#contains descriptions of blood and gore

[olympeline]

I've definitely been bitten by the writing bug for Hetalia. I just started a FrUK superhero AU fic based on a certain mid-00s movie. Going well, but I'd still love to have a beta look over it. Especially since I've been out of the fandom for so long and am rusty on details. My usual beta isn't into Hetalia so she can't help me, which is a bummer

So yeah, if you're a beta who's available and might be interested in taking a look over this fic, maybe get in touch? I'd be super grateful!

If not, please just enjoy some FrUK fun :>

Mr. & Mr. Bonnefoy-Kirkland

He was going to be late.

Francis rolled back the silk sleeve of his costume and checked his watch. Night had fallen outside the dingy warehouse where he and his allies were waiting, but on the ceiling a light blinked weakly. Providing just enough illumination for Francis to see the numbers on the face of his rolex. Scratch that, he was already late. Arthur would not be pleased, and Francis’s husband was never one to be shy about sharing his displeasure. Especially recently. Francis wasn’t foolish enough to have his phone on him at times like this but, if he had, he knew it would soon be blowing up with texts from his rightfully irritated spouse.

They’d quarreled about Francis’s lateness just last night when he’d come in long after dark. Francis’s excuse was work as always. Arthur hadn’t been in the mood to hear it.

“Too many nights in a row, Francis! For God’s sake, tell someone else to do it!”

“I can’t, cher. We are just so busy with the new line. They need me.”

“You’re telling me there’s not a single designer at Saint Bonnefoy who can fill in for you for one sodding night?” Arthur’s angry tone was laced with disbelief. “What the bloody hell did you hire them for, then?!”

“Forgive me, mon amour. This is too important. I will try to be home sooner tomorrow.”

Arthur had glared at him, eyes narrowed to green slits. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but had stomped back to the kitchen to stress bake instead. A plate of charcoal scones for his dinner was a fitting punishment, Francis supposed. He also supposed that Arthur might not have let Francis off the hook so easily if not for the fact he often worked late himself.

“Sorry, love. Had to look over Lovino’s latest before leaving. Needed a lot of revisions.”

“Of course, lapin. I understand.”

Francis was a fashion designer with his own label and a permanent slot on the roster of every catwalk in the world. Arthur worked as a journalist for the French branch of a world renowned London newspaper. Both of them put in long hours and had done so ever since they’d met. They each knew the demands of the other’s career and Arthur, like Francis, usually showed a lot of understanding. Usually. His patience had frayed recently from night after night spent alone in their apartment. Missed dates, dinners, and outings galore. Guilt gnawed at Francis along with deep seated irritation and regret that he couldn’t just explain his constant absences. His other life had been making great demands on his time as of late.

What was Francis’s other life? An outsider might have guessed an affair but Francis would never. No, no, nothing so gauche as cheating. The truth was that Francis Bonnefoy-Kirkland was a supervillain. A deviant with an alter-ego known and feared throughout Paris and beyond. By day, he was Francis: the gorgeous, chic, undisputed king of couture. By night, he was Rose Noir; florakinetic, thief, and - before he met Arthur - gentleman seducer extraordinaire. Sometimes he worked alone, sometimes as one third of Night’s Europa: a villainous trio composed of himself, Matador, and the Teutonic Knight. Or Antonio Fernandez Carriedo and Gilbert Beilschmidt to their friends.

For three years Francis had balanced his marriage, his job, and his heists with the practiced ease of a multi-tasking, metropolitan CEO. Recently, this had changed and Francis suddenly had far less time to devote to Saint Bonnefoy and, more importantly, Arthur. Antonio and Gilbert were in the same boat and often brought gloomy tidings of the diminishing harmony in their respective personal lives. 

All thanks to the man who had become the default leader of Night’s Europa for the last half a year: General Winter. The villain that all members of the trio now had to listen to whether they liked it or not.

And Francis most certainly did not.

Neither did Antonio or Gilbert but unfortunately there was nothing they could do. Not if they wanted to go on living. Life had been so much sweeter when they were a simple team of three out for riches. Then one day Matador walked into their hideout with a strange, tight expression that Rose Noir and the Teutonic Knight could see even through his mask. He told them he’d been approached by Killer Frost (one of the General’s subordinates) with a “request” from the big boss: an alliance between the Blizzard gang and Night’s Europa.

From a tactical standpoint it made sense. Many villains had migrated to Paris in recent years, which in turn led to a surge in heroes arriving to try and control them. Once heavy hitters like Freedom’s Eagle and the Jade Dragon arrived and started throwing villains in jail left and right, the writing was on the wall: making friends was a good idea if you wanted to stay free. Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert all wanted to refuse the alliance even so, but they couldn’t. Everyone - hero, villain, or civilian - knew what happened to those foolish enough to cross General Winter. Even Freedom’s Eagle, the world’s current no.1 hero, struggled when up against the General. Feared him too, if villainous scuttlebutt was to be believed.

Saying “no” was off the table. So the three villains reluctantly sent their acquiescence back with Killer Frost, and Night’s Europa entered an uneasy alliance with the Blizzard gang. They met with them soon after in the dockside warehouse that the four Eastern Europeans used as their base.

“I am very glad you all are agreeing.”

The General’s voice was high-pitched for a man of such huge stature. His blank, white mask hid his face completely, but Francis could hear the smile in his voice.

“I am thinking we will be very good together, da?”

Francis, Antonio and Gilbert nodded in silence. Da.

Everything had changed after that. The alliance between the Blizzard gang and Night’s Europa was supposed to be an equilateral one. General Winter had promised that they would decide on the details of each heist democratically. Technically, he had told the truth: they did vote. The reality was that Killer Frost, Snow Warning, and Ice Winder all voted however General Winter did. Not out of loyalty, but because they were simply too terrified of their leader to do otherwise. They’d seen his brutality up close.

Night’s Europa had that pleasure not long after the first meeting. A bank job interrupted by a naive, suicidally stupid, young hero trying to punch far above his weight. Heroes were enemies and Rose Noir took pleasure running rings around them, then leaving them bruised and humiliated. That didn’t mean Francis would ever forget the look in the young man’s eyes as he died. The sounds of his screams as the General slowly broke and tore him apart, inch by inch.

“You are very naughty boy,” the General cooed over all the pleading and sobbing. “Very naughty. Naughty children must be-” a wrench, a snap, a shriek of agony. “-taught.”

By the time the hero was dead, the white of the General’s costume had been dyed a deep red all the way up past his elbows.

They’d been forced to watch the entire sadistic spectacle. Afterwards, once alone, Francis had staggered to the nearest alleyway, pulled up his mask, vomited everything in his stomach, and kept retching long after that. Then he went home and clung to Arthur all night. As a supervillain, Francis was certainly no angel, but this was something else. This was evil. This was sick.

“Don’t,” Killer Frost said when Matador and the Teutonic Knight had confronted him after that first murder. “I know what you’re going to say. Just don’t. Please…just do what he says. Just obey him.”

“Why stay with the psycho?” Gilbert demanded. “You saw what he did! He’s fucking insane!”

“I know,” Killer Frost replied in an accent Francis guessed was Lithuanian or close. “I know that. How could you think I don’t?”

“Then why listen to him? Why not fight back? It’s three against one!”

“Six with all of us,” Antonio put in.

“Ja, totally! Come on, freezer burn, we could take him!”

But Killer Frost just silently shook his head and would not be moved. Neither would Snow Warning or Ice Winder. Without their support, what could be done? Francis wasn’t confident they could take on the General even with their help. Without, it was suicide.

“If you try to leave over this, he’ll kill you,” Frost said dully. “It’s you or them. And if he can’t get to you, he’ll get to someone you love.”

“He doesn’t know who we are,” Francis argued.

“He’ll find out. Trust me, he’ll find out somehow. And then…”

Killer Frost’s breath hitched.

“Just…don’t make trouble, Rose. Please. Please just don’t.”

Francis wanted to brush off Frost’s words, but they had sparked a sickening fear in him in spite of himself. Francis thought of Arthur. Winter getting to him may have been an empty threat, but could Francis really afford to take that risk? He pictured coming home and finding their apartment wrecked, the General waiting for him in the rubble, his costume once again soaked with blood.

Blood staining the carpets. Blood splattered on familiar furniture. A body on the floor. Blond hair turned scarlet hanging limp over a caved in skull. Green eyes open but seeing nothing.

The terror was too much. Francis decided to behave himself. Antonio and Gilbert must have felt the same fear because they didn’t raise any more objections. Just kept quiet and pretended not to see or hear what they could never hope to forget.

What bitter irony that the man who called himself their ally was giving Francis more turmoil and sleepless nights than his nemesis ever had.

Francis heard the metallic creak of the door opening and pulled himself free of bleak thoughts.

“We are here! And look: I bring someone for a visit.”

The General was back at last. Back and dragging another unfortunate victim. A very familiar looking victim. Francis did a double take.

Speak of the devil.

The man General Winter dragged was a hero. One that Rose Noir knew well; from the white plume on his hat, down to the hem of his famous red coat:

The Pirate Gentleman.

One of Europe’s premier superheroes and a member of the international J7 team led by Freedom’s Eagle. Famous in equal parts for his aquakinetic powers, his checkered past as an ex-supervillain, and his hot temper complete with salty mouth and angry tirades that would put the most ornery sailor to shame. He also happened to be Rose Noir’s arch enemy.

“Though not a very nice guest, I am fearing. So rude. Very uncooperative, also.”

General Winter shoved the Pirate Gentleman out in front of him and the smaller man staggered and then went down hard, unable to keep his footing. Francis saw blood matting the back of his hair. This and the way he moved suggested a concussion. The Pirate was bloody all over: battered and bruised like he’d been set on by a heavyweight boxer. Which wouldn’t be far from the truth if he’d been brawling with General Winter. Who was nearly as strong as Freedom’s Eagle on top of his infamous cryokinetic abilities.

“But then we talked,” the General suddenly giggled, high pitched and chilling. “Talked and talked and talked, yes, yes! YES!”

He drew back a steel tipped boot and slammed it into the Pirate Gentleman’s unguarded ribs. The hero choked, heaved and spat out a glob of blood mixed with saliva. Francis tried not to wince and risk drawing attention to himself. That kick had to have cracked a few bones. Those that weren’t cracked already.

These last four years, the Pirate Gentleman had been, if you’d excuse the irony, a real thorn in Rose Noir’s side. Ever since he’d left his native London to help combat the French capital’s rising supervillain problem. Prowling the streets looking for trouble, he’d soon bumped into Night’s Europa and, rather than wait for backup, jumped into the fray to take on all three himself.

“Fucking ballsy,” Gilbert said afterwards. “Gotta admit it. I’m gonna break every bone in the shitty limey’s body next time I see him, but still. Gotta say it like it is: guy’s got a pair on him!”

Francis and Gilbert had to grudgingly agree. Grudgingly because they’d just lost the night’s jewels to their pop-up foe and giving him any kind of compliment stung, however deserved. Such beautiful specimens of emerald. Much better to be adorning Rose Noir’s elegant hands than cooped up in some stuffy museum. Francis still might have forgiven the Pirate Gentleman and allowed him to slip down into the category of “easily ignored irritation” like most of Paris’s other heroes. If the foul mouthed rosbif hadn't had the bare faced nerve to insult Francis’s professional pride the next time they met.

“Didn’t realize I was still in the West End! Who designed your outfit, frog? Andrew Lloyd Webber?”

Francis’s jaw had dropped. Worse, he was so distracted by the hero’s appalling remark that he’d let his focus slip enough that the Pirate had almost pinned him. If not for Matador and the Teutonic Knight, Rose Noir would have ended the night in jail.

After that it was on. Oh, it was on.

Rose Noir’s gift gave him power over plants, including the ability to grow them fully from seed in seconds. Meanwhile, the Pirate Gentleman’s gift was controlling water. A substance in plentiful supply thanks to the pipes and canals that ran through the city. Butting heads, scuffling, and brawling, they soon found out they were evenly matched. All over Paris they’d played their game of cat and mouse and Francis lost many a treasure to the Pirate’s exasperating dogooder ways.

Even so, Francis would not have wished this on him. The man was a foul mouthed, uncultured, pest, but even he didn’t deserve what was surely coming to him. All he had left to hope for now was a quick death.

“But perhaps all is too hasty. Perhaps our friend has been thinking it over and now has a new perspective, hm?”

General Winter rolled his prey onto his back and pressed his boot down on those wounded ribs. The Gentleman Pirate gasped and wheezed, a line of blood bubbling and trickling from the corner of his mouth. He probably had a punctured lung.

“Perhaps he reconsiders the Blizzard gang’s kind offer? Perhaps he remembers his past and knows the leopard isn’t changing its spots so easily? Perhaps he sees friends of snow all stronger and better together, rather than sad and alone…?”

Ahh, so that was it. The General took pride in the fact that all the snow and ice based supervillains were part of the gang he’d founded. Making them part of his twisted family whether they wanted it or not. The Pirate Gentlemen’s power over water gave him some cryokinetic skills. He’d be a perfect addition to Winter’s little “collection.” General Winter must have approached him the way he did Night’s Europa, but the Pirate Gentleman would have turned him down flat. Everyone in the hero/villain community knew he was reformed, ferociously so. Too bad for him the General obviously hadn’t taken the rejection well.

The Pirate’s lips were moving. General Winter bent down and cupped a hand to his ear.

“Sorry? You are saying what?”

“F-f-fuck you…”

The General slammed his boot down. They all heard the sickening crack. The Pirate Gentleman jerked forward as much as he could while still pinned, mouth open in a silent scream. Then he fell back; twitching, jerking, and choking on red froth. Even Gilbert looked nauseated.

“You are very silly man,” General Winter said serenely.

He reached down and pinched the corner of the Pirate Gentleman’s mask between his forefinger and thumb. Francis’s eyebrows jumped up in shock. Surely, he wasn’t going to-?

“Silly, silly, silly. Let’s see the silly, silly face.”

The General tore off the Pirate mask in one fluid motion. Revealing the bloody and bruised face beneath.

Francis’s heart stopped.

Arthur.

Arthur. It was Arthur. Francis’s husband. The man he’d pledged his life to and promised to love till the end of his days. The Pirate Gentleman was Arthur. His Arthur.

He had been all this time. Every time they’d fought, it had been Arthur under that mask.

Francis couldn’t take it in. It was like he’d stumbled into a dream, it was-

General Winter’s hand was wrapped around Arthur’s throat. Francis had seen him snap necks like toothpicks many times.

“NO! STOP!”

#hetalia #fruk #my fanfiction #my posts #aph france #aph england #francis bonnefoy #arthur kirkland #yes the three ice minions/victims are the baltics #sorry boys! #and sorry russia fans! #i love the guy but he just makes such a good villain #contains descriptions of blood and gore #so uh don't read if you don't like that #hws england #hws france #the movie is mr and mrs smith in case you didn’t know

[woahjo]

The People We Became (Bakugou x Reader)

masterlist | ao3

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Summary: Zombie Apocalypse Au.

The world fell apart almost a year ago and you refused to go with it. Left alone and to your own devices in a world full of monsters, where the dead come back to life, you believe that maybe surviving isn't living.

When Katsuki finds you alone in the woods and on the precipice of collapsing from exhaustion, he decides to bring you back to the house his group calls home. Against your better judgement and hesitancy to become attached, you decide to stay. In this world, everyone has lost someone. No soul is spared the violence, and you start sleeping with Bakugou Katsuki to dull the ache. Somehow, peace finds you anyway, but not without sacrifice.

Chapter Content Warnings:  fem!reader, gender neutral pronouns, strangers to lovers, violence typical of zombies, blood, gore, romance, slow-ish burn (for the emotional stuff), angst, kissin', questions of identity, loss, grief, graphic depictions of death and/or violence, mentions and descriptions of starvation/exhaustion typical of an apocalypse setting, very slight implications of possible sexual violence typical of an apocalypse setting, derealization, depersonalization, weapons (guns, blades, and traps), loss of identity

All content warnings can be found on ao3 with the rest of the series.

Word Count: 14.4k — 53k total on ao3

A/N: it's finally done... i'm sweating. i screamed. i cried. i bled. you know the drill. i am posting this a little differently than my other fics and series. only the first chapter will be posted here on tumblr (this post), with the rest of it broken up into chapters and posted on ao3.. purely because it was originally meant as a one shot and i don't like posting chapters on tumblr. it's not built for that and im tired. anyway, im nervous this is my new baby and im pretty sure my soul is somewhere in here. if u read this, pls come tell me what you think.. it fuels me. enjoy, cry, sweat, or whatever else you do when you read. as always, thank you and i love you.

Two hundred and seventy six. It’s been two hundred and seventy six days since the world completely went to shit. You don’t really count the initial outbreak. The initial outbreak was relatively contained once people found out about it. You quarantined. You stayed inside. All it really took were a handful of idiots. Someone selfish. Someone who panicked and ran instead of facing the world honorably, and that was it. It only took days to lose almost every semblance of a normal life and a week to lose everything else. 

The light of your fire is dim, embers burning low as you sit in a foldable chair beside it. The chair is from a friend, someone you’re not with anymore and who went somewhere you couldn’t follow, and you've got a metal spatula in your hand. You're not sure why you grabbed it when you fled, but panic does weird things to the mind. You absentmindedly wonder why you’ve brought it along with you all this time. There’s no logical reason for you to tote the thing around. A friend had told you how strange it was that you thought to toss it into your bag and continue carrying it. This, along with a few other oddities, are all you managed to take from your house when the world fell to ruin. Everything else are things scavenged along the way or from people you'd met, joined, and lost. 

Maybe it’s because the spatula is somewhat normal, like somehow when you cook the game on your makeshift tin over your shitty fire, you can pretend you’re in your kitchen. A smash burger sounds good right now, with grilled onions on a brioche bun like the ones from the place by your apartment. 

The night is near silent and trees creak and crack like the hulls of great ships under heavy pressure, but the birds don't sing and nothing in the crowded wood you're taking shelter in makes a sound. Well, except for you and the gentle crackle of your fire. 

It’s easy to miss the noise that used to irritate you when the world goes quiet. You used to hate the sounds and lights of passing trucks when they’d cross on the street below your apartment window. Now, you’d do anything for the familiar comfort. The world is so dark and quiet, like it’s holding its breath and waiting for this to be over. The silence is almost too much, so loud that it hurts your ears. You huddle closer to the fire, craving its quiet sound. Focusing on it lessens the anxiety of the other noises. The ones you don’t want to hear. 

Your head is on a swivel. It has been for months. Ever since the outbreak, ever since the dead rose and began consuming and infecting the living, you've kept watch. A paranoid, never ending cycle that you suppose—if left on your own—will burn itself out. You swallow thick and return your attention to the fire, watching the tree line just in front of you for any hint of movement or monsters. 

A branch cracks just behind you. A swift sound, followed by rapid footsteps. You stand, quickly turning your head, only to see a figure a few feet away from you. They move quickly and the dancing light of the fire obscures their features from view. Their eyes, most importantly. You can always tell if someone is dead or alive based on their eyes and the sounds that their joints make. In this light, should this stranger have that milky white film over them, you wouldn't be able to tell. 

You make a small noise, something between a whimper and a shout, as the person comes to a stop in front of you and holds a flashlight directly into your face. You squint, panic in your veins as your eyes adjust as best they can to the sudden assault. It takes you a moment to realize that there is a gun pointed directly at your forehead. The living. This person is alive. You're not sure yet if encountering one of the dead would have been worse. 

"Shut up and drop your weapon," he says in a hurried voice. It's aggressive and threatening. It comes from deep in his chest, like somehow fear has gripped and mutilated it into something violent. 

You raise your shaky hands to your head quickly at the order, screwing your eyes shut in the beam of the flashlight. 

"It's not a weapon!" you shout, voice cracking. "It's a spatula. It's a spatula." 

The words are rushed and heavy, fear seizing your chest as you look down the barrel of the gun. The flashlight turns off, sending you back into the dark. Your eyes fight to adjust, catching the firelight that glints off of the barrel, and you begin to makeout the man’s features. He's big, blonde under the grime, you think. A man, not the best thing to encounter alone at night in times like these. 

You see him hesitate for a moment, eyes darting between you and the silver kitchen item in your hand. You drop it quickly, hoping to appeal to his humanity. 

"Do you have a weapon on you?" he questions, voice a little less urgent. 

You shake your head in response and then shakily look beside the chair, choking out the word “ground”. There's a knife there and a pistol with no bullets. You're a poor shot and you had run out of ammo the previous week. He glances at it, the gun still raised at you, and sidesteps to grab the two items. When he does, he cautiously lowers the weapon and you start to lower your trembling hands. 

Then, as if struck by some realization, the man stomps towards the fire and you jump as he does.

"The fuck are you doing lighting a fire this late?" he says angrily, opening the clip of your pistol. "And with no fucking bullets. Those things may be dead, but they can still fuckin' see. That's a good way to get yourself killed." 

He stomps out the fire as he talks, urgently stamping out what's left of the low-burning logs. 

"I didn't think there were many in the area," you justify, furrowing your eyebrows as you step away from him. 

"And that's a risk you want to take?" he says indignantly. You wonder briefly what business he has worrying about you. 

"What do you want?" you snap, "My food? Weapons? Life? What is it?" 

The man scoffs, "Jesus, none of that. I don’t want your shit." 

You narrow your eyes and take a step back. One thing this world has done is remove trust from every chance encounter, and that was already hard enough when the place was sane. 

"Not all people who camp out in the woods are good," he says. "But I sure as shit didn't expect to find someone like you alone lighting a damn fire. Stupid." 

"There were others," you say indignantly, like somehow that makes it better. "Force of habit, I guess." 

The man pauses for a moment as understanding passes between the two of you. It's a relatable feeling. Everyone has lost someone now. 

"Got a name?" he asks. 

You hesitate in giving it to him and the pause causes him to roll his eyes. “You want me to call you Idiot-with-no-bullets instead?” 

You give him your name and the man nods as if he likes the sound of it, turning it over in his head before inhaling. 

"I'm Katsuki," he furrows his eyebrows. "You're alone?" 

You nod, swallowing down the grief that pushes at your throat. 

"Wasn't always," you respond, "but yeah. Now, I am." 

He nods his understanding. 

"Come with me." 

"Where?" you say instinctively, a defensive edge to your voice. Katsuki looks at you as if you’re stupid, or maybe it's pity, like you're a wounded animal. Probably both. 

"Where the fuck do you think?" he retorts. "We've got a camp a little ways from here. I saw your fire from the watch post we have stationed." 

You look at him like he's a little crazy for even thinking to bring you. Kindness, especially the selfless type, is so rare now and you find it difficult to believe that he’s willing to take you there at no cost. 

He scoffs and rolls his head over his shoulder. "Look, we've got men and women," then he pauses. "Used to have children. We're not gonna hurt you. World's gone to shit, do you really wanna keep at it alone?" 

He's probably right. You've been alone for weeks now, exhausted for longer, and though your common sense tells you not to go off with a strange man in this kind of world, the promise of rest is far too tempting. You nod and glance back to your camp. A measly collection of supplies haphazardly put together. You suppose that it doesn’t look so promising. 

"We'll come back for it when it's light," he says. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather not spend longer in these dark ass woods than I have to." 

"Okay," you say. The presence of another person both sets you on edge and makes you feel the press of fatigue even more. A gun's barrel on your nose followed by the promise of safety and you're going with him? You must be stupider than a horror movie protagonist. "Do you take in a lot of strays?" 

Katsuki looks over his shoulder and you think you see him smile a little at the phrase. 

"If that's what you want to call it," he says begrudgingly. Then, with a softer tone of voice, barely noticeable with the quiet whisper you both have been speaking at. "I'm sure the others won't mind one more."

You nod a little and follow him through the wood, stepping over obstacles. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark, but you feel unsteady on your feet. Everything you’ve ever learned about this world tells you that maybe you shouldn’t go with him. What if they’re dangerous? It’s easy to lie about women and children, about a community that doesn’t exist. Or worse, it’s easy to fool yourself that where you are is good, but you don’t know yet if he’s the type to delude himself. He doesn’t seem it. 

The two of you walk for what feels like forever, even if it is only a little over half a mile. Your feet have been aching for days and every step you take feels like a blade into the heel. Katsuki seems steady, his gun secured at his hip and a large knife in his dominant hand. He doesn’t have the flashlight out, but he seems sure-footed and takes every step in stride, as if he’s too heavy to be swayed by any missed step. 

As you move, you can barely make out his back in the white tank top he wears. You use it as a landmark, following the glowing white as it catches the light from the moon. Like chasing a ghost through the trees. 

Then, the wood eases up. The trees grow sparse and the suffocating humidity of the forest eases into a more breathable, open-air breeze. Katsuki steps out into a clearing. It’s relatively small, for how large the world is, but it’s some of the most open space you’ve seen in a while. The feeling of stepping out into the tall grass, where you’re both visible to any wandering thing, sends a rush of fear through you. 

By the edge of the clearing, there’s a small house with a short steeple. It almost looks like a Christian church, but you get the sense that it’s likely a barn. That must be the watchtower and you wonder just how good the view of the forest is from up there if Katsuki managed to see the light of your fire. How many other people had seen your fires over the weeks and not made it out to confront you? How close had you come before to safety or annihilation? 

"Hey!" a girl's voice calls. "He's back!" 

In the near distance, you can see a large and dimly lit house. It looks a little worn down, but soft and hardly noticeable light emanates from it in a way that makes it seem inviting.You can’t make out its exact silhouette and night blurs just how broken-down it is, but you can tell that people live there in the same way you can tell when someone has just left a room. 

Someone runs across the field to you both. It looks like a man and a woman, maybe around Katsuki's age. They move quickly through the tall grass and for a moment, the urgency that they move with frightens you. You worry that your presence will ignite some protective sort of panic. You linger back, letting Katsuki grow a little farther from you as they call out to him. 

“Yeah, yeah," he half-shouts, no longer seeming to care about keeping quiet. Guess that's what happens when there's a group. "I found the fire I mentioned." 

The two come to a stop in front of him, resting their hands on their hips as they catch the breath they lost. 

"We started to get a little worried," says the girl. She's pretty, with big eyes and curly hair that looks like it probably used to be dyed. "You've been gone for a while." 

"Well, I'm back," he says. 

"And you brought a friend," the other man says, sounding shocked. His tone is noticeably kind. The boisterous type of kind and when he smiles, you can see that he has sharp canines. His hair is straight, sticking out in different directions, and tinged with red in this light.

"More like an acquaintance," Katsuki says. “I found them in the woods with a fire and an empty clip. Felt like their blood would be on my hands if I didn’t bring them back.” The red-haired man gives him a telling look and Katsuki scoffs in response and turns to the girl. "Get them settled, Mina, will you?" The girl called Mina nods and Katsuki takes off toward the house without another word. 

"You're lucky," she says, pausing when you flinch as she steps closer. "You're gettin' the last solo room in the place. Kirishima, is it set up?" 

Kirishima shrugs his shoulders. "You'd have to ask Izuku. He'd know all about that, but I can go check." 

Mina shakes her head and turns her attention to you, giving you a quick once over with her eyebrows pulled together.

"You must be tired.” 

When you nod, she gives you an empathetic smile and motions for you to come with her. "We'll fix that. You hungry?" 

"What do you think?" you manage, saliva pooling in your mouth. "Do you have food?" 

"Plenty," she smiles. "not quite enough for leftovers just yet though, don’t tell anyone." 

You smile awkwardly. Who on earth would you tell? 

"Sounds like a good deal," you say. 

You follow Mina up to the house. Around it, there are a few parked cars. They look like they could pull out at any moment, and through the dust covered windows, you can just make out supplies in the back seats as you pass. In the distance, you can see the fuzzy silhouette of the barn you’d assumed was a watchtower in the dark of the field and you figure that maybe it used to be a place to keep livestock. 

Mina doesn't say much to you as you pass through the field, and when you walk into the door, the first thing you notice is a large group of people seated at a dining table. They all look up at you when you enter and it's with a bit of shock that you register their faces as healthy. Well, healthier. These people live well. Something stirs in your chest, both anxiety and excitement at the thought of possibly having found somewhere safe. They blink at you for a moment, exchanging looks that all end up landing on Katsuki. 

"This is the group. Well, most of us," Mina says pleasantly and with a light huff. "That's Izuku, Denki, Ochako, Sero, and you already know the handsome guy on the end there. Kiri's probably checking to see if the room is half decent.." They all greet you with a glad murmur. "Group, this is..." 

She looks at you expectantly. When you tell them your name, you can't help but look at Katsuki who already knows it. He raises his eyebrows unconsciously and turns his attention to the glass in front of him. 

There’s an awkward pause as you stand in the doorway, suddenly conscious of just how dirty you must look. Remnants of an older world, you suppose. No one really worries about things like that anymore.

“Uhm…” you search for something to say, but your people skills seem to have left you. 

“You’re okay,” Mina says lightly. “Plenty of time to get to know you when you’ve rested and had something to eat.” 

Mina sits you down at a chair that she pulls in from the other room. It doesn't match the other ones in the dining room, but you suppose no one is really thinking of the decor in their house anymore. It's only now that you realize the house has electricity.

"You have power?" you say incredulously, looking at the center light in the dining room on its low setting. 

"Mhm," Mina hums as she sits down next to you and spoons a helping of vegetables onto your plate. "It's got a generator. We got lucky finding this place. I don't think many of us would be alive if we hadn't." 

Those listening in the group nod their affirmation. 

"It draws from well water too," she adds. "With the right care, the place practically runs on its own. Hard work but what isn't nowadays?" 

“Like you do any of the heavy lifting," Sero scoffs across from her.

"That's not fair," Katsuki adds with a slick smirk, "you know damn well none of our vegetables would be so well socialized if she didn't use them like a damn diary all day." 

The group laughs a little and Mina rolls her eyes and sits back in the chair. You avoid looking at anyone, shoveling the food into your mouth. You’re salivating an almost embarrassing amount, struggling to eat at a normal pace. There’s something about food cooked inside, about the way food tastes when you can smell it wafting in from the kitchen. 

"Don't worry," she turns to you, as if you’re at all concerned with the implication that she doesn’t do much work, "they know we’d hardly have vegetables at all if it weren't my job to tend them. I used to garden quite a bit before all of this." 

Sero tosses her a sideways glance and you get the sense that maybe it isn’t just her doing it. 

"Mina does a lot of the garden stuff," Ochako pitches in, her voice hesitant. "We all sort of just do what we can." 

You can’t really keep up with the conversation and instead just blink at her for a moment before turning back to your food. Maybe that’s rude, but you don’t have the energy to consider it. There’s food in front of you. Food that doesn’t taste like it’s been poorly slaughtered or rotting in a cabinet for months. 

The group at the table with you shifts back into what you feel is their normal conversation and you watch them through your peripheral. You can’t relax yet, maybe you never will. Always on watch with your guard up. 

They pass the dishes around the table, plates going from hand to hand over mismatched sets of silverware. The action feels strange to you. Your chest squeezes at the thought. Just a few weeks ago, you’d done this around a fire with the people you loved. You’d passed a too-hot-to-touch pot around a circle of friends, laughing quietly at the little moments of joy you could find. It feels far away now and jealousy rouses beside hope as you sit. 

“So, where did you come from?” Izuku at the end of the table asks. 

