#shoving this there so i can find it again

[julymusings]

simplicity

out there they're afraid even of the killer's shadow, and here i reside in his heartbeat like a home

or; the big bad red hood has a soft spot only for you [3.4k]

jason todd x fem!reader; tiny bit of angst but mostly fluff; aggressive unwanted advances, implied roofie attempt, violence & blood, slut-shaming; Jason “my girl can wear whatever she wants I can fight” Todd; in da clerb, we all fam ⎯ based on this !

A humid, crowded, upscale club isn’t the most ideal way to spend your Friday night, and Jason knows this. Frankly, it’s not his either, but as the owner of the humid, crowded, upscale club, he had to make some appearances as his own business.

“It’s a night out,” he had said. “Let’s make the most of it.”

If you’re being honest, it’s also not the worst way to spend your Friday night. Not when Jason dressed up so deliciously, in a fitted t-shirt, jeans, and his leather jacket. Not when he took you to a booth in the corner of the club and had them bring over your favorite drinks and snacks with the order to keep them coming. Not when you got to wear that cute little black dress that’s been hanging in your closet for months with your favorite strappy heels, the ones with ribbons that wrapped around your ankle and tied into a bow in the back. Not when Jason sat you on his lap and settled a large hand on your thigh, where it stayed the whole night.

All in all, you would say you’re making the most of it. 

You’re sipping on your drink, chatting about something or the other with your boyfriend. He’s half listening, half drawing circles on your thigh and pressing kisses to your shoulder when one of the employees finds you. She’s freaking out because one of the performers hasn’t shown up, and there’s no one else to go in her place.

Jason huffs. He lifts you off his lap and sets you down on the seat. “I’m sorry, baby, I just gotta take care of this. I’ll be right back.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be here.” You smile over the rim of your glass.

He looks around for a moment, then gestures to someone across the room. One of the bouncers make their way to you.

“Just keep an eye out,” he tells him. “I don’t trust these entitled country club fuckers.”

He gives a curt nod. Jason leans in close, smirking, and says, “especially not when you look like that,” and gives you a quick kiss before disappearing into the crowd with the employee.

A couple minutes later, a crash snaps your attention towards the bar. A young, college-aged looking man is berating a waitress while a mess of shot glasses litter the floor around them. The waitress looks about to cry.

“Jesus Christ,” the bouncer says to himself. Then to you, “Gimme a second.”

You move to the edge of the booth to watch as he goes over and tries to pacify the man, but that only seems to make him angrier. He shoves the bouncer, yelling about “shitty customer service.” 

You don’t get to see what happens next, though, because your field of vision is obscured by an enormous, very shiny, and very douchey silver belt buckle. You look up for its owner, and a greasy-looking, white-haired man looks down at you. 

“Hey there, sweetheart.” A fake gold tooth catches the flashing lights and it glints in your eye. Uninvited, he slides into the booth across from you. He places a drink on the table, sliding it towards you. “You look thirsty. Got this for you.”

“No, thanks. I’ve got one.” You hold your own glass up.

He rolls his eyes. “Pretty thing like you should be takin’ advantage of all the free drinks you could be gettin’.” His smile sends a chill down your spine.

“Again, I’m fine,” you say, a little harsher. “My boyfriend has brought me plenty of drinks already.”

He laughs. It’s a high-pitched, scratchy, wheezing sound. Like a kazoo. “I don’t see this boyfriend of yours anywhere. He should know better than to leave you alone. I’d treat you much better than him.” His eyes travel down your neck and stay there. You stand from the booth and take a big step back. It’s not entirely personal; no matter how much of a threat he may be, Jason is a worse one. And if he’s still in this neighborhood, never mind this building, you fear for this man’s safety much more than your own. But the man follows, bringing the cup with him. “Come on, honey, it’s a compliment. Show a little thanks. I don’t bite.”

You don’t have to be the world’s finest detective to know that is most definitely a lie. Or to know to avoid that cup at all costs.

You could just rebuff him, walk away. But you’re willing to bet he’d just move on to the next woman. One who’s probably a little less sober, and a little less aware of her surroundings. You feign a stumble and knock the drink out of his grip. It tips toward him, drenching him with its contents. He chokes out a shocked gasp.

“Oops,” you deadpan, not at all trying to hide your indifference.

“You bitch,” he snarls. He lunges forward, snatching your wrist. You try to pull it back, but his grip is iron and bruising. “I was doing you a favor. Do you see anyone else here looking at you?”

You’re suddenly grateful you didn’t put up much of a fight after Jason came home from patrolling one night insisting he show you some self-defense moves. Far be it from you to cause a scene, but this guy isn’t giving you much choice. You employ the cardinal rule of women’s self-defense: go for the crotch. You shift your weight to your non-dominant side and launch your dominant knee right into his groin. The sharp metal edge of his belt buckle slices the skin just above your knee, but it shocks him enough to release your wrist and double over. The same leg used in your attack plants itself on the ground, and you use the momentum to pistol your opposite fist forward. It collides with his nose in a bone-cracking cross. Your stacks of studded rings didn’t do him any favors, either. He cries out in pain. His hands fly up to cover his nose, and the cup falls from his grasp and shatters on the floor, garnering the attention of some surrounding patrons. Blood seeps between his fingers.

“You’re gonna fucking pay for that.” His tone drips with poison. He reaches into his coat pocket and brandishes a switchblade (because of course. You’re not surprised, though. It is Gotham). You look around in a panic, hoping to find Jason towering somewhere over the crowd. He’s not there. A few guys who work for him, though, have since taken notice of the commotion and are making their way towards you. You know they won’t make it in time. You weren’t scared a moment ago, but you definitely are now. Jason only briefly covered disarming techniques, and you didn’t have his practice to stay calm in situations like these. He steps closer, shoes crunching over the glass shards, and you step back. You’re backed into a corner, literally. Your back is pressed against the table. His eyes are glassy and void of color.

There is a resounding pop when the man’s knife-wielding hand is yanked to the side. Too fast for your brain to register, he thuds against the table next to you and the knife clatters to the ground. You look over and see Jason, one hand pressing his face into the table and the other twisting the man’s arm behind his back. 

When his men finally reach you, Jason is seething. They look almost as afraid as the man, whose whimpers are muffled the pressure with which he’s flattened against the table.

“Who the fuck let this happen,” Jason glowers. Uncomfortable glances are shared between the men, all sharing the same sentiment; we fucked up big time.

Jason’s livid gaze flits back and forth among them. His veins flex against his forearms, rippling with effort. It looks like he’s putting all his strength into incapacitating the man, but you know better. He’s putting all his strength into restraint. The look on his face is cold and steely, with hardened, venom-green eyes and a clenched jaw. This isn’t Jason, the sweet boyfriend, or Jason the easy-going yet respected club proprietor. This is Jason the crime lord. Jason the anti-hero. This is the Red Hood. Who makes his own rules and kills anyone who breaks them. It’s a bit off-putting for you to see him like this; he’s never like this with you. He’s always just…Jason. Your Jason.

One of his men speaks up. “We’re sorry, Boss, we were keepin’ an eye like you asked, but there was trouble up at the bar.”

Jason scowls. “Trouble that required all of you?”

At their silence, he rolls his eyes. “Idiots,” he says under his breath. He jerks the man up to stand, the hand that was pressing him to the table now gripping the back of his shirt collar. “Someone take care of this.” He shoves the man in their direction. Hard. One of them catches him. “And for fuck’s sake, check him for anything else.” 

While they’re busy patting him down, Jason turns back to you. You get whiplash from how quick his demeanor changes. Though still tense, the rigidity of his expression is long gone, replaced with tender concern.

“Are you okay?” His wide eyes scan you up and down, searching for any signs of injury. You manage a nod, still a bit stunned by his apparent shape-shifting abilities. “I’m so sorry, honey, this is my fault. It’s my fault for leaving you alone.” He pulls you close for a hug and kisses the top of your head, murmuring further apologies into your hair.

You pull back and cup his face in your hands. “It’s okay, Jay, I’m fine. I promise.” You lean in to kiss him, and feel his shoulders relax.

“Jesus, man, sorry! Wouldn’t’a come on so strong if I knew she was your whore. How much did ‘ya pay for her, anyway?” His voice rings from behind. Jason tenses up again. When he pulls back from you, he’s gone. He’s like Jekyll-turned-Hyde when the combatant that lay dormant inside him reassumes his body.

He turns around, but his large frame shields you from seeing the scene unfold. You place a hand on his arm, a silent message of support, and you can feel him vibrating with anger. His hand comes to rest over yours and give a reassuring squeeze.

“You know what?” You can’t be sure who he’s speaking to, but you can hear the eerie smile in his tone. “I’ll take care of this.” He faces you. “Can you give me a minute? Is that okay?” His voice is calm.

You know he would stay if you asked him to. And you never would, but you know he would go outside and kill that guy if you asked him to. And maybe you’re feeling a tad vindictive after the whole ordeal, so you just say, “Okay.”

He kisses your forehead, squeezing your hand once more. “I’ll come find you,” he says, stepping away, and you nod.

“Ross,” he commands. “Take her to the office. Get her whatever she wants.” Jason then speaks to all of his men. His tone drips with disdain. “Tomorrow we’ll talk about who’s getting fired for this.” You catch some of his men flinch.

He grabs the man by the collar once again and stalks towards the exit, dragging him along.

You’ve met Ross once or twice, though never exchanged more than a few words. He smiles at you. It’s amiable, if not slightly nervous. You know where the office is, but you’re still grateful for the guide. The mesh of moving bodies under dim lights makes all four corners of the room look the same. With the adrenaline wearing off, your hands ache and you become acutely aware of the stinging shock that shoots up your knee when you walk on it but, persevering, you follow him to the back. He holds the door that reads ‘RESTRICTED - DO NOT ENTER’ open for you, and you smile in thanks.

Various employees, servers and performers alike, mill about in the back hallways. You know some of them, having met in passing during other visits to the club, and offer polite greetings as you walk by. When you arrive at Jason’s office, Ross unlocks the door for you and you step inside.

It’s a nice office, noticeably homier than it was when you and Jason met. The first time he brought you back here it was just a desk, a chair, and a filing cabinet. You perched yourself on his desk while he sat in his chair and you teased him for not having a place for guests to sit, saying something about ‘men and their awful interior designing skills.’

“It’s not ‘bad skills,’ it’s cost-effective. ‘M runnin’ a business here, baby. If you need a place to sit that badly, you can sit right here.” He joked, patting his lap. And he said it with such conviction you believed him, but the next time you visited there was a brand new, plushy suede couch pushed against the wall.

You find a seat on said couch and try to get comfortable despite your protesting joints. From here you can spot a framed photo on Jason’s desk; the two of you smiling while bathing a shelter dog at the Wayne Animal Sanctuary. But while you smile at the camera, his gaze is trained on you.

 Ross stands in the doorway, stoic as a bodyguard should be. “Do you need anything?” He asks you.

“No, I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“‘Course. I’ll be outside. Just yell if you need anything.” He moves to exit, but pauses. “Look,” he says, “We’re all really sorry about what happened. It was our fault. You have every right to hate us.” He chuckles self-deprecatingly. “God knows the boss does.”

You purse your lips, unsure how to respond. Technically Jason did instruct them not to leave you alone. But really, the only person at fault is that horrible man, and he was currently getting what he deserved.

“It’s okay, Ross,” you say, and you mean it. “I don’t blame you. And Jason’s not gonna fire any of you, okay? I won’t let him.”

He exhales. “Okay, you—yeah. Okay. Thanks.” He loiters awkwardly in the doorway for a moment. “Listen, Todd’s always been a great boss. But it’s no joke when it comes to you. Don’t know exactly what happened, but after meeting you, he’s just…different. Not sure if I believe it, but after the first time you were here, one of the bartenders swears they heard him whistling. Anyway, just mean to say…we’re glad he has you.”

His sincerity warms your heart. You thank him, and he assumes his post outside, closing the door. 

At last in decent lighting, you take the time to examine yourself. Your knee, knuckles, and wrist are splotchy with bruises. A small scrape rests just above your knee from you were scratched. There’s a splattering of blood on your knuckles and on the rings you’re wearing. You grimace, the reality of what just happened settling in. Someone pulled a knife on you. If Jason hadn’t been there…the thought leaves you cold.

There’s voices on the other side of the door, then receding footsteps. After a few seconds, a knock.

“Baby? Can I come in?”

“Yes,” you call out. Jason enters, locking the door behind him. There’s some smatterings of blood on his hands and face, and he’s holding a first aid kit. Your immediate instinct is that he’s the one who needs first aid.

“Are you okay?” You ask as he kneels on the floor in front of you. “Did he hurt you?”

Jason tilts his head like a confused puppy, eyebrow raised. Just like that, The Red Hood is gone. He’s Jason again. He speaks softly, with a hint of his usual boyish charm. “Should I be insulted by you asking me that?” He picks up your un-injured leg and places the foot on his thigh, beginning to unravel the ribbon wrapped around your ankle. He removes the shoe and places it to the side, then repeats with your other foot. But when he moves it, your knee twitches and you wince. He frowns, but doesn’t say anything. He sees the way your eyes travel between all the spots of blood. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, none of it’s mine.”

You sigh in relief. “You didn’t…kill him, did you?”

He chuckles, lightly massaging your foot. “Nah…did you want me to? ‘Cause I can still—”

“No.”

He smirks at you, before leaning down to press a kiss to your bruised knee. It’s so gentle, so loving, it completely contradicts the bloodstains that adorn him. As his hands move up to your calf, your hand moves to his hair, fingers threading through the white streaks and pushing them back so you can get a better view of his eyes. They’re a silky teal, bordering on sea green. They remind you of lake trips in the summer, and ice skating during the holidays.

“How bad is he? Like, on scale of ‘he can walk it off’ to ‘he needs to go to the hospital.’”

Jason pauses his movements, looking thoughtful for a moment.

“He…he’s walking himself to the hospital.”

There’s not much you can say to that. After all, you gave him to okay to go fuck that guy up.

From the first aid kit, he retrieves a box of Band-Aids. They’re the children’s ones, decorated with cartoons and various characters. A specific one catches your eye, and you pick it out of the carton.

“Robin? Really?”

Jason breathes out a small laugh. “One of my guys’ daughter loves him.” He unwraps the bandage and sticks it over the scratch. You admire the small red plaster. Jason traces a finger over the emblem in the center, a black and yellow ‘R’.

He moves from your leg to your hand, gingerly laying it in his palm. One by one he slides each of your rings off. They’re not particularly special, but you still like them and you try to protest when he tosses them in the trash. He’s quick to assuage you with promises to buy you new ones with, hopefully, less blood.

"Did you see how good I got him?" You suddenly feel shy asking such a question. Like a child seeking validation.

"I did see," Jason says. And there's not a hint of condescension in his tone. "I'm proud of you. You remembered what I taught you."

You beam under his pride.

He uses a sanitizing wipe to remove the droplets of blood from your knuckles, kissing each one along the way. He reaches your wrist last. There’s a purple hand-shaped mark that wraps around it, and he stares at it. You can see his thoughts race at sixty miles an hour, and you know he’s beating himself up about it.

“Hey.” The hand in his hair moves to stroke his cheek. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I promise. I love you.”

He leans forward to press his forehead to your wrist. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m sorry.” He places gentle kisses on the purple skin. “I’m sorry. I love you.” He moves to the scratch above your knee, pressing more kisses, repeating the words like a prayer. Your hand is still enclosed in his hands, and his cool fingers soothe the throbbing swell. You pull his head up, holding his chin in your fingertips. His eyes close as he soaks in your warm touch.

You reach for another wipe and begin wiping the blood from his face. Some of it has dried, so you press the wipe a little harder, and blood rushes to his cheeks to give him an adorable flush. You repeat the process on his hands. Blood erased and wipes discarded, you pull him up to the couch to lie down with you. He stretches out, so large that his feet hang over the armrest. You snuggle up to his side and your head rests on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. It’s surreal, how utterly soft he is, and just for you. How no one else gets to see him like this. He goes out at night, a fighter, crusader, a deadly threat. And then he comes home to sleep in your arms. In your bed.

You place your hand against his chest, right over his heart to feel it thrum beneath your palm. It beats simple and steady, and just for you.

am i the only one who likes the whole jason owning the iceberg lounge storyline (aside from the whole penguin prisoner thing but i only write according to canon that i like and leave out the things i don't! whoops🤷‍♀️);

the feminine urge to write more fics that take place within the universe of this one...

divider is from here

[lazyturtlehottub]

There's no rapid knocking at the door, no angry shouts through the letter box, just one simple ding-dong of his doorbell that doesn't warn him about what's coming. Tommy peels himself off the sofa and kicks the blanket away from his feet before he makes his way down the hall, skin grubby from day three of no shower. Scratching at his neck, he peers through the peephole, finds no one, and opens the door to—

"Happy birthday, you asshole."

Evan shoves a plastic-boxed cake into his arms and shoves past him, all shoulders and grief-tinged rage. Tommy blinks at the empty space in front of him and then down at the cake with it's melting frosting and badly piped Happy Birthday that's threatening to slide off the top. The bottom of the box is warm, the cake presumably out of the oven in the last hour or two, and he shuts the door behind Evan.

"What are you doing here?" His voice is a telling rasp, and he turns only to find that Evan's not there and he's speaking to the air.

Moving back into his house he finds his ex-boyfriend standing in the living room, taking in the scene of Tommy's post-break up depression with an unimpressed look on his face.

"Evan—" he starts only to fall silent when a sharp look is thrown at him, pain etched into the lines of Evan's face.

"I thought it was Buck now," is the snark he gets back.

The snark that lands in the bruised parts of him and blooms fresh pain.

"I—right, yeah." Awkwardly he sets the cake down and shifts his weight. "What're you doing here?"

"It's your birthday so I baked you a cake because you're an idiot who broke my heart and I hate you but I love you more than I hate you and I wanted to tell you that," Evan says in an angry rush. "And I'm so mad at you, so fucking mad, Tommy. This last week—I've hated it. I miss you. It's like you gave me everything I ever wanted and then you just took it away from me and I fucking hate you for doing that."

Tommy swallows, throat dry. "If it helps, I hate myself too."

"No that doesn't help," Evan snaps, eyes tracking over him. "Jesus, have you even showered since last week?"

"Yes," he says, a little annoyance slipping into his tone. "I'm not a child."

Evan snorts and bends down to grab the blanket, shaking it out before folding it in rough sweeps of his hands until it's folded neat and tidy on the couch. It looks like there's more he wants to say and he's not sure what to say first and Tommy should tell him to leave, to keep this break as clean as possible but walking away from Evan was the hardest thing he's ever done, he's not sure he can stomach Evan walking away from him.

And then, without any warning, the anger drains from Evan, just slides right out of him until he's soft and sad and so wide eyed that Tommy can't bear looking at him.

(He can't bear to look away either.)

"Why didn't you tell me it wasn't serious?" Evan asks, voice wobbling and fingers curling in the sleeves of his hoodie that Tommy recognizes as his own. "Why did you let me—? I don't understand what went wrong."

"Evan," he rasps. "Buck."

"Don't," Evan interrupts, angrily swiping at his eyes. "Don't call me Buck. Don't ever call me that again, please. I can't—not from you."

"I'm sorry," Tommy says, uselessly. "I'm so sorry. I just wanted...you scare the shit out of me. You could—Jesus, Evan, the way you could break me without even realizing it...I'm terrified."

"So you thought you'd break me first?" Evan demands, anger wet and burning. "Because you did. Congratulations. I'm fucking miserable because of you. Because you were too afraid to actually have a conversation with me about what you wanted and needed and you just let me rush forward thinking we were both on the same page. And all this time you had one foot out the door."

Tommy shakes his head. "No, that's not it."

"Then what is it?"

"I'm not someone's forever!" The words snap out of him, cracking like a whip, and Evan blinks, startled. "I'm the guy that gets you there, alright? I'm the guy that shows you how it should be and then someone else, someone better, gets to be your forever."

Evan's mouth opens and then shuts, a frown pinching between his eyes that are focused on Tommy. "I didn't...how could there be someone better than you?"

"Evan," he sighs. "Please, don't."

"No, tell me, I want to know." Evan's stepping into his personal space, grabbing his hands and pulling him the rest of the way. And he burns at Evan's touch, at his warmth, at realizing that what he thought was the last time they touched wasn't it. "Who's going to love me like you do? Because you love me. I know you do. You haven't said it but I think I get why now but I know it. So tell me, who's going to love me as good as you do?"

"Evan, please."

His plea falls on deaf ears because Evan's right there, pale-skinned and smudges beneath his eyes from restless sleep, and Tommy wants to keep him there forever.

"I can't do it again," he whispers. "I can't let you go again."

"Then don't," Evan tells him. "I don't want you to. I don't want to explore my sexuality or whatever bullshit you think I need to do to be queer enough for a life with you. I just want you. Can't we just, I don't know, figure out the rest of it together?"

"Evan—"

He's weakening and he knows it. Worse, Evan knows it.

"We'll slow down, we'll go so slowly this time," Evan tells him, pressing his case and his body closer so that the warmth of his breath washes over Tommy's stale mouth. "We'll talk, properly. Maybe—maybe we could see a couple's therapist? Because I want you to be my last. I don't want anyone else. Please don't make me look for someone. Please."

"Evan." His body trembles. "I'm scared."

"I know," Evan says, soft like he's gentling a spooked horse. "But you can be scared with me, right? That's what it's about, yeah? Sharing the good things and the bad. I want both of them with you. I want everything with you. Will you please just—?"

Tommy kisses him and Evan immediately relaxes against him, the world righting itself around them, and he knows, right then, that Evan is his last, no matter what.

[nikitajyotipalmer]

This is gonna be a freewrite (Yes I made up a word) so nothing about this reflects my actual full process. Just what comes out when I let my mind run.

**Nightcreepers**

It was about seven-pm. I sat outside the bar with a cola and small plate in hand, as I always did, telling myself tomorrow would be different. That I wouldn't have to go back into that heaven-forsaken bar in the morning. That I would find another job. I was lying to myself of course. I always was. Constantly. Deep down I knew I would be back at 6am. But as my dad always said; I was a hopeless kid with too many dreams.

