#hes not thinking abt it and he looks so...

[writingadjacent]

just thinking abt Steve's big back yard and Eddie and the kids visiting and Eddie bringing the waterguns that Wayne got him when he was a kid and all of the kids grab water guns and start spraying each other and the sun is bright in the sky. Steve sort of watches them play in his big back yard and thinks about how literally no one has played around in ever. Eddie watches him and sees the sort of sad look cross his face so he snatches a water gun from Mike despite his grumbling and sprays Steve with it.

"Not the hair!" Steve screeched, not expecting to get wet. He grabs a water gun from whichever kid is closest to him and starts running after Eddie.

They chase each other around Steve's big huge back yard and its probably the first time Steve has ever actually had fun in this yard.

dunno maybe Steve catches Eddie and sprays the crap out of him. and then Eddie, his hair wet and his grin big presses his lips to Steve's and they kiss sweetly and maybe a little bit aggressively.

Then they pull apart quickly as they get sprayed by water from Dustin standing above them.

"You guys are nasty. I'm spraying you like dogs. That's nasty."

[theyluvjake]

౨ৎ : thinking abt jake x somnophilia

warnings: somnophilia, cnc, perv!bf jake, established relationship, reader is used to this behavior and fully consents!

18+ MINORS DNI.

smut, jake x fem reader, established relationship

—

he just cant help it. you look so pretty and peaceful sleeping. the way your tiny pajamas get all swished around in your sleep revealing your tits and riding up your ass. he cant help but even snap a few pictures. he feels like a pervert but he doesn't really care. not when hes too dazed seeing you like this.

he presses record and decides to test the limits. knowing you were a deep sleeper he could usually get away with alot before you woke up. he carefully pulls down the covers and pushes up your pajamas top full, leaving your tits on full display, his hands waste no time quickly groping and squishing them in his hands, still filming it all. you stir in your sleep a little but still isnt enough to scare him.

before he knows it hes sliding off your shorts and moving your panties to the side, lining up his tip at your entrance. slowly pushing himself into you, watching intently how your body reacts, as you start to stir out of your slumber. "j-jake?"

"shh shh... its me baby, i got you" he whispers softly.

"what are you...?" you mumbled sleepily and confused slowly starting to realize what was going on, feeling achingly full.

"im sorry baby, you looked so cute... i couldn't help myself.. needed to be inside you."

and thats when a small soft whimper escapes your lips, without even being fully aware your body instantly reacts, welcoming him and whatever touch hes giving you.

"shh thats it princess, just lay there and let me fuck you, hm?"

© theyluvjake

reblog if you enjoyed!! requests are open ~

[jameslongforjimshortforgabriel]

thx for the tag !!! same excuse i wrote in the last post applies to this one too i fear...

kinda funny that i got guitar bc i quite literally play the violin but lately ive been thinking abt also playing the guitar maybe who knows. also AWWWWWWWWWWWW LOOK AT THAT GUY HES SO 🤏

@blatterpussbunnyfromhell @jumbleddufus @mysterious-corpse @goofresita @iam-the-wild @pickedmyp0ison @asclexe @93millionmilesaway @wonderviolet17 @oxymoronicdumbass @scary-ivy plus anyone else who wants to join !!

I feel like making one of those uquiz and picrew chains with these random ones I found sooo

Take this quiz and find out what instrument you are and thennnn

make a lil guy with this picrew :))))

(As a viola player I’m VERY offended. So offended, offended beyond belief. But hey kitty :)) )

@ilivebyshipping @glassesgirlies @lusxnei6

[taegimood]

— nudes?! (k.th) ♡

pairing: kang taehyun x fem!reader genre: best friends to ?, non-idol au, suggestive rating: nsfw, mdni wc: 1.4k warnings: mention/description of reader's nudes, mention of reader in lingerie, implication of sexy time at the end, tyun gets hard and is v clear abt what he wants, they’re both horny asf synopsis: what happens when your best friend who secretly has the hots for you accidentally sees your nudes?

requested forever ago by @mapofthemazeinthemirror <3 [blog status: semi-hiatus, requests closed]

| yeonjun ver. | soobin ver. | beomgyu ver. | kai ver. (coming 3/24) |

masterlist

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taehyun considers you one of the bros.

right up there along with his 4 other crazy best friends, you fit right in, no sideways feelings to worry about and endless wingman opportunities to gain — hell, he even forgets sometimes that you've got a pair of boobs under there somewhere.

and all of this, of course, is completely and absolutely:

not true.

it's exactly what you seem to think in that pretty little head of yours, though, as taehyun often observes; it's quite cute actually, he thinks.

"out of all the guys i could like, why does it have to be the one guy in my life who would draft me onto his football team if he had one?" he'd overheard you complaining to yeonjun one day.

(sorry, but trust me, sweetheart - you wouldn't even make it past tryouts, he'd thought afterwards upon fighting back a laugh and an endeared little grin.)

oh, if only you knew.

if only you knew the steady breaths he has to take whenever you stand so temptingly close to him; or how many filthy images he has to shake out of his mind when he's helping you with your workouts; or that annoying little shadow called jealousy that he has to push down when you smile so sweetly at a man that isn't him.

taehyun is a man of self control, and a man who would do anything for the people that he loves — which means that no matter how much he'd enjoy changing your mind about what exactly you assume he perceives you as, he knows for the sake of your friendship that he can't.

and so he doesn't.

but oh, you wish that he would.

taehyun is quite good at keeping his feelings in check, to the point where you're convinced at this point that if you were to strut naked across the room in front of him, he wouldn't even pay you any mind;

pft, you scoff at your own silly thought, as if something so ridiculous would ever happen. (…well....)

today you've decided that you're getting real tired of your own pining and yearning and eyes that shoot hearts like confetti every time your best friend walks into the room —

you pout at the sight of yourself reflected on the open camera screen of your phone as the self-timer counts down yet again. this has become quite the routine of yours.

body bare save for the lacy lingerie that doesn’t cover much of anything as you perch at the edge of your bed, posing so prettily, so sensually, just the way you imagine taehyun would like; just more photos to add to the naughty little album in your camera roll that you wish you could send to him but know that you never will.

there was a time where you used to try testing the waters a bit, some flirting here, a fleeting touch or two there. but you'd quickly learned how pointless it was. after all, a brick wall is never gonna flirt back.

you sigh. it's time to get going anyway; speak of the devil, he'll be here to pick you up in 20 minutes.

~

taehyun can see in his peripheral the way you keep glancing at him from the passenger seat of his car.

as usual, he maintains an even expression. "excited to see me or something?"

his lips quirk as you jump in your seat a little, quickly looking forwards and crossing your arms as you grumble, "you wish. i just saw you like two days ago."

he merely hums in acknowledgment, which gets you even more grumbly — ("no fair that i can never get a reaction out of you! why is it always me?!" you'd wailed in defeat one time after a failed attempt to get him back, your cheeks flushed pink and pretty).

taehyun smiles.

when he soon pulls up outside your friend's apartment building that you’d needed to drop something off at first on the way to yeonjun’s, he decides to be nice as he asks,

"where was that new cat café you wanted to go to? we can stop there before meeting the guys."

bingo. the smile that lights up your face is exactly what he was looking for as your previous pout melts away and you gasp, "really?! okay wait, i took a screenshot of their instagram page the other day, you can check and put the address in! i'll be super super quick!"

he bites back a laugh as you shove your phone into his hands and excitedly rush out of the car.

"5 minutes tops or i'm going without you!" he calls out the window, to which you shriek and scurry away even faster.

he grins to himself, shaking his head as you disappear into the building and he turns to click open your camera roll.

"alright, cat café, where are............ you."

taehyun feels as if a lightning rod has just shot straight through his entire body.

his muscles tense. all his breath escapes him in a rush.

you...

the sight of you is what greets him through the screen...

you,

completely naked.

it's like his skin is consumed by fire as his eyes roam across the rows of pictures in the album you'd left open; most taken on your bed, some in the shower at the gym that you both go to together, some where you’re donned in sets of delicious lingerie — his eyes widening and pants tightening when he even spots one from his own room, your skirt hiked up in the reflection of his full-length mirror as your panties dangle cheekily from one finger, leaving the delicious curve of your ass on full display.

when did she even take that??

he scrolls, and he's barely hanging on by a thread as his best friend who's supposed to stay his best friend poses so irresistibly pretty from the screen; his cock is so hard that it's painful as your big innocent eyes look up at him in complete contrast to the lewd position that you'd put yourself in.

god, the positions he wants to put you in...

alright, reel it in, kang taehyun. this can't go anywhere. you have to take it to the grave. you’ve gotta think about the friendship. you’ll just pretend you didn't see it. you’ll act aloof like you always do.

but every single ounce of self control that taehyun has spent so long holding together finally crashes down around him like a breaking dam when his gaze lands on the name of the album at the top of the screen.

— t ♡

his cock jumps.

fucking hell, these are for me.

when you skip your way back to the car minutes later, you don't notice at first how firmly he's gripping the steering wheel or the fact that he isn’t even looking at you, remaining staring straight ahead as you climb back into the passenger side.

you don't notice — that is, until your phone catches your eye, set neatly on the middle console with your worst nightmare staring right back up at you from the screen.

it feels as though a bucket of ice water has crash landed down on your head (both the water and the bucket) as you realize what happened.

but you barely even have the time to panic or react or beg for mercy, or perhaps for a lobotomy on you both, before taehyun is asking you:

"back seat or my place?"

his voice is so calm that you almost don't process his words. your thoughts buffer as you pause.

"wh... what?" you breathe.

that's when he finally turns his head to look at you, and the intensity of the hunger swimming in his stare is enough to leave you even more winded than you already were before as a familiar feeling stirs between your legs and your thighs clamp together of their own accord.

"back seat," he repeats slowly, "or my place?"

you swallow hard.

this.. t-this is... he means.…

your head is reeling, and dumbly you stammer back, "w-what about the guys..?" as if the plans with your friends really matter anymore in a moment like this.

fuck the guys. fuck the cat café. taehyun has already decided: he’s done holding back from what he wants, and what he wants is to make you his.

you blink at him wide-eyed as he leans towards you slightly in his seat, his voice low and assertive as he replies,

"we're not going."

he taps your phone as if to draw your attention back to it. as if it should be obvious.

"so, you choose." your eyes fly back up to his —

"where do you want me to fuck you?"

your lower belly explodes with heat as an electric shiver rolls down your spine, and you swear that this is the best day of your entire fucking life as you see the promise that flickers in his eyes.

maybe you won't be finding yourself on the football team after all.

──────────────────────

— taglist: @razsberrie, @saejinniestar, @hyukalyptus, @florestalio, @beomiracles, @kiss4baku, @kejingken, @hyukascampfire, @cherr4es, @stawmerry, @choikanghuening, @dawngyu, @soo-blue, @paradigms13

if you want to be added to my taglist and get notified whenever i post any writing, drop a comment or an ask and let me know! ♡

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° you outshine the morning sun

( sae itoshi x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — just a short drabble bc domestic sae has invaded my brain

♡ word count — 705

♡ content — sae itoshi x reader, sae x fem! reader, made sae abt 25 in this, marriage mentioned, pregnancy mentioned. AN: i'd give this man as many babies as he wants.

♡ synopsis — sae itoshi didn't need to be a soccer god, not as long as he had you

The roar of the crowd still buzzed in Sae Itoshi’s ears as he exited the stadium, the post-game adrenaline barely settled in his veins. The night air was thick with the voices of fans calling his name, their desperation and admiration mixing into a cacophony he had long since learned to ignore.

"Sae! Just one autograph!"

"Marry me, Sae! Please! Just one chance!"

"I’d give you as many babies as you want!"

The shrill voices of young girls, the deep admiration from older men, the wistful sighs of women both young and old—none of it meant anything to him. He kept his gaze forward, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides as he pushed through the chaos. The only thing on his mind was getting home.

A sleek black car idled by the curb, the driver standing by the door, already well aware of the arrangement. No talking. No questions. Just drive and get him home as quickly as possible, and the tip would be hefty. An even bigger one if the trip was fast.

Sae slid into the back seat without a word, the door shutting out the noise of the world outside. He exhaled sharply, leaning back against the seat as the car pulled away from the stadium and into the quiet of the night. The streetlights blurred past, but he barely noticed them. Instead, his hands moved instinctively to his duffel bag, fingers searching through the smallest inside pocket until they curled around something cool and familiar.

A simple silver ring, discreet and unassuming, warmed quickly in his palm. His thumb brushed over the carved initials—his and yours—etched into the metal. He slipped it onto his ring finger, feeling a sense of calm wash over him.

Yeah. He just needed to get home.

The drive was mercifully quick, and before long, he was stepping out of the car and up the pathway to the house—the one place in the world where he wasn’t Sae Itoshi, soccer legend. He barely had time to set his duffel bag down when something small and fast crashed into his leg.

"Daddy!"

A grin tugged at Sae’s lips as he looked down, teal eyes meeting an identical pair staring up at him with pure joy. His daughter, barely three years old, clung to his leg with all her might. Her soft pink hair was pulled up into two messy pigtails, bouncing as she giggled.

"Hey, sweetheart," he murmured, crouching down to scoop her into his arms. She fit so perfectly against him, her tiny hands grabbing onto his jersey as if she never wanted to let go. And he? He didn’t mind one bit.

"Oh! I didn’t know you’d be home so soon," your voice rang out from the kitchen, warm and full of love. Sae glanced up just as you turned the corner, a wooden spoon in your hand, eyes crinkling at the sight of him. "The game just ended."

"Took a shortcut," he said simply, stepping closer to you.

His gaze flickered down to the soft curve of your stomach, where a second life—one he helped create—was steadily growing. Without hesitation, he reached out, resting a gentle hand there, feeling the warmth of your body beneath his fingertips.

A soft smile played on your lips as he leaned in, pressing a quick but meaningful kiss against them. Before you could deepen it, a tiny voice piped up between you.

"Yuck!" your daughter squealed, squirming in his arms.

You laughed, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of pink hair behind her ear. "You say that now, but one day, you’ll think it’s sweet."

"Nuh-uh!" she insisted, her little nose scrunching up in defiance.

Sae chuckled, finally feeling the weight of the world ease off his shoulders. Here, there were no screaming fans, no demanding coaches, no suffocating expectations. Just you, your daughter, and the quiet hum of home.

Sae Itoshi didn’t need fangirls, fanboys, or old women begging for his attention. He didn’t need adoration from the world, validation from the media, or the empty promises of strangers who only saw him as a soccer god.

Sae Itoshi just needed this.

Sae Itoshi just needed to be home.

Sae Itoshi just needed you.

posting this as an apology for going MIA for a bit :)

likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated!

[bobasbn]

a spiteful rivalry

1k words | Xavier x Reader | Jealous Xavier, Reader is a little shit about: Lumiere is the new superhero who has a movie made after him. You become a big fan, knowing that your boyfriend Xavier is behind the character. Unbeknownst to you, he hates the attention Lumiere is getting from you. also on ao3: bobasbn a/n: wrote abt Xavier on my besties bday. Happy birthday to @koalayoo hehe

- A pearly-white suit, intricate silver patterns decorating the fabric. Purely cobalt blue eyes stare back at you behind the elegant argent mask, almost resembling a bird’s beak. You couldn’t help but gawk at the massive poster advertising the new upcoming movie of a local Linkon hero– Lumiere. 

He’s the picture of mystery and grace, people who were saved by the hero Lumiere claim that he moves at the speed of light, and that you can barely see him in action. One second is all it takes for wanderers to collapse to the ground, split in half by the unforgiving sword of Lumiere. 

“Why are you staring at that poster?” Xavier, your boyfriend, asks you as he gives you a gentle tug on your hand. Your attention snapped from the poster to your boyfriend, who seems agitated by your fixation on the poster. More so, your fixation on Lumiere.

You know that the real-life Lumiere is none other than the humble Xavier. He often fought under the guise of Lumiere, and his immense talent for fighting the monsters and saving the city had gained much traction from those who had been saved by him. You couldn’t help but feel proud that your boyfriend is basically the star of a movie, even though he seems less than enthused by your pride. 

“It’s Lumiere!” You point out. You wouldn’t say anything further, considering that you were in public. You add on, “don��t you think he’s so cool?” 

You could’ve sworn you saw Xavier rolling his eyes, his grip on your hand growing more firm. 

“There’s nothing special about Lumiere. He’s just a hunter like us,” Xavier grumbles. You trail behind him, eyebrows furrowed at Xavier’s little pout as he marches away like a petulant child. 

“Really? I think he’s pretty attractive. Especially the mask part,” you press on. It doesn’t matter if you’re gushing about Lumiere to Xavier, right? That’s what you think at least, considering they’re the same person. 

Your boyfriend didn’t take a liking to that. Not at all. 

You noticed that he was more silent than usual, as if he was a simmering pot. Is he… mad at you? You wonder what you’ve done so wrong to evoke such an attitude from Xavier towards you. 

Stopping in front of a claw machine, you poke Xavier’s cheek. Your finger digs into the soft skin only to be met with an icy gaze. 

“I want to try…” You mumble. “...The claw machine.” Your voice dies down beneath the weight of his intense stare. 

Xavier looks over at the claw machine to see what type of plushies lay inside. To his utter dismay, it’s a Lumiere-themed claw machine, one that features mini plushie versions of him as Lumiere. His jaw clenches.

“Are you sure you want that? I’m sure there’s another one with animal soft toys in there,” Xavier protests weakly. 

You only just notice the theme of the claw machine, however you double down on your desire to play the game. Claw machines are your expertise, after all.

“I’m sure. I want a mini Lumiere right on my pillow as I sleep,” you beam. 

“Sure,” Xavier mutters through gritted teeth. He takes the lead, stiffly maneuvering the claw inside the machine. You watch with eager eyes, thrilled at the idea of getting your very own Lumiere merch. You watch the claw’s movements, swishing right, left, forward then slowly lowering down. 

Down, down, down.

The claw closes, and misses. 

You groan like you just watched your favourite sports team lose a finals game. The claw had only caught onto the Lumiere plushie’s leg, moving it over a bit before ascending back to its place at the top. 

“Again, Xavier! Try again!” You chant, shaking his shoulder to persuade him to slot another coin into the machine so he can attempt getting his mini plushie again. Xavier follows suit, only to miss his next attempt.

He’s never been good at the claw machine, but you can’t help but notice that he doesn’t seem to be too irked by the fact that he’s missing his attempts like he usually is. It’s almost as if he wasn’t phased because he wasn’t bothered about the soft toy, or he’s missing it on purpose. 

“How are you so calm? Move, I want to try it for myself,” you order Xavier. He braces his hand beside the button, not willing to budge. 

“Do you really need a Lumiere plushie?” He asks, his velvety voice sounding calm with a hint of distress. 

“Yes? I told you already, I want to sleep with the plushie with me.” 

“What about me?” He suddenly poses the question. You narrow your eyes at him, perplexed by his inquiry.

“What about you?” 

“You don’t need a stupid plushie to keep you company when you can have your hot, dependable hunter boyfriend by your side,” Xavier says. You can’t help but place your hands on your hips.

“He’s not always available. Lumiere will always be there,” you remark. “Besides, what’s the big deal? I get plushies all the time.” 

“Not Lumiere ones. I can get you anything else.” 

Now you were truly baffled. 

“Are you telling me that you’re jealous of Lumiere? You’re jealous… of yourself?” You ask him. You always were aware that Xavier was prone to jealousy, but you never knew that it would reach these staggering heights. 

“I just don’t understand why you’re so obsessed with Lumiere,” he murmurs. His lips push into the slightest pout yet again. 

“It’s not just Lumiere. I’m ‘obsessed’ with Lumiere because it’s you. I’m a big fan of Xavier,” you assure him. You grab his hand, his larger fingers enveloping both of your hands in his warmth. You aren’t sure if your words worked, but that’s the best you could come up to tell him. It seems to have worked, because his eyes soften a little towards you. 

“And Xavier can teleport to your side whenever you need him,” Xavier says softly. His other hand comes up to run his fingers through your hair a little. 

“Will you come dressed as Lumiere?” You ask, hopeful. 

“What?”

“Nothing…”

- yeah he probably didn't like that.

[diorsdahlia]

fratboy!luke kissing us as we study and we can’t focus because of him 😇 and he’s laughing and it’s fluffy and i love him

shakespeare would want us to kiss!

luke castellan x reader. word count : 747

a/n: im reading shakespeare rn so i WILL be annoying abt it. also im seriously not used to writing romance so im sorry if this buns💔 a girl is learning okay.

you sat on your dorm bed, typing away on your laptop as you set to finish the last of your analysis on 'romeo and juliet' by Shakespeare. this was a fairly easy task, so you wondered to yourself why did it take you ages to power through this assignment again? your eyes flickered onto the opposite side of your bed and you received your answer. a certain curly-haired boy laid sprawled out on your bed, keeping himself silent and entertained by twirling his fingers around the drawstrings of his hoodie.

oh right, him. thats why.

eventually, guilt started to creep up on you at his silence, considering you had gotten frustrated at him peppering kisses on you while you tried to work.

"you alright?" you asked, your fingers pausing the typing on your keyboard for a moment.

"yes." he answered shortly. he feigned sadness but you know him well enough to see the way his eyes crinkled and his lips pressed together, meaning he was holding back a grin.

