#the gas mask always gets me

[chaotic-iguana]

love from me -> you 💞

pixel daddy joel has fully invaded my brain, so enjoy 💜

LOVE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH THANK U

[pyrotation]

…sometimes when i’m making selfship arts i wonder if it looks like my oc is just a sniper oc… because i look like him quite a bit irl :> doesn’t matter. i ship them all

[maskyartist]

wanna go batshit nuts. wanna make an apocalypse rwby au so badly its unreal. (more ramblings in the tags as usual)

[skenpiel]

had a dream i looked like this...... i worked for an evil corrupt corporation and got a job handing out flyers advertising the company. gas mask was needed because all the places the workers did their jobs was laced with gamma radiation so strong you couldnt be in there for more than a couple hours without dying. lol

[smutstationchoochoo]

Desperate

COD Men x FemReader

Hear me out: a sex pollen fic where reader isn’t affected but he is and he is gone.

Word count: ~3.6k

A/N: It’s just the poorly written sex pollen drabble of my dreams, it’s fuck or die lads. Insert your favorite COD man here. Please forgive me for any spelling/grammar mistakes and my complete lack of knowledge regarding military things, all I know is that these men are hot and I love them.

Warnings: sex pollen, unprotected PIV (wrap it up), overstimulation, dubious consent (consent is sexy folks)

Banner credit: @cafekitsune

You all had been briefed at 0200. The flight to Berlin left at 0300 where the team would be infiltrating a terrorist hideout, a suspected manufacturing site for a new chemical agent. You were told that as long as you didn’t ingest it, you would be fine.

The fact that it had been made airborne was not in the fucking briefing.

The team had been split into pairs, you and he took the North side of the suspected warehouse. The size of it should have tipped you all off. Everything was running smoothly until 3 combatants had come from the door at the end of the corridor. He called for cover and ran ahead. You dropped two before he even got a stride in. The other he disarmed in seconds and then with a deafening crack, both men slammed through a door and into the resulting room. A brief struggle then silence. You heard him start to call the ok, his voice in the comm sounding clearer than earlier, then a noise, a pop, and the sound of air. You froze, watching a gas spill from the open door and dissipate immediately. Just when you started moving again, a growling, “Don’t,” tore through the comm. Then, the sound of ripping Velcro and something hard (his helmet you realized with a sickening drop) hitting the concrete floor echoed out to you. Soft murmurs that grew into angry outbursts of fuck fuck fuck transformed into one that became a groan of what sounded like complete and utter pain. You didn’t even have to think, the severity of the situation settled in. “It’s a gas,” you barked into the comms, “Northside hit, need medevac in 30, going dark.” You waited for confirmation, seconds after getting it and receiving news that the warehouse was almost cleared, you went to find him.

You knew what it did, you all did. Jokes had been made, smirks shared, but you all knew how bad it was. You weren’t even close to prepared. He was sitting against the far wall or rather pressed into it using it to keep his now shaking frame upright, gear strewn around the room, combatant on your immediate left with a mask (his mask, the masks you all were wearing just in fucking case) gripped in a dead hand, an empty canister mockingly sitting in the middle of the room. 

You gripped the combatant by his legs and dragged him to the hall, before slamming the door shut upon reentry and grabbing a near chair to jam the door. You immediately began stripping yourself of your outer tactical gear until you both matched in only your boots, pants, and base shirts and then you turned your attention to him. Now kneeling by his side you took him in, looking for any other injuries noting nothing serious. That almost made you laugh with relief until you saw the front of his pants and him frantically palming the growing outline. You swallowed and quickly looked at his face shocked back to the reality of the current situation. The usually stoic, always larger than life, incredibly strong man in front of you was reduced to tears dripping from his now blown and hazy eyes, falling down flushed cheeks and landing on the front of his shirt that clung to his hyperventilating chest. You knew he had been shot, stabbed often, and left for dead a time or two, but this…

Shiny and new neurotoxin, you remembered the brief, attacks the nervous system, causing the mark to feel intense arousal and as if they have been lit on fire, specially formulated not only to cause pain but a complete and utter breakdown of will as victims often experience hallucinations and loss of self. If left in the system, it raises the core temperature until convulsions set in, and then heart attack occurs. Do not touch it.

No one had to ask how it was worked out of the system. Then again, they all believed they were too smart to touch the shit. Couldn’t do much about breathing it in when your mask was ripped from your face though.

  Your hand pressed to his slick forehead now radiating heat, and feeling as if it could burn you like an open flame. At the touch of your blessedly cool hand, he hissed a low fuck through his gritted teeth, keening into your touch. You swallowed, hand tilting his cheek to look up at you when you asked, “Can I help?”  His hair was sticking up at all angles from the helmet being hastily pulled from his head, and he looked up at you and gave one weak nod, “Please.”

Upon looking at the desperation pooling in those dark eyes (those eyes you often were caught staring at) any small reservations evaporated from your body under his burning gaze. You swiftly reached out, mercifully helping him escape from the now too-tight pants, the bite of his zipper. The moment your skin brushed against the head of him he was bucking up against it. You had to reach the other hand out to steady yourself against his shoulder, another touch that jutted his hips and had him twitching into your grip.

“Is- is this helping?” you croaked out, struggling to swallow, struggling to contain the wave of arousal that was threatening to course through you. He nodded, chin slack against his chest as he watched your hand work against him, moving up and down against the veins seemingly trying to break through his skin. No thoughts went through his mind other than the knowledge that you were jerking him off and that it felt so good that he could cry in relief. But then something shuddered within him, something loud and fast like a wildfire, burning just as much, and hot thick ropes of cum spilled over your hand. He couldn’t even cry out, it happened so fast. His breath was coming out in loud pants, when a new thought, the thought that he had just come in maybe thirty seconds flashed through his mind but it was quickly replaced with the horrible realization that the feeling of being on fire wasn’t going away. It was getting worse, out of control, containment measures failed. At this, he let out a sob as his hips moved of their own volition into your still soothing grip. It wasn’t enough, he knew, you knew, it wasn’t enough.

 You stood, and he whimpered at the loss of your touch but all sound stopped in his throat when he watched you decisively unzip your pants and pull them down to your ankles underwear included, kicking off a boot, and one pant leg. When you straddled his lap he desperately pulled you down onto him, your exposed core grinding down where he wanted you, where he fucking needed you, that’s when he began to talk. Begging you to help him, saying that he’s sorry over and over, that he needs your help, incoherent babbling from a breaking mind, please it hurts so bad, I-I don’t, I can’t- fuck, I need you... All cool, calm, collectedness burnt to fucking ash. Just a man reduced to pure longing and want. A longing and want that might be what was threatening to kill him, not the toxin, just the build up over the days, weeks, months he had been around you threatening to crush him. He almost wants to die, this was never how it was supposed to be. He wanted it to be good for you, you deserve that, you deserve better, he could have given you better-

But now what was he? A heaving chest under a sweat soaked shirt beneath eyes that watch you like some feral animal. Hands wanting to claw at the clothing now so heavy, hot, and itchy against his burning skin, but instead were gripping onto your hips like it’s going to save him from burning to a crisp. The broken moans tearing their way from his throat when you line up his painfully hard cock to your entrance makes you throb, and then his choking cry as you slide down on him punches the air from your chest.

“Does this feel ok?” you panted out after a moment, struggling, trying not to drown in the pleasure of him stretching you, filling you. He couldn’t form the words, couldn’t even nod. His forehead falling to your shoulder in utter relief, mouth dropped open as he repeats your name over and over like an apology, a thanks, a goddamned prayer. How all he can do is sit there on the floor of some warehouse, back against a wall, the only thing resembling his usual strength is that ironclad hold he has on your hips as he helps you drag yourself up, then, accompanied by the tortuously obscene sounds of your wetness, back down. Brokenly pleading with you not to stop, don’t stop, fuck p-please don’t stop. You feel like molten heaven against his cock, your moans like angels (or devils, he’s too far gone to care at this point) singing through the blood rushing in his ears. One of your hands again steadies yourself on his shoulder, the other steadying him, an anchor point, with your achingly gentle hold on the nape of his damp neck (so gentle that it breaks his fucking heart, he wanted to give you more, you deserved more) as you ride him. Your hips rock once more, twice more, before his body seizes up with electricity that ricochets up his spinal cord and reverberates through his skull. His fingers dig into the soft skin of your hips, teeth grinding and eyes slamming shut, as he releases inside of you with a shattered cry. The sound of you gasping, now clutching, raking your fingers into him, has his hips continuing their rutting up into you, pushing his cum as deep as he can within your walls.

He stills for 10 seconds at most, panting breaths thunderous between you two, before pulling you into his chest, his hips slamming up into you, hard and hot as if he didn’t just fuck you until he could see every neuron firing behind his eyes. His hot open mouth finds your shocked one in a perfectly surprised “o,” more apologies pushing from his lungs and into yours between loud wet kisses as he listens (is blessed with thank you God) to you beginning to come apart. You couldn’t help it, as you ground down into his thrusts, even though you knew the threatening climax was going to be terrifying. Your breathing was ragged now as well, the air becoming harder and harder to drag into your lungs in between you cursing and moaning, and then- fucking hell- you’re at the precipice. Before you can even utter a syllable you are being flung over the edge. The pleasure rips through you, waves breaking against the rocky shore, with such intensity that it hurts, causing you to dig your nails into his skin, and bright spots to dance behind your closed eyes while the distant feeling of wetness registers from between you two. He explodes again with a gasp, feels you clench around him like a vice, his name, his real name, forcing its way from inside you and into his mouth with every pulse and it tastes so so good that he can’t stop, he never wants to stop, just filling you up until it drips from you, filling you with him because you’re his, his. Even when you both whimper and shudder with overstimulation, his arms shaking in their grip around you, he can only press his forehead to yours, rolling it desperately, as he begs for your forgiveness. I can’t stop, it won’t stop, I’ll make it good, please next time I’ll make it good.

“It is good,” you whisper to him with hitched breath from each thrust, trying to reassure him, “It’s ok, it’s ok.” You don’t know if he can hear you, his eyes are wild and don’t seem to even register that you are actually on top of him, that he’s inside of you, that he has made you yell out his name over and over and over. You don’t think he even knows what he is saying. Next time.

 His own voice comes to him from somewhere far away, through the flames licking at his mind, please- fuckin’ hell please, just a little more- I just need one more, I need you, please don’t stop, I don’t want to stop nearly unrecognizable as he comes inside you again and again and again.

It isn’t until the medevac came and he was sedated that what just happened began to sink in. For a week, a fucking week, he’s in critical condition. No one talks about it, at least not in the way you all did before this. You saved him, you’re told. You don’t want to think about it, if you think about it then you think about how good it felt, how fucked it is that it felt good, and how everything is gone. If you think about all he said, you’d overthink, give meaning where there was none. He probably won’t be able to look at you anymore. You went to see him that first day. You sat next to him for mere minutes before bolting, the fear of him waking up and looking at you with disgust, telling you to get out in that icy voice you knew so well, sent you running straight to the mats to train until you wanted to scream. That’s all you did now, and that was where you decided you would stay until you died. That is until someone came and found you, told you he was awake, and that he had asked for you. The whole walk to the infirmary had adrenaline coursing through you, you wanted to run, to fight, to freeze right there in the hall and never move another fucking muscle. The thought of losing him, him being there but not wanting to be near you anymore made you feel sick. It had been so long, so long of repressing those feelings that flared in your chest when he smiled at you during sparring, the feeling of him seated next to you on a flight, his eyes catching yours just so you could stay with him. Well, you thought with dripping ire, that had literally and figuratively been fucked now hadn’t it?  

You knocked, heard his gruff voice, and entered. You stopped dead in your tracks three steps into the room after mistakenly looking up and finding him staring at you from where he sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed, looking like he was about to head out on another call. You were desperately trying not to shake but your hands gave you away. You could take on a man twice your size without batting an eye but this?- you were terrified.

The moment you walked into the room, all his time that morning when he first woke thinking about what he would say to you, how he could face you, was knocked from his mind. You had saved his life. He never wanted that. He wanted to give it to you, it was yours after all. He didn’t know when it had become yours, every single part of him, but if he had to wager a guess it was the moment he found you in his life. And it might all be ruined.

The memories had started coming to him immediately after waking up, almost more clear and real now than in the moment.  It jolted him awake so hard that the attending ran into the room for fear that his hammering heart had in fact given out. Once his breathing had calmed a little, he tried to sift through the fog. His recall of the smell of you, the arousal dripping from between your legs, mixed with your sweat and the familiar scent of your grapefruit and ginger shampoo, nearly pulled a groan from his chest. The soft touch of your hands, cool and strong against the fire that spread through his blood, had brought him back. The feeling of you breaking, the soft whines, the way you said his name… the things he had said, he couldn’t just shut the fuck up could he?

He had to bring his hands up to cover his eyes, willing the images to go away, just for a moment, please, he just needed some time, if only he had time- next time. Next time, he had told you. A desperate promise, a reassurance, trying to tell you that it wasn’t just the chemical coursing through him, it wasn’t just his hijacked nervous system. Did she know? Did she understand? That’s when he asked for you, without thinking, just wanting to see you, to explain. He had never been good with words unless it was biting sarcasm across comms or coolly delivering ultimatums in an interrogation. Then he remembered, the thing that sent his heart barreling through his chest for the second time, the machine next to him screaming. It is good, you had said, it’s ok, it’s ok, you had whispered.  

He ripped the monitors off his chest, ignoring the doctor's protestations, found the clothes that had been brought in for him and got dressed. Now that you were standing here before him he was unsure. You looked scared, and he could count on one hand all the times he had seen you in such a state.

His staring was unnerving, more unnerving than if he had shouted, yelled, grabbed you, anything but this, this was fucking torture. You had to leave, just get off base, go somewhere, anywhere but here- the sudden sound of your name shook you from the reverie. The tone had your eyes finding his immediately.

He stayed seated, scared that if he stood, if he made his way to you, you would run, and you both knew that you were much quicker than him. If you ran, if you left, he would never catch up.  Only when his knuckles began to ache did he realize how tightly he was gripping the edge of the mattress in an effort to keep himself there. It was hard to look at you and not remember the way you had looked when you pressed your hand to his forehead, when you had thrown your head back in pleasure, when you had grabbed his face when he was too exhausted to continue but thankfully no longer felt like he was burning alive. It was hard to remember and not stride across the room and hold you. He took a breath and forced his shoulders to relax in a way that he had done so many times before.

“I-,” he started, his voice cutting through the room, his normal voice, the one you recognized as him and it set you slightly at ease from sheer familiarity, “I’m so sorry.” Now he had to turn his eyes downcast.

“What?” Your response, the shock in your voice, forced him to look at you again. Your hands itched at your sides, confusion rippling across your face.

His eyes narrowed, he knew you so well. Always blaming yourself. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m sorry that happened, I’m sorry you were put in that position,” the word choice made him nearly cringe. He continued, “I never-I didn’t want it to happen that way.”

Your brain jolted, standing there in shocked silence, his words thundering through your ears accompanied by the pleading of next time.

He pressed on, desperately trying, “I know you, you’re going to think this was your fault. It wasn’t. There was nothing either of us could do, thank you for your, uh, help. Just- fuck, please just say some-,”

Shock still swept through you, the words escaped your mouth before you could think, “Did you mean it?” You figured by the way he leaned back that he knew what you were talking about. Then he held out a hand, palm up, an offering. Before you knew it, you had crossed the room, putting your hand in his and letting it gently pull you between his legs. His giant frame meant even sitting on the gurney that his gaze was level with yours, and those eyes searched your own when one word sounded through the room.

“Yes.”

This word broke you. One fucking word, one word that answered every glance between you two, every smile shared, a word you brokenly whispered into the night when you had a hand between your legs thinking about him knowing you shouldn’t. You hadn’t cried all week, but now the giant tears rolling down your cheeks felt like a release. When his free hand, warm and rough, swiped them away you couldn’t help leaning into it, just as he had done. All tension, all fear, dissipated from the room. That hand continued to just below your ear, cupping your neck, and gently pulling you forward to press his head against yours, eyes shutting, just resting there against each other in the moment.

“What the fuck are we gonna do?” you sighed.

You could feel the smirk that you knew was slipping across his mouth.

“Well, I did say next time.”

This time when you rode him with the small bed creaking beneath the movements, he stopped you any time you tried to speed up (it was your turn to beg and plead), keeping you at a languid torturous pace. That way the bastard had all the time in the world to whisper into your mouth, letting you taste each word, all the things he would do to you next time and all the times after that.

Thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think! :)

[ceilidho]

prompt: blue collar worker ghost knocking reader up in a gas station bathroom on a whim. (nsfw, 2k)

-

Just to look over at him on the driver’s side drives you crazy.  

His buzz cut uncovered by a hood or balaclava is the new normal. It makes your blood rush to think of dragging your fingers across it, never long enough to really grip; heats you up faster than sitting by a fire or plunging into warm water. It’s the same new normal as the bristly, naked skin of his jaw, which flexes under scrutiny. He hadn’t gotten around to shaving earlier—rarely does these days as long as he can keep to a five o’clock shadow—and it makes you shiver when you think of the raw tenderness on your inner thighs, a consequence of that decision. 

