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nanasrkives · 1 day ago

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Navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! haikyuu EP!

── .✦ "3 AM SHENANIGANS" — Suna Rintaro, Akaashi Keiji, Kuroo Tetsuro, Sakusa Kiyoomi, Bokuto Kotarou, Iwaizumi Hajime, Miya Atsumu, Miya Osamu, Kozume Kenma, Oikawa Toru

in which you catch your boyfriend talking in his sleep Sleep-talking boyfriends >>> therapy. content : fluff. multicharacter. post timeskip.2000 words

SUNA RINTAROU

It’s late, and the room is quiet, except for the occasional shuffle from Suna, who’s already half asleep beside you. You’re about to drift off when you hear him mumble, his voice low and irritated.

“Are you serious right now?” Suna grumbles, not fully awake. “Atsumu, you can’t be this extra all the time.”

You freeze. Wait, is he... talking about Atsumu?

You glance at Rin, then casually grab your phone. With a grin, you hit record, knowing this is going to be top-tier content. “You look like a damn highlighter, Atsumu,” Rin mutters, sounding genuinely disgusted. “Who told you neon green was a vibe? Was your mirror broken that day?”

You bite your lip to hold back a laugh. This is already better than anything you could’ve expected.

“And that ‘sexy smirk’ you keep trying to pull off?” Suna continues, totally unaware of his roasting abilities. “You look like a kid who just learned how to wink and is way too proud of it. Cut it out, bro.”

You snicker, barely able to keep your cool. I’m definitely sending this to Atsumu in the morning.

“Honestly, just stick to your usual ‘I’m better than you’ routine,” he grumbles. “At least that’s believable. But seriously? You think anyone’s buying this ‘heartthrob’ act? You look like a failed shampoo commercial from 2009.”

You choke on your laugh, clutching your stomach as you snort. Suna, meanwhile, is still in his own little world.

“And for the love of God,” he adds, “stop flexing like you’re auditioning for a bodybuilding competition, because nobody’s impressed. We see your ego in every room, and honestly, it’s exhausting.”

You just can’t stop giggling, holding your phone up to get every word. This is absolute gold.

“Seriously, Atsumu,” he mutters, voice slurring as he shifts slightly. “I’m just trying to sleep, and you’re out here acting like you’re the main character in a K-drama. Take that energy to the next level, bro.”

You whisper to yourself with a grin, “Suna's literally sleep-roasting him like he’s on a talk show.”

Suna rolls over, still completely unconscious, and you stop the recording, already looking forward to showing this to Atsumu. You lean back and snicker under your breath, "This is so going viral in the group chat.”

AKAASHI KEIJI

It’s late, and you got up because you were thirsty. You’re just about to go back to sleep when you hear a mumble from Akaashi next to you.

“Did I leave the oven on...?” he mutters groggily, his voice low and concerned.

You blink, confused. Wait, what?

You glance over at him, only to find him still fast asleep, looking completely unaware of his own panic. “Keiji...?” you whisper, half-jokingly. He mumbles again, his tone slightly more urgent this time. “The oven... I think I left it on. Did I...?”

You try not to laugh, but you can’t help it. Seriously? In his sleep, he's worried about the oven? “Hey Keiji...” you try to get his attention, but he continues as if he’s in the middle of a full-blown crisis.

“I swear, if I burned the house down...” he mutters, shifting slightly in the bed. “I was just trying to make toast...”

You’re now fully awake, trying to hold back laughter as you watch him talk about something as mundane as burnt toast while still completely unconscious.

“I know I should’ve checked the timer...” he continues, his voice tinged with regret. “Why do I always forget the basics?”

By now, you’re trying your best not to laugh out loud. This is too funny, and you decide to take full advantage of it. You tap him on the shoulder gently, but he doesn’t react. He’s still spiraling in his sleep. “Babe, it’s fine. The oven's off,” you say in a teasing tone, hoping it’ll snap him out of it.

“But what if I didn’t turn it off...?” he mutters again, his concern reaching new heights. “What if... what if the fire department has to come? I’ll never hear the end of it.”

You sigh, finally giving up on holding it in and letting out a chuckle. Akaashi, always the over-thinker—even in his sleep. With a smirk, you nudge him once more, and he finally lets out a small sigh of relief, still half asleep. “I’ll deal with it in the morning...”

You shake your head, still smiling. Next time, maybe check the oven before going to bed.

KUROO TETSUROU

The night is calm, the kind of stillness that’s perfect for deep sleep—or so you thought. You’re peacefully dreaming when you suddenly feel a hand on your arm. Kuroo shift beside you, his body going rigid all of a sudden.

“No, no, no... why is she—” he mumbles in his sleep, his voice growing more frantic by the second.

You blink, slowly waking up as his random murmurs continue. "Tetsu?" you ask groggily, unsure whether to just ignore it or poke him awake.

"She’s... she's drooling—WHAT THE FUCK, WHY IS SHE DROOLING?"

You furrow your brows, still half-asleep and confused. "What? Drooling? What are you talking about?"

Kuroo starts thrashing around a bit, looking like he's trying to dodge something invisible. "No, no, NO—this is bad. This is so bad. It’s... it’s—LILY ROSE DEPP! GET AWAY! GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU'RE GONNA GET ME WITH THE DROOL!"

Pause. Why the fuck is he dreaming about Lily Rose—

It hits you like a lightning bolt. He's dreaming about the movie you saw today.

You can’t help but snicker at the absurdity of the situation, but Kuroo is clearly in full-blown panic mode, hands swatting at the air like he’s trying to fend off some kind of horror movie monster.

"Tetsu," you whisper, trying not to laugh too loudly. "Chill out, it’s just a movie. Lily-Rose Depp is not going to drool on you."

"But she’s... she’s just standing there tweaking out! WHY IS SHE DROOLING LIKE THAT?! SHE'S GONNA MURDER ME!"

You can’t hold it in anymore. "You are literally freaking out over fake drool. It’s not even real!"

He freezes mid-squirm, looking like he’s just realized he’s been fighting invisible drool this whole time. "Wait... I’m... I’m dreaming?"

"Yes, babe, you’re dreaming," you say, trying to get him to relax. "It was just a weird movie scene, chill. No one’s gonna drool on you in your sleep."

He mutters something under his breath, clearly still processing, but then—BOOM. He jolts awake, blinking in confusion and looking around wildly. "Did I... did I just fight off a drooling woman?"

You can’t help but laugh, running your fingers through his hair. "No, baby, you’re good. There’s no one here. Just weird movie dreams."

Kuroo lets out a deep sigh of relief, but not without one last dramatic comment: "But seriously... that scene? Unsettling. Why did she even do that?" He shudders dramatically as if he��s still trying to shake off the absurdity of it.

You laugh, rolling your eyes. "It was just a weird artistic choice, Tetsu. Just go back to sleep, dream about something less gross."

Kuroo pulls you closer, still looking a little frazzled, but at least he’s relaxed enough to go back to sleep. "If I dream about drool again, though, I’m going full superhero on it," he mutters.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you say, stifling a giggle. "Goodnight, hero."

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

The night is quiet, and you’re just about to drift off when you feel something unexpected: a weight on your waist. You blink, confused, only to find that Sakusa—who's usually the least touchy person you know—is clinging to you like a koala in his sleep.

"Mmm… no… no, not again..."

You blink a few times, still half-asleep. "Omi?"

He doesn't respond, but you hear him muttering something under his breath.

"Stay back, Atsumu..."

You sit up a bit, eyes wide in confusion. "Atsumu?"

His grip on you tightens, and you feel his body tense against yours as if he’s trying to protect himself from an invisible force. "No… no, you’re too sweaty! I can’t breathe… germs… germs everywhere!"

You rub your eyes, not sure if you’re dreaming or if Sakusa’s really having this conversation in his sleep. "Wait, what?"

"Germs…,” he mumbles again, still clutching you like you’re his lifeline, as though Atsumu—who’s clearly not here—is about to attack him with sweat.

You can’t help it. You snort, more amused than anything else. This is the guy who gives you a 10-minute lecture about disinfecting your phone, and now he’s sleeping like a cat glued to your side.

"Omi," you murmur, trying to suppress a laugh. "You’re literally dreaming. There’s no sweaty Atsumu here. Calm down."

But he’s not listening. His voice gets more frantic, and his arms tighten even more around you. "I can't… I can’t touch him, Y/N... it’s… it’s everywhere. The germs, the sweat, it's all over..."

You blink, stunned at how clingy he’s gotten. Normally, this guy wouldn’t touch you unless you had a very good reason. And now? He’s practically attached to you like a backpack. "You’re really going all in with this, huh?" you tease softly. "Do you need me to disinfect myself before I sleep with you too?"

"Need bleach...,” he mumbles, still not awake. "We need bleach. Stat."

You burst into quiet laughter, shaking your head. "You’re fine babe. There’s no germs here. I promise. It’s just you and me."

His response? He pulls you closer, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck like he’s shielding himself from a storm. You almost fall out of bed from how tightly he's holding you, and the absurdity of it all finally hits you.

"Omi," you chuckle softly, "I can’t believe you’re this clingy when you're asleep." You can practically hear his mind working as he sighs in his sleep. "Thank you... you're so clean..."

You're starting to enjoy the chaos now, though you’re still trying not to suffocate under his sleep-induced clinging. "Well, if I'm so clean, maybe you should calm down before you suffocate me," you tease, lightly pushing him off.

He doesn’t budge, still clinging to you like a human koala.

"I promise, no one’s getting sweaty near you," you murmur, shaking your head in amused disbelief.

Sakusa finally relaxes a little, still holding onto you, though not as desperately. It’s almost sweet… if you ignore the fact that he's sleep-clinging to you like a lifeline and muttering about germs.

"You're so soft," he mutters sleepily, finally drifting back into peaceful slumber, his hand still gently gripping your waist.

You blink down at him in confusion.

You can’t help but snicker. Looks like, for once, you’re the one who has to play the role of the calm, reassuring one. Not that you mind—just as long as he doesn’t try to disinfect you in the middle of the night.

BOKUTO KOTAROU

It was late—too late—when you felt something shift next to you. At first, you ignored it, already half-asleep, curled under the blankets. Then, suddenly—

"HEY HEY HEY!!"

Your body jerked awake at the sheer volume of his voice. "What the—?!"

Your sleep-addled brain barely had time to process before Bokuto fist-pumped the air—WHILE STILL ASLEEP.

"BEST SPIKER ALIVE, BABY!!" he cheered.

You blinked in the dark, completely disoriented. "Are you serious right now?" He didn’t answer. Because he was still asleep.

You groaned, rubbing your face, trying to slow your heartbeat down after that sudden wake-up call. "Bokuto, shut up," you muttered, voice raspy with sleep. But he wasn’t done.

"THAT WAS PERFECT!! DID YOU SEE THAT, Y/N?!"

"Oh my god," you whispered, realizing what was happening.

He was sleep-talking. Again.

"Ko, babe," you sighed, poking his forehead, hoping to shut him up before he woke up the whole building. "You’re dreaming. Go back to sleep." But instead of calming down, he suddenly turned towards you, grabbed your wrist, and squeezed it like a coach hyping up a player. "Y/N, YOU SET ME UP SO GOOD, I COULD KISS YOU!!"

You froze.

Your sleep-deprived brain took a moment to process the words before your lips parted. "…Bokuto Kotarou, I don’t even play volleyball."

"DON’T EVEN NEED TO! YOU’RE JUST THAT GOOD!!"

You sighed deeply, trying not to laugh. Sleep-talking Bokuto was something else. "Okay, okay, I’m amazing, got it. Now, can you go back to sleep?" Bokuto let out a content sigh, rolling back onto his side. "Mm… MVP… my Y/N…"

And just like that, he was out cold again.

Meanwhile, you stared at the ceiling, still awake, because somehow you just got dragged into an imaginary volleyball match at 3 AM.

IWAIZUMI HAJIME

The night was supposed to be peaceful. A rare moment of rest. No stress, no overthinking—just warmth, a comfortable bed, and the sound of Iwaizumi’s steady breathing beside you.

And then—

"Damn… look at those biceps…"

Your eyes snapped open.

For a second, you just lay there, blinking at the ceiling. Maybe you imagined it. Maybe you were dreaming.

Then, another sigh. "Shit… those arms… they’re unreal…"

Slowly—very slowly—you turned your head.

Iwaizumi was out cold, brows slightly furrowed, face relaxed in sleep. Yet his lips still moved, muttering nonsense into the darkness.

You stared at him. "Excuse me?"

He inhaled deeply, like he was taking in the sight of something majestic. "Damn, Ushiwaka…"

You nearly choked.

"USHIJIMA?!"

Nothing. No reaction. Just more soft, reverent mumbling. "Man… wonder what his arm day looks like…" A dreamy sigh. "Bet he curls, like… baby cows or somethin’…"

Your mouth fell open. For a solid ten seconds, you just laid there, processing. Then, slowly, a grin crept onto your face.

Leaning in, you whispered, "Hajime, do we need to have a conversation?"

A twitch. Then a small, sleepy grunt. "Mm… nah… ‘M gonna get bigger… even bigger…" His fingers twitched against the blanket, like he was mentally curling dumbbells.

You bit back laughter. "Bigger than Ushiwaka?" His brows furrowed, serious even in his sleep. "Tch… obviously…” A pause. "…probably…" That did it. You had to shove your face into the pillow to keep from bursting out laughing.

And just when you thought it couldn’t get any better—

"Y/N… ya think I’d look cool in a whey protein commercial…?"

You lost it. Grabbing your pillow, you smacked him upside the head.

MIYA ATSUMU

The night was peaceful, quiet, and exactly what you needed after a long day.

Then—

"THAT LYIN’ SNAKE—"

You shot upright, heart slamming against your ribs as you whipped toward the source of the outburst.

Atsumu. Still completely asleep.

His brows were furrowed, his mouth twisted in pure betrayal, and his fingers twitched against the blanket like he was plotting a murder. You exhaled sharply, flopping back onto the pillow. "God, Atsumu. Go back to sleep."

But he wasn’t done.

"I KNEW IT," he muttered, voice thick with righteous fury. "OSAMU’S BEEN WORKIN’ WITH THEM ALL ALONG…" Your brows furrowed as you turned to face him, half-exasperated, half-amused. "With who?" Atsumu’s breathing hitched. Then, in a voice so low it was almost conspiratorial, he whispered—

"The pigeons."

You blinked.

"What."

"They ain’t real, Y/N…" he continued, jaw clenching. "Government spies. Watchin’ us. Waitin’."

Your face went slack. "You’re joking."

"First it was the onigiri… now it’s full-blown espionage…" Atsumu grumbled, gripping the sheets tighter. "I gotta stop him… I gotta—"

Then, abruptly, his whole body relaxed. His face softened. His lips curled into a stupidly fond smile. "Mm… Y/N, ya smell good…" Your soul left your body.

"WHAT?!"

"Like… bread…" he sighed, completely content. "I love bread… ‘M gonna marry bread…" You stared at him.

Then, without thinking, you smacked him with your pillow.

"WAKE UP, YOU MENACE."

Atsumu just rolled over onto his stomach, mumbling something incoherent. But then, just as you were about to settle back down… "Not if Osamu gets to it first… damn bastard takes everythin’ from me…" You buried your face in your hands.

It was too late at night for this.

MIYA OSAMU

It was past midnight, and the only sound in the apartment was the occasional hum of the fridge. You were comfortably asleep—until you heard mumbling beside you.

At first, you thought you imagined it. But then— "No, that’s mine, ya greedy pig…"

Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned your head toward Osamu, who was lying on his back, looking completely relaxed. His lips parted slightly as he mumbled, his voice low and grumbly from sleep.

"Didn’t even leave me a single bite… selfish ass…"

Oh. He was sleep-talking. You had to physically restrain yourself from laughing.

Carefully, you shifted closer, resting your head on his shoulder. "What’d he take this time?" you whispered, playing along. Osamu sighed like a man who had suffered greatly. "The last onigiri…"

You bit back a grin.

"That bastard," you whispered dramatically. "Didn’t even ask?" Osamu's brows furrowed, his head tilting slightly. "Didn’t even share…"

You lost it. You absolutely lost it.

You pressed your face into his shoulder, shaking with silent laughter. This was too good. Then—"That was my favorite one, too…" Osamu sounded genuinely heartbroken.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from holding in your laughter. "'Samu, baby, you own a whole restaurant."

There was a beat of silence.

Then, with the most serious expression—still completely asleep—he muttered: "DON’T MEAN I WANNA SHARE, Y/N." You immediately rolled onto your back, gripping your stomach, wheezing.

That was it. You were bringing this up tomorrow.

And if Osamu thought for one second that you wouldn’t record it next time? He had another thing coming.

KOZUME KENMA

Kenma was a silent sleeper. Most nights, you barely even noticed he was there—except for the occasional shift when he curled closer, or the faint glow of his phone screen if he stayed up too late gaming.

Tonight, however, was different.

Because at exactly 3:12 AM, he mumbled—

"No… no… lag… not now…"

You blinked awake. For a second, you weren’t sure if you imagined it. But then—"Tch… stupid server…" Kenma shifted slightly, brows furrowing in his sleep. "I swear if I d—if I d—if I d—" He twitched.

You squinted. "Kenma?"

"—if I d—if I d—if I d—"

You sat up. "Are you… lagging?" Kenma twitched again. His lips parted slightly, his voice glitching. "N—not n—now—lag—s-stu—pid—"

It took everything in you not to burst out laughing. "Kenma, baby, you’re buffering."

"Ngh… Y/N…" His fingers twitched, his face contorted in distress. "They’re—th-th-they’re stream sniping me…" You bit your lip. "Who?"

"Sweaty… 12-year-olds…" He exhaled sharply. "Little monsters…"

At that, you lost it. You flopped back onto the pillow, shaking with silent laughter.

"Kenma," you gasped. "You’re getting wrecked by children in your dreams?" "They—they won’t stop emoting on my body…" He turned his face into the pillow, like he was actually suffering. "Disgusting…"

Tears pricked at your eyes from holding back laughter.

Then, suddenly, Kenma’s breathing evened out again. His fingers stopped twitching.

Silence.

Until—"…Kuroo, stop taking my loot…"

You rolled over and smacked him with a pillow.

OIKAWA TOORU

The bedroom was quiet, you and Oikawa in a peaceful slumber, until, you’re woken up in the middle of the night by Oikawa’s voice, soft but unmistakably confident.

“...Y/N, I’m telling you, I can do a backflip. I’ve practiced, I swear.”

You blink, groggily trying to process what he’s saying. "A backflip? Sweetheart, where would you even try that?"

He doesn’t answer, but you can hear him shift in his sleep. Then, his voice comes again, louder this time, as if he’s trying to convince the whole room. “I’m serious! Just wait ‘til I show you. I can totally do it. You’ll see.”

You squint at him, slightly confused. “A backflip? Are you actually dreaming about impressing me with acrobatics?”

He sighs in his sleep, as if this whole conversation is just basic stuff to him. “I’m not just impressing you, Y/N. I’m proving I can do anything. You’ll see...”

You can’t help but laugh quietly, shaking your head. "Okay, Oikawa. When you land that backflip, let me know."

His voice is muffled as he mutters, “Just wait... I’ll do it in front of the whole team... they’ll be amazed…”

You roll your eyes, utterly entertained. "Sure, sure. I’m sure they’ll be floored, Oikawa."

He mumbles something unintelligible, then goes silent again, clearly satisfied with his dream logic. You shake your head, already half asleep again. "Whatever you say, superstar."

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

Taglist (OPEN). / @cherrysurf @arwawawa2 @itsmeaudrieee

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biblicallyaccuratemeat · 3 days ago

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Cotton Candy

MDNI!!!

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day to my bby girl @ethanhoewke! Ily mwa <3 as always, beta read by @teaflavoredwitch. Bucky Barnes x female reader, established relationship, PORN, p in v sex, blow job, oral fixation, finger sucking, biting, choking, unprotected sex, size kink, praise kink, hair pulling, lingerie, slow dancing, light dom/sub, gentle dom Bucky, sweet & fluffy, boyfriend Bucky, TFATWS Bucky

My 200 follower fic raffle is going on here!

Word count: 9.2k

“Hi Bucky,” You chirp sweetly as his front door swings open, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

You looked up at Bucky, your eyes sparkling with excitement and nervous anticipation. The pink fabric of your dress swished around your thighs and hugged your body like it was made just for you. You tried your best to look perfect for your first Valentine’s Day with Bucky, hair done in that style you know he likes, minimal makeup only to accentuate your natural beauty. Bucky always had a way of making you feel like the prettiest woman in the world, even when you had food poisoning and he came over to take care of you. And tonight, you hoped it would be your first time sleeping with Bucky, so you felt the need to go the extra mile.

Bucky couldn't help but let his eyes roam appreciatively over your figure as he stood there, taking in every curve of your body draped in that soft, pretty pink dress. The color suited you perfectly, bringing a rosy glow to your cheeks and a sparkle to your eyes that made his heart do funny things in his chest. He had to remind himself to close his mouth, snapping it shut as he met your shy gaze. A slow, warm smile spread across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"Well, don't you look like a dream come true," he murmured, his deep voice soft and slightly rough, like velvet wrapped in sandpaper. He stepped closer, reaching out to take your hand, his calloused fingers brushing against your smooth skin as he brought it to his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, his blue eyes never leaving yours. "Happy Valentine's Day, sweetheart."

He lingered for a moment, his lips still pressed against your hand, before he reluctantly let it go. The scent of your perfume, something sweet like vanilla, filled his nose and made him want to pull you closer. But he resisted, knowing he had to take this slow. He wanted tonight to be perfect for you.

Bucky stepped back, gesturing for you to come inside. As you crossed the threshold, he couldn't help but admire the sway of your hips, the way the fabric of your dress hugged your curves in all the right places. He swallowed hard, feeling a familiar heat pooling in his gut. But he pushed those thoughts aside, wanting to focus on making this a night you’d never forget.

Once inside, Bucky took your coat, hanging it up in the closet before turning back to you with a soft smile. The apartment was dimly lit, candles flickering on every surface, casting a warm glow over everything. Soft jazz music played softly in the background, the kind of music he knew you loved. He had even gone out of his way to dig his record player and collection of vintage vinyl records out of storage to set the mood.

But the real piece de resistance was the table set up in the living room. A white tablecloth draped over a small, round table, with two place settings, complete with fine china and crystal glassware. A bucket of ice chilled a bottle of champagne, while a single red rose tucked into a vase in the center of the table. The scent of Italian food wafted from the kitchen, the aroma of garlic and herbs filling the air.

Bucky watched as you took in the scene, your eyes widening in surprise and delight. He couldn't help but feel a sense of pride, knowing that he had done all of this for you. It may not have been much, but it was a start. A promise of so much more to come.

"I wanted tonight to be special," he explained softly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your cheekbone. "I know we’ve only been dating for a little while but I really like you and I wanted to give you a reason to smile. To remind you that you deserve to be cherished and adored." He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "And I want to be the one to do that. I want to be the one to make you feel loved, babygirl."

His voice was low and rough with emotion, a raw honesty to his words that sent a shiver down your spine. He could feel the way your body responded to his touch, the way your breath hitched in your throat. It spurred him on, made him want to do so much more. He wanted to worship every inch of your body, to show you exactly what you meant to him.

But he knew he had to take this slow. Knew that he had to let you set the pace, to make sure you were ready for this step. So he pulled back slightly, his hand falling away from your cheek as he looked down at you with a soft, tender smile.

“What do you say we have dinner first, huh? Then maybe we can cuddle on the couch and watch a movie, see where the night takes us?" He smirked, a playful glint in his blue eyes as he held out his hand for you to take. "I promise I'll be on my best behavior. At least until after dessert." He winked, trying to keep the mood light and teasing, even as a heady promise lingered beneath his words.

He knew what he wanted tonight to end with. Knew that he wanted to make love to you, to show you the depths of his feelings and the commitment he was willing to make to you.

A huge smile spread across your lips, making your nose crinkle slightly. You brought a hand up to your chest, clasping it over your heart as if to contain the fluttery feeling growing there.

“Wow," You breathed out happily, "This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, Bucky! I can't believe you did all of this for little old me." Your voice was filled with genuine awe and appreciation, a light blush blooming across your cheeks.

You did a slow turn, taking in every detail - the flickering candles casting a warm glow, the record player spinning a vinyl, the table set for romance with the finest china and crystal. The aroma of Italian cuisine teased your nose, making your stomach rumble softly. You felt like a princess in a fairy tale, and Bucky was your dashing prince. You turned back to face him, looking up at him, your eyes sparkling with unshed tears of joy.

"Bucky, this is...I don't even have words. It's like a dream come true," You murmured, reaching out to take his hand. Your fingers trembled slightly as they entwined with his much larger, calloused ones. You could feel the heat and strength of his touch, and it made your heart race in anticipation. And in that moment, standing there in his apartment, you had never looked more beautiful to him.

You leaned in closer, standing on your tiptoes to press a lingering kiss to Bucky's cheek, your lips soft and warm and tempting. When you pulled back, you smiled up at him shyly, a newfound confidence and hunger burning in your eyes. Bucky couldn't help but feel a surge of pride and satisfaction as he watched you take in the romantic scene he had so carefully crafted just for you. The way your eyes widened in awe and your cheeks flushed a soft, rosy hue was all the confirmation he needed to know that he had done something special. Something right.

When you turned to face him, your hand reaching out to take his, Bucky felt a jolt of electricity course through his body at your touch. Your fingers were so small and delicate in comparison to his calloused, work-roughened hand. He could have easily crushed them, but instead, he held them gently, reverently, as if they were the most precious thing in the world to him.

And in that moment, they were. You were.

Bucky listened as you spoke, your voice soft and filled with a genuine enthusiasm that made his heart swell in his chest. He had done this for you. He had gone above and beyond to make you feel cherished and special, and the fact that it had worked only served to encourage him further.

But then you leaned in, your lips brushing against his cheek in the softest of kisses. And Bucky felt like he had been struck by lightning. His skin tingled where your lips had touched, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the heat of the candles or the fireplace crackling in the corner.

He looked down at you, his blue eyes darkening with a hunger that was harder to ignore. The way you gazed up at him, your eyes filled with a myriad of emotions, made something aching and raw stir deep within him. In that moment, he knew with absolute certainty that you were his. That he would do anything, absolutely anything, to keep you by his side.

Bucky knew he should probably say something, should probably try to be charming and witty, to keep the mood light and playful. But all he could think about was the way your lips felt against his skin, and the way your body had felt pressed up against his. He wanted to touch you, to explore every curve and dip and hollow of your body until he had committed it all to memory.

