#their hands reached like zombies though the leave

[bethancahill]

In my early elementary school days I used to get chased. It wasn’t necessarily a game, I just often became public enemy number one. (usually of my own volition)

As opposed to the typical large-field prebuilt playground and maybe a basketball ball court or two, my playground comprised half of benches, old tractor tires, and large wooden logs stacked on one another to create a large obstacle course of sorts. The other half was simply an area of woods with small trails woven by the feet of kids running around catching skinks day in and day out.

I don’t know if those little lizards are actually skinks, that’s just what we called them. What I did know was stacking 15 in a little bug catcher is not particularly good for a skink’s health. This is why the particularly talented catchers would often find their prized jar’o’lizards gone and released if left unattended too long.

Long story short, angering kids with status and popularity means you anger their underlings too. And in a fenced off zoo with a gaggle of 10-20 kids on your tail, you better be light on your feet because the chase doesn’t stop till they get tired, you get caught, or you are saved by the bell.

lately my kids have been playing Baby Knife, which consists of somebody acting as a baby with knife hands chasing people while going "baby knife baby knife" over and over. is this a thing or are they just insane

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty-one —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 4.8k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. SA and implication of child SA (very subtle). summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: if anything regarding the abuse or suffering of children, or SA, triggers you do not read. I wanted to tell you so there are no surprises.

The world sharpens as your senses return, zeroing in on the empty, crumpled sheet where Blue had lain beside you. She’s gone. Your deadened limbs failed her. Guilt rises, choking your dry throat. When your hands can move, you grab the pillow, pressing it to your face. A few hot tears escape. It smells like her hair.

They took her. 

She's gone— 

A gentle voice speaks, and a hand settles on your shoulder. Only then do you notice your body trembling. You lift your face from the pillow, staring up at Nereida. Her lips move, but her words don’t reach you. Something stirs inside you, deep in your chest, clawing its way toward your mouth. When the door creaks open and Salome steps in with a tray of dinner, it finally bursts free—a roar of pure rage.

“I’ll fucking kill you if you don’t tell me where she is.”

Salome startles, nearly dropping the tray as you fling yourself at the bars.

“I-I understand you’re upset, and I’m sorry we had to subdue you again, but it was only—”

“I don’t give a fuck! Answer me! Where is she?”

Her knuckles whiten around the tray, eyes darting away. “The child has... her own job, as we all do.”

Your lip curls. “Are you brain-dead under that stupid veil? Why take her? She’s a child! Why not one of us?” You lean closer, voice breaking. “If you want me pregnant so badly, fine! Do it now! Just bring her back—bring her back!”

Salome blinks, unnerved, her composure slipping.

“If you’ve killed her,” you hiss, heat flooding your face, “I swear to God, I’ll kill myself—”

“No!” she interjects, stepping forward, wide-eyed. “Don’t speak like that, I beg you. She... She’s alive. For now.” Her voice drops, reverent. “But Maman has plans for her. You must understand—Maman knows the Lord’s will. It is not our—" her throat bobs with a swallow,"Our place to question her decisions.”

“Alive for now ?” you snap. “What plans does that bitch have for her?”

Salome hesitates. For the first time, she looks uncertain.

She opens her mouth, then closes it. “I can’t... I mustn’t say. In time, you’ll understand.” She lowers the tray onto the floor and nudges it closer, staying out of your reach. “Please. You must eat. It’s only food this time, I promise. And the tea is for your bodies—to prepare you. Maman insists you drink it all.”

“You really think we’re stupid enough to eat or drink anything you give us?”

Her voice dips into a whisper. “I fear I... I must insist. If you refuse... I’ll have to tell Maman. She’s chosen to keep the males you came with because they are healthy and strong. But if she hears of your disobedience...” Her voice falters, and she tucks her hands into her sleeves. “There needn’t be any unnecessary deaths.”

Unnecessary deaths. 

The door clicks shut behind her when she leaves. You sink to your heels, spine against the bars, as Nereida reaches for the tray. Closing her eyes, a single tear escapes before she rubs her chest and exhales. With no choice, you both eat the braised beef and roasted carrots, though you bitterly imagine it tastes like the unseasoned squirrel meat you're used to.

The tea smells herbal and bitter. On your tongue, the taste makes you recoil.

"I think it's turmeric and parsley," Nereida says softly, taking another sip. "It's good for... regulating our cycles."

You stare into the mug, swirling the warm liquid inside. The urge to dump it on the floor flickers, but the risk of someone noticing holds you back. Instead, you take another sip, chasing it with food to mask the taste. Your thumb brushes the rim, finding a sharp chip in the ceramic. Pressing it deeper, the sting hums as a bead of blood wells up. You suck on it, brows furrowed, a half-formed plan taking shape. Without hesitation, you finish the tea and smash the mug on the floor, startling Nereida.

"Why did you—"

You gather the two biggest shards. "We have weapons now. Break yours when you're done."

"So what’s the plan? Stab her with it?" She shakes her head, frustration clear in her voice. "She’s dumb, but not dumb enough to get close enough for that—not after you just said you want to kill her."

"Well, it's something." Your lips tighten along with your hand on the sharp edges. "At least I’m trying to think of an idea instead of just—just praying my military husband comes to save me."

Her eyes flash with hurt. "I'm trying to think realistically instead of acting rash." She gestures to the broken pieces. "She just threatened to kill them if we do anything to upset this Maman person, and you go breaking the cup. You think they'll be happy about that?"

"I'll say it was an accident. I'm a clumsy female who just couldn't help myself."

"You're not thinking clearly, Twix. I know you're upset about Blue—"

“And you’re not?” you hiss. “We failed her. She’s just a kid, and we failed her. Who knows what they’re doing to her right now. We don’t have time to sit around waiting for Price. He’s not coming! Even if they don’t kill him now, you really think they won’t at some point? These people are insane.” Your voice drops lower. “They’re going to rape us, Nereida. Don’t you see that? They’ll wait for us to ovulate, then breed us like livestock to feed into their delusions. What happens when they find out you can’t have kids? You think they’ll keep you around? You think they’ll still ‘covet’ you?”

Moisture wells in her eyes, and she blinks. "I don't—I don't know. But what can we do? We can't reach her, and they won't open the cell without drugging us again. Even if we could get out, we can't handle everyone out there with just pieces of a broken mug." The tears spill quietly, and she stuffs her face in her hands. "You're right. I've always relied on him. I don’t know how to survive any other way."

Your face softens a little, and you breathe deeply to regain some composure. "I shouldn’t have said that. We’re both scared."

She whispers through the gaps in her shaking fingers. "I was never supposed to live like this."

You reach for her hands, holding them tight. "You were, or you wouldn’t still be here."

The words offer fragile solace despite how steady you force your voice to be.

The rest of the meal is in silence.

The helplessness in the room is suffocating, reminiscent of the week you spent alone in the woods, sleeping in trees and dreading the break of dawn. No—it’s worse than that. It feels more like when Ghost broke your bow and left you for dead, chewing on pine needles to soothe your empty stomach. Funny how this time there’s a delicious meal in front of you, and you’re swallowing it down only because you’re forced. You even have a real bed to slip into, a yielding pillow to rest your head on, yet the helplessness remains, unwavering.

"I'm sorry, Blue. I'm trying," you whisper, clutching the shards of ceramic and slipping them under the pillow.

You replay everything in your head: the lack of items in the room, the bolted cell door, and what Salome said— Maman has plans for her. The moon rises, and you remain awake, even as Nereida succumbs to fatigue. You force your eyes to keep scanning the dark surroundings, despite the lingering effects of the drugs threatening to pull you into sleep. There has to be something you're missing—maybe not in the room, but in Salome's words. What else did she say? You were so angry, you can hardly remember.

It feels like well past midnight when you hear a male voice outside the door and the shift of footsteps.

"Trois minutes, Hugo."

A low chuckle. "Trois minutes, c'est tout ce dont j'aurai besoin."

"N'oubliez pas de ne pas toucher. Et ne vous en vantez pas auprès des autres. La nouvelle se répandra et Maman ou Alexandre l'entendront."

The air shifts when the door parts. You launch up, inhaling sharply when a shadowy figure enters along with the faint scraping of boots. Salome? But broad shoulders give way to an unfamiliar man that steps into the sliver of moonlight, and panic sets in quickly.

Breathless, you rip the sheet from your body.

Nereida stirs. "Twix—?"

You rise to your bare feet, standing a meter from the bars as you take him in. A light smile plays at his lips, which might’ve seemed friendly if you weren't poorly covered by the barely-there slip dress. Unlike Salome, his face is exposed beneath the hood of his grey cloak. You make out a strong nose, ashen brows, and blonde hair. He looks to be in his thirties, much shorter than Ghost. He murmurs something in French beneath his breath that makes your hands clench, then reaches into a pocket in his cloak.

He retrieves three metal chains. 

In his upheld hand, the dog tags quietly collide.

Your breath hitches as his eyes flick to yours, and the moonlight catches on the engraved names.

"I'm a friend of your friends," he greets coyly in a hushed, strong accent.

"John," Nereida whispers, ripping herself up from the bed. 

The man nods, the subtle smirk tugging at the edges of his lips, but it fails to reach his eyes. They remain cold. "Yes. We've all grown rather acquainted."

"You've hurt them," you snap, grabbing Nereida's wrist and pulling her closer. "Cut the bullshit."

He wraps the chains tightly around his wrist before tucking them away, then looks at you in a way that leaves your mouth tasting like the dinner you just ate. "A female who bites. I will look forward to making you submit as a God-fearing woman should."

You clutch at the hem of the gown, terror whispering in the back of your mind from his words. Something feels wrong.

"Why are you here?" you ask measuredly. "I thought... it isn't the right time for us to... to get pregnant. I thought only women are allowed to see us right now."

"I've heard whispers of the new beautiful women God has gifted us," he says, his English choppy. "I wanted to see for myself. I've been... working hard to please the Lord, you see. Your friends are not so easily broken. Surely, in His eyes, I've earned just a glimpse."

Nereida tenses beside you. 

You rear a snarl at him. "Where are they?"

He holds up a finger. "Ah, ah, pretty face. You will have to let me see more if you would like to know. I have just three minutes with you. Two now that we've been wasting time."

Cold sweat coats your palms as his request sinks in, and you glance at Nereida. "I'll do it," you whisper. "You can just... just look away."

"No," his growl interjects. "Both of you, or nothing."

Even in the dark, her face pales. But when he pulls the chains back out and waves them around harshly, her hands dart to the hem of the dress and she peels it up without the chance to rethink it. You follow in stride, teeth gritted, as you scoot a step away from her and do the same, feeling the chilled air brush sickeningly against your bare skin. You've done this before, yet this time you are wholly naked under the stranger's gaze, and your hair is not long enough to conceal your breasts. 

When you hear him unbuckle his belt, you remove yourself from your body, mentally retreating to a far corner of the room to block out the horror.

"Tell us where they are," you press.

He chortles, breath catching when he grabs himself. "This land belonged to Maman's husband. It is a farm. New men we keep in the old slaughter house, by the barn, like the swine they are."

"And what about the girl," you interrupt urgently, "The young child who was with us. Why would Maman want to take her? Where else would she be keeping her?"

He grunts low. "I never said I'd answer about the girl, but if you touch yourself, I will consider it."

Your jaw clenches, teeth grinding. Nereida breaks, folding into herself and whispering, "I can't. I can't."

"I will," you whisper, your hand already sliding down your stomach, your eyes locking on his. "If I touch myself, will you tell me?"

His eyes narrow to where your hand dips unthinkingly between your thighs. You keep it there, doing what he wants, putting on the show that will make him talk. His shoulders ripple at the sight and audible groans bounce off the walls.

He clears his throat, voice rough. "I haven't heard nothing yet about the girl. But Maman says God’s punishing us... the land’s... sick. The wheat grows less and less. Only way to fix it—feed God's enforcers." 

"His enforcers?" you question.

"The démons."

"The Greys," you whisper, confusion flickering before clarity dawns.

A flash of the vermin-filled chapel plays through your mind—the bites in the corpse—and your hand jerks away from your thighs. The horror clicks into place, slow and suffocating, until all the color drains from your face. Blue... Is she an offering? An offering to God, just like the one you saw. They think the Greys are His enforcers. They will feed her to them. The thought claws its way through your head, and you feel a fresh wave of cold horror crash over you.

"When?" you croak. "When would Maman— feed them?"

"God's wrath... started on the sixth day," he murmurs absently, eyes rolling back. "That’s when we seek His forgiveness."

With a final grunt, his body jerks, and the spill lands on the floor. Bile rises in your throat, but you can’t even register it as you watch him stuff himself back in his pants and smear the mess with the sole of his boot, muttering something under his breath. You snatch the dress from the floor and stuff it over your head, legs wobbly. Faintly, you hear him laugh quietly.

"I can only pray I'm deemed worthy come the next coupling season. And when that time comes, I will be sure to choose you." 

B

Warm water kisses the back of her neck, and gentle fingers scrub soap through her hair. The woman bathing her hums softly, matching the rhythmic pulse in Blue's arm. As Blue closes her eyes, she tries to separate reality from nightmare, pressing two fingers into the clothed wound as if the pain will help her understand. She remembers the Greys coalesced in the old building, the chains used to restrain them, and the terror-blurred walk back to the small commune. After that, everything becomes hazy. She slept a little, she thinks. Was made to eat again. Then somehow, she ended up here, submerged in a wooden tub of lukewarm water, while a young woman quietly encourages her to dip her hair back to rinse.

"There. Time to dry off now."

There is the shuffling around as she fetches a towel. Blue crosses her arms over herself as she accepts it numbly, the air prickling her wet skin. Her feet land on cold tile floor as she dries off, the woman lingering beside the bathroom door with her head bowed. Blue feels like someone has strings coiled tightly around her limbs, puppeteering her. 

"Put this on for now." A light smile is offered as the thin gown is placed in her palms. "Maman will have a much nicer dress for you to wear tomorrow."

A puppet string is tugged, making her nod. "Can you... can you look away please?"

The woman turns and stares at the back of the door while Blue drops the towel and changes. 

Then she is taken back to the room she came from. The one she first woke up in, where the old woman's knitting needles still rest on the table. Morning light caresses the paintings on the walls, all oiled landscapes of land that looks similar to the one outside. The woman, whose name Blue thinks she mentioned to be Eloise, shuffles around the room, tidying things, before collecting the tray from breakfast. But when she glances back at Blue on her way out the door, her lips part in concern.

"You're bleeding."

Blue looks at the bandage on her arm, where red blood oozes in a trail, a bead dripping onto the floor from the tip of her finger. She frowns, confused, when Eloise sets the tray down to tend to the cut—as if they aren't the ones who caused it. As if the blood smearing her skin when she unwraps the cloth isn't the same blood they used to draw out the two Greys they brought back to the commune and locked up in a small shed. 

"I know you're frightened," the young woman whispers, her voice carrying an understanding that feels deeper than anything Salome ever said. Behind the veil, her eyes flick up to meet Blue's. "I can only pray God's mercy makes it quick." She dabs Blue's arm gently and rewraps it with a fresh strip of cloth.

"You mean they are going to kill me, right?" Blue whispers distantly. "With the Greys from yesterday?"

A glint passes through the woman's eyes, and she lifts her hands. "Yes," she says quietly, then leaves the room. 

Blue stands in the silence, eyes fixed on the drop of blood. She presses her heel into it, smearing it across the floor. Then, she moves. The fear she's carried since the old woman led her into the trees claws at her chest, but she swallows it. Trembling hands sweep over the room—checking the window, the locked door. The bed, the table, the paintings. Beneath the bed, only cobwebs.

A helpless croak escapes her lips as she collapses onto the bed, teeth clenched against the tears. Her father would never accept her giving up. Tomorrow they will kill her. She sits up, palms pressed to her forehead, knees drawn tight, dry sobs wracking her body. Through her tears, she notices the smear of blood from her heel left on the white linen. She flips over her foot and traces the dried blood with her finger, then digs her nail into the broken skin where the gravel road tore into her feet, seeking more pain—urging fresh blood to rise from the indent she leaves behind.

G

The last time Ghost was chained, he hadn’t known about the little girl who shared his blood—someone who truly needed him. Tommy was still alive then, of course, but he had his own family. If Ghost had succumbed to Roba’s torture, his brother and mother would have mourned briefly, held a small funeral, then moved on. The world would have forgotten his name. Part of him would have been pleased with that—but somehow, Simon Riley’s more stubborn side had survived.

That stubborn part of him refuses to close his eyes, not even for a second, because this time, he is fully aware of the girl who needs him.

With no windows to mark the time, Ghost can only gauge it by the man who beats him. The man alternates between striking him with a metal bar and taunting him with food and water, tossing them just out of reach so the smell can ignite pangs of hunger. There was once he showed up with an old woman, who clinically poked and prodded at Ghost's arms and abdomen, as if in approval. The longest absences of visitation likely indicate the man’s sleep, meaning two nights have passed since Ghost woke up here. His increasing difficulty in keeping his eyes open confirms it. 

Even through swollen eyelids, visions invade the darkness—four faces merging, their screams echoing, sharp and pleading. First, his mother. Then Sara. As they turn to ash, the two other faces remain, their screams fading into buttery laughter. Water splashes his cheek as they play in a creek, then their lips fall silent, and their faces sink below the surface. He reaches for them but can only stare as their eyes drain of life. Still, they remain accusatory. Disappointed. 

A slam of the door shatters the images.

"I think you will be pleased to hear the news I bring, Brit."

It must be morning. Ghost's gaze drops to the floor in persistent defiance, refusing to acknowledge him. His muscles loosen in preparation for the bar's routine assault, but a vein in his jowl ticks when he detects a new sound; the quiet slither of a whip against the concrete. 

Without warning, it recoils and lashes out with a sharp crack. The sting spreads through every nerve-ending, and he feels a gush of hot blood from the newly opened wound. A quiet, strained grunt slips through his teeth, and his chin dips to his sternum as pain robs him of the ability to hold it up. 

Casually, like a friend, the man hums, only his boots visible in Ghost's vision. "I saw them. They are well-kept, you should know, and they are indeed beautiful. A gift from God." The tail-end of the whip caresses Ghost's shoulders then slips to the floor soundlessly. "The child, though, I am disappointed to say she wasn't there."

Ghost stiffens.

His nostrils flare.

"Why wasn't she there?" he forces out.

"Ah. The child is yours, yes? The... fierce one was concerned for her as well." He bends, rubbing his jaw callously. "So concerned, in fact, that she was willing to show me more than I had even come for. Quite eager, too. Let me tell you what I told her—I know nothing of the plans for the girl. I can only guess, as you can, that they will not be pleasant."

"I will... kill... you," Ghost manages, his low voice thick with fury, each word a strained rasp through clenched teeth.

When his fingers twitch, weakly forming fists, the man pats his shoulder with a light laugh. "I will say, I am sorry you do not have a son, instead. Maman says daughters are the purest, most God-abiding of us all. With all due respect to her, this is where we disagree." He tilts Ghost's head back, locking eyes with him, his breath brushing against Ghost's face."They’re whores, all of them. Waiting to be bred. That's why the fierce one was dripping wet when she touched herself—"

In one swift motion, Ghost sinks his teeth into the first piece of flesh he can reach, tearing through skin. Blood fills his mouth, spilling between his teeth. The man jerks back, part of his cheek torn away, his eyes flashing with pure rage as he clutches the bleeding wound with his hand.

"You fucking, lowly swine." He spits out a mouthful of blood, then retracts the whip with a savage snarl. Another strike lands on Ghost's back—harder this time. Another follows. The blows come faster, until blood pools beneath his boots, and his eyes finally close no matter how much strength he tries to muster to keep them open. 

T

The sixth day.

If the Sabbath is the seventh day, then the sixth day would be Friday. The outbreak began on a Friday; God's wrath.

You trace the wrinkles in the sheet, trying to count back to the last day you can remember—back when Blue still announced the dates from the calendar Ghost kept track of. You recall it was the 12th of April, weeks ago. But what day of the week was it? Frustration bubbles up as you tear at the sheet, the harsh reality sinking in: you don’t even know how many days have passed since then.

Morning breaks in washed-out hues, accompanied by the low call of a nearby dove.

Growing content with the regular feedings, your belly hums in anticipation against your will.

"Ask her what day it is when she comes for breakfast," you tell Nereida. "We need to find out when Friday is, and you... you're better at talking."

Luckily, Salome either doesn’t notice that one of the mugs is missing or is willing to keep the fragile peace by not mentioning it. Again, she lowers the tray at an unreachable distance and slides it over. She lingers for a few minutes this time as you nurse a bowl of fresh fruit and sour yogurt, more mindful of how it tastes. But you don't suspect they have a need to drug you this morning—not with Blue already taken.

Nereida manages a bit of small talk, flashing a friendly smile you envy her for. It's enough to get a few pieces of information from Salome—mostly useless. She's about six months along, Maman suspects. There are two other pregnant women, and three infants already born over the years. A few have died during harsher winters, including this past one. The land is sick, that man mentioned. With a flicker of sadness, Salome adds that she had a miscarriage, and for a moment, you almost feel sorry for her.

But when Nereida asks about the day, Salome tenses, wariness creeping into her eyes. "Well, I forget the name in English, but it is the fifth day following the Lord's day."

"Thursday, you mean?" you speak up for the first time since she walked in. "I mean, Saturday is the seventh day. So the fifth would be Thursday."

Salome nods. "Yes, Thursday. Jeudi."

Then tomorrow is Friday.

The weight threatens to crush you.

When she finally leaves, you fling the pillow off the bed and flip the mattress, screaming soundlessly into it.

"We have one fucking day, and I have no clue how to get out of here."

Survival hinges on not panicking. Panic makes you weak. But still, your fingers curl into your hair, tugging desperately, trying to silence the hysteria rising inside you. For a moment, a silent prayer takes hold in your mind, mimicking the ones you overheard from Nereida. You screw your eyes shut in a pathetic hope that maybe when you reopen them, Ghost will materialize with the key on the other side of the cell. When he doesn't, you grab the nearest shard from the mug you broke. Nereida tugs on your shoulder, trying to calm you down, but you furiously press it against your wrist.

It's the sight of blood, not the pain, that makes you freeze.

Suddenly, your panic smooths into a fresh memory.

"She panicked, didn't she?" you whisper, lifting the shard and gently thumbing the shallow cut you've created in its wake. "When I threatened to kill myself. Her eyes—they held fear. Fear for what?"

You turn to Nereida and swallow thickly.

"Fear of... fear of us dying," Nereida finishes slowly, a pinch in her forehead.

"Fear of what would happen to her if we died," you say. "She seemed... scared when she spoke of Maman. Of course she is. She's the one responsible for us right now. What would Maman do if she can't take care of the two new coveted women?"

You reach for the next largest piece and place it in Nereida's hand, tightly closing her fist over it. 

"It might not work," she whispers, eyes darting across your face.

"It's the only idea I've got."

Over the next few hours, you smooth over the details in whispered exchanges. These are the only cards you have to play: the value of your bodies here and the power Maman holds. Nereida is uneasy at first but eventually grows convinced. Speaking through the plan helps soothe your nerves, keeping the walls from fully closing in. You remember that Salome usually arrives before the sun sets to bring dinner. So, when the window casts amber shadows across the walls, you suck in a breath, dig the shard into your wrist, and watch as blood spills onto the white linen.

“Three minutes, Hugo.” “Three minutes is all I’ll need.” "Remember not to touch. And don't brag about it to others. Word will spread and Maman or Alexander will hear it."

[divinitysotherside]

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

JUST WANT YOUR PUSSY !

ᯓ★ . “if i were a zombie, i’d never eat your brain, i just want your pussy ?”

pairing . choso kamo x reader

warnings . smut – mdni , choso and reader are both of age , zombie choso , zombie apocalypse , choso can control the fungus or something cause he’s a half curse , reader’s first time , mentions of overstimulation , pussyeating , established relationship

choso was still not back. he had just told you that he’ll look for food and other supplies you both need, but it’s been 4 hours, and he’s not back yet.

you look outside of the window of the house you and choso were staying in, seeing the horde of zombies roaming around. the apocalypse truly was brutal.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

after a few more hours of your anxiety kicking in, choso finally got back. “choso! i was worried sick!” you yell, pouncing on him playfully as he entered the house.