I sighed, "Why is there no work in this hellbound town?". It was true. There were never any new positions. And never any new houses either. Which seriously sucked because I had less then 3,000 dollars to my name. And since my house was old, and rundown, and had seen far too many hurricanes. But what can you do, ya' know? Yeah, I was really down in the dumps, no, the pits of hell that night. I should have gone back into the bar for a drink or something. But instead I made a really stupid decision; I stood up, threw away my cola and plate, and I walked into the highway. Dumb right? I know. If only I knew what would happen next...

"It's not worth it... It never was.. Why do I even try?" she whispers, as she stares at her latest check: $2,000. The highbeams of the approaching cars are blinding. The rumbling seems to shake her very soul. "Okay... Okay.. Okay...", she repeats, feeling as if she's going into a trace. But it soothes her. She feels herself start to fade. What an awful time to dissociate. But she does it anyway. The rumbles get louder, as if that were possible. But these metal monsters do not care about what's possible. They only lunge forward into the darkness. She sits down, not wanting the pitiful, naïve creatures inside them to interfere with her plans for the monsters. The rumbling turns into roaring. The glowing eyes of the monsters are hurting her own eyes now. She smiles as tears roll down her cheeks in a mix of sadness and relief. She breathes out and closes her eyes. A twisted sense of peace filling her heart as she awaits her fate. Suddenly an hand is on her shoulder and she is yanked away from her dreams. She yelps as she feels herself lifted into the air. Then her butt hits the sidewalk with a hard thud.

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING?!", a voiced screamed. She groaned and muttered curses under her breath. The voice was a male, commanding and scolding. It reminded her of her father which pissed her off almost as much as the fact that this man had ruined her plans. So she refused to speak to him and simply stared at the traffic. "Hey... Are you okay?", he asked in a softer tone. To no response of course as she was furious with him. He sighs, "Look... I'm sorry for yelling at you. It just... It really upset me to see you do that. I don't understand...", he sighed again. This was clearly going to be a habit. "Just... Are you okay? Do you need anything?", his voice was gentle, almost soothing, but something about it scared her. However she was a sucker for a sweet sounding boy's pleas. She caved and hissed a soft response, "Yes. I'm fine.", obviously she didn't mean it. She just wanted him to stop talking. "I seriously don't believe that for a second. But alright.", he mumbles. She still refuses to look up at him, which only feeds his concern.

After a moment of silence, which she wishes had lasted, he speaks up again. "I'm Caspian.". She finally looks up at him. He's young, maybe early twenties, fit, tall, bright yet soft skinned with piercing brown eyes, and a worried expression. He's wearing brown cargo pants, a band t-shirt, and a jacket with a mix of leather and flannel. In any other situation she would have found him seriously tempting. For a moment she imagines if their meeting had been in the bar rather then well.... like this. But she shoves the thoughts away. "I'm... Nasrin.", she huffed. "Nasrin? I've never heard that name before. It's really pretty. Reminds me of something sweet. Like raspberries.", he chatted sweetly, inviting himself to sit on the sidewalk next to her as she stared into the traffic. Nasrin silently cursing him as he did so.

"So... Can I... ask why?", Caspian asked. No response. But he was getting used to that. He waits a few more moments before speaking up again. "Nasrin. I'm not going away. Either I make sure you get home safe or we sit here all night. But you can't get rid of me", he scolded. It was clear to her by his tone that there was no chance of arguing her way out of this. Or getting away by any other means. So she cursed herself silently as she caved again, "Why not really? Everyone in this town wants to. Most are just too scared to say it or try it.", she grumbled. Caspian looked down. "You're right. You're right.". He sighs, she knew he would. "But", he continued, she groaned internally, "Everyone has their own final trigger. Everyone has their own reasons. The only thing we all share is the fact that this town sucks. So tell me, Nasrin. Why? What happened? I swear I won't judge or whatever.", he soothes. Despite herself she feels the need to tell him. And she hates herself for it, but complies with the feeling.

She sucks her teeth, "The usual young adult struggles I guess. Bad house. Useless job. Unsupportive parents. Whatever", she admitted. He simply held her gaze for a moment. His eyes calm and empathetic. "Can you tell me more, Nasrin?", he finally asked. She glared at him for a moment but her gaze softened involuntarily and before she knew it she was telling him everything. To her surprise he listened and gently engaged in her unwilling vent.

Finally she stopped and stared at the traffic again. He waited a moment then spoke in a kind but sad voice, "Well... I can't fix everything for you... But I can try. And I could be a shoulder to cry on or a friend to vent to, if that's what you want.". She looked up at him, struggling to hold back her tears, "I just need to fix my stupid life.".

"I meant it literally when I said 'shoulder to cry on', Nasrin.", he whispers. She stares into the traffic, not wanting to admit her weakness. He frowns and sighs. Of course he sighs. "Well, Nasrin. I have... One more offer for you. It's not a good one though.", he began. "Then why on RDJ's soul are you offering?", she retorts. "What? 'RDJ's soul'? Oh my god!", he chuckled.

"But anyway. I'm offering a job, Nasrin. It might suck slightly less then working at the bar. But I can promise it pays better. Which shouldn't be hard since the bar pays you...", he pulls out her check. Disturbing to her since she last had it in her hand. "$2,000 a month!?", he exclaims, utterly disgusted, "That's absolutely ridiculous! That's what?... $24,000 a year?" She puts her head down. He sighs, quite the habit.

"My lord. I think you'll take me up on my offer. Seeing as it pays $13,000 a month.", Caspian chuckled. She snaps her head towards him and stares at him. Utterly dumbfounded at the insane amount of money. "What's the job? Guarding the freaking mayor?!", she blurts. He chuckles and sighs, because of course he does. "Actually... It's a janitorial nightshift at the town cemetery.", he continues. "... That's it? That pays 13-freaking-k a month??", she gasps. "Yeah. There's a catch though. And you will not believe it.", he sighs. Seriously? Again with the sighs? Anyway. "What? What could be going on there that you have to pay 13k a month? Please. Enlighten me oh wise one.", she taunts.

"It's.... haunted?", he stutters. She looks at him for a moment. "Seriously? That's not funny. You're really freaking annoying.", she growls, standing to leave. He quickly reaches up and grabs her wrist. "Nasrin! Wait! I'm seriously. Unfortunately I'm very serious. But either way. Whether you believe the reason or not. Are you really going to pass up this opportunity? I mean you were planning to die tonight! And... I don't want that to happen, Nasrin.", he stammers.

She looks down at him. His gaze is soft and his eyes are pleading, a small pout on his lips. Seemingly practiced yet involuntary. Ever the sucker for his soft voice. She entertains the idea for a moment. "Well... I suppose you're kind of right. But how can I trust this? It's utterly ridiculous! That's so far over the standard pay for entry level! I've looked it up before. I'm not stupid, Caspian.", she snaps.

He winces, "I didn't mean to imply... Oh whatever. Look, I am not lying. The job is dangerous. I'm sure you've seen the news from when my father owned the cemetery. People have *died* on that shift, Nasrin! I have to have the pay high! Haunted or not!", he shoots back, a hint of desperation in his voice. No response. He stands and looks her in the eyes. Well he tries to, but she has no intention of looking at him."Come on Nasrin. Either way I have to pay you what I said I will. No matter what's going on. So why don't you just come with me and look at the contract, okay? It's worth a try right?", he pleads. She doesn't respond. But Caspian has learned to be patient.

She turns to look at him. Finally taking her eyes off the whizzing traffic. Caspian's a much more appealing sight anyway. "Fine. But this better be worth it, Caspian."

You've been hired to clean a graveyard every night for 80 bucks an hour. Its haunted. And by god you are going to make that 80 bucks an hour

[theonottsbxtch]

PREACHER'S DAUGHTER PT 2 | MV1

an: GUYS IM SO EXCITED FOR THIS AU! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this au im so ready, it'll be tagged as #preacheraumax on my page if you want to find all the posts. i'm already writing pt 3, feel free to talk to me abt this au!!

wc: 6.3k

part one

The late-afternoon sun spilled golden light over the trailer park, painting the rusted edges of Max’s trailer with a soft glow. From the open window of his trailer, the smell of dinner drifted out—pasta, he thought, though he wasn’t sure. She’d insisted on cooking again, and he hadn’t had it in him to argue. He leaned against his car outside for a minute, absently wiping his hands with an oil-stained rag, trying—and failing—to ignore the way his T-shirt hung loose on her frame when she flitted through the tiny kitchen through the small window.

A week of this. A week of her brushing past him, all sweet smiles and quiet thank-yous, like she didn’t notice the way his pulse spiked every time she tucked her hair behind her ear or hummed while folding his clothes. He’d been respectful, giving her space, knowing she needed time to heal, but damn if she didn’t make it difficult.

The screen door creaked open, and there she was, standing on the step with a plate in her hands and a soft grin. “Dinner’s ready.”

He bit back a groan, tossed the rag onto the bike seat, and followed her inside.

They ate quietly, the scrape of forks on mismatched plates filling the small space. She’d been unusually quiet all day, and when she finally set her fork down, her eyes were a little too bright, her voice a little too soft.

“I talked to my aunt,” she said.

Max froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. He set it down carefully, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah?”

“She’s expecting me next week. She’s got a room for me, and she says I can stay as long as I need to.”

He nodded, keeping his face neutral, even though something sharp twisted in his chest. “That’s good. Safe place for you. Close to college.”

Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the table. “You’ll take me, won’t you?”

“Of course.” His voice came out rougher than he meant it to, and her eyes flicked up, searching his face.

The week passed too quickly. Every time he came home from work to see her curled up on his couch or folding laundry to some old song on the radio, he told himself not to get used to it. But it was impossible not to, and when the day came, he couldn’t shake the weight in his chest as they loaded the last of her bags into the back of his truck.

The drive to her aunt’s house was quiet. She played with the hem of her dress, and he kept his hands tight on the wheel, like if he gripped hard enough, he could keep her there.

When they pulled up to the modest house on the edge of town, she didn’t move right away. He cut the engine, the silence stretching thin between them.

“I’ll come back on weekends,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

“Promise?”

Her head turned, and for the first time all day, she smiled—a small, fragile thing that made his chest ache. “Promise.”

He stepped out, helping her with her bags, and when they reached the porch, he couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around her waist. She stiffened for a moment, then melted into him, her head resting against his chest.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy, you know,” he murmured into her hair.

She pulled back just enough to press a kiss to his cheek, her lips warm against his stubble. His heart stopped, then kicked back up at double speed.

“Don’t forget me, Max,” she said softly.

“Not a chance.”

The door opened behind her, and a woman—her aunt, he assumed—stepped out, eyeing him curiously.

“And who’s this?”

She glanced back at Max, her eyes lingering on him like she didn’t want to let go. Then she smiled, a little sadly.

“Just a good friend.”

The words stung, but he smiled anyway, stepping back and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Take care of her,” he said, his voice low but firm.

Her aunt nodded, ushering her inside. Max stayed on the porch for a moment, watching the door close behind her, the ache in his chest settling into something heavier.

When the weekend came along, Max was in the middle of patching up an old carburetor on a kitchen counter when he heard the knock at the door. He wiped his hands on his jeans and squinted at the clock on the wall. It was late—closer to eight than six—but the knock came again, firm and impatient.

Grumbling under his breath, he crossed the room, swung the door open, and froze.

She was standing there on his porch, a duffle bag slung over her shoulder, her hair pulled back in that effortless way that always drove him crazy. She smiled up at him, all innocent charm and a hint of mischief, like she hadn’t just made his heart stop.

“Hey,” she said, stepping past him and into the trailer without waiting for an invitation.

“Hey?” he echoed, spinning to follow her. “What are you doing here? You were supposed to call.”

She dropped the bag onto his couch, her smile not faltering in the slightest. “It’s the weekend, isn’t it? I promised I’d come back.”

“Yeah, but—” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to sound stern. “You’re not supposed to just show up. I could’ve come and picked you up, you know.”

She waved him off, heading toward the kitchen. “I’m not helpless, Max. I caught a bus. Besides, I liked the idea of surprising you.”

Max sighed, leaning against the counter as she poked around his cabinets, clearly unimpressed. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Hmm.” She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes twinkling. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For not fainting when I walked in here.” She gestured to the cluttered counters and the pile of laundry shoved into the corner. “Honestly, the state of this place would make half the church faint.”

Max smirked, crossing his arms. “Well, my cleaning fairy hasn’t been around this week.”

She turned back to him, arching an eyebrow. “Your cleaning fairy?”

“Yeah, little thing. Shows up unannounced, makes herself at home, organises my life for free.” He shrugged, his voice teasing. “She’s gotten kinda bossy, though.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t fight the grin spreading across her face. “Well, your cleaning fairy is back.”

“Don’t.” His voice softened, and she looked up at him in surprise. “Don’t clean, okay? You don’t have to do all that. You’re not here to look after me.”

“I like it.”

Her words were simple, but they hit him harder than they should have. She liked being here, liked taking care of him, even if he didn’t deserve it.

Before he could think of how to respond, she stepped closer, her hand brushing his arm. Then, leaning up on her toes, she kissed his cheek, quick and light.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” she said softly.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his throat tight. “Anytime.”

Her fingers lingered on his arm for a moment before she turned away, diving into the mess with a determination that made him smile despite himself.

He leaned against the wall, watching her, his heart feeling lighter for the first time in a week. She was impossible, infuriating, and everything he couldn’t stop thinking about.

“I was supposed to go out tonight,” he finally said.

She glanced back at him, her hands covered in soap. “Oh?”

“Yeah, Danny called earlier. Said he wanted to hit the bar. I told him I might swing by.” He paused, watching her reaction.

She didn’t seem fazed, just smiled. “You should go. It’s fine.”

He frowned. “I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

She rinsed a plate, setting it on the drying rack with a satisfying clink. “Max, I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself, you know.”

“That’s not the point.”

Her gaze softened as she turned to face him, drying her hands on a dish towel. “I know you want to stay. But you shouldn’t put your whole life on hold just because I’m here.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but she stepped closer, her expression gentle but firm. “Go out. Have fun. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, he debated pushing back. The idea of leaving her here, even for a few hours, felt wrong. But the quiet certainty in her voice eased something in his chest.

“Okay,” he relented. “But only if you promise to text me if you need anything.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a playful smile on her lips. “Yes, daddy.”

He shot her a mock glare as he grabbed his jacket and keys. At the door, he turned back to her, his hand lingering on the frame. “Don’t clean anything, all right? Just relax.”

“Sure,” she said, a little too quickly.

He narrowed his eyes at her, but she waved him off with a laugh, and he finally stepped out into the night.

When Max got to the bar, it was loud and crowded, the kind of place Max usually thrived in, but tonight felt different. Danny was mid-sentence about something—or someone—when Max’s attention drifted again.

He found himself staring at his beer, her voice echoing in his head. I like it here.

“Max, you listening?” Danny nudged him with an elbow.

“Yeah, yeah,” Max muttered, though he wasn’t. His mind was back at the trailer, wondering if she’d actually taken a break or if he’d come home to find everything spotless.

“Man, you’ve been spaced out all night. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Max lied, draining the last of his beer. “I gotta head out.”

Danny raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “Suit yourself.”

When Max got back to the trailer, the place didn’t feel like his.

The counters were wiped clean, the laundry folded and stacked neatly, and even the perpetually sticky spot on the floor by the fridge was gone. He sighed, shaking his head as he locked the door behind him.

“Stubborn,” he muttered, though a smile tugged at his lips.

His gaze landed on the couch, and there she was, curled up under one of his old blankets, her chest rising and falling in soft, even breaths.

“Of course,” he whispered, his voice soft as he crouched beside her.

Carefully, he slid his arms under her, lifting her with ease. She stirred, her head resting against his shoulder as he carried her to the bed.

“Max?” she murmured sleepily.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, his voice low.

“I wanted to wait up,” she whispered, her words slurring slightly.

“I know.” He laid her down gently, pulling the blanket over her.

He moved to the dresser, rummaging for a clean shirt to sleep in when her voice, still soft but more awake, stopped him.

“You usually just sleep in boxers.”

He turned, eyebrows raised. “Noticed that, huh?”

She smiled, her eyes half-lidded. “I don’t mind if you do.”

For a second, he didn’t move, her words hanging between them like an unspoken promise. Then he chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

Her smile widened, but she was already drifting back to sleep.

Max sighed, tugging his shirt off and tossing it onto the chair. He slid under the blanket beside her, careful not to disturb her. As her breathing evened out again, he let himself relax, the weight of the night fading as he listened to the quiet.

She was here. And for now, that was enough.

The warmth was the first thing Max noticed as he stirred awake. His trailer was always cold in the mornings, the thin walls doing little to keep the night chill at bay, but now there was a soft, comforting heat pressed against his side. He cracked one eye open and immediately froze.

She was curled into him, her head resting on his chest, one arm draped across his torso like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her breath was slow and steady, her face relaxed in sleep, and her fingers clutched lightly at the fabric of his shirt.

Max’s heart thudded hard against his ribs, a deep ache settling in his chest. She fit so perfectly against him, like she’d always belonged there. He lay still, not wanting to wake her, though he couldn’t stop his hand from coming to rest lightly on her back.

The quiet moment stretched, his mind racing with thoughts he wasn’t ready to face, until the smell hit him. Warm, buttery, sweet—pancakes? His brow furrowed as he sniffed the air. Was he imagining things?

He shifted slightly, and her eyes fluttered open. She blinked up at him, her expression soft and drowsy, and he swallowed hard.

“Morning,” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

“Morning,” he replied, his voice low. “You smell that?”

She smiled, untangling herself from him and sitting up with a yawn. “Yeah. Pancakes.”

He frowned, sitting up as well. “I didn’t even know I had stuff to make pancakes.”

She turned to him, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “You didn’t. I snuck out earlier and grabbed a few things.”

He blinked. “You went shopping? Without waking me?”

“You looked peaceful,” she said with a shrug, climbing out of bed, not bothering to put the skirt she must have left with earlier back on. 

He was sure that his cause of death was going to be her walking around his trailer in one of his shirts and her stupid cotton panties.

He followed her to the kitchen, still trying to wrap his head around the idea of her slipping out and coming back unnoticed. Sure enough, there was a stack of golden pancakes on the counter, a jar of syrup beside it, and two mismatched plates waiting to be served.

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, though there was no heat in his words.

“Thank you,” she replied with a grin, flipping the last pancake onto the stack before turning to him.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked, gesturing to the pancakes.

“It’s Sunday,” she said simply, as if that explained everything.

“Yeah, and?”

Her smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of something—nervousness, maybe—crossing her face. “It’s church day.”

The realisation hit him like a freight train. Of course. It was her first Sunday since she’d left home. A pang of guilt tugged at him as he imagined what this day must mean to her.

“Right,” he said softly. “Big day.”

She nodded, fiddling with the edge of his shirt.

“Do you want me to come with you?” The words were out before he could stop them.

Her eyes widened in surprise, and he immediately regretted it. “I mean, I know I’m not exactly the church-going type, but—”

She cut him off with a laugh, her expression softening. “Max, you don’t even own a church-appropriate outfit.”

He scratched the back of his neck, glancing toward his wardrobe. She wasn’t wrong. His idea of formal wear was a clean pair of jeans and a button-up he hadn’t worn in years.

“You sure you don’t want me to tag along?” he asked, feeling strangely out of his depth.

She shook her head, her voice gentle. “I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine. You can wait outside for me this week if you want.”

“Deal,” he said, relief and a hint of disappointment mingling in his chest.

She smiled again, stepping closer and resting a hand on his arm. “Thank you for offering, though. It means a lot.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, clearing his throat and looking away. “Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on you.”

She laughed, her fingers lingering on his arm for a moment before she turned back to the pancakes.

Max leaned against the counter, watching her as she plated their breakfast. She moved with a quiet confidence, her presence filling the small space in a way that felt both comforting and terrifying.

As they sat down to eat, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this Sunday—this moment—was going to stay with him long after she walked out the door.

Max didn’t know what he had with her, but he loved it. He loved every weekend she spent with him, loved the way her presence brightened his space. He loved the little things she did—the soft hum of her voice filling his trailer, the way she folded his shirts with the corners lined up perfectly, and the way she always looked at him like he was more than the guy with grease-stained hands and a rough past.

He didn’t deserve her, and he knew it. But damn if he wasn’t going to soak up every moment she gave him.

It was midweek when she surprised him. The steady rhythm of clanking tools and revving engines filled the garage as Max worked on a beat-up old Ford, grease smudged across his forearms. The day had been uneventful so far, the usual grind of repairs keeping his hands busy and his thoughts on autopilot.

Then she walked in.

He didn’t see her at first, his head buried under the hood, but the sound of her soft “Hi, Max,” was enough to make him straighten immediately, his heart giving an uncharacteristic jump.

She stood near the door, a paper bag in hand, wearing one of those sundresses that always made him weak. Her hair caught the sunlight streaming through the open garage door, and she looked so out of place among the grease and oil stains that it made him grin.

“Hey, angel,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag as he walked over to her. Without thinking, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. The scent of her shampoo—something floral and sweet—hit him, and he lingered for just a second longer than he should have.

“What’s this?” he asked, nodding toward the bag.

“Lunch,” she said simply, holding it out to him.

His brow furrowed as he took it, glancing inside. A neatly packed sandwich, an apple, and a bottle of water stared back at him. “I was fine for lunch,” he said, a little sheepishly. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Her lips curved into a knowing smile, and she crossed her arms. “A hot dog and a beer is not healthy for you, Max.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “What, you been spying on me now?”

“I’ve been paying attention,” she countered, stepping closer and poking playfully at his stomach. “You keep eating like that, and you’ll lose your figure.”

“Oh, is that what this is about?” he teased, setting the bag on a nearby workbench. He leaned down slightly, lowering his voice to a flirtatious drawl. “You trying to cop a look at my abs, angel?”

Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to retort, but before she could, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it just enough to reveal his toned stomach, a smirk playing on his lips.

Her face turned bright red, and she quickly looked away, stammering, “You’re impossible.”

“Hey, you started it,” he said with a laugh, dropping his shirt back into place. He couldn’t help but admire the way her blush crept down her neck. She was too easy to fluster, and he loved every second of it.

