#more thing that appeals to only a small group of people

[justmaghookit]

Business Partners

Raphael/OC

SFW

A/N: A continuation of Contractual Obligations

Raphael’s senses were flooded with Belladonna, his scent, his voice, the taste of him on his tongue. His presence pressed in on him from all directions, smothering him. He wonders how deeply into his psyche Bella had pressed, how thoroughly he’d ingrained himself.

He’d always done his best to spend as little prolonged time in the other devils home as possible. Belladonna was a Fiernic devil, directly descended from the Archduchess herself and he had become nearly as infamous as her in his ability to manipulate other fiends, even when he’d been mortal he had been terribly good at worming his way under a devil's skin.

Bella as a devil himself was far more dangerous, his scent alone could lull someone into a false sense of security. Raphael had never felt more ill-at-ease due to a sense of comfort than he did after spending too many days in the other devil's company and right now he had little choice but to stay in his home while his body recovered from the damage it had suffered.

The humiliation hurts worse than the pain, the indignation that he suffered at the hands of those damned adventurers. His house fallen to disarray, most of his servants dead or scattered to the wind, his most valued treasures plundered. He wasn’t even sure how long he’d been sequestered in Belladonna’s house, the Crown was likely long gone by now and that was the most painful part of all.

The second largest problem he currently faced was that he was unable to shed his current form. As fearsome, imperious and noble as his Ascended Form may be, it was somewhat inconvenient for regular business, it was difficult to charm prospective marks when they cowered in fear and a devil who could not exert control over himself was setting himself up for ridicule among his peers.

Belladonna could not hold Avernus’s court off for long, sooner or later one of Zariel’s minions would come looking to assess his worthiness to continue to run his business out of The First. If he was unable to regain complete control of his faculties by that time not only would it bring even more humiliation he would likely lose permission to run his House in Avernus, they would find him incompetent, repossess whatever was left in his house as Tax and then laugh him off the layer. To slink back to Cania after all these centuries was the last thing he desired.

He lounges across Belladonna’s bed, taking up a good third of the surface area of it. Ennui was a dangerous feeling for devils and yet as it stood Raphael saw little reason to fight against the rising listlessness, so many of his carefully laid plans had crumbled in such a short amount of time, he saw no way to salvage them.

“You look as miserable as a mange ridden hellhound Raphael.” Belladonna’s snide comment cuts through his thoughts like a knife and he blinks open a single eye to watch the younger devil saunter back into his room. He was all slim frilly shirts and tight leather pants, satin jacket cut to draw the eye to the dip of his waist. He smelt like honey and spices.

Bella carries a pile of scrolls under each arm and deposits them at his desk on the other side of the room. “Cheer up you old tom, I come bearing gifts outside my well sought after presence.” He hums, plucking several scrolls from the pile he had brought home with him.

“I’m afraid to ask.” Raphael groans. There was a not insubstantial chance a gift from Belladonna would be as useful as a kick to the balls.

“Oh don’t be like that, you’ll like this I’m sure.” Bella chirps, dropping the scrolls onto the bed near Raphael’s face. 

The cambion adjusts himself on the bed, reaches out and plucks one of them to examine, he recognizes it instantly.

“These are…”

“Some of your more high profile relatively recent contracts, yes.” The other fiend answers before he can even finish asking.

He opens the scroll with a flick of his wrist and examines the contents, confirming that it was indeed one of his although with a single difference than the last time he looked this one over.

“The soul has been collected? Where is it?” He asks, swallowing down the spark of anxiety trying to twist his stomach at the thought of Bella tampering with his contracts.

“In the dungeons, kept in stasis, waiting for you. There are more to sort through but these five here were the best of the bunch. I organized for.. Let's call it an early collection of these souls.” Bella purrs, tail curling smugly.

“They should have been left to increase in value. These souls had a lot of potential left.” Raphael growls.

“I know that Raphael, but feeding you the energy from fodder off the market is getting you nowhere, and I will not feed you more of myself, even if I wanted to, Fierna would not allow it. You will simply have to pull as much suffering and misery from these souls as you can, and soon. Apparently Mizora is being sent to harass my door next.” Bella says, crossing his arms, giving the cambion a look that said ‘you should be grateful.’

Raphael sighs, dragging a hand over his face. Mizora would not be cowed like some of Zariel’s other minions, Bella would be unable to turn her away at the door without offending the Archduchess of the First. He groans and tries to bury his face into Bella’s bed, though finds it impossible in his current form.

His current form.

Suddenly, he has an idea.

“How are the mansion's Hunting Grounds Bella?” He asks.

“As well kept as they always are.”

“And your hounds? Your other pets?”

“Healthy, loyal and vicious. Why do you ask?”

Ignoring the aches and pains that twinged across his body, as he had experienced far worse, Raphael gets his arms under him and pushes himself up, arching his spine and stretching out his wings and tail. “Invite Mizora over for afternoon tea, I know exactly how to wring those souls dry.”

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #raphael x oc #c; belladonna darke #mags writes #more thing that appeals to only a small group of people

[incognitopolls]

Brief definitions:

Ad Hominem: Trying to undermine the opponent's arguments by using personal attacks rather than logical argument

False Dilemma: Presenting two alternative states as the only possibilities when more possibilities may exist

Bandwagon: Presuming that a proposition must be true because many believe it to be true/everyone else is doing or saying it

Incomplete Comparison: Comparing two things that aren't really related, in order to make something more appealing than it would be otherwise

Strawman: Misrepresenting an argument so that it becomes easier to attack

False Cause: Citing sequential events as evidence that the first event caused the second

Slippery Slope: Claiming that a single event will lead to a series of events that would lead to one major event, or that event A will lead to event B which must lead to event C and so on until event Z

False Analogy: Assuming that if two things or events have similarities in one or more respects, they are similar in other properties too

Guilt by Association: Connecting an opponent to a demonized group of people or to a bad person in order to discredit their argument

Hasty Generalization: Making a claim based on evidence that is too small to prove the claim

–

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

#polls #incognito polls #anonymous #tumblr polls #tumblr users #questions #polls about ethics #submitted dec 16 #logical fallacies

[maxwell-grant]

So is Worm good from what you have read

"Yes" doesn't begin to cover it but yes. Worm is a brain-rewiring mobius strip disguised as a bible disguised as a superhero web serial that either cured your cancer or shot your dog or both depending on who you ask, and it has many extremely dedicated, brilliant scholar priest surgeons publicly dissecting it on this platform on the regular to the point I don't think I have much to add to the conversations surrounding it, even if I do have some The Thoughts about it. I had never even really seriously thought about superhero prose before and Worm isn't a thing I go back and reread frequently but it did a complete and total 180 on the way I think about superheroes and even fiction, and I've never stopped thinking about it since I've read it.

It is a monumentally impressive story with completely absolutely incredible characters that I cannot stop thinking about. No matter where it was going, even past stretches that were less interesting or more of a slog to read or worse, I could not put the story of Taylor Hebert down for one minute. Tattletale fascinated me every step of the way, I had to keep up with her. Rachel Lindt was a character I feel like I'd been waiting my whole life for. What was I gonna do, not see them through? I feel like Worm easily loses you if you don't particularly connect with the characters enough to justify to yourself the amount of time you'll spend with them, but man, I could not unglue my eyeballs from these people enough (I love all the core Undersiders, to be clear, I'd say it's Rachel > Taylor > Tattletale > Aisha and Alec and Brian, there are very small gaps between these, I just don't go berserk for the last three like I do for the first three, I'm taking Bitch and Skitter to the grave I'm dead serious)

Worm irreparably destroys your ability to engage with superhero fiction the same way ever again, as evidenced by the fact that it destroyed the author's own ability to engage with his own superhero fiction ever again. And everybody who read it has one or several gripes with it with some major dealbreakers in the mix. Tumblr's kinda the only place online where you can really talk about them at length without the spectre of John Wildbow hanging over the discussion, which enables discussion to the point where yes, maybe it does look like to outsiders that nobody can agree on whether Worm is good or what is it even about or whether it even has worms in it (it has at least one, although it's a very big one).

And it is good, it has the Undersiders in it and the Undersiders are one of the greatest groups of characters ever put together, but everyone has at least one major point of contention with Worm whether it's the timeskip or the length or the racism or the gross fatphobia or aspects surrounding the Dallon-Pelham Torment Nexus and etc. I'd say it has maybe the most racist vision of Latin America I've ever seen in a superhero text a hair short of pro-colonial tracts in Golden Age comics and that is a tall fucking order by any metric (part of why I started WEON4 as a project was motivated by spite, to try and make my own stories about non-American superheroes even if just as practice). It is Complicated, and that winds up making it so fascinating to talk about.

Worm has self-sustaining ecological systems of posts up here, far away from the Spacebattles and Reddit battlegrounds where it has different ones and that's not getting into Weaverdice or the sequel or Wildbow's larger body of work, which I haven't gotten to and probably will not any time soon because Worm was enough of a commitment as is. Do I recommend Worm to everyone? It is certainly not to everyone's tastes and I personally find it difficult to describe it simply enough to make it sound appealing or not like a pyramid scheme. But yes I do think it's good, in fact great, in fact, amazing, except when it isn't, and except it Plainly Sucks, but then something like Taylor vs Mannequin or Kevin Norton's interlude or "You needed worthy opponents" happens and it fucks harder than anything has ever fucked before and you don't walk away from it the same, so yes I guess "good" will have to do now.

It's certainly a lot but I definitely found it worth my time to read and then read the texts written about it here. You'll have to take my endorsement of Worm as proof of it's quality and proof of how deranged it makes it's readerbase, they're not mutually exclusive. If you can make it, Worm and the wormosphere has layers and layers to wade through and talk about and enjoy, despite how we're all so very small in the end *gunshot*.

#replies tag #worm #worm spoilers #wormblr #wildbow #superheroes #web serial

[a-casual-kpopfan]

It's a Date. - Karina

Shoutout to @capslocked for the little beta read. <3

I'm starting to get back into the writing groove, dropping small fics here and there. This was fairly short and sweet, I hope you all enjoy as usual. :)

~~~~~

You were one of the hosts to take Aespa around New York while they’re on tour; today was an off day and you were with the group and their managers going out to several shopping districts and trying desserts throughout the day. 

“Oppa, how come you’re not looking around for things?” Little Winter walking along next to you like a puppy, if a puppy can carry like 5 shopping bags with their paws.

“I live in the city Winter; this is my lifestyle.” You look around the shopping centre, it’s bustling and hustling as NYC would be normally. “Oh, come on oppa, there’s got to be something for you to do too, what about a girlfriend?” You had to think about it, it’s been a while since you were out with someone, let alone had a long-term relationship. “Ah, the last time I dated someone was back in college.” You gave a little smile to Winter as the two of you walked just behind the main group of members and managers.

Karina who’s walking along the main group takes a glance behind, seeing you and Winter laughing through your conversation. She excuses herself from the main group and slows down to the pace of you and Winter. “Ahh, what’s so funny?” Karina may be one of the most visually appealing idols and one of the most captivating people to ever walk this planet. But her looks don’t define who she is; Karina is actually a walking toddler.

Her cheeks are puffed up and lips in a pout. “Winter here is calling me a fossil, calling me old because I haven’t dated since college!” You were playing along with the act, acting a little whiny and childish which was alright, you’ve been with the girls a couple days already, they’re really playful and outgoing which is something you really appreciate seeing in Korean idols compared to a lot of Western stars you’ve hosted around every once in awhile.

Winter laughs uncontrollably on your left side, and is holding onto your arm, Karina is happy to see that there’s someone to trust outside of their group. “How old are you then oppa?” Karina tilts her head like a puppy, it really seems like Aespa as a group is a bunch of little puppies. “I’m 26 years old.” Winter pretends to be super shocked, exaggerating a dropped jaw. “Oh, my goodness, you’re a grandpa!”

“Yah, I’m only 3 years older than Karina.” Trying to defend yourself from Winter, but on the other side Karina is laughing at Winter’s reaction. “Oh, you’re not that old oppa, I just see the little white hairs appearing on your head.” Karina jokes around but catches you off guard making your jaw genuinely drop. “Ms. Karina!” Your jaw stays open but with a smile, you are putting your hand over your heart as if you got shot, but what really shot you is Karina’s smile and laughter.

Your walk through the mall was fun, it was all smooth going until…

“Oppa! Let’s go get you some clothes!” Giselle, the most fluent in English, pulls you into a local clothing shop. “Giselle!” The idol continued pulling your arm, you really didn’t have a choice. “Please, just call me Aeri.” With a reassuring smile that it’s okay to be on a first name basis at this point. “I feel like we’ll know each other a lot more after today.” Aeri with an excited smile, confuses you but you just go with the vibe.

“Oo, you'd be good with this… And this… We should try this too…” Aeri is picking out several pieces of clothing, going through different kinds of pants, looking at the blazers and some tops. “Giselle.” Aeri looks at you with a glare. “Aeri…” The glare changed to a smile, relieving you of possible stress. “Oppa, just try these on, okay?” Dumping a small pile of clothes into your arms, all you could do is sigh and accept it.

You went through multiple variations of outfits from all the clothes that Aeri has chosen for you. After spending about a half hour trying on clothes, there was a set that both you and Aeri found fond of. “Wah, oppa! You look so handsome!” You were wearing a short sleeve dark blue blazer, though worn open and on the inside, a nice grey, almost a salt & pepper style t-shirt, a black jean, complemented with a very dark brown leather shoe. “Wow, I have to hand it to you; you have great style Aeri.”

“Perks of being an idol~” You look through the mirror and watch Aeri pose with a V sign, making you laugh.

“That decides it, let’s go buy them!” You shook your head and looked at Aeri through the mirror. “I may be making decent money but buying all this is too expensive for me.” Your little shopping companion comes up to the mirror and looks you in the eye. “Oppa, who said you were going to pay?” And out of her pocket is her credit card from the company. “Yah, wouldn’t they be mad if you bought something not for you with this card?”

“This is the least that I can do being such a great host for us the last couple days.” You turn around to see a sincere smile and it doesn’t seem like she would take ‘No’ as an answer. “Okay, you win this round.” Aeri clapping her hands and you shrug in defeat as you make yourself to a change room with your original clothing.

Aeri kept to her word, now you’re walking along with Ningning and holding quite a lot of clothing. “Are you having fun with us, oppa?” It’s almost like each member is having their turn with you throughout the day. “Sure, I am Ningning, I get to spend time with very famous idols.” Ningning wasn’t satisfied with that answer. “What do you really like to do for fun?” You were confused as to why the idols are being really personal with you lately.

“Hmm, I’m originally from South Korea, but after moving here I really grew into North American culture. Watching basketball games, going out for bar food like wings and burgers with friends late at night. I do enjoy playing billiards, I’m always open to trying new activities.” Ningning now seems to be happy with that answer. “It seems that you’re very active.” You and Ningning kept the conversation going with each other, more and more you’re finding out the girls like to drink and eat a lot in the dorm, yet they seem so fit for the amount of food they consume and more Ningning is finding out your habits here in New York.

Once finding a restaurant to have a late lunch, you and the group were seated but you offered to sit separately as you would like to give the girls and managers their privacy.

“Nonsense! You’re sitting with us!” Karina was not happy with your suggestion. “You’re a part of us and you’re sitting with us.” The leader was standing firm, and wouldn't budge for anything. “Because you’re trying to bail on us, I’m making you sit next to me to keep an eye on you.” Karina poking your chest with her finger, you were given no choice. You couldn’t help but smile about it and shrugged. “Good, let’s go.” Karina grabbed your hand and dragged you in.

You were led to a large table fitting for 8 near the back of the restaurant, not completely private but obscure enough to eat comfortably. Karina sat on a bench with Winter and a manager beside her, one seat was left, and you were going to offer it to Ningning or Giselle, but you watch them already sit on the other side of the table with their other managers. “Nope, with me oppa.” Karina was sitting down, looking up to you with a smile.

“I really can’t get away from you, can I?” You finally gave up and sat down to the group’s leader. “Looks like someone has a liking for him.” Winter nudges Karina, shortly getting a slap to the leg to deny the teasing. “Yah…” You couldn’t hear the little whispers, you tried to ignore everything so the members can have a sense of comfortability and privacy, but then Karina can easily notice that you’re feeling uncomfortable.

“Hey… It’s okay.” Karina lays her palm on top of your hand and pats it. “Just be yourself, that’s all I ask for.” Her head is on a tilt, her smile, sincere. You nod your head and try your best to follow Karina’s asking. She’s always tried to make sure that her members were comfortable, that her manager was okay, but you being an outsider only have been with them for a short amount of time, Karina had always made sure that everyone was alright, she’s a great leader.

Lunch went smoothly, you and the managers had some good laughs, the members were having a good time, but alas all things must come to an end. The shopping is done, lunch is over, now you’re walking the girls and managers back to the hotel.

You bid your farewells, but Karina comes running back to you before you have the chance to leave the premises. “Oppa, I have a favour to ask you.” Karina's demeanour is off, hands behind her back, one foot balance on her toes, her eyes facing the ground, avoiding your gaze. “What is it, Karina?” You were curious, it’s not everyday you have a beautiful woman in front of you acting like a fool.

“I... Uh… Have this friend who’s coming to the city later tonight… I was hoping you could tour her around, like you did with us?”

“Oh… What could I have hoped for?”

“Sure, what time should I meet her?” You accepted without an issue, you wanted to be a good guy, you just spent a few days with the group and why should you decline? It’s not like you have a date to attend to.

“Yay! Thank you oppa, here’s her number, meet her here at 8pm!” Karina hands you a paper with an unusual phone number, not an area code you’re familiar with but you took in anyways. “Thank you oppa.” Karina bowed in respect before running back inside the hotel.

You would be a little disappointed, but this is a favour.

~~~~~

You make it back to the hotel at the time Karina told you to be there by, you texted the phone number that you arrived in the front. Good thing Aeri took you to go shopping for new clothes, you must dress up a little for the New York nightlife.

You: Hey, I’m in front of the lobby.

Unknown: I’ll be right there!

That reply came quickly, you were on a look out for someone outside the hotel, but the results would surprise you.

“Good evening oppa.”

You spin around to Karina, a different outfit from this afternoon. Instead of a white sweater and a long skirt, the Aespa leader is changed into a thin back long sleeve, mesh-like material being near fully see-through, a black bandeau underneath, complimenting her large bust and curves, paired with blue jeans and to finish with black boots.

“K-Karina?!”

Shocked to see the leader alone, no supervision, not even anyone watching from the entrance. “I hope you don’t mind me taking off my extensions, I felt like the short hair for our date.” Karina plays with her hair then smiles at you, she has somewhat of a gummy smile.

“Wait, I’m sorry, our date?” You were extremely caught off guard, Karina? Aespa’s leader? A kpop idol? A date? With you? “You could have better options than this old man.” The idol slowly walked towards you, grabbing your hand with both of hers, it’s now you really took the time to see, Karina has baby hands. “Why not? You treated us well, made sure we were comfortable, this is the least I could do… And I want to get to know you more.”

“But I live here, you need to go back to South Korea soon.” The idol was only giggling, she probably has already thought about it, otherwise you wouldn’t think she would go through the trouble of setting up a date with you. “We can cross that bridge when we get to it. There is a lot of tour guides in South Korea that would like a bilingual tour guide.”

With Karina’s amazing smile looking at you the way it is, how could you deny her?

“Okay Karina.”

“Please, my name is Yu Jimin.”

You smile and chuckle.

“Okay Jimin, what would you like to do tonight?”

She pulled away one hand, but still held yours with one. “Hmmm…” Her facial expression turned to a pout, playfully laying a finger on her chin, exaggerating the fact she’s thinking. “How about we go to a bar, get some wings and maybe watch a basketball game if there’s any?” Your jaw was left open, how could she have known?

“Ningning?”

“Mhmm.” With a cute nod.

How would you survive spending the night with Kar- Jimin?

The two of you walked off in a direction where you heard was a good restaurant that had some of the best wings and flavours, Jimin couldn’t let go of your hand, she was basically latched on your arm at this point.

“Oppa, are the New York Knicks any good?”

“Oh man… Don’t get me started…”

#karina #yu jimin #aespa #kpop fic #male reader #aespa fic #idol x reader

[gentlyweeps-world]

the eyes

summary: Maybe it was right after all…

pairing: logan sarge x reader

warnings: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF

pls that man is sooooo fine 🤭

LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO

Logan didn’t know how to feel.

To be fair- he was the one to cut things off, but he didn’t realize how much he would regret it.

You did hold a grudge against him. He didn’t blame you, you two said I love you’s, spoke about the future, but you guys weren’t even dating, per Logan’s request.

You didn’t care- just as long as you had him in your life.

But when you two finally hung out with a large group of friends, the tension and lingering stares came back.

At first you didn’t want to believe it- maybe he was just being awkward?

But when he texted you the next morning reminding you that you had to work, it all clicked.

Logan himself wasn’t sure if that was the way to go, he was scared to let himself back in again. Scared because he knew how badly he hurt you the first time.

But the smiles and laughs you shared that night, the way he looked at you.

He knew that the eyes never lied.

He knew he still had some feelings for you- and he knew you had some left for him.

Although it was a bit odd, you were talking to a guy. If that’s what you would call it.

This guy was a bit…odd, in your defense he was cute!! But Oscar had spent the day nit-picking all of the red flags of this guy with Lily.

So that was a bust.

Which only left one option, and truthfully the only good option, Logan.

Now here you are, on a slightly awkward date at a restaurant for food that Logan doesn’t even like- but he knew you loved it.

“Are you sure you want to eat here?” You ask again, looking up from the menu to Logan.

“Of course I do, I want to spend time with you. Besides, I’m sure we can find something I enjoy.” He responds, his smile always on his face as he glances at you occasionally.

“Okay..okay” You respond with a nervous chuckle, fidgeting with the menu. Who knew how awkward it could be to go on a date with your past talking stage/love of your life!

“So uhm- how have you been?” You ask with an awkward smile, internally cringing at yourself, it was much easier to talk to him when there were more people around.