“sorry to worry you,” he smiled, caressing your back as you clung to him. “i needed to fight some zombies while coming back.”

you peppered his neck with kisses, making sure to hug him tightly, showing him just how much you missed him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

it wasn’t until choso was alone in the bathroom, taking a shower, when he noticed the hidden bite on his arm.

shit, he was infected.

his discovery soon fell in vain, though, as he felt his mind going blank. “fuck,” he cursed, relief washing over him when his skin didn’t turn green.

maybe because he was a half–curse, who knows?

but he started drooling, and he knew he could only control his hunger for a while. so he hurriedly barged out of the bathroom, searching for you.

“my dear,” he called out, panting as he finally found you.

you look up at him, confused. “yes, choso?” you ask, tilting your head.

that was until you noticed him drooling, and he obviously looked like he was struggling or.. fighting something back. panting and everything.

“choso? are you okay?” you ask, concerned. standing up, you look into his eyes, examining him.

“n–no, you need to get out of here. i’m infected!” he blurted, stepping away from you. “i know i can.. only stop myself for a limited a–amount of time, so get out while you still...can!” he grits his teeth, obviously fighting the virus back.

“choso, no! i won’t leave you here! you think i’m gonna do that when we already did so much together!?” you ran over to him, pulling him in a tight embrace.

you know you should leave if you still wanna see another day, but fuck it, it’s either you die with choso or you won’t accept death.

“b–baby, leave, please..” choso murmurs, his hands tightening on your skin as he holds you. it’s clear that he can’t fight the virus anymore, but he tries.

“no, i won’t! i love you, choso, and i will prove that!” you cried, clinging onto him tightly. “you have already p–proved that to me!”

choso tries to push you off, but his attempts are futile, and he then starts to lose control, his mind going blank, his mouth drooling.

he then pushes you away, his force stronger than before. “c–choso, i’m not leaving—” you look up, seeing choso’s eyes, lacking irises. he looked messed up, and messed up bad.

the virus has taken its effect.

“shit,” you curse, switching up on yourself as you scan the room for nearby weapons. as you reach for your metal bat, choso grabs your arm, forcing you to look up at him.

“fuck off!” you barked, struggling as you try to hit him with your free hand, but he catches it again. his skin was still like before, and it’s probably because of his half-curse blood.

he pounces on you, making you fall to the floor with choso pinning your arms above your head. he was growling, already out of his mind as you look up at him, terrified at what happened to your lover.

“c–choso! get off!” you yell, but it reached deaf ears. “ choso ” was already out of his mind, and this was definitely not him.

“w–waant you,” he managed to grumble in a distorted voice—is he still there? can he fight the infection? “choso!? listen to me! g–get off!” but his grip only tightened, enough to leave bruises.

“sorry,” you hear him mutter as he leans down to bury his face in your neck, inhaling your scent. his warm tongue then drags along your soft flesh, from your neck, your collarbones, to just above your breasts.

“hungry,” choso whispers, one of his clawed hands coming up to rip your shirt off slowly, exposing your chest to his gaze. “c–choso..” you mumble, your breath hitching once his hand squeezes one of your tits.

his tongue then swirled on one of your nipples, before sucking on it fully. you watch as he continues to satisfy his "hunger", his iris-lacking eyes then dropping lower.

he leans down, his hands gripping your thighs as he positions himself—his face between your legs. “l–let me,” he growls, already burying his face in your panties.

as soon as you nod, he rips your panties off, licking your slit. he groans at your taste, determined to have more of you. he dives in, his tongue messily swirling your pussy in a desperate attempt to eat you out.

you moan, your hand flying to tangle itself in his hair, bucking your hips against his face. you bite your lower lip, the man—zombie between your legs beginning to enter your cunt via his tongue.

your legs trembled as you neared your orgasm, his tongue relentlessly licking up your juices caused your grip on his hair to tighten—moaning as you came.

and as choso hungrily takes everything you had to offer, he didn’t stop eating you out.

with a zombie that technically can go all night? good luck.

a/n . tysm for reading this fic ! i wasn’t able to post anything because our wifi went out for 5 days and i couldn’t post :(

[cades-outsider]

Stupid Z-band

Zed Necrodopolis X fem reader

Warnings: Smut, feral zed, breeding kink (basically), creampie, unprotected sex, this is just filth and me living out my feral zed moment.

Summary: Zed keeps tampering with his z-band in order to win the football games so him and the rest of the zombies can be accepted into Seabrook. His z-band malfunctions unexpectedly after he wins yet another game, but this time, it isn't a frenzy for human brains, it's a frenzy for you.

Seabrook High School erupted in cheers as Zed, once again, won another football game. He had tampered with his z-band to do so, but he didn't think it was a big deal— even though his arm felt like it was going to burn off any moment. You were cheering proudly along the rest of the cheerleaders— for Zed.

  Bucky shot you dirty looks, as a way to tell you not to cheer for zed— but as always, you dismissed them. Zed was your boyfriend after all... although, no one else in Seabrook High knew that. It was still too dangerous to out your relationship, since most humans still hadn't really came to terms with accepting Zombies.

  You wanted to run up and kiss Zed, but ultimately knew that wasn't the best thing to do in front of all of Seabrook. As the minutes passed by and it became later, more people left the football field. The cheerleaders were the only people left on the field, putting your stuff in your duffle bag you watched as the rest of the cheer team eventually scattered off, leaving you alone.

  Meanwhile, Zed was in the locker rooms. He threw his helmet on the bench as he panted, his face and jersey were covered in dirt and sweat, as well as his green hair, which was messily stuck to his forehead, his pale skin sticky and hot.

  Zed wanted nothing more than to take off the clad football jersey, until his wrist started burning and his Z-band started beeping red, the bold words 'OFFLINE' flashed across the small screen of the band.

  Zeds veins immediately darkened and trailed up his arms, all the way to his face. He grew paler, and the veins in his face grew darker. His fists clenched in an effort to control himself as he started to pant, though a light growl erupted from his zombie and he quickly realized this was more than a frenzy.

  He felt hot and.... aroused...

  Zeds 'game' pants felt unbelievably tight and restricted, he needed you. So, he rushed out of the locker rooms and went to the last place he saw you, the football field. Which, was completely empty now... not like his zombie cared in the moment, he would take you in front all of Seabrook in this state.

  You were bent over slightly, zipping up your cheer bag when you heard feet to grass movement and a noise between a growl and a pant. You turned around and were immediately met with Zed, you smiled before you noticed the state he was in "Zed! I'm so proud- hey, are you okay?" You asked, your face twisting with worry and concern. Zed would've melted from how sweet you sounded, but right now he couldn't control this frenzy.

  When you were in his reach, he grabbed you, yanking you with him to the middle of the football field. You let out a yelp in surprise "Zed, what are you doing?" You gasped, your voice was small and meek, and for some reason that turned on his zombie more. He said nothing, he couldn't say anything but let out a series of strained growls as his chest heaved up and down from panting; it was as if he was in heat and your eyes widened when you notice the strain in his pants.

  One of his hands went to the back of your neck, wrapping his hands around your hair, in an attempt to expose your neck to him. When he realized that wasn't enough, he yanked your head back with the hand wrapped in your hair, not hard enough to hurt you but enough to make you squeak out a moan.

  Zed hurried his face into your neck, sucking and kissing at every spot he could, smelling your sweat vanilla perfume which caused the veins in his hands and face to grow darker. He nipped at your neck, not enough to actually bite you, but enough to mark you. Your hands gripped onto his chest as a way to steady yourself, and your touch set him off, he growled as he threw you on the grass of the football field, not wasting a second before he climbed on top of you.

  You weren't scared, you and Zed had done this many times but not when he was like this. He was feral and didn't give you a moment to breathe, but when he ripped your cheer top in half— exposing your bare chest, you finally remembered where you both were "wait, Zed what if we get-" You gasped, but were quickly cut off when he kissed and nipped at your boobs, forcing your thighs open with one hand and sitting him self in between them.

  You were panting now, looking at your zombie boyfriend as your hands went to touch him, but again, his zombie growled as you touched him, bringing him back to the main thing he needed you for. Zed loved you, and he was always so sweet during sex, he was almost never rough, but you couldn't help how soaked you were from this whole situation.

  Zed didn't even bother to take off your cheer skirt, he only ripped the center of it and your underwear in one clean tear, you gasped when you felt him lifting your skirt up so it bunched up on your hips, you were exposed to him and his face now rested in between your thighs. Everything happened so fast you barely had time to adjust to his mouth attaching to your clit. Your eyes rolled back and your hips jolted in surprise, you managed to rest on your elbows to look at him, his arms were tightly wrapped around your waist so that his hands rested on your stomach, you looked at his arms and moaned at the sight of his dark purple veins throbbing. Your eyes moved up to his face and before you could get a good look at his face he forced you back down with one of his hands that rested on your stomach.

  Zed ate you as if you were his last meal, his tongue circling your clit so effortlessly and his mouth slurping up your juices. The sounds were lewd and filthy, but it only seemed to turn his zombie on more. He ate you out as if it was for his pleasure, not staying long enough for you to cum. His zombie didn't know whether or not he wanted you like this or on all fours, and he growled impatiently as he finally decided to flip you. His zombie strength allowed him to flip you over with ease so that you were on all fours.

  You whined softly at the quick movement and turned back to look at him, your eyes widened once you realized his pale cock was now exposed, it seemed as if he was even bigger now that he 'zombied out'. He wasn't just bigger or paler, but the veins in his cock had grew darker as well and you moaned softly at the sight, but were quickly cut off when his hands grasped your hips and he forced your ass closer to him.

  Zed ran his cock back and forth between your folds, collecting your wetness just enough for him to slide into your pussy, but he didn't just go halfway in, he completely bottomed out and you let out a noise between a moan and a yelp as the tip of his cock reached the spot inside of you that made your toes curl.

  "Oh my god- Zed" You babbled out, head falling against the grass. He didn't allow you any time to adjust, but you were so soaked that the stretch didn't hurt. His zombie growled at your already fucked out tone, gripping your hips harshly as he set an unforgiving pace. The tip of his cock reached your sweet spot with every harsh thrust he gave you, you were so drunk on his cock that you didn't even care that you were in the middle of the football field.

  Zed was unable to say anything, only grunts and growls came from his lips while he panted and fucked you harshly. He couldn't stop, with each thrust he grew more animalistic and feral. His zombie wouldn't stop until he had you cumming on his cock and until he was spilling into you. The thought of him finally filling you up made his nails dig harder into your hips and his pace speed up.

  The side of your face was forced into the grass when he leaned over and pressed your head into it. Your mouth fell open as a series of moans fell past your lips. You cried out his name as he snapped his hips against yours, and you felt the coil in your lower stomach when the tip of his cock hit that place inside of you with each thrust. The hand that was on your head, which happened to be the one he had his z-band on, went to the side of you as he used his other hand to keep your hips in place.

  One of your hands gripped onto the arm he placed beside you, clawing at his arm for dear life as he fucked your brains out. Zed growled but didn't remove his arm from you, instead he fucked you even harder as he felt his release near. The need to cum inside of your pussy overwhelmed him and his zombie wasn't going to give out until he filled you up. He was so deep inside of you that you could've sworn you felt him in your stomach, and that thought alone made you cum. You cried out as your cum splashed against his cock, making him thrust even easier than before.

  Zed panted harder as his zombie kept him going, he wasn't tired by any means, but he needed to cum. So when you clenched around his cock from being so overstimulated he growled and finally spilled his cum deep inside you. You let out a gasp and your hand kept its hold on his hand that was on the ground next to your head, you whined as he didn't stop cumming. His hips had slowed and his cum dripped out of you while he was still inside of you. Your hand clawed at his z-band by accident, causing it to beep and turn green, the words 'ONLINE' finally popped up on the small screen.

  Zeds veins slowly returned to normal, but he was extremely tired and his whole body ached. He was still panting, but once his vision cleared and he noticed how fucked out you looked, he slowly pulled out of you, his cum leaking out of your pussy almost immediately and you whined. "Oh fuck, I'm so sorry baby" he repeated constantly, despite the hurt his body felt from his zombie taking over for so long.

  You let out a whine in response, not able to move and he quickly realized and lifted you up and into his lap after he put his pants back on. He covered your bare chest with the ripped cheer top and pulled your cheer skirt back down as his hand cleaned off your cheek and hair which was covered in grass. Despite how sore you already started to feel, you noticed the harsh color of red on his wrist, around his z-band. "Zed... that was amazing, but you've got to stop tampering with your z-band" You managed to say, your voice weak from all the moaning and crying out you did.

  Zed cracked a small smile when you confirmed that you were okay and you enjoyed it and he sighed when you mentioned him tampering with the z-band "I know.... Just... I have to win one last game and then I'll stop" He reassured you, and you hated the fact that he had to hurt himself just to be accepted into Seabrook. You nodded softly, "promise?" You said softly, looking into his brown eyes and he gently kissed your lips "I promise..."

[ang3ltine]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐔𝐬 - ft Se mi x freader 18 +

Description: Story is based off an apocalyptic game. You and Se mi stumble across a pot basement and get carried away. There, Se mi realises she has a 'daddy kink'.

𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: smoking weed , smut, dirty talk, fingering , use of dildo, being high , soft dom! Se mi, sub! freader

"𝙂𝙤 𝙤𝙣 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙘𝙪𝙢. 𝘾𝙪𝙢 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 𝙄'𝙢 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙤..! 𝘾𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙣𝙤𝙬".

Your mind was already in the clouds, already forgetting about the reason as to why you're both here. To collect supplies and scout the area.

Yet here you were, fucking in a basement full of weed at an abandoned school.

Supplies were running dangerously low so You and Se mi were sent to get some more. Along with a scouting the new area to check for more of the 'infected'.

Mounting your horses, you both set out at dawn, beyond the gates of Jackson. It was about midday when you finally arrived at said location that your boss had give you.

The women next to you was your partner Se mi. She wore a brown leather jacket with padding inside paired with worn out jeans. You on the other hand wore a long dark trench coat with a winter hat and thick grey jeans.

No scouts had checked this area yet so you both were sent here to investigate and bring back sufficient supplies.

"So chief, what do you think? Looks like the area isn't swarmed with infected yet." Se mi pointed out while she stops beside you with her chestnut brown horse.

Rolling your eyes at the ravenette, you carefully examine the map in your hands. "Look, I'm sure they're still here. They might be hiding somewhere."

Unfortunately your hunch was correct. A small hoard of infected indeed have been hiding underneath the gaps of the houses.

They had awakened after hearing the noises from the horses. Having no choice, you both had barred yourselves in an abandoned school after successfully killing a handful of the 'zombies' on the way there.

"Shit that was close," you huffed as you bring out your torchlight and then grabbed Se mi's hand.

"Maybe we can find the break room and turn the generator on. Get some rest and stock up on supplies then leave. How does that sound?"

Se mi was too focused on you holding her hand since you usually don't initiate in skinship unless you wanted to. Smiling to herself, she gives your hand a light squeeze.

"Yeah sure, just don't get scared shitless if an infected happened to sneak in ", she snickered as you huffed in annoyance.

"Way to ruin the mood", you shook your head in disappointment as you both make your way further into the desolate building.

"You still love me though."

It took a while to reach the basement but you eventually did. You both were in shock as you descend the wooden planks of the stairs.

"Holy shit! There's pot down here?"Se mi whisper shouted, just in case somebody heard them.

There were mini greenhouses full of weed and someone's personal belongings scattered everywhere.

You hastily made your way to the breakers and turn the lights and heating on. " You think Old man Richie lives here?", you suggested as you look at some items and papers with charts scattered on a desk.

"Hmm probably, idk I haven't seen him in a while," Se mi says with a rolled up blunt in her mouth, already lighting it.

"You gotta be kidding me, there's no way you're trying to get high now. We're supposed to be looking for supplies!," you huffed as you went to grab the blunt from in between Se mi's lips.

She had already taken a huge drag and blowing it out. The strong smell of weed hung in the air, making you scrunch your nose. You weren't really a huge fan of it. Sw mi knew ofcourse but she's just being a little shit.

"Since we're here we might as well have some fun," Se mi drawled as she pulls you closer to her. You had to cover her mouth with your hand to block the smell from reaching your nose.

"Uh uh , not after having that crap-", you exclaimed before getting cutoff by Se mi. She quickly grabbed hold of your wrist, and brang your hand to her chest. Her heart rate had increased as you look up to see that her eyes had begun to dliate.

"See this? This is how you're making me feel right now. Absolutely crazy," Se mi pointed out as her voice goes on octave deeper. Leaning down she lightly grazes your lips with hers as your breath hitches. She glances into your eyes, silently asking for your permission.

Seeing as there was no way out of this, you gave in. Pressing your lips against hers with fervent as you reach up to entangle you fingers into her raven hair. You tug at it gently, pulling out a low groan from Se mi as she deepens the kiss.

Her lips were slightly chapped but it didn't bother you as much, they were still soft. Tasting the weed on her tongue as she slowly backs you up to the sofa behind you.

Yelping as soon as she picks you up behind your legs and plops you down onto the soft cushions. They were slightly dirty but that wasn't really on your mind right now. Se mi had crawled ontop of you to pull you in for another heated kiss. Whispering sweet nothings againgst your lips while you let out soft moans. Bucking up mindlessly against her hips.

"Daddy please-," you unexpectedly let out making Se mi stop for a second. Her eyes slowly turned dark from lust as she asks you to repeat what you just said. Blinking in confusion you think back to what you said.

"Daddy please...?", Se mi sat there , sinking in the given pet name and something in her snapped. She's never been called that before, but she likes it. She really likes it.

Quickly stripping you, she left you in just your underwear. Burying her face into your neck to leave harsh kisses and bites all along your supple skin. She rips off your bra before attaching her lips onto your erected nipples, sucking and swirling around both buds carefully.

Her hand reaches down towards your heat, already feeling a wet spot on your underwear.

"Huh.. that wet for me already? Just from a few kisses?" She chuckles darkly as she removes the dainty piece of clothing onto the floor beside you.

You feel her push in her index finger into you, slowly, making sure you would feel every inch of her girthy finger. The feeling of her fingers stretching you oh so deliciously got you drooling - fuck even Se mi seemed to be enjoying this more than you. Picking up the pace, she was practically fucking you with her rough fingers. Abusing your sopping wet cunt while mindlessly sucking your boob's, taking turns on each one.

Her pace never once faltered, not when you looked so good when throwing your head back in pleasure and moaning out her name. Se mi, bit each and every inch of skin she could reach, while her fingers remained curled inside you. You were so close.

"Shit Se mi! Gonna cum - please I'm gonna..-"

"Do it. Cum all over my fingers baby" she hissed as she looks down at you through her lashes. Admiring your ruined form with a lazy smirk.

Just like that you saw white. You came so fucking hard from just her fingers, panting and trembling slightly as she helped you ride your orgasm. Until she pulls out her strap tucked underneath her jeans. " wha-- why do you have that on?", you manage to breathe out as she gently taps the plastic onto your stimulated pussy.

"Eh, idk just felt like it," she shrugged as you place you head back onto the armrest of the couch. "That's really dirty of you, you know that right-?". Your breath caught in your throat as she pushes her length into your tight warm cunt. It's been a while since she's fucked you, so deep down, you were excited.

With her hands bruising your ass, she latches her lips onto your left nipple, repeating the action as her dick fucked you deep and slow. You reach down to rest your hand on her cheek and led her into a messy kiss, she responded by pushing her tongue past your lips. Exploring each and every corner of your mouth inside.

The room filled with the smell of weed, sweat and sex as the two of you made out. Se mi smirked againgst your lips as you whine in frustration because she was going too slow.

"What's wrong princess? You want me to go faster?" She muses as you nod profusely.

"Use your words~"

"Please daddy, I want you to go faster...!" Like a flick of a switch, her hands gripped your hips, before thrusting into you. She buckled her hips into you , her dick bruising your cervix and making your velvet walls tighten around her.

"Good girl...", she whispers into your ear as she begins to ruin you.

Her fingers left marks on your skin, she reached up to grope your breasts while kissing you lazily. The weed coming into affect yet again, all while pounding your poor dripping pussy.

Her dick kept on sliding in and out of you while you guys made out on the couch. Smirking proudly at your breathless moans and cries of pleasure. You looked heavenly to her, your wispy hair fell messily around your head like a halo, and your cheeks were tinted a rosy pink.

"That's it gorgeous, keep making those sounds for me only. You like me pounding you like this? Like when I turn you into a mess?"

Oh the way she makes you crumble beneath her touch. How were you supposed to answer when she was fucking you so deeply that you've become dumbed out?

You moaned rather loudly as she presses down on the bulge her dick made on your stomach. Whimpering slightly as you scrape her toned back with your nails, feeling another orgasm approach.

"You gonna cum for me babe? I'm close too, go on cum on this dick! Cream on this dick for me right now".

Her pace quickened yet again and was pounding into you impossibly deeper. Burying the strap deep inside you 'till none of it could be seen visibly. Her grip on you was merciless as you moaned into her mouth, finally letting your orgasm wash out.

With one last harsh thrust into your dripping wet cunt, she bit down onto your neck as she too releases her cum into the plastic dildo attached to her. Your legs trembled once you came on her dick. The aftershocks from your orgasm stayed a while as you both lay together on the couch with Se mi resting ontop of you.

"Damnn, that was hot. Didn't know you had it in you darling," she shakily breathed out with a proud smile on her face, as the affect from the weed had slowly began to wear off.

"So...smart ass, how're we gonna get cleaned up?" You say after a while, crossing your arms across your chest. Glaring at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Hey calm down, I'm sure the old geezer has a shower down here. Don't worry, we'll figure it out".

Pressing soft kisses all over your face and across the dark marks across your body. She slowly starts getting you both dressed.

At the end of the day, she only cares about you and your wellbeing. So soft aftercare is must after a long session like this.

"Next time don't smoke infront of me, at least not on missions."

"Sure thing princess, anything for you".

Ps: I know this is short but I hope you enjoyed it!

@mattm1964

[piningforstan]

Leave Them

Summary: You’re really impressed with Stan after fighting the zombies. And his brass knuckles.

Pairings: Stanley Pines x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: 18+, this is SMUT, smut without plot, fingering, kind of praise kink, inappropriate use of brass knuckles

A/N: forgive me Father (Alex Hirsch) for I have sinned (wrote smut about Stan Pines)

“You-You saved us.”

The details of Stan’s face sharpened in clarity as he approached, looking wary and handsome as ever. Even in the darkness, you could see his gaze drift over you, examining for any injury. You couldn’t imagined how you looked — you had just been attacked by a horde of townspeople-turned-zombies — but whatever he saw must have sated him. His large hand ghosted your cheek.

“You alright, kid?”

Without permission, you leaned into his touch. You nodded. Ever the genius, you repeated, “You saved us.”

Stan returned a strained smile. “Someone had to. Might as well’ve been me.”

You racked your brain for something more intelligent to say, perhaps a thank you. The remains of fear stilled gripped you, though, along with the image of Stan fighting the undead. You had never seen him in action before. Of course, you’d heard his stories about his past, about boxing, but like everything that Stanford Pines said, you had to take it with a grain of salt.

He wasn’t lying. At least about this.

Watching him had ignited something primal and core-clenching inside you, an ember of desire only fanned more by his close proximity. You decided that words would not be sufficient enough to express your gratitude, instead rocking up on your toes and grabbing Stan by the lapels.

You half expected shock or resistance when you pressed your mouth to his. But, to your relief, there was none of that. Almost as if you had done it a million times before, Stan immediately slipped one hand behind your head and one around your waist. His mouth was equally if not more fervent than your own, consuming you with an abandon that confirmed his feelings for you.

All of the words you wished you could say you poured into that kiss. A silent conversation between both of you, the ebb and flow of a tide, crashing into you with unfettered intensity. It wasn’t long before you needed more. Breath fanning across your face, Stan steered you backwards, cushioning the blow as he cornered you against the wall. A groan escaped you that he seemed determined to capture, replacing his mouth on yours once more — then your neck, your collar, amassing sound after sound from you.

It didn’t take long before you were helping him out of his jacket, tugging at the buttons of his undershirt. Stan kept his hands at your waist, securing you against the wall, against him, moving only to let his jacket slip down his shoulders. They caught on his wrists, the brass knuckles he wore.

Stan swore. “Fuckin’ hell —”

“Leave them,” you said, touching his arm.

Stan paused to peer at you strangely. A blush warmed your face, prompting his to split into a crooked grin. “Leave ’em, eh?”