“I have to catch the bus back soon,” she said after a moment, still avoiding his gaze as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

The mention of her leaving tugged at something in his chest, but he nodded. “All right. Thanks for the lunch, though. Really.”

Her smile returned, softer this time. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Always.”

After she left, Max stood by the workbench for a moment, staring at the lunch bag like it was some kind of relic.

“Who was that?” a gruff voice broke his reverie.

Max turned to see his boss, Tommy, leaning against the frame of the garage’s office door, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Just a friend,” Max said, though the words tasted wrong. She was more than that, even if he couldn’t quite put a label on it.

Tommy snorted. “Yeah, sure. A friend who packs you lunch and makes you look like a lovesick puppy every time she’s around.”

“Shut up,” Max muttered, grabbing a wrench and returning to the Ford.

Tommy laughed, taking a long drag from his cigarette before speaking again. “You’ve got balls, kid. Being with the preacher’s daughter? That’s a whole mess I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.”

Max stiffened, but he didn’t respond.

Tommy continued, his tone softening. “But I gotta say... I haven’t seen you this happy since the day you bought that trailer. She’s good for you.”

Max glanced over his shoulder, his grip tightening on the wrench. “Yeah. She is.”

Tommy nodded, stubbing out his cigarette. “Don’t screw it up, kid.”

Max didn’t answer, but as he went under the Ford, he couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips. Whatever this thing was with her, he wasn’t letting it go.

No less than a few days later she was stepping out of her last lecture of the day, her bag slung over her shoulder and her friend Sarah chattering animatedly about some party happening over the weekend. The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the campus, and the warm breeze carried the faint scent of freshly cut grass.

But then she saw it.

Parked just beyond the gates was a familiar motorbike, its polished chrome glinting in the sunlight. Leaning against it, arms crossed and looking every bit the troublemaker he was, stood Max.

Her breath hitched, a smile spreading across her face before she could stop it. He didn’t belong here—his grease-streaked jeans and leather jacket a stark contrast to the sea of students with their backpacks and books—but somehow, he looked perfect.

“Is that... your boyfriend?” Sarah asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

She hesitated for a split second, then shook her head. “Just a friend.” But her cheeks betrayed her, flushing pink as she adjusted her bag and headed toward him.

As she approached, Max straightened, his expression softening in a way he reserved only for her. “Milady,” he said with a playful smirk, holding out the spare helmet like a knight presenting a prize.

She laughed, her smile widening as she took the helmet from him. “You’re ridiculous,” she teased, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

He didn’t bother hiding the grin that spread across his face as she slid the helmet on. Swinging her leg over the back of the bike, she settled behind him, her arms wrapping securely around his waist.

“Hold on tight, angel,” he said, revving the engine.

The ride to her aunt’s was a familiar one now. She’d spent so many weekends at his trailer that the route was second nature, but it never lost its charm. The wind whipped past her, carrying away the stress of the day, and all she could think about was the solid warmth of Max in front of her and the way her heart felt light every time she was with him.

When they pulled up outside her aunt’s house, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the world in hues of orange and pink. She slid off the bike, pulling the helmet off and shaking out her hair.

“Drive home safe,” she said softly, her eyes lingering on him.

“For you, always, angel,” he replied, his voice low but steady.

Her lips curved into a small, grateful smile as she turned and headed up the walkway. She glanced back once, just in time to see him watching her, the faintest hint of a smile on his face before he started the engine and roared away into the fading light.

Max never would have referred to his trailer as a home. For years, it had been little more than a roof over his head—a place to sleep and keep his stuff, nothing more. It wasn’t like the house he’d known she’d grown up in, with its creaking floors and warm kitchen smells, or even the crummy apartment he’d shared with Danny in his early twenties.

But now...

Now there were little reminders of her everywhere. A book she’d left on the coffee table, its pages dog-eared in the way she knew drove him crazy. A neatly folded throw blanket she’d brought over one chilly night. The small vase on the windowsill, holding wildflowers she’d picked on a whim.

She hadn’t moved in—not really. But every item she left behind, every small touch of hers that lingered, made the space feel warmer. More alive.

More like home.

Max sat on the couch, his gaze drifting over the room. His place was still rough around the edges—there was no hiding the peeling wallpaper or the worn linoleum floors—but with her here, even in these small ways, it felt different.

He picked up the book she’d left, turning it over in his hands. The corners were bent, and a faint scent of her perfume clung to the pages. He shook his head with a smile, setting it back down.

Yeah, he thought, leaning back against the cushions. She made it feel like home.

<3 <3 <3

Max’s life continued with her like this for another eleven months. Each day, it felt like he was living in a dream he never wanted to wake up from. They fell into a rhythm—a routine that felt as comforting as it was impossible to believe.

She was no longer just the preacher’s daughter he had met outside a Church. She was part of his life, his home. More than half the time, she stayed at his place now, spending her nights curled up on his couch, reading or laughing at some ridiculous things he'd say, more often than not in the same oversized t-shirt she’d first worn when she moved in. Her presence filled every corner of his small, humble space, making it feel less like a place where he merely existed and more like somewhere he belonged.

He had never pushed her for anything—never tried to rush her into kissing him, never demanded more than what she was willing to give. There were moments where he could feel the pull between them, when their eyes lingered a little longer or their hands brushed in ways that made his heart race, but he was patient. She had her own pace, and for once, he didn’t want to ruin it by moving too fast. She had her own life to rebuild, and he was content to be a steady presence in it.

She still went to church every Sunday, keeping that part of her life separate, even though she never spoke to her father anymore. Church was the one thing she still clung to, the only part of her old life that hadn’t unravelled completely. Max didn’t understand it—he couldn’t—but he never asked her to give it up. If it brought her peace, if it helped her hold on to a piece of herself, then he respected it. He just wished she would let him share in it, but he wasn’t going to force it.

And then, the day finally came.

Max had been saving for months, every extra penny he made going toward the dream he’d never dared to voice out loud—the dream of getting them out of the cramped, creaky trailer and into something better. A place where she didn’t have to worry about the walls being thin or the smell of grease lingering in the air. Something more... theirs.

He had found it. A small but cosy apartment uptown, with high ceilings and a view of the city skyline. It was perfect for them—quiet, private, and just far enough from everything they both needed to escape from. He’d signed the lease that morning, a rush of pride and anticipation filling his chest as he pictured her reaction.

When she walked through the door that evening, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. His heart was racing, his palms sweaty as he met her at the door.

“I got us a place,” he said, his voice thick with excitement.

She blinked, clearly caught off guard by the suddenness of his words, but the moment she saw the joy in his eyes, the realisation hit her. She stepped forward, her face lighting up with the kind of smile that made everything else fade into the background.

“Max...” she whispered, and without thinking, without hesitating, she threw her arms around him, pulling him close.

Her lips found his in an instant.

It wasn’t a soft kiss, not one of those cautious first kisses that came with hesitations or uncertainty. It was full of the weight of everything that had built up between them—the months of waiting, the slow burn of tension that had been simmering beneath the surface. Their kiss was deep, heated, urgent, as if they both had been holding their breath and were finally allowed to exhale.

Max’s hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer, feeling the heat of her body against his. He deepened the kiss, his lips claiming hers as if he had waited an eternity for this moment. He felt her fingers thread through his hair, tugging him closer, her body pressing into his with a desperation that matched his own.

It was the kind of kiss that shook him to the core, that made everything else in the world fade into the background—her soft breath against his lips, the quiet hum of the city outside, the rush of blood in his ears. All that mattered was her.

Her arms slid up around his neck, her body melting against his, and for the first time in a year, Max felt like he had finally found the place where he belonged.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads resting together, their breaths ragged, she looked at him with something that could only be described as wonder. Her eyes were wide, her lips swollen from their kiss, and there was a softness in her gaze that made his heart stutter in his chest.

“I’ve been waiting for that,” she breathed, her voice thick with emotion.

Max smiled, his thumb brushing gently across her cheek. “Yeah, me too.”

There was a moment of silence, the kind that spoke volumes in the space between them. Her hands lingered on his chest, and he could feel the rapid beat of her heart against his. He had never known a kiss could feel so much like coming home.

He cleared his throat, his voice hoarse. “We... we really did it, huh?”

She nodded, her smile widening. “We did.”

Max had never been one for big, sweeping gestures. But with her, it was different. Everything about her made him want to be more than the guy who had nothing. He wanted to be the man who made her feel safe, cherished, loved. He wanted to give her everything—everything she deserved.

He kissed her again, slower this time, his lips brushing over hers as if savouring the sweetness of the moment. When they finally pulled apart, he smiled down at her, his hand gently cupping her face.

“I’m so damn lucky to have you,” he said softly.

She grinned, her eyes sparkling with something he couldn’t quite place, but it was the kind of look that made his heart stutter in his chest. “No, Max,” she whispered, her voice full of warmth. “I’m the lucky one.”

And for the first time, in a long time, Max allowed himself to believe it. He wasn’t just living with her. He wasn’t just sharing space with her.

He was building a life with her. A life that, even in its quiet moments, felt like everything.

And for the first time, he realised what home truly was.

The kiss lingered in the air between them, warm and slow, as if time had stretched to accommodate the overwhelming intensity of the moment. Max’s hands rested gently on her waist, feeling the soft press of her body against his, and the faint sound of their shared breath was the only noise in the room. They were tangled together—hearts racing, bodies melting into each other—as though nothing else mattered.

For the first time in a year, Max felt completely alive. Completely whole.

She pulled away slightly, breathless, her cheeks flushed and eyes wide, still processing the heat of the kiss, the weight of what it meant. Her lips parted, but before she could speak, he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers one last time, a soft whisper against her skin.

“Marry me.”

The words were so quiet, so soft, that for a second, she thought she had imagined them. She blinked, drawing back slightly to look at him, her chest tightening with uncertainty. “What?”

Max smiled at her confusion, a hint of something deeper in his eyes. His hands gently cupped her face, his thumb running along her jawline as if trying to memorise every detail of her. He leaned in, his lips hovering just above hers as he whispered again, more seriously this time, “Marry me, angel.”

She froze for a heartbeat, thinking it was some sort of joke, some playful teasing. The idea of Max, the guy who’d never believed in love or commitment, asking her something like that was almost impossible to believe.

But the sincerity in his eyes, the vulnerability she had never seen from him before, made her heart skip a beat. There was no hint of jest, no trace of humour. He meant it.

Max saw the hesitation in her eyes and gently kissed her lips again, his voice rough and low as he pulled back just enough to speak.

“I never thought I’d make it past twenty-one,” he began, his gaze intense, almost haunted, as if these words were ones he had carried inside him for far too long. “I’ve been lost for so long. I didn’t think I’d ever have a reason to keep going, to fight for anything.”

She could hear the rawness in his voice, the weight of everything he had lived through—the loneliness, the struggles, the doubts. His eyes searched hers, looking for understanding, for a connection that only she could give.

“But you, angel...” His voice softened, but the words still hit her like a wave, sweeping away any doubts. “You’ve given me hope. You’ve given me a reason to live. A reason to fight for something better.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable—it was peaceful, full of something unspoken, something they both felt but had never truly expressed until now.

She could feel her heart racing, her emotions swelling inside her chest, a warmth spreading through her like wildfire. Max—rough-around-the-edges Max, the guy who had been her rock for so long—was here, telling her that she had been the reason he had found the strength to keep going.

With her, he had found his reason.

“I...” Her voice faltered, thick with emotion, and she cupped his face in her hands, leaning in closer. “Yes, Max. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

The words were barely out of her mouth before he kissed her again, this time softer, more tender, as though sealing a promise. She melted into it, her fingers threading through his hair, holding on to him as if this moment was the only one that mattered.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, the weight of their promise hanging in the air, Max’s hands moved slowly down her body. He smiled as he reached for her purity ring, the symbol of the life she had left behind. With the gentleness of someone who understood the significance of the gesture, he took the ring off her finger.

“I’ve got something for you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Max took one of his necklaces, a simple silver chain that had always felt like a part of him, and threaded her ring onto it. He placed it around his neck, letting the cool metal of the ring rest against her skin. “This is you now,” he said quietly, his eyes not leaving hers. “And I’m the only one who gets to wear it.”

Her fingers gently touched the ring, feeling the warmth of her promise against him.

Then, Max reached down to his own hand, taking off a ring—one he never took off, the one that had been his symbol of defiance for years. He hadn’t given it to anyone else, and he certainly hadn’t planned on giving it to anyone. But now, with her, it felt like the only thing that made sense.

With a steady hand, he reached for the cross necklace she always wore, taking it between his fingers and slipping the ring onto it. The cool metal of his ring clicked against the chain, its weight heavier than it had ever felt before.

“This one’s for you,” he said softly, brushing her hair behind her ear as he tucked the cross back against her skin. “Because we’re in this together now. No going back.”

She stared at the ring hanging from her necklace, her heart swelling with a mix of emotions—love, disbelief, and gratitude. She had never imagined a life like this. But now, with him, she couldn’t imagine it any other way.

“I’m ready, Max,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m ready to start this new part of my life. With you.”

Max pulled her into his arms, holding her close as if she was the most precious thing in the world, and whispered against her hair, “I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you.”

And in that moment, with her purity ring around his neck and his own ring on her cross necklace, it was clear to both of them that this was only the beginning.

The beginning of forever.

taglist: @sinofwriting @le-le-lea @vanicogh @iamred-iamyellow @rayaskoalaland @spookyanamurdock @iimplicitt

[entropic-fantasy]

Also people being like "why go from no references in C2 to this" and I don't get why this is a question.

C2 was directly after C1, literally as fresh of the press as possible. It would've felt like they were trying to rehash the formula, or use cheap fanservice to keep critters tuned in.

It's been a while since C1 now, though.

C3, for all its faults, also doesn't do it cheaply. VM and M9 being there feels earned. Sometimes, I wish it wouldn't limit BH (or rather the players limit themselves). However, the how and why VM especially got involved makes sense.

The Somnovum was such a niche villain, and in no way on the same level as Ludinus. Ludinus is threatening the fabric of the universe, and all of VM have incredibly high stakes in this.

As a fan, smn who became a critter with C2, I want closure for VM. I want them to save Vax, to find a solution for him - they deserve happiness. And this conflict has been brewing for so long, and Matt managed to tie all of it into the Ludinus plot sooooo incredibly (like who shoves a Vax into an orb? Who does that?).

I'm just tired of people hating. It's often so mindless, feeding into the "I don't like it = it's objectively wrong" narrative and doesn't put forward anything productive.

As a DM and DnD player, I long for the things Matt gets to do. Imagine yourself in their shoes, imagine playing DnD for such a long time with different characters and then you get to witness the impact all of them had. You get to witness them BE the heroes, and save the world again. That's incredible!

C3 has gone beyond fanservice - fanservice is them putting callbacks into the animated series, it's them asking for the members of the Taldorei council. It's all a service to the players, too, because they themselves are fans as much as players. Do people not feel joy when the cast gets to fuck around Whitestone and meet the De Rolo kids? Do these watchers not yell out when they hear a familiar German accent?

If so, I kinda pity them because why deprave yourself of all that fun. You can not like sth. That's up to you, but pushing these narratives to somehow justify it despite dislike just...sometimes being enough? Not great. Especially if they're not ready to then engage in meaningful discussions...

If I see one more “I’m sick of all the references and appearances from old campaigns” NO THIS IS THE POINT OF IT. IT IS A GAME. THE PLAYERS ARE HAVING FUN. TRAVIS STARTED TEARING UP SEEING GROG. LIAM GOT TO DECORATE CALEB’S HOUSE. LAURA GOT TO PUT DICKS IN IT. THIS IS WHAT ITS ALL ABOUT. IT’S THE 8 (9) OF THEM PLAYING A GAME. AND WE GET TO ENJOY IT TOO. WE GET TO FREAK OUT WHEN THE HOT BOI IS ON SCREEN OR THE GIANT UNDEAD TITAN IS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CITY. How are people not enjoying this why do you watch a homebrewed world if you don’t love to see all of the effects that the players have had on this world that was made by and for them

[the-palelady]

could you mayhaps perhaps potentially elaborate on simon meeting the love of his life????

this made me giggle

but absolutely

because when i tell you he is down bad…he is down bad bad.

the tickets were soap’s, but he couldn’t possibly go alone. kyle might have been down to attend, but in johnny’s eyes asking simon, a quiet man who you wouldn’t catch dead in a crowded place like this, sounded much more interesting.

of course, simon was reluctant, saying no a million times before he finally gave in. which took some bribing on soap’s end (listen, free beer is free beer).

the show was packed. shoulders touching shoulders, people practically climbing over one another as the stadium’s energy became more intense. but simon had to admit to himself that he was enjoying it, tapping his foot to the beat of the music, a beer in one hand and his free hand shoved into his pants pockets. the colorful lights reflected off his amber eyes until the shine of your own eyes caught his attention.

you were so bright eyed and full of energy. you sang each song, word for word, with the people around you, uncaring of what was going on beyond the walls of the stadium. it was just you and the music. simon almost felt like he was intruding on the peaceful moment you were having (even though ride the lightning is hardly a peaceful song).

it took until almost the end of the show for him to finally work up the courage to speak to you, pushing through the crowd of people as he followed you out to the lobby.

once the concert was over, johnny turned to simon only to find a group of teenagers standing in his place. soap didn’t expect to lose his lieutenant in a place like this. but after almost 30 minutes of searching, he really didn’t expect to find simon leaning against a wall, hands once again nestled into the pockets of his jeans and his hooded head tilted downwards, seemingly looking at something.

“there ya fuckin’ are, lt. been lookin’ for ya fo-”

johnny’s mouth locks itself shut when you come into view, his words not even reaching simon’s ears, too fixated on you.

tiny little thing you are in comparison to simon, monster of a man he is. you have a band shirt on, makeup done although your eyeliner is a bit smudged, and hair jostled about, sticking up in some places. your fingers fiddle with one another, clasped together as you rambled on about something to romeo in front of you.

a sea of people has to step around johnny, his jaw practically touching the floor as he watches simon’s usually disinterested expression stay locked onto you, eating up every word that slips from your mouth. he can see the fireworks going off in simon’s eyes, the subtle nod of his head, urging you to keep speaking. his mouth moves under the black mask that obscures the lower half of his face, but johnny’s not close enough to hear what he’s saying.

even sees his shoulders shake, laughing at something you had said, to which you join in with your own giggles.

after some time, someone shouts, and from the way you perk up, johnny assumes it’s the group you came to the concert with. when you turn back, he utters something before his hand slips out of his pocket, holding his phone out to you.

you take the device with a smile, tapping something in before handing it back and leaving with a big grin spreading across your face, cheeks rosy red and eyes just as sparkly as simon’s.

johnny’s voice doesn’t even break simon from his thoughts when he finally approaches him, still watching you scurry away with your friends.

“thought i was ‘ere to see metallica?! no’ fuckin’ romeo and juliet.”

[archangeldyke-all]

Wait I was just thinking about this

What if jinx went out to run errands and took isha along with and and they come back looking VERY suspicious.

Untill you were about to interrogate them and they admit too finding a kitten on the street and taking it in. But you are not mad at them at all and you guys all collectively try to find a way to tell sevika. And when she finds out she doesn’t seem happy but she’s so freaking excited because she has a family now- something she had always dreamed for but didn’t think was achievable

-💌

i need fluff like this right now. like a million pounds of feathers.

(here's what i picture the cat looking like, btw hehe)

men and minors dni

you're in the kitchen chopping veggies for dinner, listening to the gentle jazz floating out of sevika's old office.

right now, sevika's in there rearranging furniture to turn her study into a room for jinx and isha. she's already got the bunk beds built (jinx claimed top) and now she's busy building some bookshelves and desks for the girls.

they've been living with the two of you for about a month now. and despite the fact that you and sev's sex lives have taken a massive blow, you've honestly never been happier.

the girls bring so much energy and laughter into your life. neither you or sevika ever wanted children of your own, but this feels... right. you're not their mothers and you never will be. but you are family now, and you wouldn't trade it for the fucking world.

sevika feels the same. she hasn't said it in so many words, but there's this look about her now-- she glows. she's stopped smoking because of isha's asthma. she's stopped drinking because vi's still freshly sober and comes around for dinner a few times a week. she's even started taking breaks with her prosthetic arm, letting herself walk around the house with just one arm-- a vulnerability she was never comfortable with before.

you throw your veggies on the pan, a nice sizzle sounding throughout the kitchen as you start to stir them around. the front door clicks open, and you wait for the sound of your girls thumping through the door like usual... but they don't. you turn the flame down, the sizzle lessening with it, and turn to listen closer.

jinx is whispering excitedly, and you can hear isha's excited half giggles as she listens. you grin. the girls are plotting something.

you turn the flame completely off, setting your spoon to the side and ripping off your apron, carefully tipetoeing across the kitchen to lean against the door.

"alright. sevika'll be easy to convince, all you gotta do is give her the puppy eyes... just like that, good job kiddo." jinx chuckles. isha gives a happy little chuckle, and jinx continues. "it's the missus i'm worried about. y'know what she says goes. if we don't convince her, sev'll be out too." jinx huffs.

you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing at jinx's surprisingly accurate description of you and sevika's relationship.

isha makes a questioning noise, signing something you can't see to jinx. jinx hums, contemplating isha's suggestion, before speaking again. "what, y'mean like cookin' 'em both dinner or something nice? butter 'em up before we show 'em?" jinx asks. "that could work... dunno where we'd hide it until then though..."

"hide what?" you ask, pushing out of the kitchen just in time to watch isha and jinx jump and scramble to cover something up.

"heya sweetcheeks!" jinx greets, shoving a bundle of fabric into isha's hands. isha gawks at her, then turns around to hide the fabric pile from you. you chuckle, and jinx casually pushes isha behind her back. "how mucha that did you overhear?"

you giggle and tug on jinx's bangs, making her scowl a bit. "don't let sev catch you callin' me 'sweetcheeks'. she'll get jealous. show me what you two found." you say.

jinx huffs and tugs isha back out from behind her.

isha blinks up at you with her best puppy eyes, and you chuckle, flicking the rim of her miner's cap. "those only work on sevika." you say.

isha huffs and rolls her eyes in a way that she must've learnt from jinx-- then she unwraps the bundle in her hands.