"im starting to feel bad." you mumbled, biting on your bottom lip to hold back a chuckle at his antics.

after a beat of silence, he let out a hearty laugh and sat up abruptly, "knew you couldnt resist me," he teased as he moved your laptop onto your nightstand and kneeled over your lap. you shook your head in protest but he held onto your jaw gently, holding you in place as he continued to kiss your face. you grinned as he kissed your nose and booped it.

"youre a med student, dont you have actual work to do?" you chuckled, looking up at him with those eyes that made his knees buckle slightly.

"nuh uh. you think i got into med school at nineteen just cause im good-looking?" he teased.

you rolled your eyes playfully and he clicked his tongue. "i got in cause i never procastinate." he added cheekily after pulling away from a kiss on your lips. "this also counts as anatomy revision."

finally, you relented and gave in to his kisses. the analysis was due tomorrow anyways, you can do it later. as you kissed him back, one hand gripping his dark curls, he pulled away with a green-coloured flashcard of yours between his fingers.

he laughed at the pout on your face, knowing he managed to get you wrapped around his finger for now. he decided to abuse his temporary hold over you to be annoying, depriving you of the kisses you wanted and read out loud the flashcard.

"these violent delights have violent ends / and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, / which, as they kiss, consume. romeo and juliet act ii scene vi." he recited, ignoring your annotations beside quote altogether. then, he held up the flashcard to your face with a large grin plastered across his own face, before speaking smugly, "see, it's a sign."

you furrow your brows in concern, "..of what, exactly?"

"which, as they kiss, consume." he repeated, adding an emphasis to the word kiss. "shakespeare is giving a sign that we should kiss"

with his expression being as serious as ever, you couldn't help but laugh. "that is not what it means, luke! i literally wrote it here–" you cut yourself off with a giggle, shaking your head as he resumed to press kisses on your skin. "the friar is literally warning romeo that loving too much.. too violently won't end well" you mumbled as he moved to focus his affection on your forehead now.

he stopped dead in his tracks and you furrow your eyebrows again, he finally asked, "whats a frair?" you sigh and explain that a friar is a member of the catholic church. he cut off your sentence and shut you up with a long and slow kiss to your lips.

the both of you collapsed onto the mattress, legs tangled and mouths pressed together. because at the end of the day, luke castellan always got what he wanted with you more than happy to give in to his antics, and romeo and juliet were so in love they couldn't comprehend the forces that would drive them apart.

— excerpt from romeo and juliet, act ii scene iv.

ROMEO: Amen, amen. But come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy. That one short minute gives me in her sight.

....

[JULIET rushes in and embraces ROMEO.]

FRIAR LAWRENCE: Here comes the lady. Oh, so light a foot Will ne’er wear out the everlasting flint. A lover may bestride the gossamers that idles in the wanton summer air, And yet not fall. So light is vanity.

[wilting-fl0wer]

The only correct form of caltam, as far as i am concerned

[compress1repress]

i feel like i never read abt patrick getting aftercare 😭 i feel like it's usually regulated to bottom art fics since he comes across as more in need of affirmation? but we all know pat is just as hungry for that shit, probably on an even deeper fear-rooted level. like i think he's usually a yapper and bounces right back but once in a while gets super quiet and it freaks artashi out. he makes me think of that daredevil tweet that's like "[patrick zweig] cries before and after sex but never during. during sex he has a fucking JOB to do"

yasss boy loves to be smacked around and degraded by the ppl he loves! boy has also been alone for 12 years! boy has mad abandonment issues! boy probably has sexual trauma from being on the road! in conclusion: boy needs to be squeezed and headscratched and loved on 🙏 artashi im beaming you a mission from god

ok sorry I wrote a 4k+ word fic (that got a bit dark) in response to this 😭 but let me ramble first:

I think about this a LOT (my throuple fic that I'm in the process of writing gets into this a little, and artashi will be giving him that aftercare 🙏) but yeah he has been SO lonely he needs to be hugged so bad but he would never say that.

i think safewords would be such an issue for him because he would be terrible at using them. or if they don't have specific safewords he's just bad at expressing when something is too much for him. Because he loves to be degraded and he's a masochist so he loves pain even when it hurts too much because it feels good... mostly. but when it gets to a point of not feeling good or he's just not in the mood for it that day, he refuses to say that

it's partially an ego thing, that he wouldn't want to admit that he couldn't take something but also i think it ties up with him needing to sleep with people for a place to stay and the weird power dynamics of that

Anyway I got struck with inspiration so here's the fic :)

art x tashi x patrick

cw: nsfw mdni, consent issues, rough sex, blood

***

1.

It had been a particularly rough session, like it often was. The way Patrick loved. Having them shoving him around, pushing him down, humiliating him, degrading him. It was working for him until it wasn't.

He was laid out on his back, Tashi was riding him as Art made out with her. They often did this, a punishment for him when he'd been annoying (on purpose). They'd fuck him but basically ignore him, only focusing on eachother. Like he was a toy for them to use however they liked. It was fucking hot.

Today though it made nausea swirl in his stomach.

Did they even want him here? What's to stop them doing this with any random guy off the street? What if they got bored of him, replaced him, and then he was on his own again?

He tries to shake it off because he's into this, and they don't always ignore him. They only do it when he's purposefully driven them to it, because he wants it.

He tries to grab at Tashi's waist even though he's not allowed. Neither of them look at him as Art pushes his hand off and Tashi brings a hand across his face, the sound of the slap echoing.

She does it a lot, it gets him off, except because she's not looking she hits slightly off, catching his nose with her wedding ring.

The pain radiates and he brings a hand up to his nose. Blood. Shit.

His dick twitches at first but then the pain gets worse, a deep aching. That combined with the fact that it was her wedding ring, identical to Art's. The wedding rings they have because they are married to eachother. That Patrick doesn't have because he's not part of that. Not connected to them in any meaningful way.

He feels wetness at the corner of his eyes, willing it away because it's fucking stupid. And Art and Tashi haven't finished yet so he's got to hold on. He can handle a bloody nose, he's not a pussy.

They haven't noticed so he doesn't say anything, trying to just focus on the feeling of Tashi warm and tight around him, of the sight of Art's back, his muscles flexing as he rubs at Tashi's clit.

He can almost cope but then because he's lying down, he feels the blood block his nose, starting to unpleasantly drip down the back of his throat. He's trying so hard to hold on, doesn't want it to end, doesn't want to look weak.

Suddenly the feeling of it at his throat is too much and he starts to cough, sitting up and spluttering.

"What the fuck," they both say in unison turning to him.

Then they take him in properly. He probably looks a mess, blood around his nose and now coming out of his mouth as he spits it out.

"What happened?" Art's asking, his eyebrows drawn together as a vaguely horrified look crosses his face.

"Was that me?" Tashi's sliding off him now, worry in her voice.

"We don't have to stop, it looks worse than it feels," he assures, even though it feels pretty fucking bad, "it's fine, I think you just clipped me in the nose with your ring."

He's smiling at them but they just look more concerned.

"Patrick, why didn't you use the safeword?" Tashi asks, more confused than angry.

They did have a safeword, even though Patrick didn't feel like he needed one. It was more for Art and Tashi than it was for him.

He'd suggested something tennis related but Tashi had vetoed saying it might be confusing in case they were just using that word normally, not in the safeword way.

Patrick had asked why the fuck Novak Djokovic would come up naturally during sex but Art had just agreed with Tashi.

They settled on bumblebee in the end, which felt a little ridiculous but he figured it didn't matter since he wouldn't be using it.

"I didn't use the safeword because I'm fine, a little blood isn't going to keep me down," his insistance is undermined somewhat by the way his voice sounds, so he coughs a little more to clear his throat.

Then he's having a coughing fit which just makes everything worse because his eyes are watering like crazy now. It might look like he's crying or something.

"Shit, Patrick," Art is scrambling over to tap him on the back, "are you okay?"

Once he stops coughing, he responds, "yes, let's get back to it."

"I don't think any of us want to carry on, you don't have to-" Art starts but Patrick interrupts.

"I'm not doing anything, I'm being serious, I think it's hot," he grins at them but it comes out strained, "I can be into blood."

"No one's asking you to be into it," Tashi tells him, an edge to her voice.

Art's rubbing his back and Tashi's staring at him intently, probably looking at the way his eyes are still damp.

"I know, I just mean I'm not crying over a slap or something," he feels the need to say, "I like it."

"No one would think you're a pussy for using the safeword," Tashi tells him, "we have one for a reason."

"Especially if you are literally choking on your own blood," Art jokes, before getting solemn, looking deeply at him, "Patrick, seriously, it's fucking scary."

"Alright, in the future I'll try to have less scary sex injuries," he teases.

"No, in the future you'll use the safeword," Tashi cuts in, tone stern

"Alright," he holds his hands up, smiling.

"I mean it, Patrick, it's not funny," her face is absent of anger, that's how he knows she's being earnest, "you've got to promise me you'll use it."

He doesn't say anything so she continues.

"I won't fuck you if you don't," she threatens.

"Sure," he nods, trying to keep some levity, and because he knows Tashi couldn't keep that promise. She can tell what he's thinking.

"Fine, I'll make him stop fucking you," she points to Art. Oh, she's serious.

He looks to Art who just shrugs.

"Fine, I promise to use the safeword," he sighs but looks Tashi in the eyes, hoping that she'll know he means it. She must because she nods at him satisfied.

"Oh thank god, I was really going to miss fucking you," Art whispers in his ear.

"Yeah?" Patrick smirks trying to lean in to Art but he bumps his nose sending a shock wave of pain, "shit."

"But we're definitely not doing that today," Art gives him a kiss on the shoulder instead.

Before Patrick can call him a killjoy he sees Tashi glaring at him, so he adjusts his answer, "yeah ok, no more fucking today."

"Good," Tashi stands up, "now I'm going to get you a towel, and you better hope none of that blood got on my sheets."

He smiles to himself. She's looking after him. It's very sweet.

As she heads to the bathroom, Art moves to sit in front of him, "you look crazy."

"Wish you'd been the one to do it?" He can't stop himself saying.

"Patrick," is all Art says, pleading, warning and exasperated all at once.

"I was joking," he tries but Art just sighs.

He reaches a hand to the corner of Patrick's eye, swiping with his thumb, he doesn't say anything more except, "I'm getting you a painkiller."

When they both come back they work together to clean him up, it's really not that much blood, and he spat most of it into his hands. Still, Tashi is precise in the way she dabs the towel at his face, avoiding pressing too hard or too close to his nose.

As Tashi rubs his hands, Art uses his forefinger under Patrick's chin to tilt his head up, putting two ibuprofen on his tongue. He even holds the glass of water to Patrick's mouth.

He swallows the pill, and Art rubs his back again, softly. Tashi keeps cleaning him, even when he knows the blood must be gone, inspecting his hands, holding his face to make sure it's all gone.

He thinks this might be the most they've touched him without fucking him. Well, since he'd 'moved in' at least. Might be the most anyone's touched him, non-sexually, in the past decade. He tries not to think about.

Doesn't want to ruin how nice this is. Maybe using a safeword wouldn't be so bad.

***

2.

Patrick hadn't been in the mood today, it was a rare occurrence but it happens. Art and Tashi clearly had been, so Patrick had gone along with it.

On the couch watching some bullshit home renovation show that Tashi put on when she wanted to pretend like they were actually going to watch TV. Patrick had observed the way they got closer, Art rubbing at Tashi's thigh as she kept directing his hand up further.

He liked watching them like this, it was still nice this time but he just couldn't find it in himself to get horny. They kept looking over at him and he felt the need to insert himself, joining in at Tashi's other side, kissing at her neck. He's sure it will come to him soon.

It doesn't, even as they all stumble into the bedroom, making out, getting each other undressed until they were all naked. Patrick lay out, enjoying watching them, being close to them, but he just wasn't horny.

He could just watch them fuck, he's done it before, but the fun of that is that Art and Tashi get to see how bad he wants them. How he can't have them. He'll sit watching, dick straining through his pants if he's tied up, or furiously jerking off if he's not.

But that only works if he's hard. They're not going to want him sitting there, flaccid and not interested in fucking them. He's no use to them like that. What's the point of him being in the room? He'll probably have to go sleep in the guest room while they fuck it out.

What's the point of him even being here at all, if he's not going to fuck them? Isn't that why they're letting him stay? Isn't that why anyone lets him stay?

"Patrick," Art snaps him out of his thoughts, "are you okay?"

"Yeah, just zoned out," he looks up at them.

"Right," Tashi says, slow.

Before they can think about it too much he pushes himself up to join again, make himself useful, prove why he's here. He grabs the back of Tashi's head pressing his lips to hers, letting Art come up behind him, his front against Patrick's back.

Tashi pushes at him, wanting him to turn to Art, meaning she wants them to kiss for her. He can work with that. He's not getting hard but he can work with it.

Tashi's at his back now, kissing his neck, he connects his and Art's lips, trying to make it good. He wonders how long he can get away with it.

"I want you to fuck me," he whispers to Art.

"How bad?" Art asks, but then, shit, he's reaching his hand down his body, "Patrick?"

"Yeah?" He pretends not to know what Art is asking.

"What's wrong?" Tashi rests her chin on his shoulder.

"He's not-" Art starts but Patrick stops him.

"That's why I said I wanted you to fuck me, don't need my dick for that," he tries to lean back in but Art pulls away. Patrick tries not to let it sting.

"I don't think he's going to want to fuck you if you're not into it," Tashi interjects.

"We can do doggy style, that way he'll never know," Patrick attempts but clearly it isn't funny to them, "I just mean, I'm sure little Patrick will perk up after some action."

"Don't fucking-" Art starts before adjusting himself, "if you're not in the mood it's okay."

"I'll get in the mood, or" he has an idea, slipping off the bed, getting on his knees, "I can blow you, let you use my mouth."

"Not the point Patrick," Tashi narrows her eyes.

"Don't worry I won't leave you out, you can sit on my face after," he grins at her.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Tashi's suddenly snapping, desperation tinging her words, "of course we don't want to fuck you when you're not into it, who do you think we are?"

"I know," he gets out, voice small.

"Then why are you so insistent?" Art cuts in.

"It's what I'm here for."

What I am for, in general. He wants to say.

"Is that what we're for?" Tashi raises an eyebrow at him.

"It's your house," is all he can think to say, but it's clearly wrong because both their faces drop.

"What and you're paying your way here with your body or something, is that what you think?" Tashi's angry, and all he can do is stay knelt, "we're your fucking pimps?"

"Well technically you'd be Johns, since you're the customers," he jokes.

Tashi just stands up and starts getting dressed silently, before walking out, closing the door behind her. Then he's just left kneeling, staring up at Art.

Art turns away, reaching for his clothes too. Patrick can't even move, just left naked and alone.

"Get up here," Art speaks, shaking Patrick out of his thoughts, "and put some clothes on."

He finally gets up, grabbing his boxers, pulling them on silently before taking a seat next to Art on the edge of the bed.

"I don't get it, since when would you sleep with someone, not for your own pleasure?"

"Are you calling me selfish?" Patrick smiles.

Art finally returns it, "yeah, I am."

Tashi comes back in, standing with her hands on her hips but she looks on edge, "Are you ready to be serious now?"

You came back. He doesn't say that.

She looks between them both, "why are you smiling?"

"Art was telling me how selfish I usually am," Patrick explains.

Tashi's lips twitch at that and she moves to sit on the bed with them, on Patrick's other side.

"That's why I'm confused, it's not like you to be like this," her voice goes softer, "you really think we're that awful?"

"It's not a big deal okay, it's not about you," he just wants to move on.

"Do you actually think we'd kick you out for not fucking us?" Art looks nervous, fiddling with his fingers.

"I don't know," Patrick does know, but he's not going to say. Not going tell Art he's scared of being alone again, "it happens."

"What do you mean?" Art asks.

Patrick groans, falling back and throwing an arm over his face, "nothing."

It makes him feel like a child.

"Patrick, you know when I saw you at the hotel with that woman, how often do you do that?" Tashi pushes not letting him off, and shit, she's too smart.

"What woman?" Art questions.

"Don't be jealous," Patrick interjects but they both ignore him.

"He was using a date to find a place to sleep," Tashi answers and Patrick peeks out from under his arm to see his reaction. Art actually grimaces.

Ugh.

"So what? Sorry I can't afford fancy fucking hotels every week," his skins itches with the feeling of their eyes on him, "you can't be mad at me for sleeping around, it's none of your business."

They were married to eachother, and they're mad at him for sleeping with a few (many) random people? It's not fair.

"I'm not mad, I'm concerned," Art tries to stroke his thigh, probably in comfort, but it makes him feel worse.

"Fucking prudes," he mutters to himself, "you expected me to celibate for a decade? Me?"

"Did you ever do this with them? Having sex when you weren't hard?" Tashi won't let up and he hates how she's picking him apart.

"Well if I'm on a date with a complete stranger and asking to go back to their place, it's kind of expected, I can't just not have sex with them" he says trying to prove how ridiculous it would be but they just look more worried, "most of the time I was into it, I like to fuck," he shrugs.

"But not all the time?" Art presses.

"I guess, but it's not like I could just be like oh sorry I don't want to have sex right now but can you just let me stay in your house anyway?" He laughs but it's a hollow fake thing.

It really wasn't often but sometimes when he'd been staying at someone's for a few nights, and he was tired from a match he wouldn't really want to have sex that night. Or when someone didn't look like their picture. Or when they were into something that he wasn't. Or he was into it but didn't particularly trust the person.

Sometimes he would leave, just sleep in his car instead or find another date if it wasn't too late. But other times he really needed a place and it felt worth it, it's not like he was being forced or anything. There just weren't that many options.

"Patrick you have to know that's kind of fucked," Art is moving the arm off his face, trying to look him in the eyes.

"I don't want to talk about it," he can't get into it now, not with their faces looking like that.

Art tries to say something else but Tashi saves him, "we can stop for tonight."

He knows they'll have to talk about it another time but he's grateful she's finally letting him off the hook.

"But you can't do that with us, ever again," she continues, sharp and serious, "we're not random strangers from a fucking dating app. You have to tell us if you're not in the mood."

"I know," he replies, looking at the ceiling.

"We're not going to kick you out for not having a boner," Art says it so sincerely that it makes Patrick laugh.

Art glares at him.

"I believe you, man, it's just the way you worded it," Patrick holds his hands up in surrender, Art smiles, and he thinks even Tashi does a little.

"Alright, let's just go to sleep," Art taps his leg.

They let him sleep in their bed that night, the first time he's been allowed to do that outside from when they pass out there after sex.

It's nice. Really nice.

***

3.

This time had been great. He'd been in the mood. Really in the mood. Grabbing at Tashi and Art desperately, touching himself even when they told him not to. He knew how to get what he wanted.

Laid out on his back with his hands above his head tied to the bed post. Art was fucking into him, tight grip on his thighs, and Tashi was riding his face.

It was perfect, he couldn't move, all his senses completely overtaken by them both. They'd teased him, got him close to the edge a few times but not let him over, he couldn't see but he could feel his dick straining, probably bright pink and leaking.

He could barely breathe as Tashi used his mouth to get off, grinding against his face until she was shaking with her orgasm. She slides off him and he takes in a deep breath.

Now his mouth is free he's immediately asking, "touch me?"

"You're so impatient," she's out of breath too.

"Art?" He's pleading with his eyes.

"Don't go running to him for help," she grabs his face turning it to her, "you never fucking learn."

God it's getting him off, his brain fuzzy, not working right, "can't think."

"Can't do anything right," she spits at him.

He wants to remind her he just got her off but he's too desperate, just wants somebody to touch him.

"Sorry," he gets out, moaning as Art thrusts into him somehow faster.

Tashi's smirks, like she always does when he's too fucked out to fight back anymore. When she's won.

He fucking loves it.

She takes mercy on him, "guess I can forgive you, not your fault you get so stupid on his dick. Not your fault you're such a slut for it."

He's whining, trying not to beg.

Tashi knows what he wants, she turns to Art, "what do you think, baby? Has he earned it?"

Patrick squeezes around Art making him moan, "fuck. So tight."

"Art." Tashi scolds.

"Yeah, yeah he's earned it," he rambles out.

Patrick looks up at Tashi, begging with his eyes, she's in a good mood today so she nods in agreement.

"Alright, you've earned it," she moves her hand on his face, prying his mouth open with her fingers, "but you haven't been good, this is still a punishment, so I want you choking around my fingers, okay?"

Patrick nods the best he can with her hand in his mouth like that. She does this more often now, warning him before she does something.

Then she's shoving her fingers in, without hesitation to the back of his throat. He gags around them and it makes Art fuck him harder.

"That's right," she smirks at him, then addresses Art, "only touch him when you're about to come."

It turns out that's pretty soon because Art's hips are stuttering and he's reaching for Patrick's dick. He's so close too, with Art stretching him, the ache in his arms, and the burn of the restraints on his wrists. The way Tashi is relentless with her fingers, basically fucking his mouth.

It doesn't take much more, the feeling of Art's cum spilling inside him and a few clumsy strokes pushes him over the edge.

As he finishes his hips jerk up and he instinctively takes Tashi's fingers deeper, cutting off his breathing for a moment.

