#have you ever gone back read something you wrote and you were like ????? my brain did this!

[yandere-sins]

Ivyyyyyyyy >.< you're the worsttttt(read: BEST) oh my god the thoughts im having abt dilic with a period kink rn. Gawd and he doesn't even know it's a period kink, he thinks it's absolutely normal to do nasty things with his girl while she's bleeding out and feels proud about it that HE can take her pain away

OMG continuing the diluc saga but yan dilic thinks darling's period is the perfect opportunity to finally put his hands on darling. He knows you're in pain so he promises, he's doing this for YOU not him (lies) he'll ease it in gently and make it feel good! Soon darling will forget all about those cramps bc of him him him! He doesnt need to feel as guilty bc he's helping you out.....right? OMG PLS write something abt thissss, it can be any yandere or oc but im going crazy after what u saiddd

Hehe, you're welcome! I began writing this as just a talk, but decided mid-way through to make it a scenario!

a/n: I wrote this before my hiatus and coming back to correct it, I found so many mistakes, it doesn't even feel like I wrote this smh... I did my best to polish it a bit since I can't see myself rewriting it in the future but if you find anything oddly worded just ignore it lol I wasn't myself back then :')

[Warning: Yandere, Sexual Content]

I can just see the cock cogs turning in this idiot's head as he racks his brain about how he can help you. Clearly, you're in pain, but no matter how many more times he calls a physician to have a look, they just keep waving off his concerns. It's normal, they say. You're healthy. That's what everyone has to go through.

And yet he sees you writhing and crying in pain—it's breaking his heart!

Pillow pressed to your stomach, tears in your eyes that you can't blink away fast enough before they fall. You're especially irritable, but it hurts him more when you whine and complain; Diluc wanting to help you now more than ever. He's already gone through the usual stuff, the imported water bottles from Snezhnaya and the chocolate from Fontaine. If you utter so much as a craving, he has the servants scramble to get it to you. Nothing is too expensive or too hard to get. You could have asked for the heads of your enemies, and Diluc would have brought them to you with ribbons and glitter if that had helped with your pains.

But alas, it doesn't.

It's been three days, and his nerves are raw, the bags under his eyes dark, and the burden of your health weighs heavily on Diluc. He can't see how things will ever get better. The other times you were on your period were conveniently skipped by business trips, so this is hitting him full force.

"Exercising might help," one of the maids suggests as he forces himself to consult someone more knowledgeable than him.

"Sometimes, my wife likes a little stimulation to alleviate the pain," a vintner chuckles, winking at Diluc as the word of his helplessness spreads. And suddenly, inappropriate ideas get stuck in his head, making him blush like a young lad in love.

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Taking a deep breath, Diluc raised his hand to knock on your bedroom door. It was terribly late, the servants asleep and only the eery flickering of his candle guiding him through the night. Most likely, you were tugged in and fighting for your well-deserved sleep, so he hesitated, fist hanging in the air before slowly dropping it to his side.

What he was about to do was not only foolish but also filled him with the same burning in his body as using his vision did. He could feel the warmth sweep over him from his head to his toes, the latter curling in his shoes while most of the heat was throbbing between his legs, aching to connect with your warmth in a less-than-innocent way.

However, these feelings were nothing compared to the agony of the last few days.

If this was what he had to do to help you alleviate the pain, he would. If it was for you, Diluc would do anything in his power, whether to protect or help you. If he had to become a mere plaything so you'd be freed of the pain, then his concerns were a small sacrifice for all the good he was going to do.

Brushing his hair back, Diluc took a deep breath, reminding himself there was nothing wrong with wanting to help. If the method the vintner suggested worked, everyone would be happy. And if not, he'd keep searching for ways to free you of the pain. Turning the key in the door lock, he pulled it out before slowly entering your room, ensuring he could give you two the privacy needed in this situation.

To his surprise, you were still awake.

You made a half-hearted attempt at a greeting, but when you noticed it was him, you only scoffed, turning away. It hurt when you gave him the cold shoulder so callously, but Diluc knew you were the one suffering at that moment, not him. He could forgive you for being dismissive of him. Your bedside lamp was still on, and he could see you clutching a pillow to your belly, his own stomach cramping up with remorse, even though, logically, he knew it wasn't his fault. He loved you as you were, the good and bad days, your misery becoming his own much too easily these days.

Setting down the candle on your table, he walked over to you. But not before locking the door from the inside, just so he could give himself a few more seconds before his approach. Every step cost him a lot of discipline, being near you never having been this hard. Even when he looked confident around you, Diluc only ever felt weak. You made him vulnerable. Desperate. Longing for your love and affection was all he was allowed to do, so even just watching your chest rise and fall set him ablaze.

Pushing off his shoes, Diluc focused on the little space you left at the edge of the bed. It was the only space he could see that was reserved for him, as he didn't deserve to share your bed, in your opinion. Yet, when he climbed in, pulling the cover over himself and snaking his arm around your waist, he was enveloped in your scent, your hair tickling his skin as he breathed in deeply. Had he known that heaven was hiding so closely to him, he might not have waited so long to come and see you.

"What are you--" you complained, pushing yourself away from him. But Diluc's hand had already wandered beneath the pillow, feeling the hot water bottle you kept secured there, only to replace it with his palm. He was just as, if not hotter than anything the servants could procure for you; his body temperature naturally elevated from his vision. It wouldn't burn you, but with his hand hugging your lower belly, it was much more effective and fitting than any appliance might be.

And you fell for it, even if just for a split second.

For a moment, you leaned into the comfort of his palm, the pain vanishing in the blink of an eye. Diluc even caught you sighing briefly before you came to your senses, jolting and pushing away from him, only to get stuck inside the blanket and pressed up against him. Diluc couldn't help but grin, having read your actions before they even occurred to you, but of course, this was a serious matter, so he quickly composed himself.

"H-Hey!" you yelled as his hand drifted lower, his face burying into the nape of your neck. He wasn't there to dilly-dally but to be of service. To help you in your time of need. By the time Diluc pressed his lips to your skin and his fingers between your legs, you understood his intentions as well, perhaps misinterpreted, but clear as day.

He was going to fuck the pain away. 

If exercise and stimulation helped others, maybe it would do the same for you. His fingers were met with warm slick, your body flinching when he moved over your clit. Perhaps his calloused hands weren't made for caressing and soft touches but for teasing and stimulating. Judging by how puffy your lower lips were, worked up from days of rubbing your legs together and your panties aggravating them mercilessly, you were in dire need of his help.

"Don't fight it. You're not alone in this," Diluc reassured you as you squirmed in his hold, biting back the salacious sounds of pleasure you were keeping from his ears. You were so mean, keeping every little taste of appreciation from Diluc, knowing how much it meant to him. But he'd endure. Even when your ass ground back against his cock, making it incredibly hard to not focus on his needs as well, he'd put you first in all of this.

When he slipped his pointer and middle finger towards your entrance, a tremor went through your body, a gasp slipping out from between your lips. Diluc never knew how easy it was to get inside another person, greeted warmly and happily by your hole clenching around his fingers.

His kisses became more fervent against your neck, teeth snapping out as he felt like he was losing himself in your scent and warmth. The pushes of his hips against your ass became faster, your cheeks fitting so well around his shaft. You yelled at him to stop, but he barely heard you through the sounds of your sloppy, wet cunt, blood mingling with eager juices to allow him more reach inside you. It was almost as if he could hear them beg for him to go deeper, which just wasn't possible with his knuckles in the way, no matter how much he tried.

Forgotten was the pain as pleasure raked its claws through both of you, and yet, Diluc still heard you whine and sob as he scissored his fingers through your inside. It wasn't enough. He opened his eyes he didn't know he had closed, staring at your expression curiously. All he saw was anger and disgust, your teeth bared and ready to snap, while he could feel your nails digging into his arm. And yet, when he found your eyes, he saw a very different version of events. Lust, desire, longing. You wanted more, and Diluc wouldn't refuse such a request.

Slipping a leg between yours, he pried them apart, spreading you open wide. You gasped, squirming and trying to cut off his access, but Diluc only had to lean back to steal your balance, your body reliant on his while he gained more space on your bed. The hardest part was freeing his cock from the restraint of his pants, the fabric soggy with both your juices as well as his own pre-cum pearling off the tip of his engorged cock.

Nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of your wet cunt greeting his eager cock. No imagining of this situation could have come close to the throbbing heat, your walls convulsing around his fingers in eager expectation. Diluc placed his tip against his fingers, planning to slip them out and take the opening to sink into you, but with how wet the combination of blood and juices was, he felt himself slipping away, kissing your clit instead.

And for the first time, you moaned.

It was the sound of angels and everything nice, and he drew his hips back, trying again to fill you with his cock, missing it just an inch. All good things are three, and when he finally plunged it deep inside your pussy, you weren't the only one yowling in pleasure. No matter what he had imagined his first time with you to be, nothing would ever top the mess he caused between your legs, his cock ready to burst as it pulsated violently inside your equally as ready cunt.

He could feel the waves of pleasure going through you, the shudders in your limbs as he began to slowly press forward, kissing the last few inches of his reach. You remained stiff as a plank, but when he pulled out halfway before sinking in deep again, you were unable to keep your mouth shut, an elongated moan making its way to Diluc's ears, letting him know it was the right thing after all.

Immediately, any hesitation fell off him as he dragged his cock out and sunk it back into you. Fingers retreated to your clit, continuing to slip off and assault the little knob over and over while your walls clenched around his shaft, making you feel every one of his throbs and ridges, the heat between you two almost scorching.

Part of him couldn't believe it worked. That he actually managed to help you with this trick. But he'd have been a liar if he said it wasn't a pleasure for him, too. Diluc could never have dreamed about your proficiency in driving him wild, from your hot, puffy pussy wrapping around him to the improper sounds he had never heard coming from your lips before. The blood kept you so wet and loud down there; it was like you were synching your moans with your pussy, sloppy as they were.

It couldn't have been better, a shudder going through you from head to toe, your feet curling as you gurgled. Diluc wrapped his free arm around your throat, pulling you against him and burying his face in your shoulder as you came hard, juices leaking out, red dripping on the clean sheets with the blanket long discarded.

You were gasping for air as he plunged right back into you, waiting but a mere few seconds of yours before pursuing his own orgasm. Selfishly, but unable to stop. Diluc was already too deep in it, quite literally, your orgasm making your inside tight around him, but it posed no challenge with how drenched you both were.

A strained groan escaped Diluc as he buckled, feeling the first squirts of cum shoot out of him before he drew back, popping out of your cunt and covering it in his cum. His tip got stuck on your clit, as his jizz ejected under the pressure of his orgasm, making you mewl as you were once again stimulated. It would be a mess to clean, but it had been worth it.

You two collapsed, spent and dirty, but Diluc slipped his palm back over your lower stomach, rubbing the collection of juices over your soft skin, leaving a red trail. Kissing the side of your head, he was trying to collect his breath and thoughts, barely able to think straight as the feelings of happiness and his relief kept him in a chokehold.

"Better?" he asked, his voice a blissful rumble as he pulled you firmer against him.

But all he was met with was a cold glare and tears in your eyes. "I-I'm sorry," he stuttered instinctively, immediately feeling bad. What had he done to upset you again? Your teeth were biting into your lip as if you were holding back a tirade of screaming, ready to explode.

His cock twitched between your legs, bloody and so, so wet.

"I'll make it better! I promise! I will definitely make it better," he tried to reassure you, dazed with pleasure as he was, unable to see the actual problem with all of this. Your body convulsed in shock as he pressed his tip upwards again, and you gasped loudly as he sunk his inches inside you. This time, he wouldn't fail to make you feel better. And until then, he'd keep going.

All night long, if he had to.

#diluc #yandere diluc #yandere!diluc #genshin #genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere!genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere!genshin impact #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW

[lynnlovesthestars]

Could you do a Astarion x Tiefling Reader were they are sitting alone underneath there tents canopy in and they are sewing to pass the time humming and doesn't notice Astarion walk up after he was looking for them . ( they could be making something for him maybe for his 'birthday' after learning that it was that day ) .

omg sorry i took so long but my creativity juices flow in funny ways ahah.. to make it a little easier for me, since my tiny brain has been having a hard time in putting words down, i thought it would have been nice to tie this up with a oneshot i wrote a few weeks ago.. i wish i followed better your prompt- though i hope you'll like it.

Ofc reading the part before this won't change the experience, but it was nice to tie them together cause it gave a little continuity and idk anyways i hope you'll like it though it's mostly introspective and a lil angsty when astarion shows up..

----

Masterlist.

Part 1. (the one shot i tied this to)

My prompt list for requests.

Taglist: @sessils @spacebarbarianweird (i forgot to add it yesterday cause im an idiot, but better late than never ahah)

----

Golden.

Pairing: astarion x GN!tiefling!reader

Summary: the huge tear in his shirt caught your eye again, and you decided to give him a reminder that someone cared about him.

Genre: angsty?, lots of thinking, self-doubt, avoidance✨

You never noticed the tears carefully patched up on Astarion’s shirt until you were retrieving your dried clothes from the fire.

His button up sat up ripped on the stone like you left it on the night before, yet you still couldn’t help but focus on the smaller sewn tears already covering the fabric. It was such a precise job, that you wouldn’t have been able to tell that the fabric was ever broken until you looked closely and the places where the thread was tightly pulled became clearer.

You made a mental note of it as you walked back to your tent, holding up the bundle of yours and Astarion’s clothes.

The camp was lively that morning: yelling, singing, clattering of bottles and pans, along with rustling of the leaves had saturated the air, charging it with an electrifying energy.

In the middle of the chaos, your brain still stirred towards Astarion and the way you woke up curled up in his side, while he was meditating.

The tension that filled the tent the night before was gone. The only thing left from the night before was the ghost of his bite on your neck, and his body holding you to him.

When he broke his trance, he acted like nothing ever happened. Like you didn’t sleep twisted with him, or the way he drove you insane the night before.

You could still feel his lips on your neck as you collected your sewing kit from the tent, which still smelled like him, blood and bergamot.

As you spread the shirt on your lap, you could relive the events of the night before like a bard stuck on encore after encore.

You could feel the warmth of your bodies pressed to each other still spreading over your skin as you carefully prepared the essential to fix the tear.

You studied the tear that spread over the back, you knew it was going to be hard to make it seem flawless like the rest of them, but you wanted to attempt for him.

Worst case scenario, it was gonna stay broken anyways.

As you started to work on the tear, and you noticed how the uneven edges were not coming out nicely, an idea spurred in your mind.

At worst you were already planning on buying him a new one when you reached Baldur’s Gate. You had connections in the lower city, and you knew you could get a tailor to make the same button up if you brought a reference.

You worked on the shirt for what felt like hours, while everyone was enjoying their day, whether they took care of chores around camp or disappeared for walks, but as everyone came and left, the only one you had not seen was Astarion.

It was only when the sun was starting to set that you finally spotted him near his tent as he was looking for something in his bag.

You were just done with the shirt, and you couldn't help but hope he liked it.

You folded the shirt carefully along with the rest of his clothes, and as you were ready to head towards Astarion, he already stood in front of you.

His face was unreadable like he wanted to convey a specific emotion, but couldn't figure out how to. He was tense, his arms were frozen at his sides, so you decided to break the ice.

“I did this for you” You carefully showed him the pile of his neatly folded clothes, and his shirt on top.

“I wanted to fix your shirt, but the tear was too-” You started but before you could explain, Astarion had stopped you almost harshly.

“You didn't have to”He said briefly, it sounded mostly like an admonishment, yet you could have sworn there was some sort of softness to it. 

“I know, but I wanted to” 

“Why?” His furrowed brows were inquisitive, trying to gauge your intentions as he wetted his lips. 

“Cause I care about you, I literally told you yesterday” The words slipped out of your lips just as quickly as your tail was swishing nervously.

He scoffed, folding his arms and turning his eyes away from you. “No one does things for free” You could tell there was something odd from him, as if he was trying to bury something under this indifference he was trying to put up now.

“Count this as a gift then” You jutted your chin towards him and invited him to take the clothes still in your arms.

He was taken aback by the simplicity with which you said those words, almost carelessly, and most of all to the person that deserved them the least, especially how hard he was being with you.

He wanted to quip back but you resumed your explanation before he could even think of a response and he wanted to hate it so much. 

“As I was saying, I tried to fix the tear, but it didn't want to look nice, so I embroidered the shirt with a gold pattern” You explained as you pointed at the button up. Astarion was so focused on shielding himself that he didn’t even look at his clothes, she could have gave him one of her shirts for what he knew and he would have not realized it until he would be in his tent. 

His eyes finally fell on the piece of clothing his mouth fell slightly open. He traced the golden thread carefully, as if it was a creation of his sick mind. “I hope it’s not too much.”You trailed off, your words were warm, almost sticking to his skin like glue. He wanted to shake them off himself, he wanted to yell that he didn’t deserve such attentions, that you were an idiot to do all of this for someone that had planned to use you, but it was like something in his body stopped him from screaming and lashing out at you, the only thing he could manage to do was the simple task he gave himself in the morning.

“I came here to thank you for last night, and for your kindness” He started with a honeyed voice. “But I suppose I have one more thing to add to the list” He clutched the bundle of clothes to his chest, tipping his head forward in thank you.

#baldurs gate 3 #astarion #bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion bg3 #astarion angst #astarion baldurs gate #bg3 x reader #bg3 x tav #bg3 x you #vault: lynn ☆ #ask: lynn ☆ #asklynn☆: request #request open

[missjomarch]

Josephine - Luke Hughes

A/N: This is the longest thing I have ever written. Like actually. I heard the song Josephine by Pony Bradshaw and my brain was begging me to do something creative with it, so I wrote this. But I'm on my period so it turned very sad and angsty quickly. So now you all get to suffer along with me! With that said please please read the warnings and if at any point you feel uncomfortable click away.

Word Count: 3.7k 😳

Warnings: Grief and angst with no real happy ending or comfort. Cursing, crying, mentions of blood and pain. A half second on 18+ content but no explicit details.

(Portions in italics are flash backs. Enjoy, lovelies. 🫶)

Luke Hughes sat sprawled in one of the cushioned armchairs spaced across the rooftop bar the New Jersey Devils currently resided on. His view of the New York skyline was fuzzy, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of the beer in his left hand or the smoke from the joint in his right. The one thing he was sure of was that he didn’t want to be here, and he damn sure didn’t want to be sober. Luke could feel the pitying looks from his brother and captain all the way across the bar, but at least they hadn’t made any comments tonight. 

The team had won the game earlier in the day by a large margin and Luke wasn’t beating himself up over minuscule mistakes like he used to. No, that wasn’t the issue. In fact, Luke was playing some of the best hockey he had in years. His on-ice performance was probably the only reason he was even still on the team, considering that he had been skipping most morning skates and all public appearances for the past few weeks. 

He had seen the therapist the team provided and taken the weeks off that the trainers had suggested, so he isn’t sure why they insist on continually doing mental checkups on him. It was irritating. Especially when he didn’t give them the answers they wanted, so they sent Jack to pester him instead. All it did was remind him of you. 

“Luke.” 

His head snapped towards where you sat in the passenger seat of his car, eyes shining and a soft smile on your lips. 

“The light has been green for like 30 seconds, babe. What’s going on in that pretty head, hm?” 

Luke always swore that your sweet voice could melt 20 feet of snow in the dead of winter. It was like coming home from a long day to a warm house. It was one of his favorite things about you. So, because he knew you’d ask the question again, he simply shrugged his shoulders in response. He fully planned to keep his troubles to himself in an attempt not to worry you, but then your manicured hand was running through the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Tell me about it, Lu. What’s wrong?” 

With your use of the nickname, he was gone. Suddenly all the world’s problems were spilling from his lips, and he couldn’t stop them even if he wanted to. You tended to have that effect on people. You were just so damn easy to talk to. And the best part? You almost always knew how to make it better. A quick kiss and a Band-Aid, and Luke was back on his way with a smile. 

“Luke,” you mumbled, “Luke…” 

“Luke.” 

Jack stood in front of his brother, shaking his shoulder to break him from his trance. 

“You okay?” Jack questioned, not missing the shine in Luke’s eyes as they were torn from the skyline view. He watched as Luke took a deep drag from the joint in his hand, exhaling the smoke as he attempted to clear the lump from his throat. 

“Fine, Jack.” 

“Bullshit,” Jack couldn’t help the scoff he let out, “Get up, we’re going home.” 

Luke didn’t have it in him to argue. Not that he would have, anyway. He never wanted to leave the house in the first place, especially after the situation Jack got him into the last time they had gone out. 2 months ago, his brother had dragged him to this same rooftop bar insisting that it’d be good for him to get out there again. It took all of 30 minutes before Jack was pushing Luke in the direction of a random girl. “A good fuck will fix you right up”, Jack had claimed. 

“Luuuuke,” the girl below him moaned as he kissed down her neck. He didn’t know her name, didn’t particularly care to either. He was a bit too busy resenting his brother for setting him up with this random girl in the first place. 

He tried to ignore the hot anger flowing through him, tried to focus on the heavy breathing of the blonde and the way her nails were raking down his back. Luke’s hands dipped under her shirt, quickly finding her bra and giving it a harsh tug downwards. His fingers fumbled deftly until they gripped her tits, drawing a sharp gasp from the girl. 

“Oh! Lu, please,” she whined. When he didn’t respond, she went to pull his face to hers. But Luke had froze, brain short circuiting at the nickname he hadn’t heard in over 8 months. 

His throat was burning. His breath turned ragged as he yanked his hands from beneath her shirt. He stared at her with wild eyes, chest heaving. 

“Get out,” he ground out. His heart was pounding. What was wrong with him? 

“Are you okay?” The blond started back at him with a horrified expression, and Luke had to bite his tongue to keep from spitting out any malicious words. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth as he squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Leave, please.” He begged, unable to look her in the face.

“Luke, I don’t understand,” she tried to reason, “Luke…” 

“Luke.” 

Jack was looking at him expectantly from the driver’s side of his sleek BMW as he navigated the late-night New Jersey traffic. Luke blinked slowly, trying to clear the bitter memory from his foggy mind. 

“Sorry, what’d you say?” Luke questioned, choosing to ignore the concern blaring in his brother’s eyes. Jack seemingly decided to let it be, instead jumping back into whatever he originally asked. 

“I was asking if you thought the stadium series would be a good time to introduce Sydney to mom and dad? I know it’s only been a few months, but I don’t know when they’ll be in town again.” 

Luke nodded, “Are you just going to do it at dinner? Or the hotel?” 

Jack hesitated, clearly contemplating the options before lighting up, “What if I brought her to the family skate? She’s been wanting to learn anyways! It be just like when you brought jo-” Jack choked on his words, immediately recognizing his mistake. He turned towards his brother, attempting to get a read on his face in the dim light of the passing streetlamps. But Luke had already shut down, face turned to stare blankly out the window. 

Jack reached over to give a comforting squeezing to Luke’s left shoulder, “Luke.” 

“LUKE!” you squealed as your hands white knuckled his sweatshirt. He giggled at your skating stance before pulling you to his chest. 

“You alright there, Bambi?” He smirked down at you as you sent him a glare. 

“I’m new to this, asshole. It’s not my fault my teacher is no good,” you threw back at him. It was your turn to smirk as Luke’s mouth hung open in mock offense. 

“I’ll have you know that I’ve taught hundreds of kids across the state of New Jersey how to properly skate.” 

“Those poor kids,” you quickly retorted, sticking your tongue out as he scowled at you. However, that scowl quickly faded into a look of mischief and your face dropped as his arms loosened around you.

“Fine. Suit yourself, Bambi.” Luke let you go, giving you the lightest of shoves backwards. Then you were stranded. Forced to watch as your boyfriend skated backwards away from you, leaving you wide eyed and terrified as you froze on the ice. Your fear quickly turned to anger, and Luke marked the shift in your demeanor with a laugh. 

“Luke Warren Hughes, you come back here and get me right now.” 

“Nope. Come and get me, baby.” Luke winked at you as he skated past, only serving to further frustrate you. You’d never admit that his plan was working, but the anger was motivating. You let out a strangled groan before starting to shuffle forward, sliding your skates like Luke taught you. You were doing well for a while, slowly making your way towards where Luke was taunting you from the boards behind the net. That was until two kids flew past you, knocking you off balance and sending you scrambling to regain it. 

“Luke! Luke, Luke, Luke,” you called, too focused on your slipping feet to notice if your boyfriend was coming to your aid. Then you lost balance completely, tumbling down towards the ice. You closed your eyes as you avoided flinging your arms out to catch yourself, still heeding Luke’s warnings even as he got you in this mess in the first place. You prepared yourself for the cold hard burn of your backside hitting the ice, but it never came. Instead you landed in a pair of unfamiliar arms, barely recognizing that you weren’t on the ground before being hauled to a standing position. You carefully turned around and were met with Jack’s smiling face. 

“Knight in shining armor, at your service,” Jack grinned, adding a small salute for effect. You rolled your eyes, scanning the ice for Luke. 

“How long have you been following behind me?” 

“Ever since Luke pretended to leave you stranded. He planned the whole thing, I was behind you the entire time to save you from your inevitable demise,” Jack poked you, smile growing impossibly wider at the annoyed look gracing your face. 

“Big words for someone who never went to college,” you shot at him, needing anything to level the playing field between you. It was then that Luke finally returned, skating to a smooth stop to your left. 

“What’d I miss?” 

“Your girlfriend was insulting my intelligence after I graciously saved her precious be-hind,” Jack spoke, adding a bit more than his usual sassiness into the bit. Luke turned to tsk at you. 

“Now, now baby. We can’t make fun of people just because they’re less fortunate than us. It’s not Jacky’s fault he’s stupid,” Luke joked, loving the way your eyes lit up when you realized that he was joining your side. Jack, however, stood slack jawed across from you. 

