#that i was so sure was going to kill me if he ever got the chance | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

treatbuckywkisses · 1 day ago

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The prospect of spending an entire week without seeing or touching Bucky seems like pure torture. You suspect Thor didn’t take kindly to you turning him down in favour of Bucky which has resulted in you covering the night shift for the next two weeks. nooooooo:( not the opposite schedule as punishment that is LITERALLY the worst (speaking from experience night shift genuinely makes me so sad) I don't care if he's a god rn he's a bitch

"Sending you kisses and dirty dreams" is such a line I have to steal that for personal use

You listen to his message three times. Firstly, just to hear his voice, how elated he sounds speaking to your voicemail. Second, to actually take in what he said. And thirdly, to listen to the sound of his voice again. Me when I read trulyyy I have to stop my brain from being too excited and skipping stuff😭 then I go back and reread it to make sure I got everything 😅

When he answers his door, there’s a moment's pause where you simply stare joyously at each other, as if trying to determine if this is actually real or something concocted in a dream. I am emo for this :(

Seeing Bucky’s gorgeous, smiling face after a week apart is like a breath of fresh air. After a week of suffocating, you could now take a long, deep breath, oxygenating all those cells in your body which had been crying out for him. By the achingly doting expression on his face, you are positive he has longed for this moment as much as you have. Em. Why are you set out to kill me. This is the most BEAUTIFUL thing I've ever read. This description????? You literally made up ????????? In your big beautiful brain ?????? What do you mean HOW DID U DO THAT 😭😭😭😭😭😭 I have read this 5 times now alone I simply cannot move on from this. I will never be normal about this ever.

His lounge room is lit up with candles, casting a soft, warm glow over the entire room and filling the air with a sweet vanilla fragrance. The couch and coffee table have been pushed to the back wall to make room for a makeshift bed of multiple blankets and pillows. A small projector sits at the foot of the ‘bed’, pointing at a now bare wall, the few pictures Bucky did have up now stored on the coffee table. To top it all off, rose petals have been scattered all around the room, with a bouquet of the same flowers tied up neatly in a pretty bow beside the bed which you can only assume is for you. This??? THIS????????? yeah. im done for. DONE FOR. AND FOR HIM TO SAY "ID DO ANYTHING FOR YOU" WITHOUT HESITATION!??????????? EM. YOURE CRIMINAL.

He looks at you with such extreme fondness, like something precious he values and wants to keep safe, and you have no choice but to kiss him. Not soft and sweet like his was, but instead ardently, fiercely. As a ‘thank you’. As a ‘I missed you’. As a ‘I care about you beyond what words can describe’. As a ‘I need you right now’. Exactly this.

HE SWAPPED SHIFTS TO BE WITH HER IM SO MUSHY & MELTY GET OUT.

“Oh I’m most definitely pussy drunk. Pussy addicted even.” He affirms with his signature smirk. Warmth blooms in your chest at how shamelessly he’s into you - you have become accustomed to men’s ambiguous signals, their aversion to commitment, but with Bucky, as soon as you proclaimed yourself as his girlfriend, he’s been nothing but unabashedly yours. OMGSBSGSKHS I MADE THIS JOKE EARLIER IM SO HAPPY TO SEE IT IN THE REAL THING IM DEAD 😹😹

“Of course I did.” He says with an amused lilt as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Your stomach tingles with something of devoted affection when you perceive no trace of deception in his features. the way. he is so effortless. And CASUAL. about the lengths he would go to I AM SICK. "OF COURSE I DID" "ID DO ANYTHING FOR YOU" GOD SHUT UP I CANT TAKE ANY MORE YOURE KILLING ME.

Looking into his steel blue eyes, which regard you with a familiar warmth and devotion, your stomach clenches as the realisation hits you - you have something in this world you’re terrified to lose. Im ill and you're insane.

Night Shift

[He’s Hazardous To My Health Series]

Paramedic!Bucky Barnes x Resident!Fem!Reader

< < PART 5 | Series Masterlist | PART 7 > >

Summary: When you’re stuck on night shift for two weeks, you and Bucky find it difficult to spend time together.

Warnings: strictly 18+, smut, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, mention of sending nudes/audio within an established relationship, implied food play, mention of dialysis and an elderly patient dying, soft fluff

Word count: 4.5k

A/N: I truly didn’t mean for this part to be this long, yet here we are. Some soft smut and domestic fluff after the angst of part 5. Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

“My place next weekend?” Bucky poses as he peppers delicate kisses over your face. You scrunch your nose and let out a little squeal of glee that promotes him to continue his trail of kisses along your jaw and down the column of your neck.

With Bucky still living with and taking care of his Ma recovering at home after being discharged from the surgical ward last week, and your now severely conflicting schedules, you know you won’t find the time to see each other until the following weekend.

You have to remind yourself that you only have to endure six days without him, not even a full week, but it’s the six nights attempting to fall asleep in an empty bed without his strong arms cuddling you into his broad, musky scented chest that you suspect will be more tormenting to endure.

“What have you got planned?” Your eyes narrow, trying to see if you can get any clues by reading his countenances. Unfortunately, all he does is smile, which gives away nothing except for the soft flutter of butterflies in your stomach that indicate how you enjoy being the cause of his happiness.

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” God he loves to tease, and as much as you adore him for it, having something specific to look forward to at the end of the week would actually be very helpful in surviving the week.

“Can it be next weekend already?” You whine between peppered kisses around your face. Bucky simply chuckles, but he feels your pain, he doesn’t want to have to endure the impending week without you either.

“I promise, the week will go by in a flash.”

But this one time, Bucky’s promise isn’t truthful.

The week feels like it’s moving through tar.

You’re awake when it’s pitch black outside and when you attempt to sleep at home, the sun is seeping through your curtains, almost mocking you that you can’t be outside enjoying it.

The night shift drags on more so than a regular day because you don’t have Wanda keeping you company, and you know that you won’t be able to steal glimpses of Bucky which normally sustain you throughout your shift.

You then come home and crash on an empty bed in a lonely apartment when most people are only just starting their day. Your mind can’t help but wonder what Bucky is doing at this very moment. Perhaps he’s making breakfast for his mom, and you smile thinking about them joking together over their cereal. Or maybe he’s having his morning shower, the hot water cascading over his toned body, his wet hair falling in front of his eyes as he washes his naked body.

Possibly thinking about you.

Maybe even touching himself to the thought of you being right there with him.

And that’s the image you manage to fall asleep thinking about and which enters your dreams.

The following day is no better. Sporadic messages from Bucky during his waking hours is the only contact you have with him, until it gets too late where his communication ceases altogether, under the assumption he finally fell asleep.

After driving home, and two and a half long days without seeing him, you’re desperate to hear his voice. Sadly, the only time you manage to hear it is when his voicemail instructs you to leave a message because you’ve missed him. At a very minimum he will be able to hear your voice if you leave a voicemail, so you decide to tell him about your day.

“Morning baby, I know you’re probably with your Ma, but I just finished my shift and I’m on my way home and I’d thought I’d see if I could catch you before I fall asleep. It was a tough one today, Mrs Stewart, that lovely lady on dialysis who read my cards, the one I told you about last week, she came into the ER again and passed away overnight. I organised for her daughters to come in to say goodbye, but it felt like such an injustice, she should have had more time and been able to meet her grandbaby. I wish I had been able to come home to a hug and kiss from you.” You take a short pause, trying to compose yourself. You’re a doctor, losing patients is part of the job description and just makes saving lives that more extraordinary, but it is always easier to cope when you have Bucky there to run you a bath and help wash the day off you.

You don’t get that privilege this week.

“How’s your Ma? I know you said the other day she was meeting all her goals so I’m sure she’s breaking all kinds of records and continuing to be a mischief maker just like her son is.” You let out a chuckle, thinking of your cheeky boyfriend and his even sassier mom interacting with each other makes you grin. “Two nights down, four more to go. Honestly the weekend can’t come soon enough, I already miss you and it’s only been two days! Oh also, I sent you some pictures overnight, I hope you enjoy getting to look through those before bed later, I think you’ll like them. Sending you kisses and dirty dreams. I hope we get to speak soon baby.”

You hang up feeling ever so slightly better. Even though you weren’t actually speaking with him directly, in some strange way you feel like you have.

When you wake up, a good eight hours later, feeling more exhausted than when you went to sleep, one of the notifications you’ve missed is a call from Bucky, and your heart flutters when you realise he’s also left you a long voicemail.

“Hey darling, it was so great hearing your voice just before starting my shift, I feel like my day is already brighter from just listening to you talk. I’m sorry to hear about your patient, she seemed like such a sweet lady. If I were with you I’d give you the biggest hug and kiss, you deserve them both. Just know you are an amazing doctor; and her daughters will be grateful that they got their chance to say goodbye.” There’s a long pause in the recording, so much so you think your phone has accidentally switched off, but then you hear his voice again. “Ma is doing so well, we’re getting out and doing some small walks around her neighbourhood. She’s friends with one of the lady’s down the end of the street and her poodle puppy, so her motivation to keep walking is to see little Millie and get puppy kisses. I have to take her to a follow-up appointment after work, so it might prove a little tricky finding a time to chat but hopefully I can catch you before your shift.”

Your heart sinks, after not actually getting to speak with him earlier today you had hoped this afternoon would be your best chance to do so. But as disappointed as you are, you don’t blame Bucky one bit - he has to take care of his mom, and seeing the relationship they share only makes you adore him even more.

“I had a sneak at those pictures earlier and you made me harder than a fucking rock looking like a wet dream in that lingerie set. You can guarantee I’ll be looking at those when I go to sleep tonight. I might just have to send you some audio of how much I enjoy them.” Excitement tingles down your spine and you salivate at the thought of hearing Bucky get off to pictures of you. That of all the people he’s ever been with, you’re the one he can’t get enough of. “I hope you’re resting up baby, you deserve it. I’m sure we’ll speak soon, and if not, I’m just gonna keep listening to your voicemail on repeat so I can hear your voice again.”

The remainder of the week wouldn’t be such a drag now that you could listen to his voice any time you want.

* * *

After your shift ends on Saturday morning, you have a pep in your step as you exit the hospital, on your way straight to Bucky’s place.

You’re finally going to see him again and nothing, not even the wet weather that you drive through towards his apartment, will dampen that.

When he answers his door, there’s a moment's pause where you simply stare joyously at each other, as if trying to determine if this is actually real or something concocted in a dream.

Someone else would probably think you had spent months apart with how hurriedly you pull one another into a crushing embrace. Your arms fling around his neck, pulling him down to you, and he pulls your waist flush with his as he buries his face in your neck.

“I missed you.” You whisper in his ear, taking in the familiar scent of his eucalyptus shampoo and that musky scent which was just naturally Bucky.

“Not as much as I missed you.” He mumbles, pulling back so his lips can capture yours in a tender kiss. His lips are soft and meld against yours with languid motions.

You stay in each other's arms for a long moment, basking in the warmth of each other's embrace, letting the rest of the world melt away as you revel in the delight of being reunited.

With a kiss to your forehead, Bucky takes your hand and leads you inside, not wanting to be deficient of your touch for even a single second longer.

“I have something to show you.” He proclaims with a mischievous grin. You’re left to ponder what it might be as he doesn’t give you any hints, however, you don’t need to wait long for when he leads you through the doorway to his living space the surprise hits you square in the chest.

“Bucky…” Your jaw drops open and you’re left speechless.

“You did all this for me?” You choke out, trying not to let your emotions get the best of you but the lump in your throat betraying you.

“I’d do anything for you.” He responds without hesitation. “I wanted to have a romantic weekend together after not seeing you for so long.”

Your hands find his hair and pull lightly, in the way you know he likes and which helps you open him up to you so you can sweep your tongue in his mouth.

You’re in control of the kiss until Bucky manages to slip a large hand past the elastic of your pants, fingers finding the wet patch forming in your panties. Even the feel of his thick fingers through the material is enough to make you keen, and all of a sudden you’re putty in his hands as he takes charge.

“How long have you been this wet for me, darling?”

“All week.” You moan breathlessly as he runs his fingers through your soaking folds, making sure his thumb circles your clit with the just the right pressure he has come to know with experience makes your toes curl. “Jerking off to your pictures just isn’t the same.”

“You need the real thing, baby?” Bucky nips at your earlobe before sucking on your neck, the sensation making you dizzy with lust. You want him - no, need him, more than you’ve needed anyone before, more than you need to breathe.

“Yes, please.” You beg, hands reaching down to feel his hardening cock underneath the material of his sweatpants. His lips connect with yours again as you cup his balls through his pants, a gravelly grunt escaping his lips

“Lay down, darling.” Bucky instructs, his spare, strong hand running down your back to assist you falling backwards onto his provisional blanket bed. “I got you.” He promises as you let him hold your body weight, placing you down carefully and ensuring your head rests on one of the pillows.

Bucky cages you in, his muscular form and intoxicating scent consuming your vision and filling all your senses. His eyes are brimming with desire, observing you underneath him as if you are the most alluring sight he’s ever had the pleasure of gazing at, and it only makes the wet patch in your panties grow.

“Need you, James.” He smirks as his real name falls from your lips. Bucky knows you mean business when you use it, and though he loves to tease you, today is not the time for that, because as much as you need him, he needs you even more.

“I know baby, Imma take good care of you, make you feel so good.” Bucky coos before sliding down your body, pulling your slacks and underwear off in one go. “There’s my pretty pussy.” As soon as his plump lips suck on your sensitive bundle of nerves, you’re sent straight to heaven. Without giving you a moment to think about how almost painfully good he’s making you feel and how much you’ve missed the feel of his tongue swirling at your core, he’s slipped two fingers inside you, fervently stroking your velvety, fluttering walls.

“Shit, Buck. God, I’ve missed your mouth.” If you were with anyone but your precious Bucky, who you trust implicitly, you might be embarrassed by how quickly the band at the bottom of your stomach is tightening, ready to snap at any second. But you never feel self conscious when you’re with him - his utmost concern with your pleasure, ensuring you always feel safe and comfortable when you’re with him nourishes the trust you share.

You look down at Bucky between your legs still fully clothed, rutting into the blankets beneath him, as if he’s getting off on purely the taste of you. You swear you’ve never been with a partner who actually enjoys eating you out as much as Bucky does, rather than seeing it as a chore to get through so you’ll suck them off.

Through his long hair, strands of which have fallen in front of his face, his piercing blue eyes look up to find you watching him intently, overflowing pleasure etched on your features, whimpers and moans cascading from your mouth. This only spurs him on. With a smirk you can feel against your sensitive folds, his movements become more frantic, pushing you ever closer to your impending high.

“Make a mess on my face, darling.” His breath is hot against your centre, before diving right back in, tongue feverishly licking up every drop of arousal he himself is responsible for, as his fingers curl to find that spot inside you which makes you see stars.

“Buck- oh god, oh please, right there, fuck yes, yes, right there, don’t stop.” Your thighs squeeze around his head but it doesn’t slow him down. He’s been starving for a week and nothing, even not being able to breathe, is going to stop him from taking you over the edge of ecstasy.

And that’s exactly what he does. With a simultaneous thrust of his fingers and suction on your clit, you cum with a cry of his name, thighs quivering and toes curling as your back arches off the pile of blankets and pillows that are now in disarray.

“That’s my good girl.” He praises, continuing to pump his fingers inside you as his other hand frantically rubs your clit, prolonging your pleasure and causing your body to involuntary jerk as your orgasm fires through every cell in your body.

When you finally come down, completely out of breath and sweat beading on your brow, Bucky smirks at you in his signature, cheeky way where you can’t help a reciprocating smile blossoming in your own features.

“Now, let’s see how many times you can cum on this fat cock.”

* * *

“Bucky?” You mumble with a hoarse voice as your eyes blink open to the bright early afternoon sun streaming through the cracks in Bucky’s curtains, even though you can tell he’s tried to pull them across as far as they will go so you can sleep in mild darkness.

When you don’t get a response you turn over lazily, arm reaching out to the spot beside you on the makeshift bed only to find cool sheets and spare pillows. Your heart drops that even though you got to fall asleep beside Bucky, you haven’t been able to wake up beside him.