"mmmew." a tiny little voice pipes up.

you gasp, and isha stops unwrapping the bundle to look up at you. "please tell me you guys didn't bring home a fucking baby." you plea. raising isha is one thing-- she knows how to use the fucking toilet already. but a newborn?! you're not sure if you and sevika could handle that...

jinx bursts into laughter and pulls the last bit of fabric away, and you sigh in relief when a scraggely, partially hairless cat blinks up at you from isha's arms. "mmmow?" it meows. you chuckle.

"where the hell'd you find this thing?"

isha grins at your positive reaction, then starts signing with both her arms full of cat. you can't make out much, but you manage to catch 'dumpster'. that explains the smell, then.

"we're callin' her chicken. 'cause her little bald belly looks like boiled chicken." jinx says, smiling just as wide as isha is.

you snort a little, and chicken reaches one of her paws out of isha's hands, like she's reaching out for you.

jinx cackles. "chicken likes you!"

you huff and shake chicken's little paw. "so what. you expect us to let you have a cat now?" you ask.

you know you're going to say yes. you just need the girls to grovel a little more-- you can't let them know you're just as soft for 'em as sevika is, otherwise there'll be no authority in your house.

"oh c'mon! we'll put the litterbox in our room so it doesn't stink up the house! i'm already comin' up with a self cleaning litter box invention-- and she can just eat our scraps! she'll be good for pest control! you know the building's been having problems with cave rats lately..." jinx trails off, pulling chicken out of isha's arms and dangling the surprisingly relaxed cat in front of you. "please sweetcheeks? i'm such a cute kitty." jinx says in a silly little voice, shaking chicken a bit as she talks.

isha sticks her lower lip out in a pout and clasps her hands under her chin in a 'please' motion.

you hold your stern glare for as long as you can before sighing and rolling your eyes. both girls burst into cheers and giggles before you can even say anything.

"fine." you huff. isha darts forward to tackle your legs in a hug, and you stumble a bit before giggling and lifting the girl up into your arms, hugging her properly. jinx and chicken join you quickly after, chicken meowing in discomfort as she's squished in the family hug. "but you two gotta talk to sev. she doesn't like animals, y'know."

"like how she doesn't like me or like how she doesn't like broccoli?" jinx asks. you giggle.

"what're you all whispering about?" sevika asks.

this time, all three of you jump and turn around to guiltily face your wife.

"mrow." chicken greets from jinx's arms. sevika's eyes widen.

"what the fuck is that?!"

isha steps forward. a cat. duh. she signs. you bite your lip to keep from laughing. jinx cackles. sevika flicks isha's cap.

"sevika, this is chicken, the newest member of our fucked up little family."

sevika blinks rapidly, and you watch in amusement as she tries to process the situation. "fuckin' ugly cat-- i don't--" suddenly, tears well up in sevika's eyes.

your stomach sinks, and you dart forward, reaching up to cup sevika's face. "what's wr--"

sevika cuts you off by collapsing against you, burying her face against your neck as she cries.

isha's big golden eyes stare up at the pair of you, shock on her face for a moment, before she just darts forward and hugs sevika's legs, nuzzling against her thigh.

jinx stands there awkwardly for a moment, chicken still in her hands. isha grunts and waves her hand for jinx to join you, and jinx sighs, rolling her eyes before moving chicken to one arm and half-heartedly wrapping her free arm around sevika's shoulders.

"fuck, fuck, sorry." sevika cries against you, sniffling and wiping her snot and tears on your shirt sleeve. you just rub her back as she collects herself. "sorry." she says again.

"'s okay." you whisper.

"...so does this mean chicken can't stay?" jinx asks. sevika lets out a shaky breath.

"why the fuck are you callin' that poor thing chicken?"

"'cause her belly looks like boiled chicken!" jinx says proudly, hauling chicken up into sevika's face. sevika just snorts.

"she's staying in your room. if i ever have to clean a single fucking cat turd, i'm puttin' it back out on the streets." sevika relents.

jinx and isha burst into squeals, both quickly darting forward to hug her, jinx even pressing a kiss to her cheek, before they dart off with chicken in tow to go check out their new bedroom set up.

you can hear the excited gasps as they enter their new place-- you haven't seen it yet but you're certain sevika went all out for her kids. you kiss her scalp, still holding her in the living room as jinx and isha start giving chicken the grand tour of their bedroom.

"you okay?" you ask.

sevika sighs and shakes her head. "these fucking kids are making me fucking soft." she groans miserably. you cackle.

"it's adorable, babe."

"it's-- it's fucking annoying! jinx called us a family and i just-- fuckin' burst into tears?! what the fuck?" she squawks. you laugh, kissing her tears up from her cheeks.

"they're happy tears, though, right?" you ask.

sevika huffs and nods. "who woulda thought i'd ever cry happy tears about being associated with jinx?" she asks.

you giggle and shrug. "i always had a feeling." you say.

sevika rolls her eyes, and then leans forward to kiss you.

[2cupids]

RYOMEN SUKUNA + FACEFUCKING

warnings. fem!reader, tiny bit of degradation, she plays with herself, cüm swallowing. mdni (17+).

“kuna, wait a min-!“

“shut up.”

he ignores your plead and yanks your body towards the edge of the bed, pulling you until your head is hanging over the side. your favorite lace camisole stands no chance against the monster as he rips the fabric in half to expose your bra.

he can sense the frown on your face and he scoffs, “what have i told you about doing all that pouting and shit? i’ll get you another one.”

his large hands move down to grope your breasts before he takes a step back, loosening the drawstring of his pants and letting them pool at his feet.

you watch his large cock spring free and your eyes roam over the thick veins adorning the underside. precum leaks from the fat tip as his dick twitches ever so slightly.

sukuna fists his cock as his eyes slowly rake over your lovely body. “you know the drill, slut. relax your throat… ‘m not letting any cum go to waste this time.”

he grins and lines the tip up to your lips and you open obediently. the moment your lips are parted, sukuna immediately shoves his thick cock down your throat and finds a steady rhythm of pushing his hips forward and back.

lewd, wet gagging sounds fill the quiet room as sukuna fucks your mouth, nearly pushing his entire length all the way into your mouth and down your throat. sukuna’s heavy balls occasionally hit your face from the force of his thrusts and he finds it funny.

the sheer girth of his cock alone is enough to show the outline of the bulge in your throat, which he takes note of. he watches your throat expand to accommodate his dick with each thrust and it’s a sight that would make any man drool.

“fuck.” sukuna growls above you, his eyes narrowing in pleasure.

tears roll down your face and your jaw is starting to ache. as uncomfortable as it’s getting, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s making you more turned on as each second passes. you love the way your man uses you to please himself.

you subtly spread your legs and your hand travels down your stomach to your core, slowly rubbing your clit in circles through your panties.

sukuna is too caught up in his own pleasure to notice you playing with yourself at first, but once he opens his eyes and sees you, he clenches his jaw in annoyance and knocks your hand away.

you sigh mentally and squeeze your legs together in hopes of some kind of relief. sukuna mumbles something underneath his breath before demanding you to open your legs again.

a satisfied moan erupts from your chest as two of his rough fingers show your throbbing clit some more attention as he plays with it.

it doesn’t take long for sukuna’s mind to return to what’s most important at the moment, and that’s his pleasure.

it was momentarily distasteful to see you trying to please yourself when he wants to be the one who does it, but right now that doesn’t matter. he could care less about how you feel.

so he pulls his hand away from your core and you quickly replace it with your own hand again.

the sight of you so beautifully laid out while you let him use you is sexy enough. pair that with watching you play with yourself, the way your tits bounce with each thrust and the prominent bulge in your throat as he fucks your warm, wet mouth is what really sends him over the edge.

sukuna holds your face in place as he fucks your mouth faster and harder. if a doctor were to take an x-ray of your throat, you’re certain your pharynx would be heavily bruised.

not that you care necessarily though.

sukuna’s breathing deepens and becomes labored as he towers above you. you can only catch a glimpse of his face, but the blissed out expression on his face has more blood rushing down to your pussy.

sukuna throws his head back and grunts, closing his eyes and stilling hips as his load shoots down your throat.

you try your best to swallow it all but it’s just so much and it keeps coming. you swallow as much as you can until you have to reach back and tap sukuna’s thigh so he’ll let you sit up so you won’t choke. you immediately raise up and swallow the rest before coughing as sukuna stands there and watches you with an amused expression.

“you humans.. so pathetic,” he taunts in a condescending tone before a deep chuckle erupts from his chest. “but at least you are good for a few things.”

he steps out of his sweats and lays down on the bed next to you, pulling you to sit on top of him.

“let’s see you ride me, sweetheart. i feel like watching you struggle to take me.” he puts one hand behind his head and a cocky, arrogant smile tugs at his lips.

he drags his other hand down the side of your body. “or maybe you’ll end up surprising me,” he begins.

he continues sliding his hand over your smooth skin agonizingly slow, but he completely catches you off guard when he smacks your pussy. “like showing me she’s trained to take more of me now.”

you gasp at the sting left from the wake of his smack while sukuna continues to look up at you before placing his other hand behind his head.

“but i doubt it.”

[moonchildreads]

don't you know what the night can do?

summary: you call for help in the middle of the night and eddie comes to your rescue

pairing: best friend!eddie x reader

tags/warnings: mdni. technically a college au? depression, abusive relationship (not eddie, he's a sweetie), talks of potential homelessness, no SA happens but eddie thinks it did for a second before it's cleared up (again, it does NOT happen, but since it could be triggering consider this your warning), hurt/comfort, happy ending!

wc: 2.8k

a/n: i was supposed to post this yesterday but upon rereading it i realised it was me trauma dumping so i rewrote a significant portion of this to make it into it's own thing. i hope it brings you as much comfort for you as it did for me, and if you are in a situation like reader is, please seek help. i believe in you and i am rooting for you 🖤

Now's the time when it's down to me and you Spread these wings, we'll be flying

It’s already late when the phone rings and he’s immediately shoving his feet into his sneakers, rushing out the door of his apartment and into his van. It’s even more late when he parks across the street and decides against waking your entire building up by ringing your doorbell. Hurriedly, he searches his glove box for that little spare key you gave him for emergencies - the one that has a big metal ring and a tiny plastic tab with your name on it. He lets himself in, the storm outside in the sky and inside your head getting worse and worse every second that ticks by.

Eddie finds you slumped against the small table where your phone rests, the receiver still in your hand, and he knows. He knows something terrible has happened and it doesn’t matter that he’s been anticipating it ever since you told him you’d begun dating that asshole classmate of yours because nothing could have prevented his heart from shattering the moment he sees you.

You’re a lifeless looking doll, devoid of any emotion and feeling. He’d fear you’re actually dead if he couldn’t see your chest rising and falling slowly.

“Sweetheart?” he says, lowering himself to where you’re sitting and trying not to spook you. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” you say, almost surprised when his eyes come into view. “You’re here.”

“Yeah, baby, of course I’m here,” he shuffles closer to you, but still doesn’t touch you.

Eddie swears he can still feel your arms around his neck sometimes, how your hands always used to find his, and how your legs would tangle on the couch all the time. You don’t like to be touched too much these days. He misses your warmth.

“Are you okay?” he repeats.

“Cold.”

“You’re cold? Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

“NO!”

Your voice rings loud in the quiet apartment, your eyes locking with his in a fiery yet terrified stare. What are you so afraid of? Eddie takes in your appearance and it’s clear that you’ve been crying, though he doesn’t really understand why. He peers into the hallway that leads to your bedroom, searching for answers though he finds none.

“I- I’m sorry… I made a mess,” you explain, deflating once more. “I was upset and the sheets, they… they’re not on the bed anymore.”

“That’s okay,” Eddie says. “We can put them back on.”

You afford him a movement that barely registers as a nod and he thinks he hasn’t seen duller eyes in his entire life, except for when he used to look into the mirror when he was younger. You shouldn’t feel like that, not if he can help it. He raises up onto his knees, still keeping his distance but signaling that it’s time to get up.

“It’s late, sweetheart. Come on, you need to get some sleep.”

“Can… can I get a hug first? Please?” you whisper, your face contorting into a pitiful sight.

Eddie doesn't say anything before he pulls you into a tight hug, his arms shielding you from anything and everything that might be trying to hurt you. He lets you bury yourself into him, lets you crawl underneath his skin and bones, become a part of his very soul and he holds you tighter whenever you exhale another heavy breath.

He waits and waits with his ass turning into ice on the harsh linoleum floor of your kitchenette area, and he doesn’t let go before you do because you once read to him that you should always hug kids until they let go first and he still hasn’t forgotten about it. A booming thunder shakes your windows and Eddie feels as though the storm has moved inside your home. You are no longer a kid, but right now you remind him too much of himself when he first went to live with Wayne, and so he keeps holding you until you pull away first.

"I really needed that, thank you," you smile up at him, but it doesn't reach your eyes. He takes it as a win anyways, because you haven’t smiled in a while and Eddie has always loved your smile.

"You can have as many hugs as you'd like, sweetheart. Why don't you go take a shower while I get your bed ready, huh? You can leave the door open if you want, I’ll be here."

You follow him into your hallway, eyes full of tears at his words. He might be the only person in the world that knows you better than you know yourself, and you don’t take that for granted. You take a hot shower and rub at your skin with your washcloth until it's raw and sensitive and cleansed, and when you come out wrapped in your fluffiest towel Eddie says nothing about the fact that when he walked into your bedroom, he could tell that you’d ripped your bed sheets off the mattress somewhere between a nervous fit and calling him in the middle of the night. There’s a new set, clean and smelling like your favorite fabric softener, and he’s laid out your most comfortable sleepwear at the end of your bed.

Eddie throws your used sheets into the washing machine and gets it started while you get changed, and when you're done you fish out a pair of his pajama pants and a shirt he left behind what feels like eons ago. He thanks you, almost surprised to see you have those clothes and it dawns on you that he doesn’t remember he gave them to you, because you haven't had one of the movie nights where he used to wear them in a while now. When you're both ready for bed, Eddie lifts your covers for you and tucks you in, laying next to you on top of the duvet.

"You can get in if you want," you say, and it's clear you want him to do it.

Eddie thinks he'll never be able to say no to you, so he gets in without you having to ask twice. You are quick to shift closer to him once he gets under the sheets and he takes the hint to put his arms around you, bringing your head to his shoulder and tangling his legs with yours. It’s been ages since he’s held you like this and he’s not going to start complaining about it now - not when you’re right back where you’ve always belonged.

"I have to move out by the end of the month," you mutter, starting to explain the night's events.

"That sucks. You’ve been house hunting yet?"

"No. I found out today and I was hoping Matt would help."

"And he didn't," Eddie says, knowingly.

"He didn't," you confirm. "I asked him to come over earlier because I was upset and he said he’d be here for dinner."

"You cooked?" he hums, petting the back of your head.

"Yeah. I made, uhm, lemon chicken? It wasn't very good."

You've always been a wonderful cook, at least in Eddie's eyes. You don't have a lot of recipes you can whip out from under your belt upon short notice, but the ones you do have are some of his favorites. The chocolate chip cookies he has to hide from Wayne, the chicken noodle soup you bring over when he’s sick, the banana pancakes that always went along with his scrambled eggs and bacon when he used to sleep over. You've never made lemon chicken for him, but you're good at following a cookbook so he thinks it mustn't have turned out inedible.

By now Eddie has learned that "it wasn't very good" means "Matt didn't like it". He doesn’t understand why that piece of shit is dating you if never likes anything you do. Hearing you repeat the things he says to make you feel bad makes your best friend want to dig through your fridge for the leftovers and eat them all just to prove to you that your boyfriend is wrong.

"I think I have to break up with Matt."

Your words make Eddie's head turn. Of all the things you could have said tonight, this was not something he ever imagined. He could have sworn you'd date Matt until he'd decided he'd had enough of you, or you'd marry him and he'd have to sit in the front row watching that fucking guy sap you of your life force for the rest of your days.

Eddie is haunted by the sound of your vacant voice when you'd asked him to come over. At the forefront of his mind he can see it all in loose pieces: the disarray in your bedroom, your obsession with being clean, Matt not being here after you said he’d come over earlier for dinner. He waits for you to paint a clear picture, hoping he won't have to break your boyfriend's nose (or worse) when he sees him around.

"Did he hurt you?" Eddie asks, heart sinking.

"I don't think he likes me anymore," you say, breaking down. Eddie shifts closer and holds you while you shiver. "He, um… he said I can't live with him if I can't find a place before I have to move out of here. A-and when I got upset because I don't want to be fucking homeless during my last semester, he- he tried to distract me with sex."

"What the fuck."

"I t-think he only came o-over ‘cause he wan- he wanted to get laid," you admit between hiccups. "And when he- he couldn't g-get it, he just left.”

"Sweetheart, fuck, I'm so sorry. He's such a fucking asshole," he lets you sob into his arms, the tears coming out of your tired eyes rivalring the downpour outside hitting your windows.

“He- he wouldn’t even hug me. I was crying and he just stood there! He doesn’t care about me being homeless, he- he doesn’t care about me at all!”

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he says gently, and you want to believe he’s telling the truth but you don’t. You can’t.

“It’s not. It’s not okay,” you try to move away but he follows you, heart chasing after yours.

"What do you mean, baby?" he brushes a tear away from your face as you both sit up.

“I- I don’t know what’s wrong and I’m just… there’s nothing in here,” you say through your teeth while you grab at your shirt frantically, scaring him with the rough motion. "I feel so empty and I think- I know there's something really wrong with me, Eddie. Something has to be wrong. I’m not normal.”

"Hey, no, no, there's nothing wrong with you," he pulls you into him once more, not letting you run away from him again. "Sweetheart, I promise you, you're- you're not empty, what are you even saying? You're full - you're so full. You're full of love, a-and kindness, and if that son of a bitch is making you feel like you're not full then, I don’t know, dump his ass! He's mean and pathetic, please don't- don't break yourself into a million pieces for someone who doesn't deserve you."

"I don't feel full, Ed."

"That’s okay, we can work on it," Eddie says, confidently. "And I’m not gonna let you be homeless, I swear. You can move in with me until you feel ready to start house hunting!"

"What if I never feel better?"

"Then we’ll live together forever,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and you know he means it.

"Ed-"

"Babe. I'm serious. One hundred percent. You can even have my bedroom, I don't care."

"And where are you gonna sleep, huh? Don't be stupid."

"Wayne slept in the living room for like a decade and he's still kicking, I'll survive."

You turn in his arms so you can look at him. Eddie looks back at you with his warm eyes and mischievous smile firmly planted on his face. He’s so special to you. And luckily for him, you've never been able to say no to him either.

"When is your lease over?" you ask, wiping your tears and feeling suddenly determined.

"Uh, after you graduate I think?"

"I’ll move in with you but don't renew it. Let's find a new place."

"Yeah?" Eddie grins. "You wanna be roommates? For real?"

"I think- I think it could be good for me," you raise your hands and squish his cheeks. I think you could be good for me. "I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you."

"Me too," he says, gaze softening.

He knows it's not your fault Matt has taken over your life, not when he's conditioned you for the past year to depend on him for everything. Eddie also knows he himself has been the source of many of your fights, and while it hurts to see you cry every time Matt gives you the silent treatment until you apologize for something you didn't do, your adamant refusal to cut your best friend off your life makes him incredibly proud of you.

As much as you've stood up for Eddie throughout your lives, you've never been good at standing up for yourself. He thinks it’s time he starts standing up for you too.

"You, um," Eddie starts, grabbing your wrists to pull your hands away from his cheeks and onto his lap. "You really are gonna break up with him though, right? Because I don't think I can pretend like everything's cool with the guy when he keeps hurting you like this."

"No, I know. I can't keep going like this anymore. There's... there's so much stuff you don't even know, Ed. Sometimes he really scares me," you confess.

"He hasn't, like… hit you or anything, right?" his throat constricts.

"No, but he says things... weird things. He's so mean sometimes,” you huff, finally getting rightfully angry. “He got mad for no reason the other day and said that the only time he felt I loved him was when he got sick and I stayed with him during Spring Break. I spent an entire week taking care of him and then when he gave me the fucking plague, because of course I got it from him, Robin had to take care of me because he was sooo busy."

"He's such a goddamn loser, he totally held you hostage ‘cause you had plans that didn’t involve him for once. I knew he had a problem with us going to Steve's cabin, he’s never liked any of us!”

"Also he says I humiliate him in class because I think I'm smarter than him. Like it’s my fault his grades suck.”

"You are, though," Eddie says, grinning.

“Huh?”

"You are smarter than him. You have always been the smartest of us all."

"No, I’m not,” you scoff. “Nancy was valedictorian."

"Be real, you didn't want that shit anyway."

"No, I really didn't," you giggle softly. "I was too busy running around town with you and Jonathan.”

“Those were the good days,” he snorts. “We totally made Hopper age in dog years.”

After the laughter ends, you two look at each other and know that something has changed tonight. Something that was slowly veering off track got violently course-corrected, and you let yourself feel hopeful for the first time in a very long time.

You’ll go to sleep in Eddie’s arms and wake up to the smell of him frying bacon. You’ll whip your banana pancakes from thin air and you’ll start deciding together what you want to sell, what you’ll put in storage and what you’ll take with you once you move out of your place. You’ll talk about your finals coming up and Eddie’s new job, and he’ll do the dishes while you call Nancy, who’ll call Jonathan, who’ll shake Argyle up, who’ll call Eden, who’ll call and wake up Robin, who’ll yell at a sleepy Steve to get up, who’ll then call you to ask when they should be coming to help you lug all your stuff into Eddie’s van.

And Matt won’t call all weekend, because he doesn’t care about you, but you will never know that because you’ll be getting drunk at Robin and Steve’s while Eden tells you about a two bedroom apartment that a classmate of hers is vacating after graduation, and everyone else will make bets on how long it’s going to take for you and Eddie to notice that you won’t actually need two bedrooms.

But for now, with eyes that hurt from crying and limbs that feel heavy with a tiredness you’ve been carrying for months, you feel a little less empty because you know that no matter what the future holds, you’ll always have Eddie by your side.

thank you for reading!

[nuggeteri]

See the problem with this one is you let me choose and i'm bad at decisions. Give me 3 seconds to decide and i'll be here....

