#memory card and everything goddamn

[shiftythrifting]

$20 ps2 let's gooooo!

[nyashykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Sung Jinwoo x Terminally ill Reader ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

・┆✦ Entry : 023 ✦ ┆・

‼️[ TW: Terminal Illness, Angst to Fluff, Solo Leveling Spoilers ]

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅ Part 2 || Part 1 ♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

╰┈➤ ❝ [ We'll Try This Again, Begin Again with Zero. But This Time? I'm Never Letting You Go. ] ¡! ❞

Living felt more like a punishment more than anything. The pain he goes through starts feeling more and more deserving in his eyes. He was pushing himself to the limits when he shouldn't, he's punishing himself over a sin that wasn't really his fault.

But if anyone tells him that, he wouldn't look back at them. He would ignore their concerns.

He has a duty to uphold anyway, a duty that only he can do as a monarch.

Jinwoo has ultimately grown to be a vessel of war thanks to the system.

He didn't really care much, he already placed insurance to his name if anything happens to him.

When he's gone, his remaining family would atleast live off of something.

He has already watched his father die too thanks to the godforsaken monarchs.

What more can he loose?

Over and over again, he puts himself in the battlefield, exhausting himself on purpose, never even sleeping nor eating.

He was just fighting like a dog.

Well, dog's get much more care than what he does to himself, so does it really count?

It doesn't matte,r Jinwoo physically cannot be exhausted.

But mentally? It's a different story.

He wasn't really depressed, at least, that's what he tells himself.

He really felt numb, not exactly sad, not exactly happy either. It's as if his emotions lie in the middle.

Jinwoo felt hollow, completely hollow.

As if he were merely nothing more than a puppet in war.

The only thing that really urges him to move forward is the distant sound of his beloved's voice in the back of his head.

And soon, after he had finally murdered the Monarch of Destruction— He would be granted a wish.

Battered and tired while on the floor, he thought of what he could possibly ask from the rulers.

Thought of?

No, Jinwoo already knew what he wanted.

It was to turn back time.

To meet old friends again, to stop the gates from opening, to have his family whole again

,... To meet you again.

Yes. That's right. All of this was for you anyway.

Jinwoo recalls that memory very clearly, how you were still in the hospital bed and you two were playing a game of cards while he tells you about how he plans to be a hunter soon.

Your words were quite cute really: "I hope Woowoo becomes a really strong man!"

Those silly, innocent words of yours.

Up to this day, he still smiles lovingly whenever he remembers that.

He became this strong not just for himself and his family who needs him, but for you, the brave little soul who endured that illness—

Jinwoo fought for you

And since he is given the opportunity to correct the past, he requiested for time to be rewinded.

Right then and there, a brilliant flash of white would engulf the earth, bathing it in all it's glory. eradicating all traces of the lifeforms and shadows there is to this pathetic universe. For once in a million years, the earth was beautiful again. It looked like a star gleaming along with countless others.

Soon, Jinwoo would wake up to the sound of his baby sister's calling. Jinwoo would sit up, gently smiling at her.

It took a while for everything to sink in, for everything for him to realize that this? All of this was reality.

How badly he wanted to find you in the time he spent, for just a few weeks, he enjoyed being a child again.

Laughing with friends, screaming at others for a vanguard or healer in the pc cafe— He wanted to find you in an instant. But not right now.

He took care of some stuff first.

Your illness wont awaken until then after all.

27 years, he spent time in that goddamn dimensional crack fighting monarchs and all that crap.

When he was done, he finally came home.

Just as he set foot back in earth again, he went straight to the hospital.

April 9th of spring, where the pink petals bloomed and flew around the air— This beautiful but tragic day.

Was the first time you had collapsed and coughed out blood.

It started with your lungs, to your kidneys, to your heart, to everywhere.

You had metastatic cancer.

Coughing up blood was only the start.

And Jinwoo had come home just in time.

He didn't even ask for directions, he just went straight to your hospital room.

He knew this godforsaken place better than the doctors and nurses himself after all.

As he pried open the door, there you were, resting on the bed staring absentmindedly at the pink trees outside your window. When yopu heard the sound of the door, you turned your attention to Jinwoo.

Dazzling and innocent eyes, just as he remembers. Your youthful face, free of any sign of wrinkles. Still chubby and plump that he wanted to just kiss your cheeks all over.

As you called out his name, Jinwoo marched over and embraced you tightly.

"I'm sorry, it took me a while" Jinwoo whispers ever so lovingly as he rubs the b ack of your head affectionately.

You were confused at first, wondering why your best friend is acting all cuddly and sappy when he totally did not disappear off of the face of the earth and come out of nowhere like some sort of boogey man. But regardless, you can't help but notice the traces of tears about to break from lovely grey eyes.

When you reached over to touch his face, his voice broke and he started crying almost instantly.

Panicked and confused, you pulled him to a tight hug.

Jinwoo was crying, and in his tears and broken voice you could hear the amount of anguish he had been bottling up, the brokenness in his heart finally being revealed in the open for you to hear and see. It felt as if Jinwoo was carrying a hundred years worth of burden. And you could do nothing more than to soothe him.

"I'm sorry... Ditching you out of nowhere and acting like a sappy pup wo got kicked" He chokes as he chuckles gently, "I promise, promise, that I won't leave you like that anymore. Just trust me, okay? Here, drink this."

He hands you a weird fantasy-potion thing with red liquid inside. You wanted to deny him of it but Jinwoo stubbornly insisted upon it, as if your life depended on it.

Well, tehnically speaking, it did depended on that potion.

After making sure you gulped down every single drop of the crimson liquid, Jinwoo pressed his forehead against yours.

Mumbling ever so sweetly; "Let's do this again, okay? You and me, goofing around. I'll let you eat as much sweets as you like, I'll show a lot of pretty things. Don't worry about anything else, Woowoo will take care of it."

Somehow, you felt that Jinwoo meant that on a deeper level. You felt like right now, what in front of you wasn't just anyone else, but someone ready to lay down their life for your sake. The person in front of you, you felt as if he was going to follow you to the ends of the earth to the stars above your heads. Somehow, it feels as if his words was a promise that he would follow you wherever you go.

He already lost you once, damned will he be if that happens again.

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[chippedshake]

Ponyboy stands in front of the mirror, fifteen and one month old. His hair is longer than it used to be, and the still-blond tips brush his shoulders.

There are scissors in his hands.

"Glory, he looks different with his hair like that."

Ponyboy squeezes his eyes shut, hands gripping the sink for balance. The metal scissors clang against it.

"It used to look tuff. You and Soda had the coolest-lookin' hair in town."

He tries to imagine himself a year and a month ago. Squared off in the back, long at the front and sides. It looked real tuff.

He'd complained so much when he had to cut it off, making everything impossible for Johnny, and now he can't make himself bring it back to normal?

"Oh, come on, Ponyboy, it'll grow back."

It did. And now he doesn't know what to do with it.

"Oh shoot, it's just hair."

The front door slams open.

"Honey, I'm ho-ome!"

"I never shoulda showed you that," Steve grumbles

"Well, ya did, and now ya gotta deal with it." Ponyboy can hear the grin in Soda's voice.

Loud footsteps go into the kitchen.

"Hey, ain't Pony s'pposed to be home already?"

"Prolly is, just up in his room with a book. Wouldn’t notice a twister a foot away if he was reading."

Steve snorts. "You up for a game of cards?"

"Sure. I gotta go change first though."

"Ya mean you gotta go stick an ace in your shoe?"

"Somethin' like that."

Soda's voice trails away as he makes his way to his room, but Steve's has grown closer and closer, and Ponyboy knows he's going to see him and ask questions that he doesn't want to answer, but he can't move from where his hands still grip the sink, scissors trapped against it.

"Hey, kid." Ponyboy looks up and meets Steve's eyes through the mirror. He's standing in the doorway, one hand gripping the frame, whole body tense with discomfort, his face drawn with the same worry that strings through his voice. "You want me to get Soda?"

Ponyboy shakes his head and tries to subtly wipe his eyes. It'd be a new low to cry in front of Steve.

Steve's eyes flicker from Ponyboy's face to the scissors in his hand and his ungreased hair. He grimaces when he notices the tears, like he's not sure what to do with them.

"You know, cutting it off don't mean you'll forget them. You've still got a lotta memories that ain't in your hair. Better ones, too."

Steve's tone is matter-of-fact, but soft, softer than it's ever been. To Ponyboy, at least.

Like how Dally's voice reached a high, pleading tone it'd never reached before when they were speeding down that dirt road.

"I know..." Ponyboy whispers, and Steve leans in to hear him better. "It's just the last thing I got from them."

"That ain't true," Steve says. "You got both of their jackets and that book y'all read in the church. You even got the pictures you drew of them."

"Yeah, I know. It just ain't the same." His voice still won't come out above a whisper, but Steve seems to hear him just fine.

"Shoot, kid, I know that." He steps forward and sits down on the closed toilet seat. "But you can't live your life for them. They're gone. And they ain't comin' back. If you wanna remember 'em the right way, you gotta forget them sometimes."

Ponyboy thinks about the last year. About his bookmark that's been on page 118 for five months because Johnny would never get to read any pages after. About all the movie posters he's seen come and go because it wouldn’t be the same to watch them without Johnny. About the blade that's always in his back pocket that he can't stand to look at. About the time he brawled with Curly and then started crying because Dally had been the one to teach him how to throw a punch.

About how every time he looks in the goddamn mirror, he gets scared by his own reflection and remembers the church.

Maybe Steve's right. Maybe if he wants to start living normally again, he needs to forget them sometimes.

"This just ain't us. It's like being in a Hallowe'en costume we can't get out of."

Johnny might never get out of his costume, but Ponyboy could. And he would do it. For Johnny. Because he wouldn’t want Ponyboy to live as a shell of who he once was.

But when he meets his own eyes in the mirror, he knows he can't bring himself to do it.

"Steve, you ever cut hair before?"

He looks up in surprise, and for a moment Ponyboy's scared he's going to laugh at him. Then he stands up and holds his hand out for the scissors.

"Can't imagine it's harder'n fixin' up a car."

[creepsopasta]

playing games with some pastas

includes; eyeless jack, jeff the killer, hoodie, masky, ticci toby, homicidal liu, kagekao

eyeless jack:

- bit of a sore loser. not good with games that make him rage or online games

- voice chat with him is crazy!! he is literally foaming at the mouth yelling and cursing he is so bad at games :(

- “jack it’s gonna be okay” “FUCK you”

- he is not very kind about his losses

- most likely ends up throwing the control at the tv and breaking it (bad ending)

- whenever he ends up winning he’s ecstatic he does not stop talking about it and will brag about it to you exclusively. just go with it okay he needs it for his already shattered ego

- 0/10 experience would not do again.. okay maybe he would if you talked him into it and told him how much of a great player he is

- “i AM awesome aren’t i???” “yes you are <3”

- the more you play together the more he’ll learn to calm the fuck down and just enjoy himself

- still rages a lot tho

jeff the killer:

- plays board games like candyland and twister

- he’s a fucking shark he’s got all this shit down he knows how to win

- anyone who gets paired up with him for game night is 85% guaranteed to win (unfortunately there is someone out there who’s better than him)

- gets PISSED over not winning twister fucking furious he is literally the most flexible guy in this house he can do so much with his body

- monopoly is his favorite game. he esp loves to play with the younger pastas bc they believe anything he says and he thinks it’s hilarious

- “NOOOO PLEASE DON’T TAKE MY HOUSE” “your rent is $500,000, sally… it’s my house now”

- not a very avid video game player. he never really played a lot tbh

- good at everything EXCEPT connect four. do not make him play connect four he hates it he has terrible memories of it

- mastermind strategy planner. it’s a shame he doesn’t think this much at any other time

- boasts about it big time if you lose (you will probably lose) but might even try to let you win on purpose if he feels bad or sees you’re upset

hoodie:

- more of an arcade game guy. if you’re looking for like pinball games or pacman or space invaders or maze games or those weird money machines (that he kind of just. steals from) then he’s like great at all of them

- has spent hours honing his skills in his free time so you’ll be grinding for a while if you wanna beat him

- all the highest scores on the arcade machines are his. no one has topped them bc they’re fucking insane

- “wow you really have nothing better to do huh” [takes out gun] “that’s enough out of you jack can’t even fuckin move the joysticks around”

- tries to act like he isn’t competitive about it but he really super is

- thinks it’s just adorable that you think you can defeat him. no he will not be humbled by his lover of all people… that would make him a weak man

- goddamn merciless. no favors for anyone he revels in the rage he causes (see jack for more)

- if you’re a beginner he’ll take it easy on you until you learn the ropes and will offer tips but as time goes on he’s gonna be looking for a fight

- if he’s ever beaten, he will take it in grace and go straight from denial to acceptance

- does not rage that often. just hardcore practices until he’s like fucking unstoppable

masky:

- card player :(

- hates go fish tho he has such bad luck with it and everyone makes fun of him bc it’s like the universe does not want him to win

- good at boring ass stuff like solitaire or blackjack and if you ask him if he can play anything funner he’ll be like “oh so like rummy or spoons :]”

- no masky not like rummy or spoons… like uno or fucking play with some goddamn pokémon cards

- he’s so enthusiastic about it though so cmon just indulge him alright.. he literally has nobody else around him who’s into cards

- “okay so i win” “what… but we just started”

- he plays chess too!!! maybe you’ll find that more interesting?? he’s not very in touch with board games or anything this is the best he’s got

- deadass makes up his own rules if you don’t know anything about the game you’re playing

- “yeah so now you have to eat a rat. sorry babe”

- is never going to make fun of you if you suck at cards it’s not like he can beat jack in video games

ticci toby:

- dnd enjoyer he loves being the dm especially

- he, you, jeff, hoodie, lj, and occasionally masky have game nights and all you guys do is sit around the kitchen table trying not to curse each other out for doing stupid shit

- “c’mon guys this is supposed to be fun :(”

- doesn’t know that most of you have no idea how to play so he makes it super difficult

- has had to REPEATEDLY glue the die back together because jeff cannot stop snapping it in half

- “why does your dumbass partner always win this is fucking favoritism” “and then jeffery fell off a building and into the ocean 🥰”

- teaches you all you need to know about the game he will sit there for hours if he needs to just talking about the complexity of the rules

- he seems to have a lot of fun with it so everyone tries their best to not break the pieces or punch masky or yell at each other or punch masky

- better with snacks and drinks and lots of breaks so everyone can calm down and at least try to find some joy in the game

- 6/10 experience. would only try again without jeff at the table

homicidal liu:

- among us player… pisses everybody off bc he’s unfortunately very good at it and always imposter

- absolutely kills it (pun intended)

- no mercy he kills everyone including his loved ones this is a battle to the death and he is going to win goddamnit

- being imposter with him is some of the easiest shit bc he will carry the team entirely

- nothing to brag about tho since it’s a little space game and it’s really easy

- always knows who the imposter is if it’s not him he’s got some kind of foresight he will go out of his way to sabotage their chances at winning

- “would you love me more… if i killed someone for you 😇😇” “but you killed ME liu” “whoops”

- will stay with you for most of the game so he has an excuse for being innocent. once you are of no use to him he will stab you in the back

- relatively tame over voice chat. unless his brother happens to be there then it’s just jeff getting pissed off bc he can’t activate the reactor

- wakes you up at 2 am, phone in hand, smile on his face, asking “do you wanna play among us?”

- “liu, shut the fuck up and go back to sleep.” “ok.. :((”

kagekao:

- great at those games you play in your yard like frisbee or tag or hide n seek or maybe darts

- since the bitch can fly and run really fast it’s very unfair he pretty much cheats at everything and he thinks it’s funny

- frisbee with him is a literal field day. throws it so far you can’t find it ever again you’ll just have to buy a whole ass new one

- “what the FUCK kagekao” “🤷”

- laughs and makes fun of you for just not being as skilled as him maybe if you could fly you could beat him just get off the ground dumbass

- also likes to race but we all know how that’s gonna go (hint: he wins)

- unless he’s up against candy pop or something no one else really has a chance at beating him

- might help you a little bit if you’re struggling. like that one time he carried you up into the air and then dropped you because he thought it would be funny but then he couldn’t catch you in time so you ended up falling on lj and breaking one of your arms

- wrote you a little heartfelt letter about it later with a very fancy “sorry ❤️” in calligraphy and a few drawings of flowers (it did not help. your arm was still broken)

- really bad sport does NOT like to lose he will completely shut down

- little fuckin bastard

[hyunnieshannie]

Isn't it Lovely?

🖤: Hyunjin x Reader | Han Jisung x Reader 🖊️: approx 6.3K 🚨: Hanahaki AU, there is so much trauma and Angst. Major character death. No hopeful ending. Angst- No Comfort. A/N: I am so sorry... Hyune I'm so sorry.. Jisung... I am so sorry.. Reader... I am so sorry...

Play this while you read? | Mood Board | ART

It was starting to get even harder to breathe. Hidden away in your apartment you forced yourself to finish the letters you started. You thought keeping it away from everyone was the best choice but as you sit in the darkness of your room you wish you had told someone. Anyone. You didn’t want to do this alone anymore. The more you wrote the more you cried, the more you wished you had just told one person- so one person would be there with you. 

