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fangirl-dot-com · 4 months

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Chapter 16.5 - Confessions and Cars 2

I thought I'd post this as a "I'm sorry" chapter lol and I felt like you readers needed some closure.

While writing this, I also realized that I do not know how to write a kiss (due to my non-existent love life)...so if someone has suggestions - I'd gladly take them :D

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

If Arthur thought that visiting you last November before you signed a Red Bull contract would somehow end up with you in his arms, he wouldn’t change anything. Back then, you had been his best friend. And, well, you were still his best friend, but he was hoping that soon (like tonight) you’d be more.

The end credits of Cars 2 played on the tv in the dark room. Most of the drivers (including but not limited to Lando, Oscar, Lewis, Daniel, Pierre, Charles, and Max) – maybe all of the drivers, who had come to visit you after your release from the hospital, had all left by now. A completed Lego Porsche 9-11 sat on the little counter by the basic coffee machine.

Now, it was just you, whose eyes were slowly drooping, and Arthur, who hadn’t been able to take his arms off of you since you got to the hospital in the first place.

Arthur, who had held you hand as the doctor put an IV in, because he knew your fear of needles.

Arthur, who had extra hair ties on his wrist, because he knew you hated to have your hair on your neck right after races, no matter what.

Arthur, who had called ahead to the front desk to specifically ask for a copy of Cars 2 be delivered to the room.

Arthur, who ubered your exact McDonalds order because you mentioned the craving once while you were still under some strong pain medication.

Arthur, who was your best friend, but you honestly wanted to be some more.

Your brain had been running a million miles since your car flipped into the barriers.

“Are you ready to go to bed yet?”

But his voice, was able to stop all thoughts.

You only let out a sigh in response. Arthur didn’t want to rush you, so he just picked the remote up and started your comfort movie over again.

Yet, you didn’t want to watch the entire thing over again.

“I was scared.”

Arthur immediately paused the movie, but kept his eyes in front.

“I watched the sky cross the opening. And then it just, hurt.”

His arms tightened around you. Yet, it wasn’t painful.

“I blacked out for a while. And then when I woke up, all I heard,” you turned to look at the boy in your arms, “was you, calling for me.”

Tears started forming in both yours and Arthur’s eyes. You shuffled a bit closer to him, getting even closer.

Arthur took a deep breath.

Hours before, he was ready to confess it all once you had gotten your first place trophy. He had it all planned out. But then, his world stopped the moment your back tyre clipped the first kerb and then you rolled.

“Y/n,” he started. This time, his eyes met yours. The TV forgotten in the background. In this moment, Arthur was glad that everyone else had left.

You waited with baited breath, urging him silently to continue.

“Well, I had this big plan, for after your race. And now, sitting here, I just know one thing and one thing only.”

You cocked your head in confusion. Yet, your heart was wanting him to speak the once sentence you’ve wanted to hear for forever.

“I love you. And when you didn’t respond,” he took your hands in his, “I wanted to die. And I know that might sound extreme, but at that moment, I knew I didn’t want a life without you in it. I also know that we’ve only known each other for a little more than a year but…”

You decided to interrupt him. “You’ve been my best friend for the majority of that year.”

He nodded with you, heart a bit dejected since you hadn’t confessed right after.

“I’ve never had a best friend, before you. And, I also couldn’t imagine a life without you. And Thur…”

He didn’t let you finish.

His lips met yours in a fervent kiss. You had to take a second to reel in your thoughts, but you kissed back. Because in this moment, you didn’t want anything to change. A large exhale left your nose.

You were hungry for a race win.

Arthur was hungry for your love.

His hands moved from holding yours to gripping your sides. And well, in true Arthur fashion, he gripped a bit too hard as a hiss left your lips.

His wide eyes looked right at your with concern. “I am so sorry.”

And before he could start to ramble in broken French, you pecked his lips. Well, that shut him up.

“It’s ok,” you whispered, trying to convince him. “And I love you too. Maybe a bit too much.”

Arthur sighed in relief and pressed his forehead against yours. “You do not know how happy that makes me to hear.” His words were a bit jumbled and his accent was heavy, but you got the gist.

“What now?”

Maybe it was your fears and doubts, but if this changed things, you’d rather not continue. Because you’d rather be best friends than lose him.

Arthur shut his eyes, smiles, and cocked his head. “I was hoping you’d be my girlfriend.” He gave you another sweet kiss, one that you reciprocated with a smile.

“Well then,” another kiss, “ask me.” A smirk replaced the smile.

Arthur leaned back and took your hands back into his and sat up straight. “Y/n?”

You let out a giggle.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

You quickly pressed up against his face. Not in a kiss sense way. More like, you missed and just smashed your face against him. He tried to keep you upwards, but you pushed him down and fell on top of him. Another hiss left your lips, but a laugh covered it. You gently rested your head on his chest as your attention was back to the movie.

“Yes. I will be your girlfriend Mr. Leclerc.”

Arthur just let you snuggle back into him as he played the movie for a second time. Just as Mater was about to be reunited with Lightning McQueen, a thought suddenly crossed your mind.

“What are we going to tell Max?”

April 9, 2024

y/n.89 has posted

y/n.89 through it all, nobody gets me like you do

liked by y/n.nation, f1_fanatic, olliebearman, and 59,294 others

b0x_b0x UM GOOD MORNING? NOT EVEN A HELLO?

maxiel_lover babe, wake up, y/n just did a soft launch

y/n_nation Arthur isn't in the likes...

y/nxarthur I fear this is the end of the friendship?? y/n-on_top why would it be the end... y/nxarthur who knows, Arthur always likes her stuff and comments. maybe he doesn't like the boyfriend

oscarpiastri rue, when was this?

mcLaren_fan even Oscar doesn't know? logansargeant get in line of who doesn't know

olliebearman mother?? pick up your phone please

maxverstappen1 what the kid said, pick the phone up

box_box_official and the plot thickens

change_ur_f-car y/n not picking up her phone and Arthur isn't in the likes, what is this silly season?????

Big Racer

It's Arthur Isn't it??

Little Racer

who snitched

Big Racer

Kid, he looks at you like you hung the sun It doesn't take much sleuthing to find out

Little Racer

Please don't tell It's so new And I don't want to risk it

Big Racer

My lips are sealed But I do have one question Do I need to give you the talk?

Little Racer

MAX!?

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @glitterquadricorn @laura-naruto-fan1998 @treehouse-mouse @sam-is-lost @kagatinkita @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @myxticmoon @angsthology @cmleitora @agent-curt-mega @graciewrote @ashy-kit @slutofmultifandom @aexitizen-ln4 @sugarvibez @vellicora @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @cashtons-wife @hoetel-manager @xcharlottemikaelsonx @jayda12 @cassie0sstuff @ilove-tswizzle @justme2042 @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @stopeatread @cha-hot @sadg3 @iloveyou3000morgan @s4turnsl0ver @alessioayla @torchbearerkyle @leptitlu @awekbachira @shreks-sugar-daddy @v1naco @stan-josie @mellowarcadefun @badassturtle13 @beskardroids @callisposts @poppyalice2001 @juniper-july19

#arthur leclerc x reader #f1 x driver!reader #platonic grid x reader #arthur leclerc fluff #arthur leclerc imagine #arthur leclerc fanfic #arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc x y/n #f1 imagine #formula 1 x you #f1 x reader

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iluvchosoandtoji · 4 months

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.⁠｡.⁠✧*⁠´｡⁠*°*.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ -- aoi - satoru gojo

a/n : this was requested by my irl moot @lialia2910 so enjoy !~ idk if I'll start writing or taking reqs yet so pls leave feedback abt this !! ty to everyone who reads !! 💗💗

cw/tags : fem!reader x satoru gojo, language, fluff, slight angst, female anatomy, giving birth/birth mentions, pet names, if anything is forgotten or not mentioed, sorry !!! this is my first story ! ^^' enjoy !! ~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•••••••~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ever since you got knocked up by that lovable goofball, it has been tough. from feeling sick to baby kicks, pregnancy was not what you had expected. you and satoru were excited for a baby, but satoru was wayyy more giddy. he went all out buying stuff for the baby when you guys found out the gender.

"satoruuu, we already have too many clothes for him !" you loudly-whispered to satoru, who was putting an entire rack of clothes in your cart. "we can never have too many clothes y/n ! plus, I never want my child wearing the same outfit for more than a day ~" satoru defended.

you ended up spending a thousand dollars that day...

🌑🌕🌑🌕🌑🌕🌑🌕🌑🌜🌑🌕🌑🌕🌑🌕🌑🌕🌑

"satoru... " you whimpered in pain, standing, holding the wall for support. "yes my love?" satoru responded. "my- aghh!!- water broke!" you exclaimed in extreme pain due to the contractions. satoru got up hastily and scooped you up carefully, but quickly, "just hold on to me, I'll teleport us to the hospital, ok?" satoru said reassuringly.

you guys got to the hospital in the blink of an eye. "I need a doctor, she's in labor!!" he exclaimed and a couple of nurses scurried to you immediately, bringing a wheelchair which satoru put you on. "everything's gonna be fine baby, ok? just hold on for me, alright?" he said, you nodded with your eyes closed, groaning with your teeth clenched.

you both got into the room and the doctors started getting things ready quickly. "ma'am I need you to breathe and answer my question, my name is shoko and I'll be helping you give birth ok? what's your name?" your doctor stated, you knew as shoko. "y- y/n.." you said weakly.

"okay y/n you need to push with all your strength ok?" she directed in a quick tone. you started to push and god- it felt like hell. "aagghh!!" you yelped, burning up. "cmon y/n! keep pushing, it's almost out!" shoko encouraged. "hhnngghh!! oh my fucking- !!!!" you yelled. then you felt ease. "he's out!! congrats y/n!!" shoko exclaimed, cutting the umbilical cord.

you felt high. huh. what's happeni- you thought, before passing out. "y/n are you alright?" gojo asked, unsure. "her heart rate is dropping! get an IV!" another nurse exclaimed. "y/n don't go please! wake up!" gojo asked frantically. gojo didn't want to lose you, he couldn't lose you.

your heart rate started to get back to normal and you slowly awoke to something poking you down there. "wha-" "I'm stitching you up because you tore a bit, it's normal, happens to a lot of women who give birth." shoko explained, giving a heart warming smile.

you are then handed you baby to hold for skin-to-skin contact. he had gojo's eyes and your nose. you felt liquid fall on your shoulder so you look to your right to see satoru crying. "satoru are you crying ?!" you said, being sure not to yell too loud. "I'm so proud of you baby, I love you!! " he said, voice breaking up and sobbing while hugging you both.