Oh! I know! I've been meaning to talk about this. Here's a little Mumscott (fairly platonic) LAST LIFE drabble :)

-

"I've got the SKULL--" Scott hears Martyn yell at his teammates-- The one who had been invading his basement for an undesired amount of time, now. He takes a sharp turn to look at the bloody Southlanders before starting to yell-- His words mixing with Jimmy's and Martyn's. They break through the exit and Scott tries to burn them and they place water and it's... A mess.

"Guys?! Guys! I'm still here!" A nervous, high voice screams down the stairs and Scott just thinks about how this turned tables.

"Looks like they're gone. We're holding you hostage." He says-- And it's kind of a bait, to see if they're in hearing distance, and they're not... Which is, to say, too bad for Mumbo. And really, there's only one person that can be helped here, and it's the lady screaming down the stairs-- "Who flooded our place?!" Pearl screams and Scott has to keep a giggle to himself.

"The Southlanders. They took our skull, I took their Mumbo." He says, grabbing the man who was trailing behind him by the wrist. Pearl raises an eyebrow, smirks, and says, "Well. That's too bad, now, I guess. We're not giving you back." Scott nods in agreement.

"Meanwhile, why don't you got in this chair?" Scott proposes as he grabs the chair in the corner-- Why do they have a chair in the corner--- He doesn't want to know what Pearl does in her spare time--- While his teammate shoves Mumbo on it. "Well, that's not nice, is it? You're putting me in a chair!"

"Too bad." Pearl teases in a sing-song voice, "It's not even a nice chair. Do you have pens?"

...Well. Scott can't say he expected to be painting chairs anytime soon.

(They ended up with a rather rainbow colored chair in the end. Impulse broke through their wall-- again--- to take Mumbo back. Scott wasn't gonna let them go without getting his skull back, and, of course, kissing Mumbo.)

-

Here it is! Honestly, with mumscott getting so much more popular in the past few months, I'm surprised this clip wasn't talked about more. You can find it at around 11 minutes in Scott's Last Life episode 4!

Reminder that @deityoftherain will write a fic for the winning ship! Have fun propagandaing!

[hyuuukais]

⋆₊‧⁺˖⋆˚.⋆ ͙͘͡★ LOOK UP TO THE STARS

pairing ▪︎ han jisung x fem reader

synopsis ▪︎ sent out on a mission to a neighbouring QZ that's gone radio silent, y/n falls into the hands of a post-rebellion group after things go terribly wrong. giving up on rejoining her squad, she joins the group on a trek to find a missing member, the group leader's sister. what's supposed to be a not-so-simple trip out and back to their base becomes a one-way ticket to the end of everything they know.

warnings ▪︎ general, cannibalism kind of, reader gets beaten up roughly, generally a pretty heavy chapter overall 🥲

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

CHAPTER SIX ▪︎EAT OR BE EATEN (8.3k)

"You think they'll put up a good fight? One satisfying enough?" The woman asks, her silver hair shining in the moonlight. "Last few we found were pretty disappointing."

"Eh, I'm sure they'll be good enough," The man shrugs, glancing at you in the rearview mirror. You quickly shut your eyes fully so he thinks you're still knocked out. "Besides, even if they don't last long at least we won't have to worry about feeding people for a while longer."

"I guess," She sighs. "Kinda wish we got that pretty boy you were talking about."

"This one's alright."

You hear her snort and feel a bit offended for Han; he's way more than 'alright'. Who said that? A blush creeps up your neck at the sudden question of Han's attractiveness, so you push it out of your mind.

The van jerks and comes to a sudden stop, the man clearing his throat roughly as he steps out, and you dare to open an eye. In front of you is a kind of side-of-the-road type diner crawling with people. Although the building is in rough shape, you can almost picture how it must have looked pre-apocalypse with people stopping from all over for a quick bite to eat. Your mouth waters at the thought of all the types of fried foods they likely had, not having realized how long it had been since you ate last, and your stomach growled. Han looks over at you, no longer pretending to be out cold, and you spot where he was hit in the eyebrow. The skin is split from just under his brow bone to just above the short hairs. Without much medical attention, it'll scar noticeably for sure. Dried blood covers most of his eyelid and under his eye, coming to a stop just short of his mouth.

Han is pulled out of the van before you, a pair of hands reaching in and yanking him by the collar. He stumbles, falling into the gravel driveway at someone's feet. While you're distracted, another pair of hands come for you the same way, but you're somehow able to stay upright. Balance is one of your stronger suits, along with your excellent aim that leads to a swift and accurate kick behind you, landing right between the man's legs. You smirk as you hear him grunt, but it drops from your face when you're met with another rough pair of hands pushing you against the van, hot breath on your neck and body covering your own.

"Wanna try that again?" Silence. "Didn't think so."

In your peripheral vision, you can see Han being led to the diner, but he's fighting the woman holding him and keeps trying to look in your direction. The way she's got him makes this difficult, but he keeps trying and you can hear him call out your name with a slight edge to it. You think back to when you first left town, sitting in the back of the truck and watching Han silently panic on the far end. You remember trying to distract him and the way you comforted each other. All you can see from here is his struggle, but you're sure he's experiencing something very similar now.

"Let me calm him down!" You plead, desperate. "Please, I know I can and we'll both be much more compliant after, okay?"

You feel the grip on you loosen, letting you fall to your knees. He signals for the woman to bring him over and she obliges reluctantly, shoving him in front of you. Having your hands bound makes it difficult for you, knowing that if you could just touch him, remind him he's real, it would be so much easier. But you can't, so words will have to do.

"Han?" You try. He's looking at you, but his eyes are unfocused. "Jisung?"

This seems to bring him back, eyes snapping to yours. "Y/n."

"Listen to me." You talk low. "We are going to get out of this. Even if they separate us, I'll find my way back to you. Don't lose hope, okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." Han takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. "We'll be okay."

You're about to say something else when a crackling noise comes from his back pocket- the walkie-talkie. How is it even working this far out?

"Crrk-- Han? You there? Over." It sounds, barely audible.

"What's this?" The man walks away from you and behind Han, reaching into the pocket and bringing out the device.

"Crrk-- Han? It's Seungmin. Did you find Y/n yet? You've been gone for hours, we're starting to get really worried, but you didn't hear that from me. Over --crrk."

"Seungmin?" The man speaks into the device.

"Who is this? And say 'over' when you're done, asshat --crrk."

"Who I am isn't important, but who I've got might be... to you." Even with his back facing you, you can still picture the smirk on his face as he speaks. "Over."

"You can have them." It's a new voice that takes you a moment to place- Hyunjin. Dread pools in your belly. "Crrk-- we don't --crrk-- anyway. Do what you --crrk-- want. Over."

"Sounds like your end is dying, too bad. Not for me, I was gonna destroy this thing anyway. Here's a sign your people are still alive before I cut the line." The man shoves the walkie-talkie in your face. "Talk."

Part of you doesn't want to and the other part straight up can't, voice stuck in your throat. Speaking would prove what he wants, leading the others to you if they're able to find out where you are. With both Seungmin and Jeongin's map skills combined, they'd be here in no time and it'd be all your fault when you watch each of them die one by one at the hands of these people. Why kill others when the infected are already doing it for you? You don't understand. In an act of defiance, which you'll surely later regret, you spit at his feet.

"You don't want to talk? Fine, have it your way. Niko?" The woman yanks your head back by your hair, pressing the tip of a blade to your throat. As he thumbs over the button, 'Niko' digs deeper, running it down from your jaw to your collarbone. She makes it down an inch or so before you cry out in pain. This is what they want, and the knife is taken away.

"Y/n?" It's Hyunjin again. "Y/n! You're okay- you scared the shit out of us and-"

His voice dies out with a crunch, bits of plastic ground up under the man's boot, the little bit of hope you had in the back of your throat dying with it. Not that you want them to find you, not here where the people are more dangerous than the zombies and where your small group would be severely outnumbered and overpowered. There's a tinge of guilt sitting inside you for that small part that did want to be found, wanting to be rescued and taken away from the horrors of this place so far.

With another pull of your hair, the dread is beginning to overflow. Stray hairs fly into your face as you're marched inside the diner. To the left are about five or six trailers parked with people lounging around, seemingly unaware of the apocalypse. They drink and they laugh and someone's barbequing- your stomach growls again at the smell.

"Hungry?" The man asks, but you don't answer, keeping your eyes ahead as you walk inside. "Don't worry, you'll be eating good soon. We feed our guests, need you strong."

Surprisingly gently, you're placed on a stool by the counter of the diner, two stools between you and Han. Glancing over, you catch his eye and don't let go until there's a plate in front of you with meat steaming fresh from the grill, a couple of small, chopped-up vegetable on the side. Your hands are unbound for you to eat, given a plastic fork and knife. Obviously, they don't trust you with anything else, but you're also so used to eating with your fingers that you forgot utensils were a thing in the first place, putting the piece of meat down and picking up the fork. The meat leaves a strange aftertaste in your throat, and your stomach turns as you swallow the last piece. Something isn't right, but you don't even want to ask.

"Put 'em away in the empty trailer. Tonight they can stay together under supervision before we start our fun in the morning." The woman's words worry you, but you don't think about them too long, drowsiness settling in.

God knows how long it's been since you last slept, too preoccupied with taking care of Chan after the hospital. Even when you weren't the one keeping watch, you were too on edge because of everything that happened with Hyunjin, tossing and turning for the hour you were supposed to be resting. The trailer they put you in is on the smaller side, counters bare and only one pull-out couch still folded into itself. Neither the man nor the woman who abducted you were watching over for the night, but another shorter woman with a large gun. She picks at her teeth with a wooden toothpick, leaning against the counter after pulling the couch out. She gestures you to step forward and you do, her hands quickly unbounding yours for the second time. Next, she unties Han and pushes both of you to the couch.

"Sleep." She says.

"But- it's kind of small..." Han's voice turns quiet, the woman glaring at him. "I mean, it's perfect. Um, Y/n? I can sleep on the floor if you want instead."

"No, no, don't." You shake your head. "I will."

"Both of you shut up and sleep on the bed," She snaps. "We need you ready for tomorrow."

"What exactly is happening tomorrow?" You ask, rubbing your wrists. They sting from where the rope sliced into the skin.

"No one told you?" Her eyebrows raise at your blank expressions. "You're going to be fighting in the arena."

"Arena?" Han tilts his head in confusion.

"With zombies. They really didn't tell you?" She scoffs, taking a seat on top of the counter. "Whatever, not my job to say anything, so just go to bed." With a smirk, she adds, "And maybe say a prayer."

Nothing else would have been less comforting to hear.

-

Sleep doesn't come easy, restless turning and maneuvering your body so as to not wake Han, if he was even asleep. His back is turned to you when your eyes settle on him, giving up on sleep entirely. The window above the pull-out couch is covered by blinds, but a piece is chipped and you can see into the starry night sky, fingers coming up to fiddle with your necklace. For the first time that night, Han stirs. Suddenly you're face to face with him, looking at each other with sad eyes.

"Can't sleep?" He whispers, barely audible to avoid being heard by the woman watching over you. You're sure she's stopped paying attention hours ago.

"No," You whisper back, turning fully on your side.

There's a lack of space between you, noses almost touching and breath mingling. Despite the apocalypse, Han still manages to have a tinge of mint in his breath, and you know it's from the mint leaves he collects in a tin. The scent is faded, probably from one he was chewing when he found you, but it brings a little comfort from before.

"C'mere," He stretches an arm out. "You look cold."

And you are, you realize, goosebumps prickling at your skin as you shuffle closer in the dark. His body is warm, enveloping you in a hug and burying your face into his neck. From here, you can hear and feel his heartbeat, the steady rhythm present in your cheek. You sigh, taking in this one normal moment between you two. Neither of you know what will happen in the morning, only that whatever it is, it's not going to be good. Hell, you might not live past the 'event'. As long as you can somehow get Han out of here, you don't think you care.

-

Morning comes quicker than expected, having managed to find sleep in Han's arms. Rough hands drag you from not-so-sweet dreams, tying your hands back up and leading you out toward the diner. Once again, you're separated from Han as he's led off in a different direction around the back of the building. You catch a glimpse when you're shoved through the diner doors, pushed behind the counter, and brought to the kitchen. Right before you enter the kitchen, you take a look through the back windows and spot what must be the arena; a wooden oval built by this group, or so you assume. There are bleachers with spectators already sitting on them, and you spot Han. The man who has him opens a door on one end of the oval, shoving him inside, and you can only hope he'll be okay.

The kitchen tiles are cold, and you're being bound to metal shelving closer to the back. You have no idea what's to come, but the man who brought you here comes into view, grabbing your face and bringing it up to meet his eyes. He says nothing, just moves your head from left to right, making a noise of approval. With a pat to the cheek, he straightens his back and stretches, cracks loud in the otherwise silent room.

"You ever wonder what it's like to turn? To lose control of your body and senses, lose sense of yourself in every meaning?" He kneels to eye level with you. "Because you're about to find out once your little friend is done in there. Unless you want to join us?"

"And why would I do that?" You spit.

"We know how to be immune." He says, voice shallow. Your eyes widen; there's no way to become immune, you know that. "Ah, you don't believe me? Well, you see here, there was a time me and my crew weren't as big, as powerful. We became desperate, and you know what they say." He lifts his hands in air quotations. "'Desperate times call for desperate measures'. It's true, but then we discovered something huge."

"Are you going to tell me what it is, or are you going to sit here and spew bullshit about how amazing you are?" You roll your eyes.

His eyes narrow at your words. "Feisty."

"Whatever." You mumble.

"The trick is to eat or be eaten." He says, standing back to his full height. "It's like building an immunity to an allergy. Eat enough of it, it'll stop affecting you." He starts to walk away, pausing at the swinging door with a look over his shoulder. "Makes you wonder what you've eaten."

About an hour or so later, Han is harshly thrown into your sight line. There's a new rip in the shoulder of his light green t-shirt over his chest, and you catch a glimpse of the shallow wound underneath, no doubt from the zombies the woman mentioned to you. Before you can say anything to him, you're pulled away, everything happening too quickly. Fresh air hits you with a chill, although not from the temperature. Han didn't look too bad, only a little beat up, and he wasn't expected to make it out either, so the challenge must not be so hard? Right?

As you circle to the side of the arena with the door for challengers, you notice other locked doors blending into the wooden sides. You're placed in complete darkness as the door is shut behind you, left to wonder what you'll face on the other side. It takes a few moments, but the door leading to the inside is lifted upward, sun burning your eyes temporarily. Holding a hand up to block the sudden light, you step out and people cheer loudly. You look up to see someone holding the door up from the bleachers by a long rope, noticing matching doors lined up the inner walls of the arena. There's no guessing what lies behind them, obviously the zombies as the grass field is clear of threats. Inside the arena is bigger than it looks from the outside, a wide stretch of patchy grass ahead of you. One door on the far end opens, and your suspicions are confirmed as a zombie comes tumbling out. It spots you instantly, darting toward you with a surprisingly quick pace.

No weapons, no backup- all you have are your fists. With a wide stance, you prepare to take it down, thinking back to fighting Seungmin on the mats. Sweat drips down your back; you were never as good as him in a fistfight. The infected rapidly approaches, but when it swings for you, the movement is sluggish and tired, a low groan emitting from the being.

"That all you got?" You dodge another attack, landing a kick in it's back and knocking it down.

Wrapping an arm around its neck, you pull back and hear it choke. The arms twist behind to grab you, but you step down on each limb, effectively straddling the infected. Too distracted by killing this one, you don't notice another zombie has been released behind you until the whiny moan that erupts from its throat signals its approach. At the last second you can be sure the one you're on is dead, you push yourself forward and somersault, creating room between you and the second one as it swings for you. It lands on top of the other body; this is too easy. Two are released at the same time now, easy enough to take down on your own. The problem is when the last four are brought out.

When you were alone taking down groups of three or four at the house, you had your knives to help you, but here? And, of course, they're the doors closest to you, taking even less time to reach you than the previous ones. The problem- you're getting tired. The rough night of sleep, the lack of food in your belly, the emotional drainage; it's all catching up to you now.

You run to the opposite side of the arena, testing the wood at the base. It doesn't break, ruining your plan to take the jagged piece and stick it through their skulls. Turning around, you're faced with two out of four hungry faces, eager to taste you. Taking the one on the left first, you circle around and let it come to you. It stumbles, limps, drool runs down its face. But you notice it hasn't moved its arms at all, not once since following you- they don't work. You knew paralyzation was possible with the zombie virus, you just had yet to see it in person. When it gets close enough, you grab the arms and use them as support as you kick up to its chest, successfully breaking the weak ribs and hollowing it out with your foot. The zombie falls to the ground; your foot still in its chest, and you take it out with a squelch. Reaching into the gooey blood, you pull a sharpened rib out.

The second and third are closer now, but you're more than prepared to take them on now. You grab another two broken ribs, hoping they're strong enough to pierce skin. The right one lurches forward with sudden force, but you're quicker and use the advantage of its awkward movements to drive one rib into the back of its neck- the crowd boos. The other takes a hold of your arm, but you pull away and out of its grip, leaving you with an angry, red scratch mark. Without much thought, you dig another rib into its eye.

As you're getting ready to kill the last one, a whistle blows over the crowd. You look around confused, wondering why the bleachers are being emptied. Someone comes out onto the field with a metal claw type thing, attempting to wrangle the last remaining infected. They've thoroughly pissed you off, so you decide it's time for a small taste of payback. Before the claw can wrap around the neck of the zombie, you run up and stick the last rib into the side of the throat. When it drops, you spot the guy with the claw's shoulders dropping with a heavy sigh.

-

"Tonight, we are celebrating our first ever champions of the arena!" The man who kidnapped you stands on the counter in the diner, holding up an unlabeled bottle containing a dark liquid. "No one has made it past that little event, but these two sure put up a fight. To- shit, what are your names again?" You open your mouth to answer, but he speaks again. "Ehh, who cares? To them!"

Everyone in the diner cheers, or almost everyone. Niko is in a booth in the corner staring daggers into his back as he steps down with some help from two others. He's walking over to your booth by the front door to hand you both a bottle, each matching his, and a hard hit on the back. Nearly choking on your drink, you put a hand against the table and swallow the bitter taste as he watches, giving him a weak smile and a thumbs up.

"That's homemade," He says, sticking his chest out with pride. "My own recipe, in fact. Listen, tonight you can stay in that same trailer, but we won't watch you. Of course, we have to take precautions and lock you in, but hey! A bit more privacy to do whatever you want!"

With a wink directed at Han, he leaves to sit at the table with Niko. You see her lean back and cross her arms as he approaches, huffing as he starts to talk. Their conversation is drowned out by the chatter happening around you; you're surprised no infected are swarming the place with how loud it is. Han takes a swig of his drink, making a face as he swallows, and you can't help but laugh.

"It's bad-" You say as he puts down the drink.

"It's really bad-" He agrees, sliding the bottle to the edge of the table.

There's a moment of normality between you, the absurd situation you're in running to the furthest corner of your brain as you share a laugh and a bad drink with someone whom you might dare to call a friend. No one bats an eye when you drop your bottle, only having a broom handed over by a gruff man who was previously sitting behind the counter serving people. After cleaning up the shards of broken glass, you decide maybe that's enough excitement for tonight when you stumble walking to the trash can sitting next to a broken jukebox on the wall opposite from you.

A hand comes up to hold you up as your own hits the wall, taking a second before moving away to see Han looking down at you. He's close, closer than you think you've ever been with him, and his hands are warm on your body. There's a small smile creeping onto your face that you can't hide when his arm wraps around your shoulders and guides you out into the chilly air. You didn't realize how cold it was getting recently, crisp air seizing your lungs for a brief moment. The trailers seem to get both closer and further away with each step, sounds of the diner becoming more muffled as you go. Once inside the trailer, you kick your boots off and flop onto the bed stomach first while Han clicks the door shut behind you. Old springs digging into your every body part has never felt so good.

You survived another day! Tomorrow feels light years away as you burrow your head into a limp pillow, sighing happily. Maybe this is what you needed- something to wake you back up from the defeat that's been consuming you, something to sharpen your brain and your instincts like training did. You can picture yourself here now, fighting more pet zombies if they'll let you, belly full with the never-ending supply of food they seem to have, thirst quenched by the homemade alcohol you're sure will kill you if you have too much. Here, you aren't a burden anymore. You're a champion, a warrior, someone to look up to and fear. No more worrying the others and having them think you'll get them all killed.

"I think I could get used to this." You talk into the night, forgetting about the man sitting by the foot of the bed.

Han looks over your weary body, hand hovering over your head as he debates moving the stray hairs away and examining your now near sleeping face. Pulling away, he places his hands in his lap. The scrape on his chest burns slightly, but the buzz of the drinks dulls the pain both physically and mentally.

"They're gonna make us fight again tomorrow," He says quietly.

You sit up, his words instantly sobering you up. "They are? How do you know that?"

"Niko told me after dragging my ass out of the arena. Didn't give any details though." Han takes his place next to you, stretching his sore body. "Don't die."

"You have so little faith in me." You scoff, but lie next to him with a smile on your face.

-

Morning arrives sooner than you would have liked, sunbeams shining through the cracks of the broken blinds above the pull-out couch you lie on next to Han. At some point during the night, your limbs became entangled in each other, one of his legs between yours, your own hugging his tightly. His arm is thrown across your shoulders, holding you against his chest, and your left hand is holding his wrist. You can feel the rise and fall of his breathing against your back, and for a moment it feels like everything is fine. What's the apocalypse when you have someone you trust holding you like he's scared you'll be gone when he opens his eyes?

When did you start trusting Han Jisung?

The moment of serenity is broken by Niko banging on the side of your trailer, entering with no warning, and dragging you both out of bed. You want to laugh at the way Han's hair is sticking up and the way his cheeks are puffed out in annoyance, but you know better than to do that in her presence. There's a chill in the air as you step out and walk toward the diner, goosebumps rising all over your skin. Winter is coming soon, and you hope you'll be somewhere warm when it hits full force.

"You, take him to the back. You know the drill." Niko hands Han off to the shorter woman who watched over you the night before and she nods, shoving Han through the doorway.

Niko leads you around to the arena and you see people are already starting to gather. Excitement is palpable, making you nervous to see what's in store today. Yesterday wasn't like this; there wasn't the same kind of anticipation, but today is something new. You assumed last night that people don't tend to live past the first round, a reason for the celebration, and now they have to be creative when trying to kill you.