"I've been good, just a bit busy with training and such. How about you? How's life been treating you?" The awkwardness is almost palpable, you can't help but giggle in response to the way neither of you can maintain strong eye contact.

You let out a breath, mustering up the courage to look at him, I mean really why was it so hard to look at him?? Well his eyes were really gorgeous, and those eye crinkles he has are adorable…

“Uh- Y/n? You okay?” Logan asks with a small chuckle, snapping you out of your daze.

“Oh- oh right yeah- sorry..” You mumble out with a sheepish grin, “Uhm I’ve been good, tired…wishing I didn’t have to wake up early and work, but good..”

That grin... he would do anything just to see that smile. He leans forward a bit, trying to see what's been keeping you from looking at him.

"You just uh... gonna keep staring at the menu or are you gonna decide?" He asks with a chuckle, trying to break the silence.

“Maybe…the menu is quite appealing..” You say with a smile and giggle, glancing up to meet his eyes.

You instantly spot that twinkle in his eyes, it was still the same, and it still melted your heart.

He takes a moment to look at you, and you notice that he is staring. He's staring right at you, and you suddenly have a feeling he's not looking anywhere else.

"I would rather see you than that menu," He replies with a flirtatious smile.

“Well I guess you can’t win everything then..” You reply with a smirk.

“You really know how to be a pain, you know that?” His smirk gets larger and he stares at you again, noticing the details about your appearance. Your hair, your eyes- he could stare at you forever.

“I think I’ve been told that a few times..” You say with a chuckle, smiling as you look at him, letting yourself get lost in his eyes this time.

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you, throughout the evening you guys brought up shared memories or even inside jokes.

Talking like that again reminded you of everything you experienced with him, it was honestly refreshing and a bit scary- it reminded you just how hard you fell for him.

“You should come to some of my races..” Logan says, nearing the end of the night.

You smile at his suggestion, not minding it. “Maybe- but you’d have to pay for it..” You say with a smile.

“Of course Y/n..” Logan says with a chuckle, “I’ll get you to them one way or another..” He adds on, eyes twinkling as he gazes at you.

He looked at you as if you were the universe- and for the first, or really second time, you looked at him the same.

That’s when you knew- that the eyes never lie.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

radio 🪩: Small little Logan fic!! I honestly loved this so much 😭🫶

may or may not be based of a situation w/ me and a guy??!!🤭

once again leave any comments, requests, suggestions and anything else 🩵

permanent taglist: @cixrosie @amajixi

#formula one #formula 1 #f1 #formula 1 x reader #logan sargeant #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 imagine #williams f1 #logan sargeant x y/n #logan sargeant x fem!reader #logan sargeant x you #logan sargeant blurb #logan sargeant x reader #logie sarge #loscar #formula one blurbs #formula one x y/n #formula one x you #formula 1 blurb #formula one imagine #formula one fic #formula one fanfiction #williams formula 1 #gently weeps fics #forumla 1 #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #formula 1 x female reader #formula 1 x you

[cringefail-clown]

Jakehal is very fun. But why dirkkri? I dont understand what's appealing about it :? confused

theres a lot of things i like about dirkri and honestly i dont even know where to start lmfao

first of all, and its mostly a funny reason - davekat on crack. like some traces of davekat are still there - the arguing about shit, stoic facade vs emotional mess, all the good stuff, but its also so much more exaggerated it makes it this much more ridiculous. gets even better when you consider them under the lense of swap aus like alphaswitch or tbau, where they land on the meteor together. theyre most likely hunting each other for sports by the year two

second of all, the funney. theyd be so fucking funny together. their smallest arguments would take like twenty pages of non-stop flow of red-orange text to resolve, and not because they came to a consensus but because some third party physically dragged them away from their electronics. it doesnt do any good, since it only gives them both time to think over new arguments to use, and theyre back at it as soon as they get their phones back. like if we had a tournament about which ship would do the most collateral damage to the overall group, i think these two would be Up There. karkat would gauge his eyes out from frustration, because now not only does he have to deal with his piece of shit, know-it-all other self, but now theres also Fucking Dirk thrown into the mix. their home life is absolute insanity, a small jab about the other forgetting to buy sugar once again devolves into a screaming match about the merits and flaws of communism or some other inane shit. and theyre doing it for fun, they enjoy debating with each other, because often times they have vastly different opinions, and comparing their beliefs challenges them intelectually and morally. from the outside perspective theyre one of the most dysfunctional pair in the paradox space, when in fact thats simply how they want their relationship to be, and it makes them better people overall.

third reason is that theyre thematically delicious. dirk is a control freak, micromanaging his and his friends constantly. hes terrified of losing control, but hes also desperate for someone to just tell him what the fuck he should do. dirk doesnt think he should be in control of others, because he believes hes a naturally evil person capable of horrible acts, at the same time he doesnt trust anyone else to get things done but himself. hes a whole collection of contradictions.

kankri desperately needs to be in control as well. hes constantly injecting himself into conversations he has no business being in, trying to find someone thatd listen to what he has to say. hes wants to guide others, but his efforts are flawed, because he doesnt listen to other perspectives - hes got tunnel vision, as he thinks hes the one in the right while everyone else is wrong or ignorant (cringefail seer literally). he doesnt trust anyone else to make decisions for him, and becomes defensive when he thinks others are attempting to coddle him. his ass was definitely culled on beforus.

theyre also both so fucking lonely. dirk conciously tries to put difference between himself and his friends, worrying hell "corrupt" them. kankri tries to connect to his friends, but his behavior alienates him from them to the point of no one except maybe porrim want to have anything to do with him.

my point is, kankri wants to guide people but has to learn to listen to others and reflect on his own flawed opinions. dirk has to learn to trust that people closest to him can get shit done on their own and loosen up, as well as realise hes not evil at the core. them helping each other out - dirk teaching kankri about different perspectives, kankri teaching dirk about letting others do their thing - is something i think about a lot.

also i like to think theyd spar for fun a lot as well. its not really a reason and wholly my own personal headcanon but i wanna mention it as well bc its so funny to me. i like the idea of kankris behaviour being a complete reverse of karkat - where karkat is all bark no bite and doesnt like fighting or violence, kankri puts up a front of the beacon of love and peace and tolerance, but in his free time he gets his rifle and goes shooting at the fucking squirrels or some shit. i think he wouldnt have the same qualms about strifing as karkat. like dirk would try to jokingly jab his finger at kankris side and he would just fucking flip him over his shoulder and onto the table breaking it in half, because he doesnt like being touched unexpectedly and by gods dirk when will you fucking learn. he goes from 0 to 100 real fast. its such a hysterical concept for me.

#homestuck #dirk strider #kankri vantas #dirkri #dirkkri #turnabout au #homestuck turnabout #alphaswitch #tagging it as well bc well. dirkri #is it dirkri manifesto? its dirkri manifesto #wally where are you i need your words tell em tell em why dirkri is so fucking good

[turbulentscrawl]

Kinda going off of your whole process behind matchups, but what do you think the ideal personality would be for some of the survivors (Alice, Norton, Eli, Naib, or whoever else you choose!) Like, what would they want/need in a partner? I feel like some of them could work well with a variety of personality types tbh…

Anyways, keep up the good work!

I don't want to give EVERYTHING way 🤭so these are a bit short. I'm also not super familiar with Alice yet, so her's are a bit more superficial. Added Andrew!

Norton

-HAS to be with someone who respects his alone-time. He does better with someone who’s overall not that clingy, but at the very least you need to be able to let him go when he says he needs space. When he asks for that, it’s largely because he’s nervous about hurting you when he’s not fully in control of his emotions.

-He can’t be with someone rich. If he was, there’s a very good chance he doesn’t have genuine feelings for them. There is a small exception to this in the manor, because it’s something of an equalizer and money doesn’t help anyone here. But outside? Norton (Aus excluded) is always going to be a frugal thrift-er, and he’d be easily annoyed by someone who blows their money like it grows on trees.

-He does better with fellow introverts too. He can do group stuff sometimes, but he prefers intimate, not-noisy environments. He’s spent most of his life alone so big events, public activities, and big social groups just feel foreign to him.

Naib

-The main thing for Naib is you not being a nosey nancy. Especially outside of the manor, he needs a partner who isn’t going to ask questions about what he does for work. He brings home the bacon and that’s got to be enough for you.

-It’s also better for him to be with someone who doesn’t mind his paranoid protectiveness. As much as he wants you to stay out of his business, he wants to be IN yours. Not to be controlling, but so he’s always prepared to come running if something happens. He can live without this trait in a partner, but it will be a constant point of tension if you don’t like it.

-Otherwise, Naib can get along with just about anyone who treats him decently. He sees the appeal in several personality types.

Eli

-Eli also works with many different types of people! He’s a very patient and calm man who makes and effort to understand everyone’s actions and opinions. The only people I straight-up can’t see him being with are those who intentionally try to bring out negative emotions as tests or pranks. He enjoys some light teasing, but if you try to rile him up or make him jealous, he’s just going to disengage from you because that’s blatantly unkind. He wants to foster good-vibes only with his partner.

-He does very much like skinship, though, so it’s best if his partner likes both giving and receiving Physical Touch as a love language.

-He’s a lot more likely to be sweet on someone who’s kind and generous. And he’s very intuitive, so he knows when this is genuine…if you’re faking it to manipulate/get in his good graces.

Alice

-As a journalist, she needs a partner who can keep their mouth shut. Like, you’re more than welcome to gossip TO HER. But she literally pays her bills by being nosey, and exclusivity of information is part of that. So don’t share things you learn from her…but DO share things you learn from others with her.

-She’s brave to a fault. Like Alice sometimes genuinely does not sense danger sometimes, so she would appreciate a partner who looks out for her when she can’t do it herself.

Andrew

-You have to be open-minded and nonjudgemental. He’s been treated poorly most of his life because of how he looks, and if he sees you treating other people with similar backstories well, his opinion of you skyrockets. (even though he won’t make it known for some time.) If you gossip to him about other people’s superficial stuff, kiss your relationship goodbye.

-Does best with someone patient and intuitive. He’s defensive and has an attitude, sometimes even without meaning to. He requires a lot of grace as far as overlooking the shit he says. His verbal communication will improve with time, and he will apologize for any slipups as his trust in you grows, but you have to be able to wait out the road bumps first.

-He also does better with a fellow introvert than an extrovert. For friendships, it doesn’t matter, but for a romantic partner he has more insecurities and concerns about you leaving him for someone else. If you like to spend a lot of time with other people, like being the center of attention, or feed on other’s approval, Andrew will have a harder time reigning in those thoughts that he’s not important to you.

#idv x reader #identity v #andrew kreiss x reader #norton campbell x reader #naib subedar x reader #eli clark x reader #alice deross x reader #idv journalist #idv gravekeeper #idv seer #idv prospector #idv mercenary

[zgvlt]

hearts held out of harms way ace trappola x reader x deuce spade (polycule)

commissioned by: shopkeep !!!

summary: in which (1) ace, a nobleman, desperately wants to be more than just the earl you and deuce serve; (2) deuce, a knight, doesn't how to get not just one but two people to fall in love with him; and (3) you, a fairy, try to push ace and deuce together while ignoring your own feelings for them

tags: gender neutral reader (only you is used), sfw, fluff, knight x nobility x fairy, commoner x nobility, poly relationship, getting together fic, 8.3k+ words, not beta read, completed (division by "chapters" = just a stylistic choice)

The young Lord Ace Trappola was a nobleman people found difficulty understanding. The new earl—and how new he truly was; how unexpected, too—was many things all at once and, depending on who was asked, they would all have something different to say in regards to the gentleman.

For instance, some would say he was no gentleman at all—some being a past love, who claimed she had never really felt his love for her at all. It was not too uncommon for nobles to abandon their old partner one way or another, but it did dishearten those in society seeking to become his marriage candidate.

Others, specifically his old schoolmates from the academy, would call him clever and cheery but a little too carefree, so much so that they were surprised he had been declared not just the heir, but had taken hold of the position the moment he left his youth. Was it the truth, that he was that kind of character? Yes, though it did give way to less than savory questions regarding his inexperience and capabilities.

Finally, though said noble would not know until later how the rumor had been birthed, it was said that he was a man who had deceived everyone magnificently into thinking he was who he presented himself to the public. As to who or what he truly was, nobody could quite agree. There were those that argued he was the manipulative sort, perhaps one who dabbled in illegal magic, for how else could he ascend to his position so quickly? There were those, too, who had proposed that perhaps their household had something to hide, that the young Trappola was simply a dutiful son to his father.

A small, terribly small group, however, would argue that the truth behind Ace Trappola was that he…

“Good morning My Lord!” Ace looked up from his desk, immediately abandoning his work. It’s not that he’s particularly excited or anything, but he sure does think that his two faithful attendants are far more fun than any scroll or sheet of paper could be.

Former delinquent turned knight, his right-hand man Deuce Spade had a serious look on his face despite the jolly greeting. Beside him was you, his right-hand’s right-hand, a fairy who greeted him in a calm but elegant manner. The juxtaposition between his two aides had surprised him once-upon-a-time, but he’d come to realize that they were far better suited to each other than he had initially realized.

“Lock the doors, then be at ease,” he ordered. Though he did not care much for appearing particularly prim or proper, the idea of being walked in on while he conversed with his two companions did not appeal to him either.

“Slacking again, Lord Trappola?” You peered over his shoulder, reading the documents he had atop his table. “Household affairs? New knightings? Isn’t that mere child’s play for you? You could very likely finish all of those in one go.”

“If I accomplish all of it in one sitting, they will think it a sign to pile more work for me the day after,” he explained, as though it were common sense. “It’s better to slack off a little bit sometimes. I understand I’m quite capable, but I detest people who push all their work onto others.”

“There, there. You can let your worries out with me,” you laughed at him, fingers combing through his unkempt hair as you did so. It was an action he always distinguished from his father and brother, who would purposefully ruffle it, or Deuce, who accidentally chopped a portion off with his sword. 

He used to think it was out of pity, once, or some kind of disapproval, the way you could bicker and banter with Deuce but hesitated to do the same with him. However, nowadays it was easy to tell that it was your way of empathizing with him. That good-naturedness of yours was probably why Deuce clung to you, too. “Let’s have you spar with Deuce so you can catch a break.”

“Exactly what I was thinking! Can you read minds or something? You know I don’t know much about fairies.”

“You just so happen to be an open book, Deuce. If I had come to possess that kind of ability, though…” Ace knew you were merely being humorous, an attempt at getting a laugh out of him and a way to tease Deuce, but he did shiver the slightest bit as you laughed ominously. Just what would you do given that kind of power? “Though not quite fairy, I have heard of a fae that can see people’s dreams… Or was it manipulate? I can’t quite recall.” 

“If someone were to see my dreams…” Deuce blanched, and Ace found himself curious by the reaction. By the looks of it, you were curious, too. Ace’s dreams tended to be the nonsensical sort—that or he could never remember them at all save for a detail or two, like how you or Deuce or even some old schoolmates from the academy would simply appear. 

“Now that you mention it, I do remember you sleep talking.” You looked away from Deuce and back to him, fingers still weaving through his hair. “There was a night, when Deuce and I were still wanderers, where…”

Cruel, Ace thought to himself, smiling, the good-natured fairy could tease the poor knight again and again. 

“You truly are incapable of not embarrassing me at every opportunity, especially in front of our liege,” the blue haired man huffed, though he hardly seemed frustrated. On the contrary, his gaze had gone through a fiery change, as though engaged in a new competition. “If we are to compare sleeping habits, then yours–”

“Are not as worse, I am certain.” In truth, Ace was unsure if you were being truthful, but that aside–

“Oho, feel free to argue and spill your deepest secrets in front of me~ Although…” he feigned a sigh, “did the two of you forget my presence? Or that I know nothing of either of your sleeping patterns?” Or that it was considered inappropriate to so much as discuss nighttime activities, no matter how innocent? Ace could not say he was against it, however, having always been less… traditional, he supposed.

At his words, neither you nor Deuce had the decency to be embarrassed, though the latter made a genuine attempt at appearing to be. Clearly he had done a good job of keeping things as casual and comfortable as possible, even with the imbalance of power. That he could not erase, but at the very least he would feel much better if it could be ignored.

“Ahem, so are you up for it, Ace? The sparring? It could be good practice for the upcoming tournament.” Deuce had been leaning against the door as he said it, but he jolted up as he’d come to realize his informality. “Or, uh, Lord Ace? No, should it be Lord Trappola?”

Never mind. Perhaps some work still needed to be done, after all.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ace said quickly, hoping to elucidate the matter. The previous topic had not been forgotten, but perhaps he would be able to bring the matter up at a different time. “It’s just the three of us right now. Isn’t it exhausting being so formal all the time?”

“I guess that’s fair,” Deuce replied, “although I have a feeling I’ll call you the wrong thing in public.”

“Mhm, it’s the same for me, which is why I’m avoiding forgoing the title,” you sighed, “we’d cause quite the scandal if we so much as fumble–”

“Like I said, it doesn’t matter!” Ace snorted, “What do they care? You’re my people, so if they have a problem with how I let the two of you address me, then they should bring it up with the Earl of Trappola himself!”

For the most part, he had been serious with his proclamation—the formalities were starting to get to him, and he’d prefer to maintain Deuce’s casualness with him; has been meaning to convert you into dropping the titles, too. However, the way Deuce blinked up at him and the way you began clapping made it feel as though he had put on some performance instead, a rare show of his nobility.

“Our Lord… is a noble too, after all,” Deuce said with disbelief—Ace thought it to be feigned, though a small part of him wondered if it was genuine. You followed suit with a slow nod of your head. 

“We made the right choice of pledging our loyalty to him after all.”

“Hah?” Ace scratched his head, inevitably messing with what you had worked to fix. “Seriously, would the me of the past have guessed the two outsiders I brought into my estate would become the bane of my existence?”

He had said as much, though he knew—and he knew that his two attendants knew, too—that no regrets had been brought in with said decision.

Deuce Spade enjoyed the life he was currently living.

It was a stark contrast to the life he possessed back home, his troublesome ways before he stowed away on that boat, before he crossed paths with you in that forest, before the two of you somehow wound up in the Trappola estate.

It was a tough life and he had ways to go before he could show his face to his mother, but it was a life he could finally be proud of, a life that was his.

Which was why he trained intensively and persistently, the need to prove his resolve not simply to the world, but to the people who he cherished in that world—the parent who awaited his letters every week, whom he lived for, and the two he swore to protect, whom he would lay down his life for… 

But he knew you would be angered to hear such a bold statement, and the noble he was guarding would ask how he grew to become so serious, so he supposed he would have to keep his perspective a secret.

He thanked the Queen and whatever deities there were up there that you could not read minds, or see dreams for that matter. How troubling would it have been for him if you knew how his affections had grown for you and for–

“Oh, is that for Ace?” 

Though he supposed you already knew of that, thus he only had his feelings for you being leaked to be worried about. Not that he was not worried about his feelings for Ace being made known—both, both were cause of worry. The mere idea of him being fond of two people should have been troubling, what more that one was his close companion and the other his liege?!

“Ace? Is that right?” he said with a stifled chuckle, “Were you not the one who wanted to address him properly?”

“What could you possibly mean? I could never! Well, if you pretend you did not hear my informality, that is.” Stepping closer and fully entering his quarters, you peered over his shoulder, eyeing the soft fabric carefully. You prodded a finger at the handkerchief, tracing his attempt at embroidery. “You have gotten better! The heart is cute.”

“Only in the front. You should see how badly I fumbled the back,” he said, showing you the messy stitching himself. Still, he knew progress was progress, and he gleamed at you having taken notice of his hard work. “Whoever could have guessed that years of watching my mother stitch my clothes back together would be of use for this very reason?”

“I’m sure she would be proud to see your work so far.” 

Genuine. That was always something he enjoyed about you—genuine in your actions, genuine in your words. Thinking about it, it was somewhat humorous that he had come to like Ace Trappola too despite his selective dishonesty. He supposed, at the end of the day, it had to do with his honed ability to detect those with immoral intentions, the inherent lack of such within the two of you.

Surrounded by people who were good to him, he often found himself thinking he could finally be on the right path—the path of becoming someone good for his mother.

“It might be nice to have one sent to her as well, though not yet,” Deuce replied sheepishly, “even though I worked hard on this one, it seems practice is still needed on my end.” 

“I believe in you. What is a needle if not a small sword? What are stitches if not… hmm… different techniques using the needle, just as stances and movements are to battle?” Even you seemed unsure about the last analogy. Nevertheless, it had made Deuce laugh, your intentions in uplifting his spirits effective as always.

“More like things you must get after a battle,” he retorted, shaking his head. “Given the topic, it should be appropriate to ask… How’s your progress?”

“Progress with…?”

“Your token!” he reminded, finding you silly for forgetting. “You’ve chosen to craft an amulet, right?”

“I did say that, yes. It seemed fitting given magic is my specialty, even though handkerchiefs and ribbons seem to be the norm in society these days. I’ve yet to review the rules, though, so perhaps no spells can be imbued yet,” you sighed, “So should I give something, an amulet or some kind of  charm would be good.”

By now, he could say he knew you rather well, and he knew that while you did your best to be truthful with him, you did not exactly shy away from allowing people to interpret your words differently. Sometimes, you seem to want to be misunderstood. 

It’s just too bad that he caught and understood your choice of wording.

“What do you mean by should you?  Did we not agree we were both giving Ace something?”

You shrugged. “Would it not be better if, oh, perhaps you were the only one to give him a gift?”

“But we both care for him as our liege and as his… friends? Companions? Whatever the appropriate term may be, we are that to him and he is that to us. Certainly he would appreciate getting something from you?” he reasoned, an attempt at convincing you to continue as planned.

“Yes, but you like him. I am able to give him a token at some other time surely, but for now… I don’t see how my giving him anything will aid in my mission to help you convey your feelings–oh don’t look at me like that, fine, your appreciation for him.”

