#it's just plot twist after plot twist after plot twist

[cinnxmxngxrl]

Imagine Joel taking your virginity

Pairing: Jackson!Joel x f!Reader

Joel’s Masterlist

WC: 5.4k

Tags/Warnings: smut, minors DNI, porn with no plot, unspecified but big age gap, oral (m!receiving), virginity loss, unprotected piv, thigh riding, daddy kink, baby-talking, young and innocent reader, creampie, condescending joel, terms like baby girl, sweet little girl etc.

Even thought this part is a standalone, you might want to read a previous part: Joel teaches you how to go down on him.

Today was just another quiet afternoon in Jackson, you’d been heading back from the greenhouse, you weren’t paying much attention to your surroundings, too focused trying to brush the dirt off your knees, until you saw them…

Joel was outside the stables, half-laughing about something with a woman, gray in her hair, deep lines around her eyes from a life lived outdoors, she looked about the same age as Joel. She was standing close to him, not too close, nothing inappropriate, nothing that would give you the right to get pissed, but the kind of close that felt natural.

You stopped walking without meaning to, and you watched as she touched his arm and laughed. They looked right together, and it hit you like a sucker punch, the breath caught in your lungs and wouldn’t let go. Maybe because you’d never look right with Joel next to you, at least not in the way people expect a couple to look. People didn’t assume you two were together, hell, you’d even been mistaken for father and daughter more than once whenever someone new showed up in Jackson.

You turned away, heading back home before you could watch more. You felt so small, so young, like some little kid playing grown-up. You weren’t enough, not for him, not when he could talk for hours with a woman who remembered the same pre-outbreak songs, who didn’t need Joel to teach her how to shoot, or how to suck him off, a woman who could take all of him, not just the tip.

You didn’t realize how much time had passed after you reached your house until you heard the door open, footsteps crossing the threshold. Joel’s voice followed a second later, light and casual.

“Hey, darlin’. You home already?”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t get the words out of your mouth. You felt so insignificant, who were you trying to fool? There would come a day, because of course there would, when Joel would get tired of playing house with a little girl pretending to be a woman.

Joel walked into the bedroom, you didn’t look up, you were staring hard at the floor, fists clenched in your lap. He paused in the doorway, sensing the shift in the air instantly.

“Hey.” His voice softened. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head.

“C’mon now,” he said gently, stepping closer. “I know when something’s up, sweetheart.”

You finally glanced up, and the moment your eyes met his, everything cracked.

“I saw you,” you said quietly. “With her. That woman.”

Joel blinked, confused. “Who?”

“Her. Outside the stables.”

His brow furrowed. “Oh, you mean Carmen?”

You nodded once, the name sounded even worse spoken aloud.

Joel crouched in front of you. “What about her?”

You let the silence hang for a second too long, he caught it, could see it on your face. What were you supposed to say? He hadn’t done anything wrong, hadn’t cheated or anything like that.

“Goddammit,” he murmured. “My baby’s got herself twisted up, huh?”

“She’s your age,” you whispered. “She laughs with you. She gets your stories. She probably remembers music on the radio. And—and—I feel like a stupid little girl. You’re a man. You’ve lived this whole life. I don’t even… I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, I just pretend, and you’re just—You’re Joel. You don’t need me.”

“You really are just a dumb little thing, huh?” Your breath caught, he wasn’t cruel when he said it, just… exasperated, deeply, lovingly exasperated “Little dumb baby.”

Your breath was shallow, tears stung your eyes, but you didn’t want to cry, not in front of him. Joel didn’t say anything at first, just reached for your hands, gently unclenching them.

“I’m gonna say this once,” he said, voice low. “And I want you to hear me, alright?”

You nodded, barely.

“You’re my baby. You're soft, and sweet, and so fuckin’ easy to wreck I can barely keep my hands off you. You look at me like I’m good, even when I ain’t. And yeah, baby, I like that you need me. I like teachin’ you. I like when you look up at me all scared and excited, askin’ me to show you things no one ever has.”

He pulled your hands to his chest, right over his heart.

“I want you. I choose you. Every single goddamn day.”

Your throat closed, he sounded sincere, and you really wanted to believe him

“You know what I see when I look at you?” he asked. “I see someone who makes me laugh when I forget how. Someone who touches me like I matter. You know how long it’s been since I’ve felt that? I feel alive, baby. I feel like a man again. Not a ghost.”

You looked at him, really looked, and saw how wrecked he was now, how deeply this was hitting him too.

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours. “You’re not a phase. You’re not pretendin’. And you’re sure as hell not some kid to me, you’re my girl.”

“I just… I know I’m not what you’re used to. I’m not older. I don’t know how to do stuff. I had to ask you to show me how to… suck you, and then I couldn’t even take you, not really. Just the tip.” your voice cracked on that. “You’ve waited so long already and it’s not fair—”

“Stop.”

You blinked, his voice was quiet, but it had teeth. Joel pushed himself up slowly, sitting beside you on the bed, and looked down at you like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You think I don’t want this?” he asked, voice low and gravel-deep. “You think I’d rather be off with some older, experienced woman who could deep throat me and ride me into the goddamn sunset?”

He shook his head, almost laughing, but there was no humor in it.

“You think I give a single shit that you don’t know what you’re doin’? Sweetheart, I like teachin’ you. I like that you’ve never done this before. I like bein’ the first cock you take. I like that I get to be gentle with you. Take my time. Watch you fall apart under me.” He leaned down, bracing himself over you, hand sliding to your cheek. “You think I’m sufferin’ ‘cause I only had the tip inside you? Baby girl, that was the best fuckin’ orgasm I’ve had in years.”

Your breath caught.

“You were clenchin’ around me so tight, I damn near came the second I pushed in. And you were so sweet—so good—lookin’ up at me all wide-eyed, sayin’ please, Joel, please just the tip, like you didn’t know you were ruinin’ me.”

You looked away, a bit embarrassed by the memory, but is hand gently brought your face back to his.

“You got nothin’ to be sorry for,” he said, softly this time. “You think I want someone who’s had twenty dicks in her mouth and five up her pussy?”

Your eyes widened, Joel was always so blunt, you let out a startled laugh, he grinned, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip.

“I want you, baby. I want this tight, shy little thing that don’t even know how sweet her own mouth feels until I show her. I want the girl who looks up at me while she’s suckin’ and asks, am I doin’ good, Joel? like it don’t drive me fuckin’ insane.”

You nodded against him, voice small. “I just… I want to be enough for you.”

Joel pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up. You were so clueless, Joel thought, how couldn’t you see how much he loved how soft and innocent you were? How you were all he’d ever wanted? Your sweetness made both his heart ache and his cock throb.

“You are enough. You’re fuckin’ perfect for me.”

You searched his face, the lines, the grey at his temples, the quiet sadness behind his eyes, and all you saw there was truth.

“Even if I need you to teach me everything?” You whispered.

“Especially that,” he murmured. “’Cause I’m gonna teach you right. Teach you slow. You’re gonna learn everything from me, and only me."

“Joel... I wanna try again,” you said, and your voice came out soft, but sure. “With my mouth.”

Joel stilled, his eyes darkened slow, oh, the things you did to him, hearing you say those filthy things with that sweet, innocent mouth of yours. He smiled, slow, crooked, filthy.

“You mean suckin’ my cock?” he asked, all teasing drawl and patronizing sweetness.

You nodded. “Yeah. I want to.”

Joel’s hand slid higher on your thigh. “You askin’ real nice, baby girl.”

You leaned closer, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Please, Joel. I wanna make you feel good. Wanna do it right this time.”

He groaned, low and sharp, hand flexing on your skin.

“Alright, then, but only cause you want to, not because you feel like you need to prove somethin’,” he muttered. “Go ahead. Show me what you remember.”

He shifted back on the bed and unzipped his jeans with one hand, tugging them low enough to free his cock, already half-hard, thick, and flushed. You sat up on your knees between his legs, suddenly so aware of how big he looked like this, broad and spread out, just waiting.

Your hand wrapped around the base of him, he twitched in your palm, and you leaned down slowly, licking a soft stripe up the underside like he’d shown you before.

Joel exhaled sharp through his nose. “Thassit. Just like that, baby.”

“Hi there,” you said softly with his cock on your hand.

Joel huffed a laugh, low and almost incredulous. “You talkin’ to my cock now?”

“Maybe,” you said to Joel, before focusing your eyes back to his cock. “Hello again,” you said sweetly, leaning in to kiss the head. “Missed me?”

His breath was already hitching, you took it as a good sign and did it again, this time licking the head in slow, teasing circles, letting your tongue slip under the ridge.

“Look at you. Such a good boy. Getting all big and strong for me.”

Joel groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus. You’re one of a kind, baby girl.”

You batted your lashes up at him. “You like it.”

“I love it,” he muttered, eyes fixed on your mouth as you gave another teasing lick up the underside. “Love my silly baby girl talkin’ nonsense while she plays with her food.”

You giggled and leaned in, rubbing your cheek affectionately against his cock like it was a plush toy. And then you leaned down and kissed it with over-the-top reverence, soft little “muah” sounds, little nose nuzzles. You really liked his cock, sure, it was the only one you’d ever seen in person, so you didn’t exactly have a reference point, but still… if you had to guess? It was the kind of cock a woman would want

He gave you that slow, dangerous smirk. “You gonna make out with him right in front of me, baby?”

You nodded solemnly. “Don’t be jealous, daddy. He deserves love too.”

Joel groaned like he was in pain, throwing his head back on the pillow. “Christ, you’re such a goddamn brat.”

You were driving him absolutely insane, on your knees, looking like a sweet little angel who’d fallen from heaven, your innocent little face nuzzling all over his cock, rubbing your cheek against it, pressing soft kisses… He wanted so badly to grab your hair, shove his cock down your throat and hold you there as he emptied his balls.

You kept flicking your tongue over his tip over and over again, watching as it began to leak more

“I’m your brat.”

“Damn right you are,” he said roughly, running a hand through your hair. “My sweet dumb baby. Givin’ daddy a heart attack every time she opens her mouth.”

“He missed me,” you whispered, tongue tracing around his tip. “He loves my mouth, doesn’t he?”

Joel’s voice dropped, rough and sweet and low. “Yeah, baby. He does. You got the best fuckin’ mouth. He wants you drooling all over him, don’t he?”

“Mhm.” You licked a fat stripe up the underside, then wrapped your lips around the head, making Joel moan, loud and unfiltered.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered. “You been practicin’ in your dreams or somethin’, baby girl?”

You smiled against him. “Just been thinkin’ about it,” you whispered. “Thinkin’ about makin’ you feel good.”

“Better just be that,” Joel groaned, “and not you practicin’ on any of those boys from round town.”

“Jooeeel,” you giggled, sweet and teasing, “you know I don’t want anyone else but daddy.”

He growled, and you let your lips close around the tip and sucked, hollowing your cheeks, going slow, shallow, just the tip, in and out, working your hand at the base to match like he'd taught you last time.

“Atta girl,” Joel groaned. “That’s it. Look at you. My good girl. My perfect little cockslut.” Joel’s hand came to rest on the back of your head, not pushing, just resting.

“Jesus, baby. You’re learnin’. Makin’ daddy feel so good…”

You moaned around him, and he twitched in your mouth, the vibrations were just adding to the intense pleasure you were already giving him.

“Fuck—yeah, do that again. Moan on it. Shit.”

You moaned and took him a little deeper, your throat felt tight, but you were determined, wanting to prove him you were a big girl, one that could take his entire cock in your mouth. You pulled back after you ran out of breath, and sucked softly on the tip, letting spit drip and smear down your fist.

He groaned loud. “Look at you,” he panted. “Look at this fuckin’ mouth, takin’ my cock so sweet. You were made for this, baby girl.”

You got bolder by his compliments, and licked down to the base and back up again. Let the head rest on your tongue and gazed up at him, eyes wide and wet, mouth full.

“Oh fuck, baby—don’t look at me like that, I swear to God—”

“You like that?” You asked, lips glossy with spit. “You like watchin’ me do it?”

“I love watchin’ you do it,” he growled. “You’re so good, baby. S’good for me. This mouth’s made for suckin’ daddy’s cock.”

You whimpered, and he caught your face in both hands, gently guiding you down again, rocking his hips just a little. He needed it, yes, he loved the gentle flicks of your tongue, the toying with his tip, but right now he needed to hit the back of your throat.

“You take what I give you,” he murmured. “Little bit deeper now. That’s it. Just like that. My good girl. Take him all the way. Show him how much you love him.”

You worked him with your mouth and hand together, taking breaks to lick, to suck, to breathe—and each time you paused, he praised you, whispered filth like you were doing him the biggest favor in the world.

“Goddamn, baby, you’re so pretty like this… pretty mouth full of me…”

“Yeah, just like that, take your time… fuck, I ain’t gonna last…”

“You feel how hard I am for you? You know what you do to me, baby girl?”

You sucked him harder, hand twisting at the base, Joel groaned, full-bodied and deep. “Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered. “Ain’t gonna last another minute with you takin’ it like that.”

You whimpered around him, thighs squeezing together. Just his moans and those bold, filthy compliments were enough to get you wet and aching.

“Aw, baby’s gettin’ wet just suckin’ cock, huh? Poor little thing. Gonna need me later?”

You nodded, still bobbing, spit running down your chin. You pulled off just enough to murmur:

“He’s gettin’ twitchy.”

Joel grunted. “Yeah? You feel him startin’ to cum?”

“Warn me, daddy,” you said around him. “But I’m not stoppin’.”

You smiled and sucked him back into your mouth, sucking deep, and you didn’t let go until he was shaking, grunting, hips stuttering.

“F-Fuck… baby—daddy’s cummin’, he’s cummin’—fuck, right now—” Joel groaned, voice rough and desperate, his hips jerking up into you as the pleasure overtook him.

He came down your throat, hot and thick and salty, you liked the taste of it more than you did last time. You swallowed around him, let him ride it out in your mouth, his hands cradling the back of your head, thumbs stroking your cheeks like you were precious.

When you finally pulled off, he was panting, staring down at you like he didn’t know what hit him.

“Holy fuck, baby…”

You smiled, wiped the corner of your mouth. “Did I do good?”

Joel laughed, breathless. “You did perfect.” It was only the second time you’d sucked him, and you’d already outrun every other woman who’d ever been in his life.

He pulled you up onto his lap, arms tight around you. His thigh shifted beneath you, solid and warm, and you didn’t realize you were grinding down against it until he did.

“Ohh,” he said lowly, voice nearly a growl. “There she goes.”

You froze, a little ashamed by the fact that you were so horny you hadn’t even realized you were unconsciously humping his thigh, but Joel leaned in, lips brushing your cheek. “Don’t stop now, sweetheart. Keep ridin' me like that.”

Your eyes fluttered. “On… on your thigh?”

He nodded slowly, letting his hand drag up the curve of your back. “Mhm. That’s it. That’s what a sweet, shy girl like you needs. Nothin’ too scary. Just daddy’s thigh to start.”

“Joel,” you whispered, embarrassed and overwhelmed and aching so bad.

“S’just like dancin’, baby,” he cooed. “You know how to move your hips, don’t you?”

You nodded shyly, lashes still wet from sucking him, clutching at his shoulders. He adjusted your legs so you were straddling one thick, muscled thigh, your knees braced on either side of his, making you feel the corded muscle shift under you.

“Try movin’,” Joel whispered, voice all honeyed patience. “Rock your hips on me. Just a little to begin with. Just rub your sweet lil’ pussy on my thigh. Pretend it’s my cock if you want.”

You hesitated, but then rolled your hips forward, slowly dragging your clothed pussy over the ridge of his thigh, the friction made you gasp and clutch your fingers on his shirt.

“There we go,” Joel cooed. “See? That feel good? That’s what I’m gonna teach you to do all on your own. Go slow at first. Just lil’ rocks, baby.”

“Oh…”

“Atta girl. You’re doin’ so good. S’just like that.”

You moved again, the soft cotton of your panties growing damper with every pass. Joel watched you like a starving man, eyes hooded, hands staying right at your hips, guiding your movements.

Your breath came quicker as your clit caught on the firm pressure beneath you. The friction was perfect through your panties, rough enough to spark pleasure but safe enough not to scare you.

“Feel good, baby?”

You whimpered. “Y-yeah.”

“You ridin’ me now, aren’t you?” he asked softly. “Even if it’s just my thigh. So desperate to be a big girl, you just had to feel it, huh?”

You nodded, moving again, this time more confidently, moaning under your breath as the pressure hit just right.

“Aw, my poor baby,” he whispered, mock sympathy dripping from every word. “Look at you grindin’ all over me like you need it to breathe.”

Your cheeks burned, you buried your face in his neck as your hips rocked faster. “Feels so good, daddy…”

“I know it does. This is what happens when you trust me to teach you. I’ll show you everythin’, baby. Start you slow… get you used to it.”

You moaned into his skin, your clit catching just right on his thigh.

“Bet you’re gettin’ your pretty panties all wet, huh?”

You whimpered again in response.

“Yeah, I can feel it,” he growled. “Soakin’ through. You keep goin’, baby girl. Use me. Rub that little pussy right on me ‘til you cum.”

“God, Joel, it—feels so good—”

He nodded, hand sliding up your back. “I know it does, sweetheart. That’s your little pussy learnin’ how to get off. Keep goin’ for me

“Joel—”

“You need to cum,” he said, gently but firmly. “You need it, don’t you?”

“I—I think so—”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he crooned. “Think real hard. Wanna cum for me, don’t you?”

You nodded desperately, now chasing every movement of your hips, the pressure was building and building, your clit throbbing against the strength of his thigh. He let you do your thing, just watched you unravel slowly, whispering praise like poison in your ear.

“That’s it. Just like that. Look at you—so sweet and dumb, so fuckin’ precious. Bet if I let you cum like this, you’ll be beggin’ me to show you what ridin’ my cock feels like next, huh?”

“I think—I think I’m gonna—Joel—”

You cried out, back arching, your thighs shaking as the orgasm hit. It was hot and dizzying and so much stronger than you expected just from grinding him, but you’d never done anything like this, never been talked through it like this, handled like this. You kept rocking even through it, drawn-out and needy, until Joel’s hands stilled you.

“Shh. That’s it. That’s enough, baby. I got you.”

Joel held you close through it, murmuring praise into your hair, arms wrapped around you like you were something breakable. When your breath finally slowed and your hips stilled, you whispered, “Joel…”

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip. “Yeah, baby?”

You swallowed, voice small. “I think I’m ready.”

He stilled, blinking, breathing harder now.

“Yeah?” he said after a second, thumb still pressed to your mouth. “You sure, sweetheart? Don’t say it if you’re not. I can wait. I’ll fuckin’ wait forever for you.”

You nodded. “I want it to be you.”

Even though that orgasm had been mind-blowing, your body was still craving more. You were a little scared, but you knew Joel loved you, and that he’d take such good care of you in every step of the way.

Joel let out a shaky, wrecked sound and leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, your lips. He kissed you like you’d given him something holy. He felt so honored to be the one, the only one, to take that part of you. To be the first cock to stretch you open, to fill you up completely.

“Alright,” he rasped. “Alright, baby girl. We’ll go slow. Real slow. I got you.”

He laid you spread open on the bed, softly, like you were made out of glass. He kissed down your chest, your stomach, your thighs, murmuring as he went.

“I just…” You swallowed, cheeks burning. “I’m nervous. I don’t know what it’s gonna feel like.”

Joel exhaled softly, his voice dropped low.

“S’a stretch, baby. First time always is. You might hurt some. But I’ll be right here the whole time. I’ll help you through it. You just gotta listen to me, yeah?”

You nodded.

“Gonna be s’good for me,” he breathed. “You’ve been s’good for me already, haven’t you? Lettin’ me teach you. Lettin’ me touch you. And now you’re gonna let me take you all the way. That what you want, baby? Want daddy to take your little virgin pussy?”

Your thighs trembled. “Y-Yeah.”

Joel pulled back just long enough to wrap his hand around himself, hard, and heavy, all over again.

“Look at this cock, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You really think you’re ready for all this?”

Your eyes flicked to his cock, shy but sure, it was all you needed right now. “I want it.”

He groaned, moving between your thighs again. “Alright. Gonna give you just a little first, okay? Gotta stretch you open slow, baby. I ain’t lettin’ you hurt.”

His fingers stroked through your folds, slick and ready, spreading you for him, and then you felt the broad head of his cock, warm and insistent, pressing right at your entrance.

“Deep breath,” Joel said, his voice like velvet. “Just the tip first, like last time. Let daddy in.”

You exhaled, and he took that moment to push forward, just barely, just enough to breach you. You gasped, your whole body tightened around him instinctively, but Joel was already soothing you, already leaning over you with kisses and murmurs and praise.

You gasped—your hands flew to his arms, nails digging in. “Joel—oh—wait—”

“Shh, shh,” he soothed. “I know, baby. I know. It’s a lot. Daddy’s so sorry.”

He leaned down and kissed your forehead. You were shaking, even if he wasn’t moving.

he whispered. “Too much?”

You shook your head quickly. “Just… hurts more than I thought.”

“I know, baby. I know it hurts. Just breathe f’me. You’re doin’ great.”

You tried to breathe through it, feeling the dull burn of being opened by something too big, too thick, but still, you wanted it, you wanted him.

“Shhh, baby, that’s it. You’re doin’ so good. Tight little thing, ain’t you? Gonna suck me in so sweet. I knew you’d be tight, but fuck—you’re squeezin’ me like you never wanna let go.”

You let out a shaky laugh that turned into a cry as he gave another slow push.

“It’s a lot, huh?” he whispered against your ear. “Big cock stretchin’ you for the first time. Feels full, don’t it?”

You nodded, jaw trembling. “So full.”

“Too much?”

“No. Keep going, daddy.”

His breath hitched. “Jesus. You’re so fuckin’ brave, baby girl.”

And then finally—finally—he was all the way in, buried to the hilt, making you gasp again. Joel froze, holding you tightly, his whole body shaking above yours.

“Christ,” he groaned. “You took all of me. First time and you’re takin’ me so goddamn deep. That pussy was made for me. You feel that?”

You could only nod. Tears prickled the corners of your eyes. Joel looked down, utterly wrecked by the sight of your pussy swallowing him whole, of that tight little hole stretched around him.

You could feel everything, every twitch, every throb, every part of him stretching you open in ways you’d never imagined. It hurt, he was so big, and your body was struggling to take it, but you knew the pain would fade, your just needed to give your body a minute to stretch, to get used to him, and once it passed, the good part would come.

Joel rocked gently, barely moving, just letting your body adjust. You whimpered at the pressure, at the fullness, at the intensity of it all.

Joel just babied you. “Such a sweet girl. So fuckin’ brave. You lettin’ me be your first, baby? Makin’ me feel honored.”

“Don’t move yet,” you whispered. “Just… stay.”

“I ain’t movin’,” Joel said. “You tell me when. This pussy belongs to you until you give me permission.”

Your heart ached by how sweet he was, you wrapped your arms around his neck, held on, breathed, and slowly, the pain dulled, the sting turned to heat, the fullness turned to need, you needed more, you desperatly needed friction.

“Okay,” you whispered. “You can move now.”

Joel pulled back, just a little, and then rolled his hips forward, slow and steady. And again, and again. Each stroke made you gasp, made you cling to his shoulders, the feeling of him sliding deep, hot and heavy and perfect, dragging against every tender, untouched nerve inside you.

Every thrust was shallow, slow, careful, but it still made your thighs tremble. The pain was a shadow now, replaced with a tight, delicious ache and something filthy blooming low in your belly.

“Good girl,” he kept whispering. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good. I knew you would. This sweet little pussy was just waitin’ for me, wasn’t it?”

You moaned so loud your throat felt sore. You would’ve been so embarrassed if you hadn’t been so completely lost in the overwhelming, electric pleasure coursing through your body.

He was trying to hold back, trying to stay gentle, because he knew how important a first time was, and you were his baby, you deserved for it to be nothing but soft and sweet. But in the back of his mind, he was already tasting the future, already imagining how he’d have you in all fours soon, when your body was ready to take more. He’d be rough then, fucking you deep and hard, just like he knew you’d want it once you got a real taste of him. But not now. Not yet.

“You wanted this cock,” he murmured. “You needed it. Wanted daddy to teach you how to take it. Fuck—look at you, baby girl, takin’ every inch. Buryin’ my cock all the way in this perfect fuckin’ pussy.”

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks, not quite from pain anymore, but from how full and overwhelmed you were. Joel kissed them away, he started to move faster, the heat built with every slow thrust, every slick grind of his hips against yours, and then his hand slid between you, thumb circling your clit in time with his thrusts.

You arched under him, sobbing louder now, overwhelmed and shaking from how deep he was. It felt like he was in your stomach, stretching places you didn’t even know could feel pleasure.

“J-Joel, it’s so much,” you whimpered. “I—didn’t know it could feel like this.”

He groaned low, voice thick and wrecked.

“That’s right, baby. That’s me all the way up in there,” he murmured, pressing his palm flat against your lower belly, feeling the bulge where his cock reached so deep it made your eyes roll back.

“That’s it,” he grunted. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock. Want this little pussy to milk me dry. Can you do that for me, baby?”

“Y-Yes—yes—Joel—”

You didn’t even have to try, the tip of his cock found that perfect spot inside you, that sweet, aching place you didn’t even know could feel that good, and the moment he hit it you saw stars, and then he hit it again… and again… and again.

You came hard, it was all so new, so perfect. You clenched around him, voice breaking, and the spasms of your cunt made Joel snap. His thrusts got rougher, deeper, his hips stuttering as he groaned your name over and over again.

“I’m gonna cum—fuck—gonna fill you up, baby girl, give you every fuckin’ drop—mine, you hear me? This pussy’s mine.”