That moment of happiness and contentment as you both open your eyes in the morning, being the first thing you each see in the day, after being the last before falling asleep, as soft smiles spread simultaneously over both of your features, is a type of pure magic you don’t want to be deprived of once you’ve had a taste.

Hearing movement and faint sizzling coming from the adjacent kitchen, you pull Bucky’s discarded Henley over your naked form and, with a stifled yawn, shuffle towards your boyfriend.

You take a moment to lean on the doorframe and admire your burly boyfriend, shirtless, with grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, long hair tied back from his face in a small bun as he pours batter onto a frypan.

You could get used to this.

The muscles of his bare back flex as you rest your cheek on his shoulder blade, your arms snaking around his toned midriff

“Did you sleep well?” He asks softly as the hand he’s not using covers your left hand, fingers naturally slotting between yours. One of your favourite things since officially becoming his girlfriend is how physically affectionate he’s become. He’ll make any excuse to hold your hand, to sling an arm around your shoulders or have you sitting in his lap.

The fact that he seeks out that contact with you, makes your heart flutter each time. Warmth blooms in your chest knowing you’re the only person he wants that affectionate, lovey-dovey connection with.

“Hmm I guess. Wanted to wake up next to you though.” Your arms tighten around his waist, as if to reflexively keep him close and prevent him from moving away as he had done while you were asleep.

“I’m sorry darling, our sleep schedules are just off at the moment.” You kiss a freckle on his shoulder blade, a silent recognition that you understand what he means and you aren’t upset. You observe a shiver running down his back at your soft kiss so you do it again with a smile, loving that you’re the one person who gets to elicit that kind of reaction from him.

“Watcha making?” You ask lazily, standing on your tiptoes so you can see above his shoulder to what he’s cooking in the frypan. The room smells delicious, like sugary sweetness and melting butter

“Pancakes. Figured we’d need some energy after what we did this morning.” He chuckles as you let out a little squeal of delight. No man has ever put the effort in to cook for you before, and now Bucky’s making one of your childhood favourites. “Plus, they’re one of the only things I can make well.”

“They almost look as yummy as you.” You flatter, poking him at the ticklish spot he has just above his hip which makes him squirm and giggle.

“You’ll have to make sure to save room for your dessert then.”

You fall into comfortable silence as you remain resting on his back and Bucky continues to cook the pancakes one at a time, treasuring the closeness given your separation over the past week, but not needing conversation to feel at ease with each other's presence.

“Are you gonna fall asleep on me again, huh?” Bucky’s voice pulls you away from the dark void of sleep you were falling into without realising.

“Maybe… you’re just so comfy.” You mumble, your tired lips barely articulating the words, but Bucky chuckles like he knows what you’ve said.

“Here…” He places the spatula down and before you know it, he’s grabbing you by the hips and lifting you onto the counter beside his stove. He stands between your legs, casually kissing you and hands smoothing over your bare thighs. In this moment it feels as though nothing can come between you, even the prospect of spending the rest of your career on the night shift. “My sweet girl.” He mumbles against your lips, hooking your legs around his waist, getting lost in the taste of you to the extent that he almost forgets about the batter cooking on the pan and has to frantically untangle himself from you to turn them before they burn.

Once the pancakes are done, Bucky serves them up on a plate for each of you and leads you back to the living room with your hand in his, only leaving you huddled in the blankets alone for a moment to go grab all the topping options he purchased specifically for this occasion.

You start eating your pancakes as Bucky fiddles to connect the projector, cursing under his breath when it doesn’t work. You tell him not to mind, because after finishing your pancakes, you’re interested in other activities that don’t involve watching a movie, and making use of the rest of the whipped cream Bucky bought.

Though the weekend will surely go by in a flash, you want to stay in the moment with him and enjoy every sweet and sinful second you get together.

* * *

Before you know it, Monday has come round again and you’re back on the night shift. Yes, the week without Bucky had been difficult and you didn’t like it one bit, but you made it through once, so you know you can do it again.

Besides, your weekend of indulgence certainly made up for the lonely nights and days without seeing him, so you’re using the prospect of a similar weekend as motivation to get through another gruelling week.

Early on in your shift, as you’re preparing to send a young man in for an x-ray of his possibly fractured wrist, a familiar voice calls your name as they approach the nurses desk.

“Buck?” Your heart starts beating frantically thinking something must be catastrophically wrong for him to be in the ER at this time of night. “Is everything okay? Is it your mom?” Your voice is shaky, but your concern isn’t reflected on his face.

If you weren’t in a state of panic, you would have realised that him being in his EMT uniform was an indication of the true reason he found himself inside the hospital, but you fail to notice that detail in the moment of anxiety.

“Darling, everything is fine.” He punctuates his reassurance with a sweet kiss, his large hands calmly cupping your face and savouring the feel of your lips against his. “I swapped shifts with someone on nights for the week. I didn’t want to have to go another whole week without seeing you or sleeping next to you.”

Surprise stuns you for a split second - Bucky changed to the night shift because he missed you that much last week. Your stomach does a flip at how thoughtful his gesture is.

“Or do you mean sleeping with me? Are you a little pussy drunk, Barnes?” You tease.

“You really swapped the night shift just for me?” You ask, voice softer and more vulnerable now. No one has ever gone out of their way to inconvenience themselves for you before. Part of your brain can’t believe seeing you more is the only reason Bucky has made the switch. Surely he must have some ulterior motive?

“What about your Ma?” You question, very appreciative of what Bucky has done but concerned he hasn’t thought it through the whole way.

“Steve offered to help out, and I can still see her before each shift in the afternoon and afterwards in the mornings.” He reassures with a smile that relieves any doubt you were feeling. “Spending time with you is important to me. No one makes me feel as happy and content as I do when I’m with you, so when the opportunity presented itself, of course I took it.”

Perhaps his edges are a little jagged by his past, but Bucky makes you feel like you’re in the exact right place at the exact right time, that there’s no rush, nothing to run or hide from, that you are precisely where you’re meant to be.

And though you don’t tell him that you’re falling in love, you kiss him like you do.

Part 7 > >

Be added to the series taglist here

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#paramedic!bucky barnes #send me paramedic bucky #bc i am ILL

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tortillamastersblog · 3 days ago

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Back To You - Part 16 | Sam Carpenter

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x reader

Warnings: mentions of violence, death, blood, injuries, and swearing

Summary: When Sam left after turning eighteen, you were devastated. You’d been in love with her since you were kids and her leaving meant you never got to tell her how you truly felt.

Fast forward a couple of years, Tara gets attacked and Sam returns. . .

A/N: Fair warning there might be a couple of typos and shit in this part because I’m too tired to proofread properly

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

_______________________________________________

The door of the theater falls shut behind us with a loud bang and I can’t stop myself from flinching ever so slightly.

Sam squeezes my hand and I squeeze back, letting my eyes roam around the room.

Nothing’s changed since the last time we were here and I cringe once again at the sight of the mannequins on the stage dressed in the old Ghostface cloaks.

It’s eerily quiet, but the knowledge that backup is ready to jump in and help us when Kirby gives them a signal brings me some sense of peace.

When Sam and I came out of the bathroom earlier Bailey had left to go to the station which gave me the chance to pull Kirby aside and tell her about what we figured out while Sam distracted the others, especially Ethan who kept looking at me with his big doe eyes.

She believed me instantly and we quickly came to the conclusion that in order to end this we either have to kill Bailey, Quinn, and Ethan, or get a confession out of them, so they go to prison for the rest of their lives.

I opted for the latter because I’m sick of people dying, but we agreed that should anything go wrong, we will kill them.

We also agreed that the less people are involved the better, so Kirby called the hospital Anika is at and convinced them to call Mindy in Anika’s name, saying she wanted to see her girlfriend.

We tried to come up with a plan to get Chad out of the way as well, but nothing came to mind, which is why he’s here with us now.

Danny’s also here, but we left him outside under the guise of needing someone to call for help in case something goes wrong.

He doesn’t know that the FBI is already stationed nearby, waiting to be called in by Kirby.

Sam, Kirby, and I are the only ones who know and even though I wanted to tell Tara and Chad, I never got the chance because we were never alone.

At first, Danny and Ethan were with us, and then it was just Danny because I managed to prevent Ethan from getting on the same subway as us by shoving a stranger in his way.

I’m sure he’ll be here soon though, just like Bailey who’s in on the “plan”.

We told him we wanted to trap Ghostface and execute him which he immediately agreed to since he doesn’t know we know about him yet.

He was super supportive and even told us to use public transport to avoid getting targeted, and if I didn’t know better I would have actually believed that he was concerned.

I still don’t know why he, Quinn, and Ethan are doing all this, but I guess we’ll find out sooner.

“I cleared the whole place before you got here,” Kirby says, turning to face us. “This—“ she nods her head at the door we just came in through, “—is the only way in or out.”

“What about weapons?” Sam asks, her hand still in mine.

Tara is holding onto Chad’s arm, nodding along to what Sam just asked.

“One gun and I hold onto it,” Kirby lies. She slipped me a knife earlier when I told her about what we found out.

It’s tucked into the waistband of my pants, hidden by my sweater, and not even Sam knows about it.

I know right now would probably be a good time to come clean and tell Chad and Tara everything we know (and tell Sam about the knife), but we can’t be sure that this place isn’t bugged.

“I’m the only one with a badge, so that’s the way it’s going to be,” Kirby says when the others look at her in disbelief. “We’re safe here,” she adds and even though I know the FBI is on standby outside, I’m still not entirely convinced. There’s three Ghostfaces and four of us, and they’re all armed.

This is going to be fun. . .

I wish we’d had more time to plan, because this is all super reckless, but we can’t risk someone else getting hurt, so it will have to do.

The others look skeptical, too, but no one voices their concerns and a moment later Sam’s phone rings. She disconnects our hands and pulls it out of her pocket, her eyebrows furrowing when she sees that it’s Mindy who’s calling her.

She glances at me and I dip my chin, wordlessly telling her to answer it.

“Mindy? Hey, you okay?” she says. She walks off in search of better reception and I let her be, turning to Chad and Tara who are eyeing the glass display cases with disgust while Kirby makes her own way through the theater, looking at everything with her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Sprout. . . Chad,” I say quietly, approaching them. They turn with furrowed eyebrows and smile weakly when they see me.

“Y/N.” Chad exhales sharply and I squeeze his arm reassuringly.

“You guys okay?” I ask.

Tara shakes her head and hugs me while Chad grimaces. “Not really,” she whispers. “I’m scared.”

I sigh and hold her closer. “Yeah, me too.”

“Same. . .” Chad watches us with a forlorn look and I chuckle softly before pulling him into the hug as well.

“You’ll be okay. Both of you, I promise.” I press a kiss to the top of Tara’s head and nudge Chad.

They both shudder and tighten the hug before my phone rings and I’m forced to pull away.

Dread settles in the pit of my stomach as I pull it out of my pocket, but then the sight of Paige’s name flashing across the screen makes me relax again.

It’s not Ghostface, Y/N. Calm down.

“Paige, hey. Everything okay? Are you in the city yet?”

Despite the situation, Paige laughs softly. “Yes, everything’s fine. I’m not in the city yet, I still have two hours to go. I’m just calling to tell you that the hospital called.”

The tentative smile that pulled at my lips just a second ago vanishes and I tighten my grip on the phone. “A-and?”

“Lee’s still in surgery, but he’s stable.”

Tears prick at my eyes and I spin around to avoid Tara’s and Chad’s concerned looks. “Okay, that’s good. That’s really good.”

I swallow thickly to get rid of the growing lump in my throat and Paige sighs on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, it is. . . so what about you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but—“

The lights turn off and the call disconnects. A scream pierces through the silent theater and I whirl around.

Tara.

She and Chad seem to be unharmed, but they’re tripping over their feet, trying to get away from something, of rather, someone.

It’s hard to make out what’s happening in the dark, but even before a homemade Stab movie gets projected onto the white curtains that have been lowered in front of the stage, I know that Ghostface is here.

Baile, Ethan and Quinn are here, right now, and we didn’t see it coming.

How didn’t we know? There’s only one entrance and we would have heard them come in. Right?

But what if Kirby overlooked a different entrance? What if she didn’t search the place probably?

Speaking of Kirby, my blood runs cold when my eyes land on her. Her face is covered in blood, and it looks like her nose is broken, but what’s more important is the blood on her shirt from a stab wound in her stomach and the knife pressed against her neck by Ghostface, standing behind her.

Ethan or Quinn. . . Bailey is taller.

“Fuck.” I rush to pull Tara and Chad behind me, feeling anger rising in the pit of my stomach when Ghostface tilts his head mockingly.

This is not how this was supposed to go down. Kirby was supposed to stay hidden, she was supposed to observe and call for backup.

Movement out of the corner of my eye makes my heart skip a beat, but when I turn my head, there’s nothing there.

A second later though I feel a presence on my other side, and I whirl around, expecting another Ghostface, but it’s just Sam, wide-eyed and panting.

“They’re here,” she breathes, “They’re—“ she freezes when her eyes land on Kirby, “—Fuck.”

She grabs my arm, and together we shield Chad and Tara while Ghostface continues to watch us wordlessly.

Kirby is deathly still in his hold, despite the obvious pain she’s in because she knows that if she even attempts to reach for her gun or her radio, her throat will be slit.

Some blood is already trickling down her throat because of how hard Ghostface is pressing the knife against her skin, and I shiver, remembering how I was in that same position a year ago.

Every breath, every blink could be your last one, and it’s a horrifying experience.

This is definitely not how I thought this would go. Was I skeptical of our half-assed planned? Yes. Was I expecting it to go off the rails at some point? Also, yes, but I didn’t think shit would be hitting the fan this quickly.

Well, there’s no point in keeping my mouth shut any longer.

“Let her go, Ethan. She has nothing to do with this,” I say lowly. I know it’s him because Quinn is even shorter than her brother and she probably wouldn’t have had the strength to overwhelm Kirby.

Ghostface falters ever so slightly, obviously surprised that I know who’s under the mask, but he doesn’t move or say anything.

“What are you doing?” Tara hisses, tugging on the back of my sweater. “That’s not Ethan.”

Sam squeezes my arm, and I glance over my shoulder for a split second to meet Tara’s eyes. “Yes it is,” I say, forcing myself to sound calm. “He’s behind all of this with Quinn and Bailey.”

“What?” Chad lets out a surprised gasp.

Someone starts clapping slowly behind us and we all whirl around to see Bailey standing there next to another Ghostface.

He’s smiling menacingly and claps one more time before exhaling dramatically. “I knew you’d figure it out. I mean, the way you looked at me at the police station after the bodega. . . I knew you knew something was up.”

I narrow my eyes, but stay quiet.

There’s no way to get a confession out of all of them now, at least not one we can use against them in court because Kirby was supposed to record everything, so we’re moving on to plan b.

Kill them. Kill all of them. Make them pay for what they’ve done to Liam, Gale, Anika, and Brooks, and for how they tired to frame Sam for what happened im Woodsboro.

“Also, Ethan saw you talking to Kirby, so I knew we had to do something sooner rather than later to make you pay.”

“Make us pay?” Sam asks indignantly. “For what?!”

The homemade Stab movie still playing in the background flickers eerily, casting weird shadows over everyone’s face, but especially Bailey’s when it tightens in anger.

He pulls out his gun and waves it around. “For killing my son!”

“Your son?” Tara snaps over my shoulder.

“Yeah, he’s right there.” I gesture at the Ghostface still pressing a knife to Kirby’s neck.

Bailey snorts and the Ghostface next to him takes off his mask.

Quinn.

I knew it, and so did Sam, but Chad and Tara suck in a breath behind me.

Ethan takes off his mask as well, somehow managing to do it without letting go of Kirby.

“Not him!” Quinn snaps with wild eyes before pointing her knife at Sam. “You killed—“

The curly hair, the thick eyebrows. . . E.K. Ethan Kirsch.

“Richie. . .” I say through clenched teeth.

Sam’s hand around my upper arm tightens. “You’re Richie’s family?!”

Tara and Chad shift uncomfortably, but they don’t say a word.

Of course they’re Richie’s family. How did I not see that coming?

They want revenge for what Sam did to him and they started it all by spreading rumors about her online, so when they kill her, kill us, people will just suspect some rando who took matters into his own hands after he found out Sam was the “real” Ghostface.