“Now what the hell, Luke? I went along with your little plan, and this is how you repay me?” You and Luke just blinked at him, silly little grins sitting on your face. “Go to hell, both of you,” Jack scoffed before skating off. Once he was gone, you turned towards your boyfriend. Your pout returned, but it was quickly kissed away. 

“I promised you I’d never let you fall, baby. I just never said it’d be me who caught you.” 

You scowled, “you’re such a smart ass.” 

“Love you too, Princess,” Luke grinned. You begrudgingly allowed him to pull you into his chest, the warmth he radiated melting the glare right off your face. 

You turned your head to press a kiss into his jacket-clad chest, right over his heart. A warm smile graced your lips, “I love you, Lukey.” 

“Lukey!”

John Marino stood before him on the ice, stick poised to do the defensive drill coach had instructed them on. 

“You’re out of it today, kid. Are we going to do this drill or not?” 

“Yeah, my bad. Let’s go,” Luke nodded his head, once again trying to shake the thoughts of you from his mind. He had just barely cleared his vision before the puck was dropped, and John was racing towards him. Practice continued like that, Luke losing focus periodically until one of his teammates pulled him back into the moment. 

When he trudged into the locker room an hour later, he was more than ready to go home. These were usually the days he would most appreciate having you to come home to. Leaving a hard practice and coming home to fall asleep in your arms was the best feeling. He tried not to think too much about the gaping hole that memory left in his chest as he untied his skates. 

Once he was dressed in his sweats he rushed from the locker room, hoping to escape the arena before anyone could question his mental wellbeing. Luke made it to the car without any hounding from the guys or trainers, but he had to wait for what felt like an eternity before Jack finally made his way into the parking garage. 

“What the hell took you so long?” Luke questioned, hopping into the passenger seat as Jack unlocked the car doors. 

“Coach wanted to talk to me for a second. You could’ve gotten the keys from my bag, yknow.”

“Yeah, but then I would’ve been tempted to leave you here,” Luke smirked at his brother. 

Jack only rolled his eyes, all too familiar with Luke’s teasing. His mind swirled with the reminders his coach had left him with after their brief post-practice discussion. Coach was getting extremely concerned about Luke and the lack of focus he displayed at practice and games. Jack was also concerned, and so was most of the team. He knew he should bring it up, but the joy in Luke’s eyes was so rare these days that Jack couldn’t bring himself to disturb it. He just wanted to support his brother the best he could, but Luke wouldn’t open up to him. Or anyone, for that matter. Not his mom, not Quinn, not even his old teammates from Michigan. Luke wouldn’t talk to anyone about you.  So Jack took what Luke gave him. Watching late night hockey, Door Dashing dinner, or playing video games for hours on end. Anything to keep his brother occupied, and make him realize that he wasn’t alone. 

Luke finally made his way into his room at 11 pm later that night, feeling relatively okay after eating dinner and watching a Canucks game with Jack. He had felt so unlike himself lately that any small reprieve from reality was a welcomed gift. He also knew that it helped Jack worry about him just a little bit less. 

Luke had just turned out his bathroom light after brushing his teeth when his door creaked open, revealing Jack standing in the doorway. It wasn’t unusual for Jack to check on him before bed, but it had recently become more frequent. 

“You good to leave for practice at 8 tomorrow?” Jack questioned. 

Luke nodded, “Yeah, I’ll be up.” 

“Better be. I’m not in the mood to drag your ass out of bed in the morning.”

Luke rolled his eyes, but the wary look on Jack’s face made him hold his tongue on the snarky response he was about to shoot back. 

“Promise, I’ll be good to go at 8.”       

Jack deemed that a good enough answer, and went to shut the door.

“Alright. Night, Luke.” 

“Luke…” you shakily whispered on the phone. Your voice was wobbly and high pitched, the tears streaming down your face evident in your tone. 

“Baby?” Luke spoke into the phone, “What’s wrong?” 

It was an hour and a half until puck drop, and you should’ve been on your way to the stadium by now. Luke’s furrowed brows caught the attention of Jack in the next stall over, stopping his movements from where he was lacing up his skates. 

“I was on my way to the arena, and I…” a broken sob escaped your mouth, startling Luke as he tried to fathom what could’ve possibly happened after he left the house. 

 “Someone hit me.” 

Luke jumped to his feet, “What do you mean hit you? What happened?” 

“I don’t know. Someone ran a red light or something and they hit my car. I think I spun into a pole,” your breath was growing ragged as you recited the wreck. 

“Are you okay? Where are you? I’m coming to get you,” Luke rushed out as he began grabbing his clothes back out of his bag. Half the locker room was staring now, all with varying looks of concern. 

“I don’t know what to do. I’m bleeding,” you squeaked. “Lukey, there’s so much blood.”              

This sent Luke into a panic. He was stripping his gear as fast as humanly possible while simultaneously yelling at Jack to give him to car keys. Jack’s concerns fell on deaf ears as Luke undressed, and he finally decided that following Luke was the safest option. 

“No. You’re okay, baby. I just need you to tell me where you are, okay? I’ll be there so soon, just tell me where,” Luke begged. He knew logically that the cops would arrive before he could, but he needed to be there with you. 

“Don’t know. But my head hurts so bad,” you whimpered out. Luke tried to ignore the way he could hear your voice weakening as you spoke. 

“Just stay on the phone with me, love. I’m on my way to come get you, yeah?”

Luke tried to reassure you as he shoved his feet into his shoes and rushed from the locker room. Jack was hot on his tail, car keys in hand. 

“ ‘m sorry, Lu,” your whisper was barely heard by Luke as he sprinted down the hallways of Prudential Center. 

“For what, love?” 

“I wanted to be at your game tonight,” you mumbled. 

“It’s fine, baby. There’ll be a million more games for you to come to, yeah?” 

Luke attempted to comfort you as he searched for your location, plugging it into the GPS as Jack pulled out of the parking garage. Luke could only hope the pregame traffic wouldn’t get in the way. 

“Mhmm. Lukey?” 

“Yeah, baby?” 

Your voice was barely a whisper, “I love you.” 

Luke swore he could feel his heart shatter at the crack in your voice. There were tears streaming from his face as he pushed Jack to drive faster. 

“I love you too, princess. So much. Jacky and I are going to be there so soon. I just need you to hang on for a few minutes. Can you do that for me?” 

Luke’s voice was frantic and only grew more so when he heard your phone tumbling out of your hand. 

“Baby? You’ve gotta stay awake, okay?” Luke pleaded, as tears streamed down his face. His hands shook where he held the phone to his ear. 

“Baby? Please tell me you’re okay. I just need you to say something.” 

Luke’s begging continued until the line went dead. 

“Fuck,” Luke muttered, sobs beginning to wrack his body. Jack looked at him frantically as he continued to navigate the streets of New Jersey. 

“Luke? What the hell happened?” Jack kept spitting questions, but he might as well have been talking to a brick wall. “Snap out of it, Luke.” 

“Luke.” 

Luke awoke to Jack shaking him violently, and he tasted the salty tears streaming down his face before he felt them. ‘No. Not again,’  Luke thought. He shot up in bed, sending Jack scrambling backwards to avoid knocking heads. Luke’s head whipped back and forth wildly as his eyes searched the room. ‘Please, please, please,’ he begged the universe. He ignored the way his brain reminded him of the truth, ignored his brother’s pitying look, ignored the cold bed beside him where you should’ve been. It was if the whole world was pointing and laughing at his grieving heart. ‘Look at this idiot,’ they all seemed to say, ‘He still thinks he can save her.’ 

“Fuck,” Luke exhaled, finally giving up his futile attempts at disproving what he knew was his reality. 

Jack stared as his younger brother lost himself to grief once again. Watching as Luke’s hands disappeared into his curls, head bowed as sob after sob wracked his body. Jack felt helpless knowing he couldn’t take this pain from his little brother. All he could do was hold him and promise to be there through it all. 

“I can’t keep doing this,” Luke whispered into Jack’s shoulder. “Every time I wake up, I lose her all over again, and I can’t do it anymore.” 

Jack hesitates, unsure exactly what to say in this situation. You were always the one with the best advice, the one who could handle anything. 

“We’re going to get you through this, okay? You’re not alone in fighting this,” Jack paused, contemplating how to suggest his next thought. “I know you think you’re fine, but I really think you need help Luke. She would want you to get help.” 

Luke nodded, knowing his brother was right. You would hate to see him like this. Ever the caretaker, you had always been the first person to chastise him for not taking proper care of his mental health during hockey season. If you saw him like this, you’d pull him into your arms and then absolutely rip him a new one until he promised to take care of himself. 

“I know,” Luke mumbled, “I’ll start seeing a therapist. I think I need to step away from hockey for a bit too. It’s not fair to the guys that my mental health is affecting the team performance.” 

“I think that’s smart,” Jack agreed. “The guys might not understand what you’re going through, but they know it’s not your fault Luke. They want you to get better too.” 

Luke could only nod, trying to accept Jack’s words as the truth and fight the part of his brain that was saying this was all his fault. Luke was so tired, but he wasn’t willing to go back to sleep when he knew memories of you was what awaited him. 

“I’ll call the trainers tomorrow. I don’t really want to go back to sleep, can we watch a movie or something?” 

“Of course,” Jack agreed, despite the exhaustion weighing him down. “I’ll even let you pick.” 

A slow, knowing grin spread across Luke’s features, “Even Secretariat?” 

Jack’s sigh could be heard all the way in New York, but he smiled nonetheless. Just happy to see that Luke was making small steps towards returning to himself. 

“Even Secretariat.” 

So that’s how Luke and Jack spent their evening, watching movies and eating obscene amounts of popcorn. Luke had smiled to himself for most of the night, feeling a weight lifted off his shoulders. He knew the process would be slow and that he might never truly get back to ‘normal’. But admitting his pain and asking for help, that was enough for now. 

#jay writes #luke hughes #nj devils #hockey

[loveswrites]

Do you know when you’re going to post your next Poly Volturi? (Absolutely no rush btw take your time and always focus on you and your health first🫶) I was just wondering cause i miss you 🫶

(i don’t have any intention of sounding rude or anything im just wondering and i definitely dont wanna rush you and i ofc want you to take your time and ofc it’s important to focus on yourself first ALWAYS🫶🫶)

Nightmare Poly Volturi x reader

Time it took me: 5 hours

Word count: 2023

To anon: Hello lovely! I'm sorry for the wait it's been like a month since my last post but I've come to give you a little gift! Hope you like it! Thank you so much for your reassurance, You didn't sound rude at all I understand I was gone a LONG time. I'm surprised I even wrote this today my mind was so foggy I haven't really had a good day so I thought I'd put a smile on someone else's!

Love <3

p.s I also tried to find that spongebob meme in a gif but I couldn't find it for some reason lmk if you get it when you read it!

Turning a sharp corner your hip grazed against the cold cobblestone walls of the castle. Causing you to suck in a strong gasp of air. Rubbing your hand against the throbbing pain you felt something wet. Twisting your face up in confusion you couldn't tell what it was. There was a storm and the castle was as dark as it's ever been. The candles Cauis ordered to be lit every set of the sun for you weren't lit like they normally are. If one candle blew out, rather you were there or not he would have someone's head not long after.

"You smell delicious." You heard from no other than the exact one you were thinking about. Caius.

Still a little confused, your eyes widened. Blood. You were bleeding and Cauis was chasing you.

Resuming your slow steps turned into a fast pace run. Well as fast as you could. Your eyes burned with tears as you could hear Caius' steps quicken. Why was he doing this, you thought. Doesn't he love you? 

"Are you frightened little human?" Cauis hissed out with so much venom you could taste it. 

"Please stop-" You were cut off with a scream crawling out of your throat as a strong sound of thunder and lightning struck.

"Your fear reeks a phenomenal scent. I can't wait to taste you." He sneered out letting out a chilling chuckle. 

You couldn't stop the tear that ran down your cheek with his statement. All you could feel was your heart pounding in your chest, So much you thought it would run into overdrive and stop. With the halls darken you ran with what little memory you could collect right now.  Your brain was foggy. Your heart was hurt. And your face was stained with tears of fear. You never thought that you would die like this. The more you ran the more you realized that this was a loop. You had been running around in a circle this whole time and Cauis was still chasing you. 

"Help Me! Jane! Alec! Please don't do this Caius! You're scaring me!" You screamed out looking back for the first time since you started running.

 He was right there. 

Pricing red eyes stared back at you menacingly.

The only sound you could get out of your mouth was a gasp. He grabbed you by your arms in a tight unbreakable grip. So tight you thought your bones would snap. You never did take your vitamins as a kid you thought. Before you could say another word he bared his fangs and snapped down on your neck. You let out a strong scream. It was so loud it echoed and bounced off the walls. You could feel your own blood wetting your skin rolling down your once warm body. As much as you struggled you couldn't move. As much as you screamed you could no longer make sound. All you felt was your life being drained from your body. Mustering all of your strength you screamed the loudest you could with little life you had left. 

"Mio caro!? Wake up è solo un sogno!" A voice sounded.

Snapping your eyes open, you saw him. Screaming once against you pushed off of him blinded to your surroundings. You fell down onto a cold marble floor it hurt but you could care less right now. Anything to get away from him.

"Don't touch me! S-stay away from me! J-Jane! Where are you!?" You screamed out tears already rolling down your face. Still crawling away from Caius you kept your eyes on him the best you could with blurred vision. 

"What-" Cauis started but was cut off by your words.

"Don't talk to me, leave me alone! Jane! W-where's Jane!? Jane! Jane!!" You cried screaming at the top of your lungs. 

Everyone's attention snapped to the door as Jane busted through the door. Her piercing red eyes were filled with anger ready to unleash hell on anyone that dared to hurt what is hers. 

"What happened!" She snapped sharp eyes staring down everyone who was in the room. She saw no threat but that didn't mean there wasn't one.

You were in the throne room as you always were half the time. Everyone knew you loved laying upon the throne with Caius. You were often there with him during most trails. It was convenient because most of the time all of your mates were there also. So hearing your screams come from this room of all places put Jane on guard. 

"We don't know she was just resting as she always is, then woke up screaming." Marcus stated.

"She's very frightened and the first one so called out for was you. Go to her, Slowly.” Aro said making sure to speak softly.

She listened, making sure to take slow and soft steps towards you. When she was finally in front of you she kneeled down to your level as you had backed yourself into a corner. 

“Who scared you?” She asked, trying her best to not sound too demanding but failing miserably. 

You reached out and wrapped your arms around her tightly, crying hard.

“Please don’t let him hurt me.” You whispered into her neck. A whisper so low that she had to try to listen. 

“Who is trying to hurt you?” She whispered back wrapping her arms around you. Doing her best to console you as physical touch is still a hard thing for her.

“C-caius he bit me he was trying to kill me.” You said still shaking as the scene replayed in your head over and over again.

“Well I guess we know who won't be turning her.” Felix snickered, earning a shove from dem.

“Silence!” Cauis ordered, making Felix shut up immediately. His loud tone made you jump and brung more tears to your eyes. Jane continued to comfort you, whispering calming and promising words in your ear.

“Go on, tell me what else happened.” She beckoned.

“I was trying to run away from him b-because he was chasing me. I didn’t know why until I realized that I was bleeding and he wasn’t chasing me to help me. He was chasing me to bring more h-harm to me. I was going in circles and I couldn’t find a way out! There wasn’t a way out but I kept trying and trying but he still got me and- He drained me of everything inside of me.. I can still feel his bite. It hurts, why does it hurt?” You whimpered out sniffling every few words. You held onto Jane tighter in fear she would let you go.

It was silent for a while. No one in the room knew quite what to say. Or what you needed to hear. But the one thing they all knew was that no matter how much Cauis would threaten or yell at you he would lay down his life for you. And if he ever laid a harmful hand on you the rest of you mates would deal with him no matter the consequences. One little human held so much power. 

“It was just a nightmare, you're safe. He would never hurt you. And if he did I’d kill him myself.” Jane said firmly. 

Her words brung comfort to you. Jane never lies. Especially to you.  She always says that she has no time for lying. To which you always say she technically has all her life or death to lie. 

“Jane let me see her.” Cauis said leaving no room for arguing.

“Caius.” Marcus said in a warning tone.

“Do you want to face him? I’ll take you away if not.” Jane whispered in your ear. It took a little while for you to answer but eventually you did sadly. You truly weren't ready to face him but you didn’t want Jane to get in trouble for your newfound fear.

“It’s okay..” You said slowly as if you were trying to convince yourself. 

“Are you sure?” She questioned.

“I’m sure.” You said taking a deep breath when Jane parted from you. Though Jane was freezing cold her cold began to feel warm to you. So when she let you go you couldn’t help but feel naked under the eyes of everyone in the room. A shiver ran down your spine when you finally made eye contact with Caius. His red eyes were intimidating but not as threatening as the ones in your nightmares. In fact his eyes looked.. Concerned, confusion and hurt. That one was a kick to the chest. You hated seeing him hurt but you hated seeing you hurt more. 

“Come here.” Caius said watching you as you took very slow steps to you. Realizing your fear was truly real as you'd normally run to him full of joy. But now you shake with each step. You were never even this scared when you first met. 

Once you were standing in front of him he closed the gap between you two holding onto your hands. Your warm soft ones colliding against his cold hard ones.  

“You truly think I’d ever hurt you on purpose if at all? I’m offended by how lowly you think of me amore mio.” He frowned looking down at you. 

“It was- it felt very real.” You whispered looking down but that didn’t last long as he put his hand under your chin and tilted your head back up to face you.

“If you're frightened do not be cowardly in fear I will not accept it. Especially when I am aware of how fearless you are. It was a horrible dream, a nightmare. One that will never come true.” He said watching you with close eyes.

“I-” You were cut off with his next words.

“You should know that I would never hurt you on purpose. But eventually for you to be with us forever you will have to be turned. But it won't be painful for you. We will ensure it. Alec will use his power to make sure of it.” Caius stated as if this would make you feel better.

“You’ve been conspiring about my death behind my back?” You questioned furrowing your eyebrows.

“More like preparing. You're not getting any younger.” Felix said from behind you.

“Are you serious?” You questioned.

“We’d rather have you dead and with us rather than dead and gone bellissima.” Dem voiced softly in hopes you wouldn’t get upset with the rest of them.

“I feel like this is some type of gaslighting or manipulation.” You said, shaking your head.

“Nevermind that, do you feel better?” Alec asked, deterring your thoughts from this topic.

“I kinda do. I’d still like a little space from you though.” You said looking up at Caius. 

“Only a few days after that you're asking for ungiveable things.” He said letting you go but not before kissing you on your forehead making you freeze momentarily.

“Go get some rest.” He dismissed you.

As you walked away after standing there for a while Jane followed you and right when you grabbed the door Caius words made you stop in your tracks.

“ You shouldn’t be scared of me in that sense. You wouldn’t even be filling, you refuse to take your vitamins Carlisle insists you take.” He yelled out so you could hear. 

You couldn’t help the small laugh that came out of your mouth knowing how true that statement was. For the next few days Jane followed you everywhere. Always on your heels. Sleeping with you, feeding next to you, If she knew you were having a bad dream she’d wake you up right away and take you out for a walk. All until you felt comfortable to be alone with Cauis she was right there by your side. 

And when you finally felt comfortable enough you saw how bad Cauis was taking it through his paintings. He was afraid you would see him as a monster. He knew he was but he never wanted to be that in your eyes. You spent the next few nights showing him how fearless you were of him. Wink wink.

#twilight #oneshots #reader insert #loveswrites #the volturi #x reader #cauis x reader #alec volturi x reader #volturi x reader #felix volturi x reader #jane volturi x reader #volturi poly #poly twilight #demitri volturi x reader

[azulashengrottospiano]

secrecy & scars

Genre/Tropes: Comparing hand sizes. Just hands.

Summary: You've always wondered what was under Rook's gloves.