These are the consequences of trust and loyalty. Not long ago, you wouldn’t have expected more than a glimpse of dark eyes behind a mask. 

The window is cracked open just enough to let the smoke from his cigarette out. Black fingerless gloves, nails bare and trimmed, dirt and ink trapped always in the grooves of his fingers. Eyes heavy lidded as always from poor sleep, shot nerves the takeaway from an old life of brittle thin sleep. His cortisol levels, to this day, must ride high in the bloodstream. You’d give anything to ease it at a touch, but that’s not how things work. 

“Keep lookin’ at me like that and we’re gonna have a problem,” Simon says when you glance over at him for the fifth time in as many minutes. 

“A problem?” you repeat. You’re not trying to be coy—you’re really not—but it comes out that way regardless. A bit breathlessly too, you realize with a small degree of embarrassment. You’ve got no shame these days. 

He grunts instead of answering. Your fists close over your thighs as you dry to concentrate on the road ahead of you instead of the persistent ache between your thighs. It’s not his fault that your pussy picked now of all times to get desperate. 

You peer over at him again out of the corner of your eye. 

“Bird,” he growls. Doesn’t even have to look over at you to know that you’re staring. Just another weird six sense from another life. It’s a warning though, one you hear loud and clear. 

“I didn’t say anything,” you say in a huff, turning your head fully away from him now to stare out the window. 

Only a handful of minutes tick by with you watching the brown patches of grass and the trees lining the motorway before you shift in your seat. Acutely aware of the wet spot between your legs, the way Simon’s fingers curl over the steering wheel loosely when he drives one handed, the smell of smoke on the upholstery, the grimy spots on the windshield where the wipers don’t reach, the moment he shifts and the weight of him makes the leather squeak. 

You peek over at him again.

He doesn’t bother signalling before veering into the rightmost lane, ignoring the furious honking from the car right behind you. You yelp when he takes the exit at a breakneck speed, fingers gripping the underside of your seat before whipping your head around to glare at him. 

“What’s the matter with you?” you scream, spine stiff from the sudden lane change. 

Simon doesn’t answer you, but you notice that the exit leads to a rest stop just off the motorway. It’s one of the less frequented ones—just a cluster of fast food restaurants and a gas station. He pulls into a parking space and practically slams on the brakes, making you jerk forward in your seat. Simon’s never been the most cautious driver, but this is a whole new level for him.

“Simon—Simon, what are you doing—” you hiss through clenched teeth, but he’s already up and out of the car, circling around to your side. 

Your heart goes hummingbird quick in your chest, stomach in knots. When you pant out a breath, it comes out shaky with nerves and excitement. You toy with the idea of pressing down on the child lock when he comes around but think the better of it. There’s already a twitch in his eye. 

You look up at him through your lashes when he opens the door and leans in to release your seatbelt. 

“Get out,” he orders, and yanks you out before you can reply. 

The walk to the gas station is tense and you struggle to keep up with him. He walks too fast and expects you to keep up, growling down at you to move it, but you drag your feet a little. It’s shameful how even that gets you worked up. 

“Are we gonna—?” you ask breathlessly, irritation seeping out of you. Simon doesn’t answer, just tightens his hand around your wrist. 

A chime above the door jingles when the two of you walk in, heading straight for the back. You catch the attendant staring at the two of you with open contempt and give a tight, embarrassed smile back. Simon doesn’t so much as glance over. You think he’d let the man call the cops if it came down to it. 

The gas station bathroom is one of the crummier bathrooms you’ve ever been in, but you hardly register that with how Simon hauls you up against the door he just slammed shut and kisses you within an inch of your life. His kisses are ever slick and wet, dangerous for you—drugging when he drags his tongue over yours and a hand cups your head to angle it just right. You want to give as good as you get, but it’s easy to let yourself get swept away and open your mouth to let him in because you feel his hunger. 

“That cunt never gets tired of me, does she?” Simon mumbles into your mouth. He steals your words from you when he slots his lips over yours again. Only gives you enough space to drag in a sharp breath. 

It’s in your best interest. The only words available to you are pathetic little pleas, desperate fingers digging into his jacket and trying to pull it off so you can feel the muscle underneath. Trying to get as close as possible to him, to wrap yourself around him. A needy, pitiful thing. 

“Poor thing,” he sighs, pulling away from your mouth and laughing when your lips chase after him. Standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him again and kiss, hands tugging him down by the back of his neck. “So horny that you nearly made me crash the fuckin’ car.”

“Couldn’t wait,” you whine, peppering his neck with kisses when he draws up to his full height, nearly dizzy now. “Sorrysorrysorry, please—please fuck me, Simon—please—”

“Not here, bird—want you to see how desperate you look.”

He drags you over to the other side of the bathroom and makes you stand on his boots and face the mirror covered in lipstick and sharpie and god knows what else—“c’mon, up you get”—while he rucks up your dress. The stark contrast between the two of you in the mirror makes you baulk. Like you haven’t slept with him before and lived to tell the tale. He’s all dark clothing and mountains for shoulders, mouth always set in a flat line of impatience that would make anyone else turn the other way. 

You, however, press yourself back into him. 

Rough fingers tug your panties to the side, not bothering to check if you’re wet. Assuming that you are—that you always are with him, eager to cant your hips and offer yourself up to him.

You try not to think about how your pelvis is already tilted towards him.

Simon holds your head up with a single hand under your chin, squishing your cheeks a little. “Fuckin’ hell…look at that,” he rasps, eyes almost black with lust. 

“You’re being mean,” you whine, pushing back against him and wiggling your hips. 

“Doesn’t matter how many times I give it to you—always whining for it. Cock hungry bird.”

It would hurt if you didn’t already know how much he wants you too, the deep rasp in his voice betraying an aching, insatiable hunger. An arm locks like a bar across your chest to hold you in place, his hand fitting over a breast just to have something to hold. He can tell you again and again that it’s just you, but you know that he wants it just as badly as you do. 

He reaches around to undo his pants and then you feel a familiar cock bully its way into you, a tight fit only eased by the wetness almost glistening on your inner thighs. He grunts when his cock pushes into you, the same hand reaching around to rest low on your stomach, pinkie brushing the top of your mound. 

The first thrust jostles you, forces your palms to slam down on the mirror even though the arm across your chest keeps you tight to his chest. It’s sticky under your fingers. You wince when you think of how much Purell you’ll need after this, but the thought melts away when he pulls his cock almost all the way out of you before slamming back in. 

“Yes, yes—fuck—” you gasp, staring at your reflection in the mirror. After a couple hours on the road, you’re not exactly in tiptop shape—sweaty and in need of a shower and coffee—but any timidity evaporates under Simon’s hot gaze. It eats you up. 

His jaw flexes with each thrust, eyes flitting between your tits bouncing under your dress and your face until it stays there, devouring you in a single heated look. Every time your shoes almost slip off his boots, he pulls you tighter into his chest; you couldn’t get out of his hold even if you wanted to. The thought makes the blood rush through your ears. 

“Almost need someone else jus’ to take care of you when I’m not around,” Simon growls. He gives your breast a rough squeeze, an admonishment. 

“No—no one else—” 

“Jus’ me then, pet? No one else can take care of this little cunt?”

You shake your head, maybe nod, maybe sob a bit. It’s hard to tell. The hand on your low belly grips into the flesh, holding you in place while he rails you over the sink. Impossible to look away from the man towering over you, a man you’ve let willingly bend you over and get between your thighs. You wouldn’t even if you could. He’s the summation of everything you’ve ever hoped for, packaged in the too big body of a gun for hire, riddled with nerve damage and a nasty temper. You wouldn’t trade him for anything in the world.

Your eyes slip shut.

“Tell you what,” he breathes into your ear, the burr of his stubble rubbing your neck raw. “I’ll give you somethin’ else to keep you busy.” 

Your eyes spring wide open.

He shifts his stance and drives into you with renewed vigour, muffling your sounds with a hand over your mouth. The mirror fogs up through the gaps between his fingers, the room damper and stickier now than when you entered it. Tears build in the corners of your eyes. 

When he goes quiet, you know what’s about to happen. Your toes curl in your shoes when he exhales a ragged breath, gritting his teeth when he meets your eyes again in the mirror. Something about his gaze alone makes you come, like a deep press into your soul. The fat cock stretching you out is just a bonus. 

The come down is harsh, laboured breaths panting out of you until your chest finally settles, until it feels safe enough to move. You lower one foot from on top of his boot just for Simon’s arms to constrict even more, holding you fast to his chest. He can probably feel your heartbeat against his wrist. 

“Quit squirming,” he scolds, giving you a little warning squeeze.

“‘M sweaty,” you complain.

“We’ll towel off at home,” Simon says, rolling his eyes. “Don’t bitch.”

“I’m not bitching, I’m hot—” 

He lets you carp and moan about your inner thighs being covered in beard burn and come while straightening out your dress, pulling your panties back into place. He’s quicker with himself, doesn’t even bother grabbing a paper towel to wipe himself off before shoving his cock back into his pants and zipping up. When you ask him to hand you one, the look he gives you scorches you right to the bone. 

“Wait ‘till we get home,” he says, hand on your back when he unlocks the bathroom door.

“Like you aren’t gonna do it all over again the second we get there,” you mutter.

His smirk isn’t smug, but it’s a near thing.

[sanguineterrain]

hey sanne! hope you're having a good day!

love your fics soo much and i always jump up a little when i get a notification for when you post on ao3!

i have a request if it interests you! what if jay and reader get stuck in a hostage situation together? like at a bank or a convenience store or something? just obsessed with the idea of jason being protective and badass in his civilian identity!

thank you for your lovely fics! 💕

thanks for the request!

jason todd x gn!reader. mild violence, robbery, jason being cute and sweet and a little awkward as per, reader is guilty of judging jason by his appearance.

****

The bell above the door chimes as you enter your favorite convenience store. You haven't been in a while, but the older clerk still nods and smiles at you, saying hello in an accent you don't know. You greet him back.

He's a nice man, sometimes sneaking in a free pack of gum into your bag. Proof that capitalism hasn't squashed everyone's spirit yet.

Actually, you used to regularly stop here to get a treat on your walk home. Lately, though, the prices have been too steep for your meager wages.

Three dollars for a bag of chips is actually ridiculous. Are they 24K gold chips? Will they cure fear gas syndrome?

Stupid inflation.

You take a step back, thinking maybe the price will lower if you put some distance between you. Instead, you bump into someone's shoulder. You quickly back away, apologies on your lips.

Whoa.

The shoulder belongs to possibly one of the biggest guys you've ever seen. Even swallowed up in his red hoodie, he looks like he could bench press four of you. He towers over the packaged cookie display, which is what he'd been looking at before your misstep.

He's also wearing long sleeves and jeans in eighty degree weather, which is... a choice. Maybe he has an iron deficiency. You want to tell him but think better of it.

"Sorry," you say at the same time that he says, "Sorry, y'okay?"

His voice is soft and deep. You nod, and he barely glances at you before he tucks in closer to the shelf, as if anticipating for you to pass him.

Instead, you bump into the adjacent shelf and knock a couple Doritos bags to the floor.

"Dammit," you whisper.

Hoodie bends down before you do, startling you with his speed. He puts the chips back. He looks at you, and you look at him.

His face is young, nose crooked like it's been in a lot of fights. He has a scar traveling from his right eye across his face to his lip.

Never judging a book by its cover is great in theory, but this is Gotham. Judgment keeps you safe.

He's cute, though. His lips are pink and full. There's a smattering of freckles across his cheeks and nose.

But you're not about to interact with anyone more than you need to at a convenience store, so you turn around and hope he doesn't try to approach you.

And it's like Hoodie can hear your thoughts because a moment later, he goes to another aisle, leaving you alone. You relax and peruse the chips in peace.

Cheetos. Are Cheetos worth three dollars and tax, though?

Maybe just a drink.

You go to the fridges and stare, debating between a ginger ale and a Snapple when the bell above the door jingles.

"This is a robbery!"

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

You turn and see a guy in a ski mask with a gun pointed at the cashier. The old clerk is shaking and has his hands up. Yeah, you're never coming back here again. Overpriced Cheetos aren't worth it.

But then to your right, you see Hoodie, crouched on the ground. He gestures for you to get low. You hesitate.

"Hey," he says, as quietly as he can. "I ain't gonna hurt you. I'm gonna get us outta here alive, okay? But you gotta trust me a little. C'mere."

Hearing him speak at length, it's clear that Hoodie is Gotham-born and bred. And he's certainly not from the Heights. His drawl is thick and, dare you say, comforting. It's old-school Jersey, like you could walk into a diner and find him chatting with the retirees. The thought startles you.

What was that about books and covers?

You get low like he wants and scurry over to him. He scoots back against the last fridge and gestures for you to do the same.

"This is the blind spot for the cashier," Hoodie whispers. "I don't think he saw us, so you'll be okay here."

You nod. You can't speak. Can't move. Can't breathe.

"Hey." Hoodie tilts his head to find your eyes. His eyes are a brilliant teal. What a pretty color. "Hey, y'alright? Can you make a fist for me?"

You make a loose fist. He nods.

"Good. Now..." He checks around the shelf. It sounds like the clerk is still emptying the register. "Squeeze your fist and inhale. Then release your fist and exhale. Can y'do that?"

You clumsily follow his directions. He makes the fist with you.

"Good, good. Okay. 'S okay. Nothing’s gonna happen to ya, alright?"

You have no idea how he can promise something like that.

"When I push this shelf, run for the other side, okay? And when he's distracted, you'll leave out the front."

Your eyes fly to his in alarm.

"What?" you hiss. "Are you crazy? He'll shoot you!"

"I'm really fast," he says.

Oh, okay. He's insane too. Cool.

"Hurry the fuck up, old man!" the robber shouts. "I will shoot you."

Hoodie glares venomously in his direction. "Can't let 'im get away. Ready?"

No, not ready, definitely not ready!

He pushes a shelf with one leg. It crashes to the floor. Briefly, you wonder if he's ever crushed a watermelon between his thighs. From the size of them, he definitely could crush—

Okay, not the time.

He nudges your arm when you don't move. You book it to the other side of the store like he ordered. The robber clomps across the store, leaving the clerk.

"That was stupid, guy!" the robber shouts. "Really fucking stupid!"

Bang! You yelp and duck.

"What's stupid is your aim," Hoodie growls.

There's a few grunts and a landing punch. By the time you get up, the robber is out cold on the floor. Hoodie is disassembling the gun and unloading the chamber. Then he goes to the clerk.

"Thank you, good boy," the clerk says, still wobbly with fear. "Good Jason. So good."

Jason. A name for your savior.

"It's okay, Mr. Kourakis." Jason keeps talking, but it's not a language you understand. It's... Greek?

Just who is this guy, exactly?

Mr. Kourakis nods, shaky hands grasping Jason's forearms as he steadies himself. Jason comforts him for a moment, then gently extricates himself to retrieve the money from the unconscious robber and return it to the register.

On impulse, you take a Mrs. Fields double chocolate chip cookie from the shelf on your way to the register.

Mr. Kourakis keeps talking, obviously panicked. Jason soothes him in his rumbling voice, picking up the shelf he knocked over with one hand, like he's holding a basketball.

"Sorry, um, did you call the police?" you ask, interrupting their conversation.

Jason glances at you. "No cops. They're messy and inept. I told Mr. Kourakis that I'll take care of this."

Your brows rise. Inept? Looks like your savior has a great vocabulary too.

"And by 'take care of,' you mean...?"

He smiles a little, the scar on his lip stretching white. "Not like that. I meant that, uh, I got a buddy who knows a Bat."

Right, of course. You're four blocks from the Red Hood's territory.

Jason touches Mr. Kourakis' arm and tells him something else in Greek. Mr. Kourakis nods, then wearily flips the OPEN sign to CLOSED. He disappears into the back room after that.

"You can go," Jason says, not unkindly. He types something on his phone. Then he shuts it off and looks at you. "You hurt at all?"

You shake your head. You're still trying to puzzle him out. He's the weirdest Gothamite you've ever met.

"How do you know Greek?" you ask.

You don't know why you're asking questions. You should just take the blessing and leave.

"Study abroad," he says around a smile, like he's telling a joke that you're not privy to.

"...Right. And did you learn how to disarm a robber while you were abroad, too?"

"Nope," he says mildly. "I take jiu-jitsu classes at the Y."

You look at the crumpled robber on the floor. His mask is off and he has a black eye and a drying bloody nose. You doubt they teach that at the Y.

"Thank God for the Y, I guess," you say, turning back to Jason.

He shrugs. "Gotta defend yourself in Gotham."

No arguments there.

"Yeah. And thank you for, um. What you did back there. I got—I've never been held at gunpoint, and I guess I just... I dunno..."

Jason steps forward and makes an aborted gesture, like he was going to touch your arm. He doesn't, though, instead just nodding.

"Don't worry 'bout it," he says tenderly. "'S normal to be scared. You did great."

Jeez, is this guy a counselor? He looks too young to be doing that, though.

"You didn't seem scared," you say.

Jason shrugs, suddenly tense. "Ah, I just hide it well."

"Oh. Well, anyway." You put a few dollars on the counter and hold out the Mrs. Fields cookie. "'Least I can do is buy your cookie."

Jason's eyes widen. "I—y-you don't hafta—"

"It's really no trouble! It's all I can do to thank you. Because you really saved our butts today."