It takes you a moment to realize that he’s talking to you and there’s an edge to his voice that has everyone at the table sitting up with curiosity. You stare at him for a moment, exhausted and defeated and unable to muster the words. 

“Leave them be,” Katsuki says, looking up from his plate. “They just got here. They’re probably freaked out.” 

The table goes a little quiet, a hush falling over it. You look around as glances are exchanged before Mina stands up quickly and quietly claps her hands together. 

“I think,” she says with an awkward laugh, “it may be time for bed.” 

Mina turns to you. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.” 

You nod, standing up and turning to the group with furrowed eyebrows. You want to thank them, to tell them that you’re grateful for the meal and their kindness, but the words don’t come. Instead, you meet Katsuki’s gaze, grateful for the intervention, but suspicious at such forthcoming kindness. He scoffs a little and turns away. 

—

“It’s just up here,” Mina says as she guides you through the house.

You pass rooms with their doors ajar. They are lived in, with unmade beds and glasses of clean water on nightstands. It’s like something out of a life gone by, with a few less amenities. You can imagine a family moving through this house. Girls in school uniforms calling through the halls about a stolen hair clip. Now, you picture these people doing that. Living and not just surviving.

“The bathroom is across the hall,” she says. “You can take a shower if you want. I’ll leave a towel and some clothes in there just in case.”  

You nod. 

“No worries if you don’t,” Mina adds in a whisper. “When I first met everyone, I didn’t undress to bathe for days so… take your time. We won’t be offended.” 

She shuts the door behind her when she leaves and you stumble back onto the bed, shocked by just how soft it feels after spending weeks on the floor. It’s not much, but it’s nicer than anything you’ve experienced in the last nine months, and there's a working shower. You haven’t had a shower since everything fell apart and the layer of grime on your skin is so thick that you can feel it. You haven’t felt safe enough to properly wash since you’d lost the rest of your group, only stopping to rinse your body in streams you pass if the thought occurred to you. The idea of running water and a shower is near euphoric. 

You probably shouldn’t. It may not be wise to shower tonight. You still don’t know these people or what they’re capable of, but the temptation of being clean is too great and as soon as you hear Mina close the bathroom door and walk away, you hurry across the hall on the balls of your feet. 

The bathroom looks old and the sink is white porcelain, eggshell now with a lack of care. The shower has a bathtub in it and though it’s cloudy, there’s a mirror over the sink where you catch the first clear glimpse you’ve had of yourself in weeks. 

You don’t know who you’re looking at. The person in the mirror is nearly unrecognizable. Their eyes are wide and frightened, wild like an animal’s, and their face is covered in a layer of grime that looks like it can never be washed out. Their hair is unruly, sticking out in some areas and matted down with blood in others. This is a person you’ve never seen or met before. Someone you would have avoided only a year ago if you’d ever encountered them. 

You reach up to touch your face, running your hand over the dried blood that has made a home on the underside of your jaw. How long has it been there? Have you always looked so unwell? So sick in mind and body? The promise of a shower grows unbearably pleasant. 

The knob squeaks when you turn it, screeching as the pipes hum and clang to life. Water spits out in a few bursts before raining down from the faucet and hitting the back of the tub in a steady thrum. It sounds a little bit like music to you, constant and heavy, and it gives the impression of normalcy as you begin undressing. 

The fabric of your clothes sticks to your skin, peeling from your body in an unbearable and disgusting way. You don’t look at your body in the mirror. In fact, you avoid it entirely. Not recognizing your face was enough, but your body—a part of yourself you never really recognized—would drive you over the edge. 

Then, you pull the shower curtain back and stick your hand under the water, stepping into it fully with a deep sigh. The water is lukewarm. They probably turned off the heater to conserve power and allow the main generator to function for longer. That’s fine. Beggars can’t be choosers and everyone is a beggar nowadays. Besides, it’s warm enough outside that the water isn’t too cold as it is. In the winter, you probably wouldn’t be able to shower and the pipes might freeze entirely until the following spring. 

There’s a normalcy that you settle into as you wash your body. You return to muscle memory, running your hands over your skin and scrubbing the grime out. It’s simultaneously like the first shower of your life and as if you’ve been doing it every day. You return to a state of pleasant, familiar humanity as you wash away dirt that has built up for weeks. You feel as it pours off of you, see it run down your body onto the porcelain of the tub and swirl down the drain. It’s dirt and dried blood that has been caked onto your skin. You worry that even after washing, it will leave a permanent mark. 

The person in the mirror when you get out of the shower is in stark contrast to the person who went into it. They’re someone that you recognize. You could almost convince yourself that nothing ever changed. Your water-soaked skin is so familiar to you, that you could be getting out of the shower and dressing to go to work. If it weren’t for the look in your eyes, you could have fooled yourself. Something undefinable has changed in you, something that you will carry with you forever. You glance at yourself in the foggy mirror and think that there is no going back. 

The house is quiet when you dry yourself and open the bathroom door. You step across the hall on the balls of your feet, careful not to make any noise, and when you push the bedroom door open, you do a visual sweep to make sure that it’s safe out of habit. 

Your body is exhausted. You are so thoroughly tired that you think you could collapse at any moment, but when you sit down on the bed in your fresh clothes, you find yourself restless. This place is new to you and you’re unsure if the safe feeling is your mind playing desperate tricks on you or the real thing. The lamp by your bed is on, casting a yellow glow across the bedsheets and the dark wood furniture. Come to think of it, you didn’t get a good look at the house when you came in and the thought starts to bother you as you stare at the closed door to the hallway. 

Someone could be behind it. They could be waiting for you to lay down, to sleep, before doing something awful. You almost feel guilty for thinking this way about them. They’ve fed you, given you a shower, given you fresh clothes. Luxuries you weren’t sure even existed anymore, yet you’re sitting here doubting them, wishing you had your pistol or knife.

The bedroom door creaks as you open it. You wince, nervous that you’ve disturbed the quiet peace of the house and that everything will come crashing down as quickly as it seemed to come together. The hallway is dark, save for some light coming from under two doors at the end of the hall. One of them turns out as you creep past it to the stairs, and you hear the distinct sound of box springs squeaking as someone crawls into bed. You let go of the breath you’d been holding, straightening up as you relax into the late-night environment. 

The house looks old even from the inside. It gives the impression of having once been dirty and in near disrepair. There are dust stains and dull spots that no amount of scrubbing could get out. You can almost picture how this place may have looked when they found it and it’s entirely possible that it had been abandoned before the actual outbreak. Someone run out of their home for lack of money. What a trivial thing now. 

The stairs are sturdy, probably held together so well by the foundation of the house, and they’re made of dark wood. They’re steep too, the kind that a baby or old person might trip over, and you hold the railing to calm the shaking of your legs as you slowly feel your way down. You can see the light on in the kitchen from around the corner, spreading out onto the floor of the old fashioned drawing room. Dishes clink in the kitchen, like someone is washing them, and you jump a little at the noise as you creep around the corner. 

Kirishima is standing at the sink with his back to you, whispering something to someone beside him. The expanse of his back is broad, moving every time he goes to run his hand over the dish in front of him. Then, he turns to look at you and you see Mina pop her head around the corner. 

“Oh,” Kiri says, “did you need something?” 

You shake your head. “Not really, I just couldn’t sleep.” 

Kiri nods sympathetically as if he knows the feeling. “Well, you look like you feel a little better at least.” 

You pad over to where he’s doing the dishes and Mina offers you a soft smile and a knowing look. It all seems so normal. Doing the dishes, whispering quietly as they do. Something about it screams a kind of humanity you haven’t experienced in a long while, even with your last group. 

“Are you sure we can’t get you something?” Mina says, furrowing her brows. 

“Why are you all being so nice to me?” You ask. “You don’t know the first thing about me.” 

“Is there some reason why we shouldn’t be nice to you?” Kiri says over his shoulder. 

“No,” you shake your head. “I just think it’s reckless, that’s all. I could have been anyone.” 

Kirishima and Mina exchange a look. They glance at each other, like they’re debating on saying something, and then Kiri turns and rests his palms on the back of the sink. He looks at Mina. 

“We don’t usually decide to do this so quickly,” she admits. “We’re friendly, but nobody’s that friendly anymore.” 

Kiri nods his agreement and you listen quietly, trying to determine if they plan to toss you back out into the woods in the morning. 

“But, Katsuki doesn’t usually bring people in,” she continues. 

“He’s a little more closed off than the rest of us,” Kirishima adds. “He’s a good guy, just takes a while to warm up, is all.” 

“Mhm,” Mina says. 

“What does that have to do with me?” you ask. “This is nice and all, but I’m sure you get why I’m wary.” 

“He’s a good judge of character,” Kiri adds earnestly. “He doesn’t bring people in often, but when he does, he’s usually right.” 

You nod, not quite understanding. Sure, you don’t plan to do anything terrible. In fact, you’re content to accept their kindness and stay, if they’d let you. Anything is better than being alone, but their blind trust in one man’s judgment of character makes you uneasy. 

“He was alone for a really long time,” Mina adds. “A lot of us were. I got lucky meeting Kirishima early on, but Katsuki’s luck was a little less fortuitous.” 

“So you all just… happened upon each other by chance?” You ask. 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Mina says. “It was me and Kiri for a long time. Just the two of us. We’d found Izuku and Katsuki together a while later, but they didn’t seem to like each other all that much. We still haven’t really figured that out, especially because they’re so close now. Ochako and Sero ended up cornered together by accident. We found them just before we found this place, and Denki just sort of showed up here one day and promised to fix the generator in exchange for safety. That was months ago. We’ve been like this since.”

“So you’re all strays,” you say and Mina laughs a little and looks at Kiri. 

“Sure,” she says. “We’re all strays. There were others too. Shoji. Jirou. She was Denki’s girlfriend.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say with a frown. It feels pointless to apologize for the dead, if you get caught up in it, you’d be apologizing forever. 

“Don’t be,” Kiri adds. “But best not to bring her up. It was pretty recent and Denki’s only just started to get over it.” 

You swallow thick and nod a little. 

“Anyway,” Mina says, “we can’t really explain it. We just trust him. We trust Katsuki. That’s all.” 

“Hm,” you hum, understanding that to a degree. 

You trusted the people in your group. If they believed in someone, you were willing to as well, so you suppose you can understand a little where they’re coming from. 

“What are you talking about,” Katsuki rounds the corner, walking into the kitchen and putting his water bottle under the sink. 

“Nothing really,” Mina says. 

Katsuki furrows his eyebrows and then looks at you. He gives you a once over, taking in your new clothing before scoffing lightly. 

“Don’t you look cozy,” he says. “You get settled?” 

“When can I go get my stuff?” You ask. 

“Someone’s eager,” he says through lightly gritted teeth. “Didn’t I tell ya we could go in the morning? Besides, what’s there really to miss in that lot of junk?” 

“Katsuki!” Mina quietly chides. 

“I have things I care about there,” you say. “Things I’m not ready to lose.” 

Katsuki blinks at you for a second before swearing under his breath. “We’ll leave when you get up in the morning.” 

“You don’t have to come with me,” you say, frowning a bit at his sour attitude. 

“Like hell,” he scoffs. “What if the dead are waiting back there for you?” 

“I made it this far on my own,” you respond. 

Katsuki nods for a second. “I’m going. Come find me in the morning.” 

He walks off and around the corner. You hear him go up the stairs, followed by the distinct click of a bedroom door shutting. 

“Don’t pay too much attention to that,” Mina says. “It’s past his bedtime.” 

“You’ll get used to him,” Kiri adds. 

“Right,” you say, swallowing down your frustration in favor of trying to be appreciative of the help. You sway on your feet a little and then steady yourself. “I’m going to go to sleep. Thank you for the meal and the bed.” 

Mina and Kiri nod, but you don’t stick around to hear a response. Fatigue creeps up on you. It ambushes your senses and you go from feeling dream-like to delusional in a matter of moments. You make your way up the stairs, your body feeling heavy as lead, and wobble your way into the bedroom they’re letting you stay in. 

When your head hits the pillow, you’re out. The world around you fades to dark and just before you sleep, you swear that you can hear the sounds of cars passing on the highway. A busy night, Saturday maybe, and people go about their daily lives outside of the window the way that they always have. They live, never the wiser to just how quickly things fall apart and how little it takes for our humanity to leave us. 

— 

Mornings in this place are boisterous. The sun coming through the lone window in your room wakes you up and you can hear the calls of busy people getting to work outside. There are voices from the porch out front that your window looks over and though you can’t see them, you get the sense that they’re having a pleasant conversation. 

As you rouse, you come to the realization of just how exhausted you’d really been. They probably saved your life by bringing you to this place, feeding you, and offering you a bed. In hindsight, it’s easy to see just how little you had left in you. You get the sense now that you’d been running on an empty tank for days, slowly coming to an inglorious, gruesome, sputtering stop. 

Things seem a little clearer, like the sunlight is somehow less bleak than it had been the days previous and you feel a little bit like you have a new lease on life. There are no big emotions, no swells of hope or humanity just yet, and you dread the moment you are rested enough to let grief consume you. Right now, you can’t feel it, but there is a fear in you that as you get to know these people who live relatively beautifully in an ugly world, it will weigh you down so much that you’ll never be able to outrun it. 

You wonder if they’ll let you stay. They very well may not, even with the way they were talking last night. Strangers are more dangerous than they’ve ever been and if they ask you whether or not you’ve killed someone, you refuse to lie to them. Sitting up on the bed, you mull over the very real possibility that you could be back out there on your own again in a matter of days and you don’t even have that many good acts under your belt to plead your case. You’re just a person and you’ve done what you needed to in order to survive. Now, you’re not sure if that’s enough. 

You swallow thick, wandering over to the mirror on the dresser. It’s fogged, though less than the bathroom mirror, and you can make out your features a little better than you could last night. You feel a bit more sane, though you still don’t recognize the frightful and distrustful look in your eyes. Like a wounded animal. Inside your head, you acknowledge that you are completely different from the person you were two hundred and seventy seven days ago. 

The voices grow louder as you climb down the stairs, more secure on your feet than you felt last night. You can hear them talking about the generator, as well as a name you don’t recognize. 

“He should be back by now,” a woman says. “Shoto’s never gone longer than a day or two, max.” 

“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” another woman says with a worried bite in her voice. Mina, maybe? “We’re only a few hours into the day. He probably got holed up somewhere.” 

“Someone needs to go look for him,” a man says.

“And what? Risk getting yourself killed?” the first woman says. “No, it doesn’t make sense. We need you here.” 

“You’d rather we leave him to die on his own?” 

“No one’s fuckin’ dying.” 

You recognize Katsuki’s voice. 

“He’s perfectly capable of going on a gasoline run,” he continues. “He’s done it before.” 

“I should have gone with him,” says the same woman. 

“On that leg? You wouldn’t have made it halfway to town, let alone there and back,” his voice raises a little. “Don’t be stupid. He’ll be back.” 

You clear your throat and step around the corner. The group turns to face you quickly at the sound, their eyes wide for a moment before relaxing. You can’t sneak up on anyone nowadays. 

“Sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Is everything okay?” 

It’s not your business, but you ask anyway, wondering for yourself about the safety of Shoto. 

“Fine,” Izuku says, shaking his head. You recognize him to be the one who'd vouched for going after their friend. Katsuki takes a step away from the broad man as he says this. “Nothing for you to worry about. Did you rest?” 

Izuku smiles gently at you, his chest inflating a little at the question. The movement broadens his shoulders and you realize that he stands almost a head taller than Katsuki. You look briefly between the two of them before nodding. 

“I did,” you say. “Thank you.�� 

“Nothing wrong with a little hospitality now and then,” he smiles and you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows at the distinct hesitance in his voice. 

“I don’t think we’ve met,” the woman standing across from Izuku says. “I’m Momo. Sorry I wasn’t there to meet you last night. I’ve been a little under the weather.” 

You introduce yourself to her and glance down at her leg. Her ankle is swollen and wrapped in a bandage. Her sneaker laces are untied at the top to make room for the swelling and you can see that she’s guarding that side of her leg. 

“Is it…?” you grimace, taking an instinctive step away from her. You almost feel bad for it, but sometimes good people make bad decisions when loved ones get bit. 

“No,” she says quickly, “no, it isn’t. Caught an edge in an old chain link fence on the property a couple days back.” 

Momo smiles slightly at you as if to reassure you. She’s really beautiful, with thick dark hair pulled back into a somewhat messy ponytail. Her eyes are bright, like she’s engaged in lively conversation, and you find yourself feeling a little sad for her. She’ll need medicine soon, if they can get it. Infections set in easily these days and you get the sense that even she knows that she may not have long without it. Maybe that’s something else their friend Shoto set out to find. 

“I assume you’ll be wanting to go get your supplies?” Katsuki says, cutting the conversation short. Maybe he could sense the sour turn of thoughts. 

“Ready when you are,” you respond with a nod. 

Katsuki glances at Izuku, who gives him a slightly disapproving look. 

“Someone get them something to eat,” Katsuki says. “...I’ll get my shit ready.” 

“Fig jam…” Mina mumbles as she motions for you to follow her to the kitchen. 

You oblige her, not exactly jumping to turn down a meal. She walks you into the kitchen and opens up a cabinet, where she pulls out a jar filled with a dark and seed filled paste. It’s a jam, sealed in a jar that looks older than what’s inside of it. The seal breaks open with a pleasant pop. 

“This stuff is so good,” she says to you over her shoulder, pulling out a package of crackers that have likely gone stale. “You won’t believe it.” 

She spreads the jam on a few crackers and sets it in front of you on a plate, pushing it across the counter towards you. 

“It’s fig jam,” she says with a smile. “Homemade.” 

You look down at the plate, your mouth watering at the prospect of something sweet like this. It’s been so long since you've had fresh jam. It could be as long as 10 years. You don’t think you’ve had it since you were a kid, when jam came easily and you preferred the processed brands at the supermarket to the ones your mom used to make sometimes. 

You raise the cracker to your mouth and stuff it in with little grace. The sweetness spreads across your tongue as soon as you bite into the stale cracker. It fizzes and pops almost, the sugar melting across your tongue as the seeds crack softly between your teeth. The smile that hits your face is completely involuntary and though you know that nine months ago, this jam wouldn’t have been much, today it is something extraordinary. 

Mina nods a kind of girlish agreement, like the way people used to when they had their friend try something at their favorite restaurant. 

“We got here in the fall. I want to say late October or early November?” she offers. “We were starving and there wasn’t enough food to feed all of us. By that time there were like… nine of us.” 

You listen as you eat your crackers. 

“This place was in such an awful state,” she laughs. “I mean, really terrible. But, it was big and there was a fig tree in the back. A little thing, probably only a few years old and it had fruit on it. We ate so many of them that if the world were normal, we’d have sworn off of them forever. When we realized that the house actually had some old food in it,” she interrupts herself “-nothing good, canned stuff mostly- we decided to jar up the rest of the figs so that they didn’t rot.” 

She smiles at you like it’s a pleasant memory, but you can only think about how hungry they must have been. Your stomach growls as you eat. 

“I know it doesn’t sound like much,” she says, “but for some reason it’s a really nice memory. Honestly, we’re lucky we didn’t die.” 

Mina laughs a little. 

“I mean,” she continues, “we didn’t even clear the area before we started pulling at the figs and throwing them into our mouths.” 

You tilt your head at her and furrow your eyebrows with a small smile. 

“You’re really forthcoming with information.” 

“You just seem a little hesitant, is all,” she answers. 

“Can you blame me?” 

Mina shrugs her shoulders but doesn’t really offer an answer. You assume it’s because she can’t, because Mina has the same doubts everyone carries with them in this world. All of the what ifs people would think about before they slept have become more prevalent than anyone would have ever liked. 

“The jam is good,” you say, trying to be friendly in the same way she is. “Even if it is months old.” 

“Things keep well in jars,” Mina defends softly, smiling a little as she gets another out of you. 

This place feels like a little slice of paradise. A blessing from whoever lived here before and kept a garden stocked with vegetables. From someone who lived in an old house with stables and well-water, who kept canned food past its expiration date. It feels almost too good to be true, like these people live in a bubble bound to pop. 

“You ready?” Katsuki thuds into the kitchen with an empty backpack slung over his shoulder. 

You turn, startled by his sudden appearance and nod as you quickly finish chewing the last cracker. Katsuki furrows his eyebrows as he watches the way you scarf it down. 

When you stand from the table, Katsuki turns on his heel to make for the front door and you follow with a light step. Mina says something about staying safe, but you don’t respond, glancing once over your shoulder at the girl. 

It’s strange, the world has made you wishy-washy and uncommitted. You never used to be like that, never so distrusting as to second guess someone’s kindness the moment your back is turned to them, and you’re certainly not the type to be friendly one moment and closed off the next. Now though, you find that doubt creeps in easily through cracks and any foundation that didn’t exist before, seems to be swallowed before you can finish building it. 

Katsuki leads you back across the small clearing you’d come through the night before. It looks different in the day, almost romantic, and it lacks any of the ominous feeling it had the previous evening. He steps over mounds in the dirt from moles and gophers that have made lawns their new home and you try to mimic his steps, sinking occasionally into a particularly soft patch of dirt. Every now and then, Katsuki glances behind him to check that you’re still there and you offer him a forced smile that he never returns.

You catch up to him when you hit the trees, sticking close at his side like something will come and take you away if you’re not. It’s unintentional, but you don’t have a weapon on you. Your knife is back at your makeshift camp, along with the unloaded pistol and your trusty spatula. 

“How do you know where we’re going?” You ask in a whisper. 

Katsuki tosses a look at you over his shoulder. “I’m good with directions.” 

His tone is clipped, like he’s pissed about something, and your expression sours at it. Sure, you get it but it irritates you to some small degree. You hadn’t asked him to come along. In fact, you’d have been fine getting back here to collect your stuff on your own. You’d have asked for a knife and set out without a second thought, if only because being alone in the woods with some guy was less preferable than doing it by yourself. Of course, some guy also probably saved your life, but you’re not quite ready to relinquish your trust completely. 

“Thanks for coming,” you decide. A peace offering. 

Katsuki doesn’t answer and you furrow your brows a little bit. You wonder if he’s always been like this or if the end of the world brought on the loss of his manners. 

Then, he stops, taking you by the arm and pulling you down beside a bush. You gasp and he puts his hand over your mouth to silence you. There’s the urge to bite him, to catch the fleshy bit connecting his thumb and pointer finger between your teeth and bite down till he bleeds, but you stop when you catch what he’s looking at. 

Two of the living dead crouch by a tree, clicking their tongues as they eat something just out of sight. You furrow your eyebrows, eyes widening at the horror of it. For some reason, seeing them always brings about a round of momentary shock. You’ve yet to let go of the hounding thought that they used to be people and sometimes have to reorient yourself to the world you’re in now. 

You catch Katsuki’s eye behind you, his calloused hand still clasped over your mouth, and nod your head. It’s a silent communication that you’ve seen what he has and he removes his palm from your face to grab a knife tucked into his belt, passing it to you quickly. 

The two infected haven’t noticed the two of you yet, but they will soon, if only by the smell of your flesh which has yet to rot. You hear Katsuki let out a breath, as if to calm his heart, and do the same. There’s time to look at them like this and you’re struck by how human you can pretend they are in your head. Well, you suppose they were human once, now they’re a disease using someone’s skin as a mask. 

Infected people aren’t quick, that’s one thing to be grateful for. Back when the outbreak first started, the CDC had released information on what to look out for in those who might have contracted the virus. The first was obviously a bite wound from another infected person, but you can tell from other symptoms. Early symptoms are average. Body aches, fever, lethargy, and delirium. All things you might see with a nasty flu. Then, infection of the wound site, twitching, foggy eyes—like low-grade cataracts—that develop within a matter of hours or days, severe disorientation, aversion to food, insomnia, with the final symptom being a coma that no one ever wakes up as themselves from. 

These are the symptoms that people are conscious for. The ones they feel. The sickness that people tried to nurse others back from. There is no coming back though, not alive at the very least. The virus attacks the nerves throughout the brain and body, that’s what causes the twitching and convulsions. It’s what ultimately kills us, and it's what they think causes the bodies to come back. 

Most infected will crack when they move. It’s the cartilage breaking down as the bones grind together and crack as they’re weakened from the marrow out. They twitch like rabid animals, unable to keep masterful control of their bodies because they are run like puppets from the brain stem. You don’t know if they think. If somehow the people they used to be are still in there, unable to stop themselves from consuming and spreading the virus to others. All you really know is that they twitch and click, functions of the brain that still remain. Tiny impulses sent through the synapses. You imagine it to be like the way you twitch when you sleep, an arm here or a leg there, the way someone might call out with their voice to a room with no one in it. 

Maybe the infected think they’re dreaming. A nightmare that they never wake up from, like those of us who have to put them down. You could see it as a mercy from that perspective. You have an easier time rationalizing putting a knife in someone’s skull if you convince yourself that they’re silently begging for it. 

Katsuki shifts his weight and looks at you. He mouths the words no guns and you nod, briefly wondering where the fuck he thinks you could have gotten a gun from. 

Then, you kick off and run with Katsuki towards the infected. They don’t really have time to begin moving towards you both. You’re faster than them, but you hear the crack of their legs as they stand from their crouched positions, pulled in at the idea of their next meal.

Katsuki takes the farther one, sinking the knife into the soft spot of its temple with relative ease. You switch yourself off and take the one closest only a few moments later, sending your blade through the top of its skull. That happens to you when you have to do this. You turn yourself off for a bit, just so that you don’t have to remember the way it feels to hit the soft part of someone’s brain. You didn’t used to do that, only starting when you realized that there’s no going through this world anymore without it. 

Katsuki wipes the blood on his pants. It’s brown, no longer oxygenated, and the area around you begins to reek. You notice, but for some reason the smell of decomposition doesn’t register in your brain and you continue on behind him. 

There are a few beats of silence, save for twigs breaking under your feet, before Katsuki speaks up. 

“You okay?” It’s barely above a whisper and you wouldn’t have caught it were you not listening for the distinctive crack of human bones. 

“Yeah,” you say, continuing forward. 

The campsite rounds into view and in this light, with your full night’s sleep under your belt, you can see just how pitiful it looks. A tent that you’d hastily put up before nightfall, the remains of your stamped out fire, the folding chair which has since been knocked over, and your weapons on the floor covered by a few leaves disturbed by the wind. 

You snatch them up and move to grab your backpack out of the tent. The inside is shitty too and your torn sleeping bag hadn’t even been rolled out yet. You pick up the bag, returning to the folding chair as Katsuki begins to take down the tent. The polyester and nylon blend zips together as he makes quick work of folding it. Then, he kicks some dry brush over the remains of the fire, like he’s covering your tracks. 

“The next person that comes through here might not be alone,” he says plainly. “And they may have more bullets than you did.” 

“Right,” you respond. Your voice sounds a little far off and you settle your backpack on your shoulder in one quick motion. 

“Got everything?” 

You nod, following him as he heads out in the direction you both came from. The two of you pass the bodies of the infected you’d killed. The smell has permeated the air, lingering like how it does in cities, only less pungent. Their fogged eyes stare blankly at nothing, expressions plain and unreadable. You pass and try not to think much about it. 

Katsuki is a few feet ahead of you and he doesn’t glance back to make sure you’re following. You could leave now and never get attached to these people. You could head off in another direction and never have to think twice about it. No more worrying about who you could lose, about who’s next to become one of the sick masses. Just you by yourself. Then, when you finally kick the can, someone else can put you down the way you did to those strangers. 

Is there really a point to it anymore? To community or living in general. No one is as they once were. Does that make it fantasy to live in their beautiful bubble? Could you even find it in yourself to pretend again, to make nice and play house in that place? They saved your life, sure. They fed you, clothed you, bathed you, but for what point? Tomorrow, you could end up back in the woods, lighting fires with twigs you found in the brush, paranoid that someone would find you or the fire would spread. 

You watch Katsuki’s back as he moves, shoulders shifting with each step. His shirt is stained, white turned eggshell from the wear and tear of time. It seems so off to you that he looks relatively clean, like he lives well. 

Fear strikes you as you realize that your rambling thoughts have merit. Anything you fear now has become real and loss is so tangible to you that you can squeeze it in your hand. They could turn you out. Tomorrow night you could begin the starve and step all over again, moving from place to place, talking to yourself, filling your hours with paranoid thoughts like these that plague you when you’re alone. Is that worse than loss? If you’re alone long enough, you’d probably forget what you’re missing. Losing anyone else could make the wound fresh. For now, the hunger wins out. 

Katsuki jogs ahead of you to get to the house. Momo is on the porch waving him in and he hurries up the steps and bursts through the front door. As you approach, you can hear voices, some of which are relieved, others hurried. When you enter the room, you find a man standing there whom you’ve never seen before, Shoto maybe. 

“A plus one,” the man looks up, tilting his head at you in an odd way. 

“Katsuki’s,” Kiri says with a low smirk. 

Shoto’s eyes widen as he peers at his friend, clutching what looks like an injured shoulder. Katsuki just huffs his irritation. 

“Well, that’s rare,” Shoto says. 

“What’s rare?” Katsuki spits. “They were in the woods with a fire. What was I supposed to do? Let ‘em die?” 

“Maybe,” Shoto says, a light smile creeping onto his features. Then, he turns to you. “What’s your name?” 

You give it to him and he nods his head, tilting it at you again. 

“How long are you staying?”

You’re not sure how to answer that question. In fact, no one is, and it feels like more of a test than it does a genuine inquiry. Kiri and Mina exchange a glance and Katsuki tosses a somewhat dirty look towards Shoto. Ochako gives Shoto a knowing glance and Sero and Denki shift uncomfortably on their feet. Then, Momo clears her throat, spurring Izuku to say something. 

“Shoto,” he says. “You’re probably hungry, you should eat something and lay down. Ochako? Could you take a look at his shoulder?” 

“Sure,” the girl says softly, giving a closed mouth smile to Shoto as she takes him by the arm. 

She glances at you as she passes, almost like she’s too embarrassed to look at you fully in the face. You suppose this is what happens when people are forced to think about whether or not they will potentially leave someone else to die. It’s like the trolley cart question and though in this case there is always the possibility of a better outcome, it’s not likely in this world. 

“Just until I’m rested,” you add with a small tilt of your head. “A few days.” 

Shoto looks at you over his shoulder and gives you a small smile. It’s funny, you can see kindness there. His actions aren’t kind, but you can feel that he has kindness in him, though his rudeness stems from something different than Katsuki’s, you think. Like he’s strange in some way. 

“I’ll start on dinner,” Sero says. “Kiri, give me a hand.” 

The group disperses and you head upstairs without speaking to anyone else. A few days to rest and then cut the first people you’ve spoken to in weeks loose. What sort of idiot gives up something like this to avoid a little awkwardness? Not that you necessarily had your mind made up. You wonder briefly if you’ve just sealed your own tomb. 

—

After dinner, you go upstairs to sleep after eating as much as they would offer you. Your stomach has ceased its constant growling and the shakiness that comes with hunger has receded almost entirely into the background. The bed is soft, with a slight dent in it from whoever slept in here before. The thought unsettles you that they’re probably dead now, but you try to push it from your mind as you steel yourself for what comes within the next few days. 