He promptly maneuvered the jacket off with impressive dexterity, which only made you that much more eager for his touch. Your whole body seemed to sigh as he flicked open your jeans, fingers warm and calloused and wonderful. He shoved your pants down to your thighs then placed his free hand between your legs.

“Oh, doll, you’re killin’ me,” he growled, finger curving upwards almost by reflex at your slickness. Your hips ground into his hand. “Say it again.”

“What?” You breathed, arcing into his palm. He teased your entrance, keeping you from what you really wanted.

“What you said. Before,” he clarified, voice rasping, deeper than usual.

You reached through the haze of desire clouding your brain, panting out, “You saved us. Saved me.”

“That’s right, couldn’t let nothin’ happen to you,” Stan muttered into your neck. One finger buried itself inside you and you cry out in surprise, in pleasure. “You’re mine. My girl.”

Another finger, then a third, stretching you out. Even just the slightest of ministrations has you gasping. He curled his fingers, coaxed out your orgasm, wrist snapping. White light blurred the edges of your vision. Right when you think that you might release, he removed his fingers. You barely have time to protest when he replaced them with something else.

Something cool and distinctly metal.

“Stan.” You grabbed hold of the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Since you like ’em so much,” he grunted in way of reply. He pressed the ridges of the brass knuckles against you, brushed your clit, along the sensitive skin of your thighs.

Already you can feel yourself unraveling, bucking up into the combined feel of his skin and the metal of the brass knuckles. Stan watched you almost obsessively, as if to commit every second of this to memory — his body on yours, your undoubtedly swollen lips, the way you pant out his name with each touch.

Stan is completely in control, releasing and providing more pressure depending on your reaction. You hissed. “Stop—teasing.”

“I dunno what you’re talking about.”

The metal pressed to your clit. You inhaled. His opposite hand reached up to palm your breast, thumb brushing over your raised nipple. It’s almost too much, Stan like this, confident and solid and breathless. Your body bowed to him, pliant like a plant bending towards the sun, desperate for the faintest touch.

“That’s right,” Stan rasped, “Come for me. Let me hear ya.”

Your head fell back. The combination of his heady smell and the cool metal, his knee pushing your legs apart to better access you, pushes you to the edge. He’s there to catch you as you take the plunge, free falling, ecstasy sweeping over you. There’s nothing to anchor you except him — Stan — holding you upright as you shuddered through your climax.

“Never knew they could be used for more than kicking ass,” Stan said with a laugh.

You swatted at him. Hopefully in the dark he couldn’t see you blush. “Shut up.”

Hands curling in his lapels again, you pulled him to you, more than eager to return the favor, when there’s a loud thump from upstairs. The sound made both of you freeze.

“Grunkle Stan? Are they gone?”

It’s Mabel. Shit. You both forgot that the kids had retreated upstairs to hide.

Stan groaned, pinching his nose. There’s a trace of promise in his eyes when he glanced at you, making sure that you’re both buttoned and tidied and separated before the kids shuffled downstairs, eyes widened with fear.

“They’re, uh, all gone. Nothin’ to worry ‘bout,” Stan said. Dipper and Mabel ran across the room to hug him and he bent to one knee to accept it.

Your heart fluttered with happiness. You’re alive, and more important the kids are alive. And Stan returned your feelings.

Never one to linger too long in sentiment, Stan started ordering the twins to start clean-up. You’re watching the entire thing unfold when he caught your eye and darted his tongue over the brass knuckles before removing them and tucking them into his suit pocket.

Oh, you’re definitely returning the favor.

[the-thing-withfeathers]

let me do this (w.a)

a/n: short little wednesday drabble that i quickly wrote on my flight back. this one’s for emma cause she asked nicely.

pairing: wednesday addams x female reader

—

you knew she was busy with the investigation, and you were fine with it.

it was definitely hard though. you weren’t safe from her suspect list, but despite her brutal interrogation tactics, you stayed.

you had no intention of wanting to end the relationship, you knew she was just trying to be cautious. you couldn’t blame her for that.

some days hurt more than others, when she was particularly suspicious of you. you were just as much of an outcast as everyone else. sometimes your name would come up with leads and when she knocked at your door, you expected affectionate company rather than her prying questions.

but then again, you loved her. and you stayed.

you were curled up in her bed, she had gone out to follow a lead. but you wanted pieces of her, you wanted to feel her presence.

you stirred at the sound of the door opening, her boots lightly thumping against the ground.

“wednesday?” you muttered as you pushed yourself up, trying to get a glimpse of her. you managed to sit yourself up at the edge of the bed, the light from the hallway grazing your skin.

she dropped her bag on the ground and beelined for the bed like a zombie that has recently sound her footing.

your gaze softened, she looked exhausted. it must have been a bad turnout, you could see the energy leaving her body.

“mm…” she grumbled, plopping down on the bed. you watched her as she just sat there, there was nothing behind her eyes except tiredness.

you had to do something.

you stood up from the bed and got on your knees in front of her, your fingers undoing the laces of her shoes.

“you don’t have to…” she forced out, her voice hoarse.

“zip it.” you commanded. you knew she would be against this. wednesday hated being the one taken cared of. she hated how vulnerable she must look in front of you. but you didn’t care, she needed this. so you cut off any chance she had to protest.

she remained silent.

she knew that once you put your mind to something, there was no going back. you two were alike in that way, except you led with your heart more than she did. she admired you for it even if she never says it.

you tugged her boots off her feet. first the left foot, then the right. she sighed in relief as her feet were freed from the constraints of her shoes. you saw her stretch her legs slightly as you put her shoes by her closet.

while you were there, you pulled the doors to the closet open. you carefully selected her sleeping clothes, you knew she liked specific ones the most. you walked back over to her, setting them down on the bed.

she reached over to them but you inched them away.

“wednesday. please, just let me.” you said, firmly but pleading with her. she retracted her hand.

your fingers gripped the hem of her shirt, lifting it above her head. you paused before undoing her bra, making eye contact with her. she nodded and gave you permission. you unclasped her bra and let it fall onto the floor. you slipped the pajama shirt over her head, watching it fall over her body.

you repeated the process with her pants, leaving a soft kiss on her stomach as you raised her sleeping shorts. that sent goosebumps up her neck. she didn’t expect it but she wasn’t disappointed. in fact, she found herself wanting more.

you sat her back down on the bed, walking to her dresser and grabbing her black brush. you hesitated at first, she had stopped you twice now, but you had to try. your fingers held onto her braids, carefully undoing the bands that held them together. you untangled them gently. her soft, sily hair threading through your fingers with ease. you knew she maintained her hair well, but feeling it— really feeling it, it felt angelic.

you turned her to her side and sat behind her. pulling her let-down hair towards yourself, letting the strands rest on her back. you held her brush and combed it through her raven locks. she ‘mm’ed in approval, her eyes fluttering shut at the wave of relaxation she felt.

“feels good.” she said, almost a whisper.

“i’m glad.” you responded in the same tone of voice, parting her hair into sections that you could brush through. the initially separation partitions started to come together. you brushed her hair away from her neck, leaning in and planting a soft kiss there. you ditched the brush and snaked your hands around her waist, continuing your soft kisses.

god, she looked beautiful like this. her hair down, her face bare, and her body covered in soft cotton. you wanted to savour this moment for as long as she would let you.

“better?”

“much.”

“lay on your stomach.” you told her, she followed your request and situated herself on the mattress. her eyes were closing, her body ready to drift off to slumber. she released a soft moan at the feeling of her pillow. you straddled her back, one knee on each of her sides. you planted your palms against her back, applying pressure. she groaned as a response, this felt way too good.

you pushed your thumbs against her shoulder blades, watching as the tension in her shoulder started to fizzle. soft hums escaped her lips as you pushed against her muscles, unraveling the knots that had formed under her skin.

“where’d you learn this?” she asked, wanting to converse with you a bit more. she knew she had been neglecting you recently, her mind failing to stop running with thoughts of her investigation.

“uh…” you paused for a second, pressing down on the small of her back. “youtube.” you chuckled softly.

“oh, this must’ve been a really good video then.” she stretched slightly as you dismounted her back.

“it was! i don’t actually remember how i stumbled upon it though.” you plopped yourself down on the opposite side of the bed, keeping a reasonable distance. “it was one of those videos that randomly pop up out of nowhere!”

wednesday had never been the cuddling type. she often slept with her hands crossed her chest like a corpse inside a sarcophagus.

but tonight— tonight was different.

she couldn’t get enough of you, and the guilt was eating away at her. she missed you. she couldn’t say it outloud but she missed you terribly.

how could you sit through all this neglect and still be so good to her?

your head was turned away, your arm resting under it. your other arm was draped across your stomach. her tired eyes eyed your chest.

she shifted towards you and slowly planted her head on your chest. you looked like you could have gotten whiplash with how fast you turned to look at her.

“sorry.” she mumbled, “didn’t mean to startle you.” she said through a yawn. you shook your head.

“you didn’t startle me.” you said. “we just… we never… we don’t…”

“i know. and i’m sorry about that too.” her hand wrapped around yours, followed by a soft kiss pressed to your knuckles.

she was sorry? for not cuddling with you?

“you don’t have to be sorry. i know you’re not into this.”

“i want to be… i mean… with you. i’d like to be like this with you.” her eyelids were starting to close again but she wasn’t done yet.

“i’d like that.” you nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

but that just wasn’t enough.

with her last remaining strength, she hoisted herself up a bit more and captured your lips in a passionate kiss. there was some form of fire behind that lip-lock, restarting the oxygen-choked flame that your relationship had suffered over the past few days.

you needed her. but you tried to pull away, concerned at her tired state.

“no…” she pulled you closer again. she kissed you again and again and again until her body gave out. and yet, she craved more.

“wednesday.” you uttered. she tutted her lips at you.

“let me do this.”

[marvelstoriesepic]

Whumpcember (day 12)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Zombie apocalypse au)

Prompt: I have nowhere else to go

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: Enemies to lovers; zombies; mentions of murder; blood; death

Author’s note: This got a little too long for a fic that was initially meant to be a Drabble but I couldn’t bring myself to let it end earlier. And this was quite fun, since I’ve never written something like this before.

[Divider by @sweetmelodygraphics ]

Masterlist | Whumpcember Masterlist

Your side is stinging terribly, pulsing with every unsteady step.

Your legs fail at mimicking a normal stride, falling back into a limp.

Your hands tremble, defying every command to just stay still.

Your lungs sear with every breath, dragging air like fire down a raw throat.

Your head swims in chaotic loops, spinning with images and echoes you can’t escape.

Your shoulder and back throb from an impact you took earlier, sharp pain shooting up your spine with every jolt of your uneven stride.

The enormity of what just happened refuses to fit neatly into thought.

The sun is not even all up in the sky and your day already took a turn so cruel, you are teetering on the edge of collapse.

You stopped keeping track of time since this whole apocalyptic shit began but it's safe to say that you just lost everything you had in the span of maybe three hours.

You are exhausted. You are tired. You are in fear. You are in shock.

Acknowledging all of that is dangerous right now.

The world feels off-kilter.

Nausea rises again. Though there is nothing left in your stomach. You already emptied it on the forest floor before you stumbled into the trees, desperate to escape.

The acrid taste still lingers at the back of your throat.

The trees around you sway in your periphery, tall shadows painted in moonlight. It’s not the wind that makes them sway. It’s your vision. Branches claw at the sky like the dread claws at your resolve.

Your body is screaming at you to stop and collapse into the dirt, but you know if you let it, you won’t ever stand back up again.

You have to keep going.

You have to press on.

Your world has crumbled into rot and hunger, and all you have left is the instinct to run.

Run and survive.

Whatever that means now.

You have no sense of the distance you’ve put between you and the nightmarish scene you had to leave behind, no measure of the miles your aching legs already crossed.

You don’t know if they are right behind you. If they’re even coming for you.

It was barely dawn when they came.

It wasn’t a warning shot or a distant sound that reached the camp first. No, it was the impact.

The sound of boots trampling through the undergrowth, bodies charging through the trees, wild shapes silhouetted against the rising sun. Barked commands that carried no meaning, only menace.

You had barely time to register what was happening when they were already in the heart of the camp.

They scattered supplies, spilled meager rations into the dirt, kicked apart the fire pit still faintly glowing from the night before when your small group all sat in a circle around it.

With the first scream, violence erupted.

Blades flashed and mocking laughter rang out from all sides as you heard your companions cry out in terror and pain.

They scrambled from their makeshift shelters, some clutching weapons, others still groggy, confused, unarmed. There was no time to gather thoughts, no time to plan. The raiders were already upon you, tearing through tents and slaughtering everyone in their way.

You watched as Caleb lunged for them, but they cut him down before he even reached anybody.

You tried to get little Benjamin to safety but he got ripped away from you in a matter of seconds and you only felt the slash of a knife against your side.

You heard the guttural sobs of Jonna and her wide eyes as she couldn’t tear them off the lifeless body of her husband. You tried to reach her, grabbing her and getting her away but before you could, she got hit and fell. Just like her husband had moments earlier.

The thud of bodies hitting the ground, the clash of metal, the desperate screams of the people you knew and trusted, cutting off as quickly as they began, the splattered blood everywhere across the ground, slick on leaves, staining clothes of people who’d been alive only seconds earlier. Blood that is all over you, painted in your hair, in your face, on your hands-

You heave the bile against a nearby tree.

Your throat burns. The images burn. The memories burn.

The world is already torn apart as it is but they ripped at everything you had fought for.

You were pinned on the ground at one point. Brutally shoved down and the impact took your breath away. However, you were able to move out of the way of the knife that was meant for your face and instead buried into the ground. The surprise of your attacker weakened his hold on you and you were able to flee, but not without taking a few more hits.

Your friends were dead. Everything was destroyed.

So you ran.

You ran, stumbled, fell, scrambled up, and ran again.

You wondered if the raiders stayed to strip your makeshift camp bare or if they followed you. The last one alive. The one that slipped through their grasp.

Or maybe they’ve decided you’re not worth the effort, and your life hangs by nothing but chance.

After all, you feel death knocking on your door. And it will kick it in, hinges breaking and wood splintering if you don’t open it yourself.

But you won’t.

You push on. You will push your body to its breaking point.

Even if your mind shatters way before your body does.

Because you know you will crumble if you allow your thoughts to win over your body.

You just lost everything you had.

Your group was only on the move.

The camp was supposed to be a fleeting thing. A place to catch your breath from traveling. This morning you were all supposed to pack what little you had and keep moving and get closer to the sanctuary you had spoken of. A place you were going to build. A place where no raid, no nightmare, no lifeless beast could touch you.

So, if you had risen earlier, broken down the camp faster, perhaps this wouldn’t have happened. Perhaps your friends - the few people who so graciously took you in almost two years ago - would still be alive.

You don’t even know who the marauders were. They came out of nowhere.

A realization makes your blood run cold.

Something you remembered only now.

The sounds.

You heard it between the screams of your friends at one point. Low, throaty, and too familiar. The kind of sound that makes your pulse rise and pricks the back of your neck.

It was the sound you learned to fear. The sound your world had been drowning in for years now.

The sound of the dead - those shambling remnants of humanity, curses to wander the earth as mindless husks.

You remember the way they started moving so differently than when they came into your camp - some of them sluggish, others unnervingly erratic.

And you begin to wonder. Perhaps they had been bitten before raiding your camp.

And perhaps that’s the reason they came. They knew their time was up. They probably felt the infection eating at them, death clawing closer. Maybe attacking your group was their last violent eruption of humanity, the last thing they did with a conscious mind before they fell to the disease that had already claimed their souls.

They didn’t have anything left to lose. No loved ones to mourn. No future to fight for. Just an empty void ahead. A transformation into something even crueler than the monsters they already were. Perhaps they wanted this last conscious act to mean something. To carve their names into the memory of the world before they became nothing more than rotting corpses, stumbling through the dirt without a single thought in mind.

It makes you sick.

If they wanted to be remembered, they succeeded. You will remember. You will remember the massacre, the destruction, the screams, the wicked laughter that curdled your blood.

You will remember them because the screams of the people you came to love and trust have planted themselves into your chest and they won’t ever leave.

Maybe that’s what they wanted. To leave a mark, no matter how meaningless, no matter how vile. Or maybe they simply wanted to take something beautiful and shred it before they joined the walking rot.

Either way, they are gone now and you are left.

Alone.

You are left alone.

On the way to the one place you never thought your feet would lead you to again.

The one you meant to leave behind. To forget. To never return to. To move on.

Though you have to admit to yourself it never worked as well as you had hoped.

It has been two years since you left.

Two years of telling you to lock those doors with memories you tried to forget for so long.

And now, the thought of going back lets dread curl around your chest. It’s the dread of walking into a place you don’t know if you’re welcome anymore. The dread of facing what you left behind - facing who you left behind.

But there is also a flicker of something else. Something that feels too fragile, too dangerous to name. You tell yourself it’s nothing - just a memory, nostalgia - but you can’t quite smother it.

Because those people were your family once. Before you left, before you found the group you traveled with these last two years, they were your everything. Your friends, your loved ones, your sanctuary.

They were the ones that held you together when the world fell apart, the ones who gave you a purpose in this now purposeless society.

You left them behind to find something that you lost again just earlier.

The new group you had come to call your own, the people you fought beside, laughed with, dreamed with. All gone. Taken from you in a single, brutal morning. By people you couldn’t even take revenge on anymore. By people who aren’t even people anymore.

And you know your new companions never replaced your first family but they were home nonetheless.

But now, you have nowhere else to go but the place you called home first.

Though, would you really be welcome after all this time?

Would they let you in? Would they open their gates and arms for you?

Would he let you in?

Because truly, that is the only question that matters. You know the hearts of the others, know that they would be happy to see you again.

Sam, with his wide toothy grin. He’d throw his arms around you and clap you on the back and tell you something that would make you laugh despite everything.

Steve, with that glint in his eyes. Because he never truly believed you wouldn’t return.

Wanda, with the tears in her gaze. She’d pull you into her embrace, whispering how she’d prayed for this and never given up hope.

Natasha, with her amused smirk. She’d stand a step behind with her arms crossed and tease you that it only took two years for you to miss them enough to lose all the dignity you could hold onto and came back.

And all the others who would greet you with happy smiles and tears and hugs. Because that’s who they are. Who they’ve always been. They are pure love for those they call their own.

And you have been one of them.

Of course, your sight would first be met with concern at your condition, but the joyful reunion would eventually happen. Banner would fuss over you but keep the worry out of his calm hands and voice like the professional he is. Tony would bark orders, his mind already working ten steps ahead. Peter would hover nearby, ready to help, ready to do whatever was needed to put you back together.

You imagine how they would patch you up, make sure you didn’t collapse right there at their feet. They’d press water into your hands, bandage the gashes, stitch the torn skin. They would give you time to breathe, to settle.

A smile almost manages to spread over your lips but the exhaustion in your bones tugs the corners of your mouth back down.

And there is this one person you’re not sure about. What will he do when he sees you? What will he say? Will he say anything at all?

There is a reason you left, after all.

The community you all lived in was a big one with men and women and children and elders all sharing a beautiful and vast space.

You had all agreed on not having a single leader to rule but rather having the few most trusted people who started this whole thing to do councils every so often.

Once, you were one of them.

You would meet up, usually when the night had already started, discussing and making decisions - everything involving supply runs, how to keep the walls protected, how to celebrate a birth or mourn a loss, and so on.

Bucky was a part of that as well.

And that’s where the trouble lay.

You two never really seemed to see each other eye to eye. You would fight and banter - him calling you stubborn and reckless, you calling him pragmatic and intolerant. The disagreements were constant, heated, and sometimes public enough to turn heads and the other council members to end up disappointed and helpless.

It went on like that for years. Though the day it all fell apart will forever live in the cracks of your mind. Guilt never dulls no matter how much distance you put between them and yourself.

It was a supply run. Something that’s been routine by now. A scavenging mission into hostile territory, dangerous but necessary. Food was running low, medicine almost gone.

You were walking through the woods - a sector closer to dead zone, but Bucky and you were both fueled by anger at the other’s stubbornness to pay attention to the little group of people you took with you. They were good at ignoring your bickering.

“We do it my way. Slow, methodical. We’re not losin’ anyone because of some reckless stunt.” His tone was flat. Final.

“I’ve never put anyone in danger, Bucky,” you defended with fire in your voice.

Bucky’s voice was hard. “You charge in without thinkin’, every single time-”

“Yes, and I always do that alone, Barnes. Don’t you think I know the risks? I wouldn’t ask anyone to-”

“Damn it, Y/n,” he cut off, voice sharp. “It’s bad enough that you do it-”

“If we only ever go slow, people will starve. We can’t afford to waste time, Barnes. You want to lose them sitting on your hands instead of taking a risk? That’s on you, not on me.”

Bucky talked lower then, harshly.“That’s not taking a risk, Y/n! That’s fuckin’ suicide.”

The actual mistake was in the silence that followed. No compromise, no meeting of minds. Just the brittle quiet that stretched between you both and the tension that lingered even over the other group members walking with you.

Bucky’s jaw was tight, his steps heavy. Yours were no lighter.

It happened fast. As it always did. One moment, the woods were still, only the crunch of the leaves underfoot and a few insects in bushes and trees surrounding you.

The next, groans split the air, coming from every direction - shadows lurking between trees, their figures misshapen, their eyes empty.

There were too many of them. That was clear from the first breath, but you didn’t have time to process it, to count.

You shouted for the group to move, to break toward the clearing just ahead and they started rushing away until Bucky’s voice rose behind you. His commanding tone seethed in your veins.

“No! Fall back - circle to the ridge!”

But the clearing was closer. The clearing was safer.

So you said as much.

But that’s all the hesitation it took for the dead to gather closer. Close enough.

You lost precious time, precious ground. The damage had already been done.

Two people didn’t make it. Two lives, lost in the spaces between your choices.

The argument that followed was like nothing before. No banter. Not bickering. It was an unfiltered and ugly thing, charged by your guilt and his. Words were thrown, accusations hurled. It was awful.

And when the shouting stopped, there was nothing but silence. Thick. Unbearable.

Neither of you could let go of your anger, your grief, your pride long enough to see that you’d both failed them.

That day something shattered in your connection. Whatever that had been. The tension that always accompanied your relationship. It felt corrosive. Wrong.

And that’s when you made the decision. The decision to leave, that now led you to come back again.

Will he resent you? That thought is a blade that has turned itself dull from too much use, yet it still cuts at you in ways you can’t dodge.

You imagine him standing there, arms crossed, his face as unreadable as it would be stoic, staring at you with the fire that always burned behind his eyes.

Will he even let you step inside? Or will his anger boil over and turn you away, pushing you back into the wilderness you barely even escaped from?

Will he relish in your brokenness, in the way life has stripped you down to your very bones? Will he find satisfaction in seeing you this fragile, this vulnerable, clinging to scraps of pride as your body barely holds itself together? The image of his piercing gaze, not softened by time or mercy, sends a shiver down your spine.

But it also just might be your body starting to give out, you realize when more shivers whack your form.

You push on.

And you wonder. Could there maybe also be relief in those eyes, hidden behind the mask he always wears so well. Relief that you’re still alive, that whatever dark roads you’ve walked since haven’t claimed you completely.

Or would that relief be poisoned by something bitter - the satisfaction not of your survival, but of seeing you humbled, seeing you brought low enough to crawl back to him, back to the home you lied to yourself you were fine living without.

You picture his face shifting. A flicker of something softer crossing his features before he buries it deep. Will it pain him to see the bruises painted across your skin, the blood that’s long since dried on your hands and clothes, the tremble in your limbs while you stand before him like a ghost returned from the grave?

Will he turn you away, disgusted not by your injuries but by the weakness they represent?

You wonder if he’d speak at all. Silence, from him, could be worse than anger. After all, anger means caring. You don’t get angry if you don’t care.

So, perhaps you will be left to fill the empty space with your many regrets and guilty feelings.

Maybe he won’t even look at you. Don’t throw you a single glance, his gaze fixed somewhere distant.

But your conscience can’t help but imagine things.

Because what if he’d feel something he wouldn’t dare admit, not even to himself. That the faintest pull of relief isn’t for the pain you’re in, not for the way life has broken you, but that it is for the simple fact that you’re here, alive, breathing. Maybe that relief would be buried under layers of what he’d felt for you all those years. But it would be there.