Instead, he raised your hand to his lips, pressing another kiss to your knuckles that lingered perhaps a little too long. He could smell the scent of your perfume, it made his head swim with desire. It was a scent that he knew he would forever associate with you, with happiness and contentment and a feeling of coming home.

"I'm glad you like it, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion. "Because you deserve to be treated like a queen. You deserve to be worshipped and adored and cherished in every way possible."

He let your hand go reluctantly, but only so that he could wrap his arm around your waist and pull you flush against him. He could feel the warmth of your flesh, the soft give of your tummy, the flare of your hips. It made him want to groan out loud, to bury his face in the crook of your neck and just breathe you in.

But he didn't. Instead, he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on the soft skin of your cheek. He traced the curve of your jaw, the line of your throat, the delicate arch of your eyebrow. He committed every detail to memory, knowing that he would need to draw on these memories in the dark, lonely nights when you were not by his side.

You glanced up at him with a playful smirk, eyes sparkling with mirth, you tilted your head to the side, "I must say, Sergeant Barnes, I'm really am amazed by all of this..." You hummed, gesturing around at the candlelit table and the romantic ambiance. "I didn't realize you had it in you to be such a hopeless romantic. So tell me, did you slave away all day in the kitchen to whip up this feast?" You teased, batting your long lashes at him flirtatiously.

Bucky chuckled softly, a deep, rich sound that rumbled in his chest and made your toes curl in your pretty shoes. He shook his head, his brown hair falling across his forehead in a way that made him look even more handsome if that was possible. At the same time, his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers splaying across your skin and giving you a little squeeze, a gentle reminder of how strong he was.

"Nah, doll. I may be many things, but a gourmet chef ain't one of them," he said with a smirk and a wink. "I ordered from that fancy Italian place downtown. The one with the red and white checkered tablecloths and the old guy who keeps trying to sell you wine and take you on a date."

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "But don't you worry, babygirl. I made sure to get one of everything on the menu. I wanted tonight to be perfect for you, so I pulled out all the stops." With that, he took your hand and led you towards the dining table. He pulled out your chair for you like the gentleman he was, waiting for you to take your seat before pushing it back in and leaning down to press a lingering kiss to the shell of your ear.

"I hope you're hungry, sweetheart. Because I plan on feeding you until you're stuffed. Then, if you're still hungry after that..." His voice dropped to a low, husky tone as he nipped lightly at your earlobe. "Well, I might have a few more ideas on how to satisfy your appetite."

He straightened up and walked around the table to take his own seat across from you. As he sat down, he grabbed the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket and popped the cork, the sound echoing loudly in the quiet of the apartment. He poured the bubbly liquid into your glass, the golden color catching the flickering light of the candles, before filling his own glass.

He raised his glass in your direction, a slow, roguish smile spreading across his handsome face. "To us, babygirl. To the start of something amazing."

He clinked his glass against yours, the sound ringing out like a promise, a vow. His blue eyes never left yours as he brought the glass to his lips and took a long, slow sip. He swallowed, his throat working with the motion, before setting the glass back down on the table. Then, he stood up and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the soft strains of jazz music filling the air.

A moment later, he returned with two plates piled high with food - pasta, pizza, calzones, garlic bread, the works. He set a plate down in front of you before taking his own seat, looking at you with a proud, almost smug smile. "There you go, doll. Eat up now. You're gonna need your energy for later." He winked, his voice a low, wicked promise as he reached for his fork and knife. "And don't worry, babygirl. I'll make sure you get dessert later...no matter what it takes."

He smirked, a dark glint in his blue eyes as he cut into the pasta, the fork and knife screeching against the fine china. Then, he brought the fork to his mouth and took a bite, his eyes never leaving yours as he chewed, savored, and swallowed. All the while, his gaze remained locked with yours, a silent conversation passing between you. A conversation of unspoken words and unspoken desires, of promises and expectations and a hunger that had nothing to do with the food in front of you.

You ate your food languidly, taking small, savoring bites. You closed your eyes, a soft moan escaping your lips as the rich, buttery flavors exploded on your tongue - the crispy garlic bread, the creamy risotto, the tangy red sauce. Each morsel was a taste of heaven, a sensual indulgence. You could feel the warmth of the champagne tingling in your chest, bubbling through your veins.

You took a sip of the bubbly liquid, relishing the crisp effervescence that danced on your tongue and slid down your throat with a satisfying smoothness. The alcohol buzzed lightly in your head, heightening your senses, making every touch and taste and sound feel amplified, “I’m surprised by all this. You’re so quiet and broody, I didn’t realize you were so suave, Sergeant Barnes,” You tease, emboldened by the alcohol coursing through your system.

Bucky threw back his head and laughed, a rich, heartfelt sound that filled the room and made your chest feel warm and fluttery. He shook his head, as he looked at you with a rueful smile. "Quiet and broody, huh?" he said, arching one dark eyebrow. "I guess I can see how you might think that, doll. I ain't exactly known for my silver tongue and charm."

He reached across the table to take your hand, his calloused fingers brushing against your soft skin and sending a shiver running up your arm. He brought your hand to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours as he pressed a lingering kiss to your knuckles. "But for you, sweetheart, I'm willing to learn. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make you feel special. To make you feel cherished and worshipped and like the angel you are."

He turned your hand over in his, his thumb tracing the lines of your palm in a way that made your breath catch in your throat. His touch was firm and sure, the touch of a soldier who knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it. "I never realized that a romantic gesture could feel so good," he murmured, his voice a low, intimate rumble that sounded like it was meant only for your ears. "But with you, it's different. Everything feels different. It's like I'm seeing the world through a whole new set of eyes."

He lifted your hand to his cheek, holding it against the stubble that darkened his jawline. He closed his eyes for a moment, just breathing you in, your scent and your warmth and the feeling of your skin against his. "And maybe it's too soon to say this, but fuck, doll...I think I'm falling in love with you. I think I'm falling in love with everything about you, from the way your mind works to the way your body moves to the way your fucking soul shines out of your eyes."

He opened his eyes to look at you, his gaze intense and burning with a fierceness that made your heart race and your toes curl. There was a vulnerability in his expression that you hadn't seen before, a raw and naked emotion that made you want to reach out and pull him close and never let him go. But instead, you just looked at him, your own eyes shining with unshed tears of happiness and gratitude. Your heart felt so full that you thought it might burst, so stuffed with affection and adoration and a feeling of belonging that you never wanted to let go. Bucky must have seen the way your eyes glistened with emotion, because he smiled softly and brushed his thumb across your cheek, catching a stray tear before it could fall.

"Hey, sweetheart...no crying now," he said, his voice low and gentle and filled with care. "Tonight's supposed to be a happy occasion, yeah? So why don't you give me that pretty smile of yours, and let me take care of everything else?"

You gazed up at Bucky with tear-filled eyes, your pouty lips curled into a radiant, trembling smile. You licked your lips nervously, tasting the salt of your tears and the sweetness of the champagne on your tongue. Your voice was a breathy, delighted whisper as you spoke, "Oh, Bucky...I thought it was just me. I never dreamed you felt the same way. But hearing you say it..." A single tear slipped down your soft, flushed cheek, glistening in the candlelight. "I'm falling for you too. Hard. So hard it scares me sometimes."

You reached up with a shaking hand to cup Bucky's stubbled cheek, your fingers trembling slightly as you traced his strong jawline. Your heart raced in your chest, pounding against your ribs like a drumbeat of desire and anticipation. "I'm not usually one for grand gestures or fancy words, but this...you...it's everything. It's more than everything. It's like you see me in a way no one else ever has, like you understand every part of me, inside and out."

Your voice hitched on a sob, but you pressed on, unable to hold back the words any longer. "I want to give myself to you, all of myself. Body, heart, and soul. I want to be yours, completely and totally. Forever and always."

You leaned in closer, until your lips were a mere breath away from Bucky's. "So please, kiss me. Kiss me like you mean it, like you want to devour me whole. Kiss me like you'll never stop, because I don't think I can bear to live without your lips on mine for even a moment longer."

With that, you closed your eyes and parted your lips, a silent plea and a promise all in one. You were offering yourself to him, completely and wholly.

Bucky's breath caught in his throat as he gazed down at you, his heart swelling with a fierce, all-consuming love that threatened to overwhelm him. He had felt many things in his long life - hunger, pain, rage, sorrow, guilt...but this feeling, this overwhelming tenderness and devotion, was something entirely new and terrifying in its intensity.

He saw the way your eyes shone with unshed tears, the way your bottom lip trembled with emotion and anticipation. He heard the breathy whisper of your voice, the hitch in your throat as you poured out your heart to him. And he knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that you were offering him everything. Everything you had, everything you were, everything you could ever hope to be.

And god, he wanted it. He wanted to take it all, to grab it with both hands and hold it close and never, ever let it go. He wanted to possess you, to claim you, to make you his in every way possible. But most of all, he wanted to cherish you. To worship you and adore you and love you with every fiber of his being, for as long as he lived and drew breath.

So when you leaned in, your lips parting in a silent plea, Bucky didn't hesitate. He closed the scant distance between you, his mouth coming down on yours in a kiss that was hungry and desperate and full of a need that bordered on rabid. He kissed you like a drowning man seeking air, his lips moving over yours with a fierce, almost bruising intensity. He nipped at your bottom lip, his teeth scraping against the tender flesh before soothing it with his tongue. He licked into your mouth, his tongue delving deep to taste the sweet champagne and the salt of your tears, the unique flavor that was purely, uniquely you.

His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers threading through the soft curls of your hair. He gripped the strands tight, holding you in place as he angled your head to deepen the kiss, to plunder your mouth with a single-minded purpose. He kissed you until you were breathless, until your lungs burned for air and your head spun with the force of it. He kissed you until he felt your knees buckle, until he had to wrap his arm around your waist to keep you upright, to pull you flush against him.

And even then, he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Because now that he had tasted paradise, now that he had held heaven in his arms...he knew he would never be able to let you go. He broke the kiss only when absolutely necessary, when the need for air became too great to ignore. As he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps that matched your own.

"Fuck, doll..." he rasped, his voice a low, guttural growl that sent shivers down your spine. "I never...I mean, I don't...I can't..."

He swallowed hard, his throat working with the effort of trying to find the right words. But there were no words, not for a feeling this big, this all-encompassing. So he just held you tighter, pulling you so close that you could feel the pounding of his heart against your own.

"I love you," he said finally, the words a vow and a promise and a statement of fact all rolled into one. "I fucking love you so much, babygirl. More than anything in this goddamn world."

He kissed you again then, softer this time, slower. A kiss full of tenderness and care and a quiet, steady devotion. A kiss that said 'I'm yours, forever and always, no matter what.'

You smile into the kiss, giggling breathlessly as you melt into Bucky's strong arms. After a moment, you feel him begin to sway, and realize he's leading you in a slow dance, moving in time to the soft jazz music playing on the record player. Pressing closer, you rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. You can feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt, the firmness of his muscles, the cool metal ridge of his dog tags. It makes you feel so small and delicate, so protected and cherished.

As you dance, you let your fingers walk playfully up his chest, feeling the contours and dips. You tilt your head to look up at him, eyes sparkling with mischief and adoration. "You're such a sap, aren't you Sergeant Barnes?" You tease softly, a pretty blush coloring your cheeks. "I never would've guessed you had these kinds of moves."

Bucky just smirks and spins you out, before pulling you back in close, fitting your soft curves against his hard planes. "I got many moves, doll. Haven't even scratched the surface yet."

You shudder at the promise in his voice, a thrill running through you. Your breasts press against him as you slip your arms around his neck, fingers playing with his dark hair. As you sway, you can't help but feel like you’re living in a dream. Or maybe, a fairytale. It's hard to believe that a man like Bucky, so strong, so fierce, once so scary...could love you. But the way he holds you, touches you, kisses you...tells you he means it.

"Take me to bed, Bucky," You breathe against his neck, nipping at his ear. "Please...I need you." Your voice is soft, almost pleading. But there's a strength in it too. A sureness, a knowing. You know what you want. And you want him.

Bucky felt a shudder run through him at your breathy plea, your words igniting a fire in his blood that he couldn't ignore. He had been holding himself back, determined to make this night perfect for you, to show you the depth of his feelings and his commitment to you. But now, with the feel of your soft curves pressed so deliciously against him, your fingers playing in his hair and your lips brushing against his ear...fuck. He was done waiting.

In one swift, smooth motion, he swept you up into his arms, cradling you against his chest as he strode purposefully towards the bedroom. He kicked the door shut behind him, not wanting any interruptions, any distractions, as he laid you down gently on the plush comforter. He stood over you for a moment, his eyes drinking in the sight of you - your hair spreading out around your head like a halo, your cheeks flushed and your lips kiss-swollen, your chest heaving with anticipation. He had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached for the buttons of his shirt, popping them open one by one to reveal the expanse of his tanned, muscular chest. His vibranium arm gleamed in the low light, a testament to his past, but his other hand was soft and sure as it pushed the shirt off his shoulders and let it drop to the floor. His dog tags hung proudly from his neck, causing a small small smile to grace your lips. Bucky’s pants quickly join the pile of clothes on the floor, earning a blush from you. This is the most you’ve seen him undressed during your relationship and the sight goes straight to your cunt, gooey and slick and hot. He climbs onto the bed, covering your body with his own, the heat of his skin seeping into yours. He brushed your hair back from your face, his fingers tracing the delicate line of your jaw, the soft swell of your bottom lip.

"I want to take my time with you, babygirl," he murmured, his voice a low, intimate rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "I want to worship every inch of this gorgeous body of yours, to make you feel so, so good."

He dipped his head to press a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point and making you gasp. He paused for a moment, just looking at you in the candlelight, his eyes dark and hungry as they took in the sight of you beneath him in your dress. "Fuck, doll," he breathed, his voice rough with desire. "You're so goddamn beautiful. I can't believe you're really here, that you're really mine."

Bucky's breath caught in his throat as he slowly peeled your dress off your body, revealing the luscious curves that lay beneath. As the fabric slipped away, he beheld a vision that made his heart stutter and his cock jump to attention. You lay before him, clad in a sinful scrap of maroon lace and satin that clung to every generous curve. The teddy cupped and lifted your ample breasts, the delicate lace barely containing their full, rounded shape. Rosy nipples peaked prominently through the thin fabric, begging to be tasted and teased. His gaze drifted down the sweetheart neckline to your nipped-in waist and the flare of your hips. The lingerie hugged the swell of your ass, the lace disappearing between the tempting globes.

"Son of a bitch," he breathed, his voice a guttural rasp. "babygirl, that...fuck. You're a goddamn knockout."

He ran a calloused hand reverently over the swell of your breast, feeling the way your nipple pebbled at his touch. Hooking a finger under the lace, he slowly, torturously dragged it down, watching your skin flush and your chest heave with anticipation. His other hand traced the dip and curve of your waist, the flare of your hip, before gripping the generous flesh of your ass. He squeezed, relishing the way it yielded to his touch, before suddenly flipping you onto your stomach.

“Wait, wait,” You whisper, feeling far more bold than usual. Perhaps it’s the champagne, perhaps it’s the way Bucky makes you feel like the most precious thing in the world. You want to return the feeling tenfold, so you lick your lips and sit up slowly in the center of the mattress, “I…I want to do something for you. Switch spots with me, here, sit on the edge of the bed.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at your sudden boldness, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He had never seen this side of you before, this tantalizing glimmer of mischief and desire. It made his blood run hot and his cock twitch with anticipation. But he was nothing if not accommodating, especially to his beloved girl. So he sat back on his heels, watching you with a hungry, appreciative gaze as you sat up and patted the space in front of you. He moved to comply, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed, his naked chest on full display. The candlelight flickered over the hard planes and angles, casting shadows that danced across his skin. He looked like a god, all power and strength and raw, masculine beauty.

You settle between his powerful thighs, the heat of his skin seeping into yours as you kneel before him. Catching his gaze with your own, you press your cheek against the firm muscle of his thigh, feeling the strength that lies beneath. Your fingers dance along the metallic surface of his vibranium hand, tracing the cool, hard ridges and grooves.

You bring his metal fingers to your soft, spit-slick lips, brushing them back and forth until you reach his thumb. Maintaining eye contact,you part your lips and draw his thumb into the wet heat of your mouth, suckling gently at first before increasing the pressure. Your tongue swirls around the tip, teasing the cool metal as you hold his captivated gaze.

Your other hand slowly, teasingly runs up his muscular calf, nails lightly scraping over his skin. You can feel the coarseness of his leg hair beneath your fingertips, the strength of his leg muscles flexing slightly in response to your touch. Higher and higher your hand roams, not stopping until you reach the thick, heavy length of his cock. You wrap your fingers around it, feeling it throb against your palm, already hard and ready, all because of you.

Bucky's breath caught in his throat as your soft, warm lips closed around his thumb, your tongue swirling and teasing the cool vibranium. He had felt many things in his life, but the sensation of your mouth on his metal hand was unlike anything he had experienced before - electric, intense, and fucking incredible. He watched, mesmerized, as you slowly pumped his thick, hard cock with your small, delicate hand. The contrast of your soft, flushed skin against his own weathered, tanned flesh was erotic as hell, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to grab you, pin you down under him, and rail you into oblivion.

Instead, he gritted his teeth and fisted his hand in the bed sheets beneath him, fighting the urge to take control. He wanted to let you lead this, wanted to see what you would do, wanted to feel your passion and your hunger. But fuck if it wasn't the hardest thing he had ever done, holding himself back when every instinct screamed at him to take, to possess, to fucking ruin you with pleasure. He swallowed hard and forced himself to ask, his voice a low, strangled growl, "Is that how you want to use your mouth, babygirl? Because if you keep that up, I’m worried I won’t last long.”

Bucky shuddered as your soft, slick lips peppered playful kisses along each of his metal fingers, the sensation electric even through the material. He clenched his organic fist, knuckles white, as your attention turned to his aching cock. There was no warning, no hesitation, just the immediate heat of your eager mouth engulfing him.

"Ohhhh fuck," he groaned, head falling back as your lips wrapped around his thick girth and your tongue flicked out to tease the sensitive underside. His hips jerked reflexively, fighting the urge to thrust into the welcome warmth. Bucky squirmed as he felt your free hand roaming boldly over his muscular thigh, your blunt nails scraping deliciously across his skin. He flexed involuntarily, groaning low in his throat. But then your fingers found his cloth-covered balls and he nearly punched through the mattress as a bolt of pure lust shot through him. The contrast of your softness and his aching, swollen flesh was dizzying and he fisted a hand in your hair to anchor himself.

"It's...oh god, babygirl, your mouth feels...fuck...so damn good," he panted, iron will battling the instinct to grab your hair and fuck your face until he spilled down your throat. "If you keep that up, can't...Christ...can't promise I'll last."

Bucky’s reaction spurs you on, so you whine, batting your lashes in silent communication. You scoot forward, impossibly closer and take even more of his rigid length into your mouth, drool leaking out around it and dripping down your chin.

Bucky let out a low, feral growl as he felt your lips stretch around his thick, throbbing cock. The wet heat of your mouth was incredible, your tongue like velvet as it teased and stroked along the sensitive flesh. He could feel every flick, every swirl, every dip and curve of the velvety muscle as it explored his shaft. His grip tightened in your hair, his metal hand flexing and tensing as he fought the urge to take control, to fuck your pretty face until tears streamed down your cheeks and you choked and sputtered around his thick cock. He could feel the desperation building in his balls, the ache of impending release coiling hot and tight in his belly. Fuck, he had never been this turned on in his life, never felt a hunger this primal, this consuming. But goddamn if he wasn't determined to make this good for you too. Determined to worship your heavenly body, to make you scream and shake and come undone all over his cock.

He tugged gently on your hair, urging you off his shaft with a hiss of regret. "Babygirl, wait..." he growled, voice strained and ragged. "I...fuck, I need to taste you too. Need to make you feel good, sweetheart."

He pulled you up his body, his bionic arm wrapping around your waist to crush you against his muscular chest. His mouth found yours in a searing kiss, his tongue plunging deep to claim your mouth, to fuck your face the way he ached to fuck your other holes. He kissed you until you were breathless and clinging to his broad shoulders, until your panties were soaked through and your cunt was clenching around nothing. Then he flipped you onto your back and settled his hard, muscular body between your softer, curvier one. He looked down at you with hot, hungry eyes that blazed with lust and adoration.

"Fuck, I need to be inside you," he rasped, his weight pressing down on you, pinning you to the mattress. "Need to feel this sweet little cunt squeezing my cock, baby. You ready for me, sweetheart?"

You bit your plump bottom lip shyly, peering up at him through long, curling lashes as you slowly, teasingly spread your plush thighs apart. Exposing yourself to his ravenous gaze, you arched your back slightly to present your glistening sex. Your blushing cheeks and nose scrunched up adorably as you fluttered your lashes. “I'm ready, Bucky,” you breathed, your voice a needy whisper. The scent of your arousal mingled with the lingering aroma of vanilla and champagne perfuming the air between you.

Your perky breasts heaved with each anticipating breath, the rosy nipples hardened into tight little peaks. Nuzzling your chin against his chest, you gazed up at him with hooded, desire-drunk eyes, your breathless plea unmistakable. “Please, Bucky... I need you. I'm all yours... every inch of me is yours to take.'"

Bucky shuddered as your legs fell open, revealing the glistening perfection of your bare cunt. The scent of your arousal and sight of you finally bare for him made his mouth water and his cock throb. He could see how wet you were, how ready and eager for him. Your puffy lips were slick and swollen, just begging to be spread open around his thick, hard flesh. He wanted to bury his face in your sweet little pussy, to lap up every drop of your slick until you were writhing and screaming his name. But more than that, he needed to be inside you. Needed to feel your velvet heat clamping down around him, needed to hear you moan and gasp as he stretched you open and filled you up. He reached down to grip your thighs, his fingers sinking into the soft, pliant flesh as he pushed them further apart, opening you even more to him. He could feel you trembling beneath his touch, could sense your anticipation and your need.

"Fuck, babygirl," he growled, his voice low and rough with desire. "You're so fucking perfect, sweetheart. So goddamn sexy spread out like this for me."

He notched the broad head of his cock against your entrance, feeling the slick, scorching heat of you kissing the tip of his cock. He rolled his hips, coating his tip in your juices, getting himself slick and ready.

"I'm gonna fuck this needy little cunt so good," he promised darkly. "Gonna make you scream and shake and come all over my big, thick cock. You want that, babygirl? Want me to split you open and fuck you raw?" He looked down at your cute, flushed face, at your big eyes clouded with lust and desire, and he knew he had never wanted anything more in his life.

He drank in every inch of your exposed flesh, from your blushing cheeks and cute little nose to your heaving, perfect tits and the dusting of freckles across your cleavage. You looked like a goddamn wet dream come to life, a fucking goddess of lust and desire. And when you arched that back to present yourself to him, your pleading words tumbling from your kiss-swollen lips, he was done for. Completely, utterly done.

"Fuck, babygirl," he groaned, his voice rough and low and dripping with desire. "You're mine, all mine. Gonna make you feel so fucking good."

He reached down with his human hand to line himself up, the swollen head of his cock nudging against your slick, wet entrance. He teasingly rubbed himself from clit to hole, before slowly, inch by tortuous inch, he pushed forward. Your velvety walls stretched around him, hugging his thick shaft as he pressed deeper and deeper inside you. He had to grit his teeth and take it slow, fighting the urge to slam forward and bury himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. But goddamn, the feeling of your tight, hot cunt enveloping him, squeezing him like a fucking vice, was indescribable. Incredible. Better than anything he had ever felt before.

“Shit, sweetheart," he grunted as he finally bottomed out, his heavy balls nestling against your ass. "So fucking tight. Gonna ruin this sweet little pussy, babygirl. Gonna fuck you so hard, so deep, you'll be feeling me for days."

You gasp brokenly, eyes rolling back as Bucky sinks to the hilt inside you. Your hands shoot up to grasp his biceps, nails digging into the flesh of his organic arm. "Jesus," you wheeze out, overwhelmed by the sensation of being impaled on his cock, "I've never felt so full in my life." Your hips squirm and roll instinctively, trying to adjust to his sheer size as you pant softly against his neck.

Bucky groaned deeply as he felt your fingers digging into his biceps, your petite body squirming and rolling beneath him as you familiarized yourself with his massive size. He could feel every flutter, every clench, every desperate little movement of your velvet walls as they struggled to accommodate his thick, aching cock. "Take your time, babygirl," he murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "Take all the time you need. Gonna make this so good for you, sweetheart."

He brushed a strand of hair back from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear as he gazed down at you with a tender, almost reverent expression. He loved seeing you like this - dazed, drunk on lust, worshipping every inch of his cock with your tight, perfect pussy.

"Fuck, you look so beautiful like this, doll. Spread out beneath me, stuffed full of my dick. Knew you'd have a hot little cunt, but shit... never imagined it would feel this good." His thumb brushed across your trembling lower lip, his eyes darkening with hunger as he watched your breathless pants. He rolled his hips slowly, shallowly, letting you feel every thick inch of him as he ground against your sensitive walls. "Shit baby, your pussy is gripping me like a fucking fist. Gonna ruin this cute little cunt, doll. Gonna fucking wreck you."

Bucky raked his lips and tongue over your slender neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses and sharp little nips in their wake. He lavished attention on your delicate collarbone before dipping down to worship your heaving tits, his metal hand cupping the soft, plush mound reverently. He circled his thumb pads around your areolas, teasing the sensitive skin until they pebbled and strained against his touch. Then, with a low groan, he hauled one aching peak into his mouth, suckling greedily as his metal fingers plucked at the other. You whimpered and writhed beneath him, the rough drag of his teeth and tongue on your tender nipples sending jolts of electricity zinging straight to your dripping core. Your thighs clenched around his waist, sharp heels digging into the firm globes of his muscular ass.

Bucky could feel your velvet walls starting to relax, to soften and flutter around his throbbing shaft as you adjusted to his size. He rolled his hips, stroking along your inner walls, loving the slick glide of your juices coating his thick cock. Sliding a hand down to where you were connected, he ran a finger through your soaked folds, circling your swollen clit and feeling you tremble. "That's it, sweetheart," he murmured, voice a low, lust-rough rasp. "Gonna make this pussy feel so fucking good."

Bucky began to move, slowly at first, easing you into the thick, heavy thrusts of his hips. He watched your face as he fucked into you, memorizing every gasp, every whimper, every flash of pure pleasure that crossed your expressive features. His pace increased gradually, building to a steady, pounding rhythm. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with the creaking of the bed and your breathless cries.

“Fuck, baby, your pussy feels incredible," he groaned, his eyes burning into yours. "So fucking tight, so fucking hot. Gonna - ungh - fuck, gonna fill this cunt up so good. Pump you full of my cum, sweetheart."

