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pitlanepeach · 2 days ago

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Radio Silence | Chapter Seventeen

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, selective mutism, strong language, sexual content

Notes — This might be one of my favourite chapters so far. I really feel in the swing of things, so (maybe) expect a 2nd update later today!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

2021 (Azerbaijan — Austria)

Amelia liked Greece.

She fit in here — in white flowing dresses and messy dark curls, always salt-tangled. She liked Lando in loose button-downs and shorts, golden and relaxed in the sun. She liked Pietra, Max’s new girlfriend — Brazilian, warm, and probably the most beautiful woman Amelia had met in a long time.

She liked the way Lando looked at her when she slipped into Portuguese with Pietra, years of quiet practice finally paying off — and if the darkened rings in his eyes meant what she thought they did, he liked it too.

She liked that she’d made a friend — a real one. A female friend who laughed at her terrible jokes and never minded when Amelia took a moment too long to process something. The language barrier helped in that way — sometimes Pietra didn’t get it either, and they’d laugh their way through it together.

Max and Lando seemed pleased to see them getting along, but Lando especially — because he knew. He knew what it meant for Amelia to have someone. A girl to do her makeup with in the evenings, giggling and tipsy on shared wine, leaving mismatched lipstick stains on either side of the same glass.

Greece felt easy. It felt right.

It felt, for once, perfect.

—

They avoided seafood restaurants, Lando’s irrational fear of fish too entertaining yet deeply rooted to ignore, and settled on a small bistro by the water instead.

Amelia, in a powder blue dress and white strappy sandals, curled into Lando’s side, her sparkly blue eyeshadow catching the fading light. The evening breeze was cooler than expected, and she’d left her shrug in the hotel room. Lando didn’t say a word, just slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her in closer, steady and warm.

He was deep in conversation with Max about the upcoming Quadrant merch launch — all bright and serious and businessy. Across the table, Amelia caught Pietra’s eye. The two women shared a quiet smile, and Pietra flagged down the waiter for another round of wine. White, of course — they were both wearing pastels, after all.

Max ordered garlic bread for the table.

Amelia flinched, her lip caught between her teeth, a tiny, familiar tell. Before she could say anything, Lando added easily, “And a basket of plain bread, too.”

Because garlic made Amelia’s stomach turn.

And of course Lando knew that.

—

Their hotel suite was quiet, the sounds of the Aegean sea whispering through the open balcony doors. The linen curtains fluttered in the breeze.

Amelia perched on the edge of the bed, brushing salt from her curls, moisturiser sinking into her sun-kissed skin. Lando was barefoot on the carpet, fiddling with the bluetooth speaker, trying to find the right playlist; something soft, without lyrics, something she liked. Jazz, maybe. Something Spanish.

“You’re stalling,” she told him, voice quiet and teasing.

“I’m setting the vibe,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. “Gotta be romantic. It’s our last night here. Want it to be proper special for you, baby.”

She laughed, quiet and fond, and he finally gave up and crossed to her. His big hands settled on her hips before sliding around her waist, guiding her back into him. She rolled her head back to rest on his collarbone, eyes all wide and wanting as she gazed up at him.

They moved together without words. No rush. No performance. Just touch… slow, steady, familiar. His fingertips glided down her arms like he was memorising every new freckle that the sun had brought to the surface. Her arms slipped beneath his shirt to trace the heat of his back, anchoring herself there. His nose brushed hers before he kissed her. Once, soft and searching, and again, deeper, more certain, like he’d been waiting for it all day.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, fingers grazing her collarbone like he could warm her just through touch.

“I’m naked,” she said, feigning innocence, but her smile gave her away.

He laughed quietly against her mouth. “How convenient for me, hm?”

They melted into the white cotton sheets. Every part of her was familiar to him now — the heavy pressure she needed him to put behind his touches in order to stay grounded, the way she stilled under his hands, breath evening out when he pressed his chest to hers, his weight a quiet reassurance. She didn’t need to ask. He just knew.

No rush. No performance. It was connection in its purest form, deliberate, tender, like they were made of the same skin and light. Like the world shrank down to the rhythm of their heartbeats.

She whispered something in Portuguese, just to make him smile.

He did. Wide, dimpled, wrecked with love, his eyes full of her.

Later, wrapped in one of his shirts, she pressed her face into his neck and mumbled, “You’re warm.”

He kissed the crown of her head, voice low against her curls. “Sunburned.”

—

In Azerbaijan, the problem wasn’t Max.

It wasn’t the car.

It wasn’t the strategy.

It was the fucking tyre.

Amelia winced as the feed cut to Max, out of the car, still on track, kicking the shredded rubber that had ended his race.

“Fucking hell,” Christian muttered from two seats down.

She leaned toward GP, jaw tight. “What’s he saying?”

GP sighed, reaching up to mute his comms. “Nothing appropriate.”

“Red flag,” someone murmured behind them.

Amelia closed her eyes.

She could already see it — the headlines, the photos. “Max Verstappen — championship battle over already?”

It would fuel the fire already smouldering inside him. The one he’d inherited from his father, who was now audibly swearing in the garage. She could hear him from the pit wall.

Her eyes flicked to Christian. He was already looking at her.

In that moment, as the tyre fragments scattered across the Baku circuit and the title race teetered in their grasp, they were both thinking the same thing.

Fuck.

—

Amelia lay curled in her childhood bed, eyes tracing the glow-in-the-dark stars still scattered across the ceiling — the same ones she’d begged her dad to superglue up there the night they moved from Florida to England. She’d been eight. Shell-shocked by the change. Silent for three days straight before breaking it only to whisper: “Can we put the stars up, daddy?”

They were still there. Nearly twelve years later.

Lando was sitting against the headboard beside her, thumbing through an old photo album, chuckling quietly at baby pictures and awkward school portraits. She peeked up at him through her lashes — here, in her room, in her space. Taking up oxygen and memories and all the soft, sharp things in between.

Her eyes flicked to the window seat. Winced.

She thought about the weeks she’d spent there. Curled into herself, silent. Thinking, thinking, hurting. Wondering why he’d stopped talking to her. Wondering what she’d done wrong.

“Don’t ever…” she started, voice barely a whisper, then paused to breathe. “Please don’t ever hurt me again, Lan.”

He froze. Gently set the album aside, then pulled her up and onto his lap without a word. Held her tight. Looked across the room and saw it too — that small corner where she’d waited for him to come back to her.

“Never again, baby,” he said, voice thick, arms secure around her. “Never.”

She curled her fingers into his shirt and didn’t let go. Not until her mom called them down for dinner.

—

They approached France with a renewed, razor-sharp focus.

Sim sessions doubled in frequency. Max had her holed up in his Milton Keynes flat for four straight days, dissecting every inch of the car; every flaw, every advantage, every hypothetical curveball. She barely saw daylight, only telemetry and takeaway containers and so much coffee.

At the factory, she gave the upgrades a final inspection, glaring down the engineers who kept pushing to tweak the ride height, despite her repeated insistence they’d already found Max’s sweet spot for Paul Ricard.

She spent a few hours with Adrian, though they barely touched any kind of real work. Instead, they spiralled into a familiar rabbit hole; V10 engines, their physics, their poetry, and the chaos they’d wreak under modern regs. It was indulgent. Comforting.

She spotted Christian a few times in the hallways. Passing glances in the cafeteria. An awkward silence that settled between them like fog.

It would’ve been easier, for both of them, if he could just swallow his pride and apologise for trying to control the narrative of her life.

But he didn’t.

So nothing changed.

—

Max won in France.

And he didn’t just win — he dominated.

A perfect undercut. A flawless strategy.

An overtake two laps from the end.

“Simply lovely, mate.”

A 1–3 finish for the team.

Amelia clapped her hands, grinning as she leaned across to watch the pit crew spill over the wall, fists pumping under the chequered flag.

After Max’s disaster in Baku, it wasn’t just a win.

It was redemption.

—

She found Fernando after the race, walking with him through the paddock. They spoke about the state of Alpine's setup, her questions casual, his answers blunt.

“It is a mess,” he said, waving his hand as though the topic was beneath him. “But they can give me a car, so I will stay until a better offer comes along.”

Amelia nodded, her mind already drifting to the young driver being promised the world at Otmar Szafnauer’s behest. She couldn’t trust them though. Not when the team was so clearly disjointed.

She made her way to Max next, pulling him into a tight hug. “If we can beat them here, we can beat them anywhere,” she whispered into his ear, feeling the heat of his pride radiate back at her.

Then, she found Lando. No words were necessary as he pulled her into his arms, holding her close. His ear was open, waiting for her praises. She whispered them to him as they moved to his driver’s room, him collapsing onto her in a mixture of exhaustion and contentment.

Her hand clutched the fabric of his shirt as she whispered, “Do you know anyone who could get me Mark Webber’s number?”

Lando's laughter echoed softly against her ear.

—

Amelia walks into the room, takes a seat across from Mark, and locks eyes with him, staring until he’s the first to blink.

Breaking the silence, she says, “I don’t trust Alpine, but I understand why Oscar does — they’ve invested a lot of time and money into his junior career.”

Mark nods in agreement and follows up with, “I don’t trust them either.”

A tense pause. Stalemate.

She leans forward slightly. “I’ve got an idea. Nothing's set in stone. If he gets the Alpine seat, I’ll back off. But if he doesn’t…”

“A back-up plan,” Mark guesses.

Amelia smiles, a glint in her eye. “Yes.”

—

They plane-shared with Charles, Max, and George on the way to Austria. Amelia sat quietly, her iPad resting on her lap as she scrolled through Pinterest, putting together an outfit board. Every so often, she’d tilt it toward George, giving him a silent ‘hm?’ as if to say, what do you think? without needing the words. George always knew, offering a quick response or nodding along with her choices.

Going non-verbal wasn’t something that happened often, but when it did, Amelia could never pinpoint the reason. Sometimes, it was just the weight of everything around her, the noise, the constant motion, and she’d retreat into silence. A soft hum, a cough, a tongue click; they were her ways of communicating in those moments.

Lando and Max, sitting across from them, exchanged a glance, both watching the interaction from afar.

"You think she’s okay?" Lando asked, his voice low, filled with concern.

Max nodded, eyes still on Amelia. "She's overwhelmed," he said quietly. "Trying to act like she’s not. It’s too much, I think."

Lando’s worry deepened, but Max’s words were a small comfort, as he thumped Lando on the shoulder. “Another holiday as soon as there’s a break. Yeah?”

Lando smiled, pulling out his phone and checking the calendar. It was a habit now, syncing their schedules. He sent a quick message to his travel agent.

—

After dropping off their luggage at the hotel, they met her dad for dinner at a local Italian place. Amelia snapped a few pictures of the pretty table settings, and Lando insisted on taking some of her in front of the wall of vintage wine bottles. “You look so pretty, baby,” he murmured, making her smile.

Her dad and Lando talked business and golf for most of the meal, their conversation a distant hum as Amelia scrolled through her Twitter feed, still not feeling up for much interaction.

At the end of the night, she gave her dad a tight hug before they parted ways, silently hoping that her love would come across through touch rather than words.

Their suite had a balcony, and Lando set up a little scene with blankets and chairs, ordering two bottles of Sprite to their room. Amelia ignored the chair he'd set up for her, instead collapsing onto his lap with a soft laugh and a surprised huff from him. “Jesus, warn me next time, baby,” he teased.

She buried her face in his neck, mouthing at the skin. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice muffled and her breath shaky, fingers clenched against him.

He rubbed a steady hand up and down her back, voice soft. “What for?”

She shrugged, kissed his neck again, and closed her eyes, just letting the quiet settle around them.

—

The next morning, Amelia called Pietra, high-pitched giggles echoing from the bathroom as they gossiped in Portuguese over FaceTime. She sat in the sink to get closer to the mirror, balancing her phone on the taps while applying her eye makeup.

Lando lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He listened to the two girls talk in a language he didn’t understand, probably about him. A smile tugged at his lips.

—

Two weeks. Two consecutive Austrian races. Same track, different name.

Amelia sat with Jos in the debrief room, going over Max’s notes from last year’s race. Adrian walked in, having just checked the car setup. GP and Max followed a few moments later, Max with a paper coffee cup in hand and dark circles under his eyes.

Amelia frowned at him. "What’s the matter? Did you not sleep well?"

His gaze flickered to Jos, then back to Amelia. "No, just… nothing. Don’t worry about it."

She studied him, trying to decode his expression; his head slightly tilted, eyes narrowed. Her attention then shifted to his neck, where the collar of his Red Bull polo had slipped. A dark bruise marred the skin, with four tiny indents around it.

With a huff, she reached across the table to adjust his collar, covering it up.

Sitting back, she noticed both Jos and Adrian were staring at her.

She frowned. "What? I hate hickeys."

Jos blinked at her, then shifted his gaze to Max.

Adrien winced.

Max? He just sighed.

—

She found Lando in his garage before the Styrian race.

He was starting on the second row, practically sandwiched between her two Red Bulls.

Pulling him close, she kissed him softly and whispered, “Do well, be safe.”

She smiled at her dad, nodded at Will, and waved at Daniel, who winked back at her.

—

Max wins by a huge margin. The car had been flawless all weekend, and that didn't change during the race.

He jumps out of the car and into his engineers' arms, who scream and cheer in pure joy. Red Bull’s first home race of the season, and he’s won it by a mile.

He runs straight to her next, finding her in Parc Fermé instead of the pit wall like usual. She squeals as he picks her up by the waist and spins her around, his helmet still on.

“Zusje,” he crooned, full of energy and excitement.

She grins, pats the side of his helmet, then shoves him off toward the scales. “Go get weighed before they fine you.”

—

The championship swings in Max's favor after the second Austrian race.

And suddenly, the question isn’t Can Max win the championship? It becomes When will he win it? Amelia pores over the data, analysing their history with each upcoming track, measuring the numbers.

She runs into Lewis in the paddock after Max’s second win. She opens her mouth to greet him, to ask how Roscoe’s doing, to check on him after so long without talking. But he keeps his head down and brushes past her, leaving her staring after him, eyes burning.

She finds Fernando first. Falls into his arms, a heap of sniffles and unjust sadness. She understands why Lewis is angry, knows how competitive this sport is, and how much she has to do with potentially denying him an eighth championship.

“Mi niña,” Fernando murmurs, holding her tightly, his eyes hard. “Who upset you?”

She doesn’t tell him. Doesn’t want him to make any rash decisions during the next race. She just lets herself be comforted, and when Fernando eventually hands her off to Lando, she lets herself really begin to cry.

NEXT CHAPTER

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lynbels · 1 day ago

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29 mr nishimuraaaaaa

whiplash (m)

#29 You tease the quiet boy in your friend group too far, and he snaps—fucking you hard enough to make you cry and then cuddling you like nothing happened.

niki x reader · prompt request list

synopsis: You thought teasing the quiet boy in your friend group was harmless—until Ni-ki finally snapped, fucking you hard enough to make you cry, then pulling you into his arms like nothing ever happened. ✉️ 980wc - ‼️ friends to lovers, size kink, rough sex, crying kink, overstimulation, breeding kink, aftercare, quiet boy snapping, bratty teasing, manhandling, creampie

📝: niki manhandling me pls

Ni-ki was always the quiet one in your friend group—stoic, reserved, always watching but rarely talking. It wasn’t that he was shy, necessarily, just… too chill to participate in the chaos. The rest of the group was a walking circus: Woonhak always yelling, Sungho deadpanning, Jaehyun micromanaging everyone’s snack bags, and you, the mouthy one who never shut up. Especially around Ni-ki.

“Do you even speak?” you snorted one day while everyone was lounging around in Leehan’s basement, half-buzzed on soda and sleep deprivation. Ni-ki just glanced at you, face unreadable, while the others burst out laughing.

“That’s not fair,” Riwoo piped up between bites of seaweed chips. “He talks. Just not to you.”

“Ouch.” You clutched your chest mock-dramatically. “I’m offended. Actually, I think I’m his favorite. He’s just playing hard to get.”

Ni-ki didn’t say a word. Just kept sipping his drink with that same maddening calm.

But you liked getting a rise out of him. Over the next few weeks, the teasing escalated.

“Blink twice if you’re real.”

“You’re like an NPC, you know that?”

“I bet your phone autocorrects everything to ‘k.’”

He never snapped. Not once. Not even when you flicked a popcorn kernel at him across the couch and it landed in his hoodie.

But something changed the night of Jaehyun’s birthday party. The group had rented a karaoke room, and somewhere between terrible rap verses and awful renditions of ballads, you and Ni-ki ended up sitting alone in the hallway. The others had gone back in to sing “Love Dive” at full volume.

You nudged his arm with your shoulder. “You know, if you ever decide to speak to me, I might faint.”

Silence.

“Like, actually. Flat on the floor. Need CPR and everything. Might be your only chance to touch me.”

And that’s when it happened.

He turned. Looked you dead in the eye. And said, “You should shut the fuck up for once.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I’m serious,” he said, voice low and calm—too calm. “You act like you want attention, but I don’t think you’re ready for what happens when you actually get mine.”

Oh.

You weren’t expecting him to stand up, take your hand, and lead you down the hall like it was nothing. Weren’t expecting to end up shoved against the wall of an empty storage room, lights dim, his hoodie off and jaw clenched.

“Still think I’m an NPC?” he asked, fingers already under your skirt.

“Ni-ki—”

“Be quiet,” he said again, this time pressed against your ear. “You’ve been talking all month. Time to listen.”

And listen you did.

To the sound of your own whimpers as he bent you over a forgotten couch, shoved your panties aside, and fucked into you like it was something he’d been planning—mapping out in that silent mind of his for weeks.

“You always run your mouth,” he muttered, pulling your head back by your hair just enough to kiss your throat. “So loud. Always poking me like I’m not gonna do anything.”

“You never—ah—said I had to stop—”

Ni-ki didn’t hesitate. One of his large hands gripped your waist, the other fisting in your hair, forcing you to arch your back just enough. You barely managed a breath before he shoved the thick head of his cock against your entrance, pressing in hard.

