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woewriting · 2 months

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turning point (g!p)

pairing: tara carpenter | reader summary: tara calls you to rescue her from a bad date and things take a surprising turn. word count: 3726 warnings: mdni, +18 only! no ghostface au, reader has a dick, friends with benefits (?), clothed sex, language, smut in general. a/n: will you guys believe if i say the date part was inspired by a terrible date my coworker had? because it was and @wesstars is the proof of it!

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When the 7th episode of season 4 of Stranger Things started you felt your phone vibrating somewhere in between the cozy blankets. As you blindly looked for it, eyes focused on the TV in front of your bed, you felt it vibrating once again, but this time more than once.

Holding the phone in your hands, the name “tara” followed by a small heart emoji showed on the screen with 4 messages attached to it. Pausing the episode, you unlocked the device.

tara ♥︎ can you come pick me up? please this is the worst date ever 😭

Sewing your eyebrows together, you were quick to reply, asking for her location.

tara ♥︎ im at the motel near the campus, green valley or something chad is showering and i told him i’d take an uber home because i wasn't feeling well and didn’t want to stay anymore please come fast

Typing a simple “omw”, you grabbed your hoodie, throwing it over the white tank top you usually wore to sleep along with sweat shorts that easily became a second skin.

It was easy to spot the building as a gigantic green neon sign took over most of the illumination of the empty street. You parked in front of it, patiently waiting for your best-friend as you sent a message letting her know you arrived. The place seemed expensive and well cleaned, unlike most cheap motels that took over the right side of the street near the campus of your college, still, it didn't appetize you to walk in.

Soon, the younger Carpenter ran towards you, sighing in relief when she jumped into the car.

“That bad, huh?” You asked with a laugh, setting the first gear ready to go back home.

“You have no idea.” Tara whined, turning on the heat, complaining about how cold it was outside in a whisper. “I'll tell you everything when we get home.”

“I'm watching Stranger Things.” The focus on the road in front of you as you took a right turn didn't allow you to see the indignation expression on her face, more dramatic than it was necessary.

“Is Stranger Things more important than me?”

“I’m about to find out what happened at the Hawkins Lab…” You continued, trying to convince her of your cause, but her next words made you look at her with raised eyebrows, a convinced smile of someone who won drawing her lips.

“He has a small dick.”

“I'm all ears, princess.”

The return home didn’t take more than 10 minutes, especially with empty roads and yellow sign lights. Tara started telling about her date from the second it started, which was 5PM, the exact time she started to get ready. Honestly, none of that was necessary to reach the part that it all went downhill, but you didn’t dare to interrupt, you paid attention to every word Tara was saying as you carefully parked your car in your designated spot.

The second the elevator stopped on your floor, Tara had finished telling you about the dinner part of her date.

According to her, the food wasn't bad, but the place was crowded and the music playing was so annoying that it became a bit too much for her. It was already hard to pay attention to anything Chad was saying as the others' conversation was caught in the middle, stealing her attention, all she could was nod and smile, like one of the Penguins from Madagascar.

You laughed at her indignation and the small wrinkle in between her eyebrows, opening the door and giving her space to walk in. Kicking your shoes away, the both of you automatically walked to the door at the end of the small hallway of your apartment, the episode 7 of Stranger Things’ last season still on pause when you sat on the bed being followed by Tara; Jamie Campbell’s beautiful blue eyes on the screen.

“... and after we got to the motel, things were heating up and his hands were on my ass and he kept pushing me against him and…” Tara stopped talking after noticing the disgusted expression on your face as you made yourself comfortable on the bed. The girl sat right by your side. “I will not spare any details.”

“I’m seriously considering automatically deleting every explicit part of it.” You retorted, shifting uncomfortably against the headboard.

Despite the years of friendship you and Tara had, from Junior High all the way to college — where you both were right now, nothing touchy ever happened between the two of you, not even a single, drunk kiss at parties. You two were close, of course, but not this close, and hearing the vulgar words easily slipping out of her mouth was creating a weird feeling inside your chest.

“I don’t care.” The girl rolled her eyes, moving closer to you. “Continuing, Chad is gentle, nice, and it feels good to be with him, but ugh… I couldn’t even feel anything when I was sitting on his lap.” You let out a small laugh, scratching your eyebrow. That wasn’t the first time Tara rambled about a bad date, but this was Chad, a common friend, and someone that the young Carpenter had a genuine interest in. At this point, that interest had disappeared into thin air. “And when he removed his pants, he had this military patch underwear and black socks on and it was a huge turn off.”

“Black socks really do sucks…”

“I know!” The exasperated way she agreed with you made you laugh, her hand resting near your knee. “Can you believe he didn’t want to take them off? He said he has cold feet.” Her face fell against your thigh, a tired sighing leaving her mouth, hot breath hitting your bate skin. “I should’ve ran when he said that.” Tara mumbled.

Your hand naturally rested on her head in a soft petting, “You really should have.”

The brunette moved a little, laying on her side with her cheek still resting on your leg to feel the soothing moves of your fingers on her hair. The new position gave her a small vision of what's beneath the thick fabric of your shorts, the hem of black boxers peeking through. She looked away, crimson color on her cheeks as she continued the events of the night.

“But, it’s Chad, so I decided to ignore that ridiculous sock and continue.” You nodded your head. “He removed that equally annoying underwear and I swear to God! It was smaller than my hand, and my hands aren’t that big! Look.” To prove her point, she held your other hand, measuring it with her own. She intertwined your fingers together after you agreed with her, resting them both on her chest. “But I was like… okay, it’s not big but maybe he can be good with his tongue.”

“Oh, God.” You choke, closing your eyes. “I will never be able to look at him again.”

“Imagine how I feel!” Tara whined. “But then I thought to myself, he’s a terrible kisser; if he doesn’t know how to use his tongue on my mouth, imagine how bad it’ll be when he use it on my pu—”

“Okay! Let’s not use those explicit words, please.” You interrupted her, shifting again. “But damn, is that guy good at anything?”

“He has a nice body… from the waist up.” This time neither of you could hold back the laugh, the delightful sound of her laughing mixed with yours filled the room for a couple minutes, your hand still playing with the soft strands that spread across your leg. “Chad is a nice guy, but… that’s not enough for me, you know? I crave touching, feeling something. And he was so small I would barely feel anything.” Tara cried out, covering her face with her free hand as the other still held yours against her chest.

“I’m not a sexual freak or anything but I agree, at least the kiss has to be good. So that’s when you messaged me?”

“I wish.” It was your turn to sigh loudly. “We kept going and when I asked him to wear protection, you won’t believe it…”

“He didn’t have any?”

“Oh, he did.” She bit her lower lip, hand still covering her eyes as the images played like a broken record behind her closed lids. “After that awkward moment where he put it on, he got soft.”

“Maybe it was too tight or something, that can be an annoying bother.” You tried defending your friend, but the girl denied with her head, pursing her lips together, deciding if she should say it or not, but after all the details she already had shared, this one wouldn’t matter either.

“It was loose. It was the smallest size and it still was big for him.”

“Jesus Christ. I am deleting every photo I have with him. I can’t bear looking him in the eyes after knowing all of that.” Once again, your laugh filled the bedroom, making Tara look at you with narrowed eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Is it me?” You tilted your head to the side in confusion. “Am I the problem?”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe I’m a terrible kisser and that’s why it didn’t fit.” She explained, looking at you.”Do you think I’m hot?”

“Where did that come from?”

“The deepest part of my curious brain.” Tara sat back up, resting her hand and yours on her thigh. “Now answer me, am I hot?”

“You are hot, Tara.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m sure the problem wasn’t you. Maybe he was just nervous to be with you, I don’t know.”

“That does make me the problem.” Her eyes never left yours, looking for a small sign of a lie that was never found; after all, you did find Tara hot. “Why did you never kiss me?”

You let out a deep sigh. “Because we’re friends.”

“You kiss your friends. Amber, Mindy, and I’m sure you tried to kiss my sister once too.”

“Please, don’t bring that to the table.” The pinkish tone that colored your cheeks made the other smile. “And it’s different, they’re just friends, and you’re my best friend.”

Tara moved on the bed, sitting on her calves, still looking at you, and still holding your hand.

“Kiss me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Kiss me.”

You let out an awkward, breathy laugh, trying to pull your hand from hers and moving away just a bit, but the brunette was determined, you could see it in the dark brown eyes.

“Stop joking around, Carpenter.” You said one more time, her slender fingers tracing random patterns on your thigh with her free hand, feeling the goosebumps all over your skin, big bambi eyes staring at you. “Tara…”

“Please…” She cried out, the tip of her fingers trespassing the hem of your shorts, only a few centimeters away from your clothed cock. You could already feel it twitching inside your boxers just from those small touches. “I just wanna prove to myself that I can do it and that there’s nothing wrong with me. You, as my best friends, should help me with that.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, I truthfully believe you can get someone hard.”

“Then why wasn’t he hard?”

“Maybe it was just a bad day or he was nervous, I don’t know.” You repeat what you said earlier, hoping that it was enough for the small girl. It clearly wasn't though.

“But we were having fun! He was sweet, polite, respectful, and paid for dinner and the motel, which was not cheap. It makes no sense!” She whined like a spoiled kid. Tara sat on your thighs, holding your face in her hands. “Lemme touch you. Please.”

“Can’t we just watch Stranger Things and forget about this terrible date?” You asked in hopes she would let that stupid idea go; she obviously didn’t.

“We can, after we kiss.” Tara fixed herself on top of you, moving up. Your hands instantly grabbed her waist, before she could sit on your hips. “You know I won’t stop.”

“You’re like the donkey from Shrek.” You writhe under her.

“Please…”

“Dear Lord.” Your head fell back, hitting the soft headboard. “Why does it have to be me? And now?”

“Because you’re my best friend.” The girl shrugged. “Plus, you never let me see it.”

“I swear you have the strangest obsession with my dick.”

“I’m just curious about it.” Feeling the loosen on your grip, Tara moved slightly up, sitting right on top of it. “And I can definitely feel it.” The brunette pushed herself down, biting her lower lip.

“Please, stop moving.” You whined, trying to hold her still, but she was determined, you could see it in her eyes. It wasn’t going to take long before your underwear became a bother. “Tara, I’m warning you.”

“You sound so hot, you should use that tone with me more often.” Her hands grabbed you by the collar of your shirt, wrinkling it, pulling you closer until her mouth was yours. You didn’t stop her or kissed her back, but your grip on her waist grew stronger. She smiled against your lips, one of her hands sliding down your body, nails scratching your belly under your hoodie, threatening to trespass the waist of your shorts. “Can I touch you?”

You gulped hard, staring at the brown eyes that looked soft, unlike her hands. “Are you sure you want to do this? There's no point of return.” Tara nodded fast, not giving a second thought to it, playing with the waist of your shorts. “You can touch me.”

When you gave Tara permission to touch you, you thought the girl was going to wrap her hands around your soft shaft, but all she did was kiss you, slowly and enticing, and this time you kissed her back. Your hands on her waist helped her move against your lap, grinding on you at a torturous pace.

You wanted to turn around, change your positions so you could control whatever it was about to happen, but you allowed her to be in charge; this was all about Tara proving to herself she’s not the problem, right? So you held back the urge.

Tara’s hands moved up again, wrapping around your neck as she got closer, pushing herself down on you, moaning against your parted lips when she felt your dick pressing on her even though you weren’t hard.

Her kiss trailed down your neck, gently nibbling on the skin there. You threw your head back, moving your hands down her ass, under the skirt of her dress to push her harder against you, increasing her hips’ speed.

“Fuck…” You let out a sharp breath, completely affected by the delicate touches coming from your best-friend, and that only made her more eager to pleasure you.

“Do you like this?” Tara whispered in your ear, softly biting on your lobule, tracing the cartilage with her teeth. All you could do was nod. She could feel you slowly getting hard against her ass.

Licking your lips, you thrust your hip up in a strong move, making the both of you moan lowly. You could come just with that friction if she continued moaning with her mouth so close to your ear, only for you to hear it.

Tara’s hands trailed down your body once again, but this time she pushed down the elastic of the waistband of your gray shorts, in a silent request for you to remove it. She lifted herself just enough for it to slide down your legs, pooling just before your knees, the black boxer still hugging your thighs tightly.

She didn’t want to look down, too shy to do so, but when she sat back against your bulge, it was impossible to not look at it. She pursed her lips together, the moan choked in the back of her throat as she felt you pressing hard against her. A wet spot taking form on the dark, thin cloth the more she rolled her hips on you.

It was an agonizing pain to let Tara in control of the situation. You could feel the warmth and wetness dripping for her cunt, you would easily slide in her, if she allowed you to. But you didn’t know how far she wanted to go with you, after all, this was just a test to see if she could get you hard, and she definitely could as she felt you twitching against her in desperate need to release.

This could've stopped here and now, you were hard after all, but in a bold move, her hand slipped into your underwear, her hand holding your dick in a hard squeeze that almost made you scream against her mouth. Pulling your length out, Tara wrapped her hand around your shaft, moving it up and down in a provocative way, smiling against your parted lips. Her eyes were dark, staring at you with luxury dripping from the brownish just like she was dripping on your thighs. You could feel the hot, thick liquid oozing on your skin as she rubbed herself on you.

“Fuck, Tara.” You breathed out again, broken, lewdly.

The brunette dipped her hand in her own underwear, eyes threatening to close as she rounded her swollen clit with two fingers, but she kept them open with a wicked expression on her face. Tara pulled her dress up, giving you the privileged view of her ruined underwear, the white fabric completely transparent. You couldn’t help yourself as your finger traced the wet stain, Tara’s mouth hanging open at the agonizing slow touch.

“Stop.” She asked in a trembled voice, shakingly holding your hand with flushed cheeks. “I don’t wanna cum like this.”

“And how do you wanna cum?”

Letting go of your hand, she watched with focused eyes as you took two of your fingers in your mouth, sucking at the slick that coated them with a satisfied hum. Tara seriously considered saying she wanted to ride your face and fall apart on your lips, but she just, messily, removed her underwear. A thin line of arousal followed the cloth as she tossed it somewhere in your bedroom, your mouth watering at that.

Tara pulled your boxer slightly down just enough for your member to be released, proudly hitting your lower belly, before placing herself on top of your cock, the blood flowing in your veins reverberating against her clit, making both of you choke on your breath. She fitted your length in between her slick folds, almost crying at the warm feeling.

She started grinding on you, shaking at every small move.

“This feels so fucking good.”

Throwing her head back, Tara supported her weight on her arms, gaining a fast pace. Your hands held the skirt of her dress up, giving you the perfect view of her shining cunt, smearing herself all over your cock. You could feel that tight knot on your stomach at that.

Moving one of your hands up and taking the dress with it, you crossed a barrier when you exposed her perfect tits, holding the stiff nipple with your thumb and index finger in a hurtful squeeze, earning yourself a crying moan that only made you throb against her center, while the other hand bruised the skin of her ass. You could see the red marks of your fingers all over her waist.

Pulling her torso towards you, your lips wrapped around her other nipple, trembling your tongue on the hardened nub, making Tara’s hands pull on your hair, keeping you close to her chest. Her hips started to lose speed, squirming in your arms as she neared her release; you weren’t going to last much, not when she started whispering your name over and over, shakingly violently in your arms. You came right after her, shooting thick ropes of cum directly into your hoodie.

Your arms were fast to hold her against you, keeping her body close as you came down from your high together. Tara's head fell on your shoulder, her hot breath tickling the skin of your neck, you could feel her smile.

“You okay?” Being the first one to break the silence, you asked in a soft voice, running your hands up and down her back, feeling her heart beating like crazy; yours weren't different, smashing itself against your ribcage.

“I'm great.” She mumbled out, weak and out of breath. “Are you okay?”

Feeling the nod of your head, she pulled away from her hiding spot. When you met her eyes, a pinkish color was filling the skin around her cheekbones, coloring the freckles that spread across her face, and unlike you were wondering inside your head, things didn't look awkward after that; Tara still had that familiar, warm look in her eyes when she leaned in to place a chaste kiss on the corner of your lips.

“Are you proud of yourself?”

“For making you cum without barely touching you?” Tara laughed in a proud voice, avoiding looking down as she felt your length still comfortably placed in between her slick folds.

Your hands were firm on her waist when you lifted her hips, guiding the tip of your cock against her sensitive bundle of nerves before slowly sliding in her cunt at the same time she fell back on your thighs, trying to catch her breath at the sudden invasion. A small smile on her face at the feeling of being full, her velvety walls clenching hard around your shaft, still recovering from her orgasm.

“For the fact that I'm still pretty hard.” Pressing kisses over her jawline, you thrusted up, a surprised moan escaping her throat. “Can you feel it? How hard I am? How good I'm filling you?”

“Yes…” She choked out, wrinkling your hoodie in her fingers, trying to find support on your shoulders when your hands forced her up, your member coated in a thin layer of her arousal before sliding her back down. “I'm very proud of myself.” The breathy confession made you smile against her neck, softly biting on her jugular before your movements gained a steady rhythm, mixing with the wet sounds and the melody tone of her voice calling out your name for every neighbor to hear.

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ellemj · 6 months

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Needs & Wants - Sex Pollen Trope Pt. 3

Bucky Barnes x Reader

**If you haven't read Pt. 1 and Pt. 2 yet, read those first!**

Summary: You and Bucky give into the chemical that's influencing your bodies in the most hellish way. Round one leaves him planning round two.

Warnings: SMUT, unprotected sex, mention of choking, sex pollen (dubcon), possessive!Bucky, minimal use of y/n, teasing, profanity, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Special thanks to @littlemiss-yeehaw for helping with the warnings <3

Feel free to comment and let me know if this requires more warnings.

Word Count: 3.3k

Author's Note: Someone stop me, because I have another few thousand words of smut to add to this but I didn't want to post a whole novel and drive everyone away. Can you blame me though? As soon as the dog tags came into play my mind went rogue. Also, every single one of y'alls comments on part 2 made my whole night. Definitely going to be checking out a lot of y'alls blogs tomorrow. Enjoy this one!

Something dark came over him as soon as your fingertips brushed over his dog tags. Something possessive and primal, something that only partially came from the chemical you were both exposed to. You saw it every bit as much as he felt it within himself, like a switch had been flipped. He couldn’t help himself honestly. If you weren’t going to let him kiss you, the only way he felt like he could pretend you were his was to see you in his dog tags. He wanted to watch you fall apart for him, with his name wrapped around your neck and falling from your parted lips. He would’ve been perfectly satisfied with feeling you fall apart for him as he kissed you, but no, you took that from him.

You fight the urge to push him away as he brings his flesh hand up to the side of your face, cupping the curve of your jaw and looking down into your eyes. Too. Fucking. Intimate. What the hell is he trying to do here? Make love? Fuck fighting the urge, you push him back just like you did in the bathroom doorway, giving yourself enough space to step away from the wall and take a couple of steps into your room. As soon as you’re two steps from him, another stomach cramp hits you like a punch to the gut, and you’re doubling over just past the threshold of the door.

“Stop fucking pushing me away and you won’t have to feel like this.” He spits out, quickly entering the room behind you and pushing your hair to the side to expose the back of your neck to him. He wastes no time in attaching his lips to your skin, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses on each raised point of your spine above the collar of your t-shirt. If he can’t kiss your lips, he’ll kiss every other inch of you until you’re begging for him to give you the one thing that you asked him to withhold. Your breath hitches in your throat at the way even just his mouth on your neck makes the cramping in your stomach reside, allowing you to stand straight up once again.

“Do we really need foreplay?” You ask between breaths. You hate how you’re already panting from his actions. You’re sure he can tell how needy you are, even though your words are making it sound like you can’t wait to get this whole thing over with. You’re trying so hard to convince yourself that this is a transaction, a swapping of favors between partners, and absolutely nothing more. You need this to be over with as fast as possible so you don’t have a moment to let yourself believe it’s really happening. You can’t dwell on the fact that you’re about to have sex with the one person that you trust above anyone else, the person that you put your life’s hands in every time you go out in the field. You can’t let your feelings creep into this. You need to hate him more than you’ve ever hated him right now, in this moment.

“I don’t.” Bucky answers your rhetorical question, punctuating his response by grinding his hard-on against your ass, causing your t-shirt to pull up above your ass ever so slightly. He groans when he realizes the only thing between you both is his boxers and your panties. “But I’m not an ass, and we both know that physical touch is what’s helping the pain stop right now.” You want to argue with him but you know he’s right. Every part of you that he touches seems to feel instant relief.

“You’re still an ass.” You retort. He laughs lowly in your ear as his hands find purchase on your hips.

“Keep acting like you don’t need me to fuck the shit out of you and see where that gets you.” Biting your lip proves to be fruitless as you let out the sluttiest moan you’ve ever heard leave your own lips. Who knew dirty talk could be that much of a catalyst for you? Bucky is instantly encouraged by the prettiest sound he has ever heard sneaking past your lips, and he pushes you forward to the foot of the bed. You climb onto the mattress quickly, not wanting to delay the inevitable any longer. You’re on autopilot now, moving up to the head of the bed as the mattress dips behind you. “Shirt off, now.”

You’re getting really fucking tired of your body doing things without your permission, just because he gives you a command. You pull your shirt over your head and toss it onto the floor before he’s even fully on the bed. You don’t have time to overthink, to worry about how exposed you are right now, he doesn’t give you a second to form a thought. You feel his flesh hand wrap around your ankle and pull you toward him at the end of the bed until you’re flat on your back and he’s between your legs. Fuck. He’s good at this. He’s too good at this.

“Look at me.” His tone is demanding and surprisingly calm considering his heart is beating out of his damn chest right now. He can hear his own heart beat in his ears and yet, all he can think about is how fucking pretty you look laid out in front of him like this. You watch as he slowly reaches up to his neck. He’s sitting on his knees in front of you, the sweat on his body gleams in the moonlight that streams in from the window across the room, highlighting every ridge and curve of his muscular form. You take your time dragging your eyes up his torso and once your gaze lands on the action of his hands, you swallow hard. He’s staring you right in the eyes, holding your lustful gaze as he lifts his dog tags up over his head and grips them in his flesh palm for a second. He looks down at them briefly, like they have so much meaning to him, before leaning over you and draping them over your head. You lift your neck and hold your hair to the side, allowing him to slide the chain down and rest the tags on your bare chest. He studies the sight before him, frozen in time. You don’t know it, but he’s memorizing the scene before him. Memorizing the way his name looks laying there on the smooth skin between your breasts, memorizing the way the tags shift with every inhale and exhale. Fuck. He’s done for. He shouldn’t have made you wear them. He knows that. But is he really thinking clearly? You’ve both been basically drugged. He can’t be held responsible for the stupid shit that he does now. Not when you’re laying here like this, ready to let him do anything to you. Well, anything except kiss you.

“It hurts…” You whimper, dropping your head back on the pillow and closing your eyes as you wince. The stomach pain is back since he’s stopped touching you, and you’re noticing the wetness in your panties is approaching a near uncomfortable level. You want them off.

“I know, baby, I know.” Bucky murmurs. He lowers himself down, keeping his weight on his arms beside your head. Baby? Fuck, you should have told him that pet names were off limits. As soon as you feel his hard length pressing against your soaked panties, your legs spread all on their own, and he rewards you with a soft kiss to your collarbone.

“Fuck this.” You groan, reaching your hands down and pushing the waistband of your panties down. You only get them down a few inches when Bucky sits back once more, finishing the task for you. He drops them on the floor beside the bed and much to your relief, lays right back over you, sending your core into a frenzy of pleasure when he grinds his clothed cock against your clit. You bend your knees and spread your legs more, giving him all of the access that he needs to practically fuck you through his boxers. And he does just that. He ruts into you, giving your clit just the right amount of pressure and friction. Moans fall freely from your lips now, needy noises mixed with a few profanities and heavy sighs that make Bucky wonder how the hell you’ll sound when he’s actually inside you.

“God, I can’t wait any longer, shit.” He groans. In one swift movement, he pushes himself off of you and stands beside the bed, pushing his boxers down his thighs and letting them fall to his feet as you watch. His cock, freed from the tight fabric it’s been trapped in for far too long now, stands against his lower abdomen, boasting an impressive size and making your mouth water. You have to mentally curse yourself and remind yourself that this is just a means to an end, nothing more. It can’t be anything more. But fuck, if he isn’t the most well-endowed man you’ve ever seen. He feels a surge of pride when he notices the way you’re staring at him, licking your lips and not showing a single ounce of shame. That’s one thing he can thank the super soldier serum for.

“I need you.” You say softly, looking up at him with desperation and lust painted across your features. Your pleading eyes nearly send him over the edge right then. He has to remind himself that you’re in pain, that he’s doing this to help you get through the night. He’s back on top of you in a second, and your legs spread automatically once again, like you’ve been under him a thousand times before and know just what to do. As soon as his tip brushes against the wet folds between your legs, you’re both losing touch with reality. He closes his eyes, stilling above you, forcing you to grind your hips upward in search his dick. “Are you going to make me beg?” You ask innocently, sliding your hands from his waist up to the sides of his neck, hoping the contact will make him look back at you. He opens his eyes slowly and meets your gaze, licking his lips as his eyes dart down to look at your mouth. Don’t kiss me. Don’t kiss me. Don’t kiss me.

“No, I don’t think I’d last through a word of that.” Bucky’s admission spurs your hips into action again, but he pulls his away from you. He tsks softly, balancing his weight on his vibranium arm as he uses his flesh hand to pull one of your hands away from his neck, guiding it down to your clit. “You’re going to touch yourself when I tell you to.”

“Fuck, why won’t you just—” Your impatience gains you exactly what you needed. Bucky doesn’t even have to pay attention, he doesn’t have to line himself up with your entrance, he simply snaps his hips down and forward, his cock instantly finding where it belongs and sliding in. You scream out at the unexpected intrusion, the sting of his cock stretching your walls almost more than you can stand. “Oh my fucking god.” You moan, biting down on his shoulder as he stills once again. He’s nice enough to give you a moment to adjust to the few inches he has inside of you before he so much as takes a breath. For a few seconds, every ounce of pain in your entire body is gone. You feel only bliss with him inside of you like this.

“Stop fucking rushing me.” Bucky snaps, taking a deep breath as he fights to contain his own release. You’re so fucking tight, so wet for him. He hasn’t felt ecstasy like this since the first time he ever had a sexual experience, and even that was a muted version of this. It’s taking all of his focus to keep from filling you up with everything he has before he’s even started fucking you. You find yourself smiling, a real genuine smile. Not even solely from the bliss that you feel, but from how fucking funny it is that he looks like he’s losing his virginity right now. The man who’s over a hundred years old, fighting to compose himself so he doesn’t cum too soon. “Is something funny?” He asks, and only then do you realize that he’s staring down at you.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” You tease, letting out a small laugh. The euphoria you’re feeling right now is unmatched. Bucky shakes his head, tsking at you again, before leaning down until his lips are pressed against the shell of your ear, his stubble brushing against your cheek.

“You know, I said I wasn’t going to make you beg for me to fuck you…” Something in his tone sends a chill through your whole body, and the smile falls from your face in an instant. In one swift movement, he snaps his hips forward and buries his entire cock inside of you, his swollen balls pressing up against your ass as he holds his position. You cry out from the mixture of pain and pleasure, seeing stars as your eyes fly shut. “But I didn’t say I wouldn’t make you beg me to stop.” You’re a moaning mess beneath him as he begins to thrust into you at a medium pace, making sure he pulls out nearly completely before thrusting into you again and again. You’re being as vocal as you’ve ever been, but with one key difference between this moment and every other moment that you’ve ever had sex with someone. You’re not saying his name. You won’t let yourself say his name.

“Oh my god, oh my god that feels so good.” You gasp the words out as you fight to maintain control of your breathing. It’s obvious that encouragement does something for him when he picks up speed at your words, setting an unrelenting pace that has you sure you won’t be able to walk in the morning. “Just like that. Holy fuck, that’s it.” He groans and dips his head down, kissing your shoulder and sucking a mark on the smooth skin there. The obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, heavy breaths and moans filling the room, and the weight of him on top of you has your mind reeling. This has to be enough to abate the chemical compound, it has to be. You haven’t ever felt this kind of pleasure, not a single damn time in your entire life.

“Shit, you’re so fucking tight. Rub your clit for me, baby. Touch yourself.” His voice is strained and you can tell he’s holding back. Using the hand that he previously led to your clit, you start rubbing fast circles, matching the pace of his deep thrusts. You can feel your climax rushing to the surface faster than it ever has before, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout your body. “You’re close, aren’t you?” Bucky asks in the most teasing, condescending tone, paying you back for asking that exact question earlier. You moan out a needy yes and he smiles down at you, looking so fucking smug and confident. “Yeah, that’s it baby. You’re gonna cum on my cock while you wear my fucking name, aren’t you?”

“Yes, oh, fuck, yes. I’m so close.” You can’t speak normally anymore, every word that leaves your lips is a sultry moan. Bucky leans back on his knees, his hands gripping your calves and pushing your legs up to rest on his shoulders. “Oh my god.” He thrusts into you hard, the new angle causing you to scream out as his cock brushes against just the right spot. Something about the way you scream for him makes him feral. He reaches a hand toward your neck, and you think he’s going to choke you, but no. He grabs onto the chain that his dog tags hang on and pulls you forward by it, until you’re nearly folded in half. His vibranium hand moves to grip the back of your neck as he fucks his cock into you relentlessly, his head falling back as he edges himself inside you.

“I’m gonna cum, Y/n, I’m gonna cum inside you.” He groans out, his thrusts growing sloppier as he nears his release.

“Please, please fucking cum inside me. Don’t pull out.” You beg, hearing how desperate you sound and not giving a single fuck. Bucky practically whines at the sound of you begging. He never knew how badly he wanted to hear that, and now that he’s heard it, he fears he’ll spend every waking second doing everything he can to hear it again. You can’t help yourself. Tony’s words are still repeating in your head, you know that you need Bucky to cum inside you to have any chance at lasting relief tonight. You need it. “Promise me you won’t pull out.”

“I won’t pull out, Y/n. Fuck, I’m gonna—FUCK.”

“That’s it, don’t fucking stop. Just let go, cum inside me.” You encourage him with every ounce of energy that you have left. You’re thankful for the vibranium hand locked behind your neck as your head falls back.

“Oh, shit baby, I’m cumming. Oh, my fucking…” Bucky cries out, his pace quickening for a few seconds as he pumps his load into you. You feel the hot spurts of cum painting your walls and filling you as full as you’ve ever been. The added pressure inside you mixed with his deep thrusts and your hand working on your clit sends you over the edge right after him, and your pussy clenches on his cock as your orgasm travels through you in waves of pleasure.

“I’m cumming, holy fuck…” Your voice trails off as you temporarily lose touch with reality, your legs shaking and back arching as much as it can in your current position. Bucky holds you on his cock, thrusting into you at the perfect pace to prolong your orgasm. When you open your eyes again, his thrusts are slowing to a stop, and he’s staring down at you, his chest heaving with exertion and his cheeks glowing pink. Neither of you say a word as he lays you back on the bed, slowly pulling his cock out and helping you straighten your legs on the bed. You find yourself playing with his dog tags that are still around your neck, as he collapses on the bed next to you.

“I feel…better.” You admit quietly, noting the distinct lack of pain in your body and the heightened sense of euphoria and fatigue you feel. You see Bucky nodding out of the corner of your eye, but he remains quiet, staring up at the ceiling. “You should sleep here.” You turn on your side to face him, fighting to keep your eyes open after such a powerful orgasm. You can’t even keep yourself awake long enough to find out if he has a response or not. You fall asleep right there next to him, still naked, totally blissful in your fucked out state.

Bucky lies awake for a few more minutes after you’ve crashed. He also feels much better, but conflicted at the same time. You didn’t say his name once. Not one damn time. He was fucking you like your lives depended on it and his name never once left your lips. It shouldn’t matter that much, it’s not like you were making love or something. You were fucking to survive the night. He can’t blame you for maintaining some boundaries, but still. With how fucking perfect you sounded moaning everything else, he would’ve given anything to hear you say his name. Just once. As he drifts off into sleep next to you, he decides that the next time you fuck, he's not letting you cum until you say his name.