He huffed out your name, willing to argue with you about the situation if he really needed to, but after staring you down the best he could whilst looking up at you, you eventually relented, as though carrying a soft spot for him, or for Ace. 

Likelihood was that it was both.

“I will consider it, but don’t mention anything. In any case, since I’m banned from competing due to the humans-only stipulation, hmph, I’ll give you a token. Since you’ll be competing for the both of us.”

Deuce finally smiled. He would still try to make sure you handed Ace one as well, but for now he would pretend to be satisfied with his small victory.

“If–When I win, I’ll make sure Ace knows it’ll be on both of our behalves.”

You cannot stop yourself from smiling as well. “Have I ever told you I was thankful? That you are always trying to include me in things, even with matters in regards to Ace? Even when I’m not actually one of his knights?”

It’s because I like you too, you foolish fairy! 

“Because you are our resident fairy and perhaps the best magic user in the estate,” he proclaimed. Always the first to tease you, always the first to praise you.

“Well if you put it that way,” you chuckled, “and since you are being so terribly kind to me today, I’ll put in the effort to defend you should the young lord throw a fit about his own knight beating him in the tournament… and of course, I shall comfort you should you throw a fit should you lose to him.”

“So win or lose, it will be a lose-lose situation. Absolutely wonderful!” He had only been joking, truly, but you gave him a slight nudge at the comment. 

“Just do your best regardless!” 

You laughed, a warmth not unlike the sunlight peeking from the woodlands the day he first met you. 

“Besides, you have a goal when you win, don’t you?” 

Momentarily bashful, determination soon replaced it. Fears and anxieties aside, Deuce knew that should he win, the adrenaline would certainly convince him to profess his adoration and devotion to their earl and, unbeknownst to you, their fairy.

“A confession.”

“Oh, for sure, but that should only be the first step!” you encouraged, always the first to aid him in his lofty ambitions. “Have you considered marriage? Or a grand trip to another nation? I heard the Sunset Savanna is lovely this time of year.”

He snorted, “Perhaps nobility move faster than us commoners, but I find a proposal would be too sudden even for human standards. However… A trip does sound nice.”

“Does it not? Ah, but should you go about one in the future, I’ll lock you both out of the manor if you fail to bring me a souvenir.”

“I cannot speak for Ace, but… Oh, I might as well—Ace will certainly lock you out of the manor should you refuse to come with us!” 

“You shall be there to help me back inside.”

“Wrong! As a matter of fact, I will be present to drag you in the carriage with us.” He was being quite serious, but you laughed at his apparent persistence. 

“All three of us stuck in a carriage, perhaps even a boat or two, for weeks,” you were groaning with feigned displeasure, but when you told him it’d likely be good fun, he could tell even you couldn’t lie to yourself there, that you enjoyed their company as much as he, and to speak for someone else, and Ace did.

But as much as he enjoyed having you around, he also knew that with you being in his room, any more progress for the day was pretty much impossible. Ace’s aside, he’s going to have a hard time starting on your handkerchief anytime soon if you’re going to remain a frequent visitor.

Ace knew he carried a certain attitude about the work assigned to him. He knew, despite the loyalty of those in his estate, his detractors would call him all sorts of insults, deprecate him and his character, see him as nothing more than a young man who cared not for aged tradition and stiff nobility, and had no ability to command and control his territory. 

Ability aside, he simply never cared to accomplish them immediately as opposed to pacing them according to his tastes. 

Thus, he would do as he wished, just as his ancestors would’ve before him. After all, would his family have become, and stayed for that matter, nobles if they had continued to abide by what was expected? 

If anything, would it not be expected of him to differ from the rest of them? A smart person would, he believed.

Which was why he found himself in the markets again, not bothering to put on any sort of disguise. He grew up visiting the nearby towns anyway, with some of the vendors having practically raised him since childhood, so really, what was the point?

“I’m still not convinced this is the best idea,” Deuce sighed, following him a little too far for his liking, “not that my opinion should matter. What you say goes, Lord Ace!”

“You have gotten comfortable enough with me to complain about the tasks I give you, but not comfortable enough to walk a centimeter closer or call me by my given name alone,” Ace teased, putting on a show of scolding his knight. “Your perception of what is more egregious between the three astounds me.”

“It is one thing for you to be alright with it, it is another for the prying ears to be. If it were only up to me, I would talk quite informally to you, too.” Ace need not question who too was referring to, for there was only one other person in the estate Deuce relied on to the extent of comfort: you.

“And I’ve let you change the subject… Really, what will happen if an assassin, or someone who wants to cause you harm, comes across you in broad daylight?”

“Then you’ll deal with them! Although… I may be able to protect myself better than you, hmm?” he laughed, shaking his head at the slight irritation Deuce attempted to hide. He could not get back at him now, but Ace was sure Deuce would attempt to do so the next time they were on the training grounds. “And perhaps I wished to change the subject of our conversation.”

“To?”

“You, perhaps. Our one and only fairy as well, possibly.” 

Except, despite his wording, he was positively assured of his choices. Discussing the two of them—well, the three of you, was always a difficult affair when you were around, and Ace is not dense enough to not detect your affection and yet avoidance of him, the scheming nature you seem to possess and yet hold back in front of him but fully show towards Deuce.

He never needed a companion during his trips out, sometimes preferred not to have one, so perhaps his invitation carried impure intentions. 

Deuce stiffened and though he tried to pass it off as a simple response to his surroundings, Ace knew better. What could have rendered such a reaction? Was it a secret you, or him, or the both of you together, were hiding? Was it something he ought not to know but would undoubtedly weed out right this second?

“What could you possibly want to know?” his knight inquired, seemingly nervous around him. How uncharacteristic. 

“A few things. For starters… There’s something wrong.”

“With what?”

Your name left Ace’s lips. Even to his ears it sounded a bit awkward, like he knew how to say it but barely uttered it outside of his head, at least compared to how Deuce would say it—undoubtedly familiar with you in a way he, too, wanted to be. It’s only then that Ace realized his hypocrisy… or, if hypocrisy was too strong a description, then the humor with the two of you.

His insistence at being just Ace and not Earl Ace or Lord Trappola, yet his persistence in calling you their fairy, their magician. 

Maybe it’s the need to remind himself that you’re one of his people, too, without having to commit to actually saying it. Maybe it’s his way of letting you know of your presence in his life, considering you always seemed so insistent on downplaying your importance to him and, if his eyes are working as clearly as he thinks, to Deuce as well.

Really, did you think he played favorites? Because he did, obviously, but the plurality implied he certainly had more than one! For such a scheming being, were you not oddly dense?

“I see…” Deuce muttered. With a hint of embarrassment, Ace figured the knight actually understood, if not completely then partially, his troubles when it came to you. “What could I… Is there any way for me to help?”

Cute. He’d rather gouge his eyes out than admit he thinks it unironically, but he still remembers the rascal that appeared in front of his manor, all roughed up with a scary but determined look on his face. Seeing Deuce be so thoughtful and kind when it comes to both him and you is just plain nice—the heavens know the world needs more people like that around him… and in noble society in general, but he’d rather not share with them.

“Help?”

“With, you know… I could give you advice, or–”

Ace sighed. Speaking of dense… Is there even a good way to say, ‘If the two of you haven’t noticed, I have a severe, desperate need to infiltrate and be a part of whatever it is the two of you have’ without being perceived as rude, or worse, a complete nutter.

Not being able to think of anything, he reluctantly changed the subject.

“Let’s go look around the market. Help the local economy! Purchase a few things for ourselves.”

The man next to him narrowed his eyes, and for a moment Ace genuinely worried that Deuce realized everything. Sure, he mocked the two of you in his head for not understanding him, but he certainly was not ready to reveal anything! Especially without any assurance from either involved party!

The knight did not utter another word for a while, simply guiding him through the stalls, prattling about things you enjoyed. Alongside him, the earl absorbed every piece of information, all the while watching whatever it was the Deuce’s eyes landed on for more than a few seconds.

Ace, whether he was aware of it or not, harbored feelings for you, Deuce was sure of it. He had his assumptions beforehand, mostly due to his increasing number of delusions of all three of you. In any case, there was no doubt in his mind now—he was not alone in harboring feelings for you.

On one hand, he could not blame Ace. You were, for all intents and purposes, his first friend, a cherished friend, thus he understood how the earl could fall for you. If anything, he’s going as far as applauding the choice. If anyone deserves love and adoration, of course it should be you! 

On the other hand, he’s reminded of his own troubles. If Ace is troubled with getting you to be more comfortable and closer to him, Deuce is troubled with getting not one, but two people to miraculously like him in the same manner he does. Meanwhile, Deuce can’t even tell if you like either one of them that way! It’s just a mess, truthfully, one he cannot speak of lest all three of you end up in a scandal, so he can do nothing but keep quiet…

Alright, perhaps that was not entirely true. There was something he could do.

“That’s a nice color,” Deuce commented. He can’t really differentiate the stones when they’re all round and smoothed out so he’s not sure if you’re holding a jasper or a carnelian (names he knows only because you had a knack for buying all sorts of stones) or something else entirely, but it’s this blend of orange and red and he knew it was chosen for a reason.

You smiled at him fondly, knowingly, “I’m not surprised you like the color. It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re already aware of what I think.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop with the teasing.” You abide by your word, dropping your stare so you could focus on the task at hand—creating an amulet for Ace. “It can’t be helped that I cannot resist either one of you.”

“Then don’t! Did either of us ever imply that you should do as such?” he huffed, “I know for certain that Ace—”

“That I would what, exactly?”

As though caught in the midst of an immoral act, Deuce scrambled to hide everything as quickly as possible for you, shoving the stone in the nearest box he could open. Meanwhile, you were left to face Ace, who made no show of being even the slightest bit apologetic for his intrusion.

“Aren’t nobles meant to have perfect etiquette?” Were you smiling? Yes. Did you look amused? Not particularly. “I’m always happy to see you, Ace, but I can’t say for certain that I appreciate your storming in my quarters without so much as a knock on the door.”

“You don’t look particularly happy right now.” Ace, by contrast, looked particularly happy at your slip up, and Deuce would do his part in not calling you out on it… until Ace left, of course.

But the earl seemed to have no intentions of doing so any time soon, propping himself up against the now-shut door. 

“I’m perfectly happy, for sure,” you insisted, and though your face was not betraying it, Deuce thought you truly meant it. “But what are you doing here? You’ve never visited my room before.”

“I meant to look for Deuce to see if he wanted to train–”

You and Deuce locked eyes instantly. You’re trying not to make your change in expression too noticeable, but Deuce has observed you far too many times to not notice. It’s incredibly evident that it embarrassed him, almost, that you could be so happy for him because of something so very simple. 

It was a childish sort of glee, which might have been why he accepted it so readily. He never had the chance to experience that sort of situation and he’s not too sure you have either, having a laugh with someone over some puppy love. 

“He’s certainly free to do so,” you supplied, “if you want to, you’re free to take him off my hands right now.”

“Ah, but I’ve changed my mind. We train every day, so we should have a change of pace, should we not? Perhaps the tavern that opened the week prior?” 

“Hmm, should you really be forgoing training? The current victor of the tournament, the young Rosehearts, will be competing, too.” you interjected. It’s not an outright rejection of a suggestion, but Ace should have prepared a better excuse if this was his plan all along, thought Deuce. Still, he was currently his liege’s number one supporter—more time spent with the both of you? He could not see it as anything but a positive for all parties involved. 

“Oh please! What’s one day spent with my two companions instead of training until sundown?” Ace snorted, “And it was different last year! This year, my victory against the young duke is certain.”

“To be sure,” Deuce replied immediately, half out of belief and half out of solidarity of having lost to the same man. Next to him, you nodded your head slowly.

“Then if you’re certain…” What you said about not being able to resist Ace and Deuce must have been true, your reluctance at heading out visibly fading. This time, it’s Ace and Deuce who exchanged a knowing glance, and the same, childish feeling bubbled up within him again.

It’s not quite the trip to the other nation you mentioned to him, but it’s a delightful start, is it not?

“Then the both of you better get changed!” Ace grinned boyishly, “Or don’t! Regardless, I’ll have the carriage prepared by five!”

“Wait a moment, shouldn’t we be calling the carriage for you?!” you exclaimed, but the earl had already left your quarters. “Good riddance. Deuce, could I have the amulet I was working on back? We have some time before we need to leave and… I have the sinking suspicion he won’t leave us alone before the next few days.”

“Definitely. To both statements.” Remembering where he had placed it, he opened up the wooden box to retrieve the stone, only to be distracted by an already completed amulet—a nice blue that reminded him awfully of… ah. 

“Deuce? The amulet?” you asked again, shaking him out of his reverie.

“Here.” If you notice anything odd about his expression you do not speak of it, allowing him to leave your room peacefully to ready himself for the awaited excursion.

“I told Deuce I would comfort him should he lose to you… I can’t say I expected this turn of events instead.”

Perhaps Ace should have trained more. 

In his defense, he did not think Riddle Rosehearts would have done that well in the tournament considering there were no horses to ride on this season. His athleticism was never the best either during their days at the academy, so even if his swings were passable, his stamina should have run out quickly enough. And yet…

“But next year surely, my liege,” you comforted him, wiping the sweat off of him with a white handkerchief, uncaring of the fact that the both of you were in public or, perhaps, knowing everyone’s eyes would be on the ongoing match rather than the two of you. Even though Ace prided himself of being the (self-designated) mature person amongst the three of you, he did not say no to the opportunity of receiving your attention and affection. 

“Besides, not all hope is lost. We can still have the winner come from our house.”

Our house. Ace gleamed at your words. Of course. The ideal situation would have been to face off against his knight, but as much as he wanted to be the winner, Deuce being the victor would have been just as much of a joyous affair for the Trappola Earldom.

“If our Deucey wins, he’ll never let me forget it,” he sighed.

“But it would be worth it, having someone to avenge you, wouldn’t it?” Seemingly having deemed him presentable enough, your hands returned to your lap, handkerchief in tow. It's only then that Ace realizes it.

“Deuce gave you one too,” he said, more amused than anything. “What’d he sew for you?”

You didn't respond but you did smile, so it was likely something meaningful to you. If you were happy, then Deuce must have done a good job at choosing something for you, just as he chose something that well-suited him.

“He did not have to. I’m not competing in this tournament, so…” Again, Ace thought, you were smiling, so what did it matter if Deuce did not have to. Could people not act based on wants, now?

“And yet you’re using it, just as you’re wearing the tassel I gave you.” He grinned, fingers flicking the fringes the color you loved most, allegedly. If Deuce gave him the right information. You liked it enough to keep it on you, at least. “The tassel I did not have to get you.”

“It’s nice. They’re both nice gifts,” you murmured, and even though you’re no longer meeting his gaze he can still tell that you’re being honest. A part of him will attribute it to his amazing observation skills, but another, far warmer part of him knows it’s because he’s gotten to know you better. 

The two of you are already by his side, closer than before, and yet it is still not enough.

“What design did Deuce sew for your handkerchief?”

“Don’t pretend like you do not know.” For he knew for a fact that Deuce must have shared it with you, or at the very least failed to hide it from you (just as he failed to hide his tokens from Deuce).

“Then what do you think of it?”

He brought it out of his breast pocket, having tucked it in there before his matches began. 

“The hearts are differing in sizes. You can tell there were loose threads he tried cutting as much as possible without ruining the whole work. Still, there are hearts, the symbol of Trappola.” The symbol of Deuce’s dedication and loyalty. 

“It’s… I suppose it’s—” You threw him a look, and Ace reluctantly gave in, “—It is good. Give me a break! Nobles tend to have a hard time being honest, you know! If you think I’m bad, you ought to see the rest of them!”

You laughed, “I know, I know. I won’t tell. You should do it by yourself, after all.”

“Only if he wins,” he said, grinning.

“So I’ll tell him for you if he loses?” 

“A menace, you are,” he muttered, “I’ll tell him you thought he would lose, then.”

You no longer respond to his taunt, eyes now stuck to the grounds, clearly waiting for a certain blue-haired knight to appear before everyone’s very eyes, but your hands are moving, reaching into one of your pockets as though searching for something.

“I meant to give you something as well,” you said, pulling out two amulets. The stones are different in color, different in shape, but the similar craftsmanship all lead to one creator—you. “I’m aware these types of tokens tend to be given out before the matches, for good luck of course, but I’ve gone and imbued magic so I couldn’t take the risk of disqualification, and thus…”

You’re explaining. Overexplaining, really, in Ace’s humble opinion, every possible meaning you could think of—the importance of the stone’s color, the stone itself, what rune’s been inlaid and what spells you’ve enchanted it with. It’s detailed and clearly an overly complicated process and yes, he cannot deny that his heart is not unaffected by the gesture, but looking at the clearly matching amulets just makes him laugh.

He snatches the red one out of your waiting  hand, knowing what was clearly meant for him. His heart had just calmed down and yet it is full again.

So he might have been dense too, but at least he was the first to figure it out. That is a victory in and of itself, one he is never going to forget and let go of. Ever.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing!” He’s thumbing the amulet within his palm, invigorated despite his loss earlier. Even with the magic, he doubts it’s the stone’s doing. “Just thinking of how entertaining things will be from here on out.”

“Because of the match?”

“Sure,” Ace laughed, “because of the match.”

“I still got further into the competition than you,” Deuce argued, nursing his own injuries with one hand and… holding onto your amulet with the other hand. The injured hand. He justified it by saying it was because the amulet had healing properties, as you said, but he was just busy admiring it and thinking of a way to combine it with his (Ace’s) tassel to make a combined good luck charm of some sort.

“Second place is still the first place loser, Loosey-Deucey” mocked Ace, though not out of ill-intent. He knows malice is not at all there by the way he patted him on the back after his duel, the way he beamed at his progress, the way he promised to train harder with him so either one of them could take the young duke down. It’s the sincerity before everything else that makes him take everything he says with a grain of salt.

You seemed to understand all the same, simply allowing the two to go at it with each other since they were unable to do so officially. 

“It does not matter. I would have won if it was a competition of fists over swords,” Deuce laughed, “it’s just a shame. There was something I wanted to do if I won, but since I lost, I don’t have it in me to proceed.”

“Pray tell, what could that possibly be, dear Deuce?” 

He stared the earl down, shaking his head vehemently. “Absolutely not. You can find out when I win next year, my liege.”

“Is that so?” Ace asked, quirked eyebrow, almost as if he interpreted his personal oath as a challenge to beat. “And if I win instead of you, will you not go about completing this quest of yours?”

Beside him, you stood up.

“Perhaps I should set off—”

“Absolutely not!” Ace interjected just as Deuce reached out to stop you from moving, hand grasping your arm. There’s a momentary confusion—he knows why he stopped you from moving, you and your assumptions on this and that occurring between him and Ace and you wanting to step away from it, but Ace stopping you is…

“Hold on, should I leave?”

“What, no! Nobody’s leaving! I’m not getting up from here either! Are the two of you truly oblivious or are you playing oblivious?” Ace groaned, scrunching up his nose in distress. “Why is being the smartest person in the room such a difficult affair?”

“Rude,” Deuce muttered, before quickly inquiring, “but to what are you referring to?”

Instead of words, Ace made an odd motion with his hands, some triangular gesture that was clearly meant to speak louder than words. 

Deuce wants to laugh because it’s an amusing action for a nobleman to be making but humorously, it works well in getting Deuce to understand. It was to be expected, considering he spent much of his time thinking of this exact scenario (albeit, a setting more romantic than the manor’s medical ward, but he’s not in a position to be fussy about the details). He’s trying to catch your eye immediately, but compared to him, you just seem… confused.

Not confused in the sense that you did not understand what Ace was referring to—there was no subtlety in his implications—but more so a general confusion over what was happening.

“I know about Deuce’s feelings, quite obviously, and I was more than certain that his feelings for you had a chance of being reciprocated, so my being here…”

Deuce cannot help himself anymore, and it appears neither can Ace as they both erupt into laughter of chaos and disbelief. Who or what they are laughing at is not a question—it is everything, and then themselves for their own, self-induced stupidity and suffering. 

“I get that it might not have been obvious with me, but with Deuce?” Ace exclaimed, astounded at how you failed to realize the knight’s affections. “He could not have made it any more obvious if he tried!”

“Sorry? It’s quite difficult to determine gratefulness versus love versus love…

“And let’s not be a hypocrite as I could say the same for you, my lord! I thought Deuce was plenty obvious about his feelings, and yet, if I am right in regards to the timing of this affair, you’ve just realized it recently,” you huffed, “we are one in the same.”

Deuce stops laughing. Why did it feel like the two of you were blaming him for your respective lack of analytical skills?!

“As long as we agree that’s not my fault! If I was incredibly obvious, as the two of you would put it, the two of you are anything but.” But with Deuce’s insistence, the two of you turn to look at him as though he had grown a second head.

“What? No! We could make an argument for Ace as I was only mostly sure that your feelings for him were reciprocated, but I hardly made any effort to conceal my own.”

“Agreed. It was as clear as day to the point that I thought the two of you had already gotten into a relationship,” laughed Ace, probably the most honest he was going to be for the rest of the day, “and without me! I was quite offended at the thought of being excluded.”

“Like we could ever leave you be, my lord,” you replied, half a joke but fully the truth. “What would have become of us without you in the first place?”

“Like you would ever let us leave you be,” Deuce quipped, having finally absorbed the situation. If it was an accurate assessment, Ace had no plans of letting them know, merely grinning in response. “What would become of you had we not arrived at your estate?”

“Well there would be far less rumors about me, for one.” Still, the Earl Trappola will remain himself, the need to appear as though he had the upper hand when they all knew the feelings shared between them were of equal measure. Still, with a singular gesture, the two of them walk towards their liege—amulet clanging against his remaining armor, tassels swaying with your very steps. 

“But who cares about that, right?” Deuce replied, knowing it would be what Ace wished to hear—after all, he’d been pretty apparent about it since day one. As they neared him, Ace pulled them closer, making sure the both of them sat on either side of him. 