You shake the cookie a little. Jason hesitantly accepts it, then glances at your money on the counter.

"You shouldn't," he says. "This place price-gouges. Chips for three bucks is insane."

You grin. "It really is! But I don't mind. I've kinda lost my appetite, in any case. You deserve a cookie, Jason."

He blinks once-twice-three times at your use of his name. "Oh. It wasn't a big deal."

Is he serious? He can't be. "Of course it was! You risked your life for me. Thank you, seriously."

You start to back up towards the exit. Jason watches you, a mix of bewilderment and bemusement.

"Well, I gotta get home. Feed my cat." You make finger guns. God, you're lame. A good-looking guy saves your life, and you lose all sense. "Thanks again."

"Wait!"

Jason follows you outside, cookie in hand. His mouth is open like he's about to ask a question. You wait expectantly.

"Um." He swallows. "Prince Street."

"What?"

"The bodega on Prince Street. I know the owner. He's got better prices. You can tell him you're my friend. To, y'know, get a discount. Not... not that I think you're—I mean, I don't—"

You smile. Jason cuts himself off, looking a little frustrated.

"You're really sweet," you say. If you were crazier, you might kiss his cheek. "Thanks for the tip. And thanks for today. Take care, Jason."

"Yeah," he says as you walk down the block. "Yeah, you too."

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

That’s Not My Neighbor (1) | Yandere Bnha

“I’m sure you didn’t have a nose piercing the last time I spoke with you, Mister Kirishima. Besides you're not on today's list.”

“Wait it’s not what you think please–”

“Sorry.” 

As apathetic as your reasoning you clicked the button and began to dial the D.D.D. It didn’t matter that there was frantic and harsh banging against the closed metal doors. All that did matter was that the shouts and struggles of D.D.D agents were quieting down. The metallic door came up to show the mysterious build of the building’s agent. 

“The cleaning protocol is completed. You may continue your job.”

“Thank you.”

You look down to reorganize and once over the documents you had; stopping when you find the agent still standing in front of your window, gas mask, and all. 

“Do you need something?”

Instead of apologizing or defending themselves they simply stood there. Rolling your eyes you put the documents down, sending a light glare. They were in the way of possible residents. Which means wasting time on your shift. 

It was three minutes before a voice crackled again. 

“You—took up more shifts.”

Resisting the urge to sneer you took to restacking your papers while you answered. 

“I did. Is there a problem?”

“I thought the other guy would be here at this time.”

Refusing to hide your anger this time you slammed your papers down as you leaned back in the chair.

“On the books he is but he had an emergency so I’m filling in, my shift is next anyway.”

“...Are you getting paid for this?”

So that was why…You sighed, no longer scrunching your eyebrows. Flashing a small smile you straightened your posture.

“He owes me a favor and lunch; so I’ll be okay.”

They stood a little while longer before bowing their head and making their way out of the building. You wondered if this meant one of you was going to get fired. Pushing that aside you continued to look ahead waiting for the next possible resident to walk through.

Your gaze was so fixed on the window you failed to hear the squeaking of the door of your office and the steps behind your back. Only squealing when your chair suddenly twirled around to reveal an intruder.

“HIya (Y/n)!”

“Eeep!”

“Don’t get so nervous just wanted to stop by!”

It was Denki Kaminari,  resident in F2-03 shared with Hitoshi Shinso, piercings on his ears, yellow hair with a black stripe, and an occasionally derpy look on his face. His current employment is as a private electrician, which means he’s often called out for emergencies and may not always be on the list. 

Which he isn’t because he’s got the day off. 

“Sir Kaminari please don’t surprise me like that. I am working.”

“Sir?! Ouch, (Y/n) you wound me!”

He fakes a shot to the heart wobbling around before dramatically falling onto the floor.

“It’s not healthy to take a job as dangerous as harshly as you do. You know all the residents have countermeasures.” 

It’s Shinso Hitoshi, a private detective, and D.D.D reporter, with crazy purple hair and eyes with bags under them, and a hanging earring on his left ear. He also isn’t on the list today. Figures, his work is sporadic and Shinso is an insomniac homebody. 

“Yes, but my job is meant so that you won’t have to use them. I must stay vigilant against Doppelgangers.”

He sighs and scratches at his unruly head. He kicks his partner who is still playing dead on the floor. Kaminari stands up swiftly to once again invade your space as you fail to scoot your chair away. 

“So have you eaten today?”

You pushed him away, turning to your window once again, scanning the perimeter before speaking over your shoulder. 

“I keep myself hydrated when I’m working.”

Shinso sucked his teeth, coming to your right side as he glances at the files you’ve neatly organized. Kaminari follows his lead going on the opposite side to poke at your phone and the list. You swatted his hands away.

“That doesn’t sound like an answer.”

You sighed, “Relax. My coworker promised to give me lunch as compensation for taking his shift.”

What should have soothed their worries instead made them more upset. Both of them glaring at you. 

“If he’s going to give you lunch but you're taking his shift today, that means you’re not eating lunch today.”

“Yeah..what he said!”

You sighed again standing from the chair to turn the both of them away. Putting your foot down–you cross your arms and look at them with your customer-service smile,” As an extension of D.D.D I’m tasked with not only guarding the door from doppelgangers but protecting my health. 

Kaminari was making that infamous dumb face and Shinso was just about mirroring him.” 

Nonetheless, you continued,” It’s important to the D.D.D that their door people are in their best working conditions and I am paid handsomely to do that. “

Shinso was the first to try to speak narrowing his eyes as though he was questioning the validity of the statement. 

“Wait, hold on–”

But you continued, “If you have any complaints, please call the non-emergency number if you’d like to make a complaint.”

As if timed perfectly a knocking at the glass had you hurriedly hopping and turning in your chair to look through the window. Looking more exhausted than Hitoshi was what looked like the teacher Aizawa Shouta, who was glaring at the couple past your head. 

“I’m about to file a complaint if you don’t check my ID and Entry request.”

“Sorry sir. Right away sir.”

Nothing was out of line, everything matched and thus you let him in. A passing glance at the reflection behind you showed both of them sporting an annoyed grimace. Sending a side–eye to the grumpy teacher their gazes were still fixed on you. 

“(Y/n) if you’re the only one working you need to take an appropriate break.”

“I already said–”

“No (Y/n) whether the D.D.D okays it or not this isn’t healthy.”

Hitoshi’s interruption was a lot harsher than his usual speech, the kind you imagined he used when speaking to captured doppelgangers. It made your skin crawl and the hairs on your arms stand up. 

Feeling the heat of someone’s breath on your neck, you hadn’t noticed Kaminari closing the gap between you two. You wanted to turn but you could feel his arms cross over the arms of the chair trapping you in your seat and leaving you far too close to look him in the eye. 

“I think as concerned neighbors we ought to intervene. What do you say Hito?”

“Guys I haven’t been working that long really–”

“I think that’s a great idea.”

Taking advantage of the wheels on your chair Kaminari pulled you away from the desk, holding you in your chair to the doorway leading to the apartments. Hitoshi made quick work of your station closing everything locking the doors and closing the office window slot. 

“But there’s only one more for my shift please—at least let them in!”

At your behest, Hitoshi rolled his eyes looking at the list of expected tenants before scowling at the one uncrossed name on the list. 

“I honestly think having a doppelganger is better than him.”

You wanted to protest but Kaminari quite easily tossed you over his shoulder as he skipped down the hall. Watch from your bobbing perspective as Hitoshi easily locks up your office with your backpack in hand. How did he know where the key is?

Trying to speak up, you were shaken by Kaminari trying to get your attention with his smile as though he wasn’t abducting you. 

“So what should we have for lunch (Y/n)? Beans and Rice? Meatballs? Katsudon?”

“Come on (Y/n). He’s not going to stop until you say what you’re going to eat.”

[sp0o0kylights]

Part Two

Gareth Emerson had no clue what the hell Eddie was thinking. 

There was “adopting lost sheep” as he called it, and “being the nest baby birds needed before they fly” for some of the other poor, mid-year transfers, and all of Hellfire was used to both these adoptees. 

People showed up, always looking a little hesitant, always a little careful, and all of them were welcomed until they found their place in Hawkin’s High. 

This though? This was neither of those things.

No, what Eddie had done was taken a wolf, or a--fucking tiger, that had gotten hurt fighting other fucking tigers, and decided to keep it as a pet. 

Even if said pet was looking very pathetic, with a face full of bruises that apparently, Billy Hargrove caused.

That did not make sitting across from the fallen King and current senior, Steve Harrington, any easier. 

Judging by the rest of Hellfire’s constant uneasy glances and uncomfortable, awkward joking, no one else was comfortable with it either. 

Except of course, for Eddie. 

“Dude can we like, talk for a minute?” Gareth asked, motioning at Jeff and Grant to distract Harrington. Not that it was hard, the jock was too busy staring at his pathetic packed lunch to notice much. 

(The guy brought soup to school and was drinking it cold. What the fuck.) 

“Ga~ary.” Eddie sing-songed, but it was in warning. 

A warning very much ignored, as Gareth stood, and moved to tug Eddie up with him. 

“Now, Eddie.” He said, his own tone a manic, if suppressed version of his own warning.

Gareth was not known for keeping his temper, but he also wasn’t keen on getting his ass kicked this early in the day if Harrington took offense. 

And considering they had all finally caught a look at Hargrove, and the way he fucking stopped and turned on his heel the second he saw Harrington, there was no doubt in Gareth’s mind that Harrington could kick his ass. 

Even in his current, beaten to shit state. 

Eddie huffed a dramatic breath, making sure at least some of his hair moved with it, but stood nonetheless. 

“I’ll return shortly, friends!” He called jovially, before letting himself be dragged backwards several feet. 

Just fair enough away where they could still see the table, but not be heard. 

Particularly not by any invading jocks. 

“What were you thinking!?”  Gareth started, hands crossed over his chest tightly.  “You didn’t even talk to us first!”

“Garebear, look at him.” Eddie said, placing both hands on his friend's face, turning it to look at Steve’s hunched form. 

“Those big, sad, puppy-dog eyes.” Eddie continued, leaning in to whisper in Gareth’s ear. “The pathetic way he slouches.”

 Eddie leaned even closer, lips tickling Gareth’s ear and making the latter swat at him. 

He dropped his hands to Gareth’s shoulders, shaking him lightly. 

“His giant empty house we can use for Hellfire meetings.”

“Is that seriously why you dragged him over here?” Gareth demanded, a little louder than he’d meant too, if Eddie’s abruptly tight grip was anything to go by. 

“Of course not.” Eddie scoffed. “Rumor has it the guy throws money around for his friends and if we play our cards right, we can be the receiving end of that gravy train.” 

Eddie grinned theatrically while he said it, staring into Gareth’s eyes like his smile alone would convince him to play along. 

It was the fakest thing Gareth had ever seen on his best friends face. 

“Don’t bullshit me man.” He said quietly, eyes narrowed. “What’s the actual reason you decided to go against your own doctrine and adopt Steve Harrington, of all people?” 

Eddie’s eyes flicked to Harrington and back. “There’s no other--”

“Eddie.” Gareth snapped, a flash of his temper breaking through. “You’re my best friend. Don’t fucking lie to me like that.” 

“Has anyone told you you’ve been using the word ‘fuck’ a lot, Gare?” Eddie muttered, but it was more subdued, the playful mask falling from his face. 

As a matter of fact, Ms. Click had called him out on it that very morning, but Gareth knew better than to admit that and derail this conversation. 

“Edwin Dale Munson.” Gareth growled, enjoying the way Eddie flinched from his full, government name. 

“Sssh!” Eddie dropped his hands from Gareth’s shoulder to wave them in his face. “Fine, fine, look. Rumor has it he got cheated on, blew up his friendship with Hateful Hagan and Cocky Carol, and then took a beating from Hargrove. All in the same like, week.” 

Eddie tugged at his hair, the movement harsh. 

“I found him walking home in the dark the other day. Said something was wrong with his car, but Gareth.” Eddie paused, gnawing on his lower lip, before he stopped close once again, voice barely above a whisper. 

“I had to coax him in my car and when he got in he kept flinching.” 

“Flinching.” Gareth repeated. 

“Like I was gonna hit him or something.” Eddie explained. “Worse Harrington’s house was dark when I got home. I mentioned to Wayne it didn’t look like anybody lived there and he said he was surprised anyone did. He thought the Harrington’s moved.” 

“Okay.” Gareth said, not quiet following this part of the conversation. 

“He thought they moved because some coworker of his wife worked for them as a house keeper or some shit. Said they bought a place in Chicago. She helped them pack.” 

Another look, but this time Gareth had picked up on what was happening. 

The flinching. 

Not going with his parents.

Staying in Hawkins, when Harrington had a chance to get the hell out. 

It didn’t paint a pretty picture. 

“Shit.” Gareth said finally.

Eddie nodded. “Exactly.” 

Together, they turned to stare at Harrington, who had hunched further into himself now that Eddie was gone from the table. 

“If he turns on us I’m blaming you.” Gareth grumbled finally, and tried not to let the smile that broke out on Eddie’s face effect him. 

“Glad to hear you’re on board, Garebear.” Eddie said, patting his shoulder hard. 

“You’re a fucking teddy bear, you know that right?” Gareth continued as they turned to walk back to the table.

“Shut your mouth.” Eddie fired back. 

“I don't think I will. In fact, Harrington!” Gareth spoke the jock’s name loudly, making the dude jerk and spill some of his soup. 

Bruised eyes looked up at him and Gareth fired a smug right into Harrington’s face. “Wouldn’t you agree that Eddie here is a giant teddy bear?”

“Don’t answer that.” Eddie cut in, as Harrington blinked slowly, a puzzled look overtaking his face. “Gareth here has a big imagination.”

“Let the man give his own opinions. I’m sure he has some!” 

Steve looked between them. 

“I think I’ll plead the fifth.” He decided on. 

“Smart man.” Jeff muttered, causing the rest of the table to snicker.

For the first time since he sat down, Gareth witnessed a small smile appear on Harrington’s face. 

[chugging-bleach]

"SOMETHING TO LOOK FORWARD TO." - the 4 times you almost met jason and the one time you did.

✩ ⋅ ⋅✩ ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ⋅ ⋅✩ ⋅ ⋅✩ ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ⋅ ⋅✩ ⋅ ⋅✩ ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ⋅

✩ ⋅ ⋅✩ ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ⋅ ⋅✩ ⋅ ⋅✩ ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ⋅ ⋅✩ ⋅ ⋅✩ ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ⋅ ⋅ ✩ ⋅

summary. you regret not speaking to jason todd in high school. then, another masked vigilante by the name of red hood seems to make all your regrets dissolve.

tags. fluff, light angst, slight hurt/comfort, slow burn, eventual happy ending

a/n. this idea came from a jason todd x <y/n> fic i am in the process of writing (if you would like to know when it comes out, follow or check out my ao3). i hope you enjoy reading this <3 feel free to request anything you would like to see me write.

the first time.

gotham high, located at the heart of crime alley, was for lack of a better word shitty. you hated studying, you never got along with anyone and prayed that the time went by fast. the only thing that made you keep going back to high school was staring at that handsome boy with bright blue eyes and ratty black hair who sat a seat ahead of you. how he made it to first place each year was a mystery to you since he was constantly skipping class.

what kept you going was looking forward to that one day he would attend class and then you could stare at the back of his head to make the time go by faster. one day you knew that you would want to freeze this moment and make it last forever, but for now, staring will do. not like jason would care and catch you looking.

then one day he completely stopped showing up. you thought he would come back. but then you graduated. without him ever returning. you hated yourself for never trying to talk to him. you should have spoken to him rather than staring holes into him. actually, staring at him must have been super creepy. were you the reason why he stopped coming to school? creeped out by the girl who bore holes into him, just staring and staring? regardless of the real reason, you know that you would always regret not talking to him. not being able to thank him for making school a little better.

the second time.

as was routine for gothamites, you get saved from some large attack from some big shot criminal at the hands of batman and robin. you were a bit upset at being saved since you really wouldn't mind dying at the hands of a rouge robber. you had nothing to look forward to. there wasn't enough money to go to university. bills piled up no matter how many jobs you worked.

you snap out of your thoughts when robin puts a shock blanket around you and instead of being grateful, you throw it on the floor. you remember that you have to get back to work otherwise you'll be behind on rent again.

"where are you going?" batman placed a hand on your shoulder to stop you.

"work," you simply say.

"stay put for a while. we need to make sure you're alright."

"well, i won't be alright if i don't work and miss rent. again."

you just talked back to the batman. maybe he will kill you and then you might die quicker than working yourself to death.

"let me handle this one," and then robin is making you sit down next to him. you were trying to avoid robin knowing that you will project your regret on to him. the regret of never being able to talk to jason since both jason and robin have eerily similar features. work is just an excuse. you need to leave.

"please. i won't make rent. let me go."

"mad respect talking to him like that. but, you inhaled some poison gas. take the antidote. then you can go back."

"give it to the others here. i don't give a fuck."

you know you shouldn't be this angry. but you are this angry. at yourself. and robin has made that anger surface.

"how about i give you something to look forward to? then you'll stay for the antidote?"