Honestly, you don’t think you will ever get an answer to any of those questions. Because you feel your mind start to drift too much. As if the images in your head start to turn into dreams and your body is luring you into sleep to live them out.

You’re giving up.

And you are still not close enough to your old and now only sanctuary despite walking and dragging your frail form for hours and miles on end.

Your head is spinning, images and voices now blurred and upside down and all wrong.

Not even noticing you stopped dragging yourself forward, you start to lean the whole weight of your body against a nearby tree.

The bark is rough against your skin, scraping through fabric, digging into bruises, and tearing them raw. It should hurt. You know it should hurt, but it barely even registers anymore. It’s just another sensation - one more thing slipping away.

Your eyelids droop. They feel so heavy. The forest is shapeless around you, just a mess of color and shadow.

Your breaths come shallow and uneven, lungs forgetting to do their job. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you know this is it. This is where you’ll stop, where you’ll finally collapse and leave it all behind.

And the thought somehow isn’t as terrifying anymore. There’s a strange, unfamiliar peace blooming in your chest. You think about how your body would lie here, half-curled in the dirt, skin pale and bloodied, eyes forever closed.

Bucky might find you.

One day he might stumble upon your corpse on the ground. Maybe he’ll kneel beside your lifeless form, the frown on his face deepening, lips pressing into a grim line. Maybe he’ll tell you that he was right. That you were reckless and should have listened. Maybe his voice will tremble just a little.

The bickering you shared will follow you even into death.

The thought makes you want to laugh, but your body is too far gone for that. It’s barely your body anymore. It’s a shell of nothing. The world tilts, spins, then tilts again. You feel yourself begin to let go.

You won’t wake up. Not this time. And somehow, that’s okay. The peace blossoms brighter in your chest, warm and soft, as if the weight of the world is finally lifting.

You lost everything you had. And not even just today. You lost it two years ago when you decided it was the best to leave your home.

Your eyes slip shut and you don’t try to press them back open again. Your body is slumping to the ground, bark scraping against you, the ground rushing closer. The cold earth is pressed against your face. Your breath falters and slows.

Your body feels dead by now but your mind still blinks with awareness. And funnily enough, it can’t seem to let go of Bucky. His sharp face. His strong voice, the cadence of it so deeply carved into your memory that it echoes so clearly as if he were sitting right beside you.

“Y/n!”

“Shit, Y/n!”

It calls your name. The sound so urgent and frantic, it pulls you back for a fleeting second, though you are sure none of your muscles even twitch.

You are actually impressed with yourself. His voice sounds so real, so vivid. How is your mind able to conjure something so precise on the verge of unraveling completely? It’s him, down to the inflection, the roughness, the bite.

But you know it isn’t really him. That wouldn’t make any sense. Your mind is exaggerating. You’ve blown the image of him out of proportion, dressed him in a panic he wouldn’t wear for you, not for this.

If he found you like this - broken, slumped, slipping away - perhaps his voice wouldn’t even crack.

The day you said your goodbyes, Bucky wasn’t even there with the others. He wasn’t there when you hugged Sam, his arms lingering around you. Not when Steve couldn’t evoke a smile that wasn’t tight or sad. Not when Wanda touched your cheek with shaking fingers, her tearful eyes searching you for a reason to make you stay and telling you you’d always be welcome to come back home. Not when Natasha ordered you, not to get yourself killed out there, what was a little too late now.

You didn’t really expect him to come. Actually, it was better this way, you had thought. Cleaner. No last harsh words, no heated standoff, no last-minute chance for him to dig deep again.

Some stubborn, foolish part of you had hoped of course.

But that was when you saw him as you made your way to the gates.

He stood at the edge of the grounds you were about to leave behind, hidden in the shadows of bushes and trees. His arms were crossed over his chest, his figure rigid, his face set in stone.

You willed not to let your heart clench, but it did. You told yourself he was just there for a final gloat, some grim satisfaction in watching you go. In seeing you lose.

But his eyes held yours. So unwavering and intense. It burned through you. His features were dark, but also, he did stand covered in shadows. However, there was no smirk, no triumph, no venomous parting shot.

But he didn’t move. He didn’t step forward, didn’t say a single thing. He didn’t do anything but hold your gaze as if daring you to be the one to break it.

And you did.

You had a new life to attend to.

And you didn’t look back when leaving.

Still, you felt the burn of his eyes on you, so much more intense than ever before.

You guessed he dropped that stoic, seemingly unhappy mask the moment you were out of sight. Maybe he even threw a silent celebration, relieved to finally be free of you, of the friction you brought into his life.

But the small annoying voice in the back of your mind whispered something else. Something that actually made you consider turning back around before you got ahold of yourself again.

It told you that maybe his expression had stayed dark long after you were gone. That maybe his gaze lingered on the empty path where you’d disappeared. That maybe his arms stayed crossed, not to shield himself from the cold but to stop himself from reaching out.

And your brain now doesn’t seem to have any doubts either because you might actually feel hands shaking you, gripping your face. There weren’t many times when you came in contact with Bucky’s hands, and only fleeting and unintentional, so you don’t know if your conscience got the feeling of his hands on you right but you relish it anyway.

You hope he’d worry. You hope so much. Why, you don’t even know. It’s not like it matters anymore. But you need him to worry.

You need him to feel something sharp, something visceral. You need the cracks in his stoic armor to show and your name on his lips to sound like a prayer instead of a reprimand.

“Stay with me, Y/n! Come on!” It’s a snarl and a plea at the same time.

His voice is pulling you back - or maybe it’s pulling you under. You can’t really tell the difference. It is the kind of sound that is too rough to be tender, too desperate to be cruel.

His voice gnaws at something in your awareness, steering something deep in your bones.

Hell, your dying brain is doing a hella good job.

The world shifts again. Or maybe it’s you who shifts. The sharp bark of the tree is gone suddenly, as though the earth has abandoned you. Or perhaps your body just lost any kind of sensation, because there is nothing solid beneath you anymore. The ground is gone.

Free fall grips your stomach for a second, and panic sparks weakly in the recesses of your mind. But before the fear can take root, you feel something else. Something warm.

Not the feverish heat that’s been chewing at your skin for hours. Not the sticky warmth of blood still drying against your ribs.

No, this is something different. Hard, but not unkind. Solid, but not unforgiving. It presses against your body, and for the first time in what feels like days, it doesn’t hurt.

You don’t know what is happening. You only know you want more of it. Tilting your head as best as it would go, you lean into it as much as your useless limbs allow, seeking that warmth like it’s the only thing keeping you from succumbing to nothingness.

And then the pieces click together.

You’re being carried.

There is an arm under your legs, another braced firmly around your back. The grip is strong but it is trembling faintly against you.

You are cradled against something warm, something alive. And there is a pounding against your ear that is way too rapid to seem healthy.

None of this makes sense, not really, but the sensation of movement - the sway and jolt of steps, hurried but careful - tells you that you’re not imagining this.

Someone has you. Someone’s carrying you.

Your battered mind, of course, latches onto Bucky again.

Your brain shapes the thought of him so effortlessly. Some part of you knew it could only ever be him. You picture his face, sharp and shadowed, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark and heavy with something you don’t dare name.

“Damn it, stay with me! Stay awake!”

Is this him saying that? Or is this your mind still indulging in the vivid fantasies from before? Perhaps this wasn’t your mind all along. Perhaps all of this wasn’t a fantasy of your brain. This was him.

You feel the tight hold with which he is gripping you, how it feels less like he is carrying you and more like he’s keeping you from slipping away entirely.

It doesn’t seem like the Bucky you knew. The one who looked at you with barely concealed irritation, who argued with you until you were both red-faced and seething.

But then again, maybe it does. Maybe this is the same man, stripped bare of all his armor, his stoic resolve fractured like you had imagined. Maybe this is what he looks like when he doesn’t have time to mask the cracks.

The thought makes your chest ache. Or maybe that’s just your ribs - stabbed, bruised, barely functional. You can’t tell anymore.

You want to open your eyes, to confirm what you already know, but your eyelids are heavy, unwilling.

You want to reach for him, to feel with your hands that his worry really is your reality and not all in your head, but your arms hang limply at your sides. Useless.

But your face is pressed against his shoulder. The speeding throbbing of what you assume to be his heart is still in your ear and it makes this so much more real.

“Don’t you dare die on me now, Y/n! Not after this.” His ragged words send swaying currents through the still waters of your fading consciousness. “Not like that! Not after I’ve been looking for you for two damn years!”

Wait.

What?

The words ring like a bell, too loud, too pronounced. You feel yourself struggling with comprehending the meaning of this but the shock still rushes up your spine.

Bucky was looking for you. He didn’t celebrate your departure. He came after you.

You left two years ago. Bucky started searching for you two years ago.

“I should’ve stopped you. Fuck, I should have stopped you. I never should’ve let you leave.” His voice is a single crack. So much remorse seeping into his tone, it even latches onto your chest.

“God I’m so sorry I let you leave. I’m so sorry for everything, Y/n! There’s so much I gotta tell you. So much I gotta make right. So you don’t get to do this, alright? You don’t get to die on me!”

His voice doesn’t sound like him at all. The Bucky you remember used measured words, calculated, controlled. Doubt again creeps in that this really is real and not just your mind all up in shambles. Because there is so much pain in his voice. Pain you never saw inflicted in anything he did. Or said. Not to you at least.

Your body jolts in his grip, caused by his hands. He might have tried to shake some life back into you but his hands don’t stop shaking. They are trembling so heavily, as if he’s terrified you’re going to slip through his grasp at any second. As if you’re going to die in his arms. Maybe you will.

“You’re staying with me, you hear me?” he continues, low voice filled with gravel, so wild and anguished. “There’s so much I need to tell you. So much I need to say. But I can’t-” his voice gives out and you basically hear him trying to hold himself together. His breaths are uneven and broken. “I can’t do it like this. No, not like that. So you gotta pull through. You can’t leave me before I get the chance to tell you. Can’t die on me now that I’ve finally fucking found you. You can’t, Y/n! Please! Stay with me. Just stay.”

You try to open your eyes. Try to let your fingers twitch. Try to open your mouth. But there’s nothing.

You can’t tell him that you’re trying. You can’t tell him that you want to hear what he has to say. Can’t tell him that you’re clinging to his every word. Can’t tell him that you’re fading away.

Only a broken exhale slips through.

His arms tighten, pulling you impossibly closer.

He’s pushing himself. His muscles strain and coil, his body still trembles against you. His voice is breathless and full of despair..

“Stay awake! Look at me. Just- please open your eyes. Just for a second. I need to see them. Need to know you’re still in there, okay?” His words are torn, pulled apart, and put together in a desperate attempt. Tears fill his voice. “You always had to prove me wrong, so do it again. Fight. Fight, Y/n! Please!”

Bucky makes it sound like it could actually be easy. But unfortunately, it’s not. His voice is more distant now. Perhaps it’s giving out. Perhaps it’s the hope that leaves him, taking his voice.

Yet, you’re trying to hold onto it. You’re trying so much.

If he says more, you don’t catch it. You don’t catch anything anymore. You think you might be okay with that. Because even if this isn’t real - even if this is all just a fever dream conjured by a dying mind - you think it’s a good way to go.

Sheltered in warmth. In motion. In the arms of the one person you never thought would come for you.

[littlebearbun]

Stanley Pines x Reader; Mixed Priorities (nsfw, afab reader)

I just realized I never put this on Tumblr......

(tw: blood)

You should have been more worried.

There had been…zombies. Zombies, and Stan had protected you, Dipper, and Mabel from them. Now, you sat cross legged on your guest bed and Stan appeared in the doorway, suit torn, hair a mess, fez missing, lip split.

A drip of blood trailed down to his chin and he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. You followed the motion, telling yourself you were just worried about him and ignoring the way your mouth watered.

“You alright, toots?” Stan asked. You nodded, and only then did he relax and step into your room, as if finally able to pass a barrier.

“That was…amazing, Stanley,” you said softly, and Stan chuckled, shrugging his broad shoulders.

“It was nothin’.” You stood just before he was within your reach and gripped the lapels of his jacket.

You didn’t know what to feel. Relief that he seemed ok, as you smoothed your hands down his chest. Residual fear from what had happened. And a deep, shameful feeling, one that you wouldn’t-couldn’t-voice.

Stanley had been a vision. Powerful swings of his fists, brass knuckles gleaming in the dim light of the shack, all determination and skill and…

You weren’t sure you had ever wanted someone so badly.

“…….just protecting you.” You blinked, refocusing, eyes trained on his mouth, realizing Stan was still talking. A light flush colored your cheeks. You couldn’t allow yourself to get lost in thought like that.

Stan was staring at you now, though, head cocked, eyes slightly narrowed.

“What'cha thinking about, doll?” He asked, and took a step closer. You shook your head.

“Just how good you are to us,” you said, which was true, but also a lie by omission.

“Mn,” he hummed, “I’m not sure that’s all.” And suddenly his hand was at your chin, bloody thumb at your lower lip and smearing red across your mouth. You gasped, body going rigid, and Stan’s eyes went just a bit darker.

“I knew it. I thought I knew that look. You thought just because I was busy taking care of my family that I wouldn’t notice that my girl was wantin’?” His voice had dropped considerably, resonating in the marrow of your bones and dropping to the spiking heat between your legs. “You like a little rough, don’t you? Like knowing that I can keep you safe.”

You nodded mutely. Stan pressed his thumb against your lips and parted them, slipping his finger into your mouth to press down on your tongue. Your eyelids drooped, reveling in the coppery taste as you sucked on his finger without a second thought.

“Ooh, there’s a good princess. Good little bloodslut.” You moaned, face aflame, and Stan smirked wickedly. “Thought I didn’t know, did you? Oh, no. I’ve just been waiting for the right time to call you out.” He yanked his finger out of your mouth, leaving you gasping into his immediate kiss, all tongue and teeth and the overarching taste of his blood.

His calloused fingers made their way past the waistband of your pants and he groaned into your mouth as he made contact with your already soaked panties.

“Fuck,” he murmured into your mouth as you moaned against him and squirmed. “You want this bad, huh? Want me to bloody you up a little?”

“Yes,” you gasped as two of Stan’s lovely, thick fingers fucked up into you and spread.

“Gonna look lovely in red, pumpkin,” he cooed, voice saccharine and dangerous. “Gonna mess you up. Would you like that?”

[woncon]

➳ the case of the missing boyfriends

➶ poly!stray kids x gn!reader (seungsung focus) ｡˚ °

-ˏ` ✎﹏ Last time, your cookies were missing. Now six of your boyfriends are. They probably went on a date and something happened. Everyone's phone is off, only one rings and a stranger answers. They have a riddle, a game for you. And that starts the race against time to find the others.

➴ genre: thriller/mystery, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, estabilished relationship, polyamory, non-idol!au, angst to fluff

: ̗̀➛ warnings: horror house elements (evil clowns, a chainsaw chase, zombie lady), nightmares, a silly fight scene, gets suggestive in the end, wooyoung has a cameo, one mpreg joke, happens after the case of the missing cookie + one little reference, but can be read as a stand alone

⌨ :: 8.5K words ♡ ︵ . .

⁀➷ when i came up with the idea, i intended it to be a lot more silly than it turned out. however, once you read the whole fic, you'll realize that it's still quite silly. if this fic had a theme music, it would be circus. i'm 100% sure.

⁀➷ big hug for both @honeytwo and @wonsheep for betaing this <3

➳ mlist

４：３０ ｐｍ

You wake up to someone invading your personal space. Hands embracing your warm, soft, dreamy world, tiny kisses sneaking in, slowly pulling you out. Even though you're usually fussy when you're woken up, it feels good. You reach out to pull the person to you, so that they can join you in the relaxing, comfortable comfort of the bed - and use it as a pillow, of course. 

But he takes your hands off his neck. You snore and squint in frustration to find out who is the villain who will surprise you with a kindly kiss and then leave you. If Seungmin's messing with you again, he won't get away with it this time. You'll pin him to the mattress with your body, then lay on him like a lazy sack of potatoes and let him suffer.

“I can't, honey.” Finally, you don't have to open your eyes, because his whispered words tell you that you're dealing with Minho.

Groaning, you reach for him again, grabbing his bicep.

“Just a little bit?” You try to hook him like a koala so he has no choice but to cuddle with you. “You're warm and you smell s’good…”

"I have a date," Minho announces.

You're not giving up. One last attempt to get Minho's love right away. You pat the empty seat next to you.

“When I come back.” Minho kisses you goodbye on the lips and climbs off the bed. You open your mouth to protest when he adds, "I promise.”

He's a man who doesn't make promises lightly: cuddling is guaranteed. Now you watch his receding figure with a calm heart. He has proved stronger than your resolve.

“In the meantime…” 

You shudder at the whispered, husky voice from the cushion next to you. You thought you were alone.

“I'll have to suffice.” Jisung wraps his arms around your waist, tilts his head on your shoulder. “Please.”

When you don't push him away but hug him with a similar affection, he sighs contentedly.

You glance towards the bedside table and read the time. It's 4:30 and you're in no mood for anything. You want to continue your nap. By the time the thought occurs, you're almost asleep in Jisung's embrace.

７：４６ ｐｍ

When you wake up because someone tickles your feet, you immediately look for the clock. You are shocked by the exact time. You've slept for more than four hours: in this house, you've set a daytime record. 

There is always one or more loud, squeaky individuals who are difficult to do this activity around, other times a few mischievous ones who specialise in annoying the sleeping, or you may have those who make every move to rattle the bed as they climb onto the mattress, waking the peaceful Sleeping Beautys. In your home, romantic princes who wake you with a kiss are rare.

Now the mewling kittens have arrived to put an end to your record-breaking nap. The ones who just found you when no one else was feeding them. Provided you wake up soon enough after being visited, there are no drastic consequences such as pajama scratching attempts, scratch marks on the skin or even a kitten settling on your face. Fortunately, you wake up in time for the animals' antics. 

Soonie, Doongie and Dori patrol the end of the bed, rubbing against your blanket-covered feet at intervals. They notice that you've been successfully awakened and meow almost in chorus, clambering upwards in encouragement and nuzzling you in submission.

You scratch the base of Doongie's ear, and you are brought even more awake by the purr that ripples through your side.

“He neglected you too, after promising to come back, didn't he?”

They purr in agreement.

After you've fed the kittens, you'll search for Minho and drag him to bed. No one will be allowed to stand in your way.

７：５０ ｐｍ

In the kitchen you find Jisung. You have some vague memory of cuddling with him while you slept the sleep of the righteous. You may have drooled on him somewhere, but you can't be sure. In any case, your sleeping partner is currently facing the microwave. He's wearing a stretched-out, nondescript grey T-shirt and watching the numbers scrolling on the display. A mug is circulating in the microwave, he always takes a drink after he wakes up.

Jisung stretches. A slice of his thin waist and hips flashes, then his clothes fall back over him. He groans while he ruffles his hair, and the homely energy that emanates from him is more powerful than the impatient purring and rubbing of hungry kittens at your feet.

Dori leaves your feet, instead nimbly approaching your boyfriend and greeting him with a meow. Jisung looks down, then turns around. He smiles softly, his hair tangled, his face puffy from a restful sleep.

You'd like to throw yourself at him and squeeze the life out of him, but instead you return his smile and step over to the cupboard where you keep the cat food. You take out three cans and three bowls. At the rattle-rumble, Dori decides to return to you, describing figure eights with his cuddly body around your legs. You serve the menu on the floor. The three kittens begin to gobble enthusiastically.

In the meantime, Jisung's drink is ready. The scent of warm cocoa fills the room, drowning out the smell of cat food. His spoon clatters against the edge of the mug, the cats chew and snort eagerly, otherwise it's quiet. You sit down next to Jisung, wondering what's weird about your home. 

"I dreamed of evil clowns," Jisung admits.

You pull your chair closer to him. You take his hand.

"Yes?"

Jisung nods, then takes a sip. "They kidnapped the others."

"All of them?"

"I think so. I couldn't see everything clearly. I'm sure about Chanie hyung and Innie."

"You want to talk about it?" 

You're stroking the back of his hand to reassure him. His face has turned pale from recalling the dream. You don't want to force him to elaborate, but it might be easier to get over it if he shares it with someone. In this case, you. Otherwise, Felix or Hyunjin would be here with him, hunting for the meaning of dream symbols on the internet. 

Where are they?

Jisung pouts, his brows furrowing as he recalls the broken mirror shards of his nightmare.

"We were at a circus. The boys were tied up. The clowns were pointing different guns at them with balloons, but I knew they would go off if they wanted to. They were tall and dangerous, and their eyes were so empty they still gave me the creeps." Jisung squeezes your hand. You squeeze back supportively and watch intently. "So they were captured. They were being held in the circus, and when we found them…”

“We found them?” You're surprised. “We looked for them together?”

“You and me, yes. When we found them, the clowns told us to choose who would die and who would live. We were given enough time for Doongie to sing the anthem.” Here, Jisung goes silent, swallows, then excuses himself. “I know it sounds weird, but it was really scary at the time. I was forced to choose.”

The shocking image in your mind keeps you speechless for a few moments. Finally you pull yourself together, because Jisung needs you to calm him down. “That must have been awful. But don't worry, Sungie. Only one thing can come true from this: Doongie singing the anthem.”

Jisung smiles gratefully, and again looks more rested than worried. 

“Thanks for letting me snuggle up with you when I woke up. And for listening to me.”

“Anytime.”

Jisung leans closer, and the next moment you're resting your hands on his thigh for easy access to his mouth. He tastes like sweet cocoa. Hmm, sugary cocoa: tastes much better than the banana lip balm Hyunjin used, then Minho kissed him hard and brushed his teeth three times till the flavor lef-

You bow away from Jisung.

“Do you know where Minho is?”

Jisung brows raise to his forehead.

“We're kissing and you want the company of another man?” he asks, shocked. “I knew you liked his kiss better than mine.”

You tug at the front of his shirt and press another kiss to his lips.

“You should spend less time with Hyune. You're adopting his drama queen habits.”

“At least Hyunjin doesn't ask about other people when we're making out,” he snorts disgruntledly.

“I had to ask. He needs to pay off his debt. And if we get really into making out, I'll forget what I wanted besides you.”

"Forget everything then," he whispers. "I don't mind.”

You look at each other in silence. The kittens have finished eating. There's nothing but you and the endless, soothing silence.

Silence?

In this always cacophonous house? 

Yes, it's silence. And it's so strange. No echoing laughter, no pattering footsteps, no shouting. As if no one were home. 

“Sungie, since you woke up, have you met anyone?”

“You.” Jisung bites his lip and stares at your mouth like a master at his magnum opus.

“Besides me? “

Jisung hums thoughtfully. “No.”

Almost everyone went on a date?

Or were they all kidnapped by evil clowns?

No, no, no, no. They went on a date together and the two of you were left home to sleep peacefully. That could be what's behind this. Just no clowns.

You check your phone to see if you've got any text or visual reports, maybe any missed calls. Chan, Changbin and Hyunjin are usually keen to entertain you with some of the events of the date - if any of them are on the date, otherwise you'll have to wait. Chan will often call you to tell you where they are and how you're feeling. Changbin sends out messages about each location and who's doing what. And Hyunjin sends picturesque photos, and maybe it's meant to make you jealous that you're not going with them, and your heart does indeed tighten at times like this, but not out of jealousy, but out of admiration, because the photographer captures the moment as if you were there, breathing that air, with that sunlight on your face, with the people you love so much.

But today you didn't get a message, a call, a picture from anyone. No one wrote to say where they were going, what they were doing, how long they were staying. Not even that 'we're on a date, don't worry, we haven't been kidnapped by evil clowns'. After Jisung's dream, you need confirmation. If Minho didn't wake you up with a few kisses, you wouldn't know where he went.

You dial the first phone number on your call list, Chan's.

“The number you have reached is not available.”

You call the next number. And the next one. When the lovely female voice rings for the sixth time, the tension in the kitchen is thick and suffocating, like air in a balloon gun. You chew the inside of your mouth.

"Calm me down," you ask.

Jisung, who has been biting his nails until now, gets up. He moves to the calendar on the fridge, surrounded by pictures of you together.

“Well, there's nothing scheduled for today,” he reports uncertainly. “But that doesn't mean there's a problem!”

While he sits back down, you call the next number. The last one.

It rings. 

But not one of your boyfriends answers.