He spilled inside you, grinding deep, holding you to him as you both fell apart. You clung to him, trembling, panting, tears still slipping down your cheeks. It was strange, so strange, a sudden heat blooming inside you, you swore you could feel his thick and warm seed being spilled inside you, and then sliding back out, dripping from your sore, used hole, slick and messy between your thighs. You whimpered at the sensation, so sensitive now that even the slow trickle of it made you twitch.

“You did so good,” he whispered. “So goddamn good. You’re mine now, baby. Every part of you.”

Afterward, Joel gave a few slow, shallow thrusts to push his cum deeper inside you before going completely soft. Even as he pulled out with a low groan, he watched the last of his seed slowly drip from your hole.

“Fuck… look at that, baby,” he rasped, his voice still thick with lust and awe. “Can’t even keep it in. I filled you that good.”

You could barely speak, barely breathe. All you could do was lay there and feel his release leaking out of you in hot waves.

“Daddy made a mess in you,” he murmured, his thumb gently playing with the warm slickness, spreading it over your folds and making you flinch from the sudden sensitivity. “D’you want me to clean you up, baby?”

“Mmm, can I stay like this, daddy?” you whispered. “I wanna feel you inside me.”

It felt… nice. Comforting, even. Being this marked by him. Joel just nodded, he didn’t move away from you, he just stroked your face, your hair, kissed your cheeks and whispered how good you’d done, how proud he was, how much he loved you.

And even though your body ached, your legs were still trembling, and your thighs were sticky with him, you felt safer than you ever had in your life.

He kissed your face, your hair, your lips. You were still crying a little.

“You did so good, baby girl,” he whispered. “So fuckin’ good f’me. I’m so proud of you.”

You held onto him, safe in his arms, and whispered.

“…I love you.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time. “I love you too, sweetheart. More than I ever thought I could.”

A/N: This definitely ended up being much longer than I intended, especially for pure porn without plot, lol

I’m so happy to see how much you liked the previous part I posted🥹 I immediately started writing this other one, and I hope you enjoy it just as much. If you do, please consider showing some support, it would mean the world to me🩷🩷

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[taeeflwrr]

oh my god was this a rollercoaster of emotions #bringbackangst #imafeministdespiteallthethoughtsthatthisficmademeentertain #forgivemesinceitwashyuck

death by a thousand cuts | l.hc

“but if the story’s over, why am i still writing pages?”

💿now playing: death by a thousand cuts by taylor swift

❯ summary: If you get more than one love in a lifetime, why does your heart still beat for the boy who wrecked you completely?

❯ pairings: haechan x fem!reader

❯ genre: angst, second chance, cheating trope, smut.

❯ words: 9.6k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, smut, cheating (booo), exes, toxic relationship, a therapy joke, lots of angst, swearing, heartbreak, a whole lotta hurt, drinking, insecurities, jealousy, arguing, heavy petting, protected sex, nipple play, oral sex (fem receiving), i can’t lie this is just 9k words of heartache and sex lol.

an: this fic will not be for everyone!! i do not condone cheating in any way, you’re a loser if you cheat. i just felt like writing something heart achey, and this is my favourite taylor swift song that inspires cheating fics whenever i listen to it.

“Give me that!”

Yeji snatches the phone out of your hand with the kind of urgency only a best friend possesses—the kind forged after too many years of watching you do the stupidest things when it comes to boys. Her eyes flare the moment she spots the familiar username. 

@ haechanahceah

“Oh my god. You’re kidding.” Her thumb hovers accusingly over the screen. “Y/N, it’s been a year. A whole year. Why haven’t you blocked Hyuck yet?”

You don’t answer immediately. Just tilt your head back with an exhausted exhale, reaching for the phone. Not because you want it back, but because it feels incriminating in her hands. Like a wound she’s now inspecting. And you don’t need her inspecting it.

“Because we’re okay,” you say, not entirely convincingly. “Mostly.”

It was just a like. On an Instagram post. Of him—with his friends.

(Some of them girls. Most of them girls. All of them tagged. And you definitely weren’t planning on clicking through their profiles in the middle of your best friend coffee date with your screen brightness criminally low. Definitely not.)

“And because we’re friends,” you add breezily. Then you pluck the phone from her hand and tap back into the app, your thumb moving faster than your brain, already leaving a comment beneath his photo.

Something flippant. Something funny. Something that screams: See? I’m a functioning, emotionally stable adult who can totally be friends with the boy who annihilated my heart while he gallivants around Europe on a boat with girls. 

Except probably subtler. 

Yeji stares at you like she’s witnessing a slow-motion car crash. “Oh, absolutely. And when that guy drove me home from the bar last weekend and told me I had pretty eyes, we were just friends too.”

You roll your eyes, swatting the air with your hand. “That’s different. Hyuck’s my childhood best friend. I can’t just cut him off now that we’re not…” you pause, the words catching in your throat like they always do, “you know?”

“No. I don’t know,” she says, arms crossed and chin lifted in that annoyingly perceptive way of hers. “Because you two are in a loop. An exhausting, toxic, ‘I-don’t-know-where-we-stand-with-each-other’ loop. And staying in touch with him is why you can’t move on.”

“We are not toxic.”

You are. 

But you’d already said it out loud like a reflex, before you even had time to make it sound believable. So, you try to fix it. 

“We’re just…”

You trail off, blinking hard like the answer might fall from the ceiling.

 “Co-dependent?” Lia offers helpfully. 

 You sigh. “Yes. That. Thank you, Lia.”

“It’s weird, is what it is,” Yeji says. 

You lean back in your chair, arms folded across your chest like armour. “Ugh. You wouldn’t get it.”

And they wouldn’t. They never have.

Because nobody gets you and Hyuck. Not Yeji, not Lia, not even the therapists you’ve paid a concerning amount of money to explain it all to you. No amount of therapy or psychoanalysis can remove the him-shaped hole inside of you. The way he exists like a second heartbeat.

How many times does a person truly get to fall in love? Not the practical kind. But the kind that rewires you completely. That makes you wonder how you ever existed before this person, and fear who you might become after. 

If love were fair—the answer would be simple. Once. Only ever once.

Because to love someone—truly love someone—is not just to hand over your heart. It’s to fold it delicately, wrap it in every part of your soul, and place it willingly in that person’s pocket. Trusting that they won’t ever give it back frayed or barely beating. 

And if they do (and he definitely did) well, what remains might resemble a heart, but it never beats the same again. You don’t think it ever will.

So yes. One love. One person. One boy—him.

Yeji calls it nostalgia. Says that since he was your first everything, it feels bigger than it was, and that’s why he’s taking up too much space inside your chest. She says you're scared of forgetting. But that’s not it.

You’d give anything to forget. It’s better than remembering everything. Of living in a world where he’s everywhere and nowhere all at once. Where songs feel like him. Where movies feel like him. Where your own body sometimes feels like him because he’s marked it so damn much.

But if you did move on, if you could—you’d still have to ask yourself: where does all that breathless, foolish, all-consuming love go? 

The common consensus is that love turns to hate when it stays too long without being fed. But you can’t imagine a universe cruel enough to make you hate the very boy who made you believe in soulmates.

So you don’t hate him. Even though you should.

“Fine,” Yeji slumps back in her chair, arms crossed, eyes sharp with that familiar fury she reserves exclusively for you—when you’re being like this. “You’re right. I don’t get it. I don’t get why you’re still in cahoots with the same boy who cheated on you and left you a complete mess.”

Lia gasps. “Yeji!”

But the thing is—Yeji has a point. And you know that. But knowing something and truly understanding it is two different things. 

You don’t understand how he put his hands on someone else. How his mouth touched a body that wasn’t yours. How he delivered that line—“I didn’t mean for it to happen”—with the kind of ease that made you wonder just how many times he’d practised it in the mirror before he had the balls to actually tell you. 

You didn’t understand, yet you knew all the same.

You were wearing his shirt when he told you. Still in his house. Still in the space you thought was yours too. And all you could think was: how many nights did he lie next to you like nothing was wrong? How many times did he touch you with hands that had already betrayed you?

He never told you when, or who. Just a sorry. A soft one. A useless one. And a vague promise that he’d do anything to fix it.

But there are some things sorry can’t fix.

You clear your throat, suddenly too aware of how loud your heartbeat feels in a room full of people who love you enough to hate him.

“Because we’re not in cahoots,” you correct. “We’re friends, Yej. Him and I have always been friends.”

It’s not a lie. Not exactly. 

You have been friends with Hyuck ever since he moved in next door to your family when you were six. And even then—when you climbed trees and shared crayons—you think your heart was already beating for him. So much you don’t know what life is without that pulse anymore. Without a hint of him running beneath your skin.

It’s why you plaster on a smile and say, “In fact, I even invited him to my birthday party next week.”

They look at you, eyes full of pity and sympathy. And that hurts way more than him breaking you ever did. Because now your friends are staring at you like you’re some sad, shattered, pathetic thing he left behind.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Lia asks weakly. 

“You’re seriously a lunatic,” Yeji cuts in before you can respond. “You’re just dragging this out for yourself. Death by a thousand cuts and all that.”

“I am not a lunatic,” you say, shrugging her off. “It’s just... he’s still part of my life. It’s not like I’m inviting a stranger.”

“He fucked up your life,” she huffs, the words stinging. “He hurt you.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “But I love him anyway, don’t I?”

And you do. Because some loves don’t end—they just rearrange themselves. 

Yeji yanks her chair back so hard the legs screech against the floor.

“He’s gonna hurt you again,” she spits. “How many times are you gonna let him rip you apart before there’s nothing left? Before you’ve sacrificed yourself and everyone else around you and you’ve got nothing left to give?”

You want to say something, but the words get stuck, because she’s right.

Lia reaches out, “Yeji—”

“If he’s there next week, Y/N,” she says, eyes burning over her shoulder looking from you to Lia, “then I won’t be.”

When Hyuck got a DM from the only girl he’s ever loved—two days ago, now—he sobered.

Which, if you asked Mark, was some kind of divine miracle. Because Mark had been watching his best friend drink himself into oblivion for the better part of a year. A slow, intentional kind of fucked up that was clearly a desperate, pathetic attempt to forget you.

But no shot, no spirit, no stranger’s skin pressed to his could ever do the trick. Not really. Because no matter how hard Hyuck tried, the hangover was always the same: he’d wake up, and you still weren’t his girl.

So when he saw your username light up his phone, he paused. 

Because the preview didn’t give anything away. It did that annoying thing that said “2 new messages.” No hint. No breadcrumb. Just a loaded gun of a notification staring up at him.

And, of course he clicked it. He had to. You knew he would. You’d sent two back-to-back messages on purpose—he’s certain of it. Because that’s exactly the kind of person you were. Always two steps ahead. Always orchestrating even your vulnerability. 

You wanted to see when he’d read it. 

And he did.

At 2:36 a.m. Because you’d definitely be asleep by then. And that meant he had enough time to draft the right response—measured, brisk, detached—like the past year hadn’t cracked him open.

He read it in the half-light of Mark’s living room, surrounded by people he didn’t really like and a bottle of something he couldn’t quite remember picking up.

hey. i’m having a thing next friday for my birthday—just a chill party. nothing major. 

you can come, if you want.

Hyuck stares at the two messages.

It’s not because of the party. He couldn’t care less about the cake or the candles. That’s not what has his heart in his throat. It’s the fact that—for the first time in a year—you actually reached out. None of that accidentally bumping into each other nonsense you two pull. No one buys that it’s an accident. 

At least, it’s not an accident on his behalf.

It’s not an accident when he keeps frequenting the same coffee shop you once claimed made the best lattes in the city—always at the same time. It’s not a coincidence when he drives through your favourite places on rainy days, just in case you need a ride and are too proud to just call him. And it’s definitely not a coincidence that makes him take the long way to your house. He does it deliberately. He selfishly takes more of your time than he deserves.

Because saying goodbye wasn’t an option for him. Not until it had to be. He’d take prolonged suffering. Death by a thousand cuts.

And it’s not his fault. Well. It is. All of the ruin, anyway. But in the twelve months since he blew it all up, you’ve still lingered. You always do. You always will. So he just keeps showing up in your life when he knows you need to move on. Because he doesn’t want you to. 

Because everything in his life is still half-yours. And he won’t board up the windows of that love—not even now. Not when some part of you still flickers inside it, and half of his heart is still in your chest.

Hyuck stares at your message again. He types something. Deletes it. Types something else. Deletes that too.

what kind of thing is it?

Too uninterested.

who’s gonna be there?

Too nosy.

sure, if you want me there.

Too honest. 

Everything felt like a trap—too much, too little, not enough to win you back, but equally too honest and would remind you of his actions that hurt you. 

How was he supposed to respond to the girl who once memorised every mole on his face? Who was the muse of every song he’s written? Who still makes his hands shake on the keyboard? Who he cheated on? Who he destroyed completely? 

Eventually he landed on:

might swing by, angel. happy early birthday, btw.

He hit send before he could change his mind.

11:27PM

Thirty-three minutes left of your birthday, but you’re not celebrating.

Instead, you’re sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter with one leg dangling, the other tucked beneath you, whilst your dress wrinkles and bunches around your thighs because you stopped caring how ruined you looked an hour ago.  

You don’t care that your lipstick is all but gone or that your mascara is smudged under both eyes. You don’t care because he’s not here. 

You were supposed to be smiling by now. 

But he didn’t walk in. 

He still hasn’t.

And you don’t even know why you’re surprised. He’s not your boyfriend. He’s not your baby. He’s not your Hyuck anymore. He doesn’t owe you a goddamn thing—not a happy birthday, or his time. You gave that privilege up the night you stopped being his. Or maybe the night he stopped being yours. You still haven’t decided which one came first.

Still, you hoped he would come. 

It was the only thing keeping you remotely sane—delusional hope that he might still show up. That maybe he’d walk through the door like he hadn’t betrayed you and still want you. You still wanted him. 

You hated that he broke you and still got to keep the pieces. Hated that even now, on your birthday, all you could think about was him. Hated that you still wanted his birthdays, his weekends, his forever. 

You take another drink. Cheaper vodka this time, and let it burn your throat as it goes down. You want the sting. You deserve the sting. Your eyes drift (again) to the front door.

Still nothing.

“You need to stop doing that,” Lia pads barefoot into the kitchen, coming right behind you to smack both her hands on your shoulders. “Stop watching that door like a hawk. Yeji would kill you if she saw you pining after him on your birthday.”

You press your lips together and glance away like you’ve been caught red-handed. Because, well. You have.

“Yeah, well. Yeji isn’t here,” you mutter, taking another sip—longer this time. 

Lia raises an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

You drain the last of your drink and look her straight in the eye. “Because I invited him.”

Lia looks at you expectantly. You know she hates being caught between you and Yeji, but it’s clear she thinks you were wrong to invite Hyuck tonight, knowing full well how Yeji would react.

And maybe she’s right.

That’s why you sigh.

“Look, he said he might come,” you say finally. “He didn’t promise anything. Yeji was overreacting.”

“He never promises,” Lia says gently. “And yet, you keep prioritising him like he’s still that sweet boy we both used to love, who used to buy your favourite cookies before class, or pick fights with the boys who made fun of you. But he’s not that boy anymore, Y/N. And he’s not yours anymore either.”

You flinch.

She notices. Regrets it. “Sorry.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine.”

But it isn’t, not really. Because this is the first birthday he’s missed since you were kids. Since you were eleven and he showed up with a homemade card. 

It’s not fine because his absence would say something that the cheating weirdly never quite did—that he’s not the boy you fell in love with. Maybe he hasn’t been for a long time.

Lia leans against the counter beside you. “It’s allowed, you know? Being hurt.”

“I don’t get to be,” you reply, glancing at her. “He doesn’t owe me anything anymore. I was the one who didn’t want to forgive him that night. I said I was done. I don’t expect him to grovel forever.”

“No,” she agrees. “But you deserved something. More than a half-assed apology at least.”

That lands in your chest harshly. You press your tongue to your cheek, the way you do when you’re trying not to cry. You’re not drunk enough to cry yet. Give it another hour.

“Come on,” Lia sighs and wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into her side, “I’m not letting you stay in here staring at that door and giving him the power to ruin the rest of your birthday.” 

But even as she says it, your eyes flicker to that door again—still no him.

Lia doesn’t let go of your hand as she leads you out of the kitchen and into the living room, where people are scattered across the sofas and floors. They all feel like strangers at your own party because you’ve spent the whole night looking for one person who never came. 

“Y/N,” Lia says, squeezing your hand, “this is Hyunjae.”

You blink. The boy in front of you is pretty. Dark eyes, strong jaw softened by the curve of a perfect smile, black hair pushed back sexily. He’s holding a drink loosely in his hand as his eyes sweep over you. 

“Happy birthday,” he says. “You look—”

Please don’t say beautiful. Please don’t say gorgeous. Please don’t say anything he would’ve said.

“—pretty,” Hyunjae finishes. “Really fucking pretty.”

You smile. Or try to. “Thanks.”

And look, it’s not that Hyunjae isn’t nice—he is. You can already hear Yeji telling you to give him a chance. He’s the kind of boy who’d text back, who’s safe, who’d never leave you staring at a door wondering if he’ll show up on your birthday or not. Hyunjae is the kind of boy who wouldn’t cheat on you. 

But the truth is, you don’t know if you can be the girl who lets someone call her pretty and fawn anymore. Not without wondering if they’ll still mean it once they see someone better, shinier, hotter than you. 

Just like he did. 

You nod along when Hyunjae talks. You laugh where you’re supposed to. Play nice. Be sweet. But everything he says sounds like static. Everything he is feels like a placeholder. 

And then, you hear it. That deep, honey-smooth, familiar voice saying: “Happy birthday, angel.”

It slices through the room. Through you.

Because there’s only one person who ever called you that. One boy. Lee Donghyuck.

You didn’t even hear the front door open. Typical. But there he is, leaning in the doorway, all tan skin and messy hair. His hands are buried in his pockets, his jaw set tight—too tight, like he’s seconds from grinding his teeth into dust. 

But it’s not you he’s looking at. It’s Hyunjae. Sitting far too close. Arm tossed lazily behind you on the couch, thigh pointing into yours, almost grazing like he owns your space. 

And Hyuck notices. You know he notices.

His eyes narrow. Lips parting slightly as his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. You know that look. You’ve seen it before. That blend of heat and hurt and possessiveness he has no right to anymore.

It hits your chest all at once—shame, hurt, lust—and you fumble. Your hand twitches with the red plastic cup still clutched tight. The drink tilts before you even realise it’s slipping. Cranberry vodka sloshes, causing sticky, cold liquid to spill down the front of your dress, dripping into the neckline. 

“Fuck—” you hiss, jerking upright as the cup lands onto the coffee table. You paw uselessly at the now soaked fabric, trying to blot it with the hem of your sleeve, but it’s only smearing it worse.

Hyunjae starts to reach for a napkin, concerned. But your eyes have already found Hyuck’s again. And the way he’s looking at you now…

Your throat goes dry. “I—I’m gonna go change.”

You don’t wait for a reply. You’re moving before anyone can stop you, heart hammering against your ribs because this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. 

You barely make it up the stairs, breath coming fast, fingers trembling as you reach for the door to your room. You close it. But you don’t get the chance to lock it. Because the door creaks again behind you. And then it clicks shut. You spin around. And there he is.

You don’t say anything at first. 

Just stalk over to your wardrobe like it’s perfectly sane to have your ex-boyfriend—your ex-best friend, the boy you used to see every single day, the only boy you’ve ever slept with, the only person who knows all the tells on your body, the boy you still love—in your bedroom for the first time in over a year.

You wrench the closet door open. A pair of heels fall out and land with a little thud. You don’t flinch. You pretend to rifle through hangers, but you’re not looking for anything specific. All of it is just something to do with your hands, because looking at him right now would be a sick kind of torture.

“What are you doing here!?”

Hyuck doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, you only hear the soft thud of his shoes on your floor, the creak of your floorboard by the dresser. He’s closer than you want him to be.

“You invited me,” he says, like it’s obvious.

You spin around. “I invited you to my birthday party. Which started five hours ago.”

He lifts his phone, the screen glowing in the dark. “As far as I’m aware,” he says, tapping it once, “you’ve still got thirteen minutes left. So again, happy birthday, angel.”

You stiffen. 

There it is. That.

That fucking word. The one that used to make you feel warm and wanted. Now it feels like an insult wrapped in silk.

“Don’t call me that.”

That stops him. Just for a second. Then, slowly, he lowers the phone. Shoves it back into his pocket.

“I thought you liked it when I called you that.”

“I used to like it,” you spit. “Back when it meant something. You know, before you fucked someone else behind my back.”

His jaw tightens. Good, you think. The truth hurts; you hope it hurts. And maybe that makes you cruel. But then again, he was cruel first.

He rubs his jaw, then exhales. “We’re really doing this now?”

You laugh dryly. “Oh, sorry. Would you prefer we pencil it in for next week instead? Talk about it over brunch sometime, yeah?”

You turn back to your wardrobe, suddenly too irritated. Your fingers find the old grey hoodie you always loved. It looks soft. Comfortable. Definitely not party appropriate. But you don’t care because you don’t want to go back out there. Not after this.

You peel your dress off in one motion, leaving you in the black lace set you picked out this morning—because it was your birthday. Not for anyone else. Not for a boy. Certainly not for him.

Him. 

You forget for a moment that he’s still behind you.

It’s like your brain short-circuits in his presence. Like it still confuses this boy for the lifeline he used to be. Like your heart can’t shout loud enough to warn you: this boy broke us, this boy hurt us, this boy is bad for us. All it says is: this boy is Hyuck. This boy is sweet. This boy—we love.

You only remember when you hear him inhale—sharply—and turn around. 

He’s looking at you like that again. Like he did back when he loved you, and you loved him, and he hadn’t ruined everything yet. He looks hungry, and like the only thing that might satisfy him is you. 

That thought makes you clutch the hoodie to your chest. “Turn around!”

He does. Obediently. But then: 

"So, did you wear that for me?"

His voice is so annoyingly smug it makes you roll your eyes as you reply. “No.”

But your cheeks betray you. Hot. Guilty. Flushed. Thank god his back is still to you, because if he turned around now and looked at you, he’d know. Because he knows all your tells. Always has.

And from just a simple flush, he’d know that yes, you wore this set for him. That yes, despite pretending you were over him in his Instagram comments, your traitorous heart had hoped that he might come tonight and rip the set off of you.

And just in case he caught your second tell (the tremor in your voice), you twist the knife a little more.

“I wore this set for Hyunjae, actually.”

A silence. Then the fucker starts laughing.

Not a little laugh. A full-bodied, head thrown back, belly laugh. You hate how much you’ve missed that sound, how it still makes your stomach flip. 

“Five minutes ago, I might’ve believed that, angel,” he says, turning slightly. Just enough for you to catch the outline of his grin. “And it would’ve driven me fucking crazy.”

Your heart stutters when he nods toward your chest.

“But I wasn’t talking about your underwear,” he says, eyes dipping lower. 

You follow his gaze down to the delicate gold chain resting just above the swell of your breasts. The one with the tiny heart pendant. The one with the H engraving. 

“I was talking about that necklace. The one I bought you for your sixteenth birthday,” He cocks his head. Smirking now. “Did you wear it for me?”

Your fingers fly to it instinctively. You hadn’t taken it off. Not even after finding out. You always wore it underneath your clothes, tucked away like a secret, because Yeji would have a field day if she knew you still wore his necklace.

But in the heat of the moment, stripping down to your underwear, your brain hadn’t realised that he’d see it again. 

“I thought I told you to turn around,” you snap, furious with yourself.

He lifts his hands defensively. “I am turned around.”

“I meant your head, not just your body, Hyuck.”

And so he does, again. Obediently.

You pull the hoodie on. It swallows you immediately. The sleeves dangle past your hands, the hem skims your thighs, and it smells like dust and weirdly like…the boy behind you.

“I’m decent,” you mutter.

He turns around, eyes flicking down before he smiles. Not smug, this time. Just soft and… a little sad?

“That’s mine.”

You roll your eyes, tugging at the sleeves. “No it isn’t.”

“Yes, it is. It’s massive on you. And unless you’ve got a secret stash of men’s hoodies in your closet, that one’s mine.”

You glare. “Oh yeah? And who says I don’t have a collection of men’s hoodies in my closet?”

“I do.”

 So fast. So sure.

You scoff, a single sharp laugh. “God, you think so highly of yourself.”

He crosses his arms—all tensed jaw and too-tight t-shirt—and it’s irritating, how stupidly good he looks whilst being smug.

“Yeah,” he says, deadpan. “I do. Because, despite us being broken up, you still wear my necklace.”  He nods toward your nightstand.  “You still have a photo of us beside your bed.” And then, one step closer. “And you fucking invited me here tonight.”

You lift your chin. “I invited everyone. It was a mass text.”

“Funny,” he says, a fake smile forming, “Mark didn’t get a text.”

“Aww,” you coo, mocking. “You still talk to your friends about me, Hyuck? Christ. Now I’m gonna start thinking highly of myself.”

“You should.”

For some reason, those two simple words hit you like a slap across the face. Because no.

“You don’t get to do that!” you snap at him. “You don’t get to tell me I should think highly of myself when you’re the exact reason I can’t even imagine the top anymore, Hyuck!” You laugh bitterly. “I don’t know my worth because you had me. But you wanted something else.”

And in that moment—maybe it’s your tone, or maybe it’s accountability—a flash of hurt crosses his face, that makes him wince. 

“Y/N, angel…” His voice cracks a little on your name, as he runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck! It was one mistake. You don’t understand—”

But you don’t want to hear it. You’ve already heard it.

You hold up a hand, stopping him from wasting his breath. “I don’t want to understand anything about the night you decided to fuck another girl, thank you very much, Hyuck.”

“Of course, I get that but—”

“But?”  you raise an eyebrow in disbelief. 

“Yes, but, Y/N,” he fires back. “Because I don’t know what you want from me. You say you don’t want to forgive me—and I get it. I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” He’s pacing now. “But you string me along. You comment on my posts, you let me drive you home, you still have my fucking hoodies—”

His eyes flick down to the one you’re wearing now, oversized and drooping around the neckline to show that gold chain. 