Author's Comments: One of my irl friends has a headcanon that Rook has a bunch of scars on his hands and so I wrote this. It was finished in about an hour when I was supposed to be doing my homework but honestly I'm really excited for this because hey!!! Rook fluff!!! Happy Book Six part two release!! (Is it just me or are the minigames actually kinda hard???)

~~~~~

Whenever you saw Rook, he was always wearing his gloves. You’re pretty sure they’re completely attached to his hands, because in all your time at NRC he hasn’t taken them off in front of you once. Even when the weather is warm and the trees are rustling with the breeze of a coming summer, his gloves are still in their usual place. It’s an odd thing to fixate on, you’re aware of that, but you can’t stop the way your gaze falls on him whenever he’s near you. You’re just so curious, and it’s getting rather irritating.

Especially right now, because you’re supposed to be studying and yet you’re having this problem again.

Maybe it’s your fault for studying outside, but you usually come to this tree when you need to relax. Your current spot offers a lovely view of the Botanical Gardens, where you can see Rook talking with Trey. He’s wearing his labwear so he has gloves on again, much to your disappointment. But honestly, what do you expect? It was his club time, of course he would be wearing his gloves.

His eyes flicker in your direction and you snap your head back towards your book, a warmth climbing up your neck. Great Seven, you hope he didn’t catch you staring. That would be so embarrassing.

You look up to check if he’s gone, only to find him making his way towards you, a sneaky smile on his face.

And he’s staring right at you.

You yelp and shove your face in your book again, as if that would make him go away. A warm breeze flips the pages over your left thumb, and the grass tickles your ankles as the huntsman sits down beside you and leans against the tree you’re using as shelter from the sun.

“Mon coeur, what are you reading?” Rook hums, resting his head on your shoulder and looking down at your book.

“Um, I’m studying alchemy.” you answer, brain fumbling to come up with an excuse as to why you were staring at him in the first place for when he inevitably asks.

“I see. Was I distracting you?” he laughs, and you swallow thickly as he leans impossibly closer, “I’ve noticed your staring, did you think I wouldn't?”

Your breath catches in your throat, and if things couldn’t get any worse, a gloved hand pushes your chin up with a single, crooked index finger.

“There we are.” Rook smiles, eyes crinkling in the corners as he stares at you, “Your eyes are so beautiful, it would be a shame to hide them.”

You whip your neck around so quickly that you’re sure you almost broke it, and Rook’s laughter does nothing to stop the frantic pounding of your heart.

“Oh, mon coeur! I was only teasing, I swear!” he chuckles, “Though if a phantom were to ever see your lovely visage, they would perish, for your radiance will cure their tortured existence and they will know peace! I must say, to have someone like you gaze upon me as though you’re infatuated has my heart racing in my chest! Tell me, mon coeur, what is your reason for doing so?”

Did he have to speak so flowery? While it was endearing, it made him hard to understand at times (and it always, always embarrassed you.)

“I’ll answer that if…if you let me ask you something first.” you mumble, swallowing your nerves and meeting his gaze.

“Oh, mon coeur, anything.” he coos, lowering his voice on octave as he leans closer, “What is it?”

“Why do you wear gloves all the time?” you ask, eyes flickering down to his still covered hands, “I see you wearing them all the time. You were even wearing them when I slept over at Pomfiore that one time with Epel-”

“Curious, are you?” he sighs, the sound soft and amused.

You’re about to say that yes, you’ve been curious since forever, and that you’ve always kinda wanted to hold his hands and admire them but they were always covered so you didn’t even have any daydream material damn it, but he’s peeling them off and folding them neatly on the grass beside him before you can vocalize any of that.

Your jaw hangs open with the shock of seeing his bare hands. Seeing him without his gloves is a rare sight, though right now they’re clenched in his lap as if he feels vulnerable without them.

“Can I see them?” you blurt before you can stop yourself.

Thankfully, Rook ignores the fact that you’re now up to two questions, and simply unravels his fingers and holds his hands out to you. You take both of them in yours, comparing your hand sizes. Once you’re satisfied, you take your left hand away from his left and bring it to his right. You flip his hand over and examine the long scar that runs from the base of his pinky finger to his thumb, and even though you know it doesn’t hurt anymore you still trace over it worryingly.

“That was a long time ago, mon coeur.” Rook whispers, his pretty voice drifting in the gentle breeze, “I’ve been on many hunts and have been hunted myself.”

You don’t pry. The way he talked about the scar sent a dagger of dread plunging into your stomach. Plus, you know Rook well enough to know that he doesn’t like people prying into his personal life. It’s a miracle he took his gloves off for you.

You flip his hand back over and run your thumb over the back of his hand. It’s a bit smoother than his palm, but you can tell his knuckles are calloused from hard work. You move onto his fingers, where you intertwine them with yours. There’s much smaller scars littered along his skin, but he doesn’t say anything about them so you don’t ask.

In a moment of bravery, you cradle his hand tenderly and bring it to your lips, pressing an affectionate kiss to the skin.

Rook sucks in a quiet breath, but you don’t look up. You're too embarrassed.

Moving onto his left hand, you treat this one with the same care. There’s no large scars on this hand, but there are once again many small ones littering the flesh. You feel your brow furrowing with more concern at all the injuries he sustained over the years. If this is what his hands look like, then how bad are his arms?

You have questions, but you do not pry.

“I promise they do not hurt.” Rook whispers, his right hand reaching around the back of your head in a gentle cradle. He begins scratching, a soothing sleepy feeling creeping into your brain as your furrowing brow slips away into a relaxed expression.

“I believe you.” you whisper back, as if what happened here today is a precious secret that you’ll never share with anyone else as long as you live.

Rook understands.

He slips his gloves back on all too soon, and your heart is pounding when you think he’s about to leave, but your excuse-making brain stalls when he doesn’t make a move to get up.

“Please.” he murmurs, picking up your forgotten book, “Allow me.”

He pats the spot of grass next to him and you scramble to answer his request, resting your back against the tree trunk as he gets comfortable next to you. Your knees are touching, and that's the only thing you can think about as he rests the book on the both of you, your thighs cushioning the cover that’s been warmed by the sun.

“Beautiful.” Rook whispers, and when you look up he’s staring right at you.

“Yeah.” you say, and you stare right back at him.

The book is once again forgotten.

#auburn's fics <3 #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #disney twst x reader #twst x reader #rook hunt fluff #rook hunt x reader #rook x reader

[callsignfoxy]

The Notes- Simon Riley x Fem!reader Part II

Summary: Simon, you, and the rest of Task Force 141 had been back at base a few days after a decent mission. During which, comms had gone down. You and Simon had been paired up and we're laying low and couldn't speak. You withdrew a notepad and pen from your tactical vest and you began exchanging notes during the duration until comms were back up. Now that you all were back at base, Ghost wanted to keep the conversation going. He didn't fuckin' know why, but he thought the letter writing had been endearing and made it easy to speak to you. One morning at breakfast, he tossed you a folded piece of paper and this began your conversation by pen and paper. After unintentionally revealing his sexual tendencies towards you, you confront him about it. These are just some of the notes. Rating: E CW: described sexual acts, smut, dirty talk, slight degradation (?), dom!Simon. Word Count: 1,428 ~mdni~ **Based on my own character, but I tried to make it more vague.**

You: Are we ever going to talk about what you said to me when we were in Libya...at the safe house?

Simon: Nothing to talk about.

You: Is this how it's going to be?

Simon: Yes

You: Why?

Simon: Because.

You: I don't wanna do this today.

Simon: Then don't.

You: I wanna talk about it.

Simon: Won't make a difference.

You: I think it would.

Simon: That's okay, you can be wrong.

You: So...

Simon: So?

You: What? Do you think I'm mad because you grabbed my face and basically threatened to spank me?

Simon: I don't give a fuck if you're mad or not, if I'm honest.

You: I'll take that as a yes.

***

Simon: I apologize for the way I acted.

You: If you had to choose would you do it again?

Simon: Negative.

You: I don't believe you.

Simon: Where's this coming from?

You: It's coming from the fact that you threatened to fuck me and haven't been able to look at me since!

Simon: It was unprofessional.

You: Yeah, it was. But I want to know if you meant it.

Simon: Always mean what I say.

***

Your arm flopped back to the side of your head, the note still in hand while laying on your mattress. It was late and the base was quiet. You had just got in from a long day to read his not. "Fuck," you breathed out. Your stomach started to grow warm, filling with butterflies. Even just the words made you blush. Jesus, What am I? 13? Still though, he admitted it finally. Admitted what you already knew, but admitted it nonetheless.

So then the question was...what do you do about it? You could ignore it...never reply to the note. Let it rest. Something pulled in you at the thought. Disappointment, perhaps? You sat up and rubbed you face in your hands and grunted in frustration. He...wanted you...or at least he had when he was angry. That's what it was, just in the heat of the moment. No way he'd want you now, right?

Your brain was fuzzy. Why would you even have interest in him anyways? You threw your hands up and stood, beginning to pace your room. You should go to him, talk it out, be adults, but...the playful part of you loved this dancing around the bush. Maybe Soap was right, just hook up. Not the worst plan. Didn't have to like someone to fuck them...and that's all it'd be. Then you both could move on. What if he didn't want to? No...you had a suspicion he did. The note sat on the bed, the words taunting you. In an action you hoped you wouldn't come to regret, you retrieved your pen and wrote your response.

***

You: What would you do now?

Simon read the note and he nearly spit out his tea. He'd woken to the folded piece of paper on the floor of his room. You must have slid it under his door in the night. He had only just now opened it in the mess hall at breakfast.

What would he do?

Well, he'd thought about it. Constantly, actually, despite his attempts to keep his mind on current tasks. Your voice had floated through his mind, haunting him. Your face when he'd grabbed you, eyes wide, pupils dilated, cheeks flushed. How you had squeezed your legs together. He'd replayed it a million times over since the team had come back home.

When your question popped into his head, he couldn't suppress the mental image he had conjured. Grasping your hips, making you cry out for him, your hair wrapped tightly in his fist. He blinked his eyes tightly few times. Not the fucking place, Simon. His attention scoured the hall, searching for you. Simon finally spotted his target on the other side of the room, speaking animatedly with a private. His eyes trailed down your form, and he shook his head. His gaze then landed on the young private, who he just realized was staring back at him anxiously. Then, your eyes locked, yours flicked to his momentarily before turning away and leaving with the private. Fuck. She hadn't even changed facial expression. Was like she didn't even care. Or did. One of those two options, not quite sure which was worse.

He cleared his throat and went back to his food. He shouldn't even have responded to it. He'd already gone too far by even allowing the topic to come up again, let alone saying he meant it. He didn't even like you like that. Then again...maybe Soap was right. Just get it out of his system. Didn't have to like you to fuck you.

Later in the day, when he finally found a moment and some fucking privacy, he told you exactly what he'd do to you.

***

Simon: I would start by spanking you. Hard. Hard enough that you won't be able to sit without aching, remembering me, and what happens when you talk back. Then, I'd pin you against the wall, biting, sucking, and kissing down that pretty throat, leaving so many marks that everyone will know who you were such a sweet little slut for. I'd put put you on your knees and make you beg for me. Once I was good and satisfied with that, I'd reward you by fucking your mouth 'till you choke, showing you who's really in charge. Then, Bend you over the table and fuck you until the room rang with your cries for forgiveness for being such a bitch. Make you scream my name. Have you dripping down those beautiful thighs of yours, a beautiful mess. Have you desperate and screaming, making sure the whole base knows. Fill you you up, ruin you for the next prick you try to get with. Leave you shaking and sweaty and flushed, unable to move. Leave you an absolute mess and knowing you'd want more.

#cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley #mw2 #call of duty mw2 #cod fanfic #cod simon riley #ghost call of duty #ghost simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #cod ghost #ghost mw2 #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x fem!reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2

[satoruxx]

omg so like i saw ur event open and uhm what afe akaashi + this side of paradise by coyote theory 🫶

pairing: akaashi keiji x reader | 2.1k+ words summary: college au, student akaashi, pining (ofc), basically reader monologuing about her crush on akaashi for 2k words (i mean same), both of them are introverted af tho, which means they're both idiots (i'm speaking from experience hehe), nerds being nerds, overall just lots of fluff and overthinking !! a/n: AKIIIII hello hello <333 ty for sending this in lovely !! can you believe this is my first time writing for a haikyuu character?? and it so happens to be akaashi skhfkdjds i adore him !! this was so cute to write i was kicking my feet and giggling. i remember being obsessed with this song a few years ago and now that i wrote this i've been listening to it on repeat !! anyways i hope you enjoy this hehe <3

literature class was by far your favorite one of the day. you liked the stories you got to read, because it meant that you could fall into a world of your own and let your mind race with ideas. you liked how kind the professor was, passionately speaking about a subject only few could teach. you liked that it was an afternoon class, not too early for sleep to still be clinging to your eyes and yet not too late for the day's exhaustion to hit your body.

and you liked the way akaashi keiji looked as he intently listened to the lecture.

it was an accident at first. you'd gone into the lecture hall on the first day as early as you could, just so that you could scope out the corner most seat. the one away from the front where all eyes rest, but close enough from the far back so you could still pay attention. it was a fairly unpopular place to sit, so you wouldn't have to worry about any chatty seatmates trying to pull you out of your comfort zone.

only after a week of class, during one of the more boring lectures when your focus was waning and your eyes were wandering, did you notice him. akaashi keiji sitting in the row in front of you, closer to the other side of the room but angled in the perfect position for you to see his side profile.

his fingers curl under his chin as he rests his face in his palm, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose precariously. he doesn't seem to mind though, eyes roaming over the board before settling on the professor again. occasionally, he'll look down at his notes to jot something down and then fidde with the pen mindlessly.

you just think he happens to look very pretty.

not that you'd ever tell him that.

no, you'd much rather stay hidden in your quiet corner of the lecture hall, where you can simply observe from the side. where you can avoid opening your mouth because oh god you know if you ever spoke you'd make an absolute fool of yourself.

it's better for you to remain alone, because that's how you've always preferred it to be. that's how you like it.

you think maybe that's why you're drawn to akaashi keiji.

he reminds you of yourself. always alone but never unhappy. he seems to enjoy solitude, just like you do. even when you manage to catch a glimpse of him around campus, he is by himself, nose buried in a book or pencil dragging against sheets of paper. he'll occasionally have headphones plugged into his ears, drowning out the world in a way you know all too well.

you like that about him, how similar he is to you. sometimes your friends will tell you that you need to socialize more, because human interaction is healthy and required and oh so important. they're right, but they don't understand how difficult it can be when you're so used to your own company. or when your brain is constantly conjuring up ideas on how strange you must look or sound. you think you'd much rather wait for the opportunity to socialize to fall right into your lap, not seek it out yourself.

so yes, in your opinion, it's completely acceptable to settle for just admiring akaashi keiji from afar. every time you sit in literature class you're grateful enough to just get the chance to see the small things he does. which pen he'll choose to write with for today's lecture, or whether he'll forgo paying attention to instead bury his face in a novel. that's enough for you.

but right now you need to push thoughts of akaashi keiji out of your head. you need to focus on finishing your reading assignment for literature class. and you want to focus, but it seems like every where you go someone is intent on making it as difficult as possible for you. you head to the library, and it's oddly loud in there. you try to find an empty classroom, and they're all filled with students. you just need a quiet place on campus where you could be alone and focus.

but you can't find any. you're about to give up and head back to your apartment when you spot a small alcove in one of the campus gardens, hidden by stone walls and leafy vines.

you send a quick thanks to the heavens and take a seat, making yourself comfortable and pulling out your book and notes. you don't know how long you sit there, cut off from the outside world as you read through pages and pages of the story, occasionally taking notes and rereading passages. you're only aware of the way the sun travels across the sky, indicating that time is indeed moving. you like it here, in this little space away from the rest of society, and you think you could remain here for so much longer.

"what do you think of it?"

you look up and your stomach drops as your eyes take in akaashi keiji standing over you, his bag slung over his shoulder. you only gape at him, not having enough time to prepare yourself for this sudden interaction. all you can manage is a stupid "huh?"

"the book. what were your thoughts?" he asks again, pointing down at the novel laying in your lap. you have to force yourself to stop staring at him and open your mouth.

"it's ridiculous." you answer lamely and akaashi's lips quirk upwards.

"it's a shakespearean tragedy..." he says and you suddenly think that your answer might've been a dumb one, but then he's nodding in what seems to be agreement. your breath catches as he bends down to take a seat next to you. "...of course it's got themes of ridiculousness."

the soft fabric of his sweater brushes against your skin and you almost choke, because your palms feel sweaty and your heart is racing and you think you might be breathing too loudly and-

"i felt the same way." he says, his finger coming to rest on one of the sticky notes you've put in the margin, where your summarized thoughts are scribbled down. "though i firmly believe desdemona was the true victim of the play."

you're still blinking at him owlishly, and you can practically see the way his shoulders drop as he attempts to withdraw his forwardness. "i'm sorry i shouldn't have-"

"i agree," you say hurriedly, effectively halting his words. "she deserved better than what she got. if i were her i would've blamed him for killing me instead of myself."

akaashi blinks, before a light smile graces his face, and he's nodding along with you. "for sure. leave it to the male main character to make the ending all about him."

you laugh before you can stop yourself, fiddling with the corners of the page. "i think we're dumbing it down a little too much."

"we probably are." akaashi muses, his fingers coming up to nudge at his glasses before they slip down his nose. he pauses for a second, glancing at you carefully before speaking again. "you...sit in the row behind me, right?"

oh no, has he noticed the way you stare at him? does he think you're creepy? you don't even want to hear what he has to say next. what if he-

"this is usually where i come to read alone. i've never seen anyone else here before." he continues, looking around the hidden little alcove.

you panic subsides and you immediately feel guilty. "oh shoot, i'm so sorry. i was looking for a quiet place to finish the book and i passed by here. i didn't mean to-"

akaashi is shaking his head immediately, hushing your apologies with a laugh. "no no, it's alright. i didn't mean to make you think i was angry about it. i don't mind sharing this spot. it works wonders when you need some quiet time."

maybe it's the tone of his voice or the way his eyes shine behind the frames of his glasses, but you find yourself relaxing before you can process it, giving him a half smile and a small shrug. "that's nice of you. i just...know how annoying it can be when people invade your space. especially when you want to be alone."

akaashi pauses, giving you a curious glance before his faces eases into a warm smile. he nods just slightly before shrugging. “that’s true. but…i don’t find myself all that annoyed right now.”

it’s obviously not meant in any other way but friendly, but that doesn’t stop his words from making your heart race. you only give him a shaky lopsided grin and try to take a leap of faith.

"well how did you feel about the ending monologue?" you ask, and akaashi chuckles, easing into the wall behind him as an invisible weight is lifted from his shoulders. he begins to answer your question, and a slight feeling of pride bubbles in your stomach.

you're actually talking to akaashi keiji. you took the leap of faith.

and it pays off because akaashi remains there with you for hours after that. you both take turns ranting about the novel, eventually drifting off into other topics that have the two of you easily conversing like you had been friends for years. by the time night has fallen and you both are packing your things, you're wondering why you were ever nervous to begin with.

“i’m glad that you found this place. it’s really peaceful.” you comment with an easy going smile and akaashi returns it almost immediately.

his tone is light when he speaks up. “you’re welcome back here anytime.”

you end up taking him up on the offer many times afterward.

a part of you worries that maybe he might find you annoying. but he always just gives you that soft smile, patting the ground next to him as he allows you to invade his space over and over again.

besides you don’t know this yet, but he only allows this for you.

because truthfully, akaashi keiji has thought you were pretty since the moment he first saw you in literature class. he’s not prideful enough to deny the way his eyes have drifted over to you during the lectures. to watch the way you tap your pen against your lips or to gaze at you when you doodle on the corner of your notes.

but he figured these feelings were something he'd keep to himself because god knows akaashi was nothing if not introverted. he would never have even dared to approach you and open his mouth since he knew in his gut that he would somehow fumble his words once he was in front of you. so why would he risk it? he wouldn't, he decided. he had made up his mind.

but then you're in front of him, curled up against the stone walls of his reading spot, all immersed in your book and his legs are carrying him forward before he can even process it. and then he's blurting out all these words while cursing himself internally because he can practically see the hesitation in your face as he basically forces you out of your comfort zone. why did he do it? he loved seeing you in your own little world, an easy smile on your face as you enjoyed your own company. now he's shattering your peace, dragging you out of it by the ankles and he wants to kick himself.

but you're always such a pleasant surprise, welcoming him into your space like it's nothing. and he knows it's not nothing. if there's anyone who can understand what a struggle it is to reach out a hand to someone, it's him. but he's grateful you built up the courage to continue a conversation with him. because now he finally has his foot in the door, and it's given him a confidence boost he sorely needed.

now that he meets you almost everyday in your shared little corner, talking about the most mundane and trivial things like it's always been a thing between you two, he feels better about what's to come. because he's dragged you into his space too, and you've become so integral to it that he can't imagine what it was like to be lonely in the first place.

but hopefully, you like being lonely with him too. because soon enough he's going to blurt out his true feelings in the form of a shaky jumbled confession, and all he can do is hope and pray you feel the same.

#[𐐪— rheya’s writings. 𐑂] #akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq x reader #haikyu fluff #akaashi fluff #akaashi keiji #haikyuu #haikyu #haikyuu x y/n #haikyu x y/n #haikyu x you #haikyuu x you #haikyuu fanfiction #akaashi headcanons #akaashi #hq fluff #hq imagines #hq akaashi #haikyuu akaashi #haikyū!! #haikyu oneshots #haikyuu oneshot #haikyu angst #haikyuu angst #— rheya’s 200 event !! #— rheya’s events

[rosemoldaver]

Zoro/Sanji Post Thriller Bark

I've been thinking about Thriller Bark AGAIN so much lately and about how I've never really written anything for them post-thriller bark. So I wrote this little thing, which doesn't feel like enough for my AO3 so I'm just putting it here. Rated M. Tags for uhhh... nonchalant discussion of death? If I were to post this and give it a title, it would be World's Most Sword-Swinging Shithead

----

“Hey, what the hell are you doing here, shouldn’t you be lying down still?” Sanji’s spoke in a slow drawl and lazily waved the spatula at him.

“I’ve been lying down for days,” Zoro dragged his feet walking in.

“Yeah, and you were even more almost-dead than you were at Baratie, so bad dog, go lay down,” he pointed the spatula into the corner for some reason.

“Not tired,” Zoro mumbled, still moving toward him.

“I didn’t say sleep, I said lay down, at least until Chopper clears you to move around,” now he was waving it toward the sky, and with his other elbow raised with his hand on the skillet handle, it gave Zoro the perfect opening to hug him around his middle from behind.

“Wh-wha?” Sanji flailed and struggled for just a second before Zoro let him go.

“Why’d you do that?” Sanji was now holding the spatula with both hands and pointing it in his direction like it was a longsword.

“Because I was almost dead,” Zoro said. and he made a point not to step that far away. In fact, he was close enough that Sanji was able to hold the spatula just under the jut of his chin.

“You’re saying you suffered brain damage, then?” Sanji asked, and his face turned comically sympathetic, “you poor, poor thing…” he caressed Zoro’s cheek with the spatula in a degrading manner.

“Cook,” Zoro growled, grabbing the spatula and shoving it away, “let’s not fuck around right now,” he didn’t intend for his words to come out the way they did. He heard himself, low, hoarse, maybe a little needy, and he saw the expression on the cook’s face change like he’d heard all of that too.

“I want to be with you,” Zoro had no choice but to carry it home, “even just once.”

Sanji’s expression had gone from silly to surprised and now to serious with his brow furrowed, eyes darting around Zoro’s face like he was trying to read some secret hidden within it. It was like he was worried that if he said anything in line with what Zoro was getting at it would be some kind of “gotcha!” He was still reading this like some kind of competition, like some game he was at risk of losing. Zoro wasn’t in the mood for it.

“I almost died,” Zoro’s voice cracked.

“I know that better than anyone, jackass,” Sanji responded through clenched teeth, apparently out of jokes.

“So?” Zoro said, moving closer so their foreheads bumped. “Don’t you want…?” he trailed off, closing his eyes and feeling Sanji ever so slightly press back against him. It was there in a thousand secret looks and just-a-little-longer-than-necessary touches. Something was happening between them, since Skypeia at least, and Zoro was sure it wasn’t one-sided. He was also sure that the damn cook’s mind was a conundrum he might never be able to solve, so he didn’t have a clue if this approach would work.

Sanji still hadn’t responded, but when Zoro opened his eyes his were shut, like he too was just quietly feeling it, their closeness. Zoro wondered how long it would take him to actually verbalize his position, but decided that perhaps he didn’t need to. If he didn’t want to say it, then Zoro could help him around that.

His lips were already only inches away, all Zoro had to do was tilt the orientation of his own head so their mouths touched instead of their foreheads. He started to move, slowly, until he was close enough to feel Sanji take a deep breath inward. When their lips met, it was the slightest ghost of a touch, but Zoro felt an urge to lift his hand and place it flat against the left side of the cook's chest.

His heart was pounding, so fast and loud and Zoro didn’t realize until he could feel it, that he could also hear it.

“Cook,” Zoro voice was weak against his lips.

The response he got was arms around his neck and a searing kiss as the cook surged into the kiss and tugged Zoro close to him. Their hips bumped and Zoro felt the hardness against his thigh for just a moment but he chased that feeling, crowding the cook back against the counter and pinning his narrow waist under the press of his abs and rolling his hips up so Sanji could feel that he was in a similar, or possibly more severe state.

The kiss broke then, Sanji broke it, but didn’t otherwise move, he just looked into Zoro’s eyes with surprise on his face. His expression looked foggy, but like there may have been something akin to reservation far beneath a cloud of desire in his glossed over-eyes and kiss-swollen lips that hung open to accommodate little puffs of breath.

Then a new emotion swept over that face, one Zoro was intimately familiar with: rage.

“Do you remember what you did, you son of a bitch?” Sanji hissed, arms unwinding from around Zoro’s neck, fingers instead viciously curling into and pulling the collar of his shirt instead.

“You knocked me out, threw me aside, left me there without a word while you went off to die,” he spat, literally spat, Zoro could feel the wet drops hitting his face, “and then when I woke up I had to be the one to try and find you because no one else knew why you weren’t there. I went looking and the whole time, every corner I turned I thought I’d see your bloody, mutilated, crumpled corpse somewhere dead—,”