"what should we name him?" you asked satoru, lifting your head up from his embrace. "maybe .. aoi!" he said. "why that name?" you questioned curiously. "blue in Japanese, for his blue six eyes" he stated.

🌑🌕🌑🌕🌑🌕🌑🌕🌑🌜🌑🌕🌑🌕🌑🌕🌑🌕🌑

@iluvchosoandtoji do not plagiarize. 2024©

a/n: omggggg I loved writing this! might not write after but that depends on feedback/comments (maybe I'll start writing smut ;)) )

#satorugojo #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x reader #jjk fluff #jjk #jjk fanfic #yayayayayay #Spotify #satou fluff

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thesherrinfordfacility · 7 months

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Honestly? The most striking thing about the sideburns and other continuity errors isn't even how bizarre they are, how numerous or how they mostly seem like easily fixable things. It's Neil's non-answers! Except for the missing fifteen minutes in the Final Fifteen I don't believe he's outright called any of them continuity errors even when that's surely the simplest option. Of course, even odds he's doing it just to wind the fandom up, but that still leaves a fifty percent chance there might be a Reason. Or, if it is specifically to wind us up and make us chase our own tails, you could argue that makes it a red herring. In which case, what Clues are the continuity errors meant to distract us from?

hey anon!!!✨ okay so here's where im just basically going to talk about good omens in general, both seasons, because honestly? im completely with you, and i think that rationale is bang on the money. its the whole reason why i try to look at outside, sometimes blatantly in a different direction, to what the show (ignoring the book for a hot minute) is telling us.

s2 in particular, but i'll include s1 slightly, feels like it really leans into misdirection as a narrative technique - the red herring. as you rightly pointed out, we have the baby swap/three card monte in s1. we have three cowrie shells in s2. we have the goats hidden as crows, where (by my count) you see two, possibly three, flying off in the background behind crowley. we have the three children hidden as lizards (lots of threes which is interesting but not my Point rn). the bullet catch. aziraphale distracting furfur with the envelope whilst he hides the photograph up his sleeve. probably others that ive forgotten.

so, suffice to say, it's a fairly major part of the story, and this is where i come to my point; in my opinion, tricks are being played on us as the audience, and we ourselves are being led by misdirection. now, im sure some of these may turn out to be true, but the below are a couple of examples of things from s2 specifically that have been spoonfed to us, and therefore - i think - are not 100%, if at all, true:

crowley was a high-ranking angel/archangel

maggie is a demon because she misspelt 'urgency'

the book of life is a book, and has the ability to erase existence

the 25-lazarii miracle was successful in hiding gabriel, or was as powerful as it was because aziraphale and crowley did it together simultaneously.

i've talked about all of them in various tags, so i won't go over them, but i think we need to consider that what we've been taking as read needs further evaluation. that's not to say that one or multiple could in fact be the truth - there is, after all, the actual money card in three card monte - but im hesitant to put a guess on which one is the case.

but this does kinda come back to the batshit time travel theory - does the magic trick extend that far? or, at the very least, what is the trick being played by the varying hair length/sideburns/glasses change, if we accept that they're not factors external to the narrative? if they're deliberate, in-story choices, what is it telling us? there's the speculation that the flashbacks in s2 are skewed because they're all told from aziraphale's perspective - is possibly the case for the entire season? does that explain the colour grading?

personally, i think we're seeing more red herrings than we realise!!!✨

#good omens #ask #not really a post about anything but is relevant to Everything #s2 meta #s3 narrative spec

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nordictwin · 3 months

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A list of my IWATEX AUs and fanfics.

Since a lot of people have found me through IWATEX, I figured I should probably make an actual list of my AUs and fanfiction, just to have them all in one place.

Fragmented Futures - aka. the Everyone Knows AU

Probably the one most of you are here for, since it's the one I've posted about the most, but written the least for in terms of actual fic. An AU in which all of the Stratos-Helios kids suddenly become aware, that they're stuck in a timeloop... all except Sol. Or so the others think.

A story full of kids being friends, learning new stuff about themselves, and a generous dash of eldritch shenanigans.

Currently in the works for this AU: an as of yet "non-canon" vent-fic, in which I subject Sol to something a little more realistic than my usual treatment of them. Not sure if it'll be incorporated into the fic proper, but as of this point in writing, it's just meant to be a little side-thing set in the same universe.

The Tragedy of the Exocolony on Vertumna IV

The AU/fanfiction that has me in a chokehold at the moment, TOTEOV is an eldritch horror story that takes all my love for Sym and the Overseer, flips it upside-down, and turns it into a toxic mess of good intentions gone horrifically wrong. Oh, and Rex and Vace are forced to work together.

A story that draws heavily on the tropes of children stolen away by the supernatural, such as The Pied Piper of Hamelin and other fae tales.

Heed the tags. Seriously.

The Solution AU

An AU I've never really mentioned here except once, nor written a single word for. Ironically, this is actually the origin AU of TOTEOV.

The basic premise is that Sol, after many trips around the loop, decides to look for a permanent solution. They eventually decide that the best way to do so, is for them to become a Gardener from the very beginning and create an entirely new timeline from scratch. In collaboration with the Overseer, they turn the clock back to just before the Verma's departure and get implanted in the system as a seed to sprout in the future.

The issue is that this means Solanaceae won't ever have existed amongst the humans. And they're fine with paying this price, if it means a more harmonious future overall.

So aboard the Stratospheric, when that time comes, there is no child born to Flulu and Geranium, no cheerful Sol amongst the kids. Instead, when Besk dies, the twins are adopted by the cultivators and grow up... not quite the same as in the original timeline, but also not too different from how we know them.

And on Vertumna, Sol welcomes humanity to guide their gradual integration into the ecosystem. Looking from afar, forgotten by everyone they love except the Gardeners.

......except this is one of my AUs, so of course nothing is as it seems, and Sol will re-learn just how strong the power of love is.

The Person You'll Grow to Be - completed, canon-compliant fanfic.

My first fanfic for this fandom. Aka the Flulu Loves Her Kid So Much fic.

A story going from Flulu learning of her pregnancy all the way to her death during the famine. An tale of her love for Sol and how she felt about a lot of things.

#nordictwin fanfiction #i was a teenage exocolonist #iwatex #exocolonist #the tragedy of the exocolony on vertumna iv #everyone knows au #fragmented futures

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bisexual-horror-fan · 9 months

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Omg Bexxx!!!! Been a fan for the longest time. Everything you write is just so hot! Ive been dying for an update on Through The Heart Is The Only Way.! My roomie showed me how to jailbreak ChatGPT and I fed it the whole fic and the little preview and the AI was able to finish the fic for me!! IT WAS SO GOOD!!! If you're still having trouble writing the next chapter you should def try using it to help you finish!! <3

Wow. Okay. So. Hi there Anon.

I dunno where to even start with this.

So you say you are a really big fan of mine, and have been for a while. So where were you when I reblogged this post? Talking in depth about people plugging fanfic into ChatGTP, and me wholeheartedly agreeing that it is fucked up. Oh! Or how about this time? Or this one? Orrr this one? This one too. I said in the tags of those posts if anyone does this to me I am going to riot, so get ready for a fucking riot.

I have posted and reblogged several, SEVERAL TIMES, that I am not okay with and do not consent to this shit. I will repeat now, with my whole fucking chest, so the fucking nosebleed seats can hear me, like a goddamned theater kid trying to impress a broadway talent scout level of volume, straight up BELTING TO THE BACK ROW-

I AM NOT OKAY WITH AND DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WRITING, TO MY ART, BEING PUT INTO AI PROGRAMS!

This is just, so far removed, I don’t know why you would think this is even remotely okay!

I write for the love of the game, for the sheer love of CREATION ITSELF! Do you understand how much my writing and love for it and the media these characters are in and those same characters themselves permeate my thoughts? My days? I pour so much care and thought and effort into my shit behind the scenes. Hours and hours of thought and parsing, re-watching, writing that you don’t see and I do it not because I am getting money, not for likes, or comments or followers but because I fucking LOVE it. The urge in me is literally uncontrollable to do this. I feel proud of what I do! Do you have the smallest conception of the time, effort, blood, sweat, hours of sleep lost to my craft and this hobby that gives me creative satisfaction? I do NOT want this discounted or tramped on or heaven forbid forgotten.

How about we really break this down so you understand it. Let’s do some math.

Through The Heart Is The Only Way has not gotten an update innnn a little over two months, sixty four days to be exact. But. How much writing have I posted in that time since I last updated that fic, the last chapter of which was, if you remember, is twelve THOUSAND words? I have posted, in the past sixty four days, since that last update, thirty eight thousand words.

Wow! That is a lot of words for slightly over two months!

It is almost like I care so much about TTHITOW that I am purposefully taking my time with it, not rushing it and writing it when the inspo grabs me by the fucking ovaries and will not let go. I re-watched the entire movie franchise and the tv series for this fic, I have a doc with piles of ideas and character study, I have chapter ten plotted, outlined and had it started! But shit like this?

It doesn’t make me want to write it Anon.

It is demoralising.

I feel disrespected as fuck right now.

I KNOW what I am doing with this fic, I KNOW where it is going, I have the ending already planned, we are about half way through this fic AT BEST! I have probably another over sixty thousand words in me to tell this story the way I want to but knowing me? Definitely more. The fact that you think the only reason this fic isn’t updated more frequently or isn’t done yet is through lack of thought, from not knowing where to go? Is insulting as fuck. Me taking my time with this fic doesn’t mean I don’t care, it doesn’t mean I am not obsessed with it or love it. Frankly, it means the opposite, me dragging this out is because I love it so fucking much and I want to do it right.

I have a ton of love for lots of movies, lots of characters, I want to give them all attention, I want to follow my muse, I don’t want to FORCE myself to write something when the mood isn’t right. The readers deserve better but so DO I! This is my love, this is my hobby, I want to do it my fucking way, because I guaran-FUCKING-tee, that whatever the fuck ChatGTP pumped out for you is a weak, pale, pathetic, whisper of a God forsaken SHADOW of what I have planned to unleash for this fics ending.

I know that a lot of people look down at sexual content which is what 99% of what I do is. Lots of people view it as base, lesser, shallow, no care or thought or heart. That is not the fucking case, certainly not for me. Sex has deep personal meaning to me dude, I CHOOSE, actively make the decision to write and do these fics in the fashion I do. I write these character explorations and studies centered around sex and sexuality and write them through that lens because that is what I want to do, that is what speaks to me, that is what is important to ME and what I want to contribute to the fandom space.

