#it’d be one thing if it was just a crack but it’s across the whole screen and pressing on it causes the backlight to warp

[gayvampyr]

with all the shit going on in my life rn especially considering my financial issues the last thing i needed was my fucking tablet screen to crack

[miirohs]

sugarcoated

pairing: Mob Boss!Baby Daddy!Lando Norris x Fem!Reader wc: 2.7k cw: violence (implied but not against the reader), emotional manipulation, reader is highkey tweaking, Norris is a touchy ass, slight yandere undertones, this aint healthy an: i keep forgetting my irls have my blog lowkey ive been scared of posting bc of my parents. also hey ladies whats up im back out of my flop era! miss me miss me now you gotta kiss me!

He was always lingering somewhere, no matter where you went.

It was like no matter where you ran, he would always find you. Quite frankly, you were sure that was half the appeal to him, he was a powerful man and he spared no expense in letting you know. 

Sometimes, it was the little flowers he left on your doorstep in pristine condition, small notes in semi legible handwriting tied to the stems. Other times, it was the faint smell of his perfume that lingered as he’d find himself in front of your door at odd hours of night, begging you to let him in, as if he’d been dying at the steps of your door.

And like a fool, you finally cracked, you did let him in. You were charmed, though there was no doubt it made you uneasy, he’d pacified you with his dazzling promises to take care of you, so what could’ve been the harm?

You didn’t see him again after that night. In fact, you hadn’t seen him for weeks afterwards, then the games started as soon as you moved.

You’d run, he’d show up, you’d run again. 

It was a cycle. There was no leaving the city anymore either, his forces scattered across every crook and nanny of the city. You’d sealed your own fate with just one hospital visit, deliverance of the exact news you’d prayed to not get as you sat with a test in your hands, two pink lines string back at you. 

You had no idea how you even made it home that night.

It was in your best interest not to move anymore, but you weren’t even sure how to move forward. Your wallet wasn’t entirely drained, but you were. Any chance of moving away was immediately stomped out, leaving you with no choice but to firm up against him and his sugar coated words.

It wasn’t long before he found out, and when he did, he made sure you knew. You couldn’t tell for your life how he felt though.

At first, it was minor things, baby items you didn’t recall ordering appearing at your door. You chalked it up to clerical error, but something nagged at you as you inspected them. Then, more expensive items started to appear, everything a new mother could dream of, but it made you uneasy.

Sometimes he’d come along with one of these gifts, standing outside the door as you peered at him through the eyehole. You never answered, with the hope that he'd leave you alone, hoping to dissuade him from anything further.

Then the biggest shock came along, sitting across from you on the counter, as if it’d been there the whole time. You had no time to question, let alone think about it upon seeing the small note attached to the box. 

I hope you’ll love the gift exactly how I did when I saw it, xoxo.

You knew exactly what a diamond ring implied. Yet, you couldn’t seem to wrap your head around why he would’ve sent it. The last thing he would’ve done was tie himself to you after trying so long to avoid you.

It’d been four days since the ring had appeared there, and you were simply hoping it was a fluke, no sign of him to back the ever present thought of the intrusion. 

You sat at the dining table, poking around your half-assed salad as you stared at the box. You could’ve sold it off, but there was no doubt someone would’ve found out and reported it back to him, leaving you to bear the brunt of his anger at your outright refusal. He’d never hurt you, but you saw everything in his actions.

The thought was more than enough to throw you off your meal, pushing away the plate with a pained sigh. Eating wasn’t the only thing that’d become harder in recent months, as working had left you with barely any time for yourself.

You were almost ready to doze off right there and then, had it not been for the series of sharp raps on the door, earning a grumble from you as you dragged yourself to the door with a mind full of insults to hurl at the person.

It hadn’t occurred to you to check who it was as you sleepily fiddled knob, only saved by the grace of the chain lock you’d forgotten to unlock.

“Hey there.”

Your blood froze, hazel eyes staring down through the crack of the door. There he was again, the devil himself, at your doorsteps as if he’d been waiting for you for a long time.

“Lando?” it came out as more of a whisper than anything else, voice cracking from a lack of proper use.

“It’s nice to see you too sweetheart,” He laughed, tilting his head at you to meet your eyes through the wide crack. 

There was a look in his eyes, although you couldn’t entirely decide if it was predatory or not as you averted your eyes, looking down at the handle of the door.

“What’s going on in there? Are you working late again? Though the doctor said it wasn’t good for you to be up this late with the baby on the way.”

You didn’t respond, trying to shut the door as subtly as you good, hitting something between the doorframe. Jitters ran down your spine when the door wouldn’t move further, looking down to see what it was. 

He’d wedged his shoe in between, the bastard. You looked back up, swallowing as he narrowed his eyes, the smile slipping off his face for moments to reveal thinly masked displeasure before disappearing entirely.

He knew what you were trying to do. You didn’t know if the guilt building up in your chest, or the possibility of what he could’ve done, scared you more. He’d never explicitly laid a hand on you, but the amount of torture was already enough as he lingered in your space.

“Someone has to keep the lights on,” You muttered, letting him nudge the door open. You were already fighting a losing battle, there was no way to keep him away but to hold him at an arm's length. That was how he’d gotten in the first time. He couldn’t fool you twice though.

“That’s why I've been sending you stuff, have you not gotten it?” He frowned. For a moment, it almost felt as if he were trying to be genuinely involved. You knew better.

You hesitated, looking back and forth between the chain lock and his face, though not much contemplating would be able to change the choice that’d already been made for you.

“No. I… donated it to some of the others at work. Needed it more than I did.”

There it was again, the indignancy in his eyes. 

“I got it for you though, was it not to your liking then?” His voice was eerily calm, but you knew exactly what it meant. Your hand instantly went up to the chain, almost as if it was moving on its own. Fear gripped at you. You had no idea what he was going to do next.

“So, you’re determined to be a single mother then? Do you know the kind of trouble it would get you and the baby into…” He raised his voice, pausing to see if you’d reconsidered.

Clearly a slight tremble in your hand was enough to convince him you’d finally stood down, a smirk gracing his already vicious face as you opened the door. You had no plan to, but it was hopeless to try and stand up without attracting attention, the last thing you wanted was for everyone to know what a shameless bastard he was.

“Just come inside please. Don’t let anyone see you any more.” You whispered, letting him through the threshold before you shut the door behind you.

“You’ve been busy, haven’t you? Just look at the state of your... apartment.” He shook his head, pushing at stray articles laying all over the floor with his foot, as if they were positively filthy. There were still boxes from your last move sitting around the living room, the only real piece of furniture unpacked being your bed and the table you were sitting at. 

You couldn’t help but be a little embarrassed as you walked into the kitchen, you’d never been this untidy before. It wasn’t any easier as Lando tailed you, only pausing outside the door frame, as if something stopped him from coming through.

“You should move from here. I don’t like this apartment, it’s in a sketchy part of town.”

“Well, I don't recall asking for your opinion, did i?”

You didn’t pay any mind to his poking, filling a random mug up as you stood at the sink before you shot back, standing in the dark of the kitchen as he walked away, presumably to shuffle through your personals again. You were thankful for a moment of silence though, head pounding from all that had happened today.

You stood there lost in thought, and he’d returned sooner rather than later, tone disapproving as he spoke to you once again.

“I wonder how on earth I'm supposed to convince you if this can’t stop you from trying to make it on your own.”

Only, he wasn’t at the doorway anymore, standing a little further back, waving a stack of letters to your face. The color of the envelopes, you immediately knew what the contents were.

Heat seemed to bloom across your face, rushing over to grab the letters from him. It was of no use, he could easily keep them out of your reach, but it didn’t stop you.

“Sweetheart, what happened to you? Looks like you’ve managed to stir up more trouble than you can handle, am i right?” You could hear the mock empathy in his voice, distorted by the rush of blood to your ears.

“You. You happened to me.” You hissed back at him, finally grabbing the papers and slinking backwards. There wasn’t any time to leaf through them, but the big bright red stamps were more than enough to drive you to tears when you saw them. But you couldn’t cry here. Not in front of him.

He didn’t respond to your remark, simply giving you a look of pity, watching with careful eyes as you tossed the pages back onto the table, taking your seat back. The tension was getting higher, only breaking when you finally looked at him, opening your mouth.

“You can’t just come in here, into my life,” you managed, voice quivering despite the resolution you’d come to, “And act like you own the place. You have no idea what I’m dealing with.”

“Don’t I?” Lando pushed himself off the opposing wall, getting closer. “I’m the one who’s been watching you struggle, I'm the one who’s trying to help you love.”

“And is this what help is then?” The thought tasted bitter. “Sending gifts isn’t helping, it’s… wrong.” 

Then adding in a whisper, “You know i can’t afford this.”

He paused, the righteous look he had faltering for a second. “You’re reading it all wrong. I’m just trying to provide for you and the baby, but you want to be stubborn. You won’t take my help, nor will you take my money.”

“I don’t want your money, please.” You begged mercifully, looking at him eye to eye since the first time he’d stepped through the door.

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a half-smile that sent chills through you. “You should be thanking me. Not many get the same kind of priority you’re getting right now. I’m only trying to make it easier.”

“I would never do it with your filthy money, how many have you run over just to make a paycheck?” You murmured, pausing at the look on his face.

“At least I can provide for myself. I won’t ever have to scrap the bottom of a tip jar only to fail to make rent.” He replied smoothly, eyes narrowing at your attempt to rebuke him.

The implication hung heavy in the air, and you clenched your fists, nails digging into your palm. “I… can’t.”

The silence seemed to stretch thinner, and you could feel the burn in your eyes as you looked down at your clasped hands. You couldn’t even really tell when the first tear slipped. It kept coming, and you couldn’t stop it. You knew he was right.

“Hey, hey, none of that.” He said slowly, getting down on one knee to meet your eyes, taking your hand in his. “I was out of line for that, wasn’t i?”

You shook your head, covering your mouth to stop the sobs from escaping. He seemed remorseful, running a thumb over your knuckles as he looked at you with a mix of pity and something foreign.  “I know I upset you, but I'm still offering you a chance here. I wanna set it right between us.”

You didn’t argue through the tears, and he seized the moment. “You can struggle all you want but I can provide everything you need. I can make the baby my heir, I can give you the life you deserve... all you have to do is say yes.”

“Say yes to what? Marrying you?” The words seem to slip out of your mouth mid sob, and a look of amusement crossed his face as you slapped a hand over your mouth.

“Exactly,” he replied, trademark grin spreading across his face. “Imagine it. A beautiful ceremony, a life together. You’d have someone by your side who can ensure nothing threatens you. You’d be safe and sound. The baby would be my successor, guaranteed.”

“I barely even know you. You don’t know me.” You whimpered as he played with your hand, too loving, too suffocating.

He moved closer to your lap this time, bringing his hand up to wipe the tears, soft and tender than you’d known him to be. “You don’t have to be strong all the time, and I know it feels like you don’t know me at all. This is a big decision.”

“It’s not just a decision, Lando. It’s my life.” You hiccuped, despairing clawing at your insides. “How do I know you won’t just leave when you’re bored of me?”

“Didn’t I promise to take care of you and the baby?” He gently cupped your face, tilting it up so you had no choice but to meet his eyes. “Look at me. You’re not alone in this. I’m here now, and I want to help.”

There was a flicker of recognition at his words at the back of your brain, raising voices of caution as you looked at him through glassy eyes. “And what if I can’t love you back like you want me to?”

Lando’s eyes darkened slightly, and he took your hands, pulling you closer. “You don’t have to love me right now. Just trust me.” His grip tightened, slightly painful as he held onto you. “Just let me show you what it means to be cherished.”

He leaned in, his lips almost brushing your ear, the movement making your breath hitch. “Let me in, stop thinking so hard.”

You could’ve stopped breathing, time slowing as he pushed the ring box into your lap.

He was never going to give you a choice, but what he said was ultimately true.

“Just think,” Lando urged as you squeezed your eyes shut, allowing him to play with your ring finger. “Think about what you could have.”

You’d never really realized how much his scent stuck till you until now, wrapping around you and lingering softly. A part of you was tempted to lean into him, to let him guide you into this new reality.

Even if you hadn’t made up your mind, he likely already had.

“Fine.”

Wordlessly, the cold metal slipped on the finger he’d been tracing moments before, bringing up your hand to kiss it.

“See? You’re already one step closer.” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You could only look at him, dried tear tracks sticky against the sudden cold draft of the air.

“It’s a promise,” he said, his thumb brushing over the ring as if it had already tied you together. “I won’t let you go just like that.”

You shuddered. 

There was no escaping him now. You were tied to him.

A sugar coated nightmare, it seemed.

[bradshawssugarbaby]

God, Your Mama and Me (Jake Seresin x Reader)

A/N: told y'all I listened to country music and it inspired me. Inspired by and quotes God, Your Mama and Me by Florida Georgia Line. I'm not religious but that song gets me all heart-eye emoji every time.

pairing: Jake Seresin x reader (I'm 99% sure I kept reader GN the whole time with no mentions of appearance)

content/warnings: reference to God via the song (the line is "no one's ever gonna love you more than God, your mama and me"), Jake being adorable and trying his best to be romantic but he's more awkward than he wants to be bc he doesn't do PDA, brief references to potential character death (I promise no one dies)

word count: 1.6k

Jake took you by the hand, running playfully through the sand. Coronado Beach was where he’d taken you for your first date. It was where you’d met, where you spent every free weekend, where you’d meet with his friends at The Hard Deck for drinks on Friday nights and where you’d sit and watch the planes taking off from North Island as you waited for him to come home, not knowing what each day would bring but hoping and praying he’d come home to you safe and sound every time. 

For the last three years, Coronado was an integral part of your life. It was where you’d held Jake’s 35th birthday party, a spontaneous beach gathering complete with a cooler of chilled beers and a portable speaker belting out country tunes. Despite the groans from others, the music had a magical effect on the usually reserved Jake, prompting him to join in with spirited, off-key singing every time. 

It was where you and Jake had shared your first kiss, where he’d first told you he loved you - a sentence he admitted he never thought he’d say to anyone, swearing up and down he’d lead the bachelor life until he either died or retired, whichever came first. He’d always claim it was because he just “wasn’t the settlin’ type”, but his friends always saw right through it. 

“He’s just scared,” Bradley had assured you one day over a beer while Jake tossed darts effortless at the board a few feet out of earshot. 

Reading the puzzled look on your face, Natasha hummed playfully as she sipped her drink before raising an eyebrow at you. 

“He doesn’t want to settle down because he’s scared,” She and Bradley nodded in unison. 

“Yeah, doesn’t wanna leave behind a war widow kinda thing,” Bradley shrugs, “You’d think it’d be me who feels that way considering my dad died when I was literally a toddler, but no, apparently it’s Blondie who’s got the commitment issues.”

The first time Jake referred to you as his girl, the usually chatty Bradley had been rendered speechless, mouth agape while Natasha had choked and sputtered on her beer as she looked wide eyed at Bradley and back at Jake. Jake shrugged it off as if it was nothing, but everyone, even you, knew it was uncharacteristic of him. 

The following weekend after stunning his Navy buddies, he’d been called away to the first mission since you’d started dating. You weren’t expecting it, but you got a heartfelt, emotional goodbye from Jake, one that was genuine and raw, a side of him you’d never seen before. He’d hugged you tightly and kissed you slow and sweet, making it last, permanent on your mind in case he didn’t make it back. As he promised you he’d return, you could hear his normally velvety smooth Southern drawl crack as his voice caught in his throat. 

When he came home a few weeks later, you’d greeted him with a warm embrace, and he held you tighter than he ever had before, his first true public display of affection towards you. Bradley and Natasha could be heard whispering, while Bob simply looked on smiling, knowing how in love Jake really was, watching as it mirrored Bob’s own relationship with his girlfriend. 

“Jake, where are you taking me?” 

You laughed as you snapped back to the present, raising an eyebrow at him as he continued to lead you across the sand. His cargo shorts were hugging his hips perfectly, golden-tanned skin from the California sun illuminated in the light of the setting sun. His green eyes were full of a child-like excitement, his signature grin plastered on his face, looking like it couldn’t be wiped off even if you tried.

“Just trust me, ok? You trust me, don’t ya, Sugar?”

“Alright, alright, I trust you.”

“Atta girl, c’mon, almost there.”

You shook your head and shot him a playful eyeroll as he continued to guide you along the shore. Your mind flashed back to when you and Jake had first slept together - instead of the playful arrogance, overwhelming confidence and cocky egotistical attitude he gave off around his friends, he was the opposite when it came to loving you. He was gentle, caring, passionate and considerate. He checked in with you, making sure you were comfortable and enjoying it. He was selfless in the way he loved you - making sure you were taken care of in all aspects before he was, and if for whatever reason, his climax came before yours, he made a point to bring you to yours by whatever means necessary. 

When Jake asked you to move in with him, the look on your face was one of pure shock and disbelief, you were sure you were dreaming it. Your wide-eyed gaze and raised eyebrows were enough to make Jake laugh, shaking his head at you.

“Now that’s not how I thought you’d react, babe.”

“I’m sorry…I just…can you say it again?”

“Ask you again?”

“Yeah, please?”

“Ok, Sugar, you’re losin’ it, but sure, I want you to move in with me, that sound alright to ya? We both complain we don’t see each other enough, and well, I just feel like it’s time we do somethin’ ‘bout it, right?”

You nodded your head and simply threw your arms around him, letting Jake embrace you tightly as he kissed your cheek. He had his friends help you pack and by the end of that week, you were moved in with him, sharing the little house on base together. His Cowboys jersey hanging in the closet next to your Commanders one - your teams were bitter rivals, and Bradley, who had come from Virginia, your home state, was beyond shocked to see Jake allowing you to wear a Commanders jersey to their Sunday night football watch parties. Bradley, forced to wear a jersey for another team, pouted at Jake.

“How come when I wear my Commanders jersey, I get told to fuck off and stay outside?”

“You don’t look cute in Washington’s colours, Bradshaw,” Jake replied matter of factly as he kissed you on the cheek, leaving Bradley to pout once again.

Jake stopped in front of you, turning his body to face you, bringing you back to reality for another moment. His unwavering grin still on his face, smiling at you as if you were the only sight around him for miles. Your heart melted when he looked at you - it always did - the love he had for you was always evident on his face, his gaze full of admiration and affection for you.