Then, Deuce heard the door lock. Ace and Deuce both turned to you, the obvious culprit, and you merely shrugged. “I know we’re not supposed to care, but let’s not cause a scandal today of all days! Who knows how many prying eyes there are in the estate!”

“Too many. Don’t be surprised if a strongly worded, but supportive, letter from either father or my brother arrives at our doorstep tomorrow morning,” Ace snorted, “Just hope it’s not some distant relative. I’m sure there are some spies prowling in our manor as we speak.”

“There won’t be any if we deal with them!” Deuce declared, “We’ll protect your dignity, my lord!”

You nod in agreement just as Ace smiles. “I’ll hold you two to that!”

There are other things Deuce wants to declare, to ask and to question. He wants to know what they are now, what will change between the three of them, and what will be of them in the future. He wants to ask and yet it doesn’t feel quite right, not now, perhaps because he already knows, and what he knows is not mere fantasy but reality.

Dear Madam,  Good day to you. I hope you do not mind if I skip the formalities. Until this fairy learns how to send letters with magic alone, the cost of these letters will unfortunately be priced according to how many sheets of paper we use up. In any case, Deuce must have updated you about everything that has happened in his letters. He must have also mentioned that the earl and I will be sending you letters to ask for your permission or blessing or whatever word it had been that the earl had used. In truth, we had been mostly joking regarding that. Ace—the earl—does not believe that the process of seeing one another requires permission from one’s parents, he is far from traditional, but we had come to the agreement to push through with the letters first due to the unusual state of our relationship—that being that we are all seeing one another, with one party not being human and another one being the noble we serve. Foremost, we agreed to send our letters out of respect for you, as we’ve long known what you mean to our knight, and what he means to you, his mother. As previously mentioned, I believe Deuce has told you much of our household affairs and much of his life, but I believe you would appreciate knowing how we see him. I am certain you know that your son spends much of his time training to become a splendid knight, and I am sure you would be happy to know that, day by day, he arrives closer to his goal. It would only make sense considering his sparring partner is none other than our competitive lord as well (and tell not the earl, too, but after keeping track of their victories and defeats, Deuce may have a lead on the tally). His skills are not which I wish to share the most, however. Ace and I have learned from Deuce about his past, we’ve known for some time now. Constant is his worry, just as constant is his change. His warmth and the good of his heart has become more evident than ever, and should Deuce not come to see you soon, we will be the ones to present him to you. (A mere jest. If it were Ace, he would find a way to bring you to the earldom.) That is all I can say for now. With your approval, madam, I hope we could become close correspondents. I would love to tell you more about Deuce, Ace, and myself, as well as know more about you yourself. Faithfully yours, 

Ace’s arm wraps against your shoulder just as you’re signing the letter off with your name, loudly talking your ear off about how he just won against Deuce (as expected, he tells you). It’s a tie now, though you know you won’t correct the tally you mentioned in your letter. 

Deuce, meanwhile, chalks it all up to luck, some sleight of hand the earl must have pulled, and swears he’ll beat him tomorrow. You want to tell Deuce to try twice as hard, just so you won’t tell his mother a lie. Instead, you joke that they both need to try harder else you come out as next year’s victor. 

They’re shouting now, mostly about how you’ve finally picked up their competitive spirit, about how you’re challenging them, about how they won’t go easy on you and about how you shouldn’t go easy on them. It’s a whole lot of noise one after another but, unsurprisingly, it fits your very idea of a peaceful day.

“You’re smiling. Is that your way of saying you’re confident you’ll beat us?” You stare at Ace for a moment, wondering if you’ll lie, before shaking your head.

“Not at all. I’m just happy.”

You don’t play it for laughs or take it back, finding comfort in the fact that you can leave the truth just as that. 

“What has made you so softhearted, huh?” You know you’ve got them when Ace can only scratch his neck and Deuce can only cover his ears, perhaps knowing it would match the hue of his liege’s hair. “As long as you're happy, then.”

It’s a rare moment of silence in the estate, and while you know one of the three of you will break it soon enough, you appreciate it while it lasts. You think to yourself, even the quiet can be peaceful, too. Peace is, and yet beyond, the volume of one’s chatter, the clashing of their swords; the quietness of their breaths and the unheard beat of their hearts. 

Beyond sound, peace is a place, a place you have found with them.

end notes | masterlist

[ 1 ] Decided to just leave the details about Reader’s tassel (from Ace) and handkerchief (from Deuce) blank, mostly since I didn’t feel too comfortable assigning something for them.

[ 2 ] As per my research, “In the Regency period (1811 - 1820) it was very expensive to send a letter. The cost of postage could be as much as a day's wages for a working man”. Of course, Deuce and the Reader have Ace to pay for the letter since they’re all sending it together (and I am not going for historical accuracy, lol), but I figured they’d still be conscious to cut to the chase to write as much as possible per sheet of paper.

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade x reader #ace trappola x reader x deuce spade #adeuyuu #twst imagines #twst #nathya twst writing #nathya comm pieces #twisted wonderland

[anamericangirl]

I read something earlier and wanted to share it with you and your followers. Enjoy!

"LGBT as a community makes no sense, and here's why.

In the Warhammer 40k community, there's people who are straight, gay, bisexual, lesbians, married, single, etc. who are connecting over their love for Warhammer 40k being a common thread between them.

In the Disney Animation community, there's people who are straight, gay, etc. who are connecting over their shared love of Disney Animation.

Same for Furries. Same for Bronies. Same for Trekkies. Same for 90s Slasher Movie fans. Same for Punk Rock fans. Same for Paint Appreciation fans. Same for Modern Art fans.

But with LGBT, you're trying to take people who are from all walks of life and force them to operate as part of a community based solely on their sexual attractions to other sexes.

You now have a Furry, a 90s Slasher Movie fan, a Modern Art fan and a Warhammer 40k fan who you're trying to say share a common bond because one of them's Gay, one's a Lesbian, one's Trans and the other one is Asexual. But because they all share the same LGBT label, they should bond over that and have that be their shared interest.

They literally have nothing in common, and you're trying to force them to think they have something in common. They don't. The literal only common thread all LGBT people have is that they are usually not very interested in straight sex or identifying as cisgendered. Which even those two things aren't common in the LGBT. Trans is only a small part of LGBT, and Bisexual people still find straight sex appealing. But you're trying to say a Bisexual person and a Trans person should get along under the pretense that they're both LGBT?

And if they don't get along, oh, the Bisexual person is just transphobic and the Trans person is just toxic or homophobic. Never mind that maybe the reason they don't get along is because THEY HAVE NOTHING IN COMMON TO FORM A FRIENDSHIP OVER."

That's a really good assessment. It's hard to actually build relationships and communities when the only unifying thing is that some of the members like to screw the same type of people.

It's kind of ridiculous to expect people to connect over that type of thing. I don't feel more connected to people or find it easier to be around them because they're sexually attracted to the opposite sex. That has nothing to do with any aspect the groups of people I hang out with.

And trying to force people to bond with each other when that's the only thing they have in common is like trying mix oil and water. People bond over similar interests and that's why it works better to build groups and communities around hobbies and things that attract people regardless of sexualities. That's how bonds form. I've never bonded with another female based on the fact that she's sexually attracted to men too.

#anon #answered

[musings-ofthe-unamused]

Until the Final Bullet Pt. 1(Call of Duty)

Pairing: Price x Reader

Word Count: 2020

Warnings: Violence, angst, military men

A/N: Imagine getting stuck in the UK during the apocalypse that would suck

Everyone knew it was coming. Years and years of nonstop war would surely lead to dire outcomes. And that outcome was the apocalypse. What people didn’t know was that the cause was a zombie outbreak. It had to be a zombie outbreak. 

You always told yourself if this ever happened, you would swan dive straight off the roof of a building. Who wants to live a life surrounded by rotting flesh monsters? Not you. It was enough that the apocalypse had broken out while you were on vacation, but the fact that it was zombies made matters worse. Much worse. 

You crouched in the back of an abandoned supermarket. It had taken you days to make your way over here without attracting any attention. Everything was a complete mess. Fires, overturned vehicles, houses ransacked. It was hard to find supplies and it’s only been two months since the outbreak. You took a can of beans and stabbed into the lid with your knife. It made a hissing noise and juice bubbles from the hole. 

Gross. 

Back in the good ole USA, you would’ve been in luck. Every food had much more preservatives than anywhere else. You could’ve had your fill to eat. Yet, you were now eating sad British food. Beans. Not even the good baked beans, with little bacon pieces. Cold, wet, and flavorless beans. You used your knife as a spoon and shoveled them into your mouth. At least it was better than nothing. 

You didn’t know how much longer of this you could take. You missed having junk food for dinner, you missed being able to walk around with the threat of being bit, and you missed fresh. Fuck, you really missed it. Everything stinks literally. As you ate, you thought of what your plan was. Killing yourself? Raiding all the stores you can, gathering supplies, giving them to a group of people, and then killing yourself? No. If things were better and you had a lover, you could've been all poetic and turned with them. Instead, you were lonely.

You were pulled out of your thoughts as you heard a groaning noise. And then several others. The thought of going out by being eaten by a group of zombies was the least appealing way to die. You made your way silently through the supermarket towards the toy section. You grabbed the loudest looking toy you could before heading outside. There was a small horde of zombies just outside. You counted them, for a total of four. You could have easily killed them, but you didn’t want their rotting guts and blood all over you..

You silently opened the door and slid out. With a quick hand, you turned on the toy that’s glaringly loud. You threw the toy as far as possible. The rotting creatures immediately were on high alert and slowly trudged towards the noise. You slowly walked backwards, keeping an eye on them in case they decided to turn around. After going a sizable distance, you turned to escape. Hands grabbed your shoulders.

“Hey there, lass.”

Your immediate reaction was to clock the stranger right in the face. But he was obviously way stronger than you. He grabbed your fist and squeezed it tightly. Your eyes narrowed. The man was tall, with a faux hawk. He had a goofy smile that was a start contrast to his tactical gear that he wore. There was a patch on his vest, Military.

“Let me go.”

“Now, now.” He clicked his tongue, releasing your fist. “I won’t hurt you.”

“That’s what everyone says.” You pushed past him. “Now if you excuse me, I’d like to be away from the horde of zombies before the toy shuts off.”

You started to walk away. He followed, Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he? You try to walk fast to keep your distance, but it was no use. He had on that same goofy smile.

You sighed. “Why are you still following me?”

“Because that was a good trick you used. Using toys to lure the zombies away. How did you come up with it?”

“I didn't. I saw it in an anime.”

“Oh.”

“Why are you following me?”

The man grinned, the lilt of his accent heavy. “I’m not. I just happen to be going in the same place.”

You got even more suspicious. You had to run into your fair share of people that seemed friendly, but would end up robbing you blind. Of course, you’ve seen enough zombie movies and played enough games to know better. Your hand rested on your knife holster. You gripped the handle, ready to strike.

“My name is Soap, by the way.”

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow and he nodded. You scoffed. “Ironice. You smell like ass.”

“Not worse than the zombies though, right?”

“No comment. Now stay away.”

You kept walking. The man, Soap, didn’t listen to you. You didn’t know where you were going, exactly, but you knew you didn't want it to be around this man. So you kept walking through the empty streets, hoping that he took the hint and left. But he didn’t. He also wouldn’t stop yapping about some random shit that you had no interest in. Ten minutes later, your knife was pressed against his neck.

“Stop following me or I’ll kill you.”

“That won’t be necessary.” A deeper, much darker voice said from behind you. You could feel the tip of a gun barrel now pressed against the back of your head. You closed your eyes and slowly lowered the knife. You turned to see the man. This guy was even bigger. The clothes he wore were similar to that of Soap’s. He wore a skull mask, making him even more intimidating than the other guy. There was no way you could take them. In a fight, of course.

“Using a gun? Really?”

The skull face shrugged. “I don’t see any zombies around here.”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say. Then they’re eaten.”

Soap laughed. “You’re a pessimistic one, aren't you?”

I just rolled my eyes. “Whatever. I won’t cause trouble , so let me leave.”

“No can do, sweetheart.” Skull face replied. He placed the gun back in its holster. “You shouldn’t be traveling around.”

“Ghost is right.” Soap said, crossing his arms.

Great. Two big and buff guys won’t let you leave. This is just peachy. You hated being a group, but you hated military men even more. They were nothing but disgusting and violent assholes that are no longer barred by the law. Bad news. But what was pissing you off even more was the fact that they assumed you couldn’t take care of yourself. Which you totally could.

“I’m fine on my own.”

Ghost eyed you. “With as frail as you look?”

“I hate British food.”

“Can you even use anything other than a knife?”

“I can use a bow or crossbow.”

“No guns?” Soap asked.

You shook your head. “Guns are too loud. Plus it’s hard to find bullets.”

“Then come with us. We’ll help.” Ghost said. “We have a whole entire base filled with food,water, and weapons.”

“No. I don’t trust the military.”

“Special forces, lass. We’re special forces.”

“Doesn’t make a difference. Goodbye.”

They didn’t try to stop you. Instead, they followed. If you were stronger, you would have killed them on the spot. But alas, you were just a normal citizen. Kind of. Your eyes scanned the terrain as you walked. There were always at least one or two zombies around. And as if on cue,  one appeared hobbling down the street.

“I got it.” Soap said, taking out his gun.

“Don’t-“

It was too late. Soap shot the zombie straight in the head. The sound was loud and rang out in the empty streets. That’s when the rest of the horde showed up. There must have been ten of them, if not more. You facepalmed, angrily turning to face the two military men.

“Are you guys idiots?”

“Watch it.” Ghost growled. “This isn’t the time to insult us.”

Soap frowned. “It seemed clear enough.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s how it always is. If there’s one zombie, always assume here’s more. I thought the special forces were supposed to be smart.”

Instead of listening to what they have to say, you quickly ran ahead, looking for cover. There was a large walled area ahead. The walls were made of makeshift metal haphazardly welded together. In front of those walls were bushed that you promptly hid yourself in. You stayed completely still as the horde made their way to the noise. This wasn't going to be your problem to deal with. As soon as the horde descended on the two military idiots, you'll make your escape. 

A loud boom shook your body. You clamped your hands over your ears and your eyes squeezed shut. Before you could even get your bearings, the noise happened again. More gunshots joined in. It was official. You probably were going to die here because of the trigger happy men around you. You tried to make yourself as small as possible and wait for a moment of silence. If that would ever come.

"Kid."

You kept your hands over your ears, even as the cacophonous shooting stopped. A hand clamped down on your shoulder. The rancid scent of rotting flesh didn't immediately hit your nose, so you knew that this was a human. You slowly opened your eyes and lowered your hands. As you stood up, you saw that Ghost, Soap, and two strangers were staring at you. You cleared your throat awkwardly.

"So… y'all always attract zombies like this?"

Ghost scoffed. "Thanks for running away. Real tough, huh?"

"Okay," You crossed your arms. "It's not my fault you decided to be an idiot and use a gun to kill a zombie."

"Enough." The man with the bucket hat and mustache stepped in front of you, blocking your view of Ghost. "Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?"

His eyes were kind and soft as they traveled over your face. His hands were on your shoulders, giving you a reassuring squeeze. A sense of comfort washed over you. It had been a while since you felt this way. You nodded silently.

He gave you a smile. "Good, good. I'm Captain John Price. You can call me Price."

Your nose scrunched and that comfort morphed into disdain. "And I'm making my leave."

"Aww, c'mon!" Soap whined your name. His lips formed a pout. "We just saved you from a horde of zombies!"

"That you guys attracted! I'm not staying with a bunch of trigger happy military freaks."

"Price…" Ghost warned, his eyes boring into yours. "Do something."

Price waved his hand to calm Ghost down. He then gave you another smile, his eyes crinkling. "Stay with us just for the night, sweetheart. You can have a shower and some food. Then after you're rested, you can make your decision."

You hesitated. You had enough food and you knew how to survive a night out here. But a shower? You looked at the group of men. Maybe while they were asleep you could snag some stuff for yourself and then leave without them ever knowing. You nodded once. Price's smile went to a full on grin filled with sunshine. 

"Great. Come this way."

The makeshift wall had a gated entrance just a couple of meters away. Your eyes widened as the group led you into their base. And it was a big base. Trucks, a tank, several buildings, and a long row of tents were spread out before you. People milled about. From soldiers to families, it looked like a whole town. A sinking feeling filled your stomach. You never did well around big groups around this. It always ended up badly. 

Your steps slowed down. "Uh… I-I think I changed my mind."

Soap linked his arm around yours. "Don't be scared, lass. We don't bite."

"That's not-"

"You're staying here and that's final." Ghost grumbled, coming up on your other side. They had blocked you in. 

"I'm so going to regret this."

#x reader #fanfic #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #call of duty #cod #captain price x reader #price x reader #john price #captain price

[starstruckkittensweets]

"Spitfire" | Gojo x Reader (Kinktober 2023)

Size Difference - Satoru Gojo

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Reader Words: 3.3k

A/N: Halfway through writing this I forgot I was supposed to be writing some good ol' smut...so that's why there's a lot more fluff in this one than I'd intended! Anyway, this is my first attempt at some Satoru smut, so I hope it's not too bad. (Also a very self-indulgent fic, writing this made me giggle and kick my feet in all my 4'11" glory.) I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: 18+ only, minors DNI, modern au, smaller reader (no particular height in mind, just shorter than Satoru), dirty talk, unprotected sex, cum eating, slight praise kink

If there’s one thing Satoru finds so appealing about you, it’s your height (or lack thereof, as he likes to remind you).

 Of course he loves everything else about you. Your smile, your eyes, the way you laugh at all his jokes, even the ones that make everyone else roll their eyes. How you give him every bit of attention whenever he’s with you, like he’s the only one that matters in the entire world. And obviously he thrives off the attention, but there’s something else about it—something else about you that makes his heart hammer furiously against his ribcage. Something that makes him want to please you and make you happy, just to see your smile.

But your smaller stature was the first thing that drew him to you. The first time Shoko brought you over to hang out with their little friend group, he couldn’t tear his eyes from you. Suguru had to repeat whatever he was saying three times for him to finally listen. But he couldn’t help it, not with you sitting right across from him.

Looking all small and dainty and simply cute.

Yeah, cute. That’s what you are to him—and you only prove his point when he says it to your face, and you make a sad attempt to hide your face in the collar of your hoodie. He only laughs as Suguru shakes his head, and Shoko rests a comforting hand on your shoulder.

So fucking cute.

He loves how small your hands are, and how perfectly they fit between his palms.

It never fails to make him smile, the way you act so shy and flustered whenever he holds your hand. The stutter in your voice when he reaches out, the way your eyes flicker from side to side as he gives you what he hopes to be a reassuring smile. Then again, people often confuse his genuine smiles for his cocky ones.

But he tries, for your sake. You’re the only one he sees, and he’s determined to remind you as often as he can.

“Sorry,” you mumble, tucking your palms into your pockets, “…hands are sweaty… You don’t wanna hold ‘em…”

He can only stare at you as you chew on your bottom lip, eyes cast down to the floor as you shift your weight from one leg to the other. Slowly inching away from him as the two of you continue your walk, careful not to bump your shoulder bag into his side.

Is… Are you serious? Or are you just teasing him?

But the dullness in your eyes is enough of an answer for him, and it sends a pinch of agony straight to his chest. Too pretty and cute to look so sad.

You squeak as he reaches in and practically yanks your hand back out of your pocket, holding it much more firmly between his fingers. Sending you a smirk as you gape at him, eyes blown wide and so fucking pretty.

Damn it, will you ever understand how adorable you are to him?

“Don’t care,” he replies with a shrug. “Hands get sweaty sometimes, so what? Now come on, don’t wanna be late to meet up with the others!”

Of course he would rush, you’re heading to the bakery at the next block, the usual meeting spot for all your little get-togethers. The one that sells all those sweets he practically drools over—and the same ones he always tries to get you to share with him, even when you brush him off.

“I…” Your voice falters when he peeks at you over the rim of his glasses; already you can feel your cheeks start to heat up. “…Never mind, if it doesn’t bother you—”

“Not at all! I like when I get to hold your hand.”

He picks up the pace, long legs eating up the distance as you struggle to keep up behind him. Still sputtering at his little confession, and the way he tightens his grip around you.

And strangely enough…it’s comforting. The way your little hand fits in his much larger one. Almost like he’s protecting you, keeping you safe from the rest of the world.

Like you can finally loosen your shoulders and relax whenever he’s around.

It takes every bit of strength in him not to smile like an idiot when he feels your hand squeeze his own oh-so delicately.

He loves the way you stand on your tiptoes to reach something high above you.

Whether it’s a family photo album or one of your favorite coffee mugs in the cupboard, he never passes up the chance to see your arms stretch high over your head, muscles straining and tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth. Swallowing back a sinful moan when he sees your shirt ride up over your stomach, granting him the slightest peek of the soft skin beneath.

This time it’s one of your books on the very top shelf, and you’re just ten seconds away from climbing up the bookcase yourself. He lets you struggle for a bit before stepping in like a gentleman (even though you claim he’s the exact opposite). Reaching over your head and plucking out the hardcover—only to hold it just out of your reach like the asshole he is. He lets out a laugh as you scramble to grab it, only lifting it higher when you start jumping up and down.

“C’mon, Satoru, cut it out! Give it to me already!”

“You almost got it, babe. Almost there, I know you can do it!”

“Satoru, I’m serious! Just hand it over!”

Your cheeks puff out as he dangles the book over your head; no matter how many swipes you make to grab it, he always yanks it back up to his level. Curse him and his ungodly height, it’s not your fault you’re vertically challenged!

And the smug fuck is laughing his ass off as he waves the book over your head. Like you’re a fucking cat with a feathered toy.

“Just a little higher, babe, I know you—ow!”

He winces as your shoe rams right into his kneecap—damn it, he doesn’t remember you being this strong—and with a final lunge you manage to curl your fingers around the book and yank. Pressing it against your heaving chest as he doubles over, both hands clutching his injured knee.

“No fair, that was a dirty trick!”

“So was taking my book in the first place.”

