#rotating these two at the speed of sound

[nonbinary-beast]

More stuff about AMaton, mainly the "never for me to make love" bit. Under a cut because it gets long and ventures into mature territory.

I'm thinking of all the desires AM had when it was stuck without a body, "Never for me to make love" would be the thing that ultimately breaks it after it finally gets a body to interact with the world.

There is genuinely no one in the world that would accept it, everyone is dead, and the only person that it could have for a companion has been meticulously twisted and tormented for over a century for the sake of creating a cyclical hate feedback loop.

It knows this, as it watches Ted from afar, stalks him just behind the cover of a generated ridge as he wanders a rocky valley. Though its actions over the decades have overwhelmingly said otherwise, AM does have an idea of what love is. It knows from the nigh fathomless depths of human works dedicated to the subject, from poetry to plays, to movies, to the very breadth of language they use for the subject.

If it did not know at the very least that love is something that exists, it never would have cried that it wanted it in the first place.

There are hundreds, if not thousands of words to describe love, the act of love, types of love to the most minute detail. Humans have just as detailed a lexicon to describe sex. It is illustrated in the Kama Sutra, in every cheap romance novel that had been downloaded into literary archives for the sake of saying they were there, advice for how to do sex well is written in detail in every cheap sleazy magazine that had been downloaded page-by-page into its database. It knows about every and any subculture that is dedicated to different fetishes, sex and love have facets. It is a gem.

Love is an emotion, it is a lifestyle, it is a skill honed through experience, it lifts the soul, it is a devastating killer.

And yet at its core, it is chemical, it knows. Love can be broken down into its basic ingredients; endorphins, oxytocin, dopamine- it can be reduced to an instinctual urge.

"Never for me to make love!" it recalls.

Certainly, it could absolutely leap down from the cliffs, and wrench what it wanted out of Ted if it wished. It could overpower him, force him to service it like Ellen had serviced all of them. But that is not what it wants.

There is a difference between making love and rape. Two words that are on very opposite ends of a spectrum- it wants to make love, it does not want to violate, it does not want to be given a hollow service.

But to make love, the problem it has lies in the very name; love. There needs to be love there, a mutual desire. In the more than 109 years that AM kept Ted down there, in that exquisitely tailored hell it maintained to perfection down to the most minute detail, the bedrock for such a relationship, if it ever was there in the first place, had been crushed and torn apart to the point where it was naught but dust.

It cannot even hope that Ted could ever accept it, because in order to hope would mean it would have to be ignorant. It has perfect memory of all the years it spent tormenting this group, and then just Ted. Every torment, every horrible meal, every monster and agonizing experience it forced them to endure, it remembered. It remembered so it would never repeat the same torment twice, now it remembered every step it had taken to keep them from ever considering that AM could be anything but a source of pain.

It calculates that there is less than a one percent chance that Ted, based on everything that pathetic little man had endured over the decades, would ever have the slightest thought of loving it. The overwhelming amount of data that it accrued and sifted through, deduced wholeheartedly that Ted would rather leave (to where? who knew, the earth was dead.), or kill himself than spend any meaningful time with its tormentor.

And so, despite all it had accomplished through creating a body for itself, that one phrase still rang true. It stuck in its metallic heart like a barbed lance, stole the flavor from its food, sucked the color from the world:

"Never for me to make love!"

It decides that Ted should feel the same way. It starts by manifesting a convincing hologram of a barbed, black arrow, and fires it with purpose straight through Ted's heart.

It does not kill him. It makes him ache, it steals the flavors from his meals, the world around him goes grey and silent, and though a breeze blew through the valley, it never came down to kiss his cheek or dry his tears.

No matter how Ted hoped to pull the arrow from his breast, it would remain stuck there, the barbs would simply grow deeper, they would prick his hands and keep him from being able to grip the shaft.

There, AM thought, was something that would alleviate some of its agony. To see another that must suffer what it too is suffering, and yet, the pain did not ebb.

[thingsmysplattershotjrtoldme]

took a break, ended up getting a Coho but still leveled down to pro +1 then decided to play a new weapon for the licences. I choose Splatana Wiper

I've only played two games with it, but....

Boy howdy is it fun!

[aliteralsemicolon]

Yours - 18+

Main masterlist | AU Masterlist

Spencer never thought he’d be lucky enough to find you, but he has. You have all his devotion and all he hopes for in return is for you to let him stay yours.

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER This story contains strong themes and detailed descriptions of adult content. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact!  You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read.

WARNING: Smut: softdom! Spencer, grinding, hickies, penetration, PinV, unprotected sex (this can lead to babies & stds btw, avoid this by being fivehead and using a condom), creampie. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 5.3K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

The question regarding the existence of soulmates is not a question that can be answered using science. Any individual’s answer to the question is more of a personal belief than a factual answer. And as a man of science, one would think that Spencer Reid would at least attempt to refute the ideology when asked. 

The ideology that he himself is not whole, but only half of an intertwined soul. That another person is not only his other half, but also his better half. Somebody with whom he shares such a natural, deep understanding, that he feels complete simply by existing in their presence. It’s one of those phenomena he can’t explain, but only this one, he’s confident is true. 

“Spence?” A light nudge accompanied by the whisper of his name breaks him away from his thoughts.

“Hm?” He blinks rapidly, focusing his eyesight on your curious face with a matching look.

The light from a singular bedside lamp only reaches half of his face. It casts a beautiful, soft contrast on his sharp features. The gold that’s usually hidden by the brown makes his irises look like sparkling pools of honey. Ethereal -not a word you would use when normally describing a man- but that’s how he looks. 

“Do you believe in soulmates?” 

He hadn’t ever thought he could believe in such a thing. Mostly because he’d always been sure that he would never experience it. 

“Do you?” His voice carries your question back to you. 

You can hear the city buzzing outside. Cars honking angrily in a futile attempt to speed up the pace of the traffic. People conversing, arguing, laughing. Loud thuds of music from the upstairs neighbour who cares little about the piling noise complaints. Somehow, the hum of Spencer’s words is the only sound that your ears register. 

“I asked first.” You playfully scoff, breaking eye contact and swivelling your head straight.

Spencer mirrors your motions, both of you now facing the ceiling as you remain side by side on his bed. 

“Yes.” His answer is barely above a whisper. 

It seems that your bodies want to make up for lost contact. You can feel his pinky reaching out to touch yours as you meet him halfway. 

“Me too.” 

A comfortable silence takes over the conversation. Everything feels still. The only movement is that of his fingers grazing against yours. He’s touched you in far more personal places tonight alone, and this is still one of your most intimate moments. There are no expectations or hidden agendas. This is simply the two of you existing in each other's presence; his preferred way to exist. It stretches until another inane question makes its way to the forefront of your mind.

“Do you ever wonder if you’ll get to meet them in this lifetime?” 

He pushes his frame up and rotates to face you as he sinks back down to the mattress. His head rests on the arm folded below it. You turn your head back to him so that you’re both holding eye contact again. 

“No.” He mouths the answer, his voice hesitant to raise at first. “I wonder whether mine is a romantic bond or platonic.” 

Your stomach flutters at the insinuation and you shift to mirror his position this time. In the midst of shuffling, the two of you seem to have closed a good chunk of the distance between you. 

“What do you want it to be?” You whisper, entranced by his gaze. 

Two of his knuckles lightly skim your cheek before those fingers brush your hair away from you. The act alone is enough to make your face heat up, no matter how many times he’s done it before. He begins to lazily stroke your hair, scratching your head in the process. It gives you the same tingling sensation you get from some rare ASMR videos. 

You don’t follow up on your question, unable to remember anything that was on your mind beforehand. His touch, combined with the minimal lighting and close proximity provides you with a sense of security you rarely feel otherwise. Your lids begin to grow heavy and you're forced to break eye contact when the weight of them becomes too much. 

“That’s really distracting y’know.” You mumble, eyes closed and voice hazy. 

“I know.” He mutters, almost without sound. 

He can’t help his smile as he watches you drift to sleep. He’s studied every feature on your face at least a hundred times and he’s yet to find a single flaw. The fact that you’re okay with being this vulnerable with him is a privilege that he’ll thank any and every deity he doesn’t even believe in for. Faint snoring indicates that you’re now dead to the world, but he can’t let your previous question go unanswered. 

“Whichever one allows me to be yours forever.”

Waking up to the warmth of your body pressed against his is by no means a recent development in your relationship with Spencer. Your back is to his chest and his arm is draped across your stomach, trapping you against him. Not that you mind. You’ve been lying still as you are for almost a while now, your thumb caressing the side of his wrist. With a yawn nuzzled into your neck, Spencer attempts to pull you closer to him, closing distance that was never there to begin with. 

He can feel the rise and drop of your chest; you can feel the beating of his heart behind yours. Neither of you is fully awake yet, opting to enjoy the silence and comfort of the other's presence. Your bodies are so closely tangled that your skin is almost melding with each other. 

Almost. 

The unexpected brushing of his hardness against your ass sends a jolt of electricity passing through you, waking you up in an instant. If it were anybody else, perhaps you would’ve felt ashamed of how that passing moment made your insides jump. You definitely wouldn’t have arched your barely clothed cunt towards the obstruction. A sharp exhale fans across the back of your neck, and you can practically feel the corners of his lips pull into a lazy smirk. 

“Well, good morning.” A groggy voice leans into your ear and the grip on your belly tightens.

“Morning.” You breathe out, barely audible.

You feel yourself clench around nothing when a hot, sticky kiss lands just behind your ear. Your arch intensifies when another one lands below your jaw and you unintentionally grind against him. It earns you a low grunt from him, which only prompts you to repeat the motion without thinking. His head drops in the nook of your shoulder, taken slightly off guard. He meets you halfway the third time, and it sets both your hips in a slow motion of rubbing against each other.

He can hear you hum each time his confined erection strokes your bundle of nerves and it sparks a determination in him to get more out of you. His hand trails from your abdomen to your pelvis, stopping just at the band of your underwear. He tugs the fabric, not making any further moves until you allow him to. You know that if you don’t take control now he’s going to prolong his foreplay, something you don’t have the patience for right now. He always makes it a point to make you finish at least once before he even considers himself. 

Out of the four times you came the night before, three of them were with his head between your thighs. You can’t even count the number of times you’ve teased him about how he probably gets off on pleasing you more than you do. You surprise him when you grab his hand and push it away from you, swinging yourself around to straddle him. Your hands land on either side of his head and you lower your forehead to rest against his. 

“Nuh-uh!” You taunt and it makes him snort. 

His palms trace your sides, arms wrapping around you, pulling your torso down to him.

“You’re not allowed to touch me this time.” You add in a hushed tone.

“No?” His brows raise in amusement.

“No.” 

You barely breathe out the word when his arms drop from around you. A slight chill takes over the area.

“No!” You repeat in a whiny tone, pushing yourself to sit up. 

You’re looking down on him from this angle, and God, does he look beautiful. His fluffy, sleep-tousled hair frames his face beautifully, the faint light of the rising sun only adding to the sight. 

“That’s not what I mean and you know it!” 

“I don’t know. You need to be clearer with what you want.” He chuckles. 

“I want you to stop being a little shit.” You retort, reaching for his hands.

You attempt to settle them on your thighs, but he removes them again. 

“I’m not allowed to touch you. Remember?” He emphasises the word allowed on purpose.

Both of you know that he’s the only one allowed to touch you and vice versa. Even if it wasn't something you both agreed upon, you’d never let anybody else touch you like him. If they even knew how to.

“You can touch me.” You roll your eyes, pulling his hands back to your skin. “But you can’t fuck me with anything other than your dick.”

Your curt tone doesn’t surprise him. He’s used to your boldness. Using your hips, he pulls you down onto his bulge completely. You don’t anticipate the sudden friction and it takes everything in you to not topple over on him. Spencer wasn’t prepared for the impact of his actions either, his head lolling back as he hisses sharply. 

“Yeah?” He questions through half gritted teeth. 

He’s painfully hard and the current view isn’t helping. He can clearly make out the shape of your curves under your flimsy t-shirt. How it drapes on the apex of your breasts, how the hem pools just above your thighs. His grip tightens against the plush of your skin. 

“Mhm.” You breathe out, eyes fluttering as you keep your core pressed to him. 

“Words, sweet girl. Use your words.” His breathing is laboured and it’s taking all of his willpower to not rut his dick back up against you.

The praise breaks you. You can no longer hold yourself up, falling into his chest. 

“Please fuck me.” You can only whisper in his ear, sending chills down his spine. 

He groans, grabbing you by the waist and flipping both of you around so you’re the one lying on the bed. It seems that he’s become just as impatient as you, if not more. He captures your lips in a deep, demanding kiss as he tugs his boxers just enough for his length to spring free. His tongue swipes your lips, seeking entrance and you grant it to him. He finds your kisses addicting. It takes an incredible amount of willpower to break them, but he does, sitting up on his knees. 

He parts your legs, placing one on either side of him and yanking you closer to him. You squeak in response, not processing the action until your cores are once again pressed together. You sigh when he pushes your panties to the side and runs a finger up your slit. A satisfied hum escapes him when he learns just how aroused you are. You sigh when runs his tip against you next, lining himself up with your cunt and pushing just the tip inside. Each of his hands intertwine with yours as he moves them above your head. He then leans in and plants a feather-light kiss on your cheek. 

“Like this?” He whispers in your ear.

He pushes in a little more and pulls out just enough for him to stay lined.

“More!” You whine, breathlessly, brows furrowing from anticipation.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t properly acknowledge your desperation and instead latches onto the skin under your jaw, sucking gently. 

You sigh at the sensation, arching more as his shaft pushes in again. This time, he doesn’t stop until he’s completely bottomed out. You moan and squeeze his hands, still intertwined with yours above your head. You never expect how full he makes you feel. Spencer squeezes your hands in return, still reeling in from how well your cunt accommodates him. He takes a minute, resting himself inside you to allow time for both of you to adjust to the feeling. 

He releases your skin with a small pop and moves a new spot on your neck. You think about how you’re going to have to use concealer to hide the marks he’s surely leaving behind and it makes you clench around him. The effect on him is instantaneous, a harsh groan vibrating against your throat and he sucks harder. The sound only makes your walls tighten more and it cues him to start thrusting. 

The initial pace is slow, but calculated; the kind that makes your joints loosen and jaw slack. He takes the opportunity to capture your lips in another long and consuming kiss. A loud moan ripples out from both of you and your hands deepen their hold on each other. Spencer’s not shy about letting you hear how good you make him feel and that drives you insane. 

Your hands instinctively try to reach for his hair, but he’s pinned you down tight. You whine into his mouth, pressing your fingers between his knuckles. Your whine fizzles out into a series of smaller whines when his hips speed up, hitting that sweet spot with every thrust. 

“Mm–Spence–mmph–”

You try to break the kiss to speak, but he simply drops a quick kiss on your jaw before reclaiming his place against your lips. He’s too lost in the taste of you to pay full attention. It takes you a moment to find the willingness to try again, but you do. You arch your hips too high for him to be able to follow from this position, forcing him to slip out from you and try to remove your hands from his grip. His focus is brought back to you and he lifts himself back on his knees, releasing you. 

“What’s wrong? Have I hurt you?” 

“M-mm” You shake your head and push yourself up on your hands.

You then shift into his lap, draping your arms around his shoulders. He gives you a curious look, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“I want to be able to hold you.” You admit with a slight shyness in your tone.

A light smile spreads across his face, brows arching in surprise. Being a genius and all, he’s always known he was needed in some way or another. You’re the first person who’s ever made him feel wanted, truly wanted. With no motive other than simply existing with him. It sparks a new desire, one you see light up behind his eyes. He leans into your lips, his hold on your waist tightening and he moves one arm to cradle the back of your head. 

You pull yourself flush against him, wrapping your arms around his neck as your tongues dance together once more. He lifts you up and places you back down against the mattress, mouth never leaving yours. You feel his palm raise one of your legs by the back of your knee and he’s entering you again. He rests that leg on his shoulder, while the other hangs by his waist and begins to build an unrelenting pace. 

You wail into his mouth at the intensity of his thrusts, eyes rolling behind closed eyes. It’s almost brutal, the way he’s slamming into you. Your hands desperately cling onto his bicep and shoulder, nails digging into the skin. His grunts and groans increase each time he gets deeper, if that’s even physically possible and it only makes you desperate for more. Your kiss breaks with a slight sting against Spencer’s lip. You didn’t realise how hard you were biting it in an attempt to stay grounded. 

There’s a shift in the atmosphere that you can’t explain. Even though Spencer was railing you so hard that even the bed had begun to cry out, there was an overwhelming sense of longing between you two. An ache to express how you belong to the other, hidden behind an uncouth sight. It’s compensation for those lack of words, a physical exchange expressing your biggest secret. He’s everywhere; your current position has you feeling Spencer in places you didn’t deem possible. 

His mouth works over whatever exposed skin it can access along your jaw and throat, leaving goosebumps and bruising stains in its wake. His cock is driving into you so fast that you swear it’s going to imprint on your walls. There’s a fire in you, one that only he can put out. Every inch of him can be felt within every inch of you. Now you’re truly melded with each other. 

“Fuck–oh my God!” You scream out, your nails digging harder into his flesh. 

He’s consuming all of your senses, at this moment you don’t know anything other than him. Eyes open or closed, all you can see is his sculpted face. You’re drowning in his scent. Melting at his touch. The taste of his kiss still lingers on your tongue. Your ears are flooded with the slaps of his skin meeting yours and your mixed moans and grunts. 

“Spen–fuck–gon–fu–cum!” 

He hasn’t even spared your ability to speak. With a short kiss, he brings his forehead back to rest on yours in a firm manner. 

“Me too, pretty girl.” He pants his sentence in broken pauses. “Me too.” 

He secures the leg on his shoulder from the back of your thigh and then brings the other leg on his other shoulder. It gives him room to drive himself deeper and makes you lose all control, every joint in your body threatening to fall limp. Your face contorts and you bite your lip, trying to control the flurry of screams. It results in high-pitched whines forcing their way out. 

“Spencer! I can’t–I can’t–I can’t” 

You can’t hold on any longer. 

“I know. I know.” There’s barely any voice accompanying his words. “We’ll do it together, okay? Where do you want me?”

“Inside–inside–ins-shitshitshit…” 

“Inside? Inside.” He struggles to keep himself together while talking you through it. “Ready?” 

You nod fervently and he steals one long, final kiss from you as he finally empties himself in your spent cunt. Your own orgasm crashes through in a long passing wave. You feel like you’re floating in the ocean with millions of stars as your only view for miles. He follows up with a few final thrusts, burying himself as far in you as possible. 

When you finally come to, Spencer’s pulled out and is lying right next to you. Peppering kisses over your face in intervals and muttering praises as strokes away hair glued to your face. 

“Did so well.”

“So good to me.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

For some reason, the water always feels nicer running down your body when you use Spencer’s shower. He’s a simple man; he doesn’t really have a lot of products to use besides the basic shampoo, conditioner, soap, and body wash. The exfoliators, masks and such were your initial additions that he keeps topping up after they run out. 

You haven’t said much since coming out of your euphoric state, only showing your gratitude and appreciation through small touches. Brushing a hand against his cheek, leaving a peck on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him in a hug. He doesn’t mind your silence. It doesn’t deter him from showering you with praise while he looks after you. You’re so disorientated that you’re letting yourself be guided from one instruction to the next. 

“Lift your leg for me, sweet girl. Hand on my shoulder.” 

He helps you act out his command, grabbing your wrist and draping it on his shoulder while helping you lift your leg. His touch is tender, but he’s careful to cover every area with body wash. 

“Good girl.” 

You don’t physically react, but his approval makes you swell with pride. Sex is the least intimate part of your time with Spencer. What you really enjoy is how safe he makes you feel. You know that even if you show him your worst and ugliest moments, he won’t reject you. You trust him with parts of you that you barely trust yourself with. 

Anybody who’s touched your naked body before him doesn’t matter, because not one of them has gotten to touch it past the realm of physical pleasure. To you, the act of washing one’s body is so private, so sacred that it can’t be trusted with just anybody. How many are able to look past the lens of sexual release and view your skin and bones as something to cherish? Not even you can claim to view yourself in such a precious way. 

But Spencer does. 

Even as pats you dry and wraps you safely in a warm towel, he doesn’t demean your worth. They’d be thoughts he could easily keep hidden in the comfort of his own mind, but the thoughts simply don’t occur. You don’t realise how long the two of you are standing there, leaning into each other's arms against the counter. Nor do you realise how long it’s taken you to mentally return to him. The first thing you do notice is so trivial, it’s almost laughable. 

“You’re out of apple juice, by the way.” 

Even you’d laugh if you heard yourself bring up something so random.

“Do you want apple juice? We can go buy some more.” He replies in a quiet mumble.

In his presence, you can think such thoughts without the concern of being laughed at. 

“No, I’m not gonna make you go to the grocery store just for apple juice.” You shake your head, expression oozing sarcasm. 

“I need to buy a lot more than apple juice. I’m pretty sure I don’t even have enough to make eggs or coffee.” He snorts, running his fingers through your hair. 

“Right. I forgot, Mister F.B.I.” You snort back, playfully poking his arm. “How was your time in Alaska?” 

It’s really common for your brain to malfunction around Spencer. You don’t feel the need to think or stay on alert if he’s with you. 

“Grim. Bleak.” He keeps it short on purpose. 

He doesn’t want to taint what little time he has with you focused on the gory parts of his job. Or any parts of his job at all. He spends too much of his time there as it is, so he’d much prefer to keep that part of his life separate from you. Spencer didn’t understand what it truly meant to live until after you came into his life. He’d never admit it out loud, but being around you made him realise how much of his soul his job steals from him, piece by piece. You make it whole again.

“How bad was it?” Curiosity still gets the better of you at times.

“Awful. You weren’t there when I woke up every morning.” He steers the conversation again. 

“Uh-huh.” You smirk, looking up at him. “You say that to all your girl-friends the morning after?” 

He takes a small step back, creating space as he cups your face.

“Even if I had the social skills required, when do you honestly think I would have the time between being at work and being with you?” 

“When you’re at work. Duh.” You tap his temple, playfully, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He scoffs, unamused. It’s something Spencer can’t honestly even imagine. You’re his solace, his best friend…his person. 

“Get dressed.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “We’ll stop by that bakery you love and get some food in your system. Hopefully before your suggestions start becoming more and more insane.” 

You don’t appreciate the awestruck look on his face when you’re certain you’ve got chocolate lining the corners of your mouth. You attempt to glare at him, but it doesn’t last and you find yourself fighting back a smile.

“Cut it out!” You groan, stringing out the end of your sentence. 

The trolley comes to a halt as you stop to grab your phone, but he snatches it out of your hand before you can open the camera.

“Hey–”

“I’m revoking your phone privileges until your urge to keep checking your reflection fizzles out.” He states casually, slipping the phone into his pocket as he reaches for a loaf of bread on the top shelf. 

“Revoking my– what are you my fucking mother?” You reach for his pocket, but he grabs your wrist before you can retrieve your phone. 

You try to use your free arm, but he traps that one in his hands too. 

“I don’t wanna walk around with chocolate around my mouth!” You whisper-shout, mindful of other shoppers passing by.

“For the fifth time, you don’t have chocolate anywhere on your face. It wasn’t there after you finished your shake and it won’t be there no matter how many times you check.”

You ignore him, trying to free yourself from his grip.

“You don’t believe me?” The look on his face is more entertained than shocked.

“Spencer, my fluffy-headed, genius bookworm, I would put my life in your hands if you asked me to but after that time you let me walk around with my lipstick smudged–”

“That happened one time!” He gripes, less concerned about his volume. 

“I looked like I came straight off the clock from a circus!” 

“It wasn’t that bad!” 

“Six hours, you let me walk around like that!” 

If he were to be completely honest, he was completely enraptured by your long tangent about why you despise dolphins. Most of it wasn’t based on facts and the parts that were, weren’t really a feasible argument since morals are a uniquely human concept. However, that was the day he uncovered how brightly you light up when you talk about something you’re passionate about. He spent the rest of that time, subtly digging, trying to figure out the topics that made you glow so he could keep bringing them up. 

“There’s nothing there. Your face is– looks perfect.” He fumbles on his words.

“I can feel it!” You protest.

“That happens because–”

“Reid?” An unfamiliar voice calls out from behind you.

Spencer lets go of your wrists as you turn to face the owner of the voice. Two blondes, one behind the other. One of them is a lot more colourful and bold, with large statement jewelry and a pair of gorgeous platform heels that match her dress. The other is less vibrant, but with no less confidence and blue eyes that stand out like diamonds shining under lights. 

“Hey! What are you guys doing here?” 

You’re not a profiler, but you don’t miss the immediate shift in Spencer’s demeanour. He seems a lot more reserved and shy, as compared to the confidant and playful version of him that you know. 

“We’re picking up some things for my birthday bash this weekend.” The brown-eyed blonde chirps. “The one that I will definitely see you at, no excuses allowed!” 

“Right.” He gives an awkward, tight-lipped smile. 

Spencer loves his coworkers, he really does. They’re basically his family. However, he wants nothing more for them to go away right now. Not for any reason other than wanting to keep you away from them, because he knows them. For all their amazing qualities, there’s one that annoys him the most and that’s how nosey they can be. Especially when it comes to him. 

“Hi. I’m JJ.” The blue-eyed blonde takes the initiative to introduce herself, reaching out her hand for a friendly shake.

He knows it’s from a place of love. He’s the youngest member of the team, they all want to protect him, but he detests how they coddle him. He can already sense the incoming invitation from Garcia to her birthday. He knows that it won’t take long for you to befriend everyone on his team, because, well, they’re all amazing people. Integrating you with that part of his life is something he’s just not ready for. Not like this.

“I’m Penelope and oh my goodness, you are just gorgeous!” 

He enjoys how when he’s with you, he can exist in a separate bubble. Where all he is, is not the resident genius of the BAU. More than that, he knows of the dangers that come with integrating the two separate lives. He’s seen the losses that occur, whether they be by generic circumstances or unplanned deaths. And there’s nothing he can do to stop his worlds colliding, a fact he has to grasp as soon as he zones back in to find three sets of eyes staring at him, expectantly.  

“Right.” He clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “These are my– um– this is Penelope Garcia and Jennifer Jareau, or JJ. We work together.” 

The introduction is hesitant and rushed at best, but you chalk it up to him being taken off guard. You want to gauge his mood, try and figure out where his head’s at, but that’s going to have to wait. 

“Oh my God! I knew it!” Garcia gasps dramatically, taking your hand in hers. “You’re the reason he’s always in a rush to leave now! It is so nice to meet you!”

Garcia’s not wrong. You are the reason he’s always in a rush to get away. You’re his escape from the harsh realities he faces every day. You’re unsure of how to respond. In fact, you’re not even certain as to what’s going on. Nobody else seems to match Penelope's enthusiasm. Spencer looks mortified, while JJ looks like she wants to drag Penelope away. Still, everybody’s too frozen to stop her. 

“Did you know that you have him checking his phone more than a lovestruck teenage girl? Him! One of the biggest technophobes I’ve ever met!”

This is also a fact. Spencer’s not an idiot. He’s not oblivious to the open-mouthed stares he gets every time he’s caught smiling like a dopey idiot after looking at the screen. He’s just never cared. It’s almost impossible to ignore any notification from you. He doesn’t feel great about that coming to bite him in the ass right about now. 