You had volunteered yourself to leave. To what? Save yourself the embarrassment of pleading? Did you even want to plead? Why are you regretting not asking to stay? These people don’t know you, what trust can you have built with them in only a few days? Your skin crawls at the expanse of possibilities in front of you after so many weeks without any. 

You think that if you let yourself walk away, you’ll probably die. You’re out of bullets and don’t know where to find any food except by luck. You can try to catch prey, but prey hides whenever infected are around, and they’re everywhere nowadays. It’s spring, water wouldn’t be a problem, but running water has its clear comforts. Then, there’s the possibility of loss. You’d come to care for these people if you stayed, you know it. 

You furrow your eyebrows and look at the ceiling. There’s really no choice to be made. You’ll let them make it for you, even if you don’t know them. It’s their house and you won’t walk in uninvited or try to take it. You’re not about to become a monster just because the world is full of them now.

The darkness grows and your eyes drift to the dim light wandering in under the crack of the door. Hushed voices whisper in the living room, you can hear them. It’s a heated discussion, lively, but deliberately quiet. It’s been hours since everyone went to bed, yet you get the impression that many people are chiming in. You’re too nosey to leave it be. 

You open the bedroom door silently, turning the cool knob with a wince as it clicks out of place. When you peer into the hallway, every upstairs bedroom door is open with the room empty. The light is coming from down stairs and around the corner, and you can see shadows move as you inch closer to the source. 

You pause at the top of the stairs, knowing that they creak, and crouch by the bannister to listen. You’re out of sight. The only way they’d know you’re listening is if you made a sound, but you won’t. You’re good at being quiet. 

“We don’t even know them,” someone says in a rushed whisper. “We don’t know what they’ve done before.” 

“Everyone’s done things they’re not proud of now, Shoto,” a woman adds. It’s Mina. She’s spoken enough to you that you recognize her voice. 

“I agree with Shoto,” says another woman, her voice higher pitched. She sounds guilty and her voice is tight as she speaks “We have no clue who they are. They could be dangerous.” 

“You mean like me, Ochako?” A man adds. “I could have been dangerous.” 

The group grows quiet for a moment. 

“No,” Momo says. You recognize the cadence of her voice. “Shoto might be right, Denki. It’s been nearly six months since you got here and the world has changed a lot. We don’t- we can’t know for sure.”

“Can we really know anything for sure?” Another man adds, Kiri.

“What about you guys?” Shoto says, presumably to the rest of the group. 

“I don’t know.”

“I’m hesitant, but I don’t know either.”  

“Jesus,” another man with a baritone voice, harsher than the rest. That’s Katsuki, the first voice you’d heard of the group. “You guys make me a little sick.” 

“That’s not fair,” Ochako says. 

“No,” he interrupts. “It is fair. You guys want to… what? Send them back out there to die?” 

“It’s not like that,” Shoto says.  

“It is like that,” he says, raising his voice and then lowering it back to a whisper. “You didn’t see them when they got here, Shoto. They- they didn’t look… shit. The rest of you, you saw them. You really want to send them back out there to fuckin’ waste away? I don’t know about you all, but I won’t do that to a person.” 

There’s a pregnant pause.

“Katsuki’s right,” Izuku says with a bit of conviction, like he’s finally made up his mind. “Sending someone out there alone is a death sentence. How does doing that make us any better than the people we’re trying to protect ourselves from?” 

“What if there are more of them?” Ochako says quietly. “What if they’re not alone?” 

“Trust me,” Katsuki says, “They were alone.” 

“But what if they’re not?” She insists at a whisper, a bit of shame creeping into her voice. “What if people come for us?” 

“See?” Shoto says gently. “There are so many what-ifs.” 

“That works the other way too,” Mina adds. 

You don’t listen to hear the rest of their conversation. They’re going to run themselves in circles debating about you. They’ll go around and around and land on whichever argument ends with the most votes. They’ll convince each other of one thing and it will happen totally out of your control. 

The bedroom door shuts with a low click that makes you wince again. You think about the people who went to bat for you and the people who didn’t. You don’t blame those who opposed. You’d have probably reacted similarly if your old group were still alive and you understand very clearly why they do it. One person’s stupid reaction can be catastrophic and they don’t know enough about you to be certain that you’re not one of those stupid people. It’s how the world went to shit in the first place and though nine months ago you’d have surely condemned someone for making the same decision, you know that fear has warped humanity beyond comprehension. You didn’t get it until you lived it. 

Still, Katsuki’s humanity feels intact somehow, more so than yours at least. His response is something you probably never would have said under the same conditions and you can’t help but feel some sort of fondness bloom in you for him. Call it connection, gratefulness for his willingness to stick his neck out for you, a trauma response. You still feel it. Mina and Kiri had said that Katsuki was a good judge of character and that’s why they were willing to back him. You wonder briefly if maybe Katsuki sees something in you that you don’t recognize in yourself anymore, or maybe something you don’t expect other people to recognize. What is it that he wants so badly to protect? 

Someone stomps down the hallway, heavy boots against the old creaky floors. You hear the steps recede down the hallway, maybe a door or two down, before it shuts quickly. The sound makes you wince and you listen as the house grows quiet and then hums quietly with the sound of others coming upstairs a few moments later. Someone pads to the end of the hall, pushing the door open. 

You hear a woman’s voice, so muffled that you can’t make out what she’s saying. Then, you hear the sound of a man’s affirmation before the bedroom door shuts and the visitor moves back down the hall to a separate bedroom. Information passing through the house. 

Someone is moving around in a room below you and you figure that there are probably bedrooms downstairs as well. From the outside, you’d never guess that the place could house ten people. Inside though, the bedrooms are small. That’s probably why so many can fit. You’d guess that the place used to have multiple generations living in it, or maybe even rented out rooms to people for a few months. It sort of has a boarding house feel to it, like many people have come and gone even before people stopped staying in one place. 

That’s a good thing to call it, the boarding house. It certainly has that sort of feel to it, many of its spaces undeniably communal. 

You turn over in the bed, facing the bedroom door. The lights have gone out completely now and the house is quiet save for the occasional creak or thud from someone preparing to sleep. It’s been a long while since the sounds of living have been so prevalent near you. You’re eased by the sounds of the house settling, a familiar reminder of what living used to be. Your group had been on the road long before you lost them and the comforts of an interior are almost overwhelmingly nostalgic. You’re better rested to notice it now and shutting your eyes, you savor the feeling. 

—

“Need some help?” You say. 

Denki turns around, grease smeared across his nose where he likely wiped it with his dirty hands. He’s holding a wrench in a glove so tattered that it hardly counts as a glove anymore. He looks startled, amber eyes widening before he uses his forearm to brush stray hairs out of his face. The rest of it is pulled up into a messy ponytail, revealing the moist back of his neck. 

“Oh, sure,” he says, a bit surprised. “Do you know how generators work?” 

He crouches back over the machine and you step up behind him. 

The machine is rusted near the bottom and between the exposed winding pipes. Its paint has chipped away, leaving the weather-damaged metal open for you to see. On the side, a fan-like piece spins slowly in circles and the machine whirs and sputters softly as it… generates power, probably. 

“Not quite, but an extra pair of hands is always helpful,” you say softly, passing him a tool he’d been reaching for. “Did it break?” 

“No,” Denki says, “but it’s probably on its last legs. The thing’s almost as old as we are, probably older, so it’s good to tune it up a bunch.” 

You hum your agreement, tilting your head as you stand and watch him work. 

You’re not necessarily comfortable with Denki, but he feels like a safe person for some reason. Maybe it’s because he’s got a sort of ditzy, non-threatening vibe to him. You can almost distinctly picture him tripping over his own feet and something about that makes you feel considerably safer than someone who wouldn’t. That and he was the first person you’ve come across this morning who you don’t think distrusts you too badly. 

“Are you dodging something?” Denki smirks up at you from his crouch. 

“Who on earth would I be dodging?” you snort a bit defensively. 

“Shoto,” he says with a light smile. “He put you in a tight spot the other day.” 

“Yeah, well,” you say, glancing over your shoulder. “It wasn’t anything he didn’t have a right to ask.” 

“Right, but it sure was rude, huh?” 

Denki laughs to himself a little and you’re surprised by how easygoing he is. You subconsciously begin to categorize him with Mina and Kiri. The dichotomy of this group baffles you a bit, but you can certainly see all nine of them as a collective. Tightly knit and well acquainted with the habits of others. 

“Oh!” He exclaims, “I have something you can do for me.” 

You tilt your head. 

“There’s a bucket over there,” he says, pointing absentmindedly to a shitty plastic bucket against the side of the house. “We use the water from the creek as coolant. It’s not factory grade, but it does the trick. You wanna go fill it up and bring it back for when I’m done tuning this thing up?” 

You furrow your eyebrows, not sure where the creek he’s talking about is. 

“The creek is just over there,” he points behind the house to the edge of the treeline. “I know you can’t see it from here, but if you walk in a straight line, you’ll hit it. Katsuki should be down there too, so you can use him as a landmark.” 

When you don’t immediately answer, Denki whines a little. 

“I mean,” he says, “I’d go myself, but-” 

“I’ll do it,” you laugh a little and Denki seems surprised that you do. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I’d like to pull some weight at least while I’m here. Plus, I offered.” 

Denki mumbles his pleasure and you walk to the bucket without another word and set off in the direction Denki pointed. You’re much more willing to go out to the treeline now that you have a knife back at your side. 

The walk to the trees is longer than it looks, like how sometimes the horizon looks like something you could reach out and climb up onto. The walk stretches with each step you take and you become a little more understanding of why Denki didn’t want to do it himself. But the walk is actually pleasant, the warmth of mid May collecting evenly on your skin as the humidity grows more intense with the sun. 

You wonder what Katsuki would be doing by the creek. Maybe he’s fishing, or crouched over himself sharpening an arsenal of knives that you think he might keep in a roll attached to his belt sometimes. You’re not sure why, but Katsuki sort of has that expression to him. He’s handsome, but the scowl projects something hostile that makes him seem unapproachable. 

As you cross through the middle of the clearing, you could almost imagine that this is a normal day. Humidity collects on your skin, making you sweat a little as you dodge gopher holes and soft spots of dirt. It almost feels like summer camp, if it weren’t for the looming idea that you’re contributing to something you may not be a part of. Denki’s attitude though, has you hoping for a more favorable outcome, if you want to call it that. 

You’re only a few steps into the line of trees when the earth dips into a sand-lined ravine. The trees leave room for the sun to beat down on warmed rocks, making the area seem brighter with their subtle reflection of the light. The noise of the creek drowns out the sound of your footsteps and you shuffle toward where the earth flattens just before the water starts. A little ways to your right, you can see Katsuki sitting on a rock in the sun, his hands dipped into a large bucket. You narrow your eyes as he pulls what looks like a cloth out of the water, rubbing the fabric together before dipping it in the cool water of the creek.

As you approach, you realize what it is that he’s doing. It’s laundry. On the other side of him, you can see a bin of what look like dirty clothes and water-soaked clean ones. Talk about misjudged character. 

“Katsuki,” you say as you approach him, the bucket still empty in your hand.

He squints up at you, shifting his face so that it's in your shadow. 

“You’re still here,” he says plainly, returning to his task. 

“Clearly,” you respond, watching as he runs his fingers over the next piece of clothing in the bucket. 

“Why are you down here? Did Denki pawn the generator water onto you?” He says, like he’s somewhat frustrated. “He does that shit to anyone he can.” 

You shrug your shoulders and continue to stare at him. 

“Are you just gonna stand there?” He huffs out. 

“You’re doing laundry.” 

“Yeah?” he furrows his eyebrows and looks at you. “So?” 

“Nothing,” you say. “I just didn’t expect that.” 

“Yeah well,” he stops for a moment like he’s struggling to find the words. “It needed to be done. Figured I might as well.” 

“How progressive of you,” you joke with a straight face. 

He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes and sighs, not justifying your comment with a response. You find yourself smiling a little bit. 

“If you’re going to linger, sit down and do it,” he says. “You’re creeping me out.” 

You oblige him and sit down on a rock next to him, far enough that you’re not touching, but near enough to hear him if you speak in a low voice. For some reason, you feel a sort of kinship with Katsuki. You’d thought longer than you’d like to admit about his willingness to vouch for you and find that you want to live up to his expectation of your goodness, even if it’s not what you believe yourself to be anymore. Maybe it’s because you’ve slept well the past few nights and feel more like yourself, but there’s a certain casualness to conversing with him that you enjoy. He’s not looking at what you could be, but rather what you’re showing him that you are. His lack of doubt in that is something you find relatively attractive. 

You watch his arms out of the corner of your eye in between gazing at the treeline and the sky. Your field of vision catches on them, his sleeves cut short to expose his biceps, a bit muddied near the elbows where the mud has begun to stick. 

Katsuki doesn’t seem all that bothered by your presence, but now and then you’ll catch the sideways glance he gives you, almost like he’s trying to figure out exactly why you’re lingering. 

“How long have you been with them?” You ask, more as a way to fill the silence. 

Katsuki’s hands pause as he thinks about answering, then, they continue their steady pace. 

“A decent amount of time,” he says. “I met Izuku first, probably in November just before Mina and Kiri. The rest came later.” 

You furrow your eyebrows. 

“No offense,” you start, “but you don’t really seem like the group type.” 

“And you don’t seem like the type who’d be alone,” he retorts, like your statement was stupid. 

You press your lips into a tight line, not really knowing how to respond. 

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head a little. 

“Were you?” 

“What? Was I sorry?” He furrows his eyebrows at you. 

“No,” you shake your head. “Were you alone? Before Izuku.” 

He goes silent. You’ll take that as a yes, but you regret asking a little. It had just slipped out. If someone were to ask you something like that, you’d probably react the same way. That’s just as well, you don’t really need to know him like that anyway. 

You wonder briefly if anyone does. He seems closed off, but Mina and Kiri spoke about him a few days prior like they knew him well. Well enough at least to allude to a history you’ll likely never be privy to. Then there’s Momo, who whispers little things to him that he answers in kind. Curiosity gets the better of you, if only to tease. 

“Do you have a girlfriend?” you ask and Katsuki’s response is to rest his elbows on his knees and let out a dry laugh. 

He turns his head and looks at you from the side. “And what the fuck are you asking me that for?” 

“Just curious,” you say. “Is it Momo?” 

“Momo?” He makes a sour face at you. “Yeah, right.” 

“She’s pretty,” you say. 

“Sure is,” he responds dryly. “If you’re into the mom type.” 

“What? You’re not into moms?” You grin a little and Katsuki furrows his eyebrows at you. 

“So you do have a personality,” he scoffs a little. 

There’s a pause. You haven’t felt this in a while. The feeling of bonding with someone new, compatibility on the human level that feels nearly instant. 

“I’m kinda serious though,” you say, tilting your head down to catch his eye. “Do you?” 

You’re leaning a little closer to him now.

“You seen any nice restaurants to take a person out to these days?” he questions, clearly a little frustrated with you in the way someone gets when they’re a bit amused. 

“You don’t have to take someone out to a restaurant to fuck them, you know?” You laugh a little. 

Katsuki’s lips part and he swallows like his mouth has gone dry. 

“Yeah, well,” he starts, looking away from you. “I’m a romantic. Sue me.” 

He’s just full of surprises, isn’t he? You find that you’re captivated by this feeling, this humanity, that exists in him. It’s something alive between you both, something left behind from the old world, and you crave it the same way you crave food. 

Katsuki continues scrubbing the clothes, rubbing the fabric together and then dunking it in the bucket before plunging it into the freshwater creek. You’re not sure why you do it, but the next time he looks at you, you kiss him. 

It’s not as if you like him, but it’s something to feel. Some remnant of the butterflies you used to feel on dates and the kiss makes you feel like you could be close to human again. You pull away almost as soon as you put his lips to yours and you can tell that the expression on your face is one of surprise.

Katsuki blinks for a second, looking at you with his brows knitted together. The expression doesn’t leave him as he places a wet hand on the side of your face to kiss you again. It’s an anxious kiss, confused and slow but—like someone riding a bike for the first time in years—it quickly becomes something familiar. Muscle memory that you both let yourselves sink into. 

You can feel his expression as he kisses you, something between confusion and desire, like his own actions are perplexing. You feel the same way, hesitant, but reaching in the dark for the promise of some sort of normalcy. You want to feel like a person again. You haven’t felt it in so long and you push yourself against him as the ache swells in you. 

The two of you continue like this for a moment, Katsuki’s fingers pressing lightly into the skin of your neck. You moan softly as his tongue slips into your mouth, taking a sharp inhale at the sensation of skin on skin. The sound of the creek drowns out the clicking of your mouths, but you can feel the way he hums into your mouth. They’re little sounds, involuntary ones driven by the nervous, desirous feelings inside of you both. 

Then, Katsuki pulls away, swallowing thick as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. You appreciate the way they look. They’re swollen, anxious to continue and keep forgetting where you really are. He drops his hand from your face with a sigh and almost seems like he comes back to himself. You do the same, moving back into an upright position. 

“Denki will want that water soon,” he clears his throat and motions to the empty bucket by your feet. 

“Oh,” you say, laughing a little. “Right.” 

You stand, dusting off the back of your pants and dunking the bucket into the water. It sloshes, the liquid hitting the back of the plastic with a satisfying elastic sound. You begin to walk away without another word, heading down the way you came to climb up the gentler part of the slope. 

“Hey,” Katsuki calls softly. “You should stay. We talked it over last night. You can if you want to.” 

The last part, he says facing the wash, his hands moving as if he hadn’t said anything at all. You don’t respond, knowing that the obvious answer is already yes. 

Dread settles in your stomach. It’s an icky, swirling feeling that threatens to make you double over. You climb up the bank, the water in the bucket sloshing as you move through the trees and enter the clearing. The feeling doesn’t dissipate, growing as you leave the cover of the trees. You probably wouldn’t have kissed him if he’d asked you that earlier. 

The boarding house comes into view and you can see Denki sitting beside the generator, conversing with who appears to be Shoto. They turn and Denki waves you down, Shoto turning away and starting around for the front of the house. 

Denki jogs to meet you, taking the bucket from your hand. You flex your fingers as the weight is removed, wincing a little at how stiff they feel. 

“Jeez, what took you so long?” Denki laughs and with your new information, you understand his willingness to be friendly with you a little better. 

“I asked Katsuki for his life story,” you respond dryly, following him back to the generator. 

Denki looks over his shoulder and laughs at you. “Did he tell you?” 

You pause for a moment, watching as Denki unscrews something and pours the water in. 

“Nope,” you say. “Not a thing.”

Click Here to go to the second chapter and find the rest of the series on ao3. The remainder will not be posted on tumlbr, but please feel free to reblog!

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader smut #mha smut #bakugou fanfiction #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #apocalypse au #tw.violence #tw.blood #tw.loss of identity #tw.derealization #tw.depersonalization #tw.exhaustion #cal.writing #char.bakugou

[dancingbirdie]

Hello there! I adore your fics and how you wrote Astarion! I was hoping you could write something around the succubus scene? I know you get comforted by Astarion later on in the game regarding it, but due to his own trauma and backstory I would have liked to see him stand up for Tav and protect them during that scene itself, instead of just standing by while Tav is being manipulated 🙈

If you could do something around that, it would heal me! 😂🙏

Hi, anon! I hope you enjoy. I really liked your prompt, but I'll admit it did get a bit darker than I had originally thought I'd write it.

Please take note of the content warnings before you read! As always, comments and reacts are appreciated.

No Self-Sacrifices

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Astarion x gn!Reader/Tav

Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings/Tags: Discussion/description of dissociation, implied sexual assault, mentions of Astarion's past, descriptions of violence, blood, mild gore, death, angst.

*****

“Why don’t we play a game?” the Raphael-look-alike called to you seductively from the ridiculously lavish bed. “You win, I give you everything you desire. But you’ll enjoy yourself more if you lose.”

Astarion began to sense that all too familiar, uneasy feeling coiling itself tight inside his chest. The premonition that something was about to go utterly, horribly wrong. He risked a glance toward your allies, Lae’zel and Halsin, but they appeared just as woefully confused as you did. As if you all weren’t aware of the trap you’d just walked into. 

“What’s the game?” he heard you ask. He could feel the hairs standing up on the back of his neck.

“It’s a surprise! Off with your clothes,” the devil commanded.

There could be no doubt as to what would take place. Surely, Astarion thought, none of his companions could be so blind as to not see what was about to happen. 

Astarion watched as you bit your lip, hesitating. How you looked wildly about the room, as if you were searching for any last-minute way to avoid this. With his preternatural senses, he couldn’t help but be aware of how your heart rate spiked to a frenzied pulsing as you stood there, terrified of what was to come. 

He watched in horror as your shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. Defeated. Resolving to go through with this. And as you began removing your clothes, his vision turned nearly as red as the fiend on the mattress before you. 

“Good, little thief, good,” the monster crooned, totally unaware of Astarion’s brewing rage. “Keep going like this, and you’ll get to live. You’ll be crying out my name soon, you’d better know it. I am Haarlep, Raphael’s personal incubus…” 

The incubus - Haarlep - prattled on while Astarion continued to seethe with barely-contained fury. His fingers twitched, itching – almost of their own accord – to reach for the crossbow strapped to his back. He began shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet, restless. He caught the glare Lae’zel was leveling at him from his periphery and turned his head slightly to meet it. 

She gave a slight, but obvious, shake of the head. A silent command to stand down. Then he felt the tadpole squirm in his brain, while a voice that was distinctly Lae’zel’s echoed in his mind. 

Don’t act rashly, vampire. We need to gather more information before we strike.

Astarion nearly laughed aloud. The audacity of this Githyanki, willing to let her comrade be violated in such a way. After all they had done for her. For this party. And yet, part of him knew he shouldn’t be so surprised. After all, he had known plenty of “heroes” who had let equally horrible fates befall others without so much as lifting a finger to help them. 

“It matters not to me.” Your deadened reply to Haarlep brought Astarion back to the present moment. He recognized that tone of voice. Knew when someone was trying to dissociate. To disconnect their mind from their body. He knew all too well what that feeling was like. And it was nearly as horrible to watch as it was to experience it for himself.

“Very well, I will be Raphael himself,” Haarlep continued. “All of him. Now, on the bed. Lie back.” 

Astarion made his decision when he saw you begin to take stilted steps toward the bed. Covering yourself with your hands, trying to maintain some modicum of modesty as you climbed up. 

With Haarlep’s attention solely on you, he reached behind him for the crossbow. His index finger felt for the trigger as he pulled it around before him. One swift flick, and an arrow was suddenly lodged in the incubus’ left pectoral.

Chaos erupted as imps suddenly appeared throughout the room, responding to Haarlep’s distressed cry. You toppled off the bed, head knocking onto the floor, as the fiend raged above you, trying to right themselves and extract the arrow from their chest. 

“Tsk’va,” Lae’zel cursed in Gith, hefting her sword over her shoulder and barreling toward the first enemy in sight. “To battle it is, then!” 

Halsin shifted quickly into his bear shape and let loose a formidable roar, charging for another group of imps across the room. 

But Astarion only had eyes for Haarlep. He stalked slowly toward the bed, unsheathing the twin blades from his back as he did so. 

You watched as he gave one brief, wicked smile before utter carnage ensued.

*****

“Kainyak! Your foolishness nearly cost us all our lives,” Lae’zel spat venomously toward Astarion while she wiped her blade free of the fetid black imp blood. “I should strike you down now for acting with such stupidity.”

To his credit, Astarion barely seemed to acknowledge the Githyanki’s formidable censuring. You watched as he slipped his daggers back into the sheaths at the small of his back and readjusted his armor. He picked up his crossbow and shook it free of blood before strapping it back between his shoulder blades.

“You still have all your limbs intact, Lae’zel,” he replied airly. It was a stark contrast to the way he was standing, body as taut as a bowstring. “And wasn’t that bloodshed so much more satisfying than watching the incubus violate our dear party leader?” 

Lae’zel’s mouth snapped shut, but she continued to glare. The vampire had a point, though she was loath to admit it. 

“I, for one, prefer this outcome to the alternative that was before us,” Halsin agreed, rising from where he had been crouched after dismissing his ursine form. He glanced your way but averted his eyes quickly, to your confusion. 

“Best get dressed, darling,” Astarion drawled, coming over to where you still lay prone on the floor. “As delicious as I find your birthday suit to be, I’d wager you’ll fare better in this wretched place with a little more clothing on.” 

He held out a hand to help you rise to your feet. You observed him cautiously, trying to discern the emotion behind his carefully schooled expression. 

“Why?” you whispered. 

He squinted at you, one brow quirked. “Are you seriously asking me why armor is prudent to have on, in a place like this?” He chuckled before adding, “gods, you must’ve smacked your head harder than I thought.”

“No,” you retorted, refusing to be deterred by his cheeky banter. “I mean, why did you attack Haarlep? You’re never one to be spoiling for a fight.”

Astarion scoffed, pressing a hand to his chest as if insulted. “Careful, darling. You’re almost making me out to be a pacifist.”

“You know what I meant, Astarion,” you grumbled as you began donning your leather breeches and jerkin. 

“And would you have preferred to be fucked by that incubus instead?” Astarion bit out derisively. 

Your head whipped up to meet his gaze, hearing the sudden change in his tone. 

“Of course not,” you scowled. “But you could sense how powerful they were. It seemed like the only way to ensure your all’s safety.”

Astarion grimaced. “So you would have just laid down and taken it? For us?”

“I’m not saying I would have enjoyed it,” you hissed. “But to keep you safe? Keep them safe?” you gestured to Lae’zel and Halsin across the room, polishing and re-polishing their weapons as they attempted not to overhear your barely-whispered argument. 

“Of course,” you concluded, voice resolute. 

“Don’t be a fucking martyr. Not for me. Not for them. Not for anyone,” Astarion growled. 

Your brows shot toward your hairline in surprise. 

“We know what we signed up for when we joined this rag-tag group,” he continued, tone icy. “I’d rather fight a hundred fiends than watch you debase yourself to save anyone, including myself.” 

You let loose a mirthless laugh, feeling angry, embarrassed and too completely exposed. Before you could think better of it, your retort was flying past your lips. 

“You know, Astarion, you have a fucking funny way of showing appreciation for your partner who was willing to be violated in order to keep you safe.” 

It was the wrong thing to say. You immediately knew it, and so did the rest of the party. Suddenly it was like the air had been sucked from the room. 

Crimson eyes bored into your own as Astarion took a step forward to meet you, chest to chest. You glared up at him, refusing to back down. Refusing to be chastised for your willingness to protect him. 

The shared air between you was charged. You could almost feel the electricity surging. 

“Need I remind you? I’ve been violated enough times over the past 200 years to know how unequivocally monstrous it is,” he intoned, his voice pitched dangerously low. “I will promise you this. I am finished with having it happen to me, in front of me, or for me.”

Words escaped you. It was all you could do to maintain eye contact with him, feeling the conviction in his tone. The anger that had sustained you up until this point had all but disappeared. In its place was something far more demure. 

“So yes, I fired the first shot that pierced that devil’s skin. Then I eviscerated their neck with my teeth,” he crooned, reverently tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. You shivered at his touch, at his dulcet tone that was describing such violence. 

“And I slit his throat with glee,” he continued, cupping your cheek in his palm. “I would do it again. And again. And again. Because I will never witness abuse like what was about to happen, ever again.”

He swept the pad of his thumb over the hollow under your eye, his gaze flicking rapidly over your face. As though he were subconsciously checking you over for any nicks, cuts, or bruises. 

“Do you understand?” he whispered softly. His voice was still laced with rage, but you could tell it was not directed toward you. Really, it never had been. 

The entire situation had obviously touched the most sensitive pressure point within him. Had triggered his urge to fight, to protect, to resist. You couldn’t be angry with him for that. Never. Not one bit. 

You gulped before nodding slightly. “I understand now. I’m sorry.”

You lifted your hand to cover his where it was still cupping your face. Turning slightly, you planted a kiss against his palm. 

“No self-sacrificing on my watch, darling, agreed?” he murmured, wrapping his other arm around your waist in a solid embrace. 

“Agreed,” you confirmed, returning his embrace before venturing on through the House of Hope.

#astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #dancingbirdiewrites #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 astarion fic #astarion baldurs gate #astarion x f!reader #tav x astarion #astarion my beloved #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic

[libertyybellls]

I DON'T KNOW WHY I BITE ?

pairing; finnick odair x f!reader

summary; few years after winning his games, finnick endures the trials of being a victor and all he needs is a helping hand.

contains; ANGST, comfort, descriptions of forced prostitution, descriptions of gore, murder, typical hunger games mortality etc etc. not proofread… ever

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

the room once filled with a bond you could not quite replace, is now empty, gray. it lacks the golden boy who brings light to every aspect of your life- and it has been for two months now.

you know where he is, what he’s doing, and who he’s with. you know the light of his soul will be snuffed away by the calloused deceiving hands of the capitol- their everlasting appetite to claim their control over citizens and victors alike.

you almost dread the sound of your front door unlocking. your mind manifesting his misery would be long gone- begging to a higher power that he will be okay- that the pillars of his body are not crumbling in on itself.

nevertheless, as you near the front door- you see it in his eyes. he almost looks like the same 14 year old that got thrown into a death match and came out with two legs and two arms- but this time his legs can’t carry him any longer, his arms are practically hanging off his tired body.

the door is still open behind him, the chilled air seeping its way into your once warm home. his shoulders are slumped, there is no light in his eyes- only that small tinge he adorns when he is with you.

you want to pull him into your arms, to kiss the disgust off of his features, to show him he is unworthy of this muck treatment, that he is the only light that cannot be choked out, the anchor that is not misplaced, he is right where he needs to be now.

there’s a silent understanding, you can see the falter in his steps as he tries to walk towards you- so close to disintegration you can almost see his seams falling apart one by one.

you meet him halfway- pulling him into you- now you must be his pillar. you must cover his ears, quiet his thoughts.

his tears coat your shirt, your fingers run through his scalp. he wants to crawl out of his skin. he can still feel a touch that isn’t yours- it sets his nerves alight.

why won’t you leave me. his mind screams- but his voice can’t carry these words. leave me here, let me rot.

you can feel him self destruct, his knees fail and now you are kneeling infront of his vulnerable frame. you want him to look at you, to see what you see, but who are you to ask for more?

but all he sees is grief, blood from kids his age- even younger, he feels hands all along his chest- his back, he smells roses- luxury- a scent that isn’t home, he tastes metallic blood from his lips- gnawing from anxiety, he hears the praises- he hears that he’s special, that he’s so humble, what a handsome young man he is.

“i wish i could be good.”

you can’t see his face, you are glad in a way- you don’t think you’d be able to take it. “you are good finnick,” your own tears fall. “if anything you are good.”

you want to yell these words, scream them at him. so inconsiderate of you- but how dare he not see this is not his fault? a puppet has no control over his own arms.

finnicks mind screams more at the capital than himself now. your tactics have worked. you have taken every last bit of my innocence away. you control me. he begs to be left alone, he begs to be so pure and unsuspecting again.

you both know his fate, you know where he’ll be in a few years. you know that your love alone cannot keep him here- however strong. every inhale feels like poison- but he listens to you murmur as you rub his back, telling him to breath.

you see his eyes now, he tries to drink in your gaze- he wants it to be the last thing he sees, except less concerned, less worn, less worried. despite his thoughts only ever consumed by you, he looked pained- he looks as though he is elsewhere in his mind.