When Art pulls out, and Tashi removes her hand he feels dizzy, on a different plane of existence.

He thinks they're asking him something but he can't hear, just lays there breathing.

Suddenly feeling awash with dread for some reason.

"Was I good?" He says, but it gets caught in his throat. Not sure anything actually came out.

He's vaguely aware of one of them untying his wrists, and he finally relaxes his arms at his side.

"Patrick," Art's shaking him by the shoulder, and he's finally able to hear again.

"Sorry, my ears were ringing," he gives a weak smile.

He doesn't want to get up but he knows it's time for him to go to the guest room. Tashi's mom is coming over early in the morning which means he can't sleep in their bed.

"I'll just clean up in your bathroom then go to bed," he mumbles out, on autopilot.

He gets up, aching all over. Aware of them watching him.

Was I good? Echos in his head but he keeps his mouth shut.

After cleaning the cum off himself he leaves their en suite, ready to walk past them silently to go to the guest room.

Tashi's standing there, "get in the bed," she orders.

He crawls in reluctantly, knowing it's only going to make it harder when he has to leave,"I can't fall asleep here remember, your mom's coming over early."

He's got Art on one side of him as Tashi slips in on his other side, "we'll just wake up early, she won't come to the bedroom anyway."

"You can sleep in though," Art chimes in, "you must be tired."

"Not too much," Tashi adds, pausing, "but yeah, sleep in a little."

"I can sleep here?" He still sounds out of it, half wondering if he's not hearing correctly.

"You've done it before," Tashi chuckles, all warm and soft.

"I know," he breathes out, "but never when other people will be here."

Tashi just hums, stroking his bicep, "how do your arms feel?"

"They ache a bit," he says carefully, she doesn't normally ask about that.

Art's touching him too, inspecting where the restraints had been, "and your wrists?"

"Sore, I guess," he answers.

Tashi keeps stroking him, and Art is kissing at the red marks on his wrist.

"Was I good?" Spills out of Patrick finally, and actually audible this time.

Art's face crumples a bit, but he regains composure, "yeah, you were good."

"Really, good," Tashi adds, kissing his shoulder, "so good for us, right Art?"

"The best," Art's pulling him in, cuddling him as Tashi presses up behind him.

If he had asked why they were being so nice to him Art and Tashi would've said something like this: because after you finished you went basically unresponsive, and didn't reply when we asked if you were ok. Then when you finally did, you got up like a fucking zombie, walking to the bathroom with this horrible look on your face. Felt like you needed to be treated gentle. Even if you'd never say that.

He doesn't ask though, doesn't say anything else, just lets them kiss at him, telling him that he did a good job.

Art pushes himself further up the mattress so that Patrick can fall asleep tucked into his neck, and he can kiss the top of Patrick's head. Tashi spoons him from behind, an arm draped over him.

He falls asleep pressed between them, they hold him tight, covering every part of him, squeezing out the last drops of loneliness.

***

an: not proofread but will probably be cross posting to ao3 soon, thank you for reading :) (more Patrick being treated nice in other fics, i promise 🙏)

[moonydanny]

I'm sorry for hijacking your wonderful gifset @bucktommysource but your gifs are perfect for what I wanna say 💞

I know we're all raving about the morning after scene and how Lou's performance is incredible. It really is. He goes from doting to vulnerable/guarded to heartbroken to COLD. Right? Right.

HOWEVER, I haven't seen anyone talk about this moment right here. I would like to drive your attention to the 3rd gif, right after Buck says "Yeah, I did."

I LOVE the way Tommy's face just drops. Because think about it. A couple of seconds before, he was admitting that he'd been fighting the urge to call Buck FOR MONTHS. He's basically confessing that he hasn't stopped thinking about Buck all this time. He was driving by his place the other day. Right? And then Buck cuts in with the 'nope, you actually weren't hehe, don't live there anymore' all jokey. He didn't mean it in a bad way at all, just stating a new fact about himself, making the moment lighter...

But Tommy doesn't know that Buck has ALSO been fighting the urge to call him. He doesn't know that Buck could've opened a bakery with the amounts of baked goods he baked BECAUSE he was pining so hard. Tommy👏🏼doesn't👏🏼know👏🏼this.

What Tommy just heard was that Buck moved out of the loft and he didn't know. No one told him (how could they if everyone dropped him like a hot potato, but that's a different issue, I digress). How long ago did he move out? To where? Sure, he doesn't have the right to know these things anymore, right? Buck's probably moved on. But it still stings. All this time, he's pictured Buck in his loft, replayed every moment they spent there... But that's all gone, and HE DIDN'T KNOW.

He looks so sad in that gif, just for a second. I LOVE IT. Lou has this wonderful ability to act without words, which is not a very common skill, and not an easy one to master. You can see Tommy's internal monologue so clearly on his face, every time. The intentionality of his acting choices is like practically tangible. He cares so much about Tommy, he thinks about him beyond the storylines he's been part of, he finds explanations for Tommy's words and actions, he built Tommy a backstory just for himself. That's a good actor RIGHT THERE.

tagging a few moots who showed interest (or I think would like to scream with me abt this hehe) @typicalopposite @kinard-buckley @qwordavoider @quintessenceofdust88 @loulover911

"In fact, I…was driving by your place the other day."

[pinkaditty]

can NOT stop thinking abt the way you wrote yuri.... /pos ugh i love pathetic men ♡♡♡ i Know hes Loud

anon you're so real... pathetic, whiny, loud, wet blankets of men are some of my favorites. i love them. it's like, please never fucking change. you pathetic wet cat. i simultaneously want 2 laugh at you and 2 dry you off again 2 keep u warm.

a/n: well here we are again. back on my bullshit AGAIN! can't even complain though i love writing smut im so glad 2 be back 2 pulling this bullshit again. i hope u all enjoy this one bc this one took a while 2 write.

summary: you want Yuri to focus. he wants to finish.

cw: people r fucking!!!!! penetrative sex, lots of whining, slight power dynamic???, dom!reader and sub!char, etc etc.

"Stay still."

He only whimpers in response, tightening his already knuckle-whitening grip on the arms of his chair.

"Stay still or I'll stop moving."

You can tell from the way Yuri’s eyes flicker defiantly towards yours that he has half a mind to retort something, but one squeeze of your walls around his twitching cock and his eyes roll back in submission again. The heels of his shoes dig uselessly into the floor, failing to steady him as he bucks his hips upwards involuntarily in response to you dragging your walls against his length. You watch as he grabs aimlessly at whatever he can squeeze to ground himself for a few moments, at best. The arms of the chair, the sleeves of his lab coat, the crest of your hips. To his credit, he's doing a great job at being quieter than usual. His bottom lip is red from biting so harshly at it, but you suspect the pain helps him keep his moans in. The only sounds that escape are quiet gasps, whines, whimpers, and some grunting. However, he's not doing a very good job at staying still.

You slam your hips back down onto his, grinding your hips against his as you settle into place. He yelps in surprise, and clamps a hand to his mouth, muffling his whiny moan as you grind against him. He digs his heels into the floor again, his foot tapping the leg of his desk, nearly jostling his work. When you don't stop grinding, he hurriedly places his hands down on your hips in an attempt to stop you from moving. In a whiny voice, he pleads "Stop, stopstopstop! Fuck, please, oh my god, please—” He melts into incoherent whimpers, yelps, and pleas, eyes flickering between your hips grinding on his cock and your gaze boring into him. He starts panting, whiny moans slipping through his lips as his eyes roll back into his skull again. 

You smile fondly at his loud moans, pausing the movement of your hips and leaning in towards him. “You can take it, can't you? You're strong." You lean back, looking towards his laptop, still propped open on the desk beside you. “You’re the one that wanted to practice. Come on, from the top. And stay still this time.”

He looks at you for a moment, his expression so utterly pathetic you want to laugh. He finally nods, submitting to your will. “F-Fine…” 

Due to his twitching fingers keeping their grip on the arms of the chair, you move to click back to the first slide of his presentation, looking at him expectantly. He frowns at you the best he can, what with an obvious blush over his face and his eyes still watery from pleasure. Eventually he relents, turning towards the presentation, his whole body trembling with effort to keep his composure. He clears his throat and partially straightens his posture, still visibly flushed and trembling.

After a few false starts and stuttered words, he's finally ready to go. “This is a presentation regarding the—Ahem, regarding the progress of research on—mmmm—Immortality…” he stops for a moment, panting, and leaning his head back against his chair. One stern look from you, and he bites his cheek and straightens up again, “...As it pertains to the living cells of the anomaly caused—Fuck!—by a patient eating mermaid skin.” He exhales all at once. Sweat beads on his forehead, flattening his hair. His cheeks are a furious bright red, the blush even spreading to his ears and chin. You laugh at him, motioning for him to continue, beginning to raise and lower your hips at a slow pace. 

“Go on Dr. Isami, I’m listening!” You smile widely, all chipper and animated, as though you weren’t riding the man beneath you into oblivion. Of course, it was hard for you to keep it together yourself, but your blush and heavy breathing were nothing compared to the slack-jawed, drooling, pathetic mess that Yuri was. 

“I—I can’t—” Yuri sounds breathless, cutting himself off with a whine before he could continue. He collapses against the chair again, clenching his jaw tight as he squirmed, trying to get ahold of himself. He starts panting again, each exhale high-pitched and whiny. You could feel his length twitching inside you, his involuntary upward thrusts stuttered and shallow. His eyes were beginning to water from the prolonged torment of being forced to remain composed. He whimpers, suddenly leaning forward into you, pressing his face into your shoulder and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close. “Please, fuck!” He gasps for air, before launching into a defense, stammering as you quicken your pace. “It’s ph-physically impossible for the human body to multitask! I cou—ugh—couldn’t possibly focus on this damned presentation when you—” he cuts himself off again, moaning loudly as you ride him harder, further disrupting his already broken speech. “Y-You…” He tries again but trails off, leaning his head into the crook of your neck, panting. You feel his breath puffing against your chest and his damp lashes fluttering against your neck.

“Hm? What is it?” You say, your voice just barely giving away your own shaky arousal. You continue to ride him, breathing heavily and squeezing your walls around him. “Go on. Surely a doctor can use his words, yes?” 

He mewls into your shoulder, removing his hands from your hips and placing them atop your shoulders, pushing you away from him. He appears adorably frustrated, his lips in a downwards quivering frown and his eyebrows creased in annoyance. His eyes are still watery and his face is covered in a searing blush. He worries his lower lip between his teeth, muffling his whines to the best of his ability. His breathing is in tandem with the pace you’ve set, still raising and lowering your hips on his cock. You lean in, encouraging him to continue, grabbing the sides of his lab coat to steady yourself. He finally relents, his voice shaking as he speaks. “Can’t focus—can’t, not when you—God—not when you ride me—” You are almost satisfied with this, until he purses his lips. You feel his cock twitch and harden within you. He’s getting close. He lets out a deep moan, clawing his fingers into your shoulders. He clenches his jaw at his reaction and looks down to where your bodies connect, pushing his hips upwards to meet yours. “—Like some bitch in heat!” He mutters these words through his teeth, and they were clearly meant to bring you down a peg. He was desperately searching for a way to regain control of the situation, despite being on the edge of an explosive release. 

Well, two could play at that game. You begin to slow down your pace, pouting at him. “Aw, that’s not very nice, Yuri.” 

He looks at you suspiciously, biting his wavering lips to muffle his moans and raising an eyebrow. 

You simply shake your head, lifting your hips off of him. His cock slides out of you with a wet pop! and only further stiffens at the sudden exposure to the cool air. He gives you a panicked look, quickly moving his hands down to your hips, trying to push you back down as he thrust his hips upward aimlessly. “Wh-What are you doing—?!” He almost shouts out of frustration, his cock twitching from the sudden loss of sensation and pending release.

You lower your hips again, but you’re careful not to slip him back inside. “Only nice boys get to cum, Yuri.” You say it teasingly, reaching down with one hand to grab his cock. He gasps and tenses up before you gently tap the head against your folds, smirking at him. You watch as his eyes cloud over with desire, and he nearly melts, suddenly very pliant despite his earlier reservations. You rub yourself back and forth over his aching cock, returning your hands to his sides. Yuri grips your hips with his hands, gritting his teeth to muffle his whines again. You giggle at him. “Come on, be nice and take it back. If you don’t…” You trail off, looking down at his pathetic form, smiling to yourself. “...I won’t ride you anymore.”

From the way his face twists, you can tell he’s caught somewhere between retorting that he didn’t want that anyway and begging you to keep going. He groans, feeling his pleasure mount as your warmth travels across the length of his cock. He tightens his grip on your hips, biting his lips harshly in a futile attempt to continue to muffle his already loud moans. It was hardly any use when his moans escaped anyway, loud and high-pitched and whiny. He curses, looking up at you with a pleading expression. Of course, you don’t yield, meeting his pleading gaze with an expectant one. He keens, caving to your will. “I take it back…” The words are small and muffled, barely heard over the creaking of the chair and the sounds of your heavy breathing. He doesn’t look at you when he says them, purposely turning away from you. You pout in mock disappointment.

“Hmmm, sorry. I don’t think I heard you. Repeat that for me, please?” You slow your movements again, rubbing yourself along his length in an increasingly teasing manner. You feel his cock jump in response.

He groans. turning towards you. His face and neck were bright red, his lips appeared almost bruised from all the biting he’d done, his eyes were hazy and unfocused, and sweat plastered his bangs to his forehead and cheeks. He was not going to last much longer. His voice cracks when he speaks this time, breathy and high-pitched. “I take it back.” He punctuates this sentence with a whine, his cock jumping again as you pick up the pace, teasing him more. 

You smirk at him, biting your lip to resist the urge to laugh. Surely he could take a bit more, right? “Come on, I know you can do better than that.” You tilt your head at him, your eyes crinkling with mirth. “You can say it one more time, right?”

He groans, both out of frustration and out of arousal, reaching up to wrap his arms around your shoulders again and pull your body into his. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, his lips hovering near your collarbone. He thrusts his hips upwards, his cock dragging against your heat again, slipping in between the folds before slipping back out again. He opens his mouth in a moan, tightening his hold on you. “I take it back!” He says it with conviction this time, punctuating each word with a thrust of his hips. He begins to tremble, muttering the phrase over and over again, his voice slowly becoming more and more whiny as he presses his open mouth against your collarbone, just barely covered by your uniform. He pulls you in even closer, his hips stuttering, his whimpering becoming more nonsensical until he finally quiets. His thrusts slow down and his breathing begins to even out, his grip on you becoming shaky and unsteady. 

You smile, glad he has finally bent to your will. You pull away from him, noting the glazed look in his eyes and the way his jaw hangs slack. You tilt your head at him, confused, until you feel something thick drip down your thigh. You turn around, and notice a pool of white liquid dripping from the chair and leaking from Yuri’s softening cock. You have to resist the urge to laugh simply out of shock. You turn back to him with an eyebrow raised. He’s somewhat recovered, his blush lessening and his mouth slightly parted as he catches his breath.

“Yuri. Did you just cum from humping me?” A smile spreads across your face as he frowns at your comment. Before he can say anything, you quickly add on to your words to taunt him. “Like a bitch in heat?” 

Yuri freezes, his blush returning to his cheeks. He turns away from you, refusing to make eye contact. 

All you can do is laugh.

a/n: amen that's that!!!!!!!! i can't decide if im proud of this or not but in my defense it's approaching the witching hour where i am. regardless. i hope u all enjoy!

ofc shameless note as per usual that i love likes, but especially comments, tagged reblogs, and asks!!! please tell me all about how you liked my work! it's what fuels my motivation to create!!!!

also. im considering making a tokyo debunker taglist. idk how many of u are going 2 see this but lmk if ur interested in being a part of the tkdb taglist. ill tag u in all of my tkdb related works if ur a part of it.

ok that's all gn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[inseobts]

hi hi!! i wanted to start with saying i love ur writing so much!! I was wondering if you would be able to write a fic abt ace at marineford but instead of ace sacrificing himself it’s reader and we see how ace reacts? If not it’s oki!! Thank you 🫵🏽🤍

Burn for you

portgas d. ace x reader

a/n: okay wow I love writing angst for ace ngl, so thank you for your request (★‿★)

words count: 2.2k

tags: marineford, romance, angst, tragedy, reader d3ath

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The battlefield is chaos. Screams mix with the clashing of weapons, gunfire, and the roar of the ocean. Fire and ice tear through the air as pirates and marines fight for their lives. The sky is dark with smoke, and the ground is painted red with blood.

You stand beside Ace, breathing hard, your body covered in cuts and bruises. He’s free now, Luffy did it. He broke Ace’s chains, and for a moment, it felt like you all could escape.

But then, Admiral Akainu steps forward. His body glows with molten lava, his eyes cold and merciless.

“You think you can just run away?” Akainu’s voice is filled with hate. His fist turns into burning magma, and he glares straight at Ace “Portgas D. Ace… son of Roger… You don’t deserve to live.”

Ace tenses beside you. You know that look. He’s angry, furious, ready to fight.

“Ace, don’t...” you whisper, grabbing his wrist.

He looks at you, confused “I won’t let him insult—”

“Please,” you beg, squeezing his hand “We have to go... now!”

Akainu smirks “Cowards run. But I see it now… you’re just like your father.”

Ace stiffens. His fingers twitch. You can feel the heat rising from his body.

Luffy stumbles forward, exhausted “Ace… we need to—”

But it’s too late. Ace turns back to Akainu. His flames burn brighter, his rage boiling over “Say that again” he growls.

Akainu doesn’t hesitate. He lunges, his magma-covered fist aimed straight at Ace’s chest.

Your body moves before your mind can stop it.

You shove Ace away with all your strength.

Then, pain.

Blinding, searing pain.

Akainu’s fist burns through your body like you’re nothing. The heat is unbearable, your skin melting, your insides boiling. You choke, blood filling your mouth.

For a second, everything is silent.

Then Ace screams.

“Y/N!!!”

His arms catch you before you hit the ground. He’s shaking. His whole body trembles as he holds you close, eyes wide in horror.

“Why… why did you do that?” His voice cracks “Why?! That was meant for me!”

You try to smile, but it hurts “Because… I couldn’t let you die…”

Tears spill down Ace’s face. He shakes his head, gripping you tighter “No. No, no, no, you idiot! You didn’t have to do this!”

Luffy drops to his knees beside you, eyes filled with shock “y/n… don’t… don’t die…”

You can barely see anymore. Your vision blurs, the world turning dark. But you can still feel Ace’s warmth, hear his heartbeat. You reach up, weak fingers brushing his cheek.

You can barely see anymore. Your vision blurs, the world turning dark. But you can still feel Ace’s warmth, hear his heartbeat. You reach up, weak fingers brushing his cheek.

“I love you, Ace,” you whisper, your voice barely audible “I always have… since the moment you smiled at me. I just… I just wanted you to live. Even if it means I won’t get to see that smile again…”

Ace chokes on a sob, pressing your bloody hand against his face “No, don’t say that! You’re gonna be fine! Just... just hold on, okay?!”

You exhale shakily, your body growing colder “Promise me… you’ll live. Be happy. That’s all I want…”

Your hand falls.

And the world goes silent.

The battlefield is quieter now. The sounds of war are distant, as if the world itself has held its breath. Ace can’t breathe. His chest is tight, his heart aching as he cradles your lifeless body in his arms.

His hands tremble, unable to accept what’s happening. The heat of his own flames can’t even compare to the cold emptiness gnawing at his insides. You were gone. You, who had given him everything, were gone.

“Ace…” Luffy’s voice is hollow, barely audible over the chaos, but it still makes Ace flinch. Luffy doesn’t know what to say.

Ace doesn’t care.

He doesn’t even know what to think anymore. The world feels like it’s been turned upside down. Every breath he takes feels like it’s a struggle. His heart, broken, beats in slow, painful rhythms as he holds you close.

“I’m sorry…” he whispers, the words feeling so weak. He presses his forehead against yours, his body shaking. The flames around him die down, dimming to nothing.

The world is quiet, but inside his head, it’s deafening.

Why? He’s heard that question for years. Why did he survive when so many others didn’t? Why was he cursed to be a pirate, to be hated by so many? But now, with you gone, the question hits harder than ever.

Why did you have to go? Why couldn’t I protect you?

Luffy kneels beside him, his voice breaking as he touches your hand “Why… why did you do that?”

Ace squeezes his eyes shut, fighting the tears that sting his vision. He can’t lose it now. Not here. Not like this. But the weight of his grief is unbearable.

“Why did you protect me?” Ace says, barely louder than a whisper. His voice cracks.

The fire that once burned bright in Ace’s heart flickers out, replaced by an empty void that he doesn’t know how to fill. He can’t stop the tears from flowing, even though he swears he doesn’t deserve to cry. He doesn’t deserve the love you gave him.

But you still gave it. And now… you’re gone.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” His voice trembles “I was supposed to be the one protecting you. I was supposed to be the one to keep you safe.”

But you… you were the one who protected him.

He’s the one who failed. He let you go, let you sacrifice yourself for him. And now you’re gone.

“Ace…” Luffy says again, his voice filled with desperation.

