#believe it or not this was supposed to just be like a paragraph long

[unabashegirl]

The Cover — sneak peak

Y/N and Harry, lifelong best friends, pretend to be a couple for a family wedding weekend in Edinburgh. As they navigate the event, old feelings resurface, and what starts as an act turns into something real, leading them to confront their true emotions for one another.

Author's note: hello, the cover has already been posted on Patreon, but I wanted to give you a sneak peak to it. Just in case you want to give it a read on my Patreon. It's a four part story. The final part will get posted tonight.

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to all chapters, various one shots and much more :)

masterlist

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Harry sat next to Y/N, his body half-turned toward her as he read a book, legs tucked beneath him like a cat seeking comfort. There was a distinct softness about him when he was in his own space, away from the flashing cameras and curious eyes of the public. His hair, dark and messy, tumbled over his forehead, catching in the dim light, giving him a boyish charm that contrasted sharply with his usual confident and polished public persona.

He wore a simple white t-shirt, the fabric clinging loosely to his lean frame. His broad shoulders spoke of strength, but his posture, slightly hunched as he leaned into his book, gave off an air of vulnerability. His long fingers traced the edges of the pages absentmindedly, and now and then, his green eyes flicked up from the book, studying Y/N with a kind of quiet amusement, like he was aware of the unspoken understanding that lay between them.

Harry had always been attentive, almost in a way that felt second nature, as though he knew more about her moods than she did. There was something undeniably magnetic about him—his laugh was a little softer here, his voice a touch lower. His fame could never overshadow the gentle heart he showed her when they were alone.

Y/N’s eyes hovered over the same paragraph for what felt like the hundredth time. The words blurred together, the meaning lost as her mind wandered to the man sitting beside her. She was supposed to be reading a novel on leadership—something meant to inspire her as she navigated her demanding corporate job—but her thoughts kept drifting back to him. It was ironic, really. The book talked about control and decisiveness, yet here she was, lost in the one thing she couldn’t control: her feelings for Harry.

She had always found him attractive. No—more than attractive. Beautiful in the kind of way that felt effortless. His messy hair, the way his lips quirked into a half-smile, those green eyes that seemed to see straight through her… It all added up to someone she could never quite believe was real. He’d always been larger than life to her, even before the fame. Back when they were younger, when they were just two young adults with dreams and no idea where life would take them.

But then, his life had soared into stardom, and hers had stayed grounded in the corporate world. He became Harry Styles—the Harry Styles—and she remained his best friend, hidden away from the glamour of his world. She had watched as women swooned over him, throwing themselves at his feet, and she had silently swallowed her feelings. She knew she could never compete. He was out of her league, in every possible way.

And yet, sitting here next to him, as close as they were, it was impossible not to be reminded of just how deep her feelings for him ran. His presence had always had this effect on her, an electric undercurrent that made her skin tingle and her heart pound just a little harder. She stole a glance at him over the top of her book. He was engrossed in whatever he was reading, completely unaware of the thoughts swirling in her mind.

That’s what made it all so painful—he would never see her that way. She was just Y/N, his best mate, his confidant. The one person who was always there, but never the one he looked at with desire. She felt a knot tighten in her chest as she allowed herself, for just a moment, to imagine what it would be like if things were different. If she were someone else. If he saw her the way she saw him.

As if sensing her gaze, Harry suddenly looked up, catching her in the act. His lips twitched into a small, knowing smile, and he set his book down on the coffee table.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked, his voice low, breaking the silence between them. His eyes locked onto hers, and the way he studied her made her feel exposed, as though he could read her thoughts without her saying a word. “You’ve been staring at that same page for ages.”

Y/N quickly dropped her gaze, closing the book to avoid his probing eyes. “It’s nothing,” she mumbled, though the heat rising to her cheeks gave her away.

He tilted his head, not buying it for a second. “Come on,” he coaxed, a teasing edge to his voice. “Spill it. I know you. You’ve got that look.”

She shifted uncomfortably, trying to laugh it off. “What look?”

“The one where you’re overthinking everything,” he said, leaning back against the couch, still watching her closely. His gaze softened. “Talk to me, Y/N. What’s going on?”

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as Harry’s green eyes bore into hers, his expression filled with gentle concern. She had always struggled to lie to him. Whenever he looked at her like that, like he truly cared, she felt like he could see right through her. The panic rose quickly, threatening to bubble over, and she knew she had to say something—anything—to steer the conversation away from the thoughts that were tangled up in her mind.

She blurted out the first thing that came to her. “My cousin’s getting married.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. “Which cousin?”

Y/N let out a long sigh, glad for the distraction, though the topic she’d chosen wasn’t much better. “The worst one. Out of the three, I mean. You know, the one who’s always got something to say about everything. Perfect life, perfect fiancé, perfect job… perfect everything.”

Harry’s expression softened into one of amused sympathy. He knew exactly the kind of family pressure Y/N was talking about. He stretched out his legs, making himself more comfortable, as if settling in for a story. “Ah, her. That sounds like fun,” he teased, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Y/N rolled her eyes, tucking her legs beneath her as she faced him. “It’s not just her. It’s the whole family. They’re all so excited, and for some reason, they’re all hell-bent on me bringing a date.” She threw her hands up in frustration. “I don’t even have a boyfriend, but everyone keeps asking if I’m bringing someone. They’re already assuming I’m going to show up with a ‘plus one,’ and I just… I don’t want to deal with the humiliation of telling them I’m still single. Again.”

Harry’s brow furrowed slightly as he listened, a small frown tugging at his lips. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at her thoughtfully. “Y/N, you don’t owe anyone an explanation. If you don’t want to bring someone, then don’t. Your family’s expectations shouldn’t dictate your happiness.”

Y/N smiled weakly, appreciating the sentiment, but her heart was still heavy with the weight of the situation. “I know, but it’s just… hard. It’s like they see me as incomplete because I don’t have someone.” She let out a bitter laugh. “They don’t understand that I’m happy with my life. But at a wedding, it’s like a flashing neon sign that I’m alone.”

Y/N smiled weakly, appreciating the sentiment, but her heart was still heavy with the weight of the situation. “I know, but it’s just… hard. It’s like they see me as incomplete because I don’t have someone.” She let out a bitter laugh. “They don’t understand that I’m happy with my life. But at a wedding, it’s like a flashing neon sign that I’m alone.”

The room fell silent for a moment as Harry absorbed her words, his gaze softening even further. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but then paused, seemingly deep in thought.

Y/N bit her lip, realizing she was rambling, but it was easier to talk about this than the real issue she was trying to avoid. And with Harry sitting so close, his concern for her so palpable, it made her feel even more off-balance. Every time he cared, every time he listened so intently, it reminded her of how much she longed for something more than just friendship.

But that wasn’t an option. Not with him. So, she buried it all under the wedding invitation and the pressures from her family, hoping it would be enough to keep him from asking more.

Harry studied her for a long moment, eyes searching her face like he could sense there was something more she wasn’t saying. He tilted his head slightly, lips pressing together in that way he always did when he was thinking hard.

“Is that really why you’re freaking out?” he asked gently, his voice laced with quiet skepticism.

Y/N felt her stomach twist, the question catching her off guard. She hated how easily he could see through her, but she wasn’t about to crack. Not when it came to her deeper feelings. So, she nodded quickly, clutching onto the family wedding excuse like a lifeline. “Yes, it is. It’s a big issue, Harry. Every time I visit my family, it just… it tears me down a little more. They make me feel like I’m somehow falling behind because I don’t have someone. It’s exhausting.”

He sighed softly, his eyes softening with sympathy, though there was still a trace of doubt in his gaze. Without saying anything more, he leaned back against the couch and picked up his book again, his fingers absently running along the spine.

For a few minutes, silence fell between them, the crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of turning pages the only sounds filling the room. Y/N watched him out of the corner of her eye, heart still racing from the close call. She didn’t know what she’d do if he pushed further—if he managed to pry open the lid she’d been keeping on her feelings. She shifted in her seat, trying to focus on her book, but the words refused to make sense.

Then, just as she was beginning to lose herself in her own anxious thoughts, Harry broke the silence.

“I’ve got an easy solution,” he said suddenly, his voice calm and casual, like he hadn’t just spent several minutes in contemplative silence. He didn’t even look up from his book. “I’ll go with you.”

Y/N blinked, his words not quite registering at first. “What?”

He glanced over at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll be your date. To the wedding,” he clarified, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Problem solved.”

Her heart skipped a beat, her mind racing to catch up. “You… you’re serious?” She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Harry Styles, her best friend—and secret crush—offering to be her date to her cousin’s wedding?

“Of course,” he said, shrugging as if it were no big deal. “If it’ll make things easier for you, I’m in. I’ll go, smile for the family, and be the perfect distraction. You won’t have to deal with any awkward questions about being single.”

Y/N stared at him, stunned. He made it sound so simple, like it was no trouble at all. But for her, it was anything but simple. Having him at her side, pretending to be her date, while she tried to keep her feelings under control… It sounded like both a dream and a nightmare all at once.

She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. “Harry, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted, closing his book and turning his full attention to her now. His gaze was steady, sincere. “You’re my best friend, Y/N. If this is stressing you out, let me help. I’d be happy to go with you.”

Her heart swelled at his words, warmth spreading through her chest at the thought of him being there, by her side, at a time when she felt most vulnerable. But at the same time, the reality of pretending—of standing next to him, feeling things she shouldn’t, knowing it was all just for show—made her feel dizzy.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost unsure...

[awakefor48hours]

As I'm rewatching TADC, I'm beginning to realize that in the near future, we're probably going to see more indie projects and I actually think that it has the potential to be good for the entertainment industry as a whole.

As time goes on, more people are pretty much only using streaming services but streaming services have a lot of problems with their platforms. The subscriptions are getting more expensive, there's so many of them, and a lot of the shows are getting cancelled in their infancy (some after being greenlit for more) despite their popularity.

Since 2019, Netflix alone has cancelled dozens of shows such as Dead End Paranormal Park, Julie and the Phantoms, Inside Job, Lockwood and Co, Warrior Nun, The Baby-Sitters Club, Raising Dion, Shadow and Bone, The Oa, I Am Not Okay With, A Typical, Anne with E, and much more.

This list doesn't even touch on other streaming platforms but I'm choosing to focus on these shows from Netflix (probably the most well respected streaming service) because I feel like it gets to the root of the problem. A lot of these shows were cancelled in their infancy despite having had high ratings (once again, some of them were even greenlit for more seasons). I almost never hear about shows ending anymore, I only hear about how they get cancelled after a season or two.

With both streaming services and cable not really giving creators the most certain platform, doing indie projects seems like the best bet and it works really well for both the creator and the audience.

To go back to streaming services, the amount of streaming services in the world are only growing and not everyone has the ability to pay for all of them but even the people that do pay for a lot of streaming services can't watch everything. I've mentioned this once but my parents are subscribed to 5 different streaming services, that's so many but they still ask me for help to pirate about once a month because they want to watch a show that isn't available on the streaming platform they use. That is ridiculous and I fully believe my parents should be allowed to watch whatever they want. (Just like my parents, I'll gladly share the piracy sites I use but it's through DMs only, I promise I'm not scary I cry watching kids cartoons).

But when it comes to shows on YouTube, it's available to basically everyone with a Wi-Fi connection and I fully believe it's the main reason why shows like TADC, Lackadaisy, Helluva Boss, RWBY, RvB, and more were able to get their level of popularity. They're on a free to use platform and can be shared to other people just as easily. Also when creators post their show on YouTube, it's much easier for people to make gifs and edits (which, let's be honest, are the real advertisers of a show) because YouTube lets people take screenshots/screen record without any hassle.

*If you want to know how to screenshot/screen record DRM content (things like Netflix, Hulu, CrunchyRoll, etc), I do have a post about here.

Along with the fact that it's more available to the public, it's also more available to the crew and creators. A few years ago, Dana Terrace (creator of The Owl House) made a tweet introducing a new character to the show but the tweet got popular because admitted that she had to pirate The Owl House in order to watch it.

(Since it's cropped in this screenshot, in the top right corner is a watermark of a well-known piracy site for The Owl House).

