#gun fever too still hot

[charliework16]

they’re throwing down life lessons

[juniperhillpatient]

episodes where dennis & dee are on the same team >>>

[majinbangus]

continuing my big simon x single!mom reader bullshit :P

-> more here

There's a frantic knock on his door.

It's insistent. A peculiar sound to hear near the end of his day during the late evening. Visitors are a rare occurrence, and if he does get them, he usually knows they're coming.

The knocks persistent. Audacious. Bold. Demanding. He approaches the door, not overly concerned with who it may be, but with a healthy dose of caution. Knowing his history, he brings along a small glock.

When he unlocks the door and cracks it open- this complex doesn't have peepholes- his gaze drops down, and he moves to tuck his gun into the back of his jeans, widening the door.

It's your boy, his little name twin. Alone. Scared. On the verge of tears. Like another little boy he knew in another life. A boy he once was. He drops down to one knee, placing a hand on the lad's shoulder.

Little Simon is trembling. He scans the hallway behind his young visitor. Empty. Void of life except for this child in front of him, clearly seeking his help. A tiny storm about to break in this ostensibly lifeless building. The neighbors wouldn't even know it. Then, he cracks. A warning before the lightning strikes.

"S-Simon-"

He cuts the lad off before he can get anything else out. Before he breaks. "Where's your mum? What happened?"

The tears fall and your boy throws himself into his chest.

"Mama won't wake up!"

-

He carried you from the couch to your bed.

You're sick. Really sick, but Simon doesn't think you need to go to the hospital. Not yet. He places a hand on your forehead. Still hot.

He checked your temperature once he got you settled. Thirty-eight degrees. Simon's no medic, but he'll continue to monitor your status throughout the night. Make sure you don't overheat. Take you to the hospital if you need it. He can do that much. A simple mission compared to anything else he's faced.

There's a creak from your bedroom door, and he drops his hand from your forehead, looking up at the little prowler.

"Simon," he greets and the lad curls in on himself, hesitating before edging closer in the room, walking up to where Simon stands. He stares at you with eyes too haunted a kid his age should have.

"Will Mama be okay?"

His voice is hoarse and his eyes are red. A puffy mess from crying earlier. Simon doesn't shame the boy for it, and he won't lie about your condition, but...

"I'll make sure she is," he promises.

Your boy turns to him then, eyes suddenly sharp. Protective. A cub ready to fight for his incapacitated mother. The resemblance almost makes Simon pause. Makes him think back to when he wore a similar look a few times when he grew up, though your Simon wears the look a lot younger than he ever did. Is braver than he ever was as a child. His own words echo in his ears.

A good lad.

Your boy holds out his little finger, and Simon stares. His little name twin glares at Simon with something akin to judgement. A test. "Pinky promise?"

It's no question what he does next.

Simon reaches out and curls his own pinky around the lad's. "Pinky promise."

A smile breaks out on your boy's face.

Test passed.

-

It's 03:03 when you wake up.

Simon is ready and attentive. He's been taking a nap beside your bedside every other hour in a chair he brought from your kitchen table. Not the worst place he's ever slept and not the worst sleep he's ever had. He's certainly thankful you have cushions for your chairs.

You're groggy. Shivering a little, but Simon knows your fever has gone down slightly since he got here. He's been changing out the cool, wet towel on your forehead every time he woke up, keeping you elevated, making sure you can breathe.

You panic a little when you see him, scrambling to create some space between each other,

"What the-?!"

He turns on the lamp on your nightstand, holding up his hands in a non-threatening manner. "It's just me. Simon came and got me when you wouldn't wake up. I've been keeping an eye on you."

You stare at him, the aghast in your eyes still there, but slowly calming down as you get your bearings. "You're- you're-"

"Big Simon." He cracks a wry smirk, lowering his hands again, giving a lazy bow of his head. "At your service."

He doesn't hold back his snort when you squeak, adorably indignant for someone so sick. "You're not gonna let me live that down, are you?"

"'Course not," Simon drawls and it goes silent for a few seconds as you take him in, studying him with eyes that look just like your boy's did when he made him pinky promise, except your eyes hold a certain level of caution the lad should learn. You shift in your nest of blankets, adjusting them around your body when a particularly harsh shiver runs through you.

"Simon got you, you said?" You finally speak up, voice scratchy. Tired but guarded.

He nods. "Told me he tried to wake you up after that movie you were watching together."

"And you brought me here?"

"Made sure you didn't choke on your snot, too."

The offended squawk that escapes you is hilarious, as if you truly had a high opinion about your runny mucus. Maybe it's because you see Simon as a brute who has no room to talk. Maybe it's because you're embarrassed at being seen at a weak state.

You have no rebuttal, choosing to huff instead, looking down at the blankets covering you, sobering in contemplation. Simon waits for you to speak again.

"You really did that?" You eventually ask, voice quiet, not looking him in the eyes.

"Yes," he answers bluntly, and you look up, trying to get a read on him, but Simon gives you nothing, staring back with a blank look.

You break first, breathing out a slow, wheezy sigh. A yawn escapes you next as you sag onto your elevated pillows. "... Thank you, Simon. Not just for tonight, but also for last time. For being kind to him. Simon wouldn't shut up about you the whole time we were shopping."

He snorts. "Made quite the impression on him, did I?"

You give your own small noise of amusement. "Think it's because you share the same name."

"Like I told your lad before: it's a fine name, innit?"

You bark out a laugh, a few coughs slipping in here and there, but you nod your head. "It is. I wouldn't have named my son that if it wasn't."

A smug smirk stretches across his face, and you grin back, falling into a comfortable silence, staring at each other. The peace and quiet of the night settling in the air. A special kind of tranquility being shared between two people who are still practically strangers. It goes undisturbed until you yawn again, and Simon shifts, getting up to refresh your towel and grab water and the medicine your boy showed him where to find earlier.

He comes back and hands them to you. When you're finished taking the medicine, he offers, "I can leave right now if that would make you more comfortable, although I'd recommend you call someone to look after you if you don't think you need the hospital."

You take a slow slip of your water, keeping your face carefully blank. Thinking. Contemplating. Then, you place the water on your nightstand and shake your head. "No... um, stay. Please. I... you..."

You can't finish your sentence, breaking off with a tired exhale, but you don't need to. He understands.

"Sleep." Simon turns off the lamp and leans back into his chair, getting comfortable once more. "I'll watch over you tonight."

You say something back.

He almost misses it in the darkness of the room, but the words linger, permeating the air. He doesn't think the words are entirely for him. They almost sound like a secret. Like it was meant for someone else. Shared with him only because he happened to overhear.

It doesn't offend him. He wasn't the only one who helped you tonight.

Thank you, Simon.

[drgnflyteabox]

mdni - the 141 find a cozy place to stay during an op (that's definitely all that happens). implied fat!reader

(dubcon, poly, gangbang, anal, price is in charge of everyone<3)

So blizzards can happen in the blink of an eye on high, isolated mountains, right?

And the 141 have done missions in rural places, snowy places, mountainous places, right?

And there are tons of tiny little isolated towns, all over the world, built around these mountains for one reason or another - coal mining, logging, etc.

Now imagine the 141 on a mission, somewhere cold, somewhere isolated, a place that feels like the edge of the world. Desolate.

Now imagine the 141 seeing, in the near distance, a winking pale orange light. It's a good enough place as any to approach - it isn't safe to be caught in this blizzard, anyhow. Even with their gear, the safehouse is still an hour away and the snowfall seems historic...

Now imagine you're sitting in your family home, all alone, going a little crazy with cabin fever. Your woodstove is burning hot, but you're still cuddled up in knits and a thermal underneath. You're making stew for dinner with root vegetables from the basement cellar, it's bubbling and softening for you while you crochet, trying to keep your mind off the monumental shoveling task you'll have to deal with tomorrow

Until there's a knock on the door.

"Hello ma'am, I'm just wondering if me and my friends here could rest until it's safe to continue our hike?" (I love the way gaz says ma'am)

Hike? Nobody hikes up here - you've only ever seen a couple tourists in your life, thrill seeking ice climbers who came and went.

And they certainly weren't dressed in snow camo, hiding guns behind their backs.

But you were raised right, and the man at the door has kind eyes - he's handsome, too, but you'd never say it out loud. Gaz pushes the door further in when you tentatively open it, and in comes barreling three more massive men, their boots stomping and leaving a mess.

Soap smells the stew on the stove and beelines for it, lifting his helmet to inhale deeply.

Ghost sweeps the room like it might be hiding an enemy somewhere- even though it's one room total, the stove in the middle, separating the kitchen and your bed.

Price approaches you all apologetic, apologizing for "these ruffians", holding his camo helmet to his gut like it's formalwear. "Apologies, sweetheart, we weren't expecting the weather to turn on us."

You aren't quite sure how you end up sitting on prices lap, naked except for your socks, while he squeezes your stomach and grunts in your ear not to be shy when putting your weight on him. His other hand is cupped over your pussy, murming thank yous for feeding his men.

They're eating your stew, stripped out of gear, cocks tented in their white cargos.

"We're a gaggle of lucky boys, eh?" Soap says. "Nice, cozy, soft girl. Warm cabin. A man could get used to this."

You wind up pressed down on your mattress, hands held behind you by one man while another fucks you hard, spurred on by price behind them. At first, it's johnny, whining high in his throat while price guides his hips and gaz holds your arms by your head. "Need to thank her proper, boy." The obvious authority in prices voice makes your pussy clench around him, and he shakes over you, trying hard not to come too early.

Gaz reaches down from where he's holding your arms, pinching your clit until you buck against Johnny and squirt around him.

Then it's gaz, who lifts your legs and squeezes your big thighs, locking eyes with ghost. He's steady, only breaking composure when Simon praises him. "Thats a lad. Good, just like that, Kyle." He's the first to ever make you come from penetration alone, hips moving in a way that makes your abdomen tighten and tighten and tighten until you reach the longest orgasm of your life, nearly crying with how intense it feels.

Price ends up flipping you over - nudging you up on your hands and knees, the bed creaking with the combined weight of he and his lieutenant taking their places in front and behind you.

Simon slips his cock in your mouth, staring down at you through the balaclava. You can barely make out a thick scar, one that looks like it might go through his whole face. You lose focus when price pushes his fingers in your ass, though, and you squeal.

There's no where to run except further down simons cock, though, where you gag, spit running all down your chest onto the bed.

"Shh, sh," Price rubs your flank like you're a spooked animal. He squeezes the ample flesh of your asscheek appreciatively. "Jus wanna give your poor pussy a break, aye? I reckon she's tired,"

He pushes into you impatiently and it burns a little, but he soothes it with a palm over your soft, sore cunt. Rubs a thumb over your clit slowly, jostling you back and forth over simons cock.

You come once more before the night is over, tears finally running down your cheeks, mixing with your saliva, with simons come. It's a painful orgasm, wrenched from you - but that makes it all the sweeter.

They wipe you down and spoon feed you more stew, after, to recover your energy :') price has the boys tidy their boot tracks and put away leftovers while he and Simon hold you from both sides. They can barely fit with you on your bed, but tucked in like this - on top of your furs, naked as the day you were born, praised for your soft body and "What a good girl you are, babydoll."

Sigh

I'm sure this idea has probably been written but I was listening to this and couldn't stop imagining it lmfao

[pepperyduck]

“matte black” with toji fushiguro

word count: 1.4k

warnings: nsfw, ghostface! toji, roleplay, dubcon (it's planned out beforehand), gunplay, like lots of gunplay, knifeplay + cutting off clothes, unprotected p in v, backshots, a little crying, toji tries to scare you but it doesn't work out how he thinks. (18+ mdni!)

notes: hi guyssss tysm for 500 hunnid followers :3 i appriciate u all!!!!

kinktober masterlist | masterlist

“i mean, really, who makes you work late on halloween?”

your complaints to your friend are barely heard, as she’s busy on the other line doing something with her boyfriend. but really, who makes you work late on halloween? okay, yeah, you’re an adult, but everyone with kids at your job got to go home at a reasonable time, so why were you just now getting home at nearly midnight?

and as you still ramble on about your shitty job, something lurks around your apartment. maybe it was all the halloween decorations you saw, or the feeling of the night itself, but you can’t seem to shake the feeling of something being around you.

that’s why you called your friend in the first place, though you were too scared to admit it..

“hang up the phone.”

the voice that speaks to you is right in your ear, yet you feel no one around you. it’s dark, raspy, scary. probably anyone’s worst nightmare on the night of halloween.

“hang up.”

you freeze in terror, even more so when you come to the realization of the cold barrel pressed against your temple. the friend that had been forgotten on the other end of the line hangs up when you don’t reply to her statement. and you think, just for a second, you are absolutely fucked.

“please don’t—,” you try to plead, and a hand comes over your mouth. cool leather presses against your face, whoever’s hand this is has to be absolutely huge.

“no talking, i’ll tape your mouth shut.” he threatens, his tone dangerous and intimidating.

but also, weirdly hot. there’s a fever coming over your body and a mix of feelings, and you aren’t sure if you’re more scared or turned on. you close your eyes and nod your head, a single tear rolling down your cheek to meet his glove. keeping your mouth covered, the man wraps his free arm around you, dragging you away to your couch. he throws you down, allowing himself to come into your view.

your suspicions are correct, he is big, a huge frame of nothing but muscles. your eyes trail up, seeing his baggy black pants, and the black short sleeve shirt encasing his broad shoulders. and, like any of those scary movies you watched, a ghostface mask sits atop his build, matte black eyes and mouth staring into the depths of your very being.

but even as frightened as you may be, you know exactly who’s below that scary costume, especially with that infamous gun tucked sloppily into the front pocket of his pants. but you decide to play along for now. your wet eyelashes flutter as you look into the empty eyes of the mask, coyly egging toji on to continue his terrifying persona.

“strip.” toji commands, grabbing the pistol out of his pocket and showing off the shiny metal. (it’s the same one you gifted him for your one year anniversary, with his initials engraved on the side and a cool design, but you ignore it.)

“but—,”

“i said, strip.” and once again, the cool steel makes contact with you, right in the middle of your forehead. he’s all too quick with his movements.

your somewhat trembling fingers make way to the top button of your blouse, hastily and frantically trying to unbutton your shirt. unfortunately, you take too long for toji’s liking, and unfortunately, he just has to pull out the shiny knife he had kept in his boot, adorned with a matte black handle. toji urges you back with the tip of the gun, and your back lands against the soft cushions of your couch, the knife is already ripping through the thin fabric of your shirt, cutting through the thin piece that held the cups of your bra together. your arms flail up in an attempt to cover yourself.

“aht, don’t move.”

the muzzle presses up against your chin, facing you away from him and from your body. thickly swallowing, you stare up at the ceiling and allow toji to do what he wanted to. when you look down, the mask is cut off by the round of your cheek, but toji’s obviously focused elsewhere as he saws through the denim material of your jeans.

“toji! these are—!” you try to get him to have some decency and unbutton your pants, but the muzzle only presses harder. it shuts you up, and the remaining parts of your jeans are shredded off, piece by piece, agonizingly slow. next to come off is your panties, a sharp riiip shooting through the air as the cold blade tears the cotton. the surrounding coolness of your home hits your sopping cunt. beneath the mask, toji grins.