He hooked your knee over his elbow, opening you up, driving even deeper into your molten core. His metal hand gripped your hip, fingers digging into the plush flesh as he pounded into you, the force of his thrusts rocking you against the headboard. You giggled breathlessly as Bucky’s dog tags bounced and swayed in front of your face with each powerful thrust of his hips. The metallic clink-clink sound mingled with the erotic symphony of your lovemaking, spurring him on.

He reached down to grab the swinging tags, his fingers brushing against your lips. His grin widened and in one swift motion, he grabbed the tags in his teeth. The sight of him- all rugged and dominant with his dog tags clutched between white teeth and his piercing blue eyes drunk on lust as he fucked into you - made you clench hard around his pistoning shaft.

"Bucky!" You gasped, your back arching off the bed. "Oh my god, yes!" Your nails scrabbled at his back as you clung to him. Bucky snarled around the dog tags clenched in his teeth, the sound reverberating through his chest. The sight of you arching beneath him, your back bowed, your tits bouncing with each fierce thrust, your nails raking down his back, drove him absolutely wild. He released the tags, letting them fall against his chest as he crashed his mouth against yours in a bruising, demanding kiss. His tongue plundered your mouth, fucking your face with the same brutal rhythm he used to slam into your cunt.

"Fuck yeah, scream for me babygirl," he growled against your lips, his hips never faltering. "Wanna hear you, sweetheart. Let everyone know who this pussy belongs to."

His metal hand slid down to grip your ass, kneading the round cheek, pulling you harder against him. His other hand found your wrists, pinning them above your head as he loomed over you, a dark, dominant figure intent on claiming every inch of your body. He could feel your cunt starting to flutter around him, your juices dripping down his shaft, your walls squeezing him like a vice. He fucked you through it, his rhythm never stopping, never letting up, determined to make you come undone on his cock. His metal hand wrapped around your slender throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp and arch into him. At the same time, his human hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head back to expose the column of your neck to his greedy mouth.

Bucky wasted no time, his lips and teeth and tongue attacking the smooth expanse of your skin. He sucked dark marks into your flesh, surely he would leave a collar of love bites around your throat. His teeth sank into the soft spot where your neck met your shoulder, marking you, claiming you.

"Fuck, come for me babygirl," he growled against your skin, his hips slamming into yours with brutal force. "I can feel this cunt getting tight, sweetheart. Gonna fucking drench my cock, aren’t you? Fuck, I'm gonna pump you so full of my cum. Breed this sweet little pussy, babygirl."

His metal fingers flexed around your throat as his human hand gripped your hair tighter. He could feel your body tensing, your legs starting to shake, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. He knew you were close, could feel your release approaching like a freight train.

You whimper and squirm, trembling and arching wantonly into Bucky as pleasure crashes through you like a tidal wave. Your eyes roll back, fluttering shut as ecstasy consumes you, your velvet walls clenching rhythmically around his throbbing shaft. You’re drowning in sensation, lost to the intense, pulsing bliss radiating from where you’re joined.

"That's it, fuck, yes! Take it, babygirl! Take my fucking load!" he groaned, slamming into you one, two, three more times before burying himself to the hilt. His cock jerked and pulsed as he came hard, painting your fluttering walls with thick ropes of his hot seed. He collapsed against you, hips still twitching, metal hand still wrapped loosely around your throat, as he filled you with spurt after spurt of his cum. He could feel it leaking out around his shaft, dripping down to soak into the sheets beneath you.

"Fuck sweetheart," he panted, nuzzling into your neck, placing soft kisses along your jawline. "That was - ungh - goddamn, babygirl. You okay?" He pulled back to look at you, his blue eyes filled with concern and satisfaction, his expression softening as he took in your dazed, blissed-out face.

“Hah, I think you killed me," you breathed out in a giggle, your voice hoarse from moaning. Your eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused as you gazed up at Bucky. You could barely think straight, your mind still hazy from the intense fucking you just received. You nuzzled into his neck, breathing in the musky scent of his skin mixed with the sweet aroma of your arousal. Between your thighs, his seed was leaking out, dripping onto the damp sheets below. You could feel it, warm and sticky and plentiful, a testament to Bucky's virility and stamina thanks to the serum. You knew you’d be feeling this for days, your pussy sore but so wonderfully satisfied.

Bucky chuckled low in his throat, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against your body. He brushed your hair back from your face, tucking it behind your ear gently. His calloused fingers trailed down your cheek, tracing the delicate line of your jaw, the curve of your lips. “Did I though, doll? Killed you with pleasure? I'd say I brought you to life instead," he murmured, a smug smirk on his handsome face. "Shit babygirl, you look so fucking beautiful right now. Sated, fucked out, dripping with my cum. I've never seen a more perfect sight."

He rolled his hips slowly, his semi-hard cock stirring the mess inside your sensitive pussy. A low groan escaped him at the sensation, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before opening to gaze at you with heated intensity. "Feel that, sweetheart? Feel all that cum sloshing around in this greedy little cunt? Fuck, I pumped you so full, babygirl. Knew this pussy would milk me dry the second I sank into it."

Bucky's hand slid down to your chest, cupping the soft swell of your breast. He brushed his thumb over your nipple, feeling it pebble at his touch. He leaned down to capture your lips in a slow, deep kiss, pouring all his desire and satisfaction into it. "Such a good girl, taking my cock so well. Gonna keep this pussy full, baby. Gonna fuck you so full of my seed, you'll be dripping with it for days. Everyone will know this cunt belongs to me, sweetheart." His smile turned wicked, promising all sorts of indulgent, pleasurable debauchery in the near future.

You gazed up at Bucky with hazy, lovestruck eyes, your lips curled into a dreamy, satisfied smile. You tangled slender fingers in his dark hair, giving a gentle tug as you turned your face to nuzzle into the crook of his neck, breathing in the addictive scent of your coupling mixed with his natural, rugged aroma.

"Mmm, Happy Valentine's day, Sergeant Barnes," you murmured softly, your voice a husky rasp from the enthusiastic screaming match you had indulged in mere moments prior. "I love...I love you." You punctuated the heartfelt confession with a tender, lingering kiss pressed to his chiseled jawline, your eyes fluttering shut as you savored the closeness and intimacy of the moment.

Bucky went still for a long moment as your softly spoken words washed over him, the tender kiss you placed on his jaw sending a shiver down his spine. He knew he hadn't misheard you, could feel the sincerity radiating off you in waves. But still, he needed to be sure, needed to hear you say it again when he could see the truth shining clear in your eyes. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he pulled back to look at you. His piercing blue eyes searched yours, seeing the love and affection swimming in their depths. Then he smiled, soft and sweet, breathtaking in its gentle sincerity. He cupped your face in his large hands, calloused thumbs brushing away the last of your tears. He leaned in closer, his forehead coming to rest against yours, so close he could feel your breath mingling with his own.

Then, in a low, gravelly murmur, he said, "You love me, sweetheart? You sure about that? Cause I love you too, babygirl. So fuckin' much it scares me sometimes. Thought I couldn't love anyone after...after everything. But you? You make me feel alive again. Make me believe in happy endings."

Bucky sealed his confession with a slow, deep kiss, pouring every ounce of love and tenderness he had into it. He kissed you like you were the most precious thing in the world to him...because you were. When he finally pulled back, there was a new light in his eyes. A soft, warm glow that had nothing to do with lust or desire...and everything to do with love.

#bucky barnes #marvel #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x you #bucky barnes x female reader #mcu fandom #marvel fanfiction #callie’s masterlist

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zarameraki · 8 hours ago

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. ݁₊ 📽. 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗿 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗶𝘀𝘁 ˙✧˖°📷 ༘

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 actor sukuna x publicisr 𖥔 just porn no plot (i was ovulating) 𖥔 dirty talk 𖥔 degrading kink 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 smut

: ̗̀➛ words: 751

: ̗̀➛ notes: if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

Sukuna Ryomen was Hollywood’s most wanted.

The moment the red recording light blinked on, he became every director’s dream, a magnetic force of talent and charisma. He was effortless in his delivery, every smirk, every glance carefully curated to send audiences swooning. The media loved him, the tabloids worshipped him, and you . . . well, you were the one keeping his name clean in the press.

As his publicist, your job was to handle everything: damage control, PR spins, scheduling interviews, and making sure that Sukuna remained the flawless, untouchable A-lister he was known to be. But behind the polished veneer, behind the expensive suits and smoldering red carpet poses, Sukuna was fucking you raw in the nearest dressing room.

Like now.

“So fucking embarrassing,” he muttered against your skin, as he slammed your hips down onto his cock, stretching you wide, filling you to the hilt. “You act like you’re in control, always running that fuckin’ mouth, but the second I put my cock in you, you go all dumb.”

You gasped, fingers clawing at his shoulders, nails digging into the fine material of his half-open button-up. His belt was still hanging loose, pants shoved just low enough for him to fuck you properly as he sat on the dressing room couch, your legs spread wide over his lap.

“Feel that, baby?” His hands gripped your hips hard, guiding your movements as he made you grind down on him, dragging your clit against the rough patch of hair at his base. “You’re dripping all over me, makin’ a fuckin’ mess. My little publicist, the one who tells me how to behave, sittin’ here stuffed full of my cock, ready to come like a desperate little whore.”

You whimpered, your walls clenching around him, the obscene wet sounds between you growing louder with each roll of your hips. His girthy length stretched you perfectly, hitting deep, making your legs shake as he bounced you on his lap like you were nothing but a toy for him to use.

“This is what you need, huh?” Sukuna leaned back slightly, watching the way you struggled to keep up with his brutal pace, your thighs aching from the effort. “Need me to fuck the stress out of you? You’re always so uptight, always tellin’ me what to do.” He reached up, grabbing a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat. “But here you are, letting me treat you like a filthy fuckdoll. Ain’t that cute?”

You shuddered, trying to form words, trying to argue—but then he thrust up into you so hard your breath caught, your nails digging into his skin.

He lifted you, only to slam you back down onto him, forcing a choked moan from your lips. His grip on your hips tightened, bruising, as he fucked up into you mercilessly, his abs flexing with each brutal thrust.

“You think the reporters outside would still see me as their perfect fucking star if they knew I was balls-deep in my pretty publicist right now?” He got off on that fact alone, and so did you. The forbidden truth had you both blissed out. “That you’re letting me ruin your cunt before I go out there and smile for the cameras?”

You could barely breathe, pleasure overwhelming you as his fingers found your clit, rubbing rough, fast circles. Your body locked up, the heat coiling in your stomach ready to snap, but Sukuna wasn’t done humiliating you. He knew exactly how to play you, just like he played the cameras, the reporters, everyone who knew him.

“Go on,” he purred. “Come all over me like a nasty little slut. Come before I have to go pretend I give a fuck about this industry.”

You came with a cry, body seizing as pleasure ripped through you, your walls squeezing tight around him. Sukuna groaned, his pace stuttering as he slammed deep, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled inside you, his grip on you torturous as he emptied every last drop.

The only sound was your heavy breathing, the faint rustling of fabric as he finally let you free. Then, Sukuna chuckled, pressing his lips lazily against your sweat-damp temple.

“Better fix your makeup, sweetheart,” he murmured, dragging a thumb over your spit-slick lips. “Wouldn’t want anyone to know you just got fucked like a cheap whore before I hit the red carpet.”

Smug bastard.

And the worst part? You’d let him do it all over again.

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bettys-redwinesupernova · 2 days ago

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SUBTLE IS A STRONG WORD

rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: rafe uses a tiktok trend to his advantage.

based on this request !! i hope it’s what you asked for @ursogorgeous13 , i decided to take the fluff route because it just worked :) I AM BACK THOUGH !! please read the authors note at the bottom !! <3

(check out my other rafe cameron & drew starkey works here !!)

WARNINGS: allusions to sex (oral m!rec), flirty!rafe, just pure fluff !! (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 800 words (approx.)

THIRD PERSON +

Y/N was curled up on Rafe's couch, scrolling through her phone while waiting for him to get back with their coffee. The AC was blasting, the distant sound of waves from Figure Eight's beach hummed in the background, and the scent of Rafe's cologne still lingered on his hoodie that she had stolen.

It was one of those lazy afternoons where neither of them had anywhere to be, so they had fallen into their usual routine: Y/N begged for coffee, Rafe pretended to complain about being her personal delivery boy, and then he left anyway because he secretly loved spoiling her.

She had spent the past few days showing him countless TikToks about the new Starbucks cup policy-baristas were now writing random little messages on cups, ranging from generic "Have a nice day!" notes to weirdly specific fortunes. She thought it was adorable. Rafe? Less so. He mostly nodded along, unimpressed, while she giggled at each new video.

But today, when he finally returned, drinks in hand, Y/N barely had time to thank him before she noticed the writing on the cups.

Her curiosity piqued, she reached for her cup first, eyes scanning the message.

"Give your bf a BJ❤️”

She blinked. Then, suspicious, she grabbed Rafe's cup.

"A BJ is coming your way❤️”

For a moment, she just stared at them, processing. And then, slowly, a grin stretched across her face.

"You have got to be kidding me." She turned the cups toward him, raising an eyebrow.

Rafe, the smug bastard, didn't even try to look innocent. If anything, he looked proud of himself.

"What?" he said, flopping onto the couch next to her, taking his drink from her hand.

Y/N bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "Rafe."

"Mm?"

"These messages." She tapped a finger against the cup. "You do realise I can recognise your handwriting, right?"

Rafe choked on his sip, coughing dramatically before shooting her an unconvincing look of confusion. "Pfft. What? That's-Y/N, that's wild. You think / wrote that?"

"Yes, I know you wrote it."

"You don't know that," he countered, but the twitch of his lips betrayed him.

Y/N leaned in, tilting her head. "So you're telling me that the coffee shop employees, out of the kindness of their hearts, just randomly decided to write this on our cups?"

"Sounds like it," he said, nodding solemnly. "Real ones. We should tip them."

Y/N burst out laughing. "Rafe! You're ridiculous."

"I'm a visionary, actually." He leaned back, stretching an arm over the back of the couch. "I'm just taking advantage of an opportunity when I see one."

She smirked, setting her drink down before shifting closer to him. "So, let me get this straight... You went through the trouble of faking a Starbucks trend just so you could subtly ask for-"

“'Subtly' is a strong word," Rafe interrupted, grinning. "I think it was actually pretty direct."

YN shook her head, chuckling. "You do realise I could have been the one to grab the drinks, right? What if you weren't able to intercept them first?"

Rafe shrugged. "Then I'd be in jail for public indecency, but it would've been worth it."

She laughed, shaking her head at him. "You're unbelievable."

"And yet, you're still here." He shot her a wink.

"Against my better judgment."

"Oh, please. You love it."

Y/N bit her lip, pretending to consider. "Mmm, maybe."

Rafe smirked, clearly enjoying himself. "Sooo... you gonna listen to the cup's advice or what?"

She gasped dramatically. "Rafe Cameron! | am shocked that you would ever suggest such a thing."

"Shocked?" He arched a brow. "Y/N, you're literally straddling me right now."

“…Touché."

Rafe chuckled, his hands settling on her waist as she playfully toyed with the collar of his polo shirt.

"You know what would be funny?" she mused.

"If you actually followed through?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, laughing. "No, dumbass. Next time, I should be the one to write something on the cups."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what would you write?"

She leaned in, her lips just brushing his ear as she whispered, "No blowjobs for guys who fake Starbucks messages."

Rafe groaned. "Alright, you got me. That was a dirty trick."

Y/N smirked, patting his cheek. "And yet, you're still here."

He exhaled a laugh, shaking his head as he pulled her closer. "Fine, fine. But just so you know-" He gestured to the cups on the table. "—the next one's definitely gonna say 'Marry your boyfriend!"

Y/N snorted. "Smooth."

"I try."

And with that, he flipped them over, pressing her into the couch as she giggled beneath him.

Yeah, she was definitely writing the next one.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

hi everyone !! i’m back of holiday and i’m also older now (i had my 20th birthday !!), so sorry for going MIA but i just stayed off social media for my entire birthday trip but i’m going to be back to regular posts and updates <3

my drew starkey fic inspired by ‘sports car’ by tate mcrae will be up soon, been working on it today !! fulfilling requests at the moment so there should be another one up tonight :)

(a reminder that is is strictly fictional guys !!)

#bettys asks !! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚#drew starkey #rafe cameron #bettys work !! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚#outer banks #fluff #rafe cameron x reader #obx #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x yn #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x female reader

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matchpointfaist · 2 days ago

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a love like religion ˚₊‧꒰ა♡໒꒱ ‧₊˚

sheltered! art x flirty reader pt iii

the third time he saw you, art couldn’t decide between happy and horrified. he’d been doing his best to stay focused on his studies, his faith, and his training; on anything but you. his thoughts drifted, sure, but for the most part he thought he was doing pretty well. an entire week passed, and he managed to avoid you on campus, ignoring his fleeting thoughts of wishing to see you, even for just a moment.

he knew, in the back of his mind, that attending his teammates birthday party was a mistake. he knew you were in the same social circle, that you’d probably be there, all gorgeous and flirty and drunk and- it was just best if he didn’t see you.

he told himself he wasn’t taking extra care in his appearance for you; he just wanted to look good, that’s all. a birthday party is a big deal. so he got dressed in a button up and jeans, made sure his hair was perfect and his cologne wasn’t too strong, and tried to keep his head high as he entered the already too loud party.

almost immediately, his eyes fell to you. everyone’s did, though, he couldn’t blame himself. you were a vision of pink and silver shimmer, your hair falling down the dangerously low back of your dress. his breath quickened, his mind racing with excuses on how to get out of here before you noticed- and then, your sharp eyes were on his, a dangerous little smile on your glossy lips.

“donaldson!” your voice carried over the music like a melody, like some sort of siren call crafted just for him, rendering him helpless, “cmere!” and he practically floated to your side, a nervous smile on his lip, “uh, hi, hey. i didn’t know you’d be here,” he managed, biting the inside of his cheek and hoping he didn’t think too stupid.

“course id be here,” you grinned, “what’re you drinkin? i can get you a refill,” he shook his head, “no, i don’t drink, i can just get a water,” “you don’t drink?” you laughed, like it was the most insane thing in the world, “cmon, artie. come with me,”

so he followed you to the kitchen, let you pour him a cup of stale beer even though he knew it was wrong, it was stupid, it was a sin. “it’s cheap shit, but it’s fine,” you sounded almost apologetic as he sniffed it, trying to keep his nose from scrunching, taking a shy sip. “you look pretty,” he said after a moment, choking down the beer with what he hoped was only a slight grimace.

“you too,” you smiled, and for just a brief second, it seemed real. not like that fake, mocking smile you gave everyone else. in a flash, though, it was gone, replaced by the coyness you showed the rest of the world, “nice shirt. green looks good on you,” you trailed your fingers over the collar of his shirt, and he almost lost it right there in the crowded kitchen, his head swimming. “my grandma got it for me,” his cheeks flushed, acutely aware that was not the right thing to say, but you didn’t seem to mind.

“cute,” you just smiled, “here, finish that and i’ll make you another, kay?” he shook his head, already regretting the first round, “no, i really can’t, i’m sorry,” he rambled, “i have class tomorrow and i don’t drink anyway and-“ “don’t worry about it,” you rested a hand on his shoulder, “it’s fine, artie. we’ll have fun anyway, yeah? you can just watch me drink,” you teased. and oh, he did watch you. all night, you practically dragged him around the party, inches from you at all times.

he watched you laugh, watched you dance, watched you drink and smoke and all the things he’d always be too afraid to do. he watched you in rare moments of your true form as you interacted with your girl friends, watched you shut down the guys that tried to dance too close to you. he watched so intently he felt like he had learned who you really were in just a few short hours, like he’d cracked some sort of code he must have missed before.

at 11, he debated leaving without even saying goodbye, just leaving you to your dancing and talking. but as he turned to leave, you were calling his name, a little pout on your lips that sent him reeling. “i’ll walk you home,” you offered, and he took note of your heels in your hand, your bare feet on the floor. “no, that’s alright,” he smiled slightly, “thank you, though. that’s kind of you,”

“let me,” you pressed, “at least let me walk you out, art,�� so he did, of course, like he did everything else you asked of him. you walked with him to his dorm, and when you asked to come in, he let you do that, too. even when his head was screaming at him to stop, that this wouldn’t end well, that temptation was the gateway to sin.

you just looked so fucking pretty, sitting there on his bed, your heels tossed in the floor and the skirt of your dress on his comforter. he wished he could memorize the moment, bottle it up and save it for when this night ended. surely you’d never be back there, he told himself, this was just one time. a lapse in judgment, on both your parts.

but then he was sitting beside you, and your perfume was so sweet, and your words were even sweeter when you asked him about his hometown and his family and the pictures on his bookcase. you sounded like you really cared, like you thought he was interesting. you, of all people.

“you can relax,” you told him, and his heart nearly stopped as you pressed your leg to his, scooting closer on his bed, “jesus, you’re so tense. i’m not gonna bite you, yknow. not unless you like that,” you winked again, and his cheeks were flushed, his mind working overtime to form words that just wouldn’t come.

“you shouldn’t be in here,” he finally blurted out, his eyes wide with fear of the way it sounded, like he didn’t want you there when that could not be further from the truth, “sorry- that came out wrong. i just- i can’t be with anyone, and you’re in my room and it’s late-“

“you can’t be with anyone?” you repeated, a laugh on your lips, “why not, hm? is the devil gonna getcha if you slip up?” and then your hand was back on his necklace like all those days before, touching it, burning into his skin, “live a little, art,”

and then you were kissing him, and oh god, oh god, oh god. it was heaven and hell and a mistake and bliss and burning and soothing and everything he’d been too afraid to admit he’d ever wanted. you tasted like vodka and cotton candy and sacrilege and he couldn’t get enough, couldn’t hold back the sounds leaving him from the simple act of your kiss, couldn’t stop his hands from wandering and fuck, you were so warm and so soft and he could’ve died right there when you climbed into his lap, kissing him dizzy, tipping his jaw open with your fingers and dipping your tongue into his mouth.

he would’ve let you do anything in that moment, would’ve let you ruin the path he’d been on for so many years, would’ve let you dismantle all his plans and his faith and anything you wanted if you just kept grinding against him, kept kissing him so sweetly, so dangerously.

and then you sank to your knees off the bed, your hands pulling at his belt and your eyes shining as you blinked up at him, a sultry little smile on your swollen lips. “you’re so hard,” you hummed, sounding content as you pulled down his jeans, “has a girl ever touched you like this, hm?”

“no,” it came out like a whine, his hips bucking into your hand as you ghosted your fingers over his cock, “jesus- no, no one has,” you made a little noise, like you were pleased, and your eyes widened as you pulled down his boxers, taking him into your hand. “this is so- oh, this is so bad,” he hissed in half-pleasure, half-anguish as you pumped him slowly, your lips parting. “why’s it bad?” you asked, so innocently, so sweet, “just making you feel good, art. that’s all,”

“a sin,” he panted, eyes screwed shut, knowing full well if he looked at you he’d finish right there, just from your hand, “this is- sex before marriage is a sin and,” he trailed off, fucking into your hand despite himself, a little whine leaving his throat.

“oh, no,” you tsked, and when he dared to open his eyes, you were pouting up at him, “it’s okay, art. i’ll be good, yeah? i’ll make up for it,” he didn’t have time to question how before your tongue was on him, licking at the tip like a lollipop, and his eyes rolled back, his hands fisted in his sheets.

“forgive me father, for i have sinned,” you murmured, and he choked out a moan as you took him into your mouth fully, so warm and wet and close- fuck, he was so close. you pulled away with a pop!, “holy mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners,” and then his cock was down your throat, and you were humming around him and he was so fucking close- his hands were in your hair before he could think to stop himself, his hips bucking into your mouth, your name leaving his lips between moans and pleas.

he didn’t know what he was asking for, exactly. forgiveness, release, for you to slow down so this never stopped, but for you to make him cum down your throat like he’d imagined so many times before. one hand was in your hair, the other clutching his sheets as he came, panting and moaning and whining he opened his eyes in just enough time to see you licking your lips clean, wiping your chin with a grin, sucking your thumb into your mouth.

you leaned down, kissing him until all he could taste was salt and sweat and you, god, you, and then you were gone, his lips still hot. “amen,” you whispered against his ear, gathering your heels and pausing at the door, “see you around, art,”

and then, for the second time, you were gone. he looked down, and nearly fainted when he saw what was left in his floor. your pink lacy panties, complete with a little wet patch, bundled up just for him.

“forgive me father,” he mumbled to himself, picking up the lace and tucking it into his nightstand, not even bothering to clean himself up before curling up and drifting off, his mind busy with thoughts of you.

#challengers #art x reader #art donaldson fic #challengers 2024 #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #artdonaldson #art donaldson smut #sheltered art x flirty reader #sheltered! art #sheltered! art x flirty reader

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mononijikayu · 2 days ago

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crush me in your arms (give me a lovelier kiss, lover) — nanami kento.

"Look at this thing." you murmured, running your hand along the edge of a nearby shelf, trying to feel it to understand it. "It’s like a scene out of some surreal dream." Kento’s gaze lingered on the mannequin. “Feels more like a ghost town out here. But that’s to be expected.” he said, voice low. He stepped further into the shop, his boots crunching softly against scattered debris. "Everyone left. And now everything is left behind, just... waiting."

GENRE: alternate universe - apocalyptic world;

WARNING/S: nsfw, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, romance, strangers to lovers, falling in love, post-apocalyptic romance, bittersweet, found family, mutual pining, domestic, feelings, moments in the between, slow burn, humor, fighting, survival, emotional, loss, trauma, sci-fi fiction and fantasy, disabilities, blindness, deafness, ambiguous ending, depiction of disabilities, depiction of post-apocalyptic world, depiction of fighting, depiction of trauma, depiction of survival, mention of pre-apocalyptic world, mention of disabilities, mention of trauma, deaf! nanami kento, blind! reader;

WORD COUNT: 14k words

NOTE: so far, i think this is my favorite. this is based on iu's love wins all mv. i've used the title before, but i don't think i've made use of the lyrics. so here is another love letter to the masterful artistry of iu, as well as kim taehyung, who played her counterpart in the mv. i hope you enjoy this one as much as i enjoyed writing it. the ending is up to you. in any case, i hope to see you on the sukuna one on valentines day!!! i love you all <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip!

buono san valentino, 2025;

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THINGS HAD ALREADY CHANGED IN THE FUTURE. The world that once was had already disappeared and gone. That was to be certain. All that had been left behind in this accursed world was the wasteland it had become, barren of life and bastardized by darkness had consumed it all to nothingness.