Imagine working for a company like Disney and not have the ability to watch your own show. They couldn't even give her complimentary mp4 files or even a subscription to Disney+ despite the fact that without her the show wouldn't exist. It's really annoying to see this but when it comes to shows like TADC, that problem doesn't really exist. You can just watch the episodes for free on YouTube.

Also, the fact that the episodes take a while to come out really makes the fandom feel a lot more united. The wait time between episode really kills the binging aspect of TV and I'm in full support of that. Ever since streaming services started to become the default way to watch TV, binging culture has gotten really bad and it can be pretty isolating to people who have busy lives.

Take me for an example. Someone like me, a single adult who has no kids and a terrible sleep schedule (ignore username), can stay up until 3 in the morning binging shows without too many negative consequences. But I have friends who are married/getting married and have kids/planning on having kids, meaning that they don't have the same amount of time as me. I can finish binging shows in a day or two which isn't a pleasure my friends have and it also mean I can't talk to them about it because they're only on episode 2.

I also feel a lot more comfortable donating to these indie projects because the money goes directly towards the creators and crew. When the WGA strike happened, creators explained how they got paid (you can watch the whole video here), and the quick version of it is, they only get paid the amount of times someone watches and episode, they get paid thee residuals from the subscriptions which is so little that it almost feels criminal. When you really put it into perspective, donating to 2 dollars to a GoFundMe and watching the show three times on YouTube is going to do more for a show then paying for a 15 dollar subscription and watching it 10 times.

YouTube definitely has it's problems, I've been subjected to whole ass adults saying "seggy" for nearly a decade, but when you compare it to the current state of streaming and cable, it seems like the best option for both the creators and fans.

[gojuo]

Are you the strongest because you are gojo satoru or are you gojo saturo because you are the strongest? I never understood why geto said that to gojo, can you explain to me? Did he want to give gojo a reality check?

Actually, he wanted to give Gojo an identity crisis lmao. In other words, what Geto's saying is that: Are you you? ("Are you the strongest because you are Gojo Satoru?") Or are you letting your strength define your sense of self? ("Are you Gojo Satoru because you are the strongest?").

In that moment, Geto was completely defeated/resigned/pessimistic (I can't find the right word arghggg) because he realized that what he wanted to achieve, he never could. But Gojo totally could because in the year between Riko's death and that moment, he had surpassed anyone and everything, and had become — for a lack of a better term — an untouchable god (Infinity automatically on at all times; RCT & RCT: Red; Hollow Purple; Domain Expansion mastered; in the process of mastering brain healing 24/7; etc.).

What Toji did to Gojo was turn him from The Strongest to Stronger Than The Strongest (omgggg romance <3 Tojigo agenda never ends). Essentially, Gojo had become far stronger than Geto, a fellow Special Grade and part of "The Strongest Duo", was and had risen up to be in a league completely on his own. This event in his life + Geto going rogue gave way to the worsening of Gojo's identity crisis.

That identity crisis I'm talking about is Gojo's lifelong status as "The Strongest" and his role in Jujutsu Society from the second he was born.

"The curses' increasing strength... At that moment, I understood the reason why! It's because of him! It's because of Satoru Gojo!! It's like when a seemingly unbeatable track-and-field record gets broken! Or when figure skaters suddenly have to add more spins to their jumps due to a single athlete's prowess!! When Satoru Gojo was born... the balance of the world was altered!"

From the second Gojo was born, he was not allowed to be Gojo Satoru (himself; "Are you the strongest because you are Gojo Satoru?"). He was pushed into a role by his birth family, his clan, other clans, and the entirety of Jujutsu society. Gojo was never just Satoru, the child, or Satoru, the person. From birth on, he was the Six Eyes, the Limitless ("Are you Gojo Satoru because you are the strongest?"). The bounty on his head was already over a hundred thousand before he turned 10 years old.

When Satoru Gojo was born, the balance of the world was altered.

This meant that he was raised as The Strongest, a role not only pushed onto him by the society and family he was born into, but by fate itself (the Tengen affair — remember that the Six Eyes is connected to Tengen and the Star Plasma Vessels through fate. A fate broken by the only one who lives outside of it: Toji Zen'in the man with absolutely no cursed energy at all. TOJIGO AGENDA NEVER ENDS GRAAAAAAAHHH)

Being raised as a thing instead of a person would lead any child to an identity crisis. He says it himself in ch. 236

He feels like nobody truly understands him, because there is nobody on his level of being. Nobody can stand beside him because of the disparity in strength between him and everybody else. He feels like he can't ever let anybody inside. He feels this way because Gojo defines his own sense of self — his identity and his own existence — through the strength he holds ("Are you Gojo Satoru because you are the strongest?"). Because he was raised to think like that. Because he was pushed into the role of "The Strongest" by fate, his family, all of society before he was able to define himself as just himself.

Gojo going to Jujutsu High in his teens would have been the first time he actually spent meaningful time with people who live outside of rigid clan society and culture. Geto, Shoko, Nanami and Haibara, none of them are from clans, so none of them would have treated him as if he were the Six Eyes and the Limitless first, human second. They would have treated him as just Gojo Satoru, their classmate in high school. Like a normal person. His belief system would have been challenged for the first time since his identity wouldn't be characterized by how strong he is, by his role as The Strongest in Jujutsu society. He'd just be another kid to his classmates.

Now that doesn't mean that his issues with his identity and Jujutsu society's dogma he was force-fed since birth were all fixed and everything was dandy, it just means that that line from Geto and his betrayal worsened what was already there and continuously reinforced and reaffirmed by Jujutsu society's penchant in making him a pariah (Nanami participated in this after Haibara's death btw, "Can't we just leave everything to him from now on?").

Are you the strongest because you're Gojo Satoru? Or are you Gojo Satoru because you're the strongest?

Geto asked this because he was angry at the world, defeated by it, and hurt by what Gojo had just said to him.

Because the thing is... Gojo is totally capable of killing all of humanity and creating a world only made up of only sorcerers. Gojo is The Strongest. Far stronger than Geto is. In the year between Riko's death and this moment, Gojo had far surpassed Geto in strength. The Strongest Duo — something that was a double-edged sword since it reaffirmed Gojo's belief that the measure of one's strength and prowess defines one's sense of identity BECAUSE there is now another Special Grade that is as strong as him, on the same level as him, therefore feeding into his confirmation bias — was no more. Gojo achieved enlightenment, Geto did not. Therefore, he was upset by Gojo saying that Geto wanting to create a world with only sorcerers was meaningless and impossible. And so Geto hit him where it hurt: Are you Gojo Satoru? Or are you just the role assigned to you?

Are you the strongest because you're Gojo Satoru? Are you your own person?

Or are you Gojo Satoru because you're the strongest? Or are you just a thing? A thing called The Strongest?

The second Gojo was born, he was dehumanized. Not just by his family, not just by Jujutsu society, but by the world itself. He was born into a world that adjudged him to be a thing — in his own words: an adored flower standing far above humanity and therefore untouchable in every sense of the way — not a person, an actual human being with his own identity. His time in high school, where he lived and existed outside of the confines of clan culture for a short period of time, was probably the first time in his life where he felt human. There were kids his age who weren't raised in clans, who weren't fed Jujutsu dogma from the second they started breathing, who didn't know him as The Strongest. He was just a fellow kid. And there was Geto, who was a Special Grade just like him, someone that Gojo would have categorized to be the same as him and who he would have projected his uncertainty about his own identity onto as well (because of his confirmation bias).

And then Toji comes along and changes his life forever. It's so ironic (and also the biggest reason why I love this ship so much), the one and only person who lives outside of the confines of fate (zero cursed energy) destroys and redefines the one person who came into existence precisely because of said fate (the Six Eyes is born because fate calls for them to be born in order to help Tengen with the merger). Gojo dies and comes back to life enlightened. All because "a monkey who couldn't even use Jujutsu" killed him. The poetry of it all, my god....

Okay anyways I'm getting distracted (Tojigo agenda never ends) what I'm trying to say is that Geto went through a complete different experience than Gojo did, and got left behind basically. While Gojo grew stronger and stronger (not necessarily a good thing for him), Geto went off the deep end and stayed stagnant on the powerscale.

This happening to Geto leads to his betrayal + him asking that question which in turn led to the worsening of Gojo's identity crisis. Because Gojo chose to define himself through the strength he holds and not through being his own person. And that belief only got reaffirmed more and more because Gojo truly became untouchable, truly reached enlightenment and lived on a plane not a single person could reach, not even the other person who was also called "The Strongest". So when Geto asked him, "Are you the strongest because you're Gojo Satoru? Or are you Gojo Satoru because you're the strongest?" he's asking, who are you really? Are you a person who happens to be the Strongest also? Or are you The Strongest, and nothing else?

Gojo, throughout his entire life up until that point, was raised to be and treated by everyone as the latter. During high school and his time together with another "The Strongest" around, he found a taste of humanity within his own self. Geto then goes rogue and asks this question, and Gojo decides that yes indeed, he is the latter. He validates his own dehumanization through making that choice.

And what's awful about this is that, he didn't need to do allat. He didn't need to isolate himself, he didn't need to decide that no one would or could understand him, nor did he need to resign himself to the role of "adored flower" that was pushed onto him since birth. Why? Well, Shoko says it best here in ch. 220:

Gojo made the choice to let his sense of self be defined by his status as The Strongest ("Or are you Gojo Satoru because you're the strongest?"), when that shit wasn't needed at all. But as a child, when all the people that surround you, the people who gave birth to you, the people who raised you all parrot the same shitty idea that he is The Strongest The Strongest the strongest the strongestthestrongestthestrongestthestrongestthestrongest, and then that kid escapes to high school where he has a few years of being allowed to be a normal teenager and then his BFF decides to become Jujutsu Hitler and throw that The Strongest crap back into his face right where it hurts? Well, what did anyone expect? It's just fucking sad.

And that's also the reason why I hated his death and the conclusion to his character, because Gojo dying without ever getting over being "The Strongest" while he was alive means that his character stayed stagnant throughout the entire story. And I cannot explain to you enough how much I hate that. But that's a topic for another time, so I'm ending this analysis that got way longer than I intended here. I hope this helped you understand that scene better ♥

[tanjir0se]

Disclaimer these are just a small sampling of some possible writer traits I’ve noticed either in myself or in fics I read. Also consider a rb for sample size !

[stylesispunk]

"Silent Strain" | Part ii

Outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

previous chapter | next chapter

summary: Joel and you knew that bringing a child into this mad world was a mistake, but he wanted to give you the best that was left of that world after all.

w.c: 9,8k

warnings: established relationship, age gap (Joel is 43 and Reader 32) angst, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of abortion, mentions of miscarriage, fluff, not proofreading, sorry. (The events in this story happened 10 years after the outbreak.) paragraphs in cursive are reader's journal entries.

a/n: Let's continue with this story. This was supposed to be only three LONG chapters but will be divided into four. Thank you to the ones who read the first part and shared their thoughts with me, you have no idea how happy reading your comments makes me. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

August

“We lost Tess.

I don’t know what to feel after losing Tess. She was always the strong one, the one who knew what to do. I’m angry at her for leaving, but I understand. She believed in something—believed in Joel and me, in Ellie. Maybe that’s why I can’t find the words, because if I admit she’s gone, then I admit I have to keep going… without her.”

A few days later, the three of you were on the road in Bill’s battered truck Joel had managed to get running. The engine growled low, the sound vibrating through your bones as you sat in the passenger seat, trying to stay awake. The steady hum of the road beneath the tires, combined with the rhythmic sway of the truck, made it hard to keep your eyes open.

Joel kept glancing over at you, his eyes softening every time he saw you fighting sleep. He was quiet, his hands gripping the wheel tightly, the muscles in his jaw working as he navigated the broken highways. You could feel his concern, even without him saying a word. Every few moments, he would sneak another look at you, checking if you were okay, if you needed anything.

Ellie, meanwhile, was in the backseat, her head pressed against the window as she took in the world outside. Her eyes darted around, watching the overgrown trees that lined the road, the crumbling buildings in the distance, and the occasional abandoned car. Everything was new to her—every stretch of landscape, every broken-down sign. Despite the grim situation, there was a light of curiosity in her eyes, a small spark of wonder.