Your eyes widened as Jake went down on one knee in front of you. The sounds of the waves crashing against the sandy coast echoing softly around you. The odd passerby gawking as they went for their stroll in the dusky glow of the beach as the sun began to set on Coronado. Jake beamed up at you from where he stood on bended knee, his eyes matching the seafoam that was pooling around you, inching closer and closer to where you stood. 

“Darlin’, remember that date I took ya on, where you made me dance with ya on the beach, after I swore I never would? That song you made me dance to, the one by Florida Georgia Line?”

“I remember,” you said, gazing at him with tear soaked eyes.

“Sugar, you know I’m not good at this kinda stuff - it’s more Bradley’s thing, being all sentimental and shit, but I’m gonna try my damnest, ok? You know how that song goes, “Baby you know my love is never gonna run dry, never gonna come up empty, now until the day I die, unconditionally,”

Jake’s cheeks blushed a soft pink as he tried his best to carry the tune, serenading you by the oceanside, “then it’s like, “You know I’m always gonna be here for ya, no one’s ever gonna love you more than God, your mama and me”? Guess that’s what I’m tryin’ to say here, no one on this earth is gonna be able to love you, or anyone else more than I do. I’m sure of it. I didn’t even think it was possible for me to love you as much as I do, but Baby, do I ever love you.”

“Jake,” you started, feeling yourself becoming breathless with excitement as he spoke.

“Babygirl, will you do me the greatest honor ever, and become Mrs. Seresin? I never thought I’d ever marry anyone, but I’d be a fool to not marry you, darlin’.” 

Speechless, you nodded your head quickly, unable to make any sound other than an excited squeal of delight as he slipped the ring onto your finger. As Jake stood upright, he wrapped his arms around you, enveloping you in a loving embrace, his lips crashing against yours as he kissed you passionately.

From behind you, you could hear familiar voices cheering - you broke the kiss and turned to see Reuben, Javy, Mickey, Bradley, Natasha and Bob standing there, all beaming at you. Bradley wiped a single tear from his eye in his usual dramatic fashion, while Bob gave a proud thumbs up to Jake. A congratulatory smile formed on Natasha’s features, while Javy, Mickey and Reuben all applauded you both. You were overcome with emotion as you shared this moment with Jake and your friends. 

“You all knew?”

“Of course we knew, Jake can’t keep a secret to save his life,” Natasha grinned, shrugging her shoulders.

“I get to be best man, right?” Bradley grinned as he clapped his hand onto Jake’s shoulder in a congratulatory substitute for a hug. 

[muzanswaifu]

Out of Options

Sugardaddy!Toji x Fem!Reader

18+

You needed money. He wanted free use. You weren't past making an exchange... until he started to get cheap. What else was a girl to do?

5k Words

Big thank you to my beta readers @mistymuichiro & @thosestarry-nights & @mrskokushibo !!!

Sfw Warnings: Sugar Daddy Toji, Sugar Baby Reader, Themes of prostitution, Angst, Bad Communication, Toxic Relationships, Creepy Old Men, Misogyny, Toxic Work Environment, Jealousy

Nsfw Warnings: Smut, Hints of Breeding Kink, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Oral Sex (fem! receiving), Cunnilingus, Squirting

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The wooden frame of the bed slammed viciously into the thin walls of the motel bedroom, the withered coat of eggshell white chipping away with the ruthless collision, likely cracking the wood as well. The hellish creaking burned into your ears, scratching at the back of your brain and preventing any chance of relaxing in the moment. You’d had a shitty day, and the fact that this wasn’t even the worst of it was almost sad.

Work was exhausting, stupid old men yelling at you all day that you couldn’t do your job and the lead physician not doing a thing to stop them. Not to mention that you were in charge of most of the side work all day, replacing the instruments and utensils, emptying trash bins, cleaning out inpatient rooms, none of which was given to any of the newer technicians. You were good at what you did. You studied hard in school, you perfected all of your residency, you had astounding references. Your only flaw? Your gender. You were one of the only females in your department - hell - in the entire building. Most either quit or moved to different hospitals, entirely due to the terrible environment. None of your peers or superiors or inferiors respected you. You were always stuck with the dirty, side work while the others got to do what your job actually entailed, and the rare occurrences when you did get the opportunity to work with patients, they were always abusive to you. It was hell.

But what other choice did you have?

All the other openings at other hospitals were either filled or about to be. No other fields or retail jobs made enough pay. You didn’t have near enough money or grounds to seek out legal help. You were stuck. You were desperate for money. You were out of options.

You had family to take care of - two brothers, a sister, your mother. Dad died years ago in a car accident. Mom was already working overtime with two jobs, barely making ends meet. Rent, insurance, taxes, student loans, car payments, groceries, clothing, hospital bills, schooling, existing. It all cost money. So much money. It felt like you were suffocating. You were out of options.

Finally the creaking stopped. You back was already sore beyond belief and your legs numb. Your knees were probably bruised, too. Damn, you could go for some marble cheesecake right now. Your nose scrunched as you smelt the familiar scent of cigarette smoke, you lungs burning from the second hand nicotine.

“Here.”

A wad of cash fell across your back, the paper crunchy and bent. You groaned as you rose up, stretching your back out and hissing at how tight you were. How much was ibuprofen again?

You flicked through the money, your brow furrowing when you shuffled across the last layer.

“This isn’t enough,” you countered.

The end of his cigarette burned gold. He stood in front of the window, brushing away the curtain to peer outside as he took a drawl. He was still naked and didn’t seem in a rush to dress himself.

“It’d be more if ya didn’t make me wear a condom.”

You scowled but kept silent, fidgeting at the sides of your panties where he tied the damn things. The latex was knotted tight with each used rubber, five in total today. It’d be easier to just throw the whole pair away.

He took another hit.

“Won’t make our date on Saturday,” he mumbled, “got plans.”

You were already redressing yourself, desperate to get out of there and get going. Shower. Eat. Jerk off. Go to sleep. There were only so many hours in a day and you still had work in the morning.

You sighed, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

He chuckled softly to himself. “How’s work.”

“Bye, Toji.”

The store wasn’t all that crowded surprisingly. It was Thursday afternoon, but people tended to not follow norms around here when it came to scheduling. They were out of marble cheesecake so you had to get turtle. It was too sweet in your opinion.

Everyone was asleep when you got home, but you were grateful for the privacy. Mom was still at work.

You locked your door and ruffled through your bottom drawer, fetching out your vibrator. The fan in your room was loud so nobody could hear it anyway. God, you were tired.

You never thought of anything particular when you were trying to get off, it honestly depended on the day. Sometimes you thought about getting eaten out slowly by a fireplace. Sometimes you thought about getting dicked down in a dark alley. No matter the scenario, there was only one similarity. You never imagined anyone in particular. You couldn’t put a face to the man. He was big, muscular, strong. You felt safe yet thrilled underneath him. But you couldn’t see him, if that made any sense.

Your sex drive had always been high. Ever since puberty you were antsy and pent up, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to date. Your first boyfriend was overwhelmed with how needy you were, and the moment you sensed his rejection, your attraction to him plummeted. You needed to feel secure before you felt horny. Were you demisexual? Maybe. You weren’t sure and hardly had time to find yourself.

You tried to find another partner again in your third year of college. There was a party at a local bar, and your friends hyped you up to go. You were both drunk, him more than you. He had whiskey dick. You didn’t feel comfortable. You left relatively quickly after calling him an uber. Failed again.

You didn’t try again after that.

You were fine keeping to yourself. You had your own assortment of toys awaiting you in your room. And work only solidified your hatred of the male species. You likely would’ve remained celibate forever if you hadn’t run into Toji.

You had just gotten off work, walking through the subway to catch the next train. Your engine was busted so your car was in the shop. Not many people were around, and the ones that were left after a while since it was taking too long. But you were too tired to walk so you stayed. The sketchy figures in the back didn’t seem like a big deal at the time. Finally the train came and you got on, only about six people onboard. The man a couple feet down on the bench smelt like burnt flesh. He had a cigar in his mouth despite the no smoking sign. Whatever, it wasn’t any of your business. Your left side was occupied, surprisingly, despite the abundance of free seats. This man was close, too close. Two others gathered in front of you. 

“Where ya headed to baby?

“Yeah, yeah, you need some company?“

“We’ll treat ya real nice.”

You tried to ignore their taunts, keeping your eyes down and trying to appear as small as possible. You immediately noticed when a knife was drawn.

“We’re tryna talk to you, bitch.”

The blade nicked the bottom of your jaw, your blood running cold.

“Yer makin’ too much ruckus over there.”

Everyone slowly turned to look at who spoke. The man looked without a care in the world.

“Didn’t fuckin’ ask you, now did I old man?” The knife was now pointed to him.

He drew a long sigh and took out his blunt, pressing the lit end into the seat, the plastic screaming in agony.

You don’t really remember the rest of the conversation. Everything was a blur. Words were said. Punches were thrown. Bones were shattered. The man with the cigarette hardly got up from his seat, really. The next thing you knew he was sat back down and the others were lying on the floor, knocked out. You shifted your feet away so they didn’t get near the bodies.

Awkwardly, you tried to thank him, offer him what little you had in your pocket, mostly out of fear. You didn’t want to get on the bad side of someone who could so easily hurt people, and you didn’t want to appear ungrateful. Based on the scar that tore into his mouth, he’d seen his fair share of violence. He turned it down. You offered to buy him food. He turned it down. Medical care to clean his fists? He turned it down. You were out of options. Was there anything you could offer him? His answer still burned in your mind.

“You wanna fuck?”

The money afterward was unexpected. You woke up sore and broken, your thighs burning and covered in bruises. He was long gone, in his place a wad of cash that made your eyes bulge. Did he think you were a hooker? You weren’t sure. The sex wasn’t bad. You didn’t get off, but he obviously knew what he was doing. It felt nice. You felt safe.

Your next meeting, he found you walking the streets. Money in hand, stinking of booze. Wagging a room key in your face and giving you an address to go to if you need some money. Maybe he thought you were someone else. You didn’t care. You needed money and didn’t mind the sex. You were always wet enough to be comfortable for a decent amount of time, but it would hurt more after each round. You wish he didn’t last so long. Or for so many rounds. You wondered if he was even human. More money.

You had a couple rules for your… relationship. No kissing. No oral (for either of you). No raw contact or cumming on your body. No telling. You didn’t need a reputation.

He paid based on what he felt like paying you, but he was never stingy so you didn’t mind. Until lately.

He wasn’t paying as much as he used to. He didn’t seem to be enjoying himself as much. Maybe he was getting bored. You were worried.

You needed the money. You always needed money. And this wasn’t paying like it used to. It was a hard pill to swallow, but you knew what you had to do.

You needed another outlet.

It was going to be hard to find one. You were essentially selling your body, but you still had standards. You refused to sleep with anyone who you didn’t find attractive, anyone who was married, anyone dangerous. Your work was cut out for you.

And since you were now free on Saturday, you would go out then.

You put your siblings to bed early, double checking with mom that she’d be out until early morning. You dressed nice but not too nice. Hot but not too hot. It was a fine line you were walking, and you absolutely were not going to cross it.

The bar in the popular part of the city was going to be the number one spot for rich bachelors. You never went there yourself because it was so expensive and uptight, but you were looking to get drinks anyway. You didn’t have to wait long before you had a drink in front of you, courtesy of a gentleman sitting in a booth in the back. He was too old for you but you smiled at him. The others came quickly. You had the bartender sneak most of them into the sink. You couldn’t get drunk and most of these men you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole. It was starting to get late. You didn’t spot anyone worth your while.

“This seat taken?”

You whipped around to your right, surprised to see a young man - no - someone your age in here. Not to mention attractive. You shook your head, trying to cover your own shock.

“Not a lot of… not… old guys in here, am I right?” He laughed, nodding toward the tables of older gentleman. Most were fifty or so. You felt gross now realizing how many were staring at you.

You laughed back nervously, “Yeah…”

“What brings you here?” He asked innocently, “Not that you don’t belong here! You just look… I don’t know - uncomfortable?”

You cringed. Did you look uncomfortable? 

“Yeah, sorry. Just… hanging around, I suppose,” you offered. He was too cute now. You couldn’t bring yourself to take his money even if you wanted to. 

He smiled. “Same here. I thought this place was going to be fun, but there’s not a lot to do.” He looked around. “Most of these guys are talkin’ business.” Looking around yourself, you realized he was right. Most of them were meeting up with business partners whiles others were trying to make business partners. Some looked pretty shady. You were getting more nervous by the minute.

“I-I have to go,” you mumbled quickly, getting up from your seat end creeping toward the door. He was surprised. “Uh, by-”

You bumped into something, stumbling back into the bar. 

“Oi, you should watch where you’r-”

You gasped.

The music got louder. The air felt heavy. His eyes looked dark.

The corners of his mouth tugged down and his eyes narrowed. Sweat condensed on your brow.

“What are you doing here?” He growled, his stature big and menacing. His green eyes bore into you sharply.

“I-I-I-”

“Hey-” The boy from before was back. “Are you okay?” He looked to Toji and frowned.

“This guy bothering you?” He asked, all too naive. You gently pushed him back. You could see Toji about to pounce. 

You pushed him back a little harder when he didn’t get the hint. “No, it’s fine, man,” you told him, “just go.”

He gave you another concerned look, but left when you gave him a stern one. You felt bad. He seemed nice.

Much to your disappointment, the other man you were dealing with didn’t just vanish into thin air. You sighed. “I was just about to leave, anyway.” You tried to step past him. He didn’t let you, his wide torso stepping in front of you. His smirk made your skin crawl.

“Let’s talk.”

You weren’t given the option to deny him as he stole you away, a large fist grabbing you arm far too harshly. He pulled you through the exit, dragging you down the crowded street. Any struggle you made was met with a firm tug, his grip getting tighter and tighter. You were definitely going to bruise.

When you’d rounded lone alleyway between the buildings, he’d pressed you against the wall, the grainy texture of the brick scratching your skin.

“What the fuck was that about, huh?” He hissed, his teeth sharp and burning white.

“You fucking around? You screw any of those fuckers?” He’d never been so angry with you before. He’d never been angry with you, period. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

“N-no!” you argued, “Toji, no. What the hell - what are you doing here?” When he gave no answer, his eyes still glaring, you continued.

“You said you were busy today…”

No answer.

“I can spend my free time wherever I want.”

No. Answer. Your eyes glazed over, and you turned away from him.

“I… needed money…”

With that he seemed to let up.

“Money?” He scoffed. “This how you get money now? What the fuck happened to your job?”

“Nothing… I just needed more.” You bit your lip. “Your’s isn’t enough.”

“What do you mean mine isn’t enough?” He barked. He wrapped his hand under you jaw, his palm grasping your pulse.

“I told you I’d give you more if you let me screw you raw. Didn’t I?”

You swallowed thickly, tears clinging to your eyelashes.

You looked back at him with fear in your eyes, his hand slowly closing around your neck. His expression softened ever so slightly as he realized he was scaring you.

He released you with a huff and walked a few steps away, running a hand down his face.

“What’s the issue? STDs? Birth control? I’m clean, and I’ll get you pills-”

“No!”

He looked at you surprised. You calmed yourself down and rubbed your arms, suddenly feeling the chill of the air.

“Toji…,” you began, “we’re… not together. You have your fun, I get paid - that’s all we do.” You looked up at him softly. “I need more than what you’re giving me.”

His eyes narrowed. “You saying you don’t have fun.”

You bit your lip and looked away. He scowled. Wrong answer.

He took wide strides forward, cornering you against the wall yet again, this time with his hands on either side of your head, forcing you to face him.

“You saying you don’t love it when I fuck you? That your cunt doesn’t fuckin’ love my cock?

You frowned back at him.

“You tell me.”

His mouth thinned.

It was no secret that you didn’t come when you two fucked. It’s not like he was trying either. You always prepped yourself beforehand, lubing yourself up and stretching yourself out so he didn’t hurt you. And during your escapades, he always just pulled his dick out and got to it. He never touched you more than necessary, never tried to feel you up or grope around. His only goal was to get himself off. And you were fine with that. So long as he paid you.

His eyes looked at you softly, he almost looked guilty, but you knew him better than that. You sighed and pushed away from him.

“It’s late… I gotta go hom-”

He grabbed your wrist, squeezing tight.

You looked down at it, his hand engulfing your arm, his fingers and knuckles all too big for you. His nails dug into your skin and he pulled you back. You couldn't walk away if you wanted to. You were trapped. You wanted to push him away, you wanted to be mad, but you couldn't find it in yourself.

He leaned in, his eyes soft yet cold.

You flinched, his lips connecting with the side of your neck. He was rough, his mouth moving against your flesh in a sloppy kiss. His tongue flicked across your neck, and his teeth tugged at your skin. He was hungry. Always hungry. You pushed your free hand against him. He ignored it.

His free hand snaked up to the underside of your breast, the other dropping to your hip, his palm resting on the bone. His thumb rubbed at the exposed skin where your chest spilled out. You felt conflicted.

He bit you harshly, drawing blood. Your eyes widened and you hissed.

“So that’s what this was all about, huh?” He rasped, his bottom lip resting on your skin, his breath hot.

“Little girl not cumming like she wants to?”

You pushed his face away and groaned.

“As if you’ve ever gotten me off? I’m leaving.”

You went to move, but he kept his grip tight. He grabbed the other wrist as well. He squeezed hard, forcing you to gasp. He smirked.

“You’re this stubborn you’ve forgotten how to ask for things? You had me worried there. Thought you were tryna end things for real.”

Your face flushed in anger and embarrassment. You yanked your arms away but he didn't let go. You tugged once, twice, three times - he didn't let go. You yelped as he tugged back, forcing you to stumble and fall against him. He pressed his hips against yours, his groin digging into your stomach. You grunted at the pressure, your toes curling at the contact. He was hard already, his cock throbbing against your navel.

He pinned your arms over your head, his weight forcing you up against the wall, his mouth looming over yours. You turned your head to the side. He couldn’t kiss you, that was against the rules. His hot breath fell down your cheek and neck.

He leaned in again and you turned away.

He was hungry. Always hungry.

He leaned in again. And again.

You whimpered softly and groaned. Your heart throbbed.