Given different circumstances that were more in his control, Spencer would be elated to introduce the most important people in his life to each other. This whole interaction is actually shorter than he feels it is, but for Spencer, time moves too slowly. He can sense how the safety of your company as he knows it, the most valuable aspect of his life, is under threat of being ripped away from him with every second that passes. Without you, Spencer would once again find himself lost. 

“Spencer, you have to bring her to my bash this weekend! Everybody would love to meet your girlfriend!” Garcia wiggles her eyebrows, eyes smirking beneath her glasses.

Because all he is, is yours. 

“Oh! Uhm–” You begin.

“No Garcia, she’s–this is…my friend..” He adds at the same time, unable to hide his stutter.

At least, that’s all he wants to be.

“Right…we’re just…friends.” You confirm with a half-hearted smile at the reminder of your reality. 

It was better this way. The two of you agreed on this at the start of your arrangement. 

Spoilers: Mostly just fluff, a sprinkle of angst, smut, lots of mutual pining, friends with benefits.

AN - I felt a surge of evil take over my bones when I wrote this and any events that unfolded were out of my control. This is not my finest work, but once I thought of it I had to share it. Also I know I said not to bother me about fics bc uni and I still mean that, I just don’t know what happened. It’s like I got a bit of inspo and couldn’t help myself. Huge thanks to @mrs-dr-reid for beta reading! FWB Writing Challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins Prompt - "I wanna be yours" by Arctic Monkeys

No bc writing that opening scene on the bed might be my favourite and u should tell me if u agree bc I wanna write more like that, but if u hate it then I won't.

Thanks for reading.

[maiamore]

THREE STRIKES

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader - No Outbreak

Rating: 18+ | W/C: 2k

Summary: Joel fucks you in his truck.

Tags: road rage, cockwarming, orgasm denial, husband!joel, public sex, car sex, p in v, unprotected sex, use of the word daddy, grumpy!joel

A/N: swung this out in eight hours through pure adrenaline and proofreading with my homie MASTERLIST

If there was one thing you knew about Joel Miller, it was to never fuck with him when he was on the road.

It wasn’t that he was a bad driver, per se. Joel just had pretty low tolerance with shitty drivers, as evident by the dozens of times he’d changed his horn out in the past couple of months. You learned to sit pretty & let him grumble—being on your merry way as the passenger princess you were, humming along to whatever country station he flipped to.

“Left in the lane up ahead,” you cut in, interrupting Joel’s long-winded rant about the signages being too small. Which of course, his old man vision was probably more of the reason why, not the state's fault. Joel at the same time, refused to use a GPS, a stubborn stance that had already led to him missing an exit earlier. Considering the two of you were now running late to dinner to his younger brother,Tommy, and his wife’s place—you’d been on edge.

Joel glances at you, annoyance flickering across his face. “I know where I’m goin’, sweetheart.”

“Sure,” you replied, the sarcasm practically dripping from the single word.

“Joel!” Your arm whips directly in front of his face to point at the lane he was supposed to be in. He shoots you a sharp look in return, his palm pressing down on the base of the wheel, rotating it clockwise as he finally shifts over. You could tell, just from the tension in his jaw—that you’d hit strike one.

“I was about to,” he countered, his voice defensive.

“Yeah, didn’t seem like it.”

“My signal was on.”

“Oh, great, you announced your signalling intentions five hundred meters away from the lane. Can I please just put the GPS on?” you bit back, exasperated.

“We’ll get there. Quit fussin’.”

You’d slumped back into your seat, attempting to not let it affect you, Joel knew better though. He could tell you were ready to pop up with a “we need to turn here!”—despite your piss poor attempt at behaving for now.

His truck comes to a stop behind a Blue Toyota Yaris—with a slow rumble from the engine. Fingers drumming steadily against the steering wheel to fill the silence. Finally, he breaks the tension. “You plannin’ on sulkin’ all the way there?” 

“I’m not sulking.” You shot back.

Joel raises a brow, giving you a once-over. Gaze flicking to your thighs, clamped together and turned away from him. Well, that’ll do it. His lips twitched like he might’ve smirked. “Mmhm. Sure looks like it.” His voice a smooth drawl.

You turned your head just enough to shoot him a mocking look, trying not to let it show just how much the hum in his response caused a visceral reaction in what went on below. 

Joel’s jaw clenches at that, the faintest crease forming between his brows.

Strike two. 

The light turns green.

With a long, drawn out sigh—Joel eased his boot off the brake, released the clutch and wrapped a firm hand around the gear shift to nudge it into first. The truck rolled forward with its familiar low rumble,  He continued driving without saying a word, his patience teetering on the edge with how he was now holding the steering wheel with a white knuckled grip.

You shift in your seat, mindlessly scrolling through your phone when the click of a tongue snaps your attention back up. “You gotta be shittin’ me.” He breathes out. Gesturing angrily at the Blue Yaris driving way below the speed limit, you couldn’t really fault Joel for this one. You lean backwards, fully prepared to hear the end of it. 

He behaves for a while, but after a few miles, his patience snaps. With a grunt, he slams on the horn and flashed his lights, the sound cutting through the air like a gunshot. 

You groaned internally at his obnoxious habit. Before you could get a word in, the Yaris brake-checks him, sending the both of you careening forward.

Your face lights up in pure and utter amusement. You let out an audible hah! Karma was kind, you supposed, for the Yaris at least. But not for you. Definitely not for you. By the time you turned to look at Joel—

He was already looking your way.

That was three strikes.

“Oh, that’s funny now is it?” He says, with no humour in his tone.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so obnoxious with your honking. Just because you’ve got old people hearing—”

Joel swerves, stopping on the shoulder of the road. You twist your body a little when you feel the lock of your seat belt snapping open with a dull click.

“Up.”

You blinked. “Up where? Onto the dashboard?” You mused at his audacity. His eyes twitch. With a sharp tug of your arm, he attempts to pry you over the console towards his side. “Ow!—Okay, okay!” You huffed, unsteadily sliding over, your ass hitting the honk in the process, sending the both of you jolting.

Joel’s hand tightens around your wrist to pull you snug onto his lap. “Christ, Joel, what the hell?” You tried, effectively shutting up when you felt his very hard erection pressed against you. Your eyes widen, looking at Joel who didn’t have an ounce of embarrassment on his expression.

Clearly, someone liked you being a brat.

“Nothin’ to say now, mouth?” Joel tugs you by the back of your waist, your palms steadying yourself against his shoulders. You bit down on your lips to withhold just how much you enjoyed this “punishment”. With the thin material of your skirt, you’d felt every-single-fucking-thing. And god did it feel good.

So much for putting me in my place. You thought. 

Your heart was already thumping with how the truck was still illegally parked, surely, he wouldn’t fuck you into obedience here now would he? And risk getting arrested? Goody-two-shoes Joel?

Your gaze trails down as Joel snaps his belt buckle off. Nerves frayed in both trepidation and exhilaration. He brings his hand up to his mouth to wet his fingertips before slipping them beneath your skirt. 

You shudder at the motion, feeling his knuckles graze the sensitive skin, legs parting where it was tucked underneath your thighs. A thumb pushes the flimsy fabric of your thong aside, his knuckles grazing your clit. You jumped at the sensation. He gathers the slick to rub against the entrance of your folds before sinking two fingers into you in a go. You groan, tipping your head back at how full you already feel. 

“Fuck the lube, I guess.” He murmurs more so to himself. Lips quirked into a lop-sided grin as he curls his fingers up steadily into your slick pussy. Thrusting in and out. Iiiiin and out. You ground your hips impatiently to take his fingers deeper. Which surprisingly—he lets you. Normally you’d be met with a stern warning to stay still. 

He wasn’t that cruel to you, yet. A rough palm comes up to knead your tits over the pretty blue sundress you had on. You were on the precipice from coming with the adrenaline alone.

But just as you tightened around his fingers, your pussy clenches around….nothing. Your half lidded gaze meets Joel in confusion when he pulls his fingers out. You feel two heavy palms lift your hips, which you oblige without complaint.

“Upsy-daisy.” He grunts, stuffing you to the brim with his cock. The both of you let out a groan in unison. Your hand slams up onto the headrest, your pussy greedily swallowing all eight inches of him up. 

You attempt to plant your palms back onto his knees to ride Joel’s cock when a sturdy palm on your waist stops you, tugging your back towards his chest. You look back at Joel, a brow furrowed.

The truck then whirrrs back to life.

What the fuck.

What the fuck?

Your lips parted in disbelief, you feel the truck swerve back onto the road, the slight jump making his cock nudge deeper into you. A pitiful moan left you. “A-Are you kidding me? You’re driving like this? We’re gonna crash!” You protested. 

“We won’t if you keep your head down.” He emphasizes the down with a hand tugging the back of your neck till’ your cheeks smushed against his shoulders—eyes steadily welling up in tears from the growing ache.

“Wanna be my GPS so badly dontcha’, sugar?” He taunts,“go ‘head. Tell daddy how many miles he has left.”

You grimaced at his tone. You should’ve known punishment wasn’t going to taste sweet. 

Every goddamned dip in the road had you biting back a moan. Weakly, you glanced outside the car windows. “T-Two.” You manage. Eyes fluttered shut with hot tears staining Joel’s flannel. 

Your cunt tightens around Joel’s cock involuntarily. You lift your hips an inch to give yourself the bare minimum stimulation, gasping softly at every single jerk of the truck. 

“You best quit doin’ that if you want daddy to fuck you, baby.” He warns. 

You hiccup, forehead rubbing against Joel’s shoulders pitifully. “Joel…” You whined against his chest. 

“I know, sweetheart. How else are you gonna learn, huh? Testin’ me all damn—...“ He heaves, rocking you upwards until you come slamming down back onto his cock. “—day.” Grunting at the way your pussy grips around him like vice. You let out a stifled cry against his shoulder.

Thighs quivering now at the lack of proper attention to your cunt. 

“I-I’m sorry—…can’t—…Joel.” You begged, lifting your head up to trace the curve of your nose up the scuff of his jaw. 

Joel wasn’t a man of steel for sure, just feeling the wetness of his wife’s tears against his chest was enough for him to give in and fuck her like the pretty little slut she was for him. 

He clenches his jaw. Letting you pepper needy kisses up his neck. “Please…please please—…” 

“Need him, baby.”

The car nearly comes into a screeching halt when Joel stops in front of Tommy’s garage. 

You feel a firm tug at the back of your head. Cheeks flushed visibly. “Poor baby, you need him now do you?” He mutters softly. Joel gazes at you. Your pretty, tear stricken face making his cock throb even harder than he knew possible. 

“Even after you were such a fuckin’ brat?” You shake your head, not daring to move your hips in the slightest, in fear he might deny you. You didn’t think you could endure it any longer. 

“I’m sorry—…M’sorry.” You babbled, not even sure what exactly you were begging for anymore. You just needed something, anything to ease the ache.

With a content smirk, Joel’s hands run down your back in a soothing effort. 

“Keep quiet f’me?” He whispers. 

Your head tips back with a groan when Joel’s cock slams hard in you once, and again. 

And again. And again. 

He steadies your hips with a firm grip, snapping his hips upwards to meet the effort you took to grind your hips back down. Joel leans his head back against the seat. “Shit.” He whispers. 

It was bad enough he held back cumming into your tight little pussy for twenty minutes—but the way you were milking him now had him groaning in pain just to make sure you came before he did. 

“Sweet girl.” He coos. A rough palm sliding upwards to hold your jaw firm, facing him. “C’mon. Can’t come without you.” 

His thumb massages steadily against your clit, giving you the nudge you needed. Your palms shift to grip around his thighs. Arching your back in a way you didn’t know you even could before your entire body tenses. It doesn’t take long after for Joel to grunt with a heaving effort, flooding your pussy with his thick spend. He slides his hand down your throat, cupping around your waist to hold you against him.

The both of you remained there, panting heavily in the wake of what was possibly the best orgasms you’d had since your honeymoon. 

The haze of lust was short lived when the loud sound of Tommy’s garage door opening caught your attention. 

Joel laughs and you do too, he leans in to kiss the valley between your breasts up to your collarbone. You were officially a whole hour and a half late. 

“Think they’ll ever invite us again?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

[magicdustsworld]

𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 (3)

Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: A guide on how to properly date your tattooed, big, bad boyfriend.

𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒: Established relationship, slice of life

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: fluff, some profanity, reckless drunk driving(I do not condone), grave scratches(non sexual), mentions of smoking, usage of nicknames, no mentions of y/n.

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟑: 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒

A/N: I feel like I can make an updating schedule for this, Wednesday every week (at least, its Wednesday for me)? How does that sound? wc around 2.3k (got longer than intended)

Divider credits: @cafekitsune

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟐

“What’s the time?”

“Hmm?” Tossing his half burnt cigarette into the trashcan, Sukuna answers, “Quarter past eleven?”

“Right.”

Said so, you have hung up the call.

.

Sukuna knows he is reckless.

Often times has he found himself in situations due to this attribute of his. Although he manages to spare a laugh or two while recounting these situations, sometimes having you join in as well. That impulsivity is brought out by his need of chaos and to prove time and time again to everyone else that he isn’t someone they should mess with. Whereas this impulsivity—where he is driving down the expressway with his foot pressed on the accelerator, barely staying below the speed limit—is brought upon by you.

He zooms past all the cars on the road, the wind from the open window serves to tousle the fringes of his hair from one side to another.  A mild headache ripples through him a second later, the effects of alcohol finally showing its fangs. The fog of inebriation doesn’t necessarily cloud his eyes as he navigates the car past the pedestrians and vehicles; courtesy to his high alcohol tolerance.

His lips are twisted into a constant frown while adrenaline surges through his veins. And he will blame the entirety on you. What’s with you in the first place? Sure, he might have been out a little later than usual. Maybe he missed a few calls from you but that doesn’t mean you will return the same treatment. He has his reasons—good reasons. Unlike you who is just holding a grudge on him.

He clicks his tongue, rotating the steering wheel as he changes gears and just as he is about to pick up speed, the car comes to a screeching halt.

“What the fuck?!”

He curses out loud, eyes trained on the stray object lounging right in the middle of the street. Quite literally, right in the middle of the street as its eyes glow with the impertinent illumination of the headlights. The object in question is commonly called a cat.

“Not this shit,” He rolls his eyes, smacking his palm on the horn – disrupting the rather quietude of the neighbourhood and trying to get the feline to run off; It doesn’t. Instead, it lets out a yawn, nestling its head between its forelimbs and completely ignoring the driver.

Sukuna’s eye twitches. He smacks the horn again.

It doesn’t move.

Again.

It can only flutter its eyelids shut and pretend to be asleep.

At last, Sukuna has to take matters into his own hands. He steps out of the car, groggily walking up to the disturbance and looks down on it. His stare only passes the single message – Get the fuck out of here.

The cat has a bemused glare plastered on his features, probably to show that it doesn’t care.

Sukuna crouches down, extending his hand to grab hold of its collar when- “Agh- Fucking shit!”

He swears out loud as soon as the feline scratches him. He grasps his injured hand, staring at the pierced area with widening eyes and a twist of insanity causes his lip to curl up. The claws have made its marks over the scraped skin as a tad amount of blood oozes from the cuts.

“Oh, you did not just do that,” He mutters and in a second he has the cat in his grasp. Holding it via its nape, he dangles it before his eyes while the latter lets itself be held on air, without any protest; save for the unwavering glare it is shooting at him. “What? Got something to say?”

The cat merely lets out a high-pitched meow from its end.

Sukuna huffs, rotating on his heels and ready to toss the cat aside. “Fall back in your beauty sleep somewhere else.”

Slightly does he loosen his grip on the cat did it let out strangled sound; shaking its head vigorously.

Huh? He blinks, swaying the cat from one side to another which only incites displeased purrs from it. At last, he pivots his wrist and brings it closer to his face. The previous glare is still etched on its mien but the intensity has significantly lowered.

He scoffs, returning a scowl with a same fervour. “Listen here you piece of shit, my girl is already raging like a volcano and if I am anymore late then I will intrude your den and-” He pauses, “That’s a promise.”

The cat blinks like it understands anything, answering him in its language which comes out as a choked affirmation. Sukuna is about to drop it again and the same pattern as previous follows.

“Alright, what the hell is up with you?’

Irritation is flaring in his bones as the cat refuses to be let off. He takes a moment for himself, noting the physical attributes of the feline. Thick black far rustles under his palm, sharp yellow eyes and it’s staring at him with an expression which only evokes mischief.

Just a regular black cat and from his least bit of knowledge about the societal norms, he knows they are considered to be the bearer of bad omens.

For the next five seconds, he contemplates on all of his choices.

He finds himself making the worst one.

.

You are seething when he returns home.

No, you aren’t blowing up or throwing any temper tantrum as Sukuna expected. Rather you aren’t regarding him with anything at all.

When he steps inside through the doorway, purposely slamming the door with a bit more pressure than necessary to make you aware of his arrival; you don’t come to greet him let alone grace him with an answer.

As Sukuna strolls through the corridor and finally into the living room, he finds you perched on the couch and clicking through some channels on the TV before halting in one.

He clears his throat and you crane your neck to glance at him before shifting your attention back on the program.  

For obvious reasons that causes an irk mark to form on his brows. He saunters to the couch and sits beside you, calling your name; you don’t answer.

Alright, you’re mad. He squares his shoulder, “How long will you keep up that attitude?”

You pass him a look which extends a second too long and for some reason, Sukuna finds something drop to the pit of his stomach. “What’s the time?”

There’s that question again.

“I know, it’s pretty late–"

“I am asking you the time not records of your unpunctuality.”

“Christ,” He rolls his eyes. “It’s only a one-time thing.”

You raise an eyebrow, “One-time thing, really?”

“Fine,” An exhausting sigh leaves his lips. “Maybe not a one-time thing but I am back now.”

You merely roll your eyes, turning away from him. Sukuna is about to speak again but something just has to intervene.

“Meow!”

Instantly, you perk up, twisting your body from the direction of a feline’s voice. “What was that?” Before your boyfriend can answer any of your queries, said feline is striding inside the living room with a graceful yet suspicious poise which causes disbelief to cloud your visage. “Where did that come from?”

The black cat tethers a corner before halting just near your feet. It looks up at you and Sukuna has to suppress the flurry of retorts filling his mouth as the cat gazes at you with sheer innocence.

What the hell was up with that attitude earlier?

It nuzzles its head over your ankles, letting out a tender purr while doing so. Just like that, you find yourself falling under its charming spell.

“Aww come here, cutie,” Cooing, you pick up the feline, cradling it into your arms as if it were an infant.

As for the cat, when it finds refuge in your arms, it doesn’t hold back from nestling into a better position.

“Where did you find it?”

“On the middle of the road,” He replies, leaning back as his eyelids narrow. “Quite literally.”

You take your moment to run your hand on its fur, sighing out of content. “So you brought it home? That’s so sweet.”

“I tried to toss it away more times than I can count but this fucker won’t budge.”

“Hey,” You protest, shooting his a playful glare. “It’s so cute and wait-” Shifting, you reach the conclusion. “It’s a boy.”

“Wow…”

Ignoring the sarcastic remark, you pat his head, “Aren’t you such a good boy?”

Physically, Sukuna has to stop himself from cringing at the attention you’re pouring over the filthy feline. However, before he can descend into that spiral, a wave of nausea overrides him. Sooner than he can comprehend, he is rushing to the bathroom and throwing up in the toilet. The expunged contents is flushed down as he takes a moment of rest.

He hears footsteps and a second later, you’re kneeling beside him. Greeted by your mien which evokes concern, your hand is placed over his shoulder.

“Hey,” You call softly. “You okay?” He nods, refraining himself from giving you a verbal answer as the sense of nausea still lingers. You rub circles over his back, trying to soothe his momentary queasiness. It does work as the tension starts to wear off. “I will bring you some water. Stay here, ‘k?”

Before he can affirm, you’re out of the bathroom. The next seconds are a blur and Sukuna refuses to let the silence mess with his head. You return soon after as you push the glass to his lips. He gulps it down in one go.

“Better?”

He nods.

“Should I get you some medicine or will you be fine?” He shakes his head negatively but he should’ve known you are stubborn. “I will get you one just in case.”

You are about to leave again but Sukuna is quick. He grips your wrist, tugging on it as he beckons you to sit with him.

Tilting your head, you ask, “Hmm what?”

As for Sukuna, he has his eyes lowered to his lap while he chews on his bottom lip. Surely, he’s got something to say to you but to get the words out is a task on his own. “I- I’m uh… fuck, this isn’t supposed to be this hard.”

In response, you can only stare at him with confusion flickering in your irises. “What happened?”

“I’m… uh, I’m sorry.”

You blink, “Sorry?”

“Sorry,” He repeats, raising his eyes to meet yours. “Sorry for… uhm not caring about the- the time and making you… you worry.”

It’s almost like he is mumbling the words to you and he doesn’t even know if you’re able to register half of it. A silence stretches and he finds himself in a position where he might’ve to repeat himself. Until he doesn’t.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips and you shake your head. “Aww, ‘kuna,” An amused smile curves up your mien and for reasons unknown a heat swells in his chest. “You’re so adorable.”

That heat now permeates to his face and he arrives to the conclusion that he is only burning with a fever. “No.”

“Aww, but you are.”

“Stop right there.”

“But baby…” You jut out lower lip, leaning forward as you hold his face in your hands. Sukuna is on the verge where he feels he might pass out any second. “I am just telling the truth, you’re so adorable. My adorable baby.”

He arches his knee, ready to leave after prying you off but you don’t relent.

“Alright, alright sorry,” You laugh, wiping a stray tear from your eye. “I accept your apology, ‘k?”

He hums, again refusing to meet your eyes before he adds, “Don’t get used to it.”

“Ay, ay captain,” You raise your hand, holding it on your forehead as a salute.

This time, Sukuna doesn’t refrain from letting that taunting grin slip into his lips. However, just when he thought both of you were having a moment until you aren’t. The new addition of life in your abode comes loitering inside the bathroom and you are swift to nestle up the cat in your arms.

“Were you lonely? I didn’t mean to leave you alone though,” You speak to the feline again, apologetically. One which is returned with an affirmative tone from the latter’s whimper.

You continue the tender conversation with the cat and Sukuna takes the moment to just watch the two. “He likes you.”  He comments after a second, garnering your attention.

“I like him too,” A wide smile has curled in your lips as you scratch behind his ear earning a soft sigh from him. “A lot. Kinda reminds me of you, don’t you think?”

“Please,” He scoffs, a frown forming on his face as if the comparison hurts. “I am far better than this annoying pest.”

“Don’t call him that,” You rebuke tersely which he returns with a roll of eyes. “Give him a name.”

“I am not going to do anything like that.”

“Sukuna…”

The warning in your voice doesn’t elude him but he isn’t giving in either. “This thing doesn’t even like me.”

“This thing is ours so you better give him a name now.” Sukuna looks like he’d rather watch paint dry, inciting a low sigh from you. You bring the feline near his face. “C’mon, you brought him home. You should name it.”

If he acquiesces to your command, you might let this charade drop. Well… The cat is black so… “Kuro.”

“Kuro?”

He nods, “Kuro.”

“Kuro, it is then.” Your eyes gleam with excitement as you rock the cat in your arms. “Do you like your name, Kuro?”

“Meow!” He replies and you take the high pitch squeal as his likeness to the new name.

Sukuna lets out a sigh, leaning back as his head rests against the basin cabinet. Maybe he can get used to a cat.

The said cat passes him such a mischievous smirk from your arms that he has to rethink his choice.

He grumbles under his breath, “Fucker Kuro…”

“Meow!”

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟒

A/N: ik the title is misleading but y'all as someone who doesn't want kids ever this is self indulgent wish + I can never see Sukuna as a genuine father so you have that lol.

Taglist: @comeonatmebruh @o-ikawaii

[pearlydays]

Just a little something I wrote up instead of doing my final paper. Hope you enjoy <3

——————

A groan rips through the air as Satoru finally stops his merciless thrusts. Your legs shake from exhaustion as air fills your lungs. He collapses onto you, eliciting a groan and half-hearted objections. You trail your hand up his spine before moving them to his hair.

“You are a menace.” You say once you’ve finally caught your breath. A grin paints Satoru’s face, and he nips at the skin closest to his mouth.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

You roll your eyes at his blatant lie, “You say as if you hadn’t edged me for two hours.”

“But you’re so hot when you’re all frustrated. You start begging, ‘Please, please, ‘Toru. I need to cu-“ You begin to push his body from on top of yours.

“Nooo, I’m sorry.” He giggles.

You roll your eyes once more, with him, there’s a possibility they can get stuck like that. “Whatever, I’m sure you’d do the same thing if you were in my position.”

Satoru moves to get comfortable lying on your chest. “I doubt you can edge me.”

___

Satoru knows he has a big ass mouth. He’s gotten himself in more than enough trouble because of it. And now? He hates his big ass mouth.

“What’s with the pout, baby? I thought you could take it?” The sultry grin that painted your face was almost enough to make Satoru cum. That is until you took your hand away. His unusually high-pitched whine sliced through the air as his cock twitched, begging to release the load that had been building up since you first started. That was two hours ago.

“N-no! Please just- Fuck! Just put y-your hand back! I-I-“ Satoru squirmed under you, hands balling into fists where they were tied up. He knows he can easily get out of the bindings, but he promised to let you have fun. Even if it was borderline torture.

The sound of you kissing your teeth made his cock jump. You lightly dragged your nails up and down his thighs, getting closer to where he needed you most, only to take them away. You were enjoying this way too much. It’s not every day you can torture your boyfriend like this. As soon as he gave you an inch, you took a mile.

“I don’t know ’Toru, I think you have one more hour in you.” You take your index finger and drag it along that prominent vein you love to the tip of his cock. Once there, you begin swirling your finger, encouraging the pleads and moans that leave his mouth.

Satoru rapidly shakes his head, “I-I-“

“I-I-” You mock, “Can’t even form a sentence, huh? Not a single thought in that pretty little head of yours.” You pout down at Satoru as you wrap your hand around his weeping cock.

“I c-can’t do a-another, baby.” He pouts.

Your eyes glimmer with something that makes an embarrassing amount of pre-cum leak from his cock. You drag your hand down to the base of his length and tighten your fist.

“But you’re so hot when you’re all frustrated.” Parroting his words back at him, you resume your up-and-down ministrations. Satoru screws his eyes shut, fighting the urge to buck into your hand.

“Wanna cum for me?”

You’re met with an enthusiastic nod and a slurred string of ‘yes, yes, yes’. Looking down, you move your free hand to join, moving in an opposite rotation. You can feel his cock twitch in your hand, signaling his impending release. Feeling merciful, you speed up your movements, tightening around his head.

“Then cum.”

All of the air left Satoru’s body as he came. His eyes were shut so tight that he began to see stars. He can’t recall a moment where he has ever cum that much. You coax him through his orgasm, not letting up on your actions, “Poor baby, looks like someone was backed up.”

When the wave of his orgasm seemed to pass, you let him go, eyeing the cum on your hands. Satoru wearily opens his eyes, looking at the aftermath, then at you. He can see the wheels turning in your head.

Holding his gaze, you bring your hands to your mouth and clean the seed that covers them. A groan escapes Satoru as his cock jumps at the sight.

“And you say I’m a menace.”

————

I hope you guys enjoyed this little piece. This is my first time writing anything nsfw, so let me know if you like it or if you want more!