Next Part

TAG LIST (I suck at this, some of these tags definitely are not working so I apologize)

@sarcastickiddo @donttalktosposts @marygoddessofmischief @its-daydreamer23 @lightsonnoonehome @gyokujyn @kandis-mom @millercontracting @alicia-bmann @littlemiss-yeehaw @sdddoobydoobydoo @a-rotten-chicken-nugget @browneyedgirl22 @charmedbysarge @i-dont-know-how-to-words @maraaaamartinnnn @hensawweston @traderjoesmints @fictionallyunavailable4ever @black-cat-2 @just-act-natural @phoenixstark1708 @ladyvenera @walkingwithoutreason @bubblevicioussss

#bucky barnes #mcu #bucky barnes fanfiction #the winter soldier #winter soldier #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #marvel

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queen0fm0nsterz · 7 months

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Ok so I have only watched TADC once and the first thing I'm drawn to right off the bat is Kinger.

He's quite the guy and I think moving forward he will be one of the more interesting character to delve into. One of the things about his personality that immediately comes off is that, in spite of his mind being a bit all over the place, he is actually fairly knowledgeable on the world they find themselves in.

Jax does express confusion when Kinger begins explaining to him how the food in the DC works, which could indicate that either he didn't take enough interest in Kinger to hear what he was actually saying most of the time (this could be the case as he seems to be super dismissive of just about everyone), or that Kinger doesn't express his knowledge often. I think it could be a mix of both.

Honestly, his mental state doesn't seem to be an act. I believe that, due to being in the Circus for so long, his mentality is verging more towards that of the npc characters like Caine -- wacky and nonsensical at times -- while also still retaining the capability of deeper though like the playable (player?) characters. I wonder if he kept the knowledge he has acquired overtime mostly to himself and just recently started to express it randomly because of the previously mentioned change in his mind.

When talking about Kaufmo, he is the first of all of them to realize that something was "wrong" with him and reaches the conclusion that he was going insane (which was later revealed to be correct as Kaufmo turned into an Abstraction). During that instance, he expresses his concern for Pomni's own mental state.

He's been here a long time. He's probably seen many others become Abstractions, just like Kaufmo: he knows what the warning signs are. The fact he also outright refuses to go check on Kaufmo indicates to him having an ounce on what might have happened to him, as well as the possibility of him knowing what the effects of being caught by an Abstraction are. Ragatha said she was in a lot of pain while glitching; it might be possible for Kinger have touched by an Abstraction in the past, or he watched it happen to someone else.

((Either way, Ragatha and Jax don't really seem to consider Kaufmo's Abstractification (?) at all when going up to check on him, meaning he might have been the first actual companion they had who turned into one.))

Another thing that shines through in his personality is that, in his own way, Kinger is a caring guy. When doing rock-paper-scissors with Gangle to decide who would have to save Zooble, he celebrates his victory before sprinting into action.

Gangle is visibly confused by this, as she was expecting to be the one who would have to help, but Kinger interpreted it differently and was more than happy to get Zooble help.

He's such a strange guy. I love him.

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heartfullofleeches · 6 months

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best friend yans partner making reader cry and yan realizes that it’s not their arms that reader runs to for comfort anymore🫢

You're happy for them.

In the beginning, it was just you and them. Growing up, they had always been a quiet kid. Clung to the hip of the first person who gave them the time of day. You didn't regret your decision then and you don't now. The years you had together were some of the best and you could only wish them happiness going forward. You were so proud of them for building the courage to broaden their friend group... You only wish they let new people in without shutting the old out.

You promised yourself you wouldn't cry when you found out you had to share them with someone else. You promised you wouldn't cry when they cancelled plans to focus on their new relationship. You promised you wouldn't cry when they finally replied to all your calls and texts just to put an end to your life long friendship.

You don't blame them for saying goodbye. It'd hurt less if they had done it in person, but you're adults now - friendships and silly promises are secondary when you've found true love. That's what they said this was in their final message to you- and so you believe them. Won't have much time for movie nights and hanging out like you used to while they're building a life with someone else, so you were bound to drift apart anyway. Everyone always said a bond like yours would stand the test of time, but clearly they were wrong. The best thing you can do for them and yourself is keep your chin high and swallow the tears. As much as it hurts, you won't cry. You won't cry.

"Ugh.. are you are stalker now? It's kind of pathetic for you to cling onto someone you never dated When will it get through your thick skull - they don't need you anymore."

You won't cry. It was pure coincidence that you ran into them again. It makes sense after all the time you've spent together the places you frequented would align. Your old best friend and their new lover had taken a trip to the mall on the day your new acquaintance had taken you to your old stomping grounds to cheer you up. Their partner was like a vulture - watching you from afar and awaiting the second you both were alone to strike. Honestly, it seemed like they didn't even notice you which only teared down another layer of your fragile defense. You want to go home, but you had to wait for your companion. Unlike others - you'd never leave anyone behind.

"They told me all about what it was like when you were younger. How you sucked up every minute of their time and made every thought they had all about you. You're honestly disgusting, you know that?"

Your throat tightens as you're backed into a metaphorical corner. That's not true. You tried to be there for them. They're the one that rejected everyone that wasn't you. Is that really how they viewed you? How they felt about you? Sharp intakes of air build up to the first exasperated wail that rips itself from you. It all crumbles from there. Tears pour from your tired eyes and spent heart. You try so hard to keep it in, wiping at your face and muffling your cries with quivering lips - but they only flood harder. Your aggressor attempts to flee from the scene of the crime as two pairs of footsteps quickly approach.

"Y/n?....."

"Y/n!...."

Sneakers squeak along the mall floor as one sprints to your side, going out of their way to jam their elbow in the ribs of your aggressor as they squeeze past them to get to you. The other stands stagnant as their lover nears - watching as you fall weightless into their arms. They draw back the foot pointed in your direction at first witness to your cries.

"Baby, what happened! Are you okay? This is why I told you to come into the store with me. Calm down, breathe. It's okay. I'm here."

Soft fingers brush away your tears. They dry quicker against someone else's skin. Your head falls to their chest, ears tuned to the gentle beat of their heart to calm the frantic beats in your own. Your companion takes their hand in yours, kissing the back of your knuckles as you follow their instruction and breathe in slowly.

"That's it.... I'm right here. I'll always be right here for you."

Their words are like a dagger to those unfortunate to listen. A blade dug deeper by your redden eyes and the small smile that forms as you gently squeeze your savior's hand. Once upon a time, it was their hand you held when at your worse - just as yours had pulled them out of the wreck their life was before they meet you. You used to be each other's shoulder to cry on. Safe houses from a world that never understood you or bothered to care. They long for that moment in time, but in that instance it all felt too perfect. If they hadn't let you go and found comfort elsewhere they'd only hurt you in the end - crush and buried beneath the weight of the ever-changing, conflicting tide of their feelings for you.

Laughter draws them back to the cruel reality they now face as punishment for their selfish decision.

"I'm fine now - I swear!"

"Nope! Since you won't tell me what's wrong, we ain't stopping until you're all smiles. We're going to hit up every store in this mall until it closes and you find something that completely takes your mind off whatever got you down. As your new best friend, it's my duty to make sure your heart is in good shape.... So I can steal it later on."

"You're such a dick...." Nudging their arm with your elbow, you giggle - then sigh. "Well, if you're paying, I guess I can't complain. Best be on our way then."

A passing glances comes not from you, but from the victor of this scenario. Your new best friend locks an arm around your waist, placing a kiss to your hair before mouthing a single word over your shoulder.

"mine."

A hand reaches out as you disappear into the crowd. It's falls not into the grasp of the one its heart truly desires, and instead into the iron grip of the person they chose as a cheap imitation.

"Can you believe those two?"

".... I'm going to fucking kill that bastard."

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere insert #yandere scenarios #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere blurb #yandere headcanons #yandere drabble #tw yandere #yandere angst #yandere best friend

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ahgasegotarmy116 · 3 months

Text

Just Take It | Jeon Jungkook | Part Two

Summary: The morning after the disaster that was your engagement party has got your head pounding and you're not even sure what your next move is gonna be. Pairing: Inexperienced f!reader x Best Friend's Dad Jungkook (20 year age gap) Word Count: 5k~ Warnings: Explicit Language (maybe idk I can't remember lol) an argument and idk that's kinda it lol and ofc barely edited lmao a/n: I'm putting out part 2 early as a thank you for all the notes and just the over all interaction you all have given my blog and this story so thank you. I've barely written anything for part 3 so there's gonna be a bigger gap between uploads so forgive me but be sure to check out my other stories as well in the meantime 🥰 Requested by: @kkusadmirer 💜

Hearing the birds outside is the first thing that brings me out of the dream state I had been in. I open my eyes and scan my surroundings and notice that I'm still at Jungkook's house. "What happened last night?" I say aloud, rubbing my eyes and sitting up before laying back down, getting an instant head rush.

"Y/n?" I hear Jungkook from the other side of door. "Come in" I say before thinking twice, not remembering anything about what happened last night. "Good morning sunshine" he says quietly, walking in with a glass of water and pain killers and I sit up slowly as he comes closer.

"How did I end up in here?" I ask and wordlessly thank him and take it real quick and start chugging the water while waiting for his response. "I carried you" he replies leaving me choking at the image.

"You carried me in here?" I ask, embarrassed that he had to take care of me like that. "Yeah you pretty much passed out on me so I kinda had to" he laughs, rubbing my back hoping to help me stop coughing. "I'm sorry I kinda don't remember anything" I admit and I see his face fall a little leaving me panicking again.

"Did I do something stupid?" I cringe and he laughs at whatever memory he has leaving me even more nervous. "No don't worry you were just being cute" he teases and I let out a breath I had been holding, thankful I didn't make too much of a fool of myself, or at least by his standards.

"I'm sorry I guess I lost control a bit" I say, looking down at my hands, embarrassed that I had given him so much trouble to deal with. "You know you say sorry a lot for someone who doesn't really have anything to be sorry about" he say and I sigh, not believing his words but not having the energy or brain capacity to argue.

"Hey" he says, tilting my chin up to look at him, you're fine y/n don't worry. I'm just glad you let me be there for you. I couldn't let you leave in the state you were in so thank you for trusting me to take care of you" he says while rubbing his thumb up against my cheek and all I can do in response is blink, so caught off guard by the sudden skin ship.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, letting go of my chin and taking the water glass from my hand. "Yes and no. Honestly I feel like I'm gonna throw up" I admit without thinking twice. "I mean I-"

"It's okay, you really did drink a lot so I'm not surprised. Let me at least make you some soup so you have something in your system" he says and I nod which satisfies him. "I'll let you know when it's ready" he continues and I nod again, watching as he makes his way out.

I hold my head in my hands, begging for the medicine to kick in so this pounding in my head goes away. Although I know though that the onset stress of not knowing what happened last night is the real cause of this headache. 'What happened last night?' I question myself silently this time, going through everything that happened yesterday but the part after me coming back inside the house after everyone left is still a little fuzzy.

I sit and think for a little while longer and before I know it Jungkook is knocking on the door again. "Foods ready" he says with a sweet smile making me forget how exactly I'm supposed to respond. "Is everything okay?" he asks, coming to sit on my side of the bed. "I just, I really don't remember what happened last night" I say and he nods and thinks for a second before responding.

"How about this, lets get some food in you first and get you feeling a bit better and then I'll tell you. Okay?" he offers, tilting his head at me and I nod after thinking for a second or two. "Great, now can you get out there on your own or do you think you need some help?" he asks and I quickly go to shut down his offer.

"No Jungkook that's okay I can manage" I say and throw the covers off of me and slowly get up off the bed and I hear him chuckle a bit. "What are you laughing at?" I ask, confused as to if he's making fun of me or not.

"No, no it's nothing. I'm just surprised you called me Jungkook on your own this time" he says as I start to stand and my heart rate picks up, not even realizing I had done that. "Well you wanted me to call you that right?" I ask shyly, but I lose my footing when I stand up, still a bit weak to my dismay but before I have a chance to fall Jungkook catches me and pulls me onto his lap.

"I-" I start but am caught off by the proximity and the memories of last night start to flood my brain and I rest my head on his shoulder just like I did before I passed out.

I groan and he laughs at my reaction, "It all coming back to you isn't it?" he asks and I nod, not daring to make eye contact with him. "I can't believe I asked you to do that. I'm sorry" I say and try to get off his lap but he pull me back on it with his hands that are firmly placed on my hips.

"Hey, you didn't do anything wrong" he says, brushing the hair that had fallen on my face out of the way. If I couldn't breathe before I definitely can't breathe now, especially since I catch him looking down at my lips before quickly flipping them back to my eyes.

"Okay" is all I can manage to choke out and before he's able to do anything else I quickly get up off his lap and walk out of the room, needing to break the tension that had started to build between us.

'What the fuck am I doing? Kissing my best friend...well ex best friend's dad? Like what the fuck is wrong with me?' I walk into the bathroom in the hallway to get an extra five minutes alone so I can try to stop my heart from racing. Who would've thought that in less than twenty four hours I would have a mental breakdown not once, but twice in this same bathroom. 'Why does this shit always have to happen to me?'

After taking a few more breaths and washing my face I walk into the kitchen where I see Jungkook enjoying his morning cup of coffee, or should I say afternoon cup of coffee as I check the clock seeing it's already past two.

"Did I really sleep this late?" I ask, cringing at the thought of yet again inconveniencing him. "Yeah but don't worry I was planning on having a lazy day anyways" he says, reading my mind and motioning for me to sit down at one of the stools on the island he has in his kitchen.

He turns his back to me and starts preparing me a bowl of soup but I can help but check him out, his strong broad shoulders that lead down to his small waist and accompanied by his ass and thick thighs I could just-

"Here you go" he say, placing the bowl in front of me and I quickly bring my eyes to the food he's given me. It smells strangely like home, almost as if my mom had made it for me when I had been sick as a kid. "Thank you" I say quietly and take a bite, moaning at the warm and rich flavor that hits my tongue without even realizing what I'd done.

"That good huh?" he asks while leaning back on one of the counters with his arms crossed over his chest. "Oh- um, yeah. Yes, thank you" I say, quickly tripping over my words but he just smiles before taking another sip of coffee and I quickly go back to eating my soup. This time quietly.

"So what are you planning on doing?" he asks casually after I've finished eating, as if I know what he's talking about. "What do you mean?" I question after taking a drink of water, him having refused to give me a cup of coffee until I had at least drank two cups of water.

"You live with my daughter right?" he questions and my whole mood turns upside down. He takes notice of it and quickly back pedals, "I guess I should've waited for you to wake up a bit more before asking you that" he says, now offering me an apology cup of coffee.

"No it's okay you're right. I probably should figure out what I'm gonna do. To be honest I think I'll move out. Just because being in the same space that I used to spend time with them in just sounds like I'm setting myself up for heartbreak" and he nods at my reasoning but I decide to continue anyways, verbally processing it all.

"If I stay there I'll be reminded of all the good times we had and the many memories we made together and I don't want to be haunted by those images. Plus a fresh start sounds perfect to me" I say and he continues while adding the perfect amount of milk and sugar to my coffee, weirdly.

"So are you just going to stay there until you find a place?" he asks and I think about how awkward it's going to be just working around her until I find that perfect place. "I was thinking I could probably ask my sister if I could crash at her place for a bit" I say thinking of the first solution that comes to mind.

"But doesn't your sister live on the opposite side of the city from your internship?" he questions and I slump at that realization. "You're right. I guess I'll just have to wake up a bit earlier" I say, trying to figure out how to remedy this problem full well knowing it's been hard enough for me to wake up and get there on time even though I only lived ten minutes away.

"Why don't you stay here?" he offers and my whole body straightens up instantly, "You would let me stay here?" I ask, my eyebrows raised as high as they possibly could, surprised that he would even offer something like that and he nods in response.

"You would let me stay here?" I question again, clarifying if I heard him right. "Yeah why not? I've got plenty of space and it's not like we're strangers or anything. Plus your internship is only about ten minutes further from here than where you live now" he says, making good points as to why I should take him up on the offer.

"I couldn't possibly do that to you. I mean I wouldn't want to disturb your life like that. But thank you!" I say, shutting down the idea right away but he persists nonetheless.

"Again, I wouldn't offer if I didn't want to. You're more than welcome to stay here and you can even move upstairs into one of the bigger bedrooms. Plus I have a storage unit that I haven't really used so you can store any big pieces of furniture you might have" he continues, trying to convince me even more and when he sees that I am about to refuse again he comes up with a compromise.

"Stay one more night. Tomorrow's Sunday right? That way you won't have to worry about work or anything like that so we can just relax and talk about things over today and tomorrow and then you can decide what you'd like to do" he says and it gets me to think about it for a second which makes him hopeful and ultimately I end up accepting.

"I guess I could stay one more night" I say and he gives me a half smile which some how makes me more nervous than a full one and so I take the first sip of my coffee that has honestly gone cold by now.

"Perfect. Did you want me to go take you to your place to pick up some clothes that you might need?" he questions, jumping at the opportunity to be helpful. "No that's okay. I drove here so I have my car out front" I say, shutting his next offer down but he make another good point that has me second guessing myself.

"Are you sure you want to drive when you're hungover? I don't think I can let you do that" he says, falling into a protective mode which is endearing but I don't think I could take advantage of him like that since he's already done so much for me. "I'll be fine Jungkook don't worry" I say and he nods his head respecting my choice and I let out a breath, happy that I don't have to fight him on this one too.

"Okay, did you want to borrow some more of my clothes so you can shower before you go?" he questions and I smile awkwardly, happy that he offered but guilty that he yet again is helping me out.

"I'll be back in a sec" he chuckles and walks past me, placing a hand on my back as he passes by which makes me sit up straight at the feeling and I watch him as he jogs upstairs to go retrieve said clothes.

He comes down seconds later with the clothes, a towel and even a toothbrush in hand. "Thought you might want one of these too" he says and I accept it all sheepishly before excusing myself and making my way into the bathroom.

How am I even supposed to act in this kind of situation? Like my ex best friend's dad who I kissed last night while I was drunk is now offering to let me stay here so I can move out of the apartment I share with his toxic daughter that my boyfriend cheated on me with. Like this is just way too much weirdness for me.

I shake off those thoughts and get in the shower to quickly get rid of all of these roaming thoughts and just hope and pray that somehow things will work out and I can settle into a new normal with my own place as soon as possible but I guess that luck just isn't on my side these days...

~~~~

After getting out of the shower and getting dressed I dry my hair with the hair dryer I happened to find under the sink and try to make myself look as presentable as possible so when I go back home I don't look like the complete mess that I know I am on the inside.

There's no reason I should be showing any kind of weakness around Jina or Jared so I just need to get in and get out of there as fast as I can so I can avoid as much awkwardness as possible. Being hungover doesn't help this situation in the slightest so I just really hope that she's not even there.

Walking out of the bathroom I'm met with a freshly clean Jungkook, scrolling through his phone while sitting on the couch and he quickly turns his head once he notices I've finished up.

"You feeling okay" he asks, always concerned for my wellbeing and I guess I just need to chalk it up to the parent side of him. Maybe that's all this is? Maybe Jina hasn't really given him an opportunity to be her dad in a while so he's just seeing me as another daughter he wants to take care of. That makes a lot more sense so thinking about it now I think I can go into this with a lot clearer mindset than before.

"Yeah, I'm feeling a lot better thankfully" I say and head to the guest room where I stayed last night. "If you wanna just throw all of that into the washing machine I'll get a load going later on" he calls after me and I simply do as he asks and then head back into said bedroom.

"Hey Jungkook have you seen my phone?" I question while throwing the blankets around, trying to figure out where I could've put it. "Yeah you left it out in the living room last night so I put it on the charger when I woke up. Here" he says and I jolt at the sound of his voice being in the room with me, full on expecting him to still be on the couch.

"Thank you" I say while holding my hand out to take it with the other one placed over my heart, trying to calm down after the shock of him getting here so quickly. "Sorry I didn't mean to scare you" he chuckles and I wave off his apology, not seeing any need for it. "It's fine don't worry about it" I say and once I unlock it I see call after call after call after call from not only Jared but Jina, my mom and my sister, with just as many text messages to match.

"Looks like you're really popular today" he jokes, trying to make light of the situation. "Not for the right reasons" I mumble and lock my phone, not bothering to sift through the hundreds of notifications just yet.

"I've gotta head out and get a few things at the store so why don't you come with me? We can stop by your place to get your things and then this way you can help me pick out some groceries so we have stuff that you like as well" he says while grabbing his keys and instead of trying to refuse I simply nod and follow him outside.

We get in the car and drive silently to my place but once we get a bit closer I stop him. "Would you mind parking around the corner? It's just...well I don't want Jina to see you driving me around and make a big deal about it" he nods his head and without a fuss pulls into the coffee shop parking lot around the corner.

"Is this alright?" he questions and I nod and get out of the car. "Let me know if you need any help. She's my daughter so it's not like she would do anything drastic if I was around" he says, referring to her sometimes short temper. Plus with these added hormones there's no telling how she gonna be reacting to things now that everything is out in the open.

As I make my way to the apartment I check my phone to see if she's still sharing her location with me and thankfully she is and I see that she's still at work so hopefully if move fast enough I should be in and out before she comes home.

Walking into the apartment it looks as though she's started gathering her own stuff up in boxes, almost as if she's getting ready to move out. I appreciate the fact that since she fucked up that she automatically volunteered to move out but she's more than welcome to keep this place as far as I'm concerned.

I jog back into my room, reminding myself of the task at hand and I grab my duffle bag and start putting as many things as I think I'll need to get me through at least a few days in case anything happens. Better safe than sorry right?

My last stop is the bathroom where I pack up my shampoo and conditioner as well as my skincare products and throw it all into a plastic bag that I'm able to place easily on top of the rest of the items in the bag but before I'm even able to finish getting the rest of my toiletries together I'm greeted with the sound of Jina walking in.

"Y/n?" she calls out and I swear under my breath, trying to think of a way to make this whole situation as quick and painless as possible. "Y/n?" she says again, rounding the corner and finding me in the bathroom where I've started to pick up the pace and throw things in haphazardly wanting to get the fuck out already.

"What are you doing?" she questions me and I walk past her and back into my room and throw the bag in my duffle bag and zip everything up. "Please don't ignore me" she says in pretty much the most pitiful voice I've ever hear out of her and I scoff and roll my eyes. "You don't have the right to be acting like that. I'm moving out so don't bother moving out if you want the apartment" I say and throw on a baseball hat and walk out of my room and make a b line for the front door.

"Y/n please talk to me" she pleads and it's taking everything in me not to slap that 'poor me' attitude out of her. "You wanna talk? Let's speed this up for the both of us alright? You slept with my boyfriend behind my back, got pregnant and ruined my relationship and now I'm moving out. That pretty much covers everything if I'm not mistaken so let's just call this conversation over. I'll be back to pick up the rest of my shit later so don't touch anything" I say quickly without giving her a second to get a word in.

"When's later?" she asks and I roll my eyes at her pitiful excuse in trying to keep me here. "Whenever the hell I feel like it Jina. Sorry I can't make everything magically disappear right away" I say and turn to grab the handle but she just keeps going.

"Where are you staying?" she has the audacity to ask and I smile and shake my head at her stupidity. "Why would I ever tell you that? So you can come bother me with your lame excuses of apologizing. Or oh yeah even worse telling Jared where to find me so he can do the same thing. Why don't you guys do all of us a favor and stay the hell out of my life" I say and walk out the door, making sure to slam it right behind me.

While walking back to Jungkook's car I try my best to calm my breathing so I can hide what happened from him. There's no reason why he even needs to know that she showed up so might as well keep it to myself.

As I get closer to his car I watch as he looks up and sees me coming and gets out to grab my bag from me. "Is this everything you wanted?" he questions, taking it from me and placing it in the trunk. "Yep that's everything. Or at least enough to get me through the next few days" I say and get in the car with him following suit soon after.

"Are you okay?" he asks, concern now laced all over his expression. "I'm totally fine, why do you ask?" I question in the most awkward tone of voice I've ever heard come out of me. "Because you're shaking" he points out and grabs one of my hands, holding it between two of his.

"No it's okay I'm fine" I say, my voice now getting wobbly, matching the shakiness of my hands. "Something happened in there didn't it?" he asks and I shake my head but he raises a questioning brow at me which has me nodding a moment later, admitting to what happened. "Jina came home" I say and take a shaky breath in and out, trying to keep myself from crying.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" he questions and I quickly shake my head and he nods his and lets go of my hand and turns to start the car and pull out of the parking lot but as soon as we're on the main road again he reaches out for one of my hands and holds onto it again, not letting go until we get to the store.

~~~~~

Grocery shopping with him feels weirdly domestic and felt as though we had done it dozens of times before, with both of our methods on how to shop quickly and efficiently matching up perfectly and so time flies and before I know it we're already putting the groceries away in his kitchen.

"We make a pretty good team huh?" he says and tossing me an apple and I catch it in time, further proving his point. "I guess we do" I say amusedly and take a big bite out of it. "No I'm serious! I swear whenever I go alone I always end up forgetting one of the most obvious ingredients and with your help I don't think I forgot a single thing" he says taking a bite of the apple he had gotten for himself.

"Well I'm glad to have been of some help. I feel bad since you've been doing nothing but taking care of me for the past twenty four hours and I haven't been able to give you anything in return" I admit, twisting the stem of until it pops off.

"You've given me plenty in return" he laughs off, as if I had said something ridiculous. "Oh yeah like what?" I ask, taking another bite of the apple and leaning back against the counter.

"You've definitely given me quite a few laughs today" he says and I scrunch my eyebrows together knowing that he's just making fun of me. "And you've definitely made my day a whole lot more interesting. Plus I learned some new things about you" he says and I gulp at that last part, knowing I've definitely overshared with him quiet a few times.

"Like how you prefer green apples over red. How you prefer white bread over wheat and that you get shy whenever I get close to you" he lists off, the last one obviously catching me off guard.

"I-" I start but I'm frozen in place as he gets closer to me and I just realized how I've backed myself into a corner. "Jungkook I-" I try again but my efforts die in my throat when he places his hands on either side of my hips, trapping me against the counter, staring at me as if he hasn't eaten in weeks.

"Do you wanna tell me why that is?" he asks, tilting his head almost taunting me. "I don't know what you're talking about" I say, doing my best to remain level headed. "You sure about that?" he asks and I nod my head in response, not trusting my voice to stay steady this time. "Then why are you holding your breath?" he says while placing his hand on my neck and using his thumb to press down on my chin, encouraging me to open my mouth which I do with almost no hesitation.

"I don't know" I whisper but he leans in closer, bringing his lips closer to mine. "I think you're lying" he say, his warm breath fanning my face, promises of pleasure hidden behind those words and it has me whimpering at the thought.

"Y/n, earth to y/n" Jungkook says, bursting the bubble of the incredibly inappropriate daydream I had been having in front of him. "I-i'm sorry what was that?" I stutter, making it clear that I hadn't been paying attention.

"Maybe you're running a fever" he says, walking over to me and placing the back of his hand to my forehead, his cool hand causing a shiver to run down my spine. "What makes you say that?" I ask, looking up at him, taking in his features from our closer proximity. "Because you're burning up, and your whole face has gone red" he says and I feel my cheeks getting even more red at his observation.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asks, making purposeful eye contact with me. "Yeah I just, I think I need to go lay down for a while" I say, finding the easiest escape route possible. "That's probably a good idea. I shouldn't have kept you out for so long" he says, guilt clouding his expression and I take one of his hands in mine without giving it a second thought making him jolt for a second but tighten his hold around mine just seconds later.

"I'm fine don't worry" I say with a small smile, "It was my fault for drinking so much. If I'm ever around you again and there's alcohol involved could you do me a favor and stop me from drinking so much" I laugh, trying to lift his spirits and it seems to do the trick.

"Of course darling" he says and places a kiss on the center of my forehead. "Now go lay down, you really are burning up" he says, having felt the heat radiating off of me from the kiss he had graced me with. I smile up at him and nod my head before turning around and heading back to my room.

Living with him might not be so bad. It's been a while since someone's taken care of me or even shown me such simple kindness without needing anything in return. I'm not sure if it would be the smartest decision but I'm definitely warming up to the idea...

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tonyspank · 9 months

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WH0 R U???

Warnings: Professor!Reader, Tara eye-fucking you, and that’s all I believe.

Summary: Tara’s attractive Professor comes to the rescue.

A/N: I’ll be doing a part 2 soon w smut 🥲

part 2

Several years of school, scholarly work, and teaching experience led you here.

To Blackmore University. You were younger than the average professor, but your dedication and passion for education set you apart.

You were professional and not one to be pushed around. That much was clear when you set foot inside your literature classroom for the first time.

English was always your favorite subject, and you excelled in it throughout your academic journey. So, why wouldn't you pursue a career in teaching English at the university level?

However, for the next few months, you won't be teaching literature. Instead, you'll be filling in for your co-worker Laura, who's away on FML, taking on the role of teaching film study.

While you may not have much experience teaching film, Laura was desperate for someone to cover her classes, and you were willing to help out. She's been nothing but sweet to you. Plus, how hard could it be? You've watched movies before.

When you walked into the classroom on your first day, late in the afternoon, you were greeted by a bunch of drama kids who were honestly confused; you could see it in their faces.

They were expecting Laura, their experienced film study teacher, but instead they got you, someone with little to no teaching experience in film.

"Professor Y/LN?" Jason Carvey, a student from your previous class, asked with a puzzled expression.

"What happened to Laura? We were really looking forward to her class."

You took a deep breath, placing your belongings on the desk at the front of the classroom.

"Unfortunately, Laura had an unexpected personal matter to attend to and won't be able to teach this semester. But don't worry, I may not have much teaching experience in film, but I'll try my best."

You reassured the students, hoping to alleviate their disappointment. "Professor Crane provided me with some materials and resources to help guide us through the semester. Additionally, I've been doing my own research to ensure that we have a fulfilling learning experience in this class."

You give the class a tight-lipped smile before opening your briefcase.

"Well, shall we get started?"

Tara didn't know exactly what it was about you that made her eyes widen and her heart begin racing. Sure, anyone could see you were attractive, young, and obviously confident, but there was something more captivating about your presence.

Was it your voice? Was it how you commanded the room with your words? Or perhaps it was the way you'd lean back against the desk, crossing your built arms as your eyes scanned the room, exuding an air of authority.

Tara found herself drawn to you like a magnet, unable to tear her gaze away. She was intrigued by the air of mystery that surrounded you, wondering what secrets lay behind your confident façade.

As class went on, Tara's dark brown eyes scanned over you like a predator assessing its prey. From your perfectly styled hair to your amazingly kept eyebrows, your enchanting y/e/c eyes, to your sultry lips—don't get her started on your sculpted jawline.

You were a sight to take in, captivating and commanding attention without even trying. You presented yourself with an effortless grace that made it impossible for anyone to look away.

Your white button-up shirt was crisp and tailored, hugging your form in all the right places, and your black slacks were perfectly pressed, accentuating the length and strength of your legs.

Tara's stare flew back up, staring at the bulge in your pants, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment and desire—

"—Tara, is it? What do you think?" Tara quickly snapped out of her momentary distraction, her cheeks still flushed.

She cleared her throat and tried to regain her composure before responding, "Oh, I'm sorry. Could you please repeat the question?"

You smile, showcasing your charming dimples and perfect smile. While Tara was in her trance, you found yourself relaxing into the class's discussion, feeling like you no longer needed to put on your strict professor persona.

You leaned back, crossing your legs. "How do you think directors like Quentin Tarantino push the boundaries of traditional storytelling in their films? Do you believe their unique approaches have a lasting impact on the film industry?"