"Never thought I'd get to see the world like this," Ellie murmured, mostly to herself, but loud enough that Joel and you could hear. "It’s kinda… pretty, in a messed-up way."

You smiled faintly, your head leaning against the cool glass of the window. "There’s a lot of beauty left," you agreed softly, your voice thick with sleep. "You just have to look for it."

Ellie shifted uncomfortably in the back seat, her eyes flicking between the two of you. She hadn’t known Tess for very long, but she could tell Tess's death weighed heavily on you. "Hey," she said softly, leaning forward between the seats. "You okay up there?"

You didn't respond, your gaze fixed on the road ahead, the passing scenery a blur of green and grey. You felt numb, your hands resting on your lap, fingers interlaced tightly as if holding on to something unseen. The guilt was an anchor, pulling you deeper into yourself, further away from everything and everyone around you.

Joel’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, the leather creaking under his fingers. "She’s just… processing," he said, his voice rough. "We all are."

Ellie frowned, leaning back against the seat. "Yeah, I get that. But it's not like it's your fault, you know?" she said, glancing at you.

Your eyes darted to her for just a second, then back to the road. You wanted to say something, but your throat felt tight, your chest heavy. It was like there was a barrier between you and the world, and you didn’t know how to break through it.

Joel cleared his throat. "We just need some time," he muttered, more to himself than to Ellie. He understood the pain, the way guilt could wrap around your heart like a vice. He knew that trying to force you to talk wouldn’t help. All he could do was be there, steady and present, like he promised.

The truck continued on, the road stretching out before you, endless and uncertain. You could feel Joel's occasional glances, the weight of his concern pressing against your silence. He wanted to comfort you, to reach out, but he knew there was no easy way to heal the wound Tess's death had left behind.

Ellie seemed to sense the tension and turned her gaze back to the window.

"I want to sleep," you murmured, your voice barely above a breath.

Joel glanced at you, his expression softening, the hard lines around his eyes relaxing just a fraction. He nodded, understanding in that quiet way he had, not pressing for more, not asking questions you couldn't answer. “Okay,” he said gently. “We’ll find a safe place to spend the night.”

He knew you needed rest, needed a break from the relentless march forward, both on the road and in your head. He’d seen this before — people carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders, burdened by guilt and grief that wasn’t always theirs to bear. But it didn’t make it any easier to watch you go through it.

Joel's hand tightened on the steering wheel, and he glanced around, scanning the road for a place that looked secure enough to stop for a while.

Joel spotted a narrow dirt path leading off the main road into the dense woods. It was risky — the woods always were — but it was also a place where they could hide, away from the prying eyes of anyone passing by. A place where they might find some peace, at least for a few hours.

He turned the truck onto the path, driving slowly to avoid the deep ruts and branches that stretched across the way. The trees grew thicker around them, the canopy overhead blocking out the last bit of fading light. The woods felt quiet, almost too quiet, but Joel knew that was a good thing. The less noise, the fewer chances there were of running into trouble.

Eventually, he found a small clearing, just wide enough for the truck to fit without being seen from the road. He pulled the truck to a stop and turned off the engine. The silence was immediate, almost a relief, as the engine noise ceased and the sounds of the forest took over — the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant chirp of crickets.

“We’ll stay here,” Joel murmured, glancing at you. “For tonight, at least.”

You nodded, feeling the fatigue weighing down on you even more. You just wanted to sleep, to shut your eyes and escape from the heaviness that seemed to settle in your chest. Joel got out of the truck first, moving to your side, opening the door for you. He offered his hand, helping you out carefully.

Ellie hopped out after, her eyes scanning the trees around them. “Seems quiet,” she whispered. “But I don’t think is a proper place for a pregnant lady.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little at Ellie’s comment, despite everything. “Well, there aren’t exactly a lot of options,” you replied softly, squeezing Joel’s hand for support as you stepped down.

Joel’s face softened as he looked at you, his hand steady around yours. “We’ll make do,” he said quietly, glancing around the darkening woods. “Just for tonight.”

Ellie wandered ahead a bit, her eyes wide and alert, taking in the surroundings. “I’ll check around, see if there’s anything useful,” she offered, trying to sound casual but with a hint of concern in her voice.

Joel nodded, his hand still holding yours, guiding you carefully toward the truck bed. “Just stay here and don’t give more problems” he replied, his voice taking on a protective tone.

Ellie gave a mock salute, “Yes, sir,” she joked, but there was an underlying seriousness to her words.

You let out a small sigh as you sat down on the edge of the truck, your legs feeling like lead. Joel crouched in front of you, his eyes searching your face. “You okay?” he asked softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soothing motion.

You nodded, though you felt anything but okay. “Just… tired. My ass feels numb” you murmured, trying to make Joel smile.

Joel’s lips curved into a small, appreciative smile, though the concern in his eyes didn’t entirely fade. “Yeah, I bet it does,” he said softly, no long after, Joel's brow furrowed with concern, and he reached up, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You need to rest,” he insisted. “We’ve got a long way to go tomorrow.”

You knew he was right, but the thought of closing your eyes, even for a moment, felt impossible. “I just can’t stop thinking about everything… Tess, the baby, all of it,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel’s face tightened at the mention of Tess, but he quickly masked it with a determined look. “We’ll figure it out,” he promised, his voice steady. “We’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”

You nodded, moving a little bit to accommodate the pain on your back and legs.

Joel reached over, gently rubbing your back to ease some of the tension you were feeling. “I know it’s hard,” he said softly, “but we’ll take it one step at a time. We’ve faced tough shit before, and we’ll get through this too.”

You took a deep breath, trying to focus on his words and the comfort of his presence.

“I just… I keep thinking about what’s next. About the future. What if I’m not strong enough for this?”

Joel shook his head, his eyes meeting yours with a fierce determination. “You’re stronger than you think. We’re all in this together, and we’ll make sure the baby’s safe.

Ellie, who had been quietly listening, looked up with a sympathetic expression. “It’s okay to be scared,” she said softly. “But you’re not alone. We’ve got your back.”

You managed a small smile at Ellie’s words, feeling a flicker of gratitude for her support. “Thanks, Ellie.”

Joel squeezed your hand gently, his voice unwavering. “We’ll take this one day at a time. For now, try to get some rest.”

As you leaned against Joel’s shoulder, exhaustion finally started to overtake you. His warmth and steady presence made it easier to let your eyes close, the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing lulling you into a much-needed sleep. You felt his arm wrap around you, pulling you closer, his thumb gently brushing against your arm as he tried to make you comfortable.

Joel shifted slightly, careful not to wake you, his eyes never leaving your face. He moved his other arm to support your head, cradling you as you slept. The lines of worry on his face softened for a moment, replaced by a rare tenderness.

Ellie watched the whole scene unfold with a quiet intensity. After a moment, she broke the silence with a soft, almost teasing voice. “You really love her, don’t you?”

Joel glanced at Ellie, caught off guard by her question. He hesitated, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face before he responded in a low, steady voice, “Yeah… I do.”

Ellie nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. “Good,” she whispered. “She deserves that.”

Joel’s gaze softened even more as he looked back at you, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “She deserves a lot more than just that,” he murmured quietly, almost to himself. He sighed, his eyes turning back to the darkness outside, staying vigilant for any signs of danger.

Ellie sat back, her gaze still on Joel, observing the shift in his expression. "You know," she said quietly, “I didn’t know you were this protective over her.”

Joel’s jaw tightened slightly, and he gave a small nod, his eyes still scanning the woods. "It’s different," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "It’s not just about me anymore. It’s about keeping her safe, keeping you both safe. And the baby."

Ellie watched him for another moment, her expression softening. "You’re doing a good job, Joel," she said earnestly.

Joel gave a faint smile, though it was tinged with worry. "I hope so," he replied, his voice filled with a rare tenderness. He looked down at you, still asleep against his shoulder, and felt a surge of protectiveness, stronger than ever.

For a moment, there was silence, only the sounds of the forest around them. Then Ellie shifted her weight, wrapping her arms around her knees. "We’ll be okay," she said, almost as if trying to convince herself too. "We just have to keep moving… together."

Joel nodded, his hand gently caressing your arm as you slept. "Yeah," he agreed softly.

"I didn’t take you for a softie.” Ellie joked.

Joel let out a low chuckle, his lips curling into a slight smirk. "Don’t go spreading that around, kid," he replied, keeping his voice light. "Gotta maintain my reputation."

Ellie grinned, enjoying this rare moment of teasing between them. "Your secret’s safe with me," she whispered, her tone playful. "But I think she already knows."

Joel’s smile softened as he looked down at you, still resting peacefully against him. "Yeah, she does," he murmured, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles on your arm. "And that’s all that matters."

Ellie watched him for a moment longer, a glimmer of warmth in her eyes. "You know," she said quietly, "I think you’re good for each other. Even if you’re all grumpy and stuff."

Joel scoffed, but his expression remained tender. "Grumpy, huh? You got a lot of nerve, kid," he replied with mock seriousness, but there was a lightness in his voice.

Ellie laughed softly, enjoying the back-and-forth. "Hey, I call it like I see it," she replied with a grin, leaning back against her pack. "But seriously, it’s nice to see you… you know, care about someone. Makes all this less… bleak, I guess."

Joel’s face softened further, a rare warmth breaking through his usual guarded demeanor. "I care about her, more than anything.” he said quietly, his gaze shifting from Ellie back to you, still sleeping soundly against his shoulder. “Now, go to sleep, Kid. I’ll make sure you both are safe”

“Three.” She said, before turning his back to Joel “me, her, and the baby.”

Joel's expression softened even more at Ellie's correction, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice low and filled with a tenderness he rarely let show. "Three of you."

Ellie settled down, pulling her jacket tighter around her as she prepared to sleep. She glanced back one last time. "Goodnight, Joel."

"Goodnight, kid," Joel replied softly, his focus returning to the dark woods around them. He kept one arm protectively around you, his thumb still tracing gentle circles on your arm, feeling the steady rise and fall of your breathing.

For a moment, everything felt almost… normal. Peaceful. The world outside was still dangerous, still uncertain, but right here, in this tiny clearing with you and Ellie, Joel felt like he had something worth fighting for again. A reason to keep going, to stay vigilant.

He glanced down at you, his heart swelling with an emotion he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. "I won't let anything happen to any of you," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

the night wore out, and you woke up with a blanket wrapped around your body. It took you some seconds to realize where you were, until you saw Ellie sleeping next you. You immediately look for Joel, until you saw him, standing some feet away, holding his riffle on his hands.

You slowly pushed the blanket aside, careful not to disturb Ellie, who was curled up beside you, her breaths deep and even in sleep. The blanket’s warmth still lingered on your skin, and it took you a moment to realize Joel must have covered you with it sometime during the night.

Quietly, you got up and made your way over to him, your steps soft against the damp ground. Joel heard you approach; his posture relaxed slightly, but he kept his gaze fixed on the distance, always alert. As you reached his side, he glanced down at you, his expression unreadable in the shadows.

“Hey,” you whispered, your voice still thick with sleep.

Joel’s eyes softened at the sight of you. “Hey,” he replied just as quietly, his voice gravelly in the early morning air. “Did I wake you up?”

“You didn’t,” you assured him. “I just… I woke up and saw you over here.” You looked out into the woods, the thick trunks of trees barely visible in the dawn light. “You’ve been up all night?”

He gave a small shrug. “Someone’s gotta keep watch. Couldn’t sleep, anyway.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was an undercurrent of something else — concern, maybe. “You should get some more rest. Still got a long way ahead of us.”

You shook your head, moving closer so your arm brushed against his. “I’m okay,” you whispered, “but you need to take care of yourself, too.”

Joel huffed out a quiet laugh, though there was no humor in his eyes. “I’ll rest when we’re safe,” he replied, his hand shifting on the rifle. “But thanks for the concern.”

You reached out, placing a hand on his arm, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles. “Joel, you can’t do everything alone.”

His gaze flickered to yours, something vulnerable passing through his expression. “I know,” he murmured. “I just… I can’t risk anything happening to you or Ellie. Not again. Not after…”

He trailed off, but you knew what he was thinking — Tess, all the others they had lost. You leaned in closer, pressing your forehead against his shoulder, feeling his warmth seep into you.

