#like what the hell is your problem are you somehow not aware that she is already mine. that i'm the one who truly loves her.

[cinnamonest]

Pulchritudinous

Tohru Adachi x Reader

Words: 9.5k

Finally the day has come. I can write a character as a misogynist incel and know it's genuinely 100% canon. What a blessing.

for this I did a teacher! reader, therefore reader is of unspecified age but older than the main cast.

//VERY DARK, female reader, major p4 spoilers, heavy misogyny because it's Adachi how could there not be, implied stalking, near-death experience, major noncon (”have sex with me or die” scenario), threats of death and bodily harm, references to homicide, hair-pulling, choking, firearms, abduction, TV set shenanigans, Tohru likes pointing guns at people

Also I was too uncreative to think of a different slip of tongue so darling makes basically the exact same mistake Adachi makes in December lmao

Synopsis: As the homeroom teacher of the late murder victim, you’re called into the Inaba police station to answer some questions.

“Okay. Just a few questions.”

You forced a polite smile.

“Sure, go ahead.”

In truth, you felt like you were wasting your time.

You already knew most of what was going on. You already knew things that the police didn't. Sitting here was pointless, answering these questions was pointless — you could give him the truth, sure, but that presented a world of problems. It pretty much went without question that that would be a poor idea — you'd be written off as crazy, especially if it somehow didn't work when they tried to replicate your story. You couldn't risk getting fired, or worse, involuntarily committed over psychiatric concerns or something along those lines.

“Konishi was in your homeroom, right?”

You nodded. “That's correct.”

“And you've been to the Junes she worked at, right?”

“Mhm. Once a week or so.”

“Was she ever working while you were there?”

“I recall seeing her there once or twice.”

Yes, it was such a waste of time it felt frustrating. There was nothing you could say — well, nothing you could reasonably say — that would actually be of any help, as much as you wish there was.

“You were one of the last people to see her alive, right? The school said she came into your classroom right before she left.”

You nodded again. “Yes, she forgot to turn something in earlier the same day, so she came back to give it to me. It was only for a few seconds.”

“Did she say anything about where she was going?”

“Not that I recall. I just assumed she was headed home, or to work.”

“Did she seem to be behaving oddly?”

“Well, ah…” you thought back to the day, hit with a twinge of pain at the recollection. “She did seem like she was in a hurry. But not particularly.”

He wrote a few things down, pen scratching at the notepad.

You fidgeted in place, awkwardly clasping your hands together. “Sorry… I know those answers aren't very helpful.”

“No, no, it’s appreciated,” he assured you, albeit seemingly distracted by his task. You gave a weak smile in acknowledgement.

You hadn't intended to become involved in any of this. Hell, you just wanted a nice, quiet life as a teacher, away from the big cities, a small, quaint school. That was it, that was all you'd asked for — a place where you thought life would be slow and peaceful.

Serial murders were not the sort of thing that was supposed to happen in towns like these.

And even then, at this point you wished the murders themselves were the worst part of it all. You never wanted to be exposed to it all, wished you never slipped into that TV. You wanted a normal life, fully within the realm of reality. Not things that defied reality, things that made you pinch your flesh until the bruises were so numerous you knew you weren't dreaming.

Those kids had saved you then, sure, but now you bore the burden of knowing. Having to be aware of such a thing, the way it weighed on your mind, the endless confusion and disbelief as you still struggled to accept it, having to see those kids’ faces in class each day, having them awkwardly come up to you in town outside of school — a routine by now, wherein they assured you that they were working hard on “the case,” and of course, in awkward roundabout ways, always seeking assurance that you hadn't said a word to anyone else.

You took a deep breath, clearing your mind of such thoughts, turning your attention back to Adachi.

He was trying his best, you told yourself, even if you often felt like he was perhaps not particularly well-suited for police detective work. That dopey smile, that scatterbrained nature, it didn’t seem quite aligned to most people’s idea of a cop — someone who was supposed to be stern, observant, competent.

As for you, well, you'd felt pity for him, between seeing him barked at by Dojima day in and day out, and the general stress the man seemed to be under. You'd gone out of your way to try and be nice to him, even greeted him in public when you saw him — which, given the small world that was Inaba, was fairly often.

You'd been called in for questioning a total of three times, counting today. The first two had been at more convenient hours of the day, whereas today, the detective asked you rather last-minute if you could come in right then and there — inconvenient, sure, but when you considered that it was ultimately for the sake of the poor murdered girl, you couldn't bring yourself to reject coming. Besides, you were the one that found her, it was only natural that you'd be questioned extensively.

Still, there was an issue, one you had noticed as soon as he’d started questioning.

“I don't mean to be rude, but, uh…” You gave your best attempt to be polite, “didn't we… go over most of these questions before?”

He stopped writing. His eyes widened for a moment, but then, they closed as he gave an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his head in a sheepish gesture.

“Well, ah, I may or may not have misplaced the notes from last time… I was hoping you wouldn't notice… haha.”

You did not like the knowledge that this man was responsible for public safety.

Still, out of awkward politeness, you waved your hand dismissively, maintaining the pleasant, not-too-exaggerated smile plastered to your face. “Oh, no worries.”

He looked down to the ground, turning his head a bit to the side wistfully.

“Well, now that you say that, more importantly…”

He trailed off. You raised your eyebrows, tilting your head in curiosity.

He turned his head back towards you, giving you another sheepish smile.

“…To tell you the truth… there's, ah, something else I wanted to ask you about.”

There was something off about the tone with which he spoke those words, an audible indicator that whatever the subject matter he referred to was, would be something uncomfortable, unpleasant, rather than an inquiry of a neutral nature.

You blinked a few times, taken aback by the unexpected shift in atmosphere.

“Oh, uh, okay. What is it?”

There was a moment of pause, as if hesitant. He leaned back against the seat cushions, holding his hand out in an explanatory gesture.

“Well, you know, I'm a pretty observant guy, and the higher-ups have me keeping tabs on various people involved… I tend to notice and remember details, take in everything around me, you know, stuff that goes right over most people's heads.” He paused and, catching the confusion on your face, added, “just to preface. I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea.”

Yes, something was off. There was a tension in the atmosphere, anticipation making you increasingly uneasy.

But still… polite. You had to be polite. He was a good guy at heart, even if awkward.

“Oh, I'm sure it's fine.” You closed your eyes for a moment as you waved your hand again. “Don't worry, I'm not sensitive or anything.”

He seemed to take that reassuringly, as his posture seemed to relax, but still hesitated a moment more before leaning forward, coming to slouch over with his elbows resting on his thighs, resting his head against one hand.

“…What's a teacher doing hanging out with a bunch of teenage boys so much?”

You hadn't been expecting any one question in particular, nor even had the slightest idea of what he could possibly want to know, but nonetheless, the question he asked was so out of bounds of normality and social appropriateness that it blindsided you completely, leaving you to sit there completely still, slack-jawed and blinking. Still, you forced a smile as you replied.

“…Ah, I… what?”

He smiled as well, seemingly oblivious to your awkward unease.

“Narukami and his friends, I mean.” He tilted his head, gazing off to the side, seemingly trying to present the matter in a nonchalant manner. "I, ah, couldn’t help but notice I saw them talking to you outside of school several times, in all sorts of places.”

“…Narukami?” You tilted your head. “A-ah, well, those kids all… go to Yasogami. So, they're all my students…”

Your thoughts shifted to the kids — your own students, the ones who saved you on that day not long ago at all. And with the thought of them, everything else, all the memories and disbelief and bewilderment, the things you'd tried to push out of your mind for the sake of your own sanity, came rushing back. Your body went stiff.

But of course, you could never even begin to tell Adachi the truth. As much as you wanted to help, you'd be written off as crazy within seconds — saying people could enter an alternate dimension by stepping inside the TV screen was not exactly within the bounds of sanity.

Besides, you still weren't even certain how all that stuff worked, having decided to rid your mind of it and not ask any questions. Even if he was willing to humor you enough to experiment with your claims, what if it didn't work for him? You could envision it now, putting his hand on the TV screen, only for nothing to happen, and the horrible embarrassment to follow.

Then again, the alternative could be even worse — if it did work, what kind of Pandora’s Box would you be opening? Would you be putting people at risk? He was, in the nicest way you could put it, a bit of a dimwit, and you wouldn’t want him doing something rash and getting himself hurt trying to go in.

No, it wasn't even worth entertaining the thought. You clasped your hands together, looking down at the ground, coming up with an explanation on the spot.

“And ever since Konishi was…” You shook your head, pausing for a moment before you continued. “…A lot of those kids have been talking to the faculty… they need someone for comfort… counseling. It's been hard on them. Hanamura and Narukami just happened to come to me.”

“Right, right.”

The phrasing itself was assurance, but somehow, his response didn’t sound entirely convincing, as if insincere, and pressed you to stammer out whatever further defense you could find.

“A-and, ah, Narukami himself is still getting adjusted to living out here and all. He's… from the city, you know.”

“Ah, aha, that makes sense.” He kept up the awkward smile. “I was worried for a minute there… that you were one of those kinds of teachers.”

You blinked, eyes going wide open as the response came out of your mouth on instinct, without any real thought, simply the obvious thing to say to such a statement. “No, no, nothing like that, I…”

You trailed off, not even sure how to continue. The sort-of-accusation hit you with total bewilderment, felt completely unexpected. In what world was that an appropriate thing to ever say to someone, especially with so little evidence? Why would his mind even go to such a trail of thought? It was only the sort of conclusion you could imagine some kind of perverse deviant drawing, and you couldn't imagine him as someone like that.

But you refrained from any strong negative reaction, outwardly at least.

You liked to give people the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was just one of those people that had difficulty understanding social conventions and standards of appropriateness — you'd had students like that in the past, and you liked to think you were a particularly empathetic and understanding person when it came to things of that nature.

“Ah, well, don’t worry, I get it now. Sorry about that… now I feel a little dumb for having asked, hah…”

"Oh, it's, ah, it's fine."

Your response was equally awkward. You knew your discomfort had to be palpable.

He flashed you an awkward smile, but it only lasted a mere second.

And then—

“Well, guess that's it for questioning.”

With those words, he reached over to the small table beside the couch, and turned the light off, leaving the room only dimly lit by lights in the outside hallway, coming in through the half-open door. He then stood up, the dated leather of the couch on his side of the table making a slight sound at the moment.

“A-ah, um, what are—”

Your jaw clamped shut as he quickly ventured around the table and sat down next to you — directly next to you, your thighs touching each other’s. You went rigid, hands clasped together on your lap tightening their grip on each other.

“Don’t worry, I had a feeling you weren’t that sort,” he said, a much lower, more hushed voice. “Still, you should really be more careful… it'd be easy for someone to get the wrong idea.”

Your mouth felt dry. You sensed that the pause was intentional, giving you room to say something in return, yet the utterly bizarre and off-putting shift of the conversation, combined with the sudden proximity and invasion of your personal space, left you silent, slack-jawed, and thus, he filled the silence when you didn’t respond.

“…Speaking of, you're getting kinda up there, age-wise, you know. Kinda surprising you're all by yourself.”

He leaned back against the couch. Alarm bells sounded in your head. You didn't want to be rude, you didn't want to risk overreacting — maybe you had the wrong idea, maybe you were misunderstanding, and then it would look really bad on your part if you acted on that misunderstanding, maybe he wasn't aware of how it was coming off, the possibilities of what was happening flew through your mind all at once. You sat still, but stiff.

He didn't seem to notice.

“You really should start thinking about your future.”

You felt every nerve ending in your body ignite with the discomfort and alarm of unfamiliarity as his arm wrapped around the back side of the couch, coming to touch the back of your neck, forearm resting on your shoulder. The casual hold around you grew tighter, his arm pushing you inward towards him.

“You know, ‘cause most women your age are getting into serious rela—”

You moved on pure reflex.

Your body sprang back in the opposite direction, feet scrambling against the tile. Your hands reflexively pushed outward, shoving against him, and you found yourself tumbling off the couch and falling flat onto the floor, grunting as your tailbone hit the harsh surface.

For a moment, the pain that it sent up your spine consumed your attention, distracting you for a few seconds as you winced, pulling yourself to sit upright.

And then, you processed what you'd done. Your head snapped back upwards to look at him. “A-ah, I…”

He looked caught off-guard, momentarily wide-eyed with the sudden startle, having been moved slightly to the side by the force of your push.

And then, his face fell.

His eyes went half-lidded, smile disappearing. A total shift in expression, to one you had never seen the young officer wear before — one you wouldn't have thought his face was capable of.

His voice dropped low, a flat and empty tone.

“…You too, huh.”

You blinked rapidly, heart only beating harder and faster at the feeling of dread and alarm that began to rise up in your stomach. You pushed yourself backwards, hands pushing at the ground to move your body away from him.

“What… what do you—”

“And here I thought you were such a sweet girl.” His voice interrupted yours as he took a step forward, a cold dramaticism to his tone. “So nice… you really seemed to get me.”

You blinked in bewilderment, cold dread beginning to bloom in your gut. You barely knew the man, having only spoken to him a handful of times, most of which were about the case, and a few passing words when you ran into each other in town.

He stopped once he reached you, his shadow looming over your sprawled form. His eyes narrowed.

“But no, you're just another snobby little bitch, aren't you.” His nose wrinkled with his expression of disgust. “Think you're too good for me, don't you?”

You scrambled up to your feet, stumbling on unsteady legs. You pulled your hands up to your chest, curling them into fists, a defensive reflex. Confusion and panic rapidly began to take over, you could feel your heart beginning to pound heavy and fast as the reality of the situation settled in.

“No, no I—” you swallowed, shaking your head in an instinctive reaction to the sudden hostility. “I didn’t mean to—I was just startled, don’t…”

You found yourself trailing off, unable to summon coherent words through your alarm.

He looked you up and down, expression of apathetic disdain unwavering.

“And to think I gave you a chance.” He sighed. “Thought you'd be different from those two.”

You blinked. Something about those words hit you like a punch to the stomach, but you couldn't tell why. Like a siren going off in your head, a chill that ran through your blood, your gut instincts unmistakably commanding you to get away — and you would, except for the fact that, as you realized with the sense of alarm in your chest growing exponentially, he stood between you and the only exit from the room.

“What… what do you mean those—”

Your words cut off.

Time itself came to a standstill. You stood, motionless as a corpse, as a chill pierced your chest. A deep, profound sensation of cold that spread out from your heart, into your blood. You were certain you could physically feel the ice spread out through your veins, to every cell in your being, an all-consuming cold.

You realized that, as he said those words, his gaze shifted over to the side. Your eyes followed his line of sight.

He was looking at the TV, tucked away on a stand in the corner of the room.

Why was he looking at the TV?

You could feel your pulse in your chest. You could feel your pulse in your neck. You could feel it in your head, your fingertips, the way the blood began to rush through your body, the way your heart began to pound, an electrifying sensation setting every nerve in your body alight.

The direction of his gaze, his words, the sudden shift in demeanor so drastic it felt as if he’d swapped places with a different person entirely— it made the hairs on your body stand on end, goosebumps spreading across your skin, and a deep, unnerving sense of nauseous dread as your frantic thoughts began to align. Your muscles went tense, shoulders bunching up.

Words came out between your lips, words you heard more than you spoke, as if your mouth moved on its own. A low murmur, just barely above a whisper.

“…Did…”

You took a step backwards. Your body twitched, shivered.

“…Did you…?”

Silence hung in the air.

You would expect someone in his position to look shocked, panicked, regardless of the truth of the matter. To rush to their own defense, to immediate respond.

But he did not.

There was a few seconds of pause. For just a moment, his eyebrows raised, but his expression was otherwise neutral.

And then, the officer's eyes fell half-lidded, and ever so slowly, the corners of his mouth pulled upward.

Something inhuman stared down at you, a malicious, sinister grin spread across his face, stretched just far enough to look inhuman, uncanny.

Your heart began to speed up. Your voice grew louder, but it audibly wavered with panic.

“You… you put them in there?”

That time, it was his turn for his eyes to go wide, an eerie smile slowly spreading across his face. He tilted his head, the motion seeming almost mechanical.

“Oh…?”

A jolt of panic ran through your veins as you caught your mistake. Your hands instinctively darted to cover your mouth, but it was too late. He took ominously slow steps towards you, each one making a harsh clack as his soles made contact with the tile.

“’Put them in there…?’ What an odd choice of words…” His voice grew lower, deeper, eyes still plastered wide open. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you know some things you have no business knowing.”

You took a step back.

He took a step forward.

“How might that be…? Those kids, maybe?” He cast his gaze over to the TV once more. “I had a feeling something like that might be going on, with you talking to them so much.”

Then, his eyes slowly turned back towards you.

He kept smiling. The same expression, yet so far removed from the cheerful, dopey one you were so used to, the face almost didn't register with your recognition, as if you were looking at a different person.

And then, it grew so much it made his eyes narrow, from mere malicious amusement, to sadistic glee.

“…Intentionally withholding information from the police is a pretty serious offense, you know. ‘Obstruction of justice.’ It’s a felony.”

Your stomach churned, you felt nauseous, muscles tense with the urge to move, but forced still by lack of option. You could only move back further, further away from both him and your only way away from him.

“What… what about the other people that went in? Was that you, too?”

His face fell, almost comically, shifting from eerie to unamused, as if your question was so exasperating it made him drop the intimidating act.

“…God, you are really, really stupid, you know that?” He sighed, shoulders falling. “You just realized that saying too much is a bad idea, and then you immediately do it again?” He shook his head, letting it fall downward with mock exasperation. “Geez, lady.”

But then, you saw his expression perk up with amusement once more.

“But, guess that means I was right… you are collaborating with those brats. I had a feeling.”

Your heart pounded harder still. You kept stumbling back as he crept ever closer, torturously slowly. You held your hands up to your chest in a natural, reflexive instinct of defense, shrinking back.

“…You’re not… saying you didn’t… do it…?”

He shrugged.

“Don't see much of a point in that now.”

He wasn't denying it.

But the simple fact itself was not what made every hair on your body stand up. It was a slow buildup of dread, blooming in your chest, and as the thoughts processed, it was those words, more than any others thus far, that made your blood run cold.

He didn't care if you knew.

He didn't see you being a threat. He wasn't worried about you telling anyone.

Then—

You felt cold. Time seemed to slow down. You were hyper-aware of every muscle, every nerve, you could feel the blood rushing through your body.

“Guess we were both hiding something,” he said in a low tone, taking another step, forcing you further back.

And then, the inevitable happened, causing your blood to run colder still, the fear in your system amplified tenfold in a single second.

Your back hit the corner.

You pressed into it as hard as you could out of instinct to get away, as if it would give way if you did.

But it did not. You were trapped, a little animal cornered by its hunter.

“Ah… ah…” Your breathing grew ragged. Your body trembled, your eyes began to water. “I… Adachi-san…”

The only light was that which came in through the hall, hitting his back, casting a shadow over his face, only the whites of his eyes and grinning teeth standing out — nightmarish, something that could only be recognized as sadistic ecstasy. Pure, unadulterated malice.

He was going to throw you in. He was going to throw you in there and you’d die. The image ran through your mind, so quickly retrieved now that it was irreparably burned into your brain, the shape caught up in the wires, a black outline in the early morning light, how you’d told yourself you were just seeing things, that your brain was spooked from the news of the prior murder, before the rising sun made the image undeniable.

The way you’d squinted and facial recognition hit your body like a punch to the stomach, taking the breath out of your lungs, how you felt the horror slowly rise up into your chest like ice cold water filling your body, how you’d dropped your phone and struggled to dial the police from how hard your hands trembled.

It would be you. You’d be strung up on the wires, dangling by your limbs in a manner almost graceful if not for the entrenchment in death.

You could tell that he could see it all playing out on your face, the thoughts and realizations and terror, by the way his smile split at the line, whites of his teeth standing out in the darkness.

“Well then.”

You didn't have time to move. Before you could even react, he had the collar of your shirt in his hand, twisting the fabric, pulling you upward.

You stumbled around, only the balls of your feet able to even touch the ground. “Wait, wait, stop— I’m sorry—”

“What was that?” He said, voice mocking, cynical. “You said you were sorry?”

You nodded profusely. You weren't thinking too much about it — your only instinct was that trying to appease him might save you.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to— I was just startled, I wasn't trying to push you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!”

You spoke so fast your words slurred together, your voice was shrill and cracking. Tears began to pour down your cheeks. Your body shivered beyond your control, a fear unlike anything you'd known in your life.

There was no movement, no harsh dragging and jerking and inevitable pushing you might have expected.

“…Hm.”

You could only make out the shape and colors of his face, unable to see his exact expression through the blur of your tears. But his voice was hesitant, pensive, as if the blood-pumping rush of the moment were brought to a sudden stop.

Your heels connected to the ground as he lowered you, but he didn't let go of the fistful of your shirt. His other hand reached up, and although you winced in anticipation, all he did was wipe at your eyes with his sleeve. Trembling, teeth chattering, you slowly turned your head up to look at him, his face now so much closer than it had ever been.

The smile was smaller, fainter, but still present nonetheless.

“…You know what? I like you, Little Miss Teacher.”

He reached up to grab your jaw, a harsh and painful grip.

“Look at you, apologizing like that… so meek.” He leaned his face closer to yours, lowering his voice to a husky murmur. “You seem like you know your place, recognize your mistakes…” His voice lowered to bitter mutter as he finished, “instead of doubling down on being a bitch.”

He pulled your head to tilt further upward, forcing a degree of eye contact no matter which way you looked. He spoke lower, quieter.

“Self-awareness is a good trait to have.”

You couldn't bring yourself to speak. Your throat was strained, your mind ran blank. You could only stare with wide eyes, fighting every instinct to claw at his hands, what little rationality you had left telling you it would only worsen your situation.

“But I still think you're a little full of yourself.” His fingernails pushed into the flesh of your face. “You could use some humility.”

You whimpered, a pitiful little sound. You could see his smile grow as it met his ears.

He let go.

You crumpled to the ground, knees hitting the surface painfully, hands pressing to the floor to keep you from toppling over entirely.

He took a few slow, nonchalant steps back towards the center of the room, pausing as he reached a small table close to the door, turning back towards you and leaning against it.

“Hey, how ‘bout I give you a chance to redeem yourself?” He titled his head. “If you can prove you're sorry, I think I can let this slide.”

He reached one hand over to the opposite hip. Before you could even make out in the dark what he pulled out from underneath the veil of his suit jacket, the recognition hit as he extended his arm back out to point the object at you, and a heart-stopping, unmistakable click.

“Go on. I'm waiting.”

You trembled, reaching one hand to clutch to your chest again. “What… what do you want me to do…?”

His face turned unamused once more, voice equally so as he gave a blunt, low-voiced reply.

“You’re not that stupid.”

You could feel your heart pounding in your throat. You swallowed, looking down.

For a moment, you hesitated. Your mind scrambled for reasons why he couldn’t kill you. He couldn't — right? Your blood would get on the floor, he wouldn't have the ability to clean it out well enough, right?

But no one else knew you were here. No one would know to look here. If he cleaned it up and threw your body in, that would be the end of it.

There was no other option.

Your trembling hands reached down to your outfit — a cardigan, a button-up and a pencil skirt, the general standard for your profession — and slipped the outermost layer off. After a moment of uncertain hesitation, you resolved to simply throw it into the floor. Then, you began unfastening the first button at the top of your shirt, struggling with how hard you shivered.

“You wear that to school?” His words broke the momentary silence. “In front of a bunch of teenagers?”

You clenched your jaw. You didn't think it was in any way inappropriate. “I… it’s not bad…”

“Wonder how that's even allowed,” he continued, as if you hadn’t spoken. “You get off to high school boys staring at you, is that it?”

You shifted uncomfortably, shaking your head. “N-no, I've never—”

“God, you are that kind of teacher after all. Haha!” He laughed aloud, reaching his other palm upon to his face. “I knew you were. I could tell just by watching you walking out the school gates every day… always talking to that brat.” He shook his head, then sighed. “No wonder girls these days are such whores, with role models like that.”

You stopped mid-motion, hands clenching at your shirt as the meaning of his words registered. Images flashed through your mind, all the unique and loveable young girls in your class, and of her. Even in your dread, you found spiteful anger bubbling up in your chest, voice coming out weak and wavering, but defiant nonetheless.

“Don't… don't say things like that, you—”

“Did I tell you to stop?” His head snapped back in your direction, nose wrinkling with an expression of disgust.

You winced, mouth snapping shut. With tears prickling at your eyes, you continued.

Your jaw was clenched, face growing warm as you undid the last button, hesitating for a moment before you let it fall off your shoulders, weakly tossing it to the floor as well before going for the zipper on the side of the skirt, shaky fingers pulling it downward.

“So mechanical about it…” He sighed, disappointed. “If you're not gonna even try and make this part entertaining, the least you can do is hurry it up.” He gave the pistol a light shake to emphasize. “C'mon.”

You bit your lip, forcing your pace faster. The skirt hit the ground, and you pulled your tights off your legs so quickly that one side split open as you did. Your feet pulled out of your shoes, tile cold against your bare soles.

Then, you hesitated. Embarrassment washed over you as you looked down at all that was left.

Your eyes darted up to the man pointing the gun at you once more. He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head with that cocky smirk on his face, nudging the pistol in the direction of the pile of clothing now by your side.

You closed your eyes and reached your hands behind your back, elastic material snapping as you undid the clasp. You pulled the waistband around your hips downward, and tossed both to the side.

The air was cold against your skin. Goosebumps covered your body, far more for from fear than the chill.

You reached a hand up over your chest, pressing your legs together, trying to find some semblance of dignity.

“Aw, shy? That's adorable.” He chuckled. Snide grin unfaltering, he reached his other hand up, gesturing with a finger for you to come forward. The other arm didn't move, deadly weapon still pointed directly at you.

You tried, but your body wouldn't move. The instinct to stay away was too strong, an inherent gut reaction bred into your brain by who knew how many millions of years of survival of your species.

Prey animals didn't run right into the gaping maw of their predators.

But you had to. You had to.

You took a deep breath, and forced one of your legs to move forward. Then another, forming a forward momentum that you just had to keep going, more a matter of letting your weight glide forward and catching it again and again, rather than forcing each step individually. You kept your gaze at the ground. If you looked up, you knew you'd freeze again, and you didn't know if you had the willpower to force movement from stillness again.