“I can’t,” Ace chokes out, shaking his head “I can’t do this without you…”

Luffy looks at Ace, his face full of confusion and pain “Ace… please don’t…”

Ace closes his eyes tightly, feeling the tears mix with the ash on his face. He should have stopped you. He should have told you to stay back. But you were always so stubborn, so brave. And now, he’s left with nothing but the memory of your smile, the warmth of your touch, and the love you gave him.

You didn’t even have to say it, but Ace knew.

“I love you too” he whispers into the silence, his voice raw.

He stays there, holding you close, unwilling to let go. The battle rages on around him, but all Ace can feel is the cold grip of loss. The fire he used to live for now feels like nothing but ashes.

But somehow, through the overwhelming sorrow, he hears a faint, familiar voice.

“Live.”

You said it, just before you left him.

You told him to live.

And as he holds your lifeless body, Ace makes a silent vow to you.

No matter what, he’ll live. He’ll live for you, for your love, for everything you gave him. Even if it means carrying this weight for the rest of his life.

He will live.

And he will never forget you.

The flames of battle still rage around Ace, but the world feels distant, muffled. His body is frozen, numb, as if nothing could move him from the spot where he holds you. Even the chaos of the war seems far away, like a storm he can no longer hear or feel.

Luffy is still beside him, trying to shake him, to get him to move. But Ace doesn’t respond.

Luffy’s voice is panicked now, desperate “Ace! You can’t just sit here! We have to get out of here—”

But Ace doesn’t hear him. The world is fading, and all he can think about is you. Your smile. Your laugh. Your warmth.

“I promised you,” Ace whispers through his clenched teeth “I promised I’d live.”

He looks down at you again, his hands shaking as he touches your face. The fire inside him, the fire that used to burn so brightly, feels like nothing more than a dying ember now. But he still feels the heat. It still smolders in his chest, though it’s weaker, quieter than before.

He remembers the moment you told him you loved him. The way your eyes softened when you said it, the way his heart almost burst from the weight of it. The thought of you gone, never hearing your voice again, never seeing you smile at him again, is unbearable.

But… he promised.

He has to live. For you.

Slowly, Ace stands, his body aching, but the weight of your memory holds him steady. Luffy’s still watching him, his face full of concern and confusion.

“Ace… please, we need to get you out of here. This isn’t over.”

Ace looks at his brother. The boy who’s always believed in him. The boy who would never give up. The boy who reminds him so much of you.

“I’m not leaving her, Luffy,” Ace says, his voice low but firm “I’m not going to run away anymore.”

Luffy stares at him, his eyes wide. He can see the pain, the brokenness in Ace’s eyes, and it tears him apart. But he doesn’t argue. He understands.

Luffy nods quietly, stepping back. He knows now. Ace isn’t going anywhere without you.

Ace’s eyes fall on you one last time. The cold reality of the situation crashes down on him, but he knows there’s no going back. He can’t undo what’s been done. He can’t bring you back.

But he can keep his promise. He can live.

And he will fight, for you.

Ace’s flames ignite once more, though they burn with a darker, deeper intensity. His anger, his grief, his love, it all fuels the fire. His body burns with renewed strength, the heat coming from within, hotter than the fire that licks the air.

He faces the battlefield now, not with the same carefree fire of his past, but with something fiercer. He steps forward, each movement deliberate. The enemy may be strong, but nothing, no one, can stop him now. Not when he carries the weight of a promise.

Akainu is still somewhere on the battlefield, and Ace’s eyes lock on the admiral.

This isn’t over. Not until you’ve paid for what you did.

His fire burns hotter, and the flames stretch high into the sky as Ace moves forward, the memory of you urging him on.

Luffy watches, his heart heavy but filled with something else too... pride.

Ace, despite the brokenness inside him, is moving forward. For you. And Luffy knows that no matter what happens next, Ace will carry you with him.

The war isn’t over, but neither is Ace.

And as the battle rage on, Ace burns with the promise of a love that can never die.

The battle at Marineford is near its end. The pirates are broken, the marines are exhausted, and the once immovable fortress of Marineford now feels like a distant memory.

Ace’s flames still burn bright, but not for vengeance, not for anger. They burn with the memory of you, the promise he made to you.

The fight with Akainu was brutal. Ace’s body is covered in bruises, and his flames are flickering, exhausted. But the fire in his heart still pushes him forward.

Ace has made it to the heart of the battlefield. The war has taken everything, but it hasn’t taken his will to live, his will to fight.

His body aches with every step. The pain from your loss is constant, a weight that presses on his chest. But through it all, Ace carries you in his heart. Your smile, your words, your love, it gives him strength.

And then, in the distance, he sees him. Akainu, still standing.

Ace grits his teeth, walking toward him with a fire that never goes out.

“You,” Ace growls, his voice filled with fury “You took everything from me. You took her from me.”

Akainu sneers “Your precious (Y/N) was nothing. Just another fool who got in the way.”

Ace’s eyes narrow. The anger in him swells like a tidal wave, but it’s no longer the anger of someone who wants revenge. It’s the anger of someone who’s been broken but refuses to be crushed.

“I’ll make you regret that” Ace says, his voice steady, his flames burning higher.

The fight is short but violent. Akainu’s lava fists clash against Ace’s blazing flames, and the earth beneath them cracks and splits. But Ace is not the same man he once was. Every punch, every blow is fueled by the love he lost, and the promise he made to never give up.

In the end, it’s Ace who stands victorious. His body is battered, his flames are dimming, but the look in his eyes is one of quiet resolve. He’s done.

Akainu is on the ground, defeated. Ace’s breathing is shallow, but his heart is full.

And then, from behind, a voice echoes in his mind.

“Live, Ace.”

It’s your voice. Soft, but clear.

He turns, his eyes scanning the horizon, searching for a glimpse of you, a sign that you’re still there. But there’s nothing. Only the cold, gray sky.

Ace closes his eyes, letting the wind wash over him.

He feels the weight of your absence, but he also feels something else. Something stronger. The fire that you lit in his heart. The promise he made to you.

He will live. He will never forget you.

And though the world will never be the same without you, Ace knows one thing for sure:

Your love will never die.

With one final breath, Ace smiles, the flames around him flickering one last time.

[emeraldserenade]

hii!! i have a request for joaquin :) reader is joaquin’s wife that he told bucky & sam abt but they thought he was lying and she eventually meets them in person & they’re shocked 🩵🩵

Real ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: Sam and Bucky never thought you were real, until you were in their eyesight.

tw: fem!reader, FBI!reader, limited use of y/n, barely edited

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

Hi Reese, I hope you like this! If you've seen Criminal Minds, then you know what a profiler is and that's the job I gave her. I also didn't know how to end this so sorry for the odd ending.

➽──────────────❥

It wasn't uncommon for Joaquín to talk about you, your name and the words "my girl", "my wife," or "amor de mi vida" tumbling from his lips like you were the goddess he worshipped. It wouldn't surprise anyone who saw the two of you together if he did worship you, he looked at you like you made the world go round. And you did the same, the love you two had for each other made your own world go round.

Bucky and Sam though? They have never seen you, they've heard about you. Joaquín spending any time he can talking about you, about your smile, the way you hold yourself, anything he could think of was mentioned. That's why the two of them were convinced you were fake, they had never met you, let alone see a picture, yet he was always talking like he was trying to convince them you were real.

"Are you sure the kid isn't lying?" Bucky questioned Sam one day, they were all waiting on you. You said your plane was running behind because your 'case' had run a little longer than expected.

"Why would he set this whole thing up if he is?" Sam tried to defend Joaquín at any chance he could. While he didn't particularly believe you were real, he wanted to give Joaquín the benefit of the doubt.

"Oh, she's here!" Joaquín announced, bouncing on the balls of his feet waiting for you to appear. It only took a moment, then you were in his eyesight. He made a beeline to you, the mostly empty airport helped him not having to weave through people.

To say Sam and Bucky were shocked was an understatement. They assumed, had you been real, that you were going to be pretty. But this was something else, you looked ethereal and they understood by Joaquín basically worshipped you. It didn't help that they saw the way you looked at Joaquín, the amount of love that could never be faked.

"Sam, Bucky, this is y/n, my wife," Joaquín introduced you to the others and you shook their hands.

"Hi, it's nice to meet you two," your eyes twinkled with your smile, your genuine happiness at meeting them making them both feel at ease around you.

"Likewise," Sam was the first to recover, his shock still evident on his face.

"You two thought I was fake," you announced and watched them both scramble for an excuse. "It's ok, my job doesn't really allow me to be around as often as I'd like," you admitted, pressing into Joaquín's side.

"And what do you do for work? I'm pretty sure I could tell you your own favorite color before your job," Bucky joked, you laughed knowing that Joaquín would tell someone your favorite color before your job.

"I'm a profiler at the FBI's behavioral analysis unit," you explained. "I use the behavior pattern, method of murder, and a whole other things to find serial killers. And the occasional kidnap or bioweapon attack," you gave them the longer answer to the question since most people tend to not know what the BAU is. The four of you started to walk out of the airport and to the car, Joaquín holding your bag for you.

It wasn't anything new, the looks you got when you walked with Joaquín but these one's made you smile. You were talking with the boys, getting to know them as you talked. It was fun, you noticed that Joaquín was quiet most of the time but you also knew that with the drinks he would soon be talking, a lot.

"I love you," Joaquín mumbled as he leaned into you, you glanced at him with a smile. "Sam, Bucky, have I ever told you how much I love y/n?" Joaquín looked over at the two. You laughed at the way he tried to make it subtle but with the way he was leaning on you, and his not so quiet whispering, you could hear all his words.

"All the time," Sam answered.

"What about how when she smiles it's like time stops and the world is just revolving around her?" Joaquín had moved to wrap his arm around you, but was still stage whispering.

"That one's new," Bucky said, a smile gracing his face.

"Or, or, when I was immediately drawn to her laugh at the college party. She was playing beer pong and she laughed when her friend missed," Joaquín retold the story of the first time he saw you; however, you've never heard it.

"I didn't know that," you told Joaquín who looked at you weirdly.

"You didn't?" Sam was the one to ask.

"No, if I have the right party, then we didn't meet until a few days later in a shared class. We just happened to sit next to each other the one day that the professor made us pick our partner based on who was next to us," you explained, looking down at Joaquín who was staring at you with heart eyes.

"Well, we didn't know that one either," Sam told you and you smiled and let out a little laugh. You four talked a little bit more before Joaquín started to just ramble about how much he loved you.

"I guess we should get going," you laughed after one particularly loud declaration of love from Joaquín followed by a kiss to your cheek.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests

[al1x00]

Guess who's back🫣 HII KATY HOW ARE YOU MY LOVE?😚 ALSO A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE AU?!?! HELL YEAH

Ngl I read the first lines before anything else and I was prepared for the worst LMAO glad that Yuri's so comprehensive tho (love her sm)

"After our trip to the beach, I know it's his" GIRL?🫣OOP🤭

"And as for the guitar, he put a sticker of your face right on the crack and the mortherfucker kisses it before every show for good luck" WAITT THAT'S SO CUTE :((

I feel like Hobie would for sure take the responsibility if an accidental pregnancy happened, he's not the type of person to leave it all behind. ALSO, I feel like he'd be a huge ass girl dad (and also a huge misandrist LMAO)

Damn James you got a great timing to go piss huh😒

HELPPP YURI AND NED DRINKING AWAY THE EXHASPERATION BYE I'M DEAD

They're like "pass me the wine, I need to get drunk and forget about this" HAHAHA

KATY HOW TF DID YOU MANAGE TO WRITE THE UNDEAD TO BE THAT TERRIFYING MY GODD I HAD CHILLS ALL OVER. That scene where the horde starts to get in the house is written SO WELL ISTG, I can picture it perfectly in my mind.

You can literally feel the anxiety, the chaos of it all, the ABSOLUTE HORROR OF IT KATY YOU'RE A GENIUS YOU OUTDO YOURSELF EVERY GODDAMN TIME

The fact that Hobie immediately thought of what to do if him and R got somehow separated:( He's too loving for his own good

The burning house is giving the start of TLOU ngl

NOOO NOT THE FUCKING TRUCK AND HORDE THEY GOT SEPARATED BWAJFJSKOFF MY BABIESSS😭😭😭

Okay so the infection is like- instant. Once you're bitten you become one of them, right?

TWO FUCKING MONTHS HAVE PASSED?! GOOD GOD THAT'S SO MUCH TIME.

THEY CAN'T EVEN DIE?? Imagine how scared Hobie was when he was just taking a bath and he feels a hand around his ankle- I'd never set foot in any body of water ever again, no matter the size of it.

The voicemails :( I'm not even halfway throught it and I'm already starting to sob KATY YOU OWE ME A THERAPIST

OH HELL NAH PLEASE TELL ME HOBIE IS OKAY AND HE DIDN'T TURN INTO A SEA CREATURE

"It feels like your heart is out of your body, missing somewhere else" I'M SOBBINGG THEY LONG FOR EACH OTHER SM😭😭😭

"Looks like you already took the load" JAMES😨- YOU LITTLE SHIT OMG

My heart literally jumped out of my chest when R almost jumped from the bridge- for a second you had me thinking she was about to die (but then I remembered it's a Katy Special tm)

"The PG version please" HELPP I'M CRYING

"Mudwood Manor" BDAS REFERENCE BDAS REFERENCE BDAS REFERENCEEEEE

AAAAAAA

HOBIE'S ALRIGHT THANK GODDD MY PRAYERS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED

Aww poor Hobie :( the way the situation remembers him of when he was younger actually breaks him. That and how he's already acclimate with how dangerous and difficult the whole situation is. He deserves all the hugs in the world.

The way R for a second didn't even realise it could be Hobie on the other side of the door or how she thought she was just going crazy and imagining it all

NOOO JAMESS GODDAMN IT :((

NOT R CRADLING HIS HEAD IN HER LAP AND FIXING HIS HAIR KATYY STOP MAKING ME SOB.

UGHH THE ENDING IS SO BITTERSWEET I LOVE IT SM. The life among the death, the gore and the blood and Hobie's hug just makes me want to bawl my eyes out of their sockets I swear.

KATYY I MISSED READING YOUR FICS SM AND COMING BACK TO THIS WAS SUCH A NICE EXPERIENCE SO THANK YOU SM. I know I've said it before but I SWEAR I'll get around to read IPOB because I'm so damn curios abt it🤭🤭. But this was such a great read, it's got me in a chokehold now ngl.

End of Beginning

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 18.7k

Synopsis: When the world seems to come to an end, life starts. Death looms and a virus has taken over. Life as you know it has ended and all you ever want is to see him again.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), CW pregnancy, vomit mention, TW blood and gore, CW injury, TW violence, CW death, CW guns, suggestive content, zombie apocalypse AU, established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst.

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You stare intensely at the two little red lines on the plastic stick. Heart beating out of your body while the muffled sounds of the party rattles the locked bathroom door. Your breath hitches in your throat, mouth dry and hands shaking from the mere sight of the three pregnancy tests having the same result— positive. There's no doubt about it as the double lines are as clear as day.

“Fuck.” Yuri says the exact same word you have in mind.

“F–Fuck.” You breathlessly say, voice trembling while you haven't moved an inch from where you're standing in front of the sink.

“What're you gonna do?” Yuri asks beside you, hand placed right on your shoulder as you start wobbling in place, afraid that you might keel over on the harsh tiles. “Are you gonna tell him?”

“I–I’m not sure.” You roll the simple silver band around your pinky finger. One that was given to you by Hobie a long time ago.

Finally lifting up your eyes, you stare at yourself in front of the mirror. You look disheveled, hair a mess from the concert. Your clothes still smell faintly like bile and the floor of a pub. The eyeliner around your eyes is smudged, and lips bare from all the wiping you had to do after getting sick all over James’ parents’ bathroom. You feel like a bloody mess.

It was Yuri's idea to run to the chemist's and buy different packs of tests for you after she walked in on you heaving out your dinner. Damn Yuri and her smart ass.

“I thought it was food poisoning from the shawarma we ate.” You deflate, tears threatening to spill over as you sit on the toilet.

“That place near the post office?” Yuri sighs, leaning against the cold tiles as her voice echoes around the bathroom that's as big as your living room.

You rub your palms all over your face, elbows placed atop of your knees as your body folds over itself in an attempt to calm down. There's a rock in the pit of your stomach, face clammy and lips wobbling. The soles of your feet feel numb, ebbing up to your legs and further towards your chest until it reaches your shaking hands. Your leg keeps bouncing up and down, as if it has a life of its own. You don't hear your best friend calling your name as blood rushes in your ears.

“Hey,” she kneels down in front of you, bare knees freezing from the tiles but seemingly not caring for the sensation as her kind eyes stay on you. Her leather skirt pools around her, a blob of black framing under her. “You okay?”

“Y–yeah, it's that place near the post office.” a tear slides down your cheek, and you're quick to wipe it away.

Yuri holds onto your knee, stopping the bouncing of your legs as she cups it with her palm gently and looks into your eyes. “Please don't tell me it's James'”

You pause, staring straight at her with a glare. “Bitch.”

She laughs, the sound bouncing all over the walls. “Mate,” her hand grasps your own, fondly rubbing at your sweaty palm. “You and Hobie have been together since the dawn of time. trust me, after our trip to the beach, I know it's his.”

You crumple in place, a smile slowly appearing on your lips as you hide your face. “God, you'll never let us live that down.”

“Seriously, we had to wear our noise cancelling headphones.”

“Stop!” Chuckling, you feel a bit lighter from her teasing. Just a tiny bit.

Yuri mirrors your smile, dark eyes crinkling at the corners. “What are you worried about, hm?”

You sigh, “you know what I'm worried about, Yuri.”

She shrugs and makes a face. “No, I don't, so don't waste both our time and just tell your best mate.”

Rubbing your eyes with your index finger, your entire body starts feeling the pin pricks all around you. “I just—” she patiently waits for you to gather your words. “What if he doesn't want it? That he'll leave me all because of…” you wildly gesture around your stomach.

“Are the hormones getting in your head already?” You give her a stern glare. “Babes, remember the time you accidentally broke his favourite vinyl?” You nod, wincing at the memory. “And that one time you dropped his guitar while attempting to clean it?”

“Please don't remind me, I have nightmares of breaking more shit.”

“Well, you might not remember that he never got mad at you.” Yuri smiles, taking your clenched hands and holding it in place. “He even placed the vinyl in a frame and made it look fucking cooler than before with its shattered pieces. And as for the guitar, he put a sticker of your face right on the crack and the motherfucker kisses it before every show for good luck.”

You chuckle, tears sticking to your lashes.

“All I'm saying is, he's not gonna fucking leave you because of this.” She beams at you, eyes shining from the bright light of the bathroom. “If he does, then I'm gonna help you raise that kid. But before that I have to bury him and you're gonna help me find a quiet and secluded place for him.”

You laugh, head falling down on Yuri's shoulder. “You really think so?” Your voice is small as she rubs your back.

“I know so, babes. Besides, this is his fault too.” You sniff and she holds onto you tighter. “And I know Hobie, he takes responsibility for shit he does. The one thing he truly loves in this world besides his guitar is you.” She whispers, love rolling off of her as she comforts you. “I've seen the way he looks at you, and that's not the look a man gives to someone he's ready to up and leave because of a baby.”

Your heart steadies in place as your mind flickers back to his face. Yuri's right, all those years of being in love with him, and the many years of being together would tell you that he won't bolt away from the product of all those years of loving each other. But there's that one thing you're worried about too.

“But—” you start and Yuri lifts your head up, scrunching your face in her hands.

“No buts!”

“Yuri,” you say, despite your squished lips and cheeks. “The band is just gaining traction, what if this—”

“I'm going to stop you right there.” She stands up, boots thumping on the tiles as she helps you stand up from the toilet and grabs a tissue to clean up your tear stained cheeks and messy mascara. “This won't stop us, and we'll learn to juggle it with you.” Gently patting your eyes, she smiles softly. “Don't forget, you're part of this band too.”

A smile manages to wiggle itself on your face with Yuri's bright encouragement. She does have a point, and you can't help but imagine Hobie kissing your baby's chubby cheeks, or the baby having his smile and his eyes. And the thought of him cradling them to sleep while the baby’s little lashes flutter close. He'll be a good dad, but at the same time you don't want to spring this huge news on him when his career is just starting to propel him and the band. You don't want to be the one to hold him back. Yes, you have options, but this is the product of your love, *years of that love. Maybe you'll be a good mother, for now, you have to be brave and tell him.

“I just manage the gigs, you guys can live without me.”

“Tell that to our lead guitarist.” Nudging your shoulder, she places you in front of the mirror. “We've got your back, alright? Do you think a baby will stop him from making music?”

“I don't know, Yuri. But thank you.” You nod appreciatively, swallowing thickly at the woman standing in the mirror. Will you still look like this in nine months? Will you be happy with your decision in nine months?

“Just tell him, or he'll be able to sniff it out like his surprise birthday party last year.” She gently shakes you in place, trying to get a smile out of you.

“I'll tell him, don't worry. He deserves to know.” You whisper as someone knocks on the bathroom door, their muffled words telling you to hurry up.

“Good, because it's his fault.” Yuri grabs another tissue and wraps all the tests and places it in your palm.

“Not entirely.” You chuckle out, and she makes a disgusted face.

“Augh, I swear you two are like fucking rabbits.”

You snort as you pocket the pregnancy tests. It feels vaguely heavy inside the front pocket of your jeans.