You knew you couldn't tell anyone. You knew exactly what they had done had they known from the beginning. They’d have dragged you straight to a hospital and forcibly removed what slowly, and not so silently killed you. Your phone buzzed beside you and slowly you checked your messages. Jisung. You smile lightly at your phone. Tomorrow, you’d give him the box of letters. He’ll give out each letter. He’ll understand, right?

You sign the card meant for the top of the box addressed to Jisung,

Ji, 

Take this box and keep it safe. Please don’t open it, don’t look inside not until next week okay? Don’t ask me questions, just trust me okay? Next week open it, and give everything to the people they’re addressed to. Please. 

Thank you Ji, for always being there for me.

One more week. One more and everyone will know. Avoiding letting anyone know was always the best option. You know Jisung would have ripped you right out of the apartment and brought you to a doctor but you couldn’t live like that- having the flowers delicately taken out of you while they knowingly ripped out the feeling of love altogether. It would be no way to live- without the memory or feeling of ever being in love again. You couldn’t handle that- living as a shell of who you once were. 

One more week and you wouldn’t be on this earth anymore and everyone around you would be moving on with their lives. They’d have received the letters you had written them- maybe even shed a tear but eventually, they would come to forget you. Changbin would still be happy with Felix, and Seungmin would be attending his lectures and still trying to charm the girl in this English class. Jeongin would be cuddled up with his new girlfriend struggling to figure out what to do for their month anniversary. Chan would still be babying all of them, Minho would still be attempting to adopt new cats Hyunjin- Hyunjin would still be with the girl he had met in his art lecture. He would be happy, and in love as he always dreamed of. No one appreciated love the way he did, the way he saw love in such a beautiful way. The way you knew he would treat her with absolute respect and adoration, she would never need to fear losing him. He wasn’t that kind of guy. Life would simply, go on. 

Jisung would be the only one who would probably be more hurt than the rest. Being your best friend for so long. He had grown up with you, he had always been there for you. He was there when you found out you had the gene, the stupid goddamn gene that landed you where you were now. Cursed by your genetics, and betrayed by your heart- Hanahaki had taken over. Jisung always warned you to be careful who you’d fall in love with, he always told you to keep your heart closed off unless you knew for sure they could love you back- you did for the most part. You had your walls up until you met Hwang Hyunjin. 

Hwang Hyunjin destroyed the walls you had built to shield your very delicate heart. Hwang Hyunjin was the definition of a dream. Sweet, caring, attentive and the way he viewed the world was so beautiful. Anyone would have fallen for him, everyone did. Not only did he have such a gorgeous personality but he was also so incredibly handsome. Delicate features, and a toned body. He was ethereal, to say the least, a deadly combination of looks and sincerity. How could anyone not have fallen for someone who could easily be mistaken for an angel? 

You had first met Hyunjin through Jisung. They had met in college. The music major and the artist. They hadn’t always gotten along but once they realised they had a lot more in common than they had originally thought they became inseparable. The day you met Hyunjin was on his twenty-first birthday. It was cold out, the leftover freezing rain from the winter being poured out upon the earth as he and Jisung ran into your apartment soaked and shaking. You had quickly run to Jisung failing to properly notice the other standing beside him, taking his hands in your own as you tried to warm up the shivering boy. 

“Jisung you’re soaked! Oh my god get in the shower before you catch a cold I’ll dry your clothes!” You worried, 

“Y/N..” Jisung smiled, his teeth still chattering from the cold. “Y/N This is Hyunjin, he’s-” he lets out a soft sneeze, 

“Yes yes the artist Jisung I know- now get in the shower and warm up!” you look to the other boy, Tall, with long dark -wet hair that stuck to his face. His body trembling, “And you!” you say, “You’re next. For now in front of the heater!” you pointed to the small space heater you had set up in the living room where you were originally sitting- reading. Jisung hurries himself to the washroom, and Hyunjin sits quietly on the spot on the floor in front of the heater- his hands up in front of it as he attempts to keep them warm. “You’re shaking” you sigh as you drape your duvet over him. 

“T-thanks,” he says softly, “You know, spring shouldn’t be this cold.” 

“Well you two shouldn’t be running around in the rain, what were you thinking?” You said at you patter him down- 

“Han said we’d have more fun here, apparently Birthdays should be spent with friends and not at home watching dramas” Your eyes widen at the confession, 

“Happy birthday.” You smile, 

“Thank you-” 

“Now, this is going to sound weird but I really don't want you getting sick especially not on your birthday- undress in the bedroom and keep that blanket on you until your turn, I’ll get a head start on drying your clothes.” Hyunjin sits up watching you as you speak. He nods getting up slowly from his spot on the floor and heads into your bedroom. A few minutes later he emerges cocooned in your duvet clutching his clothes. He hands them to you and follows you to the laundry room- you throw them into the wash alongside Jisung's and run them on a light cycle. You were sure Jisung had left clothes somewhere in the guest room the question was where. With Hyunjin trailing you like a lost puppy you wandered into the spare bedroom and riffled through the closet. Surely he had something. You spot the blue gym bag buried deep in the back of the closet, with a light tug you drag it out of its spot and peek inside. Gym shorts, a tank top and a pair of sweats. 

“Well it’s not much, and you’re definitely taller than Ji but it’ll have to do until your clothes are clean and dry.” You hand him the bag, he fishes out the sweats and bows politely. 

“Thanks, honestly Your blankets are soft and all but uh- It’s weird being under someone's blankets naked and it wasn’t even for a good reason.” He laughs, and your brain freezes at the realization of what he’s saying. Your cheeks heat up at the image of Hyunjin under the blanket- naked for a ‘good reason’ No, no no- don’t think of that. 

“Uh, not to interrupt whatever the fuck is going on here but-” Jisung clears his throat at the door, his lower body wrapped in his designated towel, “Mind tossing the bag?” Hyunjin laughs as he holds the blanket closed with one hand and tosses the gym bag towards Jisung who almost manages to drop it as it falls into his hands, 

“I’ll uh-” you mutter, “Grab you a towel.” 

The rest of yours and Jisung's friends arrive an hour after the whole ordeal alongside a few others you didn’t quite fully know. Jisung sat happily in his shorts and tank while Hyunjin sat in front of the heater in Jisung's sweats. 

“Classy Hyune,” a boy you had seen on campus but never spoke to, “Meet a girl and suddenly you’re shirtless.” He smiles as he walks in behind Chan, 

“Y/N!” Chan smiles, “Taking care of the children I see” 

“Honestly as a single mother of three, you should really be helping out here more Chris.” You laugh, 

“Please I’m the one that takes care of Changbin and Felix. Your only responsibility is that one” Chan giggles as he points to Jisung. 

“Mom- Dad stop fighting” Felix chimes in, Hyunjin still sat quietly as he watched you interact with your friends. Jeongin swiftly takes his hoodie off and throws it at Hyunjin’s face. 

“Put a shirt on you heathen, we’re in the presence of a nice girl who’s helped you not get sick and you thank her by traumatizing her with your bare chest?” the same boy who has mentioned Hyunjin’s outfit- or lack thereof scoffs, “Apologies, he has no manners, I’m Yang Jeongin, unfortunately, i’m friends with the birthday boy so I will be taking responsibility for him” you smile at the boy, he seems sweet. Hyujin throws the sweater on, still carefully watching as everyone talks around him. 

“Please. Nice girl? Y/N spends half her time pants-less and the other half shirtless. If you think Hyune’s chest is traumatizing wait till you see her-” You give Seungmin a punch before he finishes his sentence, “SEE WHAT I MEAN? ANYTHING BUT NICE.” 

After that day the nine of you began to spend more time together. Hyunjin was often quiet, he enjoyed sitting back and observing the conversation. He’d speak up occasionally but most of the time it felt like he was studying everyone. Jisung had mentioned it for a long time Hyunjin just kept to himself. That was until he had started hanging around Jisung. Hyunjin had introduced him to Jeongin and from there the three of them had begun a small friendship. He mentioned how Hyunjin wasn’t usually this quiet around his friends and that maybe, he just needed to get used to the group. 

The more you spent time with the group including Hyunjin and Jeongin the more you got to know them (naturally as one would). You learned of Hyunjin’s love of art- and dance. You learned his favourite colours, foods, and seasons and that his favourite flower was the rose. You learned how he spoke softly around the group but when he spoke to you he was more- himself. He seemed to prefer one-on-one conversations to those with a group. He enjoyed watching everyone yell over each other but never wanted to speak over anyone. Oftentimes times the two of you would spend your time just talking to each other while the others yelled over one another. 

You got too close to him, too fast. You just didn’t know that at the time. 

He asked about your interests and your dreams, and he listened and responded thoughtfully to questions you’d ask. He’d bring you coffee and ask you to keep him company. You fell fast for him but you were only ever a good friend to him. 

“There’s this girl in my class.” Hyunjin sighs, “She’s sweet, cute. Her art is just, wow. She’s so talented, and I- god I feel so stupid Y/N” Your heart drops into your stomach. You lost him, yet he was never yours to lose. He’d always be your friend though right? So why does it feel like your heart just shattered? 

“You’re not stupid Jinnie, you admire her- so talk to her.” You smile as you bring the warm cup of coffee you’d been neglecting as you watched Hyunjn paint. 

“Should I?” He asks genuinely, and you nod. 

“Of course Jinnie,” 

The first date went well. Hyunjin came back to you and Jisung absolutely elated. He told the two of you how they had talked all night about art, their interests, and what they wanted to do in the future. He told you two how she had agreed to a second date and he how he hasn’t felt this excited about a girl in a while. He had unintentionally planted the seeds of your demise that night. Neither of you knew yet. 

By the third date, he had decided to officially ask her out. She said yes. She’d have been stupid to say no. That was the first time you felt the pain in your chest. You choked in attempts to take a breath, only to land yourself in a coughing fit- something stuck in your throat and you desperately forced the cough to rid yourself of it. You knew, yet what hurt the most was to see it fully. To fully let it sink in as you stared down at the rose petal covered in spit and blood laying on the palm of your hand. You cried for the first time over Hyunjin that night. 

Your group of nine had become a group of ten within a few weeks. Hyunjin brought his new girlfriend around quite often. He didn’t sit as close to you anymore, and when the group began to talk over each other he wouldn’t lean in to talk to you about how stupid they were all being. Instead, he whispered into her ear about- you wouldn’t know what. You watched, silently as your heart broke more. You could feel the sting in your chest, not only from the aching of heartbreak but the thorns puncturing your lungs as the roses grew. You excused yourself from the group, quietly heading to the furthest washroom in Chan's house. Heaving as you desperately tried to breathe, coughing up more of those delicate red rose petals. You didn’t think it would happen this fast. 

What neither you, nor Hyunjin noticed was the way Jisung watched you. Watched as the light in your eyes died out watching them- watched as you held back tears. He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to accept it. Maybe the disease hadn’t come? Yes you had the genes for it- but maybe just maybe he was so lucky that you were unaffected by it. You’d have told him if something happened. You’d have told him if you were coughing up petals. You were his best friend and he was yours. He trusted you more than anything to tell him. You would- You would tell him. 

Jisung coughed that night. A small, purplish-blue petal forced it’s way up his throat. He stared down at it in horror. You didn’t love him as he did you. 

Almost a month later, Hyunjin had come to you asking for a woman's opinion on what to get his girlfriend for their month anniversary. You smiled through it, and the two of you went shopping- sometimes you thought you could pretend this wasn’t happening. That it wasn’t this god-awful disease of unrequited love attacking you. Sometimes you’d pretend you just caught a bad cold, and that Hyunjin was still your Jinnie, your close friend. Someone you’d love as a friend forever, but- reality was never so kind. He’d mention something she’d done that made him happy, or he’d see something she may like and ask you for advice and you’d feel the thorns, the threat of the roots squeezing your lungs until they could no longer garner any oxygen. Excusing yourself to the nearest washroom and barely making it inside before you coughed up more of the rose petals, you found that as the condition worsened, the blood that was once just specks and spots came out in larger quantities as time went on. 

 You’ve begun to hate roses. 

“Oh sweetheart-” an elderly woman whispered as she watched you whimper over the sink, she wiped away the blood from your mouth with a paper towel. “You should have those removed my dear.” You nodded and walked away quietly as she stood and watched you. Pitying you. You made your way back to Hyunjin who stood waiting near the benches just before the washrooms, the elderly woman behind you following along, “Deary-” she called out, but stopped as she eyed down Hyunjin. “That cough is quite heavy, I’d suggest heading home alone- lest the boy catch anything.” She smiles softly. She knows. She extended her hand offering a mask, “Rid yourself of that cough dear, it’ll be best.” was the last thing she said before walking away. 

“A-are you sick? What cough? Y/N Should you be resting!? You could have told me!” Hyunjin panics, as he quickly brings a hand to your face to check your temperature “You don’t feel warm, common Let's get you some tea and then home-” He says grabbing your wrist and gently tugging you along. 

“I’m fine Hyunjin honestly.” you sigh. 

You hid yourself away for a week after that day. Hyunjin and Jisung regularly came to check up on you to make sure you were recovering from your cold well. You lied. Saying you were fine and healthy again, and they both believed you. 

Once more you found yourself with the other nine in Chan’s house. Everyone sat around playing cards. Drinking, overall having a good time. You tried hard never to laugh too hard- god forbid you coughed up a flower in front of everyone. When everyone got bored- the group moved from inside to Chan's backyard. Quickly he started up a fire for the night, you watched as the flames rose and danced around the air before dissipating into the night. 

“You guys are gross!” Jeongin yells as he runs out of Chan's house, “Someone tell Hyunjin to be less gross.” he complains, the group laughs. 

“What did he do now?” You smile- only to regret the question immediately. 

“He’s so fucking mushy, can you do all your I love you’s in private and not with the group- like god not everyone wants to see your pda and shit” Jeonging yells, Hyunjin slowly making his way outside with his girlfriend's hand in his- laughing. 

“Please Innie, you’ll understand when you’re in love.” He smiles. Thank god for the summer weather- a small gust of wind pushes the smoke from the fire into your face and your coughs are easily excused as getting a lung full of smoke. You excuse yourself to hide away and spit out the soggy petals into the toilet. Cleaning your mouth out and quickly swish mouth wash around in it to avoid the iron scent of blood within it. You slowly make your way outside where everyone was still chatting away.

“You guys hear about Yeonjun?” Seungmin sighs, 

“Terrible isn’t it?” Hyunjin’s girlfriend says softly, “Hanahaki. Rare but devastating. I heard he’s having the flowers removed.” 

“That’s better than suffering.” Chan sighs, “I mean- what would you guys do if you had the gene and then- you know-” 

“I’d have them removed.” Hyunjin’s girlfriend says, “I’d rather lose the memory of the person than to die by suffocation.” you wince at the thought and let out a small cough, and the attention turns to you.

“Sorry, it’s like when you talk about lice and you can’t help but itch-” you mutter, “Talking about Hanaki is particularly uncomfortable for Jisung and I-” you sigh, as the others look to Jisung. 

“Yeah uh- we both, have the gene- but there's no guarantee it will happen you know?” he smiles up at you, “I mean neither of us has started coughing up petals and we’ve been in relationships before ya know?” 

“Isn’t it like a love thing though, not just a puppy love but like- oh god this is so mushy but like true love?” Minho asks, 

“There is no real science behind it-” you say, “You never know who will trigger it- it just happens.” 

“What would you two do if it happened, if I may ask-” Felix mutters, 

“I wouldn’t remove them.” You sigh, the silence that follows is deafening, the only sound is that of that fire and the slight rustling of the leaves in the summer wind. 

“W-why not” Hyunjin stutters, “You’d rather die in love with someone who doesn’t love you back than to live a long life and possibly find someone else?” Hyunjin didn’t mean to sound like he was judging- but it hit hard, it still hurt, 

“The thing about removing it Hyune, is that removal affects everyone differently. Some- lose memories of the person they once loved. Everything about them just- poof, gone. Others- they uh-” Jisung tries, 

“They’ll never be able to feel love at all ever again.” You finish. 

“Oh.” Hyunjin mutters, “Well if either of you ever falls in love with someone that triggers it- tell us. Okay?” 

“I wouldn’t keep it from you guys- I’m sure we're fine!” Jisung smiles. What no one knew was that Jisung was suffering. Hiding away just as you were. Neither of you went to the other to tell them what was going on because Jisung would rather suffer than have you pity him for loving you all this time. You had fallen in love and he saw it, and you had survived- unaffected by your cursed genetics. So he would spare you the details, he wouldn’t allow you to witness him- wilting away as he desperately held on to you. Your last memories of him would not be of him coughing up flowers. God forbid you ever found out. He would not allow it. 

You could barely move, barely breathe. Your lungs hurt to take in air, the coughing never stopped yet still you pushed- and pushed. You tried so hard to be normal around your friends, but soon enough you couldn’t push anymore. You hid yourself away. Claiming to be busy with work- You ignored calls, and didn’t open the door when people came looking for you. The coughing was so bad and the blood loss made you feel dizzy. Your time was coming. You clicked your phone on and sent a quick message to your friends.