You stopped when his legs were visibly right before you. Your heart was pounding, beating so fiercely you could physically see the pulsating of your wrist moving with the flow of blood.

“There, see?” He reached forward, placing his hand atop your head. “You know your place after all.”

Even through the overwhelming sensation of heavy dread, the burn of humiliated fury made its way through. You clamped your jaw harshly, teeth grinding, but not letting that anger lead you to any foolish action.

You inhaled sharply, closing your eyes as his hands then brushed against your shoulder. The touch was cold, leaving a trail of sensation as his hand trailed down your arm, the electrifying feeling lasting on each spot even after it was touched. You winced at the gentle clack sound as the gun was set down on the table’s surface.

And then, you went tense, inhaling a sharp breath as his hands harshly grabbed at your arm and your neck, roughly turning you around and pushing your upper body downward. Your feet stumbled to steady your stance, and your hands reached out to the nearby wall. The panic in your chest felt as if some accumulating bubble of emotion had burst, the intense chill of suddenly rushing through your body, leaving you unable to do anything but stand there — a bitter helplessness, a burning fury at your own pathetic weakness beneath the terror.

“Oh, and hey,” his fingers dug painfully into your arm, “feel free to scream or whatever. I made sure to pick a night no one else would be here.”

You stiffened. Even in your fear and panic and confusion, you managed to make the words out well enough to infer the implication. You turned your head over your shoulder to the best of your ability.

“You—you… planned…?”

“Mm?” He raised an eyebrow. “Obviously. I needed the station to be empty in case you made me kill you, y’know?” He said it nonchalantly, as if it were a trivial matter. “But hey, it was only insurance, just in case… I knew I probably wouldn’t need it. You seemed like you’d be good for me.”

He pulled harshly at the fistful of your hair.

“And whaddya know, I was right. Third time's the charm… or whatever that saying is.”

Bitterness welled in your chest. Your head hung heavily against his hold, pulling at your scalp.

“Now…”

You winced and yelped as he turned you around and your face hit the table, pain radiating from the spot of impact. Your immediate reflex was to put your hands on the table and push upward, but his hand in your hair kept you shoved downward, with an added hand pressing your back into an arch.

You didn't get any moments of mental preparation, much less physical. No sooner had you grunted in pain from the impact than you felt the sudden harsh burning sear of friction to the most sensitive flesh, your body being forced apart by sudden intrusion. You inhaled a sharp, gasping breath, instinctively trying to lurch forward away from the sting, but his hands easily pulled you back, pushing further inside of you until you felt the fabric at the front of his thighs meet the back of yours, hips pressed up against your ass.

“God, fuck.” You heard his voice from behind you, spoken more like a harsh whisper of breath. “…’s warm…”

He pulled back. You gasped and whimpered at the sensation of flesh dragging against your insides, onto to squeal, body jolting as he slammed back inside in one swift motion. Twice, a third time, each making you go tense, shivering, walls spasming.

“M-Maybe you're not such a slut after all…” he murmured. “You feel good.”

You said nothing, unable to summon any words, merely letting out a miserable little sound as the rough motions continued, pressing your forehead to the flat surface below as tears fell down your face and a soft string of under-the-breath curses made their way to your ears.

And then, the motion came to a halt.

“But you're so noisy… listening to you squealing like that is giving me a headache.”

A moment of pause, heavy tension, deliberately drawn out. You felt the faintest shift of muscle against your backside as he turned his upper body over in the direction of the television.

You grunted as he pulled out, leaving your hole twitching. His arms wrapped around you waist, lifting you just enough that your feet left the ground, somewhat awkwardly making a few steps over to where the screen sat in its place on the stand. Your heart felt as if it were going to burst out of your chest, a cold rush ran through your body.

His hand reached up, taking a fistful of your hair once more.

“And you know what else…”

He came to a halt, sheathing himself back inside of you with a harshness that made your jaw clench in pain, taking a few heaving breaths before practically growling into your ear.

“You're not afraid enough.”

Your own breath was ragged, more panic than you'd ever felt in your life causing your heart to pound like it never had before. “No, no please don't—don’t—”

And then, taking a fistful of your hair in his hand once more, he shoved your upper half through the screen.

Out of pure logical instinct, you tensed and squeezed your eyes shut as to brace yourself for brute impact, for shattering glass that would cut your scalp and scrape your arms.

But instead, there was a sudden void. All the noises of your scuffling movements and the low hum of the air ventilation system in the station was suddenly gone, replaced by only hollow quiet, only broken by the low, eerie groan of the atmosphere itself.

Your arms reached out, desperately seeking something to grab, to hold, to push back on, but you felt nothing, limbs merely frantically flailing into the yellow void.

You squealed, but that time, it echoed around you, surrounded by a thick, heavy fog. You could make out the deep yellow atmosphere around you, but you were being jerked back and forth so harshly, and the tears in your eyes and the fog itself so deeply blurring your vision, to the point it was impossible to make out anything.

You couldn't hear him anymore — but even so, you could still feel him pounding into your body.

He tilted you forward. You felt his arm, having pushed through the screen, latch onto the back of your shirt to keep you from falling. Your feet left the ground, your weight shifting from being mostly on the other side, to most of it falling forward on the side of your upper half. You were entirely suspended by his strength.

If he were to let go, you'd fall in completely.

You shrieked. A high-pitched wail that echoed all around you, a sound of pure terror. Your hands reached out in an attempt to push yourself back, but found nothing, merely flailing in the air.

And then, you were jerked backwards.

Your squealing continued until he slapped his hand over your mouth.

You could hear it again, the slapping of skin on skin. Your body was fully back in the real world. Your back hit his chest.

“Was that the sound you were making the whole time your head was in there?” There was mirth in his voice, laughing out the words themselves. “You wanna go back in? Kinda nice in there, isn’t it?”

“No, no!” You shook your head rapidly. “D-don’t, please, I don't want—”

“You could go all the way in, you know.” He pulled on your hair harshly as he jerked his hips forward and came to a halt, holding you still, pain shooting through your scalp. “It would be so easy,” he hissed into your ear. “All it would take is one little push.”

You gasped for breath, unable to respond beyond shaking your head further.

“You haven't been on the Midnight Channel, either,” he added. “Those little brats wouldn't know to come looking for you ‘till it was too late.”

He chuckled, a deranged, low sort — and then went quiet. His torso leaned further forward, face brushing against the side of your neck in a gesture that, in any other context, could have been affectionate. Still sheathed inside your body, he slowly rolled his hips again, a long-drawn out movement, savoring the feeling. Your face scrunched up with uninhibited despair as he spoke again, through labored breaths, as he began to speed up the pace again.

“…But you know what? I don't need the TV to kill you.”

Then, his voice lowered. The playful mockery vanished, something far darker that had been bubbling beneath the surface finally broke through — a low growling voice, a deep, furious malice.

“Stupid fucking woman. I could snap your neck. I could put my hands—”

His hand reached up—

“—On your throat and just—”

It squeezed hard. You jolted and gagged as your airway was cut off.

“I could kill you with my bare hands, right here. Is that what you want?”

You didn't give a verbal response, merely shaking your head rapidly, animal-like whines of fear coming out of your throat.

But that wasn't enough. You heard a low, growl-like sound in your ear, and his voice came out equally so, almost inhuman.

“I said, is that what you fucking want?!”

“No! No, please, Adachi-san, please don't—”

Tears, snot and saliva coated your face. You shook your head, whimpers fragmented by each harsh, rapid thrust that shoved your body forward, each jerk of his arms that pulled you back, and muffled by your asphyxiation.

You could feel his breath on your ear as he continued.

“Then you want me to keep fucking you, don't you?”

It was obvious, of course, that that was what he meant — the only alternative to death. You nodded, choking out your words.

“Yes, please…”

He didn’t respond immediately, moving fast enough that he had to take a few heavy, ragged breaths before hissing the words into your ear through clenched teeth.

“Then beg for it.” His fingers curled further, nails digging into your flesh — yet lightening the pressure on your throat, allowing you to breathe, even if only with heaving effort. “I wanna hear how good you can beg for me.”

You whimpered, mouth hanging open as you tried and failed to summon any words, emotion and stimulus so overwhelming it hindered your ability to even think. His cock stretched you apart, the circumstantial fear causing you to clamp down so hard that he was practically constantly pushing inward with force, rather than your body pulling him in as it might have done with someone you were willingly allowing to do these things to you. Each movement drug against your insides with coarse, burning friction.

He huffed in impatience.

“C’mon. Do it—”

He snapped his hips forward especially harsh, ramming your whole body forward with the force.

“—Like your life depends on it.”

The jerking motion snapped you out of the momentary stupor. Your voice trembled.

“Ah, ah, Adachi-s-san, please, I—”

“Oh, come on. Is that how you call your lover?”

Your brain scrambled to rectify the matter, but he was such a near-stranger to you, you couldn't remember. Maybe he'd said it once, but even as you desperately tried to recall, you couldn't.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“I don't… I don't know your…”

There was a pause. You heard the soft, disdainful tch from his mouth.

“Tohru.”

You swallowed.

“T-Tohru…” You squeezed your eyes shut, words coming out uneasy, blatantly forced and foreign. “Please, Tohru, don’t… d-don’t stop, don’t…”

It must have been good enough, as you felt his fingers dig into your hips harder, felt his body shudder against yours.

“Heh… haha…” The amusement in his voice made a bitter burning swell in your chest. “You get off to this, don't you?”

Your mouth opened to protest, to say no.

But you stopped short, a throaty whine coming out of your mouth. Your priority was survival.

You nodded your head.

“’Course you do,” he mumbled, voice growing increasingly husky and laden with labored breaths. He jerked your hair again, pulling you even further towards him, ensuring his chest was firmly pressed to your back. “Little whore… it's always the girls that look so wholesome that are into the freakiest shit, huh."

You could hear the strain in his voice as it began to waver. He leaned in closer, breath hot on your ear.

"This was probably what you wanted, wasn't it? The whole hard-to-get shtick is fun for you, isn't it?"

Once more, you ignored any emotions or knee-jerk reaction of such an accusation, repressed the bitter fury, merely nodded your head. "Mhm, mm..." Your lip trembled, tears leaking out and trailing down your cheeks.

His hips moved faster and faster still, the movement growing frenzied and erratic.

“Of course you’d turn— turn out to be such, such a slut… I knew you’d want it, I knew you—shit—”

He came to a sudden halt, one final jerking pull of your hips to meet his, sheathed fully inside. You felt his cock twitch inside your body.

And then, everything was still.

With the sudden end of the slapping of skin on skin that had reverberated around the room, there was a sudden void of quiet, near silence, barring ragged breathing. You kept perfectly still, the shock and emotion that still coursed through your body so intense, you didn’t even shiver.

Your mind felt as if in a fog, a heavy daze that left you feeling cold and numb, everything felt far away, not real, distant. You kept still, staring forward.

It wasn’t until you felt him slide out of your body, releasing his hold, that you snapped out of the daze, stumbling forward, falling to your knees, legs far too weakened and stiff to support you.

For a moment, you kept your gaze at the ground. You tried to let your mind slip back into the stupor, desperate for some sense of escape, to savor the few precious seconds you could let yourself be anywhere but here, that you could shut him and the reality before you out, that you could delay facing having to look at him again.

But it was only the briefest of seconds before the light from down the hall was cut off again by the shadow looming over you. You began to shiver, chest heaving with breaths that burned your lungs.

Slowly, with eyes and expression blank with the remnant shock and daze, pathetically curled up on the floor, you turned your head upward.

“…Congratulations, Miss Teacher.” You could see the smile once more, the whites of his teeth practically glowing against the shadow, the cruel mockery in his voice crawling under your skin. “You’re way too meek. I've decided killing you would be no fun. Aren't you happy?”

Each gasp for breath burned in your throat, your chest. The words didn’t register immediately — several quiet seconds passed as you slumped over, staring up at him in a dazed stupor, body shivering with aftershock and weariness.

“Th-then… I…” you swallowed, body trembling beyond your control. “I can… go…?”

His eyebrows raised, a momentary look of surprise.

“Huh? Oh, no, no, you—” he cut off with a small bout of laughs, holding his palm to his face and tilting his head upward as if you'd just said the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. “Ahaha, don't tell me you actually thought I was just going to let you leave? That's—” He cut off with another laugh.

Your heart felt as if it sank. You felt cold.

And then, he went quiet. He slowly turned his gaze back to you, voice growing lower, quieter, a dramatic ominousness exuding from his body with his words.

“What kind of protector of the public would I be if I just let such a suspicious person walk right out of here?” Hands on his hips and eyes closed, he tilted his head downward and sighed, slowly shaking it back and forth in a mock gesture of exasperation. “You withheld information from the police, regarding a murder at that, and you seem to have knowledge of the killer’s M.O…. that’s what we call a ‘person of interest’ in cases like this, you know.”

And then, despite his momentary attempt at mock seriousness, his restraint seemed to crumble away as the corners of his mouth turned upward, malicious glee breaking through the act. His eyes opened just enough to look at you, narrowed by the grin spreading across his face once more.

“I’m afraid you’ll just have to remain in police custody for the foreseeable future.”

You curled in further on yourself, shoulders hunching up, hands curling into fists before you brought them up to your chest in a meek, defensive instinct. Your throat felt dry. You felt your heartbeat pounding in your throat.

The way the smile on his face curled further made it clear the despair showed on your face. He chuckled.

“Well, c’mon. Put some clothes on.” He tilted his head in the direction of where they sat on the floor. “You can't walk out there naked.”

Your eyes widened. The words gave you a sinking feeling in your stomach. “…Out… there…?”

He sighed.

“God, you really are dense. Did you not get that? I’m taking you home.”

You didn’t really know what you expected, as the conclusion from his earlier words was obvious, yet hearing him say it so directly made another surge of panic course through your body. Instinctively, and perhaps against better judgement, you shook your head.

“But, but I can’t— I don’t want—”

“…Oh?” His eyes narrowed, unamused and dark expression on his face. “Well, if you don't wanna come with me, then…”

His eyes trailed back over to the television.

Even as exhaustion wore over your body, fear still gripped at your chest, and your answer came on instinct.

“N-no, I'll go with you, I'll…” You swallowed, squeezing your teary eyes shut for a moment before looking back up at him. Your body was shivering. Your next words came out in a hushed, high-pitched whimper, audibly verging on tears. “…I'll go…”

The smile returned to his face.

“Good girl.”

The words made you shudder, revulsion and disgust a twisting feeling in your gut.

After a brief pause, he gestured to your clothes again.

You looked over, but the fear kept you frozen. After a few still seconds, realizing you weren’t moving, he sighed, walking over himself, grabbing the bundle in a few swift motions before throwing the loose pile over to you. You swallowed, hands shaking and dropping the pieces more than once as you forced yourself to put them on, little by little, albeit now dusty, wrinkled and disheveled. You kept your gaze to the floor as you did, but you felt his piercing gaze on you all the same.

And the moment you fastened the last button, with no hesitation, you felt his hand latch onto the back of the collar of your shirt, harshly pulling you upright.

“Come on. Don’t try that stalling shit.” His voice was now impatient, irritated.

You stumbled on shaky legs, forced to grasp onto him to steady yourself. “I, I’m not—” you swallowed. “…Sorry…”

He didn’t respond for a moment, merely wrapping his hand around your upper arm in a tight, bruising grip, jerking you forward harshly. You stumbled as you were rapidly dragged forward, quickly exiting the room, out into the hall.

“And don’t worry,” he spoke again, “I’ve got a nice little closet to keep you in ‘til I can work something better out. Won’t that be nice?”

You didn’t respond, until you felt a sudden harsh squeeze in the grip on your arm. You closed your eyes and nodded. “I, yes…”

He seemed satisfied with the answer, continuing on, “Besides, being a cop has it's advantages. I can get more handcuffs, monitoring devices… it'll work out just fine. And hey, if you're really good, maybe I’ll hurt you a little less, yeah?”

You bit your lip.

It was all happening too fast to sink in, your mind struggled to process. You were leaving, he was taking you, you had to get away, but you had no way to get away, it wasn’t real it wasn’t happening it wasn’t right—

He halted as you reached the front of the police station. The sudden stop made you stumble forward in your momentum, clinging to him to steady yourself once again. You looked up at him in fearful confusion, and he cast another heinous grin down at you.

“Now, I’m not gonna cuff you just yet, ‘case we run into someone, that would give people the wrong idea and all… but don't think about trying to run or scream or some other stupid shit, either. I dunno if you’re dumb enough to think you could outrun me, but…”

He reached his hand over so that the edge of his jacket was brushed back, unveiling the same gun from before that had since been holstered back to his belt.

“Personally, I'm pretty content with the holes you already have… but I'd still be happy to blow a few more into your legs, if need be.” He tilted his head. “And that river down at the edge of town’s real nice and deep, if you decide to go screaming and drag some poor bastard into this. Got that?”

You lip trembled. You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded.

“Good, good. Now…”

He pulled you forward again, the stride bringing you close enough to the front that the automatic doors slid apart. The cool, humid air hit your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Oh, right. One more thing.” He cleared his throat, turned to you with that godawful grin of cruel amusement, and in a mocking, dramatized voice, said, “you have the right to remain silent, miss.”

Your chest burned with fury. Tears welled in your eyes, your face pitifully contorting with bitter anger.

It was the reaction he wanted. He laughed once more, holding the hand that wasn’t gripping your arm up to his face.

“Ah, that’s adorable. You’re fun to mess with, you know… that’s good.”

With that, he drug you forward again, out through the door.

Your shoulders jerked with a silent sob. Your fingers curled into a fist, and your lip quivered as you spoke in a hushed, but hissing tone, filled with fear and hatred.

“You're a murderer.”

You got only a sigh in response.

“Yeah yeah, sure, whatever.”

With an iron grip on your arm, the police detective led you out into the rural streets, the night air freezing against your bare skin. You followed with stumbling footsteps, legs trembling in trepidation. Unable to do anything but follow.

You realized, as the last strands of hope in your chest faded away, that even if there was someone out there, they might not even see you, with the visibility so low.

Likewise, you turned your head back towards the station, but within just a short distance, it was already completely obscured by the fog.

[lanadelnegan]

Hi there! This is my first time doing an ask so I hope I'm doing it correctly! If you want to, can you do dead city Negan x female reader who is traveling with Maggie and she and Maggie had been friends even before Glenn and she used to be in Rick's group and Negan really liked her in the later seasons but never did anything about it until he was traveling with her and Maggie and then they end up talking and having sex? If you don't want to do this, just ignore!

are you kidding me? YES. I've been wanting to do dead city negan so I am so excited for this one. Hope you love it. xx

Knock Knock

DeadCity!Negan x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, dead city season 1 spoilers, vaginal sex (riding), hot hot hot smut.

"Knock knock.... I said.. knock knock." I glance around the corner to see Negan bashing a man's head through the glass windows.

"Butter." He answers himself. ".... Butter who? Well you butter get out your umbrellas cause it is about to goddamn rain." I watch from a distance as he slices the man's throat and blood sprays down from the second floor down.

He throws the man over the railing before turning back towards Maggie and me. I lock eyes with him and I... think I finally get him.

"Move! Go!" He quickly leads the three of us away from the chaos. Although my brain switches to survival mode, I'm still somehow hyper aware of the fact that Negan's hand doesn't leave my lower back the entire time we're running.

I've always been physically attracted to Negan, although I'd never admit that to anyone, especially Maggie. I've known Maggie longer than anyone from our group and I love her like a sister... And I loved Glenn like a brother.

The day we met Negan, our lives changed forever. I told myself I'd never fall for anyone, because I couldn't allow myself to ever go through the pain I had to watch Maggie go through... That we all had to go through. I try not to get attached to many people because my biggest fear is losing the people I love.

I don't forgive Negan, but watching what he did earlier.. I think I understand who he is now. His charisma is his weapon. And it works.

"....... y/n ...... "Y/n?!" I snap my head towards Maggie's voice. "Why are you staring at him like that?!" She whispers angrily at me.

I look back at Negan sleeping on the mattress on the floor next to us. We managed to escape and found a small abandoned space to allow us to rest for a bit. We - well, I.. offered to let Negan sleep first since he's refused to shut his eyes once since we got here two days ago.

And as I sit here staring at him, I can't help but think.. he trusts us to look after things while he sleeps. We could slit his throat right now, but he.. trusts us. And we're seriously turning him in to the Croat? I'd do anything to get Hershel back and I don't blame Maggie for what she's doing. But.. tricking him seems.. wrong. He agreed to help because he wanted to.. because he cares.. and we're using him. My stomach aches at the thought.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Maggie snaps again.

I glance at her before staring at the floor in front of me. There's no point in explaining my thoughts to her. Nothing is going to stop her plan, and I don't even know if I want her to stop the plan. I want Hershel back too. I just wish there was another way that didn't involve.. hurting him.

"I don't know what your problem is, y/n. But you've barely said a word since yesterday. Get it together. Remember the plan... I'm going to search the building to see our exit options. Stay here and keep your eyes on him.. since you don't seem to have a problem doing that."

I ignore her attitude and continue staring at the floor as she walks past me, leaving me in the quiet room with Negan.

When the door click shuts, Negan lets out a loud sigh and my eyes widen at him. His eyes are still shut but he finally speaks. "She's right, ya know?"

I stare at him, waiting for him to explain what he means. "You have been weird since yesterday. What's on your mind, girl?"

"Why would I tell you?"

He turns his eyes towards me, still laying on his back with his hand resting behind his head.

"When are you gonna drop the act, y/n?"

"What act?"

"The one where you pretend you don't want my dick."

I scoff and lean forward. "You can't be serious. The only one here who knows how to put on a show.. is you."

"And how is that exactly?"

I think about his little performance earlier. ".... You pretend you're some scary badass so that people will be scared of you. You put on these little shows so people think you're crazy and end up giving in to you."

He just laughs. "I don't have to pretend to be a badass, darlin'."

I roll my eyes, annoyed that he missed the point.

He eyes me curiously. "And so what if I put on a show? It works, don't it?" His grin stretches wider.

"Yeah, you did a great job traumatizing our entire community. Congrats, Negan."

His smirk slowly fades and he sits up on the mattress, his back leaning against the wall behind him.

"Y/n, how many times do I have say I'm sorry? I live with the guilt every goddamn day. Isn't that punishment enough?"

I scoff. "You could get down on your knees and beg and it still wouldn't be enough."

His eyebrows raise playfully at my suggestion but I ignore him.

"Look, Negan. I'm probably the only one in our group that has any empathy towards you. And I'm not proud to admit that. But the times we live in.. I know that people have to do things in order to survive. Not that what you did was okay, but.. I.. I get it now."

He just nods acceptingly, so I get up, my ass numb from sitting on the hard floor. I grab a granola bar out of my backpack and go sit next to him on the mattress.

"I'm sitting here because my ass hurts, not because I want to be next to you." I explain before taking a bite out of my granola bar. I offer him the rest and he accepts it. We sit in silence for a moment before we look at each other.

I can't help but study his face, noticing the gray hairs spread throughout his beard. He has more wrinkles around his eyes than the "old Negan" and it gives him a softer look than before. For a moment I let myself imagine what it would be like to be with him and forget all the bad he's done.

"What are you thinking about right now?" He deep voice is barely above a whisper and I don't miss the way his eyes quickly dart to my mouth.

Before I give myself time come to my senses, I lean forward and press my lips to his. I can tell he's caught off guard but he eventually kisses me back, allowing my tongue to slide past his lips. I moan softly into his mouth before pulling back just enough to look at him and observe his reaction. His hazel brown eyes are blown with lust as he waits for my next move.

I know this is wrong but that somehow makes me want him more. I crash my lips against his again, kissing him harder this time. He turns his body more towards mine and brings his hand to the back of my neck to deepen our kiss.

Before I get too carried away, I stand up, walking to the door and shoving a couch in front of it just in case Maggie comes back soon.

Fuck... Maggie. Guilt washes over me and I stand still, contemplating what the fuck I'm doing with my life.

This is the apocalypse. People do bad things.. unforgiveable things. That's just the world we live in. I give myself a mental pep talk and take my shirt off before I can change my mind. I slide my pants down and kick them to the side before walking back over to Negan.

I stand over him as he sits with his back against the wall and his legs stretched out in front of him.

He pats his lap and smirks up at me. "Have a seat, darlin'."

I sit down, straddling his lap with my knees on either side of him on the mattress. His large, rough hands grip my hips and he looks up at me. My lips find their way back to his again and I bring my hands up, cupping his face as I allow myself to get lost in the taste of his mouth.

He groans softly and I feel him grow underneath me. I break the kiss to look down between us and notice the large bulge in his pants.

"Your dick better be as big as you act like it is." I warn him while unbuttoning his pants. His hands remain glued to my hips and he smirks up at me, like he wants to see my face when I see his dick for the first time.

I unzip his pants and pull out his fully erect cock. He's long, heavy and thick in my hand and my mouth slightly drops open at the sight of it.

"See, darlin'? It wasn't an act." I can't tear my eyes away from it long enough to see his proud grin stretched across his handsome face.

I'm pretty sure my cheeks are just as red as the tip right now. While I'm admiring him, I feel his hand reach for my ass and squeeze before he slowly slips his fingers underneath my panties from behind. The tip of his middle finger finds my already soaked opening and he pushes his finger in me, causing me to moan while he chuckles darkly.

His finger slides out of me before he brings it up to his mouth, sucking my juices off. "God, baby." He moans at the taste, rolling his eyes back in his head dramatically. "You taste fucking amazing."

I blush at the sight of him tasting me and lift myself up over him until he's at my entrance. His hands are back on my hips as he guides me, looking down between us. He watches himself disappear inside of me and groans with satisfaction.

"Fuuuuck, baby. Look. At. That."

I slowly slide down on him before stopping half way.

"Come on doll, you can take more than that." He encourages me.

I try to sit all the way down on him but it hurts too bad. I've never had something in me so deep and there's still a good three more inches to go. I shake my head, "Negan.. I can't. It's too big."

He laughs and bends his knees, his feet resting on the mattress now, before thrusting up into me without warning. I gasp at the sudden pain.

"Just had to break the barrier, baby." He smiles up at me and I almost slap him before I realize I'm now able to slide down on his length all the way to his balls. I feel every inch of him pressed tightly against my inner walls. My arms wrap around his shoulders as I rock myself back and forth, trying my best to make room for him, but he fills the space inside of me completely.

