#makeshift family au

[weky-woof]

Autumn on PNF-404 brings the cold with it and the Pikmin spend more time inside their leader's strange onions... Louie shares meals with them on the occasion!

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Idolification.

Pairing: Yandere!Itadori Yuuji x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 5.0k.

TW: No Curse/College AU, Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Prolonged Stalking, (Unintentional) Emotional Manipulation, Oral Sex, Drunk Sex, Unprotected Sex, Age Gap (Reader's 27, Yuuji's 22), Intimidation, Brief Mommy Kink, Pepper Spray, and Obsessive Behavior. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

“I’m so, so, so, so sorry.”

“It was an accident, you don’t have to—” Yuuji was cut off by another splash of milk, quickly followed by another jet of water. Her makeshift treatment was harsh, the temperature alternating unpredictably between ice cold and scalding hot, but Yuuji took the abuse with a smile that was almost bright enough to distract you from the red, aggravated skin around his eyes. Almost. “It’s alright,” he managed, eventually, doing his best not to sound like he was being slowly drowned in your bathtub. “Believe it or not, that’s only the second worst thing I’ve gotten in my eyes.”

Knowing him, it was probably closer to the fourth or fifth, but that did little to ease your guilt. He’d been leaving as you were getting home from your second twelve-hour shift of the week, and from there, it’d been a comedy of errors. He spotted you coming down the hall, haggard and bleary-eyed, and saw the babysitter who’d spent more summers than not keeping him (and, by association, his older half-brother) out of trouble before their family fell off of the face of the planet, and reacted the way Yuuji reacted to most things – with open arms and a contagious smile. You’d looked at him, a far cry from the kid you’d spent so much time looking after, and seen a very strange, very grown man loitering outside of the door to your shoebox of an apartment before charging towards you with a manic expression and, well, you had always wanted an excuse to use the pepper spray you carried near-religiously. It was only a shame it had to be on someone as sweet as Yuuji.

Now, you were on your knees on the floor of your bathroom, your fingers tangled in Yuuji’s hair as your roommate gently waterboarded him with a cartoon of organic oat milk in one hand and your decade-old showerhead in the other. The front of his t-shirt was soaked through, his lung half-flooded at least, but he was still grinning like you’d greeted him with a blank check and a litter of puppies. “Honestly, it’s on me,” he insisted, his enthusiasm too potent not to be genuine. “Miss Shoko mentioned she was living with someone.”

At the mention of your roommate, Shoko Ieiri, your attention shifted to the woman in-question. You weren’t an idiot. After the shock died down, it hadn’t taken long for you to piece together why a young man would be rushing to get out of your apartment while your attractive (albeit, socially dead) roommate was home alone. When she met your prying eyes, you shot her a pointed glare. “Cradle rocker.”

She threatened to turn the showerhead on you, but relented as soon as you flinched away. “He’s in one of my classes,” she muttered, then pushed herself to her feet with a soft groan. “We’re out of milk,” she said, shaking the empty carton. “Let his eyes air-dry. I’ll be in my office – come get me if he starts crying again.”

“I’m a doctor too, y’know.”

“You’ll be a doctor in another year. Right now, you’re an intern.” She eyed Yuuji wearily. “An intern who physically assaults her patients, at that.”

Without any real way to retort, you stuck your tongue out – a gesture Shoko mimicked as she slipped out of the crime scene that was your bathroom. Despite Shoko’s advice, you fished a towel off the nearest rack and handed it to Yuuji, who accepted it with a grateful hum. “I really am sorry,” you repeated, burying your face in your hands. “It’s just, it’s been so long, and you look so different, and god, it’s been—”

“—ten years,” Yuuji filled in, probably tired of hearing you repeat the same two excuses. “I remember, ‘cuz you invited us to your graduation that year. I wanted to go, too, but Gramps got sick and…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck with an airy chuckle. “You know how it is.”

“Oh my god,” you gasped. “I loved your grandfather. How is he?”

Yuuji’s smile wavered for the first time. “He passed, actually. A few years ago.”

Fuck.

If the building was going to collapse and bury you in the rubble, that would’ve been the time.

“Sukuna’s doing good, though,” Yuuji went on, kind enough to pretend there hadn’t been a lapse. “He opened a restaurant a few months ago. It’s a hole-in-the-wall kind of place, but it’s been keeping him out of the ring.” His expression brightened. “And you’re a doctor! I mean, I knew you would be, but you’re a doctor!”

You felt your face heat up his brother’s name, your eyes falling to the tiled floor. “Almost a doctor. I just started my internship.” And they’d already managed to work you half to death. “You’re in med school, right? Shoko never teaches undergrad.”

“It’s my first semester,” he said with a slight laugh. “It’s harder than I thought it’d be, though. Miss Shoko offered to give me a few pointers, but, y’know—” He sighed, let his head lull back. “I’m starting to think I’m just not smart enough for stuff like this.”

“You shouldn’t say that kind of thing about yourself. You’ve always been—” You cut yourself off with a sudden gasp, clapping your hands together. “If you’re struggling, let me help you study! I have tomorrow off, and I promise, I’m not as strict as Shoko.”

Immediately, he straightened up, your towel still strung around his neck and his smile returned to its full brightness. It only dimmed slightly when he glanced down at his damp shirt. “…there won’t be as much pepper spray this time, right?”

His smile was as contagious as it’d been when he was still a kid, begging you to let him stay up yet another hour past his already-lenient bedtime. Despite his bloodshot eyes and your lingering, only slightly lessened guilt, you found yourself biting back a grin.  

“No pepper spray, this time. I promise.”

~

“Room for one more?”

She glanced over her shoulder as you struggled past the jammed sliding door, taking a moment to evaluate your stiff shoulders and strained smile over the thick frames of her glasses before nodding curtly. Your relief was immediate and all-encompassing. Honestly, you should’ve known better than to do anything but shake your head and flee the country when Yuuji invited you to hang out with a few of his friends, but he’d sworn up and down that it wasn’t a party and promised that you wouldn’t be out of place and pouted in a way you’d never been able to resist. You were starting to think that, no matter how old you got, you’d never learn to say ‘no’ to Yuuji.

The blaring music was only vaguely muffled by the glass, the blurry outlines of other guests playing behind thin curtains. There was a red solo cup in your hand, a lipstick stain on your cheek from a girl who’d passed out half an hour ago, but you were hyper-aware that you were too old to be at a college party with people at least half a decade younger than you, in the best cases. You braced yourself against the balcony railing with a soft groan, crossing your arms and hanging your head low enough to warrant a hum of sympathy from the woman next to you. She held up a box of cigarettes – the cheap kind you and Shoko used to split on the days you had to decide between food and rent – and you accepted her offer with the kind of gratitude you could only assume a starving lion would’ve shown to a limping gazelle.

“Maki,” she said, shaking one into your open palm and fishing a lighter out of her pocket. “You’re one of Itadori’s friends?”

“You could say that.” You let her light you up before taking a shaky drag, the bitter taste a welcome distraction. “I’ve been tutoring him for a few weeks. I think he just invited me as a way to say ‘thank you’.”

Her eyes flashed with recognition, the corner of his lips turning upward for the first time. “You’re the chick who used to babysit him. (Y/n), right?”

“He’s mentioned me?”

“He won’t shut up about you. Every other word out of his mouth is ‘(Y/n) this’ or ‘(Y//n) that’.” She tapped her cigarette against the edge of the railing, sending a few flakes of ash fluttering down to the street below. “Megumi gets it the worst, but we’ve all had to see the fucking pictures.”

“That… that sounds like him.” You forced out a half-hearted laugh, then wavered. “I’m sorry, pictures?”

Maki opened her mouth, but the balcony door was jerked open before she could respond. Yuji appeared in the open entryway, cheeks flushed and grin wide. He drawled your name in a single slur before moving on to more important topics. “We found a—We found a karaoke machine! ‘gumi thinks he can get it running!”

You sent Maki an apologetic look, but she only shrugged, a sliver of a grin. “Better get him tucked in.”

This time, when you smiled back, it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

~

It took a month for Yuuji to start ‘forgetting’ his textbooks when he came over for your little study sessions.

It took three for Yuuji to drop the pretense of studying at all – calling you out to some late-night diner or lethargic early-morning café or, better yet, showing up at your apartment door unannounced and empty-handed with only that unnerving smile and a half-baked excuse to spend time with you.

It took six for his hand to drift just a little lower than your shoulder while you watched some awful, b-rated horror movie on your well-beaten couch. You let him reach your waist before clearing your throat and shifting away, your smile pained.

“I… I think you should probably leave,” you half-mumbled, your voice shaking. “It’s getting late.”

“We haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.” Predictably, Yuuji was undeterred. His persistence used to be endearing, but now, it just felt unfair. “I don’t mind sleeping over, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s not like we’ve never spent the night together.”

A nervous laugh, his hand planted just a little too close to your thigh. “I wish you wouldn’t phrase it like—”

“I mean, I know I’m your type.” It was almost impressive, what he could say with such an innocent expression. His free hand found its way to your other side, pinning you between the arm of the couch and his broad chest. “I know you had a thing for Sukuna, and everyone says we’re practically identical. That means you should be into me too, right?”

“Yuuji,” Your eyes darted to your phone, left absent-mindedly on your coffee table. The urge was there, but it wasn’t like he would actually hurt you. He’d always been a sweet kid – a little overzealous, but that wasn’t a crime. This was just… a bad decision, one you had to stop him from making before he did something he’d regret. “Sukuna is my age, and—”

“I don’t care about that.” He cut in swiftly, definitively. His bright eyes had glazed over, catching the dim light of your T.V. as he leaned in further, as his face came to hover less than a full breath away from yours. “I’ve loved you since I was eight. Can Sukuna say that?”

“That’s not—”

“I know you used to fuck him.” His chest was touching yours, now, his breath hot against your skin. “I know you’d fuck him again, if he was here. I know—”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish. It was a weak blow, simultaneously hesitant and instinctual, but your open palm made contact with his cheek with a deafening crack, his head snapping to the side and putting that much more distance between his body and yours. He moved to cup his swelling cheek, and you took the opportunity to slip out from underneath him and stumble to your feet. “I think you should leave,” you repeated, the words spat hastily enough to blend together. “Please, Yuuji.”

For a second, he didn’t move, didn’t speak.

Then, he turned to face you, his smile wiped away and his expression so blank, you couldn’t remember how you’d ever looked at him and saw anything other than void.

He didn’t say anything, only pushing himself to his feet and shambling out of your living room. You kept your eyes on the ground until his footsteps faded out of earshot, until you heard the front door creak open and slam shut with enough force to shake the walls.

When you were sure he was gone, you collapsed onto your couch and laid motionless while an actress screamed in the background.

~

“Your golden boy’s asking about you, again.”

You groaned, buckling at the waist and burying your face in your arms. Shoko glanced up from the exams she was grading, but whatever sympathy she might’ve felt apparently didn’t warrant the effort it would’ve taken to reach across the table to comfort you. “Satoru’s been getting it, too,” she went on. “That’s how you know it’s bad. I can’t remember the last time someone managed to talk over that narcissist.”

“I’m sorry.” You couldn’t remember how many times you’d already apologized for Yuuji’s recent fixation. “He’s… probably just worried about his grades, or something.”

Her lips quirked into a frown. “What are you talking about?”

“I was helping him study,” you admitted, reluctantly. As much as Shoko had to hear about your unruly patients and patronizing coworkers, you’d been less open about how much time you were spending with a student fresh out of undergrad. “He’s never been that good with school. I used to have to help him with his homework in elementary school, too.”

This time, she decided your conversation was important enough to earn her full attention. “Itadori’s one of my best students.”

You felt your chest tighten. “But, the first time he came over, you were tutoring—”

She said your name, curt and blunt, and you went quiet. With a sigh, she shook her head, dropping her pen entirely. “When was the last time I offered to personally tutor a struggling student?”

You swallowed dryly. “Never.”

“And when was the last time I gave our full address out to literally anyone?”

“Never,” you said, again. After a second, you added, “Well, there was that one time with Iori…”

“Not the point. I know you don’t want to hear it, but the kid’s a creep. You might have to—”

She was cut off by your phone buzzing against the table. Your eyes scanned over the caller’s name scrawled across the dim screen before moving back to Shoko, her gaze now narrowed into a sharp glare. “Don’t.”

And, for a second, you didn’t. You convinced yourself that you wouldn’t. You told yourself that, after you bought Satoru around of drinks as an apology, you’d do… you’d do something about Yuuji, even if you weren’t sure what you could do, just yet.

Then, you let yourself picture the kid you used to watch for a few dollars an hour while his grandfather was sick and his brother was on the other side of town doing something dubiously legal at best, dead in a ditch at worst – all wide eyes and scuffed elbows and lopsided grins. You let yourself remember the way he’d ramble about his day after you picked him up from school, and how excited he was the first time you made it to one of his school’s sports days, and how he’d clung to you and sobbed the day before his family moved to the other side of the country. At the time, you’d been thankful to have one less responsibility, relieved that you’d never have to see Sukuna again. You’d been selfish, even for a kid.

The phone was in your hand in a moment, the call answered in another. You stood as you brought it to your ear, hoping that would be enough to block out Shoko’s mumbled cursing.

“Yuuji?”

~

The silence in your car was thick, nearly suffocating.

It’d been one of Yuuji’s friends calling from his phone – the dark-haired one with the monotone voice, barely audible over the blaring music of whichever nightclub they were standing outside of. He’d asked you to, in his own words, ‘come get your problem child’, and when you’d asked why Yuuji needed you specifically, he’d only handed the phone back to Yuuji and let you listen to a full minute of whining, your name the only coherent thing to make it off of Yuuji’s tongue. Shoko urged you not to go, and yet, twenty minutes later, Yuuji was slumped over in your passenger seat, his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed in an uncharacteristic frown.

He was less talkative than he’d been on the phone. The clingier stages of his inebriation had passed, leaving room for a disassociated sort of passiveness that meant, even if you’d been brave enough to try and start a conversation, his response wouldn’t be anything worth that kind of effort. By the time you reached his apartment complex, the knot sitting at the pit of your stomach was equal parts dread and second-hand embarrassment, but you tried to keep your tone light as you turned to him. “It’s time to get out, Yuuji.” And then, when he failed to move, “You’re on your own from here.”

He looked at you, eyes unfocused and hands folded almost childishly over his lap. You softened more than you should’ve at the sight. “…do you need help getting home?”

A second of thought, a quick nod. You shouldn’t. You knew that you really, really shouldn’t.

And yet, somehow, you found yourself in front of Yuuji’s door, fussing over the lock as Yuuji clung to your side, his face buried in the dip of your shoulder. He was cooperative enough; able to stand on his own with minimum swaying but not so lucid that it took more than a gentle suggestion to lead him to his bedroom, where he was more than happy to collapse onto his unmade bed. With a shaky exhale, you turned to leave, but something caught on your sleeve – Yuuji’s hand, when you could bring yourself to check.

“Stay,” he mumbled, his voice dampened by the sheets his face was buried in. “Please?”

You felt your throat go dry. “I can’t.”

You expected him to go shrill and whiny, but he proved to be a touch more mature than the ten-year-old you used to babysit. Rather flatly, he asked, “Why not?”

How were you supposed to answer that? Would it be good enough to say that you didn’t want to, that you couldn’t spend your night looking after a drunk kid you’d known a decade ago, that you’d already done more than you should’ve just by giving him a ride? Was it worth trying to talk to him at all when he could barely hold his head up? Would it do anything to soften the burn of the bile rising into your throat to point out that, the last time you’d been in the same room as him, he’d tried to—

No, it wasn’t and it wouldn’t and you had to leave. With your heart racing in your chest, you tried to jerk yourself out of his hold, but his vice-grip only grew tighter, his head rising up from the mattress just enough to let him stare at you with those big, bleary eyes. “Why not?”

“Yuuji, this isn’t—”

He was so, so much stronger than he had been, the last time you’d seen each other. One second, you were on your feet, at his bedside, and the next, you were on the floor of his bedroom, forced onto your hands and knees while Yuuji’s body pressed into yours from above. “I love you,” he said, his voice as steady as it’d ever been. “I love you, and I—Fuck—” He panted against the back of your neck, something uncomfortably stiff grinding against your ass. “It makes me so fucking hard when you say my name like that.”

A hand slipped under the hem of your top, his palm pressing into the small of your back. You moved to speak, then thought better of it, biting into your bottom lip as your anxious squirming turned to full-blown struggling. Yuuji only laughed, the noise airy and affectionate, winding an arm around your waist and pulling you that much closer to him – making it that much more impossible to get away. His free hand worked clumsily at your top; drawing it up and over your head. You fought against it at first, but froze the first time you felt something stretch a little too far, heard fabric tear. This couldn’t happen, but you absolutely couldn’t be stranded in Yuuji’s apartment with no clothes and no way out.

With his face buried in the back of your shoulder, he cupped your chest, catching your nipples between his forefinger and thumb and pinching with just enough force to draw a low, strained whimper from the back of your throat. “So cute…” He nuzzled deeper into your neck as his touch drifted. Your skirt was drawn downward – a long piece, something you’d thrown on without much thought – then discarded completely, his own shirt wrestled off in the same motion. You felt his fingertips slip under the hem of your panties, but he pulled away and straightened his back, instead. For a second, you let yourself believe that he’d come to his senses, that whatever sick idea he’d gotten into his head had finally worn off, but the arm wrapped around your waist only drew tighter, hauling you off of the floor and into his arms. You were dropped unceremoniously onto the edge of his bed, and Yuuji sunk onto his knees between your open legs.

“I know you’ve probably slept with other people – aside from my brother, I mean. It’d be nice to find out you haven’t, though.” His tone was distant and dreamy. He was still drunk, but not drunk enough for how he’d been acting earlier. Not drunk enough for what he was doing now. He traced the pad of his thumb over your clothed slit, keeping a hand curled around your ankle to keep you in place. “I used to hear you with Sukuna – in his car, and his room, on the couch after you two thought I’d fallen asleep …” He trailed off into an airy laugh. “He likes to show off – always has. If he wasn’t my brother, I think I’d kill him.”

He sighed, pressing a lingering kiss into the inside of your thigh before shifting his attention to your pussy; his tongue laving over the thin material covering your cunt. You were crying, now, openly and audibly – your choked sobs almost loud enough to block out Yuuji’s quiet groans and pleased grunts. However his obsession might’ve made him think he felt about you, your distress didn’t seem to affect his appetite. Your panties were pulled down your legs and slid into some unseen pocket. With the last barrier between you and him gone, he was free to trace his tongue over your slit, to latch onto your clit and suck in a way that made you want to bury your face in your hands and scream. You tried to – crossing your arms over your face, but any sound you tried to make was quickly strangled into a broken moans as his tongue fucked shallowly into your pussy. It was invasive, disgusting, but your body didn’t care. You felt cunt clench around him as his nose ground into your clit, his need for air irrelevant while he spread you open with his tongue. Your thighs clenched shut, attempting to block him out, but his only response was a reverberating groan – and hand on your thigh encouraging you to squeeze him that much tighter.

You couldn’t tell which you hated more; the unwanted stimulation or the fact that your body was reacting to it, heating up where you needed it to go cold. As he sunk further into you, ate you out like a beast starved, you clenched your eyes and willed yourself to go numb, to ignore the sloppy sound of your slick on Yuuji’s lips. It was useless, though, as futile as trying to ignore him in the first place. Your back arched off the bed, legs twitching where they hung limply over his shoulders, and—

 —and Yuuji pulled away with a sharp gasp. He was on top of you before you could process that he was moving, his mouth crashing into yours before you could think to avoid him. The kiss was brutal, rushed; all teeth and tongue and lips shoved against yours with enough force to bruise. The only hint of tenderness was the soft, satisfied noise he let out as his tongue raked across yours, the bright grin painted across his lips when he drew back from you. “It’s alright.” He brought a hand to your cheek, cupping your face and brushing away tears with his thumb. “I’ve slept with other people too, ‘cause I knew I’d need a little practice to catch up with you. Could never go all the way, though. I just thought about you, and…” He blushed, simpered, like he thought he could pass himself off as the shy, lip-biting schoolboy with your slick coating his chin. “I guess I just didn’t really want anyone else to touch me. Not when I knew I’d see you again.”

A horrified sob bubbled up from somewhere deep and primal in your chest. Yuuji didn’t seem to hear it, only sighing as he pressed a lingering kiss into your forehead. “You don’t have to do anything,” he muttered, his hands falling to your waist. “I want to take care of you, tonight.”

You watched in stunned, paralyzed horror as he pushed himself to his feet, as he hastily worked off his jeans, his boxers (the dark material already notably stained with proof of his arousal). You made one more feeble attempt to squirm out from underneath him, to get away before his attention turned back to you, but confused and betrayed and so, so exhausted, you didn’t stand much of a chance against Yuuji. All he had to do was glance your way, his expression as warm as it was soulless, to leave you helpless against him.

He was eager enough not to reposition you, not to draw this out with the pretense of romance. With one hand on your hip and the other planted near your head, he lined the head of his cock up with your entrance and forced himself into you, bottoming out in a single thrust.

It was agony – pure and unrelenting. Any semblance of gentleness, of restraint fell away as soon as Yuuji was inside of you, as soon as your hyper-sensitive cunt clamped down around his cock. He cursed under his breath before collapsing, his chest pressing into yours as he tried to bury himself that much deeper inside of you, to chase the feeling of your pussy milking him for all he was worth. As hard as you tried not to think about Sukuna, Yuuji hadn’t been lying when he said they were alike. He was just as insatiable as his brother had been any time you let him but his hands on you; just as rough in the way his hips ground into yours between sporadic thrusts. There’d been bruises, the next day. At least Sukuna had been the type to make sure he was gone by the time the damage set in. You doubted Yuuji would be so kind.

“I—I’m sorry,” he managed as he buckled into you. Panting against the dip of your shoulder, he took your hips in his hands and dragged your ass of the mattress, his brutal pace stuttering as he found a new angle to abuse. “Next time—I’ll be gentle next time, I just need to—”

His cock hit something soft and sensitive inside of you. Reflexively, your hands shot to his back, your nails finding skin and tearing. The moan Yuuji let out in response was nothing short of sinful; hitched and guttural, ragged and loud enough to block out the wet, slick sound of his cock pumping into your cunt. “M—” His hand wraps around your thigh, catching you under the knee and dragging it towards your chest, letting him fuck into you that much deeper, that much faster. His face never left the crook of your neck, as if he was afraid to give you space to breathe. “Mommy, ‘m sorry, I need to—”

His teeth sunk into your throat as something hot and thick flooded into your cunt, as your body went stiff and your vision burned white. While his climax was sudden, intense, the peak to a decade’s worth of patience, yours had to be dragged out of you despite your attempts to hold it back, to deny yourself pleasure in the vain hope that it’d somehow be able to convince Yuuji to stop what he’d already finished. It seemed to hold you there in that state of dark, distorted euphoria for minutes – Yuuji’s movements turning slow and languid as he nursed you through your orgasm.

Eventually, mercifully, he went still, going limp above you with his canines still planted in the curve of your neck. If there was any pain, any other unwanted burdens he could force onto you, you were too lost in your own despair to notice, too distant to feel anything other than the mildest tinge of dread as he pulled back, raising his head just far enough to stare down at you, adoration heavy in his eyes and his grin wide and love-struck.

A small, naïve part of you found the sight suffocatingly familiar, while the rest could almost convince itself that you were looking at a stranger.

[shellshocklove]

wet nights | joel miller

pairing/AU: bfd!joel miller x female!reader – no outbreak

summary: getting beer spilled down your dress at your best friend sarah’s birthday party might not have been so bad– not when her dad can help you clean up.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! reader is 25 and joel is 47, reader is described as wearing a dress, swearing, use of pet names, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, exhibitionism, praise with a dash of degradation kink, one small touch of your clit, soft dom!joel, use of sir, cum play, no use of y/n

a/n: mom said it was my turn to write bfd!joel lol. basically this is just me wanting to write joel getting his cock and balls sucked bc it's what he deserves 😌 as always thank you to @dustydaddyyy for reading through this for me! and happy reading <3

main masterlist / ao3

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

Nodding your head to the beat of the music you gulped down a cooling sip of beer. The bar was stuffed to the brim tonight for Sarah’s birthday. Every chair and booth occupied, large groups huddled together against the walls, and a growing crowd of brave, seemingly deep enough down their drinks, dancers moved across the makeshift dance floor. Leaning against the bar right at the end, you were shielded from the continuous line of people looking for a drink to sate their thirst on this hot summer night.

You’d missed Sarah since graduation. She’d moved back to Austin to be closer to her father – a man you had still to meet even after all these years of knowing Sarah. You’d met in undergrad where you’d had a couple of overlapping classes the first year. She’d been one of those people where you’d just clicked, like a hand in a glove, you two just fit together.

Now you had moved to Austin. It wasn’t exactly planned, but you’d applied to a postgraduate program at the University of Texas, not necessarily thinking you’d get in– but then you had. Sarah had been ecstatic when you’d told her. You hadn’t seen her in person in over a year, but you couldn’t wait to live in the same city as your best friend again.

But first, her 25th birthday party.

Tonight would be your first night out as a new Austinite. Sarah had invited all her closest friends and family to her favorite bar to celebrate. You’d dreaded it a little, you weren’t gonna lie. That nagging anxiety had bubbled under your skin all week at the prospect of being the only one at the party who didn’t know anyone already. Sarah had told you not to worry though when you’d voiced your concern to her a few days ago – she’d introduce you to everyone – nothing to worry about, and she’d been right.

All Sarah’s friends had been extremely friendly and nice, and you’d been taken under their wing immediately. Quickly, your anxiety had melted away, condensing into nothing as you’d started to have a good time.

It was deep into the summer, and Austin had shown itself from its hotter side the last few days. Inside the bar everything ran hot, even with the AC on blast and with the amount of people who’d made their way inside in the last hour, looking for a good time on a Saturday night, it never stood a chance.

Trying to cool off you’d excused yourself from your new group of friends to order yourself a cold beer. One of the ACs blew cold air directly towards the bar, keeping the frantic bartenders cool as they pushed out order after order of drinks. You watched them from where you stood perfectly in the wind of the AC, glass raised to your lips when you felt a hard bump against your shoulder.

“Fuck,” you cursed as your full glass of beer spilled all down your front, staining your white summer dress.

“Shit– sorry, sweetheart.” You didn’t have time to react as your beer was lifted out of your wet hand and placed on the rough wood of the bar.

Looking up from your ruined dress you took in your beer thief as he reached across the bar for some napkins. He was older, forties maybe, maybe older if you were to take the sprinkle of salt and pepper in his hair into consideration, but he was gorgeous. A strong jaw and sculptured nose. Clad in a t-shirt and a dark pair of jeans, you thought he looked casual– not like he belonged to the rest of the birthday party. The material of his t-shirt strained against his bicep as he leaned back from over the bar – a stack of napkins now in his hand. Standing to his full height before you, you noticed just how broad he was, and it made a drop of desire pool in your core. 

The man’s previous frantic movements came to a halt as he took you in for the first time; his dark brown eyes rolling down your body and leaving a trail of heat. His fist full of napkins stalled when his eyes landed on your dress, quickly diverting them with a loud clearing of his throat.

“Um– here,” he said, voice strained as he handed you the napkins.

Pulling your eyebrows together in a frown, you looked down at yourself again. The fabric was completely soaked through, and you felt a prickling heat tickle your cheeks as you realized you now looked like a walking ad for a wet t-shirt competition.

“Oh shit,” you muttered, taking the napkins from the man as you tried your best to cover yourself.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart– bumpin’ into ya like that.”

Pressing the napkins to your dress you shook your head at him, “It’s fine– eh,” you looked up from your body.

“Joel,” he introduced himself.

“It’s fine, Joel. It was an accident. I’ll just go to the restroom and try to get the stain out,” you said with a grimace, and reached for more napkins.

“Let me help ya,” he offered as he placed a friendly hand on your elbow.

As Joel guided you through the crowd towards the toilets, hand hovering at a polite distance behind your back, he continued to apologize.

“I feel terrible– let me at least pay for it if it ends up needin’ replacin’.”

Inside the bar’s toilets, you jumped up on the stone countertop lining the wall, turning the closest sink on.

“It’s okay,” you repeated as you busied yourself with trying to clean yourself up, “This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten beer spilled all over me,” you said with a teasing laugh, trying to lighten the mood a little.

Standing beside you with his hip leaning against the stone and a knee popped, Joel huffed out a strained laugh, a laugh somewhere between embarrassment and relief.

“Yeah?” He questioned, eyes falling to your working hands.

“Tell you this much– I’ve had plenty of wet nights.”