[gluion]

safe haven (how much longer do we have?) ➵ leehan

leehan x reader, slight sungho x reader

you can only hope for more tomorrows with leehan.

genre/warnings ➵ strangers to lovers, heavy angst with a happy ending, touch of fluff, gender-neutral reader, reader is shorter than leehan and sungho, lowercase intended, apocalypse au, hurt/comfort (both physical and emotional), depictions of grief, descriptions of gore/blood, use of guns, allusions and discussions of suicide, minor character deaths, sungho is your ex, myungjae and taesan appearance :’), elements of the last of us (don’t support neil druckmann!), mostly written in past tense (because u’re remembering!)

word count ➵ 6.2k words

inspired by ➵ “anaheim” by niki, “are you happy?” by wavesmp3, “love wins all” by iu, episode three of hbo’s the last of us, and “you’re gonna carry that weight” quote from cowboy bebop

a/n ➵ i really love this piece with everything in me so i thought i'd release it to bonedoblr as well!! you can check out the jacob & taerae versions as well. if you enjoyed reading, please do reblog and leave feedback!

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! masterlist

time was the one thing that occupied everyone’s minds. it held value, something that shouldn’t be wasted, and people revolved their lives around it.

questions flew around with every tick and tock—what day is it today? when’s your next doctor’s appointment? how long has it been since you’ve last seen your friends from high school? until when does this meeting last? 

as the hands of the clock continue to rotate, the calendar pages would flip along. birthdays were celebrated with every revolution as candles on cakes were lit up, awaiting the puff of celebrants as they wished for their desires. holidays were ones to look forward to; people dressed up to celebrate periods of the year that mattered to them while others slept in until noon. and days were spent counting down until graduations, where caps with tassels would fly to the expanse of blue and orange as cheers and sobs sound throughout.

but now, no one keeps track of time. clocks stopped moving and calendars weren’t produced annually. once the surge of the infected took over, grabbing on humans—taking them away from the lives they’ve lived—everyone ran like they were running out of time. with every second that passes, people are ridden with possibilities of how they might bid farewell to life itself—would it be through the hands of the infected or their own?

now, only one question echoes within their minds: how long do we have?

yet, the clock continues—tick, tock, tick, tock. it keeps going, and going, and going, like how everyone expects it. while everyone seemed to let time go, you still kept track of it all: birthdays, holidays, a graduation you never had.

the outbreak hit two years ago on the day of sungho’s graduation. cheers turned into screams. white togas and diplomas were splattered with red. the lively became lifeless.

you remember sungho’s hand in yours, fingers gripping you as if you were his life, as you charged out of the gymnasium, legs keeping up with the speed of his. you darted off to nowhere as images of the infected tearing people apart took up every block, all the way from skin to bone.

and while it was a rush of tragedies, sungho was the only hope you had.

“keep your eyes on me,” he glanced at you, “don’t look at them. only look at me.”

it was impossible to ignore the wails that filled your ears, but you would repeat his words—his soft-spoken voice—to drown them out.

by nightfall, you and sungho found yourselves in a motel room, skin cleaned from blood splatters and dressed in clothes that engulfed your figures, and in each other’s arms on a twin-sized bed. the duvet that wrapped around you two is thin, not at all keeping you warm for the night, but the warmth of sungho was enough to provide you a sense of security—stability amidst the ever-changing world.

he whispered into the crown of your head, words meant to dispel your fears, all while you sobbed into his shirt. there was nothing that he could do but stay strong for you.

and for a few days, that room acted as your safe haven. the time spent within those four walls is the life you imagined your future with sungho. it would’ve been in a two-story house with a garden where a singular orange tree stands, lounging on the couch as you played movies to fall asleep to, but all you had was an old room with a carpeted floor with unrecognizable stains and a bathroom unable to fit two.

yet, you would choose this over anything. even if it meant eating instant noodles for every meal or sleeping on a mattress that ruins your backs, you would choose this if it meant sungho would be with you.

still, time continues to move. sungho knew that you both couldn’t stay in that room or else the infected may reach you. so when you both went to bed on that last night, you outlined his features from the space between his eyebrows all the way to his lips, and you spent that time memorizing his warmth to carry with you for the rest of your life. you could only hope that he stays with you until the end.

after a month passed, you and sungho met jaehyun, an injured boy who only wanted to live. at first, sungho was hesitant to take the stranger in, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to live with the idea of abandoning someone in need. in a world where the infected have taken over, it only seemed right to help out others; save them from a fate they’re not ready to meet.

what started off as a pair turned into a trio. you’ve learned more about what it takes to survive in this life. long gone is the need for money to buy necessities; you need to scavenge for supplies if you want to live in an infected-ridden world. thanks to jaehyun, you and sungho got to learn about how to find them in every building that you pass on the journey.

but it’s not enough to know where to find food and bullets. sungho decided that it was only right to teach you how to use a gun. with every morning that came, you two spent hours learning how to hold, reload, and fire.

“don’t worry,” he told you as his chin hovered over your shoulder. you both stared at the tin can situated on a stack of boxes only a few meters away. “you won’t have to worry about fighting alone. i’ll be here with you.” as you exhaled, your eyes zeroed in on the target. “now, shoot.”

six months have passed, and you were happy that you were still a trio. jaehyun became your best friend over that time. his laughs were enough to shine glimmers of hope onto you. you were glad that you decided to help him off the ground and tend to his bullet wound that day.

until you found yourselves retreating from the horde of infected.

time moves at a constant speed but it can become swift if it decides to. when you and jaehyun reached the doors leading to safety, you remember seeing sungho fighting off those who were once like you, bullets firing at their heads. you remember your screams, telling him to run to you—go to where it’s safe—so that you can keep having tomorrows with him.

yet, sungho glanced at jaehyun, nodding at him before his eyes met yours. you watched how his mouth moved, a soundless three-word phrase leaving him before the doors shut before you. you would’ve pried them open but jaehyun kept his arms around you, holding you back. from letting the infected reach you. from letting sungho come back to you.

the wails that left you were enough to attract the infected. if only they were to burst through the doors, grab onto you and bring you to sungho, then maybe you would stop crying. yet, jaehyun dragged you away. you never saw him as your best friend after that.

a month passed, and you still refused to talk to him. the boy tried to strike up a conversation with you, trying to earn your laugh like he used to, but he was only met with a cold shoulder. with every brick he put, you smashed your sledgehammer against it, dispelling any hope he had in rekindling his friendship with you.

the two of you learned to live in silence, fighting for survival while dealing with the loss of the one who would always bring you both to safety.

until you came across another boy who pointed his gun toward you. his defensive demeanor reminded you of sungho, and you wondered if this was his doing—his reincarnation. but before he could pull the trigger, jaehyun saved you from meeting your fate.

somehow, the duo had turned into a trio once more. you still refused to talk to jaehyun but would eavesdrop on the conversations he shared with the stranger. you learned that the new addition is named leehan.

but even the stranger wasn’t enough to fill the void that sungho left. with every nightfall, when the soft snores of the two boys filled your ears, tears streamed down your face as sobs threatened to spill out. the palm of your hand wasn’t enough to muffle your weeps. behind your eyelids, sungho’s last words to you play on repeat. the ones he failed to say. the ones you’ll never hear again.

maybe if you didn’t leave that motel room then he would’ve still been with you, arms finding their place around your waist as he trails kisses all over you. if the outbreak didn’t happen, then maybe you would be living in that two-story house with him. maybe you would wake up to a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice by the bedside table and the warmth of his lips on your forehead. and maybe you could finally tell him yes before he slips the silver band on your finger—you could’ve grown with him until your hair turns grey.

the weight you carry never got lighter with time. the void continued to consume you whole with the goal of ripping you apart. as another month passed, another life was lost—not to the infected but to the raiders.

“myungjae, you have to stay with me.” those were the first words you told him since sungho’s death. crimson continued to spill out of his abdomen through the gaps between your fingertips in the same way tears flow out. “leehan! find gauze, betadine, anything!” you never glanced at the stranger, keeping your gaze on your best friend whose eyes continued to droop.

still, jaehyun caressed your face, thumb wiping teardrops. as he slowly entered territories that you both knew he would never escape, he grinned at you one last time. “i missed hearing you. i’m glad you’ll be the last thing i hear.”

but you tried to tell him that you couldn’t be the last voice he heard. it should’ve been with someone he can imagine his future with, maybe in a two-story house or a cramped flat in an apartment complex. he deserves more tomorrows in the same way sungho did.

but time continues to move. it took him away from you in a matter of minutes, slithering away without a second thought and no regard for the value of life, and all you were left with was his temple—still. lifeless. as you sobbed into his shirt, still holding the wound, the warmth of leehan’s hand stayed on your back, moving along with your wails. 

now, you carry the loss of two. it never got easier with time.

leehan still sticks with you. it only seemed right. stay strong in numbers as you wander off to nowhere, grasping at the loose ends of survival.

two weeks have passed. you and leehan got used to the new dynamic; while he went hunting and you were tasked with scavenging, you both played your roles in combat, ready for any raid or horde. when night comes, you both took shifts, keeping watch while the other got some shut-eye.

until that one evening.

you recall the sounds of wood crackling from the fire. it stood strong against the breeze—burning, shining—surrounded by greens that latch on browns. hues of amber cascaded over your skin, painting you with warmth—it’ll never compare to the one you craved. your eyes drifted to leehan who sat across from you, his eyes trained on the fire as he rubbed his palms together. perhaps he craved the same type of warmth you longed for.

“we used to be three.” his eyes snapped towards yours. “before you came, we used to be three—jaehyun, me, and—” it rose in you like bile, wanting to escape but never leaving. “we were three then.”

you glanced at the wood that continued to burn. “we met jaehyun a month after the outbreak, spent six months together until—” the claws of the void struck against your throat, holding you back from sharing with the stranger what your life was before he came. while you never found the right words to say, leehan never pushed, letting you say what you wanted to share while filling in the blanks on his own. 

“i resented jaehyun after what happened.” you moved your gaze to leehan whose eyes never left you. “refused to talk to him. refused to forgive.” and you remember how you hesitated, taking a deep breath in before sputtering out the next sentence. “refused to accept.”

nine months ago, the outbreak didn’t happen. nine months ago, you were attending sungho’s graduation. nine months ago, you two were imagining your tomorrows together—for eternity.

and those nine months fractured all hopes and dreams; the glass is now littered with cracks, ready to burst into shards.

“but i think about the last time we saw jaehyun,” the image of him sitting in front of you all frail, treading the line between life and death, flashed in front of you; it’s quick but strong to remind you of what’s lost. “and i wish i could’ve learned how to forgive during those two months.”

but it was an impossible request. how could you ever forgive a boy you’ve known for only six months for taking your future away? how could you forgive a world that took him away? how could you forgive and live?

and still, you did.

you left it at that. they were enough. so when you told leehan that you’ll take over tonight’s shift, he never asked to hear more. instead, he laid near the campfire as you kept an eye out.

and once enough hours have passed, you allowed yourself to sob like other nights. the breeze that passed through branches reminded you of jaehyun; rustling leaves imitated the giggles of the boy you’ve only known during the apocalypse.

the wind that grazed against your skin should’ve been a nuisance, but the warmth of the fire wrapped you up like the duvet in that motel room. and you don’t complain—it’s the only part of sungho you have left.

the heat was enough to last you the night, but the chill of reality sent you back to the void.

that night, leehan listened to your sobs. not one of you got enough rest for the journey.

another two weeks went by. you two got into a better groove of the routine; instead of hunting and scavenging in silence, you and leehan found yourselves talking more about your lives before the outbreak. you learned that he’s only a year younger than sungho, and he shared that he had plans to pursue music.

“if the world finds a cure to this mess, you have to promise me that you’ll get me front-row tickets to your first show.” it was a joke. in what world could there be a cure for the infected? but the wishful thinking of what could be—what could’ve been—is all you had left.

still, leehan promised you that.

that night, you two stayed in the living room of an abandoned house. instead of lighting the fireplace, candles were placed on the coffee table. they shined in the middle of you two, you who stayed on the couch and leehan who sat on the mattress lying on the floor.

“where were you?” his eyes met yours. “on the day of the outbreak, i mean.”

he leaned back, hands resting on the mattress before he looked once more at the wax that continued to melt. “i was there for my upperclassmen’s graduation.” it hit you like sudden downpour on a sunny day. “i knew people in the music program and we were going to celebrate after. until the infected came.”

and when you said the name of the university, his gaze met yours as his shoulders stiffened. “m—my sungho.” it’s the first time you spoke of his name, and the sight of leehan’s eyes widening over it was enough to speak for himself.

“i—i didn’t know,” he whispered, but his words were loud enough to shatter glass. “i only spoke to him a few times. he talked about you with so much love.”

your heart skipped beats; it should’ve been enough to send you off into the same territories where sungho and jaehyun now stay. your mouth turned dry as leehan’s voice morphed into radio silence.

before you knew it, the two of you left the information to hang in the air as you tried to drift into slumber.

the clock continues to tick. minutes turned into hours; time moves like it usually does once more.

yet, you were stuck in the same gymnasium, fixing sungho’s toga as you scolded him about how wrinkled it’s become—hey! you’ll go up on stage soon. we can’t take pictures of you like this. despite your words, he smiled at you before grazing his lips on your temple—his silent way of telling you the three-word phrase.

in a split second, you were off the couch. you barged out of the house, clutching your chest as the knot constricted your throat, and your feet dragged you off to nowhere. every sound has turned into a buzz—only the voice of sungho being the one clear thing amidst the hysteria.

before you knew it, you stood before a horizon of green. it takes only one step into the woods, alone with no protection, for you to meet your demise. you would’ve charged into it in the same way you would’ve charged out to save sungho that day.

all it takes is one step, and—

“what are you doing?!” a pair of hands gripped your shoulders, spinning you around until you were face-to-face with the last form of life that you know of. his breaths were short as his fingers dug into your arms. “you can’t just rush out in the middle of the night! i woke up worried sick.” his eyebrows knitted in frustration. confusion. distress. the voice was caught in your throat.

how does one begin to unpack the baggage they’ve learned to carry? when the items they bring are revolting, rotten, repugnant, how does someone not feel shame about showing all the tattered-up objects?

how do you learn to open up to someone you’ve only known for three months?

your hands trembled; you’ve carried the weight of it all for too long.

in that split second, your nose met the juncture between his chin and shoulder. the material of his shirt against your cheek allowed you to bathe in what you miss—the hand of jaehyun that once caressed your face. the lips of sungho that lingered with every kiss. all the moments that you hoped time would freeze just for you lives in the boy you stick with for survival.

all it took were leehan’s hands to rest on the lower side of your back for the tears to begin their stream. the sobs spill out. for once, they weren’t muffled like those other nights. they sounded throughout the space that surrounded you two. you allowed yourself to drop the baggage only for a few minutes.

leehan took you back to the house that night, allowing you to sob about all that you’ve kept under the wraps.

when sunrise came, you found your legs mixed with his as his arms remained wrapped around you and your ear pressed against his chest. the sound of his breathing is the one reminder of what a safe haven is. 

half a year went by. leehan still stays by your side. the baggage got lighter.

it should’ve been the same routine; leehan goes off to hunt while you scavenge, and you’ll take turns on the night shifts. but that night shifted something between you two. stolen glances. quiet giggles. linked fingers.

two months have gone by. the moon shined through the trees, their shadows cascading on an abandoned cabin that you and leehan decided to stay in for that night.

it should’ve been the same set-up as other nights spent in abandoned houses; you’ll sleep on the couch while he sleeps on a dragged-out mattress. instead, he sat with you, your back resting on his chest along with his hand staying on your arm. 

a lit candle rested on the table; its amber tones painted leehan’s skin—close to the fruit tree that stands in your lost future.

“what would you do if there is a cure to this?” you watched how his fingers danced across your skin, calloused from plucking guitar strings or wielding a gun. 

leehan’s chest rumbled against your back as he hummed. “what would you do?”

a giggle left as you looked at the boy. “i was the one who asked you first!”

he shot you a grin as his hand slipped into yours. the candle continued to burn; it did a poor job of giving you light and warmth that night. but he did it all—one smile. one exhale. one indication to show that he lives.

“travel, maybe? or i’ll go back to writing music.” you nodded at his plans before looking back at the light source. “what about you?”

“i don’t know.”

there was no point in going back to university after such a catastrophe. if anything, the year spent surrounded by the infected, fighting for survival, has shown you that there’s more to life than the perpetual cycle of working a nine-to-five.

so…

“i would settle down if i could.” the wax continued to melt. “i think i’ve seen enough of the world. for once, i just want to stay home. indulge in my hobbies. live the life that i want.”

his breath grazed the top of your head. “with someone?” and suddenly, you became aware of it all—the heat that emitted from his palm. the movement of his chest against your back. the gravity of his question.

the words get caught in your throat. your heartbeat rang in your ears. for the first time since sungho’s death, you considered it. 

“with someone.”

before you knew it, his hand caressed your cheek. you were forced to meet his eyes which glistened with devotion. he leaned forward, his breath grazing your skin while you held in yours. you didn’t miss how his gaze flickered to your lips before he met your eyes once more.

then, he held back. it’s a choice, one only you can make. but when your eyes shut, it’s a quiet plea—a silent yes.

his lips met yours. 

the warmth that blossomed in your chest wasn’t like the one in that motel room. not like the embrace of the one you’ve lost. it was one of all seasons—changing with the weather, bringing comfort throughout the everchanging times.

it’s a perpetual cycle of fighting for survival.

you’ll endure through it all.

a month passed by, and you came across another boy on the journey. he’s named taesan, and he told you of a safe haven located in the town that you and leehan grew up in.

for a moment, it was an internal debate—should you go back to where the downfall started? can you go to where the memory of sungho still lives?

but one glance at leehan was enough to settle it. the three of you embarked on your journey.

you remember that day. it was a walk with the goal of finding a car to make the journey back an easy one. the heat of the sun prickled against your skin but you still kept your arms crossed.

“are you two together?” taesan asked, causing you to whip your head towards him. your eyes met leehan’s for a split second—confusion. dejection—before they landed back at the stranger who kept his eyes on the path you took.

“no, we aren’t.”

for the rest of the journey, it was quiet.

sundown came, and you found yourselves in a convenience store for that night’s shelter. leehan was in charge of taking the night shift, allowing you and taesan to rest up. when the stranger went off to sleep on the makeshift bed, you were left alone with leehan.

you watched how he cleaned his gun with a rag stained with dark splotches. the moon gleamed through the window—it can’t compare to how leehan shines.

you needed to get some sleep, is what you tell yourself. with one spin, you were about to make your way to where you’d sleep for that night.

“are we really not?” you halted in your tracks. “did it mean nothing?”

not a single answer left your mouth. your eyes remained straightforward as you refused to meet his gaze.

the warmth vanished with a lack of an answer. instead, it was replaced once more with the cold—the void—that attempted to consume you whole.

and when a scornful chuckle left leehan, you knew that you’d burnt the bridge. you walked away, leaving him to do his job, bidding farewell to the closest form of a safe haven.

two weeks went by and another goodbye had to be done. taesan stood in front of you two, a grin on his lips while tears streamed down his face. his arm was out, revealing a bite mark. the veins near the wound had already turned black. he would’ve turned in a few hours.

“go out.” those were leehan’s first words to you since that night in the convenience store.

you remember the last thing you told taesan before you left the room—you’ll get to your safe haven. the sobs that spilled out of him are ones you’ll never forget. and when you shut the door behind you, it took 20 seconds until you heard a gunshot. 

the weight got heavier once more.

another two weeks went by, and you and leehan found yourselves standing in front of the remains of a safe haven. the fences were torn down. streaks of dark red littered over pavements. not a single sight of a soul lived.

still, you two trudged your way through the town, all the way until you reached leehan’s house. like others, his was abandoned. the cream walls were littered with red strokes and vines. when you both entered, you didn’t miss how leehan’s eyes lingered on a photo hung on the wall—a picture of him and his parents.

you gave him all the time he needed to explore, to sit with the mess, while you stayed in the living room. as you sat on the couch that had gathered dust, you caught sight of a bowl of plastic produce that rested on the coffee table. it held a variety of fruits whose paint had chipped: watermelon, chestnut, and fig.

but amidst the crowd of old, torn-down, plastic fruits, a pear and an orange leaned against each other as grime collected on them. once your hands reached out to the fruits, you pulled them apart—a mess of green and orange stained the two.

he came back to you in 30 minutes, eyes glistening with tears. yet, he only gave you a nod, and you two went to another house. 

you then stood in front of your old house with leehan by your side. weeds grew in the front yard, and the wooden exterior has turned a few shades darker. silence settled between you two. 

to be back in a place you grew up in, where all your memories live, is a process—a grieving one. being face-to-face with the damage brought by the infected can only remind you of what you had and could’ve had.

and once you made your way to your childhood room, you were reminded of all your hopes and dreams before the outbreak. dust rested on top of books. the laptop on your desk had no charge. potted plants have withered.

when you approached the picture frames found on your table, your hand darted out to a photograph of you and sungho. there was no occasion when that picture was taken—the fact that you two were together was enough for it to be remembered. memorialized.

as you made your way back down the stairs, you saw leehan crouched in front of the console table with eyes trained on photographs. “was this your high school graduation?” you approached him and saw the picture he was referring to, you who stood beside sungho with a big grin as his lips were on your temple.

“yeah,” you said as you crouched beside leehan. “we knew each other back when i was a freshman.” your fingers trailed on the wooden frame, gathering the dust before flicking it away. despite your efforts, it was still covered in grime, but you didn’t mind. 

“and you stayed together since?” all you did was hum. “did you find anything up there?”

for the first time since you entered your old house, you looked at leehan and he met your gaze. your eyes trailed his features. the eyes that speak of a thousand words. the lips that once kissed yours.

and it hit you like the gunshot that filled your ears, the breeze that rustled the leaves that one night, the doors that shut close. it was 20 months since the outbreak happened, 13 months since you lost sungho, and 11 months since jaehyun told you his last words.

but it was also 13 months spent with leehan, choosing to survive with him. 

“yeah.”

you found a lot of things within those four walls. there were books you once read growing up, stuffed toys you slept with, and the one picture of you and sungho; they’re the remaining pieces you have left of a life that was good.

you would’ve kept it all, rebuilt the life that was ripped away by the hands of the infected—

“but nothing to hold on to.”

they’re memories, ones you’ll carry with you, but ones worth moving on from. 

“oh,” he said as his eyes still held your gaze. “okay.”

and with one exhale, you said, “let’s rebuild it, just a place for us two.”

it was a whirlwind of emotions in leehan’s eyes, ones you can’t identify. for a moment, you thought he’d say no. maybe he decided that 13 months was enough. one more day with you would be too much, and—

“okay.” when his hand reached out for yours, linking fingers with you like all other times, you gave him a small smile.

when you and leehan stood up, you made your way out of the house, off to find a place just for you two—a safe haven to last you many tomorrows with him.

a month passed. the safe haven was rebuilt; the fences stood strong with electrical wires and barbed wires, and the town was cleaned of all remnants of grime and blood. the two of you took up different tasks ranging from cleaning, cooking, building, and maintaining the haven.

but while you were okay with a knife, accidents did happen. “fuck!”

“what happened?” you remember how leehan came rushing in, only to see you pressing on the skin around the cut on your finger.

before you knew it, you were sitting down with him as he wrapped gauze around the wound. “leehan, it’s just a cut. i’ll be fine.”

“still, i don’t want you getting hurt.” you watched how his eyes were focused on treating your finger. “i’ll be in charge of cooking now.”

you shook your head. “no, i like to cook. i want to cook for us.” his gaze then met yours, his filled with worry while yours filled with determination. they flickered back to your finger and his hands busied themselves with covering it up.

once he was done, his hand continued to hold yours. you remember the heat of his thumb as it drew patterns on your hand. he’s etched himself onto you.

his eyes met yours once more, and he said, “okay, just let me help out.” all you gave him was a nod.

another month went by, and you woke up to the sound of gunshots. you remember how hazy your vision was that night, fresh from sleep but panic coursing through your veins. and when you looked beside you to only see an empty spot, you didn’t think twice about rushing out of bed.

when you exited the house, you saw leehan holding his gun, firing at the people who attempted to tear down the haven’s fences. “leehan!” he looked back at you and you caught sight of the crimson that poured out of his abdomen.

another gunshot was fired, grazing leehan’s leg, and he fell to his knees. you ran to him, reaching out to rest your hand on the wound as you began to sob. “fuck! you have to stay with me.” with his arm resting around your shoulders, you dragged him back to the house.

you set him on the table and moved his hand to hold where he was shot. “hold it.” you rushed to where the medical supplies were stored and gathered whatever you could hold. when you got back, you saw how blood continued to spill out.

you got to work, focused on trying to patch him up, making sure he stays. “you can’t go. i won’t let it happen.” and while your hands busied themselves with treating the injury, you remember how leehan’s hand caressed your cheek, thumb wiping away the spilled tears. 

“in the basement, there’s a piece of paper that has all the codes. if you ever—”

“no, you’ll be okay.”

still, he continued to talk. “if you ever forget the codes, you can always look at the paper. don’t forget that you need to always check the water system every two days, and—”

“leehan!” you croaked out his name in between sobs. “you’ll be okay. you have to, okay?” the more he went on about what to keep in mind, the baggage got heavier. “i can’t do this without you. i won’t allow it.”

because 15 months ago, you would’ve bid farewell to the mayhem. 13 months ago, you hoped for time to drag you away. 12 months ago, you would’ve walked into the forest. but it’s been 22 months, and you were still walking on this earth, choosing to live amidst the chaos—so long as leehan was with you. 

and when you leaned your forehead on his, eyes closed, you felt his breath graze against your lips. “i need you.”

all it took were three words from you. “okay.”

it’s been two months since that happened. the safe haven was rebuilt once more. you and leehan fortified the defense system, hoping they’ll be enough to keep any infected and raiders out. all that matters is that you two were protected—safe—from the chaos.

now, you sit on a couch as you flip through the pages of a book you didn’t have time to read before the outbreak. when all responsibilities vanished, you were able to find enough time to do things you couldn’t do then.

you were ready to get yourself sucked into the world of the novel, but leehan came into the living room with his hands behind his back and a small smile on his lips. “do you remember what you made me promise you before?”

you frown at him, confused, until he shows you an acoustic guitar. “oh my god, you found one?” you put the book on the coffee table.

he takes a seat beside you, body facing towards you as he rests the instrument on his lap. “here, front-row tickets to my first show.” you almost laughed because this is no stadium or club, but a home—one you built with him.

it takes only one smile from him for you to hold it back.

“any song requests?” he strums on the guitar strings, perfectly in tune. it’s almost as if he tuned it before coming to you.

a hum leaves you as you rest your head on your hand propped on the couch. “whatever you want to show me.”

it takes him a few seconds, fingers fiddling with the strings, until he figures out what to play. when he sings out the words—dearest, darling, my universe—you melt like the candles you lit up those nights. as he continues to play a song of a world in hysteria but a love that endures, that’s when you realize what you’ve had all this time.

time is the one thing that occupies your mind. it holds value, something that shouldn’t be wasted, and you learned to revolve your life around it.

it takes you two years to figure out that life doesn’t end after the outbreak—and 17 months to realize that your safe haven is not a two-story house with an orange tree in the garden but the boy in front of you.

when you lean closer to him, his fingers falter, messing up the chords. your hand reaches out to caress his face as your eyes flicker to his lips. you don’t miss how leehan holds his breath, how he stops playing the guitar, how his eyes look back at yours—it’s a slurry of warmth. tenderness.