He groans from the sensation and bites down on the skin between my neck and shoulder. I'm too caught up in how good this feels to worry about him leaving a mark on me.

My pussy pulses at how good he feels in me and he must feel it because he lets out another satisfied groan.

"Fuck darlin', if you squeeze me any tighter I'm not gonna be able to control myself."

I lean back a little, my arms still holding onto him and look into his eyes. I adjust, allowing myself to easily bounce up and down on his cock now. He slams my hips down on him roughly with each bounce and the feeling of his tip pushing against my cervix over and over causes my face to flush red and the butterflies in my stomach to travel south. My mouth is dropped open slightly as I stare at him, unable to even form a sound. I'm not a virgin by any means, but this feels like nothing I've ever experienced in my life.

He stares back at me grinning like he can hear my thoughts. "Let me hear you, baby. How good does daddy make you feel?"

"So. Fucking. Good. Oh my goddd." I bounce on him faster and moan loudly.

"That's it, baby." He grunts out. "Such a good fucking girl."

"Negan.. I'm-" I can't even finish my sentence before my orgasm catapults me into another dimension. He watches my face closely as I come apart around him.

The sound of walkers suddenly appear behind the door and I hear Maggie coming down the hall, stabbing them one by one.

"Oh fuck." My eyes widen as I look at him. I try to jump off him but he slams me back down on him.

"No way baby, you're finishing what you started."

I panic when I hear her get closer. "Negan!" I whisper yell at him. "Fuck.. just.. cum in me!"

This time his eyes widen at me.

"We don't have time to clean up!" I explain. "Cum in me. Now."

He thrusts up into a couple more times before his hips halt and I feel his dick pulsing inside me over and over. His head is dropped back against the wall as he cums and I watch him bite his bottom lip to suppress his moans.

I quickly jump off him and set a world record with how fast I throw my clothes on. Negan shoves himself back in his pants and zips them up. I move the couch from the doorway and fling the door open, helping Maggie finish off the rest of the walkers.

She looks at me annoyed while she shoves past me. "What the hell took you so long to come help?!"

I follow Maggie back into the room. She finds Negan laying on his back again with his eyes shut, like he never moved an inch before eyeing me suspiciously. Warm liquid suddenly pools uncomfortably in my underwear and I shrug at her, biting back a grin at the sight of Negan "sleeping."

He really is a good actor.

This was so fun to write. Thank you for the request!!!

[yanderegrizzsworld]

Heyyy. I just got into the digital circus fandom and I'm HOOKED with how well you write down the characters (even if it's only a few works) Not really a request but I just got an idea to share y'know. What if the Reader found a way to get out of the digital circus but can only transport themselves out, leaving the circus gang behind. What do you think they would be like?

In my opinion I think they would go nuts, because now their friend (and emotional support) is gone and it would increase their risk of getting abstracted.

Anon, I love how generous you are about how you think their abstraction risk levels would merely increase, as if they wouldn't just already abstract by the mere moment the learn the reader somehow managed to leave the circus.

Most of the crew would have a similar reaction, that of initial shock & disbelief. But afterwards, emotions differ slightly between each before an inevitable abstraction happens, but who would be the very first is hard to say.

Characters like Pomni, Ragatha would absolutely deny the possibilities of you escaping at first. How could you escape? More so, How could you escape without them? Why without them? Between the two, it's a pretty close tie on who abstracts first, but I'm of the belief that Ragatha would beat Pomni.

Kinger & Gangle would have a complete mental breakdown by your disappearance. Everyone viewed you as emotional support, but this two in particular made it very obvious that you were their support through this. I can imagine Ragatha attempting (& failing) to keep this two calm while she's trying not to abstract as well, yet their screams & cries echoing all around them is making it very difficult for her to.

Then you have Zooble & Jax, who both show little to no concern about the sudden problem. Hell, Kinger or Ragatha might even call them heartless (they don't actually mean it, they're just full of so many conflicting emotions & thoughts). But they both do care, & they feel just as heartbroken & empty of the fact you've left without even telling any of them. To an extent, they feel slightly at fault, that maybe if they were there for you more, that if they were softer with you, less rude, more open, perhaps you would've stayed? Perhaps you would've turned your back at the opportunity to return to the real world? For them?

Ragatha is already very close to her breaking point by the digital realm & she's my pick for the first one of the crew to abstract first. She's most likely/definitely seen previous performers abstract right before her eyes, any sense of self identity & awareness fully gone by the shatter of the mind. She held on to her self well & seemingly even better with you around! But now? I truly hope deep down she'll be happy to at least see Kaufmo down there, somewhere.

Pomni, I feel like, would ponder if she did something, for you leave without anyone, without her. Did she upset you? Did she annoy you to the point of using the opportunity to escape her? Why didn't you at least leave a letter or something? Her mind, so full of endless questions & what if's, completely consumes her. She won't feel or notice her body shifting & contorting as she abstracts, or maybe she does, & somewhere deep down in her, she feels she deserves it. You were arguably the only reason she didn't abstract yet & she was grateful for that, but now? She'll at least finally meet the other perfomers down there.

Kinger might honestly be the first to abstract the moment such words are uttered out loud. How?! When?! ...Why? Getting him to quit screaming at the top of his lungs will be high feat alone, but keeping him from abstracting? That's close to impossible now. He can at least have the "title" of the oldest & longest lasting performer who's been in the realm without abstracting.

Gangle is, pure & simple, an absolute mess. I don't personally think she'd abstract immediately after hearing the news, but she does become a ticking time bomb until her abstraction. She's very similar to Kinger, only difference is she sobs profusely instead of screaming. She most likely can't find the strength to wear a newly fixed comedy mask, the tragedy mask permanent on her face, regardless of Caine's insistence that she puts on a smile for the "audience".

At first everyone would believe Jax simply didn't care about the fact that you're gone. It wouldn't help his case if he were to say some snarky remark along the lines of how now he has to find a no one but himself to execute his pranks. Whatever he says most likely gets him a slap on the back of his head from Zooble. Yet under all that I don't really care attitude he has, he is just as devastated as the rest, he feels like some form of void has been born within him, everything from astounded to seething to desolate, an ardent & overwhelming collision of emotions that threaten to rip out of him with sick firmness. He feels at fault, he feels he's pushed you too much, made you feel unwanted. His guilt eats him alive, but he won't show it, he can't, he's the "funny asshole" of the crew! He's got a image to uphold here! But sometimes, when no one is around to see, he might knock on your old door or leave something in there, maybe in the hopes you'll return? Reveal it was some sick & unfunny joke on all of them? I feel like he's abstraction would be slow, but when he does, he's much more violent & seems almost desperate, perhaps looking for you?

Zooble is very similar to Jax in the way that their tone & general attitude come off as they don't care. Unlike Jax however, it is possible to see that they are affected by us leaving if one looks closely. Zooble is moodier than usual, quicker to snap at others (especially Jax) & is more adamant at being left alone, yet there's a palpable tint of sadness in their voice –slight cracks even– & when not locked up in their room, their found in areas that we frequented or liked the most. We've essentially become a touchy subject for them & the moment we're brought up, the room becomes a landmine. Their abstraction is also a slow one, yet everyone feels & expects it to come at some point now, when Zooble's ticked off, most back away in fear they'll abstract & attack them. Zooble's incredibly hard to read, & that makes them scary when abstracted.

[creedslove]

JOEL TAKING CARE OF YOU WHEN YOU HAVE PROBLEMS WITH YOUR MOM 🍓 - HEADCANONS

No outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

A/N: this is so personal it hurts, my relationship with my mother is terrible and today was one of the days she pushed me to the edge and I thought I was going to explode with negative feelings until I broke down and I sobbed. Also, just proving my point that my life problems would decrease by half if I were married to Joel Miller 😢

TW: Shitty mom

• Joel knows damn well the reason why people often tell mean mother-in-law jokes or why their reputation is so bad; and the truth is that it is not even because of the way your mom treats him, but because of how she treats you

• it just infuriates Joel at the same time it breaks his heart to see what she does to you; the way she's so manipulative and mean, the way she acts innocent after saying the worst things a mom could say to a daughter and pretend she didn't really mean that way, or you are overreacting

• and it absolutely shatters his heart to see that even after all the emotional pain she puts you through, he sees how you somehow look for her approval affection, no matter if he has already told you to ignore her, he knows it's deeper than that, it's just the result of a lifetime of emotional damage she's done

• being unable to help you more effectively, he does what he can: he holds you, he soothes you, dries your tears and reminds you you are more than what your mom says, he reminds you he knows you are telling the truth and that you aren't just overreacting, he knows that whenever she says "it wasn't that bad" it was indeed that bad and whenever she insists on saying that whatever traumatic experience she caused you she doesn't remember because it never happened, he is aware it left a deep scar on your mental health

• and even if Joel thinks this is not very effective at all, he has no idea of how precious and important this is to you, because it validates your feelings, it shows you you aren't alone, it shows that you are respected as an adult and overall as a person, it shows you that he loves you, the good kind of love, not the supposed kind of love that burns your mom insists on giving you

• Joel doesn't give a shit if your mom says she has anxiety or whatever other crap she uses as an excuse, no mental problem in the world gives anyone the right to treat another person, let alone a daughter, the way she treats you; it doesn't matter if she wants to pass as mentally unstable, he can see right through it, she is only unstable when it's convenient for her, so that leaves Joel with another adjective for her: cruel

• he knows your relationship with her has ups and downs, sometimes you are able to spend the whole day together shopping or just hanging out and having fun, but there are days she makes a living hell out of your mind

• and even if Joel isn't the most educated guy in psychology, he knew it wasn't healthy to bottle up these feelings like you often did, because sometimes you would explode

• and today was one of those days: something small suddenly became a huge thing and before you knew it, your mom was already screaming at you as if you were a child, making you feel worse and worse and all that rage you had bottled up exploded, because you were so tired of having to walk on eggshells, never knowing if you would have an easy day or if you'd have your mental health ruined again

• so when Joel got home from work, he immediately noticed something was off; you were sniffling and trying to hide your red puffy eyes, you were so sad and you'd completely lost your appetite and the moment he questioned you what had happened - having a pretty good idea of what you were going to say, you simply broke down and sobbed

• and at that moment he didn't think of anything else other than holding you into his arms, his body was so warm and comfortable and you felt relieved to have a grip on him, to feel his muscles, his beard, to smell his scent, everything reminding you of what a loving person really was

"shh it's okay darling, you'll be fine, you don't have to tell me what happened, it's gonna be okay, I'm here and I believe you"

• Joel whispered against your ear and simply didn't move until you broke the hug, seemingly to calm down for a while; and not only that, while you took the relaxing shower he suggested you to, he made you tea, because cooking might not be his strongest suit, but you take such good care of him, he wants to at least pay you back a small portion of it

• even after shower, he can tell the tears are easily going to spill at any minute, so he decides not to talk about it, instead, he suggests watching something to distract you, it doesn't matter to him if it's a movie, a tv show or that low quality soap opera you found on Netflix you swear you only watch it ironically but you got too invested in it, he just wants to see you smile for a bit

• cuddles all the way while you both watch tv, even if you're not paying attention because honestly why does he like to watch cars exploding so much? but the important thing is that you love Joel and you're so thankful for everything he does for you

• and to finally finish a terrible day, you both make love, not fucking, but making love. It's slow, gentle, sexy and intimate. Exactly what you needed, a full dose of Joel to make you feel better ❤️

____

[euphoricfilter]

I’m asking for the most gut twist smut with hickeys and scratching on the back like ughh with hobi like make it so sm smut

𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞:

pairing: incubus! hoseok x human! reader

genre: fluff || smut || non-idol au

summary: you hadn’t exactly planned to summon Hoseok, though you will admit— he knew how to fuck you within an inch of your life.

word count: 6.8k

tags/ warnings: fluff, very briefly mentioned anxiety, 2 smut scenes that include: dom! hobi, sub! reader, huge demon cock! hoseok, it has ridges along the length of it, oral (m & f receiving), throat bulge, public sex, exhibitionalism, they almost get caught.., vaginal fingering, a singular slap to her pussy, vaginal worshiping?, squirting, nipple play, belly bulge, cumflation?, he cums a lot all the time, lots of hickies, scratching, biting, brief mentions of blood, tail fucking, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, fucking in front of a mirror, praise kink, unprotected sex (he’s a demon, don’t be stupid), multiple creampies, this is all very very very unrealistic i’m aware but also it’s fiction

notes: i’m sorry this had way more plot than i’d intended it to have :’) it is mainly smut though!

request rules can be found here || my masterlist

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

The students in your lecture seemed too preoccupied with Hoseok’s face rather than his sudden appearance, and it’s a wonder how your professor hadn’t seemed to notice his looming aura yet either. Hoseok wasn’t exactly the most discrete entity, even when he hid his ever so cliché horns and tail, his whole being just screamed for attention. That, and the poor guy didn’t know how to be quiet for the life of him; a trait you’ve slowly gotten used to over time.

Summoning an incubus hadn’t been on your to-do list that one dreaded weekend, but somehow it happened, and now you couldn’t get rid of him; soul bonds or something. Demon talk you didn’t even want to try to understand, the less you interacted with him, the better. Or that’s what you’d thought at the time, not realising the implications of what this new relationship meant. And maybe if you told you from a few years ago what your life looked like now, you’d be buried six feet under from a heart attack.

Hoseok did try to explain everything but even he seemed confused so you just told him to shut it so you could process your newfound problem. Your dorm room wasn’t exactly built for two people, and although your new demonic roommate had assured you the couch was fine; you still felt a little bad. Even if you didn’t like him all that much—not that you’d made that clear, you were ever so shy, and to put it nicely, very socially awkward that when he announced he was staying all you could really do was nod.

Truthfully, Hoseok hadn’t even done anything for you to hate him. You simply planned to live a quite university life, get your degree and then lose contact with everyone you’ve met and live a simple work life, be a slave to society until you can retire and maybe live in a house by the coast with a dog or two until you fall down the stairs and they pronounce your unfortunate death to zero kids, because you didn’t want any.

Not whatever the hell this was.

You blamed the grimy old woman at the thrift shop who had insisted you buy the shitty old piece of pottery.

She’d seemed so nice at the time but now that you look back at your interaction, you could see the mirth swimming in her eyes, and if you had the confidence then you would have gone back to that crappy old store and throttled her, telling her she can take her piece of shit incubus back; because you didn’t want him.

How were you supposed to know not to light your black candles next to the vase? It wasn’t like she’d given you an instruction manual on how to take care of the pottery and you’d thought it would have been pretty straight forward—apparently not. You’d planned for it to be out back in the dumpster by nightfall but by some miracle it had glued itself to your shelving and not it was a permanent fixture of your room.

It had taken months for you to finally realise that maybe having Hoseok around wasn’t actually the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. It was like having a boyfriend without all the awkward get-to-know each other stuff and the actual relationship part, that you absolutely despised. Plus he didn’t nag you about misogynistic bullshit all hours of the day and respected your very uptight boundaries.

Hobi had no qualms about ordering when the two of you went out, skipping up to the counter with a bright smile that more often times than not he’d come back with a free drink for you.

He trailed behind you to classes and all the sleazy old men that liked to catcall you on the way home after an evening lecture had been very quiet since Hoseok had been around. Plus, you could listen to music without the worry of having to listen out for someone sneaking up on you as well. He held your hand when you crossed the road and made sure you were on the safer side of the pavement so no unexpected bikes would ram into you.

He didn’t mind walking around the supermarkets with you, didn’t mind as you stood in the cereal aisle for half an hour because a lot of them made you feel nauseas. And your preference would change each week.

“You liked this one last time, baby” he’d pull a box from the top shelf, simply smiling when you shake your head.

“Wheat makes me wanna throw up” you tell him.

“How about something a little tastier then?” he wiggles his eyebrows, and you half expect him to make a sex joke, though he simply pulls a box of coco puffs from behind his back.

He didn’t mind helping you clean the bathroom or fold up your clean laundry into colour coordinated piles because he knew you hated mixing.

He liked to brush your hair after a shower or massage your shoulders after you’d been hunched over your desk all day, he learnt to cook human food and liked feeding you when you got sleepy while the two of you watched a cheesy rom com on your shitty old laptop; you curled around his thighs as his thumb caressed the bare skin of your neck.

“Eat up, darling. You’ll need to energy tonight” and you open your mouth, unfortunate rejection on your tongue, “to study of course, why are your cheeks suddenly really red?”

Now, there are two sides to the demon.

Pretty, sunshine hobi that loved taking care of you, loved chatting, who had a heart-shaped smile and the kindest heart. Who on more than one occasion would temp you to press a kiss to his cheek in thanks, perfect perfect hobi that made you feel like a high school girl whose experiencing their first ever crush.

And then there was Jung Hoseok. The sex driven incubus who had no qualms about fucking you within an inch of your life, like you were nothing but a hole for him to fill and fuck as he pleased until he was satisfied and your legs were shaking, his name the only coherent thought in your mind until you coated his cock with your arousal. Only, he’d never stop at one orgasm.

Hoseok had been your first. And you think losing your virginity to a sex demon had completely ruined sex for you all together. How were you meant to enjoy being with a regular, average, man when you’d had Hoseok’s demon cock shoved so far inside your pussy it felt like he was in your throat?

Had you dabbled in the occasional demon hentai? Maybe. Not that Hoseok ever needed to know that. Was it as great as you imagined it to be? Yes. He also didn’t need to know that.

It was honestly a win-win situation for the both of you. Hobi got to feed off your arousal and you got to live out your darkest fantasy.

You always wondered how it was so easy for him to filter out his incubi tendencies when he always seemed to have sex on his mind. The moment the two of you were alone it wouldn’t be surprising for him to pull you into his lap, your cunt having been stretched to the shape of his cock, that now you always seemed ready for him to just slip inside of you. His hands up your skirt when you go out to eat or dragging you into a bathroom because his dick always seemed to be hard.

“Good girl” Hoseok croons, watching as you blink up at him through your lashes—cheeks wet with tears as he tugs you further down his cock by your hair. Each slippery inch being fed into your mouth.

You choke around his length, eyes squeezing shut when he runs a gentle thumb over your eyelids. Pulling you further down his cock until he pushes down your throat.

You swallow, needy moan vibrating down his length that he throws his head back. Hips stuttering forward and you feel another inch slip into your mouth; lips stretched wide you can feel them start to ache.

“Always so good for me, baby. Like having me shoved this far down your throat?” he chuckles and you move to pull off his length, only he thrusts his hips forward. “You haven’t even gotten all of me inside you yet, I know you can do better than this”

“I trained you better than this”

Your fingers grab onto his thighs, nails digging into the meaty skin as he gently pulls back, only to shove his length back down your mouth. You feel your legs shake, scratching at his thighs as he allows your throat to relax, helping ease the rest of his cock into your mouth.

Your hand flies to your throat as he sets up a pace he likes, and you can feel the bulge of his cock as he punches back into your windpipe with each brutal thrust.

You can feel your knees start to ache, grimy bathroom tiles digging into the skin as you’re pulled further down his length, just past half way.

“So close, just a little more” he groans, fingers tangling in the back of your hair. Brutal as he harshly tugs you back down with ever thrust out.

You can feel each of the tiny ridges along his length against your tongue. And he lets out a particularly jittery thrust when you tongue at each individual ridge; hoping to bring him closer to bliss.

Your hands find his balls, nails accident scraping the silky skin as he jostles you forward, and that’s all it takes for Hoseok to shove all of his length down your throat, and you wince as you feel a flood of his cum shoot down your throat.

Periodically you swallow, always wary of his cum flooding your mouth. The first time you’d sucked him off hadn’t ended all to great with you chocking on his inhumane amount of cum. Of course he’d apologized, though he made it his mission to train you until you’d be able to take his cock down your throat without drowning in his seed.

Your tongue runs along the length of his cock, cleaning it, and you feel it twitch in interest.

You stare up at Hoseok, eyes deadpan and he gives you a sheepish smile. “Cant help it, my love. You on your knees always gets me going”

Gently he pulls his length out of your mouth and you lurch forward, arms braced on his thighs as you take a deep breath; swallowing the rest of his cum that had leaked into your mouth.

“Everything gets you going, Hobi” you cough, hand caressing your throat as you peek up at him, voice hoarse.

He simply shrugs, “What are we gonna tell your friends?”

You deflate at that. “They obviously knew what we were doing in here”

“Want me to eat you out until they get bored and leave?” he suggests.

You blink up at him, “You’re insatiable” you laugh, hand running over your chin to clean any drool, though you expect there to be more cum than anything.

“And you’re wet, we both win” he tugs you up from under your arms, “Swap”

You fall onto the seat of the toilet, watching as Hoseok pulls his shorts back up around his waist before he’s kneeling before you.

“Use me” he pouts, and your thighs twitch. Though you don’t miss the evident mirth swimming in his eyes.

“Hobi” you whisper, and he watches as you squirm.

“Hmmm?” he asks, spreading your legs and he groans at the sight of your panties, wet spot ever so tempting as he runs his thumb over your covered pussy.

“Hold your skirt up for me, baby” and he smiles when you do as you’re told, “good girl”

He leans forward, kissing your clit over the cotton. And you let out an embarrassed squeak when he runs his tongue over your covered slit.

“Hobi” your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging gently to bring him closer to where you needed him the most.

“What’s the matter?” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your thigh, teeth nipping the skin.

He lathes his tongue over the hickies he’d left that morning, your skin still tender that you moan when you feel him kiss over the skin.

“Need you” you whine, hips bucking forward. Only he holds you down, immersed in painting your inner thighs red and purple with his lust and love.

Your hands fly to cover your mouth when the bathroom door swings open, Hoseok choosing that exact time to sink his teeth into the plush skin of your thigh. Your legs fall shut around his head, and demon only pushes them back apart, tongue running over the blossoming bite.

He smiles up at you, deft fingers pushing your panties to the side. You go to push his head away, eyes squeezing shut when he pulls the hood back, thumb circling your clit.

You jolt up on the toilet seat, ceramic clank echoing throughout the bathroom. Whoever else was in there with you goes silent, and you hold your breath, pushing Hoseok away from you.

The two of you sit there, and you release a sigh of relief when you hear the other person flush.

Your cheeks flush red when you look down at Hoseok who seems utterly mesmerized by your cunt. Watching as it clenches around nothing, a dribble of arousal dripping down onto the seat of the toilet. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you flinch when the tap starts to run.

Hoseok leans forward, tongue peeking from behind his lips to lick a long stripe up your slit to your clit, his hands remain on your thighs keeping them spread wide enough for him to slot perfectly where he wanted to be.

His lips wrap around your clit, and your muscles loosen when you hear the door to the bathroom click shut.

“You asshole” you whisper, voice shaky as he teases a finger around your hole. You muffle a moan when he pushes it inside you, lips still wrapped around your clit; a particularly hard suck causing you to slip down the toilet seat.

You feel the stretch when he adds a second finger, scissoring you open as his tongue continues to flick over your clit.

He pulls away and you whine at the loss of pleasure, “Be a good girl and hold your legs open for me”

Your feel the blush rise to your cheeks, red hue traveling down your neck as you hook your hands behind you knees; spreading yourself as wide as you can in the narrow bathroom cubicle.

Hoseok easily lifts your hips, pulling you until your bottom half was practically dangling off the toilet as he pulls your underwear off— stuffing the fabric somewhere in his pocket for later.

“This is uncomfortable” you groan, mouth falling open when you feel his fingers lay a mean slap over your went cunt; and if the lick of pleasure hadn’t wracked through your body then you might have been a little more embarrassed about the lewd, wet sound it had made.

“Only wanna hear you moaning my name” he grumbles, lips attaching to your folds as he spreads them with his fingers.

Your head tips back when you feel his tongue prod your entrance, stiff muscle pushing past your rim and Hoseok groans when another gush of your arousal coats his mouth.

One thing Hoseok absolutely loved about you, was how wet you’d get when horny. You always seemed to leak so much that he could live off your slick alone if he so desired— his favorite meal. Because even your arousal tasted like the sweetest nectar and he would never get enough.

He kisses over your hole, face moving up until he’s kissing over your clit, “Hell, you have the prettiest cunt” he groans, kissing over your mound before his lips are sucking at your clit again.

You feel two of his fingers plunge back into you, curling upwards in the way that you start to see stars behind your eyelids.

Your hips rut forwards to meet each of his thrusts, deft fingers expertly locating that little spot inside of you, and you can start to feel the pressure build in the pit of your stomach.

“Hobi—“ you moan when he sucks especially hard on your clit, tongue flicking it, “Fuck, Hoseok— I can’t— fuck, I can’t squirt in the fucking bathroom” you whine, though it seems to fall on deaf ears as he picks up the pace of his fingers.

“Doing so well for me, gonna cum?” he briefly pulls away, your clit pulsating as his warm breath fans over the sensitive little bud. He wastes no time, tongue back to flicking your clit with a newfound vigor as you moan his name.

And suddenly the world outside the cubicle is the furthest thing from your mind as Hoseok adds a third finger into your cunt. Your mouth falls open into a silent scream, thighs shaking that your hands slip from where you’d been holding them. That doesn’t stop Hoseok, grunting as your thighs fall over his shoulders and the demon is in absolute bliss as they clamp around his head.

Your fingers tighten their grip in his hair, and he groans as you start to grind over his face.

You can feel it, bubbling pleasure starting to build, so close to your orgasm. And Hoseok doesn’t stop, he pulls his mouth off your clit. Spare hand coming up between your legs, two fingers rubbing over your sensitive pearl.

“Hoseok” you mewl, hips bucking upwards.

“Cum for me, darling. Be a good girl and cum” he groans, his voice gravelly. And that’s what pushes you over the edge, you feel the built up pressure start to release.

Hoseok pulls his fingers out of your hole, though he doesn’t stop his assault on your clit. He smiles, mouth wide open as he lets your explosion of juices coat his tongue.

“Again. Squirt for me again”

You open your mouth to tell him you can’t, only you let out a choked moan when his fingers push back into your hole— he can feel your walls pulsating around them, clenching so hard he wonders what you would feel like around his cock in that moment.

Your thighs continue to shake, fingers still drawing tight circles on your clit. The moan you let out is pornographic, squeaky little cries tumbling off your tongue when you reach a second orgasm. Hoseok watches as your cunt pushes out a short stream of your cum, wetting the backside of your skirt as you continue to grind again this palm, riding out your high.