A sound escaped Joel at your words, one he quickly tried to cover up with a cough, and you realize your innuendo a second too late. When you looked up from your hands, eyes wide, you noticed that Joel’s cheeks had flushed slightly, like he was embarrassed that he’d even caught onto the innuendo you hadn’t meant to make. 

“Oh! No, not like that–” you rushed, tone slightly mortified as your eyes met his, trying very hard not to stutter through the rest of your sentence, “I–uh... I only meant that I uh–... I‘ve had plenty of situations in which I’ve gotten wet–” 

At this sentence, Joel raised his eyebrows in a look that seemed half-surprised, half-amused, and your stomach dropped even further into your ass in embarrassment. 

“–with water!” you clarified quickly, before you scrunched up your nose in embarrassment, closing your eyes as you huffed out a laughing sigh, “There’s no way I’m getting out of this gracefully, is there?” 

You heard Joel’s chuckle to your side, deep and syrupy, like the stuff you’d liked to pour over your pancakes in buckets when you were a kid.

“You’d have gotten away with it if you hadn’t started explainin’, I think,” Joel told you, his tone joking, and you chuckled bashfully, nodding before you looked up at him. 

There was a moment in which you exchanged a look, before you felt the smile break over your face and you dissolved into embarrassed laughter, shaking your head as Joel laughed, too. 

“Off to a great start,” you muttered in between chuckles, “First week in Austin and I’m already making passes at handsome strangers in bar bathrooms.” 

“I never said I was complainin’,” Joel said jokingly, and you let out a chuckle, “First week in Austin, hm?” 

“Yeah,” you said with a nod, “Here for a postgrad.” 

“Smart and beautiful,” he mused, “Reckon I should spill beers more often if this is what I get in return.” 

Delicate wings fluttered in your tummy at his words as a feeling of excitement filled your chest. Looking up at him with a raised teasing eyebrow you said, “Not sure spilling beer on someone is the tried and tested formula.”  

“Well, that depends, really,” Joel answered back in a teasingly contemplating voice, “‘s it workin’ on you?” 

Your stomach dropped slightly at his words, and when your eyes moved to meet his, he was looking at you with a look that made your insides burn. 

“Maybe,” you told him with a teasing smile pulling at the corners of your mouth. 

You were never usually this bold, but there was something in the way he was looking at you and the syrup-y tone of his voice. You could tell he knew what he was doing, knew exactly what to say, and you wanted more. Biting down on your bottom lip coquettishly, you leaned backwards on your arms, giving Joel a full view of the soaked front of your dress, and more specifically, everything he could see underneath. 

“And what works on you, Joel?” 

You watched with some satisfaction as Joel's eyes ran over the length of your chest, before he quickly redirected them to your eyes.

“You’re making it very hard to be a gentleman here, sweetheart,” he almost whispered, his eyes as dark as the Austin summer night sky. You gave a noncommitted shrug as a teasing smile tugged at your lips. Then, you leaned forward so that you were closer to him, feet dangling slightly.

“I never asked you to be,” you told him, your voice low but not quite a whisper as you looked up at him through your lashes. 

Behind your rib cage your heart quickened with excitement as Joel’s darkening gaze bored into yours, and you knew you him right where you wanted him. His eyes danced over your face for a moment, before they flickered down to your lips. It almost made you stop breathing for a second, the tension in the air between you so thick you could cut it with a knife. There was just something about this man, something about Joel – and in this moment you wanted him more than you’d ever wanted anyone before. 

Maybe it should’ve scared you, the speed at which you’d fallen under his spell (or was it the other way around?), but right now, with Joel’s darkening eyes staring into yours, you couldn't bring yourself to feel any fear. You could only look at him, could only feel his breath fanning over your lips and the intensity of his gaze on your face.

“You’re trouble, aren’t ya?” Joel’s voice was low, not quite a whisper, but full of deep bass. 

You felt the expanse of his hand fall on your bare knee, rough and calloused over where your sundress had ridden up. 

“Nothing you can’t handle.” You batted your eyelashes semi-innocently, spreading your thighs slightly, which made Joel’s mouth twitch in amusement. 

“’s that so, darlin’?” He asked, taking his place between your legs, your face now only inches from his as he looked down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Mhm,” you nodded slightly, your hand falling over his to guide it slowly up your thigh, “Don’t you wanna find out?”

As Joel’s index finger made contact with the side seam of your underwear, he closed the space between you and pressed his lips against yours. The hairs of his mustache tickled your cupid’s bow as he dove deeper, lips rolling over yours. You sat up slightly when his other hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to him, your core rubbing up against his growing bulge. You whimpered against his lips at the contact, and Joel inhaled it, consuming every breathy moan and whimper.

His hand slid slowly downwards to your ass where he gave it a nice squeeze, pulling you even closer when your legs came up to wrap around his waist. He licked at your lower lip hungrily, and you opened yourself up to him to allow him to deepen the kiss. It was hot, and suffocating, and all-consuming, all at the same time. He was a great kisser, probably the best you’d kissed. His lips moved expertly over yours, soft and firm at the same time as he guided you through it.

The grip on your ass tightened again and soon you were half-way to hanging off the counter as he rocked his front steadily against your core, where your arousal had started to pool. The kisses turned needier then, shorter and desperate between quiet whines. You could feel the shape of him against you, hard and thick, and big. A wave of tickling arousal washed over you as you imagined yourself on your knees before him, the weight and taste of him on your tongue. He was so fucking hot, and you wanted him so fucking badly.

“Can I suck your cock?” you panted through frantic kisses.

Joel pulled back slightly, head tipped back to find your eyes. 

“You wanna suck my cock?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice. You only nodded, head tipping slowly with the bite of your lip.

Joel tsk-ed, “Dirty girl,” he said and rocked his hard bulge against your core, which earned him a moan. It made a wicked grin spread across his face, like he’d just proved a point.

His hands left your body as he slowly stepped backwards – that same cocky grin adorning his features as he nodded towards one of the stalls. Jumping off the countertop, you almost tripped over your feet to follow him inside.

“Relax, baby– ain’t no need to get on your knees until after we’re inside,” he teased, holding the door open for you, bicep bulging against the fabric of his t-shirt. Fuck, he looked so hot.

“Ha-ha,” you fake-laughed at him with a teasing roll of your eyes as you stepped past him and into the bathroom stall. When the door clicked behind him, followed by the unmistakable sound of the lock turning, you felt a pair of strong hands land on your hips as he pressed his body against your back.

“I’m only teasin’,” he reassured you in your ear, his breath fanning over the shell and sending a tingle down your spine. Turning around in his hold, your own teasing smile spread across your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Yeah?” you queried with the raise of an eyebrow, “Well two can play that game, sir” you teased as you slowly sunk to your knees, missing the way Joel reacted to the title you’d assigned him.

From above Joel watched you, body relaxed and composed like he wasn’t about to get his dick sucked, but the lust in his eyes gave him away. Your teeth caught on your bottom lip as you fumbled with his belt, the sound of metal clinking bouncing off the tiles as you focused on popping the button on his jeans and pulling the zipper down. You couldn’t take your eyes off the shape of him hidden behind the denim, and it made your mouth water, your thighs squeezing together. You were mesmerized as you let your pointer finger run over the covered length of him, the cotton fabric of his boxer briefs soft under your fingertips.

For a moment, you couldn’t believe what you were about to do – suck a man you’d just met less than an hour ago off in the bathroom stall of some dingy bar? But then again, something excited you about it. 

Maybe it was Joel? Or maybe it was the thrill of it all– of maybe getting caught?

“Go on, darlin’, it’s okay– be a good girl n’ take it out f’me,” Joel ordered from above, his voice dropping an octave. You looked up at him, caught the way he studied you, gauging your every move and reaction.

Then something shifted in his eyes, a flash of insecurity making its presence known, “Or don’t– we can stop f’you want– if you ain’t feelin’ it anymore.”

You shook your head before he’d even finished his sentence. God, no! You sure as hell didn’t want to stop.

“I wanna keep going, Joel,” you smiled, your fingers hooking into the elastic band of his boxer briefs.

A genuine smile bloomed across his face then, his rough hand coming down to cup your chin, “That’s good, baby,” he said, swiping his thumb slowly over your skin, before he leaned down to press a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Know you’ll be good f’me, won’t you?” he whispered against your lips, drawing a breathy whine from you at the praise.

“Yes,” you sighed, almost breathless as he kissed you again quickly before he murmured against your lips, “Yes, you will, darlin’– you’re gonna choke on my cock ‘n thank me for it, won’t ya?”

He was driving you mad with all these questions. In just a few minutes, this man had turned you inside out, pushed every button to turn you on– you were practically swimming in your panties, your mind clouded in hazy arousal. 

You didn’t know what to do, and not thinking clearly, you chased his lips.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel chuckled, pulling away slightly, “lemme hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you sighed again, “thank you for giving me your cock.”

“Thank you for giving me your cock, what?”

This manwas relentless.

“Thank you for giving me your cock, sir?” you tried, teeth nibbling on your bottom lip.

Pleased, a satisfied grin pulled at Joel’s lips. He rewarded you with a quick kiss before he pulled away, standing to his full height again.

You couldn’t wait any longer, you needed to touch him. Hooking your fingers into the elastic band of his boxer briefs again, you slowly pulled them down, revealing inch by inch of the base of his fat cock.

He was big, and the sight made your mouth water, but what excited you the most was the weight of his heavy balls.

“Fuck,” you whispered, eyes wide with fascination.

His hand found the back of your neck in a grounding hold as he guided you closer, your lips bumping against his tip. “Give it a kiss, baby… just like that,” he praised as you did exactly what he wanted, placing a kiss to his cock the same way you’d kissed his lips.

Over you, you could hear Joel release a content breathy chuckle, “That’s so good, baby, such a good girl.”

Egged on by his praises, you shifted a little on your knees, steadying your hands on his thighs as you pooled a blob of spit in your mouth that you let drip down the head. Joel watched you intensely as you used your dominant hand to slowly work the spit over his length, earning yourself a strained grunt. He grew even harder in your hand as you familiarized yourself with the weight and size of him in your hand. 

“Wanna taste it, sir,” you said and placed another soft kiss to the head, swiping your tongue over the slit to taste the precum that had started to pearl.

“Yeah?” he taunted, almost degrading, “You wanna taste my cock that badly?”

“Y-yes,” you whined, looking up at him through your lashes.

Joel watched you for a beat before he tapped at the hand wrapped around him, shooing it away as he fisted himself. “Open wide then, honey, ‘f you want it that bad,” he said, slapping his cock against the side of your face.

Your mouth dropped open in an instance as Joel stuffed his cock inside your mouth slowly. You opened up as wide as you possibly could, relaxing your jaw to accommodate the size of him in your mouth. It was a wide stretch, and the tip touched the back of your throat far too soon, making you gag around the head.

He pulled back to let you breathe for a moment, before he sunk back down your throat again, a large and grounding hand resting at the back of your head. The second time you were more prepared to take him, holding him in your throat for a few moments longer before you started to gag. Over you, Joel let out a strained grunt; the noise sending a bolt of arousal straight to your core.

After that, Joel let you take the lead.

You started out slow, taking the head into your mouth as you let your spit-covered fingers glide over his shaft in an experimental tug. Under your fist, a slick sound echoed off the tiles with every jerk of his cock. You made sure his cock was thoroughly coated in your spit as you set a steady rhythm. You let your tongue glide over the underside of his tip, his hips bucking when you dipped your tongue into the slit.

It was sloppy, and wet, and the noises coming from your throat were entirely too obscene as you started bobbing your head, taking him down your throat.

“That’s a good girl,” Joel praised you, helping guide his cock down your throat with the hand resting at the back of your head. “You love suckin’ cock, don’t you? Love havin’ a big cock fill up that tight throat?”

Suddenly, you heard the muted music coming from the bar grow louder before dying again at the sound of the door slamming shut. You stilled your movements in panic as you heard someone slip into the stall to your right. Your eyes met Joel as you slipped his cock out your mouth, but to your surprise he looked far from concerned about the new audience. 

Stretching his neck he turned his head in the direction of the occupied stall, while he wrapped his fist around the base of his cock. Even in his hands it looked big, and you started to wonder how you’d ever managed to fit it down your throat. A beat passed before he turned his head to look at you again, a wicked grin coating his lips as he bobbed his cock in your face, rubbing the head over your closed lips before he slapped it lightly against your cheek.

“Open up,” he mouthed with another light slap to your cheek. His actions made a tingle of arousal spread throughout your body, and you realized in shock how much the thought of getting caught turned you on.

You did as Joel said and opened your mouth for him to feed you his cock again. He watched you very closely this time, letting you ease yourself down his cock at your own pace, trying your best to be quiet. When the very tip of your nose made contact with the thatch of coarse dark hair at the base and your lips were snug around his cock, Joel couldn’t help himself. The grounding hand at the back of your head held you down as he shoved himself as deep as he possibly could down your throat, his balls bouncing against your chin at the movement.

To your right you heard the unmistakable sound of a toilet being flushed and a lock being twisted. Your eyes welled up with tears, your vision fogging over as you tried your best to fight against your gag reflex. Over you, Joel watched you with a proud smirk on his lips. When the sound of the sink turning on echoed through the restroom, you allowed a whimpering gag to escape you as you squeezed your eyes shut.

It shouldn’t have turned you on as much as it did, but the thrill of getting caught choking on an older man’s cock, a man who was essentially a stranger, made you wonder if you could come untouched. You were so close already, just a flick of your clit would send you off the edge of bliss.

Your eyes were about to roll back into your head when Joel finally pulled back. You gasped violently for air at the exact moment the door opened, filling the toilets with loud music for a moment before you and Joel were locked away again in your own little world. Like you were on autopilot, your hand slipped between your thighs to find your clit, and soon you were withering with your orgasm.

“Oh, there you go, honey, come all over those fingers f’me, just like that,” you heard Joel say, though the force of your orgasm made it seem like he was far away, like your ears were filled with cotton.

When you finally calmed down, you steadied yourself with a tug at Joel’s jeans – the fabric rough under your fingertips. Over you Joel fisted his cock as he watched you with a wild look in his eyes.

“Goddamn, baby, you’re so fuckin’ hot comin’ like that just from gettin’ your throat fucked.”

“Thank you, sir,” you managed to let out, your voice strained and hoarse.

Realizing he must’ve been close, you sat up straighter on your knees, ready to pull him off the edge too. Leaning forward, you stuck out your tongue, licking a fat strip up the seam of his balls to the underside of his shaft. His cock jumped in his hand as Joel let out a breathy laugh.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he muttered, “Look me in the eyes honey– look me in the eyes when you lick my balls.” Joel jerked his cock above your face as you continued to lick at his heavy balls – your eyes locked with his.

“Look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he choked out through groans, “Suck on ‘em, baby, suck on my balls.”

Blinking up at him you tried your best to fit one of them in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and sucking greedily and lapping at the skin, before you moved on to treat the other with the same amount of love.

Joel’s mouth dropped open in a gape, his breath coming out quicker and more staggered. He squeezed himself harder at the base with each jerk before skating his thumb over the swollen head, massaging it. 

“Fuck,” he panted, “I’m gonna come, baby, I’m gonna fuckin’ come.”

Popping his balls from your mouth you hurriedly sat up in front of him, the tip off his cock brushing over the plump of your bottom lip with every thug of his cock.

“Please, sir,” you begged, “Please, come in my mouth.”

Joel wasn’t one to deny your request, especially not when you were sat so pretty in front of him with your tongue sticking out.

A second later, Joel shoved his cock in your mouth and came – balls drawn tight as he shot his load down your throat. The force of it made you gag a little at first, the restriction around his sensitive cock only making him come harder. He groaned above you as you sucked him dry, before he pulled back when it was too much, and caught his breath.

“Say Ah,” he said, a gentle but firm hand cupping your jaw. The squeeze of his fingers made your mouth drop open to reveal the cum coated on your tongue and where it pooled at the back of your throat. “Don’t swallow– Let me see, darlin’.”

Your smile fought against his grip. Sticking your tongue out the best you could, you let him see the state he’d left you in; chin coated in saliva, tears starting to dry on your cheeks, mouth puffy and fucked, and marked in this stranger’s cum.

“Pretty as a picture,” he tutted before he let go of your jaw, and with a pat to your cheek finally gave you permission to swallow.

After that it was like the spell had broken between you. Joel helped you to your feet, both of you giggling when your legs wobbled like a foal unsteady on its feet. He held you upright with a strong hand to your waist, while the other one traveled up the length of your body to cup your face, and bring it closer to place a slow and sensual kiss to your lips.

“Would you believe me if I told you I’d never done anything like that before?” You asked him a moment later as he helped you clean your face by the sink.

Joel gave you a look in the mirror.

“You don’t?” you exclaimed.

Joel gave you an infuriatingly casual shrug, “It ain’t your first time suckin’ dick that’s for sure,” he teased with a pinch to your side which made you jump.

Giving him a playful shove, you said, “I’m not lying! I’ve never had a one-night stand.”

“Well, the night’s still young,” Joel joked, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and dipping his head to place a soft kiss to the column of your neck.

You leaned into his touch, feeling the soft grip of his hands on your body, and the soft presses of his kisses as you watched the two of you in the mirror. You found that you liked the reflection looking back at you, and if you were lucky, you hoped he liked it too; maybe enough to want to see you again.

“I can’t go back out there like this,” you said after a moment.

Your dress had finally dried, but so had the beer – staining it yellow.

Joel lifted his head from your neck to rest his chin on your shoulder as his eyes scanned your body in the mirror. 

“I have a flannel in my truck I can borrow you?”

“More layers in this heat?” you questioned, already sweating at the thought.

A wide grin spread across Joel’s face, full of mischief, “I guess I’ll just have to take ‘em off of you later, then.”

Turning around in his hold, you wrapped your hands around his neck, your fingers toying with the hair curling at his neck as you met his eyes. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” you whispered, painfully aware of the wet stain of arousal soiling your panties and sticking to your cunt.

“No, it doesn’t,” Joel hummed, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. 

“Wanna get out of here?” you asked and brushed your lips over his.

A moment later Joel guided you out the restrooms with a protective hand resting at the small of your back. Weaving through the crowd, you’d made your way almost to the exit when you heard a shout of your name over the music.

“There you are!” Sarah shouted again as she moved through the crowd towards you and Joel, arms reached out to the sky.

“Oh! And you’ve finally met my dad!”

i hope this was okay and that someone liked this? as always feedback as a comment, in the tags, as an ask or reply is very much appreciated, and they make me super happy! <3 i'm very curious to hear your thoughts about this! <3

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[chococolte]

☼ — pietas maris

♱ : my take on sagau childe

including ☆! — him as a worshiper, and his reaction to being your lover ⛧

word count. 5.6k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, religious + cult themes, cult au, g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl. ୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. now time for me to disappear back into the aether for another 6 months

The abyss is cold.

It is unfeeling, lacking warmth and passion. It is relentless, cruel, and unkind. It corrupts, ruins, and does so freely, without remorse or thought. It leaves you clinging to the hot blood in your veins, curled up and hidden in the dark reaches of its void.

Childe had always been versatile; quick to adapt, even at such a young age. He grew used to the emptiness, the swelling numbness, and the eventual gnawing loneliness left in his abdomen. They became a part of him as his lungs, as integral as air; to be without felt odd, foreign.

The glimmer of your existence kept Childe company. He did not know who you were, or how lucky he was— only that you brought him comfort, like an old lullaby, or a blanket worn from overuse. He reached for you when the darkness grew too much, too heavy a burden on his small shoulders.

He came to you with little offerings; small trinkets, tomes of unreadable text. Useless to him, but perhaps you would take pity on him in exchange, and let him take comfort in your presence for another day. Childe came to you with rubble shaped in hearts, the gentle breath of his voice as he spoke of his anxieties. He did not think of them as offerings then, merely gifts— pleadings for you to stay a little longer.

His hands, then unruined and soft, made you a makeshift altar crafted out of whatever he could find. He made sure to build it where he felt your whispers were strongest, where your light entirely overwhelmed the darkness overhead. Childe didn't think of it as an altar then, just a place to settle his findings, where he could pretend his sad, little effigy made of you was actually you.

The idol didn't look much like a person at all, and at the time, he didn't think of his behavior as odd. He desperately clung to you for survival, and with no other warm body besides his own, you were the only one he could talk too.

At times, he thought he was going insane. There was a pleasant buzzing in his ears whenever he neared your doll, as if it were calling him. Despite the fact that he had made it, proven by the tiny scars on his palms, he still felt as if it was yours.

In the darkness, Childe whispered to you. He said everything his mind could think, childishly exaggerated tales in hopes of impressing you. A foolish endeavor, considering you were a God— but he still hoped that maybe you'd think of him kindly, and let him bask in your protective glow for just one more moment.

He couldn't hear your words, but he could feel them. The twinkle of your laughter was like a soft whistle in his ears. When you were pleased, the air would lightly ruffle his hair. Despite how agonizing his loneliness was, at least he had you by his side.

Childe's innocence, as all things do, eventually withered away in that malevolent black.

He thought of you as his teacher; a guiding hand that trained him, molded him to fit against your palm. When he struggled against the abyssal beasts, he could feel you— a soft brush against his hand, a firm hold on his back, keeping him focused. You taught him when to still his blade and when to strike.

In the arches of his sword and polearm, in the taut and tense pull of his bow, in the whirlwind of his catalyst— you were there, shining from beyond the thin veil separating you.

When Childe was ripped out of the abyss, so was his connection to you. Like a thread snapping, he could no longer feel you; not in the darkness overhead, not in the grip of his blade, of the depths of his soul. You were gone, and he was once again nothing but a boy, lost and alone. Friends and family surround him, thankful for his return, but his mind is still reeling, still stuck in the abyss and the sudden emptiness left in your wake.

Despite himself, Childe had hoped you would have stayed, even once he was out. He thought he was done with being naïve, but that clearly wasn't the case.

He can’t feel you anymore. Where did you go? Why did you leave? What did he do wrong? Questions swirl in his head like whirlpools of thought. Childe feels like he's drowning, suffocating in the mess of his mind. His breaths come out short, quick and sharp. His throat squeezes, constricting his airways, as he realizes what's unfolded.

You left him.

He should've known better. On that first day, all you had done was take pity on him by letting him linger in your light. It was his fault for ever believing that he would never have to be alone again. That even if he had no one else, at least he had you.

This was the result of his own failure. If only he had proven himself worthy.

When his family found him, they found him gripping a small, rudimentary doll. Even when they reached their home, Childe was still clutching the thing as if possessed. When they tried tugging it out of his hands, saying it would help him eat better, he ripped it from their grasp, holding it to his chest.

Childe couldn't accept that you had left him so easily. At night, back in his warm bed, Childe tries to whisper to you again. The familiar warmth sinks into his pores, but it's nothing like yours. He nuzzles closer to the doll, ignoring how it tears into his skin.

"I'm here," he whispers.

Maybe you got confused. He knows you're a God, but even the Seven are not omniscient. When he was torn from the abyss, it was possible you hadn't meant to so cruelly cut the connection between you. Maybe you couldn't find him, and so he just has to tell you where he is.

So he whispers to you in the dark, just as he has so many times before.

Only this time, he's met with silence.

In the years that pass, you linger at the forefront of his mind, haunting him like a wraith. Childe can't bring himself to be rid of you, despite how it hurts every time he thinks about you for a little too long. He's still stuck, perpetually waiting for your return, despite how he knows you've long given him up.

Childe becomes Tartaglia, the 11th Harbinger under the Tsaritsa. He takes a new name, a new mask— he executes her orders dutifully, and he does his role perfectly. He acts as if she's you, despite how desperately he wants to believe otherwise. If he closes his eyes for long enough, he can pretend that the cold that seeps into his bones in her presence is yours.

But no matter how many names and identities he takes, he'll always just be your Ajax; the boy who still misses you, despite how short your time together was. And that fact is what burns him the most.

Maybe he should be angry. He knows he has every right to be. Angry that you left him, that you discarded him as if he was nothing. Maybe he should hate you— hate you for leaving him alone, as if you weren't the only thing keeping him sane. Hate you for leaving as if his love didn't matter to you.

He comforts himself by thinking of the time dilation he experienced in the abyss. You cared for him so much that you spun three days into three months. He likes to believe he meant something to you; he must've, because why else would you lengthen your time spent together?

Childe knows it isn't true. He didn't matter enough for you to stay, after all.

At night, Childe finds himself listlessly thinking of you. It's a silent mourning. Quiet tears fall down his cheeks, soaking the pillow beneath his head. He chokes down every heaving sob that threatens to break from his throat; clenches his jaw when they claw too close to his lips. He slaps a hand over his mouth when he's too loud, biting his fingers until they're bloody and marred by his teeth. What would you think if you saw him this weak? Saw the boy you built up crumble, all because he can't feel even the softest traces of your presence anymore?

You would find him pathetic. All he's done is prove that you were right in abandoning him.

When the memory of you is too much to bear, he clutches the effigy in his arms, squeezing it against his chest until it's sharp edges dig into his skin. Even after all these years, he's still kept it close. He tries to feel the visage of you that was once attached to its bearings, whispering for you under the night sky, hoping it'll remind you of your time in the abyss— hoping that tonight he will feel you again, ruffling his hair with tendrils of wind.

He never does.

Childe barely sleeps, but when he does, he dreams of you. You have no body, no face— he can't even begin to imagine what you look like, and he doesn't dare too, even when he knows he has nothing to lose.

He's back in the dark, but you're still there with him, providing him light and comfort. If he knew that leaving would entail being without you, he never would have left at all. Better to be with you than to die without.

Sometimes, he dreams of you staying with him even after he escapes. Your warmth is ever-present. He gifts you riches, now. You have a voice in his dreams, and he can hear you speaking to him. You're kind, and gentle, and he wants for nothing. He has you, and there is nothing more to want.

He dreams he never lost you at all. It makes reality all the more painful.

In a way he knows is pathetic, Childe hopes you at least found him fun. He hopes you found him entertaining, despite how the thought twists his heart and guts into little knots, until he feels vaguely nauseous at the notion. At least then you would have reason to remember him. At least he could say he meant something to you.

In a hidden corner of his room, there sits an altar for you. His wealth as a Harbinger means he has no lack of resources, and so he bejewels the altar until it glimmers even without light. It's obnoxious and opulent to the point of vanity, but he figures that if you like it, he'll earn another whisper of warmth from you— in the vain hope that you hear him at all anymore.

With his hands, now calloused and worn, he carves sigils into whalebone. He doesn't know what they mean, but they were numerous in the abyss; and so he etches them into bone, hoping that whatever they mean, it reaches you.

Childe pushes himself more than he should. His back aches from all the weight he carries on his shoulders, but he trudges forward despite how it hurts. He is more fervent in conflicts, and spectacular scenes of blood and viscera follow him every time he walks onto a battlefield.

His tongue forms words of devotion for the Tsaritsa as he slays another enemy, blood staining his fingers, but in his heart, he only ever speaks of you.

When he fights, Childe can lose himself. He can focus entirely on the movement of his feet, the precision of his blade. He can ignore how badly he misses you, and how in the back of his mind, he desperately hopes that the more blood he sheds with your teachings, you'll find him satisfactory.

Adrenaline rushes through his veins, and once again he lets himself be drowned by the rush, letting himself forget all of his pain.

Childe is proud of the way that no one can recognize his style of fighting. It is exact and sharp— every strike hitting its target with ease, filled with vigor and intensity. He enjoys the gazes of jealousy, but remains silent when asked. My teacher taught me, he says. He sheds no further light on the matter, and any instance someone shows interest in learning from him, he instantly refuses. Childe wishes to keep you close to his chest, a guarded secret known only to him.

Childish, perhaps. He knows it is. But if he can't have you, then he will have the knowledge of you. He will keep it to himself, and there it will stay, safe in his tight grip. 

It drives him insane, the way sees you in everything. When night falls, covering the sky in a blanket of stars, he wonders if you're staring at him from above. When the tides of the sea brush against the shore, he finds himself thinking of you as the moon— you are what anchors him, despite the fact that he hasn't felt you in so long. In his eyes, there is nothing you could not be, and with every breath, he only ever misses you more.

It's during his mission in Liyue that he feels you again. Childe is unable to breathe when he meets the Traveler, sensing you watching from their eyes. His heart thunders in his chest, tempestuous as a storm over the sea.

For a moment, he's happy. You're finally back. He wants nothing more than to run to you, to ask you why you left for so long, to ask how he can make you stay, but then he feels you— a familiar pressure bearing down on him, forcing him to say anything but what he wants to.

Childe watches the Traveler's back fade as it finally clicks for him.

You abandoned him for someone else. You left him... for this. The thought sends him reeling. You left him, just to go spend time with someone else— to give them the same company you gave him, to give them the same guidance you gave him— was he merely replaceable to you?

Was he just a test for you?