“—you wear my initials around your neck, and you asked me to come tonight—you. And now you’re mad that I’m here?”

His voice rises and you swallow—hard. Like maybe if you keep swallowing, you’ll stop the tears from climbing all the way up your throat. Because it’s all too raw. All of it. Him. You.This.

He’s unraveling in front of you. And even though you know—deep in your bones—that he doesn’t have the right to be this angry, a part of you gets it. Because this awful, splintered, aching love you have for him is confusing. It’s contradictory. It fucks with your brain so much that it doesn’t matter that you’re hurting because he’s hurting too. 

And that’s all you can focus on.

It’s like you said:  nobody gets you and Hyuck. 

“I don’t know what you want from me, angel,” he says again, quieter this time. He takes a slow step forward. Close enough to reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, like he used to.

His hand lingers.

“I don’t know what you want,” he breathes, “but if you tell me—I’ll give it to you.”

Your breath stutters. Your throat tightens.

And then, so quiet you almost miss it: “Because. I. Love. You.”

You close your eyes. You don’t want to. You don’t even mean to. But those three words wrap around you tight. 

“Don’t,” your voice cracks. “Don’t say that to me, Hyuck. Not after everything.”

When you open your eyes again, they’re full of tears. Angry ones. Bitter ones. Hopeful ones too—because you’re weak, and stupid, and still a little bit in love with a boy who shattered you.

“I mean it,” he says instantly. His hand twitches at his side—you see it. He wants to touch you. Wants to wipe your tears like he used to because he hates them. But he doesn’t know if he has permission anymore. (He does, but he doesn’t know he does.)

“I’ve always meant it.”

“Then why’d you throw it all away?” You spit the words out like poison. “Why did you ruin us for a quick fuck?”

“I don’t know,” he breathes, stepping back. “But I do know I hurt you. And I’ll hate myself for that forever. But I never stopped loving you. Not for a second.”

You laugh. But it sounds more like a sob. “You have a funny way of showing love.”

“I know.”

“You know everything,” you say, “except why you did it.”

A beat passes. Two. Three.

“You should go,” you whisper. “The party’s over. You’ve said what you needed to say. And I thought I could do this but I can’t.”

“No.”

Your eyes fly to his. He’s shaking his head, tongue in his cheek again as he sniffs.

“No,” he says again “I’m not leaving us like this.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“Liar.”

“Hyuck—”

“You want me to say it again?” he asks, voice rising just slightly. Not angry. Only desperate. “You want me to beg? Fine. I will. I’ll fucking get on my knees if that’s what it takes.”

And then, to your absolute horror, he does. 

“Hyuck, stop—”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m sorry for everything. For all of it. For her. For the lies. For shattering everything good we ever had. But I love you, Y/N. And I’m not sorry for that. I’ll never be sorry for that.”

You’re trying to stay angry. Trying to hold onto the rage but it’s slipping. Because you want him. You love him.

He’s still on his knees. Still looking up at you. Still pleading. You wish he’d just stand up. You wish he didn’t look so much like the boy you fell in love with instead of the man who broke you.

“Please,” he says again.“I know I don’t get to ask. But I’m asking anyway. I’m asking because I love you. I never stopped. I swear to God, I never—”

“Stop it,” you say, too fast.

It feels like your chest caves in. Because the thing about love is: it’s loud. Louder than hurt. Especially right now. You love him so much you could scream. But instead, you drop down to your knees. Right there in front of him. And before you know it, your hands are reaching for him. Stupid, traitorous things.

“Stop,” you whisper. “Please, stop.”

But he doesn’t.

Of course he doesn’t.

Because he’s Hyuck. And Hyuck never knows when to shut up.

“I know I ruined it,” he’s saying. “I know I don’t deserve a second chance. I wouldn’t forgive me either. I wouldn’t. But I can’t stop loving you. I’ve tried. God, I’ve tried so hard. I’ve kissed girls who weren’t you and I’ve gone home wanting to claw off my own skin.”

You suck in a breath.

“You don’t have to forgive me now. Or ever. Just let me prove it. Let me try. I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you for fucking ever, I swear—”

You’re kissing him. 

You have no idea why, but it just feels like you have to. Because you physically can’t not. Because the love of your life, him, is bleeding out in front of you and you’re the only one who knows how to stop it.

And when your mouth crahses into his, it tastes like heartbreak and history and every stupid, selfish thing he’s ever done. But you keep kissing him. Because just as much as it hurts—it feels like home. Like you’ve finally been returned to the place you belong. Like his lips have been waiting for yours all this time. 

He’s kissing you back just as fiercely. Like he might die if he doesn’t. And maybe he would. Maybe you would too.

You don’t know who moves first. You think it’s you, but maybe it’s him. You’re both equally desperate—lunging backward until his back knocks against the foot of your bedframe and you’re straddling his hips. 

His hands find your waist, landing heavy and possessive around you. But you don’t mind, because your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan into your mouth—and God, you missed that sound. Missed him like oxygen.

His mouth moves to your neck, lips skimming every slither of skin he can reach, greedily not wanting to miss a single piece of you since he’s trying to make up for all the parts he used to take for granted. And you tilt your head back, giving him that access, because you’ve never been able to deny him anything.

“Tell me you’re still mine,” he breathes against your skin, half-choked.

You should tell him no. Should tell him he doesn’t get to ask things like that—not when he gave himself away so easily. Not now when he’ll never solely be yours like you’re solely his. 

But your heart is so tired and so in love it’s ridiculous, so instead you whisper: “I never stopped being yours.”

And then he’s kissing you again—deeper, this time. Until he pulls away and his forehead presses to yours, and he pants against your lips. “Let me love you,” he begs. “Please. Let me love you right this time.”

He feels solid beneath you. It’s making your brain fuzzy. It’s making you whimper.

“Okay,” you pant, tugging harder at those soft brown strands, as your hips shift and grind down against him, making him groan lowly. 

His hands clamp tighter around your waist, dragging you down harder, closer, like he’s trying to fuse you to him. And suddenly your skin feels too tight. You’re too aware of the clothes between you—what little there is.

Because you didn’t put on pants. Just that hoodie of his over your pathetic pair of black panties—thin, useless fabric—and now your pussy is rubbing right up against the thick outline of him through his jeans, and it’s overwhelming. You can feel absolutely everything you’ve missed.

Heat blooms in your stomach and you roll your hips again. It’s so shameless. So needy. But you don’t care. Not when it’s been this long. Not when it’s his fault it’s been this long—because you never would’ve let it be anyone else.

And he meets you in it. Each grind matched with one of his own, more harsh than the last. Until his hips are moving on impulse, chasing you like a man starved. His head drops to your shoulder, and his breath stutters. 

“Fuck, angel, slow down,” he chokes, “You’re killing me.”

You press your lips to his temple, to his jaw, anywhere you can reach, and whisper, breathless, “You deserve it.”

He groans—louder this time—like he agrees.

His hands slide beneath your hoodie, fingers splayed wide, dragging up the warm skin of your back like he’s relearning it. 

“I can’t believe this is happening again,” he breathes into your neck. “You can’t be real.”

But you are. You’re right here. Straddling him. Shaking for him. Letting him touch you like he never stopped having the right to.

He kisses your collarbone. Then lower—your sternum, the tops of your breasts, the edge of lace peeking from beneath his hoodie. His hoodie. That fact alone seems to snap something inside him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and then he’s pushing the fabric up and up and up, until it pools around your ribs and the cold air hits your bare stomach. You shiver. 

“Take it off,” he murmurs. “Please. Want to see you.”

You raise your arms, let him peel it over your head, and suddenly you’re half-naked in his lap—wearing nothing but that black set you wanted him to rip off, then didn’t, then did… and now, he is. Fingers working at the clasp, slipping the straps from your shoulders and tossing the bra aside in your room somewhere.

And then, he takes his time letting his eyes drag over you. Taking a sick pride in seeing his initial rest in the valley of your breast. 

“Jesus,” he whispers. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

And something about that word—still—makes your stomach twist.

Your arms fold over your boobs on instinct, shielding yourself from the one person you’ve always felt safest with. Because still means there’s someone else now. Someone he’s looked at. Someone he’s touched. Someone you had to beat—and somehow did.

But you shouldn’t have had to.

He notices the shift immediately—how your arms cross, how your body goes stiff, how the room, warm just a second ago, chills.

“Hey. Hey,” he says, brows furrowing. He cups your face, thumbs brushing just beneath your eyes. “Talk to me, angel. What’s wrong? What happened?”

You’re still straddling him, half-naked, kissed raw and dizzy, and yet you feel like you’re a million miles away. You try to speak, to explain, but the words choke you. How do you tell him something he’s never known? How do you make him understand? You’ve never done this to him before—and just knowing how much it hurts—you don’t think you ever could.

“I just—” your voice cracks. “I can’t stop thinking about her.”

He flinches—just enough for you to know it landed. But he doesn’t pull away.

The thing is, he doesn’t say her name. Doesn’t even mention her. Never has. But she’s here. Right here. In this room. Your room. In the silence. In his presence.

He shakes his head like he’s trying to wipe the thought away. “No. No, don’t do that. Don’t think about her. This—” his hands cup your face tighter, gently desperate, “—this is you and me. Always you.”

Your jaw clenches, your eyes sting. “Then why wasn’t it only me?”

He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to your lips before flickering away. He doesn’t answer—of course he doesn’t. He never does. And that’s been half the war between you. He doesn’t want to tell you the why.

Instead, his hands drift from your face to your waist, pulling you in like proximity might somehow make up for his silence. Like touch could smother your insecurities. 

His breath ghosts over your skin as he leans in.“Forget her. Just for now. Right here, right now, it’s only you. Only us.”

You hate that you melt. Hate that the ache in your chest loosens its grip the second his hands coax your arms from where you’d folded them. Hate that even after everything, he still knows how to make you feel safe inside the wreckage he caused.

He’s infuriating.

“Let me show you,” he whispers. “That it’s always only been you for me.”

His hands skim up your sides, thumbs brushing delicately beneath your tits. His eyes never leave yours—not for a second—as he kneads and explores and feels your body in his palm. And then his mouth follows.

Lips warm, slightly chapped, close around your right nipple. Your breath punches out of you. You can’t help it because his tongue flicks once, then again, then again until your spine arches and pushes the bud further into his mouth.

“Hyuck,” you moan, helpless, feeling the curve of his smirk drag against your skin.

His free hand trails up your other side, rolling the neglected peak between calloused fingers so deliciously because he remembers exactly what used to make you fall apart, and now he’s hell-bent on proving he hasn’t forgotten.

“God, you’re fucking unreal,” he murmurs against your skin, then bites gently, just enough to make you gasp. 

His words make you ache. Everywhere. Especially between your legs, where you’re still pressed tight against the thick, unrelenting shape of him through his jeans. And he hasn’t even touched you there yet, but it’s coming—you know it is. 

His mouth keeps going, warm and wet whilst he stays sucking just hard enough to turn your bones to water. And whenever you whimper he groans. 

“Please, Hyuck,” you plead. “Need more.”

He lifts his head, murmuring, “Yeah? You want me to show you how much I missed you?”

You nod, dizzy. 

“Fuck,” he groans and wastes no time lifting you off the floor like it’s nothing, carrying you to your bed. He lays you down gently, spreads you out beneath him like something precious. And then he peels off his t-shirt.

That tan skin—scattered with moles you’ve memorised, counted, traced with your fingers and your mouth—is on full display, just for you.

“I’ll give you everything,” he says, voice low as he drops to his knees, crawling between your legs. “Absolutely everything. As long as you don’t regret this. Don’t regret me.”

Your fingers sink into his hair before you can think. “I won’t,” you whisper. “Couldn’t.”

And then he dips down.

His mouth finds the inside of your thigh, open-mouthed kisses dragging tantalisingly up your skin. He’s not rushing. He never does when he gives head. It’s his favourite thing to savour. You. On his tongue.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs, nipping at your skin, making you gasp. “How many times I’ve had to stop myself from texting. From begging you to take me back.”

“Who said anything about taking you back?” You say, hips shifting, dying for friction, but he pins them with strong hands, keeping you right where he wants you. 

“I did,” he says, a smirk ghosting over his lips. “Am I wrong, Y/N? Because if I am, we can stop right now?”

“No,” you whine on a trembling breath.

He smiles. “I didn’t think so.”

Then, finally, finally—his mouth finds the place you need him most.

He licks a slow stripe up your center, groaning from the taste of you in his mouth. He does it again, and then again, until your legs are trembling and one of your hands fists the sheets, the other tangled in his hair, pulling and tugging at it, just how he likes. Just how you like.

He flicks his tongue, circles it, moans when you cry out for more.

“God, you taste the same,” he says hoarsely. “Still fucking perfect.”

You try to respond, to say something, but then he sucks again, so hard, you almost shoot clean off the bed.

“Hyuck—please,” it’s half a sob, a half moan, one hundered percent completley ruined.

He growls, arms locking around your thighs to keep you still, mouth relentless as he licks and sucks and worships like this is his penance.

“Shit, Y/N,” he mutters between licks, “I missed how fucking responsive you are. Always so good for me.”

You whimper. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“Not gonna,” he promises. “Not until you fall apart for me. Right here. Right now.”

He hums, the vibration making your stomach flutter, and you swear your heart forgets how to beat.

“Let me make you come,” he says, voice completely ruined now too. “Wanna feel you fall apart on my mouth. Please.”

And you do. You let him. Because you want this. Want him. Still. Always.

Your entire body coils, legs shaking, hands clawing at the sheets as your orgasm crashes through you. It’s shattering, making you cry out, his name falling from your lips repeatedly. 

Hyuck doesn’t stop. Not until your body finally slumps back to the mattress, boneless and trembling. Only then does he lift his head, lips wet and shiny. He crawls up your body, kissing your thigh, your stomach, the underside of your boobs, your jaw. Everywhere. Until he’s hovering over you, and you’re staring up at him, glassy-eyed and overwhelmed.

“You okay?” he whispers, brushing hair gently back from your face.

You nod, breath catching. “Yeah. I just... I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I never really left,” he says. “Even though I know I should have. I’m too damn selfish.”

Your throat tightens. You reach up, tracing his jaw with shaking fingers. “I want you to fuck me, Hyuck.”

He blinks, then his eyes darken. “You’re sure?”

You pull him down until your foreheads press again and then whisper a soft, “Yes.”

Then he kisses you. Slowly. Passionately in a way you know this about to be more than just fucking. It feels like the before. The soft. His hands coming up to your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. Everything so tender and full of love. 

And somewhere between the kiss and the forgetting, his pants are off. His boxers too. He’s about to fuck you completely raw—like he used to—and for a moment, your body almost lets him. Because it remembers. The blind trust. 

But this isn’t then. And that’s why you reach out, fingers curling gently around his forearm. Stopping him.

“Condom,” you whisper, cheeks flushing as you glance toward the nightstand.

Because it shouldn’t have to be like this. Back then, you were on the pill. You were his. He was yours. There was no one else. But now? Now you’ve had to share him—with her. Maybe with others too. 

He freezes. And for a second, you swear he looks gutted. But then he nods.

Wordlessly, he reaches into your nightstand, gets one open and rolls it on his cock. He doesn’t protest. He never would. Because it’s not the condom that guts him—it’s what it means. It’s that reminder that everything’s different now. And why. A barrier he put there himself because he was reckless, drunk, stupid and ungrateful. A consequence he crafted with his own hands.

But he doesn’t let that thought linger too long. The past is the past—he hates thinking about it. It’s what wrecked him. What wrecked this. What wrecked you.

Now, all he wants is the present. Not even the future. Just this. Just you. Because you’re here. Beneath him. Asking him to fuck you. You’re his—if only for now. And that’s enough.

He slides back over you. And for a second—just one—you both just… look.

You’re looking at him like maybe this could fix it. He’s looking at you like he knows it won’t. Sex doesn’t fix anything. It’s what broke you two in the first place if you really think about it . But he’s still doing it. And so are you.

He pushes inside of you slowly and your breath stutters, nails digging crescent moons into his biceps.

“Fucking hell,” he groans, voice tight and thick. “You feel like—”

“Home,” you whisper, beating him to it.

Because you do. And he does. And it’s pathetic. And perfect. And completely going to destroy you in the morning.

His forehead drops to yours and he lets out a shaky breath, like the kind that comes right before someone starts to cry. But he doesn’t cry—he moves. Gently. Tenderly. 

You cling to him, every nerve alight, oversensitive in that desperate, raw way that makes you breathless beneath him—letting him kiss you through it, through the pain, through the slow, aching stretch of him inside you. 

And in between those kisses and the thrusts and the way your fingers tangle in his hair again, he whispers:

“Missed you.”

“God, I missed you.”

“I’ll never stop being sorry.”

He fucks you like he’s trying to put you back together with every snap of his hips. And maybe he is.

So you let him.

You let him fuck you until you’re both a mess of moans and apologies and, fractured I love yous. Until you’re panting in time with each other. Until you’re cumming—together.

After, it’s quiet.

Not awkward or bitter or biting, but comfortable. You’re tangled in each other, limbs overlapping, as Hyuck brushes his nose against your temple. Eventually, he slips out of you, careful to not hurt you, but you flinch at the loss. He presses a kiss to your forehead, one to each cheek, and then he’s moving—disposing of the condom, finding his way back to your side. 

“Let’s shower,” he murmurs, thumb storoking your jaw. “Let me take care of you first. And after… we’ll talk, yeah?”

You don’t say anything—because you can’t. Your throat is raw from all the moaning and the whimpering. And also because you’re scared of the talking. Terrified, really. Of the hurting that’ll come with addressing it. 

So instead, you swallow and say softly, “I’ll be a minute. Just... need a sec before I move.”

He pauses, like he’s checking you over again, brows pinching. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Not in the way he means.

“No,” you whisper. “Just… been out of the game for a while.”

He pauses but doesn’t argue. Just leans in and presses the gentlest kiss to your cheek. 

“Okay,” he murmurs, brushing a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll start the shower.”

He slips out quietly, to the bathroom attached to your room. You hear the soft creak of the cabinets. He still remembers where everything is. 

And then—of course—his phone buzzes.

You glance over. You don’t mean to look. You really, really don’t. You know you shouldn’t if you wanna rebuild trust and whatever. It’s just…It’s on the floor, fallen from his jeans with the screen lighting up. 

It was taunting you. 

And anyway, he’s the one that broke your trust first. He’s the one that made you so paranoid. He’s the one who made you like this. 

Yeji

if i find out you went to that party tonight, hyuck, and didn’t tell her the truth, i will.

Your stomach drops straight through the mattress.

Another buzz.

Yeji

i’m serious. how long are you gonna keep it from her that it was lia you cheated on her with?

you’re ruining our friendship!

And suddenly you’re not warm anymore.

Suddenly you’re freezing. And hollow. And very, very awake and out of the afterglow sex haze. 

You can’t breathe.

You feel sick. 

Are you sick? Are you dying? Are you about to have a fucking panic attack?

Because it feels like something has clawed its way into your chest and is now eating you alive from the inside out.

Lia?

It all makes sense. It all echoes.

“That sweet boy we both used to love.”

“He’s not yours anymore.”

The door creaks again. Hyuck walks back in, towel slung low on his hips. Completely clueless. 

“You okay?” he asks, soft and smiling. “Shower’s warm.”

You don’t answer because your heart is hammering against your ribs and because you physically, viscerally, cannot breathe.

His smile falters, just a touch.

And then you say it.

One word. One name.

“Lia?”

You’re not even sure if you want to scream at him, or sob, or laugh—because how dare he. How dare he touch you like that, kiss you like that, look at you like that, when he knew—he fucking knew—he’d fucked your best friend and said nothing.

The same best friend who held you while you cried over him for a year. Who told you it wasn’t your fault. Who had her arms wrapped around you less than an hour ago trying to comfort you about him. 

You hold out his phone, pointing to the screen. “You fucked my best friend, Hyuck?”

He freezes. He lifts an arm reaching out towards you or towards his phone, you can’t tell. Probably the phone to see how much you know so he can spin it. Twist it. Try to manipulate this—manipulate you—again.

“Angel—”

“My name is Y/N.”

The words are a blade. His hand drops.

“Y/N,” he breathes, swallowing thickly, “it’s not what it looks like—”

But it is. You both know it. 

“Yeji seems to think it’s exactly what it sounds like.”

And then it hits you. All over again. Yeji knew. Your other best friend. She knew. 

Did everyone know? Everyone you loved? Everyone you trusted? Everyone you thought was safe? 

And suddenly your knees give out. You drop to the floor, spine hitting the edge of the bed on the way down, but you don’t even register the pain. You’re already somewhere else, hands trembling, vision blurry, gasping like there’s no oxygen. 

That fucking necklace around your neck—the one he gave you, the one you swore you'd never take off—isn’t fucking helping. So you rip it off. The chain snapping in your fist and you throw it. It lands at his feet. 

It’s the first time you’ve taken it off since you were sixteen.

“Y/N—”

Hyuck’s voice sounds panicked now. Hurting. He kneels in front of you, eyes wide, reaching for you—

“Don’t you dare touch me!”

You flinch so hard you nearly hit the nightstand. You can’t stand the idea of him touching you now, even though you know there isn’t a part of you he hasn’t touched.

He freezes. Arm stopping in the air. His face furrowed. And you know that face. The face from the night, the one carved from guilt and horror and regret—but it’s too late.

It’s so late.

You’re sobbing now. And it’s ugly—gasping and choking and curling up on the floor. 

“I—I didn’t mean for it to happen like that,” he whispers. “I never wanted to hurt you—”

You laugh. Actually laugh.

“You didn’t want to hurt me?” You shake your head, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, spit and snot and mascara streaking your face.  “Hyuck, you fucked my best friend. And then you came here, tonight, and touched me like…like I was still yours.”

“You are—”

“No. No, I’m not!” You snap. “I don’t even know who I am right now. But I definitely am not—and never will be—yours again.”

“Please, Y/N,” he whispers. “Let me explain. It wasn’t—”

“You’ve had time to explain.” Your voice trembles, but the words are steel. “I gave you so much of myself. So much trust. So much love.” You swallow hard. “But it wasn’t enough, was it? You needed to fuck my best friend. And keep it from me. And somehow rope the other one into it too, so now—”

Your voice cracks.

“So now I can’t trust anyone.”

He opens his mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to lie, maybe to beg. But then he doesn’t. He doesn’t say a word. He just looks at you, regret written in every line of his stupid, beautiful face.

He doesn’t deny it. And that’s the last straw. You fold in on yourself. Arms wrapping tight around your knees as you bury your head and whisper: “I need you to leave.”

He doesn’t move.

You look up—eyes glassy, voice so quiet and weak.

“Get out, Hyuck. Now, please”

And this time, he listens. And you’re glad he listens. Because this time it feels different. This was it. The final fracture. Whatever you had with him? It’s dead now. You just wish you hadn’t kept it on life support for so long—wish you hadn’t clung so tightly to something already bleeding. 

That thousandth cut finally bled dry.

[tinysunshine]

✧˖° 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐘 (𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐒𝐒) °˖✧

‎ [ 𝐧𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ]

female reader, inclusive language. minors dni.

kinks: age difference, ddlg elements (no daddy kink), dumbification, reader is very ditzy, negan is protective, dom/sub dynamic, fingering, creampie, slightly rough sex, dacryphilia, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation

warnings and triggers: dumb! reader, name-calling, mentions of violence and death, negan is extremely manipulative, bullying, reader is a little insecure, dubcon

word count: 7k

plot with porn, slight alternate universe. slightly dead dove.

It’s beautiful, and Negan’s pretty sure this blind obedience and worship you have for him is the best kind of love he’s ever received. He’d do anything to keep you this docile. This trusting.  This dumb, about who he is and what he does. You think he’s the nicest guy in the world, and you’re a sweet little thing. Why would he ever want to change that perception?

It’s funny, because when he was growing up, Negan never wanted to play with dolls. 

He was a regular kid. A regular boy, who liked toy cars and dinosaurs, dug in the dirt and killed spiders and dared his friends to eat ants. Threw rocks at squirrels and played pirates and cowboys, stayed outside until the streetlights turned off. Average. Grew up to be above average, sure, but the fundamental parts of what make him a man have been inside of him since day one. 

He’s mean. He’s pretty damn selfish, and he’d be the first to admit that. He’s rough, he’s aggressive, and sometimes he gets so mad he swears he can feel his dick chub up in his pants - especially when he hears the sound of another grown man begging, crying, or pleading. It’s not a gay thing, of course - more like a fucked up thing, but he knows he’s not alone in it. 

He’s around men all day. Sees them hurt each other, mostly at his orders - but it’s all in good fun. At least for him. Men like that shit. They love to hurt, even if they say they don’t, and the little secret that most women don’t understand is that they like to be the one who’s hurt sometimes. Most of them won’t admit it, but Negan will. 

It feels good, to get smacked in the face or to spit a tooth out after a gnarly punch to the cheek (but Negan’s got a dentist under this thumb, so he can enjoy that feeling, he’s lucky, he knows). When his vision gets blurry and his nose bleeds, ribs aching after a good fight - phew. Negan loves that shit. Knows every other man does too. 

That excitement, the frustration, all of it spreading through his body like a wildfire until he feels his hand curl into a fist to get his retribution. It’s almost as good as an orgasm, because it makes him feel alive. What’s more human than pain?

Negan Smith is a man, through and through. Always has been, always will be. 

Which makes it so funny, such a crazy twist of fate, that his favorite toy is now you. 

His perfect, little doll.

Crazy how life works out, huh?

────

When Negan found you, you were all alone. 

Well, you thought you were alone. 

You were staying at a run-down farm house that Negan’s men found because they were looking for a group of people that tried to fuck him over. A group of scared fucking pathetic excuses for men, which disgusted Negan to no end. He wants to terrify people, sure - gets a thrill, and an erection out of it. But seeing people sweat before he’s even opened his mouth is just infuriating. 