“We’ll be okay,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his torso, leaving a trace of kisses on his neck.

Joel stiffened for a moment as your lips brushed against his neck, his breath hitching at the unexpected touch. His hand tightened on the rifle, but slowly, he relaxed into your embrace. He let out a soft, shaky breath, his free arm coming around you, pulling you closer.

"Hey," he whispered, his voice a little rough, "don’t go getting all soft on me now." But there was no bite in his words, just a quiet plea masked by his gruff exterior.

You smiled against his skin, feeling the way his body responded to your touch, the way his heart beat a little faster under your palm. "Just admit you love it," you murmured between kisses, your lips trailing gently up his neck, finding the spot just below his ear that made him shiver.

Joel swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt as if holding on to you for dear life. "You’re gonna be the death of me," he breathed out, but his voice was thick with emotion.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes were dark, filled with fear, longing, and something else, something softer, more vulnerable than he usually let himself show. "I’m not going anywhere," you said firmly, your hand moving to cup his cheek. "And neither are you.”

He let out a shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours. "Goddamn it," he muttered, almost to himself, "you make it so damn hard not to…" He didn't finish, but you understood. You always did.

You smiled softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. "Not to what?"

Joel chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that was rare but welcome. "Not to fall harder for you every day," he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Joel's eyes searched yours for a moment, as if weighing your words, his breath still coming a little too fast. Then, without another word, he leaned down and kissed you. His lips were urgent, needy, as though he was trying to pour all his unspoken fears and desires into that single moment.

The kiss deepened quickly, his hand moving to the back of your head, tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer. You could feel the roughness of his beard against your skin, the way his heart pounded against your chest. There was something desperate in the way he kissed you, something that spoke of all the things he couldn't say, all the things he had lost and was afraid of losing again.

You kissed him back with equal fervor, your hands moving to his shoulders, then sliding up to cup his face, feeling the strength and the fragility all at once. His lips were warm, his breath hot against your mouth, and you could feel the way he was holding back, afraid to let go completely, but wanting so badly to let himself feel this.

When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged. "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you," he confessed, his voice thick, barely above a whisper.

You smiled softly, brushing a thumb over his cheek. "You won’t lose me," you promised. "We’ve come too far for that."

Joel’s eyes softened, his thumb gently tracing your lips as if memorizing the feel of them. "I love you," he said, the words coming out almost like a prayer like he needed to say them out loud to believe them. You felt a warmth spread through your chest, your heart swelling with emotion. "I love you, too," you whispered back, leaning in for another kiss, this one softer, sweeter.

A few hours later, you were back on the road. The sun had just started to rise, casting a soft orange glow over the landscape. You sat in the back seat, your journal opened on your lap, a pencil in your hand. You leaned against the window, writing carefully as the truck bounced over the uneven road.

You wrote to your baby, your thoughts spilling onto the page.

“It’s been a long road so far. I hope one day you get to read this, to know that even before you were born, you were loved. Tess… she would have liked you, I think. I wish she could be here, but I promise you this: Joel and I will do everything to keep you safe. I know it’s not the world I wanted for you, but it’s the one we’ve got, and we’ll make the best of it.”

You paused, glancing up as you heard Ellie’s voice from the front seat. She was perched in the passenger seat, her feet up on the dashboard, and she was peppering Joel with questions — as usual.

“So, Joel,” Ellie asked, her curiosity unbridled. “You ever have a pet?”

Joel shot her a quick glance before returning his eyes to the road. "Nope," he replied gruffly.

“Really? Not even a goldfish?” Ellie pressed, leaning in closer with a grin.

Joel huffed, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Not even a goldfish," he confirmed.

Ellie rolled her eyes dramatically. "Well, that's sad. Everyone needs a pet. I used to have a stuffed bear… I named it Captain."

Joel chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Captain? What kind of adventures did Captain go on?"

Ellie’s face lit up. "Oh, you know, saving the world, defeating the evil cat empire… normal bear stuff."

You couldn't help but smile as you listened, their banter a small bright spot in an otherwise harsh world. You looked back down at your journal and continued writing.

“And Ellie… she’s something special. Smart, tough, got a mouth on her, but she’s got a good heart. She keeps things… lighter. Reminds us why we keep going, even when it feels like the worlds against us.”

Ellie’s voice cut through your thoughts again, her tone curious. “Joel, what’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?”

Joel shifted in his seat, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Crazy, huh? Well… probably sticking around to watch you try to figure out a joke for three hours.”

Ellie laughed, a bright, infectious sound. “Hey, that was a good joke! You just didn’t get it.”

“Maybe,” Joel replied, his eyes flicking up to the rearview mirror, catching yours for a brief moment. His expression softened, a silent reassurance passing between you.

You closed your journal, tucked it back into your pack, and leaned back in your seat, feeling a little lighter. Despite everything, there was hope in these small moments.

The truck came to a sudden halt, jolting you forward in your seat. You looked up, startled, as Joel’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched. The road ahead was a mess — cars scattered everywhere, some piled on top of one another, blocking the path completely. The remnants of a long-ago traffic jam, abandoned when the world went to hell.

Joel muttered a curse under his breath and cut the engine, the truck rumbling to a stop. He glanced back at you and Ellie, his expression tense. "Stay inside," he ordered firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Without another word, he pushed open the door and stepped out, his rifle slung over his shoulder. You watched him carefully as he moved towards the edge of the road, scanning the area, his eyes sharp and wary. The wind rustled through the trees, the only sound breaking the stillness around you.

Ellie leaned forward, her hands gripping the dashboard. “What’s going on?” she whispered, her voice low.

“Road’s blocked,” you replied softly, your eyes not leaving Joel as he stepped closer to the cars, looking for a way through. “He’s just checking if it’s safe.”

Ellie’s brow furrowed, her fingers tapping nervously. “Yeah, but what if it’s not?”

You didn’t answer immediately, your stomach tightening with a familiar knot of anxiety. You hated moments like this — the uncertainty, the vulnerability. “We wait,” you finally said, though your voice was tinged with the same concern.

Joel moved carefully, his eyes sweeping over the surrounding area, every sense alert. He disappeared around the side of a truck for a moment, and you felt your heart rate quicken, every nerve on edge. You leaned forward, trying to keep your gaze on him through the windshield.

After a few tense moments, Joel reappeared, his face set in a grim expression. He looked back towards the truck, his gaze locking with yours. He shook his head slightly, signaling for you both to stay put.

He approached the edge of the road, where a gap between two cars revealed a narrow path leading into the woods. His posture was tense, his rifle raised and ready. He paused, listening, and you could see his muscles coiled, ready for any sudden movement.

Ellie bit her lip, glancing at you. “Should we…?”

“No,” you cut her off gently but firmly. “If Joel says to stay, we stay.”

Seconds stretched into what felt like minutes, and your hand found its way to your belly, instinctively protective. The air felt heavy, thick with anticipation. Then, a distant sound — a faint rustling from the trees, maybe an animal, or something else. Joel stiffened, his head turning towards the noise.

He moved further down the line of cars, his rifle up, every step deliberate and cautious. You held your breath, your fingers gripping the edge of the seat, silently willing him to be okay.

Ellie shifted beside you, restless. “I hate this waiting,” she muttered under her breath, her eyes darting to the window.

You couldn’t help but agree, the silence growing louder with every passing second.

You glanced at Ellie, then at Joel, who was still moving cautiously among the wreckage. Your instinct to help was overpowering, and you made a decision.

"I'm going out," you said, your voice firm despite the trembling of your hands.

Ellie’s eyes widened. "Are you sure? Joel told us to stay—"

"I know what he said," you interrupted gently but resolutely. "But I can’t just sit here while he’s out there alone. Stay inside and keep the door locked."

Without waiting for a response, you grabbed your gun from its place in the truck and slung your arrow bow over your shoulder. The weight of the weapons felt reassuring for a moment.

You stepped out of the truck, the cool air hitting your face as you scanned the area. The sight of Joel moving between the cars, his rifle up and ready, filled you with a mix of anxiety and determination. You approached him, keeping your movements deliberate and steady.

Joel turned sharply as he heard you approach, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern. “What the hell are you doing out here?” he snapped, though his voice carried a note of relief.

“I couldn’t stay in the truck,” you replied, your voice steady. “Ellie’s inside, but I needed to be out here. Let’s see what’s going on.”

Joel’s eyes softened slightly, though his brow remained furrowed. “You shouldn’t be—”

“We don’t have time for that,” you cut him off, your tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m pregnant, not broken.”

Joel studied you for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. “Fine. Just stay close and stay sharp.”

You moved alongside him, your senses on high alert as you navigated through the maze of abandoned vehicles. The air was thick with the scent of decay and rust, the remnants of chaos that had long since passed.

“Looks like we’ve got a narrow path here,” Joel said, gesturing towards the gap between the cars. “We might be able to push through, but it’s risky. You see anything suspicious?”

You kept your gaze moving, scanning the area for any signs of danger. “No, but I don’t like how quiet it is,” you replied.

Joel nodded, his grip on his rifle tightening as he led the way. The two of you moved cautiously, Joel checking every corner and crevice, while you kept watch with your bow ready. The silence of the forest pressed in on you, making every sound feel amplified and ominous.

As you carefully made your way through the narrow path, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of adrenaline and focus. Despite the danger, there was a strange sense of purpose in being out here, working alongside Joel to tackle the challenges ahead.

“Be careful,” Joel said quietly as you approached the end of the blockage. “We don’t know what’s beyond this.”

You gave a quick nod, your eyes scanning the area beyond the obstruction. The path led into the dense woods, a faint trail barely visible through the underbrush.

“I’ll go first,” you said, taking a step forward. “Stay close.”

Joel followed close behind, his eyes constantly scanning the surroundings. The two of you moved with practiced efficiency, navigating the difficult terrain with careful steps.

Once you reached a safer spot, you looked back at Joel. “We should make sure Ellie stays safe in the truck while we scout the area.”

Joel nodded in agreement. “Alright. Let’s head back and check on her.”

You made your way back to the truck, your senses still on high alert. As you reached the vehicle, Ellie looked up with a mix of concern and relief.

“Everything okay?” she asked, her voice edged with worry.

“Yeah, for now,” Joel replied, his gaze shifting back to you.

“We’ve got a way forward, but it’s going to be tricky. We need to keep moving.”

Just as you were about to get back inside the truck, a sudden, sharp crack split the air. The sound was immediately followed by a searing pain in your shoulder, knocking you back against the side of the truck.

“Shit!” Joel’s voice was a mix of shock and urgency as he turned, diving towards you. He pulled you away from the truck and crouched beside you, his face a mask of fear and determination. “Are you alright? Where were you hit?”

You winced, trying to focus through the pain. “Shoulder,” you gasped, your breath coming in short, painful bursts. “I—”

Another shot rang out, the bullet whizzing past dangerously close. Joel threw himself over you, pulling you closer to the truck. “Ellie, get down!” he shouted.

Ellie’s panicked eyes darted around as she scrambled to find cover inside the truck. “What the hell is going on?” she yelled, her voice trembling with fear.

Joel’s hands were already working to assess your injury, his movements quick and practiced. “You stay put,” he ordered, though his voice was gentler than the command. He ripped a strip from his shirt, pressing it against your shoulder to staunch the bleeding. “Ellie, stay inside and stay quiet. We need to figure out where those shots are coming from.”

You gritted your teeth against the pain, trying to keep calm. “Joel, we need to—”

“Not now,” Joel interrupted, his voice low but firm.

He moved with purpose, taking cover behind the truck and advancing toward the trees. You could hear the muffled sounds of gunfire as he engaged the unknown threat, each shot echoing through the woods. Your breaths came ragged, the pain in your shoulder a constant, throbbing reminder of the danger you were in.

Ellie peered out from the truck, her face pale with fear. “Is Joel gonna be, okay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ignoring the sharp pain in your shoulder, you struggled to get out of the truck. Ellie’s eyes widened in panic. “What are you doing? Stay inside!”

“I can’t just sit here,” you insisted through gritted teeth, moving carefully but determinedly towards the edge of the truck. “Joel needs help.”