He should be angry. And he is, but the heartbreak overwhelms him. He's left choking, battling for air. The agony of having been tossed to the side, of having it be affirmed in front of his eyes. He wants to scream and cry, beg for you to return; but his throat squeezes every time he meets the Traveler, and the words die on his tongue.

You don't want him to speak. He's meant to play along.

Childe had waited for you for so long. Even after all this time, he couldn't get rid of the painful hope that you'd return. He had done his best to bottle his emotions, to keep them shut and locked inside, so that you wouldn't be disappointed in him upon your arrival. Proud that he never doubted you for a moment.

But he had. He had doubted you, cried at the lack of your comfort. Afraid of what it meant to be without you. Fearful of living, never getting to gleam your existence for a second time— and now you want him to pretend as if he never knew you.

As if he can't see the slight smugness in the Traveler's eyes.

His fight with the Traveler is personal. He bares his teeth, snarling like a rabid dog. His every strike is fast, precise with the intent to kill and maim. Childe hopes his emotions reach you, that you know of his bitterness and acrimony. That you know of how long he wished for you, how long he yearned for you to come back— how his frustration has twisted into pure rage, turned into a fine point. 

He just has to simply show you how he's better. He has to show you that he's superior in every way to your choice. That you should've chosen him over them. 

They are undeserving; watch how he rips through them like they are nothing, slicing through them like they are mist over sea. They are unworthy; see how easily he beats them into submission, how easily they crumble at his feet. The matter of the Gnosis is nothing to him, now— only whether you see how he should be the one you prefer. 

It's then that he feels it. Your rage. Your anger at having been battered and bruised. The Traveler stands back up, but something is different now. Their strikes are fluid, prowess and skill increased by an outside force. 

You. 

Do you hate him that badly? Detest him so much, to go so far as to bless another with your strength so they can prove themselves to be his better? Even in his Foul Legacy form, Childe is forced to retreat; forced to bow his head in defeat, weakened by the burden of his transformation.

The realization leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He's done the exact opposite of what he set out to do. All he's proven is that your right.

Childe feels your crushing weight bearing down on him. He spits the words out, calls them 'friend' through clenched teeth. He dances to your whims, just as he had previously. Unnatural, stiff movements and words that speak the opposite of what he means. 

And then you're gone, left along with them. He stares at their fading back. He can almost imagine you beside them, walking by their side just as you once did his. 

It hurts.

The next time he feels you, there is no sign of the Traveler. Only a tight pulling in his chest. 

He doesn't know what it means, or what it entails. But he follows, sensing you at the end, waiting for him. Childe doesn't allow himself to hope; that maybe, you have come around. That maybe you do care. That maybe, you never hated him— not truly. That you missed him just as he missed you. 

Maybe he meant something, after all.

When he reaches you, he feels it. You're happy. You're happy with him. He feels you reaching out, tickling him with strands of your will. You brush against his skin, burrow deep inside. Childe lets you, still unable to breathe.

He wonders if this is really happening. Have you come back to him, truly? Have you finally realized how much better he is? He feels you graze his soul, reaching deep within. Childe feels you envelop him, swathing him in warmth and comfort. 

You're home, you whisper. 

He only hears the ghost of your voice, a chime in the wind; but he hears the intent, the meaning behind your unintelligible words, even though he can't understand them. 

Childe breaks. 

SANGUINE NATUS ; first meeting/as a worshiper

If even just your breath could leave him weak, then seeing you for the first time makes his knees give out underneath him.

It's a foolishly embarrassing display, but Childe can't find it in himself to care. He falls to his knees quicker than his mind can catch up, unconsciously posturing himself to make himself seem as small and harmless as possible— anything to make you stay, even if it means sabotaging his image.

He tucks his shoulders inward, struggling between looking at you until his eyes burn and your image is seared into the back of his eyelids, or averting his gaze because just touching you with them feels like he's sullying you somehow.

His breath comes out short and sharp, his entire chest heaving with each shuddering, raspy exhale. Before he can even manage a sound, he's sobbing, crumpling to the floor— there's no care taken to your perception of him now, only the wailful cries of one lost in the weight of your eyes. Childe knows he's being pathetic, a mess of airy desperation and red eyes; everything he was when he felt the ghost of you leave him, and everything he wished you'd never see. But it's you, and for the first time, he can truly feel your eyes on him.

It's all too much to bear.

"I-It's you, it's you—!" Childe manages to choke, wet tears caking the apples of his face. His eyes strain, burning to see the visage of you through the blur of his vision. Nausea bites at him, his abdomen a sudden storm from the tears that lick at his cheeks.

Childe has always been austere in his worship; strict, solemn in how he acts out every religious rite. There is an icy silence unlike him as he moves, particularly whenever your sanctity is involved. His fingers still tremble despite his stiffness, the desperation loud in every twitch of his limbs. The desire to see you, after all is said and done.

Seeing you for the first time feels as though a wave has overtaken him, drowning him in brine and the cerulean of muddy waters. There is no hiding what he could barely contain before— jerky movements filled with need and the dolor of one disappointed before.

Childe no longer finds himself able to veil it by lies and rushing fights of adrenaline; now, it lies bare, and there's no burning ache to keep it hidden.

His fervor is relentless; a feverish desire to please you coalescing until it's unbearable for his skin. Your reaction to his cries could have been cruel or kind, and it wouldn't have bothered him; all that matters is whether he has finally proven himself worthy of standing by your side.

His worship is eager words spilling from his lips at night, the echo of your name a murmur from his mouth like the sigh of the ocean's waves-- his blades stained red, limp at his sides-- the burning in the back of his throat that comes from years of pleading.

You're here now, even if he can't be with you at all times; and that knowledge leaves him whispering to you, uttering every thought without a moment of reconsideration. It is a ceaseless endeavor, as every word is listless praise and endless adoration. There isn't a moment where he isn't thinking of you in some way, and the mere thought of the opposite leaves him feeling vaguely sick.

He wants to think of you all the time. Though it's such a small thing, in his mind, he has you all to himself— in the sense that there is no one else to take your eyes off of him— there, he can make you happy; there, he can make you proud of him. In that world, you have no reason to be rid of him.

Childe's always kept his habit of crafting you makeshift gifts. They're rugged, imperfect things, but laden with his fingerprints and the palms of his hands. Before, he could only set them still on his altar for you, and hope that it pleased you somehow. He was only ever met with silence, but he could pretend you were happy with him, and the idea alone was enough.

When he catches sight of a sea conch, its pale marks swirled across its smooth surface, he can only think of handing it to you. It's a beautiful thing, and so simple and crude a gift; but maybe you will find worth in such a thing, the simplicity of its nature, and praise him for it.

He gives them to you physically now, unable to shake the urge to do so. His hands always tremble when he hands them over, his knees threatening to buckle underneath him whenever your fingers brush against his. He will never fail to drown in the sensation, allowing everything that he is to become thoughts of you.

Childe has always worshiped you in bloodshed. In the past, he hoped it would leave you satisfied enough to come back; now, it's to prove how much better he is than everyone else. His fear runs deep, like cracks in the earth far below the water's surface, and the sickening feeling of dread whenever you praise someone else suffocates him.

It's unreasonable, he knows, and he has no reason to fear, not anymore— but his heart still quickens at the thought, and his stomach still twists.

It's an all too familiar feeling. When he was first torn from you, he felt as though his heart had been ripped right out of him; and the panic he feels only reminds him of it.

When he's inevitably forced away from you on another mission, he deals with it as quickly as possible, no matter how bloodied or bruised he leaves it. He is brutally unkind in his workings, his words always terse and clipped; a slight edge that never really seems to go away until he knows you're somewhere nearby.

It's when he's forced to stay away from you for a longer period of time that he breaks completely. Upon his return, he is instantly back at your side, heaving sobs and ugly tears running down his face. He can barely think, and a flurry of slurred words leaves his lips— begging to never leave your side again.

Childe knows better than to think he is deserving of your kindness, but he’s desperate to at least stay in your shadow. There, he could stay near you, even if he was swathed in black— even if his only glimpse of you was your back, he would be in bliss. To be near you in some form is all he could ever ask of you.

For all of the power you have granted him, it's only right that he use it for you. A mere word from anyone that isn't pure praise has his grip on his weapon tightening, the tendons on his hand taut and his knuckles pale. He remains entirely oblivious to any moral ambiguity in your actions— whatever you do is right and just; as you are the only one worthy of judging yourself, he does not dare too.

Instead, Childe draws his blade in judgement of others— he will act as your hand and executioner, the arbiter of your faith; it's with only vigor that he hands out punishment, a ferocity bold and true.

AMANS IN SPINIS IACET ; as your lover

Childe's dreams have begun to take a sudden turn.

It's not anything he can control, despite how hard he tries too. They pleased him at first, even though he still couldn't help the way his heart tightened at the idea of you somehow knowing. At that time, they weren't occurring enough for him to be worried, and the content themselves were innocent enough for him to think nothing of it.

You held him close to you, pressing benign kisses across his freckled cheeks, playing with his hair with soft fingers; little things that he could believe meant nothing at all, just a desire to feel your affection in the only way his mortal heart knew how.

The dreams turn nightly, and Childe finally realizes it's much more than that.

It begins at signs of your favoritism. Glances that last more than they should, summoning him to your chambers more frequently; Childe does not deny you, and he can't help the faint giddiness that clouds his mind every time he feels your gaze linger on him. It's a euphoric sensation to know that he is the one you are looking at; no one else. Only barely does he manage to rein in his emotions every time.

You speak much softer to him, and your touch is more affectionate. He turns drunk on your approval, willingly dancing to your whims if it meant having your fingers coiled in his hair for another moment. Before he can stop himself for even daring to think it, Childe lets himself believe he's special to you— and that is where the problem arises.

The thoughts don't stop. Even if he screams to drown out the noise, they still manage to be so loud. The dreams are relentless, more loving, more vivid. He can feel the warmth of your palms as you caress his cheeks, the weight of your breath when you draw your head near; they feel so real, that for a moment, he thinks you're the one sending them to him.

He feels as though he's dirtying you in some form, as if he is the one committing an unforgivable sin against you; somehow managing to desecrate you with just his thoughts alone. The idea sends him into a panic-induced frenzy, kneeling before his altar with rushed, unintelligible apologies on his lips.

Despite his self-hatred, whenever he wakes from one, Childe is left blissfully dazed, nuzzling into his pillow with hazy clarity— pretending that it's you, instead. He wonders what it would be like if his dreams were real, if he could really be so special to you in such a way; entirely irreplaceable, entirely yours.

It doesn't take long for his will to be eroded by his desperation. His desire to resist was already hanging by a thread, and as the dreams persist, any resistance on his end is lost. He falls ever deeper into an abyss of his own making, allowing himself to be undone by his own creation.

Childe has always been needy, but as his feelings rear their ugly head, it only grows worse. He has always loved you— and he had been struggling to choke his own feelings down for as long as he could, fooling himself into believing that they didn't exist in the first place. In his eyes, it's only right that you be the one to shake the foundation he lay; making him crumble until every dark part of himself is laid bare in front of you, only for your eyes.

There's a drastic increase in his desperation to be near you, and any lack of refusal on your part only exacerbates it. He neglects his duties entirely in favor of staying by you in some way or another, be it either by your side, or following you from a distance like a lost puppy.

Your admittance of feelings only makes Childe more fervent. He can barely hear himself speak, his heart fluttering against his ribcage like a caged canary. He can barely believe anything you're saying, and for a moment, he wonders if he's lost in another dream of his.

At your assurance, Childe doesn't dare to doubt you any longer. He falls entirely into you, allowing you to consume his every thought. He doesn't think to fight back, letting you envelop him until his every breath is coated in your name. He is yours, and he has no desire for anything more.

His desire for your approval now emboldens him. Childe's always acted out of an interest in garnering your attention, and though he now knows of your feelings, it does nothing to satiate him; instead, it leaves him hungrier, greedy with an eagerness to please.

He doesn't take from you without asking, but he asks enough for it to be a nuisance. Your affection is everything to him, and he can't bear to go a moment without it. He asks to lay his head in your lap, for you to play with his hair— the loss of your touch is the loss of himself, and sends him reeling back to memories of when he was without you.

The first time you kiss him, his legs instantly give out underneath him, a small groan leaving his lips. Childe doesn't bother to dull his reactions; you deserve to know how easily weakened he is by your touch, with even a brush of your fingers enough to leave him breathless and wanting.

As your favorite, Childe is quick to be rid of any competition. Whether or not you see them as possible suitors doesn't even cross his mind— the fear that snakes around his heart is ever-present, and if they're better than him in some form, it only grows in persistence. He doesn't hurt them, because surely that would upset you, and any devotee of you is worthy of respect— but he is quick to showcase his superiority, and to do so broadly without shame.

Childe grows used to his new status, and uses it to stay by your side constantly. Any attention you give to others is met with instant jealousy, seething glares sent to whoever stole your gaze, even if they only preoccupied a second of your mind.

He could never be mad at you, as clearly the fault lies within himself.

Any signs of your likes and dislikes are instantly noted. If you compliment someone for their behavior, he begins to emulate it, or at least he tries too. If you like Zhongli for how well he executes your orders, then Childe will be the same; only he will do it better, quicker, and prove himself still deserving of your love.

If he were perfect, then you would have no need for anyone else. If he were perfect, he would never have to worry about whether you'll grow bored of him the moment he stops being entertaining enough.

The thought of you with another leaves Childe sick without fail. He knows he has no control over you, and that if you wished to be rid of him, he would willingly walk into whatever punishment awaited him— but now that he has tasted what it feels like to be so utterly yours, he can't bear to imagine another sharing the same treatment.

You kissing another, holding another, letting someone else lay against you; all of it only serves to further blur his vision. Even if it is sinful of him to feel, he can't stop the emotions from swirling in his chest.

You are everything; the earth laid beneath his feet, the foundation of which he relies on. To be without you is to fall, to be without you means death; and if he must carve his skin and bone to fit the picture you want him to be, then he shall.

[cryptidghostgirl]

so sorry for this (very) specific request hope it's not ocish

anyways alastor x wife reader who's a virologist / kinda a mad scientist??(girl just wants to start a apocalypse without anyone to bother her)

Like they got married for mutual benefits (whatever benefits he would gain and her having access to money for her wildest dreams) when they were humans (whether he actually loves her or not is up to you lmao)

They both die (I assume that she would die around when he died from her own negligence caused by her 'freedom' to do her work more often without actually worrying about him finding out) and she avoids him like the plague (not that hard to realize this so called radio demon is your 'husband' when you find his secret stash of 'local cuisine' in the fridge)

Then he goes missing and she finally kinda goes out of makeshift hiding, just chilling doing her evil deeds before finding about the Hazbin Hotel from some gossip

Deciding that, while redemption is most likely not gonna happen mostly for the fact she does not care, she joins Charlie's little program. For her own little project (just wants to have a angel test subject, gotta see if they can be a good carrier for her little virus)

The reader doesn't know that Alastor's back (you think she's gonna use vox tech? Or listen to the radio? Girl uses a non vox tech phone and maybe a computer and does her work) so she goes and knocks on the door to the hotel

Thinking that this shit is gonna be easy, after all her husband is gone so she won't be bothered by him. She can focus on her beautiful creations and maybe destory hell and heaven with a apocalypse for some laughs. While also getting access to heaven through Charlie somehow (maybe even Lucifer, girl doesn't know nor care)

Anyways you can just IMAGINE her surprise that right after Charlie greets her (Vaggie ofc suspicious af cause she knows damn well no sinner wants to be redeemed for the most part) then here comes the strawberry pimp coming to say hello

Would he recognize his lovely wife? Maybe

Ofc reader had a plan, and by plan I mean she just says they were married and now acts like their divorced (death do us part and we fuckin dead)

(Just for example, do what you want <3)

Anyways I'm sorry again (can you tell that I've been watching a lot of mlp infection aus :') )

A/N bestie,, i love an overly detailed request. no apologies. i hope i did it justice <3 <3 I have literally been obsessing over the whole 'we're dead. we've been parted.' reader idea. It's so fun. Also I am very sorry it took me so long to get to this. Also, I am not a woman nor am I in STEM (I'm an enby in history) so apologies if science stuff in this is bad. I'm basing the character off of Entrapta (my love) from Nate Stevenson's She-Ra remake.

Till Death Do Us Part (Alastor x Mad Scientist!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Gore. Murder. Bodies. Animal cruelty (not detailed at all just like test subjects and burning ants as a kid). Viruses/plague talk. Just capital d Death all around in this one folks. Suicide and starvation briefly mentioned.

Word Count: 2,584

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Y/n hadn't been sad when Alastor died. It didn't really even register on her radar that he was gone until the police showed up at her door. Their marriage was more of an agreement than anything else, a division of labor. Y/n was a talented virologist who came from a rather wealthy family. He got access to her money, using it to start his own radio studio, and Y/n? Well Y/n got a clean up crew.

She had always been fascinated by death. It was a morbid curiosity that had followed her since childhood. The typical 'burning ants with a magnifying glass to mass murderer' pipeline only, murder was not exactly her objective. Since learning of the Black Death in school, she had been fascinated by biological warfare and weaponry. The stories of soldiers throwing infected bodies over the walls of city's to break down their defenses? It was magnificent, masterful, absolutely awe inspiring. Living through the Spanish Flu epidemic in 1918, watching how it tore through her city of New Orleans, only furthered her determination.

As soon as she had had the knowledge base to do so, she began working on bio-weapons on her own. She wanted to create a disease, to devastate the world. She wanted to watch the things around her crumble into ruin and know it was by her hand.

She'd found out about Alastor's hobby by accident. They were friends, of a sort, in that Y/n would show up randomly where ever he was and quiz him about radio waves. He worked at a radio station and she knew that. She had followed him, tracked him down. There was no reasoning behind it save he was the first person she'd really found out about that was involved in the business in New Orleans. She would pick his mind about getting the word out about things, marketing, advertising. She was prepping for the main event, for the day she finally created her magnum opus.

One day, when she had shown up unannounced at his door and broken in when he didn't respond to her knocking, Y/n had discovered him dismembering one of his victims. Alastor had stared at her, wide eyed in shock, fear and adrenaline mixing into an intoxicating combination in his veins. Y/n had just smiled.

She had been wondering about human experimentation for a while now. Animals were easy to cover up, easy to bury in the back yard but people? It had always been too risky, up until now anyways.

So it went like this: Y/n funded Alastor's dreams and he hid the side effects of hers. When he died, Y/n didn't really feel anything too strongly about it at all. Yes, it made life harder in that if she wanted to keep using human guinea pigs she'd have to figure out a way to dispose of them on her own but it also made it easier. Alastor had always been so obsessed with image, dragging her to office parties and forcing her to sit down to meals with him. Now that he was gone, she could work on her projects in peace once again. The body thing was something she would figure out along the way. She was smart and she wasn't going to let something like that stop her, not when she was this close to cracking it.

As it turns out, Alastor had been more of a help than Y/n believed. So used to his nattering and persistence, she had stopped eating. It wasn't long before she joined her husband in death. The papers of course had a field day with it. Heiress and Virologist Y/n L/n Withers Away Due to Heartbreak. Y/n L/n Starved Herself to Death and Joins her Murderer of a Husband. Virologist Commits Suicide After Revelation of Dead Husband's Criminal Deeds.

When Y/n had woken up in Hell, her whole world had been turned upside down. If there was life after death, what was the point of killing everyone on earth? She was back at square one.

Rumors were already buzzing through the streets of Hell about some new overlord, some Radio Demon, who had a strikingly similar MO to her husband. Not wanting any distractions this time around, Y/n secluded herself in the outskirts of the pride ring to reformulate her plans.

For decades she worked, trying to create a poison to wipe out the dual planes of the underworld. Work was easier here. No one questioned why she bought the things she bought, no one got upset when people went missing. Hell, no one even blinked twice if they saw her burying a body. It was a veritable paradise for Y/n.

Eventually, news reached her of the Radio Demon's disappearance. Y/n had never been the biggest fan of technology that wasn't involved in her work. In the world of the living, she had barley read the papers. All the machines in her laboratory were ones she had built herself through trial and error. But still, somehow, the news reached her and she felt elated. The last thing weighing her down, the last road block had officially been lifted.

Within seven years, she had perfected the disease. Having run tests on lower rings of Hell, she prided herself on her ability to make it so infections, so deadly. The survival was on par with that of unvaccinated human's infected by rabies. But her plan wasn't complete, no. Taking out everyone in Hell wasn't good enough, she had to figure out how to get it into Heaven as well.

That was when the perfect opportunity fell in her lap. Y/n nearly cried when she caught sight of the interview through the window of a shop selling Vox branded TVs. Charlie Morningstar, Lucifer's little brat, was creating a hotel for sinners, where they could be rehabilitated and sent to Heaven. It was perfect, almost too perfect. Y/n didn't question it, her own excitement blinding her. She barley even took the time to come up with a plan that consisted of more than get into the hotel and get her hands on an angel. She figured that was something that could be dealt with later on.

After a few days of research and snooping, she finally made her move. Having packed her bags and woven her way through the streets of Pentagram City, she found herself before the brightly lit marquee of the Hazbin Hotel. Placing her bag on the ground beside her, the test tubes and various paraphernalia inside clinked gently against one another. Raising her hand, she knocked on the door.

It was Charlie herself who answered, with wide eyes and an earnest smile. A smaller moth demon beside her crossed her arms, eyeing Y/n with doubt. It barley registered with the excitable demon, she was used to the strange looks. The new form Hell had granted her with when she died was odd, after all. She was still the same height, still held a roughly human shape, but her hair had become its own beast. It moved like secondary limbs, falling nearly to the floor from the pigtails she had tied it up into. It shot up into the air around her in joy at the sight of yet another open door in her path, this one literal rather than figurative.

"Hello!" Charlie exclaimed, "Are you here to check in?"

"Yes, check in." Y/n nodded, using her hair to pick her bag back up.

She took a step forward, trying to enter the hotel, but found her path blocked by the smaller grey demon. Her arms were uncrossed now, one of them pointing a spear right at Y/n's neck. Y/n didn't flinch, she simply looked down at it in curiosity, reaching a finger up to touch the end.

"Ow." she said flatly as the spear's tip pressed into the pad of her finger.

Raising it to her eyes, she rubbed the droplet of blood that had pooled on her pointer finger with her thumb before turning back to the spear.

"Is this..." Y/n leaned forward, grabbing the spear's shaft.

"Hey!" Vaggie yelled threateningly as Y/n crouched down, examining the weapon carefully.

"Oh my stars, this is an angelic blade, isn't it?" she exclaimed, her eyes still fixed on the spear.

"Uh..."

Vaggie was more confused now than anything and she took the slightest step away from the excited demon. Y/n followed her and soon, they were in the entry way to the hotel. Charlie watched the scene play out with mild amusement, finding her girlfriends bewildered state rather charming. She let the door fall shut.

"It is, isn't it?" Y/n asked again, "But how did you get it? Did you make it? What do you do with it? Is it more effective than normal weapons? Why a spear? I-"

"What's this, we have a new guest?" a crackling voice cut Y/n off.

"Uh, yes!" Charlie stepped in, turning to face the newcomer.

Y/n, still preoccupied with the spear, was now engaged in trying to get Vaggie to let her hold it.

"I think..." Charlie doubtfully added, her brow furrowing at the site.

"Well well well, a little devil." Alastor hummed, turning to watch the show as well, "Honestly, reminds me of someone I knew back when I was alive and kicking. Ah well, what's her name?"

"I don't... actually know that yet." Charlie admitted, fiddling with her hands a bit as she spoke, "But she seems really enthusiastic about being here!"

"It seems she more interested in that spear of Vaggie's than the idea of redemption." Alastor noted in response.

"Are either of you going to help me or are you just gonna sit and watch?" Vaggie exclaimed, trying her best to pry the spear out of Y/n's grip.

Alastor sighed and with a twirl of his microphone, a shadow arose, pulling Y/n off Vaggie. There was a split second where the smile on the girl's face fell. It quickly returned as she caught sight of what exactly had interrupted her escapades. Placing her bag on the floor with her hair, she wormed around in the shadow's arms, turning to face it. Tentatively, she poked it.

"Would you stop that?" Alastor asked, his voice thick with irritation.

Y/n poked the shadow again.

"What is this? How are you doing this?"

When no response came from the demon in question, she at last turned to face him.

"Oh."

She stilled in her movements and Alastor allowed the shadow to disappear.

"No reason to be scared." Charlie quickly stepped in, "I know Alastor here has a bit of a... reputation, but he is actually helping us at the hotel. He's really a great once you get to know him."

Alastor's smile widened as he bowed his head slightly in recognition of the praise.

"If you're going to be staying her-"

"You can't seriously be thinking of letting her stay here, Charlie." Vaggie cut in, "She's been here what, five minutes? And all thats come of it is chaos."

"Vaggie, come on, don't be like that." Charlie turned to her girlfriend, "Everyone deserves a second chance, that's the whole reason we built this place."

"But does she even want to be redeemed? I mean, what if she's... I don't know, trying to take us down from the inside out? What if she's a journalist or some shit trying to write us bad reviews?"

"You flatter me." Y/n smiled and Vaggie scoffed.

"See?"

"Isn't that all the more reason to let her in? Vaggie, if she is undercover as a journalist or something, we just have to prove to her how amazing what we're doing here is."

"I don't know... I've never seen her before, what if she's another one Vox sent?"

Y/n shook her head, sticking her tongue out slightly in disgust at this notion and Alastor chuckled. There really was something so familiar about this demon and her antics. Even if she was a tad irritating, it was a comfortable familiarity.

"Then we will figure it out, same way we did with Sir. Pentious. Okay?"

"Fine." Vaggie relented at last with a sigh.

Smiling brightly, Charlie turned back to Y/n.

"So, hi. I'm Charlie, welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! What's your name?"

Y/n's eyes flicked back and forth between Alastor and Charlie for a moment before settling on Charlie.

"Y/n L/n."

Alastor let out a little laugh of disbelief, a sound he had meant to keep in. He couldn't help it. Of course this little mess of a demon was his favorite crazy wife. Alastor had looked for Y/n on occasion, always keeping an eye on news involving anything scientific but, he had never found a trace. Not that he'd admit it but, in their time together, he had grown rather fond of the girl. Not love, never love, but a sort of familial feel. Everyone turned to face him.

"Are you alright, Alastor?" Charlie asked, walking over to him and placing a hand on his arm which he quickly brushed off.

"Yeah, do you know her or something?" Vaggie added, "Is she dangerous?"

"No..." he paused, his brow slightly furrowed, "She's my wife."

The room fell silent.

"You... you didn't recognize your own wife?" Vaggie asked in disbeleif.

"Ex-wife." Y/n corrected with a little sigh.

This was all becoming so tedious. She hadn't come here to sit and talk with people. While the spear and the shadow had been fun, they had both run their courses and she just wanted to get to work.

"I..." Alastor turned back to Y/n, "Ex-wife?"

Y/n shrugged.

"So you didn't recognize your wife and you didn't know you were divorced?" Vaggie asked, rubbing her temples, "Jesus fuck, man."

"I..." Alastor cleared his throat, "We were married when we were alive. I didn't even know she was dead yet."

"Yeah." Y/n shrugged, "Turns out all your nattering was what was keeping me alive. I forgot to eat, starved to death."

Alastor's eyes softened slightly for a moment at the notion. She had needed his care so badly that she had died with out it. It felt good, in a strange way. Satisfying. They darkened again as he recalled her earlier statement.

"Ex-wife?" he asked again, taking a step towards Y/n.

She looked up at him, her expression blank.

"Yeah?"

"When did we get a divorce!" Alastor exclaimed once he realized she would say nothing else on the matter without his prompting.

"Oh! We didn't." Y/n nodded, smiling slightly, "Now, can I go to my room?"

"No, Y/n. Why are you calling yourself my ex-wife? We are still married."

Y/n looked around at Charlie and Vaggie, seeing if they were going to back up her claim. Sighing, she turned back to Alastor.

"Do I really have to lay it out for you?" she paused and Alastor just stared at her, eyebrows raised, "Jesus. Uh, Al, we died."

"Yes...?"

"Till death do us part? That was the agreement."

"I... Well..." he was at a complete and total loss for how to respond.

She wasn't wrong, he just didn't like her answer very much.

"So... the agreement is done... yeah?"

"I mean," Alastor shook his head slightly, "I guess?"

"Great! Can someone please show me to my room now."