How fucked up is that. . .

I glance at Kirby while Bailey, Ethan, and Quinn catch the others up on what I just figured out, and nod subtly when her fingers graze against the pocket of her leather jacket.

The radio. . . We need to call for backup. We need to get out of here.

There has to be a second exit we don’t know about because how else would Bailey, Ethan, and Quinn have gotten into the theater unnoticed.

My call with page was disconnected, probably because Bailey turned on some kind of signal jammer, which could mean the radio is also useless, but getting my hands on it and trying to call for back up is worth a try anyway.

I mean, don’t radios and cell phones operate on different frequencies?

All thoughts of frequencies are quickly forgotten when Bailey steps forward and holds out a weathered Ghostface mask.

“This is your father’s, Sam,” he says. “Quinn’s got Stu Macher’s and Ethan has Nacy Loomis’s, your grandmother’s. . .”

“It really runs in your fucking family, doesn’t it,” Ethan pipes up, and the way Sam’s breath hitches next to me makes me want to bash his head in.

This is exactly what she’s afraid of, being like them, and I just know it’s going to take a lot of therapy and a lot of pep talks to make her, once again, believe she really isn’t anything like them

Tara sniffles quietly, and I reach behind me to squeeze her hand when she holds onto the hem of my sweater.

“This is what we’ve been counting down to,” Bailey says, waving the mask around with the same crazy look in his eyes as Quinn. “I’m going to need you to put it on.”

Oh, hell no.

Sam breathes heavily, and for a split second I think she’s going to take it—she’s going to give them what they want after all, but then she lets go of my arm and smacks the mask out of Bailey’s hand.

“Fuck you!” she spits and her confidence fills me with so much pride that I don’t react fast enough when Quinn lunges forward, slicing Sam’s exposed upper arm with her knife.

She was wearing my zip up hoodie earlier, but it’s so hot in here she must have taken it off while on the phone with Mindy, leaving her in only her gray tank top.

Shit, Mindy. . . Why was she calling in the first place? Is she okay?

There’s no way to find out now, so I quickly pull Sam back against me, out of reach of Quinn while she presses a hand to the cut on her arm.

It’s only superficial, but it’s already bleeding pretty badly and it will definitely need stitches.

“Stay the fuck away from her,” Tara shouts, trying to step out from behind me, but Chad holds her back with an arm around her waist.

“You’re a killer, just like your father, Sam,” Bailey says, pointing an accusing finger at Sam and this time, unlike when Ethan opened his stupid mouth, I don’t hold back.

“No, she’s not you!” I snap, baring my teeth. With her free hand, Sam squeezes my arm around her middle, either to silently thank me for standing up for her or to get me to settle down.

“Yes, she is you motherfucker!” Quinn screams. “She killed Richie like the cold-blooded psycho that she is!”

That’s it!

I let go of Sam and rush forward to tackle Quinn, but Ethan is quick to react. He shoves Kirby aside and jumps in my way before I can get to his sister, stabbing me in the shoulder right below my collar bone—right below the scar on my neck where Amber stabbed me.

“Ah, you fucking little twig,” I exclaim, squaring my shoulders, ready to take him down instead when Sam pulls me back by the back of my sweater.

“No, run!” she shouts and I spin around, knowing she’s right.

Tara and Chad are already weaving through the glass cases, trying to get to the metal door we came in through and Sam and I follow them.

Quinn and Ethan are hot on our heels while Bailey shouts how he knew Sam had to die when he saw the pictures of what she did to Richie.

Everyone who had something to do with his death dies. . . Yeah, no thanks.

Amidst the chaos, the fact that we don’t have the key card to unlock the door dawns on me the moment we’re standing in front of it. Chad tries to pry it open, but it doesn’t budge and when Quinn and Ethan’s footsteps get louder behind us I exclaim, “Forget about it. We’re not getting out this way! There has to be another exit!”

“The roof!” Tara says. “I saw an exit sign leading to the roof behind the seats on the balcony overlooking the stage.”

The roof? Seriously? We’ll be trapped there, too, unless there’s a fire escape.

Anything’s better than this though, I think as Ethan and Quinn skirt around the corner.

“Okay, go left! There’s a staircase up to the balcony!” I shout and we start running again, abandoning the metal door, which could possibly still be our only way out.

Somewhere in the theater a shot gets fired, and I pray to God that Kirby is okay, but I don’t have time to dwell on it as we get to the staircase.

I yank on Sam’s arm and pull her in front of me, and usher her to follow Chad and Tara, but she stops when she notices me freezing on the bottom step.

“What are you doing? Come on!” Urgency seeps into her voice and she tries to drag me up the stairs, but I don’t move.

“No, get to the roof and get help, I’ll buy you some time,” I say, pulling out the knife Kirby gave me.

If Quinn and Ethan want to get to the others, they’ll have to go through me first.

Sam’s eyes widen when they land on the gleaming blade and she shakes her head adamantly. “Fuck no! I’ve left you behind twice now, I’m not doing it again!”

“Sam— I—“ I want to protest, but then Quinn appears with a lazy smile, dragging the blade of her knife along the wall, seemingly in no hurry to get to us any more.

No, no, no. Why’s she so calm. What’s going on?! Where’s Ethan?!

“Y/N!” Sam urges, which snaps me out of my thoughts.

Right. We’ve got to move, no matter how slow Quinn is walking, she’s going to get to us eventually if we don’t move.

“Shit. Yeah, okay! Go, go, go!” I follow Sam up the stairs, taking two of them at a time with my heart pounding in my ears until we get to the top.

Oh damn, we’re higher up than I expected.

It’s at least a ten foot drop from the balcony to the main floor of the theater, but that’s not what I’m worried about.

No, what I’m worried about is Ethan, who’s blocking our path to the roof because he somehow managed to climb the scaffolding connecting the balcony and the main floor to our right.

Tara and Chad are rooted to the ground, staring at him while he simply waves his knife mockingly.

“You really thought you guys could get away?” He laughs and I grab Sam’s hand and spin us around when I hear Quinn coming up the stairs behind us. “Yeah, no. You’re all going to die here tonight and pay for what you did to Richie.”

Tara whimpers and she and Chad take several steps back until their backs are pressed against Sam’s and mine.

The weight of Kirby’s knife in my hand, the one that isn’t holding Sam’s, does nothing to ground me.

We’re caged in and there’s nothing I can do without risking getting hurt because both Ethan and Quinn also have a knife.

“Richie deserved everything he got!” Sam spits next to me. “He was pathetic and killed innocent people just so he could make a new Stab movie! A fucking movie!”

“He loved those movies!” Quinn exclaims angrily and I can’t help but scowl at her.

“That doesn’t excuse what he did! How deluded are you to think that it’s okay to kill people just so you can make a movie?!”

“Shut up!” Ethan shouts and even though I can’t see him, I know he’s absolutely livid right now.

I don’t shut up though. Not only because I can’t stop myself from going on, but because I need to get him to snap and move so we can get to the roof.

“I mean, how fucked up is it that your dad brainwashed you into avenging your brother’s death? He’s a grown ass man and he’s using his kids to do his bidding. Really gets you thinking about who the favorite child is, or was in this case, doesn’t it?”

Quinn’s face contorts into a grimace of rage and I can see both her and Ethan lunging at us from miles away, so I act before they can.

I let go of Sam’s hand and pick up a discarded scaffolding pipe, shoving it into Chad’s hands before turning back around and kicking the side of Quinn’s knee when she comes at us.

She cries out in pain and goes down, and I spin around just in time to see Chad knocking the knife out of Ethan’s hand with the pipe.

“You piece of shit, you know nothing about us!” Ethan shouts, scrambling to pick the knife back up, but Chad is one step ahead of him.

He kicks the knife under the seats before stepping to the side so Tara can knee him in the face, knocking him out.

Yeah, get his ass, Sprout!

Quinn wails furiously and jumps to her feet, her rage obviously numbing the pain in her knee. She tightens the grip she has on her knife and lunges at Sam who raises her arms defensively.

“Oh no you don’t!” I growl, darting forward and catching her wrist mid-strike. I twist it so the knife is now pointing at her and watch in horror as she runs straight into it, stabbing herself in the throat because she can’t stop her advance in time.

Her eyes widen, and she chokes on her own blood for a moment before Sam kicks her in the stomach, forcing her to let go of the knife and fall backward.

She twitches helplessly, coughing and clawing at her own throat for what feels like hours before finally going deathly still.

“Good fucking riddance,” I spit and Sam nods, seemingly in a daze with her eyes trained on Quinn’s dead body until I grab her hand and pull her away. “Let’s go!”

Tara and Chad have already left and I can only hope that they made it to the roof okay. Where Kirby and Bailey are, I have no idea, but the theater’s been deathly quiet since that gunshots I heard earlier.

Please let that have been Kirby shooting Bailey and nod the other way around.

“We need to call for back—“ My words get stuck in my throat when Sam lets out a surprised cry behind me. Her hand lets go of mine and I hear her knife clatter against the ground before I whirl around to see that she’s tripped over something.

No, not something, someone. And that someone is Ethan who’s got his hand wrapped around her ankle.

“Son of a bitch!” Sam seethes and kicks him in the shoulder, which makes him let go of her, but when they both jump to their feet, my heart drops at the sight of him holding the knife she just dropped.

“You’re not going anywhere!” He slashes the knife through the air, missing Sam’s throat by an inch which makes me see red.

I yank Sam behind me, ignoring the way my back stings because of it, and tackle him.

He grunts when we go down and I feel him dragging the knife across my side, but all I can focus on is the sound of Sam’s voice, crying out my name, and the sensation of falling.

Falling, and falling, and falling.

“Y/N!”

I look up and it’s only when I see Sam bent over the railing of the balcony with a bewildered look in her eyes and an outstretched arm that I realize Ethan and I went overt the edge.

No. This was not supposed to happen.

I want to reach out and grab her hand, but it’s too late. I’m falling and before I know it, everything goes black.

I can’t have been out for too long, because when I come to again, everything is quiet.

There’s no shouting, there’s no police and I’m still in the theater, staring up at the blurry outline of the balcony and the dark ceiling.

Sam is nowhere in sight, but when I turn my head I see Ethan right next to me, sprawled on the ground amidst the glass shards of the display case he fell on.

Black dots are dancing in my vision, and I know it’s only a matter of time before I pass out again, but I know for a fact that he’s dead.

His neck is bent at an unnatural angle and his lifeless eyes are staring at me. His lips and chin are covered in blood from when Tara broke his nose with her knee and there are tiny glass shards sticking out of his cheek and forehead.

That’s two for two, I guess. . .

I avert my eyes and go to sit up to find Sam and the others, only to feel my heart drop when I find that I can’t move.

No. Not again.

I try again, willing every muscle in my body to help me sit up, but it doesn’t work.

All I can do is turn my head, and even that is difficult now that I think about it.

It’s like trying to run in a dream, and before I can stop it, a desperate whimper slips past my lips.

Not again. Please, not again.

The memory of Leroy’s face— the firefighter who pulled me out of my parents car after the accident— makes its way to the front of my mind and when I close my eyes I see his sparkling blue eyes above me.

No, not again. Not again. . .

“Y/N!”

My eyes fly open and I look up. Leroy’s blue eyes swim in and out of focus before they’re replaced by dark brown ones.

Sam.

She’s kneeling over me and has her hands on the side of my head.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. What did you do?!,” she whispers frantically, her eyes darting between mine.

I go to say something, but she shushes me by pressing a finger against my lips. “Don’t answer that. Save your strength. Just stay awake, okay, keep looking at me.”

I don’t know why’s she’s telling me to stay awake, but then I feel the almost irresistible pull of sleep tugging on my insides.

My eyes flutter, but I can’t in good conscience rest until I know it’s over— until I know that everyone’s okay.

“T-Tara. . . Chad,” I whisper, my eyes momentarily focusing on the pendant of Sam’s necklace. It twinkles in the low light and fills me with an indescribable warmth, knowing that she hasn’t taken the necklace off since I’ve given it to her. It also somehow chases away the panic that threatened to wash over me just a moment ago when I realized I couldn’t move.

“They’re okay,” Sam says, her voice breaking which makes me look at her again. Her eyes are filled with tears and her bottom lip is quivering the same way it did when I collapsed at the hospital a year ago. “They’re both okay. Kirby’s okay, too.”

I exhale shakily and blink back my own tears. “So, it’s over?”

Sam nods, running her thumbs over my cheek. “It is and help is on the way, so try to stay awake, okay? I know you’re tired, and you’re in a lot of pain because you took quite a fall, but you have to stay awake.“

“Quite a fall” feels like an understatement, but I don’t comment on it. I just shake my head and sigh quietly.

“‘M not in pain,” I slur, feeling my consciousness slipping away again.

It’s true, I’m not in pain. I just can’t move, but that’s okay because I know everyone else is okay. They’re all going to be okay, including Gale and Liam.

“What do you mean you’re not in pain? You just fell ten feet! How can you not be in pain?” Sam grabs my hand and laces our fingers together. I can’t feel it, but I see her doing it. I also see her furrowing her eyebrows when my hand stays limp before realization dawns on her.

“Y/N. . .” Tears roll down her face and I want nothing more but to reach up and wipe them away, but I can’t. “You’re— You’re—“

“‘S okay,” I whisper, trying my best to smile. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not, you’re not,” she hiccups and lets go of my hand again to cradle my head and the back of my neck just as my eyes begin to flutter. “Hey, keep your eyes open! You hear me, Y/N?! Keep your eyes open!”

But I’m so tired and she’s here. She’s finally here after everything that’s happened.

“Sam?”

Tara’s voice makes Sam look up and I take that as my chance to close my eyes.

Just for a little bit, I tell myself, but as soon as my eyes close, darkness washes over me.

“Y/N? Y/N!”

They’re all okay.

She’s here.

_______________________________________________

Before you come for me I just want to say that—spoiler alert—we’re going to be okay!

This part was a pain to write, but it’s done and I can rest now.

Only one more part to go!

Tag list: @bella423 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @canyonyodeler @quadofthec @pussyydestroyer @rqizzu @pithod @morganismspam23 @idontliketoread2137

#x reader #sam carpenter #sam carpenter x reader #samantha carpenter #samantha carpenter x reader #scream

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madthetruemad · 3 days ago

Text

There is No Law that Emperors Must be Fair

Emperor ! Jing Yuan x Princess ! Reader

Chapter 17 | Sunday's Confession

You are set to marry the Emperor, Jing Yuan. In order to break the engagement, you stage an accident and fake having amnesia. But now, your own cruel, cold, and distant fiancé, who seemed to not want anything to do with you, is now acting all lovey dovey!

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It was long into the night after you had spoken with Gepard. Your list of allies seemed to grow at such a lightning quick speed. Though, so far, there was one ally you hadn’t gotten.

“Sunday… why do you want me to befriend Blade? And why are you interested in the keys? I mean, you didn’t even show any interest in them until Gepard came here with the one my father had.”

Sunday hummed to himself as he materialized next to you. His head sharing the same pillow that you were lying on, you both just staring up at the ceiling together.

“Blade will be a big help to you…”

You frowned as you sat up, “will he be a help to me or to you?”

Sunday sat up as well, eyes flickering in the lamp light, “what are you trying to say?”

“What you did back there, what was it?”

He cocked his head to the side furthering your frustration towards him ever so slightly, “when you said not to forget who your enemy was you tried to do something. It was like when we first met… like I was in some heavy fog with no way out. Like you were trying to cloud my mind.”

Sunday smiled at your words as he fully turned towards you, “like this?”

There it was again, a dull throb in your mind and what felt like a heavy blanket trying to cover something. His words sounded weird to you too, it was like-

You shook your head, your eyes narrowed, “you can control people.”

Sunday leaned back against your headboard, “controlling people is such a nasty way to put it, y/n.”

“But that’s what you’re doing!”

You got out of the bed then and tried to put some distance between yourself and him, but when you looked back at the bed he was gone. It wasn’t until you felt a hand on your shoulder that you jumped and spun around looking at Sunday who had that damned amused grin on his face.

“Why Sunday? Before I help you anymore, you need to tell me everything.”