What if he was a nice guy? They’d never know. Pretty fucked up, Negan thinks, judging someone based on their appearance. 

The group started firing at his men before they even got out of their truck, and then they had to be chased, and when Negan’s men lost them he had to get involved. A few days came and went before they were finally found, and just in perfect time too - because those men must’ve seen that you were staying alone at the house and were planning to fuck you over. 

Fuck you too. Negan heard them planning it by some trees about a half a mile away from the house, before he beat in their brains with his bat. 

Now, Negan knows he’s a monster. But he’d never gang up on a woman with his men. It’s tasteless. Disgusting. Tacky, deplorable. Weak. 

Because him? Well, Negan came on to you all on his own.

His first thought when he found you, completely clueless about the fate that awaited you, on the front porch of a farm house that had surely seen better days, was that you were cute.   

Too cute to be alive in this world, living on your own. Negan has a lot of wives, yeah, but they all looked like shit when he found them. He just has an eye for that sort of thing - finding beauty in the things nobody else can see. 

He saw it in all those women he forced to be his bride - beauty in their features all dirtied up from time on the road that he knew would be pretty again after a shower and some lip gloss. Beauty, in the blood under the nails of his men, the fragility of human life and the almost unbreakable spirit. Beauty, in all the luxuries he used to take for granted before walkers became a thing and changed everything. 

Negan knows beauty when he sees it, and when he saw you, he realized he'd laid his eyes on the most beautiful thing still left in this world. 

When you saw him, you didn’t panic. When you saw his men, you didn’t even frown. Instead, on that little porch, you arched an eyebrow and looked at him curiously. You were sitting down on the ground, a pair of tiny, denim shorts on and scuffed up boots. Negan noticed that you had a little flower tucked behind your ear, and he wondered if you were insanely brave or just stupid. 

Either way, he was intrigued. 

“You alone?” He asked a question that would have alarm bells going on in just about anyone else’s head. But not yours. No, you took it a step further than Negan could’ve anticipated. You stood up, walked to him, and gave him a hug.

Negan thought it was a trap. He really did. Was sure that this was going to be the way he finally died, and goddamnit - maybe he deserved it. Clever fucking asshole, whoever designed this honeypot of a beautiful girl all alone, looking like she was waiting to be rescued. 

But it wasn’t a trap. 

You were actually happy to see him and his men. You pulled away from the hug and let out a sigh of relief, blowing a piece of hair out of your face with a cute expression. You smiled, and Negan realized how much he missed the look of innocence. He didn't realize how long it'd been since he'd last seen it. “I’m so happy you’re here,” you said, taking the flower out from behind your ear. You handed it to him. “It was so scary being all alone.”

────

You’re beautiful, but that’s the least interesting thing about you. Don’t get Negan wrong though - you are beautiful. Fucking perfect, like a little doll, with soft skin and perky tits and a sweet smile whenever you get your way. 

Which makes you perfect for Negan, because you’re also about as brainless as a doll, pretty head all empty, and whatever he tells you to do, whatever he thinks, whatever he wants - you agree. That simple, that smooth. Even Negan was impressed when he realized just how ditzy you were. 

He’s not trying to be insulting either. People have different strengths, and using your brain is not one of yours. You’re so fucking hot though, that it doesn’t really matter what you say or do. Your passivity, your cuteness, the big eyed look you give him whenever you’re confused about something he says (which is frequently) - Negan could cum in his pants just thinking about it. 

You’re special to him. 

The minute he brought you home, he hated the guts of every single one of his wives. Although, maybe hate is too strong of a word. Because Negan doesn't even hate them, truthfully, because he doesn't even think of them. Once he had you in his presence, you took up so much of his time that he was shocked (and pleased) that someone didn’t try to overthrow his position as leader in his absence. 

He knew from the minute he had you in his truck, leaving that farm house, that you’d end up meaning a lot to him. The day he found you, he had his men walk around the little house you were staying in, looking for any valuables. There were some, and even though Negan found you charming, he still didn’t know you. Didn’t know if that happy to not be alone thing was an act or not. 

He drilled you, asked you questions and tried to scare you a little bit, but it was impossible to frighten you - which frightened him. He’ll admit, you spooked him with your naivety back then. It was creepy as shit.

You just kept giggling, kept standing too close to him, and when Negan finally made his men look through the house, you took a seat on the old couch in the living room. “So nice of them to help me with my stuff. I’ve been alone here since my brother never came back after he went looking for something for us to eat. I’m really lonely. Really hungry too.” It was obvious to Negan at that moment, just how clueless you really were - but it was also really fucking cute. 

He’d spent so much time fighting, arguing, forcing - and finally having someone give in without resistance was nice. That day, he found himself sitting back on the couch in front of you, and then you made the move to get up and sit next to him. Clueless. Dangerous, your innocence.

But deep down, in a thought Negan didn’t even want to admit to himself - 

It was nice to be around someone who wasn’t scared of him. Someone he didn’t have to force.

“We only just met, kid. Personal space,” he remembers saying, but you just laughed. Sweet and hungry, you said. Negan couldn’t wait to bring you home and feed you. He was already wondering where you would fit in, hating himself for being worried about how the other women would treat you if he threw you in with his wives. Maybe you could teach them a thing or two, about being nice. But then again. 

His wives are bitches. Although Negan can’t say he doesn’t understand why. 

“You play baseball?” You asked, looking towards his bat that was resting beside his foot while he held onto it. He was in a state of disbelief. He couldn’t understand how someone could be so, so - 

“No, honey, I don’t. You pullin’ my leg or something? Or are you really just that,” stupid, he wanted to say. But he didn’t. Because your bottom lip jutted out like you were about to cry, then your eyes filled with tears, and Negan loves to hurt people to see how far he can take it until they try to hurt him back - but with you, he knew you wouldn’t fight back. 

Took a lot of the fun out of it, so he quickly changed the subject. It’s only fun to make a beautiful woman cry when it serves a purpose, and Negan didn’t see any purpose in hurting someone as…you know what? He’s got nothing nice to say, he won’t say anything at all.

“How’s this,” he said instead, placing a hand on your knee. Your skin was warm under his palm, soft where his rough fingers touched you. “You come back with us, and you can eat whatever you want. As much as you want. You in?” 

Truth be told, Negan planned on bringing you back with him, regardless of if you wanted to come, at this point. Because when he touched your knee, you put your hand on top of his, and that was all it fucking took to disarm him. 

Little bunny, not scared of the big bad wolf. Now that’s a fairy tale Negan’s never heard of -

He’s always liked to write his own rules, anyway. 

────

Negan calls you his bunny, and you like it, but you think you like being called doll better. 

He tells you all the time that you look like a doll. No matter what time of day, no matter what you look like, he’ll never stop giving you that compliment. It always makes your face heat up, and sometimes it even turns you on. 

What can you say? You’re a woman, and being by Negan’s side makes you feel more feminine than you’ve ever felt in your entire life. 

He treats you like you’re breakable. Gives your forehead kisses, brings you food, takes care of all your needs. The truth is, you’ve always been treated like you’re breakable, but nobody ever acted like they enjoyed having to take care of you. Negan says he’s happy that you need him so much, and you like that. 

You like being the kind of woman who gets protected. The kind of woman who gets doted on and adored. Ever since you met Negan, your nails have been clean and your knees have been without a bandage, your tummy has been full - you didn’t think you’d ever feel clean and pretty again, until he swept you off your feet like you always dreamed would happen to you.

Negan has a lot of pet names for you. Bunny, doll - those are just a few. Sometimes you wonder if he even knows your real name, because he never says it. Baby, sweetheart, cutie. Darling. Everytime he opens his mouth to say something in regards to you, something sweet is coming out of it. 

You’ve only been with him a few months, but you love him so much you can’t stand it. You want to be around him all the time, but it’s just not possible, he says.

You don’t know what Negan does when he leaves his, yours, the room you both share, because you spend most of your time in there. Sometimes you go out, with him, or with one of his men that you met that day at the farmhouse, but if Negan’s not taking you out, you don’t really want to go anywhere. 

You’re happy to stay in the room. There’s books, although you don’t really read…but there’s plenty of things to do to keep yourself busy. Most of the time, you just sleep. Sometimes it’s a little boring, waiting for Negan, but you’re eternally grateful for being able to nap again. Life on the road was scary, stressful. 

“You’re not built for life out there, baby,” Negan told you once, which translated to life without me, but it’s not like you disagreed. You were sitting on his lap, your head resting on his shoulder, asking him to tell you about his day. You love the stories he tells you, because they make you feel even more grateful to be somewhere safe. 

Negan is so good to you.

You know that Negan is in charge of the place you’re at, and that makes you feel funny, and lucky, to be the woman he chose. You know it’s practically the apocalypse and all, but you’re sure he had a lot of women he could’ve chosen to date. He’s handsome, so handsome, and he’s the nicest, most generous man you’ve ever met. 

He gives people jobs, and medical care. He has a system to kill off all the walkers that come too close to the building, and it’s so smart that you know he must’ve come up with it himself. He has so many supporters and people that respect him - which tells you all you need to know, about him being an amazing leader. When he walks in a room, everyone gets quiet, and that makes you feel giddy, knowing the amount of power he holds. 

Although, it shouldn’t exactly surprise you. Negan was able to get power over you pretty quickly, but that’s only because you let him. It’s just - 

You don’t know how else to be. You’ve always been this way - ditzy, head full of air, dumb. You’ve heard it your entire life, which is maybe why it feels so good to hear Negan call you nice things. To love that you might not be the, what was it your father always said to you? Not the brightest candle on the birthday cake? Not the sharpest tool in the shed? 

You know you sound dumb - but you like sounding dumb. You like that Negan is around to think for you, to tell you what to do and when to do it. He tells you what you should be thinking, and you listen. 

Negan knows best. You could hardly survive on your own for a week, and look at what he built. 

Sometimes though, no matter how strong a leader Negan is, things get hard.

Bad things happen, little bunny, he tells you, patting his lap for you to take a seat. You do, and you look up at him with wide eyes, ready for whatever he plans on telling you. You know it has to be serious, because he didn’t ask you to take your clothes off yet. That’s usually the first thing out of his mouth, whenever he’s back in the room for the night.

Negan tells you that sometimes, people break his rules, and when that happens, they have to be punished. He asks if you heard anything while he was out, any screams or any loud voices - but you shake your head. You arch a brow, curious. “Why?” You ask, and he stares at you for a moment, tongue licking over his bottom lip. Then he grins, and you smile back cluelessly.

“That’s it, huh?” He says, but you know not to reply. You don’t need to. Talking out loud, Negan explained to you. 

Sometimes he’s just in shock, is all, about how clueless you really are. 

He maneuvers you easily, his little doll, into straddling his lap. Bucks his hips up, so you can feel what you’re doing to him just by existing. He killed three men today, burned the face off of another, and you’re looking at him like he hung all the stars in the sky. 

It’s beautiful, and Negan’s pretty sure this blind obedience and worship you have for him is the best kind of love he’s ever received. He’d do anything to keep you this docile. This trusting. 

This dumb, about who he is and what he does. You think he’s the nicest guy in the world, and you’re a sweet little thing. Why would he ever want to change that perception?

He reaches his hand between your bodies, to lift up the bottom of the big shirt you’re wearing, his shirt, to feel how wet you are. No panties, because he told you that they don’t exist anymore. Just - they were all taken. He didn’t know if you’d seriously believe that, but you do, and it’s just too good to be true. 

“Don’t mean to worry you about all that grown up, scary stuff, honey,” he fakes an apology, loves that your little cunt is ready for him, wet, shaved all proper, sucking his finger in when he starts prodding at your opening. You whine, biting on the inside of your cheek because his fingers are so long and you love the attention after you’ve spent all day alone.

You're not even offended at his little insult. Grown up stuff, as if you're not a full adult yourself. You're too busy focusing on the feeling of his ownership, the fact that you quite literally exist for him, like any good toy does.

Although, be real. Being finger fucked or not, it's unlikely you would've understood that comment was an insult anyway.

It’s your special time together, moments like these, and if it’s even possible - you become more brainless. Let him play with your pussy, let him push you down on the couch, slip his dick inside of you, make you so full that sometimes the feeling scares you a little, but you like it nonetheless. 

Your favorite part about the sex is how it feels to be in Negan’s arms after. Warm, body loose, his cum dripping out of you as he tucks you into bed. Back at that farmhouse, all alone, you cried yourself to sleep every night. There were so many scary noises, so much land that you could only imagine the horror that was lurking outside. When your family was alive, you were still scared -

They’d just tell you to shut up. But not Negan. 

There’s no fear with Negan, you think, closing your eyes as his arms wrap around you. 

You’re the safest you could possibly be. You think about this while your drift off to sleep, but Negan thinks the opposite -

He’s the face of nightmares to more people than he can name, but you cling to him like he’s your savior.

────

“You got any brains in that head? Or is it just filled with ribbons and whatever that frilly shit you’ve got on is called?” Dave, one of the men you hate most in this world, snaps the strap of your tank top against your shoulder so hard that it makes you want to cry. Your eyes fill up with tears, and in typical you fashion, you stomp your foot and use what little strength you have to push him away from you. Your bottom lip trembles. 

“Leave me alone,” you whine (beg), arms crossed over yourself protectively when Dave finally steps back. 

He’s not alone - a few moments ago, you screamed and the men patrolling the compound heard and came running. But they did nothing to help, and instead, have made you feel bad about screaming at all. As if you could control your reaction to a fucking spider crawling across the toe of your shoe. Brand new shoes, you must add, because don’t these men understand how hard it is to get new shit nowadays? 

Don’t they understand how scary and dangerous spiders are? 

The honest truth is that it doesn’t cross your mind that these are the same men that risked their life to get you the shoes you’re wearing, but. They don’t have to be so mean. 

“No. You’re such a dumbass. Screaming like that’s fuckin’ dangerous,” another man says, and you don’t even know his name but being reprimanded like this makes you cry. Being called a dumbass makes you want to sob. You admit that, yeah, maybe you’re a little airheaded sometimes. Maybe you’re a little clueless, when adjusting to life in this new, yucky world, but fuck - would it kill people to be nice? 

Name calling is never the answer. 

“I’m not dumb,” you say softly, with no confidence in your voice. You should have known better than to leave the room without asking anyone to escort you. 

There’s no rule that says you can’t leave the room, but you’ve been at the sanctuary for months now, and you rarely leave the room you share with Negan unless he’s with you. Out of all the men that work for him - the only ones that treat you decently are the ones that were with him that day they found you at the farmhouse. 

The times you do leave the room, everyone treats you so weird. They’re all cruel, whispering about how stupid you are when you walk past, holding Negan’s hand. Or they just stare at you, which makes you feel insecure. It’s even worse when they ask you questions, because no matter how hard you think about the answer, they’re unhappy with it. 

You think to a few weeks ago, when you walked past a room with a bunch of women just sitting around. Negan said you weren’t allowed to go in there, but when his back was turned later that day, you walked over there to talk to some of them. 

“Negan know you’re here?” One of them asked, looking nervously behind your shoulder. Your brows furrowed, confused. 

“Huh? Uh, no, but it’s okay. I just never see any other women here, I,” but she cut you off, and you heard hushed whispers in the corner of the room where a small group of women sat together.

“You should go,” she said, dismissing you, and that was the last time you left the room. In the room, you’re safe. 

You’ve got things to do, and a big collection of stuff that makes you happy that Negan got for you. Clothes, magazines, even if they are old. Purses and things to color with, to paint with. You keep pretty busy most days. Plus, his side of the bed smells like him, and you love to nap next to it when he’s not around. 

You only left the room today because Negan didn’t come back last night, and you’re worried about him and very upset and lonely. 

You walked around the sanctuary, wondering where he could possibly be, when a spider crawled across your shoe and, well. Here you are. 

“A spider isn’t a fuckin’ emergency. Jesus fuck, I swear, Negan’s a sick son of a bitch for even fucking you. ‘S like you got a problem or something,” Dave says, and you wish you could just walk away and run back to the room, where you’d be safe, surrounded by all the things that make you happy - but they’re all blocking your path. 

“Yeah, man,” the other one says. You wish you weren’t so bad with names. “Scared of a spider but not scared of the fuckin’ walkers outside,” he scoffs, and somehow you find it in you to defend yourself. You wish you could say more, but you just can’t. It’s so frustrating, not being able to come up with anything to say on the spot. 

“Walkers used to be human. Spiders are icky bugs. I’m scared of bugs, not humans. I didn’t mean to scream,” but nobody is listening to you. 

“It’s not right, Negan fuckin’ you. Weird as shit. You got something wrong with you? Dropped on your head as a baby? Can’t feel right fuckin’ a dumbass doll, you’re real cute though,” and he just goes on and on while the other men laugh, and you can’t help it, tears are pouring. 

“I just want to find Negan. Where is he?” You try to wipe your eyes, hating yourself for being such a big baby. Hating yourself, for not paying better attention to the layout of your new home when Negan gave you a tour, because you were so focused on the feeling of holding his hand, that you paid no attention to almost everything else. You hate how dependent on him you are, and you wonder if he hates it too. 

Maybe he’s been gone because he’s sick of you. Maybe he’s going to bring you back to the farmhouse, because he doesn’t like you anymore. Maybe everyone else told him why they don’t like you, and now he believes them, and he’s such a good leader that - 

Footsteps, and then you hear the slow, deliberate chuckle you’ve come to know so well. You’d recognize Negan anywhere, even with your eyes closed. He rounds the corner, behind Dave and the other men, and they scramble like they’re stepping on hot coals with bare feet, making room for him. 

“Ohhh, no no no,” he says, voice like honey, and you wonder why. You wonder why he’s happy, until it clicks in your brain that this might be the sarcasm your brother used to always talk about. “See, I might let a lotta things go. But talking to her like that? That’s just beggin’ for a lesson in respect.” 

Negan doesn’t yell. Just tilts his head, eyes narrowing in on the men who were just being big old meanies to you. Your crying stops, but you’re so upset that you don’t even run to Negan like you normally would. You look down, towards your shoe, where Negan uses the tip of his bat to kill the spider that wandered off. 

“Go to our room, bunny. You know how to get back there, don’t you, sweet girl?” 

You don’t, not really, and you must freeze for long enough that Negan takes his eyes off the men and shakes his head. Then his eyes focus on you, and he nods in the direction to go.

“That way, baby,” he says with a sigh, and then you scamper off. 

────

Negan’s pissed - 

It’s been a long time since he’s felt this emotion, but the truth is that he’s pissed at himself. 

He should have known better than to leave you alone overnight. He didn’t intend to be gone so long, but shit happened that he had to handle, and you’d been so easy to manage since you arrived. So good. So happy and at peace with what he gives you, eager for isolation in a way that even surprised him. 

He didn’t think you’d even notice if he was gone, but that was his mistake - because the minute he found you back in the room, crying your eyes out again, he set his bat by the door and hoped to god that you were dumb enough to not notice the literal pieces of brain stuck to it. Dave, and the others who were dumb enough to fuck with you? 

They were handled, and Negan finds it kind of funny that they had the nerve to insult your intelligence. As if speaking to you like that wasn’t about the stupidest, most suicidal thing a man at the sanctuary could do. 

“I’m so sorry, Negan. I don’t want to get anyone in trouble,” you sob, even as he sits down beside you and pulls your tiny frame into his lap. You latch onto him, sniffling and shaking your head, obviously disappointed at the way you acted. 

You’re such a good girl, that even when you don’t break the rules, you’re still worried about getting into trouble. Desperate for his approval, eager to please, eyes that look like that when they’re filled with tears. 

Jesus fucking -

Negan’s painfully hard, and he’s ready to take his cock out and tell you to lick it, bunny, yeah, like a lollipop, but he’s got to make you feel better first. His sweet girl, his best girl, worried that he might be mad at her.

“You’re not in trouble, baby, you know that? Did nothing wrong. Dave and the others will be taken care of, don’t you worry,” he rubs your back with one big hand, doesn’t even try to mask the fake concern and damn near baby talk just to make you feel better. Anyone else would be able to see right through it, but not you. 

Fuck, even that thought makes him harder. 

“I don’t know why they don’t like me, but,” you stutter out. “It’s not a big deal. Guess I’m just being a baby, I just missed you, and I got lost, and then there was the spider and,” Negan has to stop you there. 

“Not a big deal?” he echoes you, voice low and no longer sugar sweet. “Baby, someone made you cry. That is a big deal. That’s a fucking world-ending deal.”

Negan’s never felt this way about a woman. Protective. Sure, he’s felt possessive about his wives, will burn the face off of any fucking bastard who tries to touch them even if he’s ignoring them, but he could care less what actually happens to them. 

But you? Knowing that you were lonely. Lost, all dumb and cute wandering around the sanctuary. It was risky, he’ll admit, to have you think it’s alright for you to just walk around freely. What if you saw something that changed the way you thought about him? What if you hurt yourself, what is someone tried to touch you? He makes a mental note to think of some excuse to have you stay in the room from now on, unless he’s with you. Something to scare you. 

Just thinking about those fucking pieces of shit upsetting you - he might have to dig their decaying corpses out of the guts of the walkers he fed them to, just to kill them again. 

You’re nervous. He can tell, by how tense you are on his lap. Wordlessly, he grabs your hips and forces you to sit, enjoys the feeling of his bulge bumping up against the thin fabric that hides your cunt. No more underwear - fucking genius of him.

“Look, honey,” he starts, sighing again as if it’s hard for him to say this. “I wouldn’t hurt a fly. You know that -”

“You killed a spider, though. That’s kind of like a fly.”

Are you fucking serious? Negan ignores that. At least you’re not crying anymore. 

“Baby, I don’t want to hurt anyone, but anyone messing with you needs to have some consequences,” you’re pouting, and you look like you’re about to cry again, so he changes the subject. That’s always easy to do with you, and he feels a rush of affection for his sweet, dumb girl.

Gently, he pushes you off his lap so he can stand, then he grabs your hand to lead you to the bed. He takes your clothes off first, sitting on the edge of the bed while you’re standing between his legs, and he rubs his hands up and down your sides. 

So soft. So perfect, your cute little skirt falling to the floor. He helps you step out of it because he knows how clumsy you are, and when your breasts are bare he grabs both of them in his hands, rubs his thumbs over your nipples, lets the sexy sounds you make go straight to his dick.

“Where were you, Negan?” You ask, and that surprises him. Takes him aback, because you never ask him questions like that. If you were any other woman, he might think that you were trying to catch him in a lie or something - but because you’re you, he just leans in and kisses you, fists a hand in the back of your hair while he does it, a little roughly. 

You told him once, that he was too rough, and he told you that all men are like that if they really like a woman. That’s all he had to say. You believed him. Even asked him after that, on a night he was all gentle, if he still liked you. 

His dick gets harder, if possible, thinking about it. 

“You don’t need to worry your little head about that, alright? I’ll be honest with you, baby - I’ll probably need to go out again tonight,” he ignores your frown by standing, pushing you down on the bed. You’re on your stomach, and then he pats you on the ass, and you’re so good that you remember what that means. What you’re supposed to do. You get on all fours, and you don’t even whine like usual when he pushes down on your back to get you to arch. 

You don’t question him further, but maybe that’s because he takes his belt off, unzips his pants, takes his dick out and gets behind you on the bed. He runs the head of his cock, leaking, between your folds, grins at the way you’re trying to suck him in. Greedy little thing, how badly you want his cock.

He presses in a little, just to tease you, and you make small noises and move your hips a little. “What a good girl,” he talks out loud, but he knows that his girl likes a lot of praise. “Doesn’t matter how long I keep you on a shelf, dolly, does it? You’d be here, waiting for me. Ready for me, however I want you. Fuck,” he groans, when he bottoms out inside of you. 

Your pussy is better than all of his wives combined, but maybe that’s just because you’re his. His to break in, his to mold to his own liking. His to fuck, his to keep, his girl, his toy, his doll. Those other women - they weren’t even his to start with, which was a little fun, part of the appeal - but it’s nothing like this. Nothing is as good as this. 

Negan fucks you, and you take it. Honestly, it used to freak him out a little, how submissive you are. Just laying there, however he asks you to, keeping quiet if not for the little noises you make. You cum fast, whenever he touches your clit or finds that spot inside of you, and he knows it’s because you never touch yourself. 

He asked you once, if you play with yourself when he’s gone, but you looked at him like he was crazy. “Don’t know how to,” you said, all embarrassed, but Negan wants to keep you that way. Like a pot that boils only for him, his little magic lamp. A few thrusts here, his fingers or a lick there and - boom. Squeezing his cock so tight it feels like it’s about to break off. Perfect.

He cums deep inside of you, hopes that one day he’ll be able to knock you up, but he’s still a little nervous about how you’d be as a mother. Maybe he could get one of his wives to help out if that happened, or maybe - 

He pulls his dick out of you, sweaty and spent, trying to screw his head back on straight. Maybe he should not even be thinking about starting a family right now. He’s got enough on his plate as is, especially when you turn around and look at him with hearts in your eyes, making grabby hands at him that just look too innocent when you’ve got his spunk leaking out of your pussy.

Negan lays down with you, and you lay your head on his chest, drawing hearts and little shapes with your finger on his skin while he catches his breath. 

“Bunny,” he warns after a few minutes, and you look towards him, position yourself on your stomach with your hands flat on his chest, your head balanced on top of them. You’re looking at him like he’s the sun, and shit if it's not waning on his evil streak just a little bit. You’re fucking precious.

“I don’t want to leave you, but I have some business to take care of,” and then your happy look fades. 

Even so, you try to snuggle closer, until he literally just pulls you closer. 

“I don’t want you to get hurt. What if someone hurts you, and you never come back?” Your voice is quiet, sad, and Negan almost blows his entire cover right there, almost wants to tell you that there’s no bigger monster than him just to tame your anxiety.