You snivel, chest stuttering for a breath as he gently rubs his thumb against your clit.

“S’ too much” you hiccup, though your hips make no move in stopping.

“Yeah?” the faux frown he gives you causing another dribble of watery arousal out of your hole.

“We’re both wet now”

“You can wear my jacket around your waist if you want” his thrumming at you clit stops and you mourn at the loss of contact.

“What about your shirt?” you go to push yourself to sit up, though that fails when your limbs all feel like jelly.

“It’ll dry” he shrugs.

“But we have to walk through the cafe, and i’m pretty sure I look like shit” your head tips back.

“You’re always pretty” he sniggers when your thighs twitch as he places another gentle kiss to your swollen clit.

“You kind have to say that” you frown.

“And why’s that?”

“So you can win me over and fuck me”

Hoseok laughs, shoulders shaking at that. “Don’t need to tell you you’re pretty for that, darling. You seemed hooked after I’d fucked your brains out the first time”

“Was not”

“Was too. You demon sex freak”

“Am not!” you scoff scandalized, “anyways… do you think those guys left? We’ve been in here a while”

“Probably. I’m pretty sure that was one of them earlier that came in here” he shrugs and your eyes widen.

“Hobi what the fuck” your thighs clamp shut, suddenly aware that your bare pussy was just out in the open for him to see. You shove the fabric of your skirt between your thighs, instant regret washing over your when your feel your sticky arousal cling to the fabric.

“I can’t believe it. I said no more sex in public bathrooms” you cry.

“Well, look what happened. Can’t help that you’re a cockslut”

Your eyes widen, cheeks flushing a deep shade of red as you push Hoseok away with your foot to his chest. He takes a hold of your ankle, pressing a gentle kiss to your calf as he looks up at you from the floor.

“My cockslut” he corrects.

“That doesn’t make anything better” you rub your eyes with the palms of your hands.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? I’ll treat you to ice cream” he grins.

“You don’t have any money” you deadpan and he shrugs.

“No, but the girl that works in that shop a block away gave me a voucher last time”

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Living with anxiety was absolute dogshit. Every grueling day always seemed a million times worse but it’s like no one ever took you seriously. Because it was all for attention right? You didn’t enjoy having panic attacks and you sure as hell didn’t enjoy them when other people were around.

Though you suppose Hoseok had become the exception; he’d gotten pretty good at helping you when days seemed a little tougher than usual. And he’d weaves his way into your anxious little mind, one of the only people that you’ve felt even remotely comfortable to be around without your social battery plummeting 15 minutes into an outing.

You think you must have had one of the worst days of your life.

On a regular day you could get away with lurking in the back of the lecture hall; maybe a quick hello to a few people that you’ve gone to lunch with once or twice and then slip out the door the moment class is over.

Today you hadn’t been that lucky.

It had started with some random guy that you’ve never seen the face of confessing his undying love for you. And you would have thought it was sweet, if you knew who he was.

You hadn’t even heard his name floating around campus, nor had you ever seen his face; and maybe that’s because you always walked with your head to the floor but surely he couldn’t be in love with you when neither of you had ever uttered a word to one another?

You’d frozen. Unable to form a thought let alone a rejection for the guy. And as his growing annoyance showed, so did your anxiety.

And you’d rather forget that you’d cried, pearly tears slipping down your cheeks when he’d laughed at you; calling you a worthless piece of shit and that he couldn’t believe he liked something like you.

And that’s how you ended up late for class. Having spent a hour in the bathroom trying to regulate your breathing enough that your classmates didn’t think you were going into cardiac arrest.

The second incident was your breaking point. A girl from your lecture had started shouting at you after class, and you had no idea why. And you’d just sat there and taken it. Sure she’d been rude first but you would have felt way worse if you’d gotten up and just left when she clearly had something to say.

“You’re back late” Hoseok calls from your bed, mindlessly scrolling through his phone.

He looks up when you don’t reply, eyebrows creasing in worry when he sees the state you’re in.

“Oh darling, what happened?” he pushes himself off the bed, long legs easily bringing him towards you.

You just flop into his chest, arms wrapping around his torso as feel another wave of tears cascade down your cheeks.

“Bad day” you snivel and he hums, rocking the two of you back and forth, “Wanna forget, Hobi”

“Yeah?” he croons, hand resting on the back of your neck, “How’d you wanna forget?”

You gently take hold of his wrist, bringing his hand down until they tease the waistband of your sweats. “Wanna be fucked dumb” you whisper and he smiles down at you.

“Fucked until you can’t think?”

“Mmhmm” you nod, blissed out sigh releasing from your chest when he throws you over his shoulder. You smile as you see his tail, horns probably hidden under the hood of his jumper that you hadn’t noticed when you’d walked in. Even with his demonic features, Hoseok was a thing of beauty.

You bounce when he throws you on the bed— frame creaky. But by a stroke of luck, none of your dorm-mates were home right now.

“My pretty baby” he crawls over your body, straddling your waist and you can already see the outline of his cock through his thin pyjama pants.

You reach out, palming his bulge as he leans down to press a wet kiss to your neck. He pulls your shirt over your head, teeth nipping at your bare skin and you moan at the slight sting.

You don’t worry about the plethora of love bites he plans to scatter across your skin, rather, you bask in the pleasure the twinge of pain gives you. Back arching when you feel his sharp canines dig into the skin of your shoulder— and Hoseok groans at the tang of metal on his tongue.

“Sorry, baby” he presses a kiss over the bite, your skin flaring red as his tongue licks over his teeth marks.

“S’ okay” you breathe, hips rolling upwards— clit nudging against his hard cock.

Hoseok’s hand reaches under your arched back, fingers expertly unclasping your bra before he’s pulling it off your shoulders.

His hands trail over your body, thumbs brushing over your steadily hardening nipples and you hand flies to cover your mouth.

“Always so sensitive” he coos, meanly pinching the hardened buds before tugging. “Uh uh, wanna hear you” he tuts and your hand falls to your side.

“It’s embarrassing—” you whisper, breathe hitching when he twists your nipples, delicious pain sending arousal straight to your soaked cunt. You feel your sticky arousal drip into your panties, fabric clinging to your folds uncomfortably.

“Nothing embarrassing about feeling good” Hoseok smiles down at you, fingers skimming over your waist until he’s tugging both your sweats and panties down in one. “Already so wet for me”

“Want your cock, Hobi” you whine as he rubs his thumb through your slit, gathering your arousal to circle your clit.

“Can I eat you out first, baby? Wanna make sure you’re prepped enough for me, hmm?”

You blink up at him before you spread your legs wider, a silent invitation for him to do whatever he needs before he fucks you.

Hoseok falls to his knees on the floor, arms hooking around your thighs. And your hands instinctively grab onto the sheets when he tugs you to the edge of the bed.

His index finger circles your entrance, humming when another wave of slick dribbles out your hole. He pushes his finger past your hole, your walls clenching rhythmically around the digit as he tests the waters.

He pulls out, pushing a second finger in— stretching you open. Your hips roll to meet his thrusts, Hoseok’s thumb gently circling your clit. You feel the stretch when he adds a third finger, your eyebrows furrowing at the slight ache.

“You good?” Hoseok peers up at you, trying to gauge your reaction. Your thigh twitching when he slowly eases his fingers back into you.

“Hurts a little” you grunt, thighs threatening to snap shut when he speeds up his thumb over your sensitive little bundle of nerves.

“Already?” he laughs, “I haven’t been fucking you enough lately”

You smile, fingers gripping onto the sheets tighter when Hoseok slightly curls his fingers. Your hips bucking upwards when he finds that little spot inside of you that has the pressure of an orgasm building in your stomach.

The ache of having three fingers inside you ebbs away the more he gently thrusts them inside of you, “Another one” you sigh when you feel a fourth finger tease your entrance.

“You sure?”

“Please Hobi, wanna feel full” you urge, hands grabbing onto your tits, fingers teasing your hard nipples when you feel the stretch of a fourth finger.

“Good girl, you’re doing so well for me” he presses a kiss over your clit. His fingers pick up their pace, lewd squelch from your cunt enough for you to squirm in embarrassment.

“Please Hobi” your thighs shake, clamping around his hand though that doesn’t seem to deter him from curling all four fingers inside of you, knuckle deep. “Wanna cum around your cock”

“Yeah?” he breathes and you nod.

A rush of slick drips onto the bedsheets as Hoseok pulls his fingers out of your sodden cunt, the demon unashamed as he licks your arousal off of them.

He watches as your pussy gapes, clenching around nothing, begging to be filled and fucked, coated in his cum until it stains your thighs.

“Ready for me?” he pushes himself back onto the bed, hands hooking under your arms, throwing you further up the bed so he can make home between your thighs.

You watch as he pulls his pyjama pants down his legs, thick thighs flexing in a way you want to just sink your teeth into the hefty muscle.

Your cunt clenches around nothing as you watch Hoseok wrap his hand around his length, tips of his fingers barely meeting at the girth of it.

“Please, want you inside” you whine, hips rolling into nothing, and Hoseok watches a pout mould onto your soft lips.

Hoseok braces his arms over your head, leaving down to kiss you. His tongue licks over the seam, a silent request for access that you allow.

You moan into his mouth when you feel something prod at your entrance, whatever it was, the tip was as thin as a finger, easily slipping between your soaked walls.

Hoseok pushes his tongue into further into your mouth, tongue pressed against your own. Kiss wet and messy just the way he liked it, drool coating both of your chins.

“Fucking hell Hoseok, is that your tail?” you moan when you feel the appendage inside of you thicken with each agonizingly slow inch that wiggles it’s way between your walls.

He hums, bringing you in for another kiss as his tail pulls out to the tip, wasting no time ramming back into you. Hoseok drinks up your moans, the sweetest melody.

Your arms wrap around his neck, hips bucking to meet his thrusts, tip of his tail nudging your g-spot.

“Close” you whine, fingers digging into his back. Hoseok groans, ramming his tail as far into you as he can, tickling pain shooting straight to his cock as he feels you paint red lines over his back.

He pushes himself down, teeth clamping harshly around your nipple, your back arches; desperate moan clawing up your throat as you reach your high. Your sodden cunt soaks Hoseok’s tail, wide base stretching your walls apart obscenely that you cry as he pulls it out of you.

If you cunt hadn’t been gaping, it was now.

“On your knees, darling” he gives your thigh a gentle tap.

You push yourself up on shaky arms, flopping forward, only keeping your hips raised.

Hoseok runs his hands over your ass, pulling your cheeks apart as he runs a thumb over your soaked folds, thumb easily slipping inside you with no resistance.

“Ready for me?” he asks, gentle hands running over your sides and you hum.

“Words, baby”

“Ready for you” you push your hips back, moaning when his thick cock catches your thigh.

You feel his pre-cum stain your thigh, angling your hips until you feel his tip nudge your opening.

“Inside please” you look back, watching Hoseok fist his length before he’s guiding it towards your winking hole.

He runs the head of his cock through your slit, another rush of slick dribbling out your hole onto his length and Hoseok groans.

You can feel the pop of the flared head as Hoseok pushes past your entrance, first few inches gliding in with ease as you rock back into him.

You jolt forwards when you feel the demon’s fingers circling your clit, and Hoseok pauses when your cunt squeezes around his length.

“Still a tight fit” he rolls his hips, no real force in his thrusts.

“Faster” you beg, legs spreading wider in hopes of his cock pushing further into you.

Hoseok snaps his hips forwards, and you can feel the ridges along the length of his cock drag against your walls as he pulls out half way before he’s ramming his cock back inside of you.

You think you can feel him in your stomach, punching the air out of your lungs with each wet smack of his thighs meeting the back of your own.

“Like that?” he grunts, “Like being my personal little toy? Your cunt moulded around my cock. I bet a puny human wouldn’t be able to get you off anymore— i’ve ruined you for everyone” the laugh Hoseok let’s out is mean, though it all sounds muffled to you, your own moans overshadowing everything else.

You let out a sob when he gives a particularly deep thrust, your cunt clenching around his length so tight he slows down.

“Good girl, you gonna cum?” he asks, fingers finding their way back to your clit, expertly flicking the little bud, and it has you seeing stars.

You slowly start to feel your orgasm rise, each brutal thrust bringing you closer to the edge.

“Come on, baby” he groans, picking up the pace.

Your mouth falls open, pure bliss wracking through your body as you reach your peak. Little hiccups follow your orgasm, harmonized with the wet slapping of your cunt. Hoseok uncaring as he continues to thrust into you, hips jackhammering and fingers thrumming at your clit with newfound vigor.

“Too much, too much” you cry, trying to pull your hips away from him, cock head punching into your prostate.

“Hold on baby” he groans, fingers digging into the meat of your hips, dragging you back onto his cock, you feel him twitch between your walls and you know he’s close.

Hoseok feels as your walls clench sporadically around his cock, he slams into you before cumming; flooding— painting your walls white.

You choke at the amount of cum that fills you up, hot, thick seed spilling into your stomach with how far inside of you he was. And your thighs shake as you’re met with another orgasm, juices mixing with what was already inside of you.

His thumbs run gently over your hips, sure to bruise in the coming hours with how harsh his grip had been though that will be the least of your worries.

“You cum too much” you whisper, head spinning as you feel another wave of cum slosh into your stomach.

He gently pulls back a few inches before he’s rolling his hips, pushing his cum back into you.

“Think you can do one more?” he asks, cock still hard.

Your thighs shake when he slowly picks up the pace. And you groan when he pulls you up by your arms, your back meeting his chest.

“Can you see that?” his hand turns your face by your chin, and your eyes glaze over both of your bodies in the full-length mirror opposite the bed.

You look like a mess, eyes glazed over in lust and tears, skin blotchy with purple and a set of very distinct teeth marks littering your neck. Both of your bodies have a sheen over them, sweat— and probably your cum in Hoseok’s case. But that isn’t what he was pointing at.

He feels your cunt clench around his length as your eyes connect with your stomach, a little bloated, so much of his cum inside of you, your tummy had distended a little.

He runs his hand over the little bulge under your belly button, cock so far inside of you that the head was pushing up into your stomach.

He pushes down on the bulge, and the both of you moan in unison.

“Look at that baby. I really am in your stomach, huh” he laughs, pulling up up a little, both of you watching as the head of his cock disappears before he’s dropping you back down on his length, watching the bulge reform.

Your hand runs over your stomach, feeling Hoseok’s cock twitch inside of you when you push down. Your thighs twitch, arm wrapping around his neck as he starts to thrust upwards.

A ring of white forms around the base of his cock as he thrusts up into you. Pace not as fast as before but the image in the mirror is enough for you to start tumbling towards your release.

“Play with yourself, darling” Hoseok groans, dragging you up the length of his cock.

Your fingers find your clit, and you fall forwards at the intense pleasure that shoots up your spine. The increasing pace on your clit combined with each little ridge of Hoseok’s cock dragging ever so deliciously against your walls pulls you head first into another orgasm.

This one’s wetter, rush of liquid exploding onto the sheets below. You vision blurs over momentarily, fingers seizing on your clit as your legs shake. Hoseok continues to thrust up into you, your walls tightening around his cock.

Yoy hiccup a moan, and Hoseok feels himself tumble over the edge when he flicks once more at your clit, another rush of wetness joining your sodden bedsheets and foamy white cum that coats the insides of your thighs.

Hoseok watches as you black out for a moment, thighs still trembling as he cums inside of you. Another wave of thick cum joining what was already sloshing inside your tummy.

“Oh baby” he moans, watching as your stomach continues to bloat, he groans— head of his cock no longer visible as his cum bulges put your stomach.

Tears fall down your cheeks, you’d loved feeling this full. Hoseok’s cock plugging everything up inside of you.

Your thighs continue to tremble, wanting to close but Hoseok’s legs preventing you from doing so.

“You okay?” he asks when you look somewhat coherent.

You simply nod, breathe stuttering as your lungs try to compensate for the lack of oxygen.

“Did so well for me” Hoseok coos, hands running over your stomach.

Your pussy clenches, Hoseok finally starting to soften inside of you, knowing you wouldn’t be able to take another round of cum until what’s already inside of you is gone.

“I feel so full” you swallow thickly, head tilting down to look at your belly, “Why do you cum so much” your head falls back onto his shoulder.

“We didn’t put a towel down this time either” Hoseok tuts.

“Needed clean sheets anyways” you tell him.

“Ready for me to pull out then?” he asks and you frown.

There was something so fulfilling about being so full, stuffed until you were bloated with his seed. Everything Hoseok has to offer, plugged up inside of you�� ever so warm and thick. The thought of him cumming inside you alone enough for you to tip over the edge again.

Gently Hoseok lays you back on the bed, your hips raised as his cock remains jammed inside of you.

“Do you have to?” you ask, and if Hoseok could see your face he thinks you’d be pouting.

“Gotta get cleaned up doll. I’ll eat you out in the shower if you want” he offers and you sigh.

Gently he eases his cock out of you, each ridge bumping against your walls that you feel more arousal start to leak out your hole. Overstimulation boarding too painful with each inch slipping out of your walls.

You feel the head pop out, a rush of thick cum following. You feel another wave of it fall onto the bedsheets when you clench, pussy gaping obscenely.

“Push it all out, darling. That’s it” Hoseok runs a hand over your ass, spreading your pussy lips as you force another gush of his cum out of you.

You moan when you feel two of his fingers work their way into your hole, another glob of cum dribbles out of you— your own watery arousal following soon after.

“Did so well for me” he praises, kissing the back of you thigh.

And maybe having a demon roommate wasn’t all that bad when you really think about it.

[bluebeary-jay]

CONGRATS!!! 1000 FOLLOWERS IS SO AWESOME AND I'M HAPPY FOR YOU!!🥰🩷

For the celebration I'm thinking Joel has lived in Jackson for months and has a bad reputation so people mostly avoid him and he always keeps to himself. BUT reader is the exception, always with a big smile and really polite to him (and he has a terrible crush on her). She always sees him alone at the bar looking around and seeming dislocated and decides to ask him "may I have this dance" cause she likes him too, but he panic and refuses. Later he realizes he's missing his chance with her and tries to fix it. Just some nice fluff (with age gap please🙏)

HIIIII SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT NONNIE

(okay so I'm back-ish, I apologize to everyone for disappearing but i had a rough couple of weeks and had to deal with a lot of stuff. i actually finished this fic some time ago but didn't have strength to post it but i'm more ready now so here you go <3 i hope you'll like it, i had a lot of fun writing it!! and thank you for requesting!! love you 🥰)

Joel Miller was a recluse. Everyone knew that, though not many were aware that he didn’t exactly choose this kind of life for himself.

He really hoped that things would get better after he settled down in Jackson with Ellie, but the residents of the town made it very clear that they didn’t want his company. It stung a little, especially since Joel didn’t think he gave them any reason to be wary of him, but he hid his hurt well. With time he got used to nasty whispers, people giving him a wide berth and basically everyone but Tommy and Ellie avoiding him. It was unpleasant, sure, but he learned to just deal with it.

Well, there was also you.

Joel had no clue what your deal was. Why you weren’t shying away from him like your fellow peers and why you went out of your way to always catch him into a conversation or smile at him whenever you saw him.

“I think she’s crushin’ on ya,” Tommy told him once during a dinner at his house. Ellie and Maria weren’t present, the latter showing the teen some clothes she might want – and thank fuck for that. Joel would murder his little brother if he said such nonsense in their presence.

“The hell you’re talkin’ about?” he spluttered, his eyebrows furrowed when Tommy sent him a smug, knowing grin. The question was completely unnecessary, of course, since they were already talking about you, but still Joel hoped he somehow misinterpreted his brother’s words.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Joel.” He sprawled out on the chair, still with that stupid smirk. “I really think she’s into you. I’d ask her out if I were you.”

“There’s no… I assure you she isn’t.”

“But if she was–”

“She’s not. Now can I eat my meal in peace?” Joel placed his hands on the table, but Tommy shook his head.

“But you like her, right? She’s nice.”

Joel sighed. “Yeah, she is.”

“And pretty.”

That Joel didn’t fall for. He glared at his brother.

“Jesus, Tommy, let me have it. I’m lucky she even wants to talk to me, with all her friends tellin’ her I’m bad news and me being half her age older.”

His eyes became solemn and voice took a lower, quieter tone, which told Tommy the matter was hitting Joel harder than he let on. He sat up straight, getting rid of the teasing smile.

“Alrigh’. Sorry for bringin’ it up.” Joel sighed and nodded, signifying that everything was okay. “I just want you to be happy, y’know. Maybe you should give yourself a chance.”

The older Miller didn’t answer and took a big swig of whiskey out of his glass.

The problem was, he didn’t need Tommy to tell him all that. Joel would have to be blind and stupid not to notice how breathtakingly beautiful you are, and this, combined with your intelligence, passion and sense of humor, was his ultimate undoing. Every time he talked with you, it was all he could do to hide the redness in his cheeks and the weakness in his knees.

But he did. ‘Cause, let’s be real – even though Joel recognized he had a terrible crush on you (though it took him weeks to make peace with this fact) he knew there was no way in hell you’d find him even a fraction as attractive as he found you. He was almost twice your age,  for heaven’s sake, and such a young, gorgeous woman as you would never agree to throw her life away to be with an old man.

But God knew that with each day you broke down his walls, the desire to kiss you was becoming more and more agonizing. Every smile you sent his way worked only to feed his imagination of how soft your lips would surely be if he could only brush his thumb across it, not to mention touch them with his own. He wondered how your hands, so much smaller than his calloused ones, would feel on his stomach or shoulders. How it would be to embrace you with his arms, skin to skin and without any layers in-between.

Those were not the thoughts he should be having, especially in public – yet here he was, several days after his conversation with Tommy, imagining impossible while he watched you laughing on the dance floor with your friend. You looked so carefree, so happy and full of life, your energy only reminding Joel sourly of his own old age.

He noticed you glancing his way several times throughout the evening but he knew it didn’t mean anything, it would never mean anything other than your innocent friendliness. So he just quickly looked away lest you realize he was staring.

Joel took a swing from his glass and looked around the bar, trying to take his mind off you – fruitlessly. His eyes still darted back to you every few seconds, involuntarily roaming over your exposed skin visible under the nice outfit you picked for tonight. It was driving Joel insane with longing and need, and all he could think of was the mental image of how kissing and touching you gently would feel like.

Bet you’d feel so perfect under his palms.

He closed his eyes and propped up his forehead on his fist, trying to tune out the music and all the distracting background noises.

Keep it together. 

He had to remember that he was way too old to be this enamored with a young, pretty girl like you. You would surely be repulsed if you had any clue about what was going on in his head, and some of the thoughts he had–

Then, Joel felt a light touch on his shoulder and lo and behold – there you were, standing right in front of him with a bright smile, as if summoned by his thoughts.

“Hi,” you said, tilting your head in that endearing way that made his insides tighten. “What are you doing here alone, cowboy?”

Joel prayed that he wasn’t blushing, though his hope diminished increasingly when your eyes wandered curiously across his features. Your eyebrows rose slightly and he cursed internally.

Fuck, you were so beautiful.

“M’not…” He cleared his throat and started again. “M’waitin’ for Tommy. He had to sort somethin’ out with… uh, someone.” He drummed his fingers against the table but stopped immediately, not wanting to give you an impression that the conversation with you was boring him. “You don’t have to do it, darlin’.”

You gave him a puzzled look, and he explained. “Y’know. Hang out with me. The people like to talk nasty things and I don’t wanna expose you to that.”

“It doesn’t bother me.” You shrugged with a sweet smile which Joel could kill for just to see it one more time. “And I… enjoy spending time with you.“

It didn’t mean anythin’. You were just bein’ friendly.

But even though he kept repeating it to himself like a mantra, Joel could not take his eyes off you. You were a vision – your profile bathed in the soft lights of the bar, your bottom lip between your teeth as you looked over your shoulder, deep in thought, at the stereo tower. The current song’s notes died down and a new one, much slower and romantic, started to play. You took a deep breath and let out a nervous laugh. “Actually I wanted to ask you something. If you don’t mind.”

“Ask away, darlin’.” He offered you a small smile, hoping to put you at ease, and you wetted your lips – which nearly gave him a heart attack and caused him to almost miss your next words.

“May I have this dance?”

Joel’s world stopped for a moment. He was in the middle of lifting the glass of whiskey to his lips but his muscles stiffened and the tumbler slipped out of his cold fingers. It didn’t shatter, but the rich liquid spilled all over the table. Your eyes flickered to the overturned glass, but Joel didn’t pay it any mind, too stunned to look at anything else but you.

“C-come again?” he stuttered, his voice strained and small. In the corner of his eye he noticed people at the next table glancing their way, alarmed by the noise, but he forced his attention back to you.

“This is my favorite song,” you explained shyly, an adorable blush spreading across your cheeks and neck. “So… may I have this dance, Joel?”

Now the people sitting around them definitely heard that, because they started smirking and whispering, and one person went to another group standing nearby on the dance floor. Joel felt his own face growing hot as he watched them pointing not-so-discreetly in his direction.

It was like the most wonderful dream and the most horrible nightmare come true at the same time.

He couldn’t do it. There was no way, not in front of all the people of Jackson who hated and despised him. He didn’t want to give them a show to gossip about or worse, subject you to their disdain.

But you still stood in front of his chair with an innocent, hopeful smile, though you started to shuffle the longer Joel was silent. The song – your favorite, supposedly – was passing in the background but you kept waiting patiently for an answer to your question.

He had to come up with something. Or just explain to you that he doesn’t dance – the sweet little thing you were, you’d probably understand and not pressure him into doing it. At least he hoped so.

C’mon, say somethin’.

“No.”

Your face fell instantly and Joel’s eyes widened at the mortifying realization of what just came out of his mouth.

Anythin’ but THAT.

You stared at him for a couple of seconds in the silence of the bar before your eyes started to glisten and you averted your gaze. Someone to Joel’s left snickered derisively and in the next second whispers erupted all around you two. You seemed to shrink in yourself, embarrassment and regret marking your beautiful face, and Joel’s heart almost broke when a tear slipped from your eye, and then another one fell down your other cheek.

“Okay,” you murmured, wiping the treacherous tears quickly and keeping your gaze trained on the floor. “Sorry. Sorry.”