“nothings gonna hurt you now” sanity is a sheltered lie but you would rather surrender your wits than your boy. your fingers dance up and down his back now- erasing the sinful marks left laying in his mind.

-

so short so technically a blurb but wtv….

#finnick odair fluff #finnick fluff #finnick odair x reader #finnick imagine #finnick odair smut #finnick angst #finnick oneshot #finnick smut #finnick fanfic #finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick x y/n

[kittyscupcakeandbunny]

Made by me

The Masterlist

CRAZY OVER YOU

[HYBRID AU]

[FINISHED]✅

Side Characters: Namjoon/doctor, Seokjin/doctor, Taehyung/Hybrid Tiger, Jungkook/Bunny Hybrid, Hoseok/assistant.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of blood, sharp objects, rut, beast behavior.

Genre: Fantasy, hybrids au, smut.

SUMMARY》 Yoongi is a black mamba hybrid one of rarest species of hybrids, who’s about to be put down due to his lack of interest in living. But everything changes after the new medical assistance (y/n) takes a liking to him. Meeting after meeting he realise his feelings for her are not the only thing growing.

INTRO - In the books they say

ONE - Love at first bite

TWO - Bath me with your love

THREE - Hungry for your love I

FOUR - The truth untold II

FIVE - Bitter taste, Jealousy and bites

SIX - Take Me Home

SEVEN - The last bite OUT NOW

SET ME FREE

[MAFIA AU]

On Going

Side Characters: Min Yoongi as Agust D/Mafia boss, Jung Hoseok as Jack/Concierge, Namjoon/Police detective, Jungkook/Police detective, Park Jimin/thief and gang leader, Taehyung/Mafia member FBI Mole, Paradise owner. Jin/unknown, Busan/Mafia boss.

Warnings: This story contains nsfw content (descriptive blood, gore, etc.) as well as sexual content. Mentions may include violence, consumption of alcohol, explicit sexual interactions, sharp objects, knife play, description of injuries, themes of major horror and also explores obsessive behaviors and codependency, robbery, killing, guns, torturing, fire, toxic yandere men, violence, possessive behaviour, unhealthy relationships.

SUMMARY: You made it. Now a police intern as you always promised to your father before he died, you were more than happy to finally be able to help people like he did. But the law was not what you expected to be like. You did not know how lonely it would be for a young woman to grow her career in this kingdom. Having to take care of your 18 year old brother wasn't easy too and things just got a lot worse when you've met Agust D. The king of the mafia Min. He sure knew how to make a life turn into a hell hole.

INTRO

ONE - Red Chopsticks

TWO - I’ll find you in a dark Paradise

THREE - A deal with the devil

FOUR - Welcome to my world

FIVE - Good girl gone bad COMING SOON

SIX - Dance with the devil COMING SOON

7 FINAL DESTINATION - LILITH

BREATH OF FIRE

[HYBRID GODS AU]

On Going

Side characters: Park Jimin/White fox hybrid.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, death, violence, sharp objects, suggestive words, smut, alcohol, killing.

Genre: Fantasy, romance, strangers to lovers, R +18.

SUMMARY: Did you know a fox only mates once in their life? For almost 400 years Min Yoongi never mated before, all theses years of emptiness and loneliness. He had tried so many times to end with his own hands. Until one night a hint of sweet and fire blows towards his nose, the smell was something he never felt before. And blood. Running for your life you felt hopeless in front of a lake, two man following you behind. Their disgusting smiles and eyes savoring your female body, you knew what they would do but you'd rather die. It all started with fire.

INTRO - Run little girl

ONE - Wood, cinnamon and honey.

TWO - Please wash away this blood on my skin

THREE - A taste of honey and dreams

FOUR - A rise from the shadows (coming soon)

FIVE - Lost in two words (coming soon)

SIX - coming soon

SEVEN - FINAL BREATH coming soon

BUNNY BUNS

[HYBRID AU]

COMING SOON

Side Characters: Yoongi/black cat hybrid, Hoseok/human, Taehyung/golden hybrid.

Warnings: Smut, violence, mentions of blood. And finally some fluff.

SUMMARY: Jungkook needed to hide. He was on the run. And what better place for a bunny hybrid to hide then a Bunny coffee shop? How could he resist? You smelled sweet and looked nice. All it took was one smile of yours and a bunny bread and he was on all fours for you.

INTRO - Bunny on the run

ONE - Bunnies don’t like water ( coming soon)

TWO - Carrot Cake 🥕(coming soon)

THREE - Bunny in the kitchen coming soon

FOUR - I’ll take care of you coming soon

FIVE - Bunny on the run coming soon

SIX - The last Bun. Coming soon.

ONE SHOTS

Coming soon

YOONGI

My Best Friends Crush

Characters: Min Yoongi/music theory Teacher, Jung Hoseok/dance teacher, Jungkook/art and design student, Jimin/danc student, reader/art student.

Genre: strangers to lovers, forbidden love?

Warnings: mentions of explicit language, sexual references(smutty material), consumption of alcohol, age difference.

Summary: “my whole life I always hated rules and protocols, growing to fin comfort on art as I could express myself unapologetically and freely. But there was one rule I made with myself; never fall in love with your friend crush.

With my rebellious nature, it was bound to be broken but I just never meet someone who would take that seriously.”

HOSEOK

JIMIN

JUNGKOOK

JIN

NAMJOON

TAEHYUNG

#bts fanfiction #bts smut #bts x you #bts yoongi #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #bts suga #jimin x reader #jimin smut #jimin fanfic #bts namjoon #namjoon fanfic #namjoon smut #jung hoseok x y/n #jung hoseok smut #hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #jung hoseok x you #jhope smut #j hope fanfic #j hope x you #jhope #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook fanfic #yoongi mafia #seokjin fanfic #seokjin x y/n

[planetdream]

STRANGE DREAMS !

CHARACTERS ! incubus/demon!hyunjin, reader

GENRE ! horror, smut [minors dni]

WORDS ! 7.8k [more or less]

SYNOPSIS ! sometimes, you meet a strange man in your dreams. this is one of those times.

THIS FIC CONTAINS ! edible-fueled writing. horror [gore—body horror: descriptions of blood and mutilated bodies. frightening figures and situations. description of drowning. nightmares and sleep paralysis. demons, and thus], references to biblical lore [christianity] and small references to milton's paradise lost [if you squint], and smut [dubcon—sexual manipulation and sex pollen, sorta. d/s dynamics—predator versus prey. possession/corruption. vaginal and anal sex. pussy and face slapping. teasing. fingering. spit. squirting. face fucking. degradation. strength kink sorta. sex with a demon—in demon form. monster cock. lots of cum]

⚠️ if you’re sensitive to gore, be advised before reading. i tried to be tame and brief with descriptions, and although i consider it to be light gore, i understand everyone has their limits. so proceed with caution.

💌 posting this earlier than originally planned cuz why not!! got the idea for this fic a year ago after an edible. it’s very weird n self indulgent but i’m glad i finally finished it !! i hope someone enjoys it <3 i always appreciate feedback !!

You’re certain that it’s the sky you’re gazing into—though, you’re unsure because your vision is unclear, a milky haze clouding your pupils—but the longer you look at it, the more it spins and distorts, bringing on nausea that rises in waves from the pit of your stomach to the top of your head. The nausea brings on a discomfort; dryness in your mouth and a straining in your eyes, and because of that, you’re left with no choice but to close your eyes and let your other senses take over. Darkness surrounds you, and it feels like you have risen into the sky, despite grass being beneath you, and it’s soft, comfortable; almost like you could sink deeper into it before reaching the hard, frigid dirt. You grab the blades of grass with a tight fist, tugging on it, but still unwilling to pull it out as if you would cause harm. Then, the grass all around you becomes apparent—alive—moving against your skin in a response back to you. It tickles all over, building the realization that you lay naked in the grass, though unwilling to get up or cover yourself; lost within the pure contentment of the situation. 

There is a wave that sways over you—hot, heavy, and harsh, yet not too overbearing in its nature. You don’t know why, but there’s a sense of familiarity about when you are. It’s as if you’ve been here before, a distant memory that both chills and warms you. 

Along with the burbling sound of water pouring into itself, the smell of water whisks in the cool breeze—slightly sweet, green and alluring; whistling your name, calling out for you to come over. The whispering is intriguing, full of temptation but slightly melancholic; no words need be said, yet you understand the language of the waters. The whispers are loud, blaring; not in the sense of volume, but by how jarring it is—unlike anything you’ve heard and yet, it’s something you feel so acquainted with, like a long-time friend. The water cries, begging for you to bathe within it or drink from it and promises a sweet taste that could be comparable to honey and lemons. 

When you open your eyes again, everything is clear. The plants around you are breathing, communicating through the whistles of the wind; and just like the water, the plants cry out as well. Though, the cries of the flowers and trees are far different from the cries of the water. The cries of the water nearby sing a great harmony of promise and belief, whereas, the cries of the many trees screech of terror and agitation. They warn of what horrors can be witnessed here, of what great dangers are lurking within them. A sweet song of catastrophe. The flowers, however,—with captivating colors unlike anything you’ve ever seen, yet familiar; like the names of them are on the tip of your tongue, begging to be acknowledged and praised—cry differently. It’s a murmur most comparable to the feeling of silk against your hands, but also the feeling of goosebumps after a close encounter with something you shouldn’t have crossed paths with. A comfortable discomfort. 

You look around, fully taking in the picture of what presents itself around you. There are butterflies varying in size and species—they sing as well, something similar to a war cry; morbid and haunting, though still beautiful and in great faith. Dragonflies buzz around, securing their place and status within the area. So much life here—at peace in this paradise. There’s some kind of haze or mist in the air, silent and still, tranquil. The sun is bright, blazing hot and practically piercing, yet despite the warmth, the air is slightly cool. The sight of your surroundings further cements your previous feelings of familiarity. Yet it also uncovers sheer discomfort. Yes, the area is familiar, but there’s something unsettling and distinctly different about it. A discomfort layering in the air, horribly beautiful and homely, but pandemonium is lurking, lurched and hidden within the shadows of this seeming paradise. 

You roll over in the grass—laying on your stomach and lifting your head to see beyond what you could before. Not too far from your current position is a waterfall, continuing its whispers. The spring below is surrounded by unusual pink flowers and huge rocks covered in thick, green and yellow moss. Before you can process it, you’re on your feet and moving towards the spring. Once there, you kneel, gazing at your reflection in the waters. It’s almost too much to process but it’s you. It is you and yet it’s like the face you wear does not belong to you. Uncanny and off putting. 

Movement. On your left, deep in the periphery of the spring. Your eyes shift, tracking whatever chooses to present itself. A swan. Elegant and pristine. It cranes its neck, beak pointing towards you in acknowledgment. You make full eye contact, and a chill runs up your spine causing your hair to stand on edge. An inflamed feeling of danger sparks within you, and before you have time to fight or run as far away as possible—“There you are!” 

The voice comes from your right, but when you look in that direction, there’s nothing there.  “So this is where you ran off to.”

The physical energy of the presence behind you is familiar, but strikingly overwhelming—it crawls up your skin like sharp nails, giving you goosebumps—you don’t need to turn around to recognize it. It’s Him. You’re unsure of what he is, exactly, but sometimes you meet him in your dreams. Though deep down you know that his existence and connection to you reaches well beyond the odd worlds of your dream realm. When he touches you, your surroundings change. The waterfall that you were once at is yards away, tiny in perspective. Despite having not moved an inch, it seems that every time you blink, you’re further and further into the woods; trees surrounding you and most certain to bury any noises emitted within their leaves.

The rustling of the tree leaves sounds like a screech, almost like sharp nails against a chalkboard—sinking deep and clashing, scraping out the porcelain enamel. The sound alone affects your brain, echoing in your mind, blaring enough to make you hold your hand against your head. The sound stops once he presses his hand against your cheek—so cold it feels like burning fire, almost scalding enough to melt off your skin; but you do not flinch, nor do you back away, frozen in place. The feeling of his skin against yours evokes an emotional aching so deep, you can feel it festering in the pit of your stomach, spreading to your organs and seeping into your veins—and somehow there is comfort in that. 

He’s speaking, and while you’re unable to make out the words he is saying, you can tell that his voice is soft, pillowy like a cloud. Honey-laced words dipping from his tongue as if he’s trying to convince or ask something of you. You avert your gaze, unsure of if you actually want to meet his eyes. 

His presence scares you just as much as it calms you. Intriguing, and homely but also frightening and domineering despite simply just standing there. Something about his demeanor feels off, or distorted, at the very least, as if he’s not actually in front of you. As if he was a result of your imagination instead of directly in your eyes view. He’s real, a hand against your skin, almost close enough for you to feel his breath lightly against your skin; and at the very least, he knows you. You know him, too, you think; of course, you’ve seen him in your dreams, but you’re inclined to believe you know him from somewhere else. 

“Where are we?” You ask him, avoiding eye contact, shaking away from the contact his hand makes with you. Jarringly, it doesn’t feel like you said anything at all. Your mouth was moving and the words presented themselves in your mind and yet you can’t hear a single thing you’re saying. The familiar fire within your throat when you speak is no longer there. 

“The Garden. It’s perfect here, isn’t it?” He gives you a small smile, seemingly understanding your indistinct confusion. Then, as he speaks up again, his voice drips with something resembling woe. “You and I used to live here a long time ago. I visit every so often, dip my legs into that spring back there, and then I reminisce on how pure life was back then before…” 

You think he’s talking again, but once again, you’re unable to hear him. You’re too busy lost in his face. The urge to press your lips against his gets stronger as you’re next to him. Then you realize he’s naked as well, and your entire body gets warmer. There’s a budding ache inside you that’s all too familiar, growing at a rapid pace. It’s almost like your body is on fire as a result of being within his presence. Hormones floating, hair standing on edge, your more sensual and raw instincts ready to unveil and latch onto him at any time. Head hurting the longer you’re in his presence until it all just stops. 

Everything stops. The trees are no longer rustling, birds no longer humming. There’s no splashing of the waterfall nor whistling in the wind. Just pure silence. The silence is uncomfortable, and causes you to stand still in your tracks like a deer, scared that if you make any sudden moves a predator might attack within the blink of an eye; jumping on you and tearing you apart in a bloody mess of flesh and organs flying everywhere, painting the fallen deep green leaves a perfect contrast of crimson. 

“Run,” He says. There’s nothing in his voice; no emotion nor a slight hint at what he’s thinking. But the word echoes in your mind, and sends a chill down your spine, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on edge in either curiosity or total blood curdling fear. 

“What do you mean?”

“You need to run,” His voice drops lower. “And don’t get caught.”

So you turn your heels and you run, not willing to ask him twice. Unsure of the direction you’re going in, but the further you seem to travel, the more that discomfort begins to settle in the pit of your stomach. You pick up the pace—one foot in front of the other, careful not to trip over yourself—but a small part of you isn’t sure if the danger that you’re sensing is real or just a part of a sick and twisted game. Instead of running away from the source of your terror, it seems as though you’re running towards it, no matter the direction you run. Twigs and leaves snapping and crunching beneath your feet, but it causes you no pain. In fact, the only thing you can feel in the moment is the thumping of your heart and every single milliliter of blood marching through your vessels.

You admittedly don’t make it too far before you’re cowering, ducking against a large tree. Heart racing with such speed that you’re almost positive it would break free of your ribcage, piercing its way out of your chest. The tree, however, as quickly as you found it, is no longer a place of solace, as you hear a long, loud, and deep growl to your left. The deep guttural sound echoing, slicing through the trees like machetes. You’ve got to move, but you fear that if you do, whatever it is that made that sound, might attack, ripping you to shreds before you’ve even got a chance to exhale. There’s a roar once again, this time uncomfortably closer to your hiding place. You stand still, and the surrounding area of the forest is suddenly extremely silent. No rustle of leaves or echoes of birds, but a loud silence accompanied by a buzzing noise; like a horde of flies marching their way towards you. 

“Hyunjin,” You call out. The name slips from your mouth with ease, as if you’ve been calling him by that name all along. In the blink of an eye, just as you exhale his name, your surroundings change; suddenly submerged in water. 

You emerge from the cold water, barely having time to register your surroundings before you’re being forced back into the water; claw-like hands scraping into your scalp, sharp and heavy against your skull. It’s hard to make your way above the water because of the forceful weight and before you know it, attempting to hold your breath is useless due to the water infiltrating your lungs. You’re flailing and thrashing around, arms lifting—hands curling into a claws, attempting to grab onto something, only to slash through the water—and legs kicking mindlessly, trying to escape what is uncertain; heart rate accelerating as panic fully sets in. This seems to go on for nearly fifteen minutes, being edged by death over and over; blacking out then awakening time and time again. Vision blocked by the salty darkness of the water, ensuring to agitate you with fright, unsure of when it’s all going to end.

Abruptly, you’re dragged upwards by your hair, back falling harshly against rock, helping you cough up the water in your throat. It feels like it takes minutes for you to learn how to breathe again, attempting to do that and calm down enough to assess your surroundings. You’re coughing so much you think you might cough up an intestine, throat burning with each assault, chest sinking and expanding and then sinking again. It takes many moments of coming back to yourself that you notice that there is no rough hand against your scalp. Alarmed, moving around frantically, backing up toward the closest stone wall. Scanning the area, there’s no human nor animal, nor creature of any nature in sight. Not even a single insect. Not even Hyunjin.

You lean over, though not too far in case history repeats itself, to peer into the water; there isn’t even a single fish, as far as you can tell, the waters quickly descending into a vast, black pit of the unknown. Overhead, the sky that was once shining brightly now dimming rather quickly, accompanied by dark, angry clouds. The winds pick up, swirling atop of the trees, emitting a drawn out whistle comparable to wind chimes; of which you can surprisingly hear over splashing and sputtering of the nearby waterfall. Large roars of thunder stomping in, but no lightning accompanies it. You begin to curl into yourself, attempting to shield yourself from whatever is out there, nature or otherwise.

You close your eyes for five simple seconds, and when you open them, Hyunjin is right next to you. He doesn’t notice you’re awake at first until you shift, catching his attention. He turns to you and you avert your eyes from him. He’s talking but it’s all inaudible, unimportant. Something about his presence in this moment is unsettling. Slightly off from the initially odd behavior he’d be exhibiting. You just nod to his words. “Found you like this about an hour ago. You shook so hard until you stopped and fell asleep.” 

Hyunjin holds out a hand for you, which you’re hesitant to grab, but the next thing you know, you’re standing slowly; legs shaking as you attempt to regain strength. You hold onto his arm for extra support, slightly struggling in your steps as he leads you, hand in hand, towards a small cave hidden behind the pour of the waterfall. It’s hardly a hike, but Hyunjin makes sure you get to the other size carefully. “The rocks are slippery. You’ve had a few accidents here before.”

A lot of Hyunjin’s words are vague. Referrals to past events involving the two of you, all of which you cannot remember. There’s a feeling that you’ve been here before, but you’re unable to prove it, or make those connections other than your gut feeling and Hyunjin’s comments. 

You’re hesitant to walk into the cave, the inside being pitch black. Hyunjin walks in before you, completely fearless, as if there is no potential danger. At the snap of a finger, there’s suddenly a fire going on within the cave. From you place you can see how the fire illuminates Hyunjin’s figure just a bit, and as you walk closer—finding a bit more comfort now that you can see, and because you know Hyunjin is there waiting for you, willing to guide you into and protect you from the unknown—you admire how the flames of the fire accentuates Hyunjin’s facial features. He was made by God, sculpted from the finest clay and molded into an individual with otherworldly beauty. Hyunjin holds a torch-like stick, fire blazing at the tip of it, used as momentary safety. “I know somewhere we can go.”

He then points into the deep darkness of the cave. You don’t want to go deeper into the cave. Right where you stand is just fine, and most importantly, it’s safe. Hyunjin reads the hesitant look that’s displayed on your face, but he urges you. “You’ve got me, there’s nothing to be afraid of.” 

And his smile, as beautiful and perfect as it is, seemed crooked, faked for just a moment. He holds out his hand, and without even thinking about it, you take his hand in yours as if you had no choice despite the unease boiling inside of you. His smile curves up again and he turns his head, now guiding you down the cold, dark cave. 

The entire time you’re walking, there’s nothing. Hyunjin doesn’t speak and neither do you. The walls on either side all appear the same, dirt colored and oddly smooth, with not even a small crater to make a difference. No matter how long you walk, nor how far, the dark pit continues into nothingness, an upsetting kind of emptiness. Despite Hyunjin being next to you, despite holding his hand, he’s like a stone wall. He makes no effort to speak, nor to even acknowledge you in the slightest despite leading you somewhere, it’s like you’re nothing but a mere bug, nothing to stress about or keep entertained. You feel nothing but loneliness at the pit of your stomach; the only things keeping you company are the thumping of your feet against the ground and the flickering of the flame Hyunjin holds. 

It’s a long time of walking before you realize that this cave is actually a tunnel. The tiny white dot of light grows bigger and bigger with every step taken. It feels like forever until you and Hyunjin reach the end of the tunnel. When you do, you’re happy to see light again. The sky now bright and blue, prohibiting any angry clouds of heavy rain. Air fresh and inviting, free of any worry and apprehension. Whatever doubts or dreadful feelings once felt before are now completely an afterthought. 

“C’mon let’s go.” Hyunjin discards the torch, dragging you with him by your hand, grip tight against you. 

He leads you over to a flower field where flowers ranging in color, size, and species reside. The field is colorful, bright and happy, like a source of glee. Inviting you over by whisper—maybe it’s a honey-filled hum—so sweet and kind. The deeper you walk into the flower field, you notice how enticing the air smells—sweet like a pastry, yet fresh like petrichor. The longer you and Hyunjin walk, hand and hand, the more at ease and loose you feel, almost drunk, mouth welling up with excess saliva. The two of you eventually reach a point to rest, laying on the grass, no words exchanged between you two. Simply just basking in the sun, deeply breathing in the fragrance of the nature that surrounds you. 

There’s a passage of time before you start to feel it; an itch that’s tempting you to scratch; a sudden burst in fire. A fire that begins at the pit of your stomach and continues to your core, flaring; spreading further throughout your body in static-like jolts. Your breaths change from relaxed and soft, quiet, to heavy and noticeable; and suddenly the atmosphere feels hotter, small beads of sweat collecting against your forehead. You shift, rubbing your thighs in effort to satiate your sudden cravings, wanting to grind your hips up in search of friction. Growing more desperate and needy by the second. 

This is when you look towards Hyunjin, rolling onto your stomach, head resting in your hands as you gaze up at his sitting form; and you actually notice him. You notice his nakedness, every single inch of him on display. He’s like a god, with his honey-like skin that glows and glistens in the sunlight. Toned and defined arm and thigh muscles that flex with nearly every movement he makes. He was meant to be admired, made to be worshiped—having men and women alike kneeling at his feet and imploring him to fuck and defile them. If only you knew how much he agrees. These thoughts almost embarrass you, yet they feel so natural. And your eyes drip lower to admire Hyunjin’s more intimate parts. Cock hanging low, thick, and you’re not too sure if he’s hard or not but he’s big. Mouth watering as you admire his dick: the natural curve to it, how there’s three thick, prominent veins that disperse along his shaft (at least from what you can see at this angle) that are pulsing, just begging for your tongue to roll over them. 

You’re pulled away from your fantasy when Hyunjin clears his throat. With an eyebrow raised and a glimmer in his eye, he gives a small smile to you, softly, “You need something from me?”

“Maybe,” You wink at him. You sit up to face him, hand making contact with his knee, fingertips trailing up and down his thigh in a teasing matter. You get a little closer to him, skin against skin, eyes fixated on his cock as your fingertips dance against his inner thigh.

That’s when Hyunjin kisses you, lips soft and plump; and when he presses them against your lips you feel like you're in heaven. At first, your lips barely touch, meeting in small pecks, sweet kisses that eventually deepen into something desperate. The kisses are open mouthed, wet and sloppy, Hyunjin’s tongue makes its way into your mouth naturally, exploring inside of you. The kiss only breaks a few times; when you place your hands flat against Hyunjin’s chest, pushing away slightly just to get air. Each time the kiss breaks, Hyunjin smiles with a small chuckle, licking his lips before leaning in again, forehead pressed to yours. 

You break the kiss once more, now focusing more on Hyunjin’s cock. Spitting onto your hand and wrapping it around his shaft, squeezing lightly. Tight fist working up and down Hyunjin’s length, biting your lip when you feel him twitch within your hand. He bites his lip, holding back a moan. Hyunjin stops you before you get too deep into it, instead choosing to take the lead. 

Hyunjin plants another kiss to your lips before kissing down your neck, trying his best to take his time to really savor you, but he soon grows impatient. Pushing you down flat against the grass. Quick, wet kisses in several places down your body before he plants one last kiss right above where he really wants to be. There, he wastes no time getting to work, tongue slithering out almost snake-like to lick against your cunt. He really takes in the first taste of his meal, wetness sitting against his tongue, practically melting in his mouth, he moans. He dives in once again, lips and tongue against your cunt, licking and sucking and moaning; fully savoring you. 

“Taste so fucking good,” He breathes once to come up for air, not that he actually needs it. Continuing to lap at your cunt, lips kissing and sucking at your clit, moaning into your heat. Hands coming to your thighs to grip, fingernails piercing, spreading you open wider for him. 

You grind against his face, hands instinctively going to his hair, fingers tangling within it and pulling with eagerness. Hyunjin groans into you at the slight sting of you pulling at his hair. Tongue not letting up against your clit, following your cunt with every movement you make, not letting you get a break from the feeling of him against you. His mouth domes around your clit, sucking you in, teeth lightly grazing against your bud, momentarily making your back arch. Mid arch, Hyunjin slips two fingers into you. Slight sting as he stretches you out, long digits buried to the knuckles inside of you upon initial thrust. 

Soon planting open mouthed kisses against your cunt, fingers working their way in and out of you at an obnoxious pace, curling naturally. Between Hyunjin’s tongue and fingers, in combination with his lips planting kisses against your cunt in between sloppy licks, it’s all too overwhelming. Cunt clenching around his fingers, pulling them in to beg for more, which Hyunjin promptly gives. Fingers fucking into you faster, his other palm pressing down directly against your pelvis. 

It’s all too much, but you don’t want it to stop. The feeling of your impending orgasm has you shaking, practically vibrating, unable to brace yourself for it. Tears pooling down the side of your face as you moan out for him. The tips of his fingers repeatedly hit the soft, gushy spot deep inside of you, biting his lip as he watches your face contort. Body stiffening within his hold, unallowed to thrash around, only able to take what he’s giving you. Though unable to completely relax into it, fighting off the feeling of eventual bliss. 

Hyunjin lets out a breathy moan at your defiance. Thumb massaging your clit, slowly but surely dragging you further off the edge. Hyunjin finally gets you to relax into his touch, into the feeling of temptation fully engulfing your soul. That’s when it takes over. Your vision blurs, almost going black, mouth agape as you let out cracked moans. Chest getting hot, tightening as you cum, releasing all stress and tension, absolutely melting into this state that makes you feel like you’re floating. Yet your body is only laid out in the grass, legs spread wide for him, as your cunt spills all over his fingers, wetness squirting all over Hyunjin’s forearm and thighs. Tongue desperately trying to lap up whatever he can as his fingers slip away from your cunt. The palm of his hand coming down against your sore cunt once, making you moan out and close your thighs, back arching, pain stinging in the best possible way that leaves you aching for more. Not fully satisfied. 

Hyunjin is kneeling over you now, a large hand around his cock. Angry red tip all pretty and glossed with precum that dares to fall onto your skin like delicious raindrops. His cock twitches in his hand, blood rushing, pulsing in the veins that decorate his shaft. It all just makes you think about finally having his cock in you. The burning of the stretch, the feel of him reaching places that haven’t been accessed before, not to mention the feeling of his warm cum filling you up, ounce by ounce. 

When Hyunjin pushes into you, you nearly lose your breath, caught in a long inhale. He’s nice enough to push into you slowly, but it’s only because he wants to savor the feeling (though, Hyunjin fully intends to use you however he wants for as long as he pleases). His cock is thick, stretches you beyond anything you’ve experienced before; though instead of being painful, your body is laced, wrapped in pleasure, and the sensation of thrill rushes through your veins. You spread your legs further apart, welcoming more of Hyunijn, hoping that he pushes into you deeper; overcome with desire and want. 

“So fucking wet,” Hyunjin pins his cock deeper into you, pulling out quickly, teasingly. “Need more of me?”

You nod frantically, bottom lip slipping away from the clutches of your teeth. When you look up at Hyunjin, his eyes are fixated on your cunt. Tongue peeking out of his mouth, swirling over his bottom lip, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead and into his eyebrow. He’s concentrated, breathing so heavily that he almost begins emitting an inhumane growl, but he dials it back quickly. Instead of pushing all of his length inside of you, Hyunjin pulls out completely, tapping the head of his dick against your cunt, sliding his cock from left to right against your clit. You watch as he does this, listening to the pornographic sound of your wetness, cunt clenching around nothing, just begging to finally be filled. 

“Please…” You find yourself begging. Eyebrows strung together as you rock your hips up and down, trying to catch Hyunjin’s cock only for him to move away, preventing you from chasing your pleasure. His hand comes down harsh against your cunt in succession, serving as a warning. 

“So cockhungry, can’t you be patient?” Hyunjin continues his tease, repeated light slaps against your cunt with his dick. His cock is replaced by his hand, two fingers dragging down from your clit to your slit, thrusting them into you quickly. Two fingers are replaced by three, and three, by four. He moves quickly, tips of his fingers curled and hitting exactly where you need them. He fucks your moans out of you, reveling in the way that your cries spill out just like the wetness of your cunt, and he’s barely doing anything but fingering you. And you’re this fucked up, melting into his fingers, giving him nearly everything he wants. “Always so pathetic and slutty.”

Agreements slip from your mouth, just in hopes that he’ll give you what you need if you’re good for him. Hyunjin just laughs at you, you’re certainly the cutest plaything he’s had—he knows he’s got to take his time with you. Almost wanting to slip his thumb inside of you as well, Hyunjin decides against it, continuing to fuck you with four of his fingers, still unrelenting in his pace. You, however, are lost for words; taking every ounce of what Hyunjin is giving you. A burning sensation rising in the pit of your stomach, hips rising from the ground, but Hyunjin never stops. Even when you’re leaking all over him, thighs shaking and threatening to close around his arm, he doesn’t stop fucking his fingers into you; not until he’s sure he’s got every ounce from you. Cum dripping down his arm as he takes and takes from you, forcing you to squirt all over him and yourself once again. Sliding his fingers out of you with yet another slap against your cunt.

His hand is around his cock again—wet with your cum, smearing it all over his cock—squeezing at its base as he brings his tip to your entrance. But he teases again, merely slapping his cock against your cunt. You arch into him, grinding your hips against his cock but Hyunjin makes no notice of you and your antics. Eventually getting bored, pulling his cock away from you. 

“Kneel,” He speaks curtly, standing. However, you do not move fast enough for his liking. “Don’t make me have to do it for you.” 

