#tragic backstory *finger guns*

[raithwithwings57]

First Draft Of Some Angsty Stucky Fanfic

I’ve been writing a lot of stucky fics for a while now, but I’ve not published any of them yet, so I figured I’d spit out a bit of what I wrote this evening onto y’all for consideration. Tell me if y’all want to see any more, but I’m probably gonna post some more bits and pieces of some of my unfinished fics over here in the next few days.

Context for this bit: this is a fic where Bucky has been freed from being the winter soldier before Steve was found and no one, not even Bucky really knows who he was and where he came from. They know that Bucky was a killer, and that he killed Tony’s parents, so the avengers don’t feel overly fond of him even though they work with him. Warning: Violent

James rubbed the back of his neck, took a deep breath, and then nodded to himself. He intentionally turned to look at Barton as though he was the only one that he was speaking to, as if the entire room wasn’t listening. “You’ve read my file haven’t you?” James didn’t wait for a reply, it wasn’t intended to actually be a question. “You know that I was a POW. I don’t remember exactly, it’s all pretty hazy, but I remember falling, and I remember how long it took. I remember holding on for dear life one second, and the wind was whipping me around and my hands were losing feeling because it was so cold and we were moving so goddamn fast through it, and the next moment I’m falling. I hit something, a rock face, pretty sure it was the side of a cliff on the way down, and took off my left arm.” He kept his face impassive as he demonstrated a place about halfway between his left elbow and shoulder. “I don’t remember actually hitting the ground, like those stupid falling dreams where you only ever fall, but never actually make nice with that sudden stop. I didn’t know that the experiments had been successful, or really that I’d been experimented on at all. I’d no idea that i had enough serum coursing through my veins to let me survive that fall, and i didn’t know that they—“ James paused, took stock of his features, schooled them studiously down, even quirked a little smile. It was a few seconds before he trusted his voice to betray nothing. “That was how I was captured. So they could— what did you say? Make me into a killer badass assassin who isn’t afraid of bullets.”

James laughed. “I got out a couple times in the early days, managed to read my own records even if I couldn’t escape, and the memories are almost all burned away, they wiped me and wiped me and wiped me, so many times since then so it’s really mostly gone, but I can vaguely remember seeing a bit about how half the bones in my body were broken, and the words multiple skull fractures stand out to me in my mind. And the notes— i don’t’ know how true this is, I don’t have a scar to show for it, but I’ve had my throat slit before and it didn’t leave any marks— it said I’d been guillotined by my own dog-tags— i think when i hit that cliff. It must have been too cold for me to bleed out properly, I think i landed face down, or maybe I rolled over and that staunched the flow of blood. That’s not the point, but it kind of is. I fell down to hell, and i crawled out a demon, is it any wonder I’m afraid of it still?”

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Hit ‘Em Up! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it? 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS GTFO); poly!SatouSugu; Reader is Black & Fem; Mention of other JJK characters; Porn with Plot; Tragic Backstories; T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture; Angst/Hurt/Comfort; Hand Kink; Masturbation; Voyeurism; Gay Sex; Polyamorous; Double Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Fingering; CMNF; Spitroast; Riding; Unprotected PiV Sex; Creampies; Outside/Public Sex; Shotgunning; Multiple Positions; Spit Kink; Facials; MDom/fsub Undertones; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen PT I & II. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Twenty-Four. Epilogue + Soundtrack.

********

TWO: G & G.

You know that there are those in the world who strike fear into people’s hearts and souls.

But you’ve never seen anyone react to a single human being the way they do the duo that struts into the bar in their leather cowboy boots. 

You’ve never seen the saloon so quiet and still before then when the duo steps into the scene. A tumbleweed could blow by with how silent it is.

Everyone’s eyes stay planted on the tall, handsome men oozing with confidence and intimidation standing among the swinging doors, appearing like sexy phantoms in the night.

There stands Geto Suguru, the 6’4 long-haired gunslinger with the perfect, black locks that cascade down his broad shoulders and back, seductive eyes, and skillful hands that he hides behind two riding gloves.

He usually is seen riding a black Bronco that is just as big as him and sporting a black cape with black riding pants, boots, and a low-brim cowboy hat. Black fits him so damn well. The only thing that isn’t black on him is the red vest that is so low-cut that you can see the outline of his pecs. 

Beside him is his partner (and lover as it’s rumored) Gojo Satoru, the lean, confident, cocky, blindfolded bandit standing at 6’3 with snow-white hair, a sly smile, leather gloves that hide some skillful and deadly hands, and a blindfold covering his eyes that have never been seen but are said to make a man go cold with fear where he stands.

In contrast to Geto, the white-haired cowboy is doused in colors: a denim jacket that matches his slacks where a star-shaped belt buckle hangs from his crotch; brown boots with spurs; a red bandana wrapped around his neck; and a white cowboy hat sits low on his head. He, too, has his own horse: a brown Bronco that is recognizable from its hooves clicking across the ground.  

They are a match made in heaven and hell. Handsome, skillful, and deadly. They are known for their impressive yet terrifying speed when it comes to cocking and shooting their pistols. You’ve heard of them killing all kinds of wanted criminals and even other gunslingers in other counties.

Everyone knows them and so do you. 

If a record was playing, the damn thing would be scratching by now with the way the saloon reacts to seeing the gunslingers in the flesh. Whispers begin to rise from the silence, including from Yuki, Mai, and Maki who have wandered over. “Oh, my God,” Mai gasps. “It’s the Gunslingers!” 

“What the hell are they doin’ here?” Maki wonders aloud, peering at them from behind her spectacles. “Are they lookin’ for someone? I thought they had been arrested!” 

And they did, last year. At some point, the articles of gunslingers, corporation owners, and high rollers found dead with bullets in them and a note from “G & G” left at the scene stopped when they were arrested after that train heist. And you know it has everything to do with their connection to your boss. 

“Who cares?” Yuki dreamily sighs as she stares at the gunslingers with heart eyes. “I get to admire them in person now! Aren’t they delicious?” 

“Keep it in your pants, Yuki,” Choso grumbles, tugging on a lock of the blonde’s hair as she giggles. “They ain’t even all that.” 

“Of course not,” Yuki purrs, making Choso blush. “Not above you, Chosi, but a cowboy hat would do you so well!”

Even you will admit that the “wanted dead or alive” posters don’t do them justice: they are fine as all hell, straight out of a woman’s wet dreams. But they are also outlaws. And you despise outlaws…for personal reasons. 

The duo begins to look around the silent saloon, Gojo’s head slowly turning despite his blindfold. When his head turns toward you, you feel as if the air has been stolen from your very lungs. Despite the fabric covering his eyes, you feel as if he sees you. All of you. 

Gojo nudges Geto with his elbow before waltzing over to the bar, his boots thudding across the hardwood floor. Geto follows, ignoring the whispers and stares in their wake. The piano has begun to pick up again, but it does nothing to ease the tension swimming in the air. Quickly, you turn to face your drink while the girls scatter to work, leaving you to fend for yourself. 

Geto sits on the stool beside you while Gojo takes the one beside him. You feel the air around you become stiff and tense as the cowboys settle into their seats. “So what’s a cowboy gotta do to get a drink round here?” Gojo asks with a smirk. “Can ya help a guy out, miss?”

He gives Shoko a flirty look, not knowing that this girl is gay as hell. “I could damn sure try,” she replies, barely giving him a smile. “What will you fellas have?” 

“I’ll take a Long Island iced tea,” Gojo says then laughs. “Just kiddin’! A beer, please.”

Geto takes a moment to examine the shelves of alcohol behind Shoko. He then looks at your pretty drink. “I’ll take what the lady is havin’,” he answers. “Actually, what is that you got there, miss?” 

His dark, enchanting eyes meet yours and you ignore the butterflies they invoke inside of you. “Whiskey smash,” you blandly reply.

He hums thoughtfully at the name. “Hm…is it good?” You tick your eyes at him briefly, secretly admiring his features. “If you like your whiskey with some sweetness to it, sure.”

A slow smirk appears on his face. “Oh, I definitely do,” he drawls. “I like sweetness with my everything.” 

You swallow hard, so sure you have a cherry pit in your throat. Gojo chuckles from beside his partner, flashing you a white-toothed smile. “Oooh, me too. I’ll third that order, ma’am!” Shoko nods and shoots you a look before wandering off to fix the drinks. 

You do your best to keep calm and act normal, sipping your drink and trying to relax. At some point, the silence becomes thicker, prompting one of the gunslingers to speak on it. “Welcomin’ place,” Gojo sniggers. “I feel so at home.”

Geto quietly chuckles from between you and Gojo. “Let’s just settle, Satoru. We won’t be here long.” 

‘Settle what?’ you wonder, but you know that they are here for Kento. Shoko comes back with the frothy, red drinks, lowering them in front of the gunslingers. 

“Thank you kindly,” Gojo chirps before taking a sip. Geto nods his thanks but doesn’t drink his right away. Instead, he goes into his pocket and retrieves a folded piece of paper. He unfolds it and slides it across the bar to Shoko. “I don’t suppose you know who this guy is,” he says. 

You peek down at the paper, finding it to be a “Wanted” poster with your BF and boss looking back at you. Kenzo aka “Valentine” looks much different than when you met him. On the poster, he is clean and shaven, has longer, shaggier hair, and has a distinguished scar on his left eye.

But of course, this is the gunslinger who robbed people blind and just pulled a train heist and massacre in the town of Cherrywood a year before with his crew, Geto, and Gojo. The man who takes his place now is Kenzo, a humble saloon owner who sometimes dabbles in illegal activity to fund his saloon.  

Valentine, a criminal on the lamb and your outlaw boyfriend, is known for using his looks, charm, and violence to get what he wants. He is a man who loves money, women, and jewels. As a notorious criminal and outlaw, he has bounced from place to place, county to county, robbing folks and then laying low before starting again. 

He was arrested for robbing the Cherrywood regional train and having his crew massacre all of its employees and riders before you met him. Originally, he was given a fifty-year sentence but escaped after serving five weeks just by seducing a male prison guard and then knocking him out to steal the cell keys. 

You were hot on his trails when he showed up Blackwater a year later and met you in a whorehouse that you purposely took a job in since he frequented those. He took one look at you and immediately fell in love with you (and your body), proposing you a job at his saloon. “You could be mine,” he told you. “My girl.” You agreed and the rest is history. 

“I’ve heard of him, yes,” Shoko replies as she cleans a glass. 

“Is it possible you’ve seen him around?” Geto ponders aloud. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but he escaped Cherrywood a year ago after robbin’ a train and massacrin’ everyone in it. He’s wanted in about nine different counties.”

Shoko takes another brief look at the poster before someone flags her down from down at the bar. Saved by the bell. “I can’t say I have seen him, fellas,” she apologetically says. “‘Scuse me.” 

She hurries off, leaving you with the two cowboys. “How about you, ma’am?” Geto asks, passing the poster to you. “You recognize this face by any chance?” You look down, studying Valentine’s face.

You have, but first, you need to read these guys. “I’ve seen him in the posters, but not in person. May I ask why you two are here?” 

You keep it casual and curious, making sure you don’t sound too suspicious. “We were paid by a private source to track down Valentine for his crimes,” Geto vaguely explains. 

“And for personal business,” Gojo adds with a smirk. “You see, we were in, uh…business with Valentine some time ago and never got our cut.”

He doesn’t need to go any more into detail than that. You know exactly what he’s talking about. “We don’t like bein’ played with,” he says, his voice dipping an octave, sending a chill down your spine. “Or when someone’s money is funny, so we came here to exchange words with him.” 

‘Words or bullet?’ you want to ask, but you instead bite your tongue and sip your drink. 

“We’ve been told he was last seen in this town,” Geto explains. “We figured everyone comes to saloons so why not check here?” He slides the poster away from you, a kind yet flirty smile crossing his beautiful face. “But even if he isn’t, we can still enjoy a drink with a pretty lady.” 

You roll your eyes, having heard that line before. “Does that line work with all the girls?” you scoff. Gojo coughs up his whiskey as he laughs, but Geto doesn’t take it to heart. In fact, he chuckles.  “I see not with you,” he replies. 

“I like that,” Gojo states once he’s recovered, his blindfolded eyes set dead on you. “You’ve gotta be the first person who isn’t scared of us or tryin’ to jump in bed with us.”

You passively shrug, twirling your tongue around the rim of the glass. “I’ve been around gunslingers in my time.” 

At this, the duo share a look unbeknownst to you, quite interested in the pretty thing sitting with them at the bar. “Oh, really?” Gojo drawls and you realize your mistake. “Any of these encounters you’d care to share, little lady? I’m quite interested.”

Geto nods, his gaze like molten fire. “I am too.” 

You suddenly feel your mouth grow dry and your cheeks become hot. Your body reacts in a way it never has with any man you’ve been with, not even your first love! The way they continue to stare at you, giving you their undivided and unwanted attention, is even worse.

What is wrong with you?

Luckily, your boss comes to the rescue, barreling up to the bar like he wasn’t watching the duo from afar and shaking in his boots. 

“Oh, gentlemen!” he shouts, giving them both a hard, eager handshake. “Welcome, welcome! Can I offer you two another drink or a dance free of charge?”

Gojo ignores him like he isn’t even talking, leaving Geto to handle this. “Thanks, but no thanks,” he says, plastering on a kind smile. “We’re here for some information about him.” 

He passes Kenzo the poster and you watch in real time as the color in your boyfriend’s face drains. “Have you seen this guy anywhere?” Geto asks, squinting at him.

Gojo peers at him from under his hat, his stare intense even with the blindfold covering his eyes. Kenzo clears his throat and leans in to whisper to Geto. You pretend to ignore them though you secretly strain to hear. “Let’s talk in private,” he whispers. “Even the walls have ears, I’m afraid.” 

Geto nods and nudges to Gojo who sighs and downs the rest of his drink. To your shock, Geto puts a hand out to you for a shake. Though hesitantly, you take his hand and feel the room grow hotter than a sauna when he places a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “It was a pleasure meetin’ you, ma’am,” he softly says. “Hopefully, we’ll cross paths again.” 

His eyes gleam as he tips his hat at you, leaving Gojo to follow Kenzo upstairs. Gojo doesn’t follow right away, instead digging into his pocket for some coins and placing them on the bar in front of you. “For your drinks and yours,” he says with a crooked smile. “Have a good night, little miss.” 

Then, just like Geto, he leaves as if he didn’t just steal the air you breathe with it. It takes a moment to get your head back, but once you do, you down the rest of your drink and get up from your seat. Shoko catches your eye and gives you a look, her eyes telling you a message: 

“Don’t get caught,” she warns you. “And don’t get killed.” 

You nod, blowing her a kiss, before following your boss and the duo upstairs.

[entitled-fangirl]

Two idiots in love. (P6)

Joel Miller x anemic!reader

Summary: The two lovebirds are slowly opening up to one another, even as the world around them feels like it's closing in.

Warnings: Death, suicide, blood, guns, tragic backstories, parental guilt

Masterlist

Part 1 and 7

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Joel and Y/N woke up to the sound of Ellie's screams.

Joel sat up quickly as Ellie ran into the room, a now infected Sam tackling her.

Y/N let out a scream and the sound of Sam's growls, and Joel rushed to lean over to the gun next to him.

But Henry beat him to it, pointing it at Joel, "Nope, Nope."

The two men were now in a stand-off, as Joel became desperate to help the girl.

When Joel moved to help her, Henry fired a shot near his feet, making Joel back up with his hands in the air.

Y/N was still seated on the ground, her legs bent, and her hands planted on the floor, ready to move at a moment's notice. Her eyes didn't leave Ellie. Her voice was desperate and shrill, "Henry, please!"

When Ellie cried out again, Henry turned and shot at the kids, the bullet going directly through Sam's head.

The entire room went silent as they realized exactly what Henry had just done.

Joel studied the girl closely, "Ellie…?"

She just stared back.

Y/N moved to stand up, grabbing at Joel's sleeve.

He instinctively helped her, grabbing her bicep and pulling her up quickly. 

But Henry wasn't in his right mind.

He pointed the gun at Y/N and Joel, contemplating his choices now that he had killed his brother.

Joel's hands reached out with a calming voice to the man, "Easy, easy…"

Henry's eyes shifted back and forth from Sam's body to the two.

Joel slowly pushed Y/N behind him, covering her body with his, "Henry, gimme the gun."

"What… what did I do? What did I do?"

Henry was going mad.

Joel was patient, but on edge, "It's alright. Just gimme the gun. C'mon. Give me the gun."

"What...did I do? S…Sam?"

He was growing more and more desperate in his decent.

"Give me the gun, Henry."

"HENRY, NO!"

Another shot.

And Henry was dead.

…

"Who the hell are you?"

Joel stepped into the living room of the cabin, his gun pointed at the man who had just entered, "Just someone passing' through. Now, take the gun out, two fingers only, put it outta reach."

The man sat across from his wife, throwing his hat down like this was nothing out of the ordinary.

Joel continued, "I'm lookin for my brother."

"Well, I ain't seen him."

"I haven't told you what he looks like."

"He look anything like you?"

"A bit."

"Then I ain't seen him."

The wife interrupts, "He's got a girl and a woman with him."

Joel's gaze turned harsh.

"Can I come down?" Ellie yelled.

Y/N's voice was heard next, "Shut the hell up!"

He sighed, "No. Ellie!" 

But Ellie didn't listen.

She bolted downstairs, "Come on. They're like a thousand."

Y/N slowly walked down the stairs, joining them with sour look on her face from Ellie's stupidity.

"Who's that little psycho?" The husband points to Ellie.

"Never mind her." Joel pushed. He set down a map on the table, "I need you to tell us where we are. And your answer better be the same as your wife's."

The man sighed, pointing at the spot.

"Well," Joel nodded, putting away his gun, "you found a great place to hide, I guess."

…

The second they stepped out of the lodge, Joel began to panic.

His arm reached out to the fencepost, resting against it.

"Joel. JOEL?"

"Ellie, stop." Y/N reprimanded.

"Is he gonna die?"

"He's fine!"

"He can't die. Because just a reminder that if he's dead, we're fucked."

Y/N pushed Ellie's face away with her hand, then moved to Joel.

She stood behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders, just as a gentle reminder that she was there. 

Finally, he snapped to. "Sorry. It's the cold air all of a sudden."

"'S fine." She said, "Just catch your breath."

When he was finally ready to move, they continued their trek.

…

Nighttime came and the trio found themselves around a warm fire.

Y/N was helping Joel tape his boot together while Ellie climbed up the rock masses around them, trying to catch a glimpse of the northern lights.

"Come down," Joel yelled. "Gonna break your neck."

Ellie sighed and returned to the fire.

Joel took a sip from his canteen, then offered it to Y/N who declined.

"Can I try some?" Ellie asked.

"No."

"What? Just to warm up."

He contemplated, looking at Y/N to get her opinion. She just shrugged as she finished her taping job and pulled herself up to sit next to Joel.

He finally reached forward to hand the girl the canteen.

She took a sip.

Her eyebrows furrowed in disgust, handing it back to him immediately.

"So," she says, "Let's say everything works out and they take my blood and make a cure…"

Joel nodded, "Okay…?"

"Well, then what? What are we gonna do?"

"We?"

Y/N's head snapped to Joel at his bluntness.

Ellie sighed, "Okay, fine. Whatever. You two. You can do anything you want. Where are you going? What are you doing?"

Joel immediately retaliated, "It's never been an option. Maybe…" he thought aloud. "An old farmhouse. Some land, and a ranch."

"Cool. What kind?"

"Sheep. I would raise sheep. They're quiet. Do what they're told."

Y/N let out a small snort under her breath, catching the man's attention.

"Okay, sweet girl. What are you doing?"

She leaned back in thought as she felt Joel's gaze on her. "I… I don't know. I… I gave up on those kinds of daydreams a long time ago."

"C'mon," Ellie nudged, "There's gotta be something you've always wanted."

"Hmm," she hummed. "If we're getting into the high fantasy shit, I guess…" she stared off in thought.

Joel's hand found its way into her hair, brushing it away from her face, "What?"

"Maybe a family of my own."

Silence.

"Enough of me, though. What about you Ellie?"

She smiled, "Maybe it's just cause I was raised in the QZ. Nowhere to look but up." She stopped too. "It'll work, right? The vaccine?"

Joel grimaced, "It's a little late to start wondering."

"I tried it with Sam…"

"Tried what?" Joel sat up slightly.

"I knew he was infected so, I rubbed some of my blood into his bite. I know it was stupid but… I wanted to save him."

"Well, I reckon it's a lot more complicated than that. Marlene is a lot of things, but she's no fool. If she says they can do it, then they can do it."

Another bought of silence.

Ellie broke it this time, "Which watch are you taking?"

Joel sat up, "I'm taking all of them. Now get some sleep. And… dream of… a family of sheep ranchers on the moon."

Ellie laughed, moving away from the fire and going to bed.

Y/N hadn't moved or spoken in a while.

Joel's hand grazed her leg, "What's going on with you? You haven't been at all talkative since Kansas City."

"I had a family once."

He leaned back slightly, not ready for such a confession out of her. Judging by her stare at the flames, she was in her own world and needed to get her thoughts out.

"You did? Beyond your sister?"

She nodded. "I had as much of one as I could've."

This puzzled him. "Alright. Tell me about them."

She finally tilted her head to look at him. "I don't know if I'm strong enough to. I haven't… talked about them in years."

"Well, I got nothing else to do for the next seven hours until daylight."

She laughed and leaned back. "I doubt it would take that long."

"Only one way to find out."

A smile came to her face as she looked to the man. "I… uh… When I was young, I made some… dumb decisions."

Joel nodded, his attention focused solely on her as he soaked in every word.

"And… I got pregnant during my last year of school. The guy was a fucking idiot and left the first sign he could. Can't say I blame him."

He knew better than to interrupt her monologue, as much as he wanted to.

"…That baby was everything to me. It's what brought…Tess… and I closer together. She offered to help me out. Let me stay with her until I could afford a house. And… I lived too far away from her when the outbreak happened.

"The child was almost one at that point. I remember hearing the sirens. I packed what I could and they loaded me in one of their trucks. We got to the QZ and… they took the baby away. I fought as hard as I could. Enough that they practically choked me out until I couldn't fight them anymore. 

"I remember seeing them take the child away though blurry vision. The wails. Can't tell you if they were from me or him, though…"

"Him?" Joel finally interrupted.

"…Yeah. Him."

"…what was his name?"

"What was your daughter's name?"

Joel's jaw clenched.

She continued, "Only fair. Eye for an eye."

He nodded before grunting, "Sarah."

"Cam."

Her gaze moved back to the fire, "By the time Tess found me again, I was nothing. I hadn't eaten. I looked… awful. I miss being that sick. Feeling something. Anything. Now when I think about it, I feel nothing. Well, I did…"

"And now…?"

"Watching Henry and Sam and… I shouldn't have let my baby go so easily."

"Hey," his deep voice grunted. "You didn't willingly let that happen. It was out of your control."

"You don't ever feel guilt, Joel?"

He tilted his head in frustration. "More than you could ever fucking imagine."

She pushed herself closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder, "Were you serious about that sheep farm?"

"Little bit. Left out some details though."

"Like what, Miller?"

He hummed, "Someone to share it with, I guess."

She smiled, "Is that an invitation?"

"If you're accepting invitations then… I reckon it is."

She hummed.

Joel continued, "Were you serious about that family?"

"I don't know. I don't think I would be able to."

"Well," Joel sighed, "You have more than enough time to decide which invitations you're picking. I heard there's one that's going to the moon."

She laughed lightly, closing her eyes.

He kissed her head with a small, "Go to sleep."

…

Y/N forgot how much she hated the cold.

God, she hated the cold.

The three had been hiking though snow for days, and the white contrast against the evergreen trees was starting to kill her eyesight.