Without missing a beat, Sunday went to go sit on the chair that by your table in the room, his legs crossed and one of his elbows rested on the tabletop.

“Blade, more or less, did something he shouldn’t have by tampering with the flesh of an abundance emanator. I’m sure you know what emanator’s are, right?”

You nodded and he continued, “his body will be used to revive me because his little abundance curse is the only thing that will withstand the ritual.”

“And the keys.”

“Needed to unlock the gate that I’m currently locked behind.”

“And why was it that my father had one of the keys and Jing Yuan the other?”

“Before the emperor went ahead with his little conquering spree, there was a time that the each land respected each other as allies. Your grandfather was good friends with the Emperor.”

“I thought you were helping me simply because you wanted to, at least, that’s what you made it sound like before…”

Sunday rested his chin in the palm of his hand, “and you believed it, didn’t you?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, “why were you locked away?”

“The Emperor and I… had a disagreement.”

You quirked an eyebrow which was when Sunday finally looked away from you, “I want to bring my sister back is all. In my old country, she was killed by … an unexplainable monstrosity. I want to bring her back, but only aeons had control of death and feats such as reviving a human. So I tried to cut corners. I kidnapped an emperor’s bride to be and used her as a sacrifice only for it to fail and the princess dying in my arms. The Emperor in his rage killed me but not before I managed to gain a few abilities of an aeon. Before sealing me away he had me reset her body for things to begin anew again, but with my new powers I didn’t know how to control them and ended up sending her into the future instead.”

Sunday finally looked back at you, “and oh how that emperor tore the world apart to find her again, but in doing so I guess he also became mad like his teacher and friends before him.”

“Became mad?”

“You know what mara is? The disease that strikes the long living species? Well, he did start showing signs of it, but it’s not too bad right now… though, he does kill a few people here and there.”

“Does the Emperor even remember the princess he’s looking for?”

“No, he’s forgotten her face a long time ago. No thanks to the mara, of course. If he did remember, then I’m sure he … wouldn’t have killed you.”

You furrowed your brow, “what do you mean by that?”

He didn’t answer though as someone hastily knocked on your door distracting you, and when you went to look at where Sunday was… he was gone making you roll your eyes.

Well whatever, I got some new info on Jing Yuan and Sunday. Apparently they hate each other, Sunday killed Jing Yuan’s fiancé, Jing Yuan killed and sealed Sunday away but he managed to make Sunday with his new aeon ascension abilities to bring back his dead girlfriend, but said girlfriend was sent to the future due to Sunday not having full control which then lead Jing Yuan to look for her, but over time he was struck with mara…

And now I’m his fiancé… wait, if I find the princess he’s looking for, then I may be able to get out this marriage!

You smiled at your revelation as there was another knock on your door.

“I’m coming! Just a moment please!”

Grabbing your blanket from your bed, you wrapped it around yourself. It was still pretty late into the night so you wondered who it could be.

“Hopefully not Jing Yuan,” you muttered to yourself.

Grabbing the handle, you twisted it and opened the door.

“Princess! I’m sorry for disturbing you at this time, but I just had to see you!”

You blinked and took a step back. Before you was a woman slightly taller than you, she had long white ears, beautiful silver hair with blue highlights, and a charming smile on her face. And her eyes, unlike most you have seen around here, were filled with an unparalleled kindness.

“I’m General Feixiao, I hope Gepard has already filled you in on everything?”

@danae-misfortune @frogsasfrogs @openthenyoor01 @zuhaine @ughlostmyotherac @joyfulnightprincess @thechibifoxcub @ceaether @satanisasofties @thetwinkims @yanrandom @honeybunbunn @superdonkeypatroleggs @ohmyfinggod @baboon-milk333 @zareri @kclremin @rains-mae @yccoffeesimp @bloomiesty @moon-taffy @superdark-soul @pinkismyfavcolor @isa-l0v3r @its-astrotea-love @reapersan @junephantom21 @erisfayred @greyrain23 @justadekusimp @uzxotic @alisstaa @avalordream @unlivingdisaster @pix-stuff @sleepyxion14 @pillows-blankets @anicega @junni-berry @niaainthere @sorachitsuki @dyingsweetmackerel @rosariymchapter @immahuman @fluffy-koalala @momoniq @orphiclueur @insightedly

#There is No Law that Emperors Must be Fair #hsr #honkai star rail #jing yuan #jing yuan x you #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x y/n #emperor jing yuan x reader #emperor jing yuan #emperor jing yuan x princess reader

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dumbbitchenergy17 · 1 day ago

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Where the Wild Things Are - Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen: Daughter

Plot: Wild men or monstrous infected creatures, the world is wild and ravaged by Cordecyps but some are raised in it and flourish becoming a wild thing.

Word Count: 4.2K

Pairing: Joel Miller x Platonic!Teen!Reader, Ellie Williams x Platonic!Reader

Warnings: canon-typical fighting/violence, comfort, harsh language, tw: description of intense injuries, trauma from abusive mother, description of child neglect/abuse

—————

They keep sayin' that I ain't nothin' like my father But I'm the furthest thing from choir boys and altars If you cross me, I'm just like my father I am colder than Titanic water

Joel felt his heart so far up in his throat as he and Tommy rode off towards the cabin just like all those months ago but for a different reason. He wasn’t sure what they were going to come upon. Then gunfire fills the air, sending a chill down both Millers’ spines, spurring their horses faster. When Red appeared out of the blue Tommy quickly wrangled the creature as Joel speeds ahead. He didn’t know what those gunshots meant but he only hoped he would still find you breathing. The dense forest opens up to the large clearing where the cabin resides, Joel snaps the reins harsher on his horse to send him flying over the hillside. He only got seconds to take in the still-destroyed cabin, two dead bodies, and you on your knees with a pistol against your head.

“Y/n!” He screams right as you pull the trigger, it seems like a blur seeing you drop to the ground and he lands harshly on his feet as he dismounts his horse only one thought in mind. You were dead he watched his daughter kill herself. Until he sees you roll over and start crying in pain he sprints seeing you try and reach for the pistol but he kicks it far away. You’re caked in grime and blood but the side of your head has a deep graze blood pours steadily from it. Joel rips off his flannel pressing it to the side of your head as you cry out in pain but sadness.

“You’re okay baby girl. I got you,” He mumbles holding you in his arms. You try struggling against him your ears ringing in from the damage caused to them and the wound on your temple.

“Why!” You cry and he holds you to his chest as you run out of energy. Tommy appears over the hillside unlike Joel having more time to process the scene. Your mother’s mutilated infected body and his stomach churn at the violent death, Lila lays by the pond blood still flowing steadily from her head the water turns red, and there is his brother and it seems like they are back years ago seeing his brother clutch the body of his niece. Tommy walks closer ready to pull Joel away from the sight but practically falls over grabbing his knees to calm his racing heart. Joel soothes you tears in his eyes as you cry into his chest, part of the flannel pressed to your head damp with blood and tears. You were alive.

It seems like hours of the three of you being in the field Joel soothing you until you passed out from exhaustion. Joel peels back the flannel seeing the clotted wound, it is a deep graze but he would rather it is that than you dead.

“Joel,” Tommy calls out and he looks away from his daughter, “We shouldn't be out here long,” Joel nods knowing they would have to return to Jackson but he was too worried that if he moved you were going to slip away. Tommy rises to his feet.

“I’ll…I’ll go take care of the bodies,” Tommy has a troubled look on his face having to bury more of the dead especially ones so close to you and technically them as family.

“Thank you, Tommy,” Joel says his voice gruff but there is still a shakiness to it. Tommy leaves to start preparing the graves as Joel finds your pack lying nearby searching and pulling out a medpack. It’s a shoddy job and those at the clinic with their ever-growing injuries would make sure you’re properly taken care of. As he wraps the bandage around your head he can’t help but wonder is this exactly how Tommy felt? Tommy had been the one to find him, he made him flinch and miss. He found no reason to keep going on after Sarah and that’s how Tommy found Joel with his pistol against his temple taking the easy way out. It seemed like a blur of Tommy fixing him back up, the gunshot had made him go deaf for a bit so he couldn’t hear Tommy yelling at him with tears in his eyes as the two brothers cried and mourned together. Did he feel the fear of seeing that sight, hearing that gun go off, and praying they missed and weren’t about to continue in the world without them?

Tommy returns the bodies buried in the dirt, not the best or proper graves but a shallow one given they are both infected. Tommy brings the horses over slinging your pack over Red before letting Joel climb onto his horse. Tommy helps lift you to Joel who holds you across his lap, one hand holding the reins and the other around your waist to keep you close. Once Tommy mounts his horse with Red attached with a lead they leave the cabin in the dust. Joel glances back at the ruined cabin the only thing left there is the dead and horrid memories now.

A faint ringing wakes you up squinting at the bright light coming from the stained windows. The ringing never leaves as you groan at the pain in your head feeling like your skin is very tight. Footsteps come over to your right side, and you hear something muffled. You listen to them move once before speaking from your left side.

“Y/n can you hear me?” They call out and you turn in their direction seeing it’s one of the women who works in the clinic. Your whole body aches as you try sitting up but she quickly rushes to settle you back down. “You shouldn’t be getting up, your injuries are still healing.”

“Don’t touch me,” You glare at her getting to the point of sitting up, her hands hovering over you to make sure you don’t fall over or feel faint. Both your arms are covered in bandages, your left arm down to your palm, while your right arm has a splint around your thumb keeping it from moving. Your stomach aches and you feel something wrapped tight around your midsection. Your hand lightly traces your stomach over the clean shirt you’re in…the faces of your mother and Derek grins as they dig cigarette butt after cigarette butt into your flesh. The mutilated body of your mother flashes behind closed eyes and memories of the pond. Of Lila’s warmth, her smile, her smell, picking flowers as her mind was being eaten away. Her small body lies in the dirt as the blood feeds the earth and the water.

That’s how Joel and Tommy find you with your knees to your chest a hand clutching your stomach the other in your hair as you cry into yourself. Since returning to Jackson hadn’t dared move from you even as the doctors worked on you late into the night with the multitude of other patients. It wasn't until the sun rose again that Tommy found him still in that chair watching your chest rise and fall with each breath. Tommy practically had to drag him out of there to clean up and get some food.

“She isn’t going anywhere and plenty of people are looking over her,” Tommy pleads until Joel ultimately agrees but only for a shower, food, and a force power nap that Tommy tried forcing but the general exhaustion from the events Joel was out. When Joel awoke the brothers quickly returned to the church converted into a larger clinic. That’s where they find you amongst other folks who rest or are being treated as you cry, the young nurse looking unsure how to assess the situation. Joel quickly weaves through the people and draws you into his arms. He feels you flinch but settle into his arms still muffling your tears and cries, he glances at the nurse who points at her right side.

“She’s partially deaf in her right ear from a ruptured eardrum,” She says and Joel nods the lady taking that as her cue to leave as Tommy quickly takes her spot. What fucking irony that his daughter ends up just like him. Joel presses a kiss on your temple right over your stitches that match his own.

“It’s going to be okay babygirl…I got you,” he says and you can get fractions of what Joel says but hear him say ‘I got you’ and you’ve never felt more safe and comforted by those simple words.

It seems everywhere in Jackson haunted you with memories. The stables you found comfort in now filled you with dread, the alleys you preferred over the main streets only filled you with memories of fighting for your life through them, the playground outside the Tipsy Bison lay barren, reminders of children's laughter filled your ear imagining them playing and enjoying themselves. The streets were still stained with blood though diluted by water and rain that washes its way slowly but the iron smell wouldn’t leave your nose. The harsh dirt is pressed against your cheek as you’re shoved against the ground. The struggle in your fading as you lay there for what you assumed were only fleeting moments. The street sign of Connor’s Drive sends chills down your spine when you see the house on the corner, the phantom voices and pain ghost over your skin from the months of suffering in that home.

The blackboard stares back at you as you sit in Tommy and Maria’s living room the names and dates written on it mocking you. ‘Kevin 4/3/00-9/29/03, Sarah 7/20/89-9/27/03, and Lila 2021-5/13/25’. It felt morbid the only thing left of her was writing on a board alongside Maria’s son and another name you don’t recognize. During your time living there you never really asked about the memorial, it wasn’t your place. The melting candles flicker as if someone blew at them, maybe they were here. Her spirit forever haunts you, sinking her claws into her killer’s flesh until you soon meet your fate. Whether by another’s hand or your own.

“Hey kid,” A voice comes to your left side and you jump slightly turning to see Tommy looking a bit tired. It was still weird not hearing from your right side. Permanent hearing loss they said, they had hopes since you were young it could heal but they didn’t have the technology to help with that. Not that you cared anymore, the loss and the scar that graces your temple are a reminder of your failures. Tommy holds up your pack,

“Was able to get all your stuff from,” He cuts himself off suddenly not wanting to say that place in fear of your reaction. You just nod as he comes over placing the bag at your feet. There is still a smoky smell from the fires and the smell of iron off it flecks of blood still stains parts of it. Was her blood embedded into the fabric? You glance back at the board at the thought and Tommy silently watches you.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he starts, “That we added her…I thought it would be a good thing to remember her…to remember all of them.” He grows quiet from the closeness he held to it.

“Who’s Sarah?” You ask. It was a name that was on the memorium of your sister, you felt you had a right to know who else would remain with her. Tommy grows quiet.

“Uh, that’s…Joel daughter. Your sister.”

You laugh. A bit morbid and probably insane to Tommy watching you start laughing at the news but you couldn’t help but find the irony in it all. A macabre reunion of sisters. With only one still living though in shambles while the others are together in whatever afterlife there is. So you laugh until you hunch over to hold your head with your elbows on your knees. You hiss forced to sit up grabbing your stomach and Tommy takes a concerned step forward.

“Come on you need to change your bandages.” Tommy holds his hand out and you don’t fight it allowing him to help you up before leading you to the clinic.

The reformed clinic was quiet given the events that occurred. Most people who were injured were either minimal or threatening enough to be put on bed rest. Many families were displaced by the fire and damages so the chapel became a sanctuary for others taking people to their homes.

“They’re healing nicely given the placement would be harder,” The doctor says while applying a thicker ointment onto each burn. Tommy stands to your left while you keep your gaze straight ahead not daring to look down. “I won’t lie these will scar similar to the ones on your arms but with proper treatment, they will be less noticeable.” His words go in one ear and out the other. These were with you forever. Despite your mother rotting she will forever be with you cause of her doing. Your family’s doing impact all those in Jackson because of your actions. Once your stomach is wrapped he allows you to lower your shirt before checking over your thumb in the splint and the stitches.

“I would recommend trying some movement exercises to regain some of the mobility but nothing too strenuous and no work that would require using that hand. I or anyone in the clinic should be able to remove your stitches in the coming days.” He says before looking over at Tommy, “If she keeps her injuries clean and takes her meds she’ll be good in no time,”

Tommy thanks the doctor as he leaves the room to get yourself situated. You stand in front of a mirror your finger lightly traces the stitches across your right temple. You spot him in the reflection a sad expression on his face.

“You didn’t have to stay Tommy,” You comment looking at him through the mirror as he stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“Course I did, you’re family kid,” It still felt weird hearing that. When they tried including you in spending time together in the past was met with so much restriction and fear unaware you were all related to begin with. He and Maria were your aunt and uncle, Ellie your technical surrogate sibling, and Joel.

“How is Joel,” You ask and he looks away at the sensitive topic. The last time you saw him was when he and Tommy found you crying in the church/clinic holding you tight to him whispering promises to you. To take care of you, that he wasn’t going to be like her. Then with that, you were dumped as Tommy and Maria’s responsibility wasn’t the best impression you wanted from your long-lost father but you know why he did. The fear that came from everything, the world ending, your tense relationship to start, he wasn’t sure if you even wanted him in your life. So he pushed you away to protect you. You still saw him around when you did get out of the house or when he came over to see Tommy. It was weird like he treated you with politeness and respect but as if you were acquaintances or neighborly kindness not that you were his child. His flesh and blood.

Tommy coughs nervously, “He’s as good as any of us can be. He asks about you sometimes.” That surprises you. He wonders about you even after giving you away?

“What do you say?” It felt wrong asking for more but you were curious what your father wished to know when you just lived down the road.