Zoro placed a hand gently on the side of his face and it stopped his ranting.

“I didn’t have a choice,” Zoro said, earning a hardened glare, “but I’m still alive, somehow. And I do have a choice about what to do next, that’s why I’m here.”

“So, what, you realized you forgot to cross fucking me off your bucket list so—,”

“Cook,” Zoro interrupted, calm, because he didn’t want to be like this. Not right now, just this once, he needed it to be different.

“I know,” Sanji croaked, “but I don’t want to have to rush this, okay? Whatever it is, I don’t want to force it, I want to feel like we have all the time in the world. I want—,” he stopped, and looked Zoro in the eye, expression serious but no longer with anger, “—I need more time,” he said.

Zoro’s heart twisted in his chest.

“So just don’t fucking die, okay? Don’t you have to become the world’s most sword-swinging shithead?” He snapped again, “…fucking idiot…” he grumbled, and then Zoro watched him start to unravel, remained still as he collapsed enough for his head to fall and rest against Zoro’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” Sanji whispered against him.

“For what?”

“Saving Luffy, and all of us, and…” he muffled the next word by pressing his mouth against Zoro’s skin but Zoro heard it, “…and me.”

Zoro kissed his hair, then released a heavy sigh into it so the strands on top of his head fluttered around.

“So, about my bucket list…” Zoro mumbled.

“No,” Sanji drew back, and looked him in the eye again, “not right now for a million reasons, starting with because I’m literally in the middle of breakfast,” he gestured toward the simmering happening on the stove, “because I can’t look at you right now without being pissed that you tried to leave, and because I’m going to need to be more than a line on a bucket list, jackass, but if that’s what I am then I’ll stay uncrossed just to keep you alive.”

“More?” Zoro latched onto just one word and pressed for explanation, and Sanji’s eyes widened.

“Ah, well…” he wiggled free of any of Zoro’s extremities and turned around to face the stove again, removing the lid and starting to stir.

Zoro released the breath he’d been holding and a relaxed smile crept over his face as he slowly wrapped his arms around the cook from behind again.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” he said, and squeezed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sanji muttered, “now go back to bed.”

fin More of my bullshit at https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patchratt

#zosan #zoro/sanji #sanzo #zsz

[crushmeeren]

Fem Reader/Simon Petrikov — Fionna & Cake Version

Warnings; slight cursing, sometimes Simon struggles getting hard, blowjobs, vaginal sex, squirting, mention of masturbating

Note; I wrote this for my Simon girlies 😭—also I’m just unhinged, I needed to write this so badly okay. just please enjoy this brain food about sweet Simon and his struggles being older and getting hard. I really do hope this reaches the people searching for it. 🫶🏻

••••

When you started sleeping with Simon, you already knew that he was older than you, quite a bit older in fact. Not that it’s an issue—especially since you find older men unbearably attractive anyways. You think it may have to do with the fact that the age difference can be such a taboo subject, but you digress.

Let’s be honest, Simon is so, well—pretty, for lack of a better word. It never fails to drive you up the wall. So when you did start fucking—it was a pure fantasy come true moment for you.

It’s just—you’ve started to notice something intriguing. At first, it was just a fleeting thought. Now, you’ve realized that when you do get to be naked and tangled in Simon’s sheets—those times are often sporadic, spaced out, inconsistent.

Which is of course okay, you wouldn’t ever pressure him to do more than he wanted. You just —you can’t help but wish he wanted to have sex more often. Selfish, you know. But surprisingly enough—the old man has a damn filthy deep stroke! Hell, Simon’s the only one who’s ever made you cum enough to squirt.

All that being said, you do feel a little guilty, because you know your sexual appetite is sky high. You’ve been told so on more than one occasion and you’ve generally come to terms with it. You’re more than happy to take care of yourself when needed.

But after awhile of this mouth watering, mind numbing sex, you become aware that Simon seems to only want to roll around in the sheets with you once per meet up. Again, nothing wrong with that, but the seed of mild curiosity as to why he doesn’t want to do more has been planted in your mind.

The first time this new concept rattles around in your brain, it’s more of an absent thought. Really just a casual observation. It’s during one evening in which Simon’s able to direct you away from the train of thought that leads to a second round so easily it’s creepy.

You only remember later when you’ve gone back home, close to passing out for the night. Charming bastard.

Truthfully it only starts to consume and rot your brain after you start spending the night in his bed more often than not. Instead of going home like you were before. The heavy palm of realization smacks you across the cheek when you’re staying the night with Simon one night over the weekend.

You’re both lying comfortably in Simon’s bed. Soft blankets covering you up to your shoulders as you lay on your side, watching your pretty companion. He’s propped up by a couple pillows against the headboard, reading part of his book in the gentle glow of his bedside lamp.

The man looks relaxed. Salt & pepper hair starting to curl slightly at the ends due to previous activities causing him to sweat. His cheeks are still a barely there rosy pink. He’s also only in briefs at this point, chest bare. The sight causes desire to spark heavily in your belly once again & you can’t help your next moves.

Failing in an attempt to be sneaky, you stretch languidly, reaching over to gently rest a hand on his bare belly. The pads of your fingers moving to tickle the soft expanse of skin over his ribs, causing him to shiver.

You see Simon chew his bottom lip as he glances at you out of the corner of his eye. He’s white knuckling the edges of his book as you continue to teasingly trail your fingers over his sensitive flesh.

“Are you alright lovely?” Simon’s soft voice dances in your ears. He’s looking down at you directly now, absently adjusting his glasses. You answer with an affirmative hum, dragging your fingers up the middle of his sternum.

You swallow a breathy sigh as you notice his nipples get hard from your feathery touch. Simon looks like he can’t help the way his eyes flutter shut momentarily.

“M’alright Si, how about you?” You murmur, brushing a thumb over his perky nipple. Simon gasps softly at the touch, squirming and the lusty action causes your pussy to clench. The familiar delicious, low burn of arousal licking at your lower belly. Fuck, this wasn’t your intention, but now you want to ride Simon until he’s whimpering and drooling.

“I’m well sweetheart, but don’t you think it’s time to sleep?” He coos, letting his open book rest in his lap. He runs the backs of his knuckles over your cheek lovingly. It does not stop you from pouting.

“Siiiiii,” you whine, slightly confused, but pulling your hand back to your chest. He’s not wrong, it is late & you are tired. But now you’ve worked yourself up, the thought of sex very tantalizing.

“I know what you want silly girl, it’s late though. How about we try in the morning?” Simon soothes, setting his book and glasses on his bedside table. Effectively shutting down the possibility of a second round.

“Fine,” you huff, pushing out your lower lip at him. “But I definitely am jumping your bones in the morning.” Simon laughs, the sound overwhelmingly sweet, and turns off the bedside lamp.

“Deal sweetheart,” he breathes, lying on his side to face you. Pushing at your shoulder to turn you around so he can spoon you. You oblige, letting him pull you back into his chest, snuggling under the covers.

You feel Simon’s plush lips brush over your the nape of your neck in a kiss, bidding you goodnight. You let your entire back side press up against his front, getting comfortable, soaking up his body heat. As you drift off, you realize that Simon wasn’t even the least bit hard from your teasing.

••••

It’s early when you start to stir. You crack an eye open, able to make out vague shapes in Simon’s room. Rays from the rising sun starting to peak through the blinds, casting small shadows all around.

Simon’s arm flexes around your waist and you can feel the warmth of his slow, rhythmic breathing ghosting over the back of your neck. It makes a shiver rumble down your spine.

Your thoughts are jumbled at best, arm tingling under the pillow you’ve been resting your head on. Too warm, too cozy, you think. You’re covered completely with a fuzzy blanket, Simon’s toasty, naked chest radiates warmth through your shirt to your skin. It feels like you’re cocooned in a blanket just taken out of the dryer.

You’re falling prey to the cozy atmosphere, letting it lull you back to sleep when Simon’s hand slowly slips under your large T-shirt, smoothing over your hip before resting on your stomach.

It’s innocent at first, but then his nails start to scratch soothingly back & forth over your lower belly. Each pass he teases downwards. Getting closer & closer to the patch of curly hair that sits above your clit.

You’re unsure if he’s being intentional or not, but your brain has shaken off some of the groggy feeling at this point. The sensual sensation of Simon’s fingers give your pussy its own heartbeat. You rub your thighs together in frustration.

“Si,” you whisper, voice saturated with sleep. Simon only makes a soft, sleepy noise in return. His breathing hasn’t changed, you assume he’s still asleep. You wiggle in place, entire body flushing hotly underneath the blanket as his fingers continue to torture you.

Your stomach clenches involuntarily when he barely brushes the skin connected to the top of your curly patch of hair. Heat smolders low & sweet in your lower belly, you’re getting extremely turned on. Clit throbbing painfully.

Yet Simon doesn’t move his hand any lower. Almost as if it’s meant to be a comforting gesture instead of a sexual one. Briefly, the thought of pushing his hand lower occurs to you.

You desperately want the older man to play with your clit. For Simon to rub slow, sweet circles into your perky bud until your blood feels like it’s been replaced with a warm, syrupy heat. Except he’s not budging & you’re going to cry if you don’t get some relief.

“Simon,” you whine quietly, flipping around in his hold until your face to face. He doesn’t open his eyes yet, answering with a questioning hum, settling his warm palm on the flushed skin near your hip bone.

“You’re teasing me,” you breathe, rolling the man onto his back with a firm push to his shoulder. He goes easily with your touch. Instantly, you’re straddling his hips, blanket now pooling around his thighs. You’re wide awake as you take in Simon’s adorable, sleepy appearance. Dark hair splayed around his head.

“No, m’not,” Simon rasps, voice thick with sleep. His eyebrows are scrunched cutely, half lidded eyes staring up at you. The older man was clearly dead asleep.

“Yes you are,” you hiss playfully, leaning down to trail kisses up his neck and over his jaw. He sinks his nails into the tops of your thighs. A heady pulse of arousal shoots to your pussy as he grips you tightly.

“Nnngh! Sugar,” Simon whimpers, tilting his head. He sounds too sweet and you’re worried your pussy may be leaving sticky kisses on his pelvis from how wet you’re getting.

“You’re acting clueless, but I know it was on purpose, Si,” you murmur softly, pressing the words into his skin, lowering your mouth and sucking on the skin over his adams apple.

“I-oh gods, it wasn’t on purpose,” Simon chokes on a moan, arching his back slightly, base of his skull digging into the pillow.

“I don’t believe you,” you whisper in his ear, smoothing your hands up his chest & pinching at his perky nipples. Simon jerks violently underneath you, crying out. Your blood sings in response. You need his thick cock inside you now—or you might die.

You shift your hips backwards, fully intending on grinding your ass over his cock, but then Simon’s hands are gripping your waist frantically.

“Sugar—wait!” He gasps, trying to hold you still. You’re already grinding yourself down onto him as he speaks. Shocked, you feel that he’s, at best, only half hard. Stilling in his grip you glance back at his face. From what you can see, his cheeks are turning pink and he looks away from you shyly.

“You okay Si? Do you need me to stop?” You prod, feeling concerned you’ve done something he didn’t want. His gaze snaps back to your face, eyes wide. He shakes his head desperately.

“No! No, don’t stop lovely, I really am enjoying myself,” he pauses to worry his bottom lip, urging you closer to him with a soft squeeze to your hips. “You know that I’m quite older than you, right my dear?” Once both your hands are planted on the mattress by his head, Simon gingerly places his palm on your cheek to cradle it.

“I know Si,” you sigh happily, leaning into his touch.

“It’s a bit embarrassing, but…sometimes it’s a bit harder for me to get it up, even if I’m extremely turned on,” Simon admits, voice low & sultry. He rubs a thumb over your cheekbone. Your arousal burns with a vengeance.

“That’s not embarrassing baby, I..kind of think it’s hot I’ll have to do a bit more to get your cock hard,” you mumble, cheeks sweltering as you tilt your head to kiss his palm. Your belly warms, twisting harshly with arousal and shame.

Simon gasps softly in your mouth when you take it upon yourself to lean down, firmly kissing his velvety lips. He feels fucking amazing. You move together so smoothly, letting Simon swallow your sinful moans as his tongue pushes into your mouth.

Simon lets both his hands frame your neck, thumb pressing into the hollow of your throat. You whine as your tongues play together, Simon licking behind your teeth and suddenly you can’t take it anymore. You break apart slightly to breathe, chest heaving.

“M’gonna suck your cock Si,” you whisper breathily against his lips. Simon chokes on a breath. Determined, you start kissing down his chest. Pillowy soft lips brushing over his nipples before continuing downwards.

Simon squeaks from the attention to his nipples, fisting the sheets under him. You easily snake your way between his thighs, fingers hooked in the waistband of his briefs.

“Oh! A-are you sure my love?” Simon moans, feeling you kiss the sensitive skin directly above his waistband. You just hum, sliding his briefs down, purposely letting his half hard cock catch on the stretchy band. He sucks in air through his teeth as soon as his cock is free.

You almost drool over the way his cute dick slaps softly against his pelvis. Your pussy aches as you pull his underwear off all the way. Taking the chance, you also peel off the shirt you were wearing, tossing it to the floor. Simon flushes to his chest, staring at your tits.

“Your cock looks so cute like this Simon,” you croon, getting back onto your belly. The older man whines, titling his head down to watch you place chaste kisses on his shaft. The silky, warm skin feeling so good on your lips. You’re so turned on right now it almost pisses you off.

Making sure Simon’s cock stays straight the way you want, you nudge your thumb right up under the crown of his head—keeping his cock stretched slightly, pinned to his pelvis. Lazily, you place several kisses, letting his cock guide you down to his balls— where you lick the puckered skin of each one.

Simon yelps as you suck one in to your mouth, laving your tongue over it. The older man’s nails dig into the back of your skull, making your scalp tingle down to your neck.

“Please lovely, please, don’t tease,” Simon mewls, feeling you release his ball with a wet pop. His dick twitches a little under your thumb when you stare up at him with a wolfish grin. He’s a little harder now.

“So needy Si,” you tease, moving your hands to his thighs, swallowing down his entire semi hard cock in one go. Simon wails, hips jerking up as you teasingly pull your mouth back up his cock, sucking harshly.

You moan around him, starting a brain melting pace for him as you suck on his cock. Flicking your tongue over the head with each pass. Your eyes flutter shut, taking a second to appreciate the way he tastes.

Simon is panting harshly above you, whimpering and moaning. The delicious noises he’s letting out are making you want to squeeze your legs together for any type of relief.

Ignoring your own arousal for now, you keep up your pace for a couple minutes, feeling Simon writhing in your grip. He’s only a tad bit harder now but you don’t let that stop you. Your jaw aches, but you eagerly move a hand to his balls, kneading them between your fingers.

That..seems to do the trick. If only because the noise Simon produces sounds as if it was wrenched from his chest. You bob your head a few more times & suddenly he’s rock hard in your mouth. Cock hitting the back of your throat consistently as he rolls his hips to meet your movements.

Simon’s going insane—wiggling, whining like you’re torturing him. Back arching, trying to fuck your mouth. You would giggle if your mouth wasn’t full.

“Princess,” he gasps, pushing at your forehead. “Enough, please. I want to be inside you,” Simon moans, voice breaking at the end of his sentence. It’s like music to your ears and internally you pat yourself on the back for being able to get him hard.

Your lips pop off his cock with an obscene sound, watching it slap wetly against his lower belly. You could drool seeing how full and heavy his cock is. It glistens from your saliva. Pretty dick twitching under your gaze.

Urgently, you crawl out from between Simon’s legs flopping down on your stomach next to him. You turn your head to see his expression. His face is flushed, he turns his head to stare back at you, mouth open as he pants.

“Fuck me from behind Si, please??” You purr, desperately getting onto your knees and pushing your ass into the air. Letting your cheek squish on the mattress, the soft sheets warming underneath your skin. Simon groans as if he’s in pain. He vanishes in a flash, crawling around to get behind you.

You wait, knowing your pussy is drooling for him, clit swollen and throbbing—just wanting Simon to fuck the shit out of you.

“There’s no way I could say no sugar,” Simon croons. You almost could cry in relief, gripping the blanket below, fabric bunching in your fingers when Simon trails the pad of his thumb through your slick folds, thumb slippery where it circles your clit.

“Si don’t, please, I don’t need anything else—just fuck me,” you beg, wiggling your hips on his pelvis.

“Hush princess, you know I’ll give you what you want,” Simon teases. As he speaks, the tip of his cock parts your folds, slowly pushing his tip inside, stretching your pussy just the way you like—the anticipation of being filled is killing you.

A high pitched moan is ripped from your throat as he bottoms out in one smooth thrust. The pure pleasure of it rushes up your spine to your brain, pussy clenching around Simon as he carves out a space for his cock.

“Si, baby, you feel s’good,” you slur, nuzzling your face against the mattress. Nails dig into your fleshy hips as Simon moans lowly in his throat at your praise.

You’re absolutely not prepared for the immediate rough, fast pace that Simon sets. You howl his name as he starts yanking you back into his thrusts, pussy stretching to fit his cock repeatedly.

You’re in heaven, Simon’s actually fucking you. Usually he starts slower, building up to it—not this time. You’re absolutely loving it, having to muffle your near screams into the mattress as Simon perfectly hits your g-spot over and over. Each thrust sending waves of warm tingles shooting to the tips of your toes.

“Is—ah fuck, is this what you wanted sugar?” Simon grunts, unable to hold in his sweet moans.

“Yes! Fuck Simon!” You cry out, voice edging into a sob. He almost growls under his breath, the lewd sound of his pelvis smacking wetly against your ass, echoing through the room. Simon rests a dainty hand on your tailbone, guiding your ass back into his movements.

The sensual action forcing the familiar knot of an impending orgasm start to tighten up in your lower belly. Simon’s fucking you perfectly. You’re clawing at the sheets, pushing your ass back into his movements and it’s over.

Your heart is in your throat, pussy fluttering, and you don’t even have time to warn Simon before you’re cumming so hard your vision gets blurry. Entire body tensing up, warm waves of pleasure rushing through your limbs. No sounds escaping you as you’re worked through your orgasm relentlessly.

“Oh! Sugar, you’re cumming already? That’s such a good girl, give me another one, pretty please princess?” Simon breathes, asking sweetly. Completely opposite to the way he’s railing you. The man’s trying to rearrange your guts.

You nod against the mattress, chest sticky with sweat. Melting just a tad, your limbs become even more bendable as the overwhelming high of your orgasm fades to low buzzing pleasure. Simon sees the opportunity and takes it, pressing both hands into your lower back, forcing your spine into a deeper arch.

You inhale sharply. The new angle allowing Simon to press his cock even harsher against your sweet spot. He’s merciless and you know you’re re gonna squirt this time when you cum.

“Si, oh fuck, oh my god, m’gonna squirt!” Your lower belly tenses up, pleasure swirly hotly in your gut. There’s a pressure on your bladder intensifying to a sharp peak.

“Really? Oh sugar, I love it when you squirt, please do it for me,” Simon encourages eagerly, pressing harder on your sweat slick back.

“Simonnn,” you sob, dragging out the last syllable of his name. The older man gets his wish, because it only takes a handful of thrusts until you’re cumming again, toes curling so tight you think you may get a cramp. Hot liquid gushes from your pussy, showering the sheets below and decorating parts of Simon’s thighs.

“Princess, oh, oh my—,” Simon cuts off with a throaty groan, pushing his cock in all the way to the root, draping over your back as he starts to cum. You’re just starting to return to earth as you feel his cock twitch, filling you with sticky, warm cum.

You feel gooey, exhausted & overheated as Simon leans his weight on you. You push your knees out from under you so you both collapse to the mattress, letting out an oof as you land. Wincing, you feel the mess you made chilly against your thighs.

“Si, get off—you’re heavy,” you huff. Simon laughs, letting his soft cock slip out of you as he rolls off and onto his back. You stretch, sighing happily as the two of you lay in silence, soaking in the after sex glow for a few minutes. Simon’s voice cuts through the air.

“So, you really don’t mind about my, uh, issue,” he asks shyly, shifting to see your face. You gaze up at him adoringly, turning onto your side.

“I definitely don’t mind, I told you, I think it’s kind of hot. Makes me feel like I earned a reward,” you giggle, searching for his hand and lacing your fingers together.

“Mm, you’ll definitely have to spend the night more often. Maybe we could even consider becoming something…more than causal lovers,” Simon murmurs, squeezing your hand in return.

“I’d love that,” you whisper, chest blossoming with warmth. Simon grins sheepishly at you in return. Eventually, you two do get up, changing the sheets, before falling back asleep for the rest of the morning—looking forward to the sweet promise of the future.

#simon petrikov #fionna and cake fanfic #simon petrikov x reader #simon x reader #simon petricock #simon petrikov smut #simon smut #simon petrikov fionna and cake #simon petrikov x you #fionna and cake smut #simon petrikov headcanons #adventure time simon #fionna and cake

[davosmymaster]

The Saddest Part of Me

TAGS AND WARNINGS - +18, Minors DNI, no smut (yet) but mentions of sex/sexual themes, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, mention of past abusive/violent relationship, canon-typical violence, breaking-up, Jake is the fist of Khonshu, Marc and Steven don’t have the suit anymore, post-MoonKnight, my non-native English is a warning itself, no beta

PAIRINGS - Jake Lockley x fem!reader ; Marc Spector x fem!reader ; Steven Grant x fem!reader

WORD COUNT - 4.6k

SUMMARY - Tired of Jake’s missions turning deadly, Steven and Marc ask you for help. It backfires.

A/N - This started as first person pov, dont know exactly why but i liked it and went with it. Then it changed after one of the pauses and I was too tired to change it (also i like it as it is) so I didn’t. Don’t read if you are easily triggered. Credits to whoever made the gif. Part two will be up when it’s up.

THE SADDEST PART OF ME

 Toni Morrison once wrote that "love is never any better than the lover". And as if that wasn't a horrible enough claim on its own, she followed with "wicked people love wickedly, violent people love violently, weak people love weakly, stupid people love stupidly."

 I found myself called to those lines and, trapped by the words of a book that had me crying for most of it, I discovered I was more moved by that sentence than I had been for the rest of the novel. Trapped as I was, my mind rushed to find meaning beyond the words. I remembered past flings and failed relationships, abusive exes, and even friendships that hadn't worked. Finally, at last, my eye caught the shape of one of my boyfriends watching a cricket game on tv; as if I hadn't been aware that he was there, as if it was the first time I saw him. Truly, saw him.

 Steven noticed, of course he did. He was always hyperaware of his surroundings and, unlike Marc, he didn't know how to be subtle about it. He leaned back on the sofa, almost melting against it, and looked in my direction with the most relaxed expression he had in weeks. There was one cute smile on his lips; eyes gleaming with comfort after a long week of work. He was finally spending time with his girlfriend, and the time felt valuable for both of us even if each was doing our own thing.

 He must have seen something on my face, something buried and hurt perhaps, something I'm still not very sure of what it was; but something regardless, because his eyes switched off their glow as if someone had thrown a handful of sand over them. His smile trembled slightly, without him ever finding out, as if his body was understanding something he was not. A presage.

 "You feeling alright, love?" he asked.

 Even though I heard him loud and clear, felt his worry as my own in the way he looked at me; my brain did not seem to register. My mind was long gone, far away from there. I was looking at Steven but I had no problem with him. I was looking at his body. No, I was not, either. I was looking at the shell that contained the three men I was in love with. And I just happened to be looking at Steven because he was there —the wrong place at the wrong time— but who I was really looking for in those eyes, the person that deserved to be there at that moment, it wasn't Steven. It wasn't Marc, either.

 It was Jake.

 We'd just had the most terrible month in our relationship. Even though I'd like to say it only concerned Jake and I, it truly did not. Marc and Steven had their role in the problem too, even if it was well-intentioned in the end. Our argument seemed to be over, at least for now. But neither of us had apologized nor had we found a peaceful way out of our trouble.

 No. Not at all.

 It was over because we had both decided we loved each other more than the problem hurt us. Now we were ignoring both the problem still unresolved and the gap his lies had created between us.

 Yes, Jake had lied to me. Repeteadly and over a long period of time. Problem was he didn't regret it at all. My mind had been trying not to think more about the matter, ignoring it, living happily in naivety. In my coping mechanism I was blind to the elephant in the room: Jake didn't regret his actions at all. He didn't regret killing those people and he sure as hell didn't regret lying to me about it.

 That meant only one thing: he would kill again. That is, if he hadn't already.

 As if he could read my mind Steven's frown deepened. He got closer, his hand closing the space that separated us. His thumb very slowly touched my cheek. It was so slow, so gentle, as if he was frightened himself of my stupor. Or even scared of me.

 The slowness did not restrain my soul from shooting back into my body. The jump it caused could only be described as the sensation of falling from an imaginary abyss just as you are about to fall asleep.

 It was right then when I realized Jake wasn't hidden there, in those eyes. It was just Steven. Only sweet and sincere Steven.

 "You alright?" he asked, a worried chuckle dancing on his lips. "I lost you for a moment there, uh. In the land of the dreaming?"

 I smiled, even if I couldn't quite remember how.

 "Yeah, yeah... Sorry I scared you," I said, but still took his hands and put them away from me. All I could think about was those hands unfortunately being a part of Jake. Those pretty hands that belonged to Steven and Marc too, but which had been smeared with thick blood clotting around the nails. All I could see was them holding the gun Jake had been so reluctant to throw away, the small pocket knife he always wore as a key chain.

 "Can I ask you something..." I said then, my words so fast my mind had barely registered them, my tone so devoid of life it sounded as if I was going to ask him to kill me. Maybe I was. "...Steven?"

 I pronounced his name trying to breathe a bit of life into the sentence, but I could already tell by the way his breathing was caught in his lungs that he did not believe my facade for one split second.

 He took my hand in his, the heat warming them but freezing my body at the same time. Those hands...

 "Of course! Of course you can. Bloody hell, why do you even ask it like that?"

 I smiled and, with my thumb, I massaged the deep frown between his eyebrows. He relaxed the muscles there, suddenly aware of his expression.

 Half of me did it for him, because I was starting to feel guilty for worrying him. Half of me did it because my hands felt trapped under his.

 Steven relaxed, smiling once again. Partially relieved.

 "Are Marc or Jake listening?"

 Steven seemed confused at the question at first. He fixed his eyes on my own, but at the same time very far away from there. Then he looked around: at the tv, at any nearby mirrors, even his mug and the tea in it.

 "No, they aren't," he said. "But I can look for them, wake them up, if you want me to."

 "No, no. I just wanted to talk to you for a second."

 Steven tilted his head to one side slightly, confused.

 "Oh, oh. Sure, love."

 That's when my turn of taking his hands in mine came. It was the only way in which I could feel safe in both my question and his answer, in the truth of them, actually. I had never once before questioned Steven. I had blind faith in him, I always had. But as I said, what should have stayed as a Jake and me problem, had somehow tainted Steven and Marc too. Up until this point I had firmly believed I distinguished every single one of them from the others, and treated them accordingly; but now my body was showing me that, in fact, a part of me saw all of them as the same man.

 "If Jake hurt anyone again, you would tell me right away. Right?"

 His eyes shot open. From where I was seating in front of him I could almost hear his heartbeats.

 "Of course! Of course I would. Marc would too. We did it before, right?"

 "Eventually, yeah. After hiding it for months," the tinge of disgust in my voice did not go unnoticed.

 His hands were now trembling.

 "We didn't know what to do! At first we didn't even notice it was something that would affect us. Then I told them. And neither of them listened. We did tell you about Khonshu and we thought it was... implied. But Jake never wanted to kill...!"

 "Okay, okay. Steven. Steven look at me," I said, as he kept talking and talking in a panicked state. "Look at me, okay? You said sorry. Marc, you and I talked about this. It's okay. You said sorry. You're forgiven."