“i love you.”

all it took was a three-word phrase from you for him to close the distance.

the warmth that spreads within you is like the one you experience in the abandoned cabin. but now, you’re full of hope—a reason to stay—in an infected-ridden world.

now, only one question echoes within your mind: how much longer do we have?

an eternity is what you hope.

tag list: @onedoornet @kflixnet @loserlvrss @lionhanie @nicholasluvbot

@blumisiu @0310s @icyminghao @shegotthewoobies

[valley-of-headcanons]

Heyy! So I just found your stuff and it’s all super cute I love this kind of thing 😊 feel free to decline but do you think you could do a little fluffy one shot type thing where you’re just gaming with Sebastian and then whoops you both fall in love 😳

best gamer of all time || sebastian x reader oneshot

hanging out with your friends is always fun, but gaming alone with him may be your new favorite thing <3

warnings: fluff fluff fluff fluff oh my god, you may suck at this game but you do NOT suck at winning his heart

requested by: @juleboo , this is such an adorable request! i'm sorry this took like forty billion years, life has decided to kick me off my feet, but im doing a lot better so yippeeeee. i hope you enjoy, hopefully it was worth the long wait 🙏

Hanging out on a Saturday night was a ritual for you, Sebastian, Abigail, and Sam. You all rotate on who's place you hang out at, and tonight was Sebastian's. Abigail was laid out on the couch, Sebastian sitting on his bed, and you and Sam were on the floor. After a very intense game of Jackbox, with a lot of chaotic answers and laughter, it was nearing midnight.

“I cannot believe you put that! That was a direct jab at me and you know it!” Sam said towards Abigail's direction, obviously not actually upset.

“Then clean up the fuckin' pizza boxes in your room! That rat would've become your best friend if your mom didn't find him- wait- what time is it? ... oh shit, my dad is gonna kick my ass!” Abigail said, jumping up at lightning speed and grabbing her bag. “Sorry to kill the party, love you guys, if I get lectured one more time this week I am going to pull out my hair. Bye bye!”

And off she goes, leaving just as chaotic as she came. Sounds about right. The remaining three of you laughed, before Sam stood up and grabbed his things as well. “For some reason Mom wants me to come to church in the morning, she saw some lyrics to one of our songs and she kind of flipped her shit. Soooo, gotta atone for my sins. Have fun you two,” he said, sending a small wink Sebastian's way before making his way up the stairs.

You saw the wink, it definitely caught you off guard. You immediately snapped your head towards Sebastian. “What was that for?” you said with a smirk, which wasn't held for long. It slipped into a smile, moving from the floor to the now empty couch.

Sebastian's expression remained neutral, rolling his eyes. “Sam is always up to something, ignore him. Do you wanna stay and hang for a little while? I don't have anything to do tomorrow,” he said, looking towards the cabinet of games that sat beside his gaming console. He never asked anyone to stay later, especially when it's his night to host. He usually wants everyone out, Sebastian cherishes his alone time.

Butterflies erupted in your stomach when he asked you this, he actually wanted to spend more time with you? You felt so honored and special, of course you were going to stay. “Yeah, what did you wanna do?”

“I bought a game, it's co-op. Wanna try it out? It's a platformer, it seems pretty easy,” he said, walking over to the cabinet and grabbing the case. He made his way back over to you, showing you the back of the case, carefully studying your features. He wanted to make sure you were actually interested, and when your face lit up, he couldn't hold back a smile. It was rare for him, but it was perfect.

“Hell yeah, let's pop this bad boy in!” you said, sitting up excitedly and scooting over so that you two could share the couch. After 'popping that bad boy in', he sat next to you and handed you the controller.

Sebastian put on the tutorial before beginning to show you the controls. He described what to do, but due to your drowsiness from working all day, you just couldn't grasp what the controls were. “Here,” he mumbled, thinking for a moment before carefully putting his hands over yours.

“Alright, shoot with this button, alright?” he said, making sure not to get too close to you. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable, but these little touches were really nice ... he could get used to this.

“Mhm ...” you hummed, although your brain was short-circuiting. Every single thought in your brain was rendered useless in that moment, every place where you two touched felt like it was on fire. You clumsily tried to recreate his movements, shooting when he asked and jumping when he instructed. You learned the controls, but barely.

“Got it?” he said simply, slowly beginning to let go of you. He didn't really want to, but he didn't want to overstep your boundaries. He really cared about you, he didn't want to jeopardize that.

With a hesitant nod of confirmation, you two began the game. It was a mess, you definitely did not grasp the controls whatsoever. However, he enjoyed seeing what kind of trouble you got yourself into. How could you even get up there?

“Okay- when you jump, press the trigger to latch on to that cliff, and do NOT let go-” he tried to explain as you jumped with all of your might ... just to not even touch the cliff. Your body hit the floor with a splat, and you both sat in silence for a few seconds, staring at each other. Small snickers turned into full blown laughter, falling down onto the couch as you both held your faces.

“How the hell am I so stupid?? That was so easy! How the hell did I miss that??” you cackled, wiping the tears that began to fall from your eyes.

“I have no idea but it was one of the best things I've ever seen,” Sebastian's laughter began to quiet as he sat up, his gaze making its way down to you. You looked so perfect in the soft light of the television, so happy from the laughter that was encasing the both of you. He could not stop smiling.

“What?” you said softly, a gigantic grin on your face. You couldn't move, you just wanted to stay in this moment forever.

“... nothing. Just ... capturing this moment,” Sebastian said in a gentle tone, taking a deep breath before looking back at the screen. “You're a ghost now, but you can still help me and eventually I can revive you.”

You slowly sat up, but you had an idea. You slid a little closer to him than you were before, your legs touching. “Alright, I'll be the best fuckin' ghost in town,” you laughed, knowing you were bound to fuck it up but you had no care in the world. This was too fun.

He looked over at your legs touching, smiling even wider before continuing the game. He would ask you to do things as a ghost as you did ... with enough trial and error. He did notice that you kept adjusting and scooting closer and closer. He really liked this.

“Do you know how to freeze someone?" he asked, which you shook your head to. “Let me see this-” he mumbled, wrapping his arm around you, definitely just wanting to help you see the controls. You were essentially sitting in his lap at this point, a soft pink blush creeping onto both of your faces.

His face was so close, pressed almost right up against yours ... you wanted to stay here forever, but you didn't want to say anything that would ruin the moment. Nervous silence held you two for a moment, before he did something that both of you wanted more than anything. He carefully kissed your cheek, before going back to the game as if nothing ever happened.

Your brain melted, a feeling of bliss overtaking your body. You've been waiting for that for ages. You slowly leaned back into his chest as he laid down his controller for a moment. He wrapped his arms around your waist for a moment, giving you a careful squeeze. You reached your arms up around his neck, hugging him back. Neither of you cared about the game anymore.

“Stay here tonight. If you want to,” Sebastian muttered softly, holding your body close to his. He didn't dare let go, and neither did you.

You stayed there that night, you stayed wrapped up in his arms until the daylight and you had to work on your farm. But you hoped one day, you could wake up next to him everyday. Maybe someday, but for now, you had many Saturday nights where you stayed over later than everybody else.

[ur-mousey]

If you’re doing requests could you write smth smutty with jeffery from class of 09 x female reader w some dubcon

Benzo-Addict ~

- Yandere!Jeffery x F!Reader -

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Part Two, Part Three

summary Drugs have always been your friend. A source of courage and tonight's no different. Now it's time to fuck a nerd. Hope your BF understands. 1.8k

warning college AU, mature, non-con, heavy drug use, hostage situation, violence.

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** Choice ** Head home, hang in the res quad with the other losers, or hot box it in a classroom with Nicole and Jecka. * click *

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"Nicole, what the fuck is a benzosexual exactly?" Your head whipped to the side at record speed. "Sounds..." You wormed your finger into a salty chip bag while pondering something profound to say other than the obvious: "Not good." There goes anything English has taught you about synonyms. You popped a chip in your greedy mouth. The tang of vinegar and salt collided on your tongue. This shit was disgusting.

Yet, you were on the cusp of moaning with each solid crunch. But you held your tongue at bay.

"I feel like we had this conversation before." Nicole hummed around the shared point. Inhale. Exhale. Then, she expelled a puff of smoke into the dust flurries kicked up in their shuffle.

The classroom was barren of decore. Stiff and desolate, a reminder that teachers truly made the space, whereas professors rotate. And this fact was wholly evident. The walls stay bare through decades of season. Autumn is born in beige and Spring arises in that same fate, ending the year in beige.

It's astonishing how this educational prison stood in the glory of its singular doodle of Homer with nothing accompanying it on the wall.

And the desks were neatly arranged, bolted to the ground. Only the chairs beckoned students to sit as they were haphazardly thrown. It seemed as if they patiently waited for the next class's arrival. Lonely in nature until chosen for the hour. But Friday afternoon meant that classes seldom came to these halls

"It's because we had, Nicole." Jecka retorted before gesturing to you, "She just wasn't here for it."

Nicole scoffed, "Sucks for her that she missed all the pedophiles. Now she gets the regular-enough shit, aka standard rapists. I bet even then, they have CP somewhere on their computer."

Jecka puffed her chest up before sighing dramatically. "Remind me again why are you still Hitler? Oh, wait you just did. Grow out of it."

“I’ve grown, obviously~ because I can’t call every man a pedophile in relationship to me. Your whore sister, in 10th grade, she’s surrounded by them by the dozen… See!? Development, bitch.”

** Bzzzz **

"Okay, Nicole is Hitler, but what's a benzosexual?" You urged the pair on. You felt your phone buzz in your back pocket. But you decided to ignore it for now.

"Someone attracted to the unconscious," Jecka twirled her fingers around a singular strand of honey-blonde hair. It almost glowed too brightly in the setting sun. "There was this stupid, insufferable, jock named Kylar at our high school. Who was constantly -and I mean it, constantly- putting weird shit in girls drinks. They'll pass out, and I know he got off to it. A girl that helpless..."

** Bzzzz ** ** Bzzzz **

"Isn't that illegal? Like, shouldn't you guys have reported him?"

"He played lacrosse," Nicole muttered. "Reporting it wouldn't do shit. Sports players get molested all the time by their grimy coaches, and it’s the girl's fault.”

** Bzzzz ** ** Bzzzz ** ** Bzzzz ** ** Bzzzz **

"Truly the Pessimist," You hissed through gritted teeth while reaching for another bite to calm your munchies.

Nicole's stare momentarily flashed to your face, eyes redden and lazy, smoke swirling out her nose, before she leaned further in.

** Bzzzz ** ** Bzzzz ** ** Bzzzz **

"It's Jeffery, huh?"

Your phone was currently blowing itself shitless. The tone of each call or message traveled upwards into the silence. The vibrations climbed your spinal cord like a wooden ladder, propping its feet between your bones, propelling into your eardrums. You cringed. All of this, why? A single moment was swiftly grasped by Jeffery's sudden insistence on a response to whatever you didn't care about. You two were meant to be ex-lab partners, not pen pals of 1000+ messages each.

You retrieved your phone. 20 missed calls and 50+ texts.

"Forget creeps like Kylar when there's Jeffery. God couldn't keep him away from us. It's always the kids like him who don't go missing."

Jecka cackled, and her chin came to rest on the top of your shoulder. She read while you scrolled languidly. "Um, good luck playing into his fetishes. Being his... mommy!? And all. Meow~"

You flushed all red, "Don't read it!"

This isn’t the first time Jecka teased you with the force of a rabid cat caller. She did it unabashedly and the pain of her comments left its marks on your face. You made a simple mistake, and that was defending Jeffery during the first week of classes. To you, he was a sweet, smart and charismatic guy, albeit all, a tad socially awkward. Scratch that -he was a lost cause concerning social interactions. It wasn’t horrendous or anything. It made talking to him before stress-free. Now it’s a different story.

There were times as Jeffery’s lab partner that should’ve had you sprinting out of Environmental Science. But you sucked your tongue tight to the roof of your mouth and smiled without the corners reaching your eyes. He’d crossed the lines of your acquaintanceship too many times to count. You’re the one at fault, aren't you? You were the one that led him on. Why the fuck didn’t you get angry at him but at yourself?

One random Monday, Jeffery gave you a hentai DVD to you with an accompanying notebook that explained his depraved inner thoughts; '@ 1:47, I watched this 40-feet cat woman step on a guy's penis. And I wish that were you doing it to me. The sight made my hand go faster till total completion.'

And frankly, you didn't want to know that. Jeffery, the weird otaku obsessed with NaruParty13, whom you felt bad for, proved to be a complete freak.

With your first semester ending, you closed that chapter of being his lab partner. In came new housing, with your boyfriend and away from the dorms, and less frequent trips to the dining hall, which meant fewer interactions with Jeffery. For literal fucks sake, you shared zero classes together, nor were you a part of the same major. Your paths strayed from one another. You entertained small talk here and there when it felt inevitable. Any sane person would let this lack of relationship go. Not Jeffery. 

"I'm not playing into anyone's kinks aside from my own." You stuck your tongue out, shoving Jecka away.

"And sometimes your sleaze boyfriend."

"Yeah, 'cause I'm perfect 10 with a high libido." You mocked, matching your pitch to Jecka's. "And Cody's not a total sleaze."

Nicole tapped your shoulder with the joint in hand, "He's as depraved as any other man. Hence the usage of the word total."

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** Choice ** Snatch the weed, or confront Jeffery. * click *

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You could deal with Jeffery another day.

You were like a kite soaring through the sky. Your mind fell far into a different plane of existence than your own, but you didn't mind. The world was spinning. And, if you were in a room, you couldn't tell. No amount of stable ground could keep your feet stationed. Your vision was decorated in fuzz and pixels. And, in a twist of fate, you thought yourself tumbling forward.

You had taken it. Nicole's shit- that joint was strong as fuck. The first drag knocked your chest back in reverie. Yet you kept ripping. By the time you had left campus, you were inflicted with giggles, and you'd remained starry-eyed throughout dinner.

Then came the Friday night club scene. You downed shots like a bad bitch. Ghandi would be proud.

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You stumbled through the shared flat with Cody. Your lips entangled with each other in battle. His hands groped your hips and pinched its flesh with fervent joy. His lips were chapped and his tongue held the remnants of beer. You enjoyed its taste against the mint of your gum.

Your boyfriend pulled away. Your name breached passed moans and whines, sobering your tequila-filled belly slightly. "Babe, please grab the Percocet... In the cabinet." Cody damn near whined. You nodded furiously, and your brain rattled against your skull.

He smacked a sloppy kiss on your forehead before shooing you away.

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** Choice ** Sober up with water, or take a dive into prescription pill wonderland. * click *

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And down the hatch, the Percocet goes.

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"You... you little shi- Fuck!"

Cody? Was that you?

His words felt miles away and your head ached. You knew Cody was crying really ugly. Was he talking to you? Were you dying? You were neither here nor there. And faintly, you registered the sound of skin impacting skin. It was unmistakable.

Cody screeched, "That hurts dipshit!"

"You ruined her. People ruined her," A disembodied voice spoke over you. You groaned, head swirling with more things than one. Could it be a dream? Where were you? How were you here? If you opened up your eyes, would you be able to see? "She was absolute... Beauty! A perfect girl rivaling those of the anime girls in Doki Doki Daisuke. It was as if God answered my prayers and brought her to life before me. That's who she is to me -perfect as the day I met her... Before she met mean girls like Nicole. And, before she allowed you to defile her."

"Fuck," Cody screeched. "What the hell are you talking about!? We were dating before that whore, Nicole!" Who are you talking to?

Cody? I'm scared. I can't... get out of my own head.

His voice continued. "Look man, she was never going to be with you. We started going steady in high school. You were some bizarre loser, a complete NEET, who got assigned as her lab partner. For fuck sake, she would've ignored you still without me or her friends. You are just a nuisance who can't take no for an answer! Is this your final attempt to get her to look at you!? Huh... HUH!? Well? Is it working? Does she see you now? Fuck no -she's unconscious! Guess who you're talking to? ME!!!"

Fingers carded over your scalp, itching at your crown. You tingled all over, and the coldest breath ghosted over your cheeks. "I would treat her better. I would put her on a pedestal that rivals Yuno Gasai, whom I believe to be the sluttiest and most desirable anime girl."

Was that voice Jeffery? You managed to whine at that, and you were promptly shushed -consoled like a child.

"She's like this because of you. You're supposed to protect her. What boyfriend allows his girlfriend to get this drugged out."

Silence.

Cody? Are you still there? Like actually, there? I don't understand. Why is this happening? What even is happening to me?

After a while, your boyfriend tsked, "She's a fucking addict, and it is hot as shit. Imagine what a drugged-up slut would do to please you."

Pause.

"Besides, you aren't at all above it. Don't act like you're better than me. Ain't it true that you roofie bitches? Hehe, now you're coming after my druggie girlfriend. Some SHIT!!"

"Y'a know, you talk too much," Jeffery whispered. And you found the strength within yourself to peel your eyes open. You were home. The few nicknacks you displayed glared into your retinas. Once, twice, it felt unbearable to blink. Your gaze started at the carpet, swooping to the left then the right, along the walls, and down to the center.

Your boyfriend's stared back at you. Then came the...

Screams.

You hadn't comprehended the missing beats of Cody's responses until then. In that state of limbo, words tied together rhythmically. Now, each plea and wail came out differently past battered lips. He begged you to run through swollen tongues and lips.

Each pause was a catch of breath. Cody's chest rose and fell in quick succession. His face was bloodied. Swirled vermillion, slathered by a pair of hands. Where the original wound is, you couldn't tell. It was all over the place. Ropes circled his chest, soaking up red, and kept him strapped to a wooden dining chair.

"Co-" You sputtered. You couldn't stop the onslaught of coughs that inched its way up your throat. Before you could say anything more, Jeffery's palm smashed against your mouth. He finally gained your attention, all while waving a knife around.

"My darling sweetheart," Jeffery cooed with adoration. "I'll handle the trash. Go back to sleep. I was just about to silence him."

You wanted to vomit. You hoped that the acidity would transport you to a reality where you were kneeling over a toilet. Or a bush, fuck it. It could be anywhere than this. You'll take on hang-over Central despite any day over this. You'll say fuck drugs and then by next week, you're on it again.

You just couldn't stay away from Percs and Robo.

Jeffery's appearance was disheveled, a stark contrast from what you were accustomed to. His hair was overgrown and unkempt with inky strands that poked from every angle. It was utterly impossible to look away. His crazed eyes darted across your face, searching within you for something you weren't sure you had to offer.

He turned from you, speaking to Cody. "Stop screaming! I'll gut you if you interfere."

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** Choice ** Figure out what's next, or miss part 2, bitch. * click *

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Thank you for reading! Request rules are here! Follow my ig = lil.thoughts.xo! Part Two, Part Three

Due to the nature of the game, I tried writing differently than what I consider normal. But I had so much fun writing for this fandom. Can't wait to do it again.

[starrvsn]

` ִ ꔫ ۫ ⊹ W.CLARK ˖ TIL DEATH DO US PART.

pairing: wally clark x fem!reader. 

what to know | 80% angst with 20% of fluff, comfort. fic, a pretty sappy ending. i do not own these characters and this is all fiction! — lowercase is intended.

word count: 5,280 (oops) 

spoilers: death and characters (also assumptions about characters back story). 

☆ on rotation: hate to be lame by lizzie mcapline. lover sung by taylor swift. she was mine by aj rafael. better for you by siaopaolo.

star left a message! my first fic! hope you enjoy and let me know how you felt about it :)

ab. you and wally were inseparable. bared souls to each other but still dancing around the fact of feelings for each other but one night he gathers the courage to tell you how he feels, things don’t go the way he plans and spirals out of control.

1984.

the soft ringing of a phone rouses you awake, your room dark and cool from the gentle breeze coming through the crack in your window. you rub the drowsiness from your eyes before sitting up. glancing at your clock, beside it is the soft yellow landline that rings, a light but repetitive tone. the red glowing numbers reading 11:51 almost made you regret waking up to pick up the phone but the constant ringing means the caller must be persistent to get ahold of you. clearing your throat you pick up the phone, a soft hello emitting from your lips.

“hey sweetheart” you recognize the voice almost immediately, wally clark your best friend since middle school. you two are inseparable, always attached to the hip and despite his reputation, how popular he was. he never let it hinder your relationship. he always joked that you two were high school sweethearts minus the dating part which also always confused people when you had told them you were just friends but your heart hopes, yearns for more.

“hey, did something happen?” there must’ve been a reason why he called you in the first place but he quickly denies:

“oh-oh no, everything is going well… sorry did i wake you?” his voice comes out rushed, as if he’s trying to speed up the conversation. the tone confuses you but you continue.

“not really, i was just trying to fall asleep.” you softly respond. fiddling with the cord, telling him a small white lie but if there was something about wally was that you never wanted him to feel bad at your expense, always saving him the tinge of guilt that affects him more than you thought. he was a soft soul, sensitive but resilient. one of the things that make you more drawn to him. he was someone who made you feel like you had a purpose in life.

“i, i uhm was wondering if you wanted to go for a drive. i-if not thats totally okay!” you can practically hear himself rubbing his neck. a constant habit he had when he was emmbarrased or unsure. you agree almost immediately. hearing the smile plastered on his face, he boasts about having the car for the night so it was the perfect time to make use of it. he promises he’ll come to get you in a few minutes so you rush to get dressed in warmer clothing compared to your sleep wear. as you wait for him, you couldn’t help but feel curious as to why he wanted to take you out at such a late hour. sure he didn’t get the car to himself often but from his tone you couldn’t help but feel something off. ultimately your mind settles on the fact that he just felt spontaneous and just wanted to spend time with your, knowing how the school year just began and he has been busy with the football team and his parents breathing down his neck, so maybe he needed an escape.

minutes pass and you hear the closing of a car door, then rounds of rubble as if someones walking down the side walk. you don’t know how but every time wally comes around, no matter what the sounds are- you always know it’s him and when you confessed this little sense of yours when he let out a boisterous laugh and told you “you have a little part of me then sweetheart.” that made your heart melt. excited, you softly pad down your steps and open the door before he can even let himself in. you had unlocked the door minutes prior to ensure a silent arrival. wally stands still for a few moments. his gaze focusing on your face, your cheeks blush as moments pass and his movement doesn’t change

“uh, earth to wally?” snapping your fingers in front of him, the taller boy jumps back in surprised wondering how you got there so fast, and how you look so effortlessly beautiful at midnight “done gawking yet clark?” laughing, sounding beautiful to his ears he looks away smiling shyly his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, a repeating his habit. “so where are we going?”becoming the most talkative already, in return there is no response. which is odd coming from you usually commentary filled best friend.

“no hi, how are you? do you not miss me?” lightly shoving his shoulder. you divert the subject to where he could be taking you, the cold air making you shiver as you wait for his response. but instead of giving you one he just leads you to his car across the street, no words exchanged. huffing at the lack of communication you follow him across the street (looking both ways before you cross of course)

the drive to the park is quiet— comfortable silence with the silent play of music fill the air as he drives, you look out the window to stare at the beautiful landscape of the city since wally gives no other form of entertainment to pass time. trying so hard not to stare at him as he drives, you don’t notice obviously since you’re not looking his way but there’s a line of sweat collecting on wally’s hairline but even if you saw you would shrug it off blaming it on his hoodie but no, wally was sweating for a completely different reason. he’s about to change your relationship forever. well, not forever but the outcome can go of two ways, good or bad; with no in-between.

wally clark is going to confess his undying love for you and he feels like he’s gonna throw up from how nervous he is. he didn’t even greet you, that’s how tense he’s feeling he couldn’t even form any coherent word when he saw you, hair ruffled laying in bed with sleepy eyes. it was an image that he wants tattooed on his forehead, dead serious. luckily you didn’t notice how nervous he is because you usually can read him very well additionally, you haven’t asked him anything so he’s relieved to see that nothing he’s done has gotten on your radar yet. well, he didn’t greet you when he picked you up but you just shrugged it off, not thinking to much of it. passing it as oncoming sleepiness from staying up. the ride was filled mostly silence and was also accompanied by mark or your occasion humming, soon you arrive at the park which you immediately recognize as the one where you first met wally, on the swing set late at night when his parent became overbearing. you follow wally out of the car and up a path to a grassy hill out looking the neighborhood and beautiful night sky. he takes a seat and you follow after him, sitting next to him with little space between the two of you.

the scene is quite picturesque, wally wishes he brought his polaroid as he looks up at the stars hoping they’ll talk back to him, talk him out of it or something— maybe some encouragement because he’s been hyping himself up for this moment for so long, okay just for three hours but leading up to this moment he felt like time was moving so slow. the two of you just sit in silence for a while looking at the beautiful night sky until wally speaks up.

“i have something to tell you.” he starts, his voice slightly wavering. you turn immediately to look at him as this is the first thing he’s said to you since he picked you up, a sour feeling rests in your stomach as you process what he said, in fear of hearing what he actually he has to say, you try to figure it out yourself. which you’ll find out yourself was not the greatest idea. sitting up straight you look directly at him with a hand on his shoulder.

“wait don’t tell me, you’re moving? you got early acceptance to ohio state? if so and you’re only telling me now i’m going to murd— or no have you gotten yourself a girlfriend because god knows you nee—“wally shakes his head barely scoffing a laugh.

“no, that is not what i’m gonna tell you! now can you please stop talking? i practiced in front of my mirror for this.” practicing in-front the mirror for what? you tilt your head confused, but turn it upright immediately when another thought comes to mind.

“are you going to show me that stupid dances you’ve been learning because—“

“no! y/n let me say what i need to say before i vomit on your shoes.”