---

Next Part -> Till Death Do Us Part pt. 2

[nhaaauyen]

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ The Ghost of You ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

"This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong // To love that well which thou must leave ere long." -William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)

PART V: ‘CAUSE I CAN’T TAKE THIS PAIN FOREVER

zombie apocalypse sevika x reader au!: sevika was the super soldier; a killing machine driven solely by survival. you were nomadic, constantly searching for something in whatever was left of the world—till you met her.

series masterpost: part I // part II // part III // part IV

wc: 8.3k cw: smut (MINORS DNI!!!) author's note: thank you to everyone who read/comments + i see your tags on the reposts you guys make me gay and sappy with all your support tysm 💗 (also im so sorry if the smut is so mid I’m not a smut writer and it’s my second time writing smut ever smhhh)

Fifteen died. Including Grayson. 

Daylight is spent in a daze of cleaning up, tending to the wounded, and trying to process the magnitude of what's happened. People are trying to piece together what little they can salvage, but the damage is more than just physical.

As night falls, the community gathers for a final farewell. The loss is too great, too much to be exposed under the harsh light of day. The night offers a semblance of protection, a cloak under which everyone can mourn and where grief can be private.

Candles flicker in the hands of those gathered and the atmosphere is thick with sorrow. Families huddle together, some on their knees beside makeshift crosses, others standing in silent clusters. The candles illuminate their tears, turning them into tiny rivers of gold that glisten in the darkness.

You stand by Grayson’s cross, surrounded by those who knew and loved her. Vander, his broad shoulders tense and Ekko clutches his candle so tightly that the wax has begun to drip onto his fingers. Powder leans into Vi, who wraps a protective arm around her sister. Caitlyn stands close, her face a mask of composed grief, but her eyes are red-rimmed and distant. Ren holds onto your hand tightly, her small fingers interlaced with yours.

Your gaze keeps drifting to the shadows, searching for one face in particular.  

Then, as if conjured by your thoughts, you spot her. She’s standing under a tree, half-hidden in the shadows. The candlelight doesn’t reach her, leaving her face partially obscured, but you can tell it’s her.  She's motionless, almost statuesque, her expression unreadable.

There’s something in the way she’s watching the scene before her that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s almost as if she’s already a ghost herself, a spirit haunting the edge of the gathering. There’s an emptiness to her, as if the life has been drained out of her and what remains is only a shell, a figure standing over a world she no longer belongs to.

A heaviness resides in your chest, a deep, aching sadness that mirrors the grief of those around you. Grayson’s loss is a wound that cuts deep. She was the heart of this community, the one who held everyone together. And now she’s gone, leaving behind a legacy that feels too big, too important to carry on without her.

The vigil continues, but you feel a shift in the air, a quiet, unspoken understanding that it’s time to go, that there’s nothing more to be done here tonight. Slowly, people begin to leave, one by one, their footsteps soft on the grass. You hesitate, your gaze lingering on Sevika one last time. She hasn’t moved, hasn’t acknowledged your presence or anyone else’s.  

As your family and Ren head to a neighbor’s house, seeking comfort in numbers, you seek solace in solitude instead. 

The silence is almost deafening in your room. You close the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment as you let out a shaky breath. 

There’s a soft knock at the door, and for a moment, you think you might be imagining it. But then it comes again, and you push yourself away from the door, your heart pounding in your chest as you reach for the handle.

When you open the door, Sevika is standing there, but she’s not the woman you remember. There’s a hollow look in her eyes, a deep exhaustion etched into every line of her face. She’s hunched over slightly as if the weight of everything has finally broken through her defenses.

For a moment, you just stare at each other, neither of you knowing what to say. 

"What's going on?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Without a word, she steps into the room, her movements slow and almost hesitant.

"Sevika..." you start, but the words die in your throat as she looks at you. Her eyes, usually so guarded, are now pools of raw emotion.

"I could have lost you yesterday," she says, her voice cracking. "I almost did."

You step back and fall onto the edge of your bed, overwhelmed by the intensity of her gaze, the weight of her words.  

Sevika falls to her knees before you, burying her face in your lap. Her body shakes, hands clutching desperately at your clothes. The sight of her kneeling before you sends a shockwave through your system. This is Sevika, the woman who’s always stood tall, who’s never shown weakness. 

“Please…” The word escapes her lips in a raw, broken whisper, her voice laced with a desperation you’ve never heard from her before. “Please… I can’t take this pain forever.”

Your hands hover uncertainly over her. She’s seeking you, but you find yourself instinctively pushing back, your fingers gripping her shoulders to keep some distance between you.  The urge to comfort her wars with the part of you that’s terrified—terrified that if you let her in again, she’ll leave, and you’ll be left with nothing but this overwhelming pain.  

Why now? your eyes ask, the ache in your chest tightening. Why now, when I don’t even know if I can trust you not to leave again?

Sevika looks up, her eyes red-rimmed and filled with vulnerability. She reaches for you, but you flinch away, your body betraying your inner turmoil. I won’t, her eyes seem to respond. her hands clinging to you as if you’re the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.

The push and pull become physical - Sevika's hands grasping at your clothes, trying to draw you in, while you resist, your grip on her arms keeping her at bay. You see the realization dawn in Sevika's eyes as she understands your hesitation. She doesn't speak, doesn't try to persuade you with words. Instead, she simply holds your gaze, her hands loosening their grip but not letting go entirely.

The tension between you is palpable, a living thing that fills the space between your bodies. You can feel it gnawing at you - the fear that she’ll pull away, that this moment will shatter like glass. 

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Sevika's resistance fades. She doesn't try to pull you closer anymore, but she doesn't move away either. She simply kneels there, her head bowed, waiting.

It's this surrender that finally breaks through your defenses. Your hands, which were pushing her away, now tremble as they cup her face. You tilt her chin up, meeting her gaze fully for the first time.

What you see there takes your breath away - it’s a steadfast devotion that silences your doubts. At that moment, you understand that she's not going anywhere.

Your hands finally move, your fingers threading through her hair and letting it fall from its ponytail. The moment you touch her, she lets out a shuddering breath, her body sagging against you as if the weight she’s been carrying has finally become too much.

Sevika sees the hesitation in your gaze, the lingering fear, and something shifts inside her. She surges up, pulling you into a desperate kiss—a plea for you to trust her.  The kiss is messy, frantic, filled with the need to feel, to connect, to hold onto something real amidst all this.

You respond immediately, your hands drawing her near—even though parts of you want to stop and shield yourself from the possibility of losing her again, you can’t bring yourself to let go.

Her lips are pressing against yours with a need that makes your heart ache, and you both finally give in to the emotions you’ve been holding back for so long. It’s not like the kiss you’ve shared before—this is different. It’s a commitment to each other that you’ve both been too scared to acknowledge until now.

You both fall back onto the bed, your bodies tangling together as you lose yourselves in each other. 

Your hands are never leaving her, your lips never straying too far from hers. Her bionic hand presses into your back gently, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you and you can feel the steady beat of her heart against your chest.

She suddenly pulls you onto her lap. One hand slides under your shirt, causing a shiver to run down your spine, while the other lingers on the small of your back. With a swift movement, she removes your shirt, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable under the moonlight cascading through the window.

A blush creeps up your cheeks at the sudden exposure. 

"You're beautiful." The moonlight dances in her eyes and her voice is filled with sincerity and adoration. 

Your breath hitches as she leans in and presses a kiss onto your chest, her lips travel lower and lower until she forces a nipple out of your bra.  Your gasp quickly turns into a moan as her lips wrap around it and her tongue is swirling, her teeth teasing and biting at the sensitive bud.  

Your hands find their way into her hair and shoulders, grasping at something to stabilize a desire that feels like it could push you over the edge.  As her lips dance across your neck, her tongue tracing the curve of your jaw, you feel your hips surge forward, seeking the friction that will bring you relief. Your hands, still fisted in her clothes, tug her closer, the fabric straining against the pressure. Sevika's fingers, still tangled in your hair, pull your head back further, exposing your throat to her hungry mouth. Her breath is hot against your skin, sending shivers coursing through your veins.  You grind into her fingers, a low, desperate moan builds in your throat, and you hear yourself repeating her name like a mantra.

"Sevika, Sevika, Sevika please."

Your legs tremble as you press into her, the thin fabric of your panties rubbing against her fingers, which are still wrapped around you. The pressure builds, a crescendo of need threatening to consume you whole. 

She teases you, her fingers occasionally dipping inside you before pulling back out to rub against your sensitive nub. Each time you’re on the brink of release, she stops and kisses you deeply, driving you crazy with need.

But finally, when you can’t take it any longer, she plunges two fingers inside you. Your fingers dig deep into her shoulder as she sets a steady pace with her fingers, hitting just the right spot inside you that has you writhing in ecstasy.

You’re panting at her touch, your hips bucking into her hand as she moves her fingers in and out of you, her thumb rubbing circles over your clit. Each touch sends jolts of pleasure through your body, making you crave more and more.  She whispers sweet words in your ear along with wicked promises that make you wetter than you could imagine.

You grasp the edge of Sevika's shawl, the delicate fabric slipping through your fingers as you slowly pull it away, exposing her bionic arm to you. The shimmering metal catches the dim light of the room, contrasting beautifully with your warm hands. You can’t help but admire the way it seems to glow, each curve and joint blending seamlessly into her skin. 

Sevika’s breath hitches at the sight of her exposed arm, and a flicker of vulnerability passes over her face. The vulnerability in her eyes makes you want to show her how incredible she is, and how every part of her makes you feel alive.  

You lean closer, your lips brushing softly against her bionic arm, feeling the coolness against your mouth as you press gentle kisses along the sleek surface. It’s smooth, almost soothing, and you feel her relax into your touch. Your breath quickens, merging anticipation and a hunger to worship every part of her. 

She changes your positions, laying you down gently on your bed till your head sinks into a plush pillow.  You can feel the heat radiating off of her body as she begins to kiss down your body. Her lips leave a trail of fire as they make their way down your stomach until they reach the waistband of your panties. She easily removes them and throws them aside.  She starts by lightly kissing and licking your inner thighs, slowly making her way towards your center. You can already feel the heat pooling between your legs as she gets closer and closer to where you want her most. Her gaze locks onto yours as her head hovers over your soaked folds.

“Just focus on me,” her voice comes out hoarse and commanding.

Sevika buries her face between your legs and you gasp at the sudden sensation, gripping the sheets tightly. She flicks and sucks on your clit while slipping a finger inside of you, matching the rhythm of her tongue. There’s a sense of urgency in the way she looks at you – a primal need that mirrors yours perfectly. 

Her fingers dig into your thighs, holding you down firmly.  You feel yourself getting close, but before you can reach your peak, she stops abruptly.

You whimper in frustration, but it’s quickly replaced with adoration as she climbs up to kiss you, tasting yourself on her lips.  

“You got such a pretty body,” She bites teasingly at your ear. “Prettier when it’s a mess for me.” 

A course of desire jolts through you at hearing her low and raspy voice whisper those words. Your fingers trace the curve of her shoulder, moving down her arm until you reach her hand. You intertwine your fingers with hers, feeling the coolness of her bionic hand.  Sevika blows a hot breath over your glistening mound and you instinctively close your legs around her head. 

The room immediately fills with the sound of heavy breathing and the soft, wet noises of skin against skin. Her finger curls inside you, causing your back to arch off the bed in pleasure. 

With each thrust and lap of her tongue, she pushes you closer to the edge. You can feel the tension coiling within you—she intensifies her rhythm, sucking and teasing in perfect harmony with your body's responses. The sensations build higher and higher until they finally explode within you.

You release with a loud cry, shuddering in ecstasy as the waves of pleasure wash over you, leaving you breathless and utterly consumed in bliss.

When you finally break apart, it’s only to catch your breath. Your bodies are still tangled together, a sticky, wet mess, but neither of you cares. Sevika holds you tightly, her face buried in the crook of your neck.

The room is bathed in soft, silvery moonlight filtering in through the window. The sounds of your soft breathing fill the space, mingling with the faint rustle of the sheets. Everything feels tender, and fragile, like you’re both holding on to something delicate and precious, something that could shatter with the slightest misstep.

Your fingers trace the scar on Sevika’s cheek, the roughened skin contrasting the softness of her lips. She looks at you, her eyes searching yours as if she’s trying to read the thoughts that you’re too scared to say aloud.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you murmur, your voice trembling with emotion.

“You won’t,” she whispers back, her lips brushing against yours in the softest of kisses. 

“Promise me..” Your voice falters, struggling to grasp the idea of not being able to feel her, see her, or touch her like this again.  “I don’t know how to exist without you.”

“I’d spend the rest of my days searching,” Sevika replies quietly, her gaze unwavering.  “Even just for the chance of seeing you again.” 

She cups your face with one hand, her thumb brushing gently over your cheek.  “I’ll always find my way back to you.”

You rest your head on her chest, listening to the steady rhythm of her heart, the sound soothing in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. Your fingers trace gentle patterns on her skin and a quiet peace settles over you, a sense of calm that you haven’t felt in what seems like forever.

As you lie there, holding each other in the darkness, the world outside seems to fade into insignificance. You close your eyes, letting yourself finally rest, knowing that she’s here with you, that you’re both in this together. It’s a fragile peace, but it’s yours, and in this moment, it’s more than enough.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

One Year Later…

The kitchen glows in the warm light, sunlight streaming through the window and illuminating the marble countertops. The sweet aroma of cinnamon and vanilla fills the air as you stir a pot of rice pudding on the stove.

Ren bursts into the kitchen, twirling in her new outfit - a pretty blue dress with matching ribbons in her hair. "Look!" she exclaims, eyes shining with excitement.

You smile warmly. "You look beautiful, honey. Are you ready for dinner at Vander's?"

Ren nods enthusiastically. "Can I go over early? Please?"

"Of course," you reply, giving her a quick hug. "I'll see you there in a bit."

You watch her go, a fond smile lingering on your lips. Ren has become such a central part of your life, switching between living with you and Sevika, and some nights, staying over at Vander’s with the rest of your family. Dinners at Vander’s have also become a tradition, starting as a semblance of normality for the kids until you realize that sometimes everyone just needed a family meal too.

You turn back to your work, carefully measuring out the sugar to add to the pudding. You’re so focused on getting everything just right that you don’t notice when Sevika slips into the kitchen. She moves quietly, her steps almost soundless as she approaches the stove. It’s only when you glance up and see her broad back that you realize she’s there, her figure blocking the light from the window.

"Hey, you're home," you start to say, but then you spot the spoon in her mouth. "Sev!" you exclaim. "I'm not done with that!"

Sevika turns, the spoon still between her lips. "Tastes good," she mumbles around it, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“It’s supposed to taste good when it’s finished,” you retort, gently pushing her away from the stove. 

Suddenly, you feel Sevika's arms encircle your waist, her body warm against your back. She nuzzles into your neck, placing a soft kiss just below your ear. "Mmm," she hums, "doesn’t taste as good as you, though."

“Don’t think you can sweet-talk me into letting you try more,” you say, trying to stay focused despite the distraction she’s providing.

She chuckles again, her deep voice rumbling against your back. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

You smile, the familiar banter easing you into a comfortable lull. The gentle pressure of her arms around you, the way she’s so casually affectionate now, fills you with warmth. 

"Hey, did you bring home any fruit for the pudding?" you ask, turning in Sevika's arms.

You feel her tense slightly, her smile faltering.  "We’re having a bit of a dry season," she says, her tone careful.

The words hang heavy in the air. You know the reality - supplies have been tight lately, with produce struggling to grow and the scavenging teams venturing further each time.

Before you can dwell on it further, Sevika leans in to kiss you, clearly trying to change the subject. But as she does, you catch a whiff of something less than pleasant, and you instinctively pull back, wrinkling your nose.

"Babe, you fucking stink," you blurt out.

Sevika's eyes goes wide in shock, then narrows playfully. "Oh, really?" she growls, trying to pull you closer.

You dance out of her grasp.“Go start a bath,” you say between giggles. “I’ll join you in a bit, okay?”

She lets out a noise of disapproval but obeys regardless. “I wasn’t that bad,” she mutters as she turns toward the bathroom.

“Yes, you were,” you call after her, still grinning as you watch her go. “Go on, I’ll be there soon.”

With Sevika finally convinced, you head to your bedroom to grab some towels.

The bedroom has changed over the past year, becoming more of a shared space than it ever was before. Sevika's red shawl drapes over the back of a chair, while your jewelry glitters on the dresser. The wall above the bed is adorned with colorful drawings - Ren's artwork, depicting your entire makeshift family, the sight of it never failing to warm your heart.

It had started casually enough - a few items of clothing left behind after hurried encounters, a toothbrush appearing in the bathroom. You and Sevika were sneaking around, stealing moments together whenever you could.

When you finally told your family about your relationship, they celebrated, of course.   It wasn’t a surprise to them—they had seen the way you and Sevika gravitated toward each other, the looks you reserved solely for one another.  You found yourself practically living at Sevika's, though neither of you had officially acknowledged the change.

Then came the day you noticed the difference in her dresser. The already sparse drawers had been reorganized, creating a dedicated space just for you. Your scattered belongings were neatly arranged, claiming their place in Sevika's life.

You remember standing there, staring at that drawer, your heart swelling with emotion. It was such a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. Sevika, always more comfortable with actions than words, had found her way of saying "stay".

A small smile forms on your lips at the memory as you close the closet.  Gathering the towels, you head towards the sound of running water.

You settle onto the stool beside the bathtub, watching Sevika relax in the warm, soapy water. Her broad shoulders peek out from the bubbles, her head tilted back slightly as she rests, eyes half-closed in contentment. The sight of her—this tough, unbreakable woman— soaking in the bath like she has nowhere else to be, makes you giggle.

"You look adorable."

Sevika cracks one eye open, giving you a playful glare that’s nowhere near as intimidating as she probably hopes it’ll be. "I’m not adorable," she grumbles.

You reach for a washcloth, gently running it over her back. Your fingers work out the knots in her muscles, and you feel her relax under your touch. The bathroom is quiet except for the soft lapping of water and Sevika's contented sighs.

"Don't get me wet, Sev," you warn as she shifts in the tub.

“I thought I always did,” she shoots back with a sly grin, and before you can react, she splashes a handful of water at you.

The warm water hits you square in the chest, soaking your shirt. You let out a small gasp, and Sevika just laughs, clearly pleased with herself.  

“Now I’ve got no choice but to join you, huh?” you say, feigning annoyance as you peel off your damp clothes.

Sevika's arms wrap around you as you settle between her legs, your back pressed against her chest. "No funny business," you remind her. "We've got dinner later."

She groans, burying her face in your neck. "Do we have to do that?"

You intertwine your fingers with hers, squeezing gently. "Yes, we all need it. Even you, Miss Grumpy."

Sevika huffs, but doesn't argue further. It's rare to see her act so petulant, and you can't help but find it endearing. You lean back further into her embrace, savoring the warmth of her skin against yours.

A chuckle escapes you as a memory surfaces.

"What's so funny?" Sevika murmurs against your ear.

"I'm thinking about us," you reply, still grinning. "Remember the first time you came to family dinner?"

Sevika groans again, this time in embarrassment. That first dinner had been spectacularly awkward. Sevika, sitting at Vander’s table, towering over everyone, her presence so imposing that no one knew how to break the ice. You could feel the discomfort radiating from the others as they tried and failed to strike up conversation. Sevika, never much of a talker herself, hadn’t made it any easier. 

"I thought Caitlyn was going to have an aneurysm trying to make conversation," you laugh.

"She kept asking about the weather," Sevika recalls. "As if we don't all live in the same damn place."

“But my family loves you now.”

Sevika raises an eyebrow. “They’re still nervous around me though.”

“True,” you admit, chuckling. “But now they know you’re not going to kill them if they say the wrong thing. Well, most of them know that, anyway.”

”I like to keep them on their toes.” Sevika smirks, her lips brushing against your neck. “Can’t let them forget who I am.”

You turn in her arms, facing her now. "I don’t think they would be as afraid if they saw you in a bubble bath right now."

She narrows her eyes at you. "I’m still scary."

"Is that so?" you challenge, your faces inches apart. 

Instead of answering, Sevika closes the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss. You sigh into it, brushing a damp strand of hair behind her ear.

You're nestled against Sevika, the warm water lulling you into a peaceful state when a sharp knock shatters the moment. 

"Who the hell..." She's about to call out, likely with some choice words, when a familiar voice filters through the door.

"Sevika? You in there?"

It's Ran. Sevika's expression immediately hardens. 

She gives you an apologetic look as she carefully extracts herself from the tub, wrapping a towel around her body.  You remain in the bath, straining to hear the muffled conversation. Snippets reach your ears—"Silco... needs to see you... scouts..." 

By the time you've dried off and dressed, Sevika is already changed, her face grim. She's heading for the door, and you follow.

Out on the streets, the usual bustle of Zaun seems subdued. Sevika turns to you, her eyes softening slightly.

"It's just a quick meeting," she assures you, though her tone lacks conviction. "I'll be back, okay?"

You look at her, worry evident in your gaze. She must see it because she adds, "Family dinner is still on. I promise."

You watch Sevika disappear down the street, her words echoing in your mind. Despite her assurances, you can't shake the feeling of unease that settles in your chest. Instead of heading home, your feet carry you to a familiar path.

The old target practice area comes into view, untouched since Grayson's passing. The targets are weathered now, the paint faded and peeling. You moved the practice area after... after everything, but this place still holds a piece of history you can’t forget.

You settle onto the worn bench, you could almost hear Grayson's patient voice, the sound of gunfire. Now it's quiet, a ghost of what it used to be.

Lost in thought, you barely notice the approaching footsteps until a shadow falls across you.

"Quite the view from up here, isn't it?"

A man’s voice cuts through your reverie. You look up to see him, his usual sly smile in place. 

"Mind if I join you?"  He doesn't wait for an answer before settling onto the bench beside you.

“What do you want, Finn?” you ask, your guard instantly up.

“Just wanted a place to admire Zaun,” he replies. "It’s getting a bit crowded down there.”

You remain silent, wary of engaging. Instead, you’re both gazing out over Zaun—The community sprawls below, a patchwork of light and shadow.

"You know," Finn begins, his voice casual, "I used to come up here sometimes, watch Grayson train the new recruits. She had a way about her, didn't she? A real vision for what Zaun could be."

You nod, unsure where he's going with this.

Finn continues, his tone thoughtful. "Things have changed a lot since then. More people, less space. Resources getting tighter." He glances at you sideways. "Makes you wonder what Grayson would think of it all."

There's something in his voice that puts you on edge, a subtle challenge. You choose your words carefully. "Grayson always believed in Zaun's potential."

"Ah, but potential for what?" Finn leans in conspiratorially. "It looks like things are starting to fray at the edges. People are getting restless, hungry. And when that happens… well, who knows what might come next?" 

You feel a surge of anger, but you keep it in check, refusing to let him get under your skin. “Zaun’s strong,” you say firmly. “So if you’re trying to stir up trouble, you can take it somewhere else.”

Finn holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "Of course, of course. I'm just thinking about the future, you know? But hey, I'm sure Silco's got it all figured out."

Finn stands, brushing off his pants. "Give my regards to Sevika," he says lightly. 

"Tell her... we're all counting on her to keep us safe."

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

You and Sevika walk side by side through the bustling streets of Zaun, the rice pudding cradled carefully in Sevika’s arms. As you approach the door, you can already hear the sounds of laughter and chatter from inside. Before you can even step over the threshold, a blur of blue barrels into view. 

Just as Powder rounds the corner, she nearly collides with you, her eyes wide as she skids to a halt. “Oops, sorry!” she exclaims, a sheepish grin spreading across her face as she steadies herself. “Sorry, double for last time,” she adds with a knowing look.

It had been a few weeks ago, when Sevika was trying to grow out her hair, a fact she was oddly self-conscious about. You guys were standing in the courtyard, watching as Powder excitedly showed off her new contraption, a slime trap shooter she cobbled together from spare parts. 

The demonstration started off well enough, but suddenly a glob of viscous slime shot out wildly, landing with a wet splat right in Sevika's hair.

Powder's enthusiasm instantly turned into fear as she realized what she's done.The look on Sevika’s face had been priceless—a mix of surprise and horror as she reached up to touch the mess clinging to her hair.

“I’m gonna kill that kid,” Sevika grumbled, her voice low and menacing.  “My hair looks like shit.”

You’d barely managed to suppress your laughter when it first happened, but now in Vander’s bathroom you couldn’t hide your amusement. 

“So, that’s a no on having kids, then?” you joked as you reached for a pair of scissors to help trim the slime-covered strands.

Sevika had turned to look at you, her expression one of shock and something else—something deeper that neither of you had wanted to confront. It was just a small joke, but it carried the weight of a conversation you hadn’t yet had, and might never have. Sometimes,  you couldn’t avoid the fact that this was it for you two.

But you quickly brushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. As you carefully trimmed the damaged hair, you leaned in close, whispering in Sevika’s ear, “You’re sexy already. No amount of slime will change that.”  

That had earned you a reluctant smile from her in that moment.

"No harm done.”  You tell Powder, inconspicuously kicking Sevika’s feet to agree.

“Yeah.” She grunts, and you hold in a snicker at the obvious grudge she held. 

As you enter the kitchen, you're greeted by the sight of Vander attempting to wrangle a massive pot of stew.  

“There you two are,” Vander says, looking up from his cooking. “Thought you might’ve gotten lost on the way here.”

“Not a chance,” Sevika replies, setting the rice pudding down on the counter with a grin. “This one would never forgive me if I missed dinner.”

“Damn right,” you reply. “You need any help, Vander?”

“Nah, we’re about done here,” Vander says, wiping his hands on a towel. “Just need to get everything into the living room. You know how these animals are when they’re hungry.”

You laugh, grabbing a tray of bread rolls while Sevika grabs a platter of roasted vegetables.  She follows you out into the living room, where the rest of the group is already making themselves comfortable. Ekko is lounging on the floor, watching Powder and Ren as they buzz around him. Caitlyn and Vi are chatting quietly in one corner, Vi’s arm casually draped over the back of Caitlyn’s chair.

“Hey you two,” you greet, setting the tray down on a table near the center of the room. “Food’s here.”

Vi reaches for a roll, and Caitlyn swats her hand. "Wait for everyone, you brute," she says affectionately.

"Come on, cupcake, I'm starving!" Vi whines dramatically.

Soon, everyone settles in various spots around the room, grabbing plates and piling on food. Vander passes around mugs of ale, the rich, amber liquid sloshing slightly as he hands it to the adults. 

Sevika sits down beside you on the floor, her back against the couch, and you hand her a plate, watching as she loads it up with a bit of everything. Powder's regaling everyone with a tale of her latest explosive experiment, complete with dramatic reenactments.

"You guys won't believe what I made today!" She exclaims, barely touching her food as she launches into her story. "So I took some wires from that old TV we found, and I connected them to a car battery. Then I rigged up this pressure plate..."

"And then - BOOM!" she exclaims, throwing her arms wide and nearly knocking over Ekko's plate.

"Watch it, Pow," Ekko grumbles, but there's no real annoyance in his voice.

The two of you eat in comfortable silence for a while, the sounds of laughter and conversation filling the room around you.  As the meal winds down, Powder's eyes light up with a new idea. She bounds over to you and Sevika.

"Hey, hey! You guys wanna play Nerf guns with us?" she asks, her eyes wide and pleading.

Sevika raises an eyebrow. 

"I modified them. They shoot further now, and I added a cool light-up feature, and-"

"Modified?" Sevika interrupts, looking slightly alarmed, she was already thinking about the last mishap with Powder’s “modifications”.

You laugh at the expression on Sevika's face, she couldn’t hide the suspicion and concern written all over it. "Come on, Sev," you nudge. "Could be fun."

Powder's practically bouncing now. "Please? Pretty please? I promise there’s no slime this time!"

Sevika sighs. "Fine." she concedes.

"Yes!" Powder cheers. "You won't regret it!"

Powder herds you, Sevika, Ekko, and Ren onto the couch, squishing you all together as she stands before you, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Alright, listen up!” Powder announces, pulling out a set of nerf guns. The colorful plastic weapons are covered in stickers and doodles, clearly customized to her liking. She hands one to each of you.

Sevika takes hers with a skeptical look, turning it over in her hands. “You can’t shoot shit with this,” she mutters, the derision clear in her voice.

“Oh, yeah?” Powder smirks, clearly prepared for this. She whirls around, aims at a water bottle perched on the windowsill, and fires. The nerf dart flies across the room and smacks the bottle dead center, sending it tumbling to the floor with a satisfying thud.

Sevika raises an eyebrow, impressed despite herself. 

“Now that we’ve established these aren’t toys for babies,” Powder continues, pacing in front of the couch. “here’s the game: upstairs, there’s a crown stashed somewhere by Vi.  The goal is to retrieve the crown and bring it to Vander downstairs. Upstairs is a no-shoot zone, but downstairs, if you’re hit with a dart, you’re out.”