Your movements were slow and pained, but adrenaline pushed you forward. You gripped your bow tightly, using it as a crutch to steady yourself. Every step felt like a battle, but you forced yourself to keep going, the need to help Joel outweighing the pain.

As you reached the cover of the trees, you saw Joel crouched behind a large trunk, his eyes scanning the area. He spotted you immediately, his expression shifting from concentration to alarm. “What the hell are you doing out here? Get back to the truck!”

“I’m not leaving you,” you said firmly, your voice carrying a blend of determination and desperation. “I can help.”

Joel’s gaze softened for a moment, but he didn’t waste time with arguments.

You took the gun, nodding as you aimed it towards the area where you had seen the movement. Your hands were unsteady, but you focused on the shadows darting through the trees. With Joel’s guidance, you managed to locate the attackers, your aim steadying as you fired a few shots, trying to provide cover for Joel.

The sounds of gunfire continued to echo through the woods, but gradually, the attackers’ shots grew less frequent. Joel’s movements were precise and calculated as he picked off the remaining threats. The tension in the air began to lift, the immediate danger subsiding.

When the firing finally ceased, Joel emerged from his cover, moving quickly back to your side. “You shouldn’t have come out here,” he said, his voice rough with both relief and frustration.

“I couldn’t just leave you to handle it alone,” you replied, your breath coming in ragged bursts. “How bad is it?”

As you caught your breath, Joel’s relief was short-lived. From the corner of your eye, you saw Ellie running towards you, her face a mask of fear and urgency.

“They’re coming back!” Ellie shouted, her voice trembling. “They took the truck!”

Joel’s eyes widened in shock, his expression hardening with determination. “Damn it. We need to move, now.”

You barely had time to process the information before the sounds of footsteps and shouts echoed through the trees, getting closer. Panic surged through you, but you forced yourself to stay focused. “The journal!” you cried out, the thought hitting you like a jolt.

“What?” Joel asked not even processing the moment you ran out of his sight.

You sprinted back towards the truck, the urgency in your steps driven by the desperate need to retrieve your journal. The pain in your shoulder was now a distant throb compared to the rising panic. As you neared the truck, you could see the man who had earlier hurt you rummaging through the cab, apparently searching for anything of value.

Your heart pounded as you reached the truck. The man’s back was turned, and you seized the opportunity to grab your journal. Your fingers closed around it, and you yanked it free from where it had fallen.

Just as you were about to turn and run, the man spun around, his eyes locking onto you with a menacing glare. “Hey!” he shouted, recognizing you. His hand reached for his weapon, but before he could aim it, you raised your own gun, your aim steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you.

“Stay back!” you commanded, your voice firm, though it trembled slightly with fear. The man hesitated; the tension palpable as he assessed the situation.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” he growled, his expression a mix of anger and surprise.

Without another word, he lunged towards you. Reacting instinctively, you fired a shot. The bullet struck him in the shoulder, causing him to stagger back, a pained cry escaping his lips. He dropped his weapon and clutched his shoulder, glaring at you with fury and frustration.

You didn’t wait to see his next move. Gripping the journal tightly, you dashed back towards the cover of the trees where Joel and Ellie were. The sound of gunfire and shouting had intensified, blending with the thumping of your heart.

When you rejoined Joel and Ellie, the fury in Joel’s eyes was palpable. His face was set in a hard line, his jaw clenched tightly. He glanced at you with a mix of anger and relief as you came back, clutching the journal to your chest.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Joel's voice was sharp, cutting through the chaos. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

You tried to catch your breath, the weight of his anger hitting you hard. “I—” you started, but the words were caught in your throat. You knew he was right, but the urgency of retrieving the journal had felt so immediate, so necessary.

Joel’s eyes softened slightly as he saw the journal in your hands. “Is that really worth risking your life for?” he demanded, his frustration evident.

“Yes,” you replied firmly, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and resolve.

Joel’s frustration boiled over. Without warning, he snatched the journal from your hands and threw it to the ground, the impact sending it skidding across the dirt. The sound of the journal hitting the ground was sharp, and you watched in shock as it lay there, dust and dirt mingling with the pages.

“Damn it!” Joel shouted, his voice echoing through the trees. “This isn’t worth risking your life over! Not like this!”

You stared at the journal, your heart sinking as you saw it lying there, a symbol of everything you had been trying to protect. “Joel, no!” you cried out, stepping forward to retrieve it.

Joel moved quickly to block you, his face a storm of emotion. “Just... stop,” he said, his voice strained. “We can’t keep doing this. We can’t keep risking everything for things that can be replaced.”

The raw emotion in his voice cut through you, and for a moment, you could see how deeply he was affected by the constant danger. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure as you looked at him. “It’s not just a journal,” you said softly.

You bent down slowly, picking up the journal with careful hands, brushing off the dirt. You looked at Joel, your eyes meeting his with hurt.

Joel’s jaw was clenched as he watched you carefully retrieve the journal. His frustration was palpable, and though he wanted to say more, the sight of your hurt expression made him falter. His gaze shifted to the journal on the ground, and then back to you, his anger still simmering beneath the surface.

Ellie stepped forward, her voice cutting through the tension with a mix of authority and concern. “Stop, Joel,” she said firmly. “She’s okay, right? That’s what matters now.”

Joel’s eyes softened as he looked at Ellie, his anger meeting the reality of the situation. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice low. “I guess you’re right.”

You carefully brushed off the last of the dirt from the journal and looked up at Joel. “I understand why you’re angry,” you said quietly. “I really do. But this journal...You don’t get it” you said, walking past him towards the new direction.

The old building was a welcome refuge, its once-abandoned state now offering a semblance of safety from the dangers outside. Inside, you set up a makeshift camp, trying to focus on tasks that would help you ignore the pain and tension.

Ellie had been quietly assisting you with cleaning and bandaging your shoulder wound. Her hands were careful, though her gaze occasionally flicked towards Joel, who was sitting a few feet away, his expression a mixture of guilt and frustration.

After a few hours, Joel finally rose from his seat, his movements deliberate. “Ellie,” he said, his voice firm but softened with an edge of weariness. “I’ll take it from here.”

Ellie looked at him with a mix of surprise and relief. “Sure thing,” she said, standing up and giving you a reassuring smile. “I’ll go check on our supplies.”

Joel moved closer; his eyes focused on your wound. “You doing okay?” he asked quietly, his hands steady as he started to clean the area with a fresh bandage and antiseptic. His touch was gentle, despite the roughness of his hands.

You looked at him, the silence between you feeling heavy. “I’m fine,” you replied, your voice quiet.

Joel’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, the frustration and anger seemed to dissolve, replaced by a deep, aching concern. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low. “I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I just… I can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

You sighed, letting your gaze drop as you felt his hands working on your shoulder. “I understand,” you said softly.

Joel's hands paused momentarily, his voice carrying a hint of desperation. "No, don't give me that tone," he pleaded, his eyes searching yours for any sign of understanding.

You looked up, meeting his gaze with a mix of weariness and compassion. "I'm not trying to give you a hard time," you said quietly. "I know you’re scared. We all are. It’s just sometimes it feels like we’re caught in this endless cycle.”

Joel's expression softened, his fingers resuming their careful work. "I know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t mean to take it out on you. It’s just... hard, you know? Seeing you get hurt, and having to face the fact that I can’t always protect you."

You sighed, wincing slightly as he adjusted the bandage. "We’re all just trying to survive. We’re all scared and doing the best we can."

Joel nodded, his eyes still fixed on your wound as he finished wrapping it, and placing a kiss over the bandage.

Joel finished wrapping the bandage and leaned in to place a tender kiss over the newly covered wound. The gesture was both soothing and deeply personal, a silent promise of his care and commitment.

You looked at him, feeling the warmth of his touch linger even as he pulled back. “Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice filled with gratitude.

Joel’s eyes met yours, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry for how I reacted earlier,” he said quietly. “I was just... scared. Scared of losing you.”

Joel nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before he looked back up at you. “I just wish I could make it all easier,” he said, his voice carrying a note of frustration.

You took a deep breath, deciding to share something important. “The journal,” you began, “it wasn’t just any journal. It was from my sister. She… she gave it to me before everything went wrong. It’s all I have left of her. That’s why it means so much.”

He glanced at the torn pages. “I didn’t realize it meant so much to you,” he admitted, guilt heavy in his voice. “I didn’t mean to… to break it.”

You took a deep breath, finally looking up at him, tears in your eyes. “It was my sister’s,” you explained softly, your voice breaking. “We got separated when everything went to hell, and I never… I never found her again.”

Joel’s face softened, his eyes filling with a deep, aching sadness. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“I’ve been writing in it,” you continued, your voice trembling, “like I was talking to her. Telling her what’s been happening, telling her about… about you, and Ellie… and the baby. I wanted to believe that maybe, somehow, she’d find it someday, and know that I never stopped looking for her, that I never gave up.”

Joel’s expression crumbled with understanding and regret. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his hand finally settling on your shoulder, squeezing gently. “I didn’t know. I never would’ve…”

“I know,” you replied, wiping a tear from your cheek.

Joel’s eyes widened slightly, a mixture of surprise and understanding crossing his face. “I didn’t know,” he said quietly.

You nodded, feeling a bit of relief in having shared the significance of the journal. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.” He said, “You helped me so much when I told you about Sarah,” he said, his voice catching slightly. “I should’ve understood why this means so much to you. I’m sorry.”

You reached out, placing a comforting hand on his. “We’re all dealing with our own pain and loss,” you said softly. “It’s okay. We just have to keep supporting each other.”

Joel’s eyes met yours, a glimmer of appreciation in his gaze.

As you spoke, a sudden, low growl interrupted the moment. Both you and Joel looked down to see your stomach growling audibly, the sound breaking the tension between you.

Joel’s eyes widened in surprise, and then a chuckle escaped him, his earlier frustration momentarily forgotten. “Well, someone’s hungry,” he said, his tone lightening.

You felt a flush of embarrassment, but the sound of his laughter was a welcome relief. “I guess this one is hungrier than me.” You say.

Joel’s laughter deepened at your comment, and he shook his head with a fond smile. “Guess we’ve got a hungry little one in there,” he said, his tone softening. “We should definitely get some food in you.”

Ellie, catching on to the lighter mood, chimed in with a grin. “I think that’s a good idea. I’ll help,” she offered, heading towards the supplies.

“I think we’ve got some dried fruit left… maybe a bit of jerky.”

You chuckled quietly, shaking your head. “Anything will do,” you assured him. “I’m not exactly craving a five-star meal here.”

Joel nodded, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “Sit tight, I’ll get somethin’,” he said, moving toward the pack he’d dropped by the door.

As he rummaged through the bag, you took a moment to study him—his face lined with worry, his movements still a bit stiff.

He returned with a small handful of dried fruit and a bit of jerky, holding it out to you. “A feast for a queen,” he joked softly, though his eyes were still serious.

You took the food with a grateful smile, feeling a wave of love wash over you. “Thanks, Joel,” you whispered, your voice filled with sincerity. He nodded, his thumb brushing against your hand as he handed over the food.

“Just tryin’ to take care of you,” he murmured. “Both of you.”

You smiled softly, a hint of warmth blooming in your chest despite the cold reality of the world outside. "I know," you whispered back. “And you are, Joel. More than you know.”

"Oh, I forgot," Joel said suddenly, turning back toward his bag. You watched as he rummaged around, pushing aside supplies until he seemed to find what he was looking for. He straightened up, a small smile playing on his lips as he held out a slightly crumpled chocolate bar. "Got this at Frank's house," he explained, his eyes twinkling a little.

Your eyes widened in surprise and delight as you took the chocolate bar from his hand. "Seriously?" you asked, a grin spreading across your face. "You’ve been holding out on me?”

Joel chuckled softly. “Just savin’ it for when we needed it most,” he replied, his tone light. “Figured it might come in handy, and I guess now’s as good a time as any.”

You looked down at the bar, your heart swelling at the thoughtfulness behind such a small gesture. Chocolate had become such a rarity—a luxury, even—that you hadn’t even thought of it in ages. "This is… thank you, Joel," you said softly, your fingers tracing the edge of the wrapper. “You have no idea how much this means.”