I am human. I write to an inhuman degree, (remember last week when I posted three fics, totaling over eight thousand words in one day? Crazy that still isn’t enough somehow and you felt the need to do this-) but I am still a fucking person. I am an artist, a writer, an author and I deserve the most basic respect of my supposed “FANS” patience and ability to WAIT. That is the barest minimum. I write so often, I give so much of myself to it but some days I just want to come home from work and watch a movie. I want to have a bath, I want to cook or bake or spend time with my husband and those times, those breaks, make my writing all the better. My writing, all writing that is worth a damn, is inspired and pulled from real life experiences, hence why AI writing sucks, there is no actual life experience or interpretation, no fucking soul. All it is capable of doing is vomiting back out what is put into it and the idea that my shit is in there, that you took my writing and it is contributing to that writhing mass of technological horror that is doing this to countless other artists and writers? It is genuinely fucking upsetting.

I am so unbelievably mad it is insane.

This was so gross, never do this again, to me or anyone else. And if you ask what to do when you are having trouble waiting for a fic? How about you leave some detailed comments? Try to talk to the author? I bet that most would LOVE to be talked to and asked about their fics, they are the prime people who want to talk about this shit, they are writing the fucking fic, clearly have a lot of love for it and get it, and also if you talk to them about it and show interest it might kick start their inspo again which means you will get that real and authentic update from the artist themselves. Also. Re-read, just re-read or explore more new fic, like me for instance, I have, again posted over ONE MILLION WORDS IN THREE YEARS OF POSTING! I have so much backlog, go read some of that while you wait for the updates man fucksake.

I don’t want to hear this is too harsh, I don’t want to hear this is too mean, I do not fucking give a singular goddamned shit at all. You fucked up here hard Anon, take a good look at yourself and do fucking better.

And in case it wasn't obvious, my writing? Isn't for you, not anymore.

#I literally cannot BELIEVE YOU ANON #The fucking BALLS on you #Like WOW #I know I usually try to be nice or calm or measured but this is SO fucked up #Never do this again to me or anyone #Full scorched Earth #Like this is legit heartbreaking #How dare you attach this to my baby to my long fic over year long passion project #My GOD #THE AUDACITY #BHF asks #I am sickened

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istherewifiinhell · 10 days

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okayyyy also. tagged by @joelletwo for 5 topics i could talk about for an hour with no prep.

now. two things. 1. i have infernal podcast dude energy and could say a lot about nothing. weird trait to have if u dont like talking to people? hard to say. 2. GESTURES AT BLOG. im ALREADY. talking at length abt my beloved shit. so im just ruling out turtles, alien robots, trek, etcetcetc all the shit thats been a main blog topic for the last past. 4 years?

I'm gonna say.... western voice actors? not that i could really. Give a lecture so much as. I'm way more familiar with them that than I am live action actors. And I'm kinda just CONSTANTLY like. Oh you know so and so from every cartoon youve ever fucking seen? And FEEL a real. gap. with people when they dont have a same reference point. probably like how ppl feel with me when i dont know their acting guys jhadbgjfga. Like u can name 5 VAs from ur childhood cartoons/animated movies right? And personal interest like, hey btw u know like the entire cast of tng was in disneys gargoyles? U know keith david can SING? And diego luna? Hey you know about Canadian actors who are in all the dubs and video games and yeah cheap shit? You know Scott McNeil right? You know Ian James Corlett? You know. THE IAN. of being Ian. Hello. is this thing still on?

I really like and care about the topics of education, children's rights and pedagogy? Not academically so much as, personal interest. What seeing very clearly that there was a lot of arbitrary rules that involved things like. The Government. and Systems. as a child does to a motherfucker I guess? I'm always INTERESTED in a discussion about it, is how i mean I guess. Like focuses of multiple intelligence and "applied knowledge" (and short comings there of). I mean long and short of it. Kids are full human beings and until u can grapple with that their feelings and opinions um. Actually matter. I hate you? jdhbgjhdb. And Naturally the world being good for kids has the prerequisite of it not sucking ass for adults too....

UHhhh guh. User design/civil engineering? You'll hear it from me until the day I die, crushed under the tires of a ford f1 giga truck with the LED 20million watt bulbs. PROTECTED BIKE LANES. for the love of god. I just know a lot of designers I guess and like engineering, conceptually. But like, u know that famous bridge everyone crashes into. If theres 80million warning signs and people are still crashing... maybe theres. other factors. Or you know ofc like, traffic planning, vehicle accidents, structural disasters. A lot of them are not just. Things happening. Tragedies. There's politics there. Usually a lot of Money stuff. and structural racism. The real reason your fridge is full is that there's a bunch of half empty condiment jars hiding all your forgotten left overs. And widening the roads isnt gonna do shit for traffic.

Jackass entry: Themes and motifs of anyyytthing ive watched with another person or saw, and like they also know it. I realllly like, visual theming and narrative shorthands. Anything that breaks like, maybe people in this setting dont have the same customs, but their gonna do something so you the audience can recognize it. Non literal/accurate use of colour and lighting, for mood and clarity. Breaking the physical shape and scale of things so they can appear and be readable on screen. COSTUMING COSTUMING COSTUMING. A well styled character can do soooo much for your understanding of a work, especially with large casts, and a poorly styled one can take me right out. Well. anyway. yes i love animation u all knew that.

uhhhhh Thatgamecompany/giantsquids studio. im giving myself a free space. lol technically I DO. blog about this. the music. at least. BUT beloved. games. Me and everyone else I guess. Hey speaking of u know its laura bailey and troy baker as the voices in the pathless? And you know how a lot of the games have themes of coming into being/growing/rebirth. And LOTS of environmentalism. And implied cultural world building, and wordless stories. and beautiful metaphor rich otherworldly visuals. and gameplay styles that really connect with the emotional story their going for. and ofc, the music. oh the leit motifs. well. there u go. sword of the sea when?

tagginggg. uh did anyone get @deadgrantaires or @army-of-bee-assassins yet? anyone elseeee who wants to regale me with things they knowww about. id love to know.

#some shit #KINDA. gave up. cause i hampered myself with the restriction not my fandoms. jadgbdhf BUT YALL ALREADY KNOWWWWW i could take u thru #my fav mirage issues or like. my favourite implications of tf stuff.#like. all the things i like to watch and like. this is a story about familys. or rebellion. or why people care about each other.#why its important to keep living. and everything iver ever blogged about. lmao #i also skipped on things like. cool machinery i like or how products are WORSE now days. even tho. djjhdbfj. if i have to talk to a #less known person i would consider those like. safety topics. dgjhdf #if u wanted to be really vague i could to a tangential daisy chain all themed around the colour blue. ofc.

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hexonthepeach · 8 months

Text

a gentle tongue breaketh the bone | 10: prisoner

pairing: fem hybrid fox omega!reader/hybrid Alpha!nct 127

tags: reverse harem, non-traditional omegaverse hybrid! cyberpunk au, pack dynamics, polyamory, slowburn/slowbuild, angst & hurt/comfort, heavy content warnings inc. torture, graphic violence, suicidal ideation, explicit sexual content

summary: the year is 2127. decades of eugenics and warfare have led to the rise of designated populations: the ruler Alphas and their rare, prized omegas sequestered from the Beta population. in the aftermath of the War of the Two Tigers, New Goryeo ushers in an Imperial dynasty determined not by birthright but by the alliance of the Syndicate’s clancorps to choose the best pack of your generation. you are destined to take your place within the Imperial harem as a queen, and–perhaps–Imperatrix herself

but you have a secret, written into your skin and bones–one that could easily kill you, depending on who finds it out

ten years ago you chose your Alpha and their pack in a fateful meeting

now, you must make them choose you

[masterlist & glossary] [read on AO3] [0: prologue] [1: escape, again] [2: lost and found] [3: returned] [4: bound] [5: home] [6: gift] [7: reunion] [8: security] [9: secret]

wc: 5.5k

chapter warnings: [redacted] continues to be a menace, mutual masturbation via video chat

recommended listening: sweet juice - purple kiss, my satisfaction - ive

Containment is one of several modular sleeping pods arranged in a dim and unoccupied lower floor, no windows and minimal light. A blue glow emits from the furthest cell down, your fellow prisoner obscured in sound and scent with the thick plexiglass partitions between you.

"Can you hear me?" you ask, receiving no answer.

You're not sure how long you'd been out but you reek of sweat and urine—vaguely remembering being unable to control your bladder during the round of electrocution.

You clean yourself up in the sink of your tiny, doorless toilet, tears rolling down your face the entire time.

Whatever sick game you'd found yourself in the middle of, you had to survive it. You couldn't harm the two who had put you in here but you could deduce a way to make them suffer, equally.

It's the only thing you have to look forward to.

"I'm going to let you out, if you promise to behave." Mark says when he arrives to check on you.

You hide in the corner near the in-wall bed, ears down and tail tucked around your bare feet.

"I don't want to go out there." You don't have to pretend to cry, helplessness weighing you to the floor. "They hurt me."

"I know. I'm sorry," Mark sighs, hand on the door. "Can I come in and check on you?"

"Please just leave me alone," you say, turning your back to him. You slump down, keeping your ears still so as to hide the rush of excitement when he takes the bait.

The door rumbles open but doesn't close, fresh air clearing out the stench and bringing with it Mark's clean and neutral odor.

"I need to do some checks," he says. "Please don't try anything funny."

"Are you going to hurt me, too?" You cough weakly, rubbing snot into your sleeve.

"No one wants that." He's beside you, pulling you up and inspecting your face. His fingertips palpate your forehead, making you wince in pain.

You'd almost forgotten your head connecting with the edge of the desk when you'd lost muscle tone. There's no blood but you can tell it must be ugly by the way Mark's face twists in sympathy and frustration.

"Tell me what happened," he says through gritted teeth.

For a moment you consider adding a layer of fabrication to the story you'd heard Jungwoo improvise. But that path is too complicated. Instead you hold your head, squinting against your migraine.

"I don't remember. I wasn't myself."

"Did Jungwoo do anything to you?" Mark asks. "Or Yuta?"

"No. No, of course not." Your lip trembles as you shake your head, wincing again. "I think I attacked them? Are they okay?"

"Yeah," Mark says, sourly. "I put Jungwoo on reserve until I can be sure . . . You won't have to deal with him for a while."

"Oh," you say, genuinely disappointed–just for entirely different reasons. "But he was so nice to me. I understand why he . . ."

You start to sob, tears rolling down your chin to splash on Mark's boots.

"You're not yourself. It's fine," he says, patting you awkwardly on the shoulder. You move a small degree closer to him, sure he'll pull away, grateful when he doesn't.

"I just want to go home," you whimper. "This is a nightmare."

"I know, I know." Mark's hand remains on you, squeezing gently.