“nasty girl,” toji spits, “you’re really getting’ off on this, huh?” the muzzle presses against your chin harder for only a second, before toji contorts you into his liking. he rips the gun away and flips your body over, bending you over the arm of the couch. you smile to yourself in the compromised position, at toji’s mercy, just how the both of you liked.

toji unbuckles the belt threaded through the loops on his cargos, removing it in one tug and throwing it somewhere on the floor. ears perking up at the clatter, you lift your head to try and look back at toji, and the mask stares coldly at you in return. there’s no emotion in a mask. he tugs the thick fabric of his pants down and his boxers at the same time, allowing his fully hardened cock to spring free of it’s confines. thick fingers prod against your entrance, sliding around in your slickened folds to halfway prep you for toji’s cock.

toji’s soft, rounded tip kisses your awaiting opening, barely teasing the weeping hole that was so ready for him. he slides in with ease, burying himself until his pubic hairs scratched the skin of your ass. unrelenting. you lewdly moan out, filling the once silent air with the sounds of your pleasure. it’s getting too hot too quick—toji notices how into all this you seem, even through the dark eyeholes of the mask. though his vision is blocked off halfway, he sees you fucking back into his slow pace, the wet sloshing of your cunt bringing utmost satisfaction to toji. and he stills. he gets an idea.

“fuck me, baby,” toji commands, dark and rough.

“toji,” you whine, doing the bare minimum to move yourself back onto him.

“like you want it,” his voice gets meaner, and he rips the mask off his face to get a better view. toji’s hand wraps around your hair just enough to force your head up, “c’mon, now.”

you grumble to yourself in dissatisfaction, but do as he says, moving your hips back to force his length back inside you. it stretches past each gummy ring, poking at your g-spot effortlessly. you hated him for how easily he made you feel like this, horny and so pleasured, as if his ego needed any more boosting.

toji rips the mask off his face, displeased with his limited viewing area. and boy does that stupid grin get ridiculously wider when you begin to slap your ass against him faster, holding yourself up with the help of his hand holding your hair. his cock splits you open, each inch going in and out becoming increasingly overwhelming. your mind is blank, only filled with the noises of your own pleasure and the big, strong, scary man fucking you.

“yeahhh,” he drawls, grunting as you force yourself back on him harder, “c’mere, babe.”

you try to lift yourself up for him more, yet your body falls limp when toji begins hammering into you without remorse. so, of course, he takes it upon himself to wrap an arm around your shoulders and lift you up, pressing your back into his chest. your body bounces in tune with his thrusts, arms switching between flailing around and grasping for toji. his other free hand wraps around your jaw to turn your head, his rough lips sloppily meeting yours.

even through all this, toji always finds a way to show you intimacy.

but really, he’s just found a few more of your weaknesses he’s going to exploit until you can’t take it anymore. a little fucked up of him, yeah, but toji knows you can take it. especially with the way your body melts into him so naturally, putting yourself at his disposal.

“don’t get tired now, doll,” he groans against your ear,

“we’re just gettin’ started.”

[softshuji]

𝟐𝟑:𝟐𝟑𝐏𝐌 | 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐙𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐘𝐎

Title: Nights like This

Summary: Sanzu has always thought of you as his perfect angel, incapable of committing anything as bad as he has, but he can't deny the pleasure that comes from finding out you're just as bad. Back to master list here!

Cw: fem!reader, explicit gun usage and violence, mentions of drugs, Sanzu and reader are messed up I'm ngl, some suggestive content but nothing explicit, brief mentions of gunplay and bondage, cursing, pet names (princess, angel), both reader and Haru are a little sadistic. reblogs appreciated!

Nights like this are hard to come by for you and Haruchiyo. Quiet ones, where the moonlight is enough for you to walk by across the park at night, the crunch of leaves loud underfoot and streetlights winking in and out of life.

You’re lucky, it’s a rare day off for him, and you can tell by the calm warmth of his hand in yours, the lack of buzzing energy, the absence of the shake that’s usually so present on his skin, that he’s clean today. You’re proud, if it can be said, of the effort that would be minute to anyone else, but is immeasurable for you, especially when you consider his reliance on them, the red and white pills that fill his pockets as amply as gum.

He’s looser today, despite the tight coil of terse thick tension coiling in his chest, he smiles often, gives you a softer look, though he’s always had a tenderness for you. You hold his arm, one gloved hand flat against his wrist, the other curled around the swell of his toned forearm, the two of you huddled in thick coats against the early autumn chill, red scarves brushing your chins in tandem. 

In truth, he’s trying not to think about it. The pills, the cigarettes, the way he longs for something a little stronger than the bottle of wine you’ve helped down back at the restaurant. His hands are itching and it takes considerable effort for him to keep them still, to keep his thumbs brushing achingly slow circles over your knuckles, an action that has your stomach jumping in time with your heart. 

But you know, and you appreciate the effort all the same. 

‘And then what happened, Haru?’ you say and you nod in encouragement, a small smile curling at your perfect mouth and Haruchiyo is ashamed to say he loves it, loves the small gestures, the tiny inflection of an accent saying his name, all sugary sweet from your even sweeter lips and he would drown in it if he could, the simple but divine and almost sensual way your lips part to use his name like some toy. He likes the other part too, the coolness of you that calms his heat, that simply listens, and he feels like more than just a glorified criminal for once.

‘Hm? Oh and then Mikey told me to shoot him and we ran for it.’ He finds himself leaning into you occasionally, as if you could warm the cold down to his bones and curl your warm hands around his soul. Well, whatever is left of it.

 He likes that you’re not afraid either, that he can simply speak, can come home bloodied and bruised and cuffs dotted with blood and you understand on instinct, take in his face, the glassy eyes that are still alight with adrenaline and pull the ache from his bones with nothing but the softness of your lips on his skin. 

He knows you like to mark him as much as he does you. There is no taming your mouth and the hot and fiery bites it leaves on his otherwise pale chest but it gives him a thrill to know that you have the same on yours, that it’s a territorial mark, the both of you sating your hungry appetites with each other.

‘Mhm, is that how you got the blood on your suit earlier?’ And you say it so naturally, with such reckless abandon, such welcome, that the heart Haruchiyo thought was dead in his chest pulses with heat. 

You like hearing him talk really, like that he feels comfortable enough to do so with you, to let you in after the years of trying to tame the bratty attitude that had him breaking out in a fever of sweat when he was alone. It’s a perfect balance. You enjoy the sadism of his unpredictability, the wild glint in his eyes when he twirls a gun around his lithe fingers, the softness that melts the razor edges when he touches you, as if he could break you by touch alone.

And he enjoys you, your smart mouth, the quick and dizzyingly attractive comebacks that have his pants tightening when you mouth off at him, always with a suspiciously teasing look in your eye. But he also enjoys this, the ‘you’ that lets him in, both fear and excitement, the understanding that comes from two perhaps equally monstrous souls. He hasn’t failed to notice the way your eyes glass with the clear shine of adrenaline, excitement and thrumming nerves when he twirls a gun in his hands, when he trails it down your lips, blank of course he makes sure (though you are none the wiser) and presses it between your sternum, between your thighs, your hands tied to the bedframe and him, holding your life between his lithe fingers. He likes it, you like it, him wrestling power from you like that, teetering on the edge of life and death.

‘It is, got his blood all over those cufflinks you got me as well, sorry about that Princess,’ he says and you touch your hand to his wrist on instinct. 

You lean against him, the fine pink of his hair tickling your cheek, kissing at your earlobes. It’s a perfect picture really, and you warm at the softness of his hands on yours, the lingering scent of gunpowder on his neck, cologne and metal and smoke clinging to the collars of his coat. 

‘S’okay Haru, I’ll just buy you another set if you like.’ You bite your lip, engrossed in the sharp shine of his eyes, the cut of his cheekbones darkened by the slant of moonlight, the smoothened diamond scars on his mouth that you long to press your lips to. 

The visibility is poor, and perhaps that’s what catches him off guard at first. The rush of a dark shadow barrelling towards him and it’s instinctual, the way he puts himself between you and them, a hand moving for his gun and the other holding you at arms length, angling his body to take the brunt of the hit as the man all but falls onto him.

‘You motherfu-’ He starts and the gun is loaded in his hand, his senses sharpened by the crisp night air, moving to press the trigger when your nails dig into his wrist as the man lowers himself against the wall, his hands thrown up in surrender. 

A drunk, that’s all, but it has your teeth on edge immediately. 

You dig your nails into his wrist, the glassy shine of your eyes now swirling with the copper hue of the streetlight. ‘Haru, are you okay?’ And you bend, a hand on his forearm to look over him, at the gun that glints metallic silver now pressed to his palm.

He glances at you, then at the man cowering against the terracotta brick, hands thrown up to shield himself, as if the zip of a bullet cannot tear through his flesh. 

‘I’m alright, Princess, just going to deal with this prick-’

‘You don’t need to-

‘Huh? Of course I do, he put you in danger Princess,’ he says, fast breath coming in plumes and curling against your nose.

And then, an idea that burns to life in your veins as his eyes flick to you and your smaller hand bunching up the fabric of his coat.

You test it on your tongue, chewing it up as you weigh the scales. ‘Why don’t you….let me?’ 

He frowns, a shrug of his shoulders as he turns from you to the man against the wall again. ‘Don’t be silly Princess, I just need to-’

‘Haru.’ Your voice an octave lower, authority and command and the click of heels moving into his periphery. He’s raising the gun to the man’s head and he can almost see it already, the back-splatter on his new cufflinks, the one’s he bought for today specifically, the sag of the body as the head lolls against the chest, a splash of red against even redder brick.

‘Haru,’ you say again because something is stirring in your stomach and the rush of adrenaline is coming to life in your veins. ‘Give me the gun.’

‘What?’

‘Give it to me. Let me. I want to.’ Your eyes alight with the pulse of the excitement he’s come to worship. You and Mikey, his deities.

It takes a second, a moment stretched out in time, in which his brows crease and his eyes search yours for the certainty, the surety of what you’re asking. He knows you like to live dangerously, like the power trip as much as he does, the give and take, the delicious and euphoric thrum of authority in your veins.

‘You’re sure?’ 

You nod and your lips are a firm line, the moonlight falling over a part of your face, cloaking it in shadow. You’ve never tried it before, at least not all the way. You’ve held his guns, weighed them in your hands, felt the warm kiss of his breath on your neck as he teaches you to aim down your sights, the intensity of his stare, the brush of his lips that has your thighs clenching and warmth pooling between them. 

For self defence you said, but Haru knew better. You liked it, watching the tilt of his head, the release of power that was so sexy to watch it had goosebumps breaking out on your skin.

‘I’m sure.’ You hold your hand out and the man watches as Haruchiyo hands it over, closing your hand around the barrel, your finger hovering over the trigger. ‘He disrespected you so let me do this.’

He wants to stop you, to stop you taking the plunge, from becoming like him. You, his laughing, smiling angel. You, cute and sweet and there for him when the pulsing in his head becomes loud enough to hear under his skin but he can’t deny there is something so deliciously erotic watching you throw back your shoulders, the hard set of your jaw as you stare down at the man who pushed into him, the cold fury in your eyes that has his pants tightening again.

He expects you to go for it immediately, press the trigger and hear the bang but you don’t. Instead, you pull your hand back and smash the barrel of the gun on the man’s jaw, all bone and sinew cracking with the blow, blood spurting from his cut lip and disfiguring his nose, his hands moving to shield him. He taught you that, and you remembered. It had taken a few practice runs, a swing of your arm without fear, without holding back like he knew you would. And oh is he proud, when the crack of bone reverberates, when a reddened welt appears almost immediately and he could kiss you, could worship you entirely. 

‘Apologize to my Husband,’ you say and bend, grabbing a handful of hair as you bridge the distance, your hot breath now fanning the blooming bruise along his cheek. You tug harshly and he whines, the gun now pressed up against his temple, trailing lower till the cold barrel is pushed between his bloodied lips.

‘Did you not hear what I said?’ You dig till he all but gags around the barrel and Haruchiyo’s jaw drops in awe, shock and pleasure and adrenaline all beating through his chest at once. Something twitches in his pants.

He watches, critically, euphorically, as you pull the gun out and push the man towards the ground, the barrel now firmly denting the back of his head as he lands on palms and knees, a hairsbreadth away from Sanzu’s shiny dress shoes. He recognizes this, the setup of it. It's his own, his little game he plays with victims, breaking them before the release. He really has trained you well hasn't he? 

The drunkard whimpers, and Haruchiyo almost feels like doing the same in his own twisted way. 

‘Kiss his shoes and apologise,’ you say, and the sharp edge of your voice is colder than Haru has ever heard it, colder than the spike of frost clinging to the streetlamps. 

This. This feels like power, it feels like pleasure, pride, authority. Anticipation, adrenaline, holding life and death in your hands. You, the grim reaper. You like it, and judging by Haruchiyo’s slack jaw,  the extremely obvious bulge in his pants, he likes this side of you too, the calculating side that has him aching with need. It’s at this point he realizes just how much he’s corrupted you, how much he has tainted you with his blood-spattered hands. His angel, falling from grace. And yes, he could easily kill this man without a gun, with one hand in fact but he loves your efforts, your possessiveness, your hold on him.

‘Will- will you let me-?’ 

‘Yes, yes, I’ll let you go after.’ It’s dismissive, almost bored in tone, as if this is a chore or punishment you’re doling out unnecessarily. 

So he grovels, and slides on his hands and knees till he’s a hair's breadth from Haruchiyo’s shiny black shoes. You think you hear him whimper again as he bends, his dry cracked lips trembling with the effort it takes to hold in his tears and control the shake in his voice.

And then he swallows against the tide of shame in his throat and Sanzu’s eyes are saucers as he presses a light and hesitant kiss to the instep of his shoe. It happens quickly , and the man is shuffling backwards as soon as his lips have parted from the black leather.

‘Okay good, now back up against the wall,’ you say and the gun is on his temple again, digging into the bony flesh of his cheek, hard enough to feel the indent against his remaining teeth. You can feel it, the way the flesh parts for you, the pudginess of his cheek underneath the cold barrel, the harsh sharpness of his teeth that block the way. There’s something interesting in it, something so fascinating about how the flesh parts with a little force, so obedient and disciplined.

He gropes blindly for purchase along the tarmac, the streetlight casting a golden light on the filth of his nails, the way they’ve cracked with strain and use, bleeding slightly from where they’ve scraped. He puts his hands up again and shakes, his whole body wracking with the tremors and you can’t deny that despite how shameful it is, how wrong, how perverse, the delicious shiver of pleasure running along your skin is too prominent to be ignored. 

Haruchiyo’s lips part to lick at the saliva pooling at the edge, to suck in his bottom lip and pull it between his teeth in need. 

You spare a glance at your husband, who stares at you with eyes pooling with lust, affection, admiration, that fine line between love and fear, before moving your sharp gaze back to the man cowering against the brick with his hands raised.

‘You-you said you’d let me go if I did it.’ He shrinks back as you take a step forward, the click of heels deafeningly loud on the otherwise quiet street, the frost kissing at your boots from where the snow has melted on the expensive leather.

‘I did…’ You make to lower the gun, skimming it along his jawbone. 

He waits, lets out a breath that’s all mist and dampened sniffles. 