“Hi,” A high-pitched little girl says hello. Jisung trembles next to you. “We have what you want. If you need it, come get it! Follow the clues. It'll be fun like the circus. But beware, if you don't find it by ten o'clock tonight, what you want will be lost forever. Bye-bye!”

The little girl's breaking up the line. You're looking at each other.

Your phone vibrates in your hand. You both cry out. You throw the device on the table like a furry spider. 

You have a new message.

Go to the mall! Find Happy!!! <3

Before you can discuss what that means, the floorboard cracks. You snap your heads like frightened meerkats. In the doorway stands a tall figure in a red clown mask.

“MOMMY!" screams Jisung, and you scream too as you cling to each other in terror.

The clown snarls, takes a step. You grab Jisung's spoon and throw it towards the stranger. Droplets of cocoa splash into the air.

“Hey!” The clown is displeased. His voice is unrecognisable under the mask. He reaches under the cloth and pulls it off his head.

You can hear the stone clang as it smashes off your heart. Under the mask is Seungmin.

“We thought you were an evil clown who kidnapped the others,” Jisung whimpers in the aftermath of the shock he just experienced.

“What?” Seungmin picks up the spoon and throws it in the sink. “Is this some kind of new role-playing game?”

“This is deadly serious, Min,” sniffs Jisung in exasperation.

“Sit down,” you poke the chair. “We'll tell you what's the case, if you tell us why you were in that,” you point your finger at the clown mask in horror.

“It came for that bank robbery game Innie ordered for PS. I picked it up while I was playing, then got hungry and left it on,” Seungmin shrugs. “But you were looking at me like I was the devil before…” He looks at you expectantly, so you tell him about Jisung's dream, the failed calls, and ask him about his phone.

“I forgot to put it on the charger,” he explains why the device didn't ring

Finally, you show him the message. Seungmin looks at it thoughtfully.

“The leader of the clowns is a little girl,” you say. 

“An evil clown litttle girl." Jisung shudders visibly. "The uncrowned princess of children's horror.”

“I'll call her," Seungmin announces casually.

“What?" you reply in chorus.

“It's definitely a prank. You're being played. Minho's on the date, so it's obvious he's behind it. Don't worry.”

Before you can convince him it's not a good idea, he calls the number.

“Hello?” The clown with the ringing voice answers. “What do you want? Is the message not clear enough?”

“Who is this?” asks Seungmin gloomily. “Is that you, Minho hyung?”

“I have no idea who Minho hyung is. But if you want a surprise, I suggest you play by the rules. No more calls, follow the clues or I'll get mad!”

The little girl hangs up again. An open threat is a fist to the chest. Your boyfriends are in danger. All of your boyfriends, and Seungmin is still staring at your phone screen as if he hasn't been given enough explanation.

“That sound is familiar..." he mutters.

“We have to save them, Seungmin.”

He immediately snaps his head up. 'You're not using a nickname, which means it's completely serious. Bloody serious.

Jisung nods. “We don't have time to ask questions. Let's go to the mall right now!” He gets up, no longer interested in his cocoa.

A few minutes ago you were kissing happily, and now your friends' lives depend on you.

“Are you coming or staying?” You take your phone from Seungmin's hand and slip it into your pocket.

He looks at you. You can almost see the questions zigzagging in his eyes and the fire that craves answers.

“I'm coming.”

８：１１ ｐｍ

Seungmin speaks next on the escalator of the Plaza.

“Evil clowns because hyung dreamed it? Why would a bunch of clowns want to kidnap our boyfriends? And why not us?”

“For ransom,” you suggest.

“Have we received a demand? Any demands?” Seungmin asks.

You grab the barrier. “No, but–”

“They're doing it 'cause they can." Jisung's voice is desperate, hoarse. “It amuses them. I saw their faces in my dream. They enjoyed it.”

He's the first one off the escalator. You and Seungmin follow him. 

Tension hovers around you like a heavy cloud of vapour, gripping your stomach, and every nerve in your body cracks like a sharp spear. Seungmin's disbelief doesn't help the situation. You'd like to give his sceptical brain a stimulating tap to make it more supportive. To make it realise that it's not the why or the how that matters, but finding your boyfriends and ending this state of being. It doesn't matter if they are evil clowns or deceitful people who want money. All that matters is what they have taken and how you get your lovers, back from them.

You have to find Happy. Happy can be a shop, an object, a person, or even an alias. The Mall is full of people and opportunities to be exploited. You look around cluelessly, but there is not a single sign of Happy in your immediate surroundings.

“Let's take a tour of the building,” you suppose. “You two on one side, me on the other.” You know how much Jisung hates crowds, let facing one alone. He definitely needs someone with him. “If we find anything, we'll call each other. If not, we'll go store by store.”

“Isn't that too time-consuming? We don't have two hours, and I doubt it's one puzzle.”

“Last time I lost something, I found it. You remember?” You're referring to the cookie case that Seungmin successfully slept through, but he heard about it enough times already.

“I doubt you'd find the boys now by kissing every person you see.”

“Trust my methods first, okay? If it doesn't work, it's your turn. The Plaza is huge and crowded. It's gonna take some time.”

Of course, you change your mind in four minutes when Jisung calls.

“Yes?”

“We found it,” he says, his voice shocked.

You hurry to the toy shop, as fast as you can slalom through the crowd of people surging in different directions. Jisung and Seungmin stare at a six-foot-tall balloon clown with blue hair, a red grin and a white-gloved wiener finger in his hand holding a sign: BE HAPPY! Around his red boat shoes are balloons.

“Is that Happy?" 

“Probably.”

“And what next?”

“Well, you're the brains today," Seungmin looks at you.

“Oh, is that so? Do you believe us?”

“Let's just say it's pretty creepy that Happy is a clown.”

“Listen…” Jisung steps away from Seungmin, whose hand he's been holding. He reaches in between the board and the clown's body. “It looks like something”s here…” He pinches his fingers together and pulls out a yellow note. 

You gather round to read it. There's only one address. It's not hard to recognise. It's the address of the nearest Donut King to your house, where you first dated Jisung and Seungmin, and where you've been countless times with the others since then.

８：４５ ｐｍ

It's Friday night. The Donut King is packed with families, young people, hot drink lovers and those with a sweet tooth. 

Seungmin spots a box, you follow him through the queue holding Jisung's hand. You duck down, then scan the crowd like meerkats scanning for danger. Not another colored clown, or anything resembling a clown. Seungmin sighs and lays the paper on the table. The message is simple, yet unclear. It doesn't tell you what to do here. One thing is for sure, you won't eat. The three of you are too nervous for half a bite, let alone a whole donut. You love to eat here, but now you're nauseous from the smell of oil and powdered sugar, the feeling of being stuck on a mission, and time is running out.

Jisung's feet kick unstoppably under the table. You run your fingers through his hair, simultaneously stroking his locks and massaging his scalp.

“They'll be fine,” you reassure him, and reassure yourself at the same time. “We will find them.”

“And the clowns or whoever will pay," Seungmin confirms.

“Part of me doesn't want to know who they really are. This part of me wants to back down, and I hate it for that.”

“But you're still here,” you let him know. “Even if you're scared and don't know what's coming, you're here with us to save the others, no matter what. You’re brave.

Jisung laughs in disbelief. “Me? Brave?”

“They're right. You are brave, hyung," Seungmin confirms. “You hate clowns and crowds, and today we are chasing clowns in crowds.”

Your other boyfriend blinks at him in surprise. He certainly didn't expect you to think him brave after he admitted he wasn't one hundred percent committed. But it's still true. You smile sweetly at him, and when he smiles back faintly you tilt your head on his shoulder. The soft scent that marked his skin in the kitchen is gone. His neck is clammy with sweat and his skin is astringent with stress. As much as it would be nice to stay like this, to calm Jisung and encourage each other, there's no way. The enemy is waiting for you, and in their grip is your world.

As if an angel has descended from the heavens to lend a helping hand, Wooyoung emerges from the bathroom. He notices you and not only lets you know he is here, but immediately waves you over and weaves his way through the guests. He's wearing his Donut King work clothes, from apron to doughnut-patterned slouch hat.

"Hi there," he says cheerfully.

“Wooyoung hyung! Do you know anything about the others?” Seungmin throws himself at him. 

Wooyoung grins broadly. “Yeah, of course. I'll be right back.”

You look at each other. A gleam of hope.

“They left something for you.” Wooyoung returns with a cardboard drink holder. Three cups of slushy rest in it. Three slushy cups rest in it. Red, green, blue. Strawberry, green apple and blueberry. Three familiar flavours that leave a lousy taste when the flavour left on your tongue meets another flavour on another tongue. If the boys actually bought it, they'd know how much you've been shying away from this combination since the three of you first tasted it on each other's tongues. Unless they were forced to take these flavors. “A little something.”

He has no idea that a good friend of his has been taken hostage by a group of people obsessed with clowns.

“Who bought it?” You ask the first question. “Was anyone with them?”

“Was there anything strange about them?” Jisung joins in the questioning.

Wooyoung wonders.

“Chan hyung bought it. I think I saw the others at one of the boxes. I don't remember anybody I don't know, but there was a big crowd. Chan hyung seemed excited.”

Chan doesn't usually show that he's excited. He was probably more afraid.

“I have to go back. But we can talk later. Have fun!" he waves and then retires. His work, his life goes on as normal, as yours should.

“Ew.” Seungmin grimaces. “I love you guys, but the taste of our first kiss is still in my nightmares.”

“We can swap if you want,” Jisung offers. One by one, he takes the drinks out of the holder. “Rather a nasty tasting kiss than a clown– Hey, wait a minute! There's something on this one. On top.”

He turns it towards you, and indeed. The plastic, blue roof has text in small letters. A new message from the robbers, for you.

Well done, team! You're just one step away from getting your surprise. Come to the House of Horrors if you're brave enough!

- Ary

Ary. Wraith name for a clown girl leader. And the House of Horrors? You shudder, and again the pithy tension rushes up to your toes. Just as you wouldn't kiss Seungmin with a tongue of slushy, you wouldn't go back to the House of Horrors. Once was enough. But you have no choice.

“Oh, man,” Jisung swallows hard and stretches his hand on the table. “Shall we do it? We're gonna do it, right?”

Seungmin puts his own on his in response. Jisung doesn't even have to ask you anymore, you automatically put your own hand on top of theirs, and you realise the significance of how good it is to have them with you on this journey, and not to face all the difficulties alone. Although you are more lonely, because the others are not here and you worry about them and miss them, you have nevertheless formed a small unit that gives you enough confidence to carry on without being completely consumed by panic.

９：１１ ｐｍ

You reach the street of the House of Horrors. It's dark, the neighborhood is deserted. The building, with its rotting paintwork and weathered façade, is a disgusting, uncomfortably creepy sight.

“I hate it here,” says Jisung.

You nod vehemently, because you have no objection. You wish it didn't end here. You wish you were all home already.

Seungmin sips the last few sips from his slushy. You decided to drink all three glasses to relieve stress and you won't kiss.

“What's the plan?” Seungmin asks, and Jisung looks at you expectantly.

“We're going to find the boys.”

The iron-barred entrance to the house of horrors is guarded by two burly clowns. Contrary to Jisung's dream, they don't have balloon guns. One with a scarred face holds a spear, the other a rusty axe. Though that rust could be dried blood, judging by the way the clown grins maniacally with his chipped teeth.

“Guests,” he says, stretching each note. As you march closer, she twirls the axe in her grip. On the handle is the name Annie written in runny red letters.

"We've been waiting for you," the other grunts. His teeth are green. Not spoiled meat, no, just a bit of salad. They are actors in the House of Horrors, like all monsters. Paint covers their faces and they have props in their hands. They're paid to give unfortunate people heart attacks. 

They are actors, aren't they? Or are they part of the robbery gang?

“Go inside.”

They step away from the door, so you can read the locked sign perfectly. There's no opening hours, but if you remember correctly, the place normally opens at ten. Now, of course, it's different. It's probably rented by the people who took Chan and the others.

You go in, and Jisung is shaking. No sooner does the door close behind Seungmin than there's a high, witchy chuckle. You all flinch, you cling to Jisung, Seungmin pulls you both defensively to him. When you realise that you're just being played by the sound effect, you're a little relieved.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck," Jisung mants as you march into the darkness, where anything could leap out at you with sharp claws - or balloon guns - at any moment.

You pass a hideous ornament, a huge tarantula dangling in a cobweb, and then you have company. It emerges from a staff corridor behind you. You can't hear his footsteps, only the sound of him firing up the chainsaw. You snap your heads back. Of course it's a clown. It has sharp, long teeth and evil, tiny eyes. His green hair flutters in thick tufts of fur around his head as he winds the gun again and again under the naked, dangling light bulb.

“Run!” You don't know if any of you are actually saying it, or thinking it, or collectively thinking it, but all at once you start running in the only direction, down the tight, dim corridor. There are only a few flickers of red LED light. The cold brick wall seems to narrow, and the clown's squeaky-grunting saw grows louder. You can feel the slushy ice in the back of your throat. You imagine the touch of the saw in your back. Slowly, you tear Jisung's hand away, though he grips yours with similar fervour.

After a while, the ominous, cruel growl ceases. You pause to exhale, but are invariably on guard. The danger has passed, but it has not gone away. You reassure yourself that it was an actor. The first time you came here, you met a crazy clown with a chainsaw. Of course, if they hold a chainsaw on you and start chasing you, you don't wonder if you've ever had anything like this before, you run.

“Sungie? Are you feeling all right?” you ask, because Jisung is still gasping for breath and leaning on his knees.

He exhales. "I'm fine, it's just a lot to take in at once."

“Can you keep coming?” Seungmin asks.

“If I've come this far, there's no turning back. I might as well go to hell with you.”

You continue down the building's only corridor. íyou come to a small, basement-like room. Here, filthy brick walls protrude and the lighting is also dim, but you can clearly see the woman chained to the other side of the wall, near the exit. Her head is down, her hair completely covering her face. Her naked legs are stretched out, her feet are dirty, covered knee-deep by a hospital gown.

“She'll wake up, right?” Jisung chews his lip. Yes, he'd follow you to hell, you can believe him, but he'd get too hurt on the way, and you can't let that happen. You have to think of something.

“Yeah," Seungmin hums. "I'll take you across.”

“How?”

“First Jisung hyung, then you. You can close your eyes and everything. Trust me.”

Seungmin is generous, chivalrous and above all caring. He always has been, ever since you've known him, but the fact that he shows it so openly, and doesn't hide it behind sarcastic remarks or teasing, makes your heart flutter more than the chase you just experienced. So Jisung hops on Seungmin's back, the latter puts his arms around his thighs and moves towards her with cautious movements. Of course, no matter how cautious, she was waiting just for that, and shaking her chains, she howled. Her bloody, zombie-like face emerges from under what is presumably a wig, and she snarls at Seungmin. Wrestling with the handcuffs, she tries to get to him, stand up and bite him. Seungmin looks like a terminator in comparison. He marches with Jisung on his back. He might otherwise be somewhat frightened, but a sense of responsibility and fear amplifies his persistence. When he has successfully put the boy down, he returns to you. You look at him gratefully, then jump up and hug him tightly.

“VERS,” she screams at the two of you, like an inarticulate curse, while writhing on the ground like a suffering snake. “VERS! VERS! VERS!”

You're really inside the building now. You think you're about to reach the exit. Most of your memories of the place have merged into a nightmarish mass, but you don't think there are too many more obstacles. You then enter a room with skeletons propped up against the walls and discarded, cobwebbed bones crunching on the floor. In the middle of the room is a huge chest. It easily fits a man.

“This too?” You’re displeased. Better to complain than to be afraid. And if it can't be just one of those two, it's still better to complain and be terrified than just be terrified. 

Of course, the crate creaks. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Seungmin roll up his sleeves as the lid reveals the contents of the chest. Somebody with a weeping clown mask emerges. They are holding an artificial candle in front of their drooping mask.

“What is the message?” she asks in a tinkling, young girl-like voice that you may hear in your nightmares, and that you've surely heard on the phone today.

“What?”

“To get the surprise, you have to tell us what the final message of your mission was.”

You don't want to play along, but if that's what it takes to see the others again, you swallow your disgust and think hard about what the heck the clown could be thinking about.

Seungmin's patience has run out, though. Surprisingly quickly, he pulls a sword from the skeleton at his side and points it at the clown's throat. His hand doesn't tremble, and he stands tall like a true hero. “No more games. Tell us where our boyfriends are at this instant!”

The clown casually pokes the weapon, and the whole thing shakes.

“It's plastic, honey. A prop, like everything else. The only real thing here is your love.”

“What?” Jisung can't take it anymore. “What the hell is going on? And also... Oh, shit!” He takes a step back. 

In the next moment you understand why. 

“I can’t believe this shit.”

From the darkness, the clown is joined by two more. One tall and muscular, the other shorter, but also muscular. They're ready for action, and Seungmin only has a toy sword.

“I'll ask you one last time. What is the message?” The clown girl tilts her head to the side.

“Fuck you all!” You manage to pull out a sword, too. If that's all you've got, you'll fight with it, but you'll fight anyway.

Jisung raises an axe in his hand and holds it towards the enemy. When it comes to you and the others, his anxiety and fear cannot put any restraints on his ability to stand up for you, and though he didn't believe you in the Donut King, he is proving just how true that is of him, and what a great boyfriend he is. “We want our boyfriends back, dickheads!”

You fall even more in love with both of them. Even if the clowns will defeat you, you're glad you had the chance to get to know and love them.

The clowns giggle, then start approaching you. You don't retreat, holding up your weapons defensively. The shorter clown gets so close to you that the end of your sword begins to twist across his chest, the weak plastic toy unable to take the pressure of muscles. As if on cue, the clown flexes his muscles, your sword is bent to one side, and all you can see is the chest trying to swallow your poor sword. Suddenly you get déjá vu. As if you've seen this chest before. Like you've touched it. It's so familiar.

Testing the power of the weapon, you slam it onto the man's arm, then, taking him by surprise, you lunge forward and pull the mask off his head.

“Ow,” Changbin says, stroking his shoulder. “It stings.”

Jut and Dwae stand in the way of your sword. Your hunch was right. But it only makes you more confused. 

You dodge Changbin and run to the clown who's sword-fighting with Jisung. As soon as you're close enough, you recognize his scent, and even before you take off his mask, you know you'll be greeted by Chan's curly locks and handsome face.

“What the fuck?” Jisung gasps.

Seeing the developments, Seungmin also springs into action. He takes off the little girl's clown mask. Felix smiles up at him. So it wasn't a little girl, it was Felix, changing his voice. 

“I knew I recognized that voice!” Seungmin exclaims. “That's the sound Lix makes when…”

“When?”

Seungmin scratches the back of his head and takes a closer look at his axe. “It's not important.”

“What is important is that we-”

Before you can finish, Jeongin sticks his head in the back doorway of the room. “Is the role-playing game over? Ready for the cake?” Then he takes the situation in, the swords, the whole atmosphere. “Oh, my God! You guys were fighting?”

“You guys had a fight?” Hyunjin appears on one side, Minho on the other.

“Who won?” asks the man who  promised you hugs, hours ago, but instead you see him at the end of a nightmare. Thankfully, unharmed.

“We took this role-playing thing a bit too seriously," Chan replies.

“Role-playing?” you ask.

They're all fine. Felix was the clown on the phone, they left the clues. The evil clowns merged with your boyfriends. It still doesn't add up.

“We've gone clown-themed for the anniversary role play.”

“It was my idea!” Jeongin reports. “Because of the game I bought.”

“Anniversary?” Jisung blinks, surveying your boyfriends as if seeing them for the first time. “What anniversary?”

“Wait... Don't you know what day today is?” Changbin asks.

The three of you shake your heads. As your adrenaline levels drop, you feel empty, with question marks in place of your thoughts. You press on the rubber surface of the mask you hold in your hand, uncertain, looking lost as you lock gazes with Seungmin.

“We thought you were kidnapped by evil clowns,” Jisung whispers.

Felix looks concerned as he speaks softly to the boy. “Yeah?”

“Yes, and we were really fucking worried you'd get hurt if we didn't get here on time.”

“Oh,” Chan acknowledges with a soft look. 

“Please, hyung, don't touch me now,” Jisung steps back when Chan goes to hug him.

“So when we saw the clowns outside, and then you as clowns, we prepared for a life-and-death struggle to save you,” you continue. You don't think it's likely that they meant to hurt you mentally on purpose, but regardless, they must know why Jisung is so upset that he won't even let Chan touch him, and instead backs up next to you and rests his head on your shoulder.

“We're fine,” Jeongin comes under the dim lamplight. “All of us.”

“We're sorry the clowns scared you,” says Changbin with a rueful look on his face, “We figured if Yongbokie didn't flinch, Sungie wouldn't either.”

“We wanted you to enjoy the game,” Felix assures you of their aims.

“What game would that have been?”

“A romantic treasure hunt. But we were clearly shit at organising it. I'm sorry. You can slash me with your swords if you want to.” Chan stands there in exasperation, and means it. He's seriously sorry, and you can smack him for real if you wish.

But Seungmin drops his sword. You follow his example. Jisung's axe also falls to the ground beside you, and he wraps his arms completely around your waist.

“We overreacted,” you admit, stroking Jisung's back in comforting circles. “We immediately assumed the worst after Sungie told me about his nightmare. We dragged Minnie along with us because we couldn't think of a better explanation than the evil clowns who kidnapped you.”

“Can I tell you the real explanation?”

All three of you nod in answer to Chan's question, almost simultaneously.

“Today is your anniversary. A year ago this time, you went on your first three-way date.”

And the picture finally comes together in your head. The toy store in the mall where you picked up Jisung because Google Maps on his phone wouldn't show him properly where Donut King was. In his confusion, he was looking at unicorns. Seungmin bought him one as a joke. At Donut King, Jisung paid for the donut menu, which at the time included slushy. The House of Horrors came up, and Jisung insisted that he really liked these places. Sp that you get to pay for something as well, you offered to go and foot the bill there. You didn't get very far inside, running out into the evening air screaming and holding hands. Seungmin was laughing, and you accused him of squeezing your hands repeatedly in fear. 'Maybe I just didn't want you to let go,' he had replied, still holding your hands. You knew at that moment that it was your first date, but not your last. And on the fourth, you were drinking slushies again, and those certain nasty-tasting kisses were exchanged.

The timeline unfolded correctly. Even Minho's 'I'm going on a date' comment reminded you of your first date. You said the same thing to him when he wanted to pull you to him, but you were so excited you couldn't sit down at the thought of the Jisung-Seungmin date. 

They've organized this reenactment eerily well. It's just a shame that you went down this road on a completely different, much scarier and more dangerous programme, and didn't really bother with the locations, other than getting closer to the destination.

“Fuck,” you groan in shock as the wagon of memories rolls up from your subconscious.

“We forgot our anniversary,” Jisung mutters with similar exasperation.

“Wow, I feel even worse now,” laughs Seungmin bitterly. Felix strokes his upper arm, and then, as Seungmin doesn't pull away, pulls him into a hug and whispers something in his ear. Soothing words, no doubt.

“I'm so, so sorry, babies. It wasn't supposed to be like this- We didn't mean to-”

“It's okay, Chanie,” you say, because Chan is looking more and more like Jisung before he has a panic attack. “We misunderstood each other. No hard feelings.” You extend your free hand toward him. Chan steps up to you and takes it, but his shoulders lower only when Jisung looks up from your shoulder and pulls him into your embrace.

“It wasn't directed at you, Chanie hyung. I was- I'm still confused," Jisung whispers into Chan's neck.

“It's okay, baby. It's a lot to take in, hmm?” He's keeping you both warm, holding you close. "But you survived. You're doing so well."

“And you fought so well, even if it was only with plastic!” says Changbin, who half-holes himself between your shoulders, resting his arm on your hip.

"Oh, yes," Felix counters, "I'll sleep soundly at night. If some dodgy gang should lay eyes on me and kidnap me, I know you'd fight for me even if you only had cheap plastic swords.”

“Of course!” you agree.

“For you, we'd take on half the world, go to houses of horror and fight clowns,” says Jisung, and it's liberating to hear those brave words from his lips, remembering how firmly he and the bard stood up against clowns. “More, I mean.”

“For all of you," Seungmin nods. “Even for you, Minho hyung.”

“My heart is racing, Minnie,” grins Minho, mocking but affectionate.

“Do you want a group hug? Or would you like to see the surprise?” Jeongin asks, still close to the curtain. From the tone of his voice, he's looking forward to seeing how you'll react. Today, however, there were suddenly too many surprises, and a good hug is never worth missing.