Joel gave a small shrug, but you could see the hint of satisfaction in his expression. “Just want you to have a little bit of comfort,” he murmured, his hand brushing your arm briefly. "You deserve it."

You felt a lump form in your throat, a mix of gratitude and affection. “You’re sweet, you know that?” you said with a playful smile, tearing open the wrapper.

He chuckled, his lips curling into a small, sheepish grin. “Don’t go spreading’ that around,” he muttered, his gaze softening as he watched you take a small bite.

You closed your eyes, savoring the taste, the rich, sweet flavor melting on your tongue. For a moment, the worries and fears faded away, replaced by a small, simple joy. “It’s perfect,” you whispered, opening your eyes to meet his.

Joel’s smile deepened, his hand settling on your shoulder as he leaned in a little closer. “Good,” he said softly. “You deserve perfect, even if it’s just a piece of chocolate.”

And for a moment, in that quiet, fragile space, it felt like everything might just be okay.

Joel’s gaze lingered on you, his eyes full of warmth and a hint of something more. Without a word, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. The touch was soft, tender, and you could feel the weight of his affection and apology in that simple gesture.

As he pulled back slightly, his expression searching yours, you heard a muffled, teasing voice from the other side of the room. “Gross,” Ellie said, her tone a mix of mock disgust and amusement. You turned to see her peeking out from under her blanket, a smirk playing on her lips.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound breaking the tension in the room. “Sorry, Ellie,” you said, trying to keep your voice light. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Just keep it PG, alright?” she said.

You reached into your bag and pulled out a piece of chocolate, offering it to Ellie with a playful grin. “Here, Ellie. Since you had to witness that, you deserve a treat too.”

Ellie’s eyes widened in mock surprise, and she grinned as she took the chocolate from your hand. “Thanks,” she said, unwrapping it with a bit of dramatic flair. “I guess I can’t complain about a bit of chocolate, even if it comes with a side of grossness.”

Joel chuckled softly, shaking his head at the banter between you and Ellie. “You two are something else,” he said with a smile, his earlier tension seemingly melted away by the lighthearted moment.

As you settled back with your own piece of chocolate, you felt a sense of calm and contentment that had been missing for a while. The simple pleasure of sharing a moment like this with Joel and Ellie, amidst the chaos and danger, made the world seem a little brighter.

Ellie took a bite of her chocolate, and her expression softened with genuine appreciation. “This is really good,” she said, her voice carrying a note of surprise. “Thanks for sharing.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied, your gaze meeting Joel’s once more.

As the night settled in, the room grew quieter. You could feel the exhaustion from the day catching up to you, and you rubbed your shoulder, still feeling the dull ache from the earlier injury.

Ellie yawned and stretched, then looked over at the lumpy couch against the wall. “Hey,” she said, her tone light and playful. “The pregnant lady deserves the couch.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, so now you’re feeling all generous?” you teased.

Ellie grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I mean, yeah. But only because I don’t want to hear you complain all night about sleeping on the floor.”

Joel chuckled from where he was standing by the window, keeping watch. “She’s got a point,” he added, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

You shook your head, feeling a warmth in your chest despite the soreness in your shoulder. “Alright, fine,” you said, pretending to be reluctant. “I’ll take the couch, but only because you insist.”

Ellie smirked. “Yeah, yeah, take it before I change my mind.”

You moved over to the couch, sinking down onto it with a grateful sigh. The cushions were worn, and it wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was better than the hard floor. “Thanks, Ellie,” you said, your voice more sincere now.

She waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t mention it. Just don’t hog all the blankets.”

Joel came over and draped a blanket over you, his touch lingering for a moment. “Get some rest,” he murmured softly, his eyes meeting yours with that familiar, protective look. “I’ll keep watch for a while.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the day settle in your bones. “Okay,” you whispered, pulling you whispered, pulling the blanket up around your shoulders.

Ellie flopped down onto the floor nearby, wrapping herself in her own blanket. “Goodnight, guys,” she mumbled, already sounding half-asleep.

“Goodnight, Ellie,” you replied, and then you turned to Joel. “And… thank you. For everything.”

Joel gave a small, almost shy smile. “Get some sleep,” he repeated, his voice softer this time.

A few hours later, the darkness of the room seemed to press in from all sides. The only sound was the soft, rhythmic breathing of Ellie, fast asleep nearby. You had drifted off into a restless slumber, the exhaustion of the day pulling you under.

But suddenly, you were jolted awake by a sharp, searing pain that shot through your stomach. Your eyes flew open, and you instinctively curled forward, your hand clutching at your abdomen. The pain was intense, radiating outward in waves, and it stole your breath, leaving you gasping in the quiet room.

You sat up abruptly, trying to steady your breathing. The room seemed to spin for a moment, and you felt a cold sweat break out across your skin. You gritted your teeth, pressing your hand firmly against your abdomen, as if that could somehow steady the panic coursing through you.

Joel, who had been keeping a watchful eye from across the room, noticed the change immediately. He was at your side in an instant, his face etched with concern. “Hey, hey, what’s going on?” he whispered urgently, his hands hovering near you, unsure of what to do.

You struggled to speak, your breath coming in short gasps. “I… I don’t know,” you managed to say, fear lacing your words. “It just… it hurts.”

His brow furrowed, and his hand moved to your shoulder, squeezing it gently but firmly. “Okay, try to breathe through it,” he murmured, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed his worry. “It might just be… the stress or the baby kicking. We’ve been through a lot today.”

You nodded, closing your eyes for a moment, focusing on the rhythm of your breath. The pain had subsided slightly, but a nagging fear still clawed at the edges of your mind. “What if something’s wrong?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Joel’s grip tightened, his voice firm yet soothing. “Nothing’s wrong,” he insisted, his tone filled with determination. “We’re gonna get through this, okay? Just breathe… focus on me.”

You looked up at him, his steady gaze anchoring you as another twinge of pain rippled through your stomach, less intense this time. You forced yourself to nod, trying to push the fear down. “Okay,” you whispered, trying to trust his words, even as the anxiety lingered.

Joel continued to hold your gaze, his thumb gently brushing over your shoulder. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you,” he promised quietly. “Or the baby.”

You nodded again, trying to let his reassurance wash over you, even as a lingering dread whispered at the back of your mind.

But then, just as you began to feel the fear subside, a distant sound broke the stillness — a soft, almost inaudible creak coming from outside. Joel's eyes snapped toward the door, his expression instantly shifting to one of alertness.

He looked back at you, his eyes narrowed with concern. “Stay here,” he whispered, reaching for his gun. "Something's out there."

You held your breath, every nerve in your body suddenly on edge as you watched him move toward the door, the darkness outside seeming to press in, waiting.

And in that suspended moment, you felt it — the unmistakable sensation that something, or someone, was coming.

"Hey, little one,"

"I don’t know if you can feel it yet, but I hope you’re okay in there. I felt a pain that scared me more than anything has in a long time. Maybe it was just the stress, or maybe it was you letting me know you’re still there, and making your presence known.

I wish I could tell you everything is fine, that we’re safe, and there’s nothing to worry about. But the truth is, it’s hard out here. Harder than I ever imagined. Every day is a fight, a struggle to keep moving, to keep believing that there’s something better on the other side of all this. And some days, I wonder if I’m strong enough to do it — to keep us both safe, to bring you into a world like this."

"But then… I think of you. I think of holding you in my arms for the first time, feeling your heartbeat against mine, and suddenly, I know I have to keep going. For you."

"I’ve made some mistakes — like going after this journal, even when it wasn’t safe. I’m sure Joel would say it wasn’t worth it, but I need you to understand… this is all I have left of my sister. She was strong, like I want you to be. And she would’ve loved you, just like I already do."

"I don’t know what the future holds, but I promise you this: I’ll do everything I can to give you a chance. To give us both a chance. I won’t let fear win. I won’t let the darkness take that from us."

"So stay with me, little one. Hold on, just like I’m holding on to you. We’re in this together."

Always. “

Tags: @jasminedragoon @orcasoul @missladym1981 @hiroikegawa @eleganthottubfun @lumpypoll @cuteanimalmama @thespookywookies @goodvibesonly421 @karaslqve @greenwitchfromthewoods

[baeshijima]

— perfect

your parents believed you were destined for each other, though it would seem they hadn't taken into account your differing ideals.

CONTAINS : gn!reader, 1.2k wc, fluff, arranged!marriage au, basically arranged partners-to-strangers-to-lovers, jing yuan in denial until he can... no longer deny it

A/N : this was supposed to be a one paragraph brainrot. what happened.

when you first heard of your prospective marriage partner, you didn't feel all that much for him. granted, there was only so much you could feel when listening to your parents ramble on. he was supposedly the son of a family friend — the ones who served the realm-keeping commission. he was set to graduate the academy in a few months, but that's all you really paid attention to before tuning out.

it wasn't long when you finally met, and you soon discovered you didn't mind him as much as you'd thought. well, that was until you took note of the clear lack of interest he held for you (for anything since you saw him, for that matter). he was aloof, never speaking more than a couple words before turning away and focusing on something else. with the boundaries clear alongside his lack of interest, you decided it wasn't worth the effort. your parents will just have to deal with it.

the next you heard of him was a few months later, the day after his graduation. apparently, he had enlisted into the cloud knights and was now part of their ranks.

your parents called it rebellious, you called it escaping his fate.

you don't see nor hear from him for a couple of years, instead finding out his achievements through gossipmongers and the occasional exaggerated tales you hear on your strolls. at least he's out there making a name for himself and doing what he loves, free and unshackled at the hands of fate.

he bumps into you when he's on patrol on the luofu, and at first he thinks it to be you trying to reach out again, only to be stumped at the uninterested — dare he say, annoyed — look you give him before stalking away in the opposite direction. but he shrugs it off thinking you had a bad day, returning to his duties in maintaining the peace of the luofu.

he runs into you again when you're out food shopping. it's a complete and utter coincidence you're both in the same place once more; you out on errands while he is on duty. oddly enough, he's doused in a wave of peace and content from just watching you from afar, the knowledge that he is capable of protecting you has him prouder than he'd like to admit.

that doesn't last for long, however, for you suddenly shift in place, your expression now more clear than it was earlier. jing yuan's heart stops then, plummeting into an abysmal pit as his eyes zero in on the new expression. your smile is far more beautiful than anything he could ever hope to imagine.

(in a trance, he wonders if you would ever direct that smile towards him.)

it's not until a little later he finds himself wondering about how you're faring, having half the mind to reach out through a letter before ultimately scrapping the idea. after all, he has to focus on his training, not over his arranged partner who probably doesn't even want him after that stunt he pulled all those years ago (he wouldn't either, if he were in your shoes).

and so he ignores the ache in his heart when he spots you from his peripherals. he ignores the urge to abandon his post and remove the bags from your grip and transfer them into his own. he ignores the desire to have a proper conversation with you, one that doesn't result in him being tongue-tied and you annoyed. he ignores the desperation surging through his nerves to hold your hand in front of everyone, wondering what your skin would feel like against his calloused palms.

he ignores it all, and he ignores it well.

so why is it now he finds himself breaking into a sprint after catching a glimpse of your side profile, ignoring the calls of his fellow knights in fear of losing you — the chance to finally speak to you and settle this once and for all because screw it. screw his hesitation, screw his yearning — screw it all!

when he finally reaches you he's at a loss, the words which once seemed so clear in his mind now fizzled out on the tip of his tongue. it's laughable, really, how he's praised for being quick-witted and yet he's reduced to nothing but a gaping mess in your presence. so he just stares at you with a heaving chest, your furrowed countenance making his heart stutter more than it really should.

it's not until you turn to leave that he panics, latching onto your wrist in a last-ditch attempt as a strangled "wait!" flies past his lips. you don't recoil from his touch, so he supposes that's a good thing, even if your glare is anything but that.