Instead, he changes the story. Tells you that there’s some insane guy out there, with a group of people who are taking supplies away from the sanctuary. They want to hurt people, they want to hurt him, but he’s arranging a peaceful talk and hopefully, they’ll agree. He’ll have plenty of backup, of course, and you know how good I am at staying calm, honey, and then you’re at ease, kissing him all sloppy because you miss him already, and really, it’s a perfect send off. 

“Good girl,” he tells you later, when you make it easy for him to leave. You don’t give him any shit. After fucking you, he spent a few hours just playing with you. Making you try on some of the new clothes he found you, he did a new puzzle with you (you’re surprisingly good at puzzles, and he’s impressed), and then he counted how many fingers you could take in your sweet little cunt before cumming (four). 

You had good quality time together, which is why his praise means so much. But who are you kidding: Negan’s praise is the most important thing in the world to you.

When he says goodbye, he makes you promise (pinky promise) to stay in the room. That someone will bring you food, but he’ll be back in the morning. You promise, stand up on your tip toes when he teases you by holding his hand higher than you can reach, but you end up grabbing his closed fist and you press a kiss to his outstretched pinky. Then you kiss him, and he asks you to keep his bed warm. Stay pretty for him, he says, shutting the door. Keep bein’ sweet.

When the door locks behind him, Negan thinks about you the entire way to the car, even with his men following him. He should feel bad about the way he treats you, but he doesn’t.

He tells you stories, half-truths painted in bright colors. You think he keeps people safe, that he’s a good person who does things for the greater good, and you’re always amazed that he’s willing to protect people like you, who can’t do anything without someone else calling the shots. 

It’s not so wrong though, he thinks, wanting to keep you in the dark. Someone like you deserves an opportunity to stay soft. If anything, he’s doing you a favor, keeping you sheltered like this. 

You stay soft, you stay blind to the cold, hard truth about the fucked up world around you. About the man you share your bed with.

He’ll kill and hurt and do whatever he has to do to survive, and because he finds a thrill in it - and you'll stay locked up like a pretty doll on a shelf, spending your days applying lotion and trying on pretty dresses, doing your puzzles and looking through your magazines. Dumb and oblivious and waiting on him to give you a purpose. Perfect.

Negan’s not a romantic, but he thinks that there’s something safe about not knowing the truth. Something kind of beautiful about believing in the myth of a good man.

That night, before Negan steps out of his trailer, before he lines up every member of the fucking group he’s been itching to put in their place for much too long now, he looks in his pocket for the picture of you that he snapped on a polaroid camera. Pretty, sweet, sitting on his couch in a pink tank top and a little white skirt. 

You’re beautiful, and you think he’s good. 

If he looks hard enough at you, he wonders if he’ll start to convince himself of it too. 

Negan Smith is a bad man, he knows - but he thinks you might be sweet enough for the both of you.

[heartsiebyul]

What if the overbolt gang were to find Reader crying? But after asking them what's the reason they're crying, they just explain that... They're missing all of the new content from their favorite media!! 😭😭

I rlly just want something silly, so hopefully it could be that? Like Reader is being very dramatic and stuff ig

╰─▸ ❝ Twisted Wonderland x reader!

art: twisted wonderland archives

featuring — Overblot boys : Riddle : Leona : Azul : Jamil : Vil : Idia : Malleus.

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☛ Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle nearly drops when he finds you hunched over in the rose bushes, your shoulders shaking. “What’s the matter? Are you hurt?!” he demands, only for you to sob out that you’re missing the comeback of your favorite K-pop group.

He blinks. Once. Twice. “I… don’t understand. What’s a comeback? Who came back from where? But more importantly, you’re crying over that?” he says, absolutely confused. But when your eyes well up again, he softens. “W-Well! That’s… understandable! I suppose.”

Despite not really getting it, Riddle returns with a prepared strawberry tart and a blanket. He gently pats your head, muttering, “calm down and get up so you can eat this.” He then gives you a gentle lecture about managing your emotions properly while you sniffle and nibble through your “withdrawal.”

You even dramatically sing a few lines from their track, and Riddle claps awkwardly. “Exquisite vocals, (name).” He’s utterly lost. Still, he lets you show him a few photos of your biases and listens seriously as you explain how unfair it is to miss live fan events. He’s trying his best, okay?

☛ Leona Kingscholar

Leona is napping in the field under a tree when your wailing disrupts his peace. Groaning, he rolls over to see you lying on the grass, dramatically sprawled like a damsel in despair. “You dying or something?” he mutters, and you hiccup out that you’re missing the season finale of your favorite manhwa adaptation.

“…You’re crying because of that?” he snorts, rubbing a hand down his face. “You’re such a drama queen.”

But ten minutes later, he’s tossing a bag of dorm snacks at your head and flopping down beside you with a sigh. “Tch. Cry quieter and eat something.”

He listens with one ear as you rant about plot twists and cliffhangers, occasionally grumbling, “They really killed him? Psh. I wouldn’t have.” He secretly likes how animated you get.

☛ Azul Ashengrotto

You’re sobbing in the VIP lounge of the Mostro Lounge, tissues piling up as you complain about the K-pop update drops you’re missing. Azul, mid-study review, startles and rushes over. “Are you hurt?! Is someone harassing—oh.”

His concern quickly turns to confusion when you explain that you’re grieving over missing updates.

He adjusts his glasses, flustered, then nods and leaves. He returns with a dessert platter and a cup of your favorite juice. “Since I cannot provide your missing media,” he says with a sheepish smile, “perhaps a taste of luxury can ease the ache?”

Floyd walks by and loudly asks if you’re “mourning a boyband again.” Azul nearly chokes.

☛ Jamil Viper

Jamil is walking down the Scarabia hallways when he hears sniffles coming from the lounge. He finds you curled up in a blanket burrito, your phone clutched tightly in your hands. “Let me guess, you can’t access your media from your hometown again?” he sighs knowingly, having witnessed this meltdown like clockwork every month.

Without a word, he heads to the kitchen and returns with warm curry and a mango lassi. “Food heals all wounds, even breakdowns.” he teases lightly, handing them to you.

He listens as you wail about the lack of fans and concert tours, occasionally raising a brow. “You get this worked up over them?”

Still, he stays beside you until you feel better, secretly amused by your dramatics.

☛ Vil Schoenheit

Vil finds you weeping on the floor of the dorm lounge, surrounded by your phone and tablet. “Whatever is the matter?” he asks sharply, one brow raised, fully prepared to scold you for such an undignified display. But he pauses when you wail about missing the comeback and new songs from your favorite group.

There’s a long silence. Then, Vil sighs dramatically. “This is exactly what ruins skin elasticity,” he mutters, before vanishing and returning with fruit parfaits and under-eye patches. “At least cry on the couch, not on the carpet and let me preserve your beauty while you grieve.”

He lets you rant while adjusting your posture and gently dabbing at your face. “You are far too radiant to be destroyed over missing an update.”

☛ Idia Shroud

You’re lying on the floor of Idia’s room, surrounded by tissues and dramatically mumbling about the updates you’ll never see again. Idia peeks out from behind his screen. “You’re… alive. Just emotionally wrecked,” he mutters, worried but unsure how to help.

He awkwardly places a bag of chips next to your head and slides over a tablet. “I downloaded a bunch of stuff that’s probably similar to what you had back in your world. I figured you’d have withdrawal symptoms sooner or later…”

He mumbles that he gets it, his own spirals are way worse, and even lets you cling to the sleeve of his oversized hoodie while you vent.

Bonus: Ortho cheerfully tries to find music similar to the ones from your world, compiling a “coping playlist”.

☛ Malleus Draconia

Malleus hears your sobbing echo through the woods beside Ramshackle and appears beside you, only to find you weeping on the floor. “Dear… why do you mourn so?” he asks gently, concerned, as he lifts you into your bed.

When you dramatically declare that you’re missing concert tours and comeback announcements, he looks completely baffled. “…A performance has caused such despair?”

But he doesn’t question it further. Instead, he brings you a basket of treats. “I cannot return you to your world,” he says solemnly, “but I can offer you the warmth of this one.”

He even sits beside you, gently patting your head as you explain the group and the fandom and the heartbreak of missing live streams and updates. Though he doesn’t understand a word, he listens, intrigued by your passion.

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Honestly, I’d be the same, thrown into an unfamiliar world without my favorite media lol

[timblriche]

How Will and Mike's first kiss could be directed to mirror their platonic-romantic tension and culminate in a romantic plot twist and "gotcha!" moment for the GA. Also, the narrative weight of hugs for Mike...

hear me out… it'd be a fantastic directing choice to maximize mike and will's platonic-romantic tension while preserving the 'mike likes will back' twist for the GA until the very last second by centering it around an intense platonic hug. (skip to the end if you just wanna read my rendition of their first kiss!)

like if instead of suddenly kissing, if during a big emotional moment they shared a super intense but innocent & initially platonic hug that lingered and grew until slowly morphing into a kiss, shocking the GA. a real hug is also what mike and will need so badly; even that is something mike denied himself in the airport scene bc he was already repressing how badly he wanted to hold will. so starting their first kiss with an intimate hug wouldn't just be romantic payoff, it would show how blurred the line between platonic and romantic feelings can be for mike and will. it'd be emotional catharsis, character resolution, and the moment mike finally stops running from the truth: starting with a simple hug (it'd validate mike's fear that a mere hug from will is the gateway drug to dangerous uncharted gay territory which would be kind of hilarious lmao). iirc the last time they shared a real hug was at the end of S3 when will moved and we got that scene of mike looking sadly and longingly at the car driving away, then the byers house, and then the shot of him devastated while getting a hug from his mom just like he did in S1 when he thought will died. and then we get that ridiculous ass half-hug at the airport in S4. so my point is, hugs carry a surprising amount of visual narrative weight when it comes to mike, the intensity of his feelings for will, and the blurred line between platonic and romantic.

let me set the scene... something crazy just happened, maybe one of them narrowly escaped certain death, maybe one just risked their own life to save the other, maybe one just did something super heroic to save everyone, OR maybe it's not even life or death but will just confessed his feelings after mike confronts him about the painting lie... and mike, in his shock at the sudden revelation, jumps to showing acceptance for will's sexuality but doesn't verbally reciprocate bc he's still figuring things out internally. it's at this point where will has already accepted that mike doesn't return his feelings, so he just accepts and values mike's platonic acceptance via a big platonic hug without expecting anything romantic, and the GA is like aww look at these besties being besties, they're the bestest of friends! of course mike doesn't reciprocate, he's just there to show will acceptance! platonically!

they're wrapped up in each other's arms with their heads tucked into each other's shoulders, feeling so much relief and closeness and maybe they're out of breath and tearful if they just escaped something life-or-death, and mike lifts his head a bit to whisper something into will's ear (e.g. "I thought I lost you") and he feels overwhelmed by all the platonic love he has for will... but wait... is it? platonic? why does the newfound knowledge of will's feelings for him stir something in his heart? why does this closeness he's been avoiding for so long feel so right and more importantly why does mike want more of it? and their faces slowly inch up each other's necks and get closer and closer together [tender, emotional music playing] and the GA's starting to panic a little bit and now their cheeks are pressed up and they're breathing heavily and the tension is unbearable and their eyes close (bc the momentum is unstoppable now, and all that’s left is to close their eyes and hold their breath and brace for the inevitable) and the corners of their mouths touch and they linger until slowly but surely succumbing to the pull of each other's gravity and GOTCHA! slowly falling into a kiss…………………. bro someone give me a director's chair on that set pleeeease

I took some inspo from willhelm and simon in young royals (willhelm faces a super similar internal crisis as mike):

[gugudalala]

ft. sae itoshi / rin itoshi x reader

synopsis: They grew up together, hearts quietly entwined — even when Sae left for America. Now that Sae's back, Rin is done watching from the sidelines and pushes his way between them, Sae's long-suppressed jealousy boils over — the quiet bond they once shared threatens to erupt into something far more dangerous.

TW: smut with plot, spanking, degradation, size kink, unprotected, praise, ect+++

words: 1087

A/N. I do not own any of the character or picture (credit to the rightful owner) only the plots are mine. 

Enjoy ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

CH: 1 | 2 | 3

────୨ৎ────

MONTHS LATER

After those days, nothing between you three was the same—at least not on the surface. The days remained deceptively normal, with light conversations, and routines unchanged. Sae returned to his team. Rin buried himself in his training program. You threw yourself into your studies. But whenever the three of you found yourselves in the same room, the truth surfaced back to the day.

With Sae and Rin's conflicts, you begin to doubt your relationship. — did you truly want this? No. You knew it was wrong. Twisted. And yet, the thought of ending it made your chest ache. You didn’t want to let go. You didn’t want to lose what the three of you had, whatever this was. It was messy, it was unspeakable, but it was real.

The season break had arrived, they were both coming home. Your parents were gone for the week, from your bedroom window the light in Rin’s window flickered on while the one beside it stayed dark. Then came the knock. Of course, they knew the passcode. Of course, they let themselves in. Opening the door you didn’t have to look to know who it was

"Welcome back," you whisper, stepping closer, his hand reaching up to brush against your cheek "I'm back" Rin murmurs, kissing you. Kissing Rin always feels like falling as he kisses like he’s willing to give you everything, to burn himself just to keep you warm. Sae’s kisses are nothing like Rin, Sae kisses like a thief as if he’s pulling pieces out of you into his mouth and keeping them.

His kiss deepened as he starts feeling you, grabbing your breast and cupping your heat. "Wait—Sae is not here" you gasp "We don’t have to put it in" he murmurs, lips brushing your skin. There were unspoken rules,  never written, never said aloud, but known to all three of you. One, Rin and Sae would never touch each other. Two, always wear protection. And lastly, the three of you must be present to have sex. 

Moving to the bed, he helps you remove your nightwear, he kisses down the curve of your neck to your breast. Taking one of your nipples into his mouth, his hand reaches to touch your bare cunt teasing your slit, spreading them open. Tearing off his clothes, he hovered over you as his fingers enter, kissing away your moan. Your cunt is already making a lewd noises with every pump he makes  “So eager” he teased. Your face is growing hot as he speeds up. He guides your hand to fists his length, and you move along with him. Feeling how thick it is, you can’t think of anything else but to bury him inside you. 

‘What if’ you taught as pleasure flogs your mind. What if this is what it takes to make them yours — truly yours? Not just their body, not just their time. But Forever? 

With the taught in mind you slowly guild him to your opening “Fuck” he groan as he feel you, his lower half pressed against you dangerously enough, he started moving fast, rubbing his length across your open slit  — just a little push he would enter — and he did

You could feel the head of his cock entering you rubbing against your walls — raw 

He slam into you, picking up his speed “You been wanting this don’t you, being fuck raw, such a good girl” he was ramming into you so hard that you felt the tip of his length hitting your cervix “ah- too deep!” you cried, nails clawing at the sheets. He pushes back your leg, putting you into a matting press and slam down onto you hitting every spot he possibly could. Raw cock pressing your cervix as you let out another muted gasp “Tell me you want my seed”  Rin cooed in your ear. “Please…” you beg  “Rin please, please cum in me” He grunted as you begged, ramming hard until you both came together. You let out something between a moan and a scream, reaching your peak. Tears fill your eyes, feeling an overwhelming sensation being cum into.

“What a mess” The voice cuts through your pleasure like a blade. You whip your head toward the door to see Sae standing there, one shoulder resting against the frame, eyes cold and unreadable. Without a word he stalks forward, Rin barely has time to react before Sae’s  shoves him aside, sending him to the floor. Looking back down at you Sae tsked, seeing cum spilling out of your cunt “Stupid slut, spreading your leg for everyone” using his finger he scoop out the cum, scraping out from inside. You can't help but turn on as your body reacts to his touch, thrusting your hip forward into his finger wanting to take him more. 

He landed a heavy slap against your clit before cupping it “Open” he demanded. Adjusting yourself for him, leg open, you use both hands to spread your folds, pussy clenching as he stares at you. Your slick drips down along with the leftover cum inside, your pussy throb, aching, desire for more. Satisfied, he removes his clothes and gives his cock a few pumps before thrusting his cock inside you. In one swift move he makes you take him to the hilt, your mouth falling open in a silent moan. His hips stilled inside of you as he pulled you into his arms, sitting up on his lap. You're confused only until you feel the mattress dip behind you. And then you understand. 

“I can’t, I-I can’t” you scream, struggling but his arm locks you into place holding firmly. You could feel Rin from behind using his hand to spread your rear "Please… I’m scared" Your voice comes out as a whisper. You could barely take one — but two? Yet the thought coils around your mind like a sin you want to taste 

“Don’t lie, I could feel your wall twitching inside" Sae smirked. You could feel the head of Rin cock enter. You jolt, both from shock and pleasure they force you through, whimper as they both settle inside you. They both start slow, taking their turn to thrust, but once they find their place they start going faster, reaching deeper. As the coil in your stomach continued to burn, your body felt all the pleasure from both back and front. You sobbed, your thighs start to tremble, your body snaps as you cum on them. You are a complete mess, and they continue to thrust into your g-spot nowhere near stopping "This is what you want, isn’t it? To be bound to this forever. To carry proof of it inside you—of us" Rin moaned into your ear as you could feel his cock twitching inside “Gonna cum. you gonna let me cum in you like a good fucking whore?” Sae growls “Yes… yes—yes,” you gasp, blabbering broken mess, begging, whining with every snap of their hips. You feel yourself slipping, your eyelids grow heavy and the feeling of waves crash onto your trembling body, you squirt making a mess around them, as they continue to drive into you. Shooting their load claiming you. 

‘It’s too much, just too much’ 

Everything becomes a blur, all you can do is feel their thick cum dribbling out of you. Clinging to your inner thighs, your legs are shaken. Both holes were overstretched and filled. Too tired to be awake, you let yourself slip away—into the shadows, into them. Whatever this was, it was already consuming you. 

────୨ৎ────

COUPLES MONTHS LATER

Clutching the stick, you stare as two lines bleed into view Your breath catches, chest tight, as you glance up at both of them standing before you silently watching, their eyes filled with something you can’t name. 

You finally got what you wanted.

Not love.

Not peace.

Forever.

[lastoneout]

Putting this here because I don't wanna bother the OP of that post, but like come the fuck on TLJ does Luke SO BAD.

I get that OG trilogy Luke is very young and people change as they age, and on top of that trauma can affect a person long after the trauma is over, but I'm sorry if losing his fucking hand didn't stop him from trying and succeeding to get through to the good that was very much still inside Anakin then there is nothing that would ever stop him from trying to get through to Ben Solo. Like you're telling me Luke Skywalker offers forgiveness to DARTH FUCKING VADER, who up until very recently he only knew as a vile, evil monster who had murdered millions of people and subjugated millions more AND attacked him and cut his hand off, and still have the sheer willpower to look at that fucking war criminal and say "I'm gonna save him" and BE RIGHT, that Luke, would see his nephew, who hasn't done anything wrong yet, and think "I should kill him so he doesn't maybe become evil" like?? MAKE IT MAKE SENSE, IT DOESN'T.

Vader was a whole entire fucking adult who had up until the last like 15 minutes of his life has spent the majority of it committing countless horrific atrocities with no remorse and Luke knew he wasn't so far gone he couldn't be reached and would not fucking give up until he was saved. Luke faced down goddamn Emperor Palpatine, he risked himself becoming corrupted and joining them, risked DYING despite being the only person left who could actually pose a threat to either Vader or Palpatine, to save the galaxy and his father, and you expect me to believe that fucking Luke Skywalker wouldn't have destroyed himself before laying a hand on a TROUBLED CHILD HIS SISTER TRUSTED HIM TO TAKE CARE OF.

It's just disrespectful. I 100% agree with Mark Hamill about that not being Luke because it wasn't. Luke has always had optimism and kindness as his core driving forces(pun not intended) making him into an asshole cynic to what? Shock people?? Luke would never end up like that in that way. If Luke would go to those lengths to try to save Darth Vader then he would never try to kill Kylo Ren/Ben. If Luke understood that DARTH FUCKING VADER was also a victim and not beyond saving then there's no world in which he would give up on a teenager who hadn't done anything wrong.

And tbh I don't think Ben turning evil would have been the reason Luke gave up on rebuilding the Jedi order because I don't think he would try to rebuild it in the first place, at least not the way it was before it fell. He looked up to the Jedi for sure but he understood their flaws better than anyone else alive. There's no world in which Luke ends up trying to recreate the Jedi and then giving up on helping the galaxy after trying to kill his nephew so he doesn't become evil, and there's no world in which a guy who knew how much dealing with Yoda was would treat Rey the way Yoda treated him. That's just not how Luke Skywalker wouldn't act. Never in a million years. Luke also never let his own flaws or the flaws of others stop him from helping people, especially his family. He lost his and and his friend got sold to a warlord and he still kept showing the fuck up for them. Did dwell on his failures he just got up and said "What's next?" That's who Luke is, for fucks sake. Luke is not a complicated character it's genuinely impressive that anyone was able to fuck him up this bad.

Every actor in that film deserved a better movie. I loved Rose and Poe and Finn and that movie did not(literally so disrespectful to make all the character of color be the unserious b-plot especially after how important Finn was in the first film, they all deserved better). I love Luke Skywalker and that film did not. I love the optimism and fantastical joy of Star Wars and that movie shat all over it for the sake of edgy, disappointing, grimdark twists. I'd rather watch the entire prequel trilogy than ever have to sit through even a minute of The Last Jedi. What a fucking disaster of a film.

[spideyjisu]

SQUID GAME SEASON 3 SPOILER RANT

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whoever was responsible for writing daeho and his fate and the twist this season didn’t know or care about his character at all 😭 they just used him as a plot device to show gihun’s loss of humanity bc daeho would never say the shit he’s saying, the threats and telling gihun it’s his fault everyone’s dead? when would he ever say that? 😭 it just doesn’t make sense to me bc they’re trying to say he was just scared in the rebellion just because, giving no actual reason why (the reason being ptsd made so much sense and had so many signs and would be a much better story. maybe they just don’t gaf about mental health or meaningful character depth idk), but then they have daeho fighting gihun back and provoking him and trying to choke him to death ? if ur saying daeho is a coward how r u gonna try to convince me he’d have the courage to try to kill someone like that? like i could buy it if it was with hesitancy and solely in self defence but no he was shouting things to provoke gihun further and actively choking him, but u just told me he’s just a coward? there’s no consistency. like daeho was one of my favorites and gihun just choked him to death, daeho’s dead and im not crying! im just rolling my eyes and going “huhhh?” 😭 in actuality the character they showed us in season 2 would be overcome by guilt after panicking and not bringing the ammo back and he’d be more likely to die by suicide or self sacrifice, that’s what i thought was gonna happen 😭 he’d never be so hostile like this or try to kill someone especially not someone he obviously looked up to, not bc he’s a coward but because he’s a good person. like they’re trying to tell me his friendliness and caring nature was all an act but i’m really not buying it. i could believe that maybe he lied about being a marine, if they bothered to give a good explanation… like it’d make sense if he pretended and had that tattoo to appease his father but no they didn’t bother to explain that at all and made it seem like he made it all up simply to join gihun’s team which makes no logical sense… god i just hate everything about what they did with daeho. don’t get me started on them wasting hyunju’s potential, i don’t care she should’ve been a finalist, she was the best, most interesting and most worthy character.

[books-bread-and-brigandage]

a good plot twist isnt one that arrives from nowhere. A good plot twist happens abouta page before the rader has quite figured it out themselves. You need to have it possible to see it coming or its not a plt, its just a serquence of scenes that happen one after the other. You need that connectave tissue of acuse and effect, your dominoes needto knock each other over they cant just topple on their own.

Writing Tips - A Quick Guide To Plot Twists

There are two kinds of plot twists that we’ll be focusing on here; a trajectory plot twist and a retroactive plot twist

A trajectory plot twist is a plot twist that changes the course of the story going forward, with minimal impact on previous events in the story. An example of a trajectory plot twist is Hela destroying Thor’s hammer in Thor: Ragnarok

A retroactive plot twist is a plot twist that changes our understanding of previous events in the story. An example of a retroactive plot twist is Agatha and Sophie learning that they’re sisters in the School For Good And Evil books

A big rule in writing a good plot twist is that the result of the plot twist has to be at least as satisfying as the original plot trajectory, but ideally it should be more satisfying. If the twist isn’t as satisfying as the original plot trajectory, the audience can feel like they’ve been cheated or that they’ve missed out on something better

One more recent example of this is Hazbin Hotel’s song Hell’s Greatest Dad, in which Alastor and Lucifer’s song-argument is about to devolve into a full-on brawl. This is prevented, however, by an anticipated new character called Mimzy making her debut to the show by butting into the song, completely overhauling it into a self-absorbed showtune. While it narratively makes sense to prevent the fight, since that would have a lot of negative consequences plot-wise, and the introduction was very much in-character for Mimzy and got her across very well in minimal time, the fans were very annoyed with this and began hating on Mimzy because of it. The fans have largely agreed that Mimzy ruined the song and that it would’ve been much more satisfying to see the two fan-favourite characters fight rather than be introduced to Mimzy in that moment

Another thing about plot twists is that they go down better with foreshadowing; a certain pseudo-satirist once said “This story tries so hard to pull the rug out from under the audience it loses common sense”, and that can be a big problem with stories when their plot twists aren’t foreshadowed correctly. Surprising your audience can be fun, but they came here for a certain story, and if you just change it up on them without any warning then they’re going to be left very confused and feeling like they’re reading a different story. This is often the area of major Deus ex Machinas, where the audience gets to the twist and just has to pause and go “Wait, what? Where did that come from?”