The stretch made your mouth fall open in a silent gasp. He didn’t ease you into it—he drove himself inside you all at once, splitting you wide open on his cock in one rough, overwhelming thrust. Your nails dug into the couch cushions, back bowing under the sudden, brutal pressure.

“Fuck—Ni-ki—” you whimpered, the force of it nearly knocking the air from your lungs.

He wasn’t gentle. His hips slammed into yours over and over, heavy, relentless, the wet slap of skin against skin filling the room. His cock pounded deep inside you, thick and hot, making your pussy spasm around him with every brutal stroke. Each thrust forced needy, broken sounds from your lips, louder than you could even think to control.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, spilling over when he fucked you harder, chasing the tight clench of your walls around him. You cried—not just from the stretch, but from the pure overwhelming feeling of being used and filled so perfectly, so completely, you couldn’t even think straight.

“You wanted attention, right?” Ni-ki growled low against your ear, voice a deep, dangerous rumble. His hand slipped between your legs, fingers rubbing fast, brutal circles over your swollen clit. “Take it.”

You sobbed, legs trembling uncontrollably under the weight of him, mind blank from how good it felt, how rough he was giving it to you. Every part of you was reduced to raw sensation: the thick drag of his cock splitting you open, the helpless clenching of your cunt around him, the burn in your thighs from how hard he kept you pinned in place.

Your orgasm hit you like a slap, sudden and devastating. You wailed his name, body convulsing, squeezing tight around him as he fucked you through it mercilessly. His pace grew frantic, sloppy, chasing his own release. With a broken, low groan, he slammed deep one last time and came inside you, cock pulsing thick spurts of hot cum against your walls.

Neither of you moved for a long moment, just breathing hard.

When you finally collapsed forward, boneless and dazed, Ni-ki gently pulled you onto his lap, his cock still buried inside you, softening slowly. His hands roamed your back soothingly, like he hadn’t just wrecked you five minutes ago.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice soft again, brushing a kiss to your temple.

You could only nod weakly, mind swimming.

He smiled faintly, arms wrapping tighter around you. “You talk too much,” he said, a little smug. “But I guess I like you anyway.”

wanna read my longer ffs? check out @shy9-29 || prompt req list

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jesuistrestriste · 21 hours ago

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this is my request for more patrick. dare i say artrick. dare i say them both totally pliable in your hands. i am terribly greedy and want to see sub!artrick and dom!reader written by you. please and thank

love youuuuu

eee hope this is to your liking annie ♥️ muah muah muah !

cw (18+) : sub!art donaldson, sub!patrick zweig, dom!reader, messy handjobs, desperation, dirty talk, patrick and art work for it

“does this feel good?” you breathe out, your voice almost shaky from the feeling of both sets of lips on your neck.

“mmn—yeah, yeah, i’m s’good,” art slurs into your left side, bucking up into your sticky hand, “can i—more—ah, faster—? aah-!”

patrick bites at your right earlobe and whimpers against your skin. his cock throbs in your right fist, dribbling with fluid from his attentive slit. it looks like melting glass pouring down his sensitive flesh.

“please,” he groans, “touch my tip, please.. oh, fuck, please—“

you chuckle and then suck in a soft breath when the blonde nips needily at your shoulder, lathing over it with his tongue after in apology. sometimes when his body starts to ache with arousal, he has to find an outlet for it—and sometimes that means biting, grabbing, sobbing, the like. patrick’s usually only slightly more restrained. they’re like two sides of the same coin, both constantly vying for attention, only in subtly different ways. it’s a good thing that you’ve trained them to stop bickering when you’re playing with their willing bodies. otherwise, they’d be at each other’s throats a bit right now.

“behave.”

that singular word from your mouth snaps them both back into place like rubber bands. art pants, high-pitched and whiny, while patrick grabs at the front of your body. he palms over your chest and squeezes whatever he can cup.

“i’m sorry,” you hear earnestly from the left side, accompanied by a calloused hand rubbing your inner thigh. you fist the back of his golden curls, which elicits a sharp, guttural cry to spring forth. his length twitches, balls drawn up.

“sorry, ungh, sorry,” comes from the right side, but less earnest and more please, just don’t stop. your other hand rubs at his bouncing leg. his eyes roll back under heavy lids, eclipsing his colorful irises.

“who wants to come?”

art smushes himself into your side and accidentally slides his dick through your returned grip, shuddering, “me, me—i wanna—.. please, it hurts—“

he swallows his mouthful of drool and buries his face into your neck. whines like a newborn puppy. grabs at your bicep.

patrick tugs roughly at the waistband of your bottoms, desperately wanting to slide his hand down and make you feel good. you can practically feel the waves of heat radiating off of his dazed body.

“i’m ready to come for you, feel me,” he takes his other hand and wraps it around your hand that’s holding his length, urging you to squeeze him a bit more and feel how much he needs it, “i’m so close.. so close, s’ close, i feel it coming..”

you slide your hands off of them at the same time. they crumple forward and moan brokenly at nearly the exact same moment, both feeling the swell of their peaks taper off painfully when your curled fingers caress the undersides. they pout and look up to your eyes.

“are you both going to be good for me?”

simultaneous nods follow the question. unsurprising. they share a look between themselves, then back to you.

you place a hand on the back of art’s neck first, then patrick’s. a soft smirk creeping over your lips as you urge them both forward in front of your eyeline.

they seem to get the hint, their gazes immediately fixating on one another. patrick’s the first to move, reaching his touch from your body to cup art’s ruddy cheek. the blonde leans into the touch like its some sort of lifeline, pleading for any point of contact he can get. he dives in and smushes his lips to the brunette’s, licking at his bottom one to beg for entry. pat obliges.

while you watch them begin to sync up, all broken sounds and lewd smacking and furrowed brows, you spit into your palms and bring them back down to begin pumping them. watching them kiss is like watching them play tennis: they know exactly what to do. it’s almost like they’re doing a dance.

art’s eyes flutter open and roll back, patrick’s squeezing shut tighter. their jaws slack and they lick into each other’s open mouths, gulping each other’s cries down greedily—like they’re consuming one another’s pleasure in the midst of their own. you feel a blurt of warm lubricant seep between your fingers from art’s cock, and a thrum of heat runs through your spine at the realization. he’s always been one to enjoy making-out. thoroughly, actually. he can finish just from it alone. patrick needs a bit more stimulation.

so, expectantly, the brunette chokes on a soft sob against his opposite’s bottom lip and drags his tongue over it. “more,” he murmurs, “aangh, jus’ a bit more—“

you stroke them both faster and they nearly break. pat bites down hard on art’s lip and art yelps, his hips bouncing with your touch.

“gentle, patrick, gentle,” you remind him, thumbing the ridge of his cockhead, the area pulsing and hot to the touch.

art sniffles, kissing his tennis partner deeper despite the sting from the clamp of his teeth. their hands are all over each other now. clawing at forearms and snagging handfuls of hair and gripping over shoulders. it’s a mess.

suddenly, patrick breaks the kiss and whimpers against art’s jaw—low and stuttered. art tries to kiss him again, too lost in the feeling to realize he’s stopped, but misses his lips and mouths at his cheek instead.

“i’m too close,” the brunette shudders, “please, can i come yet? i can’t hold it anymore, it’s gonna come out, gonna come,” he murmurs urgently.

“art, are you ready too?”

he nods, licking over the sweat on pat’s skin depravedly. he kisses him again, finding his lips. “mhmmmn—!”

you slide your hands up to begin rapidly jerking their tips, using their oozing evidence of arousal to work them up to their frayed ends. art squeezes patrick’s arm, mouth open and letting out little sounds that rise in pitch—higher, higher, higher—almost there. patrick tries in vain to fuck into your touch, his pelvis stuttering, his fluids leaking over his happy-trail.

“are you boys going to come now?”

art mewls sharply, patrick swallows thickly around a throaty sob. any more teasing, and you’d never hear the end of it. it’d be cruel, really.. and they’ve been good enough.

you press your thumbs to their tacky frenulums. rubbing quick, successive circles there. just how they like it—just what they need.

“.. let it all go.. show me how obscene and filthy you both look when you break..”

and they do.

they shatter.

their visions white out dizzily as the stimulation reaches the point of no-return; their mouths opening and bodies convulsing in ways that are nothing short of pornographic.

“oh, fuuuck—!” patrick gushes, ropes pouring from him in heavy waves, the paralyzing jabs of pleasure rendering him useless and twitchy as he orgasms. the thick, clotted load spills copiously.

a string of clinging spit bridges their lips as art leans back to pant raggedly. he looks down and watches as his own climax floods the gaps between your fingers and bubbles frothily as your movements refuse to relent. he uses his free hand to grab your wrist, thrusting reflexively as he hiccups and nearly squeals from the overstimulation. “ow—hmmngh—coming, coming, so much—“

you touch both of them until tears spring to the corners of their eyes, threatening to spill down their cheeks as they writhe and squirm in their seats. you suck your inner cheek between your teeth and bite down to resist the desire to torture their parts until they’re too fucked-out to form a thought. you’ve done it before, and it backfired when they weren’t able to stand up afterwards. all limp and shaky. maybe another time.

you slow your movements and slide your fists off of their shafts with a wet squelch, both of them curling inward from the oversensitivity.

“good job,” you croon, “didn’t realize you both were so pent up.. look at my hands..”

you hold up your messy palms to show them what they did. they look up with vacant stares, still breathing heavy and lost in the aftershocks.

“what do you say, hmm? you know what i need to hear.”

art lolls his head to rest on your shoulder and moans lowly, chest rumbling. patrick leans forward to sigh against your neck.

“thank you,” you hear on your left, “thank you so much,” follows on your right.

you smile.

“you’re welcome.”

#happy challengers anniversary !#artrick yayyy #if i was tashi in that hotel room i would be doing this to them post-threeway makeout #sigh #sage’s asks #annie<33 #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x patrick zweig #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #💌 - mutuals #🌸 - ask prompts

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athenaluciscaelum · 2 days ago

Note

Coming up with ask again 🤭

Dante pregnancy headcanons through various installment of the franchise (i mean his reaction when he found out that his wife is pregnant)?

Note: You can ask me anytime or as many times. I work on a first come, first serve basis. So no problem

Dante finding out his wife is pregnant through various installment of the franchise:

!!MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Rated: Mature

Words: 3275 words

Warning: Mention of Pregnancy, unprotected sex, demon sex, mention of abortion

Disclaimer:

Feel free to leave comments, but remember to be nice and civil.

LETS ROCK!!

So again, few assumptions were laid down here.

This is a loving relationship between Dante and Y/N. Two are married, since ask specifies 'wife'.

Pregnancy is unexpected and not planned. As for a planned one, the reaction remains the same; he will be happy.

No matter how sad and depressed he is or what he says. You will be his home, and he will come to terms and embrace you and the baby. It's just a matter of when?

You love this baby, and you are willing to fight for him/her. You want to protect them from the movement you were made aware of their existence.

Devil May Cry 3 Manga and Video Game

Dante here is young; he was eighteen when you two got married. It was rather quick, you both agree. But with your certainty that you both are meant to be together, Dante was swooned by the fact that you were still there after years of his stupidity, pain and nightmare. You didn't make his nightmare go away, but you made it so bearable.

Dante was always sure to use protection; he had to be. He had a terrible father, or so he thought back then, and wouldn't be a bad father himself.

Then something changed; Temen-Ni-Gru was erected, and Dante had to send you to safety. He asked you to go to Enzo, who will keep you out of the city. When he came back at night, you were asleep in a motel room. You couldn't understand how he knew that this is where you were; Enzo kept it secret. But it was your Dante, or... he wasn't. You could see his eye glowing red; you knew he was a demon.

You yelped as he literally lunged at you, pinning you on the bed. You moaned as he started to kiss and lick your cheek, lips and neck. You shuddered; his tongue felt long and slim like a snake. You cupped his face; it was pitch dark in the room, only moonlight illuminating your face... You spoke concerned... "Dante? Are you okay?" His voice came out rough, deep and metallic. "Need you…" You smiled, "I missed you too..."

You were about to scream when he morphed into something inhuman, but when he looked at you and touched you. It was his gentleness, his love, his soul, and his heart. Dante was scared. "Am I hideous, scary?" You cupped his scaly face. "Scary? My God, you're divine...missed you...you are back, you're home, baby..."

Dante's claws were quick to shred your clothes. "My sweet angel..." You never saw Dante so desperate and needy; he was rutting into you...as he hungrily kissed your lips. He was quick to plunge in you; it felt so different, big and with bumps. Your head felt dizzy… it was too much, but he kept hitting your sweet spot. You could not remember how many times you came, but it felt so good when he filled you to the brim. Dante collapsed on your limp body as soon as he was done; he morphed back into his human self.

A few weeks later, you felt sick for days, throwing up; your breasts were tender, and you were dizzy many times. You were a little dumb in this department and didn't think much. Dante has been so depressed since he came back. He was mostly at his desk looking at those gloves. He cried so many nights in your chest about how he couldn't save anyone he loves. But you promised him that he saved you. You blamed your skipped periods on stress you were feeling with Dante. He was the lowest, and it was obvious you felt the same.

So when you went to the doctor, they told you that you were pregnant. You were scared, so scared. You walked back to Devil May Cry, thinking about how Dante will react. He was at his lowest; you both were not financially secure, and what if he didn't want this?

Dante was deep in a whisky bottle in the afternoon, his head on his desk. You spoke softly, "Dante?" Dante shook his head, "Yeah...babe...? Good day at work?" You walked up to him and sighed, "We need to talk...."

Dante sat up straight as you held his hand and placed it on your stomach. You spoke scared, "I'm carrying our child..."

Dante blinked; was he drunk? He looked at you. He moved his hand across your stomach and tried to feel a little life in you; he was sure now. He was scared, shocked, and happy…happy not to be the only one alive of Sparda blood. "You want this with me? Look at me ..."

You just smiled and nodded, tears in your eyes, "I can't imagine it with anyone else." Dante hugged you tight. He knew his father was a better person, and he aspires to be the same for you and the baby... or more.

Devil May Cry 1 and Anime

Dante and you had quite a night before he left for Mallet Island. He was just excited he would finally avenge his mother, and you wanted your husband in your arms before he faced Mundus. When he left for Mallet Island, you were scared. Dante wanted you to stay at Devil May Cry and asked Morrison and Lady to make sure you are safe. When Dante came back, he was quiet, too quiet.

He confided in you how he killed Vergil again, and he will never be able to forgive himself. You held him tight. You had something of your own to share with him. But you did not know when and how; you were so scared.

You have seen the worst of Dante; he didn't mask anything in front of you. He just lashed out, "Why are you wasting your life with me, Y/N? You deserve better!" You were picking up bottles littered around the office; he wasn't speaking out of spite but out of genuine concern and fear. To him, he was not enough; he never would be. He destroys everyone he loves; he feared the same for you.

You sat up; you were feeling so tired and uneasy. You sighed, your hand instinctively resting on your belly, "Dante...Stop...I—" Dante looked at you with pain and saw the way your hand rested on your belly...his eyes questioned you... You nodded, "Yes, we are going to be parents."

Dante was stuttering, "How far along are you?" You thought, "A month..." Dante gulped, "Mine?" You shouted, "Dante!" Dante ran a hand across his face; he just hoped you would treat him like the shit he is and maybe even cheat on him, giving him the pain he deserves. But he knew you would never.

You cupped his face, "Dante...it's going to be fine..." Dante shook his head, "No...I will harm you both...maybe I should leave…"

Dante was making his way to exit; you can keep the place or whatever he has, but he has to be away; he will take care of financial responsibility for you and the baby. He will work to the bone...but he has to stay away. Because he loves you both.

You stopped him with all your weight, "Dante! No!" You cried, and he stopped in his tracks. You pooled on the floor crying like a child, your pregnancy hormones not helping. Your head in your hands, "God! Dante! I can't do this without you! I won't do this without you! I want the baby to have us both! Please!"

Dante saw how much he was hurting you; he was quick to gather you in his arms and put you down comfortably on the red leather couch. He removed your shoes, and he guessed your feet were swollen; he massaged them. You looked at him scared.

He was scared too, of hurting you and the baby. He spoke after a while, "Please....I need time…" You nodded. "It's okay...just remember we need you...always."

For initial checkups, Dante sent Lady with you; he was scared that even his shadow might be an omen for the baby. You were always sharing all news with him. You pinned an ultrasound for him of twins – a girl and a boy – on the fridge. You can see love in his eyes for his children. But his fear was palpable.

You were quite swollen, and four months in, you were showing a little bump. You lay down on the bed in a little nightie. Thanks to pregnancy, your breasts were heavy. Dante was in the office; you called for him. "Dante..." He bolted up to the room, the fear in his voice evident, "Is everything okay? You're in pain?" You nodded, "Yeah…can you help?"

Dante was unsure. "Sure...how?" You spoke tiredly, "My breasts are tender...can you help?" Dante looked at your heavy breasts; he was drooling inside. He was staying away from you from fear of harming you or the baby in any capacity... but you need this now, right? His big hands started to massage your tits... you moaned, and he felt it in his cock. He drank in your flustered face and how you bit your lips; god, he should paint you. You looked at him with love; he gulped, "Are you feeling better now?" You nodded, "Thanks...but nipples?" Dante was quick to pull down your top and play with your nipples, pinching and twisting them. You whimpered. He lowered his head to suck on your nipples one by one.

You were so wet, his knees driving up to your core to help you ride it out, and it certainly helped. He held you close, picking you up to place you on his thigh as you rode him... you were left satisfied. He smiled, kissing your head and belly, "Sleep tight...my world…"

Dante missed no appointment afterwards.

Devil May Cry 2

You didn't know how this even happened. Dante was always deep in a bottle, missions, or arguing with you. It was never you who argued. Dante was at his lowest, and he intentionally argued with you to drive you away. You could see through it in no time.

Dante spoke bitterly when he came back from hell, "Still here?" You were shocked at his cold voice, "Yes...are you okay? Lucis came... She told me everything... I asked Trish to help, and she figured out a way to open some portal for you." Dante laughed bitterly, "So...I should be thankful to you now? It was all you, right?" You shook your head. "That's not what I meant...Dan—" Dante stopped you, "So what you meant! Huh? I should be so thankful; you stick by poor me!" You cupped Dante's face. "Hey...I'm here...you are going to be fine....stop this..."