Tara nods, playing with the pencil that sits in front of her. "Yeah, I think directors like Tarantino definitely push the boundaries of traditional storytelling, especially with their unique approaches that challenge the audience's expectations and keep them engaged. Like Kill Bill and Pulp Fiction, for example, and how he used non-linear narrative structure and unconventional use of violence to create a distinct cinematic experience that stands out from the mainstream. Peak cinema at its finest."

You raise an eyebrow, impressed. "You surely know your film." The freckled-faced girl giggles in response, dropping her gaze to her hands.

At the end of the lecture, Tara approaches you with a small smile on her face. You look up from your notes, which Laura had given you, and it also confuses the fuck out of you. With a quirked eyebrow, you meet Tara's gaze, your face softening.

"Oh, Tara. Need something?" Tara hesitates for a moment before speaking. "Actually, I was wondering if you'd accept my late work. Professor Crane gave me extra time to complete it, but I still couldn't finish on time. I understand if you can't, but I thought it was worth asking."

You bite on your lower lip, not noticing how quickly Tara's eyes drop to the action. "Uh, sure." You rip out a piece of paper from your notebook and write down a quick note.

"Here's my number. I lost the login to my email, so this will have to do. Send me your late work, and I'll make sure it gets to Professor Crane. Just make sure to include your name and the assignment details in the text so there's no confusion. I'll do my best to help you out."

Tara's eyes light up with relief as she thanks you profusely. "I really appreciate it, thank you so much." You nod, giving her a tight-lipped smile before focusing back on your notes.

A few days later, you're home alone, eating a bowl of ice cream while you watch the movie Stab. Suddenly, your phone buzzes with a new message. Your eyes fight to tear away from the screen, and you reluctantly pick up your phone to check the message.

+1 (347) 871-1921: wh0 r u???

You squint at the unfamiliar number, puzzled by the message. After a moment of hesitation, you reply.

You: I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong number. Who are you trying to reach?

+1 (347) 871-1921: profdsser y/ln

You furrow your brow, trying to decipher the cryptic message. It doesn't make any sense to you. Curiosity getting the better of you, you decide to respond one more time. You: I'm sorry, but I don't understand what you're saying. Can you please clarify?

+1 (347) 871-1921: rolling eyes emoji

+1 (347) 871-1921: three ht poreffesor whofilling for ms crane?

Was this Tara? You put down your bowl of ice cream; this had to be Tara. And she had to be drunk. You take a deep breath before responding again.

You: Tara, is that you? Are you okay? It seems like you're drunk.

+1 (347) 871-1921: ummmmmmmmm

+1 (347) 871-1921: busted

You: Tara, I'm really concerned about you. Is everything alright? Please let me know if there's anything I can do to help.

Tara: iamat the frt house

Tara: canyoucum pik me up, pleas?

You twist your lips, concerned about Tara's well-being and the fact that she is asking for a ride. Surely she had friends with her. You didn't want to leave her stranded, but you also didn't want to be the professor driving their students home from a wild party. However, you take a moment to gather yourself before responding.

You: Of course, Tara. I'll be there to pick you up. Just send me the address, and I'll be on my way.

Tara has started sharing their location with you.

You see the location pop up on your phone, quickly checking the estimated time of arrival, and mentally prepare yourself to pick up your drunk student.

#tonyspank #wattpad #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x gn!reader #tara carpenter imagine #tara carpenter fluff #tara carpenter scream #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x male reader #tara carpenter x g!p reader #professor!reader x tara carpenter #professor!reader

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chaethewriter · 1 year

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You're dead to me [2]

dad!Jake Sully x human!daughter!reader

In which Jake Sully leaves his life on earth to settle down with the Omatikaya people as Toruk Makto. Having a family that consists of four kids with Neytiri, everything seems to work out just fine, but what if the past comes back for him? And his babygirl is right there in front of him?

warning: english isn't my first language, daddy issues, idk how one lives with zero gravity, barely proofread

Word count: 2,3k

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What actually took six years didn't feel like that to you at all. One moment you closed your eyes as you were put into cryosleep and after what felt like one second passed, you got woken up from your deep slumber. The claustrophobic space you are in makes something inside of you itch. Good thing you were into cryosleep, you couldn't have survived sleeping in this tube every night for six years in a row. Once your tube was pulled out of the wall, you immediately feel yourself floating. So this is what space felt like.

"Drink and eat lots, since you will feel very weak!", a loud voice echoes through the room as one by one everyone left their cryosleep. You float through the room with a smile on your face as you hold onto handles, lockers, anything to keep your balance. An excited scream could be heard from behind you, it was your friend Raja. "You are not dead I see," she jokes as she floats towards you, her arms wide open to invite you in a hug, "this is honestly insane, I can't believe that we are actually doing this!" You wrap your arms around you as you share her excitement, "I know right? We worked so hard for this, I can't believe this is happening." You met Raja on your first day being at the resistance base. She shared her passion for nature with pride and you always admired her for this. A cough is heard behind your back and Raja looks over your shoulder to see who it was, "Seb!" she squeals as she carefully gets out of your hug, floating towards their other friend to engulf him in a hug. You watch as Raja and Seb share their excitement with each other. They really didn't age at all while being in cryosleep, such an interestingly concept it was. You float towards them, holding onto Seb's shoulder to keep your balance and not pass out, because damn they were right. You feel so tired and weak. If you weren't in space right now you probably would have fallen to the floor. Your limbs felt like cooked noodles, you really needed to eat. "The trio is back at it again to cause havoc!!" Seb ruffles your head, your hair tangling in between his fingers as he did so. The three of you were the inseparable trio. While you had a group of friends you hung out with, you three always just stuck together like glue. It may have been the fact you bonded over being reckless warriors, thriving on the thrill and action, or the fact all three of you were top students, but that doesn't matter. Raja and Seb are your partners in crime til death do you all part. The two are engaged in a deep conversation, but you didn't bother to listen or chime in. You wanted to explore, and see what you worked your entire teenagehood for. Grabbing onto the handle against the walls, you made your way towards the huge window, were also most of the crew was floating around. You had to see this for yourself, you had to believe it with your own eyes. What if you were still dreaming?

"Excuse me, Pardon me!", still not used to not having any gravity, you keep bumping into other warriors. A 'watch where you're going!' was screamed your way, but you paid no mind to it as you had more important things to do. Floating past the last person that kept you from seeing outside, your eyes immediately widen at the beauty that lay in front of you. A planet, looking exactly like earth, right in front of you. It was beautiful, the true meaning behind mother nature. You bring your hand towards your cheek to pinch yourself, was this real? Were you truly experiencing this? When you pinched yourself so hard, leaving a red mark on your skin, and you didn't wake up you knew this was real. You were knocked out of your senses pretty quickly, as everyone was told to dress up, eat and get together in the common area. Where that was? No idea, but what you knew is that you were excited as hell. You basically swam through the air towards the lockers, where your supposed gear would be. The sight was probably incredibly silly, you thought, you probably looked like a swimming frog. Yet you didn't care about the stares that were given you. The only thing on your mind was to see Pandora with your own eyes— not out of books, notes you had to read, or drawings. You left without telling Seb or Raja, but you would probably find them, considering you're going to the same destination and those two definitely weren't to miss.

You float past all the lockers with nameplates, looking for your name. You were told that they were in alphabetic order. Last name. You could never escape him, could you? You proceed to float, using the lockers to pull yourself up and speed up towards the lockers that start with 'S'. Upon floating in front of the name that haunted you every day, you sigh and slam the locker open. Clothes sealed in recycled plastic, a pair of shoes, and an oxygen mask. Fortunately, it wasn't those old aquarium-like masks. When you learned about those you thought they were ugly as hell: a head in an aquarium. Those were designed like gas masks. Was that the best way to explain them? They only covered the mouth and nose part to breathe properly, it didn't cover the entire face anymore. You flash a skeptical expression towards the clothes in your arms. They were dark colors, dark colors in a hot amazon-like forest? If it were up to you, you wouldn't have chosen a little more, bare, clothes. For the sweat to at least dry up and not soak in the clothes. "Weird choice of clothes, right?", Raja appeared next to you, out of the blue, making you flinch. You quickly managed to cover it up and compose yourself, "I'm gonna end up looking like a crab while fighting a villain, kind of embarrassing." she laughs at your reply and grabs a hold of your forearm, "come on let's go change. Seb already went to change!" And with that, your friend pulls you with her. Changing your clothes was kind of awkward. The room was a big space where all women changed next to one another. It gave PE class vibes. You felt sticky and disgusting as you changed out of the clothes you wore for six years. Wearing fresh, clean clothes is always better than nothing. The material feels nice against your skin, and very cooling. As you look in the mirror, fixing every detail to look as neat as possible. You roll your sleeves up just a tad bit and tried to loosen the corset-like clothing piece around your upper body. It doesn't look exactly like a corset, but it's one of those clothing pieces that have a corset built into it. The mask is hanging against your hip, ready to be used 24/7 once you stepped foot on Pandora. The pants were a little wide thankfully, enough space to move into. "What is it with the corset though? Who wears a corset while fighting?" "Maybe it's bulletbroof or something?"

After this whole ordeal in the dressing room with some people whining about the clothes being too hot, while others were second guessing if the outfit was nice to fight in, you finally made your way towards this common area. There everyone was awkwardly sitting, what one could call sitting in space. Everyone was given a granola bar to snack on and a sealed bag with a sweet drink in it. You leaned against Seb, as you were too tired to use your strength to hold onto anything. Eating the bar and sipping from the overly-sweetened drink, you listened to the peptalk your superiors were giving you all. It was something about protecting Pandora, RDA and the forest Na'vi, but you really were too tired to listen. It was most likely the talk they did every time before you went into cryosleep. If you missed anything you could just ask Raja or Seb about it.

What almost felt like a decade to you, actually took just a few hours before you finally landed on Pandora. During the landing all, maybe twenty of you in total, were seated as you braced for impact. It wasn't too bad, it was like a plane landing. Before the doors opened, the duffel bags you took with you were placed on your laps. For your instance, the bag with the wrapped katana you got from your lieutenant was handed to you. You put your mask against your face, pressing it down and securing it as you breathe in the oxygen from the earth. Red lights flash through the area you're in with the others as the secured door lowers to the Pandorean ground, revealing the beauty of mother nature. You rise from your seat as your seat belt was already unclasped. Without waiting any longer, you rushed to the outside world in a heartbeat. Watching your surroundings, it seems like you landed on the resistance base. Unlike the RDA base, which you saw during your learning process, this one was more integrated with mother nature rather than destroying it to make space. It was so organic, so natural. A team was already waiting for your arrival, all standing in a row as you lock gazes with a Na'vi. Unlike the things you were taught about Na'vi clothing, this one was wearing human clothes. Could this be what one would call an avatar? The same situation your dad was also in? You start thinking he was your dad, but it didn't look like him at all. You knew avatars were supposed to look like their 'owners'. Even though it was supposed to be your dad's brother's avatar, they were twins. One would ask 'you don't know what your dad's avatar body looks like?', but honestly as you said many times you tried to pull away from the hauntings Jake Sully got you. The insecurities, and issues you got from his betrayal, his departure. It truly hit you like a truck. Questions would pop up like:

Were you enough?

Was there something wrong with you?

Why didn't he come back to you?

You couldn't take talking about your dad's new life. Selfish one may call it, then you were selfish in their eyes. You didn't care. Wanting your dad, is that selfish? Missing your dad, is that selfish? Angry because your dad wanted a new life without you, is that selfish? You yearned for him, yet despised talking about him. That's why you don't know what he looks like, what he is up to. You just know his history: put into the avatar body from his brother to follow military orders. From only caring about getting a paycheck to protecting the natives. He was crowned with the name Toruk Makto as you were taught. Mated to Neytiri te Tskaha Mo'at'Ite, daughter of the Olo'eyktan and Tsahik. When you first heard about this, you felt sick to your stomach. Reality hitting you even harder at age thirteen. It was already bad enough to know your dad left you, but also getting to know that he settled down while you spent your time waiting for him? You remember running out of the classroom when a superior taught you this information. This was also how you got in contact with Raja and Seb. They comforted you while everyone else thought of you as weird, weak. They were the first people, besides the superiors that came in contact with you, that came to know about your dad being Jake Sully, about the struggles you got after he left. Yet, they didn't laugh at what you thought was exaggerating. They listened carefully to your words as the tears rolled down your cheeks.

'We were attached to the hip, what went wrong?'

'Did I make him unhappy?'

'Was I too much for him?'

'Was he looking for something more rather than being a single dad?'

You spilled your insecurities to them and they never uttered a word about it to someone else. You will be forever grateful for them. You were so lost in thoughts, getting slightly emotional at all these thoughts about your dad, until a hand rested on your shoulder, "and last but not least, you must take her with you. She's our best warrior, Norm. She will need to stay on the battlefield, closest to the war." So Norm was his name. A pretty goofy one if you had to be honest. The avatar named Norm stood at least 10 feet tall as he looked down at you, literally. You just reached around his crotch area, which is kinda embarrassing because imagining running into his front. Hopefully, he likes to travel in his human body more. "Then that's settled, Oel Ngati Kameie." His hand rested against his forehead, slowly bringing it down to his chest. You flashed him a kind smile in return, ready for whatever adventure you will come across, "Oel Ngati Kameie."

But only if you knew.

"They have arrived, they will help us."

"They're sky demons! All the same!"

"I used to be one as well, yet I had a change of heart. Please accept the help they will offer us, for our people, for our family, our fortress." his hands grip hers, intertwining their fingers as he spoke to her in private, away from the children. He opened his mouth again, pressing his forehead against hers, "please, Ma Neytiri."

A/N: first of all, thank you all so much for the positive feedback. I honestly didn't expect it I'm gonna be fr😭 it gave me enough motivation to write part 2, so here it is, earlier than expected. I hope you enjoyed <3

also i hope no one noticed me accidentally posting the draft cause that was silly

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ja3yun · 2 months

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Melting Point | P.SH | CH.9 (fin.)

brother's rival!sunghoon x fem!reader warnings: angst(ish), fluff, smut (mdni), masturbation (m.), confrontation, not many warning this chapter since it's the finale, anything i missed lmk! ch. 9 synopsis: nationals are underway and everything hangs in the balance for you as you watch sunghoon and minhee compete. just before the competition, sunghoon gets an unexpected visitor and makes some life decisions. wc: 15.1k previous | masterlist a/n: hi! i can't believe this is the end. i genuinely will never be able to thank each one of you for the love you have given this series. honestly, i didn't expect this series to do that well considering it's a hefty amount, but all of you have been so lovely and supportive! i hope this ending does melting point justice and ties everything up for you all. i will miss mp fridays and ynhoon more than anything but it just means i can work on something new <3 ilysm and thank you again!

Sunghoon’s alarm blares from the hotel’s bedside table, startling him from his peaceful sleep. He tries to twist and turn off the annoying noise but your grip on him stops his movements, your head burying itself into his chest as you stir, your legs tightening around his as a sleep-induced protest to have him stay beside you.

Smiling down at you, he gently pushes you from his body, careful not to fully wake you while he turns off the alarm from his phone. Luckily, you’re so exhausted from the night before’s activities that you simply roll to your side and sink further into the fluffy pillow.

The time on Sunghoon’s phone reads 6am, a horribly early start for such a long day. He digs the soles of his palms into his eyes trying to rid any sleepiness from them in an attempt to wake up. Knowing he has to get prepared for today, he begrudgingly flicks the covers off of his body and sits up at the edge of the bed.

He turns to face you, happily pouting at your sleeping figure. Right now, Sunghoon is the most content he has ever been before a competition and it was all thanks to you. Last night, relaxing with you and Minhee watching TV, fucking you into the morning, and cradling you in his arms as you softly snored on his chest, it was all so perfect. Finally, he felt like his life had some form of normality to it; he felt the same way last night as he used to when his dad took him for food at that cafe you’ve grown to love so much. He’s finally found happiness like he only dreamed of.

Placing the covers back over you as he stands up, Sunghoon quickly makes his way to the bathroom, careful not to trip over the mess on the floor; there is something about hotel rooms that just makes him a slob, the entire place covered in his stuff which could easily be put away.

The bathroom light flickers as he presses the switch, the white light a little too bright for his liking but he has to make do. Inspecting his face in the mirror, he sees a light in his eyes that flashes back to him, a testament to his happiness. If this was a typical competition morning, he would be stressed, the weight of perfection placed on his shoulders by his mother the only thing he truly felt. The constant need to impress and be the best at what he does drained him more than he realised, until you came along he would grit and bear it, trying to keep everyone happy.

But you, you made him realise that you will always be proud of him as long as he does his best and is happy with himself; a desperate structure he needed in his life.

Grinning from ear to ear, he turns on the shower and waits for the water to heat up, using his hand as an indicator. He strips off his boxers and steps in carefully - the last time he brazenly walked into a hotel shower he nearly fell ass first, legs flailing to keep him up right and that is the last thing he needs to happen.

The water is perfect as it cascades over his body, each droplet trickles down his form like a mini blanket, hugging him with warmth. He doesn’t mind winter much, being born in December and all, but he does dislike the coldness. Irony isn’t lost on him, he understands that his whole life has been around a freezing cold ice rink, yet recently, he has been finding it more and more difficult to withstand the cold air.

Probably because he was so accustomed to your warmth now.

For some reason today, more than most days, he can’t shake his mind off you; probably because there is so much at stake today and you’re the only thing that calms down his anxious mind.

After Minhee explained about your mother and her gambling, he knew from then that he had to shield you from it all. He wants to respect your wishes and perform to his best ability, but the nagging part of his heart that lives to protect you is telling him to disobey your request, to just lose the competition on purpose anyway.

Minhee is good, spectacular even, Sunghoon can’t and won’t deny that, but is he really first-place ready? This all must be gnawing at your brother, swaying his head and making him lose focus, Sunghoon knows it would do that to him. And who is to say another figure skater won’t be better than both of them? Was the bet just for Minhee to win over Sunghoon in points or the whole competition? He wishes he got some clarity on that as he ponders all the possible outcomes of today.

All he has to do is lose to Minhee, that’s the safest option.

Squirting some of the hotel soap onto his hands, he glides them all over his torso and chest, rubbing in the suds to wash him clean. Selfishly, he wants to wake you up and have you wash him as you have done so many times before; your nimble hands trailing over his v-line and his toned stomach, always resulting in your back against the tiles while he fucks into you, serving to create a vicious cycle of cleaning one another of your sex only to dirty yourselves up again. The recollection of your soaped-up tits only adds to his yearning for you, but you are so exhausted from yesterday that he needs to leave you be, settling for his memories and hand.

His hand falls to his semi-hard cock as he turns his body to face the showerhead, stroking his shaft a few times, using the pressure from the water to add another layer of pleasure.

Tipping his head back, he opens his mouth as he squeezes his length at the base before pumping a little more determinedly. He knows he doesn’t have lots of time but he can’t help himself, every thought of you bouncing on his cock and the primal moans that escape your mouth every time he hits that sweet spot inside you.

Biting his lip, he jerks himself off faster, trying to keep quiet but the feeling is too good, he can’t help but speak to himself as he imagines you in here with him, “Shit, Y/N, so fucking good,” he whispers, the base in his voice being lost behind the hum of the shower.

He angles his cock perfectly so some of the water stream hits directly onto his slit, giving him the same sensation as when the tip of your tongue swirls around his head, dipping into him as you stare into his eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” Sunghoon breathes out, placing his spare hand on the wall to steady himself as he thrusts harder into his hand, searching for a quick release.

Since you came into his life he has started to question how he ever got off without at least the thought of you. The way you touch him, the way you make him feel, it’s like nothing he has ever known before. He hasn’tt tell you that when you rode him in his car for the first time that he genuinely wondered if he had even had sex before you, the way your walls gripped at his cock suddenly made him forget every person he had ever been with.

All he remembers is you.

When he nearly lost you because of your mum, he didn’t know what to do. Of course, he was mad about the skate and that you lied, but without you there with him, even for a few days, it was enough for him to lose any sense of being; it was as if all his limbs had been torn away from his body. Since the day you came home to him, he vowed never to let you go, and he won’t.

Quickening the pace, Sunghoon is close to the edge, ready to spill his seed down the shower drain. His wet chest heaves up and down as his balls shiver with the ache of release, “Y/N, just like that, baby. So fucking good,” he moans, hoping his voice doesn’t carry into the hotel bedroom.

His wrist works harder as he inhales through gritted teeth, his brain running through every orgasm you’ve ever had so that he can feel like he’s cumming with you.

“Shit, shit,” he groans, the first spurts of his cum shooting against the wall, some already being rinsed down the drain. He chants your name a few times, muttering how much he loves you under his breath as he slowly comes down from his climax.

If only it was you he was cumming inside, painting your walls white.

Shaking his head, he rids himself of any more dirty thoughts of you, scared he might have to spend another 10 minutes under the water. Turning the faucet, he changes the water to a cooler temperature while he tries to calm the thumping in his chest and the throbbing in his cock.

Once he is done with the competition, he’s going to take you over and over on the bed, cumming as many times as possible, whether inside you, on you, or wherever his desire leads.

Sunghoon turns the shower off, cleans the remnants of his mess, and steps out, wrapping a towel around his slim waist, the imprint of his now softening cock still pressed against it. You would drool if you saw him like this, you always had a thing for your boyfriend when he came straight out of a shower. There is something about the way his body glistens and how his hair sticks to his face that just turns you on. Perhaps it’s because it’s akin to how he looks after hours of fucking you silly.

After completing his skincare routine and brushing his teeth, he saunters back into the room where you are still sound asleep. He breathes a sigh of relief that he didn’t wake you despite his constant mewling of your name.

Dropping the towel next to his suitcase, he rummages for his usual training gear before slipping into it with ease, each movement he makes is calculated, being careful not to reach a high decibel and wake you. He gathers his competition essentials such as costume, skates, and makeup, slowly zipping his bag once he has double and triple-checked it.

He steals a glance at you before tip-toeing over to your side of the bed. His hand reaches to pet your hair gently, framing it around your face to rid it from your eyes. With a soft kiss on your forehead, he smiles fondly, “I love you, baby.” His words fall on sleeping ears but he says them anyway, hoping they somehow wiggle their way into the peaceful dream you’re having.

Sunghoon heads out of the hotel room, picking up his key from the door and shutting it softly behind him. Just as the door clicks, he hears the same noise from up the hallway. He turns his head to see Minhee coming from your room, hair wet and a singular star pimple patch on his chin; the same brand you buy for yourself.

Now that he’s looking at your brother, he really studies how similar you both are; same nose, same posture, and even your walk is the same.

Minhee approaches Sunghoon with a timid wave and adjusts the gym bag securely onto his shoulder, “Hey, I’m guessing she’s in there?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon nods, still whispering out of habit from this morning, “We…you were snoring so loud last night, Y/N couldn’t sleep,” he offers as an excuse as to why Minhee woke up alone this morning.

It’s a pathetic excuse but Sunghoon couldn’t in his right mind tell him that they left to go back to his room and fuck because Sunghoon was way too horny to keep it in his pants. Some boundaries just cannot be crossed, plus, does any brother want to know that only a few doors down their sister was getting pounded into oblivion? The answer to that is always no.

Minhee holds his hand up in front of Sunghoon, “Mate, shut up, we’re both 20 and I’m not an idiot,” his face turns to disgust despite trying to come across as mature. A shiver runs down his spine at the conversation, not wanting to progress it any further.

Fortunately for him, neither does Sunghoon, “Are you ready for today?” he asks as they walk together to the lift.

Taking a deep breath in contemplation, Minhee finally nods, “Yeah, I think so,” he pauses, pushing the elevator button. He is nervous, this grand plan of his only working if he does his absolute best with no mistakes; all he has to do is perform with the same tenacity as the run-through. He turns to his competitor and braces a smile, “Hey, thanks for doing this, Sunghoon. I know after everything that’s happened between us I shouldn’t be asking you to do me a favour like this,” he says sheepishly.

It was a lot to ask of his then-rival, to be so bold and ask Sunghoon to throw a first place just to save Minhee’s ass after he nearly destroyed his career, no one in their right mind should have agreed. But Sunghoon, despite everything, was as understanding as ever.

Your brother wasn’t accustomed to Sunghoon’s caring nature, Minhee’s impression of him up until this point was his enemy and what the media perceived him as, not the Sunghoon you knew, so when Sunghoon agreed, albeit a tad apprehensive, he was taken aback.

“I’ll do anything for her,” Sunghoon states clearly, his voice firm with determination, “And you, man. I can’t imagine what your mum has put you through up until now,” he admits. It was true that he was willing to do literally anything for you, but it was also true that he wanted to do this for Minhee as well. The more Sunghoon thought about it, it wasn’t Minhee’s fault for all this drama, it was all your mum’s fault. He couldn’t keep a grudge against someone who was only trying to protect their sister; if it was him, he would have done the same.

Minhee flashes a smile and light-heartedly punches Sunghoon’s shoulder, “Getting all gushy over me now, huh, Park?” he chuckles as the boy in front of him rolls his eyes in fake annoyance. Turning slightly serious, Minhee continues, “Y/N is my first priority in this world and to be honest, I didn’t care about winning until all this mess,” he confesses, a hint of anger pointed towards your mother in his voice.

“She’s mine too, Minhee. Just do your best out there and we’ll figure out the rest. I got you, man,” he smiles once again, hoping his sincerity comes through in his words. The lift bell dings as it arrives at their floor, and both skaters descend down to the lobby, on their way to the practice rink.

As they make their way across the street to the ice rink, the reporters are back on their case, shouting useless questions with zero substance. Sunghoon places an arm over Minhee’s shoulder, his lips against his ear, “Wanna hold hands? Really give them something to talk about?” he laughs, pulling him in tighter to his side.

The flashes go rapid at the gesture, “I don’t think we need to, Sunghoon. I think they might have already married us off,” Minhee says as his eyes focus on crossing the road, being the eyes for both of them as Sunghoon plays up to the camera.

“C’mon then, baby, we don’t want to be late for our warm-up.” Both of them laugh loudly, as they walk into the arena, ready to finally take to the ice.

______

The practice rink buzzes with anticipation as aspiring champions gather, each determined to claim National Gold. The distinct scent of ice and rubber immediately greets Minhee and Sunghoon as they step inside, a familiar aroma that stirs memories of countless hours spent honing their skills on the ice.

All eyes are on them, curiously following their every move. Unaffected by the attention, Minhee and Sunghoon enter together while exhibiting camaraderie and confidence. They chuckle lightheartedly at the hubbub outside, their laid-back demeanour in sharp contrast to the intensity of the upcoming competition.

Wonyoung waves at both of them as she skates around the rink, happy that her Belmore buddies are finally there to join her.

With Minhee spending a lot of time at the rink, he and Wonyoung have secretly become vast friends, even going as far as to help one another out when they cross paths. Your brother didn’t have many friends on the ice, the nature of the competition is a lonely one, so it was refreshing to get close to a fellow figure skater. And one as pretty as Wonyoung was simply a bonus.

As Minhee waves back eagerly, Sunghoon raises his eyebrow sceptically, “You’re cheating on me already? Did our 5-second wedding outside mean nothing to you?” he jibs at him, nudging his ‘lover’ with his shoulder.

“What are you talking about?” Minhee asks, never taking his eyes off Wonyoung.

“You’ve got a thing for Wonnie,” he says as a statement rather than a query, already certain of Minhee’s feelings towards the female skater.

Minhee snaps his face to meet Sunghoon’s gaze, “She lets you call her that?” his face shines a brighter shade of red as he realises what he just said, “I mean no. We’re friends, nothing more.” Despite Minhee’s protests, Sunghoon doesn’t buy it, only wishing to poke fun at him further.

“Hey, no judgment here, she’s pretty,” he places a hand on his new friend’s shoulder, “Y’know, she’s single, right? She broke up with that Ricky kid a few months ago,” he informs him.

Minhee nods sadly, “Yeah, she said in passing that she wasn’t getting involved with another figure skater.”

Wonyoung and Ricky lasted a whole 4 months before calling it quits, not exactly heartbreak material, but enough for her to swear off any man that adorns a skate, at least for the time being.

Noticing Minhee’s slumped body language, Sunghoon tries his best to give him some encouragement, “True, but you have one thing that he doesn’t,” he says, dancing his bushy eyebrows up and down.

Minhee tilts his head, “What?”

“You’re older and you’re about to be a Nationals Champion. I’d say that’s pretty hot, hmm? I mean look at me,” he gestures to himself smugly, “That’s how I got your sister.”

“Mate, don’t compare Wonyoung to my sister, you’re making this weird,” he cringes at the thought.

As they both watch Wonyoung practice her toe loops, Minhee spots someone at the corner of his eye, dragging his attention away from his not-so-secret-and-completley-obvious-crush, to the woman walking towards them.

Minhee elbows Sunghoon to grab his attention, eyes pointed towards Mrs. Park as she approaches them both, face void of any emotion.

Sunghoon’s whole body freezes, the last person he expected to see today was his mother; she hasn’t bothered to contact him since their big argument.

The thing is, Sunghoon had debated whether to reach out and try and fix the relationship they had, knowing that his dad would be so mad if he didn’t at least attempt to mend things with her. But it also wasn’t solely his responsibility, she could have texted him or showed up to one of his scheduled practices, he knows she still gets the notifications in her calendar.

Despite not knowing what transpired between the Parks, Minhee knows he needs to make himself scarce, “I’ll see you out there, yeah?” he faces Sunghoon whose sole attention is on his mum as she stands in front of him.

“Yeah, I’ll be on the ice in a minute. Grab me a rack?” still, Sunghoon’s eyes never leave his mother even as he speaks to Minhee.

The other boy pats his back as he goes to the changing rooms, leaving the pair to have what can only be described as a staring contest.

“Why are you here?” Sunghoon asks, tone laced with agitation and defiance. He couldn’t be civil to her, not when she insulted and belittled you so easily. Although her suspicions of foul play were correct, she blamed you without knowing anything or gathering any evidence against you. He can’t stand for it, not then and not now.

And then there were her careless words about his deceased father, words that still reverberated in Sunghoon's mind. The idea that his own father would be ashamed of him was a wound that cut deeper than any other, a wound he was still grappling to heal.

“I came to wish you luck,” she states, voice as monotonous as ever.

Her son crosses his arms, body language standoffish as he goes to speak, “I don’t need your luck. I don’t need your guidance or anything. I fired you, or was that not clear?” he hisses.

“You can’t fire me from being your mother. I still care about you,” she retorts. There is only a hint of emotion in her voice, otherwise, Sunhgoon is looking at his typical stoic mother. If he is to believe anything she says right now, she would need to show some form of depth.

Sunghoon sucks his teeth, “I have a new family now, I really don’t need you,” he states calmly despite the bubbling anger that is rising from his chest. He saw you, and now Minhee, as his found family, people he can rely on and trust without question which is more than he can say about the woman standing a mere 50cm away from him.

Since she has been out of his life, he has felt so free of most negative emotions. The mini panic attack he had the day he kicked her out of the house was enough for him to step back and re-evaluate their relationship. No one in the world should make anyone feel as little as she made him feel that day, so he vowed never to let anyone do that to him again.

“I can’t make you forgive me for how I’ve acted over the years, I don’t expect you to, but I would like to make peace,” she confesses.

Confused, Sunghoon leans back, his arms loosening from their knot slightly, “You had weeks to do that, why pick today of all days?”

Sunghoon’s mother shifts uncomfortably, a sense of awkwardness lingering in the air as she chooses an arguably inappropriate moment to broach the sensitive topic, "Sunghoon, I only want what is best for you," she begins tentatively, her voice tinged with a hint of regret, "And I know it may not seem like it, but I do care about you. Your father was the one with a paternal instinct; what I lacked in love, he made up for."

Her words hang heavy in the air, prompting Sunghoon to pause and reflect. It's a rare occurrence for his mother to admit fault or express any form of emotional vulnerability, leaving him at a loss for how to respond, this was all new to him, a road he didn’t know how to navigate.

“When your father died, I was left to shoulder the weight of showing you love when I couldn’t find it in myself to love you the way you deserved. It sounds cold and I can only apologise for feeling this way, but I think explaining this to you will make you hate me less, maybe even forgive me.”