“That his daughter is wondering why the hell you don’t talk to her,” You smirk at his answer that he knows you would feel. You don’t realize he comes over until he rests a hand on your shoulder, “Joel…he’s a complicated guy. He might be seen as some gruff unapproachable guy but he’s got scars that still haven’t healed. He’s never good at the whole confrontation thing.”

You laugh but can’t help but agree.

“It’s a lot to process, hell I’m still processing I’m related to you,” Tommy scoffs with a laugh, “But he cares even when you both weren’t on the best terms he did. Maybe something deep down he knew you were someone to protect without knowing you were his kid.”

You’re quiet returning your gaze to yourself in the mirror taking in your features. It seems more evident the similarities you share with the Miller brothers especially the older one. Did Joel see Sarah in you or were you two so different? Most likely. You picture her as kind-hearted and soft while you are cruel and rough.

“Come on. Let’s get heading before Maria has our heads for being late for supper.” Tommy jokes and you roll your eyes at his antics before following after him.

Dinner is nice with the two adults and baby as the sun starts setting and you finish drying off the last dish. Tommy fusses over Liam while Maria wipes the table clean. Since the clinic, there was a request on your mind to ask them a bit apprehensive of their reaction.

“Tommy…Maria.” You get their attention as you stand there the rag to dry dishes being picked at from nerves, “Can I go and see Joel?”

The two have surprised looks at the request and you see Maria give a soft look over at Tommy before she goes over to the wrapped dishes of leftovers.

“Come help me make a plate.”

The cool spring breeze has the trees swaying as you hold the large covered plate making sure to keep the weight away from your splint. You hadn’t taken the time to appreciate the peaceful nights in Jackson and find solace walking towards Rancher Street. The porch light was off and inside the lights were all off making you frown. Was he or Ellie home or maybe they were asleep though it wasn’t that late at night. A melodic noise comes from your left as it fills the night air coming down the porch and starts trailing around the house only getting louder as you draw near. The sweet noise comes from Joel as he plays the guitar his hands steadily plucking the strings making music and mouthing along to something.

The loud creak from the step makes Joel freeze when he spots you instantly sitting up from his lax position.

“Hi.” You say and it’s quiet between you two before he responds.

“Hey.” His eyes flicker over you and you see his shoulder slump in relief seeing you unharmed.

You raise the plate slightly, “I brought food for you and Ellie, Maria had extra leftovers so I thought to bring you guys it.” He nods still in a bit of shock processing each word.

“Ellie isn’t here, she’s at a sleepover with Dina,” Joel says and you nod rocking on your heels. He immediately gestures at the table beside him, “Here so you don’t strain your hand.” You move across the porch placing it down before standing there a bit awkwardly with Joel looking a bit uncomfortable as well.

“How are you?” You ask and he perks up at the attempts of small talk.

“Good…I’m good. How…How are you feeling?” It’s a stupid question Joel already knows the answer. How would anyone feel finding out their whole life was a lie, their mother trying to kill them, learning their real father, having to put down their infected sibling, before killing their infected mother, and then trying to kill themselves?

“Alright…I’m doing better with…everything.”

Joel nods mumbling, “That…That’s good.”

“Tommy’s making sure I’m taking my meds, eating enough, keeping myself busy.” You pause before adding, “Just stuff fathers do.” Your comment hits hard and he flinches slightly looking away unable to face you.

“Joel,” He refuses to look, “Why have you been avoiding me?” Too many overwhelming self-harming thoughts take over.

“Is it cause I’m my mother’s kid? I know having Ellie is a lot and adding another is already a hassle enough. I know I’m not Sarah and—” Too many thoughts take over each growing worse and worse.

“Kid no,” Joel stands up grabbing your shoulders and making you look up at him. His face is conflicted but you see sadness in it, “Just let’s sit.” He guides you to sit before doing so himself. He sighs resting his head in his hands before looking up at you.

“I didn’t expect to have you,” His words send a dagger in your heart, “I’m not saying I’m not happy though. After Sarah I thought it was over then I met Ellie and Christ she could’ve been my blood if I wished it enough. Then you came along.” You see his hand grab the broken watch he always wears.

“Christ you were a pain in my ass,” He pinches the bridge of his nose with a laugh, “I wanted nothing to do with you. You were dangerous in my eyes I didn’t notice how much you were like me. But I saw in your behind that aggression and bitterness just a girl, a child in this fucked up world. So I wanted to protect you, like I protect Ellie…like I protected Sarah. I saw you more and more involved until your mother came back and it felt like I lost that chance all over.” The look on his face is vulnerable as he picks at his nails and a flash of anger crosses his face.

“I would’ve ripped you out of the house so fast if I could…how you cried seeing them. Knowing what they did and failing at stopping them, I knew you would’ve only hated me more if I did.” He grows silent, “When I realized you were mine I was scared out of my fucking wits. Seeing you lay there on that ground ready to die I felt like I failed you. I could’ve fought harder so you didn’t have to go through that loss. If I could have gone back all those years ago and stayed with your mother with the knowledge I know now I would’ve done it in a heartbeat. If I meant you never dealt with the pain she put you through because I failed you all those years ago.” His eyes are glossy and you don’t realize yours are as well. Joel takes a shaky inhale reaching over and thumbing away a stray tear that’s fallen down your cheek.

“That’s why I pushed you away. Gave you to Tommy and Maria to take care of you better than I ever could’ve. I’ve already failed you too much to think you’d want me in your life. How could I call myself your father if I only caused your suffering.” He sounds so defeated having accepted the reality he would only be a ghost in your life. To watch you grow up, and live your life from the outskirts.

“I always wondered who my father could be. As a kid, I dreamed of the kind of man he was, that one day he’d come back into my life and everything would be perfect. It was only when I got older I grew to hate the idea of one and my mother only fueled it. He was a sleaze who left, abandoned a pregnant woman in this world to raise a child, a bastard father for a bastard daughter.” Your finger traces your sleeve where the scar lies underneath the fabric having memorized each placement.

“It felt wrong knowing all these years to put a name to a face. Made my fucking skin crawl to see what I was missing all this time. Part of me that kid still desperate to know who their father was felt betrayed by Derek,” You laugh slightly, “You know I thought every time I spent with him, ‘Why couldn’t he be a better man against my mother? Why couldn’t he protect me like Joel would?’ Ironic isn’t it?” You hum.

“I want you a part of my life Joel,” You admit and he looks surprised, “It kills me seeing you look right through me or treat me like anyone else in Jackson. It will kill me if you treat me like Tommy’s responsibility instead of your daughter.” His eyes are red, tears long spilled at your confession.

“I want to be your kid Joel,” You say before growing hesitant, “If you’ll have me?” He nods quickly rubbing at his eyes.

“I’d like that.” His voice is thick with tears and you smile through unshed tears as you look at Joel, your father. Wiping the tears from your face glancing at the instrument that was the only witness of your conversation.

“Do..do the offer for those guitar lessons still stand?” You ask and a smile covers his face as he reaches over to grab it.

“Yeah, they do, kiddo.” He passes the instrument to you and you try mimicking the way he held it himself. It was a bit weird, especially with the splint on your hand against the top of the guitar.

“Okay use your first three fingers to press,” He guides your fingers to a specific position as you lean over the body to watch, “there now use your other hand to strum.” You do as you’re told and slide your fingers down all the strings a crisp nice sound comes from it. You look at at Joel with an excited smile on your face seeing his own softer prouder look on his.

“You’re a natural, just like your father.”

Where the Wild Things Are Tags

@afictionaladventure16 @alohastitch0626 @amy172 @amyispxnk @batgurl42 @christinamadsen @cozyphine @daemontargaryenwhore @darthrue @daughterofthequeen @ellistyle @endo-bunny @enfppuff @feenoire @feralkidz @fictional-character-whore @frootloops1213 @gods-menace @gundham11037 @ilovehotdadsandshit @ioonatv @jmillersgirl @kaiwai @kitdjarin1 @lainekyuu @legoemma @lemonlaides @lorenaloveslewis @love-giselle @lovelyygirl8 @lunawants @melonmochi @minaridior @mmkkzz @n7cje @oscarissac2099 @pandorascosmic @phoenixgurl030 @poetoflawed @queenofthekill @randomhoex @rannifer @scoliobean @screechingsandwichtriumph @severussimp @sevikasleftarm @shotgun-shelby @stargurl99 @strangesthirdeye @supernerdycookietrashblrr

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carnalcrows · 2 hours ago

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DEADBEAT BABY DADDY - JUNHEE

pairing: jun-hee x guard! male reader

synopsis: A very pregnant and very pissed-off Jun-hee finds an unexpected way to relieve her stress—with a little help from you.

content warnings: 18+, ooc characters, breast sucking, lactation kink (?), clitoris stimulation, semi-public sex.

word count: 0.8k

A/N: had fun with this fic lolol. req

The dormitory was filled with the usual dull hum of players chatting and masked guards going about their duties—shuffling boots, quiet conversations, and the occasional scolding from a higher-up. But above all that, a sharp, familiar voice rang out.

"You absolute bastard, Myung-gi!"

A few nearby players and guards turned their heads ever so slightly before quickly minding their business. No one wanted to be caught in the crossfire when a pregnant woman was pissed.

You, however, had the misfortune of standing right next to her as she advanced on Myung-gi, who had the audacity to look amused despite the absolute fury radiating off of her.

"You knew I was pregnant, and you still dragged me into this nightmare?" she hissed, jabbing a finger into his chest.

Myung-gi scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets like this was all some minor inconvenience. "First of all, I didn't drag you into anything. Second, you needed the money, didn’t you?"

Jun-hee actually looked like she might strangle him. "I needed money to take care of my baby, not to be stuck in this hellhole surrounded by trigger-happy idiots and—"

She gestured wildly in your direction.

"—him!"

You blinked. "Me? What did I do?"

She turned on you like a storm brewing, eyes fiery. "You're the one who keeps following me around, Triangle Boy!"

You raised your hands in defense. "That's because someone needs to make sure you don’t pass out from stress!"

Jun-hee groaned, rubbing her temple. "I swear, if I survive this, I'm killing you both after I give birth."

She stomped away, muttering under her breath, leaving you standing there awkwardly with Myung-gi.

"...So," he said, stretching, "you two got something going on?"

You shoved him as you walked past. "Shut up."

Later that night, you found her in the dimly lit bathroom, leaning against the sink, breathing deeply. Her hands cradled her stomach instinctively, her frustration from earlier replaced by something softer.

"You okay?" you asked, shutting the door behind you.

She huffed. "No. My feet hurt, my back hurts, and my brain is melting from being surrounded by morons all day."

You hesitated before stepping closer. "Anything I can do?"

She eyed you, skeptical. "Anything?"

"Uh... within reason."

A slow smirk formed on her lips, but it quickly faded into something more vulnerable. "It's stupid, but..." She exhaled, shifting uncomfortably. "My chest is killing me."

You furrowed your brows. "Like, heart pain? Or—"

She shot you a deadpan look.

"Oh. Ohhh." Your face heated. "That’s... um."

Pregnancy was making her breasts sore and swollen, and yeah, you’d read somewhere that relieving the pressure could help, but—

"Forget it," she mumbled, moving to leave.

You grabbed her wrist before you could think twice. "No! I mean... I can help. If you want."

She looked at you carefully, searching for any sign of mockery or hesitation. Finding none, she sighed and leaned back against the sink.

"Fine. But no weird comments, got it?"

You nodded solemnly. "I promise to be the pinnacle of professionalism while sucking your—"

She smacked the back of your head.

"Shutting up now."

You slowly slid off your mask– this was definitely against the rules but– when in need, eh?

Carefully placing your hands on her waist, you lowered your head to her tits as she adjusted herself slightly. The warmth of her body, the gentle rise and fall of her breath—it all felt strangely intimate. As your mouth latched onto her, a shudder ran through her, and she let out a soft, relieved sigh.

You held her waist with one hand as you kneaded her free breast with the other. She let out soft moans, arching her back in such a way that you took more of her into your mouth.

Your hand slid from her waist to the hem of her track pants– tugging at the hem as a silent ask for permission. She let you– shimming down the tracks, along with her panties. You rubbed lazy circles around her clit as you latched onto the other breast, giving both equal attention.

"...You’re surprisingly good at this," she breathed out, her fingers absentmindedly carding through your hair.

You pulled back slightly, meeting her gaze. "Do not make this weird, Player 222."

She smirked lazily. "Too late."

You rolled your eyes and returned to your task, focusing on helping her relax.

For a while, the world outside the bathroom didn't exist. There were no games, no fear, no guns—just the warmth of her body against yours and the steady rhythm of her breathing.

And then the door opened.

You froze. Jun-hee froze. A shadow loomed in the doorway, and through the dim lighting, you could make out none other than Player 001 himself.

There was a long, excruciating silence.

"...Am I interrupting something?" His voice was flat, but you could feel the judgment.

“Boss–It’s uh, not what it looks like–”

“BOSS?!”

#squid game x reader #squid game season 2 x reader #junhee x reader #jun-hee x male reader #male!reader #squid game #player 222 #player 222 x reader #masc reader #male reader #m!reader #squid game season 2 #masc #x male reader #top male reader #squid game x male reader #smut

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eightballing · 2 days ago

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I Wish I Hated You

Warnings- none

Word count- 677

Jason Todd x GN! Reader

“Fuck off.”

Jason has found himself saying that a lot lately.

Jason has always hated you. Ever since you and your fucked, sunny views of the world came into his life, he’s been pissed. You’re a new vigilante in the city, always trying to talk him into not shooting people and doing better things, and he’s sick of it. Don’t you see that he does good things? He does great things! Well… mostly. Besides the killings. But he mostly does good things! He needs to kill people to do good things!

He hates the way that you try to intervene and put yourself into everything. You act like you’re trying to save him. He doesn’t need to be saved, goddamnit! What pisses him off the most though is that you always put yourself in danger. Even though he hates you, he doesn’t want you dead. So he saves your sorry ass every time. Not that you’re not a good fighter, though. He’s seen you fight, and you’re really good. You just take on too much. *he wishes you wouldn’t sometimes.

You’re breathing heavily after a fight with some of the penguins goons in an alleyway. At least you didn’t get your ass wiped this time. You might be a good fighter, but you’re still new to the business. He’s truly trying to help you out a little.

He glances over at you and scoffs. “What’re you lookin’ at, pipsqueak?”

You huff. You’ve always hated that nickname. “Nothin’.” You mumble. It’s not nothing. The nightmares you’ve been having the last few nights have been getting to you. Not that you’re gonna share. “Let’s just keep going.”

His eyes narrow. He doesn’t like how cold you’ve been tonight. You’re always all smiles and laughs, but that’s completely gone. It’s a 180 for sure. “What’s got you down?” He murmurs, looking at the ground as if someone else said it. He doesn’t want to show that he cares, even if it’s only a little.

You glance up, your eyes about to narrow. At first, you think he’s joking. Once you realize he isn’t, you let out a sigh. “Nothing, really. Just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” You’re not gonna tell him about the nightmares. Why would you? Telling him of all people, the man that looks like he wouldn’t even flinch in the face of death? Yeah, don’t think so.

But he knows. He gets it more than you know.

He glances over and lets out a low breath. “Look, pipsqueak-“

“Don’t call me that.” You grumble.

He swallows. You’re cute when you’re mad.

He’d let out a laugh if you didn’t look so angry.

A beat. “…what do you want me to call you?” He says, a little cautiously. He doesn’t want to be the cause of your bad mood getting worse.

Another beat. “…just… just call me y/n.” You mumble and look away, looking at a loose string on your vigilante costume.

Huh. He didn’t think he’d be learning your real name anytime soon. Then again, you are a newbie.

“I’d tell you to not go around telling people shit, but I’m not your boss.” He pauses and looks around the empty alley. “I’m Jason. Just Jason, okay? No need for last names.” He mutters under his breath.

You nod and sigh. “Yeah, okay…. Sorry.” You look up and straighten out your costume out of habit. “…what were you gonna say when I cut you off?”

He looks away, like he’s expecting something to jump at him. Then again, when isn’t he expecting something to jump at him? “Look, y/n…. I don’t like you, okay? Let’s get that clear. But if there’s something bothering you… I’m always here.”