She claps her hands together, clearly relishing her role as the game master. "Now, we need to split into teams," Powder continues. "Sevika and Ekko, you're one team. And-"

You all glance at Ren, the youngest of the group at just eight years old. There's a moment of awkward silence as everyone tries to figure out how to handle this diplomatically.

"You should take her," you say sweetly. 

Sevika’s eyes narrow playfully, already sensing where this is going. “The kid likes you more."  Despite being dubious of the game at first, you could tell Sevika’s competitiveness was taking over.

“I thought this was just a kids’ game?” you tease, leaning in slightly with a raised eyebrow.

Sevika gives you a sheepish look, clearly caught between her competitive streak and her soft spot for Ren. 

Feeling a bit guilty, you suggest, "Why don't we let Ren pick?"

Ren beams up at both of you, clearly delighted to have the choice. "I wanna be on your team!" she exclaims, pointing at you and Powder.

“You’re gonna be our secret weapon,” you whisper, wrapping an arm around Ren’s shoulders.

“Alright then,” Ekko chimes in, finally managing to free himself from the couch. “Let’s do this.”

Everyone grabs their nerf guns and heads outside. You can't help but chuckle at the sight of Sevika, usually so intimidating, clutching a bright orange plastic gun with a determined look on her face.

"Alright, teams start at opposite ends of the house," Powder instructs. "When I give the signal, the hunt begins!"

You crouch behind a bush with Powder and Ren, all of you trying (and failing) to look serious with your toy weapons.

"Ready?" Powder calls out. "Set... GO!"

And with that, you all come barreling into the house. Powder darts ahead, her movements quick and erratic. You follow, trying to keep an eye on Ren while scanning for potential ambush spots.

As you round a corner, you come face to face with Sevika. For a moment, you both freeze, nerf guns pointed at each other. 

"Sorry, babe," you say, not sorry at all as you pull the trigger.

But Sevika's reflexes are faster. She ducks, the foam dart whizzing over her head, and returns fire. You barely dodge, and you take the moment to sneak onto the stairs.

Upstairs, you quickly begin your search, darting in and out of rooms, peeking under beds and behind curtains for any sign of the hidden crown.  Ren’s small size gives her an advantage as she slips into tight spots that you and Powder can’t quite reach.

But despite your efforts, it was nowhere to be found. "How?" you mutter, bewildered.

Powder's eyes narrow, scanning the area. "Ekko," she hisses, pointing to an open window. "He must've climbed up from outside!"

Quickly, you formulate a plan. Ren is dispatched to keep watch with Vander, ensuring Ekko can't make a sneaky victory while you and Powder hunt down Sevika and Ekko.

With that, you guys head back downstairs, moving quietly as you scan the house for any signs of the other team. As you move through the house, you and Powder eventually decide to split up, hoping to cover more ground. 

It doesn’t take long before you spot Sevika, her broad frame moving stealthily through the hallway. She hasn’t seen you yet, and you quickly close the distance, pressing yourself against the wall to remain hidden. When she finally turns the corner, you’re right there, catching her off guard.

“Drop the gun,” you command, your voice low and teasing as you pin her against the wall, your body pressing into hers. Sevika’s eyes widen in surprise, her hands instinctively going up in mock surrender, though there’s a glint of amusement in her gaze.

“And what if I don’t?” she murmurs, her lips quirking into a playful smile.

“Then I’ll have to make you,” you reply, your tone equally flirtatious as you lean in closer, the game momentarily forgotten.

"Ewww, get a room!" Ekko's voice breaks the spell. You spin around to find Ekko aiming at you, the crown tucked under his arm. 

But before you can react, Powder emerges from a doorway behind Ekko, her nerf gun raised and ready. Without missing a beat, she fires a dart that hits Ekko square in the back. “Gotcha!” she shouts triumphantly.

Ekko’s eyes widen in shock as he instinctively drops the crown, clutching his back where the dart hit. “Hey, what the fuck, Powder?!” he exclaims, his tone incredulous.

“Language, Ekko!” Vander’s voice booms from the kitchen, echoing through the house.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Sevika quickly knocks the nerf gun out of your hand. But before she can fully capitalize on her victory, you kick the crown down the hallway, sending it skittering toward the kitchen.

“Move kid!” Sevika barks as she grabs Ekko by the arm, dragging him behind a couch. Ekko, still nursing his mock wound, yells out dramatically, “Man down! Man down!”

There's a moment of tense silence, then Ekko's voice pipes up again. "I'm getting healed by a health kit!"

“What the hell?” Powder says with a look of utter disbelief. “There’s no health kit in this game!”

"Yeah, 'cause I took it!" Ekko retorts, popping up from behind the couch and unleashing a barrage of foam darts.

The living room erupts into chaos. You dive behind an armchair, Powder taking cover behind another couch. Foam darts fly in every direction, peppering the air with colorful streaks.

You peek out, catching Sevika's eye across the room. She winks at you before ducking to avoid a well-aimed shot from Powder. 

"Cover me!" you shout to Powder, making a dash for the hallway where the crown disappeared.

Ekko leaps over the couch, trying to intercept you. "Oh no, you don't!" he yells, unleashing a volley of darts in your direction.

You slide across the hardwood floor, narrowly avoiding his attack. Sevika provides covering fire for Ekko, keeping Powder pinned down.

As you scramble to your feet at the kitchen entrance, ready to grab the crown and make a triumphant dash to Vander, you freeze. The crown is gone.

A throat clears behind you. You turn to see Vander, sitting calmly at the kitchen table. Beside him stands Ren, a victorious grin on her face and the crown placed neatly on Vander's head.

The chaos in the living room dies down as everyone realizes what's happened. Ren's giggles fill the sudden silence.

"I believe," Vander says, his eyes twinkling with amusement, "that we have a winner."

For a moment, you're all too stunned to speak. Then Powder bursts out laughing, followed quickly by Ekko. Soon, you're all in stitches, the absurdity of the situation hitting you all at once.

As you catch your breath, you feel Sevika's arm wrap around your waist. "Can’t believe we were outsmarted by an eight-year-old," she murmurs in your ear.

You lean into her, watching as Vander lifts Ren onto his shoulders, parading her around the kitchen as the victor. Ekko and Powder are already arguing about a rematch and new teammates for next time.

As the excitement of the game winds down, Vander glances at the clock. "It's getting late." 

You nod in agreement, glancing over at Ren. “Do you want to stay at Powder’s or with us tonight?” 

Ren's eyes light up. "Stay with Powder!" she exclaims without hesitation.

Before you can even respond, Powder and Ekko are already shepherding Ren up the stairs, their voices a jumble of excited plans for a sleepover.

Caitlyn and Vi exchange a knowing look. "Ooh, you two are finally getting some alone time," Vi teases with a wink.

You feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment, but Sevika seems unfazed. 

"So, how are those new recruits doing on the walls? Getting the hang of things?"  You ask, trying to get the attention off you.

Caitlyn's face does a complicated dance between diplomacy and honesty. "Well, they're... enthusiastic." 

Vi snorts, unable to contain herself. "Come on, cupcake. Tell 'em the truth."

Caitlyn's facade cracks. "Alright, fine. Their aim is absolutely atrocious. I've never seen so many missed targets in my life. We had one recruit who managed to shoot his own hat off."

You all burst out laughing, the mental image too ridiculous to resist.

Vander shakes his head. "Everyday I’m thankful that’s not me, I'm getting too old for that kind of headache."

Sevika raises an eyebrow at him. "Not too old to keep experimenting with your homebrews though, are you?"

You all laugh at that. It's true - besides overseeing the community's agriculture, Vander's taken to crafting various meads and ales in his spare time.

"I'll have you know that my brewing skills only improve with age, unlike my patience," Vander puffs up his chest in mock indignation.  “And I'm taking back the ale from tonight, can't have you lot disparaging my other talents.”

Vi grins. "C'mon, Vander. You know the community needs that alcohol. How else are we supposed to cope with Powder's 'experiments'?"

This sets off another round of laughter, but your conversation is suddenly interrupted when Ren comes downstairs, looking shy and hesitant. 

"What's wrong, sweetie?" 

Sevika seems to understand before you do, her voice softening as she reaches out to Ren. “Come on, kid. Let’s get you tucked in.”

The three of you make your way upstairs, the house now quiet as the night settles in. Ren leads you to the bedroom she’s sharing with Powder and Ekko. 

Sevika moves to the bed, pulling back the covers and helping Ren climb in. Ren looks up at you both, her eyes wide and a little sad, as Sevika tucks the blankets around her snugly. “Can you get it?” Ren asks quietly.

You follow her gaze to the small play tent in the corner of the room, where she likes to spend her time during the day. You walk over, crouching down to peer inside, and that’s when you see it—peeking out from under a pile of toys. Your breath hitches as you recognize it instantly: Grayson’s yellow armband.

You carefully pull it out, the fabric worn but still vibrant, and bring it over to Ren. She takes it from you, her small hands wrapping around the band as if it’s the most precious thing in the world. “I miss her,” she whispers.

Your heart breaks at the sight of her holding onto that small piece of Grayson. You kneel beside the bed, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “I know, honey,” you say softly. “We all miss her. But she’s always with us, in here.” You gently place a hand over Ren’s heart, offering her a comforting smile.

Ren nods and she clutches the armband tightly, her grip strong for someone so small. Sevika’s expression is unreadable, a mix of emotions flashing across her face as she watches the scene unfold. 

After a few moments, Ren’s eyelids start to droop, exhaustion finally taking over. You lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to Ren’s forehead. “Goodnight sweetie,” you whisper.

You and Sevika quietly bid Ekko and Powder goodnight as well, sharing a few last words before heading back downstairs. The house is much quieter now, the energy from earlier having dissipated into a peaceful calm. You say your goodbyes to Vander, Caitlyn, and Vi, thanking them for the evening.

As you step out into the cool night air, the streets of Zaun are mostly quiet. Sevika’s hand finds yours, her grip warm and comforting. “You okay?” she asks.

You nod, though your mind is still on Ren and the armband. “Yeah,” you say softly, squeezing her hand. “It’s just… it’s hard sometimes, you know? Seeing how much she misses Grayson.”

Sevika doesn’t respond right away, but you feel her thumb brushing gently over your knuckles, a silent gesture of understanding. “She’s a tough kid,” she finally says.  “She’s more resilient than we think.”

You wordlessly agree, falling into a comfortable silence as you guys listen to the hum of the surrounding houses and your footsteps on the pavement.  For a while, neither of you speak, simply enjoying the quiet together.

You find yourself stealing glances at Sevika, admiring her profile in the dim light. She catches you looking and raises an eyebrow, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips. You playfully bump your shoulder against hers, and she returns the gesture, a bit harder.

You smile, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as you bump her again, just to see what she’ll do.

Sevika doesn’t say anything, but you can see the corner of her mouth twitching upward, that almost-smile that she gets when she’s trying to keep her cool but failing just a bit. She bumps you back, a little more firmly this time, and you laugh, the sound light and carefree in the stillness of the night.

You nudge her again, and this time, she stops walking altogether. Before you can react, she grabs your hand, pulling you toward her with a gentle but firm tug. The sudden movement catches you off guard, and you stumble slightly, your hands instinctively reaching out to steady yourself.

But Sevika’s already there, her strong arms wrapping around you, holding you close. There’s a brief moment where you just look at each other, the playful teasing of earlier fading into something softer, more intimate. The distance between you disappears, and you feel the warmth of her body against yours, the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathes.

She doesn’t say anything—doesn’t need to. The look in her eyes, the way she’s holding you, it says it all. 

Without a word, she leans down, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss. It’s sweet and gentle, and it fills you with a warmth that spreads through your chest, making you feel like you could stay here forever, wrapped up in this simple, perfect moment.

You melt into the kiss, your hand sliding from her shoulder to the nape of her neck. 

When she finally pulls back, it’s only by a fraction, her forehead resting against yours as she breathes out a soft sigh. You can't resist leaning in to place another quick kiss on her lips, delighting in the way it makes her smile.  

"What was that for?" you ask softly, not that you're complaining.

"Do I need a reason?" she asks, her voice husky but tender.

You shake your head, smiling. "Definitely not. Feel free to do that anytime."

She chuckles softly, pulling you close as you resume your walk home. Her arm wraps securely around your waist, and you lean into her, feeling safe and cherished.

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@sodavrr @sweet-lover-girl @love-sevikalove @pinkyykisses @glass-apothecary

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Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°

✽ Part Two - The aftermath

So many of you came out of the woodwork for this story and I couldn't be more grateful for all the kind words of encouragement! I'm truly flattered by the amount of love this received for being something that randomly popped in my head on a whim ❤️

I'm glad I was able to get this part out so quickly. It might be a tick before part three, but I've already got some of it worked out. I'll still try to keep chipping away at it while I work on my other series~

Trigger warnings: swearing, angst, depression

“I saw them the other day.”

“...saw who?”

“My scent matches.”

There’s a pregnant pause as your therapist of four years takes the information in, caught off guard by the abruptness of the statement but also the further implications behind the words.

Dr. Miranda has been your life raft and confidant ever since you’d first gone to your family with the appalling reality of your newfound situation. An omega like yourself; she specializes in the treatment and rehabilitation of women who've endured abuse at the hands of their packmates and the dredges of society. Highly recommended by the United Designation Resource Center for psychological trauma.

It had taken you over a week following the incident to gather the strength to confront your fathers on the thorny subject - too ashamed of admittance and too anxious of their response. And even then it was done over the phone in the most uncomfortable video call of your life, the dour atmosphere so at odds with that blessedly clear mid-afternoon sky, its temperate climate and soft summer breeze carrying along an enchanting melody of carefree innocence.

Inside, it was raining.

The wretched bond was a gravity well, sucking you down into a chasmic abyss and siphoning your once bountiful vibrancy. Responsibilities fell by the wayside, locked away in your self-imposed prison as if the globe would simply stop moving if you only ignored its rotations. Not until both your fathers made the three hour flight up north did you muster the courage to finally remove the makeshift barricade guarding your front door, talking through the deceptively difficult act with them on the other end of the phone as the two alphas supported you during the twenty five minutes it took to overcome the all-consuming panic and usher them inside.

They stayed with you for the better part of the month, taking over where depression had failed you in your efforts to function alone. Your parents allowed you space to look after yourself, clearing away the physical filth of your living quarters and, in doing so, sweeping away the cobwebs of your teetering sanity. They scrubbed at putrid greasy plates while you scoured tainted flesh under a scalding hot stream, the dead skin cells contaminated by his poisonous touch spiraling down the drain along with your tears.

The harsh truth of the matter is that there is no escape from your own body. You come screaming into this world given one to do with as you will, to mold and shape based on lived experiences with no regard for the decisions and circumstances made outside your control. There is no space to slip between the weaved threads of time, no hands to turn counter clockwise when you make a mistake. Just a grim acceptance that the life you once aspired to was forevermore out of reach.

There was only so much to be done given your situation. As much aid as your family offered, they were as helpless of bystanders as the soul in your meat suit. Chores were completed, accumulated bills paid, a hearty meal piled high on your plate combating the recent gauntness of your face. You were cherished and fussed over like the wee babe found scattered amongst family photos in your childhood home, cradled in their arms when the horrid presence came calling, dragging a hot poker through your insides and causing mental anguish at all hours of the night. 

The more time they spent around you, the more apparent it was that you could no longer stay there. The closer the proximity to your bonded alpha the more power he held to disrupt your life. 

That's how you landed in Dr. Miranda’s lap. Before you'd even set foot on the tarmac arrangements had been made for a new life in a new city on the other side of the country - spiriting you away on a mission to regain your independence, the distance easing the damage he could do even as the strained bond churned.

Initially dreading having to confess the horrors you’d endured to some random unknown, she’d worked diligently to soothe your broken nerves in both demeanor and environment. A kind omega in her early forties, the subtle crows feet and laugh lines only accentuated her cheerful personality, disarming in her ability to draw out your insecurities and work with you through the trauma in a way that didn’t feel intruding. 

Dr. Miranda was a veritable well of understanding, always encouraging of whatever pace you set, careful of the fragile boundaries constructed to guard your heart from further damage. 

She operated as part of a larger business that provided therapeutic services and catered to all designations alike. You’d been thrilled to find there was a separate entrance away from the cacophony of the common room, bypassing the headache of having to wait amongst strangers and leading directly to her office in the back right corner of the building. 

The space itself was considerably cozy, low lit warmth all plush and homely. The spacious couch against the back wall invited you to stretch out comfortably, decorative pillows available in a colorful assortment of textures - catering to a discerning omega’s personal preferences. A small diffuser wafting light refreshing mists operated as both a handy descenting spray and an emotional pick me up. Every accommodation purposeful, given special care for your emotional easement and wellbeing.

You appreciated the effort she put into making her office feel more like a living room than a sterile setting. It was easier for you to converse when it felt like you were speaking with a friend.

Bit by bit, Dr. Miranda coaxed you from the sheltered recesses in which you’d burrowed; not just a guiding hand through the concrete dust and collapsed rubble, but a mentor recovering your confidence, reminding you of the path you once walked independently and peeling back the suffocating layers that kept you from standing on your own two feet.

In hindsight, you probably could’ve broken the news of your scent match a bit less abrasively - probably should’ve led with it too. 

The pair of you had been engrossed in a topic that was moreso a follow up from your last session rather than anything of actual import. Your brain had been functioning on autopilot the past twenty odd minutes, making sounds vaguely human enough to get by without requiring proper attention. Honestly, most of her words had been drowned out by the incessant buzzing in your ear that had been slowly growing in volume, throat clenching and knuckles flexing, more aware of the sweat dripping down the back of your nape than anything she had to proffer.

Eventually the dam just broke. The words slipped out like grease, lubricated in a film of oil too slick to be contained and begging to be addressed.

There’s a struggle on her face to try and maintain some level of professionalism after the sudden revelation. Knitted eyebrows spiked before smoothing back down, jaw almost dropping until she remembered herself and switched it from an ‘o’ to a relaxed flat line. She mirrored your own position on the couch from her velvet wingback chair, sitting cross legged with an air of casualness. Her only remaining tell was her hands fidgeting in her lap as if her fingers itched to shake you down like a coconut tree or pry your brain open like a valuable specimen. 

Knowing the scarcity of scent bonding, this may have very well been the first time she’s come across this scenario - whether in her personal life or from her spot opposite you in her seat.

“How are you feeling about the encounter?” A loaded question if ever there was one, giving you plenty of breathing room to start the conversation however you needed and giving her a chance to compartmentalize. 

You tried to focus on the initial emotions, remembering that first brush of sweet alpha pheromones on your olfactory senses. The rush of endorphins as your inner omega staked her claim with that first gulp of built up citrus infused drool.

“I didn’t know I could feel like that...” There was a breathy quality to your tone as you visibly brightened, gazing at the plush rug in the center of the room without actually viewing it, a glow to your smile that was soft in your reminiscence. “They don’t prepare you for that first whiff at the Academy. It’s almost like…”

How could you explain in the span of a few sentences what the most ardent poets struggled with over the course of a lifetime? 

“It’s like when someone grows up not being able to breathe properly and they don’t even realize it’s a problem. To them it’s normal to be in a constant state of dyspnea because that’s all they’ve ever known. No one else might be complaining about it, but no one’s asked them about it either. They just assume that's how your lungs are supposed to function and carry on none the wiser.”

Dr. Miranda nodded along, ever patient as you attempted to spew out your thoughts in an at least semi-coherent structure.

“But then, one day, they’re walking behind a guy who’s fumbling with his attempt to shove a small object back in his pocket and watches as it falls to the sidewalk. They pick it up off the ground like a good citizen; strike up a conversation. Ask him about the strange contraption the guy calls an inhaler - learns there's another way to breathe. And so they go home and tell their mom what’s been going on with them and she takes them to see the doctor who gets them one of their own. And when that first dose of medicated mist gets sucked into their lungs…”

The image of a wide eyed innocent gasping in a world full of untold possibilities as if reborn from the ashes of their previous life, no longer chained down by the invisible restrictions tethering them to the globe, eyes glistening full of wonderment at how something so small can be something so cosmically life altering.

With each new breath, they soar.

You’re pulled out of your musings and back to reality as your own lungs expand, something weightless shimmering in your gaze, glassy eyed and perfectly at ease. “Now I know why they call it living.”

The words are floated around the space with a sort of reverence akin to hearing a favored childhood fairy tale read aloud at their mother’s knee. Something wistful and longing and filled with effervescent hope.

“Sounds heavenly...” Her own voice was just as breathy, living vicariously through the moment she herself hasn't experienced. Curling her legs up under herself, Dr. Miranda encouraged, “tell me more.”

“There were two of them,” you went on, smile turning playful and newly invigorated. “The first one was just this big bulk of an alpha. I mean, seriously, he was properly huge!” Animated arms opened wide for emphasis, your grin reaching almost the same diameter. “Built like a fucking linebacker or something. I can only imagine what he must do for a living. Kinda gives off scary vibes, but like… in a non sketchy way? He dresses a bit like a drug dealer, but feels more like a gym teacher. Maybe that’s just me being biased ‘cause he smells like a cupcake, I dunno.”

The energy you gave off was infectious. Dr. Miranda couldn’t help but join in with amused laughter, endeared to the way you were lighting up the room. It wasn’t often she got to see you like this, glimpsing the lighthearted woman you were before the accident. It was a welcome sight after so much negativity. “And the other?”

“Fuuuuck me, Doc.” You groaned good naturedly, head falling back to rest against the spine of the couch as your limbs went limp. “Swear to god he was the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life. Gorgeous smile. Like, I’ve always been a casual fan of coconut, but after that encounter…” You shuddered. “I just wanna roll around in an entire box of fucking samoas.”

“And do these tasty specimens have names?”

Just like that, you wilted.

The temperature shifted rapidly, a violent change that dragged out of your whimsy and back into a world where life didn’t discriminate between those deserving of heaven and those who broke their way in to taint the ghosts at peace. 

She picked up on it immediately, back straightening as if you weren’t the only one in the room with a chill suddenly dripping down their spine. 

Your admission came from a voice far more fragile than she’d heard in a very long time. “...I never got to ask.”

Recounting the excruciating memory was like shoving needles underneath your nailbeds, bringing up the other person in the room keeping you from wanton bliss, describing the torture you’d endured witnessing them existing with their own omega unaware of the damage she’d inadvertently done. You relayed their moment of recognition and sympathy. The confusion on the poor omega’s face.

How you turned tail and fled like a coward from the scene.

“I panicked,” came the strained confession, stumbled out in a frantic rush that spoke volumes of your frazzled mental state. “I-I didn’t know what else to do! I couldn’t just waltz up to them all willy nilly and throw a wrench in whatever the hell kinda life they’d already built. I mean, she was right there! How was I supposed to fawn over the men who should’ve been mine to keep when they were never mine to begin with?!”

You flinched away from the unwanted flashback of silvery bite marks, the pale white indents plastered on her skin displayed proudly beneath the collar of her coat like an olympic medal. So at odds with the ones mirrored on your own flesh, hidden now under a thick cotton turtleneck that you fought the urge to scratch.

Dr. Miranda listened closely, keen eyes analyzing the familiar body language and monitoring your growing levels of distress. She watched as you picked apart a loose hanging thread with jittery deftness until inevitably too much unwound and fluffy white stuffing poked out between the seams of the pillow clutched like a life jacket to your chest.

“I can only imagine the hurt you must’ve felt in that moment…”

Where once your voice had been full of life, now there was only a grave emptiness. Color had been sucked from your aura the same way it had been from the room. There was no hiding from your devastation in the tiny office, the frayed threads of the cashmere pillow a reflection revealing the true turmoil roiling beneath the skin. It rotted from the inside out, exposing the vulnerable squishy interior and keeping you reliving the same brutal lacerations again and again and again.

“...I hadn’t even considered it a possibility, you know…?” 

Hadn’t allowed yourself the concept of hope. 

“And suddenly it was right there - the answer to all my problems. For a brief moment, I was shown a glimpse of a better life. A future… one where I didn't wake up with earth shattering headaches and relentless nausea and I’d actually have energy to do more than just be a useless fucking couch potato and there could be laughter and healing and–” 

You weren’t sure at which point in your stream of consciousness you’d started crying, nor when you fitfully clawed into the padded fabric, shredding the delicate material as it twisted and stretched in your trembling hands.

“I wish I never ran into them at the store... I wish I could’ve kept living in stupid fucking ignorance. At least then they could’ve just stayed made up characters in my head. Anything would’ve been better than this–” you spat angrily, chucking the mangled remains of the pillow on the ground and gritting your teeth through the onslaught of tears. “Having them ripped away from me like some sick fucking joke! Like the universe hasn’t already crushed my hopes and dreams and laughed in my face for wanting a normal fucking life!? Well guess what, gods? You win! Okay?! You fucking win! Take my heart! I don't want it anymore!”

Consoling arms encapsulated your quivering form, the comforting florals of Dr. Miranda’s airy omega scent projecting like a protective blanket and overpowering the tart bitterness of your once sweetened pear turned ashen in your mouth. 

The floodgates opened. They couldn't be stopped.

“I’m just so fucking sick of this!” Your screams of devastation become muffled against the softness of her pink knitted sweater, harsh blubbering sobs broken up by heaving gasps as you mourn the life you’ll never have. “I hate him... I hate him! I don’t wanna do this anymore! I just want my fucking life back!”

There are no words that can fix the lesions of the heart. There’s no comfort of a better tomorrow that she can wax poetic whilst drying your tears. Sometimes grief cannot be mended - only managed. And sometimes that means accepting the bad days with the learned knowledge that not all anger is made of evil. 

Holding you close, lulling you into a guarded safety with a placating purr, she grants you reprieve from the mask that you wear.

Not much more was discussed in the aftermath. The remaining time was dedicated to helping you stabilize from the emotional trauma, bringing you down carefully to avoid dropping into a catatonic state. She’d witnessed it with you before - at the start of your visits. When the grief was still too near and your triggers splayed out like a million mouse traps all primed to go off. Avoiding them was all but impossible in those early days. Three hours of your life were forever lost to time, the only proof of its occurrence the foggy aftermath filled memory of cold dampened skin and sweat soaked weighted blankets clutched tight in a dark room, uncontrollable trembles wracking your form and a bone deep exhaustion as if you’d just ran ten miles.

Dr. Miranda never once left your side.

Trudging your way back to your vehicle, the air inside the car was only mildly warmer than its outer counterpart, sinking into the rigid cloth seats and listening to the laboured clicks of the old engine grappling to turn over in the bitter cold. Snowflakes gathered on your coat began to melt as it finally gave way, puttering to life and filling the space with dense heated air.

You huffed out a loaded sigh, absentmindedly scratching at the already abused skin as you felt his presence poking experimentally across the bond. As if you didn’t have enough on your plate without him adding his delightful input, sniffing around your emotions like a trained bloodhound attuned to your melancholic brooding.

He was a spiteful thing; had been since he first opened his eyes the next morning from his drug induced stupor and found the pretty thing he’d coveted had just up and vanished. You never knew when he’d invade the sanctity of your mind. The flicker of amusement from his end was the telltale proof this was all just a sick game. 

The bonds didn’t allow any actual communication. There were no words passed back and forth, no sudden powers of telepathy. Just intense sensations - emotions conveyed as though tangible and speaking ideas down an invisible phone line. 

The whole point of a mating bite in the first place was to bring a further cohesion to the packs. As an omega, you were the fixed point in space around which all other members orbited. A mediator of sorts; it was your job to smooth the serrated edges of an alpha’s instincts, regulating their emotional needs and nurturing them to achieve a sense of balance - and vice versa. 

An omega’s naturally empathetic nature meant you were frequently prone to becoming easily overstimulated. It was an alpha’s duty to soothe your frazzled nerves. 

He liked to abuse his privileges. 

Sometimes he went days without pestering, others his tiresome machinations seemed unending. The longest reprieve had been just shy of three weeks, lured into a false sense of optimism that just maybe he’d overdosed and freed you from his haunting clutches. His return was a hot knife stabbing into your skull, grinding and drilling like a makeshift lobotomy for the clinically insane.

You were grateful for the miles between now softening the blows. Once he’d begun to feel the strain on the flight to your current city whittling away at the strength of your bond, he’d lashed out in unbridled fury. You’d spent the first leg of the trip huddled on your knees in the airplane stall, his mental punishment sawing into your ribs and expelling the simple breakfast you’d eaten an hour prior. 

Sobs of anguish turned to tears of relief as time went on and his reach stretched thin across the continent. 

The bond withdrawals came afterwards. His presence still lurked in the tether that binds you, but no more than a casual thought in the back of your mind, the quiet voice that whispers on the edge of a canyon daring you to ‘jump’.

The bond withdrawals were now the worst of your worries. It was hard to function on a day to day basis when the same distance granting you a second chance caused you to become physically - sometimes violently - ill. Instances like that, Zofran was your best friend.