"So that's it then?" he burst out, his voice edged with bitterness, "You're telling me you never loved me? That showing me any form of love was a burden? And you expect me to hate you less? You’ve got some nerve.” It’s amazing to Sunghoon how she can stand there and say this to her own son, asking for him to forgive her. His anger simmered, a storm raging within him as he struggled to comprehend his mother's words.

“It’s not that I don’t love you it’s just-”

“You are my mother, you’re supposed to love your child unconditionally, no excuses,” Sunghoon's voice pierced the thick air, full of despair and rage. Every fibre of his being shouted for justice, for the love he had sought but never got.

However, as he locked eyes with his mother, a harsh realisation came over him like a tsunami smashing on the coast. He realised with terrible clarity that demanding empathy from someone who lacked the ability to care was a lost cause.

In this moment, a profound shift occurred within Sunghoon. It was a silent acknowledgement, a decision made in the depths of his soul. He refused to play the endless game of seeking validation from someone incapable of offering it. He refused to subject himself to further anguish in a cycle destined for disappointment.

"I'm done," he declared softly, his words carrying the weight of finality, “I have never been happier with you out of my life. I have people who love me, I don’t need you anymore, these past few weeks have shown me that.”

His mother looks aghast at her son’s statement, feeling her own sense of betrayal right now. She had come here looking for reconciliation but instead, she only got kicked to the curb once again. The damage of the past had already been done.

“Sunghoon, please don’t shut me out. I’m trying to learn to be the mother you deserve,” she pleads with him, mustering up any way to make him forgive her.

He watches as her face washes over with something he had never seen before, sorrow perhaps. It twinges his heart to see anyone upset, but she can’t scribble out the past with one sign of regret. If she had approached this conversation differently, he may have seen eye to eye with her but saying she found it hard to love him wasn’t the best way to broach the subject of redemption.

It’s not in Sunghoon’s nature not to be a little understanding, he does know that some people lack the emotional intelligence to form loving relationships. But that isn’t the type of person he needs in his life right now, not in his formative years. He needs more people like you, people who love him and make it look easy, not burdensome.

Stepping closer to her, he gives her one more look over, “When I have kids, I will give them all the love you should have given me,” he spits at her, yet his heart is heavy with the realisation that he has lost both his parents.

“Wait!” she shouts, holding onto his arm.

Sunghoon's muscles tensed as his mother's grip tightened on his arm, her desperation palpable. He hesitated, torn between the desire to break free from her grasp and the lingering flicker of compassion within him.

"What?" he demanded, his voice tinged with frustration and exhaustion, "What more could you possibly have to say?"

His mother's gaze wavered, a mix of remorse and longing clouding her features. "I know I've failed you, Sunghoon," she whispered, her voice finally trembling with emotion, "But please, give me a chance to make things right. I may not have been the mother you needed, but I want to try. I want to be there for you, to support you in any way I can. I’m working on myself, please believe me."

As Sunghoon grappled with the weight of his mother's plea, a tumultuous storm raged within him. Each word she uttered clawed at his resolve, tugging at the fragile threads of forgiveness he dared to entertain.

He met her gaze, searching for any hint of sincerity amidst the tangled web of emotions. And as he looked into her eyes, he saw a vulnerability he had never witnessed before - a vulnerability that mirrored his own.

With a heavy sigh, Sunghoon gently removed his mother's hand from his arm. "I need time," he said softly, his voice laced with uncertainty. He didn’t know if this was the right choice, to at least not burn the bridge to his mother completely, but as he looked at her now, he felt his dad in his ear, begging him to at least consider mending the relationship.

Was there a chance for redemption, for reconciliation, buried beneath the layers of hurt and resentment? Or was this merely another chapter in their tumultuous relationship, destined to end in further heartache and disappointment? Sunghoon isn’t sure, but he’ll try.

With a heavy heart, Sunghoon stamps down his decision - one born from a fragile balance of trepidation and tentative optimism, "I need to think about this, all of it. I have people to consider, including myself, before I can even entertain the idea of letting you back into my life." he confessed, his voice trembling.

Sunghoon's mother nodded, her eyes shimmering with gratitude and a glimmer of hope. "I understand," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, "Take all the time you need. I'll be here, waiting. Good luck today."

His mother gives him one final nod before retreating, leaving Sunghoon with his decision. He sits with the echoes of his mother's plea - a silent promise to confront the demons of their past and forge a new path forward, one step at a time. And though the journey would be fraught with obstacles, he clung to the belief that amidst the pain and turmoil, there lay the possibility of redemption - a chance to rewrite the story of their fractured relationship and embrace forgiveness.

It was either the most foolish thing he had ever done or the start of his healing journey.

Making his way to the locker room, he sees Minhee lacing up his skates, weaving the strings around each of the eyelets. Sunghoon takes the moment to look at him and wonder how Minhee feels about his own damaged relationship with his mum. Was it as conflicting for him or was the decision to rid his mother from your family easy?

Sunghoon sits down on the saved seat next to Minhee, leaning back against the wall, his head thumping.

“You okay?” Minhee asks tentatively, not wanting to poke the bear.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon opens his eyes to gaze at Minhee, “Can I ask you something?” Nodding, Minhee sits up straight, awaiting the impending question, “Your mum, was it easy to, like, disown her?” It’s a strange question to ask someone but he hopes that Minhee’s answer will give him some clarity into his own situation.

Minhee ponders, never having really thought about it before, “I think it was, I mean, she put Y/N in danger, treated us both like shit, and blamed me for a lot of things that I didn’t have any control over. Emotionally, I think me and Y/N were both detached from her, which made it easy.”

Sitting with Minhee’s words, Sunghoon realises that the reason he finds it so hard to let go of the relationship with his mum is because he does care about her. She was cold and cruel, but never harmed him in any way. Her actions weren’t one of a mother but in comparison to you and Minhee’s mum, she was at least a smidge better.

Each mother strives for her kid to succeed, but the stark contrast resides in the motives driving their acts. While Sunghoon's mother pushed him to achieve out of a genuine desire for his success, Minhee's mother's obsession with propelling him to the top sprang from her own selfish gain.

Watching Sunghoon wrestle with his inner turmoil, Minhee places a comforting hand on his shoulder, "I may not fully understand what's happening between you and your mum, but from one disappointing son to another," he says with a soft smile, attempting to lighten the heavy atmosphere, “If there is a chance to fix your relationship, take it. As much as I’m happy my bitch of a mother won’t be in my life anymore, it doesn’t mean I don’t wish things were different. If you and your mum can sort it out, do it.”

Minhee’s speech is comforting, freeing Sunghoon of some of the tension in his body regarding the situation with his mother. It’s always a risk to forgive someone or give them a second chance, but it can also lead to stronger relationships.

In this moment, Sunghoon can at least say his mother is willing to try and redeem herself, unlike some mums in the world. It’s the bare minimum, but it’s a start.

"Thanks, Minhee," Sunghoon says, offering a grateful smile, "Do we kiss now, or?"

Minhee lets out a snort of laughter, playfully pushing his friend away. "Save those lips for the other Kang sibling, please," he teases, rising to his feet and balancing on his skates. "Although if you ever get bored of her…"

With an exaggerated wink, Minhee saunters out of the locker room, leaving Sunghoon feeling lighter and more at ease. This was exactly the conversation Sunghoon needed, Minhee was the unexpected friend he needed.

_____

You exchange the biting chill of the winter for the bustling ice rink as you step inside the venue. The vibrant atmosphere envelops you like a warm embrace. Excitement crackles in the air, mingling with the sounds of blades slicing through the ice and the chatter of eager spectators. With Nationals in full swing, anticipation pulses through the crowd as they await the next performances.

You arrived early to ensure you caught Minhee before his turn on the ice. As the women's event concludes, leaving only three skaters left, the arena buzzes with energy

Navigating through the throngs of people, your eyes scan the crowded rink for any sign of your brother. The busy venue makes it tough to find him, and you don’t even know what he is wearing. To be fair, he probably wouldn’t be out in the open arena, but rather residing backstage as he awaits the start of the men’s competition.

You walk up to one of the event staff and ask if you can go backstage to see Minhee, but of course, he doesn’t let you, “Sorry, Miss. Only skaters and coaches are allowed back there,” he says sternly. At least he’s doing his job, you suppose.

"Luckily for her, she's with me, right, Y/N?" Coach Kim's smile is infectious, and you nod eagerly, grateful for his timely intervention.

"Yes, that's right," you chime in, your mind racing to concoct a plausible explanation. "I'm a... a meditator! Yes, a meditator. I help the competitors find their zen before going on stage." You realise your impromptu lie sounds feeble, but you press on, hoping to convince the staff member.

The staff eyes you both sceptically, his scrutiny unnerving, "Then why do you have a family badge?" he questions, his tone heavy with suspicion.

Feeling the weight of his scrutiny, you look to Coach Kim for support, silently pleading for assistance in salvaging the situation.

Coach Kim steps in smoothly, his easy smile never faltering, "Ah, you see, Y/N is an important member of our team so she is practically family. Her position as a meditator is critical to my skater’s performance. She calms and focuses him before he goes out to the rink."

You give Coach Kim an appreciative look, quietly thanking him for his fast thinking. The staff member appears to examine his thoughts for a time before nodding in agreement.

"Alright then, you can go through," the staff member concedes, standing aside to allow you and Coach Kim access to the backstage area.

You walk beside Coach Kim, thanking him over and over again for getting you in. You didn’t just want to see Minhee to wish him luck, you had a surprise for him and Sunghoon, “You’re the best coach, has anyone told you that?” you beam at him.

Laughing, he nods, “A few times, yes, usually you or Minhee when you both want something,” Coach Kim points in front of you, “He’s in there.”

“Thanks, Coach!” you go to wave him off but he stops you in your tracks by gently grabbing your shoulder.

“Y/N, Minhee told me about your mum,” he sighs, troubled by the information. Surely Minhee didn’t tell him about the gambling or the skate incident, so what could he possibly know? “I’ll be candid when I say that I never enjoyed your mum’s company, not for my sake, but for yours and Minhee’s. Her deciding to leave you both high and dry like this is unforgivable,” his voice laces with disgust.

Coach Kim obviously only knows a twisted version of the events that went down recently, Minhee clearly careful with his phrasing.

“I just want to say, if you both ever need anything at all, a place to live, some extra work, a homecooked meal, whatever it is, you come and find me, okay?” His offer is generous.

To be honest, you hadn’t thought about the repercussions of your mother no longer being by your side. Where would you and Minhee live now? How would you manage to make ends meet without her support? The questions swirl around in your mind, each one more daunting than the last.

“You and Minhee, you’re both strong kids. I have faith that everything will work out for you, so don’t think too much about it. Just enjoy today,” he says as if reading your anxious mind.

Coach Kim's reassurance offers a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty. His belief in your strength and resilience reminds you that you're not alone in this, that there are people who care about your well-being and are willing to help you navigate the challenges ahead.

With a final ruffle in your hair, Coach Kim leaves you in the corridor, his words of encouragement resonating in your ears. It was nice to have his support, it makes you feel like maybe you and Minhee had a support system all along, all you had to do was shed your poison of a mother.

Your feet carry you to the door to the locker room, chapping it rapidly. You can’t wait to see him and wish him luck. Although your apprehension weighs strongly regarding the skate and how important it is for him to win, not just for his pride but also for your safety and future.

You haven’t had a lot of time to come to terms with how much trouble you could be in if your brother loses this competition; the foolish bets your mum has made in your name, taking money from some shady guys to make them, and how you’re somehow on the firing line in this situation - it’s a lot to deal with mentally.

Telling Sunghoon to just skate to the best of his abilities wasn’t because you aren’t scared of what could happen, you just wanted Minhee to know that he can win this on his own, no cheating, no Sunghoon letting him win, absolutely no interferences. After everything that has transpired with your mum, he needed this.

Of course, you need to be safe, if these bets fall short and you’re left with the debt, you can say goodbye to university and any of your tiny savings. If the men are as brute as Minhee made them out to be, you’re fucked with no way out of it.

Curiosity got the better of you this morning and you checked the odds for Minhee winning this competition which was 15:1. According to Minhee, she put on £50,000 which would mean she would get 750k. It’s more money than you could imagine having in your entire life and it makes you angry that not only has your mum put you in danger but that you wouldn’t see a penny of it.

The money isn’t important to you but the fact that she was essentially putting money above her own daughter's safety is a crazy, rage-inducing thought that you don’t think you will ever get over. How could you? And to make Minhee feel like he couldn’t win on his abilities alone? She has destroyed both of your self-worth and confidence over the years.

So today, your sole focus is on being there for Minhee, rooting for him and believing in his ability to shine as the extraordinary skater you know him to be.

As you knock again, you hear rustling around as someone comes to answer the door. The metal swings open to reveal your boyfriend, hair dishevelled as if he’s just combed his fingers through it and his costume twisted.

“Baby, what are you doing here?” he asks, poking his head out the door to check if anyone saw you coming backstage. Quickly, he pulls you in, “How did you sneak past?”

Your eyes swiftly trace the room to see the skaters all getting ready, some in just their boxers and others applying the last sparkles of their body mist. One guy is strutting around with tighty whities, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Sunghoon notices your eyes stuck to something before swivelling his head to catch sight of the well-endowed man, “Sweets don’t make me knock fuck out of every guy in this room,” he warns as one of his hands pinches your chin to drag your eyes away from the half-naked men and focus on him.

Honestly, the tint of jealousy etching onto his face is so hot, you wonder if you should start oggling at others more often. Sunghoon raises his brows, waiting for you to explain, “Sorry, Hoonie. I’ve never seen so many guys in their underwear before,” you try to use it as an excuse, as if the unfamiliar sight warrants your interest but Sunghoon isn’t buying it.

“It will be the last time you see it, I can promise you that,” he scoffs, taking your hand and pulling you towards the back of the room, clear out of everyone’s line of sight, or more, everyone out of your sight.

He places you so your back is against the sea of skaters, “So what are you doing here?” he asks again, this time a little more playfully, “Want a quickie before I go on?” he leans down to your lips, kissing you softly, “I can bend you over and show all these losers who you belong to.”

Shivers run across your spine as he kisses you, his tongue sweeping into your mouth. Someone walks by behind you and Sunghoon pulls you closer to him, eyeing the boy as he devours you in front of him.

Sunghoon was only half joking about fucking you in the middle of the locker room for everyone to see. He wanted everyone to know you were his and only his and no one should even look at you for longer than a second. If anyone dares to stare too long, he’ll make sure they can’t ever look at anything again through the black eyes and blood.

You give into his kiss and press your body against his, your tongues licking one another as you moan into his mouth.

“You’re both disgusting. Are you seriously going to fuck in a locker room with loads of people around?” Minhee comes up behind you, arms crossed as you and Sunghoon separate your bodies from one another.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Sunghoon murmurs into your ear, his lips brushing against your lobe as he reminisces about the countless intimate moments you've shared in Belmore. Suppressing a laugh, you feel a playful squeeze on your ass from Sunghoon, much to your brother's chagrin.

Minhee recoils, his expression contorted in disgust, "Guys, I might vomit if you keep grinding on each other while I'm right here," he pleads, his voice tinged with both embarrassment and humour.

With an affectionate eye-roll, you approach Minhee and envelop him in a tight hug, "Sorry, we forgot that displaying affection around you is considered a crime," you quip, injecting a touch of playful banter into the moment.

Minhee feigns annoyance, but you can see a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, "I have a weak stomach," he retorts, trying to maintain his composure despite the teasing. As he lets go of your embrace, he notices something Sunghoon failed to, “What’s that?”

He points to the rolled-up A3 piece of card in your left hand. Through Sunghoon’s displays of affection, it’s slightly bashed at the edges but no real damage has been done.

“Oh! I made you both something,” you scurry around, pushing Minhee to stand next to Sunghoon as you unravel the white card, “Ta-da!”

While they were gone this morning, you took it upon yourself to make a sign. Typically, you always make a sign for Minhee at each competition, so the gesture is nothing new, however, this time, you had two people to support.

Sunghoon and Minhee both resemble puppies as they tilt their head in curiosity, reading the sign.

“Minhoon?” your brother reads out, “Is that…”

“It’s both your names merged! I thought it would be fun to support my two boys together this time,” you smile widely, holding your artwork proudly.

The sign took you approximately an hour and a half to complete, ensuring that each of their personalities was represented perfectly. On Minhee's side, you incorporated his favourite colour combination of black and blue, adorned with stickers of stars, Pochacco, and dainty white bows. This aesthetic is quintessentially Minhee, and he adores it, especially because you add a star for every gold he's earned.

On Sunghoon's side, you opted for a sleek white and black backdrop, accentuated with pink hearts to symbolise the number of months you've been together. To complete the symmetry, you included two little pictures of Tuxedosam, perfectly mirroring each side of the sign.

As you step back to admire your handiwork, you can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing that you've captured the essence of both Minhee and Sunghoon in this thoughtful gesture.

Minhee and Sunghoon exchange a glance before erupting into laughter, the absurdity of the earlier debacle and their playful charade of a secret love affair only amplifying the hilarity of the situation.

However, your heart sinks as you mistake their laughter for mockery. A small pout forms on your lips as you gaze at them, hurt evident in your eyes. "Is it not good?" you ask, your voice tinged with disappointment.

Instantly, Sunghoon and Minhee's laughter fades, replaced by a solemn expression as they see the hurt reflected in your eyes. Without hesitation, Minhee reaches out, his voice gentle as he reassures you, "No, no, Bubs, we love it, don't we, Sunghoon?" He looks to his friend, who nods earnestly in agreement. "See? We were just laughing about something else earlier," Minhee explains softly, wrapping an arm around you for comfort.

Feeling reassured by Minhee's words and his comforting embrace, you let out a relieved sigh, the tension easing from your shoulders. "Oh," you say, a small smile returning to your lips as you realise your misunderstanding. "Well, as long as you both like it, that's what matters."

Sunghoon nods in agreement, his expression sincere. "It's perfect, Sweets. Thank you so much" he says softly, his hand finding yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze. This is Sunghoon’s first sign brought by someone he loves and he could not be more thankful that the first one was handmade by the love of his life.

“C’mere,” Minhee wraps his other arm around Sunghoon, forming the three of you in a huddle, “Whatever happens today, I just want you both to know that I really am sorry for everything that’s gone on and I would take it all back,” he says sadly, knowing that his actions have caused distress and pain to the one person he loves in the world.

“I wouldn’t,” Sunghoon says suddenly, causing you and Minhee to look at him, “I don’t know, I think this has just brought us closer together, who wouldn’t want that outcome?”

Nodding, you both agree with his sentiment. This troubled time has been a rollercoaster but you’ve found strength in one another through it all. Would you wish your mother’s implications weren’t a part of it all? Sure, but look at the three of you now. You’ve bonded in ways you would never think possible.

And your boyfriend and brother are becoming friends, that is all you could ask for in a situation like this.

Minhee stares into Sunghoon’s eyes as he tries to communicate with him. He doesn’t know you know about their plan, and he certainly doesn’t know about you requesting Sunghoon to go against your brother’s wishes.

Nodding once as if answering Minhee’s internal question, Sunghoon steps back, sighing, “Now can one of you please help me with this costume? I’m tangled at the back and I don’t know how,” he begs, turning to show his dilemma.

“Mate, you’ve got your arm inside out,” Minhee says with a snort, solving the problem with one gentle pull of the sleeve and turning it the right way around. He buttons it up for him at the back before slapping his back roughly, “Okay, I gotta go, I’m on in 30 minutes and I wanna see what it’s like out there.”

“Good luck, Minhee,” Sunghoon says, a smile on his face as he brings him in for a hug, “Do well,” he squeezes him tighter.

Reciprocating his hug, Minhee smiles, “You too. And watch that skate,” he jokes as he pulls away to hug you next.

Sunghoon playfully huffs and crosses his arms, "Not funny, okay? It's too soon," he retorts, a smirk tugging at his lips. Despite the jest, there's a genuine camaraderie between them, a shared understanding of each other's quirks and humour.

You playfully punch Minhee's arm for his remark, eliciting a laugh from him before he waves you both off, heading towards the side of the rink to prepare for his performance.

As Minhee disappears from view, you're left alone with Sunghoon once again. He picks up the sign, a fond smile gracing his features, "I've always wanted one of these," he admits wistfully, his gaze lingering on the sign with a mixture of appreciation and affection.

You smile at Sunghoon's words, touched by his genuine sentiment, "I'm glad you like it," you say softly, stepping closer to him and resting your hand on his arm, "I wanted to do something special for you, sorry it was tied in with Minhee but I always make him a sign so,” you explain, stroking his forearm.

“I don’t care, I love it regardless because you made it.” Sunghoon’s eyes reflect warmth and gratitude as he gently places the sign against the wall.

“I promise, next competition when it’s just you, I’ll make one for only you,” you beam up at him, fixing his tussled hair as best as you can, leaving a kiss on his nose. Sunghoon looks deeply at you as if coming to a realisation about something, but you miss it, too busy focusing on the parting of his hair.

He holds your hips as you reach up to fix the back, his fingers squeezing you tightly as his heart flutters at the simple gesture. With the nape of your neck bare and in teasing Sunghoon, he leans down and places soft kisses upon it, savouring this moment.

The sudden affection makes you close your eyes, your hands now leaving his hair to hug him around his shoulders. His heart is thumping so loud you can hear it.

“Are you nervous?” you ask, nuzzling your nose into his hair. He doesn’t verbally respond, opting for a quick shake of the head but you can feel it in your bones that he is lying, his body betraying him, “You don’t have to be. Everything will work out whatever way the universe intends.”

Removing himself from you, Sunghoon gazes into your eyes once again except this time they’re filled with doubt. He is petrified of this skate because he knows if he accidentally wins, you’re in danger and that scares him because the threat is much more than he can handle. He doesn’t want to go against your request but for your health and safety, he will, he just has to do it sneakily so no one is mad at him. “You are going to do great, everything will be fine, and no offence but I really do think Minhee can win this,” you reiterate the words you’ve been saying to him since yesterday, only further proving your belief in your brother.

Sunghoon nods, but there's a hint of resignation in his gesture. "I wish I had someone like you in my corner while I was growing up," he confesses, a bitter laugh escaping his lips as he looks away. His gaze flickers to the ground, weighed down by the weight of his past.

"You did have someone – your dad," you remind him gently, reaching out to bring his forehead to touch yours. "And you still do. He's been watching over you this whole time, and he is so proud of you."

Sunghoon closes his eyes, allowing your comforting words to wash over him like a soothing balm. In that moment of vulnerability, he finds solace in the warmth of your embrace, the love and support you offer serves as motivation to keep you safe.

He nudges your nose with his as he speaks in a hushed tone, “Are you proud of me?”

For years it was his parent’s love and pride he fought for, his father giving it up so easily in comparison to his mother, but now it’s only you who he needs reassurance and love from. Sunghoon wants to make you proud in every way he possibly can.

Your eyes sparkle with love for him, “Sunghoon, my body is bursting with how proud you have made me. There is not a fibre of my being that isn’t proud of you,” you try to convey your genuity, knowing he needs to hear it most right now.

Sunghoon's heart swells at your words, a wave of relief coming over him as he hears the sincerity in your voice. Your unconditional support means everything to him, and in that moment, he feels a sense of peace knowing that he has you by his side.

Tears well up in his eyes as he pulls you into a tight embrace, cherishing the warmth and comfort of your presence. "Thank you," he whispers hoarsely, his voice filled with emotion. "I don't know what I would do without you. I love you so much, Y/N. I feel like I can’t breathe without you.”

As you hold Sunghoon tightly, his words sinking deep into your heart, you feel overwhelmed by the depth of your love for him. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, mirroring his own, as you realise just how deeply intertwined your lives have become.

"I love you too, Sunghoon," you whisper back, your voice barely audible, but filled with unwavering conviction, "You're my everything and I promise you, you don’t have to worry. I'll always be here for you, through every moment, every challenge. You're not alone, and you never will be,” you whisper into his ear.

With those words, you offer him the reassurance and comfort he needs, your promise of unwavering support echoing in the space between you. In this embrace, you find solace in each other's arms, knowing that together, you can weather any storm that comes your way.

______

Settling into your seat in the designated family and friends area, you turn your attention towards the entrance of the rink, where Minhee is seen stretching. His expression is a mix of anticipation and apprehension, the weight of expectations palpable on his shoulders.

Minhee may have struck a deal with Sunghoon to secure a win, but with that agreement comes the added pressure of not making any mistakes. One wrong move could unravel everything, turning his carefully laid plans into chaos. As he prepares to take the ice, the intensity of the moment hangs heavy in the air.

Flicking his blade protectors off, Minhee glides onto the ice, circling the rink to warm up and familiarise himself with the surface beneath his skates. Amidst the whirlwind of emotions, his mind is filled with positive affirmations, each one a silent plea for a flawless performance.

With every lap, he pushes himself to perfection, knowing that this is his moment to shine. All he has to do is skate flawlessly, and everything will fall into place. Yet, despite the gravity of the situation, he tries to brush off the pressure with a casual "no pressure."

You watch him with a mixture of pride and hope, wishing you could convey your unwavering belief in him. You long for him to channel that same sparkle and determination that captivated everyone during his run-through at Belmore. As he takes his position in the middle of the rink, you silently send him all the positive energy and support you can muster, hoping some of it can be injected into him as he performs.

Shutting his eyes, the music begins and a hush falls over the audience, anticipation crackling in the air like electricity. With each breath, he channels his nerves into focus, his determination evident in the set of his jaw and the fire in his eyes.

Minhee launches into his routine with precision and grace. His movements are fluid, each step and turn executed with meticulous precision as he glides effortlessly across the ice. The audience is glued to him from the start, paying close attention following his every movement with rapt concentration. Minhee pushes himself to new heights with each jump and spin, blending his skills with his artistry, only making your heart swell with immense pride.

You hold your breath, slowly hiding your face behind the sign that you made as you know which part of his routine is coming next.

As the music crescendos, Minhee approaches the most difficult part: the quadruple axel, the one move he has based this whole routine on. He takes a deep breath, collects his strength, and throws himself into the air, spinning faster and faster until he completes four full rotations before landing with perfect elegance, leaving the audience breathless.

Standing up in amazement, you tuck your sign under your arm and clasp your hands, knowing it’s impolite to scream out of pure joy when an athlete is competing. Minhee’s quadruple axel today might have been the best you’ve seen in your entire life; the move is deemed one of the most difficult to accomplish and he just made it look like he does it every other Saturday.

Minhee expertly transitions into the last section of his performance, his confidence surging as he executes each element with accuracy and delicacy. His movements are filled with emotion, and his passion shines through in every beautiful gesture as he narrates a tale with each stride. He knows now is a straight run of easy manoeuvres he carefully choreographed to make sure the axle was the shining star of the performance.

It also means he can finally spare you a glance as he finds you in the crowd, a smile creeping on his face as he sees you standing with pride. You look hopeful that he might win and with your backing, that’s all he needs. He wishes he could win this without Sunghoon performing with the intent of losing, but he still has time to achieve that - your safety is all that matters.

As the music fades to its final notes, Minhee brings his performance to conclusion, his arms outstretched in triumph as he basks in the adulation of the crowd. The cheers that erupt from them are so loud you swear the glass might break. You can see the commentators also getting up in excitement, clearly enthralled by his performance.

And when Minhee makes his last bow, a sense of fulfilment sweeps over you, knowing that he had not only met, but exceeded all expectations that he and others had set for himself.

Gliding off the ice, he is met with the bone-crushing embrace of Coach Kim who adorns a wide smile on his face and tears in his eyes. The weight of their shared journey is evident in the strength of their embrace and Coach Kim's words of praise and encouragement are lost in the roar of the crowd, but the pride shining in his eyes says it all.

You want to be at Minhee's side, to share in the excitement of his triumph and to lavish him with praise. However, as you watch from the sidelines, witnessing Coach Kim and Coach Lee wrap him in a cocoon of love and praise, you can find comfort in knowing that he is receiving the ovation and admiration he deserves.

Minhee's heart expands with pride and delight, filling his chest with an incredible sensation of accomplishment. The excitement of the moment envelopes him like a warm hug, putting him on cloud 9.

Coach Kim leads him to the seating area where he must sit to see his final score. You sit with ease, knowing that this will be his highest mark to date, an accomplishment in itself.

As Minhee awaits the display of his scores, a nervous energy pulses through him, his heart pounding in his chest with anticipation. Every muscle in his body tenses as he fixates on the screen, his breath caught in his throat as he waits for the verdict of his performance.

Then, in a flurry of movement, the numbers appear on the screen, each category receiving high points for technicality and artistry, and Minhee's eyes widen in disbelief. The numbers on the screen read 298.5, causing both you and Minhee’s faces to mimic one another despite being on opposite ends of the arena.

Having never before topped a score of 213.74 - an incredible accomplishment in and of itself - his new record catapults him to a whole new level, putting him alongside figure skating giants like Nathan Chen and Yuzuru Hanyu.

You don’t even think Sunghoon has scored that well before.

Minhee stands frozen for a moment, absorbing the weight of his achievement, before a radiant smile breaks across his face. It's a culmination of years of dedication, sacrifice, and unwavering determination.

“Fuck me!” he shouts, jumping up to hug Coach Kim once again. There are more elegant ways to celebrate than swearing on national television, but you can’t blame him for being completely besotted with himself.

The crowd’s cheers die down and the atmosphere returns to a calm-like state, only chatter filling the silence as people discuss their amazement over your brother's skating. You could not be more proud of him if you tried.

Now you just need to wait for Sunghoon, hoping the tremendous score Minhee got would serve as enough influence to just do his best and not throw it for the sake of your mother’s stupid consequences.

An hour passes after Minhee's electrifying performance, the energy in the arena is crackling with excitement as the crowd eagerly awaits Sunghoon's turn on the ice. He is the golden boy of the figure skating world, and there is a lot of pressure on him to succeed, however, if he fails this one time, no one will be able to blame him or bat an eye at it; the score your brother set is almost impossible to beat.

You sit on the edge of your seat, your heart pounding in your chest as you watch him lumber up, his movements cautious as he tests his ankle to ensure it's ready for his performance.

He glides onto the ice, warming up with some jumps and simple stretches. His ankle, still tender from the previous injury, protests with each turn and twist, but Sunghoon pushes through the pain. This was a 2-minute and 40-second skate, it’ll be over in a flash and he just has to get through it.

Sunghoon won’t admit it to you, or anyone for that matter, but being in front of all these people is terrifying him. The last time he performed this skate, in this outfit, in front of this many people, was the day he snapped his ankle. Not only the injury from it but the emotional damage it caused was hard to live with, and now it’s almost as if he is living that day all over again.

He glances around the family area to find you, sitting in your seat with adoration spread across your entire face. It’s like you have him under a spell, how his worries and fears seem to melt away as his eyes meet yours; the love between you casts a blanket of protection over his worries, the thoughts of making a complete full of himself gone so quickly, simply because of the sparkle in your eye.

Sunghoon skates over to your side, flashing you his beautiful smile, your favourite canines on full display. He looks so beautiful right now, the pressure normally placed on his shoulders by his mother has now vanished. This is the first competition he has participated in without the nagging of being perfect gnawing in his brain.

It’s comforting to know that even when he loses today, he has someone to run to who will show him love and appreciation for his efforts.

However, the words of his mother's promise from their earlier conversation twirl in his brain. Sunghoon wonders if they really could reconcile through all of this, after everything they’ve been through. He wanted love and his mother couldn’t provide him with that. But maybe she really is willing to make an effort, perhaps all they needed was some time to mend their relationship.

Once Nationals is over he’ll deal with that, but for now, he needs to focus. He might be set to lose but he will be damned if he comes anything but second.

Taking a deep breath, Sunghoon puts his arm in the air, gearing up for his performance as he stands in position. He looks like a vision in his costume, the spotlight on him makes the jewels shine brighter and the silhouette of his trimmed figure under the shirt is more evident than the first time you saw him in it. Rina had a talent for creating clothes but perhaps she should consider a career in designing skating costumes.