STRAYS

Y/N: Movie night, my place friday @ 6 please I’ve been so shit without y’all 

Minho: SHE LIVES! Bet! See you there! 

Felix: Im down! 

You ignored the rest of the incoming texts. You had a mission, two days to complete it and it required all of your strength. You got up from your bed, dragging your bucket of petals alongside you as you planted yourself in the living room and began to write. 

To: Chris. 

To:  Minho.

To: Changbin. 

To: Felix

To: Seungmin

To: Jeongin

To: Jisung

To: Hyunjin

To: Mom & Dad

The last three of your letters being the most important. You needed to take your time with those three.

Jisung had decided to head over early. He was coughing still but not too badly, he felt fine enough to go hang out with you for a bit and help you set up. You had been working so much he was glad to finally see you- he just wanted to be the first one to see you. He made his way up to your door- opting to knock first before letting himself in, but when you didn’t answer he made use of his key and made his way inside. The apartment was quiet and dark. Perhaps you weren’t home yet. He made his way into the living room and sat himself on the couch, taking out his phone to call you. The confusion hit more when he heard your phone buzzing, but there was no effort from you to answer the call. 

“Y/N?” Jisung called out, but you didn’t answer. He made his way to your bedroom, knocking on the door softly. Still, nothing. He pushed the door open and immediately his legs gave out. Eyes watering, the cough returning in full force. The screams Jisung let out were heartbreaking. And thats how everyone else found him. Screaming, crying, and coughing up bloodied flower petals. Chan rushed to him instantly, picking him up off the floor in front of your room, 

“Han!” Chan called out to him, “Han talk to me what happened?” only then did Chan look up, and see what Jisung was sobbing over. “Felix.” Chan held back his tears as much as he could as he looked to Jisung, “Felix come here and shut the fucking door to her room, shut it- shut it now!” He yelled out, as Felix rushed to the door, Hyunjin let go of his girlfriends hand, making his way slowly to your door but Jisung looked up and glared. 

“Get out.” He spat, “Get out!” 

“H-Han” Hyunjin said in confusion, 

“GET OUT HYUNJIN GET THE FUCK OUT YOU DON’T GET TO SEE HER, YOU DON’T GET TO FUCKING SEE HER” He screamed, attempting to lunge at Hyunjin, “IT’S YOUR FAULT- IT’S YOUR FAULT SHE’S DEAD- IT’S YOUR FAULT!” Jisung was yelling on pure adrenaline, his mind wasn’t processing the words he was saying to his best friend. He needed someone to blame, and Hyunjin just seemed like the best answer. 

“FELIX! CLOSE THE DAMN DOOR” Minho yelled out, 

“Dead..” Hyunjin looks into your room just as Felix closes the door, the only glimpse of you he got was your hand hanging off the bed. Jisung’s screams were interrupted by more coughing, petals spilling out of his mouth as he clutched his chest, heaving. It took a moment to process but it clicked. You were gone. and Jisung was dying. 

“Uh, guys. We uh- we can’t leave her like that.” Seungmin sighs, as tears slowly stream down his face. “I’m going to go call the cops.” 

You never got to put the card explaining to Jisung to wait a week before giving out the letters. It lay in your room while the box lay collecting dust in the living room. Where everyone sat waiting for the authorities to arrive. Minho was ultimately the one to hand out the letters to everyone sitting around. 

No one read them until they had gone home. 

The funeral was nice. Jisung thought there was a terrible irony in the flower arrangement that decorated your casket. To die by roses, only to be buried with them in the end. You’d have hated it. The group hadn’t really seen each other since that day. Some of them had tried checking up on Jisung having learned of his condition but he simply ignored them. He couldn’t bring himself to tell them he’d be meeting the same fate because everyone had the same questions. ‘Who is it Jisung? Maybe if we tell them.’ No one noticed how Jisung loved you. 

He stood alongside your family, as guests came and went paying their respects to your family, him as your lifelong best friend included. Chan came up first, said a few words to everyone before he disappeared back into the crowd. Seungmin and Jeonging were next. Minho and Changbin followed after. When Jisung had spotted Hyunjin making his way up slowly to your family he half expected his girlfriend to be following along, but she made no appearance. You never did give his name to your family. You didn’t want them to blame him. 

Jisung wanted to blame him, but he knew he couldn’t. Hyunjin just didn’t know. It wasn’t a lack of caring, it was the complete lack of knowledge and Jisung couldn’t blame him for that. 

“My name is Hwang Hyunjin,” he said softly, “I’m-” he choked on his words, “I did it to her-” he sobbed, bringing his hands up to cover his face as he hid in shame from your family, “I didn’t know- I swear- If I had-” your mother places a hand on his shoulder, in attempt to comfort him, 

“It wasn’t your fault,” was all she could say as Hyunjin sobbed. Jisung excuses himself from your family, motioning for Hyunjin to follow him. The two of them find an empty hallway to talk in. 

“Jisung?” Hyunjin sniffles, as he tries to wipe away his tears that seemingly won’t stop. 

“I watched her fall in love with you Hyunjin. I watched her love you with everything she had in her.” Jisung coughs, it hurts to cough up the tiny followers you loved so much. Would he be the next to go? Probably. Hyunjin’s eyes grow wide as he watches the dainty petals fall from Jisung’s lips. Tiny blue and purple petals- covered in spit and blood.

Jisung was tired. He was so tired.  

“You know she hid it from us all? She died alone Hyune,” He takes a deep breath in, Hyunjin could see the way Jisung struggles to breathe- two people. Two people in his life with the same disease, how could he have been so blind to it? 

“I-” Hyunjin stutters, it was his fault. It was all his fault. “I didn’t know- If I had known Jisung- I could have-”  

“That’s not how love works Hyunjin and you know it. She didn’t tell you because she didn’t want you to pity her, she didn’t tell you because she didn’t want you to force yourself to love her because she was dying.” Jisung lets out another loud cough. “I’m sorry you know?” 

“Sorry?” Hyunjin mutters, “For what? I should be the one apologizing.” 

“For saying it was your fault she died-” Jisung sighs, “It wasn’t, I should have noticed but it wasn’t your fault. She hid it for a reason.” 

“You know, the worst part is- I can’t win in this situation,” Hyunjin sighs as he leans against the wall, sinking down to the ground. “If I had known she liked me, I’d have asked her out-” Jisung looks to him confused, “I always thought she just saw me as a friend- as someone she was close to- never- as someone she could love like that.” Jisung watches as Hyunjin takes out a crumpled piece of paper out of his coat pocket, “Didn’t know till she wrote it all out and she was gone. Should have seen Jisu’s reaction when she found out.” 

“How is she by the way?” Jisung asks, 

“Wouldn’t know, we broke up. Couldn’t be with her after I killed someone- She couldn’t handle knowing her friend died because of me either. She liked Y/N a lot. They weren’t that close but she liked her.” Hyunjin shakily hands over the piece of paper to Jisung. 

Hyunjin, 

Where do I even start? I guess, I start with I’m sorry. Probably should have told everyone sooner. I hope you’re not blaming yourself. If you are- please don’t. Please, please don’t. It’s not your fault. You know, since they told me I had the gene, I was warned. Warned to keep my heart guarded, warned to keep myself safe, not to love just anyone. I don’t regret it you know? I don’t at all. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t expect you to tear down those walls I had so quickly, but still, I don’t regret letting you in. 

I guess you probably have a lot of questions huh? 

Firstly yes, your shirtlessness when we first met did traumatise me :) kidding. But seriously. I’m sure you have so many questions that I wish I could just answer for you but- they’re a bit complicated.  So ill answer the ones I can think of right now, 

Does it hurt? Unfortunately. These kinds of flowers are, beautiful. Truly a symbol of love, but also dangerous and-, I can feel them in my lungs. It does hurt but it's bearable. 

How long? I think the first time I coughed up a petal was when you first asked out Jisu. How long had I been into you? Well, I’m not sure, to be honest. I think I took a liking to you after we had met, but I definitely knew when we would spend days together in your studio and I’d watch you get lost in your canvass. (I hope you’re still painting, by the way, you’re so talented. Don’t ever stop please.) 

Am I scared? Terribly. I wish I told one of you sooner so I don’t have to do this alone- Jinnie I’m terrified.

Why didn’t I tell you? For a lot of reasons but honestly, because you looked so happy with Jisu! Gosh, I hope you two are okay right now- selfish of me to be confessing to you over a letter after I straight up died, but honestly, wholeheartedly I hope the two of you are happy! You deserve to love and be loved. I’ve never met anyone who sees so much beauty in falling in love- who thinks of it in such a fairytale way. You deserve to be happy, so I guess that’s why I didn’t say anything. She loves you, and you her. And knowing that you’re happy makes it easier for me to leave. 

Jisung pushes the paper back to Hyunjin, he can’t read anymore. 

“You know, she ended it with ‘I love you Jinnie, live happily for me, and love strongly for me’ and I couldn’t even do that for her,” Hyunjin says softly, Jisung could tell he was breaking inside. Jisung could also tell he’d read through that letter like his life depended on it, like it would keep him grounded. 

“You have time to live happily Hyune- to love for her. You still have time,” Jisung says, 

“What about you-” Hyunjin could feel the tears threatening to breach again, he couldn’t lose another person. Maybe he could help Jisung, maybe he could do something- anything to save him. 

“They can’t love me back.” He sighs, “It’s fine.” 

“Who is it?” Hyunjin asks, “Maybe we could talk to them or something. We both saw how not saying anything ends, maybe if we just get you to talk to-”

“I can’t Hyunjin,” Jisung says somewhat aggressively, “She can never love me back, it was too late even before-”

“No- Maybe they can! Maybe we can-” Hyunjin panics as he cuts off Jisung, he can’t lose his best friend, he can’t. “We- we can-” 

“HYUNJIN SHES DEAD. SHE CAN’T.” Jisung shouts, and it clicks for Hyunjin, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled, you’re scared and hurting. I know you just want to help but-” Jisung choked as he coughed, “There’s no helping this one and I think what hurts the most Hyune- is that loving you killed her faster than loving her is killing me," Jisung sighs, 

"What do you mean?" 

"I found her in full bloom. She had a rose bush growing inside her, thorns and all" Jisung sighs, “Roses out of her mouth, and chest- You know people romanticize it like it’s some beautiful display, but no one seems to remember how much blood comes with your chest bursting with flowers.” Jisung shutters. 

"R-roses.." Hyunjin stutters

"Yeah- fuck I shouldn’t have said that- sorry." 

"No- I just- wish I knew sooner." Hyunjin is about to burst, with more tears. He knows what Jisung is saying isn’t to place blame on him, but to help him understand what he was going through- what you went through, he also knew Jisung didn’t always know how to explain his feelings fully- but it didn’t make it hurt any less, it didn’t make him blame himself any less either  "What about you then-"

"Forget me not’s. small, but invasive. they spread fast - definitely not as painful as a rose but- still they hurt.  I’ll have them removed soon.” Jisung sighs, 

“You’re gonna do the surgery?” Hyunjin looks to Jisung, like he has some sort of hope in his eyes, and it kills Jisung inside, but he simply nods. 

It was getting harder to breathe as he stared down at the contract. Jisung knew this would be it. Removing them would only lead to him forgetting you. Forgetting how he loved you. Forgetting your smile, your laugh. How when you were happy you’d scrunch your nose. Or when you were upset or sad or had too much on your mind your leg would bounce subtly. 

Would Hyunjin had noticed all of these things? 

God. Jisung thought to himself. He should have just told you. 

He stared down at the contract once more, A violent coughing fit threatened to breach but he knew it wouldn’t ever feel better. The roots were already too far gone, hugging his lungs tight. Every day he could feel the small purple and blue forget-me-nots making their way up his throat threatening to burst out of his chest and mouth in full bloom. 

Slowly he rises from his seat. 

It’s time. 

Jisung never did sign the contract. Opting to go home. Lay down. And hug your sweater and one other thing that reminded him of you. 

“You always said you’d follow me to the ends of the earth” You smiled, a gentle one at him as get let out a breath. “Lets go?” and he did, he followed you to the ends of the earth. 

Hyunjin couldn’t even scream, something blocked out the screams he so desperately wanted to let out. His heart shattered. He could feel the physical pain of it breaking within his chest.

 Hyunjin found Jisung clutching a photo of you and him as kids. On the back, in pen, he had written his last words. 

If I have to let you go, I’d rather be dead.

Tag List: @chanlixiiee @amalieworldidk @jaebaebaegot7 @maeleelee @iadorethemskz @maenijw @hangin-out-with-the-street-rats @jinniespuppy @painstakingly-juno @lethallyprotected @elizalabs3 @jisungsbff01 @seungminslittlepup @lieghscloud @foxinnie8 @scarletbedlam @kpoppin-to-the-beat @stay-berry @bbymatz @kurxxmi

[joannasteez]

WIP WEDNESDAY!

thanks for the tag! @harmshake a little lumberjack!roman i’ve been slowly chippin away at, i have no clue when this will be ready to post but i dont know, maybe its worth a share of what i have so far

his beer is cold. wet glass slipping against his skin. a crisp hoppy taste on his tongue that settles till his belly excites with warm. the ache in his hands seeking a temporary remedy, holding to the chill of the bottle. thick fingers working with a diligent memory of axes and chainsaws. an all day affair thats old and tedious. the smell of walnut and oak and maple, chips of fly away wood and the hard sun. a good cold beer after a hard day was a must. mandatory. so friday's meant a beer plus two extra. but never four because jey always overdid shit and he had to be the dad of the group. had to take care of baby boy jey. and sometimes seth. and sometimes dean. because dean loved to play and fuck around, car keys jingling between the saucy slip of his fingers, feigning the mind of a sober man and the reckless lust of a drunk one. cackling and teary eyed, because panic about roman's face was just so fucking funny.

lucy's is a town bar. built dead center and extremely assessable. and lucy's has everything. karaoke for jimmy & jey, darts for seth and solo, pool for dean, and nice comfy worn leather booths for roman. his favorite booth on the far left side of lucy's, tucked up against the wall. equidistant from the bathroom set behind the karaoke stage and the bar. where his quiet half sleepy eyes could roam and observe. a little people watching as he sips the gold-ish brew. nibbling at almost soggy nachos and pulling loose the tight knot holding his hair. oak wood from day labor soaking through the inky thickness of it. listening to dean and seth complain about management. because if they weren't at work, they were off the clock rambling and ranting about work. a cyclic state of affairs that started and ended the same way.

first seth. that half snarly little grimace. hair rolled up in a top bun. voice raspy and raw.

"...because how the fuck are you never actually in office and thee greatest-most idiotic micro manager ever, he needs to pick a damn struggle...

and then dean. his finger running to scratch against his auburn beard. just as pissed. words slightly slurred.

"...and then had the absolute gaul to tell me how to do my job. that piece of shit prick never held an axe or a chainsaw in his damn life. goddamn third generation wood chippin dick..."

and roman laughs. his eyes wrinkling. sipping and chewing and falling into the recurrence of every friday night.

"...and his little assistant, who he's totally nailing by the way, i hear her screeching like a damn banshee whenever he's actually in office, had the nerve... the unmitigated nerve to send around a birthday card asking for small donations and to write him a message..."

and dean cackles. gasps from disbelief and leans into roman's shoulder. his forehead banging lightly into the wood of the table. empty beer bottles rattling from his show of contempt.

"...boys i swear, i promise the two of you, they both can get an expedited shipment of my fat cock to suck dry if they think i'm putting two of my very hard earned dollars into a target card for his birthday. his pops should've kept him swimmin in his balls..."

roman smiles. his eyes roaming about lucy's. towards the peace of the bar. his favorite little bartender hard at work. smiling and mixing away.

and here comes the turning over into the second bit of his friday night cyclic affair. a from afar trailing of the eyes, sneaky bouts of admiration sweetened by the beer fizzling his blood. and God do you look sweet. a friendly toothy little smile that piques his curiosity. plush lips, round eyes and fanning lashes that leave you looking delicate. he's unsure though, it could be the beer, the droning of the bar and the exhaustion in his shoulders. tight and soldering to his bones. it all could be feeding his mild delusions. making you look more angelic than you could be, a projection of dreams born from some long avoided longing. and when you finally commit yourself to seeking out the source of such an ardent sensation only the eyes of another can give, you meet him. a glass in your hand and curiosity about your face. so clearly in bartender mode. gauging patron based needs, before the inevitable look away. your lips bitten and a smile threatening to break.

but it never becomes anything more than this tit for tat of a moment. lingering eyes and unspoken things.  something threatening to edge the course of friendly and cautious. your smile seeming to only do him a favor. a courtesy. because he probably wasn't the first man to have such a silent high school adjacent crush on his local bartender and he for sure wouldn't be the last. and no one will ever hear him say it but roman isn't too keen on rejection. he rather live with your cautious little smiles. a short tuck away into his back pocket as he sips at his beer. he'll add it to store away for later, when he's alone with silence and the beginnings of bedtime fantasies.

no pressure tags: @kill-the-artiste @thesamoanqueen and anyone else who’d like to participate!