There remained in this world, the crawling shadows and terror–ridden screams, living in this nightmare where daylight was nothing more than a sham. Daylight no longer offered no sanctuary. And the night? All it could have held was unimaginable horrors no one can imagine.

Curses — those grotesque abominations birthed from humanity’s deepest fears and hatred had now started to roam freely in abandon, their misshapen bodies defying the logic of what could be known, writhing with malevolent energy.

They had long been born from the fears and the hatred and the grief of the humans it had long ago consumed. They were creatures of chaos, all gnashing teeth, clawed limbs, and endless hunger. And they had not stopped since. And you don’t think they will ever stop, not until the last of humanity becomes consumed by them.

Cities and towns, nations even, that had once bustled with the tenderness and light of life had all but crumbled under their relentless assault. All that remained of the once magnificent skyscrapers were broken skeletal ruins, streets littered with ash and shattered glass. Smoke clung to the air, thick and acrid, choking out the remnants of civilization. Nothing was meant to live anymore.

Silence was a rarity, that was to be certain.

And yet, it was always punctuated by distant screams or the low, guttural growls of curses hunting for their next meal.

On and on, the cycle does repeat.

Hope had long since withered away for you. And there remained that fragile ember snuffed out by despair and bitter loneliness you were forced to endure. Those who had once clung to dreams of salvation were now either dead or broken, wandering the ruins as hollow shells. And if they were still alive, and unbroken — then they hid from the world, hiding in the far flung of the unfathomable earth to disappear.

You have been alone ever since you were born. There was no one to consider family, there was no one who could understand you, there was no one to give you a name. All that had been left behind was the burden of survival on a babe crying alone, unable to see anything but the darkness.

As you grew up, you could only surmise that your family has long been gone, consumed by the darkness of the world. You could only surmise that you were the lone survivor of what had been life as you know it.. One of the remaining human surface colonies, where your family had once resided, were wiped out. And there was nothing left of it. Nothing, but you.

If there was a god, there was quite an irony with the way he does things.

A blind with nothing has been the luckiest to survive this apocalypse.

And you had kept surviving year after year, running and running, frightful in the dark.

But you had to admit that the fear of it all had all but paralyzed you more and more as time went on. They have mutated, become more frightening and powerful after all this time. You could feel it. You could feel them become worse, you could feel them make everything worse of everything.

Every bit of this nightmare unravels over and over again into a more hideous monster you couldn’t comprehend. It continues to grow hungrier, that monster. And that monster continues to grow hungry, while you cower and run and survive for a little bit longer.

Yet this was all you knew since then.

There was no other life for you to have.

As long as you were alive, that’s all you had.

You have to live, no matter what happens.

So, you ran again despite the fear gripping you in its merciless claws, clawing at your chest and strangling your breath. You ran as fast as you could, even if darkness was all there was ahead. You let your ears, your hands and your feet see for you.

You ran, as though it wasn’t just the fear of death you feel every single day, but the terror of the unknown, of a world turned inside out. Your hands trembled uncontrollably, sweat slicking your palms as your thoughts shattered like fragile glass underfoot. You couldn't think. Couldn't plan. Survival was a foreign concept, buried beneath the weight of your panic.

So you did the only thing you could — you ran.

Again and again, you let your feet burn until they bled.

Again and again until the world you knew was far behind.

Your legs burned as you stumbled through desolate streets, weaving through abandoned cars and piles of rubble. The air was thick with the stench of decay, and every step echoed with the threat of something lurking just out of sight. Your heart pounded like a war drum, each beat a desperate reminder that you were still alive.

But the curses were everywhere.

Their twisted forms slithered and crawled through the shadows, grotesque silhouettes against the broken landscape. Eyes gleamed with predatory hunger, locking onto any flicker of movement. Their growls reverberated through the ruins, low and menacing, promising a fate far worse than death. You could hear them closing in — the scrape of claws against concrete, the sickening sound of flesh shifting unnaturally.

Then they found you.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat.

Time seemed to stretch, each second an agonizing eternity. Your body betrayed you, paralyzed by terror as the curses crept closer. Their misshapen forms shimmered with dark energy, mouths opening wide to reveal rows of jagged teeth.

A scream built in your chest but never made it past your lips.

This was it. The end.

And there was nothing you could do.

Tears started to flood your ghostly eyes, bitterly.

You didn’t want this. You didn’t want to lose your life like this.

You could hear them. You could hear their guttural snarls echoed in your ears as they closed in. The world blurred around you, your body numb with terror. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t fight. All you could do was brace for the inevitable.

And then — he came.

A flash of steel. The curses shrieked, their forms cleaved apart by a single decisive strike. Silence fell, heavy and thick, broken only by your ragged breathing. He stood there amidst the carnage he had ended, a calm figure in his tattered clothes, blood splattered across his person. His expression was unreadable, but his presence was steady, grounding.

He turned to you, caramel eyes sharp but not unkind. But you couldn’t have known that. You couldn’t have known how warmly he had looked upon you. Perhaps that is why you were still ever so afraid as you cowered in your corner.

Tears continued to flow, breaths echoed incoherently. You were shaking uncontrollably, your legs threatening to give out beneath you. Without a word, he was at your side, one firm hand pressing against your shoulder to hold you steady.

“Breathe.” he instructed, his voice low and measured. “You’re safe now.”

The weight of those words shattered something inside you.

The fear, the loneliness, the sheer helplessness, they were recognized.

All that relief suddenly turned into the outpouring heaving of endless sobs.

“It’s okay.” he murmured, his tone unwavering. “Let it out. You’re going to be alright.”

Those were the first words from another human you had heard in a long time. They had been so warm and so tender, so full of kindness. And yet for the longest time, they were words you’ve waited to hear.

They were words of reassurance.

And the truth of it is, you believed him.

You didn’t know why. You didn’t know what he looked like. And yet, you believed him. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to take him as your safe zone, even just for a little while. You clung to him like a lifeline, your tears soaking into his suit. He didn’t pull away, didn’t tell you to stop. He simply held you, anchoring you to reality as the storm within you raged.

That's how you met Kento Nanami. On that warm moonless night, in the fifth year of the tragedy, there was you and there was him. And in a world consumed by darkness, he became your light. And somehow, in that single, fleeting moment, you dared to hope again.

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HE UNDERSTOOD WHY YOU HAD TAKEN A DISTANCE FROM HIM AFTER THAT NIGHT. It had been so long since anyone had found another human being by their side, with all of humanity disappearing. With who remained, it was hard not to know what to do, even if they saved your life. You had your reasons, and he didn’t ask about them.

It took time. Days, then weeks — for your nerves to settle enough to even sit near Kento without tension stiffening your body. Trust wasn’t a luxury you afforded anyone easily anymore, not in a world where survival hinged on suspicion and instinct.

Especially knowing your limitations, and the mutation of curses, who knows if they could pretend to be humans. But Kento never found himself forcing a conversation. Nor did he try to go beyond actions that were necessary. If anything, he let you take your time.

At first, silence hung between you like an invisible barrier. He respected it, though, treating it like something fragile rather than uncomfortable. He had a way of being present without demanding attention, moving through the world with a quiet certainty that felt rare in this shattered existence.

Kento understood what fear did to a person. Especially living like that for so long, moreso your entire life under these circumstances, it was hard. He could only imagine how it hollowed you out.

It had left you raw and mistrusting, jumping at shadows long after the danger had passed. You didn’t need to explain that; he had seen it all before. And he has no doubts he would see it for even longer, even by your side.

What surprised you was how well he understood loneliness, too.

He’d never said much about his own past, but it was there in the way he spoke sparingly, in the subtle weight behind his words. The way his tired eyes scanned the world, searching for something he probably hadn’t found yet. He had walked through the same cold, unrelenting darkness as you, trying to carve out a place for himself amidst the ruin.

At night, when the weight of it all became too much — when memories of terror clawed their way back into your mind, he was there. Close but never overbearing, his steady presence grounding you. Sometimes you sat in silence under the fractured sky, neither of you speaking, just breathing.

Kento never offered hollow reassurances or told you to forget the past. What he gave was something more profound to even have, now more so than ever before. The permission to be broken without shame, to be yourself in a world where it was impossible to be. And maybe that was what you needed most.

Gradually, something shifted. You found yourself lingering near him longer, the once-awkward silence now comfortable. Perhaps the thought of someone being there at all comforted you, or perhaps the need to feel safe from the curses perhaps lurking by. You didn’t know which of them was in your heart, in truth. You couldn’t explain it. But he didn’t mind that either.

In that time you both were together, he taught you small, practical things. You sat there, just listening to him go on for hours, quiet enough to ward off curses and yet audible enough for you to hear.

He spoke about how to recognize cursed energy trails, where to find safe shelter, and even how to wield a weapon with steadier hands. He taught you about where to find supplies and how to sleep safely without being caught by curses.

But it wasn’t just about survival, no. It was the moments in between that. When he talks, you could tell that there was a rare glimmer of warmth in his otherwise solemn gaze. You don't know how you could tell, but there was a feeling of it that had made your tummy feel butterflies.

Somehow, with the way he sits beside you, there was less tension in his body to contend with. When he laughs, the sound feels like the beautiful tunes of hummingbirds. You could feel all the tenderness that he had been hoping to express for a long time each and every time.

Those flickers of humanity reminded you that there was still something worth fighting for. This human joy that had been long robbed and long forgotten, with no one to remember it, was now being remembered and lived by the two of you, perhaps who are the last people on earth. The last two people on earth enjoying the last vestige of humanity in each other.

He had been alone just like you, he has said. He has for the longest of time been a wanderer in a ruined world. And he, like you, only lived for survival over and over again. But now, maybe neither of you have to be alone anymore.

As you sat there, you couldn’t help that maybe, just maybe, that was enough to keep moving forward, living for more than survival. Perhaps you two could live for each other.

The ruined city stretched beneath a fractured sky, hues of ash and shadow blending into a wasteland of muted shapes. Jagged remnants of buildings clawed at the heavens, skeletal reminders of what once was. The air was thick with the smell of soot and decay, heavy enough to press against your lungs.

You and Kento sat side by side on a crumbling ledge, the world eerily quiet except for the distant groan of shifting debris. He worked silently, sharpening his blade with deliberate strokes. The rhythmic scrap of metal on stone was one of the few sounds that remained constant in your chaotic existence.

Your fingers absently traced patterns in the dust-covered concrete, grounding yourself in touch as you always did. Though the world had faded into darkness for you long ago, you had learned to navigate its bones through sensation — the brush of wind against ruined walls, the subtle tremors of approaching footsteps, the feel of textures under your fingertips.

But tonight, Kento’s voice broke through the fragile quiet.

“You walk too carefully for someone who can see.”

The statement hung in the air, sharp and pointed.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. "What?"

He set down the blade, turning to you with that same calm, analytical gaze he always carried. “I’ve noticed. You feel your way through the world more than most. Like you're mapping it with your hands and feet.”

There was no accusation in his tone, just observation. But it made you uneasy, like being seen too clearly. You purse your lips into a soft line, blush appearing in the apex of your cheeks. Had he not noticed yet?

"I'm blind." you admitted softly, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. "I’ve been this way since it all started."

Kento was silent for a moment, processing the revelation with his usual stoic demeanor. “I see.”

No pity. No awkward questions. Just quiet acceptance.

“I apologize.”

“O–oh, no no. It’s nothing. You didn’t know.”

“And now I know.” He says to you, sighing. “No excuse now, no?”

You hummed to him. But then you tilted your head toward him. “And you?” you asked, hesitant but curious. “Why do you flinch when I speak from behind you? Or why do you never react when the curses roar?”

There was a faint shift in his expression — something almost like wry amusement.

"I can’t hear."

Your brow furrowed. "At all?"

He shook his head. "Haven’t been able to since year 25. It was a curse’s parting gift."

“Then….Then how do you hear what I say?”

“I read your lips.” He admits to you. “It’s the only way I’ll know what you’re saying.”

“And….and you get it right each time?”

“Have I ever been wrong in replying when we talk?”

“N–No…..I don’t think so.”

The revelation hung between you, strange and fragile. Blind and deaf. A pair of misfits stumbling through the ruins of a broken world. You couldn’t help but exhale a hearty laugh, shaky but genuine. His face contorts into confusion.

“Why are you laughing?”

"So let me get this straight: I can't see, you can't hear, and we’re supposed to survive like this?"

"We’ve managed so far, I guess," he said dryly, a sly smile finally wide on his face. "Though I doubt we’ll win any awards for it whatsoever."

Despite the grimness of it all, a smile tugged at your lips. "Guess we balance each other out, huh?"

"Perhaps we do, don’t we?" He stood, brushing dust from his trousers, then extended a hand to you. "Come on. We need to move before nightfall. If we live, we can continue to balance each other out."

You snickered at his words, but when you found his hand, you took it tenderly and without hesitation, his grip firm and steady as always. Slowly but surely, you both navigated the uneven terrain you had rested in. Kento carefully guided you with quiet efficiency, looking back and forth to see if everything was clear.

“You’re sure this path is safe?” you teased, stepping carefully over the uneven rocks as Kento’s hand held yours firmly, guiding you through the trail.

“It’s perfectly safe if you actually listen to my instructions.” he said with a faint smile, his thumb brushing reassuringly against the back of your hand.

“So bossy, aren’t you?” you quipped, earning a soft chuckle from him.

A comfortable silence settled between you, the crisp air brushing against your skin. Curiosity tugged at you as you remembered something he mentioned the other day. “Hey... was what you said yesterday true?”

“About what?” he hummed back, his voice warm and steady.

“You really see in monochrome?”

He was quiet for a beat, the sound of distant birdsong filling the air. “Yes. I do.”

“What’s it like?” you asked, unable to hide your wonder.

“Well, mostly quiet. Static, really.” he said thoughtfully. “It gets hard when it's nighttime. But manageable.”

You mulled over his words, stepping carefully over another jagged stone. His grip on your hand tightened instinctively, steadying you. He softly tells you to be more careful, but you were too into your thoughts that you did not hear him. You gasp, a question entering your head.

“What do I look like to you, then?” you blurted out suddenly, the question hanging in the cool air between you.

Kento’s steps slowed as he considered your question, his lips parting but no words immediately following. He doesn’t think he could answer and he didn’t answer you — not verbally, at least. Instead, his mind wandered before he could stop it.

In the muted, broken world he knew, you were the only vibrant thing he saw somehow. Not in color, but in essence. The way you moved, spoke, and laughed felt like the warmth of sunlight breaking through endless shades of grey that he sees. Beautiful. That’s what you were to him. And he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop thinking that.

But the weight of his unspoken thoughts lingered too long, and you tilted your head curiously, prompting him back to reality. “Kento?”

He cleared his throat, the sudden self-awareness making him stiffen slightly. “You look... fine, I suppose.” he managed, his tone steady despite the warmth creeping into his chest.

“Fine?” you repeated, raising an incredulous brow, clearly unimpressed with his vague response.

“Yes.” he said firmly, though his lips quivered ever so slightly. “Perfectly fine.”

You couldn’t help but roll your ghostly eyes, but the fondness in your expression made his heart lurch all the same. You nodded, accepting his words back to you. You squeezed his hand.

“Well, I suppose I can’t complain. You can’t have it all.”

Kento’s lips twitched, torn between amusement and guilt as he glanced at you. “No, I suppose not.”

“You’re surprisingly bad at compliments for someone so polished, hm?” you teased in response, your steps more confident now as the rocky path evened out beneath your feet.

“Perhaps so.” he admitted without defense. “But honesty is better than empty flattery, wouldn't you agree?”

“Oh? So I’m just fine, huh?” you shot back playfully. “Not even slightly charming or, I don’t know... radiant?”

He exhaled softly, shaking his head as if your wit were both a challenge and a comfort. “If I said anything beyond the word fine, I doubt you’d never let me hear the end of it.” he countered, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“You might be right about that, I suppose.” you conceded, grinning.

As you walked in companionable silence again, Kento's mind drifted back to what he couldn’t say aloud, the way your presence cut through the static greyness of his world, bringing warmth and vibrancy he hadn’t realized he was missing. There was beauty in that, he thought. More than he had words for.

“You’re quiet again.” you observed, squeezing his hand again.

“Thinking about something.” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly.

“Care to share?”

“Not yet, not right now,” he admitted. “But... maybe someday.”

You arched a brow back at him but you think about letting it slide for now, sensing that he was still carrying unspoken truths. And that was okay — you were patient, willing to wait for when he was ready. Just as he was, when waiting for you to be comfortable with him too.

"Then I guess we’ll just have to keep figuring this mess out together." You tell him softly. “That’s the only way I’ll get to know that from you.”

His voice was steady, as resolute as ever. "We will."

“Do you promise?”

He grips your hand back in a squeeze. “I promise.”

And for the first time since the world had fallen apart, the weight on your shoulders felt just a little lighter. Because you weren't alone anymore. And somehow, in this ruined world, that was enough. It was enough to have a reason to survive. No, no. To live.

The road ahead was treacherous, littered with debris and fragments of a world long forgotten. Cracks in the pavement swallowed chunks of asphalt, and twisted metal glinted faintly under the dim light filtering through thick, oppressive clouds. The air smelled of rust, dust, and faint traces of rot.

Kento walked with practiced precision, his movements deliberate as he guided you forward. His hand brushed yours occasionally, subtle but reassuring, letting you know he was there without needing words.

"Step up a bit." he instructed calmly.

You lifted your foot over a jagged piece of concrete without faltering, trusting his guidance. Despite his inability to hear and your inability to see, the two of you moved as one, to a seamless rhythm forged by necessity and understanding, by things that couldn’t be expressed. As you walked, the tension in the air shifted, heavy with an ominous weight. You felt it first, the faint vibration underfoot, subtle but unmistakable.

"Kento, I can feel it." you murmured, your voice low. "Something's coming."

He didn’t need to hear the warning. His body tensed, instincts sharp as he scanned the horizon with those monochrome eyes. His hand brushed your arm, a silent signal to stop. The ground trembled again, stronger this time. The distinct guttural growl of a curse echoed faintly through the ruins, reverberating through your chest.

You clenched your fists, heart racing. "How close is it?"

"Close enough," he said grimly.

He drew his blade, the soft whisper of steel cutting through the thick air. You reached for the makeshift weapon strapped to your side. It was not elegant or beautiful, but it had kept you alive this long.You trusted it enough. You moved forward, trying to ready yourself with the weapon in your shaky hands. But you felt Kento’s warm hands move you, and you grunt as he pushed you behind him.

"Stay behind me." Kento instructed, his voice steady despite the looming threat.

You didn’t argue.

You knew you couldn’t defeat this one.

It was too massive, it was too….monstrous.

The massive curse emerged from the shadows, its twisted form shimmering with dark energy. You could feel your heartbeat as you felt it move forward to your direction. Kento could see its eyes gleamed with malevolence, teeth bared in a grotesque snarl. Even without sight, you felt its presence — a suffocating, oppressive weight that made the air thick and cold.

Kento moved first, swift and precise. His blade sliced through the air, each strike calculated. The curse shrieked, its movements erratic as it lunged toward him. You felt the shift in the air, the curse’s presence moving closer. Instinct took over. Gripping your weapon tightly, you swung toward the sound, the impact reverberating up your arm as your blade connected with flesh. The curse howled in pain, but it wasn’t enough to feel it.

"Kento!" you called, your voice raw with urgency.

He didn’t need to hear your voice to understand. His blade flashed again, cutting through the curse with brutal efficiency. It let out one final, agonized wail before dissolving into ash, the remnants scattering on the wind.

Silence returned, heavy and thick. Your breathing was ragged, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Kento lowered his blade, his posture relaxing slightly.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice steady despite the chaos that had just unfolded.

"Yeah," you managed between breaths. "Thanks to you."

He nodded, wiping the blade clean before sheathing it. "You did well."

A faint smile tugged at your lips. "Not bad for a blind person, huh?"

"Not bad at all." he agreed, a rare flicker of warmth in his tone.

“Then it’s not bad for a deaf person too.” You grinned back at him.

Kento blinks and then he bursts out laughing as he takes your hand. “I suppose not at all.”

As the two of you resumed your journey, the weight of the encounter lingering in the air, a strange sense of reassurance settled over you. In this broken world, you had each other. And somehow, that had made living possible once again.

══════════════════

THIS WAS THE FIRST TIME YOU HAD FOUND YOURSELF IN SUCH A PLACE. But you could only assume that this was one of the last intact and well preserved types of places that had been left behind by the curses and humans.

The silence between you and Kento stretched as you both took in the sight of the old store. Time seemed to slow, the world outside fading into the background as the forgotten relics of a once-vibrant era captured your attention.

The quietness of the store swallowed Kento’s words, leaving only the soft scrape of his boots against the dusty floor as he stepped closer to the mannequin. You could sense the tension in his voice, a touch of reverence mixed with a hint of unease as he looked at it, that strange relic from a life you couldn’t fully grasp.

“What does it look like, Kento?” you asked again, your voice softer this time, a gentle plea for him to bridge the distance between you and the unseen world.

Your ghostly eyes scanned the space where the mannequin stood, but it was like trying to interpret a memory that wasn’t yours. You reached out, fingers trailing through the air in search of something familiar.

“The texture sure is...interestingly odd.”

Kento's voice lowered, as if speaking too loudly might disturb the fragile silence of the store. “They were mannequins, at least from what I read.”

He paused, his hand hovering near the base of the mannequin’s stand, where it met the ground. “They were once used to display clothes, so people could see them before they bought them.”

The quiet of the store wrapped around the two of you like an old blanket, a forgotten relic in itself. You couldn’t see the mannequin, but you could feel the odd coldness that it exuded — like an echo of something that no longer made sense in this world. It was as if you were touching a piece of history, something frozen in time, forever stuck in its own reflection.

“People used to come in and look at things like this?” You asked, still moving your hands slowly through the air, trying to sense what Kento was seeing. "Just... for something to look at?"

Kento’s voice was gentle but thoughtful as he responded. “Yeah. It was how they showed off clothes. You'd walk into a store, see the mannequin dressed in the latest fashion, and decide if you liked it enough to buy it. It was a way of displaying things so people could imagine themselves wearing them.”

A quiet laugh slipped from your lips, though it was tinged with sadness. “It sounds... so trivial now. People worry about what clothes they wore, what things they bought. And here we are, just trying to survive.”

Kento was silent for a moment, his gaze lingering on the mannequin’s frozen hand, still in that unnerving wave. “It’s not trivial, though." he said, his voice quieter now, the words more reflective. "It was part of what made life feel... whole. People had their worries, yes. But they had the luxury of not just surviving, but living.”

Your hand brushed the mannequin's arm gently, your fingers brushing against the smooth plastic. It felt so strange, so cold, a stark contrast to the warm memories that Kento had shared.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever understand it. A world like that... where people could take time to care about things like clothes.”

Kento’s gaze softened as he looked at you, his monochrome vision scanning your face with quiet understanding. “You’ll get there. We will. It may take time, but we’ll find what we need to keep going. Even in this mess, there’s still something worth holding onto.”

The words hung in the air between you both, quiet and almost sacred. The mannequin, still and lifeless, seemed to listen in on your conversation, a quiet observer of the world that used to be. For a brief moment, you wished you could see what it had looked like — the vibrant clothes, the bustling streets, the ordinary lives of people simply trying to get by.

But you couldn’t. All you had were the fragments of stories, the faint remnants of a world that had once been full of noise and color.

“What do you think happened to all of them?” you asked, feeling the weight of the question more than you had expected. “The people who used to buy clothes, and visit places like this?”

Kento’s voice was soft when he replied, like he was speaking to both you and the mannequin, as though the answer was still lost in time. “They became a part of the world we’re in now. Curses, souls... maybe they’re still somewhere, waiting for the world to wake up again.”

You shivered at the thought, your fingers tightening slightly around the mannequin's arm as you felt the weight of the loss that had already come before in the fifty years this has been going on, the irreplaceable loss of those lives, those small, quiet moments of normalcy.

Kento stood beside you, his eyes also fixed on the mannequin. His usually calm expression was softened with a touch of thoughtfulness. “It’s like the whole store is frozen, though.” he mused, voice barely above a whisper. “Like it was abandoned in an instant, never to be touched again.”

"Look at this thing." you murmured, running your hand along the edge of a nearby shelf, trying to feel it to understand it. "It’s like a scene out of some surreal dream."

Kento’s gaze lingered on the mannequin. “Feels more like a ghost town out here. But that’s to be expected.” he said, voice low. He stepped further into the shop, his boots crunching softly against scattered debris. "Everyone left. And now everything is left behind, just... waiting."

You followed, careful to avoid the broken shards of glass near the doorway. The air was thick with dust and carried the faint scent of mildew, but the place was remarkably preserved compared to the crumbling ruins outside. Your fingers brushed against a rack of clothes, light summer dresses with swirling patterns, faded but still beautiful in a way you couldn’t quite describe.

"What do you think this clothing store was for?" you asked, tilting your head as you tried to imagine it full of life. "What sort of clothes were they selling? What I touched earlier felt like feathers. That just seems so….. flashy."

Kento examined a rusting tin sign on a shelf. It read: “Summer Sale: 50% Off All Dresses!” in bold, cheerful letters. He raised a brow.

“Probably some kind of boutique.” he said. “Or a place people came for things they didn’t really need.”

You laughed softly, the sound strange in the stillness. "Things they didn’t need? Like this?" You pointed toward a shelf stacked with peculiar trinkets, a miniature statue of a cat wearing sunglasses, an old snow globe with a tiny city inside, and a mug shaped like a pineapple.

He gave a small, almost imperceptible smirk. “Exactly like that.”

You picked up the snow globe, shaking it gently. The tiny flakes swirled around the miniature city, glittering faintly in the dim light. “I don’t get it. Why would anyone want this?”

Kento shrugged, his gaze shifting to a jukebox in the corner. The once-shiny machine was tarnished and dusty, but it still stood tall and proud, a monument to a world neither of you had ever truly known.

“Maybe it made them happy, you know?” he said after a moment. “Even if just for a little while.”

You set the snow globe back down, your fingers lingering on its smooth surface. “Happiness seemed so… extravagant. Doesn’t it?”

Kento didn’t respond immediately. He was staring at the jukebox now, his hand brushing against the side as though testing if it still worked. "Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t." he said finally. "But maybe that’s what made it worth it."

The two of you continued to go and wander deeper into the store, pausing by a rack of clunky shoes with impossibly high heels and neon colors that almost hurt anyone’s eyes when they looked at it. You frown as you feel the unfamiliar texture with your fingers. Your frown gets deeper at the edges, touching the heel.

“People wore these?” you asked, incredulous.

Kento raised a brow, a faint glimmer of amusement in his usually solemn expression. “Apparently. Must’ve been hell on their feet.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as your ghostly eyes stared at the mannequin’s polka-dotted dress, delicate fingers touching the brightly colored fabric feeling so out of place in the world you now knew.