As the haunting melody of "Ocean Eyes" by Billie Eilish fills the arena, Sunghoon begins his routine. You don’t realise you’re holding your breath and your hands are clasped so tight together that they’re turning white. You want him to do well, to show everyone that even with an injury still looming under his taped up ankle, he is still miles above the rest.

Sunghoon launches into a flawless triple axel as the music swells, his body soaring through the air with precision and grace. He lands it clean, a small smile on his face despite his ankle pulsing. He hadn’t realised how sore it had been over the past few days, perhaps all that rehearsal time and coming back too early had finally done some damage. But that doesn’t matter right now, what matters is finishing the routine.

And to have fun.

With each beautiful turn and twist, Sunghoon's is reviving a passion that had laid dormant for far too long. It's a revelation, a flashback to his old self, a child consumed by the pure excitement of skating.

In the rink, he's letting go of his inhibitions and embracing the moment, a contrast to the stoicism that has defined almost all of his past competitions. The judges can see it too, with the joy he is showcasing through each glide of his blades across the ice, they are mesmerised. This is the Sunghoon that the people fell in love with, the skater that made them proud.

When he reaches the finale of his skate, performing a stunning combination spin that leaves the audience breathless, Sunghoon realises he has accomplished something far better than any medal or acclaim could ever provide. In this moment of perfect bliss, he reconnects with his passion, purpose, and the simple joy of skating.

You had shown him how to love skating again throughout your relationship, now added with the lack of pressure to win, he can finally breathe.

He’s home.

You are the first one to stand up, applauding your man for his flawless skate. It was perfect, he was perfect. The crowd follows suit, cheering and yelling as he bows, letting the praise wash over his body. You could not be prouder of him, the tears in your eyes are a testament to your feelings.

This is your first time seeing him in competition as his girlfriend which probably adds to the swelling of your heart, but it’s more than that. You have been a fan of Sunghoon for a lot longer and as a fan, there is nothing more fulfilling than seeing your favourite person achieve something, even if the accomplishment is happiness, you want him to be bathed in it.

However, with Sunghoon performing possibly one of his best skates in the past couple of years, it does set in the back of your mind that he still has to lose. You told him to go out there and give it everything he has but now the moment is getting closer and closer to determining your fate, you’re a little on edge.

You’re trying not to think about it because you know Minhee has done amazing and if he truly does beat Sunghoon today, you can breathe easy knowing you made the right call and that Minhee did this all on his own.

Your brother needs this.

Sunghoon stands straight and skates around the rink, lapping up the crowd's adoration. You’re too caught up in your head you almost forget your surprise for him; it wasn’t just the sign that you had planned.

Traditionally, skaters get things thrown into the ring; plushies, roses, the whole lot. Minhee was partial to receiving little dog plushies and yellow sunflowers - the perfect accompaniment to his brand. And Sunghoon would always receive roses and penguin toys, but you wanted to throw something that as he saw it on the ice, he would know instantly that it was from you.

Delving into your bag, your fingers close around the familiar packaging of Haribos. With a proud smile, you launch them onto the pristine ice, a playful gesture laden with significance. For you and Sunghoon, the colourful sweeties hold a special place in your hearts.

It was a reminder of not only you but of his dad. It’s something so silly but sacred to you both, the first knot in your invisible string. His father had been the bridge to connect you both when you were younger and if he could see you both now, he would be filled with unfiltered happiness.

Gliding gracefully toward your side, he spots the sweets nestled within the sea of roses and looks up at you, his eyes widening in glee.

With the Haribos clutched to his chest, he silently mouths 'I love you,' to which you reciprocate with a beaming grin, watching fondly as he skates back towards the rink's exit.

Coach Lee is the first to greet him, ruffling his hair and patting him on the shoulder as he sings his praises. It’s a little strange not seeing his mother there but Sunghoon doesn’t seem to mind, too busy basking in the love from his coach.

Walking to the couch area, he sits and awaits his score. It just has to be under 298.5, that’s all it has to be. He grips the packet of sweets tight as he rethinks his whole performance. Perhaps he skated a little too well and that scared him because that can only mean you’re in danger of having those men after you.

He can defend you from a hockey player, but against a literal loan shark, he's out of his depth with that one.

As the scores begin to round up on the giant screen, your heart races with anticipation. Each number revealed feels like a drumbeat, echoing the beating of your heart. Usually, you would be begging it to slow down, your heart typically adorning a rapid pace in events like these, yet it is so still you think it might stop. It only seems to beat as each individual score is revealed.

Sunghoon is the same, fondling the Haribos like a stress ball as he sees the high scores, some seem higher than Minhee’s which nearly puts him into cardiac arrest. If he wins over Minhee, he might vomit all over his coach.

Then - as if the world has stopped - the final score flashes on the screen and materialises itself before you and Sunghoon.

Gasping, you drop your sign and shoot up, mouth hung open as your eyes stay glued to the numbers before you.

296.21

Minhee won.

“Oh my god,” you whisper to yourself, a smile splits your cheeks and your knees shake under you. Your brother won, through all his hard work and determination, he beat Sunghoon. And not only that, he bet him with his highest score to match. Sunghoon’s performance was awe-inducing, clearly indicated by the momentous score he just received, yet Minhee still managed to overtake him.

As Coach Lee offers Sunghoon a consoling pat on the shoulder, the atmosphere is thick with tension. Yet, Sunghoon can't feign disappointment. At this moment, there's only one thought racing through his mind.

You're safe.

Once the commotion settles down around the arena, the final scoreboard is unveiled to reveal your two boys at the top, miles above the others. It’s a moment you never want to forget, seeing their names beside one another with their respective medals makes you feel a happiness that you know comes few and far between.

The staff set up the podiums on the ice which are soon to hold your brother and boyfriend in pride of place. This is new, they’ve been battling each other for the top spot their entire careers yet this one feels slightly different.

Perhaps it’s because if your mother holds her end of the bargain, you’re free of the debt that you didn’t even create and she is hopefully nowhere to be seen after today. You want to be sad about it, but regardless of how strange it will be to no longer have her there, you’re thankful that Minhee can be free of her burden and you free of her deceit.

You watch on as Minhee and Sunghoon skate to their places, carefully stepping on the white boxes as the triumphant music plays through the speakers. They have done so well, much better than anyone could have anticipated.

With each medal ceremoniusly placed around their necks, the weight of the accomplishment settles upon Minhee. He thinks about what this means for you both and tears well up in his eyes.

You’re both going to have to start from scratch and find a new home to call yours. But he is also going to the Olympics, something he has dreamed of since he was a little boy, something you have wanted for him since he incessantly started talking about it.

His heart is filled with bittersweet symphonies as he looks ahead but he knows one thing is for certain - he will make sure you’re both happy.

“You can cry, y’know,” Sunghoon whispers beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing tight. When Sunghoon won his first National Gold, he wept like a baby in front of everyone and the pictures snapped became memes on Twitter by the next day.

Sniffling back his emotions, Minhee shakes his head. He refuses to let the floodgates open, fearing he won't be able to stem the tide once it begins. Each tear would symbolise the myriad of emotions he's bottled up over the past few months.

Instead, Minhee leans in close to Sunghoon, his words a soft murmur against his ear. "When I asked you to throw it, I didn't mean by the skin of your teeth. I almost lost," his voice carries a hint of frustration, though it's tempered by the overwhelming happiness of their victory.

Though Minhee is elated at the win, there's a simmering undercurrent of anger towards Sunghoon for nearly jeopardizing their chance to resolve the situation.

"But you didn't," Sunghoon responds with a playful grin, though Minhee finds little amusement in the situation. With a sigh, Sunghoon explains, "Y/N asked me not to, okay? You've known her your whole life, you understand how hard it is to say no to her."

Your brother can't help but agree; there's an undeniable sway you hold over others. Minhee nods, straightening up as the photographer captures a few shots of the medalists.

Turning to face Minhee, the silver medalist offers reassurance once the pictures have been taken, "You did this on your own, that's all she wanted, okay? You have a sister who believes in you more than anything else in the world. In a way, it's her trust in you that propelled you to this moment. People would do anything for that kind of support," Sunghoon whispers the last sentence, acknowledging the depth of his own longing for such unwavering belief.

Minhee knows he is lucky to have you in his corner. Often, he wonders what it would have been like to not have you by his side, and looking at Sunghoon’s dejected face now, he sees what it’s like.

“You have her too, Sunghoon. She’s got enough room in her heart for both of us, to watch us both succeed,” Minhee smiles softly, nudging his old rival with his arm, “Just don’t steal her from me, she’s all I have now.”

“You’re wrong,” Sunghoon wraps his arm around his newfound friend, “You’ve got me! Some would say that’s better than Y/N,” he exclaims with enthusiasm.

Rolling his eyes, Minhee fights a smile as he pushes Sunghoon off of him, a laugh escaping his lips. Sunghoon will fit right into his life, that much he’s certain of now.

_____

You stand amidst the bustling crowd, eagerly awaiting the arrival of your boyfriend and brother. The arena is alive with excitement, vibrant with the chatter of spectators praising both Sunghoon and Minhee's impressive performances.

As people stream past you, caught up in the post-competition buzz, you can't help but feel a swell of pride washing over you. It's almost as if you were the one receiving the accolades, so deeply invested are you in their success.

Then, you spot them making their way towards you, their medals gleaming proudly around their necks even as they've already changed into their regular clothes. To be fair, if you had won a gold or silver medal, you know you wouldn't ever want to take it off either.

With a quickening of your heart, you jog up to meet them halfway, your body colliding with Minhee’s as you hug him tight, squeezing him so hard that he could pop. But instead of complaining, he reciprocates with the same amount of enthusiasm.

“I can’t believe I won,” he says quietly, scared that if he says it too loud someone will pull him from this dream he is living in.

"I knew you could do it, Mini,” you mutter into his chest, your face squashed against him.

Kissing the crown of your head, he pushes you away, “Sunghoon told me you know about everything, what I asked him to do for me,” he says almost ashamed, holding your head close to his chest so you can’t see his face. He doesn’t want you to think less of him for having to beg Sunghoon to help him get you out of this mess you were unknowingly a part of, “He also told me that you told him to go against my plan.”

“I believed in you, Minhee,” you finally fight to pull your head from his embrace, gazing into his eyes as you try to project the belief you have onto him, “I knew you could do this on your own. No underhanded tactics, just you and your skates. I have always believed in you like that,” you pout as you see the words sink into his brain, a soft glow rushing over his face as your words instil him wil self-belief.

“Thank you, Bubs, for always being here for me,” he closes his eyes, a determined expression painting his features, “If she tries to come back and hurt you in any way or if she doesn’t keep her word I will do everything in my power to make sure you’re safe,” he says, speaking about your mother. It was hard for him to even call her that anymore.

Minhee says the words with conviction as he stares deep into your eyes. In some weird way, your mother's shenanigans have helped you and Minhee grow a bond stronger than ever before, something that should be deemed impossible, yet here you are.

Feeling the warmth of Minhee's embrace, you nod against his chest, your words a solemn promise, "Me too. I'll make sure you're living the life you want, the life you deserve."

The sentiment hangs in the air between you, a shared understanding of the depth of your commitment to each other's happiness and fulfillment. For a few precious moments, you simply hold onto each other, drawing strength from the connection you share as siblings.

But as your boyfriend coughs softly, attempting to subtly regain your attention, you gently pull away from Minhee's embrace, though the warmth of his presence lingers with you.

Turning towards your boyfriend with a reassuring smile, “Are you jealous you’re not getting attention?”

You finally throw yourself into Sunghoon's arms, a wide grin spreading across your face as you greet him with a deep, passionate kiss. You’re so full of love that if you don’t pass it onto him through your tongue sweeping into his mouth, you might implode.

As you break away, a sense of elation fills the air around you. Sunghoon's arms wrap tightly around you, pulling you close as if he never wants to let you go. His eyes sparkle with pride and affection, mirroring your own emotions.

"You did amazing, Hoonie," you whisper, holding onto him tighter as you pass your affection from your body to his. "Thank you so much." Your gratitude flows freely, a testament to your appreciation for his trust in your judgment that Minhee was more than capable of succeeding on his own.

Sunghoon sets you down gently, his hand cupping your cheek as he places a feather-light kiss on your nose, "You're welcome, Sweets," he murmurs affectionately, "Although, I did get a bollocking from Minhee back in the locker room," he adds with a laugh.

Minhee grunts, crossing his arms in mock annoyance, "Well, he deserved it, skating so well and all that," he says with a playful pout, eliciting laughter from you and Sunghoon.

"I'll take the compliment, Baby," Sunghoon retorts, making exaggerated kissy faces at Minhee, the playful banter between the two filling the air with warmth and joy.

“Yeah yeah, look, can you stop hogging my manager for a minute,” Minhee rolls his eyes as he speaks.

But you’re confused by his statement, "Manager?" you repeat sceptically, withdrawing from Sunghoon's embrace to face your brother directly, "What do you mean, manager?"

Minhee shrugs nonchalantly, but you can see the flicker of anticipation in his eyes, "Well, Mum's no longer in the picture, so I'm in need of a manager. And I thought you would be perfect," he explains, his words carrying a mix of hope and excitement.

The weight of his request settles heavily on your shoulders. You've never managed anything more than closing up shop at work, and the idea of being in charge of Minhee's entire career feels overwhelming. Even though you’re at Uni studying Events Management, it wasn’t exactly heavy on the management part, it certainly hasn’t equipped you with the skills to handle such responsibility.

Minhee senses your hesitation, and he steps closer, his expression earnest. "Bubs, I trust you more than anyone else in the world," he says softly, his voice pleading, "And just think of all the travelling you'll get to do, all the contacts you'll make. Please, Y/N. I can't go to the Olympics without you."

The mention of the Olympics sends a shiver of excitement down your spine. The event is being held in Paris this year which is a dream destination you've longed to visit since you were a little girl, and the opportunity to be a part of Minhee's journey to the Olympics fills you with both fear and exhilaration.

"Manager?" you repeat, still trying to wrap your head around the idea. The thought of being responsible for Minhee's career is daunting, but his trust in you is undeniable.

Minhee nods, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation, "Yeah, manager," he confirms, his voice tinged with hope. His confirmation of words hit you with a newfound gravity, you realise just how much this means to him. The thought of being by his side, supporting him on his journey fills you with a sense of purpose.

"Okay," you say finally, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in your stomach, "I'll do it. I'll be your manager."

A wide smile breaks across Minhee's face, relief flooding his features. He pulls you into a tight hug, his gratitude palpable.

"Thank you, Y/N," he murmurs against your hair, "You won't regret it, I promise."

Minhee pulls back from the embrace, his enthusiasm obvious, and you can't help but feel a burst of determination rush through you. You're going to attempt to be the best manager this world has ever seen. But when the reality of your new responsibility settles in, a question arises in the back of your mind.

"What about you, Sunghoon?" you inquire, turning to face your boyfriend, "What are you going to do now that you don't have a manager either?"

Sunghoon shrugs casually, though there's a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, "I'm figuring it out," he replies with a nonchalant smile, "I don’t know if I really need one."

You can sense the unease lurking beneath his easygoing facade, and it tugs at your heartstrings. While Minhee's proposition has filled you with a sense of purpose, you can't help but worry about Sunghoon navigating the uncertain waters of his career without the support of a manager.

But before you can voice your concerns, Sunghoon reaches out, squeezing your hand reassuringly, "Don't worry about me, Sweets," he says, his voice soft but resolute. "I'll find my way, just like you and Minhee will."

He has a weird look on his face as he rattles his brain, wondering whether to let the next words slip out of his mouth. You stand patiently waiting for him to speak.

“I uh, I think the Olympics is going to be my last big competition,” he says quietly but the words ring in your and Minhee’s ears as your expressions fall into disbelief.

"What do you mean?" you reply, your voice laced with concern. The idea of Sunghoon giving up skating, the very thing he's dedicated his life to, feels unfathomable to you. After all the years of relentless training and unwavering determination, it seems unthinkable that he would consider walking away from it all.

Sunghoon had thought about it for a while, about giving up this life for a more simplistic one but the plunge always seemed too deep. But skating today without worry or fear and no pressure to win, gave him the courage to take the jump.

“I’m gonna ask Coach Kim if I can study under him and coach the kids. I’ve enjoyed doing it when I can and I think it could be good for me,” he explains.

"But this is your dream, Sunghoon," you protest softly, unable to shake the feeling of disbelief, "You've worked so hard for this."

Sunghoon shakes his head, offering you a gentle smile as he squeezes your hand in reassurance, "I found my dream," he says earnestly, his gaze softening as he looks at you, "And it's not about winning first place at competitions. I don’t need to chase anything else when everything I need is in front of me.”

You could melt at his words, the depth of his love and contentment washing over you like a comforting embrace. Sunghoon's clarity and conviction fill you with a sense of awe and admiration, even as you grapple with the weight of his decision.

In that moment, you realise just how much love this man has for you and how grateful you are to have him by your side. Although you need to make sure this is exactly what he wants.

"But what about all the years of hard work?" you find yourself asking, unable to shake off the concern that gnaws at your heart, "You've sacrificed so much to get to where you are."

Sunghoon's gaze softens, his thumb gently tracing circles on the back of your hand, "It wasn't all for nothing, Y/N," he reassures you, his voice tender, "Every moment on the ice, every win and loss, has led me here, to this realisation. I wouldn't trade any of it for the world."

You want to cry as a fan and mourn the loss of one of the best skaters in the industry, but as his other half, you are so immensely proud of him for following his heart and not just doing what others tell him to do.

"And besides," Sunghoon continues, a playful glint dancing in his eyes, "I'll still be skating, just in a different capacity. And who knows? Maybe I'll even finally teach you to do an axel.”

"In her dreams!" Minhee interjects with a booming laugh, breaking into your warm moment with his characteristic humour.

You shoot your brother a playful glare, flipping him off, but your attention remains firmly fixed on Sunghoon, "Okay, if this is what you want, I'll support you," you say, your voice filled with unwavering commitment.

Sunghoon's smile widens at your words, a wave of gratitude washing over him. "Thank you, Sweets," he murmurs, his voice soft with emotion as he pulls you closer, "I love you so fucking much, Y/N."

"I love you too, Hoonie," you reply, your heart swelling with love. "Forever."

With Minhee's career taking off and Sunghoon embarking on a new journey, you can't help but feel a sense of excitement for what the future holds. Everything has fallen into place, it just took reaching melting point to figure it all out.

taglist (closed!!): @heelee-01 @zerasari @beomgyusonlywife @iwaplant @monstanctiny21 @chiiiiiiiiis @minniejenseo @run2gyuz @jngwnlvs @haelahoops @capri-cuntz @nctislifue @jaehoonii @weyukinluv @skzenhalove @enhypenlovre @cherriruto @bambangan @who-tf-soddhi @nxzz-skz @nshmrarki @hotsforikeu @enhastolemyheart @erehkinnie30 @judeduartewannabe @neosexual @fakeuwus @positivelyinlovewithjungwon @tobiosbbyghorl @kimsunoops @aloverga

#enhypen smut #enha smut #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon smut #melting point #aj writes

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meangirls-imagines · 3 months

Text

Revenge of the Nerds (but like, hotter)

WARNINGS: none really. y/n kicks shane oman's ass. regina is kinda turned on. regina takes care of reader.

BASED ON THIS REQUEST: @droppedmyhotpocket: For your requests, unless you already have some, you could do Regina with a shy reader that ends up like beating someone up for talking bad abt Gina ☺️ honestly I would do it too like no lie

Okay.

Let's start from the beginning.

Y/N Y/L/N and Regina George have been dating practically since seventh grade. The news broke when Jason Weems told the entire school that he saw Regina and Y/N making out by the softball fields.

Regina embraced it, making a show out of kissing Y/N in front of everyone at lunch. From that point on, everyone knew not to mess with Y/N, or they would face Regina's wrath.

Well, almost everyone.

Enter Shane Oman.

Quarterback of the football team. Hottest guy in school. (According to him).

For the longest time, he had pined over Regina. Years even. He was one of the only ones in school that had a problem with Regina and Y/N being a couple. He believed it should've been him.

Y/N wasn't fit for Regina in his eyes. She was a nerd, she didn't talk to anyone but the Plastics. He just didn't get it.

Him and Regina would make the perfect prom king and queen in his eyes and he would do anything to make it happen.

He could never get close to Y/N due to Regina and the plastics always being around her, so he needed to plan. There was only one instance where Y/N was alone, right before lunch. That's when he was going to execute his plan: plant insecurities, make them break up, win Regina.

He had no idea of the shit storm that was about to happen.

Y/N was stood near the entrance to the cafeteria, looking down at her textbook. She was reading an excerpt out of her history book when it was knocked out of her hands.

She sighed and looked up to find Shane Oman standing smugly in front of her. "Can I help you with something Shane?" He scoffed. "Yeah, actually. Stay away from Regina. She doesn't want you." It was Y/N's turn to scoff. "Shane, you come at me with this same argument every week, dude. Let it go."

She reached down to grab her history book but it was kicked away by Shane. "Your guard dog isn't around to help you, nerd. You’re in my territory now." Y/N sighed, standing up straight again. "For the last time, Regina isn't my guard dog." She could feel the rage beginning to boil over.

Shane smirked. "Oh. My bad. She's actually your bitch."

What happened next shocked not only Shane, but the group of students that had gathered to watch the exchange.

Y/N cocked her arm back and swung as hard as she could, clocking Shane in the eye, knocking him on the ground. She proceeded to take advantage of Shane being stunned and began to wildly swing on the boy.

He shook himself out of it and began to fight back, landing a few good (really good) hits on Y/N. Coach Carr happened to be walking down the hall when he saw the commotion. He immediately pushed through the group of students, effectively breaking thought up, dragging the two to Principal Duvall.

Regina George was on a mission. Her combat boots smacking against the vinyl floor of the hallway as she stomped her way to Principal Duvall's office. His secretary opened her mouth to scold the blonde but quickly shut up at her glare.

She barged into the office, startling all three in the room. Her rage increased at the sight of her sweet, teddy bear of a girlfriend nursing a bloody face and a forming black eye. "What did Shane do?" Principal Duvall spoke up. "Ms. George, this doesn't concern you." Regina gave the man her famous ice bitch glare which shut him up.

She softened at the sight of her girlfriend. "What did Shane do?" Shane spoke up. "That bitch needs to be on a leash Regina! She's crazy!" The blonde whipped around, getting in the boy's face.

"The next words that come out of your mouth better be "I'm sorry for ruining your perfect face Y/N" or you will be receiving your meals through a fucking tube for the rest of your pathetic life. Do you understand me?" Shane nodded rapidly, shutting his mouth and remaining silent.

Regina smirked and faced back to Y/N. "What did he do baby?" Her tone was noticeably softer than before. Y/N went through the whole story, explaining how Shane insulted Regina and pushed her over the edge.

Regina took a deep breath and looked at the principal. "So how long is Shane suspended for?" Mr. Duvall stuttered. "Well, Regina. You have to understand, Y/N swung first." The blonde glared. "Shane called me an inappropriate name and shoved my girlfriend. It was self defense."

Duvall stuttered again. Regina held a hand up. "I would hate for my father, who puts a good chunk of his salary into this school, to get word that the principal is allowing LGBTQ+ students to get assaulted for being who they are." She smiled that devilish smile, making Mr. Duvall swallow nervously.

Shane got suspended for a whole week while Y/N just got sent home for the day. Luckily for her, Regina decided to skip and take Y/N to her house. Y/N's parents were notorious for always traveling for work so they were never home. Because of this, Y/N was usually at the George household.

After Regina had treated Y/N's injuries, (and kissed every single one), the couple snuggled up on Regina's huge bed, watching Love Island. Regina was the big spoon tonight, adamantly saying that cuddles will heal Y/N faster.

After a few episodes, Regina noticed that Y/N was fast asleep on her chest. She smiled, setting an alarm for Y/N to take more painkillers before falling asleep herself, dreaming of Shane Oman.....

Getting eaten by lions.

#regina george x reader #regina george imagine #mean girls imagines #mean girls 2024

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mysecretlittlelibrary · 1 year

Text

Make It Worth It

Pairing: Moonknight trio x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: So many okay; body worship, HEAVY praise, multiple orgasms, oral (f,m receiving) unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it <3), creampie, hella petnames, fingering, kinda marking too, oh and cockwarming, a lil bit of a jealousy thing going, vague mentions of injuries

Genre: fluff & smut

Summary: The idea of you going on a date makes your friend confess feelings you didn't know they had

***

Meeting Marc Spector was something you'd consider a total fluke. A mishap with his suit had him limping down the street hardly able to hold himself up. Against... probably your better judgment, you brought him to your apartment- patched him up, got him some food, and let him crash on your couch. He was gone before you woke up in the morning and you honestly expected never to see him again. A couple of weeks later though he popped by to say thank you and introduce himself, you told him he could stop by if he needed help again. You didn't think he'd take you up on the offer but you were fast friends as you became his only confidante. Apparently, the vigilante life is not conducive to friendships, especially when you share your life with another; Steven Grant.

It was a while before Marc told you about Steven and you liked to call him Marc's best kept secret, considering Steven doesn't even know about it. It took even longer for you to meet Steven. Another mishap with Marc's suit had him frantically banging on your balcony door one night. You pulled open the door and he'd practically fallen into your apartment.

"Y/n! Hey!" He groaned.

"Jeez! I thought that stupid bird was meant to protect you Marc!" You crossed your arms.

"Help now, be mad later. Oh! And if I wake up and I'm not me, lie." He barely got the last bit out before he practically fell on you.

"Heavens above you still haven't told him the truth?" You groaned technically to yourself as you shoved a now unconscious Marc onto your couch. Even with him passed out you'd gotten more than enough practice patching him up that you had it so down that you were quick and efficient. He was out for quite some time afterwards, you even made dinner before he suddenly startled awake.

"Who are you? Where am I? What are you doing here?" The unfamiliar British accent immediately told you that night that Steven had woken up instead of Marc.

"Um- this is my apartment so that's where you are, I live here so that's what I'm doing here and my name is y/n. You're Steven right?"

"How did you know my name?" He'd looked at you suspiciously.

"I- I looked at your wallet for ID?" He does have his wallet on him so that lie was totally believable.

"Well why am I here?"

That was the question you were dreading from the moment Marc passed out on you.

"You were hurt so I brought you here."

"Hurt? Hurt how?"

"I- I didn't see it happen. You were hurt when I got to you." You shrugged. It wasn't technically a lie. You didn't see Marc get hurt. The answer seemed to satisfy Steven at the time but maintaining separate friendships with Marc and Steven wasn't something you wanted to keep up long term. Hence, with some gentle nudging, Marc eventually revealed himself to Steven and you ended up having to help the duo navigate the new dynamic.

However, where you thought Steven was Marc's best kept secret; a new player had him beaten. A secret so well kept Marc didn't even know until after you did. And his name was Jake Lockley. Meeting him had actually happened intentionally on his end. Apparently tired of watching the back and forth between you and his alters he stepped in to meet you himself. You'll admit you and Marc toed the line pretty much since you met, flirting with each other but not obvious enough to change your dynamic, and once Steven got comfortable with you it was only too fun to tease him. So in came Jake; the hidden protector, questioning you and ultimately deciding you were safe for them to be around. He even trusted you enough to facilitate his introduction to the other two. Now you've got the whole trio you can call friends and they often tell you how instrumental they consider you in maintaining stability in their shared life. You really enjoy having them around most of the time even with how chaotic it can be covering for, patching up, and keeping track of their system.

Tonight, while you're finishing your makeup for a date, you hear a knock from the living room. You're not expecting anyone right now so when you leave your room and find Moonknight on your balcony you're not exactly surprised. You open the door and the suit disappears as he walks into your apartment.

"What're you all dressed up for?" Marc asks taking in your outfit.

"Hello to you too Marc." You roll your eyes.

"Hello. What're you all dressed up for?"

"I have a date tonight." You say with a shrug heading back to your room knowing Marc will follow you.

"A date? What date? You didn't tell me about any date."

"I don't have to tell you about dates."

"Why wouldn't you tell me though?"

"It's a first date Marc I'm not getting married. You're making it a much bigger deal than it is."

"It is a huge deal. You haven't been on a date since we met!"

"Thank you for pointing out that Marc yes this is my first date in a while. Did you come here for a reason? Doesn't that bird of yours have errands for you?"

"I always come here when I'm done with Khonshu's stuff. This is why it's a big deal you didn't tell me about this date. It throws off our routine!"

"Marc you coming here to eat my food after running around for skelo-bird is not set in stone."

"It is set in stone. If it wasn't we wouldn't do it every time."

"Well it's still early, so when I finish my date I'll text you and you can come back over and your routine will be fine."

"That's not the same."

"I dunno what to tell you sweetie, I have to leave, I'm meeting this guy in like 10 minutes."

"Don't go."

"Marc!"

"Come ooon I'm way more fun than whoever this random guy is anyway."

"You don't even know him."

"Neither do you. So stay."

"Let me get this straight, you want me to cancel my first date in over a year because it's more important that we watch a movie while you eat leftovers? Call me crazy but I'd personally rank those a little differently."

"I want you to cancel your first date in over a year because I don't want you to go on a date."

"Okay I know we're close but I feel like that's crossing a line a little bit. That's not really up to you."

"Princessa, are you intentionally misunderstanding him?" Jake's sudden appearance only further confuses you.

"No Jake. I genuinely have no idea what the deal is here and at this rate, I'm going to be late so one of you better start talking straight."

"He's jealous. He doesn't want you going on a date with anyone that's not... us, really. None of us do."

"All of this is about a crush? Bring Marc back out here." You roll your eyes.

"Look I did not send Jake out here to speak for me!"

"You are such a dunce." You smack his chest lightly.

"What?!"

"You don't want me to go on this date because you three like me and you couldn't just say that?"

"I dunno I guess I just didn't want to risk what we've already got, as friends." He says sheepishly.

"Say the words."

"What?"

"Say exactly why you don't want me going on this date and I'll cancel."

"I don't want you to go on this date because I have feelings for you. Stay home. I can make it worth it in any way you ask."

"Any way that I ask?"

"I'll worship you like a god if you want me to."

"Won't that make that silly old bird of yours a little jealous?"

"Let him be if he is. All that matters is you not going on this date and me showing you my gratitude."

"Alright, I'll call and cancel the date."

"Don't bother. Who cares if he gets ghosted?"

"First of all, I'm nice so I care; secondly that's the shit that gets women stalked."

"Oh please, as if he'd ever be able to hurt you with us around." Marc scoffs.

"Okay, bodyguard. The call will take less than two minutes and you'll have my attention the rest of the night." You say grabbing your phone and stepping into the living room. You notice Marc following you as you call your date.

"Hello?"

"Lewis! Hi, I'm sorry to do this so last minute but something has come up and I'm not going to be able to make it to dinner."

"Oh. Is everything alright? Do you need anything?"

"Uh- thanks but I'll be fine! I just gotta take care of a thing and I didn't wanna leave you sitting there waiting."

"Yeah no, thanks for letting me know. We can reschedule."

"Sure! Soon as I get a handle on things I'll reach out to reschedule." You say, ignoring the look Marc gives you.

"Alright no problem. Good luck with your thing." Lewis says before hanging up.

"You aren't actually rescheduling with him, are you?" Marc asks you.

"Probably not." You shrug.

"Probably?!"

"I already canceled the date for you once."

"You making this hard for me on purpose sweetheart?"

"Not at all. Just not sure how things are gonna go." You smile.

"How things are gonna go? I'm gonna show you that canceling that silly date was the right idea and that you don't need anyone other than us."

"Us? Steven and Jake are in on this too?"

"Of course they are."

"Well, that's a big promise Marc, how do you plan to show me all of that?"

"I'm going to start by kissing you. Is that okay?" Marc asks, pulling you towards him with an arm around your waist.