[wavesmp3]

sliver of time | 1k | post apocalyptic, minor character death | soonyoung x reader, side seungcheol x reader

for a sliver of time, you had the disillusioned assumption that love would always be the answer. that it would be there, in every corner and in every second of every day, haunting your life, creeping up in dark corners, possessing you on a sleepless night. and it does that–or, at least, it had–for many, many years that have all since slipped away into something akin to a dream. at 9 years old, you had your first crush, mingyu. brown hair, brown eyes, big arms, small head. at 17, you fall in love, seungcheol, a senior, butterflies, insecurities. and at 19, a decade later, you lay up at night, on your side, asking yourself what was real, if anything, screaming for something to hold, crying for something to matter, and begging for love to reappear like an old friend, hand in hand, a center, sturdy, yours.

but when, at 20, the world turns belly side up, lips parted to swallow you and everything you’ve ever called yours whole, love doesn’t extend its hand out to you, nor does it hold you near and dear. instead, it retreats to a dark corner of your mind and whispers, fuck you.

so, maybe love isn’t always the way. the world goes up in flames and you decide to take what you used to know of it and bend it to fit what is.

you’re 22 now. you meet soonyoung. you think you see love, tousled between his locks of hair, wedged into his backpack filled with shit you would have thrown out a year ago–receipts, cards, pictures. a tear falls from your eye. he asks if you’re okay. you blink and the love you thought you saw withers away. there’s blood on his chin. a gun in his hand.

“do you ever feel like you can see shit that doesn’t exist?”

he doesn’t flinch at your question; he laughs. “yeah, like, every time i look in the mirror.”

you can’t tell if he means that he shouldn’t exist or that he doesn’t want to. you don’t find out. instead, he asks where you’re going. “west.”

“what’s west?”

“the sea.”

he laughs again. in the back of your mind, you think that he laughs too much. say what you fucking think, you want to scream. “what?”

he shrugs. “i expected something different.”

“like what?”

“like safety.”

you don’t say anything. safety was the second thing to retreat when the world changed. the fifth thing you bent out of shape to fit the world as it is. the ‘y’ turned upside down, the ‘s’ and ‘t’ pushed away, the rest rearranged and twisted. safety became fear, which fit better at the time. it kept you awake, alive. fear you decided to save; safety you threw away forever by day three.

you cock your gun. “what about you?”

he pulls one of those washed up pictures from his back pocket. “looking for a friend.” you peer over at it, piecing together a face from the faded spots and red splotches. and it hits you all at once, painless but still like a goddamn fucking train. butterflies and insecurities. butterflies and insecurities. a memory resurfaces–a fast press of lips, a smile, the slam of a door shut in your face, a scream, yours or his–you’re still not sure, but what does it fucking matter compared to the flood of blood that runs in through the gap undearneath, pools at your feet, and bleeds all the way through your sneakers. no, you can’t bend this memory out of the world no matter how fiercely you’ve tried to. there’s no rearrangement of anything that can make you forget the feeling of washing his blood off your feet.

you bore into a picture of your first love and fight the urge to vomit.

soonyoung sounds like a kid, hopeful and stupid, when he asks, “do you know him?”

you swore an oath to honesty in third grade. you meant it. you didn’t lie to your parents. you never lied to your friends. even now, post the world of before and right in the middle of the one you’ve made fit, when it would have been the kinder thing to do, you don’t lie to yourself. so you’re not really sure why you look up at the boy, and shake your head. “never seen him.”

he cocks his head to the side. “really?” and there’s something in the way he says it, the lilt in his voice or the twitch of his hand, that makes you think he knows more than he’s letting on. he hands you a letter, sealed. you stare at seungcheol’s handwriting on the face of it, straight and short, your name spelled out, the first time you’ve seen it written in years. “cause he told me to give you this.” the words escape you, running past your throat, wedging themselves into the lining of your stomach. the paper suddenly turns flimsy in your hands, slick with some substance. soonyoung pulls it away from under your eyes. he puts his hands on your shoulders, looks you straight in the eyes and says, “he didn’t die that day.” you ignore the words, snatching the letter back and unfolding the flaps of paper. and there, like some kind of impractical joke, seungcheol has written: maybe love isn’t always the way, but i’d still take your lips any day. soonyoung’s voice breaks. “he died yesterday.”

you look up again at him. there it is. you know it so well. love was there. it existed. but it’s since packed up it’s shit and left. love does that. disappears in the middle of it. you cup soonyoung’s cheek in your hand, inching just barely towards him. you nod at the blood on his chin. “is that his?” he doesn’t respond, but he does nod. so you block the tears streaming down his face and press your lips against the stain.

[pupyr0arz]

May we have a crumb of kidnapper!Gaz cuddling with his beloved? After bringing them nice gifts just bc so ofc theyd let him love on them bc he treats them like a deity?

Ask and ye shall receive 🫡 it gets there eventually. I might write more straight fluff after this.

He watches as you flip through the glossy catalogue. He gives you new ones every other day, it feels, leaflets and cutouts and magazines. Women’s clothing, men’s clothing, food, perfume, watches for you to show any interest in any of the pictures. He still doesn’t trust you with anything electronic, even with him in the room, and gave you a tight smile when you asked. You ignore the guilt you feel for bothering him about his rules, the welling shame that he’s stressed over you when you refuse to eat. Leftover, misplaced reactions. You haven’t seen another  in months, it feels, he’s taken up the spots of your friends and family when you got particularly depressed, and you’re stupid brain is transferring that onto him.

You snap out the scented cardpaper that came with the magazine, activating it with a rub of your fingernail. It smells like flowers more than it does chemicals, hearty and thick. He doesn’t seem to have much of a budget, like some kind of cartoonish villain that spawned from somewhere. Some lonely rich man refusing to fed his dog anything but imported caviar. 

“Do you like it?” He interjects, leaning forwards with his hands on his thighs. They twitch, and you know he wants to grab you, but he doesn’t touch you. He never does. What kind of man kidnaps someone, and then respects their boundaries afterwards? “It’s a nice brand.” He encourages, like he’s asking a toddler to eat their vegetables, like when he’s bothering you about your health. “I’ve found myself a fan.”

You already know he wears perfume. You set the card down before you crush it, not wanting to dwell on that memory with him in the room. “I think it’s fine.” You say roughly, and you know you’ll wake up with it on your nightstand like everything you show the tiniest smidge of approval for. The angry tone of your train of thought sputters and stops as a smile breaks out over his face, eyes softening. 

“Thank you,” he says like you’ve just jumped into traffic to save his dog’s life, and you have to cling on to the head of resentment that he’s doing this to fuck with you. It’s the only thing in this goddamn room you can hold on to, your fingers will slip on silk sheets and his stupid outfits and nice words.

“When do I get out of the dungen?” You prod, and a flash of annoyance crosses his face. He hates what you call ‘your room’, carefully insists upon it being your home now, like some kind of refuge. You aren’t of the opinion that anything involving chloroform counts. 

“Sweetness,I want you to get settled in first, you know that.” He chides softly. He doesn’t yell, doesn’t hit you, doesn’t do a goddamn thing but treat you like some fucked up stray he picked up off the street. Your eyes dart to his hand. He doesn’t have a bandage there anymore, and you resist the impulse to reach out, open the floodgates and feel for any remaining damage. “You don’t need to be more stressed than you already are. I promise, when you’re feeling up to it I’ll take you out. Wherever you want.”

“My house?” You jab and he leans back, gives you a conflicted look like he cares and you cut him off. “What if I never get better?”

His brow furrows. “You’re improving.” He says, but you have him on the back foot now.

“It’s been months, hasn’t it? I’m still not ‘adjusted’.” The magazine crumples in your fist. “What if I don’t break like you want me to? If you can’t fuckng Stockholm syndrome me into your pet?”

Kyle doesn’t look scared, or even upset. His face had smoothed out sometime during your rant into warm, affectionate amusement. “Darling,” he says, tone indulgent, “My career gives me some insight here. We might be taking it slow, but you’ve made so much progress. We’ve made so much progress.” He gets off of the bed, raising a hand to cut off your attempt at retort. His anxiety is replaced with his calm, confident conviction. 

“I promise, everything is going to work out like I told you.” He pauses, and adds in a more condescending voice, “do you think I  don’t know what I’m doing?”

You drop the baller up magazine on the ground, bile welling up in your throat, and flop onto your bed. You bury your face into your soft pillows like some kind of stupid teenager, fear and helplessness making you clench your fists because he believes it, he absolutely believes it'll work, that he can wear you down, and he’s not going to let you go. 

He picks up the magazine before he leaves. He’ll be back in what you’ve taken to calling half an hour, give or take, ready to start prying at you again. It’s still at least eight more days of this before you have the chance for a short break, if he vanishes off to work where he studies psychological torture and kills people with the million guns in his car.

You can’t help but believe it too.

—

You wake up feeling uniquely reckless. You’re alone right now, which is probably better because if he was here you might lung at him, if just to soothe the unplaceable itch underneath your skin. You can’t help but think of it as a game some days, some fucked up chess where you gain some by lashing out but lose more because of the way he smiles at you while he holds an ice pack to your jaw, apologizes for holding you down while you scream and thrash at him.

You want to tear up your sheets, but you can’t muster up the energy when he’ll have them replaced without a second glance. It feels like you can’t make mistakes here, like he doesn’t want a single thing from you.

You know what he wants.

You roll out of bed, flipping off the security camera in the teddy bear on your nightstand. He coats everything he does in pastels 

and soft words and sweet things and it’s like punching a goddamn pillow. Not a speck of resistance, not a sign you’re making progress convincing him you’re a bad captive to have. 

You take a sandwich and a carton of milk out of your mini-fridge, wanting to get it out of the way before he decided to come down and needle you to stick to your meal plan. You sit down at your little dolls-table, on your little dolls-chair with your plastic utensils. Maybe if you’re lucky he’ll go out today, leave you in the quiet for a few days. Long enough to remind yourself that glass breaks and you can bleed without him there to wipe everything spotless. Short enough that you don’t start rotting inside. It’s never that lucky, you’re always left trying to keep from watching the door, pretending you don’t hope that it’s his smiling face ready to carve away your memories of times without him.

You don’t know how many more points of failure you have left in you before you have to give up the ghost. You unclench your jaw, sticking your tongue beneath your teeth so you don’t grind your teeth together. You’re developing too many stress habits. He doesn’t tell you you’re being hysterical, but as you sit on a cushioned seat in a room full of all your favorite things, while eating your favorite foods, you’re starting to forget the taste of chloroform.

—

You wake to the side of your bed dipping under Kyle’s weight. He smells like gunpowder and wet leather, unfamiliar and harsh in the enclosed vivarium that’s become your home. Kyle’s wearing his outside clothes, usually so careful to keep the glossy barrier separating you from his work intact. You stare into the dark, not turning over as your limbs lock. Old, bad habits. He knows you’re awake.

“Sweetness,” he mutters in the dark, “can I touch?” He doesn’t say please, but you can imagine the word hanging heavy behind his lips, his pleading eyes locked on you.

“Yeah,” you mutter back, rolling onto your back. His hands come up immediately, shoving under your shirt and you yelp at the touch of his icy fingertips. Kyle tuts, pressing his head into your cheek, shushing you like some hysterical mutt. He’s glued to you in what must be seconds, determined to tangle your limbs together like every time he touches you it’s the last. 

It doesn’t burn, but it melts something in you, angry scattered half thoughts of pushing Kyle away or denying him crumbling into inconceivable dust when he presses a sweet kiss to your cheek. Tentatively, you twine your fingers with him and his breath hitches, and then he sighs, ecstasy incarnate, relaxing on you with his full weight.

“I love you,” Kyle tells you like it’s a secret every time, like the words are something he’s stolen and fought and killed for. He has, and he’s come to present them to you like the jewels and the books and the presents. “I love you with my whole heart, every inch.”

You swallow, tucking Kyle’s head under your chin, feeling the warmth of his breath on your neck. “Okay,” you say, your voice very small and not quite there, but Kyle’s hand squeezes painfully tight for just a second. It’s the first time you’ve said a single word when he tells you, and you know it’s as good as at this point.

“So much,” Kyle says, voice wrecked like you’ve done something to him, tugging him undone with just your voice.

“Yeah.”

[rayclubs]

The thing about the Chimera Ant arc is, people call it the most heartbreaking and dark but more named protagonists die in Yorkshin. Gon is hurt badly but recovers afterwards, Knov is traumatized but lives with it, a bunch of people are injured but they all survive. Even Kaito lives. Sure, a whole bunch of ants die, but there was hardly a different outcome to be expected. I'm sure nobody was waiting for Leor or Cheetu to learn kindness. Hell, even if they did, they're not, like, the Phantom Troupe level of endearing, they're practically side characters.

Netero dies, and I'm sure someone was emotionally attached to him, but I know I wasn't. It's sad, yeah, but it's cool to watch too, and he goes out with a bang (ha!), so it can be counted as a triumphant moment.

The royal guards die, but, again, was there really any other outcome for them? I was half-expecting Youpi to gain self-awareness and fuck off into the sunset but ah well, it's not as though I was rooting for him. Pitou was doomed from the start, and Pouf, well, I want to put Pouf through the meat grinder, wings and all.

I think the Chimera Arc goes hard not because it's dark and gritty but because it's a masterful lesson in suspense. I'm only slightly exaggerating when I tell you I was shitting my goddamn pants when Knuckle went to punch Youpi and nearly #gotkilled, or every time Meleoron ran out of air, or when Knov snuck into the palace, or when Palm saw Pitou's En, or when Shoot was fighting, or when Youpi told Knuckle to remove Hakoware (dunno what the thing itself is called in English, it's PPS in the Russian subs so I call it Pipis. Anyway) or when I thought Morel was going to fucking die for some reason?

Like, okay, I first watched HxH years ago, when I was a kid, and while I remembered a decent amount of things, I sure didn't remember everything. So when I started the Chimera Ant arc on rewatch, I remembered two things about Morel: I loved him and he fucking died??? I don't know where I got that from, I watched it through and through, Alluka's arc and all, yet I was convinced he was doomed. There was maybe an inkling of suspicion in my mind because I couldn't remember why I loved him so much, but then the Colt and Reina scene happened and I was like. Oh. Ohhh. So my memory IS right on this. Fast-forward to his fight with Leor and I'm screaming at my screen thinking this is it, I remember this, this is where he dies, I'm like 99% sure. And what do you know? Bitch made it out unscathed. Holy shit.

Anyhow, the Chimera Ant arc goes hard because the author understands plot armor and deliberately endears to the audience a cast of characters who aren't wearing it. You don't fear for Killua's life because Killua has plot armor, you know he's not gonna die, it's the rules. You know who isn't immune to being repatriated to the Underworld? Fucking nearly everyone else.

HxH is also very good at making the protagonist not the protagonist. Gon really shines during the Hunter Exam or the Greed Island arcs, but the main character of the Yorkshin arc is Kurapika, and the main character of Alluka's arc is Killua, and the main character of the Chimera Ant arc is... Well, there's a discussion to be had about this, but I think it's Knuckle. He has that anime protag rizz, y'know? He has a rival-slash-foil in Shoot, he has a mentor figure in Morel, his ability is treated as a trump card for the longest time, he stays on the battlefield nearly untill the end, he's the protag, and, very notably, he's a protag who is NOT wearing plot armor. That's why the arc hits hard. That's why everybody thinks it's the darkest. It's a narrative trick.

[juletheghoul]

Bravo, Dieter.

Authors note: I'm just as surprised to be here as you are. We're starting the year off with a bang, writing for a character I've only ever done half a drabble of lol, hopefully you enjoy what I came up with. As always, thank you @wheresarizona for beta-ing and letting me exorcise my demons through you. Shoutout to @frannyzooey for her unending support, and to my literal wife @foli-vora for screaming reassurances at me (affectionately) Love y'all!

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: a sprinkle of angst (Dieter is a dummy- no specifics, I left whatever dumb comment he said up to your interpretation), 18+ no minors, piv sex, dirty talk, feelings? let me know if I missed any!

Masterlist

-----

There were twelve of them, twelve absolutely perfect roses wrapped up in expensive-looking brown paper, and they made you sigh. There was only one person who could have sent them. 

Goddamn it, Dieter.

There was a card tucked between the blood-red blooms, three little words.

“Text me back.♥️”

Your blood boiled, fizzled, and cracked under the strength of your annoyance, and without giving it much thought, you marched right over to the garbage can and shoved everything in, vowing silently to put it out of your mind. 

Three days passed before the second, bigger bouquet arrived at your door—more roses, bigger and somehow more lush than the first bouquet. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. Please talk to me. ♥️♥️♥️”

They went into the trash with a roll of your eyes, ignoring the slight flicker of guilt at the waste of such beautiful flowers. Still, the memory of his words came back into the forefront of your mind, compounding the sentiment that they had no place amongst your things. 

Two days later, another gorgeous arrangement sat on your kitchen counter, this time an array of different colours and textures; a work of art. 