"I can't be alone. I'm scared of what I'll do when I'm not in control." There's a bit of truth to what you're saying but it's slathered thick with vulnerability. Like Haechan, Mark is your only other hope at a scenario where you have the upper hand.

"I understand." His expression is distant as he stares at you, as if trying to puzzle something out. "Why don't we go down to medical first. We can have Taeil check on you and–"

You cut off his words by throwing your arms around him, lips pressed to his closed mouth. It's an effective distraction–Mark flails, fighting to push you off, only to find the muzzle of his own gun pointed at him. You point it at the wall to the side of his head, unable to commit to threatening his life.

"You so much as breathe too loud and you're getting permanent hearing damage," you say, emboldened.

Mark sighs heavily through his nose, amusement tugging the corner of his frown.

"Hands where I can see them," you order.

He follows your lead, palms open and raised to his shoulders. He's silently laughing at you now, eyes dancing with delight.

"You think I won't do it?" you ask.

He can't hold it in after a few seconds, flashing perfect white teeth in a wide grin.

"Go ahead," he says. "Do it."

The order makes you pull the trigger, finding zero give.

After watching you struggle for a few seconds Mark disarms you in the blink of an eye.

"The safety is key-coded to my bios," he says, reholstering the pistol. "But nice attempt."

Your shoulders sag in defeat. At this point it's impossible to keep track of how many times you've made a fool of yourself in the past few days–more if you count your attempted escape.

You feel hazy, hopefully not concussed as you let your head thud against the wall beside you with a real, involuntary cry of pain.

"Hey–" He blocks your face before you can harm yourself again. "Stop it."

It's the final straw, hearing yet another command. You bend into your raised knees, sobbing hopelessly.

This time Mark scoots beside you to wrap an arm around you, stiffly holding you until the worst of the hysterics wear off.

"I know this is hard but you're going to have a much easier time if you don't fight."

"I can't help it," you whisper, wiping your face. This time you're being honest, with him and yourself. "You know what they say about us. Fight, flee, or . . ."

The unspoken word hangs between you until Mark's discomfort loses to his need to keep the conversation civil. "Fornicate."

"It's jimseung," you say. "Whatever is conscious is a passenger. I'm just a smarter animal."

"Trust me, I know." Mark's voice cracks. "But whatever control you have, you need to try to do the right thing. For your sake more than anyone else's."

"How?"

"How about we make the best of it," he says. "We'll take you back to your room. We can do remote shifts so you always have someone to talk to. In a few days once you're not under the influence we'll take you home."

"You'd spend time with me?"

"It's not any different than this. Just safer. You kind of make people crazy like it's contagious."

"But not you." Instinct tells you that of all the men in this pack he's the one who hasn't been affected to the same degree. Not interested, Doyoung had said.

Mark is immediately bashful, standing up. "I can keep it together."

"You don't have to for my sake," you say, looking up at him from the floor.

A shadow passes over his face, gone just as quickly. "Are you really not concerned about some stranger taking advantage of you when you're like this?"

"You're not strangers."

You stand, vertigo bringing you down again. Mark grabs you fast and holds you up, not seeming to mind the close proximity now.

"You're my Alpha's family," you say, meeting his concerned gaze. "I didn't choose you but you're mine now."

"Yeah. I see," he agrees, helping you move.

"I don't know what happened to you and Johnny but I know it can't be easy. Having someone you love tell you they want nothing to do with you."

"I don't love him."

"Well, someone you're attached to." He shrugs.

You realize Mark makes you feel comfortable in a way you haven't felt since you arrived. You cling to his bicep as he guides you out of the wing, dragging you a bit when you pause to look back down the hallway towards the other cell. There’s no movement or indication that the other occupant is even there.

"What's it like then, being bonded to him?" he asks.

"Like wanting to die. All the time." Your chest aches more than your head when you say it.

Mark makes an agitated sound in his throat. "Aish. It's so weird. I've never seen him like this with anyone else. He's usually so . . . I don't know. Confident?"

"He's a coward, who surrounds himself with others like him," you hiss, looking up and immediately walking your words back at Mark's judgment. "Present company excluded."

"Maybe," he says quietly. "I guess if I were him, I'd be afraid of hurting you again."

Something about his tone makes you question your own knee-jerk reaction, like you're seeing everything from a different view. You resist it, prickling at the idea that there would be anything in Johnny's treatment of you that wasn’t self-serving.

"At least, I think that's what's coming through the pack bond," he continues.

"Are you marked by him?"

"Oh no." Mark seems disturbed by the thought. "Taeyong is the only one who made it official. He needed someone to run the pack. Too many of us, too many different species, too."

"Alphas don't take orders from omegas they're not bonded to," you say. It wasn't entirely true in your experience, but you didn't want to dig down that burrow. If Mark is suspicious, he doesn't reveal it.

"I mean . . . We do. Just not like orders orders. It's not that we question Taeyong's leadership, it's just against instinct. Feels weird. Johnny is like a translator, no one questions his authority as prime."

"Does it feel right telling us what to do?" you ask.

"You're the first real girl omega I've ever met," he says. "I don't think anyone has experience with it. Except maybe . . . You know, nevermind."

You don't pluck the thread but instead keep it stored away for later. By the time you've returned to your room the shape of things becomes a little more clear: Mark is Johnny's second in command, and loyal. He's too young to have seniority but it's an assumptive role and he's in charge at the moment. The fact that he's being considerate of you is not something to take for granted.

He even waits in the entrance, watching you inspect your room with tentative sniffs and an alert tail until you're satisfied you're alone and safe.

"Sorry for trying to steal your gun," you say, hanging back near the bathroom as you bid him farewell.

"Nah, it was fun–"

"I mean sorry for kissing you like that," you correct. You watch him fidget, his shyness in contrast to his military attire and his usual, puffed-up posture.

"Don't think about it," he says. When he closes the door you notice it takes a long time for the light to blink to indicate it's locked.

"Go right. No, right. That's left. Right, right, RIGHT."

Haechan's voice is distorted by the constant stimuli in surround sound with the specially fitted headset hovering over your ears, not quite in the right position as you lean back on the bed and try to navigate a standing position lying down.

The flick of your left fingers accidentally pulls a grenade pin, and you toss it, losing your bead on the target he's been guiding you to. To add insult to injury you're caught in the explosion, headset flashing red and haptics vibrating as you're thrown to the ground along with several friendlies.

The chat explodes with insults, mostly telling you to log off, others begging you to learn how to game before joining an instance.

You choose to stay prostate, watching the flicker of other players and their exchanged fire as they pass over you. Haechan's avatar comes into view, crouching down to rezz you even though you are still very much alive.

"You done?" he asks, recognizing the expression translated through the visor as acceptance of your loss.

"It's harder than it looks," you say, thankfully still on your private line. You close the chat so you can't see the insults lobbed at you fully translated.

"I dragged you into this, just so you'd see what you were getting into," he admits. "That's not even a ranked match."

"Maybe you can ease me in a little easier," you say, rolling over to watch the battlefield chaos fragment into color as higher level weaponry is engaged. The sheets stick to you, and you fumble for the flask of water just out of view, groaning when you find it empty.

"Don't you have another game we can play together?" you ask, lifting up your visor. The projector wall shows the last few seconds of the firefight, the rankings flashing down past the edge to the floor, where your tag blinks dead last. At least you'd managed one hit–if only on someone in your company playing for the other team. You'd died over a dozen times in five minutes.

"Let me just finish up this last push," Haechan responds, the distant noise of whatever battle he's already engaged in a white noise behind every clipped word.

You hang up on him, closing out the game screen to be confronted by a series of notifications that are much less appealing in the face of some stranger half a globe away threatening to kill you.

There's your dwindling bank statement, last charges made for upgrades to weapons and armor Haechan had assured you were absolutely necessary for a base level experience in Crashrunner.

You're under the wire now, you'd have to start earning or you couldn't even afford instant noodles. You were much more intimately familiar with the pricing after ordering three palettes, one of them Hendery's preferred brand, now stacked near the kitchenette.

It's late, and you're not hungry. Instead, you've been thinking about when your next cold shower should occupy your time, how long you'll be able to stand it.

There's an itch in your dermis that feels like fur just under the surface, your body twitching and burning through every momentary flash of excitement like it will roll over into something more–a promise of pleasure denied.

You're grateful for the wealth of clothing purchases in soft and thin fabrics, but you've found it's better to not wear much at all–too many of them uncustomized for your tail and all of them absorbing your scent and bodily fluids like wicks in an oil lamp. You'd taken to doing laundry in the manner of a common automaton while you bathed, your few pairs of underwear drying over random surfaces, including your desk.

Your screen blinks with another call from your gaming partner but you zip it away, scrolling through your personal messages as you fill your canteen from the filtered water dispenser.

[nayuta1026] >>>

[sweetashoney] >>>

[youknow1] >>>

There's others from red-flagged external accounts, possibly spam–possibly instance comrades telling you to set yourself on fire or shoot yourself into the deepest reaches of space via the Temasik Line.

You click on the last of your internal options, too sure that the others will lead you down pathways you don't want to follow. You sit on the edge of the lower bunk, eyes growing large as you parse the characters burning into your wall, sent hours before you began gaming.

[youknow1] >>> i can hear you

>>> can you hear me?

>>> ?

>>> don't cry

>>> who hurt you?

>>> ask to go to medical

>>> i need to know you're k

>>> ok. just respond

>>> you can trust mark

>>> i'll take care of them

>>> you did nothing wrong

>>> no one will ever hurt you again

>>> i promise

>>> i'll kill them if they ever hurt you again

>>> if they even touch you

>>> i'll take you home

>>> but only if you want it

>>> i'm sorry

>>> don't trust him either

>>> they all think they know better

>>> they don't

>>> you're a fighter

>>> you belong

>>> i'll never order you again

>>> never

>>> ever

>>> i promise

>>> ever

>>> i respect your choice

>>> i'm sorry

>>> so sorry

>>> they don't understand

>>> you're special

>>> i'll spend time with you

>>> we're not strangers anymore

>>> we all feel it

>>> they're all scared of you

>>> i'm not

>>> not anymore

>>> please let me know you're ok

>>> ?

The cursor blinks at you, writ as large as your own hand at this zoom. You do the only thing you can think of at the moment, unable to absorb it all for the feelings inside of you threatening to pour out: you call them.

You watch the black screen flash green and then red as you're denied.

<<< you there?

[youknow1]

>>> yeah

<<< i need to talk to you

[youknow1]

>>> we're being watched

>>> don't respond visually

>>> this is a secure line

>>> just pretend to go through your feed

<<< ok

You type out your response while you stand up and stretch, going through the other messages sent to you in the hopes that you can maintain a facade of disinterest.