"the person i looked forward to seeing disappeared before i could talk to him," you say before you can stop yourself. you feel ridiculous admitting it, that just staring at some random boy gave you hope. but it did. and now that boy wasn't there anymore.

"that dumbass didn't know how lucky he was."

you shook your head. "he truly is lucky. he was adopted by bruce wayne. i just... he made school less shitty even though he doesn't even know who i am and before i could thank him he was gone. it's stupid, i know, but i just wanted to say thank you to him. like, thank you, jason. that's it. and i'll never get to say it."

robin puts the shock blanket around you again. he was silent. "i'm sorry for saying all that. but now that i said it, i'll thank you instead of him." you turned and stared at robin's eye mask, imagining it was jason. it wasn't that difficult, considering they both had the same bright blue eyes and ratty black hair.

"thank you, jason for not getting creeped out by all my staring." you feel much lighter. maybe you just had to talk to someone. robin rises from your side.

"i'm sure that dumbass heard your thanks, though i'm sure he doesn't deserve any of it."

third time.

life at gotham, heart of wacky and dangerous criminals, was for lack of a better word still shitty. you never saved up nearly enough to go to university but managed to get a decent-ish job at three diners which paid nearly enough for being located in gotham.

you were wiping down table tops and listening to the news playing the death anniversary of jason todd, bruce wayne’s adopted son. it was tragic to die that young. and you were surprised the news didn't leave you as heartbroken as you had thought it would.

you continued wiping down the counters, when for the third time today, thugs burst in and demanded to be served. as per policy, you served anyone especially the dangerous sort. before you could get menus for them and think of how to explain to the next diner that yes, thugs broke in after her shift ended yet again, a person wearing a red helmet/mask comes inside, drags the thugs outside with a "not so fast," and that's that. your shift's over. instead of missing the next job, you will be arriving late, which won't be that difficult to explain.

you finish tidying up and leave.

the strange man with the red helmet has tied up the thugs and left them at the side of the pavement. he is ready to leave on his motorcycle. you make a move to leave, accustomed to strange costumed people taking care of thugs like this.

"for all that trouble, want a ride?" you think being kidnapped won't be too bad. not like you have anything to look forward to.

"sure."

just as quickly as he had tied those thugs up without fanfare, you were sitting behind him, arms wrapped around his waist. you whispered the directions of the place adding, "didn't know this was part of the whole hero thing. giving people free lifts to places."

"you would be surprised how much money i burn on gas for these free lifts."

he drove way too fast. you tightened your hold on him, afraid you were gonna fly off. any conversation was impossible with the loud noise of the engine. but it felt freeing to go this recklessly fast.

"wonder who you need to see here."

oh no. you gave the wrong directions. you were not planning to do this. damn the news for reminding you. you promised last year was the last time you would do this.

before you can stop yourself, you're crying. you were heartbroken after all. "i don't know why i do this to myself each year. he never even knew me," you choke out. you had gotten off the bike at some point, expecting this person to leave.

"if it gives you peace to visit this person, you should. besides this punk is lucky to have you visit him."

ignoring the sense of deja vu you were getting, you shook your head. "jason was anything but lucky. he died so young. i never knew him. i wish i knew him better." he lended you his shoulder to cry on. you had more regrets than you had previously thought. "he did not deserve to die young."

your tears sat on top of his leather jacket and you moved to wipe them away with your napkin. instead, he stops you, wiping your tears away with the pads of his gloved fingers.

"he seriously is a lucky boy to have you visit and cry for him"

fourth time.

you were saving up money to move out of this shithole. nothing was tying you down to this place and there were new vigilantes and new villains rising everyday. none of the other cities were safe, but you had heard they offered better jobs and more affordable bills. less leaky ceilings. you never went to college so jobs still were a little difficult to get, but otherwise, you would be paid more as a server at anyother city, except gotham. if not working for wayne enterprises, jobs were a struggle in gotham. life was a struggle. you remarked upon how you made it this far.

then, someone broke through your window.

the first thought - for fuck's sake, who was gonna pay for it?

second - oh it's red hood, he will pay for it.

this is not the first time a vigilante crashed through your window. being a gothamite sucks.

you brushed the pieces of glass away from his leather jacket and surveyed him for damage. he did not seem hurt. only mildly annoyed. the red helmet wouldn't be enough to conceal his reaction from her.

"coffee as per usual? along with the window repairs and cleanup?"

you swear he is frowning under that helmet. not at you, but at the person who threw him. you don't wait for his answer, already preparing his coffee.

"help me up?"

"what? are your legs broken?"

"they are if you will carry me."

"red, combining you and the rest of your little clique this is the tenth time my window has been broken. sixth time by you, alone."

the person you met on jason todd's death anniversary was red hood. he was an anti-batman vigilante and you couldn't have given two shits. except, red made you give two shits. after that first day at the diner, he kept coming back to pick up food during your shifts. when the diner inevitably burned down, he came to the other diner you started working at. then it was crashing through your apartment window. then it was crashing with robin through your apartment window.

you were overjoyed when he came, but it was best you push him away before he got too close, and up and disappeared like jason had. looking forward to things like this was a curse.

"hope i make it to a seventh. seventh times the charm."

"charm for what?" you say, slamming the mug in front of him, with a little more force than you wanted to.

"for my charm to work on you." he winked and took a sip from the cup. his other hand rested on top of yours and your heart wrenched in your chest. you really wanted to know red hood better. you wanted him to keep crashing through your window instead of entering through the front door. but then he would die during patrol and you would have nothing more to look forward to. again. you carefully free your hand from his, ignoring his puzzled expression and the dejection you feel separating from him.

you have to stop this. "listen, you shouldn't see me anymore."

"why?

"i don't...don't need you to disappear too. jason disappearing was horrible and he wasn't safe with the most powerful billionaire in gotham. you break in through people's windows. what if next time you break something? like your spine or..."

you expect red hood to laugh at you. you were a minuscule, microscopic part of jason's life. he shouldn't be this huge a part of your life. if he were alive, you knew the regret wouldn't eat you up inside. but he wasn't alive. you couldn't hold that moment as a happy memory of a stupid thing you did in high school.

"all i'm hearing is, breaking your window is fine but not my bones. i guess that's doable."

you smack him, knowing that it wouldn't even hurt. "i'm serious. besides, once i have enough money, i will be moving out of gotham. don't come here. please." you were miles away from moving out. you knew red hood knew that.

you did this to save yourself the hurt and regret, but as you saw him leave from the front door, you knew you caused yourself more hurt and regret than last time. jason was far away from the beginning. you had chances to get to know red hood better. used to have chances.

jason was dead. red hood was right in front of your eyes and interested to keep seeing you. you had messed up.

he would never come back.

the last time.

instead of wallowing in your heartbreak, it was time to give back to the community you grew up in. moving out was an impossible dream you gave up on. instead, you got more involved in elder homes and joined their knitting circles.

it had been a month since red hood was gone. you couldn't believe it had been an entire year since you saw him, on jason's death anniversary of all days. yes, you couldn't help but regret that you made another mistake. red hood knew about you and wanted to know you better, to the point where he broke into your house.

like clockwork, you went to go see jason's grave, finding out that the grave wasn't there anymore. it wouldn't be there anymore at the request of the wayne family.

you cried outside the gates of the cemetery, knowing that this wasn't where he was laid to rest. jason's real body was in wayne manor, not here. this was for the public.

with red hood gone, you had nothing left to look forward to. you were a dumbass.

"need a ride?" you thought you were hallucinating. you looked up with teary eyes and confirmed it was the red hood. except, his helmet was off. you stared at him, dumbfounded. he had dishevelled black hair and bright, blue eyes. you sniffled, letting him drag you to your feet. you shook your head.

"jason's grave isn't here."

you were clutching the flowers in your hands. the red hood took them from you and bowed, pink flushing his cheeks.

"yes, that's 'cause i'm here. thanks for the flowers."

you gaped at him. "you're jason? you mean your name is jason too?"

guess it checks out. red hood knew about your strange connection to jason todd so he didn't tell you his real name. he chuckled, pulling you close, pressing a gentle kiss on each of your glistening cheeks. if you weren't shocked, you probably would be ecstatic about this development.

"it's time you learnt more about jason todd rather than staring and let me learn about you, <y/n>. i have been looking forward to learning more about you."

//bonus//

jason had no idea about before the diner incident. he remembered the from when he was robin, once they arrived at the cemetery. but, he didn’t remember anything from high school as he barely attended. then, his crush on was born.

the batsiblings were tired of seeing jason delay his confession, so they threw him through the window. once jason took tim with him. this totalled the count - three times tim as casualty, one time jason and tim, six times jason. all the costs were billed to bruce wayne as 'civilian casualties' code for ‘of course we broke through the window. it’s the batmove to pick up chicks.'

[comfortless]

i have been thinking about this for a while and i love how you write, so what do you think of biker!könig with a gf that studies in uni? how did they meet? does he get jealous easily of her classmates? what is the aftermath of his jealousy (😏)?

thank you so much 🩷

-🌵

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. fem (afab) reader, suggestive, but mostly just two sillies attempting to flirt.

They first cross paths at a gas station. Sundown and desolate apart from the woman who approaches the tiny shop on foot whilst he straddles his bike at the pump.

She doesn’t notice him, and that’s just fine. More often than not, people do but for the wrong reasons. It’s always the height or the face only his mother could love. This is a good thing, shows she’s not hasty with her judgment, shows she’s just unaware enough to let something like him in.

It’s stupid, completely ridiculous at how he feels his heart thump to life, ribcage squeezing and stomach a whirl with butterflies at the mere sight. The furthest thing from love comes to mind at the sight: plush thighs peeking out against the hem of shorts that cut off just below her bum, the tight tanktop that displays her cleavage in a way so enticing. But that’s what he immediately thinks of, that word that seems foreign to him even in his mother tongue.

Love.

König could be a gentleman, lie her down in his bed instead of fucking her over the bike, if she were kind enough to follow him home. That offer feels heavy as lead on his tongue, lost someplace in his throat when he really gets a good view of her.

He’s never been good with talking to women, anyway. Especially not an angel so far out of his league she would surely only scoff with her sweet drink in hand, turn away from him with her nose held high and dark circles under her eyes as she suffers through another paper back at her dorm or wherever she came from.

So, he leaves her be as much as he can and should, only watches her with his helmet in place and that dark visor masking where his eyes wander from her face down to the retreating view of her legs as she walks.

The next time time is during the rain.

König is good at refraining from acting on base instinct. There’s a lot to consider before stealing away some miserable dove on the sidewalk, the light drizzle from above soaking into her dress and battering her lashes as she sits and waits for a ride that just doesn’t seem to be coming. He’s got his military background, keeps his house tidy and rarely muddles in the affairs of other people.

It’s just that she’s cold.

He tells himself that the only reason he stops his bike some meters away is because she will get sick if he doesn’t offer her a ride. He’s just being a gentleman. There’s nothing more to it.

So he does. Keeps his helmet on and masks his face as well as the weird excitement and nervousness in his voice when the muffled offer taints the wet air.

It doesn’t matter that he wouldn’t have never considered any of this if she weren’t so cute. If she didn’t look so fragile and sweet. She smiles and nods immediately, fusses with her dress a bit when she climbs onto the bike behind him when she tells him that she’s only just been on a date. It just hadn’t turned out well and whoever the bastard had been had dipped before even the entree was served.

It sends his mind spiraling when it shouldn’t.

It’s deranged to think of her misfortune as fate when it isn’t.

“I’m sorry… I don’t know where to put my hands,” she laughs someplace against his shoulder, chin just slightly tilted up to bump his damp t-shirt. It’s the nicest thing he’s ever heard, not mocking at all, only shy.

“Around me.”

He sounds like an old pervert, feels just like one when he takes her hands into his own and guides them around his middle. Presses in a bit too tight, because it’s been a long time since he’s had a woman so close and it feels good to be held like this.

She makes some quiet noise, a soft gasp, then presses her face into the darkness of his shirt to hide away from the rain or maybe…

“You can come home with me. It’s close.”

She laughs again, and he’s reminded of just how little tact that he has with the fairer sex. She must think him an idiot, some hopeful vigilante that scoops women up from the street after nightmare dates with bad food or bad dick. It sounds so stupid to his own ears, he knows he’s burning crimson beneath the black helmet.

Until she squeezes him a bit, gives what must be her best attempt at a hug from their positioning. Again, too, maybe out of surprise that there’s muscle there. Something a woman like her might like.

“I’ve got nothing to lose, huh?” and then “You seem a lot nicer than he was, anyway.”

The air gets stolen from his lungs and his jaw grows loose. She had only told him yes to maybe sitting on his couch, watching some miserable war film until he brought her back to her academic wasteland, but not a part of him had expected that.

It takes a moment for him to realize he hasn’t said a word, that he’s sat panting like some stay being offered a meaty bone. He takes a moment to reposition her grip around him, too ashamed of the way his cock springs to life at her closeness and the ridiculous fantasy playing out in his head.

“Right… you can dry off there.”

He doesn’t immediately remove the helmet when she steps into his abode, just guides her over to the washroom when she asks if he would mind if she used his shower and lets her be. That room has never known a woman’s touch, and the shirt he gives her to change into isn’t comparable to the cute, floral thing she was wearing.

He takes her dress to the dryer to distract himself from the fact that she’s naked in there, just a flimsy door away. Changes out of his own sopping wet clothes after considering that maybe she would want to touch him again. Maybe it felt nice for her too, just to hold someone. He could hold her too, if she wanted that, bring her right to his bed and keep her safe and warm.

“You’re out of conditioner,” she peeps as she steps back out of the bathroom. “Just thought you would want to…”

Her eyes trail over him for a time as her words taper off to nothing. Then, they’re locked to his face and any hope goes up in an inferno. The scars are probably scary, the dark circles from weeks of minimal sleep are probably even worse. She probably thinks him some sort of monster or a demon, something no girl should be left alone with.

Then, she smiles.

“Wow…”

“What…?”

He expects the worst and instinctively casts a sideways glance toward the helmet sat by the door. The perfect covering to avoid situations like this. It’s not that he’s dependent on it, but… maybe he would have had some sort of chance had he not taken it off.

“I’m sorry for staring, you’re just really…”

Ugly. Scary. Whatever words she’s considering, he doesn’t care to hear them. She could just ask to go home, save herself some fear and save him from another rejection.

“… cute.”

“Okay.”

Scheisse.

That wasn’t a “thank you” or anything of substance, but this is more mortifying than anything prior. Even the women who had pitied him with a date before had never called him something so endearing, never likened him to some adorable little thing or stared up at him like she does now. She only seems giddy, a fire burning behind her eyes like she’s just discovered some secret treasure.

“… cuter than your date?,” he hazards, rolls his shoulders and tilts his head at her. His attempt at sounding confident only comes across bitter and jealous. Maybe he is, but that fucker blew his chance, and she’s blessing König with far too many.

“Definitely.”

The tension feels tangible, despite the absurdity of all of this. He’s not sure what to do with his hands, where to look, what to say or how long to take between breaths.

She’s stood there in his shirt, looking as if she’s already his and he’s the one left feeling ashamed and embarrassed.

“I think you’re pretty.”

“Yeah?”

“Ever since I first saw you, I…” He’s babbling too much, losing any composure because she just keeps her eyes trained on him, that adorable smile curling at her lips. If he sounded creepy, like he’s been following her, she doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Maybe you could take me on a date sometime,” she suggests, her voice coming as a breathy little whisper. Maybe she is shy, but she’s giving him the OK to push and prod and see just how far he can go, to expend all of his luck on this very night.

The rain outside only grows louder, threatening to cut the power and leave this docile angel in some dark pit with a mad king. He wishes it would, it grows harder to keep the prominent excitement in his crotch concealed the more that she talks and bats her eyelashes at him.

Being over-eager was a turn-off, right? He weighs his next words the best he can, considers playing it safe for just half a moment before they escape him anyway.

“Come here.”

There’s a darker storm brewing in his eyes when she takes those first, fragile steps toward him. But she graces him with the light of a spark when her hand finds his chest and presses there, feels his heart beating like it’s a normal thing to search for, like she’s just as mesmerized and surprised as she is now.

She’s snared in an instant with a face buried into her damp hair, lifted up with her legs guided to wrap around his waist. A decade worth of luck spent just like that, but he’s always been greedy.

The demand for more comes with a callused hand guiding her chin up. Her lips part immediately, eyelashes fluttering until they rest atop her cheeks, already warmed with the anticipation of what’s to come. His kissing begins gentle, soft for a second as he tries to memorize the plushness and curvature of her lips with his mouth alone.

Then, it’s only punishing.

He tries to hold himself back, but knowing he could have had this weeks ago while she was wandering about barely dressed drives him insane. The moment she gasps against his mouth, his tongue slips inside to find hers, rolls over it with such a ferocity that the corner of her mouth begins to glisten with their shared drool. She whines, then moans as her hands curl over his neck, petting at the short hair at the base of his skull.

His hands fall to her ass to keep her in place, gives her a pinch and then a grope when he realizes she’s not wearing underwear at all.

And that’s where the well must have run dry, because she tilts her face away with a series of soft pants, squeezes her trembling thighs around him as if to make a silent demand to stop, or maybe not. Everything she does makes him feel both hot and crazy; she doesn’t even attempt to wind out of his grip here, only looks up at him sultry and helpless. She must be wet, he can smell it, practically taste her already, but he doesn’t persist when she halts this dance.