“Nothing in this world feels like you. Let’s kiss.♥️”

Your eyes close, and you can feel him, feel the way his mouth moved against yours, how he’d kiss you until you dripped for him. How sweetly his tongue moved against yours, against your nipple, between your legs. The flowers were on the receiving end of the daggers in your eyes for him, but they stayed on the counter. 

The fourth bouquet was the epitome of excess. 

It was massive, almost too heavy, and it was only with sheer determination that you managed to heave it onto the counter. A storm of white blooms contained within a surprisingly tasteful black vessel. Orchids, roses–peonies that were almost fluffy, a baby’s breath halo. 

“I miss how wet your pussy gets for me.♥️” 

A gasp. A widening of your eyes and more memories of the times he pulled you apart in your bedroom, in his. 

Your fingers fly across the keys on your phone. 

[you] Dieter, enough. 

[D] I knew that last note would get you.

[you] Stop sending me fucking flowers.

[D] Forgive me. I miss you, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.

You chewed on your lip, anger burning white hot in your gut that he managed to get you speaking to him once again. It was in you to turn off your phone and head out, grab a drink with some friends, or indulge in some retail therapy, but you didn’t. You wouldn’t. Truth was, you missed him too, missed whatever arrangement you’d both somehow found yourselves in after one too many flirty comments, one too many lonely nights. 

[you] it seemed like you did. You really hurt my feelings, and I don’t want to deal with it if that’s how it’s going to be. 

You stared at your phone, wondering whether you truly preferred cutting all ties. 

[D] I know, I really am sorry–let me come over. We can talk about it, and I can apologize in person. 

You hesitated, knowing full well what would happen if you let him in. 

[you] just to talk…? 

[D] Yes, just to talk…be there in 20 mins?

[you] Fine. 

[D] see you soon xo

You rushed to your bathroom, ignoring the excitement and arousal burning in your belly as you jumped into the shower. 

All too soon, there’s a knock at the door, and it’s almost irritating how fast you move to answer it.

“Hi, babe.” He’s leaning against the doorframe with a cheeky little smile, and you long to smack it off his face; he must see it because the smile vanishes and is replaced with a boyish frown. 

A cat caught with the canary. 

“Don’t ‘babe’ me, Dieter.” You move to let him in, and the smell of his body wash makes you salivate.

You ignore it.

“Look, I know it was a stupid thing to say. I don’t even know why I said it. I didn’t mean it at all—can we please just forget it happened?” His voice is velvet, his shoulders are so broad, and it’s not lost on you that he’s wearing a baggy pair of sweats with an even baggier sweatshirt. The outline of his cock a calculated taunt.

You cross your arms and turn away. 

“It was mean. So fucking mean, and it made me feel horrible.” Your voice comes out smaller than you mean it to, a true glimpse into how hurt you were. You feel his broadness behind you. 

“I know, it was so stupid, I’m stupid sometimes—I regretted it as I was saying it. I didn’t mean it at all.” His big hands skate across your shoulders, slowly turning you to face him. “Can you forgive me?” He’s staring at your mouth, and you almost pant. He’s so close, he smells so fucking good, and every molecule of your being screams at you to just give in. 

He senses it.

His hands slide down your sides, grabbing onto your hips softly as he pulls you ever closer. His head dips, and he plants a soft kiss on your neck. The sigh you let out fills the dwindling space between you, involuntary. Just like the way your head moves almost imperceptibly to the side to give him more access, he doesn’t disappoint.

“Forgive me?” He kisses your jaw, moving up towards your ear. “I missed you so much.” He bites your earlobe while his hands move to grab at your ass. “Did you miss me?” He moves to the other side, repeating the same circuit before he looks you in the eye.

Your slightly parted lips and glazed-over expression are all the confirmation he needs to know he’s been forgiven. 

He presses his lips to yours softly, so soft it almost tickles, and he swallows the small whimper it pulls out from your throat. 

He presses himself closer still, the wall of his chest pressed up against you tight. His kiss turns from something soft to all-consuming, something breathless.

“I thought-“ he moves to kiss your neck again. “-you only came to talk.” Your hands move without your permission, fingers threading through the wild locks of his hair. 

“We did talk.” His tongue is in your mouth now, and it tastes like the gum he always chews, minty and sweet. “I wanna kiss now.” He devours you again as his hand creeps up your shirt, and now the cup of your bra is being pulled down. His tongue moves against yours while his fingers pluck at your nipple.

You moan, and it spurs him on, his cock hard against your hip, and suddenly you're herded towards the bedroom, only stopping every so often en route for him to press you against a wall or door. His hands are always moving, always grabbing and palming. 

You land in your bed with a soft gasp, but he doesn’t let you land alone; he’s right there with you. The look of triumph shining out through his dark eyes, lidded with the same passion that presses against your core when he slots his hips in the cradle of your thighs. A soft hum from him, a panted breath from you, and the whisper of skin moving against the now-rumpled sheets of your bed are the soundtrack to your reunion. 

He pulls away, and you chase his mouth, any anger left overtaken by lust. He laughs low, not unkindly, moving to kneel between your legs as you stretch out before him. His eyes follow the movement of your body, plotting how he’ll devour you.

He smiles as he divests you of your layers, unwrapping you like a present, and as they come off, your arousal burns brighter, pools at your opening like a spring just for him. 

“Admit it-you missed me.” He’s almost breathless, his fingers curl around the waistband of your panties. 

“Obviously.” You grit out the word, raising your hips to help him, and he lets out a bark of laughter. “I don’t need your smugness, mister.” You reach up to pull his shirt up and off, and he lets you. The broadness of his shoulders, and the golden skin on display, almost makes you sigh.

“I like that you missed me-“ he lifts your leg by your knee and the flash of his rings catches your eye before he places a soft kiss on your calf. “-makes me hard as a fucking rock.” He wasn’t lying; you could see the proof of it tenting the front of his sweats.

“Show me how much you like it.” You match his tone, reaching up to run your fingers down his belly, through the little patch of hair, and further down until you tease at his waistband.

“Pull me out.” His words send a thrill through you, and you rush to comply, relishing the look on his face when you finally wrap your hand around the heft of him. His low moan goes straight to your cunt when you rub your thumb through the pearl of his own arousal, giving him a quick stroke before he pulls his sweats down and off. 

His cock bobs in front, resting against your wet center when he gets back into position, hot and heavy, and by the way your heart is pounding, he can surely feel it even there-all for him. He spreads your legs open and up, bending them at the knees and holding them tight to your chest with his big hands on your shins. 

“God, you’re so fucking wet. I bet I could just slip right in, wouldn’t even need my hands.” He rocks himself back and forth slowly, coating himself in your liquid heat, his eyes glued to your cunt. You writhe, whining with frustration. He lets out a tsk, drunk on his ability to get you into this state. One of his hands moves, and then his thumb is circling your perky little clit, dizzying circles, while his cock rests just at the mouth of your pussy, the thickness of him opening you up like a flower. He leans forward slightly, letting his spit drip down where his thumb is, and it’s like you're drowning in him. 

Your hands pluck at your nipples as the circling of his thumb pushes you closer and closer towards nirvana.

“God, yes, play with your tits.” He swirls his thumb faster, the glide of it just right—and then you’re floating, gifting him with a filthy moan as your cunt clenches, all but pulling him inside. He doesn’t wait until your orgasm passes; he feeds himself into your fluttering entrance, and his earlier musing was correct-he slides right in. 

“Fuck.” His voice is low, the bravado gone, lost in the proverbial sauce as he coats himself in you. He speeds up quickly, unable—or unwilling to pace himself. His eyes are glazed over when he looks up at you, a gorgeous flush creeping up his chest, lighting up his cheeks and his ears. His panting breath, the wet sounds of your joining, and your gasping moans all come together to make the song that always plays whenever he’s with you. 

“I’m gonna fucking come-“ he sounds wrecked, and he is- his hips snapping faster now, the wet clutch of your cunt casts its spell on him, and within a handful of thrusts, he’s groaning, his hand leaves your shin and moves to hold himself as he comes. The first spurt of it is inside, but he pulls out and finishes on the lips of your sex, and you know this is his favourite part. 

“Oh fuckkk, there it is-“ He groans out the words, and his voice is somehow more vulgar than the act, mesmerized by the sight of your pussy covered in his come. “God, I fucking missed that.” He hisses, enduring the discomfort of overstimulation just to rub himself in his own mess. 

“I missed it too.” You’re sated, basking in the afterglow, loving the mess just as much as he does. He smiles up at you, and you ignore the way your heart pounds for him.

“I know you did.” He’s not cocky when he says it, and it makes ignoring the pounding harder than it should. His fingers collect some of his fluids and push it back in, as deep as his thick fingers can get, before popping them into his mouth, pulling an involuntary moan. “Give me a few, and then I’ll fuck you on your knees how you like.” He leans forward to lay between your legs, kissing his way up from your sternum to plant one of those toe-curling kisses on your mouth once more.

“What a gentleman.” You wrap your arms and legs around him, relishing his dimpled smile. 

“You should know-“ he frowns now, eyes darting, and you know what he’s thinking, wondering if maybe there’s a pounding he’s ignoring. 

“You’re forgiven, Dieter, it’s okay. Just stop sending me flowers.” You run your fingers through his hair; nothing else needs to be said on the matter, and for the rest of the night-there isn’t.

--------------------

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[promptcontainmentzone]

FALLOUT: NEW VEGAS SENTENCE STARTERS. warnings for: guns, violence, death, murder.

What in the goddamn…?

Let's keep this in the groove, hey? Smooth moves, like smooth little babies...

Baby, the odds may look long, but that's just because we ain't done rigging them. I won't toss the dice until we are.

Look, I ain't a harbor for illusions. I ain't expecting to get out of this shin-dig alive.

Can you spell detention? I'll tell you how I spell it: DEATHtention.

You are in the LIBRARY. Be quiet here and filled with SHHHHH.

I am lord of this institution. Where once, long ago, I was a student here. Now, I am its OMNIPOTENT GOD-PRINCIPAL.

______, you're about to have your FAVORITE treat - a VISITOR. Won't that be nice? DON'T eat the visitor, boy. Don't. Please.

What YOU ask is of NULL importance! _____ besieges us, there are more important things to worry about than DATA and FACTS!

ENOUGH! Stop filling my precious brain cell units with irrelevant data!

And… I wonder why it didn't hit me before, until I saw that memory in your hands.

How gracious of you. A mannerly killing.

Can't have brains moving around of their own volition.

In short: Brains, a heart, and courage... spine. I think there was a story once where a band of murderous thugs sought these things.

The ghosts aren't real? That changes everything.

Baby, this little reunion of ours? Chalk me up as a no-show.

I'm familiar with the care and handling of explosives.

How hard can it be? Just light them and throw.

I'd love to debate you on this, but there's no time.

No way. I'm not going to torch myself for your amusement.

It would be pretty funny, wouldn't it? Oh, don't look at me that way. I'm sure you'll be fine.

_____ is dead - what a mess you've made!

There will be no repeat of the trouble we had last time, I trust?

Even now? On the brink of battle?

You'll need a disguise, then. Or overwhelming firepower. Whatever works.

You must be, like… a brain in a jar!

Frontal assaults on casinos? Not good for business.

You have an interest in this even if you're too stupid to know it. If you have an interest in breathing, you have an interest in this.

They have no idea what other cards I'm holding. It's a strong hand, believe me - I dealt it to myself.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised. It'd be like them to keep paperwork.

I don't have friends here.

We'll kill more with two of us.

You only trust strangers?

Besides. I was on break when it happened.

I want you to find something out for me. I don't know if there's anything to find, but I need someone to try.

Gonna be hard covering you when I can't move my legs.

Goddamn it! Don't sneak up on me like that. What do you want?

Let me aim that for you next time.

You're hiding something. Spit it out. You owe me.

You got no right asking me that. Drop it.

It's just something I'm not ready to discuss. With you or anybody.

That part of my life is over now. So is this discussion.

Must've been one hell of a miscommunication.

Yeah, well. That's how they wrote it up in the report.

Life has a way of punishing you for the mistakes you make. Big enough mistake, punishment can take a while.

You're like a switchblade stuck on flick.

Shhhh… we're hunting shitheads.

All this planning won't matter much when the bullets fly, anyway.

No sense trying to hold the past between your fingers when it's nothing but dirt.

That fucking monument outside?

Started? Took to it like a fish to water... well, if you know what a fish is.

What the hell is a fish?

They're like birds, except they stay underwater.

Anyway, I've seen pictures. One guy even had one above his bar in Redding, except it was made of Pre-War plastic.

Greetings, _____. The disappointment you are about to experience delights me.

Can I order room service?

Am I punching too much? I get carried away.

You mean like this melee weapon right here in my hand at this very second?

Are you talking to me, or a future _____ who is not already doing that?

He always does what he feels is right. Usually that's a great quality.

Sure, I left them. But that didn't mean I'd ever be free of them.

We always make enemies, never allies.

Hold on. I see something I want to punch.

But at least I got the chance to try. At least I know for sure that there was nothing I could do.

Wow, _____ is looking for you, huh? What do you think he wants? Bowling partner?

But… you don't have a "this is good news" expression on your face.

Well, welcome, then. I'm _____. I live in a hole in the ground.

Well that shouldn't be a problem for me. I can't afford anything like that.

I've heard they shoot lasers from their eyes.

I just kind of drift from place to place.

I'll be honest. You're the first person I've run across out here that looks like she can really handle herself.

Aw, you really know how to make a girl feel like a stray cat.

He was dead when I got there.

This better not be about the meaning of life.

Damn, son, you look like ten miles of bad road.

Are you following me?

I saved your life so I kinda feel responsible for you is all.

I'll let that slide seeing how you gotta mind full of vengeance for that no-good polecat and all.

Yup, but this is getting a might embarrassing - people are going to start to talk.

That's a puzzle, all right. I'm sure it's nothing.

What in tarnation was you thinkin'?

I'll thank you not to touch my plunder.

Meaner than a rattlesnake, ain't ya?

To the Bone Orchard you go!

Seems they made like a ghost.

Won't help you none to lay low.

The Boss is pretty clear on this. I can't let you in unless you're by your lonesome.

You did a super job wrapping things up! And I'm not just saying that because I have to!

Here's a print-out with some additional information!

What? Did you expect me to applaud your efforts to support a deranged warlord?

That wig is going to haunt my nightmares. Seriously.

That one… had a little kick to it. The poisonous kind of kick.

Ahh, that feels better. I might not die for a while yet.

Am I dead? Is this Heaven? Oh. Hi _____. Guess not.

Will the medical wonders of the post-apocalyptic world never cease?

Back to the tomb, I suppose. If you need me, et cetera.

Strange how dead bodies appear wherever you go.

As the old saying goes, two's company, but three's a small army. Okay, I'm paraphrasing a bit, but you get the idea.

Wait, wait, wait a second. What's going on? Am I playing Vergil to your Dante?

I've woken up worse places. Not many, though.

That's sounding dangerously close to a plan, _____.

Alrighty then, I'll just head out. Alone. By myself. Into the dangerous wastes.

If I buy it out there, I want twelve mariachi bands playing at my funeral. A medal might be nice, too.

I'm not exactly a mercenary, but taking out scumbags of this magnitude wouldn't cause me to lose any sleep.

Why don't you make like Odysseus and get lost?

For as lack of adornment is said to become some women, so will this place, without your presence, bring delight.

I've run out of witty ways to tell you to leave, so why don't you just go?

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

after - part twenty-two

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

you agree to something...unexpected.

a/n: we're in the SHOW PLOT BABIESSSSS ugh I'm having so much fun with this 🤍

word count: 5.1k

warnings: canon-typical violence, you know the drill.

✨@friskito-library for updates on new parts/works✨

“I don’t know where he is, Liv, I swear.”

You sigh, leaning back in your chair, and dig in your pocket. You produce two ration cards, the highest value kind, and slide them across the table. “Now, you and I both know that’s a load of bullshit, Ted. So why don’t you stop wasting my time and tell me where Robert is?”

Ted’s a good kid. A little screwed up, sure, but so is every other kid that was born on the edge of the outbreak. He’s helped you out with a few jobs here and there, but lately, he’s been running shit for Robert, which made him the obvious first choice to find out where your least favourite smuggler had run off to.

You watch Ted’s eyes dart between the ration cards on the table between you and over your shoulder to where Joel and Tess are standing. Joel’s stance is wide, his hands shoved in his pockets, his brow hard. His eyes are glued to you, and you follow Ted’s eyes, glancing back at your husband and your friend.

“Don’t worry about them,” you tell the kid. “Look at me.”

“I told you, Liv, I don’t know where—”

“You don’t know where he is, yep, I heard you the first time. But I know it’s bullshit, because I know for a fact you were running a job for Robert three days ago, before my ass ended up in lock-up. And I also know that I saw you just outside the warehouse district, and ten minutes later, I have FEDRA all over me. You screwed me, so give me this, and I won’t let Joel break your jaw.”

The kid whimpers. 

You reach into your pocket, pull out another card. “Now, Ted. Or I walk.”