You turned on your heel and went to exit the establishment, your step gradually turning into a run when the giggles and whispers around you became louder. The door swung open on the winter wind and just like that, you were gone.

Then all eyes turned to Joel – and the shame Joel felt increased at least tenfold.

He saw Tommy standing up and walking toward him from the other side of the room with worry written all over his face, but Joel didn’t stick around to hear what he had to say. He stood up and left through the same door you did, glaring threateningly at anyone stupid enough to still snicker at the situation they witnessed.

Ten minutes later Joel was standing in front of your door, trying to keep his knocking below the ‘desperate’ level.

He realized that he had to tell you. He intended to keep the feelings he harbored for you bottled up for the rest of his life but you needed to know the reason why he turned you down. You needed to hear from him that he cared about you, that it wasn’t some malicious act toward you but sheer cowardice stemming from the problem that he was madly in love with you.

“Hello? It’s… it’s Joel,” he choked out through his tight throat as he knocked again, a little louder this time. “Darlin’, can I talk to you?”

No response came, though he saw the lights in your house were on, and Joel had to take a deeper breath to calm his nerves. He prayed that he hadn’t completely screwed it up, but for now all the evidence spoke against him.

You wanted to dance with him. You gathered your courage just to ask him for a dance and he said no.

Joel knew he lost his chance. He lost you. You were his only friend in town and he somehow managed to fuck everything up with just one word.

He was so lost in his wallowing in despair that he almost missed the door opening slightly. In the gap of the doorway he caught a glimpse of your iris – and though it was only for a split second, Joel could clearly see that your eye was red. A pang of guilt pierced his chest but once you saw it was him, you shut the door again.

“No, darlin’, please. Please, just let me explain.” A wave of desperation and fear threatened to drown him and Joel’s heart clenched in his chest. “I’m so sorry, I acted like an asshole but I never wanted to hurt you, I just… I-I panicked.”

He was babbling, not even knowing if you were still there on the other side of the door, but the desperate and remorseful words were spilling out of him like a waterfall.

“I’m so sorry. Sweetheart…” Joel sighed, putting his hand on the cold wood of the door and listening for a couple of seconds, but there was no sound coming from inside. “Please. I’m beggin’ you, open the door.”

Then he heard something – a sound like blowing one’s nose. Joel froze for one, two… three seconds, and nearly collapsed in relief when you unlocked the door.

“You can come in,” you said, but didn’t meet his eyes. “You’re probably freezing, no?”

Joel nodded, feeling his throat going dry at the sorrowful sight of you. He crossed the threshold, closing the front door quietly behind him and looked you over. You hadn’t changed out of that pretty outfit of yours yet, although it was now covered by a long cardigan that you draped over your shoulders. In your hand you held a crumpled tissue but quickly pocketed it when Joel’s eyes fell on it.

He opened his mouth with a sharp inhale but before he could apologize, you beat him to it.

“I’m sorry for that,” you blurted out and glanced up at him but quickly looked down at the floor again. “I shouldn’t have asked you to dance in front of all those people and I overreacted because then everyone was looking at me… Look, it wasn’t even that big of a deal so don’t read into it. Everything is fine.”

“No, it’s not,” he said softly and you pressed your lips into a thin line. “You have nothin’ to apologize for. I’m sorry for embarrassin’ you. I panicked ‘cause I–”

“It’s fine,” you muttered again. “Just forget it.”

“I can’t. Listen, sweetheart, I panicked ‘cause I wish I could let myself read into it.”

Your head snapped up and Joel swallowed heavily, realizing how stupid that sounded.

“What I mean–” Fuck, he really was shit at talking so openly about these stuff. “I… I have feelings for ya. Had ‘em for a long time now but I never planned on actin’ on ‘em ‘cause I know I’m too old and you’d never…”

“You’re… really?” you asked with wide eyes, but he tuned your words out, fearing that you were going to kick him out at any second.

“I’m only tellin’ you all this ‘cause I need you to know I care about ya and I didn’t say ‘no’ outta malice or… or ‘cause I don’t like you. I do. Too much, I’m afraid.”

You were staring at him, mouth agape and silent. Joel didn’t move, awaiting your reaction – whether you tell him to get out or scream how disgusting he was, he was going to take it. And then, if you never want to see him again, he’ll accept it. One day. But he doubted his heart would ever recover.

“Let me fix it,” he begged, his voice just above a whisper when you didn’t give any reaction to his confession. “Please, darlin’.”

Your eyes skimmed over his face as you hummed to yourself, almost irritably calm. Joel swallowed, the weight of guilt and anticipation pulling him down – and he was ready to fall to his knees before you when finally you lifted your hand to brush his lower lip with your fingertips, so delicately he could barely feel it. He froze and tried not to breathe, not wanting to cause you to pull away.

“I noticed something when you were rambling,” you said with a hint of reflection. Joel had no idea what was happening or why were you acting that way, but he daren’t move. He briefly entertained a thought that he was dreaming, but then his attention got caught by the sight of the corner of your lips twitching slightly, as if you were keeping yourself from laughing.

His chest expanded with hope so strong, it was almost unbearably painful.

“What is it?” he forced himself to speak, the nerves making his voice weak and raspy.

“Your accent gets heavier when you’re nervous,” you mused, as though to yourself, now trailing your fingertips down his stubbly cheek. “It’s cute.”

His heart lurched at your words. You gazed up at him and absently bit your lip, which Joel found downright sinful.

“Do you have any idea how long it took me to gather the courage to make the first move?” Your words were bitter, but there was a trace of relief in your voice. Joel let your fingers wander across the lines of his jaw and cheekbones, wishing he had enough boldness to touch you like that, too, but suddenly, your hand stilled and your eyes met his again. “Did you mean it? The things you said?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation, his own fingers twitching as he restrained himself from reaching for you. His head was spinning, trying to comprehend the meaning of your actions and words. “But do you–”

You touched his lips lightly again, silencing his question, and your features slowly were overtaken by a large, bright smile, which seemed to lift all the heavy weight of worry from Joel’s shoulders.

“You wanted to fix it, right?” you asked in a teasing whisper. He nodded. “Then just ask me.”

You weren’t angry. You weren’t pulling away.

You wanted to dance with him and you gathered the courage to do so, and now Joel had to do the same. He couldn’t waste this second chance you gave him.

The corner of his lips quirked upwards and he exhaled shakily.

“May I have this dance?”

You pursed your lips to hide your joy and side-eyed him, but your eyes were sparkling with playfulness. “You know, I think I should respond the same way you did. Just to be fair.”

“Sweetheart, don’t play with this old man’s heart,” he whispered and smiled shyly when you giggled at the exasperation but also uncertainty in his voice. Joel still felt kind of out of it, too stunned to trust his mind that this was really happening – but the sound of your laughter brought him right back to Earth, to the place he wanted to be more than anywhere else.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous tonight, Miller.” You took his hand and brought it to your hip, making Joel’s breath hitch in his throat and cheeks grow warm. His reaction didn’t get past you, and you smiled at him so radiantly that his world started to spin. Then your arms wrapped around his neck and you pressed your body against his. “But you’ll have some atoning to do.”

His throat was dry, but Joel returned your shy smile, stepping to the side and guiding you carefully to the thumping rhythm of his heart.

And a couple of minutes later, after more hushed apologies and assurances during your slow-dancing, Joel placed his hand on your cheek, almost letting out a relieved whimper when you nuzzled your face into his palm.

And after another few minutes went by, when he leaned in and you didn’t stop his lips from meeting yours, he knew he was a goner.

He couldn’t get rid of the big smile on his face – perhaps the first real one since arriving in Jackson all those months ago.

[lovely-showtimes]

hi

can u do a tsukasa, kanade, nene, and mizuki one shot (separate) with a reader on their period, i’m on mine rn and it hurts like hell

♡ . period.

characters - tsukasa, nene, kanade, mizuki.

type - hcs.

warnings - afab reader, but can still be read if you identify as something other than fem

a/n - i took so long to write this that i myself am now on my period T_T it sucks so much </3 i hope maybe this can be comforting for whenever youre on yours next, nonnie? also, i know you asked for oneshots but i did hcs because i couldnt think of how to make this into that!! so sorry </3

Tsukasa is immediately ready to spoil you as much as he possibly can

Craving something specific? He will find it for you. Cramps? He's got a heating pad that is somehow always the perfect temperature. Generally feeling down? He will kiss you on the forehead and cuddle you if you so desire

Due to, y'know, living with a teenage girl around both your ages, he's already fairly aware of what to do and what not to do with someone on their period

He'll leave you alone when you need it, check on you every so often, all of that!

Nene understands how painful it can be

She'll lend you her own hot water bottle when you're on your period as it usually helps her

(It smells like her too, so it's more comforting than normal...)

She'll visit throughout the week, dropping off little snacks and wishing you well

Sometimes even staying to cuddle you if you manage to convince her (which isn't very hard)

Kanade is kind of inexperienced in this whole thing, other than the whole bleeding aspect

She never actually experiences cramps whenever she's on hers, which you are endlessly envious of

She offers you some of her spare pots of ramen when you're hungry. Sorry if you don't like ramen, she doesn't have anything else...

Kanade also enjoys playing calming and gentle music on her synth for you to soothe you further. Somehow, it always makes you drift to sleep...

Mizuki is also always ready to smother you with cuddles if you're feeling down!

You wanna hang out with them but don't want to go anywhere? No problem! The two of you will stay home, cuddle and watch some shows together

I feel like they're the type of person to always carry menstrual products in their bag/pockets just in case someone they know needs it. Because of this, you never need to worry about being caught without any spares if you're out with them!

[movie-plush-baby]

Self Aware!Croissant Cookie X Reader

(There’s a bunch of Self Aware Cookie Run X Reader content already on Tumblr, but uuuuhb I love croint.)

(Also, clearly, you can tell I was inspired off of DDLC here, except Croissant doesn’t, you know, do Any Of That.)

For some reason, a single Cookie Run character was given consciousness.

And it was Croissant Cookie. Maybe it was because she was an agent at the TBD, or her connection to Timekeeper, but she became the one Cookie Run character to be aware.

At first, she didn’t want to reveal it. She didn’t want the player to freak out, and she could deal with the loneliness.

Even if it was pretty lonely without anyone else to talk to.

No, she could deal with it. She was strong, wasn’t she…?

And then, you stopped playing the game for a while.

Little known fact: when the player closes the game, everything goes dark. It’s an endless void of nothing. No sound.

When you finally start playing the game again, she finally drops the act.

Whether you’re scared at first or not at all, she still forms an attachment to you.

Afterall, you are, quite literally, the only person she can talk to. Everyone else is just mindless video game characters doing whatever they’re programmed. She has memories of interacting with them, yes, but she can’t talk to them no matter what. They never respond.

She likes watching you play as her! It’s a little strange, but she got used to it. Bumping into obstacles doesn’t seem to hurt that badly, so she’s fine! Don’t worry!

Croissant’s affection meter goes above 1,000 eventually. You’re not sure if that might cause problems in the game somehow, but it doesn’t seem to be doing anything, soooo…

She loves being tapped on in the lobby and exploring all the different places you can put her in. Being tapped on is like, petting her. She likes your touch!

She’s a little disappointed whenever you start playing other cookies and not her. But she never really says anything unless you really take your time and don’t play her in a really long while.

She kind of misses being able to build and fix things. Sure, there’s things around the map, but she’d rather not mess up the game more than she already does. Sometimes she does manage to make little things, but man, she misses making contraptions.

Croissant misses the TBD a lot. Since she can freely move around, you can play her in other trials (very not meant for her). It’s the closest thing to being able to walk around in the TBD again if you play other TBD cookies. If you do so oh my god she’ll love you so much.

Sometimes, she finds herself idly wondering if Timekeeper can go give her a vague hint to a problem, before realizing that she’s still the only one alone. It hurts.

She’s grateful for you, but she hopes she’s not a burden. Is she asking for too much? Is she acting too clingy? She doesn’t want that.

Press your phone against your chest and like, let her snuggle into you. But don’t fall asleep or you might like crush or overheat her home or something-

She likes being included in your activities! Since basically everyone brings their phone with them everywhere, she can just watch you do stuff. Set your phone down on a table or something with Cookie Run on, let her watch you like eat at a cafe or something.

don’t eat cookies in front of her though

Oh goodness

She still wants to help all the time, but she’s not sure how to do it considering she’s stuck in your phone. Hell, she can’t even leave the app. So she tries to give you advice a lot.

Let her ramble to you about time travel and planes, she’s going to be doing it a lot.

[fullofgutsndopamine]

Because The Road Home (leads me right to your door)

TW: she/her pronouns, drinking to excess, cursing, sloppy drunks

Neighbour au in which one gets drunk and ends up knocking at the other’s door, drunkenly trying to argue with the neighbor and- instead- passing out in their living room.

“No because like that’s the problem with Christmas, right?” she licks her lips, leans in closer to the person next to her, “Because it’s a capitalist hell hole we live in-“

somehow, the person next to her is even more drunk than she is, swaying in place with slanted eyes.

“No, dude.” He slurs, “you’re right. like-“

she tries to pay attention to him speaking, looks at his lips as he talks and rests the rim of an overused solo cup to her lips. it’s filled to the brim with red wine, which has sloshed over multiple times and stained the front of her white sweater already, a problem for later.

She’s enough drinks in to have false confidence, can feel her lips buzz and her fingers tingle. Confident enough to interrupt her friend in front of her, she finally speaks:

“y’know what?” she stops long enough to hiccup.

Your equally drunk friend, Geoff, nods, doesn’t even care that she interrupted him mid thought (and the thoughts were fleeting) “Go on.” he encourages her.

“I’m gonna go in and finally give that fucking neighbor next door a piece of our mind.”

Geoff nods, immediately sold:

“the one with the music?”

“yes!” she’s borderline yelling, “the fucker with the music. i’m tired of everyone here not being able to study because of him.”

Geoff nods once: “do it.” he pauses for a second, a smirk snaked onto his lip: “i dare you.”

and that’s all she needs to stumble across the lawn, yelling the entire time, working herself up-when she looks back Geoff is gone, probably distracted, but the red hot anger from the alcohol still burns warm in her chest, finds herself as he fist raises to the door and the blows land

“i know you’re there, fucker.”

Suddenly aware of how cold it is, she rubs her hands along her arms as if that will offer warmth, make a jacket appear like magic. she can hear the music from inside; not as loud as usual, but enough to build the hot anger up that swells in her stomach until her hand rests along the door again

as if he planned it, the door whips open and a frazzled man answers.

“Hello?”

his voice borders on panic, or worry, you aren’t sure which, but you push it down.

“you.”

a smirk appears on his lips, takes over his mouth as he leans against the doorframe, crosses his arms over his chest, suddenly the picture perfect, calm man now.

“Me?” he muses. immediately, he can tell she’s past drunk; swaying in place, the slurring words, the squinted eyes

she’s had run ins with him before but on a much milder scale-bringing mail to him when Geoff is too awkward to drop it off. the time he came home early and pulled into his driveway was she fed a stray that was attracted to his front porch for some reason-

“Yes-you!” she huffs, a stomped foot. finding the confidence that rolls and snakes around in your belly she takes a step forward and presses a finger hard into his chest:

“you and your music!”

“my music?” he giggles, “what about my music, princess? hm?”

“To begin with,” she removes her finger from his chest long enough to tick them off on her fingers: “it’s loud.”

“Right,” hasan nods, “go on, then.”

“and! and it’s obnoxious.”

“obnoxious,” he muses, “that sure is a word to use. maybe not the right word-“

“And!”

she tries again and he laughs, stands up a little straighter: “oh damn, I thought we were done. I have to hear this. Off you go, then.”

“Like i was trying to say!” her head spins and she rests her hand on the doorframe, knocking his own off in the move to do so, “and it’s-“

“princess?” he finally manages, though it still sounds like he’s holding in a laugh, “you alright?”

“of course i am.”

“right,” he nods, “i believe you were giving me a verbal lashing on my music. you were on reason two, if that helps.”

“it’s a long list.”

“i got the time.”

“stop mansplaining to me,” she hiccups, the world around her spins and comes in and out of color, “like i was saying-“

“you know,” he says, half a step towards her, “i actually have something in the oven to check on. come inside for a second-“

“i’m not done.”

“i know you aren’t, princess.” he holds in the eye roll, takes a step towards her and holds her by the elbow. “come on.”

carefully, his hand rests on her elbow, the other on her lower back as he carefully watches her take the small step inside, closes the door behind her.

“i don’t know where i am.”

her voice borders on being sad, eyes glassy as she looks around. it’s a nice house, she’ll allow herself to say; a light purple wall, decorated with paintings and framed books line the shelves-small planted flowers crawl and creep towards the sun, surprisingly well taken care of-

she takes a step to investing the titles on the wall and hasan drops her:

“no you don’t,” he says gently, “cmon, we’re getting water.”

“i can do it myself.”

���i’m sure you can, princess. but you don’t know where you are-“

“it’s not like i could get lost.” she hiccups but allows him to pull her into the kitchen, gently push her into the chair.

“wouldn’t put it past you.” he hums gently as he places a hand next to her as if she’s a dog and making sure she isn’t going to move-before retreating to a well decorated refrigerator, adorned with magnets and postcards, coming back with a bottle of water that he twists off with the bottom of his shirt before sliding it to her.

“not thirsty.”

she goes to push it away but guesses where it is incorrectly and almost knocks it off before hasan catches it barely in time.

he holds in the sigh for the fifth time in ten minutes.

“one sip.”

“i’m not a child, hasan.” she goes to bat it out of the way but misses again, knocks some onto her lap.

“nooo,” she moans, eyes watering again, “my shirts ruined.”

she pulls at the stained sweater as if she’s seeing the red wine stains for the first time.

“i’ll make you a deal, princess.” he sits in the chair next to her and leans in close enough to her for her to smell his cologne: “you drink half this water and i’ll get you a new shirt.”

she hiccups, weighs the options.

“Tempting, i know.” he sing songs, holds the water out to her, and too tired to argue she rolls her eyes and accepts it.

“fine,” she huffs, “only so you’ll shut up.”

he nods, zips his lips, throws the key over his shoulder: “you stay here,” he continues, “don’t move.”

“i bet you were really bad at the quiet game growing up.”

finally, a laugh breaks through: light, carries through the house and she’s glad, even in a drunken state, that she hasn’t been too mean to him.

as soon as the sight of his yellow sweater disappears from view she makes her way to the front room, where the untouched vinyls and book jackets lay. her fingers run over the spines, worn with use and time, well loved and she cracks one open and sees the folded pages, the slanted writing in the margins. when the world becomes shaky and slanted again she holds onto them fireplace, the table, the side of the couch until she allows herself to collapse onto the couch, on her back as she rests the book on her belly-

“magic and love have two things in common, namely how easy both are to fuck up-“

her lips move as her eyes try to focus on the pages, on the small type and the way the words appear off the page dance and wave around in the air in front of her

“-which is exactly why she swore both off-“

the sound of the book hitting the floor doesn’t stir her. eyes heavy and fallen already, she falls into the drunken stupor that threatened to happen for hours.

rooms away, hasan knew the second he heard the fall what happened

“fucker.”

slowly, he folds the shirt in his hands, makes his way to the kitchen and grabs the untouched water, the bottle of aspirin out of the counter. finds the notepad shoved in his junk drawer and uses his nicest writing to try and ease her mind when she wakes up:

you fell asleep on the couch and i didn’t want to wake you. you’re at the neighbor with the loud musics house (hasan) bathroom is upstairs on the left. feel free to take this shirt for your stained one. Take three aspirins. my room is upstairs on the right if you need anything. you’re free to go when you wake up, but i do make an amazing omelette. get me if you need anything. -h

he shoves it with the shirt before he can second guess it. makes his way to the front room and sets the water, note and shirt on the table. picks the book up and sets it next to it. grabs the blanket over the back of the couch and throws it over her gently, holds his breath to see if she stirs and when he doesn’t, makes his way upstairs, hoping his morning starts with making an omelette.

[new-tella-us]

Awww if you do more of the Seduce Me Situations thing, can you do how the boys would react to MC being sick or on her period?

Well first, the universal answer for the period is freak the fuck out.

I think Michaela confirmed that demons don't get periods so, to all of the boys, Mika's just bleeding. This would especially freak out Damien as he would be the first to know via mindreading. Imagine going about your day, training or wandering or whatever Damien does, and then you hear the thoughts of your landlord and she's bleeding out of her uterus. That is concerning when you don't understand menstruation.

For more customized responses, once the boys know what's going on-

James is asking as many questions as he needs to get to the route of Mika's problem. He's surprisingly not intense, he's just casually asking about symptoms as he either prepares Mika soup for her sickness or helps clean up any stains while she was on her period. That way he has a good grasp on what he can do to help her feel better. However, if Mika start PMSing, the best he can do is listen to her woes cause this boy is emotionally stunted.

Erik is the moral support. As a fellow uterus holder, I am painfully aware of the sheer amount of issues that come with periods. The cramping is bad but the bloating and the breakout and the high emotions don't help. It can make you feel very insecure. But Erik doesn't mess with insecurity so his ass is gunna dedicate his time into making sure Mika knows exactly how pretty she is and how that hasn't changed. Sickness can have a similar effect so I'll lump it in.

Sam has absolutely NO idea what he's doing. "Pads? Tampons? Cups? Why does she needs C U P S?" His ass is bringing home plastic cups from Walmart even though that is not what she meant. He would look it up on google but he can't read! As for the far less terrifying option of sickness, he would be more prepared. I imagine with how starved Damien was, as soon as he entered an unfamiliar atmosphere, his immune system nearly folded on him. Sam would have helped nurse Damien back to health so he can do the same for Mika.

Matthew also has no idea what he's doing but the difference is that, he's surprisingly good at guessing. He just asked some basic questions (with sickness or period) and winged the rest and somehow he succeeded at helping Mika feel comfy and as healthy as she can feel. His intuition is strong as hell. Though he would absolutely be the boy to ask "Ayo what pu$$y size you wear?" but like... in a more Matthew way. Not as vulgar.

Damien would have a basic to generally good idea of what to do, depending on if his mindreading decides to work that day. While periods would be new to him, sickness is not. So he understand that you need to stay hydrated, well fed and well rested. He would be the least likely to let you do anything. (a little bit of that overprotectiveness kicking in) He'll figure it out...maybe....hopefully. But also if he's sent out to buy pads, he's getting at least five additional items and there's a chance he'll forget the pads.

[savemeaimeemann]

Babe wake up! I have insomnia and wrote another fic about Arthur Fleck.

I'm Curious Yellow

AO3

Arthur Fleck is perplexed with a street girl rounding his neighborhood. He didn't know she felt the same.

Srry I'm to lazy too describe it but trust me.

Chapter 01 // I Think of You

- "What?"

- "I don’t know, that man over there...he keeps staring at you."

- "Yeah? Well, if he’s paying, I don’t mind."

- "Have you seen him? He’s kind of creepy. Dressed like a old man misplaced. Kind of a nerd I would say. He was inside that phone booth, and then was staring at you for... way too long. I don’t know, Maxine. Doesn’t feel right."

"Also is not the first time I've seen him around." added Grace.

- "Since when can we afford to be picky? I know I can’t. And, honestly, I think he’s kind of sexy with that weird set of clothing and hair. He has a "virgin" energy, don't you think" Maxine said as she was now really paying attention at the guy from the other side of the street. He was not staring anymore. He picked his colorful bag from the booth and was heading to another way".

"Look at those limbs, Grace. Don’t you think they could... do the job? I bet he can."

- "He looks broken as hell."

The man wasn’t exactly conventional. His appeal was a tightrope walk: either intriguing or repellent. To admit he was sexy felt like a confession. But Maxine didn’t care—she liked to push her own boundaries, make her own statements.

She took a long drag of her colored cigarette, watching the clown cross the street, deciding what her next move should be.

Maxine wasn’t your typical street worker. She had a certain French allure—literally, she was born in France, though how she ended up in Gotham was a story she kept to herself. Family issues, a love affair, a few revengeful twists. Gotham didn’t ask questions. It was a shadowy haven for those who didn’t quite fit anywhere else.

Today she wore a long leather coat with knee-high brown boots, just the right height to stay clear of Gotham’s filthy sidewalks. Underneath, a suede skirt and a black velvet top that hinted at more than it revealed. Her makeup was understated: a hint of blue eyeshadow, soft brown lipstick, bleached brows. Maxine was her own kind of eye candy for Gotham’s bleak streets.

No one asked much about her past. Everyone had their own dark stories. “Leave your problems at home,” they’d say. “These streets are for fresh starts.”

Not that they knew she had money stashed in a local bank. More than enough to live comfortably. But she chose to be out here. It wasn’t about the money, as she’d tell Grace—it was something more, something she couldn’t quite name. A “Belle de Jour” life, minus the self-awareness.

"We’ll see, then" She teased Grace.

-----

Arthur was glancing at the girl before, drawn to her in a way he didn’t quite understand. Her elegance had an aloofness he usually only saw in old Hollywood movies on his decrepit TV. Her colored cigarette, her presence—she felt foreign. She couldn’t possibly be a Gotham native, yet somehow she fit here perfectly.

He stopped staring and went on to his way, still in need to stop by the pharmacy and go back to his mediocre life, caring for his mom and all. Today he had a plus, as he was limping the whole way. He kept the pretty street girl aside on his mind and went on with his life.

Hours before all this, Arthur nearly got fired for losing a sign at his job as an entertainer for a run-down vinyl shop. His boss tore into him over the phone, at the booth.

"Arthur, I told you. You’re mediocre. A freak. Get it together, or you’re done. Trust me, half the guys here would love to see you gone."

Arthur banged his head against the phone booth glass, desperation seeping through him.

"I love my job. Please don’t fire me, Hoyot. Those kids at the hospital—they’re why I do this. I got jumped; it was just bad luck. I’m sorry."

- "Whatever, Arthur."

-----

1hr had passed after the intriguing man from the phone booth head his way. Maxine was intrigued by him, imagining what it would be like if he went to hire her right at that moment. Grace was right, he seemed broken. Maybe she would accept him for free only for the story. It would be fun, she thought.

Her trance for that man was so on her mind that she didn't bother working the rest of the day. She kept smoking with Grace.

- "I’m leaving for today"

"Leaving early hmmm?"