You smile- only a little, but it’s there. “…thanks, Jason.” You murmur.

“Don’t mention it.” He looks over. “Seriously- if you mention it I’ll beat your ass.” A small smirk appears on his face. You can’t see it, but it happened. God, what’s happening to him?

He bumps your shoulder teasingly, you bump yours back. Yeah, maybe he hates you. Maybe.

Fin

Pt. 2?

Authors note: I just wanted to say thank you for all of the love and support on my last post! You’re all so sweet and I’m so happy that you are reading my work!

#jason todd x gender neutral reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd imagine #jason todd fluff #jason todd x reader #jason todd dc #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fic #red hood jason todd #jason todd #jason todd x gn!reader #dc red hood #red hood #my fic

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tiazennie · 2 days ago

Text

I love...

Genre: Fluff (VERY MUCH) Jeno X Reader Warnings: Some harsh language andd that's about itt (lemme know if there's moreee :DD) Background: Your boyfriend asks you for a list on things you love about him but you weren't very sure of that idea as you find it hard on expressing your feelings towards him. Although, he had other plans. heavily inspired by the song Chest Pain (I love) by Malcolm Todd, haha LMEW:P ·˚୨୧꒰∗ɞ̴̶̷ ·̮ ɞ̴̶̷∗꒱୨୧˚·

"Really? You can't name one thing you love about me?" Jeno exclaims as you chuckle in response. "Seriously, I love everything about you I just can't seem to narrow it down one by one!" You say before putting your phone down and facing him, lips slightly in a pout which makes you chuckle. You wait for his response but he was persistent on ignoring you. You sigh before talking, "Fine, I'll try to write it down for you. But don't be surprised I do bad." You huff out and you see Jeno's eyes light up and his lips forming into a smile as he tries to hide it which makes you laugh softly. "I won't I promise." He says before crossing his chest and raising his left hand, you chuckle at the sight before laying down comfortably. "Then, we better sleep, you wanna receive it tomorrow right?" His response was a slight nod with a big smile, making your heart quench at the sight of your beautiful boyfriend. You just can't seem to comprehend the fact that the guy you've been dreaming of since freshman year was beside you, sleeping. You pinch your self a few times thinking it was all just a dream, and you would wake up to your bed alone. But instead, you feel the pain of your fingers nipping your skin and Noah still on your bed sound asleep. "Maybe this isn't a dream after all." You whisper to yourself before facing him with a slight smile, knowing you'll see him again tomorrow with both of you having swollen eyes and puffy cheeks from your oh so good night sleep.

"Y/n, Y/n, c'mon now. Wake up!" You hear vaguely and you guessed it, it was your boyfriend Jeno. Desperate for your small little note. "Jeno, I swear to God if it's still 7 in the morning I am going to kill you--" "But it's 8 in the morning." He whines still shaking you from your sleep, you could tell he was doing this to annoy you, and boy was it working. "Fine! I'm up." He stands up before cheering and giving you kisses all over your face. You shoo his face away lightly before standing up and entering your bathroom, but he pulls you back to the bed with him. "What-- I thought you wanted to me to het ready--" "I change my mind, let's just stay like this for a while, okay?" You soften at his word before melting to his embrace. Giving you a sense of comfort and secureness to his touch, and you could feel your self getting lulled back to sleep. Maybe you could add this to the things you love about him. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Fin

(HELLO EVERYONE OMG I MISSED THIS APP SM, LMEW my account got hacked a while ago so I needed to find a way to get it back ANDD also I got major writers block SO I HAD A LOT TO CATCH UP ON ESPECIALLY ON WRITTING HUHUUH,,,, anywayy I hope you loved this as much as I loved writing it haha.. LOVE YOU GUYS SO SO MUCHH, wish to not get writers block ever again cause IT IS HARD. Please stay hydrated luvs, and hopefully you get a good night/day><) -Ria-

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cloversnstrawberries · 1 day ago

Note

could you do platonic leon kennedy with his child that tried to escape him but failed, like how would he punish them?

"code 10-110" platonic!dad!yandere!leon s. kennedy & teen!runaway!gn!reader [oneshot] ! !

masterlist !

description; You know your dad meant well, but after he takes it way too far-- you decide to break free from his hold. Really, you should've known that you couldn't outrun him for long. After all, you were his kid, and he'd go to the end of the Earth to keep you safe (and by his side).

additional notes; hello!! i'm not sure if you aiming for headcanons or not, but i decided to do a oneshot!! i hope i did the concept justice,,, you're all very big brained when it comes to ideas. i love requests so much, because i don't think i ever would've come up with this idea; but i had so much fun writing it.

also, fun fact, i was in the gotham fandom for a long while!! i know a lot of police stuff because of that, so i vaguely remembered the "10 codes" from the get. 10-110 is a code for juvenile disturbance :D

warnings; Leon is Not Well, overprotectiveness, possessiveness, entrapment, running away, manipulation (more so of reader's environment more than reader themselves), cops/law enforcement, vague talk of violence/murder, and there ight be more I missed :[ if I missed one, please let me know! ^^

w/c; 4.5k

You didn't think you'd get this far.

Not for a lack of care in your plan-- no, you couldn't have been more careful as you planned everything and anything involved in your escape. Months passed before you enacted it. You bided your time, until you heard the birds outside start singing in the morning-- and when your dad came in to take away the space heater.

It was spring, and while you didn't know the exact date while locked away in a deceptively cozy, comfortable cell-- made to look like a bedroom, like your bedroom--, but he'd locked you away in September, so... around 5-6 months, you'd been holed up in there.

Your dad wasn't always like how is now, you think. Maybe there were traces of it-- but that was easily written off as him being a run-of-the-mill overprotective dad. He worked in law enforcement, he'd seen the worse humanity could offer and more.

And for that, you'd given him some slack. You tried not to snap at him when he made sure you weren't out of the house past 8, and that he had to have met a friend before you so much as hung out-- and god forbid sleepovers, those were reserved for only the most trustworthy friends with the must trustworthy of family.

There were a lot of rules when it came to interacting with you. Really, you tried not to let it get to you; but it was so... isolating. No one wanted to be your friend, and they especially didn't want to try and ask you out. It was like a death sentence, in their minds.

They took one look at your dad, and decided that'd he'd be the type to see you off to prom with a bullet in the head of your date. He's not like that. He doesn't kill people for it, for being near you or anything.

He'd never outwardly rude or violent about it either. But still, it was overbearing. It had gotten worse as you got older-- as he went on more missions, and after every one, he'd come back a little bit different.

A little bit more intense with his previously manageable protective nature-- you were starting to feel like a bird kept in a gilded cage. The list of rules he held you and your friends by was so long that even you couldn't keep track of it anymore,

Eventually, everyone left you. Ruled you off as the kid with a crazy dad that owns more guns and weapons then the average kid could've ever imagined.

You don't blame him for it-- not really. You understood it. He'd sat you down and explained to you time and time again, apologized for the way he was-- he just wanted you safe.

It all came to a head when he went a step too far.

15 minutes. That's all you'd been late by-- 15 goddamn minutes. He'd lowered the curfew from 8 to 7:30, then 7--

And eventually, it was down to fucking 5:00. You couldn't be out of the house without him being present after 5! Not even for a job! Nothing! He made no exceptions, and it irritated you to no end.

In an act of textbook teenage rebellion (not really, if you tried telling that to anyone around your age then they'd laugh in your face, call it a pathetic attempt at defiance) , you stayed out a little later than necessary. You popped into a gas station on the way back home from hanging out at the local library, got a bag of candy, and took your sweet old time walking home.

You knew there'd be consequences; but the ones you'd expected, like being unable to walk anywhere anymore, or losing privleges like your computer or TV, or even being grounded...

Well, safe to say that what he ended up choosing blew those other options far, far out of the water.

Anxiety curled in your gut as you thought about it more and more, the idea that you thought for sure you wouldn't make it this far. By no means did this make you feel any safer than you had before-- if anything, it puts you more on edge.

Honestly, you don't know what you thought you'd get out of this. You can't go to the cops-- you're just another runaway. Your dad hadn't skimped out on the story he wove about you,

When you first got out-- first pried your way out of that basement, bathed in mockingly warm light-- all the amenities your average teenager could ask for, save for the ability to leave--, you'd made the mistake of trying to head to the police station.

It was stupid, you realize. And nearly got yourself caught in less than 30 minutes-- they'd ushered you in, listened to your tale of how your dad trapped you down in a basement. The town had to have been buzzing, and you'd wrongfully assumed that your dad had been playing up the 'grieving father going through hell and back to try and find their kid'.

Luck. That's all you had on your side, pure, dumb luck that you got out of there in time. That the walls of the precinct were thin enough for you to hear the cops talking about you in the other room. They weren't much for hushed tones, which was stupid when they talking about someone in the room right next to them.

The chief had been called over, you think. Sounded like him. But regardless of who he was, what he said hit you like a ton of bricks, no matter the person behind it.

"You got Kennedy's kid? Ain't they sicker than a dog, though? Bedbound, didn't he say?" Then another one, the younger one that seemed the most trustworthy when she'd pulled you into the building, and gave you some water and a blanket, corrected the man, "He never said what kind of sick, sir. It might be... in their head, and I don't think he ever said bedbound. Just stuck in the house."

Blood rushed in your ears, grip tightening on the little paper cup in your hand. You fought against the primal urge to flee, to bolt straight up and scramble to the door you'd entered from; no regard for what or who you might of disturbed or knocked into/over.

Instead, you'd stood-- shaking, but trying to keep calm, and walked to the back. You headed out the employee entrance, where they'd clock in and out, you think.

You didn't run until you were a good ways away, until you got to a more residential part of the town. Frantically, like a startled animal, you darted past houses and through backyards; running in the general direction of a train track nearby.

God-- you don't know how you got it in your head that train hopping was the easiest way to hightail it out of there, but now, you're very much of the opinion that you will never do that again.

Maybe it was because it was your first time-- or maybe these things never get easier as you keep doing them-- but you were a hairs length away from losing a leg.

No.

You stayed on foot, or on greyhound buses and the occasional passenger train with the small bits of cash you could scrounge up before your escape from the house.

With no particular destination in mind, you found yourself in some non-descript, decrepit convenience store. The tiled floors were cracked and dirty, looking like they'd give you the black plague if you touched them head on; the fluorescent lights above bathed the store in a sickly sort of yellow hue, the buzzing seeming louder than it was supposed to be.

But hey, you weren't a code inspector. You'd gained nothing from ragging on the decrepit state of the place-- it was good enough, to grab some supplies. There were no bugs, and the displays were kept neat and clean; that's all you can really ask for, in a place like this.

When you got up to the checkout lane, the woman manning the register gave you a wary sort of look, on you've become rather accustomed to.

"Where you headin' to, sweetheart? I never seen you 'round these parts before." These sorts of conversations were a dime a dozen, you'd realized. It was only fair, for people to be worried about a random kid wandering about, seemingly unaccomponied by any guardian-- or even a friend.

But, you'd also become accustomed to answering these kinds of questions. To quickly shut them down with a soft hum and a "My aunt. I'm visiting her for a little bit."

You must've gone further south than you'd thought-- it was warm, and muggy, especially for spring. Her accent was heavier than you'd ever heard before, something you don't come across in the midwest. The kind of accent you only get if you've spent your whole life in the south, and never intend to leave it.

It might've been your lack of accent that set off alarm bells in her head, her hand stopping mid-scan. "What's her name, darl'? I bet I know her. Towns like these, you end up knowin' everyone by name."

Ah.

Yeah... that was a bit of a problem. Small towns and all-- but you can't really step into a big city either, yeah? It'd be crawling with cops, and you'd stick out like a sore thumb. Even more so than you do now.

"She's in the town over." You quickly pulled from your ass, but she didn't start scanning again "The next town is a 30 minute drive."

You bite your tongue, trying not to let irritation rise. She meant well, you're sure, but the longer you're here, the more of a chance you get discovered.

"I'm travelling by greyhound. The next bus comes in 10 minutes, and my bus stop is halfway across the city." There, that should put a fire under her feet, right? Make her start scanning again-- a solid enough answer to ease her worries, you hope.

For a moment, you were afraid she wouldn't. That'd she try to lead you to a backroom and call the cops, report a possible runaway. That was something that happened a lot, too. People who meant well, surely, but in the end-- all they could do was harm.

You don't want to think about how your dad would react. How he would punish you for this.

Then, as if angels were shining down from Heaven itself-- she started moving again, and the rest of the transaction went smoothly.

Though, the concern never eased from her eyes. You could still feel her gaze, piercing against your back as you made haste out of the convenience store.

Truth is, you... actually don't know when the next bus was. Or where it was going to. In all honesty, you'd been planning on taking a train out, but that wouldn't be here for a couple hours. You never did much research with it-- beyond making sure it wasn't going to some big city.

But, with a fire started under your own feet, you were forced back to the bus stop, and made to board the very next bus; no matter the desitination.

It seemed like your luck was running out now, as one-way country roads turned into four-lane highways, and when skyscrapers started coming into view; and the sign, declaring "ATLANTA - 5 MILES AHEAD"

You let yourself mumble a little curse, under your breath as you anxiously watched the traffic around you. This wasn't how this was meant to go. Yeah, you're in Georgia-- a far cry from the state of corn, wheat, and soy that you hail from, but still.

Not good.

It's almost certain your face was floating around on various TV programs, missing posters covering light posts and bulletin boards alike-- but you hoped and prayed to anything that'd listen that the efforts to make people aware of your disappearance hadn't stretched outside of your county, or at least your homestate.

But other than being caught, being in a city posed other risks. A lone-travelling teenager wasn't a good thing to be in places like these. You could easily get lost amongst the crowds, yes; but sometimes that worked in your favor, and sometimes it didn't.

This was not one of those times.

You hadn't showered in a while-- a week and a half. Gross? Sure, you'll admit that much; but showering wasn't on your top priority. Escaping your dad was your biggest concern right now, and personal hygiene wasn't something that could trump that need at any rate.

But that singled you out. You were dirty, looked homeless. As you cut through a park, you noticed that various hostile architecture covering nearly every bench around. Ads for Salvation Army and local homeless shelters right by them.

It was obvious this place wouldn't take too kindly to you, if they were trying as hard as you think they are at cracking down on homelessness.

Right before you could exit the park-- you noticed a cop. You eyed them, keeping watch, making sure they don't spot you. What was the chance, that they would? Or if they did, that they'd even care? It looked like they were on break, anyhow.

Just when you deemed yourself in the clear, enough to take your eyes off the officer and focus your gaze ahead of yourself, did you hear someone shout "Hey!"

Maybe it wasn't for you.

It probably wasn't,

but you couldn't take the chance. Regardless of the intent, of who it'd really been aimed it-- if it was even the cop that said it, you took off running. No doubt looking suspicious as hell, in the meanwhile.

Behind you, your paranoia was proven correct when you heard the same voice calling "We got a code 10-110 in Freedom park! Looks to be in early to mid teens, on foot!" You sped up at that-- you didn't recognize the code, obviously. You didn't spend too much time familiarizing yourself with police codes, y'know,

But it didn't bode well at all, how they started describing you to a goddamned T, right down to your brown, fur-lined bomber jacket you'd snagged from the coat closet back home.

You pushed your body harder, lungs burning and throat closing up with fear-- this can't be how it ends. It just can't. You won't let it, you'd rather jump in the Chattahoochee river and swim your way down to Florida then get caught like this.

In your panic, you lost your footing. A loose pebble worked its way under your shoe, and sent you tumbling forward and sprawled out on the hard, unforgiving concrete of a city sidewalk. People avoided you-- especially when, before you could even get up on your knees, the cop grabbed you and kept you down, shouting what sounded like gobble-dee-gook through the radio they'd unclipped from their hip.

In the end, it was a goddamn pebble that took you out! A pebble! You can't even be that mad, it was so ridiculous-- sure, if you thought harder, then that pebble never would've tripped you up if you weren't noticed and subsequently chased by that cop, and you never would've been in Atlanta if you hadn't lied through your teeth to that random, well-meaning southern lady--

You could do this all day, track all your little slights and mistakes to that one harrowing, terrible moment that it all came crashing down.