"Absolutely." You say draping your arms over his shoulder. Marc's free hand comes up behind your head as he kisses you hard. You gasp against his lips and he uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Without warning, Marc lifts you into his arms and easily carries you back to your room, not even phased when you pull away from the kiss to squeal. He tosses you onto your bed and climbs over you with a smile.

"You have no idea how crazy we are about you." Marc breathes out, trailing kisses down to your neck.

"Crazy about me? Is that right?" You ask, a moan punctuating your question as Marc latches onto a particularly sensitive spot to turn purple.

"Completely." He says softly, staring at you so intently you pull him towards you for another kiss to escape the look in his eyes. Marc pulls away to tug your already bunched up dress over your head, leaving you in your bra and panties as he looks you over. "Fucking hell you're even more gorgeous than I could've imagined." Marc groans.

"You spend a lot of time thinking about me naked darling?" You can't help but chuckle at the thought as you take the moment of silence on his end to pull his shirt over his head and drag your nails down his chest appreciatively.

"I plead the fifth." Marc groans and moves to litter your chest in more patches of red and purple as he reaches under you to unhook your bra. His hands cover your breasts as soon as they're free, palms kneading the flesh while fingers toy with nipples. The sudden onslaught of stimulation has little whimpers falling from your lips that Marc decides he can't get enough of. He pulls one of your nipples between his lips, sucking, nipping, and tonguing at it to test your reactions, discovering all the sounds you make from this alone. "You make such cute little noises." He chuckles switching from one nipple to the other, pulling all the same sounds from you. Eventually, Marc trails his kisses down your stomach, soft and slow, like he has all the time in the world. "So pretty." He whispers. He pulls your panties down your legs, kissing your thighs on the way down and back up. "I'm so going to enjoy this." Marc says before burying his head between your legs. He licks a hard stripe between your folds that makes you moan and his arms wrap around your thighs before you can even squirm. Marc's tongue swirls around your clit as he watches you, testing what pulls the best reaction from you. When a certain rhythm has your fingers tugging at his hair he settles into it, intent on making you cum like that. Whimpers and cries fall from your lips in quick succession as he sucks and laps at your sensitive bundle of nerves. You writhe and grind against him, although his grip on your thighs restricts your movement as he works you quickly towards an orgasm.

"Holy fuck Marc!" You groan, throwing your head back and pulling almost too hard at his curls but the man between your legs only lets out a pleased growl at the action. "Fuck I'm close." You pant out and Marc wraps his lips securely around your clit, sucking harshly until your legs tense and your orgasm crashes into you with a silent scream. Marc doesn't even let you fully ride out the high before his fingers slide into your opening. He curls the two digits just right and you can feel the pull in your abdomen when he brushes the spot inside you. Your back arches into him as he works you open with his fingers, his tongue still lapping at your clit, determined to pull another orgasm from you. Your second orgasm hits you faster than the first your entire body twitching while you let out the prettiest whine Marc's ever heard.

"My goodness." Although the voice is muted in your pleasure fogged brain, you don't miss the accent in his words.

"Steven?!" You blink at him, chest still heaving slightly as you try to catch your breath. His eyes are as wide as saucers as he takes in the situation he's just been thrown into.

"Hi. I can't imagine Marc did this on purpose I-" Steven's words trail as his head snaps to the mirror hanging on your closet door. "He did this on purpose." Steven looks at you and then back at the mirror. "Why would you do that Marc?!" You pull his gaze back to you by grabbing his chin,

"Steven, calm down." You say.

"Clearly I've missed a lot because how did you two even end up like this?" Steven asks and your giggle at his confusion quickly turns into a whimper when the action makes you distinctly aware of his fingers still buried inside you. "My god, help me." Steven breathes out at the sound from your lips. "If this was your act of gratitude why am I here?!" Steven asks to the mirror and you suppose Marc told him how you, in his words, ended up like this. Steven makes a face at whatever Marc says next and then turns to you with a look you can only describe as curious. Before you can question it, his fingers inside you move tentatively, making you moan. He's less sure of himself than Marc had been but he watches intently as he slowly strokes your inner walls, enjoying the way you react to him. "You're absolutely breathtaking."

"And you, are simply adorable." You say bringing him down to kiss him. Steven is obviously much more nervous than Marc was and you take the lead in the kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips as you explore his mouth with your tongue. It seems your reactions feed his confidence as his fingers gain speed the longer you kiss him and soon you're moaning too much to actually do it properly.

"I love the sounds you make." Steven sighs. You pull his fingers from you before he can make you cum again and he pouts at you until you guide the fingers between your lips. You suck them clean, enjoying the way Steven takes a shaky breath at the action. You use one hand to undo his jeans and pull them down his legs, pulling his fingers out of his mouth for him to get up and shove them the rest of the way down with his boxers. You lean forward and take Steven into your mouth, swallowing him down as far as you can.

"Oh god." Steven groans and his eyes roll as he tosses his head back. You bob your head up and down his length, swirling your tongue as you go, enjoying the way he moans and shivers.

"I love the sounds you make too darling." You hum dragging your tongue along the vein that runs the underside length of his dick. Steven hisses and you wrap your lips around him again.

"Holy hell you're... really good at this." Steven's praise is breathy and stuttery. You take him all the way into your mouth, feeling him in the back of your throat. Rather suddenly, you feel his fingers in your hair tugging you off of him.

"Now, it was my understanding that we were meant to be showing you gratitude." Your ears perk up hearing the accent change.

"Jake, yeah so I've been told." You hum.

"And yet here you are pleasing Steven instead of him worshiping you." Jake's thumb rubs along your bottom lip.

"Steven is just so much fun to tease." You smile.

"Tease him later princessa, tonight is about you. How lucky we are to have you in our life. How much of an honor it is to kiss you, to touch you, to please you." Jake intentionally speaks slowly, staring at you intently.

"You are... very good with words." You muse.

"Have our actions not supported them?"

"Marc definitely, and Steven- before I got my hands on him, yes. You however haven't done anything but talk." You smirk at him.

"Tell me what you want from me and it's yours. Anything you ask." Jake says.

"In other circumstances that would be... a dangerous promise to make. But tonight, I just want you inside me. I want you to make me cum on your dick."

"With pleasure." Jake pushes you onto your back and tugs your legs to pull you towards him. He wastes no time lining himself up with your entrance and thrusting into you. Your back immediately arches at the fullness of Jake bottoming out and you can't help but moan. "Fuck you're so wet." He groans dropping his head to your shoulder for a moment. Jake sets a rhythm of sharp thrusts, deep but quick.

"Sh-shit Jake! Feels so good." You whine, dragging your nails down his back. He hisses at the sting and his thrusts pick up speed.

"God y/n you're perfect. So gorgeous. Taking this dick like you were made for us." Jake huffs out. One of his hands reaches between your bodies, finding your clit with ease. You squirm against his ministrations moaning as he drives into you repeatedly. "That's it princessa, moan for me, sounds so nice." He grits out, rubbing circles against your bundle of nerves. You grind against him, trying to bring your orgasm on quicker. "Cum for me sweetheart, let me feel you let go around me. Please mi vida." Jake sweetly kisses you as he practically begs for your orgasm and a few thrusts later you're falling over the edge, nails digging into his back as he watches the way pleasure washes over your face. Once your eyes slowly peel open, Jake tightens his grip on your hips and changes the pace of his thrusts, slowing down now.

"You're gonna cum inside me aren't you Jake?" You ask with a pout specifically to get what you want.

"Mierda." Jake's eyes close for a moment. "Is that what you want princessa?"

"Yes Jake, please."

"I told you I'd give you whatever you ask me for." Jake shifts slightly before picking up the pace of his thrusts, they're sloppier now as he focuses on chasing his own release. "I'll pump you so fucking full, you'll be leaking. Fuck you'll look even prettier dripping like that."

"Please Jake, give it to me. Fill me up baby." You whine, grinding against him. His hips stutter and stop buried inside you and you the warmth of his orgasm inside you makes you moan. Before Jake can twist to lay beside you, you pull him onto you comfortable with the weight of him on you. "Don't move yet, let's just- lay like this for a bit, please." You say.

"Thank fuck you didn't go on that stupid date." Jake mutters and you giggle a little.

"Thank fuck you said something or I would've."

"Well, did we make it worth the stay?" "I'd say so." "Good. After a nap you can discuss the details, probably with Steven, he'll have the most to say." Jake mumbles into your neck.

"I'll have to talk to each of you ya know." You say.

"Sure but start with him. All I have to say is I think you're perfect, and we'd be lucky if you date us."

"You're not the only lucky ones." You say kissing the side of his face. Yeah. It might have been by pure chance that you crossed paths with Marc over a year ago but you're glad the rest of your decisions landed you here. Even if it's not the trajectory you saw that first interaction leading to, definitely worth it.

***

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callmerainman · 3 months

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First Man on the Earth still couldn't hit this | sinner!Adam x fem!sinner!Reader

pairing. sinner!Adam x fem!sinner!Reader

themes. enemies to lovers, Adam reincarnates as a sinner, Reader is a royal guard.

spoilers! for Hazbin Hotel S1 finale

tw! mentions of sex, suggestive themes in general, the feminism leaving my body as I write for Adam

When Adam came back as a sinner and asked to be redeemed at the Hotel, no one was having that shit lmao.

But, as always, Charlie believes in second chances and it didn't feel right to her to just not let him in.

At only one condition: he would always have to be supervised by you, Lucifer's royal guard.

You were skilfully trained to become a guard at the royal family's services, and Lucifer had just the right mission for you in mind.

You accepted gladly, finally a task that wasn't guarding his rubber ducks.

But then you meet Adam, and you start immediately regretting the ducks.

You both find each other totally INSUFFERABLE.

He hates the idea of someone watching over him, so he lashes at you multiple times a day, as you talk back to him.

"Can't you just not stick your fucking angelic spear in my cereals?"

Despite your hatred for him, you took the mission very seriously and watched over him to check all his moves, just in case he had bad intentions.

But if you could, oh you would have ran away from his repellent presence the second you saw him at the Hotel.

He despises you so much that he doesn't even dare to flirt with you. You heard right. ADAM.

It takes some next level skill to get on his nerves to the point where he doesn't even want to sleep with you. And he remarks it a lot.

You do the same honestly.

"An old hag like you can only DREAM of having a piece of the original dick!"

Your face distorts in disgust "I would rather swallow all of Lucifer's rubber ducks than even think about it!"

At least you agree on something.

So your dynamic mainly consists of fighting, shouting at each other, name calling, pointing at his throat with your spear, Charlie separating you two as soon as you start throwing hands.

Speaking of Charlie, she had some special classes to make you two get along but they made things worse if anything.

One of them lead to the biggest fight you and Adam ever had.

As soon as you both get up to go to your respective rooms, still shouting insults at each other, Angel Dust raises one of his hands.

"Is it me or I sense some unspoken sexual tension?"

Everybody groans in disapproval, but immediately starts placing bets. Angel Dust is the only one who bets that you two will end up fucking.

In your room, you try to cool down but Adam is just making your job impossible. You're in fact fuming just by thinking about him and his stupid pretty face and his way of talking back to you.

Exasperated, you knock at his door, face already hot in anger. You want to set things straight.

As soon as he opens the door and sees you, he's already annoyed.

"You're making my job fucking impossible, you know?! If you really want to redeem yourself maybe you can start collaborating instead of being the most fucking annoying being to ever land in Hell!" you scream, pointing a finger at him.

Adam gets close to your face, towering over you "I'm not the one who asked to have someone fucking glued to my ass, you know?!"

Neither of you noticed your proximity, not until your foreheads were touching and you were breathing heavily against each other's faces, both hot. From anger, or...you know.

And then, something happens.

You both just lean in and kiss.

Oh boy Angel Dust may be onto something.

The moment you and Adam start to make out is the one you realize that all that fighting was your way of denying something that is now obvious.

The magnetic, undeniable sexual tension that wasn't just some weird figment of imagination.

In a matter of seconds you're all over each other and Adam drags you inside his room. You shut the door, just in case.

After you're done you find something else to agree on! 1. Best sex ever 2. No one has to know 3. Never again

You end up having sex again that very same day. And everybody knows because they heard you downstairs. A very lucky day for Angel Dust's finances!

Neither of you knew that the others at the Hotel were aware so you two would try to sneak out to have sex discreetly.

"We'll go upstairs to...uh...FIGHT! You know? Because we always fight! And we're totally not going upstairs to have sex...'cause we would never have sex with each other!"

Except none of that is discreet, you two go absolutely wild at it.

Meanwhile, you and Adam start to open up to each other more, mainly during pillow talk. You find out that you have a common music taste, and humor. Conversations flow so naturally, something that you would have never guessed.

Something blossoms, and you and Adam realize that you are head over heels for each other.

In the end, Charlie brings up to you two that everybody at the Hotel knows that you have been hooking up. On one side, because she's genuinely happy that you two get along in one way or another. Second, Alastor threatened to obliterate you both if you don't stop exposing him to your obscenities.

So you and Adam decide to stop keeping it a secret, to both yourselves and the gang, and officially become a couple.

Let's say that you still are all over him but in a very different way.

The other guests at the Hotel start regretting the times when you two would just shout at each other incoherently.

Lots of PDA, that's the point.

Not in front of Alastor though, you don't want to risk anything.

But what's more redeeming than a really, really, really stupid love?

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam #adam x reader #hazbin hotel spoilers #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #adam x you #hazbin hotel adam x reader #hazbin hotel adam x you #enemies to lovers #writers on tumblr #scenarios #headcanons #adam fanfiction

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dwaekkilinos · 2 months

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savior complex (pt. 1) | bang chan

summary: Your father had wielded you to become a machine; a weapon. And a machine you would become. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat. He taught you how to protect; specifically how to protect your family. But he never taught you how to survive with other groups, especially when their leader seems to have it out for you.

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | strangers/enemies to lovers + zombie apocalypse au, angst, fluff, smut word count: 19.9K chapter summary: you'd always known the end, and it had always known you. you just didn't know the beginning would be waiting for you when your time finally came. warnings/notes: zombie apocalypse au so . . . blood, guts, gore, sad, sad, sad. beware. lots of inspo from every zombie thing i've literally ever seen (twd, tlou, train to busan, etc.), typos probably, parental death, actions of violence and murder, religious TRAUMA, religious undertones, reader does not believe in god but she's deeply influence by it bc of her childhood and it haunts her, reader comes from a small toen and it's not explicitly stated where she's from but hollows are mentioned, hunting, reader wishes for death multiple times, chan goes by chris, no smut in this chapter but there will be in every chapter after, i think that's it but let me know if i missed anything, and enjoy! <3

chapter one: i know the end (and it knows me) ( series masterlist | next → )

Sometimes you felt like a ghost. It happened when the world was so silent that you could almost hear the beat of your unsteady heart pounding in your chest; when everyone else was asleep and you stayed up, eyes watchful and searching for threats. That was when you felt like the lost faces that haunted you.

It hadn't always been this way, at least not until the world ended. Most of the time you tried not to think about it. You tried not to think about much except survival these days.

Because that was smart. Surviving was smart. Anything else was stupid; anything else would get you killed.

Ironic, how you used to fear that very thing. Death. Now it was all you knew.

The apocalypse had come.

You knew how it sounded. Honestly, you didn't believe it when it first happened. You had been too afraid to admit it; too scared that if you did, you could never go back. There was no going back anyway. That was something you wished you had known back then. And as you sat on a log in the middle of those dark woods, overlooking your group who all slept silently while you stayed up, bloody knife in hand, and eyes watching for threats, it was hard to ignore the fact that this was your cruel reality.

Because the reality of it all was: you were living on borrowed time, trying your best to do right by your father and keep your family alive. You'd faltered that night, dotting the line between protection and predation.

And now . . . now you couldn't help but think about the beginning. How you would've never ended up like this if things had been different. But things hadn't been different. Things had happened exactly the way they had, and it'd left you with rot in your bloodstream and hate in your heart.

That was what made you clutch the knife closer, nearly cutting your own flesh. Because things hadn’t been different, but they also hadn’t always been this way. You hadn’t always been like . . . this.

You supposed it was because it was easy to kneel when you were just a girl. It was easy to ignore the ever-present scabs on your knees when you didn’t know any better. It was easy to tear yourself down the middle, pulling stitches from the back of your legs when you knew it’d all be re-sewn by morning. It was easy back then when the world hadn’t died.

From the moment you were brought into the world, barely kicking and silently screaming like it was a sin to voice your pain, you had been taught to be that girl; that easy, complacent girl with not so much as a rotten thought. From the moment you were born, you had been taught the foundation of the Church and its vocation, and it had carved its way into your rotten flesh even when the world was no more.

At age four, you were in the pews, listening to the words of God while creating imaginary friends in the statues. At age seven, communion. Then at age eight, you had begun to become an altar girl, fetching and carrying, ringing the altar bell, bringing up the gifts and the book, among other things—essentially being a servant to God. At age fourteen, confirmation. At fifteen, your mother doused you in holy water before your first date with a boy from school. Sixteen, heartbreak, praying to God and begging for him to help ease it all, only to be left with no response . . . even after all you had done for him.

Seventeen and the stitches down your legs remained undone, the scriptures now more of a question than a statement. Then . . . eighteen, the timer clicked into place, and you felt yourself begin to rot along with the world, forcing you to realize your entire life was just a cycle of kneeling before God, praying, and asking for forgiveness for your sins.

It had been easy to kneel when you were just a girl; when you didn’t know any better. And then it happened.

It.

Armageddon.

The Rapture.

The fucking apocalypse.

It didn’t matter what you called it. Doomsday was still doomsday even dressed up with fancy scriptures and sacred wine.

The apocalypse had come. Humans were deemed horrible creatures by some almighty who you didn't give a fuck to acknowledge. It didn't matter. Someone or something had deemed the human race unworthy.

The apocalypse had come, and you were deemed worthless. You were made to die. It was inevitable.

The apocalypse had come. There was talk that it had begun in the North. But much wasn’t known in your town. Now you realized they tried to keep it a secret. It was a way of controlling everyone, you supposed, but not like it mattered much now.

That was just how things were. Your mother refused to let you and your younger sister watch the news, refused to let you search anything about what was going on in the world, adamant that everything was lies and those lies would cloud your mind. A religious town bordering on a commune that resembled a cult perhaps just a tad too much. You realized all this now, of course, but back then your knees were still covered in scabs from kneeling before a God who would never come. Back then your mother kept you kneeling until the final bell tolled, her hand firmly clutching your shoulder to keep you in place.

You were only eighteen then. And while the outside world was torn apart month by month, its people haunted by death piled upon death, your town continued on as it always had. The whispers of a war that would end the world were just whispers, covered up by scriptures that the local preacher would sight every Sunday morning just after you’d collected the eggs from the chicken coop and put on your best dress like your mother had always taught you.

But it was different for you, even back then. Because while it had been easy to kneel when you were a girl, you had begun to grow. Eighteen then, but you had begun to see the flaws within the Church when you were sixteen. And by eighteen, you knew better.

By eighteen, you could see the sweat beading along the preacher’s forehead. By eighteen, you could hear wavering in your mother’s voice when she proclaimed that this was just a test. That this was meant to happen. That the Bible had always predicted this, and if you remained faithful, then you would be saved . . . spared.

But by eighteen, you knew better.

It took one quiet night and a hammering heart for you to sneak into your father’s study and head straight for this desktop. It took even less time to discover what had become of the world. One. Two. Three clicks and then . . .

You remembered the choking feeling bubbling up your chest as your eyes scanned the news articles. A virus. One so horrible and unforgiving that it could take a healthy vessel, and within twenty-four hours, the body would succumb to death. But, you’d seen stuff like this before, right? You knew there had been plenty of diseases and viruses and they all had cures. They all had to have cures. They had to.

That was just the thing: no matter how hard you looked, you couldn’t find any article that explained how this virus came about. It was unknown, deadly, spreading rapidly, and there was no way of telling when it’d reach your town. It was just . . . just . . . (It was the first time you truly felt helpless.)

You remembered staying up with the sun, looking for answers, only to come out empty-handed. And when your father discovered you in his study that morning, you nearly confessed right away, sobbing into his arms. But no shame was brought upon you that day.

Your father had been a good man. He had loved you so. He had loved his family, no matter the consequences or conditions.

This town, your town, was small. It consisted of around only three thousand people give or take, all of which were either Christian, secluded, or . . . your father. In all the years you had been alive, not once had your father stepped into the Church. You never asked. You never worried. Your mother just always told you your father was busy every single time, and you believed her because back then, you’d trusted her with all of you.

As you grew, your suspicions of him did, too, but you remained silent as you always had in life. And it was only until that morning when he wrapped you in his arms and let you cry into his shoulder, did you realize why he never entered the Church, why he never spoke the prayers your mother praised, why neighbors would talk of his name only in hushed conversations.

He didn’t believe.

No, he believed in something just not . . . this sacred word your town so desperately worshipped. And that morning, he told you the truth. From his childhood to how he ended up in a town like this. He told you it all, and then he told you the truth. He told you how your mother was scared (how she always had been) and how one day he hoped with enough trying, she’d see the world for what it was ( . . . she never did). And then he told you about the virus, and everything was so much clearer.

The town had everyone convinced this was some kind of test. There was no virus to them. This was the reaping. The scriptures were true to them. And so every Sunday, you were forced to acknowledge that Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death—the Four Horsemen of the apocalypse had come to earth with the power to destroy humanity.

That was how it had been explained to your town, and all its people believed. A sickness had struck the world, yes, they told that much truth, but they chalked it all up to being some kind of plot point in God’s plan. To top it off, it was said that if the townspeople all repented and did right by his name, then salvation would be given.

That was what was told, and that was what was believed.

You remembered the preacher’s voice even now.

Then I saw when the Lamb broke one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures saying as with a voice of thunder, "Come." I looked, and behold, a white horse, and he who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer.

— Revelation 6:1–2

That scripture haunted you just as your father’s face did, but back then you hadn’t realized the detriment it would have on you. Back then, you played your part. Back then, you dressed as your mother advised, went to church, and listened, and then, when all was said and done and your mother had gone to her room, you snuck off to accompany your father on his hunts. And during those times, you’d learn the truth.

While the two of you hunkered down, waiting for deer to pass through your side of the woods, he told you about what was going on with the rest of the world. He explained how the CDC had claimed this thing; Pestilence (as your town believed) was some kind of virus, yes, only they wouldn't release the survival rate except for a few things that stated it was deadly, spread rapidly, and anyone could have it, but by the time symptoms had started to kick in, it would be too late.

As the weeks went by, as the more hunting extravaganzas you went on with your father piled up, his news became more worrisome. At first, the virus was contained in the North of the world, but as it took more lives and less information about it was being provided to the public . . . people began to panic. Hysteria spread throughout the world. Cases of this unknown virus peaked, and the government released statement after statement informing the public that face masks would be required to prevent the virus from spreading and travel restrictions would soon be put into place.

Only by that time, it was too late.

Carriers of this unknown virus had already traveled far and near, spreading the disease throughout the world. This so-called Pestilence might have only been given reign to a quarter of the world, but his disease had spread farther than his radius.

And while you had been young, you realized that this virus had only one purpose: to kill. There was no survival rate. No hope.

The world shut down soon after more and more people started dropping like flies, succumbing to the miserable disease that left them with boils and blisters covering their skin. Hospitals became overrun. Schools were wiped out with kids coming home with this deadly virus. Workplaces were abandoned, the people wishing to stay at home with their families, too afraid to step outside without any real knowledge of how this virus worked.

Your town remained oblivious, too, as the region shut down, gates being made so no one could enter or leave. It was safer that way they claimed. All of those who could be saved would be saved and helping those seeking a refuge was against the rules. It all felt like some kind of sick plan if you had anything to say about it.

By the time your father had taught you how to shoot your first deer without you sniffling in fear, Vaccines were finally attempted, but nothing worked; the disease only spread, and more people died.

Then . . . it all just stopped.

But your town continued to spread its lies.

The story remained the same even all these years later. You remembered how while you had learned the virus was supposedly coming to an end, your town still painted the picture of the Horsemen. Tales of Pestilence’s reign still remained.

They went on and on about how he rose from the depths of Hell. Pestilence had come. He, who sat on his white steed, had a bow, a crown that had been gifted to him by his gods had come, and when he had, he went out conquering. And so he did.

Until he was put to rest; until his conquering had come to an end. You listened with half a heart as the preacher went on and on about how his time had ended, yes, but this was not the end. All you had to do was keep praying, keep repenting, keep . . . kneeling, and you’d be saved.

But you knew better.

While others would attend midnight mass in addition to morning, you claimed you had to pray on your own, and when your mother had left with your sister on her hip, you snuck off with your father to learn of the world. You snuck off to better your shooting arm, to seek comfort in the only person who seemed to have their head screwed on right, to shoot ducks and geese and deer and everything in order to keep your town fed while everyone else prayed to a God that wasn’t doing half your work. And yet, every time, every kill, your father knelt beside the animal and prayed, until you had begun to do the same.

You weren’t sure why he did it. You had never asked. You never thought you needed to. (Now you would’ve done anything to know the answer.)

And so . . . life went on like that. Completely cut off from the world without the help of the internet your father provided for the two of you, life went on.

The virus no longer spread further, and many believed it was all just some hoax. News stations came to life again, but not much else was restored. That was how everyone found out the virus had concluded. Hell, even you remember being twenty-one years old, having your first legal shot with your father in the middle of the woods while the two of you watched news reporter after news reporter claim the virus had mutated and mutated so much to the point our bodies had accumulated a natural resistance to it.

But you couldn't believe it.

Three whole years of this deadly disease taking out population upon population, and then it all ceased. It felt almost too good to be true.

Of course, the town believed this too. Pestilence had conquered, and that was just the problem.

Every day, day in and day out, words spread throughout the hollow, the word in the Church mutated each week, even your mother who had spent the last three years praying to Jesus, Joseph, and Mary; your mother who had gone through rosary after rosary begging for God to have mercy on your family; your mother who had always forced you to attend those days at church on Sunday went around the house, boarding up the windows and hiding the special silverware in the basement, claiming that he would come next.

He has conquered, she had hissed over your shoulder when you and your father came back from one of your hunts.

Pestilence's reign had ended (according to your mother, who you were almost certain had a few screws loose). You didn’t believe it for a second, ignoring your mother's desperate ramblings.

War will come, she warned.

War will come.

But . . . you knew if something did come, it wouldn’t be this War.

And then . . . then he did.

The first sighting of the dead coming back was spotted just months after the virus that had plagued millions had ceased. And this time . . . the town allowed its folk to see the reports. Even your mother had brought the television from the basement to witness the dead rise . . . or rather . . . War. The news stations had captured a recording of these . . . people; people who had suffered from the virus coming back, and then with only their teeth, tearing any live thing apart. The recording was aired all across the world, fear, and hysteria spreading like wildfire.

The government was still up and running at this point with only one mission: to shoot down these seemingly reanimated corpses before they could cause more harm. People believed this to be a fluke, but your mother's words had stuck with you.

War will come.

It was all a little hazy now, but you remembered bits and pieces of the world back then. War had been quick, ruthless, and determined.

This was no man. This was War.

And it all became clear soon after.

While Pestilence had been silent, War had wanted an audience.

The things he could do; the people he could hurt . . . it was all so gutting. Those lost to the virus kept coming back, all with one purpose: destruction. With one bite, their victims would soon fall ill to that same virus, and then once it had taken their body, they’d come back, reanimated with the same gruesome purpose.

The government finally fell when the dead could no longer be stopped. Quarantines dropped, people ran, and everything just . . . stopped. These creatures tore through cities, sinking their teeth into civilians. And you watched it all on the television, until that, too fell, leaving the rest of the world in the dark.

That was when you realized just how real all of this was. That was when you realized the past three years of hunting with your father was not just something the two of you would look back on and laugh about one day when this virus was over. No . . . it seemed . . . it seemed you couldn’t quite see the end or maybe . . . maybe you could and that was the problem all along.

Your father, the man he was, tried to remind you that this was not War; that this was not the supposed God’s plan everyone was convinced of in your godforsaken hollow. And you tried to hear him, but for a while, you wished to be like everyone else in the town. You wished you could believe this was some greater plan. You wished you could believe that this was all because of some Horseman . . . but you knew better, and your father seemed to know this as well.

(And yet, when you thought back on it now, the stages in which the world ended still presented themselves as the Horsemen in your troubled mind.)

Because, well, you supposed that was truly when the world had ended—the day War came.

War will come, your mother had warned, and you knew that to be true the day the electricity stopped working. War had come, and he'd taken civilization with him. And while he reigned over the quarter of the world he'd been gifted, the rest of the world lay in the dark, trying to navigate throughout this new world.

From time to time you had heard talk of distant wars. You, however, had never seen one.

But War's ruthless hand still reached your town.

There was no news or contact with the outside world other than the people you could see with your own eyes. No transportation, no government, no nothing. It was said that cars had even been abandoned on highways as people tried to leave town to find their families. But they never got far; not with this newfound order bestowed upon the earth.

Because truly . . . War did not need to come to earth to corrupt it.

The government had fallen, the world had ended, the apocalypse had begun and that was all it took for chaos to ensue. People became their worst selves at the end of the world, you'd been told all your life through media upon media. But you had to disagree. You thought, perhaps, the end of the world brought out who people truly were deep inside. It allowed people to let go of civility.

And you discovered people really were perhaps even worse than this supposed War himself. Or rather a product of War and his righteous hand.

(Although, how righteous could he truly be?)

While War reigned, the rest of the world scavenged. Your family stood stagnant in your childhood home, holding up there for as long as you could. It was still warm when the second wave hit. You knew you'd need to find a different shelter when the time came.

The cold wasn't your only problem either. People were at their worst. When the news broke out in your town, the scriptures they held so dear began to fall apart. A lot left, some stayed, and others turned on each other, leaving houses with bloodstained splatters and a fear of thy neighbor. Your family stayed, however. Your mother read scriptures every day. Your father recited the truth. And they argued, while you sat by the window, terrified out of your mind as you watched the empty streets.

That was when you realized another truth about yourself. You were just about to turn twenty-two, the world had gone to shit, and you had never been so scared. Pestilence. War. Famine. Death. Their names raged on inside your head and it was as if you were still just a young girl, kneeling in church despite the scabs. Except now, you were a girl who could no longer kneel in church, and yet you were still so scared.

It felt cruel. Perhaps even unreal.

The scriptures had predicted this—the four harbingers coming down to scorn the earth. But you hadn't believed it. You were forced to now.

It was War’s reign back then. But Death would come one day. He had come to kill you all; to finish off everything his brothers hadn't touched, and one day he would.

It had been predicted. The words stuck in your head even now.

When the Lamb broke the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying, "Come." I looked, and behold, a pale horse; and he who sat on it had the name Death; and Hades was following with him. Authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by the wild beasts of the earth.

— Revelation 6:7–8

Your mother told you long ago of these scriptures. When you were a child, you'd cover your head with your blankets, hiding from the mysteries of the night. Somewhere in your innocent mind, you'd convinced yourself the devil himself would find his way into your room, wrap his bony hand around your ankle, and drag you to the pits of Hell.

Back then you'd feared death. You'd done everything to steer far from its clutches.

She’s afraid of the world, your peers would hiss under their breath, not knowing you'd heard every word. And you knew they were right. You knew you had always been a scared kid, trying your hardest to keep the monsters at bay.

You wished you'd realized there had been no real monsters . . . yet. You would've lived more. Now you knew the consequences.

Now there was no more living, just surviving.

Still, sometimes you found yourself missing it; missing life. It was a bitter thought—what could've been had the world not ended all those years ago.

Back then—before the end—you'd feared death.

How far will this go? you remembered thinking back then when it was still War’s reign. How long until things are normal?

You didn't have the stomach back then to come to terms with the truth. You barely remembered it now.

But you did remember the day everything truly changed for you.

Up until that day, you'd been following your father's orders, huddling up in your home with your mother and little sister as the four of you survived day by day. Then . . . your house had been broken into, the intruder coming in through your window.

Back then you had feared death. You had thought you were going to die.