Dante clenched his teeth, "Why do you have to be so understanding...?" You hugged him tight. "Because I love you... and you have made me very happy..."

This was not one attempt; your friends asked you to leave Dante, labelling him 'toxic', but you knew Dante. There were better days; you have seen the best of life with him. You won't leave his side just because he was at his worst. Yes, sometimes it was unbearable. But even Dante would melt at those points, and there will be fleeting moments that will remind you. Why you two were together. He could be 'not nice' to you but never cruel. Or so you thought.

When you missed your periods, you were in denial. You took tests, and you hid all those positive tests. You had no courage to tell Dante. He was a mess; you cannot bring a child into this mess. But you wanted to protect this child with your heart and soul. It was a part of him and you. You would do anything for the child in you.

You told yourself every morning that you would tell him today. But you failed; it was already two months in. Dante was either always on a mission or in his bottles. You were not sure what to do. You were taking care of all bills and finances. Since Dante was barely taking any mission that came with a pay cheque.

You were asleep in bed after a long day of work. When the door to your shared bedroom was slammed open by Dante, he was angry and cold, "Did you ever intend to tell me!?" You were confused and frowned; your head was pounding anyway. "What?" Dante looked at you in fury; he spoke bitterly, "You think I won't notice...you throwing up every morning. You can't do it, baby...these cursed ears pick up everything. You thought I wouldn't notice your sweet human scent as a subtle hint of the demon in you now!? You really thought you could hide your meds from me!? Why do I have to know it from Lady!?"

You were pale and confused, "Lady?" Dante spoke angrily, "Yeah, she left me a pay cheque saying I need it now... She was for once not ripping me off! You really thought you could hide this!?" You shook your head as you sat in bed, your head pounding with stress, pregnancy, work and now this, "I was going to tell you…" Dante shouted, "When!?" You were not even thinking clearly now, "Soon..."

Dante was scared...so scared; he needed you to say it, "Say it..." You spoke, looking at your belly, "I'm pregnant..." Dante's denial could not work anymore; he shook his head in trying to still deny it, "No…" You looked up at him sadly, "Dante...it's true..." Dante shook his head. He spoke with a heavy heart, "Y/N, we can't.....abort it..." Your whole world was crashing; you couldn't understand what he was saying... You shook your head, speaking incoherently. You were barely functional, "No...Dante...you didn't hear it right...it's our baby…" Dante was quiet and sombre. "I did...I can't do it...either abort it or..." Your eyes were wide. "Or...?"

Dante gave you a sympathetic look. You shook your head, "No! No! No! Please!" Dante closed the door, leaving you alone. You lay down in bed, curled up, crying. Dante could hear you; his heart clenched, but he knew he had no other choice.

You were in bed till late afternoon; you even skipped your day at work because you were sick. Dante knocked at the door; he came in with a bowl of fruit; he sat it on the bed. You sat up in the bed, the stress on your face obvious; anyone could tell you were not okay. Your eyes were puffy, and your head was pounding. Dante spoke sympathetically, "Here… you need nutrition..."

You were choking on your words as your heart felt heavy, "Why do you care? You want our child dead…" Dante froze for a second; the words were so heavy. He ran his fingers through your hair. "Because I want you to live..." You looked at him, and you pleaded, "It's going to be okay; you're here." Dante looked at his hands; he felt useless. "When was I ever able to protect anyone I love?" You were determined: "I will have my child anyway. I will protect them! With you or alone!"

Dante nodded, "You made your choice..." You nodded, "I did..."

You left Devil May Cry in a week. Dante said you could stay, but you didn't want to. You could go back to your parents, but they will just remind you how they were always suspicious of Dante and will ask you to consider an abortion. You rented a little apartment.

When you went for your next appointment, you saw two little beans on the screen – a girl and a boy. You kept the ultrasound. Something in your heart said to send it to Dante. He was a father no matter what. So you gave it to Morrison. Dante was in his office; it was late at night. He opened the envelope and saw it. Any doubt in his mind cleared.

You heard a soft knock on your door. You opened it to find Dante...he hugged you tight, "I'm so sorry..."

You hugged him back, "You always come along..." Dante buried his face in your hair. "I'm so scared..." You cupped his face, "Yeah, me too...but we are in this together."

Devil May Cry 4 and Novel

Dante had a change of heart in Fortuna. When he looked at Nero, he saw a possibility he never entertained in his mind. There could be the next Sparda blood who could grow up safe. Dante reached back home happily.

You found out while he was gone. You were ready for everything. You will fight for your baby; your packs were already packed, just in case.

Dante was back with a wide smile; you smiled back. You wanted to tread carefully. Dante hugged you tight. "Y/N, babe, I missed you..." You summoned courage...and pulled back, "Dante...I'm pregnant...and I won't give up on my baby...even if it means I have to do it alone."

Dante was surprised; he muted any part after 'I'm pregnant', a wide grin on his face, "What!? Baby!? My baby!?" You were confused; he is happy. You nodded, "Our baby..." Dante quickly picked you up and twirled you around. You squeaked, "Dante! I am feeling dizzy!" Dante puts you back on your feet and rubs his neck sheepishly, "Sorry...but I'm going to be a father!" You smiled and nodded. He got on his knees to put his ears against your stomach; he sighed. He could hear those strong little heartbeats. It sounded like two – must be vibrations, or so he thought. He sighed contentedly, kissing your belly. You ran your fingers through his hair.

He picked you up bridal style and climbed up to your room. "You will rest now...no stress or overwork." You smiled, "I'm just one week in…" Dante opened your shared bedroom door. He frowned at your packed bag; now that he remembers, you were saying something else too... Dante looked at you. "Babe, why are your bags packed...?" You tried to dodge the question, "Just vacation..." Dante sets you on the bed. "You thought...I would kick you out because you are pregnant? What monster do you think I am...? I'm disappointed, babe."

You shook your head, "Dante ...no!" He clicked his tongue. "You should have more faith in me." He pouted; you cupped Dante's face to make him look at you, "No...I..." Dante started being dramatic, "What a world? My wife thinks so little of me..."

You sighed, "How can I make up?" Dante thought, "I pick the nursery theme…and decor." Your mouth was wide open at the disastrous idea. But you had no option but to agree.

Dante never missed an appointment; he was a very involved parent and a partner. He made it the most beautiful and loving part of your relationship. Though he reconsidered ever having kids after seeing the pain you went through.

Devil May Cry 5

Dante was thinking as he looked into the mirror after coming back from hell, "Am I too old?" He looked at you reading on the red leather couch; he could tell your sweet human scent changed, but he will wait for you to tell.

When you did tell him at night. He was happy; he hugged you tight, and he was grinning ear to ear. He sighed, "Are you happy?" You nodded, "very much." He kissed your forehead, his hand protectively on your belly wherever you go.

He was protective, but not overprotective. He was taking more jobs to make everything financially secure for you and the baby. He called over Kyrie and Nero a lot to help you.

He will be very happy and ready to be a father.

Tagged: @violet-2084-turkish-warrior

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imrix · 1 day ago

Text

The thing about middle aged women is they're often the backbone of political organisation. They have free time to show up, they can put off obligations to make time to show up, both of which also mean they're often extremely well-connected in their communities, which gives them social status they can shame people with, and they're used to throwing that status around.

Yes, we gripe about the 'I want to speak to your manager!' customers, but those women will pull that same attitude against cops and politicians too, and not only does that shit actually work (even the bastards still have a little button in their head marked 'obey your mother you disrespectful little shit' that a mature woman can jam her thumb on with the right tone), but pushing back against it often looks terrible. At best it's a politician who comes off as out of touch by being condescending to a lady, at worst it's headline photos of some thug in a uniform beating up Dear Old Mum.

Complain about Karen's in your workplace all you like, but when shit hits the fan, don't be surprised if they're leading the charge in a political warzone.

And like... They're often capital-L Liberals, yes, even centrists. But part of what makes people like that frustrating and corny is they often aren't disaffected or disinterested in politics. They believe in the national mythology. They're not radicals, they tend to balk at truly progressive ideas (which is intensely frustrating when times are bad enough that we need progress) - but they're not reactionaries, either. For a lot of them, when they talk about stuff like the slow and steady process of incremental reform, that's not a stalling tactic, they do genuinely believe in that as a principle of good governance.

Confronting someone like that with an incompetent authoritarian who blasts cruelty out every which way? That does actually rile them up.

tumblr leftists being surprised to see middle aged white women with signs or hats saying "deny defend depose" really reinforces for me that tumblr leftists don't actually talk to people lmao. like I did a lot of canvassing as a teenager and you know who the best most reliable political organizers are? middle aged women. you know who's bloodthirsty after watching rachel maddow every night and sharing HuffPo articles on facebook? middle aged women. maybe sheryl from iowa who's been voting religiously for democrats for the past thirty years IS more hardcore than you, tumblr user who did a write-in "protest vote." what are you going to do about that.

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elysiality · 22 hours ago

Text

TRICK OR TREAT —

natalie scatorccio and shauna shipman. (PT.2 to W.I.T.H.)

"I know what Halloween is, Shauna." you grumble, rolling your eyes.

"You sure?", she asks, grinning widely as she adjusts the paper horns on the guide's decapitated head. "I could make you a presentation— but no promises that it won't just be several pages of 'The terribly drawn adventures of Count Chocula and Franken Berry.' "

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

-⋆˚꩜｡ synopsis — ever since the knife incident, Shauna's been latched onto you like a leech hungry for blood. as annoying as this is, an opportunity for escape presents itself in the form of your girlfriend, Nat. you let yourself indulge in malicious compliance with what 'It' wills. (requested part 2 to Wolf In the Headlights)

-⋆˚꩜｡ content contains — fem! reader, yellowjackets typical antics, yellowjackets season 3 spoilers, shauna shipman being shauna shipman, marriage blood rituals (no, you're not reading this wrong), infidelity but not really??? blood, blah blah blah, you know the drill, I am not a botanist chat, consensual (ish) drugging, clap if you're surprised, blood drinking, suggestive-ish?? wow this is long—

══════════════════════════

ever since the knife incident™, you were under the, quite frankly, delusional impression that maybe Shauna would leave you alone now. maybe, just maybe, you and Nat could now live out the rest of your miserable, definitely shortened lifespan without the imposing influence of America's First Female Dictator (trademark pending).

as you might've guessed, that was not the case. if anything, she's just gotten even more annoyingly clingy and paranoid now— you didn't even know that was possible.

the whole 'good dog' comment was a spur of the moment thing. the most condescending, degrading insult you could think of at the moment (granted, not a very creative one). she took it to heart, as luck would have it.

she goes everywhere you go.

you're trying to do your chores? she's right next to you— not helping, but watching you do your work, sharpening that darn knife of hers like it wouldn't cut through diamond at this point.

try to sneak off with Nat for a secret, much needed makeout session? she pops out of seemingly nowhere, her footsteps blending in with the rustling of the trees, and completely ruins the vibe by scaring the living daylights out of the two of you.

it'd gotten to the point where you considered joining Lottie's weird wilderness cult to escape her— the one thing Shauna refuses to touch with a ten-foot pole.

unfortunately, Nat was on Shauna's side with that one, so that idea was completely vetoed. in her words, 'joining a cult is all fun and games until you realise that you can't leave'. you can't help but agree.

Shauna's 'affection' (heavy air quotes on that) isn't just limited to stalking either. she's been trying to show off for you— and by that, I mean that she's been showing off. plain and simple.

if she walked around like she had a stick up her ass before, there's an entire tree up there now. her favourite pastimes (since she was freed from butcher duty once she became queen) now include (but aren't limited to):

poking fun at Nat every chance she gets (expected, but disappointing nonetheless),

alternating between sneering at the will of the wilderness and fully supporting whatever It wills as long as it involves violence,

hitting on you like it's her full time job instead of actually trying to lead the group,

turning down Melissa's advances, thoroughly confusing the poor girl who she made out with less than a week ago, and finally—

running a full blown dictatorship with hut searches, body patdowns every morning (and she does yours personally), etc and relishing in the fact that no one can tell her to stop.

you're actually not quite sure why none of you have tried to impeach your 'queen' yet. you've brought up the topic with Nat in your hut before lights out almost every day, and every day she gives you the same answer— "She sees through our bullshit. We need a foolproof plan before we try to pull anything on her."

even worse, Hannah killed the guide dude. y'know, your pathway back home? yeah. so now she's in with the group and besties with Shauna, apparently. typical. homicidal murderers stay together, as you had remarked to Nat. you both chose to ignore the hypocrisy in that sentence.

so that's been your life now for the past couple of weeks. the days have been getting colder, and with it, everyone has been getting antsier.

Akilah has started frantically trying to breed out the animals as quickly as possible. small groups of two or three go out deeper and deeper into the woods every day to try to salvage whatever herbs and fruits they can find and possibly bring back their seeds. the animals have started retreating deeper. you've managed to skin and gut enough of them to get a decent supply of meat and warm fur, but it's not enough. it's still not enough.

inevitably, what you've been dreading will happen. winter will come and pass. your numbers will grow smaller and the pile of corpses will grow larger. who knows, maybe yours will be among them?

these were the wonderful thoughts that have been floating around in your head for the past week or so.

then came your salvation. Nat dragged you into your hut one night, claiming that she wanted to hit the hay early— odd, considering that she usually stayed up for hours on end after the sun went down (which signalled lights off, given that not one of you apparently thought to bring a watch with you to nationals), but you went with it. the days have been draining you of whatever little energy you did have.

to your surprise, what you expected to be an hour long cuddle session before falling asleep turned out to be a surreptitious strategy meeting. Gen, Robin, Melissa, Mari, Akilah, Van, Tai and even Misty piled into your tiny, cramped hut one by one.

"We needed to get you away from Shauna." Gen explains in a low voice, setting the torch down in its makeshift torch holder. Nat's jaw clenches. "She follows you everywhere. She has this nasty habit of sticking around our hut every night to make sure we aren't plotting against her."

your eyebrows raise just slightly. "Well I can't really say I'm surprised. So what changed tonight?"

Gen nods to Akilah. "Lottie tired her out today", Akilah tells you, her voice hushed as she glances around nervously. "I told her that I had a vision that Shauna would be our salvation. She basically forced Shauna out of her hut and took her to the woods to spend some quality time with her."

"Probably exchanging notes on how to piss us all off with tales of the wilderness and it's hunger for violence." Mari remarks to some nervous giggles.

"And you're sure she's asleep?" you ask, shifting backwards so that you're leaning against Nat, folding your legs in to make room for everyone else.

"We drugged her." Tai holds up a bunch of leaves you can't put a name to. you frown. you've seen some patches of these around your usual snare areas. "Akilah recognised these from her time with the Girl Scouts. We mixed it into her share of the berry juice. They made her sleepier. Van and I had to carry her to her hut. She was out like a light before we even set her down."

"She actually trusted you enough to drink it?", you ask, aghast. this was the same Shauna who had once threatened Robin at knife point to the point of tears because her stew was slightly off-colour. turns out, Mari had put in some natural laxatives in hers, just out of pettiness. they turned the stew a darker colour. she served a week on latrine duty for pulling that one.

"Well, yes, under normal circumstances she would've probably forced it down my throat, can, juice and all—", Van admits, her head drooping onto Tai's shoulder, "but I drank some of it in front of her to convince her. I don't think we fully got there but she was too tired to protest."

"And Lottie?", you persist. usually she's more on neutral territory, but she seems to have joined the Shauna Shipman hype train when she got the chance.

"Already taken care of." Tai replies, tucking Van's now sleeping head under her chin. "She accepted the juice without giving us any problems." "She likes sleeping early at night anyway." Akilah adds. "She likes the clarity the dreamless sleep gives her."

"Course she does." Nat snorts.

you're filled in on the plan, the girls enthusiastically rapid-firing their strategy at you. you're surprised to hear about the satellite cell thing from a suspiciously quiet, red-in-the-face Misty. Nat keeps glaring at her every now and then. you're not sure why.

with each word that leaves their lips, your heart becomes lighter and lighter. a way to get home. away from the wilderness. away from It. away from this rag-tag village made by teenage girls with not a single complete high school education between them and a body count that grows with each passing day.

"So...you in?" Nat asks finally, when all the girls have extinguished their frenetic explanations.

It's a no-brainer— you're getting good at those.

"Yes.", you reply immediately. "Hell yes. I'm so tired of this. I'm so tired of her." you get sympathetic nods. "I just— need to get away from her."

Misty holds up a finger. "But- wait. There is...a crucial role for you to play in the plan..", she explains nervously, looking around for support. everyone else determinedly avoids eye contact. she sighs dejectedly.

you're grateful that Shauna sleeps deeply when she does. you would've given the game away with the explosive reaction you had to the role you were assigned.

the next morning, you tramp out of your hut, steaming mad. Nat follows behind you, yelling after you and cussing loudly. you make as loud a ruckus as you can. sure enough, Shauna is stomping out of her own hut in half a minute, gun slung over her shoulder, hair tousled from sleep, her face twisted in annoyance and just the slightest hint of intrigue.

"Don't you fucking lie to me!" Nat snarls as you stomp off towards the animal pen. she grabs your arm roughly, spinning you around to face her dark eyes.. "— hey! I'm talking to you."

sure enough, Shauna storms up to Nat like a knight in blood stained flannel, shoving her off of you by the collar of her shirt. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Shauna hisses, advancing on Nat threateningly. one finger strokes the strap of her gun menacingly and Nat backs up a bit.

Nat eyes her gun for a bit and decides she wants nothing to do with that. "I'm gonna go check on the snares." she announces loudly. then, she shoots you a withering glare. "If there's any left."

she storms off towards the forest bordering the village, leaving a trail of literal dust fuming behind her. you cough as you wave it out of your face.