You swallowed thickly as he leaned in again, your chest heaving, his lips brushing against your jaw. You shook your head weakly. He huffed, a deep, almost animalistic rumble leaving his chest.

You whined and shut your eyes.

His tongue smoothed over your jawline, his hand finally letting go of you.

You placed a hand on his shoulder but didn't push him away. He was too strong, anyway.

He grunted and ran his fingers through your hair, grasping a handful and pulling your head back. You whined, the sound only encouraging him to continue, your hair tightening in his fist. He pushed his hips against yours, his hard cock pressing against your pelvis, the fabric of your skirt doing nothing to stop the feeling.

“C’mon sweetheart, Don’tcha wanna feel good?” He cooed.

He forced you into the wall once more, his free hand moving down to your thigh, squeezing the skin just under your knee. He pulled your leg up, wrapping it over his hip, his bulge rubbing your heat. A chuckle rose deep within his throat, and he licked at your ear.

“Ugh, Toji, stop it! You’re being annoying,” you complained, despite the thrill lacing up your spine. He laughed.

“Don’t lie,” the man crooned. “I’ll make you come so hard, you’ll be beggin’ me to fuck ya.” 

Your cowered away. “Wha-” Umph.

You couldn’t finish as you we dropped onto a hard surface, a mixture of both brick and stale dirt. Looking up, dead branches and deader leaves filled your vision. The alley way had led to a smaller subsection of the street, a lone crevice in the city district that was long abandoned and withering away. Your dress was smushed into the dirt of the old dirt bowl that was in the center of the small courtyard, the tree taking root twisted and weak. It almost seemed pitifully metaphorical to your current situation.

A scheming hand slithered up your thigh, scrunching back your crinkled skirt and hiking it around your hips, your lacey g-string fully exposed.

“Fuck,” Toji moaned, licking his lips, “You were definitely looking to get fucked tonight.”

“No I wasn’t!” You countered nervously, trying to press your thighs together to hide yourself. Despite being in an abandoned area, you were still in a public space and didn’t want to be seen by anyone. Much less be here for the long duration it took him to be satisfied. But this time felt a bit different. He was taking his time, touching you more, teasing. He usually got straight to business and had his fly down by now, but instead it was you who was being undressed, his big, warm hands encompassing your thighs and groping them. He was trying to break another rule, you could feel it. He had a devious look in his eye. He smiled at you.

“How much to touch your pussy?”

You were taken aback by the question, squeezing your thighs even tighter.

“Wha- that’s off limits!”

“No, no,” he insisted, “everything’s got a price, baby. What’s yours?”

He couldn’t possibly be serious. You’d never seen him so adamant to give you pleasure, much less offer money for it. From your experience, men were hesitant to do anything besides receive, convincing themselves that woman adored pleasing them. And the rare moment when they did touch a girl, it was always careless and short-lived, the only real goal to get them wet enough to be a slippery hole. You weren’t in the mood to be disappointed.

“Thirty thousand yen? Forty?”

“Not interested.”

“More?”

“No.”

He leered.

“Three. Hundred. Thousand.”

Your eyes bulged. Mouth gaping.

“Th-thats…”

“Going once,” he announced. “Going twice!” Don’t let him get to three.

You could get a new computer with that, replace your old busted one that had lost half the keys and took fifty years to load.

“Going-”

“I’ll do it!” You gasped, defeated. “I’ll do it…”

His paws squeezed your thighs, drifting up the insides and gently prying them apart. You hardly fought him when you realized that was the only way you were going to get the money. New computer. New computer. You tried to focus on the positives.

Toji pressed his cheek into your inner thigh, kissing your skin softly. You shivered at the feeling of his soft lips brushing your flesh. He moved up your leg, placing his hands on each side of your panties and tugging them down, your skin glistening with sweat as he pulled the cloth against the curves of your flesh. He pulled your legs apart further and licked a long stripe up your skin. the wetness cold on your overheated flesh. You clenched your teeth. You were on the verge of telling him the deal was off, but his tongue brushed against your core and you could no longer find the words. He kissed and sucked at the sensitive skin of your thighs, leaving marks in his wake.

Your core throbbed.

He pulled you closer to the edge of the pot, your body lying at an awkward angle, the base of your spine aching.

Toji pressed a thumb against your slit, dragging it across your folds and collecting your slick on the pad. You shuddered.

He ran the pad of his thumb across your clit, rubbing slow circles into the bundle of nerves. You gripped his hair with one hand, tugging it hard, his muffled groan tickling your core. His finger slipped between your folds, easily entering your wet hole, his finger much bigger than your own. You grunted at the intrusion, the thick digit stretching your inner walls, his knuckle pressing against your clit as he bottomed out inside of you. He wiggled his finger, stretching your walls before pumping his finger in and out of your cunt, dragging out every little noise he could from your mouth.

He pulled you closer to the edge of your seat, your legs dangling in the air as he sat between your thighs, your hands digging into the dirt beneath you for support.

His finger moved slowly within you, his eyes never leaving yours, a fire burning within his emerald eyes. You grunted when he added another finger, the feeling almost too much for you. Your noises echoed briefly throughout the courtyard, bouncing off the concrete and surrounding buildings, and you were all too aware of how loud you were being. You pulled harder on his hair as the knot in your stomach grew tighter.

But you tried to keep your composure, your body still tense with the fear of your surroundings. Any moment someone could come waltzing by, see what you two were doing, your disheveled appearance, perhaps even try to take advantage. Your alarm hindered your concentration on the pleasure.

“What’s up?” You heard, turning your eyes back down to look at him. You hadn’t realized your gaze had wandered to the opening in the walls to where the city life buzzed about. He glanced over to where you were looking.

“Ain’t nobody comin’ over here. Relax,” he mumbled, his eyes getting warm again. “I’ll protect ya. Just relax.”

Your heart throbbed at the promise, warmth enveloping your body. You hesitantly let your head fall back and sighed, dropping your shoulders. His free hand moved to the hem of your skirt and pushed it up over your belly. He wanted a good view. You didn't care. You felt… safe.

His fingers picked up speed, fucking you harder as you bit your lip. His thumb moved back to your clit, rubbing circles on the swollen button. You hummed and sighed, his fingers twisting inside you. The pleasure began to build up again, boiling in your belly and tingling up your spine. And just when you got comfortable he only took it further.

Heat enveloped your clit, wet and slippery and hot like a warm bath. You gasped out, squirming around a bit and digging your nails into the roots in the ground. Looking back down, you confirmed your theory. Toji’s head was between your thighs, his mouth on your pussy and wrapped around your little bead, his fingers still working inside of you. Soft pants and whines left your mouth, your legs shaking around his head as he continued to suck at you, his tongue swirling around and prodding under the hood, leaving you slick and sensitive. Your core throbbed.

You felt a sharp pressure inside you, and then a slow stretch. You yelped. A third finger was entering you, your cunt molding around the thick digit. You writhed  again, trying to ease the ache of the intrusion. His other hand rested on your belly, gently smoothing over your skin as he ate you. His head moved side to side, tongue laving over you, his hands never stopping their movements. Oh god. It felt like you going to- to-

“Ah!,” you moaned, shaking viciously and clutching at his head, holding him in place. You were melting, you were sure of it. Everything was slipping away from you, your bones, your brain, your worries. His tongue kept lashing at you, extending your pleasure and refusing to slow down. His fingers remained pressed against your sweet spot, his other hand pushing on your belly. It was all too much, you were squealing with overstimulation. It got tighter. And tighter. And tighter. Until something popped.

All the tension broke from your body, the shocking sensations melting into something warm and fuzzy. You slowly let go of everything, all tension easing away from you and allowing for complete bliss to take over. Sweet sighs and mewls left your lips, your back lying against the dirt as you caught your breath and waited for your head and pussy to stop tingling. Another whine was pulled from you when he took his fingers and mouth away from you, unraveling your legs from his head and stepping back.

“You fallin’ asleep now?” He laughed.

You pouted and groaned. “No… jus’… gimme a sec.” Your bones were like jelly, your eyelids heavy. He cackled at you and that was the push you needed to get off your ass. He looked smitten.

“Good, right?” He crooned, wiping his mouth, “Ya fuckin’ squirted on me.”

Your face got dark and you looked to your lap, embarrassed.  

“Nothin’ to be ashamed about princess.” He assured, fishing out his wallet and shufflling through the bills. He took out a stack and threw it in your lap.

“It was hot.”

You groaned again and dug your face into your hands, trying to ignore his raspy laughing.

You jolted when you felt his breath on you, looking up and freezing. His eyes burned into you.

“Now next time, let’s work out this condom situation, alright?”

You gulped.

~

Part 2 coming eventually...

[fairyofshampgyu]

Why do you hate me?

Pairing: class president! kai x stoner! reader

genre: smut, crack

warning: sub! kai x dom! reader, use of drugs, sex whilst high, riding, humping, semi public, nipple play, corruption kink (?)

word count: 1.5k

“As you all know there was a big fight that went viral and was shared across numerous platforms between two students last week.”

Everyone excitedly burst into chatter and giggles, talking about the fight between choi beomgyu and choi soobin when they had—more of a hair pulling fight—over beomgyu stealing soobin’s last strawberry drink and throwing it over the fence.

“Please don’t film these kinds of situations or spread them. We’ll be looking out for the main perpetrators who filmed and spread this. It’d be helpful if anyone had any information. We should all be upstanders not bystanders!”

The whole class not so subtly, stares at Kang Taehyun, the said culprit and who filmed the entire fight, dealing out the whole, ‘exclusive’ recording to see who actually won for $20. He appears nonchalant though, sitting in his seat upright and also looking around the classroom in shock, feigning innocence.

“The two students have been dealt with accordingly and will both be in seclusion until further notice. Oh! Also the last concern raised with the committee was the littering issue going round. Please make sure to not leave your food or litter around and clean up after yourselves!” Huening Kai stood at the front of the class, enthusiastically and confidently delivering his speech as class president.

The students erupted into cheers and claps and whistles for their adored class president. Everyone loved huening Kai. It was hard not to when he was so friendly and good looking, greeting everyone with a wide smile as he passed the corridors, most squealing over his charisma.

However, you were one not so fond of his sunny disposition. You didn’t like how he adhered and maintained the rules whilst you actively tried to break them. You found his cheeriness and enthusiasm and the way people fawned over him quite irritating in actuality.

You rolled your eyes, turning to talk to your other stoner friend Taeyong about how annoying the class president was.

“With how much you talk about huening Kai, I’d think you actually have a crush on him or something.” Taeyong raises one of his pierced brows.

“What? As if!” You let out an incredulous scoff.

“I’m just saying you talk way too much about how you dislike him, never for a plausible reason. It feels like you’re actually obsessed with him. Your enemies to lovers arc?” Taeyong snickers.

“That literally doesn’t make any sense.” You elbow him in disgust and go on to chatting and complaining about something else.

Huening kai had caught your eye roll after his speech as he sat back in his seat, frowning and becoming overridden with confusion and sadness. He knew you had never liked him and he just couldn’t wrap his head around why, wanting to fix things with you so badly if he could.

“Oh! Kai!” The teacher stops him in the middle of the hallway, exhaling a breath of relief after finally catching up. “I’m really busy now so as class president could you go and look into some of the students hiding and smoking behind the art block all the time? We need to actually deal with this problem of drugs in our school. Inspectors are coming in soon we need to look good and not have them walking in seeing students smoking.”

“Sure thing, miss!”

“And make sure you report back to me the names of students there. Thank you, Kai.”

Huening Kai sighs, teachers always loved to dump their issues and own work on himself using it as an excuse that he was the class president and giving him way too much responsibility than he should have. He practically did everything around here and it could get quite stressful being so relied on at times.

Kai follows the trail of smoke he can see to the hidden part behind the art block. Everyone should be in class right now so he wonders who it is that is smoking.

When he makes it there his eyes catch yours, the only person here and he must say, he’s not that surprised.

“You should be in class right now with everyone else, y/n.”

You roll your eyes and stare at him with disgust, “Wow it’s the class president ready to ruin the mood again.”

Kai frowns, face resembling that of a kicked puppy and looking back at you with a pout, “Why do you hate me so much, y/n? Did I do something? Is there any way I can fix it?”

Your mouth parts in surprise, taken a back by how genuinely upset he seems about it. You can feel a little pang in your heart seeing him this way, feeling like you have to immediately change it and you don’t know why.

“Uhh…I don’t-I don’t hate you, Kai. I just-you’re not my favourite person in the world.”

He seems more upset by that, bottom lip jutting out.

“Um! I mean…I don’t know…We’re just very different people”

“I don’t mean to make you feel so unequal. As class president-“

You groan, “Do you ever give that a rest? Don’t you ever get bored of that?”

“Actually, it does get quite tiring and stressful sometimes being so depended and admired on by everyone, thinking that I can do everything. I guess you never really have though.” Huening kai comes to sit on the bench with you.

You pause in thought, placing the joint to your lips again, “You know what would make you feel better?”

“What?”

“This.” You wavered the joint.

“I-I shouldn’t.”

“Why not? It’ll make you feel good, no one’s around.”

Huening Kai contemplates it with a worried glance, eventually giving into the temptation of it. “O-okay…just to try though.”

Kai accepts the joint with trembling fingers, looking at you to see if he's doing it right and taking a puff before spluttering and coughing and you laugh a little.

It's not a long before the weed starts to kick in as you both take turns passing the joint and taking drags, laughter and giggles mingling with the smoke that curled and enveloped you both.

Caught up in the hazy euphoria, both your eyes meet, locking in a trance-like gaze and your eyes flicker down to his pretty lips for a second and he does the same until something comes over you and you can’t resist, quickly leaning in and cupping his cheek, smashing your lips with his.

Yeah, It’s the drugs. You’ve definitely never thought about this moment before.

You make out with kai in a frenzy that matches both your heightened state, soft lips moving against each other and you move to straddle his lap instead, causing him to look up at you in surprise. You grin before trailing the rough kisses on his neck instead and he can’t contain his embarrassed whimpers anymore, cheeks so hot and flushed as you caressed one of them.

You can feel him growing harder underneath you and you pull him closer, grinding against him.

“Y-y/n!” Kai yelps and gasps, scrunching his eyes shut at the feeling and contact of his dick.

You do it again, his reactions so amusing. With a particular rough roll of your hips, kai’s eyes roll deeply back, gripping onto your hips until he starts to chase it as well, hips moving of their own accord and rutting against you with his mouth agape.

Huening kai’s usual well articulated, spoken and composed self long gone, easily replaced with flushed cheeks and a mixture of stammering breaths and whimpers and moans as you both continuously grind and hump against each other.

In a rush you undo his pants, his flushed and thick cock springing out and kai shyly hides in the crook of your neck. You take his dick, pushing your panties aside and slowly sink down on him, kai biting at your neck and moaning out loud.

Slowly you ride him, having to cover his mouth with your hand from how obvious he was being as tears welled up in his eyes.

You lean to whisper against his ear, nibbling at it and thumbing over his impossibly red cheeks, “You’re such a good boy.” Which only spurs him more on and his muffled whines.

You deliriously bounce on his cock, sounds so sticky and obscene, removing your hand and attaching your lips with his again and drinking up all his noises, quickening your movements to get him to the edge, hands going up his buttoned shirt to roll your fingers over his pretty tits.

“t-think m’close…”

“Cum for me.”

And he moans even louder than he has, hands gripping on your shirt for dear life and head lolling back, body trembling as his cum spills in your pussy and you moan as well, both your eyes filled with a dazed satisfaction.

He rests his forehead with yours and pants heavily, you ruffling his hair as his eyes still flutter open and shut, suddenly taking in the weight of what just happened.

“I-I know shouldn’t have…b-but I liked it.” Huening kai sheepishly stutters, still breathing heavily.

You smile, sheen of sweat on your forehead and kiss him one more time, “Same.”

Huening kai decides not to report the person smoking behind the art block, instead finding himself frequenting there just to see you and smoke and make out, a secret new found place where he can relieve tension and stress.

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys 😭 if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s discouraging and sad when fics have such little reblogs ☹️👎🤨 Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write :) !

Taglist: @jayoonology @banggyu0308 @idontwantoeatspicy @lovelyhyuka14

[ctimenefic]

the living and the dead

A little entry for @motorsport-halloween fest that's the closest I've got to actual horror.

It's too short to summarise without giving the whole game away, but, uh, warning for character deaths? Plural? And ritualised violence, and blood, and dismemberment, I guess.

It hadn’t made any sense, how right Albon seemed. They always come back wrong. 

He misses Logan’s call because of a sponsor event; six hours later, when he’s staring blankly at the blood oozing down from the ragged hole in his kitchen wall, Albon’s call comes through loud and clear.

“Oscar,” he says. His hesitance sounds pathetic. “Don’t do it.”

“Fuck you,” Oscar replies, and hangs up. When he flexes his hand, the serum-shiny clots on his knuckles break open. 

It takes him a while to realise the ringing isn’t in his ears again. 

“Really,” Albon says, more certain now, insistent. “It’s not worth it. Don’t do it.”

“You’re there, aren’t you?” Oscar asks. Even to himself he sounds flat. Finished. “Grove. You fucking watched.” He hears Alex swallow round his tombstone teeth. 

“I- He was okay. He understood. Oscar, seriously, don’t do it. He won’t thank you for it.”

“Fuck you. Don’t bury him deep,” he warns, and ends the call. 

He’d liked Albon, is the thing. When he’d first been in the F1 paddock, as a reserve, he’d expected something a bit more gruesome. Something wrong. But Alex had smiled, and cracked bad jokes, and touched his mechanics and other drivers without making them shudder. Even close up, he looked normal. His t-shirts sat high and tight on his neck, sure, but that was hardly uncanny. He sweated. He breathed. He hadn’t looked like Ocon, red-eyed, waxy and sallow and so obviously desperate to rip out Pierre’s throat that Renault had wired his jaw shut. 

It hadn’t made any sense, how right Albon seemed. They always come back wrong. 

At Monza ‘22, Oscar had assumed the subterfuge had been stretched too thin. He didn’t want to dwell on it, but he’d had a vague idea of something out of The Exorcist, Alex crawling across ceilings, spewing bile. After all, a dead man couldn’t have appendicitis. 