"I have a important visit to make close by. Gonna save some time."

- "So you’re off to see your new dealer?"

- "Hm...perdon?"

- "I saw you yelling at our last dealer yesterday. The whole block knows he’s been short on coke."

- "..."

- "Just tell me if he’s any good, alright?"

Maxine rolled her eyes. Grace wasn’t wrong, but she hadn’t touched cocaine in ages. She was looking for marijuana, a rare find in Gotham these days. “Let Grace think I’m as messed up as she is,” she thought.

Maxine cut through a back alley and arrived at a grim apartment building. Sad, filthy and dark.

She didn’t like elevators, but she wasn’t about to take the stairs in this place. Knife tucked into her skirt’s waistband, she stepped inside.

"Hey! wait!"

The elevator doors were about to close when she saw someone holding them open with their foot. Breathless, she stumbled in and mumbled, - "Thanks. I hate elevators. Its better to have company"

As she said the last phrase, she looked up. It was him—the sad man from earlier. Now that he was close she could white stains clung to his neck; he also was clutching a package from the pharmacy, she could tell.

Arthur looked as startled as she did, like he’d been caught mid-crime. Maxine’s confident facade faltered.

- "Oh, hey... stranger."

- "Uh... hi."

- "You know, you feel like a ‘known stranger’ to me."

- "Do I?"

- "Sure do. Maxine, by the way."

- "Arthur. Arthur Fleck. Nice to... meet you."

She leaned over to press her floor number and stood close to him, forcing herself to stay calm. She hadn’t planned on this confrontation happening here, in his territory.

The elevator shuddered upward, and she exhaled a shaky breath. - "Jesus," she muttered, as Arthur stood rigidly beside her, barely breathing.

Suddenly, the elevator jolted to a stop. Maxine grabbed her arm, squeezing so hard it hurt. She didn’t realize she was shaking.

- "It’s... it’s okay. It does this sometimes," Arthur murmured, almost kindly.

- "Oh. Great. Yeah, that makes me feel better."

- "Don’t you live here?"

- "No. Business meeting."

Arthur understood what she meant. Two floors in the building were reserved for dealers and addicts. He wasn’t naive; he knew what went on.

- "Oh."

"Can I ask you a question, Arthur?"

He nodded his head, in shock.

"I don't want to make this weird but... wasn't you staring at me earlier today?"

Arthur tensed, his body trembling. He tried to hold it in, but laughter bubbled up, uncontrollable. His shoulders shook, and he buried his face in his hand, laughing so hard he could barely breathe.

Maxine stared, horrified. - "Are you okay? Are you going to pass out?"

He doubled over, laughing and crying at once. She edged back, her hand instinctively finding her knife. - "Grace was right. Damn it."

Arthur fumbled in his pocket and held out a card. Warily, she took it with her free hand, glancing down. His laughing fit was finally subsiding.

She handed it back. - "Sorry..."

"It-its quite al- alright I-"

"No, I meant to say I don’t know how to read." She said with a smirk.

Arthur’s eyes widened, and then the laughter overtook him again.

She rolled her eyes and sighed, - "I’m joking, alright? Stupid joke. I didn’t mean to..."

She reached out, steadying him as his fit faded, feeling oddly protective. He looked down at her, still catching his breath.

The elevator jerked back to life, halting at his floor. Without a word, he stumbled out, covering his mouth.

- "Arthur!... Shit."

She glanced quickly at the corridor where Arthur had gone, trying to figure out which apartment was his. The last one seemed to be the only option. It must be that.

In the elevator, she pressed the button for her stop again, but all she could think about was Arthur. And how stupid she’d been with him.

She headed toward what seemed to be the dealer’s place, her package in hand, counting the cash, paying the steep price without hesitation.

“High-class babe, huh? Look at you.”

She couldn’t let herself be too familiar here. Dealers were touchy, especially the ones at the top. Guns, drugs—anything could be involved, but she had to keep her cool.

“Well, with all due respect, it’s been a good weekend.”

“Yeah? Hope you can keep up.”

“I hope so... " She said, as she gave him her paper note and he went inside to take it.

The man had it already settled. The transaction was fast.

"Efficient and worthed" Maxine thought.

"Well, Goodbye then. See you next time.” she said, turning on her heels.

“Wait.”

Maxine froze, looking up at him.

“I saw you with that weirdo who lives downstairs. Not my business, but... that’s some fucked-up shit. Guy’s not that young, lives with his mom, laughs like a maniac... I’ve had issues with him. Laughing at my customers in the elevator. Even laughed at me once. Almost shot his brains out, swear to God. He seems okay now, but trust me, you should be careful. Guy’s got problems, but maybe you can help. Fix him up a bit, stop him from scaring my customers with that laugh.”

Maxine didn’t know how to react. She wasn’t about to start defending Arthur, not after that elevator incident. She had her reasons for feeling guilty, but this wasn’t it.

"What I meant to says was, no offense, but maybe he could use your services. Blow some steam off"

Maxine wanted to laugh, but kept it serious.

“We were just talking,” she said, shrugging. “I don’t even know him. Not interested.”

“Okay. Just saying... keep an eye on him.”

“Fair enough. I’ll definitely take your advice. See you next time, thanks.”

“Sure, babe. Take care.”

Maxine’s stomach churned as she stepped out of that floor, fingers twitching in frustration. “How the fuck does he know about Arthur?” she thought. “What the hell is going on?”

She flipped him off as she stepped back into the filthy elevator, muttering under her breath. “Fuck you, fucker.”

That man really gave her something to think about. Did Arthur really live with his mom? Poor bastard, stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time, almost killed by those idiots. She didn’t want to think about it too much, but the thought lingered in her mind as she pressed the button for the 8th floor.

She needed to know more. Needed to fix this. And the guilt from earlier was eating at her.

The 8th-floor hallway greeted her with its usual griminess. Her heart was pounding now, but she kept moving, determined to find Arthur’s door.

It wasn’t unusual for Maxine to be in dangerous situations. After all, she used to be a journalist—her degree, her past, still clung to her. Danger was a language she spoke fluently, even if she didn’t like it. As a working girl, she knew how to deal with people. Knew what they were capable of. And the knife she always carried? It wasn’t for show.

But she couldn't. Not today. She turned back and headed home. She would just make things worse and she needed time to process what happened and have something of use to say to him. He was becoming her obsession and she needed to act carefully.

[acefaun]

Hi!🌹 Are you willing to write a fic, where Thorin falls in love with a girl, but the problem is she is half elf and half human, who resides in Dale before Smaug destroyed it? Years later he discovers her working in a pub and finally approaches her. The ending is up to you. 🙂💖✨

Thorin~ Pieces of a Puzzle.

Synopsis: Thorin falls in love with a half-elf and half-human girl who resided in Dale before Smaug destroyed it. Years later, they reunite in Lake-town where she’s working for a pub and he finally has the courage to approach her. 

🍃Masterlist🍃 Female MC! A/n: This was absolutely less dialogue than I’m used to, but I feel like it worked out. Sort of. I didn’t reread/reedit after writing this at a horrible time of morning. But I hope you like it anyway despite its flaws! 🥰

–Word Count: 1,788– 

He first met you when he was passing through Dale. It was a chance meeting, something that Thorin didn’t think much of. But at the time, he was simultaneously awestruck as he was taken aback. He had been under the impression that he would fall head over heels for another dwarf… but you were so beautiful—and you were no dwarf. 

Nay… You were the most magnificent being he’d ever laid eyes on. A half-breed… a half-human, half-elf. He should have turned away immediately, but he was enraptured with your grace. You seemed to be idly shopping, none aware of his royal presence in the city.

Frustrated with this odd predicament he found himself in, he turned, determined to, even faster, make his way back to his kingdom under the mountain. 

He was hell-bent on neglecting these sudden feelings, it was what was best. He was a prince, after all. Romanticizing such an impossible relationship with a commoner was… well… beneath him. 

It was supposed to be beneath him…

But somehow you seemed to consume his thoughts. As a resident of Dale, it made sense that he would never be too far from you. Still, how was it possible that he would continue to catch glimpses of you during his trips through the city? Was it a deliberate twist of fate to continuously meet with you, or was it simply a trick of his love-struck eye? 

It couldn’t be trickery… not when he first meets you up close and within arms reach. It might’ve seemed like a passing glance, where the two of you locked eyes for the longest few seconds of his life, but it tugged at his heart strings. Unable to escape his feelings after this fleeting meeting with you, he acted on his feelings as only a dwarven prince would. With the sense of longing that plagued his chest, he would send you gifts and treasures that he personally thought would compliment you. Though, in his mind, no stone or gem or treasure could outshine you, nor the way the light reflected in your eyes as if your eyes themselves were crafted deep within the depths of the earth. 

Likely, it was obvious where the gifts were coming from… After all, where else could such precious stones be coming from? The jewelry? The sudden gold coin? While it might have seemed like a bit of an overreaction from your one encounter, that was exactly how he wanted it. He wasn’t a prince if he wasn’t showering his love interest with the best. Besides, it was in a dwarf's nature to display the most beautifully crafted stones and gems to a potential partner. Well… this was, as he said, just a passing infatuation. 

Still, it was necessary. Would you be so bold as to desire another man when you had Prince Thorin’s attention? 

Absolutely not. It was unthinkable.

So, there went his plans of neglecting his feelings and ignoring your presence in dale. He made sure it was fairly inconspicuous, of course. He wouldn’t want to draw any unwarranted attention your way, the same as he wouldn’t want his father or grandfather getting involved. This was purely a personal affair. If he chose to low-key court a half-elf-human without actually making anything official, then that was his decision as prince.

Besides, it wasn’t like he ever got a chance to truly meet with you and see you before… the unthinkable happened. How were they supposed to know a dragon would come and destroy all they held dear? Their home… brought to its knees before the great and terrible dragon, Smaug. 

He recalled briefly stressing over your safety, but there were many other things for the young prince to place his attention on. His Kingdom was in shambles and needed his attention and tending to, first and foremost.

Over time, what felt like a great many years, Thorin was sure to forget his fleeting fancy for you, the beautiful elven-human that was just beyond his reach for so long. He was sure such would be the case, not to mention, he was positive you would scorn both he and his family name for bringing such a dragon to your homeland, destroying everything in sight.

These thoughts briefly flickered through his mind’s eye, as he and his company returned to the lonely mountain. Many feelings stirred in his chest the night before their mission to retake Erebor. There was a lot riding on his shoulders, and he now had the full support of not only his company, but also the small town of Lake-town. 

He thought nothing of it… until he saw you again, someone who had evaded his busy thoughts for quite some time. All at once, his feelings seemed to rush back to him as he realized everything that rode on this quest of his. 

He hadn’t expected to see you here at this celebration, of course, but it did him well to see you doing well for yourself. You were in attendance, invited by the Master of Lake-town, a caterer serving from the best pub in all of Lake-town. After all, the Master would have nothing but the best for the dwarves, soon to make Lake-town a great civilization beneath the foot of the mountain again. 

During this celebration, however, Thorin found his feelings winning over, and for the first time since laying eyes on you all those years ago, he took this opportunity to speak with you. A lot was bound to happen over the course of the next few days… He wasn’t about to squander what could be his last opportunity. 

When he first asked to speak with you, however, things were awkwardly silent. Well, that was more-so because you were both lost in each other’s eyes, each waiting for the other to speak first. Regardless, Thorin was the one to call you there and he would speak first. “I’m sure you don’t need my admiration spelled out… You’ve been in my thoughts near constantly. Ever since that day I saw you in Dale…” He trailed off, his eyes showing much more than his words ever could. He didn’t want to bring up the past. Thorin had to focus on now, on the present. This was something he could control. But he only found himself asking, “How have you been?”

“Well,” you timidly answered. You thought about how this interaction might one day occur, but this wasn’t how you saw it happening. After the desolation of your home, you disregarded your thoughts of Thorin as nothing more than a fantasy, something from your past that would never be regarded again. Yet, here he was, finally speaking with you. After a tired sigh, you continued, “I’ve been better than most, but poorer than some.”

This was good news, he had to admit. It seemed that all his time adorning you with fine jewels served you well during your time after the crisis. His admiration and actions of the time didn’t go with regrets. “I am glad to hear that. Your well-being is important to me… I often thought of how you fared whilst I was away.” 

Of course, he did… you thought of him too, though you wouldn’t admit it in so many words. After a tense pause, you brought up the subject that seemed to be the elephant in the room. “Do you really intend to go and face the dragon with that little hobbit?”

“I do.” 

There was a lack of hesitation in his voice… something that scared you. It had been years since your fantasies of being with the dwarf prince were laid to rest with the dragon under the mountain. Here, with him standing before you, those feelings and fleeting fantasies were at your doorstep once again. 

“I heard the legends…” You spoke, a hint of desperation in your tone. You genuinely were frightened, and rightfully so, with the stories you’d heard—he’d heard them too. “Many say that the dragon may have already gone or passed but… I don’t believe them. I can’t- You can’t afford to treat this so carelessly. We’ve already lost our homes once; we’re not prepared to do that again…” You paused. “And… I… I don’t want you to leave again.” You had waited too long, and this chance was presenting itself to you. 

This prince seemed like he would do anything for his people and his home. It was a noble effort, but you had lost too much to let him slip through your fingers when you had a chance to stop the worst from happening. 

Worst of all, the small, reassuring smile that crossed his lips made the ache in your chest grow all the more bittersweet and painful. Quietly, between the two of you, he promised, “I will do all that I can to make sure that doesn’t happen. A story is just a story… A prophecy is just a prophecy. I’ll do everything in my power to protect you and reclaim Erebor.”

He was determined, and though it hurt you on the inside, this was what you found yourself loving about the young dwarf prince. Why a dwarf? You’ll never know. Maybe it was their stubbornness, maybe it was their determination to so fiercely follow their hearts and do what they believed to be right. 

Regardless, you had to smile in return. You had to support him with all your heart. But more than that… you had to give him an incentive to be careful, and a reason to come back. “I’ll be waiting with high hopes…” you said, gently caressing his cheek in a sign of affection. “For you to succeed, or to return alive.” Your chest ached in pain; you didn’t want to imagine him forfeiting his life for an impossible future.

All you wanted was for Thorin to choose whichever outcome would be more favorable in the end.

[amuhav]

     “What do you mean, ‘everything’? Mist, what’s wrong?”      The line went quiet for a while, then Mist let out another reluctant sigh. “It’s just, I feel like I’ve talked to all of you more over the phone in the last few months than in person the eighteen years living at home. But every time, it’s like... I get each of your problems splurged at me in the space of an hour, then I just have to go to class with it all in my head.”      Loch’s stomach dropped. “Shit, Mist, I didn’t mean—”      “Not just you,” she cut him off desperately. “All of you. Okay, less so Riv, because I think he forgets he even has a phone half the time. But even so, he didn’t call for months, then dropped his engagement and wedding news on me and threw a strop when I couldn’t drop everything at short notice.”      Her words began spilling out with little space between, laced with more and more emotion.      “And Bay, with Sylvie’s whole immigration trouble and Heaven making his life difficult. And Sky, with her pregnancy and worrying if she’ll make a good mum or if you’ll even want to be part of the twins’ lives, or if Amir will be okay without his best friend, or now that his brother showed up out of nowhere. River being mad at Mum and Dad for saying they might not make the wedding or even caring to get to know Chad, and since I’m the only one that officially knows I’m sure I’ll have to hear all about their pregnancy and parenting fears too. And I thought coming here and focusing on my future career would distract me but I’m just becoming more and more aware that I may never be a normal girl that gets to fall in love and have a family and do all the things you all get to worry about—”      There was a loud beeping, and Mist cursed under her breath. Loch heard her moving, and then something slam on a counter or desktop.      “And now this stupid watch needs charging again because I forgot to take it off when I got home last night, and I didn’t sleep all night because I handed my assignment in with only five minutes to spare even though I finished it hours before but forgot about it because stupid Lukas somehow still wants a date with me even though I’m clearly a mess, but then again he hasn’t seen me without this stupid fucking watch, so what the hell am I even supposed to do with that? Keep pretending I’m normal, I guess, until he works it out, just like I’m supposed to pretend I’m fine while you all bitch and moan in my ear about each other and your goddamn problems because none of you can just fucking talk! OW!”

|<Previous | Beginning | Next>| 

[kallie-den]

Hunting Hound Part Three

Leinth finds her place at Handler's side

Part One | Part Two

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Nothing makes Leinth Aritimis feel good the way being saddled up in the cockpit of a huge mech suit does.

Except ‘good’ isn’t the right word at all. Leinth isn’t sure what would be. She doesn’t know how to describe the knife-edge, stomach-churning, nauseous thrill she feels as she sits in Genetor’s cockpit. It’s a superposition of guilt and vindication, threatening, at any moment, to crystallize into either one, and Leinth is constantly, achingly aware of just how narrow the tightrope she walks is.  She doesn’t know the name for a feeling like that. She just knows that she needs it. Leinth is long past mere addiction.  This feeling, as much as blood, is what flows through her veins. It keeps her alive. That was a hard lesson to learn, but she’s learnt it well. She won’t forget.

In exchange, there are so many other things she’s had to unlearn. Her whole life. Leinth often thinks it’s all gone, but somehow, each day, there’s more to lose. More to change. More to reframe and reinterpret. She has two lives now, but one is true, while the other is merely real. It’s confusing. Leinth can barely carry all that weight. Fortunately, Handler is always there to help.

Leinth trusts Her, of course. How could she not?

She even gave Genetor back to her. Genetor, repaired and refitted with Imperial tech. It stands ever so slightly taller and darker and prouder than before, and Leinth can pilot it, even if she doesn’t deserve to. Since she’s unworthy, she pays special care as she descends the steep slope into the Corlu Valley. Leinth doesn’t deserve any more second chances, not from anybody. A mech could easily lose footing on the loose shale and go crashing into the mountainside, but even a walking fortress like Genetor can be delicate in the right hands. Hell, with a pilot like Leinth, it can even be stealthy.

As the dawn just begins to break, the Corlu Valley is filled with rad-saturated fog. Looking down into it from the surrounding peaks, what you see is more like a lake than a valley. It feels that way, too, when you’re walking through it, and the visibility out of the viewports is almost non-existent. This dirty shit even plays havoc with sensors. Leinth finds herself jumping at shadows sometimes as the fog shifts and billows in unnatural formations. Fog isn’t supposed to move like that. It just blows gently with the wind as it settles down amongst the mountains.

Problem is, mechs like Genetor are mountains that move. And it’s not the only one down here.

Leinth is out hunting. They have intel and they can’t make too much noise on the way in, so there’s no one at her side. None of those unnervingly uniform, blackclad, Imperial Doru mechs Leinth has been getting used to fighting with. It’s a solo mission… almost. And she’s closing in on the designated position. If their intel is right, she’s only a mile or so away from them.

The enemy. The… who? Leinth frowns. She tries not to think about that part. Handler told her she doesn’t have to. But it still doesn’t sit quite right. She can’t help the stray worries that fog her head and turn her thoughts into a messy swarm of doubts. Handler says that’s OK too. She says Leinth just isn’t quite finished yet. She’s so kind.

Leinth reaches up and scratches a little at her muzzle.

“I’m in position,” she croaks into her radio as she brings Genetor to a halt and opens up a channel. “No contact.”

Good. Hold tight.

Leinth sits bolt upright, on the edge of her seat. Just those three words have her at attention, electrified - and all because it’s Her. Her voice. The voice of Leinth’s God. So she has to listen, every part of her, even the doubts and fears and rebellious instincts. Like the feeling of being within Genetor, it’s not all good. Leinth feels as much hate for Handler as she does love - but that’s not such a contradiction anymore. You can hate God and you can love God. It doesn’t change anything. Not what She is. Not what Leinth is.

Handler will love her all the same.

Leinth hates that Her voice reminds Leinth what she is. A sinner. An animal. That knowledge boils within her breast. Leinth feels herself stir and get hard. And she’s salivating so bad she’s actually drooling a little. All conditioned reflexes. It’s humiliating. It makes her angry. But she loves that even over the radio, Handler’s voice promises release. The gift only She can give.

But that’s for later. For now, Leinth needs to focus on the mission. And that means she needs to ask about her. The other one.

“Is she ready?” Leinth has to choke out the pronoun. The feelings that thinking about her summons are like bile.

Not yet. Still on the approach.

Leinth is first. She grins behind her muzzle. A small victory, but it still counts. They all count.

In this case, though, winning means sitting and waiting. Leinth doesn’t care for that. It’s not safe for her. Waiting means thinking. Thinking means temptation. If Leinth sits and waits for too long, she’ll find herself tempted to reach for something forbidden: her freedom.

Leinth has seen every inch of the rebuilt Genetor, inside and out, which is why she knows there’s no contingency plan. No hidden lockout or remote override. There is absolutely nothing to stop Leinth from marching her mech down into the valley, alerting the… enemy, switching sides, and repaying against Handler every little bit of the pain and torture Leinth has herself suffered.

She squirms. Just the thought is blasphemous. She’ll need to be punished later. More drool.

Only, what would happen if she did betray Handler? Most likely, the enemy would never trust her. She’s far too compromised. Oh, they’d make use of her intel as best they could - but then they’d lock her up for the rest of her days. Or worse, they’d execute her.

Leinth can’t handle the thought of that. It would be too kind.

And what if they believed her? Trusted her? Gave her a second chance? Then, things could be just like before - just like they had been before she fell, in the part of her life Leinth barely remembers. She could pilot Genetor on that side again. Fight the good fight once more. She’d be a hero again. A greater hero than ever, surely. The one who came back. The one who redeemed herself, and gave them all of Handler’s secrets. Before long, they’d have her face on the recruitment posters instead of Sartha’s.

And through it all, no matter what, they’d never know who she really is. They’d never know the weight of what she’s done, and the penance it demands. They’d never be able to forgive her.

No. Only Handler can do that. Leinth’s course is set.

She squeezes Genetor’s controls so tight her knuckles ache as she daydreams these useless, stillborn dreams.

Thanks to that, Leinth is ready to move at the first sound of artillery. An instant after the dull roar echoes off the mountain walls, the fog before Genetor parts in a spiral as the shell barrels toward her. Leinth reacts in time - but not to dodge. Genetor isn’t built that way. It’s built to take the hits. Leinth just raises an arm and lets the mass deflectors built into the mech’s structure absorb all the force and fire of the shell’s explosion.

Genetor shudders violently for a moment, but quickly stabilizes as the attitude control systems kick in. Within the cockpit, Leinth grins. Old instincts are coming to life. She knows exactly what to do. She knows she’ll win - and if she doesn’t, it’ll be a mercy.

It’s then that Leinth feels her footing beginning to slip underneath her. Her grin fades. She needs to focus. The earth beneath Leinth’s feet is beginning to collapse, and the only way for a mech as huge and unwieldy as Genetor not to go down is to let momentum keep it upright. That means heading in only one direction. Forward. Down.

Towards them.

Leinth brings her weapons to bear and snarls behind her muzzle. Where is she, damn it? This was supposed to be an ambush. There’s no telling how the enemy spotted her. Maybe Leinth fucked up. Maybe the plan was bad. Maybe it was just an unlucky patrol or sensor sweep.

Doesn’t matter now. Leinth is fighting for her life.

“I’m made,” Leinth hisses into the radio. “Engaging prey. Tell her to hurry the fuck up.”

She’s close. Again, Handler’s voice is magic. It turns Leinth into frozen steel. She regrets the instinctive profanity. If you need her, that is.

Leinth growls something fierce. Handler makes it sound like a perfectly neutral comment, but Leinth recognizes when her pride is being stoked. Doesn’t make it any less effective. But she doesn’t talk back, not to Handler.

Four shapes emerge from the fog as Leinth descends the valley’s slopes. An elite team. They’re who Leinth is supposed to be hunting. But four against one, without the advantage of surprise - those are long odds.

As Genetor crashes to a halt on level ground, two of them start to climb the slopes around Leinth. Before they can complete the flank, she picks one of the others, pushes Genetor’s motive plant into the red, and charges.

It’s funny. Leinth never used to fight like this. She was calmer. More methodical. That time, in the ruins, against Ancyor, she wondered how it was possible to make a machine seem so bestial. But now she has it too. That animal edge. She’s never been more dangerous behind the controls.

And Genetor is well-suited for it. It’s faster than people think - especially now. A few long, lurching steps is all it takes to close the gap. At the last possible moment, Leinth opens up with Genetor’s cannons and missile pods. She hopes she’s guessing the float time right. Her life depends on it.

The cannon shots go wide, unsurprisingly. That just leaves CQ. Leinth draws her chain hawk. Her opponent does the same with their saber. Here it is.

You! the other pilot howls over an unscreened channel, as their blades make contact and the whole valley seems to shake with clashing iron. Traitor!

Leinth flinches. She can’t help it. They always say that, and it always gets to her. She tries not to listen. Her axe swings are slow, relatively, but each one could take out a building. Her opponent needs to respect that, and does. They retreat. Leinth keeps moving forward. Down. Away from the rest of the squad.

How’d they get to you, Leinth? There’s bitter laughter, distorted by static. Can’t have paid you too fucking much if you’re still piloting.

That makes Leinth whine. It’s not about money. Was never about money. She longs to tell them. They deserve, at least, to know that she was never really one of them. She was a poison pill, forcing herself down their throats. She ruined one hero. She’d do the same to them all, in time. Why don’t they get it? It’s just better this way.

C’mon, how? The other pilot demands, as they riposte, taking a chunk out of Genetor’s shoulder. At least the machinery there is redundant - mostly. Don’t tell me you’re a true believer. Not you.

Leinth isn’t; that bothers her. What does she believe in? It’s strange how it hasn’t occurred to her in a very long time that there’s more at stake here than the psychodrama of her own soul. There’s a war going on out there, but that’s been out of view. Beyond what she deserves, why would she be fighting on this side? She doesn’t want them to win, does she?

They must have some sweet fucking perks, over there, Leinth’s opponent spits. That’s my bet. Better girls. Nicer quarters. Hot meals. Better than squatting in holes like a rebel rat. Am I right?

Rebels. Not just enemies. Rebels. That’s who Leinth is fighting against. The cause she used to be part of. She’s still moving forward. Down. Chain hawk still swinging in Genetor’s titanic hand. But her stomach feels like it’s being turned upside down.