You'd thought this up until the very last scream ripped through your throat just as your father emerged from the shadows, a look on his face you’d never seen, moments before everything went red. You remembered that to this day. While everything else was blurry, that moment was clear. You could still feel the blood splatter on your face as you watched your father—the man who used to tie your shoes for you before you hopped on the school bus—kill a man before your very eyes, ripping out his jugular with his bare teeth.

Once a girl who could no longer kneel in church, became one painted with the blood from another. And you remembered a small part of you—the part that had once knelt so much her knees had turned to scabs—that this was all War’s fault.

You thought it until you watched the man pale, falling to your childhood bedroom floor with a thud. You remembered how his eyes stayed wide open, locked on you as he gurgled and choked on his blood, bleeding out onto your pink carpet. He didn't blink. Not once. Not even at all. They stayed cold and empty as your father breathed heavily above him.

And then you looked at him.

Your father was a good man. He was kind and just, despite the town. He believed in science and facts. He wanted the truth. But none of that mattered if his family was at stake.

Your father was a good man. He loved you, and he would’ve done anything for you.

Your father was a good man.

Your father had ripped out another man’s jugular in front of you.

Your father was a good man.

Your father had killed someone.

This was the end. You knew it, and it knew you, too.

(It wasn’t talked about, and you never brought it up again. He simply embraced you in a tight hug and kissed your forehead, leaving a smudge of blood from the man in doing so, and whispered apologies that would never sink deeper than your skin.

(Now you wished you would’ve told him you understood. Now you would’ve looked at him and seen an image of yourself staring right back. Now you would’ve hugged him back.))

That was all it took before your father took it upon himself to gather your mother and little sister, put all necessities in the car, and collect enough portable gasoline as he could before the four of you set off down the road. Where you were going was undetermined. There was no knowing . . . because there was nowhere to go.

The world had ended. There was nothing left. You just had to go.

You have to grow up. No more kid stuff, your father said to you that night on the road while your mother and little sister were fast asleep in the back of the car. One day I might not be here to protect you. You have to learn to protect yourself.

And you'd promised him you would. Because you had to. You had been old enough then, after all. You had been twenty-one . . . technically an adult.

(Now, however, you realized you had still been too young. Twenty-one wasn't old enough to face the end of the world.)

But . . . what happens when a scared young girl is forced to grow up too soon? She turns into a machine.

Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.

Your father had borne that burden back then, when you first set off on the road. The car hadn't lasted long. Not that it mattered. The world was a wasteland anyway. Walking from town to town on the vacant streets and highways was nothing new now.

You just have to survive, he kept telling you. Survive long enough to keep them alive.

And you always knew what he meant. He was training you for the day when he would be no more. Because when that day came, you would be the one left in charge. He'd turned you into a machine because that was the world you lived in. You were the oldest. Your sister was barely five years old back then. And your mother . . . your mother who once believed this was all some greater plan, was now convinced that if she prayed hard enough it'd stop Famine from following after his ruthless brother.

It was your job to remember what your father had taught you when Pestilence first came to reign—how to hunt, how to shoot a shotgun, and now . . . how to survive.

And when Famine came; when you caught sight of the words Famine has risen spray painted on a billboard on the side of a highway, reminding you of your sick home. It was then you finally learned how to survive. You didn't realize how hard it would be until a year after Famine's birth, your father had passed because of you (because of a stupid decision that you had made which you still couldn't bring yourself to acknowledge).

Survival became all that you knew after that.

Your father was gone. It was just like he had warned. You were in charge now, and you had one purpose: keep your family alive.

The burden became yours to bear.

This was your purgatory and you'd do well to repent for what you'd done; for the man you'd sent out to die; for the father you'd lost.

Survive, survive, survive. It was all you knew.

And when the final Horseman rose, you knew what you had to do. It didn’t matter if it killed you, you couldn’t let your family die at the hands of one of those . . . creatures.

Death had risen. The entire world was a wasteland filled with undead and wars made by man.

If you crossed paths with one of those creatures and let them lay a finger on your family, your oath to your father would be broken. Death would kill you all.

So you kept going, trying to outrun the inevitable.

Because you had to. For him. For your father. For the ghosts that haunted you.

Your father had wielded you to become a machine. And a machine you would become.

Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.

The routine was ingrained in your brain, going on and on like a mantra. You couldn't escape that. Not that it mattered. Survival mattered. Keeping your group, your sister, your mother, and your family alive mattered. They were all that mattered. You would skip as many meals as your body would let you if it meant they'd stay fed.

Sometimes you found yourself laughing at how naive you had been in the past. At twenty-five now, you were equal parts machine and woman, still oozing blood when wounded despite your protests. You didn't tremble at the sight of blood now. You didn't fear death.

When you were a kid, death was your greatest fear. Now, you envied it. Envied the fact you had to walk the earth; the same earth the dead destroyed. Because you couldn't die. That was the harsh truth: you couldn't die.

You'd feared death for so long and now as you sat awake, keeping watch while your group slept, you yearned for the clutches of death to drag you into nothingness. It was almost laughable.

In a world where people now fought for their lives, trying to outrun the dead, you wished to succumb to death. You knew it was wrong, and you'd never speak it aloud, but you yearned for it. This world was shit. Complete and utter shit, and you wanted to give up. Everything in you wanted to just wait like some brainless sitting duck and let Death or disease or even those wretched beasts you heard groaning in the dead of night have their way with your hollow body.

But you couldn't . . . not when you promised your father you'd protect them. He'd died for you, and it was your duty to keep your family safe. Your duty.

You couldn't die, not when you had to keep them alive.

So you let yourself turn into a machine.

And a ruthless machine you had watched yourself become.

That night had been enough evidence of this. Because that night as you sat on a log, slowly dragging yourself out of the past and into the present, you realized one thing. A bloody knife sat in your hand while you watched over your sleeping group, eyes searching for any sign of the dead, and that was when it dawned on you that you had been right all those years ago—the end of the world brought out who people truly were.

You were a machine. You didn't feel. You couldn't.

Glancing down at the bloody knife in your hand, you realized you hadn't felt anything that night.

That night you'd done something you never thought you would. That night your group was attacked by a man with a gun; a man who wanted to harm; a man who had put his hands on your little sister. She was only eight going on nine, and she was your responsibility, and as soon as his hand clamped down over her shoulder while he held a gun to her head, threatening to pull the trigger unless you gave up all your food, you lost it.

Everything went black. You couldn't see. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't even think. You just felt this pure blinding rage.

When you finally regained your sight, you realized what you'd done—you'd killed the man.

No, killed was too vague.

Like the true machine you had become, you had slaughtered him; the bloody knife in your hand was evidence enough of that.

The man was dead, a chunk of his jugular ripped out while he clutched the many stab wounds piercing his stomach. And you . . . you stood above him, eyes wide, bloody knife in hand, and the bitter taste of blood on your tongue.

You'd never killed anyone before. You'd put people out of their misery, but you'd never taken another life like this. You'd never had to.

But you had that night.

And now you paid the consequences.

It had been hours since then. No one had spoken a word since. And your sister . . . your little sister had only looked at you once since then, and you could see the utter terror her round eyes held. Normally she would sleep by your side, but she'd curled up next to your mother that night.

She was afraid of you, and you couldn't blame her. You had once given your father the same look.

So you sat alone on that damned log, bloody knife in hand as you thought back on how you managed to end up in this Hell. Sometimes you felt like a ghost, and now you knew why.

Your brows pinched together. You couldn't help but think: is this what your father had intended?

How much of a machine had he meant for you to become? Were you supposed to clutch onto the part of yourself that was still human? Or had becoming a monster been part of the deal when you'd signed off your soul for machine parts?

You weren't sure. You weren't really sure of anything anymore.

Your sister had looked at you like you were one of the monsters that plagued your earth, slowly destroying it region by region.

Were you no better than the dead to her?

You swallowed hard.

Had you become a monster?

“You did what you had to do,” you heard a deep voice from behind you, perhaps answering your thoughts.

But you didn't jump as you turned to see Felix sit down on the log beside you, exhaustion weaving through his delicate features. You didn't speak a word, just stared at the side of his face for a second before you glanced back down at the bloody knife in your hand.

You did what you had to do.

You nearly laughed. It was just like him to say such things.

You see: Lee Felix had joined your group around the same time Famine took his reign, and ever since then he'd been following you around like your own personal shadow. That was three years ago now. Your father had saved him, offering him to join your family on the road. Perhaps your father had seen something in him. Or maybe he had just saved him simply because that was just who your father was: a hero.

Not that it mattered. You'd taken a liking to Felix, too. He was kind.

Kind had been rare back then. It still was.

And Felix stayed kind.

When your father passed, Felix stuck by you. Your mother had begun to look at you as if you were a stranger, and your little sister still had been too young to understand much. Felix had made life easier.

You'd taught him everything you knew partly because you needed to and partly because you liked being around him as if he were the younger brother you’d never had. Little bird, you called him . . . because you'd taught him everything. You'd taught him how to survive. And sometimes you thought maybe you would've been friends outside of this. If things were different, if you'd met in a world where the apocalypse hadn't happened . . . then you'd like to think you could have met; that your paths would've crossed.

But things weren't different. You weren't even sure if you could let him in entirely. Your friendship would surely put him in some sort of jeopardy. Because, really, it all came down to survival, and you needed him to live. You didn't care what happened to yourself. You just needed to stay alive long enough to make sure they'd all make it.

That still didn't stop the feeling of relief that washed over you as soon as you felt him lean into you, arm touching yours. He was trying to comfort you in the way that he knew, and you couldn't help but lean against him further.

He was still just as kind as the day you'd crossed paths.

But you?

Well . . .

“I ripped his throat out . . . " you heard yourself roughly mutter before you felt the words tumble from your tongue. You lifted a hand to your blood-stained lips and swallowed. “I ripped . . . throat . . . his . . . with my teeth.” You swallowed once again, harder this time as your eyes drifted to your little sister's sleeping figure. She had been so scared. You had done that. You had scared her. “She looks at me like I’m a monster.”

”You’re not."

“Lix."

“You’re not,” he reiterated, his voice as harsh as he could manage (which was not harsh at all) while he clutched your blood-stained hand and took it into his. “You did what you had to do.”

Your eyes flicked down to your hands. But you didn't look at him. You couldn't. You just kept thinking and thinking and seeing that look on your sister's face. And then . . . then you felt yourself say. ”She says all life is precious. She cries when we have to put down a squirrel for Christ’s sake. I should’ve known. I should’ve—”

”She’s just a kid."

“I didn’t have to kill him,” you continued. “There was a point where I could’ve knocked him out. I thought about it. And I still killed him.” Your eyes finally snapped to his then. “I wanted to kill him, Lix.”

A muscle in Felix’s jaw twitched. ”It’s people like him that make me wonder if this world got it all right,” he admitted after a second. “I’m glad he’s dead. I just wish I could’ve been the one to do it.”

Your breath hitched at his words, not because they'd shocked you . . . but rather because you found yourself agreeing. But that wasn't . . . right. Felix was kind. You were not. He was good, and you . . .

”You don’t mean that,” you mumbled, squeezing his hand. “You’re not . . . “

”Not what?” Felix countered, eyes searching yours. “Hmm? Not what?”

You blinked, your throat constricting. ”Too far gone,” you choked out.

His brows twitched, his expression softening. ”Neither are you."

His hand touched your face a second later, his thumb wiping the dried blood from your chin. You weren't a monster in his eyes. You were just his friend. He didn't fear you, but you knew he should've.

But for a second, you let yourself forget this. Instead, you closed your eyes, allowing him to clean your face of the man's spilled blood. And when he was done, your eyes fluttered open just in time to see him try to reach for the knife in your hand, probably to release it from your tight hold.

However, you shifted it out of his grasp. His eyes snapped to yours then, questioning.

You offered a weak smile—something you didn't do often, but would for him. ”Sleep,” you hummed, patting his shoulder. “We need your brute strength in the morning.”

”We need your brain more,” he countered, tapping a finger to your forehead.

”Sleep, little bird."

He rolled those round brown eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."

Nevertheless, Felix listened to you. He shifted down onto the ground, resting his head on the log, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes closed. And you watched him until you were sure he was resting soundly. Then, your eyes went back to watching, making sure to keep your promise to your father.

But just as you were sure it was just you and the silence of the night again, you heard Felix’s voice filter through your ears, ”You’re not too far gone."

You swallowed hard but said nothing.

You're not too far gone.

Oh, how wrong he had been.

As if like some sort of phantom, your knees had begun to itch like they used to after mass all those years ago. For the first few days, you tried to ignore it, writing it off as poison ivy or not bathing for a few weeks, but even when you’d scratch, the itch would remain. You came to realize that this wasn’t something you could write off; this wasn’t something that hadn’t been caused by anything other than . . . you.

A few nights ago, you’d killed a man. You’d ripped out his throat with his teeth, and for a second too long, you’d enjoyed it. Now . . . now you wondered just how deep your guilt ran. Now you wondered if given the chance, would you do it again?

But you already knew the answer.

Your knees had begun to itch once again . . .

And you tried to ignore it. Honest, you did, but his screams; how easy it was to bite into his flesh; the bitter taste of metallic blood on your tongue which oddly tasted too similar to honey; the life in his eyes quickly dissipating as you towered over him like a predator to its prey; all of it kept playing in your head over and over again. You couldn’t escape it, not even when night came and you were forced to close your eyes.

His face was always there.

Sometimes you wondered if any of it had actually happened. Sometimes you wondered if none of this was real or if you even were. Sometimes you wondered if this man had been Death; if the tales your town preached had been real and this was your test.

Sometimes you wondered if you had failed.

And you knew you had.

At night, you could hear your mother whispering prayers under her breath, pleading to the heavens that she and her daughter would be spared. And every time, you knew which daughter she meant. Every time you knew she was praying to be spared from you. Every time you knew it was you who she feared the most in this world. And every time you wondered if one day he’d finally answer her prayers.

You couldn’t even blame her, because a few nights ago you’d done the one thing you’d never thought you’d have to do—kill a man. You knew you were some kind of fucked for that alone.

Then, last night, you began to wonder if this was how your father had felt. You began to wonder if this was why he was dead and not you. You wondered if he’d done it to save you, and to put himself out of his own misery.

And then you began to pray, too. You’d stopped believing in God years ago, but it was an old habit that you sometimes indulged in for some sick kind of comfort. And this time, in the dead of night, you’d shut your eyes and beg for your father’s ghost to return to you. You begged for just one more minute. One more minute and he could tell you how to deal with this; how to survive this, too, just as he had taught you how to endure everything else.

But no ghost ever came, only the perpetual darkness galloped in, consuming you whole.

Your father was gone, and it was all your fault. Guilt was your ghost, not him.

He would still be here if you hadn't—

"Mom thinks you've been possessed by the devil," your little sister's voice brought you out of your mind.

You blinked once. Then, you glanced down at her, taking note of her skeptical eyes and furrowed brows. It was almost as if she were inspecting your face, trying to decipher if you, her older sister, really were possessed as your mother had claimed.

It had been the first time your sister had spoken to you in the past week. The four of you had been walking through the woods, steering clear of the main roads ever since you’d come into contact with that man—the man whose blood you could still taste on your tongue.

She’d taken to walking hand-in-hand with your mother, just a few feet behind you and Felix as the two of you led the way into the unknown. You didn’t know where you were going. You never did. That was the thing about the end of the world—the only thing that mattered was surviving day by day. There was no end-point.

But today while you led the group through the woods, eyes searching for any rodents or small animals to capture for food, your head stuck in the past, your sister had taken the chance to walk into step with you. And those . . . those had been her choice of words.

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

And now with the world a ghost of itself, you thought perhaps maybe your mother could be right. You’d changed. The world had changed you. The old taste of blood on your tongue was evidence enough of that.

You’d killed a man. You’d ripped out a chunk of his jugular with your teeth and plunged the very knife in your belt into his flesh over and over again until you were sure he couldn’t do more harm.

Kill or be killed, sure, but . . .

. . . You’d still killed a man.

You’d actually taken a life.

(You weren’t expecting it to haunt you this much. But it had. You could still see his face, hear his voice, smell him, feel him. He was still very much alive in your mind, haunting you like a ghost.

It didn’t matter if he was more monster than man . . . you had still killed him. You had still taken a life without a second thought. His evils didn’t matter . . . guilt still seeped in.)

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

And maybe you had been.

That would’ve been easier to fathom.

But instead of voicing these thoughts aloud, you adjusted your backpack on your shoulders, touched a finger to the knife tucked into your belt to make sure it was still there and tightened your grip on your father’s shotgun in your hand before you finally spoke.

"Mom's off her meds," was all you offered. It was all you could say. And it hadn’t been what your sister was searching for.

Your sister stepped back, allowing you to walk alone. You knew you were losing her. You knew she barely trusted you now just as your mother stopped considering you a daughter.

And you couldn’t blame them.

The end of the world brought out who people truly were, and you were someone not worth saving.

The sun had begun to set when you finally declared you’d be stopping for the night. It wasn’t a solid resting place, which meant another night of no sleep on your part, but that didn’t bother you much anymore. All that mattered was there were no signs of the dead, no low groans in the distance, no immediate danger, and the small creek running just a few meters from your camp would provide just enough for you to wet your face and clean any dried blood from your skin. That was what mattered—a temporary sanctuary.

Felix had taken to accompanying your little sister to the creek, while your mother gathered small twigs and broken branches to add to the fire you had just started. But your eyes never stopped watching your little sister, keeping an eye on her to ensure no danger would reach her or Felix while you were occupied.

That was your only concern. Your second was food. There had to be some crawfish lingering in the creek that you could fry up. That was your second concern right after the fire was steady enough to last until nightfall.

With a soft sigh, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from your sister’s smiling face. You tried to ignore how she smiled at Felix while he splashed water at her. You tried to ignore the soft laughter you could still hear as you stabbed at the fire with a branch. You tried to ignore the thought that she’d never look at you like that; never laugh like that with you; never trust you like that again.

You tried to ignore how you had become more of a loose end your family needed to tie off, than a daughter or an older sister.

But you couldn’t. The thought was always there. There it would remain, you were sure of it.

Clenching your jaw, you added the branch in your hand to the fire, watching it crackle under the embers. And for a moment, you wondered what it would feel like if you were to reach forward and let the flames lick your fingertips.

Had he felt like this, too?

Had your father had these thoughts before he died for you?

Did he ever wonder if—

“You’re just like him, you know?” your mother nearly whispered, tearing you from your mind as she set down the pile of branches she had collected.

You glanced at her once, then glared into the fire. “Is that supposed to hurt me?”

She shook her head only once. “It should scare you,” she clarified, standing to her feet so she could tower over you once again. “God’s plan—”

“God’s plan?” you immediately spat out with a humorous scoff, now standing to your feet as well. You were taller than her now, unlike when you were a kid; unlike when you used to do everything she told you; unlike when she still considered you her daughter. “What does God’s plan have to do with my father?”

A muscle in her jaw twitched. “He has protected us this far. He couldn’t save your father. I’m worried if you continue down this path, he won’t be able to save you either,” she muttered back as she clutched the cross around her neck as if she thought it would ward you off like you had become one of the evils she’d warn you about when you were just a girl.

But you were no longer small; you were no longer moldable by her hand, and now, you were only made of anger. “You think God’s the reason we’re alive?” you questioned her, eyes narrowing into slits.

Your mother remained silent but clutched her cross harder. And you knew what that meant.

Your eyes flicked from her hand to her face. Then, you took a step forward, chin jutted out. “Is it God who kills so we can eat? Is it God who got us here, to this point? Is it God who holds dad’s gun?” you bit out as you touched a hand to your chest. “God doesn’t have a fucking plan.” You drilled a finger into your chest, your angry eyes never leaving hers. “I do. And God couldn’t save dad because it was supposed to be—”

But your words halted in your throat. You couldn’t admit it to her. You couldn’t tell her you were the reason behind your father’s death. It didn’t matter if she already knew. You just . . . you just couldn’t admit it to her face.

“God doesn't fucking exist,” you muttered out instead, turning away from her. “And if he did, he’s sure as hell dead now.”

“Your father filled your head with lies.”

You turned back to her, eyes glaring into hers. “Bullshit,” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “He was the only one who ever told me the truth.”

Ignoring your words, she took a step away from you, her hand remaining on the cross around her neck. "Your father . . . I knew he was deeply flawed when I married him, but I just figured he’d change. I figured he’d see the way, instead he only got worse, but he knew when to control it. He knew right from wrong,” she went on, her voice steady, but her eyes had begun to water. And you knew tears would come, and when they did, you’d leave to kill the crawfish. "But, you, honey . . . I don't know where we went wrong with you. It's like you came out of the womb defective. You got all the bad traits of your father and nothing else. I look at you and I see this angry little girl. And, you know, sometimes I ask myself how in the world we managed to raise a daughter who is even more deeply flawed than her bastard father, but I never seem to know the answer."

There were the tears now.

But along with it came a knife in your chest that kept twisting and twisting the more she spoke.

Twist the knife, and she did.

"There's something wrong with you,” she whispered again after a moment’s silence, the tears starting to roll down her cheeks. “You frighten me.”

Twist the knife, and you refused to pull it out.

This was what you deserved.

Still, you didn’t cry, not for yourself. Never for yourself. Instead, you continued to stare at her with no emotion in your eyes as you muttered, “Talking ill of the dead is a sin, remember?” And then you began to turn.

But your mother’s hand landed firmly around your arm. “Don’t you turn your back on me, girl,” she warned, her words sharper than the knife she’d twisted into your chest.

Swallowing hard, you sucked on your teeth. “What else do you want me to say?” you questioned, but didn’t bother to turn and face her. “I have nothing else to give you, mom.”

She released your arm as if you’d burned her and hissed, “Don’t call me that.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion for a mere second before you realized what she meant; before you realized what you’d said; what you’d done. It was an honest mistake, as well. You hadn’t called her that in so long, and yet it still came out. You hadn’t meant to say it, but it still came out as if you were still small and thought the whole world was in her arms.

“Then what do you want me to call you?” you asked, your voice quieter now as you took a step back. “If not mom, then what should your daughter call you? Hmm? Or is the answer nothing? Is that what we are to each other now? Will that make God come down from the heavens and give us salvation? . . . If you abandon me?”

Your mother remained silent.

And you knew her answer.

Sucking on your teeth, you nodded in acceptance. “What?” you spoke in a whisper as you took another step back. “Am I not being loud enough for him?” You outstretched your hands at your sides, gesturing to the heavens. “Should I scream it? Will he finally fucking answer then?”

“Stupid girl—” your mother quickly scolded, grabbing you firmly by the arm— “don’t you dare put this family in danger,”

But you only tilted your head in question. “Does that include me?”

Her eyes fluttered, taken back. “What?”

“This family,” you reiterated. “Am I a part of this family?”

Once again, she remained silent.

But you knew the truth.

“God’s plan as long as I’m out of the picture, right?” you muttered under your breath, swallowing hard once again. “At least we finally agree.”

Then, you were tearing your arm out of her grasp, but you didn’t move, you didn’t even look away from her. Instead, you kept still. You kept your eyes locked with hers as if breaking that eye contact would sever the final string holding the two of you together. She didn’t speak either, and she refused to move. She wouldn’t move first. You knew that. She’d always been that way. So had you . . .

And when you were sure the world had begun to rot around you, you could have sworn her bottom lip quivered as if she were on the verge of saying something . . . anything. Only, when her lips parted a mere sliver, a shrill scream sounded from behind, and the perpetual darkness of your world crept back in through your peripheral vision.

Beat. Your heart shot to your throat.

It happened too quickly for you to think.

Beat. Beat.

You heard the scream and you knew your sister was in trouble.

Beat.

Without a second thought, you dropped everything and ran toward the scream; toward the creek; toward your sister. It wasn’t far, but it was far enough for you to catch sight of two of the dead. One Felix fought off, while trying to grab his knife from his belt. The other had found its way to your sister, pinning her to the forest floor as she thrashed and screamed, her weak limbs desperately trying to keep the thing from sinking its teeth into her flesh.

And you knew what to do.

For a brief second longer, there was screaming. Then the squelch of a knife being plunged through a skull. Then nothing.

The world faded away. No noise. No people. No nothing.

One. Two. Three seconds, then the world started to return.

Breathing heavily, you watched carefully as your mother rushed past you, tearing the dead corpse off your sister and holding her closer . . . closer than she’d ever held you. Your nose twitched for a mere second as your gaze shifted from your mother and sister staring at you in shock ((?) no, maybe it was horror) to the stilled corpse, and finally to the bloodied knife gripped tightly in your hand.

You’d killed that thing, yes. But you hadn’t even thought about it. You hadn’t stopped to think that this thing was once a person. You hadn’t even seen it as such, unlike your mother; unlike what the town had tried to drill into your head during Pestilence’s reign. And . . . you could see that realization in your mother’s eyes.

. . . You were getting worse.

Your legs had begun to weaken at the thought, but you quickly stabled yourself, afraid they’d see it as another sign to put you down like the violent dog you knew they saw you to be. Instead, you tore your gaze from the knife in your hand and met your mother’s eyes once again (but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet your sister’s tearful stare). “Tell me, mo—” you quickly stopped the word from tumbling from your tongue, then went on— “is this still what God’s plan looks like to you?”

But your mother didn’t reply, and you didn’t wait for her to. You could barely stand to hold her gaze for a second longer. Instead, you wiped the blood from your knife on your pants, shoved it back into your belt, and turned, walking back to the fire you had begun to make minutes before.

And as you walked, you took note of the silence which followed you. You took note of how even Felix hesitated slightly before he followed after you. You took note of how your mother and sister sat near that creek for a few minutes longer and didn’t bother to wander after you as if you were no longer their blood.

The final string tying your family together had begun to wear thinner. You wondered when it would finally snap. You wondered how long it would take for a violent dog to succumb to its instincts; how long it would take you to become the lost cause you knew you were destined to be.

Would they make the decision to put you down then?

Four days. Two sleepless nights. And one squirrel shared between the four of you. You felt a fever coming on a couple days ago. You saw the infected cuts from the fight with that man. You knew your body was weakening day by day.

If you didn’t stop soon, you’d sure become one of the dead.

But you tried your best to ignore it. You had to.

Your mother; however, remained hopeful (of course). You could hear her chattering on to your sister throughout the day while you watched the world.

According to her, no one really knew why the Horsemen came to earth. She claimed the world needed saving from certain people (what you were sure she was leaving out was the fact that she was convinced you were one of these people). So, she went on and on and on, and you quietly listened, too, because you were still a girl who used to kneel in church, after all; because you could still feel the bruises on your knees; because you could still see the scars left behind from the scabs.

So, you listened, but you did not believe.

The world was fucked and needed cleansing. People were inherently bad and God saw no other way for salvation (apparently) than to send his four loyal Horsemen to destroy Earth and its people. . . . Well . . . supposedly. You knew the truth; however. There were no Horsemen. There was just death. Something had gone wrong and no one really knew what, so they blamed it on some higher power.

Whatever.

(Supposedly) Pestilence had been a shadow. War had wanted an audience. The world fell before you could get a proper grasp on Famine. And now Death was here. He’d been walking the earth for two years now, and still no one knew why.

Just like the town, your mother had her theories. And while she believed this God was still on your side, still searching for the good in humanity, you thought him fucked up. The human race was just his playthings.

He’d made sure there was nothing left.

Hell, you knew there wasn’t even a god. The world was just fucked. The end.

Point blank: it didn’t matter. Nothing did anymore.

Survival was all that mattered.

Everything else was fucked.

And as you continued to lead the way into nothingness, listening to your mother’s ramblings about the Bible, all you could do was ignore how your knees had begun to itch once again, while you focused on one thought: survive, survive, survive. But . . . not for yourself . . . for them.

Survive long enough for them.

For your father.

For your sister.

For your mother.

For Felix.

For them.

By sundown, Felix managed to find an abandoned warehouse for the night. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping out in the wild. Perhaps all of you could get some shuteye that night. Sure, luckily it was around Fall or maybe just before where it was still warm, but sleeping on logs wasn’t ideal. (Not that you could be picky. Not that you were.)

But, just your luck, sleep never found you.

Beside you, Felix softly snored, laying on his back with his arms crossed over his chest and his head resting in your lap. Your hand found its way to his dark waves, gently scratching his scalp as he slept. It brought you peace where you normally had none.

Sometimes you wondered when Felix would finally realize the monster you’d become. You wondered what it would take. How many more people would you kill for them in order for him to look at you as if you were a stranger?

You didn’t want to see that day come.

It’d already come for your mother the day your father died. Then for your sister when you’d butchered that man. You couldn’t bear living through Felix’s realization.

With a sigh, you glanced over your shoulder, eyes landing on your mother’s sleeping figure as your little sister curled up into her side, miles away in her dreams. You hoped it was better there; that her dreams were still pure and innocent despite the world.

You tore your eyes from them a second later, instead opting to glance out the large opening in the warehouse where a window used to be. The world was so bleak now. Even the sight of the empty lands before your eyes stirred nothing within you. It was just so . . . distant.

Nothing was left.

Truly.

Reluctantly, you shut your eyes, trying your hardest to drift off into sleep, but the pounding in your head and the scratch in your throat kept you up. You were getting worse. You squeezed your eyes tighter, hoping this fever would subside soon. The world was darker now, the nothingness intensifying. You weren’t even sure if you could sleep anymore. Had you been? You couldn’t remember.

But just when you were sure sleep wouldn’t greet you that night, forcing you to keep watch, you could’ve sworn you heard an inhuman howl echo throughout the darkness beyond.

Your eyes snapped open, heart hammering.

No.

It couldn’t be.

Another howl echoed throughout the air. But this was no howl from a wolf or even a beast.

You’d heard stories from survivors in the towns you’d passed through in the two years Death had taken his reign over your lands. You’d heard the stories of Death and his steed. His steed, pale in color similar to a corpse, was rumored to have this cry.

The cry was no ordinary cry. Death’s steed cried similar to a wolf or rather a beast, hungry for blood. It was a war cry—a warning sign.

Of course, Death was not real and there was no horse with their cry. No, you knew what this was. You’d heard these cries in smaller amounts. You’d heard these cries as you plunged your knife into each undead’s brain, killing the parasite living within. And a howl like this only meant one thing—a hoard.

You swallowed hard.

Death was near.

You’d thought the undead didn’t hoard unless . . .

The man.

Your eyes widened.

The night the man had attacked your group, you had managed to hotwire a car. That had been your plan. You were going to use that car to get your group farther and safer. But because of that man . . . because of what you’d done to him, you’d accidentally popped one of the tires in the process, forcing your group to stay the night in those woods when you should’ve been on the road.

And his screams . . .

You’d slowed down and made yourself known, and now they were following the noise.

And . . . it was all your fault.

You exhaled a shaky breath.

Death was coming.

Immediately, you swung into action, quietly waking Felix up. His eyes questioned yours before he, too, heard the war cry.

Death was coming. Felix knew this now, too.

The two of you silently awoke your mother and sister, Felix informing them of the matter they had on your hands, while you gathered your father’s shotgun, crouching near the window for a better look. If they were near . . . how near?

You swallowed hard.

Maybe you could still run. You could still get everyone out if you ran. It could work—

But then you saw it.

In the distance, you caught sight of the undead as they cried, following each other.

You checked the gun’s chamber, removing and reloading the cartridges just to make sure they were in place in case you were forced to fire. Your grip tightened and loosened, and you could hear Felix whispering your name, but your eyes were transfixed on the hoard up ahead.

Death was here. So close. Too close.

They couldn’t see you now, couldn’t hear you, but . . . if you ran, they’d catch sight of you. They’d kill your family. They’d kill Felix. They’d kill you all.

There was no way you could outrun the hoard. Not when they were this close; not when they could smell you; hear your every breath.

Fuck.

You wanted to scream.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Your father had trusted you. They all had. And now you were going to let another person down all because you’d been stupid one night. You’d fucked all of you.

“Snap out of it,” Felix whispered, his hand on your shoulder. “Ideas?”