‘I lied.’ And in one swift motion, you dig the barrel into his throat and pull the trigger, hard enough, the sleek metal parting for you like the lips of a lover and the bullet is fast and hot as it pierces skin. The splash of blood on your gloved hand is warm too, the smoke curling towards the sky as his head lolls against the terracotta brick, before falling completely, slumping against the tarmac, his hands still raised in shocked surrender.

The gunshot is loud, deafeningly so, a ring and drum of explosive noise that dies just as quick. 

‘Princess…’ Haruchiyo is all shock and awe, his voice a muted but lust-driven whisper, his throat dry with anticipatory longing.

It’s over far too quickly for your liking, the metallic tang of blood weak and dissipating into the air, coagulating already between the seams of your leather gloves. You lower the gun and your breath is quick and sharp, shallow enough to be pulsing in time with the ringing in your head.

Haruchiyo moves to take the gun, and it slides from your hand as you stare vacantly at the body, a carcass really, a suit of flesh and meat. And it’s funny, and yet not so, that that’s all it really is, a meatsuit of bones and blood tied together with stringy sinew, a life winked in and out of existence by a few minutes of your time, a split second decision.

Haruchiyo tucks the gun into his trousers, and takes your hand, still sticky with blood, and rubs it between his own. He warms it, brings your wrist to his mouth and presses a hot and chaste kiss to the vein in the juncture. He’s holding himself back, the ache between his legs an unforgettable thrumming of sweet pain. But he knows this is a big moment for you and so he’s letting it simmer for a minute, letting the gravity of your sin unfurl like an autumn leaf crushed underfoot. The weight of it descending on your shoulders is a boulder that presses firmly on your bones.

‘Princess are you okay?’ Despite himself, the vicious, blood-thirsty side that cackles loudly when blood is spilled, that’s hungry to sink his teeth into you in a place as shady and unsavoury as an alleyway, he’s letting you have this, this moment of clarity. His Goddess, his Queen, tainted enough to take to hell with him.

‘I-I’m fine Haru.’ Your voice, when you do find it, wavers on the end of each word, and now that it’s over, the clarity hits like a freight train. The shiver that had run along your skin is beaded with cold and the sweat rolling down your back elicits a dazed shake of your head.

‘Sure?’ He searches your eyes, looking for the come-down, the glassy eyed adrenaline replaced by the shock. Your lip trembles and he presses a quick kiss to your cupid’s bow. You sink against him and he holds you there, under the bronze streetlight, the frost clinging to your skin, dewy and wet and flushed with desire. 

‘I killed him…’ you whisper into the fine threads of his coat, your voice woven against his ear, dizzying and confused and almost shy.

‘You did. Now Shall we go home?’ 

‘Yeah, please.’ Your nails dig into his coat, his perfect lips close enough to feel the breath on the tip of your nose, his neck clean and clear of any marks your mouth might beg to put there. It’s shameful, how deplorable the both of you can be, how you both rein in the desire at once, how your thighs are clenching with the ache settling between them. 

He grins, slides a hand down the small of your back and ghosts his lips over the shell of your ear, bites at your earlobe before pulling away entirely. He can’t decide which part he enjoyed the most, the power you held now, with the gun pressing into the gaunt cheek or the part where his shoe was kissed almost reverently at your behest. 

He feels divine, he feels as if he could eat the whole world raw and oh is he going to enjoy positively breaking you when you get home.

He shoots a bored look at the body still lying prone against the wall, the splash of red almost black under the bronze streetlight, running in thickened rivulets into the cement. Eh, Bonten will cover for the both of you, he thinks and shrugs. You are, the both of you, untouchable, godly, dripping with unsated power.

Right now he has only one thing on his mind, and that’s pinning you to the bed by the neck and sinking into you for as long as the night lasts. And, he thinks with a glance at the moon now unfurling behind a cloud, the night…is young yet.

a/n: I have nothing to say but the fact that I wrote this with my clit- ok im jkjkjk lol, I have been wanting to write this for ages because nothing excites me more than the idea of my puppy boy getting down awful for a woman willing to kill for him that's all. I need.

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @snakegentleman @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @bejeweled-night-33 @ranscutedoll @the-travelling-witch @orchid3a @qiiuusoup-xo @hoetani @sinfulseashell @sweet-seishu @burnishedcrown @nikokopuffs @mitsuwuyaa @haruwuchiyoo @mochimiyaas @bertholdts--butt @theaonlax @blackfire2013 @wotakuhime @severellamahottub @anxious-chick-loggedoutpermanen

[samsblades]

✶ natural — sam winchester

cw : gn!afab!reader, fluff & smut, sorta sunshine!reader, post-hunting!au, passing mentions of monsters hunting and guns, nightmares, illness/fever (reader gets sick), consensual somnophilia, oral (r!recieving), swearing, praise, aftercare, pet names (baby, honey, sweetheart, love), mostly unedited, 5.3K words. requested ! MDNI !!! 18+ ONLY

summary : five times that you and sam are woken in the middle of the night, and one time you get to sleep in.

when you moved into this apartment with sam, you were both worried about having neighbors. you have the middle complex, so there's people upstairs and downstairs. overall, it's actually been pleasant. it feels nice and normal, and you're pretty sure that no one suspects that you and sam were previously monster hunters. mostly because none of your neighbors know that they exist. maybe it's a bit strange that you're a little older now, and just starting your lives, but you've just told everyone that you and sam didn't like what you were doing before, and have decided to start over.

the downstairs neighbors are delightful. lina and isa are just a bit younger than you and sam, brought you homemade bean and rice as a welcome, and told you about the fantastic panadería just a few blocks away. your only complaint might be that their music gets a little loud, and their luckily infrequent yelling matches in furious spanish are even louder.

it's the upstairs neighbors who bother you more. riya is nice, but you think they're too hot and too cool for their boyfriend nate. of course, that's not the problem, nor is it any of your business. for the record, though, sam agrees. it's more so about the middle of the night sex and the poor quality of whatever bed frame they made the awful choice of purchasing.

the first time they woke you up, it had been less than a week since you'd moved in, and none of the paranoia from your previous life had even begun to wear off for you or sam.

your heart is thundering at the first loud bump that wakes you. sam's hand finds yours just as yours looks for his. your other hand is searching blindly for a gun on your beside table that isn't there. it's in the drawer, still nearby, but hidden now and less accessible than you used to have it. you and sam sit up, eyes quickly adjusting to the dark and ears tuned for any other noises that might be out of place.

another thump nearly makes you open that drawer, but your now sharpened senses register that it's coming from the apartment above you. the next realization is that the sounds are rhythmic, and you just barely catch the sound of a muffled moan.

with that, you collapse back onto your pillow with a light laugh, eyes still bleary with sleep.

"goodness," you say through a breathy laugh, the headboard of their bed banging against the wall with complete insistence. it sounds unstable, honestly. "i think they're actually going to break the bed."

sam laughs with you, laying back down as well and turning on his side. his arm wraps around your waist and he buries his face into the side of your neck, nuzzling your warm skin with the tip of his perfect nose. this is followed with a soft kiss, as usual. you grin. sam can't see or feel it, but he knows it's there. that smile of yours and another soft laugh when the wall receives a particularly harsh bang.

"think this'll happen often?" you lament. "will we have to tell them to get a new bed frame? or have quieter sex?" it's sam's turn to laugh, a sleepy sound that suits him much better than anything loud or bloody.

"might," he murmurs into your skin, all soft and tired now that he knows there's no threat. for a few awful seconds, he thought some monster or hunter or whatever possible enemy had come to ruin your attempt at normalcy together before you'd even finished setting up all the furniture. he's happy that it's just the neighbors with a wobbly bed frame.

almost abruptly, the noise stops. you wait in quiet for a few moments to be sure that you're really being granted silence.

"they're done already?" you tease with a whispery laugh. it's not that sam doesn't have the skill to get you off quickly, or you him, but you tend to last much longer together. quickies aren't your go-to, even if they're required sometimes. now that you have your own place and are starting to settle down, you don't imagine things starting and ending that fast. as for last night, it felt like forever, in the best of ways.

you and sam are courteous enough to have a sturdy, quiet bed, though.

꩜｡⋆

you sleep light when you're feeling poorly. little things like the soreness of your throat or the movements of your upstairs neighbors wake you easily. so a sharp gasp from sam and the tensing of his muscles certainly pulls you out of your sleep. your eyelids seem to stick shut for a moment before fluttering open, and you shift in his arms. his slightly labored breathing goes silence as if he's holding his breath, likely worried that he's woken you and hoping that if he's quiet enough now you'll fall right back asleep.

"nightmare?" you whisper, voice course and barely audible. you resist curling your arm around his middle in case it's one of those dreams that makes touch difficult for him.

"sorry," he murmurs, answering your question with the tone of his voice rather than his words. he sounds tense and tired, and you know definitively now that his dreams have been unkind to him. you wish he'd never apologize for accidentally waking you. it's not as if you don't do the same sometimes.

"don't be sorry," you insist, as usual. his arms tighten around you, and you take it as a sign that you can do the same if you like. instead of slipping around his waist, your hand reaches up to settle into the soft hairs at the base of his neck. you pull his head close, pressing a kiss to his forehead, lingering long. he's still all tense and closed off. "you don't have to talk about it if you don't want. but talking about it won't… it won't make everything come back. talking about it won't change what we have now, you know that. we're allowed to talk about it. any of it."

"i know," he says, sounding like he doesn't really know it. you give a soft sigh, but don't push it. maybe you'll talk about it later, when he's ready. it's hard to focus on learning to live again when you're still haunted by the past. sometimes it's easier to just let the past be, to know that there are monsters in the closet, but keep the doors shut anyway. the understanding you have of each other has to be enough, and you've found so far that it is.

"you okay?" you decide to ask instead, voice as soft as it can be while your throat hurts like this.

he nods, then tilts his head up. "i'm okay." his lips find your chin as a reassurance, a promise. "it wasn't… as bad as it could've been." he's calming slowly, melting into your hold, so you suppose he's not lying. it's true that you've seen him worse.

"doesn't mean it wasn't bad at all," you murmur in protest, but not with any force. you follow it with another kiss to his hairline. "think you'll be able to fall back asleep?"

he hums in confirmation. "i'll be fine. but what about you? your throat still bothering you? do you need some tea?"

you give him a hum of your own, but it's not really an answer, just a little noise in response to how sweet he is, always more concerned for you than anyone else. your voice comes out as a grumble, "i think it's getting worse," you admit, "some tea might be a good idea, since i'm awake. i'll get it myself though, you go back to sleep. i'll be quiet."

a huff of air leaves his nose, tickling your neck. "you're funny," is all he says, like it's preposterous to suggest that he go to bed while you make yourself tea. he's too much of a gentleman to let you do that, but you also feel his hold on you tighten, just a bit. he doesn't want to be alone, even just for a few minutes. there is no comfort in being alone in the dark.

you retort with a gentle, "you're right, i'm hilarious. c'mon. since i'm letting you make me tea, it had better be good." he sits up with you, one of his hands still on your waist. his fingers slide to your lower back as you untangle yourself from him and the sheets, and he follows suit right after. he pads through the hallway behind you, overtaking you in the doorway into the kitchen with his hand brushing over the small of your back again before opening the cupboards for a mug.

he doesn't need to flip on a light because the blinds are open and the moon is bright tonight. so you watch him move through the shadowy room, preparing the tea that he knows you'll like the most right now. he makes a cup for himself too, liking the feeling on your eyes on him, never leaving.

the tea does a fine job of soothing your throat for the time being, and calms sweet sam's frayed nerves. he's had awful nightmares for as long as he can remember, but sometimes they're even more haunting now that his days are full of nice things. last week, you took a free ceramics class at the community center together. there's a few plant pots with herbs on the tiny fire escape balcony, and when you're not busy working to get better jobs, you sit and read novels that have nothing to do with hunting monsters.

your pinkies are linked across the little dining room table as steam rises from your mismatched mugs. the table is only outfitted for two, because you could only afford two chairs. that's alright, though, because you don't have anyone to invite over besides maybe the downstairs neighbors. but sam's starting to make friends with someone he volunteers at the library with, and unbeknownst to you, your bright friendliness is making your coworker want to hang out with you after your shared shifts. maybe you'll get a set of plastic chairs to use when there's guests.

꩜｡⋆

sometimes, loads of tea and vitamin supplements aren't enough to keep a nasty cold at bay. despite how nicely sam makes you several cups of tea a day, you're truly and fully ill now.

you're woken in a fit of fever, head fuzzy and cream-colored sheets sticking to you with sweat. for once, your body heat permeates more thickly than sam's, who always runs warm. an achy sigh leaves your parted lips, and your clumsy hands fight to push the plush comforter off your tired limbs.

your restless stirring wakes sam after a few moments, who props himself up on one elbow and runs a hand through his hair, immediately searching for the reason you're awake. his eyes adjust to the dark quickly to catch sight of the light, involuntary pout on your lips. before that even, his hand brushes over your upper arm and he feels the heightened heat of your skin.

"oh, baby," he whispers, reaching over to drape his palm carefully over your forehead. he doesn't have to say anything cliche, like 'you're burning up.' it's quite obvious on its own. he just pulls the thicker blanket from your body, but settles the sheet over you to prevent any chills. his thumb lightly brushes over your cheek. "that any better? i'm gonna get you some tylenol."

you only give a noncommittal hum, but he takes it as permission to leave you for just a moment. if you weren't so uncomfortable, you'd fall back asleep before he even got back. instead, you lay there, senselessly missing him and too exhausted to move.

he returns with tylenol as promised, along with a glass of water and a cool, damp rag. he sets the pills and glass down and carefully settles the rag over your forehead, earning a soft sigh of satisfaction from you. underneath the fabric, the furrow between your brows lessens just a bit. with all the gentleness in the world, he slips his hands under your head to tilt it up and brings the lip of the glass to your mouth. you drink as wordlessly instructed. he sets the water down for a moment and replaces it with one of the two pills. your lips part when he brings it to your mouth, then the cool glass is touching your skin again. both pills go down just fine, and he's settling your head back onto the pillows.

you fail to notice that he's brought the thermometer with him too until he asks you to open your mouth again. "just gonna take your temperature, honey," he murmurs softly. you give him no hassle, letting him tuck it underneath your tongue. when he pulls it out, he gives a little sigh. "definitely a fever, but it's not so bad," he tells you, taking your hand in his before pulling it up to his lips for a kiss to your knuckles.

"come back to bed," you grumble, giving him a weak tug.

"i think you'll get too warm," he protests kindly, "i'll just sit with you."

"there's no chair," you tell him, as if he doesn't know, "and i want you in bed with me. please?" you manage a little smile to try and convince him, looking sweet and tired and a little pitiful too, in the way that's so endearing it makes his heart hurt.

"i'm sorry, but i don't want to make your fever worse," he insists, voice still as gentle as it ever gets. "i'll bring a chair from the kitchen, okay?"

"but it's the middle of the night," you sigh, your smile slipping. it's too much effort to keep it there. "sleep with me."

"honey. it's already five in the morning. you know that's not too early for me," he says. it's true. in the past, sleeping until five would be a luxury for him. but you don't really care, and it's not the past anymore.

"you're crazy," you tell him, a little furrow settling between your brows.

"i know," he murmurs sympathetically, unfazed by your feverish accusation.