“Come here and give me a hug, you evil clowns," Jisung puts your thoughts into words.

“Don't say that so loudly. There's more than one person here with that job description. Do you want to hug them too?” asks the approaching Hyunjin.

“I don't think so. Especially not the chainsaw guy.”

“Did you rent the place by the way?” Seungmin grabs Jeongin and comes up from behind, clinging to him in a central embrace.

“Yes, but only for a while. It'll be open to everyone again soon, which is why it was important for you to be here on time.”

“We ran like our lives depended on it!”

“You did, hon.” Chan pat you on the head. “You're here now, and there's nothing wrong.”

“Squeezing hug!” Felix shouts, and your boyfriends really do squeeze. It's so much better than when nervousness did this to the inside of your body. This hug is reassuring and reinforces the knowledge that you have nothing to worry about. They are all here, safe and as close to you as possible.

“My love?” Jisung gently nudges your neck with his nose. You wonder how he can move. You're pressed face-first against Chan's chest. Not that you mind, it's a great place.

“Hmm?”

“Happy anniversary!”

“Oh, yeah. Happy anniversary, Sungie!” You find a way with your strong sense of logic to get yourself in a position to kiss his face. “And you too, Minnie!”

“Happy anniversary,” he appears, sliding through the comforting huddle of hips and arms. “I can't believe I've been bearing with you all for a year.” Even though he says it in vain, the kiss on your cheek says he's more than happy to put up with you. 

As you lean away from him and give way to Jisung, you notice that Chan is eyeing you rather softly.

“What is it?”

“He's been dying to kiss you since we started getting ready. He only talked about you between two tasks. How excited he is to see you, and how he hopes you'll be happy to-”

“That's enough, Lix." Chan was so embarrassed that if you wre to lay your head back on his chest, you would feel the heat radiating through his shirt. "Let's go see the surprise. I hear you bouncing, Innie.”

And though the others start to leave, Seungmin pulls Chan back just as he's about to go. Without any explanation, he grabs his face and kisses him, then nods to Jisung. Jisung kisses him with similar enthusiasm. You hug him tightly, not stopping at a kiss, but trail a series of pecks on his cheek until he starts giggling.

“How's the mixed slushy?”

“Awful. But I can take it.”

"Chop-chop, lovers," shouts Hyunjin. "Innie-yah is considering breaking up with you, and no one can distract him.”

“We're coming.”

“We're really coming.”

“Anything for Innie!”

The room behind the curtains is like it's not part of the house of horrors. The colourful sequins and heart-shaped ornaments, the cute cake fitting itself on top of the table covered with fancy abros, and the all-encompassing 'Happy Anniversary' text stretched across the table.

“Wow.” You try to take in the whole sight and fit it into the picture you have of today. First they planned it all: the treasure hunt stations, the game, and then they decorated and furnished this room for you. They remembered and staged the anniversary you forgot.

“Do you like it?” Jeongin asks. “Or is it too much?”

“It's all right,” Seungmin hums.

“Just all right?” Jeongin is mildly indignant.

Seungmin smiles like an angel. "I mean, I like it. But not as much as I love you, Innie-yah.”

Jeongin puffs, but you can tell he's satisfied with that answer. After Jisung and you confirm that they've all done a good job, he sees the time has come to give Felix permission to cut the cake.

Soon, the small room is filled with the sound of clinking forks and conversation, the sound of home that you missed terribly without them.

“I'm glad I didn't kick you in the balls after all,” you report to Changbin between bites. You're also glad you've calmed down and can joke around again.

“Did you plan on doing that?” He leans against the table and blinks at you, shocked.

“Well, you're clearly stronger than me. I had to be sneaky.”

“Mean, but clever. If you were in trouble and I wasn't there, by all means, do it.”

“Hmm,” you nod.

“Taste good?” Felix comes to you with a hopeful look.

“Heavenly,” you tell him.

“I'm pregnant,” says Changbin enthusiastically.

Felix playfully frowns. "That can't be from my cake. It's Hyune’s merit.”

“Yah!”

“Oh. What an indiscreet exchange of ideas.” Jisung also appears in your humble circle, his cheeks stuffed.

“You're always there when something spicy happens, aren't you?” Felix shakes his head, wiping a smear of cream from Jisung's upper lip, who is chewing his cake voraciously, his face so innocently puffy you wouldn't think he'd approach you for the juicy details.

“It's not that. I'm here to pick up my lover, with whom I'm celebrating our anniversary. I want to be with them today.”

“Aw,” comments Changbin.

”But of course, if some sex-related information hits my ears on the way, it's not my problem,” he grins, as much as his full cheeks will allow.

“Uhuh, uhuh, sure.”

“Well, honey? Care to join me and Minnie for a toast?”

You nod, so you round up to find your third partner. Of course, in this relatively small room, it's not difficult. He's talking to Hyunjin, though he's looking stunned at the moment. When you get there, he turns to you and shares his verdict.

“We’re stupid.”

“A real anniversary present is the plural,” you flutter your eyelashes.

“No, we really are stupid.”

“Gosh, no need to overdo it though,” Jisung shuts the other one's mouth. Seungmin frowns disgruntledly and manages to pry Jisung's hand away, but doesn't speak again.

“Why have we suddenly become so stupid? Apart from the fact that we imagined ourselves in a hostage drama today?”

“The more creative part of your boyfriends made up a pun,” Hyunjin explains, casually running his hands down your back. “Yongbokie named it the message of your mission. Though I think it was more of an easter egg, and you didn't necessarily have to guess.”

“I remember him asking us something like that. That's when Minnie pulled a ‘sword’ on him.”

“And he was referring to the pun. Words were hidden at different stations. First, there was 'happy'. Then 'ary'. The name 'Annie' was written on the bard of one of the clowns on guard outside. Finally, there was the woman in chains shouting 'vers'. Put it together.”

“Happy anniversary," sighs Seungmin, brokenly. He doesn't like to look dumb.

“We really didn't pay attention to that.”

“You went in a completely different direction, you didn't go through the day as a game. I don't think you're irredeemably silly, just cute.”

“Thank you, Hyune,” you gratefully snuggle closer to him, enjoying the way his hand slides further around your waist and he pulls you closer.

“Hey, don't take my anniversary partner!” Seungmin shouts at him.

“They can't be taken away,” you report. “They’ve a mind of their own. And they're sad because you called them really stupid.”

“You're not really stupid. But even if you were, I'd still love you," he says, holding out his palm to you.

You accept it with a smile and, together with Jisung, go to the table to clink glasses.

“Let me do it,” Minho spins to you in a cavalier manner, holding the unopened champagne in the palm of his hand. His immaculate appearance is marred by the creaminess of his cheekbones and forehead.

“You promised me a hug,” you remind him as he hustles the cork.

He smiles lazily. “Oh, yes. I remember perfectly well that you couldn't resist me, sweetie. And I remember what I promised you. You'll have it when we get home.”

Chan and Jeongin line up the glasses. Chan's chin is creamy and Jeongin's nose is creamy too, a picturesque testimony to the fun they just had with Minho.

Jisung, Seungmin and you get the first three glasses. Jisung turns towards you, and you get the feeling he wants to make a toast in front of everyone. He is excited and smiling, not nervously biting his nails or tapping his foot. Seungmin looks at him with interest, a sweet smile in the corner of his mouth and a twinkle in his eye. They're relaxed, happy, in love, and so you can truly appreciate that this is yours. You've had these two brave, fine men for a year.

“You know how to make this night perfect?” Jisung finally asks. “We must teach Doongie the national anthem.”

Everyone looks puzzled, but you laugh with him, and Seungmin smiles too. Then you clink glasses with each other and the others, but for the moment you say no more about it, no matter how curious they are - especially Minho. For now, it's just your inside joke on your crazy but ultimately rewarding anniversary, which was about you in the most dramatic way.

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[zoofzoofxx]

—The art of eyecontact —

Pairings ; Axel Kovacevic x fem!reader

Summary ; After spending a night together, Axel made a mistake, regretting his actions soon after. His friend Zara, seeing the tension between them, steps in to help by offering advice and encouragement. She urges Y/n to reconsider the situation, emphasizing that Axel’s feelings are genuine despite his hesitation, and suggests that Y/n give him another chance to explain himself.

Warnings ; none (I think)

Mentions ; @oscarisdaddy69 @babylambdietcoke @karmaswitch

Pt. 2

୨୧・・・・♡・・・・୨୧

I woke up feeling completely drained, as though I had been transformed into a zombie overnight. A quick glance at the clock revealed it was already 8 a.m., and the harsh reality hit me- I had only managed to get one hour of sleep. My mind, still foggy with exhaustion, was suddenly flooded with memories of the night before, replaying every detail vividly.

Turning to the side of the bed, I noticed Axel was nowhere to be seen. However, the sound of running water from the bathroom confirmed he was in the shower. Deciding not to waste time, I slipped back into the clothes I had worn the previous night. Once Axel emerged, I planned to let him know that I would head back to my own room to get ready.

'Hi.' I turned around to see Axel standing there in simple, casual clothes. I offered him a small smile and a quick wave, keeping it light. He didn't say much as he walked closer to me, his presence commanding yet calm. Instead of a kiss, he pulled me into a hug.

The embrace was warm and steady, and I couldn't help but notice the distinct, luxurious scent of his cologne—it was rich and captivating, lingering in the air between us. His warmth was comforting, a stark contrast to the exhaustion I was still feeling.

'I should get going. The next event is in four hours,' I said, my eyes drifting toward the bed where, just an hour ago, we had been sleeping together. On the chair nearby were the folded clothes he had lent me to sleep in. They were neatly arranged, a small but thoughtful gesture that didn't go unnoticed.

When I looked back at Axel, I noticed a soft pink hue coloring his cheeks, a hint of shyness that made the moment feel unexpectedly tender.

'Thank you for everything,' I added, my voice gentle as I tried to ease the subtle awkwardness lingering between us. I wanted to make the atmosphere feel more comfortable, even as I prepared to leave.

He gave a small nod, his demeanor calm and composed. 'No problem at all. I enjoyed your company,' he replied, his voice relaxed and warm. He seemed far more at ease than he had been the day before, when tension had defined his every movement. This softer side of him made me smile, even if just inwardly.

—

'Oh my god, no way!' Sam exclaimed, pacing back and forth across the room while I sat silently on the edge of my bed, unsure of how to respond.

'So, are you two like... a thing now?' she asked, stopping abruptly to look at me, her hands firmly planted on her hips and one eyebrow arched high.

I bit the inside of my cheek, the question hanging heavily in the air. I didn't have an answer—not for her, not even for myself. Instead, I shrugged, a silent gesture that conveyed my uncertainty. My lips pressed into a straight line as my thoughts drifted to the tournament happening in just a few hours, offering a convenient distraction from her probing stare.

'Let's just get ready,' I said, standing up and reaching for my karate uniform, eager to shift the conversation away from Sam's relentless curiosity.

'We'll have this talk later, young lady!' she yelled after me, her voice full of mock authority. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her pointing at me, as if to emphasize her determination.

I couldn't help but laugh at her over-the-top seriousness as I walked to the bathroom. Once inside, I locked the door and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water wash over me, clearing my head before the day ahead.

—

As Robby and I walked into the building where the Sekai Taikai event was taking place, my eyes immediately landed on Tory standing in the lobby. She looked composed but intense, her focus evident. Robby sighed beside me, already taking a step in her direction, but I gently stopped him, deciding to approach her myself.

'Y/n,' she greeted, her tone serious, her expression unreadable. The captain's headband was already tied firmly around her head, a symbol of her leadership and resolve.

'Tory... how are you feeling?' I asked, letting out a small sigh, my voice softer than usual. She didn't respond right away, standing in silence as if weighing her words. The tension in the air was palpable, and I found myself stepping forward without hesitation, wrapping her in a hug.

At first, she didn't move, her arms stiff at her sides, clearly hesitant. But after a few seconds, I felt her hands rest on my back. She sighed deeply, the kind of sigh that seemed to carry everything she couldn't say. Her grip tightened, and for a brief moment, she hugged me back fiercely before pulling away.

'Everyone on your team is mad at me,' Tory said, her voice quiet as she shifted her gaze from the ground back to me. There was a flicker of guilt in her eyes, a vulnerability she rarely let show.

'They're not,' I replied, giving her shoulder a reassuring pat. 'They understand how you feel and why you left.' My words came out gently, hoping to ease her mind. I was about to say more when a group of Tory's teammates, including Kwon, walked up to her. Their eyes darted toward me, filled with disdain and unspoken accusations.

Sensing the rising tension, I offered Tory a quick goodbye and stepped away, heading toward the locker rooms where I assumed my team would be waiting. On the way, I nearly bumped into Zara. Seeing her brought back the memory of yesterday, when she'd helped me with the water. Her kindness lingered in my mind, making the chance encounter feel a little less coincidental.

'Hi Zara, I wanted to thank you so much for the water and—' I started, but she cut me off before I could finish.

'It was Axel's idea,' she said matter-of-factly. 'But he was too shy to bring it to you himself, so he asked me to do it for him. Which I did.' Her tone was short, almost dismissive, leaving me momentarily speechless.

'Still, thank you,' I managed, offering a small smile while my thoughts drifted elsewhere. I couldn't help but wonder where Axel was now and why he hadn't just come to me himself.

'Do you know where he might be?' I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.

Zara turned slightly and gestured toward the direction of her team's locker room. 'He's in our locker room,' she said with a small, knowing smile before walking off without another word.

I stood there for a moment, processing her answer, before deciding what to do next. Her casual demeanor left me feeling more curious than ever about Axel and why he seemed so hesitant to approach me directly.

I sighed as I made my way to their locker room, hesitating briefly before giving the door a soft knock. It opened to reveal their sensei, who looked at me with a mix of confusion and curiosity.

'May I help you?' he asked, his tone formal as he opened the door wider. Over his shoulder, I saw Axel deep in conversation with one of his teammates. The moment they noticed me, their chatter stopped, and all eyes turned in my direction.

'May I speak with Axel?' I asked, my voice tinged with stress. Memories of what had happened to him resurfaced, and a wave of discomfort washed over me.

Axel stood up almost immediately, but before he could step out, the sensei placed a hand on his shoulder, holding him back.

'One minute,' the sensei instructed, his tone firm. Axel nodded and quickly walked toward me once he was released. His gaze met mine briefly before darting around, scanning the area as if checking for prying eyes. Without a word, he grabbed my wrist gently but firmly and led me down the hall, pulling me into an empty locker room.

'Axel, I—' I began, but he interrupted me, his tone sharp and distant.

'Yesterday was a mistake. We shouldn't be hanging around with each other. You're my opponent, and there's nothing going on between us,' he said coldly, his posture stiff, the same tense demeanor he had shown the day before.

For a moment, I stood there, speechless. I didn't know what to feel—whether I should be hurt, relieved, or indifferent. Deep down, I had seen it coming. Kissing someone you barely know, someone you'd only met yesterday, was bound to lead to complications. It was a reality I couldn't ignore.

A soft sigh escaped me as I nodded, silently acknowledging his words. I kept my gaze fixed on the walls of the empty locker room, avoiding his piercing eyes. 'I understand,' I said quietly, my voice steady, though my thoughts felt scattered.

I opened my mouth to say something, to call him back, but no words came out. Axel had already turned around and walked away, his steps deliberate and unyielding. I stood there, frozen in place, unable to move or stop him.

A heavy sigh escaped me as I sank onto a nearby bench, my thoughts swirling. The weight of his words lingered, leaving an uncomfortable ache in their wake. I stared at the floor, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar feeling that had settled in my chest.

Had I attached too quickly? Maybe he had, too—at least for a moment. It all felt like a whirlwind, a connection that had sparked so suddenly and burned out just as fast. I pressed my palms together, trying to steady myself and figure out how to let go of something that hadn't even begun.

I sat still for a moment, trying to collect myself. I reminded myself that crying or stressing over a boy who thought it was okay to toy with someone's feelings wasn't worth it. Just as I started to steel my resolve, a chuckle broke the silence.

Looking up, I saw Kwon leaning against the doorway, watching me with an amused expression. I rolled my eyes and stood, ready to walk past him, but he stepped in front of me, blocking my way.

'Heartbroken?' he asked, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. His attempt at puppy dog eyes made my annoyance spike even higher.

I pushed against him, but he didn't even flinch, instead bursting into laughter.

'That's cute,' he said, finally calming down and giving my shoulder a playful pat. I stood silently, my irritation already at its peak.

'I heard everything that guy said,' he added casually, his tone shifting slightly. His words made me bite the inside of my cheek, discomfort creeping in. I didn't like the idea of anyone eavesdropping on such a moment, especially not someone like Kwon.

I took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly in an attempt to calm myself.

'Move, Kwon,' I said firmly, brushing past him and walking out of the locker room. I could still feel his eyes fixed on my back, but I ignored the weight of his stare and continued toward our team's locker room.

Inside, I found Sam, Devon, Hawk, and Robby sitting together. They were deep in conversation, their energy noticeably lighter than mine.

'Did you hear the news?' Devon asked excitedly, his eyes practically lighting up.

I tilted my head to the side, confused, as I walked to the nearest locker and began putting my things away.

'No?' I replied, my curiosity piqued.

Devon's enthusiasm was clear, and Sam and Robby seemed just as thrilled. Hawk, on the other hand, looked far less amused, sitting silently with a faint scowl. His expression was enough to make me wonder what exactly this "news" could be.

'So, Miguel is back in Los Angeles, right? Kenny is taking his place,' Devon said cheerfully, practically bouncing in her seat.

'Oh, that's awesome news!' I replied, matching her excitement. Despite my happiness for Miguel, a flicker of worry for his mother crossed my mind. 'When will he arrive?' I added, glancing at Sam, who seemed just as eager to hear more.

As Devon started talking again, I reached for my phone, pulling it out to quickly text Miguel. Hey, is everything alright with your mom? I stared at the screen for a second before pressing send, hoping to hear good news soon.

Almost immediately after sending the message, my phone buzzed with a response. Everything is alright, thanks for asking, and good luck, Miguel's reply read. I let out a sigh of relief, the tension in my chest easing slightly. At least one worry had been lifted, and I was glad to know he and his family were doing okay.

I sat down and leaned back, letting my eyes drift shut for a moment, hoping to clear my mind or maybe even steal a few minutes of rest. But the weight of what had happened with Axel lingered, refusing to let me relax. The memory of his cold words and the way he walked away without looking back gnawed at me, twisting into an uneasy knot inside me.

'I'm going to the training room,' I murmured quietly, standing up and grabbing my water bottle. My teammates were still deep in conversation, so I slipped out unnoticed, grateful for a moment alone.

The training room was empty when I arrived, and the sight of the silent, open space was a relief. The quietness felt like a balm to my frayed nerves, and I welcomed the solitude. Setting my water bottle down in the corner, I began moving through a series of taka drills. Each strike and kick became a release, a way to channel the emotions swirling inside me.

The repetition of the movements steadied me, grounding me in their familiar rhythm. For the first time since the conversation with Axel, I felt some of the weight begin to lift. The stress and confusion didn't completely disappear, but with every precise move, I could feel my mind slowly clearing, piece by piece.

—

After the event, our team ended up ranking second. The Iron Dragons claimed first place, while Tiger Strike secured third. This outcome meant that Cobra Kai, unfortunately, had to leave Barcelona. The news shocked me, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness for Tory. She had worked so hard to get her team to this level, and it felt unfair for it to end this way.

Later, as I walked into the hotel lobby, I saw Tory sitting with her luggage, waiting with an air of quiet resignation. It was clear she was preparing to leave. Just then, an announcement came over the hotel's intercom, instructing all participants to gather in the lobby for an important update.

Curiosity buzzed through the crowd as everyone assembled. The room quieted as Gunther Braun, the head of the tournament, stepped forward to deliver the news. His expression was serious, commanding everyone's full attention.

'We have received credible information that members of the Tiger Strike team used performance-enhancing drugs during the tournament,' he announced, his voice grave. A collective gasp spread through the room, followed by murmurs of shock and disbelief.

Gunther continued, 'As a result, Tiger Strike has been disqualified, and their rankings nullified. This adjustment means Cobra Kai will retain their place in the tournament.'

The announcement hit like a bolt of lightning. Cobra Kai, instead of being eliminated, could now remain in the competition.

On the surface, I felt genuine happiness for Tory. She had given her all to this competition, and she deserved to see it through. But deep down, I couldn't ignore the anxiety creeping in. Cobra Kai was back in the running, and I knew all too well how formidable they could be as opponents. Their return wasn't just a stroke of luck for them—it was a reminder that the path ahead was about to get even more challenging.

I glanced over at Tory, and to my surprise, she smiled at me. Her teammates were cheering loudly, celebrating their unexpected chance to stay in the competition. Despite the chaos around her, Tory seemed calm, her expression soft with relief.

Turning my head, I caught Demetri rolling his eyes, clearly unimpressed by the situation. Hawk, on the other hand, looked furious, his jaw clenched tightly and his arms crossed as he glared toward the Cobra Kai group. Our senseis stood nearby, their expressions a mix of stress and unease. It was clear they weren't thrilled with the announcement either; this development added more pressure to an already intense situation.

The atmosphere felt stifling, the noise and tension overwhelming. Needing a break, I decided to step outside for some fresh air. Without saying a word, I slipped out of the building and started walking.

The cool air was a welcome relief as I wandered toward a nearby grocery store. The quiet of the streets contrasted sharply with the buzzing energy I had just left behind. Once inside the store, I browsed the aisles absentmindedly, grabbing something small to eat. It wasn't much, but the act of doing something mundane helped calm my mind, even if only for a moment.

—

Sitting on a random bench in the park, I tore off a piece of my croissant, savoring the flaky pastry as I let the quiet surroundings ease some of my stress. The fresh air and serene atmosphere helped clear my mind, if only a little. Tomorrow was the semi-finals, and I knew I needed to be completely focused and calm to give my best performance.

As I took another bite, my phone buzzed, pulling me out of my thoughts. I glanced at the screen and saw a notification—Kwon from Cobra Kai has followed you. I rolled my eyes, unimpressed. Of course, he'd find a way to insert himself into my day.

Before I could put my phone away, another notification caught my attention: a message request. It was from Zara.

Curious, I hesitated for a moment before accepting the request. Almost immediately, her message popped up. We need to meet up as soon as possible.

Her words were short and cryptic, making me frown. What could she possibly want to discuss, and why the urgency? Whatever it was, I had a feeling it wasn't something I could ignore.

Sure, when do you have time? I quickly typed and hit send. Not even a moment later, Zara replied: I have time now or later at the club.

I frowned. The thought of going to a loud, crowded club didn't appeal to me—I needed rest, especially with the semi-finals tomorrow. Instead, I texted back, suggesting we meet at Parc de la Ciutadella. The response came almost immediately: she liked my message, confirming she'd meet me there.

I leaned back on the bench, finishing off the rest of my croissant. The peace didn't last long, though, as I suddenly felt a pat on my shoulder. Startled, I turned around only to see Kwon standing there, a smug grin plastered across his face.

I let out a deep sigh, rolling my eyes at his intrusion, hoping he'd take the hint that I wasn't in the mood for his antics. Instead, he just laughed and casually plopped down next to me.

'Aw, did Axel leave my poor Y/n all alone?' he teased, his tone dripping with mock sympathy.

I shot him a cold, unimpressed glare. 'Just leave,' I said, my voice sharp.

Kwon held his hands up in mock defense, clearly enjoying my irritation. To my annoyance, he stayed planted in place, looking far too amused.

As I reached for the last piece of my croissant, he snatched it out of my hand with a mischievous grin and stood up.

'Thanks for the snack,' he said, walking off without a care in the world.

I clenched my fists, biting the inside of my cheek to stop myself from yelling something back at him. The only consolation was that he was finally gone.

'I see you're juggling two boys at once.'

Startled, I looked up from my phone to see Zara standing there, her expression a mix of teasing and seriousness.

'What do you mean by two boys at once?' I asked, genuinely confused.

She sighed, crossing her arms. 'It's obvious, even from a mile away, that boy from Cobra Kai likes you.' She gestured vaguely, then pulled out her phone, snapping a picture of the fountain in front of us as if this were just a casual chat.

I furrowed my brows, unsure where she was going with this.