He does anyway. Grabbing you by the hair, dragging you up and forcing you onto your knees, skin grinding into the grass, sure to have bruises on them. Hyunjin’s hand stays in your hair, tugging as his free hand wraps around his cock. He yanks your head to the side, proceeding to slap his cock against your cheek, precum oozing from the tip. 

“Open.” He says, and you promptly follow his instructions. “Looks like I’ve got a smart one.” 

Hyunjin spits into your mouth, globs of saliva coating your tongue. His cock closely follows, dipping the tip in and out of your mouth quickly. He shifts, though, choosing to slide his entire length into your mouth, lips closing around him; but Hyunjin doesn’t allow it. Cock sliding out of your mouth, resulting in Hyunjin slapping you on the cheek with it again; saliva and cum sticking to your cheek. “Keep your mouth open wide.”

You adjust for him, just wanting to be able to take him and satisfy his cravings. He slides his cock back into your mouth, fully, giving minimum time to adjust to neither his speed nor his size. Mouth stretched to capacity, jaws aching and burning but Hyunjin is completely relishing in all the gagging and choking you do. You’re getting dizzier the longer his dick is in your mouth, tip kissing, nearly ramming, the back of your throat due to Hyunjin’s pacing. You feel like you’re on fire but yet you’re still able to relax into it. It isn’t long before you start moaning around his cock, absentmindedly rocking your hips back and forth whenever you taste a hint of the salty sweet substance. Hyunjin then pulls out, saliva spilling all over your chin and connecting in tiny stings to his cock. Smacking your cheek with his cock another three times, erupting in a full belly laugh, smiling at the way you’re just a completed fucked out mess, barely registering a thing he’s doing or saying to you. 

“Look at that,” Hyunjin releases you from his clutches. He pushes you back by your shoulder, making you catch yourself from falling back with the palms of your hands. When you look down, you’re completely soaked, wetness dripping down your thighs and onto the ground, pooling messily onto a leaf, spilling off of its edges and soaking into the dirt beneath it. “Fucking filthy little mess you’ve made. Cunt just begging to be fucked, huh?” 

The question is rhetorical but you still nod; even going as far as to whine a little bit, hips moving seemingly without your control. Hyunjin takes pleasure in this small action, kneeling down to your level. He licks his fingers, noting that he doesn’t need to at all, and swipes them over your clit, one, two times before his ring and middle finger are sliding into your cunt. Fingertips meeting the exact place you need them each time he slides them into you. You’re clenching around his fingers now, and Hyunjin licks his lips, pulling away from you.

“Turn around.” You obey, turning on your hands and knees, swinging your ass in the air. He continues with his teasing, and at this point you’re nearly sobbing, wondering if he’ll ever actually give you what you want. Pathetic chants and whines spilling from your mouth as you push your ass against Hyunjin, unable to control yourself; thinking with your cunt instead of your brain. 

Hyunjin spits down onto you, and you can feel the glob of spit slide down from your asshole to your cunt, tickling its way down your clit. Hyunjin, though, slides the head of his cock from your clit, upwards, collecting his spit and your wetness in the process. He teases the tip at the rim of your tight hole, teasing at it. But when you push your ass towards Hyunjin, he pulls away, tsk-ing in the process. 

“Silly little play thing,” Hyunjin gives a cold, almost threatening laugh. “I think I need to teach you a lesson on patience, hm?” 

The threat has you pleading with him, repeated apologies dancing off your tongue, ultimately not acknowledged. Hyunjin loves to hear the sounds of your begs and pleads, but ultimately, the words you say do not matter to him—it all means nothing. Hyunjin marches at the beat of his own drum, and in situations like this, when he’s got a perfect piece of flesh like you beneath him, everything that he says, goes. And right now, he’s perfectly fine with teasing you over and over and over again. 

Slapping his cock against your cunt once, twice, Hyunjin slightly pushes the head of his cock against the rim of your ass. He continues applying pressure, fixated on stretching out the perfectly puckered hole. You whine at the feeling, slowly inching away from it, but Hyunjin holds your hips still. Pushing and pushing, slowly, until finally he slides the head of his cock into your tight hole. Hyunjin moans out at how your hole tightens around him, welcoming him inside. He does nothing, just stays like that, moaning and ignoring your pleas for him to do something. It’s not until you feel the side of his hand brush up against you cunt that you realize Hyunjin has got a hand around his shaft, getting himself off while the tip of his cock is in your ass and you’ve got nothing to do except for lay there and accept it, with your ass in the air and your face against dirt. 

His moans increase as he fucks his hand around his cock faster; and if it werent for his other hand holding you in place, you’d at least try to fuck back on him through the stretch of the pain. As Hyunjin exhales, letting out a deep groan of a moan, you feel the rush of warm liquid shooting into you. You moan in response as Hyunjin makes a mess of you with his cum, filling you up, trying to keep it all inside until he pulls out and it all, inevitably, leaks out of your hole, pooling around your cunt. 

Hyunjin wastes no time, cock sliding into your cunt with ease due to your wetness and his cum; but the stretch is intense, more than you initially expected. You tighten up a bit, resisting, though you want to relax. You can’t hold your arch perfectly any longer but that’s the least of your worries—the only thing on your mind being cock. Hyunjin slides another inch into you. Maybe it’s because of all the teasing, or the fact that you’ve already cum twice, but he’s not even halfway inside of you and it feels like he’s reached the depths of your soul already. His hand reaches around, fingers coming in contact with your clit in hopes of helping you ease up. 

“Created just for me,” Hyunjin breathes out, voice rough with possession. “Made just for me. Only me.” 

He continues with his ownership of you, voice dipping deeper as his words become mostly obscenities. You don’t hear it. Or perhaps you can’t hear it. Maybe you don’t want to hear the vile things he’s saying. You’re overtaken, caught up by the intense, high pitch ringing that is worming its way through your ear canal, planting and fertilizing clashing waves of static all around your brain. 

His hand wraps around your neck. It feels nothing like the soft, once heavenly hands that had been massaging all over your skin. These hands are rough, calloused and rigid palms that venture into freakishly long, boney fingers; with nails like claws that pierce into the side of your neck right behind your ear. Your eyes remain closed, fearing that if you open them that you’ll see something you shouldn’t, something that your mind would be unable to comprehend visually. A feeling of spiritual discomfort crawls up your back, causing you to arch, shivering at the same moment Hyunjin works his cock deeper into you, stretching you further; mentally and physically—of which he insists on doing, wanting to bend you to his will and break you beyond anything you’ve experienced. 

Hyunjin pulls you back to him, hips unrelenting. Teeth, sharp like razors, piercing down into the flesh of your shoulders; nearly enough for blood to start trickling down your skin, but that does not occur. His teeth, however, do leave indents in your skin; that, if he’s lucky enough, will be permanent. His lips meet your ear next, a brief kiss planted to the lobe before whispering in a rather gruff voice, unlike that of his usual. “Inferior to me. Mine to claim.” 

When he cums there’s an immense amount of it, sticky and warm. Hyunjin makes sure to be fully buried inside of you, cock seemingly swelling in size as he forces you to take all his cum inside. Hyunjin is selfish, not waiting a single moment, and barely pulling out before he begins to thrust back in. Cum coats his cock, almost daring to drip onto the ground in raindrop-like shapes. He refuses to allow that, however, fucking all of his cum back into you. His thighs, which originally felt like the silkiest, softest flesh, now coarse and dry—except for the sticky cum running down them, connecting in slightly thick, white lines against your thighs—and fuzzy; thick. “Mine to possess.”

You slowly come to realize that Hyunjin has taken a different shape completely. No longer possessing the body of a man, he has turned into some kind of beast, something inhuman. He’s grown abnormally in size and you can tell because he’s holding you up as he fucks you, toes barely scraping the dirt. 

And as filthy and as frightening as it is, the line between fear and arousal is a very thin, blurry line. It leads you to come crashing down, partially due to the overstimulation, cunt spasming around Hyunjin’s cock, sucking in all his cum. You’re elated, completely delighted, mind elsewhere as you experience your high with Hyunjin fucking you through it. Hardly registering anything other than the feeling of Hyunjin’s cock stretching you out and the warmth of his cum—a sticky mess that’s leaking out both of your holes and staining your thighs. 

When you come to, you’re laying on Hyunjin’s chest. It’s still daylight out, the sun beaming as bright as ever, nearly blinding when you open your eyes. It takes a few moments to shake away the pure, drowsy euphoria you’re feeling, completely ravished by bliss; almost hypnotized. You prop your head up to look at Hyunjin, and the moment you do, it’s like there are trumpets sounding off all around you. You have a realization—no, a revelation—that things aren’t as they seem as you peer up at the brown-haired man. As queasiness makes a home in the pit of your stomach, all within two mere seconds, the wind picks up; howling in the distance, bustling within the branches of trees. 

“This is a dream, isn’t it?” For what might be the first time, your eyes meet his.

What words can be used to describe what you saw when you looked into the eyes of that thing? Petrifying? Nauseating? Surreal? It makes you want to close your eyes, however, when you do, the images you’ve seen seem as though they’ve been permanently printed against the black of your eyelids. Perhaps you can attempt to run away—and hide, praying to God that you’re not stalked and caught—but your muscles don’t respond to the neurons being sent by your brain. Perhaps you can find a way out of this dream, but your physical body seemingly refuses to acknowledge the call to wake up; only processing the utter fright in the images it created. The only thing you can do is stare into Hyunjin’s eyes, continuing to receive visions of which you hope you’ll be able to forget. 

His irises are a deep pool of black, displaying a particular flavor not only of loneliness but utter wickedness. The longer you stare into Hyunjin’s eyes the longer you are disillusioned, fully snatched away from all delusion of this former fairytale. Vision clouded by a thick, murky fog; fully spotlighting the shocks of visions you see in his eyes. 

A beast, creature unlike anything you’ve ever seen or imagined. The face of a man only oddly elongated with empty eye sockets and horns—covered in blood that only makes a mop of its fine hair—curled up into two spikes atop his head. A smile so wide it’s like it was carved in with a razor blade and charred, blackened and blood stained fangs hanging from its mouth. Its body, with its abnormally long limbs, is completely drenched in blood, dripping in pools all around the entity. Pieces of what you can only assume is a human—or even worse, you—discarded and littered around it without much thought or care. 

Flesh. Human meat. Limbs and bones and the insides—intestines, livers and hearts and muscle—all around you as this vision becomes reality; suddenly finding yourself within one meter of this monstrosity. The pool of blood coming up to your ankles, rising steadily. Pieces and pieces of the now deceased all around you, entirely mangled and minced. The creature holds pieces of meat within its claws, sharp nails piercing into the gray flesh, bits of meat stuck between its teeth as it tears into its victim. 

It is feeding. 

The situation becomes all the more frightening when the creature raises its head towards you. Despite it being eyeless, you know that you’re making eye contact, getting lost within the empty abyss that seems to be staring into the corners of your spirit. It’s wide smile never fading as it lurches, sprinting towards you faster than the blink of an eye. 

The transition from the dream world to the waking world is surreal, almost jarring. Especially since when you awaken, you’re paralyzed, body stiff with static crawling all over your skin. The darkness of your bedroom surrounds you, both familiar and completely unknown. You attempt to move around a little, opening and closing your eyes multiple times, attempting to raise at least a finger; though falling short of progress to escape this feeling, left to stare straight up at your ceiling. 

Then there’s the boom. A loud, static-like noise; deep as if something really heavy had dropped—but you’re unsure if it’s coming from the dark corner on your right or elsewhere within your home. A thing that simultaneously occurred and did not happen. The speed at which fear rises within you is faster than the speed of light. Heart racing as the physical manifestation of dread drops to the bottom of your stomach—fear making its home in the back of your throat, tightening as your swallow, seemingly making it difficult to breathe. It consumes you, a heavy burden, too insufferable to support, unable to put up a fair fight against it. 

Don’t Look. 

Curiosity gets the best of you. You shift your eyes to the right and in the far corner of the bedroom is a space that’s significantly darker than anything else in the room; like a void. Perhaps it’s because the light from your plug-in air freshener doesn’t reach that area of the room. And perhaps you’re tired and still reeling from that strange dream, but you swear you see movement as you glance over. You want to look away, you have to look away, but curiosity sinks its claws into you. Hypnotizing and you're paralyzed with fear of what could happen. Then, the darkness in the corner grows, getting larger as if whatever it is has been expanding, standing up to greet you. 

Then it disperses. Leaving you alone, shaking and sweating in the cold, unwelcoming darkness of your room, finally able to move and process things. 

© PLANETDREAM 2023

#🌑 — vivid dreams #🌑 — vividdream.skz #stray kids smut #skz smut #hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin smut

[strugglingbigtimw]

“I will eat you slowly.”

Summary: Toji loves you a little too much. Genre: Yandere Toji x reader, dark fic, dead dove do not eat?

cw: Smut, facesitting, choking, lowkey extreme toxic masochism, descriptions of gore, mutilation, and cannibalism

a/n: the parasites in me told me to do it 🙃

Toji Fushiguro is greedy. 

A man forced to fast will turn to gluttony at the first sight of a buffet. 

That’s exactly how Toji feels about you. 

You once jokingly called him a parasite. He wholeheartedly agrees.

It’s not enough for Toji to have your love, he needs to consume it. By that extension, he needs to consume you. 

He technically knows that you contain the same organs as most people. Heart, liver, intestines, the usual. However, yours have always seemed more delectable. 

He’s aware that gorging himself on you would lead to both of your demise. He can’t exactly replace you as easily as certain meals. 

However, that doesn’t stop his appetizing ideas. 

When he lays himself on your stomach, he resists the urge to sink his teeth into you. To feel your skin between his teeth, forcibly removing it from the muscles and tendons it kept safe. To lap on the blood that will pour out of you as he continues his assault. He wants to chew his way through those muscles until he reaches the delicate meat of your stomach. That is the real feast. 

Still, if there’s anything Toji learned from you it was compromise. 

Instead of getting the most savory experience by biting your fingers off, he’ll suck on them. However, the wedding ring he gave you, which adorns your hand when he acts on his impulses only intensifies this urge. 

He’ll playfully bite your wrist, as a joke. Something small you can laugh at as compared to the scream of horror that would bubble in your throat if he knawed and sucked at the marrow beneath your flesh as he wanted to. 

He loves to eat you out. Specifically, when you sit on his face. The feeling of your plush thighs occasionally squeezing the side of his head while he is overwhelmed by your scent, makes him dizzy. 

He wants more. He needs more 

He wants you to cave his skull in. To suffocate him so much that his neck breaks as he turns red from the lack of oxygen. If he can’t have that, he at least wants the imprint of your legs to leave dents in his head. When he walks around with you, he wants people to look at his disfigurement so they can know you caused it. 

People have always told him his scar is his most interesting feature, so why not have more? 

Additionally, Toji is fucking gross. 

Some masochistic part of him shivers when he’s put back in his place. When you beat down him like he’s scum. 

Old habits die hard. 

He wants you to slap him hard enough to leave red hand prints. When you’re riding him, he wants you to choke him. His breathless squeals of “harder, fuck…Harder” as his blood rushes to his face and his eyes force themselves shut worry you. He hopes that when he wakes up the next morning, he’ll still have the phantom feel of you strangling him. After long nights of being intimate with you, he wants his whole body black and blue. He needs you to mark him. To taint him so much that he can’t go anywhere without him and everyone else knowing that he’s yours. 

#jjk imagines #jjk scenarios #jjk x reader #jjk x you #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen toji #fushiguro toji #toji x reader #jjk toji #toji smut #toji x you #yandere male #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere toji #yandere toji x reader #yandere toji fushiguro #jjk smut #jjk drabbles #jjk brainrot #jujutsu kaisen #jjk boys #yandere x reader #yandere boyfriend #male yandere #anime x reader #anime x y/n #toji zenin

[coentinim]

Crime scene

ADULT + DARK CONTENT - MDNI !

JPM is beautiful in the act of killing, how can his wife not appreciate that?

Contains: descriptions of murder (not of reader), gore, blood, sexual content (at a fresh crime scene), you are (almost) as deranged as him, you are married to him, dead dove - please feast <3

I am not responsible for what you see on the internet!

Edit: forgot to tag people T_T

@fear-is-truth @taintandviolent @feefymo @slutforgarlogan @silverzoomies @yandereunsolved @maeriavizsendingjpmdose @evanpetersbf @carniv0reev

You heard it again. Those screams, those ear piercing, mind shattering screams of some poor soul being gutted alive. Supposedly, the walls were soundproof, but you could hear well and clear the wails of another one of James' victims in the next room. Perhaps the wall connecting your rooms was the only one he didn't line with asbestos... and on purpose for sure. He wants you to hear.

A young woman - no older than 25, judging by the noise - was currently being sliced open slowly and deliberately by your husband's hand. After only being married to him for a few weeks, you could already tell apart the screams of terror before a quick death and pained, tortured wails of a slow one. And during this time, you've grown accustomed to this peculiar hobby of his, even fond of it at times. His bloodlust and cruelty were undeniably fascinating, and having the honour of being the only person he never wished to harm was something to cherish. His debauchery was just contagious, really!

Curiosity had overcome you, and you decided to check what exactly was your beloved doing as he worked. And oh, were you amazed at the sight when you entered his room.

The screaming was so much louder and clearer here, begs for mercy - even for a quicker, painless death - made for a terrifying noise, but you paid them no mind. Oh no, you focus was on your husband only. He was a true artist, the way he worked the woman's body like it was an instrument, a work of art for art's sake, a horrible perversion of what a piece should look like. A bloody image it was - James was cutting all over her skin, ignoring the wails, and carving flesh with quick, steady strokes of the knife. You couldn't help but come closer, almost beside him, and you made your presence known by walking into his line of sight. He raised his eyes from the half-dead girl to you and you noticed his expression. He did not look human, not even one bit. His eyes were widened, pupils engorged and cheeks flushed bright red. He wore the mask, the strange mask you didn't know the purpose of that made him look like a horrible monster mothers warn their children about. He did not wear the apron he usually did, though. His white shirt (one of the informal, "not as good ones", you recalled) was half unbuttoned and stained crimson with the explosions of the woman's blood. In the act, he looked like a beast. He was panting when he stopped skinning the woman to gaze at you.

"My darling, I didn't- hah, disturb you, did I?"

His voice from behind the metal and leather sounded different, too. Savage. Inhuman.

"No, Jimmy, I was just curious..."

You gazed at the wailing woman on the table. Dear god, she was a mess... her arms and thighs were a mosaic of cuts, some more refined and artistic, some deep and rough, careless. She was almost bare, her under dress riding up enough to only cover her breasts, and only a small pair of knickers on her bottom. You hummed in approval; James listened to your rules against seeing his victims naked unless necessary. But you quickly turned your attention to her stomach, because that was certainly a sight to behold! Around the navel, there were a few deep lacerations, one of them definitely deep enough to penetrate muscle and cut into the intestine. The blood flowing out in rhythm with the erratic pulses of her heart covered her pristine underwear, making her look downright pornographic. It wasn't hard to understand his savage interests in such moments - the bloody, shining gash on her stomach was a curious sight, to say the least. It truly looked nasty; that must be why she was writhing in pain so much. She seemed to beg for your help, but it was unintelligible - besides, there was no saving her now, she had lost too much blood. Not that you would have saved her otherwise - she would just run to the nearest police officer and get you and your husband arrested. Accepting James might be hard at times, but seeing him executed while people leered at his undeniably painful demise would have been much harder. He was hard to love, and hard to let go of.

You trailed your hand over her split stomach, ignoring the thrashing and protests.

"May I?", you asked.

James' eyes lightened up even more, humanity mixing with the animal in him.

"Would I ever deny my darling wife to share my pleasures?", he replied in his syrupy voice distorted by the metal mask, the terrifying sound making your head spin. He was the only one who could scare you yet make you feel so safe.

You kept looking him in the eyes, barely visible under the eye protection, while slowly putting two fingers into the woman's wound. You were terrified, but you just wanted to tease your James just a bit, just a tad... It was wonderful. The quiet, pained screech, the blood exploding under your fingertips and the pulse of her insides. It felt like touching something slimy, is that what James felt upon fingering your cunt? He absolutely adores doing it, and now you see why; the texture is nothing short of divine. Your ministrations had a great effect on your husband, as he started panting and gripped the edge of the table the woman was sprawled on. Oh, he was hungry like a wolf at that moment. You let go of the victim's body after just two seconds, slightly disgusted with yourself, observing your bloodied hand and James' face. It was hard to see anything but his nose and eyebrows through the mask, but you knew he was more aroused than ever. In fact, you feared him. He was terrifying in his murderous attire, even more so now that his body language radiated pure hunger. You held his killer gaze for a few long seconds until something made him glance away. Right. The woman.

To your surprise, she was still making noises despite the blood loss. James walked right past you, close to her face, and held her cheek almost tenderly. Her gaze was unfocused, but she tried to squirm away from his touches. In response he just gripped her chin tight and tutted at her hazy thrashes. He raised his blade and sliced her neck open, so deep the blood exploded in his face. She went quiet rather quickly after that.

You saw him kill a dozen times, yet it always stunned you just how predatory it looked. His muscles taut, the vulgar display of vitality, as if he absorbed the life force of his newest victim.

Slowly, James turned to face you. He was dead silent, and at that angle you couldn't see his eyes. Your instinct told you to back away, so, naturally, you stepped forward, your thighs slick with arousal from the fear and guilt.

The growl that came from his throat was definitely unexpected. But more surprising was his direct action - he gripped your shoulders tightly and led you into the chaise-lounge next to the table. He pushed you hard onto it, making you gasp, and he pressed your shoulders to the soft pillows as if you were to be another victim. That particular thought went straight to your pussy.

"James... maybe after you clean up after yourself?", you suggested in the most sultry voice you could. Ah, did you have to tease him so much? He was impatient, after all! The tension from the kill had to be resolved somehow.

"Nonsense, dove-" he was already pulling up your gown, "I need to take my fellow murderess... now "

You bit your lip, nervous. Were you really a murderess?... that girl was already half dead when you touched her wound! You were merely an accomplice, and...

Oh, you forgot you didn't wear any panties until you felt the cold air hit your pussy. He gripped your thighs and left blood handprints all over, making you forget your guilt. Your dress was all red now, too, as he used it as some sort of napkin to clean himself after his meal. He was savage today, but even now he remembered to at least taste you before taking you. He attempted to take off his mask and you whined.

"James... no, keep it"

He chuckled darkly. Then, he spoke with his metallic, leathery voice:

"Oh? If that is to your tastes, dearest wife..."

He wasted no more time after that. He almost ripped the silky dress off in his hurry, and slipped out of his pants with an impatient growl. Oh, you looked like a prey ready to be ravaged. He groped you all over before sinking his painfully hard cock inside you, leaving bloody handprints on your waist and breasts and neck. You looked like a masterpiece of pain. You whined, the stretch was pretty painful despite your wetness. He looked like a feral beast above you; his terrifying mask making him look like a strange monster taking you all for himself. The thought felt so erotic you could barely stand it, and you whined. Oh, his girth felt so invigorating...

He fucked the same way he killed. Impatiently, roughly, and yet meticulously, both in control and completely out of it. His moans were distorted by the mask, and it felt as if he was all around you, he was in your brain as much as in your cunt. It felt divine, to be violated by that beastly killer, by your beloved husband. Sweet, honeymoon lovemaking with him was terrific, but the desecrating pace he treated you with right now was a feeling no other man could recreate. You gripped his shoulders, staining the back of his shirt with your bloodied fingers, bringing his body closer. Each thrust was punctuated by your obscene moans; he slid himself in at a slightly upward angle, hitting your sweet spot hard each time.

You whined and whined, and he slid his bloody fingers past your parted lips, making you taste his victim’s blood. Your guilt was all-encompassing, yet it felt so good to give in, even just once. Morality was for the stupid, uneducated folk, James used to say. Regulations, rules, faith; all of it is supposed to limit freedom of thought and action. You believed every word of his, no matter how ridiculous it all sounded in the context of his serial murders.

He always knew when you were close, always knew just how and when to toy with your pussy with his red hands and when to edge himself so you two finish at the same time. He had a thing for it, it felt like unity, like your bodies were truly one.

You thought he would never kill you, but he did it quite frequently. You died a little death many times with him, unravelling beautifully under his strong body, core exploding with spasms and locking his seed deep in you. You two came as one, him filling you up, making your mixed releases drip down and combine with all the blood. In this moment, you were his victim and he was your killer, taking you from life and lifting your soul up, or maybe dragging it down to hell, for a few seconds of blissful pleasure.

You always envied his victims. Oh to see his face as the last thing before you fade away, oh to feel him inside you as you pass! The blood all over your body, his mask and the body nearby made you feel such eroticism and guilt...

He pulled out with a whine and tucked himself into his pants, pulling your dress over your dirty body soon after. The casual nature of the situation made your head spin in confusion. That was it?... he can just get up like that, like nothing happened? You were panting, staring at his body, beautiful and shiny with sweat. He took his mask off, revealing a devilish grin.

“Miss Evers! Bring me fresh linens and draw a bath for my wife, would you?”

#james patrick march #ahs #american horror story #ahs hotel #james march #james march x reader #jpm #jpm x reader #evan peters #kai anderson #kit walker #ahs fanfiction #ahs x reader

[leonstoenailunderhisbed]

A Southern Myth

Summary: Leon had been sent to a rural place in Texas where sightings of a BOW were reported. But upon entering the forgotten town, he began to get entangled in a horrific twist of events involving a religious cult. Things escalate and now he must survive with the help of a girl who doesn’t believe in anything.

Warning: horror. religion. mentions of blood and gore like description. cult activities. violence. swearing. reader is fem. there is no romance/smut.

A/N: omg I’ve never written something like this before🙈 CAPCOM should hire me for script writing.

“You believe you're on the righteous path, you believe you're a force for good, but you're not.” - John Seed, Far Cry 5

“Come forth, my children. Let your souls become pure under His guidance.”

“Let us rejoice in purity as we bathe in this sacrifice. Let us become one for Him, for He has been waiting.”

-

The sound of the dirt rolling under the car’s wheel made the road feel bumpy for Leon. The heat was intense the further he went into the rural side of what was once a town named Giligand in Texas. Once a lively town that had become a ghost town.

Until a group of religious settlers took over the desert land and claimed it their new home. They built their own society, far away from modern civilization. The orange and dried plants surrounding the new town as the wind blew hard. The sun intensified and caused Leon’s sweat to trickle down his body.

Right in the middle of nowhere is where he got sent- yet again. The D.S.O has assigned Leon a more haunting mission. The government division found in Texas’ own legislation had found weird signs of an unknown entity roaming around the dried up land. He found himself standing in front of an agent in Austin telling him about this entity.

“Our homeland security experts have raised a few concerns regarding a secluded town in Western Texas. They believe that this could be related to the virus incident that presided in other countries,” The senior agent stated as he gave Leon a stack of papers containing pictures and files of the sightings.

The abnormality was big and round. But its eyes were the only visible thing in the dark of night. Pure white eyes protruding from the creature’s face, sending a wave of uneasiness to Leon. The monster seemed tall, definitely more than 9 feet tall. Leon couldn’t tell exactly what it was but he guessed there were some sort of horns coming out the creature’s skull.

Leon had finally reached the town, being greeted by a yellowing sign. The sign written in Times New Roman “Welcome to Cunstacin” on the bottom “previously Giligand” and then near the border edge “Pop. 189”

Such a small town for a big state. Leon didn’t think much of it. He wasn’t aware of how much his life would change the minute he passed the sign without seeing those pure white eyes watching him from behind his truck.

The town itself was small but seemed very busy. The roads were flat with gravel. The houses were old and barren but still usable. He wondered how people were able to make a living of such an abandoned place. As he neared a motel, he was met with the leader of the town. A tall man of tan skin, hair long enough to reach his shoulders as his beard grew to his neck.

He approached Leon’s truck and greeted him with a polite smile, “Ah, you must be the new guy they sent here.” Leon nodded as he turned off the engine and jumped out of his car.

The man walked up to Leon and patted his shoulder, “Hope the road wasn’t too tedious. The distance between here and the city is pretty stretchy.” The man chuckled and looked behind him where two young women stood. “Go fetch his luggage and take it to his room. We don’t want to make our esteemed guest work too much now, don’t we?”

The two ladies nodded and walked over to the trunk of Leon’s truck. They both carried the brown and thick luggages to the motel, their silhouettes getting lost in between the halls.

The man then gently forced Leon to walk with him, “I’m sure you’re tired and you might want to get some rest, but there’s an afternoon mass the town wishes for you to attend. The people want to meet the new guy in town,” the man laughed again and gave Leon’s chest a lazy slap.

“I appreciate the offer but I’m here for work- strictly for work,” Leon replied as he looked at the man and then around the area.

The man chuckled and took his hand away from Leon’s shoulder, “No worries- I get it. You’re a busy guy and your work ethic is commendable,” the man leaned towards Leon’s ear to whisper, “But if you find yourself in need of His words, do come to the church behind the Great Willowed Forest.” The man leaned back and gave him another toothy smile, almost unsettling. “Make yourself at home.” That was the last thing the man said before he began to walk away.

Leon exhaled through his nose. He already got the creeps from the background check he ran on the town but meeting the people in person made the whole experience much more precarious.

He began to walk along the town, trying to find any other civilians. He saw an older woman with two children outside a two story building.

“Excuse me,” Leon said as he jogged to the three individuals. One of the children, a little boy with a bowl haircut pointed to Leon and exclaimed, “Look, meemaw- ‘tis the new guy!” The older woman slapped the little boy’s head, “Pointing at strangers is rude.”

Leon cleared his throat, “It’s alright,” he looked down at the kid before looking back at the older woman, “I’ve heard there were some strange… sightings around this town-“

“Ah, yes-“ the woman cut him off, “You’re talking Tervin.” Leon immediately furrowed his brows. They had named the potential B.O.W?

“Tervin?” Leon asked and the woman nodded, “Yes. He was sent by God,” she looked up at the sky and then back at him.

“He was kind enough to send us a messenger. My boy, the end is coming. We must cleanse our souls of our sins in order to enter our Eden.”

Leon immediately felt a weird sense of unease in his lower stomach, the bottom pit sinking down after the woman spoke.

The woman took a step forward and cupped Leon’s face, “He is our savior. He will bring us to an eternal peace. Time is ticking, we must proceed with His plan.”

Leon took a step back, taking deep breaths. What was this feeling? His heart was hammering against his rib cage and he could feel his head become light. Maybe it was heatstroke or maybe it was fear.

The woman stared at Leon, seemingly in a trance. He swore he saw her eye color vanish for a moment, not right before she “came back” and smiled at him. She then took hold of the two children’s hands and walked away. He could only stay there watching as they got further away.

He exhaled shakily as he ran a hand through his hair, this would be harder than he thought.

-

For the next following days, he’s been trying to talk to these people but everyone said remotely the same things.

“Monster? He’s no monster. He’s our salvation.”

“God sent him, it is His gift to us.”

“We must act quickly, the end is nigh”

Leon was currently sitting on the edge of the bed in the room he was currently staying. His elbows rested on his knees as his gaze fell on the picture of the creature he had in his hand. Pure black, except for the eyes. Something felt sinister- almost too evil. But he couldn’t pinpoint what. Everyone looked normal-ish.