“I can’t even imagine a life like that. People worry about clothes, shoes, decorations. It’s so... ridiculous.”

Kento gave a quiet, almost wistful nod, his gaze lingering on the dress for a moment before looking back to you. “It was a different world, you know?” he said softly. “One where they had the luxury to worry about those things. We don’t get that anymore.”

You sighed, the weight of his words hanging in the air, then letting your hands touch the dresses once again. “Should I try some of the clothes?” you asked with a light laugh, the suggestion playful but tinged with a quiet seriousness, as if it was some small rebellion against the ruins of the world you both lived in.

Kento raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement passing through his eyes. “Try the clothes on?” he repeated, almost as if the concept itself was absurd now. “You mean, like how they used to do? Just... because?”

“Yeah, I think I’d like to do that.” you said with a small shrug, smiling despite the heaviness in the air. “Maybe we could pretend, for a moment, that it’s normal. That the world isn’t falling apart.”

Kento looked at you for a long moment, then slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched upward. He shook his head, but there was no judgment in his expression. “You really want to try?”

“Why not?” you responded, your voice lighter. “It wouldn’t make anyone think we stole them. No one’s here to say no! Well….unless you will?”

Kento’s lips twitched in amusement. “No, I won’t.”

“Good to hear. I like that answer!” you grinned triumphantly, releasing his hand to wander toward the racks of forgotten garments. Dust clung to faded fabric, but as you ran your fingers over them, you imagined what they might have looked like once, bright and bold in a world not broken by ruin.

Kento stood nearby, arms crossed, watching you with quiet curiosity. He always observed more than he spoke, and right now, he looked as though he was trying to understand what made this moment so important to you.

“So?” you called back to him. “Should I go dramatic or practical? What would you prefer? Bright and loud or mystique and rogue?”

He huffed softly, shaking his head. “Why not both?”

You laughed, the sound light and rare, and pulled a gown off the rack. It was a flowing deep indigo piece that still held some of its former elegance despite the faded stitching. Turning toward Kento, you held it up against yourself.

“I can’t see it. What do you think?”

“I think it’s missing a sword belt if you’re going for practical, to be sure.” he said dryly, though there was warmth behind his words.

“Oh, so now you do have opinions about fashion, huh?” you teased.

“Only when it involves combat readiness.” he deadpanned.

As you drifted away from Kento, his steady voice followed you. “Don’t wander too far, okay?” he called, firm but gentle, like he always was when concern threaded through his otherwise calm demeanor.

“Yeah, yeah.” you retorted absently, waving a dismissive hand without looking back. “I’m not a child, Kento.”

His faint sigh echoed faintly behind you, but he didn’t press further.

Your fingers danced idly across rows of neglected garments, the fabrics coarse from time and abandonment. Most were stiff, lifeless. They felt like mere remnants of a world long gone. Yet you kept searching, guided by curiosity and a quiet defiance against the bleakness around you.

Then your hand paused.

This one was different. The fabric beneath your fingertips was unexpectedly soft, worn into something tender by time rather than ruined by it. You pulled the garment from the rack, the material clinging slightly as if reluctant to leave its forgotten home. It was a simple dress, muted in color but elegant in its simplicity. The fabric had a subtle sheen, catching the dim light filtering through shattered windows.

You rubbed it between your fingers, testing its texture, half-expecting it to crumble under your touch. But it held firm, surprisingly resilient despite its delicate appearance.

“Huh…..” you murmured to yourself, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Didn’t think I’d find anything like this.”

Behind you, Kento remained watchful, his quiet presence grounding even as you wandered. You lifted the dress higher, studying it with a critical eye. It wasn’t perfect — far from it. But something about it spoke to you, as though it carried a whisper of a world where softness and beauty still had a place.

“What did you find?” Kento’s voice broke through your reverie, closer now as he approached.

“Something interesting.” you mused, holding it up for him to see. “Think it’s my style?”

His gaze flickered over the dress, thoughtful as always. “If you like it, that’s all that matters.”

“Diplomatic as ever, aren’t you?” you teased, though warmth curled in your chest at his simple acceptance.

“Do you?” he asked quietly.

You looked back at the dress, fingers still tracing its gentle lines. “Yeah, yeah.” you admitted softly. “I think I do.”

There was something defiant in choosing beauty, however small, in a world that had tried to strip it away. And right now, that felt like victory enough. This felt like reclaiming what had been lost nearly fifty years ago. Just in this one dress.

You went ahead into the other corner, hiding away so you could put the dress on you. Kento asked you if you would be okay, but you reassured him enough and made it through by yourself.

As you pulled the faded dress over your head, the fabric sliding smoothly against your skin, you couldn’t help but smile a little, even though you couldn’t see what it looked like. The weight of the dress felt comforting, and for a moment, it felt as if you were transported to another time.

It felt like a time when life was filled with simple pleasures, like trying on clothes without worrying about curses or survival. You hummed quietly as you ran your hands over the texture, trying to sense its shape, its softness. Everything about it was perfect.

If this were a normal world, you thought to yourself, maybe I would have been wearing something like this too.

The idea of all of that felt like a dream now, something distant and almost impossible, but as the dress settled comfortably around you, a small part of that dream seemed to come alive again, even if just for a fleeting moment.

You moved toward the door, feeling your way carefully with your hands, as you had learned to do in this strange new world. When you finally stepped out into the open space again, you took a deep breath and called out to Kento, your voice light with curiosity. Slowly, he made his way to you and he stopped, seeing you in front of him.

"Kento, what do you think?"

For a long moment, there was silence — an odd, thick silence that made you wonder if something was wrong. Then, Kento’s breath hitched sharply, and you heard him take a step forward, though you couldn’t see his face.

"You..." His voice faltered slightly, and he paused, clearly at a loss for words. You could feel the tension in the air, a kind of stillness that only existed when someone saw something they didn’t expect.

“Me?” You asked, waiting for his reply.

"You look... stunning." He said it slowly, like he was trying to find the right words, and you could hear the astonishment in his voice.

A knot twisted in your chest. You didn’t know what you looked like, couldn’t see the dress at all. You were used to the uncertainty of blindness, but in moments like this, it felt more intense. "What color is it?" you asked hesitantly. "What does it look like?"

There was another long pause, and when Kento spoke again, his voice was a little rougher, like he was still trying to steady himself. "It seems to be….. white." he said quietly. "It’s... beautiful. It would have been something considered for weddings back in the day."

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat as you processed his words. A wedding dress? That was what you were wearing? You couldn’t help but laugh softly, a little nervous but also amazed at how surreal the whole situation felt.

"A wedding dress? But... I’m not getting married."

Kento cleared his throat, his voice sounding more composed now, though there was still a trace of wonder in it. "Yeah, I know," he said, his tone almost shy. "But... it suits you. Very well."

You paused, your fingers brushing over the fabric of the dress as you tried to imagine what it might look like, though you knew it was impossible. Still, there was something in Kento’s voice, something that made your heart flutter just a little.

The weight of the world, the despair that had surrounded you for so long, felt a little lighter now. As if in this moment, just for a second, you could pretend that things were different.

"Are you still there?" you asked, your voice quiet, a little unsure. You hadn’t heard him move, and the silence between you felt strangely thick.

Kento’s voice was steady now, but there was a softness to it that made you smile, even if he couldn’t see it. "Yeah. I’m here."

You took a small breath, still unsure of what to make of the situation, but feeling something warm and comforting growing inside of you. "Thank you, Kento."

There was a long, almost thoughtful pause, and then he said softly, "You don’t need to thank me for anything. You’ve always been amazing, you just didn’t realize it."

His words, simple but sincere, made your chest tighten with emotion. You couldn’t see it, but in that moment, you felt more seen than you ever had before. And for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be beautiful again.

Even in a world as broken as this one, life can breathe into the surface once again. Even if it’s just between the two of you.

You stood in front of Kento, the weight of your dress still sinking in, though you couldn’t see what it looked like. But you could feel it, the soft fabric, the way it fit you in a way that felt almost... right. A thought crossed your mind, one that made you smile despite the broken world outside.

“Kento, hey….” you said, the words light but carrying a playful undertone. “You should wear something too. Something to match me.”

He blinked, taken off guard by the suggestion, his eyes narrowing as he processed what you said. “What?” His voice was almost a chuckle, but there was hesitation in it. “I—no, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” you asked, your voice coaxing, teasing him gently. “Come on, you can’t let me be the only one dressed up. It’ll be fun.”

Kento shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flicking away as if the idea made him shy. “I really don’t think I should. It’s just... silly. You’re already wearing something... so nice. I can’t just—” He trailed off, clearly unsure of how to finish his sentence, a slight flush creeping up his neck.

You smiled softly, knowing that you were getting to him. “Please, Kento.” you said, your voice low and earnest, a hint of pleading in it. “Just for me? It’ll be like we’re actually living in that other world. For just a moment.”

He looked at you, his expression a mixture of reluctance and something else — something softer that you couldn’t quite place. The silence stretched between you both for a few moments, and for a second, you thought he might refuse. But then he let out a small sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Fine, alright.” he muttered, as if resigning to a quiet surrender. “But only because you asked.”

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. “Thank you, Kento.”

A few minutes later, Kento returned back to you, and your breath caught in your throat as you walked towards him standing there. He purses his lips before he takes your hand. He presses it against the fabric he wore on him.

“Do you like it?” He asks, almost shyly as your fingers wander across the fabric. “It’s….It’s the best one that matches you.”

He was wearing a suit, a dark one with fine tailoring, the fabric sleek and smooth. And it matched your dress perfectly. The same shade of white, that’s why he chose it. Though with slight variations in texture and cut, as if you two had been made to complement each other.

The tie he wore was a darker shade, but still complemented the subtle elegance of the suit all the same. His sandy hair was slightly tousled, a few stray strands falling out of place as if he hadn’t spent time fixing them.

He stood still for a moment, caramel eyes shifting uncomfortably, as if he didn’t know whether to expect praise or criticism. But there was a quiet softness in the way he stood, as if he was waiting for your reaction. As if he was waiting for your approval.

You couldn't stop the quiet gasp that slipped from your lips. “Kento...”

The word carrying his name came out in a breathless whisper, as you took in the sight of him. The suit fit him perfectly, and something in you fluttered at the sight of how effortlessly it seemed to match with your own dress.

Kento’s face reddened, but he tried to play it off with a soft chuckle. “You really wanted me to wear this, huh? You like it?”

You nodded, your voice caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. “You seem so….amazing. We match, don’t we?”

He scratched the back of his neck, awkward but still slightly proud, his gaze flicking down to the suit, then back to you. “We do…. We do match.” he said, trying to downplay it, though there was a hint of vulnerability in his voice. “B–but it’s nothing. It’s just a suit, it's not something—”

You stepped closer to him, your hand gently reaching out to adjust the collar of his jacket, a small gesture that made your heart flutter. A small gesture that makes his own heart skip a beat.

“It’s not just a suit, Kento. It’s... you. And it looks perfect.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. He just stood there, as if unsure of what to say, his gaze softening as he took you in. Then, finally, he sighed and let out a small laugh, a real one this time, the tension easing from his shoulders.

“Well, if you’re happy, then I guess that’s all that matters.”

You smiled up at him, feeling a warmth in your chest, the world outside for once not feeling so cold. “I am happy, very much so.” you said, your voice soft but full of gratitude. “And I think we make a pretty good pair. Don’t we?”

Kento didn’t say anything for a moment, but the softness in his tender eyes spoke volumes. He looked at you like he could almost see what you couldn’t — like he understood the weight of the moment. And for once, you didn’t feel blind. It was as if you could see for the very first time. And all the same, you finally felt seen.

And for a moment, you weren’t just surviving.

You were like all the people who had walked in these walls.

You finally were living the life that could have been.

“Yeah.” Kento finally said, his voice quieter now, almost fond. “I think we do.”

You took a step toward him, your heart fluttering with anticipation. The room around you, the empty storefront, the dusty mannequins, the crumbling world outside — everything that surrounded you, that existed, all of that seemed to fade as you found your skin touching his own.

"Kento." you said softly, your voice carrying a new kind of confidence. "Dance with me."

He blinked, his gaze flickering with surprise. For a moment, he looked like he might laugh it off. "Dance?" He shook his head, a small, reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "I can't even hear anything, let alone am I knowledgeable at that. How am I supposed to dance?"

You tilted your head, a smile pulling at the corners of your own mouth. "You don’t need to hear. We can still feel it, and that’s better, don’t you think? You don’t need the sound to make it real."

Kento opened his mouth to say something, but paused, clearly unsure how to respond. The gentle warmth in your voice, the simple conviction in your words, seemed to stop him in his tracks. You reached out, your hand finding his, and for a moment, everything seemed to still.

"Please, Kento." you whispered, the request sincere, almost pleading. "Just for a moment. Let’s pretend."

He couldn’t help but feel hesitant as he looked at you, still feeling unsure about what to do. But then, as if something inside of him shifted — he let out a soft sigh into the air. His large hand moved toward yours, his fingers wrapping around yours with a quiet steadiness. Somehow, your hands fit so well together.

"Alright. Just this once." he said, his voice softer than before. "I’ll give it a try."

You smiled brightly, the excitement bubbling up inside of you. Without waiting for another word, you closed the distance between the two of you, placing your other hand gently on his shoulder.

You took a slow, deep breath, letting the stillness of the moment wash over you. The world outside, the curses, the madness, none of it seemed to matter in this space. It was just you and Kento — two souls, finding something simple and beautiful.

Then, with a quiet hum, you began to move, the melody born from within you, an instinctive rhythm flowing through your body. The tune wasn’t anything familiar, just something you felt, something deep inside that had always been there, waiting to be shared. Your feet moved slowly at first, tracing gentle circles on the floor, and Kento followed you, his movements tentative but steady.

You hummed, the melody shifting like a soft breeze, flowing and floating between you both. And though Nanami Kento couldn’t hear the music, you knew he could feel it, in the way his body moved with yours, in the way his gaze never left yours, soft and filled with something unreadable.

Kento’s caramel eyes were fixed on you the entire time, studying you with an intensity that made your breath catch. He wasn’t just following you; he was there, fully present, every part of him connected to the moment. His handsome face was serene, you knew that even if you didn’t see him.

Everything about him was something you admired. And he could see it, in the way your ghostly eyes gazed at him like he was the only one that could ever belong to you. And all he knew was that he was looking at you like that too.

The two of you moved together, your steps blending, your rhythm in perfect sync, though there was no sound to guide you. It didn’t matter. The silence was filled with everything you both needed. The soft pressure of his hand against yours, the gentle pull of his presence, the warmth that grew between you as you danced in the quiet.

At one point, you let yourself close the gap even further, your head resting lightly against his chest. You couldn’t see his face, but you could feel his breath, steady and calm, as he held you close. His arm tightened around you slightly, a silent acknowledgment of the fragile beauty of this moment.

You continued to hum, lost in the stillness of it all. And for once, you didn’t need to say anything. Kento’s presence, his quiet understanding, was enough. There was no need for words. All you needed was the steady movement, the connection between two people who had found something beautiful in the middle of so much chaos.

When the hum finally faded, and you slowly came to a stop, neither of you said anything. Kento didn’t move away. He simply stood there, still holding you, his hand gently resting on your back as if savoring the feeling of the moment.

"That... was different." he said quietly, his voice low, almost like he was still trying to process the experience.

You smiled softly, your fingers brushing against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Different good?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Kento took a deep breath, his gaze softening as he met your eyes. "Yeah... different good."

And in that moment, the world outside seemed just a little farther away, as if for a brief instant, you and Kento had created something of your own. It was a fleeting, beautiful moment that the darkness outside couldn’t touch.

Kento’s hand lingered on your back for a moment longer before he gently pulled away, his fingers brushing against your skin. He looked at you, his expression soft, almost as if he were contemplating something. Then, his voice, low and tender, broke the silence.

“Do you want to stay here for the night?” He asked, his tone so gentle, like he was offering you a place to rest, a space to just... be.

You looked up at him, your chest warm with the lingering comfort of the dance, the quiet intimacy you’d shared. You didn’t have to think long. The world outside was too dangerous, too harsh, and the last thing you wanted was to leave the safety of this little corner of peace you’d found.

You nodded at him, your voice soft but sure. “Yeah... it’s getting late.”

Kento studied you for a moment longer, his eyes searching yours, before he nodded in agreement. “Alright. We’ll stay here.”

There was a quiet understanding between you both. Neither of you needed to say more. It wasn’t just about the safety of staying inside. It was about the unspoken connection you shared — the comfort of being in this moment, of finding solace in each other’s presence when everything else was broken.

Kento moved toward one of the old, dust-covered chairs in the corner of the shop and set down the bags he had been carrying. He looked around the abandoned store, his expression thoughtful as he took in the strange stillness of it all.

"We’ve got everything we need right here.” he said with a small smile, his voice steady despite the chaos of the world outside. "It’s not much, but it’s enough for tonight."

You smiled back at him, feeling the weight of your body relax as you sank down onto a nearby bench. "It’s more than enough." you said quietly.

You could feel your ghostly eyes following Kento as he began to rummage through the remnants of the store for anything that might make your stay more comfortable. He returned a few moments later with a blanket. It was old, but it was still capable of warming the body.

The simplicity of the moment felt surreal. In a world where survival was the priority, where every day was a battle, you had found a small, fragile slice of peace. And it was with him. No, no. It was him. He was your piece of peace.

Kento draped the blanket over the two of you and settled beside you. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence enveloping you like a comforting blanket of its own. The outside world, with all its curses and destruction, felt like a distant nightmare — a reality that, for now, you could escape.

You hummed as Kento leaned back against the wall, his arm resting behind you, his fingers lightly brushing against your shoulder. You closed your ghostly white eyes, leaning into the warmth of his presence, the quiet safety of being with him.

"I’m glad we found this place, Kento." you murmured softly, your voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the room. "It feels like... like we’re living, just for a little while."

Kento didn’t answer right away, and you couldn’t see what expressions he had in his face in the meantime. So, you waited as your ghostly eyes slowly gathered itself to slumber. When he did speak, his voice was steady and calm, a quiet comfort in the midst of it all and most of all, you were already asleep.

"Yeah." he said, his hand resting lightly on yours. "For tonight... we are."

══════════════════

THERE WAS MUCH TO SEE HERE, AND THAT’S WHY YOU STAYED. The next morning, the two of you wandered deeper into the abandoned storefront, curiosity leading you through the quiet, forgotten aisles.

The building seemed to stretch on, revealing layers of time that had been sealed away, waiting for someone to discover them. There was an odd beauty in the decay. A sense of history woven through the dust and shadows, waiting to be remembered by someone.

As you walked with care, your fingers brushed along the old shelves, feeling the cold, faded remnants of what had once been. Then, you turned a corner, and there it was — a fine dining restaurant. At least that’s what Kento says it was.

The tables were set in an almost eerie stillness, the chairs pushed back from the tables as if the patrons had simply walked out. Dust covered the countertops, but there was something oddly peaceful about the place, as if it had frozen in time. Plates, some cracked and chipped, sat on the tables. It’s remnants of meals long gone cold, long forgotten by the people who had wanted to taste it.

You and Kento sat down at one of the tables, the deafening silence between you almost natural. It felt strange to see these abandoned places, as if they held echoes of lives once lived here — stories that had been left unfinished. Plans left unattended to. Lives left to nothing.

The plates before you were strange, the food half-eaten and hardened by time. You picked up a fork, turning it in your hand as you observed the scene, then glanced at Kento, who seemed just as lost in the moment. The sight of the old food, of meals that had once been shared between people, felt like a ghost from the past.

Kento broke the silence first, his voice quiet but thoughtful. "I wonder what it was like for all of them." he said, his gaze moving over the plates. "Food... before all this happened. Do you think people took it for granted?"

You thought for a moment, trying to imagine a world where food was plentiful, where people sat together at tables like these, laughing, talking, sharing. A world where they didn’t have to fight for every meal. A whole world where they were enjoying what was there to be had.

“I don’t know, really.” you replied, your voice soft. “It’s hard to imagine. Everything feels so different now. Back then... people must have had so many choices. So much variety.”

You reached forward and gently poked at a plate of dried food, a cracked piece of what might have been bread, now hardened with age. "You could just walk into a place like this and have whatever you wanted."

Kento nodded, his hand resting on the table as he stared at the plate before him, his expression distant. "I imagine there were so many things... dishes people cherished. Foods that reminded them of home or celebrations." His eyes flickered to the faded menu on the wall, barely legible but still hanging there, frozen in time. "I wonder what it would have been like to taste something like that."

You smiled faintly, leaning back in your chair as you thought about it. "I think I would have liked sweets. You know, cakes, candies, things that people probably shared on birthdays or special occasions."

Kento raised an eyebrow, glancing over at you. "Sweets, huh? I can picture that. You always seem to know how to make the best of things... even when everything else seems so... dark."

You shrugged, a small laugh escaping you. "Maybe. But I think everyone had their favorites, right? Some people liked savory, others liked sweet. And meals were always a reason to gather. I bet... I bet it was different back then."

Kento leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning the empty space around you, as if he were trying to piece together the history that had been lost. “I bet there was laughter, too. People talking about their days, making plans. It wasn’t just food. It was about the company.”

You nodded, glancing at the empty chairs surrounding you, imagining them filled with life. “Yeah. It’s not just the food. It’s the people. The moments. The sharing.”

For a few seconds, there was a quiet understanding between the two of you — a shared longing for something that no longer existed, something that felt out of reach. Fifty years ago, that could have been your life. Had you both been born much earlier, enjoying what was normal. You could only wonder who you could have been then?

“I wish I could’ve tasted it. Or at least cooked it.” Kento said, his voice softer now. "I wish I could've lived in that world... just for a little while."

You looked over at him, the sincerity in his tone reminding you of the weight of it all. "Me too." you whispered. "I think we all wish we could’ve had more of it... more of the little things that make life worth living."

Kento nodded slowly, his eyes distant but filled with something almost wistful. "It’s strange, isn’t it? To think about all the things we took for granted. We never thought we'd lose them. And even stranger….to mourn something we never had."

You let out a soft sigh, reaching across the table and resting your hand on his for a moment, a silent gesture of understanding. "No. We didn’t."

For a while, neither of you spoke, both of you lost in the quiet, the memories of a world long gone. The food before you, abandoned and forgotten, was just another symbol of everything that had been lost.

But there, in the midst of the silence, you found comfort in knowing you were together. Maybe it wasn’t food or laughter that you had, but you still had this, this quiet company, the shared understanding of what the world once was. And that, for now, was enough. You don’t have to wallow in the past alone.

You leaned back in your chair, your hands absently moving to the side, brushing against something solid that wasn’t part of the table or plate. Frowning, you felt around a little more, your fingers gliding over something cold and metallic.

You furrowed your brow and lightly touched it again, your fingers tracing the shape. It was oddly smooth, but with little ridges. You couldn’t make sense of what it could be, but it certainly felt out of place among the dust-covered, abandoned plates and old utensils.

Curious, you gently pulled the object closer. "Kento... what is this?" you asked, a bit of wonder in your voice as you continued to feel it. "It feels like... a box with a lens. Could it be some sort of device?"

Kento, who had been watching you with a slight smile, moved in closer as you gently prodded at the object. His brow furrowed as he examined what you were holding. With a slow exhale, he gently took it from your hands and held it up to eye level, his fingers brushing over the device, his expression thoughtful.

“That…” He paused, his tone a little more serious now as he inspected it. “That’s a camera."

"A camera?" you echoed, your mind trying to piece together what that could possibly mean.

You had heard of cameras, at least from the radios that were blaring in the human settlements. They were things that captured moments, or so you’d been told — but you’d never really seen one, at least not in this way. You felt a little thrill run through you at the thought of it, but you were still unsure of how it all worked.

“Yeah.” Kento continued, his voice soft, as he examined the lens carefully. “They were used to taking pictures... to capture moments. People would use them to remember things — memories, places, people.”

He glanced back at you, a soft, almost nostalgic expression crossing his face. “It was one way for people to hold on to things they didn’t want to forget."

Your fingers tingle with excitement. "So... it takes a picture of... of anything?"

"Yeah." Kento looked down at the camera, still running his fingers over it with a careful curiosity. “This particular one is an old model, but I think I can still make it work." He adjusted a few dials, his brow furrowing slightly as he tried to remember how to operate it. After a moment, he gave a small nod. “Alright. I think it’s working. It just needs a film roll inside, but I can still try."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. “Can you take a picture with it?”

Kento’s lips twitched up at the corners, his eyes twinkling with something that almost felt like amusement. “Yeah, I think I can. But it’s not exactly instant — you'll have to wait for it to develop later."

You didn’t care about the developing process. The thrill of the idea made your chest tighten with excitement. You leaned forward eagerly, your voice a little breathless, “So... Can you take one of me? Right now? Please?”

He glanced up at you with a hesitant smile, his gaze soft. "You sure? I mean, it’s kind of old. It might not turn out the way you expect. It might not even work.”

You were already grinning, already imagining what the moment could be like. "I don’t care! It’s a picture. A memory. And... I don’t know when I’ll ever get the chance to do something like this again."

Kento’s expression softened, and despite the chaos and uncertainty of the world outside, he nodded slowly. "Alright." he said, his voice almost teasing. "Just hold still, then."

You sat up straighter, smiling even wider as you tried to pose, though you had no idea what you were doing. The world outside, the endless darkness, the curses — all of it felt so far away in that moment. All that mattered was this fragile little piece of normalcy, a snapshot of something real.

Kento adjusted the camera, looking through the lens with a concentrated expression. “You ready?”

“Yeah!” You replied with a little too much enthusiasm, your hands folding neatly in your lap.

For a brief moment, the world felt still. Kento’s tender caramel eyes met yours, soft yet steady, before his finger pressed down on the shutter. The click of the camera filled the empty, and you felt a surge of excitement at the sound of it. It works.

“Did you get it?” you asked, practically bouncing in your seat. Your smile was practically glowing, the joy in your chest making the air feel lighter.

Kento lowered the camera, his eyes lingering on you for just a moment longer. “I think so.” he said, his voice laced with a soft smile of his own. “But we’ll have to wait to see.”

You leaned back, your heart fluttering with the thought of it, as if something small, yet precious, had been captured in that moment. You sat back in your chair carefully, your hands still buzzing with excitement as you imagined what the picture might look like — if it even worked at all.

The thought of having something tangible, something that captured this fleeting moment between you and Kento, filled you with a warmth that had been absent for so long. You couldn’t help but be so giddy and joyous about all of it.

“So... now we just wait, huh?” you asked, glancing up at Kento, your voice full of wonder.