Except, it turned out, he could. 

He’s dwelling on it now. 

Oscar had missed Logan’s call, so he’d found out through notifications. First:

George Russell has removed Logan from the GPDA Drivers Chat

Then

BREAKING: Logan Sargeant CULLED as Vowles rededicates Williams

And

WATCH THE VIDEO: Grove ceremony called a “bloody mess” by F1 legend 

Another one slides onto his screen now, right under another call from Albon he declines.

George Russell: Do you want to know how?

He hits the autoreply that WhatsApp prompts: Yes

There was no doubting that Albon had been culled. Oscar had seen the pictures, nineteen and in awe of what Red Bull would do for victory. (It had only been photos, no video. The rumour was they’d had to drug him, that he’d stumbled to the altar and still fought there, and it’d be a bad look to have their sacrifice calling for his mum.) 

They’d cut his throat to the white of the bone. The blood had flowed down across the bodywork of the cars – both of them, Alex’s and Max’s – before it hit the earth. Oscar had wondered if it made the sponsors happy, the evidence of Christian’s commitment splattered bright red over their names. So much blood, it couldn’t be denied, couldn’t be fake. And anyway, there was the last picture, of Albon pale and split and unmistakably dead, curled over the halo, the candlelit shallow grave just visible in the background. 

And yet. Come 2022, he smiled. He joked. He touched. 

Somehow, George Russell had dragged Albon’s filthy corpse into Grove and brought him back whole. 

So it can be done. 

George is still in Monaco. Oscar rings round, has a private jet refuelling on the tarmac in Nice, a helicopter ready for him in twenty minutes. George had said it wouldn’t take long to teach him. 

They meet on a beach by the helipad. There’s not much moon left – and it makes it worse, that Vowles couldn’t wait a week for the new moon and an auspicious time before sharpening his knife – but what little light there is makes George stark against the pale sand. His shadow stretches back almost to the cliffs. 

“Terrible business,” he says in greeting. “I’d thought they’d go for retirement.”

Oscar swallows round the rock of guilt in his throat. He’d thought it too, since almost the start of the season – that Williams would let Logan go, and Oscar would have to bully him into wielding the knife, carving through his wrists. Not ending up like Latifi, too stubborn to see he’d run out of track, culled by default, an afterthought disposed of somewhere in the winter break.

He’d have cut off Logan’s hands himself to keep him. Pressed kisses to the stumps. Hell, Fernando still drives like a champion with his prosthetics, and yes, maybe he casts two shadows now, but that’s better than culling. 

“I’d’ve thought James could cut more cleanly,” George adds, a disapproving note in his voice. “Ruthlessness needs a steady hand.”

“Can we not?” Oscar interrupts. “Just- what do I need to do to get him- what do I need to do?” 

“Well, you’ll need the body first. Can’t do anything while he’s still inside her. Try to get as much of the dirt off as possible. You’ll want to check his mouth.” George pauses, and Oscar shoves his hands deep into his pockets to avoid picturing mud on Logan’s white teeth, his blue lips, his limp, cold tongue. 

“She’s clingy,” George adds. It makes Oscar feel uneasy, hearing him so dismissive, flippant, about a power so beyond knowing. “We called her Gaia, at Williams.” A little smile plays at the corner of his mouth, like it’s a secret. Like Oscar cares about names right now. 

It’s mostly common knowledge, anyway. Red Bull call her Mother, because they don’t much go in for subtlety. McLaren use Terra, which Oscar thinks fits better. Terror. That’s what she is. 

She’s had many names. Only one state, though. Hungry. 

The earth is hungry. They pump out her blood, rip her flesh, burn her in their cars and she wants recompense. 

“That’s the easy bit. After that, you have to consider the price.”

Oscar squares his shoulders. The lights of Monaco are all behind him, only the black of the ocean ahead. The entire city could wink out of existence, and he wouldn’t know. 

For all he cares, it already has. They filmed Logan’s cull, they put it on the internet, but Oscar’s just as dead without him. 

“What is it?”

George’s smile has too many teeth. “What do you think?”

He thinks of the earth’s anger, how the McLaren might fade away underneath him, like the Mercedes does to George. How it might snatch his home race, his poles, give Lando an advantage he doesn’t deserve. He could live with that. 

He thinks of the way George talks about a WDC sometimes, like it’s a decade or more out of reach. Like twenty years in the sport won’t wear the flesh from his bones, and take his hands at the end of it all the same. He could live with that. 

He thinks of Latifi, face down in the dirt. There hadn’t been a video then either. Toto had been busy, skiing – someone else had stepped in, carved him up. The photos hadn’t captured their face, but the long arm had worn a sponsor’s watch. 

He could live with that.

“Anything. I’ll pay anything.”

George chuckles. It sounds wrong.

“Are you sure?”

He turns to argue, shout, punch it out of George if he has to. George doesn’t move his body at all. But his head turns. His eyes are too large. Too dark.

Before Oscar can speak, a large wave breaks too close, a crack of saltwater against rock and sand. Sea foam races up the beach, drenches Oscar’s thongs.

A perfect ring around George’s feet remains bone dry. But where the sand is wet, things squirm under the surface. Hundreds of lugworms raise wiggling paths away, away, away from the shape of him, the cast of his shadow. 

Alex smiles-

but not at George. 

He cracks jokes- 

but not with George. 

He touches-

but not-

He came back right. But he hadn’t walked out of Grove alone. 

George unhinges his jaw. A thousand voices speak.

Deep in his pocket, Oscar’s phone starts ringing. 

“Are you sure?”

---

Logan Sargeant rots in a shallow grave and a dead man wins a championship. 

---

“Hey. It’s me. Obviously. Uh. So. It’s not gonna be an easy retirement like we thought. They- they think she’s too hungry. After the crash. The factory shook and- well. It’s my job. But, um, if you can get here. Before- I’d like that. I miss you. I will miss you. I’ll keep my cell on, so- yeah.”

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Lion's Pride [PART 1]

Gender Neutral Reader x Leona Kingscholar Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: You fall into a hole. There is something in the hole. Something with teeth, and claws, and a garbage attitude to boot. Today is not your day.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3]

Let it be known, that of all the ways you could have died in your miserable and unlucky life, falling into a pit trap had not been on the list. Or, well, if it was, it hadn’t even managed to crack the top ten. And that was what was making this whole ‘sudden demise’ thing feel really pathetic.

On top it also being an uncovered pit trap. No subterfuge or class to speak of. Just a big ol’ hole in the ground that you had waltzed straight into. Ace would keel over dead laughing if he ever found out.

It was a pretty nice trap all things considered. The walls were dug into some strange sort of stone rather than just packed earth, and rings of fresh talismans curled along its sides like hundreds of ugly finger paintings. Certainly something so impressive had not been built to catch some lowly, little, idiot such as yourself. But you were here now, so that was your captor’s problem.

You were wandering aimlessly around your new prison when you stepped on something weird, and long, and thin. You paused, brow furrowing in confusion, and glanced down at whatever had found itself wedged under your heel. And, hey. That was odd. It sort of looked like a—

There was a horrible, screeching, snarl, and you wheeled back in hysterical panic as an honest-to-god lion lunged from the shadows—jerking its tail out from beneath your boot and swatting at you with its absolutely massive claws that could definitely take your eyes out. And half of your face. And probably your brain too. You fell backwards on your ass in an ungraceful heap and immediately scurried back towards the opposite wall as fast as you could. You were one-hundred-percent ready for the lion to just follow you into your little corner and murder you dead, but instead, it just stood its ground—growling, and spitting, and whipping its tail back and forth like a rattlesnake.

The thing was absolutely massive—bigger than you thought a lion was supposed to be, at least. Weren’t they just, I don’t know, like the cat equivalent of wolves? Because you’d seen plenty of wolves before on the road, and they’d never been so… looming, in themselves. And size aside, the beast was just weird looking. With thick, ash-brown, fur cut through with strange, almost geometrical, whorls of black. Now, you didn’t know much about lions (they weren’t exactly native to your little, forested, corner of the continent, after all), but weren’t they supposed to be regal? Or something? With lush, red, manes and tan hides that glowed majestically under the sun’s light? Not some… scraggly looking monstrosity with too-large canines and limbs stained in black like it’d taken a hike through a field of ash.

Its eyes were the strangest part of all of it—a sharp, emerald, green that cut through the gloom of the pit with all the efficiency of a dagger. One of them was bisected with a thin scar that ran crookedly from brow-to-jaw. They were eyes that spoke of an intelligence that no animal ought to possess, let alone one that was perfectly capable of mauling you to death without the aid of functional brain cells.  

You continued your silent inspection of your new nemesis, and when your gaze hesitantly fell to its hind legs, you jolted in surprise.

Iron shackles.

Or, more specifically and horribly, a spike trap. A grim, metal, contraption that would snap into its victim like a vice, and then unfurl row upon row of jagged barbs—tangling them up like an unfortunate bug caught within the web of some really fucked up, sociopathic, spider.

You winced in sympathy, out of habitual concern for your fellow down-and-trodden if nothing else. The lion, with all its eerie intelligence, seemed to notice the pity flickering across your expression and put every single one of its too-sharp teeth on display. As if to say ‘how dare you?’  You held up your hands in surrender, hoping it looked placating and not threatening, and smooshed yourself even harder up against the wall.

After a few more moments of grumbly glaring, the beast dropped back down to the ground with a pissy huff and closed its eyes. Clearly, you weren’t worth the trouble—which was perfectly fine with you.

You gave yourself the rest of the evening to just lie around like a sad little slug and lick your wounds. Falling all that way had hurt, okay? And while the adrenaline rush of ‘oh shit, I’m going to be lunch’ had helped push away some of that initial pain, now that it was fading you could feel every twinge in your ribs, all the bruises climbing your back and the cuts littering your hands.

When the sun rose once more over the mouth of your prison, you stretched as best you could and prepared to make your escape.

Scaling the slippery, stone, walls had proved to be an instant failure. The rope in your pack wasn’t long enough to reach the top, and you smacked yourself in the face with the thing more times than you would like to admit. Trying to find grippy-bits to just crawl your way up the side like a bug hadn’t worked either. The first talisman you touched didn’t spark or bite at your fingers, but it had been seared into the stone with some sort of magic that made it slide like oil beneath your palms. And you’d plummeted back to the bottom with a lackluster thump. The lion had made some kind of huffing noise from its place in the corner, like it was laughing at you. And you fought the insane urge to flip off a creature that could just eat your entire hand in retaliation.

Next you rifled around in your pack, hoping for a miracle. You were pretty decent at throwing together little bits and bobs to create a cheap but generally functional solution. Like the time you’d rigged Deuce’s bow to spit stink bombs as it shot through the air, or when you’d managed to scrounge together a decent fishing-line trap out of Ace’s shoelaces to lure out a rogue pixie that had been cannibalizing your vegetable garden. But you’d only been heading into town for your monthly grocery trip, so the most you had on you were genuinely practical things. An emergency medical kit, a dagger, lock picks, some rations that lived at the bottom of your bag no matter where you went. Nothing nonsensical, and therefore nothing useful.

Your stomach gurgled irritably, and, well, maybe you had something useful after all.

You fished out some neatly wrapped bits of cured meats, and cheeses, and bread. You made yourself a tasty, little, sandwich, and hey? You know what? How many other Hole Prisoners could claim to have such phenomenal catering? Probably not many. You’d take that win, at least.

You were just about to take your first bite when your eyes guiltily swung towards the lion curled up and sleeping at the opposite end of your makeshift cell. It hadn’t even flicked its ears your way when you’d started to loudly rustle around in your bag. And it certainly hadn’t sniffed at the air or anything else dramatic like that when you’d unearthed your packed lunch. Which was… didn’t animals usually go nuts for tasty treats like this? The foxes that snuck around behind your cottage would scream like banshees if you didn’t toss them your leftovers. Even the bunnies that lived in the hole in the wall by your cellar had some food aggression issues.

You tore off a chunk of your sandwich and palmed it nervously.

Maybe if you fed it, it wouldn’t eat you quite so quickly.

You cautiously pushed the stack of toasty breads, and meats, and home-made cheese, towards the beast with the toe of your boot. When it didn’t move, you scooched the offering a smidge further, until it was nudging up against a paw.

The Lion lifted its great, dark, head to bare its teeth at you with a lazy twitch of the lip. You scuttled back as quick as you could, and once you were a fair distance away, it stopped glaring at you long enough to observe whatever you’d just shoved at it.

It nosed at the food with a level of apathy you didn’t think was even possible, before reaching out with a heavy, black, foot, to smoosh it ungratefully into the dirt.

“Hey!” you gasped, genuinely offended. Because you were just trying to be a polite cellmate, okay! Was that really so terrible?!

With a sharp little twist of its paw that looked far too dexterous for something its size, it speared through the meat with one of its curling claws, and raised that from the dejected pile of mush. It popped the chunk of cured ham into its mouth with a satisfied little grumble, and you felt your completely rational and not at all ridiculous discontentment ease. It lifted its head a little higher and its tail swished—not in the whipping, angry, way it had been the other day when you’d squashed it, but the gentle twitch of something closer to a cat lazing about contentedly in a windowsill. The lion kept looking at you then, with those too-cognizant eyes. You pulled another bit of meat from your sandwich and tossed it over. It caught it easily in its massive jaws with that same, contented, rumbling.

“I made that,” you beamed. Because you had. And it had taken you ages to balance out the perfect spice-salt-sugar combination for a proper cure.

The lion looked entirely unimpressed.

You sighed and sat back against the wall with a string of irritable mutterings. The lion made another one of those huffing noises, like it had earlier when you swore the thing was snickering at you. And then it closed its glowing, emerald, eyes and slipped back into its seemingly never-ending nap.

The rest of the afternoon and evening passed in relative peace. Despite its lackluster (read: fucking rude) response to your earlier offering, come dinner time, you still slid the beast a makeshift plate stacked high with meat. It ate the food without complaint, which was better than outright scoffing at you, you supposed. You started to hum some nonsense under your breath, just for something to do, and the lion made a noise like you were physically torturing it. So instead you shifted to folding and refolding the scrap bits of parchment paper from your wrapped rations into ugly, veritably unidentifiable, origami shapes. This was apparently deemed acceptable, as the lion just sighed and rolled over to make itself comfortable for the night. Irritably, you flicked one of the little flowers you’d made at its dumb face. But it shot wide and landed somewhere off by its paws. The beast didn’t even bother to twitch its ear at you.  

The next morning came with little fanfare, and you stared longingly up at the warm light of the dawn.

Your eyes once more roved across the spiraling talismans dripping from the walls, and the great, iron, trap that certainly wouldn’t have belonged to any ordinary sort of hunter.

“You’re not a real lion, are you?” you asked, and the thing had the nerve to roll its eyes at you. You bristled and again had to tamp down the urge to do something very, very, stupid, and which would no doubt end in your immediate disembowelment. “Yes, yes. Laugh it up. I only mean that because—I mean, you can understand me, can’t you?”

Another long, slow, eye roll. Like it was making damn well sure you could see.

It was a lot harder to bite down your anxious ticks and ramblings when you knew you were speaking to something that could maybe speak back, rather than just a wild animal trapped at the bottom of a hole (there was a very good reason you lived in a quaint little cottage in the middle of fucking nowhere), but you grit your teeth and soldiered on.

“Alright then. Fine. I just wanted to say then. Well. I mean—I could… You know.”

When you held out the lockpicks from your bag, the beast’s eyes lit with genuine interest for the first time in this entire nightmare situation, and a teeny bit of your nerves eased.

You gestured to the spike trap entangling its legs and the lion turned to sneer at the mess of sharp ends with a genuinely bone chilling snarl.

“I can probably get that off—unlock the mechanisms, I mean,” you explained. “But you have to, you know—” You made a theatrical imitation of gnashing teeth over the meat of your forearm, “—not eat me.”

The Lion sat up on its haunches and its tail twitched restlessly at its side. After a long moment where you were genuinely concerned that the thing would rather eventually justbleed out and die in its trap rather than let you touch it, the lion raised its head and perked its ears in an imperious sort of way. And then it dipped its chin—a nod.

You scooched forward cautiously, pausing every few feet or so to make sure the thing wasn’t going to change its mind and maul you. The Lion just huffed at you, and shifted to give you better access to the horrible agglomeration of cold metal twisted around its limbs. You reached out carefully, the picks a light, familiar, weight in your hands. It was certainly a complicated looking contraption, but you’d yet to encounter something you weren’t able to break with enough force of will and sheer, dumb, luck. So you grit your teeth and got to work.

After a few minutes of poking, the first spiral of jagged spikes loosed with a rusty groan and the lion noticeably perked up—like it was shocked you’d managed anything at all. You decided very resolutely that you weren’t going to allow yourself to be offended by the implied emotions on the face of an animal, and continued your work. Your tongue poked out of the corner of your mouth as you focused, intent, and slowly—steadily—the barbed monstrosity gave way beneath your gentle fiddling. Every now and again, one of the spikes would ease itself from the lion’s hide, and you had to fight the urge to fuss over the oozing, painful, wounds that were exposed. You were almost there, you reminded yourself feverishly. Just a little more, and—

The last of the iron fell away with an echoing clatter, and immediately the lion reared up with a roar. But instead of lunging at you and your very accessible throat like you feared, it crouched back on its battered hind limbs and craned its head towards the open hole above your heads, and the blue, sunny, sky beyond. A swirl of strange, sandy, magic began to seep from the beast’s mane. The green of its eyes glowed hot and bright amidst the outpour of arcane energy, like the sole light in a storm. And then its fur was fading, its limbs cracking and groaning as they folded in on themselves into something more contained—more bipedal. The strange, geometric, patterns along its coat rippled like living things. They expanded and contracted as the creature did, before eventually settling into some new pattern that you hadn’t seen before.

And there, standing before you now, was a man. Tall, and lithe, and tan. With a head full of thick, dark, hair that looked startling like the mane that had just poofed from existence—except now it was twisted through with braids, and precious gems, and the occasional patchwork of beads and leather. The inky shapes settled themselves along his biceps, curling into the skin contentedly as if they’d lived there all along. There was still a pair of tufted, feline, ears atop his head, and a long, thin, tail whipping back and forth at his rear. His teeth were still much too sharp, and those eyes of his much too feral. He observed his clawed limbs with distaste, letting out a sigh that seemed to rattle his bones.