So when they found the river, she was just glad there was another color to look at.

Until the sound of horses stopped them in their tracks.

Joel grabbed Y/N's hand, pulling her back until he realized they were surrounded.

"Stay behind me." He pushed the girls behind him protectively. "We ain't looking for any trouble. We're just passing though."

"Drop the gun."

Joel hesitantly did so.

"Now you two," one man said, pointed to the girls, "Take five steps away from each other."

Joel stepped forward, "How about we just talk this through?"

"How about you shut the fuck up."

"Alright. Easy." He looked over his shoulder at the two, "You'll be okay."

A deep breath left Y/N's lips as she began to back away from the only two people she cared about.

"You been near any Infected?" The man on the horse continued.

"There's no Infected out here." Joel lectured.

"The hell there ain't."

The man whistled, and another guy brought over a large dog on a leash whose barks and growls made Y/N's eyes widen.

"Last chance for a bullet. If you've been infected, he will smell it and he will rip you up."

But Joel let the dog approach him. It sniffed carefully. But decided he was harmless and moved back to its owner.

"Like I said," Joel continued, "We'll just move on."

"What about them?"

Joel looked over his shoulder at the two. Y/N was not a concern to him. But Ellie? He wasn't sure what the dog would make of the Infection-less Infected that she was. But he knew it was getting hard for him to breathe.

Joel snapped out of his panic attack to see Ellie petting the dog with a smile.

Y/N had a relieved look on her face as she looked back at Joel.

He nodded to her to give her some relief from him as well. He knew she needed it.

Everything was going to be alright.

He was going to make sure of it.

And when they complete this, he was going to devote himself to give her the life she wanted.

Whatever life that may be.

........................................................................

Tag list: @lover-of-books-and-tea, @pedropascalfan221, @lottieellz101, @bambisweethearts, @hiroikegawa, @elliaze, @littleshadow17, @n7cje

[friendlylocalwhumper]

The little "thanks" to the empty room AFTER Simon left killed me. It absolutely destroyed me. He wasn't prompted to thank Simon, he just did WHEN HE COULDN'T GET ANY BROWNIE POINTS FOR IT!! My man has a tight grip on his tragic backstory and Simon just wants a peek at it

“Yes.” | “Kneel.” | Best of Three | Correspondence | Appraisal | Collapse | Cupcake | Foggy | Cracking | Just Breathe | Urge | Trim | Stupid | Upkeep | Old Defeat | Watching | Simple Loyalty | Overreaction | Set Up for Failure | Burning | Healed Wrong | Haunted | Boxes Buried | Heavy Blow | Loneliness

Rain patters across the windows. The air conditioning keeps the air comfortably dry, and that coupled with the cool blue light from the storm outside makes it almost the perfect temperature for curling up on the couch with a blanket.

So there Major is. Lying on his side, knees up by his chest, one arm hanging limply off the cushion to dangle near the floor.

“Move over. My show’s coming on.” Simon gestures with two hands full of snacks. Popcorn, chips, chocolate.

Major sullenly draws his legs in closer, and his captor settles happily onto the newly available spot. The remote gets snatched up and the TV buzzes as it turns on.

There’s some room for the snacks to be set down, so Simon wedges the popcorn bowl between his thigh and Cupcake’s foot. Then there’s more room, so the candy gets set down too, the chip bag balanced on top.

With the familiar theme song playing, Simon relaxes into the cushions, digging lazy fingers into the bag in search of a chip small enough to shove into his mouth without having to break it in half. He’ll go for a bite of chocolate, next, some sweet to go with the salty…

There’s enough room for the bag of chips to have its own space, now. Simon frowns and glances at Cupcake, who previously was taking up two thirds of the couch, but now is taking up less than half. His legs are bent up tight against his body and that arm is no longer dangling. Now it is braced against the cushion under him like he might need to bolt.

It was only yesterday, the break-in. The house still smells a little of blood. Simon hums around the handful of popcorn he just shoved into his mouth. Major is trying to get away from all points of contact, all warmth. But not getting down off the couch. Scared? Disgusted?

“Cuf-...” Chew, chew, swallow. “Cupcake? What’s up?”

A heavily scarred arm folds and shifts to better hide his head. His face. Major grunts softly in refusal to speak.

“Have some snacks. You like these chips. Come on, eat something.” He pats a friendly hand on the ridge under Major’s blanket that looks like an arm. “Watch the show with me, Cupca-!” A flurry of movement startles Simon into silence, and he registers the dark figure looming over him before he feels the weight across his lap and chest.

The obedient, sullen killer has flung his blanket away, pinned Simon’s arm, and straddled him in under a second. Major’s eyes are wild, his chest heaving for air, as he leans forward hard to keep his captor pinned.

Simon’s eyes flit rapidly between Major’s as he processes this. He feels no edge of a blade pressed to any part of himself, or the muzzle of a gun. He isn’t being threatened with anything. Major looks… empty-headed. His body reacted and he didn’t have a plan.

When Simon laid a hand on him over the blanket, he thought it was his elbow, maybe forearm. But it felt too broad. Must have been Major’s hip. And after yesterday… that must have felt… bad.

“Hey,” Mutters the pinned man without anything accusatory in his tone. “Cupcake. You have three seconds.”

It takes two. Major looks confused, angry, and frightened in a flash, and then he’s clambering off to fall to the side with a panicked grunt. Simon can shoot. Simon has resources, Simon’s quick with his gun and stronger than he looks. In an instant Major remembers all of the sessions they’ve had. The alarming strength Simon can have when he’s excited to cause pain.

The whole couch trembles. Simon lifts a hand to placate, and the couch jerks with the captive’s flinch. Pure adrenaline rules him, after the fright of his hip being grabbed and his body reacting, only to hear a rare and earnest threat. Three seconds then a bullet in him.

“Eat popcorn,” Simon settles on saying, after a brief staredown that Major wouldn’t step up to. “Watch the show. Alright?”

Cupcake shrugs up a shoulder, shifting tensely to flop into a more forcibly casual position. A scar-jagged hand dives into the popcorn bowl and emerges with a fistful of the stuff, shoving it awkwardly into his mouth. Major chomps in a bitter vendetta against the snack.

“There you go, Cupcake. It’s not a session, so I’m not going to hurt you. Relax.”

Against Major’s instincts, against his pride, his muscles go slack in stops and starts. The blanket lies pooled in his lap and his glaring at the screen softens into plain watching. It’s not a session. He gets warnings, before they come. Out here, right now, it’s just snacks and TV. He can relax.

taglist: @morning-star-whump , @lthrboy, @apokolyps, @paperprinxe , @vampiresprite,

@wollemi-whump, @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees , @whumps-and-bumps , @defire, @notactuallyluska

[howlingday]

Ok but imagine what would happen if Loid and Perry teamed up? No one could stop them.

Okay... Time for something new...

--------------------------------------------------

AGENT T

A Phineas and Ferb/Spy X Family One-Shot

--------------------------------------------------

"An extended conference overseas?"

"Yes, it's a sort of outreach programs between different countries to share different psychiatric methods." Loid explained to Yor. "I'm sorry this is so last minute. I will try to call you as soon as I get back."

Lying to Yor felt wrong, but it was a necessary evil in his life as a spy. The truth was that he was assisting in a joint operation with a foreign intelligence agency, though the whole thing felt like a bad joke to him. Whoever heard of a spy agency under the title of "The Organization Without a Cool Acronym"? Regardless of his feelings, his mission was clear. He was to rendezvous with the agent known as "The Platypus" and provide backup as required.

"Papa?" Anya, his daughter, pointed to picture in her book. Coincidentally, it was a platypus. "Is this a plassapess?"

"No, it isn't." Loid shook his head. "Just because I'll be gone for a little bit doesn't mean you're allowed to shirk on your studies. I expect nothing less than perfect marks when I return home."

"Aw..." Anya groaned.

"Loid, where is this conference being held?" Yor asked.

"I wasn't given the exact details myself, but it's in a region known as the 'Tri-State Area'."

--------------------------------------------------

"And that's about the gist of the assignment, Agent P." Major Monogram said through the video screen. "Find out what Dr. Doofenshmirtz is up to and put a stop to it!"

"If it's evil, sir." Carl's voice said off-screen.

"Yes, yes, if it's evil, put a stop to it." Major Monogram rolled his eyes. "We're counting on you, Agent P."

Perry the Platypus gave a salute and left the briefing room.

"I thought the evil thing was implied, Carl." Major Monogram grumbled.

"It doesn't hurt to be sure, sir. Words can be confusing."

"Not as confusing as this finger trap." The major lifted his hands to reveal his fingers had been locked in a threaded snare trap for fingers"

"Did you put your fingers in that trap again, sir?"

"Carl, we've been over this; if I don't do it myself, then how will I learn when I need it most?"

--------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, in the middle of a city in the tri-state area, at an oddly designed building with the logo, Doofenshmirtz Evil Inc.~, Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz heard a knock at his door.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" He opened the door to an elderly man delivering the mail. He was fragile and hunched over. In his hands was a clipboard and a large parcel behind him. "Oh, look at you! You're so old! Why aren't you retired yet? Here, come inside and rest for a bit. I can show you what you're delivering is being used for."

The elderly man hobbled in, his left leg limping with every step. He mumbled something alike to a thank you before being seated on a large loveseat inside a laboratory. Unknown to the oddly kind-hearted doctor, the old man was actual the legendary Agent Twilight in perfect disguise. In front of him was a massive ray-gun of sorts, like in the cartoons Anya watched, with a scope and a trigger beneath. At the tip of the barrel was a missing component.

"So, you're probably wondering what it is I'm building with a mind-tapping helmet." He held out his hands. "Oh, I'm a little rusty. I usually save these backstories for my nemesis, Perry the Platypus, but here goes." Through Agent Twilight's perfect mental imagery, every word spoken became a clear picture of the very sad and tragic backstory of the target. "You see, back when I was growing up in Gimmelshtump, it's a town in Drusselstein if you didn't know, my grandparents would always say something, but mean something else. Like, they would tell me to wash the ham, but what they really meant was marinate it, but it was one of those old sayings that grandparents use and, me being a child, I didn't know what they really meant because I'd only heard it said once." He ripped open the parcel, was handed the mind-tapping helmet, and held it to the device. "And that's when I came up with this! BEHOLD, THE SAYWHAT'SONYOURMIND-INATOR!" He then climbed his way to the apex of the machine. "With this inator, people will say what's on their mind and mean what they really say! Like, say your friends want to hang out and, I don't know, do old person things, like play cards, but the way they say it makes it sound like they want to sleep all day, so they'll say what's on their mind! Here, let me try it on you!"

Faster than Agent Twilight can react, the nefarious doctor was already on the ground and using his weapon on him. He was then hit with the powerful radio waves the machine emitted. He blinked.

"I don't feel any different." He said aloud. "Did this mad scientist's machine really work-" His eyes widened as the doctor laughed for a moment.

"Hey, who are you calling a mad scientist? I'm not mad. I mean, I'm mad now, but I'm not always mad." He looked to the platypus climbing out of the parcel package. "Perry the Platypus, tell him I'm not always mad." The platypus in the fedora chittered. "See? He gets it." At this, he gasped. "PERRY THE PLATYPUS?! Wait, were you able to hear my backstory while I you were inside the- OOF!"

Perry punched Dr. Doofenshmirtz, sending him stumbling backwards into his machine. The machine fired off in a random direction before being taken into the hands of its creator.

"There's no need to fight me, Perry the Platypus. Why don't you just-" He fired the inator on Perry. "USE YOUR WORDS! AHAHAHAHA~!"

Perry winced at the sudden radio waves bombarding him. He blinked a few times. He was looked at expectantly by his nemesis.

"Chkchkchkchkt."

"Oh, right. You're a platypus." He then pressed a button on his inator and a net flew out and ensnared Perry. "But I planned for that!" A punch flew in from out of nowhere, knocking the doctor over with his inator. Standing not far away was the old man from before. "What are you doing, Old Man?"

"My name," the mask ripped, revealing the spy, "is Agent Twilight, and on behalf of the good people of Westalis, I order you to surrender your weapon."

"Westalis? Where is that? Is he with you, Perry the Platypus?"

"Chkchkchkchkt."

"I won't allow you to threaten the good people of the world with this strange contraption." Agent Twilight said, fully removing his disguise. "Especially while I am assigned to this joint operation."

"Well, I didn't really have anything planned for someone bigger than Perry the Platypus, but I did have this in case he escaped!" With a push of a button, another net of ribbon spewed forth. Unfortunately, the new agent was too fast to be caught and rolled his way over to Agent P, where he easily ripped apart his bindings. "No, no, don't do that! That is so unfair, fighting two against one!" He groaned. "Of all the days for Norm to take one of his 'mandatory vacation days'."

This vacation day in question included going to the mechanic for a semi-spa treatment involving oil, rags, and oily rags. Back to the fight, Agent Twilight kept the doctor on his toes, swinging fist after fist, easily overpowering his opponent. Meanwhile, Agent P was altering the inator by turning the mind-control helmet around so that the machine would reverse its effects.

"I cannot fail here. I cannot allow my emotions to get the better of me. I must keep on my toes. I need to keep applying pressure and overwhelm my opponent with quick, but meaningful strikes."

"Ugh! I regret hitting you with my inator." Dr. Doofenshmirtz groused amidst his thrashings. "Why can't you be more quiet like Perry the Platypus?"

"Chkchkchkchkt." The OWCA agent chittered from atop before swinging the inator around and firing it on himself Agent Twilight. Agent P patted himself down before giving a thumbs up to his fellow agent from afar.

"Oh, finally! I didn't think you would ever stop talking!" Dr. Doofenshmirtz groused even more.

Agent Twilight was about to go in for another punch when he was dragged away by Agent P. Looking back to the inator, he saw that there was a self-destruct device placed at the device's weak point. Jumping over the balcony, Agent P held tight to Agent Twilight, the two silently gliding through the air to a safe location. On the winds, they could hear the defeated shouting of their shared nemesis for the day.

"YOU DON'T NEED AN INATOR TO KNOW THIS, BUT CURSE YOU, STRANGE OLD MAN, AND CURSE YOU, PERRY THE PLATYPUS!"

A GENT P~!.

--------------------------------------------------

"Excuse me, is this your platypus?"

"Huh?" Phineas turned around to see a man standing in their yard, holding Perry in his hands. "Oh, there you are, Perry!"

"I found him wandering around in your front yard, and I thought it was odd to see an animal so far from their home."

"He's not far from his home, he's simply living in a new home away from his natural habitat. We feed him four meals a day, plus treats, and give him as much comfort as possible." Ferb explained in excess.

"Oh, I... see..."

"Yeah, sorry about Ferb." Phineas explained. "He's been a lot more talkative than usual today. It's almost like some kind of radio wave went off and made him say everything that was on his mind."

"That's... quite an imaginative explanation." The man said. "But maybe this will help. I specialize in psychiatric help and this device helps ease those affected by 'radio wave' abnormalities in humans."

"Oh, you mean like brain stimulation therapy?" Phineas asked. "Isn't that controversial?"

"Yes, yes, it is." The man quirked his brow. "But I believe it may be the best way to help your friend."

"Oh, Ferb's not my friend. He's my brother!"

"Ah, excuse me. Now, may I use my device. I promise no harm will come to your brother."

"Well, okay, if you say so." Phineas stepped aside and let the man hold the device up to Ferb before pressing a button. Ferb blinked a few times before the man placed the device in his pocket. "How you feelin', Ferb?"

Ferb gave a thumbs up.

"Hey, it looks like it worked! Thank you, Mr... Huh? Where'd he go?"

--------------------------------------------------

"Papa! You're home~!" Anya cheered, running to the door.

"You're back already?" Yor asked. "I thought you'd be gone a lot longer, considering how far you were traveling."

"I was offered a trip on a much fast return flight than the one prior." Reaching into his doctor's bag, he pulled free a plush doll in the shape of a strange creature with a duck bill, a beaver tail and feet, and a strange greenish-blur fur color. "Anya, I found this on the way home. I remember you being curious about platypus before leaving, so I thought you'd enjoy this."

"Thank you, Papa!"

"Oh, that is so cute~! What are you going to name him?"

Anya thought for a moment, then noticed a certain look in his eyes. It was the same look he held when he was in thought of something. Focusing on him, she heard a name said over and over again.

"Percy the Plassypess?" Anya smiled, tossing her plush in the air. "Yeah! Agent Percy the Plassypess~!"

[aparticularbandit]

@danggirlronpa said there was no akane/mukuro stuff and i had a couple of ideas but the other one needs to be a separate thing so here's the first one

“Tag!  You’re it!”

Mukuro shifts her gun from her shoulder, focusing on an empty spot in the courtyard below.  “I’m not playing right now, Akane.”  She peers through the scope.  This is a good spot, but it’s not the best.  Junko was wrong.

(Junko wasn’t wrong.  She’s never wrong.  She’s just testing her.  Again.  It feels like that’s all she does anymore.  Test her.)

“But you’re doing that thing where you climb to the tallest buildings around again.”  Akane props a hand on her hip as Mukuro turns around and begins to disassemble her gun.  “It’s like hide and seek, only you’re seeing if you can get somewhere tall enough that I can’t climb it to get to ya.”  She digs a finger into her ear, picks something out, and flicks it away.  “So now it’s my turn, right?  I find a tall spot, and you gotta find me.”

 “That’s not tag,” Mukuro says as she stands.  She lifts her gun’s pack, rests the strap on her shoulder, and walks past the other girl.

But Akane ignores her.  “Where you goin’?”

Mukuro doesn’t even spare a glance to her.  “To find a better spot.”

“But it’s my turn to hide!  ‘Cause you’re it!”  Akane scowls.  Then she sprints past Mukuro.  “I’ll get there before you do!  It’s a race, and I’m gonna win!”  She pauses just long enough to turn and flash Mukuro a huge grin.  “And when I do, you’re paying for supper!”

The school pays for everything, Mukuro thinks as Akane hops over the roof’s edge, likely scaling down the building like a spider.  (Junko says they should have called her Ultimate Spider-Woman and laughs about it; Mukuro’s getting tired of all the stupid references, like her sister can’t connect to normal people anymore without reaching for something to compare with her constant thoughts.)  She scans the horizon again, finding her next spot.  There.

~

Akane is waiting for her when Mukuro arrives, that big, excited grin on her face, head cocked to one side.  “Beat ya!”

“I wasn’t racing.”  Mukuro walks past her to the edge of the roof and doesn’t even set her bag down.  This is a bad spot.  Anyone worth their salt would notice that this is a bad spot.  There are trees everywhere.  Sure, she’s a good sniper, and she can get around that, which means the cover is good for her, but she would rather have a cleaner shot than risk it just for cover.

One shot would kill her prey quickly enough, and by the time someone turned around to look where the shot came from, she would be gone.  The cover doesn’t matter.  Not this time.

 Still.

“Yeah, but you’re still gonna buy me dinner, right?”

Mukuro shifts the weight of her bag and turns back.  “Catch me first.”

Akane’s brow furrows.  “But you’re not it.  You’re supposed to hide, and then—”  Her eyes light up.  “Got it.”  She covers them with her eyes.  “You got all of ten seconds before I find you and beat you to a pulp!”

That’s not what—

“Yeah, okay.”  Mukuro slips away between counts ten and nine and continues to walk calmly to her next destination.

~

No Akane waiting for her, which means she wins.

Still a shitty place to try and snipe her target, for most people, but it should be fine for her.

Mukuro sets up her gun and fires a muffled warning shot just past Kyoko’s hair as she walks through the courtyard.  No one will be able to hear it over the students’ and teachers’ passing talk, and Kyoko flinches long enough, one gloved hand raising to the braid tied in her hair.  (Junko said something about some sort of tragic backstory that involved a sniping game and Kyoko’s braids being shot off; Mukuro doesn’t know why or how Junko knows that (she doesn’t need to know; Junko’s Junko), but it means that her test shot brings up enough of Kyoko’s PTSD for her to freeze, means that when Kyoko looks and sees no one, she’ll just chalk it up to some sort of flashback.)

Mukuro leans back and lets out a sigh of relief.  She could make the shot from the location Junko chose, but she likes the feel of this one better.  The other spot would be better for Junko, would allow her to show off or make some sort of grand gesture, but Mukuro’s not that flamboyant.  She never has been.  Just let her do the job and—

“Found ya!”

Akane flips over the edge of the roof and smacks her hands together.  “You owe me a free dinner, Mukie!”  Then she props her hands on her hips again. “Let’s go!  I’m starvin’!”

“I thought we were gonna fight.”  It’s a statement, not a question, and Mukuro puts her gun’s bag to one side easily enough.  She can’t leave it here, because someone will notice – someone other than Junko, who will move it to where she thinks it should go and expect Mukuro to just figure it out (she can be petty that way) – and she can’t afford to have someone fucking with her set-up.

“Well, yeah, obviously we’re gonna fight.”  Akane tilts her head to one side again and looks at Mukuro curiously.  “But after we eat.  Can’t fight ya on an empty stomach!”  She reaches over and slaps Mukuro’s back hard enough that a weaker girl would have crumpled.  (Mukuro is not a weaker girl.)  This time, her grin grows toothy.  “And then, when I win, you can get me second dinner!”

Junko would call Akane a hobbit.

Mukuro knows better – hobbits aren’t this tall.

“Winner takes the loser out for breakfast,” Mukuro says, “tomorrow morning.”

Akane beams.  “Free food’s free food, no matter when I get it!”  She leans forward, and her eyes flash darkly.  “You’re on.”

(Mukuro almost smiles.)

[jackiequick]

Hero or Villain?…Anti-Hero OC

Katherine Lang

“I’m sorry, do we have a problem? No? Good. Get out! Cause i will dig up every track you buried til it kills me.”

Full Name: Katherine ‘Katrina’ Lang

Nicknames: Katrina, Kat, Ms. Lang, T

Age: 16-28 years old

Height: 5’4

Occupation: Agent of Red Room, Strikers , SHIELD/HYDRA—whatever the job payment is.

Skills: Technical basic training, disguises, getaway driver, panel controls as in she will order her men to strike you down, research and response center. She is usually being of assistance when needed. She’s also good with guns.

“When everyone knows your tragedy, they treat you differently. Like you’re gonna break or fight them, right? Even if they might be trying to help, all they do is remind you of the most painful moment of your life.”

Ethnicity: Her father is of Dutch descent. Her mother is of Chinese descent. But she grew up in different places across the USA. 

Relationship Status: Single.