'You know... Axel told me about you,' she began. 'That first day we got here, when you bumped into him, he mentioned you. He said you caught his eye.' She glanced at me to gauge my reaction but didn't pause long enough for me to respond.

'I didn't believe him at first,' she continued. 'I didn't really want him to fall for someone, especially not an opponent. I've known him since high school, and I can tell you—he didn't exactly have a social life back then. He never really experienced liking someone, let alone pursuing them.'

She paused, looking more thoughtful now. 'But then today, he told me about what happened yesterday. And... well, I saw his lock screen. It's a picture of you.'

I blinked in surprise, not sure what to say.

'That's when I thought, okay, maybe he really does like you,' Zara admitted. 'But just after the announcement earlier, he told me he said something harsh to you—about not wanting to know you. He regrets it, by the way. And now he's asked me to talk to you about it.'

I listened carefully, trying to process everything. Zara's voice softened. 'Look, I know this is probably a lot, but Axel isn't a bad guy. He's just... inexperienced. And a little scared, I think.'

For a moment, we sat in silence. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't exactly easy, either. I could feel her waiting for me to say something, but I didn't know where to start.

Finally, Zara broke the silence. 'You have three choices here. I know two of them,' she said, leaning back slightly.

'The first,' she continued, counting on her fingers, 'is that you talk to him, work things out, and become this epic, soulmate, love-of-your-life couple with a fairytale future and all that.' She waved her hand dramatically, clearly poking fun but also being sincere.

'The second option is that you just decide you don't want anything to do with him. You let it go, cut the cord, and move on.'

I tilted my head slightly, processing her words. 'What about the third option?' I asked.

She sighed, shrugging as if it were obvious. 'That's the one you have to figure out for yourself,' she said simply.

I looked down at the ground, the weight of her words settling over me. I didn't have an answer yet, but I knew I had to decide soon.

'And don't get Axel wrong, Y/n,' Zara said, her tone soft but firm. 'He just... doesn't really know how everything works. He's figuring it out. And honestly, I didn't expect you two to work out when he first mentioned you. You're such different people.'

She paused, tilting her head thoughtfully. 'When he told me you caught his eye, I decided to pay more attention to how you act. Don't get me wrong, I'm not some creepy stalker or anything,' she said with a small laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

'But you remind me of a golden retriever,' she said with a teasing grin. 'And while Axel's not quite a black cat, he's more like a doberman.' Her laughter was awkward but genuine, as if she was trying to make sense of her own analogy.

I raised an eyebrow, unable to suppress a small smile. 'So you're comparing us to dogs now?' I asked, mildly amused by her unexpected metaphor.

'Basically, yeah,' she said with a sheepish shrug. 'But what I mean is, you two are so different. We've always known Axel to keep to himself—he's never been the kind of person to share his feelings. At least, not until the past few days when he started asking me for advice. You should've seen him when he asked me to bring you those water bottles—he was blushing so hard it was like he turned into a different person.'

Zara smiled warmly. 'I just want you to know that I'm genuinely happy for you both. I really hope you rethink everything I've said because I think there's something special here.'

She stood up, brushing her hands off and glancing at the fountain. I looked up at her, surprised when she leaned down and hugged me gently.

'It's going to be okay, Y/n,' she said softly. 'Don't stress too much about it.'

Before walking off, she turned and blew a quick kiss in my direction, her usual playful attitude peeking through. I waved at her, unable to find the right words to respond.

Once she was gone, I sighed and sank back onto the bench behind me. My mind was swirling with everything she'd said. I sat there for a while, staring at the fountain, trying to figure out what I should do next. The decision wasn't going to be easy.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-nine —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 4.4k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. SA and implication of child SA (very subtle). summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

You trip over a tree root, catching yourself against the rough bark. You don’t stop. You scream for him again, your legs propelling you toward the road, boots sliding over loose gravel.

He pushes past the others and closes the distance.

You slam into him, nearly falling, and grab his shirt, using him to steady yourself. “Simon, we have to go. Now. We need to leave.”

“What’s going on?” Someone asks—Price?—but it barely registers.

"We need to fucking leave!" you urge.

Ghost clamps onto your shoulders. “Twix, breathe. What did you see?”

“There is a body—and blood, on the wall—I don’t know what it says, but it's fresh—” You shake your head, heart erratic. The words won’t come out right. You can’t explain the wrongness crawling under your skin, the terrible dread in your stomach. You thrust a finger in the direction of the chapel as if they will understand. The quiet air rolls through the flowers. You feel it now. It's too quiet. Too calm. You can only manage a whisper. “Someone had to have written the words. We’re not alone.”

You barely catch the unfurling of his eyes before the world erupts into black smoke, and then you can't see him at all.

They already knew you were here.

He grabs you, shouting something you can’t make out.

Your first thought is Blue, and your second is the bow.

Your hands fumble as you blindly slap an arrow onto the string, but someone's body slams into yours, and it falls. You can’t even see where it landed.

The cloud of smoke burns your lungs, and a string of coughs spasm up your throat.

Ghost’s grip slips from you.

"Blue!" you choke out. 

You stumble forward, reaching aimlessly, even though you don’t know what you’ll do when you find her. Your vision blurs with painful tears, and then you feel it—a sharp prick at your neck.

The pain is a numb, searing sensation down your spine.

Your muscles seize, then convulse.

"Ghost," you think you say. The soft ringing in your ears drowns everything. You try to take a step, but your leg won't move. You succumb to the numbness. The ground rushes to meet you, though darkness steals you first.

You swim between disjointed visions. Viewing them from behind plexiglass. At first, you are talking to Paul. It's a sunny day. The birds are chirping through canopies of oaks. Then, you are in a room bathed in white. Fingers prod at you. You can't react to them. A soft voice hums sweetly, almost soothing, but it twists and warps back into Paul’s voice.

"The world kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry."

You bite a smile. "You know I have those words memorized."

"Good. Don't forget them," he says, not looking up from the wooden bird he whittles between leathery hands. It is a raven, you think. Though, you're no expert like he is. 

"You missed the first part, though."

His brow lifts. "Remind me."

"The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places," you recite. 

A weathered mouth stretches at the corners. "Which one will you be, then? Broken or killed?"

You look down at the knife in your hand, the one you've been using to carve the arrow for the bow he's made you. The blade is dulled. You drag a thumb over it, shrugging. "I guess only time will tell."

"I suggest deciding for yourself, Twix."

You look back at him. "What did you call me?"

He responds, but his voice slurs into something unintelligible. 

White sunlight catches on his knife’s blade, almost blinding you. You close your eyes against the glare, but the light doesn’t fade when you reopen them—it grows, washing out the blue sky until it shifts into a stark white ceiling. Paul is gone. The birds have been silenced. The crisp scent of fresh linen reaches you. Is this a new dream, or the kaleidoscope rolling before the surrender to death? Your body feels like a borrowed shell, your mind straining to instruct your fingertips to move. They manage a weak press into the soft sheets below, rubbing against the fabric as if to convince yourself it’s truly there.

You are alive, then. Or the brain is incredible at tricking you into thinking so. 

Moving your neck feels like a daunting task, as if the vertebrae in your spine have been rewired, so you shift your eyes, searching for clues, but your memory is faulty at best. The walls are all white and bare. There is a dark wood table at the far corner, and a single shut door to your right. Then, there are...bars. Metal bars stripe the view, and you realize with a sudden jolt in your chest that you are enclosed by them, kept in a confined rectangle at one part of the room. 

Awareness strikes as you realize you're nearly naked, clad only in a thin, white shift. Someone has changed you. You ignore the lingering ache as you crane your neck upward and steal leverage from your elbows. The small bed below you creaks with the shift in your muscles. 

There are two other cots in the enclosure, and in them lay two unconscious figures. One lays flat, limbs spread in an unnatural way, while her black hair curtains over the white linen like splats of ink. The other is a smaller girl, her body curled into a haphazard fetal position.

There is no one else in the room.

Only you, Nereida, and Blue.

Audibly dry breaths stagger up your throat. Your mouth feels like painful sandpaper no matter how much spit you try to gather. You try to sit up more, but your legs won't move the way you tell them to, and you end up almost crumpling onto your back again. 

"F...uck."

They are still asleep, or knocked out, or whatever it is that has been done to you. They are alive, though. This much you know, based on the steady movement in their chests. Still, you want to reach them. You try to lift up once more, managing to lean your back against the wall for support, but just when you are ready to throw your weight into swinging a leg over, a gentle creak comes from the door.

"Tu es réveillée!"

Your gaze snaps to a young woman—a stranger—dressed in a long white cloak with a hood and veil. She might look like a ghost if not for the faint shimmer of her features on the other side of the veil: soft cheeks, a slightly crooked nose, but still pretty. She can't be older than you. In her hands is a tray with three mugs of what appears to be a porridge. Nothing about her emits a threat except for the fact she is on the other side of the metal bars. A sharp intake floods your lungs, a scream caught in your throat as she approaches, tilting her head in a look that feigns concern.

"Forgive me, I forget you speak anglaise. Please, do not be afraid. My name is Salome." The accent is thick but ignorable. She glances at the other two with a gentle smile. "I am happy you are awake. Your friends will be awake soon, as well. Are you hurting?"

When you say nothing, frozen, she reaches a mug through the bars and sets it on the floor. "Here. For you. Eat it slowly. Your body is still recovering."

A stretch of silence hangs between you, broken only by your uneven breathing. The understanding sinks in with full force as you glance between her, the other two, and the mug. It’s an understanding spliced with confusion—missing pieces. All you know is that your nostrils twitch, and you have no desire to move an inch toward the offering of food.

You observe her in more detail. The cloak hangs loosely on her frame, but she isn't boney, in fact a distinguishable swell shifts under it when she adjusts the tray in her hands. She is pregnant. A pregnant woman is your kidnapper. No, that's not right. She couldn't have carried the three of you, nor could she have done whatever the hell has been done to the four males who are clearly not present. There has to be others. The thought digs your nails into the soft mattress. 

She looks ready to say something again when her eyes dart to the side. You follow her gaze to see that Blue is moving her leg, eyes still closed, but she is moving.

The sight gives the rush of adrenaline needed to rip the sheet off your body and bring your feet to the floor. On wobbly legs, you rush to her cot, ignoring the woman's presence in favor of cupping Blue's cheeks, checking her pulse. Her skin is warm and the artery is beating steadily. You give her a little shake, but her eyes won't flutter. 

"She might not wake for longer than you. Do not be worried. The dosage has a stronger effect on children."

You stiffen.

A snarl cuts through you as anger surges, ripping free from the pit in your chest.

"Dosage?" 

You whirl around, careening toward the bars, gripping them when you almost lose your balance. "Do not be worried? You drugged a fucking child and shoved us in a cage." Your hands tighten, the metal biting into your skin. You don't care that your voice hurts from disuse. "Where are the others? Why aren't they here?" She startles back a step, her soft eyes downcast.

"I see you are upset," she says, her tone soft and careful. "I know this is... much for you. Sometimes God works in ways we do not understand right away, but I promise, He has blessed you. You are safe here." A light touch to her belly. Whispering now, she adds, "You are coveted." 

Then, she lowers the other two mugs through the bars and slips out of the room, cloak silently brushing her feet. 

Breathing hard, the energy deflates.

You half-crawl back to Blue's bed.

Staring at her pink cheeks.

Head pounding.

She claims you are safe. The lack of hostility might suggest that, but the enclosure and fact that she could not answer your question about the others say different. 

You spend a strange amount of time sifting through the recesses in your brain, plucking the memories out, from the bloody chapel to the smoke to this, before Nereida shifts in her bed. Her eyes actually open, and then she is gazing around, the same process of understanding contorting on her face. 

"Twix," she breathes. "What is—where are we?"

You tell her about Salome and everything you know, which is next to nothing. 

"But the guys—"

"I don't know where they are. She wouldn't tell me anything."

The mugs of porridge go cold. 

You hear movement outside in the distance—someone stepping through the grass, a passing exchange between French-speaking men—but the window is on the other side of the bars.

"Maybe if we try to just..."

Nereida attempts to poke half of her face through the bars to look out, but by the way she claws at her hairline in frustration, you don't need to ask to know she can't see a thing. 

Your muscles feel mostly in control now, and despite the howl in your stomach, you refuse to eat.

Nereida does, too. She does some silent prayer—if that's what you could call closing her eyes and humming hypnotically to herself—and when she is done, she reopens them and says, "John will come soon. He will."

"They could be dead."

"We would know if they were."

"No, we wouldn't."

"I would know," she whispers, and circles her arms around her knees, thumbing the scar on her shoulder. "He isn't dead."

Neither of you speak for some time. 

You watch Blue, her pulse steadying you, even if by a little. Absently, you stroke her hair. The pieces of the puzzle fall together with grim clarity. No weapons. Ghost, Price, Kyle, and Ari could be dead. The thought is a weight you can barely carry. You shove it away, refusing to let it consume you. If you let yourself linger too long on the possibility, you'll break down. You can't—merely for Blue's sake, not when you're holding onto the fragile thread keeping you together.

As the sunlight through the window starts to fade, you try to determine whether it's been a day or more since you were knocked out, and when exactly Salome will return. That's when Blue finally wakes up.

"Twix?"

Her lashes flicker.

"Blue. Blue, I'm here." You carefully scoop her in a tight hug, breathing her in closely. 

"What... what happened?" She lamely pulls away, shoulders sagging, and trembles in confusion. "I can't—I don't remember anything."

"We were drugged. Someone—I don't know who or why—but someone is keeping us in here."

"Are they going to kill us?" she whispers.

"I think they would have by now if they wanted to."

Her breath staggers. "But where is—why isn't Ghost here?"

You swallow. "I don't know if he... I don't know where he is."

Her eyes dart around.

"You mean my dad—he could be..."

She clutches at the shift on her chest.

At first, when you see her eyes begin to gloss over, you fear she is in pain. But then the panic becomes palpable, tearing through her ability to breathe, and she starts clawing at her own skin. 

"My dad is dead! My dad is fucking dead! He's not here. Why isn't he here!"

Her screams pierce the room.

You grab her wrists to stop the damage from her nails, welts already beating red on her neck.

"Blue, stop! Stop it!"

But she won't stop. She grabs the pillow and stuffs it in her mouth, howling into it, her face red and wet.

She begins to rock violently.

"I can't survive without him."

You watch helplessly, trying to hold her. 

"Please, just—breathe. We don't know if he's—"

The door opens. Salome rushes in beside an older woman similarly dressed in white. 

"Le pauvre enfant a peur! Dieu montre ta grâce." The other woman carries the tray this time, with what looks to be more food along with a syringe. She hands it to Salome. "Dites-leur que cela aidera."

Salome offers the needle through the bars as you glare at her, tightening your arms around Blue. "This will help her calm down."

"I am not giving her that. Stay the fuck away."

Blue is shaking so hard she bumps her skull into your jaw. Nereida touches your arm. "Twix, it could help her."

"You don't know what the fuck they put in that thing," you hiss at her. "I'm not drugging her even more."

"I will leave it here for your choosing. Your dinner will not be hot for long. Please, all of you, eat." Salome bows her head as she places the syringe and tray on the floor in front of the cell, and leaves with the other woman before you can demand more from them. 

It is only after minutes of listening to Blue scream, unable to stop her from scratching herself any longer, that you concede and ask Nereida to bring it to you. Carefully, you sweep the hair from her face, steadying the tremble in your hand as you sink the needle into a vein in her arm, with Nereida helping to keep it extended.

"There. Please, Blue, please calm down. We cannot think the worst. Not yet, okay?" Your eyes threaten moisture but you blink hard to keep it at bay.

Whatever it was acts the moment it seeps into her bloodstream. She sags into you, face turning sticky as the tears are given time to dry, and her wailing dies down to silence. 

"Are you hungry?" 

She shakes her head.

That first night is spent without sleeping. 

You entangle yourself with Blue in the cot, watching the evening turn to a sliver of moonlight across the floor. She doesn't fall asleep, either, oscillating between silent tears and a void stare at the ceiling. Nereida stays in her own bed, humming here and there in that way that she does. At one point, you hear her whisper into the pillow: "John, give me strength. You always do."

You keep your emotions steady by counting the notches in Blue's spine, one by one, then starting back at the top. As you do, you think about what Salome said. You are not just safe, you are coveted. They want you to eat. They are not trying to harm you. Coveted. She's touched her stomach when she said it. The connection between it all grows starker in your mind. 

You share this with Nereida at the break of dawn when Blue seems to finally have succumbed to fatigue.

"They want us because we are women. That's why the others aren't here."

She nods, whispering. "I was thinking the same."

"Then we use that to our advantage."

"How?"

You palm your temple. "I don't know. I mean, we have some standing here. They value us in some way, right?"

"But we don't even know who 'they' includes," she murmurs, leaning her forehead briefly against the wall, then sitting straighter. "There are men here, too. That much we know. And if they were able to take out all of us at once, then there could be many."

"But none have come to see us," you point out. "Why is that?"

"Because they aren't allowed to." She places a finger on the wall, drawing it around, as if it helps her think. "Why would they be? We are coveted, remember? Something to be protected. Why else would they bother feeding us and keeping us tucked away in here."

"So maybe the guys aren't dead yet," you exhale, wishfully. "Maybe they are just in separate... housing or something. Another cell of their own. Kept away from the women, that's all."

Based on the interior of the room, this feels it was once a small, detached home. Maybe on a farm. The walls are painted stone; cold to the touch. All of the buildings you recall seeing on your way here were old, little farmhouses. Perhaps they have an established settlement. 

Mewling it over, you finally touch the cold food, taking a small bite of the cut-up meat to confirm it's something you haven't tasted in years: beef. They have cattle. What else do they have? Drugs, apparently. Or at least some type of sedatives extracted from plants. They are well-versed in the land. They are religious. And women are coveted for reproduction. 

"But then what was the shit in that chapel for?" you whisper to yourself, the image of the mangled body staining the backs of your lids when you close them.

When they reopen, Salome is at the doorway.

"Bonjour, mesdames. I have some oatmeal—" she frowns at the tray on the floor. "Oh... my. You have not eaten for two days. This is not the Lord's wishes. Your bodies are chosen, and they are in need of—"

"Tell us where they are, and we’ll eat," you cut her off, rising to your feet. You grip the bars tightly. "Tell us if they're still alive. One of them is her father. If you don't want her screaming again, you will tell us if he's okay."

She stares at you, then nods. "Eat first. All of you."

The oatmeal is sweetened with ripe blackberries that burst on your tongue. Blue awakens just when you and Nereida finish scarfing the last bite. You hand her the last bowl of oatmeal and urge her to eat, knowing that Salome won't cooperate if she doesn't. Blue takes minuscule bites. She hacks some of it back up, but with a sip of water passed through the cage, she is able to finish the rest.

She wipes a hand over her mouth and looks at Salome. "My dad. Where is he?" Her voice is low.

"He is alive. Of course, he is. They all are." A tremendous sense of relief washed over you. She cups her belly, her fingers tracing the shape. "Life is sacred... and so is death. We must be careful not to let more death come than is needed. The world... it has already seen too much of it."

Your brow scrunches. "Bullshit. I saw that corpse you guys left in the—"

Nereida gives your wrist a light squeeze, a reminder to hold back. You bite your tongue, knowing this woman is the only one who might give you any answers.

Salome tilts her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "I do not mean the world does not deserve the plague it bears. Men... they grew too sinful. Strayed far from God's will. It was His plan for them to atone for it." Her lips stretch into a faint smile, a thin, almost sad expression. "Your friends—they cannot come closer to God until they make amends. They must atone before they can be worthy of the future we will bring."

You blanch. "What the hell does that mean? 'They must atone?'"

Her gaze drifts to the left, and she mutters something under her breath in French, her words faint, then lowers her head to collect the tray, her back to you. You can’t hold yourself back any longer, pushing your face between the bars. "Don’t you fucking dare. You’ve hardly told us anything!"

"I... I fear I cannot say more." She pauses, glancing over her shoulder. "You are in a delicate state, and Maman will see to you today. Please... trust me, this is the way it must be."

Maman?

The door quietly clicks shut and you growl at it.

A hand cups your shoulder. 

"She told us they're alive. That's what matters, right?'

You face Blue, leaning your spine into the metal. "Yeah. But we still have no way of getting to them."

The red rim around her eyes has faded to the same flush as her lips. She takes a slow breath through her chest, clenching and unclenching her hands, before asking, "What do you think they are doing to them?"

"I don't know," you say with a heavy exhale, your tongue pressing between your cheek and teeth.

G

Pennies.

When Ghost swims to the surface of semiconsciousness, the smell of pennies wafts up his nose first, then the feel of icy, hard restraints around his wrists hits him second. It is the kind of smell that is deeply woven into the floors and walls. Old blood calling for new. He could remember smelling it for the first time in Mexico when he'd awoken in a cell, stripped. The flush of air against his chest suggests this time is now different, but upon forcing his lids apart, a glance downward reveals he still has jeans on.

Ghost thinks he hears someone scream his name—Simon!—but it is merely a memory from right before the world went dark. He'd fought against it all he could, keeping the tail of Twix's shirt in one hand, and trying to seek Blue with the other, but then he had to choose one to let go of to grab his gun. The memory swims up to the forefront; the fumbling of his fingers at his belt loop, seeking the pistol, the loss of motor function as something pricked his neck. The pistol slipped from his grasp, and so did they.

He forces the reel of Twix's screams to the back of his mind where they play in a distant loop. Through hazy vision, he looks around, taking in the lack of light. No windows. It is a small room, with grey stone walls, and only one door at the far end. None of the others are here. Not the girls or Price or Gaz. There wouldn't even be space for all of them to fit in here. The shackles on his wrists are rusty, nicking his skin when he tries to shift around. His heart thumps steady and slow between his ears. Whatever they drugged him with is fading with each shake of his head and forced blink of his eyes.

He tugs on the manacles once more in vain when there is a voice from the other side of the wall.

It is muffled through stone, but grows crisper as booted footsteps close in.

Then they stop.

The door creaks open.

The man who steps in is cloaked in grey.

He waves a metal bar, whistling lowly, and kicking the door shut behind him. 

"You must be an early riser." His chuckle is wry. "Up before your friends. Tell me, Brit. What brings you all the way to l'Hexagone? Not a fun trip over the water, is it?"

The man circles him. A light tap of the bar on his bare shoulder blade. 

"No? Not much of a sharer?" The end of the bar presses in, just slightly, but the pain doesn't register. Only the cold wetness of a trickle of blood on his back when it pulls away. A hand fists his hair, and yanks his head back. "Nous allons régler ça, sale racaille. Je me ferai un plaisir de t'aider à retrouver la lumière."

His head is thrown forward with force. Ghost blinks down at the floor, teeth grinding. Through them, he breathes hard—

"Where are they?"

"Which ones? The pretty ones?" The accented voice lowers to the shell of his ear. "I would not get your hopes up of seeing them again. They will be saved for the most worthy of us."

- Nous devons expier nos péchés...We must atone for our sins. - Tu es réveillée!...You're awake! - Le pauvre enfant a peur! Dieu montre ta grâce....The poor child is afraid. God show your grace. - Dites-leur que cela aidera...Tell them it will help. - Nous allons régler ça, sale racaille. Je me ferai un plaisir de t'aider à retrouver la lumière...We'll sort this out, you dirty scum. I'll be happy to help you get back to the light.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: poly!Marauders + Lily x muggle!Reader

The haunted house loomed over the darkened street like a castle out of a horror film. You had been here before—multiple times, in fact—so the spooky, creaky mansion didn’t faze you anymore. But your partners? Oh, that was a different story.

Lily stood beside you, eyes glinting in amusement as she looked at her boyfriends. Remus was calm and collected as ever, but the other three? Well, they had spent the last ten minutes bragging about how “nothing in a muggle haunted house could possibly scare them.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not that scary,” you reassured them with a grin as you stood at the entrance. Your hand brushed against Sirius’s for a moment, and you could feel his nervous energy, despite the bravado he’d been putting on.

“Please,” Sirius scoffed, “this will be nothing. Right, Prongs?”

James adjusted his glasses, puffing out his chest. “Right. It’ll be fine. We’ve faced far worse.”

Peter, standing between them, gave a tentative smile, his eyes darting nervously toward the shadowy door. “Yeah… piece of cake.”

Remus chuckled softly, and Lily shook her head with a knowing smirk. You caught her eye, both of you silently preparing yourselves for the inevitable.