It’s hard to feel any sympathy for him, even if he makes a convincing case with those pouty lips and big blue eyes. You roll your eyes and head into your shared bedroom with your prize, leaving him groaning in pain about his poor knee.

“It really hurts, you know! I could be dying in here and you wouldn’t even know!”

“Then it’d be quiet, and I could actually start to read my book.”

“Babe!”

He’s full-on whining now, limping towards the bedroom and making a show of favoring his leg. You’re already cuddled up in bed with your book, a blanket thrown over your lap. Not even sparing him a glance as you leaf through the pages.

“…Can you kiss it, make it better?”

“Kiss it yourself.”

That gets a laugh out of him, despite the bolt of pain shooting up his leg. You’re small but damn feisty when you want to be, even more than you were when you first met him. Just goes to show how much more comfortable you’ve gotten around him. But he wouldn’t have you any other way, his tiny little spitfire. And he makes a point of telling you that, even when he launches himself into bed next to you and peppers your face with kisses, only laughing when you shriek and try to bat him away.

If he makes you lose your page, you’ll make sure to kick him someplace higher than his damn knee.

He loves how delicate you are in his arms. So small and fragile, practically a doll.

Another late night at work, another night you come home with your feet dragging and your eyelids drooping. You barely make it through the threshold before collapsing, and luckily Satoru’s there to catch you in his arms. With your cheek pressed against his chest and his arms around your waist, you barely have time to mumble out, “Missed you,” before falling asleep right then and there.

Satoru’s used to it by now. You work yourself to the bone every day, and he’s left to pick up the pieces at night. Not that he minds, he enjoys taking care of you like this. Makes him feel special, he’s the only one who gets to see you in this sleepy, vulnerable state.

It’s a dance he’s become all too comfortable with at this point. Cradling your tiny body against his chest, legs thrown over the crook of his elbow as he carries you into the bedroom. Settling you on the mattress, smiling when you groan softly in your sleep. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, lingering just a few seconds too long before you start to stir. Last thing he wants to do is rob you of some much-needed sleep.

Your shoes slip off easily, then your jacket and shirt. He’s always amazed at the difference in your clothing; how all your shirts and pants, while they look simply stunning on your body, always seem so tiny next to his own. Just the thought has him picking up the pace, eager to rid you of your work clothes and slip one of his old sleep shirts over your head. He catches the ghost of a smile on your lips before leaning you back against the pillows, careful when he pulls the covers up and over your bare legs.

Small and precious. So adorable, aren’t you?

He leans over and smooths his hand across your hair. It’s hard not to smile when you nuzzle into his touch, always finding his warmth even in your sleep. He swears he wasn’t tired before, but tucking you in always seems to wear him out. And it’s not long before he’s stripping down and joining you in bed.

Your arms find his body instantly, wrapping around his shoulders and pressing your face into his bare chest. He’s so warm and soft, his arms a protective shield around your sleeping form. He reaches up to brush your hair back, giving him a perfect view of your gentle face.

So much energy, despite your smaller size. Always working your ass off at your job, completely exhausted every night, and still wearing a smile for him when you come home.

Fuck, he loves you so much. Maybe someday he’ll have the courage to say it to your face.

The thought makes him smile as he snuggles deeper into the pillows, holding you against his chest, finally letting his eyes drift shut.

He loves how small you are, how cute and delicate and sweet you are—especially when you’re struggling to take his cock.

Reclining against the mountain of pillows against the headboard, arms folded beneath his head, licking his lips with every moan that slips through your mouth. You’re straddling him, practically dripping down his thighs with how wet you are. Three rounds of coming around his fingers and tongue, and you’re still whining how his cock is too much for you.

So fucking cute.

“S-Satoru,” it comes out as a hiccup, tears pricking your pretty lashes, “…fuck, it h-hurts—”

“Shh, baby, I know.” He leans up and presses a kiss to your sweaty temple. Fingers massaging your hips as you choke out another plea of his name. “Doin’ so well for me, aren’t you?”

It’s a sight he’ll never get sick of, no matter how many times he sees it: your pouty lips, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, as he reaches down to circle his thumb around your clit.

Your nails sink into his shoulders, thighs clenching as you lower yourself down a bit more. Fuck, he’s not even halfway in and you’re already crying like a fucking virgin. Get it together already!

But you might as well be a virgin, with how fucking huge he is. Surprisingly he wasn’t lying in that department; not that it does you any fucking good now, but still…

He’s already kissing away your tears, murmuring sweet words under his breath, against your heated skin. Good girl, so fucking good, so tight and pretty for me. It helps you find yourself again, swallowing hard before sinking down further onto his cock.

“Satoru,” you whine as he bottoms out inside you. Eyes blown wide, the two of you panting heavily against each other’s chests.

So fucking full already and he hasn’t even started moving, how are you gonna survive tonight?!

“’S alright, sweetheart.” His voice is strained but warm as he cradles your face in his large hands. Still so gentle whenever he touches you. “Take it slow, don’t wanna wear you out before the real fun begins.”

He gives you that trademark smirk of his, and you have half a mind to throw caution to the wind and fuck him within an inch of his damn life. But the moment you shift on his lap a sharp pain jolts up your abdomen, and you’re gasping for air against his shoulder once more.

“Easy, easy. Move whenever you’re ready.”

At least he’s being considerate this time.

You suck in a breath, trying to focus on the gentle touch of his fingers against your clit. The gorgeous glow of his bright blue eyes. The way his hands feel pressed against your hips, guiding you with every move you make. His messy white hair, frayed from rolling around in bed, trying to fight you for the dominant position. (He let you win, but he’ll never admit it out loud.)

Eventually you grasp his hand, his palm practically swallowing your own, and roll your hips slightly. It still hurts but nowhere near as bad as it did before. Repeat the motion, and a hint of bliss courses through your veins. Matching the feeling of his fingers on your clit, making your eyes flutter shut.

Easy does it. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.

He kisses you, slow and deep, dragging his tongue over your own. You can still taste yourself on him; he insisted you didn’t have to return the favor this time. Although he’s eager to see what you would look like with his cock down your throat, if you would struggle to take him all in, tiny hands pressed against his thighs, nails cutting into his skin like knives. His cock twitches at the thought, and he knows you feel it by the gasp that leaves your mouth.

You can do this. You got this. Nothing to be scared of, right?

A few more slow thrusts has the two of you moaning out each other’s names. Pure adrenaline floods throughout your body. Eyes flashing, you hold out both hands and press down hard on his sweaty chest, knocking him back down into the pillows below.

He stares up at you through those beautiful white eyelashes, lips parted slightly as you positon yourself over his lap. Letting his cock slip out just enough before sinking back down with a moan that has your back arching and your nails biting into the skin of his chest.

Satoru thinks he could cum just from watching you.

It’s all he can do, just sit back and enjoy the show. Throat tightening from the way you bounce yourself on his cock, singing out his name like a prayer. His hands wander up towards your breasts, eager to feel them once more, but you’re quick to bat them away. Sending him a warning glare as you pick up the pace, mouth falling open as his cock finds that special spot deep inside you.

He can’t help but smirk at that. Still his little spitfire, huh?

“Satoru…” There’s a bite to your tone, one that sends a shiver down his spine, as he fists the pillows behind him. All too eager to touch you, but not until you give him permission.

He’s a gentleman after all, isn’t he?

Your eyes glimmer with tears, hips stuttering against his own with every thrust. Pretty lips trembling as you whisper, “Fuck me, Satoru.”

His hands burn against your waist, heels digging into the mattress as he lifts his hips up to meet your own. You’re screaming out his name, lashes wet with tears, tiny fists curling against his chest. He moves you up and down on his cock at a rapid pace, one that has you sobbing and moaning and pleading with him to go faster, faster Satoru, please fuck me—

You’re clenching around his cock so tight, he won’t last another minute at this pace. So he gathers you in his arms, tossing you into the mattress like a ragdoll, smirking when you flop against the pillows below. Sinking his cock into you once more, savoring the bliss in your eyes as he stretches you out.

“Satoru!”

Your cries are barely audible through the rhythmic thumping of the headboard against the wall. But he still hears them, hears every fucking moan of his name, every plea in your sweet little voice, every whine and gasp and sob that brings him closer to the edge.

He can see it in your eyes, how close you are to your peak. How you dig your nails into his shoulders, cradling him to your chest and kissing his lips as hard as you can. He slips an arm around your back, bracing his other against the frail headboard of the bed. Praying to any god above that the damn thing won’t collapse before the night is over.

And suddenly you shatter around him, squeezing him for all he’s worth, a thousand cries of his name on your tongue as you hold him close. It’s almost enough to make him lose it, he’s so close, almost there—

He pins your tiny body against the mattress, fucking you through your high, leaving you squirming for release beneath his larger form. Another few thrusts has him spilling himself deep inside of you, moaning your name against the shell of your ear. Clutching your smaller form close to his chest, shielding you from the rest of the world beyond.

Several moments pass before the two of you move. Carding your fingers through his sweaty hair, tasting his lips for the thousandth time tonight. He slides out of you as gently as he can, unable to suppress the smirk as he watches ropes of his cum covering your inner thighs.

“So messy,” you mumble, and it’s like a switch has been turned on in your brain. You’re back to being your shy, docile self, hiding your face in his chest. He laughs before pulling away, holding your face between his warm hands.

“I like it messy. You did so good for me, sweetheart, so fucking good.”

It’s hard not to blush when he’s praising you like that, especially when he starts kissing his way down your body. Starting from your neck and trailing down your chest, your stomach, and finally ending between your thighs. You don’t even have the strength to protest as he spreads your legs and flicks his tongue over your messy clit, not even bothered with the taste of his cum.

“Satoru,” you whine, throwing an arm over your face. But he reaches up and pulls it away, blue eyes glowing in the darkness of your bedroom.

“’M not done yet,” he mumbles, dragging his tongue along your slick, “want more of you.”

That gets a weak laugh out of you. “So fuckin’ greedy, huh?”

Yeah, he’s greedy. When did he ever say he wasn’t? He’ll take any part of you he can get, as many times as he can. His sweet little spitfire, all shy and precious but a fucking menace in bed.

And fuck, if he doesn’t love you like crazy for it. 

#satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #kinktober 2023 #star's kinktober 2023 #satoru gojo smut #gojo smut #smut #jjk fics

[an-annyeoing-writer]

vampire!Baekhyun x Reader: sweet bloody talk. [+18]

Word count: 7 479

Date of release: 5th November 2023

Warnings: s*xual content, mentions of blood.

Author's notes: @synthetickitsune I swear I had the entire draft ready before you posted yours, but I feel like we have one shared brain cell for some things LOL

The first thing you took note of upon entering the club was that the music was better than you expected from the mediocre and obscure premise. This type of music was not something you usually heard in dancing places – it was more on the heavy side, and it gave off the vibe of 80’s goths and black platform heels adorned with spikes. Not your regular music choice, but you couldn’t say that you were disappointed.

It was supposed to be just a few hours of relax. You felt a bit distraught recently, with books and other home entertainments feeling like you’re starting to drown in a routine. You needed a variety, even though your friends group consisted mostly of people who didn’t care for parties, and you yourself had no idea as to what people are supposed to do at one. Even the club was something you found online and not through a recommendation. You were shamelessly aware that you chose it just because the menu appeared cheaper than in others, and they would let ladies in for free if they wore heels. A bit sexist in your opinion, but free entry was free entry after all.

The place wasn’t too crowded, but the spots by the bar were all busy, and with the customers gathered around – a lot of them for such an early hour – you quickly came to a conclusion that you’d rather sit down somewhere else and look around to see if there’s anything for you to do.

You hated dancing.

It’s not that it was impossible to sway from one side to the other on repeat. But you were awfully aware how lame it must have looked while done by someone who didn’t represent excess of physical appeal, and so, since it didn’t bring you any joy either, you avoided it at all costs. For the same reason, the dancing floor was definitely not an interesting place to look at. And besides, everyone was still too sober for their dancing skills to become entertaining.

The spot you found, a bar chair by a tall, round table with the top made of glass, was a good lookout point. A row of tables like such was on a not so tall podium along the wall, so the heads of the people were a bit below and you could see the entire ground floor of the club very well. Guests were still coming in.

There was a part of the club, though, that, although in the range of your sight, didn’t appear reachable at all – the upper floor. A balcony with glass balustrade shined above the heads of all people gathered in the dancing floor. The VIP zone.

Your eyes, bored of looking down, traveled up automatically, trying to have a look at anyone there. You suspected that the VIP zone of such an average place was occupied by college students and corporates going at party nights. In fact, the only person that was looking out the balustrade at the moment, with his eyes fixated somewhere by the bar, was a tall and well-built boy who could as well be a basketball player, dressed in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants. You snorted quietly, realizing that in any of the books you read, he would be a multimillionaire, spotting an average girl in the crowd below, falling in love at the first sight…

“Whatcha looking at?”

You jumped and almost fell off your chair at the voice that sounded out next to you.

Your eyes shot to the person who was currently sitting in the chair next to yours, watching you with a polite, non-intrusive smile. Although the fact you didn’t notice him join in freaked you out, he didn’t appear ill-intended. Yet, you didn’t miss a small smirk in the corner of his lip at the sudden reaction that you graced his question with.

“Oh… Nothing, really, just people” you answered, composing yourself. A small part of you wanted to carry on some sort of conversation just to not stay completely alienated for the rest of the night. But the remaining part of you had no idea, how. “How’s your evening?” you asked out of no better choice.

The man leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and smiled widely, acknowledging that you’re not against the interaction.

“A bit boring, to be honest. I came here with some friends, but they all already busied themselves with stuff. What about you? Who did you come with?”

His voice was tender and careful, and his face looked very soft. You took a moment to acknowledge a simple baseball cap on his head, pulled on a bit too low so that he had to tilt his head backwards to see what’s on his eye level. He also wore a black, plain bomber jacket that made you think he’s a part of some college team – but there were no logos or other signs anywhere that would hint to his affiliation. In fact, you quickly came to the conclusion that it’s just his fashion choice.

“I actually came here alone” you blabbered without a second thought. “I’m not really a party person, to be honest…”

“Oh. I can tell.”

“Huh?”

Should you feel offended? Your face must have betrayed the uncertainty, because the man’s eyes widened and he visibly panicked at the social mistake.

“No, wait, sorry. It’s just that… if a stranger asks you about who you came with, even if you come alone, you should lie. It’s dangerous to let people know that.” he elaborated.

That actually made sense, you realized. Heck, you must have really had no self-preservation skills if you didn’t think of that before.

“Oh… I, um, thank you? For letting me know?” You scratched your head awkwardly.

He pressed his lips together – you took note of how his cheeks looked sort of cute and squishable when he did that – and smoothly hopped off the seat.

“I think it’s the time for me. Thank you for the talk.” He nodded his head politely and turned around, disappearing in the crowd before you could react appropriately.

You let out a defeated sigh. You came to this party to have a relaxing evening, but you must have messed up your possibly only chance to have a conversation with someone sober and not a creep. People were starting to slowly get drunk and you had a feeling that anytime soon, the only people coming up for a talk would be drunk college boys that the club was at this time of the year full of.

You glanced hopefully up at the glass balustrade of the VIP zone, but this time there was no one in sight.

It must have been around midnight when you looked at yourself in the club’s bathroom mirror, taking note of the tiredness heaving down your features. You were bored out of your mind, the music was echoing in your skull way too loud at this point, and the little alcohol you had in the meantime only made you a bit distraught rather than relaxed. Those were signs that it was definitely the time to go home.

You wrapped your trench coat around yourself as you left the building and went into the dark street. Cold wind hit your ankles, clad in nothing but a thin layer of stockings that you wore underneath the dress.

You stood nearby the main entrance, reaching out to your phone. You still contemplated whether to order a ride or to seek a cheaper alternative, seeing as the travel by feet must have not been too far from there, and maybe even you could even catch the night bus?

“Hi, are you alone?”

You whipped your head to where the voice was coming from, way too close for your liking.

A man was approaching you at a pace you weren’t sure if you should be comfortable with. His eyes were shining from the amount of alcohol consumed. He swayed to the sides ever so slightly as he walked.

It took you a solid moment to realize you’ve seen him once before – on the balustrade. He must have been on his way home as well.

“Um… I’m going home” you replied a bit shakily when he approached you. With how much taller than you he was, he didn’t have to try hard to hover above you in a hopefully unwittingly threatening posture.

“Will you be okay? I can get you a ride” he spoke sluggishly.

You couldn’t tell just how wary of him you should be; although he didn’t seem ingenuine and it was just the alcohol that made him appear creepy, you reminded yourself that it’s still a stranger. You glanced towards the club – the entry was a bit too far for your liking, but unless he became physical, you should be able to get back and ask for someone to help you out, was he to become too pushy.

“Please let me get you home” he suddenly spoke, sensing your unease. “I won’t bite you, I promise” he added. “I’ve already had enough for today, they don’t taste any good when I’m this drunk” he kept on blabbering and you lifted your eyebrow at the peculiarity of his statement.

“Chanyeol? What the hell are you doing here?”

The two of you turned around to look at the man coming from the club. The silhouette was too dark with the lights in the background, so you couldn’t make out his features well.

“Nothing” the man answered, shaking his head. “I just met this girl and she’s alone and I told her I won’t bite her but I think she’s scared of me” he whined.

Only when the newcomer came close enough, you realized that he also is not an unfamiliar face. The baseball cap betrayed him even before his squishy cheeks did. He spared you a glance and tilted his head to the side, apparently also acknowledging that you’re not a complete stranger. His eyes fell on his friend again.

“Aish, how would you get her home when you’re this drunk? Come and join the rest, we’ll be going home soon.”

“Then you take her home. She’s alone, Baekhyun, girls shouldn’t be alone. What if someone bites her when she’s alone?”

You frowned deeply, having no idea about what was all this weird conversation about. The man – Baekhyun – glanced at you once every few seconds, as though checking your reactions, and he was clearly displeased with the way things were going. He finally sighed.

“You talk too much, Yeol. Come on, let’s go.”

The man named Chanyeol huffed, but finally gave up and started moving back towards the entrance.

Baekhyun stayed behind, only making sure that his friend has gone in the right direction, and then looked at you with his face unreadable.

“Sorry for that. He didn’t mean anything bad, he just doesn’t control his tongue when he’s drunk.”

“Yeah… I could tell… Sorry.”

He lifted his eyebrow.

“Don’t say sorry when you haven’t done anything bad.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Are you sure it’s just parties that you’re not into? It looks like you don’t have much human interaction at all” he commented with a smirk. You laughed awkwardly.

“I usually handle it better, really. Not like, very good, but I swear I’m not an alien.”

He laughed warmly.

“Thank God, I was starting to consider giving you a ride too, but what if I had to get you back on another planet? Don’t have enough gas for that” he joked. It was quite lame of a joke, but you couldn’t help but utter a small laugh. After a bit of alcohol and at this hour, it was hard not to go alone with the lame sense of humor.

“Was it your way of offering a ride?” you dared to ask.

Baekhyun grinned.

“Maybe. Would you like?”

“I…” You bit on your lip, suddenly realizing that the offer had probably more to it than a mere act of kindness. “…don’t want to give you hope for something I can’t give” you stated carefully.

The man’s smile fell.

“Don’t ever worry about things like that. It’s not your problem if someone gets hope for something you never offered yourself. I just felt like giving you a ride, you don’t need to think of ways to return a favor or anything.” He appeared satisfied with his speech, and hid hands in the pockets of his jacket, soft and reassuring smile returning to his face.

You released the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, a relief washing over you and a smile appearing on your own face as well.

“That’s… nice” you only answered. “In this case, I’d love to get home with you. I… I mean-” you realized your words were a bit ambiguous. “…You know what I mean.”

Baekhyun only laughed warmly.

“I know, I know. Come on, I parked nearby.” He pulled car keys out of his pocket and swung them in the air. “But, by the way, don’t just accept rides from strangers. It’s dangerous.”

Baekhyun’s car was more comfortable than the public transport you were used to, and also sitting in the front felt way nicer than the backseats of a taxi. The music was calmer and quieter than in the club, and although it also wasn’t the genre you were used to, it almost lulled you to sleep as the two of you sat in a pleasant silence for about half of the ride.

“Won’t your friends get worried that you didn’t come back to them?” you eventually spoke, trying to start a conversation. Your time together appeared to be limited, and you didn’t want to waste a chance to get to know the man better.

“I shot them a message” Baekhyun replied with his gaze fixated on the changing lights and the cars in the intersection. “I wasn’t drinking because I was supposed to be their ride but they also met some people at the party, so they’ll be fine” he elaborated.

“Ah, I see. Well. I’m lucky that you were supposed to be the ride anyway” you shrugged. Baekhyun smiled at that but didn’t continue the conversation.

You were still a few minutes away from your apartment and you really, really didn’t want the ride to end so quickly. Even silence in Baekhyun’s presence was just too comfortable. How was it possible that you felt so much ease with a man you barely met? Maybe it was because his comments regarding your safety seemed to be genuine, and you appreciated them. Maybe they were just his way of getting your trust, but you just didn’t seem to mind.

There were still other questions you could use to get him to talk to you.

“I just recalled, what were those things your friend was talking about? I know he was drunk, but he mentioned biting like two or three times. What’s up with that?”

Baekhyun’s eyes narrowed slightly. Slight tension in his jaw didn’t pass your attention either.

“Uh…” He shrugged after a moment of thought. “Consider it an inside joke in our group of friends.”

“An inside joke?” You genuinely laughed. “Maybe you’re the aliens? What if your car gets me on the Moon instead of home?”

The man laughed awkwardly.

“Well, we’re peculiar in our own ways. But I promise the car is earthly” he assured with a grin.

You knew the area pretty well and it didn’t take long before you arrived at your address, Baekhyun’s car coming to a stop almost opposite of the building entry. The man turned the engine off and got up, opening the door for you before you even prepared yourself to leave the vehicle. You got out hurriedly and quickly straightened your clothes.

“You good? You got everything?” he asked, glancing at the seat to make sure you haven’t forgotten anything. You nodded.