“Wait… waitwait. I don’t even know your name.”

“König.”

She laughs breathlessly, then dips her head to press against his shoulder. His hand immediately rises to pet at her hair, twirling a few strands between his fingers as she tells him her name in turn.

“I don’t really want this to just be… one night, you know?,” she says, and that intrigues him.

“That so..?”

“Mhm…”

He slowly lowers her back down until her feet meet the carpeted floor, then takes her face into both hands while she gives him a cute pout. He could be sympathetic, could make her love him even… she’s left the door open for him already, after all.

“I could just hold you,” he mutters, tracing a circle into her cheek, savoring in the way her eyes seem to light up at that.

“I would like that.”

[grimm-cod]

Simon is DEFFFF a GIRL DAD.

Simon and you had identical twin girls, and THEY ARE THE LIGHT OF HIS LIFE.

Simon would do anything for his girls.

tea party with stuffed animals? done.

painting his nails? done.

when Soap asks him why his nails are bright pink when he takes his gloves off, Simon just gives him a glare in response, and Soap decides not to press further.

When he gets home after a mission, and his girls are already tucked into bed, Simon goes into their bedroom to press soft kisses against their foreheads.

If one of the twins had a rough day at school, he would always be the first one to comfort them, which is odd because he's a big, broody, war machine, but he has a heart goddamnit.

He would name his twins: Sage and Saffron.

"They keep calling me the 'other Sage', dad." Saffron would tell him one day after a rough day at school.

"You're my Saffy, sweets. dont let 'em mess with ya." Simon would reply.

if one of the twins got sick, you and him would nurse her back to health, but soon enough, the other twin had the same damn thing, so now, you both are stuck dealing with moody, sick, identical twins.

"Dont wanna take my medicine, dad." Sage would argue.

"Dont care, love. gotta take it." Simon would reply after an hour of arguing with her, getting her to try and take her medicine. Saffron on the other hand, she had taken it instantly, no matter how bad it tasted.

AND OHHH GODDD. if Soap were to ever find out that Simon had twin girls at home, and he was really a big softy behind closed doors, THE TEASING WOULD NEVER END.

Soap would tell anyone he came in contact with.

"Y'know, the Lt. has little twin girls? he treats them like princesses. he's a softy under all that mess." Soap would tell everyone.

And dont even get me started when he meets you and the twins for the first time.

Immediately takes on the role of "Uncle Johnny". Price would be "Papa Price", and Gaz would be "Uncle G", cause the twins couldnt stop calling him Gas instead of Gaz.

"They'll get the accent soon enough." Soap tried convincing Simon that the twins would get his scottish accent if he spent enough time with them, but Simon immediately shut that down.

Simon didnt want his precious girls around anything military related.

Simon had to pick the girls up from school one day, and the other parents couldnt stop staring at him because he was in full uniform, having left from base.

Simon's uniform would definently make the younger kids cry. I would cry too if i saw a 6'4", muscular, british guy in a skull mask and military uniform and tactical gear.

Simon did feel bad though.

[nhaaauyen]

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ The Ghost of You ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

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

PART IV: TONIGHT, I WALK AWAY

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

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

wc: 7.8k cw: violence, angst, major character death author's note: Honestly I'm starting to get why TWD writers do what they do after writing this chapter... I also apologize for taking so long for this chapter, my classes are starting now so updates will be a bit a slower </3 **also some eastereggs but the sonnet 73 quote I have is mentioned in the scene where Grayson talks about love. It's pretty much the translated modern English definition of the quote! The make a wish dialogue is also from the movie Dangerously Yours (1937), that scene always gets me so I had to include it haha

You drift in and out of consciousness, the world around you a hazy blur of pain and disjointed voices. Through the fog, you catch glimpses of three figures engaged in intense discussion.

Sevika's there, her face etched with worry. Beside her stands a tall, bald gaunt man and a mask covering the lower half of his face. His eyes are sunken, giving him an almost skeletal appearance. The third figure is shorter, with slicked-back dark hair and a prominent scar running down one side of his face, his right eye a striking shade of green.

Their voices filter through your muddled thoughts:

"...low on medical supplies for a procedure like this," the masked man says, his voice muffled and clinical. "There's no sure chance she can make it."

"I'll go to the hospital."

"It’s too dangerous." The scarred man's voice is sharp and skeptical.

"We've been low on supplies for too long," Sevika argues. "It's time we do it now. We cannot lose any more people."

Their words fade as you slip back into darkness, only to resurface again as you're being moved. You have no idea how much time has passed, but you're on some kind of gurney, the ceiling passing by overhead. You try to move, but your limbs feel heavy and unresponsive. Glancing down, you see your wrists are handcuffed to the sides of the bed.

Panic surges through you as you realize you're being rolled into what looks like a makeshift operating room. The masked man and the scarred one are there, now wearing blood-stained surgical gowns. You try to fight, to call out, but your body won't cooperate.

The scarred man leans over you, his mismatched eyes boring into yours. "It will be over soon," he says, his voice oddly soothing despite the circumstances. Then he's lowering a gas mask over your face, and the world fades to black.

When you wake again, your mind is clearer, though your body feels like it's been run over by a truck. The scarred man is sitting in a chair beside your bed, watching you with an unreadable expression.

"Ah, you're awake," he says, leaning forward. "Good. I was beginning to wonder if we'd miscalculated."

You try to speak, but your throat is dry, raw. He holds up a hand, silencing you.  

"No need to strain yourself. I just wanted to... observe you.” He pauses. "It's been a long time since I've had to perform a procedure like that. It’s quite a reminder of what still lurks beyond these walls. How we’ve grown complacent."

Your eyes drift to his face, lingering on the scar that runs down the right side, bisecting his eye. The eye itself is a startling shade of green, almost luminescent against his pale skin. You must have been staring, because the man chuckles, a dry, humorless sound.

"Curious, aren’t you?" A sardonic smile twists his features. "It’s only natural - people always wonder. But few ever ask. It’s a souvenir from when Zaun was still crawling out of the muck. When men I called brothers tried to drag me back down for a piece of land." 

His finger traces the scar slowly, almost lovingly. "This... this was their parting gift." He trails off, then continues in a near-whisper. "Have you ever felt pain so exquisite it becomes transcendent? For days, I danced on the knife's edge between genius and madness."

His gaze refocuses on you, sharp and penetrating. "But pain, you see, can be transformative. It stripped away my naivety, my weakness. It forged me into something stronger, something capable of truly leading Zaun."

“I think I understand why Sevika is so fond of you." His lips curl into something that might be a smile but doesn't reach his eyes. "There's something in you, just like her. That part that's willing to sacrifice."

You furrow your brow, confusion, and wariness warring inside you.

"Some sacrifices are necessary to be made. But they're also weaknesses," He stands, smoothing down his shirt. "Something to consider."

With those cryptic words, he turns and leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. You're left alone, your mind racing with questions. Who were those men? What exactly happened to you? And how much time had gone by?

The weight of uncertainty presses down on you, and exhaustion soon follows. Despite your churning thoughts, your eyelids grow heavy, and you drift into an uneasy sleep.

When you wake again, its by the sound of shuffling feet and the creak of a door opening. The haze of sleep still clings to your mind as you slowly become aware of your surroundings.

Sevika enters, holding a plate of food. Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

"Hey," she says finally, her voice softer than you've ever heard it.

"Hey yourself," you reply, unable to keep a slight tremor from your voice.

Sevika sets the plate on your bedside table, then stands awkwardly, as if unsure what to do with her hands. "Thought you might be hungry," she mumbles.

You nod, a thousand questions bubbling up inside you. Where has she been? Why didn't she visit sooner? What happened after the surgery? But looking at her now, seeing the dark circles under her eyes and the way she holds herself - tense, guarded - you decide those questions can wait.

Instead, you pat the bed beside you. "Sit with me?"

Sevika hesitates for a moment, then complies. As she settles beside you, you feel the warmth of her presence, so familiar yet somehow changed.

"I missed you," you say simply.

Sevika's eyes widen slightly, a flicker of emotion crossing her face before she schools it back to neutrality. "I... I'm glad you're okay," she replies, her voice gruff but sincere.

As you and Sevika sit together, you try to maintain a casual conversation, but there's an undercurrent of tension you can't ignore. Sevika's responses are clipped, her gaze never quite meeting yours. It's like she's looking through you, not at you.

"Hey," you say softly, reaching out to touch her arm. "What's going on?"

She turns slowly, her eyes finally meeting yours. But there’s something different in them, something that makes your heart clench. It’s infuriating, this distance she’s putting between you, this wall she’s building brick by brick.

“Sevika,” you say, trying to break through that wall. “Talk to me.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Nothing can happen between us again,” she says, the words falling heavy between you like a death sentence.

You stare at her, disbelief mingling with hurt. “What?”

Her gaze flickers, something like pain flashing in her eyes before she steels herself again. “We can’t do this,” she says, her voice low and strained. “We can’t keep pretending this… whatever this is… can last.”

You feel the ground shift beneath you like the world is falling away, leaving you teetering on the edge of a precipice. “You’re really going to say that after everything?” Your voice cracks, the hurt seeping through despite your best efforts to keep it at bay. “How do you kiss someone, make them believe there’s something real, and then just—throw it away?”

Sevika’s jaw clenches, and she looks away, as if unable to bear the sight of your pain. “You can be mad at me, hate me if you want,” she says. “But it has to be this way.”

“I’m not mad,” you reply, your heart breaking with every word. “I’m hurt, Sevika. I’m hurt because I care about you, and you’re pushing me away like none of it matters.”

“I know,” she whispers, her voice so soft it’s almost lost in the hum of the machines. 

“Then why?” you demand, your voice wavering as you struggle to understand. “Why are you doing this?”

She finally looks at you, really looks at you, and the anguish in her eyes is like a punch to the gut. “Because if I let myself love you,” she says, her voice breaking on the word, “I know we’d never have enough time. ”

Her words hit you like a tidal wave, drowning you in the despair that’s been brewing in your chest. “But isn't some time better than none at all? I'd rather have a handful of precious moments with you than spend the rest of my life wondering 'what if.'” The tears you’ve been holding back now streaming down your face. 

“Even if it hurts, even if it's brief – at least it would be real.”

Sevika shakes her head, her expression a storm of anger and fear. Her words come out in a rush, like she can't hold them back any longer.

"You don't understand. I was okay before you. I was okay with the idea of dying, of existing day after day without purpose until my time ran out. But now?" Her voice hardens. "Now I'm terrified. I'm not okay with losing you. I'm not okay with the thought that you could walk out that door and never come back."

“I didn't need this. I didn't need you to come along and give me a reason to call this godforsaken place home. I didn't need you to make me want to survive instead of just exist.”  She’s practically pleading now.  “Don't you see what you've done to me? Needing you means I have something to lose."

The weight of her confession crushes you, the finality of it sinking in. She’s not just pushing you away—she’s tearing herself apart to do it, ripping out the very thing that might make her feel alive, all because she’s so afraid of the pain it could bring.

“I’d shatter every bone in my body again if it meant keeping you safe,” you say, your voice trembling. “I’d do anything for you, Sevika, and it hurts so bad that you won’t let me.”

She turns her head away. “You’re too stubborn,” she whispers, her voice resigned. “You won’t stop, and neither will I, and it’ll kill us both in the end.”

“You look at me like I’m already dead,” you say, your voice cracking with the weight of your grief. “Like I’m a ghost you’ve been carrying around, waiting for the right moment to bury me.”

She flinches, the words cutting deep. “Because that’s what it feels like,” she confesses. “I feel like I’ve already lost you, and it’s killing me. I’d rather lose you now when we still have a chance to walk away than lose you out there, where I can’t protect you.”

The following silence is deafening, the air thick with everything neither of you can bring yourselves to say. You reach out, your hand trembling as you gently caress her cheek, trying to offer comfort in the only way you know how. She leans into your touch for a moment, her eyes closing as if she’s trying to savor it, to hold onto it before it’s gone.

“Are you doing this to protect me, or are you protecting yourself?” you ask softly, the question hanging in the air like a lifeline, offering her one last chance to admit the truth.

She opens her eyes, and the pain you see there nearly undoes you. “Both,” she admits. “I’m protecting both of us. I’ll never survive the day I lose you. And I can’t—” Her voice breaks, and she swallows hard, her eyes pleading with you to understand. “I can’t live.”

Your heart shatters as the reality of her words sinks in. She’s already decided, already convinced herself that this is the only way to keep you both safe, even if it means tearing herself apart in the process.

“Can I be alone?” you ask, your voice small and broken, the words barely escaping your lips.

Sevika nods, her expression tightening as she takes a step back. “Yeah,” she says. “I’ll go.”

She turns to leave, but before she can take another step, you reach out. “Sevika, wait,” you say, your voice filled with desperation. “Can you hand me my bag?”

She hesitates, her gaze flickering to the bag and then back to you. After a moment, she nods and hands it to you, her fingers brushing yours for the briefest of moments, sending a jolt of longing through you. You rummage through the bag, your heart pounding as you pull out the familiar fabric of her shawl.

You hold it out to her. “This belongs to you.”

Sevika stares at the shawl, her eyes widening as she realizes what it means. For a moment, she just stands there, looking at it like it’s a lifeline she’s too afraid to grasp. Then, she takes it from you.

She looks at you, and in her eyes, you see all the things she wants to say, all the things she’s too scared to admit. And then, without another word, she turns and walks out of the room, the door closing quietly behind her, leaving you alone with nothing but the ghost of her touch and the scent of her shawl lingering in the air.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

You didn’t accept any visitors for days, under the guise that you were too tired and needed the rest to recover. But as tempting as curling in bed and crying over a woman that you never even had a proper relationship with was, you knew you couldn’t hide away forever.

Blinking, you see a group of people piling into your room.

Vander's deep voice rumbles, "Easy now, let's not overwhelm her."

Caitlyn is standing over you. "How are you feeling? Any pain?"

Before you can answer, Powder chimes in, "Bet you feel like you've been hit by a truck. Am I right?"

"Something like that," you croak.

Your attention is drawn to the doorway where Grayson stands, little Ren in her arms. The child is clutching Grayson's yellow armband tightly.

Grayson sets Ren down gently. "Go on, little one," she says softly.

Ren doesn't need to be told twice. She rushes to your bedside, her small hands gripping the edge of the mattress. "Miss, are you okay?" she asks, her voice shakes slightly. "Will you be like Sevika?"

The innocence in her question tugs at your heart. You reach out, ignoring the twinge of pain from the movement and the mention of Sevika, to pat her hand. "No, darling," you reply softly. "Sevika is unique. I'll be just fine."

Grayson moves closer, her stern expression softening slightly. "That was brave," she says. "But also very idiotic of you."

You frown at the comment, the words too similar to Sevika’s at the prison.  

Vander's voice pulls you from your thoughts. "You gave us quite a scare," he says. "But you're tough. You'll pull through."

Caitlyn nods in agreement. "We've managed to replenish some of our medical supplies thanks to the hospital mission." she informs you. 

Vi adds with a smirk, "And don't even think about trying to get up and be a hero again anytime soon."

“Yeah… I wouldn’t dream of it,” you respond hoarsely.  

Over the next week, your family comes and goes, their visits being the highlight of your monotonous days.  Grayson usually stopped by with Ren, the two were closer than you expected but Marcus had flitted in and out of Ren’s life so often that Grayson stepped up as a parental figure.  You offered to take care of the kid while you were still bed-bound, and Grayson only reluctantly agreed when you assured her it wouldn’t obstruct your healing process.

You find yourself sitting up in bed, Ren cross-legged beside you. Math worksheets are spread out between you.

"If an apple cost three dollars and you needed to buy five apples, how much would that cost?"

Ren's brow furrows in concentration. "Um... fifteen dollars?"

You beam at her. "That's right! You're getting good at this."

A knock at the door interrupts your math lesson and Vi pokes her head in, her red hair slightly disheveled.

"Hey, time to get moving," she says with a grin.

You turn to Ren, giving her a warm smile. "Let's do this again tomorrow, sweetie?"

Ren nods enthusiastically, gathering her papers. "Alright! Bye-bye, miss! I hope you feel better!"

As Ren scampers out, Vi approaches, offering her arm for support. You wince as you stand, your body still protesting the movement.

“Easy,” she murmurs, her tone softening as she watches your struggle. “Take it slow.”

You grit your teeth, focusing on her voice, on the feel of her arm supporting you. Slowly, you manage a few steps, each one a little less painful than the last. 

“How’s it feel?” Vi asks, keeping pace with you, her gaze never leaving your face.

“Like hell,” you admit with a shaky laugh, though there’s a small sense of victory in the simple act of standing on your own two feet again. “But better than yesterday.”

Vi nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Progress,” she says. “You’re getting stronger.”

As you slowly make your way down the hallway, Vi starts chatting about her day. "You wouldn't believe the shit from yesterday. We were chasing some survivors that tried to steal our shit through an alley, and then Sevika shows up out of nowhere and--" 

The moment the words are out, Vi winces, realizing her mistake too late.  You feel a sharp pang in your chest at the mention of Sevika's name. 

"Uh, anyway, we got the guy in the end.” she says.