Kento nodded, still looking at the camera in his hands with an expression that was a mix of nostalgia and curiosity. “Yeah. It’s not an instant thing like the ones they have in the old stories, where the picture just pops out. It takes time to develop.” He turned the camera in his hands thoughtfully. “It’ll be a while before we see the result.”

You nodded, though a small part of you wished it could happen right away. Still, the thought of it being something you would both share, something real and permanent, even if it took time — was enough to make you feel like you were on top of the world.

The quiet of the restaurant settled around you again, but it felt different now. The stillness no longer seemed like a reminder of what had been lost; it was a space where you could be present, where you could hold on to a memory that was yours, even if only for a brief time.

Kento looked over at you, his gaze thoughtful. “You know... we could make a habit of this. Taking pictures, I mean. Maybe not with this old thing, but...” He trailed off, then gave a small shrug. “Maybe we can find another way.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “You’d really want to keep doing this with me?”

Kento chuckled softly, a warmth spreading across his features. “Why not? It might be the one thing we can do that feels... normal.” He hesitated, glancing down at the camera again before meeting your eyes. “It’s nice. Having something to hold on to, something to remember.”

You smiled, the weight of his words settling in your chest. The world outside might be in ruins, and everything might feel uncertain, but right here, in this moment, there was something beautiful about it. The idea of creating memories with Kento, the promise of even more of it in the future and being able to capture those fleeting moments — that had made everything seem a little less overwhelming.

“Maybe we could take more pictures later, you know?” you said softly, the thought of it making your heart a little lighter. “Maybe of the things we find. The places we go.”

Kento's eyes softened, and he gave a small nod, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. We’ll make our own memories, even if the world around us keeps changing. Maybe those will be the ones that matter the most. For as long as this can exist.”

For a while, neither of you spoke once more. Kento busied himself with getting to know the camera. You sat there, surrounded by the remnants of a life you’d never fully experienced but could now, in some way, hold on to. The old, abandoned restaurant felt a little less lonely. The world, too, seemed just a little bit kinder.

When the moment finally stretched long enough, Kento looked over at you with a thoughtful expression. “You know... even if we never develop the picture, I’ll always remember this.” He paused, his voice quieter now. “This moment. With you.”

You looked at him, your heart full as you whispered back, “Me too, Kento. Me too.”

And in the quiet of that old, forgotten place, you both sat together, with the promise of more moments to come.

You had finally made a move on from the storefront. After a full day’s walk, you found yourselves at the river crossing. The river stretched ahead of you, winding its way through the landscape like a lifeline. It was a quiet flow that mirrored the stillness of the world around you. The sky, an endless gray, hung over everything, casting a dull sheen across the scene. But it didn’t matter. Not really.

You walked side by side, each step taken in unison, even if the weight of the world outside tried to press down on your shoulders. It was strange, how you could both walk through the ruins of this broken world and still find something like peace in each other’s presence.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. If anything, it was now a language that existed between the two of you. The silence wasn’t that terrifying anymore. Now, it was a silence that was a friend, a loved one. It had become familiar, one where no words were needed to fill the space. The world had become so still, so void of sound, that even the river's gentle flow felt like a soft murmur in the distance.

But then, something inside you stirred. You turned your face toward Kento, your ghostly eyes distant, yet sharper than usual, as if the weight of everything you were feeling suddenly found its way to the surface. It felt important, this moment — like you had to say it.

“You know…” you started, your voice soft, but enough to break through the stillness, “Sometimes it feels like you’re all I can hear.”

Kento, who had been walking beside you, glanced at you with a small frown, his brow furrowing slightly. He slowed his pace, unsure of where you were going, his expression focused on understanding your words, making sure he didn’t miss anything. He didn’t speak right away. He never did, always giving you the space to explain, always waiting until you were ready to say it all. That’s how it was. That’s how he wanted it.

“What do you mean?” he asked gently, his voice laced with curiosity, the same care he always took to hear you out.

You let your gaze drift ahead again, looking at the river, but your mind felt far beyond it. “In this world… everything else is so quiet.” you said, your lips curving upward slightly, though it was bittersweet.

You continued, smiling back at him. “The birds are gone, the hum of life has faded. But you… The sound of your breath, your voice when you choose to speak. It cuts through the silence. All the time. It always keeps me sane.”

As you finished speaking, Kento’s hand found yours, slow and steady, the rough warmth of his fingers curling around yours, grounding you. His gaze didn’t leave your face. You felt his eyes searching you, trying to understand, trying to hold on to the weight of your words. You knew he couldn’t hear the exact meaning behind them, but you could feel that he understood — he always did.

His eyes softened, and there was something unspoken in his gaze that made your chest ache. Kento didn’t need to hear you to feel the depth of your thoughts. He’d always been able to read you, even without the sound of your voice.

He exhaled, taking a moment before speaking again. “And you… You’re all I can see.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the way he said it so simply, so truthfully, made the air around you feel charged. Kento stopped walking, and for a moment, you both stood still, the only movement being the gentle pull of the river’s current.

“The rest of the world….” he continued, his voice low but steady. “It’s gray. Empty. But you… You’re vivid. You’re technicolor. You’re… everything.”

He trailed off, and a faint flush spread across his cheeks, but it was the quietest of moments, where the world felt like it had paused to let those words sink in. Kento’s voice was always steady, but now, there was a soft vulnerability in it, a quiet tenderness that made your chest tighten with something you couldn’t quite name.

Your fingers squeezed his, and your heart felt full, full in a way that only moments like this — quiet, soft, and real — could make you feel.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. There was nothing more needed. The weight of the world could wait. In that instant, you both had each other. And that, in this broken world, was everything.

The two of you stood there for a moment, the world silent around you, but the connection between you both felt louder than anything else. The emptiness of the world, the stillness that had replaced what was once alive, couldn’t touch the bond between you. It was as if time itself had slowed to give you both this moment — this quiet, profound space where nothing else mattered.

You didn’t need to hear him to understand how deeply he cared. You could feel it in the way his hand held yours, steady and strong, as though he would never let go. You could feel it in the softness of his gaze, in the way he looked at you like you were something irreplaceable, something worth protecting in this broken world. The silence between you wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t empty. It was full of everything that had never needed to be said.

And he didn’t need you to see it to know the same. The way you leaned into him, the way your presence filled the space between you, made it clear. He saw everything in your small, quiet gestures, in the way you trusted him, in the way your fingers curled around him like they had always belonged there. You didn’t have to speak to tell him that he was everything to you. He felt it, loud and clear, through the warmth of your touch, the stillness of your eyes.

It was a rare kind of quiet. One that was full of everything that mattered more than anything else. The world around you had long since been swallowed by shadows, but here, in this moment, with him by your side, it was like you had created a new world of your own. One that couldn’t be broken, even by the silence, even by the ruin.

It wasn’t about what was lost. It was about what you still had. And, for now, that was enough.

You stood there beside him, the silence enveloping the two of you, and something about the stillness felt like the perfect moment to say the words that had been lingering in your heart for so long. Your voice was soft, almost as if you were afraid the world would swallow your words before they could reach him.

“I’m… I’m really happy, you know?” you said, turning your face toward him, the warmth of his hand still holding yours. “I’m happy that I’m here with you. Even in all this… darkness. Even when everything’s falling apart. I’m happy to have you by my side.”

Kento blinked, his caramel eyes softening as he looked down at you, his hand squeezing yours just a little tighter. He didn’t say anything, just waited for you to continue, but you could feel the weight of his gaze, a silent invitation for you to speak your heart.

“I know that if the darkness ever… consumes me….” you said quietly, your voice almost a whisper. “I’d want to have you with me again. In the next life. I’d want you to be by my side, even then. Even if everything was different.”

Kento’s brow furrowed, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes as he processed your words. His voice came out in a soft, almost unsure tone, “Even if I look bad? If I’m different…?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes, always.” you said, your voice steady, unwavering. “It doesn’t matter. I’d still be happy to sit beside you. No matter what. Even if you were just… a rock I had to carry. I’d be happy.”

His lips parted slightly, and for a moment, it seemed like he was struggling to find the words. But there was something in his eyes. It was a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, something almost vulnerable — that made your heart flutter.

He pulled you a little closer, his hand cradling yours gently, and his voice, when it came, was softer than you’d ever heard it. “I don’t need to be anything else, then. I’ll be your rock, as long as you’ll have me. You’ll never have to carry me alone.”

You smiled, a small, quiet thing, but it was enough. Enough for both of you to know that no matter what this broken world threw at you, you had each other. And that, in the end, was more than enough.

And if you did find yourselves reborn, in another life where everything was new and different, you'd carry this with you. The love, the quiet moments, and the promise to always be there, side by side.

══════════════════

ONLY DARK DAYS TRULY CAME AND WENT, EVEN IF YOUR SPIRITS WERE HIGH. The days had grown darker again. The curses had become more relentless, their presence more suffocating.

It wasn’t just the way they twisted and tore through the remnants of civilization, but the way they seemed to feed off the very air. It was as if the fear, pain, and grief of those still left in the world had reached a boiling point.

Kento’s face had hardened with the growing realization that the curses had started to evolve. They were bigger now, more dangerous, more ferocious than ever before. It wasn’t just that the world had broken.

It was that the darkness was feeding off every lost soul, every fragment of hope that had been shattered along the way. It was as though every bit of suffering, every tear, was fueling the very monsters that stalked the earth.

He glanced at you, his expression grim but resolute, as you both stood in the ruins of what had once been a safe place. The walls around you had cracked and splintered, the air thick with the residue of battles fought and lost. Both of you were bruised and bloodied, wounds that had become all too familiar over time.

“They’re getting stronger, I fear.” Kento murmured, his voice tight with the weight of the words. He was staring into the distance, eyes clouded with concern. “The curses… I think they’re feeding off the grief. The fear. The pain. It’s like… it’s escalating. The world’s been broken, and now it’s feeding them.”

You didn’t need to say anything. The truth was written on your face — and in every ache in your body, every breath that rattled in your chest. The world was closing in, suffocating you both. The curses weren’t just hunting anymore. They were becoming the shadows that swallowed everything.

You looked at Kento, your eyes hollow from exhaustion, and the weight of your thoughts threatened to drown you. Maybe this is the end, you thought. It was hard to escape the creeping feeling that all of it — the fighting, the running, the hope you both clung to. It might soon slip through your fingers like sand.

“I don’t know how much longer we can keep doing this…” you whispered, your voice betraying the fear you tried so hard to suppress.

You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, and despite everything, you could still hear the silent, insistent whisper of doubt clawing at you. Is this how it ends?

Kento turned toward you, his gaze softening, though his own fear was buried deep beneath the surface. He took a slow breath, as though trying to steady both of you with the quiet strength he always carried.

His hand found yours, and though the grip was firm, it carried an unspoken promise. That no matter how bad things got, he would never let you face it alone.

“I don’t know either, I really….” he said quietly, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes. He stops himself before nodding with resolve. “But we’ll face it together. We’ve made it this far, right? Even when things got hard. We’ll keep going… Whatever comes next, we’ll deal with it. Together. Okay?”

You nodded back at him. But even his words, as reassuring as they were, couldn’t shake the feeling that the world was closing in. The curses were out there, bigger and angrier than ever, and the weight of it pressed down harder with every passing moment. Still, Kento held your hand tightly, as if his touch could be the anchor in this storm.

But deep inside, you couldn’t help the growing fear.

What if this was the end? What if there was no more fight left in the both of you?

Would the darkness truly, finally swallow everything that had been?

As you held tighter to him, letting him be close to you, letting his warmth rule your cold fingers — you prayed to whatever god there is. You pray that It wasn’t the end yet. You hadn’t given up yet. You prayed for more time. You prayed and you prayed.

But you know that perhaps there was no god.

And everything was a miracle that had run out of luck.

Yet, even then, you found yourself holding firm.

If this was the final stretch, if the end was truly coming… You would face it together. No matter how hard it got. You have to. You will not part from Nanami Kento, not in this life. Not in the next. You would not let that happen. Not ever.

Kento’s hand tightened around yours, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. The sudden screech of a curse, followed by the sounds of pounding footsteps, cut through the air, and your heart seized with panic.

Before you could process what was happening, Kento was already moving, urging you forward with him. You stumbled behind him, trying to match his pace, but every part of you screamed in terror, the distant snarls of the curses closing in, faster than you'd ever imagined.

Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, your heart hammering against your chest like it was trying to break free. The world blurred around you — not just because of the adrenaline, but because you couldn’t see the way Kento could. You could only hear them coming.

The deafening sounds of claws scraping against stone, of hissing, snarling voices, and the unmistakable thud of massive feet hitting the ground. Fear blossomed in the pit of your stomach, threatening to overwhelm you.

The noise behind you grew louder, closer, and you felt your body freezing in place for a brief moment, the weight of it all trying to drag you under. Kento’s voice cut through the panic, steady and firm, pulling you from the storm of your thoughts.

“Don’t fear it.” he said, his tone strong but gentle, like a lifeline thrown into the chaos. “I’m with you. Trust me.”

His grip on your hand tightened, a silent promise that he would never let you go. You could feel the reassurance in the way his fingers locked with yours, as if he was willing you to find courage again, even when everything else felt like it was slipping away.

You barely had a chance to respond before he looked over at you, his brow furrowed in intensity. “Do you trust me?” His voice was clear and unwavering, despite the chaos surrounding you.

You swallowed hard, your breath shaky but steadying as you forced yourself to focus on his words. His presence was grounding, the only thing that remained familiar in this world of terror. You nodded, gripping his hand even tighter, your voice raw but certain.

“I do.”

It wasn’t just a promise; it was a truth that felt like it was carved into you, deep into your bones. In a world that had been shattered, Kento was the one thing you knew you could count on.

“Then we’re getting out of this.” he said, his voice low but filled with an unshakable confidence. “I swear to you.”

Without waiting for a response, he pulled you forward, running faster than before. You focused on matching his steps, not daring to think about what might be behind you. Every part of your body screamed to stop, but you held onto the certainty that Kento was right beside you, leading you through the storm. The curses were closing in, but you didn’t have to face them alone.

You and Kento barely made it to the clearing, your breath ragged and desperate as the curses closed in behind you. But to your horror, it wasn’t just a safe haven. The place had been overtaken by the same dark creatures that had been chasing you. The curses were everywhere — larger, more monstrous, their grotesque forms looming in the distance, ready to swallow everything in their path.

There was no escape.

There was nowhere to run.

This was it.

You felt the ground beneath you tremble as the curses’ twisted forms approached, a guttural, bone-rattling growl filling the air. Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked around, panic setting in. But then your eyes found a sharp metal pipe on the ground. Without thinking, you scrambled toward it, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Before you could grip it tightly, however, Kento was already there. His hand shot out, grabbing the pipe before you could. His movements were swift, but there was a sharpness to his focus that only came from years of training, years of survival in a world that had long lost its sense of safety.

With a swift motion, Kento swung the pipe toward the nearest curse, the metal screeching through the air as he lashed out. He was a blur of controlled force, using every bit of his strength to push back against the wave of curses.

You could feel the shape of his mouth, his jaw tight as he screamed, though the sound was lost in the chaos. His breath came in harsh gasps, sweat dripping down his face as he fought to keep the monsters at bay.

But it wasn’t enough.

It was never going to be enough.

Time had run out.

Kento’s movements slowed, exhaustion and pain taking over as the curses relentlessly advanced. He stumbled, his knees buckling beneath him, and in that moment, it was clear, the battle was too much. Overwhelmed, he fell to the ground, landing hard against the cracked earth.

You rushed to him, heart dropping into your stomach as you knelt beside him. The curses were drawing closer, their forms massive and powerful. Fear rushed through you, but you refused to leave him.

You took his hand, his fingers trembling as they grasped yours. The world around you felt like it was closing in, the suffocating weight of everything pressing down on you both.

Kento’s face was deathly pale, his body trembling as he lay there, clearly drained. But he didn’t let go of your hand. He clung to it like a lifeline, his eyes flicking to you as though searching for something — anything — to hold onto.

Tears welled in your ghostly eyes as you held his hand tightly, trying to be strong for him even as your heart shattered. The curses continued to grow, becoming more monstrous, their bodies glowing with an ominous, fiery light. The world around you seemed to twist and ripple, the air thick with the stench of their power.

Without thinking, you leaned down, your hand moving to gently cover Kento’s eyes. The light from the curses was blinding, and you didn’t want him to see it — the chaos, the terror, the overwhelming explosion of destruction that was coming. You didn’t want him to see the world collapsing around you.

A tear slid down your cheek as you held your hand over his eyes, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers. You could hear his soft, ragged breath beneath you, the quiet tremor in his body as he clung to you, needing you just as much as you needed him.

“I’m here.” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the growing chaos. “I’m here with you, Kento. Always.”

Kento’s grip on your hand tightened even more, and you could feel the wetness on his cheek where a tear had slipped down. He was scared, just like you were. But in that moment, all you could do was hold him, hold onto each other, as the world seemed to shatter around you.

The curses were growing, the air crackling with their power. You didn’t know how much longer you had. But in this moment, as Kento’s trembling form pressed against you, you felt a quiet resolve settle in your chest. No matter what came next, you would face it together. You would never let go. Never, never never—

The moment stretched on, suspended in the chaos, as time seemed to slow. The curses were closing in, their eerie glow illuminating the world around you, painting everything in hues of fire and decay.

Their twisted, grotesque forms swayed like shadows, blotting out everything that once was beautiful. There was no escape now. You could feel the cold, suffocating weight of the inevitability pressing down on you both.

But in the midst of it all, in the suffocating grip of the approaching darkness, you held onto Kento as if he were the only thing that made sense in this broken world. His hand, though trembling, was still strong in yours, anchoring you in a reality where the two of you existed. It was where love still mattered, even if the world had crumbled around you.

You could feel the heat from the curses, the air thick with their power, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you drew him closer, pulling him into your embrace as if to shield him, even though you both knew there was no way to protect each other from the inevitable.

The space between you vanished, leaving only the steady thrum of your heartbeats, both wildly racing in their own way. Your pulse was loud, drowning out the sound of everything else.

His face was near yours, the pain in his eyes apparent but mixed with something else. A sense of peace. A quiet acceptance, as though the words you had shared were all that mattered now.

“I love you.” you whispered, the words slipping from your lips like a prayer.

Your heart was raw, wide open, vulnerable in a way it had never been before. You couldn’t hold back anymore. You couldn’t pretend that you weren’t afraid, that you didn’t fear the end. But with him here, with his presence filling your world, you knew that you had lived a life worth living.

Kento’s gaze softened as he looked into your eyes, and for a fleeting moment, it was as if the chaos outside melted away. His hand, now pressed firmly against your chest, was the only thing you could feel. His breath, warm against your skin, was all you needed.

His words were soft, but they carried the weight of a thousand unspoken truths. “I love you too.” he said, voice cracking just slightly. “I always have.”

The words hit you like a wave, sweeping away any lingering doubt. The world might have been breaking around you, but here, in this moment, with his hand in yours and his body against yours. Nothing else truly ever mattered. No curses. No impending doom. Nothing. Just him. Just you. Just the love of his life.

And even as the ground shook beneath you, even as the curses closed in, your hearts beat together, a rhythm of shared understanding. It was the final, beautiful connection in a world that had forgotten what peace felt like. The darkness outside didn’t matter. It couldn’t touch the bond you shared, not even in its final moments.

Kento’s eyes, though filled with fear, also held a quiet determination. He wasn’t going to leave you. Not without making sure you knew. Not without making sure you both had one last, shared moment of peace. His grip on you tightened, as though trying to hold onto you with every ounce of strength he had left. He didn’t need to say more. His actions spoke volumes.

“I’ll always be with you.” he whispered, the promise hanging in the air like a fragile thread, one that neither of you were ready to break, even if the world around you was collapsing.

You pressed your forehead against his, the world fading into the background as the reality of the moment settled in. This was where you were meant to be. And no matter what happened next, you knew you’d be okay as long as you were together.

The world around you seemed to close in, the curses drawing nearer with each passing second. The ground beneath you cracked and groaned as though it, too, could feel the weight of the inevitable end.

But in that small, fragile bubble between you and Kento, time stretched out, holding you in a quiet eternity. Everything else blurred and dimmed, leaving only the two of you, holding onto each other as tightly as you could.

His breath was shallow now, but it was still there, still warm against your skin. You could feel the faint tremor in his hand as it grasped yours, the weight of the world pressing down on him, just as it was on you.

Yet, even in this moment of impending loss, there was a strange kind of peace. The peace that came from knowing that you had found someone who truly understood you — someone who had walked with you through the darkest of times and had never once turned away.

“I don’t want this.” you whispered, your voice trembling, but it was a truth you couldn’t hide. "I don't want to leave you, Kento. Not like this. I don’t even have a name.”

Kento’s eyes fluttered shut, his forehead still resting against yours, his voice soft but steady. “I don’t want it either. But we’ve come so far. We’ve been through hell together... and even if this is where it ends, I’m glad it was with you. I’m glad it was with someone who understood me.”

Your heart felt as though it might burst, the love you felt for him growing beyond what words could express. The gravity of the moment hung in the air between you, but instead of feeling like a heavy weight, it felt like a lightness, a quiet acceptance of the journey you’d shared. There was no regret. There was no what ifs. There was no hesitation. Just the certainty of love.

And then, in the silence, you heard it. Not the sound of the curses or the chaos surrounding you, but a faint, barely perceptible shift. The ground rumbled, and for a split second, it seemed as though the air had thickened. It was a strange kind of stillness that felt almost like a breath held in the universe itself.

“Love.” He whispers to you, causing you to look at him. “That’s your name.”

You could feel the tears rush from your ghostly orbs. “Thats….That’s a beautiful name.”

“Yeah, it is.” Kento smiles at you, tears too rushing down his face. It's warm orifice falls on your hand. “Because it’s who you are. My love.”

You couldn’t breathe as you pulled him closer to you, tears rushing more than ever before. “I know.”

You felt Kento’s grip tighten, his voice a whisper against your ear. “We’re not alone, are we?”

A strange energy seemed to pulse through the air, vibrating with intensity. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel it. Something was changing. Something was happening. It was something you couldn’t quite place, but it was there. The curses loomed closer, but in that moment, you felt... something else. The possibility of something more.

It was then that you realized — you hadn’t given up. Even if it was the end, there was still courage in you. You had held onto each other so tightly, to the very end, that maybe, just maybe, that love was powerful enough to change things.

The world outside might have been consumed by the darkness, but in this small, intimate space, the light between you was enough to push back the overwhelming weight of the curse. You looked at Kento, his caramel eyes shining even in the face of the inevitable. He was holding you. He was still there, still fighting with you. And that was enough.

“Maybe we’re not meant to go out like this,” you whispered, almost as if speaking the thought aloud would make it real. “Maybe... maybe we get another chance.”

He presses a kiss on your temple. “Maybe in another life, my love.”

Kento met your ghostly gaze, his eyes soft with a mixture of hope and acceptance. He didn’t speak, but the way his thumb traced circles against your palm told you everything you needed to know. Even in the face of the world’s destruction, in the face of everything that had been lost, you were still together.

And maybe, just maybe, that was all you needed to face whatever came next.

The curses grew louder, their grotesque forms now within arm’s reach, but there was no fear left.

You had each other. And that was more than enough.

A camera glimmers in the silence of the rubble.

155 notes · View notes

evecolourshock · 2 days ago

Text

Well fuck, I gotta do this now, since you asked politely :) sorry if Yori's a little OOC, she's a darling and I love her but I can never seem to get her voice right.

@fourbitsinatrenchcoat here you go :D

Beck cocks his head, because puzzling out his current situation is a great distraction from the knowledge he is well and truly in over his head.

He's never seen that many guards for a single stasis chamber before. Especially when there wasn't supposed to be anything here. The stasis chamber jolts as it gets settled into a pallet, one corner flickering - Beck bets he can use that to hack it.

"Careful!" Someone hisses.

Dyson.

Damnit.

"If she escapes, the Luminary will have all of us derezzed!" The General snaps. "Null units, the lot of you." He complains. "Just get her on the transport, and no more mistakes."

Beck has to get whoever that is. Bad for the Occupation is normally good for the Renegade. He doesn't-

He's not going to bring them straight to Tron's lair. That's just generally a bad idea. The Garage is also a bad idea...

Eh. He'll figure it out later.

...Beck cannot believe it was as easy as "steal an armour set and a forklift". He just can't. How is their security this lax - sure there's lots of guards, but nobody vetted the driver of the damn forklift that showed up to move the pallet.

Dyson really should know better. Maybe he's too frazzled right now though.

Beck's not an idiot, so he ditches the stolen armour and goes hunting for trackers the moment he's out of sight. A diagnostics scan brings up details about whoever's in the chamber unexpectedly, and he feels his eyebrows hit his hairline.

Damn that's an early compilation date. Pre-this-Grid kind of early.

Maybe Tron knows her.

Later, later. Trackers disconnected and removed, he takes his rescuee somewhere he's been thinking of building his own base.

It's not much, certainly not at the level Tron has in his lair, but it has a charging berth and medkits and supplies, and a containment area. Good enough for now.

She doesn't stir when he finally deconstructs the stasis chamber - what medical scans he can understand tell him she'll wake up on her own as the effects of the chamber wear off. There's no sign of rectification - that's either good, or really really bad, but Beck's an optimist at core.

He did, after all, notice Tron had been rectified when even the Monitor couldn't, and managed to tweak the healing chamber to actually be able to deal with that instead of mask it. Tron's been looking leagues better recently for a reason.

Again, Beck's not an idiot - he still makes sure she's in the modified quarantine unit and shouldn't be able to get out of it. Precautionary measures don't hurt.

He switches his circuits from Renegade to the knowingly terrible versions of Tron's he used pre-Renegade. Not his civilian circuits, obviously a disguise... but also an extra layer of misdirection away from him being the Renegade. Because of course the Renegade wouldn't be caught derezzed in something so amateur (never mind the extra armour panels he's been able to add, now he knows how to make them).

And now, to wait.

The lady wakes with a muffled yawn Beck only just catches through his own exhaustion. He's taken naps of course, here and there, but... up all rest cycle, not enough sleep. At least he has the work cycle off.

Tron's a sleepy grumble in his comms, probably fresh from the healing chamber and wondering where on the Grid Beck is. He pings off reassurance that he's safe first and foremost - nobody needs a rampaging fugitive Monitor on their hands - and then alerts Tron that he's somewhat accidentally found, and then on purpose liberated, someone who seems to be of importance.

Tron demands explanations as to who and how, so Beck sends him a picture of the lady currently investigating the walls of his containment unit.

The stunned silence echoes. That's definitely an interesting sign - Tron's very rarely shocked out of lectures.