 He stopped talking, pressed his cheek against my hand when I tried to comfort him. He nodded as if trying to absorb my words. But his pupils still jumped slightly, here and there. Restless, unsafe.

 "I would tell you," he finally said with a tiny voice. His eyes welled with tears. "I promise. I promise I would. Please don't go."

 He made me cry too. Almost jumping over him, I hugged him, pretty much estranged him with my arms. I clung to the sweater he was wearing as if holding on for dear life. Steven followed with no less force. He crushed me against his chest, breathing hard into my hair, silently crying. With hands wide open over my whole back, it felt as if he was both trying to memorize the feeling of me in his arms and, holding me in place so I wouldn't abandon him.

 "Why do I feel like you're gonna leave?" he whispered.

 Steven had very little power of the matter, and that fact terrified him beyond reason. He couldn't stop Jake from killing again. He couldn't bear the thought of seeing your disgusted, disappointed, crying face again. But if there was something he could not even think about, that was you breaking up with them, leaving them, hating them. He could not conceive the world without you being the first thing he saw in the morning. He could not go back to be and feel as lonely as he did before. He couldn't.

 Being in this impossible situation, anxiety rising up to the clouds, the only comforting thought he could get was that, if he behaved, if he was good, despite what Jake could do, if he was good and behaved like you wanted him to, then you wouldn't abandon him. You might abandon Jake for being a murderer, but if he proved himself... then you wouldnt —couldn't— leave him.

 In his mind, he is ten years old and doing the dishes at two in the morning so mom will kiss him goodnight.

 Stupid people love stupidly

 Regaining someone's trust is not an easy task, everyone says that, but no one talks about how complicated it is to regain intimacy with the other person.

 It's not about sexual intimacy. That's easy, perhaps too easy. And Jake makes it even easier; he knows what buttons to push, where and when to touch you so you're left wanting more, pursuing him yourself against your own judgement. It's the other intimacy that is difficult to get back, the type in which you start talking about life and don't finish until dawn. It's about the cuddles, the feeling of being comfortable around each other, planning stuff to do together because you don't want to —not even think about— doing it with anyone else. Before Marc and Steven told you what Jake had done, asking you to help him stop, it wasn't uncommon for you and Jake to dance around the kitchen while cooking; both slow and quick Latin songs playing through the speakers. He loved to dance bachata, you loved to see him happy.

 Now your home is silent, the closeness complicated. The kitchen doesn't smell like spices anymore, and even the flat seems to have become darker. Maybe London has become darker, maybe the entire world has shunned the sun.

 Jake promises one day that he will never do it again. He waits for you to be in bed and slides under the covers. For a long time, he says nothing; he's still hesitating. Jake isn't sure he can keep this promise he is about to make. After all, he doesn't kill people because he likes it; he does it because they are necessary.

 Eventually, when he feels your breathing evening out, he knows if he doesn't do it you will never trust him again. And so he does it; unsure and scared, but is anyone ever not unsure and scared? he asks himself.

 You hug him tight then. It's the closest he's felt to you in a month. He's missed you more than he dares to admit. So he buries his hands in you, in your hair, your back, your shoulders, the back of your thighs. He doesn't want to let go. All he wants is for time to stop. If he could choose where to live for the rest of his life, he would live in the exact spot between your jaw and neck that his nose is caressing just now. He would die there, too.

 You're the only good thing in his life. Everyone knows that.

 Suddenly a month has passed, a more than reasonable amount of time for you to start letting your guard down. Jake has been so patient and careful that you start to feel like a fool for creating this awkward space between the two of you; although the truth is, it's not your fault.

 There are only fifteen days to your anniversary, or at least the start of it, as each of the boys takes an entire day to celebrate it with you. That makes your anniversary a weekend-long thing. With your anniversary so close, you feel an overwhelming sensation of hopelessness. And in the midst of your nostalgia for what you were, and loathing what you've become, you ask Jake to forget anything ever happened. He complies.

 The following is your day off, but Jake has work in the evening. Still, that doesn't stop him from scheduling a date. He takes you out for brunch to the most beautiful restaurant you've ever seen. You are seated on the inner patio. There is a fountain there, and the decoration is Bukowski books on small shelves and flowering vines on the walls.

 You sit on a pallet drilled into the wall. It has beautiful rainbow-coloured cushions to sit on. Jake takes the chair in front of you, but he's too far away for your liking. Instead, you take his arm and ask him to sit a bit closer. Jake takes the seat next to you, not even his flat cap concealing the happiness glowing in his eyes. As he sits down, as if by a reflex, he puts one of his hands on your thigh. He caresses your knee for a few seconds before taking the menu and placing it in front of you to decide what you both will be having, together.

 Two hours later both of you are taking a walk in Hyde Park. It's January, but the sun is shining over your heads anyway. Jake has never been one to be affectionate in public, but now he has his arm around your shoulders as you walk. Your face hurts from laughing and smiling. This is exactly what you missed, just what you needed. It all gets worse when, just before you leave, a squirrel chases Jake across the parking lot.

 Jake drives you home, he drives slowly through London because he doesn't want to let you go. He doesn't want today to end. He stops the car at the beginning of the street because there's a street market today and he can't get through. He stops the car there, double-parked because it is impossible to park anywhere else in the city. He gets out of his limousine at the same time you do. With a quick, determined step he circles the limousine, and you wonder what the hell he's doing. Then, he takes your face in his hands and kisses you. His lips brush yours, it's barely a caress until it's not. All you feel is him, his love, his warmth, the fabric of his driving gloves on your cheeks.

 "Thank you," he whispers.

 It feels like an I love you, so you take it that way.

 Unfortunately, the honeymoon phase lasted just one more day.

 He had no other choice, he wouldn't have ever risked another fight with you if he had the option not to. In fact, it was an accident. The fault wasn't entirely his. Yet Jake was so scared that you could see what he had done in his eyes, through his soul, that he drove to the other end of London and fell asleep in the back of the limo, on the plain floor.

 Steven had panicked so much that his consciousness disconnected. He was nowhere to be found. Marc, on the other hand, was going through all five stages of grief. He had gone from calling him every single insult in the English language to denying that Jake had done anything. By the time Jake decided to get back home, Marc was in full depression stage. Thinking of the worst.

 Even if he wanted to shut down the way his alters were doing, he couldn't. Jake cared for the others to an obsessive extent. All his life, he had taken the hard punches. He had killed so the others wouldn't have to, he had taken his mother's beatings with not a single tear shed, he took insults and humilliations; he took Elias' calls begging Marc to come back home when he ran away, he took the hardest parts of military training and most life-or-death situations that followed.

 He took Khonshu. He was still taking Khonshu.

 Marc and Steven had enough of the god, but someone had to do the work anyways. After all, the pigeon had only freed the other two. And if Moon Knight and Mr Knight wouldn't fight, then Jake Lockley would have to do. Someone had to protect the travellers of the night, that's what Khonshu had said when Jake asked him to free him as well.

 He was still debating what to do, whether to keep it from you or not, when Steven made the decision for him.

 "Jake," he spoke, appearing out of nowhere. "If you don't tell her yourself, I will."

 He grabbed the steering wheel tight. He saw red for a split second, then focused on the road ahead.

 "What?" he almost barked.

 "You heard me."

 "Si será hijueputa- Who do you think you are?"

 Steven said nothing else despite Jake's attempts to provoke him. His silence only made him even more nervous. He insulted him for twenty minutes, called him things he didn't really mean, until eventually, he stopped.

 "Okay, Steven, have it your way," he said. "Just give me some time to think how."

 "You have an hour."

 The image Jake formed on his mind was nowhere close to the moments following his confession. Yet it was somehow even worse. The smile from your face vanished quickly into a thin line, your eye became dull, absorbed by something far away from there. Whatever you were thinking, whatever images were playing inside your brain, he just hoped it wasn't him covered in blood.

 Your sight was lost somewhere on the small dots that covered the kitchen table, round wounds in the wood like gunshots. Your index flew to one of them, rubbing your fingertips against it for a few seconds, then giving up and lifting your head to look at him again. Crossing your arms over your chest as if you were cold.

 "What do you expect me to do now?" you asked. If death had a voice, Jake was certain it would sound like yours. "You promis-."

 "I know," he said. He inhaled oxygen, but seemed to exhale despair. He moved quickly from where he was standing at the other end of the table. With a squeak he took the chair right next to you and sat down. "I don't expect you to forgive me, but I had to-"

 "You had to." you spat. "Was someone pointing a gun to your head?"

 "Actually, yeah..." he responded, lips pressed as not to laugh. He forgot to mention he was also caught by the throat, until the other guy pulled the trigger and Jake moved his attacker's head in the trajectory of the bullet. "But I don't think that changes anything, does it?"

 He saw what he thought was doubt in your eyes. Although he could have easily have mistaken it for the misery drowning your pupils. Deep down —perhaps not so deep— Jake couldn't understand why you cared so much for these people. Sure, he didn't like to have other people's blood on his hands, but at the end of the day many of them deserved to be dead. Jake wasn't getting why there was so much fuss about the matter. All he cared about was you, though. And if you cared, that made the matter grow in importance. He didn't care about hurting his enemies the same way he didn't care if he found a wallet on the street and didn't return it; sure, it wasn't ideal, but it was their loss, not his.

 He took your hand the same way you had once done with Steven. He tried to comfort you somehow. Jake wasn't good with words. In fact, he didn't think he were any good with anything except his job, his work for Khonshu, and fucking your brains out. He had never had the need to protec anyone who didn't already live in his body; but he cared about you too much, and didn't want you to suffer.

 Then, you took your eyes out of his fingers warming your cold ones. With the same expression and voice but dry eyes, you spoke

 "I think we need to break up."

 Jake blinked a few times, nodded, too; but his mind had not caught up on the words. He looked at your eyes again, confused by your pitied expression.

 Then he chuckled, lips tightly closed.

 "What?"

 "I said..." a shaky breath came out of your mouth. "I said I... we need to break up."

 Jake felt his chest and throat close up, the bile still rising to his mouth somehow. He coughed once, when he felt the acid burning its path, then rose up from the chair, swallowed. When he got to the window, he realized he was shaking. A hand tugged from the roots of his hair.

 "¿Qué dijiste?" he asked, turning around to look at you. He looked at his reflexion in a mirror right next to his face, found his own face, not a trace of the others, but asked them anyway. "¿Qué dijo la pendejita esta?"

 Rage was quickly starting to burn up in his veins. Slowly, as not to scare him further, you walked closer.

 "I'm sorry, Jake," you told him, now your own eyes welling with tears. His arms wanted to take you, hold you, tell you everything is going to be fine; but you were only crying because you were hurting him. And you know it. And you know it. And he hates it.

 "Don't fucking-" he said, although he doesn't even know where the sentence is going. His body was not reacting to his command, not even breathing properly. He doesn't understand why his mouth tastes bitter, or why you're trying to hurt him saying that.

 He touched his face because there was something there bothering him. Dust, maybe a particle of something, an eyelash stuck in his eye, whatever. But when he touches it, his finger are wet.

 Oh, a tear.

 Before your body could make contact with his he held both your arms to stop you, his fingers curled around your forearms, your eyes filled with tears only half shed.

 "You can't," he said, then chuckled again like a madman. "You could never."

 He was so sure, too sure, there was not an ounce of doubt in his mind. He seemed so certain that his back straightened, his breathing evened out. He seemed calmed and it confused you. Were you driving him mad?

 "You can't," he repeated, halfway to a chuckle again. "You could never break up with the others, you love them way too much."

 His claim broke your own heart. The only reason Jake had for believing you would stay with him through thick and thin, was because he believed you wanted the others too much. The pieces of your heart crashed, splinters flew away, you could no longer feel it beating. You ached for him, but that didn't change anything.

 "Jake I'm not breaking up with the others," you said, and regretted there was not a kinder way of doing it. "I'm breaking up with you."

 He thought he heard a relieved breath then, and he lost it, completely lost it. It could have been the air coming in through the partially opened window, it could have been the tv still on, or even the kettle still complaining as the water cooled off. But he lost it all the same, not even knowing if the sound had come from Steven and Marc in the headspace or something entirely different. He took the mirror next to him and punched it, hard. The splinters covered his knuckles, blood rushed through the wounds to the to the rhythm of his heart.

 Violent people love violently.

 "Putos cabrones," he insulted them, but his tone was softer that he meant, breathy even.

 "Jake, baby... don't."

 He let you touch him this time. You kept still crying and he hated it. As his concern for you grew, so did his hatred. Your cold hands held both his cheeks, your lips pressed against his forehead just once. The blood staining his white shirt, his whole uniform. He had never gotten it ripped or even stained in a fight, and he was partially embarrassed that the first time he got it stained was because of his own blood, his own wounds.

 You kept saying things, words that he supposed should sound comforting. But he was not listening, not at all.

 "Why are you doing this to me?" he whispered, then his knees gave up under him. "I trusted you. I trusted you."

 "I can't." you told him, begging him to understand. "I had a relationship before, one where he would tell me he was going to change, promise me, and then go back to treating me the same, and I forgave him. And he would do the same thing to me again. And I forgave him. I can't go through that again, baby. Not again. Not with you."

 Jake wanted to scream. He wanted to ask you why you could be patient with others but had not the same patience for him. But he didn't. He stayed silent. He knew such a question would hurt you. Countless times had he hold you while you cried for your past, for how others had mistreated you. The thought that he had done the same was burying him alive. He wanted to melt, pass through the wooden planks on the floor, fall until he reached the barren land, then be swallowed by dirt itself; become nothing.

 He wiped the tears from his face, leaving a bloody trail wherever his fingers touched. You blinked in front of him a few times, shaky lips he wanted to kiss saying goodbye gave him, instead, a bit of hope.

 "Violence is easy, Jake, it's the easy path," you told him. "I can't- I won't be with another violent man. If you show me you can change, I promise you'll have me forever."

 He nodded. He had a mission now.

Tags:

@later-gators12

@bensolosbluesaber

@winter-captain-01

@dark-haired-and-mentally-ill

@mirrorballgarden

@zem0laufeys0n 

@murdickdocked

@ruhro7

@hb8301

@loonymagizoologist

@stuckybarton

@mendes-marvel

@spectrz

@loveofmoonandthunder

@azriel-the-shadowsinger

@devilish-mirage

@certifiedhunter

@excitedcurtain864

@AHookedHerosPureHeart

@that-friend-in-the-corner

@sleepyamaya

@rosigirasoll

@hot-mess-express1

@sugarpunch-princess

@knopewyattworld

@stuckyslov

@pri00r

@gabewerk

@lovingblueheart99

@Snowinseptember

@queenofnigthdarkness

@aleeb

@lilith-blackrose

#jake lockley x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #moon knight x reader #oscar isaac x reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #jake lokley #moon knight x you #steven grant x fem!reader #steven grant #marc spector x female reader

[brisquad-unit-4402]

zombie au with ike ft. luxiem - In Pursuit to and from the Sun

(i think this submission got lost in the sauce and i can't find it but at least i still have this screenshot)

lmao sorry i went off the grid for a sec. life happens, you know, applied for some vsf programs, went on a classified operative excursion away from my post and got a new writing software. i actually wrote the last of this on a helicopter returning from the mission so that’s why i didn’t proofread beforehand sorryyyyy. but more importantly I TOUCHED GRASS. guys. i touched so much grass. i touched so much grass i could replant a garden. call me a topiary, i touched that much grass. is this what it’s like to work at a dispensary? bc i touched so much grass

a few disclaimers: this fic is ike centric but contains general luxiem angst as a treat and may be read in a platonic or romantic tone, whichever you prefer. it's also another 10.7k words long so if you want to read but don’t have the time, use a like/rb as a bookmark. most importantly: heed the tags for this one, i kind of went off the deep end here

tags: platonic relationship, hurt no comfort, angst, zombie au, no happy ending, gender neutral reader 

⚠️ major character death, suicidal thoughts, gore, infection, arson, and apocalypse-typical violence

continued au notes and commentary here (spoilers)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Ever since the initial zombie outbreak, you’ve been running around the country with your best friend Ike and the circle of close friends you both share. You’ve made peace with the fact that it will always be hard. You and your band hop around from town to wilds, with no real objective other than to survive. Every location has something to glean, after all. It’s just that the zombies are always on your tail, and there’s only so much looting to do before the chorus of dead can tear you and your family apart.

It’s deluded to pretend you’re the invulnerable main characters, though. You and your friends are in a townhouse currently being ambushed by a strain of zombies. You swear they’ve gotten more intelligent since your last encounter. A dense herd of bloodthirsty undead is one thing, but a dense herd of bloodthirsty undead that have a chance of understanding positioning is another. Closing doors is barely a second of relief now. 

You were lucky to be in a room with Vox when you got ambushed. He lived his post-apocalyptic life with a rebar rod in his hand, wrested from a collapsed concrete building early in during the initial outbreak. He claimed to be a trained swordsman once, and even though the rebar was more of a club than a sword, you admit you would’ve been worse than dead if you didn’t have him by your side. You’re sure he’d be screwed without you, too. Now that the world’s gone to the dogs, you stay prepared with a pair of climbing picks that can clobber in zombie brains just as well as scale walls. Vox shoved zombies out of the way while your picks cleared a path to escape from the house out through the window, Vox in tow.

You and Vox reunite with Ike and Shu outside. The former keeps various kitchen knives hidden under his no-longer white mantle, and defends Shu from stragglers while he digs into his backpack. You notice his weapon, an iron fire poker, by his feet along with a bottle. He rips sheets off of an old Millwall brick to stuff inside the bottle.

“Blowing the place up,” Shu says, in case you didn’t make the connection already. His breath is ragged. “Where’s Luca and Mysta?”

Like a stage cue, you hear the rocket of gunfire the second he says it. Your hope is crushed. Noise attracts zombies, and Luca was the only one with a shotgun. If he pulled the trigger, the situation was even more dire than you thought. 

Shu grits his teeth and repeats himself, intensity barely restrained. “Where is Luca and Mysta.”

“I’m going back in,” Vox declares.

Ike drives a knife into the head of a fallen body. Destroying the brain confirmed they wouldn’t regenerate, and he minimizes the risk as precise as a surgeon. He made short work of the zombies that hadn’t overrun the house yet, but you could see them flood the interior. “Don’t be stupid, Vox, that’s suicide.”

“You heard the gun!”

“And I said that’s suicide!”

“Not if someone goes back in!”

“How are you going to find them without getting yourself killed?” Vox opened his mouth, but no sound came out, and Ike took advantage of it. “That’s what I thought. Luca’s our muscle and Mysta’s a clever guy, you’ve seen him outsmart the zombies so many times before!”

“They know basic organization, Ike!”

“All the more reason not to go back in! Have some faith in your friends!”

Vox grants him an unholy leer through his haunting yellow eyes. “How dare you lecture me about faith when I’m trying to save their lives.”

His glare was lost. Ike focuses on confirming the dead stay dead. His back is turned from the swordsman as he chops a skull in two with a butcher’s cleaver. “Because no matter what, they’re going to get out, and they want you out just as much as they’re fighting.”

But Ike’s words were just as lost to Vox; you barely saw the trail of his blood-splattered haori before he ran back to the townhouse, rebar in hand and fury on display.

Shu shoves the remains of the Millwall brick into the cupholder of his pack, a battering ram for another day. He produces a box of matches instead. “It’s best to take them all out at once.”

You speak up. “But Vox just-”

“I know.” Shu’s lips purse. “And I’m not going to throw them. Not until I know they’re all safe.”

You watch as Vox speared through a living corpse, then threw its remains on the ground. The zombies are centered inside the house, but the windows are all covered. The door stays open as he passes through the threshold, but you can’t see a trace of him left.

Ike stabs through a brain close to you and Shu. You see him heft himself up, and the traces of a permanent dead remain on the ground. The head is split open with precision, and the brain blooms out from the skull. It leaks pink nerves and black rot among the blood, like a disgusting flower. 

He passes by you, dead set on his goal. “You’re not going, Reader.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“And don’t expect to.” Ike’s words are emotionless, but not cold. As much as he pushes away Vox, you know he cares for everyone in your group like brothers. He’s the least risky out of all six of you- after all, he’s tearing apart zombie brains without a complaint while you catch your breath and Shu stands watch.

You draw your climbing picks and follow him to the field of dead. “Let me help you.”

You feel useless just standing there, after all.

Though the task of confirmation is much calmer than fighting for your life, it’s still unenviable, and you have to admire how Ike distances himself seemingly so easily from it. You try not to look at their faces, but that’s just as impossible. After all, the brain is right between the eyes. That’s the worst part. 

You made the mistake of looking into zombie eyes twice in your life. 

The first was your first fight of the apocalypse; a zombie had you deadlocked in an aisle of an outdoors store, and only when it was within biting range did you drum up the courage to grab the first thing you saw- two fluorescent orange climbing picks, never used- and drive them into the writhing heart. You bolted then, too focused on escape than freezing, and those climbing picks proved themselves to be your best survival tool in combat and exploration. 

The second was the first time you confirmed the dead, and those eyes, that face- skin and bone but youthful, blue bleeding through the iris like a cracked yolk, remains of eyeliner and mascara along her deteriorated features- she was a person, so young, so beautiful when she was alive, like she knew she had decades to go- sometimes you swear she’s the face you see at night when you remember how human and how simply unlucky this world is now. It’s simply unlucky, and being unlucky is simply brutal. 

(You held back your tears when you bashed her brain in. Later that night you pulled your best friend Ike aside, and cried in mourning of a woman whose name you never learned. He didn’t complain then, either, and you only sobbed harder when you realized as much as he comforted you, he could never muster up the vulnerability to grieve himself.)

You club a pick into the forehead of the fresh, putrid dead. The other pries it open, and a third swipe pulverizes with finality. 

It’s messy. When you drive your weapons into the skull there’s a crack of metal against bone, and a thin gush of blood that spurts out to your arms. Especially large openings reveal nodules of black rot spotted through the brain. If you focus, you can see the moist, moldy texture seep through the wrinkles of the brain, and if you were any less jaded it’d be enough to make you turn your head and hurl. 

But the deed is done in only three stabs, and you cling onto that fact. The more mechanical the task is, the easier it is to drive yourself to just get it done. Club, pry, pulverize. Club, pry, pulverize. 

You pass by one of Ike’s carvings as you move onto another body. His work is premeditated from habit; he usually does this deed while everyone else recuperates. A standard chef’s knife is his weapon of choice when he faces against zombies, but he keeps a cleaver sheathed to his side when he has the time to get precise. One good slash goes through bone. Bone sweeps through the brain, and the work is done, and he carries on to the next, messy on his mantle but clean in the cut.

There are only a few more bodies left untouched on the yard where you hear heavy steps on the grass and Shu’s voice cry out. “Luca!”

You and Ike snap up. Luca’s blond hair is matted to his face with blood and rot as Vox runs beside him. They look like they ran through a blender of decayed flesh, and considering the herd of dead inside the house, perhaps that isn’t so strange of a metaphor. Even as Luca sprints, he turns to pump shotgun lead to the predators when they get closer, and each corpse’s fall is punctuated by hot gunfire.

Shu calls out his name again frantically. The men return, and so do you and Ike, five missing one. “Luca, where’s Mysta?”

“It’s bloody,” Luca simply says. His breath is short, and he wipes at the mess of gore and hair on his forehead. All it accomplishes is smearing black and red together along his face and in a blotch along his arm. 

“But where is he, I need to know!”

“And it’s so much.” He trails off. He stares into the side of the townhouse and beyond the distance. Strapped to his back is his go-to weapon, a baseball bat littered with nails, each with residue dripping off the spikes from freshly killed zombies. “There’s a lot. Oh, I’m feeling kind of- kind of cold.”

“He’s in shock,” Ike says. He takes Luca’s hand in his, but Luca doesn’t even react. “Oh, Luca. What happened?”

“Kind of a lot?”

“Where’s Mysta?”

“He…” Luca’s eyes dart to the center of the townhouse. “He’s stuck, because of me, isn’t he?”

“Alright, lay off the man.” Vox intervenes. “We’re done asking questions. Shu. Your matches. Light it up.”

“What?!” Shu screams at Vox. You’ve heard him yell, but never once have you heard him scream. Especially not with Vox sounding so detached. “No, are you crazy? Mysta is in there!”

“Light it up, Shu-“

“I said, no! No! No way, not a- not a fucking chance!”

“Shu, listen to me!” Vox thunders. “I’m sorry, but Mysta is gone.”

Shu stands his ground. His features are tense, and his ultraviolet eyes burn holes through the earth. “Not a fucking chance.”

“Mysta is gone,” Vox insists, and you hear his bassy voice break even lower. “I saw it myself.”

“He is not.”

“It was too overrun, it’s miraculous Luca even got out.”

“Mysta,” Luca says, and closes his eyes. Ike holds him upright and rubs his arm, as comforting as he possibly can in the worst situation, as much as possible when his own face is just as distraught as everyone else.

“And I wish with everything that I have that I could’ve gotten him out,” Vox continues, more of his own justification than anyone else. “And I wish I was just a little faster, and that they were a little further away, and, God, that he wasn’t trapped, but he was, and I wasn’t fast enough, I wasn’t close enough…”

Shu is murmuring his own protests to himself at this point, and feeling the pit in your stomach yourself, you reach to hold his hand. He jerks away like you’re made of lava. You feel ill. “You’re lying to me.”

“And he got bit, and he knew that meant death. And he ran, ran upstairs, to draw them away from us, and there were more, and he knew, he knew, he knew he was dead but we weren’t.”

Luca lets his head fall on Ike’s chest. Ike becomes his crutch, and holds him. “Mysta.”

“His distraction saved Luca’s life. And mine if I was slow.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“He was a hero,” Vox says.

“Stop.” Shu’s eyes shut. He looks like stone about to break, paralyzed in denial as the proper grief is setting in. His hands dive and clasp around yours. He’s trembling. You squeeze back. “Don’t talk about him like he’s dead.”

“He was a hero, and our brother, and the sun. Please don’t devalue his sacrifice like that.”

“Oh my god.” Ike interrupts, and his face is paler than the dead. “Oh my god. Oh my god, Luca, don’t look.”

With one hand, he buries Luca’s head into the fabric of his mantle, and with the other, he points to the tallest point of the townhouse. 

You crane your neck up and squint. The townhouse has one window peeking out from the room along one small wall. When you recognize the shapes through the window your legs nearly give out. Startling, saturated, unadulterated horror grips you. You see his hat.

“He’s still alive,” you whisper. “Or he rose. But he’s still surrounded.”

With revived desperation Vox grasps Shu by the shoulders. “Don’t devalue his sacrifice, Shu, you know better than anyone he never wanted to fall victim to that curse. Let him and the rest of the zombies pass on properly, like a hero should. Light the match, please. Please.”