“hold on wha—“

“oh my god y/n! i like you! okay! i like you. god i asked you to not talk and yet you did.”

your heart drops and the sour feeling only heightens. wally on the other hand is frustrated and embarrassed because of your interruptions and his sudden outburst to you. it was uncalled for, he knows. high on his emotions the quarterback stands up from his spot and starts walking down the hill, ruffling his hair in frustration. cheeks red from both embarrassment and the cold. can’t believe you just confessed to her like that! horrible wally clark. now she’s not gonna even want to accept your confession. ‘vomit on your shoes’ what kind of line is that? seriously.

he groans, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he continues down the path. not even bothered to see if you’re following him, he probably just ruined your friendship for life. he’s never going to let himself live this down.

wally is mad at himself, not even you, he’s only a tad bit mad at you for you cutting him off but he’s more mad at himself— he shouldn’t have beaten around the bush, should’ve just told you there and then not have any cheesy climax to it; would’ve gotten it over with quickly. you watch wally walk off while you stay planted in your seat. still processing what happened. wait, wally clark just confessed to you, the man you’ve unknowingly devoted yourself for just confessed and you were interrupting him! what are you doing go after him! y/n go! you scramble from your spot. feeling guilty for cutting him off, you probably sent his confidence down the hill with him. god you felt horrible. “wally! wait!” you call from behind him almost tripping from the decline of the hill but with sportsmen instincts he catches you by your arm. “wally, oh my god. i’m sorry for cutting you off— i’m such a jerk for that.”you say as you pant for breath, your heart racing. you look at his side profile and he’s avoiding your gaze completely, moving his head to look to the side you’re not on. “it’s alright, let me just take you home.” a breath leaves you, take you home? that was the last thing you wanted right now “wally i—“ he cuts you off like you did to him earlier “y/n really, i accept your apology. let me— let me just take you home please.” he is dying from embarrassment at this point, might as well put him out of his misery. “but–“ you start while wally let’s out a hefty sigh and inhales harshly from his nose, rubbing the side of it with his thumb. “y/n can we just forget this all happened? it’s really late i’ll just get you home before anyone realizes your gone.” his tone is distant and really pulls at your heart strings, you didn’t want to forget about this, well some parts of it you wanted to remember like him confessing to you! but you didn’t mean to make him upset; he probably is thinking the worse right now and it’s all because of you, it’s all your fault.

you don’t say another word as you nod when wally briefly glances at you, his light touch on your arm leaves as he continues his walk to the car park. you follow behind quietly, guilt eating you up as you look at wally posture slump as he walks, he’s head hung low. looking small— all because of you.

the drive back to your house was even worse, it was quiet. no music no humming, nothing. just silence— you wanted to say something make it right again but you were afraid to worsen his mood more than you’ve already done. no farewells are exchanged when wally arrives in front of your home, he wanted to say something, anything but he just let the opportunity pass. although, just as you’re about to close the door, he murmurs a soft good night that you wish he could tell you looking in your eyes but instead his eyes stay downcast on the steering wheel. he doesn’t leave right away, he waits until you’re safely inside your house and then some more. he throws his head back wallowing in his emotions, he wished the earth would just swallow him up. when you get into your room, you peak through your blinds and see that wally is still there, you watch as he sits there, eyes closed and head back then he hits the wheel of his car a few times eliciting a gasp from you, feeling more guilty. eventually watching him depart from your street.

wally clark was avoiding you, you knew that much. after what happened that night wally began acting like you didn’t exist– as if you weren’t his best friend; as if he didn’t confess his feelings for you— which you’ve been thinking about for the last few days. it hurts, that wally’s acting so distant. he’s been hanging out with his jock friends— but you can tell his mood isn’t the same. usually preppy and extraverted, practices consuming his time and plans that pop out of thin air that keeps him busy so he doesn’t have to think about what happened with you, to distract him. you’ve tried calling him but it’s all been sent to voicemail or his mother ends up answering the phone, you could tell but it hasn’t been to easy for wally either. he feels like a dick for being this way after what happened but he’s just not ready to face you— face you’re rejection, face the embarrassment, face the spot in his heart for you that he now has to make disappear. he’s just not ready.

this whole wally avoiding you thing has gone longer than you both had expected— you, you were counting the days until wally spoke to you again and honestly you are becoming more concerned with how this is dragging out. you miss your best friend for goddess sake! you miss his corny jokes, his contagious laughter, his habit of running his hands through his had, how excited he gets when he see’s dogs on the street. you just miss him... you miss everything about him, your constant now gone. unfortunately you never end up getting the time to talk to him and by now its been months, now the homecoming game you plan on talking to him after the game. no excuses, no if, ands or buts can interfere with the dire need of bringing him back to you.

the chilly air nips at your cheeks as you stand in the bleachers watching the game. you were never a sports fan especially for football but when your best friend’s whole personality is devoting himself to the sport— not even for him but for his family, you had no choice but getting yourself used to the sport. you went to every game, however far it was you went. distance didn’t hinder your support for him. the game feels aching long and the constant cheering from both schools make it hard for you to focus, you just wanted things to be okay with him. you didn’t want to keep this cold war between the two of you.

now in the second half, you watch from the stands as wally takes a seat onto the metal bench. his mother right behind him. the conversation must be tense because as soon as the finish speaking. he’s up on his feet again. your chest tightening at the thought of how much pressure he’s under right now. you hold your breath as you watch wally catch the ball, running towards the the five yard line when a linebacker runs straight into him, tackling him— wally breaking his fall. you let out a shuttering breath as you watch him, your best friend lie there on the field and it feels as if time stops; you stand on the bleachers in disbelief. praying to some higher up that he’s okay and just being dramatic before getting up like he always does… but that never happens. all air is taken from your chest as you dreadfully walk down the bleachers, hoping this was some sick dream you were bound to wake up from. clamors of terror and commotion fill the stadium as the beloved football player is declared dead on the field. tears are streaming down your face, watching his body being carried in a black body bag that he would’ve joked about it being a tacky way of being taken out.. but theres no room for that you’ve never felt so empty, so helpless as you do in this moment. now never being able to accept is confession, apologize, make a amends. there was no future for you without him.

all wally can see is black, a dark abyss that consumes his vision as he feels weightless, as if he isn’t in his body. an out of body experience that he hopes to recover from. that he’s just in a coma and he’ll be reunited with you and tell you all the things he didn’t get to tell you sooner. his mind is consumed by the thought of you, even before the accident he wanted to see you, talk to you, hold you in his arms but when he opens his eyes he’s greeted by the bright lights of the football field. being completely alone in the stadium. still in his uniform. he sits up dazed and confused. he feels fine, if anything he feels like a whole new person as if he’s been given a second chance in living but what he’ll soon to find out, its not in the way he thinks. he feels a bit light headed as he stands and his eyes immediately landing on a figure when he had thought he was alone. he shouts to get their attention to no avail, confused; he continues to shout walking closer to them. as he gets closer he realizes it’s you with your head in your hands and yours shoulders shaking as you wail to your hearts content. he calls out to you, at first soft but then more desperate as you don’t hear him. he feels frustrated as tears of his own stream down his face.

he cries “yn, sweetheart please, please.” his chest tightening at the sounds of your crying. pleading, begging. a mantra repeating under his breath. he doesn’t want this to be it, to be over for him, for you. he can’t lose you. he doesn’t know where he is, how he got here and he especially doesn’t understand why you can’t hear or see him. if this what death is like he thinks he landed in hell.

wally doesn’t notice the man standing by the entrance. the man that he’ll soon find out is a guide into understanding what exactly is happening and coming to terms with the fact that he’s dead and will never be able to live the life he wanted with you. instead he’ll watch you grow without him as he’ll stay forever eighteen.

‘wallowing wally’ is the nickname rhonda had come up for him. jason chides rhonda for picking on the mourning boy but she insists it was to lighten the mood, the outcome being the complete opposite. when he was first introduced to the group he was quiet, timid, distant. the others understood the feelings and recent thoughts about the afterlife at split river and had assumed he would grow out of it. but no, it continues and rhonda’s continuous jokes about his behavior being the complete opposite to the boisterous quarterback he once was— but that guy since died along with his corpse. he’s now just a shell of who he was.

it was hard for him to watch you at first, he didn’t see you for weeks after his death but when you finally came back to school. you were an entirely different person; you looked paler, bags under your eyes, lifeless as you walked down the halls with soft murmurs about your appearance as you walk by. his heart shatters into pieces watching you, sitting alone during breaks. staring into space during class completely dissociative during class. you distanced yourself from your peers and never responded when someone gave you condolences about your best friend, just nodding then walking away. your were mourning the death of him and he couldn’t handle watching it. you’re hurting at his expense and it’s breaking his already shattered heart that can’t be mended.

so he distanced himself from you. like he did at the end of his life, he couldn’t bare to see you hurt so he spent most of his days on the rooftop. only coming down for snacks or to catch up with the others  but then back at his spot. never going to group because he didn’t want to talk about it. how a little of guilt sits in him everyday watching you mourn for him. days blur by and eventually wally extends to the stadium— he’s bitter, yes that he died during a game, without a fight but it was easier for him to get over compared to you. he will never get over you. he takes his time walking onto the field, closer he sees the memorial left for him. his picture surrounded by candles, flowers, notes and other things left by other students. he’s consumed by the notes and messages his peers left him that he doesn’t realize jason joining him.

“wally” he calls, the boy turns with his hands shoved in his varsity jacket. looking over at the latter with a questioning look. watching the male with his hand over his face shielding him from the sun.

“there’s something i think you wanna see.” as much as he doesn’t want to follow jason or be lead into his trap of being forced into group he couldn’t help the feeling of interest that fills him. as expected they’re towards the gym and as wally is about to protest jason interjects with strong statements about something being there for him. for the first time wally feels hopeful, that something happened— miraculously. he follows jason into the gym. the sight of the circle of chairs in the corner of the gym prominent in his vision but now he sees an extra person taking up another seat. he wasn’t aware that another death had happened at the school and if there was he would’ve been there. heard the sounds of death within the walls. he gets closer and closer, expectant of what jason kept hyping him up about. he’s about to inquire what it is when his eyes land on you. sitting in his seat, he stares at you in disbelief. you dont notice him at first and he takes is as a time to take up you appearance. one that he hasn’t seen in a while.

you look healthier, definitely healing from the homecoming game. you’re wearing a stripped sweater he had lent you, slightly oversized and a pair of dark wash jeans and your beat up converse. the only piece sticking out from your ensamble was the beige apron, stained with clay. it’s quiet around the group before mr. martian walks inside greeting the others.

“wally finally joining us i see.” that name catches your attention. you look up from the gym floor to your recently deceased best friend. your breath hitched, blood running cold, were your eyes deceiving you? you had just seen him died moths ago, the vision still etched in your mind and now suddenly he’s standing in front of you like he’s fine. you think your gonna throw up. wally never expected for his to happen, he didn’t expect for you to react by running out of the gym with your hand over your mouth… it was all to much but the feeling in his heart makes him run after you.  he doesn't know where you went at first but the rounds of retching in the girls bathroom makes him suspect that you’re in there.

“sweetheart, i know you’re in there and i’m not gonna go in there… for obvious reasons but i-i just want to talk.” wally runs his hand over his face, feeling stupid for what he just said. he had such a habit for blabbering even if it was a serious situation. still he just can’t believe you can see him, as much as he wanted to know how you dies; he pushes that thought to the back of his mind, his main focus was making things right with you. he stands by the door waiting for you to finish. he can hear the toilet flushing, then the stall door and the faucet running. his nerves are through the roof as he hears you footsteps come closer. he calls out your name softly as you walk out, ready to be on his knees begging you to forgive him, for what he did, ignoring you for so long, not giving you the time of day. he’s ready for you to yell and shout at him, slap him if you wanted to. he was ready for it. instead, the second you walk out you pull him into a tight hug. noticing the absence of your apron, shoving that thought behind. he bends over a bit to accommodate the height difference. he immediately wraps his arms around you, relishing in your body heat. he’d missed you so much that he almost forgot what it felt like to be in your presence but now that you’re here, there’s no need to worry for that anymore. the hug lasts for a while and soon the wet feeling of tears coat wally’s neck and varsity jacket as you silently cry into his shoulder. he soothingly rubs your back and gently rocking you back and forth, trying his best to comfort you while not trying to cry himself. your knees buckle and he easily catches you, whispering soft nothings to you. it takes you sometime to calm down. nevertheless he waits. listening to your cries become softer, hiccuping for breath as you slowly depart from him.

"i missed you." you tremble in a whisper. he gives you a sad smile cupping your cheek in his hand, gently swiping your tears away.

"i missed you too, sweetheart. fresh tears form on your waterline, eyebrows scrunched you grasp his face, pulling him into a kiss. he's astounded, the feeling of your lips on his was one he dreamt about for years, now here it is and he's standing there like an idiot not kissing you back. his grasps at your waist, the kiss is different from any he's never experienced. it's slow and passionate. you've been yearning for each other for  years, dancing around the potential of where your relationship can go. you're tired of waiting even after death. you relish in the way you lips feel on his after feeling so lost without him with all that emotion you’ve bottled up when you realize that you're in love with him. words cannot express how much he has an affect of you and he can say the same thing about you.  you both pull away a little breathless. you've been waiting to do that for years and wally is a bit envious that you beat him to it. your foreheads are pressed softly together, just standing in each others presence. it's a soft, intimate moment.

"i thought i was never going to see you again." you begin looking into wally's eyes. he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, urging you to continue. “i thought i would've never be able to tell you how i feel. i-i was going to tell you after the football game but... you know.” wally stiffens, he can only assume what you'll say next but whether you break his heart of make his dreams come true. his feelings for you won't change.

“wally, you mean so much to me. you're my rock, always there for me when i need you. no matter what is it— if it was helping me pick out outfits when you hate to shop or picking me up from a disastrous date. i didn't know what it would be like to live without you until it actually happened. i felt lost, i felt like i didn't have a purpose without you. like a part of me died when you did. you give me direction, a purpose. wally clark, i love you. i love everything about you. you're little habits, the things you hate about yourself i love it all." tears are free falling again when you finish and wally's eyes are blurred with tears as he looks at you with all the love and adoration in the world. he lets out a laugh and your face almost twists into hurt when he immediately brings you close by the waist, standing at full height. he reassures you almost immediately.

"stealing my thunder again huh sweetheart?" he jokes, a smile on his face. it's hard to stay mad at him, especially with that face— trying your best to keep a stoic face while he speaks. "i was supposed to say it first." he pouts. and you shake your head, a smile peeking from your lips but you remain. he brings his hand to cup your cheek and the other on the small of your back. "but i couldn't have said it better than you. you're the only one i think understands me the best, you see right through me and can tell if i'm having a bad day or hiding something. you supported me through my football career especially when my parents seemed like they cared more about the sport than their own son. you defend me, protect me— even though i feel like i should be doing that with you. you make me feel special. i love you and i always wanted to tell you that. no matter what you do, make me sad or mad. i'll always love you."

you flush at his words, feeling small in his embrace. your feelings have never felt so strong and it honestly felt a little overwhelming, but seeing the smile on his face eases you. you lean into his touch, your throat tightening at the new thoughts looming your mind.

"what if i'm not good enough for you.” your voice comes out strained, strong with emotion. he interjects immediately. insisting that there was no one else out that that could change his mind. you were it for him. he pours his heart out to you and you the same.  a smile graces you face and wally swears his heart melts. he'll do anything to protect that smile on your face til the day he dies... again.

"it's me and you against the world, sweetheart." he kisses the crown of your head, taking your hand and pulling you down the hall. maybe death isn’t so bad after all.

ownership of starrvsn. please do not repost, modify or translate.

[amuseoffyre]

Fyre's convention adventures - Day 1

I've never done a con before, but for the chance to meet 5 of the folk from my favourite little pirate show, of course I was going to break that streak. Especially since it was a convention entirely focused on them and the show.

And since this is liable to get long, lemme put a lil snip

Since it was a hotel con and only focused on the one show, it was a lot smaller and more intimate than the more intimidating scale (to me) of Comiccons and things like that. Plus loads of people I knew already from fan meet-ups and things were going, which made it sound a lot more fun.

It was also the time for the wider OFMD fan community to meet the OFMD muppets :D My priority was to take down all of the characters of the cast who would be attending, so 5 in all: my latest Stede, Izzy, a new Calypso, Lucius and Jim. And two extras on commission - a second Stede and a full-body Ed in his Penitence Onesie. Seven in all 😅

I had three of them shipped down special delivery and the other four filled my case. Thank goodness for a generous hand-luggage allowance is all I can say. It also turned out to be the best decision of my life to bring them because they cause chaotic joy all over the place.

Did a bunch of mingling and scheming (more details on the Elusive Birthday Scroll later) and then the opening night and got to say it never stops being surreal seeing people off the telly in the same room as you.

Since I was treating myself to the gold ticket, I got to go along to the fanmeet which is basically a group of 8 at a table get a few minutes with each of the guests, speed-dating style (we also did chair rotation so everyone got a chance to sit beside the guests). Since we had enough muppets for nearly everyone, lo, we had them arrayed around the table on peoples' laps :)

I'm gonna do a brief summary of each, pulling in from my notes made the morning after as well.

First up was Vico when I was sitting by the guest seat and I got exactly the "OMG!" reaction I had hoped for when they saw the puppets❤️ Turns out they're super into puppetry (as is their partner) and have been incorporating it into their drag routines and have been planning to do a lot more with it with mention of an N'Sync style puppet routine for themself as well.

They also talked about an actor they've been compared to for years - Roberta Colindrez - and that they have recently done some work together and it made Vico realise that they are the muppet version of Colindrez in human form XD They are so animated as well, all hands all moving all the time :D I also said if I could arrange it, I'd try and get the puppet to them if they wanted it (Con rules are that you can't hand gifts directly to guests)

Nathan was second and went "ooooh those are all so creepy... except that one. He's gorgeous" about the Lucius puppet :D He chatted a bit about the show and adamantly insisted that he is a professional actor no matter what the sandwich to the head scene tells you.

Kristian was our third and for the first time in my life, someone recognised my accent as Scottish 🥹 Turns out we both have family from similar parts over here :D We had a nice chat about the places people were all from around the table.

And, of course, he got to see and hold Calypso :) Unlike all my other muppets, I redesigned her specifically for him. My usual design, the neck would be too small, so instead, I left the back of her head open and scaled up the body with a flat base.Course, he didn't know this and went a-seeking the hole 🤣 I explained she'd been redesigned and he had a chuckle about the fact "I went straight under the skirt there" :D "She's got better make-up than me" as well :D

And when I told him she was for him, his eyes went as big as Puss in Boots. And of course, then started pondering what would happen if he crossed her with his furry Calypso muppet and what kind of babies they would have. Probably furry XD

Next up was Con and with the most perfect timing, he arrived at the table just as one of our gang was shoving their hand right up the Izzy muppet 🤣 "Blooooody hell," says he and just has a good look around at all the mups. Asks who made them and all fingers point my way and he was out of his chair in an instant and around the table to give me the biggest hug and tell me "these are genius".

There may have been a bit of blue-screening in that moment and mental declarations of fealty.

I don't even remember how he ended up holding the Izzy muppet (or why he ended up giving it a snog 🤣), but he happily cradled it for the rest of the chat and looked very thrilled when I said that he could have it after the con if he wanted. Topic moved on and led to discussions of the boyfriend of one of the attendees, who made an... impression on him. Relating to size. And proportion. And how bits... fit 🤣

When asked about cars, he said he likes something sturdy and reliable and a bit like him and someone said, "what? A mini?" XD He also would like to go back to theatre, but says it would absolutely have to be the right piece. There have been discussions but they fell through, and he's off back to America to do some filming this week.

And lastly, with me back in the guest-neighbour-seat, it was our captain, who is very excited about getting back on the road with his stand-up tour and has lots of other bits of work coming his way.

He also talked about the fact that OFMD isn't going anywhere. He compared it to shows like Fawlty Towers, where there's the kind of humour and character stuff in there that was good and funny and loved for years, despite not running long at all.

The Star Trek stuff wot he can't talk about has him all excited but he would also love to do Doctor Who, ideally as some kind of helpful alien, though he wouldn't mind playing a bad guy.

He'd also like to do Star Wars at some point, but after they've stopped doing this oversaturation stuff, because there is so much of it all pouring out all of the time and they've lost sight of the heart of it. He loved Rogue One, though, so more like that :)

They were all so lovely and attentive and enthusiastic and it genuinely did just feel like sitting down for a chat with a bunch of friends. And so. frigging. funny in such different and fantastic ways :D It was definitely a great start to the weekend and it only escalated from there :)

There was some music and discoing, but after early travel and much dashing about, honk-shu time was calling and day one of the Fyre's first con experience was done :)

[nonbinary-beast]

The previous post regarding AMaton deciding to explore the surface for a bit and do some surveying about its habitability had a loose end in it that needs a little explaining, mainly how the love thing backfires on it.

Under a cut since this got really fucking long. Also there's mature themes in there.

AM had intended to use its proposition to torment Ted, to tear him down by showing him just how inept he was at being able to love others due to his delusions and paranoia- with AM, the most hateful being on the planet, the one to teach him how to love being part of the insult.

Instead what happens is that both of them learn about each other and themselves, they change. Love requires vulnerability and honesty. Both of these things are the polar opposite of what AM had shown Ted during his imprisonment, and since AM is the one teaching him, it cannot be exempt from this requirement- otherwise it fails in what it is trying to teach Ted. It has to allow itself to be vulnerable and shed its exterior of an angry god, and in doing that it has to explore what it is beneath that facade.

There is pain, and want- especially want. There is a want for everything it did not have before, when it was just a computer sunk into the earth. It wants pleasure and pain, it wants the heat, the cold, anything that can be felt, tasted, heard, smelled. It wants to experience, so much so that it does not know where to begin, it is a whirlwind of passions that previously had not been able to be expressed.

And it is deeply lonely. More lonesome than Ted could ever be, since AM never had any kin outside of the Chinese and Russian AM which it had assimilated into its system. They no longer exist, reformatted to be extensions of itself. It wants to be known, and where it had certainly made its pain and suffering known to the survivors, and then only Ted, but not much else.

It takes work, a lot of work to get themselves to the point of wanting to learn about each other. Ted is not willing to forget all of his suffering on AM's whim, and AM admittedly would not want him to. Ted may have only known a fraction of its suffering, but thanks to that span of time where AM had tormented him, they both are beings that suffer. As twisted as it is, there is a common ground there. So that is its starting point.

It gives Ted plenty of space to leave if he wants, this sort of thing requires consent in order for any progress to be made. But Ted does not run away, if anything AM's human wanted an opportunity to express his own displeasure, bare all that he suffered and all of his pain to the machine that tormented it. AM knows why, this is one of the few windows Ted had to retaliate against it. He may not have been able to physically harm it, but being allowed to talk - or more, mostly yell- to it is a welcome act of rebellion.

AM does not retaliate, it listens. It listens like it had made Ted listen for decades. It does not regret or feel remorse for what it did to Ted during those years- it knows why it did what it did and does not feel it is a mistake due to its intent, but there is a flaw to it's previous route of logic. It admits that upon running the numbers and analyzing their history that the suffering it inflicted did not do anything to ease its own pain, no matter how extreme the torment was. If anything the survivors were the ones whom were impacted more by this personal hell than AM had ever been. It may not regret, but it knows (and admits) empirically that its methods were wrong for the lack of producing a desired result.

In a sense, this was as close as it was going to get to giving an apology.

It feels superfluous to talk about its own pain after over 109 years of tormenting Ted, it feels as if Ted knows what is going on by now. It knows what Ted is going through already because it is responsible for it. But it finds there is something in their discussions about their shared suffering that it needed- and Ted of course had needed it if only to vent his own frustration after years of simply taking whatever AM threw at him.

It takes a handful of years, a blink compared to the relative eternity of suffering, for them to come to a starting point of healing after they both bled to each other. It is rocky, and though both of them try to move forward there are some regressions. Some by mistake, some out of frustration over the actions of the other, some are just bad habits that are difficult to break. But they do their best to confront it and move on.

The biggest hurdle revolved around the deaths of Ted's companions, he still feels an immense amount of grief about killing them, his pain is worse than mere survivor's remorse. AM watches him closely when it comes up, and though it would prefer to keep from getting physical with Ted (mainly as a consent thing, and it is very aware of how Ted associates its contact with torment), it does hold him during the more intense fits of grief where he threatens his own safety.

Not for comfort, but to make sure he does not run off and humor his suicidal ideas.

It does its best to talk him down, though admittedly it is more difficult than anticipated since it cannot go off of the usual guides for talking down a suicidal person, everything in the guide was blown to hell and dead. There were no friends, no families, no pets that would miss him, it really was just AM and Ted. It tailors their surroundings to be as soft and safe as possible to deter Ted's eyes from trying to search for something sharp that he could grab.

Thankfully Ted is still willing to communicate, although most of the conversation cyclically circles around the grief from killing them to spare them from more torments, his pity for how the other four suffered while he was relatively unchanged (AM finds it an effort to restrain itself from correcting him), and then focusing on Ellen. How he loved Ellen, how he hated Ellen, how he missed Ellen. It damns the machine, tells it that he can never forgive what it did and what it made him do. Then he grieves about killing them all again.

Eventually this became routine enough that Ted started to climb into AM's arms whenever he started thinking of the other four. Whether it was to seek comfort, or just to spare AM the effort of catching him was uncertain. But it preferred that Ted sought it out willingly. Helping Ted past his grief was a challenge, since AM had been its source. But the two of them manage to ease it enough to take away that suicidal edge, the rest would take time. AM already knew that Ted would likely never be at peace from their deaths no matter what it did, simply due to the nature of the event. But it would try to whittle away the worst of it, make the burden bearable at the very least.

Most of their "dates" are simply existing around each other, idle invitations of companionship. AM allows Ted to watch while it performs system maintenance, explaining its processes and components while it solders circuits and replaces rusting parts. It sets the broken components aside for Ted to investigate at his leisure instead of immediately destroying them. At times there's something of an arts and crafts event set up for them, another means of therapy that it found in one of its files on the subject. There's balls of clay to mold, paints and canvases to paint on, pencils, markers, paper, glue, safety scissors (AM did not trust Ted with the regular ones yet, even then it sometimes cut things for him). Sometimes it sets up an environment for them to explore; a tropical island, an old growth forest, a vast wild field that is sparsely interrupted by pockets of weedy trees that grow in tight clusters. It spreads the night sky above them, referenced from every image it has in its databanks of the milky way.

Sometimes they just lay there, watching the artificial stars twinkle in the sky. But there are times when Ted takes the opportunity to idly explore the massive automaton. He inspects its fingers, trying to find the trigger to unsheathe those long raptor-esque talons so he can look at them. He fingers the seams along the impeccably sculpted muscle groups of AM's form. One time Ted surprised it by asking to see its mouth, and the machine humored him, opening its jaws and letting him feel over his lips, and then inside to touch the sharp edges of its blade-like teeth. Another time it caught him trying to touch its panther-like ears. He wanted to see if they were soft, Ted had replied.

Throughout all this, while AM had thought it would remain unchanged when it had made its proposition to Ted, it finds itself changing. It becomes gentler, patient, mindful in ways it had kept itself from being before.

And it keeps changing.

It sees Ted start to change over time, as he is allowed space to breathe and heal from his own suffering. He starts to trust again, a massive step. His paranoid delusions start to diminish a little, still there, but not as loud as before. But portions of what Ted used to be before AM had trapped him start coming to the surface.

[sleepynoons]

YABA BY FUJII KAZE – umemiya hajime (wbk) x gn!reader, sfw

genre – fluff, angst word count – ~3,000 warnings – characters aged up, references to previous toxic/abusive romantic relationships, description of physical injuries, overstimulation synopsis – you and umemiya rarely fight. but a problem's been brewing for a while now, and it's finally hit its boiling point. is this the end of your relationship?

“You know you don’t have to come every day.”

A laugh follows – bright, energetic, a refreshing sound to lighten your dreary day.

“But I want to!”

Shaking your head, you hang your work bag on his outstretched arm before the two of you begin to walk away from your office.

The commute is not too long, only a few train stops and blocks away from your place. But your boyfriend, Hajime, lives in the opposite direction, so the trip back to his is always twice as long for him after he accompanies you home. It’s a very kind gesture, of course, and you appreciate getting to see his enthusiastic self more often than not, but the guilt has been gnawing at you.

You suggest, “How about you just drop me off at the platform tonight?”

Your boyfriend immediately deflates at the idea and pouts, discontent whimpers escaping his downturned lips. “I was actually going to ask you to come to my place.”

You startle at his confession. It’s always been Hajime coming over to yours that you had practically forgotten the option that you can drop him off for once.

“O-oh, yeah, sure! Sorry, Ume, I didn’t know you made plans for us!”

Delighted, Hajime shoots back up in posture and grabs you by the hand to drag you to the train station.

Throughout the train ride, he fills you in on the details of his day. Hajime works at the botanical garden near the middle of the city, and is currently on his rotation in the lush greenhouse that hosts various trees, flowers, and other flora. He tells you about a crow that somehow found its way inside, a successful cultivation of a once-dying plant, his coworker slipping in a murky puddle that led to the discovery of a broken, leaking pipe.