The door shuts behind you loudly. You start giving yourself a bit of a pep talk, expecting to be met with a large group of zombies once the gate is lifted, but instead, you see a large wall. Standing up straighter, you notice there's a fork, you can head either left or right. You let a hand trail against the wall as you turn right, met with more twists and turns the deeper you go. You're in some kind of homemade labyrinth. After a few more turns, you stumble into a zombie, right into a zombie. It has you pinned against the ground and you're starting to understand how this round is going to go as you flip over and grip its neck. Something about this zombie is oddly familiar, and then the recognition hits you. He's someone you saw in the audience during the first round.

When you glanced up nearing the end to see people leave, you noticed one pair of people stay put. An older man with a boy younger than you, the boy's eyes wide with fear as he watched you rip the rib bones out of an infected. How many more rounds did these people set up after you and Han? And how many others survived? Considering they only celebrated you and Han, you're guessing the answer is none. Including the boy under you, now lying still as you pant above him. There's something tucked into his waistband glinting in the sun, revealed to you as you stand and his flannel is pushed off his side. A knife.

"Holy fuck!" You squeal, ripping it out of his pants.

It's a basic steak knife, but way better than having nothing, and you've always been better with weapons than with your bare hands, as proven by Seungmin time and time again on the training mats. An aching pang hits you as you reminisce, missing Seungmin more than you thought you did. There's been a whole day since you last saw or heard from him, longer than you've ever gone without him. You imagine he's doing much better than you right now, still having Jeongin and the others to keep him occupied. They must still be at the country house, Chan too wounded to move. Hyunjin's adrenaline has probably worn off by now, weary and in need of medication and care provided by your resident doctors. Or, in Felix's case, resident doctors in training.

Continuing on through the labyrinth, you slaughter more zombies you come across, groups varying in size. Some are alone like the first boy, and others are clustered in duos or trios. After what feels like forever, you collapse at the entrance of what looks to be the middle of the maze. Your mouth is dry, begging for water, and your stomach rumbles as you lean against the wall and wipe sweat from your forehead. It's been hours, you think, hours since they locked you in this maze to be tortured by infected, and by your own mind as well. Thinking of Seungmin unlocked all kinds of feelings you've been trying to shove away. Missing him, missing Minho, feelings of hurt and sadness from what Hyunjn said to you. Regret for not letting Seungmin bring you back and for causing Han to be caught up in all of this with you. You're fighting back tears as you crawl toward a podium in the centre of the circle you've entered.

The podium is simple, solid dark wood splintering along the edges with a key lying on top. You figure you're supposed to take this, tucking it into your pants pocket. Where the key goes, you'll find out. There are four exits out of the circle of grass you stand in, the one you're facing leading back to where you came from. You turn around, assuming this must be the way to go, but are stopped by zombies shuffling out. You're feeling weak, using the podium to keep you up as they come closer and closer. As one reaches you, you fling yourself to the side and let it hit the piece of wood, hard enough you hear a crack, and roll around to see a split in the side where the worse of the splintering is. A jagged piece comes out on an angle, stabbing the infected in the leg. The other four are approaching quickly, and you barely escape one about to pin you to the ground. Using the force of the roll to push up, you slip your knife into your hand and stab the closest one in the neck, blood spilling onto you and soaking the dark material of your t-shirt.

With one zombie seemingly stuck on the podium and another crawling around on the ground disoriented, you're at an advantage now. There are only two actively after you, you can take them down easily, but the ache in your stomach has you hesitant. You're close enough to the exit you want to run, but once you're through, you won't know where to go and they could easily catch up and surprise you. If you take out two now, you only risk the others following you if they can, and whatever else lies in the remaining corridors. Taking up your knife again, you decide killing two now will be more beneficial, even if your body is protesting every step you make. One lashes out, catching you in the arm, but it barely scrapes you and you're able to grab the arm and twist, breaking the bone. The zombie makes a strangled groan kind of noise as you yank it toward you, pulling the same move you did with the first one. This time, you back away before the majority of its blood showers you, the body dropping down to its knees and then to its stomach, a pool of red created in the grass. Chest heaving, you're about to face the other when it grabs your sides, and you only just grasp the back of its head by the hair before its head descends on your neck, muscles in your shoulder aching.

Nails dig into your side and you cry out in pain, feeling a warm, wet sensation wash down your body. Your knife falls out of your hand and you're starting to think this is it, you're going to die in this arena built by sadists, all watching as teeth get closer and closer to your most vulnerable spot. Trying to kick behind you, it only causes its mouth to get closer and soon enough you can feel them on your neck, waiting eagerly to be able to push down and take the perfect bite out of fresh meat.

By a stroke of luck, you manage to land a kick hard enough onto its knee to make it sink down, grip releasing your bleeding side. The hand previously holding the zombie's head flies down, pressing into the wound and limping closer to the exit without looking back. You hope the kick was enough to incapacitate it, not daring to delay another second of getting out of here. Without the steak knife, you feel naked, defenseless. Any infected you run into going forward will have the upper hand now that you're injured too, leaving the occasional bloody handprint on the wall as you wander through the twists and turns specially created for you. You're starting to lose hope of getting out when you see one of your handprints, taking the other corridor left instead of right like you did previously. The wall you hit is a dead end, but you can tell it's the arena wall instead of part of the maze. Using the hand not holding your blood in, you brush your fingers over the painted wood and feel a ridge in the otherwise smooth wall, about the size of a lock.

You bring out the key and match it up to the indent, pushing it in and turning. When you hear a click, you use the key to help open the door out. On the other side is Han, waiting to enter the maze.

-

Han returns hours later when the sun has already set, entering your trailer and leaning against the closed door. You're on the pull-out couch under a rough, worn blanket, trying not to move too much and cause your stitches to rip. After you'd gotten out, you were brought inside the diner to be assessed, Niko making quick work of your injury before sending you off with a paper plate of meat and rice. The paper plate sits abandoned on the counter by the door, only half of the food eaten. You were in too much pain to finish the meal.

Sliding down the door, Han puts his head in his hands, fingertips reaching past his hairline and rubbing his scalp. When his body starts shaking, first his shoulders, then the rest follow, you know he thinks you're already asleep as he lets himself break. You've never seen him so vulnerable, so weary, and it feels wrong to watch him cry and cry and cry. So you close your eyes, allowing the heaviness in your own chest to bring you to sleep.

When you wake, Han is tucked under a different holey blanket on the opposite side of the couch, his back facing you. As much as you want to reach out and comfort him, tell him everything will be okay, you don't want him to know you witnessed him in the flesh last night, and you don't want to lie to him either. You don't know that everything will be okay, you can't tell the future. Staring at his back, you want to reach out and trace a finger down his spine, rub circles into his shoulder blades, anything just to touch him. Maybe you're deprived, maybe you're starting to like him.

Late morning is when they take you back to the arena, but they don't separate you from Han this time. He gives you one last look over his shoulder as they lead him to the other side, and you can't help but wonder what they're going to make you do today. You weren't celebrated again last night, feeling the growing impatience within the group about how you and Han keep winning the challenges they've thrown at you despite the odds. Are they going to make you fight each other? Finally force one of you to die? Or will this be an execution of sorts?

"What's on the menu today?" You try a light tone, giving the man behind you a small smirk.

"You are." And you're hit by something hard, effectively knocking you out.

-

You come to with blurry vision, the side of your head pounding from the force of whatever he hit you with. Blinking, your vision returns slowly and you spot Han on the other side, not too far from where you sit- fuck. You're chained to a metal post, handcuffs rubbing at the skin on your wrists that have only just recovered from your trip to the hospital. Han is in the same situation, but he hasn't regained consciousness yet. There's a drip of blood going down his cheek, nothing too major, but the wound on his eyebrow from his rescue attempt has opened back up. In between you are two zombies, each with collars around their necks connecting to a chain held by someone behind them. At first, you're unsure why they aren't trying to feast on the ones closer to them, why they're so focused on you and Han specifically, then you notice the blood and guts drenching the two people holding the infected back.

Smart, I guess, you think. They can't smell the difference between you and themselves.

The chains loosen ever so slightly, causing the zombie to get closer to you. Upon further examination, you can see a key dangling around its neck; it has to be for the handcuffs you're wearing. The chains around your ankles are looser, and you try to kick them off as the zombie continues to slowly be released. At this point, Han has woken up and seems to be struggling with unbounding his wrists, but you already knew that was a lost cause from how tightly the cuffs are digging into you. After more struggling, you figure out how they've encased your legs, realizing they didn't tie anything down, only wrapping them around several times. You can see the loose ends hanging down if you lift your legs. If only you could just...

"There!" You kick the chains off, the space between you and the zombie smaller than ever. "Han! Go for the-"

"No helping!" One of the guys in the middle bark at you.

Rolling your eyes, you lift your legs and make eye contact with Han. He seems to understand, frantically trying to wriggle his legs free. You're not sure there's enough time for him to get them untied before his zombie gets to him, less space between them than you and your own personal zombie. You wait patiently for it to get closer to execute your plan, the crowd starting to boo, thinking you've given up. You haven't, but they don't need to know that. Once close enough, you twist your legs around it, kicking it as it falls, and sitting up flat against the pole that holds you to avoid its head falling near any body parts. It lands near your feet, exactly where you want it, and you place a foot on either side of its head and- crunch. Break its neck. Using the lower half of your body, you bring it up and lean forward as much as you can. It's difficult, and the pull on your wrists hurts like hell, already feeling the new slices deepening with every centimetre. Sweat runs down your nose in the hot sun, dripping down onto the body between your legs as you use your teeth to bite down on the necklace holding your key, ripping it off with every bit of force you can muster.

Now, the even more difficult part. If you fuck up throwing this behind your shoulder, it's over, for you and Han. Looking up for a brief moment, you can see he's gotten his feet and legs loose, but his zombie is gaining on him, mouth snapping at him as he backs up.

"Come on, Y/n," You mumble, mouth full with the necklace. "Do this right. Don't mess anything else up for once."

A leap of faith, a stroke of luck, a well-directed toss, whatever, the key lands right beside your hands when you sit back, taking only a second to be blinded by pain, forcing yourself to feel for the metal. Once you've grabbed it with bloody fingers, you bend your hand almost unnaturally to unlock yourself. A rush tingles your hands and fingers, curling them in and out to regain any lost feeling before standing on shaky legs. Han is holding his zombie back with his legs on its chest, kicking outward, and it slips on the grass. As you jog over, he starts kicking its head as it continues to crawl toward him.

"Oh no you don't!" You shout, giving a swift kick to the head of the zombie, and it rolls onto its back.

Someone is yelling, but you're too focused on Han to notice. He's breathing heavily, obviously tired from holding his legs up for so long. You manage to get the key into the lock before you're yanked back by the neck of your t-shirt, Han doing the rest and pushing whoever grabbed you away in seconds. This earns him a punch to the jaw and he falls, hand holding his face. You turn around to see one of the guys covered in guts, and he looks angry.

"What was the one thing I said, bitch?" He grabs you by the neck, but not too tightly and you grin.

"I don't know, bitch, couldn't really hear over the zombie trying to eat me." You say, not thinking.

Oh, you've done it now. His grip on your neck gets tighter, constricting your breathing to nearly nothing, but lets go as his eyes focus on something behind you.

"No hurting the contestants unless I say so." The man, who you still don't know the name of, places a hand on his shoulder. "That is... unless you want a spot in the show?"

"N-no, sir," He stutters, shaking his head.

You rub your neck with one hand, kneeling next to Han who's still half on the ground. Reaching up, you pull his hand away and check his jaw. There's a bruise forming already as you gently thumb over the mark, making eye contact with him as you do. Your breathing hitches, thumb stopping and heart racing.

"Little lady." A hand comes to grab you under the arm, bringing you back to a standing position. You're getting real sick of that nickname. "Come with me." He leads you to the end with the exit, face close to your ear. "You heard the man, you weren't supposed to help your boy. Do you know what we do to rule breakers here?"

"No," You whisper, unsure if you want to hear the answer.

"First, we make sure you understand what you did wrong," He chuckles, and a feeling of unease settles in your stomach. "Then, you get to meet our undead friends." He pushes you through the doors of the diner, bringing you to a small room you haven't seen with a barren desk and broken chair. "Last is the best part." He lets go of you harshly, sending you into the desk with a cough. "Then, we eat you. Now, allow me to start the process."

Before you can register, he's landing a hard kick with the heel of his boot straight into your nose, effectively breaking it and causing your head to hit back against the wood you're sitting against. Immediately, your vision blurs, and the taste of copper fills your mouth, and the scent, your nose. He picks you up by the throat, slamming you face down against the top of the desk and you feel the bottom of your shirt lift. A cold, metal blade traces what's exposed of your spine, as if choosing the perfect spot to stab you. It trails to the side and digs in slowly, agonizingly, but you're thankful he chose somewhere non-lethal. You're not at the stage of getting killed yet, only tortured. Not that that's good either, but hey, you still have a chance of getting out of this. The blade is all the way in now, and he pulls it out just as slowly. Once it's out, you take the opportunity to flip over and push away from the desk, forehead making contact with his own.

With a groan, he stumbles back and rubs his forehead. "You little shit. I'm gonna-"

He cuts himself off, head snapping toward the door behind him and the noise behind it. There's shouting, gunfire, you name it. He makes his way to the door, pausing and walking back to you before stepping out.

"We're not done here." He shoves you onto the ground again, landing a swift kick to your ribs and you feel something crack. "Got it?"

When you don't answer, he kicks you again, this time under the chin. "I asked you a question."

"G...got it." You cough out.

He scoffs, giving you a dirty look as he leaves the room. Everything is fading for you, the sounds of chaos, the taste of your own blood in your mouth. A trembling hand comes up to touch the charm on your necklace lying under your shirt, eyes fluttering shut. You know you shouldn't give in to the feeling of oncoming sleep, but it would be so very peaceful.

A door opens in the distance hard enough to hit the wall. Next thing you feel are hands on your body, on your face. Hands that shake you awake and bring you into someone's lap. Someone who wipes the blood from your face despite the fact it won't stop anytime soon, someone who picks you up bridal style and whispers; I've got you.

All is going well until Han is tackled outside the diner, and you roll away from the two fighting bodies. Your eyes are open slightly, watching Han get punched by the same man who was going to kill you, but he's stronger than you were in the moment and flips their positions. Han still has no weapon, so you watch as he uses his fists to repeatedly hit the man until he's no longer moving. Even then, he doesn't stop, and that's when you notice the tears streaming down his face. Arms reach out and pull Han away, holding him close as his hands are held in front of him, blood running down from the knuckle, a mixture of his own and from the body he's straddling. A flash of blond hair and you can tell it's Felix holding him, comforting him in the midst of fighting around you. It's hard to make out who everyone is, but you vaguely see Seungmin using his new baseball bat to beat anyone who comes near you three, and Chaeryeong must be shooting from somewhere behind you because bodies are dropping like it's nobody's business. They all found you. They all came to rescue you.

One hand touches your cheek, turning you to face the owner and you lock eyes with Hyunjin. You can't speak, but you give him a weak smile. The moment doesn't last long as Hyunjin is gently pushed away and you're being carried again. This time, you can look up at Han and admire the determination on his face as he lies you down in the backseat of the pickup truck, closing the door and circling around to sit on the other side with your head in his lap. You can kind of feel the car start, but mostly, you're focused on Han's warm fingers brushing through the loose parts of your hair.

You might die in this truck, but at least you'll die in the lap of someone you care for, and who cares for you. You won't die alone like you thought you would in that room, at the hands of that vicious man. You're bleeding out onto the seat, but you can't find it in you to care anymore. You just want it all to be over.

---

notes ▪︎ i forgor how heavy this chapter was

─── taglist : @chaeryred @toplinelix @channie-143 @staysinbloom @manuosorioh @hanjisunglover @xxstrayland @puppyminnnie @hanjsquokka @kpopsstuffs @ot8girlfie @quokkabite @linoslawayslinos @reapers-lover @hannieslittlerockstar @kiki0113 @nishiriks @nxtt2-u @moonlightjam @hannieslovebot @minmininnie

green means i can't tag you

[chucklee118]

I don't have the words (to tell you what you mean to me)

Summary: Momo's life has been action packed and often pretty scary for months. She thought she had her three most terrifying moments solidly ranked in her mind.

Watching Okarun crumple and fall like a soaked sandbag after taking a hit to the head-one that'd been meant for her-makes her reevaluate.

2878 words

Momo's leg bounces under her desk, teeth worrying at her bottom lip as she glares at the clock in the classroom. The teacher’s entire lesson just sounds like warbling to her; her brain marking everything in the world as a distraction save one.

Seeing Okarun as soon as school ended.

The further she gets into the school year and the more misadventures they rack up, the more she resents the fact that they’re in different classes.

The teacher hasn’t even reacted to the first chime for the end of the school day before Momo’s out of the room, skidding on the flat of her shoes to cut the sharpest turn possible and run down the hallway, her bag hanging as loose as an afterthought from her shoulder.

For all that screaming, running and fighting scary yokai and aliens had become a natural part of her day-to-day, the three most terrifying moments of her life had been set pretty solid in her mind: seeing Vamola get skewered by the globalists, her first meeting with the Serpos, and coming home to see Mr. Shrimp sitting over three people laid out and bloodied; and thinking that the one covered like a corpse had been Okarun.

She’d been forced to reevaluate after last weekend.

Because watching her best friend crumple and fall like a soaked sandbag after taking a hit to the head-a hit that’d been meant for her-and not move afterward had been even worse than finding out he’d been hurt when she wasn’t around to help him. It’d ripped something out of her soul, turned her blood to ice and crushed all the air from her lungs.

“OKARUN!”

She never wants to experience that feeling again.

After shoulder checking several startled students moving at far more leisurely paces, she catches the door jamb and yanks herself to a stop in front of his classroom.

There are other kids around his desk obstructing her view, but save the thick bandaging wrapped around his head, he’s not in any visible pain she can see. People who Momo bet wouldn't have talked to him before are asking questions about his head injury; Kinta’s just lapping up the attention by proxy, Vamola looks too stressed to be much help, and Okarun being Okarun, he’s too polite to tell them to piss off so he can rest.

“Hey.”

So, she does it for him; announcing herself to the room and walking in even while she’s catching her breath from the short sprint through the halls. He turns to her with a half-second delay compared to everyone else; a consequence of his concussion, probably.

She can see exact moment he recognizes her, though; those already-warm brown eyes turn impossibly warmer.

“Ayase-san.” He says softly.

Fuck, she loves him so damn much.

“C’mon,” she says, shoving past the onlookers to reach him and take his arm in a gentle grip. “Let's go.”

He immediately pushes his chair back to stand; a little too fast for his bruised brain, but she just tightens her hold on him to keep him steady so he can get his bag. She doesn’t let go even after the four of them have left the classroom, helping him navigate the crowded hallways.

“Takakura~!”

Aira and Jiji are waiting at the lockers by the front entrance; the former immediately gets a little too close to Okarun’s opposite arm.

“Don’t crowd him, skank.” Momo mutters without much heat or feeling behind it; as fun as riling up Aira is, she’s not really in the mood for it today.

The other girl ignores her in favor of simpering over Okarun. She must not be feeling up to it either.

“How ya holding up, buddy?” Jiji asks as they all walk out.

“I’m all right,” Okarun says. He readjusts his glasses. “It’s not as bad as”

“Don’t downplay it.” Momo cuts him off, with a bit more bite than she means to; still, she can’t stand him trying to brush this off, and she’s never been shy about letting people know when she’s irritated.

Okarun ducks his head a little, avoiding her eyes like he often does when he’s being scolded.

“Luckily it’s still Monday,” he says, changing the subject and nodding at Jiji. “I’ll rest as soon as I’m home so I’m ready for tomorrow.”

Momo tilts her head; it takes her a second to realize what he’s talking about. Tomorrow’s Tuesday. She clenches her jaw.

“If Evil Eye wants to fight you, he’ll go through me first,” she almost growls. She rounds on Okarun again, glaring. “And you’re not going home, mister; you’re coming with me!”

She can feel eyes drawing in on their group, her in particular; she may have been a little louder than she thought. She’s certain people will be talking about them again tomorrow, but she couldn’t give less of a shit about rumors right now.

Okarun’s more important.

—————

Okarun doesn’t put up much resistance to her insistence that he’s going to stay at her place. Momo might not know all the specifics of his home life, but the fact that it’s never even come up despite that he’s left the Ayase household in borrowed clothes, bruises and bandages multiple times just reinforces her belief that she can take better care of him than what he’d get at home.

That said. . .

“Uh, A-Ayase-san. . .”

He makes a little fuss after dinner, when Momo makes clear that he’s not shacking up in the guest room. Despite all they’ve been through, and the fact that he’s been here multiple times, he still hesitates a bit at the doorway to her bedroom. Normally, Momo finds it kind of endearing that he’s such a gentleman, but worry makes her impatient, and she’s not above bullying him a little until he complies, even if he’s hurt.

“Move it, dork,” she says, shoving him inside; he goes more easily than he usually would, but thankfully manages to keep his feet. She points around the room. “Sleep clothes are in my closet. You know where the bathroom is; red toothbrush is the spare. I’ll be right back.”

She walks back downstairs to give him time to change and get a couple water bottles from the kitchen. She vaguely remembers that hydration’s important in handling injuries, but she’s not sure that applies to blows to the head, let alone ones that have long stopped bleeding. Still, it can’t hurt to have them on hand in case Okarun wakes up thirsty.

She’s idling and trying to think of anything else he might need when her grandmother catches her.

“Hey, Momo. If you’re gonna put four-eyes in your bed, better not let me find out about it.”

She hears Turbo Granny gagging in another room.

“Don’t say shit like that just after I’ve eaten!”

Momo glares at them, stomping out of the kitchen toward the stairs and shouting as she goes.

“As if I’d do anything to a patient!”

She willfully ignores the heat blooming up from her neck.

Momo wants Okarun as close as possible because she’s concerned; her unreasonably massive crush on the guy is totally irrelevant!

Well. . . mostly irrelevant.

Fuck, now she’s thinking about it.