Shauna turns to you. "The hell was that about?", she asks. her tone is even enough, but you can glean the excitement in her eyes, the vehement tapping of her fingers against her chest.

you roll your eyes. "Nothing. It's nothing." Shauna groans in frustration. you start to imitate Nat, storming towards your hut, but she catches your wrist, spinning you around to face her again. her face is set in annoyance.

"It's not fucking nothing. Your beloved girlfriend, who was being a complete doormat for you like two days ago, is now starting fights with you at— like, the asscrack of dawn.", she snarls, her tone holding just the slightest hint of jealousy. "Now you're gonna tell me what's going on. Or so help me god, you're gonna pay for it."

god. she sounds like a corny stuckup villain from one of those archaic movies your parents used to watch. you think. you might just be making that up. you can't remember the last time you watched a movie.

you huff, kicking around the pebbles on the ground with the tip of your boot, muttering incomprehensible curses before giving in. "Yesterday, Nat couldn't sleep at night. She decided to break curfew and go check on some of the nets we strung up around those berry patches Gen found. They were completely ripped to shreds."

you pause for dramatic effect, looking at Shauna, who's hanging onto every word that leaves your mouth. like a moth drawn to a flame.

"She thinks I did it because Gen had an 'alibi' as she says." "Couldn't it have been an animal?" Shauna asks, slightly confused. "That's what I said!" you say impatiently. "But she shut me down which lead to the catfight you just saw."

you plop down on one of the chopped logs glumly, picking at your dirty nails. the perfect bait. she falls for it, hook, line and sinker. Shauna stands over you for a quiet second, stock still, then— "Come to the lake with me."

you look up, surprised at the suggestion. "The lake?" she nods, her pale cheeks flushing an unusual shade of vermillion. she shuffles on the spot, rubbing the back of her neck. "I drew the four today. I'm going to take the bucket downstream, but I need help. We need water for the animal pen too."

you eye her suspiciously. "And how do I know you're not just trying to take me out and shoot me or try to drown me or something?"

she laughs at that, a low, raspy sound that sends tingles down your spine. you're unsure of whether it's in a good way or a 'i should run way'. knowing Shauna for as long as you have, probably the latter.

she leans down your eye level, cupping your face, stroking your cheek. the calloused pad of her thumb traces the scar at the corner of your lip, the one you got from the plane crash.

"Don't worry about that, kitty-cat. You're too interesting to kill just yet."

you snort derisively at the nickname but you don't look away from her, maintaining fierce eye contact. she grins approvingly.

for the next couple of weeks, the cycle continues. Nat pisses you off more and more, pussies out on any dates you planned with her in front of the others, you go running to Shauna's arms, who smugly accepts your clingy affection. this seems to grate on Nat's nerves extraordinarily well, and she drifts apart from you further and further each day, much to Shauna's satisfaction.

you wake up one morning after a particularly explosive argument with Nat, surveyed by an incredibly tired Shauna. she'd stormed off to the woods at sunrise and you'd promptly fallen back asleep, completely unbothered. Shauna stayed with you until you did, stroking your hair. it's too early to ruminate in the miseries of your failing relationship.

as luck would have it, your beauty nap is rudely interrupted by a loud clanging coming from outside. your stick hut is unfortunately not a very good sun filter so you have to blink rapidly a couple of times as you sit up to clear your vision.

you frown as you see that the entire community is already awake and moving about outside, seemingly hard at work. you throw off your drab blanket, quickly changing into something subjectively presentable before trudging outside at a slothish pace.

your jaw drops the second you step out. your previously drab village now looks like the Halloween isle at Target just threw up over it. or well, it would, if all the decorations didn't look like they were made by three year olds. your friends aren't artists, clearly.

streamers, fake cobwebs, orange and purple spiders (did they use berry juice for dye??) are mounted on every hut. at the dinner table, a couple of the girls and Travis are using textbook paper (you had ample of those on hand, given that your school insisted that all students carry their study material to nationals— you thank your lucky stars) to make more spiders, paper pumpkins and just about every other decoration you can think off.

your eyebrows furrow in utter disbelief. Tai shoots you a grimace from where she's making bloodred berry wine, talking in hushed voices with an annoyed Mari, who looks like someone just pissed in her stew.

you scan the site for Shauna and see her out of the corner of your eye— putting fucking devil horns made of her own notebook pages and meticulously coloured in red onto the decapitated head of the necrotic guide.

you make your way to her, weaving through the chattering girls, wondering if you're stuck in a dream. you crash into several people several times which only confirms the reality of your situation.

Shauna looks up as she hears you approaching. she's looking quite pleased with herself, taking a step back, admiring the rather lopsided horns with pride. “Check it out.”, she says eagerly. “I used some of the cellulose from the plants to make glue. Smart, right?”

you cut to the chase immediately. “Shauna, what the fuck is going on?”, you ask. “Why does it look like we're trying to put on a Wilderness rendition of ‘Friday the 13th’?”

she stares at you, as if a bit confused. like you've just asked her why you weren't back home right now. “Halloween.” she says in a tone that clearly has an undercurrent of a sassy ‘duh’ to it.

“Okay, assuming it was even remotely around Halloween time, which it isn't, what's with all the decorations?” you press impatiently. “We're wasting resources.”

she squints her eyes at you, slight concern on her face. “Do you not know what Halloween is? Have you forgotten that much about civiliziation?”

"I know what Halloween is, Shauna." you grumble, rolling your eyes.

"You sure?", she asks, face stretching into a grin as she adjusts the paper horns on the guide's decapitated head. "I could make you a presentation— but no promises that it won't just be several pages of 'The terribly drawn adventures of Count Chocula and Franken Berry.' “

“No, my point is— why now? We've never celebrated— I don't know, Easter or Valentine's day—”

“We celebrated Easter.”

“With berries. And I'm pretty sure they were the poisoned ones. And we only found like— two.”

"It's the thought that counts."

she shrugs. then she turns to look at you. “If you really want to know, I'm doing this because Halloween is your favourite holiday.”

you're taken aback by that statement. you'd expected a ‘just because’ or maybe ‘i decided to join Lottie’s cult and this is a ritual to show our appreciation for the gifts of the wilderness’ (although that theory is quite the stretch). not this surprising display of thoughtfulness from Shauna.

“You're actually thinking about someone that's not yourself?” you say in disbelief, concern leaking into your tone. “Are you gonna sacrifice yourself to the voodoo forest gods or something?”

she huffs, wiping her juice-caked hands on a nearby rag that could've been a handkerchief or animal skin— you've stopped being choosy about two cannibalistic instances back. “Well you don't have to sound so surprised about it.”

“Well, I appreciate the gesture, I really do—” you start off, but she cuts you off impatiently as she chucks the rag onto a passing by Gen. “Trick or treat?”

you stare at her, miffed. “What?”

“Trick or treat?”, she repeats, stepping closer to you.

“Is this a trick question?”

“I don't know. Pick one.”

“Well- well treat, obviously. I don't fancy being jumped or something.” you stammer out, surprised at the abrupt question.

she smirks, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. you jerk back, heat rushing to your cheeks despite your best efforts to control the reactions of your face.

“Good choice.” she says approvingly, starting to walk away.

“Wait! What's my treat?”, you call after her, confused at the mixed signals she's sending you— the mixed signals being wondering whether she was flirting with you or severely plotting to murder you in your sleep. knowing her, the latter is quite likely.

she turns back and grins at you. “Wait till winter comes!” with that, she struts off, presumably to lord over Mari for fun.

the rest of the evening is…surprisingly cheerful? you feast on Coach’s remains (rest in pieces) as well as some of the last fruits of the season, talking and laughing.

everyone had a makeshift costume. it was fun to get resourceful, for them, at least. you weren't feeling very creative (when are you ever, really?) so you just put some paper horns on one of Gen’s headbands and passed it off as the devil. Shauna matched you, guiding you far far away from Nat, who had ironically dressed as your opposite— an angel.

you go to sleep hungover and curled up in Shauna's arms, your now official residence. Nat gets her own hut again. just like she always wanted.

the rest of the week counting down to winter pass by in a blur of prepping, piling on clothes and reevaluating your plan, over and over again. you wake up on winter morning, a pit of dread in your stomach, your body cold without Shauna next to you.

you hear the scream— shrill, loud and full of grief. shivers run down your spine and you wince as you pull on your multiple layers of clothing, dashing out of your hut to the animal pen, where Akilah sobs over the corpses of her babies. everyone gathers around her silently, looking down at the sprawl of your only food source, now dead and completely worthless.

it happens so quickly. the decision to hunt. the card drawing. you read them like books.

you pick up your mask— a fox mask. fitting. you grab the nearest weapon— a knife, and charge after poor Mari, wiping your stinging eyes as you do. Shauna is on your tail, marking you closely. something about it reminds you of the last soccer practice you ever had. the same collaboration. being able to predict each other's moves to work in harmony.

when you reach a copse of trees that bends into a fork, you see your opportunity. you turn to Shauna, who's scanning the woods with the precision and intent of a predator, starving for air. god, you are not athletic. “We should split up.” she immediately turns her gaze to you, her eyes wild and fierce. “No.”

it's a simple, one word command. an order to back down. as established before, you're not one to cower before her. you stand your ground.

“We should split up.”, you insist. “We'll have better chances of finding her. I'll reconvene with you at the village when the horn sounds.”

she grips onto your wrist tightly, no doubt leaving marks that will bloom into bruises tomorrow. her eyes lock onto yours. she's trying to psych you out.

but you've been here before— and won. you stare right back. you know you can wait her out. you have no interest in hunting down your friend. she, however, is losing precious hunting time and the annoyance is showing through her body language as the mist from her ragged breathing starts to get denser and denser with each passing second.

she gets off on the thrill. she can't live without it.

finally, she breaks the eye contact, groaning as she flips wisps of her sodden hair out of her macilent face.

she lets go of your wrist, glaring at you like you were the one that killed Jackie. “Fine.”, she spits out. “But if you don't come back to the village immediately after the horn sounds, I'm coming back to find you myself.”

she presses a kiss to your jaw that's more possessive than anything, before taking a left down the trail left by the snow, her boots trampling through the heavy white ground.

you head in the opposite direction at first, taking the right ‘path’, knife held aloft as if ready to strike. the second she's out of sight and you've sufficiently disguised yourself among the trees, you turn back and follow her discretely, keeping your distance.

she prowls through the trees, her footsteps soft on the snow, barely making a sound. her head twitches with the slightest noise, her hand resting protectively on her dagger. her eyes scan the vast landscape, searching, hunting. a wolf.

'run', you find yourself thinking desperately. 'run, Mari'. there's no way she'll survive out here even if she does escape. no food, no water, no warmth. murder is more merciful.

but you hope that if she truly does have to die, it's a mercy killing. that she comes face to face with one of her friends, who'll hold her hand as she bleeds out in their arms, who'll comfort her in the throes of the end of her life.

not Shauna. never Shauna.

you watch as Shauna discovers Mari’s clothes— her coat, her pants, her socks. poor Mari is now freezing cold, stripped down to her unders, running from your pack of wolves— and, you think, as you notice the red droplets on the ground leading away from the discarded rags, bleeding.

Shauna’s face changes from a confused grimace to a callous look of victory, a small smirk twitching at the corner of her lips.

something creeps up on you at that exact moment. a shadow of lingering anger that's always been there. resentment towards her— for everything, basically.

for killing Jackie.

for being enraged at the world for her baby not surviving and then taking it out on everyone.

for twisting her righteous grief into something dark and malicious that manifested in every terrible way possible.

all thoughts of the plan are abandoned as you watch the cantankerous girl trudge through the snow, looking straight ahead— as though she can smell the bloody trail Mari is no doubt still leaving behind. you snap off a branch, thick and heavy, from one of the nearby trees. you're hot with the blinding urge to punish. to make it sting.

she stops dead in her tracks, jerking awkwardly. she can sense something. she's not dumb, far from it. she's always had a sixth sense for these kinds of things— Jackie’s death, the fire, everything.

Shauna stands stock still, perturbed by sudden silence, the air of a foreboding omen lingering around her. you can see her grip on her knife tighten. you watch from behind a tree, eyes locked onto the two, faint red scars on her neck. your markings.

you don't think any longer. you charge her, so fast that she barely has time to blink before you're on her. her knife is once again knocked far far away from her hands, landing somewhere in the snow where you can't be bothered to look for it.

you're back in that position. straddling her waist, pinning her wrist down with your free hand, the other holding something to her throat. only, this time, you don't hesitate.

you press down with the branch, hard. she starts choking. “We've- been here- before…”, she chokes out, but she's smiling. her eyes glint with an emotion akin to pride. “Yeah. We have.” you pant out, furious that she's still able to talk.

she's coughing now. her air column is slowly being cut off, her lungs struggling for life. you can feel it. every single movement of her body underneath you, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as her body frantically tries to get her the oxygen she needs.

“Old- habits die— hard, huh?” she chuckles out, but it's weak, pathetic. it lacks any of the caustic nature it usually holds

. you press harder. you've always thought the phrase ‘seeing red’ was a poorly described metaphor for being a total cornball— you think you know what that feels like now.

the grin on her face is fucking infuriating. with each pass of your eyes over her ecstatic face, the press of the branch against her throat becomes tighter.

you're vaguely aware of the horn sounding in the distance. you don't care. Mari is dead. if not her then another one of your friends. just another reason to kill her.

her face is turning blue now. her eyes flash with just the slightest hint of fear when she realises— you aren't stopping.

you don't intend to either. you want her gone. you want to feel her squirm and gasp for air under you, like poor Javi. like Mari. like everyone she ever left for the dead. to feel her pulse slow down, to see those earthy eyes glaze over as they stop seeing your enraged face, to see her stop feeling.

she's staring to panic now. her knife hand, which was previously holding onto the branch, pulling it closer, now struggles against the force you're using.

“Y-you know this isn't gonna do anything f-for you, right?” she wheezes out, hands scrabbling uselessly at the back of your own.

you count down the seconds till she stops breathing. the end is inexorable for her now. 10…9…8….

“She's already- already d-dead…”

her voice is getting weaker now, just a little above a hoarse whisper. 7….6…..5..

“You- you're just so…..fascinating…a-aren’t you?”

any second now, she'll die. you'll never have to deal with her again. 4…..3…2… almost...almost...—

“You're jus-just like me…for this…y'know that?”

with that, she pulls you down into a kiss, breathing her last breaths into your mouth as you gasp into it.

fucking hell. fuck. fuck fuck fuck. of all the bullshit in the world, that's what stops you.

you immediately yank your mouth away from hers, her freezing cold lips slowly turning pink from the warmth of the kiss.

you pull the branch away from her throat, just slightly. she immediately gasps for air, letting it fill her parched lungs again.

she smiles weakly at you, her face completely drained of its vivid colour. infuriating. you feel like giving up all morals and just throttling her.

instead, you roll off of her, throwing aside your branch. you both sit up, panting for completely different reasons. you look over at her from the corner of your eye as you rub the blisters starting to form on your palms.

her cheeks are now flushed red, her eyes sparkling in a way that you've only see them do when she was around Jackie. she's smiling uncontrollably, like a teenage girl with a puppy crush— which is, in hindsight, exactly what she is.

only, you aren't sure any other teenage girl with a crush in the outside world would be grinning like a lovesick fool after nearly getting strangled to death by the receiver of their affections.

“You're a sick fuck.” you spit out, rage making your voice shake. “I'll never be anything like you.”

Shauna grins at you cheekily, winking as she presses her palm gently against her sore, reddened throat. “You're right. You aren't anything like me. I would've gone for the kill, kitty-cat.”

you get up and stalk off, moving with as much agility as you can, your feet finding purchase in the snow. you don't have to look to know she's right on your heels. you wouldn't be surprised if she was skipping after you at this point. you don't turn to confirm your suspicions.

you find the other girls hovering over a pit in the ground. the lump in your throat is back as you survey the scene. Mari lies in pieces, impaled on spikes, in just her grimy, once white, tunic, her body completely stained in blood.

you wipe the stray tear that slips down your cheek, holding back the torrent of sobs that are stuck in your throat.

Mari, who was so excited to get back home and return to the land of creature comforts.

Mari, who saved Melissa when the guide shot her and had nursed her through the night, despite her clear dislike for her.

Mari, who had been cooking for all of you from day one, who secretly snuck you a couple extra rations when she noticed that you looked particularly malnourished.

Shauna steps up next to you, not half as emotional as you are. she examines Mari’s mangled corpse with the cold detachment that makes you shudder and want to slap some emotions, anything into her.

“Get her out of there.” she orders no one in particular, but the rest scramble to oblige anyway. you don't.

you watch, numb, as Gen and Melissa pull Mari out, letting Robin tie the knot on her leg to drag her along. you hear quite sniffles from beside you and turn to see Van, who looks about as devastated as you feel.

wordlessly, you hold out your arms to her for a hug. she accepts, trembling in your arms, warm tears dripping down your neck and soaking your shirt. you don't care, because you're crying too.

minutes later, Gen is leading the group back to the village as the designated navigator, the others in tow, dragging Mari’s corpse along and leaving a path in her blood.

you hang back at the very end of the group, walking slow, like a fly in amber. Lottie brings up the rear end, quiet as a mouse.

Shauna walks next to you, choosing not to comment on your languished pace, or on the tears streaming down your face that you hastily wipe away.

she rubs at the redness around her neck as she walks, hissing quietly under her breath from the friction burn. you silently take off your silk scarf and tie it around her neck. she thanks you. you, obviously, don't respond.

it's only after a few minutes of silent walking that the quiet becomes unbearable and you pipe up in a hoarse voice, “I'm sorry.”

Shauna chuckles dryly, turning her head to look at you, her steps becoming more like a strut. “No you're not.”

“No.” you agree. “I'm not.”

“The only regret I have is not finishing the job.”, you state flatly. She snickers. "As you should."

if Lottie finds this interaction odd, she doesn't let it be known. she's probably too busy foreseeing the divine future or whatever the fuck anyway. you wonder if she'd be able to foresee you poisoning her drink before it invetiably happens.

the unbearable silence stretches thick between the two of you again. you try to maintain that, but the urge to speak your mind is just as insufferable as the silence.