Who was watching you?

Probably Jungwoo, considering his omnipresence in your access earlier. You can imagine his smug expression tapping into your feed, watching you undress and bathe–hopefully not as humored when you'd taken the "gifts" he'd left for you on your bed, now tossed near the door. Johnny's scent beckons from where you’d deposited the pillows and used clothing.

You tap on Jungwoo's messages in the bathroom.

>>> sorry little one

>>> you can be mad

>>> forgive me, though?

>>> you try your toy out yet?

Why not answer, you think. You weren't going to let him off easy.

<<< thought you were going to give me a demonstration?

A call immediately comes through on your agent and the mirror. You brace yourself before answering, leaning over the deep sink with your silk robe sliding down your shoulder as you answer.

Jungwoo's face appears, freshly showered or post-workout by the plastering of his rust-colored hair across his forehead. He pushes it back as he leans in closer to the view.

"Poor baby," he intones, tongue tapping his teeth as he strokes his own forehead sympathetically. "Left quite a bruise."

"You have a strange way of showing you want to treasure me," you say. "You like hurting your omega?"

He smiles, almost shy. "I knew you could handle it."

"I don't like you," you say.

"You don't have to like me," he muses. "Might even be better if you don't."

"Do you really want me to be part of this pack?"

That gives him pause. He leans into his chair, crossing ropey arms over his sleeveless shirt.

"You seemed to want it. Getting in here, by one way or another. Didn't you?"

There's a taste of bitterness there that you can't ignore, similar to his previous accusation that you'd maneuvered into their care.

"No," you say–not fully convicted. "I wanted Taeyong's help. Who wouldn't? Survival instinct."

You watch his soft lips curl at the admission.

"Forgive me for assuming," he begins–obviously not needing forgiveness, "but you have been begging for someone to take care of you."

"Not by abusing me."

His eyes are alight beneath lowered brows.

"Isn't that what Johnny's doing to you now? Leaving you to break your heat with strangers. Treating you like a prisoner. Ordering us to stay away–"

"He ordered you?" You watch your reflection stand up, ears at attention.

Jungwoo bites his lip, eyes wandering down to your exposed curves. "Only works so long as he's here to enforce it. Taeil tried, too. Before . . . well. You seem to have gotten through to the old man pretty quickly."

"I did?" you ask. “How?”

"He's been unusually quiet," Jungwoo says. "It's Mark's show, now. Good job on deflecting him. Might get under his skin, too, if you're careful."

"I'm not trying to get under his skin. Or anyone's."

"But doesn't it feel good?" Jungwoo makes the question sincere. "You shouldn't deny yourself that satisfaction, at least."

"I just want . . . " The answer feels too personal to share with someone as tricksy as him. You toss your head, pillow-mussed hair falling over your face. "I want at least one Alpha to take care of me."

He makes a mild sound of approval. "Is that enough?"

"If it's the only thing I have, then I guess so," you say, hand playing with the silk sash at your waist. "What do you want, exactly?"

"More than a taste." Jungwoo sounds nonchalant, but you feel a spark as he leans back, stretching out in a way that clearly defines his interest, a peek of his flat belly flashing as his fingers thump against the wall behind him.

"You aren't scared I'll steal your soul? Make you crazy?"

He leans back even further, letting you watch as he slides a hand down to palm himself through the dark fabric of his pants.

"I've seen a lot of omegas come undone. You're different. Special. I think it will be fun to break you in."

An electric thrill courses through you at the suggestion. He might be toying with you. As before your fox doesn't discriminate when it comes to intent.

"How'd a loser like you ever get a chance at another of us?" you ask, tracing your breast under the loose side of your robe without exposing it.

Seeing his reaction is more thrilling than the brush of your fingertips against your skin, the way his knuckles flex around the growing hardness beneath his pants.

"Everyone has needs," he says, voice wispy. "Especially our less . . . precious cousins. They want the experience without the risk of personal attachments. A gentle ease-in before being sold off to some uncle Duke to whelp a few more genetic mistakes. Not everyone can enjoy their status like you do."

He says it so offhandedly you have to fight to keep from wincing. Whatever truth is there you know your kind didn't choose their designation, much less their exploitation.

"And what makes you so special?" You expose more of your breasts, keeping him in suspense. Your breath catches with the feeling of silk and cool air interchanged, eyes half-closed in pleasure as you watch him drink you in.

He smiles genuinely, head cocked. "Oh me? I'm harmless."

You laugh, but he doesn’t stop.

"You have no idea what people will pay for when they can't get it elsewhere. Safety, attention, comfort."

He pauses, unzipping slowly to pull himself free of the gap in his underwear. "The right fit."

You feel the slick trickling down your thighs, beading on your skin. You swallow, dryly, eyes locked on his tight fist and the length as he works himself, knot peeking through his clothing when he pulls his cock towards his stomach.

"You ever see one of us in real life?"

"No," you answer, truthfully. No amount of anatomy references or beta-targeted Alpha porn could have prepared you for the sight of his erection growing slowly bigger, the engorged tip already leaking a thick, white substance that disappears when he passes his palm over it.

You want to taste it so badly, want to tongue the flesh until it forces past your lips and penetrates your throat. You're shaking a bit, nails digging in when you tweak your own nipple to try and break your trance. Instead you're on fire, the burn between your legs aching for the pressure and fullness promised to you by what's in his hand.

"What do you think?" His movements are languid, chest heaving but face pleasantly relaxed as he meets your eyes through the screen.

"It's . . ." you don't want to feed his ego, settling on something easier. "You're right. I'm not ready."

His mouth opens a bit in a silent laugh, or maybe just a snap of arousal that leaves him breathless.

"I can help you," he says when he can speak again. "Why don't you touch yourself?"

"I don't . . . I don't know how."

You'd denied yourself before, afraid of the consequences if you let your body tip over into the downhill roll towards denied fulfillment. It didn't help that you were constantly surrounded by others, or that your perfume was so damning that even just the thought of being touched made you open the windows before one of the eunuchs could swoop in to test you.

"Poor thing," Jungwoo breathes. "Try it for me. Let me see what makes you feel good."

You indulge yourself more than him, undoing the robe finally and letting it hang open–only as much as you need to let him see your fingers coast across your belly and down beneath the lip of the sink. You don't act for him–you can't feign what is so obviously your ramping fervor–drawing wetness up between your folds as you touch yourself in earnest.

"You shy? Don't want me to see?" He's more forceful in his self-pleasure, hunched over the camera as if it can change his view.

You step back, tail accommodating the shift in balance as your body stretches. You lazily circle that pinpoint of desire, exposing yourself by degrees. One of your breasts peaks in the chilled air, nipple a hardened point.

"Good," he murmurs. "Why don’t you try penetrating yourself. One finger."

A sense of debauchery catches up to you as you bring the digit down to slip into the sticky heat between your legs. You cry out when your nail curves into the sensitive lining of your inner walls, unable to go much further with your arm fully extended.

"I don't think it's enough," you whine.

"Two, then."

You aren't able to look at the screen, concentrating on filling yourself, the heel of your palm grinding into your sex as you fumble for relief. You hear the artificial echo of your own moans in his speakers, over the sound of him fucking his fist in time to your movements.

"Look at all that slick going to waste. Taste yourself," he says. You don't stop curling your fingers into yourself, instead swiping up moisture with your other hand and bringing it to your lips. You look up towards him, letting him savor the image of you spreading the honey-thick liquid over your mouth, tongue darting out to try it.

"You're so sweet, aren't you?"

You don't think so–finding yourself tangy and salty and acid on your tongue–but you nod, dumbly, never breaking his gaze.

Jungwoo is flushed, more boyish in his arousal than seductive, like an ancient depiction of Adonis before Artemis's revenge. You find yourself endeared to the way he's unable to speak now, bottom lip swollen from chewing on it.

"It's not enough," you reiterate. "I need more."

"I know," he says. "Get your toy."

"No." You're back against the shower wall, leaning against it as you touch yourself thoughtlessly. "Let me watch you."

"Alright," he says, already lost. He can't help but expose that crooked grin again, face angled away as he works himself under the desk.

"You shy?" you repeat back. "I want to see it."

Jungwoo doesn't appear to register your words beyond pulling back a bit, one hand engulfing the base of his cock while the other rolls over the head.

"So nice, so big," you soothe. Ripples of pleasure pass through your lower body at the sight of him unraveling, bent back into his chair with his slim lower abdomen exposed. "I just know you feel so good. Make me feel so good."

You move forward to trace the mirror with your sticky fingers, smearing slick across the glass.

"Do you want to be inside me, Alpha? You want me to beg for your knot?"

He nods, face scrunched up, a low noise coming from his mic as his tempo of strokes and thrusting changes.

"You want to mate me, fill me with everything you have?"

It takes little time for him to come, splashes of white pumping out as far as his clothed sternum, thick and proportionate in quantity to the size of his cock. His knot swells beneath the squeeze of his hand, the other still pulling cum from his shaft.

"Too bad," you pretend to pout. "You're never going to have me, you stupid dog."

His eyes crack open, a little startled.

"You're not worthy of having me," you continue. "I'd rather die than be degraded by you. Stop spying on me or I'll tell Mark."

You end the call, panting as you lean against the sink, turned on even more by the way Jungwoo seemed to enjoy the insult before you'd made his image disappear as picked up his pace again.

Your hand shakes as you type in the message.

<<< no one is watching now. i think

You wait a bit, finger hovering over the last attempted call out. This strategy is a little harder to anticipate, you don't know much about him except the vomited series of confessions and promises he'd sent you.

The mirror begins to blink and chime–your strange friend calls you first.

You make yourself decent before you answer, choosing the living area option to eliminate the possibility that your slick is smeared across the camera. The wall is filled with the image of a man you hadn't seen since the Wild, now looking casual and sleep-deprived, blinking beneath a pair of AR glasses.

"Jaehyun?" you ask, recognizing him immediately.

"Yeah," he says. He shifts back in his seat, avoiding looking at you any longer when he sees the cling of your robe to your body, your tail lifting the hem where it curls inquisitively in the air.

"Are you okay?" he chokes out, chair turned away.

"Better now," you say.

You hadn't been in the right state of mind in that basement and you certainly weren't now, looking at his soft profile. Of a group of incredibly attractive Alphas his shyness intrigues your fox the most, while your attention is on the dark metal collar around his neck and the familiar blue Containment cell walls behind him.

"Why did they lock you up?" you ask.

"I did it to myself," he says, quietly. His deep voice filling the room feels like a cool, nighttime breeze by how it placates your fox. "I don't have a lot of control in jimseung. It's safer this way."

"I'm sorry you had to lock yourself up because of me," you say. "That was very thoughtful of you."