Titles: The Lady In Red, Stiletto, The Innocent

Personality: Snarky, quiet, slightly charming, daring, a little cold hearted and utterly willing to do what she believes is worth her benefits. As well as time. Growing to be obsessive and emotional, especially with a passion for getting stuff done. Even if it meant ordering a kill or two.

~~~

-> Backstory

-> Katrina grew up in and out of foster homes. Had at least less than dozens of families take her under their wing, even her aunt as well after her parents died tragically by an explosion in the middle of a highway. She will never know who or how it happened, and honestly, she didn’t care too much to find out.

Especially when a lot of people knew of that unknown tragedy to her lifetime, almost a poster girl for the unexpected moments.

Due to her natural beauty and use of clothing, she appeared to make sure she was as gentle as a flower. Having a guys and even girls wrapped around her finger in early high school years. Ending up as one of the cheerleaders for extra credits, because that’s what she believed her parents and aunt wanted her to be.

However it wasn’t exactly what she desired to be doing. Wanting to fight for what she believes is worthy, see the world development underneath her fingertips, and get a glimpse of the jobs done. Understand it.

Across her 16th year of life, being in the care of foster parents, she was given the odd opportunity to go to Paris. While she was there she visited the Kawatche cave walls, getting a feeling like she meant to be at that old building. As the symbols called her names like a witching tone into her grasp, she felt someone tap her shoulder sliding a envelope under her armpit as they did.

“What do you want?” She asked, not looking at the person, just staring at the walls.

“I heard your little small story.” Said the voice, female, sounding almost crisp and whispery.

“What of it?”

“Public tragedy of dead parents. Foster homes. Good grades. Deeming track record in social life.”

“I was a cheerleader. A preppy gray example of the good girl.”

“That’s what the others want to believe, my dear. Secretly you’ve been knocking back the doors and stealing a few items, getting caught in the mist of a scandal between an old friend who tried to kill you?”

“..she was uh, controlled by some smoke in the school halls. So was i..i took the axe and destroyed walls. But she didn’t kill me.”

“But you almost did. She tried to do the same. Both did some serious damage to the school. Why?”

“..everyone wants something they can’t have. Money, looks, love, be understood..hell, even friendship. Just some controls over something. I guess she was jealous. I wiped the footage clean from security cameras afterwards..It was the past, why come now?”

“Open it.”

She opened it. Spy. The envelope said a few more things but that’s the word which caught her name. Striking expression appeared on her face, as she looked over her shoulder at the women for the first time. She was brunette, tall, lean brown eyes and dressed in gray coat with a black dress underneath. She was stunning with a small lined smile, nodding.

“Spy..agent?” She asked the women.

“Whichever one suits you. We are always willing to take in strays from the litter, my dear.” She replied with a shrug.

“I an not a stray!”

“Suit yourself. I’m just giving you an opportunity to workout your future. You’ll be good at it, i hope.”

Katherine knew that she wasn’t exactly seen right away in people’s eyes. Her past was always a little foggy and she was young, what does she have left to lose? Be the poster girl or something else?

———

Of course she choose the latter. Arriving underground side in Paris, finding the women and agreed to take a peek of the wider view of the world.

-> Over the years, she trained in basic gymnastics and kickboxing aside from the ones she knew already. She was around technical groups, diving in and using her tricks, gently roll of the touch voice, to convey the attention of others. Meeting a few short coming men and women, some even became friends. However, Katrina was never assigned to be strictly Red Room or Hydra material per say, which lead her to flexible with her schedule for trips.

Which also meant, she would go undercover as older allies, wig and custom made costumes with weapons in hand, in teams of two, to take down what threat that needed to be taken care of. Leaving her mark in black heels and a red pressed kiss on a notecard. Coming across SHIELD agents, the rich & famous such as The Starks and Feltons, and other unofficial agents who were neither bad or good.

Katrina never considered herself neither bad or good either, sometimes mad her wonder if she was in the wrong business.

She had undergone preparations and briefing for targets to be taken out. Keeping an eye on her fellow men and women on the field, calling the shots to be taken in their earpieces. Sometimes she doesn’t listen to her own voice in her head, roundhouse kicking or ordering herself to take another step furthermore.

-> Remember in Winter Solider when Natasha showed Steve her scar that was from The Solider who injured her, yes Barnes took the shot to kill the scientist, but Katrina and the others at the control panel were the ones to tell Barnes to do it.

She didn’t want to injure the ex-widow, but one look from her higher ranked member told her to message the order to do as he must.

Get the job done, even if it hurt or annoyed her to do so.

~~~

Recruitment had to be an intriguing part for her. Even though she tends to discuss the situation or disapprove of the recruiting process for others, she would look at her fellow students of the job, for their opinions.

They would just tell her to get the job done and everyone can go out for drinks later. She was actually apart of the group who recruited who willing suggests who said they have nothing else to lose, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, believing that the job would be worthy of their time.

Seeing the world develop underneath their fingernails and try to understand what can be done.

Those same sentiments struck a tone with her, since they were similar to what she thought was right. In result, she felt somewhat empathetic towards the twins.

She understood them and their willingness to take on challenges, just none of them were taught in the correct manner to do so. Which made it a challenge.

Hell, she found the one with the platinum blonde and brunette roots pretty good looking . It didn’t help that he always flirted with her every chance he got, trying to sweep Katrina off her feet with every interaction. Thankfully she never fell for his charms. But she did blush.

The natural brunette beauty, she was a somewhat kind hearted but odd one like her, always tinkering and wondering around the halls. She sometimes found Katrina in the hallways or computer room of the building, if she was around, to talk. She always found herself holding her hand for comfort on both sides of the coin.

———

Katrina has taken jobs at few organizations, whoever was willing to give her a chance with a good payment. Being honest, she wasn’t always to please with every task she was given to do. A lot of time it the upmost basic stunts like being stealth to grab intel from a community of rich folks, digging up information that was buried in a system and or taking down unwanted eyes for a certain job.

Hell, she has worked for plenty of men and women across the country who have wanted to have her as assistance on a experimental project, even if it pushed her limits or pay rate. Having worked for company’s like Palmer, The Luther Family, HIVE and others over the years.

She didn’t always take the shot though, believing that there was another way to finish things. Or sometimes she faked the person undoing, knowing the boss wouldn’t ask for much, just evidence of some kind.

She sometimes, if the job called for it, saved herself and a few people in the possibilities of something rather lighter to happen in the future. People would call her a vigilante for the work she does, but not exactly a heroic act. But she tried.

~~~

Her looks were a dead giveaway that she’s wasn’t somewhat truly horrible, she had a light side and a dark side to her.

Everyone did.

But Katherine was like any other person in this lifetime, she wants to know what she can and cannot do. Not wanting to get hurt or feel hurt, even though pain is part of life.

She wants to see if she can push her limits and test out the results around her, even if it meant accidentally making the wrong choices or siding the anti-heroic path.

Sometimes it felt good to be a little cocky and act as bad as you can get. Other times it really doesn’t.

But at the end of the day, she makes the decision to take the gold or leave whatever her past is in the dust.

~~~~

-> But the real question, who will find her? Will be taken back to light side and rest in the work she has done? Who will she meet?

That’s what I got, I might edit and add more to her story later on. What did you think?

Also did I use quotes from the actress’s character in the series? Maybe haha.

Tags: @gaminggirlsstuff @missstrawbs2001 @mallowbee4 @halesfavoriteharlot @sherloquestea @rooster-84 @gcthvile @meiramel @thecavalrywife @mandylove1000 @rickb-chaos @yetanotherwells @queenslandlover-93 @buckysteveloki-me @djs8891 @blueboirick and etc

[your-old-sins-tournament]

12 YEAR OLD OCS; SIDE B

Pink [@somebodytolove31] (she/her or he/him)

Okey so basically I created her for a superhero school roleplay I had with friends, her tragic backstory is that her father is a deadbeat but is also a hero, he got Pink's mom pregnant and then told her if she ever approached him he would kill her. Pink had a nice life with her single mom until the mom got sick and decided to go to Hero, thinking maybe he would have a bit of compassion, needless to say he didn't and followed through his promise. Pink saw all of this and now it's her life's purpose to kill him, even if it kills her.

I recently refound the roleplay and decided to develop the character on her own, I may have changed the setting and her gender and other shit, but I've decided to not touch her backstory or her character arc where she starts making friends and realizes there's a lot more to life than just revenge (she still gets his dad arrested, but that's a long story)

Oh yeah did I mention she can turn into a wolf? She can turn into a wolf

Anyway please vote for her

Erin [@silveredcircuitry] (she/her)

Snarky and ridiculously overpowered illusionist who got captured by an evil organization for an unclear reason and by means that didn't make much sense because they required her powers not work on the people capturing her. That doesn't matter though because the entirety of the plot I actually figured out was just an excuse for her to cause problems and fuck with people psychologically.

Had a thing with making finger guns that would shoot out illusory (but still pretty painful) bullets and smoke. She is part of me wanting to draw finger guns so badly that I actually learned bits and pieces of how to draw hands.

Her sense of fashion was just an amalgamation of a bunch of things I found neat but also easy to draw at the time, including a bandanna around her neck and a bag shaped like a lime slice (some kind of citrus anyway). I didn't even have especially interesting taste in my current opinion. I did not draw her in evil government prison but my mental image of her is only in her street clothes and i think my idea of it was she just got dumped in a cell in whatever she was wearing when they kidnapped her lmao.

I'm genuinely a little tempted to redesign her as a character in a superhero or "one weird power per person" setting, with the finger gun gimmick as a necessary thing for targeting. And also push her fashion sense a bit further.

Anyway if nothing else you gotta give her props for having a fingergun motif and not being like. a pyromancer or anything that could make her physically do that. And also the mind games and teaching me how to draw hands :)

[supernovaslut]

TRACK 2: OVER MY HEAD

Joel Miller x OC

Word Count: 9.2k

Warnings: MDNI, cursing, canon typical violence, guns, men being men, emotional unavailability, minor character deaths, tragic backstory™

Previous Chapter ~ Masterlist ~ Next Chapter

“You can take me to paradise

And then again you can be cold as ice

I'm over my head (Over my head)

Oh, but it sure feels nice.”

“How much longer?” Ellie groans as the trio hike through the forest, sunlight filtering through the trees, giving the area a calming glow. They’ve been hiking all morning, and Ellie is getting sick of how silent it is with Rhia and Joel refusing to speak to each other.

“’Bout 5 hours,” Rhia and Joel say at the same time.

They glare at each other until Ellie speaks up, “We can manage that.”

Rhia smiles at Ellie, then stomps ahead, passing Joel without so much as a glance. They walk for another hour or so, making it onto an actual road and out of the forest.

“You've gone this way a lot? No Infected?” Ellie asks the childish adults, hoping to spark conversation.

“Not often, no,” Joel says curtly, scanning the edges of the forest as Rhia keeps an eye on their six.

“What are you looking out for?” Ellie asks them.

“People,” Rhia replies, her voice flat and serious.

“Oh,” Ellie says, then, “Are Bill and Frank nice?”

“Frank is,” Joel answers.

Rhia smiles back at her, “You’re gonna love Bill.”

“Is he cool?” Ellie asks.

Rhia laughs, “I don’t know if ‘cool’ is the word I’d use.”

Rhia hasn’t spoken to Bill and Frank in months. It was getting harder to do much of anything since her cat died and she was left alone. Again. She has to apologize when she gets there, Rhia thinks, maybe she should have brought a peace offering, too.

“How'd you get that scar on your head?” Ellie asks, which brings Rhia back to attention. She realizes Ellie is asking Joel, but the phantom sting on her eyebrow answers all the same.

“What? Is it something lame? Like you fell down the stairs or something?” Ellie asks again when Joel doesn’t answer.

“I didn't fall down any stairs,” Joel says after a sigh.

“Okay, so what then?”

Rhia shakes her head at the pair. She had asked Joel this same question before and already knows the evasive story he is telling Ellie now.

· · ─────── ·⌖· ─────── · ·

*4 �� Years Ago*

“The deal was I help you out and you tell me what you find,” Rhia said, pushing a finger in Bill’s face. The pair were standing in the dining room of Bill’s house, Rhia incensed, hair loose and wild and jumping with her movements while Bill watched stiff and emotionless as always.

They heard a creak in the floorboards and Rhia turned around to see Joel entering the house. Rhia froze, getting a good look at him after 6 months. He was wearing a flannel similar to the last time she’d seen him, but his hair had a touch more silver in it, his beard recently trimmed. She hadn’t had a welcoming first impression from the man, but she couldn’t deny how handsome he was. She thought that maybe the grumpy demeanor was part of the appeal.

“Oh, good. You’re here,” Bill said, stepping away from Rhia.

“Tess here?” Rhia asked, looking past Joel.

“I told you I’d do this alone,” Joel said to Bill, ignoring Rhia.

“And I’d like to ensure that I get my truck back in one piece, so Rhia’s goin’ with you,” Bill said.

“Like hell.” “I think the fuck not,” Joel and Rhia said at the same time.

Frank walked in, carrying a bag of what Rhia guessed was produce from the garden. “Oh, Joel, you made it,” he smiled, setting the bag on the table, “You two heading out soon?” He looked between Rhia and Joel smiling. He knew the two couldn’t stand each other, but he had a feeling the two would one day come to realize how alike they truly were.

“I don’t want to spend 20 minutes with the man, let alone 20 hours. Let him go alone. I have nothing in this, anyway,” Rhia shrugged, grabbing her backpack.

“I guess you don’t really want to find them, then,” Bill said, making Rhia freeze in her tracks. Joel looked between the two, curiosity and suspicion weighing down the center of his brows.

“If I go, you’ll help?” Rhia asked, turning to Bill.

He nodded.

Rhia groaned, “Fine. Let’s get this show on the road, then. I’m not driving first,” and stomped out to the truck. Joel gave Bill and Frank a look of annoyance.

“Stay safe,” Frank encouraged.

“Try not to kill each other,” Bill laughed.

Joel rolled his eyes, “I’ll remember this,” and turned, following Rhia to the car. He slid into the driver’s seat, Rhia already having made herself comfortable in the passenger seat, one foot resting on the dash.

“Take your foot off the damn dash,” Joel ordered, starting the car.

Rhia gave him a sideways glance, narrowing her eyes, before she put her other foot on the dash, keeping her eyes on Joel. He let out a deep sigh, pulling out of the driveway.

“Have fun!” Frank laughed from the gate, letting them out of the neighborhood.

Joel drove for hours. It was about a 9 hour drive to Richmond, Virginia where Bill had set up a deal with some Fireflies to trade guns for drugs to then make deals with FEDRA officers back in Boston for food stamps for Joel and Tess and whatever the hell Bill needed, Rhia hadn’t paid attention. Around and around it went and she was just along for the ride. She only needed one thing from Bill and he was gonna hang it over her head as long as he could to keep her smuggling for him.

Rhia finally got bored staring out of the window and turned to look at Joel. She examined the entire right side of him. The gray strands twisting into the dark curls of his hair, his downward sloped nose, and his stiff posture, one hand on the wheel while the other rested on the center console.

“What?” he asked, noticing her eyes on him. He’d avoided looking in her direction all morning, choosing instead to keep his eyes on the never ending roads. They hadn’t even been listening to music.

“How’d you get the scar?” Rhia asked, referring to the raised line at Joel’s temple, retreating into his hairline.

He didn’t answer.

“C’mon, old man. We’re not listening to music, we’re not talking. I spend ninety percent of my time alone, I’d like to be able to speak to the few people I do see, especially when I’m stuck alone with them for twenty hours,” Rhia huffed, crossing her arms as she fully faced him, back resting on the door.

“Stop calling me ‘old man,’” he ordered.

“Tell me how you got the scar,” Rhia countered.

He looked at her then, astonished by the gall of this little shit. Her arms were crossed tightly across her chest, the sleeves of her oversized gray Boston College sweater hiding her hands. She had pulled her hair up into a bun, loose strands framing her face where her eyebrows furrowed and her lips pressed together tightly, eyes boring into him with a challenging glare.

He turned back to the road, “Got shot. He missed.”

“That’s it?” Rhia asked, shocked, “You at least get the asshole?”

“No. I missed, too,” he said after a moment.

“Shit aim,” Rhia ribbed, earning a side-eye from Joel. She knew he wasn’t telling her the whole story for a reason, but she didn’t want to push him. She was surprised she even got as much as she did.

“I got this scar fighting another kid for a ration pack,” Rhia said after a moment, showing Joel the jagged white marks on her forearm, “I bit him, he bit back. FEDRA asshole took the pack, kept it for himself. I was so pissed at the kid until I realized it wasn’t his fault that he was hungry. It was FEDRA’s for starving us. Sometimes we take things out on the wrong people for the right reasons. I’m no pacifist, but did the guy you tried to shoot at least deserve it?”

Joel looked ahead at the road, grip tightening at the wheel, “At the time … I thought so.”

· · ─────── ·⌖· ─────── · ·

*Now*

“You know, seeing as it’s just the three of us, I was thinking I should pro…” Ellie says when Rhia tunes back in.

“No,” Joel cuts her off.

Rhia rolls her eyes, “Why not? I had my own gun younger than her.”

“Really?!” Ellie asks excitedly, “That’s sick!”

Joel turns to Rhia, noticing the vacant look in her eyes, the shake in her breath—until she straightens up and shakes her head, saying, “On second thought, Joel’s right. You don’t need one.”

“What?!” Ellie exclaims, disappointed, looking between Joel and Rhia.

Rhia chuckles, “Don’t worry, kid. You’ve got us.”

Ellie sighs dramatically. They come upon a dilapidated building and Rhia recognizes it as one of Joel’s stashes.

“Cumberland Farms,” Ellie reads the crumbling sign.

“Hang back a minute,” Joel says to the girls as he pulls ahead towards the building, “Gotta grab some stuff I stashed.”

“Stashed? Why do you have stuff stashed here?” Ellie asks, following him. Rhia takes another look around them, ensuring they’re all clear, before following as well.

“You ask a lot of goddamn questions,” Joel grumbles. “Yes, I do,” Ellie nods. “So, are either of you gonna answer me or what?” She looks to Rhia, already knowing after less than 24 hours that she is far softer than Joel. Still a bit of a brick wall, Ellie notes, but who isn’t in this world?

“We hide supplies on routes in case we find ourselves short on gear,” Rhia answers as she enters.

“Which I currently am 'cause,” Joel starts until Ellie cuts him off, running to a broken down Mortal Kombat arcade machine.

“No way! You ever play this one? I had a friend who knew everything about this game. There's this one character named Mileena who takes off her mask and she has monster teeth, and then she swallows you whole and barfs out your bones!” Ellie sighs deeply, feeling the buttons, “Oh, man.”

“Forget the spot?” Rhia asks, sitting on the countertop island in the center of the room. She watches Joel kick debris around in search of his hiding spot.

“No. I'm just zeroing in on it. It's been a couple of years,” he denies, giving Rhia a sassy look. He knows that she knows damn well the last time he was there because she was with him.

“Okay, well, I'm gonna take a look around, see if there's anything good,” Ellie pipes up from across the room, realizing Rhia and Joel wouldn’t notice her stepping away with their attention so focused on each other. For people that claim to hate each other, they can’t seem to leave each other alone, Ellie thinks, theories filling her mind.

“Trust me, it's all been picked over already,” Joel warns, kicking the wall.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Ellie replies, walking to a different room, “Is there anything bad in here?”

“Just you,” Joel quips, still searching.

“Ah. Getting funnier.”

Ellie disappears around the corner and Rhia watches the doorway for a moment before turning to Joel when he utters a quiet,

“Fuck.”

“You doin’ alright there, cowboy?” Rhia asks, enjoying watching him struggle.

Joel turns to her, hands on his hips, “You could help.”

Rhia frowns in mock contemplation, tilting her head. She gets more comfortable on the table then smiles, “You got it.”

Joel rolls his eyes and continues searching, “If you just came along to give me grief the whole time, you can go back.”

Rhia scoffs, “I bet you’re prayin’ I quit. I’m not going anywhere, Joel.”

“And why not?” Joel stops his search, getting fed up with this damn woman.

Rhia stares at him for a moment, debating whether to be truthful, whether he’s earned it.

“I need to know that kid gets to where she’s going,” she finally says, standing. She’s told him her truth, but she’s lying to herself. “Why are you taking her, Joel? And I don’t wanna hear about anything Tess said.”

Joel sighs, looking anywhere but at Rhia. He may not be much of an extrovert, but Rhia had always been able to read him. It took her a while to know all of his little mannerisms as well as she does now. She knows he’s going to tell her the truth.

Joel’s mind is spinning. Joel knows how to read people, and what he sees when he looks at Rhia is contradiction. She is half his age, yet, for as long as he’s known her, she has carried the heavy coat of grief the depth of which he’s only seen in the mirror. She is immature and petulant, but serious and adept. She is outgoing and kind, yet suspicious and guarded. A teasing smile, but darkened and weary eyes. Every time he thinks he understands her, she continues to surprise him. She did it when she chose to come this morning and she’s done it again now.

“Tommy’s somewhere in Wyoming. Marlene promised Tess and I a car so we could go find him if we brought the kid to a meeting point. Problem was, everyone was dead when we got there, so now I’m taking her to Bill to see if he can get a hold of the Fireflies,” Joel explains.

“Why didn’t you take her back to the QZ? Why did you bring her with you? You can try to convince yourself it’s because Tess told you or because you want to find your brother or any other righteous endeavor, but I know you better than you want me to, Joel Miller,” Rhia steps up close to Joel, their faces inches apart. She’s searching his face. For what, Joel doesn’t know, but he pulls away before she can find it.

“You don’t know a goddamn thing.”

His voice is low and gravelly and Rhia knows she’s got her foot right on the line. She steps around him, walking to the end of the aisle and stopping at a shelf. She turns to Joel, making sure he’s watching as she stomps lightly, the floor beneath her giving a hollow sound.

“I just want to know which version of you I’m getting for this run,” she says innocently, stepping back so he can access the hatch.

He slowly approaches her, looking down to the hatch and back up to her face, another contradiction. Her tone tells him she’s apathetic, but her eyes are wide and hopeful. He used to think she was a sheep in wolf’s clothing, but he’s learned better than that over the years.

“I’m taking her because I need to know that she gets to where she’s going,” Joel echoes her response, a hint of something in his eyes that Rhia thought she’d never see again.

Joel doesn’t wait for her reply, crouching down to free the hatch. Rhia opens her mouth to speak, then stops, looking towards the dark doorway Ellie had gone through.

“Where’s Ellie?” Rhia asks as Joel takes what he needs from the stash. He stops, both of them looking to where Ellie had disappeared.

“Ellie?” Joel calls. No answer. He calls her name again. Nothing.

Joel and Rhia give each other a look, pulling out their guns in tandem as they approach the doorway, Joel taking the lead. As Joel reaches the dark entryway, peeking around, he relaxes and Rhia watches Ellie stride in.

“Picked over my ass,” Ellie scoffs, triumphantly shaking a box of tampons.

“Holy shit. You’re sharing,” Rhia gasps, earning a laugh from Ellie.

Joel shakes his head and goes back to the stash, sticking the rifle he’d been carrying into the hole.

“What are you doing?” Ellie asks.

“There's not much ammo out there for this thing. Makes it mostly useless,” Joel replies, closing the hole and standing.

“Well, if you're just gonna leave it there …”

“No,” Rhia and Joel reply in tandem as they exit the store. This time, they don’t acknowledge it.

They hike in a newly comfortable silence … that is until Ellie speaks up.

“Holy shit.”

Joel and Rhia turn their heads and slow to a stop as they see the remains of an airplane, mostly reclaimed by nature after twenty years.

“You guys fly in one of those?” Ellie asks in wonder.

“A few times, sure,” Joel says, humored by the kid.

“Once,” Rhia smiles sadly. Joel notices the softness in her tone and her distant gaze. A memory of firelight and auburn hair flashes in his mind.

“So lucky,” Ellie sighs as she looks at the plane, imagining what it is to fly.

“Didn't feel like it at the time. Get shoved into a middle seat, pay 12 bucks for a sandwich,” Joel says, shrugging. Rhia nods, chuckling, and, to his surprise, Joel feels proud to have caused it.

“Dude, you got to go up in the sky,” Ellie said in amazement.

“Yeah, well, so did they,” Joel rebuked, humor gone.

He and Rhia walk off as Ellie mutters a quiet “Grim,” following.

“So,everything came crashing down in one day?” Ellie asks, walking between Rhia and Joel.

“Pretty much,” Rhia shrugs.

“How?” Ellie asks, confused and curious, “I mean … no one was infected with Cordyceps, everybody’s fine, eating in restaurants and flying in planes. And then, all at once? How did it even start? If you have to get bit to be infected, then who bit the first person? Was it a monkey? I bet it was a monkey.”

“It wasn’t a monkey,” Rhia laughs.

“I thought you went to school,” Joel mocks.

“FEDRA school,” Ellie replies matter-of-factly, “They don't teach us how their shitty government failed to prevent a pandemic.”

Rhia and Joel look at each other, then Joel sighs, giving up.