“Of course it’s still fucked,” he grumbled. His voice was deeper than you were expecting—smoother, too. Like it was meant to belong to someone regal and powerful, someone doling out orders and ruling nations. Not a sad, little, half-man-half-lion trapped at the bottom of a pit with an ever sadder, littler, human.

After a minute or two of what was clearly some very displeased inner reflection, he raised his hands over his head. A pale, dusty, magic swirled along his fingers, not dissimilar to the stuff that had coiled out from his furs. You watched in awe as one by one, the talismans began to burn away—disintegrated into nothing.

Once he had finished utterly decimating what had once been a nearly foolproof trap, he turned and looked down at you for a long, tense, moment with an expression that you couldn’t quite place.

And then he was leaping out of the hole with all the grace of a hurricane—tearing through stone and dousing you in waves of dust and debris as he went. His claws tore into the sides of his prison like it was made of paper, leaving deep, jagged, gashes in their wake. Some of the wall seemed to melt beneath his attacks—collapsing into a thin, sandy, mess beneath the weight of his irritation. With one, final, swipe that shook the pit from base to rim, he leapt out of the dug-in prison cell entirely and vanished from your line of sight. Lo, the Angry Lion Man was free at least. And you? Well—

“Hey!” you shouted after him, enraged. “Thanks for nothing, asshole!”

And so, despite all your hardships and good deeds, you were still stuck at the bottom of a fucking hole.

You stomped around for a bit, kicking at rocks and ranting at nothing. Once you’d tired yourself out enough to think a bit more rationally, you sat back and took stock of your continuing predicament. With the talismans burnt out, you might be able to try climbing out again without slipping down in the messy remnants of gooey, protective, spells. And actually, the guy had destroyed quite a bit of the stone in his rampage. There were enough tall heaps of fresh rubble that you’d probably have plenty of leverage to try and use your rope again.

So you went around collecting all your little scraps of paper, your meager personal items, and any bits of fabric that had been scraped off in the initial tumble. With traps as intricate and expensive as this, it was better not to leave behind any traces of one’s presence. Just in case the owner of said trap tried to go sniffing around for his lost quarry.

The rope ended up being a resounding success, and you hauled yourself out of the pit with a surprising amount of ease.

Once you were out, you breathed in the clean, crisp, air and looked around. Absolutely no sign of Mister Lion-Shifter to speak of. Or, well, there was a clear trail of dusty destruction leading towards the forest, so you would assume he’d run off somewhere in that direction. But you were well and truly alone again.

You shook your fist at the tree line for good measure, before turning around and starting the miserable trek back home.

.

.

Everything was as it had been when you left. Your chickens were quite happy to see you, happier yet obviously to be fed. You greeted the various other woodland residents that had taken to living out of your ramshackle little home (the foxes in particular were quite happy to nibble on the remaining scraps of bread and cheese in your bag). Your garden looked a little munched on, but nothing too terrible. All and all, things were… fine. It was honestly a bit underwhelming.

Later that afternoon when you were dumping out your bag to give it a good clean and restock, a dozen little, horrible, paper creations fluttered down to your kitchen table. You decided you would keep them, ugly as they were, as a kind of trophy for making it out of the Hole in one piece. Look at me, world. I—nothing more than a humble idiot—managed to survive in a Pit Trap alongside some sort of Skin Changing, lion, man. Who only almost mauled me twice. And here are the paper blobs to prove it.

Except—huh. That was a bit strange. You’d made a nice little flower too, hadn’t you? The one that you had tried (and failed) to shoot into the lion’s face. It had been the only piece that looked even halfway like it was supposed to. You’d checked every bit of the hole pretty thoroughly before you’d escaped, so certainly you would have scooped it up. After a moment of silent fretting, you shrugged and deposited the others into a nice, glass, jar. It had probably just been buried beneath the rubble or something.

.

.

Something had spooked your birds. You frowned out the window and into the rain. It was a gloomy, grey, day, and normally all your little farm friends would hunker down in their wooden huts to avoid the drizzle. But you could hear the geese honking and the chickens squawking in that indignant way of theirs as they flapped around and made a general nuisance of themselves.

There was a hard knock at your front door—a heavy, sharp, rap-tap-tap against the aged frame that sounded entirely unfriendly. You snuck a glance through the little, round, porthole and nearly doubled over in shock. You yanked the door open before you could think better of it, and there on your front porch, looking half-drowned and wholly grouchy, was the Lion Man.

His emerald gaze settled on you like a tangible thing that you could feel digging along your shoulders. His lips quirked up into a loose smirk that was entirely feline in its smug satisfaction and unfairly attractive. Especially considering he looked like someone had dunked him in a lake. His round, tufted, ears flicked irritably beneath each drop of rain.

Your brain whirled into overdrive, coughing up wave after wave of scenarios—each more outlandish than the next. Maybe he had come to eat you, to get rid of any witnesses. Or maybe this was the start of some epic quest, like you’d managed to save some Skin Changer Prince or something and were now due to be swept up in some wildly entertaining political drama. Or maybe he had come to thank you finally, after abandoning you so outright. To grovel and apologize for leaving the person who had so selflessly rescued him.

“Well, herbivore?” he huffed instead, crossing his arms irritably over his chest and rolling his eyes at you in a way that was far too familiar. “Aren’t you going to invite me in? It’s wet out here.”

You smiled—perfectly, utterly, serene. And slammed the door in his face.

.

.

.

TAG LIST [CLOSED]

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[quiteliterallyilliterate]

I legit just see you randomly on my feed and your writing was really good and I thought why not? Since requests are open, may I request for yandere skyward sword link with goddess reader? Reader can either replace Zelda herself or is a whole other goddess that doesnt even belong or own Hyrule. Id love to see what else you have in store here!

Order up!

Sorry it’s been a while! I’ve been dealing with a lot these past two weeks but hopefully life will improve (?) Love this concept and there’s a mention of @monpalace’s idea with Skyloftians using shed loftwing feathers to propose. Not proofread, I am sorry, this took wayyyy too. Much like Link, i am eepy. That’s about all!

Hope you enjoy!~

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

There was little refuge for Link on the surface, that much he knew. That much the world made incredibly apparent. Aside from what little lands like that of the kikwi or the ancient temple, there was little non-hostile life. The sun was fading from the sky, Hylia’s light fading from the surface land, letting monsters run rampant across the untamed earth. Not a particularly pleasant situation given the stab wound he’d nursed, limping through the forest as he tried to find a way home. With no statues in sight, he resigned himself to his fate —alone within an unkind world. Not that it’s a first that he’s felt such a manner, everyone knew everyone in Skyloft, his business was never truly his. And with Groose and his goons taunting him for his every breath, there wasn’t much to say for company. He could be surrounded by people, and yet he was —to some level— still alone. That was, aside from Zelda, missing among this realm. There was some small, nagging part of him that wish he needn’t search for her. Sure, he valued her companionship, and yet… it’s been odd lately. Originally he kept from the sky to be with her once more. But now knowing he was a piece in a prophecy —one she knew, no less— he couldn’t help but question the authenticity of their friendship. He feels wrong about it to question. The hylian people serve Hylia, he should be grateful that he’s been sent on a mission she foretold. He should be so many things. It just seems added onto the pile of things he should be. More outgoing, Zelda would say after he’d share his difficulty with speaking to his peers. Less pathetic, Groose and his lackeys would sneer. Dead, He’d often think, looking at the bags under his eyes and tousled hair. So it seemed irrelevant that Hylia wished he’d be heroic. The small decaying temple looked surprisingly stable from the inside. Vines and mosses grew into the cracks within the marble, nature filling in where people could no longer support. The door was easily blocked and the main area was large enough to safely light a fire without smoking himself out. Above a plinth stood a statue, sharp imposing eyes glaring at whomever entered with judgement. Their face was alight with the golds of the fire, setting in the allure within his mind. Looking down past stone ceremonial robes were offerings, placed at their feet, still fresh despite the centuries since any people lived down here. A deity, he noticed a little too late. Perhaps it was sacreligious of him to stay here, the Hero of Hylia taking refuge in a different god’s home. But perhaps that kingdom has since crumbled, their blades too rusted to do him any harm. The blood seeping through his tunic was the least of his concerns as sleep pulled him in familiar as ever.

Link liked to sleep. It was safe and warm, something quite the contrast to the life he’d led. He wished many times both before his journey and since its onset that he could stay asleep forever. It’d be a blessing, to exist in such a state of peaceful serenity outside of a world defined by its wars. And yet, morning after morning, he’d awake to soft sunlight or be shoved out of his bed. Hylia did not wait on him. So waking up to fingers carding softly through his hair as a lullaby —one his memories could just barely grasp at— was a sharp contrast. He felt no pain in his stomach nor the jolt of adrenaline he was used to. Turning around sleepily, he saw you, the very deity he seeked refuge under. He scrambled to apologize, your sharp eyes looking down upon him as he lay strewn across your body.

“I’m- Oh- I-“ He could not, for whatever reason, speak. Much a common theme in his life that whenever he needed his words, they’d fly away faster than a loftwing. Strong arms tightened around him, shushes and soothes whispered to his pointed ears.

“Be at ease. Your goddess cannot find you here” The fingers resumed carding through his hair, twirling the uneven cuts. “You are safe, little hero” Your words bled with a care and endearment he had not been given in so long. His mind latched to you, to your care and your soft treatment of him. He let himself rest limply, telling himself that it would pass soon. Nothing ever stays this good for this long. And yet, there were no monsters to kick in the door or someone waiting on him. There was just you and him. And no other God watching. “She’s put you through so much.” Your statement hangs in the air as Link can’t find the words that dignify a response. “To wander in here bleeding as badly as you were.” His eyes widen and he does his best to pat his tunic, feeling for the blood. And yet there was none. Aside from the rip in the forest fabric, there was no signs of him ever being injured.

“What?” His brows furrowed and he found himself looking up to you. Your skin held an inhuman glint, a glow to it that needed no sun nor fire to illuminate. Your hunter’s eyes had no iris, a scalara of pure white looking back at him. Your lips here pulled to something of a mischievous smirk as you looked upon him.

“I fixed you.” Your tone was a little uncanny, voice unused to conversing. “I used to do it frequently for the before people” He felt his eyes widen marginally. He’d never heard of the ‘before people’ only if what came after them. He knew naught of their societies, nor their deities. You giggled at his curiosity, pressing lightly on his shoulders so he’d lay back down. “It’s been so long since i’ve had such lovely visitors” Your voice was a far off cry in his mind as he buried his face in the nape of your neck. There was no rushing of blood to lull his own rushing mind, and yet you soothed him all the same. “Rest now, little Hero. I will watch the world in your stead.

There were many times afterwards that he visited you. He’d put a beacon near the clearing where your quiet temple sat. Gone was the comfort of absence that came with sleep, that nullifying expanse of nothingness. Instead, he’d seek out you, the glow of your grace soothing the rage he now brought upon the world. At your Altar he’d leave gifts, anything you’d mentioned in passing or anything he knew must’ve been good. You’d offhandedly speak of how much you missed the ancient cistern, and he’d bring you its water. He’d gather the fruit of the Faron woods, making into pies and jam and alcohol for you to feed off of. It wasn’t often, but he’d occasionally get you blood or meat. Not common, he didn’t want to raise concerns, but he knew the spirits would strengthen you. You may have only had a one man clergy, but he was loyal to a fault. He cleared the surface of monsters so you could roam freely, basking in the moonlight as your fingers brushed the grass. His favorite gift to you came in the form of a plume of crimson feathers. You were quite oblivious to the meaning behind the exchange, instead cooing over the bright colors and imagining the majesty of the bird it came from. But he knew that maybe then the other half of his spirit —as the people said— would mingle with your own to care for you as much as you did him. Bound to you perhaps by fate and now with the matrimony of his gift to you, no longer would you lay forgotten to the world. He’d build an empire in your honor if it would be your wish. He’d kill the goddess who subdued you if it were your ruling. Afterall, he was prophesied to kill a deity.

[weretheones]

All You Got | Part 13

Part 13: Strangers

Plot: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4)

Series Masterlist | AO3 Version

Paring: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Reader Word Count: 3.8k Warnings: typical twd content. claimers: a warning in of itself. references to attempted sexual assault. lots of gore and blood. A/N: hi again! excited to be posting this part :) its been a long time coming... happy reading!

A low fire flickered just past the trees. Maybe fifty feet away. 

“You think it's those men?” 

“Could be.” Daryl shook his head. “Could be anyone.” 

Despite walking all day and most of the night, you hadn’t been able to escape the threat of people. Even if that fire on the road hadn't been set by those men— and from the lack of cruel laughing and bruising punches, you figured it wasn't— it still meant people. Strangers. Bodies of unknown, with all the potential to be as twisted and cunning as the Governor, or as kind and loyal as Daryl. 

The small fire crackled. 

“What do we do?” 

“Can’t take a good look without riskin’ them seein’ us.” 

You bit your lip. Maybe you shouldn't have stopped moving, after all. 

There was a bush ahead. The branches looked loose enough that you could peak an eye through and take a better look at the strange fire and the stranger people. In a bush that small, it would be a tight fit, but you could do it. 

Your eyes flickered back to Daryl and those broad shoulders. He definitely couldn’t. 

So without another thought, and maybe not much choice, you crouched down. “Wait here.” 

You'd managed to move about a foot when his hand inevitably caught your wrist, and his rough voice hissed your name in warning. 

“Just trust me,” you mumbled, almost as quiet as the soft cricketing of the night air. It all seemed to drown out at the sight of that sharp caution in his eyes; blue darkened by the night and the weight of the world that rested on his shoulders. You blinked, and then your free hand was wrapped around his, the pad of your thumb brushing along his rough skin. “I don’t want them to find us, either.” 

The tension melted away like slow dripping wax; the look in his eye softened, his grip relaxed. 

You could guess that weight on his shoulders hadn’t quite lifted, not when those people were still so close and so unknown. But once his hand loosened enough for you to pull back, there was a patch of cold along your wrist where he'd held you tight. Where you'd felt the heat of adrenaline coursing through his veins, warming his skin. Daryl tried to swallow his concern as you finally slipped away and into the bush. 

You kept your head as low as possible. Crouched down and moving slow, like a wolf sneaking on its prey, though you weren't feeling quite predator-like. Not when you still had that swinging ball of anxiety slamming back and forth between your heart, lungs, and ribs. You thought of the gun at your hip. Four bullets left— no, three. You'd used one yesterday. Shit. 

The branches were thin and dry. If you pushed them too far, they'd snap in half. Some leaves rustled off the bush as you snuck your way inside. You kept your hands close, only drawing down that last branch an inch so you could peek past. The flames of the fire were the brightest thing around, even if you could tell it’d been made in a way to keep it as small and unsuspecting as possible. But smoke still drifted away in long strands, floating through the night, invading the forest air. The fire cracked, now and then, as a shadowy figure sat beside it. His head was hanging down, a lock of curly brown hair falling across his forehead as he chewed at something in his hands. A bone, maybe. 

Boots clicked along the pavement as a woman approached from the beaten-up blue truck to the right. She walked toward the fire with a languid stride. You could only see her silhouette backdropped across a glow of orange light. Her hair fell down her back in thick, black strands and something long and thin stick crossed over her back. 

You waited a moment or two, but the pair of them never gave a glimpse of their faces, and no one else seemed to be around. Still, the two strangers on the road didn’t seem to be a part of that group you came across earlier; you doubted that men like those would let a woman tag along. 

Finally free from the dying bush, you snuck back to Daryl. 

“There’s a woman,” you whispered when you got close enough. “It's not them.” 

“Just her?” 

"No, there was a man, too." You shook your head. "Maybe more in the truck." 

"You get a good look at 'em? They got guns?" 

"I couldn't see their faces. The man had a gun, and she had something on her back. It could have been a—" 

There was a laugh, then. 

A familiar one. 

Then another, and another, and they all overlapped until you could almost see that blue truck again, trunk open and all your supplies thrown around. Fear slammed back into your chest. You could’ve sworn you were back at that tree, pressed between Daryl and the rough bark, skin smoking with that fiery panic that caught right where your heart was supposed to be. 

“We gotta go.” Daryl's voice cut through the yells and fear like a dull blade. His tone was hard. Almost as stern as you remembered it from all those weeks ago. 

You nodded slowly. Smoke tinged the air you inhaled and your thoughts wandered back to those people. That woman... Unsuspecting. 

Daryl grabbed your wrist and brought you to a stand. But the forest floor had turned into quicksand, and you couldn't move yet.

“Those people on the road—” 

His jaw locked. 

“’S too late for ‘em.” His narrowed eyes flashed toward the road. That usual shade of blue was now dark and threatening as the laughter only grew louder. 

They were already there. 

He tried to move forward, to drag you out of that quicksand pit of empathy that might finally suffocate you, after all, but you didn't budge. You couldn't. 

“You heard what they’ll do to ya,” Daryl growled as if you needed a better reason to go with him. 

Instead you twisted out of his grasp. “They’ll do the same thing to them.” 

Of course, he knew that. There was a string wrapped around his pounding heart, pulling tighter and tighter because those people on the road didn’t deserve what was coming for them. No one did. But then there was you. With those big eyes, wide and glistening with fear even beyond that stubborn glow, and he hated it. Hated that he could recognize it so easily. He never wanted to see your features twisted in pain again. If those men got you— if a walker got you— if anything happened… 

"We— we have to help," you rasped out, even if instinctive fear seemed to be winning over your empathy as the seconds ticked by. Perhaps you could hear what he was thinking. The possibilities that ran through his mind and made his jaw lock he thought he might break a tooth. "We can try." 

His grip was back at your wrist, but this time it felt deeper. As if his fingers were melting into your skin, the thump of his heartbeat drowning into your own. 

“It ain’t worth losin’ you.” 

It was silent. Tension rising into the air like the strands of smoke lifting off that small, almost forgotten fire. It started as a soft wisp of burning wood, until your brain seemed to process what he'd said. Those words surrounded you, filling your lungs with that bittersweet burn, deeper and deeper with every slow, conscious breath you pulled in. 

You swallowed. It seemed to soothe the tension, an inch. 

Now wasn’t the time.