"It's fine." He shrugs, smiling slightly with the compliment. It’s enough you know a real one would transform his face.

"I'm glad you wrote me," you say. "It made me feel like someone cared about me."

"That–sorry about that," he grimaces in embarrassment. "Seals and filters must be degraded. I could smell you. I don't even remember sending all that."

"I like what you said, though," you protest. "Did you not mean it?"

Jaehyun's mouth parts, lower fangs exposed as he thinks through his answer.

"You don't think I'm special?" you ask, letting your voice crack and a few tears of frustration slip from your eyes. Pathetic, but effective as his gaze darts over your image and he rushes to stop you.

"No–no, I meant it, you're special. You're very special . . . to me." Jaehyun shakes his head a little, awkward as he glances away. "I just have never met one of you. I guess I made a mistake, when I . . . "

When he’d tasted you, you think.

"I'm glad you did," you say. "I feel like out of everyone I can trust you."

He looks even more uncomfortable. "You shouldn't. You don't know . . ."

"You wanted to claim me, didn't you?" you ask.

Just the thought of being marked by someone else should terrify and revolt you but you're not going to be rational from here on. The pain and aching need blending together inside you is enough of a reminder that biologically you are impelled towards it no matter what you do. If you lack a choice in this at least you can choose your target.

"Yeah." Jaehyun shudders. "It's not good. Johnny won't–"

"I'm marked, not mated," you bristle at the mention of your Alpha. "I don't care what he wants."

"I care. He's prime. My friend, too." Jaehyun ducks his chin. "You're his."

"I'm the pack's now," you snap.

"That's why we need to protect you." Jaehyun distracts himself by scanning another part of the screen, not noticing when you begin to undo your robe. You sit back on the bed, spreading your legs wide to expose the mess that no amount of showering can get rid of.

"I need one of you to act like my Alpha. Why shouldn't it be you?"

Jaehyun's reaction to seeing you is comical, a cursory glance in his peripheral vision has him rushing to turn off the screen. Unfortunately he also ends the call along with it, leaving you feeling just as humiliated as he seemed to be.

Oh well. There are others you can torment.

You're about to call Yuta and propose yet another bargain when the notification appears. In the empty screen left in Jaehyun's wake you can see the soft pulse of a new message.

[fullsun] >>> taeil wants to do a 12 hour check-in. get decent i'll be there in a few

[previous] [next]

#agtbtb #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 omegaverse #nct 127 cyberpunk au #nct fic #nct 127 fic #nct imagines #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 smut #nct smut

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rose022 · 14 days

Note

1, 2, 8, 16, 20 ask game

do you carry around a bag when you're out and about? if so, what's usually in it?

not usually but i also dont go out much so. most anything i keep on me i put in pockets of my clothes. this includes tissues, cough drops, a glasses cleaner wipe, phone, license, pusheen plush, earbuds, and house key

describe your perfect first date.

uhhhhh ive never been on one but ill do anything the other person wants, i dont mind. well. as long as i dont have to pay

do you typically remember your dreams if you have them?

not usually, but there have been some times yeah. actually i did this morning but im not entirely sure anymore what it was about, just that i was scared. i think i usually remember the ones that leave me scared.

is there anyone you’re not biologically related to that you consider "family"?

yep!! u dont know them ofc and theyre not on tumblr but cris and lily!!

do you have any ocs? if yes, talk about them a little.

i have many that sadly get forgotten about. my main few tho ive talked about enough that you can scroll through my tag #rose ocs for more. i have a prsk unit called Tunes de la Lune and also these two that ive had since like 7th grade that i love so much. uhhh idk you gotta ask more specific questions about any of them tho cus idk what to say

#ask rose!#tyy for the ask

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karikarasuno · 8 months

Text

sonder ch. iv

Pairing: Erwin Smith x Fem!Reader x Levi Ackerman

Rating: Mature

Warnings/Tags: Angst, Alcohol Consumption, Recreational Drug Use, Pregnancy Scare, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Word Count: 6.4k

song(s) for the chapter: strange by celeste, another life by kiah victoria, small things by jojo, in the kitchen by renee rapp

a/n: going back to writing this post my own irl break-up has been an...experience. hope you enjoy the v real heartbreak lol

chapter iii | chapter iv | chapter v

You called out of work the next morning on account of a migraine. Which was mostly true. The source of the migraine though was sobbing for hours into your pillow until you exhausted yourself and fell asleep. It was noon by the time you officially opened your eyes. Your vision was still uncomfortably blurry and you were still wearing your jeans and t-shirt from the day before. When you found enough energy to drag your ass out of bed, the person you saw in your bathroom mirror was pathetic. Your hair was a mess and your eyes were swollen and bloodshot. Your whole face looked like it retained enough water in your cheekbones to fill a kiddie pool and you were in desperate need of a shower and change of clothes.

There was no effort put into the outfit you changed into post shower. Your sweater was baggy and old, and your shorts were short enough to disappear under the hem of your sweatshirt. What awaited you in the kitchen was something that you had completely forgotten about. The red splatter stains across your wall looked similar to a murder scene. The little dots were high enough to meet the top of the refrigerator and you concluded that the wall was ruined. The only way to fix it would be with a fresh coat of paint.

Maybe a change of decor would begin the process of erasing your weekend with Onyankopon from tainting every corner of your goddamn home. It was the last thing you ever expected. He was never supposed to show up at your doorstep and ask for answers. You were supposed to have a messy run-in back home. Maybe when you went back to your parents’ for the holidays. But definitely not here. Cities away and in a place you were just starting to call your home.

You slipped on sneakers and left with your hair wrapped in a scarf to the hardware store. You needed paint. And you needed it today because you couldn’t keep looking at your wall. You also couldn’t stay curled up in your bed for the whole day in self pity. You needed to be productive. In some way or another.

Your phone was left unchecked for nearly the whole day until you hopped on the train and put on your headphones. You fully intended on ignoring any messages and just playing some music but there were texts from Erwin, Levi, and Pixis. Your curiosity was too intense to ignore them, though.

Erwin: Hey, seems like you’re staying in today. Text me if you need anything

Levi: Dinner?

With three different recipes attached.

Pixis: Feel better soon. See you tmw.

The guilt that rattled around your chest was audible despite the music in your ears and the roar of the train on the tracks. But you’d respond later. You just needed for this pain to pass and everything would be back to normal. It wouldn’t take long, you reasoned, just a few distractions and it would be as if this horrid weekend never happened. You arrived at the hardware store with really no plan, heading straight to the paint aisle and becoming instantly overwhelmed with the mass amount of paint swatches aligning an entire wall.

It would be smart for you to choose something that matched your already existing furniture. Maybe an eggshell or something. But you decided if the color was too close to what you had without an exact match you’d end up having to paint the entire living room. And that would be too much.

So you chose a wine red. A burgundy that would cover the wine splatters with ease and serve as an accent wall. You didn’t give yourself enough time to muddle over your choice because you’d end up convincing yourself not to. You’ve already spent too much time thinking and you were over it. You needed to just do something. For the sake of your sanity.

The elderly woman at the paint counter took her time making the paint. And while you weren’t in any real hurry, you found your foot incessantly tapping the floor while you fidgeted with the hair tie secured around your wrist. Anxiety was a companion of yours for some time now. Before Onyankopon and before this job. So you were well aware that this was just one of your ticks. Which only meant that sooner or later you’d be hit with a wave of paranoid anxiety that you wouldn’t be able to control. But that was a future you problem. For now, you just needed to keep busy.

Which should be easy enough, given the project you recently gave yourself. When the lady was finished with your paint you thanked her over your shoulder as you turned down the opposite aisle to grab supplies. By the time you reached the register with a cart full of things you realized there was no way in hell you’d be able to drag this onto the train and back to your home. So you ordered an Uber. The man who arrived sized you up warily, clearly noting your still puffy eyes and your lack of presentable clothing for your outing. But he popped the trunk and helped load all of your things into it. He even offered to help you unload when you arrived home. You declined. Your mother gave you enough lectures about stranger danger to last you a lifetime and a half.

You carefully placed everything on your doorstep as you unlocked your door and dragged everything inside. The hard part was next. The couch was heavy but you needed to shift it forward and cover it with plastic so as not to accidentally ruin it with paint. Rolling the paint over the wall was therapeutic. Mindless back and forth that you were losing yourself in. Exactly what you needed.

The splatters were gone. One trace of Onyankopon already disappeared beneath one coat of paint. If only everything else revolving around him was that easy to forget. But the lingering feelings of regret and anguish were set aside in favor of pouring more paint into the container. In favor of mistakenly smudging paint on the ceiling and belatedly realizing you forgot to use painter’s tape for clean lines. And then remembering that you did not have a step ladder. There was one you could borrow right next door, but the thought of facing Levi or Erwin in your current state sent a wave of unwarranted shame down your spine.

Not that they would judge you. It was just odd to think about including them in a version of you that they knew nothing about. Someone you knew they wouldn’t recognize because you could hardly recognize her. The version of you that was their friend, but a woman who was so deeply broken and fragile, you were almost embarrassed of her.

So, you decided against the ladder. Resulting in a sloppy paint job and many amateur mistakes, but it was done. You threw off your sweatshirt somewhere along the way. And your living room was currently a disaster, but cleaning up was the easiest part. Your thoughts falling to the wayside, while your hands and feet did everything you needed. You threw away the plastic that enclosed your sofa, the paint slowly drying as you poured whatever paint was left in the small container into the paint can and hammered the lid down.

There was a small towel closet at the end of your hallway that you stored everything in, disposing of the head of the paint roller because you had no intention of soaking it and squeezing off the paint that was drenching it. You also pushed the couch back into place, but careful not to press it against the wall. And despite the mistakes you made, the end result was something you were happy with. One that you could take some pride in because you worked hard for it. Circumstances aside.

Your next challenge was one you hadn’t foreseen. Your bed was a mess when you were ready to finally crawl into it. But as you stared from the foot of your mattress all you could think about was him. And his smell. And how he managed to work your body over and over until you were so satisfied you fell deeply into sleep. Then, the crushing guilt brought you back to how it ended. So many mistakes and now you couldn’t even sleep in your bed without being reminded of him. It was pitiful, really.

You snatched a pillow from your side–the one he hadn’t slept on– and an extra blanket from your closet before dragging yourself to the living room. It still smelled like paint, the chemicals roaming around the open space but you preferred that to the warm scent of vanilla and musk trapped between the threads of your sheets. Maybe the scent of drying paint could burn the memories from your brain with each inhale.

Maybe you could suffocate the thought of Onyankopon from your mind. Drown the feelings in your heart with layers of thick paint. To be left to dry out slowly and be forgotten. Eventually.