With a deep breath, you led the group inside.

The first few moments were quiet. Dim lights flickered overhead as the group walked cautiously down the narrow corridor. A few eerie moans echoed through the air, and Sirius rolled his eyes. “Is this it? A few spooky noises? Pfft.”

But then the floor creaked loudly behind him, and the group froze. James was the first to whirl around, his wand hand twitching out of habit, though you’d insisted they leave the magic behind. “Did you hear that?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Remus said, his tone calm. “Just part of the experience.”

But then a loud BANG reverberated through the room, and Peter yelped, stumbling back into Sirius. “Bloody hell!”

Sirius grabbed his shoulders. “Calm down, Wormtail. We’ve got this.”

You bit back a laugh, knowing full well what was coming. A shadowy figure darted across the far end of the hallway, and James immediately stepped closer to you, his bravado starting to crack.

You muffled your chuckle as you looked at James with a serious face, "Jamie, don't worry, it's not that scary."

“Uh, I’m not scared. Just… staying close.”

“Sure, sure,” you teased.

Lily’s grin widened, but she stayed quiet, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

As you reached the next section, the lights dimmed further, and eerie fog began to curl around your feet. A low growl filled the air, and before anyone could react, a figure dressed as a grotesque zombie lunged out from the darkness, arms outstretched.

“Okay, I lied. RUN!” you shouted, barely keeping the laughter out of your voice as you sprinted forward with Lily and Remus.

It was chaos.

James let out a loud yell, grabbing Peter by the back of his shirt. “We’re under attack! Go, go, go!”

Sirius, eyes wide, grabbed Peter’s other arm and pushed him forward. “Prongs, grab Peter and RUN!”

Peter was practically being dragged by the other two as they scrambled down the hallway, their shouts and exclamations filling the air.

“Sirius, this is your fault!” Peter cried out, voice cracking with panic.

“Why is it my fault?” Sirius shot back, barely avoiding another costumed ghoul who popped out of a hidden corner.

“You said it wouldn’t be scary!”

Meanwhile, you, Lily, and Remus had stopped at the next corner, standing calmly as you watched the chaos unfold. The actors who were supposed to be scaring you all now stood frozen, bewildered by the sheer volume and drama of the Marauders. Even the man in the zombie costume hesitated, glancing at his fellow actors as if to say, What’s going on?

Lily’s laughter finally bubbled out. “Oh, Merlin… they’re scaring the actors!”

Remus grinned, arms crossed casually as he watched his friends shriek and sprint away from another costumed ghost. “It’s honestly impressive how much they overreact.”

You wiped away a tear of laughter, your sides aching. “Should we go save them?”

Lily smirked. “Nah, let’s see how long they can keep this up.”

The haunted house staff looked genuinely worried now, the loud commotion drawing them out from their hiding spots. One of them, a tall man with a skeleton mask, cautiously approached you and whispered, “Uh… are your friends okay?”

You grinned. “Oh, they’ll be fine. They’re just a little dramatic.”

A piercing scream echoed from up ahead, followed by James shouting, “WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!”

Sirius’s voice rang out next, just as loud, “If we don’t make it, I want you all to know—IT WAS PETER’S FAULT!”

Peter sputtered indignantly, still being pulled along as they ran deeper into the haunted house. “WHAT?”

As another shadow loomed overhead, Sirius screamed, “NOPE, NOPE, NOPE! WE’RE DONE!”

You, Remus, and Lily casually followed them out, still composed and calm as ever.

James saw you first. “What took you so long?! We’ve been fending for ourselves!”

You smirked. “You seem to be doing just fine.”

Sirius glared at the spooky décor. “This place is a death trap.”

Peter catching his breath, glared at you like you had set him up. "You could've warned us, you know."

“I did,” you reminded him, trying not to laugh outright. “You’re the ones who didn’t listen.”

Lily crossed her arms, smirking. “I think next time, the boys should stick to ghost stories around the fireplace.”

James was still shaking his head in disbelief. “I can't believe I was bested by a Muggle haunted house.”

Remus chuckled, throwing his arm over James' shoulder. “Next time, we’ll get you some ghost-repelling spells."

"NEXT TIME?? When did you get the idea that there was going to be a next idea?" Sirius shrieked.

James threw his hands up in defeat. “You are never dragging us into anything like that again!”

“Oh, we’ll see,” you teased.

Lily nudged you playfully, whispering, “Next year, we should definitely bring them back.”

You nodded with a mischievous grin.

prompt : “Don’t worry, it’s not that scary.” “Okay, I lied. RUN!” from @thatdammchickennugget's prompt list!!

[ba9go]

i don't care if you're contagious

bakugou katsuki x gn!reader (zombie apocalypse au)

in which katsuki promises to never leave your side.

katsuki trudged through the wreckage strewn about the street, the chaos of the apocalypse swirling around him. he had seen countless horrors, but none compared to this.

he sees a young boy sprinting away from a twisted, zombified woman. his mother. the child is sobbing, and katsuki's first instinct is to rush in and protect, but one of the other pro-heroes beat him to it.

'fuckin' hell,' katsuki thinks as he continues down the ruined street, steps heavy with disgust and frustration. his stomach twists and katsuki feels sickened at the cruelty of it all.

his eyes darted from one horror to another — crumbling buildings, abandoned cars, the unsettling sight of undead creatures stumbling, crawling, lying amongst the wreckage.

after days of this god-damned apocalypse, katsuki's gotten somewhat used to it. the stench of decay. the incessant groaning ringing in his ears. it was sickening.

and worst of all? you were missing.

it's been roughly 72 hours since katsuki's seen you (yes, he's keeping track), and katsuki's frantic.

katsuki knows you're strong, knows how capable you are. but even so, the situation has only gone from bad to worse, and anything could happen.

katsuki doesn't know what he'd do if he lost you.

katsuki knows he can't afford to dwell on things like that. each time he feels himself worrying about you, he shoves it all aside, because he knows — if he lets himself think about it, his mind would simply spiral, until it drove him completely crazy and to the brink of breaking down.

and only god knows how bad katsuki wanted to break down every passing moment without you, without knowing that you were okay.

katsuki doesn't think too much about what could happen. the thought of you lost in this madness, possibly hurt (or worse), was simply too unbearable.

instead, katsuki thinks about your sweet voice, telling him to stay strong, reassuring him that things will all be okay.

sometimes, in the quiet moments between the chaos, katsuki would close his eyes and let his mind drift back to the last time he saw you.

"katsuki," you murmured, reaching up to hold his face. your touch is always so gentle, and yet katsuki swears that it's the only thing keeping him grounded in this fucked-up situation.

"y/n'," katsuki exhales with a shaky breath. he leans down and presses his forehead against yours. his hands tighten their grip on your waist as he pulls you in as close as he can get. "i don't know if i have it in me to let you go, darlin'."

"i know, katsuki," you sighed, caressing his cheeks with your thumbs, and katsuki's chest tightens as your eyes start to water. "i'll be back later, alright?"

"i'll be waiting," katsuki thinks you already know this, but he tells you anyway. "i swear to god, i ain't lettin' go of ya when ya come back to me."

"sure took your sweet time comin' back to me, didn't ya?" katsuki chuckles as he approaches the familiar figure staggering through the debris.

it was you.

the infection had twisted you into one of them, with deathly pale skin and jerky, unnatural movements. yet even in your zombified state, katsuki knew it was you.

slowly, you turned around to look at katsuki impassively. katsuki's heart clenches at your empty stare, but he can't bring himself to walk away from you.

"been lookin' for ya, ya know?" katsuki laughs, even though it's strained. "had me lookin' like the clingy one, sweets."

you stumble towards him with outstretched hands, and all katsuki can think is that you're reaching out to him, and he's rushing to you in an instant.

before he reaches you, you sway on your feet and fall to the ground on your knees. katsuki curses under his breath and he kneels in front of you, holding you by your shoulders to steady you.

"are you okay?" is what katsuki wants to ask, but he realises with a shudder that it would be futile. instead, he closes the distance, his hand gently cupping your face.

"damn it, y/n," katsuki voice breaks. "i've been looking for you. i looked everywhere." katsuki searches desperately in your eyes for any trace of emotion, of recognition.

you let out a weak, garbled noise, but you don't lean into his touch, and katsuki thinks for the first time since this shitty apocalypse that his world might finally be crashing down around him.

'no,' katsuki thinks. he finally found you. this was no time for him to break down. he had to be strong, for you.

"i'm sorry i took so long," katsuki forces a small smile. "m'here now, yeah?"

katsuki wraps his arms around you and pulls you in towards him like he's done countless times in the past.

katsuki closed the gap between them, his lips pressing against yours in a kiss.

katsuki doesn't pull away until your hands are on his shoulders, pushing him away as if in protest. it was so like you, and katsuki couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped him.

"i told ya i wouldn't let go of ya, didn't i?" katsuki smiles, even as he feels himself growing faint. "a promise's a promise, darlin'."

bbbbrrrrrraaaaiiiinnnnnnsssssssssss...

taglist (thank you for your support!!): @anicaaa67 @maddietries @valeriyaaak @v3n7s @deimosjay @zaiban2989 @girls-overflower @notmeduhh @dreamcastgirl99 @busdriver-move-that-ass @atashiboba @kathsuhki @armeenix @channnee @sukunasbottomlefteyeball @kenqki @vikizzy @thesimpybitch @eempxth @hanta-seros-wifey @itztaki @thekidscallmebosss @crimsonrubie @babylambdietcoke @suki0

[minus-plus-zer0]

Almost Too Late

♡ Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff ending ♡ Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

You only fell for him when it was almost too late.

You laid there, bleeding on the streets. Bakugou sprinted to your side, skidding to a halt to kneel down and hold your body in his arms.

The sight of your broken body stole his breath away. His eyes lingered on your wound. He screamed for people to come help you, even though he never screamed for help before. You couldn’t make out all the words, your vision fading, but you wanted to hear everything he said because he was saying it for the first time in his life.

“You can’t die… don’t die…”

Those words almost didn’t reach you. Your heart broke for the poor boy before you. But you no longer controlled your own fate.

Bakugou rested his head on your shoulder, sobbing and keeping you as close as possible. Your hand reached up to his face, stroking his cheek. He met your eyes, looking more vulnerable than you could’ve ever imagined him.

His hand found yours, mixing your shaky fingers together.

“I love you…” he said, voice sounding rough like it was dragged against rocks. “Don’t die… I don’t wanna do this without you.”

You never realized he loved you until now. You wished you had known.

“Katsuki… I…”

You were fading fast. The paramedics arrived and took your body somewhere. You heard Bakugou shouting and fighting them off before he realized who they were.

You never gave him an answer, until you awoke some time later.

You opened your eyes, head groggy like it weighed a couple extra pounds. The first thing you saw in your hospital room was Bakugou Katsuki, sitting by your bed, sleeping in a chair waiting for you to wake up.

You barely remembered what happened when you almost died, but you remembered his love confession. The entire ordeal would’ve been awkward with anybody else, but after seeing him here, you never felt so at home.

You grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently, repeatedly, until he awoke. You could barely move but you squeaked out a “Hey bestie” just for him.

His face lit up a thousand watts, he never looked so happy to see you.

“Can I fucking hug you?”

“Y-yes…”

He hugged you tight, soft enough to avoid crushing you under the weight of his desperation. His barely audible sniffles brushed against your neck while his strong arms trembled. Eventually, he pulled away and let you breathe. He smiled at you like you were a sight for sore eyes.

“I’m so, so glad you’re alive,” he said, his voice breaking at the last word. “Never thought I’d get to talk to my best fucking friend again. They basically resurrected you, you should’ve told me you were part-zombie.”

“I’ll bite you and then we’ll be zombies together. Then we’ll never be apart, not even in death.”

“Dummy,” he said that so softly. “I’ll never leave you. Not willingly. Don’t ever die on me. You scared the ever loving shit out of me, you know that?”

“Yeah… I’m sorry…” your smile was marred with new oncoming tears.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your damn fault.” His voice wavered. “I need you here by my side. You can’t go without me. Don’t go, okay? I really wanna see us grow up together.”

“O-okay.”

You held both of his hands in yours, you still kept crying a little and he tried his damndest not to cry (again).

You recalled his confession on your deathbed earlier. It was now so obvious how he felt towards you. He promised his life to you here, you felt like you should’ve known he was in love with you all along.

“Katsuki,” you said, “I… when I almost—you know, died… I heard you say something…”

His face blanched, like you had a gun to his head, ready to pull the trigger and end him for good.

Was he afraid you’d reject him?

“I heard what you said,” you finished.

“…Y-you did?” He trembled, terrified of your response.

“You said you loved me?”

He shook hard, not even trying to hide it. He nodded the tiniest quickest bit. “I love you. Do you—”

“I love you too, dummy.”

Bakugou kissed you deeply. God knows how your appearance must’ve looked, but he kissed you all the same. He pushed deeper into the kiss like he needed to taste everything he could. You could see your heartbeat spike up on the monitor nearby.

How awful it would've been to die without ever kissing him. You would've regretted it beyond the afterlife, rolling in your grave.

Bakugou pulled back, his face still close to yours as you breathed each other in.

"There's still so much I wanna do with you," he said. "So much shit happened when we all thought you were gonna die. I'm gonna make sure not to waste our time together since I finally got you back." He kissed you on the nose and you shyly smiled up at him. "Once you're healed up, you're not leaving my side. I won't make the same mistake twice."

"I won't either."

(I will be posting a fulfilled request later today if I can! Either that or a regular fic)

[littlejoyss]

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖚𝖗𝖊 (𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊)

Stray Kids - Non-Idol!Bang Chan x Reader

Warnings: Gore, violence, zombie apocalypse, g*ns, suggestive, blood, swearing, needles, death

Total Word Count: 21k

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: When you find out you're immune to the zombie virus, you keep yourself away from survival gangs who might use you. That is until the Stray Kids gang finds you, and you fall for their leader in the middle of the apocalypse.

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𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊 (currently reading)

𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 1: 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 1- 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 4

𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 2: 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 5 -𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 9

𝖊𝖕𝖎𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊

In 2025, the Lemures virus spread throughout the globe. It started in America, where they saw the dead rise and attack others. The initial outbreak was contained in a small town, but the rapid spread soon overwhelmed the authorities. Scientists speculated that the virus had been engineered, though its origins remained a mystery.

The virus had interesting characteristics: it only resurrected the recently deceased, turning them into predators. The infected were nearly unstoppable, with heightened strength and a disturbing resistance to pain. 

Governments worldwide scrambled to contain the pandemic, imposing martial law and strict quarantine zones. However, the virus spread faster than anyone anticipated. Panic and misinformation caused mass riots, leading to societal collapse in many regions.

Amidst the chaos, small pockets of survivors began forming their own communities. These groups scavenged supplies, made shelters, and worked to understand the virus. 

In South Korea, there were many small gangs of survivors. 

But you never joined one. Why? Because you found out you were immune to the virus.

The realization came when you escaped an infected horde in Seoul. Cornered in an alley, one of the infected sank its teeth into your arm. You had fought it off, expecting to join the undead. But days passed, and the fever never came. The bite healed, leaving only a faint scar.

You kept your immunity a secret, fearing what others might do if they discovered the truth. Some might view you as a miracle, while others might see you as a resource to be exploited, or worse, a subject for experimentation. Trust was a luxury you couldn’t afford in this fractured world.

Living on the outskirts of Seoul, you avoided gangs and other survivor groups, scavenging during the quiet hours and sleeping in hidden spots. This worked for months until you were finally discovered.

You were sleeping in a boarded-up gas station when one of the boards from the door slipped. You jolted awake and saw more falling off.

The sound of footsteps outside sent a chill through your body. You instinctively reached for your crowbar as you crouched behind the counter. The dim light of the early morning barely filtered through the cracked windows.

The boards fell away one by one, the wood creaking as they hit the ground. Your breath caught as you heard muffled voices. Not infected. Survivors.

A man’s voice spoke first. “Told you I saw someone come in here last night. You owe me ten rounds of ammo.”

Another voice replied. “Shut up, Changbin. Whoever’s in there might still be armed.”

You stayed still with your heart pounding. If they were desperate, they might try to rob you. But if you didn’t reveal yourself, they’d likely tear the place apart to find you. You could hear them moving closer.

Then, the first man spoke again, louder this time. “Hey! We know you’re in there! We’re not looking for trouble. Just come out so we can talk.”

Taking a deep breath, you stood up and stepped out from behind the counter, crowbar held at your side. “I’m here. But if you try anything, I won’t hesitate.”

The shorter of the two men, Changbin, raised his hands in mock surrender, a faint smirk on his face. “See? Told you they’d come out. No need to go full apocalypse on us.”

The other man kept his shotgun pointed at you. His eyes were hard, scanning you. “We’re not here to hurt you,” he said, though his stance suggested otherwise. “We’re looking for someone who knows how to survive. You seem like you’ve done a good job of that so far.”

“And why would I help you?” you asked, your grip tightening on the crowbar.

The man with the shotgun lowered it slightly, though he kept his finger near the trigger. “Because we’re not looking to take anything from you,” he said. “We’re offering a trade. Skills for safety.”

Changbin grinned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’ve got supplies, a secure shelter, and people who have each other’s backs. You’ve got survival instincts. We could use someone like you.”

You narrowed your eyes, not lowering your guard. “And if I say no?”

Changbin shrugged. “Then we leave you to this charming gas station and go on our way. But if we can find you, so can others. We’re giving you an out.”

The man with the shotgun added, “We’re not gangsters or scavengers looking to rob you blind. Our group’s trying to build something better, a place where people don’t have to be afraid all the time. You’ve been on your own, and that’s worked so far, but it won’t forever.” 

You stared at them, weighing your options. They could be lying, luring you into a trap. But they also didn’t seem desperate. They looked well-fed, armed, and prepared. They were right about one thing: living alone was getting harder. The infected were getting more aggressive, and the risk of running into hostile survivors was rising.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” you finally asked. “You haven’t even introduced yourselves.”

The man with the shotgun glanced at Changbin, who rolled his eyes but nodded in understanding. “Fair enough,” Changbin said, lowering his hands slightly. “I’m Changbin, and this is Minho. We’re part of a survival gang called Stray Kids. We’re based about three miles south of here, in what used to be a shopping complex. It’s fortified, and we’ve got enough resources to hold out for months.”

Minho gave a slight nod. “We’re scavenging for supplies and scouting for people who can contribute. We’ve had enough trouble with other gangs and looters, so we’re careful about who we approach. But you’ve been living alone this long, and that says something. You’ve got skills we could use.”

You frowned, still skeptical. “And what if I don’t want to join your group? What if I’m fine on my own?”

Minho’s expression didn’t change, but his tone softened. “That’s your choice. We’re not forcing anyone. But the world out there is getting worse. You might survive on your own for now, but no one lasts forever alone. Gangs are getting bolder, and the infected are… changing.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine. “Changing? What do you mean?”

Changbin’s smirk faded, replaced by a grim look. “There’ve been reports of infected moving in larger packs, almost coordinated. And some of them… well, let’s just say they’re not the shambling corpses we’re used to. Faster. Smarter. Deadlier.”

Minho added, “We don’t know why it’s happening, but it’s real. And if you’re out here by yourself when one of those packs finds you, there won’t be a second chance.”

You felt a pit form in your stomach. You’d seen hints of what they were describing. The infected moved more deliberately, as though something was guiding them. But you hadn’t wanted to believe it.

Changbin’s voice broke your thoughts. “Look, we’re not here to pressure you. If you want to stay here, that’s fine. But if you’re interested, we’ll take you to our base. You can see for yourself what we’re about. If it’s not for you, you can leave. No strings attached.”

You hesitated, glancing at the faint scar on your arm. They didn’t know your secret, and you had no intention of telling them. But the prospect of a secure shelter, even temporarily, was tempting. And if what they said about the infected was true, you might not have much of a choice.

Finally, you sighed. “Alright. I’ll come with you. But if this is a trap-”

“It’s not,” Minho interrupted firmly. “You have my word.”

Changbin clapped his hands together, a grin returning to his face. “Great! Let’s get moving. The base is not far, but we’ve got to be quick. The infected around here are more active during the day.”

Grabbing your pack and crowbar, you followed them out of the gas station.

      ⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The shopping complex they called their base was a fortress compared to anything you’d seen since the outbreak. Barbed wire topped the high fences surrounding the perimeter, and makeshift watchtowers stood at each corner, manned by armed guards. Inside people were unloading supplies from scavenging runs, others were tending to a small garden, and several children played with sticks. 

You’d expected a handful of survivors, maybe a small gang. Instead, this looked like an entire community.

Changbin noticed your expression and smirked. “Not bad, huh? Told you we weren’t lying.”

Minho gestured for you to follow him. “Come on. We’ll take you to meet the other leaders. They’ll want to know who you are.”

Your stomach tightened. “Do I have to? I’m just passing through.”

Minho stopped and turned to face you, his eyes sharp. “If you’re here, you’re under our protection. That comes with rules. No freeloaders, no traitors. You’ll need to meet the council if you want to stay, even temporarily.”

Reluctantly, you nodded, gripping your pack tighter. “Fine. Lead the way.”

They guided you to what had once been a department store. The interior had been changed into a command center, with maps, charts, and radios. At the center of it all was a man. His short black hair was messy but remained dignified. He wore a military-style jacket, and his sharp gaze immediately landed on you.

“New recruit?” he asked.

“Potential recruit,” Minho corrected. “Found them scavenging alone. They’ve been surviving out there on their own for months. Figured they might be useful.”

The man stepped closer, studying you. “Name?”

You hesitated before answering. “...(Y/N).”

He raised an eyebrow. “Just (Y/N)?”

“For now.”

The man didn’t push. “Fine. I’m Captain Bang Chan or just Chan. I run this place with the council. If you want to stay, you’ll have to contribute. Everyone works here. No exceptions.”

“What kind of work?” 

“Depends on your skills. Scavenging, defense, construction, cooking, or whatever you’re good at. We don’t waste resources on dead weight.”

“I can do it all. I’ve been on my own for a while.”

“Is that so? Then you’ll be a jack-of-all-trades for now. We’ll see where you fit best.”

Minho spoke up, crossing his arms. “We’ve got enough slackers claiming they’re good at everything but can’t even hold a hammer or swing a bat. I hope you’re not one of them.”

Chan interrupted, “For now, let’s introduce you to the rest of the council. You’ve already met Minho and Changbin. Minho is our scavenging leader. He sets up teams and areas to go looking for supplies every day. Changbin is our recruitment leader. His team follows the scavenging teams to find new recruits.”

Chan gestured for you to follow him further into the command center. He led you into a large room with a long table surrounded by a handful of people. The room hummed with quiet conversation.

“Everyone,” Chan announced, his voice firm and commanding. “This is (Y/N). They’ll be joining us, at least temporarily. I’ll leave it to you to decide how they can contribute.”

The group turned to look at you, their expressions ranging from curiosity to skepticism. One of them, a tall man with sharp features was the first to speak. “I’m Hyunjin, and I lead the construction team. Construction’s a big deal around here. We’re constantly improving the base, reinforcing the walls, making sure the buildings are secure. If you’re good with tools or have a creative mind, you can help here.”

The man next to him spoke up, “I’m Seungmin, the defense leader. We need eyes on the perimeter at all times. There are a lot of threats out there, both infected and other gangs. We don’t take security lightly.”

The person across the table spoke next. “I’m Felix and I run the resources team. Resources are critical, especially food and clean water. We’ve got our own supply lines, but sometimes things get tight. Anyone who can lend a hand with that is valuable.”

The leader next to Felix leaned back in his chair, a bit more relaxed than the others. “I’m Han and I run the humanities team. Not as flashy as the rest of the work, but we help make sure everyone’s doing alright.”

The youngest-looking, but also the serious-looking of them all, spoke last. “I’m Jeongin. The medical team handles all injuries, illnesses, and basic healthcare. If you’ve got medical knowledge, you’ll be helping us keep this place standing.”

Chan then cleared his throat, “And I am not only the Captain, but I help lead the small team of us who are trying to find a cure.”

You nodded at each of them, trying to take in all the information. There were more people here than you'd expected, and they seemed to have distinct roles. This wasn’t just a group of survivors, it was a functioning community, each person contributing to its survival in their own way.

After a brief pause, Chan looked at you. “So, we’re not a charity. If you’re in, you’ll work, just like the rest of us. No one here gets a free ride. So, what’s your skill set?”