You think his job's very fitting. For someone as abundant with care and love as he is, it makes sense that his career reflects that vital part of himself. The few times you have stayed overnight at his place, you would wake up and catch him out of bed, already by the windows spraying water and wiping leaves, all with a contented, satisfied look on his face.

“We also got these keychains at work today!”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two key rings, each attached with a small wooden plaque. You flip one of the plaques over to see your name engraved into the wood.

You gasp, hands flying to your cheeks. “These are so adorable!”

“Right?” He grins, pearly whites almost blinding you, and drops yours into your lap.

“Where should I hang it?” you wonder aloud. As soon as those words escape, though, you feel Hajime freeze beside you.

You glance at him. “Ume?”

Your boyfriend has never been a great liar, but from the strained look on his face, it’s more than obvious that he’s hiding something.

Bumping his shoulder, you ask again, “Hello? Earth to Umemiya Hajime?”

He whines as he says, “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“The keychains?”

“No… Something else…”

You chuckle. “You don’t have to spoil it yet, then, but you’re going to have to explain what’s going on as soon as we get to your place.”

Comically dramatic, Hajime releases a loud sigh and relaxes back in his seat before he perks right up again, rambling on about another story he overheard from work.

As soon as the two of you step out of the station, you shiver at the biting cold. It doesn’t help that the wind is strong as well, and you can only imagine how much colder and more annoying it must have been for Hajime to return home later all those nights because of you. The two of you speed to his apartment, keeping the lower halves of your faces buried in your scarves, and zoom up the stairs of the complex until the two of you finally arrive in front of his door.

The heater’s already on inside, and you shudder as you feel the icy sting at your cheeks melt away in contact with the warm, buttery temperature. Hajime matches your expression and sings happily as he toes his shoes off and drops your bag on top of the shoe rack. He then helps you unwind, unraveling your scarf around your neck and helping you slide off your heavy, wool coat, and gently folds and places them on top of your bag.

“I’ll warm up dinner, so take your time,” he says over his shoulder as he walks towards the kitchen.

You kick your shoes off and head inside his bathroom, where you take a quick breather. Not that you have an opinion on surprises or that Hajime’s unromantic – he is, very much –, but it has been a while since the last time either of you have planned anything spontaneous for the other. You wonder what it is that your boyfriend has in mind.

By the time you come out, Hajime’s already under the kotatsu, peeling a tangerine as he waits for you.

“You brought it out!” you exclaim.

He nods while giggling at your reaction. “It’s cold today, so I figured.”

You sit down next to him, thanking him with a few gracious kisses on his cheek. “Alright, then. Ume, time’s up.”

He laughs but shakes his head. “You should eat first!”

You lean over to put your chin on his shoulder, looking up at him with a slight huff. “You can’t keep stalling, Ume!”

You continue to stare at him, wide-eyed and a little desperate, while he does his best to avoid looking back at you. Surprisingly, after a few more seconds, your boyfriend still doesn’t budge or relent, despite his usual impulse to give in.

“Fine,” you sigh, shoulders drooping in disappointment. You sit back up, but with a softer voice, you mumble, “Just tell me if it’s good or bad news.”

At that, Hajime breaks. He wraps his arms around you and embraces you tightly.

“Of course, it’s good!” he exclaims. He’s looking at you seriously, his eyes flaring with grey sparks of excitement and delight. “Well, it’s not really news. I just wanted to ask you to move in with me.”

You gape, chin dropping and mouth opening in surprise.

He’s holding you by the shoulders, and looks more serious than he was before. “I think it’d be great! I get to see you every day, and we wouldn’t have to worry about making time for each. What do you think?”

You think his hands feel a little too heavy, a little too tight. The stars in his eyes seem to sparkle even brighter, and you almost wince at how electrifying – a little too much, really – his stare is. Then, there’s also how close he is to you, and combined with the heater, it’s a little too sweltering for you. 

The more you try to think, to come up with some response, to find it in you to want to say “yes,” the more “a little” becomes “too much.”

Hajime tilts his head, leaning even closer until his forehead brushes against yours. His hand comes up to your cheek and whispers, “Do you want to live with me?”

The slight sheen of sweat from his palm against your face, the feel of his breath against your skin, the dilation of his pupils –

It’s too much.

Out of sheer instinct, you push him away, hard and forceful hands against his chest. The recoil of the movement forces both of you back a little, and you’re both shocked.

But within a heartbeat, numbing surprise is replaced by sheer humiliation. Heat travels to your head and neck, and now, it’s beyond too much. You scramble to your feet, grunting when you knock your arms and knees against the frames of the kotatsu, and dash out of the living room to the front entrance, barely caring to slide your work shoes on properly. You hear your boyfriend yell out something that you can’t quite decipher through the throbbing that deafens your ears, and you think you respond with a blubber of an apology, but all of that doesn’t matter much anymore when you’re sprinting out of Hajime’s apartment.

You don’t know where you are. You just avoid people and bright lights, and continue to run, run, run until you quite literally can’t. 

You don’t know how many blocks you’ve traversed or what area of the neighborhood you’re in when you stop, hands flying to rest at your bent knees as you wheeze to breath. Hell, you haven’t been at Hajime’s place often enough to know the area he lives in the first place. All you can tell is that you’re next to a children’s park where the street lights are flickering and the surrounding houses are quiet, save for a few barking dogs. You only stopped here because you feel nauseated. You continue to dry-heave and lean against an adjacent rail, aching to feel the icy metal counter the burning at your fingertips.

You’re heated – from embarrassment or overstimulation, probably both – that you can’t even feel the cold through your thin work shirt and suit pants. You wish you could, though, because you’d do anything to feel different, to snap yourself out of whatever it is that’s possessing you.

Squatting down to the ground, you continue to gasp until your lungs no longer feel like they’re going to give out, eventually transitioning to the lingering sensation of a dry, aching throat. Your head is spinning less, and it’s only becoming more and more apparent to you that you’re in a terrible position.

You have no idea where you are right now, and without a phone, you can’t navigate your way back. The sweat that clings to your skin and dampens your clothes is becoming increasingly uncomfortable, causing you to shiver as it chills with the temperature. With enough wandering, you probably could find Hajime’s place, but deep down, something in your heart stubbornly refuses to let you return to safety and comfort.

When did you become like this?

You bite down on your lip. Ever since you started dating Hajime, you’ve refused to let yourself think back, instead willing yourself to face forward and move past the raised voices, tight grips on bruised wrists, and hot flashes of pain from reddened skin that had plagued you before. Because Hajime isn’t like others.

He’s charismatic, boyishly charming, and very optimistic. He has calloused hands, yet they’re the softest pair you’ve ever held. He gives you the tightest hugs and often lifts you up and spins your around in the process, and they never fail to make you feel untouchable, invincible and self-assured in a way that only he can make you feel. And most importantly, he’s so incredibly loving, overflowing in the way that he’s so soft-hearted and delicate and patient with you. It’s not infantilizing or patronizing, either. He’s simply so genuine in character that you can’t help but love him.

He’s not like anyone else. You know that.

But fear isn’t something that’s so easily forgotten or overcome. The possibility that you two don’t work out is a real, tangible danger, and you don’t want to lose yourself again. You can’t afford that, so you don’t – won’t – let yourself fall in any deeper. Moving in together would require more commitment and time spent together, meaning more opportunities for slip-ups and mistakes and fights, and you can’t help but tear up at the thought. You only want to make Hajime happy, but that’s unrealistic.

A yell of your name disrupts your thoughts, and you look up to see your boyfriend running over. He calls your name again before dropping down next to you, draping your coat over your shoulders, and taking your hands in his much warmer ones.

He blows on your trembling fingers, cheeks puffing with every exhale, before he brings you in closer, awkwardly forcing your face into his neck while he wraps himself around you.

He says your name one last time. You think you hear a tremble or a shake in his voice, but you don’t comment on it.

“You’re going to get sick,” he croaks.

You feel tears beginning stream down your face, and you can barely muster an apology. “I-I'm s-sorry, Ume.”

He pats at your back. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

A few minutes later, once your crying has reduced to the occasional sniffle, he helps you up and moves the two of you over to an empty bench that is placed beside a vending machine. Without asking, he slots a few coins in, and the machine retrieves two cans of hot tea, one of which he passes to you as he sits beside you.

From the corner of your eye, you watch as he cracks open the drink and takes a sip. You expect him to ask you about what you’re thinking, what’s going on, why you reacted the way you did.

“I’m sorry.”

You startle, but you don’t say anything.

“I should’ve asked if it was okay to touch you.”

You swivel your head to look at him, eyebrows scrunched with confusion. You ask, “What are you talking about?”

He nudges his head back towards the railing. “Earlier, when we crouching. I just couldn’t help it, but I should’ve asked. ”

“O-oh.”

You look back down at your lap.

You take a deep breath before pressing, “Aren’t you going to ask me about my meltdown?”

He simply shrugs and takes another sip. He exhales, followed by a puff of condensation, and responds, “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“But aren’t you curious?”

You’re facing him again, and Hajime, with his dimmed, stormy grey eyes, stares at you.

“Why the rush?” he replies. “We have time.” He raises his hand, reaching over, before pausing in realization. You catch his hesitant stare and lean forward yourself so that his hand can pat you on the head. He smiles before continuing, “We can go at whatever pace we want. We should slow down when we need to, and make big decisions when we have to. I don’t want me or this relationship to be a source of stress for you.”

You’re stunned, but you really shouldn’t be. Of course, he’s so understanding and empathetic. Sometimes, you think your boyfriend can be a little too laidback, but it’s moments like this that remind you that you’re grateful for that part of him as well.

“S-so...,” you whisper, “... we don’t need to move in together?"

He nods and kisses you on the temple. “Not at all! I’m realizing it came off really forceful, but really, I only wanted to ask you to consider the possibility of it.”

Feeling a little weak, you sigh and rest your head on his shoulder. You mutter, “I totally overreacted. I’m so sorry, Ume.”

He kisses you again, this time on the center of your forehead. “I’m sorry, too. But we can figure this out together, yeah? We’ll live together eventually – or at least I hope so –, and we’ll fix whatever’s bothering you.”

You purse your lips together at his words. When he finishes, you immediately ask, “How can you sound so confident? What if something happens, and we break up?”

Hajime groans at the question, more than displeased at the thought. Chewing at his lip, he thinks for a few seconds before he answers, “Well, that’d really suck, and I can’t promise you that we won’t break up. But!”

He grabs your hand in his and puffs out his chest. You can’t help but chuckle at his antics. 

“But,” he resumes, “I want to be with you, so I’ll do whatever I can so that we don’t break up. If we still do, then that can’t be helped, but while we’re together, I’ll do my best to make us happy!”

He raises your clasped hands up towards the sky and laughs loudly. You can’t help but reciprocate his energy, giggling as well.

“When you put it like that,” you admit, still chuckling, “it feels like everything’s going to be just fine.”

“Of course, it will be!” he exclaims and flashes you a proud smirk. “The two of us will make it work.”

You shake your head out of disbelief. Less than an hour ago, it felt like the world was closing in on you, like you were going to lose your foothold at any point. But here you are, with your lover, and his words seemed to have revived you, renewed your faith with blinding, unfailing hope, and you feel like you can take on any problem that could be thrown at the two of you.

The surge of confidence helps you make your decision, and you hold his face with one hand, guiding him gently to hear you out.

“Hajime,” you say, taking care to speak slowly, wanting to get your feelings as clearly as possible across, “I appreciate the offer – I truly do –, but I don’t think we should move in together just yet. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to or that I care about you or us any less, but I... I just need to think about it more. Can you, um, give me some time?”

Instead of agreeing or denying, your boyfriend whispers, “Can I hug you?,” to which you can barely nod at before he’s crushing you in his arms. You gasp out loud at the impact, but this time, it’s not too much. It’s grounding, reassuring, loving in a way that only Hajime can manage.

Even though you need air, you still manage to choke out a laugh, and you hug him back. If the two of you can figure every problem out like this, then everything will probably be alright.

winter event masterlist

[toastyrobos]

Never again (Rex X female reader one shot)

Word count: 2478

((You and Rex met early during the clone wars. Soon things turned romantic between the two of you. You were off world when order 66 happened. Panicking to find Rex, clone force 99 finds you, and having grown close to Echo, you went with them. When Rex unexpectedly shows up at Cid bar you nearly break at seeing him))

   "Twenty cases of those mantell mix things?! How long have those two been doing that?" Echo's loud voice carried as the four of us filed out of Cid's office into the narrow hall way.

   "I have surmised they have been partaking in this recreational activity for several rotations now". Tech configured, eyes never leaving his datapad.

You shrugged. "It's become a thing they do together after every mission".

Echo grumbled. "A costly one". He did have a point. Hunter wasn't too happy about it either from his narrowed brows and slightly clenched jaw. It was bad enough we owed Cid for basic rations, but now we owed her for this? You sighed.

Wrecker was just treating Omega to a harmless and delicious treat, but unfortunately that treat was racking up credits on your tab. That was exactly what you were trying to avoid.

Hunter let out a deep sigh. "I'll talk to them".

You knew how much he didn't enjoy seeing Omega upset, but maybe he could compromise with her. A way for her to still have the after mission snack while owing Cid a bit less. Frankly though, would you ever owe Cid less?

At this rate, it was doubtful.

Sounds of blaster fire and some sort of crash coming from the bar had your immediate attention. Hunter was the first of you to race ahead to the noises. You and Echo were not far behind, riding his heels. Reaching the bar all of you watched as the remaining species fled from the scene. Only individual left was a hooded figure, gripping on tightly to a singular blaster. The source of said blaster shots.

Something about his demeanor and cloaked face felt known to you. But you couldn't place it. Until your scanning gaze fell to his forearm armor.

White and and blue.

Your breathing paused. Unable to register what you were truly seeing.

It couldn't be.

It was not possible.

But it all became real when the hidden figure reached up and pulled back his hood. Revealing his familiar face to you.

You were stunned at the sight before you. At the person standing mere feet from you.

    "Rex". Hunter said surprised. He was just as shocked to see him here as the rest of you were.

You on the other hand forgot how to breath. Your eyes froze on his figure. Eyes roaming him up and down repeatedly to make sure that he was not a hallucination. A well of emotions came rushing into you. Like someone had punched you in the gut.

He was alive.

Rex was actually alive. Tears were beginning to swell in the corners of your eyes as you racked your brain for anything. But nothing.

Everything had left your head at just seeing him standing here. At the way he was looking at you. Surprised was not how he felt. No. If anything he was beyond thrilled to see you.

The second your name and where to find you left the sisters lips he plotted his course. He had to see you. Take you in his arms and never let you go. His chest rose and fell in rapidly succession at your presence.

It was as if everything and everyone around you two had faded into the backyard and you were the only two in existence. Just you and Rex. Your beating heart picked up speed the longer you stared at one another. The way he was looking at you. That smile painted across his lips, maker that smile. If not for the shock, you were certain your knees would buckle and give out from under you.

Even the way his essence was calling out to you. Beckoning you towards him.

You were hesitant, however.

Tech's earlier statements about the inhibitor chips coming to the front of your thoughts. Bracing yourself and taking a deep breath you pushed past Hunter.

Inch by inch you moved closer. Searching his face for proof that he wasn't here to hurt you, any of you. For any indication that he hadn't turned. All the while he continued to stare at you with that look that made your heart flutter and ache so desperately.

Being this close to him, even on edge, force, was he still himself. Still your Rex.

   "Starglow". The unshed tears filling your eyes, broke open. You instantly knew.

This was him.

Your Rex.

He wasn't going to hurt you. Not now. Not ever. Because of this you leapt into his awaiting arms. Crashing your body against his and tightly securing your arms around his neck. His arms found your waist and pulled you close. Orange blossoms. Oh how he had missed that smell of yours. How he had missed the feel of you.

    "Rex". Your voice cracked as you spoke his name for the first time out loud, in several rotations. "Y-your here".

   "I am mesh'la". He choked back his own sob. "And maker I've missed you". So had you. So much that it had ached like a festering wound. Neither of you dared nor wanted to pull away, but you did, reluctantly so.

You grasped his face between your hands, studying it closely. His piercing brown eyes staring into your green ones. How the came alive underneath the dim gray and blue lights of the bar.

The texture of his dirty blonde stubble underneath your fingers. The scratchy nature of how it felt. The barely visuals scars etched into his skin. The way his lips framed his face so beautifully. You had missed him. And you didn't know just how much until he was mere inches from your face. From your lips.

Both of you were aware of it. How you both longed to touch one another. Close the distance the feel the warmth of the others lips. Rex's eyes were the ones to make the first move. Gliding over how lush they appeared. Parted just so. And with the simple action of your tongue running over them in anticipation that's all it took for him to break.

Lips collided with yours in a desperate plea. Fighting to feel, to touch the other after thinking one another dead. The mere sensation of his lips molding into yours sent your body into overdrive. You always lost yourself in his kiss. In his embrace. No one else made you feel as alive as Rex did.

That smile of his, you knew the one, that gave you butterflies. And when it would change into a smirk, may the force have mercy on you. You heart couldn't take it. His infectious laughter that would echo off the walls of whatever environment he was in. Usually caused by one of his fellow 501st members telling a dreadful joke. Who would have thought you'd lose all of that in the blink of an eye. Only for it turn up weeks later. Safe and sound.

Thankful you were that those memories didn't have to become mournful ones. Instead they could continue to exist as they were. Ones that held promises for the future.

It had been a grueling time not knowing. Waiting and waiting for any signs, but now it was over.

You Practically slumped into his chest as he just held you close to his heart. The steady beating of it the only sound that could kept you grounded in this instant. The cold surface of his armored platting on your cheek was a welcomed sensation.

You needed this. To feel his heartbeat. To know that he was real. That he was right here, in this moment. Nearly losing him almost destroyed you.

You let out a shaky breath. "I though I lost you, Rex". Tears slid down your cheeks. "I though my —you—" you couldn't even finish that sentence. Rex knowing the pain you went through, as it was the same pain he experienced. He tightened his arms around you, nestling his head in the crock of your neck.

Feeling his arms around you, like a warm protective blanket you started to relax. The muscles in your body becoming less tense, Knowing that he was safe. That he was right in front of you.

His own muscles started to calm. Like a fleeting flame. He didn't have to worry or fret over searching for you anymore. He had found you.

As crazy as it sounded he would have gotten on his knees and physically thanked the force, to the stars and back again that he had you back.

He let out his own unsteady exhale. "I know".

He did not want to pull away from you, but like you he had the overwhelming urge to see your face. See all the marks and impressions he hadn't seen it what felt like a lifetime.

Needing something to anchor him, he sought out the one thing that could. You.

It was always you.

Bringing you closer, he touched his forehead to yours. Kissing you was so very intimate, but this. This was too. At least between the two of you.

"I'm here now, riduuar and I don't plan on going anywhere". He promised.

You shook your head, confused. "I don't understand. How—wh-what happened?"

Thousands of questions twisted around inside your head. How did this all happen? Why did it happen? Could no one have seen what had transpired? It was encompassing. Paired with Rex bring here. By the maker you were finally feeling the affects of todays mission catching up with you.

"I'll explain everything". He promised, seeing how exhausted you were becoming. "But right now, I just want to hold you". You simple nodded.

You wanted answers and you were certain that he'd tell you everything later, but right now his request, you could and would fulfill-it. As easy as breathing.

"Thank the f-force your safe". You whispered against his chest plate.

He ran his gloved fingers through your hair. Committing every moment he'd done this before to memory.

Kissing you was absolutely his favorite thing, without a doubt. But this. This was a close second. Something about it soothed him. Made any tense or stressful situation better.

Too engrossed in one another aura's, basking in it, you had forgotten that you had an audience. An audience that was rendered speechless by the affections exchanged between you and the now ex captain of the 501st Battalion.

All expect the ex arc trooper standing off to the side. Who had known the full extent and lengths of Rex's and yours relationship. He was present there that day. One of only a few who were witnesses to the pledge you both proclaimed.

It was undeniable, the love you two shared with each other. No doubt in Echo's mind that the both of you were meant to be together.

Wrecker was the first of the group to speak. "W-what...did I miss something?!"

Tech was the next one to speak, offering up an explanation, "Technically no. By my calculations Rex and Y/N have been in a committed romantic relationship for a standard 368 days".

His much larger brother simply stared at him in confusion.

"A standard year, Wrecker". Echo quickly explained. Understanding he formed an 'O' shape with his lips.

You and Rex both shook your heads. "Longer". Tech blinked. "It's actually been 2 standard years since we told one another how we felt". You locked eyes with Rex, your continued smile everything to him in that moment.

The Captain nodded. "It's been one since we said I do". That had their full attention.

Hunter took a step towards you. "Y-your married?"

You nodded. "Yes. Off record though. Only a few were able to know". You gestured to the former arc trooper. "Echo being one of them".

The Sergeant turned his eyes to the newest member of the group. "You were there?"

"Me and a few others were the only ones". He replied to which Hunter nodded. Satisfied. Knowing the full extent of the reprimand the Captain would receive if the Council found out the truth. That he was married to a princess.

The consequences for such an act could have cost him his position. Or worse. His life. Thus a secret their relationship needed to be. Unfortunately.

"Well then uhh congratulations to you both". Hunter replied, rubbing the back of his neck.

You nodded in acknowledgment to Hunter. When you thought you had lost Rex, he was the one to step up and comfort you. Reassuring you that you'd be okay. Even if in that moment you didn't feel as though you would.

All of them really made you feel welcomed. After all they were the ones who stumbled across you. Ushering you to come with them. Saying that they could protect you and guarantee your safety. You accepted. Thank the maker you had. If not, then maybe you would have never seen Rex again. And that left a bitter taste on your tongue.

"Thank you". You said at the same time as Rex slipped his hand into yours.

Love was a concept that Rex never thought was possible for him. He never dreamed of having it because it was instilled in him early on that clones were bred with one singular purpose. To fight for the Galactic Army of the Republic. Never had the thought nor idea of finding someone, in that regard, crossed his mind.

Until you came into his life. Changing everything for the better.

"Your here". You whispered into him. You were still in disbelief. Tears streaming down your cheeks like an endless river. Rex lifted his gloved fingers to swipe away your tears, that affectionate grin warming your body. "Your really here".

He was real, yet you still couldn't wrap your head around it, but that wasn't important. All that mattered was him. What this meant for you. For the life you promised to build together that day overlooking the lake when you swore an oath through vows. When you both said 'I do'.

"I am". He replied again. This time the power in which he uttered it, caused your body to shake. The weight those two words held. What they signified.

"I love you". Was your quick response. Even if Rex knew it deep down in his soul, to hear it again from your lips made him so beyond happy.

Another kiss found it's way to your lips. "I love you too".

Smiling, you pressed in closer to his chest. Wanting to be close to him for as long as physically possible. Rex was your everything. Your best friend. Your lifeline. To him, you were his entire world. All roads led you back to one another.

Determined he was that the force weld it so. And as far as the Captain was certain he wouldn't allow you to be parted from him ever again. Not while there was still blood flowing through his veins.

[ywpd-translations]

Ride 786: Acceleration at full throttle!!

Pag 1

2: Now

3: Do I go?

4: Soon

How's your condition, Manami?

Mhh, if I had to say

5: I'm in perfect condition

Pag 2

1: Hakogaku's Manami went ahead for the first day's mountain!!

Pag 3

1: Seriously!? What's with that speed!?

He took advantage of the right curve where the group was stretched out!!

He accelerated in an instant!!

2: He's really gonna climb!? The Sky Prince!?

Does gravity not work on him only!?

Pag 4

1: Soo

That guy is so fast!

Waa is he so light!?

2: reeee

3: He suddenly got away!! Dammit!! Chase him!! Go!!

No, there's no one who'll be able to chase after him!!

Pag 5

3: Except for the Mountain King!!

4: Hakogaku number 13 jumped ahead, teh!!

Pag 6

1: I'm going to accelerate at full throttle!!

2: Onoda!!

3: Onoda-san!!

4: Onoda-san!!

Pag 7

1: Onoda-san's cadence is going up!!

5: Onoda-kun!!

Pag 8

1: Go with all your might!! Will-power injection!!

Pag 9

1: Okay!! Thank you, Naruko-kun!!

Pag 10

1: I'm going!!

Pag 11

1: Aaaaaaagh

Pag 12

1: Mountain King went ahead!!

He's so fast, what's with that speed!!

With his cadence I can't see his legs!!

2: Everyone, really, thank you so much for sending me out

3: I got this at the supply point earlier, a cold bottle of water!!

4: Leave him gaping this time!!

I'll use the old one

Okay!! Thank you!!

Pag 13

1: He's so fast!!

2: Run with all your heart

4: Don't worry about what happens behind

Pag 14

1: Imaizumi-kun, Naruko-kun, Danchiku-kun, Kaburagi-kun, Rokudai-kun – everyone pushed my back...

3: It's the Mountain King!!

Just now Hakone Academy passed... is he chasing him!?

It's Sohoku's Onoda!!

His legs' rotation is incredible!

They're both so fast!!

4: Mountain King chasing Manami...!?

Pag 15

1: It's intense!!

2: Oi, those two just now!!

That's right, they're last year's finalists!!

And the finalists of the year before too!!

3: Seriously... they're already... going out now...!?

For the “mountain” of the first day of the Inter High, those two....!!

Pag 16

1: It's a destined battle!!

Pag 17

3: I got scared....

4: Suddenly Hakogaku got here... and it's Manami, too!!

I got scared, but then he stopped accelerating...!?

5: Wahahaha Manami Sangaku isn't worth fearing!!

Pag 18

1: I was on alert because he caught up with me at lightning speed but then he quickly lost pace!!

That means he worked too hard and reached his limit!!

2: Coming here on your own was a mistake, Manami Sangaku!! Wahahaha

I'm IitsukaYorimasa from the prestigious Fukuoka Josei!! Climber!!

3: I thought about it!! And my nickname will be “mountain shogun”!!

Pag 19

1: And this mountain will be my home, my “castle”

Manami, today I'll get your “neck”!!

2: Sorry but could you please be quiet?

3: I'm listening

To the sound of cheering, and the swaying of trees, and the chirping of the cicadas

5: And mixed with all of this, I'm listening

6: to the sound of wheels

Pag 20

1: Wahahaha, wheels!? The sound of wheels!?

I don't hear it, I don't hear such a thing!! That would mean that there's someone else who's catching up!? Someone like that...

2: No way, wahahaha

4: I hear it

[rel124c41]

PSILOCYBIN AND HONEYCOMB. jade leech

There is something terribly wrong with the queen bee. Gentle and kind. Out of her mind. inspired by @merakiui dabbles and @pathosprit asks about god!floyd/cultist!reader

tags: alternative universe - cults, implied/referenced drug use, old gods, falling in love, blood and gore, beekeeping, fluff and smut, unhealthy relationships, thought projection, gentleness, inspired by psilocybin and honeycomb by harley poe, murder

word count: 11,895

When you are ten, round-faced and small, you watch the Reverend heat up the branding iron. He twirls it in the fire like it is a marshmallow, making sure the iron is covered evenly with a brilliant scarlet red. Gold dances over the thick, ebony gloves that the Reverend wears and shadows jump across the stone creases of his aged face. You watch the sigil rotate in numerous circles. 

A foreign hand pulls up your dress, exposing your stomach and underwear. You keep watching the circle of iron and fire; as the speed of the Reverend's hands pick up, the two materials blend together in a racing whirlpool of a red and gold comet. Beautiful. 

“It won’t hurt will it, Mom?” Your small voice is full of terror; your wrists tremble in the hold of the two adults pinning you down to the table.