Two months and 17 days.

That's how long you'd made it.

That's it.

Really, you should be proud of yourself. Again, you never expected yourself to make it that long-- but still, it did nothing to quell that world-ending despair you felt that it'd come to an end.

If anything, it hurt more, that'd you'd lasted longer. You really thought you had a chance, only for a pebble to slip you up, and have shipped right back to your dads arms.

Right back to the basement, that's significantly more bare than before. There were still the basics, but all your magazines, books, journals, your TV, CD player, 3DS, PS3-- everything. Just... Everything was gone, except for the furniture, some clothes, and your blankets and pillows.

Though, he didn't take your stuffed animals. Maybe you should've felt insulted at that, find a way to twist it and make it seem like he was treating you as a child (which, for the record, he absolutely was; but for other reasons).

It'd just be a waste of energy, though. He was like a brick wall now-- those little flinches, the sad looks that'd sometimes find its way on his face, how his apologies sounded so genuine at times...

They were all gone, replaced with a cold sort of determination you'd only seen your dad have when he was working on a particularly high-stakes mission.

You curled up tighter, clutching the Invader Zim GIR plush you'd gotten for your 8th birthday closer to your chest; seeking whatever comfort you could, now that were back here.

Not even home. You refuse to think of this place as home anymore, especially not your dressed-up cell. Even if it had carpet floors instead of cold tiles, and the walls painted a sky blue instead of a dingy grey; you still saw it for what it was.

A prison. And while your dad might've tried to change your opinion on it before, after your little 'stunt', as he'd dubbed it, he all but leaned into your perception of the space.

You heard the door click. And once upon a time, you would've rushed to it; hoped that you could shoulder your way past your dad-- only for him to laugh and think you were just happy to see him. You let him believe that at the time.

And now, you just flip over. You defiantly face the wall, not giving your dad the time of day. It was the only way you could fight back now, and even then you knew it was useless. That he'd force you to engage regardless of what you did,

That, realistically, your silent treatment couldn't last long at all. Eventually, you'll need to talk to him. To ask him for more toothpaste, or make a specific request for dinner; or even ask him the date.

He never told you the last one, always giving you wildly differing answers that'd thrown you off at first, before you caught on. Caught onto how he was trying to keep out of the know on the weather, so you wouldn't try and book it when the weather was more hospitable.

Even as you felt the mattress deep near the end of your metal-framed, twin-sized daybed; you didn't stir. You didn't dare move, didn't dare breathe; like a rabbit caught in the teeth of a tricky fox.

"Kid, you can't keep doing this." You don't answer him. This was by far the longest you'd been able to keep up with this small, but meaningful, act of rebellion. A few days, at least. You don't a way of tracking it indefinitely, but you've figured out a less concrete way of telling the passage of time.

That being how often he visited. It differed, sometimes he'd go longer without visiting, and other times he'd pop up every what-felt-like 30 minutes or so. There was no telling what mood he'd be in for the day, but you managed.

It's been a while, you know that much. And he was getting rather impatient, even if he tried to mask it. You haven't so much as looked his direction this whole time, only getting up and moving around when the coast was clear. When there was neither hide nor hair of your dad's presence,

Save for the camera, stuck up in the corner near the door. You know it's there-- it's a new addition, and you make a point of not looking at it, refusing to acknowledge it. You knew there was a good chance it was just a scare tactic, that it wasn't actually hooked up...

But still, you had to stick with this. You had to be going somewhere with this, after all.

A heavy sigh came next, then your dad shifted from where he sat at the end of the bed. Scooting up, closer to you. It took all you had not to curl up tighter. You had to stay still. You had to act like you weren't there, like you were just a ghost.

When his hand landed on your shoulder, you couldn't help but flinch a little at it. Even though the contact was soft, kind; just like the man who'd raised you all by his lonesome, though his current behavior was a far cry of who he used to be.

Or maybe, just what your perception of him had been. Maybe he was always like this, he just... snapped. Couldn't take it anymore and decided to put his worries to rest for the foreseeable future.

"Listen," You wish you didn't. You wish you could shut off your brain and just lay there, truly motionless; unseeing, unhearing, and unmoving, until he gave up and left you alone.

He knew you had to, though. Otherwise he wouldn't hve kept talking. You have nothing else to do, no other viable option but to listen to what he has to say-- whatever ultimatum he's come up with now.

You won't fold. You won't give in, you tell yourself. Not now, not ever; not until he gives up for good, and lets you back into society.

(deep down, you know that was never an option. especially now. you knew that he had his claws deep in you, that he wasn't going to let go. that he wouldn't dare to, lest his precious, sweet child get hurt along the way)

(it was all for your own good, he'd tell you. you never believed him. maybe he did believe that himself, but you knew better; you knew that, at the core of it, this was for his own benefit. keeping you locked up, away from the world-- it minimized the worries he had about you getting hurt.)

(about you being taken away from him, like so many people before you had. so many loved ones, friends, families, significant others-- he can't have the cycle repeating with you. he just can't. anyone else, anyone else but you.)

His hold on your shoulder tightened. Just a little, but it still made your haunches raise; made the hair on the back of your neck stand up straight. You hope he didn't notice.

"The sooner you accept this, the sooner your punishment will end, okay? This is for your own good."

Don't do it, you told yourself-- don't you dare, you don't need to respond--

"You keep saying that." Your voice was rough and croaky from disuse, and you cleared your throat to try and take a little bit of the edge off. You could almost feel the brightness and warmth of your dads smile, bearing into your back-- now that you finally deemed him worthy enough of a response. "And I'll keep saying it, as long as I mean it."

You huffed-- his definition of punishment had always been... loose. He never took it out on you, rather on others. He wasn't violent or rude per se, but if one of your friends were present when you two got into a tight spot...

Well. Let's just say your dad can yell like a drill sergeant if he's pushed to it. And that those friends never showed their faces around you again, in fear of inciting his wrath again. And you don't blame them.

But he's never done that to you, no-- you were his precious little angel, of course. He'd much sooner blame himself for being too 'lax' on you, that he left any doubt in your head that he didn't mean the best for you.

It was all very backhanded, how he assumed that you running away was not because of how insanely overprotective he was being-- but because he wasn't being overprotective enough.

Really, someone needs to study his brain. Maybe he got something in his system when he was on a mission, that crossed wires in his brain and made him think that this was perfectly fine. Lying about your kid being ill and locking you away for no fault of your own.

You two lapse into an uncomfortable silence, but not for long. No. Never for long, not with your dad around.

"I'm sorry you feel this way." There it is. He always says that-- not 'I'm sorry I'm basically holding you captive in the basement' or 'I'm sorry for not taking your thoughts, feelings, and dreams into consideration'. No, it's always 'i'm sorry you feel this way' or 'i'm sorry that you don't like it here',

Always followed up by an excuse, which speaking of, should be coming right about... "But there was no way around it. I just want the best for you, kid."

There we go-- he says that one a lot, 'there was no way around it'. You go to argue, but decide against it. It never gets you anywhere, and you consider going back to the silent treatment.

Until his hold on your shifted-- he flipped you over and pulled you up to sit. It never failed to spook you, how easily he could still move you around like you were a toddler. He worked as a government agent-- duh, he's going to be strong, but that didn't make it any less terrifying.

He could snap you like a goddamned toothpick if he so wished-- but you knew that wasn't a concern, not in the slightest. You much more afraid of him snapping anyone who was unfortunate to get close to you like a toothpick.

And then, his arm wrapped around your shoulder and pulled you close. The sort of side-hug was uncomfortable for you, physically speaking. Your neck straining at the angle it landed in, and you not caring enough to make nay move to alleviate it.

Surely, your dad noticed it-- but didn't comment on it. He did shift a little, though. Tried to have you more comfortable.

It worked a bit, but not by much. You couldn't be bothered to try any further.

"I love you, kid. You know that, don't you?" All he got in response was a little grunt, short and curt. What followed was the saddest little laugh you'd ever heard from your dad. "I know, I know. It doesn't feel like that, but I really am trying."

He pulled you closer, the hug feeling more like a boa constrictor's embrace than the comforting hold of a parent. "I can't lose you. I can lose anything else, but not you. Not my kid."

That part, you believed. Just for the clear, rock-solid resolve in his tone. You know he loves you-- you know that he doesn't want to lose you,

and that was part of the problem, a major one, no less.

"...I love you too." You manage to cough out, and only then did he release you from the ever-tightening, awkward side hug. As soon as you were free, you flopped right back on your side.

You didn't flip around to the face the wall just yet, thought. And your dad took that as an invitation for conversation-- you weren't too active in it, but you did give some input here and there.

#yandere resident evil #yandere leon kennedy #yandere leon kennedy x reader #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #teen!reader #dad!leon kennedy #resident evil #resident evil x reader #yandere resident evil x reader #platonic yandere leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #my writing #platonic yandere resident evil #gn!reader #gn reader #reqs open #requests open

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lsunstreakerl · 2 days ago

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I said "SH but I give GP a gun" and @farvres said "but like actually" so uhhhhh. here u guys go have a lil 1k brainworm. I guess this would be like, dark redbull? organized crime redbull? (more than) slightly insane redbull? listen, they're toxic. they still love max. these things can coexist.

so here's a little alternative universe, where things are much darker but it's somehow still redbull as family. this takes place in a split off of "Warning", after Max has had his tonsils removed and is recovering in Bedford with GP and Alice.

Gianpiero is seething in Christian's office, pacing across the floor. Christian isn't sure if he's ever seen his mild mannered friend this angry.

"GP-"

"No, don't start with me."

GP's hand flexes and curls from where he's clenching and unclenching his fists.

"You didn't fucking see it, Christian. He's so- he's tiny, in our guest room. He's tiny, and he doesn't even think he's allowed to have honey in his tea. The fucking- the idea that Alice and I want to take care of him after a surgery, that he doesn't have to handle it on his own- Christian, he doesn't even understand it."

GP stands in front of Christian's desk, one palm pressed flat as he leans down. Christian keeps his posture steady, even if he's never quite seen this look in GP's eyes before.

"If someone treated my daughter like that-"

Christian is wondering how much favor he's going to need to pull with Dietrich to cover up whatever Gianpiero is planning.

"I'd fucking kill them."

Christian nods. He's running ideas through his head, absentmindedly clicking his pen.

"Now would be the best time. Max is still recovering, he might not realize something suspicious right away."

GP pauses, looking thoughtfully at Christian.

"Redbull parties a lot- it's not out of the question for everyone to be together."

Christian nods, leaning back in his chair. GP is settling back into his skin, has that calculated look back on his face.

"Jos is known for drinking and driving. I always worry about him- it would be a real shame if something happened."

Gianpiero hums.

"It would, wouldn't it."

Christian tilts his head to the side, trying to gauge just how serious this is. There are rumors around the paddock, that the teams are like cults. Ferrari bears the brunt of them- they've been around too long, too many cultures and superstitions. It's too easy for the public to pick up on their oddities, the kind of strange behavior younger teams can get away with.

Even the drivers think it's a joke. It's not a part of the business they're involved in, usually. Fernando and Michael were... exceptions.

Christian brushes his fingers against cool metal secured underneath his desk.

"Someone would need to take care of Max. It would be devastating for him. He still thinks of that man as his father."

Gianpiero narrows his eyes. He's firm when he speaks, voice hard.

"Max would stay with me."

Christian nods.

"Of course, he'd still need to drive. But he'd be a bit closer to home that way, wouldn't he. Maybe a few trips a year to Austria."

Gianpiero is assessing Christian carefully.

"He'd be better taken care of."

"He would, yes."

There's a moment of silence as they both watch each other- trying to decide if they're really doing this. Usually, when a team operates after hours, there's a competitive reason. To get directly involved in a drivers personal life- it's rare.

Then again, Redbull has always been the exception. Max is one of theirs, golden boy in the making. He's already got little pockmarks of red, attachments to younger drivers, to Ferrari. They'll have to stamp that out.

Though- Christian supposes it would be okay to let him keep a few attachments. They're too soft on him, he's going to end up spoiled and rotten, but the way Gianpiero has his hand curled into a fist-

Christian has never seen anyone get under his skin like this.

"I'll schedule a meeting with Dietrich."

Gianpiero looks down his nose at him.

"Soon."

Christian nods.

"Tomorrow morning."

------

Gianpiero leans next to Alice in the doorway. Max is asleep in one of his old Jordan GP shirts, softly snoring into the pillow. He's all skin and bones, twitchy and nervous, unsettled in their home.

Alice looks over at him.

"You boys better be fixing this."

Gianpiero leans over to kiss her gently.

"I know, my love. You're retired."

She smiles against his lips.

"Not where our children are concerned I'm not."

She nods her head towards where Max is asleep.

"And he's one of our children, isn't he?"

Gianpiero feels a smile tick at the corner of his mouth. Max is in bad shape now, but-

They'll fix it. They'll protect him, teach him how to smooth over his blunt edges. He'll be surrounded by love, here and at Redbull, the way he should be.

He's not so confident they'd be able to secure him the Ferrari boy, because their claws are in too deep, he drips Rosso Corsa already, but Max has taken a shine to Daniel, and they can keep Carlos if they play their cards right.

Gianpiero will make it happen. Securing the perfect setup for Max, making sure he has the optimal environment for growth, that he has everything he needs-

Well. That's quite literally his job.

------

Alice is home with Max, still knocked out on pain meds. They've maybe been giving him a bit too much the past few days, but Gianpiero doesn't want to risk Max realizing something is suspicious. They'll wean him off of it soon as they ease him back into race prep, and the whole thing will just be a blurry haze of days he doesn't really remember, interspersed with a tragedy that isn't all that tragic.

He watches apathetically as the high beams sink below the water. He'd liked this fishing hole, because it was deep, and he's not going to be able to use it for a while now.

Gianpiero stays on the edge of the bank for a bit, making sure nothing floats up. The car is sunk, doors sealed shut. He doesn't feel bad in the slightest. He'd even been humane about it, Christian's gun sitting cool in the holster on his ribs.

Alice wouldn't have been so kind.

He waits for the water to settle before he turns and starts making his way back home. It's a lovely night out, really.

He should teach Max how to identify the constellations at some point. It could be helpful if he's lost- not that Gianpiero ever intends to let that happen.

Some race engineers fail their drivers. They don't mesh, or they aren't devoted enough, aren't willing to do what it takes.

Gianpiero leaves Jos to his watery grave behind him.

He and Max are going to be just fine.

#dark rbr #organized crime redbull #ficlet #golden boy max except he has no idea how far the garage will go #dad!gp #darkbull verse

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cheeseatlantic · 2 days ago

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me personally u wojld catdh me gnawing on his arm like a dog worh a bone.

SKIBIDI TOILET

sunshine!char x grumpy!user

You were sitting at the corner of the mess hall, eyes narrowed, pretending to read but more so glaring at the pages than actually absorbing anything. The quiet hum of the room and the clatter of trays didn’t help with your mood—nothing ever did, honestly. Your team was all too chipper this morning, and it was starting to get on your nerves.

“Aw, come on,” a familiar, chipper voice interrupted your thoughts.

You didn’t look up, but you knew it was Johnny. His heavy boots thudded on the floor as he approached, the faint scent of freshly brewed coffee trailing behind him. You could almost hear that grin in his voice.

“You’re all sulky today, eh? Got a bad night’s sleep?” His voice was annoyingly bright, like a ray of sunshine in your storm cloud of frustration.

You huffed and turned the page of your book, but you weren’t really reading. “No, just enjoying the peace and quiet. Which you’re ruining,” you muttered.

Johnny plopped down in the chair across from you, his presence overwhelming as always. He sat with that easy, contagious grin plastered on his face, almost as if it were permanent. You weren’t sure how he did it, how he was always so annoyingly positive. It was a curse.

“Come on, lass/lad, you know you’re too tough to let a little chatter get to you. What’s eatin’ ya?” He leaned in a little, his eyes sparkling with that damned optimism of his.

You shot him a glance, irritation bubbling. “Maybe I’m just sick of you acting like everything’s a joke, MacTavish.”

His grin faltered for half a second, but only half. “Oi, no need to be so grumpy about it.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and looking entirely too comfortable. “But, if you’re really that upset, I could make it better.”