For the first time in what feels like forever, it dawns on Leinth that she could just… not fight. She could take her hands off the controls, and let whatever happens happen. And why not? What would be so wrong with that? It seems nice, in a way. Peaceful. Maybe.

Leinth hesitates, and with that, she’s fucked. Her opponent is no rookie. A single opening is all they need. They reverse momentum in the span of a heartbeat, and suddenly their saber is coming straight at Genetor’s center of mass.

Then, the stars overhead fall out of the sky.

To her credit, Leinth nailed the float time. The distance too. When the missiles fall around her opponent like rain, they seem to come from nowhere. Part of that’s the projectile size. They’re small chaff rockets, meant for active defense. Against a mech, they won’t do more than disorient; against a good pilot, not even that. The rebel Leinth’s fighting doesn’t even flinch. They’re determined to make their strike hit home.

But Leinth doesn’t need them to flinch. She just needs to deploy Genetor’s stabilizer pylons for a moment while the mountainside collapses all around them.

From the intel, Leinth knows this terrain is just as foreign to the rebel team as it is to her, and Leinth has learned quickly how perilous it can be. When the shale splinters and shatters beneath her opponent, they’re not ready for it. They topple forward, and now, under gravity, their own mech’s bulk is their enemy. 

The rebel crashes hard, right on their front. Mechs like these don’t get up easy, especially not on this kind of terrain, but they start scrambling for a footing immediately. Leinth’s piloting instincts take hold again. She retracts her stabilizing pylons, walks forward, and stamps on the rebel mech’s leg.

Genetor is a fortress. Under its immense weight, the leg simply splits in two. The stump is a gory ruin of sparking wires and leaking hydraulic fluid. No getting up now.

But down doesn’t mean out. A fallen mech still has weapons. It’s still dangerous. That’s why Leinth needs to finish off her prey before the others are in position. She raises her axe over her head, ready to deliver the coup de grâce.

She hesitates again.

Why? Why do this? To win Handler’s blessing? To earn Her forgiveness? Perhaps, but what sense does it make to commit yet another sin for that cause? Doesn’t she already have enough on her ledger? Leinth knows, of course, that you need to sink in order to rise. If she won’t make herself do terrible things, there’s nothing to forgive - and forgiveness is everything. But… is that all her life will be? Misdeed after misdeed, all at Her command; a great hamster wheel of karma that she’s left running until she’s spent. Why do that? What’s the point?

For a single moment, Leinth achieves clarity. She sees that the control is the point. Nothing more. Whatever sick love Handler has for her is predicated on that. It’s fake. This is an unending purgatory; an Escher painting hell that Handler has crafted out of Leinth’s traumatized psyche. She can only be free if she stops. Now.

But then she comes. Sartha.

Ancyor falls from the fog overhead like a descending comet. Sartha must have leapt from some precipice a hundred feet above. The impact pulverizes the treacherous rock beneath Genetor’s feet, throwing her wildly off-balance and sending a spray of shattered pebbles in all directions.

Any pilot would lose control after a crash landing like that. Probably pass out from the shock, too. But somehow, Sartha Thrace doesn’t. She lands like the side of the mountain is nothing more than a springboard, and rebounds straight toward Leinth’s fallen foe. Ancyor’s engines howl as it extends its claws and buries them, all at once, into the mech’s cockpit. Then it rips.

The mech that was lunging at Leinth just seconds earlier comes apart in a wet shower of reactor coolant and superheated oil.

Even for a pilot of Leinth’s experience, it’s one hell of a fucking spectacle. Enough to stun her out of her previous train of thought. Before that moment of clarity slips away from her, though, she’s filled with a terrible sorrow, and gripped with the urge to train her weapons on Ancyor. To set Sartha free the only way she still can.

Then Sartha says something that sweeps all of that away.

One, she counts over the radio, in a low, smug growl that could have been either one of them.

Suddenly, all that Leinth felt before is gone, replaced with a vicious, petty jealousy. That was her prey. Her kill. Hers. Leinth took her down. It should be her tally.

But… does Handler know that?

“That was mine!” Leinth insists furiously. All of that stuff about control and trauma, it’s all forgotten. She needs the kill credit. She needs Handler to see what she’s done.

You were slow, Sartha tells her. It must be Sartha, Leinth decides. Still on the leash. She sounds just a hair too much like her old self. Like a hero lecturing a rookie, despite the absurd unworthiness of the argument

“I put her down,” Leinth snarls, “while you were blundering around in the fog!”

As they argue, they bring their mechs about to face their pursuers. The pendulum has already swung. Three against two now. And there’ll be no retreating, not now the rebels have lost one of their own.

I was following the plan, Sartha retorts. But you got spotted. I had to improvise.

The only reply Leinth has for her is a vicious growl that leaves loops of spittle drooling from the bars of her muzzle. Her head is getting dangerously fuzzy. Being around Sartha always does that to her. Once again, she can’t quite figure out what she wants.

She wants to punish Sartha. She wants Sartha to punish her. She wants Handler to punish them both. She wants Handler to forgive her.

Leinth headbutts the side of her cockpit in self-destructive frustration. It’s all mixed up. But… she has to be good. She has to be better. She knows that much. She has to win. Because what’s the point, if Handler won’t smile at her and mess her hair and tell her she’s done well?

That’s all Leinth lives for.

Why did she hesitate? Why did she fucking hesitate? Why does this all have to be so confusing?

Leinth? Are you alright?

Handler’s voice brings as much shame as comfort this time. She must have noticed the way Leinth is slipping. Hot tears well up in Leinth’s eyes. After all this time, she still can’t stop fucking up. It’s pitiful. She doesn’t deserve anything. Her vision is blurred and streaked as she tries to focus on the monitor in Genetor’s cockpit. She can barely tell Ancyor and the rebels apart.

“I… I-I…” she chokes out. She can’t hide it.

It’s OK, Handler promises. Leinth sobs, because she knows it is. Handler never lies to her. Do you want me to save you now?

“Yes!” Leinth seizes on that like she’s drowning. She’s never needed that sweet salvation quite so bad. “Yes. Please. Please. Yesyesyes.”

Mercifully, Handler doesn’t drag it out. She’s the kind of God that never lets you down.

Leinth. Sartha. Off The Leash.

Leinth feels her implosion happen in real-time. In that brief moment, she understands why it’s always so hard. It’s because there’s nothing at the heart of her. Not anymore. Handler stuck her fingers in her head and scooped it all out. Now she’ll always be empty. She should hate Handler for it, but she loves Her instead because Handler is the only way she’ll ever feel full again.

Full of love. Full of purpose. Full of pride. Leinth Aritimis may have ceased to be a real person, but there’s something left in the ruins of her personhood. Something animal and angry and oh-so very loyal to the master that holds her leash. In her last moments, the tears in Leinth’s eyes become joyful. It’s such a relief to let go of it all, and be the beast instead.

Leinth Artimis goes away, and Hound wakes up.

Leinth-Hound is young and immature, to be sure, but that just means she’s filled with an untested pup’s eagerness. Briefly, she regards the carcass of her prey and snarls at her packmate for stealing the prize of the kill. It’s not fair, but there’s no time to settle that now. Sartha-Hound is still one of hers. That’s what a pack is. And those rebels? They’re the other side. They’re for hunting.

The nascent Leinth-Hound guns Genetor’s motive plant in a way she’d never normally dare, right to its screaming limit. Explosive bolts light up like fireworks all over, and armor plates go flying into the fog, exposing emergency vents, specially designed and already white-hot. Leinth-Hound isn’t worried. She knows this iron body as well as she does her own. She knows it can take it.

Now, when Genetor moves forward, it’s not a fortress. It’s a thunderbolt. They don’t see it coming. But Sartha-Hound does; Ancyor is right at her side, moving in preternatural synchronicity. In moments like these, they don’t need to talk or plan. They’re animals. Their pack instinct speaks louder than words ever could. They are Handler’s perfect weapons, and they won’t let her down.

As fast as Genetor is now, Ancyor is faster still. Sartha-Hound uses the speed well, blitzing around a flank and picking the first target. By the time Leinth-Hound is upon them, there’s nowhere to go. Hammer and anvil. Unstoppable. The killing begins not long after.

Three against two. It was never going to be close.

***

Dismounting Genetor after it lumbers back into its hangar berth feels like emerging from a deep, timeless sleep. Not a restful one, though. Leinth’s heart quickens anxiously as she surveys the mess that’s been made of her pride and joy. Stripped paint, ashen blast-scars, jagged wounds in the armor, and… could that be blood?

Leinth hopes not, but the flashes she remembers of the battle make her tremble. She tries not to think about it. Instead, she does exactly what she’s been told, and looks for Her.

The hangar is a vast space, a chasm-like monument to the war machines that demand such excessive facilities. Looking up and trying to focus on the ceiling, so far above, makes Leinth’s eyes ache. In here, a person is no more than an ant and, unhelpfully, the hangar is swarming with them - mechanics, engineers, pilots from other teams. It looks like another cohort is returning to base at the same time as Leinth and Sartha. A small army is being disgorged into the hangar in order to see to refueling, repairing, rearming. It’s hard to pick out just one person amongst all that.

But Leinth’s ears soon prick up at the distinctive sound of those heavy boots clacking against the concrete.

As Handler approaches, Sartha leaps from cockpit of her Ancyor and lands just next to Leinth. The two mechs share a berth, just a little way apart from the others. A healthy separation. Leinth flashes Sartha a resentful look. She remembers enough to know that Sartha screwed her over. This isn’t the time or place to hash that out, though. Not in front of Handler. Leinth will just have to hope that She has the wisdom to see past it.

Leinth reaches up and adjusts her muzzle ever so slightly. She needs to be perfect in Her eyes.

Handler looks perfect, as always. There are no wrinkles in Her coat or blemishes on Her leathers. Her boots are perfectly clean, despite the oil and metal powder all over the ground. Every last long, pale hair on Her head is immaculate. Leinth remembers how, at first, she wondered how it was possible for a person to be so inhumanly composed. It seemed impossible. Miraculous.

Now she knows a little more. She knows that both she and Sartha labor for hours every night, polishing boots and tending to leather. Sometimes She even permits them to brush Her hair. But the weary knowledge of the service involved doesn’t make it any less miraculous. Gods have their followers. It’s just the way of things.

“Sartha,” Handler says as She approaches, looking between them. Assessing them. “Leinth. You did well. I’m pleased.”

Leinth closes her eyes and just lets that wash over her. For a moment, it cleanses her of all the shame of hesitation and all the frustration of being bested. All the guilt, too, which is most important thing of all. Leinth tries her very best to stretch that moment out into an eternity, counting all her heartbeats and the spaces in between. She knows, now, again, that she did the right thing. This is right where she’s supposed to be. No one but Handler could ever make her feel like this.

She’s smiling. Her face hurts from it. Leinth doesn’t care how stupid her dumb grin looks. Handler’s praise is worth more than any dignity. It helps to know that, standing right beside her, Sartha is smiling the very same smile. She doesn’t even mind the crowd that’s gathering around the three of them - at a respectful distance, of course. Pilots and mechanics alike, all smirking. They seem poised. Eager.

“Especially you, Leinth,” Handler says, and Leinth can barely believe her luck. Nothing has ever felt sweeter in her ears. There are tears in her eyes. “This is the first time I’ve needed to send you so far away from me. But you didn’t lose sight of what matters. You’re becoming a wonderful hound.”

“T-thank you, sir,” Leinth bleats in a small, girlish voice. She has to choke down on a sob. It’s all she’s ever wanted, even if she never knew it.

And now there’s a delicious little edge to the joy; she can hear a wounded, envious little rumble coming from Sartha’s throat. Perfect.

Before it’s ruined.

“Now,” Handler says expectantly to Leinth. “What’s your tally this time?”

Leinth’s blood runs cold. She was hoping that, on an unusual mission like this, Handler’s normal rules wouldn’t apply. She was wrong. She’ll have to face the consequences.

For just a brief moment, Leinth considers lying. Claiming the one Sartha stole out from under her. But that’s the kind of sin even she doesn’t get to commit, and so the ugly, bitter truth forces its way out of Leinth’s trembling lips.

“One.”

Just one, cored through with a solid round from Genetor at damn near point-blank range. A hell of a shot for most pilots, given that cannon’s heft and recoil. But for Leinth, it changes nothing. One is one. It’s not enough.

“I see,” Handler replies evenly. “And you, Sartha?”

“Three.” Sartha can say it proudly, with her chest puffed out. She’s won.

Leinth hates her for that. Truly hates her. For the pride she must feel, and the reward she’ll receive. It’s mutual, she knows. Once, Sartha was Handler’s only hound, and then the reward was always hers. Now it’s split, decided each time by competition. But Sartha usually wins, and Leinth overflows with resentment for her. Only Handler’s presence keeps the urge to lunge at her suppressed.

Then, moments later, the backlash. The cold flush of shame that howls at her for daring to feel even one little bit of anger or hate for Sartha Thrace. Did Leinth forget? Did she lose sight of the reason they’re here? Leinth made Sartha this way. It’s her fault - all her fault. She doesn’t deserve to hate.

But she does anyway. Once again, Leinth is reminded of just how low and vile she is. The abasement feels good, in a twisted kind of way. It’s freeing. There are no pretenses here. But it makes Leinth itch too. She needs Hander. She needs those magic words.

“I see,” Handler says again. “You know what that means, don’t you? Sartha has won.”

Leinth nods her head, ever so slightly. There’s no sense in denying it. No sense in being angry at Handler. She speaks with judgment’s impartial voice. That doesn’t mean Leinth needs to enjoy what happens next, of course.

“Sartha.” Handler beckons the other hound forward. “It’s time for your prize. Sit.”

Sartha takes one overeager step forward and then drops like a rock. She kneels like it’s her rightful place. She bends forward, pressing close to Handler, head so low her muzzle is almost scraping along the ground.

“Good hound.” Handler rests her hand on Sartha’s head and starts to pet. There’s a thin smile on her face - cruel, yes, but Leinth doesn’t mind, when she’s smiling at her. God can be cruel. “Good hound.”

Even from behind, Leinth can hear the ecstatic little whimper that erupts from Sartha. She’s in heaven. Who wouldn’t be?

All Leinth can do is watch, as every kind of bitterness curdles in her gut. As every cell in her body yearns to trade places. All those other pilots and mechanics are watching too. Laughing.

“Would you like your treat?” Handler asks Sartha.

“Y-yes, sir.” Sartha’s voice is trembling from the sheer thrill of the moment. She was a hero, once. It’s hard to believe that now. “Yes, sir. Please. P-please.”

Her eyes are fixed on a single spot. It’s the same place Leinth would be looking, if their positions were reversed.

Handler’s boots.

“Oh, this?” Handler makes a point of extending one foot forward. Her smile widens. “You want this?”

Sartha nods rapidly. She’s an overexcited child. “Yes. Yyyyes. Sir.”

Slurring her words. It’s undeniably pathetic. The entire watching crowd clearly thinks so. But yes, a hero, once. Until Leinth.

“Very well,” Handler says, with benevolent gravitas. “Good hounds get rewards, and you’ve been good. Sartha, Off The Leash.”

The words aren’t for Leinth so they don’t draw her under their power, but she still trembles at their force. Watching them work their way through Sartha is a terrible thing. For a moment she goes limp and sags, like she’s completely crumbling, and what comes alive within her after a mere instant has an unmistakably different presence; she’s hunched, hackles up, heaving with each panted breath as her tongue lolls, dog-like, out of her mouth. The new presence is dangerous, but not right now. She’s too caught up in adoration of her master.

It’s Hound. Sartha’s Hound.

“Good,” Handler says softly. She glanced down at Her extended boot. “Now go.”

Sartha-Hound shuffles forward in a frenzy, needy for her reward. As quickly as she can manage, she wraps around Handler’s leg, presses herself against Her boot, and starts to grind. The first sound out of her throat, loud even in the hangar, is a gratified moan so wild and pure it makes even the watching crowd of Imperials blush. It’s clear that she’s been yearning for this, and the yearning has made it all the sweeter.

This - humping the boot of the woman who broke her - is Sartha Thrace’s highest pleasure.

It’s Leinth’s too, of course. But she’s denied it. She didn’t win. Now, as Handler turns Her attention to Leinth, she braces herself.

It’s not that Handler wants to hurt her, of course. It’s just that Leinth needs to understand that she can do better.

Take your medicine, Leinth.

“You know what to do, Leinth.” Handler’s small smile fortifies her. “They’re waiting for you. Off you go.”

“Yes, sir.”

Leinth nods and turns, and her cheeks fill with the color of shame as she heads toward the waiting crowd. Their eyes are all lurid and full of humor. Apparently, they used to be afraid of Handler and Her hounds. They still fear Handler, and they still hate Leinth and Sartha, but something happened, and the pair of hounds are entirely declawed in their eyes. The terms of the contest help with that. It ensures steady familiarization. They’re well-used to Leinth by now, after all her defeats, but that doesn’t make it any less of a spectacle when Leinth begins to strip.

Unlike Sartha, Leinth has always favored a standard-issue, green piloting jumpsuit, although she can’t resist keeping it unzipped to the waist and tied loosely around her hips. Gets too damn hot in the cockpit otherwise. But now, as around two dozen Imperials watch and leer, she tugs it down her legs and steps out of it after first kicking away her boots.

Someone wolf-whistles.

Beneath that, Leinth always wears a synthetic bodyskin that clings tight to her form, black and sleek. It’s not modest, but that’s what the jumpsuit’s for, and it helps monitor her vitals and keeps her from scraping her skin against the cockpit instruments when Genetor takes a big hit. It unfastens from the back of her neck, and there’s no way to take it off in front of people that doesn’t end up looking like a strip show. Leinth just tries to make it quick, as she unzips it down to her ass and peels it away from her physique.

She has no love for these people. She acknowledges that they’re her comrades now, but only because of Handler. Leinth is just doing this because it’s what She wants.

Once the bodyskin is tossed aside, Leinth is left in nothing but her underwear. Those go quickly, and then she’s completely naked. She tries to hide herself; Handler doesn’t care. It doesn’t help. Trying to cover her body with her hands just makes Leinth feel young and small and like it’s her first time in the girls’ locker room again.

It doesn’t help that the hangar is damn cold.

Hopefully, it’ll be over quick.

“Go ahead,” Handler calls out. Her voice is mixed with the sounds Sartha-Hound makes as she humps Her boot. She’s practically dripping through her pants now. “She’s all yours.”

This time, She isn’t talking to Leinth. She’s talking to the crowd.

They all salute their thanks to Handler before surging forward toward Leinth; a seething mass of dirty, petty, horny pilots and mechanics. Within moments, they’re all around her, pressing in, each one of them desperate for their chance to grab, grope, touch, slap. Whatever trepidation they once had regarding Sartha is plainly long gone. To them, Leinth is just meat. They have seen with her own eyes that she’s no longer the rebel ace whose face she shares.

But that doesn’t mean they can’t take out their resentments on her.

“Rebel bitch!” Leinth hears, as she’s pushed this way and that by the crowd crush. “Not such a fucking hero now, huh? Glad you know your fucking place.”

She hears it from all around her; worse, too, all kinds of insults and terms of abuse, in voices that are full of nothing but mockery and contempt. It’s not long before it’s all just an overwhelming, incoherent din - but somehow, still, Handler’s voice cuts through it all, clear and strong. And as ever, her words deliver sweet mercy.

“Leinth. Off The Leash.”

Now, perhaps more than ever, Leinth welcomes the oblivion. Ego death is salvation. With each part of her that falls away, the sheer humiliation of what’s happening to her burns just a little less. Leinth yearns to be less. To be nothing at all, maybe, so that nothing hurts, but even if that’s too far, she knows that diminishing will set her free. As quickly as the trigger word works, she can still feel it coming for just a heartbeat; the threshold of transformation. It’s like an orgasm. She closes her eyes and lets it take her.

Leinth Aritimis goes away, and Hound wakes up.

It’s not like Hound enjoys what’s happening. At least, not at first. Waking up is always a little confusing, and the crowd of people accosting Hound make no concessions to her confusion. Before she can get her bearings, Hound finds herself forced to her knees as her legs are swept away. She snaps and growls her complaints at the women closest to her, but they just laugh. It’s an empty threat, and they know it. She can’t bite, and not just because of the muzzle. It’s because Handler wouldn’t like that.

“Dumb mutt,” someone jeers. Must be someone who’s been around long enough to know what’s what. Hound whines.

“Come here, dog.”

Hound can barely see amongst all the bodies pressing in on her from all sides, but a moment later, as she turns her head cluelessly from side to side, she feels someone grab hold of her muzzle and pull her towards them. Then, suddenly, there’s a boot between her legs, forcing her thighs apart, so rough it’s all but kicking her as it grinds against her cock.

Hound whines again. People laugh. “This is what you want, right?” someone jeers. “Sick fuck.”

It’s not. Not even close. This is just a mockery of the reward Sartha-Hound is receiving. Leinth-Hound can’t hear her cries of pleasure over the din of the mob, but she can certainly imagine. She knows how good it feels. Not like this at all. Handler is special.

Even Her boot.

But, entirely against her wishes, Hound’s body is beginning to respond to this rough treatment. Anger surges within her as she notices it: the rising heat that tempts her hips to buck and threatens to turn her whines into something like moans. It’s irresistible. Handler likes her with a hair trigger. Hounds need to be keen. She can’t help but feel good.

She does hate it, though. Hates it bitterly. Hound has little concept of humiliation or dignity, but she does have the instinct to fight, claw, win, dominate. To lead the pack. This pleasure flies in the face of all that. Hound wants to lash out, but she can’t. She’s powerless. She has to submit.

And they know it. Worse, they notice.

“Bitch in heat,” someone sneers. Hound catches a glimpse as they bend down to squeeze and maul her tits. A female pilot. “God. You’re actually enjoying this.”

Hound whines again, but her voice betrays her. More laughter.

“Think all the rebels are like this?” asks another woman.

“Definitely,” replies yet another. “You can tell, they keep letting us fuck ‘em out there.”

Laughter from every direction.

“C’mon, already,” calls a different voice, terse and irritated. “I’ve been scrubbing out cockpits all day. I need some stress relief.”

The crowd around Hound heaves as someone pushes their way to the front. Only the wall of bodies around her keeps her from slumping to the ground. It’s unbelievably hot, and the smell of sweat and machine oil is inescapable.

“And get this stupid fucking thing off her face,” the mechanic spits. “I want to use that.”

Hound yelps in distress as she feels her muzzle being pulled away from her face. The leather strips, still bound tight, bite painfully around her head, but it’s more than that. The muzzle is Handler’s gift. She’s not allowed to remove it. Her face is wrong without it. But the woman assaulting her doesn’t care, and try as Hound might to lunge for her treasure, within moments it's borne aloft and away by the mob. Hound hears it clatter to the ground somewhere nearby.

There’s no time to dwell on that agony. In just another moment, Hound feels a fist in her hair, gripping tight. In the next, she’s being yanked forward, and her face is immediately pressed between a pair of strong, muscular thighs. The mechanic has shucked her clothes down to around her knees. Her intentions are clear.

“Lick, slut,” she demands.

Hound doesn’t want to, but she knows she’s supposed to obey. Even a moment’s hesitance might displease Handler. So, she buries her tongue into the mechanic’s cunt and starts to lap with all the eagerness she can muster. Her reward is that the mechanic squeezes down on her even tighter and starts filling the air with smug, breathy grunts of pleasure. The others coo enviously, and the grabbing and groping intensifies. Everyone wants a piece.

This is what Hound is now. Stress relief. She’s everyone’s toy.

And inevitably, she’s beginning to enjoy it. Hound’s instincts cut both ways. Wanting to fight for dominance is one thing, but this treatment is making the pecking order nice and clear. A bitch like Hound can’t help but accept it. Can’t help but embrace her place at the very bottom. Besides, it’s not like she doesn’t enjoy eating pussy. Soon, Hound’s cock is fully hard, and drooling all over the hangar floor.

A few people laugh at the display of submissive need. One woman reaches down and jerks Hound off a few times, lazily, making her howl with the pleasure of it.

Why not? It’s just another toy.

It’s not long before Hound feels herself grabbed, pulled back, away from the mechanic she was servicing. She can’t tell if they got to finish or not. It doesn’t matter. There’s already something new in her face: a hand, this time, fingers, pressing down on her tongue, making her drool all over herself, daring her to bite. Someone grabs her wrist and makes Hound extend her arm until her hand ends up wrapped around a cock. She catches a glimpse; it’s one of the female pilots who was mocking her earlier. Hound starts obediently jacking her off.

She’s a prisoner to the energy of the crowd now. She is what they want her to be. And she won’t be done until they’re all satisfied.

Hound quickly becomes delirious. She’s turned on and exhausted and there’s too much going on around her to keep track of, so she stops trying. Her world becomes a seemingly never-ending kaleidoscope of bodies and flesh. Laughter and moaning. The hand retreats from her mouth, and something else is inserted. At first, Hound thinks it’s a cock. Then she realizes it’s a toy they want her to lube up with drool as they force it down her throat. At some point, her other hand is forced between a woman’s thighs so she can ride her Hound’s fingers. Her ass is red and bruised from all the people that keep slapping it. Her cock twitches violently every time it’s touched, but nobody in the crowd wants to be the one who lets her come.

Hound just accepts it. All of it. Right now, that’s what her mouth is for. What her hands are for. What her body is for. She’s a toy, and a spectacle. Most of the people who can’t get close enough to touch her are masturbating at the sight of someone who used to be a rebel ace be so completely defiled. Amidst the havoc, Hound loses track of how many people she’s eaten out or sucked off.

At some point, she becomes aware of something damp and sticky plastered down her front and across her chest, and realizes those female pilots have been coming all over her.

Hound welcomes it. Her animal moans are getting louder and more desperate with each passing moment. It feels good, and even the parts that don’t are gratifying. This is her penance. Her personal harrowing. It’s right. It’s what she deserves, even if she yearns so very desperately to be in Sartha’s place instead.

Can Handler see her? Does Handler know how good she’s being? Is Handler pleased?

Suddenly, an unnatural hush descends over the crowd, little by little, washing in like the tide. People start pulling away from Hound, whispering urgently to one another. Hound lets out a little keening whine. She hasn’t finished. She hasn’t done her job yet.

Then she sees why everyone has gone cold on her. There’s an officer on deck.