Buckling your seatbelt, you waged an internal battle over whether or not to do the responsible thing of making a second attempt at grocery shopping (despite your best efforts over the past two days, you hadn’t yet figured out how to miraculously will food to materialize in your barren pantry). Statistically speaking you were most likely safe from another encounter… unless they’d pulled a you and hadn’t left with their wares either. 

But if you didn’t have the luxury before to keep putting it off then you certainly hadn’t acquired it now.

Math was on your side as you emerged with a full cart of goods and a lack of new therapy material. You’d still been the most skittish paranoid thing ever, scurrying quickly through the aisles like the CIA was out to get you, scanning your periphery and emerging quickly from the self checkout lanes to hurry towards your car. But just because you’d been successful in your venture doesn’t mean you weren’t followed along by fuzzy raised brows and curious - if not judgemental - looks. 

It was an odd notion - being terrified of the one thing that should’ve made you feel secure. It was all you could do to distract yourself from the frustrating realization that this was a game you’d be playing for the foreseeable future unless you shelled out the extra cash to bypass doing the chore yourself.

That would have to be a worry for another time. Right now, all you desired was to curl up in your tiny studio apartment with a home cooked microwaved meal and lose yourself in the diversion that was the food network channel.

But first: caffeine.

You ignored the nagging ghost of responsibility tugging at your ear as you pulled into a parking spot alongside the main road, stepping out of the warm confines of your car and hurrying inside the nestled hole in the wall you frequented a few times a week for a caffeinated boost. 

Large crowds still bothered you even with the reassurance he wasn't there, as if he could somehow physically slink out of the bond formed between you and hide amongst the chittering rabble waiting for an opportune moment of weakness to strike. Thankfully you’d arrived after the mid afternoon rush - although there were still a few stragglers with the same mindset as you eager to escape the frosty air with something warm on an otherwise picturesque snowy winter’s day.

The chiming bell above the door hailed your arrival, festive drink flavors assaulting your nose and instantly watering your mouth. Smoky chestnut praline, rich peppermint mocha, enticing caramel brulee. Cranberry laden pastries, chewy gingerbread cookies; all folded together in a Christmasy mix laced with the pleasant aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. 

Your mind zeroed in on exactly what it wanted, pinpointing the most succulent fragrance amongst the bountiful bouquet, cutting through the sea of heavy pheromones belonging to the other patrons and hitting something raw inside your weary soul. 

The veritable nectar of the gods. 

A rich shot of bold espresso. Sweetly caramelized with smooth, creamy, chocolatey undertones. It zapped your spine with a jolt of adrenaline, awakening your senses while simultaneously soothing them. The first relaxing sip of a perfectly hot beverage. The golden liquid flowed down the back of your throat and alleviated the tangled knots still keeping you on edge, settling like a sturdy hand on your shoulder and allowing you the chance to breathe easy.

Something about the blend had your inner omega preening, ears perked up and startling a small purr from your chest that had you blinking down at your torso in surprised confusion. You’d barely stepped foot inside the cafe and suddenly the craving had expanded tenfold, something ravenous and feral urging your steps towards the counter that you had to fight to withstand.

Shrugging off the intense hunger as a simple lack of shoving something slightly more substantial in your mouth before leaving this morning, you adjusted the strap of your purse more securely on your shoulder and raised your eyes level to the awaiting interior.

Right into the most alluring shade of brilliant azure - sparkling like sapphires and already fixated on you.

°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°

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[ghostbite0]

For the psp au would they all be staying together in the masters mansion or something? I can see Kagaya telling them all to stay together so that they can bond and basically have a sleepover every night! And speaking of sleepovers I bet that’s something mitsuri tries to get them all to do- like bringing all their futons into one room and playing games

They all stay together, yeah!! You hit the mark—

Mitsuri tries to get everyone to have sleepovers, and Kyojuro and Tengen usually join in

Shinobu always wants to spend the night with someone and claims she'll pull an all-nighter . she always passes out by 11 PM

she loves sanemi and giyuu but she hates sleeping near them because "sanemi is smelly" and "giyuu looks dead"

obanai (and kaburamaru) always have like three-four blankets and curl up fetal position

they try to give muichiro a makeshift crib of sorts but he'll cut off his arm before he lets that happen . everyone is like well you could sleep with gyomei if you want. and muichiro is like no im not a baby. and the scene jumpcuts to the baby passed out in his arms

its fun until someone has a nightmare or someone wakes up hungry

they basically live together for a while with other characters popping in to help. they all eat together and go out on walks together etc etc. family

[laurrelise]

someone talk with me about an AU where delores is a real girl who somehow survived the initial apocalypse and spends it growing old with five and keeping him sane

someone talk with me about delores being five’s age when he discovers her body in the rubble and thinks she’s dead before he notices the small rise and fall of her chest before he pulls her out and desperately tries to help her breathe normally again and watches the life fill her eyes with tears in his own that he’s finally no longer alone

someone talk with me about delores being an only child to parents who she wasn’t close with leading her to become dependent on herself until she meets five and learns to trust other people before finding out about his huge family and doing everything in her power to help him not only because she cares about him and wants him to be happy but also because she wants to experience the family she’s never had

someone talk with me about how delores never had powers but survived for the 40+ years in the apocalyptic wasteland of the future due to her seriously genius mind (and five’s help) and lives to help five figure out how to save his family

someone talk with me about young five and delores searching for anything they can find to survive before they stumble upon a half-broken mannequin with a surprisingly intact polka-dotted blouse that five says would suit her so she puts it on out of boredom from looking for materials before five looks at her with the most genuine, in-love eyes she’s ever seen and she decides to keep it just for him

someone talk with me about five always making sure delores has a comfortable place to sleep, to rest, to eat, etc

someone talk with me about five explaining his childhood so nonchalantly one day once he realizes that he can trust delores to her surprise, and she asks why he suddenly had the strength to tell her and he looks her in the eyes and says “believe it or not, you’re stuck with me, and i’m stuck with you, and i want you to know who i am when we’re kicking this apocalypse in the ass”

someone talk with me about teenage five teaching teenage delores how to defend herself with the training he was given during his childhood but reassuring her that he’ll always be there to protect her if something were to happen (to which she reminds him that she appreciates it, but knows she can defend herself with the spite and sheer willpower she has to survive)

someone talk with me about five and delores having a makeshift wedding and five’s vows being along the lines of “even if the rest of the world was alive, i don’t think i could ever hope to find someone that makes me as truly happy as you do, and i will be eternally grateful that of anyone i could get stuck in this goddamn apocalypse with, it was always you, and it will always be you”

someone talk with me about the handler showing up from the commission to recruit five as a temporal assassin and delores as a case worker because they’re both dangerously smart and incredible at surviving in harsh conditions (also, the handler approached them separately to see where their loyalties lied and they both firmly explained they wouldn’t go anywhere without the other)

someone talk with me about delores getting fed up with the handler repeatedly making moves on five despite him clearly being uncomfortable until it bubbles to a climax and she punches her square in the jaw, which results in an ER trip and zero regret (plus five falling even harder in love with the woman who endlessly sticks up for him)

someone talk with me about five and delores plotting an escape plan to get back to 2019 which all goes well, except five had once again messed up the math (or so he thought) and he and delores are placed back in their 13 year-old bodies, but she confesses that she doesn’t mind seeing the boy she fell in love with all those years ago once again

someone talk with me about delores learning to trust and love the hargreeves just as much as five, as they learn to love and trust her just as much

someone talk with me about five always keeping track of dates and specifically remembering the exact times of significant events for himself and delores, like the moment she looked at him for the first time, the moment he knew he was in love with her, and the moment they decided they were going to stop at nothing to keep each other alive and stop the world from ending

someone talk with me about five and delores, the 58 year-old couple that they are, snuggling up on elliot’s couch together because they can’t fall asleep without the other one there to remind them that they’re safe and out of harm’s way (mostly)

someone talk with me about how delores has never been the type to step down, and she continues to stand her ground and be brutally honest when shes upset or wants five to listen to her, and he admires her bluntness (and frankly, needs it) due to his impatience and expectations of honesty at all times

someone talk with me about delores knowing exactly when five needs his time alone and stepping away to help his siblings as much as she possibly can, usually by encouragement or (again) brutal honesty hidden behind a kind and genuine smile

someone talk with me about five reminding delores of his love for her whenever it’s too quiet or he thinks she’s gone too long without him showing it, in every way he can think of, like letting her know that he would’ve lost his mind in the apocalypse without her (which.. he kind of did?), finding little things that remind him of her and bringing them to her, and holding her hand whenever he sees frustration or discomfort bubbling behind her eyes

[apothe-roses]

Dance of the Sugarplum Prince

Nutcracker!Aemond x Clara!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: violence, character death, smut, tiddy sucking, oral (f-receiving), uncle-niece incest, unprotected sex, piv sex, breeding kink, possessive Aemond, obsessed Aemond

A/N: I may not be the first nor the last to do a nutcracker au, but I’m doin it anyways! Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. All rights go to HBO and George RR Martin

The snow falls heavy and thick outside the window. You watch the snowflakes dance to the ground while your family makes a ruckus behind you. The adults Gossip amongst themselves while your brothers laugh and joke amongst themselves. You love your family, but you’ve grown tired of your overbearing aunties trying to set you up with “nice boys” they know.

You notice a figure making their way towards the front door, making your own way towards it to greet them. Right after the doorbell rings, you open the door, smiling at the woman on the other side.

“Aunt Alys,” you smile and embrace the older woman.

“Forgive me for my tardiness, but it’s nearly impossible to make one’s way through that,” she replies, indicating to the storm outside. Other family members come to greet Alys, so you move to the side and let them. She pulls a large case out from under her coat. She reveals several beautifully made dolls, winding them up and letting them dance across the carpet. Your family is in awe. While they’re distracted, Alys approaches you.

“I have a special gift for you,” Alys says. She opens her bag, gingerly pulling out a final doll. He was a beautiful man with long silver hair and black armor accentuated with gold.

“This,” you aunt explains, “is no ordinary knight. He is a prince of a faraway land.”

“Oh Alys, she’s too old for dolls!” your mother calls from across the room.

“Oh, but he’s so beautiful!” you rebut. “Couldn’t I just put on on my shelf and admire him?”

“You can put these dirty dishes in the kitchen,” your mother tells you. You sigh, setting your doll on the windowsill. Alys follows you into the kitchen.

“Perhaps you should’ve brought me a real prince. That would’ve made mother happy,” you laugh. Alys simply smiles at that.

Suddenly, a loud crash sounds from the sitting room, followed by your mother shouting “Luke!” You rush into the room. Your doll is lying on the floor at your brother’s feet.

“It was an accident!” Luke explains. “I only wanted to get a closer look!”

You rush over, picking your doll up off the ground. One of his eyes is broken. Luke apologizes profusely while you carefully extract the broken pieces. Alys approaches.

“I couldn’t find a spare eye, but this should fit,” she says, handing you a small sapphire. You slip it into his empty socket; it fits perfectly. She provides a small strip of black fabric that you use as a makeshift eyepatch.

“Thank you, Alys,” you say, giving the older woman a hug. You don’t notice the worried look she gives your doll.

BONG

BONG

BONG

Was it midnight already? You must have nodded off at some point. You look down at your prince, admiring his handsome face. Perhaps it’s the dim light, but it looks as though his mouth twitches.

You’re about to go to bed when something moves at the edge of your vision. A small man walks out from under your Christmas tree! For a moment, you think it’s your prince. However, this man has two eyes and looks older. He wears a crown that looks like it’s made of wood. He’s looking around, clearly searching for something. You stay as still as possible, hoping he doesn’t notice you. Theres a possibility you’re still dreaming, but you’re not willing to take that risk.

“Looking for someone, Daemon?” a voice calls out. Both your heads snap to the corner where it came from. Your mouth falls open. It’s your prince! But he’s alive! He approaches the man, sword drawn.

“Aemond,” Daemon greets. “It appears you’ve suffered a horrible accident. Shame. I was hoping for a fair fight.”

“And you’ll get one,” Aemond snaps. At that moment, more figures storm into view. You recognize them as your brothers’ toy soldiers.

“Alright. Two can play at that game,” Daemon raises a hand, and several mice scurry out from nowhere. You clap a hand over your mouth, trying not to scream. Daemon and Aemond draw their swords, circling one another. Daemon strikes first, but Aemond is quick to block. The mice and toys launch at each other. You’re enthralled. Though bloodless, the battle is intense.

Suddenly, Daemon strikes Aemond’s blind side. He’s sent flying to the floor, his sword clattering away. Daemon smiles viciously, standing over his nephew. He raises his sword to strike the killing blow and—

WHAM!

A giant slipper knocks him off his feet. Aemond glances at you, noting you are now missing a slipper. He grins, then springs into action. He draws a dagger, races to his uncle, and plunges the blade into his neck. Daemon never had time to regain his senses before he bleeds out, choking and clasping at his throat. The battle stops. The now leaderless mice scurry off, and the toy soldiers return to where your brothers left them originally. Aemond walks over to you. As he does, he grows until he’s the height of a normal man. You stare up at him, lips parted. He’s tall, and even more handsome as a man.

“You saved me,” he states, kneeling at your side.

“I-it was nothing,” you stammer, blushing. “I didn’t want him to…kill you.”

Aemond’s lips curl into a smirk. “Such a sweet thing you are,” he muses. He reaches out, winding a lock on your hair around his finger. “It’s not every day a man can say he was saved by someone so beautiful or kind.”

Your blush deepens. “You’re too kind,” you whisper.

“You must come back to the castle with me. My family will want to meet the girl who helped defeat my wicked uncle and his wretched mouse army,” he stands, extending a hand to you. You look around the empty sitting room, wondering what to do.

“It’s only for tonight. I promise to have you back by morning,” he assures you. You bite your lip, not noticing the way his gaze darkens. Then, you smile and take his hand. When you stand, you notice how much taller he is. you look down shyly, but he tucks a finger under your chin and tilts your face up to his. For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. But then he says, “let’s be off then,” and leads you to the Christmas tree. With each step, you shrink until you can easily walk under the branches.

You spot a castle in the distance. A beautiful red fortress perched on the edge of a cliff, overlooking a sprawling city. The faint ringing of bells can be heard.

“It seems word of our victory has spread,” Aemond observes. “I imagine the celebration is well underway.

“Oh, but I’m not dressed!” you realize.

“Look down, little one,” Aemond replies. You do, and you gasp. Your simple nightgown had been replaced with a beautiful white dress, tied by a large red ribbon. The skirt floats in light layers down to your calves. Your feet are covered by red slippers with ribbons wrapped around your legs.

“How…?” you start to ask, the question dying on your lips when you look up and see Aemond had changed as well. He’s wearing a black and red jacket adorned with golden epaulettes, and also matching breeches and shiny black boots. His hair is loose, and the swath of ribbon covering his eye is replaced with a proper eyepatch.

“Come,” he requests, extending his hand. “We don’t want to miss out on the festivities.”

The walk to the castle is filled with merriment as the small folk throw flowers over your heads and dance and cheer. Inside the castle is even more merry as ball is in full swing. You spy the king and queen at the end of the hall, their matching silver hair catching the light.

Aemond leads you to the middle of the dance floor and leads you in a waltz. The night passes in a series of twirls and lifts, until a hush falls over the crowd.

The king leads his queen off the dais into the center of the crowd. Everyone pushes back, forming a wide berth around them as they lead a solitary waltz. You feel a large hand on the small of your back.

“Come with me,” Aemond whispers. His breath tickles your ear.

He leads you out of the room. The two of you race down the halls. You haven’t felt this exhilarated since you were a child chasing your brothers outdoors.

You’re lead into a bedroom that you presume is his. You don’t have time to take in the decor, as he grabs your face and kisses you hungrily. You kiss him back, hands tangling in his soft hair.

He deftly undoes the bow on your back. He tries to untie the laces, but he gets impatient and just tears your dress open. You gasp as your dress falls from your body.

Aemond scoops you up and lays you on the bed. He looks over you like a lion about to devour his kill.

“Have you ever been with a man before little one?”

“N-no,” you stutter, causing him to chuckle.

“Well,” he starts, “allow me to show you.”

He tears the rest of your underthings off, leaving you bare before him. Without breaking eye contact, he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. Your head rolls back as he sucks on the sensitive flesh, kneading your other side.

“So beautiful,” he gasps, switching to the other tit.

“So perfect.” He trails kisses down your torso. He fingers swipe through your folds. He brings them to his lips and sucks them clean; his eyes roll back and he groans.

“I knew you’d taste sweet,” he purrs. He lowers his head to your mound and drags his tongue through your folds. You gasp and instinctually shy away, but he pins you with this hands on your hips. You can only moan as he relentlessly devours your cunt.

“M-my prince…”

“Aemond. Call me Aemond,” he breathes, sending a shiver through you. You feel your peak approaching, closer and closer. It’s just about to wash over you when he pulls away. You whine at the loss of stimulation.

“The first time I make you come, it will be on my cock,” Aemond states, once again leaning over you. He sheds his clothing with ease. He’s truly one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen. His cock is long and thick, and already leaking. He strokes himself as he gets into position.

“What if it doesn’t fit?” You ask innocently.

“It will fit.” He replies. “I’ll make it fit.”

He angles his cock and enters you with one sure thrust. You gasp loudly, clinging to his shoulders.

“Gods you’re tight,” he whispers. He begins to rock in and out of you, setting a steady pace.

“So wet, and I’ve barely touched you. Such a needy little thing. Absolutely begging to be fucked.”

You babble incoherently in response. Aemond chuckles and starts playing with your pearl.

“Already cockdumb are we?”

He pinches your pearl.

“I could keep you here you know. Fuck you—breed you— day and night, until your belly swells with my child. You’d like that wouldn’t you? My perfect little princess. My broodmare. Mine.”

You’re a little frightened by his declaration, but you’re to overwhelmed by pleasure to do anything about it. You can only lay there as you climax, the pleasure melting your bones and heating your blood.

“That’s my girl. That’s my good girl,” he groans, and you feel his cock pulse followed by a sense of warmth. He keeps his cock plugged inside until he starts to soften, then he pulls out. You feel a mixture of your fluid and his seed leak out. He hold your legs open, admiring the sight. Then, he lays down, pulling you into his arms.

“You’ll want for nothing. I’ll make sure of it,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your hair.

You lay against his chest, and it isn’t long before sleep claims you.

“Sweetheart, wake up!” you hear your mother call. You reluctantly open your eyes. You’re in your own bed, in your own room.

“I don’t mean to rush you, but we have some surprise guests waiting downstairs,” she pulls open the curtains, and you wince at the sudden brightness.

“Get dressed quickly! I need to get back downstairs!” she rushes out of your room, closing the door behind you.

At first, you don’t move. There was a heaviness in your chest. It had all been a dream. Of course it had been a dream. Mice soldiers, living dolls, and princes could only be the product of dreams. This is the real world, and there are guests waiting for you.

As you get dressed, you realize your prince doll is nowhere to be found. You must have left him downstairs.

Voices could be heard in the sitting room as you make your way downstairs. Unfamiliar voices. You round the corner and freeze. Sitting around the room are three very familiar faces.

“Darling, these are my half-siblings.” She leads you to the Sugarplum King. “This is Aegon,” then to the Queen, who smiles sweetly at you, “Helaena,” then finally to the most familiar of them all, “and this is Aemond.”

He takes your hand in his, planting a kiss on your knuckles. You stare up at him with wide eyes. He’s wearing an eyepatch. Over the same eye your brother broke. Was he hiding a sapphire under there?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you breathe.

“Please, the pleasure is all mine, niece,” he purrs, looking at you in a way an uncle should never look at a niece.

“What happened to your eye?” Luke asked abruptly. Jace whacks him on the shoulder, admonishing him.

“Ow!”

“It’s alright. It was an accident long ago,” Aemond replies.

“Oh, let’s not dwell on unhappy memories,” your mother says, turning to Helaena. “How is Alicent? It’s been too long since I’ve heard from her.”

The conversation carries on, but you’ve stopped paying attention. You’re not looking at him, but you feel his gaze on you. Just as intense as it had been when he made love to you in your dream.

A dream.

It had only been a dream.

Right?

[mystiffox]

— the apple's falling from the tree

from Cross: The Star Sans by @overflowofcrows

star!cross makes me incredibly ill with the tragic found family vibes ... (lays on the floor)

also have some doodles too (slight spoilers on the fic's lore below! to explain some of my thoughts on clothes n stuff)

does Cross have a star necklace in the fic? no, probably not. did i show off about my thoughts on a star necklace to Simple anyway? yes, yes i did. anyway idc where u think the necklace is from (whether its a gift from dream or a remold of his broken heart necklace, who knows atp) now ONTO THE GANG (+ Error and Fresh)

to preface this: im mostly assuming for most of the lore beyond the crumbs given to me. so, i'd imagine that when the fight ended with the gang losing, Dream and Ink immediately jailed them up. they both seem keen on keeping the gang alive, so they probably would've tried to help them with anything to make sure of it- that is, if any of the gang would even accept it in the first place.

i'm making a small guess that if there were any wounds, they used what they had to take care of it, aka ripping out parts of their own clothing to use as makeshift bandages. dream might've gave them some supplies (out of pity.. or something) but whether that was not enough or not used, i won't know

even if it was enough, there's still the factor of inevitable outburst/breakdowns from any of the prisoners. i'd imagine it'd be so hard to calm any of them down because the gang were too used to being close together that using touch became the usual grounding method— so putting a barrier between them makes it infintely harder for everyone.

i think Nightmare doesn't use his jacket anymore. it probably feels like shit/too itchy and ragged to wear and reminds him of a past he wishes he could forget. (he must feel so helpless seeing all his boys suffer after taking care of them for so long... like a lost father trying his best and seeing how much he's failing at the same time.. man.)

Dust is almost always wrapped in a blanket, the hoodie completely zipped up as if he was trying to hide in it, keeping himself as small as possible (knowing his own breakdowns are the biggest And loudest)

Horror is probably yanked back to the memories of when he was back in his home au, quietly starving and losing all the progress he had with the gang.. trying to press himself against the barriers in hopes that maybe he can feel the others on the other side of it.. (one of his outbursts would be why he ripped off the sleeves of his jacket id assume)

Killer too.. unable to get to anyone and just. with his soul going haywire sometimes, having no available output that he's forced to ride it out on his own And in front of everyone.. yeah, you get the gist for those three

Error's a mess of threads- picks at his clothes and sews em back up, just to have a reason to move his hands. he's not too worried i'd say- it's a little reminiscent of the antivoid, and he's experienced insanity already (not to say it doesn't tug at his own soul-strings to see it happen to everyone else)

Fresh might be the "cleanest" out of everyone, with barely any visible tears, but i have a good feeling his body language is different. maybe the cap is now worn correctly. maybe he took off his jacket. he's tense. his guard is up. because a parasite would never want to be locked up in one place, right?

god.

God.

they make me so sick (message is mine btw)

[peachsukii]

₊✩‧₊ ⎯  your favorite demon slayer takes you to a carnival!

『 ♡ various demon slayer x reader 』

content ; modern au (no demon slaying lol), college age, fluff to the max Happy Sunday, loves! I'm burnt to a crisp after working at the faire today, but wanted to share this sweet little thought on my mind.

The sun sets over the horizon, a beautiful mixture of pastel hues painted across the sky as the gentle breeze offers relief from the humidity lingering in the air. Soon enough, the sounds of the carnival begin to fill the air - children's laughter, buzzers and music, and the mechanical whir of the rides.

Tanjiro

Tanjiro walks with you, hand in hand, throughout the entirety of the carnival, taking notice how your eyes land on a specific stuffed animal at one of the game stands each time you passed the stall. Once you've gotten your first snack of the night, he gently leads you back to said stall to play together. It's one of those water shooting games - whoever can get their target to the top first is the winner! He pays for the two of you before you get the chance to pull out your wallet. And when Tanjiro wins, he's all laughs and smiles as he asks for the plush from the attendant, gleaming with joy when your face lights up with excitement. It's just one more to add to the pile back home, but seeing you smile makes it all worth it - he'd win you every single one if it meant seeing you this way.

Giyu

When Giyu suggested going to the local carnival for your date night, you were taken aback that he'd want to go in the first place - he's not one for crowds and noise. He assures you that he wants to step out of his comfort zone, and you'll be with him, so he has nothing to worry about. When you get there, you can't help but notice how much his eyes glitter under the various fairy lights and neon signs of the rides, in awe of every little thing around him. It's the cutest thing, spaced out while taking in the moment. Giyu insists on buying you a funnel cake - how can you go to a carnival without eating one? And when he tells you he's never had any, you share it with him while watching the fireworks show at the end of the night, snuggled up on a blanket beneath the spectacle of lights.

Tengen

You knew better than most people that Tengen was ecstatic during this time of year - flashy celebrations are in his blood, how could he not get excited for carnival season? He plans a date night for the two of you as soon as he knows the date for the carnival in his hometown. As the sun sets, he takes you around his hometown, telling story after story of his life before college and how he 'fell off that swing set at nine!' or 'I used to swim in that creek over there with friends!' It's endearing how he talks about it all like it was yesterday, or that you were there with him. Once you finally get to the carnival, Tengen wants to introduce you to every single person that he knows - old friends from school, his family, and old bosses when he worked here as a teen. They spoil you with affection, offering free tickets and snacks wherever you went. What he didn't tell you is that the firework show is organized by his family - he pulled some strings to be sure your favorite colors were used and that you had the perfect place to lay in the grass to see it.

Sanemi

The moment Sanemi steps foot onto the carnival grounds, he's booking it over to the ticket booth, loading up on the currency to jump on as many rides as possible. You've told him plenty of times that carnival rides are super reckless and will leave you sore, but he didn't care - that only added to his excitement. The thrill of it being dangerous in any circumstance made it that much more desirable for him. He drags you on to each one with him, too - the makeshift wooden rollercoaster, tilt-a-whirl, ferris wheel, bumper cars, and mirror maze...multiple times a piece. Once Sanemi can tell you're worn out, he buys you all the food you want as a 'thanks' for spending time with him. You both plow through hot dogs, ice cream, lemonade, pretzels, and of course, cotton candy to refuel. He knows you're not much of a thrill seeker, but it means the world to him (and he'd never tell you) that you go along with it all, open to trying any and everything by his side.

Genya

The thing Genya's most excited about is carnival games! He loves to show off his skills and win you every single prize under the sun - little trophies to signify how much he adores you. When you arrive, he immediately makes a mental list of which games he'd like to play, in what order, and how many tries it'll take to win you the biggest things available. His favorites are dart games and anything to do with shooting - he's an excellent marksmen from being on the archery team at his college, and can't help but show off for you whenever he gets the chance. You're his biggest cheerleader, always hyping him up before a competition, and now with these silly games. By the end of the night, both Genya's and your arms are full of prizes - everything from stuffed animals to small trinkets. The way your smile sparkles under the lights of the carnival is more than worth it to him to show you just how much he cares.

『 #reis softie sundays 』

[stevesbipanic]

Soulmate Marks Steddie AU but instead of like a guitar or dice or something for Eddie they get a nail bat and a nail shield.

Steve had grown up very confused with his soul mark. The crudely made shield with nails wasn't like anything he'd ever seen, normally soulmarks were something that represented his soulmate and helped him find her. People had flowers and sports equipment and things like their name. Tommy had a Christmas Tree for Carol and she had Tommy's favourite car. So what his soulmate was a Viking??? Maybe she was super into history, he signed up for AP history in hopes of finding her, but no luck. His parents hated that he didn't want to cover it up, it's not very feminine, what will people think Steve, but he didn't care He loved his soulmark and his soulmate, whoever she was. He knew Nancy wasn't his soulmate even though she matched the warrior personality he'd created in his head of his soulmate and he wasn't surprised her camera matched Jonathan's notepad and pen.

He kind of forgot about his mark for awhile. Too busy with Upside Down stuff and the kids and Robin and work and his parents always being away. He had a bisexual crisis in the Family Video bathroom with Robin when she said it was ok to like both, eerily reflecting Starcourt.

When it all came back again he swore that he felt something for a brief moment when Eddie pushed him against the boathouse but then there was the lake and Eddie talking about how soulmarks aren't everything if he truly loved Nancy and the chaos of getting out of the Upside Down.

Maybe if Eddie and Dustin weren't always so loud, their laughter cutting through the gloom of the situation, Steve wouldn't have noticed what they were doing. But there they were, battling each other with shields that Steve was all too familiar with. He almost dropped the makeshift molotov.

There was no time to confront this though, they had a job to do, a Hawkins to save. Eddie had stopped him for just a moment and he almost said it then. Oh how he wished he'd said something then, when he'd come back to Dustin's screams, a rush of bloody bandages, a slurring dying Eddie in his arms and a speeding van to the hospital, police be damned.