“It didn't have to be this way.” you grit out. “The hunt, I mean.”

Shauna turns to you again, flashing you those wide brown eyes that purport a sense of innocence that she definitely does not have.

“Oh but sweetie, it's what the wilderness wanted.” she turns her head around to Lottie, who's perked up at the mention of her god. “Isn't that right, Lottie?”

Lottie nods slowly, but it's clear that her mind is far, far away. “Yes. It's what It wills. It had to happen—”

"Oh can it, Lottie." you snap at her. she immediately defers, silently drifting back into her own thoughts.

you roll your eyes, crossing your arms tightly. “Bullshit. You don't even have faith in that.”

Shauna shrugs. “Who knows. Maybe I'm changing my ways.”

“I don't believe that for a second.”, you reply immediately.

“Then you know me pretty damn well.”

“And the hunt had to happen.” Shauna continues without a hint of remorse. her voice rises, but the others in front of you don't react. not a twitch, nothing. you suppose they don't want to be next.

“It's crucial to our survival.”

you narrow your eyes at that, your tone zealous. “And we couldn't have gone— I don't know, berry hunting?”

Shauna simply shakes her head, taking off her hat— Javi’s hat. “No. Death is essential to this place. We need to feed It blood. And she would've died anyway. She wasn't strong enough to survive out here. Natural selection works the way it's supposed to you.”

you stop in your tracks, gawking at her. she stops you, calmly mirroring your movements.

“What the hell are you even saying?” you ask, trying to hide the consternation coursing through every fibre of your being, every vein pulsing in your body, ever muscle stretched taut.

“You tell me. Does a hunt that has no violence feed anyone?”

the unsettling tone in which she said it, a cold statement utterly lacking human compassion, makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up and causes your skin to prickle in a way that has you frantically rubbing at it through the bulky fabric of your clothes.

if you found it unsettling, Lottie must've thought she was in a living nightmare. you hear a small gasp behind you and turn just in time to see the tall, slender girl crumple into a heap on the forest floor, her mouth gaping wide open.

“Lottie!” you rush to her side, dropping to your knees and she stirs, completely and utterly dazed. you pull her head onto your lap as Shauna stares at the two of you in complete disdain.

“I'm- I'm fine…”, Lottie tries to tell you, but her tattered voice tells you better.

you start to fan her as the others get ahead. Shauna just shrugs. “Keep up.” she walks off to join the others without looking back.

you flip off her back and help Lottie get back on her feet. she stares after Shauna’s retreating figure almost reverently, before turning to you and giving you the sweetest smile you've ever seen from her.

it unsettles you immediately, and also makes you feel small— like she's a pre-school teacher watching you stumble over your ABCs. you silently help her to her feet and keep her balanced by letting her lean on your side.

the only sound for the rest of the trek is the quiet crunching of branches under shoes that ring out like gunshots in the silence.

they string her up by her feet like she's some fox they shot. not one of your friends, one of you.

it's all on Shauna's orders, of course, but that doesn't mean that you don't feel sick to your stomach when you see Mari’s glazed over eyes staring at nothing, a gaping hole in her cheek, her dark hair shrouding her face like a veil.

Shauna pulls out her knife, surveying the group for a victim, someone to fill her previous shoes. your stomach drops as her eyes lock onto you.

she glides towards you, a small smile on her face. she kisses your forehead lovingly and then pushes you out of her way, holding out the knife to the trembling girl in the pink hood.

“Natalie. Please, do the honours.” Shauna drops the knife into her trembling hands, and she grips onto it like a vice, turning it over unsteadily in her hands.

“The Wilderness has made its choice clear.” Shauna announces to the group. she scans them, waiting for any objection. none comes. Shauna turns back to the girl, her eyes gleaming with arrogance. “Prepare her for tonight. And when it's done, bring me her hair.”

you can't stand it. the girl's dark eyes look up to meet yours, terrified and shadowed by black powder. you choke down your fear, taking a firm step forward. “I'll help her.”

Shauna turns her head to you sharply and for a second, an uneasy sensation creeps down your spine. but then she smiles, shaking her head. “No. You're coming with me.”

she doesn't give you time to argue, taking your hand in hers. she bends down, brushing her cool lips over the back of your hand. “C’mon.”

before you can squabble with her on the matter, she starts pulling you behind her, making her way to the little alcove right behind your village. Lottie follows behind silently, her eyes locked onto the back of your head.

the others retreat into their huts, ready to wash the blood off their hands to get ready for the feast tonight.

you try to speak multiple times, but she hushes you each time. finally, as you dig your heels into the (literal) muck and refuse to move, she sighs deeply. “You're finally getting your treat, kitty-cat. Try to show some more excitement, yeah?”

your treat? as in, from Halloween, a million years ago?

you're about to grill her for more details when she finally pulls you into the alcove trove and effectively gags you.

in front of you is a chopped tree log, one of the more common pieces of furniture around these parts. but what makes your jaw drop is what sits atop the log.

a gorgeous crown of roses rests on the log. a variety of shades of reds and whites threaded together into a single crown, tailored to fit your head exactly.

it somehow sparkles, the setting sun light reflected off each frail petal, fluttering in the breeze.

the delicate scent tickles your nostrils, a considerable improvement from what your poor nose has gotten used to smelling in all the time you've been here.

the cherry on top is what's attached to them. gorgeous white antlers— a hind’s, perhaps, have been attached to the stalks tying the roses together. they've been meticulously polished until they shine and have flowers draped over them, crocheted together by fine twine.

you stare in awe, shocked speechless. as horrifying as it is to be stuck in the woods, you'll admit that there's been no shortage of beauty when the landscape is concerned.

somehow, Shauna has managed to craft something— or gotten someone else to craft something, let's be real, so incredibly stunning that it takes your breath away.

you turn your head to Shauna, your eyes wide— and sparkling, you're sure. she has the widest, goofiest grin you've ever seen on someone set on her face, her own shining eyes gleaming with pride. you've never seen her look as happy when it's not a hunt.

“Holy shit….” you stutter out, breathless.

“You like?” she asks the obvious as you turn back to admire the crown, slinging herself over your back, tucking her chin onto your shoulder.

“Yes- yes- I- is this for…me?”, you ask almost petulantly, picking up the crown with an almost childlike wonder, turning it over.

“It will be. On one condition.”

you almost drop the crown at that, but you catch it just in time and set it down carefully, turning back to face her. her arms are looped around your waist and she shuffles you backwards till the back of your legs hit the log.

your mood immediately sours, eyes narrowing. “Oh, of course. I should've known. What's the catch?”

Shauna turns her head to look over her shoulder at Lottie, who you nearly forgot existed in your admiration for the crown.

she's leaning against the doorway calmly, apparently watching you in a way you're sure she thinks is serene. you think she's a peeping Tom.

she nods encouragingly at Shauna, who turns back to you giddily, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Well…I'm queen now. Of our village, I mean.” she adds as you raise your eyebrows. “And like all good queens, I need a consort. Someone to look pretty and rule by my side.”

she takes your hand, intertwining your fingers with her own slim ones, resting her forehead against yours. “I've been waiting for weeks to do this. I think it's fair to say your relationship with Natalie is old history.”

you spare her a noncommital grunt of acknowledgement, your heart giving a meek twang at her words.

“So I want you to be mine. You're perfect for me. We're perfect for each other…. And the others— they love you like they don't love me. I need them to listen.”

“So I'm essentially your P.R. marriage?”

“No.” she shakes her head. “I need you.” she rests her forehead against yours, inhaling your natural scent, unbothered by the musk.

Lottie pipes up, ruining the intimate moment completely, as she has done several times before. blue baller.

“And besides, it's what the wilderness wills.” she finally steps into the alcove. the sun lights up the back of her head, almost like it's giving her a halo. huh. maybe there is some truth to the whole ‘lottie is jesus’ rumour spreading around camp (by one, Marianna Sofia Ibarra, of course.)

her eyes display her excitement even as her voice stays even and steady. “Your marriage will be beneficial to our survival. I can see it.”

you hear a record scratch and immediately put a little distance between you and Shauna.

“Woah, woah. Hit the brakes. Let's circle back to that. Marriage?”

Shauna shrugs, pulling you back into her as she smiles again. “How else are you gonna be the crown princess?”

“Aren't- aren't we a little young for that?”, you peep feebly, melting into her touch despite yourself. you've been starved for affection since you moved out of Nat’s hut and for some reason, Shauna’s lavish love is like a drug— intoxicating and addicting.

“We're both 18. And I think we've lost all sense of societal norms long ago.” Shauna says pensively, peering into your eyes. “I'm serious. Marry me. I want you by my side.”

you look at her, then Lottie, then at the crown. then you chew your bottom lip and exhale deeply, making your final decision. sometimes, you have to take one for the team. and sometimes, that phrase means marrying a gorgeous, severely mentally ill teenage girl.

you nose your way into her neck, inhaling her scent. thankfully, Akilah had also learned how to make natural perfumes a while back. it was a purely accidental but welcome incident. it wasn't nearly enough to cover the long term stench seeping through your pores, from your very being, but it did its job well enough.

“Fine then. I'll be your wife.” you submit quietly.

Shauna lets out a sharp bark of a laugh as she accepts your hug, clinging onto your clothes, nails digging into your bag. such a dog…

and that's how you end up here. you're sitting across from Shauna, a little ways away from the campfire the others have started. Lottie sits in between you two, a torch in between the three of you illuminating her face.

you're dressed in clothes almost identical to Shauna’s. your robe is a little shorter, but loose and comfortable. Mari’s hair dangles from various folds of hers. her crown of antlers sit next to hers. she intends to put them on during the feast.

yours, meanwhile, is already on your head. heavy is the head that wears the crown— and boy was this damn crown heavy. the things you do to look like a good monarch…

Shauna is eerily silent. apparently, Lottie had offered to officiate your impromptu wedding, given that she was the voice of the Wilderness or whatever other title she's being called by at this point in time.

Lottie snaps you out of your thoughts as she picks up two cans of steaming hot tea, and passes them to you two.

you take a cautious sniff and wince. it's strong and saccharine smelling— not at all the scent of the meager tea you usually make.

Shauna, meanwhile, downs the entire cup in one go like she's taking a shot, without any hesitation.

“Is there something in this?”, you ask Lottie, who's closed her eyes like she's trying to gather her thoughts, cautiously.

both Lottie and Shauna turn their heads to you like you just committed blasphemy.

you bristle, scoffing defensively. “What?”

“Sweetie.” Shauna's tone is warning and she tilts her head at you just slightly. an order to shut your trap. “Drink.”

you bite your bottom lip to prevent the protest that was about to leave your mouth, instead downing the sweet drink without any further comments. there's no point in losing your motivation after you've nearly reached the finish line. Lottie hums approvingly.

you set the cup down on a nearby stick, watching it wobble precariously before predictably toppling over. neither Shauna nor Lottie seem to notice. or if they do, they don't care, they're quite preoccupied at the moment.

“Hold out your palms, please.” Lottie says in a soft tone that makes you feel like you're trying to summon a demon at an occult club meeting.

you do as she says and she places the back of your hand on top of Shauna, who loops her fingers through yours, squeezing encouragingly. she starts chanting something in French that you can't be bothered to rack your brains to translate.

your mind is just flashing with thoughts like ‘this is stupid’ when the tea hits. your world turns upside down while your posture is still erect and things start blurring in and out of vision. the flames of the torch start dancing, burning high and bright, reflecting Shauna’s glowing face in them.

okay then. so that tea was definitely spiked.

you're brought out of your haze when a sharp, stinging pain runs across your palm. you let out a quiet yelp of pain as your eyes struggle to focus on your hand. you register red. oh. you're bleeding.

Shauna is bleeding from her palm too. unlike you, she didn't make any dying animal noises, instead sitting still as a statue, patiently awaiting the next set of instructions from Lottie.

Lottie picks up your paln, pressing it down on Shauna’s wound. you stifle another yelp of pain, watching as your blood mingles with Shauna’s, dripping out onto the pale white snow.

you're sure there's something poetic to be said about this scene. you're too busy reeling from being drugged to think about haikus and limericks.

you wonder how you understand the French that Lottie is spouting suddenly and then realise that she's switched back to English. you squint your eyes to take a gander at Shauna and catch her eye. her eyes are hooded and her jaw is slack. she's just as high as you are.

“...and hence drink her blood, so that you may be bound to each other by the grace of the wilderness.” Lottie says breathlessly.

your body somehow moves on autopilot, knowing what is wanted of you. you raise your palm sluggishly to Shauna’s lips. she catches your wrist, pressing her mouth to your blood-soaked palm.

she licks a long stripe across the length of your cut, blood dribbling down her chin.

you swallow harshly as she lets out a low groan at the taste of your blood before dropping your hand. she makes no move to wipe the remaining blood from her mouth.

then, she returns the favour. she presses her palm to your lips. your tongue swipes at the cut experimentally. a tangy, metallic taste bursts on your tongue, making you drool.

that's probably the iron deficiency talking, you think slowly, struggling to comprehend— well, anything, really. it's like trying to talk when your face is stuffed full of marshmallows.

Shauna watches, entranced, as you slowly lap up her blood, some of the warm liquid splattering on the front of your robes. the hunger in her eyes grows as she does.

she hasn't eaten since morning, the small part of your brain that's yet to be infected by the drugged tea reasons. that's not what she's hungry for, replies the other.

finally, she drops her palm after extricating it from your grip— you had unconsciously been holding it to your face with both hands, and you stare at each other, riveted by the bloody, messy sight of other.

she has somehow never looked better than she does now, mouth covered in blood, earthen eyes locked onto yours, dark hair whipping about loosely in the wind. the earth moves on without you. you're trapped here, lost in her, dead to the world.

Lottie's chanting in French again. you squirm, feeling antsy, hungry. hungry for her, your brain supplies helpfully.

thankfully, she seems to be just as affected by this weird...mating ritual thing, as you are. her bleeding hand scrunches up snow and then lets it goz over and over again, till it looks like a bunny massacre has taken place at that particular spot.

finally, finally, Lottie switches back to English, delivering the words you've been waiting, dying to hear.

“By the power vested in me by the wilderness, you may now kiss your bride.”

this time, when Shauna leans forward and captures your blood stained lips in hers, a messy, open mouthed kiss, you respond back just as hungrily, desperately gripping the front of her robe to ground yourself as you do. you taste the tea on her tongue and can't help but smile against her lips.

she pulls back from you, albeit reluctantly. she rubs your cheek soothingly as a small whine leaves you, her other hand finding yours. she turns to look at Lottie, who's staring at her reverently again.

“Come. We have a feast to attend.”

Shauna stands up first, somehow not faltering even a little, her back completely rigid. she takes your hand in hers tepidly, getting you up on your feet.

you aren't as elegant as she is, stumbling forward, but she catches you with a casual ease— like she's been doing this all her life. it certainly feels like you've been hers all yours.

Lottie gets up last, holding the torch. she nods at you two and starts ahead, leading the path to the burning campfire, where Mari’s body is being prepared.

you're too high to remember the semantics of the night. the only thing you remember is being seated next to your wife, her hand looped in yours, her veil over her head, her antlers protruding through like the queen she was born to be, your subjects seated around you as they feasted on the body of your fallen comrade.

you fall asleep sometime during the feast. clearly, Shauna had ordered the others to not wake you, since when you wake up, you find that your head is her lap, sleeping in till the wee hours of the morning. the girls are clearing up the remains of the feast.

Shauna smiles down softly at you as you stir. she leans down and kisses you softly before pulling away. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

you tense up just slightly before relaxing again. without the influence of drugs clouding your thoughts, you finally remember your aim again.

you roll over, forcing your body into a seated position, rubbing your eyes. “Mm. Don't tease your wife now.”

she laughs, a melodious sound that is completely uncharacteristic coming from her, but so natural too.

she once again holds onto your hand as you head back into the village, quietly looking at the rest of your friends. her grip is almost possessive now. you are hers now, you suppose.

you know what she's gonna do before she actually does it. she spots a familiar pink hood walking back to their hut and your eyes follow her line of sight just seconds too late. it doesn't even really matter.

she struts over confidently, spinning the girl around with the pride of a peacock before you can think to stop her.

your brain is still trying to recover from the after effects of being high out of your damn mind. your body feels light as a feather— but for a completely different reason.

you can't hear what Shauna’s saying, you make no move to either. you instead watch with vivid satisfaction as she taunts her to no avail, pulling her hood down to reveal Hannah.

she stumbles back in shock, her eyes wide and furious as her brain slowly processes what's going on. you can practically hear the cogs turning in her head.

“WHERE THE FUCK IS NATALIE?!” she screams as she whirls around to face the village, her voice shaking with anger and a touch of fear. perfect. just the way you like her.

the others emerge from their huts one by one— Tai, Van, Gen, Melissa, Travis— everyone. they all stare at her with a mixture of satisfaction and revulsion, refusing any explanations. they don't have to explain. the looks on their faces are telling enough.

her eyes lock onto you and then widen in betrayal. she knows that you had a role to play in this. about damn time that she realised.

“Shauna likes power. She won't jump in to save anyone— but she feels a claim over things that aren't hers.” Misty explains to you, her glasses making her eyes gleam in reflection of the torchlight.

or perhaps that's how she always looks. you're quite scared of her sometimes. “You need to weaponize that against her.”

you slowly start walking towards your ‘wife’, unable to resist the urge to deliver a villain monologue.

“You know, I thought you were smarter than that.” you start off wrly, smirking at her as you near her. “I thought you would've caught on immediately. It's why I was just the slightest bit hesitant of the plan at first.”

you lay your head on Nat’s lap, fiddling with the rough strands of blonde hair that's starting to fizz out as her roots show more and more. “And, you're sure you're fine with this?” you ask again, unable to hide the worry in your tone.

Nat laughs— a throaty, rough sound as her hands cup your upside down face, squishing. “Well, in normal circumstances, I would've ripped her fucking eyes out with that godamn knife of hers for even looking at you..”

she trails off to general giggles before continuing, “— but this is different. We- we actually have a chance. Of leaving this shit hole. Of getting home. And besides, I trust you.”

she leans down and kisses you— a tender, warm thing that fills your stomach with butterflies, like it always does. “So yeah. Fuck her if you need to. I know you'll always be mine anyway.”