The goal of a plot twist isn’t to make your audience go “I didn’t see that coming”, it’s to make them go “I can’t believe I didn’t see that coming”, especially since it adds reread value to anyone coming back a second time already knowing all the plot twists and now having the prior knowledge to spot things they might have missed the first time around. And if they did spot it the first time around, it makes it all the more satisfying when the foreshadowing pays off. You can only surprise them once, but you can always make them feel smart if you’re willing to give them a chance to prove it

OSP has a much more in-depth Trope Talk on plot twists if you want more insight on it, and I got some of what I said here from their video. So, yeah

[vcmpbyt]

† FOREST QUICKIE JIMMY CRYSTAL X READER

⊹ A/N; no i will not elaborate ! wrote this with my clit.

⊹ WARNINGS; porn no plot? maybe slight. jimmy crystal LMAO.

⊹ MASTERLIST

=͟͟͞͞ ✧

“yer awfully quiet, lass.”

his voice rolled low and rough, his accent dragging lazily over every word. the bastard looked too pleased with himself- grinning, arms loaded with today’s scavenged loot. a few cans, old lighters, battered batteries. absolute shit, but a win’s a win these days. and somehow, even covered in trail dirt and dried blood, in that stupid purple tracksuit- half-zipped, gold chain swinging over his chest, somehow you still wanted to fuck him… he wasn’t beautiful, not in any normal way- but the hunger in him had teeth, and it looked at you. made your stomach twist. you’d barely spoken since you cleared the edge of the infected zone.

just kept walking, thinking. thinking about how he’d hauled you both through that last cluster of snarling, rotted things like it was nothing. about the way his hand had caught yours after, firm and fast, tugging you back to your feet. “i was just thinking,” you murmured, voice small in the thick damp air. you were deep in the woods now- past the worst of the infected zone, the angry screeches long since faded behind you. here, only the burble of a creek and the occasional rustle of leaves kept you company. jimmy cocked a brow, slowing to a halt, one hand shoving his loot into a tattered canvas sack. he hated doing all the dirty work. said it didn’t suit someone with his “refined sensibilities.” but he’d do it anyway, if it meant being alone with you. “thinkin’? now tha’s dangerous.” he licked his teeth, tongue gliding slow along the bottom row, eyes fixed on you. “ye’ve been starin’ at me the whole way back.” your cheeks burned, caught, but the words refused to come out. jimmy only grinned wider, stepping closer- his shoes crunching on the damp earth beneath.

“ahh, there it is.” he tilted your chin up with two fingers, thick and calloused, his thumb dragged slow across your bottom lip, the pad of it warm, a little dirty, tasting like salt and earth and something sharp underneath.  “knew ye’d be wantin’ somethin’... after such a good haul.” he let the silence stretch, eyes dark and heavy lidded. no rush, just stood there watching you with that filthy little smirk, eyes half lidded and full of heat, letting the silence draw long between you. letting your breath catch and your pulse climb.  “ye earned it.” the way he said it- low and promising- sent a pulse of heat between your thighs. you could feel your body already tipping toward him, your breath hitched, chest rising under your jacket. jimmy’s grin turned feral. 

“get over here.”

he didn’t ask twice. dropping the sack with a thud, grabbing your wrist and leading you towards the water, where moss covered stones lined the bank. the creek babbled quiet beneath the dense trees, late sun cutting through the canopy in thin, pale streams. far from camp, far from prying eyes. jimmy settled onto a flat stone, legs spread wide, tracksuit jacket still hanging open. his cock already hard beneath the fabric, a thick outline straining against the waistband. he palmed himself lazily, gaze locked on you with open hunger watching you the whole time like he was already inside you, already imagining the way you’d feel. “strip down, wee lass,” he murmured, voice dropping an octave. “wanna see all of ye.”

your fingers fumbled with your zipper, the fabric felt too loud, too stiff. every movement was deliberate: jacket shrugged off your shoulders, shirt peeled over your head, pants shoved down your legs. jimmy’s breath came rougher, eyes flicking up and down your body like a man starved. he took his time letting his eyes roam- neck, shoulders, the soft curve of your stomach, the twitch of your thighs. “beautiful,” he growled, pulling his cock free with one rough tug of his waistband. thick, veined, already slick at the tip. he gave himself a slow stroke, eyes never leaving yours. “come sit on it, pretty.” heart thundering, you stepped between his legs, knees brushing his, palms bracing on his shoulders. the heavy cross hanging from his neck swung between you- worn, upside down, sharp edges cool against your heated skin. you hooked a finger in the chain, tugging it just enough to make his breath catch. he let out a low, broken sound. “growing bold now, aren’t ye?” he rasped, fingers digging into your hips as he guided you down, the blunt head of his cock nudging at your slick folds. “soakin’ fer me already?”

you whimpered, the stretch slow and deliberate as he slid inside, inch by thick inch, until your cunt clenched tight around him. his head tipped back, jaw slack, a ragged moan ripped from his throat. “fuuuuuuck- ye'r squeezing me so good” he groaned, voice rough with want. “so fuckin’ warm.” you sat there, still impaled, breath caught in your throat, thighs trembling around his hips. his cock throbbed deep inside you, every heartbeat a reminder of how full you were, how tightly your cunt held him. your thighs trembled as you braced against him. a slow grind of your hips, back and forth, letting him drag along your inner walls- swollen, desperate for friction. he let out a broken moan, fingers digging deeper into your skin, guiding your rhythm like he was trying to memorize every stroke. “thas’ it,” he muttered, sweat beading on his brow. “ride me. nice n’ slow.” the soft slap of skin echoed beneath the trees, nearly drowned by the rush of the creek. his hands slid up your back, fingers spreading wide as if trying to feel all of you at once. his tongue flicked out, wet and slow, dragging up the curve of your jaw to your ear. “ye taste so sweet.” you whimpered at that, nails digging into his shoulders grinding harder. he grinned against your neck, mouth open, biting at the skin, sucking until bruises bloomed. your fingers twisted in his hair, tugged when he bit down drool slid down your collarbone, hot and filthy. 

“open fer me,” he growled. one hand caught your jaw, thumb pressing between your lips. “wanna taste ye proper.” you obeyed, mouth falling open, tongue darting out. he leaned in, tongue tangling with yours, teeth scraping licking into your mouth with lewd, messy sounds. spit smeared between you, dripping down your chin this time. he pulled back with a strand connecting your mouths, panting. “fuck- look at ye,” he rasped, cock pulsing deep inside you once more. “such a good little mouth.” your cunt clenched at the words, hips grinding down harder than before. jimmy’s breath hitched, his filthy grin splitting wide. “ye like that, aye?” he groaned, chain clinking between you as you tugged on it again. “my girl.  drippin’ fer me in the woods like a wee slag.” the filthy praise sent a wave of heat through your belly. you rode him, pace quickening, every drag of his cock hitting deep, slow friction building with every bounce. his hands slid up your back, nails raking your skin. “gonna cum fe'r me?” he growled against your throat, tongue licking up your pulse. “soakin’ my cock already, fuckin’ droolin’ all over it.” you gasped, fingers tangled in his hair now, hips slamming down, harder and harder. “fuckin’ love this cunt,”his “love how ye sound when I’m buried in ye. quiet little thing- ‘cept when I’m stretchin’ ye out.” your moans rose sharp and breathless, thighs quaking around him. his cock throbbed deep inside, pace ragged now as he met your thrusts. “cum on it, pretty,” he growled, teeth catching your earlobe. “yeah, cum on my cock. wanna feel it all.”

with a choked cry, you came- body tensing, cunt clenching hard around him. he jerked his hips up once, twice, and came with a snarl, cock pulsing deep inside you. heat filled you, thick and hot, leaking as he stayed buried to the hilt. you stayed locked together, bodies trembling, breaths ragged in the quiet of the forest. drool smeared between your mouths, the chain cool and heavy between your fingers.

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

Revolver Riot-Don Quixote X Reader

I'm going to be honest, this Fic has completely taken over my life over the last week or so and I really just want my life back.

With that said, I must pay my dues and thank the absolutely wonderful Simply Vivian who, without the help of, I probably would've ended up putting my skull into a blender before coming close to finishing this. I am so sorry that you had to deal with my ramblings and borderline insane behaviors, but I am also glad to call you a friend. The same goes out to my dear friend @tragedy-of-commons whom is always a joy to plot and scheme mad ideas with even if they never leave the drawing board. With all of that said, it is time for the fic at large to take center stage. Be sure to grab some popcorn and a drink, this will take a bit for you to get through.

You found it sticking out from under a dumpster.

It smelled like death, the metal was pitted and corroded, the wood was chipped, scratched, and covered in a substance you really didn’t want to know the origin of.

And yet, it called to you. It felt natural in your hand. Cold steel, a cylinder that holds six bullets, a hammer that locks back with a resolute click, a trigger that moves with only a little bit of pressure… it felt like a part of you. Like you just realized you had an extra limb.

So you took it to your home. You painstakingly scraped off the rust, polished the metal, replaced the wooden handle, cleaned the cylinder, repaired the ejector, the trigger mechanism, and replaced the springs, fixing it up and polishing it until it almost looked like new, until even the Identification Markings became legible again.

You did all of this, and you didn’t even have a single bullet to fire.

At least, you didn’t until now.

The distortion growled, its maw filled with white foam and its red eyes boring into you as its twisted arm crushed the skull of its latest victim. A Full-Stop Office Fixer.

And yet… you couldn’t truly focus on that. The only thing that held your eye right now was the round that rolled into your shoe after the Fixer’s weapon was sliced in half.

“.44 Magnum F/S Issue” was stamped into the bottom of the brass casing.

The round was the same caliber that the revolver took, and just like the revolver, it was calling you. Urging you to load it, to fire it, to let death fly through the air.

Before you had even realized it, the revolver was already in your hand and the cylinder opened. All that was left was to choose the path. Load the gun, fire, and then probably die or try to run, get caught by the monster, and then die.

Placing the bullet into the chamber was the easiest thing you ever did.

You slowly raised the barrel of the old, scarred gun with the single bullet you found loaded into it, its weight in your hand feeling both alien and familiar as the monster rushed towards you. The barrel was aimed squarely at the head of the beast as you raised your thumb to the hammer and pulled it back with a heavy, solid click that seemed to reverberate throughout your entire body and to the depths of your soul.

Then, the world turned still as a smooth, amused chuckle reverberated from the base of your skull, its voice worming its way into your brain like a cancer and yet… they were like honey to your mind, drawing you into the deep.

“Do you know what that is? It's something made to kill. Don’t you know that's the only thing it can do? If you pull that trigger, you and that gun will be one in the same. Only good for filling gutters with bodies.”

The voice continued to speak, the sound echoing and reverberating throughout your body as the voices began to overlap and crush each other, doing their best to drown out your thoughts.

However, you managed to force your own voice above the noise, to answer its jabs, questions, and barbs.

“Maybe, but sometimes the only path requires violence to be met with violence. Besides, you don’t pull a trigger, you squeeze it.

This made the voice quiet and the writhing in your brain disappear as something else made itself known, its own voice saying nothing but its presence making something shift in your heart as the world began to move, the monster resuming its charge.

Now however, the apprehension and fear in your heart was no longer there as you closed your eyes and wrapped your finger around the trigger, the shift in your heart beginning to spread across your body and into the gun.

Then you opened your eyes and you squeezed the trigger, making the gun fire with a sound like thunder and the monster being torn to bloody shreds of meat from the power of the bullet fired.

It was now, as the meat and blood rained down with squelches and splats, that the name of the gun flittered into your mind.

“Prepare A Coffin: Django”. You muttered to yourself, speaking the name of this power as you gazed at the gun in your hand.

No longer was it the beat up and scarred weapon you had found and slowly, painstakingly repaired.

Its metal was as black as sin, the wooden handle’s you had replaced were now bone, the entire weapon was decorated with silver baroque-esque engravings, and for each chamber in the cylinder a word was engraved on it.

“Strike True, Strike Powerfully, Strike Mercilessly, Strike Relentlessly, Strike Justly, Strike Endlessly”

Silently, you flicked open the cylinder, revealing that each of the six chambers were now filled with what could only be described as pure energy.

Then, just as silently, you closed it before spinning the revolver on your finger backwards, grabbing it by the frame and then flinging it into the holster on your side as you walked away from the carnage as, for the first time in several days, the sun began to rise and shine through the smog choked sky.

The very next day, you applied for your Fixer License.

By the end of the month, you were a Grade 9 fixer.

Two months later, you jumped up to 7.

Then 6.

Then 5.

It was at this time that you first encountered them.

The LCB. Limbus Company Bus Division.

Specifically, “The Valorous Fixer, Don Quixote” when she tried to run you through in the middle of the transit point between the Backstreets and K Corp’s Nest after you were sent here to see what in the world was making such a racket on the K-Corp Security Channel.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

As soon as you stepped onto the scene, a K-Corp Security Guard was sent flying right at you.

In response, you simply stepped to the side before grabbing the guard by the collar and, by using your body as a turntable in tandem with the guard’s momentum, flung them to the side and away from the main battle.

After that was dealt with, you turned your attention to the main event.

What was before you could only be described in one way.

A clusterfuck of ungodly proportions.

One man was swinging a bat, cracking skulls with glancing blows and crushing limbs with barely a sweat.

Another was simply hurling guards through the air and into the walls, ceilings, windows, and other guards with ease despite the metal gauntlets on his hands.

A woman was cutting guards to ribbons, seemingly delighting in the way her victims would fall to pieces before an HP Bullet was administered.

At the same time, an older lady was guarding a being with a clock where their head should be that was making loud whistling noises alongside ticks and tocks.

Alongside the woman guarding the Clock headed person, there was a blonde young man that looked as if he was about to collapse from stress, a man with a what looked to be the leg of a bug in place of his arm that seemed to be trying to calm the Clock person down, a tall and strongly built woman with an axe that was chopping down anyone who got too close with a smile, and a dark haired man who looked like death warmed over.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the battle, there was a red headed woman with a shield and a mace that was absolutely tearing through the guards, batting some to the side with her shield before sending several of them flying with a powerful swing of her mace.

And right in the middle of it all was her.

She was an exceptionally short blonde woman, but the presence and energy she exuded with her ear rattling laugh and the ease with which she swung and impaled with her lance more than made up for it. Her coat was glinting in the light from all of the well polished pins on the poor piece of clothing, at one point her shoes might have been a color between tan and yellow however the accumulated grime, muck, blood, and viscera gave it a rather diluted hue akin to the one you would occasionally find on barrels alongside labels like “HAZARDOUS MATERIAL” or “DANGEROUS SUBSTANCE”.

In hindsight, you probably should’ve listened to that connection and saved yourself the headache of what was to happen over your working relationship with this crew of madmen.

In the moment however, you simply let out a muttered curse before looking to the sky as if something was going to save you from this mess and then when nothing did you began your march into the mosh pit before you.

The tile floor was growing slick with blood and every step you took towards the battle was accompanied by a squelch and a splash as you drew your revolver, reflexively spinning the weapon on your finger until you grabbed it by the frame, allowing you to use the handle of the gun to crack the skull of anyone who came to close if needs be.

As soon as the action was completed, you began to muscle through the crowd, narrowly avoiding wild baton swings from the Guards, bodies being flung through the air by powerful blows, and just managing to barely slip past the swing of the bat that, if it had hit you solidly, would’ve most definitely sent your head and body on separate vacations.

However, before you could count your lucky stars, you were forced to stumble back lest you were crushed by the Mace that just pulverized the tile floor where you stood a split second before.

“I don’t get paid enough for this!” you grumbled as you stomped on the head of the mace before its wielder could pull the weapon back to a ready position.

It was here that you then swung the handle of the gun upwards like a club and into the red haired woman’s chin with the unpleasant sound of bone breaking, stunning her. Capitalizing on this, you grabbed the woman by the collar and then slammed your forehead into her nose, breaking it and sending blood streaming down her face as she stumbled back and you spun the gun on your finger, catching the hammer with your thumb and then swinging the weight of the gun down, cocking it and then firing it twice, both bullets landing cleanly in the woman's gut and making her falter for a split second before she raised her shield to block the blow of another Guard and then crushed his rib cage with her mace, seemingly unbothered by the fact she had two new holes in her gut and her attention now focused on the guards instead of you.

Briefly, you were put off by this as most people tend to be shocked when they have new holes bored into them.

However, you didn’t have much time to focus on this as an ear ringing cry echoed through the building from the center of the crowd.

“COME FOUL VILLAINS!!! THE VALOROUS FIXER, DON QUIXOTE, SHALL VANQUISH THEE!!!”

“Well, that makes my job much easier…” you mumbled to yourself before shoving and pushing guards out of the way, reaching the center of the battle where it was surprisingly calm despite the fact that more than a dozen guards were being dragged away from the woman in the center of it all.

You didn’t have much time to observe her before she noticed you and promptly leveled her lance directly at your center mass.

Realizing her plan you raised your gun and fired twice, forcing her to raise her lance to block the shots or have her brain matter exposed to the open air. Using this to your advantage, you rushed forwards and then dropped to the ground in a slide, aiming your gun at her exposed midsection and firing twice once more. One of the bullets bounced harmlessly off the lance, the other landed cleanly and shot through her causing a cry to escape her as she attempted to crush you with the heft of her weapon by swinging downwards but missing, which left you in a position behind her that you used to scramble to your feet and then kick her in the back, sending her stumbling forward.

You attempted to fire off three more shots at the woman, however she used the momentum you imparted on her to thrust her lance into the ground and use its haft to sling her upwards and away from your shots. However, she didn’t let go of the weapon, quite the opposite in fact as she used her own weight and momentum to bend the haft of the weapon the opposite way she came from.

By the time you realized what she was doing, it was a split second too late as the tile floor and the concrete under it gave way around her lance, launching the shards towards you as you raised your arm to cover your head.

The feeling of the shards piercing your flesh was not one you would ever be keen to repeat, especially seeing as before you could even acclimate to the sudden feeling of large swathes of your flesh being cut open, you had to jump to the side in order to avoid being impaled.

With that said however, you still managed to get two more shots off, both of them landing. One in the calf and the other in her side.

Quickly rolling to your feet, you aimed your gun at the woman and she wheeled around towards you, her lance aimed at you in the same way.

You needed to put an end to this before she got any actual hits off on you, and so you focused, letting the power in your chest flow through to the gun.

This was your EGO. This was your soul made manifest. This was what would decide this fight.

“Prepare A Coffin: Django” you muttered to yourself as you pulled back the hammer with a deafening click, a bandolier of spectral bullets wrapping around your arm and floating over your shoulder, as your eyes focused in on the head and heart of the target before you.

Unfortunately, it seems that your target had the same idea, her clothes shifting and morphing to a red and white uniform with a cuirass and cape over the shirt and her lance changing form to that of one made from blood in a twisted form.

It was going to come down to this, your gun against the target’s lance. Your aim against her speed.

Or, that's what you thought at least.

For better or for worse, it was now that Siegfried made his presence known.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You sat on the curb outside the transit point, your wounds slowly closing with the help of an HP Ampule that the commanding officer of the guard gave you as thanks for keeping her from being flung out into the streets when you first walked in.

Unfortunately, it seems that the Ampule’s didn’t regenerate clothes.

“Oh well, I guess that's why people from other agencies say to buy outfits in bulk.” you muttered to yourself, sure that this was not going to be the last time you said that as you leaned back and looked skywards to the scant few stars that poked through the clouds and the smog.

Unfortunately, your peace was soon shattered by the very woman who was responsible for destroying your clothes.

“HARK GOOD FIXER!!!” the woman shouted as she approached you alongside the rest of the group that Siegfried had just eviscerated, including the person with the Clock Head.

Before you could even stand up, the woman was upon you, her face a few inches from yours and her excited eyes seemingly glowing with energy as she took in a deep breath that, alongside her predilection for shouting, made you realize that you really shouldn't have taken out your ear plugs.

Thankfully, before she could start shouting loud enough to wake the dead, she was pulled back by the man with the bat.

“OI! You ain’t s'posed to run up on folks like that! And don’t be yellin’ like a daft idiot!” the man hissed at the woman, annoyance clear on his face.

“Ah! Right! My apologies good sir Heathcliff!” the woman, finally quieting down, apologised.

This exchange gave you enough time to stand up and, although it was probably rather rude, place your hand on your gun in case things came to blows once more.

“You don’t need to worry about us starting something. That clown in the body suit gave us enough of a trouncing for today.” the red headed woman stated before pointing to her face and saying “Also, you’ve got a mean headbutt.”

“Thanks.” you responded to the compliment blankly, your focus still on the blonde woman who seemed like she was ready to speak once more.

“Good Fixer! My name is Don Quixote and I would like to apologize for my actions! I would also like to apologize for the wounds I inflicted on you during our duel!” The woman named Don Quixote exclaimed, her cheery tone slightly muted in what seemed to be her attempt at a serious apology.

“Meh, no one died or, in your group’s case, stayed dead so I say all's well that ends well. Besides, I got my fair share of shots off on you as well so… let's call it even, yeah?” was your response to the apology as you removed your hand from your gun and held it out in a gesture of goodwill.

Needless to say, Don Quixote reciprocated that gesture, shaking your arm with enough force that you felt like it was going to pop out of your socket.

Following this, the rest of the LCB introduced themselves, or in the case of Dante, was introduced seeing as they could not communicate their own words to you without an intermediary.

However, despite the colorful cast in their little band of misfits, your eyes continued to fall on Don Quixote and her rather charming nature.

That and she was continuously asking questions about your being a Fixer and requested that you signed a page in her book despite your protests of you only being a Grade 5 Fixer that she seemed determined to ignore, leading to you signing your name right as their ride pulled up

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Don Quixote was happily swinging her feet as the bus rattled off to its next destination, her gaze firmly placed on the newest signatures in her book.

To think, not only would she get to meet The Red Gaze on this journey, but Siegfried as well! Not to mention the interesting person she exchanged blows with in the terminal!

Fixers really were amazing!

At the same time, Dante’s voice rang out.

“All right everyone! That’s enough for today. I hope you all sleep well tonight!”

Instantly, Don hopped to her feet, still full of energy despite the battle that just occurred.

“Oh how excited I am for the next leg of our journey!” Don happily thought to herself.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It was quite a long while before Don met you again.

It was also in a place that a valorous fixer like herself should NEVER be held in.

A prison. Complete with iron bars and chain handcuffs that, inexplicably, had bite marks on them.

They most definitely did not come from her, and she most definitely did not chip a tooth by trying to chew the chain off.

She was a valorous fixer. She was above such actions.

“They’re just over here.” The voice of a guard grumbled out as he and another person approached the cell but stopped in front of the door with the face of the other person just out of sight.

“I can see that.” a familiar voice stated with an obvious strain in their tone as the familiar sound of a hand being placed on the weapon at their hip reached the sinner’s ears.

“What I CAN’T see is WHY they are in this damn cell!” the voice hissed to the guard, making him take a few steps back.

“T-their division of Limbus Company owes a total of 10,040,000,000 Ahn to T Corp.” the guard explained quickly, obviously looking uncomfortable with the situation he is now in.

In response, the other voice simply let out a deep, frustrated sigh before speaking.

“Of course they do. It wouldn’t be a day in the life of these guys if they didn’t have some sort of mischief going on!”

It was then that the person stepped around the guard.

“Oi! You're that person that broke the bird’s face!” was the first thing Heathcliff exclaimed, earning a swift punch to the gut from Ishmael.

“Oh! Heroic Fixer! You must help us! We are being held here unjustly! They refuse my pleas of release! My pleas of being allowed to join our wonderful and valorous Manager in their escapades of seeking justice upon a foul evildoer! Oh the inhumanity!” Don cried, the back of her hand on her forehead in a dramatic gesture.

“Now that’s a face we haven’t seen in awhile. Any chance you can bust us out of here old buddy old pal?” Gregor asked with a grin while sitting down and leaning against the wall.

A smile graced your face at Don’s dramatics as you moved to lean against the bars but was stopped when the guard put his hand on your shoulder. That was quickly solved when you shot him a look over your shoulder and started drumming your fingers on the handle of your gun.

Now, freely leaning against the bars, you began to speak.

“While I’d love to help you all out, I pulled all the strings a Grade 3 Fixer like myself could to just get down here since I was in the area and heard about a “Group of crazies” that “Lives in a big red bus”. Do you guys have any clue on who THAT could be?” you asked, shooting a glance into the group behind the bars.

Heathcliff made a face before looking away, Outis bit the inside of her cheek, Gregor all of the sudden became very interested in the ground, Yi Sang hadn’t even noticed your arrival and was having a conversation with a mouse, Sinclair had the presence of mind to look embarrassed, Meursault was completely unbothered, and Don Quixote was-

“WHEN DID THOU BECOME A WONDROUS GRADE 3? I THOUGHT THOU WAS A VALOROUS GRADE FIVE!!!”

-Don Quixote.

“Well, times change and promotions get handed out. Especially to people who have enough skill to keep themselves from being killed and specialize in containing distortions like yours truly. That and apparently Siegfried gave me a glowing review of my “Heroics” during that scrap we had back in K-Corp”. You answered with a wince, your ears ringing from Don’s sheer volume.

And yet… you couldn’t find it in you to be irritated with her. Could what they say be true? Does absence actually make the heart fonder?

You quickly batted the thought down, focusing on the issue at hand as opposed to the fact that every time you heard about the exploits of this little group you always kept your ear out for anything about the absolutely wonderful Don Quixote.

“Really? Congrats!” Gregor exclaimed as he started to stand up, a yawn escaping him in the process before he began walking towards the bars, briefly stopping to tap Yi Sang on the head, alerting him to the fact that they had a visitor.

“With all that said though, I think it's time we get down to business. Sorry bout that.” the brown haired man said with a lopsided smile.

“Don’t worry about it. I assume your main concern is how Dante and their investigation team is doing?” you asked, casting your gaze to the group at large.

“At the moment, yeah. I don’t think I was meant for prison life…” Gregor joked rather horribly but still elicited a chuckle from a few of the sinners and yourself.

“Well, last I heard they just talked with someone from the Yurodiviye and that they’ve narrowed down their suspect pool quite a bit, but…” you began to explain before drifting off mid sentence, your fingers tapping on the handle of your gun, this time because you were thinking.