“Dammit, granny.” She mutters, standing in the hall outside her door.

“Ayase-san?”

Okarun’s voice, muffled on the other side of the door, calls to her. She shakes her head and wills her blush to go down.

“Yeah,” she says, one hand on the door. “You decent?”

“Y-yes!” He answers in that nervous way that she knows means he’s adjusting his glasses; not because he needs to, just to hide his face.

He looks. . . distractingly soft. He’s worn her clothes before, and she his a few times, but that’d been mostly out of necessity and in situations when other urgent stuff had been on her mind. Her oversized shirts don’t quite swallow him up like they used to when they first met, but it still gives him the sight-feel of someone she’d really enjoy cuddling.

And his natural curls are already pretty destructive on that front by themselves.

“Ayase-san?” He asks, pink dusting over his nose and cheeks from the fact she’s been staring at him for eight uninterrupted seconds.

Startled, she hucks the water bottles at him and stages a tactical retreat into the bathroom; with the excuse that she’s getting herself ready for bed, though mostly to keep herself from doing something stupid.

Like smooshing his face between her hands and gushing about how fucking cute he is.

“Dammit granny.” She mutters again.

—————

“What’re you doing?”

After changing, brushing, and internally debating whether or not she’d suffer through wearing a bra to bed–she trusts Okarun far too much to bother, which just means she’ll have to make sure she wakes up before he does–she steps out of the bathroom to find him still on the floor, a futon halfway unrolled.

He blinks at her.

“Preparing a futon. . . ?” He says, with an intonation that makes it sound like a question. “Am I not sleeping in here?”

“Yeah, not on the floor,” she says. “You’re in bed with me.”

She can hear the gears in his head stutter. His whole face erupts in red.

“Wh-wh-what?! Ayase-san, I can’t–that’s not–!”

“Not what, huh? You got a problem?”

“It’s not proper! I don’t–!”

“I don’t give a shit about proper! What, you don’t want to?”

“Why do you want me in your bed?!”

The argument, as sometimes happened with him, had emboldened Okarun; he never would’ve been able to ask that sort of question normally.

Momo snaps at him.

“Because I’m still mad at you!”

Okarun’s mouth opens, but no retort comes out. The tension in his shoulders deflate, and he’s left standing there blinking at her.

It’s not how Momo envisioned the night going, but it’s the truth. Between finishing the fight and making sure he was okay, and the wave of relief that followed, she never really got the chance to be upset.

But they’re alone now, and that lidded frustration is boiling over. She stomps over to her bed and hurls back the covers; folds her arms and glares at him.

“Bed.”

His eye flickers toward the mattress before falling back on her. He’s still reluctant; the state he’s in, she could easily wrangle him with her powers, but she really wants him to choose to join her.

She breathes a shaky sigh; forces herself to keep eye contact even as her toes curl.

“It’s not just cause I’m mad,” she says, going for honesty a little more naked than she’s used to. “I want you here. . . please.”

Her ears burn, but she holds her gaze steady. She doesn’t want him to misunderstand this as teasing or something he has to endure because she’s upset. Her Okarun has always been the first to apologize; at times, she thinks he’d apologize for his very existence if it meant he could keep his friends, if it meant he doesn’t have to go back to being lonely and ignored.

She needs this sweet boy to understand how much he matters to her, whether or not she’s angry with him.

Okarun ducks his head, shrinking in one himself a bit but shuffling over to her bed nonetheless. He gingerly sits on the edge, hands clenched over his shirt like he’s trying to avoid touching her bed as much as possible.

Momo can’t help rolling her eyes at his hangups; she puts her knee on the bed, such that her calf is pressing against his thigh. He nearly jumps back up; if not for her hand on his shoulder, he might have.

“C’mon, scooch.”

Finally, he puts his hands on the bed, pushing himself back to the side facing the wall; he looks up at her with wide eyes. A face Momo hopes reflects anxiety, if not anticipation, rather than wariness. She wants him to listen to her, not get scared or stressed out.

Momo leans forward and reaches a hand out to his face; slowly, giving him plenty of time to react or otherwise say no, she touches the frame of his glasses.

She feels his nervous breath on her wrist; she’s glad she typically wears long sleeves to bed that can hide her goosebumps. Gently, she lifts his glasses off his face.

She tilts her head, taking him in. He’s not any less handsome with the glasses on, but the novelty of seeing him without them is striking.

It occurs to her, then, how little they’ve talked today despite her all but cuffing him to her all afternoon and evening. Shit, she hopes the silence on his end isn’t related to his injury.

“You look different without your glasses,” she says, struck by an impulse to try reclaiming their usual rhythm. Okarun ducks his head again, and she quickly adds. “Not in a bad way.”

He peeks up at her through his lashes, a tiny smile on his face that threatens to push her into cardiac arrest. She tears her eyes away, carefully folding the arms of his glasses and stretching to place them on her bedside table and turn off the light.

“Lie down.” She says, tugging the covers out from under his feet and holding them up.

He slides onto his side, canting back until his head rests on her pillows. He immediately looks back at her again, as if waiting for a cue; lying too stiffly to possibly be comfortable. The moonlight peeking through her curtain reflects off the bandaging around his head, giving her slight illumination to see his face even in the dark.

His curls look even softer in the dim light, practically begging her to touch them.

So, she does, running her fingertips over Okarun’s forehead and carding them through his hair; careful that she doesn’t apply any pressure that might aggravate his injury.

“That was a bonehead stunt you pulled.” She says quietly but firmly.

She feels Okarun shiver as she lightly scratches his scalp.

“Is that why you’re angry?” He asks in a small voice.

She tugs on a bouncy lock in reply.

“You really scared me, dumbass.”

“. . . I’m sorry.”

Momo frowns. She knows he’s apologizing for scaring her, not for taking the hit. Because he’s Okarun, too kind for his own good.

She sighs.

“Does it still hurt?”

Okarun doesn’t answer right away; his eyes are already half-lidded, head sinking into her pillows.

“Not. . . at all.”

Whether or not he’s just saying what she wants to hear, he’s clearly more fatigued than he otherwise would be; his voice barely more than a whisper, humming a little when she brushes his bangs back from his forehead.

Momo stretches out beside him; she’d prefer to hug him, but he might actually implode if she does that and he needs the rest. She settles for finding his hand and taking it in hers under the covers.

She closes her eyes, tracing the lines of his palm with her nails and forming a mental picture. His hands are unexpectedly soft for the most part, but there are a few small, rough calluses developing on the pads of his fingers; a result of his strength training, one of several. She’s caught him performing on par, if not better than, most of the school’s runners when his class takes P.E. outside. And she’s not the only one who’s noticed.

Between Vamola’s transfer and his sudden athleticism, Okarun’s no longer the invisible otaku in school. Momo’s glad he isn’t being ignored, but annoyed that they’re only paying attention to such a great guy for such superficial reasons.

She knew how cool her Okarun is back when he didn’t have any stamina to speak of; even then, she trusted him to have her back.

The fact that some of the attention on him comes from girls also chafes at a less-than-pretty part of her that she doesn’t want to admit to, let alone examine.

Momo cracks her eyes open, peeking at Okarun’s sleeping face; listening to his breathing, feeling the slow and steady pulse in his wrist. She soaks in his presence, the tension she’s been holding since he got hurt finally settling.

are sitting on the tip of her tongue, threatening to spill over the next time she opens her mouth; it’s not the first time. The note she left with the curry had been the closest she’s gotten to saying them, but they’ve been there for a long time.

She won’t wake him up to say them; not after she just scolded him for being a reckless, self-sacrificing moron. She tamps them down, stemming her overflowing affection by lacing her fingers together with his; turning his hand up so his knuckles are facing her. His knuckles littered with small scars that he gathered in a short time, because he had to learn how to fight suddenly and quickly. Fight to survive; fight to save people.

Fight to protect her.

Momo brushes her lips over Okarun’s hand; the dark lending her courage, she murmurs into the warmth of his skin.

“Don’t get hurt for me, okay?”

She thinks, as she begins to drift off, that maybe she’ll greet him in the morning with those three words she’s been holding onto.

Imagining his reaction makes her smile.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

fall, with you: part four - thanksgiving

Joel Miller x gn! reader

main masterlist |mini-series masterlist | prev

words: 2.3k

summary: the new world may be hell, but you still have things to be thankful for.

warnings: pre- and post-outbreak, death, cordyceps, loss, grief, outbreak day, fluff weaponized for angst

note: anything in italics is either during or post outbreak. everything else is pre-outbreak. this story is not told chronologically and skips around a lot. i'm experimenting for fun.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Nate finds you exactly where he thought he would. In the kitchen of your new home, packing your backpack. 

“No,” he says bluntly. “Nope. Nuh-uh.”

You turn on your heel and stare at him. “It’s not up to you.”

“Was he abusive?” 

You’d fine back to packing and freeze to look up at him again. “No. God, no.”

“So what was it? Cheated? Ran over your dog?”

“No, it wasn’t anything. It’s none of your fucking business.”

“Oh, fuck you,” he spits, knocking your bag off the table. 

You sneer. It’s not the first time you’ve butted heads like this. Neither of you has a great trauma response, given the whole apocalypse thing. “I decide where we go,” you snarl. “You don’t.”

“Not this time. Not when we’re finally somewhere safe. Somewhere normal. I have never questioned you, I’ve never even complained. Just followed you across the goddamn country. But unless you have a good fucking reason, like he’s some psycho ex—“

“He was the love of my fucking life,” you snap.

“I mean it, sugar. I know it seems like I’m bein’ impulsive but I swear I got a ring waitin’ back home,” Joel said, thumb stroking your cheek as his hand cradled your face, thick fingers warm and gentle against it. “I ain’t ever been more serious. You’re the love of my fuckin’ life. Say yes, baby. Marry me.”

“What’ll Sarah say?” You blurt. 

He grins, crooked and fond. “See, that’s what I mean.” He kisses you, slow and tender, and you melt into it, almost forgetting why you’re sitting on the ground in tears to begin with. 

“Whaddya say, sugar? You gonna be mine? Gonna make us a family?”

As if you could say anything else. “Yeah, Joel,” you murmur, “I’ll marry you. Of course I will.” You wait a beat. “You really got a ring back home?”

“Sure do. Whole speech planned out ‘n shit, too. But I couldn’t fuckin’ wait anymore.”

You let out a shaky laugh, a crooked grin of your own. “Y’ain’t supposed to get me gifts on your birthday.”

He puts on a fake pout. “You’re my gift, baby,” he says, lip twitching as he fights the smirk. 

You shove him away playfully. “Gross. You old sap.”

He laughs, head tipped back. “What can I say? It’s all for you, sugar.” 

You’re horrified to find tears burning in the corner of your eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” you mutter. 

But he’s right. He’s right, he’s right, he’s right. You can’t drag him back out into the wilderness, to another failing QZ, to inevitable death. This is a town, a community, a home.

A chill is just starting to settle over Jackson, the hint of a frost in the early morn, when Tommy Miller turns up on your porch. 

You open the door after several beats of insistent knocking, and the man stands there in the flesh and blood, looking just the same but twenty years and a lifetime older. 

“Does my brother know you’re here?” he says, eyes as wide as the early November moon.

“Who’re you? Does my brother know you’re here?” 

You let out a strangled cry and spun around, sponge raised as if it would frighten the intruder. But you recognize him from the photos all around the house and relax, grimacing as soapy suds drip down your arm. “Nah, I like to break into houses and do the dishes,” you drawl. “You must be Tommy.” You introduce yourself and realization dawns on his face. 

You fumble for a towel to dry your hand before proffering it. He takes it and matches your firm handshake before scratching the back of his neck, looking sheepishly to the side in a mirror of his older brother.

You can’t say anything. Your mouth gapes open, but nothing comes out. It really is him. Not that you really doubted it, because the evidence was kind of indisputable, but there he is. The man that was to be your brother in law getting mud all over your porch. 

Finally, you just shake your head, stepping aside to let him in the house. 

He comes in and starts pacing, tracking clods around the living room. 

“Tommy Miller, you take your goddamn shoes off in my house,” you scold.

He freezes and looks up at you. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers, and suddenly you’re being smothered, stifled in the bulk of his jacket as he wraps his arms around you. “ Jesus Christ.”

Nate chooses that moment to clomp down the stairs like a herd of horses. “Is that him? Damn, he’s not your type at all.” 

You start to laugh. It sneaks up on you, silent at first, shoulders shaking, until it’s bubbling out of you. Maybe it’s a little hysterical, but you’re allowed, you think.

There’s a plan. Tommy insists. As much as you’d like to pretend you can avoid running into Joel, the fact is that this town is small and collaborative. You can’t avoid anyone. 

So. There’s a plan.

Tommy breaks the news to him gently at their weekly dinner. Ellie comes by later to swap comics with Nate and reports that Joel had stood up and left, bypassing his jacket and going straight out the door. No expression, no words, nothing. 

It could have been worse. You expect fully that he doesn’t want to see you, doesn’t want any reminders of before. Of Sarah. And truth be told, you’re not that thrilled to have been forcibly dragged down memory lane, either. 

But Tommy’s a persistent bastard, and so it happens anyway. He calls your name, flagging you down as you stand with your tray in the mess hall, looking for a seat. The man sitting across from him whips around, head turning so fast you can almost hear his neck crack. 

Where Tommy Miller has grown into the apocalypse with relative ease, the same cannot be said of his brother. Joel wears each year, each loss, each kill in the lines of his face, the cold of his eyes, the set of his jaw. You stare for a moment into the hazel eyes that used to crinkle with laugh lines, that used to darken with hunger in the deep night, that used to be your safe space. 

But there’s none of that now. The wrinkles on his face speak of more stress than a human body should reasonably endure. His eyes darken with something so anachronous to your Joel that you can’t even identify the feeling. And there’s no mistaking them for anything soft or safe. The lips that used to map every inch of your body are twisted in a scowl.

You don’t realize your hands are shaking until your drink spills, knocking you out of his thrall. Abandoning your tray on the nearest surface, you bolt. 

Born and raised in QZs, it became painfully apparent that Nate was terrified of animals. And seeing how that wasn’t really sustainable in a town like this, you’ve taken to slowly introducing him to the fluffier, nicer critters. But now it’s time. 

You’ve got to teach him to ride.

Horses are the worst. They’re big and tall and wrong , he says, like someone was trying to put them together and kept messing up but was too lazy to fix it. “And they know too much,” he adds, standing four feet away as you saddle up the gentlest mare in the stable. 

You snort. “The fuck does that mean?”

“Look at their eyes. Their cold, dead eyes. They know things. Secrets.” 

You roll your eyes. “Sure. They know secrets. My dad’s horse knew a secret,” you say with a conspiratorial grin. “He used to wait until my daddy turned his back and then he’d pick up his Coke between his big teeth and throw his head back.”

Nate stops in his fretting. “Your dad’s horse drank Coke?” 

“Yep. Little conniving sneak, he was. Absolute troublemaker. But Penny here ain’t gonna give you a lick of trouble.”

It’s not long before he’s comfortable in the saddle, if not thrilled about it. When you finally join him on horseback, you’re a little more nervous than you want to admit. It’s been twenty years, after all. 

But it feels familiar. “Just like riding a bike,” you mutter. 

“Maybe I’m not the expert since I’ve never been on a bike, but like logistically, this has to be very different,” Nate says. 

After your ride, you send him off while you untack and groom the horses. You’ve hung up the reins and are reaching for a brush when someone else’s hand bumps yours. “Oh, sorry,” you start instinctively and recoil when Joel pulls his gloved hand back sharply. 

It’s too much, in the little tack room, this close, this distant. 

Joel’s eyes on you, taking you in and trying to parse the you now from the you then.

Joel’s eyes on you, roaming, craving.

Joel’s beard scratching against his glove as he rubs his chin.

Joel’s beard scratching against your belly on his way down.

Joel, with you, in a barn, sweaty after a long ride, bundled up against the creeping winter. 

Joel, with you, in a barn, sweaty after a long ride, bundled up against the creeping winter.

Your head is spinning. You take a staggering step back, wavering.

You wake up on a cot in the clinic.

Nate’s sat in a chair by your side, picking at his nail beds and trying not to look worried. He relaxes minutely before getting pissed when you confess to the doctor that you haven’t been eating much. You don’t keep much at home, nobody really does, and you’ve been avoiding the mess hall for reasons that you don’t need to say out loud. 

They let you go with a scolding about the dangers of doing activities without proper nutrition, like you don’t know that, like you haven’t been starving in the wasteland like the rest of them at some point.

Tommy stops by with a frankly absurd amount of soup. “Heard you had a little fall today,” he says. 

“Whole town know I’m a klutz now?” you joke half-heartedly.

He gives you a look. “Nah. A big grumpy birdie told me.”

You cringe. 

“Look,” he says with a sigh. “Come by our place for the harvest, okay?”

“Come ‘round our place for Thanksgiving,” Joel says. 

“I can’t intrude,” you protest.

“Ain’t intruding on anything, baby. We want you there. But I gotta warn you, we do things a little different. It ain’t your regular Thanksgiving fixins, okay?”

“What?”

“We’re doin’ a harvest dinner. Kinda like Thanksgiving. There’ll be a lunch at the mess on Thursday but we’re havin’ family ‘round that night.” He sees you open your mouth and keeps going, ignoring you. “I don’t want to hear it. And just so you know, he suggested the invite. So.” 

And then Tommy leaves you with more questions and more soup than you know what to do with.

On Thursday, you drag your sorry ass to the mess hall for the lunch, determined to give Nate another holiday experience. You didn’t need to work yourself up, though, as Joel is nowhere in sight.

You wish you had thought earlier to ask what to bring, but it’s been a long time since you’ve dined at someone else’s table, and food ain’t been for sharing in just as many years.

“What should I bring, if it ain’t traditional?”

He thinks for a moment. He wants to tell you to bring your sexy self and nothin’ more but he knows you won’t go for it. “Bring popcorn,” he says finally.

You had. And you do. Cooked on the stove the old-fashioned way. It’s a risk, god, you know it’s a risk. But you walk into Tommy’s house with a heaping bowl of lightly buttered popcorn.

You walk into Joel’s house with a heaping bowl of butter-laden, salty popcorn, and Sarah cheers. She takes a handful before retreating deeper into the house where Tommy is setting the table and Joel is in the kitchen, hard at work over the… toaster. There’s a stack of buttered toast on a platter beside him and he’s adding to the pile. 

“Hey, sugar,” he says, pulling you by the waist into his space, chasing your lips with a kiss. “Thanks for bringin’ the popcorn. Ain’t Thanksgiving without it.”

“If you say so,” you say. “Where do you want it?”

“On the table is fine,” he says.

It takes you a minute, as you stand in Joel’s dining room, staring at the eccentric assortment of what can loosely be defined as dinner. There are a few bowls out, overflowing not with stuffing or mashed potatoes or casserole. No, there’s little pretzel twists and what looks like candy. You set the popcorn down in an empty spot and it unlocks in your brain with a snap.

You turn on your heel and go back in the kitchen. For a moment, you’re distracted by the scene in front of you. Joel and Sarah are delicately swirling whipped cream in excess atop strawberry ice cream, taking turns squirting some in their mouths in between and then scolding one another playfully.

“Are we having a Charlie Brown Thanksgiving?” you ask.

Sarah beams. “I told you she’d get it,” she tells her dad. 

Joel opens the door at Tommy and Maria’s. He looks down at the bowl in your hands, and you suddenly think you’ve made a terrible mistake. There’s a taut, hefty silence where you’re both just staring at the bowl.

He moves, both hands up toward you in a jerky, sudden motion that has you flinching back. It doesn’t deter him. It was like the action was pressed behind a coil and now that it snapped, he can’t stop. Newton’s Law, and all that.

His rough, calloused palms engulf either side of your face, his chapped lips smashing against your unexpecting ones. Your heart could be halfway to Dallas by sundown with how fast it’s galloping in your chest. It only takes a moment before your hands are on him, too.

“C’mon, not over the popcorn,” Nate gripes, snatching the bowl away and going inside to find Ellie, leaving you in Joel’s embrace.

the end

[redux-iterum]

Charred Legacy: Chapter Thirty-Three

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Bluestar was not informed about the dogs that night. In fact, no one spoke to her except Fireheart and Whitecloud. That was probably for the best.

“Still, we should keep her in camp,” Fireheart said to Whitecloud as he returned from the leader’s den. “What if she tries to go out and we’re not there to stop her?”

Whitecloud gave him a look that he didn’t quite know how to interpret, but he said, “That’s a sound idea. Let me and Speckletail decide where to put her, though.”

Fireheart thought that was perfectly fine, until the tom came into camp with Bluestar staggering along behind him. She was escorted to the elder’s den. No one remarked on this.

The night concluded as the snow picked up, but throughout the day Fireheart would wake up with a ball of stress in his chest. He’d manage to fall asleep again, only for the stress to grow into dread as he woke up later in the afternoon and the snow piled higher outside. Every time, he was too tired to figure out where these feelings were coming from.

He found out pretty quickly as dusk came.

“Help!”

Fireheart barely could open his eyes, his head swimming in exhaustion.

“Someone! Get up! Please!”

Aspenpaw’s voice, he realized as he lifted his head, was cracking with panic. Around him were the confused mumbles of the just-awoken. He forced himself to his feet, ignoring the dizziness in his sleep-deprived head, and exited the warrior’s den.

“What’s going on?” he asked, eyes still a little blurry. He blinked hard and managed to focus on the grey blob forming into a frightened Aspenpaw.

“They’re gone!” she cried, shaking hard enough for the downpouring snow to fall off of her sides. “Ashpaw and Brightpaw!”

Fireheart’s head cleared a little, barely enough for him to register her words. “What do you mean?”

“I’m so stupid,” Aspenpaw moaned, pacing in a circle, only to whip around and cry out again. “They said they wanted to do something about the dogs last night, and I didn’t think they were serious, but they’re gone! I didn’t say anything! Why didn’t I say anything?!”

“Easy, easy…” Fireheart raised a paw halfway up, trying a calming gesture despite his own steadily rising fear. “What specifically are they doing?”

“They wanted to find where the dogs are staying, I think—” Aspenpaw wobbled where she stood. “Oh, stars, I should’ve told someone—”

“We’re going to find them,” Speckletail said, stepping up beside Fireheart. “Take a breath, Aspenpaw. We’ll get them home.”