“No one knows for sure,” he starts, “but, best guess … Cordyceps mutated. And some of it got into the food supply. Probably a basic ingredient like flour or sugar. There were certain brands of food that were sold everywhere, all across the country, across the world. Bread, cereal …” He pauses, “pancake mix.”

Rhia picks up for him, “You eat enough of it, it’ll get you infected. So, the tainted food all hits the store shelves around the same time, Thursday. People bought it, ate some Thursday night or Friday morning. Day goes on … they started to get sick. Afternoon, evening, they got worse …” Rhia trails off.

“Then they started bitin’. Friday night, September 26, 2003. And by Monday, everything was gone,” Joel finishes.

Ellie watches her haunted guardians as they speak, their faraway looks. She may be young, but she, too, understands how much death can weigh.

“It makes more sense than monkeys,” she tells them, “Thanks.”

Rhia gives her a pained smile as Joel stiffly replies, “Sure.”

He stops them, then, gazing out across the fields. Rhia knows what he’s thinking.

“What?” Ellie asks.

“We’ll cut across the woods here,” Joel points.

“Isn’t the road easier?” Ellie asks.

“Yeah, it's just... There's stuff up there you shouldn’t see,” Joel says evasively.

“Well, now I have to see,” Ellie says.

“I don’t want you to,” Joel orders as Ellie walks off, “Serious. Ellie!”

“Can it hurt me?” Ellie calls back.

“No,” Joel answers truthfully which earns a humorous sigh from Rhia.

“You’re too honest, man. Should’ve said ax murderer,” Ellie laughs. She looks around as she walks, Joel and Rhia following.

“Uh … whatever it was … think it’s gone.” She stops, her gaze falling on the pit of bones and personal effects.

Rhia and Joel stop beside her, the latter speaking up, “About a week after Outbreak Day, soldiers … went through the countryside, evacuated the small towns. Told you you were goin’ to a QZ, and you were … if there was room. If there wasn’t …” He trails off.

“These people weren’t sick?” Ellie asks, a twinge of anger in her voice.

“No, probably not,” Rhia shakes her head.

“Why kill them? Why not just leave ’em be?” Ellie asks sadly.

Joel answers somberly, “Dead people can’t be infected.”

Ellie looks to Rhia, and the woman turns away, the teen’s pleading eyes reminding her of her own, so many years ago.

· · ─────── ·⌖· ─────── · ·

*September 26, 2003*

The sun set over the forested mountains of Tennessee, the Wynn family settling in for dinner in their stilted cabin. 8-year-old Rhiannon watched the planes soar overhead from her bedroom window. She’d never seen so many in one day, though the whole day seemed to be out of the ordinary.

She’d counted 17 ambulances and 8 fire trucks on the drive home from school. Her sister, Stevie, winded through the hills up to their home carefully to keep out of their way. She’d just gotten her license that morning and proudly showed it off to her little sister when she’d picked her up.

“Woah! You really did it!” Rhia had exclaimed, examining the license.

“Oh, you thought I’d fail?” Stevie laughed, flicking her eyes between her sister and the road.

“Daddy said you were an ‘accident waiting to happen’, but I think you were an accident 16 years ago,” Rhia joked, smiling mischievously at Stevie who gasped, feigning hurt.

“Damn, Ri. Guess this accident isn’t driving you to Dollywood tomorrow,” Stevie shrugged, an exaggerated sigh leaving her lips.

Rhia’s eyes widened and she turned in her seat, leaning over the center console, “Dollywood?! I wanna go! Stevie, please. I’m sorry! You’re a great driver. Pleaaaase!”

“Okay, Okay!” Stevie laughed, gently pushing Rhia back into her seat, “You win. Settle down.”

“Rhia! Stevie! Time for dinner,” their mother called, snapping Rhia out of the memory.

“Coming!” she heard Stevie call. Rhia exited her room, following her sister down the stairs to the dining table. It was set for 4, yet their father was nowhere in sight.

“Where’s dad?” Stevie asked, sitting at the table.

Mom sighed, shaking her head, “I don’t know. He hasn’t answered my calls. He’s probably caught up in traffic from whatever’s goin’ on in town.” She looked at the door, then back at her kids. “Sit down. Eat. He can warm up his dinner later.”

The sisters sat, piling their plate with bread and meat and vegetables. Rhia went to take a bite of bread when they all heard a bang at the door. Rhia jumped, dropping the bread on her plate. She turned around as her mother walked to the door slowly.

Another bang and then jiggling at the handle. Rhia looked to Stevie who watched the door curiously. Their mother got closer and closer to the door, until—

Bang! The door swung open, slamming against the wall as a man stumbled in, holding a hand to his shoulder.

“Dad?” Stevie questioned, standing.

“Dear?!” her mother exclaimed, going to help her husband to stand. “What happened?” She walked him to the couch, sitting him down and looking over his disheveled body.

Stevie and Rhia rushed over, watching from beside the couch as their father panted, “We need to leave. Charlotte, help the girls pack. Only the essentials.”

“Rhys, what the hell are you goin’ on about? What happened to you?” Charlotte asked frantically, examining the wound he’d been covering. It looked like a bite mark. “Who did this to you?”

“Daddy?” Rhia asked softly, worry in her voice.

Charlotte looked at her daughters, hoping she didn’t show them as much fear as she felt. “You heard your father. Stevie, take Rhia upstairs. Help her pack a bag,” she ordered. Stevie nodded, taking Rhia by the hand and leading her upstairs.

When they were out of sight, Rhys grabbed his wife by the shoulders, leaning forward, “Charlotte. It’s madness out there. Some sort of disease. I don’t know.”

“Honey, you’re not making sense, and you’re scarin’ the kids. Hell, you’re scarin’ me!”

“You need to listen to me!” Rhys bellowed, shaking her, “Folks are attacking each other. I saw Raymond at the gas station getting his neck torn out by some old lady. Tried to help him and he turned on me. That’s how I got this.” He motioned to the bite on his arm.

Charlotte shook her head, “What the hell, Rhys? Is this to do with all the commotion in town? The riots on the news?”

“Yes,” Rhys nodded, then winced in pain, “Everyone’s lost their minds and we need to get out of here.”

“Why leave? We’re in the mountains. Almost an hour away from town,” Charlotte asked, helping Rhys stand.

He stumbled towards the stairs, “It’s not safe here. It’s not safe anywhere.”

“Then where do you suppose we go? Huh?” Charlotte stopped at the base of the stairs, trying to talk sense into her husband, “I’m not gonna pack the kids up and freak them out for nothin’. Where are we gonna go?”

Rhys sighed, sitting on the stairs. He shook his head, the horrors from town replaying in his mind, “I don’t know, Char. I just know that sooner or later, they’re gonna start coming up the mountain. Whether it’s to hide or kill, I don’t wanna be here for ’em.”

Just then, the tv turned blue and a National Emergency Alert came on, the siren blaring through the house. Charlotte looked to Rhys, who stared blankly at the wall.

She took a shaky breath and scrunched her eyes closed before nodding, “Alright. I’ll pack the bags. Can you bandage that yourself and meet us at the car?”

Rhys nodded, “Yeah. I can do that. Hurry.” Charlotte casted one last worried look at her husband before bounding up the stairs and straight to Rhia’s room where Stevie was helping shove her clothes into a backpack.

“Mom? What’s going on?” Stevie asked, stopping. Rhia sat on the bed, fearfully clutching a stuffed giraffe.

Their mother looked between her daughters, wishing she could ease their fears and kiss them goodnight like any other day, but she knew they would not be coming back to this house again.

“We’re going on a road trip. Pack warm clothes and sneakers … like when we went to Washington to go hiking in the parks. Remember, Rhia?” She looked to her Rhia who nodded, a spark of hope in her eyes.

Charlotte smiled sadly, “Gonna be just like that, okay?”

“Can I bring my stuffies?” Rhia asked, looking at her mountain of stuffed plushies in the corner of her room then back at her mother, searching for comfort her mother cannot give.

Charlotte held the tears back and shook her head, “You can’t, sweetie … but you can pick one. Just one.” Rhia frowned, then held her giraffe closer. “Okay,” Charlotte nodded, “Stevie, when you’re both ready, go downstairs and pack a bag of food and water. Only pick stuff that won’t perish, okay?”

Stevie nodded, catching the weight of her mother’s fear so her sister wouldn’t have to. Their mother left them to go pack and Rhia looked up at her sister who stood frozen and staring at the empty doorway.

“Stevie? I’m scared. What’s happening?” Rhia asked, tears welling up in her eyes as she hugged her giraffe tighter.

Stevie winced and put a hand on her sister’s head, “I know you’re scared, but mommy and daddy need us to be strong, okay? I don’t know what’s happening, but whatever it is, we’re gonna be okay. I promise.” Rhia nodded, wiping her tears away.

The sisters grabbed their bags and headed downstairs where they packed up a backpack of food and water. Stevie tossed in the first aid bag from under the sink as well. We won’t need it, she thought, but just in case.

“Girls? You ready?” Charlotte asked as she sped down the stairs, bat in hand.

“What’s with the bat?” Stevie asked.

Charlotte looked at the bat like she didn’t even know she was holding it, “Just in case.”

“Just in case of what, mom? You haven’t told us what’s going on,” Stevie protested.

“Nothing. Let’s go. Your father’s waiting for us in the car,” Charlotte dismissed. The siblings followed their mother out the door and down the driveway where the car sat running, their father in the driver’s seat.

“Rhys, open the trunk!” Charlotte called out as they approached.

Nothing happened.

“Rhys, come on!” She banged on the window of the trunk. Still nothing. Charlotte looked through the window to see Rhys just sitting there, unmoving.

“Stay here,” she ordered her daughters, handing them her bags and the bat. She approached the driver’s door, seeing Rhys look dazed and empty eyed.

She called his name, hoping to get his attention. When he didn’t react, she opened the door. At the sound, Rhys turned, his eyes milky and devoid of consciousness, dark veins crawling up his skin. He snarled and launched at his wife, toppling her to the ground, teeth clacking together as he tried to bite her. She yelped, begging him to stop as she held him back with her arms.

“Mom!” Stevie yelled, running over and smacking her father in the head with the bat.

He flew off of Charlotte and Stevie dropped the bat, freezing in place as she said in horror, “Oh, my god. Oh, my god. What did I do? Dad?!” She took a step towards him as he shuffled on the ground, his limbs moving in odd directions.

Charlotte held Stevie back, “No! Stay away from him. Something’s wro-”

Before she could finish, Rhys launched at her from behind, sinking his teeth into the flesh of her shoulder. She screamed in pain, turning her body and slamming back into the side of the car, holding him down.

“Get in the car! Now!” she yelled. Stevie stayed frozen in her spot, “Stevie, now! Get Rhia!”

At the mention of her baby sister, Stevie snapped back to attention, turning to where Rhia stood surrounded by their stuff, crying.

“What’s wrong with daddy?” Rhia cried as Stevie picked her up, running to the other side of the car and opening the back door.

“Don’t look, Rhia. Just stay down,” Stevie instructed, tossing the bags in with Rhia and slamming the door.

Stevie ran around the car again just as Charlotte slammed Rhys into the side of it again. He released her shoulder and she crumbled to her knees.

“Mom?!” Stevie asked, not getting too close.

“Get in the fucking car, Stephanie!” Charlotte yelled, grabbing the bat and swinging it at her husband’s head. She screamed as she bashed her husband’s head in. Screams turned into sobs, tears mixing with the blood of the love of her life, dead at her hand. She stumbled to her feet, holding a hand to her shoulder. She dropped the bat and got into the driver’s seat.

“What happened to dad?” Stevie asked from beside her.

“Mommy? Where’s daddy?” Rhia quietly muttered from the backseat. Stevie hadn’t let her look out the window.

Charlotte ignored her children, putting the car in drive and taking them away from home forever.

After about an hour of silence, Rhia had fallen asleep. Stevie reached back for one of the bags, keeping her eyes on her mother’s wound. She took the first aid kit out of the backpack, opening it up and taking out a mini hydrogen peroxide spray bottle.

“Don’t waste it, Stephanie,” Charlotte instructed, pushing Stevie’s hand away when she tried to clean her wound.

“It’s gonna get infected, mom,” she protested. Charlotte let out a shaky breath, tears spilling down her cheeks, “I think it already is.”

Stevie paled, “What are you talking about?”

Charlotte sighed, pulling over when she felt they were far away enough from civilization, deep in the mountains, “Your father had a bite like this … and then he … became whatever it is he became. It’s gonna happen to me, too.”

“No,” Stevie shook her head, tears flooding her eyes again, “No. You don’t know that.”

“I do. Honey, I do. I can already feel it. I can’t put you and your sister in danger like this.” “No. Mom. No,” Stevie cried as her mother opened the door and stepped out.

“Take care of your sister. Never, ever leave her, okay?”

“Mom, plea-”

“Promise me, Stevie!” Charlotte cut her off, “Promise me you’ll stay together. No matter what.”

Stevie got out of the car, circling it to stand in front of her mother. She was as tall as her mother, having grown a few more inches over the summer. She remembered being as small as Rhia, looking up to her mother as this untouchable, giant goddess. Now she can see the top of her head. The illusion is over and her mother is only human. In this moment, they are equals.

She stared at the spreading infection on her mother’s shoulder for a long while before she managed to choke out, “I promise.”

Charlotte nodded, “Good.” She looked at her sleeping daughter in the backseat, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but you have to be strong. Whatever’s going on out there, whatever happens … I love you both so much. So did your father.”

Rhia slowly came to in the backseat, groggily looking towards the front of the car to where she expected her mom and sister to be. When they weren’t there, she sat up, finding them when she looked out the window.

“Mommy?” Rhia asked, her voice muffled through the door.

Her mother looked at her, placing a hand on the glass, then turned to Stevie again, “Head north. Find somewhere safe. Only trust each other.”

“Mom, I don’t know what to do. I … I only just got my license. I can’t-”

“You can, Stevie. You can, and you shouldn’t have to, but you need to.”

“I can’t do this alone, mom, please!” Stevie cried.

She held her hands, examining the face of her daughter one last time, “You have to. I love you. Your dad and I will always be with you. Always.” She slowly backed away.

“Mommy? What’s happening, Stevie? Where’s mommy going?!” Rhia asked, pressing her cheek to the window to see her mother.

“Go,” their mother ordered, “Stevie, go!”

Stevie numbly turned around and got into the driver’s seat. She put the car in drive. “No!” Rhia screamed as they pulled away, banging on the window, trying to reach her mother’s retreating form, “No! Mommy! Stop! Mommy, please! Stevie, stop! We can’t leave her! Mommy!”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Stevie muttered to her sobbing sister over and over again like a mantra, driving away and not daring to look back at her mother in fear that she’d turn back around. She was only a child, now forced to be both mother and father in a crumbling world.

Charlotte watched her daughters drive away, an odd twitch beginning in her arms and head. When her children were safe and out of view, their mother sat in the empty road, muttered a prayer to a god who never listens, and let the infection take over.

· · ─────── ·⌖· ─────── · ·

*4 ½ Years Ago*

Rhia slept peacefully in the truck, curled up against the door … until she was roughly shaken awake.

“We’re here,” Joel said, turning off the car.

Rhia groaned, opening her eyes, “You’re a dick.” She exited the car, grabbing her backpack from the foot well and following him to the truck bed where they unloaded the cargo.

“I can drive back since you drove the whole way here,” Rhia offered, closing the door with her foot.

“No need,�� Joel said curtly, walking off to the meeting point.

“What? You don’t trust me? Don’t think I’m a good driver?” Rhia asked, offended.

Joel huffed, “Well, I know you definitely never got a license.”

“Well, I’m so sorry the fucking world ended before I got the chance to,” Rhia scoffed.

Joel ignored her and walked ahead to where the Fireflies stood waiting with their cargo. Rhia was getting real sick of being ignored and belittled by this pretentious fuck.

“Miller. Who’s the girl?” the man Rhia assumed was the leader said.

“Nobody. Let’s get this over with, Carson,” Joel replied, dropping the crate on the floor between them.

Rhia glared at Joel before turning to the Fireflies with a smile, “Rhiannon. Nice to meet y’all.”

The man, Carson, ignored her, focusing on Joel, “This is less than Bill and I talked about.”

“Yeah, well, more’s gonna cost ya,” Joel said nonchalantly, face void of emotion.

“This is what it should cost,” Carson said, looking down at Joel. “Not anymore,” Joel replied, not feeling threatened. Rhia could have laughed at how Carson attempted to intimidate Joel, using his height over her partner to no avail. Joel was immovable, untouchable. She wasn’t scared of the Firefly’s temperament with Joel at her side. Carson gave in, sighing and nodding to his lackeys to hand over the goods.

As Joel packed the crates in the truck bed, Rhia grabbed the last crate from the leader.

“So, where’d you come from?” he asked, looking her up and down. “Oh, just a few hours away in a little town called Nunya,” Rhia scoffed.

His lip twitched in annoyance, grabbing her arm when she made to walk away.

Just as Rhia opened her mouth to tell him off, Joel called out, “Rhia! Let’s go!”

Rhia ripped her arm from Carson, walking over to the truck. All the while, Joel stared Carson down, arms crossed and eyes narrowed as Rhia closed the trunk and spun around, joining Joel in his staredown. Mirror images of each other.

Carson looked between the duo and laughed, “’Till next time, Joel. Rhiannon.”

· · ─────── ·⌖· ─────── · ·

They were two hours into the excruciatingly long drive back to Bill’s when Rhia broke the unofficial silent treatment they were giving each other.

“You know, I didn’t need your help back there.”

Joel scoffed, “You were about to get yourself shot. Again.”

“You know, if you stopped treating me like I’m just arm candy, maybe they would, too,” Rhia rebuked, glaring at him.

“Oh, so it’s my fault?” Joel asked sarcastically.

“Well, it sure as hell ain’t mine,” Rhia pursed her lips, “You don’t treat Tess like this.”

“Tess can handle herself, unlike you.”

“Well, how the hell am I supposed to prove that I can if you don’t give me the chance? Huh?!” Rhia exclaimed, absolutely in awe of how little he thought of her, “Don’t even trust me to drive.” She let out a cynical laugh at the thought.

“I’m a great driver,” she muttered, hugging her knees and looking out the window, “My sister taught me.”

Joel froze. She’d never mentioned her sister before, and, in this world, it wasn’t hard for him to guess why. Their argument ended there, but Joel spent the next two hours thinking about the girl sleeping beside him.

He had a hard time admitting to himself that she was right. He was treating her as a hindrance instead of a partner, but he didn’t need a partner. It was hard enough for him to let Tess just past the stony front, but not much farther. It didn’t make sense to him that this young, reckless, beautiful woman could get under his skin so quickly. He shook away the thoughts slowly forming in his mind, thoughts he hadn’t had in a very long time.

After another hour, Joel pulled over on the side of the road. The sun had started to rise in the distance and as much as he wanted to get back to Bill’s and as far away from Rhia as possible, he couldn’t drive another second without at least getting a quick nap in. He thought of just sleeping right there and driving again when he woke up, but then he looked at Rhia and sighed deeply.

“Hey,” he said, shaking her lightly unlike earlier.

“Tired, Stevie,” Rhia mumbled. Joel’s hand hovered over her shoulder. There it was again. A small puzzle piece in the enigma that was Rhiannon.

“Rhia, wake up,” he said, shaking her again.

Rhia shot up when she heard his voice, eyes wild as she turned to him. She relaxed when she realized it was Joel. She hoped he wouldn’t ask about Stevie. He didn’t.

“You drive,” was all he said.

Rhia rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and looked at him with confusion, “What?”

“You wanna drive or not?” he asked, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the driver door.

“Um … yeah,” she said, doing the same.

They both got out of the car and circled the front, stopping in front of each other at the hood.

“Why?” she asked, looking up at him. She was a tall woman, but he was still taller than her by at least a whole head. She thought of Stevie, then, and wondered if she was taller than her now. She couldn’t remember.

“I’m tired. We’re gonna end up in a ditch if I keep driving and I don’t wanna waste time sitting here, either,” he shrugged, looking anywhere but at her.

She narrowed her eyes, suspicion giving way to satisfaction as she nodded and passed him to get in the driver’s seat.

When they were settled in their switched spots, Rhia smiled, “You’re gonna see how great of a driver I am.”

“Don’t push it,” Joel grumbled, reclining the seat a bit farther and shutting his eyes.

Rhia chuckled and started the car, setting a steady speed down the road. She smiled proudly as she drove and didn’t notice Joel peeking at her with one eye. He stifled a smirk at her giddiness and forced himself into slumber. Only four more hours with her, he thought, Then, he’ll never have to see her again. For some reason, that thought didn’t bring him the peace of mind he’d been hoping for.

· · ─────── ·⌖· ─────── · ·

*Now*

The world is so often silent nowadays. Rhia can hear the squeak of the swinging sign before they even make it to the fence surrounding Bill and Frank’s. The world is so often silent nowadays, but this is different. This silence feels like a warning. Joel and Rhia give each other a look as they approach the fence.

“Stay there” Joel says to Ellie as Rhia punches in the door code.

Joel opens the door, letting the girls in first. They walk silently down the road, stopping in front of Bill’s house. Rhia notices the wilting flowers at the front end of the lawn. She already knows what they’re going to find inside.

She prays she’s wrong as Joel reaches for the handle. It’s gonna be locked, she thinks, It’s gonna be locked and they’re just asleep inside. The door swings open and Rhia lets out a defeated sigh.

“What the fuck?” Ellie says as they step inside.

“Bill?” Joel calls out. Nothing.

“Frank?” Rhia tries. Nothing.

Joel looks down the hall and then steps into the dining room, turning back to Ellie to say, “You stay there. Ya hear anything, you see anything … yell. Rhia, check upstairs.”

Rhia nods, ignoring the itch in her throat to tell Joel off for telling her what to do.

“What if they’re gone?” Ellie asks quietly. Joel stares at Ellie and Rhia can tell he’s trying to fight the lump forming in his throat. Ever the emotional avoider, she thinks as he walks away without a word. Ellie turns to Rhia who frowns, her eyebrows knitting together.

“Stay here,” Rhia reiterates. She turns and heads upstairs, checking each room with her gun held out in defense.

Empty. Empty. Empty. Each room looks like it hasn't seen foot traffic in weeks. Rhia doesn’t want to jump to conclusions just yet. Frank’s been in a wheelchair for the past couple years. They haven’t had much need to go upstairs because of it.

No amount of rationalization can explain away the stench of death that’s settled upstairs … or the note addressed to her on the nightstand in the guest bedroom Rhia was all too familiar with. She picked it up and sat on the dusty bed, trying her damnedest to push away the memories floating around the room. She opens the letter, attempting to read the jagged, unsteady handwriting:

Rhiannon,

If you are reading this, Bill and I are dead. Somber, I know. I’m hoping Bill lets me die alone, but I’ve spent enough years with the man to know better. It’s damn near impossible to write nowadays, so I’ll keep this short. Forgive Joel. If anyone can get through to him, it’s you.

Do not mourn us. We lived as we died: together. I hope you can do the same.

~Frank

Rhia lets the words settle around her, hands shaking as she grips the paper tighter. She hears Joel call for Ellie downstairs. She lets out a deep breath, deflating, eyes squeezed shut. Then she stands, eyes empty as she leaves the room behind.

“So they're dead?” She hears Joel as she starts down the stairs.

“Mm-hmm,” Ellie responds so softly Rhia almost doesn’t catch it.

The steps creak under her feet and Joel turns to her, his face hardened as he tries to hide his grief. Rhia sees it, anyway; the dull eyes, the pursed frown, eyes looking anywhere but at her or Ellie.

Joel glances up at Rhia as she joins in beside him. He sees his pain reflected in her; balled fists, tight jaw. She meets his eyes, an unspoken understanding forming between them. She brushes her hand against his as she turns to face Ellie.