"it's too early for me," you complain. "won't you come back to bed with me? please?" of course, sam has known this entire time that he'd never beat you. it's just a matter of how many times he can deny you before he inevitably caves to your pretty eyes and hoarse voice. your soft 'please' has him ready to wave the white flag for peace; you're going to tear out his heart at this rate. but then your voice quiets even further, like you don't quite want to be heard despite the fact that you need to be understood. "i want you to hold me."

in the blink of an eye, he's kissing your cheek with a soft sort of determination. he doesn't even move a full inch away before he's whispering, "okay. alright, it's alright. i'll hold you. don't worry." then, his long limbs are slipping back under the covers and curling around you until you're settled on his chest, one hand still holding the cool rag over your forehead and your head carefully tilted so you can breathe easier.

he soaks up your heat, and the bottom sheet grows practically damp with your combined sweat. but he doesn't mind one bit, because you fall back asleep, looking far more comfortable and contented than before, for a while.

eventually, he does have to untangle himself from you because a frown settles on your lips and you turn restless in his arms again. he refreshes the cool compress to dab away your sweat and press to your hot skin. after a moment, he decides to prepare a second one for the back of your neck, and maneuvers everything so gently that you never wake until your body decides it must have water.

you wake with a little moan that he'd find sweet were it not an indication of your discomfort. he gets you more water, then lulls you back to sleep with his touch until it's time for another dose of tylenol.

꩜｡⋆

this moan is sweet, still hoarse and quiet, but only from sleep rather than sickness. your sounds start as little huffs of breath, a sigh here or there as his hands trace down your body and tug at your underwear, soft and quiet as to not wake you right away. he wants you to wake to the feeling on his lips on your hot, wet skin.

you most certainly do wake to that, a soft moan escaping your lips as your body gains awareness and your mind catches up to it. sam hums into your sensitive pussy as he feels you rouse, his hands gently holding your legs apart. he gives your thighs a sweet squeeze, then wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, softly at first to pull another noise from your lips.

he's easily successful, a quiet grunt leaving your lips as your tired arms reach down for some sort of contact with him. aside from his face buried in your cunt, of course. one hand finds purchase in his hair and the other curls around three of his fingers, holding his hand there against your thigh. your hips squirm as his tongue laves over you, your movements sluggish with sleep.

"sam," you sigh, out extra sensitive after just waking up and too tired to have complete control of your body. you're not loud, but you're noisy, letting out sweet and unfiltered sounds almost every time you breathe out. he gets more insistent the longer you're awake, letting his hunger and desperation show. his grip on you tightens, and his nose bumps relentlessly against your clit as he eats you out like he'd swallow you whole if he could.

the pleasure is overwhelming, overpowering, and you can't seem to keep a steady grip on him. your hands are still weak with sleep, so you continuously tangle and untangle your fingers in his hair, torn between pushing him away so you can breathe and pulling him closer so that the feeling will never stop.

"jesus," you groan, "please!"

"i got you," he mumbles, quickly so he doesn't have to stray from his task for long at all. "so good. so good for me, you taste so good."

"y-you couldn't.. hahh, help yourself, could you?" you pant out, eyes squeezed shut.

"never," he agrees before giving your clit a suck that tugs your back from the bed and pulls an extra pretty whine out of you.

"fuck," you sigh, "mmm, feels so good. please, sammy." really, you're not begging for anything other than for him to keep going exactly as he is, and and you know he has no plans to do anything but that. he loves this just as much as you do, possibly more. he's a damn addict, so much so that it wakes him up in the middle of the night.

the way he sweetly strokes the inside of your thigh with his fingertips is an easy contrast to the way his mouth moves against you, shameless and ravishing. your hips buck up into his face and your feet scramble for purchase on his hips to try and stay grounded. your thighs tremble with the effort, and sam moans right into you, beyond obsessed with the way you sound when you're sleepy and desperate and overwhelmed like this. it's no wonder he can't help but wake you like this sometimes, you sound like heaven, look like heaven as his eyes adjust to the dark and a sliver of moonlight finds its way into the room.

he gives you everything you need and takes everything he wants all at once, sending you over the edge with a sweet hum and relentless tongue. you clutch him close for a moment of hot ecstasy that may have lasted forever, then sag like a rag doll into the sheets. like always, he can't resist breathing you in, deep and long, and giving one last swipe of his tongue that sends a shudder up your spine.

your eyes flutter open and closed, exhausted by the pleasure and an already tired body. you swear you're still half-asleep, but in the way that you feel like you're floating, mind and body all fuzzy, soft, and satisfied. he stays tucked between your legs, sleepy too, despite being the one who was so ravenous in the first place. his head rests on your thigh, one hand still holding yours, and the other drawing stars over your hip bone.

he presses a kiss to your sweaty skin, his soft as ever and wet with your slick. "i love you," he whispers, "sorry for waking you up in the middle of the night." it's not the first time he's woken you like this, and you certainly hope it's not the last.

"i love you too," you murmur back, voice still raspy. "it's okay. love it when you wake me up like that. feels so good, every time. you're so pretty." you say that last part for no reason at all, other than it being true.

sam feels like blushing. "you're so pretty," he retorts quietly.

"thanks," you smile softly. to him, you shine like the sun, even in the dead of night. you're such a wonderful accompaniment to the moon, he thinks.

꩜｡⋆

neither the moon nor the sun show themselves much during the winter months. it tends to be quite cloudy here. the cold, on the other hand, is pervasive. and you and sam have discovered the horrors of having a landlord who's doing everything he can to avoid paying to fix your unreliable heating system. since it's not completely dysfunctional, he is most definitely stalling.

until it is completely dysfunctional, an issue that is made known to you at about 3:47 in the morning. the first thing you think is that sam must've accidentally stolen all of the blankets like he does sometimes. they'll get wrapped around his long legs, he'll roll over, and the whole plush comforter will go with him, leaving you exposed to the night air. but when you blindly reach for the blanket, you find that it's still snugly laid over you. that's when you begrudgingly open your eyes in confusion. your fingers are cold. the tip of your nose is honest-to-god freezing. and your feet. your poor, poor feet that have slipped out from the blankets and been left for dead in the cold air.

you're not the type to get grumpy. but you are now. you tuck your feet in and curl up against sam's back, seeking out his warmth. but it's too cold to ignore, so you shake sam's shoulder.

"sam, wake up," you groan, cursing his inconsistent sleeping style. sometimes he's the lightest, worst sleeper out there. other nights, he's impossible to wake. as he grows more accustomed to living a safer life, he gets more of those nights where he sleeps like a fallen log. you shake him again and he wakes with a grumble.

"what is it?" he asks as soon as he's awake enough to speak, voice gravelly. "god, it's freezing." he sits up groggily and immediately regrets it. you regret it too, because it leaves more of you exposed too. you chase after him, tucking yourself under his arm and against his chest.

"i think the heating gave out, like really gave out," you complain, trying to steal his body heat. he wraps his arms around you without any qualm, rubbing up and down your arms in attempts to warm you. he knows you get colder than he does most of the time.

"no kidding," he mumbles, pressing an absentminded kiss to the top of your head. "i'll get the space heater and hopefully that'll be enough until the morning." the light annoyance in his voice is indicative of what he plans to do in the morning. that is, call the landlord and demand he gets the heating fixed right away. it's not like the two of you have anywhere else to go without traveling farther than you'd like to. it pains you to let sam untangle himself from you, but the promise of more warmth is enough for you suffer without him for just a few minutes.

he returns with the space heater that you keep in the living room. the bedroom is usually warmer when you keep the door shut, but tonight, that makes no difference. he plugs the heater in, as close to the bed as he can at a safe distance, then wraps the blanket from the couch around your shoulders before climbing back onto the mattress.

despite the cold, you smile at him sweetly and contentedly as he gives you the extra blanket. he's so easy to be in love with.

he anticipates the way that you tuck yourself into him the moment he's laying down with you. and it's not as if he doesn't want you in his arms as much as you do, so he most certainly welcomes it. he settles one hand on the back of your head and pulls you close until your nose brushes against the soft skin of his neck. one of your legs sneaks between his, and he hooks his ankle with yours.

"i guess this is what it's like to have normal people problems, huh?" you whisper, your breath fanning over his neck. he'd love to kiss you senseless right now, but he's too tired and he's pretty sure you are too.

"yeah," he sighs, sounding relieved. "yeah. beats… beats the other stuff."

"even though it's really, really cold," you agree, smiling. he can hear the smile in your voice.

"even though it's really, really cold," he echoes. "it'll warm up."

he's right. this sort of thing passes. it gets better. the space heater serves its purpose, eventually warming the little bedroom enough that you can fall back asleep. the tile floor of the kitchen is hell in the morning, of course, and you spend the rest of the day in the library together after convincing the landlord to have everything fixed.

the weather warms too, and the relentless cloudiness fades into bright blue spring mornings. the blinds are always left closed on friday nights so that the rising sun won't wake you early on saturday mornings. it's been a blessing. sam still wakes up early sometimes, but sometimes he sleeps in late with you.

no alarms go off this morning; you and sam were up late last night watching a movie you found at the library. he really prefers vhs movies, but he'll settle pretty easily for cds. vhs is too hard to find these days, which is a shame. after the movie, you stayed up much later than intended, sprawled in bed while discussing the movie in depth. it was the sort of movie that was easy to watch, entertaining and pretty, but thought-provoking all the same. maybe it's because the mundane is something so special to you and sam that you could talk about it forever.

the blinds don't block out all the light, especially when it's so sunny like it is now. but it makes waking gentler and kinder while still letting you love the light of the morning.

gentle really is the right way to describe how you wake this morning. there's nothing particularly special about it, but that's what's so lovely. it's just a breath in, then a breath out and the fluttering of eyelids. it's a moment of peace, but the moment never ends. there's no threat of monsters or a hunt or the end of the world.

there's just sam and his heavy arm wrapped around your waist, grounding you, keeping you near him. there's sunlight on the white wall and a green plant in the corner of the room. pillows and blankets you call your own, a stuffed armchair, and a closet of clothes. sam wears sweaters and tshirts and sometimes even slacks rather than jeans these days. you can't stop telling him how handsome he looks when he's comfortable.

you don't move for a little while, and you let your eyes fall closed again. maybe you fall back asleep, maybe not. it doesn't really matter. nothing really matters, nothing but this. even if there's things like rent and jobs and a leaky sink. they don't have to matter until later.

then, because you're hopelessly in love, you open your eyes when they start to feel less heavy with sleep and turn to look at sam. there's no slight frown on his lips, no furrow to his pretty brows. he's content, he's safe, he's not so afraid anymore. if you were to count your blessings, his happiness would be the first thing to come to mind.

his body lets him rest without worry. staying up to talk about movies for fun is allowed now. it has no consequence, outside of a yawn or two while washing the dishes. but he gets to sleep in for as long as he'd like today.

maybe it's your staring that finally wakes him. the weight of your gaze, heavy with affection. the first thing he does when roused back into consciousness is smile. soft and sleepy and delighted to see you. then he kisses you. it would be without warning if he weren't moving so slowly. but you're ready for him, happy to have him.

this morning, he is insistent on having you close, so the moment his lips are no longer on yours, his arms are wrapping around your middle and holding you tight. he pulls you into him with a quiet grunt.

"good morning, sweetheart," he rumbles softly, lips brushing over the skin of your temple.

"good morning, love," you murmur back, voice just as sweet as his.

"i love you so much," he tells you, hand rubbing up and down the expanse of your back.

of course, you answer, "i love you, too. so much." his hand slips under your shirt, like you'll never be close enough, and touching your skin will make it better. you huff in protest and arch against him just a bit. his fingers are cold, but only for a moment. then you're melting into him and sighing in contentment.

"the weather's supposed to be nice. like yesterday. we could walk to the park," you whisper.

"later," he answers simply, ducking his head to press his nose to yours, then kiss the skin under your eye. "let's just lay here a while.

you can't help but grin. "okay. later." you kiss his cheek and he smiles back, then closes his eyes again. the smile stays on his face and you think that maybe he's never looked more beautiful than he does now.

"i love you," you say again, because you just have to.

he hums softly and his other hand slips under your shirt, his fingertips pushing gently into the plush of your lower back. "i love you," he echoes.

nothing aches, not right now. there's growing pains and old scars and sores that will never really go away. but in this moment, nothing aches save for the kind of ache that love gives. and it's a lovely sort of ache. the kind that could make your eyes all misty in the happy way. like you're so grateful to be where you are that it almost hurts.

magic is real. so are monsters and gods and demons and angels. but this moment is a miracle in a way that it has nothing to do with that sort of thing. it's simple and normal and maybe you've romanticized it because of the way you lived before. but you don't think that's such a bad thing. living like this with sam… it's natural.

[a-a-a-anon]

absolutely fascinated by young dee who is criminally under-discussed so here is my dissertation on what happened in her college years (ft. dr. gainer, setting her roommate on fire, being institutionalized)/my idea for a fic that I will almost certainly never write/my way too serious take on a few throwaway dee lore lines

timeline background: we know that dee majored in psychology ('charlie got molested') and got "three fourths" of the way in (meanwhile dennis finished his psych minor.) assuming this was a four year program, I'm gonna guess that in her third year she got institutionalized and most likely had to drop out ('gun fever too: still hot'.) we also know that she had her back brace until she was twenty ('underage drinking'), so I'm guessing that means she got her back brace off in her third year.

we know that dennis fancied himself a psychologist since he was young, but I think dee did too. in particular I think she was wary and interested in her brother's psychology; she seems very aware of his psychopathy and bpd in 'making dennis reynolds a murderer' and 'psycho pete returns.' in my head she's been interested in dennis' psychology since they were kids and she saw him snapping crows necks. so instead of forcing her way into acting school, she studied psychology to better understand her brother (and also deep down, herself, who is very much the other side of the same fucked up coin.) it also meant she could tell herself she could study her characters even better when she became an actress.

i think she put in (her version of) genuine academic effort to get in, fuelled kind of by spite (remember the way she studied that thick medical book in 'hero or hate crime' or her very quick math in 'boggs: ladies reboot'). she studies books and gets cricket to quiz her and she still fails to get into penn. but frank always pitied her (i think she was his favorite of the twins-remember "let your sister into the gang", "that's my girl!", "i'm sorry the grift didn't work out, sweetie") so he shells out cash to get her in, but also to get her away from home so he has to deal with her even less.

dennis wants to do anything dee does but better and he wants to keep her close by (to watch her crash and burn, and also because he's weirdly possessive-see 'the gang broke dee' "i'm your select!"). and obviously he's barbara's favorite. so barbara gives him money to get in too. she also gets him into a frat and pays for his classes and his rent and everything he needs. dee has to live in a dumpy dorm with a female roommate.

but college presents dee a chance to moult her previous place in life where she was known as a monster (remember how insistent she was that "people can change!" in 'franks pretty woman'. I think dees always wanted to believe she can shed that feeling she's inferior, but she never has). in my head her female roommate is basically normal-has real friends of her own, mentally stable, attractive-which is exactly what dee craves. dee wants to be popular and well liked and she wants to infiltrate her roommates life, imitate her, be in the Cool group. and she places all her hopes on a friendship with the roommate but dee has never navigated real female friendships before, not with someone like her. deep down she also wishes she found what dennis found in mac, whatever it was, because ever since dennis met mac he's never been as close to her. and i do think dee is some flavor of queer. and the roommate is well liked in the way that dee admires and envies. so there is that blurriness between wanting to be her and wanting to be with her. in my head her roommate looks like the woman from dee's fantasy in 'the gang saves the day' (and they both represent that promise of escape from dee's shitty life).