You opened your mouth to spill another retort because you’d changed these last few months, had become the type of person who would stand up for what they thought, scared or not. But before you could say a word, another ripped through the air. A guttural yell. 

“Carl!”  

---

After months of your blood-stained hands digging their way through Daryl’s tough-as-steel exterior, praying for a moment to prove yourself worthwhile of all the chances he'd given you, it was here. They were here. His people. 

Carl was in the grimy hands of one of those men with the bellowing laughs. Joe— the leader— had his gun to the back of Rick’s head. The woman you’d seen on the road, you didn’t remember her name, but you knew there was a gun on her too. There had to be. 

And Daryl went to them, leaving you in the bushes with his last words still ringing in your ears.

“Listen to me. If shit goes south… I don’t give a fuck what happens to me, you run, y’hear?” 

“Daryl—” 

“You run.” 

Your hands shook like those dead leaves on the bush, heart pounding so loud you could barely hear the click of your gun’s magazine releasing. You counted the bullets, even if you already knew how many were there. 

You hadn’t even realized you grabbed his hand. Not until his eyes flickered between it and you. 

You whispered... maybe whimpered, “I can’t just—” 

Two in the magazine. One in the chamber. Three bullets for five men— that you knew of. 

The skinny one was missing. Len. Maybe he’d finally been beaten to hell, himself. Maybe they'd left him behind. 

“I can’t do this knowin’ that those assholes might find ya.” 

Your eyes shimmered with a concern he was still getting used to receiving. He blinked, then squeezed your hand back. 

“You run,” he repeated. 

Daryl moved through the shadows of the forest like he’d been doing it his whole life— and God did it feel like that, the stretch of time filled with more yelling and pleading and laughing while he moved closer to the spot where the forest broke open. 

What the hell he was planning on doing when he got to the road’s edge, you had no idea. The mere thought made your heart squeeze tighter than Daryl had your hand. 

A shadow moved behind him. 

You gasped. Raised your gun as if it wouldn’t be the stupidest thing in the world to fire it at only a glimpse of a figure. A waste of bullets on shadows. What was likely nothing more than a lone walker, wandering with nothing but the road’s sounds to lead its path. And with all those cruel men so close, they'd come running at the shot’s echo. But just as you were about to rush out, knife in hand with nothing more than a hope that you could make it on time, the shadow raised a bow of its own. 

Not a walker. 

Your fingers fell off his. 

The softest of whispers, “Just come back.” 

Sometime between sneaking up on Daryl and when they finally broke from the tree line, Len had taken the crossbow from him, slinging his compound bow across his back. The crossbow was easier to aim at Daryl’s head while they walked onto the road.

“Found another one’a them!” 

Quiet. For a moment. 

Daryl and Rick's eyes met for the first time in months. They both had weapons aimed to the back of their heads. 

From that angle, you couldn't see Daryl's face. Only the shift in his shoulders, dropping barely an inch as he stilled. A slight wobble in his stance. Across the road, recognition sunk into Rick’s features, but they never quite found the relief you hoped to see when this day came. Of course, you had always imagined it under vastly different circumstances. Finding them on the road. Maybe at Terminus. Not in the dark of night, surrounded by men who wanted to kill— and worse. 

“Fool thought he could sneak up on us,” Len chuckled. 

He only let Daryl pause for a second before he grew bored and kicked at the back of his leg, and Daryl crumbled like a straw-man released from its post. His knees scratched along the cold concrete, palms flat for the second it took for him to regain his senses. To get that breath back in his lungs after the gut-punching sight of his friend's faces, the ones he dreamt about night after night. 

“Hey!” The one with a gun on the woman— what was her name again?— yelled, “Those arrows look familiar to you?” 

Len looked down to see the same green shoots on the crossbow’s bolts as his own compound's— the ones he'd stolen from the car earlier that day.

“Holy shit,” Len exhaled. “That was your car, wasn’t it?” 

Joe laughed, a hearty, full-lung chuckle, “Shit! And here I was thinking of turning in for the night on New Year's fuckin’ Eve!” 

“Settle a bet for us, why don’t ya? You were traveling with a woman, right?” 

Even with all the trees between you, you could see Daryl’s jaw clench. It only spurred Len on further. 

“Mhm. I bet that bitch is out there, too. Hiding in the bushes, like a little rabbit?” He knelt as if to take a closer look at Daryl’s quickly retreating composure. The vein popping in his forehead, the red tint to his cheeks. “I love me some rabbit. ‘M real good at huntin’ ‘em down.” 

Daryl’s heart was pounding hard, face flush with the anger racing through his veins like bad moonshine, turning him blind to the reasonable course of action. Keep his head down, wait for his chance... But how the hell could he do that when the road was burning hot underneath his palms? When he could see red— the red of your blood— pooling below? 

Then Len leant in even closer, and then all he could think about was rot; the smell reeking from the yellow of his teeth when he grinned, the black tar that soaked his soul. The way he wished he could see the dead rip into the bastard. 

“Think I can make ‘er squeal?” 

Daryl jumped up. He landed a punch right on Len’s nose. There was nothing quite like the smooth relief that pumped through his veins when he felt bone crack underneath. 

Len fell back. Blood coated his mouth and chin, shining in the moonlight like a damn spotlight, begging for another hit. But for all that asshole’s undeserved cockiness, he still had the numbers to back him up; another one grabbed the back of Daryl’s vest, pulled him away from a stumbling Len, and threw a bruising punch of his own. Before you could even aim your gun, Daryl was back on the ground and kicked in the gut as a third man joined in. 

“Kill ‘im! Fuckin’ idiot.” Len snarled, throwing a punch after he was done cradling his face. Daryl was dragged by the men and tossed on top of the car's hood like a doll. Fists slammed into his sides, his back, his face. Any punch he threw back was quickly met with two more. 

“Listen, it was me, it was just me,” Rick yelled out, his voice a rumble of pleading and hopelessness. He shook his head, his son pressed against that big man with the sickening grin on one side, and Daryl taking fist after fist to the jaw, eye, stomach, and shoulder on the other.  

“Oh, don’t worry. We can settle this, we’re reasonable men.” 

Your finger twitched along the trigger. From the depths of your memory, a word echoed. 

Liar. 

Joe continued, “First, we’re gonna beat your friend to death. Then, we’ll have the girl, then the boy. Then I’m gonna shoot you and we’ll be square!” 

The gun felt lighter. Those three bullets suddenly etched with the names of these men— Joe, Len, that fucker with the knife on Carl. 

“Let him go,” Rick shuttered out. The rumbling anger in him began to leak like a dam about to burst. Somehow, those three words huffed into the night air, even with a gun at the back of his neck, still managed to sound like a threat. 

And they were. 

You flinched when Rick threw his head back to collide with Joe’s face. The first shot rang out as he stumbled, clutching his face with one hand and letting his smoking gun fall with the other. Time slowed, but Rick was even slower, blinking and shaking his head as the ringing must've trapped in his ear. A bloody Len looked over with Daryl's bow in hand once again as Joe coughed, blood leaking down his face, too. In the time it took for him to stand straight again, Rick had managed to get up and punch him. 

Joe punched back harder. 

Rick fell to the ground like a bag of bricks. 

“I got him. Go find your rabbit, Len.” A groan left both of them as Joe forcefully kicked his boot into Rick's gut. “Oh, it’s gonna be so much worse now.” 

There was no doubt about it. Joe’s words echoed into the dark night, muddled with the sounds of whimpers, groans, skin rubbing against concrete. This was headed as far south as it could, tunneling straight to hell from the sounds of it, and a heavy shadow wrapped its slimy, inescapable arms around you. 

“Come on, already. Get up. Let's see what ya got," Joe taunted as he circled Rick, who couldn't seem to find his balance. 

With the back of his hand, Len wiped his bloody chin before he turned toward the forest line. A look in his eye even darker and slimier than that shadow. 

If you had thought about it first, you would have stayed still. But staggering backward felt more like instinct than thought, something you hadn’t realized you were doing until a branch snapped under your foot. 

A tense second hung in the air between you and this man, wondering if he could pinpoint the small crack amongst all the muffled cries and painful groans. 

He smiled a sickening grin. 

A chill down your back as your breath caught in your throat. His eyes narrowed in on the section of woods Daryl left you in, eyeing between the branches like you really were a little rabbit, and he was fucking starving. 

Run. He’d told you to run and here you were, frozen with uncertainty. Where would you run? How could you live with yourself, leaving them for dead? What if you shot and missed, three times? What if—

"You leave him be!" Rick yelled when Carl cried out. 

Finally, Joe caught Rick. He laughed, "The hell are you gonna do now, sport?" 

A new scream. Not from Carl or Rick. But before you could tell from whom, it had morphed into gurgling and choking, instead. 

Then Rick spat. 

Len turned around, and without those predator eyes on you anymore, you saw it. The way Joe's body turned limp, his hand grasping Rick's collar the last thing to give out before he fell to the ground. A mess of blood spurted out of his neck until the red skulls on his shirt melted into the red that poured down his body. 

From his mouth to his chest, Rick was covered in the same colour. 

It took a moment for everyone to realize what had happened. That Rick had bit Joe’s throat out like a fucking walker. An air of shocked silence lingered until a few gasps made their way around the road. By the time Len began to raise Daryl's crossbow in Rick's direction, a choice had been made, and you stepped from behind the bush. 

Gun raised.

Len's head snapped forward with the impact of the bullet. He crumbled to the ground faster than Joe, crossbow buried underneath his limp limbs. The woman used the second air of shock to grab the gun pointed at her head, twisted it to the man holding it, and fired. He fell, too. 

You stepped out of the tree line. Smoking gun and narrowed eyes exposed under the moonlight. Their eyes snapped to you, unsure only for a second before you shot the men at Daryl's side. One in the head, the other in the throat. He fell back, grabbing at his leaking neck until Daryl threw him down and stomped on his windpipe to finish the job. 

One man was left. He'd put a knife to Carl's throat amid everything, grabbed the boy to his chest and promised he'd kill him if you did anything. The woman had already aimed her gun at him, and you knew yours was empty by now, but neither stopped you from aiming yours, too. 

"Put them down!" He yelled, eyes snapping between the pair of you. The knife inched closer to Carl's neck. "I'll do it!" 

Rick stood up. Joe's knife was in his hand as he stalked toward the man and his son with nothing more than a growl. 

"He's mine." 

The man's eyes widened. "S— Stay back! Please—" 

Rick drove the knife into his chest. Once. Twice. Then dragged it up and down and you should have looked away. He was snarling like a wild animal, staring that man— that monster— right in the eye. Unleashing every drop of that boiling rage inside of him. You knew it was because of what he tried to do to his son, but something in you almost felt as sharp as that knife, stabbing over and over. And maybe that was why you couldn't look away, because the hot gun in your hand suddenly felt so light. 

Empty. 

Maybe you should have saved a bullet in case Rick tried to gut you next, for what you had done to his son, to his family. 

Just as those dark thoughts wrapped around your mind, familiar fingers did the same at your wrist. You blinked, finally tearing your eyes off of all the blood and guts only to notice that you hadn’t dropped your gun, that you were now aiming it at Rick’s head. He’d given up on his assault, dropping the mess of that dead monster to the ground with nothing more than a heavy thump. Now he was facing you, eyes narrowed and unreadable under the moonlight as Daryl's hand lowered your gun. 

The second you turned to him, you let it fall to the ground, lost in the red splattered across his face, the cut above his eyebrow, the puffiness of his right eye. 

Red, red, red. 

Something squeezed your hand. His fingers were still wrapped around you. 

You blinked, and the red cleared a bit. Enough that even in the dark of night, you could still see the shimmering blue of care, of concern, of Daryl. 

Daryl. 

Bruised but alive. Touching your skin. Drawing you back with every thump of your heartbeat.

And just like the gun, you let go of the fear, too.

————————————————————

A/N: if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3

AYG taglist: @fuseburner @itsmeatballworld @rickysgrimes @stevenknightmarc @huffledor-able541 @your-shifting-gurl @hopefulatrocity @strnqer @dreamtofus @fillechatoyante @suniloli @kiaslily @poubxlle @normanplusdaryl @sseleniaa @wanhedavaliquette @murdadixon

[presidentbungus]

Um, It's Kind of a Lot

demo/scout, demo&eyelander - 30k words

Read on Ao3

Lonely men find each other in a place that collects failures like baseball cards. Things don't take long to get complicated. The 600-year-old haunted sword is NOT happy about it Written with care for the 2024 TF2 Big Bang, with illustrations from toasty and George Henry

in other words: demoscoutheads come get yah mutual pining juice!! ignore the ancient cursed sword she is nice and will cause no problems or angst or anything of the sort

Excerpt under the readmore :)

Boy, Jeremy shoulda picked the pool table. About half the party's grouped around it, shooting shots, yukking it up, and he's over at the side of the room, standing alone with an empty cup in one hand and a bunch of darts in the other, like a dipshit. Staring at a bunch of old guys with huge axe-murderer scars wiggle their asses and speak in faintly European-sounding tongues. Like a dipshit. He’s not even good at darts.

This whole settling-in thing’s been kind of a wet fart, actually. He was hoping this job’d be something better than sitting in a jail cell and looking at contraband porno mags but then he got on the bus over, and the cabin was full of about two toddlers worth of scar tissue and more stupid accents than he’s ever heard come out of an improv class, and the only reason he survived the trip was at least now he knows he’s getting paid something. Every time he’d try and speak up he’d get eight chilling glares and then everybody would get back to beating on each other, and the time he really tried he ended up sprawled across the floor, with the dried blood and the gum wrappers, and with a shiner the size of fucking Alaska.

It’d hurt worse if he hadn’t had at least a dozen on this eye before. Maybe it’s a good thing no one’s come over here to talk to him yet, because he probably looks like a fucking dipshit just standing here, sweating through his pants, black eye, empty cup, darts, no friends, no money, no future.

Feels just like home. God dammit.

Eventually somebody finally taps him on the shoulder, and he spins around and two darts fall out of his hand and he does a slightly embarrassing please-don’t-stab-through-my-big-toe shuffle, and it’s Heav… De… the eyepatch guy. With two cups of shitty beer from the keg on the other side of the room, one in each hand. And he’s smiling, and his teeth are disgusting, and while Jeremy’s staring all wide-eyed (like a dipshit) it takes him a very long time to realize that the eyepatch guy is trying to hand him one of the full cups, and he mostly notices because he eventually gives up and just slots it into his empty one.

Then he cracks another, slightly different smile. “I cannae be that ugly, can I?”

Jesus christ, he sounds like a goddamn leprechaun. Jeremy chokes out a laugh into his newly-refilled beer cup, and unceremoniously dumps the darts onto a weird side table that’s just kind of sitting there in the middle of the room, like most of the furniture in here is kind of doing. “No, I just—sorry, pal. This place is throwing me all off.”

“Mm, sure it is,” with a glint in his eye that seems to instantly settle into the back of his skull. There’s just the faintest trace of a slur in his voice—it would definitely track if he’s already kind of drunk.

Honestly, Jeremy’s not flying the straightest right now either, and he wonders if that’s why eyepatch guy’s staring at his cup of beer—just watching, waving his own around like he’s not gonna drink from it until—oh wait.

“And thanks for the refill, pal.”

“Ah, love to hear it.” He pulls out a third version of the same smirk and Jeremy wonders what his face looks like right now, and decides it’s probably something really stupid. “You looked like a kicked bloody puppy all alone over here. Thought it was the least I could do.”

Jeremy laughs at this. It’s not funny. He figures maybe he should shake a hand or something, whatever people do at this kind of thing, but his palms feel really sweaty and he feels like he’s done enough to ruin this first impression anyway. “I’m, uh. I’m Jeremy.” Wait. “Wait. I don’t think we’re supposed to say our names. Wait, pretend I didn’t say that.”

And he just watches. Beer to his lips. Smirk number four. Jesus christ, just bring out some popcorn at this point.

“Um, I’m Scout, is what I meant to say. And I’m… gonna do that, I guess. Scout, I mean.”

“Name’s Tavish,” he says, and he sure lets that one sit for a while. “But I’m the Demolitions Man. Demoman for short, and some of the lads over there already started callin’ me Demo.”

“So… like, bombs ‘n shit?”

“Aye. Pretty much.”

“Cool.” And then what the fuck else is there to say? “So… what’s up?”

Good one, Jer, top-notch. Hall of fame performance. Jesus christ.

Smirk number five, and it finally tapers out as Demo thinks for a second, and eventually comes up with: “Darts?”

God, he was hoping he wouldn’t ask that. “Hell yeah, brother.”

… Demoman stares at him. He places three darts in his hand… then awkwardly lowers himself to the ground, picks up another couple, and adds those to the stack.

Smooth. Suave. Good thing he doesn’t look like a fucking idiot or anything, because that would be really embarrassing.

They awkwardly stare at each other for a couple more seconds before Demoman says, slowly: “You start?” in a way that definitely says ‘I have no fucking idea how to play darts’, and that’s okay, because this game sucks anyway. Scout nods and mumbles something stupid, and he goes and leans against the back of the couch and squinches one eye shut even though he know that probably makes his aim a lot worse—and he fires three stinkers, right in a row, two of which land in the wall above and below the board, and one perfectly strikes just the rim.

At least Demo follows his lead, and he sucks too. That makes him feel a little better.

On his way back the second time, Scout takes a little longer to pick up his darts and says: “Why’d you come over here?”

“What?”

“Well, you guys seemed like you were having a great time in that little jerkoff circle around the pool table.”

“Someone’s jealous.” Demo waits for a response, and Jeremy doesn’t give him one, because he doesn’t want to. “I like to mingle. Get around, get to know.” He throws a 4 and a 3, and the third dart misses the board and embeds itself in the wall underneath—he’s real bad. “And ye looked so sad moping over here with your empty cup and your… you know.”

He brushes the black eye and instantly regrets it, and Tav… Demoman nods. “I bruise easy,” he mumbles.

No response. What’s this guy’s goddamn deal?

God, Jeremy fucking hates that sense of… what’s the word? Guilt? Feeling bad-ness? Radiating off him. “If you’d given me a couple more minutes, I woulda gotten this party goin’.” God. Dipshit. He misses the bullseye three times, one after the other, gets like a 9 or something, he doesn’t really give a shit. “Brother, I swear to god, I’m all off my game tonight.”