"i... i want to apologise for how we started off," he stutters, tripping over his words as he lays himself bare, exposing his heart for you to judge; for you to determine whether he is worthy enough to be by your side. there's so much more for him to say — so much more he wants, no, needs to get off his chest before you slip away yet again.

should he start off with how he could only speak a couple of words when you first met because he feared stumbling over his words and making a fool of himself? or should he say he wanted to build up his courage before facing you, and that part of his reasoning to join the knights was in hopes of finding that? (although it was a bit of a belated realisation, but no one's keeping track!) oh, or should he start off with—

"is that all you have to say?" your voice is smoother than he last remembers, though maybe it's the fact he's only ever heard you speak directly to him a couple of times, having heard your voice when on patrol more than he has face to face. if it weren't for you clearing your throat, jing yuan would have forgotten to answer.

he quickly snaps himself out of his trance, pushing down the embarrassed flush creeping up his neck. "if it's alright with you, would you..." he gulps in apprehension, chest constricting as he fumbles to regather his thoughts. he sucks in a breath and lifts his head to meet your gaze, revelling in your slightly widening eyes. "if it's alright with you, would you like to start over again?"

silence ripples between you after his words. can you hear his heart hammering behind his sternum? can you see his breaths quicken in anticipation? can you feel his hand become unbearably warm against the skin of your wrist?

oh god he hopes not.

but then your voice ceases his thoughts, your amused smile doing little to help his above mentioned symptoms. "i'm [name]. it's nice to meet you," your voice trails off a little, and he doesn't bother hiding the growing smile when he realises what you're doing.

and so he eagerly plays along, losing himself in the warmth you provide when you slip your hand into his.

"i am jing yuan. and... likewise, [name]."

(jing yuan decides the sensation of your skin against his calloused palms is unlike anything he's felt before. if he had to put it into words, he would say it's perfect.)

if you enjoyed this, then reblogs with/or comments are greatly appreciated !! <33

[transmascissues]

next time someone tries to tell me people don’t demonize and act violently toward trans men and transmascs, i’m just going to make them read this reply i got to a positivity post that was specifically about trans manhood and transmasculinity. this is basically just every negative thing people say no one says about us rolled into one message that’s aimed directly at us.

and as if this isn’t enough on its own, their whole blog is full of this disgusting shit. it seems to be dedicated to it, actually. (fair warning, don’t look at the next two screenshots if you don’t want to see even more genuinely awful transphobia.)

you can say what you want about how they’re probably just a troll or baiting or doing this for attention but the fact remains that, regardless of their true intentions, these are real things that a real person is saying about trans men&mascs, publicly and proudly and to our faces because they want it to do damage.

i’ve dealt with people like this before, on a much closer level. when i was a teenager, i had a grown woman come into my dms just to send me very graphic and detailed instructions on how to kill myself. literally entire paragraphs with all of the steps she wanted me to take. before i blocked her, i told her she was lucky she sent it to me and not someone more vulnerable, because otherwise she might have real blood on her hands. she just sent the whole thing again.

we can argue all day about infantilization versus demonization, erasure versus hypervisibility, what counts as violence, what words we use to talk about our oppression, and so on. but the reality is, whether you believe people want us dead or not, they clearly do, and a lot of them really aren’t making any effort to hide it. at this point, if you can’t see it, it’s because you don’t care about our lives enough to look at the reality that’s right in front of your face.

before you do anything else, block this person. don’t engage with them directly, don’t give them the satisfaction of the attention they might be fishing for, just block them. but don’t forget that they exist either, especially if you’re not a trans man or transmasc yourself. don’t just block them and move on and forget that there are real people out there who will say these things about us, who genuinely enjoy the thought that their actions might have deadly consequences.

because these are the people you empower to come out of hiding and start being blatant about their hatred when you insist that no one wants us dead, when you openly mock us and demonize us and try to cast us out from the community that we were supposed to share. when even our own people decide we’re an acceptable target, these bigots throw a fucking party because you’ve just told them they can get away with murder as long as it’s our blood on their hands. this particular blog was started recently, and i guarantee it’s not a coincidence that they started it in the midst of a rise in online anti-transmasculinity.

it really is telling, how much hate a positivity post has incited. y’all can’t stand when we talk about the bad things that happen to us, but you hate our happiness even more.

[koqabear]

Lamb To The Slaughter

♫: Gods & Monsters, Lana Del Rey

"An act of kindness goes a long way, your parents told you once; their words stuck with you all your life, your pure heart never failing to follow their philosophy— though, it seems your naive self was left unaware of just how far an act of kindness can go."

wolf hybrid!beomgyu x lamb hybrid!fem!reader x herding dog hybrid!soobin

Genre: smut, hybrid au, angst, porn with the world's smallest amount of plot

Word count: 15.8k

Warnings: barely edited oops, heavy predator/prey themes, injuries/blood, use of scents, scent glands and scenting, mentions of kidnapping and murder, psychological abuse i guess… this fic doesn’t let you forget that they’re hybrids btw, (showcases animal-like behaviors and habits), soogyu are stronger than the mc, obsessiveness, manipulation

Smut Warnings: DUBCON. threesome, mean dom!gyu, soft dom!soobin, sub!mc,inexperienced!mc, pet names (pretty, doll, good girl, etc.) manhandling, marking, subspace, possessiveness, choking kinda, dry humping, praise, praise kink, humiliation, dacryphilia, fingering, exhibitionism/voyeurism, degrading, orgasm control, dumbification, finger sucking, cum eating(?), spanking, begging, mind breaking, unprotected sex, jerking off ig, jealousy, hair pulling, rough sex, corruption kink maybe, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, double vaginal penetration… brief mentions of breeding, creampies, knotting, claiming, mc blacks out. (lmk if i should add anything.)

Notes: look at these stupidly long paragraphs of warnings oh im gonna kms. this story almost had me plucking my hairs out one by one, i’ve never been so stressed out by a pwp before. it was originally an ot5 au and was supposed to come out during october but… yk. shit happens. (i saw a post that changed the entire trajectory of this fic)

[This story contains dark content. Please read the warnings carefully; I am not responsible for the content you choose to consume.]

The forest at the edge of the village is something that should’ve been closed off long ago— but there’s no resources, no men to work on the border, no money— so the townspeople have resorted to old myths and tales to ward off wandering children and defenseless women instead.

There’s a killer in the forest— fairies will lead you down the wrong path and trap you in the woods forever; there’s a hidden pond so deep that if you fall in, you’ll sink forever. Typical tales that are told around the bonfire, where people cower and whisper from the thrill of the stories. Yet with each varied warning, one thing stays the same.  

There are wolves in the forest.

Large and strong and invincible, with a terrifying bloodlust and noses so keen they could spot you the moment you cross the barrier; tearing you to shreds, eating you alive and forcing you to feel the pain all throughout it. The wolves are always hungry, insatiable, and lurking about for its next prey— anyone who would enter the woods willingly would be deemed suicidal. 

You’ve never been one to believe such tales; how could you, when you’ve grown alongside the forest?

There are wolves in the forest, that much you’re sure of— but the fantastical tales and myths are nothing but a farce, crafted from the fear of the unknown and the dark, entangled landscape that lies past the backyard of your small cottage; belonging to your deceased parents, now left to fend on your own and care for the gardens and lush plants your mother had carefully cultivated since you were a child. 

She taught you everything you needed to know about the forest; which paths to take, which areas led to steep cliffs or poison ivy, and where to find herbs and plants that would aid to the medicinal business your family ran— you were fascinated by the craft, even as a young child, learning with eager eyes and an even more eager mind as you stored all the information in your small, worn down journal; the pink material of the cover faded and torn at the corners, filled to the brim yet still useful to you as you took it with you on every trip.  

Tonight, you pull on a warm coat dress; it’s thick and durable, a cute piece gifted on your birthday by the baker’s son, the border collie family always making sure to look after you since the day you were left on your own. The shawl sewed into the coat hangs over your shoulders like a small cape, adding in extra warmth as you look out the window and onto the cold scenery; the leaves have begun to abandon the trees, and if you hadn’t memorized the forest layout like the back of your hand, the covered paths might’ve concerned you— but you’re confident as always, grabbing your wicker basket and perching it on the crook of your elbow, glancing down to make sure your journal is already inside— and with one last mental check to make sure you have everything you need, you slip on your boots and make your way outside. 

“Soobin,” you say in surprise, swinging the door open, getting scared at the sight of someone already waiting for you outside— the said man only smiles at the sound of his name, laughing fondly at the way you press a gentle hand against your startled heart; his ears perk up at the sight of you and his black hair is slightly disheveled, though you guess it’s probably from his habit of running a hand through it whenever he’s restless— he holds a basket of his own, and your eyes fall onto it with a curiosity you don’t bother to hide.

“Hello pretty,” he smiles softly, the nickname never failing to make a heat flush up the back of your neck— you really hope he doesn’t notice your flushed expression, his eyes narrowing with fondness as he brings his basket up, opening it to show you the contents, “I made an extra batch of bread, and I thought you’d like some. Business will get busy for us both soon, and I’d hate for you to get hungry because you don’t have time to eat.”

He’s sweet and caring, and it never fails to leave your knees weak— he looks at you with nothing short of affection, raising a brow in curiosity and glancing down at your already occupied arm— his brows furrow, biting his lip in thought as he finally pieces everything together. 

“Are you going to the woods?” he asks softly, reaching past you and into the doorway, placing the basket of bread on the table next to the door— his hands are immediately coming up to your shoulders, smoothing out the soft material of the coat with narrowed eyes— and they’re filled with worry again, ears angling down and tail swaying slowly from side to side, searching your face that can’t seem to lie to him, “It’s dangerous to go at this hour, you shouldn’t.”

“It’ll only be dangerous if you continue to stall me,” you tease, shrugging his hands off and wrapping your own around his elbow, tugging him until you’re both stepping out of your home; he allows you to, and you’re locking it up with ease, even as he continues to tell you not to, to go another day, another time— you huff, shaking your head and frowning at the way he begins to offer to come with you; his instincts must be kicking in again, eyes filled with a calculated look he only sports when looking out for your safety— and with you being nothing but a fragile little lamb in his eyes, this look was something you’ve become very familiar with. 

“No, you mustn’t come with— it’s dangerous, and I’m the only one who knows my way around the woods,” you scold him, and even though he stares at you with that intimidating, stern look, murmuring about something about his keen senses, you stand your ground, “I’m too one-track-minded to guide someone else through these woods— I’d hate for you to get hurt because of me.”

He sighs— and you know you’ve gotten him good by the way he remains silent, stalling his leave as he tries continuing to reason with you— but you keep refusing in return, cooing softly that you’ll be okay, that you’ll be quick. 

“I’ll wait for you,” he finally says, refusing to back down even as you express your worry; after a moment of bickering, you finally give in. Your eyes widen in surprise as he gently pulls you in for a hug, engulfed entirely in his embrace as he rests his chin on your shoulder, inhaling your scent with a content sigh— warm, comforting and pure, like jasmine with the hint of a pure, soft vanilla, his nose subconsciously poking at your gland in search for more— and you shiver at the feeling, engulfed in his calming scent, a sage and rich pine, allowing yourself to melt in his arms and hold you tighter, ignoring the way your heart begins to race the longer your remain there. 

“Come back to me safe.”

Soobin is just as solemn and loyal as he was the day he declared that he would always protect you— and it makes your heart race a bit faster, a dopey smile stuck on your face as you wave him goodbye— you sigh pathetically the moment you’re finally in the woods.

The leaves crunch under your feet and birds chirp in the distance; it’s comforting to you, humming softly to yourself as you walk the paths you need to take without much of a thought, gathering herbs and plants as you slowly check them off your list; everything goes as smoothly as it always does, your mind in awe as you witness the sun beginning to set. 

You should get going soon; it was never ideal to be in the woods after dark, no matter how familiar you were with the landscape. The thought makes your steps quicken and your eyes sweep over the land in acute concentration, looking for the last plant on your list— you’re freezing entirely when you hear a shift against the leaves. 

You’re still; was it a false alarm, or a harmless rabbit passing by? You’re not entirely sure, wicker basket heavy in your hand as the other presses firmly against your heart; trying to settle your heart rate, breathing deeply as you look for any signs of movement, any signs of life around you. 

Just when you think the coast is clear, you hear it again; rustling against the leaves, harsh and erratic as something else greets your ears— sharp pants and sounds of struggle, a pained yelp resounding into the vast space and sending you into action before you can think twice. 