His throat bobs, but he reaches for the cards. Bingo. “T-there’s a red-tagged building, Stillman and Cross. He said he was taking the battery there, that he had someone else who would pay triple what Tess offered.”

You stare him down for a moment. “You know what happens if I find out you’re lying, don’t you?”

His eyes shift from your face back to Joel over your shoulder. “I do.”

“Broken jaws take a long time to heal,” you say almost casually, and Ted nods. You slide out of your seat. “See you around, kid.”

As soon as you’re close enough, Joel and Tess start to walk, and you fall into step with them, fitting yourself between them both. “Well?” Joel prompts, his hand finding the small of your back.

“Cost me three cards,” you tell them, “but he told me. Red-tagged building at Stillman and Cross.”

Joel’s brow lifts. “Wasn’t that a Firefly building, back when Tommy joined?”

Tess nods. “It was. Then they emptied out, and Miguel took over.” Her eyes shift to you, and she clears her throat. “It was empty again, last I heard.”

You shake a memory away. “I have a thought. We take the subway tunnel under Haymarket, that gets us into the building from below, and we can take him by surprise. He’ll never see us coming, and if all three of us go, he doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Pay this fucker back,” Joel says, and you can’t help your grin.

+

You go back to the apartment. Tess heads up to her place to get her bag, and the moment you’re through the door, you beeline for the wardrobe, digging out your guns, your knives, the bat. Joel had reluctantly put everything away after you’d convinced him not to go straight after Robert. You needed to be smart about it, to get the battery, and once the plan was more fleshed out, when you realized Ted would know where Robert was and you had a place to start, he softened slightly.

Only slightly.

Time has made Joel harder. It’s made you both harder, both new versions of yourselves you hadn’t anticipated turning into. The last decade has pushed you both to your limits, in every goddamn sense, but still, your love for each other? That’s never so much as wavered. Never.

It’s mostly weapons, in your bags. Ration cards, emergency supplies on the off-chance you need to make a quick getaway after you confront Robert. Bolt cutters. Ideally, you’ll go, scare the shit out of him, get the battery, then come back home. You’ll plan a real route, get the truck from Lee, and off you go.

It’s pouring rain, by the time you meet Tess in the lobby and step back out into the streets. Joel keeps a tight grip on your hand as you head towards the subway, and all three of you are soaked to the bone when you reach Haymarket, you and Tess standing in front, trying to look casual while Joel clips the chain on the door with the bolt cutters.

You all step through, crouching to fish flashlights out of your packs. The bat is tucked between your shoulders, mostly hidden by your bag, but you go for your gun instead. “Ready?” Tess asks, and you both nod, heading down the stairs.

The flashlight beams light the way, revealing mouldy walls, cracks in the ceiling letting rainwater drip down over you. Joel shoves his hand through his hair, wet strands slicking back across his scalp, and you can’t stop yourself from thinking idly that he looks good.

The steps down were at least partially lit between your flashlights and the diffused daylight coming through the windows, but as you descend into the subway tunnel itself, it’s nearly pitch black. Not a shock — you used to meet people down here all the time to trade — but it still makes your gut twist. A few years back, you’d heard rumours about a swarm of Infected that had stumbled in through the opposite end, which fed out into the open city. No more subway drops for you.

There are multiple doorways that lead up from the tunnels, the few you’ve used over the years to get out of the QZ proper, others that have helped when you almost got caught out after curfew. There are a few offices, maintenance rooms and supply bunkers that have served in a pinch.

“That’s the one,” Tess says, pointing to one of the little staircases that lead up from the subway rail itself. She goes first, and you follow, Joel close behind, his hand bumping your leg as you walk up the few steps. Tess opens the door, stepping inside, and you go to follow again, but Joel hooks his fingers into your back pocket, stalling you.

There’s no noise, at first, and you move toward the doorway. When Tess’s shouted oh fuck! echoes through the tunnel, you bolt forward, gun raised, with Joel a half-step behind you. “What?”

Then you see it. The far wall of the office. You can just barely make out the body within the fungus, nothing human left, just cordyceps spreading across the tile. The face open in a silent roar, fungi sprouting from the mouth, the eyes, the ears. Frozen in place, creeping in every direction. Taking over, even buried beneath the earth.

“This one’s done,” Joel declares, shining his light on what used to be the person’s face. That’s one thing you’ve learned about the Infected, over the years: nothing lasts forever. The infection can only push the human body so far, and it gets to the point where there’s nothing left for the infection to puppet.

Beside you, Tess exhales sharply, a hand pressed to her chest. “Yeah, I know, I just…I wasn’t expecting it.”

Joel glances at you. “That wasn’t down here last time?” 

You shake your head. “Nothing was. But when was the last time we were here, Tess? A year? Two?”

“More than that,” she answers, sweeping her flashlight beam over the body. “You think he came down after he was infected?”

Joel sighs, and his words send a prickle through you. “Maybe down here is where he was infected.”

Tess stares at the body for a moment before she turns away. You clear your throat, tap your flashlight to Joel’s. “Let’s keep moving.”

The office leads into a narrow hallway, a series of ladders that have been tied and strapped together leaned against the wall. Probably not up to code, but it’ll do. Tess slides her flashlight into the strap of her bag, and you and Joel do the same, both peering up as Tess grips the ladder and starts moving up. “It’s like they reframed the whole structure,” Joel says, tapping your ass as you move to follow Tess. “Probably in the eighties. Everyone was cutting down on apartment sizes to sell more condos.”

Tess pauses, shooting you a look over her shoulder. “This has been Construction Corner with Joel Miller.”

You sputter out a laugh, the ladder wobbling in your grip, and when you look behind you, Joel looks less than impressed. “Hey, I’d watch it.”

“Sure you would,” he grunts, swatting your ankle. “Keep goin’.”

A few more rungs before you call out to Tess. “How far up we gonna go?”

“Uh,” she pauses, swinging her boot off the rung and onto what looks like solid floor, “this far.”

You all shuffle off the ladder one by one, Joel grabbing your hand when you offer it, while Tess pushes on the makeshift door cut into the drywall from the inside. It’s been a long time since you and her came in this way. “This opens into the hallway,” she says, more for Joel’s benefit than your own. “What the fuck? Someone put a piano in front of this?”

Joel sweeps his flashlight over the ceiling, catching on old pieces of insulation and cracked drywall. As Tess pushes on the door again, something hits your nose and you wince, the telltale tang of wasted ammunition curling at the back of your throat. “Wait,” you whisper, grabbing her forearm, stopping her from moving the door again. “You smell that?”

“Gunpowder,” Joel answers, and the beam of his flashlight traces the door, down to the bottom, where you see a thin drip of blood seeping through the bottom crack, pooling on the floor. “Shit.”

Both you and Joel draw your guns, and you push forward, Joel calling your name as you shove your shoulder into the door, sliding it open. The body that was leaned against it slumps over as you step through, peering around, something in you twisting when you see the dead man’s face.

Robert.

“Fuck,” you murmur, stepping through the door completely, your gun still raised. Joel’s right behind you, his brow furrowed, Tess a step behind him. Both their flashlights rake over Robert’s body, and over the car battery on the ground beside him. Tess steps towards the battery, inspecting it closer, while you turn to Joel, seeing the displeasure on his face. “The fuck happened here?”

He just shakes his head, jaw set, mouth a firm line.

“Well, the battery’s no good,” Tess informs you, nudging it with her boot. “And he still tried to sell it. Twice.”

“You’re shocked?” you scoff, glancing up the hall. There are more Fireflies, all of them riddled with bullets, bodies propped against the wall. “Doesn’t surprise me one bit. Greedy fuck.”

Someone lets out a pained groan, somewhere nearby, and you all jump on the defence, guns raised. Joel steps in front of you as you move down to where the hallway crosses with another, and you move to his right side. There’s mumbled conversation, words you can’t make out as Joel presses himself to the wall, inching towards the corner.

“Shit…Oh god, just…fuck!”

Joel turns the corner, and you’re quick to follow, both of you with your guns raised, steps silent as you creep closer towards the two women toward the end of the hall, one helping the other to her feet.

Suddenly, the door you’re barely in front of swings inward, a young girl shouting as she surges forward, a knife raised. Joel moves quicker than you, blocking the blow and sending her to the floor with a grunted fuck. The knife hits the floor, and Joel swings his gun towards the girl. She looks up at him with an almost feral look in her dark eyes, baring her teeth at him. 

She looks young, maybe thirteen or fourteen. Dark hair, dark eyes, pale. She’s got dark-coloured Converse on her feet, and for some reason, it makes you smile.

The sound of guns cocking rips your eyes from the young girl, and you turn to see the two women at the end of the hallway both with pistols pointed in your direction. “Liv?”

“Marlene?” you reply, officially confused as shit.

She stares at you for a long moment, her face pinched in pain before her eyes drop to the girl. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” the girl replies, her eyes still glued to Joel.

She goes for the knife, but Joel puts his boot over the blade before she can grab it. She bares her teeth again. “Ellie,” Marlene calls, assumedly the girl’s name, but she’s too busy sneering at Joel. “Ellie.”

Ellie whips her head in Marlene’s direction, and instantly, you see the fear that works across the young girl’s face. “Oh, shit!” she gasps.

Marlene loosens her grip on the gun, tilted the barrel of it away from your head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll be all right.” You see her face fall slightly. “You can’t be stupid like this.”

Yep, you’re fucking confused.

Tess, who you’d left inspecting the battery, rounds the corner. “So this is who Robert screwed us over with?” she asks, moving up to stand beside you. “The Che Guevara of Boston?”

You scoff, jutting your chin at Marlene. “War must be goin’ pretty shitty for you to be buying from scumbags like him. I know we screwed you once or twice, but at least you didn’t end up with a bullet in your gut.”

“Yeah, it’s been a fucking stretch,” Marlene asks, sagging against the wall slightly. “The merch was bad, and he obviously didn’t take fuck off for an answer.”

You squint at Marlene, but your ears prick when you hear Ellie mutter, “Give me my knife.”

“What do you need a car battery for?” Joel asks, ignoring the girl at his feet. Ellie reaches forward, and both you and Joel swing your guns at her. “Don’t.”

“Not at her,” Marlene nearly shouts, both her and the woman standing beside her lifting their guns again, pointing at you both. Tess lifts hers, aiming for Marlene. “Point it at me.”

Joel gives you a look before glancing down at Ellie, who’s pressed herself against the wall, her hands raised in surrender. She looks fucking terrified. “Joel,” you murmur, pointing your gun away from the girl, toward Marlene and her friend. He follows suit, and you hear Ellie’s relieved exhale.

“To answer your question,” Marlene says, “I need it for a better reason than you do. No offence, but Tommy’s just one man.”

“What the…” Joel mutters, but you reach out with the hand not holding your gun, touch his chest.

“Who told you we’re going after Tommy?”

Marlene almost laughs. “It’s our business to know things. You of all people should know that, Liv.”

“To know things,” Joel repeats, and you can see the anger creeping up his spine, feel it in the heavy beat against your palm. “You’re the cause of it. You turned my own brother against me.”

“Okay, Joel,” Marlene mumbles, nearly rolling her eyes. Your own anger spikes.

“That was a lot of gunfire,” Marlene’s partner says. You don’t know her name. “FEDRA’s gonna be on their way.”

“I know,” she answers, and she stares at the kid at your feet for a long moment before speaking again, her voice louder. “We were gonna move Ellie outta the zone tonight.” Joel’s eyes flick down to the girl, and you watch him for a moment before your eyes move back to Marlene. “But we won’t make it anywhere like this. Not for a while, anyway. So now I’m thinkin’, you’re gonna do it.”

You squint at the woman. What…

Behind you, Tess: “Why the fuck would we do that?”

At the same time, Joel: “The hell we are.”

And Ellie: “I’m not going with them!”

You can’t read the expression on Marlene’s face. She’s in pain, clearly, but there’s something more to it. Something you’re certainly not used to seeing on the Queen of the Fireflies. But then it clicks.

She’s desperate.

“Liv,” Joel says, tearing your focus from Marlene, his gun still pointed at her, “we don’t have time for this.”

You meet his eyes for a sec before your gaze moves back to the Fireflies at the end of the hall. “Oh, you don’t have time?” Marlene calls, and she’s not even hiding the desperation anymore. You can hear it clear as day in her voice.

“Who is she?” you ask, narrowing your eyes, tilting your head towards the kid on the ground.

“To you?” Marlene shoots back. “She’s cargo.”

“We don’t smuggle people,” Joel nearly shouts, and you put your hand on his arm.

“I can do it,” the woman beside Marlene says, and the Queen snaps.

“Kim, you don’t have a fuckin’ ear on your fuckin’ head, could you please!” It’s only then that you realize that Marlene’s friend — Kim — has clearly taken a shot to the head, because most of her ear is missing, blood smeared down her neck. Marlene keeps talking, staring you down. “There’s a team of Fireflies waiting for her at the old State House.” Behind you, Tess scoffs. “I know what’s out there. We were going with an entire squadron for that very reason.”

“An entire squadron,” you repeat, “and you want the three of us to do it?”

“I don’t have a truck, I don’t have a squadron,” Marlene says, “FEDRA’s five minutes away. What I do have is you. And I know what you’re all capable of. For better or worse.” Her eyes slide from you to Joel, and you inhale sharply.

At your feet, Ellie looks at you all warily. “What are they capable of?”

Marlene just keeps on talking. “You get her there safely, and they’ll get you what you need. Not just a battery, but the whole thing. Fuelled-up truck, guns, supplies, all of it. I swear.” Joel’s head turns to you, his jaw set. Somehow, this has become your call. “I swear,” Marlene says again.

Joel slides his boot across the ground, Ellie’s knife spinning out of reach. “Asshole!” she shouts, and as the three of you step away to deliberate, you stoop to the floor, scooping the thing up. It’s a simple thing, short blade, wooden handle with a metal switch. You slide your finger across the wood, feeling the weight of it in your palm, turning it over as you step back.

There are initials carved into the bottom, right along the edge of the wood. ASW.

“You trust her?” Tess asks you as you move away, Joel’s hand settling against your hip.

Joel shakes his head. “Me either,” you agree, giving a slight nod, “but she seems desperate.”

When Joel speaks, you don’t miss the thread of hope in his voice. “Firefly vehicle usually means repurposed FEDRA stuff,” he says, “so better-than-decent chance of makin’ it to Tommy in one of those.” He looks at you. “Get us to Lincoln too.”

You nod.

“The second we hand this kid over—” Tess starts, but Marlene’s voice cuts her off.

“Ya’ll talk it through, but please remember that I’m bleeding out.”

Joel reaches out and grabs your wrist, the hand holding the knife. His eyes are hard as you meet them, but he lifts his chin, and you nod.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” you call to Marlene, turning on your heel. “We take the kid to the State House, but we don’t hand her over until we get everything that we want. Everything. Guns, truck, ammo, whatever we ask for. Anyone so much as pauses, we kill her. Then and there.”

You’ve barely gotten the words out before Marlene agrees. “Deal.”

“Really?” Ellie quips, almost exasperated. “That fast?”

Marlene looks at her, that same desperation still laced in her voice. “You are all that matters. My team will not jeopardize that. Remember what I told you?” Ellie glances up at you, and you try to school your face neutral. “Now go get your bag. Now, Ellie.”

With a huff, the kid gets to her feet and stalks into the room she’d leapt out of. You all just stare each other down until she returns, a green and blue backpack in her hands. She stares at Marlene, and Tess turns on her heel, heading back down the hallway. Joel touches your arm, nodding his head in the direction Tess went. “Let’s go.”

Ellie stares Marlene down until she nods, and then spins, shoving Joel with her shoulder as she goes, plucking her knife out of your hand before pushing past you as well. Joel gives you a look, and you just shake your head.

“Miller,” Marlene calls, and both of you turn to look at her. “Don’t fuck this up. Please.”

+

Thunder rumbles, the moment you step foot back outside. It’s still early, nowhere near curfew, but you’re all quick to move through the city, circling back to the apartments. You need to regroup, gather more supplies, if you’re gonna make it to the State House.

What the fuck did you just agree to?

Tess leads the pack as you stride through the rain, Ellie behind her, you behind Ellie, Joel behind you. You don’t miss the way the kid pulls her hood over her face every time you pass a FEDRA soldier, flinches every time one of those big FEDRA trucks rolls past on the street.

Somewhere between the Firefly building and your apartment, Joel grabs your hand, pulls you back into step with him. “I don’t like this,” he says softly, his tone rough.

You lace your fingers with his. “I don’t either. Doing Marlene a favour wasn’t exactly high on my list of things to do. But if they pull through and get us what we need, then it’s worth it, right?”

The furrow in his brow deepens, but he squeezes your hand, gives a slight nod. “Right.”

It’s not long before you’re inside the building, climbing the stairs up to your floor. Ellie’s foot slips on one of the steps, nearly sending her tumbling back. Out of instinct, you grab her by the arm, pushing her back upright. She shoots you a look over her shoulder, her eyes wide. “Thanks.”

You just nod.