You absorb the chaos as if you weren’t there. You’re detached. Nothing feels real, not even as Ike strokes Luca’s hair, distressed and staring at the window, while Luca is just as distanced as you are. Vox’s heroic resolve shattered as he recounted Mysta’s last moments, and Shu, the smart one out of your group, can’t even function anymore. You knew everyone considered themselves each other’s family, but Shu and Mysta were especially close, and it tears you apart to watch Shu finally grasp the terror of the townhouse ambush. 

Shu lets go of your hands to cover his face. Through the gaps between bloodstained gloves, you can see the sparkle of tears. He’s crying. “This isn’t possible.”

“Do the right thing,” you say. “Do what he would’ve wanted.”

Shu stands so still. He looks up to the sky, as if it could all go back just by an hour. The clouds just kept rolling. 

He picks up a bottle and lights a match.

“This can’t be happening.” A teardrop nearly flicks out the match, but he gathers his strength, and places it by the newspaper wick. The paper flares alive in caution orange.

Shu breathes in. You see his face is scrunched up from crying even as he tries to aim, and it’s like he’s aged years in a matter of minutes. His face has never truly been clean of dirt or gore in weeks, just like the rest of you, but even under the orange fire his eyes go dull. There’s weight under his eyelids, and his mouth is forced into a tight, shaky frown as he exhales.

“I’m so sorry.” Even when it was a zombie Shu always apologized before killing. He treats it as a blessing of what they once were. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry it had to be this way.”

Shu throws the molotov. 

You lose track of Mysta’s silhouette as the townhouse goes up in flames.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The death of Mysta Rias was the death of the sun, and the world has been even drearier than the desolate land would have you think. 

Everyone lives on edge frostily. It’s barely been a month since he passed, but the wound hesitates to close. 

Ike is maybe the best adapted to your band of six now as five, but even then you can tell he’s not the same. He’s a champion of reservation. Every sweep of his knives into dead flesh are purposeful, every word spoken is calculated. 

You think back on that night you cried in Ike’s arms the first time you confirmed the dead. You still haven’t seen him cry. Strange, since he was the type to get emotional at sappy movies and video games before the first outbreak. You’re worried, but he insists he can keep it together. To be fair, he’s doing an excellent job at not having a conniption, but the way that he acts so much more emotionally distant isn’t exactly inspiring confidence either.

But Vox, for all he puffs himself up about making sure no man gets left behind and all that heroic junk, hesitates far more than his honed swordsmanship would have you think now that Mysta’s gone. It hasn’t gotten in the way of surviving yet, but you have to wonder when it will. He’s gotten indecisive and requires time to think- great for planning, not so much for a live-or-die fight. 

Luca’s the one that surprises you. You wouldn’t go so far as to call him happy when your band of friends started roaming the country together, but he was good natured, and was the first to pick himself up from a bad scrape. He had a sly, sideways curve to his lips whenever he laughed, but it’s been so long since you’ve heard it that you’re starting to forget the way his skin curves into smile lines. 

He doesn’t smile at all, really. As optimistic Luca was, it was no secret Mysta was the other half of the laughter in your group, and now that Mysta was gone the morale was as well. Luca keeps up his positive attitude as much as he can but it’s rare, and it’s quiet when you see it. 

You notice whenever someone lights the campfire, he’s never around to watch it, and no one makes him do it. You don’t think anyone’s ever talked about it out loud, nor has he ever let himself show it. But when he turns around to feel the warmth, Vox is always to his front, blocking off the bright blazes, and sits by him while he cooks game. You have a theory Vox hasn’t given up his hero complex yet, but for as tense as he gets by the fire Luca hasn’t had a breakdown yet either. Unless things change, you won’t bring it up. Your group has never experienced a loss quite like this in the zombie apocalypse, and all things considered, for as awful as the morale it could be much, much worse.

Speaking of much worse, Shu…

He was a wreck when Mysta passed away, and that’s putting it lightly. When you ran from the remains of the burning townhouse and into a forest, your footfalls were punctuated by Shu’s shortened breaths, and he held back hiccups as you left Mysta behind. By the time Vox figured you were safe from the horde and Ike’s feet gave out from exhaustion, Shu’s eyes were shut tight in disbelief. 

You barely uttered a word to him before he fell back into sobs, and when you offered a hand he threw himself to you. It was disorienting. You always considered Shu the face of serenity and restraint even in your lives before the apocalypse, and after the outbreak he was always the one that could find the best path to follow for the greater good of all six of you. But now there were only five, and the grief was fresh.

But Shu howled. He clawed himself against your chest in inconsolable wails, and his face was contorted, sore and raw red in splotches of unmuted primality, nearly unrecognizable. There was an animal in your arms. Agonized. 

“It’s not possible,” he heaved. His articulation was lost in his eruption. “It can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be!”

You didn’t have any words to say, and clearly Shu didn’t either. He howled again as his bestial hands clutched around your arm. Nails dug through his gloves and into your skin, and if he clutched you any tighter he’d tear the flesh off the bone straight, a creature of despair. Screaming and howling, and soon enough he was choking on his own spit and the block of mourning in his throat, some ugly peals of tears and snot, and the remains of rot on his hands and blood against the hollows of his ghastly cheek; the ash left in his lungs and the smoke that lingered in his hair, and the flames that licked through his fingers and inside the bottle and outside the glass; the blazes that ate through the wood of the house, the very same hue as his brother’s favorite shirts, his hat, flickering a cycle of brightness and color and roiling heat until he knew the fire had swallowed up what remained of Mysta.

Shu had no choice but to scream. When his throat took away that privilege he mustered up what he could of his vocal chords and churned. All his mouth went dry but he still smacked his tongue against his gums and huffed out seethings and surges of thin breath through gritted teeth, more akin to wheezing than anything else he’d howled but the pure distress gone untouched.

He eventually exhaled himself into an uneasy sleep, but even in sleep his face was still struck with suffering. Rest was more like a pause to a realized horror than it was a reprieve. You and Ike cleaned him up and laid him sideways on the ground for the night- after all, it had been an awful day, and as the moon rose in the sky you know you wouldn’t be getting anywhere after the horrible events, much less with an unconscious Shu.

Luca spent the rest of his day detached from his own experience, even after the shock wore off. When Shu’s composure broke, Vox had attended to Luca, and they quietly wept together while Shu bawled. By the time Shu began to rest, Luca looked into the ground, water bottle in hand.

Vox approached you while Ike started a fire and prepared some rations for the rest of the group. “He’s not taking things awfully, but I’m concerned for him,” he said. “Luca, I mean.”

“I know you mean Luca,” you responded. You couldn’t hide your own exhaustion from the day either. 

“As much as I hate to say it, Shu freaking out was to be expected. He and- and Mysta- those two- they were so close. And Luca, too. I thought he would freak out like Shu, but hell, Reader, I cried more than him. I know I get emotional and he’s better at keeping it down than me, but…”

Vox’s eyelids fluttered as he looked up at the dark sky. His eyes were red. “I’m just concerned, that’s all. It’s not like him.”

“Well, living without-” Your exhaustion dragged down your sentence before you could finish it. You thought you were well-adjusted to the death, but your voice caught before you could utter his name. You cleared your throat. “Living like this. There’s going to be a lot of weird changes, and everyone mourns differently.”

“I suppose you’re right.” But Vox didn’t look too pleased to hear that. “We need to protect him.”

“He does plenty of protecting himself. And we look out for each other regardless.”

“Then we should look out for him especially.”

“Of course. I don’t want him to get overexerted.”

“And let’s tap out of any interaction if we can, including looting. Last thing we need is to get into another big fight with the zombies, or worse yet, other survivors.”

“Avoiding fights has always been our M.O.” A chilled breeze ran through the forest. Vox fiddled with his haori. You stared right through him. “Sorry if this comes across as weird. But do you really think laying low is a good idea?”

“It’s dangerous to let anything interfere with us.”

“We’re in the zombie apocalypse, Vox, everything is dangerous. It’s not like I can just wave a wand and poof, we’re immune from the plague. Besides, we’re just two out of s- out of five. We’ll figure it out when it’s not so late, and Luca and Shu are in working condition.” You squinted. “Hey. Enough about them for a second. Has anyone ever asked you if you’re okay, Vox?”

“This isn’t about me.”

“Is now. How are you holding up?”

“What, do you want me to lie to your face? No one’s doing well.” He averted his eyes, and you knew he was averting the question. “I could ask you the same thing. Shu was intense.”

“Tired,” you said. “Just plain tired. I don’t even think I have the energy to properly grieve.” And just like the man standing before you, you averted your eyes as well. “I don’t think I want to either. I don’t know. I miss him a lot, but I don’t have the time to miss him. Not when the apocalypse is literally unfolding in front of us and there’s people taking the brunt of the loss way harder than I am. I wish I could give him the remembrance he deserves.”

Vox nodded slowly. He didn’t say anything in response, and the silence made you feel like you aged hundreds of years in his presence. 

“You’re very observant, Reader,” he finally said. “And you spend a lot of time making your own conclusions before you act. That’s smart. But knowing too much prevents you from action, full stop.”

Campfire smoke curls around the chilly air and by Vox’s face. His head was still angled up to look at the sky, and the orange glow against his sharp features weathered him into a dreary oil painting. There was a gash between his cheek and ear where a tree branch hooked him while he evaded a zombie’s grapple, and the light illuminated the soft pink flesh exposed under the cut of skin. The corner of the gash met his thoughtful frown. “Every moment of life teaches you something. I’m wondering when it’ll be too much and we simply can’t go on the way we used to.”

“Might be soon.”

“Today definitely sped it along.”

The fire crackled. You and Vox sat there unmoving, too focused on the blaze and how controlled it was compared to the townhouse. 

Even as the tinder burns, your thoughts were still so awry now that the group got smaller. Vox had a point about Luca. You needed to keep an eye out on him in case he’s putting on a brave front. Even then, you didn’t like how Vox deflected your concern, but prodding him would only make it worse, especially when the loss was so fresh. 

Your thoughts drifted to Ike, and how you haven’t managed to share a word with him at all since the townhouse burning. He hasn’t cried, you recall, not a single time since the first outbreak. You admired his composure but now that Vox admitted his own fears for the others (and neglected to tell you the ones about himself), you can’t help the unease that settled into your stomach. What were his thoughts like? Everything went off the rails whenever you tried to collect yourself, but if Ike was able to keep it all under wraps, then his mind must be a storm.

Speak of the devil. Ike hands Luca a small can of beans, but the blond stayed by his lonesome. Your best friend took the empty seat beside you, and gives you and Vox your dinner.

You thanked him, and after savoring what little you had of your portion, you asked how he’s doing.

“Just gotta get through another day,” Ike responded. 

Then he tipped the last of his beans into his mouth and stared at the fire, just as you did after talking with Vox. He was unreadable as ever, but the only thing you could glean from him with confidence is that he had just as much on his mind as you thought. Maybe even more.

You wished he would just tell you.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

But grass grows over graves, and even if Mysta didn’t have a proper send off, time waits for no one. 

Once Shu woke up, his face was a mess of bleariness and exhaustion. Something in his bright eyes froze over during the night. Amethyst faded to plastic. 

“We’ll keep moving,” he declared, and his voice chilled you to the core. He called out the order as a leader, not a friend, without the care or delicacy he always granted to your group. His emotion died with Mysta. 

(And you saw Vox ready himself to refute, but once he met those purple eyes filled with something unearthly, he shank under Shu’s presence.)

Days pass. All of them are spent on the road. The group spends as little time resting as possible just to get a few extra miles out to your next destination. 

Shu and Luca say it’s to get away, but they end the sentence differently. Shu says to get away from the zombies. Luca doesn’t finish his thought at all. 

It’s no surprise that Vox opposes it. The more distance between the group and the townhouse, the more he speaks his mind. 

But Shu is determined to go further, just as much as Vox is convinced everyone needs to lay low.

And in all the time you’ve known these men, you’ve never seen any of them fight against one another quite like this. Vox always concedes, but not before Shu spits venom and he flings it right back. Their words are always about the plan, their future, where the group is going and why don’t they wait out the zombies instead of these hourly skirmishes on the road; but everyone can tell there’s more lying in subtext than the literal argument. You’ve seen the way Vox grits his teeth and musters up his courage whenever he’s about to tell Shu off, and you know that disgusted glare Shu gives Vox whenever he brings up hiding from the zombies.

Ike usually ends up being the one to break up their fights. One dismal evening while he lectured them both about teamwork and other platitudes, you and Luca sat next to each other. He’s a big guy, but he’s lost a lot of weight from rationing, and his expression looks like an abandoned dog more often than not these days.

He talks quietly, but plainly. “Shu hates me, doesn’t he?”

“What?” The bluntness startles you. “Luca, listen to yourself. He could never.”

“He could.”

“He wouldn’t,” you insist. “He’s gone through a lot, and he’s not taking it well, but I know it’s always because he wants to protect you. All of us.”

“So is Vox. But he just shuts him down without a thought. You ever wonder why, Reader?”

“To get away from the zombies,” you recite. That’s always his reasoning. Staying put in one place just means more time for zombies to gather at the scent of the living.

“So would finding a secure shelter, like how Vox says.” Luca sits with his knees close to his chest, and watches from a distance at the quelled fight. Vox says something, and you can see Shu’s face contort even though you can’t hear what he says. “But he doesn’t even listen to him. He doesn’t even listen to you, Reader, when you try to break it up.” He holds his legs closer to himself. “I don’t know if he’s ever listened to me. Or anyone.”

“He would if you told him you feel like that. He’d understand.”

“Would he really?” You nearly answer that before you realize the question is rhetorical. “You’ve got eyes, Reader. Be attentive like how I know you always are and look at how he looks at us. Me and Vox.”

You try to follow Luca’s request but Ike is speaking, and Shu’s eyes close.

He elaborates. “It’s not a nice look.”

“He’s stressed.”

“Then why doesn’t he ever look at you like that? Or even better, why does he listen to Ike only, and how come it never seems to stick?”

“He’s going through a lot.”

“We all are.”

Across the camp, you watch Ike run a hand through his hair. Shu is still talking, and Vox sighs.

“I think he blames us.”

You grab Luca’s arm. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s obvious anyways.”

“Because that’s our friend.”

“He hasn’t acted like one for a long time.”

“Because he’s lost so much.”

“We were all friends,” Luca snaps. “We lost just as much. Hell! I was in the house! We were together! And then we got separated, and unlike someone Vox actually tried to help him out until- and I should’ve- we saw him get bit, and I couldn’t- I just, I-”

Luca shuts himself up. Your hand falls from his arm to his palm and squeezes. No life returns your gesture. 

You sit in the stagnant silence. 

“I’m sorry.” Luca lowers his head. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Get it off your chest, Luca. I won’t hurt you.”

“No, I don’t think I should.” He unwraps his legs, and stands up from the ground beside you. “I’m not going to say it and be an awful friend, even if he’s acting like one.”

Before you could ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, Luca already turned his back, and you sat alone from the argument as he walked away from everything.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Despite all their bickering, Shu and Vox lead the group through travel. It’s more likely that the bickering is the exact reason why. The fire iron and rebar push aside the greenery, until Vox stops with his rebar casting the brush aside. “Fucking finally.”

You catch up and look across the hill. Buildings. This used to be a small rest town in a clearing between the hills before the outbreak, but now the bright signs are dimmed out and dirtied. Not a soul lurks in the abandoned town, including the dead. 

“We’re not stopping,” Shu says.

“Piss off, Shu. I’m tired.”

“You’re never going to be well-rested.”

“Then how does safe sound?”

“Not possible no matter where you go.”

“But safer than on the road-”

“Guys,” Ike interrupts. “Quit acting like toddlers.”

Vox pouts and Shu squints. None of the three want to get the next word in.

So you speak up instead. “We’re running out of supplies. If we don’t find any more food soon, then we won’t even be able to continue on the road.”

“Reader has a point,” Ike agrees.

Shu’s expression sours. “Fine. We’ll look around, but make it quick. Camping out here is a great way to get robbed.”

“Then we’ll move together and keep watch for one another,” Vox declares, and he smiles. “Welcome to the correct side, Reader, Ike. It’s good to have you on board.”

Ike rolls his eyes. “Don’t drag me into your petty fights.” You fight the urge to quip he’s already in the mess as the mediator.

But the group traverses the hills and enters the remains of the town. The ground is littered with garbage strewn about in the haste for its citizens to flee town- or for the ill-fated, become the corpses dragging along the cement. 

The zombies here shamble along independent from one another. That’s the best you could ask for. The only consistent thing about zombie behavior is their danger when in swarms. Alone, they’re nothing but fetid flesh barely clinging onto the skeleton, ready to fall into a hundred pieces at one strike, but when accompanied by others? Fodder makes up for each others’ weaknesses, and no matter how competent or skilled you are, one human is nothing to a crowd of zombies on the warpath. 

The zombies of this town haven’t synced up with one another, and you’d like to keep it that way. While on the road, you’ve had plenty of skirmishes with small groups of zombies, but the last time your band faced off against a proper herd, you lost one. 

A single zombie clambers to the front of your group. You hear metal against fabric as Ike pulls out his cleaver from its sheath, ready to do the deed, but before he can advance Shu already has his fire poker in his hands and the business end driven through the eyes of the zombie. He twists, assuring the brain is too punctured to allow the body to rise again, and the poker is back at rest. He barely even apologizes to the body as everyone trudges on.

Behind his back, Ike resheathes his weapon. He squints through his glasses, and you can read the confusion between his green eyes. Ike doesn’t meet your glance, but his expression is welcome, as unfortunate as it is. At least you’re not the only one that noticed how out of character Shu has been lately. You’re getting a sinking feeling about him.

However, the moment passes as soon as it appeared, and you and the rest of your friends rove onwards until you come across a set of stairs erring into the earth, surrounded by a dirtied glass entrance. 

“Who would’ve thought?” You wonder aloud. “I never would’ve guessed this little town had a subway system.”

Vox raises his hand along the cool glass. “This could be good. The entrance is camouflage pretty well considering the damage of this town, and there might be some preserved food in vending machines. All we need to do is break ‘em.”

“And if there isn’t any food, it’s still a big area,” Ike adds. “Plenty of space and a roof over our heads.”

Luca looks down the staircase. It’s dark, but not unnavigable. The edges of the sidewalk are lined with yellow paint stripes, and features small lights along the walls from a backup generator, most likely. “It’s a good hiding place,” he says.

Luckily for everyone, Shu can already tell he’s defeated, and doesn’t put up much of a fight before you all descend down the stairs. 

Not even ten minutes later Luca found a vending machine and smashed it apart with his spiked bat. Vox unwrapped a pack of Oreos with a smug smile. 

The subway was no longer in operation and the trains themselves were abandoned, but you found a sign with a map of the station. The subway connected the major areas of the town together, and could be used as secret passages through the ruins.

And most interesting, there were even less zombies underground than under the sun. 

“I wonder if the stairs confused them?” Luca says to himself. “Surely a few of them figured it out, since we killed some since we entered the subway, but it might be too complex for herds to come through. Or the architecture itself is confusing.”

You weren’t about to question it. This was one of the most peaceful environments you’ve entered since the outbreak, and there was no way you would ignore the moment to catch your breath, even if you can still cut through the tension with a knife. 

You enter first watch with the drifting bond between everyone on your mind, and when Ike relieves you for his watch, you fall asleep in record time.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

An arm jostles you awake. “Reader. Wake up, zombies.”

You curse, albeit a little groggily, but in a flash you’re on your feet. You thumb under your sleeping pad and grab your climbing picks. “I thought we were safe?”

“Not at all.” Your eyesight adjusts after you start walking, but you can already recognize the voice as Ike. Out of the corner of your eye you can spot Shu trying to shake Luca awake, and Vox gathering everyone’s things together. “They’re flooding in fast. Herds of them. Like they’re all on the same wavelength.”

“Like the townhouse.”

It dawns on you and you say it without thinking. Ike’s shoulders freeze over. “Don’t say that. Not so loudly.”

“Fine. What do you need me to do?”

“Get your things together. They’re not here yet, but they will be soon, around the corner we came.”

Vox approaches halfway through zipping a backpack together. “We should take the next right corridor. I remember that leads to a different exit.”

“You sure it’s not the same one the zombies are coming in through?” You ask.

“Positive.”

“We need to stay ahead of the herd,” Shu said, Luca in tow. “No fighting unless absolutely necessary. If we get started now we should be able to get away without overexerting ourselves. Ready?”

No words need to be exchanged. You leave the clearing just as you found it. 

A collected groan follows behind you, and a chill runs down your spine. You’ve never heard so many zombies, and never so man all in harmony. The moans arrange together in the cavernous halls, bouncing off the cement and down the station. 

The urgency rises once the cries grow closer. Vox breaks out in a run, then Luca, and Shu behind him. 

“Right,” Vox calls, and dives at the turn. A zombie greets him. He drives his rebar into its head and flings it away without a second thought like a lancer. 

The zombie smashes against a sight with arrows to different stations. Ike swerves out of the way. “Fork ahead, where now?”

“Right? I mean-” He goes one way to view a sign, then sprints the other. “Straight! Straight!”

The dead sing. You can’t think to look back but the smell of rot is suffocating.

Your foot falls under the concrete ground in time with your family, and in time with the stumbling zombies approaching faster than you’ve ever felt before. 

Luca halts in his tracks, and you thump against his back. Your mouth parts to speak but your eyes fall upon the exit.

Or rather, the lack of exit.

Boulders of broken concrete hide the stairwell from daylight.

Hot breath strangles you, and you turn with your picks in hand. Swathes of the dead are fixated on your group. 

Ike runs straight-on to the choir. You scream out as one reaches for him before he turns at the last fork in the road.

You cut your scream off halfway when you follow him without a second thought. 

A hand covered in dirt and mold grasps against the sleeve of your jacket. You swivel and sink your pick into the limb, and the wrist pops off under your blade. The hand goes limp and falls from the fabric.

You hear footsteps behind you, and when Luca speaks up you’re full of relief even if only for a moment. “What now?”

“Just run,” You say back, more of a guess than an order.

Shu drifts in front of you. “Where are we?”

“Give me a moment, I’m trying to think!”

“We don’t have time, Vox!”

“I know, Shu, shut up!”

“Going left!” Ike shouts, and you all move without question. 

But you realize only after the zombies cut away the turn that the station turns more decrepit on this side. The tunnels are lined with debris and the floor crumbles away along the painted stripes. 

And before you can find a new route, you see a puff of dust from the ceiling.

“The roof!” You shout. You’re gasping to breathe now, and your words stumble upon the exhale. 

Shu’s eyes roll up to the flickering light, and you both see the elongated crack above your heads. It’s been in decay for years. How unlucky. How simply, brutally, lethally unlucky.

“Hurry!” He pleads. He’s at the front of the pack, followed by Vox and Luca alongside each other. Ike trails behind you. 

The crack in the roof follows your every footstep even as ancient instinct kicks in. Adrenaline shoots through your veins and pushes you forward, accompanied by bits of debris tangling in your hair. The flooring turns from concrete to tile, and with the dirtied mosaic comes a glimmer of hope. Surely you must be going the right way.

The zombies’ cries are loud, but the squeak of your shoe against the tiles is louder. There must be something beyond.

But the ceiling splintering out is the loudest of all.

It all happens at once:

The way that Shu turns at the sound and can’t even get one of his own out before he sees your face-

The powdered cement turning to hail in the blink of an eye-

Your war cry through gritted teeth as you launch off, the fastest you’ve ever run before-

A knife unsheathed in in warmth and frigidity in your midst-

Luca, hated, blamed, petrified. 

Your brain catches up through the curtain of scrap. It’s all because of Luca. Even at his most vulnerable, you’ve never thought of him as weak. Nonetheless, his eyes are dead purple crusted against his ghost-white face, and his lips force open while a vein along his neck strains to scream out your name, but he lets out just one small, throaty heave. A miserable noise.

It silences you. 

You know it, and he does too. A chunk of ceiling drops mere inches from your last step. Vox approaches, calls out your name before he’s even comprehended the truth before him. You see the dark in his pale eyes tighten into a thin reptilian pupil and he reaches out in desperation.

The last of the ceiling shatters. A broken crag hammers into his palm instead. All you hear is Shu finally get out the scream before the remains of the underground roof shuts you out from your family.

The dead rises in volume. The glimmer of hope evaporates.

You force yourself against the barricade, but your weight is no match for the pile of rubble, and you watch the zombies shamble forward with your back against the wall. The only person you have left brushes plaster away from his eyes with one arm and brandishes a knife in the other.

Ike Eveland looks like hell alive. 

It would almost be hilarious if you weren’t facing a subterranean grave. His face is dirtied with mud and rubble, and the legs of his trousers are matted in blood, rot, and dirt, but even then, this is still your best friend. The years you’ve spent alongside him blend together. His once-delicate hands now bear countless scars from travel and fights, but the contours of his face are recognizable even through the dust that mars his skin. 

This is an unwinnable situation. You’re locked in checkmate, but Ike stands next to you.

You speak. “No more exits, right?”

Ike swipes at his face again, and the sleeve of his mantle comes back grayer than before. “I think we both know how this ends, Reader.”

“Yeah. I do.”

You both watch the leading zombie shuffle one foot forward, and each of its followers mimic the motion. 

You notice Ike’s hand against his face out of the corner of your eye. Then how his shoulders jerk up for a moment, before setting themselves in place, stony and rigid. 

His words break your heart. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Me neither.”

“I wish I could refuse all this- all this-” 

He sniffs. 

You move without thinking, and your mind is set. You wrap your arms around Ike. 

He doesn’t even raise his hands. He just leans against your shoulder lifelessly, and lets the tears fall. 

You rub his back as he hiccups into your shirt. How long has he been keeping this locked up? You ache for him and all his repression as his body goes limp against yours, the only thing keeping him standing. 

“It’ll be okay.” That’s only a lie you can hope is the truth. “After all this. We’ll be okay. Shu and Vox and Luca, too. It’s a straight shot now that all the zombies are on us.”

“I’m going to miss you. All of you.”

“We’re together.”

“I’m sorry this is how it ends.”

“We still have options.”

He scoffs, even as his voice cracks through his quiet crying. “We’re trapped, Reader. There’s no way out.”

“We can still go out on our terms,” you say. You place your hand over his, the one that holds the knife. “Once we’re gone, the zombies are going to search for the other three.”

You squeeze one last time, and break away from the hug. You look upon the wave of dead flesh and rot, and draw your weapons. “I don’t want them to fight any more than they have to.”

“That’s hopeless.”

“It’s all I can do.”

“How are you so calm about this?”

“I’m not sure myself,” you admit. “It’s just that right now, I know I’m in a losing battle, and I accept that. But I don’t accept just laying down and dying like that.” 

Your climbing picks cross together as you ready your eerily still mind. The blades scrape against each other. Metal sings. “And I just want to handle things calmly. After all this time, I learned that from you.”

“I don’t know how you can just remember things like that when we’re about to die.”

“I suppose I only die on my own terms. Hey.”

Ike stumbles to his feet. His knife is pointed to the ground. With a tranquility that evaded you all throughout the apocalypse, you steady his posture and guide the blade up to the dead beyond.