dee is so desperate for the roommates approval and her love and her life that she goes insane, copying and flattering and competing with her. ever the shitty actress, she tries to emulate her, but comes off as manic and creepy. and maybe her roommate is nice enough to not completely shun her, recognizing that she's struggling. maybe in dees mind they actually are becoming friends when her roommate asks things like "are you okay?"

and dee has to talk about her plan with dennis because he's the only person who would Get It. and she makes it sound like it's almost working. dennis feels jealous and worried and threatened that maybe dee might actually be seen as normal, especially when she gets her back brace off in the third year. so dennis fucks her roommate, more of a show that he owns and controls each and every pathetic part of dee’s life than anything else. and so that dee knows she'll never be as good as him, she'll never as easily charm people as dennis does. (or at least he tells her he does).

to prove that To Someone dee is Good Enough, and so desperate for attention, dee (who's been groomed all this time) enters a sexual relationship with her professor dr. gainer. she tells herself she has the power in it, that she seduced him ("he didn't molest me. i had sex with him 'cause i wanted to.") and she has a mental break, because the thing she told herself held her back from being loved (her back brace) is finally gone by now and yet she still feels like a monster, and the only scrap of "love" she can get is from her professor.

and then she can't take the fact that she can steal her roommates clothes, can emulate her sexual prowess (in dee's own fucked up, delusional way), and still neither be well liked like her nor be loved by her. so maybe dee will always be a monster. so dee tried to burn her roommate in her bed, because she represented the promise of change and popularity, and that promise was a lie and dee's effort was for nothing. and she's institutionalized.

and i think there was kind of a falling out between the twins and their parents, because barbara wants to abandon dee but dennis can't help but visit her. and frank doesn't even step foot in a place that reminds him of his traumatic childhood, and avoids dee even more than he used to because she is his childhood mirror image. so the family becomes even more fractured and estranged.

and maybe dee becomes medicated and slowly crawls her way halfway to normal by the first season (her acting classes are so well-adjusted, taking part in healthy hobbies of her!). until her father comes back into her life and everything falls apart <3

side note, even though dee is crushingly lonely-"I just got a cat 'cause I wanted something to hang out with. I don't have, you know, a roommate or anything, and I don't really have anyone to talk to..."-AND she struggles to pay rent whenever frank cuts her off, i hc that she refused to ever get a roommate in particular female roommate again after this because both her internalized misogyny got worse and she was afraid of what would happen (what she would do) again.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Lookism Boys (+ Taehoon + Wangguk) being ill + YOU looking after them hc

Gun Park, Goo Kim, Samuel Seo, Jake Kim, Vin Jin, Johan Seong, Seong Taehoon, Han Wangguk

Gun Park

He is self-sufficient to the core.

Does not need any looking after.

You offer to run out and buy medicine? No need, he is stocked better than a pharmacy.

Reminders to hydrate? He's had 2 litres already and it's not even midday.

You don't need to tell him to rest, his body is his temple and he takes the utmost care.

Some homemade food though? Oh. Well. You can't buy homemade.

Him lying all fever brained on your lap as you watch TV or whatever? That's not so bad neither.

You running a bath for him? Thanks. That's thoughtful.

Huh, he thinks maybe it's not so bad relying on someone other than himself.

Goo Kim

Clingy and fussy-

But you knew that already, being his partner.

Treats you as his hot water bottle one moment, the next will kick you away saying he's too warm.

He expects to be babied, and he expects your full attention. So please drop everything and tend to him now.

If you could also run your fingers through his hair and let him lie on you for the next few hours, that would also be great.

And if you can put his favourite show on that would also be appreciated.

You trying to watch something else once he's sleeping? No chance. He is wide awake and pouting at you.

At least he will give you the same treatment when you're ill.

Samuel Seo

Samuel is not ill.

How dare you imply he is in anything but peak physical condition

That's not a cough, that's not a sniffle, and he is not flushed.

There's something wrong with the thermometer, he is fine.

Nothing is wrong with his voice (as he slowly loses it through the day...)

Will take a lot of persuading and convincing to rest up

"Yes, there will be other people to pick up your work. And no, it's not a personal slight to say that you are sick."

You have to pry his laptop and tablet and phone from his fingers.

Of course, that's easy. His strength is waning in his current state.

"Shhh Sammy, go to bed." Tuck him in. lay next to him, pet his hair.

He'll soon be napping next to you, holding you tight.

Jake Kim

Also complete denial at first.

He is the head of Big Deal, he cannot be sick.

That SINU! sneeze is not a front. That is actually how he sneezes.

Phelgm and snot everywhere. It's pretty repulsive to be honest.

After one too many sneezes, and everyone flinching the hell away from him, Jerry carries him home to you.

Wants to be babied, wants to be fussed, wants your complete attention.

Goes about it in a slightly less obnoxious way, but he's so adorable, even trying to give you a wink in his current state so you can't say no.

Pads around the home following you, blanket wrapped around him, tissue shoved up his nose.

Might as well give up whatever you're doing and tend to your boyfriend.

But Jake would absolutely do the same for you.

Vin Jin

This fucking guy-

Demanding and a little shit.

If you let him, he would take absolute full advantage.

Would run you in circles doing things for him.

"Y/N I want some water, Y/N where's my medicine, Y/N I need some chocolate, Y/N I need a burger." "What?? Shouldn't you eat something.. healthier?" "No babe, the body wants what it wants."

Will flop all over you, lying on your lap, your chest. Partly because he finds you comforting, partly because he's a little asshole.

"Sing me a lullaby" "Uh... ok." You sing. "Actually, no shut up babe you sound like shit."

Once he falls asleep, his breath laboured and cheeks flushed, you can't help but think ok, he's pretty cute. Only when unconscious though.

Will still keep his sunglasses on the whole time. "Just in case someone ambushes me." "WHO?!"

Johan Seong

Way too ill and low in energy to put up any of his usual defenses. Will revert back to a little meow meow.

You are absolutely not allowed out of sight.

In fact, you are not allowed out of arm's reach.

Will cling to you like a koala, that is a fact.

Actually, you might as well all stay in bed, Eden and Miro included because you are guaranteed to not get anything done.

Even cooking is only a possibility. Hopefully you have all medicine stocked, and some decent, cheap, healthy take-outs nearby.

Because if Johan wakes up from his nap and you're not there, he will be sulking for a year straight.

The only excuse?

"Johan, I need to walk Eden and Miro." grumble grumble "Ok... but be back quick?"

Seong Taehoon

The grumpiest babygirl you have ever seen.

It's a goddamn good job you love him because my god, this guy!

Equal parts bad-tempered and clingy

A bit like how he usually is, to be honest, but turned up to the MAX.

Go away, you're crowding him one second, he's all up in your face wanting cuddles the next.

And the fact that he's not allowed to train?

Good lord, don't anger it further. It's not like he's in any fit state to train anyway but he will still be fuming about it.

No Taekwondo, no arcade. He might as well just DIE.

At least he's still got his other favourite thing - you. This placates him a little.

Han Wangguk

Wangguk does not get sick, Wangguk is the caretaker.

Other people get ill and he looks after them.

"No, seriously, Wangguk. You're burning up. Go back to bed!"

Needs a lot of goading to actually rest. Even then, he doesn't fully rest.

He keeps a watchful eye over you, just in case you need him.

After he gets used to it? Absolutely loves it.

You making some food for him, grabbing him medicine, gentle cuddles, forehead smooches, even taking care of Gyeoul?!

He really could get used to this.

Is a puddle, constantly leaning on you and wanting to be close.

After this, he always enjoys being ill. Only a tad. It's a way for him to be spoilt guilt-free by you.

[charliework16]

i don’t wanna go to school i just wanna break the rules

[cicobuffs]

pondering about a zombie apocalypse au for challengers...i feel like i've seen it before but i'm not sure...

you already know that tashi is the one who's the defacto 'leader' of the group...she's resourceful, a planner, doesn't take shit at all in any way whether it be from other people in the group or people that are encountered along the way. she learned quick how to work her way around a weapon for the sake of the people around her and her own life.

patrick is loud and rambunctious and is a complete representation of brute force. i can see him using a blunt force weapon type deal: a bat probably. he’s the one to go to for supply runs i think because he fucks around to a point where he knows when shit gets serious on a run and to lock in. he’s definitely starting shit on accident (sometimes) with people in the group, too, which sometimes attributes to some people leaving or some people staying to a point.

art is strategic, someone who pinches penny’s, or in this case bullets or cans of food. he uses a gun but never wastes a bullet: he’s a thinker, always wondering if he really needs to drop a shell for one reason or another. he’s good backup in that way where he has saved everyone’s skin in one way or another.

they run into you when you’re just surrounded by a group of the undead (walkers? idk what to call them i’m gonna be fr) and usually in a situation like this they would just leave because in the dire situation the world is in at the current moment, they can’t waste anything on just one person but they decided to say fuck it and take care of the whole undead situation for you.

and you’re badly beaten and bruised, hot to the touch like you have a fever, slumped to the ground after your attackers are back to what they’re supposed to be: dead. tashis the one to inspect you, to look for bites anywhere and you’re just conscious enough to say that you know you haven’t been bitten.

they haul you back to where they’ve set up camp and essentially nurse you back to health but over time there was a type of attachment that formed with them to you: art still bringing a cup of purified water to your lips even when you know you can pick it up yourself, patrick insisting that you stay back and rest while he tries to find something for you to eat when you’ve been saying you could come with him to hunt for a few days, and tashi refusing to hand you a weapon because “you’re still too weak” but you know damn well that your strength is, in fact,back.

and the worry was endearing for a while of course but it came to a point where you yourself started getting worried because you’ve been better for a bit now and can start fending for yourself but it’s things like “no, you can’t. you still have to rest,” and “you just stay here and i’ll take care of it,” being said that make you stay for a while longer despite your doubts. and who are you to deny the hospitality of people that are just so desperate to give it to you?

[totheblood]

hii love can you write hcs of ellie williams in protective gf mode

a/n: of course! thank u for the request <;3 p.s little bonus ai audio at the end (ellie yelling at u lol, ellie telling u to drink up, ellie asking u whats wrong)

protective gf ellie

it’s no secret that ellie is extremely protective of the people around her, but when it came to you it was a whole other story

she’s protective of you out in the world, if you’re on patrol together she will always enter new areas before you, scoping it out before giving you the okay to come in

“it’s safe to come in, babe.”

“you’re ridiculous.”

“and you’re still alive, so where’s my thank you?”

she would definitely try not to baby you since she’s positive you can hold your own (it’s very hot to her how badass you are on patrol) but sometimes she just can’t control it

she knows she’s immune so she would much rather take her chances than have you be bit, but you don't know that so you get into little quips about why she doesn’t let you fight infected

“i don’t see why i can’t clear out the area with you ellie, i feel like i’m not pulling my weight.”

“it’s not safe, you could get bit.”

“SO COULD YOU!”

“but i won’t.”

she will always check the sturdiness of the floor before telling you to follow her (she’s fallen through too many floors to take her chances with you)

when you do end up getting hurt on patrol she gets mad

like unreasonably angry at you… she’s working on it

“what the fuck were you thinking?! going in there gun’s blazing, you didn’t know how many of them there were!” she would scold you while tending to your wounds, it was honestly very confusing

“i’m sorry, i jus-“

“don’t do it again.” she would say it in her sternest voice before kissing the gauze where she patched you up

when it comes to protecting you from other people in jackson ellie was known for being ruthless

a guy hitting on you at the diner? she would slide into the booth next to you and wrap her arm around your waist with an exaggerated, “hey baby.”

someone who won’t leave you alone when you’re obviously uncomfortable? she would immediately step in between the two of you with her finger pointed in the guys face, “hey back the fuck up!”

if she ever saw you crying, all hell would break loose

inside her rage would be boiling, but on the outside she was running up to you, putting your face in her hands, scanning your body for any injuries, and asking you with the most tender voice, “what’s wrong, baby?”

“these guys would not stop making fun of me on my way home.” you would explain in between sniffles “just got so overwhelmed, but i’m okay.”

“who? what did they look like? what were they saying?”

“ellie, don’t do anything.”

“i won’t, just tell me. wanna make sure those assholes shovel horse shit for a month.”

after you would tell her she’d press a kiss on your forehead and stay with you until you fell asleep

after she would go out and find the guys who made you cry and beat them up (violence isn’t the answer but this is ellie and she’s a sucker for revenge)

ellie’s actually not above punching anyone for you, she just would never let you see that side of her

a part of her also wants to protect you from herself and what she’s capable of

so whenever she’s not doing mentally well she would seperate herself from you so she doesn’t lash out at you

she hates the look on your face when anyone yells at you and she knows she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she was on the receiving end

she also always walks you home, she likes when you call her a gentleman and kiss her goodnight

she’s also protective of you when you’re not feeling well, absolutely ignoring her own health to make sure you’re eating, sleeping, and getting enough water

“c’mon baby, drink up.” she would coo as she gently sat you up in your bed, her protective hand resting on the small of you back while you drank

she would stroke your hair as you slept, constantly checking your body temperature as she waited for your fever to break

on the flipside, whenever she was sick she wouldn’t let you around her

you would be banging on her door with homemade soup being like “ellie, open this goddamn door!”

and her sick ass would say “no! don't wanna get you sick!” through her stuffy nose

“fine, but i’m leaving the soup outside your door, please make sure you eat it and drink water!”

“thank you.”

“okay, bye, i love you!”

“i love you more”

she’s always doting on you, making sure your happy and satisfied

if you’re eating together she would make sure you are full before she finishes her plate just in case you want more

at community events her eyes would always return to you even when she’s in conversation with someone else

“she’s fine y’know? just the spring dance.” jesse would say after her looking over at you for the tenth time in their 15 minute conversation

“i know. i just like looking at her.” it wasn’t a lie, but she was still just making sure you were okay

ai audios:

[zyonsay]

Parisienne im Mund SKI AGGU

Summary: Shooting the Balla Balla MV!

Reader: Genderneutral

Warnings: Smoking

Now playing: 'Balla Balla' by Ski Aggu

AN: Heya everyone! Finally some Ski Aggu content! I feel like there's such a lack of fics about him, which probably is since he's a german artist who doesnt cater to anyone besides german speakers- At least thats how i imagine it?? Anyways! This was really hard to write cuz in my mind lil bro does NOT speak english, which makes it sooo difficult for me to make him speak english. Idk, maybe im just yapping. Alsooo!! I mostly write male readers but i thought since theres barely any ski aggu fics i‘d give a lil treat to fem aligned people too :)

 Die, die ich date, hat uns Karten für die Oper gekauft Doch ich kann heut nicht, weil ich mich mit meinen Govas besauf' Jemand legt mir eine Peitsche, doch die macht mir nichts aus, Weil ich hab' viele tolle Ranzen wie Scout

A row of dressed up people stood around, waiting for their cue. You were currently doing a favor for your friend from Hamburg, Luca. Recently he made more time for his main passion, filming music videos and social media content. Long story short, his buddy needed a bunch of people for a music video and since you owe him a favor, you gladly came along.