“But I was pleasantly surprised when you let your guard down so easy. You really do have it bad for me, huh?”

you would've felt the slightest twinge of remorse for the hurt flashing in your eyes, did you not fiercely remind yourself that she was the reason you weren't cozied up with Natalie under a heated blanket right now.

you reach up for her face, stroking the gaunt lines of her cheekbones as you force her to look at you. “It's too late to clip her wings now. You can't stop her. She's long gone.”

you practically beam at the shattered look in her doe-like eyes, relishing in her shock as you remember all the times she's done the same to the others. you deliver the final blow— a death by a thousand cuts.

"You've grown quite predictable. I knew you'd turn out to be boring."

you press your lips to hers, humming as she stays stiff against you. then, your teeth graze the soft, plump flesh of her lips— and you bite down. hard.

she gasps, yanking herself away from you even as she starts to bleed, the red dripping down her chin and trickling into her robes.

you smile sadistically, squeezing her face with one hand to draw more blood. she hisses, drawing away from your touch like you've burned her. you roll your eyes. always the drama queen.

her eyes scan your face, looking for any hint of regret for doing this to her. she finds nothing.

you lick a droplet of her metallic blood from the corner of your mouth, swiping the rest off with your thumb.

then, you shoot her a sultry grin. just to dig the knife in a little deeper.

“Trick or treat, motherfucker.”

────────────౨ৎ ────────────

a/n: I tried to shorten it but it didn't work— whatever ig. you get a long fic now ! yayayayay— also, this once again had a lot more shauna x reader than nat, that's mb yall

if you want a pt 3 to this, get back to me after s4 releases cuz I have ZERO ideas rn lmao

reminder that requests are open for all the Yellowjackets girls, dead or alive!

taglist: @jigglypufflashton

#— airi's works : 𓏲🐚 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔#shauna shipman x you #shauna shipman x reader #shauna shipman #natalie scatorccio x you #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio #nat scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets #yj #yj season 3 spoilers #yj season 3 #yellowjackets x reader #wlw #shaunanat x reader

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listening505 · 22 hours ago

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Dating Pau Cubarsí [headcanon]

a/n: yeah, I was gone for months, but I wrote this while watching the Barca game last week so felt an urge to post this so here we go. I also have no idea what happened to my master-list, but you can request anything if you want:) I think I need to post a new master list and everything… anyways here you go

Pau slips little handwritten notes into your books and jacket pockets—each one a tiny “just because” reminding you how much he adores you, whether it’s a doodle of your favorite flower or a sweet nickname he’s been practicing.

During quiet moments, his fingertips softly brush stray hairs from your face, tucking them behind your ear with a smile that says you’re perfect just the way you are.

After evening training sessions, he always makes you hot chocolate, stirring in extra marshmallows and proudly bringing it to you while you cozy up in his jacket. When you say to him, you feel like you should be the one making him the hot chocolate, he refuses and say you always need to be treated like the princess you are. Making you blush

Midnight cravings never stand a chance; he knows your comfort foods by heart and surprises you with little deliveries, lighting up when he sees your sleepy, happy face.

Getting ready for bed feels extra special when he hums your favorite lullabies, his voice low and soothing, turning even the most restless nights into peaceful dreams.

Watching TV together usually ends with soft butterfly kisses along your collarbone, his playful affection pulling giggles from you that make his heart feel so full.

Holding your hand becomes second nature—his thumb tracing tiny circles against your skin, quietly reminding you that he’s always there.

Late at night, when the world feels extra soft, he whispers “I love you” in your native language, after practicing it over and over until he gets it just right.

After a long day, spontaneous foot massages become his specialty, his strong hands easing away any tension while you melt into the moment.

On chilly evening walks, he gently drapes his scarf around your shoulders, pulling you close as he tells little stories from his childhood in Girona, his voice mixing with the crisp air.

Baking sessions turn into mini adventures, with flour flying everywhere and laughter filling the kitchen—his favorite part is always sneaking little tastes of cookie dough with a shy grin.

Sometimes he leaves his favorite hoodie on your chair before leaving for training, knowing you’ll smile when you find it and feel just a little closer to him.

Before every match, he shyly asks you to be his “lucky charm”, cupping your cheeks and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

Reading the same book you’re reading quickly becomes one of his sweetest habits; he loves highlighting quotes just so he can say, “this part made me think of you.”

He picks out matching keychains one day, grinning when he finds two puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly.

Lazy afternoons mean soft touches—tracing invisible little hearts on your back as you lie together, his hand moving slowly and absentmindedly.

Braiding your hair, even when he’s absolutely terrible at it, becomes something of a tradition; every messy braid makes him beam like he’s created a masterpiece.

Meeting your family for the first time makes him adorably nervous, but his warm smile and kindness win them over faster than he could have ever hoped.

Flowers find their way to you all the time—sometimes from a shop, sometimes plucked from a garden or park—always with a bashful "this one looked like you."

His phone hides a little secret: an album filled with photos of you, candid and beautiful, each one capturing the way you make his world feel brighter.

No matter how small your bag is, he insists on carrying it, teasing that since you already carry his heart, it’s only fair he carries something of yours too.

Falling asleep on the couch leads to waking up cocooned in a warm blanket, your forehead kissed so gently it feels like a dream.

Tiny hearts and your initials decorate the corners of his notes and notebooks—little secret declarations he doesn’t even realize he’s making anymore.

After important matches, he loves wrapping his jersey around your shoulders, even if you are proudly wearing it to the matches, pride shining in his eyes because you’re always his biggest victory.

When he talks about the future, it’s all soft smiles and quiet promises—a cozy house, a small garden, endless sunsets, and a life filled with shared dreams.

If your name isn’t Spanish or has a tricky pronunciation, he makes sure to learn it perfectly—repeating it to himself until he gets every sound just right. Whenever someone else mispronounces it, he gently corrects them with a smile, proud to say your name exactly the way it deserves to be said.

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debtofdeception-if · 1 day ago

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Next month can’t come soon enough. I haven’t been this hyped for an IF update in forever.

May I humbly request a sneak peak with a closeted!MC and A? I’m super curious how that dynamic is gonna play out.

I'm glad you're excited, and I hope I don't disappoint!

This is from the teen pregnancy route for a closeted male MC:

You try so hard to want her. To feel that same desire other guys feel when they’re with a woman. But the truth is, you can’t.

When she kisses you with her soft lips, you wish they were rougher. When she touches you with her delicate hands, you wish they were stronger.

She’s everything someone should want: kind, smart, beautiful. But no matter how perfect she is, there's something she lacks, a missing piece that will never make her feel like enough for you…

Masculinity.

You’re gay. You try to fight it, bury it, try to rewrite it into something else. But there’s no more use in denying it. No more use in pretending.

The thought of being with another man is the only thing that feels right. Even if the world keeps telling you it’s wrong.

You can’t keep lying to her. Not when the truth is constantly gnawing at you like this. It isn't fair to you, and it isn't fair to her.

It has to end.

With your mind made up, you head to her house.

It’s a long walk, nearly thirty minutes, but your thoughts fill the time. You rehearse the words over and over, knowing there’s no gentle way to say them. Still, she deserves honesty. And you deserve to be free of this guilt.

When you reach her front steps, you pause. The bright orange welcome mat says: mi casa es su casa. It's pretty on par with who the Colemans are. Welcoming and unashamed of their terribly cringe humor.

You take a breath, close your eyes, and lift your hand to the doorbell.

Before your finger makes contact, the red door opens.

Alara stands there with a look of shock on her face at the sight of you. Her hair is twisted into a messy bun, her eyes rimmed with red, lids swollen as if she’d been crying for hours. It’s so different from her typical upbeat demeanor that it’s almost uncanny.

Dread creeps up your spine and settles in your throat.

She’s had a bad day. And you’re about to make it worse.

You open your mouth, but she speaks first.

“I was just about to come see you,” she says. Her voice wavers. “I have something important to tell you.”

You hesitate, then nod. “Me too.”

She looks at you for a long second, then swallows. “Do you think yours can wait? Because…”

She falters, like the words are too heavy to carry out loud.

Tears slip silently down her cheeks.

Instinctively, you step closer, hand half-raised.

“Alara?”

She breaks. Shoulders shaking, face crumpling. The sobs come fast, ragged, and it takes a few seconds before she can speak again.

“I’m pregnant.”

The world stops moving. Her words echo in your mind, but they don’t land right away. Yet, when they finally do, they hit hard.

A cold weight settles in your chest, pulling everything down with it.

Oh fuck.

#ask #DOD #debt of deception #sneak peek #spoilers!!

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sosa2imagines · 2 days ago

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Finding you again... Part 10

Warning- Fluff.

Bucky had prepared.

He had prepared a lot.

He rehearsed his lines in front of the mirror, practicing different ways to tell you he loved you. He even had backup lines in case the first ones didn’t work.

He practiced different ways to say it, from the subtle yet heartfelt “I care about you more than I’ve ever cared about anyone else…” to the more straightforward “Listen, I love you!”

He even had a few friendship backup lines in case his first attempt at expressing himself didn't go as planned, but still, as he stood outside your door, he was nervous.

But when the moment finally came…

He forgot everything.

You were standing in front of him, looking up at him with those familiar eyes that had haunted his dreams for years, and suddenly, his mind went completely blank.

So, he just blurted it out.

“I love you...”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with significance. Your eyes widened at the sudden confession, but Bucky found he couldn’t stop.

“I love you!” he reiterated, the words even surer this time.

Your heart fluttered inside your chest, but you remained unsure of what to say.

That’s when panic set in and Bucky kept talking.

“I mean…I’ve loved you for a while. I just didn’t know I did. Well, maybe I did, but I was too dumb to figure it out sooner. And honestly, you make me crazy…in a good way, not a Hydra way…God, that was a terrible thing to say, I just mean you…listen...I just...”

You laughed softly, and before he could ramble himself into another crisis, you reached up, cupping his face, and kissed him.

Bucky fell silent the moment your lips met his, stunned by the unexpected kiss. A rush of emotions surged through him, the world around them fading into the background as he focused solely on you, your touch, your breath, the way your fingers brushed against his skin. It was soft, gentle, yet enough to make Bucky freeze, his heart stuttering in his chest.

When you pulled away, you whispered, “I love you too, Bucky…oh my god I kissed you!!!”

For a second, he just stared at you.

Then…

“YES!”

Bucky literally jumped, throwing his fists in the air like he just won a jackpot. Then, before you could react, he grabbed you and spun you around, making you laugh as you held onto him.

Bucky's joy was infectious, his laughter filling the air. It was a side of him you hadn't seen before, a free and happy side that he had hidden deep within.

His eyes, usually guarded, now sparkled with a lightness you hadn't seen before.

“You love me!” he grinned, still holding you, “And you kissed me!”

“You love me too…” you teased, “And yes I did…”

“I do…” he said breathlessly. “And I’m gonna spend every day proving it to you.”

You smiled, cupping his face again. “Then shut up and kiss me again, Sergeant.”

Bucky didn’t need to be told twice.

He kissed you.

And this time, it was everything.

Life with Bucky Barnes was something you never thought you’d have.

After everything Hydra had put both of you through, after the years of separation and lost memories, it felt almost unreal to finally be together. But Bucky made sure you knew every single day that it was real. That you were real.

And that he wasn’t letting go.

Since then, mornings started with Bucky pulling you closer, nuzzling into your neck with a sleepy groan. He always woke up first but never got out of bed without making sure you were wrapped in his arms at least for a few more minutes.

“You’re warm…” he mumbled against your shoulder.

“And you’re clingy…” you teased, though you never pushed him away.

“Shut up. You love it.”

You did.

Afternoons were filled with little moments, whether it was training together at the compound, making fun of Sam, or Bucky sneaking into the coffee shop just to see you.

“Sergeant Barnes,” you greeted one day as he leaned on the counter, giving you that smirk that made your heart race.

“Sweetheart,” he replied smoothly. “What do you recommend today?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “You always get the same thing.”

“Yeah, but I like hearing your voice.”

God, he was impossible.

Evenings were spent at home, curled up on the couch, sometimes watching old movies that Bucky insisted you had to see, or just sitting in comfortable silence.

One night, as you traced patterns on his vibranium arm, Bucky looked at you with a soft expression.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“For what?”

“For never giving up on me,” he said. “Even when I didn’t remember you. Even when I didn’t remember myself.”

You smiled, leaning up to kiss him. “I’d do it all over again, Bucky.”

His hand gently cupped your face. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Years ago, you had believed in the man behind the Winter Soldier mask, even when no one else did.

And now, here he was, loving you in ways you never even dreamed of.

Bucky Barnes was finally free.

And for the first time in both of your lives…

You were happy. Both of you were happy and hopelessly madly in love.

Part 9- Complete.

Taglist- @imyourbratzdoll @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

@differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute @nekoannie-chan

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@peaches1958 @sebbymybaby21 @ghalouha

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katsigian · 23 hours ago

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˖ ‧₊⭒۫ ˖𔓕 ‧ 𝘖𝘊𝘚 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘏𝘖𝘙𝘙𝘖𝘙 𝘛𝘙𝘖𝘗𝘌𝘚 ‧ 𔓕˖ ۫ ⭒₊‧ ˖

I've had this quiz saved in my drafts for a long time and just recently found it again. Took it out of the vault because there's some good OC angst to be had in there [♡]

Some quick lore/context: Vesper Kinlaw and Vega Flores are Valen's half-siblings through their father, Callen Kinlaw. Callen was not a good man; he raised Valen as his heir to the biker gang he was VP of, while Vega and Vesper were his two spares. Both of Valen's siblings were taken by their mothers and raised elsewhere, but Callen still influenced their lives heavily. He was the worst to Valen, though; he taught his son how to be a loyal, vicious heat-seeking missile through horribly abusive and manipulative means. Now, all three siblings are very connected to their father and are very influenced by his genetics, even if they don't wish to be - the Kinlaws are a HELL of a family

✶ 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵 ✶ "you will never need anyone else. outsiders will hurt you, aim to corrupt you and ruin you and leave you in pieces, but your family will always be there for you. everyone has the same eyes, the same smile. the same sickly yellow light cast over their skin. the same tastes, the same food that melts to gray sludge on your tongue. family recipe. hugs last too long, touches linger and sting like sunburn. don't stray too far. if you come back looking like a wolf rather than a sheep, the dogs will eat you."

GOD 😭 so Valen used to be one of those dogs who protected the family. As I mentioned, Valen being part of a biker gang meant that he was very insulated and indoctrinated into their line of thinking - he used to believe they had his best interests in mind, seeing as they were all one big, happy family, right? But they were very slowly killing him and when he realized that, he ran, knowing full well that he could never go back home and have things be the way they were. When he eventually does return to that clubhouse, that territory, they'll do their best to actually kill him this time for his betrayal. But now he'll look every bit like someone who can take them all and win. Not unscathed, maybe terribly damaged, but he can do it

✶ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 ✶ "complete control over you, your complete reliance on her. you are a helpless child, and she makes every decision for you, asserting to you that she knows what's best. hysterical, emotional, even in her love for you, especially in her hatred for you. the fruit of her loins has rotted, and you cannot escape her scorn. distance means nothing if you're doomed to become her."

OOF so this is about poor Vesper 😞 his mother, Devin, was one of those moms that showed her "love" in ways that didn't look like love at all. She was a cold, aloof person and even though she didn't want to provide the basics of a loving home to Vesper, she did want to control his life. Vesper was always aware that he was Devin's cross to bear and all he could do was try to avoid provoking her wrath until he was old enough to run. Once he hit 18, Vesper was gone, but it took years before his mother was gone from him. His first reaction when someone upsets him is to become cold and aloof, just like her, among other things. While he's thankful that she did always keep him fed, clothed, housed, and educated, he knows that it wasn't more than a method of manipulation.

✶ just catholic trauma ✶ "god is judgment. every action is weighted, every action is watched. tally marks on a scoreboard, on skin, your body on a golden scale, and you can't shed enough weight to stop it from tipping. worship isn't enough. sacrifice isn't enough. guilt lays across you in layers. blankets, sheets of snow, cling-wrap cutting off your circulation. you can't save yourself, but you can never stop trying. fire licks at your heels, a constant reminder of what is inevitably waiting for you."

Poor baby 😭 I've always likened the sort of relationship that Callen had with his kids to one of those traumatic religious families; nothing they do is ever good enough for him and you can be sure that he's keeping score of how they screwed up. Vega knows that feeling well thanks to her dad - she hadn't seen him often growing up, but when she did, Callen criticized her for nearly everything. He claimed it was to toughen her up although Vega knew it wasn't for her benefit, but his. And she hated him for it. It was thanks to the hate she had for him that she was able to shape herself into someone better than what Callen wished of her. But, sometimes he still slips through and she can feel his influence in her regardless of her efforts to be rid of him. Sometimes she worries that he'll never leave her.

Taglist [♡] feel free to opt in or out! As always, there's no pressure to interact with this post if you're not interested in it, if it doesn't involve a fandom you're in, or if you don't have the energy/time - there'll be no hard feelings

@opaleyedprince @adelaidedrubman @ronqueesha @wormskul @cloudofbutterflies92 @archonfurina @inafieldofdaisies @yharnams @risingsh0t @noirapocalypto

@florbelles @deadrlngers @rindemption @vanoefucks @genocidalfetus @whitebalverines @suntamer @theelderhazelnut @thefrostyshepard @strafethesesinners

@devilbrakers @mercymaker @dani-the-goblin @lngellvar @vincentmatthews @simonxriley @carlosoliveiraa @imogenkol @mapeslyrup @jaydenborn

@themermaidriot @westealtoys @thedeadthree @desertpirate77 @strangefable @sheaymin @hiddenbeks @xphantasmagoria @nokstella @killyourrdarlingss

@vivanightcity @estevnys @leota-nexus @silkcrowsocs @sorryiliketoscreenshot @anoramactir @roguette @harellan @theloverstemperance @elligatorrex

#i completely forgot about this 😭 so i spruced it up but i spruced too much and now it's twice the length 😭#i just like yapping about my characters and about themes and symbolism and metaphors as per usual #oc quiz #character quiz #tag games 💌#quizzes 💌#ch: valen kinlaw #ch: vega flores #ch: vesper kinlaw #lore: valen #lore: vega #lore: vesper #cp2077 #cyberpunk oc #cyberpunk 2077 oc #male v #fem v

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evellynssocbrainrot · 7 hours ago

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One thing I’ve always thought about is why the angst between Kaz and Inej hit me harder and deeper than the angst between Nina and Matthias, despite the latter ending up with one person’s death.