“But? But what! Curse thine vague statements!” Don Quixote wailed in frustration.

“But… something isn’t lining up quite right to me. For example, none of the victims were actually murdered, only their time. If it was about vengeance it would be bloodbath after bloodbath but this… it feels like a statement.” You clarified, your fingers still drumming away on the handle of your gun.

However, before the Sinners could question you or you could further explain your line of thinking, the sound of boots crashing against the floor in a sprint reached your ears.

A split second later, you were surrounded by Dante, and three people dressed in almost comically stereotypical detective outfits that you had a sneaking suspicion Don Quixote was responsible for.

It took you a moment to realize that the three other people with Dante were Ryoshu with a fake moustache, Hong Lu holding a Magnifying Glass, and Rodya without her trademark grin.

Unfortunately, that is where your understanding of the situation ended as each and every one of them were speaking (or whistling in Dante’s case) absolute gibberish.

Thirty seconds of madness later, the sinners were out of their cage and most of them were already running down the hall.

The one exception being the ever unique and energetic Don Quixote.

“Hark! Typically one sends a knight off with some wish of good luck!” the short fixer exclaimed, a sparkle in her eyes.

“I- uh… good luck?” you managed to stammer out, your mind still not quite caught up to the whirlwind of information and craziness that just occurred.

This, apparently, was not the wish for good luck Don Quixote wanted as she immediately began to pout and the sparkle in her eyes switched to a look of mischief that put you ill at ease.

However, before you could act on this, Don grabbed you by the collar, pulled you down towards her, and kissed you.

By the time you realized what just happened, the blonde woman was already running off, and she had the gall to be blushing as well.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It wasn’t until Dante and Co. were walking back to the bus that Don realized what she did.

Really, it's a miracle she figured it out this quickly.

Though, the fact she dropped her lance and promptly curled up into a ball on the street as she covered her face with her hands definitely earned her a few strange looks from both the citizens and the Sinners.

And so, here she was, being hauled around under Heathcliff’s arm as Meursault carried her lance as he was the only one actually capable of picking it up.

“Good grief lass, what’s got you in such a state?” Heathcliff muttered as he adjusted the extra deadweight he was carrying.

“I hath done a horrible thing!” the blonde woman wailed, her face still red from embarrassment.

“Eh, I doubt that lass. You might be a right headache sometimes, but you ain’t the type to do somethin mean or bad on purpose.” Heathcliff mused, twisting his head to the side, forcing several cracks out from his neck.

“Thine compliments are appreciated good Sir Heathcliff! Alas, mine sin is one of not adhering to the correct procedure!” Don Quixote exclaimed, sorrow and an uncharacteristic shame clear in her voice.

Heathcliff raised his eyebrow, turmoil and apprehension clear in his eyes as he thought over his next words very carefully.

“Well, I know I’ll probably regret offering, but how bout’ this. If you start walkin on your own all the way back to the Bus, I’ll listen to your problems for a tick.” Heathcliff offered despite the voice in the back of his head that was telling him this was NOT a good idea.

“Oh? I… No, the offer is appreciated, good Sir Heathcliff! but I cannot add my own troubles to yours!” Don Quixote declared her desire to speak of her own woes being overtaken by the care she has for her dear comrades.

“You’d be doin me a favor, Don Quixote. Really. I need to take my mind off things for a bit to get my thoughts in order and helping you sounds like a good distraction.” Heathcliff quietly whispered to Don, his own tone becoming ever so slightly haggard as the events that led up to now continued to take their toll.

Don briefly looked like she wished to argue before shaking her head in agreement.

A few moments later, Don had weaseled out of Heathcliff’s grasp and took her lance from Meursault’s care with a heartfelt thanks.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Within the hour, Don and Heathcliff were sitting on the floor in the blonde fixer’s room, a thermos of tea in Heathcliff’s hand and two cups in the other alongside a collection of sugar packets and a stirring straw..

“Sorry to intrude on your flat, but my spot isn’t… pleasant for visitors at the moment.” Heathcliff muttered as he placed the thermos and cups on the floor.

“Worry not! Mine own accommodations are rather messy as well! Fear no judgement from me!” Don happily exclaimed, gesturing to her eclectic collection of objects around the room.

“That’s not-” Heathcliff began before letting out a chuckle and speaking once more to say “Thanks lass, that means a good deal more than you think.”

“Thou art welcome!” Don said with a smile as she popped open the lid of the thermos to pour the tea into both cups with a level of care and concentration that was rarely found on her face before she grabbed the sugar packets and dumped them into her cup and then used the straw to dissolve the sugar.

“Now then, time to get down to business. What in the world had you so down in the dumps earlier?” the scarred man asked as he picked up his own cup.

At the same time Don held her cup with both hands as she mulled over her thoughts before speaking.

“There is someone I wished to court. However, I… was rather forward when I saw them last and kissed them unprompted…”

Heathcliff had to fight down the chuckle that formed in his throat before he spoke.

“That’s all? A snog? To me it sounds like you didn't do anything too wrong.”

“I… perhaps. Still, one typically sends poems and flowers before a kiss do they not?” the blonde woman asked, her voice a great deal more timid and unsure than usual.

“Well, yeah but… sometimes it's better to do away with stuff like that and just come out and say how you feel. Sides, courtin is for folk with not a whole lot goin on between the ears. Trust me, I would know better than most bout’ that.” Heathcliff mused before taking a sip of his tea and letting out a hum.

Don went quiet for a long moment as she thought of Heathcliff's words, looking down into her half finished cup of tea.

And in response, Heathcliff simply waited and drank his tea, refilling his cup as needed.

Then, Don Quixote came to a decision.

“I think you are right, good Sir Heathcliff! Come the morrow I shall ask our valorous manager for the day off and seek out the one my heart is set on!” she exclaimed, her energy and joy returning.

And, though he would suffer the pain of death thousands of times over before admitting it, seeing this brought a smile to Heathcliff’s face.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“In light of recent events with T Corp and the Time Killer alongside the fact that Vergillius is in a good mood, we have the rest of today off!” Dante declared joyously

At the same time, Charon looked back at the bus and said “Be quiet Tick-Tock. Verg is in a big bad mood.”

“In light of recent events with T Corp and the Time Killer, alongside the fact that Vergillius is in a bad mood, we have the rest of today off.” Dante quietly corrected themself.

However, by the time the words left Dante’s clock, a certain member of their crew was already out the door and running towards the heart of the color drained piece of the city.

“Ha! Looks like the lass is keepin true to her word.” Heathcliff of all people said with a chuckle.

“Love is a truly beautiful thing. Fleet of foot it may be, those who grasp its form and hold tight are blessed eternally.” Yi Sang mused as he looked towards the slowly disappearing form of Don Quixote.

“What?” Dante muttered, confused not by Don’s sudden flight, but by the fact this seemed to be something Heathcliff was expecting.

“Nothin. Oi! Bird! I’m guessin you're gonna be headin’ off to the hair salon?” Heathcliff jabbed at Ishmael, ignoring the Manager of their little group.

“Fuck you Heathcliff! At least I didn’t put us all in the Middle’s shit list by stealing coupons.” was all Ishmael said in response.

Briefly, Gregor looked as if he was going to correct Ishmael by pointing out their scrap with the Twinhook Pirates but was stopped with a glare from the red headed woman.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Don soared through the streets, her feet finding themselves more in the air than upon the ground as she sought you out.

In the process she… may or may not have had to run across the roof’s of a few cars, nearly trampled some poor citizens, and almost ran face first into a pole…

Still, it was all in service of a good cause!

She just… needed to find a certain Fixer!

Don rounded a corner, her noble steed skidding on the sidewalk from her haste.

Then she was off, slipping through the crowd and towards the place she saw you last.

Had she thought about what she was going to say?

Not a single letter.

Had she considered your confusion at her actions?

Briefly.

Had she mused over Heathcliff’s advice?

Most definitely.

Had she wondered if what she was going to do was right?

She had agonized over it.

But now was not the time for second guessing or hesitation.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Why am I letting you lay on my nice office carpet?” the collector asked, his eyes peeking over the file in his hand.

“Because you're a good person?” you mumbled, your arm over your eyes as you lounged on the floor.

“That is most certainly not it.” the collector said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, it sounded wrong as soon as I said it out loud.” you sighed before reaching up to the desk and pulling yourself up.

You then promptly flopped into the chair opposite of the collector.

A quiet moment passed before either of you spoke.

“So… any chance T Corp has figured out how to rewind time?” you asked as you massaged your left temple, exhaustion clear on your face.

“That is above my pay grade. If you wish to make an inquiry about such subjects I recommend speaking to R&D.” the collector answered simply and succinctly.

“Meh, I probably shouldn’t. If I went through that again I might actually become a vegetable.” you muttered in response.

“Hmm. I agree. You have taken up my office floor for the past ten hours.” The Collector stated, a slightly irritated edge clear in his voice.

“Yeah… thanks for that.” you grumbled before standing, your joints popping and cracking as you did.

“Thank me by getting out of my office and not wandering the prison blocks like a concussed lemming.” was all the mechanical man said in response.

In turn you simply said “Fair enough.” before walking towards the door and leaving the rather irritated collector to his devices.

Still, it wasn’t the worst place you had spent a night in. A solid 7 out of 10. The carpets were surprisingly soft.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Ugh, I could murder a plate of breakfast right now, some Orange juice would be nice as well.” you grumbled with a yawn as you stepped out from the artificially purified air of the T-Corp office to the exceedingly polluted air of The City.

Stretching your arm over your head as you walked down the steps of the office, you began to consider where you should stop for a bite.

“I remember hearing that there was a good diner somewhere around here. There’s also that bakery I passed on my way over, mix that with a quick run to the market and I should be able to cobble something together that could pass for food. Then again, I could probably find a HamHamPangPang with a bit of looking…” you muttered to yourself as you stepped off of the stairs and onto the sidewalk.

However, before you could further deliberate on your choice of meal, you heard a shout.

“HARK GOOD FIXER!!! I REQUIRE THINE EARS!!!”

You turned to look at where the noise came from just in time to see a blur of yellow before being knocked off your feet when something crashed into you.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Don, for her part, had the decency to at least look a tad embarrassed in the booth across from you as she held the ice pack over her bruised eye.

“You and I really need to stop meeting like this.” you said with a chuckle that you immediately regretted when the bruise you received from Don crashing right into your chest was jostled by the movement.

“W-what dost thou mean?” Don asked, confusion and a little bit of apprehension in her gaze.

“Every time we meet one or both of us always seems to get a little banged up after the fact.” you responded, the grimace on your face turning to a grin.

“Oh! I see.” Don muttered, going quiet once more and just in time for the waitress to walk up to the table.

“Anything I can get you two? We’re doing our breakfast special today, a breakfast crescent ring with syrup.” the waitress asked, raising her notepad and pen.

“Oh! That sounds pretty good! I’ll have the breakfast special with OJ, some extra hashbrowns, a stack of pancakes, scrambled eggs, a few muffins, french toast, and some breakfast burritos with chorizo on the side. Thanks.” you responded, earning an eyebrow raise from the waitress.

“You… are… welcome!” the waitress said as she speedily noted down your order before turning her attention to Don and asking “What about you miss?”

“I-i will have the same as my compatriot here! but please change the Orange Juice for milk and you need not worry about an accompanying dish of chorizo for me!” Don exclaimed, her mind being slingshotted down from the stormy clouds she had it stuck in and right back into her still nervous form.

“You got it. Also… if two of you don’t mind me asking… are the two of you Fixers?” the waitress asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Yes ma’am. I’m curious, what gave it away?” you responded with a smile.

“Well, you are walking around with a gun and not many folk do that. That and typically it's only Fixer’s and highly augmented people that make big orders like this.” the waitress responded truthfully, a smile forming on her face before saying “With that said, I better hand your order off to the kitchen.” and walking away from the booth.

Unfortunately for Don, this also meant that your attention was now solely focused on her poor blonde head.

“So then, I… think you and I need to have a talk while we’re waiting on the food.” you told the blonde haired woman before you as you shifted around in your seat, trying and failing to get comfortable.

“I… concur. However, before we begin, I would like to speak my reasoning for seeking thou out so early in the morn. Is that agreeable with thee?” Don asked, nervously fiddling with the pins on her coat.

You nodded, allowing Don to have the lead in this conversation neither of you were truly prepared to have.

Don began to speak, or attempted to at least, as instead of words it came out in the form of stuttering gibberish that she stopped right in the middle of before taking a deep breath and trying once again.

“I do not regret the action I took last night. What I do regret is that I was unable to spend the time after with you to explain why I did it. So, using the time I have with thee now, I shall begin to do so.” Don began before sitting up straight and looking you in the eyes for the first time since last night; taking on a far more elegant and composed appearance than you had ever seen from her.

“If I may be so bold, I would like to say this. I think quite highly of thee, not just as a Fixer, but as a person. You have been exceptionally understanding of not just my fellows, but my own self as well and that has felt… nice. Nay, not just nice, it has felt wonderful. Many people find me to be far too much of… everything. They try to hide it as best they can, alas, I can always tell. Yet, of the times we have met, not once have I seen the look that most others have when they meet me. Quite the opposite in fact, you seem to welcome my presence and that is something I am truly astonished by. That astonishment has, over time, transformed into admiration, and then… into the thing that made me kiss thee last night. Something I believe to be genuine attraction.” Don explained, a nervous smile forming on her face as she spoke.

In response, you had to ask yourself a question before you could speak to the woman before you, one you had labeled as a force of nature.

The question was this.

“Do I feel the same?”

Near instantly, your mind supplied dozens and dozens of instances where you’ve caught yourself thinking about her, or listening for any scrap of news about her, or seeing something that made you go “That reminds me of Don Quixote”.

You had your answer.

And saying it would be far easier than loading that bullet was.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

As you walked out the door of the Diner, Don right next to you, you realized something.

You had no fucking clue to do next.

Should you try and hold her hand? Should you play it cool? Should you ignore that strange feeling in the pit of your stomach?

Thankfully, before you continued to spiral into choice paralysis, Don swooped in to save the day by wrapping her arm around yours with a massive smile.

And so, with Don Quixote’s arm wrapped around your own and your wallet a fair bit lighter, the two of you were off to nowhere in particular, simply allowing your feet to carry you along the path Don was dragging you.

“Y’know, if you smile any bigger your head will probably fall off.” you joked with a small chuckle in your voice.

“Truly? Tis would be a pleasant death in my eyes!” Don exclaimed, entirely serious despite the joy in her voice which only served to elicit a laugh from deep within you.

After that, the two of you began to chitter and chatter about everything and nothing.

Don seeing shapes in Ishmael’s hair, you wondering if Dante’s flames could be considered hair, Don mentioning the time Yi Sang tried to eat a poisonous potato, you telling Don about how you ended up as a fixer and dozens of other things.

However, in the middle of it all, Don stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and looked right into a store window before bolting into it, leaving you stunned and confused.

A minute later, the living whirlwind returned, a bag in hand that she handed to you.

Inside of it?

A pair of iron spurs.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Your every step was now paired with a metallic clink, courtesy of the spurs Don had gifted you.

“It seems mine eyes were true! You do look quite dashing with those spurs!” the blonde fixer declared, her arm still wrapped around your own.

You could feel your face grow a little bit hotter at Don’s words.

“I… thank you for the compliment Don.” was your response to her words while you fought against the urge to wear a proud smile on your face.

“No need for thanks, I am simply speaking the truth!” Don exclaimed as Mephistopheles appeared on the path, the rest of the Sinners either returning to the bus such as Rodya and Gregor who she seemed to have dragged along to carry bags at the same time as Heathcliff and Dante who were returning from the mansion or sitting out in front of the bus such as Yi Sang and Sinclair who were playing chess while Hong Lu read a book, Ishmael played solitaire, and Outis and Meursault were silently guarding the door as Ryoshu brushed up on her more traditional art skills with paint and canvas as Faust tinkered with random pieces of Mephistopheles. At the same time, Vergiillius was sitting in the front passenger seat next to Charon who was quietly snoozing as the Red Gaze looked at the slowly setting sun.

It was a… peaceful sight and most definitely not something you could ever associate with the band of mad bastards in the LCB unless you saw it for yourself.

It was also at this time that Don stopped walking, a pensive expression replacing her massive smile.

“It seems… that our day must come to an end…” Don muttered sadly, the arm that she had wrapped around you all day moving down so she could hold your hand.

“Yeah… welp, I guess we’ll just have to have twice as much fun on the next day we get together.” You responded, gently squeezing her hand.

This returned the smile to Don’s face and movement to her feet as, once more, you were being dragged along by the living tornado that was the small blonde Fixer before you.

And… you couldn’t say that you disliked the feeling.

“HARK!!! HARK MY DEAR FRIENDS AND COMRADES!!! I HATH RETURNED!!! WE SHALL HAVE A MOST HONORED GUEST AT DINNER TONIGHT!!!” Don shouted, waving her free hand in the air as her walk became a run that you had to keep up with unless you wanted to actually be dragged across the ground.

“EVENING EVERYONE!!!” You shouted alongside her, doing your best to keep in tune with Don’s pace.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Aww… Little Chiquita looks so happy.” Rodya whispered with a dramatic sniffle as she looked out through the window and at you and Don saying your goodbyes.

“You're probably not supposed to spyin on em, Rodya.” Gregor stated, punctuating his words with a nudge.

“The lass’s got someone she fancies, y’all don’t gotta be all shocked about it.” Heathcliff muttered with a roll of his eyes and a slight smile on his face.

“You say that but you were the one to look the happiest about her partner in crime.” Ishmael jabbed, making Heathcliff stutter and stumble over his words.

“Hmm… G.J.D.Q.” Ryoshu whispered to herself, a slightly less sadistic smirk on her face than usual.

Sinclair, of course, heard this but decided it was in his best interest to not translate.

At the same time, Rodya suddenly dropped from her position at the window, startling poor Gregor.

A few short moments later, Don walked back on the bus and she was practically glowing.

“That was sickening. But… congratulations, Don Quixote.” Vergillius muttered as she passed his seat, earning a few shocked looks from the sinners.

“gasp Is there actually a heart underneath that prickly shell?” Rodya exclaimed, earning a dirty look from Gregor that seemed to say “Don’t be a smartass to the guy who can turn us into meaty jello”.

“Oi! Bird! Is the world comin to an end?” Heathcliff shouted at Ishmael and received a shrug in response.

“One who wraps a heart in stone often-” Yi Sang began before receiving a glare from their guide that made him become exceedingly interested in the seams of the seat he was sitting on.

“I… Thank you! Sir Vergillius!” Don exclaimed with a wide smile.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

After that wonderful day, You and Don come up with a schedule.

Every day at the same time, come rain or shine, you would receive a call from Don or she would receive a call from you.

Neither of you had much free time due to your jobs, but you both carved out a little bit for each other.

The two of you would talk about the little things, about the interesting things seen, about the minor annoyances that alway seemed to pile up on the worst days.

It went on like this for a while, and every so often you would hear the others give a greeting, or cause some sort of chaos.

It was needless to say which one you heard most often.

But then, one day, after one of those shifts where nothing seemed to go right and the City itself was out to make you slam your head into a wall out of frustration, you received a call a fair bit earlier than usual.

Assuming that Don had gotten off early, your heart soared and you could feel the stress begin to fall off of you.

However, when you picked the phone up, the stress was nearly instantly replaced by fear and concern as, before a single word could escape your mouth, Don spoke.

"Allow me to ask… if I became a monster that eats others… could you find it in your heart to still love me?" Was the first thing you heard from Don’s voice over the phone.

"I… of course I would still love you, but I would also have to try and stop you and… that would break my heart." you answered truthfully, the pit in your stomach only growing.

"I see. Thank you, that was the answer I was hoping for." was all that Don said before the call disconnected, making your unease grow into fear.

Something was wrong.

Deeply wrong.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

As Ishmael’s head was separated from her neck by Sancho’s arrow and Yi Sang was split and half by her sword, Dante was contemplating taking a brick and smashing their clock face into it.

The urge to use all of the nasty and unpleasant words they had learned from Ishmael, Heathcliff, and Ryoshu was becoming stronger and stronger with each passing second and with each sinner that was dismembered.

It was obvious that they had no hope of managing to fight her off, especially considering how she shredded through even the strongest of the Identities with ease.

Dante returned their gaze to the battlefield and wanted to sob at what they saw.

Only two sinners remained, Hong Lu and Heathcliff, both of whom were one strong breeze away from keeling over.

Heathcliff’s left arm was a mangled mess of bone and his entrails were being kept from falling out by what Dante assumed to be sheer force of will.

At the same time, the right side of Hong Lu’s face looked as if it had been next to an explosion and considering the fact that shard’s of Gregor’s spine was lodged into it, that might as well have been true. Thankfully, his arms and legs were still functional, but the hole through his torso that was roughly the size of a Billiard Ball and the labored breathing that was slowly turning to a gurgle told Dante that Hong Lu was currently drowning in his own blood.

If they managed to survive this, Dante would be sure to do something nice for him.

However, with every passing second that If was becoming bigger and bigger.

Especially when Heathcliff charged in and was promptly sliced into four pieces, leaving Hong Lu alone.

A split second later, Sancho had ripped Hong Lu’s spear arm off before tearing his head off with the same ease typically reserved for opening a cabinet or grabbing some leftovers out of the fridge.

And then, only Dante was left.

Needless to say, they were doing their best to come up with some form of last words that weren’t some variation of “Fuck My Life”.

Then Sancho raised her lance and pointed it at the crimson clad manager of Limbus Company.

In response, all Dante said was “Oh! It gets worse. Yay.”

At the same time, Dante could swear they heard some form of metal clinking from behind them, however, more pressing events were holding their attention such as the lance that was about to run them through in a few seconds.

And so, Dante closed what they called their eyes to make their peace.

But then, a sound that could only be described as screaming reached their ears.

“Sorry Dante, your show isn’t over just yet. You and your clowns got a few stops left on tour.” you told the clock headed being as you held back Sancho’s lance with your gun, sparks flying as she tried to pierce through your weapon.

Dante was, understandably, shocked by this.

“I- wha- how!?” Dante screeched and ticked and whistled.

“Sorry. Don’t speak clock. Get out of here while you can. Bring back up if possible.” You grunted as you continued to try and hold Sancho back, but being pushed back in the process.

A split second later, Dante was running as fast as their legs could carry them.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Now, it was time… time to try and fight D-

No.

Not her.

This isn’t anyone you know right now, this is a target and you are on a job.

Primary Objective: Keep the target from killing Dante.

Secondary Objective: Live to tell the tale.

The target placed its second hand on the lance, further increasing the pressure you were holding back and, although you knew Dante had yet to fully get out of the target zone, you were being pushed back and were about to be overwhelmed.

“Desperate times, desperate measures.” you muttered to yourself before enacting your half baked plan that would have any Fixer moderately concerned about their well being taking a mental facepalm in shock of your stupidity.

However, before you could realize how absolutely mentally deficient your next action was, you slipped to the side and under the target’s lance and, at the same time, you raised your gun over your shoulder and towards the head of your opponent before firing twice, not truly expecting the bullets to find their targets but hoping that it would return control of the longer range towards yourself for a moment in an attempt to get your bearings. Not to mention you were hoping that it would keep the target focused on you instead of Dante.

At the same time, the bullets you fired at your target only managed to slip through its hair and so, in response, it swung its lance in a wide arc towards you that you only just barely managed to avoid having your eyes carved out by but, unfortunately, not the tip of the weapon slicing open the area from under your left eye and to under the right being sliced open down to the bone.

You barely even felt the wound open, your skin just gave way like paper before a sharp pair of scissors.

“It would be best to avoid getting hit unless I wanted to give my entrails some heavily polluted air.” you briefly thought to yourself as the familiar but unpleasant taste of iron reached your tongue.

However, for better or for worse, your target was now focused on you due to your retaliation.

Strangely though, it did not press the attack. It simply looked… not at you but past you.

Then, it spoke.

“I… do not wish to fight you.”

You let out a sigh before responding, your gun lowered to your side.

“Neither do I but… someone quite dear to me asked me a question a few hours ago. She asked me “If I became a monster that ate others, would you still love me?” and in response I told her that I would, but I would have to stop her and that it would break my heart to do so.”

Then, with a speed one would only typically find in lightning, you raised your gun and fired three shots.

Surprised, the target raised its lance, deflecting two of the shots but taking the third straight into her gut and forcing it to stagger back in shock at your sudden assault.

Pressing this advantage, you rushed forward, your free hand grabbing a handful of dirt, rocks, and other pieces of debris that you then threw into its eyes, blinding her for a moment that you used to fire your knee into the fresh wound before blasting three more shots into it all of which connected and sent it further backwards until it stabbed its lance into the ground, stopping the momentum you had forced onto it.

Then, it spoke once more.

“I see. It seems neither of us will be swayed.”

The target then raised its lance and stood up straight, the wounds you had inflicted slowly closing before your very eyes.

This was all the warning you received before, in the blink of an eye, the head of its lance was a split second from piercing your skull.

With less than no time to spare, you managed to avoid the blow. Receiving a new gash on your cheek in the process.

However, this was exactly what the target wanted as blood flowed into its empty hand, forming a sword before swinging it upwards, cutting a deep gash from your hip to your shoulder that immediately spouted blood onto the face of your attacker.

However, the look in its eyes told you all that you needed to know.

It had meant to slice you in two, but for some reason it couldn’t follow through.

Intending to rectify this mistake, it swung the blade down onto where your neck was a microsecond before.

Unfortunately for it, you had already leapt back and aimed your revolver, firing off several shots in quick sucsession. All of which it simply sliced out of the air with its sword.

Landing on your back and rolling back into a crouch, you raised your revolver as you placed your free hand over the deep wound you had just been gifted.

“Damn it all. Things are already going blurry.” you thought to yourself as you removed your hand from the wound and briefly hazarded a glance at your hand which, to your perspective, seemed to be multiplying.

Blood loss is a real bitch.