Steve didn't move from his bedside for a whole week. By then the party had seen the soulmark on Steve's hip, they knew why he was there. Steve had never seen a more beautiful sight than Eddie finally opening his eyes.

"Those bats bit off half my bat tattoo those ironic bastards" was one of the first things Eddie said. Steve couldn't help but laugh, Eddie was still being Eddie despite everything.

"shit they better not have-" to Steve's alarm, Eddie was pulling on the edge of one of his bandages, "oh thank fuck it's still there," and there it was, Eddie's soulmark, Steve's nail bat.

Guess Steve's soulmate was a warrior after all.

[andi-kook]

DEAD KIDS ✦ Chapter 2

SUMMARY: A group of university students kidnaps their rich batchmate for ransom. However, things take a darker turn when the new recruit grows a dangerous obsession with the captive and all hell breaks loose.

PAIRING: Jungkook x Fem!Reader

GENRE: Slow burn Yandere, Crime AU

WARNINGS: Not suitable for audiences below 18. Please do not engage with the story if you are underage. WATCH OUT FOR: dark and morally corrupt characters, foul language, mention of Catholicism, slut shaming and objectification of women, mention of inappropriate relationship between professor/student, mentions and depiction of “rape” and “rape fantasy” throughout the story, masturbation, threats, MC has an NSFW blog with hard kinks and fantasies, non consensual touching. Overall, this is a disturbing chapter – based on my standards – so if you are not comfortable with these topics, do not proceed. Inspired by the film, Dead Kids (2019).

TAGLIST: @hopeworldsupremacy @aliajomarie011 @ackercute @tatumrileyslover @ane102 @jjk174 @dontcallmeelle @merrygo1427 @taekritimin123 @r1r111 @gguksfilter @coralmusicblaze

If I didn’t tag you – either your blog doesn’t exist according to Tumblr or because you did not show your age in your blog. Thank you!

ANDI: I send my love to the beautiful souls who sent me asks about Dead Kids as well as these equally beautiful souls – @.taekritimin123 @.hellbornsworld @.tinytangerineangel @.namjesusdaughter – for commenting on Chapter 1. I cannot express just how much I appreciate your words. I would have tagged you directly, but I wasn’t sure if you would want that. But I wanted to show my appreciation.

WORD COUNT: 3K

“Why did you really want to take her?” Jungkook asks Namjoon as they sit and eat the ramen he cooked around the living area. Beside him, Yoongi and Hoseok are fast asleep, the latter clutching onto the former’s arm like it’s his plushie while the former has his head thrown against the headrest.

Namjoon, who is seated on the other makeshift sofa, gulps down the soup from his ramen before letting out a satisfied sigh and wipes his mouth with the back of his mouth. “How many times do we have to say that we kidnapped Y/N for ransom?”

“I’m not stupid, Namjoon,” Jungkook says. “We’re already tied to this shit until the ransom drop. The least you can do is be upfront on why you did this in the first place. I’m not taking a bullet for you or anyone.”

The buzz-cut haired man leans his back against the sofa, which unlike his premium one, is built from scratch by Jungkook using old wood and cases of beers around the warehouse. He gazes at Jungkook for a while, studying him while swimming in his own thoughts. The tattooed man wonders if Namjoon is contemplating telling him the truth. He wonders if the two sleeping men beside him also knew the truth.

They claim to have been friends since the fourth grade, but does time really make you know a person inside out?

“My father didn’t used to be the way he is now – corrupt. Growing up, I looked up to him because of how honest and upstanding he was as a cop. I knew he did some off-the-books shit, but he still had a moral compass, still had lines he didn’t cross. But then he met Y/N’s father, Kim Seokjin, when I was ten. Suddenly, everything changed,” Namjoon narrates, letting out a scoff as he shakes his head and rubs his palms on his baggy jeans. “He went from being a great husband and father to my mother and I to a complete asshole. We didn’t have religion but after meeting Kim Seokjin, we were suddenly Catholics, attending church with his family every Sunday. I was baptized and Kim Seokjin became my godfather. But the worst part was seeing him erase all the lines he drew and swore never to cross when he began to use his position as a detective and then eventually sergeant to now the chief of the entire police force in Seoul to protect Kim Seokjin and his criminal empire.”

Jungkook inhales deeply. “So, kidnapping Y/N is you taking on revenge against Kim Seokjin for corrupting your father? It is personal. It’s never about the money?”

“Of course, the money is important and integral to the plan. But yes, you are correct – I want to avenge my father from Kim Seokjin by hitting him where I know it will hurt the most: his only daughter, Y/N.”

“You promised that we are not going to hurt her,” Jungkook counters immediately.

Namjoon doesn’t say anything.

“Namjoon,” Jungkook clicks his tongue. “If you do that – what makes you different than Kim Seokjin?”

“Why are you so protective of her?” Namjoon asks pointedly. “What? Just because she gave you a boner, you’re suddenly fucking in love with her? Don’t think I didn’t notice. We all did. Yoongi is right – drop the morally upright act, Jeon. You’re just as demented as we are. The moment you agreed to this plan, you’re just as fucked up.”

The sudden call out makes Jungkook turn crimson and Namjoon smirks, placing his leg over the other. “Don’t worry – unlike you, I don’t judge people. To each our own. If shit like that turns you on, then that’s on you. Why don’t you take the opportunity to act on it?”

His eyes widen, shocked and disgusted. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Jungkook knows exactly what Namjoon is talking about, but he is completely aghast at the insinuation.

The de facto leader only widens his smirk, pulling out his packet of cigarettes and lighter from the front pocket of his large, oversized coat. “You know what I’m talking about, Jeon. A pretty naked girl tied to a chair in your warehouse – it’s perfectly normal to feel aroused by such sight. We won’t judge you if you just get it over and done with.”

“You’re more than fucked up,” Jungkook hisses, face flushed and veins popping out on his neck. “I’m not going to fucking touch her.”

Namjoon lights the cigarette in between his lips. Then, he inhales, and smoke leaves his lips as he replies, “Why not? Y/N is a dirty slut who fucks her married professor with kids her age after church and dinner every Sunday night and more – I bet you all my cut that she’s not going to resist you because she’s probably into fucking someone having their own way with her. No, in fact, I can tell you she’s going to enjoy it.”  

Jungkook feels hot. Images of your naked trembling body and whimpering pleas filling his mind and ears.

“She has a blog, you know? A secret blog where she writes these fantasies and kinks she has. Posts her nudes on there too. Do you wanna know what is one fantasy she keeps on writing about?”

“No, I really don’t,” Jungkook says through gritted teeth.

“It’s a rape fantasy, Jungkook. What a fucking dirty slut she is, right? I bet she’s fucking wet right now at the thought, at the anticipation that one of us or all of us are going to have our ways with her. I bet she’s aching to be touched. I bet she wants you to rape her, Jungkook. So, why not just do it?”

He stands up in a jolt, hitting his knee on the makeshift table he made from old tires and steel roof and stammering some excuse that he needs to go the bathroom or air – he can’t remember. Jungkook finds himself in his room, back pressed against the door. His shirt sticks to his skin because of the sweat, and he takes it off, leaving it discarded on the floor. Namjoon’s words mixed with the flashing images of your perky nipples, smooth skin, sound of your whimpers, pleas, your smell – it makes him hard. Harder than he’s ever been.

Before he knows it, Jungkook is unbuttoning his jeans, pulling it down along with his boxers, his erection springing free. He spits on his palm before he begins stroking his length, shuddering at the touch, making his mouth dry. He presses the back of his head against the door, eyes closed as he imagines you on your knees – like you were with the professor – those lips around his shaft, head bobbing as you suck him dry. He imagines hearing your moans, imagines his dick hitting the back of your throat as you go deeper and beg him to fuck your mouth like a whore. Jungkook’s stroking himself faster. He imagines hearing you gag as he fucks your mouth, not stopping even when you’re clearly suffocating. Then, he cums, toes curling and a guttural groan escaping his lips.

As he comes back from his high, Jungkook stares at the white sticky substance covering his hand and cock. He just jerked off to you, a girl they kidnapped, and he knows it won’t be the last time.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Yoongi hisses at him the moment he comes back from his room, showered and changed into more comfortable clothes.

Jungkook deliberately ignores the stare of Namjoon and flops on the seat beside Hoseok who is eating the remaining ramen. “Why the fuck do you care?”

“I’m going to punch this kid, I swear to God,” Yoongi grumbles, rolling his eyes. “We’re making the ransom call, you dumb fuck. Or rather, you are.”

Jungkook furrows his brows. “What? Why me?”

“Every one of us here has already encountered Y/N’s father at least once. The man remembers everyone he encounters. You’re the only exception,” Namjoon explains as he hands you a black phone. “It’s a burner phone, untraceable. I took it from my dad. And this is what you’re going to say – make sure you sound intimidating at least. Put it on speaker too.”

Namjoon places his phone on the makeshift table and Jungkook clicks his tongue. “The deal was you only use my warehouse. So far, you got me doing far more than that.”

“Do you want 25 million or not?” Yoongi asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Cos if you do, you better start calling Kim Seokjin.”

I’m going to punch you soon, Jungkook tells himself before he unlocks the phone and goes to the contact list where Kim Seokjin’s name is the only one listed. He takes a deep breath, going over the script on Namjoon’s phone before clicking on the contact and putting the call on speaker. The ringing sound echoes throughout the warehouse. The tension is palpable again, like it was back in the car earlier that night.

After a few more rings, Kim Seokjin’s voice fills the warehouse. It’s light but a hint of roughness and irritation is noticeable right away.

“Who is this?”

Jungkook licks his lips as he read the script in front of him. “We have your daughter. If you want to see her alive, prepare 100 million won and bring it to 2020 this Friday night. Otherwise, the next time you’ll see her is on the news, dead.”

Hoseok covers his mouth to keep himself from laughing while Yoongi stares hard at the phone. Namjoon, on the other hand, is relaxed on his seat, smoking.

“You sound young, boy,” Seokjin remarks. “You are not the first person to call me in the middle of the night asking for ransom. Do you really have any idea what you’re doing?”

Namjoon motions for him to repeat what he just said.

“If you want to see her alive, prepare 100 mill—,”

“Don’t you think I would be able to find my daughter faster than you could ever imagine? Do you know who you’re talking to?”

That triggers Jungkook. He’s been hearing that question – that discrimination his entire life and he’s sick of it. He’s fucking sick of it.

“I don’t give a fuck who you are. Either you give us 100 million in exchange for your whore of a daughter or I will personally make you watch as we do everything we want with her, make you watch as she begs you to make it stop, make you listen as she takes her last breath before I fucking slit her throat so deep her head nearly decapitates. You have until Friday night – and you better make sure the police don’t get involved. Don’t fucking ask me who the fuck you are again.”

He ends the call, gripping the phone tightly.

“What the fuck was that? Why the hell didn’t you stick to the script?! Are you trying to get us all a one way ticket to prison?!” Yoongi exclaims.

“Did you not hear what he’s saying? He caught on that we are fucking amateurs. I saved our asses – you should be fucking grateful,” Jungkook snaps, clenching his jaw. “If you didn’t want me to do the call, maybe the three of you should have done it yourselves. Fucking useless bastards.”

“Hey! What did you say?” Hoseok stands, pushing Jungkook by placing his hands on his chest. “Who are you calling useless, huh?”

“Who do you think?” He scoffs.

“Let’s fucking kill this son of a bitch, Hobi.”

“Gladly.”

“Enough,” Namjoon says sternly. “No one is going to kill anyone. Not amongst ourselves. What Jungkook did is right, Yoongi. Jungkook saved our asses. And you,” He turns to the long-haired man, glaring at him. “Mind your fucking tone and language with us. We’re not fucking useless. Remember that we recruited you. Not the other way around. If anyone should be grateful to someone, it’s you. We’re the reason you’ll get out of this shit hole.”

Nobody says a word.

“It’s getting late. Let’s gather here tomorrow after our classes. Just go about your usual days until the drop. Don’t be suspicious,” The de facto leader reminds. “Jungkook, keep an eye out, okay? Don’t forget to check in on our little friend from time to time. Make sure she’s still breathing.” He smirks as he pats his shoulder on his way out.

Yoongi and Hoseok follow suit. Once Jungkook hears Namjoon driving off his – rather his aunt’s – property, he resigns to the sofa behind him. He buries his face into his hands. Five days. You’ll be stuck with him at the warehouse for five fucking days. Granted, he has classes to attend to, so he won’t be at home all day, but he’s sure you won’t leave his mind wherever he goes.

The phone in his hand buzzes and he stares at the new notification on the screen – a text message from an unknown number. Jungkook unlocks the phone, goes to the messaging app, and clicks on the new text.

avirgins1ut on tumblr if you wanna read some things tonight

“Fuck you, Namjoon,” Jungkook mutters under his breath. However, when he goes to his room, grabs his shitty phone and opens his data – he installs the app despite knowing it will consume almost all the remaining gigabytes he has left.

Jungkook lies down on his bed and creates his profile. He doesn’t bother customizing it, going straight to your blog which is all black and hot pink. Instantly, he’s drawn to your profile picture – a simple mirror shot of you hiding your bare chest with your arms, head tilt slightly to the side and a black panty covering your cunt. He swallows the lump in his throat as he scrolls down, reading your pinned post:

“Hey. You can call me Angel. I’m 23 years old. This blog is filled with all my fantasies and kinks, sometimes my nudes. Feel free to send me yours too.

My kinks: cnc, free use, somnophilia, spit, slapping, marking, choking, daddy, and more.

My favorite fantasies: rape play, kidnapped, kept as sex slave, knife/gun play, forced gangbang, and more – why don’t you help me unlock those? DMs and asks open for all your threats and nudes.

Update: already got myself a master/daddy. Asks and messages are off.”

As he scrolls further down your blog, Jungkook doesn’t even realize he already has his hand wrapped around his dick as he masturbates to your the latest fantasy you wrote albeit months ago.

I can’t stop masturbating to this dark fantasy of mine – being raped by someone so brutally after they kidnap me. How they would keep me chained to the bed, always naked so they can easily rape me whenever and however they want. They would mock me whenever I would tell them to stop (“You shouldn’t have worn those skirts if you didn’t want to be raped. But you did. So, this isn’t rape. You were clearly asking for this like some depraved filthy bitch in heat. You’re fucking loving this, don’t you? Isn’t this what you want?”) and choke me as they pound into my wet and clenching pussy relentlessly. They would slap and spit on my face, abusing my cunt for hours until I’m full of theirs and their friends’ cum whom they called to let them have a taste of their new toy.

They would rape me day in and out until my body gets so used to it that I start asking for it – crying and begging to be fucked. “Shh, angel, daddy’s going to fuck you, okay? Don’t cry.” Slowly, I would forget all my autonomy and identity, wholly submitting myself to them because I was never my own in the first place – I was always theirs.

“Fuck, Y/N!” His entire body shakes as he cums again. Jungkook can’t stop – he wants to read more, see more as you posted a picture of your cum covered cunt at the end of the post and he imagines it’s his. But he gets a notification that he is out of data and Jungkook slams his phone on his bed, frustrated beyond bounds. He is still hard. He still wants to see more of you, read more of your fantasies.

Namjoon’s words echo in his mind. I bet she’s fucking wet right now at the thought, at the anticipation that one of us or all of us are going to have our ways with her. I bet she’s aching to be touched. I bet she wants you to rape her, Jungkook. So, why not just do it?”

And before he knows it – he is standing across from your limp body. You’re still unconscious – sack over your head, tied and bound on the metal chair. Jungkook walks towards you, gently touching your shoulders to see if you would react but you don’t. He bites his lower lip as his eyes fall on your naked chest. He reaches down to trace its curves before ultimately cupping one breast in hand, fondling, squeezing, twisting the nipple and pinching it. No response.

He begins to stroke himself as he continues to fondle your breasts. This is wrong, but why does it feel so good?

“F-Fucking slut, you’re asking for this,” Jungkook hisses through his teeth. He’s not going to last any longer – not when those perky nipples are so inviting and moments later, he cums all over tits. He’s panting, an exhilarating feeling he hasn’t felt before rising within him as he stares at your cum covered chest. He swallows, breathing heavily. Should he stop now or keep going? He doesn’t have data anymore, but he does have the real thing right in front of him. But you twitch and he jumps in surprise. Suddenly, the realization of his actions washes upon him. He feels a coil in his stomach. What has he done? He scrambles out of the room and dash straight to the bathroom where he extensively washes his hand and splashes cold water on his face. Then, he throws himself on his thin mattress, staring at the ceiling as he pants. Namjoon is right – he’s just as fucked up as they are.

CHAPTER 3 is coming soon.

TAGLIST: Wanna be part of Dead Kids’ taglist? Fill out this form and don’t forget to read the short note in order for me to tag you.

ANDI: I do not condone the behaviors exhibited in this story. The characters of Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi and Hoseok do not reflect who they are in real life. Fanfiction is just fanfiction. I have no schedule in writing – I write whenever I can. Please try to refrain from sending asks about updates (or at least be kind and polite about it) and let me know your feedbacks instead as they help a lot in motivation and inspiration! 🦉

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © ANDI-KOOK 2024. NO PART OF THIS STORY MAY BE REPRODUCED, TRANSLATED, MODIFIED, EDITED, REPOSTED AND THE LIKES WITHOUT THE AUTHOR’S PERMISSION.

[nhaaauyen]

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ The Ghost of You ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

"This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong // To love that well which thou must leave ere long." -William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)

PART II: MY HEART DREAMS

zombie apocalypse sevika x reader au!: sevika was the super soldier; a killing machine driven solely by survival. you were nomadic, constantly searching for something in whatever was left of the world—till you met her.

series masterpost: part I // part III // part IV // part V // part V

wc: 7.1k author's note: ahhh tysm to everyone reading!!! your comments literally make my day and the taglist DAMN!! seriously I'm so grateful <3 also i apologize for this chapter being so long, i tried to stfu but it still ended up being 7k

One thing you should've realized sooner was that nothing escapes Sevika's notice in Zaun. 

You were barely a week into your new routine, legs burning as you struggled through your morning run. The only sound you could hear was of blood pounding in your ear—and the addition of a rumbling engine approaching from behind.  

You whip your head back, unsure if your ears were deceiving you but there it was, a truck filled with Sevika's scavenging team catching up, with Sevika herself leaning out the passenger window.

"Pick up the pace, pantry girl!" she shouted, her voice laden with amusement. "At this rate, you'll be old and gray before you join my team!"

Her crew howled with laughter as they sped by, leaving you red-faced and fuming in a cloud of dust.

Now, weeks later, you collapse onto the grass beside Caitlyn, both of you panting heavily after finishing your lap around the neighborhood. The memory of Sevika's taunts still burns, spurring you to push yourself harder during training.

Just as you're about to ask if you should do another lap, something ice-cold presses against your neck. You yelp, jerking upright in surprise.

A dark-haired woman hovers over you, a familiar smirk playing on her lips and a frosty water bottle in her hand. "Still jumping at shadows, I see," she teases. "I'm not sure I can use someone so easily startled on my team."

You glare up at her. "That's rich, coming from you," you retort. "Your late-night victory parties make it impossible to get a good night's sleep around here."

"Feeling left out? The invitations open, you know. Just bring your own drink."

"How about an invitation to join your team instead?"  You counter.

Sevika laughs, the sound was simultaneously frustrating and oddly captivating. "Maybe focus on not tripping over your own feet first, pantry girl."

After you finish your training for the day, you take a quick shower and make your way to the pantry for your shift. But as you approach, you notice something odd - your name isn't on the schedule. Again.

"That's the third time this week," you mutter.

Caitlyn notices your confusion. "Maybe they're cutting back on hours?" she suggests, but her tone is uncertain.

With your unexpected free time, you find yourself spending more time with your makeshift family. Family dinners were something you always had, but for the first time you didn’t have to worry about where or what your next meal would be.

Powder chatters animatedly about her latest inventions, while Caitlyn asks questions that make the kid’s eyes go wild with excitement. Vi listens with a mix of amusement and pride, occasionally ruffling her sister's hair.

Vander sits at the head of the table and he interjects with the occasional piece of wisdom that makes Vi interrupt to remind him that they were too old for lectures or dad jokes, drawing laughter from the group.

As plates are cleared and the conversation winds down, Powder asks to star gaze again, which Vander wants to say no to when everyone has work tomorrow. But then he looks outside and he’s reminded that things weren’t the same, you could afford the leisure to enjoy the skies now.

So you all move to the roof, continuing your evening under the stars. Powder points out constellations, making up stories for each one. Vi playfully argues with her interpretations, while Caitlyn offers more scientific explanations. You lean back, taking in the moment, feeling truly at peace for the first time in a long while.

As the night deepens, drowsiness sets in. One by one, you bid each other goodnight and retreat to your beds.

Morning arrives sooner than you'd like and you meet Caitlyn early, both of you squinting against the bright sunlight as you make your way to the training grounds. The morning sun warms your face as you and Caitlyn wait on the grass for Grayson to arrive with your sparring partner. You're chatting idly, speculating about who it might be when you hear approaching footsteps.

Your eyes widen as you see Grayson walking towards you, but it's the figure beside her that makes your breath catch. Sevika strides across the field, her presence somehow always able to steal your attention. She's wearing dark wash jeans that hug her legs and a sleeveless, tight black tee that shows off her toned arms with her usual red shawl draping over her left side.

Grayson offers an apologetic smile as they reach you. "Sorry we're late. There was a situation to handle."

Sevika merely grunts, barely acknowledging you and Caitlyn. Your heart races—if she was here to watch you were so screwed, there was no way Sevika would let you have a match without her snarky comments. 

"Marcus was supposed to be here today," Grayson explains, "but it seems he's... incapacitated."

You and Caitlyn exchange knowing looks. It's not the first time Marcus has been too drunk to show up, and frankly, you're relieved. Even when sober, he's a total ass.

"So... who are we sparring with?" you ask, though you have a sinking feeling you already know the answer.

Grayson gestures to Sevika. "Someone owes me a favor."

Sevika rubs her head, clearly annoyed. "Can we get this over with?" she grumbles.

Grayson chuckles. "She's just grumpy because she's hungover," she explains to you, then turns to Sevika with a raised eyebrow. "Which you wouldn't be if you didn't drink like it's water."

Sevika scowls, softly as she crosses her arms. "It's my day off," she retorts. "You never come to my parties."

"I drink on my own time," Grayson replies primly, adjusting her stance.

"You're too much of a goody two shoes," Sevika snorts, rolling her eyes.

You and Caitlyn look at each other in shock, from the fact that the two captains are bickering like siblings and they’re going to be sparring with Sevika. 

"Sevika?" Caitlyn sputters. "You want us to spar Sevika?"

"It's better practice for you two - Sevika has years of fighting experience. You can learn some new techniques today,"  She reassures. "So, who's first?"

"I'll get it over with," Caitlyn acquiesced, her voice steady despite the nerves you can see in her eyes.

As Caitlyn approaches the sparring area, Sevika reaches for her shawl. In one swift motion, she removes it, and your eyes widen in shock. Where you expected to see flesh and bone, there's instead a gleaming bionic arm. 

Intricate gears and pistons are visible beneath panels of transparent material, offering glimpses of the arm's inner workings. As Sevika flexes her fingers, you can see these components whirring and sliding with precision, each movement accompanied by a soft, almost musical hum.

Sevika doesn't react to the stares, her face stony as if this reveal is inconsequential. You feel a pang of guilt for gawking, but you can't help wondering - was this a war injury, or a result of the walkers? 

Caitlyn recovers from her shock like you do, now both of you feeling more intimidated by the strength and skills of the woman before you.  You watch as Sevika easily deflects Caitlyn's first attack, countering with a move so fast you barely see it. Caitlyn hits the ground hard, she barely has any time to react when Sevika strikes again.

"Come on, cupcake," Sevika taunts, using Vi's nickname for Caitlyn. 

The use of the nickname catches both you and Caitlyn off guard and she narrowly dodges a punch.  You had no idea how much Sevika had been paying attention to your group.

"Is that all you've got?" The captain says smugly.

As the sparring continues, you find yourself studying Sevika's every move. The way she anticipates Caitlyn's attacks, the efficiency of her counterstrikes, the subtle shifts in her stance.  

But it's more than just her fighting skills that captivate you. It's the fierce concentration in her eyes, the slight smirk that plays on her lips when she lands a particularly good hit. It's the way her muscles flex as she moves, the sheen of sweat that forms on her skin under the hot sun.

You're so lost in your observations that you almost miss when Grayson calls an end to the match. Caitlyn is panting, bruised but not beaten, while Sevika looks barely winded.

"Your turn, rookie," Sevika calls out, her eyes locking with yours.

Sevika takes a menacing stance, her bionic arm whirring softly as she flexes her fingers. You try to quell your nerves, reminding yourself of all your training.

The match begins, and Sevika doesn't hold back. She lunges forward with a quick jab that you barely dodge. Her follow-up kick catches you in the side, and you stumble back.

"With those sparring skills, you'll be dead by now," Sevika taunts, circling you like a predator.

You regain your footing, countering with a series of quick strikes that force Sevika to step back. "As far as I'm concerned, I don't think any walkers would be punching me back anytime soon," you retort.

Sevika smirks, effortlessly blocking your attacks. "There are still survivors out there, some who might not be as merciful as me." she says, suddenly dropping low and sweeping your legs out from under you.

You hit the ground hard but roll quickly, narrowly avoiding Sevika's follow-up strike. "I’m only alive because you needed the meds.”

“But you’re alive regardless?” She counters.

“Urgh, you're the worst, you know that? You just like watching me suffer-"

Your words are cut off as Sevika charges forward. You manage to sidestep, grabbing her arm and using her momentum to throw her off balance. For a moment, you have the upper hand, landing a solid hit to her midsection.

Sevika grunts, a flash of surprise in her eyes. "Well, it's not a bad view," she quips, her voice slightly breathless.

You're holding your own better than you expected, your training with Grayson evident in your improved technique. You even manage to land a few solid hits, each one making you more hopeful that you could finally prove yourself to the captain.

But Sevika is still Sevika. Just when you think you might have a chance, she changes tactics. As she unleashes a flurry of lightning-fast strikes, you are able to block the first few, but the last one catches you off guard, sending you stumbling back.

Before you can recover, Sevika is on you. With a move so smooth it seems almost effortless, she sweeps your legs again and follows you down. You’re on the ground immediately, the air knocked from your lungs, and suddenly Sevika is on top of you, pinning you down.

Her face is inches from yours, her breath hot on your cheek. "There's always next time, pantry girl," she says, her voice laced with arrogance.

Fury and frustration surge through you—at the nickname, at losing, but most of all at yourself for the way your heart races at her proximity. You struggle against her hold, but it's futile—you lost and couldn’t prove you were ready. 

The days blur into a haze of relentless training after the match, your body pushed to its limits.  Yet despite your efforts, something feels off. Each time you miss a target or fumble a move, Sevika's face flashes in your mind. Your focus wavers, distracted by unnameable thoughts that surface whenever you recall her challenging gaze or the smugness in her voice. 

The sharp crack of gunfire echoes across the makeshift shooting range. You squeeze the trigger, watching as your shot goes wide, missing the target by a good margin. Expaseration bubbles up inside you for missing yet again.

Next to you, Caitlyn's sniper barks and the center of her target explodes. Again. You can't help but feel a twinge of envy at her precision.

"Excellent shot, Caitlyn," Grayson praises, her eyes gleaming with approval. "I think I’m looking at my newest sniper."

Caitlyn beams at the compliment.

Grayson turns to you, her expression apprehensive. "Something on your mind? You seem distracted today."

"No, I'm fine," you mutter, trying to focus on the target in front of you.

Grayson raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Well, if you keep shooting like you did today, you can expect another month before Sevika would even consider accepting you on her team."

At the mention of Sevika's name, you can't help but frown. Grayson catches it immediately.

"What's wrong?" she probes, her voice a mix of curiosity and concern.

You hesitate, then the words tumble out. "I just... I don't get her. I don't know how to convince her I deserve that spot on the team when she's so infuriating and stubborn."

To your surprise, Grayson laughs, a warm, rich sound. "She hasn't changed since we were deployed together, then."

Your ears perk up at this. "You were deployed with Sevika? Can you tell me about it?"

Grayson shrugs. "What is there to tell? We were in the military together for 10 years and she's a brilliant soldier."

"That's all to her?" you press, not satisfied with such a simple answer.

Grayson gives you a long, appraising look. "What is it that you really want to know about her?"

The question catches you off guard. You open your mouth to respond, then close it again. What do you want to know? But more importantly, why do you want to know? You realize you don't have an answer, and the realization unsettles you.

Seeing your confusion, Grayson's expression softens. "Sevika is not the best fighter," she says quietly.

"What?"