And then, after I looked into it for a while, I finally realized why.

Both Kanej and Helnik are pairs in which the two people involved are unable to be together due to some kind of separation force. There is something driving one away from the other.

The separation force in itself, is the part that makes Kanej and Helnik different.

Nina and Matthias’s force of separation is external. It’s their respective country. The cultures and ideologies they grew up with. It’s the fact that Nina is a Grisha and Matthias is a Druskelle: meant to hunt and kill Grisha. They are unable to be together at first due to Nina’s constant anxiety created by Zoya Nazyalenski (This is no hate to her btw, I love Zoya, she’s my queen, shut up and don’t come at me with a Zoya-hate comment) even though Nina largely tries to ignore it by not caring too much, and Matthias’s fear of being viewed as a traitor by basically every single person in Fjerda. These external forces put a wedge between Nina and Matthias, and part of their love story focuses on them finding a way to be free of those burdens to be together.

And even if it is very sad, I guess the reason why it never hurt me as deeply as it probably should have is because this is what typically happens in romance whenever two people can’t be together. There is an external force pulling them apart. It is a common romance storyline that most likely got popular due to Romeo and Juliette (which is disappointing cause I think Romeo and Juliette is a terrible story)

And now let’s move onto Kanej. Kaz and Inej’s force of separation is internal. There is no external force, really, that is pulling them apart. You could say that their dangerous environment is an external force, but even that plays a minor role. Rather, there is an issue that stems largely from Kaz and Inej’s own deep unspoken conflicts. It is Kaz’s self-hate, his inner demons, his emotional armor that he’s locked himself in, his haphephobia. For Inej it is HER emotional armor that she hides beneath kindness, her inner demons, her duty to her religion and people who have suffered the same things as her, it’s her touch aversion. For both of them, it is this awful feeling of being trapped and helpless in their own skins and not being able to do anything about it. When they are together, they are so close but so far at the same time. There is so much darkness simmering deep inside both of them and for so long, it hurts to just form the right words, and even that is too difficult. To be together, literally, they need to find some way to be free of the chains that have been placed on their souls. They need to defeat that feeling of being trapped in their skins, which is so much more difficult to do than overcoming any external force.

And unlike the external force, the internal force of separation is not that common in romance, and when it is present, it’s not written in a way that feels right. And it’s the reason why Kaz and Inej’s story hurt me much deeper than Nina and Matthias’s. I just find it extremely heartbreaking, the idea that the person you love more than words could describe is standing right in front of you, and you can freely walk over to them and hug them, kiss them, hold their hand whenever you want. But then you just… can’t. And YOU are the reason why you can’t. Nothing else. I’m positive that I would have lost my mind completely if I ever had to endure what Kaz and Inej struggled with.

Also, this is not meant to undermine Nina and Matthias’s relationship in anyway. I love Helnik as much as the next person, they are in my top 5 Grishaverse pairs and my most favorite enemies to lovers of all time. I just always found it interesting that they never left me staring quietly at the wall with tears in my eyes the way Kanej have so many times.

#six of crows #six of crows analysis?#grishaverse #kanej #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #helnik #nina zenik #matthias helvar #crooked kingdom

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sakumz · 3 days ago

Note

saw you had requests open :3

Can I please have a lemon meringue tart with a vanilla latte of Shin? Eat in please!

a/n: this kinda looks like one sided rivalry or something idk anyways reader smokes here

____________________________________________

[ a. shin x reader ]

____________________________________________

you met shin at some cheap smelling assassination organisation, always being paired with him because you both joined at the same time. everyone sees both of you as terrible rookies when it's mainly shin's fault for not being so professionally strong. maybe with how the people seem to glue your name next to his, talking about how bad you both were, you grow to resent him. he catches this obviously and acts the same if you hated him then he should do the same.

the adrenaline rush was pumping in, you were paired on a mission with shin to take down some guys and take some evidence in an envelope. you instructed shin to take the evidence as you distracted and killed on sight. you were better in combat and shin is better suited finding the envelope with his esp.

when returned back to base, the leader took the evidence and complimented your work. giving shin another job, to assassinate sakamoto the legendary hitman.

" why not me? " you point as your leader takes one long glance at you.

" with his clairvoyance, he does a better suited job for this. you're only good at combat, I'm sure shin is on the same level as yours, " he pats shin as you can't help but curse out.

" I'm a hundred times better than he is! " you grab shins collar, yanking the man as your leader sighs.

" get out y/n, " you halt. letting go and leaving then and there.

a few months later, you met shin again as a store employee for sakamoto. he reads your mind and takes whatever you wanted to buy, his hand stopping mid way when he realised the familiar items you would buy back then. the same beer brand, the same snacks you paired them with and surprisingly the same box of cigarettes. he places all the items in the counter, scanning and eventually taking his first glance in a long time at you. your features seem softer, maybe even glowing though you looked a little more dead than usual.

" quit staring idiot, " you hand him the money as he aggressively taps away, slamming the cash register back as he hands you your stuff in a bag, fingers brushing as he curses internally, you hate when he touches you even the slightest bit.

" well? get out already, " you exit, flipping him off. so much for customer service.

lu couldn't help but finally ask who you were when you left, both you and shin must've had history to be acting that way. shin only replies with nothing but an acquaintance.

you had joined another assassination organisation after the previous kicked you out, your boss has been giving you task after task and you're slowly growing tired of the blood splattering. to say the least you weren't expecting to meet shin so soon. in the dark night after a failed assassination attempt as shin jumps in and saved your victim.

" tch, why'd you got to interrupt? got a death wish? " shin watches as you light up a cigarette, blowing its air as he thinks about his words carefully. would your want to kill him streak continue?

" if you've got nothing to say, just leave dude, " you blow the smoke at his face as you walk off, only for him to grab your hand, pulling you back and against the wall.

" what? "

" listen to me, you don't have to continue killing if you're gonna look like that, " he spat, making you drop your cigarette.

" look like what? "

" super dead? " you can't help but silently glare at him as he stares back awkwardly. sure you hate him and maybe he does too but it did hurt him a little when you look like you're about to break.

then a tear fell from your eyes and soon you're full on sobbing on the ground, he follows your crouched form.

" it's okay, you know. " he rubs his hand on your arm.

" you can pull away and I'm sorry for what I'm about to do next, " he pulls you up and into his arms, you're taken aback but the comfort and warmth in his hug forces you to lean into his touch.

" thank you and I really dislike killing after a while, " you mumbled in his shirt, you couldn't see the small smile growing on his lips but anyone can deduce from those words that you may have either hated it because shin wasn't your partner like last time or your organisation really just sucked.

" is it because I'm not by your side that you started to dislike being an assassin? " you had to immediately pry yourself off, glaring at the blonde and standing a few inches away.

" of course not! " you flush as he smiles.

" well I guess it's better to say it now, even if you hate me, I've always liked you... your strong desire and determination to complete missions were really something, even when they always lumped you with me, you seem to hate it so much but you're always fulfilling your end of the job, thank you for putting up with me till we had to split, " he looks at the ground, your heart melts at his words.

" maybe I did fall for you when we split. " you hug shin as he quickly returns one back.

-----

bakery event | orders

#sakumz.pdf #sakamoto days x reader #sakadays x reader #shin asakura x reader #shin x reader

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thewinter-eden · 2 days ago

Text

Blood Sugar Virus (27)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Genre: Horror, zombies, strangers to lovers, angst, suspense, slow burn Pairing: Kang Yeosang x female!reader Warnings: based on the Wanteez Zombie episode, ages are based on current Ateez rather than the time at which the actual episode was filmed, zombies, language, discussion of parasites, gore, angst, heavy topics, suicide

Story Summary: You (stage name Sugar) are the co-captain of a horror acting group. You and your guys are the ones the companies hire when they want to stage a zombie, ghost, or any vaguely horrific and dystopian episode. So when you get hired by Ateez to develop a zombie program, it's just another routine that you've done a million times. Everything's going exactly according to script--until suddenly it isn't, and it starts getting a little too real.

🏆 Esteemed Moot: @ramadiiiisme

⭐️ Reader Spotlight: @mrsminseochoi

< last chapter | masterlist

The very first thing you see when you approach the open door of the supply room is a body, which makes you wonder how Yunho and Mingi had spent so long in relative silence without saying anything about it.

It’s a man, a uniformed officer of some military rank, positioned as though he’d scooted himself back into the corner, seated on the floor, leaning against the shelves. Above the collar of his uniform, you can see the trail of muscle deformity where parasites had eaten their way up his body. There’s a tear in his lower pant leg, bloody around the edges, and you know it has to be a puncture wound from the wasp.

But as you continue to stare at him, wondering how he isn’t a fully turned zombie just waiting to attack you, you notice the gun that’s fallen out of his hand, and the small bullet hole in his temple.

While saddened by the sight before you, you can’t help the sense of respect that occurs as you realize that he had known what was happening to him and refused to allow himself to become a ravenous monster.

“How long has he been dead?” Yeosang asks from behind you, and you feel his hand on your arm, pulling you back.

“Who knows.” Yunho mumbles. “But look at all of this.” He’s pointing to the floor near the man’s sprawled legs, where he and Mingi have found another cardboard file box and created a carpet of spread documents.

You don’t focus on that yet. Instead, you’re remembering the zombies from the room that you and Yeosang got locked in, and the parasites that escaped from their useless hosts soon after their deaths. It’s the same thing Yeosang is thinking of as he tries to pull you back from the officer.

“Hold on,” you say, touching his hand to push it off. “We have to check.” You know what you’re looking for, but you haven’t let yourself acknowledge the possible presence of more bugs yet, or feel the utter panic that had consumed you last time.

“I’ll check.” He says, and slips into the room around you.

“I can—”

He ignores you, gingerly stepping between the officer’s legs and reaching with shaking hands to cautiously cradle his head and pull it forward, off the shelf. A second later, he drops the head back rather unceremoniously and backs away.

His reaction could mean either of the terrible possibilities. Perhaps the young wasp is still inside, still working on chewing its way out, and he’s not eager to be nearby when it does. Or perhaps it’s already out, and now unaccounted for.

Yeosang sidles past you again, disappearing into the control room before coming back with the axe that Yunho had left leaning against the door. “It’s out.” He says quietly. “There’s an exit wound on the back of his neck. The parasite is out.”

Mingi turns on him with wide eyes. “I thought Jimin killed it. I thought it was dead.”

The fear is gripping you now, the thought of a wasp skittering around beneath your feet filling you with an uncontrollable urge to stand on a desk or a shelf or anything to get you out of reach. “One of them. He killed one of them.” Your throat is tight with panic. “One of them stung him, like Jimin. It planted the larvae inside him, which grew as it ate him from the inside, and then escaped once it realized the host was dead.”

Yunho looks pale. “So it’s in here, right? No one saw one leave through the control room door?”

You shake your head wildly. You would have noticed. Both times that you came to this room, someone would have noticed a giant wasp making a run for it. “Shit.” You whisper. “Shit,” your leadership skills are really taking a blow these past few minutes.

“Everyone out of the closet.” Yeosang says abruptly, pushing you out. “Maybe it’s still in here. Everyone out.”

The moment you’re in the bigger room, noticing all the dark corners, you’re too wired with fright to do anything but watch your feet and pray the wasp doesn’t appear.

You hear papers scraping as Mingi and Yunho rush to grab them all up and bunch them into the box before they also hurry out of the closet. Yeosang pulls the door shut and waits, listening.

Out in the hallway, Jungkook is still pacing, groaning in search of his lost prey. You don’t hear any tiny insect feet scrabbling anywhere.

It doesn’t comfort you.

All you can think about are those nasty, screeching, scrambling wasps from the classroom, sprinting across the floor straight for you. In a burst of frantic bravery, you run to the AED box where you’d left it by the door and scoop it up, rushing back to the desk with the others.

“We saw him as soon as we went in there, of course.” Yunho is saying, putting the file box on the desk. “But he was already gone so we looked through this stuff, and—” he shakes his head in disbelief.

Yeosang glances at you, takes in the sudden ashen pallor of your face, the way your entire body is shaking. He pulls the chair over and pushes you towards it. “Sit down. Put your feet up. We’ll deal with it if it appears.”

Mingi gives a little squawk of protest. “I don’t want to deal with it. I hate bugs.”

“She’s barefoot.” Yeosang argues. “You can squish the thing with one stomp. She can’t.” He turns back to you. “Seriously, sit down. I’ll handle it.”

You don’t even try to argue. Zombies, you can handle. Bugs? Barefoot or not, you’ll have a panic attack if you keep standing there where you can’t even see if it’s hiding under the desk. You throw yourself into the chair and bring your knees to your chest, and you know the look you give him is downright pitiful. “Thank you.”

His expression softens, and he almost smiles. But he just turns and starts checking the room, peering into every corner. “Keep going, hyung, but keep it down. Jungkook is still listening for us.”

Yunho starts pulling crumpled pages from the box. “There are a bunch of manuals for the computer system, which makes me think he was sent in here to change the controls on the lockdown program. Jimin said none of his passwords worked, so this guy must have changed them so we couldn’t lift it.”

This explains how all the boxes had appeared in the control room in the first place. They hadn’t been in here earlier this evening when you’d done your initial checks before the program began.

“There’s also the same diagram we had of the emergency exits and fire escapes, but there’s handwritten notations that I’m pretty sure mean they either blocked them all off or took down the fire escape stairs on the exterior of the building.” Yunho continues, bending over the documents.

Yeosang ducks under the desk to check in the shadows. When he pops back up, he uses your chair to get back to his feet, and touches your shoulder briefly before moving to the other side of the room.

“They already have us barricaded in.” You mutter. “Why go to the trouble of removing the fire escapes too?”

“Because we could be full of parasites?” Mingi offers in a light tone that does nothing to calm the terror in your nerves.

“There’s a bunch of info in here, on all of us and the specimens they gave your acting team. It looks like it was supposed to give him space to keep notes, like he was supposed to be monitoring us from in here. There’s diagrams for your cameras that are linked to this computer.” Yunho says to you. “He notated the first ones who turned—Hoseok, Yoongi, Taehyung, Jin…” He picks up a page with Hobi’s picture. “It says Hoseok was sitting on a desk when he started turning, and he fell off and appears to have broken his wrist but exhibited no signs of pain.”

You remember the mangled, bloody arm of your friend, the way his hand dangled ghoulishly from his wrist, and your heart squeezes.

At least he never felt it. If you know Hoseok, your unpredictable, dramatic Hobie, he would have been a basket case over that kind of injury. At least it never hurt him.

Yeosang glances at you as you take in the news, but your chin is nestled on your knees, your eyes clenched shut.

“He was keeping notes on us.” Yunho pushes the papers around. “He has notes on when me and San went into the classroom for our mission. He says Jungkook and Jennie were still about thirty minutes from their predicted transformations —that’s what he calls it —but when San and I gave both of them the cure,” he looks a little green.

Seonghwa’s words come back to you, when you were in the control room the first time. They had filled the cure bottles with almost fully incubated eggs.

“He says the larvae in their stomachs took control almost immediately. That’s why they turned so fast. That’s why they got so sick. Jennie complained about the taste, I didn’t think —”

You’re done assigning blame. “The cures were supposed to be filled with soju and food coloring. We were supposed to drink them. You didn’t do anything wrong.” With your eyes closed, you don’t see the anguished look he gives you, but you can feel the tortured silence. “Jennie and Jungkook were listed as parasite groups in the other documents. They were already infested.”

A few seconds tick by, and Yunho sniffs. “He has notes about you and Hwa and Jimin headed back up. He doesn’t say that you were coming to stop the alarms, so I guess your cameras don’t have audio?”

You shake your head. “We only record the video. Your company’s cameras have the audio equipment, but they’re not linked to our computer system.”

“He had a section of notes prepared for when Yeosang and I got cornered by those zombies. When you jumped in and saved us? He was waiting to see if they would eat us or if their parasites were mature enough to escape their hosts and try to implant us.”

You feel sick.

“Then he writes about how you jumped in. It says you were given an anti-parasitic, and there’s a section here where he was waiting to see if it would kill the eggs in your body and protect you. But there’s nothing after that. His notes stop. I guess that’s when he got attacked by the wasp in the bug box.”

Mingi speaks up then. “But there are other pages. It says the experiment is over when they can document the effects on all the test groups. They want to see if the anti-parasitic is strong enough to fight the parasites, and if the hyper parasite groups turn faster and mature more quickly, and there’s a note here about documenting if we figure out how to stop them on our own.”

Yeosang returns to you then. “I don’t see the wasp anywhere. I think it’s still in the closet.” He says, and you feel his hand touch your shoulder. “No bugs.”

You can finally open your eyes.

He’s standing next to your chair, wielding the axe in one hand, his other remaining firmly on your shoulder.

The flood of relief that breaks past the anxiety in your chest is borderline embarrassing as you sigh heavily. “Thank fuck.”

“It says our van crews were implanted after the program started. Your company and ours. It also says they would be bussing in a group of test subjects from one of the military research bases.”

That explains all the extra people. Test subjects carted in to add to the experiment, just to watch them all destroy themselves.

“Does it say why?” You croak. “Does it say why they’re doing this to us?”

“They probably created the parasites as some kind of fucked up weapon and used us to test the efficiency. If they can take out our entire group, if they can be stopped before they take over the world.” Yunho grumbles, righteously pissed. “They thought this building being so remote, and retrofitted with modern security made a perfect environment, and our program gave them the perfect opportunity to experiment on us.”