However, before you had much time to contemplate your next move, you heard the target speak.

“La Aventura Ha Terminado…”

You could feel the world change and the blood seeping from your wound being drawn away from you. Not to mention that the already dwindling and limited supply of blood in your body was being pulled in as well.

You forced your eyes to look up despite the fact that things had stopped going blurry and were now actively fading into black.

However, you still retained enough of your sight to see what was occurring before you.

What could only be described as a tornado of blood was forming in D- the target’s hand. Blood was being drawn from the earth, from the corpses of the sinners strewn about the battlefield, and from your own body into the singularity.

And so, despite the fact thoughts themselves were becoming difficult, you forced yourself to speak.

“Prepare a grave: Django…”

The spectral bandolier of bullets wrapped around your arm and over your shoulder once more for what you were sure to be the final time as you lined up the barrel of the gun with the heart of the target.

Every single fiber of your being was shutting down now.

You could feel your heart attempt to pump what was not there. You could feel your lungs try and oxygenate blood that, quite simply, didn’t exist in your body.

And yet, you still had strength for one more action.

One more pull of the trigger.

No hesitation could be had, no mistakes can be made.

“Farewell, my dearest love.” the target stated as the tornado took its form, a lance more than double her-

Damn it all.

“Adios, my most beloved knight.” was all you had left in you to say.

She leveled her lance at you, and charged.

You allowed your eyes to close, and pulled the trigger.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Things were dark for a long, long while.

You could catch snippets of words and conversations every now and then.

Half were technical gibberish you couldn’t understand, the others were so divorced from the context behind them they might as well be in a different language.

Eventually though, you managed to find the strength to open your eyes.

And the first thing you saw… were a pair of blood red eyes.

“So then, the dead have finally awakened.” Vergilius grumbled, doing his utmost best to mask the miniscule amount of relief he felt with a massive amount of irritation.

“Where-” You attempted to sit up but a wave of dizziness that made you feel like the entire world was on spin cycle put a stop to that.

“Where’s Don?” you asked after the world stabilized.

“She’s more than likely still locked up in her room. She hasn’t left since the mess in La Manchaland was put to a stop.” Vergillius answered before standing up from his chair.

“Rest for a moment. I’ll send one of the others to guide you to her later on.” the Color Fixer ordered, leaving no room for argument or retort before walking out of the room.

And so, seeing as the slightest movement currently made your whole world spin and shake, you did exactly what you were ordered to.

Lay down, and rest.

Sure, your mind was moving a million miles a minute, and you really wanted to have the comforting weight of your Gun right now, but there was nothing you could do.

It took all of five minutes for you to try and stand up again despite the world feeling like it was in a fucking blender.

Briefly, you mused that Don’s nature rubbed off on you.

However, before you had much time to think on that, you felt your legs give out from under you and you mentally prepared yourself to eat a nice helping of the floor.

Instead, you fell into someone that smelled faintly of sea, smoke, and iron.

“Outis?” you mumbled drearily as she guided you to sit on the edge of the bed you had woken up in.

“It seems it was a good thing the Manager asked me to check up on you. Yi Sang and Faust would be unhappy if all the hard work they did to keep you stable long enough for more extreme measures to arrive were tossed to the wayside.” the older woman told you as she pulled up the seat Vergilius was previously sitting in and reaching into her jacket, eventually pulling out a gun and offering it to you.

Your gun.

“Thank you for keeping an eye on it.” you said in thanks as you took it from her hand.

“Thanks are not needed. In the Smoke War those firearms were issued to officers but you seem a bit young to have served. I assume you found it somewhere?” Outis explained as she straightened her uniform.

“Yeah… under a dumpster about a year ago. Then the White Days And Dark Nights happened and… boom, an EGO by the name of Django for me. All thanks to this gun, and a single bullet.” you briefly recounted as you turned the gun over in your hands, earning a hum from Outis.

However, before the conversation continued any further, you heard a knock at the door.

“Come in!” you shouted, much to the aggravation of your still recovering body.

A moment later, Yi Sang stepped through the door.

“Good evening. Vergillius asked me to be your guide to Don Quixote’s room. He also told me to not make any puns lest I wish to suffer the pain of a thousand deaths.” Yi Sang declared with a stone face before smiling slightly and saying “Kidding.” which earned him a nasty look from Outis.

“I appreciate the thought, Yi Sang but…” you began before trailing off.

“A strong wind would be the death of you, much less supporting someone else’s weight.” Outis finished the thought, making Yi Sang’s shoulder’s droop slightly.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Three minutes and much headache later, you were being guided by Outis as Yi Sang struggled to help you along, his already pale face growing paler with every step.

You were pretty sure that by the time he got to Don’s room he would be about ready to keel over.

This prediction turned out to be true as, the second he had you propped up against the wall, he collapsed into a heap, taking in deep and ragged breaths.

Outis knocked on the door and received no response before trying the door, only to fail in the process of opening as it was locked.

Outis then gestured at the door, inviting you to attempt opening it.

A few moments later, you stood in front of the door and fired your gun before pounding on the door and shouting “Hey! You’ve got a visitor!”.

A split second later, as you were part way through pounding on the door, it opened and you fell into the room, chased by the shout of Outis and the wheezing screech of Yi Sang before they were blocked by the door slamming shut.

“Ugh, hello there Don.” you groaned as you rolled onto your back to face the woman who had put you in the infirmary, and the woman you had a great deal of affection for.

“W-why are sniff you here!?” Don attempted to shout, but her voice was far too hoarse from crying to attempt that.

“Well, someone exceedingly dear to me was in immense trouble and-” you began before being interrupted.

“NO! Why are you HERE!? Why did you come looking for me!? I nearly KILLED you!” Don screamed, tears now continuously streaming down her face.

You summoned all the strength you had left in you and forced yourself to your feet with a smile on your face before answering.

“Like I said, someone dear to me was in trouble. Besides, I promised her that she and I would have a nice day out when we got the chance.”

Don balled up her fists and looked down at her feet as she let out another body shuddering sob.

And then, in the blink of an eye, you were tackled to the ground, all of the air in you knocked out as Don screamed and sobbed into your chest.

And in response? You did the only thing you could.

You held her close, and you let her scream, and sob, and cry, until she couldn’t anymore.

And when she’s ready, you’ll help her up as many times as it takes because…

You know that she’d do the same for you.

Hell, she probably will one day.

And when that day inevitably comes, you know that she’ll be infinitely better at this than you are.

Why?

Because she’s The Valorous Fixer, Don Quixote.

[mochamoony]

hc that probably go against the "fandom bible/ rules or wtv"

Remus and Sirius are together, they are "madly in love" well Sirius is, Remus, on the other hand, is a brilliant actor who, all these years, he could pretend to love Sirius when he rly liked someone else.

Why was Remus with Sirius in the first place...money, Remus needed money, and so he only got with Sirius for 2 reasons: money and that Sirius liked him first; he only liked Sirius back for the benefits.

Remus was dirt poor, and after getting with sirius he could support his family.

RIGHT NOW WE HAVE JAMES AND REGULUS but its the same thing, except james wasn't poor, he wanted more money tho, he saw Regulus as an investment that would help his family grow even more richer.

Again, he got all the benefits of being his husband, and didn't have to deal with the cons because regulus didn't like opening up about his feeling to anyone but his therapist. Which james was 100% fine with, again, Regulus was an investment to him.

Remus and James are secretly together, using both black brothers for money. Two guys pretending to be in love with black brother only for the money and the body (we don't like that which makes those too total assholes, assholes being an understatement for how terrible those two are, but they are secret partners in crime) 

plot twist regulus and sirius are both cheating on their partners. sirius just needs the emotional support and using remus for his body. And Regulus is doing the same, minus the emotional support 

[caricarnations]

Imo I don’t like Ociel and Lizzie romantically, but I love their overall dynamic and what makes me sad is that I think lizzie genuinely likes Ociel’s personality, even if she doesn’t realize it yet.

I watched this show called Behind Her Eyes. One of the main characters is the wife and the husband. I forgot their names so let’s call them that for convenience sake, now moving on[spoilers] The start of the story shows that their marriage is crumbling. You can immediately tell that they have zero chemistry, zero love on the husband’s side, yet the flashbacks show that they were happy together and very much in love. The plot twist is that the wife’s body was actually hijacked by her best friend, so in the present, the friend was pretending to be the wife all along so he could have the husband all to himself. The reason the husband straight up hates his wife now, was not because his feelings changed, but because it’s LITERALLY not his wife anymore, even if he never realized it.

I find myself comparing it to Ociel and Lizzie's dynamic, and how is it not quite the case for them? They do have their strained moments when Ociel’s having his so-called memory problems, but for the most part, Ociel and Lizzie actually get along. They are actually bonding and having memories together.

Not to mention they both love cute things. It’s implied that Ociel confides to her about his new ideas for Funtom. Lizzie even treasured his bitter rabbit, the rabbit that represents Ociel’s true self. Which is why it hurts even more when she abandoned it later.

Lizzie must have spent a lot of time thinking about Ociel’s feelings, because she notices things about him that most people don’t. Everyone else was wondering why he would impersonate his brother, yet only she was able to empathize with Ociel and understand why he lied to her.

That’s why their relationship makes me sad. I think Ociel and Lizzie are actually compatible in some ways. They were just never given the chance to bond normally. If things were different, would they work out romantically? who knows, maybe not, but as friends? as a family? absolute yes for me. It’s been several years so I hope we see Lizzie again. I want to see how she’s processing all of this. I don’t expect her to forgive Ociel that easily after what he did, but the story spent a long time making us care for their relationship, so I will be very sad if none of that meant anything.

[cainetarot]

PICK A CARD: Truth about this connection?

⚠️MY READINGS ARE EXTREMELY ACCURATE, TAKE IT WELL AS IT RESONATES, MY BLOG CHANNEL DO NOT SUPPORT SUGARCOATING STRICTLY ⚠️

PILE 1

ALOT GOING ON HERE...like sooo much.

This can be a chaotic one, things are fast 💨. Burden, juggling emotions or people maybe. Not having emotional clarity here. Ya'll have expectations from them or vice versa, but ya'll need to be patient rn.

If u genuinely feel the urge to seperate or sum, remember it's okay to do it 🫵

One of u or both see long term potential in this connection, happy ever after but ya'll need to understand, it should be BOTH WAYS. Not like one be giving too much and other is deceptive.

Expect a confession or impulsive moments sooner, damn this pile resonates with their pic....AHANNNN confirmed! 😏😏

In the pic, look how they're sitting, girl be lookin at him (as if she hopes for something). Damn ya'll keep up with urself here, love urself and dont hesitate to kick em OFF if they're not sure of what they doing 💀💀.

If they unsure about stuff, that means they aint serious about it and yk u dont deserve to be an option. I'm getting that song "KEEP UP", may take a look at it's lyrics 🫨

I see potential, but immaturity aswell. U deserve someone emotionally available. Not an immature confused ASS.

I'm channeling something...😂😂

Ya'll are smart BROSKI- 💀

Like damn, I dont think ya'll are easy to mess with...TF 😶

Wow, feels like 1v1....make sure to overplay. Will u? FOR EXTENDED/PERSONAL PAID READINGS DM ME STARTING FROM JUST 2.99$

PILE 2

This is a karmic or past life connection.

Either for a lesson, spiritual awakening, or to WAKE YOU TF UP.

Here someone has a bad ass pride and ego, they like your attention, they liked feeling admired by you and u made them have an EGO BOOST?? WHAT!? 😭😭

Damn ya'll carry too much for this connection, u showed them love, maybe even cried over them, or supported them emotionally 🥹.

BUT ARE THEY DOING THE SAME? THINK.

This person wanted control. They are not good at showing emotions, but they like being respected. They may come off as "strong, silent, powerful " but they don’t like feeling weak or vulnerable. CONTROL ALERT ⚠️

They be longing or remembering u, but no...NO WAY their butt gonna show it. 💀💀

If u feel they are cold, logical, and emotionally distant, but deep down...they were hiding their damn emotions 🤌🏻

Their hot and cold behaviour, disappearance, or "MAYBE" shi- aint worth ur time tbh. U ARE full of love and U DESERVE that too 🔥

Karmic connection will teach u self love, and ur meant to learn it that way. What's next? FOR EXTENDED/PERSONAL PAID READINGS DM ME STARTING FROM JUST 2.99$

PILE 3

As I was shuffling I WAS BLUSHING SOO BAD DUDE..

Anyways 🤣...extremely funny how I got 3 PAGE cards.

Ya'll have passionate shi- going on FR like damnnn, this connection has transformed suddenly. But it wasn’t over emotionally.

PLOT TWIST, This person keeps tabs on you. They be stalking...this person has curiosity over u. The Lovers..

DO I NEED TO TELL U NOW?

Either a twin flame or soulmate energy 🌟

The chemistry. The pull. The intensity...MWUAAHH 💋💋

BUT...their butt may have a choice involved, holding back, silence or loneliness??

Dawg why do we have EGO ALERT here, similar to pile 2. They might’ve chosen pride over vulnerability...Yet still, they wanted to feel “chosen” by you 🤣.

HAHA, ain't no way, u were strong, intelligent, and emotionally sharp!

Definitely, I sense a spark 🔥 and passion here, the flame hasn’t died.

They’re watching you. They still feel the pull.

I got the lyrics, "Damn baby, I'm a train wreck, too..I lose my mind when it comes to you...I take time with the ones I choose"

OMG- I LOVE THIS SONGGGGGG!!

But will u wait for them to be vulnerable? or is it done? FOR EXTENDED/PERSONAL PAID READINGS DM ME STARTING FROM JUST 2.99$

Make sure to follow me, and DM for paid personal/extended readings

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#tarotreadings #pickapile #lovetarot #cainetarot

[greyvear]

The entirety of Season 1 and the first 35 episodes of season 2 were purely leadup to the Reqiuem Project.

First of all, yes, this is how stories work. I understand that.

The thing is, I think we've all forgotten just how horrifying Red Eye was.

Let me set the scene for you:

You're...let's say thirteen watching this new show that's just come out. It's a pretty basic sports story, albeit based around some kind of fantasy top thing. But there's not too much to suggest that it's anything but the norm. Sure, there's some discussion of beys having spirits, but it's vague enough that it's probably just Valt being a kid. Maybe there's this one guy who can talk to ghosts, but it's played in a way that its very unclear if he can actually see spirits or if its just the show joshing with you.

The plot is pretty basic, with a few twists and turns in there, but by no means bad. The show goes out of its way to show you how these characters care for each other. They really are built up to feel like people, and that's what makes it so darn good. No one is static, the main character is allowed to be wrong, but there's this feeling of security and happiness to the whole show, assuring you that it's all going to end with a message of friendship.

Especially Shu and Valt's friendship. Those two would go to the ends of the earth for each other, for good or ill.

(There's one line about something being wrong with the giant guy's eyes, when menacing music plays. But it's so quick and so much other stuff is going on, that it goes over your head)

And, wow, maybe you weren't expecting Shu to lose that battle against Lui - after all you've been counting on seeing Shu and Valt battle this whole time! And when Valt loses to Lui you're really surprised, especially because there's just enough plausible deniability for you to be like: dude it's a spinning top it doesn't have emotions, don't forfeit because of it.

But there's another season coming and you're really excited to see what happens, because Valt and Shu are finally going to get that battle!

Season two starts and something is definitely different. Maybe it's the fact that you've gotten so used to a cast of characters that really like Valt - the Bey club are his best friends, Xander and his crew are really sweet, Zac was fascinated with him, and it was really only the antagonists who didn't like him - so you're not expecting BC Sol to be this antagonistic.

That's definitely it. And you're wondering about where Shu is, but he's been brought up a few times so you're sure they're just saving him for later.

The plot is still about what you would expect. Maybe a little harder to predict once Free leaves, and maybe it feels a bit more mature, but the team is going to the World Cup! Wahoo!

(There's a few more scenes about the bond between Blader and bey. Yet again, nothing definitive, nothing that can't be taken as metaphor.)

And then Wakiya bursts in.

Well this is definitely different than you've expected. this Red Eye guy is weird (maybe you suspect he's Shu. Maybe you don't.) but the Snake Pit is fundamentally a very silly arc. After all, you've got the annoying heat guy, the fortuneteller guy, the acrobat guy, and the amazing dog guy who Valt always forgets the name of. Sure, Violet eye is a bit mean, but Red Eye comes and cleans up before anything bad happens.

It's a weird arc for a pretty basic sports show to take, but ultimately really cool. You're actually excited about the "mystery" of where Shu is, and the next episode is back to your regularly scheduled antics. And you're not fundamentally worried or really expecting too much angst here. It's a kids show! And you're getting to the age where you can predict how these things go, the power of friendship will save the day.

Plus, things are looking up for our protagonists! They're doing really well in the world cup, and it's clear they'll be facing the Raging Bulls in the finals! Look, there's a funny vampire guy who is probably not a vampire because he's drinking tomato juice.

(Red Eye keeps showing up, on his tour around the world. That bit where he screams in tandem with Spryzen is weird but the show doesn't give you time to think through the implications of the Big Ben exploding before its on to the next episode.)

And, that's weird, what's Yellow Eye doing on the Bulls. But, you know what, no time to think about that because Silas won that battle and it's time to Celebrate!!! That scene where Kris eats the cake is so cute!

And then Wakiya bursts in, again.

Before you've got time to think, the music is serious again and all our favorites are in the middle of nowhere, watching Red Eye and Lui battle.

By now, you're pretty sure Red Eye is actually Shu, and you're hyped for how this goes down. It's pretty hard to say what you're predicting. You probably guess that Red Eye will lose. You're probably going to get an explanation of what's going on. Maybe, if you're really hopeful, you're betting Valt and Shu will team up to take Lui down again. Maybe, you've come up with some wild theory as to why Red Eye is even Red Eye including dragons or those metaphorical bey spirits.

And then Shu shoves Valt away.

For the first time this episode, really in the entire show, the tone armor has broken. This is not what's supposed to happen in this sports anime about brightly colored kids.

This is the first time you've really seen Valt upset. Sure he cried about Shu's hurt shoulder. Sure he was really frustrated about Wakiya taunting him and sad about Ken moving away. But he looks genuinely furious, and genuinely hopeless standing there as Shu walks away. And you're just struck by how intense this all is. This is not what you were expecting from todays episode, as you watch Valt angrily battle Lui for Shu's honor, not surprised at all by the fact he loses, even as you're in shock.

At least there's no way it can get worse.

You finally get your explanation of what's going on, though. If you take a moment to think through the implications, you realize that Theodore drugged Shu to get him to Mexico.

At least it can't get worse, you think because this episode is already really dark for the standards of this show. When Theodore tells Shu to throw away Legend Spryzen, you're probably annoyed and telling him not to do it, but ultimately think this is a weird scene to put focus on. If you know enough, you might see this as the manipulation attempt that it is, for Theodore to get Shu back under his control at his worst. But there's no way that's intended to be the implication to this scene, right? This is a kids show!

And then Shu's in that tube and you realize everything is going sharply downhill. Because I don't need to tell you how genuinely horrifying the entire Requiem Project is to watch. But right now you're sitting there, watching a human get thrown around onscreen for the first time in this show's history, and the music is all intense, and Shu is wielding an axe?

And then Spryzen shows up.

Maybe you're still holding onto some hope that this is all metaphor. Maybe you're thinking that this is a trick of the experiment or Ashtem. Most likely, you're listening to Shu and Spryzen scream and you're realizing something:

That guy who could see spirits? He could actually see spirits. The vampire really was a vampire. And all that stuff about bey spirits and partners and bonds? All of that was to be taken literally.

Oh crap, you realize, Shu just got possessed.

From then on, you realize things have changed. That this show you've been watching thinking: "wow this is fun but not really full of stakes" has stakes.

It's darker now, and plays with dramatic irony a lot.

Because you know what's wrong with Shu, as you watch Valt go through his ten minutes depression arc and the whole team deal with Free coming back. You know why Spryzen showed up at Kurt's battleground, you know what was about to happen to Kurt if Cuza didn't interfere. You know what the real purpose of the International Blader's Cup is, you know who Theodore is.

And all throughout it, you're screaming at Valt to realize that his friend is in trouble. But there's no real release of the tension, no one but you and Shu know what's really going on until Spryzen snaps at Theodore.

And then, finally, Shu is free. You're relieved as the characters finally talk about what's going on, you're happy for them and all of it.

And then another season is coming.

Well, you think, at least this one won't be so dark.

tldr: Beyblade uses tone armor to the best of its ability to make the Red Eye arc hit you like a truck

[timeslipcamp]

thoughts on episode 5

hotarubi!!! god this chapter was such a rollercoaster when i read it for the first time. the last like, ten chapters had me on the edge of my seat and i was texting my friends who had never even heard about the game lol

other than the dolls smh not a fan sorry zenji

spoilers through ep 17

like why did it have to be a doll 😭😭😭

anyways

love that this chapter opens up with romeo demanding things. mc working with sinostra is so funny she really can do it all. good for you girl be multi faceted!!

OH THE HOUSES omg i forgot how early we saw the info. look at her getting her research on. it's still wild to me that there were 10 (potentially 8 or 9) houses worth of gen students and they all managed to fit in five this year lmao. hope there was enough dorm rooms

moby does point out that hotarubi has a "pristine" reputation among the students and the professors. darkwicks pets much. no wonder haku transferred there.

alright wait hold on you're telling me ANYONE can use this 3D printer in the library to get a perfectly detailed layout of ANY place in darkwick??? 👀 oh boy if this isn't foreshadowing idk what it is then. like, any location???

dude rereading this chapter and knowing about zenji makes it ten times more sad lol like noticing the scene cuts and the lines....that plot twist was so well done. i SCREAMED when i read it the first time

also hotarubi is just so pretty???? like these are my fav aesthetics for suuuure

man im gonna start keeping a list of which ghouls get called handsome in canon lmao we've got what, jin twice over and haku? and the JANITOR lmaoo

once again wishing subaru was a lesbian...

mc bowing back is so funny dude i love her

LOVE how shifty subaru got when we explained why we were there. i know it might technically have to do with lyca but the way his expression dropped and got so serious for a moment...love it love the tense moment. also love that all the other inspectors quit lmao

haku why are you always taking walks dude what are you looking for

dude they really frame subaru's meetings with lyca as so shady 😂 the all black background, "it won't be long now," tkdb please. not to mention moby's warning of "the hotarubi ghouls are hiding something"

it's also fun to see haku step up and see how competant he is on missions, like no wonder darkwick trusts him. he gets shit done and looks great doing it!!

i really hate creepy dolls man. every once in a while this story reminds me it's horror based and i'm like oh yeah i'm a giant wimp!!! honestly i'm impressed i kept reading after episode 2 hahaha fuck that thing

when i say i screamed the first time i read this

anyways

"not even us ghouls understand our stigmas that well" this game makes me feel insane.

mc getting sleep paralysis right when zenji's trying to leave a note 😭 messenger boy at it again i love him. unintentionally freaky as hell

OH MY GOD DANTE AND ALANS MEETING IS THIS CHAPTER mc i love you, you peeping tom

"why are you alive" never change alan

hey wait. subaru's said a couple times that people suck more than anomalies and then that wickhive screenshot said they were dissidents during the clash. what happened between then and now that made them have such a "spotless" reputation with the staff?

COULD THE ABBOT SEE ZENJI????

"Why do you work so hard for everyone around you?" Haku: "There's someone I wanna help. Call it practice."

ughhhhh i love hotarubi chapters i love you haku

also once again, fuck darkwick for keeping so many anomalies locked up like this. absolutely insane. and this was ultio's gig?? oh wait lyca was at the romanian branch. ed is most likely from romania based on what he said in like ep 17 i think, do you think they were at the same facility? and then both ended up here? he did say his ideal life has a big loyal dog in it...

i really dont say this enough but props to lyca's voice actor for going in on the barking lmao i love it sm

"Special missions are classified. You can't tell anyone." how many secret missions have the other ghouls gone on? what did they have to do?

iris-colored eyes is an interesting way to describe subaru's eyes. that probably doesn't mean anything lmao that's a reach

so what do we think subaru was lying about? was it lying in general about lyca? or did lyca actually murder someone? was it something else about his special mission? EDIT nvm it was his stigma lmao

"i'm done suspecting people" says mc immediately before finding haku talking to that creepy doll

oh my god speaking of creepy 😭 i forgot about the ghost kids. brb while i get my post it notes to cover my screen while i read

i still would love to know which rogue anomaly killed zenji but nooooo haku said not to poke the hornet's nest. ugh. i want the clash details so bad i'm actually going to lose my mind whenever it finally happens, i won't shut up for WEEKS

also good to note that both tohma and haku have a skeleton key. and that subaru doesn't have to say his word at all, it just starts. the staff really knows nothing huh

LOVE LOVE LOVE that the first time we see haku with an actually mad expression is when subaru reveals he was lying to darkwick. "look where you're standing. you of all people should know better than this." haku has seen first hand what happens when ghouls become liabilities and subaru has seen lyca been locked up for less! he's still in here! haku has INTIMATE knowledge, especially after what he was implying in the prologue/chapter one around the rui conversation, of what happens to ghouls that disagree with darkwick. UGH ugh ugh haku im shaking you in a jar TELL ME ABOUT THE CLASH

so i spoke a little about haku's motivations in my traitor theory post but i'm almost kind of wondering now if haku became the traitor as like, a sacrificial move. like he fell on the wire so no one else would have to. he's mentioned a couple times in a few episodes and screen lines about how his family is a big deal but he's nothing special, always takes the easy way out, etc. maybe him making the play to become darkwick's puppet was his way of making up for that, that this is how he could finally do something big and worthwhile.

or he's just slimy, who knows.

anyways it made me so genuinely happy to see lyca being freed even if darkwick put that wack ass condition on it.

this chapter was such a whirlwind the whole way through and had one of the best plot twists i've seen in this game. love hotarubi so much and lyca deserves the WORLD. 10/10