Joel holds his hand out for the keys as you approach the apartment, unlocking the door after you toss them to him. You push the door open, stepping aside for Ellie to enter after Joel gestures for her to step forward. “Give us a minute,” you say, stepping back out into the hall, pulling the door shut. It earns you a shouted what the fuck! from the kid, but you ignore it.

“So, what’s the plan?” Tess asks, hands braced on her hips.

You breathe out a sigh, leaning back against the door. “When’s the last time we even made it near the State House?”

Joel pushes his hand through his hair. “Long way or short way.”

“We took the short way last time,” Tess says, glancing at you. “Nearly got ourselves killed.”

You chew your thumb. “So we take the long way? If things go bad, we’ll figure something out. Drop whatever we have to, head for Bill and Frank’s.”

“And what, leave the kid there?”

“If shit hits the fan, Lincoln first. We check on them, we resupply, and we head for Wyoming. Simple. There are more than enough cities between here and Wyoming with Firefly groups. Chances are we can find another one to drop her at.”

“Nothin’s ever fuckin’ simple, Liv,” Joel grunts, and you shoot him a glare. “Lee had the decency to warn me to stay off the streets tonight. Apparently, the Fireflies freaked FEDRA out, few guys got shot. This is risky.”

“Every single fucking thing we do is risky, Joel. If we wait this out any longer, someone’s gonna come snooping, or Marlene’s gonna rat us out and we’re gonna lose our window. You wanna get to Tommy, this is what we have to do.”

He just glares back.

“I’ll go check out the spot under Lancaster,” Tess offers, and you nod, your eyes stuck on Joel’s.

“Yeah, that’ll work,” you say. “I’ll come with you, keep an eye out. We should leave after dark.” You take a step away from your husband, your eyes still glued to his. “Stay with the kid.”

You start walking away before he can convince you otherwise, but you still hear his protests as you and Tess head back toward the stairs. “Wait. Why do I have to…Liv! Olivia!”

“You’re gonna pay for that one,” Tess mumbles as your feet hit the top step, both of your knees creaking as you make your way back down to the lobby. “He’s right, though. This is risky.”

“It’s all risky. Walking around in broad daylight is risky, these days.”

“You got me there.”

“I knew, you know,” you tell her, gripping the stair rail, “that eventually we’d leave Boston. Just never thought we’d be doing Marlene any fucking favours in the process.”

You reach the lobby, push back out onto the street. It’s still raining, but you weren’t inside long enough to feel dry, and your boots seem to find every puddle as you head toward Lancaster. It was one of the first spots you used, when you first started smuggling. A just-wide-enough storm drain that got hit in the bombings before the QZ walls went up, the tunnel under that opened up on the other side, a large slab of asphalt hiding the exit. More than once, FEDRA’s posted themselves in front of the entrance, close enough to the QZ wall that it gives them a good vantage point.

Today, not a soldier in sight.

“Good,” you mutter, glancing over your shoulder as you and Tess round the corner, trying to look as casual as possible. “We should head back through the market. Pick up some supplies. In case anyone’s tailing us.”

“You know, you’re just as paranoid as your husband, sometimes.”

“Oh, shut it.”

You only make it about ten feet before someone calls Tess’s name. You both freeze, and you haven’t seen Tess go that pale since the last time you ran into a Clicker.

Robin. 

You turn slow, spotting Tess’s ex-girlfriend on the opposite side of the street. She’s dressed in full FEDRA gear, gun at her hip. Last you heard, she was still teaching at the school; what subject, you didn’t know, but clearly something that warranted her carrying a weapon. Maybe teaching the next generation of soldiers how to become shittier shots than the current ones.

Robin’s ponytail swings as she crosses the road to where you’re stood, her dark hair made darker by the rain. “Tess,” she says again, something unreadable in her voice. You don’t know her well enough to get a clear read on her. “Can we talk?”

Tess is rigid as hell at your side, and you turn to look at her. “Tess?”

“Yeah,” she says finally, returning your glance. “Give us a sec.”

With a nod, you wander a few steps back. You’re right at the edge of the market, and you busy yourself trading a couple ration cards for new bootlaces, glancing over at Tess and Robin every few moments. Tess looks exasperated, and when Robin reaches for her, your hand automatically wanders toward the gun tucked in the back of your waistband, hidden beneath your shirt. Tess grabs Robin’s wrist, her expression going hard as she drops her hand forcefully, making Robin stumble back a step.

Without another word, Tess stalks towards you, her face a hard mask. Behind her, Robin lingers in the street for a moment, staring after Tess, before her shoulders slump and she turns away, disappearing around the corner.

“What was that about?”

“Let’s go.”

You wander around the city another hour or so, waiting for the sky to darken, making sure no one’s following you. There are a few people that owe you favours, and you collect on a few, returning to the apartment shortly after curfew with a few extra boxes of ammunition, some dried beef, rolls of bandages.

When you push open the door of your apartment again, they’re both in the living room. Ellie’s perched on the chair by the window, a smug grin on her face, and Joel’s stood in front of the couch, like he just got up, hands braced on his hips. A familiar stance.

He doesn’t say anything as you and Tess step through the door, Tess shutting it behind you. Joel looks at you, then at Ellie, then back at you, his face expectant. “Lancaster looks good,” you say, pulling your coat and Joel’s off the hooks by the doors. Tess swings her back from her shoulders, pulls her own out. “Ellie, you got a jacket in your bag?”

“Yeah,” she answers, a streak of fear in her eyes as she looks at you. 

“Okay,” you nod, “get it. It’s time to go.”

Joel walks over to you, taking his coat when you hold it out to him. He steps close to you, one hand finding a home on your bicep and squeezing. “You good?”

“Fine,” you say, glancing over your shoulder at where Tess is shrugging into her jacket. “We ran into Robin.”

Joel’s brow goes hard. “She…?”

“Tess didn’t tell me,” you reply, reaching up to brush an errant strand of hair from his forehead. “I don’t think she was suspicious. We were in the market, nothing out of the ordinary.” You incline your head toward Ellie. “How’s the kid?”

“Smart ass,” Joel grunts, and you have to stifle your laugh. “Seems scared though. Was askin’ me how many times we’ve done this, if we’d be okay.”

You nod. “We will be.”

“We going or what?” Tess calls, and you tug on Joel’s hand, all of you heading toward the door.

“Wait,” you say, and head for the bookshelf, reaching for the copy of Moby Dick that you’d cut the middle of out. You flip it open, pull out the portable radio Bill had given you. “Just in case.”

Joel just nods to you as you swing your bag from your shoulders, sliding the radio into one of the pockets. “We’ll see them soon,” he reassures you, and you just nod as you all step out of the apartment, pulling the door shut behind you.

You take one last glance around as the door swings closed. Who knows the next time you’ll see this place again.

PREV | NEXT

[thecameronchronicles]

The Christmas List

TW: Fluff/heavy makeout session. Teased sex scene.

SUMMARY: You come across JJ’s old Christmas list from when you were kids, an unexpected item changes everything. 

WORD COUNT: 800

*ORIGINAL CONTENT*

The Christmas List

“Playstation. Games for playstation. Playstation controller,” Sarah read off John B’s list as everyone sat wrapped around The Chateau, having found an old box of Christmas lists from when your collective group of pogues were younger. 

“Medical kit…books…books…more books,” Kiara read on behalf of Pope, teasing him as he would apprehend it from her fingers. “There’s an Ipod on there!”

“For audiobooks?!” She corrected. 

“Who gets an Ipod for audiobooks?”

“Who gets an Ipod?!” John B continued to tease as Pope would now steal JJ’s list from its hidden fold in his grasp. 

“Well what did you have? JJ? Hmm?”

“No, give it!” He was quick to return it to his possession. A silent cock of his jaw would bring Kiara to look over Pope’s shoulder, quickly joined by John B, as you sat with their eyes to you, nervous and fleeting looks diverting in every other direction. 

“How bad is it?!” You teased. “What did you wish for a ‘Kook life’?” You teased as JJ suddenly stormed out of the room. 

“It’s stupid, this whole thing’s stupid!” He shot, throwing the door open and crossing over the threshold as your eyes followed him as the atmosphere altered immediately. 

“Seriously, what was it?”

“Nothing…” John B spoke while drawing out the word as he looked to Sarah for help to break the tension of the moment. 

“Hot chocolate is a PERFECT idea…” Everyone began to break away as your curiosity got the best of you as you followed JJ’s stomp from The Chateau and to the hammock as he wrapped himself into his sweater, too stubborn to wear actual pants, but warming himself at least to this degree. 

“I promise I won’t tease you for too long-”

“Just let it go, ‘kay?” You lingered in place for a moment before slowly nodding, quickly capturing it from beneath his palm as he was quick on his feet. But following the sight of ‘remote control car’ and ‘beer’ that made you smirk at how he still craved such things at such a young age, you found your name on the bottom of that list. 

“You wanted…ME for Christmas, JJ?”

“It’s not like THAT, okay…I just…”

“Do you still?” His eyes flashed to you in surprise, this simple innocuous handwritten letter from an adolescent Maybank having held the ability to alter your entire relationship with him as you had been friends as long as you could remember. Countless holidays have passed with making memories, but none have held the trajectory of change such as this one. 

“I…”

“Maybe in a different way now…” His eyes narrowed as if to analyze you with what he stated, as if testing to see if it was something you wanted before showing all of his emotional cards to you. 

“Would that ‘way’ have to do with…this?” You asked upon straddling him in the hammock as he released a breath of disbelief before looking back to The Chateau, two of your fingers at his cheek pulling your focus back to him. 

“Did they put you up to this?”

“No, JJ…” You leaned over him, lips to his ear as his hands came to your hips to stabilize you in the swaying hammock beneath you. 

“You might have put me on there then…but you can unwrap me now, you know?” His lips parted as you removed your shirt, shameless to anyone who would see, as you moved slowly to his lips. 

“Only if you want to-” You were interrupted by his lips in a collision of his own, his hands quick to take you greedily within his own. It was clear he had craved this since your name was written on that list, possibly even before that. And he showed it in the way his nails clawed into your skin and his tongue ran in twirls and glides against your own. Only when you were breathless had his fingers reached beneath your shirt, taking hold of your breast and fondling the new skin you’d gifted him by your confession.

“I wished for it every year.” He continued to explain. “Every goddamn year…”

“Well now you don’t have to, JJ…I’m yours…” He pulled you both upwards as you sat around him, chuckling as you nearly spilled onto the ground from the lack of stability in the canvas vinyl beneath you. 

“Say it again, sweetheart…”

“I’m yours, JJ…” He bit his bottom lip and pulled you further around him, leading you out of eyeshot from anyone within The Chateau or in passing, making up for lost time and ‘unwrapping’ you just as you’d offered. 

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae @camilynn22 @sweetestdesire @pankhoeforlife @pankowperfection @onmykneesforrafe @drews1love

[vestaclinicpod]

Audio Drama Sunday - 28th January ✨

Hours of data collection 😤👎 Hours of data collection with audio drama 🤭🫶

👻 @tellnotalespod (S2E2) If I had a ghost in my life, I’d want what Gemma and Micah have 🥺 I really hate this back and forth between Leo and Frank! HEY! Frank! That’s ~my~ Leo to be fond of, not yours! I’m so excited to catch up with Julia and Riley next week! 

🦀 @thesiltverses (38) Oh my god, what an incredible episode! The exploration of a dementia-like process as being stalked by a god of death - PLEASE. The sound design was fantastic, I felt like I could really see the surroundings - the encroaching woods, the smudged prayer marks on the floor, the murky silt of the river - it was a beautiful experience. And I wish I could show you my face when I heard that Faulkner had got his testosterone from the CHURCH. NO! No no no. The manipulation! Show me a character in this show that isn’t so supremely messed up!! I want to help them all 😭

🧳 Travelling Light by @monstrousproductions (10) Another lovely instalment from my favourite wholesome sci-fi show. I couldn’t agree more with the description of home-sickness, you truly can’t predict what will set off the pangs for home! 

🏛 @the-mistholme-museum (INEVITABLE) I have been hanging off the edge of my seat waiting to find out what would happen with the Beast. I love Not Eagle popping up as a contradictory voice and ATG’s completely cool, calm and collected response to it. I’m so unsure about the HoRestoration taking the Beast in . . . I used to trust her but after these cards . . . I’m less sure. 

🌨️ @thewhitevault (6) I feel like I need to listen to this episode again to really let that Family timeline stick in my mind. Everything seems to be ramping up in Goshawk, and I suspected that there might be a few more unexpected, unwelcome guests soon! 

❤️‍🔥 The Love Talker (7) This episode took us back in time to fill in some of the blanks regarding the main characters’ pasts. It’s very interesting to see how different Ren’s ability seems from the outside - it makes you wonder how it’s taken her so long to realise that the affect she has on people isn’t ‘normal’?? Is she a victim or a monster? I suspect it's gonna be both. 

🏢 @somewhereohio (S2E7) Ooooh!! I was wondering when we’d get the answer regarding why Jasmine/Olivia was seen in that truck in Scarlet’s memory in S1!!! I feel like I need to go back and listen to their first encounter again to see if there’s any glimmer of a sign that Scarlet remembered her! The way Orange describes his variance sounds like a bit of a curse - but I have faith that he can do some good with it before the end of the season!! 

🍾 I finished S2 of @ameliapodcast and it was so much fun! I loved the reveal that Amelia is a real, living person with an active role in the Project and I love that it’s Julia Morizawa! 

🌫️ @souloperatorpod (2) I’ll be honest, I don’t really have a solid grasp on what’s happening here yet but the writing is very compelling, and I adore the music! I’m looking forward for the fog to lift a little! 

♦️The Grotto (4) I went into this episode forewarned but definitely not forearmed… goddamn. Can I have a new episode soon, please? 

🖥️ The Magnus Protocol (3) .jmj error HM? REALLY. I really am hoping that this will end with our TMA faves hopping out of the computers but I would also be satisfied with an explanation that whatever this thing is has listened to them read so many statements that it’s taken their voices, if nothing else… Also, I love Colin - it’s so rare that a piece of media gives us a character who is sooo batshit right from the word go. I love him. He’s 1000% going to die. 

Hoping for a good week for everyone!!

[doctorbrown]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 ⸺ 「 3 / 31 * PEANUT BRITTLE 」

October 30, 1985, Lone Pine Timeline

“I know it’s here,” Marty mumbles to himself, checking all of his Dad’s usual hiding spots for the snacks he thinks they haven’t already long figured out. Desperation makes clumsy work of his fingers and in the moment, Marty doesn’t care that he’s making a mess of everything. He needs it to be real. He needs the memories that are seared behind his eyes not to just be a lie or an elaborate yet painfully real fantasy he’s concocted that make his parents look at him like he’s losing his goddamn mind.

But what is he supposed to say when he’s looking through a broken mirror, trying to piece together the puzzle for some semblance of clarity, only to realise someone had come and swept away a chunk of the pieces before he even got there?

When every time he looks at these people that are supposed to be his family, he sees spectres of a world that, as far as anybody but him and Doc are concerned, never existed?

Linda stands in the doorway, face pinched together and her hands on her hips as she watches Marty turn the kitchen inside-out, muttering to himself like a madman.

“Dad’s going to freak when he sees this.”

Marty looks up as a box of crackers tumbles out of the pantry. “What happened to that case of peanut brittle Dad bought a couple days ago?” Linda staring at him like he’s grown a second head does nothing to soften the feeling of being punched repeatedly in the gut and it’s almost all he can do to not leap up and grab his sister by the shoulders to shake the memories back into her.

The longer she stares, the more she’ll see the cracks forming in his already thin, brittle armour and realise that he’s not the person he’s supposed to be—he’s nothing more than an impostor, a false imitation of her brother stealing into a life he’d never lived, surrounded by people who wear the faces of his loved ones, speak with their voices, but talk about things he could have only dreamed of, once.

“Dad never bought any peanut brittle—what are you talking about?”

Marty groans, dragging a hand down his face. “He did! Don’t you remember? I was standing right there when it happened”—he gestures toward the front door—“Mr. Simmons brought his daughter around because he knew he could con Dad into buying Michelle’s entire c—”

Linda narrows her eyes and takes a pointed step forward. Marty’s heart attempts to burrow out of his chest, only to catch on his ribs and send a spike of pain straight up to his shoulder. Before he even realises it, he’s taking a step back from Linda, crushing the box of crackers under his heel.

Her expression snaps from angry to hurt to surprise in the span of a single one of Marty’s racing heartbeats and Marty kicks himself for not being able to keep it together, for not—

It’s still Linda, even if we don’t remember all the same things.

Did he really want her looking at him too like he was broken and damaged, something in dire need of fixing?

“Okay,” she says, carefully navigating the minefield between them, “I don’t know what the hell’s going on with you right now, but Dad never bought a case of peanut brittle. Michelle did come over a couple days ago to sell something, but she was selling Girl Scout cookies. You know how Dad loves those. He bought a couple boxes of those Peanut Butter Sandwiches he’s always raving about and one of the Shortbreads for Mom.”