“She… was?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

Vi looks away, guilt flashing in her eyes. “Yeah,” she says softly. “Didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“It’s good,” you say, though the words feel like a lie even as they leave your lips. “It’s good that she caught them.”

Vi nods. “I’m sorry.” 

You shake your head, forcing a small smile. “It’s okay. It’s just… I miss her.  It’s stupid, we weren’t anything.”

“I know,” she says. “But it’s not stupid.”

There’s a long silence, the kind that’s filled with all the words neither of you know how to say. “If you didn’t have Caitlyn, would you be okay with all of this? Would you be able to live with everything we do?”

She’s quiet for a moment as she considers your words. “Do I have a choice?” she finally says, her voice tinged with a sadness you’ve rarely heard from her. “I have Powder. I have you, Vander… my family. I’d feel incomplete, sure, but I don’t have a choice. I have to keep going.”

“We’ll keep going, together.” She adds.

“Thanks, Vi.” Despite your gratefulness, her words feel like they’re coming from a distance, muffled by the grief you’re still trying to process. 

Your family helps you through it all, they talk to you about everything and nothing, filling the silence with stories. The days pass, and slowly, you begin to reclaim small pieces of yourself. You walk more, the physical therapy sessions become less of a struggle and more of a routine.

And each night, when the room is quiet and you’re alone with your thoughts, you think of Sevika. It’s not easy. Some days, the weight of it all feels unbearable, like you’re drowning in a sea of what-ifs and lost chances. But you keep going, step by step, knowing that it’s all you can do.

One evening, after a particularly exhausting session, you lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling as your thoughts drift. You think about Sevika, about the last time you saw her, the pain in her eyes as she walked away. And you wonder if she feels the same weight, if she’s struggling just as much to move on.

You close your eyes, and for a moment, you imagine her here, standing by your side. And as you drift off to sleep, you could swear you hear her voice, soft and broken, whispering in the dark.

“I failed you.”

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The pantry is filled with the scent of canned goods and the faint rustle of paper bags. You’re focused on stacking cans of beans when your grip falters, and one slips from your fingers.

Before it can hit the ground, a hand darts out and catches it. You look up to see a man with a cocky grin. He’s tall and lean, with slicked-back hair and piercing teal eyes.  You don’t know why, but he looked oddly familiar.

“Well, well,” he drawls. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing down here? Are we that understaffed that we’re making the injured work now?”

You snatch the can back from him. “Not that it’s any of your business,” you reply curtly, setting the can back on the shelf, “but I wanted to do this.”

He chuckles, leaning against the shelf with a casual arrogance. “Looks like supplies are running a bit thin,” he comments slyly, his eyes flicking to the half-empty shelves. “Maybe you should take it easy before you use up what little energy we have left.”

You narrow your eyes at him, your patience wearing thin. “I’m not interested in your opinion.”

Before he can retort, the door to the pantry swings open with a loud creak, and Sevika steps inside. The air changes instantly when her gaze zeroes in on the man. 

“Finn,” she growls. “What are you doing here?”

Finn straightens up and raises his hands in mock surrender. “Just making sure our friend here isn’t overworking herself,” he says innocently.

“Get lost,” Sevika snaps. “Now.”

With a lazy shrug, Finn backs off, giving you a final, lingering look before sauntering out of the pantry. The door closes behind him, leaving you alone with Sevika. 

Sevika turns to you. “I was told you’re working here again,” she says, her voice sharp with disapproval. “Are you stupid? You’re barely healed.”

You bristle at her tone. "I needed to do something."

"Yeah, like babysitting Ren," she snaps. “Not this.”

"Why does it matter what I do?" you challenge, your voice rising.

For a moment, Sevika doesn’t answer, but then her eyes widen.

“You’re bleeding.” 

You blink, confused. “What?”

You look down and see a trickle of blood seeping through the bandages on your side. The pain hits you a second later, sharp and burning, but you grit your teeth, refusing to show weakness in front of her.

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, trying to downplay it. “I can bandage it myself.”

But Sevika is already moving toward you, her expression darkening with worry. “You’re not going back to your place like this,” she mutters. “Come on. My place is closer.”

Before you can protest, she’s already scooping you up into her arms. The world blurs around you as she carries you through the streets and you’re too shocked to resist.

When you reach her place, she sets you down on the edge of her bed, her touch lingering for just a moment longer than necessary before she pulls away.

“Just sit,” she instructs as she moves to grab a first aid kit from a nearby drawer.

“I can do it.” 

Sevika shakes her head, her expression set in a way that leaves no room for argument. “I have experience with this,” she says quietly. “Let me.”

You watch in silence as she works. Her hands, usually so strong and rough, are gentle as they press a fresh bandage against your skin. There’s a tenderness in the way she handles you, in the way she refuses to meet your gaze as she focuses on the wound, that makes your chest ache.

Finally, Sevika finishes. She stands, the distance between you growing once more as she busies herself with putting away the first aid kit, her movements stiff and mechanical.

“Thanks.” You want to leave, not to be any more inconvenient than you already were but Sevika replies before you can say anything.

“You should rest,” she says, her voice flat, devoid of the warmth that was there just moments ago. “Don’t push yourself like that again.”

You reluctantly agree to stay and the tension in Sevika's shoulders eases slightly. She mumbles something about bringing dinner later and leaves you to rest.

Left alone, you take in your surroundings. The room is sparse, almost impersonal. Unlike the chaos in the other rooms, this space feels hollow. There are no personal belongings, no knick-knacks, nothing to suggest that she even uses this bed. It's as if the room itself is holding its breath, existing in a state of perpetual temporariness.

Exhaustion soon overtakes you, and you drift off to sleep. But you soon wake again at the sound of muffled voices.  Through the haze of half-consciousness, you hear one of Sevika's people inviting her to a party, but she declines. 

"Nah, I'm staying in today," you hear her say.

The voices fade, and you slowly wake up, disoriented. You stumble to the doorway of the living room, blinking sleep from your eyes. Sevika is there, dressed in casual clothes – a grey tank top and worn jeans with her hair down, falling in messy waves around her face.  She's cleaning up, a pile of bottles in her arms when she notices you.

"You're awake," she says, startled. "Shit, did I wake you up?"

You shake your head, your voice still rough with sleep. "No, you're good... Do you need help with that?"

"No. Fuck, sit down. What are you doing walking around?"

Still groggy, you comply without argument, sinking into the couch. Sevika dumps the bottles in a bag and turns back to you.

"I'm making dinner," she says, washing her hands at the sink. "You're okay with instant noodles and spam?"

The domesticity of the moment catches you off guard. "Sounds delicious," you manage to say.

Sevika nods and turns to the small kitchenette. You watch her move around the space. It's surreal, seeing her like this – relaxed, casual, making dinner for you both. For a moment, you can almost pretend things are different between you.

Sevika settles on the far arm of the couch next to you, the small distance between you both feeling more like a chasm. 

"Chopsticks or fork?" she asks, holding out both options.

"Chopsticks," you reply, and a ghost of a smile flickers across her face.

"Good choice," she murmurs, handing them to you.

You eat in comfortable silence, stealing glances at her when you think she's not looking. When you finish, Sevika collects the empty bowls.

"Want dessert?"

"Sure," you nod, watching as she retrieves an apple from the kitchen.

She settles back on the arm of the couch, peeling the apple with a small knife. "How's the physical therapy going?" Sevika asks, breaking the silence.

You shrug. "It's... going. Slow progress, but progress nonetheless."

She nods, placing slices onto a plate. "That's good. Don't push yourself too hard."

"Says the woman who never knows when to quit," you tease gently.

A wry smile tugs at her lips. "Do as I say, not as I do."

As you reach for the last slice, Sevika’s hand brushes your cheek. You freeze, the touch unexpected, and you look up at her, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest.

“There’s an eyelash,” she says softly, her voice gentle as she carefully removes it from your face. She holds it up for you to see, the tiny, delicate lash resting on her fingertip. “Make a wish.”

You stare at the eyelash, your mind racing with all the things you could wish for, should wish for. But the words stick in your throat, and you find yourself frozen, unable to think of anything that could possibly fix what’s been broken.

“Did you wish?”

You shake your head slightly, the corners of your mouth turning up in a sad smile. “I... I didn't get the chance.”

She raises an eyebrow, her gaze piercing as she studies you. “And there’s something you wish for?”

“Yes,” You hesitate, the words coming slowly, painfully, like pulling them from some deep, hidden place inside you. “I was wishing… that we were two other people. Two people who didn’t have to say goodbye.”

The silence that follows is thick, charged with the tension of emotions neither of you can afford to express. Sevika’s expression tightens, her jaw clenching as she absorbs your words.

“You know, if you say it out loud, it doesn’t come true,” she says, her voice rough, like she’s fighting against the vulnerability of the moment.

“Do you believe that?” 

She looks down at the eyelash, still resting on her finger, before blowing it away into the air. Her gaze follows it for a moment before she looks back at you. “I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and unmovable, like a finality neither of you can escape. 

“We should sleep,” Sevika says finally. “It’s late.”

You nod, knowing she’s right. There’s nothing more to be said, nothing that can change the way things are. 

“Thank you,” you say softly.

Sevika looks at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nods, just once, and steps back, letting you go. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you echo, your heart heavy as you turn and walk away.

As you reach the end of the hallway, you glance back, just once. Sevika is still standing in the doorway, watching you, her figure framed by the dim light. There’s something in her posture, something in the way she’s holding herself that makes you think she might be wishing too—wishing for something that neither of you can have.

But then she steps back, closing the door behind her, and you’re left standing in the cold, empty hallway, the echoes of what could have been ringing in your ears.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The sun hangs low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the makeshift shooting range. You and Grayson stand side by side, both of you facing a row of targets at the far end of the field. You’ve been practicing your aim for a while now, but your focus has been off, your shots missing the mark more often than not.

“You haven’t said anything about my shit shot,” you mutter, glancing sideways at Grayson, expecting some form of criticism.

She shrugs, her eyes on the distant targets. "You're injured. Why would I?"

You snort. "Liar. Weeks ago, you'd have torn me apart. What's different now?"

Grayson doesn't answer, instead gesturing to a nearby bench overlooking the community below. You follow her, settling onto the worn wood with a sigh.The elevated view makes the world seem vast and small all at once.

Grayson passes you a canteen, and you take a long drink before speaking again. "You snitched to Sevika about me working."

Grayson raises an eyebrow. "Snitching? Are we ten?"

"She didn't need to know," you mutter, avoiding her gaze.

"You were going hurt yourself," Grayson says softly. "And you needed to see her. For closure, at least."

You fall silent, not wanting to delve into the complicated mess of emotions surrounding Sevika. Instead, you change the subject. "How's Ren?"

“Ren’s sleeping in today. She’s been up late these past few nights, working on that puzzle I gave her.”  Grayson’s face immediately brightens at the mention of Ren.

“She’s got that stubborn streak. Wonder where she gets it.” 

“Must be the company she keeps,” Grayson replies, her voice laced with affection. “Marcus is at the walls today, keeping an eye on things. It’s been quiet, for the most part.”

You nod, your gaze drifting back to the field. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” you muse. “Every day is the same. We do the same things, see the same faces… What makes it worth living?”

Grayson leans back on the bench, her eyes scanning the horizon as she considers her answer. “You make your own reasons,” she says finally, her tone thoughtful. “For me, it’s taking care of Ren. Making sure she has something to hold onto, something good in this world.”

There’s a pause, and you can tell Grayson is choosing her words carefully. “I never thought of myself as the maternal type,” she continues, sounding almost wistful. “But with Ren… It’s different. She’s taught me more about love than I ever knew.  In whatever time I got left here, I want to continue it with her, to see her grow up and prove there’s still something more for us here.”

You feel a pang in your chest, suddenly remembering Sevika and her belief that there would never be enough time for the two of you. But where Grayson found strength in loving deeply despite that, Sevika chose to close herself off, to protect herself from the inevitable pain.

Grayson looks at you, her eyes filled with a quiet understanding. “Sometimes, the hardest thing is to keep loving, even when you know it won’t last. But that’s what makes it worth it. Knowing that you made the most of the time you had, that you loved fully, even if it hurts in the end.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, the truth of them resonating with a painful clarity. 

“It’s hard,” you admit, your voice barely audible. “When you know it’s not going to last.”

Grayson nods, her expression gentle. “It is. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it. You have to find your own reason to keep going, to keep loving, even when it seems like everything is falling apart.”

The conversation settles into a quiet lull, the words lingering between you as the sun dips lower in the sky. You take another sip from the flask, the burn of the alcohol doing little to numb the ache in your chest.

“You’re always looking out for us, making sure we’re okay.” you say after a moment, your voice tinged with admiration. 

“I’m satisfied  – knowing that I’ve done what I can to make this place a little better, to take care of the people who matter.”

“Thank you,” you say softly, the words carrying more weight than you intended. “For everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” she replies gently. “We’re all in this together. And besides,” she adds with a small, teasing smile, “someone has to keep you in line.”

You chuckle, the sound lightening the heavy atmosphere just a bit.

But the peaceful moment on the hill was brief, the tranquility shattered by the sound of rapid footsteps and panicked crying. You and Grayson turn to see Ren running towards you, her face streaked with tears and her small body shaking with sobs.

Grayson immediately drops to her knees, catching Ren in her arms. "What happened, sweetheart?" she asks, her voice calm but laced with urgency.

Ren tries to speak through her tears, her words coming out in broken gasps. "Daddy said... we were going on a trip... but the monsters... they blocked us and he couldn’t close the gate... now they're coming to get us!"

As if on cue, screams erupt from the direction of the community. You and Grayson exchange a quick glance, both reaching for your weapons without hesitation.

Ren clings to Grayson's yellow armband, her eyes wide with terror. "I want to go with you!" she cries.

Grayson cups Ren's face gently, her voice soft but firm. "Darling, listen to me. I will come back, I promise. But right now, you need to get to safety. Can you be brave for me?"

Ren nods, her lower lip trembling. You know without words what needs to be done - get everyone to safety.

You both sprint down the hill, Grayson carrying Ren. As you near the community, the chaos becomes more apparent. Gunshots ring out, mixing with screams of panic and pain. People are running in all directions, fear etched on their faces.

Vi appears beside you, her red hair wild and her eyes blazing. "We're seriously underarmed right now!" she shouts over the noise. "Sevika's crew is out!"

"We have to make do," you yell back, scanning the area. You spot Caitlyn and a few others on the walls, their snipers picking off threats in the distance.

You, Vi, and the handful of armed residents form a protective line, herding panicked civilians towards their homes. "Get inside! Lock your doors!" you shout, your voice hoarse from the effort.

Children cry for their parents, the elderly struggle to move quickly enough. You see a young mother stumble, her baby wailing in her arms. You rush to her side, helping her to her feet and guiding her to safety.

Everywhere you look, there's movement – people running, fighting, falling. 

The air is thick with the stench of death and the deafening cacophony of gunfire. You're shoulder to shoulder with VI, both of you firing relentlessly at the endless wave of walkers. Sweat stings your eyes as you shout, "Vi! On your left!"

She pivots, taking down three walkers in quick succession. But for every one you drop, two more seem to take its place. The situation is rapidly spiraling out of control, and a sinking feeling in your gut tells you you're fighting a losing battle.

But suddenly, powerful headlights cut through the darkness as a convoy of trucks roars onto the scene. Your heart leaps – you'd recognize that cavalry anywhere.

As if materializing from thin air, more trucks appear, effortlessly mowing down walkers and clearing streets. One screeches to a halt in front of you, and then there she is.

A familiar figure vaults from the truck bed – Sevika, her red shawl billowing behind her. She swiftly unslings a shotgun from her back and starts blasting walkers left and right. Her face is composed, every feature carefully controlled, but when her eyes find yours, a fleeting shadow passes over them—a trace of fear and concern.

"You okay?" she shouts over the din, closing the distance between you.

You nod, breathless. "A lot are injured. I don't know, there's too many – I think they're coming from the west gate. Ren said something about Marcus not being able to close it."

Sevika's jaw tightens. She yanks out a radio, barking orders to dispatch teams to the west gate. In seconds, she's handing out weapons, her voice ringing with authority. "Split up! I want a team grabbing as many injured as possible. Anyone bitten, take them out."

As you move to join the fray, Sevika's hand clamps on your arm. "No," she growls. "What the hell are you doing? Get to safety with the others. You're still injured."

"Fine," you concede. "But I'm finding Grayson first."

Sevika gives a curt nod before sprinting back into action. You catch a glimpse of Vi, her red hair unmistakable as she leaps into a truck bed. 

You weave through the chaos, dodging walkers and searching for Grayson. Gunfire echoes off buildings, punctuated by the revving of engines and the sounds of walkers being dispatched. 

A scream to your left – you spin, firing instinctively. A walker drops, inches from a couple. You quickly wave to them to follow and you sprint to the safe house together. Your leg protests, but adrenaline keeps you moving.

Your heart pounds as you finally spot Grayson, but she's going the opposite direction. 

"Grayson!" you shout. "Sevika and her team are here. We need to get everyone to safety!"

She doesn't slow down. "There's someone stuck in a car!"

That's when you see it - a vehicle surrounded by a writhing mass of walkers, their decaying hands clawing at the windows. Inside, you catch a glimpse of a terrified face.