“You ready? Or do you need one more hug?” Yuri opens her arms, expecting for you to wave her away, but instead you step into her arms, embracing her. She hugs back wholeheartedly.

“Thank you, Yuri.”

“Anytime, lovely.” She kisses your temple, wiping away the kiss mark. “I can't wait to buy baby shit for whatever spawns out of you.”

“I can already tell you'll be a great aunt.” You say with a hint of sarcasm.

She scoffs, “of course I will be!” Wrenching the door open, you're met with James’ disgruntled face. “Jeez, do you need to pee that bad, Jameson?”

“Yes! Move!” He pushes Yuri out of the way and she shields you away from his elbow. “Why do girls always go to the loo together!”

The two of you shuffle away immediately before you get a sight of something that will surely make you hurl once again.

“Christ, it's because of all those beers he's been chugging.” Yuri walks next to you, eyes roaming around for the familiar punk’s back to bring you back to him.

“And to think that he has an army of groupies.” You find that your hand unconsciously meets with your stomach, protecting it from the rambunctious party goers.

The party is in full swing as you and Yuri go down the long winding stairs of James’ parents' mansion. Drinks are passed around, amber liquid sloshing out of the glasses and cans. Speakers play one of the band's songs, a loud punk anthem that adds fuel to the already on fire party. Expensive Arabian carpets now smell of beer and piss, crisps crunching down on your shoes, impossible to step around it when the place is packed with sweaty and dancing bodies. It's a miracle that nothing is broken or else James will never see the sun again after his parents see the aftermath of their million euro home.

“There's Ned!” Yuri guides you towards the makeshift bar which is actually the kitchen's island where bottles upon bottles of liquor sits on its previously pristine marble.

“Where the fuck have you two been? Hobie's practically going insane looking for you!” Ned exclaims as he pours you and Yuri a glass of gin.

You scrunch your face at the drink, stomach churning from the smell alone, and Yuri saves you by taking both glasses and chugging each of them without gagging or missing a beat.

“Whew!” The glasses clinks as she places it both down. “Thanks, Ned, I was getting thirsty!”

Ned blinks, and looks impressed at the feat. He sighs, ponting at you. “That was for her, I'll just pour you another one.”

“No!” You and Yuri collectively gasp.

“I mean—” you start, “I've been feeling sick lately, remember? I don't think drinking will help my stomach.” Yuri nods her head enthusiastically, agreeing with you.

“Right, I did tell Hobie that the shawarma place near the post office had a health violation last year.” Ned looks at something behind you, or someone.

A familiar arm loops over your shoulder, the comforting weight keeps your stomach from doing flips and hurling what's left of it onto the marble kitchen. His front is right behind you while his free hand has managed to wiggle itself into your backpocket.

“They said they're under new management, Ned.” Hobie chuckles out, warmth seeping through you.

You look over your shoulder, only to be met with his amber eyes that look almost golden under the light. He smells faintly of after concert musk and your own perfume that he keeps saying is his lucky charm. Smiling, he cups your chin with his palm, giving you a chaste kiss.

He scrunches his nose, smiling at you. “Did you brush your teeth?” His face then morphs into concern, brows furrowed and hands squeezing your side, fingers grazing your stomach. “We can go home if you feel too sick.”

“I did, don't worry I didn't use anyone's toothbrush, I just used my finger like a caveman. And please don't be a worry wart, it's nothing I can't handle, Hobs.” You lean against his shoulder, feeling infinitely better now that you're in his arms. Now that you're looking at him as he gazes at you with so much affection, you start to think that your worries feel silly.

“I don't think they had toothpaste back in the stone age, love.” He nuzzles your temple, nose tickling your hairline.

“Archeologists beg to differ.”

“Yeah? You an archaeologist now?” He flirts back, palm still cupping the back of your neck and thumb rubbing along your jaw. His rings are cold against your warm skin, comforting you further.

Yuri and Ned roll their eyes and tries to ignore the public display of affection while mixing in drinks and then downing it in one go. Like a couple of exasperated parents.

“I could be if I wasn't too busy being your manager.” You hold his hand as he kisses the tip of your nose. “And fluoride existed during the olden times, y’know.”

Hobie leans back, brows knitting together before a smile etches on his handsome face. “Really?” He says with a lilt in his tone. “This your way of sayin’ bye to the band?”

“Nope, someone's gonna miss me too much.” You whisper against his cheek, kissing him lovingly.

“I'm sure Ned will live.” Hobie laughs, embracing you as he sways you to the music.

“Don't bring me into this, bruv.” You and Hobie laugh at the look on Ned’s face.

Yuri stares at you and smiles, wordlessly telling you to tell Hobie the news. With a deep inhale, you twist around to cup Hobie's face and look at him with a serious expression. The glint of your ring urges you to continue.

“Can we go somewhere quiet? I need to tell you something, Hobie—”

“Oi, have the lot of you seen this?” James comes running in, flip phone in hand as he shoves the screen in each of your faces until Hobie takes it.

“That you finally washed your hands after taking a piss?” Yuri crosses her arms over her chest as she closes the distance and peeks over your shoulder.

A shaky and grimey video plays a scene of someone blowing out their birthday candles inside a restaurant. The celebrant claps while the guests cheer for them. It's all normal and happy at first then the camera zooms in on the background, right on the window where a man who looks like he's drunk, staggers and limps towards the restaurant window. Then a sound of an oncoming car skids to a halt but too late to stop in time. It hits the man dead on as he flips and flies over the car until his face meets and grinds on the asphalt, leaving a blood trail. Chaos ensues as the shaking of the camera moves towards the streets while onlookers yell and try to call for help.

“Fuckin’ hell, mate, what did I tell you about showing us these kinds of videos.” Ned groans then leaves to go tend to the makeshift bar again.

“No, no, just watch!” James pleads, shoving the screen in front of the band's faces but Ned just shakes his head. “It's bonkers!”

“C’mon, bruv, you can't jus’ show us shit like this.” Hobie moves the phone away from you, but you chase the screen with your eyes as you see the last bit of the video showing the man standing up like nothing happened.

Hobie tries to close the phone to save you from the sight but James snatches it and continues to show it to everyone else. Hobie tries to manoeuvre you away but with James' increasing insistence, Yuri takes one for the team and yanks it out of his hand and pockets it.

“No phone for you until you shut the fuck up about it!”

“Yuri! That's bullshit! That's mine.” James reaches for his phone but Yuri dodges him. “You're not my mum!”

“You tried to show us some live leak shit! No, absolutely not.” They fight like siblings while Yuri swats his roaming hands away.

“The bloke stood up like normal and his eyeball was hanging out of his sockets!” Their arguing falls into the background as Hobie leads you towards the corner of the kitchen.

“You alright, love? Not too queasy?” Hobie rubs your stomach, still unbeknownst to the growing life inside of you.

Taking his hand, you let it rest on your belly. “I'm fine, nothing I can't handle.”

He smiles, squeezing your hand and chuckling. “That's my girl, always so bloody tough, eh?”

“Yeah, that's me, tough as nails.” You nervously chuckle as if you weren't about to burst into tears a few minutes ago.

“Now, what were you about to tell me?”

“I—” you're suddenly out of words. “Can we go somewhere quiet first?” The raging bass of the music is starting to give you a headache, shaking through your skull.

“This serious then?” Worry flickers in his mind, and you know that he's trying to remember if he did something bad. “Did I do somethin'?” And you were right.

You shake your head, palms splayed over his chest whilst you lay down the lapels of his spiked denim jacket. “You didn't do anything wrong.” Your voice is gentle yet it wavers a bit from your own worries.

What if you don't do good for this kid? What if being a mother isn't for you? What if— your attention flits over to a staggering figure appearing from the hill. The shadow gets closer towards the house as you see them through the ceiling to floor windows of James' home, the glass is just situated behind Hobie. Everyone seems to not notice the person as it sprints on the grass. Their head dips back, as if the speed they're running at has their own head lolling backwards from the momentum.

“Is this because of me accidentally leavin' puddin’ on the table and having ants…”

Hobie's voice fades in your ears as your eyes stay on the figure that's coming towards you.

They're quickly gaining speed.

“Love?”

The party goers don't seem to notice the guy, continuing to dance and drink about all merrily. Your body freezes in place, mind going haywire, electricity running down your fingertips and stomach flipping upside down. It's as if your senses warn you of the figure, as if your innate fear response is acting upon itself.

Hobie cups your cheek gently just as the man gets closer, barefooted, shoulder bent at a harsh angle and blood dripping from his eyes.

Then more appear right on the hill, running like they've injured themselves, moon shining down behind them, bathing their shadows in silver light. They look like regular people, except for limbs that flail around, and mouths agape— the blood smeared all over them has your senses telling you to run.

Your breathing stops.

In a blink, there's a horde of them coming your way.

“Oi, you alright? You gonna be sick?”

“Run—!” As you say it, a loud smash can be heard as the first figure you saw comes crashing inside the house. People scream and dodge broken glass.

“Shit!” Hobie shields you away immediately, arms enveloping around you.

“What the fuck?!” James yells, trainers stepping on glass. “My parents are gonna kill me!”

Everyone looks at the body laying on the floor, around him lays plastic cups and crisps. He bleeds slowly into the marble floor, staining it with a puddle of warm crimson. You swear you saw smoke appear from within.

“Someone call an ambulance!” An acquaintance of the band yells as everyone else pauses to stare wide eyed at the still body.

“F–Fuck!” Yuri curses as she takes out her phone from her pocket, fumbling with it in a panic that causes the phone to slip from her grasp and onto the puddle of blood. “Shit.”

She takes a step closer to take it back, and you quickly yank her away. Everyone's attention is on the lone body, but yours are on the oncoming crowd that are running down the hill.

Yuri and Hobie follow your line of sight, gasping in place as they see a dozen or so figures running at breakneck speed.

The rest follows as the guttural groans get louder.

“What the fuck—!” Just as Ned says it, the lone body twitches on the floor and lifts his head up, revealing a grotesque slashed face with shards of glass embedded in his rotting flesh. Blood dribbles from his mouth, strings of drool and crimson leaving his cut lip. His veins pop out, black and blue. “What the fuck!”

You grab a knife from the bar, and you tug Hobie away. “Everyone, run!”

Glass smashes underfoot as everyone rushes to get to the exit.

Yuri holds onto your arm whilst Hobie takes the front. He holds onto your hand in a tight grip, shoulder smashing into the panicking crowd to get you out of there.

Bodies are packed into the doorway as people try to get out. Screams ring out behind you, screams that will haunt your dreams as tearing flesh accompanies the horrific sound.

“Fuckin’ move!” Hobie squeezes himself out in between panicking bodies, hand still grasping around yours. He yells your name, eyes set in a panic as blood splashes across the walls and expensive paintings.

You don't dare look back at the carnage as you manage to get out while your hand is around your stomach protectively.

“C’mon!” Hobie yanks you away, no time for gentleness as he leads you towards the car. “Fuck!”

The two of you run on the yard, the street filled with cries as people funnel out of the house. Neighbours come out of their houses, porch lights flickering on.

You notice the lack of hands around you as you look back at the house. “Yuri!”

Hobie pauses for a second, looking for the rest of his band in the midst of chaos and screams. Faces whizz by, but none of them look like them. With his heart plummeting down to his stomach, he continues to run and snatch you out of your worried stupor.

You stagger on your feet, the cold February air nipping at your cheeks. “What about the others?!” You cry out as Hobie unlocks the car and practically shoves you inside the passenger's side. Face unreadable. “Hobie!” He slams the door shut and goes around the hood to get inside.

He takes a breath for a second, hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, and eyes wild as he stares at the rearview mirror.

You grasp his hand, fingers trembling around his palm. “We need to wait for them.”

Swallowing thickly and with a shaking hand, he inserts the key in the ignition and starts the car.

“Hobie, we can't fucking leave them here!” You cry out, head turning towards the house where you see limping and bloodied bodies exit the place.

More and more come out, all covered in crimson, eyes eerily wide, and jaws permanently set ajar, mouths frothing and dripping with blood. They sniff the air as a few of them pick apart the stragglers left writhing on the grass.

“What—What the fuck are they?” Hobie watches as they rip and tear into bodies like they're wet paper. Limbs fly about, severed arms and legs fling out before landing on the former pristine grass.

“I—I don't know.” Your hand grips the knife tightly. “Do you see them?” You whisper, afraid of being heard by the creatures.

Hobie roams his eyes around, frantically looking for the band. He licks at his lips, sweat dribbling down the back of his neck. “...no, do you—?!” A fist bangs against the window, the face belonging to it seems familiar, whoever it was, they break his window with ease after a couple of punches. The tattered arm reaches inside, trying to grab at Hobie. “Fuck!”

You scream, and Hobie, in his panic, steps on the gas.

“Hobie!” The car speeds off into the suburban streets but whatever or whoever it was they still hold onto the side of the window, groaning, eyes bleeding and trying to bite at him with his golden teeth. “Fuck off!” You yell, holding onto the grab handles above to propel your legs over Hobie and kick them out of the car.

They fly away, body rag dolling, skidding into the asphalt and leaving a trail of blood.

You huff, heaving back into your seat as Hobie glances worriedly at you. “Are you okay?” You ask, adrenaline filtering through your veins.

He checks himself over, and finds nothing of note. “Yeah,” he reaches for you, palm cupping your cheek. “You?”

“I–I think so.” You look down at your shoes, finding specks of blood staining your trainers. The hula girl on the dashboard dances to the hum of the car, completely unbothered.

“What the fuck is happening?” Hobie asks as his attention turns back towards the road, carefully steering in through the neighborhood.

“I think what James showed us…” you try to catch your breath, hand placed on your stomach. “...is that— it's happening here too.”

“Love.” He exhales shakily, trying to even out his breathing and expel out the panic. “I think that was the pub owner.”

“What?” You look back, only to see the grand houses fading away. “Who?”

“The fuckin' guy who tried to grab me.” He gestures behind him.

Your face morphs into horror as realization flits over you. “What the fuck.” Looking back again, you only see the dark road. “That can't— he was at the party with us!”

“Do you think it's contagious?”

“What?”

“They looked like they were sick, like fuckin'— like rabies.” He waves his hand wildly.

“Rabies?”

“I don't know— all I know is that he was bloody fine the last I saw him.”

“If it is contagious, we need to know how you get it so we can avoid it.” You sit back down, hand still holding onto the small knife you grabbed from the bar. He nods, eyeing you from his peripheral.

The car grows quiet for a minute as you and Hobie ride towards the city.

“We left them there.” You say solemnly, eyes staring straight at the buildings in front of you.

“They're alright.” Hobie says matter-of-factly, hands clenching around the wheel.

“Hobie.” You say his name with tears in your eyes.

“I know they are.” He grabs your hand, squeezing it three times before letting go. Another minute passes in heavy silence. “If…” Hobie starts, heart heavy. “...If we get separated—”

“Hobie—”

“Jus’ in case, love.” He pats your thigh lovingly. “Jus’ in case, we meet back at the houseboat. And if that doesn't work or you can't get there…” he inhales shakily, afraid of losing you in the chaos. “D’you remember that cabin we rented out last year for our anniversary?” You nod, hand reaching for his elbow. “We'll meet there, right? Tell me you understand, love.”

“I understand.” You say with haste. The frantic look in his eyes has you reaching for him, hand placed in between the headrest and the back of his neck as he leans against your touch. “We'll be okay, Hobie.”

He swallows thickly, fists tightening around the steering wheel. “You come first, remember that, y–yeah?” His voice cracks as he runs a rough palm over his face. “Whatever happens, we stay together.”

Just as the words escape his lips, the car passes by a burning building on the side of the road. The embers flicker in and out, flames illuminating the darkened road in its yellow glow. The fire devours the whole place, warmth felt through the windshield, kissing your cheeks. You and Hobie share a heavy look, recognizing the place as the same diner you two had your first date together. It doesn't bode well, and it doesn't help with your churning stomach.

“Love.” He calls you softy, grasping at your hand that rests on your stomach.

You didn't even notice you were holding onto your belly until he touched you. “Yeah?”

“You alright?”

Hobie turns the car further into the highway as you two come across more cars than before, all leaving the city unlike you and Hobie.

“Y–Yeah.” You lie through your teeth, eyes watching as an ambulance whizzes past you towards the city. “What’s your plan?”

“We need to go home and then sail on the houseboat. I bet whatever those things were can't bloody swim.”

“Hobie, the houseboat can't handle waves from the sea.” You say as you instinctively knead at his nape.

“I know, love, we'll stay close to the rivers—” He abruptly stops talking, eyes following an empty bus stopped on the road. It looked normal at first, but when you stare into it longer, the bloody handprints on the windows make your skin rise. “We'll be fine.” His tone says that he's not just reassuring you but also himself.

A helicopter passes by above you, blades whirring and fading away as it goes out of the city. The familiar streets are filled with people, all lugging bags and their children carried on their backs as they try to leave the place. Your palm curls around your shirt, a pit in your stomach weighing heavily.

“I think we should turn back.”

“Back to where?” Hobie doesn't mean for his tone to be harsher than it was. “There's nowhere else.”

You almost jump in place when a jet plane whooses past, leaving behind a trail in the clouds. “Somewhere that isn't crowded.”

“We're in London, love, everywhere is crowded.” Hobie stops the car as you two hit traffic. “The world is endin’ and there's still fuckin' traffic.” He honks the horn in frustration, muscles straining under the harsh push.

The sound rings in your ears as you look around you. Pedestrians have a solemn look in their eyes, clutching at themselves. A few limp in place, ankle swollen or leg bleeding from the worst day in their lives. Your mind wanders back to Yuri and the others, wondering if they're alright, or if they're injured and limping like the strangers around you.

Hobie turns on the radio, flipping through the usual music channels to get to the news. The sound of the emergency broadcast has you and Hobie covering your ears from the shrill sound. He lowers the volume down from the last music jam you two had on your way to James'.

The radio cackles for a moment, signal fading in and out as static cackles. “Stay….home…danger…bite.”

“Useless piece of shit!” He punches the radio, suddenly, instead of the broadcaster's voice, an ear piercing boom can be heard from your right. The knick-knacks on the dashboard fall on the floor. “Fuck!” Hobie instinctively puts his arms around your head, shielding you.

The explosion reverberates, shockwave echoing through the city as it hits the car and breaks all the windows and windshields. Glass shatters around you whilst screams erupt all around the streets.

“What was that?!” Your ears ring, a piercing sound deep inside your ears. Hobie says something, mouth opening and closing but you don't hear him through the shrill deaf tone. “What?!”

He grasps at your face, pointing at the black smoke billowing from the distance. You follow his finger, seeing fire and brimstone, the heat from it searing your cheeks. “—we need to go!”

You stare back at him, eyes wide at an oncoming truck heading your way. It runs through cars like butter, flipping metal and ripping flesh. You don't have time to run, so you embrace him— The only way you know how to protect him.

—

Hobie wakes up with a flaring pain on his temple. Skin aflame as gashes and scratches mar his flesh. His vision fades in and out, and his throat dry as he swings upside down in his seat.

Panic sets in immediately, blood rushing to his head. The car is a mess, trinkets that were on the dashboard are now strewn across the car's ceiling. Glass shards littered around, and metal folded and creaking as he moves. He yells your name, throat stinging, chest heavy as he looks beside him.

He only sees a splash of crimson on the seat.

“Love!” He cries out, rough and bloodied hands trying to push away several metal rods piercing in between him and the passenger's seat, fencing him out. It almost split the car in half.

“F–Fuck! C’mon!” Looking through the cracks, he spots an opening before him and a trail of blood. That's probably where you must've gone.

His hand trembles as he feels through the seatbelt and releases it with a click. He falls down harshly, body folded against himself. Breath wheezing, he inhales through the pain.

The thought of you injured and alone was enough fuel for him to squeeze himself out of the window and into the street. Glass nicks his body, scraping against his skin. He bites his tongue, hands scruffed and bleeding.

Hobie falls knees first into the asphalt, body aching and various cuts bleeding on the cold grey ground.

With a deep inhale, he pushes himself up, palms splayed, and feet boosting himself up. His muscles scream in protest as blood dribbles from his brow down to his lashes. He finally makes it up, standing on unsteady feet.

Hobie goes back to the car, arms reaching towards the backseat where his guitar case lies. His fingertips brush along its rough leather until he manages to get a hold of it. He yanks it out of the back, a miracle that it's even intact after the crash. There's no care when he takes it out of the car, case smashing loudly against the broken shards of glass and banging on the metal door. As long as he has it back, he doesn't care about the damage.

There's a sudden animalistic groan in the distance.

On trembling legs, he turns around. His whole body freezes as he sees piles upon piles of cars littered around. Death lingers in the place, rotten flesh and drying blood wafting over his nose.

You have to be alive. You have to be.

As he starts to stagger around the car to climb over the debris and over to you— he falls back on the hood from the sharp pain stinging on his cranium; hip hitting hard on the metal. The sound bounces off the concrete street, and he hears the sudden shuffling of feet, then running footsteps.

Hobie lifts his head up, seeing a crowd— no, a horde sprinting towards him as they appear behind the flipped and broken down cars. All gnashing teeth and bloodied fingers trying to rip him apart.

Without a choice, he bolts away in the different direction you might've gone.