He left the motel and began his 15th round of research. He was so sure he’d get kicked out if he kept asking the people questions. His mind traveled back to what the leader said, something about attending mass.

He didn’t want to but he knew that he had to try. Maybe there was something that could be useful in the church.

So that’s where he was headed. To the Great Willowed Forest. A forest full of tall trees and tall grass. The sun was setting and the church came into his line of vision. A tall Victorian structure that was adorned in white and gold. A bell sitting on top of the highest tower peak of the religious establishment. He slowly walked up the freaking and old steps of the church. Muffled talking from just the other of the door. With a light inhale, he pushed the door open with gentleness and stepped into the church.

The inside was much more beautiful. The benches were neatly fixed in rows as the windows were stained glass depicting stories of their God. The church was packed and the leader stood on the podium, preaching about their path to salvation.

“We must obey the Lord’s rule. For we are His children as well as His servants. We must makeup for the loss of His journey.”

Leon found himself an empty seat at the very back. No one seemed to have noticed him enter, they were all focusing on the town’s leader words. Almost as if they were bewitched.

“Tonight, we must bring our sacrifice and cleanse our souls. We must savor the taste of blood as He has given us a vessel from his sacrifices. We must show him our devotion.”

The mass lasted for an hour and a half, and he didn’t find anything remotely useful. He sighed in defeat as he felt like he wasted his time, yet again. There were no signs of any B.O.W and these people were most certainly convinced that the monster was their key to heaven.

It was nighttime when Leon had left the church, walking aimlessly through the forest. His mind preoccupied with thoughts about potentially lying to the D.S.O and telling them it was just some southern myth.

Until he hears clinking sounds coming from behind a bush. His agent instincts activated and he quietly walked towards the bush to see what was behind it.

To his surprise, he’d found another person. A girl working on a garden. She had been couched down on the floor as her hands worked through the soil.

As he walked towards you, his boots crunched against the twigs lost in the grass. Your attention had been drawn to the sound and you quickly spotted the new man in town.

You furrowed your brows as he approached you, “You’re the new guy everyone’s talking about.”

Leon nodded curtly, “The one and only,” you hummed in response and resumed your duties.

“Can I ask-“

“No.”

He was caught off guard by your immediate answer. You didn’t even look back at him. He could only stare at the back of your head as your hands worked through the soil.

“You didn’t even listen to what I had to say,” he approached you and crouched next to you, glancing at the plants you’ve been planting.

“I don’t need to. You’re asking questions about this stupid and fake thing everyone claims to be salvation or some other bullshit,” you grumbled.

“Not necessarily-“ he sighed and looked at your side profile, “I’m not here for that-“

“What do you want me to tell you? That there’s some sort of monster roaming around the forest?” You turned your head to look at him, “Because I won’t. I haven’t seen anything and I do not believe it even exists. Those lunatics are hell bent on their stupid… belief,” you scoffed as you turned your attention back to your plants.

“Bunch of bullshit if you ask me,” you muttered. He looked at you some more before looking back down at your hands covered in dirt.

“So you aren’t with those people?” Leon raised a brow as he analyzed you. You shook your head no, “Hell no. You don’t know what they do to those who don’t believe in their God… you don’t know anything.”

Leon remained silent as your words settled down in his mind. There was more than what you led on and both of you knew this.

“Then tell me,” he replied quietly. You sighed and looked at him with an annoyed expression, “Doesn’t matter. Just go back to your shit and mind your business.”

He didn’t say anything, he just watched you for a few minutes before he stood up and left.

He went back to his motel room and laid down on the bed. Staring up at ceiling as he thought about the events that took place. He still couldn’t shake off the strange feeling he felt about this town. Something felt odd but he just didn’t know what. He sighed and decided to just sleep for the night.

-

Leon woke up early in the morning and tried to find the leader of the town. Surprisingly, he was at the church. He was sitting down on a bench, silently praying. Leon walked up to him and sat next to him as he waited for him to finish praying.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t our visitor. To what do I owe the pleasure?” The man said as he noticed Leon’s presence next to him. Leon cleared his throat and pulled out a picture of ‘Tervin’

“I need you to tell me about this. What do you know?” Leon’s brows were furrowed, he was serious. He didn’t come around to play. The man took the picture and stared at it. Something in his aura had changed upon seeing that picture.

“Where did you get this?” The man asked as he looked at Leon with an unreadable expression. Leon shrugged, “I can’t say.” The man hummed and looked back at the altar in front of them.

“Tervin is a gift from God. He was sent as a warning of impending doom,” the man replied in a flat voice. “If he isn’t satisfied, then he seeks blood. We must cleanse this town of impurities and relay a message to God that we are worthy of his Eden paradise.”

Something in that caused a shiver to run down Leon’s spine, but he didn’t show it. He remained serious and calm. Leon nodded once and stood up, feeling like no one will actually tell him anything.

“Thanks,” he muttered before he left the church. When he walked out, he nearly crashed into you.

“Watch it,” you hissed at him. He looked down at you with a raised brow, “I’m pretty sure you meant ‘excuse me’” he crossed his arms over his chest and kept blocking the doorway.

You sighed and looked at him unimpressed, “Excuse me.” Leon rolled his eyes and stepped to the side. As you began to walk past him, you noticed the picture in his hands. Your brows pinched together and you quickly pointed to it, “what’s that?”

Leon looked down at the picture and then back at you, “I’m supposed to investigate this… thing.” He watched you closely, trying to gauge your reaction as you stood there silently thinking.

“You’ll get yourself in trouble if you keep putting your nose where it doesn’t belong,” you warned before stepping inside the church. He saw you walk up to the leader. He exhaled and walked back to the town. When will someone actually help him?

-

It was somewhere past 11 pm, he was staring at the files he had about this town and his objective. It was impossible to think how he didn’t have any leads. It was the Leon S Kennedy! He always saw that the job got done, always.

He groaned defeatedly and began to walk around the town, he doesn’t even know how many times he’s done that.

The town was awfully quiet. There was a fog occupying most of his vision, making the place look eerie and unsettling. He heard the rustling of the trees and grasses but he paid no mind to that. Not right now, at least.

He saw you sitting on a fountain, staring at your reflection deep in thought. Why were you the only one out here. He walked over to you and spoke in a soft voice, “What are you doing out here?”

You looked over at him and then back at the water, “Could ask you the same.”

Leon sighed and scratched his head, “I just- I wanted to ask questions but seems like everyone just… disappeared.”

You hummed in response as your fingers played with the water, “They didn’t. They’re at the church praying or something.”

His ears perked up, praying at this time? He didn’t want to question it but it still lingered in his mind.

After a few moments of silence, he couldn’t help but ask, “You said you didn’t believe in God, why is that?” He asked in a quiet voice.

You looked at him before motioning for him to follow you, “It’s better if I just showed you.”

You led him through the dark forest, twigs snapping under your shoes and wind howling soft whispers as the moonlight glimmered down you two.

“This town ostracizes those who don’t believe in God. Do you know what happens to nonbelievers?” You looked behind your shoulder to glance at Leon for a brief moment.

“No, I don’t but do tell,” he followed behind you as his eyes scanned the forest for any threats.

You sighed and stopped walking once you’ve reached an abandoned cemetery, you walked up to one of the gravestones and stared down at the name, “Jeffrey Clyle. 1987-2024.”

“Sacrifice,” you whispered. Leon heard you and walked up next to you, your eyes distant and your expression solemn.

“Ever since rumors of the “messenger” started, they’ve been capturing and targeting those whose faith has been faltering…” your gaze remained down at the gravestone and Leon remained silent as he let you talk.

“They’ve been doing human sacrifices in the name of God. They believe that God would forgive them if they kill those who oppose him…” your voice trailed off for a moment before you turned your face to look at him, “It’s evil. Punishing people for not believing in something is inhumane. They’re all slaves to their own fucking religion, that God is not kind and I will never believe in it.”

“Then what are you still doing here?” Leon asked as he stared into your eyes, searching for an answer.

“Because my father is the fucking leader of this whole thing. I can’t just leave,” you mumbled and looked away. “I already get judged for not believing- imagine what would happen to me if I left?”

He remained silent once again. Your father was the preacher and the leader of the town? That makes things even more interesting. Leon never pictured himself to be in this kind of situation- not since Spain, at least. It all seemed the same to him. Religion controlling people, is that all it will ever be?

Then he remembered something from mass he attended,

“Tonight, we must bring our sacrifice and cleanse our souls. We must savor the taste of blood as He has given us a vessel from his sacrifices. We must show him our devotion.”

Leon’s eyes widened as he began to finally realize what might happen. He looked down at you, “You mean to tell me… that your father participates in human sacrifices? Why?” His eyes were narrowed as his breathing became faster.

You looked at him with narrowed eyes, “Because his idiotic self thinks that sacrificing people will help him and his goons reach their heaven.”

Innocent lives were being used for this town’s religion. This didn’t sit right with Leon. He quickly ran out of the cemetery- his heartbeat speeding as his legs carried his body towards the church.

Under the embrace of the moon and the night, a gathering assembled at the edge of the churchyard, shrouded by the shadows cast by the townspeople. Their faces unrecognizable under the dark night, their chants in hushed tones as they circled around a sacrifice.

Bound by chains, a person writhed in resistance, their muffled cries stifled by a potato sack over their head. Leon stood behind a tree as you came behind him to look at the scene unfold in front of your eyes.

The leader of the town emerged, wielding a sacrificial blade gleaming under the moonlight. Each stroke of the blade sent shivers down your’s and Leon’s spine, as the victim's anguished pleas echoed through the night, a haunting presence appeared through the tethered night.

“We give this sacrifice to you, our Lord. Let us repent for our sins and wash ourselves with the blood of those who’ve been cleansed.”

The creature- otherwise known as the B.O.W- emerged from behind the forest and entered the churchyard. Its stature was 11 feet, towering over everyone. Its black glistening skin reflected the moonlight as its pearly white eyes penetrated the group of believers. Its horns swirled upwards, reaching up to the sky. The townspeople all bowed to the creature as they chanted its name, “All hail Tervin.”

Leon’s eyes widened as he saw the B.O.W while your eyes widened at the fact that this “messenger” was indeed real. Leon took out his gun and aimed it at the B.O.W. You quickly pulled his arm down and whispered in a harsh tone, “Are you stupid? That thing could be dangerous.”

Leon narrowed his eyes at you, “I’ve fought those things before, I know what I’m doing.” He shook your hands away from his arm and aimed the gun back at the beast.

The beast approached the human sacrifice and with its claws, it picked up. Almost instantly crushing the human, letting the blood fall down like rain on the townspeople.

“Thank you, Lord, for this blessing”

The B.O.W then ate the human sacrifice after the townspeople showered in their blood. A scene so horrific and disturbing, it twisted your stomach upside down. The creeping sensation of the fact that it could’ve been you in that situation only made it worse.

To feel your rib cage cave in, piercing your lungs and heart as blood trickles down your mouth. Its claws clawing into your body, letting the blood flow like water.

It only made you shiver and writhe in disgust.

Leon then began to shoot at the B.O.W with his gun, drawing the attention of the townspeople. One bullet shot the creature’s eye, causing it to stagger backwards in pain. The group of believers all turned to look at you and Leon.

Their faces unrecognizable- their faces foreign as the creases and eyes all felt like distinct people. The group slowly began to walk towards you two as the monster howled in anger.

“God, forgive those sinners. They haven’t sought your guidance. Let us illuminate their path,”

The leader spoke as they approached you and Leon. Anxiety coursed through your body as you saw the B.O.W swing its claws at the group of believers. People flying left and right. The leader turned around and observed in delight.

“Yes, God, yes! We shall sacrifice ourselves for Eden.”

The whole group then began to chant, “For Eden. For Tervin.”

The B.O.W only had one goal in mind- and it was to kill the person who injured it. As Tervin kept walking towards you and Leon, Leon took hold of your wrist and began to ran. He dragged you through the forest back to the motel he was staying in.

He looked the door to his room and turned to look at you, “What the fuck was that!?” Leon was stressing, all these emotions resurfaced and he felt overwhelmed. Why was this happening, how was this happening?

“I told you, they’re fucking evil when it comes to their God,” you replied harshly.

“Yeah I wasn’t exactly expecting your father to be the leader of a cult with that thing as its dog!,” Leon replied as his hands traveled through his face and hair.

You scoffed and crossed your arms over you chest but just as you were to speak, the ground shook. Heavy footsteps were heard and Leon rushed to the window. He peeked through the blinds and saw the group of believers walking over to the motel with Tervin in following them. They kept chanting as they kept walking.

“We need to get out of here now-“ you said as you began to hurry out the door. Leon, however, stopped you.

“I can’t just leave, I have a mission to do and it requires me to kill that thing. I cannot go home until it’s dead,” he said as he stared at you with a resolved expression.

You could only stare at him in silence for a few moments before sighing defeatedly, “Fine, do whatever you want.”

“Stay here,” he instructed as he took his gun and walked out, leaving you alone in his motel room.

In the flickering glow of the moonlight, amidst the eerie chants of the cultists, Leon stood there, gun in hand as he scanned the group. He needed to be smart. They had a B.O.W to their advantage.

As the first cultist lunged forward, knife in hand, Leon countered with swift precision, deflecting the blade with a punch to the gut. His movements were a blur of calculated strikes and evasions. As he killed and wounded the cultists, they grew more frenzied, their chants escalating into desperate cries of fury. Yet, undeterred, Leon continued fighting.

“We must bring him to God!” They chanted as they kept lunging at Leon.

Amidst the chaos, the B.O.W stepped forward, its twisted features contorted with rage as it charged at Leon. With the gun pointed at the beast, he shot bullet after bullet, causing it to slow its movements.

“God, please forgive our brother for he has sinned. We must cleanse him.”

Leon ran out of bullets and just as the B.O.W was about to strike, he saw you throw a pitchfork at it. The blades piercing the creature’s skin, stabbing it right in the chest.

The B.O.W let out a screeching scream, “No! Our messenger!” The leader spoke in anguish as he watched the creature stumble back, falling to the ground with a thud. Leon reloaded his gun and began to shoot again, this time aiming for the head.

As Leon became busy, your father glared at you and it was like something turned in him, “You bitch. I’ve had just about it with you. You will submit to your God and you will repent!”

You’ve never heard him speak to you this way, so much malice in his voice that you didn’t recognize the man that used to be your father.

He lunged at you, his hands trying to reach for your neck to strangle you. You took a nearby torch and set his clothes on fire. He stood back and tried to set the fire off of himself- to which he fails. He screams and cries in pain as he began to get engulfed in the flames of his sins.

“Forgive me, my children!”

You finally understood everything. There was no God because your father believed he was that God. The flames burned up in hues of blue and orange right before the sparks flew into the night sky.

His skin melted, his eyes became a blobby mess and he fell to the ground. His screech becoming more faint as the life in being burnt away from his body. The flames expanding over the dried wheat of the town, engulfing the town in a pit of fire.

Leon had been too busy to even notice that you killed your father. He’s been shooting the B.O.W, making sure to blow its head off once and for all.

After two rounds of reloading, he finally was able to kill that damn thing. Watching it fall to the ground, sending harsh vibrations to the floor as silence overtook the ghostly town.

Heavy panting overtook the two of you as the silence grew deafening. You turned to look at Leon as he stared at the B.O.W all lifeless. You looked around and saw the bloodbath. Everyone was dead.

Pools of blood stained the gravel he once stepped, the lifeless bodies of the townspeople growing cold. The flames being the only source of light under the dark night.

Leon turned to look at you for a brief moment before looking up at sky as he tried to take deep breaths. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. He couldn’t believe what he was brought into. But he was glad it was over. For now at least.

Leon packed his things and went over to his truck, he looked at you, “Aren’t you coming?”

You looked at him and then back at the town- or what remained of the town. You nodded and walked over to his truck.

Both of you driving down the lane of the rose, exiting the town. Passing by a sign that read, “Please visit soon!”

Unaware of the presence with the white eyes watching you two leave the town.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #id leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #re4 leon #resident evil fic #re4 remake #resident evil 4 #leon #horror #southern gothic #x reader #re4r leon

[altheneum-writings]

Narinder with an s/o who attempts to not be weak but is dragged in a fight and made to cry. Causing them to come sniffeling to them all bruised.

"The One Who Waits is not one who you want to anger" Narinder x Reader oneshot

- Contains; Narinder/Reader (romantic), mention of blood and mild description of gore, mild hurt/huge comfort, fluff

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The black cat would stare at the paws of his beloved, he was silent, very silent. You would ask him if he was okay but everytime you tried to, he'd shush you and tell that you don't need to speak when you are in this state. not yet at least.

As he neatly wraps the cloth of silked webs around your scarred hands, it only took him a deep breath to try and restrain himself from getting angry in front of you, no no he'll never show his anger to you. he can wait, he is very patient...

Narinder would finally ask, in the softest tone possible "who had dared to touch you?" You were scared to say, or rather, embarrassed. you made yourself as the tough one in this relationship, someone who Narinder could rely on for all the time he's spent alone but now you're showing how vulnerable you are and it's embarrassing, it brings that dreadful stinging feeling in your eyes.

As your eyes glisten with burning water, your face was cupped in gentle hands. you look up and see your beloved and he looks at you with the utmost care. "Please, oh little bird o' mine? please tell me who's done harm to you." he would ask, his tone showed no anger, only calm. You can't help but feel obliged to say the name, so you answer to his request. he would nod and softly kiss your patched paw before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a bell, as much as he'd hate to call upon the Lamb...he hated to see you in pain alone more, so he rings the bell and let's it's little chiming calls reach to the Lamb.

When the Lamb came and saw your condition they were unpleasantly surprised, unamused, but since Narinder was there to help you heal for at least a bit they were also relieved. "Lamb, watch over my beloved...I will have a...stern talk to someone, make sure my beloved will not be hurt." Narinder's voice requested of the Lamb calmly which was unexpected of him to do, in the Lamb's eyes at least.

Never the less, the one who wore their red cloth came towards you and started to check if there were any more injuries whilst Narinder walks out of the tent. His head is filled with ideas, many ideas. maybe he can rip his spine out? or blow his head out? maybe a public execution?

whatever it is, the members will fear him more than they should have.

#cult of the lamb x reader #narinder x reader #cotl x reader #cotl narinder #Nyxia's writing

[another-lost-mc]

Rubies in the Dark LUCIFER x gn!Reader 4.9k Words | NSFW | Medieval Fantasy AU | Dubious Behaviour Content Warnings: Dark Elvish Prince!Lucifer x Alchemist!Reader. Contains descriptions of monsters, magic and blood/gore/violence; minor injury; implied stalking, breaking and entering, invasion of privacy; dream magic, dream sex, mutual masturbation, implied somnophilia. (Also, shameless references to Warcraft lore because it inspired the worldbuilding for this story.) A/N: This is my fic for @bizarrebankai's 1k Follower Collab! 💙

It’s been nearly five years since you left your family’s small farm to create a new life in Hillsbrad Foothills. You didn’t have any weapons' training and you weren’t magically gifted. Some of your childhood friends were, and they were able to move away to pursue new adventures, leaving you behind. Your family expected you to accept your boring country life, but you knew you wanted more. Disappointment and heartbreak finally motivated you to pack your meager belongings and set off on your own adventure.

You might not be a warrior or mage, but your new freedom gave you the opportunity to explore and study your true passion for alchemy. Your small cottage is located in one of the villages near the Alterac Mountains. Most of the villagers are hunters, gatherers, or tradesmen.

You make a comfortable living trading your alchemy creations to the other villagers. The foothills are an abundant source of some of the most useful flowers and herbs for crafting utility potions and healing elixirs. You don’t like to let things go to waste; the discarded plants you can’t use are milled and turned into ink that you supply to the local constable and village leaders. 

In exchange for your services, they provide you with clothing and food and other useful goods. Your life is lonely, but it’s comfortable. Time has healed old wounds and very rarely is your mind plagued with doubt and regret; you know you’re better off without your unsupportive family and the weak-willed ex-lover you left behind.

Today was surprisingly busy and you were in your alchemy lab all morning. The weather started to turn and you saw clouds rolling over the hills when you peeked out the window. You glance at your herb reserves hesitantly and wonder if you have enough time to gather some more before the storm comes.

One of the village’s recent hunts ended bloodier than usual–there weren't any deaths, but more hunters were seriously wounded than normal. You were more than eager to provide them with potions to accelerate their recovery, but most of your supplies have run out as a result.

The wildlife in the foothills has become exceedingly aggressive. There aren’t many visitors to these quiet lands. There are rumors circulating the village of suspicious travellers conducting experiments with local animals and plant life along the region’s uninhabited borders. They talk about rabid animals and foliage overrun with disease, but you’ve been fortunate not to come across anything like that yourself.

The foothills aren’t easily accessible and are used mainly as a thoroughfare to other regions. There’s only one main road travelers can use to bypass the mountains: the eastern road leads into the valleys and the sea beyond; or the western road that winds up through Silverpine Forest, a thick and dark place nestled along the mountain range.

You’ve heard stories about Silverpine Forest, too–or the Demon’s Forest, if suspicious townsfolk are to be believed. Some people say that monsters hunt along the road at night. If the legends are true, they capture weary travelers and unsuspecting hunters and drag them to their demise in the dark, never to be seen or heard from again. This land might be home to magical and wondrous things, but even you doubt that the stories are true.

Regardless of what you believe, you try to be cautious when you go out to collect herbs on your own. You attach a long knife to your belt before you slip on your cloak, although it is more useful for trimming leaves and brances than for protection.

You bite your lip and glance nervously at the sky. The clouds overhead threaten rainfall, but you think you have enough time to restock some of your depleted resources. You slip out of your little cottage and follow the stone path to the main road heading west.

Today’s harvest is productive and uneventful. These foothills are an excellent source of Briarthorn and Silverleaf, some of the most potent herbs you use regularly. You’ll be able to provide the local healers with more elixirs with extras to spare.

You don’t normally venture this close to the western border, but you naturally follow the most abundant patches of herbs and it led you there. You haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary, but you’re still eager to return to your cottage before it gets too late. 

You set along the path that will lead you home when a strange sound carries on the wind and catches your attention. It doesn’t sound human, but you recognize the whimpers and whines of a creature in pain. You take a hesitant step off the main road, and then another, until you’re walking slowly, carefully, through the grass towards the noise.

The unusual sounds lead you down a deep, sloping hill towards one of the region’s abandoned mines. You shiver from the sudden drop in temperature–something about the air in this area feels unsettling and desolate, and it sets your nerves on edge. The pained noises come from just inside the opening of one of the mining tunnels. You peek around the corner carefully, and you spot some sort of wounded animal.

At a first glance, you think it might be a type of bear, but it’s hard to tell without getting closer. It’s stuck in a tangled mess of thick, white webbing that pins it to the ground. The beast raises its head when your leather boot disturbs some loose stones, and its eyes–or is that two pairs of eyes?–blink at you. The beast is still whimpering in pain, but a low growl echoes around you now, too.

You hold up your hands and show the beast you mean it no harm. It sniffs the air curiously and the growling fades, which you interpret as a sign that it’s safe to approach. You kneel at the beast’s side and examine the webs trapping the poor animal in place. You stroke its furry back soothingly as you slowly cut away the thinner sections of webbing, but the thicker ropes along the beast’s back are too tough for your knife to hack through.

You’re so distracted by your task that a new sound startles you and makes your blood run cold; the beast starts to growl louder and more menacing than before. There’s a hissing noise approaching you from deep within the mine. The flurried sound of skittering limbs echo off the stone walls. Dozens of yellowish eyes seem to float in the darkness further down the tunnel from you and the beast.

It appears that the mines are home to a nest of overgrown spiders. The spiders are nothing like what you’ve seen before: they’re nearly as tall as you are and much wider. They have gnarly limbs and strange, pulsing growths jutting from their backs.

You have no weapons except for your knife, and it’s a poor substitute for a proper sword or axe–not that you could wield either of those successfully, even if you had one. The beast struggles to break free of its bindings next to you, but its limbs are still immobilized by the webs.

You don’t want to run and leave the beast to a bloody fate, but you don’t want to be devoured by the monsters approaching you either. You’re paralyzed by indecision and fear. You remember the stories of suspicious individuals creating abominations from nature in their wake. You didn’t want to believe the rumors were true; you didn’t think this is how you would die.

Something knocks into your back, and you yell in fright as you’re pushed aside. You’re afraid that a monster ambushed you from behind, but instead you see a tall figure wearing leather hunting gear underneath a long, dark cloak.

Whoever it is stops and examines the beast closely, and a male voice speaks to it in a strange language you don’t understand. He pats the beast’s heads–all three of them– before he approaches the swarm of spiders. He doesn’t hesitate to draw a long steel blade, and you stare in horror as he marches towards certain death.

“Hey, wait, don’t–!” you try to warn the stranger. You realize very quickly that your warning was not wanted or needed.

It’s not a battle so much as it is a slaughter. His movements are graceful but quick, and they’re difficult for you to follow. He darts a path through the monsters, his sharp weapon slicing through the air and cutting them down effortlessly. Frenzied, monstrous shrieks and hissing fill the air; the sound of flesh slicing and squelching blood makes you nauseous. The musty mine air grows heavy with the hint of copper. You clench your eyes shut and cover your ears.

Eventually, the sounds of carnage fade into nothingness, and all you can hear now is the wild thumping of your heartbeat. When you open your eyes, the hooded stranger is standing near the beast’s side once more. His sword drips black-red ichor from the slain spiders, and he wipes the blade clean. He cuts through the webbing so the beast can finally stand up properly. It reminds you of an enormous dog as it shakes its dark fur. Its heads each try to lick at the stranger’s face, and you hear a soft huff of amusement; it nearly makes you smile, despite everything you’ve just gone through.

The stranger finally seems to remember your presence and turns to face you. Most of his face is shrouded in darkness with his hood still up, but you know he’s staring at you. His attention feels weighted, almost suffocating. His aura is intense and you’ve seen for yourself he’s capable of ruthless bloodshed, but for some reason, you don’t feel afraid.

His head tilts questioningly. “Why?” his smooth voice asks quietly. “Why did you stop to help him?”

“I wanted to,” you reply honestly. You cringe when you realize how naive it sounds. You could’ve died, and you probably would have died, if not for the traveler’s excellent timing.

You don’t know what to say, and neither does he judging by his icy silence. Something catches your eye when you take a better look at his clothing. There’s a gash on his arm, and the thin material of his tunic is already soaked with blood from the wound. “You’re hurt,” you point out worriedly.

He looks at his arm like he didn’t even notice he was wounded, but he startles when you approach him without hesitation. “What do you think you’re–?” the stranger demands, but he only makes a half-hearted attempt to pull away from you.

You shake your head to silence his complaints and focus on his injury. You normally carry a small assortment of bandages in one of your pouches, pre-soaked with healing elixir, and you unwrap one and press it to his arm. You wrap it around the wound as gently as you can.

“I make these myself,” you explain to him quietly. You move the ripped fabric of his shirt aside, and your fingers brush against his bare skin. You hear a sharp intake of breath, and you pause tying the bandage in place. “Is it too tight?”

Even with his hood up, you can tell he’s shaking his head. “No, no–it’s fine."

When you’re satisfied with your work, you step back and give him some space. The man seems to be focused on his arm now, and the strange tension between you makes you nervous. Before you can think of anything else to say, rumbling thunder booms in the distance outside the mine and you look over your shoulder. The sky is even darker now, and only the barest hints of sunlight peek through the clouds.

You suddenly feel the tingling sensation of magic in the air. You turn around to ask the man if he lives nearby and what his name is, but he and his beast are gone. You scan the tunnel as far as your eye can see, but nothing else remains except for the plagued spider creatures the traveler killed to save you.

More thunder booms, louder and closer than before, and you rush from the mine. You see no sign of the man or his beast, but the storm brews on the horizon. You have no choice but to continue the journey home as quickly as you can and hope that they’re safe now too.

The villagers are on high alert after you inform them of the monstrous spiders you encountered near the western border of the region. You leave out the details of meeting the cloaked stranger and his three-headed beast.

Your thoughts drift to them often in the days that pass since that tense encounter. The traveler must be a gifted magic user if he was able to teleport them both away so easily. You feel the pang of envy when you think of your nonexistent magical skills, but you remind yourself that you’re an accomplished alchemist instead. You’ve honed your talents and found your own purpose in life; you don't need anything else.

Sometimes when you walk to town to buy supplies, or when you tend to the small garden of herbs near your cottage, you feel uneasy. You glance around nervously when the sensation of being watched makes your skin break out in goosebumps. You call out nervously and ask who’s there, but no one answers. The silence feels anticipatory somehow, and you wonder what it means.

The next morning you stumble tiredly from your room after a restless sleep. You think a warm cup of tea will help, but you freeze when you realize there’s a man in your house. His back is facing you while he looks over the alchemy texts and storybooks on your shelf. He turns to you properly when he hears your startled yelp of surprise. 

The man looks like no one you’ve ever seen before. Black hair streaked with grey falls over his intense ruby-coloured eyes. He wears a silver circlet adorned with black opals. His black regalia is perfectly tailored and looks expensive. The dark fabric is accented with gold and red threads that almost seem to glitter in the sunlight shining through your window. His cloak is lined with fur, and his black leather boots are shined to a high polish. He clears his throat and tugs on the cuff of his gloves, almost like he’s nervous. Whoever the stranger is, he looks regal and important and painstakingly out of place in your humble cottage.

You should be afraid that a stranger broke into your home and looked through your belongings while you were sleeping in the next room unaware. However, there’s something familiar about him that you can’t place at first. You suddenly think of a three-headed beast and the cloaked stranger that saved you both, his pale, sharp jawline peeking below the shadow of his hood–

You realize the man before you is the swordsman from the mine, and he nods his confirmation when you ask him if he's one and the same. Your gaze lingers on his intense red eyes and the pointed tips of his ears, and he explains that he lives deep in Silverpine Forest with the elves. He tells you that he’s the crown prince of his kind, and he’s here because he owes you a debt of gratitude.

He looks visibly irritated when you tell him repayment of any kind isn’t necessary. Shouldn’t you be repaying him since he saved your life? But there’s a pink flush blooming across his cheeks despite his offended expression, and all he says is that it’s complicated. Apparently, risking your life to save elvish royalty–or his pet–is a big deal.

You rub your arms nervously and ask what he means. You’re expecting him to offer some sort of compensation, like gold or rare goods, and you plan on refusing all of it. What you don’t expect is for him to ask permission to court you. His eyes are serious and they blaze angrily when you burst into laughter at his proclamation.

(He doesn’t tell you that his brothers noticed his increasingly distracted behaviour the days following your fateful encounter. He washed the bandage you gave him and kept it for sentimental reasons he can’t even articulate properly. He can’t look at Cerberus without remembering how close he came to losing his beloved companion, or how brave you were to try to save him yourself. He thinks of how kind you were when you tended to his wounded arm and how gently you touched him–no one's ever touched him like that before.

He thinks about the spies he sent to your cottage to learn more about you, and how he grew too eager and started watching over you himself. He thinks about your reputable alchemy skills and kind nature, and how respected you are in your small village. He thinks about your potential, and how he can offer you so much more, if you’ll give him the chance.)

In the awkward silence that follows, you realize he isn’t joking and he's waiting for your response. You don’t mean to offend him, and you apologize profusely, but he can’t seriously expect you to accept such a proposal so easily, right?