Not just an officer. The woman walking out into the hangar is the commander of this entire facility: Phylax-General Athina Kynilandre. She cuts an unmistakable figure; on a base full of young pilots, her silver hair and timeworn face mark her out, and her dress uniform, with its medals and lapels, makes it clear that she is not a woman to be trifled with.

Nor is she a woman that people wish to see them gangbanging a brainwashed rebel pilot.

There’s a lot of coughing and looking aside and surreptitious uniform-fixing as she withers the crowd with her disapproving glare. There are no words of reprimand, though. Not for them. General Kynilandre has eyes only for Handler. As she approaches Her, Sartha-Hound finally takes notice. She looks like she’s about to growl a warning, before Handler stays her with a single gesture.

“Tell me,” General Kynilandre demands of Handler, “is this the kind of conduct your practices encourage?”

Handler salutes politely. She is completely self-assured, even now. “It has its place. I’ve sanctioned their behavior. I ask you not to punish them.”

“Hm.” The general’s face is a thin, stern line. It’s plenty clear that there’s only one person she’d like to punish. After a moment, she glances at Leinth. “I came here to receive your report. I’m to evaluate your… new approach.”

"Of course.” Handler takes this all completely in stride. She’d never let Her hounds down. “Asset Aritimis performed well in the field. I expect that her reconditioning will be complete soon, as Asset Thrace’s is. Everything is proceeding smoothly. I’m sure the results of their latest sorties speak for themselves.”

“I’m not,” General Kynilandre retorts. The distaste she holds for Handler is plain and palpable enough to raise Hound’s hackles. “I’ve been reviewing cockpit recorder transcripts. I see clear evidence of a lack of unit cohesion between your two pets. Overcompetitiveness, resentment, petty jealousy - these are traits we actively discourage in pilots. This ought to concern you. Doesn’t it?”

She means this to humble Her. Instead, Handler smiles wider than ever before. “No.”

General Kynilandre raises a furious eyebrow. “No?”

“That’s right.” Hander nods.

“Explain yourself,” the general demands. Handler’s laconic comments are pissing her off.

Handler pauses for a moment. Considers.

“You know, they’d gladly kill me,” Handler says. “ My hounds, I mean. If they could.”

The general’s eyes widen. She seems faintly astonished by the confession. Pleased, though. She thinks it’s something she can use.

“Not easily, of course,” Handler muses. “They’d agonize and they’d hesitate and they’d sob. I’m not sure what they’d be able to do afterward. They’d need the moment to be perfect. But if their hands were around my neck? Yes, I think they’d squeeze down with all their strength. They hate me, after all. Even Sartha.”

Hound is violently horrified. She feels like she’s going to throw up. She would never. Could never. She wants to scream her denial out loud, but Handler’s words hold her under a strange spell.

“It’s only natural,” Handler continues. “They need to hate something. Everybody does. It’s a fundamental drive. They can’t hate the rebels. Not truly. That would unbalance everything. And think of all I’ve taken from them. Who would they hate but me?”

“You make a strong case for terminating your initiative,” General Kynilandre rumbles. “Reliance on such an unstable element is unacceptable.”

“That’s individually,” Handler notes. “Unstable? Yes, maybe. Sartha, I believe, is close to perfect. My finest. But even with her, I couldn’t be completely certain.” She turns her gaze to Leinth-Hound. “Until now.”

“Get to the point.”

Handler isn’t to be rushed. Her genius deserves space. “Now that I have two of them, they don’t need to hate me. They can hate each other instead.”

“Absurd,” the general sneers. “What kind of pilot team hates each other?”

“One you can trust,” is Handler’s answer. “Trust perfectly. They will never betray me. Never let me down. If they did, the other would be proven the better hound. And they can’t bear the thought of that.”

Now General Kynilandre goes quiet. She’s beginning to see.

“Repression is never completely successful,” Hander explains. “Better, then, to provide them with an outlet. Their animosity, petty as it may seem, allows them to sublimate their violent urges towards me. It was surprisingly easy to engineer. To Sartha, Leinth is someone who asked too much of her - and now, an interloper on our relationship. To Leinth, Sartha is someone who let her down and over whom she feels unfathomably guilty - and now, a rival who hoards my affection.”

Handler licks her lips. There’s something deeply unwholesome creeping into her voice. A kind of pride, in something nobody should be capable of taking pride in. A pleasure, too. Everyone listening can hear it. If it was anyone else, they’d accuse her of perversions, but Handler seems so far beyond that. She’s never touched Sartha or Leinth that way - unlike most of them. But all the same, it’s undeniable.

Handler enjoys her work. She enjoys it very much.

“Thanks to this dynamic, they strive like never before.” Hander isn’t just proud of herself. She's proud of her hounds too. Maybe that’s even creepier. “You will have seen their piloting metrics, general? They tell the whole story. Sartha Thrace and Leinth Aritimis have never been better pilots than they are right now, in hatred of each other.” Her smile is unnervingly bright. “And thanks to each other, they’re free to love me with all their hearts.”

“That’s…” General Kynilandre’s words die. She doesn’t know what it is. “How can you say that? They’re damned, broken wretches.”

“Do you think so?” Handler seems entertained by the general’s assessment. “I think they’re quite beautiful. If I do say so myself.”

General Kynilandre falls very quiet for a long moment. When she speaks again, her voice quakes with outrage - but everyone, even the lowest-ranking mechanics, recognizes her anger for what it is: impotent.

“This is no way to run a war,” she says quietly. “Using people like that. I don’t give a damn about the piloting metrics. I got my wings long before you were wearing that coat. We used to… It’s just wrong.”

She doesn’t give a damn about the piloting metrics. But others do, and they both know it. Handler is untouchable. There’s nothing more to be said.

“Will that be all, general?” Handler asks politely. She’s still smiling, though. “If you’d care for a hands-on demonstration of their eagerness, I’m sure Leinth would be more than willing-“

“Go fuck yourself,” General Kynilandre spits, before stalking back out of the hangar.

After she’s gone and the door slides shut behind her, the assembled crowd of pilots, mechanics, and other staff collectively let out the breaths they’ve been holding.  But not completely. No punishment is certainly a relief, but more than a few of them have been unnerved by Handler’s words. It’s spoiled the atmosphere.

Hound isn’t unnerved, though. Everything Handler said ended up washing over her like it was nothing. Like it was about someone else entirely.

She isn’t Leinth Aritimis. Not right now. She’s just a bitch.

Handler looks over the crowd. “You may continue,” she says.

She’s talking about Sartha-Hound too, and she does. Enthusiastically. The crowd is slower to get going. It takes a little while for them to shake off their inhibitions again. But, in the end, not one of them leaves or holds back. Nothing’s changed.

Hound is still a warm, willing body.

More or less.

***

Eventually, it ends. One by one, each of the bored, horny, frustrated base personnel spends their lust all over Hound’s body. Once they’ve had their fill, they fix their clothes and drift off to the mess, or their next duty shift, or back to their bunk. After enough of them leave, the party is over. The atmosphere dies, and the stragglers make a hasty exit. Nobody wants to be left alone with Handler and Her hounds.

They know attracting her attention is unwise. People still whisper about Meetra Kotys.

So in the end, it’s just the three of them. Handler stands impassive, as Sartha-Hound nuzzles and ruts and ruins her own clothes. The hound could go all day. She’s in heaven. Leinth-Hound isn’t so lucky. Wet and soiled and shivering, all she can do is remain splayed across the ground as she waits to be told what to do.

Everything aches. Her mouth. Her ass. Bruises all over. No gentleness was spared for her. At the end of it all, Hound’s torn between two feelings. One is a kind of weary acceptance. Her penance is done. She can be at peace with that. But the other is anything but peaceful. Hound craves release. Her body demands it. She’s still hard. She’s in heat.

More out of sheer, automatic reflex than anything else, Hound starts touching itself. She looks to Handler for permission as soon as she realizes what she’s doing. It’s pushing it, but she knows that at moments like this, She is inclined to be indulgent. The imperceptible nod Handler gives her is a gift from God.

Hound starts moving faster. She touches herself in a brute, stupid way, reaching down, pawing uselessly at herself, rubbing her cock against her own thigh. It’s all she’s capable of. She’s bruised all over. All her strength is spent. Even wrapping her hand around her shaft feels like too much. Her fingers are cramping.

She whines. She wails. It’s still enough. All her stamina is spent, too. She’s close.

But Handler has another gift.

“Leinth,” She says. She’s using that special voice of Hers. “On The Leash.”

Hound lets out a pained groan from the exertion as her shattered, overtaxed mind is forced to pull itself back together. Leinth doesn’t want to wake. She’d sooner stay buried. But Handler’s special words are like the tides. There’s no fighting them. So, after little more than an instant, Hound goes away, and Leinth awakens.

And finds herself in hell.

The first thing that hits is the pain. It hurts all over. The sheer exhaustion is agony; bone-deep and paralyzing. Next, it’s the cold, and the hard floor, and the wet, and the stickiness, all over her, and the stench of sex and sweat, inescapable. The visceral discomfort of it is staggering.

After just a couple of seconds, Leinth’s mind catches up. She remembers, vaguely, what’s happened to her. What she’s done. And the shame hits harder than anything.

She was used. By everyone. By people she vaguely remembers she’s supposed to detest. Like an animal. Like a toy. Now Leinth is slumped in the mess of it all, debased worse than any whore she’s ever seen soldiers use. And she’s touching herself.

And she can’t stop.

She just can’t. Leinth needs this too bad. In her body, but in her heart too. What if she stopped herself? What if she reclaimed that barest little shred of dignity and personhood? That little act of defiance would threaten to mean something, and Leinth doesn’t want that. She’s too tired for it. She can’t handle what might - should - come after.

Better to sink instead. To embrace what she’s doing. To just be this. It’s easy, in a way. It feels right - right for the guilt she feels over Sartha, and right because, deep down, she knows she’s become exactly the same kind of traitor. If Leinth makes herself come like this, she’s the worst. And she knows how to be the worst. Handler taught her. It makes sense.

Leinth needs permission, of course. She looks to Handler.

“Please…” she musters. Her voice is ragged. Her eyes ask the rest of the question.

Handler nods again. “You may.”

That’s all Leinth needs. She quickens her pace and, after just a couple of seconds, her pleasure peaks. After a couple more, she spills everything all over herself and all over the ground. Her cheeks burn with the humiliation of it.

The pleasure feels good. It’s what her body needs. The humiliation does too, in a way. But the emptiness that descends afterwards is terrible.

Handler doesn’t let her languish in it. She’s infinitely merciful.

Setting Sartha-Hound aside with a little gesture, She crosses the hangar floor to Leinth’s side. “Up,” She says. “Sit.”

Leinth thought she couldn’t move, but when Handler orders her, she finds the strength. Leinth fights her way up to her knees.

Handler reaches down and touches Leinth’s cheek, very lightly. Leinth shivers. It feels amazing. It’s Handler, and it’s the gentlest anyone has been with her in forever.

“Are you ready?” She asks.

Leinth gasps. She knows what comes next, and she needs it. Bad. “Yes. Please. I n-need it.”

“I forgive you,” Handler says softly.

Those three words mean everything to Leinth. Her entire body goes rigid. She tears up. She closes her eyes. Everything. Leinth is forgiven for all her failures. For losing today’s contest. For not living up to Handler’s expectations. For being the worse hound. But for much more than that, too. She’s forgiven for trying to escape, long ago. She’s forgiven for every time she ever cursed Handler’s name. She’s forgiven for being a rebel, and for betraying them. She’s forgiven for it all.

Handler has that godlike power. Leinth feels the weight of every sin she’s ever committed as they’re lifted from her shoulders - for a little while, anyway. Until they come back, she can bask in this. In her slate washed clean. In perfect atonement. She’s never felt so free.

“Thank you,” she weeps. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Handler replies. “I’m sure you’ll do better next time, Leinth. Now, come along.”

Handler turns and begins to walk away. She doesn’t need to look back. At once, Sartha is at Her heel. Leinth leaps to her feet, but before she returns to her rightful place, she dashes a few paces away from Handler.

She hasn’t forgotten. She needs it. Her muzzle.

As quickly as she can, Leinth fits it back into place over her mouth. Wearing it makes her just that little bit less anxious. Everything is right again. She’s forgiven. Once again, she’s a good hound. Good hounds wear their muzzle. Handler will inspect the straps later, and She expects them to be perfect. Leinth won’t disappoint her. Not ever again. Leinth knows she’s just a stupid dog, but she’s very, very determined to learn today’s lesson.

Leinth thinks back to the mission, and to what she did wrong. She makes a vow to herself, in Handler’s name.

Next time, she will not hesitate.

—

I would like to express my gratitude for the generosity of all those who support me on Patreon, and to give a special thanks to the following patrons in particular for their exceptional support:

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[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

how does the 2022 movie shit on the novel?? (I love the 2022 movie and haven’t read the book)

Hiii so first off I wanna thank you for this ask from the bottom of my heart because this story is deeply important to me and I've been seething about it for two years straight and now I finally have an excuse to talk at length about the problem without sounding (completely) unhinged. I'd also like to clarify that I'm not mad at you or anyone else for liking this movie especially if you haven't read the book. I actually think that as a standalone film, it's pretty phenomenal. The acting, cinematography, and soundtrack are really on point. The problem isn't that it's a bad movie, it's that it's a bad and seemingly purposefully disrespectful adaptation.

So now I'll get into why (buckle up). As my followers know, War Movie Commentary is not typically the focus of this blog so uhhhh sorry y'all we'll be back to your regularly scheduled brainrot soon enough, but if any of you care deeply for literature or history or the history of war, or are familiar with this book or movie, I urge you to hear me out. Sorry, It's long. I kinda ran with it lmfao

So the first and most important thing to be aware of when discussing the disrespect of this adaptation is that, while it is not technically an explicit memoir, All Quiet on the Western Front is not a work of fiction. Everything that happens is based on something either the author or a soldier he interviewed really experienced. The main character is based on the author himself. Remarque's middle name was Paul before he changed it, he entered the German military at the same age as Paul, he had a passion for writing and poetry like Paul (a passion which if I recall correctly was omitted from the movie, but my memory may be off) and several of the things that Paul experiences are directly taken from his own life. While it is not explicitly a memoir, it is a collection of the real lived experiences of these soldiers, put to page in the form of a story with names changed. I think it is inherently disrespectful to dramatically change the events of a true story, but the way in which the 2022 movie went about it somehow took it further than just that.

So one thing you should know if you haven't read the book, which I HIGHLY recommend, Remarque wrote a preface to the book that was included in all the movies EXCEPT this one, and it states the exact purpose of the story. this is quoted from memory,

“This book is to be neither an accusation nor a confession, and least of all an adventure, for death is not an adventure to those who come face to face with it. It will simply seek to tell the story of a generation of men who, while they may have survived the shells, were destroyed by the war.”

He explicitly did not want it to be sensational, or “an adventure.” He wanted to tell real stories about real people, and all those stories were scrapped in favor of what we got. If you remove maybe two scenes and changed the title and character names, the film would not even be recognizable. How can you (not you the asker but the general you) do that to real people's lived experiences? How can you disgrace the author’s wishes like that? The book takes a humanistic approach. You learn about these people, you care about them. You spend time with them goofing off in boot camp, hassling newbies in the trenches, playing cards in the latrines, you see Paul go home and you see how his time at home affects him. How his father parades him around, how he lost interest in everything that once made him happy, how he sees Russian POWs and knows that they are just like him, how his mother, dying of cancer, strokes his hair and cries when she thinks he is asleep because she knows her baby has been lying when he said that things were fine, and he's going back into that hell.

I cannot go into everything the movie portrayed differently to the book because I would have to just copy and paste practically the entire script lol. And having differences isn't inherently a bad thing! Both other movies added or removed or slightly altered a scene here and there. But there are two specific scenes, at the beginning and at the end, that I think are the most indicative of this movie’s failure and disrespect.

In the beginning of the book, which is not told in chronological order, we are introduced to the main friend group and find out that their friend is dying in the infirmary. They visit him, they crack jokes and tell him he's lucky he'll be going home, but he's obviously not improving. He is unaware that his leg has been amputated. One of them asks for his boots, since he has nice military boots, for when he “goes home”, and the others kind of shut him up. Later they discuss how they all know Franz is dying. Paul reminisces about Franz, how he was always timid, how his mother made Paul promise to protect him. He goes to visit Franz again, and he's doing real bad. The author describes in detail how you can see the death in his face. He is now aware his leg was amputated. He wistfully tells Paul that he wanted to be a forester when he grew up, and now he never will. Paul tries to reassure him that “prosthetics are great these days!” (This was written in 1920 lmao) and insists Franz will go home. Franz asks “Do you think so?” And then when Paul remains insistent, he quietly replies, “I don't think so.” He tells Paul to give their friend his boots. Paul sits in silence with him, foreheads pressed together, watching as his friend slowly dies from infection. His internal monologue is distressed about the orderlies ignoring them. “I want to grab them and I want to scream, ‘his name is Franz Kemmerich, he is nineteen years old, he doesn't want to die, don't let him die!’” As he hits in silence until the end. All these characters are emphasized to be nineteen years old.

This is the most important scene in the book. It sets the tone for the whole rest of the story and happens very early on.

Meanwhile in the movie, an unnamed character who we vaguely see hanging around Paul gets instantly blown to shrapnel and his severed leg gets blown off and Paul finds it, cries for 8 seconds, and we move on.

So that's a pretty big failure, I would say. This was the point in the movie I started getting a real bad feeling.

So that's the beginning, now the ending which, while it is the insulting cherry on top of the disrespect pie, I cannot get over how absolutely ridiculous this film ending is. First of all, the whole bit with the military officials? Not in the book at all. That big end battle after the armistice for literally no reason? Yeah, that didn't happen. I don't know how the writers forgot that you cannot completely fabricate an entire battle in a film about an actual war that really happened. And what disgusted me was they have Paul die in a vicious killing spree, bashing heads in, storming the trench (in this fake battle that didn't happen) stabbing people, shooting people, strangling people, throwing bombs, going nuts, getting nearly DROWNED IN SHIT WATER. Need I remind you this was the self-insert of the author who they had doing this? I get what they were trying to to do, show how an innocent non-violent guy got “broken” by the war but that is not faithful to the story. It borders on fetishizing violence, which as previously mentioned was the exact OPPOSITE of what the author directly stated that he wanted his work to be perceived.

Paul did what he had to do, but he was never sadistic and never liked killing and certainly never went on a killing spree. Again, this is meant to represent the AUTHOR.

So how does he die in the book? It's where the title comes from. “He fell in October, 1918 on a day that was so quiet and still on the whole front, that the army report confined itself to a single sentence: All Quiet on the Western Front. Turning him over one saw that he could not have suffered long. His face bore an expression of calm, as though almost glad the end had come.”

Bit of a different picture, innit? Look, I don't mind movies being different to books, I don't particularly mind this movie as it stands on its own, but it chewed up, shat out, and stomped on Remarque's legacy and it absolutely devastates me to know how he would feel if he saw what they did to his story. The rage I feel on the behalf of a person who just wanted to tell his real story is unfathomable.

[callsignfangs]

JSSJJSJA I LOVE UR WRITING 😭😭 I'M MUNCHING SO HARD ON IT

p.s im the anon who asked for that farah x g/n reader after a hard mission if that even matters but

-besides that, I have another request🤭🤭 if u have time ofc

g/n reader whos afraid of thunderstorms (from PTSD maybe) and there just so happens to be a thunderstorm tonight oh no but farah is there with them🤩

SORRY FOR THIS REALLY LONG REQUEST BUT UM HAVE A GOOD DAY OR NIGHT RAHH GO WILD

GIGGLINGNGN IM SO GLAD YOU LIKED ITT 😚😚

(I’d call you the Farah anon but atp my, like, whole page is Farah. Not that I’m complaining 😇)

And absolutely I will absolutely devour any reqs I get, esp Farah ones, I just love them smmsmm 😇

(AND DONT APOLOGISE FOR THE LENGTH LUVVIEE 💟💟 I LOVE GETTING REQS 🫂)

Also also sorry for the wait ive been focusing a little on art and personal life stuff that’s absolutely battering me rn 🧍‍♂️

Farah Karim x GN!Traumatised! Reader 😚

To say nights were hard was a bit of an understatement for you. Sleep didn’t come easy - not when it was majorly plagued with painful projections and stalking memories, haunting you throughout the night when they couldn’t tear at you through the day.

So, you being up at god-knows-when at night really wasn’t too alarming. You didn’t even mind it that much anymore, it was a bit like a routine. The exhaustion was annoying, and the daily naps were a pain, but it was easier than attempting to face sleep.

Usually. Usually, your waking mind was clearer and safer than your sleeping one. Not tonight.

Tonight? Tonight, the thunder rolling through the air practically sent shockwaves through your room, sending your mind reeling into that fogged, not-quite-here, am-i-there haze, making your chest ache and stomach knot painfully. You wished your mind would surrender you to sleep, even if it was just trading one hell for another.

It wasn’t long before you ended up at Farah’s door like a little lost puppy. It seemed pointless - your hand was heavy with the fear of being a burden and you couldn’t even remember how you’d gotten there. The throbbing weight in your chest seemed to ebb into the air, the thickness slipping from your lungs before you could really get a full breath in.

Farah opening the door almost into your face was actually blessed coincidence, the empty glass in her hand somehow assured your oblivious little mind of just how much of a problem you were to her.

She didn’t even need to see the tears verging on spilling over your cheeks to know.

“Oh, hon, come on, lovely. I can’t have you out here by yourself, can I?”

You only just brought yourself to nod, lower lip wobbling involuntarily. Hands slipped across your back before you could burst into tears, softly guiding your listless form into her room, what little awareness you had left trailing behind. The gentle click of the door shutting only just stood out from the blood rushing through your ears, trying to shield from the growling of the thunder outside.

“Are you.. Are you warm enough, قلبي?” Her words were so motherly it hurt.

“How about I get you something warm to drink, alright? I’ll make your favourite, promise. Then we can snuggle up here and have a movie marathon, or something. How does that sound, love?”

A cosy, toasty drink and snuggles with your favourite girl? It did sound nice.

Farah’s smile widened. You must’ve nodded, or something. You didn’t quite know.

“There. I’m glad you like that idea. Just hold up one second, right?”

And then she plodded off again. Her absence made you hurt primally, fear creeping across your chest and up your throat, latching onto you with an iron grip. No, no, she couldn’t leave, it wasn’t safe, how did you let her go all alone what if-

“Hey, حبيبي, hey, it’s okay. Come here, shh.”

She was back. It felt like some kind of emotional whiplash, your feelings being pulled apart and moulded back together again, moving too quickly for you to really react.

Gentle, familiar hands guided you to sit back down - when had you stood up? - and cradled your cheek in their careful hold. Something slipped up over your ears, and the world went quiet again. Almost disturbingly so, the lack of input, of reassurance to your senses, it was scary.

It was like Farah read your mind as she leaned back in to whisper right next to your ear, just loud enough for you to hear, “It’s alright, sweetheart. Come on, you’re alright. We’re safe right now, we just have to let this storm pass. Literally, for once.”

The relaxed humour brought a weak smile to your face. It didn’t quite reach your eyes, but that was alright. You needed time and reassurance, only one of those had you received a decent amount of.

Her bed creaked as she joined next to you, worn, homely springs groaning with effort. Your hands were enveloped in her touch once again, substantial warmth coating the back of your hand, branching out over your palm and peeking up your wrist.

Farah didn’t hesitate to ease you down against the headboard, tucking a hand down against the small of your back as she fumbled for something she’d placed on the bedside table.

“Do you want that drink, love? I made your favourite. Same way as usual, don’t worry.” The mug was held by your hand, supporting it as you took it in your shaking ones. Her lips puckered softly as she puffed over the hot liquid, a little plume of steam flowing up to your face, the warm flash dragging your mind back somewhat. You idly noticed the seeds of a headache taking root against your temple.

“Careful, غالي, it’s hot.” It took a few moments to drag your eyes up and take her in, but you got there in the end. “Oh, hello, sweetheart. Popped back in, have we?” The light bags tugging at her under eye were engulfed by the soft plush of her cheeks as she smiled. To say she looked relieved was a bit of an understatement. One of her hands slipped from the mug, ensuring it was stable before coming up to give your cheek a little squeeze, thumbing gently at your cheekbone.

At your slow nod, her smile widened even further, gratitude pouring into her gaze. The mug was, once again, eased from your grasp at your seeming disinterest. It was probably going cold, but she didn’t particularly care.

“How do you feel about taking a nap, lovely? Just you and me. We can put on a movie too, like a little cosy movie night - does that sound nice?”

“Yeah..” Your words were almost too shaky to be intelligible, but seeing Farah’s warm glow at the attempt made it worth it.

Hands roamed gently under your thighs, easing you down into her shockingly comfy covers - ‘commander’s privileges’ - and proceeding to tuck you in, fussing over you all the while. It was a win/win, really, she got to look after and fuss over you, and you got a little bit of well-deserved spoiling.

After you were sufficiently smothered, Farah pulled herself up off the bed, calling out a soft ‘one sec’ before jogging out of the room. It was quiet. That wasn’t that bad anymore, though. She’d be back, soon.

Your mind barely wandered in the time it took for her to swipe the laptop off of the coffee table and speed back. She knew better than to leave you alone with your thoughts right now, though your semi-calmness when she got back was reassuring.

“Here we are..” Farah murmured idly, clambering up next to you, placing the laptop on the bedside table by your head. You were softly eased onto your side and pulled to a firm, pillowy chest. One arm was laid out under your shoulder, simultaneously supporting you and reaching out to the laptop, opening up her downloads and mindlessly scrolling through her library of movies. Her other arm was laid over your side, kneading at your tummy before moving slowly up to your chest.

The next few minutes were spent with Farah idly chatting into your ear, bouncing movie ideas off of you as she internally preened at each and every response you gave. Together, you decided on a movie, and cuddled into each other’s safe warmth as the opening credits rolled.

By the halfway mark, you were fast asleep. By the end, Farah was too.

—

Sorry for the kinda rushed ending, I wanted to maybe take this a little further sometime, but it’s been ages and I wanted to give yous a little sumet to munch on /j

Pinky promise I’ll try to drag myself out of my sorta-hiatus 😚🫂

(Tags: @theartisticautisticc )