Ja, ich bin ein heißer Atze, ich tanz' bauchfrei im Club Hol' meinen Perso raus, doch nicht, weil ich mich ausweisen muss

The camera panned around the entrance of the club and music filled the room. Just beforehand you were personally introduced to the man in whose music video you’d appear.

“Hey, das ist Y/N. Basically meine rechte Hand.” Luca placed his arm around your shoulders, pulling you slightly into him while smiling widely. “Oh hey, danke fürs kommen!”, you blinked for a second, your german was sadly quite rusty. “Oh umm, sorry but my german is absolute shit.”, you pursed your lips shyly. The young guy in front of you smiled. “No problem! I’m Aggu by the way.” He held his hand out to dap you up. You interlinked your own hand with his. “Nice to meet you, love your music.” A genuine smile spread across your lips, which he immediately mirrored. He was known to wear a ski mask, but right now you were glad to be able to look into his blueish grey eyes. Something was drawing you to him, maybe his sharp features, his messy blond hair or the crooked but sweet smile. “Thanks! I’ve heard so much about you from Luca.” You tilted your head, nudging your friend who was still next to you. “Only good things, right?”

The smoke machines were going ham and the air inside the rented club was getting way too hot. Someone had brought along a bubble gun, so colorful glycerin blobs now bobbed through the air and occasionally landed on a person’s head. “Ok, nächster Take in 3, 2, 1!” Luca began filming and just how the instructions earlier had said, everybody started jumping around and dancing, mimicking the nightlife at a club. Music boomed trough a speaker, helping Aggu keep the pace and time his gestures correctly. The lights flashed, you purposely spilled your drink while dancing, the messier it looked, the better. It all began to feel more and more like a fever dream. Aggu had lit a cigarette and was wildly gesturing at the camera while singing to the lyrics, the melody of which flowed through the crowd.

Ich rapp' darüber, was in meinem Leben passiert, Treff' 'ne Granate im Backi, die meine Nägel lackiert, woah, mh Sie sagt mir: „Komm, wir gehen von hier“ Weil der Backstage Arsch ist wie ich später bei ihr.

Next up was a scene at the backstage, Luca had insisted stubbornly that you should play in that scene. Two seats were smushed into a corner and a few things were thrown around to make it look messy. You propped yourself in one of those seats, facing Aggu. He was rapping about something something nail polish, but all you knew is that you had to whisper in his ear for a take. Carefully, you leant closer to him, your back was turned against the camera. His scent was intoxicating, a light hint of smoke lingered on him. Feeling a bit cheeky, you laid your hand on the front of his shoulder, practically resting yourself against him. A slight flush spread across your cheeks at the proximity, you were thankful that the camera wasn’t filming your face.

Aggu leant over the bar and let out an exhausted huff. “Fertig!”, Luca grinned from one ear to another. The takes you had now were pretty damn good and even though it was fun, everybody was happy to finish the video shooting. “You ok?” You spun around on one of the barstools. “Hm?”, he hummed while tiredly lifting his head from where he was resting it, buried in his arms. “Yeah, just tired. But I’m happy with how it turned out.” You nodded lightly, stopping your endless spinning. “C’mon, I’ll sponsor you a Cig.” Even under the ski goggles you could see his eyes light up.

You placed a cigarette between your lips and then held out your pack of Parisiennes to him. The two of you were sat on the step of some stairs at the back entrance of the club, your legs touching. “You got fire?”, a slightly embarrassed look flashed over your face. Somehow you always forgot to bring your lighter – or you lose it by the time you need it. “Mhm.” Aggu hummed. He had taken the ski goggles off and once again you found yourself glancing at his eyes. He expected you to take the lighter into your own hands, but you just held your cigarette in place and leaned in towards him. A few strands of hair loosened and fell into your face. He couldn’t help his breath hitching at the closeness, he could smell your cologne. It smelled like green tea mixed with a minty undertone, or to put it differently, a breath of fresh air. It took Aggu a second to register your movement, but he then reached his lighter forward, holding the flame to the cigarette between your lips. The orange light illuminated your face and made it glow; he was mesmerized. Your eyes fluttered open and you caught him looking at you, a slight smile spread across your lips.

Ich bin balla-balla Komplett gaga Parisienne im Mund, ich bin ein toller Macker

With a sweet, slightly stupid grin he lit his own cigarette. A light chuckle escaped you, he seemed to fancy you as much as you fancied him. He took a long drag of his cigarette before leaning against your shoulder, the nicotine rush fuzzing up his mind.

Ich bin balla-balla Komplett gaga Ihr Swag 2010, sie trägt einen Rock mit Brakka

[milliesfishes]

hello! i am so obsessed with your writing- thank you for feeding my obsessions.

could you write an imagine where reader catches the same disease that killed billy’s mother and his brother (i think it was typhus or something like that) but she ends up surviving it? or if you’re feeling extra angsty maybe she doesn’t survive it, whatever your feeling. love your work!!

thank you so much anon!! ౨ৎ꣑ৎyou become dangerously ill and billy takes care of you౨ৎ꣑ৎ fem reader x billy the kid

Above all things, Billy feared illness.

It was the one thing he couldn't truly protect you from, the one thing he couldn't fight off or intimidate. No gun could still an ache or fever. No connection could ensure you were well for the rest of your days.

When he wakes up one day and you don’t immediately stir with him, Billy grew concerned. Usually, you woke right as he did.

Reaching a hand over, he brushed your cheek, frowning when he felt how hot your skin was. You made a strained little noise, and he sat up quickly.

“Baby? Ya feelin’ alright?” he touched your forehead. Just as warm as your cheek. “Think you’ve got a fever, honey.”

Nodding slightly, you leaned into his touch, his cool hand a soothing thing. When you opened your eyes, Billy could see how weary you were.

Panic surged through his body. Sick…how could you have gotten sick? He watched your health obsessively, waking up in the night to make sure you were still breathing.

And now here you were, feverish and sickly before him, looking pale, not well at all. Immediately he sprung up, going to the kitchen and tearing through the cabinets for medicine, anything.

By some miracle he found something in the back with just a few drops of liquid left. He wasn’t sure if it’d be enough, but he figured something was better than nothing.

He spoon fed the medicine to you, grimacing along with you as you swallowed, knowing the taste must be awful. “I know, baby. I know.”

Getting back into bed, he tried to soothe you into sleep, watching helplessly as your fever made you thrash. He held you tightly. “Oh, honey…honey…”

The day was long, arduous. He nursed you carefully, hoping and praying that you would pull out of it, that your body would fight the sickness coursing through you.

But it didn't. When he got out of bed in the morning and you didn't, he knew there was more to it.

He called the doctor, who grimly diagnosed your situation. With a gut lurch, he realized it was the same illness that killed his brother and mother both. Their fate was set in stone, past and gone. But he'd be damned if he lost you the same way.

You were the pinnacle of his existence, the center of his universe. If you slipped through his fingers too, there was no telling how desolate he would be. There's no way he would ever love again. You were the end all be all, the love of his life if there ever was one.

With a heavy heart, he remained by your side. It was so hard, watching you suffer the way you did, the grips of a fever your constant companion.

Billy obtained more medicine and made sure you consumed it, along with soup he prepared for you daily. He hardly left your side, offering his body as a pillow for you to rest upon. When you were lying on him, you hardly stirred. Every morsel of his attention was on your recovery, which seemed a light far in the distance, sometimes flickering.

The doctor wasn't hopeful. He prescribed medicine and rest, but there wasn't much else to do. After his visits, when you were fast asleep against Billy, your head on his chest, he'd allow himself a tear or two. It was a harrowing realization that you, the dearest love he'd ever known, weren't invincible. Though you were his gravity, you weren't unsusceptible to mortality's.

"You've gotta get better, sweetie," he murmured against your hair one night. "Baby...I need you. Need ya bad. Ain't no point in bein' good withoutcha. Withoutcha there isn't any good."

There was no response. Lately you'd been slipping in and out of consciousness, but mostly out. He hadn't heard more than a few words from you daily.

He stroked your hair, murmuring things into your hair that he hoped could be heard through the veil of your hazy mind. Death. It was an intimate thing. It crept into your waking mind and took until it was all you could think of. The momentum of it was braced by how swiftly it acted.

Now, Billy let himself think of what it would be to lose you. He saw pictures flash before his eyes.

Standing by your grave. Scattering the soil the way his mother always did. You would've liked his mother.

Coming to an empty house every day. Turning to the drink to avoid the loneliness of it.

Turning in the street every time he saw someone your height, or with your hair. Maybe even when he heard someone say your name, but their saying it was directed at someone else.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he saw it all dance before his eyes. He hadn't let himself fully cry yet, especially when he had you in his arms like this. But it was all crashing over him like a tidal wave, and he felt his resolve crumble.

Bowing his head, Billy buried his face in your hair, a quiet sob escaping him. Tears fell like rain, and he had a sudden fantasy that they would heal you. It turned to dust and scattered with the wind.

He fell asleep that night like that, holding you tight to him as if you'd disappear in the morning.

When he opened his eyes, the sunshine was filtering through the window, and he mumbled to himself for a moment, stretching out his arms and reaching for you.

His hand met empty sheets.

Panic coursed through his body, and he shot out of bed, running a hand through his hair, breathing heavily. Had his worst nightmare come true? Had the angels truly come for you, untangling you from his arms when he'd tried so hard to hold on tight. He shut his eyes and prayed harder than ever, only opening them when he heard a rustling in the kitchen.

Racing out, he nearly hit the wall, holding the side of it to come to a stop. There you were, sitting at the table and watching the window, wearing one of his shirts and sipping a cup of tea as if mere hours ago you hadn't been fighting for your life.

Billy let out a strangled sound, and moved forward, collapsing at your feet and hugging you around your waist, burrowing his face in your lap. Your thighs were bare, cool. No longer stricken with fever.

Your fingers touched the top of his head, and he could practically hear your smile. "Oh, Billy..."

"You're here, you're here, you're here," he said over and over into your tummy. "Baby...oh, my baby. You're here. Didn't lose ya...didn't..."

His rambling trailed off into nothing, and you kissed the top of his head. For a moment, he wondered if his tears really had healed you.

Looking up, he sat up straighter, pulling you gently out of your chair and into his lap, hands searching every part of you, making sure it was real, not some trick of the light or the mind.

You let him, a soft smile on your face. Billy had told you of his past experience with illness, and all he'd lost due to it.

But he didn't lose you. He'd taken fate by the reins and steered it the other direction

When he was done with his examination, he just hugged you tight around your middle, remaining gentle due to the fact that you were still recovering. "My baby. Never lettin' ya go again. Might accidentally drag ya right down t' hell with me."

You giggled, and the sound rejuvenated him. "Billy. That's a long way off. Besides, who's to say I'm not dragging you to heaven?"

That was his girl. Happy and bright and beautiful in every way. He hid his face in your collarbone, unsure if he'd let you get up. "M' sweet girl. You're a wonder, you are. Only you'd take a wanted man to heaven." Billy pressed a kiss to where he was buried against you. "I've had enough heaven for a lifetime from every second with you."

[kivino]

TAKE US BACK || ZOMBIE AU || KYLE ‘GAZ’ GARRICK X GN!READER

Word Counter – 6.4k words

Summary – The new world was rotten, and you rotted away with it. 

Tags/Warnings – Zombie AU (heavily twd coded, don’t expect some l4d type of stuff /lh. Death and turning after the bite ARE slower, however. For the sake of drama. obviously), gore, blood, gn!Reader, established relationship, heavy angst, major character death. 

A/n – So, this fic is my contribution to the spooky season! Special thanks to @mockerycrow for helping me with the pictures for the header, you're the best, pookie!!! I have a playlist for this fic too, so in case you want to read this with complete immersion I’ll link it here. Enjoy <333

also available on my ao3

upd. if you saw that unfinished paragraph you didn’t see anything, move along 👁️👁️

“Kyle, I think…I think I’m bitten.” was all it took to shatter him into millions of tiny pieces. Just like that. Nothing mattered anymore, even that you promised each other to stay alive, no matter what. In the back of his mind, he knew all those promises muttered into his lips while he feverishly kissed you were empty, shallow attempts to silence his mind, to make him sleep in peace, thinking you’ll be there no matter what. And of course, he didn’t doubt your words even for a split second.

Kyle knew he was a fool to believe that. To think the two of you were inseparable. In a world like this, how could one even think of something staying forever untouched by decay that spread far beyond the horizon? Rot overtook everything, and if something was still untouched by it, soon enough that wither would find a way to slither inside, spoiling it forever. It would even find its way into people’s minds, ruining humanity in a manner no physical disease could ever hope to damage them. Kyle and you have seen it happen far too many times, and his only wish was for you to meet your end together, peacefully. But now…he only wished he had the strength to go on, he truly did. 

Because you needed him. Now more than ever. 

And so, he kept trying. If he didn’t then both of you would be done for. You didn’t deserve that, not when all he wanted was for you to be safe and well, not caring much about himself. You were the one who saved him when all the shit went down, now it was time to return the favor. So, he pushed himself through every agonizingly slow day. But he was starting to feel the already feeble remains of his strength slipping away from him. He wouldn’t give up, however. Never. Not when your life depended on it. 

That’s why while you were bedridden, weakness setting in your body as a permanent, bitter resident, Kyle was scouring the old town for fever and cold medicine, trying to be as quiet as possible, not to attract any undead. He had a gun, but he did not use it – too loud and bullets were a luxury, not a commodity. Kyle only had one bullet, following the advice of a nice older man with mutton chops he remembered meeting in one of the survivor camps a long time ago.

“Always save the last bullet for yourself or your loved ones. You never know who’ll need it more”

Methods aside, recent days were spent wandering abandoned houses in attempts to find at least some food for the two of you. Only when the darkness started to settle, Kyle would head back, throwing his backpack over the fence and barely managing to climb it, sore muscles and empty stomach sending jolts of pain all through his body. Even then, he was restless, sitting by your side, wiping your forehead of sweat, and taking your temperature. Your breathing was strained, chest rising and falling under thin blankets that barely kept you warm. And each time he looked at you for more than a minute at a time he felt his insides twisting in pain, eyes getting white-hot with tears, and throat closing, barely letting him take a short breath just so he doesn’t suffocate in his misery.

And then the sun rises, warm rays painting the room in a variety of colors, falling over your face, morning birds wake up Kyle from his nightmare-filled sleep. He jolts awake from the dreams, filled with the image of you, dying in agony over and over, crying out for help, begging him to do something. You get torn apart, your intestines spilling out on the damp floor, pulled out by a crowd of the undead who devour you with vigorous hunger, biting into your flesh until he can’t recognize your face from the bloody and mangled pulp that rotting hands and jagged teeth turn you into. Your raw, pained screams haunt him even when he’s awake, observing you lose your life all over again. Much slower and in a much more painful way. 

The sun rises. And so does Kyle. Your desperate pleas that drag from the dream are muffled as soon as he sees you sleeping. Forgetting, that you were getting weaker with each day that passed. Choosing to bask in your tranquil glow, in the way your eyelashes fluttered while you slept, choosing to neglect the worry clawing on the back of his mind just to stay like this with you for a little longer. Kyle knew he couldn’t delay the inevitable, but he still decided to make the best out of the short amount of time he had left with you. Hoping that some miracle would happen and you wouldn’t succumb to the decay. That the bite would turn out to be a bad dream you both had on the same night, waking up from it in cold sweat, searching for the comfort of each other’s embrace, while letting out relieved sighs, realizing that you’re safe. 