Your hand rises up his arm as his eyes close, and he silently murmurs to himself. You rub his shoulder. “You good?”

Ike exhales. His body lowers as he does, and with the breath comes a relaxed posture. This is the most at peace he’s been since the outbreak strangled the past world. 

His eyelashes rise. Stormy green seas focus upon the staggering zombies. 

“No.” Ike’s lip trembles. But he’s set on the zombies ahead, and a bolt of lightning crosses through his eyes. “But I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good man.”

“There’s about five of them leading the pack in that corner. We can pick them off and get some more breathing room.”

“Understood, Mr. Tactical.”

“Don’t call me that.” Under the exhaustion and the fear and the grittiness that comes with crying, you hear some of that classic, joking exasperation. You snicker to yourself, but the bittersweet smile remains. 

“Mr. Eveland, then.” Your sight hones in on one zombie to your right. Its jaw slides apart as it follows the scent of the fresh living. “It’s been an honor, Ike.”

“Likewise, Reader, we’ll do what we can.”

“Let’s go.”

At your command, you both launch off, laser-focused on the individual dead. 

Ike kicks a corpse down to knock it prone, then rakes his knife into the skull, and that’s all you can see before you throw yourself into the fray.

A one-on-one is simple. The zombie in front of you holds out a decrepit hand, perfect for your climbing pick to detach. It stumbles at the force and grants you an opening to clobber its brain in.

Rinse and repeat. 

You dive between the steps of your latest kills to divert attention in time to slay another and stay moving. The trick is to use gravity to your advantage. They aren’t smart enough to stand their ground, and when they inevitably fold from the pressure of your picks, it’s like the zombies present themselves for you can finish the job.

The next target swipes at you. You jut one pick down upon the corpse and one more meets the brittle skull. This gives you enough time to duck under a lunge, sweep the leg, and aim to kill. 

Something grabs your leg before you plunge the pick in. A body, dismembered from the waist up. 

You yelp as yellow-black teeth rise, and frantically kick. The zombie holds on tight, but when you regain your senses, it doesn’t even see the blade incoming before the soft brain squashes in. Splatters of gore and bits of chunky nerve endings sprays against your frame while your sweat mixes in with the stench of rot and muddy mildew.

You step back to reposition. Ike’s clothing is covered in blackened blood, and you watch him plunge his knife into the chests of whatever unfortunate beast approaches next. He twists and yanks out, then goes in for a final blow between the eyes. He has a rhythm established despite the shades of rot against his mantle and shirt. It almost looks routine. 

His next victim’s head rolls to the ground and breaks apart like porcelain. The brain is still in place, but the elongated gash through the nervous system confirms it would never rise again. 

But one gets the jump on Ike while his back is turned, and he yells out as he thrashes. He swivels on his heel. The zombie maneuvers around even as his hands push back in a fierce gridlock. It snaps its broken jaws in Ike’s face as it snarls, and sinks its claws in. Gunk travels through its saliva.  

“I got your back!” While Ike retreats, you trip the dead that crawls in front of you, and dash to his side. You drag your picks into the nape and back of the zombie’s head, and the creature goes limp just in time for Ike to shove it against the wall. 

Ike catches his breath, brushes his hand against his arm, and meets your concerned look with a nod in silent gratitude. “They’re gaining on us,” he says. “You don’t need to kill all of them, disabling them is fine!”

“Got it!”

But even that is easier said than done. There are so many zombies in the herd, it looks like you haven’t even left a dent, and your space is getting limited. You hack through the edges of the herd and pray that your wild swipes cut through a limb or two. 

“We’re losing turf!”

“Yeah, and I- gaah!”

Ike heaves. Your switch flips from ‘kill zombies’ to ‘check Ike’.

You follow his rasp to the corner of the room, where the ceiling crashed down. His back is pressed against the tiled wall, and he struggles to peel off his mantle. 

You don’t even need to ask. His hand clutches his arm, and the chunk of flesh missing from it. 

“Holy shit, Ike!” You can’t even mute yourself. Millions of warning bells go off in your head. The internals are coated in a dark membrane from where it meets the oxygen in the air, less red than it is purple, and his veins beside the mutilation rise in an ugly green. 

You reach your hands out as you rip off a cut of fabric from your sleeve. “No. No, this can’t be happening-“

He slaps your hand away before you can begin to bandage the blood loss, and immediately crumples. “Don’t do that! It’s the virus!”

“There’s no way it spreads that fast-“

“It will. I don’t want you to have that.” Ike sucks in air through his teeth as he sinks to the floor. 

“How did you even-“ you cut yourself off. “It was the zombie that jumped you, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. I didn’t even notice the pain when it happened.” He curses in his native language. The green in his veins rise, and branches sprout from the veins under his graying skin, like tree bark. The rapid decay of the outbreak. “Oh, that’s not good.”

The din of the battle behind you is entirely forgotten as you focus on the uneven flesh, the imprint of the bite upon his mangled arm, how nearly every level of the wound has turned to the same rot of the zombies. 

Ike’s breathing is labored. The center of his shirt is soaked with the rot of those he killed, and rises and falls shakily. 

He smacks his lips, and you’re struck with the realization that talking is a strain. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

You crouch by his side and nod. 

“The sheath, on my belt,” he says. “Can you unfasten it?”

You comply without question even through your blurring eyes. I can’t refuse a request from a dead man, you think, and then the weight of your thought slams you. 

Ike’s unscathed hand rises from the wound, coated in slick purple gore, and brushes against the handles of his knives. The membrane pools together into beads along the handle. His fingers stop at the last slot in his sheath, and the tip of the cleaver is dyed in the beginnings of the rot. 

You think you’re about to vomit your heart out. 

“No.” Your voice wavers. “No. No, I can’t do this.”

“You can,” Ike comforts you, and you feel even more like trash. You should be the one comforting him instead. “I trust you.”

And that’s what gets the tears to spill out from your eyelashes. “But I can’t kill you.”

“You said it best earlier. Dying on your own terms, right?”

“But I can’t kill you.”

“I don't want to be one of them,” he admits. “Look around, Reader, we’re surrounded, and we both know there’s no way out. And being one of them, it’s unnatural. It’s just messed up. If I’m going to die, I want to know I’m at rest. None of this- whatever all this is.”

His head lolls to the side. “And I want to see Mysta again.”

The chorus of the dead accompanies Ike’s heavy breathing and your weeping. You are a helpless child. 

“I’ll help you,” Ike adds. “I’ll tell you how I usually confirm the dead. You’re my best friend. I trust you.”

It sickens you. 

You let out a puff of air as you draw your palm over your eyes. The gore across your face smears over with your tears. 

You take the cleaver in your hands. 

“Thank you.”

“You deserve better than this.”

“It’s the best we can do. I’m glad.”

“This is so fucked up.” You draw the cleaver with both hands, as if that would end the shaking. Even as you shut your eyes, you can’t get your resolve in place. 

“The trick is to be fast,” Ike says, and it disgusts you at how easily he says it. It disgusts you even more when you know the decay is spreading as he speaks, all the way into his raspy voice. “It’s all in the wrist. That’s what keeps it precise instead of clumsy. It’s where all the force is. Don’t swing wide. Just center it where you want to hit. How are you doing?”

“Not good.” Your breathing deepens, a last-ditch effort to remain calm. “I’m scared.”

You force your eyes open. The world floods in white, then falls into the blurred grays of the subway station. 

Ike is already so much worse for wear. The bite is entirely blackened, and the discolored skin stretches from his arm to his shoulder, creeping along what little you can see of his neck. 

His eyelids are shut, gentle aside from the furrow in his brow. 

“Me too.”

Even with his feigned nonchalance, there is so much sorrow laced between his words. 

“I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll be safer,” Ike says, and even he doesn’t seem so convinced by it. “Thank you for everything. I’ll miss you too.”

“You’ll always be my best friend.” 

You raise the cleaver. 

“Please tell Mysta I’m thinking of him. We all are, always.”

“We’ll be watching.”

Ike’s head is lowered, but you still see his attempt at a smile. 

You black out as you swing.

There is no memory left of his last moment. It’s all too much to bear. 

You cover your face, because looking at him is simply- just- too- much. Blood mixes in with your eyelashes, and you taste metal on your lips. 

You don’t even have the energy to scream, or cry, or do anything. You are a husk, and you do not hear Ike’s cleaver clatter to the floor. There is nothing. 

Your body moves without your command. You step back, and even though you refuse to look, you know you’re backing away from Ike. Your heart hammers, and so do your limbs. It spreads in droves, this pressure of heartbreak, constricting you and squeezing you apart.

Daggers fall into your skin. You snap out of your stupor. 

But once you identify the daggers as teeth, you wish you didn’t.

You tear your hands away from your face as a glob of rot (his rot, you realize, and you can’t even begin to wrap your head around that) flicks out in an arc. The hammering- it’s claws raking against your flesh and tearing you apart like meat.

While you accompanied Ike in his last moments, the outbreak stopped for no one, least of all you. You are no invulnerable main character. You blocked out the roaring chorus as he lay, but it continued outside of your little bubble, and with your back turned they absorbed the last of your free space for a perfect siege. 

You veer your head away out of instinct when the teeth pull away, and takes a bite of muscle out with it. The pain is blinding hot- you finally regain your voice in time to screech, but it drowns out through the zombie moans. 

A second set of jaws snaps you up. Already your head is spinning, and when you see the sinew from the corner of your vision you resist the urge to faint. If you take a look at the broken skin and extruding vine-veins again, you know you’re going to black out again, and never wake up. 

You force your sight to anything else. 

You make the mistake of looking into zombie eyes for the third time in your life. 

But this time you don’t retain the memory, either. Because for as little time you have left, how could you live knowing that your best friend’s peaceful green eyes snapped open in terror in his final moment? 

You choke out, and whether it’s from pain or grief or pure fear, you can’t even tell. Just that it all mixes together into a toxic blend, the poison of your undoing. 

And to think, you had the gall to meet such a grisly end head-on minutes ago. 

On the ground, next to his limp foot, the steel edge of Ike’s cleaver winks at you. 

It’s all in the wrist, he told you, and your blood burns into dust. But Ike is gone, now, and for as horrified as his melted remains were, he was certainly watching your every move. 

And the infection is unnatural, and climbs along your shoulder, and there is no agony in the world like this fate. 

And you wanted to see Mysta again. 

With the last of your strength you regain your legs, and kick off one zombie from your leg. It topples and gives you enough time to shake off another that has you grappled. 

The weight shift combined with your blood loss makes you hit the ground hard, but you scrape at the floor nonetheless. You are so weak, and you struggle, so focused on the glint of the blade that you ignore your skin crack apart like mud in a drought. 

You reach, bloodied and battered, and so close to rest. 

The washed light shines off the cleaver. Its reflection teases you as a monster snatches your foot and send you back into the horde like a toy. 

You emit your final scream, and that too dies as hundreds of hands hold you back. Your body and blood is swallowed by the herd of dead.

When you can’t keep your eyes open anymore, the dark in your mind rearranges to replicate the cleaver. Then it flattens, and you see the haunted remains of Ike Eveland between it. 

The only sound left is teeth meeting bone. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

#ike eveland x reader #ike eveland #ike eveland angst #luca kaneshiro #mysta rias #shu yamino #vox akuma #luxiem x reader #luxiem #nijisanji x reader #luxiem angst #4402 writes #bsprites #STEALTH PROTOMEN REFERENCE BABEY #this is a bit clumsy but i'm glad it was over 10k words i wonder if saying so much is just my style now #how much of a coinky dink is it that i was binging luca's twd streams and a bunch of southern gothic music when i was writing this #i'll post the full au notes i had operating tomorrow i think

[beelmons]

This blurb is an aftermath of love comes in moments, a very angsty fic I wrote, hehe. Dedicated to the biggest cheerleader of the story @cassiemartzz

Bad days for Spencer were not when he wasn't able to recognize his own friends, no, on the contrary, he dreaded the days when his mind was so clear he could picture every cursed decision he had ever made, like being forced to watch a movie of his own sorrow, and the director was himself.

On a good day, he'd wake up slightly foggy, brain gone enough to not recall, but present enough to relearn. He would sit for hours reading about everything and anything he could get his hands on, taking strolls by the garden, and trying to beat himself at chess.

He enjoyed the breeze on his face as he moved his queen two spaces to the right, the benches were comfortable, although a bit nostalgic, since years before he'd sit the exact same way with a loved one, to talk about nothing.

"Sir, someone's here to see you." the slim figure of a facility nurse interrupted his concentrantion.

He looked up in a rush, examining the features of the young man that nervously stood next to her. He looked oddly familiar, but then he always had that sensation about people that came to visit.

"Hi, Dr. Reid" he simply waved his hand in an awkward gesture "We spoke on the phone a week ago? My auntie Penelope told me it was okay to come today."

"Right," he lied, he didn't remember, but he tried not to be dismissive, so he offered a seat for his visitor across the chess board "what can I do you for?"

The man couldn't be over 30, slim, yet toned at his body. He bounced like a puppy receiving a new toy as he sat down, and he pulled a bunch of papers from the bag he carried on his side.

"I'm a Supervisory Special Agent with the FBI; I just started at the BAU last year, and I'm writing a thesis on the psychology behind cypher linguistics. I would love to hear about some of the cyphers you tracked during your career." the kid explained.

Reid was in awe at the admiration the youngling showed. Never did he realize the impact he could have in the younger generations, even when he had dedicated a good part of his life to teaching.

"Pretty young to be joining the BAU, congratulations." he offered a smile.

"Well, it's nothing impressive." the nameless man said "You joined at 22."

The older doctor's eyes narrowed, and he let out an embarrassed chuckle. "You seem to know me pretty well"

"Well, you were kind of a celebrity in my house growing up. I always wondered why my mother never took us to meet you." the guy admitted. He stared in confusion for a second, noticing in Reid's expression that he wasn't quite following the conversation. "My mother? She was an old partner of yours back in her agent days."

The kid rummaged through his bag in search for something, and after a couple of seconds he slipped a printed picture across the board. Reid had to bite back a smile as he examined it. The very first picture you had taken together, on his birthday, with your head on his shoulder, and the stupid blue hat that would haunt him until his last breath.

"She, uhm," he swallowed back a nervous knot "talked about me?" Reid asked.

"All the time." the young man smiled, and it was so painfully obvious that he was your son, how didn't he see it right away? He had your glorious, beaming smile "And if it wasn't her, I would hear millions of stories from auntie Penelope and auntie Emily, even my uncle Aaron. My cousin Michael and I could sit for hours listening to them, you were like super heroes to us."

For once, Reid welcomed the clarity of his memory with love. Perhaps, when it came, he focused on the wrong parts of his life. After all, every decision he had ever made, someway or another, would lead him to you, or at least a part of you.

"So, you want to study cyphers?" the doctor continued, and the man in front of him beamed at the words.

"Actually, if possible, I would like to take you out for dinner to discuss it. I know a pretty good indian place, and they are open all night if the chat gets too interesting."

He was physically uncapable of holding back his smile any longer. You were present in every aspect of that young man, the history of you was plastered on his personality.

"Ms. Garcia is the legal guardian, so she would have to be here to allow the temporary exit of Dr. Reid." the nurse clarified.

"She's actually on her way, should arrive in about 15 minutes." the young man explained.

The nurse excused herself to start the paperwork needed for the event. He was as polite as you were to service workers, the mannerisms in the way he talked, even the way he stood. He couldn't lie to himself, relief washed over him once he knew you hadn't forgotten him, that you still carried a part of him on you, and you had passed that down.

Perhaps, after all these years, you no longer loved him, but certainly the print of his presence was still vivid in this fine young man, the one you had raised to be the hero the two of you once were.

"15 minutes is a lot of time. You play?" Reid asked pointing at the board.

"Since I was 5." the youngster bragged.

They arranged the pieces and the match began. It had been a while since he'd felt his brain so stimulated. The man could see four, five moves ahead, and your son could always keep up. At last, the ever experienced Dr. Reid ended up as the victor, earning a groan from the younger man.

"It was a really good game, thank you, uhm..." the doctor began to say, struggling to remember how to address the boy "Sorry, kid, I'm afraid I don't know your name yet."

"Oh, right!" he said with a smile "My name is Spencer."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #i'll tage the rest tomorrow #for now a mimir #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fan fic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid/reader smut #blurb: spencer #blurb: criminal minds #blurb: mine

[nctstar]

hurry, i'm worried

labyrinth | ch. 1

It was that damn…melody. That sick, haunting tune. Once again. Over and over and…over again.

pairing: hyuckren x fem!reader

word count: 3.5k

genre: mystery-thriller, horror, angst

warnings: profanity (use of the f word), mental illness (some allusions to s/h, please don't read if sensitive), mentions of medications and psychiatry, polyamory, police, mild mention of sexual activity (minors proceed with caution)

disclaimer: this is a fanfiction purely from my imagination. I don't know the nct members and don't claim that they act like this in real life. I also don't condone any of the activity by any of the characters in this fic. I'm not a mental health expert and don't claim to be at all, if you are struggling please find some resources to help yourself or dm me for support <3

a/n: ahhh it's finally here! the series I've been wanting to write for SO LONG. I hope you enjoy the first chapter because I got this random burst of inspiration yesterday and wrote it all and I'm so happy with the set up! hopefully as it progresses it becomes spookier and creepier and I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing this already <3 lav out p.s. can you tell I love my mystery-thriller movies and kdramas hahah (send me recs!!)

It was that damn…melody. That sick, haunting tune. Once again. Over and over and…over again.

You wake with a gasp, shooting up in your bed, blood rushing upwards and dampening your hearing with a blunt drone. You groaned at the jolts of pain in your temples, your cold hands caressing the supple skin as you squeezed your eyes shut. 8:09am.

“Renjun-ah?” Your voice came out a lot harsher than you expected, but there was nothing you could change about it as you watched your boyfriend’s petite frame walk into your shared room, his soft, nimble fingers tying the buttons on his wrist.  

“Yeah?” He barely looked at you. His attention was divided, long lashes flicking up and down his wrists, and you realised with a sick nausea that you were starting to become annoying.

You swallowed, throat dry and eyes burning with tiredness. “Um, nothing. Just wanted to check if you had left already.” It took everything in you not to mention the dream, the song, but you knew how he would react. As if like clockwork, he had the same reaction every single time.

“You just miss him, _. That’s why you keep having these dreams. Take your meds, and get some rest today, okay?”

You were sick and tired of hearing the same line every single day, almost as much as you were tired of having the same dreams. If there was something worse than being stuck in this insane loop of same same same, it was not having Renjun the way you always did.

But could you complain? Ever since…well, you were only a shell of the person you were before. You were bitter, grating, much like the shots of expresso you had once downed with your lover, squealing ‘Oh! That’s so strong!’ much to the disgust of the haughty young waiter watching from the corner. You felt your chest tighten with a tender nostalgia as Renjun walked over to peck you on the forehead, his lips as fleeting as that memory passing through your brain.

Take care of yourself today, honey. Okay?

“Take care of yourself today, honey. Okay?” You smiled, gritting your teeth at the irritation of his newfound predictability. Falling into this routine of stark distance and hospital-grade perfection. You were truly and utterly sick of it.

You counted to 383…no, 384. Three hundred and eighty…(I don’t know what I should eat today)…Three hundred and eighty-one...(Renjun’s probably sat at his desk by now…)…Three hundred and eighty-two…(…wonder if he’s thinking of me…)…Three hundred and eighty-three…(…is he eating well? What if he gets sick from all the takeout?)…Three hundred and eighty-four.

You dragged yourself out of bed, looking at the date glaring back at you from your bedside alarm clock. August 6th, 2022.

Three hundred and eighty-four days since Haechan had gone missing.

∞

“We should have studied French properly instead of just-“

“Oh, our French sessions were pretty fun,” Renjun raised his eyebrows while Haechan smirked at you suggestively, swiftly followed by you giving him a playful kick under the table to shut him up. “She’s pretty damn good.”

“Gross, Haechan. We’re on vacation in a nice place. You should have left your shameless thoughts at home.”

“Hmm, but we are in the city of love, aren’t we?” Haechan outstretched his arms like a comical cartoon character, making you and Renjun both look down in embarrassment, Renjun cursing softly under his breath. You watched a young Timothee-Chalamet looking waiter side-eye the three of you in the corner and your cheeks grew warmer. Yet, you didn’t really care. He was right. You were in the city of love with the only two men you had ever loved in your entire life. What was so wrong about that?

“Waiter!” Haechan yelled out, raising his hand like he was a primary school student in class, and both you and Renjun lunged out to make him stop being so loud. “Hyuck, oh my god, everyone’s looking.”

“Yes?” It was almost a blessing the waiter had come regardless of your collective bickering, and Renjun went first, speaking in perfect French. “We’d like number 3, please.”

“All three of you?” He frowned through his glasses, peering through the lens like he would look at spectacles at a freak show. You suddenly felt self-conscious, but Haechan started leaning over towards Renjun, acting like the waiter wasn’t even there. “What was that? What did you say? Number 3? I don’t want that one. Tell him I want number 4.”

“The young man over there will have number 4, please. And for me and my girlfriend, number 3.” You swallowed a smile at the way Renjun exasperatedly acknowledged Haechan, and the way Haechan looked just as confused as before. Once the waiter stepped away, you smacked Haechan’s thigh playfully. “You’re so embarrassing!”

“Am I embarrassing, or do you just wanna impress mister oui oui baguette over there?”

“Haechan!” You laughed. “What do you mean?”

“I saw the way you were oogling him. Tsk, tsk.” He should his head exaggeratedly and added. “You have the hottest guy sitting next to you and you’re just gonna eyeball him?”

“Leave _ alone, Haechan.” Renjun was now peering at the menu, squinting intensely. The soft morning sun illuminated his body, giving him a tender glow and making your heart feel warm with affection. He shook his head to the side to move his fringe away from his eyes. “Baby, I think I might have ordered you a shot of expresso. Do you want to change it?”

“Huh? No, that’s okay, honey.”

“Are you sure?” You felt Haechan��s breath on your shoulder, and you rolled your eyes, pulling his arm closer to your side as you looked up at him. “Yes, I’m sure. I can handle it.” The smell of dark coffee from the kitchen mixed with Haechan’s natural musk and your light perfume, and you breathed in deeply.

Haechan’s chest vibrated as he chuckled. “I’m keen to see this.” In front of you, Renjun smiled at the table, a mix of love and playfulness, and you scoffed. “I-It’ll be fine. It will taste good. I will drink it all!” You fake-slammed the table in front of you with your fist as both men started giggling slowly.

∞

You remembered the memory fondly as you watched the milk swirl and dissolve into the brown instant coffee mix. Too tired (lazy) to use the coffee maker, you settle on a bland concoction of going-to-expire-today lukewarm milk and instant coffee powder that’s at least 2 years old for your everyday morning fix. Taking a sip, you sighed. Yep, just as disgusting as ever.

You flopped down on the couch, turning on the TV at the same time, like a trained reflex. The rain outside poured heavy and relentless, just the right amount of ambient noise to send you right back into your slumber. But you stayed awake. You couldn’t be sleeping all day again. It just wouldn’t be…right.

Turning on an old favourite show, Gilmore Girls, you let it play as you opened your laptop. The battery reader on the bottom right corner shone nice and bright. 0%.

Of course. You groaned out loud, cursing underneath your breath. Of course, the day you felt the tiniest twinge of motivation to do something, your laptop was dead. Getting up from the couch, you felt a warm-hot liquid pour all over your pajama bottoms.

“Ah! Fuck!” You swore out loud, watching the coffee stain your crotch and drip onto the skin of your thighs. Clutching your laptop to your chest, you ran back into you and Renjun’s shared room.

You stared at his pajamas on the shelf, neatly packed and folded, as if he was so ready to move on. You looked to your side of the bed, messy as ever, the oldest bra you ever owned strewn across the covers.

How embarrassing.

You felt a mixture of anger, first at Renjun, then at yourself. Stupid fucking perfect Renjun with his crisp ironed clothes and his tidy side of the bed and his take care of yourself, honeys. Gosh, I hate him. As you said these in your head, hot, frustrated tears poured down your cheeks and dripped onto your collarbones. I fucking hate that man. I fucking hate myself.

You didn’t know how long you were standing there, but after a while, you rubbed the rest of the rolling tears off your face and walked out of the room. You plugged in your laptop, walked to the kitchen for some paper towels and half-heartedly wiped down the almost-dried coffee (if you could even call it that) on the couch, took off your soaked pajama pants and lay on your side, facing the TV. You watched Lorelai and her mother fight for what seemed like hours, you watched Lorelai cry on the shoulder of some hunk of a man who very clearly loved her, and then you felt yourself slip into a sad, restless slumber as the credits rolled.

∞

You woke at the sound of your phone buzzing next to your ear.

You blinked once, then twice. Then you closed your eyes and opened them again.

There was no way.

my teddy

i’m coming home

What the actual fuck.

You grabbed at your phone, fumbling, shaking. You dialled Haechan’s number – once, twice, three times. It was going through. It was going through.

“Renjun!”

“What’s up, honey? Are you alright?”

You sobbed uncontrollably into the phone, the screen now wet with tears.  

“Shhh, I’ll be there soon, okay? Please don’t hurt yourself again. Thank you for calling me. I’ll be there, baby, in just a few minutes. I love you so much. I’m coming.”

“No…n-no…” You rubbed your nose, hating the way it squeaked. “No, Renjun, it’s about H-Haechan.” Silence on the other side, as if you had said a bad word. “He’s coming home.”

You could feel the gears in Renjun’s head clicking, choosing his next words wisely. “Let’s talk about it when I get back, okay?”

“Renjun, no, you don’t fucking get it. He’s coming back. My baby’s coming back…”

“Honey…”

“Don’t fucking call me that! Fuck you!” You shouted into the phone, you had no idea why. You were trembling with a mixture of anger and sudden fear.

“Okay.” You heard Renjun’s voice tremble on the other line, the sounds of the rain louder now, pitter-pattering over the line. “I’m sorry. I’ll be home soon.”

“So will Haechan.” You said, before ending the call.

∞

“Please, please, don’t tell her.”

Those words haunted Renjun every single day he thought about Haechan. His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. No, now was not the time to think about that. He kept side-glancing at the time on the dashboard, as if minutes would pass without his permission. The windshields scraped the glass with a jarring squeak everytime it moved, the rain pouring as strong as ever. He prayed silently for there to be no traffic on the main road he was about to turn into, not wanting to leave you home alone for another second.

His heart ached, thinking of the phone call, the bad signal in his car breaking up your cries. His eyes welled up with tears, but he quickly blinked them away, not wanting to get distracted. I need to get home right now.

Luckily, traffic moved at a steady pace, it not quite being rush hour yet, and he was pulling up to the driveway quicker than usual. He needed to remain calm and composed for you. He knew you didn’t mean any of it, and that you were having one of your episodes. He tried to think about what your psychiatrist had said, but his brain felt so heavy, like a burning lump of coal, black smoke shrouding any helpful thought he was trying to have. Dammit. I just need to go inside.

“_?” Not wanting to spook you, he started speaking from outside as he typed in the code for your shared apartment. “It’s me, Renjun, baby.” He paused slightly, wondering if he should wait for you to open the door. You clearly needed some space. Maybe he was imposing too much. Maybe you felt intruded, not in control. Maybe he should let you do small things like open the do-

“Renjun?”