Without hesitation, you sprint after Grayson. The two of you work in tandem, picking off walkers. When you reach the car, Grayson covers you as you wrench the door open. A young boy, no older than seven, practically leaps into her arms.

"We've got to move!" Grayson shouts.

You guys run, the child clinging to her as you lead the way.  You’re clearing the path, and you’re halfway to the safehouse when you hear the dreaded click of an empty chamber.

"I'm out!" you yell.

Grayson turns, her eyes flashing with a decision you can see forming before she even speaks. "Take the kid. Go!"

"Wait, we can make it together!"

She shakes her head, placing the boy into your arms. "Sevika's crew is here, remember? I'll be okay. Get everyone to safety!"

Before you can protest, she's shoving you toward safety, using her body as a shield for the child. You run, every step feeling like a betrayal, but knowing you have to trust her.

You make it to a house, handing off the child to waiting arms. Your lungs burn as you gasp for air, eyes scanning the chaos for any sign of Grayson.

Suddenly, Sevika's there, her face smeared with grime and blood but her eyes alight with fierce triumph. "We closed the gate. Got them all."

Relief floods you for a moment, but then reality crashes back. "Wait, where's Grayson?"

Confusion flickers across Sevika's face, but before she can respond, a heart-wrenching wail cuts through the air. You both rush outside, joining a growing crowd.

The scene that greets you turns your blood to ice. Caitlyn is on the ground, her body wracked with sobs. Vi kneels beside her, arms wrapped around her shaking form. "I couldn't save her," Caitlyn chokes out between gasps. "I couldn't shoot them fast enough."

Her sniper lies discarded in the dirt, and that's when you see her. Grayson.

The world seems to tilt on its axis. You stumble forward, unable to process what you're seeing. Grayson, who was just beside you moments ago. Grayson, who sacrificed herself to save a child. Grayson, whose quiet strength held your community together.

She now lies on the ground, her body wracked with violent coughs, blood staining her lips. Her breaths had grown shallow, each one more of a struggle than the last, and when she reached for Sevika’s hand, you knew what she was asking for. Sevika’s fingers trembled as she grasped Grayson’s hand, and when Grayson whispered, “Do it,” you saw a flash of something break inside Sevika.

She obeyed.

The gunshot echoed in your ears, louder than the chaos around you, but it was the sight of Sevika gently closing Grayson’s eyes that broke you. Sevika had always been unbreakable, she seemed immune to the horrors of this world. But as she knelt beside Grayson, you saw the cracks forming.  She closed Grayson’s eyes, her hand trembling just for a second before she stood up, towering over the body like a stone sentinel. 

You could barely breathe, the grief suffocating you, making it impossible to think about anything other than how many bodies that needs burying tomorrow. How many families would be broken by the news? How many children would cry for family and friends who would never come home? 

“Grayson?” Ren’s voice was barely a whisper, filled with innocence and confusion. The kid was supposed to be inside the safe house but instead, she stood there, eyes wide and uncomprehending, staring at the lifeless form on the ground. “Why is Grayson sleeping? Tell her to wake up… We won, didn’t we?”

You wanted to tell her something—anything—but the words choked in your throat. Ren dropped to her knees beside Grayson, her tiny hands shaking as they touched the cold, lifeless body.

Sevika finally moved, her expression unreadable, her walls up higher than ever. Without a word, she reached into her pocket and pulled out Grayson’s yellow band. She knelt down, her massive frame suddenly so small beside Ren, and gently placed the band in the child’s trembling hands.

Ren looked up at Sevika, eyes full of questions. But before anything could be said, Silco emerged from the shadows, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous intensity. He was flanked by his men, their faces grim and cold, and at the center of it all was Marcus.

He was barely recognizable—his face a mangled mess of bruises and blood. He was dragged forward, forced to his knees in the dirt where Grayson had fallen. The sight of him brought Sevika to her feet, her fists clenched tight. You could see the battle raging inside her, the desire to end him right then and there, but she held back.

"Look at him," he began, his tone soft, almost conversational, as if he were discussing something trivial. "A man who betrayed the very community that kept him protected him fed and protected. Who left nothing but the ashes of his own cowardice."

He walked slowly around Marcus, like a predator circling its prey. "This is the price of betrayal, the cost of thinking you can stand in the way of what must be done. You all know him," Silco continued, addressing the crowd that had gathered, their eyes fixed on the broken man at his feet. "You know his face, his uniform, his lies. But you must also know this: in a world where there are no second chances, there are no second thoughts."

Silco’s voice grew harder, colder, as he leaned down close to Marcus’s ear. "Your cowardice, your betrayal, a mistake that cost how many lives today? And now, you will pay the price for that."

The words hung in the air, heavy and final, and Marcus’s body shuddered, knowing what was coming. Silco straightened, his eyes scanning the crowd. "Let this be a lesson to all who would think to cross us, to cross me. There is no forgiveness in this world, only retribution."

You don’t know what happened next, because you’re taking Ren into your arms and you’re moving – away from the crowd, away from the punishment that you know her father will face.

Ren clings to you, burying her face in your chest, and you hold her close, wishing you could shield her from all of this. "What’s happening to Daddy?" she asks, her voice muffled by your shirt. "And Grayson?"

You didn’t have an answer. The only thing you could do was hold her tighter, trying to block out the screams, the fire, the blood.

Time passes, the night dragging on in a blur of grief. Inside the house, the silence was deafening. You had scrubbed the blood from Ren’s skin, but it still lingered in the air, the scent of death refusing to leave. Grayson’s face kept flashing before your eyes, her last breath, her last words, the way her body crumpled in Sevika’s arms.

And now, as you stared out the window, you saw them—Silco’s men, forming a straight, omnious line as they marched out into the night. At the center of it all was a giant wooden cross, and tied to it was Marcus. His head hung low, his body limp, but he was still alive.

Your breath caught in your throat when Sevika looked up at the window. For a moment, your eyes locked, and you saw nothing in her gaze but a cold, empty challenge. The Sevika you knew wasn’t there, but replaced by someone who had buried whatever was left of her soul beneath layers of survival and duty. She turns away, breaking the gaze as she climbed into the backseat of a vehicle.  You watch as the trucks disappeared into the night until the only thing you could see was the small form of the cross.

The night presses in around you, heavy with loss, and you wonder if anything would ever feel whole again.

taglist:

@mirconreadzztuff22 @lils-1979 @veoomvroom @schmoni

@poxismind @kittykatz1227 @archangeldyke-all @abbyssgf @ivorydevil

@lez-zuha @iamastar @jellyfishrnice @anemoxlys @l0vel3tterl0ver

@lavendersgirl @h0pe-scotch @lia-winther @kittykatz1227 @dontknowwhenispawned

@sevikitty @sarahduke @raphaellearp @cewl-casper @crying-lighting443

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

@mulan-but-gay @lesbnrock @hyuckiesoftie

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

If you allow yandere, then Can I request a yandere! Catnap x Creator! reader?

Time are in the middle of hour of joy, and Reader are in playcare, catnap are chasing reader and reader are desperately running away from him. and reader is creator or the person who came up with the design of Catnap.

'God..why did this happen? Why did this have to happen?? God, please make this stop...tell me I'm dreaming..'

Sadly, this was no dream.

The screams, the bloodshed, the senseless slaughter..

All of it was very much real, and you were right in the middle of it all, currently hiding within Playcare. You didn't even know what was going on exactly or why.

Everywhere you looked, there was another dead body on the ground, in the grass, and splayed across the stairs...all of whom were either your coworkers, scientists you've never seen before, security personnel, or innocent visitors.

Many of them had similar wounds--claw marks from none other than Catnap himself, who you saw stalking around the premises, looking for survivors.

But why would he do something like this?

How was he even capable of such violence?

It was supposed to be a normal and simple day:

You clocked in, checked up on Catnap's well-being after he put the children to sleep, and then left to attend to other matters. It was a mundane routine, but you were always excited to get up and go to work because of him.

However, you were running a tad bit late today and feared you'd get an earful from your supervisor considering the company's strict tardiness rules.

But on your way to Playcare, the emergency sirens resounded all throughout the facility. You had no idea what was going on, although the distant screams made you utterly terrified and had you running straight to that area, praying you'll find shelter from whatever danger lurked nearby...

Instead you ran straight into the scene of a massacre.

All orchestrated by Catnap and several mini-Smiling Critters who got loose, attacking and devouring whatever poor human got caught in their sights.

You had to throw on your gas mask quickly to avoid inhaling the red smoke. There was very little lingering in the air still, but judging from the corpses who still wore them or had them torn from their heads, they must have been prepared for this massive containment breach.

Even so, none were spared.

Catnap was probably smart enough to know the purpose of those masks. And he put them all to sleep. Permanently.

Yet somehow he hasn't spotted you yet, and you hoped to every god above that he didn't.

This pained you especially as you were on the designer team for the Smiling Critters. You actually made the first drawing of Catnap and presented it to your boss, who approved it right away...but only after making a few minor major adjustments.

Who knew something so sweet and innocent would turn into something so deadly?

He was supposed to be nothing more than a cartoon character brought to life and a plush toy (that unfortunately got recalled). How the higher-ups managed to achieve that with him and the other critters without your team ever knowing...you had no idea, but you were thrilled by the results.

You adored Catnap, and he was well aware that you created the idea of him--almost worshipping you, in a sense, and being the only human he'd properly communicate with.

In turn, you've communicated with him healthily, treating him like a person instead of an experiment. He did mutter strange things sometimes and talked about freedom, but you never probed him on that nor reminded him that he was a prisoner here.

No matter how true it may be, no toy deserves to be told that.

Now that you were here, hiding from the very thing you had loved and created, you weren't sure if you were even looking at Catnap anymore.

It may look like him, but it's not him.

Catnap is not a killing machine.

Whatever those scientists did turned him into a monster. A creature they failed to keep in check.

And he snapped, slaughtering many of your acquaintances and innocent families interested in the adoption program.

He kept muttering about an "Hour of Joy", which you've heard him speak of in the past. But you've always assumed he was talking about an upcoming birthday party or event within the Playhouse the other Smiling Critters were planning..

Not a giant bloodbath that painted the floors and walls of Playcare red.

You ducked behind a trash canister as you watched Catnap creep towards a survivor, who was also wearing a gas mask and breathing hard. Seeing that their leg was torn off at the knee, you knew there was no hope of helping them.

The moment they were spotted, their fate was sealed.

They were his prey now.

You couldn't look away as he paused for a moment, before reaching forward with a quick swipe, tearing off their mask. His claws left big gash marks across their face as they wailed in pain, but it didn't last long as he quickly pounced and slashed their throat next--leaving them to choke on their own blood.

Seconds later, their body stilled, becoming just like the rest of those surrounding them.

You made the horrible mistake of exhaling a shaky breath, the mask amplifying the noise.

That's when Catnap whipped his head towards you, those white dots growing larger.

"YOU. COME HERE."

Realizing your cover's blown, you jumped up and knocked the trash canister over, hoping it'd distract him long enough for you to race inside Home Sweet Home. But the diversion barely did anything, as you heard the loud stomps of the purple beast practically on your heels.

He lunged at the door just as you turned and slammed it shut, locking it and trying to shove a chair beneath the knobs. There was loud knocking on the other side, but eventually it stopped.

As soon as it did, you rushed into one of the many bunkbed rooms, finding it strangely devoid of children, scientists, and caretakers.

What happened to them all?

Did they evacuate safely?

Did they know about this ahead of time?

You had no idea, and quite frankly..now wasn't the time to find out. Rather, it was time for you to think of a way out of this wretched place, but you feared it won't be easy.

You knew the orphanage's interior like the back of your hand--the problem were the little Smiling Critters that you could currently hear pitter-pattering down the halls.

He put them here on patrol.

If any of them saw you..surely they'd alert him.

On the brightside, there were no traces of red smoke to be found, so you briefly took the mask off to give yourself a breather. Sweat poured down your face, and your throat ran dry; you could practically feel your own heartbeat pounding within it as you tried to figure out your next move.

Maybe if you wait here long enough, he'll get bored and leave...

Or maybe he'll-

All of the sudden, a critter leapt out from underneath one of the covers and tried latching onto your head. You yelled out as it screeched right beside your ear, attempting to bite into it and get a taste of your flesh, but you managed to throw it down to the ground and keep it crushed under your shoe.

You grabbed a nearby metal rod from a destroyed bedframe, pointing the sharp end at its throat..

Only to realize it was a Catnap, who looked perfectly intact aside from a little dirt caking its plush body.

Both of you had a bit of a staring contest.

And in the end....you couldn't find it in you to kill it.

All you could do was stare down at the creature, tears in your eyes as you watched it wriggle and snarl, pawing at your foot. It was barely putting up a fight now, which made you realize it probably didn't want to attack you.

Rather..it seemed hungry.

But why would it be hungry for human flesh?

Was Catnap the same way? Was he hungry or just killing for sport?

More importantly...why was he killing at all and tormenting you like this?

Maybe he was angry about his toyline being recalled, or the unfair treatment he's gotten here by the scientists. Or perhaps he felt outcasted by the other Smiling Critters.

You didn't know if any of them were still around, but for all you knew they could be just like him.

Hungry, rampaging monsters.

The ringing phone snapped you back to reality, and you cautiously took your foot off the tiny Catnap. It got up and skittered away into a nearby hole in the rotting wall, apparently having lost its appetite.

You quickly answered the machine, praying it was somebody upstairs trying to get in contact with you. Maybe a survivor who knew how to get you out. Before you gave them a chance to speak, you went first, being so scared, frustrated, and overwhelmed by everything that's happened thus far.

You just wanted this nightmare to be over already.

"Thank god. What the hell is going on?! It's like a fucking slaughterhouse down here-"

"It's a celebration. The Hour of Joy, little mouse."

Your blood ran cold, realizing who that voice belonged to. 'The Toys...they know how to use these phones..?'

"C-Catnap?"

"[Y/n]..why did you run away?" He whispered hoarsely. "I didn't know it was you."

"Wha...b-because you were killing people!" Your voice grew shaky, confused as to why he sounded so calm. "And you would've killed me, too!!"

"No."

"...what?"

"You are special to me, little mouse. You breathed life into me. You must be kept safe, for you are pure..unlike these wretched souls." He murmured. "They would have taken you away from me. Forever. I do not want that."

"Y-You're..not making any sense, Catnap." You struggled to wrap your head around his words. "If someone told you I'm quitting or getting fired or transferring..they lied. Nobody's taking me away from you..is that what you're afraid of? Is that why you did all of this?"

"I did it..for the Prototype...and for you. He told me I could spare one soul when our Hour of Joy is up."

Your stomach sank, but before you could ask him more about this "prototype", he cut you off.

"Shhhhhhhh. No more talking. No more running. Sleep, little mouse."

By the time you realized red smoke was starting to fill up the room, it was already far too late as you began coughing. You dropped the phone and frantically searched for your gas mask.

No way in hell were you going to fall asleep now.

Especially not after what he told you.

You'd rather die with the rest of them.

Suddenly you heard a small crunching noise and looked down, seeing that you stepped on one of the lenses. 'Shit..it must've broke off during my scuffle with Mini-Catnap...'

You could feel your eyelids growing heavy, and you instead tried grabbing something to stuff beneath the door to stop more smoke from seeping in. No matter what, you HAD to stay awake, you told yourself.

And yet..

That stained worn mattress with the blanket you half-dragged off suddenly looked quite comfortable.

You collapsed onto it, feeling exhaustion overwhelm you immediately despite the rest of your body's attempts to fight it--knowing your fate was ultimately left in his hands should you fail.

But you were so, so tired..

You couldn't help closing your eyes. Just for a little while.

Right before losing consciousness, however, you noticed that the door was now open, and through the red fog appeared Catnap himself.

Except he didn't look like a monster made of skin and bones, instead being a little bipedal purple cat who seemingly jumped straight out of the cartoon show.

His fur wasn't tainted with a single spec of blood or dirt.

He was perfect.

Your perfect creation.

All he did was smile, and you fell asleep smiling back.

[ebodebo]

Nice Ride

—thinking about biker!simon riley...MDNI

It had been a shitty night. You were supposed to meet up with one of your friends, but she canceled last minute so she could hang out with her prick of a boyfriend yet again. 

You didn't protest when she called, spewing a ridiculous excuse as to why she couldn't meet you. You simply reassured her you weren't angry and said that you could reschedule. She didn't offer any other days before she abruptly hung up. 

Your anger and disappointment didn't dissipate when you stepped inside the gas station to get some pick-me-up items. 

You balanced your items within your arms as you walked up to the register, setting them on the counter as you heard the bell on the front door ding, signaling a customer. You glanced over your shoulder to observe the patron. Woah. He was tall and had a mask covering his face so that you could only see his eyes and a bike helmet on his head. When he walked towards where you stood, you quickly turned away.

"Eh, Simon. The usual, then?" The cashier questioned. This guy, Simon apparently, must be a regular, you thought. Simon curtly nodded as the cashier reached behind him to grab a pack of Marlboro's, setting them on the counter in front of him.

Simon stepped closer to the counter, but before you could protest, the cashier began scanning your items, along with Simon's pack of cigarettes. You gave Simon a puzzled look as you watched the cashier scan the items.