—

Warmth kisses your skin as you lay on the soft mattress. Face squished on the pillow as arms wrap around your body.

“Morning, Hobie.” It was all a bad dream then, nothing but a nightmare fuelled from watching a horror movie before bed. You run your knuckles over his cheek, he still doesn't stirr. “I know you're awake, Hobs.”

You take his cheek, palm resting along his jawline. He feels cold. “Hobie? You okay?” Sitting up, you try to shake him awake. “Hobie? Are you sick?”

His body immediately flings up, sheets flying off his body as his hands wrap tightly around your neck. The amber eyes you love are now a pair of bloodied rubies in his eye sockets. Blood drips from his lips, skin bubbling and melting off his skull. Blue and red veins snake along his flesh, curling around his eyes and lips.

“H–Hobie!” You claw at his hands, ripping away his skin, feeling it crust under your nails.

He chokes you firmly, and you gasp awake.

Your eyes meet with carnage, fire and smoke hitting your face as a breeze passes by. The once normal London streets look like a car junkyard. A throbbing ache spreads through you as you see the hula girl on the floor, crimson splashed on her ukelele.

“Holy shit, you're finally awake!” The least likely person you thought you'd meet up with taps your cheek. James' face is drenched in sweat and blood, shirt caked in drying blood as he shakes you awake once again.

“J–James? How?”

“I need to unclip you, okay? You're gonna fall.” Before you could say something or even wait for your mind to wake up fully, he cuts your seatbelt off with a knife and you fall headfirst into the car's ceiling. Pain blooms on the back of your neck as you feel aches and pains all over. “There, we need to fucking move, Y/N.”

“No, where's—!?” You twist in your seat, sitting up and weakly pushing him away as you turn towards the driver's side. Hobie is still strapped in his seat, sitting upside down, arms dangling from his sides. He's unconscious but breathing.

“Hobie.” You try to squeeze your hands in between the metal crammed in the car that divides your side from his. The beloved car has seen better days. “H–Hobie, fucking wake up!” The tips of your fingers brush along his shoulder, feeling his warmth against your skin. “Please!”

James yells your name, tugging you away. “We'll get him out! But we need to hurry, they're coming!”

“Who?” A low rumbling groan echoes out from the chaos. In your headache, you finally remember what happened.

“You need to get out of the car and I'll try to get him out. You won't go far with your leg.”

“My leg?” You look down, gasping as a large gash runs down your hind leg. Blood trickles from the wound as shards of sharp glass sticks out of it. “Oh f–fuck!” Immediately, pain shoots up. A blinding pain that has you grasping at James’ shoulders and biting down your lip.

“Yeah, I know, calm down.” James pats your back and brandishes the same knife you took from his house. “I'm going to jump over the cars and cut him loose, okay? Stay here.”

You nod, biting down your yelps of agony. Your hand wanders down to your stomach out of fear for the life inside.

James leaves your side, grunting and grasping at his bleeding arm. You watch him carefully as he tries to find a foothold on a side mirror attached to something that doesn't even look like a vehicle anymore with its crushed metal and shattered glass. Ageing blood drifts in the air, clotted and drying while screams and screeches echo all around the city. There's a low rumble of helicopter blades somewhere, and sirens fading in and out.

James still struggles to climb up over the pile of cars. You turn your head, glancing at Hobie in hopes of him waking up from his dreamless sleep. There's drying blood trickling on his temple, lips split and bloodied. Adrenaline makes your hand shake, his words echo in your mind— “you come first.” He'd want for you to not just sit there wait for him to wake up, so with a determination to survive in your eyes, you reach upwards to grab a scarf you know you've placed inside the console. Things tumble out as you open it, polaroids, keys, guitar picks and the blue scarf you've been looking for.

You hear James' grunts as you gingerly pick up a picture of you and Hobie on a random day at the beach. That day was freezing cold with the waters nipping at your skin, but you two didn't care as you chased each other on the frozen sand. With trembling fingers, you hide the picture inside your jacket pocket.

“F–Fuck.” You bite your tongue as you take out pieces of glass out of your leg. A tear slides down your cheek as you remove the last one that was buried deep inside your muscle. Inhaling, you flick your eyes towards James who's halfway up the pileup. “Okay.” Cinching the cloth tighter and tighter around your leg, you breathe in through your nose, mouth clamped shut to prevent a shrill cry from coming out. Tying it neatly, you finally take a deep exhale of air.

“Shit!” James yells, foot slipping off a bloodied hood of a car as he tumbles down on the hard ground. He groans, sitting up and cradling his behind.

“You okay?” You ask, swallowing down your fear as you quickly glance at Hobie, who's still unconscious. If you take too long to get him out, the blood rushing to his head won't be good. “James.”

“I'm good— fuck!” An arm suddenly reaches from within a crushed car, skin mangled, black blood oozing from the wounds. James crawls backwards into a car, the loud bump and his screech could wake up the whole city.

“James— shit!” You clamber out of the car, leg immediately shooting up a wave of pain that has you almost curling against yourself. With another look at Hobie, you limp towards James and help him up. “We need to get Hobie out!”

“Yeah—” his eyes turn wide at something behind you. “Fuck me.”

As you look over your shoulder, you see a wave of people clambering out of the destroyed cars and appearing from the side streets. The moon gazes behind them, a spotlight on their shambling bodies and shadows dancing on the pavement as their hands open and close, trying to grasp at you.

With your heart stuck in your throat, you grab a piece of metal laying at your feet. Its sharp edges sting your palms as the smell of the rusted iron meets with your nose. You look at Hobie, eyes tearing up at him sitting there alone and defenseless. You murmur an apology before smacking the metal against the hood of a car.

“Over here!” You scream, throat burning and legs inching towards an opening towards the alleyway.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” James tries to grab you, but you nudge him away.

“Getting them away from him!” You hammer away at the cars around you while you limp towards the alley. “James, come on!”

The rotting corpses follow you as you and James shimmy in between a downed car and a truck. Their running footsteps thud in tandem with your heart, metal pokes and scratch you but you carry on with gritted teeth.

You make it out of the pileup, immediately turning around to grab James by the collar before one of the shamblers takes a hold of him. Their fingers graze his back, almost ripping his shirt apart.

“Come on, you fuckers!” You yell, banging the metal rod around the walls whilst James guides you backwards.

The corpses struggle to get out of the small space, pushing at each other as bodies quickly pile up over the cars and spill over the cramped alleyway. A few hit the ground in a crunching noise, but the rest pay them no heed as they jump over their heads, stampeding over them while they desperately try to get to you.

“We need to run!” James grabs your arm, quickly looping it over his shoulder to help you bolt away. “I've got an idea!”

Before you could fully turn away, you see a glimpse of Hobie in between the piles of bodies and metal. He sits there, undisturbed and safe.

“Go!” With tears in your eyes, you sprint away despite the searing pain in your leg.

—

Hobie quickens his sprinting, wind whizzing past him as he almost tumbles towards the docks. Wood creaks under him, heavy boots thumping against the old wood and water logged planks.

It looks like he outran the corpses, but he can still hear them heaving out a throaty groan like they're in pain. He's not taking any chances as he quickly makes time and jumps over the side of his houseboat the second he sees its well loved façade.

“Shit, shit, shit.” His knees hit the deck and an almost blinding pain lights his joints on fire.

He grasps at his knees, body laying against the cold wood. Despite the pain, he unties the rope tether from the dock, using his muscle memory and ignoring the fear to quickly untie it. The ropes fall down into the waters, sinking down into the depths.

With a deep inhale, he crawls towards the welcome mat that he still remembers you got for him as a housewarming gift. That was before you were dating, but he already loved you back then— still does, a lot more now. Turning it over, he grabs the spare key and climbs back up, using the doorknob as leverage.

With his hands shaking, he opens the door in hopes of seeing you waiting for him patiently inside.

The door creaks open, and he's only met with dead air and darkness.

Hobie bites the inside of his cheek, trying to calm himself down as he makes his way upwards and towards the steering wheel. The framed pictures of you two and the band whizzes past him in the dark, all smiles and laughter etched in each photograph. He makes it up to the wheel, immediately inserting the key in the ignition as the whole boat lights up like a damn Christmas tree.

The bloodied and bloated corpses appear from the street, shrieking as they see him standing in the boat before racing towards him.

Hobie doesn't steer the boat just yet, eyes roaming around the docks, hoping, wishing that he would see you sprinting towards the houseboat you two shared.

But with every inch the dead comes close to him, he has no choice but to sail away without you.

He promises to find you, even if it kills him.

—

Your lungs burn from the running, feet sore and feeling like you're sprinting on hot coals. It's torture, pair it up with your nausea and your various wounds, you feel like you're better off as the dead’s meal. And yet, you still run with James leading you towards a pub.

His shoulder hits the double doors, bursting it open and pulling you through it and locking the doors with a propped up chair all in quick succession.

You stand in the middle of the room with a wild look in your eyes as you see a handful of people peeking out of the bar.

“Get out!” One whisper yells at you, and James finally joins your side.

“Absolutely not, mate.” He shakes his head, taking your hand, he leads you towards the back of the place. “I own this bloody place.”

You whip your head towards him with shock. “What?”

“Technically my dad does.” He whispers to you as he continues to lead you to an office while the survivors follow you with their heavy gaze.

“And here I thought JJJ only had that radio show.” You say as you close the door behind you to shut off the stares.

James rummages through the desk, trying to find something as you roam your eyes around the sparse room with a few accolades framed to the walls and its business permit. Behind the oak table lies a large cabinet with a lock on it. And to the other side of the wall is the back exit. There's not even a framed picture of his family in it, not even of James.

“One thing about my dad is that he loves yapping, drinking, and…” he grins, showing you a ring of keys. “Guns.”

“Guns? That's—”

“Hard to get here? Yeah, he had to pull some strings.” He immediately turns around, crouching down to unlock the cabinet. “The real deal is at our house, and you already know what happened there, this is just a small part of his collection.” A muffled curse escapes from his lips as he tries to find the right key in the dozen or so keys.

You look at the window from the office, seeing the survivors beginning to stand up and staring at you with curiosity. Without missing a beat, you close the blinds with a quick tug. You can't risk it, not when you've seen too many apocalypse movies with Hobie. Fuck, Hobie, your heart squeezes at the thought of him. You should get back to him using those guns, saving him like in the movies.

“How'd you find us, James— shit, have you seen Yuri and Ned?” You lean against the table as a wave of pain ebbs through you. Your hand grasps at your stomach, trying to calm yourself down.

His hands pauses, “...no, no I haven't. We got separated too. We all ran out towards another house to get help but when I looked back they were both gone. Then I jacked a car to get to the city— to my mum and dad, hopefully. That's when I saw the pileup and your car.” He clears his throat, sniffing and wiping his face with his sleeve. “I'm sure they're fine though, this is Yuri and Ned we're talking about.”

“Yeah, I hope so. I'm sure your parents are fine too.” That means Hobie is all alone out there. “James, we need to get back to Hobie.”

“I know, boss.” He says your nickname that he dubbed to you when you took on the mantle of being their manager. “No man left behind, I promise.” The cabinet finally unlocks, revealing a pump action shotgun and a pistol. “Thanks dad.” James grabs the backpack next to the gun, filling it up with as much ammo as he could put inside. “Help me with this.”

You nod, quickly kneeling down to shovel in ammo. Your leg hinders you to fold it, but despite the stabbing pain, you still crouch. “After we get Hobie, we'll hop onto the houseboat then we'll go out and find Yuri and Ned.” The boxes of bullets rattle as you shove it inside.

“Solid plan.” He takes the shotgun and loads it in with shells. You gawk at his expert movements. He shrugs, “of course he taught us how to use these things.”

“Perks of being friends with the royal family I guess?”

James makes a face, nose scrunched up. “Never went to their hunts, dad said I would've pointed it at them instead.”

You chuckle, “that's probably true.”

He smiles, handing you the pistol. “You know how to use it?”

“Uh, point and shoot?” You take the weighted gun in your hand.

James takes the gun and shows you the safety, “right means pew pew, left means no pew pew.” He then takes a cartridge and loads up the pistol and shows you how to load it yourself. “Just pull this back right after and you're good.”

“What if it jams?” You ask as he gives it back to you.

“Like in the movies, huh?” It's your turn to shrug. “That rarely happens with a gun like this. But if it does, you run like hell, okay?”

“Okay.” You inhale, letting your hand acclimate to the weight. “I never thought that there's this side of you, James.”

“I was really into watching doomsday preppers when I was younger. I guess the doom mongering kinda stuck with me.”

You chuckle, “we're kinda stuck together until we find them. How do you feel about that?”

“Fucking lucky that I got the fittest member in the band.” James jokes, nudging you as he puts on the backpack. He stands up, giving you a helping hand that you take.

“Not going to be fit for much longer.” You groan as your knees creak from under you.

“C’mon, you're not that old.”

“I don't mean it like that.” You inhale, “I'm pregnant, James.”

“Shit, is Yuri the father?”

You push him playfully. “Fucker.”

“Congrats? Shit timing though.”

You shake your head with a small smile. You feel lighter now that you've told someone else. “The worst fucking timing. I haven't told him yet— I was about to but then you know.”

“Yeah, the fucking dead rises again.” He walks over to the backdoor, unlocking it.

“Should we help them?” You gesture towards the window and the bar.

James sighs then nods. “Yeah, actually we should—!” The door opens and out comes a stumbling wall of decaying flesh. He immediately fires at it head on, blood and guts spraying at you and the walls as your ears ring from the loud shot.

You take James by the back of his collar, tugging him backwards into the bar as the loud shot has brought more visitors to funnel into the office.

You yell ‘run,’ but you can't hear your own voice.

James points the barrel behind you as more and more appear. You quickly open the pub entrance, flinging away the chair as chaos ensues inside.

Your hearing comes back just as the screams start.

James tries his best to help, shooting at anyone who comes close to the survivors but he can't protect himself and them at the same time. He's backed against a table as he reloads. Fountains of crimson splashes out of the bodies as the corpses rip and tear into their insides.

A few escape, pushing past you to get out into the streets. But most fall into the jaws of death.

Soon, the oaken floorboards and marble bar is covered in guts and bone.

“James, we need to go!”

James struggles to reload with his shaking fingers, with a deep inhale, you point and shoot at a corpse who came too close to him. He cradles his ear, wincing at the sound as he retreats towards you. The body staggers back, but your bullet missed the head, ear no longer there.

You take the opportunity to pull him out just in time as bodies pile up and spring over to you, you see a glimpse of one of the survivors with a huge chunk taken out of their face, twitching and writhing on the floor before they stand up and bite at the air with their bloodied teeth.

You don't have time to ponder what you saw as you and James run towards the docks.

Your leg aches but you carry on with the pain, you feel blood seeping through the measly bandage while you run. James holds onto your elbow, making sure you don't lag behind as you blindly shoot behind you.

James leads you back to where he found you and Hobie, his feet skids to a stop but when he looks inside the driver's side, Hobie's gone.

You almost cry at the sight. But you hold onto hope. “The docks!” James immediately understands as he lets you lead this time.

Muscle memory guides you towards the side streets where you and Hobie use as shortcuts to get home faster. Shoes thudding against the pavement, shots echoing in the dark as smoke and fire billows all over the city you call home.

The smell of the river has you running faster.

Muscles screaming to stop, you heave as you bolt over to the houseboat. Only to be met with nothing in its place.

“What the fuck?!” You scream, gun tightly around your hand. “Where—?!” Turning around, you roam your frantic eyes across the familiar dock, but the red paint of the houseboat is nowhere to be seen, only the rope that was tied around it is left floating on the water.

“Where is it?!” James yells, reloading his gun before making quick work of the corpses that fall down with a bloodied thud.

With a heavy heart, you pull James away and back into the streets. “It's not here!”

You're half relieved and afraid of what might've happened to him. Hobie might've woken up and went to the houseboat in hopes of meeting you there. But he had to leave, you know he wouldn't have any other choice in the matter if he chose that. But another half of you thinks that he perished along the way, that the houseboat is now floating along the Thames with its captain writhing and stumbling inside the very place you both cherished.

You shake the thought away, focusing on surviving for him and for the life inside you. He's alive, you know he is.

“Over here!” James pushes himself inside a broken metal fence, helping you squeeze inside as the horde catches up to you. You feel the heat of their bodies against your back as they desperately try to wrap their rotted fingers around you.

He pulls you, shooting at any stragglers as your destination gets near. A tall building stands before you with its shiny windows that reach high into the sky, and rotating doors that remind you of a fancy hotel.

“Keep running!” He yells, arm still holding onto you for dear life.

“Fuck, my leg!” You almost stumble, but James comes back to you and grabs your arm and places it around his shoulder.

“I'm sorry, we're almost there!” He yells, panicking as he bares half of your weight for you.

The two of you pass by a pub that's filled with screams of terror echoing out instead of the sound of music that you're used to. The windows are painted in crimson, splotches of blood marr the historical walls inside like spider lilies spread across the glass. There's still people in there, fighting for their lives as you see a flash of light and hear a loud bang that has your teeth rattling inside your mouth.

The horde splits off towards the sound, leaving you with a dozen corpses heading your way.

Your adrenaline filled heart flips as you see the name of the pub, and it's the same one you were in just mere hours ago with Hobie.

“In here!” James pulls you back into the present, pushing you towards the rotating doors and into the empty lobby.

You make it inside just in time before the dead get to you. James grabs the metal rod in your hand, using it to lock the rotating doors by placing it in-between the glass.

“It's not gonna hold on for long, we need to go up!” James grabs your hand, yanking you towards the stairs. “Seventh floor!”

You don't have enough time to gaze upon the expansive lobby with its marble floors and crystal chandelier. It seems as though the place lies untouched by the calamity outside.

Your mind goes on survival mode, running, dodging bared teeth, climbing up the stairs, shooting, kicking a corpse away from your ankle. And then sprinting upwards towards the winding stairs.

James couldn't risk it with the elevators, knowing that it could get stuck in between floors or worse, the dead lurk and wait inside.

The condo door is in sight, just when James trips and falls face first into the harsh ground. You look at the crawling corpse, who's rotting hand is wrapped around his ankle.

Without wasting time, you take your foot up, stomping down on their skull in a sickening crunch of brain matter and bone.

Eyeing down your deed, with its mess marked on the once pristine floors, James pulls you away and towards the door. Within a second, he inputs the code on the panel and the door clicks open. He pushes you inside and shuts the door with haste.

There's banging outside the door, and you're left standing in the hallway with James pushing a bookshelf towards it as a barricade.

You don't notice him calling your name as you stare at your bloodied shoe with brain matter sticking to its heel.

“Hey.” James grasps your arm, panting and eyes wide awake. “I need help with the door.”

With a firm nod, you take your mind off of what you have done, and whilst you push shelves against the door, you could only wish that Hobie's alright and he made it to the boat in one piece.

—

Hobie's stuck alone in his boat. With nothing but the waters and the fish to keep him company for two months, he sails towards the north where the cabin, the designated meeting place, lies. His hand tightens around the wheel, lips chapped, scruff scratching him, and bags dark under his brown eyes. He feels as if he's going sea crazy out here. Hundreds of worries have appeared in his mind, and most of it consists of you and your whereabouts.

Without the knowledge of you being alive and breathing, he keeps seeing you in his dreams. The last two months have been a nightmare for him. And it has gotten worse with every day that passes without you by his side. Now he knows why Yuri and the others always joke that they shouldn't separate the two of you lest the other won't function or go stir crazy. He only hopes that you're doing better than he is.

His eyes seem to circle around the sticker of your face on his guitar, right where you accidentally scruffed it. You two always talked about sailing the whole world on the houseboat, ignoring the fact that the boat can't withstand the harsh waves of the ocean. But it was a good dream nonetheless. If only you could be here with him, it's not sailing around the world, but the water at night would be a sight to behold for you.

The waters around the country have gone wilder by the week, he sticks to the beaches and the coast where he can control the houseboat better. Where the water isn't too rough around the old ship.

The boat isn't built for seafaring, or even long journeys. If the houseboat collapses against the rough waves before he could get to the small fishing town you two stayed in, his hope would dwindle, but he'll stay determined for you.

He can already feel your arms around him when the reunion happens. Or is that his mind playing tricks on him once again?

At least he has enough provisions to last him a few more weeks out in the open. But in time, he has to go dock the boat and scavenge for food. He doesn't need to load up with gasoline when the houseboat runs on solar. Thank fuck he built that before shit hit the fan.

The virus seems to have wrapped its teeth around the world. Marks of death lay waste to every city he sails by. Piles and piles of bodies, half burned by the very people who once knew them, afraid of the walking death that could savage them too. Cities now lay empty or crowded by snarling corpses. Some were lucky enough to build walls around a small commune, but it was obvious that they didn't want newcomers with the mounted guns and patrolling armed forces around it.

With every port and dock he passes, he looks for you and your familiar face. He hopes that with every wave and tide he conquers, you're getting closer to him. But whenever he passes by a coastal town, or a beach he once visited with you, he could only see the dead awaiting for him on the sand, like old friends waiting to be reunited with him. Their eyes are long gone, white scleras and crimson irises staring him down with their maws agape, biting at air and inhaling through their rotten lungs.