“You, you wanna?” Ellie asks them, her eyes glancing down at their hands hovering barely an inch away from each other.

“Go ahead,” Joel shakes his head, “You do it.”

“August 29, 2023,” Ellie starts, “If you find this... please do not come into the bedroom. We left a window open so the house wouldn't smell, but it will probably be a sight. I'm guessing you found this, Joel, because anyone else would've been electrocuted or blown up by one of my traps. Hehehehehehehehe. Take anything you need. The bunker code is the same as the gate code but in reverse.

“Anyway… I never liked you, but still, it's like we're friends… almost. And I respect you. So, I'm gonna tell you something because you're probably the only person who will understand. I used to hate the world, and I was happy when everyone died. But I was wrong because there was one person worth saving.”

Rhia doesn’t notice Joel’s eyes on her. She is too far in her head thinking of him.

“That's what I did. I saved him. Then I protected him. That's why men like you and me are here. We have a job to do. And God help any mοthеrfսckеr who stand in our way. I leave you all of my weapons and equipment. Use them to keep Rhia and—” Ellie stops.

Joel takes the paper from her, turning away from both girls to read on. He reads it. Reads it again. He ignores the food and wine pairing Bill recommends and rereads the same line over and over again, “let yourself care about her before it’s too late.”

“You get one, too?” Joel turns at Ellie’s question, following her eyes to the piece of paper crumpled in Rhia’s fist. Rhia avoids his gaze and he hardens again.

“Stay here,” he tells them and leaves.

Rhia stays where she stands, but her mind is far away, deep in memory.

“You don’t hate each other,” Ellie says not as a question, but a fact. The sheer confidence of the statement brings Rhia back to her body, a powder keg of every emotion she’s ever felt.

She looks this child dead on, eyes a half-lidded void, “What do you know?”

“Nothing,” Ellie says quickly, turning away from her.

Rhia shakes her head, the weight of guilt pushing her impending implosion to its limit, “I’m sorry. I—I’m sorry.”

She hurries away, blowing out the front door. She doesn’t stop until she’s down the road and standing in front of the gate to leave. She reaches a hand out for the door, but cannot bring herself to grasp it. She drops to her knees, ignoring the scratch of the rough pavement, and cries.

She clutches her neck, heaving quick breaths as her mind spins. She can’t bear the pain in her chest, the fear squeezing her bones. She is alone. As always, in the end. Alone. Her parents, Tess, Stevie, Bill, Frank … all gone.

Her mind wanders to Joel. Her jaw clenches, the things she’s kept buried coming to claw through her throat. Anger, joy, grief, love. All for him. She wonders what else he will claim of her.

She stands, roughly wiping her tears away and turning back to the house. She enters just as Joel and Ellie come up from the basement.

“You didn’t leave?” Joel asks, the twinge of relief in his voice surprising him.

“Thought I told you,” Rhia smiles as if she hadn’t broken down sobbing a few moments ago, “Not getting rid of me.”

He nods, “Then grab what you can and stick it in the truck. I’m charging the battery now and then we’re heading to find my brother.”

“They’re gonna help us find the Fireflies,” Ellie adds.

Rhia nods back, “Let’s get to it.”

Over the next hour, the trio combs through every inch of the house, taking what they need. Clothes, food, weapons. All of it stocked up in the truck.

“Needs another hour,” Joel says to Ellie as she runs her hand under the faucet of the garage’s sink.

“They have hot water!” she exclaims happily, “I’m taking a shower, and then you’re showering because seriously…”

She lets out a puff of air as she leaves the garage, running into Rhia. “Hey, Rhia. Guess what? There’s hot water! We can shower!”

Rhia smiles at her excitement, “Yeah, I know. Go enjoy it while you can.” Ellie smiles and runs off.

Rhia enters the garage and Joel turns to her, eyes wide in anticipation. She mentally curses those big, brown eyes of his. They make it hard for her to think, and she needs to think clearly around him.

“Something wrong?” Joel asks, noticing the dazed look in her eyes

“Why did you come back?” she asks quietly, eyebrows knit in confusion, “You didn’t need me to get to Bill’s. You didn’t know you were going to have to take her across the country yet. Why did you ask me to come?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, meeting her eyes. She knows he is lying.

“Joel, if we’re gonna take this kid across the country together, we need to trust each other,” Rhia frowns, “And right now I don’t trust you.”

“What do you want from me?” He asks, letting out a frustrated sigh.

“The truth.”

“The truth?” Joel starts, “I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have brought you into this.” It is the truth, in a way. He just omits the why. He wasn’t thinking when he showed up at her house. He was in pain and his body brought him to her. He shouldn’t have brought her into this danger, but he wanted her.

In his grief over Tess, he sought Rhiannon out, and, like a fucked up post-nut clarity, he now regrets it. At least, he tells himself he regrets it. His mind wanders to the end of Bill’s letter again. Let yourself care about her before it’s too late. Joel thinks it already is.

Rhia nods, looks around the room. She’d spent many mornings in this garage packing, unpacking, idling, talking. Most of which was spent with Joel. Now, she looks around and sees the gathering dust of dead friends and deader memories.

“You think I can’t handle it?” Rhia asks defensively, “I’ve saved your ass plenty of times, Miller.”

“It’s not that,” Joel shakes his head, “I know you can handle yourself.”

“If you’re just trying to get me to bail, it’s not gonna work,” she says, stalking up to him. She stops, so close to Joel that she has to lift her head to meet his eyes, “But don’t for a second think it’s because of you or anything we once were. I’d love to turn around and never see you again.” She lets out a dry, humorless laugh. “Hell, I’ve prayed for it. But Ellie’s not gonna make it all the way across the country just the two of you. So, I’m coming whether either of us likes it or not.”

If she wasn’t so blinded by her anger and rejection, she’d notice his hands hovering just off her waist. Joel doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, unconsciously drawn to her.

Joel’s mind is a racetrack, going around and around in hopeless circles over whether he should apologize or push her further away. He’s so caught up in his self torturous loop, he doesn’t notice her eyes flicker to his lips, chapped and slightly parted, before she spins around and stomps out of the garage.

After they all shower and pack up, the trio finally can head out. Joel, obviously, takes the driver’s seat and Ellie and Rhia reach for the passenger door handle at the same time.

“Nuh uh. Kids go in the back,” Rhia tuts.

“Aww, c’mon. It’s my first time in a car,” Ellie begs.

“Fine,” Rhia chuckles, then quickly adds, “For a little bit.”

Ellie settles in the front seat, touching every inch of her area, “It's like a spaceship.”

“No, it's like a piece of shit Chevy S10, but it'll get us there … I think,” Joel says, buzzkill as ever.

“I can’t believe this piece of shit is still kickin’,” Rhia laughs, leaning forward from the middle seat, her arms resting on Ellie and Joel’s seatbacks. She looks at Joel and loses herself in the wet curls of his slicked back hair. He smells of cheap soap and the unwashable outdoorsy scent of twenty years of unreliable hygiene. She catches his eye in the rearview mirror. How long had he been watching her stare at him?

“Old as you, Joel,” Rhia jabs, pulling back to her hostile facade.

He purses his lips in annoyance and turns to Ellie, “Seatbelt.”

Ellie gives him a confused, but excited, “Hmm?”

He sighs and leans over her, pulling the seatbelt out and strapping her in, “Seatbelt.”

“So cool,” she remarks under her breath.

“Aww! Baby’s first car ride,” Rhia jokes.

“Ha, ha!” Ellie says sarcastically as Joel pulls out of the garage. She opens the glove box, pulling out a cassette tape and shoving it in the player, ignoring Joel’s protests.

“Put it back … Ellie. Oh, no, wait,” Joel changes his mind, turning up the volume as “Long, Long Time” by Linda Ronstadt plays over the shitty speakers, “No, leave it. Leave it. Oh, this is good. This is Linda Ronstadt. Do you know who Linda Ronstadt is?”

“You know I don't know who Linda Ronstadt is,” Ellie deadpans.

“I don’t even know who Linda Ronstadt is,” Rhia pipes up, still leaning forward.

“Sit back,” Joel orders. Rhia parrots his words mockingly, unmoving.

And so Joel, Rhiannon, and Ellie begin their journey, unaware of all that lies ahead…

Taglist: @pedritosdarling

[mayh3mmaggi3]

writing prompt

Harry Potter but for the Yule ball, Hogwarts hires four muggle dancers-one for each house- to teach the students how to dance. In return the four muggles got to stay for the entire year, and go to all of the Triwizard events. The problem? All four are theatre kids, and only one of them is actually a dancer. The other three only know the dances they were forced to learn for theatre.

Also, they don’t have a clue about the wizarding world, and just assume that they’re at some fancy boarding school. They’re all American by the way.

“What do they even teach at this school? I’m pretty sure MATH is an optional class here.”

“I don’t know, but like it’s a fancy British boarding school. They must learn something here, right?”

And because they’re theatre kids, obviously they’re going to sing every musical known to man. One of them has sang Hamilton so many times, the students are all convinced that they have some tragic backstory. The others go along with it.

The muggleborns are in on the whole thing, obviously. They declare one of the four ‘king’, split into two groups, and stage various rebellions against the king and their group.

The purebloods have no clue what’s happening.

Cedric Diggory dies:

“Wow, this school is really extra. I’m glad I don’t go here.”

Edit, I’m writing it currently. The four characters are Reece, the dumb non-binary Hufflepuff, Lillian the “token straight” Ravenclaw, Kallysta, the “finger guns” bisexual Slytherin, and Ariana, the hopeless lesbian Gryffindor.

[mcltiples]

For muns with multiple muses, past and present, on any blog. Fill out the form according to which muse suits each title best. (The same muse can have multiple titles.) Repost and tag. Feel free to add more!

Favorite Muse: Easily a tie between Rick Prime and Verosika

Most Character Development: Rick Prime, woo, he's had so much character development since i took him on as a muse and most of it has been on Discord

Trash Muse: all of them, i only collect the finest of trash™️

The Meme-Lord: Rick Prime and Terry -finger guns-

Most Likely to Start a War: Rick Prime, Hawk Moth, Vampire Rick, maybe Verosika ?

Worst Personality: Korvo and Ursula

Best Singer: Verosika, obviously, but also Marinette & Stolas ~

Most Attractive Muse: If I had to choose between Rick Prime, Vampire Rick and Verosika ?? Verosika, she's just so pretty 🥺🥺

Biggest Heart: Marinette 🥺🥺

Falls in Love Quickest: Marinette ~

Most Likely to Drop Their Phone in the Toilet: Summer and I'm pretty sure she has xD

Ice Ruler: Ursula -finger guns-

The Edgelord: Vampire Rick xD

Most Tragic Backstory: it just might be a three way tie between Rick Prime, Vampire Rick and Gabriel

Best Case of Puberty: Marinette & Summer ofc~

Most Awkward: Moxxie xD

Busy Bee: Marinette ofc

Most Clueless: Terry

Most Likely to Forget Their Wallet at Home: Terry seems like the type fsdhjk

Best Dressed: Moxxie and Vampire Rick, both sporting little suits

Biggest Flirt: Verosika and Terry~

Most Dramatic: Ursula and Marinette

Least Likely to Show Up Late: Gabriel, Marinette and Korvo

One with Weirdest Habit: Vampire Rick

Most Likely to Be Caught at the Gym: omg i have no idea, none of my muses actually seem like gym people. But uh, maybe Rick Prime 🤔

TAGGED BY: i stole it from the dash hehe TAGGING: @countlessrealities, @renisence, @sevenciircles + anyone else who wants to do it !!

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

HIT ‘EM UP! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it? 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS GTFO); poly!SatouSugu; Reader is Black & Fem; Mention of other JJK characters; Porn with Plot; Tragic Backstories; T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture; Angst/Hurt/Comfort; Hand Kink; Masturbation; Voyeurism; Gay Sex; Polyamorous; Double Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Fingering; CMNF; Spitroast; Riding; Unprotected PiV Sex; Creampies; Outside/Public Sex; Shotgunning; Multiple Positions; Spit Kink; Facials; MDom/fsub Undertones; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: SMUT BELOW. GO TOUCH GRASS AFTER YOU READ THIS. LOVE UUUU!! -Jazz

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen PT I & II. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Twenty-Four. Epilogue + Soundtrack.

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EIGHTEEN: POUR SOME SUGAR ON ME PT. 2.

When you leave Gojo and Geto stunned in your wake as you leave the pool table, you start to rethink your decisions and “big talk”.

Gone is the bubbly, bold feeling you felt that the whiskey and tequila helped you reach. You felt like you could fly with the liquor in you. But now in replacement of that false confidence is a feeling close to dread and anxiety that sobers you immediately. The throng of sweaty bodies and boots you try to walk between makes it even worse.

There are too many people. Too much noise. You’re becoming overstimulated. But…you look back at the place you left Geto and Gojo standing by the pool table, but a person on the dance floor is standing in your line of view. However, you know that they are there, watching. Waiting for you to act on your big talk.

So you turn around and look for the first hot guy you see. You find him standing with his boys by the stage, laughing into his beer. He is big and husky with a thick beard, tattoos, and pretty eyes. Handsome enough. You stand a foot away from him, mustering up the courage to catch his attention.

“Hey,” you say, your voice soft and wobbly. Your voice is carried away by the upbeat guitars playing.

You say it again, louder: “Hey!” He finally turns to look at you and his eyes do a one scan over your body. Lust and interest immediately appears within them. You aren’t sure if you like or dislike it.

“Wanna dance?” You ask, still riding on some of the liquid confidence. Wordlessly, the man nods and offers one hand while holding his beer in the other.

You take it and drag him away from his friends who watch on in shock and envy. You find a place in the middle of floor surrounded by other people twirling, moving, and stomping their boots. Not even thinking about it, you place your hands on the man’s shoulders and begin to move to the beat, barely moving your hips but just swaying. You can’t bring yourself to do much else. But your dance partner seems to enjoy it either way.

A big, happy grin stretches across his face as one hand finds your waist. “God, you are fine,” he laughs. “Where the fuck you come from, honey? Heaven?”

You can smell the beer on his breath and instantly recoil. Suddenly, you don’t want to dance with him anymore. His big, beefy arm snakes around your waist and holds you close to him, pulling you flush against his body. “Whoa,” you say, your pulse picking up as your fight or flight kicks in. “What are you—“

“You here with somebody?” he whispers. “What are you doin’ after this tonight?” His hand travels down to your ass, squeezing it in your jeans. You think of a way to tell him to fuck off without causing a scene, but the sight of familiar blue eyes behind some shades and silvery white hair under a cowboy hat behind him stop you short.

The man senses someone standing behind him and turns, finding Gojo there with a smile on his face. “Not goin’ home with you,” he answers for you. “Sorry, pal, but she’s with me.”

You feel another warm presence behind you and turn to face the big chest of Geto Suguru. His brown eyes stare unwaveringly into the ones of the man with his hand still gripping your butt. “Us, actually,” he adds and he doesn’t sound like he wants that statement to be challenged.

But the man doesn’t read the room, probably too drunk to do so or realize who the fuck he’s messing with. “Yeah, whatever,” he scoffs and grips you to him, a sloppy smirk on his face. “Anyways–”

Gojo is suddenly beside Geto and forcefully turns the man around by his shoulder. “Didn’t you hear us?” he says, his smile not so nice anymore. It is sharp and tense, daring his opponent to make a move. “We said she’s with us. Now, I suggest you take this loss like a man instead of reachin’ for that piece in your pocket.”

Your eyes flick down to the man’s hand, finding the one that was on your behind now at his holster. Gojo peers at the man over his shades. “Trust me: you don’t want this smoke. Not with us.” He takes off his hat as does Geto, giving the man a view of their recognizable faces.

The man’s angered expression fades, replaced with astonishment and fear. “Shit,” he exhales. “Y-You’re…you’re G–”

“Geto & Gojo, the Gunslingers, in the flesh,” Gojo interrupts, his grin only widening. “I told you: you don’t want this. Just put that tail between your legs and leave so we won’t have no problems.” The man looks like he wants to protest or start shooting, but you can see the way he’s shivering. “Leave,” Geto demands, his voice deep and harsh. “Now.”

Quickly, the man scrambles off and disappears in the crowd. You almost feel bad for him, but he shouldn’t have gotten handsy. “Thanks,” you weakly say, barely looking at the duo. Ghetto shrugs like it isn’t a big deal. “Don’t mention it. Looked like you could’ve used some help with him…not that you couldn’t handle him yourself.”

“Yeah,” you dumbly reply, suddenly wanting to lay down. “U-Um…thanks again.” You begin to walk off on wobbly knees, not sure where you’re going in a sea of dancing people, but Gojo’s hand on your wrist stops you. “Where you goin’?” he asks, looking confused. “I thought we had a dance.”

You blink at him, puzzled. “What?” you ask. “B-But I thought you two didn’t—“

“That was before we realized how horny these guys are in here,” Gojo chuckles. “Can’t let you get scooped up by another horn dog, especially before you get your reward.”

He circles around your back while you face Geto and his goddamn, big ass chest that you can see yourself biting, licking, and snuggling against late at night. Maybe you are drunk. “He's right. You won fair and square, so how can we deny you your prize?” A smirk plays on his lips as he puffs on a new cigarette, the smoke curling out of his nostrils.

Suddenly, you can’t think straight. Your head feels fuzzy and heavy, especially when Gojo leans in towards your ear. You feel yourself sweat with him so close to you. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere till we get that dance, darlin’,” he whispers. And it sounds like a promise. He then leans away and smiles, kind and playful. “C’mon,” he coos, reaching his hand out for you.

The band’s music is lively still, a guitar’s strings mingling with an upbeat piano and fiddle. Without thinking, you take Gojo’s hand and he turns you to face him. “There we go!” he laughs. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?” He begins to move his feet to the music, albeit a little messily because of the booze. You giggle, following his movements while Geto stands behind you. He isn’t close enough to box you between him and Gojo, but you can still feel the heat radiating off of his body. “Try not to trip, Satoru,” he teases. “You know you’ve got two left feet.”

Gojo scowls at his partner as he turns you around to face the front where the stage is. “Says you, bitch!” he retorts and does his best to follow the moves of the dance floor that has now turned into a line dance section.

You turn to Geto on your left and watch him follow the movements, hands clapping and body moving in time with everyone else. “I didn’t know you could dance, Suguru!” you giggle among the music.

His eyes, gleaming with mirth, stare into yours under his hat. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, little lady,” he replies, his voice finding your ears. The petname strokes something inside of you that you can’t identify or understand right now. But you’re having too much fun to care.

When Geto takes your hand and pulls you to him like the dance calls for, the fun only increases. He twirls and spins you to and fro, making you laugh harder than you ever have before. You feel dizzy and giddy, your face clammy with sweat and drunk off of your enjoyment.

Suddenly, Gojo pops up on your left and pouts at Geto. “Hey, stop stealin’ her away,” he complains. “I wanna dance with her too!” He is suddenly standing behind you, his hands in both of yours. Your tongue feels too heavy to protest. Plus…you like it. Geto rolls his eyes as he puffs on his cigarette. “You big baby. Good thing the song is slowin’ down.”

And it is. The upbeat tempo has taken more of a softer tone as the guitar strums along to a man singing above his woman wearing some nice Levi jeans. The woman stands beside him, crooning into the mic with him. You begin to unconsciously sway to the beat, feeling relaxed. Geto smiles at you. “I take it you like this song?” he asks, humor in his eyes.

You nod though you don’t know it. He takes a step forward while Geto stays posted behind you. While both are at a respectful distance, you still feel boxed in between them like they are two sexy cells walls and you’re a prisoner. “Wait, wait,” you protest though they haven’t done much of anything yet. “I-I don’t know how to…slow dance.”

The laughs that leave their lips are soft and sexy, making heat pool in your stomach. “That ain’t no problem,” Gojo says. “Just sway with us.” He gently places his hands on your hips and moves you side to side. Geto does the same, swaying, and you do your best to follow him and Gojo. You slowly shuffle your feet, matching their tempo. Soon, you’re all like matching ships swaying side to side on the ocean.

“Juuust like that, little miss,” Gojo coaxes. “See? You’re a natural!” You inwardly smile at the praise and encouragement despite how stiff you feel. You can feel Gojo’s chest against the back of your head with how tall he is. Geto ain’t that much better. You have to crane your neck to look up at him as his big hands encircle your waist.

He presses closer to you, engulfing you in his scent. “Are my hands okay here?” he softly asks, his voice in your ear. You jerkingly nod, your body suddenly not able to function properly. You want to put your hands on him or Gojo, but your arms feel like noodles.

You don’t look up at Geto, too afraid that if you do, you’ll melt, spontaneously combust, or turn to stone. “Y’know, that was some trick ya did earlier with my cigarette,” he whispers. “You ever shotgun before?”

You feel yourself shudder at the gruffness in his tone. “No,” you reply, your voice small and soft. Gojo leans in close, having listened to the whole conversation. “Want him to show you?” he whispers, his voice like silk against your ear. “You just part those lips and he’ll blow smoke in. We do it all the time.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol or the intoxicating heat you feel between you, but you agree and nod your head. Geto wastes no time hollowing his cheeks to inhale the smoke before leaning in towards your mouth. He only leaves a few inches of space between your lips as he blows a steady stream into your mouth.

Your eyes instinctively close as the smoke stings them while your lips form a small O. A small hum leaves your lips as the smoke invades your senses. “Nice, right?” Gojo chuckles, his hands still on your hips. “I’m feelin’ kinda jealous though.” Geto passes the cig to him and you turn your head to face him now. “You want another one?” he purrs. “Ask nicely.”

You know you’re walking through some forbidden territory here. You know that you’re teetering on a tightrope. But the forbidden fruit has been bitten and you can’t deny how good it tastes. “P-Please,” you weakly say.

Gojo’s smile fades as he inhales the smoke and bends his knees slightly to meet you. He leans in and blows the smoke into your waiting mouth, his pink lips just inches from yours. From behind you, Geto stands so rigidly behind you that you almost think he’s frozen, but his hand on your forearms steady you as you stare up into Gojo’s handsome face. You want to see his eyes.

Unthinkingly, you slowly slide his sunglasses off of his face, revealing his ocean-blue eyes to you. “Y/N,” he exhales, his name sounding so forbidden coming from his lips. Those sapphire eyes flicker down to your mouth, causing his Adam’s Apple to bob. You don’t know who leaned in first, but suddenly, you’re kissing.

This kiss is passionate and soft like your first one in the hot springs, but also eager and yearning. His lips move against yours like a dance, pushing and pulling, letting you lead and then taking the lead for himself. He softly moans against your mouth, his hands sliding over your hips but never going any further than that. You almost wish he would.

When you pull away, Gojo stares at you as if you’re from another planet, his cheeks flushed and lips slightly plump from the stimulation. His eyes flick upward somewhat to Geto and it’s enough to make you realize that he’s still there. You turn and lock your arm back around his head, pulling him between the nook of your neck and shoulder. “You too,” you whisper and press your lips to his.

Geto doesn’t stop you or push you away. In fact, he welcomes the kiss, his lips moving just as easily against yours like water. You can taste the ashy nicotine and whiskey on his tongue. You never knew both could be aphrodisiacs to you, but they are now. You can’t get enough of his taste, your tongue sliding against his. His hands roam your stomach while Gojo’s lips caress your neck, soft sighs and moans traveling between you. It is magic. This is magic.

Suddenly, Geto abruptly pulls away, panting heavily. He shares another look with Gojo before his jaw tightens and he stubs his cigarette out between his fingers. “C’mon,” he says and takes your hand. He begins to lead you away from the dance floor with Gojo following close behind, his hand protectively on your back.