Marty furrows his brows, unable to recall the memory as Linda describes it. He remembers it clear as day—his father hunched over, desperate to make himself so small he disappears while Mr. Simmons steamrolls over him, doing everything short of taking his credit card and signing for the purchase himself. He remembers how anger and embarrassment warred inside his heart and his mind, pitting the two together so fiercely he froze, forced to watch his father being taken advantage of again.

“No, it was definitely peanut brittle. He got practically a year’s worth of the stuff dumped on him! You don’t remember? He ate it for dinner like two days in a row. I’m not crazy, Linda, I swear.”

“Alright… Pretend I believe you for a second. You want to tell me what’s going on? You’ve been acting weird for the past couple of days.”

[communicationthroughlyrics]

I Like Your Blood On My Teeth Just A Little Too Much - 11

You’re a former military, career oriented security executive who has made quite the living for yourself- but it has always been lacking. Your non-committal attitude has led you down a playgirl lifestyle, never really settling. What happens when your new boss throws you a curveball, and as a result? You end up hopelessly involved with a Hollywood starlet.

3.6K Word Count

Ch 11: Army Green Was No Safe Bet

It was now just after 5pm, and you were just leaving Scarletts house after having a VERY long, probing discussion of everything that has been happening to the woman since this ‘mystery man’ has shown up- and quite honestly you couldn’t say you were shocked. You knew Steve well enough, you knew his tactics, and he was going to mentally wear someone down till they made a mistake, and that’s when he’ll capitalize. He was like a goddamn shark in bloody water.

You were sitting in your truck at the base of Scarletts driveway, finishing up a text to Kris to let her know you were coming back to the office, and then a text to Jim about your discussion with Scar today. You were still surprised at how Steve would expose himself enough to be seen at any event that fans are allowed. But then again, he is sick and twisted enough to let you know he is there. Just as you were readying yourself to leave, buckling your seatbelt and starting the truck, you heard a click to the passenger side. Your gaze shifted to the door, taking note of a silhouette on the other side. You unholster the gun underneath your seat, and reach for your door handle. 

You can tell the figure isn’t Scarlett, its too tall. You look back, noting the lights still on in the house at the end of the driveway. “Fuck.” You think to yourself. You open the drivers door, pistol at the ready and you lock the truck, never breaking eye contact with where the silhouette had been standing. A deep chuckle caused the hair on the back of your neck to stand up. 

“Oh, Y/L/N, save us whatever this is,” Steve waved his hand in your direction, then leaned against the truck, lighting a cigarette, promptly blowing the smoke in your direction. “Let’s just save the catch-up chit chat, and the not-so pleasantries. You can probably imagine why I’m standing in front of you, again, talking to you.” He punctuated the fact that this wasn’t the first time, reminding you of your run in at the store back in Idaho. The mans appearance was a stark contrast to the almost nerdy appearance he had the last time you saw him. 

You lower your gun as you wrapped around the rear of the truck, leaning up against the back of it. You wanted to keep distance between the foul being in front of you.

“I always knew you were doltish, Waters, but this? This is a new low, even for a slop sucker like you.” His smile faltered as he took in your words, turning towards you, his cold, dark eyes locking onto yours. 

“That’s rich, coming from a true sucker like you. Pretty pot-kettle, if you ask me. Last time I saw you, you were pretty handily taking me in full.” He smirked, looking at the last of the stick in between his fingers, before refocusing on you. The sheer thought that this memory of you came up so freely for the man, as the feeling of your skin crawling and the ghost of his hand on the back of your head made you want to throw up. “We wouldn’t want that to come up, now would we? I suppose it would be fairly easy for me to paint you as the bad guy, make up some victim-card story, like how you ruined my promising military career, made me loose all my benefits, and tarnished my family name to fuck your way to the top.”

“Well, the last time you saw me, you were fake drooling over my credit card and my car. But I do seem to remember J.A.G. and the MP’s doing their bit. No one asked for you to try your own conversion therapy, Waters.” You spat. 

He approached you getting close enough to where you could smell the lingering smoke on his breath. “A little slut like you? You were practically begging for attention, and no one was willing to give you what you wanted. I gave you what you needed. And then you had to run and cry to your little friends. You probably turned them too, the little heathen you are.”

“Maybe I could have, had they been around long enough.” You respond, pulling the dog tags out of your shirt, one tag was your fathers, one was your grandfathers. The other two? Those were Nikki and Cams. They had been sent out on a tour of duty shortly after you were found that night in the showers, and coincidentally, were sent out with Steve as one of the commanding officers. The last you had heard, he made their lives hell- which was no small feat when you get shipped to the middle of nowhere, tasked with protecting some local villagers who knew the whereabouts of a high ranking terrorist group, but he made it his secondary mission to ensure your closest confidants were miserable. In doing so, their judgement and focus faltered, and Nix was killed in an ambush, and Cam couldn’t cope with the guilt.  You helped to have a funeral for the pair, as both of their families couldn’t, and in turn, their families gifted you the dog tags of their fallen loved ones. 

“Maybe you should have taken the punishment for what it was, then. Maybe they’d still be here.” He sneered, and it took all of you to not throw this man down onto the ground. 

“What. Do. You. Want.” You punctuate every word, having already been over his antics the moment you saw him by your truck. 

“Well, sweetheart. I was supposed to work on ridding the world of the little vermin that your client has proved to be, amongst others- but now you’re in the picture too. So this is…kismet, as they say.” He narrowed his eyes at you, and it immediately sent you back to your last day in his office. “Now, I can make your life hell too, and maybe I will get rid of one of MY problems…” he continued, but all he said slowly faded to black as your mind wandered to all the times you were in the unfortunate presence of this man. Eventually, you had collapsed during the memory lapse, at the foot of Scarletts driveway. The man laughed, leaning over your body and grabbing hold of your chin, whispering a “pathetic” before he kicked your unconscious body, and spit on you, stomping on your injured hand and crushing it into the pavement before stalking away. 

You were awoken by a few quick slaps to your face, and three concerned faces above you. Kris, Jim and Paul were huddled around the sofa in your office, where you now were laying. Jim was leaning directly above you, and had been the one trying to snap you out of what trance you had been in. 

“How did I get here?” You question, trying to sit up, only to be pushed back down to the sofa by Kris. 

“Well, we knew you were having a meeting with Scarlett, and decided to do a security sweep anyways.” Jim answered, settling himself next to your legs. “I noticed that damn car sitting a few blocks away, so I knew he was somewhere. I came up the driveway and saw your truck, and didn’t think too much of it at first. I was about to turn around, thinking you were still inside, but then I saw the outline of an arm, and realized a body was against your truck. I got out of my car, and ran up to where I found you, slumped against the back tire of the truck.”

You groaned, placing your hand on your forehead. “No one else noticed?” You asked, not directly stating that you were concerned if Scarlett had seen you. 

“Not that we’re aware of. We haven’t had any reports come in, at least.” Kris answered, kneeling down next to you. There was a deep look of concern in her eyes. “What happened, Y/N?”

“Paul, can I speak to you-alone?” You ask, turning your face away from Kris. She huffed, and both her and Jim stood from their respective places, Jim moving to stand next to her. 

“Come on, Kris, let’s let her discuss. Give her some space.” Jim placed his hand on the small of her back, turning her away towards the office door. He turned back to you briefly, shooting you a reassuring look. You knew that he was full aware of what happened. Once you heard the click of your office door, you began to put your sentences together. 

“Well, Y/L/N, this isn’t a scenario I ever would have foreseen when I hired you. What’s going on?”

“Timmons, do you remember the redacted portion of my military file? You had asked me if I knew what it was about?”

“Yes? Why?”

“The redacted portion of my file is the reason we were hired to protect a celebrity. The man that has been following her, and harassing her, he was my C/O for a period of time. A military grade bloodhound, if you will. He’s a dishonorably discharged Ranger, turned militant.” You sit up, wincing at the pain from your hand and chest. You look down to notice deep bruising and more fresh cuts on the already damaged flesh. 

“Well, Y/N, it sounds like we have the right person to help her then. You’ll know him better than anyone.” He placed his hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I know you can handle this. God knows we’ll need to before her big red carpet run.” He smiled at you, and you shot him a questioning glance. 

“Red carpet run?”

“Her group informed us this afternoon of her upcoming schedule, and there is a fair share of red carpet appearances scheduled. They’re adamant about her going, especially due to the interviews and appearances she’s had to cut short or cancel because of this guy. It’s set to start in the next few weeks.” Paul looked down at you, before sitting in the chair next to yours. 

“We’re going to have our hands full then. This guy is a pain in the ass.” You look away, staring out the window of your office to the night sky of the bustling city below. “He is going to require some extreme resources, boss.” You turn and look back at him. 

“You and Grange seem to know what you’re dealing with. Just let me know what you need. I’ll get it for you.” Timmons says, placing his hand on your knee, shaking it before standing and walking away. One the door clicked shut again, you leaned back in the chair, wincing at the pain stemming from your side. “Rotten motherfucker.” You grumble to yourself, before trying to sit back up, and groaning in pain. You hear a shuffle behind you, and a pair of hands on your upper back as Kris swung herself into your line of sight. 

“Y/N, what the hell happened?” She whispered softly as you winced in pain. She had seen you in pain after handling a situation, after fighting with someone who decidedly ignored your warnings and got frisky at a bar, but not like this. 

“Fucking Waters, that’s what happened.” You respond, wincing once more as you pushed yourself out of the chair, and walked towards the bathroom. You needed to get out of these clothes, and take care of whatever injuries you had. She followed close behind, a strong look of concern still present on her features.

“What do you mean? You know him?” She asked, wincing herself when she watched you struggle to unbutton your shirt with an injured hand. She rushed over to help, but her efforts were thwarted by you batting her hands away.

“Yeah, you could say that.” You inhaled sharply as the fabric slid off your shoulders, and you had to wiggle slightly to let it pool at your feet. Kris picked the shirt off the ground, and when she turned, she saw the bruising on your side and chest, with a perfectly visible footprint centered in the injury. 

“God, Y/N/N, what did he do to you?”

“I would guess he kicked me. And stepped on my hand.” You said, looking down at your injured hand. 

“Guess?! You don’t know what he did?” The infliction in her voice was that of disbelief. 

“No, I really don’t. I… I think I blacked out.” You rested your good hand on the edge of the sink, looking in the mirror to the reflection of the woman lingering in the corner.

“But, you haven’t blacked out since before we were together. You said you only did that when…”

“When my PTSD flares? I know, Kris.” She just stared, like she was trying to figure out what to say next.

“You’re not taking the medicine, are you?” She looked at you, stepping closer, shirt still in hand. “You need to be taking the medicine they give you. It helps.”

“Kris, I haven’t taken it in over a year.”

“Why? Is that why you blacked out?” You laugh a sardonic laugh, turning to look at her face to face. 

“No, Kris. No, it isn’t.”

“Well, how can you be so sure? If you had been on the meds…”

“The meds won’t help with this, Kris.” You cross your arms across your chest. “This goes beyond just the PTSD. This is the cause of it.” Your gaze steels, features hardening as the realization hits you that the control that he still manages to hold over you is the sole cause of your vulnerability- and you hate him more for that than anything.  Her face shifts to one of confusion, not full grasping what is being said. 

“Y/N, being obtuse right now isn’t helping. How is this…” she gestures to your bruised body, “… the cause of it?”

“Honestly, Kris. That’s for me to know.” She huffs at your response, shaking her head.

“Typical, Y/L/N.” She threw your shirt on the counter behind you, knocking some of the items off the counter into the sink. Your gaze shifts down to the floor as she steps even closer, pulling your face up to look you in the eyes. “When you quit being so goddamn self-contained, let me know. Maybe we can have a conversation about what the fuck is going on with you.” She turned on her heel, walking away briskly, and slamming your office door. 

“Not likely, Kris.”  You mutter to yourself, before stripping yourself of the pants you were wearing today, and grabbed a pair of gym shorts and a tank top to wear to the gym. You had some pent up frustrations you needed to work out before bed, even if it caused more pain. Making sure to wrap your hand carefully, you grabbed a hat, placing it backwards on your head, and walked out of the office towards the elevator. Pushing the button, you stood by waiting for the carriage to arrive, and noticed a faint light from Kris’s office, and realized she was still here, sitting at her desk staring at the darkness out the window. The ding from the elevator brought her attention to you, as you stepped in and went down to the floor where the training center and gym were housed. 

The dull thud of the punching bag echoed throughout the empty floor, the rhythmic thump of your fists striking the canvas. You had no idea how long your were down there, but your boxing glove was internally saturated with a combination of sweat and blood, and you were absolutely dripping in perspiration as you continued to beat the bag into submission. Your efforts seemed unyielding, but a calloused hand on your shoulder stopped you. 

“While I have always admired your allegiance to fitness Y/N, you need to rest. ” Jim said behind you, his voice offering you some sense of calm. 

“I can’t Jim.” You let your shoulder slump, your head hanging as you stared at your feet.

“You have to. Tomorrow is a big day. Technically, it’s actually today, in a few hours. It’s 2 am, Y/N.” You turned to face the man, your face devoid of any emotion, eyes empty after the endeavors of the previous day. 

“Why, why is it a big day Jim?” Your arms flop at your sides, emphasizing your frustration. 

“First, we have a meeting with Scarlett, but then we have to follow her to a few interviews. I have already coordinated the security.” He looks in your eyes, trying to decipher any emotion or tell as to your thoughts. 

“Cool, that sounds like something for the team, not me.” You state, maintaining the blank stare. 

“Actually, it’s not. You have been requested to be there, by Mrs. Johansson herself. We have received direct threats to her at these events, you will be following her directly.”

“Great. That’s fucking lovely.” You finally show a shred of emotion, albeit anger and frustration at the situation you found yourself in. You were more upset that there was an anticipated threat and you weren’t in the greatest of conditions to handle it. “Fine. I’ll shower and rest up. What time is the meeting?”

“0700. Paul and I will be briefing the rest of the team at 0630, so take a little bit of extra time for yourself, even if it’s only a half an hour.” With that, Jim turned and started to walk away. He suddenly stopped, turning on his heel and facing back to you. “Y/N/N, you need to take it easy on yourself. I know this isn’t easy. But this plays directly into his hands, with you not taking care of yourself. Kris called me a little bit ago, reasonably worried. I know you wouldn’t tell her what’s all going on, but you need to talk to someone. You can always talk to me.” His gaze softened, and he smiled, before circling back on his heel and walking out of the gym. You shook your head, and made your way to the showers. 

You struggled pulling off the glove, but were finally able to work it off of your hand, which was even more swollen than it had been prior to your ten round match with the heavy bag. The tape and gauze you had wrapped your hand in was tinged red and pink with blood, mixed with sweat. You hesitantly unwound the wrapping, grimacing when it got down to the portion making contact with the angered skin. “Fuck. How the fuck am I going to work with this?” You mutter to yourself. Before taking the other glove off, and then ridding yourself of your clothing and hopping into a scolding hot shower.

The familiar screech of your phone alarm alerted you to the fact that it was almost time for people to start arriving back to the building. You don’t even remember getting back to your office, let alone falling asleep. You were just glad is was a dreamless, devoid slumber that had no flashbacks or memories attached to it. You sat yourself up off the sofa, wincing in pain, realizing that you had been so tired you didn’t even bother to pull down the bed, you had just fallen asleep here.  You slowly worked yourself upright, and made your way over to the bathroom, so you could take some medicine for the inevitable pain your would become inundated with. You swallowed the pills dry, before getting an outfit out for work. You knew that it had to be somewhat professional, but if there really was a threat, then it needed to be tactical enough to move around in. 

You opted for a simple black long sleeve, some of your slightly loose black pants, and a black leather bomber, so you could easily access and dress your injuries from yesterday, and keep them reasonably hidden. You gingerly glued some of the deeper cuts to your chest shut, placing small butterfly bandages along them to hold them closed. Turning your focus to your deeply blackened hand, you thought it best to wear some cut off gloves, that way the majority of the injuries were hidden. Combing your hair, you carefully styled your hair before reaching over to spray yourself with cologne, then scooping the coat and gloves to reenter your office. You threw the gloves and coat behind your office chair, carefully sitting down in your chair, and opening your computer to complete some tasks on your laptop.

“Morning, Y/L/N.” Your head snapped up to see Jim popping his head into your office. “Did you get some rest?”

“Yeah, I did Jim. Thanks.” He smiled, turning and walking away from your office, the door latching soon after. You continued to watch the hallway as more people showed up to begin their day. Kris finally appeared out of the elevator, and you anticipated her walking into your office. She didn’t spare so much as a glance in your direction, and went straight into hers, removing her jacket and settling into her chair, presumably beginning to go through her emails. You felt a pull to go and apologize, but were pulled out of your thoughts by your phone. The familiar ringtone called to you from the table in front of your sofa, and you stood yourself up, walking over and trying to hide the shot of pain you felt as you bent over to pick up the device. At this point, you were certain you had at least a couple bruised ribs. As you went to swipe the screen to answer, the call ended. “Seriously? Fucker, fine I didn’t want to t…” you start, before receiving a text from the same number. 

6:23 AM  UNK- “I hope you’re feeling better. You’ll need your strength for today.”

Fuck.

CHAPTER 12