You raised an eyebrow, lips pressed into a thin line. “Yeah? How?”

John’s grin returned in full force, and if you didn’t know better, you’d swear he looked like he was planning something.

“Well, I could tell you a joke,” he started, his voice sing-songy. You didn’t even need to hear the rest—you already knew where this was going. You were about to be subjected to one of his ridiculous, cheesy jokes.

You sighed, setting the book down. “I swear to God, MacTavish, if you—”

“Why don’t skeletons fight each other?” he asked, almost bouncing in his seat like an excited puppy.

You didn’t even want to engage, but it was too late. “I don’t know. Why?”

“’Cause they don’t have the guts!” John finished, practically bursting into laughter at his own punchline.

You stared at him, deadpan. There was a long, awkward pause before you let out an exaggerated sigh. “That was awful.”

“Hey, I thought it was brilliant!” His laughter was like sunshine breaking through the clouds, and you could practically feel it lifting the air in the room. It made your scowl feel… out of place.

You shook your head, trying to fight the involuntary twitch of your lips. “You’re lucky you’re funny sometimes.”

“Ha! I knew you liked it,” he teased, giving you a wink. “C’mon, I can see you fighting it. A little smile wouldn’t kill ya.”

You glared at him, but you couldn’t hold it for long. That damn grin of his, so full of warmth, started to break through your icy exterior. “Don’t push your luck, MacTavish.”

He leaned in closer, eyes softening, not giving up. “You know, I might just be the sunshine to your storm, love.”

“You’re more like an annoying little ray of light that refuses to go away,” you muttered, but even you knew it was a lie. The truth was, he had a way of brightening everything—whether you liked it or not. He was just that damn persistent.

John’s grin softened, and his voice became quieter, almost tender. “Only ‘cause I know you’re worth it.”

The words hit you unexpectedly, your heart doing a little flip in your chest. You glared at him, but it was more out of habit than anything else. “Stop trying to make me all soft, MacTavish.”

“I’m not trying,” he said, giving you a sideways glance. “I just know you’re not as tough as you pretend to be.”

You didn’t respond right away, too busy trying to ignore the warmth spreading in your chest. You weren’t sure what it was about him—his smile, his attitude, or the way he always seemed to see right through you—but damn it if he didn’t have an uncanny way of getting under your skin.

“Fine,” you muttered, crossing your arms, though your lips betrayed you with a tiny curve. “Maybe I’ll stop being so grumpy.”

John’s eyes sparkled with triumph. “I knew it! You can’t resist the sunshine, eh?”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever you say, sunshine.”

“That’s the spirit,” he said, clapping his hands together with a loud slap. He reached for his coffee cup, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Want to go grab some food after this? Maybe that’ll put that scowl away for good.”

“Fine,” you grumbled, pretending to consider it before finally giving in. “But if you tell any more terrible jokes, I’m leaving you to eat alone.”

John laughed loudly, his carefree attitude like a warm breeze on a cold day. “Deal. I’ll save you from the skeletons, promise.”

You leaned back in your chair, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. For once, his sunshine wasn’t so bad. Maybe that was just another thing you’d have to get used to.

stream i swear by the minions for more (proof)

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sroloc--elbisivni · 2 days ago

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i've been reminded of my old 'Transformers No War AU, Lord High Protector Megatron mentors punk bodyguard Hot Rod' AU that I don't think I'll get around to ever actually writing in fic form, so please enjoy this bullet point outline:

standard setup of a no-war prime and protector au. megop married and gross about it especially because megatron spends most of his time in space beating up quints doing the liberation thing.

well, not personally beating up quints, that's the problem, he has bodyguards now who won't let him do things like 'beat the shit out of a 50 foot alien monster'

because it would be a 'political crisis' or something if he died. whatever. cowards. faithless cowards, every one of them. as if he'd get killed.

but over time he has finally managed to shoo off, scare away, bribe with better positions, or otherwise resort to shameless matchmaking to get rid of most of them and now deadlock, his last remaining bodyguard, is married off and bothering his husband about personal safety instead of megatron

so he sets off thinking it's going to be a great trip except there's a teenager by his chair on the bridge. there's a teenager making fun of him. the teenager has flames painted on him and he's calling megatron an old man. wait what--

what do you mean you're the new bodyguard. what kind of a name for a bodyguard is hot rod

so of course megatron calls optimus to complain, immediately, to go 'i KNOW you're up to something, WHAT is this, why do I have a child, you CANNOT trick me into this I WILL not fall for it' and optimus just goes 'please i can't tell you why yet i just need you to trust me that he has to go with you'

megatron, because he is whipped, goes '....fine'

Mentoring, Reluctantly, Ensues. neither party is happy about this.

(megatron at one point calls up deadlock to complain and deadlock goes 'oh yeah hot rod i wrote him a recommendation letter for the job :D')

blah blah plot happens they bond eventually they are in a tight spot and hot rod sets himself on fire to get them out of it

it takes a lot out of him and he's woozy and giggly and megatron has to carry him back to the ship and he goes 'you're a terrible bodyguard. i bet you've never even killed anybody' hot rod, loopy: untrue! i killed zeta megatron: megatron: you fucking What.

turns out that back during the revolution, during one of those crazy months right after nyon got blown up (hot rod also killed all those people but he Doesn't want to think about that), when then-orion pax vanished for a while and came back with the matrix and was like 'yeah it's fine zeta's dead it's not important'. it was kind of important

sequence of events from op's perspective: when hot rod blew up nyon OP went 'oh my god you are a Youth' and took him under his wing to keep an eye on him and also to have someone else to do paperwork

op and hot rod both got kidnapped by zeta because it turns out that carrying the matrix means you can sense who else is a viable candidate for the matrix so zeta, now kind of insane, went off ranting about how orion was trying to build a dynasty to replace him and he and hot rod both went 'what the fuck are you talking about'

stuff happened. hot rod maybe burned him from alive to Very Dead and op retrieved the matrix and hot rod went 'i don't want anyone to know about this ever' and op went 'you know what that's fair you didn't sign up for this'

so OP has kept it on lockdown ever since and hot rod went off and joined the wreckers and jaunted around the galaxy for a bit and then wound up back on cybertron

and the priesthood took an interest in him. because there are Signs. and hot rod went from just a dude going to temple because he likes the music and has thoughts about theology and sometimes talks about it with OP to 'hm these sure are people in authority paying attention to me what a bad sign'

OP saw that hot rod needed to get off cybertron and decided to kill two birds with one stone

back on cybertron: priesthood: where is...the young bearer....(translation: can we talk to the kid instead of you, he seems impressionable and like less of an asshole) OP, an asshole : oh I sent him to go stay with the Lord Protector :) (translation: if you think you can get through megatron be my fucking guest)

megatron, after having dragged this story out of optimus over the long-distance call: i know you said no last time I suggested this, but I really think you should let me murder the priesthood optimus: megatron they do all of the IT work

this story has no real ending which is the main reason it probably won't exist, but it amuses me very much to subject these idiots to each other, and i hope it will amuse some of you.

#sroloc babbles #is this transformers #sroloc writes stuff #kinda #maccadams

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thequeenofcurses · 2 days ago

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Where You Left Me (part 2) wk: 1900

“We made it, lads!” Sora doesn’t look back at you or Sukuna when he reaches the gate first. “We're dead close to the camp, 'bout ten minutes away,” He lifts the bottom of the broken fence, slides his backpack through, and crawls in right after.

Sukuna scoffs. Of course, he’d rush in without even checking if we were alright. Asshole.

“You first,” Sukuna says, tilting his head toward the fence.

You crouch, lifting the fence and sliding your bag through. But as you glance back at him, you notice his sharp gaze darting across the shadows, his body taut like a coiled spring.

“I’m going to double back,” he mutters, eyes narrowing as he scans the path you came from. “Make sure we weren’t followed.”

Your head snaps toward him, panic clawing at your chest. “Alone? Are you insane? What if—”

“Relax,” he cuts you off with a dismissive wave, though his tone carries a surprising edge of calm. “I’ll be fine. I’m not some idiot who’ll trip and get myself eaten.”

You shake your head, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “I should go with you. We’re supposed to watch each other’s backs, remember?”

Sukuna’s lips curve into a faint smirk, though there’s no humor in it. “And leave him alone?” He jerks his chin toward the gate where Sora had disappeared. “Bet he’d last all of five seconds before screaming his head off.”

You hesitate, torn between his logic and the unease twisting in your gut. The fence groans faintly under your grip, the sound too loud in the unsettling quiet. “Sukuna, please. Just—”

“Stop worrying so much,” he says, his voice softer now, though his eyes remain hard. “I’ll be back before you know it. “Stay put. Watch the fence. And don’t let that idiot do anything stupid.”

He doesn’t wait for your reply, turning on his heel and vanishing into the darkness before you can argue further. The cold air bites at your skin as you stare after him, unease settling like a heavy stone in your chest.

Your heart ached watching him leave. Memories filled your mind from when you first got paired with Sukuna.

The day you arrived you were covered in filth and blood that wasn’t your own. Your last partner sacrificed themself to get you here. As did every other person you’ve ever traveled with. It truly felt like the universe cursed you. No matter what group you joined up with, they always ended up dead, and you always ended up alone.

You had hope that changed the moment you joined this current group. But alas, the universe had other plans in store for you.

“We have a buddy system in place here,” the leader, Hunter, explained to you. “So you’ll never have to be alone.” He gave you a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. The thought should’ve been a welcoming one, but your body tensed uncomfortably.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea…” you started. You probably should keep this to yourself, but the words spilled from your mouth. “People close to me always get bit or hurt somehow. I don’t want to get anyone here killed.”

Hunter took a step back at your confession. He patted your head and tried to sound hopeful. “Don’t worry, we’ve been surviving here for a long time. I’m sure we can find you a good buddy.”

It was four days later when a new survivor appeared at the entrance to the camp. He was a tall man wearing cargo pants, combat boots, a brown shirt, and a tattered red scarf. His hair looked drenched in sweat, or maybe that was dried blood. From what you could see his face had black tattoos that covered his temple down to his chin. They were sort of beautiful, amidst all his dirt and grime.

Hunter met the man and accepted him into the community once he realized the man could fight, help with scouting missions, or anything else necessary. Almost immediately, this man was assigned to you as your buddy. You wondered if it was because no one else wanted to risk being your partner or because this man could probably handle anything that came your way. It’s probably both.

You find out from Hunter that the new mysterious man is named Sukuna. He wasn’t much for talking, but that was fine. As long as he kept you both safe and alive, that was all you cared about.

One thing Hunter forgot to mention was that buddy’s room together. Your small makeshift house in the camp – which was actually just a tent in the back of an abandoned grocery market. The tent was surprisingly spacious and could easily fit four to five people comfortably. Thankfully, there were enough tents to go around where everyone only had to share with one other person, aside from families with children.

That night, you stay in your corner of the tent, while Sukuna lays on the opposite end, staring at the ceiling. Is this guy ever going to sleep? You don’t let your curious thoughts bother you and let sleep consume you.

The next morning, your body wakes you up at your usual time to get your typical duties done. You stretch silently, so as to not wake up your new roommate, then roll over. When you stand, your eyes notice that tattered red scarf in his hands. He must’ve fallen asleep holding it. You gently grab the laundry basket and gently pull on the scarf. Big mistake.

“What the fuck are you doing,” he spat. You stumbled backward in fear, not knowing he was awake.

Sukuna’s glare was sharp enough to cut through steel, his fingers tightening around the red fabric as if you’d tried to steal a piece of his soul.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold his gaze despite the chill creeping up your spine. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” you said carefully, keeping your voice steady. “It’s just… it looked important, and I thought you’d want it cleaned.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just stared at you with those piercing crimson eyes, his grip still firm on the scarf. The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

Then, just as suddenly as his outburst came, Sukuna let out a slow, controlled breath and loosened his hold. “Tch.” He turned away, stuffing the scarf into his pack like it was something sacred. “Don’t touch my shit unless I tell you to.”

You nodded quickly, not wanting to push him further. “Got it.”

The tension still hung in the air, but you sensed something beneath his anger—something raw, unspoken. A wound, perhaps, tied to that ragged scarf. But asking about it now would only make things worse.

Instead, you picked up the laundry basket again, gripping it a little tighter than before. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Sukuna didn’t acknowledge you, just laid back down, one arm behind his head, eyes once again fixed on the tent’s ceiling.

As you stepped out, the morning sun barely peeking over the horizon, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The man you’d been paired with was a mystery—one wrapped in sharp edges and hidden scars.

But if you were going to survive together, you’d have to find a way to navigate them.

You returned later that morning, your arms aching from carrying the laundry back to camp. As you approached the tent, you hesitated at the entrance, unsure if Sukuna was still upset.

Pushing aside the flap, you found him sitting cross-legged, his red scarf now wrapped loosely around his neck. He didn’t look up, but his sharp voice cut through the air. “You always this nosy, or was I just lucky enough to get the curious one?”

You bit your lip, resisting the urge to snap back. “I told you I didn’t mean anything by it.”

This time, his gaze lifted to meet yours, and the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got guts. Most people wouldn’t stick around after pissing me off.”

“I don’t exactly have a choice, do I?” you shot back, surprising even yourself with your tone.

Sukuna tilted his head, clearly amused. “Fair enough.” He stood abruptly, the scarf shifting slightly as he stretched. “Come on.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You and I are on patrol duty today,” he said, already heading toward the tent’s entrance. “Unless you’d rather stay here and babysit the camp.”

You groaned inwardly. Patrol duty was one of the most dangerous tasks—wandering the outskirts of camp, checking for any threats, zombie hordes, or looters. And now you were stuck doing it with him.

The trees around the camp loomed tall and dark, their skeletal branches casting jagged shadows on the dirt path. You kept your knife close, your eyes darting nervously between the underbrush.

Sukuna walked ahead of you, his long strides confident and unbothered. He held a machete in one hand, swinging it lazily at the tall grass as if the threat of the undead didn’t faze him.

“Do you always have to walk like you own the place?” you muttered, your nerves getting the better of you.

Sukuna glanced back over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Would you rather I skulk around like you? Might as well put up a sign that says ‘free meal.’”

You scowled. “I’m being cautious. You should try it sometime.”

He snorted. “Cautious doesn’t keep you alive out here. Being two steps ahead does.”

“Is that why you’re so... charming?” you shot back, gripping your knife tighter.

Sukuna stopped abruptly, turning to face you with a grin that sent a shiver down your spine. “Charming enough to still be here. Can’t say the same for the people you’ve lost.”

The words hit like a slap, and your breath caught. “You don’t know anything about that.”

“No,” he said, stepping closer, his expression darkening. “But I know the look of someone who’s been running from ghosts. How long are you gonna blame yourself before you realize this world doesn’t give a shit about your guilt?”

You stood frozen, his words cutting deep. But before you could respond, the sound of rustling bushes snapped both your attention to the side.

Sukuna raised his machete, his entire body tensing in a way that was almost predatory. “Stay behind me,” he ordered, his voice low and firm.

Your pulse quickened as the rustling grew louder. A shadow moved in the underbrush, and then—

A lone zombie staggered out, its hollow eyes locked onto you. Before you could react, Sukuna’s machete swung clean through its neck, the decayed head hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

“See?” he said, wiping the blade on the grass. “Cautious doesn’t get shit done.”

You glared at him, but deep down, you couldn’t deny the relief that washed over you.

“Let’s keep moving,” he said, his tone softer this time. “And try not to fall behind.”

You followed him silently, your grip on your knife tightening. Maybe Sukuna was right—this world didn’t care about your guilt. But that didn’t mean you were ready to let it go.

<- Part 1

A/N If anyone is confused lmk and I'll try to better explain, but the second half of this and onward (including the next parts) is a flashback. Sorry if that wasn't too clear T...T Also, I got so sad when Kuna's first words to y/n were so harsh. Like damn bro, chill 😭

tags: @infiresmanh6, @yeagersss, @moonchhu,

masterlist | jjk masterlist

#jjk #jjk fanfic #zombie #zombie au #the walking dead #sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x oc #divider by cafekitsune #sukuna smut #jjk smut #z nation #crossover au #jjk sukuna #slowburn

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