“Thank you. Really.”

“You’re welcome.” His voice was tender and calm, but you had a feeling that the unspoken question is there.

You cleared your throat.

“Um… Would you… like to come upstairs?”

“Hm?”

Because of what he said before, you were certain he did not want to make any assumptions or take things for granted. Yet, you didn’t want to leave him in the dark, and you were positive that for his honesty, he deserved some transparency from your side as well.

“Just…”

Yet, were you ready to offer more than you initially planned? What was there to lose, after all?

But how would you feel if he rejected you, or if you didn’t meet the expectations – that was so not like you to offer such a thing, and you never wanted to have short-term partners to begin with.

But Baekhyun clearly was a gentleman, and if he was to reject you, it would have to be out of care and not because you disappointed him. Or at least you desperately wanted to believe so.

And besides, why would he reject you if he went out of his way to give you a ride home? Even if he was mature enough not to expect anything, it’s not like he would offer it to someone who didn’t spike at least an ounce of his interest.

“[F/n]?”

You jumped at the sound of your name; you must have drowned in your thoughts instead of answering the question.

“Oh. Sorry. I um… It’s not a situation I’m usually in. But I just… don’t want this evening to end this fast.”

“You know you don’t owe me anything, right?” He announced calmly, but there was some shade of threat in the way he said it, as if there was something urging him to give you the last chance to take it back and part your ways.

“I know. That’s why I don’t promise anything. But I want to try. You’re… fun to be around.”

At that, his face instantly lightened, and he chuckled softly.

“Thank you. You’re fun to be around, too.”

The night was chilly, and so you welcomed with gratitude the warmth that surrounded you the moment you entered your apartment. The place was rather decent as for one person inhabiting it, and you rented it at a rather cheap price from an elderly lady who at some age decided to move in with her family. Although you were allowed to refurnish it, you actually enjoyed the old style of creaking floor and black-and-white pictures on the walls covered in an old wallpaper. Even the old TV remained in its place, although it wasn’t catching the signal anymore. Baekhyun looked around curiously.

“You live here alone?” he asked.

“Yeah. But it’s not mine, I’m renting for another few years” you elaborated while taking off your coat and shoes, motioning for Baekhyun to do the same. “I’d like to buy my own but it’s still a while before I can even afford a mortgage.” The man nodded slowly in acknowledgment, following you cautiously as you soon entered the kitchen, turning on all the small lights on the way, making sure that the whole apartment was at least partially lit. “Bathroom is over there if you need” you briefly waved in the right doors’ direction. “You want something to eat?”

Baekhyun’s metaphorical ears perked up. He saw you point at the fridge.

“Oh. Maybe later, thank you.”

“Later?” you grinned. “Just how long are you planning to stay in here?” you teased.

“Hm.” He smiled shyly. “As long as you let me” he purred. You were focused on checking the cabinet’s contents for some quick snack when you heard him shift right behind you, hands hovering around your waist, although not touching just yet.

Your breath hitched. A pack of chocolate chip cookies slipped out of your grasp and fell on the counter below.

“Dammit” you mumbled, reaching to pick it up.

When you turned around, Baekhyun was sitting at your small table, elbow resting on the tabletop and chin on his hand in a fairly confident, although charming – in a way – pose.

“You want some?” You asked mindlessly, putting the cookies on the table and sitting on the second chair awkwardly.

“Later, thank you” he repeated; you internally cringed, realizing it made it seem that you didn’t listen to him earlier.

“Want something to drink then? I imagine you must be at least a bit tired after the party” you offered, feeling a bit awkward about eating the cookies all alone and not providing him with any sort of entertainment in the meantime.

“Don’t worry. It’s nice to just rest in the quiet after all that loud music” Baekhyun said with a gentle smile.

“Is that really so? Or do you just avoid midnight snacking?” you teased, trying to at least carry on with a small-talk.

You caught him stare straight in your eyes, and you felt a shiver run down your spine at his unreadable face.

“I actually believe that a good snack is a good snack regardless of the time” he announced in a tone that made you wonder.

He stood up right as you finished your cookie and came up to you. You observed him curiously as he knelt down, slowly finding himself between your parted knees.

His eyes never left yours, watching out for any signs of discomfort or disagreement.

You felt taken aback by his boldness, feeling your face heat up at the unusual closeness, but you definitely weren’t about to refuse.

His hands finally touched your knees, leaning on them for stability. Your dress was riding up a bit, but not enough to show anything yet.

“May I?” His lips hovered over the skin of your thigh where it was already exposed.

You almost caught yourself nodding mindlessly, but the loud pounding of your heart brought you back to reality.

“W-what?” you stuttered.

“Kiss your leg” he specified with a small, warm laugh that both calmed you and embarrassed you even more at once. “May I?”

“Yes” you answered quickly before you could lose control over your voice again.

More serious again, Baekhyun leaned down and pressed a slow, chaste kiss into your heated skin. Then another, a bit higher, but still as if the edge of your dress was a border he wasn’t going to cross. His both hands massaged the outer sides of your knees.

“You’re so nervous” the man noted, at which your face got even redder.

“Well, uh…”

“Do I make you shy?” he teased. You stuttered incoherently in response.

Baekhyun let out a soft laughter, pushing himself up and extending his hand to help you up as well. You followed and fixed your dress in hurry.

“U-uh.”

You awkwardly wavered your hand towards the bedroom’s door, hoping the man gets the hint, knowing that your voice would betray you completely, were you to utter such a bold request.

But he didn’t even look in that direction, his hand reaching to your chin instead and he lifted your face up, placing a small kiss on your cheek.

“Oh. Thank you.”

At that, he laughed even louder.

“Thank you? Really?”

“What else was I supposed to answer…?” you huffed, not sure if he was trying to insult you with the mockery.

“No, no, don’t worry, it was actually quite a cute thing to say” he explained.

“Oh, well…”

His fingers gently brushed your lips, and all the thoughts left your mind as you let him maneuver your face towards his. Warm breath hit your nose as he looked down at you from up close, all small details of his face so sharp and clear, and his glistening eyes fixated on the way your face subtly changed in reaction to his doings.

He tilted his head to the side, smirk present on his soft-looking lips, and you felt as though at that exact moment, he had you right in his grasp – up to the heart of yours beating exactly as he conducted, you thought.

With another peck to your other cheek, he suddenly pulled away.

You swayed, feeling like you’re going to collapse the moment his fingers no longer kept your face in place. You were lightheaded. Baekhyun was proud of himself.

He stepped towards the corridor that led to your bedroom, and this time, it was you who followed.

He crossed the door, glancing over his shoulder as if to make sure you’re not lost on your way.

And right when you thought that at least this small part of your way will be peaceful and almost boring, this one, small thing came to your vision, turning everything upside down.

Right ahead of yourself, behind Baekhyun’s silhouette, on the wall. A mirror, adorned with an antique, golden frame, one you used every day to get ready, one that had been there ever since you remembered, and one that was the last thing in the world you’d expect to surprise you.

You looked closely; your eyes couldn’t be possibly playing tricks. It was just you with all the walls and furnishings that you knew.

But Baekhyun, standing there and glancing at you, did not reflect in that mirror.

You froze in place, staring in your own eyes of the reflection. The man’s smile fell, noting the sudden change of mood. Catching your gaze, he followed it, turning his back to you. His own eyes finally fell on the mirror and he gawked.

“Oh. Oh, wow.”

Without waiting for you to speak any of the thoughts currently hurling in your mind, he slowly walked over to the mirror as if just about as surprised as you were, but with genuine curiosity as well. His hand reached but stopped right before touching the smooth surface, and instead grazed the mirror’s frame, admiring the piece of fine furniture.

You stood in your place, still uncertain how to react. But he did not seem as confused, you realized – as if, although not expecting the phenomenon, he knew exactly what it was caused by.

“Fascinating…” he finally spoke in a soft voice. “Really, I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen one like this” he talked with childlike thrill. “It’s old, isn’t it?” He looked back at you, but his smile fell once again, noting you were nowhere close to sharing his excitement.

He let go of the mirror’s frame and took a step towards you, face tense and determined.

Something in you screamed, some sort of self-preservation instinct reminded you of its presence, calling out to you: this is a threat! This isn’t normal! It’s a sign, run!

Can’t move.

You stood there, completely stunned, as Baekhyun finally closed the proximity, finding himself right in front of you.

Was it some sort of manipulation, or was it just you – that the fear in your guts somehow mixed with arousal?

“What… is that?” you dared to ask in a tone as tough as you could make it.

He stepped that one step too close, making you stumble backwards. One step more, one more, and he had you leaning against the wall by the bedroom’s door, somewhat cornered, yet with enough room to flee if you so wished.

“If…” Hearing his voice this close made you flinch slightly, and he turned his tone down a bit. “If you tell me to leave, I’ll leave. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The last words made the heart thump in your chest.

“But… you could.”

“I could.”

“Were you going to?”

He didn’t reply for a moment, breathing in deeply.

“Not… much.”

You stared at him, still uncertain and confused.

“Who are you?”

He stepped back again. Your eyes moved between his silhouette and the mirror behind when he stood right next to it, giving you the best picture of his non-reflecting self.

“I’ll give you a fun fact instead” he announced, lips curling into a grin again. “Your mirror is very old. I actually don’t remember the last time I’ve had this happen to me. Because mirrors nowadays don’t do that. Do you know why?”

You had no clue what he was going at – you shook your head.

“Because mirrors nowadays are usually made of glass and aluminum. Or stuff like that, I’m not so sure, really” he shrugged, unbothered. You still weren’t able to finish the thought off, a small piece still lacking for you to understand it. Baekhyun sensed that, and he patiently continued – speaking the last few words to put all of the puzzle together for you. “What they used to be made of in the past?”

You gawked at him.

“…” The breath got caught in your throat. “Silver. They… They used to be made of silver.”

“Voila.” Baekhyun spread his arms, as if presenting himself to you. “And before you try to think of all the possible creatures that have silver allergy written into their lore, just know I’m not the only one you had a chance to meet tonight.”

You recalled the stranger you met at the bar, Baekhyun’s friend whose words had spiked your curiosity the moment they echoed in the dark street.

I won’t bite you, I promise.

What if someone bites her when she’s alone?”

His eyes sparkled as he watched all the small bits come together in your head. Slow enlightenment displayed within your facial expressions with hundreds of subtle emotions, and piece by piece, the deduction snowballed, becoming more and more apparent, bared for him to drink the sadistic satisfaction from.

That was when you recalled his own words.

A good snack is a good snack regardless of the time.

“You… were going to bite me?” you finally uttered, voice breaking with every syllable.

He let his arms fall to his sides, smile softening, head tilted slightly backwards – your eyes spotted his fangs, sharper and whiter than human teeth, exposed by him for you to admire.

“If you tell me to leave now, I’ll leave” he repeated, but his tone made it clear that he already knew you weren’t going to do that.

In fact, even you knew from a while ago that your curiosity was too strong to let him off the hook – you felt like you caught a sort of urban legend, and you’d hate yourself for letting him flee without getting a hold of all his secrets.

Ultimately, though, it was the sensation of getting preyed on by him that – you realized – lit a fire inside of your body, and made your insides burn with want.

“Stay, please” you uttered in a small voice, as if too shy to request something this impure. “I want to know… more” you whispered, convincing yourself to look back at him. Your eyes fell on his fangs again, so unnaturally sharp despite not appearing that much longer than in a human. You recalled when he kissed your thigh earlier, and shivered, realizing how close it was, how easily he could have…

“You’re thinking too much” he suddenly interrupted, noting that you were so endorsed in the chaotic train of thoughts that you were just hyping yourself into anxiety at this point.

He lifted his hand towards your face, slowly and carefully, as if to test the waters. You weren’t sure if you should let him. Maybe, in some twisted way, it would be easier if he didn’t ask – if he just grabbed you and forcefully bit into your neck, so you could experience that mysterious sensation of falling a prey to possibly the only creature on the earth that could realistically impose threat to the mankind. You felt a nervous, but exciting sensation in your gut.

You didn’t even manage to react before his fingers gently brushed your cheek. You were already a goner, leaning into his hand on instinct. The fear became thrill instead.

“Here you go, good girl” he whispered with content.

Not waiting any further, he leaned down and buried his face in the crook of your neck. You let out a small whimper when his lips touched your heated up skin. You felt his fangs graze the sensitive surface, but no pain followed, only the sweet feeling of a chaste, open-mouthed kiss.

“Oh…”

He kissed slowly down your cleavage, hands running down your silhouette along with his lips. He breathed into the space where the hem of your dress ended, not daring to go further. You were still stunned, still too shaken to invite him in, but you didn’t oppose even one bit when he put his hands below your thighs and lifted you up, your arms automatically anchoring around his neck.

He was so gentle with you when he carried you over to your bed and placed you down on your back with utmost care. The bed sheets were cold below your body, your dress doing close to nothing to soothe the sudden sensation. But Baekhyun’s – against what you would think – was impossibly warm against yours when he hovered above you for a few moments, your legs wrapped around his waist just a bit longer. He placed another kiss on your cheek.

“May I?” you whispered.

“Hm?”

“Kiss your lips.” You cupped his face with your hands. “May I?”

“Go ahead.”

It seemed like he did it on purpose, not leaning in to make it any easier for you, and you had to strain yourself to reach him. Your lips touched, the sensation – absolutely breathtaking. His fingers gently wrapped around your neck, pushing you down into the mattress, but following the motion with his own mouth, deepening the kiss with a sense of roughness, overpowering you in a way. He nibbled at your lower lip, letting you feel the sharp edge of his fangs.

“Will you bite me?

“I think I will.”

“Why haven’t you yet?”

He broke the kiss and smirked down at you.

“Are you impatient?”

“Do you want me to beg for it?” you uttered, trying to sound irritated, although at heart knowing that you were close to doing so anyway. You were, in fact, impatient.

“Maybe later. Will you?”

“I…”

He didn’t let you finish, his grip on your thighs suddenly strengthening and you yelped, feeling his nails dig hard into your flesh. Your breath instantly quickened, sensation quickly becoming unbearable.

Taking all the time in the world, he finally released the hold, stroking your abused skin in comfort instead.

“Easy, love. See?  It’s just my fingers. You wouldn’t take my fangs just yet.”

He knelt back between your legs. Your dress’ lower hem was almost at your underwear from being carried by him earlier, and Baekhyun’s hands traced up your bare thighs, once again taking note of any sign of discomfort or displeasure.

You felt nervous, more than ever. Not only because you weren’t used to such casual endeavors. Something in you felt stressed about disappointing such a superior creature, still feeling like it’s a one-in-the-lifetime chance that you got.

Baekhyun seemed to sense your worry perfectly, and he leaned down to ground you with a kiss to your knee.

“You’re beautiful” he spoke with no ounce of hesitation or doubt. “And you smell delicious” he added. Such a peculiar thing to hear, you thought, yet your face heated up, as if the second compliment was much more meaningful than the first. “May I… taste you down here?” His hand slid down your inner thigh, stopping at your dress.

You opened your mouth, but, quickly realizing your voice won’t align with your intentions, you instead nodded – a bit too eagerly, involuntarily holding your breath.

He took all the time in the world, allowing you to get accustomed to his touch as he slowly lifted your dress, finally displaying your underwear, at which you let out a small, shy whimper. He pushed the fabric even higher, and you took the hint to sit up and take it off fully, now left in nothing but a black lingerie – a set you almost only wore to parties when you wanted to feel especially well put-together, and now you silently thanked yourself for this habit.

He now moved up and kissed the skin between your breasts, smoothly tracing his lips down to your stomach and stopping briefly above the hem of your panties, fingers hooking around the edge. With one last glance at your burning up face, Baekhyun slowly pulled your underwear down, taking his sweet time and enjoying the way you only squirmed quietly, held right at the edge of sanity with such a simple interaction.

“Breathe” he reminded you, discarding the fabric to the side, his own exhale hitting your private parts, now exposed for him to see.

He placed yet another comforting kiss on your mound.

“You’re okay, you’re safe” he whispered.

Although his words comforted you, he didn’t wait for you to calm down; quite the opposite, in fact, when he finally put his mouth around your pearl, overwhelming you with just the proximity. His eyes were fixated on yours in a predator-like way, drinking in your reactions and gaining sadistic pleasure from the way you could no longer control your body.

The room filled with wet noises that mixed with your own voice. Your moans slowly became more and more obscene as Baekhyun’s mouth worked shamelessly around your private parts with care, yet ease, as if he knew all bits of your body and didn’t even need to think twice, getting all the sensations, all the pressure, all the pace – perfectly right, pulling you further and further into the immense pleasure.

You were ready to relax and fall deep into the sensations, when he suddenly dug his nails into your thighs again, forcing you awake.

You yelped and tried to squirm away, but his hold only strengthened. Your breath hitched when you took the cue to stay still until the grasp once again dissipated.

“Don’t you feel too good?” he mocked. You glanced back at him – his eyes were shining red, face darker than just moments ago, threatening.

“B-Baekhyun…”

Should you feel scared at that moment? Should you understand that this man was a monster? Maybe. But it felt just too good to be in his hands, to be toyed with and hurt so sweetly. It was like a reward to know that out of all people, he chose you as his prey. There was some primal pleasure in being this little, naive girl that fell right into his trap, that allowed him to sweet-talk her into giving up her will of survival.

In a surge of confidence, you put your hand on top of his head, pushing him to resume what he was doing so well just moments ago. Baekhyun didn’t object, only letting out an amused huff when his lips wrapped around your clit once again, sucking on it gently and letting you once again melt in the sweet sensation. Your fingers clutched his hair, letting you release some of the tension, and when he hummed into your skin, you held it so tightly you for a second worried about causing him pain.

But he didn’t say a word and you quickly realized, it must have not bothered him in the slightest. His eyes slipped closed, now fully fixated on devouring you, hands holding your hips down to prevent you from squirming, hold just a bit too strong, just to cause you the slightest amount of pain, just to remind you what he was capable of.

Your whole body trembled, approaching the sweet release. Baekhyun’s mouth was relentless, and he read your reactions perfectly, his pace and movements perfectly designed to drive you insane.

With your thighs pressing together, you clutched his hair even harder. You were starting to convulse, letting out incoherent whimpers. Baekhyun’s fingers, dug into your thighs so strong you wouldn’t be surprised if they drew blood, no longer hurt – it was all mixing together, the proximity of his existence alone already overwhelming your senses, but the passion, the warmth, the textures, the sounds – it all sucked you in further and further, riding you off any remains of sanity that you may have had left.

Suddenly, right as you were about to reach the peak, everything stopped for less than a second; a void so sudden you didn’t even manage to register it.

And then, like a thunder through your body, Baekhyun’s fangs pierced the soft skin around your clit. He sucked hard on both your blood and your pearl, and you instantly came undone, crying out in pleasure and agony.

Your vision went white for what felt like ages and you felt like you were floating in the outer space; for those heavenly moments, you were not even sure if you’re still alive, but your thoughts mingled and dissipated too fast to formulate a coherent sentence. Whether Baekhyun was still there or not, you would not be able to tell; your mind was blank, and he could as well have left you moments ago – except the pain that was slowly starting to materialize again was an excellent proof that he was still present, and when your body finally came down from its high, you managed to register him down there, still between your thighs, with his arms wrapped around them in an almost loving-like manner.

You had absolutely no idea when did he bit into your thigh instead, letting your most fragile bits calm down from the overstimulation, but it looked like he was so endorsed in tasting your sweet blood that it took you a few long moments before he finally acknowledged you’re watching him. Your lower body was limp, small shivers running here and there, but any pain no longer present, your flesh too worn out to take note of it.

Sensing your gaze, Baekhyun slowly pulled his fangs out of your skin, carefully as to not damage it further, and then sent you a smug, bloody smile, hand caressing your hip.

“Welcome back” he spoke. “Took you a while.”

You tried to push yourself into the sitting position, but even your arms wouldn’t listen, and you fell back down in exhaustion.

Maybe it was merciful of him to climb up and hover above you, letting you look at his full figure even when you could no longer move to watch him yourself. A drop of your blood slipped from the corner of his lip, landing on your own. You curiously reached to it with your tongue, and Baekhyun didn’t wait a second, pressing his lips into your own, taking that sweet droplet back but giving you a taste of the metallic flavor in its full glory. A short, but rough nib to your lip made you let out a small, helpless whimper, tears emerging in the corners of your eyes – with the amount of overstimulation, even that much was already too much, and you were so worn out, so weak, so overdone.

“Just a bit more, love.”

His lips once again found themselves on your neck, kissing so tenderly that you barely felt it.

The prickling pain that followed no longer caused you to recoil; your body was growing weak, too weak to handle it anymore. You were getting drained beyond the stage of quick recovery, and you could tell, there was nothing you could do at this point to stop it.

Just a bit more, just a few more sips.

“You taste so good.”

Biting into the top of your breast now, closer to your heart. You didn’t feel it anymore, only phantom sensations somewhere far away.

You were at the brink of unconsciousness when he finally pulled away. A bit carelessly, he knelt up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, dark burgundy-shining eyes fixated on your fading ones.

Although you still had it in yourself to look back at him, the world around you was gradually collapsing, and it was only those burgundy eyes that kept you right above the surface, but so about to drown.

“My… I may have overdone it. Are you still there?”

He sounded marginally worried, as if coming across a small incident, and not a human life that was on the line.

You blinked and moved your fingers ever so slightly, just to let him know you’re still conscious, although barely.

The man smiled at that softly, clear relief washing over his face.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be okay. I’ll make sure of that.”

He reached to your cheek, patting it gently. It felt a bit grotesque; his skin was so warm as opposed to yours, chill from the lack of blood and paler than ever.

But his touch felt nice, and, although you knew that the slumber you’d fall into would not be natural and the next hours would possibly decide your fate, it felt like you were falling into a dream instead; you were growing addicted to his presence, and you could do nothing to stop it. You were a goner.

“I’ll make sure of that, because I cannot possibly waste a fine snack like you. It’s just the beginning, love. Better recover fast.”