There was a certain skill that came along with avoiding those important in your life. A certain je ne sais quoi when it came to carefully crafting excuse after excuse for weeks on end. The nightly dinners you had come to rely on with Erwin and Levi came to an abrupt stop. The lunches with Moblit ended swiftly when you began to take on so many projects at a time that it should be impossible for anyone to complete. But when you arrived at work at 7am and left well past 7pm, the projects didn’t seem like enough.

They were worried about you. That much was clear. And that worry seemed to have trickled down to Marco. Who was standing awkwardly in your doorway with a manuscript you had asked him to read over for you. You almost felt bad for how much work you were throwing at him. Forcing him to read some of the worst writing you’ve ever laid your eyes on, but accepting the novel either way. Purely to keep busy.

But now you truly felt the consequences of that when you glanced at the stack of papers in his tightly clenched hands and only found rows of red ink. That couldn’t be good.

“That bad?’ You leaned back in your chair, papers and sticky notes covered every inch of your desk and if you didn’t have a method for your organized mess you would’ve gone crazy. Not that you already haven’t.

“Worse,” he replied, shoulders still tense and his feet still rooted just outside your door. He was nervous and you knew that was your own fault. You had isolated yourself so dramatically that he probably saw you as a different person completely. You dragged a hand down your cheek and took a steadying breath. Your exhale was loud and it was sad that you couldn’t even remember which project you handed over to him. Amidst the hundreds you were taking on.

“Which one is that?” You opened a folder on your desktop that held all of the manuscripts. It was obnoxiously long so you clicked into the search bar as you waited for him to read out the title to you. You printed it when you found the document because you always concentrated better when you had the hard copy in your hands instead of scrolling through it on your computer. Pen to paper was best, even if you were aware that it was the more wasteful option.

“Wanna go over it with me?’ You offered, hopeful that this tiny olive branch could be the start of mending your distant relationship. He simply nodded, taking that step into your office and sitting across from you.

“Sorry in advance,” he said with a small smile, eyes lighting up with familiar amusement.

“For?”

“What you’re about to experience.” And for what feels like the first time in forever you laughed. The sound bubbled up your chest and burst unexpectedly from your lips. His smile broadened and he situated himself more comfortably in his seat as he started reading it aloud.

And he was right. It was worse than you initially imagined.

The pier was the next stop over and you were tempted to ride it until you got there. Tempted to relive that day, but the wind was howling and the chill that fell down on the city was enough to have you steering clear of the waterfront. It was mid-September when the weather decided to fully commit to autumn. The days were still long, the sun setting after seven on most days, but the cold that it started to bring was a pleasant reminder that summer didn’t last forever. When the heat started to become too much, you could always remember that the shift in temperature was just around the corner. You just had to be patient.

You also needed to sleep. Your body was quickly starting to feel the consequences of lying awake for hours until your alarm blared to signal it was time for you to get up and dressed for work. The dispensary wasn’t too far from work, so once your day ended you hopped on the train and made it your first stop. There was an urgency crawling beneath your skin, a sinking desperation in your gut because all you wanted was rest. The tossing and turning was getting infuriating. Especially since you still didn’t have the strength to sleep in your bed. The couch was comfortable enough, but you were positive that if you slept in the bed that you shared with Onyankopon your sleep would be that much worse.

Which said a lot, since you averaged maybe an hour or two a night.

A few blocks later and you were at the storefront, a man standing outside to check your ID before he opened the door to let you in. It was a little strange at first how casual it all was. Not used to seeing so many people of all ages in a place to buy weed. And you did eye the older couple a little longer than you should have as they asked the employee so many questions it made your head spin. But the young woman took it all in stride. She grinned at the couple with fond enthusiasm as she walked them through the different strains.

You ended up leaving with a pack of pre-rolled joints. Because you surely didn’t have the time nor energy to roll them yourself. It’s been a while since you smoked, probably over a year now since you only really did it with Onyankopon on nights the two of you wanted to enjoy a good meal or watch some stupid movie.

But you remembered the sleepiness after smoking. The way your body would just relax into itself and the black out sleep that always followed. It was dreamless most of the time. Not that you minded. It was actually what you had been craving. Because when you did sleep, it was filled with dreams that wouldn’t really constitute nightmares, but they were awful nonetheless.

Your home was dark once you arrived, night fell around the city earlier than it usually did. Another sign of the turn of the season. You managed to stumble around your home without turning on any of the lights, only flicking on the lamp once you changed into your house clothes and shuffled into the kitchen. The lighter you kept in the junk drawer was thankfully still there, buried beneath a pair of scissors and some command strips.

Usually Onyankopon always lit it first for you, holding the lighter to the end while you propped the joint between your lips to prepare for an inhale. But you were alone this time around, in the dim light of your kitchen, preparing for an inhale with shaky hands. The end burned cherry red and fire orange. The smell hit you first and instinctively you breathed in deeply. Too deeply while the tiny flame still burned the tip. You choked on the bitter smoke, your lungs heaved as the heated air burnt your throat. You were out of practice, that much was clear, but you already felt some of that blessed lightheadedness you were so desperately seeking. You grabbed a tiny ceramic ramekin to stand in as your ashtray, inhaling with unsteady breaths each time the smoke fully expelled from your chest.

Simple minutes passed, but anyone could have convinced you that hours had been drained away. The only thing left, besides your aching heart, was the craving for food. You were starving, only having absentmindedly stuffed a granola bar from the break room a little after lunch time. Marco had offered to bring you something on his way back from the sandwich shop he was heading to, but you declined. Realizing now that you regretted that decision immensely. There was nothing in your fridge besides molding strawberries that you kept forgetting to toss, a bottle of half finished red wine, and some sparsely used condiments. You turned to the pantry next, finding a jar of peanut butter and nutella. And in a very generous turn of events, a loaf of bread that thankfully lacked any traces of mold. It was strange. Going from carefully crafted homemade meals, cooked in the presence of friendship and comforting company, to nearly burning two pieces of bread smushed together by melted gooeyness. But you ate it anyway through a familiar haze that you welcomed but not in the same ways as you used to. Not out of a matter of want, but of a matter of need.

You nestled into the cushions of your couch once you finished eating. After a few nights of sleeping on the sofa and concluding that you weren’t going to your bed any time soon, you decided to drag over a few pillows and a blanket. It made it much more comfortable, even though you knew you should just toughen up and go to your bed. But you were far too stubborn and heartbroken for that.

Luckily, sleep found you quicker than it had in weeks. It was a dark, blank affair. You didn’t remember when you fell asleep or how, and you still woke up before your alarm, but far more rested then you had in far too long. The sun trickled into the living room between your slatted blinds, your curtains swaying gently from the breeze of the air conditioning.

Fatigue still made your limbs heavy, but your mind wasn’t racing and neither was your heart. You had become accustomed to the palpitations always residing in your chest. But those seemed to ease. Yet there was still this unsettling feeling that washed over you. That coated your vision in sepia and dulled all of your senses.

You hardly remembered the ride to work. Or the mug of still hot coffee settled in front of you as you stared at your computer screen. Something was off, but you couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Your stomach kept churning, and bile was sitting just below your rib cage. Waiting, threatening to come right up your esophagus. Your mind had been a mess these last few weeks, but today it felt like your entire body was fighting against you.

You made it to lunch somehow. With a mild headache and what felt like indigestion. And when you ate the protein bar you kept stashed in your work bag, that seemed like the final straw. The bathroom was a short walk from your office, each step forcing what was spinning in your stomach to rise just a bit higher. You rounded the corner of the stall and once your eyes made contact with the toilet everything came up all at once. Your eyes watered and your throat burned. You struggled to keep your knees from buckling beneath you as your breaths came out in pained, heaving wheezes.

When you were finished, you simply stood there with a hand clutching your stomach while the other wiped snot and tears from your face with toilet paper. You were weak and sweaty. Like the beginnings of a cold. But the sickening feeling that rattled you around all day was starting to twist into a very frightening realization.

Your period was late.

You snatched your phone from your back pocket and immediately opened the calendar app. You counted backwards by each week. Landing scarily on the seventh week. The week that Onyankopon arrived unannounced. The last time you had sex. Unprotected.

The nausea worsened as your head reeled and your heart thumped in your chest and throat. Loud enough to drum in your ears and blur your vision. You couldn’t be. That was the last thing you wanted, especially now. When you were the biggest mess you had ever been.

Your world was actively crumbling around you. You couldn’t seem to find your footing or your place or even your head most days.

How would you even bring this up to Onyankopon?

But instead of allowing yourself to recklessly overthink for longer than you should, you went straight back to your office to grab your wallet and headed out to the nearest pharmacy. It was only a few blocks, but each step was more painstakingly stressful than the last. The thumping in your ears refused to stop and the bustling city around you faded so drastically, it was as if you were truly the only person alive.

Once you purchased two tests, you went to the empty office space a few floors below yours. The previous tenants left suddenly. Something about the CFO committing fraud and causing the entire company to go bankrupt. And since then the building owners have had a hard time renting it out again.

Today you were grateful for that. Because if it weren’t for white collar crimes, you’d be hyperventilating in your own work’s bathroom at risk of any of your coworkers walking in. And the mere idea of that sent another wave of tears to your eyes that you refused to let spill over.

You chugged the bottle of water you purchased, pacing the empty bathroom to the beat of your footsteps echoing against tile and your breaths releasing in shallow puffs of air. When you finally did pee, you couldn’t keep your hand from shaking. Luckily, you were able to get enough on the stick for the three lines to show up as it analyzed the sample.

Your hands were sweaty, and you hadn’t realized it until you grabbed your phone again to set a timer and the case came back moist against your palm. Three minutes. In just three minutes you’d find out if your life would be turned upside down and spun around until you could no longer stand or see straight.

And as the seconds ticked by, anxiety etched its way into your chest and you couldn’t breathe. A panic started to build that was far more intense than what you’d been feeling sitting in your gut for weeks. This feeling felt like reality.

Like if you didn’t get your shit together now, surely you’d fall into a state of numbness that you may never recover from. The reality of just coasting through life solely off of apathy became so unrealistic because you needed to love again. Needed to care and indulge. Needed to learn to be a person without all the sticky complications of compromise that came along with a relationship.

Just as your panic began to worsen your phone rang in your hand. For a second you thought it had already been three minutes, but instead it was Erwin. You weren’t going to answer. You shouldn’t have answered, but before you could think twice about it, your thumb slid across the bottom of the screen.

You didn’t respond. Mostly because your breathing was uneven and words were stuck in a track of honey down your throat.