But you think about your quiet isolation with only fleeting acquaintances among the townspeople to keep you company. You think about the world beyond the foothills that you pretend doesn’t exist. You’re not sure how you’ve ended up in another isolated prison of your own making.

Were you craving a sense of adventure when you let a strange beast’s cries lead you astray from the safest path home? What could someone like an elvish prince offer someone like you?

The world, a treasonous voice whispers in your mind. Judging by the mischievous gleam in his eye, you’re not sure whether that voice was yours or his.

You explain to him as gently as you can that you can’t accept such a bold offer of courtship, but you would be happy to accept an offer of friendship instead.

He readily agrees with your counter-proposal, and you wonder what you’re missing that makes him look so pleased; he looked ready to attack you for wounding his pride only moments ago. He refuses your offer to stay longer and visit, but he assures you that you’ll see him again soon. You stop him before he leaves when you realize you don’t even know his name.

My name is Lucifer, he tells you warmly. There’s an unreadable smile teasing his lips, and he offers you a murmured farewell before he disappears in a ripple of magic.

You ignore the curious voice inside your mind that wonders how long he'll make you wait before he visits again.

It’s been nearly a week since Lucifer visited your cottage and turned your world upside down. You haven’t seen him since, but you’ve made a mental note to ask him what friendship means to elvishkind. It almost seems like he completely ignored your rejection of his offer to court you.

Each morning when you wake, you find some sort of gift in your sitting room: a vase of rare wildflowers, silver jewelry fashioned similarly to the circlet he wore, a new cloak lined with soft fur that looks suspiciously like his own.

You pick up today’s gift–a heavy, leatherbound book about plants and herbs with blank pages at the end for keeping notes. You recognize some of the drawings on the pages: those plants don’t grow in the foothills, but you know they grow in abundance within Silverpine Forest where Lucifer lives, that cheeky devil.

These tokens feel too intimate for the early stages of blooming friendship, but you suspect he knows that. Is he so arrogant that he thinks your affections can be won so easily despite your initial protests?

(Or does he know that despite your protests, you enjoy all his thoughtful gifts? He’s so considerate of your interests and passions. It’s difficult not to be flattered that someone as interesting and handsome as him would be determined to impress someone like you.) 

Your cottage starts to feel different as it fills with gifts the elvish prince brings you while you sleep. It’s almost like he leaves hints of his unique magic on purpose for you to find. You catch whiffs of the smoky-sweet fragrance he wears as you walk through the halls, and you can't help but think of him when you do.

Sometimes you still feel like you’re being watched, but the sensation feels friendlier somehow, rather than invasive and alarming. When you look out your window in the evenings and stare into the thicket behind your cottage, you can almost imagine the flash of blood-red eyes staring back at you.

You’ve been using the book Lucifer gave you as a type of journal. It’s become an intimate confession of your wonder and your fears and doubts. You write about regret and hope and opportunities for new beginnings. You think about friendship and the potential for more, and you wonder how it might feel to wake up in a bed warmed by someone that loves you. You haven’t wanted these sorts of things in a very long time. You’re not sure whether to thank or curse the elvish prince for filling your head with such desperately beautiful ideas.

The next morning, you wake up and find another gift: a glass jar filled with fragrant tea leaves. The unique blend smells earthy and herbal and slightly sweet. You hold the jar to your chest and glance at your journal on the writing desk. It’s open to the last page you wrote on, but you know you closed it before you went to bed last night. Realization dawns on you: Lucifer wanted you to know that he read it, and now he knows all your conflicted thoughts about him.

You boil water and make a cup of tea with the leaves he gave you. You step outside into the early morning sunlight and sip your drink thoughtfully. The familiar feeling of eyes on you returns, and you wonder why it doesn’t bother you nearly as much as it used to.

You dream of Lucifer for the first time that night. It feels like your consciousness is floating amongst soft clouds. You feel weightless and protected and cared for. You can’t see him–not at first, anyway–but you know he’s there with you. His familiar scent is so strong you can almost taste it, and you recognize the deep, teasing timber of his voice when his quiet chuckle echoes all around you. You know it’s not real, but it feels like strong arms cradle you in a warm embrace and it feels so wonderful.

Wakefulness disturbs the tranquility of the dream, and you see one last flicker of red eyes before you sit up in your bed, wide-awake and breathless. You rub your eyes and squint as the morning sunshine filters in the gap of your curtain and bathes your room in light. Something catches your attention from the corner of your eye, and you realize he left his next gift in your room this time: a deep-red rose fully in bloom and tied with a black ribbon, placed next to your pillow while you dreamt of him.

Whatever is happening between you and Lucifer continues to grow more intense as days pass. Every night when you sleep, he visits you in your dreams like he knows your resistance to him is crumbling. His dream-self doesn’t really speak to you, except for deep sighs that sound like your name when he holds you against his chest. Sometimes his fingers trail lightly up and down your arm, and you can feel his warm, damp breath fan against your nape as his nose brushes against your neck.

His presence fades away when you wake up with the morning sun, and your new gift from him waits somewhere nearby. The traces of his magic seem to linger and grow stronger each time he visits you in your room. It almost feels possessive, like he’s leaving his mark on you so you can’t possibly forget him. It’s a constant reminder of who he is and what he wants from you.

His gifts become more intimate over time, too–a box filled with rare candied nuts and creamy chocolates, a bottle of rare fruit wine, a delicately woven blanket for your bed. Today’s gift is the most extravagant yet: a black silk robe with gold and red embroidery. It’s similar in style to the royal regalia he wore when he came to your home for the first time. The underlying significance of that doesn’t escape your notice.

You set the robe aside while you dress in your normal attire and carry on with your work for the day. Time passes in a blur as you grind herbs to make potions, and you mill the discarded parts into pigment for ink. When you head to the village to deliver the finished goods, you feel his intense gaze on you from somewhere nearby; he must realize by now that the bashful smile you try to smother is meant for him.

A strange feeling of anticipation has been building inside you all day. You get ready for bed that evening and take off your clothes. It’s almost like you can’t stop yourself when you slip on the robe he gave you in place of your usual sleepwear. The significance of wearing this to bed, and only this, doesn’t escape you either.

You don’t normally think about your appearance or attractiveness, but wearing something that he made specially for you feels like a type of seduction. The robe feels so soft and sensual against your naked skin, and you realize this is what it feels like to be desirable. The robe is loose across your chest and near the gap between your legs when you lay down. The thin fabric leaves tantalizing strips of bare skin exposed in the cool night air.

When you fall asleep, you realize immediately that tonight’s dream is different. You’re laying flat on something soft, and someone’s body cages you beneath theirs. You recognize the red glint of his eyes as the shadows fade away from his face. He braces himself on one arm while the other tugs at the fastening keeping your robe closed.

Mine, he whispers. His hand pauses, waiting for permission. 

Yours, you whisper back.

Once he has your consent, the restraint he’s been clinging to finally gives way to his primal instincts. He leans forward and kisses you as your robe falls open completely and you’re finally bare to him. His hands and mouth claim every inch of your body for himself. He’s gentle and slow as he explores you. The crimson eyes you once feared are molten with greedy affection for you and you alone. He makes a trail of open-mouthed kisses and small, suckled bruises across your skin.

When he's reached the edge of his control, he surges back up your body and captures your lips in another heated kiss. He slides his hand between your legs and teases the edge of your arousal. He nips gently at your skin when you bare your throat to him, and he smiles wickedly at the first soft sigh that escapes you.

He groans when you explore his chest and glide along his tapered waist until you find the hardening length grinding against your hip. His cock is hard and heavy in your hand, and he growls deep in his chest as you begin to stroke him. His fingers are relentless and you move together, stroking each other in a hot, desperate haze that threatens to consume you both.

He whispers sweet praise into your ear when you fall apart beneath him, and he gasps and moans your name when he comes too. Your hands are both stained as his release mixes with your own. The inside of your thighs are wet and sticky, and your chest heaves while you catch your breath.

He maneuvers you so he’s laying behind you. He wraps an arm possessively around your waist. It may only be a dream, but you swear you’ve never felt so good. You feel relaxed and content and your eyes slip closed.

Stay, you whisper into the strange, ethereal silence of the dreamscape. He grows still behind you for a moment, but he brushes a kiss against your bare shoulder and you know what his answer is.

Something suddenly jolts you into wakefulness. It’s still early in the morning and the sun hasn’t risen yet. You feel so warm, but you realize it’s because of a heavy weight against your back. A strong, muscular arm is draped over your waist and nimble fingers trace abstract shapes on your belly. The familiar tingle of magic and the scent of honeyed smoke surrounds you. The evidence of his desire for you still clings to your thighs, sticky and not quite dry.

“Mine?” his sleep-roughened voice rumbles behind you as he tightens his hold on your waist.

You relax deeper into his arms and smile when he nuzzles against you. “Yours.”

#series: enchantment #obey me lucifer #obey me x reader #omswd x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader #obey me smut #omswd smut #lucifer smut #obey me lucifer x mc #lucifer x mc #obey me lucifer x you #lucifer x you #obey me fanfic #omswd fanfic #x reader #obey me au #medieval fantasy au #someone dropped this 🚩 #gn!reader #Jules' 1k Collab!

[the-kr8tor]

The Fall

Pairing: fae! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 18.8k

Synopsis: You've never thought taking a house sitting job would land you somewhere a human shouldn't be in.

Tags: Fae! Hobie, Fem! Reader, no specific physical description of the reader, TW blood, CW injury, horror elements, TW gore, Fae AU, specific warnings will be added to every part.

A/N: This fic contains dark themes, reader discretion is advised.

*I don't consent to having my work translated published on other platforms and copy pasted on any Ai software*

*all pictures are sourced from pinterest*

Navigation

Masterlist

Part I - Mudwood Manor.

Part II - He Beckons.

Part III - Scarlet Leaves

Ending I - (???)

Ending II - (???)

After the Fall

Sent by the readers:

TF memes by @hunx147 (spoiler warning ⚠️)

1 2 3 4

Fae! Hobie fanart by @rexlroze

Spotify playlist

Reblog banner by @/cafekitsune

#the fall #the fall series #the fall mini series #the kr8tor's creations #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #spider punk #x reader #atsv fanfiction #spider man across the spider verse #hobie brown #fae! hobie brown #fae hobie? fae hobie #hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x fem!reader #spider punk x you #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #halloween fic

[cj-etc]

Uncommon injuries for your characters

This is just a small collection of injuries that I don’t see often/haven’t seen in writing! TW: This post may contain subjects/descriptions of blood, gore, and other uncomfortable subjects

Kicked by a horse/other large animal

Appendages run over by skate blades

Laceration via high heel

Choking (food, foreign object, etc.)

Teeth knocked out

Animal bites (namely by a pet)

Accidental poisoning

Falling/tripping resulting in skinned knee

Vehicle accidents

Injury via friends/family

Burns via cooking

Cut by glass

Impaled by fishing hook

Body parts crushed by heavy objects

Frostbite

Heatstroke

Poison ivy

Concussions

Dehydration

Medical side effects

Ancient weaponry

Curses(?)

#creative writing #writeblr #writing #writing advice #reading #writing tips #synonyms #injuries #writing suggestions #writing process #write #writing prompt #writing inspiration #writing ideas #writing injuries

[morallyinept]

Summary: Joel Miller comes back into your life unexpectedly after a gap of thirty years, and stirs up all kinds of memories and longing. Now, as you're stationed on an outpost for five days alone with the man you stupidly let go of all those years ago, you have a chance to confront him about your past life together and all the things you wished you’d said and done.

But Joel’s different now, and you know you need to tread carefully. Joel Miller is not the same man you once knew in another life.

A slow burn romance set in the post apocalyptic world, approx. twenty or so years after the initial Cordyceps outbreak.

Pairing: Post-Outbreak Joel Miller x MatureF!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. However reader is of a similar age range as Joel; in her late forties/early fifties. Joel is slightly older at 56.)

Chapter word count: 6.5k

Series Masterlist

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter notes: You and Joel face the morning after your shared intimacy, and any consequences that may come with it. Mentions of smut and death/gore/blood. Descriptions of panic attacks.

☝🏻 I WILL NO LONGER BE ADDING NEW TAGS due to some of them not working as they should, despite me tagging, so please ensure you're following me and turn on notifs so you don't miss an update on this story.

Enjoy! 🖤

Previous Chapter

When dawn approaches, Joel stirs first; the intruding light glowing a dull orange behind his eyelids and pulling him out of a broken sleep. 

Everything. Hurts. Like. Hell. 

His back is still pulling tight and unrelenting - screaming at him that he needs to fucking move off this damned cot or be paralysed for life. His face feels raw with the grazes scabbing over in places and his arm is numb. 

He turns to inhale you in and although he can’t feel his fingers where your weight is crushing them, he lays there enjoying the abstract sensation of your body shape nestled against his as you snooze. Something he still can’t quite comprehend in its entirety.

You’re here, you’re here alive. And you're with him, in his arms. You’ve let him inside of you, after all this time. 

He winds his nose into your hairline and just listens to the sounds of you sleeping as he inhales. He can feel the small whooses of your breath against his sternum cooling him. And he thinks this is how it was always supposed to be.

He can smell the sex between you lingering in the air; the scent of sweat from your body, and he never wants to wash you off of his skin.

He replays it over in his mind, that first moment he entered you and how good you felt contracting around him. How good you’d always felt.

He’s swollen again. Aching. Morning wood, a new peculiarity that stirs grizzly between his legs after what feels like a long hiatus. No-one since Tess, and he thought there’d be no-one else. Destined to live in solace and loneliness, waiting until it was his time to check out of the world, growing ever more rickety in the bones and grey and thinning in the hair.

Despite the pain in his back, fof a moment he feels alive again as he feels the blood fill him thick.  

There’s the calming sound of a few birds twittering outside and he’s lying here on the cramped cot, with come stained sheets, eyes closed enjoying just a few more minutes where Joel can pretend that nothing else exists outside of the shack, except for you. 

That he’s back in his home in Austin, in his old bed with the wooden slats that creak each time he rolls over, and your naked body is curled around him in that sleep-warming haze. 

He strokes all the way down your body to the little swollen belly you’ve got and places a kiss on it. You stir through bleary eyes as he looks up at you smiling, and that devilish smirk that he loves so much on your mouth has him trailing his lips lower still. He can feel you finger through his hair as he starts to lap at your pussy, tasting your honey that only gets sweeter each time. 

Then, he can hear Sarah downstairs humming to her favourite song on the radio. She’s calling up and letting him know the pancakes and bacon are ready, and that he’ll be late for work if he doesn’t get a move on and-

Joel’s eyes snap open and he’s mourning the loss of that sweet, haunting reverie already as it sluices out of his ears to die on the threadbare pillow.

And then that voice; that insidious little fucker creeps up the base of his spine again, seemingly out of nowhere, and is heard taunting him. It leans over his shoulder with a sharp claw tapping against it.

She could never love you, Joel. Not after everything you’ve done.    

In that split second of it pouring its words out at him, making him choke on the smoke of its beguiling voice, Joel feels that unmistakable rigidity flood him; like he’s hit freezing cold water face first. 

It strips him of his breath, the enamel on his teeth; his leg muscles coil and pull tight and he tries to suck in oxygen that flaunts itself at him with an evil smirk as it feels so far out of reach as he gasps for it.

His fist comes up to the centre of his chest and he shudders, encased in that spiralling grip once more, sinking and drowning. 

You’re going to die, Joel. All alone. 

He can’t breathe, he can’t see anymore. He’s just cold and shivering and unable to surface, and all rational thought has abandoned him. 

You hear me, Joel? Alone!

“Joel? Do you hear me?”

The sound of your voice is what pulls him back slowly; the small semblance of recognition through the foggy void that reaches in and grabs him, yanking by the ankles.  

He locks eyes with you and instantly the shame devours him; spitting out gristle chunks of him until there is nothing left. He pulls away from you, sitting up on the cot as you reach up and squeeze his thick shoulder affectionately. 

“Joel-” You query carefully. 

“S’nothin’,” he immediately cuts you off, and the jerk of his shoulder makes you drop your hand like you’ve been stung.

You can only watch, confused and concerned as he dresses quickly, despite the hisses between his teeth from the lingering pain, and retreats out of the shack muttering something about the horses.

He stays outside for a long time; most of the morning is swallowed up by his obvious, intruding absence. You’re not sure what he’s doing, and you can only stare at the plate of uneaten food you’ve left for him that has long since turned cold and dried out. 

His back, broad and hunched, was presented to you in the stable when you went to let him know it was ready. He offered you no acknowledgement, no familiar grunt in response.

Just bubonic silence that got under your skin and infected you with doubt and worry until it forced you to retreat.

You’re now sitting in the wicker chair gawking out at the valley while smouldering away inside. 

You stare at the walkie-talkie with a swill of nervousness swashing around your gut. It was only yesterday the crackled warning came through and then you were ambushed by the infected. But all that seems so far away considering it led to you and Joel to physically expressing your requited pining for one another.

The memory sears into your brain; his mouth on yours, his rough, deft hands on your body… the grunting sounds of his pleasure.

You feel it flutter in your gut and between your legs, and you hitch a breath at the recall that you can still taste on your tongue.

The words ink themself on your skin, he loves you. He always has. It’s what you’ve longed to hear for so long.

And now it’s led to him hiding from you like a child facing his scary closet monster for the first time. You can’t help but feel slightly rejected, despite knowing that you haven’t done anything wrong - have you?

You glance at the clocks and they read a little after ten AM. You stand sighing and reach for your handgun. You holster it to your hip and decide to go for a walk - you need to get out of the shack, away from the trussed up sheets of the cot where the ghosts of you both still writhe and moan in ecstacy.

Away from the missing shape of him filling up the air you breathe. The heat is beginning to stifle again and Joel’s behaviour isn’t helping.

You’re not sure if he’s still in the stable. You hear the sound of the mare whinnying gently as you pass, but you don’t check. 

The lumpy constriction in the back of your throat strangles you as you pass and stomp lithely down the path. 

You pass the bodies; flies circling and feasting on the rotting flesh. You’re so mad even the smell doesn't deter you as you step over them. 

“Why don’t ya ever fuckin’ listen to me?” Joel scolds you as you step back into the shack a little while later.

Your body is hot and sticky from sun exposure and the sweat sticks to you, irritating you further.

Joel saw you trail the path back up to the shack, fuming. He was preparing himself to go out looking for you when he saw your body; small and wandering down at the bottom of the hill.

Gritting his teeth, he endured that slow walk you did whilst rooted to the spot at the window, with fists clenched and recalling all the times before, when you were younger, that your free spirit and desire to chase impulse would come between you more often than not.

As much as he loved you, that lingering platitude of your careless wanderings always irked him. 

Leading to passionate, heated debates and arguments he wouldn’t engage in much, which riled you up even more. Then you would take off again in a huff, to spite him and leave him floundering and worried.

You’d always come back though, tail between your legs and kissing him round to fucking you in forgiveness - until you didn’t. 

Joel remembers the last time you left and he waited for you to come back. Waited probably longer than he should have. 

You didn’t come back. 

“Ya could’ve got hurt.” He growls at you.

He’s pissed as he puffs out his chest, hand on slender hip as you pass him and discard your holster onto the cot that’s still a mess. 

“I didn’t.” You simply say, brushing it off. 

“S’not the point.” He snarks. 

“Then what is, Joel? I’ve been taking care of myself long before you showed up back in my life.” You bite back.

He grumbles, words you can’t decipher, as he sighs and frowns at the ground.

“Old habits die hard.” You simply retort and he glances at you with dark eyes and a pout. 

“Ya can’t be doin’ shit like this, not on my watch.” He trails off, losing himself in the dissipating anger, trying to swallow it down fully. 

"Your watch? I'm a grown woman, Joel. You're not my keeper." You growl. 

He rolls his eyes chewing on the inside of his gums. “Where’d y’go?”

“For a walk.” You say bluntly. You lift off your top and swap it out for one that smells less stagnant under the arms. “You’re not the only one who can run away and hide, you know.”

“Is that what ya think I was doin’?”

“Isn’t it?” You lance him a knowing look and he hangs his head, guilty as charged. “What was that this morning, Joel?” You question and he shakes his head. 

You change tactics and approach him gently, reaching for his face, but he bats your hand away and you scoff, annoyed.

“You’re not going to let me in? Not after-”

“I can’t.” Joel reiterates. You can see it pains him to, his eyes pleading with you not to push it. 

You nod, defeated and step back as he passes you and sits himself down on the chair. His hand rubs at his temple - the side with the scar.

“I’m sorry. I was insensitive, brash. Taking off like that. But you have to understand, I've fended for myself for so long. I’ve had to.” You explain. 

“I get it.” He nods gently. “I can’t lose ya,” he says, barely a whisper. 

“You won’t. Promise.”

“No,” he shakes his head and looks up at you. “Ya can’t make that kinda promise, not now.”

“Then,” you sit opposite him. “I promise I’ll always do everything in my power to make sure I come back to you. I promise not to be so reckless. How’s that?”

Joel sighs, his giant palms dropping onto his knees as he massages one gently. “Better,” he gruffs. He tries not to smile, but you can see he’s struggling. 

“I get it too.” You say, after a few minutes pass between you that’s filled with a suffocating silence.

“Get what?” He questions.

“You’re scared of the way I make you feel.” You begin at him. “Because you don’t want to feel anything. You’ve spent so long making sure that you don’t.”

He shakes his head as your nodding increases. 

“And it's terrifying. It is for me, too.” You admit. "It's easier to have nothing then lose something you care about, right?"

Joel frowns. Then sighs. Then wants to strangle you because you used to do this. You used to get into his head with simple ease. Break down his impenetrable walls and sneak in, and he has no fucking idea how you do it. Or how you can still do it after all this time.

“It’s better that way.” He mutters bitterly. 

“For who?” You watch as his back stiffens. His neck disappearing into his shoulders. His serious expression melts away a little. Another chink in his armour. Then he shakes his head again, muttering incoherently under his breath and you can hear some cursing going on.

“Why are you doing this?” You question.

“I lost someone,” Joel drones, reminding you; his tongue turning around his teeth.

“Sarah.” You confirm, accepting his pain and understanding. Or at least trying to; you would never understand that pain he harbours fully as you’re not a parent. 

“No,” Joel shakes his head and looks at you, despite the pain twisting around his scruffy face. “Myself.” 

It comes out as a croak that dies a horrific death on his tongue. You watch as his eyes glisten and you reach for him instinctively. But it’s not enough.

You get up and sit in his lap and he doesn’t resist this time when you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. He buries his face into the crook of your neck as you offer him what he so desperately needs. 

“I don’t deserve any of this,” Joel begins, a mouthful of your skin.

“What makes you think that?” His brown eyes are red in the whites and you watch as he wipes them with the back of his hand quickly.

“‘Cause, I’ve done so much that I should be punished for. In the old world, I'd be rottin’ in a cell now.”

“We’re not in the old world anymore, Joel.” But he was still there, stuck and forever looping it seems. 

"Ya've no idea what I've done. If ya did, you'd take that rifle n' shoot me between the eyes. N' I wouldn't stop ya."

You scoff. “You think because you did bad things, things to survive, that you’re not deserving of affection now? Of redemption? You’re wrong, Joel.” 

“Ya don’t get it, darlin’.” He shakes his head solemnly.

“No, you don’t get it.” You correct and he looks at you with a quick shift of his eyeballs and nothing else. “We’ve all done bad things, things we had to. Terrible things. The world forced us to. You think we were prepared for it? That this is the curveball life was going to throw at us? Every single one of us has done things that, yeah, sure in the old world, we'd be punished for. But now? If faced with it, we’d do it again. You wanna know why?”

“Why?” He asks softly.

You breathe in, reciting Kelper’s words when you’d needed them the most. “Because in this world you have to have something to fight for. To be reckless for… To kill for. If you don’t have that, you may as well roll over and die now because there is nothing else. It's all gone. It's all fucking gone…" You sniff as your own eyes water. "And something tells me you're not ready to do that.”

Your fingers stroke at the nape of his neck softly, curling his hair around your fingers. 

“Are you?” Joel asks tentatively.

“I was.” You say, glancing down at your scar as your hand rests on your thigh. “But turns out, I still got some fight in me. And so do you.”

Joel sniffs deeply and sighs out; his head falls forward and rests on yours and you stay like that for a little while. 

"How’d ya fuckin' do that?" He asks into your eyelashes in wonderment.

His arms just wrap around you and hold you to him as you kiss the top of his head gently. 

“I just know the subject matter really well.” You smile into his crown. “Better than he knows himself.” 

“Ya do,” he pulls away to look at you; deep browns with a pulling, hypnotic warmth boring into you and heating you up.

You feel his hands sliding up your back, fingers notching over your spine nodules and making you shudder.

He smiles at your reaction, the smile blooming on your lips as you enjoy the feeling of him exploring.

“Know ya really well too, darlin’. I never forgot.” He says, as he latches onto your lips.  

Joel switches the walkie-talkie back on later, and you both wait silently.

He throws a glance at you, one that tells you he can still taste you in his mouth. You squeeze your thighs together at the recall of him laying you back down on the cot after your heart-to-heart, and proving to you again how much love he did have inside him, as he filled you up with it.

But now you both sit silently, waiting for any news.

You can feel your gut weighing down to your feet like concrete blocks, and sure enough a voice comes through over the static that’s more clear to receive today. 

It’s a voice you recognise and Joel grabs it and speaks. “Tommy?”

“Joel. Goddamn. Ya guys hangin’ in there?”

“Just ‘bout.” Joel's eyes dart towards yours and you smile tightly in agreement. Fine, hanging threads.

“What happened yesterday? Had a small pocket of infected pay us a visit.” He speaks into the walkie, his thumb letting go of the receiver when he finishes.

“I figured they’d head ya way. Ya pick up my signal?”

Joel swallows as he glances out the window, his eyes squinting in the light. “Yeah.”

You both know it was a close call and your mind shifts to that strident moment when Joel was yanked backwards by the body and tumbled down the hill with it, and it makes your stomach lurch.

That could have ended very differently and it doesn’t bear thinking about as you swallow it away.

“We handled it. ‘Bout twenty or so. Put ‘em down.” Joel explains.

The walkie crackles. “Horde’s gotten bigger. We had to regroup, weren’t expectin’ it. Was fuckin’ chaos.”

Joel grits his teeth and you sit forward in the chair sighing, your hands fisting together under your chin and listening carefully. Trying not to imagine the guys - Kelper, Max and Sal - out of their depths. But you hold fast and steady. They can handle it, deep down you know it.

They’re fine.

“Second team managed to get the explosives laid down. We’re ready for tomorrow. S’gonna go down as planned.” Tommy continues.

“Good,” Joel replies. 

You nod with some small relief ebbing through your bones.  

“Listen Joel. I gotta tell ya somethin’.”

“M’all ears.” Joel says as he looks at you; his brown eyes softening as he takes you in, sending a small affectionate smile back up at him.

He swears in this moment he's probably never loved you more, and the thought makes him sweat a little. He reaches for your knee and gives it a squeeze, watches with some contented awe as your fingers lock into his. 

“We were ambushed by infected breakin’ off. Chased us down. We had to let ‘em. Couldn’t risk the whole horde noticin’...”

Joel nods even though Tommy can’t see. You swallow thickly as you both listen.

Your heartbeat speeds up, you can hear it start to steamroll in your ears, almost drowning Tommy’s voice out. 

“What happened?” Joel asks with a brewing frown. 

Yesterday...

The sun hangs low in the desolate sky, casting an eerie glow over the barren landscape. Sparse woodlands with resilient trees run parallel, separated by a wide stretching field that’s filled with the moving shuffle of infected bodies en masse. 

Tommy can feel the sweat pooling at the back of his neck, gathering in the jet curls where he rubs listlessly at his sun-beaten nape.

From this position, hidden craftily behind the bushes, he’s got a good view.

Kelper, kneeling beside him, peers through the binoculars and sighs gently; but his face is etched with acute determination, watching the horde move towards the direction of the canyon as planned, that seems to echo with the ominous whispers of impending danger at any moment. 

Tommy adjusts his position carefully, crouched behind the thick brush, with aching knees and thighs; his fingers tightly gripping the worn handle of his weapon should he need it.

His breaths come in shallow bursts, the tension in the air almost suffocating. Kelper, the seasoned survivor, keeps his gaze fixated on the passing horde of death, just a few yards out from them.

“How many do ya think there are?” Tommy whispers.

Kelper shrugs. “More than a thousand now, that’s for sure.”

They've swelled in numbers; strays attaching themselves to the wider congregation as they move, led by the unseen force of the group spread up and down the route ensuring they don’t divert. 

“How is this even possible?”

Kelper turns to look at Tommy and shakes his head at a loss. “Evolution?”

The moans of the infected reverberate, creating an eerie symphony that underscores the gravity of their situation. Tommy shifts uncomfortably, glancing between them and in the far direction of where the explosives are being set to detonate.

“Come on ya bastards…” He mutters. 

Kelper smirks. “We’ll get ‘em there. Plan’s been working well so far. We keep pushing. Last hurdle, right?”

“Don’t be fuckin’ jinxin’ us now, man.” Tommy says, a thin smirk pricking at the corner of his lips. 

“Hold your nerve. We’re almost home. Get you back to your lady and your kid.” Kelper assures.

Tommy smiles and looks at him. “What 'bout you? Ya got any family left?”

Kelper shakes his head. “Just the ones I arrived with.” 

Tommy nods. “Right.”

“They’re all I need.” Kelper nods, smiling to himself. 

“Do ya ever wonder if we're becomin’ as heartless as ‘em?” Tommy asks after a few beats of silence.

He nods out to the horde. His eyes bear the weariness of a thousand battles, yet a glimmer of something unresolved flickers within the darkness of them.

“You start to blur the lines between the living and the dead out here, Tommy. But heartless? No, we're fighting for something more than just breath in our lungs.” Kelper says. 

"Ya think they know? Like they still have some conscious thought or shit?"

Kelper shakes his.head. "Nah. Whoever they were, they're long gone."

"Whatever makes ya sleep at night, right?"

"Maybe." Kelper replies.

“I just don't wanna forget what it means to be human, y’know? My brother… he’s lost his humanity. I see it when I look at him now.” Tommy says, shaking his head despondently. “I love him, but… I can’t be like that.”

“I don’t think anyone ever truly loses their humanity.” Kelper says. “If we did, we’d be exactly like them.”  

“How’d ya know we ain’t? They’re just tryin’ to survive, like we are.”

“You feel bad for them?” Kelper's jaw tightens, his gaze drifting to the distant shadows where the infected still roam. The burden of leadership etching deep lines on his face and casting deeper shadows under his eyes. 

“They were people once, even if they ain't now.” Tommy states. “Hard not to feel some guilt sometimes.”

Kelper smiles. “That’s how you know you’re still human.” 

Tommy glances down at the ground and nods contemplating. 

“Being human means adapting, surviving. Sometimes, it means doing things you never thought you would. But it's also about holding on to a glimmer of who you were. You just need to remind your brother of that sometimes. And yourself.”

Kelper's gaze meets Tommy's, a shared understanding passing between them. The depths of the woodlands seem to amplify the words, carrying them into the void where shadows whisper of both survival and sacrifice.