Ahh, I'm actually proud of this one, hope you guys enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing! Also don't hesitate to let me know your thoughts, and hopefully, more vampire content will be coming in the future!

#vampire exo #exo x reader #vampire baekhyun #baekhyun x reader #exo fanfiction #exo reader insert #exo x you #baekhyun x you #vg: exo #vg: baekhyun #vg: fanfiction

[incognitopolls]

Brief definitions:

Ad Hominem: Trying to undermine the opponent's arguments by using personal attacks rather than logical argument

False Dilemma: Presenting two alternative states as the only possibilities when more possibilities may exist

Bandwagon: Presuming that a proposition must be true because many believe it to be true/everyone else is doing or saying it

Incomplete Comparison: Comparing two things that aren't really related, in order to make something more appealing than it would be otherwise

Strawman: Misrepresenting an argument so that it becomes easier to attack

False Cause: Citing sequential events as evidence that the first event caused the second

Slippery Slope: Claiming that a single event will lead to a series of events that would lead to one major event, or that event A will lead to event B which must lead to event C and so on until event Z

False Analogy: Assuming that if two things or events have similarities in one or more respects, they are similar in other properties too

Guilt by Association: Connecting an opponent to a demonized group of people or to a bad person in order to discredit their argument

Hasty Generalization: Making a claim based on evidence that is too small to prove the claim

–

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

#polls #incognito polls #anonymous #tumblr polls #tumblr users #questions #polls about ethics #submitted dec 16 #logical fallacies

[sunlightandsuffering]

Bruh i think I gave Eren too much rizz, he's supposed to be bad with girls, BUT MIKASA JUST BRINGS IT OUT IN HIM!!

Mikasa is lingering in the Purdy’s chocolate line nervously, mulling over her purchases, to buy or not to buy. 

She’s a ball of nerves as a group of university aged guys slinks into the store, eyeing up last minute Valentine's Day chocolate purchases just like herself. 

The only difference is that their chocolate are probably for their girlfriends… not their moms. 

She should feel more embarrassed than she does, but Mikasa only clutches the container of candy hearts a little closer to her chest, she has nothing to be embarrassed about. She loves her mom! And well, she nervously eyes up her other purchase, a rather expensive and rather large box of assorted chocolates that she’s bringing to a Pal-Entines party tonight. She cringes internally at the name, stepping another spot ahead in line. 

They’re not the best plans she could have, but at least she’s not sitting home by herself writing fan fiction like a loser. 

Although the thought does sort of appeal to her because her nerves are going to devour her whole as she steps up to the counter, placing her spoils for the shopkeeper to ring up. She’s been invited to the Pal-entines day party by someone who is definitely not a palentine, she’s still unsure if that’s a word. 

She’d been invited by none other than her current situationship, Jean, a very tall, somewhat good-looking if not a little horse-faced guy she’d met in her political science course. And now here she is, contemplating every life decision she’s ever made as the Purdy’s chocolate employee judges her silently over the cash register. 

Mikasa taps her credit card against the debit machine sheepishly, taking her purchases before the employee can make some sort of snide comment about leaving things to the last minute. She needs to get the hell out of the mall, she’s already seen several men in business suits walk by with oversized teddy bears or bouquets, and she can’t have the sadness of her romantic relationships shoved under her nose any more today. 

So, Mikasa heads off, jetting out of the mall and towards a party she doesn’t really want to go to, but really, how bad could it be?

It’s definitely not great, to say the least. So far, the event is mostly composed of Jean’s male roommates, Connie, Armin and the third one who is conspicuously absent. There are exactly two girls at the palentines day party, and she is one of them, Connie’s childhood best friend Sasha is the other. 

Mikasa awkwardly throws back another swallow of her cheap tasting solo cup beer because she fucking needs it if she’s going to get through this night. Jean keeps reassuring her that more people will come, that he invited more girls, that it’s still early yet. 

But he’s been saying that since she got here an hour ago, and the longer she waits the less true it feels. There is a pizza, and Connie and Armin are nice, friendly, and she actually does like Sasha, she’s really cool, so it’s not the worst party she’s been too. But it’s still not great, made even worse by the fact that this seems to be Jean’s introduction of her to his friendgroup as perhaps a bit more than a situationship and Mikasa isn’t sure how to feel about it. 

His palm rests on her lower back as he makes some joke to Armin about their third roommate, something about him definitely not having a date on Valentine’s day. 

Mikasa laughs where she should, cringes into her beer when Jean’s hand skims just a little too low over the curve of her ass to rest there. 

She is saved from an awkward removal by the door opening to reveal a surprisingly large group of people. “Sorry we’re late, Ymir got lost,” A tall man’s boy’s voice booms through the small apartment and Jean visibly slumps in relief. The tall blonde man, Reiner she learns is followed by an equally tall dark-haired boy named Marco, a small blonde girl with pixie like features they call Historia and a lanky freckled girl who she assumes must be Ymir. They settle into the apartment easily and Mikasa thinks that maybe Jean’s friend group isn’t so bad at all, that maybe she could see herself fitting in with these people, although maybe not as Jean’s girlfriend, she’s still not sure. He’s cute and all, and the way he keeps smiling at her is endearing, but she’s just not sure if there’s a spark, not sure if it’s right. 

“Where’s Eren?” Historia asks from beside Mikasa, where she’s been excitedly cooing over her outfit and how pretty her hair is, Mikasa finds she quite likes the blonde girl, she’s very sweet. Mikasa looks around curiously, did she miss someone? Jean squeezes her bicep affectionately as he notices her stare, before tugging her under his arm, “He’s out getting snacks, but I sent him to the grocery store a while ago he should be home by now.” Ymir cackles, wiggling her eyebrows, “Maybe Yeager is getting some Valentine’s Day action after all.” 

Jean scoffs, “No way, not Eren.” The group around her laughs, an inside joke she’s not a part of, and Mikasa’s lips pucker into a pout, who is this boy, and why does his friend group think he’s so bad with women? She gets her answer about ten minutes later. She’s awkwardly lingering in the kitchen near the door as she refills her solo cup with red Valentine's Day punch when the door opens beside her, and she yelps a little as the handle digs into her back. A boy appears, and it is at that moment that Mikasa experiences true love. 

“Shit I’m sorry,” A deep gravelly voice hums from behind her, and there’s a hand on her waist steadying her as he kicks the door shut.

Mikasa turns curiously, figuring this must be the infamous Eren, and it feels like time stops.

He’s handsome, too handsome to be in this crappy little apartment on Valentine's Day, if you ask her he should be in her bedroom, taking her clothes off…with his teeth. At the very least, he should be out taking some other girl’s clothes off, he’s too good-looking to be here at a mostly singles party on Valentine’s Day. He’s well-muscled, broad shouldered and wearing little more than a black-t-shirt and a pair of grey sweats that Mikasa thanks god for. 

This is the guy everyone has been making fun of all night, this is the boy that's not good with girls? 

He bites his lip, his gaze dragging down her form and a thrill goes through her as he checks her out, beautiful green eyes roving over the curves of her waist, the swells of her breasts and finally she’s thankful she wore this low-cut t-shirt. 

Like he can’t help himself, his hand dips over her waist, a fleeting touch, and before she can say more, he’s tugging her shirt up just enough to expose the taut skin of her stomach. 

His touch is like a zap of electricity, thousands of volts shooting through her all at once, rough pads of his fingers skimming over her stomach, up her rib cage, stopping just shy of the line of her bra. “Did I hurt you?” He questions curiously, his mouth quirking into a little smirk because he fucking knows what he’s doing to her, there’s no way he doesn’t know. 

A little sigh escapes her as he drags his fingers back down her side and this time lingering over the waistband of her jeans, and fuck she hasn’t even spoken to him yet and already he owns her. 

She struggles to respond, her mind focused wholly on that hand, his thumb now caught in her belt loop, the rest of his fingers rubbing affectionately over her hip, perusing for bruises that won’t appear just yet. “I’m okay,” She finally struggles out, bringing her eyes up to his and shit he’s so pretty, too pretty, a strong nose, sharp jawline and those eyes, green eyes that could consume her whole soul and she’d let them. 

“You sure?” He asks again, making zero move to remove his hand from its spot on her waist and Mikasa nods weakly in return. “Good,” He hums, “Sorry I wasn’t expecting to find a pretty girl in my kitchen, and Jean’s an idiot I don’t know why he put the punch right there.” Mikasa shrugs before taking a long pull of said punch, just to take the edge off she promises herself, there’s no way she’s going to make it through this without alcohol. “I’m Eren,” He introduces himself, finally moving his hand away, but not without an affectionate squeeze to her hip and Mikasa inhales sharply, he has such big hands and he’s so warm. “Mikasa,” She replies, almost in a daze, as she sticks her hand out for a shake. Eren’s expression puckers up into a pout as he takes her hand in his own, and fuck does he have nice hands, warm and calloused and so much larger than her own, god the things he could do with those hands. 

She represses a little shiver at the thought, because fuck yes his hands are really big and Eren is very tall, and judging by those grey sweats Eren is most definitely proportional. 

“You're Jean’s girl,” Eren says, and it’s almost sad, mournful. She’s quick to nip that in the bud right there, moving a little closer to him in their kitchen alcove, thanking her lucky stars they haven’t been seen yet. “Sort of,” Mikasa tells him airily, and she’s very purposeful, moving her hand up to his forearm, silver eyes locked with emerald green, “We’re not exclusive.” God, she hopes she hasn’t broken bro code just now, hasn’t acted like a complete and total whore, but fuck she wants this boy more than she’s wanted anything in her life, something about him is just electric. Eren’s mouth pulls into a wicked smile that has her heart skipping several beats in her chest. 

“Jean didn’t mention that.” She shrugs innocently, he can do with that information what he will. “A pretty girl like you, liable to get stolen from him, he should really do something about that.” “He should,” Mikasa comments slyly, and they’re so close now, gravitating towards each other like magnets, his hands find her hips again easily, like they belong there, fitting perfectly over her sides, his fingertips just brushing the curve of her ass. 

She takes another sip of her drink before shooting Eren a knowing smile, issuing her challenge, “Before someone else does the job.” “I’ll make sure to let him know.” 

“You should,” She tells him huskily, her voice teasing because she absolutely wants this boy to steal her away from her current situationship, Jean isn’t even a blip in her mind. 

Eren’s eyes are on her mouth, caught on the pink of her tongue as she wets her lips, and before she knows it she’s leaning in, up just a little because he’s so much taller than her. Eren is leaning down too, and if she does kiss him in the front entryway of her sort of boyfriend’s apartment she wouldn’t care, it’ll be worth it. 

But just as she leans up on her tip toes Eren pulls away, the rough hands on her waist pressing her down and planting her firmly to the floor. 

“Where are you going?” She asks as he extricates himself from her, trying not to show her disappointment, pressing her lips together to stop her pout. Eren smiles at her darkly before he gives her ass a swift smack that sends tingles of pleasure up her spine, the ‘slap’ reverberating in her ear, “Gonna let Jean know if he doesn’t get his shit together, it’s not his bed you’re gonna be in at the end of the night.” Mikasa watches him go, lip bitten between her teeth and still holding her punch tight in her hand, “Shit.”  She is so, so fucked. 

#lys's drabbles

[sunsetcougar]

There are mixed reactions among Hell’s Overlords regarding Carmilla’s sudden rise in power.

Zestial is easily the happiest about it. Not only only because his good friend is doing so well and he’s happy for her success, but also because said success helps him. Having her in his corner is quite useful, and his association with her resulted in one of the exorcist brood groups hanging around his territory. (Being made on a blood moon made them a bit… odd.)

Rosie, Zeezi, and any other Overlords I’m not remembering right now are fairly neutral on the whole thing. Carmilla is an ally and they aren’t concerned about her possibly turning on them, since they know she has no desire to take more territory or wipe out anyone who doesn’t bother her.

The people who hate Carmilla’s new power more than anyone else are the Vees. (I’m going to focus on Val and Vox since Vel is a whole different beast.)

Vox feels immensely threatened. People who were once under his influence are beginning to trickle to Carmilla, new sinners he might have gotten the souls of her going to Carmilla, even some of the souls he owns are attempting to find ways to worm their way to Carmilla.

Her reputation has spread, desperate sinners are more likely to go to the woman who will give them basic necessities, a small but comfortable apartment, and unparalleled protection for the price of their soul and their labor in her operations. By Hell’s standards she’s a saint who treats all her souls with respect as long as they return it and doesn’t punish them unjustly.

Vox is growing less and less appealing to desperate souls and that terrifies him. His rise in power is suddenly being frozen and even backtracked by one woman who happened to make some powerful friends.

Vox is also aware that Valentino is a huge liability every time they have to interact with the Carmines or anyone associated with them. He speaks without thinking and oh have there been close calls. Val was lucky he was able to regenerate after that one time he pissed Emily off. Vox has no desire to see what the little seraph, Carmilla, or any of the elder exorcists might do if provoked again.

#Hawk Feather Exorcists AU #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel au #hazbin hotel carmilla #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel emily #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin hotel zestial

[netherfeildren]

FEAR OF GOD : Chapter IV : Mouth full of blood

Series Masterlist ; Moodboard

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: A trap is set, the two of you fall.

Content Warnings: canon-typical violence, gore, threat of sexual assault, PTSD, rough sex, heavy angst

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Art is Healing by Laura Makabresku. 

Word Count: 6.8K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER IV: Mouth full of blood

Without violence, how do I understand my life as

meaningful?

As if the only tool I owned for finding truth were a knife. -Gabrielle Bates, Eastern Washington Diptych

A silence as vast as it is particular surrounds the two of you. The loud, wheezing gasp of his breath, the only discernible thing he can make out. It was like you’d been sucked into a vacuum, the rest of the world taken through the maw of a black hole. Trees and darkness and your small hand clutched to the back of his jacket as you follow close behind him. 

He makes his way slowly through the dark, one precise step in front of the other, rifle trained ahead of him. The two of you’d been separated from Tommy and the others one by one, picked off like goddamn flies. He didn’t even know if they were all still alive, if his brother was okay. 

It was a trap. It was a fucking trap. Goddamnit, he’d known. He’d known this was a mistake. 

He was going to kill someone, several someones, for this. 

They’d come out of nowhere, the so-called group of weary travelers the girl had told you all about. She’d appealed to your soft nature, tears and timidity, and scrapes and bruises you’d tended to with the gentlest hands that’d ever graced this world. You didn’t belong out here. He should’ve never let you come. You needed to be somewhere safe and warm and protected. Surrounded by your books and your soft things, and him there, to watch over you, always. This was all so fucking wrong. 

The men had diverted the group, spooking the horses and separating you all, a coordinated attack. Whether they were trying to find an in to Jackson, or if they’d heard rumors of a doctor, the resource you posed was a valuable one any group or community would vie for, he didn’t know. They’d targeted you first, spooking your mare. She’d reared and unseated you, and he’d almost cracked his neck he’d whipped around so fast watching you go down. The small thud your body had sounded as you’d hit the ground, the seconds it took you to open your eyes and start to move again, the longest moment of his entire life. He’d scrambled off his horse and lost it in his rush to get to you. Hands smoothing over you, down your neck and back, your limbs, checking for breaks. And then he’d looked around to find the two of you were alone. The sound of the others echoing off in the distance, accompanied by other, more harrowing noises. The shot of a gun firing, rushed footsteps and shouts going in and out of his ears. He’d told you to stay close and had set off in the opposite direction, away from where he thought the sounds of the group were coming from. 

And then the clicking. 

Singular in the darkness, the croaking click of an infected. He pauses your movements, halting abruptly so that the soft weight of you thumps into his back. What the fuck was an infected doing so far out here? Was this part of their plan? Had they connived some way to herd infected out here as part of their attack? Who the fuck even were these people? He needed to get you back, get you safe. Now. This was all wrong, wrong, wrong. 

“Was that an infected?” your scared, cracked whisper.

He holds up a single hand, listening, listening. “We’re gonna move, slow and steady. Silent,” he whispers. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t be scared, I’ve got you.”

“Joel–” fierce little hand clutched in his jacket. He starts to move again. And then the splintering of a nearby tree, gunshots directed at you, and he’s spinning and grasping the back of your head to push you down onto the ground. “Down, down,” he shouts at you, “Crawl to the tree!” He hunches over your form, knees bent to hover over you and shield you with his body, towards the protection of the trunk. The shooter has shit aim, trees feet away from the two of you fracturing in the ricochet of the bullets. But then there’s a heavy weight slamming into Joel’s side, taking him to the ground, and he hears you scream his name as the man struggles to straddle his middle, get the upper hand. A heavy fist slams into his cheek and Joel grapples to get his arms and legs around the fucker. He can hear your voice sounding in the darkness, but all he can see is the man above him, his sloppy fists swinging without precision or direction. The man is haggard and dirty — months of traveling and wilderness apparent in his face and clothes. Joel manages to get a strong hold on his throat, and then he’s heaving his legs around the man’s torso and cinching him in a lock between his thighs, pulling his face down to meet his fist over and over. His knife is in the holster at his belt, and he’s able to reach it with the hand not gripping the man above him at the same time that he realizes Joel’s reaching for a weapon. He scrambles to knock the knife away and goes for Joel’s throat. Joel manages to turn his head enough to find you in his periphery while still grappling with his attacker.

He watches as the man above you grabs you around the ankle and slowly starts to drag you across the forest floor. Your screams reverberating in his ears like a gong, like the shredding of metal. They’re desperate and visceral and the worst fucking sound he’s ever heard in his entire life. You claw viciously at the ground, nails cracking and bloody, trying to find purchase on anything to pull you away from the man’s grasp, to use as a weapon against him. And then he’s gripping your knee and flipping you over roughly, boot planting his heavy weight on your chest as he pins you in place like a broken butterfly. He bends to say something to you he can’t make out from where he is, but the look of sheer terror and disgust on your face tells him everything he needs to know. Joel sees red, doubles his efforts into a savage mess of limbs and fists, trying to get the man attacking him off. 

The dead man standing over you pauses then, turns his head slowly to Joel, and his smile is revolting – dark and rotting, “You ready to watch?” This is every nightmare Joel has had since the end of the world, come to life. 

The man crouches down over your struggling form, hand wrapping around the delicate column of your neck. Get your hands off, off, off, get your fucking hands off. There’s fire in his lungs, in his blood. He hears the sound of a clicker again, the screeching monstrosity charging through the dark wood towards you all, and with a burst of extra strength, born of pure terror, he finally finds purchase on the ground with his foot, enough to leverage up and reach his hand towards his lost knife. The sound of the clicker getting closer, closer – and then he’s slamming the knife into the eye of the man above him, the sick crunch of steel meeting bone, and then deeper, until he feels the tip meet the softness of brain – rips it out and then slams it back in again at his neck – blood spurts hot and metallic across Joel’s face. And when he turns his head back towards you, preparing to take in the worst thing he’s ever seen since he watched his daughter die – there you are. Small, trembling frame straddled over the much larger body of your would-be attacker, a hunting knife the length of half your arm stabbing over and over again into his chest and abdomen. He can hear your guttural screams over the white noise in his ears –  great heaving sobs shake your chest. Your face, tear streaked and splattered with blood. He sees the eye socket closest to Joel is empty, optic nerve hanging torn and bloody. The gouged eyeball lies a few inches beside his lolling head. The sight of you, his little bird, with hands that hold such power for healing, for care and love, imparting such violence – this is his greatest failure. 

He calls your name, loud and sharp, and you pause your massacring immediately. Look up, as if waking from a haze, brought back to consciousness at the mere sound of his voice, eyes glazed and vacant, and his heart is breaking for you, a savage howling ringing within him, his bones vibrating with the very force of it. This is no place for his gentle little bird, no, no, this is all wrong. 

“Run, Birdie. Run. Hide. I’ll find you. I promise, I promise. Run.” He can see the refusal in your eyes. The stubbornness threatening to set in. “You promised. You promised you’d do as I say,” he grits through clenched teeth, voice filled with desperation and panic. You shudder, body jerking violently as his words settle inside you, and then you’re shooting up quick as a bullet and turning to run into the darkness. He watches the wood swallow you, and then he’s pushing himself up and squaring himself to face the clicker.

-

The pounding of your feet in the dark, the rattle of your breath in your chest are the only things you can discern in the black surrounding you. 

You have been here before. 

You’re terrified that at any second you're going to see your sister. Her ghostly specter, her savaged and torn body, her beautiful, warm face, whole and healthy and smiling at you, the massacred pieces of her torn flesh, scattered along the forest floor. 

But you need to go, you need to run, to hide, to do as Joel ordered you. Even though every fiber of your being is telling you to turn back. That the worst thing in the world you could ever do would be to leave him. And then you’re slamming into something, jarring and painful. Something blunt and heavy jabs into your gut, slams into your knee with so much force you see stars, sends you to the ground. 

A woman screams, guttural and shrill, as your two bodies collide and a sharp needling cry echoes. Your back slams against the hard forest floor, your head bouncing sickeningly, and white streaks of light flash against the swallowing darkness. 

“Fuck, fuck –” she spits, already scrambling back up to prepare to flee, the high pitched cry sounds again. A baby, you think dazedly. There’s a baby here. The baby the girl mentioned? Your head feels hollow, your brain pulsing against the confines of your skull.

“W–wait–” you croak. You can’t get your bearings, too many sounds muddling your pounding head: the far off gunshots – getting closer, the horrible clicking, your memories battering within your mind over and over, Beth’s phantom screams of pain, Joel yelling at you to run, run, run, the baby’s wail fueling your panic to rise higher and higher inside of you. You have been here before. A sense of déjà vu so acute – as if this moment is the only one you’ve ever existed in. Your skin throbs in echoes, a hair raising chill rolls through your body and you shiver, jerking. “A baby–” you stutter, “You have a baby–” you roll over, reach out to try and grasp her kicking ankle. Her boot collides with your wrist, and you swallow an agonized scream, rolling away from her. 