That would be great, wouldn’t it?

Instead, he shakes you awake with a gentle hand, almost not wanting to wake you up from your slumber. You blink up at him, looking even more tired than before you went to sleep. Circles under your eyes are even darker than the previous night. And Kyle is in pain once again. He wants to help you up, throwing your arm over his shoulder, to lead you through the long, silent halls of the school where you were staying, full of dust and damp, moldy smell, to have breakfast together. Like good old times. But he sees that in your eyes, you’re too weak to pull your weight up and stand up. So, he brings the heated-up cans of beans here, putting one on a stool in front of you, helping you to sit up before he even thinks of touching his food.

“Kyle, that’s twice what I usually eat.” You mutter, watery eyes rising to him, sitting on the mattress in front of you with his legs crossed. He raises his eyebrow and his head shifts to the side in a questioning motion.

“Well, you have to eat plenty to recover.” He said, matter-of-factly. You stay silent, unwilling to have that debate right now. You barely managed to stay awake as it is. Let him think that you’ll get better, despite everything you saw together. Despite every rule that you’ve discovered. Let him live in the illusion, in the waking dream that all will be well if he tries hard enough. “Well, what are you waiting for? It’s growing cold” 

You didn’t realize that you’d been drilling the can of steaming beans in front of you with your glassy gaze for the past several minutes, submerged in your thoughts deep enough to suffocate. You pick up the spoon with a weak, shaky motion. Then your eyes fall on the can. Somehow, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to pick it up. Failing at something so simple…you knew it’d hurt your pride even more. So, you opted to push the tin closer to the edge of the stool.

Kyle glanced over at you, beads of sweat glistening on your forehead. He sensed the fatigue from you, lacing the air that surrounded you and leaving dark, oily traces over anything your fingers lingered on. You breathed sickness. Your hands, which were able to easily bash an undead’s head on the wall just several days ago, now could barely hold a spoon steady without it trembling and threatening to fall, spilling all the contents over the moth-eaten blanket. He felt his heart squeeze in pain, and he swore that something shattered inside of him once again. 

“Let me help you.” Although it sounded like an offer, Kyle didn’t look like he was going to let you debate it, shuffling closer to you, taking the spoon from your hand in a swift motion. You purse your lips, knowing that protesting that would be stupid. If it wasn’t for how weak and sick you were, and for a lot of other circumstances, it would be a cutesy moment. Your dear spoon-feeding you something? Please, one’s teeth would rot from how sweet it is. But now it was just another deep, bleeding gash on your pride. Kyle blows on the food, cooling it off and promptly moving it towards your mouth with his hand cupped just under the spoon. You obediently clamp your lips around the spoon. “There we go.” He gives you a small smile, but you see the melancholy in his eyes when Kyle wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb. He means well, yet you can’t help but feel like you’re a burden to him. 

You loathed being like this. Being this weak. Fragile. You were able to fend for yourself, you had resilience and strength, but now you were just rendered useless, only dragging Kyle down, depriving him of the freedom to go on.

He’ll die if he continues like this.

You knew it. He was exhausted, and you’ve been like this for a little over a week. Survival wasn’t about skill anymore, it was about luck. You lost yours already, the moment rotten, jagged teeth sunk into the flesh of your forearm like it was butter, drawing the first blood. But Kyle, he…sooner or later he will lose his luck too. And it was apparent that it was coming sooner than you anticipated. A bullet he won’t be able to dodge. An infected scratch. An undead that he simply didn’t notice because of how tired he is. A bear trap in the vicinity of someone’s camp. Something will get to Kyle. Or someone. And thankfully, you won’t be here to witness it. Hopefully.

 “What are you doing? Where are we going?” You barely managed to mutter out, clinging to him with all the strength you had, which, to be fair, wasn’t a lot. He could feel the cold of your hands clasped around his neck even through several layers of his clothes. Kyle’s hands carefully held you under your thighs as he went up the stairs, not showing any signs of exertion except for beads of sweat on his temples. 

“Just thought we might watch the sunrise together, like good old days” You could hear the soft smile that tugged on his mouth when he said that. Another reminder for you that he probably loathed the way you lived right now and would prefer to go back to the way things were. With you not being his…burden.

You didn’t need to be reminded of this. Of the “good old days”. Finding that abandoned farm, deep in the buttcrack of the countryside was what saved the both of you when the world started going to shit. You and Kyle met each other years prior, but it didn’t matter anymore. Not when everything as you knew it was gone.

Hiding there gave you a sense of normalcy you missed so much, after having to live for months, years like an animal. You didn’t feel like the world as you knew it was falling apart beyond that fence with cracked white paint. Deserted fields full of dead crops, empty house with a bunch of stuff forgotten or thrown around messily - it was obvious the owners wouldn’t come back any time soon. Snooping around gave you too much information - you couldn’t help but feel a bitter burn on the back of your throat when you picked up a framed family photo from the fireplace, five tan faces staring back at you with perpetual smiles etched into the glossy paper. 

You didn’t have the gall to throw away or burn everything personal the previous family left behind. Photo albums, children's clothes and toys, diplomas, drawings, letters, posters, and even something as small as shopping lists on the fridge, five life stories were packed into several boxes, taped and put in the attic. Kyle didn’t understand your wish to preserve something that wasn’t even yours, but he didn’t interfere, choosing to give you a hand instead. If it helped you to sleep in someone else’s bed calmer, replacing the presumably dead strangers, he was willing to indulge you.

Despite how far away from the civilization this farm was, seeing an undead roaming around wasn’t a very rare occurrence, but at least you could handle the occasional walking corpses. You wake up, you go on patrol. You finish patrol, and you meet the sunrise with Kyle by your side, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, with a blanket thrown over the both of you, sitting on the front porch, right on the creaking stairs. These fleeting moments felt so right. Like home.

Eventually, you had to continue moving. Started to run short on supplies ever since then. Running into all sorts of different people, relying on strangers, leading a nomad way of life. It wasn’t unfulfilling, since you only needed the company of each other to keep it together. In a variety of groups that you’ve been through it was always a known fact that you’ll stick by each other before someone else.

All he needed was your loving hug when you came back from a supply run. A soft kiss that you would put on that scar right on his cheek. Or to hold your hand under the table when you sat down to eat with whatever group you were with this week, like your love for each other was a secret meant only for the two of you. All you needed was his warmth, his comfort, his mere presence, that would light up your shitty day like a damn light beam. He managed to take your breath away each time he looked at you with such gentleness and softness that sometimes you didn’t think you deserved it. You’ve found the world in each other. A purpose.

So what is Kyle going to do when you’re gone?

The morbid thought suddenly crosses your mind, while the man carefully sits you down on a worn lawn chair with a soft grunt, plopping down on the ground by your side, warm palm reassuringly resting on your thigh. Bringing you down to earth. Gusts of frosty wind brush through your hair, nipping at your cheeks, nose, and ears. You missed the outside, despite it being quite cold and unwelcoming this time of the year.

“I think the herd's close. See that dust?” Kyle taps you lightly on your leg and points towards the horizon. And true to his words, there is a fine dark line separating the sky, burning up in a mix of reds and yellows, from the earth. “They’re moving weird.”

“What does that mean?” you croak at Kyle, not able to peel your eyes from that sheet of gray, bunched-up dust that sat on the edge of the horizon like a shadow.

“Means if we’re lucky they’ll pass the school.” Kyle mutters, trying to reassure you, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze.

And then it clicks.

When he came back from the supply run you were nowhere to be found in the wind-torn building. There were no traces of you in the old cafeteria on the first floor where the two of you would heat up the canned food that your taste buds got used to over the long months the end of the world stretched over. Before you got bit.

He felt his heart sink to his stomach, so nauseous from the mere thought of something happening to you. Kyle fought himself not to double over, press his forehead against the wall and throw up everything you two had for breakfast until he feels the acidic burn on his tongue and cries his damn eyes out from the pain. You knew that the herd was getting closer, why did you have to disappear right now? You two were supposed to wait it out together, by each other’s side. What were you doing, and more importantly, what were you thinking? Nothing made sense. Nothing at all.

Kyle felt the wall with an awkward, stiff motion of his hand, before putting his weight on it and sliding down, he felt like his legs could not hold him anymore. You barely had the strength to sit upright, where would you go in your condition? 

The only place he could think of that was close enough for you to get to was the motor inn down the street. Of course.

The herd was already here. Kyle had no time to spare, he needed to act now, to get you and run away as fast as possible. He remembered there was a car in that old motor inn, so that could be your getaway plan, sure thing he could figure something out…and to get there…He can use that old trick that another group of survivors taught you two. “If you smell like them, they won’t notice you, simple as that. Just make sure not to bump into anyone, or they’ll get real friendly with you.” Of course. It was that easy. You never resorted to that trick, preferring to avoid or dispose of the undead on sight. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

Kyle cringed at that sinking feeling in his stomach, but not at the thought of having to walk through the herd and probably be eaten alive, no. The possibility of you not being in that motor inn was what made that hollow pit inside of him grow. The fact that he might never see you again. Or that he would find you already gone.

He moves with calculated precision. Catch the undead’s attention, yellowish whites are dull under the daylight. Let it get close enough, it groans with each movement, joints snapping and clicking. Make the undead lose its balance, kick it in the knee, and the rotting leg almost falls off under the force that Kyle unintentionally applies. Destroy the brain, put a hunting knife right to the forehead, and let it thud to the ground, finally at rest. He’s thoughtlessly going through the motions, every step ingrained into his consciousness, almost like second nature to him. Rips through the stomach of the undead, black, resinous blood oozing out. Sinks his hands in the intestines, they smell so strong Kyle tears up and gags, hands shuffling around clothes caked with dirt and grime, swiping putrid, nasty mass all over himself. But it’s nothing. It’s alright. It will be worth it when he finds you.

After that, everything he remembers is under a thick blanket of haze, accompanied by the smell. You never get used to it. He feels nauseous, his insides twisting in worry, gnawing and biting at his heart like a terrified, desperate dog. His eyes grasp onto anything, but all Kyle sees is the sea of rotting flesh all around him, groans and moans of the undead so echoing in his ears loud all he wants is to tumble to the ground and end it all. He barely breathes with how tight his chest is squeezing his heart, it feels like in a split moment his insides will collapse onto themselves, capturing him in this meat cage. He has to remind himself that he’s not doing it for himself, he’s doing it for you, only for you. Kyle has to let his thoughts travel to your voice, to the way your nose scrunched when you laughed, to the frown between your brows when you slept in his arms just so he doesn’t go mad. Stares from decomposing, milky white eyes with yellows, blues, and reds here and there felt like stabs right through him, each could be the last if he gave himself away.

He could be grabbed by any of the half-rotten hands with sickly yellowish bones sticking out like spears of the cavemen, bitten, dragged away, or devoured. But he pressed on through the seemingly endless crowd of the undead. He would be lying if he said it didn’t affect him. That abandoned motor inn was like a beacon right now, but his imagination still ran wild, his hope growing more and more dim with each minute spent away from you. He didn’t feel like any hero. Kyle was scared. Mostly for you, but he could feel the tremble in his knees at the mere thought of any undead in the crowd recognizing him as an impostor. If that happens, he won’t be able to mutter even a single word. Rotten fingers will dig into his flesh, tearing it apart and Kyle will meet his end like this, on the damp ground, abandoned and scared out of his damn mind.

When Kyle pressed himself against the closed door of the motor inn, he finally could breathe in again. It wasn’t the time for a break, however. He still needed to find you. He wanders through the dusty, ransacked rooms in a daze, fixated on finding any traces you left, noticing the old rusty car in passing. The getaway plan. If the two of you are lucky enough. Footprints in the dust. They look new, and similar to the ones on the soles of your old boots. He follows. Your thin blanket lies forgotten on the stairs. Kyle practically flies up to the second floor, picking up the blanket, while he’s at it. More footprints in the dust, door to some old office is left ajar.

First, you felt the smell. Then you heard him cry out your name in surprise. And then you finally saw Kyle. He’s a blur of red, black, and brown. Covered head to toe with blood, guts, rotting flesh, and dirt, you presume. A sad, heartbreaking sight. Kyle, however, doesn’t mind it and immediately runs towards you, falling on the floor with a loud thud, and you’re sure he might’ve scraped his knees with how hard he landed. His arms cage you in a tight hug and you hear him let out a shaky exhale. Tears start to sting your eyes when you feel him pressing your head into his shoulder, stroking you with a gentle motion. You weren’t sure if he was trying to comfort you or reassure himself that you’re real, and not a fragment of his imagination. Regardless, you manage to reciprocate the hug, raising one of your arms and wrapping it around his back.

All of these days you saved up your energy for the last push. You needed to get away from him. You couldn’t trust yourself to remain near Kyle anymore. Any moment you could turn. You felt it in the way your bones ached with every gust of wind, how your blood boiled under your veins and your vision turned even more blurry. And in that case, you’d be a threat to Kyle, possibly getting him at his most vulnerable. It didn’t matter that you’d be long gone by then, you would still never forgive yourself if there was any possibility of it happening. Because, deep down you knew. No matter how skilled and ruthless Kyle was with handling the undead…he didn’t have it in him to bash your head in. So, you only had one choice to ensure his safety.

Yet he finds you. Here. You could feel your cheeks burn from being so angry at him, for his lack of acceptance that you were on the brink, and all it would take for you right now to fall into the abyss would be a light gust of wind or a slight shove. But you couldn’t blame him. You thought a lot about what you would do if the roles were reversed. The scenario brewed in your mind, haunting those short hours you were awake and trapping you in restless dreams.

You would want to live in illusion too.

“There you are.” You could practically feel something inside of you crack when you catch his smile beaming at you. Kyle just went to hell and back to get to you. And he still finds it in himself to smile at you, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders with hurried, but soothing movements. You were so weakened by the bite that you couldn’t even find any strength to go down the stairs and get the blanket when you dropped it. Humiliating. “Come on, we have to go, now, we can’t stay here.” He tries to scoop you up in a warm hug again, but you dig your heels into the ground. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” he looks at you again, trying to catch what is wrong,

“No.” Kyle looks you over, eyes open wide, expression of confusion and sadness on his face. Of course, he doesn’t understand.

“You don’t…have anything on you. Then how, how did you even…” You didn’t have any grime on you at all, looking like you just walked through the herd of the undead without any preparation. But then his eyes trail lower and he sees it. Your left hand, cuffed to the rusty radiator. Suddenly the wave of terror cuts through him, like a fine, thin string through a block of fresh clay.

You came here to die.

“They stop paying attention to you once you’re far along enough. So…I guess that’s it.” He hated you for saying that. God, he hated you so much, he wanted to cling onto your body and suffocate you, arms wrapped around you in weak, pathetic attempts to shield you from any harm. “I…I don’t have any time left.” Kyle felt like he got punched in the gut. Air squeezed out of his lungs, wheezing in pain that he felt for you, because of you, chest aching, tearing apart, and baring his heart under the cage made of bones. 