At first it didn’t register, but as Renjun slowly turned around, his heart started pounding louder and louder in his chest and his legs felt like jelly. He knew what – or who – he was expecting to see, but the sight of him still threw him against the apartment door with a gasp.

There was no way.

“Oh my god. It’s really you.”

Renjun didn’t know what to say for once. Always the easy talker, known for making awkward situations normal, always known to have something smart to say. Nothing. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth, immobile, weighed down with the weight of a thousand stones.

“Renjun. It’s me.” He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Renjun. He felt like a ghost for a split second, like his arms weren’t quite there. But then he smelt it. That faint smell of his best friends’ cologne he had used since their university days, back when they would go out for dinner after long days. Back before they had even met you.

Renjun inhaled sharply as the realisation hit him, his arms feeling more and more solid around his frame. “It’s really you. She wasn’t…but how did she…” Snapping out of his daze, the two men parted and Renjun thought about you.

Haechan called out first. “_! I’m home!”

∞

“So, you say you received a text message from Lee Haechan today before he came home?”

“Yes, yes. Here.” Your lit up screen illuminated the face of the officer, speckles of his stubble becoming visible. “Right.” He frowned, before handing your phone back to you, the charm jingling as he did. The tips of your fingers slightly touched his as you took your phone back, still staring at him with more questions than answers strewn across your features.

His chair made a high-pitched creak as he leaned back. “So, we have questioned him, as well as your, well…” The officer looked uncomfortable, almost squeamish, you reckoned at the thought of you having seduced not one, but two men in your lifetime.

“Yes, Renjun.” You spared him the misery. He nodded.

“Yes, and his story lines up with yours in terms of the disappearance. Lee Haechan, however, is saying that he cannot disclose where he was this entire time, because he just does not remember anything. We will continue to investigate his whereabouts for the past year. We have tried tracking his phone already, and we actually found its location.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, in your apartment.”

“Our apartment?” You were confused, and a weird feeling started brewing in the pit of your stomach.

“No, miss. At your apartment.”

“You mean the one I share with Renjun.”

The officer looked at you wordlessly, before flicking through the papers in his hands and passing one across the table to you.

You looked at it in utter disbelief. “W…what…”

“It was strange to us too. You didn’t mention to us that you had an apartment. Yet, we were able to find this under your name. We asked the owner, and she said you had indeed bought this four years ago. In person, too.”

“No way,” you breathed, your eyes as big as saucers. “Four years…” You would have been fresh out of high school, just about to enter university. You remembered being penniless then, having cut off your parents and working bizarre jobs just to get by. There was no way you would have even been able to afford an apartment. And the most important part was, if you had indeed done that, you would have remembered. Despite everything that had happened, and parts of your memory being faded due to the stress of the past year, there was no way you would have forgotten something so big as an apartment.

You sighed out loud, resting your head in both hands. You kept having those weird dreams…it always felt like, maybe they were…like…lost memories?

“I think my memory is just bad,” you chuckled uneasily, letting the officer ease back into the chair, some of his worry lifting off his shoulders. “That probably was me. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He drawled out the words, as if he didn’t really mean them. “We just wanted to inform you before we applied for the warrant because we’re going to search it.”

“Right.” Somehow, even though you had found out about this apartment 2 minutes ago, hearing that it was going to be searched made you feel kind of violated. The fluorescent white light started to feel hot against the skin of your face, and you were becoming aware of the stretch of time you had been here. Your leg started to jump, one of your many restless tics.

“Can I come?”

“Hmm?” The officer looked confused.

“Like, when you search. Can I come?”

He made a sorry kind of smile with his mouth and shook his head. You felt stupid for even asking, but the feelings dissipated when you watched the officer look increasingly uncomfortable, suddenly avoiding eye contact with you as if he was scared of you.

“So,” you leaned in, and watched as he cleared his throat and crossed his arms. “What does this mean? So, someone sent a text message using Haechan’s phone the day he came back. He said it wasn’t him, and now his phone is at my apartment?”

The officer gave you a blank stare, and all of a sudden, it all clicked.

“No, I-“

“Look, miss. We need to consider all possibilities. And your boyfriend told us that you’re…struggling with your mental health and currently on anti-psychotics…”

You gaped at him, not believing the words that were coming out of his mouth. “You think that’s supposed to make me uncomfortable? Yes, I’m batshit off the walls crazy, sir, thanks for acknowledging it. But I’m just not that kind of crazy to send myself a text from my missing boyfriend to soothe myself, I do know that.”

“That’s not what we’re- okay, look. Personally, I think it’s probably, like, a hack or something.” You recognised his ability to go off script, no matter how much he fought it, and you appreciated it, just a little bit. “We just wanted to check all the possibilities. We’ll be checking the footage around the apartment and finding out if anyone’s been coming and going, and we will search for the phone and check its usage.”

You nodded sharply. “Okay.”

The door opened, and a younger looking man inaudibly signalled at the officer in front of you. “That’s all for tonight. You are free to leave. Let us know if there are any updates, and we’ll do the same.”

∞

“So, what did they talk about with you guys?”

Renjun was slowly starting to come out of the shocked state he had been in for the past few hours as you nuzzled deeper into Hyuck’s warm body in the backseat of the car, the rain still roaring on outside.

“It was weird. They asked me about an apartment I own.”

“An apartment?” Renjun sounded curious, but you were distracted by the feel of Haechan’s slightly dry lips on your forehead, grazing the skin teasingly. “Haechan…”

“Let’s just forget about this for now. I missed you so much.” He pressed his lips against you, the kiss resounding in your skull.

“I missed you too.” You wanted to cry, laugh, scream. Everything was pouring out of you all at once, slow and viscous like thick honey on bread. “So much. You have no idea.”

“Yeah.” Renjun’s voice was silent. “We can talk more tomorrow.”

That night, your bed for two was a bed for three. Warm and safe, smelling like three instead of two. You were finally home. The dinner you three shared for the first time in over a year was quiet, all of you overwhelmed by the new familiarity that was now your new normal. Or old normal. It was all a bit strange. But it just felt so…right.

For once you drifted off to sleep naturally, not crying, or needing your pills or something to watch to distract yourself. It was like Haechan’s arrival repaired you, piece by piece, with nothing left over or loose from the reconstruction.

Everything felt right until the next morning, when you woke up to no Haechan next you, and you felt an insidious wave of anxiety waft over you, threatening to paralyse you. But then you heard chatter from the kitchen.

“She likes it like that now. Extra chilli. Make sure you don’t burn it.”

“Yes, ahjussi.” The unmistakeable nasal tone of your lover’s voice calmed you, and you were convinced you weren’t dreaming this time. This was real. Haechan came home.

You rolled over in bed and checked your phone. Old habits die hard.

Chills ran through your body.

my teddy

don’t worry. i’m staying inside.

#nct #nct fanfiction #kpop #kpop fanfiction #nct scenarios #nct dream #nct fanfic #kpop imagine #nct imagine #nct dream fanfic #nct dream x you #nct dream x reader #nct angst #nct dream angst #nct horror #nct thriller #nct dream horror #nct dream thriller #haechan imagine #haechan scenario #nct haechan #haechan x reader #haechan angst #lee haechan #huang renjun #renjun scenario #renjun angst #renjun imagine #renjun horror #nct renjun

[lesbienyu]

people have this Image of what brain damage/traumatic brain injuries (TBIs) look like and it's always one of these:

-basically the same as before, but with amnesia for dramatic effective

-vegetative state

-"brain of a child," or an adult who draws with crayons and speaks in monosyllables.

and like, yeah, that can be it, but there's a lot more. when I tell people I have brain damage, they usually think I'm joking because I seem pretty normal and I am! I was lucky - my brain bled, I had seizures, I shattered my skull, and, with the damage that was done, I'm very, very lucky that I'm as close to normal as I am thirteen months later.

but, at the same time, I do struggle with my symptoms a lot. I forget things and it's frustrating. and being frustrated with frontal lobe damage is different. it's less "ugh this is annoying" and more "I can't figure out why I can't get this, god am I stupid? what's happening? what was I trying to find?" for hours because I don't feel like forgetting things happened as much back then. I couldn't find a tube of paint today. before, I would've been annoyed and given up and moved on, but now it's this "if I can find it, that means I'm not as forgetful and I'm getting better. if I can't, there's gotta be a way to remember it." so I searched for three hours, even cleaned the basement, because maybe finding it would be proof I'm better.

and same with skills. I used to program. I had to go back to Hello World type stuff after. and it's hard, because I'll see the lessons and suddenly know it, but it's all stuff I used to be able to do without even thinking, let alone checking. I have pages of coding I wrote that I can't read, and I'm not sure I ever will be able to. I'm okay with that- relearning it is fun, and faster than learning it the first time, but it's like looking at a poem in an unknown language while knowing you were once the author.

or like, I love cooking. when I got my TBI, the majority of the damage was in my occipital lobe, which I'm told helps you see. everything was so bright for months. I had to learn to cook in the dark before it got better. I kept burning everything because I couldn't stand the lights on and it made me so mad because I've always been a great cook and it was suddenly gone.

I also lost my verbal filter with the frontal lobe damage to some degree. it's mortifying, being unsure if you thought something or said it out loud. imagine having a really nuanced, complex question that needs delicate phrasing and then just blurting out the bluntest possible version of it while still trying to think of how to phrase it and not realizing til after that you'd said it before you're ready. and it always comes off as so weird bc I generally have great social skills, I've been called charismatic and sociable, but then every once in a while it's like some robot with no social grace launching off random words and feeling mortified.

or just work. I love my job, I feel passionate about it, but I had to take almost a year off because I couldn't do basic tasks like look at maps or train new employees or even be able to comprehend what someone was asking me, let alone answer it.

I feel like I'm missing most of my life. it feels less like memories, and more like a book I read long ago or a movie I saw as a child. I couldn't tell you what the woman I spent half my adult life with looked like, just how I felt about her back then and that she had a dog and bad music taste. or what my childhood friends looked like, if they were in band or choir. I couldn't remember much about high school, or college, or the few years after- most of what I know is from memories so vague they feel like a dream several hours after waking, otherwise all the details of my life come from my journals and my loved ones. it's not a blank, just a vagueness, a fog. and it's terrifying, to hear stories about a self you don't recall being. I also used to be meaner, more serious and more negative, so there's some good that come out of it.

It just feels strange having a past self I won't meet or remember the same as most. and none of this is what I expected out of brain damage. overall, I don't think I feel different, but I don't remember well enough to say.

#diary #traumatic brain injury #tbi

[wifiwulf04]

FNAF DCA Slime Rancher AU

*cracks knuckles, squints at my dashboard and blows*

*hacks up half a lung at the sheer volume of dust flying in my face*

SO, we live :3 and have been watering the brain worm garden, writing… elsewhere that isn’t here and is our Ao3 as well as the uh, *glances at pileup of unfinished works in Google Docs* … actually, ignore that.

At the request of the lovely @sinnabee after watching her stream Slime Rancher 2, here is our list of I guess headcanons that we’ll more than likely end up writing at least a few scenes for :p

Also, Sun and Moon slimes from Sinna!!

Sun slimes:

Has lil nubbin hands to wave and pat things and hold on to Moony fins

Is friendly and vegetarian, fav foods are either heart beets cause they’re full of love or pogofruit cause in the wild they’re the most unproblematic things next to Pink slimes

Has gummy teeth that couldn’t even bruise you if they tried, they just end up harmlessly nomming away

Their rays are soft and very bendy

Will get along with any slime except Ringtails (they turn to stone in the sun and Sun is sad about their very presence freezing their new friends, so they try to bring apology snacks to the statues but as soon as they hop away, the Ringtails make a swift exit-stage-right)

Is infatuated with chickadees (cause Babey Birbs) and will protect them from Tarrs by swallowing as many of them as possible and regurgitating them in a safe place when the coast is clear

Will use their friendliness to their advantage if their Moon is hurt e.g. is so friendly that they can roll up and swallow a hen or two without scaring the rest of the nest, then bring them back to feed their Moon, wherever they’re hiding

Will also protect their Moon by luring threats away and close to a cliff before knocking them off and into the blimey deep (ehehe the slimey deep of the Slime Sea, ahem anyway) below, has absolutely no morality issue with doing this even to another slime or a human they’ve never met before

Suns are usually harmless, but if they're particularly excited or angry, their touch will burn

Their slime is also flammable and can stick to other slimes, but slides right off Moons

Moon slimes:

Have fins and a light like Anglers, slightly more dexterous front fins to hold on to Sun nubbins

Eats meat, but will help their Sun get food, even scaring off other slimes when their Sun isn’t looking to secure food (and only when their Sun isn’t looking cause otherwise they would get an earful to “be nice”. Pft, like being nice gets their Sunny the best food like they deserve)

Also brings their Sun wild honey as a treat

Does not get along with Anglers (they get jealous if their Sun interacts with an Angler, also the Angler's light hurts their eyes), Ringtails or Hunters (because they’re cheeky little sh-)

They have Teeth™ and will use them to protect themselves and their Sun

Their light also hypnotises other slimes and chickens, but Suns are immune to it. It makes a little jingling sound when the hypnosis is in effect

Will go toe to toe (or blob to blob I guess-) with Tarrs, especially if their Sun is in danger with them

Are extremely stealthy, especially at night. 

Is it part of their hypnotism or do they have something in common with Hunters? Viktor would like to know, but when he caught a pair, they were gone the next morning with a note in the corral that just said “better luck next time :p”

He spent the day hypothesising (read: having a minor mental breakdown scientific thought block) how in the hell they 1. managed to escape without breaking anything or setting off his alarms and 2. wrote. In readable English. Even BOb’s communications weren’t nearly as neat.

Facts about both:

They spawn together in pairs and only have the one pairing their entire lives

Rarely spotted, they seem to come and go and at most two pairs have ever been spotted at any one time, always in Starlight Strand

If you catch one but not the other, they will cry constantly (think sadge hungry boi and 'oshit there's a Tarr' sounds) and try to escape until they’re reunited in the same pen or free roam, not just adjacent pens. They will always be drawn to each other, so to find/lure their other half, just walk away with one in the Vacpack and the other will follow

Moon would try to free Sun by biting you and Sun will burn you if they bounce into you, so keep enough Vacpack space free for both

If an unpaired Moon is in a pen, they will start chewing through the corral walls. They’re smart enough to figure out that going for the barrier directly like other slimes do is much more difficult than attacking the barrier generator pillars which are much more solid than straining against a slippery forcefield

If an unpaired Sun is in a pen, a good chunk of your ranch may start to burn. I hope you have fire suppression and a good stain cleaner cause those burn marks aren’t coming out easy. Anything a distressed Sun touches will burn and the metal of your corral wall pillars is not heat proof

Even though Suns are so trusting and friendly, Moons are a lot less so, especially towards ranchers

They're smart enough to figure out that slimes disappearing into the suction tube and seldom being spit back out is Bad

Meanwhile Suns just want affection, trying to boop the rancher as soon as their Moon looks away cause Moon would try to nudge them away and scare/bite the rancher

Ogden swore he once saw a sick Sun, Viktor corroborated his account when he went to investigate and was attacked by an unnaturally dull and dark Sun. Unfortunately, he failed to capture it and when he returned with better equipment, it was gone. No one has seen it since, although Viktor hypothesised that it was a virus that could potentially spread to its Moon counterpart

What he actually saw was a Solar, a Sun which had forever lost its Moon for some unknown reason

Lunars are Moons that have lost their Suns, but no one in the community on the Range has ever seen one

If one is fired into the other with a Vacpack, they will form an Eclipse largo

(from left to right: Moon slime, Sun slime, Eclipse largo)

Eclipse largos:

Because of the velocity requirement (aka basically has to be yeeted together with considerable force, there's no need for them to combine in the wild), Eclipse largos are considered rancher-made instead of naturally-transforming by eating plorts like other largos

As a fusion of the two, they have the combined memories and personalities of Sun and Moon. As such, it is recommended to first gain the trust of and build a relationship with both slimes before fusing them or the resultant Eclipse may be difficult to manage

It’s not hard to have a decent relationship with Sun, but if you didn’t have one with Moon before fusion, you might find yourself nursing your wounds post-spontaneous bite in the middle of pets. Eclipse’s teeth are much, much worse than a cat’s nibblers

They hate being confined to a corral, much preferring to patrol the ranch instead

If the ranch is safe and nothing escaped, there is a chance they will unfuse at dawn and dusk. The chance that they unfuse is much higher if they leave the ranch at these times

They will herd loose slimes into the nearest corral, although occasionally this results in them getting themself stuck until the rancher frees them or they wreck the corral, whichever comes first

If they spot a Tarr, they will fight it by dragging it around with their teeth until it beats a hasty retreat or using its tentacles to throw it into the nearest body of (unoccupied by Puddles) water

They are also sometimes seen just staring into the distance at or near the edge of the ranch, always towards the East

You are not going to be able to force them to go anywhere, they are large and in charge. If you try to, you’re at a high risk of getting yourself or your Vacpack crushed between those dagger teeth

Luring them back to the ranch with the promise of cuddles, a honey-baked hen, cubed cubefruit and a water lettuce salad to wash it all down hasn’t failed yet

They will eat anything, including other slimes although genus cannibalism isn't going to be their first choice

Has there been recorded history of an Eclipse eating tech or a rancher? Viktor might have the answer to the former, but as for the latter… there are no living witnesses. Key word, living. And if the Far Far Range saw one unnamed rancher with a bad reputation gradually lose his slimes and disappear, no one saw anything

Eclipses may not have nubbins, but they can produce long tentacles that appear dark orange in the day and dark blue at night

Those tentacles would be warm or cool to the touch depending on Eclipse’s mood

Overall, not much is really known about them within the community of the Far, Far Range besides for rare sightings, but every time someone manages to capture a Sun or Moon, they escape the next day with an unsigned note left in the corral. Even Viktor’s surveillance tech hadn’t managed to catch the intruder’s identity, but he has footage of a tall figure in a dark cloak walking into his lab in the middle of the night and hacking into the containment unit he had the Sun and Moon in. The slimes hopped out of the open door and the figure looked straight at the camera, holding up a slim finger to their face with the faint glint of teeth and a glowing red eye in the shadow of their cloak as they held up the note, dropping it on the ground before the camera feed got corrupted.

#fnaf #fnaf daycare attendant #slime rancher au #sun #moon #as slimey bois #but also mystical slime ranchers somewhere out in the ether #oh don’t worry we will be addressing that #although whether in thought dump format or Ao3 scenes/oneshots/series remains to be seen #thought dump #have fun sinna :3 #Wilderness brain worm garden

[sarahwroteathing]

Dear Sam (2)

[Sam Wilson x Reader]

Word Count: 1615

Summary: You begin drafting your letter to Sam, and old memories resurface.

Warnings: Discussion of grief

A/N: Surpriiiiiiiiise. I once again kool-aid man my way back to my blog to post a thing. Any and all gratitude for my sudden reappearance can be directed to @indominusregina I am here to bum you out on your birthday, like a true friend. Love you, bestie

Part One

There were false starts, many of them, written in a notebook you kept in your nightstand drawer. The handwriting on each varied slightly, reflecting the emotional state of each version of yourself that risked putting pen to paper. 

The first try came out jagged. Awkward. A handwriting reminiscent of high school note taking, messy and vaguely frantic, with half transformed letters sprinkled throughout, where your hand tried and almost failed to keep up with the ever shifting message in your brain. 

Dear Sam, 

The comma started too high, an aborted beginning of a second m. Sammy, you’d almost written, before dismissing it as out of character. You’d only ever called him that in moments primed for a smile. Through a pout, syllables drawn out, dramatic and mostly insincere, in a half-hatched ploy to get your way. Or in a falsely scandalized tone, clutching at invisible pearls you’d never owned, to make him roll his eyes or double down on whatever flirtation he’d been throwing your way. Sometimes in profoundly giddy joy, the kind that sent you running to meet him in the entryway like an excitable child, throwing your arms around him and not even thinking twice about the pure, eager love you were displaying for him. 

In any case, not appropriate for now, for a form so thoroughly divorced from its proper contexts.

All I can think about is how I have no idea how to write this letter. How much better you would be at this. You were always good with emotion, with explaining things kindly and firmly, with making yourself understood. I think I got better with you, but I still feel underqualified to write something as important as this. But the point is, I’m the only one who can write it. So I’m going to try anyway. In case it helps. Because there’s a whole lot I don’t understand, but one thing I do know is that you’d want me to get better and to move on if I could. You were annoyingly unselfish that way.

You threw down your pen, a shaky exhale escaping your lungs with an urgency, like you’d been holding it for too long. Maybe you had been. It felt as though every word you wrote only made it to the paper by being ripped free from your heart. It hurts. It’s stupid, senseless. A letter written by you, for you, addressed to a man who will never read it. It doesn’t matter. But it still manages to fucking hurt. 

You clench your jaw, pick up your pen again. 

But I don’t know how to move on, Sam. I don’t know how to let you go. It shouldn’t be this hard. You’ve been gone so long that I…

You took a sharp breath, eyes burning, as you forced out the words.

I sometimes forget to miss you. And I feel like I must be the worst person alive every time. Because you deserve more than that. You deserve every tear I can shed, every second of every sleepless hour, every stolen breath, every pound of grief I can shoulder. You deserve everything. And I get so mixed up in my head about it, how I can go so long sometimes without remembering you’re really gone and then get dragged under again like I’ve just lost you for the very first time. It doesn’t make sense. I wish I could make it make sense. I wish you were here to explain it to me. I wish you were here. 

You scrubbed your hands over your face, pushed yourself restlessly to your feet. 

One lap of your apartment. 

Deep breath. 

A second lap. 

You grabbed your pen and notebook from the desk, flopped down on your bed with them, staring blankly at the small jewelry dish on your nightstand for several minutes. A leather bracelet, the name of a town you’d never been to artfully etched on the surface. A delicate chain with a small gold charm in the shape of a wing. A watch, way too bulky for your own wrist, that you’d insisted on wearing every day for almost a year. An Idaho state quarter dated 2007. 

Do you remember the night we met? In that dive bar down the street from my old apartment. It was as far from the height of romance as you could possibly get, but you made it work for you anyway. You and Steve and Natasha were sitting in the back booth, a few steps from the jukebox thats simple existence charmed me to pieces.

I remember how disappointed I was when my pockets came up short. I’m not sure whether it was my proximity or my colorful words that first drew your attention. But there you were. My knight in soft leather with a hand full of quarters shining red from the neon beer sign over your shoulder.

“How much you short by?” 

“Fifty cents,” you answered with a rueful laugh, eyes flickering between his handsome face and the handful of change. 

“Well, I happen to have fifty cents, and I’m happy to give it to you if I get veto power on your song choice.”

The corner of your mouth drifted up into a half smile despite your best efforts at his mildly flirtatious but matter-of-fact tone.

“I don’t take gifts with strings attached,” you said challengingly.  

“Alright, alright. Worth a shot. Can I at least stick around to see what you pick?”

The compromise we came up with: you picked a letter, I picked a number. And I don’t think it was a test exactly, but when I picked the Marvin Gaye song, the way your eyes lit up and the smile you gave me left no doubt that I’d passed with flying colors.

And I remember being so instantly enamored with you, with that beautiful smile and those eyes that promised a safe kind of trouble, that I stopped noticing anything else. My best friend’s song request blasting through the speakers, the sticky floors, the taste of the tequila sunrise you bought me with a promise that there would be no strings attached. And there weren’t any, of course. But I remember wishing there would be if it meant a chance of seeing you again.

And I remember the way I made my move on you, when you pressed two more quarters into my hand so I could pick my own song without interference. I remember you hooking your finger on the back belt loop of my jeans so we wouldn’t get separated on our way back to the jukebox and the way I was glad you were behind me so you couldn't see how much that made me smile. 

You barely hesitated, keying in your selection as soon as the quarters rattled home. You’d seen the song the first time, while Sam had been examining the catalog. 

It started only a few seconds later, and you turned with a satisfied little smile, watching Sam as he tilted his head, squinting slightly as he tried to identify the opening notes. 

When the first line hit, that smile was back, wide and charming and playful. 

“The night we met I knew I needed you so.”

“Okay,” he laughed, taking a half step closer, leaning his shoulder against the wall right beside you. “Hittin on me now, huh?” 

“Presumptuous,” you said mildly, not moving away. “Maybe I’m just very passionate about the Dirty Dancing soundtrack.” 

“That’s still sounding like a line to me.”

You shrugged, pushing off the wall with a teasing smile. It put you much closer, your faces only inches apart. 

“You planning on doing something about it?”

I was bolder that night than I ever had been. You had that effect on me. Made me brave, confident. Joyful. You made me so fucking happy, Sam. Right from the beginning. I was never as unapologetically and ecstatically myself as when I was with you. I don’t know how to do that without you, how to be that person again. I don’t know if I ever can. I miss her too. The version of me who walked through life beside you, who could call you anytime just to hear your voice. Who could hear “Be My Baby” and come running, follow the sound to where you were waiting with your phone held up and a goofy little grin that felt like it was all mine, get bundled up in your arms and plied with kisses until I was breathless and giggling. 

Now it just hurts. I can’t bring myself to delete the song from my playlists, but every time it comes on, I can’t help but cry. And now when I’m breathless, it’s not in that fun, giddy way. It’s more dangerous. Like choking. Like drowning. And I’m so tired, Sam. I want to stop. I want to keep all the memories I have of you, the sound of your laugh, the smell of your skin, the way my hand fit in yours. But I don’t want this pain. And I’m not sure anymore if I can have one without the other. That terrifies me.

So I guess what all this means is that I’m trying to let you go, and it’s not supposed to be against my will, but that’s how it feels anyway. I’m scared of letting you go the way I’m scared of almost everything these days. 

What if I forget you? What if I don’t? I honestly can’t tell you what would feel worse. But no matter what… 

You know I will adore you till eternity. 

Even when you’re not here to sing it with me. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. 

I love you.

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

Sound off! Who's not dead?

Would love to hear your thoughts, my loves. This story is truly a living organism with drastically changing drafts.

Tags: @shifutheshihtzu @internalbullshit @lilasiannerd-blog @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @iwillbeinmynest @scotlandasshole @netflixa @hardcorehippos @singingprincessstudent @sophiealiice @blue1928 @tinuviel015 @a-book-pressed-rose @bbparker @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @feelmyroarrrr @orangespocks

#sam wilson x reader #sam wilson imagine #sam wilson fic #sam wilson series #marvel imagine