"Nasty habit." Simon casually says, referring to the cigarettes.

"No, it's not that." You insist, confused about what was happening, until Simon pulls out a wad of cash, definitely more than the total, and hands it to the guy, muttering out a, keep the change, before grabbing his cigarettes and walking out the door. This mystery guy had just paid for your spread of self-pity. 

"Real nice guy. Always pays for everyone's stuff when he comes in and gives me a hell of a tip." The cashier explains when he notices your perplexed look. You nod as you quickly grab your stuff and head for the door.

You see him almost immediately when you walk outside, leaning up against his bike, mask pulled over his nose, as he smokes his cigarette.

"Simon!" You exclaim as you approach him. He tilts his head, puffing out a cloud of smoke in the process before he speaks.

"How do you know my name?" He questions, watching your face closely. Your eyes widen. Was this creepy? Did he think you were weird now?

"I heard the cashier." You quickly supply, holding your snacks closer.

"Ah." He tuts. 

It was silent for a second before he let out an awkward cough, bringing you out of your mind and reminding you why you went over to him in the first place.

"Oh, shit, sorry! I came to thank you." You smile, shuffling on your feet. "For the stuff." You stick out your crossed arms a little, holding up your snacks. 

The corner of his lips quirk in amusement. He throws his cigarette on the ground and steps on it with his boot.

"No worries." He gruffly says as he throws one leg over his bike. You tried to walk away, but you couldn't get your legs to move. What the hell was going on with you?

"Anythin' else?" He questions, raising his brow under his mask in confusion.

"I—I like your bike." You smile, suddenly feeling hot as his eyes bore into yours. You quickly turn your head, lower your eyes, and pretend to observe his bike further. 

"My brother had a bike in high school; our mom hated the thing. So much so that she sold it to this pawn shop downtown for like a third of what my brother bought it for. He was so pissed he slept in the shed for like a month. Did I mention I'm from Boston? You know how many pawn shops they have—" You drift off, eyes widening in horror as you realize you started to ramble.

"Fuck. Sorry, I tend to ramble in the presence of cute guys." You shyly confess, not realizing what you said.

"You think I'm cute?" He questions, the corner of his lips pulling up.

"I—shit." You attempt to raise your hands and hide your face, but you are unable to reach because of your treats.

"You wanna ride?" He asks, patting an extra helmet secured by a black bungee net.

His question takes you aback. Of course, you wanted to, but you didn't want him to feel obligated. "No—I—I don't want to impose." You shake your head.

"Nonsense, sweetheart." He casually says. "I'm offering."

"We can even put your stuff in my secret pouch." 

"Okay." That's all you say before stuffing your treats in his bag, swinging your leg over the bike, and wrapping your arms around his waist as he secures a helmet on you.

"Hold on tight."

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Who knew riding on the back of a hot guy's bike could be so exhilarating? For the past twenty minutes or so, you had driven silently through the city, even though his helmets came with a communication system, so you could talk to him if you needed something. But something about the silence made it even more comforting.

You'd also be lying if you said being so close to him, arms wrapped so tightly around him, didn't turn you on. So, talking to him would have made the knot in your lower stomach tighter.

"Hands slippin' a little low." Your thoughts are absolved as you hear Simon's voice echo through the helmet and melt into your ears. Your eyes widen at his words, and you quickly pull your hands up to rest back on his waist.

"Sorry!" You exclaim. "Got a little too excited."

"You and me both." He gruffs, gripping the handles on his bike harder.

"I—what?" You ask, trying to understand what he means.

"Nothin'." He shakes it off as you wonder his words further.

"You—I make you excited?" You answer, dumbfounded.

"Well, when you touch me like that." He emphasis.

"Like what?" You aren't an idiot, just a little naive.

"Don't play dumb, sweetheart." He gruffly laughs out.

You have no idea where your new-found confidence swoops in, but you catch your hands slipping lower, lightly resting on his cock in his jeans, murmuring, "Oh, you mean like this."

He groans at your touch, even scooting himself a little more into your palm. You close your eyes at his reaction, not caring if the cars next to you at the red light can see your hand resting on his dick.

"You're killin' me." He murmurs, his voice low and gravelly. Fuck. Your next words slip out involuntarily before you can comprehend what you're saying.

"Pull over then."

You swear you can hear him sigh, but you don't question it. Surely you didn't misread the situation. He wanted you, and you sure as hell wanted him, right?

Whenever you start to muster an apology, moving your hand off him, he pulls off to a nearby alleyway. It was dark, with no streetlights and not a single soul around. 

"What are we—" You begin before Simon turns his bike off, snatching his helmet off, swinging his leg over to get off the bike. 

"Take your helmet off." He commands, his breath shallow. You take a second before unclasping the helmet and hanging it on a handlebar. He sticks his hand out to help you step off the bike before pushing you up against an old brick wall, pulling his mask up over his nose.

"Naughty one, you are." He raised his hand to cup your cheek. You lean into his touch, your glossy eyes boring into his.

His eyes drift to your plump lips, and before you realize what you're doing, you lean in to press your lips against his. You pull back abruptly, a cringe-inducing expression taking over your face.

"Sorry, sorry. I should've—" You begin apologizing before Simon smashes his lips back onto yours. You pause for just a moment before both of your lips move in sync.

You move one hand to grip the back of his neck, desperate for more contact, while your other hand fumbles with the hem of his shirt. He pulls back, making you frown, before he grips the bottom of his shirt and slips it off.

"I like a girl who takes initiative." He says as he connects his lips to your jaw, kissing down your neck before he reaches the tops of your breasts. He looks up at you, looking for confirmation; you aggressively nod. He lowly laughs at your enthusiasm before he grips the hem of your shirt and pulls it off your head, lips quickly connecting to the top of your breast.

"Pretty little tits." He praises, bringing his hand up to massage one. You whine at the contact, bringing your hand lower, so you can palm his cock through his sweatpants. He grits his teeth, lightly nipping your nipple.

"Shit." You curse, throwing your head back. 

He pulls your shorts down a little so that he can rub your needy cunt. Gently pushing his pointer in you, swirling around your clit. You moan, gripping his cock tighter, making him mutter out a curse. 

"So good, Si." You praise as he continues swirling around your clit, even adding his middle finger to help with stimulation.

"Yeah?" He gruffly asks, lips moving back to play with your nipple. 

"Feels so good." You palm him a little harder, earning several groans from him.

"Tell me you're close because I'm—" He starts before you abruptly answer.

"Fuck. I'm close." You groan out, gripping his shoulder with one hand, the other massaging him faster.

"How can I get you there?" He roughly asks, fingers pumping in and out of your faster.

"I—touch me." You choke out. He's quick to connect his mouth back to your aching nipple, gently sucking, even making a pop sound when he moves to kiss the fat of your breast.

It doesn't even take another minute before you both climax. You're moaning Simon's name, and he's groaning in the crook of your neck, slewing curses as he comes in his sweats.

Once you both come down from your highs, he slips your shirt on you, and you slip his shirt back on him. He walks over to his bike, grabs your helmet, slips it on your head, tightens the straps, and slips up your shorts.

You both slip back on the bike, though you sigh as you feel the hardness of the seat rub against you.

"She's sensitive," Simon says; the double entendre makes you laugh.

Before Simon pulls off, he turns to look over his shoulder at you.

"Should've taken you to dinner first." He says.

"You want to take me out?" You question, raising a brow.

"I do. Is that alright?" He asks, bringing his hand to massage the outside of your thigh lightly.

"Yeah. I'd like that." You wrap your arms around his waist tightly as he pulls out of the alleyway. You ponder how in the hell your shitty night ended up with you getting fingered in an alleyway and setting up a date with a man you just met.

The universe always has its way of letting people know things will get better; this was just its way of letting you know things would end up a-okay.

a/n: dishing these out bc why the fuck not

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[ahtae]

just this once (pt.2) (c.s)

You and Soobin have been friends forever...so one little kiss shouldn't hurt...right?

warnings: sub! soobin x dom reader, very slight agoraphilia, biting, name-calling (binnie, ma'am/miss), degradation, praise, marking, pussy eating, penetration, breeding kink, use of mommy,

You went downstairs, as cool-natured as you could manage, and Soobin followed soon after. He gives your mother a kiss on the cheek and showers her with compliments on her cooking — like he's always done.

You didn't know why you hadn't seen it before. The way his raven hair cascades over his eyes, the shimmer of his creamy skin under the light. Soobin was beautiful in a way that made a boy sexy. All sharp lines and angles, yet gentle and innocent in a way that made him boyish and safe.

In between bites of your food, you catch Soobin staring. He turns pink from cheeks to ears, pushing around the corn on his plate. You look down at your shirt, subtly tugging it downward to reveal a tad more cleavage.

You look up and see him holding his breath, trying to avert his eyes elsewhere and shoving a spoonful of corn in his mouth.

"Did you finish your assignment, sweetie?" Your mom asks.

You dip your head in a nod, "Last one! Soobin helped me," you say, winking at him. He nods his head, ignoring your teasing, "She seemed to be struggling so—"

You kick him underneath the table. He chuckles. Soobin and your mom continue to talk to each other about classes, leaving you to entertain yourself with your own thoughts. And oh, did you have an idea.

Sliding your leg closer to him, you snake a socked foot up his leg, trailing his calf to his knee. Soobin's jaw ticks as he glances over at you, then returns to conversing with your mom. Your mouth turns in a smirk. Your foot makes it way to his chair, resting between his legs. Soobin shifts, opening his legs and giving you more space to work with.

You add pressure to his cock, rubbing back and forth in a way that has him half-hard already. Soobin, as well as he's masking it, is about to cave. He's about to apologize to your mother and drag you upstairs to finish what you started. He settles himself, forcing himself to pay attention to whatever your mom is saying. He doesn't really know. Nor does he really care. But he needs to pay attention to his maybe future in-laws.

Then you get up from the table, collect everyone's plates, and claim that you're going to get ready for bed. You look to him, curious whether he's going to take this as his time to exit as well. Alas, he stays. For a reason he doesn't even know why. Maybe it's to calm himself. To get rid of his ever growing lust for you. He isn't supposed to lust after you. He's supposed to want to take care of you and make love to you. So why does he want to pull you to pull his hair and call you his bad little boy?

The conversation with your mother dies down (finally) and Soobin scurries upstairs, hoping you weren't too busy. He opens the door to your bedroom to discover you already in the bathroom, showering, he assumes. He sighs, grabbing his bag.

That's when he hears the door click, pop open, and hot steam spill out the bathroom.

There you are, lacy panties, and no bra.

Soobin immediately turns around. His face is scalding with a crimson blush. He clamps his eyes shut, "I uhm...I'm sorry! I left my bag in here and—"

"Soobin," you say, voice low and slow. "It's okay, turn around."

"But...but you're..." he gulps, tongue wetting his dry lips and wishing he had something for his desert-like throat right now. "Are you sure?" he asks.

You walk up and turn him around. Soobin's eyes meet yours for a second, before immediately trailing down your body. His mouth waters at the sight of your boobs, plump and still damp from the shower.

He drops his bag, chest rising and falling as he steps closer. "May-may I?" He asks.

"It doesn't sound like you really want it Soob—"

"Please. Please let me touch you, I need it," he begs, holding your hands and gazing at you through those big doe eyes of his. You lick your lips, growing wet at his begging.

You lean in, and kiss his cheek teasingly, "Go ahead, binnie."

He kisses your collarbones and the valley between your boobs. Thanking you in-between kisses for allowing him to touch you like this.

Soobin pops a boob into his mouth, tongue swirling around your nipple. You groan, gripping into his hair. Soobin whines into you, switching your other boob. Carefully, he places you on the bed.

His giant hands cling to your waist with enough force to leave finger indentions. Soobin releases your breast, panting as his tongue traces the inside of his mouth — eyes closed — trying to memorize the taste of you.

You pull him into a eager kiss. Your tongues mixing together as he hovers over you. He slides his hands down your wrist before clasping your hands together. You moan in his mouth, and he devours it. Soobin moves to strip his shirt, and you help him. Curious fingers dance over outline of his abs, sculpting his pale skin into hard marble.

"I've been thinking about you," he presses a kiss into your lips, "All throughout dinner," he says. "That little stunt you pulled earlier?" Soobin quirks an eyebrow at you. He whips his glasses off, tossing them on the dresser.

"I'll pay you back for it."

With that, he kisses a hot trail down your boobs, across the plain of your stomach, before licking right above your panties.

"You smell just as sweet as I dreamed you'd be."

Your hand pushes back his hair, "then what are you waiting for?"

Soobin tugs off your panties, throwing them towards his backpack so he'll remember to take them later. His tongue licks a stripe up your cunt, and you groan, hands immediately flying to his hair.

"S-Soobin fuck..." you breathe, gripping into him. His tongue circles your clit. He licks you up and down, back and forth, and sucks your clit like he's been starved. Your hands tug his hair and his scalp grows hot with pain. He whimpers, beginning to hump the bed.

"Soobin? Did I tell you you could get off yet?"

"N-no..." he whines, looking up from between your legs. You force his mouth back onto your clit, relishing in wet heat of his mouth.

"Do what you do best and make me feel good."

He's lapping at your cunt. Moaning and whimpering and agreeing with you. "Yes. Yes, anything to make you feel good. Only hear to make you feel good," he says.

Your moans get louder as you get closer and closer. Wet noises fill the room, as if there's a cat lapping at milk. Soobin adds two lengthy fingers inside you, causing you to release all over his digits.

Soobin eagerly laps up your juices, pulling his fingers out and groaning as he pops them into your mouth.

You flip Soobin over, pushing him down onto the bed. Soobin looks up at you, the entire bottom half of his face wet from your cunt. He whines as you palm his length through his pants. You trail your fingers above the hem of pants, before tugging them off swiftly. Soobin grips the sheets.

"I...fuck...you're so hot," he breathes.

You spread his legs, sitting in between them and massaging his inner thighs. You press a hot kiss against his smooth skin, before sucking the spot into a furious purple.

Soobin fingers claw at the sheets, his mouth gapping open as a hitch escapes his throat. You feel a wet spot growing in his boxers, and release his thigh from your teeth.

Upon seeing your scornful face, Soobin begins stutter apologies,"I-I'm sorry I didn't mean to. You're just so...fucking perfect I couldn't hold—"

"Dirty boy can't even wait for me? Who do you think you are cumming without my permission?"

He pouts, tears brimming his eyes, "I'm sorry ma'am I—"

You tug down his boxers, his cock still springing out of his pants. My God, why has your best friend been hiding all this delicious length for? He's massive, with the perfect amount of girth to fill you just the way you like.

You scoff, slapping his dick. Soobin yelps, whimpering.

"Who's fucking cock is this?" You bark.

Soobin whines, "Yours, miss. I'm all yours. Always have been."

You spit on his cock, swirling your saliva and his cum together with your hand until your pumping starts sounding like squelching. Soobin's mouth is open in a slack 'o' letting moans escape his mouth in tandem with your pumping.

Climbing on top of him, you bring him in for a kiss. Soobin eagerly obliges, and you taste yourself on his lips. You align yourself with him and sink down onto him. Both of you release a moan into each other's mouth, before Soobin starts pistoning into you.

"F-fuck," he whispers, the ghost of his words dancing on the shell of your ear. "Gonna fill you up so good. Gonna make you so full with my babies," the lowness of his voice rumbles between your chests, making you clutch onto his shoulders.

You moan, "Wanna make me a mommy, hm?" You groan when Soobin hits your g-spot, eyes starting to roll. "Bet you would love seeing my tits full of milk."

Soobin cums on the spot with that, pulling you into him and muffling his grunts into your neck. His hands find your boobs, one hand on each as he rolls your nipples between his fingers.

You feel your orgasm shoot up your spine like a bullet train, and pour down your thighs like a rainstorm. You shake so violently Soobin is forced to hold you against him as you come down.

You sit up, straddling him and leaving him inside you. His entire face is covered in tears and your juices. He looks like he just saw heaven for the first time, pearly gates, gold and all. His brown irises shine as he looks at you, as if he never had before.

"Soobin—"

"Don't," he interrupts. Soobin takes your hand in his, placing a small kiss in the center of your palm. "Please," he says into your hand before looking up at you. "Just...give us a chance first? Yeah? I've liked you for too long and..." he takes a deep breath, trying to gain control of himself. "...and I know I won't be able to just be your friend after this," he finishes. Soobin plants a couple kiss over your knuckles, interlocking your fingers together. "Just be mine."

Soobin's words hit you so much you jolt on top of him. You can't imagine what kind of pain he must've been in. Watching you quietly from the sidelines after all these years, watching you with multiple guys and not saying a singular word.

You lean down, planting a thick kiss onto his forehead. "Soobin, I was going to say I didn't know you were a freak like that..." you trail off, snickering and pinching his cheek. He flushes underneath you, silently punching himself for jumping to conclusions.

"But since you asked so nicely," you say, popping a light kiss onto his lips. Soobin smiles, no teeth, and not widley, but in a way that makes his eyes tilt upward with joy.

"Yes, Soobin, I will be yours."

~~~~

THIS WAS FILLLLTHHHHYYY

But I hope you enjoyed!! I was debating whether or not to give them a happy ending, but I decided that they worked together enough for one. Tell me how you guys like this, and who else you would like me to write for maybe?