Aspenpaw breathed in deeply, choking a bit.

“Wait—” Frostfur nearly shoved past Fireheart, her eyes wide. “Brightpaw?”

“And Ashpaw,” Aspenpaw said miserably.

Frostfur’s back and tail bristled like she was about to be struck by a car.

“Oh, stars…” Swifttail now, looking no less panicked. “They’re going to get themselves killed!”

Frostfur silently bolted for the camp entrance, Swifttail close behind her. They disappeared through the tunnel before Fireheart could blink.

“Wait!” Speckletail shouted, chasing them until she stopped at the tunnel. She visibly forced her fur to relax and turned to the now fully-awake Clan gathered in the clearing. “I need three search parties to search the northern part of the forest. Who can go?”

“I can,” Fireheart said immediately, echoed by the rest of the warriors.

“I can!” Thornpaw called, having rushed out of the apprentice’s den at the shouting of Aspenpaw.

“Me too!” Brackenpaw stepped forward.

Speckletail shook her head. “This is too dangerous for apprentices.”

“But it’s our sister!” Brackenpaw protested.

“We hafta help,” agreed Thornpaw, standing tall. “Let us go on a patrol.”

“When you have your names,” Speckletail said firmly. “This is a warriors-only mission.”

The brothers opened their mouths to argue, but Snowpaw had finally awoken and was nudging both of them. They turned around to him chattering his teeth questioningly. Quickly, they explained the situation, their signing scrambled and blink-fast. Snowpaw jolted and started forward for the entrance, but Willowpelt blocked his path and shook her head when he looked at her.

“Teaselfoot, Willowpelt, and Darkstripe,” Speckletail said. “You three will come with me. Whitecloud, take Dustpelt, Lizardtail, and Sandstorm, and Fireheart, you take Mousefur, Ravenwing, and Greystripe. We’ll all go north unless we see prints leading elsewhere.” She turned to the remaining cats. “Stay close to camp until you get word otherwise. Keep the apprentices and elders safe. The rest of you, let’s go.”

The groups gathered quickly, Speckletail leading the way out. Brackenpaw and Thornpaw were still protesting when Fireheart passed through the briar tunnel and could no longer hear them.

Once everyone was out, Speckletail raised her tail for silence. She turned around to face all of them and spoke barely above a whisper.

“We don’t need the dogs to hear us coming,” she said. “Don’t call for Ashpaw and Brightpaw until you’re certain you’re on their trail and close enough to catch them.”

Fireheart shivered as fat snowflakes settled happily on his spine and shoulders. “And if we smell dogs?”

“Then hide,” Speckletail said simply. She jerked her head in a “come on” gesture, setting off at as fast of a run as she could go in the painfully thick blanket of snow on the ground, everyone doing their best to chase after her.

It was impossible to see anything in this weather: the snow was relentless in its efforts to cover the earth, the flakes cramming the air and forcing the warriors to shake their heads repeatedly to get snow out of their eyes. Combined with that, a winter’s fog had settled in the forest, silent, stiflingly cold, and painfully wet. Fireheart was shivering in moments, even moving as fast as he could.

The warriors reached the edge of the burned woods, and here Speckletail stopped. She didn’t say it out loud, but it was very clear she was looking for tracks in the perfectly pristine snow and was starting to flounder.

Fireheart stepped up and spoke. “My party can look at Snakerocks.”

“Oh—” Speckletail turned around and nodded quickly. “Yes, that’ll work. Whitecloud, take your party to the road closest to Fourtrees. We’ll look around the road past that.” She was still quiet, but her every word was emphasized. “None of you are to confront the dogs. If you see them, stay silent and hide or get away.”

“Even if they have the apprentices?” Dustpelt asked.

Grimly, Speckletail lowered her chin.

A unified shiver ran through the gathered cats.

“Let’s get moving.” Speckletail started forward, into the burned woods, her party behind her. Whitecloud went to the left, branching out past Speckletail and disappearing into the fog. Only Fireheart’s group stayed still for a moment, watching them go.

“We can’t just let them get killed,” Greystripe hissed. “We have to do something if we find them.”

“I agree,” Mousefur said, teeth gritted. “I’m not letting Brightpaw die.”

Fireheart used his paw in a calming gesture. “We need to find them first.” He stared into the woods, clicking his teeth. “But it’s impossible to tell in this weather where—”

“Here!”

Fireheart wasn’t sure whether to yell or sigh as he looked over and saw a pale ginger face rushing towards him, impressively quick for how high the snow stood around him.

“Cloudpaw, what are you doing?” Ravenwing stepped up by Fireheart’s side. “You need to go home—”

“Please let me help,” Cloudpaw said breathlessly. “I– I can find them.”

Greystripe stared at him. “How did you get out here without us hearing you?”

“It’s not hard.” Cloudpaw waved his paw dismissively, speaking to Fireheart now. “I found tracks going that way.” He pointed with his tail into the woods, in the direction of Snakerocks. “Let me go with you. Please.”

Greystripe squinted. “I don’t see tracks.”

“They’re that way, I swear.” Cloudpaw looked pleadingly to his uncle. “I can follow them. I promise I can help.”

Fireheart was aware of the many eyes on him now. He briefly reflected on the responsibility he had to make the right choice before breathing in slowly and then nodding.

“Take the lead,” he said.

Ravenwing balked. “Are you serious? He could get hurt!”

“Let’s see these tracks first,” Mousefur said to Ravenwing. “And sending him home alone, I think that’s a bad idea right now.”

“And I’ve seen him track,” Fireheart added as he hastened after Cloudpaw, who had already begun running to where he had pointed. “If anyone can find them, it’s him. He’s an asset right now.”

Ravenwing didn’t look particularly convinced, but he said nothing, just moved along with the party. Fireheart caught him questioningly looking at Greystripe. The big tom just rolled a shoulder and continued on.

“I don’t know if you heard Speckletail,” Fireheart said, catching up to Cloudpaw, “but we need to keep quiet, no matter what we see or hear.”

“I will, I promise.” Cloudpaw struggled through the snow. “Look, over there, that’s what I saw.”

Fireheart had to squint and crane his neck forward, but through the snowflakes and fog he thought he caught very faint imprints in the snow leading away from them.

“The snow, when it’s trampled, it flattens,” Cloudpaw explained. “So these are from the daytime, I think, and the snow couldn’t cover them up all the way.”

Fireheart took a moment to look at his nephew, impressed. “I never taught you that.”

“It’s super obvious.” Cloudpaw flicked his tail dismissively. “Here, c’mon, this way.”

Despite his ginger markings, the fluffy apprentice nearly blended into the snow, leaving his uncle to rely on the carved path through the stuff that was forming ahead of him. The party went single-file, Cloudpaw at the lead and Greystripe at the back. No one spoke for a long time, and with the effort it took to make any degree of advancement in this weather, time seemed to freeze along with the charred trees around them.

Then Cloudpaw stopped and swiveled his ears. “Did you hear that?”

The warriors stopped too. Fireheart strained his hearing as hard as he could. Faintly, far off in the distance, a high, desperate noise sounded off.

“That sounded like a scream,” Mousefur said. Her voice sharpened in fear. “Cloudpaw, hurry.”

Cloudpaw didn’t need convincing; he rushed forward, even as his breath turned to pants and weariness lowered his tail and ears. The warriors followed silently, all too afraid to say what they suspected that scream came from.

Or who, rather.

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed before the faint shape of the piled up Snakerocks was visible through the fog and snow. Nothing moved as they approached, which was lucky, because Cloudpaw suddenly cried out and fought violently to get through the obstruction of white powder.

“Cloudpaw!” Fireheart caught up to him. “We need to be quiet—”

“They’re hurt!” Cloudpaw looked up at his uncle desperately. “Can’t you smell that?!”

Fireheart paused and sniffed. Just smellable out of the wetness of the fog…

Brindleface’s torn-apart body flashed in front of his eyes.

He leaped forward, stumbling as he landed. Cloudpaw joined him quickly, the rest of the party close behind. Ravenwing was whispering something that sounded like a prayer.

They finally made it to the clearing around the treacherous rocks, and the smell of blood and meat clogged Fireheart’s nose before his eyes found its source.

Two fluffy bodies lay sprawled on one side of the stones. The grey one was in halves, most of the smell of carnage coming from him. The other was all red, her pretty ginger-and-white pelt completely coated. Blood oozed from her head and neck.  

“Brightpaw!” Mousefur shouted, making Fireheart jump. The dusky molly shoved past him and rushed for her apprentice, pawing her and circling around her body. “Brightpaw, please be alive, come on—”

“H-hold on,” Ravenwing said unsteadily. He tottered forward, looking like he was fighting the urge to be sick. Joining Mousefur, he put his ear to Brightpaw’s mouth, paused, and then lifted his head again. “She’s breathing.”

“He’s not,” Greystripe said quietly, stepping up to Ashpaw. “Stars above…”

Fireheart, forcing himself out of his frozen state, looked at the apprentice beside him. Cloudpaw was staring between his friend and his brother, trembling like a leaf. Gently, Fireheart reached out a paw and brushed it against Cloudpaw’s shoulder. Cloudpaw didn’t react.

“I can smell the dogs.” Greystripe looked up to Fireheart, his face queasy. “We need to get out of here with these two, fast.”

Yes, that oily stink was strong. Fireheart took a breath and blinked hard to clear his mind. “Yeah, I agree. Let’s get their bodies together.”

A yowl of anguish made all of them jump; in an instant, Frostfur burst out of the twiggy undergrowth and trees, her eyes bulging and pale with horror. She was panting hard, like she hadn’t stopped running since she’d left camp. She paused only for a moment to flinch at Ashpaw’s remains before her eyes caught the pile of bloody fur before her.

“Brightpaw!” she wailed, scrambling to rush forward and stand over her daughter. She looked up desperately at Ravenwing. “Is she alive?!”

“She is,” Ravenwing said, startled. “Look, she’s still breathing.”

Frostfur whined and nosed Brightpaw. “Wake up, wake up—”

“Frostfur—” Fireheart hurried over to her, speaking kindly but as authoritatively as he could. “We need to get her home before the dogs return. Where’s Swifttail?”

Frostfur shook her head weakly. “I– I don’t know, we split off… He said he thought he heard Brightpaw, and he… he ran the other way, I just kept going…”

“Alright.” Fireheart placed a paw on her leg like he had done for Cloudpaw, speaking in a soothing voice. “It’ll be okay. Let’s take Brightpaw home.” He looked to Ravenwing. “Get Brightpaw on her back.”

Ravenwing, not looking much better than Frostfur, nodded numbly.

“Wait—” Mousefur stood up straight. “I can carry her.”

“We need an adult to try and find Swifttail,” Fireheart said, kind as he could. “And you catch scents faster than the rest of us.” Mousefur opened her mouth. “I don’t want to send Cloudpaw out with just one or two warriors to protect him. He needs to come home anyway.” Mousefur closed her mouth. Fireheart looked at Greystripe. “Go with her out in the direction we heard that scream. If you see or hear the dogs, turn around immediately.”

Greystripe dipped his head, the order seeming to recover some of his steadiness.

“Cloudpaw…” Fireheart turned to him and spoke softly. “Go home with Frostfur. Ravenwing, once you get Brightpaw on Frostfur’s back, can you help me carry Ashpaw?”

“I– yeah.” Ravenwing’s tail shook. “Yeah.”

Fireheart looked around the gathered cats. “Let’s hurry. Every heartbeat we spend standing here is a heartbeat too long.”

This got them into motion; Ravenwing assisted Frostfur with Brightpaw, and the molly set off with Cloudpaw trailing behind her in silence. Mousefur cast one painfully sad look at her apprentice before she and Greystripe disappeared back into the woods, heading east. Ravenwing and Fireheart met at Ashpaw’s remains, and the pair stood together for a moment, staring down at them.

“I can take the back half, if that’s easier for you,” Fireheart murmured to his friend.

Ravenwing shuddered with another numb nod.

Carefully, trying to keep his organs in what was left of his body, Fireheart picked up the rear half by the spine. He positioned his mouth so he wouldn’t touch any open flesh. Ravenwing held the rest by the scruff, eyes wet with grief.

Without saying a word, the pair walked in Frostfur’s trail. Neither noticed that the snow had lightened up to a slow drizzle, nor that the fog had lifted a little.

There wasn’t much reason to celebrate that. They had already found what they were looking for.

[robolvrr]

silk baby ✧⁠*°•

idw prowl x gn! human reader

nsfw. tags: lingerie, hatesex, petplay (wink), humiliation kink. let's get kinky.

you infuriate him.

it's almost insulting. the uniform your kind has given you, the shiny, golden lapels and glittering badge. you've served no war, fought no battles and have a fraction, no, a blink of his lifetimes experience in diplomacy.

when he first heard of your transfer from optimus himself he scoffed audibly.

files upon files were downloaded and analyzed of you immediately.

you're young. all of your people compared to cybertronians are. but you're still fresh-faced, no scars of time and still speak in those sweet, hopeful hums that makes his spark crackle.

he decides that reaction is hate.

and he shouldn't be feeling it, shouldn't be questioning his alliance and the brand on his chassis when he thinks about how easy this entire miserable planet could be wiped from the plane of existence.

somehow, humanity has managed to cause so many problems that not even his processors and planning can delegate the stress of having to pretend he was anything but superior to the generals, captains and presidents that adored to speak to them as if they were subordinate.

when you first meet prowl, you think, he must despise you. his frown on his angular features is stubborn and unmoving. he speaks to you like you're inconvenient.

"this is all wrong."

"do you even check your notes?"

"i am shocked to see just why they chose you for this role."

"don't bother me again until you find your voice. stop stuttering like a fool. you're an advisor, are you not?"

he's cruel. you're unable to find a response as he always slinks away, before you can seek a fellow autobot to properly report him.

sometimes, you can see the smirk in that disapproving gaze.

you do what most humans do. try to adapt. try to appeal. he likes to think in his spare time of you as a slobbering dog, trailing his pedes on all fours. drooling for even an opportunity of companionship.

you, on the floor. crawling. that's a bitterly tasty thought, indeed.

the rejected sentiments are visibly breaking you, slowly over time. starts with you trying to relieve his load in reports. attending his meetings, even though you're not required. he even heard you trying to argue with your own command, in some hopes they'd lessen their restraints on their current agreements with the extraterrestrials.

it's laughable. did he ask for any of this? no. you still do it.

dog. filthy, needy, pretty dog.

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

you're frustrated.

you have so much pressure on you, all the time. all the poli-sci courses and straight a's don't compare or prepare for being the middle man between the united states and co governmental bigheads and literal, walking cars.

and jets. and motorcycles, you learn.

you should be out at parties. kissing boys and girls and someone you don't remember, crying about tests and complaining to your friends about the shitty sink and your shitty landlord.

instead you get this opportunity shoved in your lap.

to be taken seriously, you pin yourself in sleek hairstyles and make sure your appearance is flawless. your boots are polished. you smell like fresh laundry and evergreen.

most of the autobots have taken a liking to you, or at least listen to your points. most have gotten the common sense having lived on earth for as long as they had to not purposefully offend.

prowl? oh no. no, he made a point to make sure you felt belittled.

why does his opinion mean so much to you? is it because his tone is always cold? is it because you feel metaphorically and literally pinned under his gaze, some twitching fly beneath his precise needle?

he knows each and every weak spot in that barely nurtured ego of yours to jab.

you lie to yourself. lie that it makes you stronger. laugh like he's just jealous.

your sheets are sweaty. his voice is level, that you remember.

his hands. servos. so articulate.

you should feel sick when your own weasels from between your thighs.

you should feel ill for thinking of him when you see the slick wetness dripping down your forearm.

would he tell you you did a good job?

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

the teapot in the shared downtime area whistles.

you're drowsy. caffeine does little to put any pep to your step so you resort to accepting your fate, hoping to bullshit your way through your rotation and worry about the repercussions later. today was boring. that was the issue - you're drained and understimulated.

not long enough it seems.

"slacking off, mm?"

a visible shake flirts up along your spine. the look you give over your shoulder is barely short of disrespectful.

"there is nothing else of importance for me to do. why would this room exist if not to relax between shifts?"

prowl towers. the doorways are higher, larger, to accommodate for humanity's new, glossy allies. you ignore the way his optics narrow. like he's studying you. like you've already fucked up.

"sounds more like failed excuses to me, diplomat. though.."

he's close. too close. uncanny valley crawls in your stomach as you struggle to forget nights ago. the dusting of his metal plates pattern similar to freckles.

that'd be cute if he wasn't awful.

".. mm, yes. you humans are so delusional. it's admirable, truly. patting yourself on your backs but too lazy to put in the effort to earn anything."

now it's your turn to frown.

"you're wrong. i work my ass off-"

"tsk, tsk, language."

"oh, fuck off!"

the tea kettle steams loud. and then it's jostled off the burner and you're scrambling, a scream caught in your throat.

cybertronians are strong. beasts, truly. they come in all shapes, sizes and talents but one thing is clear - they're living, breathing metal. there is little that can actually harm them.

prowl has your chin snatched between his digits. his helm is close and he has no need to breathe, but his ex-vents are sharp and his voice is still deliciously icy.

"see? animals, all of you. mutt. you bark and whine and complain. and i was supposed to take you seriously?"

your work shirt has lifted up your midriff. you ignore the throbbing at your core.

either he knows or he doesn't care, though it's prowl and it's rare he's in the dark.

there is no imagining how his vocals dip.

"predictable."

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

prowl finds fabric to be gaudy.

a prized trade elsewhere is commodity down here. he is much more trained on revealing what lays under that tight, useless suit of yours.

he doesn't bother answering any of your questions, only responding by yanking you by the back of your hair and letting his dentae sink into the flesh of your neck until it bruised.

he's rough. he knows you cannot take it, so when you're crying out to a god he doesn't know, his smile finally starts to edge his otherwise stern expression.

"good."

there's a snarl of disgust and despair when he gets all the buttons loose.

you are a spike tease.

underneath the bravado is the coverings of a slut.

it's gorgeous. soft, genuine silk. the straps are thin and bows dangle at the connections to heart-shaped lace that barely covers your chest. there's frill.

he tears a thread and unweaves it, just as he does with you.

your panties are yanked down your legs. they leave a red mark with how roughly he deposits them ..

for future observation.

his grip wrenches your hips, until a hole is found and he's jamming in and you're mewling, panting, huffing for him.

the "i hate you"s and "you're terrible"s just piston his pace faster.

his audials resort to memory banks that store all the pitiful expressions you make. he gets you on your hands and knees after all and when he's clutching your throat between sloppy thrusts, his grin is sharp and horrid.

"bark, puppy."

robolvrr 2024.

[valentine-cafe]

May I have a churro with some egg tarts this time?

[Afab reader]

Just thinking about Alessio running back to his "dumb" human again!! But this time you're not safe in your apartment anymore! He saw you bound in ropes in the living room with a gun pressed to your head and tears in your eyes. He saw red, and it was over before it even started. He'd make sure there was a cloth over your head so you wouldn't see all the blood splattered around your home. He knows you can't stay there anymore. It was really an impulsive decision, he had to take you to his home! You clung onto him so tightly the whole way there and your muffled cries into his clothes made his heart clench. It made his heart pound when you didn't flinch away from his bloodied hands. He shoved you towards Jingyi when you first got home, telling him that he needed to make sure you stayed safe. And you're just a dumb human after all! So maybe that's why it was so easy for you to cling to a stranger with teary yet hopeful eyes! Even when there was not even one emotion crossing his pretty face, just peering down at you with the prettiest pair of snake eyes you've ever seen. Clinging onto him oh so tightly with the promise of being kept safe. There was a moment of silent communication between them, longing into each other's eyes. It was like they were one, Jingyi fully understanding Alessio even when there wasn't a single word said. Like a full conversation was made in the seconds of silence, even with Jingyi's concern about a human being in an enigma sector hanging silently in the air. How did you even get here in one piece? How this dumb human has caught the eye of his fiancé. All being left unsaid and unanswered from just a single look. The way you look up at him as if he's the whole world has him bringing a hand around your waist. Maybe he understands the obsession his fiancé has grown towards you. Alessio tells you that he has to leave to take care of a few loose strings, but he doesn't include the fact that he's hunting down every last being involved with the little stunt they pulled on you. He's gone before you can respond back. Your pretty eyes would make their way to him again, and later, with the same tears in your eyes, looking up at him while he pounds away at your cunny! All wrapped up in his tail. And it'll be those same eyes that light up when you see Alessio at the door. Only being able to call his name in a hoarse voice with Jingyis tail coiled around you and his cocks keeping your pussy stuffed full of his cum. Jingyi will just say that you're so warm, that all the heat will come out if he lets you go. But Alessio would make room because the envy that started to creep up on him made it difficult to ignore. But you'd be sure to litter both of their faces with kisses!!

-🍄

˖⁺. ﹙ rockstar rebel boyfriend x gn reader x hot naga mechanic bf. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . always keeping the good stuff to yourself. !! 🍒 :  rockstar ˖ yandere ˖ arsonist ˖ villain ˖ enigma character ˖ naga ˖ mechanist ˖ grim reaper﹙ 1311 alessio & jìngyí. ﹚

reader gets shared by alessio and jìngyí after jìngyí finds out about alessio and reader's relationship

“insatiable - aren’t you?”

alessio’s sneer to his fiance’s ear is only met with a small scoff. jìngyí’s hips ram into yours one more time for good measure. fucking out another round your squirting cum.

“you’ve been fucking this pretty pussy for months, and only now you decide to share it with me?”

evidentially, the snake man is pissed. given the way that he starts thrusting into you. slow. rough. like a merciless piston that has you whining and moaning. clinging onto the sheets. onto alessio’s hand that wanders over to brush at your side.

“b-baby - please -” you pout over at alessio. as though he would be the better option. once jìngyí finished up - the rockstar rolled you over onto your tummy and pounded you sore.

“can’t leave you for two minutes until you’re begging to get your cunt filled again. is that right? yeah? fuckin’ whore.” his rough voice to your ear makes you see stars. yet you don’t know what to focus on. him or jìngyí’s cock battering down your throat as they use all of your holes.

what better way to make you forget the situation than this?