Game as in game, but maybe it’s less embarrassing if he’s talking about darts.

“I believe ye.”

“I dunno. Somethin’ about this place, man. It’s killin’ me.” Pauses to see if he’s gonna get interrupted, and gets nothing, so he goes on. “Like, I kept tryin’ to say hi to some of the loonies during the meet-‘n-greet earlier—couldn’t get out ten words to most of ‘em before they started turning around, like, I’m-gonna-crush-your-face-with-my-bare-hands fuckin’ death stare, like brother, what do you want from me?” Demo’s squinting, his tongue barely poking out over his bottom lip, and Jeremy watches three darts in a row sail directly into the wall. “You suck at this, man.”

“I have one eye,” he says, without missing a beat, and oh yeah, that’s kind of awkward.

“Oh, yeah… your death perception, or somethin’?”

“Close enough.”

“Anyway.” Just go ahead and skate past that one. “So we kinda moved things in here—miserable excuse for a rec room by the way, the one I had when I went to juvie had more to do—and I kind of assumed, like, there’d be some people around the pool table, a couple guys throwin’ darts, and—you know, whatever else… people do.” He dries up the last few drops in his cup and grimaces. “But I forgot,” he says, “that old guys just frickin’—just love pool. And the old guys that don’t, love leaving fun places and going to do something boring in their rooms instead.”

“Why didn’t you just go over?” he interrupts, and frankly Jeremy is shocked he’s still listening at this point, and he can almost feel his voice rattling around in his head, and gee maybe it’s best he doesn’t get another refill.

Pity. That’s the word. It’s pity.

“‘Cause—‘cause I’d already staked my territory, y’know? And I didn’t wanna be this little pussy showin’ up after everybody’s already settled in, just… crawling back.”

“So your solution was to stand sadly in the corner and look—“

“Like a dipshit.” He crosses his arms and leans against the wall, since it looks like they’re not really playing darts anymore. “I know.”

Out comes the ugliest snort Jeremy’s ever heard in his entire life. “Well, I would’ve been nicer, but sure.” Then a few shaky steps forward, then a really, really warm-and-sweaty palm lands on Jeremy’s shoulder, and their fingers brush on the way down. “At least ye got me now.”

He starts to wonder if Demoman’s really doing him that big of a favor, and realizes yes, yes he is. “… Yeah.” Then weakly raising his stack of empty cups: “Cheers, man. To the worst job ever.”

“I dunno if I’d say that.” He pinches his lips together. “To a pretty bad job.”

And they knock their cups together, and Demoman drinks on it. Jeremy pretends to. It sucks.

READ THE REST ON AO3!!!

[elisela]

happy un-iversary nurseydex au, fluff, established relationship. for @missanniewhimsy

Will is not the flowers, chocolate, and wine celebration person. His eighth grade girlfriend had broken up with him tearfully after he laughed when she wished him a happy one month anniversary, his first boyfriend hadn’t even made it to a year. He thinks he got concert tickets that year for Jason’s birthday but his memory is fuzzy; whatever it was, it wasn’t something he had put a lot of thought into. That’s not to say he’s not sentimental in other ways—he still carries the torn piece of paper with Chowder’s barely legible IOU HALF OF ONE MEDIUM PIZZA AND 2 CHEAP BEERS JESUS FUCKING CHRIST YOU PETTY LOSER scrawled on it from their first month of college just because it makes him smile, snaps photos of flowers growing through concrete cracks to text because Jack once told him—while drunk off his ass—that he thought they were all beautiful. 

Unfortunately, Derek is the flowers, chocolate, and wine person. On Will’s last birthday he came home to take-out—only plated nicely, two tall candles burning in the middle of the table, soft music playing in the background. The only wine Will has ever enjoyed was chilling in an ice bucket that he hadn’t even known they owned, the fancy extra-dark chocolates he didn’t like but had once complimented Bitty on sitting in a wrapped box on the island.

So it should say something that Will is standing in the floral section of the grocery store an hour before they close, trying his best to pick out a bouquet that says happy anniversary and these are not last minute flowers. 

They’re all a little wilted, so it’s not exactly working.

Will’s hoping it’s the thought that counts.

But Derek frowns when he walks in their door, his gaze darting from the flowers to the caramels from the confectionary in Old Town that Will’s seen him demolish a dozen of in the space of two minutes. “Uh,” he says, brow furrowing. “What’d you do?”

Of the two of them, Will would have bet money that he’d be the first to forget an important date. “Nothing,” he says, a flare of defensiveness coming before he takes a breath and tries again. “Happy anniversary.”

It’s funny, the way panic flashes across Derek’s face before it settles back into faint confusion. “Our anniversary is next month.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Will. Our anniversary is May 8th.”

“It’s April 6th,” Will says, flowers now pointing towards the ground as he gestures pointlessly with his arm. “How could you think it was May 8th?”

“How could you think it was April 6th?” Derek asks, and he takes the flowers right out of Will’s hand as Will stares at him.

“Because that was the Rocket’s home opener,” Will says, also handing over the caramels. He had to go forty minutes out of his way for those and a small part of him wants a tiny bit of praise for it. 

Derek mouths at him wordlessly for a moment. It would make a hilarious picture, the way he stands there cradling the flowers and candy gently while looking dumbfounded, if Will weren’t so bemused about the whole thing. “We—the—what—that wasn’t our first date! We weren’t dating!”

“We weren’t until we went to the game together,” Will responds.

“We went to the game together because you thought it’d be a good idea to get season tickets!” Derek shoots back. “Our first date was at the Mexican restaurant and you changed the five to an eight on the inflatable Cinco de Mayo sombrero and made me wear it all night.”

Will stares at him. “We’d already been dating for weeks. I asked you out weeks before that.”

Derek’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. “I asked you out.”

Because Will can’t strangle his boyfriend—of exactly one year, thank you very much—he kisses him instead, curling his hands into Derek’s hips and pulling him close, curling awkwardly around the flowers he’s still holding. “Happy,” he says pointedly, “anniversary.”

Derek kisses him back, soft and sweet and a little self-satisfied. “Thanks for the flowers,” he says, and Will can feel him smirk. "Happy un-iversary.”

[mama-qwerty]

WIP Wednesday

Lookit! I remembered two weeks in a row! WOOOO

Today's WIP bit is from the unintentional second chapter of the kaiju fic. I started it yesterday and am about 2400 words in. I have no idea if I'll finish it, but I've been having some other ideas pop into my head for it, so maybe it'll turn into (yet another) multi-chapter fic?

This one is from Knux's pov.