The shamblers, he calls it, or them, the former humans that were sadly infected, can't swim, but they also can't drown. So swimming in the water poses a risk of getting bitten by one of them that are treading the sea floor. Hobie doesn't risk getting into the sea after a limp hand wrapped around his ankle when he decided to take a quick dip.

In the past two months since then, he misses you, misses the way he would wake up to your face, arms wrapped around him and protecting him from the harsh morning cold. He misses the way you would smile and laugh. He misses the sound of your footsteps walking around the boat, sometimes he hears it at night when he's in between sleep and the waking world. Missing you was an understatement, he longs for you, longs for you to be alive and back beside him. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but no one told him that the ache would be unbearable.

Hobie once hated the mundanity of life. The way he plays his loud music in the speakers, now he can't even turn on the stereo when every sound could bring the dead to him. Even the radio that he has taken for granted, one that you would always turn on in the morning without fail, now only plays static. Or the repeating sounds of the emergency broadcast over and over again. He sometimes wants to chuck it out of the boat and into the depths, but he remembers how much you loved the old radio and how you would sway to the music. So now he lets it play static, the sound keeping him company throughout the night instead of you.

The information pamphlet that the government tossed from an airplane glares at him from where he taped it on the side of the controls. Hobie still remembers the whirr of the engine above while the papers drift down like snow.

The drawings remind him of the ones in airplanes where they tell you what to do in case of a plane crash or how to put on your seatbelt. He feels like he's in a never ending plane crash heading to nowhere. The words ‘body fluids,’ ‘infected,’ ‘bites,’ and ‘ten seconds’ are engraved in his mind.

He once tried to call your phone in hopes of you answering it but he only heard your voicemail. In the rocky waters and the solemn sky, your voice echoes and presence felt through the speakers. He kept calling you after that just to hear your voice again and again until cell services stopped working.

He's utterly alone.

With a sigh, he steers the houseboat towards an empty dock. The wood creaks as he steps out, bag slung over his shoulder and rope itching against his palms. After taking a quick look around for danger, he ties the rope around the dock, securing his home before grabbing his hammer from his belt.

He stretches his arms and legs as if he's about to run a marathon, he probably would be after he tried to restock for supplies a few days ago. He can still smell the stench of rotten flesh and blood in his nose when a horde chased after him.

Like always he tries to find the evacuation area where you might be, or where other people might be. He would steer away from other survivors, but if there's doctors and a lot of people around, he's sure that they can be trusted. A gathering of people in the apocalypse could spell danger, but it could also be hope.

He treks along the empty street, nothing left but dusty shops, and abandoned cars on the road. There's no stench of death that lingers around the place, or blood splattered along the shop walls. Hobie guesses this town was one of the lucky ones to be evacuated before the virus got to them.

His hypothesis seems to be right when he spots a military vehicle abandoned on the side of the road. Peeking behind it, he doesn't find anything, not even a shambler waiting to bite at him behind the tarpaulin. He wonders what happened to this place.

Every place he encounters has him asking the same question, could you be here?

As he enters the large stadium, it's evident that it's long been abandoned.

Scattered boxes and tents lay where its occupants last left it. Needles and bloodied bandages are strewn across the painted floor and on the court seats. Hobie stands where the general seats would be, right in the middle of everything and with him having a good vantage point of the whole place. A breeze passes by, and papers fly ahead of him.

It’s completely empty, even if he scavenge for supplies in here he won't find anything.

Just as he's about to leave, he hears a clunking sound from the middle of the stadium. His hands hold onto the railings as he narrows his eyes towards the movement from behind the tents.

There, a couple of black clad strangers emerge from within, all holding onto their own blades.

Hobie immediately ducks down, hiding behind the wall and railings.

“This place is shit, there's nothin’ left!” One says, voice echoing.

“Keep your bloody voice down unless you want to wake the dead.”

“How fucking poetic of you.”

Hobie has managed to avoid the dead and the living, the dead a lot easier, but people are harder to get away from. He hasn't killed or maimed anyone, unlike the apocalyptic movies he had watched with you and the band. He tries to avoid it, staying away from staining his hands with red. The shamblers used to be human too, under all the rotten flesh and dead eyes, they once had a life, a family, someone that cared for them. So as much as he can, he only stuns them.

He has never encountered other people before, on his ship, the only faces he has seen are the ones in photographs. He always wondered where everyone went, if there's a huge ship somewhere carrying the whole world behind its metal back. Finding the strangers is comforting in a way, a way that he wasn't left behind to rot and survive on his own. That there are still people out there, living and breathing ones.

But it's clear that you're not here.

With a thudding heart, he slowly crawls on the dusty floor, gloved hand and knees dirtied by the muck and grime.

Hobie tries to not make any noise above the whistling wind and rustling trees. He avoids fallen bottles, and scattered paper plates. The voices fade behind him, the doors where he came from just in his line of sight.

He shifts left and right, crawling as he adjusts his belt. Your voice telling him that he needed a new one rather than the barely holding on rope echoes in his ears. He curses himself for not listening as he keeps adjusting the falling thing.

His breath quickens, pulse palpitating as he makes it to the door. His palm reaches for the doorknob, still kneeling down. But as he stretches himself, the hammer hanging from his belt falls.

Hobie gasps, fingertips brushing along its handle, trying to catch it. It falls down loudly on the floor, metallic clanging sounding like a death knell.

“What was that?!”

“Fuck.” Hobie, without wasting time, grabs the hammer and runs for his life.

The door swings open, the warmth of the sun greeting him. His boots thump loudly on the pavement, leaving his pursuers in the dust.

“Get back here!” They gain speed as their footsteps get louder, a cacophony of breaths and blades unsheathing. “He has supplies, get him!”

Hobie turns a corner, his destination still too far from him to see. His legs are starting to ache, chest aflame as he navigates the town that he thought would be empty.

“Shit!” He makes the mistake of looking back, finding three people now running after him. Wait, three?

A shambler joins the chase, eyes bloodied, arms trying to grasp at the couple.

“Behind you!” Hobie tries to help as they're too focused on trying to catch him.

Just as the man wielding a fire axe turns to look behind him, the shambler catches up and grabs him by the neck, taking a chunk out of his face.

His screams of agony would bring Hobie nightmares, but the guttural yell of grief from his companion would be etched in his mind forever.

“Wilson, no!” He cries, trying to help the other as blood sprays the pavement below.

The dead doesn't let go, maw properly set into his skin.

His pursuer cranes his neck towards the frozen Hobie, eyes pleading with him for help.

Hobie should help, could help. His mind is in scrambles as screams echo around the small town, waking the dead that hides in the forgotten homes. He swallows thickly just as the sound of running footsteps roar from further within the town. So he turns around, running away from the scene as more and more join in, hearing the screams of terror ebb out like a dinner bell.

He doesn't sleep that night, the faces of those strangers are painted behind his eyelids, faces contorted into pure fear. And yet he left them, had to leave them or he might've been caught with them. Died with them, died with strangers who tried to take his things and perhaps his life.

Hobie doesn't want to die amongst strangers, nor be forgotten and lost within the numbers of the dead. To be left for dead is his greatest fear, losing you was the closest he got to feeling that fear. If It's his time, he wants it to be with people he knows, people he loves, not wasting as a husk of himself in a place he doesn't know.

He lays awake in the same bed you once shared, the pillows still smell like your shampoo, and the room has lingering scents of your perfume. His eyes are heavy and lashes sticking to one another. The chipping paint of the ceiling morphs into shapes, the pub he played at, the band's faces, and you, smiling at him like always.

Closing his eyes tightly, he wretches the vision from his mind. He needs to stay sane. As he stands up from the bed, mattress creaking from his weight, he wraps your cardigan around himself, clinging onto it like a child's toy.

The ship rocks back and forth to the calm waves. Stars dotted along the sky while the moonlight stretches across the shining waters. Hobie sits on the deck, where you two would usually drink morning tea at, and where you'd be sitting when you're waiting for him to come home from a gig.

Everything reminds him of you, there's no escaping it, even if he doesn't want to. He doesn't know if it’s the only thing keeping him sane all alone, or the thing that's slowly making him bonkers. Either way, the memory of you keeps him company in the end of the world.

He brings his knees to his chest, chin propped up on it as his eyes follow a dot in the horizon. The moonlight shines on it whilst it moves on the water.

Fear grips him as it continues to move closer to his boat. The shadow moves from side to side, at the mercy of the waves.

Hobie stands up, putting on your cardigan as he makes his way up to the wheel. He steers the boat away from its way, now seeing it as a large cruise ship that's aimlessly floating on the water.

There's no light nor voices coming from it, only the familiar scent of decomposing flesh, and the sound of low groans.

He steers clear of it as he sees a face peeking from the side, eyes unblinking, red almost shining in the light of the moon. He swears he saw it grin at him.

As he swivels the wheel, he lets the ship pass quietly, letting it carry the dead on its empty voyage.

Hobie decides to get back into bed then, eyes too heavy, body too tired. His head lands on the pillow, sleep taking him into its calm arms.

—

Hobie wakes up to your thumb brushing along his jaw. He cracks an eye open, and your smile beams at him.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey, me.” A smile spreads across his cheeks, your familiar warmth and scent felt through his bones. His eyes feel so heavy, and you're so warm that he could fall right back to sleep.

“You’re loopy today.” The pads of your fingertips graze along his stubble. “Are you tired, Hobie?”

“Yeah, love.” He breathlessly says, smile etched on his lips as the sun shines behind you, bathing you in warm light. “Where have you been?”

“I was waiting for you.” You tilt your head with a smile. “You sleep like the dead.”

He chuckles, hand grasping on your waist. “I was lookin’ for you in my dream.”

“Yeah?” You chuckle above the sound of wind chimes. “Did you find me in your dream?”

“I haven't, not yet.” He sniffs, and yet can't smell your shampoo or perfume.

“Maybe you should wake up then, continue your search?” You whisper, voice gentle as your hands cup his cheeks.

Hobie grins tiredly, eyes half lidded. “You're already in front of me, what is there left to find?”

“You have to wake up, Hobie.” Your fingers pinch his skin, nails digging into his cheeks as the sun is replaced by darkness. And the warmth in your eyes turn stark white.

“Ow, what?”

“Wake the fuck up!”

Hobie jumps off the bed, head hitting the hard wall of the houseboat as thunder rips through the wood while lightning flashes outside. He can still hear the last echoes of your scream in his ears.

“Fuck!” The whole boat shifts to the side, dangerously close to tipping. His things are knocked from their place, glass shattering and making a mess of the bedroom. If he doesn't get up to the wheel, the waves might break the boat in half.

He panics, grabbing his windbreaker, and boots in the other. As he climbs up the steps, he puts it on awkwardly over your cardigan and as best as he can with his shoelaces loose.

Rain battens down on the houseboat, wind howling outside. Hobie zips his jacket on, taking a breath before opening the door.

The water smacks him right on his face, sharp rain drops stinging his cheeks. He slams the door closed, bracing the wind as he shields himself with his arm.

“Shit!” The slippery floors made it hard for him to find a foothold while the waves shook and turn the boat all over like he's in a blender.

Hobie grips the side wall, trying to keep his balance to get up the steps to the controls. The waves splash and slap his body around, completely drenching him from inside and out.

The winds howl a dreaded tune, one that sailors would run away in fear. Dark waves loom overhead, sea salt on his lips, and seafoam spreading by his feet. All he could do is brace for impact.

—

The city in front of you is still burning. Skyscrapers that used to reach the heavens are now nothing but flaming metal and acrid dark smoke. James had warned you not to stay too long on the balcony when the air outside leaves less to be desired, especially in your condition. James has been pleasant company, but the life growing inside you has made it extra difficult to stay in a good mood. Especially when the one person you want to be next to you is missing.

It feels like your heart is out of your body, missing somewhere else.

Your eyes glance over to the Thames, the water is dark and glimmering under the embers of the city and the moonlight. Despite the crackling of fire and low groans of the dead in the streets, the city is quiet, dead quiet.

You long for the days when the sound of a guitar rips through the morning hours of sleep. Hobie would always apologize with a smile, but you know he has taken the position of your personal alarm clock whenever he would wake up earlier than you. Nowadays you would wake up to James trying to pick up a signal from a CB radio he found during his runs through the building. He said it's to contact the rest of the band, but you can always hear him trying to call for his parents when you're in bed and alone with only the polaroid of him, and your baby to keep you company.

It's been two months since you found out, two months without Hobie. You try not to worry too much, telling yourself that he's alright and probably faring better than you and James. But you only do it for the baby, you know all that worrying would bear down on them. Even the prenatal vitamins James found for you from one of his neighbours wouldn't help if you kept on crying through the night with your chest sore while mumbling Hobie's name.

According to the pregnancy book you found, something that was probably owned by James’ mother, your baby is as big as a raspberry now. You already feel bloated and you dread trying to run away from the dead when your belly gets bigger with time. It also said that in three months the baby will be the size of a lemon, the thought makes you realize how long it has been since you've held fresh produce.

James' parents' condo is big, too big for just two people. You've been stuck within the four walls for months now when you can't step out of the building without the city's horde lunging at you. James and you decided to wait out the dead after you read in the government pamphlet that they like to travel in hordes and they tend to leave when there’s no one left to infect or eat. You've seen that the infected are beginning to thin out, but not fast enough.

The place isn't uncomfortable at all; it's probably the best place you could wait it all out in. It's all pristine white walls and modern furniture that must've been worth more than your houseboat. You've taken the guest room with its king sized bed and hundred thread count sheets. It has its own bathroom, and a bathtub to boot. And yet your mind keeps going back to the houseboat where you and Hobie were happy and content. You hate the fact that he's been missing for two months of your life, two months of the pregnancy where you imagined you two would lean on each other. Not spending it all with James, he's kind and patient, but he's still not your Hobie.

You try not to gaze at the river again, but you keep failing each time. The hot chocolate you made sits abandoned on a small table beside you as the wind blows against your cheeks. The scenery doesn't change, it hasn't changed in two months, but you hope and wish that one day the familiar red paint of the houseboat would appear on the waters with Hobie on it.

With a tight grasp around the binoculars, you take a peek at the waters. Your eyes roam around the same docks where you last saw the houseboat, like before, there's nothing.

James thought that giving you the binoculars would help quell your anxieties, but whenever you look through it, you could only see the faces of the dead staring back at you. You could only hope that you don't— would never see a familiar face among the horde.

The sliding doors to the balcony opens, and out comes James' head peeking through it. He gives you soft smile, blond hair tousled in the wind, and a beard needing a trim. The light from inside the condo spills out into the balcony. You always thought that the city's electric grid would run out within a few weeks, but it's still going strong.

“Hey,” he sighs, gazing at how you grip onto the binoculars and down to your growing stomach. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” you inhale, lower back aching and stomach feeling heavier than yesterday. “Just sightseeing.”

He steps out, still wearing his dad's hunting vest, and his mum's silver bracelet. “Anything new?”

You shake your head. “I thought I heard a gunshot from somewhere, but I couldn't find where it came from.”

James sits down next to you with a groan, hand reaching for the binoculars. “Let me try.” You give it to him, hand subconsciously twirling the ring around your pinky. “Where do you think it came from?”

“West, just by the park.” You cradle your stomach, the growing belly still feels alien to you. But at least now the morning sickness is gone, but your feet look bloated inside your socks.

James hums, looking through the binoculars with intensity. He takes it off his eyes after a minute, shaking his head and giving it back to you. “Yeah, nothing, just a few of the infected.”

“Why are you still in your hunting vest? You already got us enough provisions to last us a couple of weeks.”

He looks down at his appearance, “sorry, I can't seem to just shrug it off.” You know what he meant by it, and it's not the vest he's talking about as he cleans off the grime under his fingernails with his thumb nail. “Does it bother you? I'll take it off.”

You stop him from taking the vest off. “No, it's fine, keep it on if you like.”

Nodding, James puts the beige vest back on. “Is your leg still hurting?” he glances at your leg that's perched on the railing.

“Just sore, is all.” You inhale, thumb drawing circles around your belly. “Putting it up helps.”

“If I just knew how to treat it properly before—”

“You did a good job, James.” You reach for him, palm resting on his arm. “If it was just me I would've thought of cutting it off or something.”

He smiles, patting the back of your hand. “How’s Hobie jr?”

“Fine, just like yesterday and the day before that.” You chuckle. “How are you holding up, James? I should be helping you out there.”

Scoffing, James flicks the back of your hand playfully. “You'd just hold me back, preggo.”

“Hey,” you say with a laugh. “All I'm saying is that you need someone to watch your back. Or at least help carry the load.”

He looks at your stomach then over to your face with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Looks like you already took the load.”

“You little shit!” Slapping his arm, he lets out a feigned yelp. “I'm serious, I could really help.”

“If something happens to you I wouldn't be able to live with myself, boss.” James looks at the distance, eyes darting over to the river. “Besides, I can handle it.” He flexes his arm, smacking his bicep.

You sigh, watching him with a strained smile and shining eyes. You blame the hormones. “Okay, but when you move up another floor again, I'm coming with.”

He shakes his head, chuckling and taking your mug of hot chocolate, taking a sip from the lukewarm drink. “Yeah, no.”

“James.” You say sternly, “come on, what if you get trapped up there alone? Ned would kill me if I get his best mate killed.”

“First of all, I'm nobody's best mate. Yuri is yours, and Ned is Hobie's. Second, I have a fucking gun and have been doing this alone for weeks now. I'll be fine.”

Your tone grows soft. “You're my best mate too, James. So is Hobie's, Yuri's and Ned’s. You're our friend, and if it was anybody else in your position, I would offer the same, and fight you just as hard.” You lean close, arms over the armrest as he stares at you. “I don't want you to fucking die in here alone. Especially when I can still do something to help. Because in a few months I won't be able to.”

“Do you think they're alright out there?”

“Don't change the fucking subject—”

“They have to be okay.” James licks his dry lips, swallowing down the lump in his throat. You've had this conversation before, and it always ends the same way.

You nod, chest heavy and hands shaking. “They are, I know they are. They're tough, our band will hold on.”

He swallows thickly, looking away at you and instead staring at the dark drink. The previous conversation wedges in his mind. “I just— I think I just want to be useful, you know? Because I know this stuff, shooting and shit. So I gotta use it to protect you and the baby because that's all I know.”

You feel tears prick at your lashes. “You've always been useful, James. You're our drummer, the music's shit without you.” He chuckles, sniffing as he gazes at the ruined city. “We're a band, we protect each other. And I've seen you do other shit with expertise, shooting is not all you know.”

He turns to you, smiling gently. “I do make a really good pot of stew.”

“The best.” You smile back, tugging at his hand and holding it fondly.

His face turns solemn, eyes downturned at your intertwined hands. “Can you promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Can— will you end me if I ever get bitten?”

“James—”

“I've seen them closely, Y/N, I know they're in pain. I don't want to end up like that.” His voice breaks at the end, thumb brushing along the back of your hand, staring down at it. “The pamphlet said you have ten seconds before you turn, that's plenty of time to reload.”

Your lips wobble, head shaking before you inhale deeply. “...Okay. If that's what you want.”

“Y–Yeah, I want that.”

“It won't get to that, I promise.” You don't know that, but you promise him anyway.

“Thank you, boss.”

“Can you promise the same thing for me too—?” Before you could finish your words, the lights shuts off, and you see the wave of darkness ebb through the city. “Shit.”

“I think we need to get to that cabin sooner rather than later.” James utters in the dark.

—

After weeks of waiting and preparing in the darkened condo, with some luck and a miracle, you and James manage to get outside of the condo and even get to ride in his parent's lexus.

You shut your door as quietly as you can, heaving and laden with sweat as you're covered from head to toe in thick winter clothes; so if an infected gets to you, their teeth won't be able to penetrate the cloth. Patting your stomach, the roundness of it is still unusual for you now that you can feel the baby move around.

James mirrors your befuddled look, sweat dripping off his brows and beard sticking to his chin in what could be an uncomfortable feeling. He nods at you, smiling as he grips the steering wheel. All the bags and guns are thrown in the backseat, together with a baby bag that James managed to find in one of the flats.

“We fucking made it.”

“God, I could fucking kiss you right now, James.” You joke, reaching over the center console to briefly hug him.

“I wouldn't say no to that.” He chuckles out, patting your back before turning on the ignition with a shaky hand. “To the cabin we go!”

The engine stirs up immediately, a thrumming sound of victory. James presses a button on a small remote, prompting the automatic garage door to whirr awake.

You laugh, but the sound of running footsteps behind you has your stomach sinking. Looking behind and over the seats, you see a whole horde of them gunning for you and James. It's the building’s residents.

“We need to go!”

“Seat belts!” James revs up the engine and without missing a beat, backs the car towards the bodies as blood sprays all over the windows.

Clicking on your seat belt, you hang on for dear life as James panics and turns the steering wheel around to face the garage doors.

“James!” You yell as more and more clamber their way to the sides. The car jolts, wheels squeaking but not moving as blood and guts fly about.

The sound of the garage door’s metallic clanking has more of the infected join in, the stragglers left by the rest of the city's horde. The sun peeks through the opening, shadows of the stumbling and running crowd managing to squeeze through.

“The wheel's fucking stuck!” James presses down on the pedals, but the car still doesn't move.

You yell when a banging sound erupts from the backseat. Right on the glass, bodies and faces are squished in between it, blood and ripped skin kissing the car's window.