“What if there's another way? A way to survive without sacrificin’ our humanity all the time?” Tommy queries, his voice a low baritone.

“There isn't room for what-ifs in this world. Every move we make is a gamble. We're just trying to tip the odds in our favour. This world doesn't care about ideals. It cares about survival.”

The weight of Kelper's words settle on Tommy's shoulders, pressing down with the burden of a world gone mad. 

Kelper shoots him a glance, a look with the harsh realism of their existence. “We're all paying a price. Sometimes it's just steeper for some.”

“I just... I need to believe there's somethin’ more than just survivin’. For my son.” Tommy says.

Kelper's gaze softens for a moment, a flicker of sympathy cutting through the grizzled exterior.

“I think ‘bout the world waitin’ for him. If it can ever be like it used to. Sounds fuckin’ dumb, I know.”

Kelper shakes his head. “Not dumb. You survive long enough, you start thinking about living. But first, you've got to make it through the hard nights.”

They both glance at one another again.

“We’re changing the world, for your son; for everyone. One dead parasite at a time.” Kelper says with a sincere smile offered.

Tommy nods, and then jumps as the bleep of his radio sounds on his hip. 

“Fuck!” He scrambles for it. “I said radio silence!” Tommy hisses into the walkie.

He shoots his glance up, muffling the sound of the walkie with his jacket. 

Kelper keeps watch on the horde, who don’t seem to have heard it. 

A voice crackles over the low frequency. It's Max. “We got a problem… there’s… shit! Run!-” 

Kelper scans the horizon with the binoculars. “No, no, no, no…” He murmurs in an increasing tempo shaking his voice.

“What?!” Tommy rushes forward and snatches the binoculars as Kepler stands. 

In the distance he can see bodies breaking off from the rear of the horde and disappearing into the woodlands. 

“Fuck!”

Kelper moves and Tommy follows. 

“Hey!”

“We gotta stop this!" Kelper says, frantic. “We can’t let them change course. We need the others to keep them moving forward.” Kelper pelts as he starts to run. “If the bulk of the horde notices, they’ll all come at them!”

“Fuck!” Tommy paces after him. 

“We have to create a diversion.”

“How?” Tommy pulls Kelper back by the shoulder, yanking him fiercely. "What d'ya mean a diversion?"

Kelper weighs it up and comes up with a desperate blank before a dark realisation settles in over his features. “We have to take them.”

Tommy shakes his head. “Thats fuckin’ suicide.”

“You have another idea? We have to get the others. We can’t do this without them.” 

Tommy’s stumped and shakes his head. “It’s not worth the risk. A few strays-”

“Fuck the risk! I’m not losing anymore people to these bastards!” Kelper spits. 

A few beats exist and pulse around them before the decision is made.

“I’ll draw them back through and join you on the other side of thise trees." He points across the field to a clearing beyond the woodlands there. "Round up the others ready.”

Tommy doesn't have time to protest further. He can only watch as Kelper sprints off towards the small branch of infected that have wandered off into the trees after Max's group. 

“Fuck!” He grits and takes off towards the field. Tommy radios the others, instructing them to meet him, but he’s met with crackled silence as he runs. 

His face batters wayward branches as he dashes forward; the beat of his heart in his throat. Then he stops as though hitting a wall as he hears it.

The echo reverberates through the clearing, and the small swarm of infected, like puppets drawn by an unseen force, turn their attention towards Kelper.

His defiant shout slices through the air; a battle cry tinged with both bravado and desperation.

“Fuckin’ idiot!” Tommy seethes. 

As the infected converge towards Kelper instead, the small group, including Tommy, seize the fleeting opportunity to slip past unscathed and unnoticed into position.

The air thickens with a cocktail of relief and guilt. The clearing seems to close in around them, casting shadows that pulse with the haunting thrum of brutish survival. They can only hope the main horde didn't hear Kelper.

Tommy steals a glance back; the torment of leaving Kelper behind etched across his face.

The sounds of a struggle punctuate, each blow landing on undead flesh as Kelper fights them off bravely. The air feels charged with an unspoken understanding - Kelper's creating the diversion, but at what cost?

As the group distance themselves from the small swarm, the guilt claws at Tommy's chest. A corridor of remorse that resonates with the cries of the infected and the desperate struggle of a man who has willingly put himself in harm's way.

“We can't just leave him!” Max whispers to Tommy.

“He knew the risks. We gotta keep movin’.” Tommy ushers him forward, but hesitates himself. His stance falters, a magnetic pull urging him to turn back. 

“Okay, we take ‘em. All of ‘em. Not one of ‘em lives, ya hear me? Make it snappy, make it quiet. No guns. Just blades.” He instructs.

They all nod at him, eyes wide and ready to go as chaos spills out into the clearing. 

Kelper's eyes flick with a mix of surprise and relief as Tommy and the small group flood in towards him. The reinforcements inject a surge of hope into the struggle, weapons slashing through the infected with calculated precision.

The small swarm, once focused solely on Kelper, now face a united front. They fight with a fierce determination, their movements synchronised in a brutal beat against the encroaching threat of screeches and teeth. 

Kelper, momentarily freed from the relentless assault, locks eyes with Tommy. There’s gratitude in the glance; a recognition of the camaraderie that has driven Tommy to return.

The fight rages on, but in that moment, a silent understanding passes between the two leaders as they resonate about not leaving anyone behind, no matter the stakes.

The commune needs a man like Kelper, Tommy thinks. Perhaps he can spend more time with his son and less time making decisions.

The skirmish continues; the group pushing back the infected with a collective force that speaks of their shared resilience. 

They can do this. Nip it in the bud now.

“Shit!” Tommy cries, as more infected flood through the trees towards them. 

Kelper turns at the commotion as they run out, and he locks eyes with one.

It stops him in his tracks and he feels it like ice in his bones.

It looks like… you.

It has your face, your gait, your hair even.

And he knows it isn’t you; knows somewhere in the back of his head that Joel’s taking care of you at the outpost, or you're taking care of him, but for a split second, it’s enough to render Kelper useless on his feet as the sinking realisation of failing you floods through him. 

He’s frozen to the spot, frozen in fear just watching the infected impersonator run closer towards him. 

You're coming for him.

Somewhere, he hears his name being yelled as it hits the back of his head in a dull fuzz as he stands there, unable to move his limbs, for what feels like an age.

But it’s long enough for him to feel it; that searing burn as teeth clamp down on the side of his neck and his blood spills into its mouth. 

The world has stopped turning, leaving him alone inside his frantic battle with screaming and viscera everywhere. 

The bloodstained face of Tommy holds dark, cold eyes as he works his way through the infected effortlessly. Picking them off one by one with his bare hands it seems and leaving no indication of remorse as he goes and yells frantically at Kelper.

The thuds as the lifeless entities fall to the ground thunders through the clearing, sending vibrations towards Kelper. He can feel it in his toes.

He’s not sure how it happens, but the one who is latched onto him is now dead at his feet as he tries to stem the bleeding.

The noise is deafening and Kelper is lost out of eye sight, somewhere amongst the throes of more bodies ramming against them; their faces mangled with bitter hatred and the determination to slaughter the infected with just cause. 

The infected have gathered their numbers well, and it appears as though Tommy is outnumbered as Kelper glances back at them, stunned and shaking.

A single handful of elite warriors facing off against a swarm of hideous monsters, intent on shedding blood in their ravaging hunger. It's like watching a movie play out in front of him, and he's helpless to intervene.

And like those ancient Spartans from film reels gone by, Tommy commands a small unit of his most relentless soldiers. Determined and hell bent on seeking justice and retribution. Their strength is not in their numbers, for they could stand alone and wield the power of many.

Regular men and women, baptised into the fire of combat, they’re taught from the aftermath of the apocalypse never to retreat, never to surrender. No pain, no mercy. 

Endure and fucking survive! 

A well orchestrated phalanx, breaking off into sections when under threat, but soon chaos ensues, blood is spilt. God’s wrath pouring across the land like hot, bubbling lava.

But still they hold strong. 

Tommy fiercely wields his machete as though it’s fluid; sharp steel thrusting in and out of rotting, fungal skin in mere seconds as he fights his way to Kelper.

His cries of war echo over the field and into the ears of those who are in earshot. Instructions in wrath, commands in murder, and praise in blood.

A fearless leader despite his earlier reservations, and it’s not hard to see why the others admire and follow him so.

Kelper smiles, not burdened anymore with that baton previously held tightly in his grip; he’s happy to hand it over. He never was a leader, not really. Just a determined son of a bitch to not falter and wither. 

But it's time to rest now. He had his moment in the sun; plenty of them as they flash behind his flickering eyelids as his vision starts to water and blur. 

The warmth of his mother's embrace. The first time he smoked weed under the bleachers in high school. His first gay crush on Bobby Denton. Man... Bobby fucking Denton. He smiles as he remembers a pretty face he thought he'd forgotten.

Coming out to his father who looked upon him with scorn and disappointment, while his mother welcomed him with open arms. She never did blame him for their divorce. Not once. But he knew.

His first love; the first time he bared his puny heart to Phillip, who reciprocated. The first man to actually love him back.

Phillip, who was wrenched from his arms on outbreak day, in mass hysteria at the shopping mall - at the fucking Gap of all places. He couldn’t find him. Lost him amongst the crowds running and screaming. 

He never got to give him the ring...

Kelper remembers the small band of survivors he’s called family for the last several years. Remembers when he found you huddled in a dirty, shivering ball and trying to take his head off as he approached tentatively.

Fuck, he can’t leave you. What the fuck is he doing?

He looks down at his hand, covered in his own blood, and already feels lightheaded.

“I’m sorry, Goose…” he chokes out, blood gushing down his front and sticky on his chest. 

Flashes of your hands are on his, nursing him back to health. He can taste the time you kissed him, and then apologised, and it took everything in him to pull away from your lips, questioning everything he’d ever known about himself. Drawn to you somehow. What was it, loneliness? Desperation? 

Love?

Did he love you, more than that?

The hungry, consuming eyes stare down upon him in their millions it seems, and he welcomes the whisper of death with a smile on his face and a middle finger.

A small grunt of satisfaction tears through him and the faint beats of his name are heard somewhere in the distance. 

He knows you’re strong. That you crinkle your nose when you laugh at something he says when you feel bereft, he can see it now. Hear it even; it’s echoing all around him as they tear into him, blocking out the sun.

At the end of a hard day enduring, surviving, seeing you smile at him makes everything alright. He never told you enough.

Never told you everyday that he fucking loved you. 

He hopes you knew. Hopes you knew that in another world, he loved you the way you might have wanted him to.

He should have been the one, in another life he deduces that he probably would have been. You’d both be married with papery skin, sitting on rocking chairs overlooking the ocean with fat grandchildren playing at your feet. 

But in this life, he had you as a friend. A soulmate. And it seemed better somehow. Transcendant.

It was worth it all.

Kelper drops his weapon, his fingers weak and unable to use it now. Unsteady on his feet as they devour. Blurred vision splits the sun in two and hot wetness is felt below his abdomen, searing at first, but soon massaged away by the delight of nausea. 

He’s deluded and sincere. He knows you love him. That Guthrie, Max and Sal love him. That Phillip loves him, wherever he is. Perhaps he’ll see him soon.

He believes it and it will ensure he can pass on happily. Content. At peace.

Fuck, he deserves some peace. He chuckles, hearing it in his ears above the cacophony of their grunts and groans.

He recalls those precious moments; moments where the darkness of the world disappeared for a while. It wasn’t all doom and gloom and fungal bloodshed.

There was always light in the darkness when you were lost, you just had to look for it.

Remembering his smile lost inside of your freshly washed hair that smelt of wild flowers, breathing in the notes as you slumbered peacefully on his chest after he saved your life.

He can smell them now, the clearing has come alive with them, sprouting up everywhere and beautiful from root to petal.

He wishes he could show you them.

It gives him comfort in his last moments where he falters now alone in this barren clearing, where the earth has been cracked and splintered by the creatures that ravage it now. 

Kelper falls backwards against the hard ground, but doesn’t notice the pain. The lights will soon dim, but he can’t take his eyes off of your smile, your resilience.

How strong he knows you’ll be in this world without him.

You’ll be alright, Goose…

He gives into it now, comes quietly despite the sound of teeth around his face. 

And as Kelper slips away from this world into the next one, a single tear flows from the crease of his eye, never to be seen by anyone. 

“... We lost Kelper.” Tommy confirms over the static.

Joel’s eyes immediately flick to yours; his face sinking as you sit forward gripping the chair rests, your eyes filling with water. 

No.

“He didn’t make it.” Tommy says. “They got him. Was pretty bad and-”

“Tommy, stop talkin’!” Joel hisses down the radio cutting him off as he sees your expression changing.

No.

You’re shaking your head, but you don’t feel the physical motion. You’re instantly numb.

No. No. He’s wrong. 

The next thing you know you’re screeching into the walkie, having snatched it from Joel’s hand, and telling Tommy frantically that he’s wrong.

Yelling through to him to stop fucking around and put Kelper on so you can talk to him. You need to hear his voice. Hear him say he’s okay.

Because he is - he has to be! There’s no way that he-

“M'so sorry, sweetheart," Tommy’s voice says, as Joel grapples with you, but you don’t hear it. 

You don’t hear anything else except your own frantic wailing and screams as you sink to the floor, Joel catching you in his arms and crushing you tight against him, as you finally break in two. 

No. 

No.

No.

NO!

To be continued...

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Thank you for taking the time to read my story; it really means so much to me. I'd love to know your thoughts, and I'd really appreciate a re-blog so others can enjoy this story too. Thank you so much 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: If you'd like to be added/removed, please let me know.

Tagging everyone who asked to be tagged & who re-blogged my teaser.

@secretelephanttattoo @morgaussy @darkheartgatita @sp00kymulderr @survivingandenduring @sin-djarin @lilmizmoz @yazsos @ryangoslingstanktop @barbellpedro @givemeth @anavatazes @alwaysmicado @the-blind-assassin-12 @kirsteng42 @missredherring @gasolinerainbowpuddles @millennial-teenybopper @maggiemayhemnj @harriedandharassed @stevie75 @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @chaoticfestninja @reddedmiller @doughmonkey @sonderosa @magpiepillsjunior @chronically-ghosted @pedroswife69 @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @marisemonteiroo @everythingiwanttoread @jjhayhay20 @nerdieforpedro @perennialdoll247 @casa-boiardi @joeldjarin @sscorpiiio @untamedheart81 @srmacaroni @violinchick @orcasoul @lucyeyelesbarrow @mandrillusphinx @loveisacowboyyy @suzmagine @disassociation-daydreams @anoverwhelmingdin @within-the-depths

#joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller x female reader #the last of us fic #pedro pascal characters #five days #five days series #jett's writing

[peachdues]

*taps mic* ahem

GENERAL ANNOUNCEMENTS / CONTENT WARNINGS FOR PART III OF IN THE NETHERWOOD

As a preliminary matter, I want to stress I have not decided whether to split part 3 into two parts. I will be sharing the full draft with Sam and a couple of mutuals to get their thoughts, but I will let you all know before it’s posted what my decision is.

First and foremost, I want to explain a few of the content warnings.

The primary theme of Part III is dead dove, do not eat.

Violence. Part III contains explicit violence/blood/gore. I don’t think it’s overly detailed, and in some instances, there are a few cut to black scenes, but know that as a whole, there is quite a bit of violence ahead. There is a scene describing a dismembered body, but again, not in too much detail.

Non-con. There are several references to non-con in Part III against other characters but there are no actual depictions of it. The non-con is accompanied by some rather disturbing revelations of additional violence, so just be aware. Again, nothing is depicted.

Self-mutilation/injury. This is a cut to black scene, and the injury inflicted is done for survival purposes. It is not explicit.

Douma. He’s his own content warning.

Explicit sexual content. When I say part III is smutty I mean it is smutty in the most explicit way imaginable. Reader gets fucked literally by her Wolf, if that’s not telling enough, idk what is.

Finally, I want to stress that there is a Part IV — so please, whatever you think you have to fear in reading Part III, give it a chance. I promise you, I will never leave a story unresolved.

With that, happy reading! I will post the full CW/TW list below. See you soon 🤍

TW: dead dove do not eat • explicit violence/gore • references to non-con against several characters (not depicted) • mutilation • self-mutilation/injury (broken bones) • references to torture (not depicted) • brief description of dismembered body • Douma is a sadist • references/mentions of characters being eaten alive • death • angst

CW: explicit sexual content • MDNI • monster-fucking • werewolf fucking • Giant wolf cock • mates/mating marks • heat cycles • breeding • cum so much fucking cum • belly bulging • dick imprint • cum swelling • oral sex (F! And M! Receiving) • scent kink • breeding kink • creative use of the mating bond • vaginal fisting (?) (idk Sanemi has his whole hand in her at one point) • vaginal fingering • possessive/protective mates • discussions of pregnancy

Lastly, we are doing a trial run posting with Part 3. This installment is massive, and I’ve had issues in the past with tumblr not letting me post or not letting people reblog. If this happens again, I will delete the original posting and reupload it as two separate parts — Part 3 and Part 4. In that event, the final installment of In the Netherwood will be Part 5.

I ask that if I have to split Part 3 up, that you please, please reblog and comment — not only so it gets visibility but also because I hate the idea of losing any interactions that I might get on the original post.

Part 3 will be posted before the New Year.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #sanemi shinazugawa #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny sanemi #sanemi x reader #in the netherwood

[leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesworld]

CALM AFTER THE STORM |BTS OT7 X READER| HYBRID AU (M)

{Chapter One – Disgusting Humans}

Pairing: OT7 BTS!HYBRID X FEM!HUMAN READER.

Kim Namjoon: Black Mackenzie Valley Alpha wolf

Kim Soekjin: Alpha White Lion

Min Yoongi: Alpha White Jaguar

Jung Hosoek: Alpha Snow Leopard

Park Jimin: Alpha Albino Cobra

Kim Taehyung: Alpha White/ Bleached Tiger

Jeon Jungkook: Alpha Black Panther

Reader: Heaven Valentino

Status: Ongoing

RATED (M) FOR MATURE

Words: 2.4k!

WARNING: EVENTUAL SMUT, BLOOD GORE, DETAILED GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION, ABUSE (ALL FORMS), PROFANITY, VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF SUICIDE, CHARACTER DEATH(MINOR), SADOMASOCHISM ACTS, MENTIONS OF BDSM, ETC...

CHAPTER WARNING: The following chapter contains sensitive and distressing subject matter, including references to child rape, kidnapping, and child trafficking. If you find such topics triggering or uncomfortable, I encourage you to exercise self-care and consider avoiding this particular chapter. Your mental and emotional well-being always come first.

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MATERIALIST

~Valentino Mansion~

3RD PERSON'S POV

Heaven Valentino, a skilled and determined woman, had just finished a rigorous training session at her gym. With precision and composure, she fired round after round at a target dummy, hitting the bullseye every time. Satisfied with her performance, she exited the gym and began making her way back to her room.

As she walked, a voice called out to her,

"Ms. Valentino?" It was her secretary and trusted right-hand man, Park Hyung-jae, hurrying to catch up with her.

Curious, she turned to face him. "Yes, Jae?"

"Someone is requesting your presence," Jae informed her, the urgency evident in his voice.

Heaven's sharp mind instantly assessed the situation.

"Who is it, and what role do they play?" she calmly inquired.

Jae answered without missing a beat.

"Choi Woobin, Chief Executive General Officer," he replied, conveying that the person in question held a position of significance.

"Very well," she replied nonchalantly.

"Set up an appointment for two in the afternoon. If he fails to arrive on time, I will not entertain him. Punctuality is of utmost importance to me."

With that, she moved on, resolute in her decision. It was typical of her to make swift judgments and take charge of her own schedule, refusing to waste time on those who did not value timeliness.

Her composed demeanor left Jae slightly taken aback.

"Well, that was easier than I expected," he mused to himself, shrugging off the surprise. With a sense of relief, he left to fulfill his assigned tasks.

~Heaven's Room~

Heaven's POV 

Ah, I knew it wouldn't take long for him to come begging. I could see right through his façade, right from the start. You see, there are very few things that I despise more than tardiness, laziness and liars.

Hybrid abusers.

Growing up as the youngest daughter of the illustrious Valentino family, I've had my fair share of enemies. From the moment I entered this world, there were those who sought to bring me down, to harm me, or even to kidnap me, all in an attempt to weaken my family. But these feeble-minded individuals could never succeed.

Many assumed that, as a wealthy and privileged young woman, I would be nothing more than a spoiled brat with no ability to defend herself.

But oh, how wrong they were.

From the day I could walk and comprehend the world around me, I have been trained relentlessly.

The Valentinos believe in honing the skills and fortitude of their children, regardless of their gender. So, from the tender age of four, I began my journey towards becoming a force to be reckoned with.

By the time I reached fifteen, I had accomplished what most could only dream of. I graduated high school with a flawless 5.0 GPA. But my thirst for knowledge was insatiable, leading me to a prestigious university known as the "Gifted Souls."

In just a few short years, I secured a PhD in psychology, a Masters in business, and even delved into the realm of fashion. I achieved all of this by the tender age of twenty-two, and now, at the age of twenty-three, I am well on my way to solidifying my empire and making a name for myself.

The professors at my university were astounded by my brilliance, bestowing upon me the moniker of the 'female version of Albert Einstein.' But, I paid little attention to such trivialities.

My single-minded focus was on gaining knowledge and establishing myself as a force in the business world. I aim to take over one of my parents' companies, the very essence of the Valentino empire.

People may see me as a woman who walks with an iron fist. When they encounter me, they don't think of me merely as Heaven of the Valentino family, they see Heaven Valentino, a woman who commands respect and exudes power.

Some have even had the audacity to refer to me as the ice princess, the demoness or even the female Adolf Hitler. But I take such labels in stride because I know the true strength that lies within me.

As an individual who values efficiency and productivity, I possess a limited tolerance for trivial matters or individuals who impede progress.

In the circle with which I surround myself, idleness and unproductive behavior have no place.

Vigilance remains paramount, as there are perpetually individuals plotting one's downfall or even one's demise, and I personally acknowledge the latter as the ultimate threat.

Over time, I have accumulated a considerable list of adversaries. The number of instances where I have inadvertently provoked others is too extensive to accurately quantify, such is the nature of my assertive personality.

When confronted with something disagreeable or incongruous to my stated preferences, I swiftly take decisive action.

The ability to discern and rectify undesirable situations is a responsibility I take seriously, akin to the saying,

"With great power comes great responsibility."

In my case, this responsibility is focused solely on my survival.

While some may perceive my approach as cold or detached, it is merely a matter of survival in a world where dangers often lurk beneath the surface.

In conclusion, my aversion to nonsense and unwavering commitment to productivity have inevitably resulted in the development of numerous adversaries.

This is an outcome I readily accept due to the assertive nature of my character.

My consistent and immediate response to unfavorable circumstances is driven by a sense of responsibility towards self-preservation.

Ultimately, it is this unwavering dedication to my own well-being that helps me navigate the precarious landscape of existence.

I felt my eyes narrow as I thought about the man who had recently come into my crosshairs,

Mr. Choi, the Chief Executive General Officer of Seoul National Police.

To the public, he was a respected figure in his early fifties, but I knew the dark secrets that lurked beneath his facade.

Mr. Choi's wife had tragically succumbed to stage four cancer, leaving him without any children to carry on his legacy.

Many saw him as a pillar of the community, a dedicated servant of the people. But I saw through the facade to the truth - he was a twisted, solipsistic man who had been engaged in despicable acts.

It was a revelation that had shaken me to the core when I had discovered that Mr. Choi was involved in taking bribes from hybrid traffickers.

The thought of such corruption within the ranks of law enforcement made my blood boil.

But what truly turned my stomach was the knowledge that he was also a child rapist and a sadistic individual who derived pleasure from the suffering of others.

Only I and my uncle knew the extent of Mr. Choi's depravity. My uncle ran a Hybrid facility called Hybrid Heaven (HH), dedicated to rescuing hybrids from abuse and capturing traffickers who sought to exploit them for profit.

When my uncle had uncovered Mr. Choi's involvement in these heinous activities, he had turned to me for help in bringing him to justice.

With the help of my loyal team of associates, I had quickly gathered evidence of Mr. Choi's crimes. It was not difficult to connect the dots once they realized that a police officer was complicit in covering up the illegal activities of hybrid trafficking.

And when Mr. Choi's name had surfaced as the linchpin in the operation, I wasted no time in setting my plan into motion.

I stood in my room and felt a surge of anger and revulsion towards the man who had committed such atrocities. I knew that he was reaching out in a desperate attempt to cover his tracks, but I also knew that I held the power to bring him to his knees.

With a steely resolve, I prepared myself for the confrontation that lay ahead. I would not rest until Mr. Choi faced the full force of justice for his crimes.

And in that moment, I squared my shoulders and steeled my gaze, I knew that I was ready to confront the darkness that lurked within the heart of a man who had once been seen as a paragon of virtue.

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~Mayás Fashion House~

As I arrived at my company building, the energy in the air shifted as the employees stopped in their tracks to greet me politely. With a nod and a smile, I returned their greetings, keeping the interactions brief.

I made my way to the private elevator that would take me up to the 8th floor where the meeting room awaited.

As the elevator came to a stop, I stepped out and approached the meeting room. The transparent glass walls and doors allowed me to catch a glimpse of Mr. Choi inside, his figure pacing nervously.

I watched as he reached for a handkerchief to dab at his sweat, a reaction that I found somewhat distasteful. Pushing open the doors, I sauntered over to one of the swivel chairs, disrupting Mr. Choi's anxious movements.

"Good Afternoon, Mr. Choi," I greeted him calmly, causing him to visibly startle. With hesitant steps, he made his way towards me and took a seat on the opposite side of the table.

"G-good af-afternoon, Ms. Valentino," he stuttered out, clearly flustered by my presence.

"Relax, Mr. Choi. I just need some information from you, and then we'll be done," I reassured him with a light chuckle, meeting his gaze as he averted his eyes and nodded eagerly.

"Good. Now, let's not beat around the bush. Tell me everything you know about the illegal underground Hybrid dealers," I said, leaning back in my chair, a sense of authority evident in my tone.

Mr. Choi hesitated before beginning to speak, revealing details about the underground operation.

He mentioned a mysterious figure known as Black Eagle who orchestrated the kidnapping and sale of hybrids for profit.

The auction took place over five days at a luxurious resort on the outskirts of Seoul, shrouded in secrecy to all but those in attendance.

His eyes met mine as he shared more about the nefarious activities, including a bi-monthly Hybrid auction where rare exotic hybrids were sold off to wealthy clientele with exclusive VIP passes provided by Black Eagle.

I listened intently, absorbing the information and maintaining a composed demeanor throughout.

It was clear that Mr. Choi was apprehensive, but my focused interrogation drew out the pertinent details I needed to pursue further action against the criminal syndicate.

My eyebrows creased as I listened, a mix of disbelief and horror washing over me.

The thought of such a place existing where people indulged in their darkest desires on hybrids, pushing the boundaries of cruelty and exploitation, made my stomach churn with disgust. The depths of depravity that some individuals would sink to astounded me.

He continued, "Participants torture hybrids to feed into their twisted sexual gratification,"

What the actual fuck!

These creatures, who were part human and part animal, deserved compassion and care, not to be subjected to such heinous acts.

It was a stark reminder of the darkest facets of humanity, a side that I never wanted to believe existed.

As the details of the auction event unfolded, each revelation seemed to plunge me deeper into a pit of revulsion.

"They also indulged in the "hunger games" a concept, where the rarest hybrids were paraded and objectified for the amusement of the audience, they would compete to inflict pain and suffering on the hybrid, all for the chance to possess them as prizes."

It felt like a nightmare brought to life. To think of it was sickening beyond words.

My heart ached for the hybrids subjected to such cruelty, for their pain and helplessness in the face of such brutality.

It was a stark reminder of the darker side of society, one that I had never truly comprehended until now.

The callousness and inhumanity displayed towards these creatures left me feeling a deep sense of shame for belonging to the same species.

Despite the turmoil of emotions swirling within me, I forced myself to remain composed, to listen to the grim details of the auction event with a steely resolve.

The urge to lash out in anger and despair clawed at the edges of my composure, but I held onto my restraint, determined to bear witness to the extent of the atrocities being described.

As the final details of the event were laid bare, the mechanics of the auction and the fate of the hybrids outlined in chilling clarity, a cold fury settled over me.

The thought of the buyers participating in such cruelty, of treating living beings as mere objects to be traded and discarded, filled me with a sense of loathing that I had never experienced before.

With a clenched jaw and a heart heavy with sorrow, I steeled myself to hear more, to confront the depths of depravity that lay at the heart of the five-day auction event.

Despite the revulsion and horror that threatened to overwhelm me, I knew that I had to bear witness to the truth, no matter how harrowing it may be.

I made a solemn vow to ensure their safety and vowed to lead them to a life free from such atrocities.

Determination consumed me, and I pledged to keep my promise, declaring my identity as Heaven Valentino.

In the intense confrontation that followed, I confronted Choi Woobin with unwavering resolve, demanding information and justice.

As the truth unfolded and the gravity of his actions came to light, the shock on his face was palpable.

Despite his pleas for mercy, I stood firm, condemning his heinous crimes and refusing to yield to his empty remorse.

Taking charge of the situation, I orchestrated his confession and surrender, unwilling to let him escape accountability.

With a mix of anger and compassion, I ensured that justice prevailed, even as his pleas for forgiveness fell on deaf ears.

The moment was charged with raw emotions as he was escorted away, a tearful reminder of the consequences of his despicable deeds.

After the intense encounter, I made a call to Jae, seeking solace after the harrowing events.

Exiting the meeting room, I left the company building and made my way back home, reflecting on the tumultuous events that had transpired.

~Unknown Location~

3rd Person's POV

Two hybrids were drained and weak, their bodies suffering from the beatings they received for sleeping in. Locked in a heavily secured cell, they endured days without food or water, leaving their mouths dry and their bodies craving molesols of food. Heavy metal shackles dug into their wrists, leaving painful bruises as a reminder of their captivity.

One of the hybrids expressed a strange premonition to his older brother.

"Hyung, I have a weird feeling," he murmured, his eyes distant.

“What is it?” his brother inquired, concern evident in his voice.

“I feel like something big is going to happen,” the younger one replied, his hybrid instincts alerting him to an unseen future.

As they shared a tense moment, the older brother hoped silently,

'I hope it's not bad, my dear brother.'

°●°○°●°○°●°○°●°○°●°○°●°○°●°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Hey lovebugs,

I'm super excited to hear your thoughts on this book!

I added a tad more detail to offer a glimpse into the world of the book, just enough to spark your curiosity without giving away too much. I wanted to provide a little peek behind the curtain to entice you to come along for the ride.

A quick heads up - this book doesn't hold back on the intense stuff. It deals with some heavy, triggering content that might not be everyone's cup of tea. So, fair warning, this is not your typical light and fluffy read. It's raw, real, and might hit close to home for some.

I'm all ears and eager to hear your feedback, so drop a comment and let me know your thoughts.

Thanks a ton for taking the time to check this out and for sharing your thoughts. Your support means the world to me! Let's dive in and see where this wild literary journey takes us. 📚✨

Thanks a ton again!

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