Your feet move on their own, the world slightly off kilter from the kiss. “Where are we goin’?” you ask above the music. Geto barely turns to you. “Somewhere that’s not here,” he replies, his voice sounding gruff and thick, like it’s taking everything in him to not jump you right here.

You flush, realizing that you all just made out on the dance floor in front of everyone…and you liked it. What the hell is going to happen once they get you alone? You can only find out what.

So you let the duo lead you out of the back exit of the barn into the backwoods where the drinkers drink, the smokers smoke, and the couples dry hump and make love in the woods. “Not here,” Gojo says. “Down the road. Let’s keep goin’.”

Geto guides you down the dirt road away from the barn. You follow him, barely noticing when the sounds of the party fade away and all that fills the air are the sound of crickets and a lone hooting owl. You suddenly find yourself at a lake, the body of water still and dark.

You come to a lake house down the road that Geto easily kicks open. The door’s hinges loosen and he opens it to reveal a relatively clean, wooden living room with a sofa, an old table, and farming tools stern about the floor. You have no idea whose lake house this is, but you find that you don’t care.

“Inside,” Gojo whispers, gripping your hand as he guides you into the dark lake house. The room smells dainty of lake water and dust. The only light is of the moon cutting into two small windows overlooking the lake. The silvery light illuminates the men before you, highlighting the lust in their eyes. Despite that, neither one of them make a move.

“You okay?” Geto asks, concern evident in his silky voice.

Despite the twirl of anxiety in your stomach, you nod. They stand at arm’s length, giving you the space to leave if you want. But you don’t.

“Tell us you want this,” Gojo whispers, his voice hoarse and wanton. Your body yearns to be touched and grabbed. You want to be held in their arms. So you give in to temptation and alcohol. “Yes,” you softly reply. “I want this.”

Immediately, the two close in on you in the darkness and give you exactly what you want. Gojo stands in front of you and cups your face in his hands to kiss you while Geto stands behind you, his fingers and lips all over your skin.

Your kiss with Gojo is hungry and eager, both of you pulling off each other’s hats to tangle your fingers in each other’s hair. He pulls away, softly laughing at you. “You’re so respondent, darlin’,” he chuckles. “Mmm, you really must want this.”

He ain’t fronting though. He wants this just as much as you do. You can tell from the way his fingers glide down your ass and his lips move back to connect with yours in a hasty, panty kiss.

“Stop hoggin’ her, Satoru,” Geto impatiently growls from behind you. “You need to be nice and share.” Gojo smirks at his partner. “But she seems like she enjoys my fingers,” he replies. “And my mouth.”

His tongue glides against your suddenly, making you taste the whiskey off of his tastebuds. He presses his big body into yours, your thighs clamping around one of his legs wedged between them. There, you feel his bulge pressing into your pelvis. You gasp at the feeling, especially when it’s multiplied by two. You feel Geto’s hard-on press into your backside as his big hands glide up to grope your tits.

Gojo pulls away to watch his partner’s sneaky fingers play with the buttons on your flannel. “You mind if we share, baby?” he whispers. “Geto is a tit man too, if you remember.” You do. You remember that starry night when you were bitten, feeling Geto’s big, calloused hands and tongue caressing your hard nipples.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to feel it again from both of them. “Go ahead,” you whisper. “Taste me.” You push your chest into Geto’s hands, shivering at the soft groan that escapes him. Slowly, as if to give you time to stop him, he buttons your top until your balconette bra is revealed to them.

You take it upon yourself to reach behind you to unhook it, fumbling somewhat because of the alcohol fog. Geto helps you, freeing your breasts from the cups. The men stare at your tits for a moment, hypnotized by the brown areolas and how heavy your hanging fruit seems. Wordlessly, Gojo takes your hand and leads you to the ratty couch, your bra ending up somewhere on the floor.

Geto joins him on the couch and the two sit together while you stand before them, your breasts in their faces. Together, they reach for you and latch their mouths around each of your brown mountain peaks of arousal while their hands explore your body. You tilt your head back, melting from their hot breath and wet tongues caressing your nipples.

“Fuck, they’re beautiful,” Geto murmurs. “You’re absolutely perfect, Y/N, shit.” He sounds as if he can hardly believe it.

It doesn’t take long for your arousal to reach its peak. You feel hot and tingly all over. Your heart races. Your mind is fogged. And mostly noticeably and annoyingly, your pussy is clenching and soaking your panties. The soft moans and lewd tongue flicks filling the air just about finish you off. You want more of them.

Gently, you pull yourself away from the Gunslingers and smile at their bewildered expressions. You kneel down before them, relishing the way they follow your every move until you’re on your knees for them. A slow smirk slithers across Gojo’s face. “Ya want somethin’ else, darlin’?” he asks in the darkness. “Give me your words.”

Your greedy eyes tick down to their hardened dicks beneath their slacks, pushing against the fabric. “I want you both in my mouth,” you boldly answer. The duo is silent for a moment, shook by your response.

“Both?” they ask, shocked by your request. Gojo shrugs, looking down for it. “Well, if it’s what you want…” He unbuckles his pants first and then Geto follows suit, both of them loosening their belts and unbuttoning their flies.

You bite your lip in anticipation for what’s to come. When their cocks finally spring from their underwear, you gape at them. They’re both big, thick, and throbbing for you. While Gojo is a bit thicker and his pubics are shaven like his toned stomach, Geto has a happy trail and his cock is longe with a hook that makes it lean toward his tummy.

You haven’t seen a cock in so long…let alone two! “So pretty,” you whisper, unable to stop yourself. The duo softly chuckle. “Why, thank you,” Gojo chuckles. “That’s the first I’ve heard. Damn, you really must be drunk.”

Ignoring him, you immediately reach for them and wrap your hand around each. Both cocks throb in response to your hands making contact with them. “Jesus, Y/N,” Geto hisses, swallowing harshly. “Give a guy time to prepare, huh?”

“I’m sorry…did I hurt you?” You go to take your hand away, but he stops you, his tone growing softer. “No, no, darlin’, you misunderstood me. Your hand just felt too fuckin’ good and I’m…sensitive.” You can feel him tense in your hold, his thighs clenched. Are you really making him feel that good?

Gojo cackles beside him, his sunglasses sliding down his nose and revealing his sapphire blue eyes. “You can’t handle it,” he sing-songs. “Go ahead, baby, and give him more of that soft, pretty hand. You can handle two, can’tcha?” Oh, yes…yes, you can. You show them just how by spitting copious amounts of spit on each cock and stroking their shafts up and down, getting used to the feel of them.

You watch the men from beneath your lashes, relishing the way they moan, sigh, and hum from your ministrations. It feels so intoxicating. You feel so powerful making such intimidating men melt under your little hands. You decide to take things further and lick up Gojo’s cock, sucking lightly on the bulbous, pink head.

“Fuck,” he moans to the ceiling, the sound going straight to your pussy. Geto chuckles beside him, albeit breathless from your stroking. “Now who can’t handle it?”

Gojo ignores him, his full attention on you. “Shit, baby,” he sighs. “Y’know, your hand is good an’ all, but I need to feel that pretty mouth too.” He bites his perfect, pink bottom lip, putty in your hands. “Please,” he begs, the moonlight highlighting the yearning in his eyes. “Can you put me in your mouth, doll?”

You’ve never seen the gunslinger look so desperate. So pathetic. It’s so sexy. “Since you asked so nicely…” You wrap your lips around him once more, but you go deeper, bobbing your head up and down his cock. He feels so warm in your mouth and his pre-cum coats your tongue.

“God!” he groans, his hand tangling in your hair. “That’s so fuckin’ good.”

Geto hums in agreement as he watches you work your mouth up and down his partner's dick. “It certainly is,” he agrees. “I’m almost inclined to steal her from you.” You suddenly pop off of Geto’s cock and place your mouth around Geto this time. “Oh, fuck,” he moans, titling his thick neck back. His coal eyes roll back in pleasure, making pleasure and power surge through you.

You switch between the two for a while, giving them each equal amounts of attention. When you suck one, you stroke the other, moving in tandem with your own speed and tempo. “Such a good girl takin’ two dicks at the same time,” Gojo coos. “You like all this attention, don’t you?”

You’re shocked that you even respond, your mouth wrapped around Gojo’s thick cock. “Mmm-ph!” you mumble. You’re even more shocked at how much you love giving them head. Such different sizes. Such different shapes. Such different flavors. Both of them big and hard. All for you.

Gojo wraps your hair around his fist, giving you a tug that makes your pussy throb. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, darlin’. Just keep suckin’.” You do just that, taking him deeper down your throat. His moans are damn near slutty and desperate as you give him throat, your saliva slipping down his balls. “Yes, like that, good girl!”

You do the same thing to Geto too, stroking his cock with your throat. He doesn’t even move as you do it though you can tell he is desperate from the way his thighs clench under your hands. “Goddamn, this mouth,” he groans, shuddering under your touch. You up your speed, bobbing faster and deeper, taking him down your throat despite the sting of your eyes and the ache in your jaw.

When Geto’s moans grow loud, you know that he’s close. “Fuck, baby, stop,” he pants. “I’m about to cum!” He grabs you, forcing you to lift your head. Gojo leans over and wipes the spit from your mouth. “Mmm, me too,” he sighs, fisting his cock in replacement of yours. “You need a break, little lady. I bet those knees are achin’.”

They are, but you barely paid attention. You were too busy enjoying sucking the Gunslingers’ dicks to notice. Gojo suddenly scoots over and crooks his finger at you in a ‘come hither’ motion. “Just come over here,” he coaxes you. Geto helps you off of the floor on your wobbly legs and brings you closer to the couch. Despite the darkness, you see the lust sparkling in them. “Bend over,” he demands and you do so like a puppet on some strings.

Once you’re on all fours between the duo, Geto slides your shorts down without even unzipping them, revealing your ass to them. “God, look at this ass,” he growls, taking a palmful of one of your cheeks. “I’ve been starin’ at it all night.” His fingers feel good massaging the flesh, making you moan.

Gojo ogles at your behind too, still stroking himself. “Luckily, we get it all to ourselves now.” Suddenly, he tilts your head up to meet his eyes. They twinkle and gleam at you. “Do me a favor, baby: suck my cock while Sugu eats you out, okay? Make me feel good while he makes you feel good.”

It may be the alcohol or the arousal, but that idea sounds perfect to you. You lay your head in Gojo’s lap where he feeds you his cock while Geto slides your panties to the side. “Fuck,” he sighs at the sight of your swollen, wet pussy. His tongue suddenly slides against your folds, making you moan around Gojo’s cock. “That’s a good girl,” he moans, his hand in your hair. “How’s she taste, Sugu?”

If the sloppy sounds of Geto’s tongue exploring your pussy isn’t an answer, his delighted moans are. Each moan sends vibrations throughout your cunt, making you shudder and quake against his mouth. You can’t help but whine around Gojo’s cock at the magical feelings the long-haired outlaw gives you. Even his fingers feel good. He uses two of them to rub your clit while his tongue gently probes your hole, exploring the ins and outs of you.

A symphony of moans and lewd, wet sounds drift through the dank, damp air of the lakehouse. The distant sounds of crickets and the rustling of trees make this feel almost romantic. There is no one but you and them, and that feels damn good.

You can feel that knot in your core tightening, threatening to snap the more Geto eats you out. You pop off of Gojo’s cock, panting heavily. “Sugu,” you whine. “I’m gonna cum soon!”

You’re so drunk off of this feeling that you barely realize that you used Geto’s petname. He groans into your pussy and pulls away, your juices shining off of his lips. “Not yet,” he growls. “I want you to cum with me.”

Suddenly, you feel his long cock settling between your asscheeks. You gasp as he begins to rut against your ass, his cock sliding up and down between the soft cheeks that he massages and grabs to his liking.

“Me too,” Gojo moans. “Tell us where you want our loads, baby. On that face? Or those tits? Maybe that ass? Either way, they’re bothin’ on this body of yours.”

That idea also sounds perfect. Everything with them is. “Anywhere,” you desperately whine. “Just not inside.”

Gojo chortles, happy with your compliance. “Anythin’ you want,” Geto answers, tapping his dick against your asscheeks. “Now be a good girl and keep suckin’ on that dick.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You keep throating Gojo’s cock like it’s your profession, leading him to fuck your mouth in time with Geto’s thrusts. You feel like you’re being fucked from both ends, used for their pleasure…and you love it. The sounds of sex increase as you all get closer to your ends, the two men speeding up their thrusts to chase their highs. Geto rubs your clit while Gojo tugs on your nipples, stimulating you from both ends.

You finally can’t take it anymore. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and your mouth opens on a series of moans. “I’m gonna cum!” you warn them, your voice high-pitched and desperate. Gojo silences you with his cock and forces you to look up at him. “Look at me,” he demands. “Don’t you dare look away from me. Look at what you fuckin’ do to me.”

You do as he says even as Geto moans and ruts your ass like an animal behind you, getting closer and closer and closer…. Finally, with two matching moans of release, the duo finally release onto your body. Gojo’s perfect muscles clench as he fists his cock, shooting cum into your mouth while Geto explodes on your ass. You feel warmth splatter across your cheeks, back, and throat, coating you in them.

When you finally cum, you feel like you’re soaring above the clouds with them in tow, coating Geto’s fingers in your juices. It is a wonderful, amazing, intoxicating feeling that makes your toes curl and your head spin….but when you finally come down from the high of your orgasm, you come down hard.

You don’t hear the duo’s pillow talk or talks of being “cummed out” despite them being right there. They feel far away from you suddenly and you’re all alone. Now, reality hits and so does the regret.

‘What the fuck have I done?’ you think. Noticing your sudden change in demeanor, Geto gently touches your back and strokes it. “Y/N?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

You quickly jump and turn around to look at him, your eyes blurred with tears. “I…I…” You can’t speak, your shame and guilt too overwhelming.

Geto’s coal eyes grown concerned. “Y/N?” he questions, worry laced in his tone. “Honey, talk to us.” He reaches out to touch you, but you flinch away from his touch, jumping off of the couch. The duo stare up at you in confusion, wondering what the hell has gotten into you. “I-I have to go,” you stammer. “I need to…need to get out of here!”

You are suddenly gasping as the tears threaten to push past your eyes, you throat tight like you just dry swallowed a pill. The walls are closing in. Quickly, you reach for your clothes, searching throughout the dark room for your bra.

“Wait, hang on a second,” Gojo protests. “Where are you goin’?”

You don’t answer. You don’t even get dressed before charging for the door, yanking it open, and racing out of the lakehouse. “Wait, wait!” Geto calls. “Y/N, hang on! Don’t leave!”

You don’t turn around to hear him out, instead getting dressed as you stumble down the road. You smell of the two men, the taste of cock on your tongue and the feeling of Geto’s cum dripping off your ass. You don’t feel sexy like you did before. You feel dirty.

That feeling only grows along with your regret the further you get away from the lakehouse. You don’t stop despite your aching legs, blurred vision, and churning stomach. When you finally make it back to the party, it’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. You can’t stop your dinner or the alcohol from coming out and splattering all over the ground. You bend down in your shorts and wretch, coughing uncontrollably.

“Y/N!” Nanami calls in the distance. When you pick your head up, he and Haibara are racing toward you. “Oh, no, sweetie,” Haibara coos, kneeling beside you. “Here, drink some water.” He hands you his cup of water that you greedily drink, sloshing the rancid taste of vomit out of your mouth.

Nanami’s eyes are serious as they gaze into yours, his hand on your back. “What happened?” he demands. You find that you can’t speak. Your tongue is too heavy and your mouth is full of cotton.

“Y/N!” Geto’s deep voice echoes from down the trail. You startle, looking in the direction of the familiar voice. Nanami notices and his entire demeanor darkens. “Stay here,” he demands, standing up, and before you know it, he’s pulling a pistol from his holster.

“Don’t come any closer,” he growls. “I should’ve known you two were trouble. I knew it as soon as you came here.” “Kento, wait,” he says, but that’s all he gets to say when Nanami suddenly points the gun at the duo. They stop dead in their tracks, Geto instinctively putting himself in front of Gojo slightly.

“What did you do to her?” the doctor growls, an undercurrent of rage in his tone. Geto raises his hands as if calming a snarling animal. “We didn’t do anything,” he firmly says. “We’re just checkin’ on her to make sure she’s alright.”

Haibara quickly comes up behind Nanami and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Listen, let’s all just—“

Nanami shuts him up by cocking his gun at the Gunslingers. “You don’t get to come any closer until you tell me what you did to her. Either that or you two need to leave.” Gojo raises an eyebrow over his shades and shoves Geto aside. “Says who?” he scoffs, hands on his hips. “You? You think your wittle gun is the first one we’ve had in our faces, doc?”

Nanami tightens his jaw so much that you’re afraid he’ll crack his teeth. Gojo keeps going, poking the bear even harder than before. “You couldn’t wait to do this, could you?” he teases. “I’ve seen the way you look at her, like you wanna give her more than just some medicine.”

His smile grows sharp and cruel, mocking the doctor. “But she’ll never see you that way and you know it.” He cocks his head to the side, tutting. As smart as you are, you’re too dumb to see that, Nanami?”

“Stop,” you plea from your spot on the ground. Nanami shockingly slips his gun back into his holster. He then unbuckles his belt and tosses it to the side. You sigh, relieved. “I actually give a damn about her well-being,” he growls. “Unlike you two. You both are incapable of thinkin’ about anyone but yourselves. You don’t need to be anywhere around her.”

Gojo slides his glasses off of eyes, revealing nothing but coolness. “She would beg the differ,” he hisses and that’s the last straw for Nanami. Suddenly, his balled-up fist is connecting with Gojo’s face, knocking his sunglasses off. You screech in horror, covering your mouth. The outlaw stumbles, but barely falters despite the blow. Instead, he tosses his own punch at Nanami, nailing him in the nose. Blood gushes from Nanami’s nostril, but it’s not enough to stop him from throwing another hit at Gojo.

Gojo dodges it and charges at Nanami, ducking low to wrap his arms around his midsection. The two go flying back into the dirt and wrestle one another, each trying to get on top of the other. Geto steps in and tosses Nanami off of him before turning to help Gojo up. This would prove to be a bad idea because Nanami sneak punches him in the back of the head, sending Geto onto his knees from the blow.

Nanami goes to kick him with his boot, but Gojo rises to his feet and clocks him in the jaw. Geto gets up too and soon, it’s two against one. Hats come off, blood gushes out, bruises bloom on their skin where their fists connect. “Stop!” you scream from the sidelines. “Please, please stop!”

Haibara tries to stop them, tugging on Nanami’s arm to get him away, but he nearly gets clocked in the nose and has to jump away from the scene. You feel absolutely hopeless…until you see Nanami’s belt. Immediately, you lunge for it and fish his pistol out before pointing it at the staryr sky.

BANG! BANG!

The four men immediately flinch and look your way, wide-eyed and shaken up. You glare at them, smoke billowing from Nanami’s gun. “I said stop!” you shout, your voice nearly raw from the shouting. They continue to stare at you like you just killed somebody until you hear footsteps behind you.

You turn, finding your parents and partygoers who have come to the door to investigate. The music plays on inside. Eren steps forward, looking like a very angry Western dad in his hat and boots. “What in the hell is goin’ on out here?” he demands, his voice booming. “What, have you all gone insane?”

Yuri quickly moves to your side, taking the gun from your shaky hand. “Y/N,” she gasps. “Flower, what happened?” You don’t answer. You suddenly can’t speak.

Nanami, Geto, and Gojo look battered and bruised, their clothes dirty and boots scuffed from their fight. Eren steps to them, as angry as a bull seeing red.

“I don’t know why you three are fightin’ or what this is about, but I will not tolerate that mess here. There are children here!” He glares at each of them. “You’re lucky the sheriff went home or else, you’d all be locked up right now and I would figure some of you would want to steer clear of jail time.”

Nanami looks away, ashamed, while Gojo is busy nursing his bruised cheek. “We’re sorry, sir,” Geto pants, bowing respectfully. “We meant no disrespect to you, your family, or your town.”

That doesn’t sweeten the pot for Eren. “You are men,” he snaps. “Act like it. My daughter don’t need no little boys on her arm.”

Oh, God. Not him too. “Papa, please!” you shout, frustrated tears streaming down your cheeks. “Not now! I don’t wanna hear that!” Exhaustion and shame overtakes you, making you slump forward. “Just take me home. I just wanna go home,” you sob.

Yuri rubs your back, shiftling into mama mode. “Okay, why don’t we all just settle down and call it a night?” she softly yet firmly suggests. There is no room for discussion. She swoops you away to get cleaned up and fetch you some water before she walks you to Eren’s truck. Nanami and Haibara are already there, helping pack Yuri’s vendor into the trunk.

Geto and Gojo are nowhere to be found. You left them out back without a single word. You feel a pang of guilt for that.

Nanami, sporting two balls of tissue in his nose and dirt stains on his clothes, stares down at you guilty. “I apologize for how I reacted tonight,” he sighs. “I hope you can forgive me and that your parents are too upset.”

You shake your head, laying a hand on his arm. “Nanami, you saved my life. I don’t think they can be too upset. Thank you both for the help.” Nanami cracks a smile despite his bloody nose.

“It’s no problem,” Haibara says with a smile, patting you on the back. “You’ll be alright, right?” You nod, giving him your own reassuring smile. You don’ feel like you’ll be alright though. Yuri then returns with a basket of leftover goodies and wraps a protective arm around you. “Thank you, boys,” she says. “We’ll take her from here.”

When Eren drives off with you in the backseat minutes later, Nanami and Haibara watch you go. You don’t turn around to see if Geto and Gojo are watching. You end up falling asleep on the bumpy roads, the alcohol making you feel heavy and tired. As soon as you get home, you drag your tired, drunk self upstairs and to your bedroom where you immediately dive onto your soft, loving bed.

It doesn’t take long for your mind to stop spinning and finally settle. As sleep begins to set in and blurs the lines between reality and dreamland, you believe you hear the sound of the door creaking open and footsteps thudding across the floor. You’re too tired to lift your head to see if it’s real.

You then feel two pairs of soft lips on your forehead and smell cigarette smoke on them. You think it’s just a hallucination, but then you feel it again: lips on your skin as soft as butterfly wings.

“Close the door slowly,” Geto whispers, his voice unmistakeable to your ear. But before you can make any sense of why he’s in your room, the bedroom door creaks shut and you’re left alone to sleep off tonight.

[carrved]

(LAURA HARRIER, FEMALE, SHE/HER)Oh, is that EMERY QUINN? I heard the THIRTY-TWO year old is DETERMINED. But don’t let that pretty face fool you, they are also EXPLOSIVE. Makes sense seeing how they are a HITMAN in the THE CRIMSON gang.

tw: murder mention, child endangerment, violence, overall depressing :/

Full Name: Emery Eve Quinn.

Nickname: Em, Emmy.

Age: 32.

DOB: March 25th, 1992.

Hometown: San Francisco, California.

Familial: Gina Quinn (biological mother; deceased), Melinda Rooney (foster mother; presumed alive), Roger Rooney (foster father; presumed alive)

Hair color: Brown.

Eye color: Brown.

Height: 5'9.

Tattoos: Multiple sprinkled throughout her body. small dainty things. they don't hold a lot of meaning.

Scars: Multiple scattered around. each one has a story. she's not to keen on sharing why.

Piercings: Triple ear piercing.

Sexuality: Bisexual (leans towards men).

Relationship Status: Engaged.

Occupation: Hitman. Socialite.

tldr; Emery Quinn has a tragic backstory that makes her tough as nails. She always felt out of control of her own life. It's a lot easier to call the shots when you have a gun, which is why she does what she does. Her day job is being a beautiful, rich, NYC socialiate. Her evening job is working as a hitman for the Crimsons, which fuels her day job. She's very Lana Del Rey coded.