...Beck very nearly misses the first choked sob. "Yori." Tron murmurs, full of longing and disbelief.

The lady - Yori, if Tron is to be believed - catches sight of him eventually - Beck sees the veiled shock on her face, which quickly gives way to suspicion. That's... fair, he supposes. In this particular get-up, he's pretty clearly not Tron, despite wearing Tron's ident.

"Who are you?" She asks, defensive.

"Depends who's asking." Beck fakes Tron's voice... deliberately badly. Exactly how he used to, when all he had to mimic was footage scraps someone had tried to wipe from existence and not quite succeeded. Knowing Tron, he can do a better impression, but... better to hide that connection for now.

She snorts at him, and he can hear Tron suppress a shaky laugh over the comm. Beck grins under his helmet - he likes amusing Tron, makes him feel like he can help his friend in more ways than just with his job. "Well, you're certainly not my counterpart." She tells him, raising an eyebrow - as if the news is supposed to startle him.

It does, but Beck paid attention during Tron's lessons on How To Not Let The Enemy Distract You. "Truth?" He asks Tron quietly.

"Truth." Tron answers shakily. "I thought she'd been derezzed or-"

"Rectified." Beck completes softly, when it's clear Tron can't bring himself to say it. "She's clear of that, as far as I can tell." Tron makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a sob - definitely fresh out of the healing chamber, that's the only time he's so expressive - and whispers a thanks to every deity he can think of. Users and otherwise. "I take it she's safe, then?"

"Yes." Tron breathes, and Beck chooses to take that as permission.

Retracting his helmet nets him keen eyes, and Beck lets his circuits shimmer back to civilian. "Sorry about the suspicion, Miss Yori, can't be too careful any more." Beck relaxes his posture, opens up, lets himself be warm and his actual age. It works, given how she relaxes in kind. "Just precautions, but a friend vouched for you."

"Must be some friend." Yori hums, sizing him up - Beck's definitely sure she's not checking him out.

"He is." Beck wanders over, deactivating the containment area with one hand and offering her an energy pouch with the other.

...does not let her see how he deactivates the containment. Even Tron trusts wrong sometimes, and Beck's determined to still have some secrets. Just in case.

"Anyone I'd know?" Yori asks, teasing in her voice.

"Mmm, you could say that." Beck grins, tapping his sternum four times - a gesture Tron uses to soothe himself. "So do us both a favour, yeah?" He abruptly goes serious, hair and plating fluffing out in an intimidatory display. "Don't break his trust."

Because Cyrus is a fresh wound. Because Dyson is a festering wound. Because Yori's betrayal would kill Tron, one way or another, and Beck refuses to let that happen.

The lightrunner ride to Tron's lair is done in silence, Beck using what by now is intimate knowledge of the glitches and shortcuts and general weirdness of the Outlands to obfuscate how to get there. Doing this makes Tron's head hurt, but... he trusts Beck to maintain secrecy this way. Yori stays quiet too, processing everything Beck's allowed her to know.

Tron's making an effort to be welcoming, near the entrance instead of manning his surveillance array. Beck gives his mentor privacy when he and Yori reunite - Tron hates the vulnerability that comes with emotions, the least Beck can do is make sure nobody's going to interrupt them.

Besides, he has reports to write.

Yori cajoles Tron into sitting down and resting, talking and comforting each other. It's... not easy watching them (Bodhi - Beck's core aches with loss), but at least Yori's seeming to hold true to her promise not to hurt Tron.

It takes ages for the discussion to wind down, for Tron to accept help to stagger to his healing chamber and let it close around him.

Yori watches him with sorrow in her eyes. "How can I help?" She asks Beck, when he nears.

Beck grins, and it's the fanged one he doesn't let Tron see. "So, I have this plan to overthrow Clu..."

Because nobody hurts Tron and gets away with it. On that, he and Yori can agree.

a while back I drew a concept for Uprising Yori -- but thanks to the power of me learning 3D modelling, I've made it a reality (:

#tronfic #yori fic #make grim use eir ao3 challenge #if you saw this incomplete : No You Didn't

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slimybeth69 · 3 days ago

Text

Girl Dinner: Part 4 of 4- Goodbye

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Summary: After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect.

W/C-10.3K

Chapter Warnings: kidnapped/mean/dark!Joelx hunginged/crazy/mentally ill/dark!reader. dub-con, period sex, crying, altered mental state, graphic depictions of violence and death, animal death (not graphic but mentioned), alternating POV's, creampies, cock warming, unprotected P in V. No happy ending? This is DDDNE-- don't forget!!

Reader warning/ potential trigger warnings: mentions of readers past-- with gory and sad details. Mentions of sex as payment, impregnation, child loss.

PLEASE MIND THE WARNINGS.

There was never a question about why you forgot your name, or how that could happen to a person. Mister-man never asks you again. He never peppers it into conversations, or late night talks when you’re wrapped in his arms.

It doesn’t matter– you’re his crazy girl. His sweetheart. His baby.

Mister has his hands on your knees, holding them open. His fingers dig into the soft skin as he plants soft kisses on the soft nest of curls on either side of your sopping pussy. He’s moving slow and deliberate as he licks and sucks your lips into his mouth one at a time, then nipping at the junction where your legs meet your hips.

“Love makin’ you feel good sweetheart,” he murmurs against your skin, sucking dark marks into the supple skin of your thighs. “You like when Mister makes you feel good, dontcha?”

You do.

The answer is caught in the back of your throat, so you nod, whimpering feebly at his endless teasing. He’s been kissing, and biting, and pinching you for what feels like an entire lifetime. He teases you, gets so close to your aching, throbbing clit, and then suckles and licks everything BUT that.

You haven’t taken your eyes off of him, how could you? He propped up pillows and leaned you back so gently and said ‘enjoy the show’ before kissing down your chest, sucking your nipples into his mouth greedily. His hands explored every single inch of your body as he licked and sucked those dark marks into your skin.

Claimin’ you, Sugar.

He could, he can. He can do whatever he wants to you. Every time he touches you it’s like an entirely different experience.

Perfect every time.

It’s like he knows when you need him to be gentle— and he knows when you need him to take control. It’s like he’s tuning into your wavelengths through your cunt.

The tears come sometimes regardless of how he handles you. His touch doesn’t always stop the bad feelings, the bad memories, but tonight they aren’t sad tears, they aren’t fearful or filled with shame.

Tonight they’re just confusing tears, too many emotions inside of you to process all while he’s been torturing you relentlessly.

“I know, babygirl,” he rumbles against the top of your slit, his hand moving from your knee, up your quivering thigh. “Relax for Mister.” Hot, thick fingers push into your folds, tracing the outside of your cunt before the thickest, and longest one pushes inside. “I’m here… I gotchya,” he whispers before he seals his lips around your clit, sucking slowly, lapping with his tongue as he thrusts a second finger alongside the first.

You let out a choked sob as his digits plunge into your wet heat. “Oh fuck,” you whine, the stretch is sublime, bordering on painful in the most amazing way.

He chuckles darkly, the vibrations traveling across your skin. "That's it, crazy girl. Let Mister-J take care of you." His voice drips like molasses– thick, sweet and slow. It’s tantalizing how just his words, his tone can make you feel crazy.

Your fingers thread through his graying curls, tears streaming down your face as he works you expertly. “I- Ohh fuck, I-” He’s stoking the fire building low in your belly already- you’ve been wound so tight and are ready to snap.

Mister’s grip tightens on your thigh, holding you open as he drinks you down like a man starved. “You what, baby girl?” He sucks your clit into his mouth, teeth scraping the delicate bundle of nerves, tongue lapping at it.

Say it, Sugar.

Don’t.

Your hips move on their own accord, grinding against his mouth. Your cunt clenching his fingers because you can feel it building, the pressure, the need, the want. Your nails dig into his scalp, pulling him closer. “I- I love you,” you whimper as he adds a third finger, stretching you to capacity.

Your whole body tenses, the last of your resistance shattering as you come violently around his fingers and on his lips. He groans against your pulsing clit, swallowing your cries as he milks every last drop of pleasure from you.

“I know,” he hums, resting his head on your hip. His large hand rubs the outside of your thigh.

There is a moment of silence, and you’re expecting him to either do it again, or lay down and ask you to get on top, but he doesn't.

His fingers trace the scar on your lower stomach.

“What’s this?” Joel asks as his fingertips trail across the slightly raised, white line of skin just above the swell of your cunt.

“They wouldn’t let me keep it,” you sigh down to him casually as the aftershocks of your pleasure run their course, carding your fingers through your hair to push it out of your face. “I tried to hide it,” you push yourself up onto your elbows to look down at him. “They found out though.”

Joel blinks up at you as you get ready to speak again, he wants to tell you to stop, to shut up– to be quiet and he’ll make you come again, but he can’t form the words.

“They said it was too dangerous– too stupid.” You roll your eyes and pick at the sink on the side of your thumb. “Said I couldn’t take care of it– Which is bullshit because I’ve taken care of Puddin’ for so long and nothin’ bad happened to him.” You grumble.

Joel’s mouth is so dry it’s painful. It’s like swallowing shards of metal, or fiberglass insulation.

“And there was Lou and Bud! I took such good care of them–”

“Who are Bud and Lou?” Joel croaks softly at what the heart breaking answer could be.

“Bud was a squirrel with a broken leg, and Lou was a baby raccoon that I nursed back to health after a real bad wind storm– they both got knocked out of their nests.” You explain with a smile on your face. “They didn’t stick around like Pud, though.”

“How’d you find Puddin’?” Joel asks, four flat fingers covering the scar so he doesn’t have to look at it.

“Puddin’ found me,” you grin, combing your fingers through Joel’s hair now. “Sweet lil thing came up to me while I was comin’ home one night– basically beggin’ me to bring him back here. All cold ‘n ‘bout to die. His momma must’a lost him– or couldn’t take care of him… and now I’m–”

“You're his momma,” Joel chuckles, finishing your sentence with the thought running through his head.

“Yeah, exactly!” You exclaim happily.

Joel doesn’t want to ask, but he can’t keep the words in, he can’t hold it back anymore. “Who did this to you?” He runs his fingers along the scar one more time.

It’s quiet for a long time, and Joel wonders if he shouldn’t have asked. You don’t answer right away, but he can hear your breathing change, quicken– go shallow.

“The guys at the QZ in Wichita,” you whisper.

Joel has to strain to hear the words. He knows that you know he can’t hear all that well, but he isn’t going to tell you to speak up. “Doctors?”

Wishful thinking.

You shrug your shoulders, “I dunno– some of ‘em could’a been doctors– but that’s not what they were in the QZ’s.”

He just looks up at you, still laying between your legs. “No one was takin’ care of ya’?”

“My mom and dad were bowling the night of the outbreak—” you explain, eyes darting everywhere but Joel. “It was jus’ me ’n my brother that night– and then for a long time after that.”

“He didn’t know what was goin’ on?”

You chuckle, but Joel can tell you don’t think it’s actually funny in the way you pick at the side of your thumb like there’s the cure to the infection inside of you.

“He knew,” you huff. “He got hooked on those pills in the QZ, the big white ones– I don’t know what they were called–”

“Hydro.”

“Hydro,” Joel explains, looking into the eyes of the Lee, the FEDRA guard he’s been supplying to for as long as he can remember at this point. “How old?” Lee questions curiously. “Three months,” Joel nods his head. He doesn’t have time for this, he’d rather be back at the apartment. Lee inspects the pills, like he doesn’t trust Joel. “From Atlanta?” “I dunno know where he gets ‘em from. I just know they’re real,” Joel huffs, narrowing his eyes on the FEDRA badge on his chest.

“Yeah! He really liked those,” you roll your eyes. “Didn’t wanna work though, so he didn’t always have a way t’pay them… so when I couldn’t get ration cards to help him, he’d offer me up–”

“Well, the more you shoot people, the harder it is to sleep, I guess.”

“Jesus Christ,” Joel groans quietly. He closes his eyes, crawling until he’s lying beside you. He doesn’t want to look at that scar again, or honestly hear anything else you have to say.

“Sorry,” you whisper, sinking as far into the mattress as your body will allow. “M’sorry, I didn’t mean to–” you whine quietly, but he presses his lips to yours, silencing you in the process of trying to comfort you.

Joel wraps you up in his arms and pulls you close to him, something inside his chest vibrates and like the deepest note of the guitar he has back in Jackson.

“They all dead?” Joel growls in your ear.

“I dunno,” you shrug, wiggling your hips as you attempt to scooch closer to him.

Joel’s mind is racing, but his body betrays him. He’s raging hard behind his jeans, restricted behind the tight denim. It doesn’t matter to you; that he still has his pants on or the topic of conversation that had just been had– you’re reaching into his jeans, wrapping your warm, perfect hand around his length and pulling him free.

“Wanna fall asleep with it inside me,” you murmur, shifting your body all around, jutting your hips out. The tip of Joel’s head stretches around your tight cunt, and he groans into the back of your hair.

He wants to fuck you, wants to thrust deep inside of you, but he can’t– he’s too focused on Puddin' who is laying on your side of the bed– his tail hugged close to his body as you rub your index finger between his ears, and down between his eyes. He's asleep, and snoring softly.

Joel holds you, his fingers trace your belly button once, move up to the space between your breasts and back down again. His voice is shaky when he speaks again. “Why don’t you take me back to Jackson… you can stay there with me– you and Puddin’.” He offers, brushing the hair away from your face carefully with his free hand.

“Why?” you murmur sleepily.

“I got family–”

“Tommy?” Every single piece that makes up the parts of your body freeze, and it’s almost like you’re playing dead like Puddin’ would in a stressful situation.

“Tommy and his wife Maria– ” Joel tries to paint the picture for you, tries to show you what could be waiting for you if you would just let him go. “I got a nice house and a porch we could sit on, a bed we could sleep in every night– a big giant wall t’keep the infected out…”

Everything feels thick, and it’s hard to breathe like during a humid summer day– but it’s getting cold now and the air is crisp and Joel can see his breath most of the time, especially at night. “S’a lot of people behind that wall?” You whisper after a painfully long silence.

Joel lies. “A few, yeah. But Maria and Tommy run things– they’re good people–”

“Maria is good?”

“Yeah, she’s real good– real fair.” He nuzzles the back of your neck with his nose softly.

It ain’t her fuckin’ fault– and you know it.

“Maria’s good– Tommy is good– they’re kind.” Joel whispers, holding you, squeezing your middle to keep the two of you connected for as long as possible.

“Ellie?”

He hates you for saying her name, but he hates himself more for letting it slip one drunken night. Joel knows that if Ellie ever found out about what you did to him out here, she’d kill you. Painfully. Slowly.

Tommy would never let Joel live this down– getting snared in the mall because he wanted to sit in a recliner? Then he might help Ellie kill you.

“I could take you on dates– bring you down to the bar, we could drink whiskey with a real roof over our head,” Joel hums lowly, giving your stomach a pinch but you don’t laugh, or giggle or shy away.

“How many people?”

“I dunno, a couple…we wouldn’t have t’see them often. Keep to ourselves, mind our business– just like we do here, just safer,” Joel feels like he could be getting somewhere. He’s never offered this before, he’s never even asked for you to let him go. He’s always just gone along in hopes of one day getting home.

Oh is that what you’re tellin’ yourself? Alright, alright. Gotta cope with this all somehow…

“Safer this way, less things t’worry about. Been doin’ it long enough to know that this way is better.”

Joel shakes his head, the tip of his thumb brushing across your eyebrow. “Long enou– how long have ya' even been out here? A year or two?” He watches as you subtly turn your head to give him more access to touch your face, caress you.

With your eyes closed, you shake your head no at him, pinch your brows together like your thinking or– counting. Joel can see your lips moving as you silently recall whatever it is you're trying to remember.

“Twelve,” you say confidently.

He hugs you closer to him. “Twelve what?”

“Twelve winters–”

“No fuckin’ way,” Joel snorts in disbelief, but his eyes never leave your face. They’re searching for the joke, the punchline, something that will tell him that you’re joking. “What happened to the other people ya’ came here with?”

You blink at him. “There was no one else…”

"How many other guys have you done this to?" Joel asks quietly.

"Three," you murmur, as he gently drags the backs of his fingers down your face.

"What happened to 'em?" He probes, feeling like he already knows the answer. The fear coils in his gut like a snake ready to strike.

"I killed 'em…” you whisper into the dimly lit room.

"Why?"

"They wouldn't stop tryin' to 'kill me…" you murmur.

“You built this?”

Joel is in awe. He’s seen a lot, a whole lot in the thirty years since the outbreak, but you continue to surprise him. Impress him too, more than he thought was possible for a lady who had captured him and was holding him hostage in the woods.

It’s a greenhouse– but that’s not what he’s impressed about. You built your own heating system for it out of a distillation set up– he doesn't do much to hide the look of bewilderment on his face.

Smart girl.

The smile that spreads across your lips as you take in his dumbfounded expression warms Joel’s heart even though the weather outside has cooled off drastically.

“A couple years ago, yeah.” You explain, opening the door for him to step inside.

The vinyl wrapped cord gets caught on the doorway, and the prongs on the choke chain dig into Joel’s neck painfully. He sucks air in through clenched teeth, his calloused fingers desperately try to put space between the metal and his tender and angry red skin.

“Careful,” you murmur, untangling the rope for him so he can walk further inside. You hold the slack of his tie-out rope in your hand and carry it in for him.

Sweet girl.

Joel takes in everything. How well constructed this place is, how neat you have your rows of vegetables and fruits. Rows of raspberry bushes line the perimeter of the greenhouse. “How’d you get all this shit up here?” He turns to look at you, shoving his leather-glove clad hands into the winter jacket you brought him a couple weeks ago.

Loves you.

Joel tries not to think about it.

You blink at him for several moments and then a flicker of uncertainty washes over your face. “Ya’ really wanna know?” You ask like you don’t believe that he could be interested in what you’ve been doing out here for the twelve long years you’ve been out here.

“Yeah I wanna know,” he nods his head to the entire structure built up around him. He knows that distillation set up outside is at least a couple hundred pounds, if not more.

He can see it on your face, the worry. The fear- as if telling him the truth, or telling him anything at all would send you spiraling.

Spiraling somewhere Joel isn’t sure he wants you to go.

He hums, turning his gaze to the rows of onions and potatoes. “Did your other fellas help ya’?” Joel teases.

You shake your head from side to side. “I had help–sometimes,” you finally admit, drawing the word out, eyeing his face and body as you whisper it to him. “I had some help, but mostly did it on my own,” you look like you're waiting for him to hit you, yell at you— pounce on you.

He doesn’t do any of those things. It just feels like someone knocked the wind out of him— stole all his air.

“Brought me up here to help you?” He offers, kneeling next to the garden bed to start digging up carrots, or celery or anything that he can throw into a stew for tonight’s dinner.

He loves to cook. It gives him something to do. Something to think about and look forward to. Joel likes that you eat what he makes for you. You eat a lot of it, and have actually put on a couple pounds since he got here.

You place one gentle hand on his shoulder and tug him away from the garden. “No, no— stop it,” you kneel down beside him, wrapping your hands around his and removing them from the dirt. “I didn’t bring you up here t’help me,” you smile at him happily. “You jus’ kept asking where I was gettin’ it all from… I’m showin’ you.”

Your eyes glimmer with something he hasn’t seen in a long time—trust. The look that makes him feel like maybe you’re not crazy- not a murderer- just scared. Fearful, but not anymore.

You trust him.

“Where you been hidin’?” Mister’s voice echoes off the tiled bathroom walls and floors.

You flinch under the stream of warm water and pinch your brows together at the sound of him coming closer. “I haven’t been hidin’. Been here all day,” you roll your eyes even though he can’t see you from behind the door. The water suddenly shuts off.

He’s kinked the hose, preventing the warm water from flowing freely.

“What’re you doing!?” You open the stall door, and poke your head out.

Joel has both of his eyebrows raised, looking at you incredulously. “Ya’ been here in the bathroom takin’ a shower all day?” He huffs at you. “Liar. Where ya’ been?”

“Let go,” you nod your head at the hose he has bent between one hand.

“Tell me where you were,” Mister narrows his eyes at you, unwilling to back down.

It’s cold in the mall, and you worked so hard to make sure that your shower would be warm in your irritable state. Everything has been miserable the last couple of days, you’ve been cramping. Teary and sad for no reason. Now you’re shivering, and a sense of rage floods you.

“Leave me alone,” you grumble.

Joel snorts, letting the hose fall to the floor and the warm water sputters out of the shower head attached to the side of the stall.

“Thank—” you start but hear his belt jingle and hit the tile.

Is he coming in here? He can’t! You’re unclean, undesirable!

“What’re you—” you put your hands on the stall door as he tries to push his way into where you’re naked, and bleeding.

“Need t’shower— I stink, been a couple days-” He starts, eyes narrowed on yours but you don’t let him finish and shove the door closed. “Hey! Let me in,” Mister wraps four thick fingers around the edge of the door to stop you from shutting it completely and locking him out.

“Get…out!” you huff as you push your shoulder into the door, using all of your body as a counterweight.

Mister pushes the door open easily, as if you weren’t even trying. “Th’fuck is wrong with you? Don’t like me anymore?” He frowns dramatically, the crease between his eyes deep.

“I- wha- no- yes, of course I still like you!” You exclaim, crossing your arms over your chest and pressing your legs together tightly. “Just- I don’t… I— please just go. I don’t want you to see me—”

“I see you. I been fuckin’ seein’ you, so th’fuck is your problem now?”

The frustrated tears burn at your eyes. “Get. Out.” You growl.

“You ‘bout t’cry?” He raises an eyebrow at you again, but with less anger etched into his face, and more worry. “What’s the matter, crazy girl?” He purrs, stepping into the small, crowded stall with you, letting the water wash over his broad shoulders and down his chest.

“M’just gross right now,” you groan, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. “Don’t want you thinkin’ I’m dirty or nothin’…”

“Dirty? What you been gettin’ up to?”

“I’m bleedin’…” you whisper up to him shamefully.

Why would this handsome, perfect man want to touch you during your monthlies? No one else ever did, and none of them were nearly as incredible as Mister… none of them seemed to have any standards— but this was one thing none of them wanted to go near. Like you were cursed because of what was happening between your legs.

It’s all right Sugar, he’s a real man.

“Where- what happened?” Mister looks more worried than he was a moment ago, eyes scanning the length of your body looking for something. “Ya’ hurt?”

He’s real. Real simple.

“Please just go away,” you whine as he inches himself closer to you, caging you into the corner of the stall with his strong body. The heat creeps up your neck and chest, your eyes fill with more tears uncontrollably.

“Y’really want me to leave?” He whispers, his warm, soft lips ghost across your forehead, his stubble scratching gently in their wake.

“S’just… gross,” you offer weakly, your resolve shattering with every careful touch he gives you.

“What the hell are you talkin-” Joel starts, but cuts himself off quickly. He tilts his head down to look at you. “Bleedin’, huh?”

All you can do is nod silently, avoiding his gaze.

“Thinkin’ Mister ain’t gon’ wanna touch you, that right?” He coos as he wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“Why would… you?” You wince, clenching your teeth together as cramps overtake your lower stomach and back.

Joel nuzzles the side of your face, pulling you back under the steady stream of warm water, letting it wash over the front and back of you as his free hand slips between your bodies. “Let me help you,” he nips at your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth.

Pulling your head back to look up at him, the water washing through your hair and down your back. “Wh-what? How…” you trail off as he slips his hands between your legs, fingers pushing through your swollen, aching lips. It’s uncomfortable and makes you whine and hide your face in the crook of his neck as he pushes two fingers deep into your cunt, curling them against that spot that has you seeing stars.

“Mister knows things too, crazy girl,” his deep voice vibrates in your ear and makes your knees weak. "Know this'll make ya’ feel better." He nudges your legs further apart with his knees and you don't fight him.

The heel of his palm rubs against your clit as he strokes that spot inside you over and over, again and again. "Oh god— don't…please, you'll get dirty-" you groan, your walls clenching around his fingers anyway despite your weak and meaningless protest because you love when he touches you. It’s impossible to fight.

You hate having to hide from him when this happens— it's easier when there isn't snow on the ground and you can leave the mall for a couple days. Hide in the woods and keep watch from a distance… in the shadows. Like before he was yours.

"I don't give a fuck about blood," he growls into the crook of your neck, moving the hand on your waist to the back of your head. His fingers leave you suddenly, and he pulls back, holding your head down so you can watch his already throbbing cock fuck into his partially open fist.

Mister always takes your breath away, no matter how many times you see it, or put your mouth on it, or take it deep inside of you. It curves slightly up towards his stomach from a thatch of thick dark curls. Swollen tip already drooling with precum.

He gives himself a few slow strokes, coating himself in your slick and blood. "I'ma grown man. Don't matter to me," he groans. His fingers grip your hair and tilt your head up to look at him now. "Turn around, sweetheart," He purrs, licking at your bottom lip teasingly.

"Okay," you sigh, head bobbing up and down as you try to regain some sort of composure. Your eyes drop back down to his hand, still stroking his length slowly as you turn around and rest your palms on what used to be a toilet-paper dispenser, knocking over your small collection of soaps that smell nice and make your skin feel soft.

Joel pulls your hips out, and grinds every inch of him through the folds of your pussy slowly. One of his giant hands moves to the globe of your ass and pulls you open, the other guides the tip of him into your aching core.

The two of you groan together as he sinks himself into you, not letting you adjust or open up to him at all. He splits you open each and every time like it's the first, and it's heavenly.

You rest your forehead against the wall while Joel wraps one hand around your throat and leans over you, his chest pressed against your back. His thumb caresses your jaw as his fingers press into the artery on the side of your neck.

When you're with Mister like this, it all goes away. All the sad, and the bad, and the angry and fear— he replaces it with something else. It's good, and warm and it makes you feel small and weightless.

"S'my crazy girl," he grunts as he starts to thrust slowly but deeply, the tip of his cock kissing the deepest part of you as his hips grind into yours. You clench around him, and he moans, resting his forehead on your shoulder. "God damn, you feel so fuckin' good," he rumbles.

"Don't stop," you mew, the lightheadedness taking you exactly where you want it to. Weightless and free of all thoughts, fears and inhibitions. The blood isn’t real, the pain is numbed and Joel and you are the only ones to exist right now.

Everything else doesn’t matter.

Mister chuckles against your ear, his breath warm and inviting and pluming down the side of your face. Joel’s like the pyroclastic flow from a volcano; hot and all-consuming, taking over every one of your senses. “Don’t stop fuckin’ you?”He purrs deeply as his free hand slides down your stomach to your slick cunt. “Or don’t stop callin’ you mine?” He teases, rubbing your clit in tight circles as he fucks up into you from behind.