Grayson chuckles at your expression. "Don't get me wrong, she's an advanced and skilled fighter. But she's not unbeatable." She pauses, her eyes distant as if recalling memories from long ago. "What makes her different... She is loyal and fierce. That woman fights till her very last breath. If she's going to hell, she'll drag you down with her."

Your mind whirs at this information. Who is Sevika beyond the soldier everyone knows her as? You find yourself hungry for more details, more glimpses into the woman behind the tough exterior.

Then you catch yourself, anger flaring up. Why do you care? Why does it matter who Sevika really is? She's just the leader of the scavenging team, nothing more.

You shake your head, trying to clear these thoughts. "Thanks, Grayson," you mutter, turning back to the target.

As you raise your gun again, you can feel Grayson's knowing gaze on you. You take a deep breath, trying to focus on the target. But in your mind's eye, all you can see is Sevika—her cocky grin, her ruthless determination, the mystery that surrounds her.

You squeeze the trigger, and this time, your shot flies true, hitting just off-center. Progress, but not perfection. Much like your understanding of Sevika, you realize. You're getting closer, but there's still so much more to uncover.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

A slight breeze rustles the leaves as you wait by the usual tree, checking your watch. Caitlyn's late, which isn't like her.   You’ve been waiting for 20 minutes already and this was the Caitlyn, the one who’s never even been late to a shift at the pantry.  

You’re about to turn back to the house when suddenly you hear shouting from the road a few blocks away. Without thinking, you immediately sprint towards the commotion.

When you arrived, the scene before you was the last thing you would expect—Caitlyn and Vi were in each other's faces, their voices rising with each exchange. A burly guy from Sevika's crew is half-heartedly trying to separate them.

"You fucking liar!" Caitlyn screams, her face flushed with anger. "Why would you join without telling me?"  

You momentarily pause from trying to pull the fighting couple apart, in all the years you knew Caitlyn she had hardly cursed; Vi must’ve fucked up, bad.

Vi's stance is defensive, her hands raised. "It's safer for you this way!"

"Safer?" Caitlyn's laugh is bitter. "I didn't ask for a white knight, I asked for a partner that's honest!"

The guy from Sevika's crew steps between them. "Come on, ladies, this ain't the place-"

Caitlyn whirls on him. "How could you let her in Sevika’s group like this?"

He backs up, hands raised. “Listen, I had no part in this. Vi was the one who asked, and Sevika accepted her."

Caitlyn's face contorts with anger, and she lunges forward. You jump in, grabbing her arms. "Cait, stop!"

But as you hold her back, his words sink in. "Wait, WHAT?" You turn to Vi, shock evident on your face. "She accepted you to join her scavenging and not me?"

Vi looks away, guilt written across her features. Your blood boils. You release Caitlyn and round on the guy. "Where the HELL is she?"

He crosses his arms, defiant. "I don't have to answer to you."

You step closer, your voice low and dangerous. "Oh, trust me. You want to tell me."

He hesitates, then sighs. "Fine, but it's your funeral. She's in her garage."

Without another word, you turn on your heel and march away, leaving Caitlyn and Vi to their argument. You had your own annoying, lying woman to deal with.

The garage comes into view, its large door open. As you approach, you catch sight of Sevika bent over a motorcycle. Her back muscles flex as she works, visible beneath a black sports bra. Her jeans hang low on her hips, revealing the band of her boxers. For a moment, you were unable to comprehend the sight of Sevika in clothes that weren't military green. 

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before addressing her. "Vi and Caitlyn are out there fighting. I thought you should know."

She turns, surprise briefly flickering across her features before her trademark nonchalance slides back into place. "And that concerns me... how exactly?" she questions, wiping her hand with a rag. "Last I checked, I wasn't running a relationship counseling service."

"Because of all the bullshit you gave about me not being ready? Why won't you let me on the team?" you demand, your voice cracking with desperation. "You let Vi join. What makes her so special?"

"You don't know what you're asking for."

"Then tell me!" you shout, stepping closer. "I'm sick of your cryptic bullshit, Sevika. I deserve to know!"

Something in Sevika snaps—Her composure shatters, replaced by a raw, barely contained fury. "Fine? You want to know why?" She grabs your arm, her grip tight enough to bruise. "Let's go."

She drags you out of the garage, marching through the community with large strides. You struggle to keep up, confused and a little scared by this sudden change in her demeanor.

As you reach the outskirts of the settlement, Sevika slows down. You follow her gaze and feel your blood run cold. Wooden crosses stretch out before you, maybe 20 to 25 of them, each marking a grave.

"This is why," Sevika grits.

You stand there, frozen, as Sevika turns to face you. Her eyes are blazing, but there's something else there too - something melancholic you've never seen before.

"Do you know how many empty graves we have?" she asks, gesturing to the crosses. "It's a fortune if you're able to bring a body home, or if you can spend someone's last moments together."

She walks among the graves, her fingers trailing over the rough wood of a cross. "This is the type of thing we have to deal with. Every time we go out there, we risk not coming back. And if we don't come back, this is what's left of us. A wooden cross and a memory."

"I've had to bury too many people. I've had to tell too many families that their loved ones aren't coming home. And sometimes, I couldn't even give them that closure."

She turns back to you, her eyes now hard, and gone was the brief moment of vulnerability you saw before. "This is why I won't let you on the team. Because I can't... I won't add another cross to this field."

The weight of her words hits you like a physical blow. But instead of understanding, you feel a surge of anger.

"So what?" you snap, surprising both yourself and Sevika. "You keep me locked away like I'm Rapunzel in a tower? Look around, Sevika!" You gesture wildly at the desolate landscape beyond the settlement. "There is nothing left to lose. The world is gone!"

For a moment, she's silent, and you think you might have finally gotten through to her. But then her expression hardens, a bitter smile twisting her lips.

"You can say that," she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "until you have the world in your hand and it's ripped away from you."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You see a flash of something in Sevika's eyes - a deep, soul-crushing resignation that makes your anger falter.

"There is always something to lose," she continues. "And every time you think you have nothing left to lose, life finds a way to prove you wrong."

She steps closer to you. "You think you're ready to face what's out there? You think you have nothing to lose? Trust me, pantry girl, you have no idea what loss really is."

"What are you living for if you're constantly scared of losing?" you challenge, your voice rising. "This isn't living, Sevika. It's just... existing."

Sevika's eyes flash dangerously. "You don't understand-"

"No, you don't understand!" you interrupted, shoving her back. "We're all going to die—But I'd rather die out there, trying to do something I wanted, rather than rot away in here!"

You’re angry and you know you just provoked her but you can’t help but shove her back again, frustrated at her but, even more so at yourself.  You were terrified, of fucking course you were—but who wasn’t in the world you were living in? 

With a growl, she lunges forward, shoving you hard. You stumble back, shock and anger coursing through you. Without thinking, you retaliate, pushing Sevika with all your might.

The two of you grapple, a tangle of limbs and fury. Grass and dirt kick up around you as you roll on the ground, each trying to gain the upper hand. Sevika's bionic arm hisses as she tries to pin you down, but you're quicker, fueled by frustration and pent-up emotion.

With a burst of strength, you manage to flip Sevika onto her back. You straddle her waist, pinning her arms to her sides, which fall limp immediately. Both of you are panting heavily, faces flushed and hair disheveled.

"I won," you gasp out, your chest heaving. "You promised. If I could beat you, you'd let me join."

Sevika looks up at you, her expression unreadable. "When will you learn patience?" 

The proximity is intoxicating, and for a moment, you're distracted by the feeling of Sevika beneath you, the rise and fall of her chest, the intensity in her eyes. 

"You can't expect me to live like this," you insist, your voice softer now but no less passionate. "What are you living for if you're constantly scared of losing?"

Something flickers in Sevika's eyes—pain, fear, or something else entirely. Without warning, she bucks her hips, throwing you off balance. In one smooth motion, she shoves you away and stands up.

You scramble to your feet, ready to continue the fight, but Sevika's next move stops you cold. 

"Sevika!" you call out, your voice cracking. "Don't you walk away from me!"

But she doesn't stop, doesn't even look back. 

You're left standing there, alone among silent tombstones and empty graves, watching her retreating figure disappear into the gathering dusk.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The weight of defeat settles heavily on your shoulders as you stumble into your room. You collapse onto your bed, fully clothed, as the scene replays in your mind. Sevika's face haunts you - not her usual cocky smirk or searching gaze, but that fleeting expression of raw pain you glimpsed just before she walked away.

There's something deeper, a hollowness in your chest you can't quite name. It's more than just the sting of losing an argument or watching her retreat. 

There was something else in her eyes that truly unsettled you—that flash of fear when she looked at you, as if dreading you might become another one of those wooden crosses she would have to mark.

Just as you're about to drift off, a sudden burst of loud music jolts you awake. Shouts and laughter follow, unmistakably coming from a few blocks down—right where Sevika's house is located.

You groan, pressing your pillow over your head. Of course, another one of her infamous parties. But as you lie there, listening to the distant sounds of celebration, a part of you can't help but wonder what Sevika looks like when she's relaxed, surrounded by her team. 

After an hour of futile attempts to sleep, frustration wins out.  You sit up, running a hand through your hair in annoyance. You throw on a hoodie and stomp towards the door, grabbing the nearest pair of slippers without looking.  

The cool night air does little to calm your irritation as you march down the street. You pound on the door, ready to give her a piece of your mind.

To your surprise, it's Sevika herself who answers. Her usual scowl morphs into a grimace as she recognizes you, a lit cigarette dangling from her lips. The sight of her throws you off balance—her gray wife beater clings to her frame, and her cargo pants are smeared with what you hope is just mud. Despite the mess, she looks... good. Annoyingly so.

"Do you know what time it is?" you demand, trying to focus on your anger.

Sevika takes a long drag of her cigarette and then blows the smoke out slowly. Her eyes drift downward. "I like your slippers," she remarks.

You glance down, mortification washing over you as you realize you're wearing Powder's pink bunny slippers. "Shit," you mutter, but quickly shake it off. "Why do you have to be so loud? This might come as a surprise but some people are trying to sleep!"

"Worried you won't get enough sleep to organize properly tomorrow?" Sevika taunts, leaning against the doorframe. "Make sure you don't mix up the soup and fruit cocktail cans."

Her dismissive attitude ignites your temper. "Fine, whatever. You're acting like a complete ass," you spit out.

Sevika's eyebrow raises slightly. "Is that all? Because if so, I've got a party to get back to."

You're about to retort when you catch a glimpse of the interior of her house. It's a mess—empty bottles strewn about, gear haphazardly tossed in corners. 

"What?" Sevika's voice snaps you back to reality.

"I... nothing," you stammer, taking a step back. "Just turn the music down, okay?"

Sevika studies you for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without a word, she turns and disappears into the house. A few seconds later, the volume of the music noticeably decreases.  Sevika.. Was being obedient? 

She reappears at the door, taking another drag of her cigarette. "Anything else?" 

You open your mouth, then close it again. What else is there to say? That her apparent disregard for what you want infuriates you? That her words about from earlier today won’t leave your mind? That despite everything, you find yourself drawn to her in a way you can't explain?

Instead, you just shake your head. "No. That's... that's all. Thanks."

As you turn to leave, Sevika's voice stops you. "Wait."

You pause, looking back at her expectantly.  You notice that there is a hesitancy to her this time, like you were fragile and if she got too close you might shatter.

"Wear proper attire tomorrow, okay?" she says, her tone businesslike. "And check in at the armory with Vi."

You blink, confused. "Vi? What does she-"

Sevika cuts you off with an exasperated sigh. "Do I really have to explain it to you, rookie?"

"Yeah, cause I don't get it," you retort.

"You're on the team."

For a moment, you just stare at her, unable to process what you've heard. Sevika refuses to meet your gaze, suddenly finding the wall very interesting.

As realization dawns, a wide grin breaks out across your face. Sevika immediately cuts in, "Don't think I'm going soft on you and giving you anything you want. This is an easy spot, but-"

You can't help the shit-eating grin that spreads even wider. "Thank you," you say, your voice sincere despite your obvious excitement.

Sevika just nods, her expression carefully neutral. "Yeah, okay. Now get out of here before I change my mind."

You nod enthusiastically. "Right. Yes. Thank you again. Good night!"

You turn and walk away, trying desperately to keep your cool. But as soon as you think Sevika has fully closed her door, you can't contain yourself anymore. You do a little excited jump right there in the street, pumping your fist in the air. Then, grinning like a fool, you take off running towards home.

What you don't see is Sevika, still standing in her doorway. She watches your celebratory dance with a mixture of disbelief and something akin to fondness. Shaking her head, she finally closes the door, a small, bemused smile playing at the corners of her lips.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The early morning sun casts a golden glow over the farm as your team arrives. The dilapidated barn looms ahead, its red paint peeling and faded. Overgrown fields stretch out to your right, while a rickety fence encloses what must have once been a thriving chicken coop.

Sevika's voice rings out across the coop.  "Alright, gather the chickens."

You blink, certain you've misheard. "Wait, what?"  

You weren’t expecting your first mission to be on a farm, much less to gather the animals. But your confusion is quickly overwhelmed by the sight of your teammates scattering, chasing after a flock of very startled, very loud chickens.  

"How do you expect us to get food?" Sevika asks, her tone matter-of-fact.

You turn to her, eyebrow raised. "Why aren't you helping?"

The air seems to still as everyone freezes, shocked by your boldness. Sevika's eyes narrow dangerously.

"I'm your captain," she states, as if that explains everything.

A reckless grin spreads across your face. "What? Afraid you can't catch a single chicken in front of your people?"

Sevika's jaw clenches, and for a moment, you wonder if you've pushed too far. Then, to everyone's surprise, she vaults over the fence and into the coop.

"You have a mouth on you," she growls, eyeing a particularly plump hen. "That's going to get you in trouble one day."

You hop in after her, heart racing at how she easily accepted your challenge. "Only if I'm caught," you quip back.

The two of you circle the hen, which clucks nervously. You lunge forward, but the bird darts away.

"You're scaring it!" Sevika snaps.

"Me?!" you retort. "You're practically harassing the thing!"

As you both scan the coop for a chicken that wasn’t running like it had its head chopped off, a voice pipes up from outside the fence. "They’re bickering like an old couple!"

In perfect unison, you and Sevika whip around, shouting, "Don't you dare say that!"

The moment the words leave your mouth, you freeze, looking at each other in shock, and then it’s replaced quickly with a scowl as the determination to capture the chicken sets back in.

Okay, so barreling at full force towards the animal was not the way to go considering everyone was already filling their cages.  You mentally devise a plan to corner the chicken, gesturing for Sevika to move to the right while you go left. But as you both rush forward, the hen squawks indignantly and darts between you in a perfect straight line.

Unable to stop your momentum, you and Sevika collide, tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs. You find yourself pinned beneath her, acutely aware of her weight, her warmth, the scent of her body wash and gunpowder that clings to her skin.

Sevika pushes herself up slightly, her face inches from yours. "This is dumb," she mutters. "I don't need to prove anything."

"Mhmm," you manage, your brain short-circuiting from the proximity.

She grunts, rolling off you and standing up. "There's one last chicken," she says, brushing dirt from her clothes. "We better get it."

You turn your attention back to the task at hand, scanning the coop for that last elusive hen. The last hen clucks nervously, darting between the wooden beams of the coop. You and Sevika exchange a quick nod, wordlessly agreeing on a strategy.

Sevika crouches low, her movements slow and deliberate as she inches towards the left side of the coop. You mirror her actions on the right, creating a human barrier. The hen's beady eyes dart between you, sensing the trap.  

"Easy now," Sevika murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. 

The hen makes a break for it, but you're ready. You lunge forward, herding it back towards Sevika. She reaches out, her fingers just brushing the chicken's feathers—

A deep rumble suddenly echoes across the farm, stopping you both in your tracks. You both freeze, exchanging a brief, confused glance. In that instant, the barn door explodes outward with a deafening crash. Splinters of wood fly through the air, unleashing a horde of walkers that stumble and lurch towards you.

"Fuck! Run!" someone screams, and chaos erupts.

Your teammates scramble to grab their chicken cages, but you're transfixed by the sight of Sevika, who's inexplicably clutching the chicken she just caught to her chest with her left arm. Without thinking, you grab her right hand and bolt, pulling her along.

As you run, weaving between broken fences and overgrown crops, the absurdity of the situation hits you. Here you are, fleeing from a walkers horde, hand-in-hand with your usually stoic captain who was so dead set on capturing a single chicken she risked a few minutes just to get it. Suddenly, Sevika bursts out laughing, a rich, genuine sound you've never heard before.

"This is so fucking stupid," she gasps between chuckles.

Her laughter is infectious, and soon you're both giggling like maniacs as you sprint towards the getaway car. The wind whips through your hair, you look over at her and see her tiny ponytail bouncing, her eyes sparkling with unadulterated joy.

As you approach the car, you see one of your teammates dancing in the driver's seat, bobbing their head to music that was loud enough you could hear it from a distance.

Sevika's eyes widened in disbelief. "What is that moron doing?"

"Start the car!" you yell in unison with Sevika.

"Start the fucking car!" echoes from all directions as your team converges on the vehicle.

In a mad scramble, you and Sevika end up diving into the trunk together, barely missing from crashing into each other. The car peels out, tires kicking up dust as you make your escape. You twist around to look back, seeing the walkers crest the hill behind you, their grotesque forms looking like ants as you get further away from the farm.

As the adrenaline starts to fade, you become acutely aware that you're still clutching Sevika's hand. You both look down at your intertwined fingers and quickly release a faint blush coloring your cheeks. 

You glance at Sevika and are struck by the sight of her wide grin, revealing the charming tooth gap from the first time you met her. She looks lighter somehow, the usual weight of responsibility temporarily lifted from her shoulders.

"Maybe you should put the chicken in the cage," you suggest, nodding towards the bird still tucked under her arm.

"Right," Sevika says, quickly stuffing the bewildered chicken into a nearby cage.

Free of your feathered companion, you lean out of the trunk slightly, letting the wind rush through your hair. The music from the car's speakers drifts back to you, and you close your eyes for a moment, savoring the smell of the woods and the high from the adrenaline rush.

When you open your eyes and turn back, you catch Sevika staring at you. She's not looking at the receding farmland or checking for pursuing walkers. Her eyes are fixed solely on you, an unreadable expression on her face. In this moment, bathed in sunlight and the afterglow of survival, she looks different. Softer. There was no reminiscent of the super soldier you knew her as.

As your eyes meet, Sevika doesn't look away. Instead, her grin softens into something more intimate, more real. You feel a warmth bloom in your chest, a feeling you can't quite name but don't want to let go of.

The car hits a bump, jolting you both and breaking the moment. Sevika clears her throat and turns to secure the chicken cage, you weren’t sure if had imagined the smile or not.

As you return to Zaun, the adrenaline from your narrow escape fades into a collective sense of relief and camaraderie. The team works together to unload the chickens, and despite the close call, everyone seems to be in high spirits.

"Hey, how about another bonfire party?" someone suggests, and a chorus of agreement follows.

To your surprise, Sevika turns to you. "You should come," she says gruffly. "You’re part of the team now."

"Yeah, sure," you reply, fighting to keep the eagerness out of your voice.

As the team disperses to prepare, you notice Vi sprinting towards a certain someone waiting for her at the entrance. "Caitlyn!" Vi shouts, throwing herself into Caitlyn's arms and kissing her passionately.

You raise an eyebrow. "Well, those two made up fast," you mutter to yourself.

Later that evening, you find yourself seated on the cool ground in front of a roaring bonfire. The flames dance hypnotically, casting flickering shadows across the faces of your teammates. The air is filled with laughter, the clink of bottles, and the rich aroma of smoke and grilled food.

You're nursing a beer, listening intently as the others regale you with stories from previous hunts. Sevika sits not far from you, perched regally on a lawn chair. She's quieter than the others, but you notice her lips quirk up occasionally at particularly funny or outrageous parts of the stories.

As the night wears on, a cool breeze picks up. You shiver involuntarily, the chill seeping through your thin shirt. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Sevika glance your way. Without a word, she shrugs off her shawl and leans forward, draping it over your shoulders.

The gesture catches you off guard. You want to thank her, but something in her posture tells you she'd rather not draw attention to the act of kindness. No one else seems to have noticed, and you wonder if this is just how Sevika takes care of her team—quietly, without fuss or expectation of gratitude.

You pull the shawl tighter around you, inhaling the faint scent of cigarettes and gunpowder that clings to it. 

The conversation lulls for a moment, and then someone pipes up, "Hey, remember that time at the hospital in Piltover when we-"

"Uh," another teammate interrupts, glancing nervously at Sevika. "Sevika’s here."

All eyes turn to your captain. Sevika just grunts, taking a long swig from her bottle. You can't tell if it's approval or indifference, but the storyteller takes it as permission to continue.

The crackling fire seems to dim as the storyteller begins, his voice low and reverent. "It was before Zaun was established. Sevika, Silco, Grayson, and some of us old veterans had been cooped up in the hospital for weeks. But it was time we got out, find new people and a place to stay."

You lean in, curious, sneaking glances at Sevika, whose face remains impassive.

"The hospital was completely surrounded," the storyteller continues. "But we had weapons and vehicles. Silco had this completely badass idea to add extra defenses to the ambulance in the garage."

A chorus of whoops erupts from the group, and you see a flicker of pride in Sevika's eyes.

"The plan was to pile as many people as possible into the ambulance. But in the garage," The storyteller's voice drops. "There must've been an opening or something. Somehow, those bastards found their way in."

You find yourself holding your breath while Sevika's face is impassive, but you notice her grip tightening on her bottle.

"It happened so fast. One second Silco was up, the next he was down, a walker lunging for his throat. And Sevika," He shakes his head in awe. "She didn't hesitate. She threw herself between them."

All eyes turn to Sevika. You glance at Sevika, trying to imagine her and the emotions in that moment. 

"Go on," she says. "Finish it."

The storyteller hesitates, unsure. "We had to go back in. We cleared the area, but the walker's teeth sank into her arm instead of Silco's neck." the storyteller says softly. "Even then, she didn't stop fighting. She bashed its skull in with her free hand, then turned and took out two more, saving a few more of us.  But the bite meant she was infected…"

There's a collective intake of breath around the fire. You feel a chill that has nothing to do with the night air.

His voice trails off, and Sevika finishes for him. "So Silco ended up amputating my arm," she states.

"When I die, I'll die on my own accord.  Not because some mindless corpse decided it was my time."

The silence that follows is profound. You see a mix of awe, respect, and a hint of fear on the faces around you as Sevika's words hang in the air.

Then, as if a spell is broken, cheers erupt. "Fuck yeah, boss!" someone shouts, and others join in.

Sevika just grins as she stubs out her cigarette and stands.  “I’m calling it a night, try not to have too much fun."

You remain rooted to the spot even though you know you should go give the shawl that's still draped around your shoulders back.  

As you’re watching Sevika’s retreating form, you're struck once again by how little you truly understand her. Just when you think you've got her figured out, she does something that shatters your assumptions. Her rare, genuine smile from moments ago was like a crack in her armor, offering a glimpse of something you're not sure you were meant to see.

You recall Grayson's comment; If she's going to hell, she'll drag you down with her. But Sevika isn’t just dragging anyone down—she's fighting, clawing her way up. She’ll endure whatever comes, as long as she’s the one who gets to forge her own path.

Sevika faced death itself, and she emerged victorious.

taglist:

@mirconreadzztuff22 @lils-1979 @veoomvroom @schmoni @theacedragon0w0

@poxismind @kittykatz1227 @archangeldyke-all @abbyssgf @ivorydevil

@lez-zuha @iamastar @jellyfishrnice @anemoxlys @l0vel3tterl0ver

@lavendersgirl @h0pe-scotch @lia-winther @kittykatz1227 @dontknowwhenispawned

@sevikitty @sarahduke @raphaellearp

[blackhairedjjun]

it's you that i'd lie with. - c.yj

pairing: choi yeonjun x gn reader | genre / tropes: angst, apocalypse au (no literally), the end of the world but make it slice of life, non-idol au, best friends to lovers, last-minute getting together (and i really mean last minute!!) | word count: 923 | warnings: implied death, natural disasters, mentioned existential crises, kissing, brief food mentions

part of my 300 followers event (event masterlist)

prompt - LAST: believing it to be their last chance to confess their feelings for the receiver, the sender tells them that they love them. (requested by @beomnoullitheorem - "I don't mind any kind of ending as I love both happy and sad endings, so I'm leaving it all upto you and I'm gonna love any of your work be it having any kind of ending!")

author's notes: hi noulli! unfortunately i don't have a copy of the stuff we talked abt for this prompt since i answered your asks privately, but i tried to remember what we said as best as i can! also i was in a very "wow i wanna kiss him sooooo bad" mood when i wrote this so uh. yeah sldkfskldjf. also the title is from "as the world caves in" by matt maltese!

“do you really think the world will end today, y/n? like what the reporters said?”

you cast a glance up at the cloudless sky, its color a gradient of deep blue to pale yellow. meteor showers fall constantly like rain made of light. “well... if it isn’t ending, it’s putting on a hell of a show.”

yeonjun lets out a soft giggle and pulls you closer in his arms. you sigh happily and rest your head on his chest; his heartbeat is a bit faster than usual, though it is his last day on earth after all. you’ve always been touchy-feely with your best friend, but you’ve never been this close.

as soon as the news reports announced the end of the world a few weeks ago, the two of you instantly knew that you wanted to spend your last day here, at the open-air rooftop restaurant where you first met. you spent the next few weeks saying goodbye to your friends and family, checking a few things off your bucket list, and just... making peace with your life. today you and yeonjun claimed a table overlooking the deserted city below, though there wasn’t any competition anyway 一 the cooks and waitstaff had abandoned the place to spend their last day with their loved ones.

you lift your head up from yeonjun’s embrace to take in one last look at the sky, beautiful yet terrifying, a canvas of light and shadow. you wonder what everyone else is doing: maybe they too are looking at the sky, or maybe they can’t see it at all from the makeshift underground shelters they’ve gone to. maybe some are watching it alone, maybe others are watching it with a loved one, just like you.

just then you feel soft lips on the crown of your head, and you look up to see yeonjun pulling away from his brief kiss. he’s gazing at you with those warm brown eyes, and you can’t help the heat spreading across your cheeks.

“you’re quiet,” he says.

“so are you, jjunie.”

“it’s just... a lot.”

“i know.”

perhaps your brain is making you see things because this is the last time you’ll ever see him, but this is the most beautiful yeonjun has ever looked. strands of black hair fall over his eyes, and as you lift a hand to brush them aside you feel an ache in your heart.

“i was supposed to take you here again for your birthday, y’know,” he says with a small smile.

“really? you didn’t think i’d be sick of it here?”

“nah, you love it here. you’re always ordering their cheesecake.”

you laugh. “i mean, no one makes it like they d一”

just then the earth begins to shake and the whole building sways. yeonjun grabs onto you as you’re both thrown onto the ground. you bury your head in your friend’s chest and grip onto his hoodie; his own grip around your waist tightens and he curls around you. the table topples and nearly lands on your head, only for yeonjun to grab you and roll you away from the spot.

the ground beneath you rumbles, and you can hear the crashing of plates and bottles from the restaurant kitchen. tables and chairs are knocked over. you screw your eyes shut, yet the world doesn’t stop spinning...

and then an alarm starts blaring in the distance, and it’s over as soon as it started. you remain lying on the floor clinging to yeonjun, your knuckles trembling from your grip on his hoodie. he doesn’t move either, holding on to you so tightly as if you might slip away if he let go.

then you feel it again 一 that feather-light kiss on the crown of your head, lingering for longer this time. then another one, further down on your forehead. yeonjun pulls away to look at you, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, and the ache in your heart gnaws at you even more.

“y/n, i...”

words leave him and the next thing you know, his lips are on yours. he tastes as sweet as you’ve imagined, and you wrap your arms around him to kiss him deeper. the world is spinning again, but for a completely different reason 一 with your body flush against his and his mouth moving roughly against yours, you feel as if every piece of you has been set alight.

you let out a sigh against his lips as he breaks away. he pants slightly, still holding you close, his eyes wide. 

“i love you.”

yeonjun is still breathless when he says it. had he said it on any other day, your mind would be full of questions: how long? since when? why are you telling me only now? what happens to us next?

but you don’t have time for questions. instead you lean towards him, meeting those beautiful eyes of his, and whisper, “i love you too.”

you leave a gentle peck on his lips, then another, then it’s his turn to kiss you back. next thing you know his hands are tangled in your hair and you melt into him completely, this new kiss slower than the first yet more desperate. in your last moments you’re going to love him the way you should have when you still had time.

neither of you notice the way the sky darkens to a complete black. the ground shakes again and you hold on to each other.

his warmth is the last thing you ever feel.