“No. No, no, no, no, you can’t say that! Why are you saying that?” And for the first time, since Kyle saw the bloodied, ragged teeth marks on your flesh, he broke down into minuscule, fragile pieces right in front of you. His voice trembled, frantic and exerted, refusing to believe you even dared to make peace with the inevitable. He grabs your shoulders firmly and his fingers dig into you so hard he can feel how cold you are through your clothes.

Key. He has to release you from the handcuffs. The herd was here, the way the floor vibrated under his feet, and the way gargled moans and sighs echoed outside made Kyle even more agitated. Where did you get those handcuffs anyway? It only takes a moment for him to remember. One of the supply runs that feels like a lifetime ago. Police station. Searching the bodies, or rather, what was left of them, for anything useful. You take out the handcuffs and show them to Kyle, telling him some kind of joke. He can’t remember what it was or the way you smiled, only that you made him laugh. 

He wished instead of quiet rasping he could hear your laugh again.

“Where is the key from the handcuffs, where did you put it?” Kyle jumped to his feet and started looking over the room in a hurry, suffocated by the fear of losing you. He was wishing, hoping that you would show him where you hid the key, somewhere, anywhere, Kyle needed to throw you on his back and run right this moment.

“Fuck, listen to me, listen. To me.” you tried to snap him out of his delirium, with your harsh tone, freezing palms digging the bloodstains Kyle left on your blanket “You know what you have to do.” He shook his head wildly, looking at you like were mad for even suggesting something like this. “I don’t want to become one of them! You have to make sure I won’t come back.”

“Have you lost your damn mind?! I-” Kyle didn’t understand you. How can you say, make a request like this? Something was fundamentally wrong and the bite, the illness were to blame.

“Have you?” you interrupted, pouring all of your strength into this yelling match. You didn’t care anymore. You felt your fingers going numb, black, inky spots dancing on the edges of your vision, taunting you in their vicious dance macabre. You did not have time for his lame excuses and whatever it was he was trying to be right now. “I’m asking you one thing, and you can’t even do that! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You couldn’t feel the way tears burned your cheeks.

“Listen to me, please! I’m not putting a bullet in your head; do I look like a fucking murderer to you?” Kyle pinches his brow in frustration, not even able to look at you right now. Every single suggestion and comment from you stings, fucking hurts and tears him open once again. Because you’re talking nonsense. Absolute bullshit. And you don’t even realize it, he thinks, blinded by your sudden chase after death.

“I’m fucking dying and you’re worried about not being a murderer? Are you being fucking serious right now?” You couldn’t believe your ears, quite frankly. It was the only thing that you had asked of him. The only thing that you wanted. To be finally released. You couldn’t bear it anymore. Your body working against you, living with the constant threat of turning any second, massacring and desecrating Kyle’s corpse as a bloodthirsty, disgusting creature, that will have your face, your body, your hands, and your voice, but not anything that makes you – you. No memories. No love. No inner strength and compassion. Just hunger and urge to slaughter, destroy, and ravage everything in your sight.

“You know that’s not what I meant! Why are you doing this right now?” Kyle felt like he was about to collapse into himself from despair. He couldn’t just do what you were suggesting. And you knew it, yet you chose to ignore it and refuse any acceptance? You always listened to him, even if you didn’t quite agree. You always were patient with him. What’s gotten into you now, what happened?

You don’t have any more time. That’s what happened.

“Oh, so I run away, trying to keep you safe so you live another day and see another one of these stupid sunrises, cuff myself here just so I don’t harm anyone and you can’t even do what I’m asking you to?!” Your voice rises to a volume you didn’t even know you had in you right now, after dragging yourself through the imitation of your former life for a little less than a week. To think your suffering so far lasted less than a week, yet you were ready to end it all right this moment.

Because you could feel it in your bones. You were close.

“Well, tell me, what’s the point of me living if you’re dead?!” You can hear the way his voice breaks in the end. Desperate. Pleading.

The silence rings in your ears with how loud it is. 

“I’m sorry.”  You croak at him after a short while, eyes trained on the dirty floor. Kyle chuckles, the sound that you love so much, but then it’s followed by a muffled sob. He kneels in front of you once again and your eyes rise to meet his. You can’t help but think that he looks even more beautiful covered in rotting guts, with his eyes full of light and love for a doomed failure like you.

It’s almost impossible to breathe from how hard your heart aches. God, you love him so much. You want to take all the pain from him with you, into the vile, putrid abyss. Kyle takes your hands in his. You’re terrifyingly cold. And he’s too warm. You feel tears rising to your eyes, prickling at them, as you fail at your attempts not to break down right now.

“I can’t stay mad at you when you make that face.” Kyle says with a small laugh that breaks into dry sobs, as his shoulders shudder violently with every single one, before he clings onto you, seeking comfort and reassurance, that you’ll be here. With him.

His embrace feels suffocating. It’s so tight you think any more pressure from him will break your bones into yellowish sharp daggers and fine dust. And you’d forgive Kyle if that happened. You’d forgive him for anything, quite frankly. Funny, how now you have the answer to what you would do if he was the one turning. You’d let him devour you wholly, in the ultimate show of love. You’d let him bite into you, whatever he wanted – neck, arm, a leg, he could have. You’d lay in the pool of your blood, muffling your pained cries by stuffing that worn blanket into your mouth. You’d slowly slip away into oblivion, letting your undead beloved gnaw on your bones and taste the love that would seep out of your flesh. You would probably turn a lot faster if that happened too. And then you’d be together for eternity. You knew Kyle always wanted you two to be together. Both in life and in death.

“I’ll wait for you. I promise.” You barely manage to squeeze a smile out of yourself to comfort Kyle, feeling your strength leaving you. Succumbing to the weakness that spread a dull ache over your body, to that festering rot inside of you, that was finally overtaking. You felt cold, thin digits of terror sink right through your chest, sweat prickling once again on your forehead and temples. There was no use clinging unto something that was unsalvageable. Your body and your mind were beyond repair. You knew it. Only he kept you here.

“Please…don’t leave me.” Kyle couldn’t feel anything besides the pain and hot needles jabbing his eyes. Your touch almost felt unreal, how weak, subtle it was. He tore away from you only for a moment, bloody palms cupping your face. His lips pressed against yours in a quick, feverish kiss, and even more pecks like this followed – to your forehead, eyelids, corners of your mouth, and nose. As if this would save you from inevitably losing the remains of your strength. As if you weren’t clinging to your last seconds with him as it is. “Please…please.” He whispered against your skin. His tears glittered like gemstones in the dim glow of the sunset. Kyle looked so beautiful like this. Yours.

He missed the moment when he stopped feeling short, warm breaths on his neck and your body started to get cooler to the touch. But he wasn’t ready to let you go just yet. A little more time, that’s all he needed. So, he lays your head across his lap, carefully, gently. Like he’s trying not to wake you up from a peaceful dream about places far better than this world. Kyle desperately tries to find that strength to make sure you won’t come back, to grant your last wish, but he just…he can’t. Now when you were right here, beside him, getting your well-deserved rest.

But you started stirring back to life unexpectedly, and just when Kyle wanted to say something, he realized, that it wasn’t quite you. The glazed-over eyes with a milky white cloud over them looked right through him, the blood that was dripping down from your nose, ears, eyes, and mouth after your brain finally shut off from the illness. The strained rasp, full of pain and hands that started grabbing and clawing at Kyle with crooked fingers, contorted into bizarre figures.

Kyle’s heart leaped down to his feet again in fear and he forced himself to push away your undead form, reaching out to him, pleading for something he no longer understood, as he crawled away, still facing whatever you turned into. If his heart wasn’t pumping blood through his body as fast he would’ve felt the small cuts from scraping his hands on the dirty floor. But his eyes were on what was left of you.

There were no traces of what he was searching for in this hollow shell, stolen from his love, stolen from you. Crimson trickling down from the mouth, the creature in your shape bares its bloody teeth and lets out a gargled moan, stretching the trembling hand towards him, demanding flesh, demanding sacrifice. And in Kyle’s mind, this isn’t you. This just can’t be. Absolutely not.

Kyle thought about the way you held him in your arms, while he gripped his shoulders in a tight hug. He thought of the way your thumb brushed over his knuckles. His thoughts traveled to the distant past, when you met him years ago in that summer camp, even before the world started rotting, only to be reborn a sick copy of itself.  He remembered your smile when you sat near countless bonfires. The way fire played in your eyes. Your old leather jacket, the tent in your old survivor camp, the older man with mutton chops.

It wasn’t long before a bullet was between his fingers, being drilled by his sharp eyes. Kyle sat there, silent, eyes trained on the gun in his hand, unable to even look at your cuffed undead. Contemplating. Letting his mind stir around, thoughts sticking to the inside of his skull, brewing and bubbling there, like heavy resin. Kyle’s heart sent waves of dull, ringing ache all over his body. His eyes were on fire, burning and raw from tears.

Nothing made sense anymore. Kyle’s endless search through his mind landed on another memory again. Survivor camp in the forest. Ring of mountains to the west. A woman with dark, brown eyes and a shaved head.

“Turning is not the end. They still harbor the memories of their former selves. They’re just prisoners in their own bodies. I know that it’s not the end for them, it can’t be.”

Right now, Kyle would’ve clung to any lie that would explain to him your state. He would’ve believed any tale. You can’t just be gone in an instant, just shedding all that made you yourself like a snake sheds its skin, or a bird picks out the old feathers. How could he ever accept that you were gone, like a puff of smoke on the wind, leaving no visible trace, only the gaping, bloody hole in his heart and years’ worth of memories in his head?

All he ever wanted was to be with you. In life and death.

A minute passes. Another one follows.

A single gunshot echoes through the valley, drowned out by the rumble of the herd.

Taglist - @mockerycrow, @stridersdiner

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[ejzah]

Blunt Force, Part 11

***

“You know, I’m not a big surprise guy. I kind of like to know what’s going on, particularly given recent developments,” Deeks commented. Kensi had arrived at his apartment early Saturday moment, armed with a hot cup of coffee just the way he liked it, a donut, and instructions to get ready for an excursion.

Normally, he’d have a few questions, but three weeks out from his TBI, cabin fever had started to set in. The worst of his concussion symptoms had resolved, but he still wasn’t cleared for most activities that would he’ll pass the time. Definitely not surfing or running, which he’d relied on a lot to deal with both frustration and boredom.

So, he’d changed into jeans and a t-shirt, grabbed his phone, and let Kensi drive without any idea of their destination.

“Deeks, relax, I’m not kidnapping you,” Kensi said now, calmly driving along a road lined with a mix of gas stations, apartments, and retail establishments. He dipped his head to glance out the passenger window.

“Well, two minutes ago I wasn’t too worried, but this does kind of look like my old stomping grounds. Please tell me you didn’t stage an intervention with my mother.” He intended it mostly as a joke, but the surrounding area did look pretty familiar.

“Deeks, I’ve never even met your mom.”

“Really?” That surprised him after the amount of time they’d spent together since his injury. He started to ask why, but Kensi signaled to turn into a parking lot with a strip mall, which contained several chain restaurants, a boutique, and supplements store from what he could see. “Did you have a sudden craving for the Chinese buffet?”

“No. Though the crab Rangoon from that place are amazing,” she said.

“I know. I used to come here all the time when I lived in the area,” he told her.

She flashed him an odd look, but didn’t say anything else as she slowed in front of a nondescript gray building and parked towards the back of the parking lot.

“Kensi, where are we?”

“Do you trust me?” she returned, fingers clamping and unclamping around the steering wheel.

“Yeah,” he said without much thought. She hadn’t given him a reason not to.

“It’s a firing range.”

“That’s what I thought, which leads to my next question. Why?”

Putting the SUV in park, Kensi sighed and turned to face him. “We spent a lot of time practicing and training, so I thought being in a familiar environment might, I don’t know, bring up some memories. And if not, it’s a good bonding exercise.”

“And we could do that at the buffet or a walk in the park. Literally, anything else,” he said. Kensi pressed her lips together, staying silent for several seconds.

“Do you trust me?” she repeated, more softly this time.

He narrowed his eyes, but didn’t call her on the blatant manipulation. “Ok, let’s go shoot stuff,” he said unenthusiastically.

Kensi rented two lanes for them along with ear protection. When the attendant asked if they needed weapons or ammunition, she said they had their own.

At this time of day, there was only one other patron at the far end of the room. Deeks instantly felt tense at the muted sound of gunfire, the smell of gunpowder.

Once they were set up in their lanes, Kensi removed a gun from her waistband. He instantly recognized the model thanks to way too many cases involving firearms.

“This is your preferred service weapon at the moment,” Kensi explained, offering it to him with the muzzle pointed towards the floor. “You switched from a Smith and Wesson a while back. Here, take it.”

“Guns aren’t my favorite thing,” Deeks drawled, side-eyeing the weapon with distaste.

“I understand, but I’d bet a month worth of dish duties that Hetty will ask for a firearms demonstration, so…” she presented the gun to him again.

With extreme reluctance, Deeks took the gun by the handle. The weight and coolness of the metal didn’t surprise him, but the vague sense of familiarity did. He hadn’t held a gun of any kind in his bare hands in over a decade. It felt odd, not wrong exactly, but certainly not something he enjoyed.

“Why don’t you take a shot?” Kensi suggested.

“Or I could just watch you.”

“Deeks.” Coming up behind him, she cupped his elbows, physically adjusting his arms and hands into the appropriate position. When she stepped back, he missed the warmth again his back. He automatically shifted slightly in a way that felt more natural. Raising his hands a little higher, he pulled the trigger, and the bullet pinged off a piece of metal outside of the target.

“Yep, I’m a natural,” he commented.

“It’s going to take a minute,” Kensi assured him. “Though I’m going to remember how bad that was later on.”

“Sure, keep making fun of the concussed guy.”

“Yeah, you poor baby.” Moving over to her own lane, she removed a second gun from her waistband, adjusted her headphones, and aimed with an impressive amount of speed, shooting several bullets in a row.

She casually stepped back with a smug smile and brought the target forward.

“Wow, that’s impressive. And kind of terrifying.”

“Thank you. Now it’s your turn again.”

“As delightful as your demonstration was, I don’t think I’m going to be any better this time around.” He tried to hand the gun back, but Kensi shook her head.

“Close your eyes and visualize yourself aiming the gun and shooting,” Kensi instructed him, and he followed along as she kept speaking. He’d never taken Kensi for the type to buy into this kind of thing. “You’ve done this a thousand times before. It’s second nature at this point. It’s easy.”

He focused on his breathing, letting his thoughts drift with the sound of Kensi’s voice. He imagined the times when he’d wished he could defend someone over the years. The little girl who got bullied by kids twice her age, the eighteen year old boy hurt in a carjacking, the terrified mom just trying to protect her children. Eleven year old Marty Deeks.

Deeks’ eyes sprang open and he raised his arms, gun held between his hands; everything stilled around him as he aimed and pulled the trigger six times. He lowered the gun, breathing as hard as if he’d just finished a race.

Beside him, Kensi reeled in the target, revealing six bullet holes clustered around the bullseye.

“Wow,” she commented. “I guess that muscle memory kicked in after all.”

Shaking, Deeks pulled the headphones off and shoved them into Kensi’s hands.

“Yeah, it’s fantastic,” he muttered.

“Deeks,” he heard her say, but he pushed past her, ignoring her repeated calls.

***

A/N: Was that too much?