You don’t even remember what he’s asked you, it’s all too good, the way every inch of cock seems to know the inside of your cunt so intimately, it’s like he’s fixing something inside of you. It’s only temporary, but it feels good while it lasts. "Yes," you gasp, pussy pulsing around him with every beat of your heart, tilting your hips to take him even deeper.

He just laughs, low and from deep in his chest, pressing his lips to the top of your head as his fingers work your clit faster, urging you higher and so quickly. Then his hand from around your throat is squeezing tighter– your vision tunnels just as he brings you to the precipice.

Mister lets go of your throat just as you orgasm, it tears through you and he never lets up, fucking you hard and fast through the whole thing. “Oh I know, babygirl.” He growls. “Feels fuckin’ good, don’t it?” The tips of his fingers trail down the column of your throat and through the valley of your breasts until he palms one, groping gently at the tender flesh, pinching your nipple and tugging.

It does feel good– it’s relief from the aching and jackhammering going on inside of you somewhere– and you’re thankful for Mister. You could get down on your knees and worship him. You might. It’s incredible. White hot bliss in every inch of you.

Joel snaps his hips into yours over and over again as you ride out the aftershocks, keening and crying through the pleasure. You’re on the brink of another orgasm, both of his hands now palming and pulling at the soft, over-sensitive flesh of your tits as he spills himself inside of you.

“S’right, fuckin’ milk me dry. So fuckin’ tight, baby girl.” His teeth sink into the sink on your shoulder–hard.

It’s pain that brings you back to the women’s restroom in an abandoned mall, a couple of hours trek outside of whatever is left of Jackson, Wyoming.

It’s the breaking of skin, and the feeling of molten lava pooling in your core, and then flooding down your legs as he pulls out of you.

His tongue laves at the torn flesh on your shoulder as he coos soft apologies and promises, but you don’t even listen because that was the first time Joel ever came inside of you. There had been plenty of ‘times’, but they all ended with him finishing on some part of you that wasn’t the walls of your cunt.

When you turn back to look at him, he’s leaning up against the opposite side of the stall, eyes closed, chest heaving with water droplets dripping down his stomach to his still half-hard cock covered in the mixture of your red-slick and his milky white release.

It makes your stomach flutter, and more liquid heat pools in your core.

“Lookin’ like you wanna get fucked again,” his eyes are barely open, but he’s staring at you with a goofy half-smile on his face.

When you try to speak your voice wavers and cracks– and you make Mister-man laugh. A real laugh. He shakes his head from side to side, pushing himself off the wall to crowd your space once again.

He smacks your ass twice, and pulls you under the water with him, “Ain’t gotta say nothin’ sweetheart.”

Tonight he has his head in your lap, and he rumbles happily when you run your fingers through his loose curls, and scratch at his scalp with your nails.

He's reading one of your comic books to you and Puddin' who is curled up in the big bed almost under your lap.

He's almost got the voices down— just needs a little more time. He'll get it.

It doesn't matter, just having him here is more than you could ever ask for. He doesn't fight, or argue with you anymore. Not like he used to. There are days when he doesn't want to talk, or sometimes even look at you— but he's never mean. Sometimes he's just quiet.

Today was a good day though because you brought back fresh meat again, and you cried about it in the woods before you brought it back so he wouldn't see how badly it bothered you. The first time you brought it back, you cried the whole day and refused to eat it. It bothered you so much that you'd do something like that just to make him happy.

You didn't talk to him for a couple days after, thinking about letting him go or killing him because why does he have that much control over what you do?

You like makin' him happy, Sug.

He's reading from the comic, but you're not really listening.

You've killed people for a lot less than sustainability.

There isn't much you wouldn't do to keep Mister happy, and safe here with you. He doesn't seem miserable, or unhappy. Sometimes he talks about how he wishes he could see his family.

You're his family now. You 'n Puddin'.

He has a real family though out there waiting for him… Missing him.

The comic ends, and the silence creeps in. The strands of his hair feel like home between your fingers, so you start to rake the fingers of your other hand through it now too.

"She must really love him," you whisper down to him. "S'why she does all those terrible things for 'Mistah-Jay'," you lighty mock Harley's high pitched crooning and smirk down at him as he closes his eyes.

Your Mister-J shakes his head from side to side, snorting from his nose softly like what you said is funny to him. "Don't know if I'd consider that love, sweetheart." He keeps his eyes closed and speaks slowly with his southern drawl.

Condescending– he doesn’t know love– not real true love. Don’t listen to him.

Hear him out, sweet girl.

Something like vines coil around your heart when he says it, but you're not sure why, but it doesn't feel good, or nice. The vines have thorns that poke at the soft parts inside you. "Whadd'ya mean?"

"Well y'know Harley was normal once, right? She was a doctor or whatever—"

"A psychologist…" You correct him. She had been a psychologist, fallen in love with Joker, gave up everything for him… Well, maybe—You only had five comic books!! You're not really sure what happened or, why or how… just a couple parts to a much longer story, apparently.

"Oh yeah, well whatever she was— Joker goes to Arkham Asylum, meets Dr. Harleen Francis Quinzel… PhD," he nods his head, opening his eyes to look up at you. "Pretty girl, smart and witty..."

"Yeah?" It feels like every word he says could either make you laugh or start crying.

"And Joker brainwashes her— makes her crazy," he starts but there is only screaming inside your head that drowns out whatever else he says. "She loses everything 'cause of him."

Joker wouldn't do that! Not to his Harley, at least. Everyone else, maybe? But not his girl…right?

Don't listen to him, Sugar. He don't know what he's talking about.

There's a squeeze, and the sharp points of the thorns pierce your lungs and it feels like you deflate, like the world could be slipping away from you, or you could be floating somewhere else.

Your fingers have stopped moving, but still grip his hair in the space between them. "He loves her, he wouldn't do that…"

"He doesn't love her- he uses her." He whispers.

He’s wrong. He’s wrong. He’s wrong. He’s wrong.

Now it feels like you can't breathe because that can't be true. Harley and Joker might not have always been nice to each other in your comic books, or cartoons— but he loved her. He had to love her, she loved him so much.

There was no way that he doesn’t love Harley, right?

That’s not love. That’s not love.

Mister-man doesn’t stop talking even though you wish he would. "She loves him— but she figures out that Jokers is a bad guy… a real bad guy," his hands are around your wrists now, sliding his fingers between yours to loosen the hold you have on his hair.

"What does she do then?"

Joel's eyes are so dark, chocolatey brown– wide with…fear?

You're hurtin' him, sweet girl.

Who fuckin’ cares— remeber when he hit you?

Listen to Mister, listen to him…

"She kills him," Miser-man laces his fingers with yours and pulls your hands out of his hair.

Being shot would feel better than this. It's like your chest is caving in on itself. You can't breathe, you can barely think.

"She wouldn't do that," you hiss at him, struggling to pull your hand free from his grasp, his fingers pinching around yours, refusing to let him go.

"She loves Joker, and she wouldn't hurt him- wouldn't kill him…" your eyes flash between your fingers laced in his, and his big brown, perfect eyes.

Perfect baby cow eyes.

"She smartens up— she realizes he's been abusin' her." Joel's on his knees now, cupping your face with his free hand "She's smarter than him, crazier too." He leans in and kisses away the tears that had sprung from your eyes, and are now rolling down your cheeks.

Joel lies.

"You're bullshittin' me," you put both hands on his chest and push him weakly. "He loves her, she loves him— she doesn't kill him. Why would you say that?"

"It's just how their story goes, crazy girl. It ain't real," he wraps one hand around the back of your neck and tries to pull you in for comfort but you don't let him.

You spend the night in the greenhouse that night.

People were capable of a lot of things, you had seen it first hand. Watching it happen to yourself, and people just like you thrown into situations they didn’t ask to be in, or maybe got themselves into on accident– but nobody wants to be abused. Nobody asks to be taken advantage of.

Look at what you’ve done.

Look at what you were able to take for yourself.

Ruined a man's life.

He loves you.

This isn’t love.

It’s hard to look at Joel after that.

You just keep to yourself until your next supply run.

–He’s going to die if you don’t do it.

Don’t fucking do it!! What are you thinking!? He’ll leave!

“That’s fine!!” You sob as you climb up the service ladder that takes you to the roof where you can enter the mall on the rafters.

Joel can’t die. Not like this. Not because of you.

All the other entrances have been boarded up so tight that it’s nearly impossible for one or two people to get in on their own, but it doesn’t matter now with how many of them are coming.

They’ll tear this whole place apart looking for you. They saw you– got the dogs on your scent and it’s incredible that you lost them for as long as you did running in the river but they’re still coming.

They’re going to kill you this time and there really isn’t anything you can do about it. There are too many this time, and they never stopped following you. The dogs kept barking, kept howling, and kept alerting when they’d pick up your trail again.

Puddin’s only chance to get out of here alive is to leave with Joel right now. You’ll give him all his stuff, his guns, his gas-mask and you’ll just keep the raiders preoccupied while Joel and Puddin’ get away.

Joel is in the bookstore when you come running in, already fumbling with the keys that will unlock his choke chain and his shock collar.

He’s so handsome, and big. If by some miracle you get out of this alive– you can go to Jackson and find Joel.

“Whoa, what’s goin’--” he looks concerned, and he has a good reason. He doesn’t have a lot of time to get out of here.

“I don’t have time– you just need to get Puddin’ o-out of here, go out through the r-roof, like we do to get to the greenhouse. There are two ladders, the one in the back will take you into the woods and you can go back to Tommy and Maria, Ellie– but you have to take Puddin’!”

The words don’t feel like they’re coming out fast enough, but Mister-man is looking at you like you have seven heads and are possibly growing another one as you try to explain that bad guys are coming.

Joel clamps his hands around yours while you fumble with the keys. “Slow down– jus’ take a deep breath–” Joel turns his hands to the side, and opens them with yours cupped in either one, the keys pinched between your index finger and thumb on your right hand. “Keys?”

Don’t tell him, don’t tell him. Don’t let them go, don’t let them go. You’ll lose him forever. He’ll kill you. He’s going to kill you. Let him die here with you.

“The gold one is for the chain, silver is for the collar–” doing the right thing.

“You got guns? I need a couple–” Joel nods his head at you as he takes the keys from your trembling hands very carefully, like you might spontaneously combust if he makes any sudden movements.

Take them keys back, it’s not too late. Take them back. Take them back. Take them back.

There are guns hidden in the ceiling of the mattress store. Lots of guns that you’ve collected over the years.

“I’ll give ya’ whatever you need. Ya’ just gotta–” You’re already backing out of the bookstore, stumbling over fallen shelves and debris from the ceiling caving in a couple weeks ago.

“I’ll take Puddin’, don’t worry. M’right behind ya’,” Mister’s already got one key in one of the locks as you turn to sprint to the mattress store.

You climb onto the counter and push one of the ceiling tiles aside, and start pulling guns and boxes of ammo out, handing them to Mister-man to get ready.

Faintly, the sounds of dogs barking are growing closer and closer. Every warm thing about you goes cold because it might be too late for Mister-man if they get this place surrounded.

Shouldn’t have come back here. You keep making mistakes.

It’s okay, sweet girl. Doing the right thing by letting him go– sacrificing yourself to save him and Pud.

The tears come and are hot, and fat and sting your eyes.

“Please take care of Puddin’, please don’t jus’ let him go- go the second you get out in the –the woods, okay?” You try and speak over the lump in your throat but it’s hard, and it hurts, and you want to just lay down and die right here. “He’s not real good at takin’ care of himself– he needs someone.”

Joel isn’t listening, he’s loading up rifles and handguns faster than you’re getting your pleas out. He looks determined, he’s not paying attention to the things that you’re saying.

“Hey! M’talkin–” you start, taking a step towards him.

“Here,” he shoves a rifle in your hand and a pistol in the other. Then he slings another rifle over your shoulder. He starts loading more guns. In your backpack, you have your preferred weapon of a metal slingshot and free, unlimited ammo. Hard things

It’s deadly when used properly, silent and easy to practice with because you can never run out of rocks. Metal nuts and bolts work well too, and those are all over, fallen out of the iron skeleton that keeps the mall together over the years.

“Puddin’?” You question, backing out of the storefront slowly. Joel waves you away as he continues to load up the rest of the weapons.

There isn’t much you can think about besides how Joel is going to get out of here with Puddin’ safely. You don’t even know where the little guy is, and he’s probably hiding now hearing the dogs closing the distance outside.

Make it easier for them to get in hopes they don’t go looking for another way in– Before you climb into the rafters, you push the tables, chairs and racks out of the way and make the entrance accessible from outside.

You’re so stupid for letting him go, he could have died here with you– lived as ghosts here together for eternity.

You take your place above the entrance, where you would come and wait for Mister-man before he was yours– where you would hide from him when you were bleeding before you knew he was a ‘real man’, or what a real man even was. You did the right thing.

It happens fast– the doors explode open with an ear-splitting, head ringing bang, and debris flies everywhere. You can hear it showering down on the tiles of the food court, into the small puddles of still water that have accumulated with the quick-melting snow.

The smoke and dust make it impossible to see, but you stay hidden regardless and get your slingshot loaded and ready for when it all finally settles.

The dog's nails click on the ceramic flooring as they run inside and start looking for you. Start sniffing you out– which is easy. Your scent is all over this mall and they take off running in the direction of the mattress store.

In the direction Joel and possibly Puddin’ if they didn’t get out in time.

Muffled voices echo through the quickly dissipating cover of dusty smog.

Three dark figures move quickly, following in the direction of the dogs. You pull your loaded slingshot back, aim for the pulse point on their throat, or at the base of their neck– in the spine.

It’s usually quick and they’re down before they know what hit them, or even realize that they’re on the ground.

The other two raiders see their friend go down, holding his neck, choking on his own blood and begin looking around the food court through the scopes of their machine guns. You load up the pouch quickly with a heavy metal nut and aim.

Let go.

There is a millisecond when you think you weren’t quick enough. He saw you, his finger pulled the trigger, but before the gun goes off his hand falls to his side, his rifle tumbles to the ground and he stands there like he’s been stunned.

You aimed for his forehead, but it entered through the eye socket of his closed eye with a soft pop you could hear over the dogs barking in the distance. Then he goes down.

There are gunshots, but not from the food court– they’re coming from a different part of the mall. Two different types of gunshots. Then it’s quiet.

Both of ‘em dead and it’s all your fault. All your fault. All your fault.

The hair on the back of your neck stands up, at the thought of Joel and Puddin’ being shot at, torn apart by the dogs.

The one remaining raider looks around the food court, and then down the long, wide corridor where the dogs are still barking, and now more guns are going off.

They’re both dead. Dead ‘cause of you.

You toss your slingshot to the side and grab the hunting rifle, aiming at the back of the last raider's head as he turns to walk away. You take one shot and watch as he goes down, and hope that the dogs and whoever else is in the mall come your way instead of following after Joel.

You count as more people come into the mall through the entrance, stepping over the bodies of their dead friends. One, two, three, four, five, six…

Ain’t even worth it anymore. Should just shoot yourself now– end it all quickly–

Just keep moving, sweet girl. It’ll be okay. Give him time to get out of here. Keep him safe, he doesn’t deserve this, never did.

No more people come inside– and that’s when you open fire from the rafters, moving as gracefully as you can while trying to aim.

This rifle only holds five rounds, and you drop three of the intruders before you run out of ammo. You drop that gun, and grab the one around hanging off your shoulder.

Their guns start going off, bullets flying past your face. One grazes your shoulder, just the skin– it burns and stings, but your feet stay deft in their movements. Remembering where to step and what spots to avoid because of the structural faults.

More gunfire from the other wing of the mall. Near the department store with two floors. Near the bookstore. Near where you and Joel sleep together most nights– except for the past couple.

Now you regret it, now you regret not feeling his cock inside of you these last three nights. Not falling asleep sticky with his release between your thighs, or taking advantage of the nights when he let you fall asleep inside of you.

Three nights you can never get back. If you make it out of this you’ll crawl across hot coals for him– beg him to stay here with you forever– you can go back to Jackson to visit– to see everyone– but then you can come back.

He won’t let you come back, you fucking cow.

He won’t come back here, baby. He won’t– but that’s okay. This place isn’t good for you.

This place is your home– it has been and it will be, it’s kept you safe. It’s made you smart and independent.

Look at what it did to you, who it made you.

You were crazy before you got here.

“I’m not crazy…” you whisper.

Then it happens, your foot falters, and the rafter creaks loudly as the bullets continue to whizz past you. Missing you by centimeters– but you never stop moving. Not even as the beam underneath your foot starts to sway from side to side.

A low, echoing groan fills the mall as you move faster to get to the other side where things are still a bit more secure– you think about jumping, but falling–

It doesn’t matter, you’re weightless, everything about you feels like it stays up in the air while you tumble down to the ground. The world flips and spins– a kaleidoscope of fresh new greenery growing, and the old dingy colors of the mall's ceramic tiles, the dimming evening sky.

Everything about you feels detached, like your body no longer exists, nothing is real; like you're suspended in a dream.

This is how it ends. Not with a bang, but with a broken body.

The impact is jarring, a violent explosion of pain that sends white-hot tendrils searing through your shoulder and down your left arm. The air is punched out of your lungs and you’re clinging to consciousness with everything that you can- but the darkness is so inviting, the warm ground is so cool against the broiling pain that has you sweating.

Puddin’ could need you, Sug. Joel might need you.

The handgun is still somehow tucked into your waistband, and you push yourself to your knees despite all the tendons and muscles in your shoulder and back telling you to lay down– to give up.

Shoot yourself before anyone else can– they might not be so generous.

You can’t give up. Not now, not yet.

It’s nearly impossible to aim, your vision is blurring in and out of focus. It’s hard to keep steady when you feel like you could be sick, and take a nap all at the same time.

Point and shoot, point and shoot point and shoot at whatever is moving, whatever looks like a target. Your left hand hangs at your side limp, unwilling to cooperate when you think of things to do– like grab a new magazine when the clip gets low.

Everything on your lower-half is fine, seems fine– you think. It’s not completely clear if anything hurts because everything above the waist feels like it’s on fire. Gunshots echo throughout the mall in what sounds like all directions. Everything is echoing. Everything feels so fuzzy and thick– so warm.

When you come to, Joel is kneeling over you, blood dripping down the side of his face, chin and neck. His shirt is stained dark red down the front of his chest.

Did he eat them?

He might’a.

“What happened–”

A soft but deafening metallic click echoes in your ears. You’ve heard it before– it’s distinct and only one thing makes that sound. A padlock locking into place.

The part of your brain that tells your body to move still works, your right hand starts to move to your neck– but your left arm stays limp by your side and fireworks go off in the space behind your eyes.

You are a ragdoll being held together at the seams. Then thin, red strings that connect your shoulder to the rest of your body are hanging there limply, all the tension and tightness that allows you to move is gone.

It’s excruciating. It’s like the grooves of your brain are being peeled apart– you can’t think, you can’t do anything but shriek.

Joel tuts softly over the sounds of your pain, “Yeah, a dislocated shoulder’ll do that to ya’.” There is a twinge of twisted pleasure in his empathetic tone. “Planned on fixin’ it up while ya’ were still out,” he explains through your wailing.

“Pl-Please don’t tou-t–touch it,” you’re stammering through the red-hot pain.

Mister-man shakes his head at you, his lips together in a tight lipped smile– like what he’s about to tell you is unfortunate news. “I gotta, and I can do it now… or I can go get that brick–”

The choke-chain suddenly feels like it’s ten thousand pounds, too tight and also hot; white hot like it just came out of the fire.

Kill him.

The brick might actually not be too bad in this situation–

“I gotta couple things t’go take care of, so…why don’t you jus’ sit tight ‘n I’ll be right back.” Joel doesn’t touch you, or fix your fucking shoulder before he stands up to leave. “Don’t go anywhe– oh wait,” he chuckles, shaking his head from side to side.

There are parts of your brain telling you to sit still, to relax and the pain will eventually subside, to just let things happen. Bigger, louder parts of your brain are telling you that this is worse than dying. This is the least desirable outcome. You’re not sure what parts they are, or who is even speaking because all the words and sounds are blending together.

Joel walks over the bodies of the dead dogs, the nameless raiders– he uses cautious feet as he steps over new collapsed parts of the roof. Twisted and mangled metal– sharp and dangerous as he climbs and crawls through the narrow openings.

Joel has to look for the shock collar remote. He doesn’t know what you’ve done with it since he hasn’t made you use it since shortly after you put it on him. He hasn’t seen it in—

Months. It’s been months.

He’s not thinking of the countless nights of sharing his warmth with you– or how you made sure he always had something to eat– how you tore yourself apart to make sure that he was taken care of.

He’s trying not to think about it.

His backpack is almost full by the time he leaves the second floor of the department store. He’s careful and makes sure to not let this get jostled around in there. He was gentle with how he packed things and wanted to make sure nothing got ruined.

Puddin’ is right where Joel expected him to be. On the highest shelf of the bookstore, which is where he was before you came running in with tears in your eyes almost an hour ago. When Joel was still your prisoner. Still your captive.

Joel grabs Pud by the scruff– unfazed by the hissing and clicking sounds of protest coming from the completely domesticated animal. Joel hasn’t seen Puddin’ hunt or scavenge for his own food once since he’s been here, and knows for a fact that he wouldn’t be able to make it on his own.

He doesn’t want to bring him–

Yes ya’ do.

No…he doesn’t.

He doesn’t even really know why he’s back inside the mattress store tearing the place apart looking for the remote to the shock collar. He doesn’t know why he’s inside the pet store looking for a new shock collar when he can’t find the old one.

When Joel returns to the spot where he left you– you’re gone.

She couldn’t have gotten far.

He picks the cord up off the floor, gives it a soft tug and feels the resistance– you’re still on the other end. He sets his backpack down gently and holds the cord in his hand as he lets the sounds of your pained whimper lead him right to you.

Joel follows you into the service hallways he’s explored a million times. He wonders why you came back here, what you’re looking for that he doesn’t know about. A secret way out? Bolt cutters?

Joel looked constantly for something that he could have used to cut through his restraints, but never found anything.

Never really looked that hard– don’t kid yourself.

He did look– he always wanted to go home.

Could have killed her a long time ago.

“Come on, lil puppy– Puddin’s missin’ ya’,” Joel croons, the sounds of your shuffled footsteps on the concrete floor growing louder and louder. “Hear ‘em cryin’ for his momma?” He holds Puddin’ up, and he hisses loudly in annoyance or discomfort– he’s not completely sure.

Joel’s about to round the corner, expecting you to be there with a horrified look on your face at what he might do to the over-sized rodent in his hand.

He’s not expecting you to be waiting for him with a knee hurdling towards his unprotected dick and balls. It knocks the air out of his lungs, and bile rises in his throat.

“You’re hurtin’ him!” Your worried voice rings in his ears.

She’s going to kill you.

The rest of his stomach drops down into his ass.

Joel grabs the cord attached to the choke chain, gasping for air, and pulls on it as hard as he can and is still met with tension. You shriek and choke as he drags you to the ground—still holding Puddin' safely in your arms.

He realizes you hadn’t even been going for the keys or his gun, or his knife. You were just trying to protect–

Her baby.

Joel gives your restraint another good tug– he knows how it feels to have the prongs dig into the soft, sensitive skin above the collarbone. It’s horrible, but not as bad as the shock-collar.

Joel moves as fast as he can, pouncing on you and pressing his knee into your chest.

You look up at him with eyes so wide they're more white then iris, pupils blown wide with terror. Then you scream, it vibrates his eardrums, and splits his skull open.

He didn’t think any human was capable of making a sound so absolutely bone-chilling.

He presses his palm over your mouth, squeezing your cheeks together as tight as he can to avoid getting bitten. With the hunting knife he points it at Puddin’-- who is currently playing dead beside your flailing body.

Joel turns your head to the side while your fingernails claw into his wrists. You go limp when you see the threat.

“Ain’t gotta say it— but you know,” Joel warns. quietly. “Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut– got it?” He growls in your ear.

You whimper and nod silently in defeat.

“Good. Now you’re gon’ get up real slow– Mister’ll help ya’, okay?” He whispers in your ear.

You nod again, body shaking underneath his with each silent sob.

Be careful-- her shoulder.

Joel helps you to your feet. He picks Puddin’ up more appropriately– holding him like a newborn– still pointing the sharp edge of the knife towards his belly as the three of you make your way back out of the service hallway.

Once Joel has you back where had intended on you staying– he gives you Puddin’ to hold and then gives you a stern look with narrow eyes and a strongly pinched brow.

“You try anythin’– make one single move…and I’ll kill him; make you watch,” Joel nods down to the still stiff opossum in your arms.

"I'm real sorry--"

"Sorry don't mean nothin' out here, remember that?" He barks at you as he pulls the new collar out of the packaging.

He has no sympathy for your tears, or the way that you're almost silently apologizing over and over again-- almost like you're not even talking to him anymore.

She ain't... you know it.

He places the new shock collar around your neck and locks into place with the padlock from the choke chain. He then puts the batteries in the remote and holds his thumb over the button.

“Say goodbye t’all of this,” he motions around with the blade of his knife. The crumbling ceiling, the broken and warped rafters littering the ground now. “We’re goin’ to Jackson.”

To be continued…?

authors note-- this was honestly one of the most fun stories to write-- and I really hope you all want me to continue this fucked up story back in Jackson.

Thank you to everyone for the love and support!! I didn't expect a little tiny drabble to turn into this big whole thing.

I hope I didn't disappoint everyone-- I didn't want either one of them to die and I genuinely don't think Joel would have just let her walk away from all of this with a nod of his head and a wave.

thank you for @pedrospookie for your amazing mood boards and knowledge of DC and Harley Quinn, and @almostempty for your help with this last chapter. I really needed your words of encouragement and support because I felt like I was fucking it up all the time.

@probablyreadinsmut your love for Puddin' kept me going and I love you for that.

tag list:@pedrospookie @gothcsz @joelmillerisapunk @paleidiot @goodvampykitten @rosebuds-and-moonlight @diabaroxa @zhazy-blog2 @almostempty @xdaddysprincessxx @tobethlehem @lilac-boo @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @rav3n-pascal22 @baronessvonglitter @joelmillerisapunk @syd-djarin @probablyreadinsmut @itwasntimethatdidit40 @letsgobarbs @lovehappyloki @joelalorian @pedrostories @evolnoomym @valkyreally @youdontknowe @corazondebeskar-reads @pastelpinkflowerlife @tobethlehem @lumpatto @shivispunk

again, i'm sorry if I forgot anyone. I have a little hamster brain and I forget things.

#fic: girl dinner #pedro pascal characters #smut #joel miller x reader #dddne #joel miller smut #kidnapped!joel miller x unhinged!reader #dark!joel miller x you #dark!reader #mentally ill!reader

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