“Hello?” He asked, a slight urgency to his voice. And when he said your name there was a crack in the syllables that made it up. Worry coated everything that followed until you were able to croak out an, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not and you haven’t been,” he sighed, absolute exhaustion sounding through the receiver and you knew the sound all too well. “What’s going on?”

“I think I’m pregnant.” That was the first time you said those words aloud. The first you even allowed yourself to fully say or think the word pregnant without sheer panic wracking through your entire body. But saying them to Erwin felt like the right thing to do. Like you had to in order for the pressure in your chest to ease, even if it was only a little.

“What?” He stammered, clear disbelief in his tone. “How?”

And that made you chuckle, the tears pricking at your eyes finally spilling over your bottom lashes and smearing across your cheeks. “I think you know how, Erwin.”

He chuckled alongside you and the sound warmed your heart because things were slotting into place again. The thoughts that ran through your head recklessly were beginning to slow and it was because confiding in your friend was something you needed to do. Rather than continuously running away.

“Well, I know how. It’s just unexpected, is all.”

“I’m waiting for the test results. I locked myself in one of the empty office bathrooms,” you admitted, fear building again once you realized you still had a minute and a half left.

“I’ll wait with you. If that’s what you need.” A sob caught in your throat at his sincerity. You refused to accept anything from anyone for so long. Isolated yourself so deeply that the wounds never began to heal even when you tried to convince yourself they were scarring over.

“Ok,” you whispered, dropping your head into your hand and heaving out a breath that allowed even more tears to fall freely. There was mutual, tense silence on both ends of the call. You could tell Erwin wanted to say something more. Something reassuring. But words couldn’t offer much comfort when your whole life could change in less than a minute.

The timer went off. Erwin sucked in a breath, but still refrained from saying what was clearly on the tip of his tongue. You refused to look at the test. Because you genuinely didn’t want to know the result. Either answer breaking your heart in some way or another.

What if you wanted this? Needed this? The opportunity to care and love unconditionally for someone else. Even if right now you didn’t have enough of that love for yourself.

“Well?” Erwin asked hesitantly, urgently asking for an answer that you were too afraid to give him.

“I’m scared.” You admitted. Chest hurting and eyes stinging in preparation for a fresh wave of tears.

“I get it, but you have to look at that test. You need to know.” You stared at where the test rested on the counter, the screen no longer adorned with three blinking lines. Instead, there were letters composing two words. And for some reason the ache in your chest blossomed into something more horrifying. More heartbreaking.

You wanted it to say this because it only made sense. It only made sense for you to not be pregnant. But that didn’t stop the sob from crawling up your throat and your knees to give out beneath you.

Erwin was calling your name, but it sounded distant. Albeit, concerned. It was hard for you to register much outside of your rapid breathing and disordered thoughts. You needed a moment, just a second to let it all out before you could admit to it out loud. Admit that some part of you wanted that test to be positive for your own selfish reasons. Even though you knew how ridiculous it all sounded.

“I’m not pregnant,” you said, voice hoarse and thick from the congestion sitting in your sinuses. “Which should be a relief, so I don’t know why I’m feeling this way.”

“You should go home,” he offered, obviously unsure of what to say or if anything would really help in this situation.

“I have a lot of work to do,” you argued, even if saying the words aloud just felt like another excuse to bury yourself in distractions.

“It’s Friday. How much work are you really going to get done in the afternoon that you can’t just do on Monday?” You rolled your eyes at him knowing he had a point, you just didn’t want to admit he was right. “Go home, and I’ll stop by after work.”

The company sounded nice. Especially since you’ve been so lonely these last few weeks. And being alone with just yourself has become rather frustrating and pathetic, but you still responded with, “you don’t have to. I’ll be fine.”

“Sure, you will,” he said, and you could hear the small smile in his voice as it tickled with amusement. “We just miss you, is all.”

The conversation didn’t last much longer than that. You agreed to dinner tonight, although it felt a bit intimidating after you ditched them so many times. But the haze was lifting a bit. The fog of heartbreak was clearing enough for you to be able to envision more than just how to get through the work day. An ease started to settle. It was uncomfortable since it had been so long since you felt even a morsel of ease. And the pregnancy scare did nothing to alleviate that. But you finally remembered that you weren’t alone. That you had somehow, even in this new city, found people who cared.

And you refused to give that up, now that you could grasp it again.

The dinner Erwin promised wasn’t exactly what you had in mind. Somehow, ‘dinner’ was Levi meeting you on the steps to your home (because Erwin didn’t want you to be alone) and then walking 10 blocks to a bar once he got out of work. Dinner was also Levi and Erwin introducing you to Hange for the first time, which then included an awkward run in with an angry Moblit.

“You avoid me for weeks only to turn up at my bar with these two! What’s that about?” He asked, both hands parked on his hips with a towel slung over the clothes he still wore from work. You offered him a shy smile and a shrug, hoping that would suffice.

“Not your bar,” Levi replied, walking around you into the dimly lit space and through a door that was marked ‘employees only.”

“He’s not wrong, Mobs. Technically this is Hange’s bar, maybe if either of you proposed already it could finally be yours,” Erwin teased while shrugging off his jacket and draping it over a worn in barstool. As the two retained their playful back and forth, you took that moment to finally look around. There were booths lining the wall with a large u-shaped one pressed into a corner near the windows. The leather was brown and in need of some TLC, but it somehow made the space cozy and inviting. The lights were low hanging lamps from the ceiling, singular as they dangled over each table and bathed it in golden.

There was also a small stage towards the back wall that held a single mic stand, and a booth that you presumed had to do with the karaoke machine attached to it on the ground. But opposite that was an old pool table. The green fabric needed to be upholstered and the head of one of the sticks was missing the cue tip. But there was so much charm surrounding the atmosphere. There was a sort of reckless care that came with the decor. Effortless yet intentional.

Which after your short conversation with Hange, it seemed like that was their whole vibe. Hair tossed in a claw clip perfectly messy while running around in a comfortable pair of dark wash jeans and an oversized flannel with the buttons undone.

“Can I get you something?” A deep, unfamiliar voice said from behind you. If you weren’t so hyper aware of the space you were in, it would’ve startled you, especially after turning around and being confronted with the tallest, broadest man you had ever seen.

“Uh,” you stuttered, eyes stuck on his chest where the fabric of his black t-shirt seemed to be a touch too tight. And when you finally met his eyes–dirty blonde hair messily resting over his forehead– he was smiling at you. Amused. “I’ll take a long island.”

He whistled, “first drink of the night?” He grabbed a tall glass and started gathering the ingredients to mix it.

“Yeah,” you stuffed your hands in your jacket pockets, cheeks warming at the call out. Instead of settling on the stool, you stood and kept taking in your surroundings. Moblit handed Erwin a beer as he polished some glasses, while Levi came striding out the back room with an excitable Hange following. His scowl was ever present, if not deeper set than usual. That brought a small smile to your face. At least one thing remained consistent after all this time.

The tall bartender slid your long island across the bartop and you stared at it for a second longer than normal because he was prompted to scoot it closer to you with his index finger. “Still want it? Unless you’re no longer drinking to forget something.”

You slipped the cold glass against your palm with a breathy chuckle. “Yes, I still want it and what makes you think I have anything to forget?”

He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, “no one starts a night of drinking off with a long island. Trust me, I’ve been doing this long enough.”

“Ah yes, the bartender to therapist pipeline,” you teased, sipping the drink and pleasantly surprised by the lack of alcohol you tasted. You saw his point now, if he was making drinks like this it was easy to have one too many.

“I’m Mike, by the way,” he laughed, wiping down the counter as he watched you drink. You offered your name in return after another suspiciously long sip.

“And if you keep mixing drinks like this make sure you cut me off after two.”

“Sure thing,” he grinned before Moblit called him to the opposite side of the bar to help with something. And you were left alone with the best long island you’ve ever had, watching the chaos of this friend group spiral out in a room full of strangers.

“He really was so handsome,” you giggled drunkenly, hanging off of Erwin’s elbow as he led you in the direction of your neighborhood.

“He is also taken,” Levi said, tugging the edge of your sleeve to steer you around a bent traffic cone Erwin hadn’t noticed since he also had one too many beers tonight. “And how did I get stuck babysitting you two?”

“Boooo,” you complained, ignoring Levi’s question, “all the hot, nice men are taken nowadays. I mean look at you two escorting my drunk ass home and tucking me into bed when any other woman in my situation would be getting dicked down tonight.”

“That’s the last thing you need after your day,” Levi grumbled, cheeks turning distinctively pink and you weren’t too sure if to blame it on the wind or not.

“Try months,” you pouted, the words not as heavy as they would’ve felt if not for the alcohol and the way your night turned your day around. You should’ve confided in them weeks ago. After Onyankopon left, maybe it would’ve made this transition that much easier. Hindsight was a tricky bitch if you were honest. Always giving you clarity when you need it least.

“You wouldn’t wanna be with Mike, anyway,” Erwin slurred, his blush definitely due to the alcohol. “He’s a bit intimidating, if you know what I mean.”

“Erwin, please,” Levi scolded, “don’t be so crass.”

You and Erwin shared a look before you fell into a fit of laughter, your breathless giggles following you all the way up the steps to your front door and stumbling over the threshold. As you stripped out of your clothes and laid on the couch in nothing but your underwear, you smiled to yourself. Your chest was full. The yearning ache that had been nestled there was lessened, your breaths coming easier for the first time in forever. Before falling asleep though, you checked your email after plugging in your charger for the night.

The usual was there, drafts from work and websites advertising their current sales. But there was one with Onyankopon’s record label as the sender. When you clicked on it all that was there was an audio file, the subject reading: thought you should hear this.

This should wait until the morning, when you were hungover but at least sober. The nerves were back. And you tried to take the steady breaths you taught yourself to calm down. But nothing was working, and your thumb just hovered over the big play symbol. Until you clicked it.

It was poppier than his usual songs, but it was a raw cut. Only his voice and a piano. This must be the first demo. Which somehow made the song hurt more because you knew it wasn’t intended for him, yet he was recording his own version. His voice was raspy around the edges and hoarse as it carried along certain notes. You should have stopped listening after the first verse. But it was addicting. Listening to his voice as he sang about how you broke his heart. A fresh cut. A new wound you had to lick.

Nothing about this separation has been predictable or remotely familiar. And you’ve never felt more like a stranger within your own body, but to know after all these years you were slowly becoming strangers to each other. Just ghosts of past versions of yourselves continuing to haunt one another. Until either of you were able to find your way out of this purgatory you managed to create.

To heaven or hell, you still didn’t know where this would land you. And time was humbling, if you’ve learned anything at all.

#eruri x reader #eruri fanfic #snk fanfiction #aot fanfiction

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