur surgical hours, and pulled it around you. When you were sure you wouldn't pass out, you held onto the tub and stood up. The dizzy feeling lasted a few seconds and when it subsided, you shuffle-walked to the wall, resting your forehead against it. It took longer than usual, but the glow that you could no longer see for yourself appeared and brought the door that used to be there back into existence. Your hand shook as you reached for the handle and pulled it open.

With your first step, your foot caught on something large and immovable, sending you toppling to the hard floor. Landing on your side with a surprised and pained shriek, you heard Mini snort excitedly, though it was further away from whatever you tripped over. You hardly had the energy to stand up and walk at all, you surely had none left now to get back up. There were some strange noises that sounded like something being picked up and dropped, something heavy and at a low height. Every time you heard it, you heard Mini squeal. It almost sounded like she was scolding or yelling at someone. 

"Fuck OFF, pig." There was a groan and then a sharp inhale, followed by the softest voice you had ever heard Kid use, "Doll?" It was a questioning whisper. "Y/N? Y/N!" His voice grew louder with alarm as he picked up your top half into his lap. "There's so much blood! KILLER!" Kid's hand moved the towel away from your chest. "Oh shit. Oh fuck! Wake up, Y/N! Open yer eyes. Please open yer eyes."

Just hearing his voice made you feel secure, but being cradled in his arms was home. Nothing, not even death himself, could take you from your home. All of your anxieties and fear were melted away by the warmth you could feel radiating from Kid. Not physical warmth, it was the warm tenderness of his touch and the caring that laced the concern in his words. Your voice was meek and there was the faintest hint of a smile touching your lips, "I don't....fucking.... have eyes..., you asshole." If you had all your wits about you and weren't barely clinging to consciousness, his words would have stung. Right now, though, you were happy to be alive and held by him again, and that was all that mattered.

Kid exhaled the breath he was holding in a relieved half-cry half-laugh. "Thank fuck. There's my girl." He bent over you and touched your forehead with his as he rocked gently back and forth. Your tough words didn't fool him. He could tell that you were deeply suffering, physically and mentally.

"Kid?" You could feel him pull away, hovering just above your face. "I'm ready...to ask... for help now."

He hugged you to himself, murmuring into your hair. "I would do anything for ya." 

"I know."

Next

Tag list: @bbnbhm @nocturnalrorobin

[moon-buggg]

Not so different after all

I wanted to explore Moon's relationship with mad scientist! Y/n a bit, so I wrote this drabble! It's the first piece of non-academic writing I've shared since middle school, so be kind lol

length- 585 words

warnings- vague descriptions of bodies and dismemberment (yn is taking organs out of a cadaver to preserve them, its not graphic but viewer discretion is advised)

Sun had asked you, once, how you could stomach the dirty work of your experiments. ‘The body is just meat,’ you had responded, elbow deep in a cadaver, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. As if it were perfectly normal for humans to rifle through their own for spare parts. As if you had not been shunned from your peers for this exact transgression. 

Moon wasn’t squeamish. The opening of a body so unlike his own did not unsettle him in the way it unsettled Sun. No, it wasn’t the blood, viscera, or decay that made him feel like this, like everything was wound too tight, grating and wrong.

It was you.

And watching you preserve your latest specimen (another failure, not that you would let that stop you), he could hold his tongue no longer.

“Easy. They’re all hypocrites.” The accusation is harsh and sharp on your tongue. “Did you know they had us dissecting pigs in medical school but not once did we ever oversee a human dissection? Sure the anatomy transfers decently enough, but how were we supposed to treat human patients never learning from humans? What makes our bodies worthy of preserving over pigs? That we figured out pants first?”

“How are you ok with this,” he does not gesture to the human brain currently soaking in formaldehyde, “when everyone tells you it is wrong?”

The disgust in your voice is evident. Moon had always appreciated that about you, your complete inability to mask your emotions- or was it just a lack of interest? It did not help him in deciphering you in this moment. 

You continue on, either unaware of your rambling or used to his lack of response. “I mean really, who do they think they are?-” 

Moon tuned you out. He'd heard this rant plenty of times before. Nothing about your sworn vengeance on and superiority over those who wronged you would help explain why you made him so confused. 

Why your flippant treatment of bodies reminded him of the circus’s repair tent.

You were still talking, never once stopping your task of preparing various organs for preservation. Ever quick and methodical, your hands never stopped moving. “-ean, really, the body is just a machine!” you huff, dropping the heart into a jar like it had offended you.

“...a machine,” he parrots. You remain unaware of how his eyes bore holes into the back of your head.

“Exactly! One that I will take apart and master!” Your easy confidence about such grim matters unsettles many, used to unsettle him. He crosses the laboratory with two long steps and leans over you, observing your work more closely. A body lies cold and empty on the metal gurney, its innards laid out in jars across your desk. You’ve moved on to labeling now, penning down notes in a shorthand he’s yet to decipher. The silence is… comfortable, broken only by your pen scratchings and the quiet ticking of Moon’s internal clockwork. 

You look back at him only once, a questioning but otherwise blank stare, before returning to your work. Not displeased, at least.

He continues watching as you finish labeling and move to writing in that same shorthand in a journal. He doesn’t know if you would explain it to him if he asked, so he doesn’t. He just continues to watch. And as the sun sinks in the sky, he slinks away and activates the electric lights for you before returning to his perch.