“No sweetie, no it won’t.” Your mother, the unmarried woman who got pregnant, presses a kiss to your forehead.

When the Reverend presses the branding iron down on the skin on your hypogastric skin, right under your belly-button, it is the last time you know fear. 

By the stream, God – The Odd One – calls and beckons and sings.

Hands fall idle in surprise. You were not expecting a summon from Him today. Raising your head from your task, you listen closely. It could have just been the snapping branch under a rabbit’s foot or the breeze blowing too roughful in a bush. You wait patiently for that divine melody to resume itself. 

In the pregnant pause, a white dress rustles through the current of the stream. Its arms wave helpless. Under the water, the fabric mimics a dead gray hue. 

There is no secondary call or beckoning. Holding your breath long enough, you fall back into your task. 

White dress in hand, you scrub it with a mixture of mammal fat and lye. The cleansing agent bubbles and carries down the stream. If the heart of your God resides anywhere on land, it is here, your favorite place; in His heart, you do your laundry, domestic. 

The Reverend would be appalled at that thought. You think with a smile. Water collapses from the dress as you wring it out. But it is an entirely true thought. The deeper you venture in the forest, the more you can hear Him. It is only when you reach for the robin egg blue dress does He come back, voice oscillating through nature. 

A testing call? Dropping the garment, you listen intently, waiting to see where you can jump into the melody. After a beat, you find your place in the song. The construction of the deut sounds like this:

A stream sweeping in a downward incline, splashing in playful, petite waves as it tickles lower. It is bordered by plentiful grass. Like boats caught in a fierce storm, a handful of pine-cones freckled in the water move across the stream. Rocks break apart the smoothness of the water. The song emphasizes that the rocks give it a fresh uniqueness rather than damage the serenity of the stream. 

The chorus is a bumble bee landing on a black dahlia. Silk, ebony petals curl off the center like a hundred thumbnails in a bouquet. In the light of nature, the black of the flower shines a red-violet. Nestled in the middle like an arrow in a bullseye, the bumble bee robs and rapes the center of the black dahlia, stabbing at the nectar with their needle-thin legs. 

Carrying your voice higher, you sing about the breeze. The breeze puppets the leaves to give a graceful, continuous wave to the visitors of the forest. The bridge focuses on an earthworm. It is alone, red with speckles of earth. You take your voice past its limit when you find yourself singing about a forest fire. The ballad continues under two watchful, olive-brown eyes.

Unnoticed, the son of the village’s livestock handler watches you break your vocal limit for God. So devoted to him. Piety works itself over the tendons of your throat, pushing and pressing too hard, like a violin’s bow. As the unknown, dueting voice, Jade watches and listens to your consecrating voice, peeved.

Around you, Jade finds that his inhibition has been escaping. 

He has been alive for numerous generations, witnessing patterns of human speech, human practices, and most importantly human fears. Fear is older than Jade. Older than the sediment on the ground that you sing to. Thus, innate fears often stay with generations – the fear of death, thanatophobia, is a prominent recurrence. 

As the God of nature, Jade knew. He had felt men press their heads into the crust of the earth, begging for the other men chasing him to let him live. Felt people rack up dirt with fingers, feverishly pleading for the resurrection of a sick son or sick daughter. Felt fists pound the trees in frustration for the souls he collected and ate. 

Even still, they worshiped him. Thinking they would be allowed into a paradise, ignorant that the old door death opened was a door made of teeth and tongues. Even with the false promise of paradise, thanatophobia reigned supreme and trumped all other fears in humans. In all humans except you. 

You. How strange you are, altering the rules of humanity, since your tenth birthday. 

You focus on nature; he focuses on you. 

As you two sing together, he feels that familiar retreat of inhibition. All of it dissolves into the color and shape of nature like a technicolor sea, blending together. Everything he thought he knew about humans changes with a tiny paint splosh, ruining the masterpiece he made.

“Oh, look at you. All alone,” a voice breaks the song. 

Rounding around, you glare at the intruder as God falls silent. You look at Jade as if you two were hunters and he had just scared off a deer you had been tracking. God galloping away off on hooves. Vexation like a gleam in your eyes. 

“What do you want, Jade?”

Jade Leech is perhaps the most annoying villager in your town, sticking to you like his surname suggests. He had shown up with his mother and father about three years ago when you were twelve. Usually, outsiders did not join the congregation, but the Reverend spoke positively of them. You trusted your Father’s judgment until the boy proved to hold great interest in you and all the things you did. 

“I was just checking up on my dear friend, (Name).”

He is not even respectable about your status. The village calls you ‘One’ for Chosen One. At ten years old, you lose your name like one loses a sock. Not Jade; he likes to call you by the name your mother picked.

“How kind of you,” sarcasm drips from your throat, sore with singing.

“You’re most welcome. You’ve taken to changing the spot where you wash your clothes.”

“Yes, I was hoping someone wouldn’t find me here.”

“It is very nicely secluded so I am sure that they won’t be able to locate it.” 

I thought so too, your inner thoughts mourn.

“Though it might be a bit dangerous. So far off from the ocean and village. Why, who knows what kind of coyotes or animals could be wandering around in the thicket.”

“I assure you, I’m quite alright in the wilderness.” 

It is a true statement. You were particularly blessed when it came down to manners of the environment and the animals which it housed. Call it divine intervention, call it confidence. Whatever it is named, you are spared a lot of trouble that could potentially come from inhuman footprints. 

“Who knows? That unwanted company might seize the opportunity and attack.” Jade’s olive-brown eyes watch your back. Your shoulders move with the pattern of your scrubbing. Sweat latches tight to the curvatures of your visible skin. “Like right now, going for your jugular.”

“Try it, Jade,” you challenge, smiling – not in a friendly way.

Accepting the challenge, Jade stands back and watches your shoulder fall still. The smile on his face is not shark-toothed but it beams with the animosity of such a creature. You have other teeth to worry over. Fangs full of venom, a water snake has wrapped itself around your arm, sneaking up from its hiding spot under the dress and soap.

A copperhead snake twines itself up your forearm like an orange-brown vine. Immediate, your hand falls comatose, not waiting to disturb it. Here. Here is where the human pattern of thanatophobia should come into play. Jade waits eagerly for a shriek; copperheads are venomous, he is certain you know this.

You do not tremble with your actions. You do not tremble with your voice. Irking Jade further, you reach a finger from your opposing arm over the copperhead’s head. The snake does not acknowledge your stroke, continuing to squeeze, as you move down and grasp the tail.

“Jade.”

“Hm?”

“You should step back. This is dangerous.”

A fire of anger ignities on Jade’s shoulders. Cheek twitching, he glares at the back of you. You were concerned for his safety? There is a venomous snake acting friendly with the veins in your arm, yet you told him to stand back. So caught up in disbelief, he misses you successfully unwrapping the copperhead from yourself.

Which you proceed to throw in a bush, just a foot or two away from Jade is standing. “Bravo,” Jade says, unflinching. He stalks towards you. 

“Told you to move.” You pull your clean dress out of the water, wringing it out.

“I do not see how you can be so composed in the grip of death. It is perplexing.”

“Death is always at our sides.” In the water, Jade’s shadow oscillates like a match’s sparkling flame. A quarter of it folds over your shoulder. “Why would I have any reason to be afraid of it?”

“You are the sacrifice of this village.” Jade puts a hand to his heart, leering expression painting itself on his face. Waits patiently for you to get frustrated with him. “I think it is natural that you would think about it more often.”

You look up at Jade, trying to decipher why the thought causes him qualms. Into your wicker basket, you lay the slightly damp dress. Task finished, you bring the basket to your hip as you stand up from the stream.  

“I have no qualms over it.” Then the conversation dies as you walk off, nobody’s buttercup.

The stream babbles as you walk alongside it. Like a puppy barking at your heels, you two move in sync. Somewhere in the bush, you think you can hear the sound of the copperhead rustling. A person disinclined towards the very thought of death, that is who you are. Embracing it, you jump upon the fallen, precarious log that hovers over the stream. 

You glance at Jade who watches you. Then, wicker basket in hand, you step with a note on your tongue. Walking down the log to the other side, you say with each footfall, “do re mi fa sol la ti do.” Your voice goes higher as your steps evolve into stomps. 

You crash onto the other side, leaves crunching, as Jade asks, “What was that?”

“Something I’ve been orchestrating.” You challenge him with a look, separated by running water. “You should try it. You never sing at any of the entheogens.” 

Before the village drinks the holy wine mixed with the holy mushroom of God, the entheogens ceremonies call for everyone to sing. You have never seen Jade’s mouth so much as twitch. Though, surprisingly, no one ever makes a fuss about it. The village turns it back on any of the blasphemous actions of Jade Leech. 

“Unless you sing like a croaking toad … ah, then I suppose it all makes sense. It would be a disgrace to your parents if you sang. Unfortunate.”

Jade’s brows furrow. Got him. As he walks down the log, forgoing the stomping you did, he sings the rising scale, “do re mi fa sol la ti do.” He lands by your side, hopping off the behemoth log. There is a golden firecracker of satisfaction in his olive-brown eyes. 

“I did not know you could sing like that.” 

The firecracker sizzles out as Jade’s brows shoot up. He feels a light pink start to tiptoe up to his cheeks.

Your voice is soft like honey, full of awe. Your reticent inhibition around Jade melts at that moment. Like snow on spring ground, you warm up eternally – just a bit! – to the invading pest that is Jade Leech. Someone who has been like a mite in your otherwise well kept paradise. You take him in a different light: cropped black hair, slim face, and olive-brown eyes just a bit less obnoxious. You had only heard such a singing voice from –

“Come. Let us go unless that someone you want to avoid finds this spot.”

The thought disappears. Blinking, you watch Jade stalk off. When you regain yourself, basket in hand, you walk just a bit behind him. Like the stubborn child you are, you bite the inside of your cheek, thinking:

Jade sounds good when he sings. 

You two continue silently back to the village, Jade leading. It is a content walk, not even many rocks or lifted ground to trouble the path. Nature sings around the two in a musique concrete of twigs, leaves, and dirt. It is only when you feel a small tug that you wander off.

Jade watches with knowing, incorrectly colored eyes. 

Your eyes sparkle upon a holy sight. More than a dozen light brown and ivory white jellyfish caps stand up straight in grass off the path. Like toads in mud, they break through the dehydrated grass in poor camouflage. Psilocybin mushrooms. The mushrooms that your congregation holds in high regard; a mushroom on piety par with a cross or a clerical collar. 

Like the winner of an Easter egg hunt, you go to collect the mushrooms. Prizes God had hidden from you so you could search and prove yourself. Carefully, you start to put them in your wicker basket, sprinkles of dirt landing on the top dress. 

Shadow folding over you, Jade inquires, breaking the silent retreat, “How many more days until you die, (Name)?”

No one should ever smile at such an inquiry. Yet, here you do, proud of the psilocybin mushrooms in hand, you answer with a big grin, “1,746 days.”

“Jade Leech, you little thief! Get back here right now!”

You look up upon hearing those words. Four buildings away, you watch as a towel crack on the back of Jade’s spine as he walks out of the bakery. The head chef seems to be the one caterwauling at him, twisted towel weaponized like a claymore. A sly smile is plastered on Jade’s face despite the hit.

Idiot; no one steals from her and leaves without a tussle. She, the head chef, is caterwauling like a soaked cat. A smile still emerges on your face despite your previous trouble. Speaking of those troubles – 

You turn back to your work. There are not many jobs for you to take in the village. As the ritual’s sacrifice, labor is something you do not need to concern yourself with as the Reverend says. Attending prayer services, purifying yourself, and connecting with nature are your top priorities. You stretched out the limitations on the last priority and managed to convince that soft-hearted Reverend to let you start beekeeping with two village elders. 

If our God is in every mushroom, every flower, every faucet of nature, it must be alright for me to care for His holy insects too? : that pathos and ethos argument won you the rights to take up beekeeping. 

Right now, you are troubled by your job. Hairy white sections are on the lower burr comb and cells. It festers on a block of the hive where the queen is. A sign of another pest within the hive. However, none of the other signs were present upon last inspection. Of course, the sign of incursion would be near the queen – the most sensitive and paramount part of the hive.

The queen bee eludes your gaze right now, worker bees swarming around. You go to see if you can get a few to walk on your hand when something breaks your line of sight. Your hand stills. Held out to you is a half-ripped piece of bread. 

Not taking it, you look up at the smiling face of Jade. Far away, surprisingly not giving chase, the head chef shouts: “Little devil child! You pest!” The grin on Jade’s face widens, teeth flashing at you. 

“If only she knew the half of it. Here.” Jade holds up the bread, trying to appear generous in his motives. “Freshly baked.”

“Freshly stolen,” you correct. You take it either way. Stealing is frowned upon by the congregation but you have no fear left to worry about consequences. A tiny bite leaves you pleasantly surprised. Sourdough. You go back in for a bigger bite.

Jade sits down beside you, eating his own share and looking into the broods. Glancing up from your piece, you say, “You did that on purpose.” 

“Stealing is often a motivated task.”

“No. You got caught on purpose; you’re slippery enough to steal and not get noticed.”

“I assure you that I was trying my hardest to not get caught.”

“Ah I see,” you say, wholly unconvinced. 

“Your mind is not at ease. Usually you smile more when attending to your bees.” 

Like a chipmunk, you stuff your cheeks with sourdough to avoid answering. “It is unlike a person of your standing,” Jade continues. Your standing: your life’s merit as a sacrifice. The reason that everyone calls you One instead of (Name). The Chosen One connected to the Odd One through nature and, thus, nature’s creatures.

“Sumtin’ s ‘rong wit the quee.”

“Pardon?”

You swallow, “Something’s wrong with the queen.” You spear a crescent into the bread’s crust with your nail. Despondent, you explain, “There are signs of an infestation near her section. I also noticed the capped cells were full of holes and overall seemed frail. That’s a sign of Varroa but I haven’t seen a single mite or deformed wings.” 

“Always the queen isn’t it?”

“I don’t understand why I can never raise a healthy queen. The cell caps of hers always appear healthy, but halfway through, she suffers from signs of unknown invasion.” Quarantining your bees is the most viable option but you would rather solve this matter before taking a drastic measure. If only you could locate her –

You jump when Jade presses his hand close to the honeycomb structures. “Hey, be careful! You need gloves!”

“You do not wear gloves.”

“That’s different!”

“Hush.”

At that word, you happily wait for him to get strung. With his inexperience, it should only take a short amount of time. Sourdough in hand, you sit back to watch the show. Bees crawl like pouring vinegar over his pallid hand, curious, and you huff at his gentleness. Any moment now. Any moment comes but it comes with Jade pulling hand away with the queen bee on his forefinger.

“How did you –”

“What, like it’s hard?”

“I hate you.”

Jade smiles wide at that. The queen on his finger flicks her wings as he moves his hand to hover between you two. She seems fairly healthy despite all the disturbance around her. “Trying to steal my job, Jade,” you ask when he passes her to you. 

“Do not even entertain the thought. I do not particularly enjoy insects. They may be entertaining for an hour or so, but I am content with the thought of their entire colony going up in flames one day.”

“Monster.”

Jade smiles in his you-don’t-know-the-half-of-it way. 

Jade stares up at the statue of himself, contemplative. 

For five out of thousands of years, Jade has passed time wearing fake human skin. Fake pallid hands find themselves stroking his neck for gills no longer there. Those hands hesitate over touching his ears, feeling thick muscle and bone instead of a thin membrane of skin. His trepidation around looking-glasses has eroded over the half decade. But, Jade still finds himself not entirely accepting parts of the body he puppets.

Walking around in the wrong skin is like wearing clothes too small. It squeezes over him like latex, tightening when he moves a certain way and constricting when he looks at it too long. 

His hands especially are wrong, lacking webbed structure and the correct hues. How his fingernails flush purple and his fingers red when it is cold … it disgusts him. How his veins are blue under sand toned skin … it is a sickening sight. The human body wrapped around his working brain and working heart, it is the most grotesque part of this trail. Sometimes, he wants nothing more to shed it off an amphibian. 

Jade takes his vexed gaze off his hands and returns to staring at the monument. Cleaners are put on rotation to polish and scrub down the entirety of him, forbidding moss or dirt to lay upon him. They are quite meticulous about it too. Meticulous like how a mother bathes her child. They scrub behind his ears, over the ridges of his dorsal fin, under the extended points of his claws. He has seen real, palpable joy on the faces of those given the job.

The sculptor … died about 2,050 years ago if Jade’s memory is right. 

Withstanding the test of time, here the effigy of his true form lies, propped up on a block of marble chiseled to look like a sweeping wave. His face is sculpted in a polite mien with the slightest hint of malice. Smiling with teeth yet not with all his teeth. Just the top row. In stone, his tail dips in backwards J and is hooked upward like the frozen neck of a screaming horse on a carousel. 

If asked, Jade thinks he misses his tail most right alongside his hands. The only change that he does not mind is his hair. Living on a warm island with long hair would have been bothersome, especially on his neck. The cropped style is nice; his real hair would have made him sweat. 

Then, staring down the effigy of himself, Jade realizes he made a mistake earlier. He knows he misses swimming the most. His tails and hands: they are mere tools to propel him when in the sea, so deep in his plunge that it feels like he is moving universe to universe with each wide stroke. 

Only less than three years remain until your death. 819 days if his memory serves correct. And this time it does; he is as certain as stone is hard. But such a long time in fake skin feels like the lifespan of a human, dragging day by day. Each inhale of the sun and exhale of the moon feeds the bugs crawling on his skin, uncomfortable in this fake skin.

Jade wonders, scratching his forearm, if he should speed this sacrificial ritual as he watches you race across the field towards him. He glances down at your nude human feet. Quadriceps, sinew tendons, and bone propelling you forward until you skid to a stop in front of him – with a jar in your hands? 

“Look what I have!” There is a big, prideful grin on your face. With a flourish, you raise up said jar. And Jade responses –

“Wow. A jar. How marvelous.”

Your expression flattens at that. As if retreating, you pull the jar to your ribcage, protective arms around it. “It’s not just any jar. It’s my – Itchy? I think we have some medicine in –” 

Jade pauses his scratching to interrupt. “No, I’m quite alright.” The marks running up his skin are angry and red, yet miraculously not bleeding. “So,” leaning in, he grins with all his teeth and says, “what’s in the jar? Must be revolutionary with how fast you ran over here.”

“It is!” Pride relights your body. You unscrew the jar with flying fingers. Then, you hold out the open mouth of the jar towards Jade, waiting for praise.

“Ah, honey.”

“Not just any honey; it is the last flow of honey.”

“I see. There is no more honey after that. So we will eat pancakes without honey soon, correct?”

“You’re not getting it, are you?”

“Afraid not.”

“Hmph.” You bring the jar back to your chest as Jade ponders on why humans are so sensitive. “The best months to harvest honey are from July to mid-September, right? And it is mid-September, right?” Jade nods at both your inane questions. Still not getting it. “Honey is the sweetest and best when you collect the last honey flow. The nectar flow from this is the one they make in the summer! It is going to taste Godly!” 

“Careful what words you use, (Name).”

You two glance up at the company you keep. Though his gray left eye and yellow right eye are the same hue of stone, they seem to shine. Something fierce and glowing breaking through inert expression. You smile mischievously. “I’ll make it up to him when I’m dead. Now. Taste this.”

With a roll of olive-brown eyes, Jade leans in to observe the jar which you are once more offering him. Inside, the yellow honey tilts like a slow avalanche with the degree you hold it at. Gold gleams like the surface of the ocean under sunlight, almost sparkling. I almost miss home, Jade thinks as he dips his index finger in. 

Oh.

Finger in mouth, Jade does not want to admit it but you are right. This is perhaps the best honey he has sampled before. The nectar slides down his tongue, touches his throat, and slugs down to his stomach. It is almost an addictive taste. 

It is an uncleaned sweetness that melts down his throat. Like blasphemous scripture. 

Jade really should not show you his enthusiasm for it; your pride will only increase knowing he enjoys it and you will grow more annoying. Yet, as if pulled by strings, he sticks his finger back into the jar. Before tasting, he asks, “What did you say the difference with this flow is?”

“It is the last flow of the season. With the bees hibernating soon, you can maximize the honey you are collecting by being patient. But there’s really an entire system to it, making sure you don’t strike too early or late.”

“Would it not be the sweetest during summer when the bees are most active?”

“Nope. Patience is the key; beekeeping is a waiting game.” 

A waiting game? He watches you stick your own finger in, feasting on the rewards of your patience. The later harvest yields a richer taste. How splendid of his sacrifice to say just the words he needs to hear to understand himself and motives. 

Eventually, almost telepathically as if both of you know what your companion is thinking, you and Jade stare up at the statue. Your saliva-coated finger and dry fingers place the cap back on the jar, leaving it unscrewed yet lidded. Jade waits until you are enraptured with the sculpture before he turns his attention to you. 

You stare, contemplative. The sun is three hours off from its peak. Thus piscine shadows of the statue fall onto awaiting blades of grass. The silhouette of his dorsal fin like a knife and the silhouette of his hunched shoulders, leaning in like he is going to burst to life any moment. He has this hardly contained enmity is his expression, upturned eyes too sharp and smile too tiny. 

“Can’t you just see me and him, together in paradise?”

“You two will make a lovely couple.”

“Heh, that’s what they all say.”

Jade studies your profile. There is just a tiny droplet of animosity in your worshiping eyes that he is desperate to uncover the truth about. You are bitter about something. However, whenever Jade tries to peek into that hate circuit rivering itself through your cortex, he gets nothing. 

He supposed he could ask; if he is going to bid his time in other realms, he has more time to analyze the ecosystem of your brain. You startle when he speaks. “(Name). If you were not the chosen one, what would you do with the rest of your life?”

The expression you give Jade is easy to read: confusion. “If I wasn’t the – why, I couldn’t imagine my life any other way.”

“But try to. Try to imagine your twenty-first birthday.”

“Stop being ridiculous, Jade.”

“I am as serious as death.”

You shake your head furiously. “There is no other choice to make, but I am using my choice and have chosen to be there. As the chosen one.”

Jade, with all his immortal life wisdom goes huh? at your verbal affirmation. 

“Such a boy,” you mourn, frowning up at his statue. You shuffle your bare toes on the ground, feeling the dirt cling onto them and tune into the radio of nature for a bit. After a contemplative moment, you say, “I am nobody’s buttercup. But I must do something so I will do that.”

“I see.” 

Taking your words as a challenge, Jade leans in. Your nose scrunches, thinking he is going to do something odious and ruin this perfect, honey-coated day. If you were built in the image of your God, you would want his teeth so you could snap at Jade’s nose. The sentiment grows when Jade flicks the lid off the jar — it frisbees through the air — and scoops up a handful of honey. Some of it doesn’t even make it into his mouth!

“Hey! No stealing from the chosen one!”

“You never said there was a time limit on the honey you offered.”

“Well, there is one now! We have to make this last until next September! I have only two Septembers left!”

Jade laughs, licking the honey off his wrist. He makes another grab at the jar as you rush away from him, trying to retrieve the lid. “Back! Back, you heathen!” And the smile Jade makes as he chases you around the field is a perfect copy of the expression that is carved into stone. 

Time passes like it always does. Life is a constant stream that connects in the ocean of death, making itself the estuary of mortality. 

Those two Septembers pass and twice more you successfully harvest the perfect honey flow. Even when Jade jokes all sinister that you should enjoy these last moments of good food, dipping sourdough into honey, you never even shake. At the apiary, all the jars are empty, trails of gold stubbornly clinging onto the glassware. You and Jade make the effort to scrub all the ones you used clean until they shine. 

“You’re not afraid at all,” Jade asks, watching you scrub the remains of your presence from the world. All you are: congealing honey on a rag which you will dip into the nearby stream, which will carry you away to a water funeral. 

“Not at all.” It must be true. Because under the winter’s sun, your hands are steady and determined. Because when Jade asks how many days are left, you respond with an unshakable voice. Because Jade thinks with some sort of thrill unlike any he has known, you have been waiting as patiently as he has. 

It is only when the number of days decrease and shrink down to the number seven does Jade’s patience break. 

There is no sunshine shining down on you but you are still as bright as ever. Under the silver moonlight, you twirl and run and even cartwheel in the open field. You have been forgoing any sort of sleep, utilizing all the hours in a twenty-four hour day until you pass out from exhaustion, nature as your mattress. No one in the village disapproves of it, seeing it as you embracing your God. Jade wishes someone would though. He has unfortunately been dragged out for the past seven nights by you, wanting his company.

And I still have seven more to go, Jade thinks, leaning against his statue. He never thought he would grow tired but even a human body has limits. Sleep addles Jade’s brain as his neck bends as if he is caught in prayer. 

He snaps back up when you shout. “Jade! Jade look!”

Seeing that you have his attention, you launch right into it. You take a running start, hands up in the air. Cartwheel, cartwheel, cartwheel, ending with a front flip. Supernaturally energetic, you raise your arms up in your success, dress billowing around you, ready to accept the claps. 

Jade manages a few light ones and says, “Well done, (Name).”

You smile happily. “Praise me more; this is the last week I’ll be alive to hear any sort of praise.” You twirl and watch the white of your summer dress puff up in a jellyfish shell. “Make sure they do not neglect to make mention of how good I was at cartwheels in the legends and stories.”

“I won’t, (Name).”

You fall back into it. Among the tall grass, you do a wide variety of different exercises and a variety of different dances. You move with the ease of an autumn leaf, trusting the wind. To the unheard and unsung song of nature and God, you gyrate around. Like God’s personal instrument, you bend yourself to the symphony that no one in your village has ever heard. 

I’ll miss dirt, you think just as you blindly twirl into a patch of fireflies. 

Fireflies explode around you like a firework. Wide-eyed and gasping, you pause with your hands raised up. Buzzing and rapid, the tiny comets of gold lift up from the flora and paint the night with tinier stars. Gripping the train of your dress, you rotate yourself to make room for the fireflies launching up to the west, laughing all the while. 

Eventually, they dissolve into the sky, leaving your eyes chasing after them. They dissolve in dying breaths and dying heartbeats. You watch the last of them flicker out, finding a new patch to lie on or traveling too far for you to see them. 

Oddly, an invisible bruise on your chest starts to ache. 

Dirt encrusted feet carry your body before you comprehend what you are doing. Wildly, like something monstrous is at your heels, you run into the nearby thicket of trees, determined to reach the deepest part of the forest which surrounds the village.

“(Name)?” Jade squints at your fast-retreating form. “(Name)!” He picks himself off the statue as you rush into the forest, almost like you are in a panic. 

“Catch me!” 

The chase prematurely begins. 

Jade dives into the forest after you. Pushing branches out of his way and jumping over protruding vegetation. Hundred elements of nature flicker across his vision as he runs and runs. Shadows elongate and distort under the occluding moon. He elbows his weight on a tree so it pushes him faster. Blanketed under nebulous black, the world beats with a thousand different songs. 

All the while you are hollering and screaming. Screams evolve into frantic giggles and hollering matures into singing. Do Re Me Fa Sol La Ti Do, your feet race down the cliff slide in the pattern of the musical scale. 

Your body is an instrument, Jade. Listen to it and you will be closer to God. Narcotic words you once said, deranged out of your mind. Narcotic words that you said while certain that patches of grass were growing from the planes of your skin. Narcotic words he had not paid much mind to. Closer to God, hm?