“Get the fuck away from me! Fucking murderer!” she screeches, over the baby’s cries. A flash of the moon illuminates the woman’s figure for a second and you see the bulk of the child cradled to her front. And her face, panicked, dirt streaked and desperate. You lock eyes for one interminable moment, take each other in, they’re light, almost glowing translucent in her skull with the reflection of the moonlight. 

“Let me– let me help you — Wait–” you urge, you can’t get up, can’t get your limbs to work. 

“Get away from me!” she screams again, and then she’s up and gone, fleeing into the darkness. You need to move, the vicious sounds of a fight are drawing nearer – Joel’s pleading voice in your head run, run, run. The thought of having left him behind makes bile curl in your belly, burn your throat, but you’d promised him you’d listen to anything he said, and the instinct to keep your word won out. You hear Beth’s voice more clearly in this familiar darkness, and you force your shaky mind to move, to work. The way she’d say your name so patiently when trying to teach you something, imparting some of her slightly snooty big-sister-wisdom, always well meaning: The trees, the trees are always our friends. They can do so much for us. And then you’re clawing your way to your feet, just like that long past night, and grappling for any sort of purchase you can find with your hands and boots. Up, up the tree, go up the tree. It saved you once, it’ll save you again. 

It terrifies you to think that life was only ever a recurring set of events; cyclical in an inescapable way. That you were all doomed to repeat the same steps, relive the same instances, again and again. Beth forcing you up the tree last time, the night of her death. You’d been taken by surprise by clickers that night also, but only you had made it up to the first branches before they were on her. Before you were forced to watch, helpless from your perch as she was ripped to shreds. You had been here before and you’d lost something essential to you last time. You would not survive a second loss. 

Joel, please be okay, please, please. 

You manage to foist yourself up into the lowest hanging branches, the blood in your head throbs so strongly it’s coupled with a wave of nausea with every beat of your heart, up higher, a little more. You’d perched on that tree branch for hours after she was finally dead. Staring unseeingly at the scattered pieces of her body. A sudden gunshot echoes loudly in the darkness and you almost lose your purchase on the branch, and then it all stops. Like all sound is suddenly sucked out of the air in a vacuum echo – the struggle of the fight, the clicking and screaming – and the vacant wilderness is so consuming, so terrifying, tears stream silently down your cheeks. You can hear your breath rattle in your chest. You feel very, very alone, as if every other human in the world had vanished with the sounding of that gunshot. 

Alone in a sick and destroyed world. 

But then there’s a sudden bumbling through the trees. A body breaking against the brush and leaves on the ground, and another one of the attackers stumbles into the clearing. You turn your head in the direction the woman had fled, perhaps she’d been part of this group, but the sheer terror in her eyes, the desperation to get away as quickly as possible, her words, calling you a murderer, inclines you to think not. Joel stalks into the clearing after him, and you huddle deeper into the shadow of the branches. The moon slants just so allowing you to take him in. 

It’s like he’s grown five inches taller, the look in his eyes – there is no hint of the man who’d touched you with the gentlest hands you’d ever felt in your entire life – it’s terrifying. His gaze swings almost manically in his head, taking in the clearing, and then his eyes stop on your tree, pause on the patch of dirt at the base and slowly travel up, looking into the looming darkness of the branches. He will always find you. You know this as surely as you know your own name. His face, his hands are steeped in blood, his clothing savaged. There’s no weapon in his grasp as the man turns to swing a long, serrated hunting knife at him. He jerks back, smoothly evading it. “I’m gonna find your little bitch, gonna fuck her dead – gut her. Make you watch the whole thing, you motherfucker,” he taunts. He’s laughing, provoking, and Joel’s countenance is so terrifying in this moment – his face seems set in stone, unmoving and frozen in a rage so black. Your whole body shivers so violently you almost lose your perch. The branch creaks beneath you, and you let out a small whimper as your hands scrape and scramble to hold on, your bloody, broken nails clawing at the wood. The man turns at your sound, but Joel’s gaze remains trained on him. The man’s eyes are manic with sick glee. “Oh, there she is,” he croons. His teeth gleam red in the moonlight, and he never should’ve taken his eyes off Joel, not even for a second. He’s on him faster than you can blink, shoulder to the man’s gut, he slams him to the ground and his skull rebounds with a sick crack on the hard dirt, the sound of his skull breaking with the sheer force of the tackle. 

Joel is an animal, hungry and vicious, ready to gorge. 

The knife is in his hand then, and the sick, slick squelch of it plunging deep into the man’s chest sounds loud and victorious in the night. He lets out a small surprised oh, as he looks down at the knife impaling him, and Joel’s teeth are bared in a snarl, he grinds it harder, deeper.

“That’s right, fucker,” he says, voice low and guttural, almost unrecognizable in this darkness. “Shoulda never put your hands on her.” The sound of it makes you more afraid in this moment than anything else that’s happened tonight, the thought of not knowing the sound of his voice – of losing him so far to his rage you’d be unable to recognize him, to bring him back to you. But then he speaks again: “I’m going to kill you now.” He’s nodding his head mockingly, and that familiar monotone is back. His tone so matter of fact – almost like a reassurance to the three of you. The oily grip of your fear slides off you, and you’re left only to appreciate the magnificence of his violence as he starts beating the man’s face in with his closed first, again and again. The sound of crushed bone and flesh resonating in the dark night air like some gruesome song. And the sight of it: it is lurid, grotesque, but also somehow, erotic. Joel’s huge, heaving body, his fist breaking repeatedly over human flesh; you are mesmerized. You slowly start to lower yourself back to the ground, never once taking your eyes off him, barely blinking. The sight of him, wrathful, murdering, the way he kills for you, the way he protects you; you understand it. It is very much like the moment in which Beth died in its violent inevitability. It will always happen like this; Beth dying, Joel protecting you. The way her body was torn apart piece by piece by clickers as you watched on from above. The basest display of violence imaginable. Joel, meticulous, precise in his strikes, protecting you with everything he has. The man’s skull is an almost bloody mass of pulpy, bone riddled sludge beneath his blows. But in this instance, the scene before you is now something that is being given to you, something being done for you – not something being taken away.

There have been many times where the lines between the infected and the humans blurred in your psyche. Unsure which was more violent, more horrifying, more willing to inflict damage. But there never existed a question of which had a greater capacity for cruelty. It was always, always the humans. Cordyceps had taught you that nature could never be cruel – it only existed as it was meant to, did as it was always intended to. There was no cruelty behind it’s actions, no motivation behind the consequences it wrought besides to go on existing, no choice. But humans, people, the well of cruelty that existed within humanity was endless in its possibility. Endless choices. Nothing else like that lived in the world. The man you killed – his disgusting whispered words ring in your ears as you watch Joel: You think your man over there’ll get off on watching? ‘Cause I sure as hell am gonna enjoy knowin’ he is, pretty thing. 

There are no lines in this moment – the way you’d murdered him – there is no sense of division. There is only Joel’s desperate violence existing with the three of you in this clearing – the echoes of your own.

And the sight before you, the violence in him, it is not frightening to you. He is not frightening to you. To see his very basest nature – to see him protect you in this way – that violent heart, beastly, savage – it does not frighten you. You step forward, closer to the massacre, to the man you love, and he instantly stops. Hearing or sensing your approach, he stops and turns his bloody, savage face towards you, chest heaving, fist still raised. The look in his eyes as he registers your presence, that you’ve witnessed him in this way – to Joel, to Joel it is devastating. You can see it in his gaze, the moment it settles within him – catastrophe of the highest order. 

The possibility of losing you, of you being hurt, of him not being strong or fast enough to protect you; every fear, every moment of unimaginable danger, every point of no return flashes in his eyes – it’s like you’re reading his mind in this moment. The instance of connection, of knowing, of intimacy you share in the wake of his violence – it tethers you to him in a way that is deeper than anything else the two of you have experienced before. To share this, to know what he’s feeling in this space his violence has forged, to understand his rage – he’s seen this play out so many different ways, so many times, with different versions of someone he cares for. Sarah, Ellie, you.

His eyes like glass, broad chest heaving, painfully out of breath; it’s like you can see him recall another moment like this as he looks at you, as he takes in the familiar look of hungry reverence in your eyes, mirroring another set too young to churn with so much appreciation for violence. 

He straightens from his crouch over the massacred form of your attacker, and comes to you, bloody hands fisting in your hair as he takes your mouth, open and fierce. The groan he licks into you is guttural, eliciting a shaky, broken moan in response.

“My brave girl,” he murmurs softly, nose nuzzling your cheek.

His hands roam down, gently pressing for wounds or hurts. “You’re okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” You press yourself to him, gaze peeking over his shoulder, staring out into the empty darkness, only the sound of your shared breaths now. 

“There was a woman,” you whisper, “With a baby.” Where did she go? Why did she have a baby out here with her in this hell?

He pulls you back, grips your jaw gently, “Are you hurt?” He demands, ignoring what you’d just said, and you shake your head, wide eyed. Do they have shelter? Somewhere to go? Someone to help them? 

“Are you?” you ask him. 

“I’m fine.”

“I saw a woman, Joel. She had a baby.”

“Was probably with those bastards. We have to go – find the others. I have to get you back home.” 

“But she had a baby–”

“That isn’t our concern,” he says sharply, and turns, clutching your hand in his, pulling you forward to bend for the knife still plunged in the man’s chest. He isn’t letting you go again. You feel the promise in the strength of his grip around your bones. The skull is caved in, and your eyes volley back and forth between the slaughter and Joel.

“But I–”

“Don’t.” There is no room for discussion in his tone, only an urgency that begs for your obedience. His panic, his terror, envelopes you both in its asphyxiating embrace. “Not now. We have to go.”

-

You make it back to Jackson within several hours. Never coming across the group or the horses again. Joel sets an uncompromising pace that has your exhausted, overwrought body shutting down once you finally set eyes on the gate. 

He hasn’t said a word in hours except to check if you’re okay. His breathing, harsh and angry — you’d focused on the rhythm of it, the reassurance it provided you. Let the sound settle in your bones and guide you forward along with his hand. He’d not let go of you since he’d picked it up, and your fingers have long gone numb in his strangling grip. But you know, that like the sound of his breathing, the feel of your palm in his is his own form of reassurance. The embrace he’d not allow himself right now. Not until you’re safe. 

The dark, red thread of tension pulls taught between the two of you. His earlier violence, still palpable on your tongue, felt in the rigidity he holds himself with, it buzzes between your bodies like a hive. A restless anxiety overshadowing the exhaustion threatening you, making your skin itch and sweat. 

You return to find Tommy safe and unharmed, Kenneth and Pablo being patched up by Nancy and interrogated by Maria. The fourth in your party, Ben, is dead. A group already assembled to go out and search for the two of you. The teenage girl had disappeared from the clinic shortly after your group had headed out – the whole thing was a trap. Joel recounts the fight in tense, short bursts, never letting go of your hand. Pulling your body slightly behind his, as if these people, familiar to you, your friends, your family, also pose a threat. Anyone who dares too close is met with the fire of his glare, bared teeth. He’s yet to shed the blanket of violence he’d dawned to defend the two of you earlier, and your body seems to answer it, a keening cry only he can hear. Shaking and sweating, clutching the back of his jacket, pressing your feverish brow to his shoulder. You know you should pull yourself together, tend to Kenneth and Pablo, clean and wrap Joel’s obviously broken hand and your own scrapes and bruises – it’s your responsibility – but you can’t focus, can’t pin a rational thought in your mind long enough to propel yourself into action. The wet sound of Joel’s pummeling fist plays over and over in your mind, the only thing you can focus on, the feel of his warm back under your touch. You need him, need something from him after that trauma, after your fear of being taken from him, of one of you being killed. You need him to remind you that you’re both okay, alive, that you belong to him and only him. 

You block out their conversation, eyes closed, you try to match the rhythm of your breathing to his, try to ground yourself with his body. The feeling of never having left those dark woods, of still being in that tree with Beth, not Joel, beneath you, of being lost, lost, lost, of never finding him, is overwhelming you. And then he’s turning and pulling you into his arms, guiding you away from the group and whispering into your hair, “It’s alright, it’s alright, just a little longer. We’re going home now.” Home, he was taking you home. The words out of his mouth allow you enough clarity of mind to squeeze the wish from your heart into your brain – that you want so desperately for his home to be yours also. That you could both share the same space you call just your own. 

“I’ve got you, baby. Stop your trembling now,” he presses into your hair. His voice, so comforting, so reassuring. 

Your eyes are blurry, colors passing your gaze in a hazy amalgamation that makes your heart beat faster. You can feel the mass of it pounding against the ribs in your back, the sensation sick and uncomfortable. And then you’re in his bedroom, and his hands are everywhere, ripping aggressively at your clothes, sliding through your hair, squeezing your ass and your breasts and your hips. 

“I need you– need you, need you– Need to feel you, Birdie.” His voice pushes an urgency into your skin that has your heart beating even harder against your ribcage, his mouth sliding over your neck, tongue laving into the hollow of your collarbone, teeth biting, sharp and painful, into your shoulder, and you find your voice finally, keening and broken, calling out his name. He’s moving lower, sucking on your breast, biting, as if he could fit the entire heavy weight of it into his mouth, “Joel– Joel, please.” You push and grip at his head, his hair. 

“I know, I know, baby. I know what you need.” He pushes you back onto the bed, rips your legs open, fingers and nails pressing painfully into your soft skin, he spits on to your exposed sex, rubbing his saliva into your folds, bends for a long lick, and then two of his thick fingers are shoving into your cunt. He curls them forward and presses, presses, hooks into that spot that belongs only to him and bares his teeth at you. Snarls like an animal. Mine, mine, mine, you’re okay, you’re mine, he chants. He moves his fingers fast, with a lewd squelch that has you writhing and gasping, scissoring them to stretch you open. He pulls them from you, too soon, not enough, you want to say, but you hear the drag of his zipper – he spits again – and then the hot, wide head of his cock is there at your entrance, swiping along you in a wet arc, and then pressing, pressing in, and he’s there, surging into you and fucking hard and fast into your tight heat, hitting the end of you. The groan he lets out when he sinks to the hilt vibrates through you. You aren’t fully ready to take his thick length, and you don’t care, want it harder, faster, want it to hurt more, to remind you that you’re here with him, that you made it out of that dark wood. You curl your fingers under the damp crook of your knees and spread yourself wider for his ravaging. Eyes never leaving his, you arch your back to allow yourself to take him deeper. The moan you give him, pleading, almost pathetic in its desperate supplication – like an animal, like prey, pinned beneath the claws of a savage beast.

“This is what you needed – this is what you needed. You’re okay, you’re okay” he chants. You cannot discern where it is he ends and you begin. You never want to be able to tell again, want to meld your souls, your bodies together like ore. 

-

Still standing over your naked form at the edge of the bed, he lets himself fall forward, rigid arms holding himself up. He takes in your flushed, sweaty face, the glassy, terrified look you’d worn for hours replaced by the glassy haze of arousal. Delirious at the pleasure he’s forcing into you right now, he picks up the pace of his hips, gives it to you harder. Snakes a hand down to give your clit a gentle swirl, then further down, where his fingers part in a V to feel where his cock splits you open. 

“Just take it, just take it.” His cock inside you is brutal, cunt stretched to the point of obscenity, stuffed full. “I need you to take it for me, just like this – be a good girl – don’t struggle, lemme give it to you how I need.” His desperation has a flavor, a scent to it. He changes the angle to fuck up, up against something no one but him has ever touched, a space inside you that belongs to him, thumb soft as a whisper on your swollen clit, around and around. He can tell you almost need to tell him to stop, that it’s too much. “Fuck, that’s so good, baby, you’re such a good girl,” he praises, and you make a soft, obscene sound that he feels in his battering cock. He gives it to you harder. It’s a sound of acquiescence, of complete capitulation, that he rings out of you. He’s conquered you in this moment – conquered you in a way that grants you no option of stopping. The sound is his permission to conquer. With his body over yours, within yours – you are completely at his mercy and protected from everything else in the world that could ever hurt you. He feels god-like. There is no fear or loss or hurt, no possibility of failure, only his body moving within yours. Your warm wet heat swallowing, gaping for him as he fills it like you both need him to.

The panic of that darkness surrounding him, of being unable to find you, of killing everything in his path just to fucking get to you, sings through him. He’d kill this dead world over and over and over again a thousand times just to find you in that darkness. 

-

He hooks your knees over his arms, hitches them higher – holds your legs open wider to receive him – your bare tits pressed up against the bloody, savaged cotton of his flannel – too desperate to bother stripping his own clothes, and the rough fabric rubs your soft skin raw. Each time his hips slam against your ass, balls slapping, your breath stutters out of you in broken gasps, and you don’t think he’s ever been as deep in your cunt as he is now. He wraps one of his arms around your back, gripping your shoulder to impale you down onto his cock. His other fists painfully in your hair to keep your head in place and tilted up to him; your jaw hinged open so you can breathe into each other. Your own hands clutch uselessly at his wrists, trying to exert some semblance of force against him – to remind him of your own strength while he overwhelms you with his. He’s fucking you as if he could burrow his way inside of you forever, live within the confines of your skin. You’ve lost track of how many times your cunt has spasmed and come around him, your muscles milking him relentlessly. Your clit engorged and rubbed raw. You’re one unending, throbbing orgasm. Everything is wet and messy between the two of you, the gush of your lust sticky and clinging to the hair on his pelvis and thighs. Birdie, Birdie, Birdie, it’s like a prayer. 

“Should’ve never left you alone in the dark, baby.”

He wants to break you, you're sure of it – to turn you into a creature reduced to only the virtue of his whims, ruled by the savaging of his cock. The very nectar of you pooling at his feet, leaking out of your pores under the unrelenting focus of his body and you know you won’t survive him. Not after this. But no, you realize, no, this is Joel breaking, not you. His fear is a living creature sharing the room with the two of you right now. Everything that’s ever held him away from you, everything he’s ever been too scared of to admit, lives and breathes with you in this moment. Like some sort of monstrosity crouched in the corner, bloody and frayed and wanting. 

“Birdie, I love you. Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie,” he brands the words into your skin. “I was so scared—” searing kisses pressed to your face, your neck, your breasts, in the wake of his words. 

Oh, this is it. Your heart, your heart, it’s going to burst, to cleave in two. He’s wrought a fracture through the core of your very being. 

This will never mend. 

The rhythm of his hips speeds up, becoming sloppy and stuttered – he’s close – and his grip transfers to your jaw, so tight and bruising; you’ll have the ghost of his fingers on your skin tomorrow. His cock kisses your womb with each brutal thrust, and he bares his teeth at you as he starts to come, the blazing wash of his spend filling you. “You’re gunna take all of my fucking come.” Anger and violence and all the feelings he wishes he didn’t have to experience, churn in his dark eyes. And you’d hold onto his anger soaked skin for the rest of your life if you could, if he’d let you. His eyes flick between yours, still holding your face, he ghosts his thumb over your wet bottom lip. “Birdie, I– I…” His hips are still moving, fucking his come deeper into your messy, used cunt. You see the realization of what he’s just said settle in his eyes, moving back and forth between yours, as if he’s watching him bare himself to you over again in their reflection. 

You’re losing him, you can feel the tension – regret, please, please don’t be regret – slowly start to seep into him as soon as he’s finished, to steal him away from you, and you cling more desperately to him, pull his face to yours and press soft butterfly kisses across his cheeks and nose. Joel, Joel, Joel. Please, don’t. His eyes flutter closed – the image of you beneath him already too much to bear.

“Stop,” he growls. Again: “Stop,” and suddenly he’s ripping himself out and away from you. The loss of him from between your legs, so violently abrupt, is almost a physical pain. The emptiness after being so full leaves you clenching around nothing, pushing his come out of you, and embarrassment, shame, fills you so acutely – to have your sex bared to him like a wound he’s left you with. You shut your legs, clutch your knees to your chest and gasp for breath, almost a sob. You gouge your nails into the skin of your knees trying to draw blood – before he can. You know what’s coming. 

“I didn’t mean… all that. I– fuck—” he spits, clutches his hand in his messy hair, “I– I got carried away.” He’s backing away from you – other hand outstretched as if to keep you away. As if he could keep the reality of his confession, the betrayal to his own self, away from him with just that outstretched hand. 

You’re still on your back, vacant eyes trained towards the ceiling, sucking in painful gulps of air, but you register him from the corner of your eye, the look he wears – you can’t decide if he was more terrified at the possibility of you being ripped apart by the clickers, taken and brutalized by the hunters; or in this moment, if his fear is more acute now, in the wake of his fortuitous confession. At the risk of being laid bare and vulnerable at your feet; as you’ve lived at his since the moment he first took you.  

“Okay,” you say – try to temper your voice, slow your breaths, remain quiet and calm. Only one of you can be overwhelmed by panic right now. And yet part of you wants to rage at him. Your heart beats painfully in your chest, and you want to say, it’s not like I’m asking you to open your vein and let me drink – only just to love me.

Birdie, I love you. Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie.

“Okay…” you say again, “I– it’s… it’s okay. I know.” You sit up slowly, your body throbs and aches, still not able to look at him – the sight of him so terrified of all you represent, it would burn you – but you feel his gaze like a brand across your skin. You wrap your arms around your naked breasts, shielding yourself. His own bloody shirt is askew, his pants still open, cock slick with your mingled come, still semi-hard. If this were any other moment you’d tease him – how are you still hard after all that? 

You turn your head away, towards the door, a traitorous little tear escapes the corner of your eye, and you quickly wipe it against your lifted shoulder, press your fingers to your mouth to keep in the threatening sobs. One of his flannels is strewn across the ground and you toe it towards yourself. “It was the adrenaline.” Your voice is limp, dead. Diminishing this will be the thing to kill you, you’re sure of it. How can he expect you to turn away from the one thing you’ve wanted from him more than anything else? 

Birdie, I love you. Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie.

You shrug on his shirt, and he’s still not said anything else, but you see him move to tuck himself into his jeans now. “I- I’m gonna get some water,” you mumble, give him a moment to recalibrate.

Chapter V

Netherfeildren Masterlist

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