She had humble beginnings. A mother who worked late and a father who partied hard. He always in and out, never staying too long. When he did come around, he always brought chaos. One day, a group of men come knocking on her mother’s door looking for her father. He had some unpaid debts, her mother paid for them with her life. There was no witnesses except for scared little Emery, who was four years old at the time. She had the perfect view from the hallway closet.

Her father was never heard from again after her mother’s death. The only recollection she has of him is his name, only his last. She became a ward of the state and jumped around foster home from foster home within the Bay Area. Emery had decided at a young age, she’d never be scared again. Not like that night. She acquired some grit to her. As an elementary school student, she’d pick fights and won them. She made threats and honored them too. Part of the reason she moved so many times was because the state of California didn’t know what to do with her.

At eleven, she got placed with an older couple in the Tenderloin of San Francisco. They never had children of their own and filled that void by taking in foster children. Emery was hardly their first. Melinda Rooney was able to wedge herself inside of that cold heart of Emery’s. She didn’t see her as a menace like rest of the world did. She saw a little girl who needed a mother. That was what Melinda became for Emery. Roger wasn’t so bad either. He was a retired police officer and avid hunter. He eventually took Emery to the gun range some weekends, to teach her how to use a gun. Emery was a natural. She still remembers the first time she shot one of his pistols. That was true power in her finger tips.

Old habits die hard. When she was thirteen, Emery fell back into the wrong crowd. Doing things no thirteen year old should. One of her friends had the great idea to rob a liquor store. It’s a lot easier to steal when you’ve got a weapon. Emery stole one of Roger’s guns from the safe. When things go wrong during the robbery, Emery’s friend took the gun and shot at the store employee. They missed.

Thank God, it was her friend that shot, Roger said later that night, Emery wouldn’t have missed.

These actions had consequences. Emery got pulled from the Rooney home. It was like losing her mother all over again. This time, she kicked and screamed, trying to fight for this mother. But her efforts did nothing. She was sent off to a girl’s home. She never saw the Rooney’s again.

The entire experience hardened her. It made one thing clear t. She was never going to have a normal life. She was never going to have the things other people had. She was never going to be clean. So why even try? Through her connections, she’s exposed to the crime life of San Francisco. Scammers, drug dealers, thieves, and even a few hitmen. While they didn’t make their money honestly, they still had to put food on the table and pay their landlords every month, which Emery could expect.

When she got older, Emery joined an underground fighting ring. She fought girls her own age. She usually won. She was vicious in the ring. Though, looking at her, you wouldn’t expect much, she had enough tenacity and rage inside her that fuel her in the fights. She made enough money to support herself. She eventually made enough money to run away from her group home and live independently. Soon enough, she turned eighteen and was approached by one of these hitmen she used to know. They got her involved in their organization. Emery remembered what it was like to shoot a gun. Powerful. When she caught her first body, it was even more so.

Emery worked in SF and throughout the entire state of California. When she got an opportunity to go to New York City, she jumped at it. She begun working with the Crimsons and the rest is history.

To the naked eye, Emery Quinn is another beautiful, wealthy woman in NYC. Independently wealthy, a socialite with a trust fund, a divorcé with a generous alimony agreement. These are the lies she tells people if they ask how she affords her penthouse in Manhattan. This is how she gets into rooms with government officials. This is how she meets her fiancè. The only people who know her truth are the same ones playing the same game she is.

[hausofmamadas]

GODDDDDDDD OKAY PPL NEED TO STOP WRITING OCs THAT I END UP BECOMING OBSESSED SITH BC IM OFFICIALLY OBSESSED WITH AURORA

═

✸ Aurora stomps past him into the kitchen and begins to pull at the drawers, furiously in search of something. Maybe a knife or a meat hammer to kill him with after how he ‘embarrassed her’ at the police station

PFFFFTTTTT DJJD A MEAT HAMMER TO KILL HIM WITH, I AM FUCKING CRYYYYINGJDJD right out the gate, and you have me cackling bc like something about the fact that it’s a meat hammer is so specific, it could only be something thought by a SO

✸ He can’t blame them: she’s even more gorgeous now. Even now when she looks like she might murder him ...

ofc she is bc Javi knows, as I’ve known for over a decade now nothing in this goddamn world is hotter than a woman who will step on you for free

✸ “I’m what, Javi?” she snaps. “Infirm, feeble? Incapable of protecting myself? If you’re so goddamn scared that I’ll do something stupid, why did you decide to have a kid with me?”

OH HELL YES, GO OFF, GOOOORL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!:!!:FUCKINGGGTTT YES, PUT THIS PATRONIZING-BUT-HIS-HEART’S IN-THE-RIGHT-PLACE MF IN HIS DAMN PLACE

✸ “First of all I’m not worried. Second of all, you’ve not been either of those things a day in your life.” That’s not true. He knows it even before he says it, that there was a long time in her childhood were she wasn’t able to protect herself.

Nothing like a bit of riveting and tragic backstory to really just hit me between the eyes like a fucking dodgeball that I did not, in fact, dodge bc I did not, in fact, see that shit coming

✸ “He was only 12?” He knew there’d been a kid peddling drugs involved but assumed it was one of the high schoolers. In his mind, he sees the boy that pointed a gun at him when he cornered one of Escobar’s men.

OHHHHHHHHH NOFICKFIGGIIFJRNEJEBWISISJW NO YOU FUCKING DID NOT JUST PUT THIS DETAIL IN THERE YOU MF LITERARY GENIUS, YOU IM— LIKE RHIS HAS BROKEN ME FOR SOME REASON!!!!!!!!!!!! I think it’s the attention to detail, the way you can tell writing jAvi is just in your bones, like ighhhhhhhhdheh

✸ “You’re my wife, that’s our baby, I’ve seen enough people die to last me a hundred lifetimes,” Javier lists the reasons, ticking them off one finger at a time. “A little bit of concern about your well-being is kind of part of the deal.”

Fuck, y’know my first instinct is to immediately say any display of concern is patronizing but when you put it this way........... that moment when I’m sitting here being like, oh am I the asshole? *shrugs* probly. Oh well KEKW

✸ “Funny, seeing as I’m not allowed to be concerned about my husband when he’s snooping around town, asking about those deliveries coming in on the water.”

“That happened once,” he dismisses.

“Twice,” she counters, “that I know of.”

OH👏🏽HELL👏🏽FUCKING👏🏽YES👏🏽 That i know of, bc Aurora is not only passionate and courageous, she’s also Paying Attention as in Not Deluding Herself bc she’s Not A Fucking Dummy unlike Javi, much of the time sksksksks shhhhhh javi, don’t cry bebe, you know i love you

✸ “Don’t you fucking lie to my face, Peña.” He knows he’s in trouble when she uses his last name.

SKSKKSSKKJSKD literally it’s like that same thing where when your parents call you by your first, middle, and last name, you know you’re completely fucked bc they mean BIZ👏🏽NESS👏🏽

✸ The sight of her full lips pushed forward drains what little self-control Javier had left.

Not me ksksks just sitting here cackling bc my first thought was, “what little control javi has”.... what would that be exactly, maybe more than a drop but less than a dollop aka not fucking much

✸ Javier pats the counter. “Get up there,” he gruffs. She hoists herself onto it, his hand at the small of her back keeping her from knocking over the salt and pepper shakers.

Idk why but the physical detail of the salt and pepper shakers is something that puts me so in the moment, I actually felt like the inside of my mind took a trip through a wormhole in the universe directly to this exact moment, as if it had actually happened in the show? Also the lowkey soft-dom way Javi instructs her to do that..... live surveillance footage of me reading that ➜ 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

✸ “Off,” he orders. He’s already been reduced to one-word utterances but when his love, his wife, pulls her top down and somehow manages to unclasp then throw aside her bra he forgets both the English and Spanish languages in their entirety.

STTTOOOOOPPPPPP SKSKSKS I AM HOWWWWLING SKKSKSKSKSKSKSKSDKJEKSKSKSJ HE FORGETS BOTH THE ENGLISH AND SPANISH LANGUAGES IN THEIR ENTIRETY nomination for Day 1’s mvp line of the day

✸ She leaves wet kisses along his neck and at the hollow of his throat, leaving sparks in the wake of her lips.

Oh now you’re just showing off you multilingual tropical fish bc the number of times I’ve tried to come up with like poetic or non-cliche ways to describe necking, this is my brain, fully just

So the fact that like you speak TWO WHOLE ASS LANGUAGES fluently or at least two that I’m aware of is making me shake my fist at the sky like an old man shakes his fist at those pesky youths playing on his lawn BC THE FUCKING SKILL RIGHT HERE GOD I COUKD ACTUALLY KILL YOU IF I DIDNT NEED YOU TO CONTINUE SUPPLYING ME WITH THE JAVI CONTENT I NEED

✸ “I still can’t believe you scolded me in front of the cops,” she mutters, face buried against his chest.

“Yeah?” Javier replies. “I can’t believe my pregnant wife inserted herself into an ongoing robbery.”

SKSKSKSKS what a fucking way to end the fic, finally telling us exactly what it was that Aurora did which is as badass as I was expecting after teasing us with context clues the entire fic sksksks also Javi, such a smartass, que sea un sabelotodo de lo peor, no puedo con eso😂

Infuriating

Narcos fic! It's been a long time. Written for day 1 of the Narcos fandom smut alphabet over on @narcosfandomdiscord

Fandom: Narcos

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Words: 1 473

Pairing: Javier x OFC Aurora

Prompt: angry sex

Warnings: smut, fighting, mention of narcotics and mules, implied chilldhood trauma, pregnancy

Tag list: it's been forever since I wrote for this fandom, so I don't know who to tag anymore

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Javier’s question is punctuated by the front door slamming shut. Aurora stomps past him into the kitchen and begins to pull at the drawers, furiously in search of something. Maybe a knife or a meat hammer to kill him with after how he ‘embarrassed her’ at the police station, though he can’t say he understands why a concerned spouse showing up to get their loved one home is embarrassing.

“I was thinking that someone was in trouble,” she says through gritted teeth. “A kid by the sound of it.”

“Aurora, you’re-” Javier cuts himself short, instead gesturing awkwardly to the swell at her stomach. She’s only just started showing and after the first time she set foot at the grocery store in a fitted t-shirt the Peña house has had to field more calls from nosy townspeople than the goddamn DEA ever did. He can’t blame them: she’s even more gorgeous now.

Even now when she looks like she might murder him, it’s a struggle to keep his mind from wandering into thoughts on the quickest way to undress her. Aurora straightens herself, spins on her heel to glare daggers at him.

“I’m what, Javi?” she snaps. “Infirm, feeble? Incapable of protecting myself? If you’re so goddamn scared that I’ll do something stupid, why did you decide to have a kid with me?” He puts a hand on his hip, raises the other in a ‘hold your horses’ gesture.

“First of all I’m not worried. Second of all, you’ve not been either of those things a day in your life.” That’s not true. He knows it even before he says it, that there was a long time in her childhood were she wasn’t able to protect herself. And he most definitely is worried about the two of them: his wife and the little girl that he’s seen in his dreams. Aurora’s face falls for a second. He almost goes to apologize for having, indirectly, brought up the past but stops himself as he knows she’ll only be more upset by it. It’s a mistake Javier has made before. Aurora picks herself back up, her brow returning to its pinched state and she huffs at him.

“I’m fine, baby’s fine, and oh,” she snarks, “the 12-year old that was about to get robbed by some asshole is also fine, thank you for asking.” Javier pauses.

“He was only 12?” He knew there’d been a kid peddling drugs involved but assumed it was one of the high schoolers. In his mind, he sees the boy that pointed a gun at him when he cornered one of Escobar’s men. Aurora huffs even louder.

“Yes, Javier. He was a little boy.” Shit. Javier rubs his eyes. They just keep getting younger and younger. First it was pregnant women swallowing balloons and now this. When he looks up at Aurora she’s got her jaw set in stone, arms crossed over her chest so tightly he’s tempted to say she’s hurting herself.

“You did good,” he admits, begrudgingly so, “but I’m still angry with you.” Her face contorts.

“Well, I’m fucking pissed at you!” She spreads her arms out wide, gesturing to the empty air as she closes the distance between them. “Where do you get off thinking you can scold me like I’m a toddler stealing cookies?” The anger, temporarily dampened by the realization that there’s a 12 year old moving drugs in Laredo, returns full force to Javier.

“You’re my wife, that’s our baby, I’ve seen enough people die to last me a hundred lifetimes,” Javier lists the reasons, ticking them off one finger at a time. “A little bit of concern about your well-being is kind of part of the deal.” Aurora steps forward. She’s so close he can see the gold in her eyes. How long has it been since they had a moment to themselves? The ranch has been overrun by out-of -town family for the better part of a week, and before that Aurora suffered brutal morning sickness. He wraps his fingers around her scarred left arm, even more tanned and warm from a long day in the sun, tugging her closer.

“Funny, seeing as I’m not allowed to be concerned about my husband when he’s snooping around town, asking about those deliveries coming in on the water.” Even as she makes the snippy comment, she steps into his arms though her eyes are hard as they meet his gaze.

“That happened once,” he dismisses.

“Twice,” she counters, “that I know of. Don’t you fucking lie to my face, Peña.” He knows he’s in trouble when she uses his last name. Back when they were with the DEA they always used each other’s last names, it was just how things worked. That shifted dramatically once she moved to the ranch.

“Don’t you fucking get in the middle of ongoing robberies,” he retorts. Her braid has started to come undone, dark curls falling around her ears and framing the sharp cheekbones. She pouts, saying nothing. The sight of her full lips pushed forward drains what little self-control Javier had left. One hand still around her arm, he brings the other up to cup the back of her head and presses his lips to hers in a harsh kiss. There’s no moment of hesitation, no pause where he thinks she might reject him and walk off in a huff. Aurora wrings her arm free from his grip and wraps them around him. He doesn’t even realize she’s pulled him along until there’s the low thud of her back hitting the counter, a grunt escaping in a pause between kisses. Javier pats the counter.

“Get up there,” he gruffs. She hoists herself onto it, his hand at the small of her back keeping her from knocking over the salt and pepper shakers. Thank God she wore a dress today. She’s still settling in when his hands begin to wander up under the skirt.

“You’re infuriating, querida,” he grumbles as he finds her heated core, covered by damp cotton. 

“Shut up.” She punctuates it with a bite at his neck. He cups her sex, feels blood rush to his crotch. He braces himself against the counter with one hand, the other at her hip. It’s a struggle getting her panties out of the way, with her shifting this way and that to tug them down and him so desperate to touch her that he can’t keep his hands to himself. She takes care of his clothes too, unzipping the jeans and shoving them down to his knees. She pauses to squeeze his bulge - big golden brown eyes staring at him. She’s still mad at him, though there’s love there too. Absolutely infuriating. His boxers join the jeans, erection curving up towards his stomach. Aurora takes him in hand and he groans from deep within his chest. Her legs hook around his waist, keeping him close, but even if he could pull back he wouldn’t want to. In fact, he wants more. Javier grabs at the shoulder strap of her dress, snagging the bra strap underneath it as well.

“Off,” he orders. He’s already been reduced to one-word utterances but when his love, his wife, pulls her top down and somehow manages to unclasp then throw aside her bra he forgets both the English and Spanish languages in their entirety. With her guiding him, Javier pushes into her in one swift motion. It’s sloppy, rushed, tinted with anger, desperation and the awareness that Chucho won’t be gone forever. Javier loves it all the same. Is grateful for her very existence as well as for how she clutches him in her cunt. She leaves wet kisses along his neck and at the hollow of his throat, leaving sparks in the wake of her lips. A familiar heavy feeling begins to build in his crotch and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to hold it at bay for long. Throwing aside the skirt that’s draped itself over her thighs, Javier reaches between them and grinds the heel of his palm against her clit. Aurora jumps.

“Shit,” she curses but he knows it’s a curse uttered in appreciation. His hand there is the extra pressure she needs and soon she’s shaking beneath him, building to her peak, and when she comes she flutters around him as her teeth sink into his shoulder. Another two stumbling thrusts and he follows with a growl and eyes squeezed tight as if his life depends on it. They stay there, wrapped around each other, as if they have all the time in the world.

“I still can’t believe you scolded me in front of the cops,” she mutters, face buried against his chest.

“Yeah?” Javier replies. “I can’t believe my pregnant wife inserted herself into an ongoing robbery.”

[hh0320]

𝐈 𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥;

part three of the velvet opiate series. part one, part two.

pairing: rockstar! hyunjin x reader (+ minho, felix, chan)

word count: 4.6k

genre: visual gothic rock band, romance, dark smut, hurt/comfort, toxic skz, set in the late 90’s-early 00’s.

warnings: profanity, mature themes, drug & alcohol abuse, foursome, unprotected sex, filthy talk, light bdsm play, light sadism.

🏷: @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @svintsandghosts.

tunes: radiohead (go slowly), mareux (the perfect girl).

Recordings for the new album lasted for a month and a half.

In those forty five days, none of them could move an inch away from the studio, without Joon breathing down their neck, threatening to kick them out the band. Some nights they would sleep in there, dreaming of riffs, and melodies.

Felix had lyrics. But lyrics were nothing but pretty poetry without the music, and Velvet Opiate were not looking to sell books—Chan was very aware of that.

He hadn’t been sleeping properly, if at all. Notes came to him organically, he could get inspired by anything, had a natural talent in song making, and got paid good money to keep it up—yet, he was fucked.

They needed a title track, and all they’d made so far were B sides. And it was on him. It was his fault, because he was so busy running around saving his band mates from themselves, that he’d had no time to sit down and produce. The one thing that was truly of any significance, for them, but to him, especially, solely.

Bang Chan had his music, entirely. Without it, he was just an entitled clown with a drum kit. The company needed a title track, and he’d provide, even if it killed him.

Nothing else mattered.

“From the top!”

The four of them inwardly groaned, fingers raw, sweat dripping from their hair. That was the fifth time they had to repeat that damn song, and they were fucking sick of it.

“Jail would be better than this,” Felix muttered under his breath, throat dry.

Minho chuckled, discarding his wet, sweaty shirt, bass propped on his thigh. His hair stuck to his forehead, dark circles around his brown eyes; he looked like he’d escaped hell.

Maybe he had, Hyunjin could never tell with his older friend.

“What do you know about jail, sunshine?” The purple haired man asked, sarcastically.

Felix rolled his eyes, a devilish smile on his lips. “I know that I’d drop the soap for you, handsome.”

Minho smirked, leaning forward. “All you gotta do is ask, sweetheart.”

“Please stop flirting, it’s making me fucking nauseous,” Chan interjected, a disgusted look on his face.

Hyunjin laughed, going through the tabs. “D’ you think they’ve already fucked, Bang? The tension is palpable.”

“He wouldn’t be able to handle what I give, doll face,” he concluded with a wink, and Hyunjin shook his head, smiling.

“What are you into these days, anyway? Satanic summonings?” Felix widened his eyes, in emphasis.

“Boys, get serious,” Joon said, through the microphone, on the other side. “Again.”

“Lix, shut the fuck up, before he ties you to a goddamn cross.”

Felix pft’ed, while Hyunjin started playing the intro of the new song. “He wouldn’t—”

“Oh, I would,” Minho warned, staring at the singer. “Careful what you ask for.”

Felix swallowed hard, and started:

‘His eyes were heavy

He carried a gun…’

Minho was bored.

His whole life, it seemed, was a mundane routine of waking up to uneventful days, eat, breathe, piss, fuck, repeat. Such was the mortal existence; to have your little time on earth, and then fuck off to whatever afterworld you believe in.

How mediocre—plain. Lee Minho refused to succumb to the monotonous, the tedious. That is why he joined Velvet, that’s why he is the way he is.

Tragic fucking backstory aside, since who the fuck really cares, Minho won’t blame the orphanage beginnings, or the loveless child trope that he’s carried throughout the years.

Juvie at fourteen, mental rehabilitation institute at sixteen, the freezing streets of the capital when freshly eighteen—could he condemn his bad luck? Ignore the responsibility of his fate?

Minho was many things, indifferent to everything, numb to surprise and pain, but he had a sense of responsibility for his actions—he’d never inconvenience anyone, especially the people he associates with the most, because of his own self destructive tendencies. His personal life was his, and his only.

That was the kind of picture Lee Minho painted. A rational one; a competent, sane person, albeit a little unreliable as a narrator.

Some called him a heartless son of a bitch.

Alas, no one was perfect.

It was well after midnight, a Friday on their second week of recordings, when they spotted the fans they’d been warned about.

They were waiting patiently on the side of the exit door, girls in their early twenties, masks hiding their faces, giddy eyes searching for their beloved artists. Joon had given them black caps, and advised the band to keep their heads low, and wave.

Felix broke first, but he later swears it was only because of their long time fan, and founder of his fan club, holding out a gift for him. He hugged her, and signed some pictures for her next giveaway.

Felix was like that—thoughtless, whimsical. It wasn’t exactly a fault, Minho thought, though Chan had reprimanded him quite a bit for his capricious actions.

That night, Minho had a craving. It was an urge, a thirst he couldn’t shake off. And what Minho wanted, Minho had—absolutely.

His gaze had caught the brunette on the far left of the group. She noticed him looking at her, and lowered her eyes immediately, succumbing to his intense stare.

She’ll break easily. That was fine by him, he wasn’t searching for a challenge, not tonight.

A nudge and a knowing look to his bodyguard, and he entered the van after Hyunjin, who’d nearly ran there.

He texted, ‘and her friend,’ to his not so little helper, and smirked down at the screen, feeling Hyunjin’s curious eyes.

“Fuck me,” the blonde boy rolled his eyes. “Just fucking—keep them quiet, will you? It’s a hotel, not your goddamn torture chamber.”

Minho chuckled sinisterly, watching everyone get in the vehicle. It was somewhat unfortunate he didn’t have his…toys with him, but if he was being honest, his patience had ran thin after all the work stress, and not being able to be at the comfort of his own home.

He just needed…release. And they’d have to fucking do, for now.

“I make no promises, doll face.”

Felix turned to that, confused. “Wait, what?”

“Shit, Minho don’t fucking tell me—” Chan started, annoyed.

Hyunjin snorted, lighting a cigarette. He could hear the girls yelling goodnight’s, and I love you’s, and absentmindedly smiled at the words.

“It’s true,” he mused, crossing his arms over his chest, and leaning back against the seat. “Minho’s gonna bless our ears, and get his dick wet.”

“Charity work, boys. You’re welcome,” the perpetrator finished, amused by the attention he was getting.

Chan groaned, while Felix scrunched his nose, wanting to retaliate.

“We’re gonna get kicked out, again. Fucking watch.”

Hyunjin had gifted Minho a pair of Vivienne Westwood pearl earrings for Christmas. It was her original design, and he’d gotten them as a last minute thing, a thank you for all the times the older boy had covered for his ass to their manager.

Hyunjin would follow Lee Minho inside a burning house. He would, if only to see what invisibility truly was. Minho was deathless, a distant form of a man that got away with everything.

His cunningness, his endearing personality that made you blindly follow him to the edges of the sharpest cliffs—where Hyunjin would free fall, searching for any kind of high, Minho could convince people to jump in his place, manipulate them into thinking they’ll be okay once they reached the bottom.

You had to really know the question mark, to know the fairytales it spewed. And Minho did tell a lot of stories. It depended on the kind of person you were—what you did and did not deserve to find out. For some, dragons have been slayed, princesses rescued—others know of the tales of the cavernous forest; about the tough fight against the darkness, how it stole everything, fed on his soul—

How he lost that soul, and what it cost him in the end.

There were a lot of stories, all of them fake. What was Lee Minho in his essence—a con man, hiding inside a thousand mirrors, each one containing only an echo of the small, scared boy he still was, deep down.