Read the whole thing on ao3!

~~~~~

Six months.

It’d been six months since Knuckles returned to his planet. Since those bastard versions of his friends yanked the cracked chaos emerald from his eyes and tossed him through a portal back to his original world. The pain had been excruciating, both from the removal, and the way his body shrank and reverted to a mortal form.

Not his original form. No. He’d been in the kaiju form too long for that.

But a mortal form. One that didn’t heal almost instantly from injuries. One that didn’t mutate and reshape itself to be even more deadly, more efficient at killing. At destroying.

One that wasn’t as painful, every second of every day.

There was still pain. There would always be pain. He was sure of that. His joints ached. His back. His head. But it wasn’t as sharp or jagged as when he was a monster.

He was blind now. The first shard had done that when he’d transformed the first time. When a shard took control, it usually migrated to the eye socket, essentially taking a front row seat to piloting the body. He’d had a kind of funhouse mirror vision when it had been there. Everything looked crooked and stretched, tilted and angular. It hurt his head, and only fed the anger inside. The rage.

Of course, the twisted version of Amy that had apparently been shrunken and hidden in his ear, whispering doubts and feeding his insecurities didn’t help matters. It was her voice, disguised as his own, that made him question himself in the weeks leading up to that fateful day. That urged him on in the kaiju form, commanding him to kill. To destroy.

She’d spurred his rage, taking delight as he destroyed the city he so loved. Every town and village he’d come across. Everything in his path had been rendered to splinters. To ash. To death.

Once she’d shown herself, he’d tried to end her, but she’d implanted something in his head that delivered painful shocks if he disobeyed. So he’d gone with her as she led him through a portal, to a twisted and insane version of Tails.

And together, they’d caused the same trail of death and destruction on other worlds. Other universes? He wasn’t entirely sure of the details. But he saw other versions of Sonic. Of Tails. Amy.

Himself.

It was strange and frightening, and he wanted to stop, didn’t want to hurt anyone, but the shards implanted in his eyes and the punishing shocks he received if he faltered made him move. Made him kill.

But after a while, he didn’t know how long, the rage inside him faded. Even the shocks and pain didn’t make him act. The false Tails had been angry with him, but then his lips curled into the twisted smile, before he pulled a device from his big box of horrible inventions.

“Aw, is the big boy too tired?” he’d said, his high-pitched voice cracking in that demented laugh he always had. “Tut, tut. Well then, if that’s the case, I guess I’ll just take what’s mine and let you go back to live out your pathetic little life. Doesn’t that sound fair?”

The Amy behind him had tittered. Even to Knuckles’ monstrous ears, she sounded insane.

Then there’d been pain. Literal, blinding pain. The twisted fox had pulled the two chaos emerald pieces from Knuckles’ eyes, resulting in a deafening, pain-filled roar before he’d gone to his knees. His body changed, shrinking and shriveling and tightening as the chaos energy within him faded.

And then they’d chucked him through a portal. He’d landed on the rubble remains of the city he had wanted so badly to protect.

It had been so quiet. So damned quiet.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d laid there. Shocked, trembling, and adjusting to having actual thoughts again. Ones that weren’t overshadowed by fear and rage and pain.

Once he’d realized where he was—the smell was the same—he’d picked himself up and contemplated his next move. He was home, but . . . everyone and everything he’d ever cared about, ever knew, was gone. What did he do now?

Scarlett.

Was she still alive? Would she even want to see him if she was? He’d done horrible things. Killed so many. What would she think of him?

Those questions had stalled him. But after a moment he’d shaken his head. He’d face those questions later. When . . . if he found her.

With a grunt, he’d turned and picked a direction to start walking.

His search began.

It had been hard. Without his eyes, he had to rely on his other senses. They’d stepped up, for the most part. His hearing was better. His sense of smell stronger. He could sense objects nearby, and he’d developed a kind of sense for other shard possessed creatures. Could sense the shards themselves, almost hear them. As if they called out to him.

He resisted that call. Now that he was himself again, he was absolutely not going to let the lure of some sliver of chaos emerald take control of him again.

He walked. He searched. He fought other shard possessed kaiju. Days passed. Weeks. Months. He wasn’t sure how many. It was hard to keep track.

And then, he’d smelled it. Smelled her.

They’d grown up together, as close as siblings, so her scent was as familiar as his own. Just a brief whiff of it, caught on the wind. His heart had given a hard thump in his chest, and he’d picked up the pace.

A dead kaiju. Recent, by the smell. And her scent was all over. A sharper edge to it—blood. He leaned down and sniffed the thing’s claws, tasting her scent on his tongue as he did so. It had injured her. Anger flared within him, and he resisted the urge to tear this corpse apart, a delayed retribution for it daring to hurt her.

Instead, he turned to follow the stronger scent of her.

Stronger. It was even stronger here. But, higher? Sounds from above him and he stepped back, waiting to catch more information before making a move. To be sure.

A thud and a pained grunt. A relieved sigh. Her scent reached him, stronger than ever.

It was her.

He let out soft grunt, and sensed her freeze.

Smelled her fear.

He didn’t move, trying to figure out what he should do. Could he speak, would his vocal cords even work? He wasn’t sure.

Before he could try, a screech from above. Another kaiju, a larger one, with two shards.

A fight. They’d moved too quickly for him to get involved, his lack of sight preventing him from knowing how to attack. He didn’t want to hurt Scarlett by accident.

But then she’d been down. Hurt. Helpless. And he’d acted.

That had been two months ago. Since then they’d been inseparable once more. Roaming the land, seeking food and shelter and any sign of anything good left.

They hadn’t found much.

Read it all on ao3

[tohokuu]

the birds - toji fushiguro

tumblr is based off a system of reblogs, not likes. reblog my work.

wc : 700 (it was hard to write that much)

a/n : it’s nothing special. just wanted to put it out

warnings : angst, mentions of suggestive content

“please, please let me fall out of love, toji. don’t do this. i’m begging you.” you pleaded him. he stood tall, soaked in the pouring rain while you crumpled at his feet, ice cold hands fisting his shirt.

his lips were pressed in a thin line. he wasn’t sure what to do. it was an uncomfortable situation but it’s one he figured he must go through now. his initial plan was to leave before you woke up. that way it’d be less on his heart and he supposes that’s selfish, but that’s all he’s ever been his whole life. he’s always been selfish so who fucking cares?

he had to leave. you weren’t supposed to fall for someone like him.

“it’s someone else, isn’t it?” you cried. your voice was drowned out by the roaring thunder and lightning that cascaded across the sky. he placed a heavy hand on your head, patting it awkwardly.

this situation could be compared to stepping on eggshells for him. he was never sure how to deal with negative emotions. most of the time, he spoiled you so rotten that you never complained. most of the time, he fucked you so good that you never complained. but this wasn’t his thing. this was a situation that money couldn’t fix. it was a situation that his dick couldn’t fix.

“i’m sorry.” is all that could come out of his mouth. “i’m really sorry, y/n.” he whispered. he doubt that you could even hear it. your cries were falling on his ears like the rain. you looked up at him, looking at the hard stare he offered. his eyes were as dark as the night that surrounded you two. you stood up, sniffling away the rest of your tears, wiping them with the back of your arm.

“it’s fine. it’s whatever. deep down, i always knew you were gonna leave, toji.” you croaked. he reached out for you as you almost slipped but you caught yourself on the railing.

“it’s fine.” you reached out. you have to catch yourself after he leaves anyway.

“i was just a temporary fix, i know. i couldn’t give you what megumi’s mom did. i know, i know, i know. just please, don’t leave me yet.” you begged him, fat tears rolling down your cold cheeks.

“just make me hate you first. i won’t be able to live like this, toji.” you rushed back up to him, pressing your front against his. you held onto his shirt, crumpling the soaked fabric once again. it clunged to his physique and you hated how beautiful he looked even now. his sharp green eyes staring at you with undetectable emotion, the scar on his lip quirking uncomfortably and his thin eyebrows pushed together as he looked at you.

probably pity, you thought.

“i can’t give you the life you’re lookin’ for, sweetheart.” he gruffed, grabbing your hands and gently pulling them away from him. “i’m sorry i invaded your life the way i did. i shoulda kept it movin’.” he sighs.

tears clouded your vision again. “no, no no no, please toji. toji, no.” you cried loudly. he turned his back, shoving his cracked phone into his pocket and began to walk away.

this hurt him more that he would like to admit. he fell and so did you but he’s the only one who had the strength to walk away, or rather the weakness. this wasn’t very just of him. he was walking away from the person that brought him happiness for his own selfish reasons.

he couldn’t go through what he went through with his ex-wife again. that alone was too much for him to bear. toji had to leave you before you left him. he cringed hearing your voice in the distance, screaming and crying for him to stay. your cries weighed heavy on him, making it difficult for him to continue. he grunted, fighting with himself and resisting the urge to turn back and take you back in his arms.

“keep walking.” he told himself. it’s better this way for you and her.

soon enough, toji was nothing but a speck down the dark street. he never looked back once and he left as quietly as he had come. he felt guilty for settling down in your heart and leaving it a broken place. your cried rang in his ears as he kept walking, making it down to the metro station and taking a train that would lead him farthest from you.

i gotta recreate the taglist bruh

[asprinbrews]

Chapter 1: Welcome home.

-Wally Darling + Reader

———

It was a day like any other.

Eat, sleep, work, rinse, repeat.

I’m not sure what happened between 17 and 18, but whatever it was sucked the life out of me. And as my Uber took me home on that late Friday night, the whole world flashed by my head like a shooting star. Sitting good and quiet. I noticed my fingernails overgrown, and how dry and cracked my skin was. Like one of those nightmares where your teeth fall out, except my disfigurement was very real.

But what to do? You don’t cure your funk in a night. I had to take a few nights, maybe call in sick. If I got fired for this it’d be a problem.

No. No, I had to stop thinking. It’s not my problem tonight, I reassured myself. So arriving home and settling in, I planned on completely disconnecting. And I engaged in…a guilty pleasure.

My body ached as I pulled out the VHS player, sending dust down my crusty airways. Along came my favorite tape.

The title’d long worn off, but it didn’t matter. It was the only one I kept.

And so I sunk beneath my comforter, biting back my anxiety and letting the fuzz lull in time with my breathing.

Unfortunately I didn’t make it through the intro credits. I never did nowadays.

—

“What’re we s’posed to do about this?!?!”

A squeaky quirky voice pinched my ears between fog and drowsiness, and I felt as a circular object tapped the tip of my nose.

“They aren’t wakin up, Franky!! I’m scared!”

A deep grunt contrasted her whining, “I…” he seemed at a loss for words; I then felt the thing bump me again. A loud wailing followed, which showered an…insane amount of tears onto my face. That was when I finally had the gall to snap my eyes open.

Screaming above me was a big-mouthed girl with big blonde hair, I saw her first. Her colorful clothing fading into the distance as she ran like the devil. And then the other…

Me and Frank blinked slowly at one another. Quietly. A dapper-dressed man with proportions stranger than the girl’s personality. A gray face full of concern and just a little disgust. Like he was looking at a dead body.

I didn’t move, but I eyed the world around me carefully. And for a second I was worried that I had a concussion; the grass, the sky… everything had an antique-like tint to it. And it felt wrong.

“Are you feeling okay?” Like he’d snapped back to reality the man crouched down beside me and dropped his net. I noticed a small bug sit inside it calmly…much unlike a butterfly. “Oh- yes, I’m okay. I’m just…” I scanned the area again, “I’m not sure how I got here.”

“Can you stand up?” He asked, and I pushed myself off the ground. “I’m going to walk you to the neighborhood… we’ll get you some help there.”

The neighborhood? Why did that sound so familiar? “The neighborhood… alright.”

He walked ahead of me, checking back every couple of seconds to make sure I was still behind him.

How did I get here…? More importantly, I had work. I had to get to a phone, as quickly as possible. “Your name’s Frank, right?”

He gasped softly, “how’d you know?”

“I heard it earlier. I’m guessing Franky isn’t your preferred name.”

“Right, right.”

…

“Do you have a phone I could borrow?”

“Heavens no, not right now. Those are far too big to carry around.” He replied, and then it was quiet again.

I noted him down as awkward, which was fine. I was a stranger, anyways. And I probably looked like death. Eventually though we came across houses, and he brought me straight to a big red barn.

Looking it up and down, I was skeptical. But out came whiffs of smells. Baking smells. The kind where you’re not sure if you’re smelling bread, fruit, or pure sugar. Seeing the bird that hussled out in front of us though I started to understand pretty quickly.

Before I had the chance to say anything she was all over me: lifting my arms, pinching my face, and squawking on in a shrill voice. How my face was so pale, my eyebags so big, my posture terrible. “Frank! Where did you find this one?? They look dead! The walking dead! Dead but walking!” Then she sat me down onto a haybale, holding my face in her wings. “Stop walking! You’re going to die!”

I couldn’t see over her big rainbow feathers but I could tell he was just as overwhelmed by this lady as I was. “Excuse me ma’am…” I croaked, “can I…”

She craned her head towards me as I asked, “can I borrow your phone…?”

The chicken loomed over me in a dead silence before I found myself dragged inside and nearly force-fed a multitude of different pastries, which I then tried to pay for. Unsurprisingly this earned another shriek. “What kind of money is this??? Where did you come from??”

“My house! I came from my house!” Like a hostage I lifted my hands up in surrender, and I’d expected another argument from her. But…no. Something clicked behind her eyes, and without speaking she disappeared and returned with a plate.

A plate of apple crisp.

I knew it as soon as I smelled it, feeling my eyes widen as the aroma hit my nose. Like a faint memory, nostalgia panged through my chest and reverberated like a brand new heartbeat as I took that first bite. Marveling in sweet fruit nestled under a warm blanket of thick brown sugar.

Once it was over with I was going to ask- except she’d already disappeared to her phone. A landline. Busy feathered fingers nervously fiddling with the curly wire, I caught bits and pieces of her loud voice. Concerned, suddenly frantic! Then quiet. I leaned in over the table to hear more but then was met with a shriek. “My goodness! Your clothes are getting in your pie!”

Indeed, looking down I realized I’d leaned so far over the table that I’d begun to crush the pastry. Leaving a dark stain on my T-shirt. The bird rushed around and started trying to wrestle it off of me— “No, hey!!” We struggled with the article, she shouted “I need to wash it! Come now!”

“What on earth is going on!?” Gray hands forced us apart and Frank pushed the bird lady for an answer while I caught my breath and smoothed my clothing.

“Look at them! They got their shirt all dirty, I was only trying to wash it.” She huffed, to which Frank pinched his brow with concern. “Polly… that’s beyond impolite!”

“It’s just Y/N!”

The man double-taked for a moment, slowly turning to me then raising a hand skeptically. “No, no… that can’t be right. They’re a lot smaller than that.”

“That’s what I thought!” Polly said, “but look at that face! And you know they loved my apple crisp! It has to be!”

I stood frazzled in front of them as they marveled, “did you just say… my name?”

Slowly stepping forward, Frank reached out as the bird suddenly rushed me. She hovered over me and ripped off my shirt with such momentum to tear the neckline. My arms rushed to cover my body in shock while the grey man swiveled to face the other direction. He shouted, “well they’re far too old for that!”

“Po.. Polly!” But she didn’t seem to hear me, sauntering off to a wash bucket and beginning to soak it. She waved a feather, “now then, go play! I’ll take care of this.”

I felt heat rise to my face, in disbelief at this woman. First she feeds me, then tears my clothes off?? “I’m so confused! And half-naked!” Crying out, even Frank seemed at a loss. He didn’t look and made his way to the door, “I’ll- I’ll find you something to wear! Stay right there!”

So there I was, half-naked in a barn-themed bakery waiting for either Frank to come back or Polly to be done with my shirt. I’d given in at that point. Notably despite Polly being a bird, she was really sentient. I saw other chickens but she was different. At least Frank resembled a man… but she was a straight up chicken.

Then a slow, steady knock came. The barn grew quiet, and it’s large doors creaked open. Standing in the center a silhouette of someone. His voice broke the silence, soft and calm if not monotonous.

“Aw Gee… it has been a very long time, Y/N.”

————-

<a/n>

Hi! Hope you enjoyed the first installment. This is mostly a comfort character series, so things between Wally and reader won’t get very romantic. Still! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it. Feel free to ask me questions or give me ideas, since this is in progress!

Bye now! You are the absolute most!

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become - Shauna Macdonald

You're lost. In a cave. Without even a box of scraps.

On AO3.

You been caving twice before. Once up in the northwest, where they got volcanoes and lava tubes. Another down in New Mexico, that was full of bats and had a whole fucking restaurant down at the bottom, where the elevator let off.

But this?

This is some real pants-shitting territory.

You got no idea how far underground you actually is. It seems somewhere in the field of “pretty far” and “don’t think about it.” The tunnel you’re in now is different from all the others you seen.

The walls are smooth, with little indentations all along from the floor, to just above your head. They look like the surface of a pond during a brisk wind. You can see places where the sides broke off some time ago, leaving a pit rougher than the outside, but still smoothed by the passage of time. This thing must be fucking ancient.

The pale stone is lit by soft, blue light from the goddamn bio luminescent moss running in a trail along the ceiling like some emergency lighting on an airplane. It’d be pretty if it wasn’t creepy and y’all wasn’t lost and stranded in god knows fucking where under the surface of the world.

Which you’re trying real hard not to think about. Them other caves was just fine—you were with a group or a whole, paid guide, and either on a literal paved path with rails, or along a lava tube that only went one way and then back with no deviations. All of them was known, was safe. New Mexico cave had a fucking elevator to a restaurant.

They wasn’t an unmapped, unnamed fucking wild ass cave system in Middle fucking Narnia chock full of literal goddamn monsters.

You gotta pause a moment. Watch your breath puff out in white clouds. It’s maybe forty degrees in here—same temperature as the vegetable drawer in a fridge.

Behind you, your hitting stick whacks on a rock and Astarion mutters.

You glance back.

He looks fine. Hair a bit more mussed than you’re used to seeing, but no visible marks nowhere on him. Though he occasionally babies that left knee. You’d looked up outta that crack in the floor you landed in—super not gonna think about what might’a happened if you got teleported six inches to the left and plummeted down, down into the dark chasm that opened up beneath you. But you’d heard Astarion stumble in, and popped up enough to spot him stumbling down into your section of the tunnel, climbing down the big rock fall. And that man was hitting every, single boulder shin-first.

He ain’t said nothing about that, though. Too preoccupied, you think, by the whole blindness thing.

You roll your head back to try to ease then tightness of your neck muscles. Worry tends to show in you in godawful headaches.

Healing potions didn’t work on his eyes. Neither did blood. That only leaves some bullshit magic thing, and you hope that shit starts to wear off. Because right now, Astarion picks his way across the smooth section of the floor, and his face is terrifyingly rigid. His expression is as calm and unmoving as Han Solo when he got frozen in that block of metal.

You don’t think the vampire man realizes how loudly he’s broadcasting how scared he is.

“Rock, dead ahead,” you say.

He pauses. Reaches out with your stick and taps it. His jaw muscles work. But he only gives a tight nod.

Jesus, he ain’t even making commentary.

“So, you know magic?” you say.

“A cantrip, yes. I learned it when I was young, I think.”

You seen him use it once. Back in the swamp when he lit up that swamp ent bitch.

“Don’t use it often?” you say, and skirt a puddle of brown water after you warn him about it.

He shrugs. “There’s usually no need.”

You really don’t know all that much about him. Aside from him being a vampire, was a fucking slave, and that he likes murdering people.

“So can everybody here use magic?” Aside from you, anyway.

Finally, the hint of a smirk cracks that rictus on his face. “I am—or was—an elf, darling. We have a proclivity for it.”

Fucking past tense, there. When he ain’t being a gremlin jackass, when he ain’t teasing or bitching, conversation with the man is a minefield.

Still. It loosened some of the tightness in his movement. So you keep on going. “Know anything else? Portal magic or whatever?”

He pauses. Head cocked to one side. Seems to be studying you (only his gaze is fixed too far to your left). His expression does something complicated before settling to something more relaxed.

“I see,” he says outta nowhere and you almost make an inappropriate joke. Then, “That cantrip is the only one I know. But, ehm. I could likely learn more, if you wish.”

That…is some weird ass phrasing. He can’t see your frown, and you try to keep that outta your voice. “You don’t gotta do nothing like that just cause I asked a question. I just don’t know how magic works.”

Here comes that haughty little hip jut of his. “Well, I’m sure the wizard can give you a full lecture on magical theory, darling. I learn better by doing. Find me a scroll, once we’ve found our cleric and gotten her to fix whatever that mad wizard did to me, and I’m sure I can learn just about any of them.”

“Just by studying a scroll?”

“Probably.”

…probably. Man has no idea. But you know what? Fuck it. Neither do you.

“Sounds like a plan,” you say.

“Does it?” You ain’t never seen a man preen over such a small thing, but it seems he’s pulled outta the death dive on his mood, so that’s good.

“You wanna ask Gale if he got spares?”

Astarion (seemingly instinctively) pulls a face. Then something like mischief flashes across him. His smile is borderline gleeful. “Let’s not, darling. We can make it a surprise.”

And don’t he sound so excited. What a gremlin dork.

“Sure thing,” you say.

The dizziness still buzzes in your head (you got to take a snack break). The brainworm still nibbles on your prefrontal cortex when it ain’t nudging you towards the others. You’ll take that break once you walk a bit more down this tunnel.

***

After a very healthy snack break, y’all walk for another two hours or so. There’s more water, now. A tiny, gentle stream. You both skirt along the edges of the bank where you can, but there’s always more debris in the path—it starts to make you nervous. Big old chunks of wall, or ceiling cracked off and crashed down. When you lift your torch (on the second one, now)—the moss shrinks back and you’re just not gonna think about that—you see more cracks on the ceiling. Water drips along some of them.

At some point, this whole bitch is gonna collapse in on itself.

Astarion is quiet again, but the mood isn’t as low. You gotta stop every ten minutes or so to catch your breath. Feeding him was a doozy on your system. You already finished a water skin and are working on your backup.

Water’s gonna become a thing.

You already been wondering about pollutants and, like, gut worms. Gale had stared at you for a hard moment when you brought that up,. Early on. Another gap in the medical knowledge—until Shadowheart swooped in to say she’d heard something like that somewhere, and that with y’all getting torn up all the time and dosing with either her magic or a healing potion, y’all should be fine.

But you don’t got her no more. You don’t know how long it’ll be until you do. And while a healing potion would probably help with the blood loss, you should start rationing it. Wait until one of y’all actually, truly fucking needs it.

And then you realize you can’t even boil the water you do find cause y’all got nothing to burn down here.

But then all that takes a back seat as the ceiling starts to slope down. And keeps on sloping down. Astarion has to run a hand along overhead so he don’t end up cracking his skull.

And there’s no more dry bank for y’all to walk on. The water—fucking cold—is up to y’all’s ankles. Your feet are completely fucking soaked. Before the dehydration or whatever takes you out, you’re gonna need to start worrying about hypothermia.

“Are you sure this is the right way, darling?” Astarion says when y’all are bent double, shuffling along.

The others still pull you in the direction you’re headed. And the water’s moving that way. You think you saw some kinda lake in Gale’s vision, just for a moment when y’all mind-whammied together that first time after the trap triggered. Following a source of water might lead you to him.

Unless it was above you, and all the dripping seeping into the back of your shirt is coming from some upper level lake bed.

You don’t share that thought with Astarion.

“Pretty sure,” you say.

Which you hold onto as the walls start to come in, too. On and on, tighter and tighter and that moss vanished a while ago. Until you’re on your hands, gingerly on your knees (the bad one aches at the contact with stone and your full weight), and water sloshes over your elbows.

“Only, this seems rather narrow,” Astarion says.

There’s enough room for you to hold the lit torch straight out at arm’s length.

You pause. Ain’t no room to turn around. You can just crank your head back enough to peer over your shoulder and catch a glimpse of wet, white hair. You think a moment.

You ain’t really the claustrophobic sort. Ain’t scared of the dark, neither (surprisingly). Only of lemon soap and going hungry and other people and being a failure and being wrong and bad—

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. You reach for the rope tied to your waist.

“Darling?” Astarion says and he’s got an edge to his voice.

“I’m gonna scout ahead,” you say and have to tamp down the mental voices screaming about cave ins and monsters and “what about that guy in Nutty Putty cave.”

Apparently, he’s got similar thoughts. He got a real sharp edge when he says, “What? Why?”

It’s a damn good question; you’d really like to turn back. Except them worms pull on you, and the water’s flowing ahead—you know it might just go underground (further underground, anyway) might funnel into a four-inch crack. But you ain’t gonna know for sure unless y’all keep going and fuckshit this fucking sucks. Them people who do this shit for fun is fucking crazy.

“I gotta find out if this lets up,” you say. “And it’s probably better to go one at a time in case…” Panic vomit. “In case I get stuck or fall into something.”

There. You done went and did it. Said the damned thing out loud.

Astarion is real quiet behind you. You can’t see him at all from this angle.

“If it looks bad, I’ll come back,” you say. Assuming you can. “I ain’t risking shit. But we might get lucky, and it might open up after a bottleneck.”

He snorts. “Because ‘luck’ has been a defining feature of this catastrophe thus far.”

Brainworms and demons and goblins and a magic fucking cult.

“None of us landed in a bottomless pit,” you say.

“Ah yes. We didn’t immediately die. We’re left to wander around until a more horrible fate manages to befall us. Of course, of course. Lead on, dear.”

The rope slips free. Astarion makes a sound. Then, “Wouldn’t it be better to stay tied together?”

You heard about an accident on that big volcano in Washington State. Bunch’a people all taken out when one slipped and they was all roped together, and it ended up dragging them all way down into an ice crevasse. The thought of dragging a rope behind you, through a choke point in a cave, makes you shudder. So many ways to get caught up. But so easy to get lost without one.

“It’ll be safer without it,” you say. “I ain’t going far. Wait, and I’ll give a shout if it opens up.”

“And if you don’t?”

You just ain’t gonna think about that.

“Guess you’ll have to brainworm tap the others and see if they can get here.”

He mutters low and nasty in a language the dirt potion don’t translate.

You didn’t know that was even a thing. Huh.

Previous - Index - Next

[kipsels]

Purr

Stelle x Jing Yuan

ft. lion hybrid Jing Yuan

-

When they had first arrived on the Xianzhou Luofu, Stelle had been taken aback by how… colourful the people were. From ears and tails to claws and scales, the inhabitants of The Luofu all sported a myriad of different features.

Not even Mr Yang’s deep dive into the cultural differences of the Xianzhou and their fraught history with the Aeon of Abundance would have prepared Stelle for the reality of what it all meant.

And okay, maybe if she’d listened a little harder to Mr Yang she might been able to avoid mixing up her Foxians from her Xianzhou Natives, but with that many fluffy tails to keep track of it was pretty hard not to get things mixed up sometimes!

But her initial fascination had been quickly buried once they’d found themselves knee deep in all the turmoil aboard the ship, especially when Dan Heng showed off his own set of scales to boot.

Now that things had settled, Stelle couldn’t help but stare.

At everyone.

“Do you think Fu Xuan is embarrassed by her cute, floppy bunny ears?”

Jing Yuan’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead, a shock of laughter escaping past his lips. He stared up at her, eyes bright with mirth. “What makes you ask that?”

“They just look so soft and cuddly and pink. It’d be hard to command anyone’s attention if people just want to pat your head all the time.” Stelle shrugged.

“Lady Fu would take the hand of anyone foolish enough to attempt such an act,” He chuckled. “Only the ignorant or stupid would think her ears were a sign that she is meek in nature.”

“But–”

“My dear, I’m sure you’d prefer to keep your hands attached to your body.”

“I guess…”

Feeling dejected, Stelle turned her attention to the pair of ears that belonged to the man whose head was currently occupying her lap.

They weren't cute little bunny ears, but...

At first, Stelle hadn’t even noticed the rounded, fluffy ears on the top of Jing Yuan’s head.

Even now, they were well hidden within his veritable mane of white hair, but the fuzzy cast of the hologram projection had camouflaged them completely during their first few encounters.

But when they’d met, really met, Stelle had been caught off guard by the long tail that lazily swished through the air behind him, and the ears that swivelled and flicked as he listened to every little sound around him.

It was a shame that the curse of immortality had to be so… cute.

As if reading her very thoughts, those sly gold eyes of his stared up at her, silently egging her on. Daring her to reach out.

Well, no one ever said that Stelle was one to back down from a challenge.

Her hand combed through his wild mane, fingers fighting through the tangles of his silken hair to find the base of his right ear. She smiled when she felt fur against her fingertips, and the shell of his ear turned as if to tease her into action.

Needing no further prompting, her thumb and forefinger began to knead at the base of his ear, enjoying the sensation just as much as he was, if the way he leaned into her palm was any indication.

Or the way he quite literally began to purr in her lap.

The sound came from somewhere deep within his chest, a steady rumble that only grew in volume the longer she massaged the shell of his ear. It peaked when she swapped to the other side, his purring so loud that she was certain any of his attendants walking past would surely hear.

“Mm, right there,” He chuffed, a pleasant shiver passing through his whole body.

“You couldn't scratch this itch by yourself?”

“And deprive you of the pleasure? Surely not.”

Stelle rolled her eyes, trying to fight the blush threatening to spread across her cheeks as he turned his face to nuzzle into her belly. Jing Yuan curled his massive body to fit on the bench, his long white tail resting over the top of his thigh.

“You’re just a big old cat.”

“If I am a big, old, cat… Then you are the little sparrow that I have caught between my paws.” His eye cracked open to capture her attention once more.

“A pretty little sparrow that sings so sweetly for me at night, when we are alone in my b-”

“Jing Yuan!”

He chuckled, and Stelle caught a glimpse of the feline fangs hiding behind his lips.

“Keep scratching, love, and I might reward your good deeds with a kiss.”

- Fin -