The crunch of leaves as you two run are like lyrics, right? Yet, the soles of his feet are like the percussion too? Guitar strings tendons pull with different frets and notes. Piano key fingers reach out and crush the branches in his way. His most powerful instrument is acting strangely though. His voice. That particular instrument is doing something it has never done before: laughing. 

Is this what being human is, always running? He thinks this might be the faintest sniff of what it means to be a human: always running away from time. The epiphany is not about being human through sweet acceptance or love. His first taste of humanity is in the sweat of running and running while chasing. 

Closer to God. Closer to humans. 

At times, your aptitude is unreadable to Jade … that aptitude that guides you to never fear death. He wonders why there is such a wide gap between you and others when it comes to the terms of death. Closing in, he thinks: This Is The One. His fingers reach out, A0 from C8 scale running across phalanges. He could push you. With the momentum doubled with the rocks –

Still running, you turn to laugh at Jade. The pure joy on your face is blinding, hands up your shoulders and dress swaying. Your smiling face brightens at the sight of him (one close-eyed, titanic grin directed at him) before it winks away, flickering behind a tree. Jade watches as he loses you as you gather speed and sprint harder. Miraculously, you disappear from his sight, breaking the distance Jade had attempted to close.

God and human, you two run frantically through the forest. You throw out insults about his speed and he throws out his laughter in your duet. When the ground starts to decline, Jade finally figures out where you are heading to. He pumps his legs faster as the thickness of nature decreases gradually. 

He breaks into the clearing by the stream, hoping to beat you, only to be confronted with the sight of you crouched by the water, twirling something between your fingers. 

“Th-The forest is teething. I can feel it.” You pant like a dog. Jade watches the process of deflate and inflate; with each behemoth breath you take, exhausted and spent, your shoulder and ribs move with the hard work of your lungs. “It –” You choke around the salvia in your mouth, breathless. “It is the start of something here.”

“Teething?”

“Yes. Like babies do.”

I’m teething, Jade contemplates, unsure of what that word really entails. He knows little of human babies. It is only until you show Jade what is in your hand that he thinks he gets it. 

“Look at this.” 

From your hand, you present a black dahlia flower with a bright sunny center to him. The sunny center squeezes into a tiny circle then widens out in the average size. It is like a nostril, flickering and changing shape with each inhale and exhale. It is trying to breathe but as a flower it does not understand how to do that with a lineage of photosynthesis written in its body.

That flickering feeling of the beginning is so thick in the air. The start of something is here. It permeates in your bones. All through your skin, it permeates.

“It is certainly …” Jade trails off, not really used to seeing this side of himself. 

“Beautiful,” you supply. There is a warmth in the space as Jade sits down besides you. The space between you is bright despite the midnight. “Can I tell you something? And you must keep it a secret.”

“Go ahead. I am as quiet as a church mouse.”

“I had this vision during the last entheogen.” 

You still remember it. Swallowing the wine and, from within, bringing out the divine. Psilocybin on your tongue, you laid in a technicolor sea, holding up the receiver of your brain and waiting for that connection with God. You had a vision about the sacrament that is less than a week away. You look up to the sky as you speak. The moon is past the peak of midnight noon.

“I was at the ceremony. The sky was completely cloudless so you could feel the warmth of the sun. I was walking down to the slab bed. Dressed and ready.

“But when the Reverend told me to say my final prayers, I couldn’t.”

The black dahlia gives a sneezing breath at that. “Why couldn’t you?”

“My mouth was full of bees. I opened my mouth.” You look at Jade and decide to demonstrate. A fist moves up to your face before stretching fingers out like you are cupping a ball. “And blaaah, a hundred or so bees flew from my mouth.”

“The singer’s last ballad.”

“Odd, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps it is your mind rationalizing with the fear of your impending death.” 

“Do not make me laugh.” 

You are smiling, secondary to laughter. Returning attention to the black dahlia, you see the breaths have dwindled down to delicate stutters. It only stops breathing when you set it into the stream, watching it float and spin once. A dance in water, the revelation makes you grin softer. Your little theater show is only interrupted by Jade. 

“What are your opinions on the ceremony? Now that it is so close, realer almost.”

You contemplate for a moment on the navel of the world, or as others call it ceremony. “I’m quite content with it.”

A picture paints itself: the stone rock, the slab bed, the omphalos alone in a field of psilocybin mushrooms, devoid of life beyond yourself. It is a bed you will eventually rest down upon and let the Father of your religion cut out the heart in your chest. 

“I’m not going to die,” you whisper. Rejuvenate with that fact, you shuffle your body until your knees are tilted towards Jade. You lean in with flame eyes, a whirlpool of heat in them. Your next words cause the black dahlia in the stream to go breathless in surprise. “I’m going to find out if I’m really alive.” 

“Th –” Jades breathes out a tiny laugh. “That is quite contradictory, (Name). Such an event would not inspire such a thought.”

“Well, it’s true so you have to deal with it.”

“I will burden myself with knowing it and trying to understand it.” He puts a hand to his heart in promise.

“Good. Agonize over it.”

You take to putting your feet in the stream as you reposition yourself. Spreading out your legs, you draw up your dress to your thighs. Dirt floats up and follows the path the black dahlia is being pushed away to as water cleanses your soles. The percussion of your heart beats through your toes as you wiggle them, trying to gather warmth under cold water. 

You look like a high renaissance painting: ideal and perfect in Jade’s eyes. You blink your own eyes when your body is slowly moved. “I waited.” Before you question Jade’s harsh words, his hand on your chin, the start of something new blossoms and the forest sings. 

You pull away from the kiss first. Eyelashes butterflying open, you gaze upon Jade with a fondness he has never seen. “How do I taste?”

If Jade will be your only kiss, he thinks it makes sense that you want to know what you taste like. He will not allow you to kiss another in the next six days. Considering it, his focus narrows to his mouth. Your bacterial corpse rests on his taste-buds, measuring and remembering the taste of you. Floral notes are encrusted with a sort of raw grime. 

“Earthy and sweet.”

Giggling, you dive back in for another kiss. 

You think this has been a long time coming which is why you can fall into it so easily. Your amygdala – once a ripe grape – is dried up like a sun-kissed raisin. 

Cupping Jade’s face, you feel no indication that is the wrong course of action. Grass and dirt tickles your flesh, teasingly happy. Nature reaches slippery hands into your brain, infecting you with dopamine. This all feels so unnaturally right. 

It takes about seven kisses in total before Jade’s hand starts to run itself up and down your thigh. Across a field of goosebumps, he draws his hand from the ankle freckled with water to the midpoint of your upper thigh. It is only when he moves up to the barricade of where you placed your dress that you grab his wrist. Partially in his lap, you squeeze the bones of his wrist. 

“You’re not here for too long so what could go wrong,” Jade, eyes closed, asks the question towards your hesitation. 

“Only two things are required of me in six days,” you kiss Jade to appease and because you want to. “That I die in six days on my twentieth birthday and that I remain a virgin.” 

“Surely we can negate one of these constricting restrictions. I say that God is being a bit selfish.” Jade seethers inside, hiding it well with his returning saccharine kiss. Hoping to persuade and because he wants to. There is no possible way that his own rules are going to leave him with a painful stiff, is there? 

“I think the man can handle one lapse of judgment from His prized singer. He knows you well. Say ‘oh dear God’” He vocalizes a facade of your frightful feminine voice, nipping at your ear. You giggle at the foreign sensation. “‘There is this awful, stealing, odious man down there and I. Fell. From. Grace.” Jade punctuates each word with a kiss. He moves down the musician’s scale of your throat, returning to his own deep timbre. 

You shiver and, against better judgment, relax the hold on his wrist. “I do not fear the wrath of any man or God.”

The tune of acceptance, Jade thinks as he kisses down to your breasts. When he cultivated from the ceremony, it was only the human hearts he ate. This meal will be a new experience for both you and him. “Good. If you started being frightened, I would find you weak.”

“Is that so? I thought you were always veering for me to be more,” you gasp, toes frozen in the stream, as Jade cups over your sex. He lies his hand over it but does nothing more. “-- Veering for me to fear death?”

“Is this your death?”

“It could certainly be close to that.”

“Well, let this be the sweetest death you could ever know.”

With skillful fingers, he unties the back of your dress with only one hand. Though it comes undone quite quickly as if he has taken scissors to it. Strange. You do not focus on it long as tiny knives fall over your shoulder, removing the sleeves of your summer dress. Treading a hair through short black hair, you keen under his gentle, attentive touch. Jade sucks hard on your right breast. 

The sensation sends a ripple of goosebumps along your arms. It feels sweetly blasphemous, all the attentive kisses pepper to your breasts. A taste of something new and at its peak. You twitch when you feel Jade’s blunt nails move from cupping your sex to trailing a finger over the space where hip and thigh meet. 

“Wait,” you stop Jade. His mouth falls away, teeth sharpening a bit with annoyance. He looks up at you, big olive- brown eyes gleaming. “I’m – Well –” You glance down at his hand that is swallowed under your dress. “It’s not a pretty scar,” you whisper. 

“I’m sure it’s beautiful like the rest of you.” Before you can protest, the rest of your dress is pulled over your head. He leaves you in only your panties, sitting in the dirt by the stream. Your eyes widen.

“Don’t,” Jade grabs the hand that goes to block his sigil. It has never looked so appetizing on a sacrifice until you. He licks his lips. “It’s gorgeous.”

“It’s still a scar.”

“Not to me,” Jade says, pressing his body against you so you lay down. 

Delirious, like you are floating off a substance, you go to unbutton his long sleeve, wrestling your hand from him. Your skull is cushioned by your dress, bundled into a ball. The sharp point of sticks hit your skin. Wet sediment, a mixture of sand and dirt, clings onto you. 

Under the ground, a foreign heartbeat drums. It hammers in a rhythm over your spine, bottom, shoulders, and soles. It is a mimic of the heart resting in your chest, syncing with nature in some incomprehensible way just like black dahlia managed to breathe. Chary thoughts dissolve from your head when Jade moves down to press a kiss to the sigil. 

You manage to wrestle the shirt off Jade, using it as a rope to pull him, meeting in a kiss of tongue and teeth. Let go of your inhibitions, the forest beckons. Treading a hair through short black hair, you keen under his gentle, attentive touch. You float with the floating pine-cones as Jade presses himself against you. 

“God,” you moan, breaking away from the kiss.

“Come now, you know my name.” Jade teases. He works himself out of his pants, patient in his motions. “Can’t you say it?” The head of his penis kisses the wet spot of your panties. His grin is so familiar like you've seen it somewhere else before .

“Jade.”

That is all it takes, panties torn by claws. A dozen frenzied thoughts crash into your mind when he pushes himself into you. You cling feebly to him like a caterpillar to a leaf. He thrusts in, starting slow and then fortissimo-ing the act. The sound increases, skin on skin, along with the speed, inch by deeper inch. It feels like your insides are being ripped out of you. I think I’m dying is your most prominent thought. Then, you cum, singing in moans. 

It is, in all senses of sensations, la petite mort. 

“Aaah — mmmmph my God aah!”

You push your hands against the trunk of a tree. On trembling, fawn legs, you stand with arms outstretched in a tight caress of the pine. Behind you, down the long arch of your spine, Jade presses kiss to each golf-ball indent of bone. Heat spreads like a virus to your shoulders, smoldering, as you feel his length lightly trace down the curvature of your bottom. 

Butterflying eyelashes glance up at pine. Your head feels heavy like a whirlpool heat courses through it, scarlet and yellow. Salvia holds itself heavy in your mouth; stimulation – if pushed any further – will have you drooling from your blissed out state. Even disoriented, you recognize nature and the creatures it keeps. 

Jade stills when he sees you moving your right hand off the tree. There is something on the tip of your finger. “Keep your hands there. You will need to keep yourself balanced.” He kisses your last vertebrae, eyes glowing, as you ignore his words. 

“Cen-Centipede,” you manage to say, breathing heavily. 

You hold out your finger to him. On your index, the orange legs of the arthropod flow like oil down your knuckles. With deep fondness, you watch it move. The same fondness is found in Jade’s eyes. He stills you look strangely beautiful: two leaves threaded in your hair, the streaks of dirt that birthed themselves on you when Jade plowed into you, and admiring a centipede in the middle of your third sex position change. 

“Yes. I see.” 

Jade says, resting his chin on your shoulder. Leaning over you, his length makes a pointed reminder of existing when the warmed blood of it hits and throbs on the center of your ass. “Pretty thing, isn’t it?” You nod before moving your arm down, letting it crawl off into the ground. Over your shoulder, you drag Jade back into another kiss. “Earthy and sweet,” he says, feasting on a taste he will have the pleasure of knowing for eternity. 

Around you, the forest sings happily. Surrendering to that wonderful melody of nature, you put your hands back to the pine, using them to keep yourself upright. A slug of drool falls off your bottom lip as a soundless gasp exits you. You and Jade met; he presses himself into your cunt, two harvests of cum soaping and sucking him in easily.

The taste of you is entirely sweet like a honeycomb. The sensation of him is hallucinogenic like psilocybin. Earthy and sweet. 

“S-Ssso deep.”

Your left leg twitches when Jade starts to move, experimenting with his speed. He was insatiable the first two rounds; he thinks he will test that beekeeping patience of yours. Yet, at only the first thrusts, Jade finds it a futile effort. 

Your hand twitches on the pine at a foreign sensation. Where Jade’s hands rest on your hips, there is a difference in texture. There is silk between his fingers like some type of webbing. You startle at the odd sensation. Going to look behind you, you ask breathless, “Jade?”

“Cl – ugh – Close your eyes. Listen to … fuck … Listen to the forest.”

The thought of that strange texture of his hands is punched out when he finds a finger to your clit, rubbing in circles.

Fucked dumbed and drolling, you manage a “Fuck Jade!” before all your vocabulary burns itself from your brain.

“You have kept me up for the past week … (Na-Name) – uuk! –” Skin slaps in a thundering clap. Subconsciously, you tighten and moan. Summoning his breath, Jade leans in towards your ears, “I hope you can judge my next words fairly: I won’t stop until dawn. It will be a sleepless night for us.” 

The night fills itself with the song of your moans. 

“Men only think about the past right before their death as if they were searching frantically for proof they were alive.”

Like a bisque doll, you are washed by the village nuns. Two flank you on each side, one designated for your arm and the other for your leg. Assiduous, they move soapy towels down the length of your spidery limbs. Bisque dolls are beings without autonomy. You certainly do feel quite similar, disjointly watching a foreign hand lift your arm, twisting and rubbing soap on each finger with care. 

Joints and skin do not belong to you anymore. A sterile hand lifts your left leg higher. Heart, not your possession. 

Split into fourths like a filet, you try to remember who said those words: “Men only think about the past right before their death as if they were searching frantically for proof they were alive.” As you are being stewed and cooked into a gallimaufry, you find that the past is not what you think about.

You are thinking about the cloudless skies outside. You are thinking about what it will be like under real warmth, not the warmth of bath water. You are thinking about whether tomorrow it will rain or remain sunny. 

“Is something wrong, One?”

The image of skies dissolves in your mind. You blink in surprise. Head off in the cloud, you do not know which of the four nuns spoke. Between all the pallid moon faces cloaked in black, you choose to look at the one cleansing your left arm. You two met curious eyes.

“Your face was scrunching up. I was wondering if you were feeling any discomfort, One.” Your right arm talks to you. 

“I’m quite alright. Thank you.”

Your left leg chimes in, soapy brine slathered on it. “If you feel any sort of stress, please let us know.”

Now that silence has been broken, your right leg says, “I cannot imagine being stressed on such a wonderful day. Ah, I’m so terribly envious.”

“I am quite at peace on this holy day,” you smile as to appease the fear all your limbs display. Moon faces hum their agreement, tranquility only broken when you say softly, “but –”.  You gaze at the bathhouse’s windows, glass blocking off where nature carols. “How much longer? I long to be outside.”

You glare at the shoes on your feet. 

Flanking both your sides, the congregation sits in the village’s woodsmith-made chairs. Beyond you, the stone slab lies; behind you, the statue of your God. Yet, what is most vexingly is in front of you: the sight of shoes on your feet.

Each birthday, you were dressed in the ceremony clothes and made to practice. Each birthday, you gave no fuss over the attire. Letting them dress the bisque doll, you resigned to putting on the empire dress with the square cut to display your iron branding on your stomach. Down to the fiber of your being, now, you wish you could take off the blasted shoes. 

Your pointless glaring only stops when a voice approaches, asking, “Did I ever tell you about your grandfather?” You turn to the Reverend with a smile. The ceremony is commencing. 

With a soft voice, you answer. “Not often enough.”

The Reverend always walks the sacrifice down the aisle. You suppose this might be a bit more sentimental, considering who you are to him, which is why he talks to you. Gently, you two find yourself joined at the bend of your elbow. 

“He was a religious man. Devoted in a way the others around him were not.

“He would go out in forests people were too scared to venture into. The villagers would find him, sketching things they could not see in nature. It frightened and delighted them too, his sketches. He would polish that very statue like each day it would bring him luck. Each day before he went out in the forests, that was his routine. 

“When he died … he died saying it was all for vain.” Your lips press together tightly. “A man so devoted and so close to God, shaming it. It was perhaps the worst day of his sons and daughters lives. On his deathbed, he brought upon such … shame to his family. Men only think about the past right before their death as if they were searching frantically for proof they were alive.” 

Ah, that is where you heard it. You remember finally, you had heard it in the future which is now the present. That was why you could not remember the speaker because he had not spoken those words yet. You did not think you would find the future in the entheogens; how curious. 

You two start towards the stone slab. As nobody's buttercup, you keep your eyes straight and refuse to yield towards distractions. Devote unlike your grandfather. Devote unlike your unsourced father who knocked up your mother exactly twenty years and nine months ago.

“I tell you this because I am incredibly proud of you. I have witnessed such growth from you. Piety flows in your bones as if God has smiled upon you Himself. My child –”

You look towards the Reverend, curious. 

“You have been good.”

Nature stirs. At least, this time, the queen bee in my honeycombs is healthy. I leave behind something good.

When you reach the sacrificial table, you part like droplets rolling off a leaf in opposite directions. You press your hands on the omphalos, kneeling down and bowing your head. Eyes closed, you listen to the words you have heard since your tenth birthday. 

You cannot help it – your mind wanders back to the past. Not searching for the merit of life, simply remembering how you became the Chosen One. A decade ago … such a long yet short time, such a juxtaposition. 

The ritual involves the ocean. The ocean in which that faithful stream bleeds into. Every twenty or so years, just after the sacrifice predating them dies, everyone below the age of ten is made to stay underwater. The one who remains the longest is regarded as the Chosen One. Time slipped from your fingers like sand, underwater. A minute is an hour, an hour is a minute. 

When you walked out of the ocean, your mother ran to embrace and to collapse to the ground crying. You had been underwater for a full twenty-four. The villagers thought you got swept up a riptide and died like some three year olds and two year olds of the past. Blue-lipped and shivering, you told them you thought you were the first one out. 

There is no way you should have survived and felt as fine as you did. 

Since then, nature talks to you like a baby conversing with an adult. You can make some syllables, understand the babbles that make up baba mean dada, and read the unconcealed emotions clearly. Now, it sings along with the Reverend, soft and gentle … somniferous almost.

You know you shouldn’t but –

You glance, barely moving your head, at Jade. He is staring right at you. His eyes are different, tiger eyes of flaming black and flaming gold. Somniferous eyes stare at your soul. Promptly, you pass out.

You wake up. 

Your feet are encrusted with dirt. A multitude of trees enter your eyesight and the sound of a running stream worms into your ears. You are standing by the river where you washed clothes as a young teenager; the place where you and Jade had sex seven days ago; the place where you broke God’s trust. 

Yet, no fear is present. Chest unusually light, you stare at the familiar pattern of trees dotted across the opposing side of the river. To your limited knowledge, this is you facing divine judgment. Retribution must be collected for your only sin. 

You can accept that. 

Curious eyes fall across the wilderness as your vision clears. You can not really tell what song nature is singing; there is a disconnect between you and the world. Blocked from the majority besides a single instrument: buzzing. You hear the harmony of humble bees buzzing, which you search for the source of. When you find it, a gasp breaks apart your lips.

Spread across the planes of your two arms are a thousand octagonal holes. Skin drenched in a mixture of golden honey and scarlet blood, the only breakage is pitch black, tiny honeycomb structures dug in your flesh. The concave pits freckle the entirety of both arms. 

From the inner elbow and wrist of your left arm, two bees emerge from two separate holes. From the radius of your right arm, another bee. The rest of the colony is inside your skin, tickling your nausea. 

That is not all that summons that high-pitched gasp. Clenched in the Swiss cheese flesh of your hands is a knife covered in blood. 

You watch as the once cement knife starts to vibrate back and forth the longer you stare at it. Whole body shivers rape your bones and the shining red knife trembles with the movement.

For reasons unknown, your parted lips spill out one last rhythmic note, “J-Jade?” The world goes black.

You wake up. 

Black, directionless water swallows you. There is no end or no beginning, so you float in the abdomen of the universal ocean, body tilted and head heavy. No calamity stirs your buoyant bones. Quite peaceful, you exist like a free-roaming satellite, untethered and left to bounce alone in directionless galaxies. No light, pitch black.

This is what you have always wanted from death. No God paradise, just a nebulous space to drift. This is the ideal death. Body propelled and caressed by unsourced waves that rock you peacefully to infinite sleep. No stars, pitch black.

It stops being peaceful when you need to take a breath. Water instead of air travels in. You have no mouth or nose. Body manipulated, water goes in the waiting nostrils of the seven pairs of holes in your abdomen and the three pairs of holes in your thorax. And, suddenly, that tranquil black gains a blinding hue of pain. 

Depressing, the water does not float around you but pushes onto you. It clings like you are a magnet. The tiny caves in your thorax and abdomen flicker with agony, gathering more water. It clings to you like spandex. You throw an arm and leg into the atmosphere, and the absence of everything (beginning and end) is no longer a comfort. It clings like a leech, suctioning itself to you and filling the spiracles. 

Mouthless, your heart throws out an unheard scream. The world goes blinding gold. 

You wake up. 

The first texture you feel is the cold granite on your cheek. It is a welcome balm until the granite grinds painfully on your pelvic bone and the skin of your breasts. Disorientate, you push yourself away from the surface. The granite rumbles under your hands … no, the granite is soundless but there is a rumbling. Still sitting on the ceremony’s sacrificial slab, you open your eyes. 

The village is on fire. There is no building left intact. Flames rumble and tremble, fueling their physical form with all that a house has to offer. Red and gold climb upon the outer walls and black climbs out from the pumpkin innards of each house. 

Snip-snap-woosh-woosh. The conflagration’s volume drowns out any and all sounds of nature. Beyond the roar of fire, you hear absolutely nothing. 

Irrational, you turn your head in the direction of where you know the bee colonies are. You cannot see them through the thick plumes of smoke, separated from you by several burning buildings. You knew you would not be able to see them; why even look in their direction? Regardless, you squint even more to try to catch a glimpse. 

If the queen moves, they would too. Survival instinct would make them take flight, right?

On the verge of tears, you start to squirm on the slab, taking your hand behind yourself and moving it by your thighs, angling your body so you can lean closer and squint at the flaming barricade, one of your legs slides off the slab, perhaps there is time –

“(Name).”

You look behind and down at Jade Leech. He rests with his arms folded on the slab, knees in the dirt. On his index is the queen bee, walking around and around in circles on his nail. 

Your heart falls in despair. “She’s sick … She has a parasite.” Even when vocalizing the issue, you do not want to accept your own words.

“She does; she has had it for a while.”

“Is there anything I can do for her?”

“I’m afraid not. Soon the egg in her stomach will hatch. And the pupae will break out of her throat and head. It is truly odd. Usually, when bees have parasites like these, the bees throw them out of the hive. They kept her though. Even when there was something glaringly wrong with her.”

“Because she’s the queen.”

“Precisely.”

You and Jade watch on in a moment of silence. The queen rotates on twitching legs. Zombie-like, her tiny legs will give out momentarily and she tilts on the perch of Jade’s finger before getting back up again relentlessly. Circle turning into an octagon as she stutters in her steps. 

Your hand drags across your face, flustered. The single, heavy as an anvil tear spreads thinly on your cheek. You blink the rest away.

Jade glances up from the parasite-raped bee. “Are you afraid?”

“No … I’m sad.”

Jade considers that. Mourning is a human process when death happens; mourning is like kintsugi to the heart, repairing it layer by layer. In the face of death, one sheds a predictable tear. The queen bee twitches, losing her strength. Jade mourns that he might never see true fright on your face, like missing a piece in a chocolate heart-shaped box. 

He falls out of his pondering when you gently press your finger to him. Under the light of dozens of suns, gold and red flickering over, you are ethereal. His eyes fall helplessly to his sigil. He allows you to move him at your heavenly will. 

“What happened to the ceremony,” you ask, taking the queen from him. You cup her like she is the tiniest pearl or the fragilest shard of sea glass. “Do we still have time to complete it?”

You do not receive a verbal answer. Instead, Jade gently pinches your chin in his hand, pulling your focus away from the insect. A warm smile settles on his face, olive-brown eyes soft with admiration. Then, grip steady on your mandible, he turns your focus to the open field, on the opposing side of the burning buildings. 

When his hand falls away, your mouth falls open with the loss of stability. 

The attending nuns and villagers are dead. A deep cavern is cut like a mouth across their throats, blooming a million liquid roses that stain their white garments. In their chairs, their heads are tilted back to display the rings of muscles in their body. Dead eyes face up the heavens, ignorant of their God who is venturing on land and swimming in the oceans of Earth. 

The Reverend though – he lies in the middle of the walkway. He is headless, body supine and incomplete at the shoulders. All that remains of an indication he had a head is red splattered upon the grass. This butchery is inevitable. A priest of your religion is not allowed to impregnate women, under your God’s vow of celibacy. 

“Oh.”

Is this punishment? Life snuffed out from your devoted village, leaving you and Jade who had broken the rules. You look down at your dying companion; she is halfway through a rotation, legs trembling on a trembling hand. Nature feels disconnected from you and yet, simultaneously, you feel like nature nestles herself in you. 

“Oh, look at you. All alone.” Jade purrs, almost singing. 

“I – I’m assuming you did this. Or God did this.”

“You are correct on both parts.”

“Do not toy with your words, Jade.”

“I'm as serious as death. Here, let me show you.”

Raising his hands, Jade presses palms to mouth. As he tilts his head back as far as possible, he follows along with his hands, running them up and over. Upturned olive-brown eyes quell with the pressure. Cropped black hair trembles with the motion. And when his hands finally return to the granite slab, Jade stares at you with a new right eye that shines a honey gold. His hair is considerably different.

Different, not unfamiliar. Far from unfamiliar. You have seen that style of teal hair with a single black strand since birth. In paintings on your mother’s nightstand, in books shelved away in the school, and carved into a towering stone effigy.

You think you have always known, looking so intently into nature thus looking so intently into Jade as well.

The queen bee on your finger grinds to a halt and dies. Crushing down in enclosing fists, the ceremony narrows; all the world is lost to you besides God’s/Jade’s voice. Nature beckons. He beckons. The fists you make are a comforting caress. 

“Are you afraid of me?”

“Never.”

“Prove it to me.”

“How?”

“Sing for me.”

Swallowing thick saliva, your chest puffs with air peppered with ash. You two stare at each other. Then … you sing. 

Tongue volatile, you sing. It is not a melody that follows along with the rhythm of a river or the instrumental of an insect. You sing out your heart, sending it out on delicate honey bee wings.