Hyunjin caught a glimpse of those earrings, dangling in the bright lights of the long hall leading to their rooms. Hair shining an intense purple, Minho disappeared behind his door, voice lost and now trapped against the four walls, no doubt a warm greeting to his guests for the night.

Chan was leaning against the railing, smoking one of his rare cigarettes. If nicotine was involved, Bang Chan was fucking stressed. Valid, considering.

“I’m worried about him,” he admitted, running a hand through his silver hair.

Lighter already in hand, Hyunjin copied his band mate. He stood next to him, silent for a while, wondering how could anyone worry about a snake.

The level of danger depends on the kind, but most snakes are adaptable, secretive creatures. They shed their skin when they’ve outgrown it, are reborn stronger, stealthier. A snake cannot truly die. If Hyunjin had to guess, Minho would be a saw-scaled viper, quick to attack, so you never see him coming.

He could survive anything, because he always put himself first. No exceptions, unless specified.

“These walls are paper thin.”

Chan sighed. “I could fucking care less about that, I’ve seen him fuck and get fucked forty different ways. I’m talking about his coping mechanisms—” he lowered his voice, glancing around.

Joon had their entire floor cleared, so it was only the four of them staying there, but some things Velvet Opiate kept close to their heart of hearts, never daring to speak about them out loud. It was an unwritten rule.

“Ever since his accident, her death—he’s never been the same again. I couldn’t possibly know what the fuck he’s thinking now, if I ever did back then.”

It was true. Minho had been in a fatal car accident, a couple years back. He ended up with several broken ribs, a fracture, and a broken leg, but the truck had come into impact with the passenger seat first. His then girlfriend was pronounced dead as soon as the paramedics arrived at the scene.

Perhaps, his most severe wound had been her passing.

The band had gone on hiatus for three months, and Minho didn’t once leave his house during the entire time, except to attend the funeral. And that had been a horrible thing in itself—the freezing cold mask he wore accepting condolences, the ghost that’s followed him ever since.

Lee Minho is the burning house. He’s been in flames ever since he was four years old, and the fire has only grown worse overtime. Hyunjin could only hope he knew how to put himself out before it was too late.

But wasn’t he the same way? Didn’t he also have a time limit—a certain amount of fuck ups before it was game over? What the fuck did he know?

Hyunjin exhaled smoke, nodding at the words his friend had said. “You have to walk through the pitch black darkness, to come through the other side.”

Chan finished his cigarette, shaking his head. “Hyun, he’s fucking drowning. You two are more alike than you think.”

The two boys looked at each other, brown on brown. Hyunjin could see the effort it took for Chan to be this vulnerable about his thoughts—he’s always been the crutch, the lifeboat.

The glue that held everything together.

“Maybe you could pull each other up,” he said, patting Hyunjin’s shoulder, and turning to walk to his room, three doors down.

Hyunjin would follow Lee Minho blind. He mused over the stick between his fingers, slowly turning into ashes, how it would always burn, always reduce itself down to the butt—there was no other outcome, no other way.

Predictable. That’s what Hyunjin was becoming. Inevitable.

He thought of you, and the way your skin felt underneath his own, how your eyes looked up at him with the brightest glint, the angel, the untainted. The holy.

You were probably waiting for him at that bleeding bar, wondering how long until he came back to sweep you off your feet. Tasting him in everything, laying awake panting, dreams of him stuck on your eyelashes. He hoped. He wished.

The damned have their prayers and their credulous hopes.

How expected of him to be this weak. Unsurprising.

What other fucking way does Hwang Hyunjin know, except the dark, thorny one? Except the mud, and the monsters, and the hopeless fight?

There’s only one story for him.

He gets up, knocks on the white door. Pearl Vivienne Westwood earrings greet him, an insouciant Minho blinks at him once, and moves out the way.

Hyunjin enters.

The lighting was dim, atmospheric.

One girl was tied on the headboard, the other on the floor, on her knees waiting, gaze downwards.

Both naked.

Hyunjin momentarily wonders if they were aware of Minho’s sexual preferences. Judging by the girl on the bed, her content face, he decides they probably don’t even care—too happy to be near their favorite idol.

Minho nods over to the vanity desk, thin white lines laid out, a credit card, and a bill next to them. A bottle of whiskey was open, three glasses empty around it.

This was the scene. The car accident, the neon lights, the siren. The death over and over—the self destruction was a suicide. The eventual joining, on the other side.

Hyunjin was familiar with this best of all, because he’d been guilty for it too. Only for him, there would be no rejoicing, no motive. No reason beyond the high.

Minho had moved to the mattress, sitting next to the gagged girl, that had been whimpering and fighting against the restraints. He spoke low to her, almost a whisper; his mouth was sinful, his language filthy.

“How wet is your cunt right now, love? Sprawled like a fucking whore for us. It’s what you wanted, right? To be fucked by a couple rockstars?”

The woman’s thighs rubbed against each other, no doubt aroused by the scenario.

Hyunjin had his eyes set on the submissive one on the floor, though. She had made no move, no sound, ever since he’d entered. She remained perfectly still, deliciously compliant.

He hadn’t used in three weeks. That was a record for him, though he couldn’t entirely put it on himself—everyone’s been micro managing him, monitoring his every move. His phone had been taken from him, all contacts removed.

He hadn’t fought it—he’d actually wanted to give sobriety a try, if for nothing but the sake of the band. But Minho had seen right through him, apparently, had spotted the beast inside Hyunjin, and promised to take care of it.

How expected of him to be this weak. Unsurprising.

Cocaine wasn’t his drug of choice, but anything is food to a starving man. He snorted a line, and rubbed his nose.

Then got close to the girl. Her hair was long and black, a curtain around her face. Hyunjin got on one knee, lifting her chin with his thumb.

Watery eyes stared at him, innocent and willing. Like yours.

“You’re being so quiet, sweetheart. Such a good girl,” he praised, taking in her body.

Perky breasts, tiny figure, hands balled into fists on her thighs. It wouldn’t take long at all—this girl was already broken.

Hyunjin loved broken things. There was no reason to be careful with them, at all. He fisted her hair, inspecting her reaction. She blinked at him, lips parting.

“You know what’s gonna happen, don’t you, pretty girl?”

She nodded weakly, never once breaking eye contact. Oh, she’s fucking done this before alright.

His other hand slapped her cheek, once. Softly, testing the waters. She flinched closer, but there was no pained look, no widening of the eyes. Just plain, unfiltered desire for more.

“Turn around, on your hands and knees,” he ordered, unbuttoning his shirt.

It was a split decision, her mouth opened—

“Can I touch you?” She regretted it as soon as she said it.

The second slap was harder, his palm leaving a red mark on her pale skin. She bit on her lip to keep from crying out, and scurried to get into position, afraid of worse punishment.

Hyunjin had no limit when it came to this—he would take it as far as his partner was willing to go, no second guesses. It was the only thing that gave him control, the only thing that truly gave him pleasure.

Feeling someone physically and mentally submit to him, connecting through inflicting pain on them… he’d been wired that way, it seemed. Violence got him fucking hard, the detachment, the deep emotions of the one receiving—the sweet release. All of it was incredibly arousing.

You had been the only exception, in all his years. With you, he wanted to take his time, defile you slowly, take care of you properly.

You were his angel, untouchable otherwise. You were different.

He pulled this girl by the throat, bringing her back flush against his own naked chest, mouth next to her ear.

“You’re fucking helpless. This is for me, and only me. You better keep fucking quiet, and take it, do you understand?”

She nodded frantically against him.

“Now, what’s your safe word?”

“Burn. It’s burn.”

Burn… This fucking girl.

“A true fan,” Minho commented, amused.

He was fucking the other girl’s mouth, both hands holding her face still. She was struggling to breathe, a slobbering mess, but there was no voice to her.

“I wrote that song, beautiful,” he winked at Hyunjin’s girl, and she blushed, before going back down, position resumed, lesson learned.

“That’s a good fucking girl,” he slapped her ass.

Sliding two fingers in her cunt, he found it soaking wet. Cursing, he fucked her like that for a while, making sure she’d keep to her word and make no noise. Her face was pressed against the carpet, arms barely holding her up.

He grabbed them, holding them behind her back, and removed his fingers. She clenched around the loss, juices running down her milky thighs.

What a fucking slut.

Hyunjin entered her roughly, using her arms to get deeper inside. She screamed, and then apologized immediately, her whole body tensing up, waiting for punishment.

“Didn’t I tell you,” he groaned, drilling into her, “to keep fucking quiet?!”

The girl on the bed was crying by this point, Minho relentlessly pounding her ass, hands still tied, a black scarf covering her eyes. It was like he was deaf to her screams, not present, as his movements quickened, her knees giving way, falling flat on her face, and yet never once shutting the fuck up.

Hyunjin glanced at his friend once, noticing the stoic expression, the hard lines of his mouth. He wasn’t there mentally, he was dissociating. It was what usually happened when Minho was high—he had no restraints, no way to stop, not unless he got what he wanted.

“Get on the bed,” he pulled his girl’s hair, slipping out of her.

She tripped, but did as told. He circled an arm around her waist and placed her right next to the moaning myrtle. The need to gag her was overwhelming, but Hyunjin knew Minho left her like that on purpose. To block his mind; static noise.

He slammed back inside her, cunt now a sloppy mess, lifting her legs over his head. Holding them with one hand, he fucked her brutally, exorcising the thought of you.

Minho stopped, as if awakening suddenly. The girl came hard, spasming violently. He pulled her up by the throat, and bit her shoulder.

“Join them. Let me see you.”

The two women started kissing, completely fucked out, while Hyunjin continued his pounding—close, so fucking close. Eyes shut, you’re there, a vision in black, red all around, getting fucked by him against a wall, like a fucking whore.

His whore. Hyunjin holds you up, your cunt heaven, a church he build to hide inside, praying to your name on his knees. Important, bigger than life, your half naked frame filling his mind, driving him over the edge.

“Burn! Burn! Fucking burn, fuck!”

He spilled inside her, growling, head falling on her stomach. She shook him off, pulling away, wrapping her arms around her knees, exhausted, tears streaming down her face.

You’d hate him for this. But you didn’t understand, yet. He’d make sure you never found out.

“All yours,” he says to Minho, getting off the bed.

“Don’t be scared, kitten,” Minho reasoned with her. “You didn’t think we’d go easy on you, did you?”

Hyunjin quickly slipped into his pants, remaining shirtless. He saw as Minho tamed both women, his voice level and soothing. It’d be a long night.

Pouring himself a drink, he downed it in one go, lines tempting him again. But he could already feel his high, and he really could care less about cocaine, so he left, right as Minho took out a vibrator—

Kinky motherfucker.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Minho called out to him, as the door clicked shut.

For the first time in his life, Hyunjin listened.

Back in his room, he showered off the sex smell, and sat by the window smoking, clad in nothing but a pair of pajama bottoms.

He thought of you. Your scent, your soft hands, the way you reached for him. The way he’d scared you by attacking that scum. It’d been too long since then, and his need to see you, to touch you, only grew stronger.

But his life was a golden cage, and he remained a prisoner. Hyunjin had the least freedom of them all, and he had nothing but his addictions to blame.

Grabbing his guitar, he played through random notes, smoke burning his eyes. His fingers settled over a strumming pattern, and he repeated it, a faint melody coming together.

Hyunjin went through it again, and again, building on it, the music descending on his heart, painful and familiar. Reminiscent of the way you said his name.

He hummed along, and where lyrics failed, they now came to him freely, devastating.

‘I tried counting

Her smiling pain…’

He shot up from his seat, cigarette long forgotten, hanging limply from his mouth, and run out of the room, two doors down. Chan’s door was always open, because he never fucking slept.

He was in front of his equipment, free styling on the keyboard, when Hyunjin burst in and stood in front of him, grinning from ear to ear.

Chan squinted up at him. “Are you high?”

Hyunjin shook his head, guitar in hand. “Never mind that. I got us the title track.”

At that, the silver haired boy’s eyes widened, and he leaned back in his seat, intrigued.

“No shit. Never thought I’d see the day, Hyun.”

It was true. Hyunjin never wrote songs—there’d never been anything inspiring, until he met you. And he was so sure of you, his brave girl, so enamored by what you showed him, by what he felt.

“It’s called Knife.”

Chan gestured for him to sit on the bed. “Let’s hear it.”

Hyunjin played.

It was a bit past four in the morning, when Minho’s groupies left. Disheveled, and bruised, shoes in hand, they tiptoed to the elevator like thieves, giggling to themselves.

Hyunjin and Chan were taking a break out in the hall, and watched as they let out similar high pitched screams when they noticed them there.

The black haired one screamed, “I love you Bang Chan!” She looked drunk.

Chan chuckled, waving at her. “What’d he do to them?”

“You want the politically correct answer to that?” Hyunjin asked, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Never mind.”

They both looked down at the lobby, and met the security guard’s gaze, as the two women passed by him. He probably thought, fucking rockstars, thinking they can do whatever the fuck they want, and he’d be right.

Sometimes they did the most excessive shit for the hell of it. Money and fame gave them the right to do so. What was a hotel’s security guard going to do about it?

Look the other way. They all did.

“What the fuck are you looking at, asshole?” Chan provoked him.

Hyunjin smirked, elbows resting on the railing, letting the scene unroll before him.

“Go back to your rooms,” the guard told him, scowling.

Chan scoffed, laughing humorlessly. “And what if we don’t, tough guy? Are you gonna spank us?”

At that, Hyunjin snorted. Chan had the worst temper of the four, and he loved getting riled up. Shit talking was his favorite pastime, only second to making music.

They had only gotten kicked out of a hotel twice before; once when Minho’s birthday orgy got out of control, and then back when they first became well known, for vandalism. That’d been Hyunjin’s fault—he’d been high as a fucking kite, and decided trashing his room and knocking on every door of his floor, screaming lyrics from their debut song was a great idea.

He got arrested for private nuisance, and fined three thousand dollars for destroying property. He’d barely made it to their first concert in America, and Joon was mad at him for a month after that.

He hoped this wouldn’t be the third, but did nothing to prevent it from happening.

The guy talked in his walkie-talkie, no doubt requesting back up. Hyunjin doubted he’d need extra men, but then again, Chan was known to be unpredictable when messed with.

“What a little bitch. Do you need me to show you, fuckface? Have you ever properly fucked a woman before?”

The receptionist came into view, looking up at them. “Sir, I advise you to calm down, or we’ll have to call the police. Please go back to your rooms, or you’ll be escorted out of the premises.”

Right on time, Minho and Felix came out, curious faces staring at their band mates. Hyunjin sighed, tugging on Chan’s sleeve.

“Do you really have to start shit, Bang? This hotel’s been pretty flexible with us.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Felix asked, rubbing his eyes, looking down at the lobby.

“I’m calling Joon. Chan, fucking calm it, before we’re front page news again,” Minho warned, opening his flip phone.

Chan hit Hyunjin in the back, taking a deep breath, and nodding at Minho.

“You’re right. But let me just—fuck you!” He shouted to the guard, a maniacal smile on his lips.

“Okay, I’m done. Fuck, that felt good.”

Felix laughed, following him to his room. “Fucking Bang Chan…”

Hyunjin stayed behind with Minho, who was on the phone with their manager, explaining the situation.

“So much for laying low,” Hyunjin mocked Chan’s words from earlier that month.

Minho smirked. “We’re Velvet fucking Opiate, doll face. We don’t lay low.”

The blonde smirked back, and put his arm around the older’s shoulders. “Sounds about fucking right, honey.”

“I wrote a song, by the way!”

“About fucking time. We all just thought you’d be a pretty face forever.”

“Fuck you, Lee.”

“Next foursome, doll.”

A week later, the new publication for ‘Nicola’ magazine was out. It was the go to for every teenager in Japan, and Velvet Opiate had been a regular issue on their pages, mainly for their fashion appearances, and hot gossip.

This time it was the latter.

The title read as such: ‘Velvet Opiate fans confess—we slept with the band! EXCLUSIVE’

“Guys!” Joon yelled, reading through the article anxiously.

The band gathered around their manager, peaking at the magazine, curious.

“Fuck,” all four collectively exclaimed.

They were in deep shit.

[howlingday]

tragic backstory (tm) au) jaune teaches his firends about battlefield control via the medium of D&D. his main focus is on teaching ruby the value of pointing out enemies to her heavy hitter (barb yang) and having her rouge take out key targets (blake also learns she doesn't need to shout about faunas liberation like she did in the white fang it's okay not to let people know who did what now) and weiss needs to learn that her summoning is a great skill to help lock down grimm but her ability to use dust is far better if used well (WALL OF FIRE/ICE/DIRT IS THE FUCKING GOAT MY MAN) also her glyphs are pretty great buffs but it's all about timing.

GOLD & GUILDS

Jaune loved playing games. Compost King, Jester's Court, Hidden Grimm; many a weekend was spent playing with his sisters. However, when he arrived at Beacon, he learned of a game he had never heard of before: Grimm and Grottos, Remnant's number one role-playing tabletop game. After months of learning the mechanics, he's decided to step up and perform the most grueling of tasks: BECOME THE GRIMM MASTER!

Yang: You okay, Jaune?

Jaune: A little nervous. I never GM'd before.

Yang: Ah, you'll be fine! You played enough of the game to know how to be the GM. Just follow the rules, and make sure everyone else does.

Jaune: (Takes a deep breath) Thanks, Yang.

Yang: Of course! What else are sisters for?

Jaune: You walk into the cabin. It's old, and there's a faint smell of mold in the air. What do you do?

Ruby: Uh, I walk into the kitchen.

Jaune: The kitchen, much like the rest of yhe house, is old and damp. A cupboard door hangs off it's hinges, revealing it's empty shelves. There are pans in the sink.

Ruby: Hm...

Blake: I'd like to look in the dining room.

Jaune: You walk in the dining room, where an empty table sits with two chairs. By the window, a rusty fork sits all alone.

Blake: I'll roll for Vicinity. (Jaune nods, Blake rolls) Sixteen, and my modifier is two, so eighteen.

Jaune: The table is old, rotting in the legs with gnaws and bite marks. The chairs, however, look brand new.

Yang: Hello! Anybody home?!

Jaune: Do you say that?

Yang: (Smirks) I wouldn't if I didn't.

Jaune: Make a Vicinity check.

Yang: (Rolls) Nat 1.

Jaune: ...You hear a voice. The voice you're hearing sounds very handsome, like a blond man with blue eyes and shining teeth.

Weiss: (Everyone else laughs, Scoffs) I'll roll for Vicinity. (Jaune nods, Weiss rolls and looks at her sheet) Fifteen.

Jaune: You hear a shuffling. It sounds like it's coming from upstairs.

Weiss: I wave to the others, and when they see me, I put my finger to my lips.

Ruby: I see her, and I wave over to Vix.

Blake: I'm going to walk over to Thorn.

Jaune: Make an Agility check.

Blake: (Rolls) Thirteen.

Jaune: You make it over to Thorn, but you trip. Luckily, your nimble reflexes saved you from face planting.

Blake: (Sighs)

Jaune: Thorn, roll for Agility.

Ruby: (Gulps, Rolls) Seven.

Jaune: Surprised to see your friend trip towards, you back up into the sink, causing the pans to scrape and clatter.

Ruby: Whoops!

Jaune: The noise upstairs gets louder and you hear shouting now.

Ruby: Damn it! Ya- I mean, Busty, you and Witty go upstairs! Vix and I will wait down here.

Weiss: Wait, should we really split the party?

Jaune: Should you?

Ruby: ...It's not splitting the party. You'll both be upstairs while we'll be down here. If it looks bad, come back down to us. We'll regroup and hit them all together.

Yang: I nod, and I run upstairs.

Weiss: I... reluctantly follow her.

Jaune: You reach upstairs where two bandits are scrambling back and forth in the bedroom. They're stuffing gold and jewels into a bedsheet tied to act as a sack. They look at you, and tbey look just like the thugs from the tavern.

Weiss: (Gasps) It's them!

Jaune: (Accent) Aw, shivva! It's those dames from efore! (Different accent) Ah, cock it all! Just git yer gun an buck em! (Normal voice) Roll for First Strike! (Rolls twice)

Ruby: (Rolls) Twelve!

Yang: (Rolls) Six.

Blake: (Rolls) Eighteen.

Weiss: (Rolls) Nat 20!

Jaune: Okay, and what's your modifier, Weiss?

Weiss: Wha- But I rolled a nat 20!

Jaune: So did Gubber.

Weiss: (Gulps, Looks at her sheet) Uh, plus one.

Jaune: Plus two. (Weiss groans) So, the order goes Gubber, Witty, Vix, Thorn, Busty, and Hatty.

Ruby: How bad did Hatty roll?

Jaune: (Accent) Ah rolled me natural ones!

Ruby: (Laughs) Oh, Hatty! (Smiles wickedly) I'll regret killing you most of all.

Jaune: And Hatty and Gubber manage to escape. What's your plan now?

Ruby: Is it too late to Snipe?

Jaune: They're already between the trees, past the treeline.

Ruby: (Sighs) Dang it.

Yang: Ah, you'll get 'em next time. Now, about that gold.

Jaune: What gold?

Yang: The gold those two chuckleheads left when they ran?

Jaune: Oh, you mean the gold floating in the air?

Yang: ...What?

Jaune: Yeah, the gold and jewels, and all the furniture are floating around in the air.

Blake: I'd like to roll for Folklore.

Jaune: Of course.

Blake: Nineteen.

Jaune: Based on your experience as a Night-Stalker, you know from your past experience how terrifying Grimm can be. The one Grimm you have yet to encounter only haunted your dreams until now. You have heard the stories of the terrifying Geists, and now one has found it's way to you.

Blake: Great. Guys, this looks like a Geist!

Yang: Cool! What does that mean?

Blake: It means we're under attack from a Grimm!

Weiss: What do we do?

Blake: Do I know how to fight it?

Jaune: Based on your roll, you know how to identify one, and how to kill one, based on the stories you've heard. Find the head and destroy it.

Blake: We need to find the head!

Yang: How?!

Ruby: Blak- I mean, Vix! You know the most, do try to find the head, we'll back you up. Busty, you can still fight, right?

Yang: Yeah, those punks earlier barely scratched me. What do you need?

Ruby: Break everything.

Yang: Don't need to tell me twice.

Weiss: We'll back you both up, right, Thorn?

Ruby: Right!

Jaune: The house falls silent as the Geist screeches into oblivion as Vix cleaves it's head in twain. Furniture and debris fall to the ground. The battle is won. What's your plan, everyone?

Yang: Get the gold!

Weiss: I should have expected as much.

Jaune: And that should do it for our game for tonight. You guys did a great job.

Yang: Well, so did you, little bro! Not bad for your first session. Hopefully we can keep doing this.

Jaune: We should. I plan to do something over the weekends.

Weiss: Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to get some rest.

Jaune: Right. Have a good night, girls.

Ruby: Uh, Jaune, before you go.

Jaune: What's up, Ruby?

Ruby: Well, I need to talk to you in private, so...

Jaune: Oh, sure. (Steps out with Ruby) What's up, Ru-

Ruby: I want to go out again!

Jaune: Huh? You want to start dating again?

Ruby: Yeah, I just... After you broke things off with Scarlet, I feel like... Well, I want you to be my boyfriend again.

Jaune: I mean, I'm not against it, but are you sure? Is Yang going to okay with it?

Ruby: She will.

Jaune: Did you talk with her?

Ruby: Well, not yet, but...

Jaune: (Places a hand on Ruby's shoulder) Ruby, I think we should try again, but only when everyone is comfortable with it. I don't want Yang screaming at me in front of my mom again. Just talk with her, and then... we'll take it from there.

Ruby: Right. Good night, Jaune.

Jaune: (Smiles) Good night, Thorn. (Walks into his dorm)

Ruby: (Sighs) What would Thorn do? ...Probably skin a deer and eat it's heart, but that doesn't help me.