Far too angry to sit and stew in this information, you put your feet back on the floor and stand. “Okay. We’re taking all of that with us. Put everything back in the box. We need to get the axe back down to Namjoon.”

“We need to check the windows, too.” Mingi reminds you. “We’ll have to turn the lights off in the classrooms to see outside.” He’s hurrying to shove papers back in the file box, closing the lid over it and holding the whole thing to his chest. “What about Jungkook?”

You glance at Yeosang and find him already watching you. “I think we can lock him in here. If we create a noise to draw him in and then slip out behind him.”

His eyebrows are lowering, waiting for you to volunteer to be bait, waiting for you to disappoint him again.

You decide not to give him the satisfaction. “Once the door is open we can roll the chair towards the desk. Think that will be enough noise?”

He blinks. Obvious surprise lifts his features, and you’re once again staring at that pink birthmark under his left eye. How had you never noticed it before? Had he been wearing makeup for all of your program prep sessions?

He had to have, you would have noticed.

“Oh.” He clears his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, that should work.” He passes the axe to Yunho and ducks beside you, lifting the desk chair to his chest.

You turn to Yunho. “I know I said you can do what you need to with the axe. And I meant it, I mean it, but if you kill a host, the parasite will be forced to escape. So please…please swing judiciously.”

He nods, looking queasy. “Got it.”

“Okay.” You grab the AED and step up to the door. “Everyone stay behind the door. Yeosang, on my signal.” Once they’re all behind you, huddled against the wall, you turn the knob with painful slowness. The latch scrapes the frame, and you freeze.

Jungkook is still out there, boots still clunking, still bumping the walls.

You pull the door wide on silent hinges. Peeking around the corner, you see your youngest teammate freeze, head cocking as he listens.

Jerking your head back, you nod to Yeosang. He sets the chair carefully on the floor, and then gives it a shove. It rumbles noisily deeper into the room on rattling castors, crashing into the desk, and then Jungkook barrels through the doorway, snarling with hunger.

He hits the door, knocking you back. Yeosang catches you, arms wrapping around your waist, and then Jungkook is in the room. You flap your hands wildly, urging the others to move, and one by one they dart around you out into the hallway. You follow, feet slamming frantically, tugging the door shut behind you.

For a minute your group just stands there, panting in the wake of exhilarating terror.

“Total badass.” Mingi gasps. He shifts the box to one arm and lifts his hand to you for a fist bump, which you promptly return, thrilled to have succeeded.

“Goddamn, this shit is scary.” Yunho hisses.

You nod agreeably, and glance at Yeosang. His shoulders are heaving, his face flushed with excitement. He nods to you, ready to go. You point down the hallway. “Only the open classrooms. Woo, Hongjoong, and I locked some of them into one of them.”

Yunho starts moving first, leading the way with the axe. You let Mingi go next, his arms full with the box, but no amount of gesturing convinces Yeosang to go next. Instead he stays next to you, both of you taking turns glancing over your shoulders.

As your trek continues, your mind travels back to your moments with the man beside you. He’d held your hair as you puked, and cleaned your bite, all while berating you for the suicide mission you’ve given yourself. All the things he said to you ricochet around your brain incessantly. That you’re loved. That he’s glad it was you who survived. That you won’t be allowed to die in this living hell.

That he wants you to live to experience your perfect day.

Your perfect day.

What a joke it seems right now.

All of this fighting to survive, being betrayed by your own country, losing your family—what’s the point of a picturesque day off now?

Most of all, you can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at you when you touched his birthmark. The shift in his eyes as he stared at you, holding your hand to his face.

He had held your hand to his face, right?

You’re not inventing that memory?

It was real?

The softness in his eyes for you was real?

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, feeling a fluttering in your chest that you absolutely refuse to decipher.

Instead, you think about your program prep sessions. The first time you’d met him, and he’d been so quiet and polite, letting his brothers be the ones to barrage you with questions and friendship.

The way he’d warmed up to you almost cautiously, his silent presence at your lunches and coffee sessions slowly turning into quiet remarks and soft smiles in your direction.

The way you’d been sucked into the calmness of his gentle reprieve from Wooyoung’s playful pestering and Yunho’s flirtatious jabs at you and Rosé. The way you’d started to notice with fondness how he would cover his mouth when he laughed, or the way he let everyone talk over him except Wooyoung.

You shake yourself out of reminiscence.

You can’t think about this.

You can’t be drawn in.

He’s going to survive this night and go back to his life with all of his brothers, and you’re not.

The moments you’ve shared with him are sweet and precious, and they’re what you’ll hold onto in the end, but they’re no more than that.

Yunho leads the way into the first open classroom and finds the light switch.

Before he bathes the room in darkness, you give the room a quick check. As expected, it’s empty, but you can’t help but be paranoid now that you know zombies can break down doors when properly determined.

Or maybe that’s just Jungkook.

You’re suddenly very glad that the control room has a steel door to accommodate its electronic locks.

Yunho hits the lights, and your group all but tiptoes to the windows. It’s pitch black outside, but in the darkness of the room you can more easily see the military vehicles parked outside, illuminating the front of the building with headlights.

There are dozens of them, and even more troops working a perimeter. They’re all armed with rifles, all of them equipped with lights on their uniforms. It’s the only way you can see some of them as they patrol the darker edges of the school.

“God, they’re everywhere.” Yunho mutters.

“Are we fighting them? What do we do when we’re out? I’m an idol, I can’t fight the military.” Mingi whispers frantically.

Yeosang shoots him a judging look. “You want to fight the military?”

“We fought zombies!”

“The zombies weren’t armed.”

“God, imagine if the zombies were armed.”

You try to steer the conversation away from gun-toting zombies, but Mingi has a point. Getting out of the school is only half the problem. What happens once they’re out? It’s highly unlikely that the military will let them back into the world, knowing what they know.

Will they execute them to keep the experiment covered up? Will they drag them to a research base and keep running experiments until they die? How do they plan to make a globally famous pop group disappear off the face of the earth?

You’re imagining fabricated news coverage to explain their sudden absence. Maybe some of them will have “retired” and started new lives somewhere in private. Maybe some of them will have been “found, dead of an accidental overdose.” Maybe a “car accident.”

Or maybe they’ll just swear them to secrecy, threatening their families to keep them silent.

In any case, it’s a problem to figure out later.

“I’m not seeing any good spots. They’re everywhere.” You say.

Yunho points to the southeast corner, where there are foot patrols but no vehicles. “It’s kind of dark over there. What’s that, the stairwell?”

You follow his gesture. “Yeah, but there’s a classroom down there too. It’s better than anything close to the entrance. And going from that direction might allow an escape into the woods.”

“Running through the woods from the military. That seems like fun.” Mingi grumbles.

“You only have to make it about a mile. That’s when cell service comes back. The moment the phones work, if you get word out to everyone you know that you’re alive and you need help, then even if they catch you, you have a chance.” You pull away from the window and back towards the door. “Let’s go downstairs.”

As you slip back into the hallway, back into the light, you hear them speaking softly behind you.

“Did she say ‘you’?”

“Kinda sounds like she’s not coming with us, didn’t it?”

“She’s coming with us.” Yeosang. “Let’s go.”

You’re quiet as you wait for them to appear, eyes anywhere but on them. You shouldn’t have said it the way you did, but it’s too late to take it back now. Yeosang knows you won’t be leaving. He knows why you have to stay.

He also knows there’s nothing those officers out there could do to you that you don’t deserve.

You won’t waste time arguing with them about it.

Yunho glances at you as he takes the lead again, but says nothing.

< last chapter | masterlist

tag list :

#ateez #kang yeosang #yeosang #ateez fluff #ateez angst #kang yeosang fluff #yeosang angst #ateez x reader #kang yeosang x reader #yeosang x reader #blood sugar virus

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duskvsdawn · 3 days ago

Text

Welcome home, mon amour

Zali is a devoted, hard-working husband. While you were out there saving the world, your lovely hubby stayed home, doing all sorts of chores so you don't have to when you eventually do come home, and he takes care of your wounds. And after he takes care of your wounds, you shower him in love.

≫ A/N: @briskunt gave me the marvelous idea of house husband Zali, so here we go! I might take on some of the other ideas you mentioned at some point later. I do wanna broaden out to more "out there topics", but since my mental health hasn't been great lately, I would love to write something that brings me comfort for now. I hope that's okay with you!

CW: female reader cause reversed "socially acceptable" gender roles, Zali gets a bit depressed because he's lonely 'cause you're away so much, when you come home, covered in blood from a hard battle, he cares for your wounds, and to thank him, you shower him in lots of love after the painkillers start working. Uh, yeah this gets smutty at the end after the fluff, Zali is a super sensitive baby and super responsive to all your touches and all the lewd stuff you do to him. Reader uses a strap-on to fuck Zali senseless cause he just looks so good like that, and, again, reversed gender roles, let's go. Also, Zali wears lingerie cause fuck it, we ball. Also also, reader puts Zali in mating press because I just had to.

Art credits.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

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Zali heard the front door open, and a tired sigh followed soon after. He had been busy folding laundry at the dinner table when he heard a quiet "I'm home..." It didn't sound good, so he went to go check on you. There you stood, trying to compose yourself, covered in wounds from head to toe. Zali clasped his hands in front of his mouth, and he rushed over to you.

"Mon amour, you look terrible! What happened?" your husband asked as he gently held you. "Well, I do feel terrible... And, uh... A lot, actually," you said as you winced in pain as his arms wrapped around you. Zali noticed and instantly pulled back. "Why don't you go and take a shower? I will join you soon so I can help clean you up," your husband said with a soft, worried smile as he gave you a kiss on the cheek. You nodded, and after some struggles, you managed to get up the stairs. You just sat on the bathroom floor for a bit, not sure if you would be able to do any more on your own for now. Zali had kept his hearing focused on trying to detect anything suspicious. When he still didn't hear running water when he was done folding laundry, he hurried up the stairs to check on you.

There you sat, in the exact same spot you had sat down in 15 minutes ago. "Mon trésor, what are you doing on the floor?" Zali asked you as he moved to sit down next to you and comfortingly rubbed your back. "Hurts too much..." you brought out in between choked sobs. Your husband took your hand in his and gave it a loving kiss. "I will get the painkillers, mon amour," your husband said as he got up to get said painkillers. It was a mix made especially by him that both got rid of the pain, or at least managed to dull it somewhat, and it also had calming effects on the mind, which was useful if you were overly stressed. It also usually worked for a full day, which was nice, so you wouldn't have to get jabbed in the arm multiple times a day.

Zali came back to the bathroom a little while later, bottle and syringe in hand, and with some effort, you managed to roll up your sleeve so that he could administer the painkiller. After looking for a suitable vein to poke the syringe into after taking it out of the package, he did just that, and relief washed over you almost immediately. He sat next to you for a little while longer after getting rid of the syringe, waiting for it to kick in properly as he rubbed your back softly, trying his best to avoid the spots that gave you a pained expression. After a little while, you gave him a nod, and he helped you get up and get undressed. Zali undressed himself as well and guided you into the shower after the water felt like a mix between lukewarm and warm since he didn't want the hot water to hurt you.

While the two of you stood in the shower, you let the water wash off some of the dirt and blood first. Zali looked through the shower cabin glass walls, staring at the bloody and dirty suit. He shook his head, and he could only imagine what you had gone through today. He asked you what had happened, and you started reciting today's events about how much you, Vanta and Wilson struggled to take down the monsters roaming the next city over. You told Zali that you had gotten unlucky and the monster got some good hits in, but that Wilson and Vanta didn't look as hurt as you, so he didn't have to worry about them. Zali grabbed a soft sponge and started to gently wipe the dirt out of the wounds. After he did so, he washed your hair and lathered your body in soap to clean you up. After he had cleaned you, he did the same to himself as you just stood under the water for a little longer, kind of zoning out a bit.

"Mon chéri, how is the pain right now? does it feel better?" your husband asked you as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, leaving a kiss on your shoulder blade. "Yeah, it does feel a lot better now. Thank you," you said with a smile as you turned around in his arms to leave a loving kiss on his lips. Zali's hands found your hair, and he let it run through his fingers as he made out with you for a little while, getting hornier with each passing minute. You could feel his hard-on against your stomach, and when you pointed it out, he got embarrassed. You just chuckled in response as the two of you got ready to get out of the shower.

You were drying yourselves off, and after you were done, Zali told you to wait in the bathroom for a little bit and that he would tell you when you could come over. You had no idea what he had up his sleeves, but you patiently sat down on the toilet, waiting for his signal. After a little bit he called you over, and you walked over to the bedroom. Zali lay on the bed, in royal blue lingerie. A blush spread across your cheeks as you slowly walked over to him to lie down next to him.

"Is this new? I haven't seen this before..." you said as you let your hand run over the fabric covering his chest. It felt silky smooth, and it had beautiful pink lace attached to it. "Yes, mon chéri, it's new. Do you like it?" your husband said with a shaky breath as your finger flicked his nipple through the fabric. "Mmm, looks really good on you," you said as you let your hand wander lower, touching the fabric of the panties that was just as smooth. "How come you wanted to wear this tonight?" you asked as you left a few heated kisses on his neck as you pulled him closer. "You've barely been home lately. I know you've been hard at work, but it's been getting lonely. And seeing you in so much pain, I wanted to cheer you up a bit. I missed you so, so much... Je t'aime, reader, and I want to do anything to make you happy. Anything." Zali said as he was close to tears. The loneliness had really been eating away at him, and you really felt bad about it. "Je t'aime aussi, my lovely hubby. And I am sorry I have been away so much lately. Shall I make it up to you tonight?" you said with a suggestive smirk, and Zali's blush deepened because of that comment. "I would like that..." your husband whispered as he hid his face in your neck.

You left a kiss at the top of his head, and then you got up to walk to your favourite cabinet in the bedroom. It held lingerie and all sorts of toys. You took your preferred strap-on out of said cabinet and walked over to the nightstand to grab some lube out of the drawer. Your husband blushed one shade darker when he saw what you were planning on doing. You got back on the bed and put the strap-on on yourself after pushing the dildo attached on the inside into you, covering the one on the outside in lube. Zali licked his lips when he saw the pleasured expression on your face as you pushed the dildo into yourself, and he had gotten a little bit impatient. He wanted to feel that thing inside of him so badly. He wanted to be absolutely ruined by you and be showered in kisses and hickeys. Luckily for him, he didn't have to wait long.

"Time to fold you in half like a croissant," you said with a chuckle as you pushed his legs towards his chest. He felt so exposed like this, but it turned him on that much more. You moved the lingerie out of the way, not wanting to take it off because it looked too pretty on him. "Please, mon amour... I need you. I need to feel you," your husband whimpered as one of your fingers circled his rim, and then you slowly pushed it in. After you had moved it in and out for a bit, you added a second finger and then a third. You wanted to prep him properly because that dildo was big. You knew he loved having it inside of him, but you wanted to make it as painless as possible. His impatience showed once more when he let out a desperate whimper, and you decided to give him what he wanted.

You pushed in the tip, and as you slowly pushed in the rest of it you leaned over him, wrapping one arm around him as the other held his hand that was lying next to his head, essentially trapping him underneath you. When your husband left a kiss on your lips, you took it as a signal to start moving, so that's what you did. You started with some shallow thrusts at first until Zali moaned, "More... More... S'il vous plaît, give me more," as he left continuous hungry kisses on your lips. You moved your face towards his neck to start biting it and leaving lots of hickeys there as you picked up the pace, your hand still holding his tightly. Zali moaned louder at that, feeling like he was in heaven, enjoying everything you were giving him. He loved you so much, and having sex with you always managed to solidify those feelings even more for him. As Zali's mind wandered to the thoughts about how much he really loved you, tears started pricking at his eyes. You noticed, and gently licked a tear away that was rolling down his face. "Je t'aime... Je t'aime..." your husband just kept whispering as a mantra, getting lost in pleasure. Zali started trembling, and you could tell he was getting close because of it.

"Come for me, handsome. I know you want to. Let go, mon amour," you whispered into his ear after you licked it and nibbled on his earlobe. You started moaning louder yourself, when that pleasure the dildo inside of you was giving you, was getting too much for you, on top of seeing your husband so fucked out like this. His nails clawed at your back, pulling you ever closer as he hid his face into your neck. Your husband moaned your name like a whore as he released, and it was the most beautiful moan you've ever heard out of his mouth. His cum felt warm and sticky between the two of you, and it felt so delicious to you. Seeing Zali cum so hard, pushed you over the edge as well, soiling the dildo inside of you. You fell on top of your husband, catching your breath as he did the same.

But it seems you underestimated just how much your husband had missed you. His dick was still hard and he whispered into your ear: "Mon trésor... I need more. Please. I need more of you." your husband said as he left hungry kisses across your neck, and who were you to deny him? So you fucked him more, and more, and then some. You had fucked him for hours, your stamina never relenting since you were really fit thanks to your occupation after all. You fucked him so much that by the end of the night he was a trembling, crying mess. You were covered in his cum, your neck was covered in hickeys and bites, and so was his, and your back was covered in deep scratches from his nails. You had fucked him absolutely dumb and mute, since by the end his eyes just kept rolling back, and drool kept trickling out of his mouth as one more orgasm washed over him, and he pretty much passed out. You pulled out of him, taking off the strap-on and letting it thud on the ground next to the bed. Your husband had gone absolutely silent on you and you wondered if he was alright.

"Are you okay, darling? How are you feeling?" you asked Zali as you left a loving kiss on his temple after you wrapped your arms around him. In that moment, he looked like a mix between fucked out and in absolute bliss, but at the same time so vulnerable and exhausted to the core. He responded, barely above a whisper. "Incroyable... Thank you, mon amour."

Zali knew these sheets would need washing your sure, the blood from one of the wounds of your knee had gotten onto it and so had his release, and yours. But he couldn't possibly remove those sheets now, there was no way he could even get up now. That would have to be a worry for future him. A smile appeared on his face when you left a kiss on top of his nose, whispering to him, "sleep well, my handsome, perfect husband. Je t'aime."

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