“I need to get out and—” James panics, but before he could grab the shotgun from the backseat, you're already holding onto it. “What—?!”

The loud reverb of the shot stings your ears as the glass of the back window now lay shattered all over your things.

“What the fuck, Y/N?!” James yanks the gun away and you surprisingly let him.

You crawl towards the seats, ignoring the broken and bloodied glass, and quickly ripping the bag zipper open as you grab a molotov cocktail from the arsenal you and James prepared exactly for situations like this. You only have a few minutes before your opening closes and before the horde gets back up.

Without questioning you anymore, James helps you by fishing out his lighter, clicking it once until the cloth lit up the whole car.

Just like Hobie taught you, you toss it through the opening you made within a half second.

The bottle flies over the dead, their heads turn towards the heat and light as it lands directly at them with force, shattering the glass and spreading the fire.

The guttural screams would haunt your dreams, but when the car lurches and the infected gather around the warmth and leave the car be, you smile victoriously.

James drives off, car hitting the streets with a metallic slam and wheels smoking. He hoots and hollers, smacking your side ecstatically.

“You absolute beauty, you!” He laughs, fist slamming against the car's ceiling.

Buildings whizz by, grinning back at James. His smile flickers away as his eyes move down to your lap. You suddenly feel a stinging ache on your palms.

With bated breath, you look down, blood pooling all over his mother's mink coat.

“It's probably fine—”

“Stop the car!” You yell as the car skids to a stop near the bridge. Opening the door, you immediately bolt away from James and climb up the wall of the bridge, standing precariously on the ledge as you look down at the Thames.

The sound of the car door opening has you looking back at a concerned James, the gun in his hand means that you both have reached an understanding.

Big Ben looms over the distance, its clock face standing still just like the world has. Just like you have as you count down to ten.

Your laboured breaths rise above the sound of the rushing river below you. It's dark depths calling for you.

Five.

“It's okay, boss, I—I think you're fine.” James utters but the tears in his eyes says that he has the same worries as you. “Ten seconds have already passed.”

Four.

“T–The glass had their blood, James.” You show him your blood drenched palms. “It might take awhile.”

“It won't fucking take you. Get down from there please.”

Three.

“The pamphlet said it transfers through bodily fluids—”

“Get the fuck down.”

Two.

“I can't.”

James slowly inches towards you, gun holstered.

One.

Your breathing rises, blood dripping from your wounds. “I think—” James yanks you away by the coat’s hem, dragging you away from the ledge as you land against his chest. Your cries are muffled by his own coat.

He shushes you gently, holding you in place. “You're good, see? Still alive.”

“I'm sorry, t–that was pathetic.”

“Pathetic? Nah, just melodramatic.” He sighs in relief, leaning away as he holds you at arm's length. Patting your cheek, he sees your left eye twitching briefly before stabilizing. “Let's get the fuck away from here. We have bandages in the car, come on, boss.”

You wipe all your tears, nodding and trying to calm yourself down. “Okay, we have a reunion to go to.”

—

“So, tell me about this cabin?” James asks while a storm brews in the distance, dark clouds looming over the trees on your right. “We have four whole days of travelling, might as well tell me about it.”

“What?” You ask, head still not screwed on tight on your neck after what transpired a few hours ago. The bandage around your palms are rough against your thumbnail, incessantly picking at it anxiously. The ring around your pinky is stained in red, you should clean it later.

“The cabin, tell me about your time there with Hobie. The PG version please.” He chuckles, eyes straight on the road as he carries precious cargo.

Shaking your head, you look over to him while a pair of beaded bracelets dangle from the rearview mirror. “It was nice, we went there for our anniversary.”

“And?”

“And?” You scoff with a smile. “That's it, we spent time lounging around the place and in the morning we would go out to eat and sightsee.”

“You have a way with your words, boss.”

“What do you want from me, James?” You shift in your seat, arms wrapped around your growing belly. “A narration?”

James shakes his head with a growing grin, eyes flicking to you briefly. “No, I'm just making conversation to fucking get you out of there.”

“Out of my seat?”

“No, your fucking head, emo. You've been quiet this entire time.”

“Oh,” you sniff as thunder rumbles from a distance. “Well, thanks.” You can't tell him that his annoyance actually worked and kept you distracted for a little bit, or you'll never hear the end of it. “The cabin was just an hour away from the town. It was pretty, you know, in a cabin in a horror movie type of shit.”

He chuckles, finally victorious. “Why? Is there a permanent smell of carcass around the place, oh! Or like dolls hanging from the ceiling?”

“That’s fucked up!” You chortle, smacking his bicep playfully while he mirrors your smile. It's nice to be finally out of the damn building you've been stuck on for almost three months. “No, there was none of that, just a bunch of antique furniture that looks older than me and Hobie combined. I remember the guy who owns it described it as, ‘rustic’ and ‘remote.’”

“That place is definitely haunted. Like someone died in there or some fucked up ritual.”

“Oh, you think you can do better?” You jab his side, earning a guffaw from him as he flinches away, stomach ticklish.

“Uh, yeah!”

“Of course you can, rich boy.” You roll your eyes, legs folding to rest on the seat with you, arms wrapped around it as you perch your chin atop your knees. Thunder rolls around, grey clouds now looming over the highway that's littered with abandoned cars and luggage.

“We have a farm further north— a fucking rest house more like.” He sighs, eyes fond as he remembers a memory. “We used to go there every winter with the whole family, go sledding and shit. Until the whole drama happened between my dad and aunt.”

“I'm sorry, James.”

“Nah, don't be. I was a kid, barely remembered the whole tiff they had. I just miss my cousins is all.” He shrugs, clearing his throat as he continues to drive steadily. “There's a huge chance that they might be there, y’know the whole family and stuff.”

“You planning on going there?” You ask, voice turning soft.

“Yeah, I think so— well, after we meet up with Hobie and hopefully the others.”

You smile, hand reaching to grasp reassuringly at his bicep. “Sounds like a good plan, James. We'll come with you, as support and definitely not to test out the hundred rooms you guys probably have. What's the name of the place?”

“Mudwood manor.” You nod, taking note of the name. “Dad's gonna have a heart attack if he ever saw you lot. He's still not over what happened two years ago.” He chuckles, hand patting your own in appreciation. “Thanks, boss, for everything. I think I wouldn't have made it this far without you.”

You shake your head, tears making your vision blurry. You blame the hormones. “That should be my words, not yours.” James mirrors your expression, inhaling deeply to get rid of the lump in his throat. “If your parents ever saw you now, they'd be proud of you. I'm proud of you.”

He subtly wipes away at his eye. “You gonna name the kid after me now?”

Laughing, you pat his arm before letting go. “Maybe, I'm seriously considering it.”

“Shit, really?” He says with disbelief. “James Junior, wow.”

You wince, making a face. “Probably not with the Junior. Ew.”

The two of you laugh as rain now pours over the car, drenching the pavement. The sound reverberates through the metal, and the broken window doesn't help with tamping down the sound.

You look over your shoulder, finding that the tarpaulin that you hastily stuck on the hole is hanging on.

“Hey,” James pats your knee, eyes shining despite the dark clouds and pouring rain outside. “We’ll make it there.”

“I know.”

“Let me worry for the two of you, okay?” He glances at your stomach, your belly button is beginning to protrude through your shirt.

“Careful, you'll have worry lines.”

“Birds find worry lines fit, boss.”

With a roll of your eyes, you pinch his arm. “Focus on the damn road, Jameson.”

—

“Wake up, Hobie.”

Your voice yanks him from deep slumber, hard pebbled rocks digging into his skin as he rises from the coast.

He aches all over, arms throbbing, knees screaming in protest as he kneels down on the rough rocks. His heavy eyes roam around the beach, finding nothing but miles of the rocky coast with its boulders piled up high, edges smooth from years of waves lapping around it.

Rain bears down on him, ears ringing from the sound of rain hitting the hardened ground. His body shivers, eyes straining from the downpour.

A sound of knocking wood from behind takes his attention. Looking over his shoulder, he finds the remains of his houseboat, all shards of wood and glass, memories scattered and floating in the cold dark water.

A scream almost escapes out of him. Hand covering his mouth, as he keels over to the rocks, palm digging harshly into the beach.

It was his home and yours for almost ten years, and it was his only salvation, his safety while he was out treading the waters. And it was his one reminder of you. Everything in it had memories, both fond and somewhat awful, but they were his, and now it lays in the bottom of the sea. Picture frames floating with the seaweeds, shoes and clothes tangled around drifting wood.

But by some miracle, his guitar case floats in between two rocks, knocking against the other, in tune with the waves.

Hobie, with whatever's left of his energy, stands up on wobbly legs. There's scratches all over his skin, all searing pain that almost had him falling back down on his knees. And yet he continues on, legs weak, feet barely moving towards the guitar case.

Salty water hits his feet as he shivers, he treads on until the water reaches his waist. The cold and salt exacerbates his injuries, with clenched teeth and shuddered breath, he reaches for the only thing that's left of his home.

The thick leather brushes along his fingertips, hands wrapped around it as he tugs it closer to his chest. Hobie shakily hugs it, a sob pushing through his carefully built wall as he cries atop it like it's a casket that's about to be buried.

His head lays on top of it while rain pours overhead. And his tears are carried by the salty waves.

—

Hobie lugs around whatever's left of his houseboat. All shoved inside a tattered backpack that was once yours. Your charms still clink against the other, and pins still clinging on the fabric. His hand holds onto the guitar case, afraid of opening it and seeing the damage on his guitar. So he carries it around, a heavy weapon that contains his most precious memory. He can still see the sticker of your face on the guitar, he hopes that it's still intact.

He's drenched from head to toe as the storm persists on his back, as if fate is playing with him.

It's bad enough that he had to trek the rest of the way towards the cabin, but the storm keeps following him, as if it's pursuing him and hindering him from finding you. With each town he passes, he sees less and less of the dead. Some lay withered on the ground, chest cavity opened, guts spilled all over the pavement while they desperately tried to reach him with their skeletal hand.

They seem to be dying out, or the virus can no longer keep them upright, not when the host is already decomposing. And now it desperately seeks a new host, even when their jaws are barely holding on, skin blanched and bones bleached by the sun.

Hobie passes by countless evacuation centres just like the one he saw before, and they all sit there empty just like the others. Medical tents lay fallen on the ground, gurneys broken and beaten beside dirty syringes and bandages. Despite that, he checks all of them thoroughly for a sign from you, anything that would indicate that you passed through. But he has seen none.

He feels like the last man alive.

He scavenges and rests in empty houses, careful not to wake the dead that might be hiding within the deep crevices of the town. Every night, he lights a fire, small enough to warm him and not let out smoke that would signal other people that could hurt him for what little he has. Hobie knows how to survive, he went through it during his teenage years, and he never thought that he had to experience it all over again. The uncertainty of where your next meal would be, the dangers lurking around every corner; and not trusting other people to help you. His old self is rearing his head again, peeking through his flesh that you once affectionately held in your hands.

When he finds you, would you see the same person you loved? Would he see the same person in you again after everything?

Hobie's own mind is his enemy. Back on the boat he only worried about hallucinations or delusions that could plague him in the dark. But out here, where the dead lurk, everything and anything could kill him. Even his own head.

It's been a week of walking, through rain and the dead, he finally makes it to the same woods that he once shared with you.

The gates of the cabin squeak in the wind, metal gates swinging around as the breeze picks up, fluttering his lashes.

There's a walkway leading towards the house made out of pebbles, pebbles that remind him of the coast, the same grey shade as the clouds, all rounded around the edges. He roams his eyes over to the cabin, all oak and dark yellowed windows. A porch sits in front with a rocking chair that gently moves back and forth in the wind. The perfect place to rest at the end of the world.

A wind chime clinks from somewhere, and as he cranes his head to the left, there sits under a pile of strewn out branches and leaves, a car, one with a shattered window at the back and side mirrors ripped from the hinges. Bloodied specks dot around its silver paint, scratches and bullet holes mar what was once pristine.

Hobie swallows thickly as he opens the gate, there right above the squeaking metal, a loud shot can be heard from the inside. He jumps in place, hand tight around the rusty metal. Then a guttural cry, one that sends shivers down his spine.

He runs on the path, stones rolling down as he makes his way towards the cabin. His hand wraps around the doorknob, finding it unlocked.

Pushing it, there's resistance from the other side. And as he stares down, he sees a pool of blood slowly spreading over the floorboards.

Panic sets in, as he pushes hard on the door.

“Get the fuck away!” Another shot echoes around as birds fly away from their perches outside.

Hobie heaves and stares at the bullet hole on the door. It missed his head by a couple of inches.

With wide eyes, he stares through it, body frozen as he sees you in the dark with a gun pointed right at him. For a second he thought that he's dreaming again. But he wouldn't dream of something so horrible as he sees what's in your lap.

“Why won't you just die?!”

Hobie dodges before another shot takes out a chunk of the door. Flinging his body towards cover, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. “Love? It's me!” He can barely recognize his own voice.

“Oh god.” You cry, and a smacking sound can be heard. “I'm already going crazy.”

“No, you're not, it's me, love. It's Hobie.” He then calls your name, soft and filled with fondness that it has you dropping the gun on the floor, metal clanging on wood.

“Hobie?” But he can still recognize your voice.

“Yeah, don't shoot.” His whole body shakes with trepidation.

“Hobie!” Your sobs get louder as he opens the door, letting out the pungent smell of blood and letting in sparse sunlight that filters through the dark clouds. “Hobie?” He stands there, hand on the doorknob as he looks down at you and the body laying on your lap. Maybe you are going crazy. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

Hobie looks down, staring eye to eye at a dead shambler with a hole right in his head that was blocking the door. Then he gazes back at you with James' head laying right on your lap, eyes closed, blood pooling down the bullet hole in his head and down your legs.

His hand trembles at the sight of his friend, eyes watering, painting you in water colours of blood and gore. Chest sore and stomach in knots, he closes the distance. His eyes land on you, bloodied yet alive. Then he looks down, the familiar ring around your pinky is murky and covered in red, and then he sees it.

“H–He asked me to. James, he— he saved me again.” You stare at him with wild bloodshot eyes, hands drenched in crimson as you tremble and fix the blond locks on his head. “He got bit. I'm so fucking sorry.” There's a huge chunk of his neck missing.

“Are you—?”

“No, it didn't get m–me.” You heave, barely getting your words out as you stare into his eyes.

He kneels down, hand reaching down and towards your stomach. “Are you pregnant?” His hand is warm, and he feels real. You feel real.

You nod, tears streaming down your face. “I tried to tell you before—”

His arms engulf you, holding you close, breathing you in, death and all.

A/N: thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you liked it ❤️

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

[inoluvrr]

⟶ kento food court meet cute

⟶ well hey.. who missed me ;p my first time writing for sir kento nanami NGH i want him bad. ANYWAY sorry for going mia it's been a big week for me u guys i relapsed, i applied for jobs, i got in a car accident, and MOST IMPORTANTLY name change. i go by mio on other socials so from here on out all my shit will be tagged under mio i hope that's not too confusing ;p ALSO im slightly changing the layout of my posts from here on out as in im removing one of the banners ok anyway please enjoy and im very sorry for my absence 💓

cw :: fem!reader, shat this out in abt half an hour, reader wears glasses, possibly ooc!kento look ive never written for him before ALLOW IT, fluff/crack

Kento Nanami detests food courts.

So many loud, bustling people, restaurants selling overpriced, greasy food. He'd much rather pack his lunch in advance and eat it on the go.

However, even with his tight scheduling and near-perfect memory, he can slip and forget. He only realises he’s forgotten when he reaches for his packed lunch and finds nothing but stale air inside his satchel.

He sighs.

His lip curls as he taps against the sticky screen of the menu. He detests fast food, but when it's between Mcdonald's and KFC, he's choosing the latter. Boneless wings combo meal with medium fries and water.

He picks up his meal from the counter with a nod to the woman handing it to him, before turning to find an empty seat.

He furrows his brows. 1PM on a Saturday. Of course it's busy.

Circling around the food court once, twice, he can't find a single empty table. He settles for sharing a larger table with two other individuals eating alone. Sat in silence, and trying not to make eye contact with anyone, he begins eating.

He is about 30% through his meal when someone sits opposite him, and oh, God.

He glances upwards, and suddenly his French fry went down the wrong way and he's coughing, eyes tearing up.

God, how pathetic is he? One glance at a pretty woman and he's choking on his food, taking gulps of his water to wash it down. Even worse, you're staring at him with worry, frozen still as if you're not sure whether to call for help or perform the Heimlich or just offer him some more water.

“... Are you okay?” you say. People are beginning to stare, and he's taking gulps of his water.

“Yes, thank you,” he says hoarsely. “Just went down the wrong way.”

You smile placidly, before turning your attention to your meal. A McDonald’s happy meal. Interesting choice.

He returns to his own food, too. He tries not to stare, but he can't help but steal glasses. The way your hair falls around your face, and the glint of your eyes through your frames, and your manicured nails, and the way you take tiny little bites of your food, and he can't help but know that if he left without speaking to you, or getting your number, he'd be kicking himself for the rest of his life.

Tell her you like her keychains, Kento. Start simple.

“You’re very beautiful.”

Shit. That was not what he meant to say.

You glance up, furrow your brows when you realise he’s looking at you, then you're smiling slightly bashfully. “Thank you!”

His face doesn't betray how horrified he is feeling at his now evident lack of game, rather, he manages to return your sweet little smile. “Do you often eat at food courts?”

“No, not really,” you say. “It's too loud. But I forgot to pack my lunch today.”

Kento can't help but bark out a laugh, clearing his throat when you look up at him in confusion. “Pardon me. It's just that I’m here for the same reason. I can’t stand this place.”

You giggle. “Matching.”

The two of you lapse into silence as you finish eating. You finish your meal before him, but he notices that even after packing up your trash, you're lingering in your seat. This is his chance, and he knows you're thinking the same thing.

He forces his eyes to stay on yours, refusing to let his lack of game drag his gaze away from the beautiful girl before him.

“Would you like to give me your number? Then… maybe we can go to a food court together sometime,” he says.

Fucking hell Kento. ‘Would you like to give me your number?’ Like you're doing her a favour? God, you're seriously going to die al—

You slide a napkin over the table, where you've already scrawled your digits. “Maybe we can go someplace nicer than a food court, huh?”

He blinks owlishly, looking between you and the napkin. He clears his throat. “Of course. I'll… I'll call you.”

You smile once more, sling your bag over your shoulder, and leave without another word.

Kento Nanami loves food courts.

[shinsau]

"You ruined your life once before by not listening to me" OKAY REGINALD.

You may smart, but you're dumb at parenting.

Wow, so great how a father can go out of their way and blame their own kid for something they didn't know what was going to happen. What a great father!!

Imagine just being 13, a stubborn teenager that just wants to prove their parents that they're ready. Ready for something they think they can do it, but their parents think they don't.

We've all been stubborn before. We've all make mistakes. We've all done things that we didn't know the consequences of it. Yet being blamed for not knowing those consequences?? What do they think of us?? Having a power to see the future or shit??

Reginald blaming Five for "ruining" his own life pissed me off. Sure, it was PARTIALLY Five's fault for disobeying his father in the first place, like how we would disobey our parents and do the exact opposite of what they say and know the consequences. BUT It was kinda also Reggie's fault because what the hell does he think would a 13 year old to do? Listen easily? Especially for a kid like five who is clearly stubborn and arrogant. (A bit egotistical to add that in)

But Five didn't know what was going to happen, so how was he supposed to know that he would be stuck in an apocalypse for way too long without a way back home?? (Yet)

If I was Five, I would've been SOOO upset bro. It sucks being blamed at by someone for ruining your own life, like bro it's not my fault. It's not five's fault either. He's already getting blamed at by his siblings, now he's getting blamed at by his abusive father who blames him for "ruining" his own goddamn life just because he didn't listen to him??

Reginald should've known any better either. I bet he didn't care abt Five when he time travelled, even though Pogo says he's been waiting for him or something in s1. Yet still. He didn't even try to go out looking for him?? Maybe try to do something?? Anything?? Instead he just WAITED for him to come back and not actually TRY anything??

Honestly most parents would've already tried searching for their child at this point, not just WAIT FOR THEM TO COME BACK. But oh no, that's not the type of parent Reginald is. He's a shitty father that couldn't care less abt his own children that he himself adopted.

AND ALSO Five was so impatient in using his powers, OF COURSE HE'D TRY AN ATTEMPT TO TIME TRAVEL EVEN IF HE'D DISOBEY HIS FATHER. If I was Five, having a power like that, I'd be stubborn and impatient too. I think we all would be eager to use a power of ours that's so powerful, you can't resist to just disobey ur parents and use it without knowing the consequences.

...

SORRY this was just a lil rant abt Reginald lol. He may be my top 10 favorite list of characters but God do I hate him. Anyway sorry if I offended anyone or anything,but the point is...It's not Five's fault for ruining his own life when he didn't know what would've happened. Because hey, we've all done mistakes too, right? We did mistakes that we didn't know what would happen/the consequences after it. It's like the same for Five too.

I felt bad for him at that scene bro, he should've been upset with him, but hey it's not lile we'd get any breakdown from him ever. 🙃