You could only shake your head.

Felix swore, running his hands through his hair. "There's no way," he nearly gasped at his words. "Fuck."

You swore you felt your heart drop as you slumped against the wall. They were going to die. Because of you.

There was no way out; no way any of you would make it past the hoard without them noticing. The moment they saw any of you, they’d follow you until they could get their teeth into your flesh. And while you had no care for your own life, you still had care for theirs—the people you'd sworn to protect.

Your father had died for all of you. He knew it wasn't safe, and he still went out. He'd traded his life for yours. He'd made you swear to protect your mother and your little sister, and along the way, you'd sworn to not only keep them safe but to keep Felix from harm. You'd sworn that, and you were not one to fall back on your word.

There was no way out together. But . . . there was one way out.

You knew what that meant.

This was what your father would've wanted. This was what he would've done; what he had done.

It was always going to turn out this way. You'd known that.

And in that moment, you accepted that. After all, you'd always been told you were your father's daughter.

This was how you made things right.

You nodded at your thoughts.

Then, you felt your eyes burn, your brows scrunching in confusion. Wetness slipped down your cheek and you briefly touched a finger to the tear, finding you were crying. You hadn’t cried in so long.

Angrily, you wiped the tears away. You didn’t get to cry.

This had been your fault in the first place. This was how you made it right. You didn’t get to cry. You didn’t.

So you sent one last glare at the hoard up ahead, then turned to Felix. Fuck. He would be the one in charge now. You trusted him, yes, but you knew how heavy that burden was. That was what you would regret the most—putting Felix through this agony, too.

Still: "Little bird," you whispered.

Fearful tears were already in his eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."

"Can't help it. I taught you how to fly," you hummed, voice soft and unlike you.

You both knew what you meant. You'd taught Felix how to fire a gun, taught him how to gut a fish, you taught him how to survive—you taught him how to fly. But he didn't need any more teachings. Like a baby bird, he'd flown from the nest ages ago. He could fly without you. The thought brought a melancholic smile to your chapped lips as you fought back the burning in your eyes when they met his worried gaze once again.

"Makes me feel important." You touched a hand to his cheek. He felt soft under your calloused skin. "But . . . you don't need me anymore."

Felix exhaled with a strained choke, his eyes widening in realization. "No," he rushed out, shaking his head as his soft brown eyes searched yours. "No." His hand enclosed around the one you'd touched to his cheek. "Don't. Don't."

You knew what he meant. Don't be the hero.

But that wasn't his decision to make. You had debts to pay; people to protect.

Living had never been something you wanted in a world like this. Sometimes you felt like a ghost; when the world was quiet and your heart beat a little slower—you felt like one of the many corpses you'd passed by on the daily.

Years ago, you promised your father you'd take over his job and protect. You'd never wanted to live, but you had forced yourself. Back then, you made a promise to yourself—you had to stay alive, not for yourself, but for them; you had to stay alive for the one you had lost. And you'd upheld that promise, but now . . . in order to save them, you had to break it.

You knew this.

Felix did, too.

He rested his forehead against yours. "Please. Don't. It's supposed to be you and me."

Your eyes squeezed shut. "I'm the reason he's dead."

The two of you knew what you meant. This was how you repaid him; how you repaid your father.

"Then let me do it," Felix muttered, hand dropping from yours to grasp the shotgun in your other hand.

You were quick to rip it from his hold. "It was always going to turn out this way," was all you said, and he knew what you meant.

The sound of the cries coming closer made you spring back from him. Your head swiveled, taking in your surroundings as your hands found their rightful place on the shotgun. Your eyes briefly found your little sister's—her round eyes wide with fright, only furthering your decision. You knew doing this for them, for her.

"Fine," you heard Felix hiss in a quiet whisper. "But I'm coming with you."

Your head snapped to him. "Like hell you are."

"You don't get to die."

"Neither do you."

"Then I guess we have a predicament."

Your eyes softened. "Lix."

His brows pinched together. "You don't get to die."

And you almost felt yourself smile. "Little birds are meant to fly," you hummed. Little birds are meant to fly; they aren't meant to die.

He shook his head.

You swallowed hard.

The cries grew closer, and your heart raced. You were out of time. This was your last goodbye.

You gripped his hand. "Protect them."

He latched onto your shoulders. “No. No. I’m not ready. Don’t make me say goodbye to you.”

Against your will, your bottom lip trembled. “It’s not.”

But it was. You both knew that.

Felix could only shake his head. “Please.”

“See you later, little bird,” you hummed, weakly, kissing his forehead before you tore yourself from him. And he reached for you, begging you to stay.

But . . . no amount of pleas could change your mind. You were already moving before Felix could stop you. You didn’t have the heart to glance back at your sister or your mother. You never wanted to live in a world like this, but if you looked back, you feared you might’ve found salvation in their eyes. You couldn’t put them through that. You’d put them through enough.

You worked quickly. You had to. For them.

The quiet cries of the hoard approached, moving slowly. You kept your eyes on their figures, stealthily stepping down the creaky stairs to the bottom floor. From there, you moved to the woods surrounding the area. You quickly crouched down in the dark forest, clutching the shotgun even tighter. This was your father’s, now it was yours, and you were going to use it to save your family.

You weren’t naive enough to think that you could actually kill all of them. But that didn’t matter. You were solely supposed to be a distraction. You would fire that damned shotgun at those things over and over again, not caring if it even did any damage. You just needed to keep their attention long enough to get them to follow you in the opposite direction. That would allow your family to escape. That was all you intended to do.

You knew there was no surviving this. And you were fine with that.

Death didn’t scare you. Not yours, anyway.

So you hunkered down, hands clutched on the shotgun as you waited for the hoard to get near enough to strike.

You heard them before you saw them. The cries echoed throughout the dark night, making your heart pound faster. It became louder and louder, so loud you felt yourself start to tense, and then the first came into view.

It came to a gentle halt, almost as if it had been expecting you. But that couldn’t be. It hadn’t seen you. You were still in the clear.

Still, you watched, remembering the lessons on hunting that your father had taught you. This was how you hunted—quiet, hidden, and alert.

The creature tilted its head back, eyes closed as the moonlight cascaded across its pale face. Your brows scrunched in confusion as you watched it, tilting your head to the side. It was almost as if it were basking in the moonlight, soaking up the feeling of the satellite shining down on it. And then you realized what it was doing: sniffing you out.

Behind it, the world was bleak as the rest of those damned creatures sauntered forward. The trees seemed to sag, the grass stale, and it was quiet, so very quiet. Every step they took, decay followed.

And then they began to move . . . toward the warehouse where your family still resided.

Your jaw ticked as you raised the shotgun. Your father’s instructions rang through your ears and you lined up the barrel, aiming at one of the creature’s chests as it was perhaps the only part of it you had direct access to. You were certain the impact wouldn’t kill it, you were almost certain it wouldn’t even hurt it, but . . . it would distract it, and that was all you needed.

Last week, you killed a man. You ripped out his jugular with your teeth. You’d slaughtered him. So this, killing this entity shouldn’t have made your stomach churn, but it did.

Your world was gone. Death remained. And it was all his doing.

Still . . . still, your finger hesitated on the trigger.

You would die tonight . . . by its hand, no doubt. And perhaps that scared you. Perhaps a part of you truly didn’t want to die. But you dumbed down this hesitation to just pure fear.

Fear that those things would find your family after disposing of your body; fear they’d kill them; fear all of this would be for nothing.

You swallowed hard and adjusted your grip on the gun. You had to try. Your life for theirs. It was that or you all died tonight, and you wouldn’t have that, not after all you had done; all you had put them through.

All you had to do was pull the trigger. And yet . . . you still hesitated.

Fuck. You closed your eyes, clenching your jaw as your heart hammered in your chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And as your eyes remained closed, you heard their voices then.

You're not too far gone.

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

There’s something wrong with you. You frighten me.

You have to grow up. No more kid stuff.

Your breath hitched. You have to grow up. And you had. Too quickly you now realized. It was always going to end up this way.

This was the only way to save them. The only way.

Your eyes snapped open, catching sight of the creatures still sniffing the air like they could just smell your terror. You sucked in a breath, then pulled the trigger. Exhale.

The ringing in your ears was almost immediate and the explosive sound echoed throughout the silent night. You barely even noticed the shotgun’s kickback, too focused on the creatures before you, watching with wide eyes as the pellets hit one of the things, knocking it entirely to the ground.

The others cried out, their noses no longer needing to be depended on as their eyes searched for the origin of the noise. And then you caught the eye of one, and you knew it was the end.

You faltered at the sight, stumbling backward as you tripped on a root, causing your body to hit the ground. A low groan escaped you before you could stop yourself.

Fuck.

Had that been too loud?

Heart pounding in your chest, you slowly glanced up, eyes landing on the creatures. More eyes stared back at you, hungry with . . . something as a few had begun to make their way toward you.

You swallowed hard.

Death itself had seen you.

Acting fast, you hastily grabbed the shotgun. You weren’t sure how long you could keep this up, but you needed to buy your family more time. You needed to end this.

And end it you would.

You clutched the shotgun tightly in your hand and sat up, groaning slightly when you felt a sharp pain in your ankle. But still, you went on.

Remembering your father’s teachings, you knew what a machine was good for at the end of its reign: making a lot of fucking noise.

And so with a heavy heart and angry tears pricking your eyes . . . you belted out a loud yell.

There was no hiding now. They had all heard you. And that was all that mattered to them.

“Come on, you fuckers!” you took it a step further as you yelled at them, clanking the butt of your gun on a tree to make as much noise as you could. And then, when you heard their cries echo with yours; when you saw one turn to two turn to ten following you into the woods, you knew it was time.

With a fleeting look at the warehouse where your family still resided, you fought back the urge to crawl into yourself and let that anger you’d been holding inside yourself for years now finally just . . . snap. You didn’t know if you fired the shotgun at one of the creature’s heads first or ran off further into the woods, still screaming. You didn’t know the present from the past, but you did know you couldn’t look back.

And so, you let yourself be loud, screaming for yourself, for the people you’d lost, for the people you’d never see again, for your father. You yelled and yelled, racing through the woods as they all quickly followed after you, releasing cries of their own.

The world fell behind you in those moments, time moving in slow motion as you weaved through the dark woods, your feet bounding off the ground as if you were in zero gravity. Sound evaded your senses, only the muffled noises of your rapid breathing could be heard echoing in your ears.

But you just kept running, letting the world escape you. Even when you’d trip over hidden roots, your knees buckling as you fell to the ground, surely bruising and cutting up your skin, you persisted each time. Like your father’s daughter, you pulled yourself to your feet each time, sparing a glance over your shoulder only to be met with the sight of the hoard getting nearer and nearer. And every time, you’d force yourself to swallow the bile crawling up your throat before you cocked your shotgun and fired into the hoard, taking off screaming for them to follow after you.

This was the end, and you planned to gather as much of them away from the warehouse and closer to you. You knew it would hurt, but you didn’t care. Their teeth ripping into your flesh would never be a match for the sins you’d committed in this lifetime. That was why you met every dead that got in your path with a lethal hit from the butt of your shotgun and a silent prayer that your damned soul could be traded for the safety of your family.

You were sure you would have continued running had your foot not slammed into a divot in the ground, twisting your ankle with such force that you hit the ground instantly, crying out in pain. And this time when you tried to stand to your feet, you realized the pain was too much to stand.

It hit you then.

Beat.

This really was the end.

You couldn’t run.

Beat.

The hoard was gaining on you.

This was the end.

Beat.

Swallowing hard, you clenched your jaw, shutting your eyes as you realized what you needed to do. Clutching your father’s shotgun close to your chest, so close it nearly touched your heart, your lips parted, and a scream bubbled up your throat, ripping through your vocal cords as it echoed throughout the dead of night.

But before you could inhale and breathe out another war cry of your own to match theirs, a hand slapped over your mouth, muffling your screams. Another hand was gripping your arm the next second, pulling you off the ground and shoving your back against the nearest tree.

Your eyes shot open, dropping your shotgun as your hands instinctively clasped around the wrist of the hand covering your mouth. Deep dark eyes stared back at you, a sense of urgency in them as you realized what was going on.

It happened so fast, too fast for you to process. But you quickly realized the eyes belonged to a man not much older than you. Dark eyes. Full lips. Sculpted nose. It was your first time seeing a man other than Felix . . . other than the one you’d gutted . . . in a long time.

What was he doing?

But you couldn’t ponder long as his eyes twisted to the scene behind you, and you could’ve sworn you felt his heart beat faster against your lips where his hand still lay. And at that sight, he kicked into action.

“You listen to me. We have a few seconds before those fuckers are at our throats,” he spoke in a hushed tone, his voice deep and controlled, but you could sense the fear on him. It was different from yours. “When I tell you, you run as fast as you fucking can in that direction and you don’t stop. You follow me and you don’t get lost or you’re dead.” His hand fell from your mouth as he began hastily digging through the pack over his shoulder. “Got it?”

You skipped a beat, not answering.

His eyes were on you instantly, expectantly.

But you only blinked.

You didn’t want to be saved.

No, he couldn’t do this. It was your time. This was your punishment. He couldn’t—

Your thoughts were cut short as he pulled something out of his pack, and you quickly realized a grenade now sat in his hand. Your eyes widened. He was going to—

“Run,” he bit out, an order.

And it all happened so fast.

You stayed put.

He turned from you, quickly pulling the pin and chucking the grenade as fast and hard as he could from your location. You watched the weapon soar, your heartbeat stilling in your throat as the seconds of anticipation crept upon you.

Beat.

Be—

A loud explosion sounded in the distance, the ground shaking beneath your feet as ringing in your ears commenced. Only then did you realize your feet had been moving on their own, carrying you farther and farther away from the scene as you caught a glimpse of the hoard following after the explosion. But you wouldn’t do this. You had accepted your death. You wouldn’t—

Your feet weren’t moving of your own volition. The world had fallen away from you, you realized, but as you turned your head away from the hoard you realized it was the man who was dragging you away from the scene. You realized in your daze, that he must have locked his grip onto your arm and took off running, dragging you along with him despite your injured ankle and dormant mind.

And for some reason, despite the urge to fall to the ground and let yourself fade away, you allowed him to drag you further and further into the woods. You didn’t realize just how much land you had covered until the sound of the hoard was so far, that he’d begun to slow down ever so slightly. You didn’t realize until the woods turned into sparse grassland, until the sight of what appeared to be a latched roof to an underground bunker of some sort. You’d heard of shelters like these, but you’d never seen one. You always just assumed the military had covered it all up, leaving people to die while they sat safely under the barren earth.

Your mind raced with a million thoughts, but you could barely see straight let alone think right as you allowed this man to drag you to the entrance. Hell, you allowed him to shove you inside, as you crawled down the ladder in the tunnel. It was a subconscious action, honest. Otherwise, you would’ve begged him to leave you outside to die. But there was no breath for begging as he followed in after you, shutting the hatch and twisting it closed to ensure it was tightly locked.

And when your feet finally met the metal flooring of the inside, you stepped back in shock.

As you had predicted, this was a government bunker. A rather large one at that. You swallowed hard. Fuck.

And when you turned around, your eyes searching the area, you were met with the scene of a group of survivors staring back at you in confusion. People. And they were alive. You hadn’t seen so many people since before Famine.

What the fuck?

But before you could react, something hard cracked over the back of your head, throbbing pain followed. The darkness seeped in instantly, your mind losing control of your body as you smacked the ground, eyes fluttering as you faded in and out of consciousness.

There it was, you realized.

Your punishment.

You were going to die.

And you couldn’t help but allow yourself one last selfish look because maybe there was still a small part of you that wanted to be alive. But that part could only live if things were normal again, if things were the way they had been before the world died. Still, that part of you took over and you watched silently, your vision fading in and out as you caught a glimpse of those dark eyes that had saved you, just moments before the world faded into darkness.

The next time your eyes fluttered open, a metal ceiling stared back at you.

There was a throbbing in your head, searing through your thoughts, and your shotgun was nowhere to be found. You released a soft groan, trying to shift in your spot, but you were met with resistance. You tugged and tugged, but your body didn’t budge.

In confusion, you glanced around, finding yourself on a medical bed, your hands tied together with rope, attaching you to the bed. This didn’t make sense. You hadn’t seen a bed in months maybe a year now. This didn’t make sense. Where were you? How did you—

And then . . . then the memories all faded in.

The warehouse. The man. The shots. The hoard.

This was Death’s doing.

The town had warned you of this and you’d denied it. You still didn’t believe. You couldn’t. God was dead and the Horsemen were just a figment of fearmongering. But for a second, you wanted to believe. For that second you were strapped to that bed, you wanted to believe that this was your purgatory and Death was punishing you. That would be easier: if you believed.

Death was an entity; one you had no idea about. There was no knowing what exactly he could and couldn’t do. And this . . . being bound to a medical bed with not even a soul to be heard felt utterly ordinary if he did exist, considering what you did know about this dark being.

But . . . why were you still alive?

Slowly, you lifted your head, groaning at the pain that followed as you assessed the rest of your body. You were alive. Cuts and bruises everywhere, but you could still inhale, exhale, breathe. You could still hear the beat of your heart if you closed your eyes and focused. You were alive.

You were alive.

Your jaw twitched. “I’m alive,” you whispered to yourself, a bitter taste left on your tongue. “I”m . . . alive.”

And for a second, you truly allowed yourself to believe Death existed. You allowed yourself that he had done this to you; that the two years he’d reigned all led up to this very moment. You allowed yourself to believe that he had kept you alive because suffering was for the living.

Was this his way of being kind? Sparing you?

Swallowing hard, you glared up at the unfamiliar ceiling. If you prayed, would he give in? Would he end this suffering? Would he finally give you your punishment?

Your mind wasn’t allowed much longer to ponder as the sound of a door opening brought you out of your repenting. Wearily, you watched with stern eyes as a man stepped in, carrying a bowl in one hand and a washcloth in the other. You watched as he let himself in, still not looking up while he closed the door behind him with a heavy sigh and finally . . . glanced up, meeting your gaze.

Him.

The man.

Slowly, your face softened as confusion consumed you. Him. He had done this to you. He had been the one to lead you here. (He’d also been the one to save you . . . ) He had knocked you out cold. And now . . . now here he was.

You clenched your jaw hard.

The man just stared a minute longer at you, his gaze stern, cold, calculating. Then, he was walking toward you, resting the bowl on the bedside table beside your head before he reached forward and tapped a finger to your chin, tilting your head so he could analyze the wounds on your face.

And you let him, analyzing his actions, preparing for his next.

“You’re awake,” was all he simply said as he dropped your chin and diverted his attention to the bowl on the bedside table. “Sorry about the blow and the rope . . . it’s . . . protocol.”

But you remained silent, watching.

"Your stunt back there . . . could’ve cost us this entire place," he muttered, his voice calm and controlled but you knew he was seething inside. He remained quiet as he dipped the washcloth into the bowl of what seemed to be warm water before he turned to you once again, his eyes lethal. "Screaming only attracts more of them, don’t you know? If you wanted to die, you should’ve just stayed put.”

You swallowed thickly.

There was something terrifying about a quiet rage.

"There's always someone like you," he continued, his eyes racking up and down your body in a menacing glare before the warm touch of a washcloth to your cheek startled a quiet gasp out of your lips. "Someone who ends up surviving longer than they should have." A scoff left him. "Someone who doesn’t care who dies for them as long as they get out unscathed. Did you even think there might be other survivors around before you took off attracting all of those things? If there were children? Families? People who survive together and want to stay alive without running into someone like you?”

And you hadn’t.

You never thought yourself to be stupid or any of the sort. You hadn’t been thinking. There hadn’t been enough time. You just needed to do something so your family could make it out alive. You hadn’t thought that there could be others. You hadn’t thought that saving your family could damn another.

Had your mother been right about you?

Were you really just a stupid girl? A stupid girl playing hero?

The man pulled a chair from the corner of the room, and placed it beside your bed, sitting on it as he dragged the washcloth down your arms now. His touch was somehow gentle despite his glare. Perhaps it was because no one had touched you so gently in so long. Perhaps it was because you had given up, but you let him clean the wounds on your body as you rested your head back onto the pillow, your muscles relaxing ever-so-slightly.

"No?" he questioned, reiterating his accusation. “In my experience, people like you don’t find themselves in trouble like that unless they’re planning something.”

You remained expressionless as you watched him, taking in his words. He thought you’d lured the dead here, and for what? Looting? Or just plain insanity?

Had you really become that corrupt even a stranger could sense it on you?

Slowly, you blinked, wondering if your father had ever felt this way before his death. And as you wondered, the man beside you continued cleaning your wounds, but this time, remained silent. Maybe he realized you wouldn’t answer. Or maybe he already knew the truth about you and your damned soul.

And as the minutes of silence ticked on, you did your own inspection.

Now, under the light, the man sat beside you, his eyes fixed on meticulously cleaning each wound with care despite his lethal words. It had been so long since you’d seen another man like this; a man that had to be around your age; a man so young yet so riddled with age. His dark hair was slightly curly, more tangled and messy than anything as if he hadn’t slept in days. The dark circles under his equally dark eyes were enough to show his evident sleep deprivation. And yet, he seemed almost too alert: his full lips were hidden as his teeth worried his bottom lip while he continued to clean the blood from your skin.

(You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t beautiful; so beautiful it almost made you believe in God once more.)

And for a second, you let yourself wonder what else your mother had been right about. You let yourself believe once again. You let yourself be a girl who could finally kneel in church without bruises being left behind. For a moment, you let yourself believe that she and the town had been right; that this whole thing was God’s plan; that the Horsemen had come; that they could be saved, but you would be condemned.

Then . . . you began to wonder if you had already been. Maybe it was the blow to the head you’d taken or the fever raging through your body or maybe it was the truth, but you began to believe that perhaps this was your purgatory; perhaps you had died in that hoard and you’d been sent here; perhaps the beautiful man beside you was Death himself.

Was this it then? Were you always meant to see him at the end?

Oddly enough, he reminded you of this small dog your sister had found near one of the abandoned houses your family had stayed in over the years. This was during Famine’s rule—when food became sparse, when lands became stale and yellowed; when the dead had only just begun to migrate south. This tiny dog found your younger sister then, and she’d brought it home, leaving you no choice but to care for the little thing.

Your sister had named her Berry. (A few months later you had to put her down; it was what we had to do to survive, you’d told your sister back then. You were sure it was then she first started to hate you.)

And as you stared at Death, taking note of how his eyes were a particular shade of brown, you realized they were the same shade that the silly dog had.

You tilted your head. Death somehow had eyes that were kind; eyes that were warm; eyes that reminded you of Felix. Was that how they planned to transfix you? Was Death meant to be this beautiful; this familiar so you’d go willingly? Had God forgotten you’d already condemned yourself? Had he forgotten you didn’t need to be tricked? Had he forgotten where your prayers resided?

Only a moment later, when you felt his hands running over your torso, did you snap out of your exhaust-ridden daze. You realized quickly he was cleaning the last of your wounds which resided on your ribs. And when he was done, he tossed the washcloth into the bowl without another care before he slowly leaned back, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched you with scrutinizing eyes.

Death narrowed his gaze, but it wasn’t menacing this time. Rather, he seemed almost perplexed. "Why aren’t you fighting?" he questioned. "You didn’t stop to run before. Why calm your fire now?"

Why aren’t you fighting?

The thing was: it was over. Your fight was over.

Sure, you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Death was painfully beautiful . . . but it went beyond that.

It was surely daylight by now.

Daylight had come, hours had passed, and Death had you in his hold.

By now, Felix had probably taken your mother and sister onto the road again. They’d escaped, and they were miles and miles away from you and Death. They were safe.

So . . . where was your fight?

You didn’t have one anymore. This was the end. Death would either kill you or make you suffer again and again and again, and your family would live. You’d once told yourself that you never wanted to live in a world like this, but you’d kept yourself alive to protect your family. Only now . . . you didn’t need to fight because there wasn’t anyone left for you to protect.

Your fight was over. Maybe you could rest now. Maybe he’d let you.

Death seemed to catch onto the shift in your demeanor as he narrowed his eyes. "Do you not speak?"

For a moment, you considered not replying. Until: "There's no point," you heard yourself say, voice dry and hoarse.

The look on Death’s face was unreadable as his eyes shifted across your face, his mouth slightly parted. "You smell of death," he muttered, gaze still searching your being.

And you almost laughed.

Because this was your end, and Death himself just told you that you smelled like shit or well . . . like him, you supposed . . . apparently.

It all felt a little unreal.

Death must not have liked your silence as he shot you one last glance before he pulled away and walked toward a table on the other side of the room. As he walked, you caught sight of the blood painting his body, his skin, him.

You swallowed hard. You’d brought that hoard to him. He’d fought his way out. You’d caused those wounds, and now he was more than likely going to do worse to you. He’d probably take that scythe you were told he carried and cut your head clean off.

But unlike what you thought, Death sifted through the miscellaneous items on the table before pausing and grabbing a small knife. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you watched him approach you, knife in hand.

There it was.

This was the end you were promised.

Was he going to slit your throat and leave you to bleed out? Or cut you open so you could see just how dark your heart had become? You wouldn’t put it past him. Hell, you might have even welcomed it. But as he approached you, your eyes closing in anticipation, he did not bring that knife down upon your body. No, instead, with a few quick motions and the sound of the rope being cut, you slowly opened your eyes just as your hands were released from the rope’s grip.

On instinct, you brought your hands close to your chest, rubbing your raw wrists. You couldn’t even speak, you just watched as he kept the knife in his hand but returned back to his position of leaning back against the chair with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes on you.

"You're human," you found yourself uttering as you watched him watch you.

His brows twitched in confusion. "Of course I am.”

But Death couldn’t bleed. . . . Could he?

"You bleed,” you spoke your thoughts, dumbly.

His eyes met yours, but only briefly. "Am I not meant to?" he bit out before his gaze fell back on your hand rubbing your wrist. "Even the dead bleed."

Your confusion only spiraled. This was your end; your purgatory. This was Death, was he not? Your mother had been right. She had to have been right otherwise you were still alive; otherwise, you had managed to escape death once again without so much as a punishment. That wouldn’t be fair. That wouldn’t be right. That wouldn’t be just.

This had to be Death. You had to be dead or somewhere in between. It didn’t matter, this just had to be your end.

So, why hadn’t he condemned you yet?

Why—

"Why—” Death interrupted your thoughts, once you finally dropped your hand from your wrist— “did you think I couldn’t bleed?"

You glanced his way, finding his eyes already on you.

His stare only unnerved you more.

Why couldn’t he just kill you? You deserved it.

Your brows furrowed. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to play with your food?" you found yourself spitting out, finally finding your voice despite his devasting beauty capturing your words. "I put your lives in danger. I lead them here like you said. I could be with anyone. Having me here could kill you all, so take your revenge. Kill me."

The crease between his brows deepened further. "I'm not letting you die," he simply said, his anger quiet and calm . . . still. “You put my group in harm's way. I won’t pardon you for that . . . but . . . we don’t kill the living.”

That only unnerved you further.

Was this truly Death?

Surely he had killed before.

Although . . . you supposed perhaps he’d only just ever waited. Was that his fault? Waiting for the dead to find him? Is that how he found you in those woods? Is that how he’d taken your arm and helped you crossover to the other side? But . . . if that were true . . . where was your father now? Surely, he would’ve come to see you. Surely, he would’ve been the first one knocking at your door. Surely, he’d be here.

As you briefly wet your lips, your eyes flicked up to meet his. “Where’s my dad?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

A look of deep confusion twisted onto Death’s face, and then he was leaning forward to feel your forehead with the back of his hand. “Fever,” he mumbled more to himself before he pushed himself to his feet, the chair screeching against the floor. “Get some rest. Someone will be in to bandage you up and . . . I’ll be back in a couple hours with medication.” His gaze dropped to the large gash on your arm from just a few nights ago. “When you’re healed, we’ll give you some supplies and then you’ll be on your way, understood?”

But you just stared at him, silently pleading. Pleading for what? You didn’t know. All you knew was if your father wasn’t here, you couldn’t be dead. And if you weren’t, you wanted to be. You’d be able to find him then, because although you were no longer a girl who could kneel in church, you could still feel the scabs on your knees from years ago; you could still remember what it was to believe so blindly; you could still feel that insistent desire for there to be something beyond this world . . . something after this world.

There just had to be. You had to see him again. You had to find him.

You could die now. You could find him now. You would find him.

“Great,” Death muttered under his breath, breaking you out of your own mind. And with one final glance at your exhausted body, he began to turn and head for the door.

Fear struck you then. You had to find your father. “Wait, please—” you hastily grabbed onto his arm, only being able to reach his hand enough to dig your nails into his skin to halt him— “I beg of you.”

His eyes snapped to yours, wide and cautious as if at any moment, one wrong move and he’d grant your wishes. And all you could do was hope.

“Kill me,” you weakly whispered, hopelessly searching his eyes.

His brows twitched, taken back.

“Death,” you begged in a whisper, your bottom lip trembling, “please.”

But Death only stared back at you with a perplexing look written across his face. It was as if he couldn’t believe your request. Had no one ever begged him to die?

A heavy beat of silence pounded in your ears.

Death only continued to stare, a world raging on behind his eyes as he took you in. His demeanor was still calm, still collected, but he seemed . . . perturbed by your request, by your presence, by you. And you watched as his eyes trickled across your face, searching for something until finally . . . his gaze zeroed in on your cheek, his brows furrowing.

Then . . . you felt it.

A tear had slowly begun to slip down your cheek as if your body knew it was a sin to cry. But you were . . . crying that was.

You nearly gasped.

Another tear trickled down your cheek. Guilt followed.

But just as you were about to angrily wipe it away, there was a sharp knock at the door, breaking both you and Death out of your spell. The door opened a second later, a man peaking his head in with a solemn look on his face.

The man didn’t spare you a glance, he only cleared his throat and said, “Chris?” His brows raised, a silent message passing between the two. “A minute.”

Death only nodded, and then the man was gone, the door shutting behind him. Silence followed, but Death stayed unmoving, his arm still in your tight grasp.

“You won’t run,” he slowly spoke, his words a statement, not an order, but he didn’t turn to look at you. He kept his eyes on the door. “I don’t kill the living. I won’t kill you.” He paused, audibly swallowing, and then his eyes were on you. “And I know you won’t kill us.”

And then he was gone before you could blink, quickly tearing his arm out of your grasp before he reached the door and closed it behind him. You were alone with yourself once again, your thoughts running wild as your hand remained outstretched, almost frozen in place.

I know you won’t kill us, he’d told you.

But how could you kill Death? How did he know you wouldn’t if he didn’t give you what you wanted? How could he be so sure that you weren’t a killer, when you so clearly were?

You had killed before, and if he didn’t take you to the other side, you’d surely kill again. That was who you had become. That was who you were. He should’ve known that.

And then as you slowly laid your head back onto the pillow and allowed the minutes to tick by, the throbbing in your head began to subside, and the world became a little clearer. You were no longer a girl who could kneel in church. You did not believe anymore. The world had gone to shit, and it wasn’t because of God’s plan. There were no Horsemen. Your family was gone. And that . . . that man had not been Death.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you swallowed thickly. What was happening to you?

It all hit you then.

These were a group of survivors. That man surely was their leader, and you had just led hundreds of the dead to their doorstep. They should’ve killed you for that alone. You would’ve. You wouldn’t even hesitate if this had been your family. You would’ve done everything to keep them safe, even if it meant killing others, and yet . . .

I won’t kill you.

But why? You deserved it. You could see it in his eyes that he knew.

These were good people. And you were their bad omen.

It wouldn’t be long before your presence brought misery upon them, too, just as it had to your family. And it’d be all your fault.

You’d live, only to see many die. You’d make it out unscathed just as you always had, while they’d suffer, just as he had said.

It was then you realized this was not your purgatory, it was your Hell.

taglist:

@amaranth-writing @binchanluvrr @dreamingsmile @eternalrajin

(i did post the teaser like a year ago, so if you want to be taken off, send me a lil message <3)

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