You round the thick oak tree ahead of you, searching for the source of the sound— and stumble back in surprise, an involuntary gasp escaping you as sharp eyes and equally sharp teeth point your way— a man lays before you, injured and weak.

Except, he’s not just a man; that much is made clear to you the moment your eyes sweep over his frame once more, taking in the ears that press flat on his head and his fangs that remain bared at you, the injured man—wolf hybrid— growling lowly at you and shuffling back to curl against the thick tree that once covered him; your hands shake as you hold onto your basket a little tighter, wide eyes sweeping over his figure and inevitably landing on the source of all this commotion; a twisted ankle, rendering the man before you immobile. 

You must run— you must, and it’s all your instincts seem to yell at you, your muscles becoming rigid with tension, white ears pressing flat against the top of your head and fluffy tail quivering with fear— but you have yet to, something about the look in the wolf’s eyes making you ignore your instincts, just for a second; behind the dangerous fangs that glint beneath the remaining light and his eyes that are narrowed threateningly, you can still see the pain he’s found himself in.

Something inside you clicks— your weak heart twists and your hands grip your basket a bit tighter, a voice in your mind telling you that you can’t just leave him like this; you can do something to help. Next thing you know, you’re taking cautious, slow steps toward him, hands held out to show that you’re nothing close to a threat— though you’re sure that the smell of fear that rolls off you in waves is enough of an indicator— and your soft voice is whispering out your intentions, continuing your approach even as he bares his teeth at you in warning. 

“I want to help you,” you say softly, finally at his feet as you place your basket gently next to him; and he growls at you once more, though you don’t find yourself to be afraid— if he were dangerous, he would’ve attacked long ago. It’s the only thought that repeats itself in your mind like a prayer, pretending as though your hands don’t tremble as you reach into your basket, as you grab the herbs you were just stocking up on and the bandages you carry for emergencies. 

He lets out a particularly harsh growl that makes you jump; it makes you hesitate to touch his skin, bruised and broken and bloody, eyes jumping to meet his— and though the action was meant to be confident, nothing can hide the fear that taints your eyes, the way your frame shrinks slightly when you’ve found that he has no issues holding eye contact— and after a standstill moment, you finally continue, ripping a piece of the bandage and attempting to clean the wound as best as you can. 

You’re a bit clumsy at first; unable to look away from the man, his strikingly dark red hair that's matted to his head from a thin layer of sweat, dirtied clothes and face that’s twisted in a mean glare— but eventually, it softens, the deep heaving of his chest calming as he watches the way you tend to him with deft hands, not seeming to care if he’s soiling your pretty coat as you tug him closer to you. 

The bandages are tight on his ankle and you’ve placed herbs within to help soothe the swelling— all tricks you’ve learned from your mother, from the times when you would run about carelessly and twist your ankle in some hidden hole, only calming your cries to see her work her magic on you.

Reassuring words don’t do much in the grand scheme of things, but you still whisper them sweetly to the injured man before you, dry bandage cleaning along the rest of his calf as you tell him to rest, to try and not overexert himself. And though you don’t know if he can understand you, though you’re unsure of where he came from— because as far as you know, wolves have been banished from your village for decades— you still find yourself caring for him. It’s something he can pick up on in your eyes, gentle and reflecting the last of the sun’s golden rays that leak through the woods. 

It’s quiet; it’s peaceful. Warm fingers lingering on his skin much longer than you intended, a curiosity leaking through your wide eyes as you take in his figure, the tall dark ears that stand on his head, the tail that lays on his side, thumping rhythmically— and you think you’ve finally found the courage to ask who are you? Lips parting to speak, you’re cut off by the sound of rustling, a new overwhelming scent overtaking your senses; something is approaching. 

The man before you doesn’t seem to be worried; it’s you that’s whipping around to the source of the sound, shrinking pathetically once you spot something emerging from the dark, thick mass of trees behind you; eyes, multiple pairs, glowing and angry as they stare at you like you’re their next meal— you’re not sure how many pairs there might be, but you’re stumbling to your feet quickly, eyes widening as you realize that the sun has set long, long ago.

You almost slip on the leaves beneath you; one last glance at the man behind you shows that his hands were out as though to catch you, expression twisted with what you’re surprised to see is… concern. But as a rough growling begins to surround the two of you, a sharp pang of fear courses through your body, the gravity of your situation finally sinking in as your eyes sweep around the area in one last, terrified glance.

They’re targeting you.

Before you can think twice, you’re turning on your heel and running— though nothing follows behind, you still let adrenaline take its course, shallow breaths and teary eyes guiding you back to your home; you don’t realize how crazed you must’ve looked until you’re finally reaching your front door, a worried Soobin immediately interrupting your flee and scooping you into his arms, whirling around to shield you away from the forest.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt? Dear, what happened?” he’s breathing out the concerned questions against the crown of your head, arms wrapped tightly around your middle and the only thing keeping you up as your knees buckle with fear; his gaze sweeps down to the state of your cute coat, the once pristine and pink material now dirty and bloodied; his hands hold onto it with a newfound panic, lifting the coat and attempting to find the source— it isn’t until you’ve let out a few pathetic sniffles that you can finally reassure him the blood is not yours.

“Is everything okay? Did something happen to you? Oh, I should’ve—” Soobin has pulled away to cup your face in his hands, wiping away the tears that escape your sweet eyes like a fountain; thumbs caressing your tear-streaked skin lovingly, brows knitted together as his concern pours off him in waves— and you shake your head softly, attempting to dissuade the guilt he must’ve felt for leaving you on your own. 

“It’s fine, I’m not hurt,” you croak out, grabbing onto his waist for support as you finally regain the strength in your legs, “I just— had some encounters with a wolf— but I’m safe, they didn’t hurt me, I’m just a bit shaken, is all.”

“A wolf?” Soobin asks, much more concerned by your words as he pulls away to inspect you once more; his hands run gingerly over your shoulders, running along them until they’ve stopped at your neck, eyes honing in on the spot for a moment before he sighs in relief. His gaze is hardening once more, cupping your face and looking at your sternly as he speaks. “Where were they? Did they follow you? Did you interact with them?”

“No, no— it’s alright, I’m alright, I promise,” you breathe out, hoping that Soobin doesn’t notice the way you shrink under his gaze, the way your body warms up at his touch— but he’s much too concerned about your safety to pick up on it, dismissing every cue of your body as nothing but fear, instincts heightened as he looks behind you and back at the forest you just came from. He watches the woods carefully, eyes narrowed and ears perked in concentration— but nothing happens, and he’s left to reluctantly believe your words, even if he wants nothing more than to run into the woods himself and make sure there’s no threat to you. 

After a moment of observing the forest, Soobin is turning back to you, and his gaze immediately softens at the sight. The brave front you put up isn’t fooling him, and it’s quite obvious that you’re still shaken from your encounter, delicate ears still pressed close to your head, eyes wide and scent muddled with distress— like rotten flowers, earthy and pungent— and with all the adrenaline ebbing away from your system, you’ve found that your legs have become pure jelly once more; Soobin is quick to catch on to the way you tremble and hold on to him tightly. 

“Oh, my doll,” Soobin sighs softly, fishing for your keys in your coat pockets and unlocking the door for you, leading you inside with a careful hand— as though you were made of porcelain, still shaken and anxious as he leads you to sit down, “it’s alright, you’re safe now— I’ll keep you safe.”

Soobin insists on taking care of you long after you tell him you feel better; he’s keen to protect you through and through, keeping his distance yet still doting on you as he makes you tea, helps you out of your coat, and even offers to wash it for you— the sight replaces the heavy fear in your stomach with butterflies. 

When he bids you goodbye, his eyes are soft, his movements slightly reluctant— but he must, it’s unlawful for him to stay the night with you; an unclaimed little prey like you, spending the night with Soobin, even if he was nothing short of perfect and kind, was enough to have the town gossiping like a storm. The very thought has your cheeks hot and your tongue stumbling on words, telling Soobin to get home safe with a shy, sweet voice— and he brushes his thumb against your cheekbones, smiling fondly before he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead; he lingers there, and you think you might just melt against him before he finally bids you goodbye. 

Your heart still races long after he’s gone; you suppose all this makes up for the fact that you forgot your basket in the woods, mourning the fact that you’ll have to go back to get it tomorrow— but for now, you’re content with giggling softly at the memory of Soobin’s lips against your skin, completely unaware of the eyes that watch you twirl around your kitchen happily.

 ≪ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫  

When you wake up, you find something peculiar at your doorstep; your wicker basket is placed before your feet, pristine as it was when you first took it out. 

Your brows furrow, looking around the area and wondering how it got here— your mind is going back to the wolf you tended to, eyes slowly sweeping over the dense forest, ears twitching in attention, listening for even the slightest rustle of leaves, wondering if he’s still lingering— but the world around you is still, and it seems to be only you here. You bend down to pick the basket up carefully. 

Everything is intact— your herbs, your bandages, your worn down pink journal— and the closer you bring it to your face in order to inspect it, the better you’re able to catch something peculiar; a scent, your nose twitching in curiosity and your eyes narrowing. The unknown scent only grows stronger the closer you get to the handkerchief you used to line the inside, and only then are you able to get a good sense of it— light and heady, like an amber and smoky smell filling your nose, finding yourself oddly enticed by the scent. 

You’re far too wrapped up in attempting to decipher the complicated notes of this new scent to notice someone approaching; your senses have gotten so used to Soobin’s presence you no longer find yourself alert around him, only perking up at the approaching sound of leaves crunching and the familiar, sage filling your senses— tucking the basket behind your back, you send him a meek smile, cheeks heating up as you silently hope he didn’t see you curiously nosing at your basket. 

“Hey, pretty thing,” Soobin rumbles out lowly, smiling fondly at the way you practically preen at the name; you’re terrible at hiding your expression, the way your ears twitch at his words not helping your attempts to seem nonchalant before him. 

“Hi Soobin,” you smile, fingers restlessly playing with the wicker basket behind your back as you tilt your head curiously, “what’re you doing here today?”

“I needed to check on you,” he says immediately, a soft oh leaving your lips at that, “I couldn’t sleep well knowing I just… left you here on your own. I needed to make sure you were safe.”

“Soobin, it’s fine, really,” you reassure him softly, fluffy tail wiggling behind you at the fact that he confessed how worried he was about you, his dedication to keep you safe, “Nothing happened— as long as I’m in my home, I’m safe.”

Soobin wants to argue against that, you can tell. But you don’t give him a chance to, inviting him in with a tug at his arm, smiling at the way he immediately relents; you tell him about your plans for today over a cup of tea, that you have to make a few deliveries to some homes across the village— Soobin practically jumps to offer to come with. 

“You– won’t you be busy?” you ask shyly, staring down at your teacup and stirring your spoon in  a feeble way to distract yourself. 

“No, I’m not needed at the bakery today,” Soobin immediately reassures you, reaching over the table to place a delicate hand over your own— and you stiffen, a heat rushing through your body at the sudden contact; the smell of sage wafts over to you as his thumb rubs soothingly over your skin, your mind mulling over his offer as you bite at your lip in thought. 

He’s eager to hear you say yes; his tail wags slowly behind him, ears perked up and eyes honed in on your every expression— and after a moment, you finally nod meekly. 

“It’s only a house or two, but the walk is… it’s far,” you say, standing at the doorway and reaching over for your basket, placing the bottles and jars filled with homemade remedies inside carefully— but before you can continue your explanations and tuck your basket snuggly into the crook of your arm, Soobin is taking it from you, his brows knitted together as he stares down at the item in confusion. 

“I thought you lost this,” he says quietly, rotating the item in his hands, taking in its pristine condition with a frown— his ears are perking up and his tail is straightening, head whipping over to you with wide, concerned eyes. “Did you go into the woods to retrieve it?”

“No!” you say, oddly defensive as you shake your head adamantly, “It just— it was at my doorstep this morning, I think someone might have found it—”

“The wolf,” Soobin sneers, his tone much darker than it was mere moments ago— it makes your ears flatten against your head and your figure shrink, his scent turning earthy and thick and rendering you docious and pliant— his eyes are darting from the basket and back to you, only to go back to the basket in order to examine it closely; the moment Soobin brings it closer to his face, you’re able to see the very moment where that same, smoky scent enters his senses— his pupils dilate, and his nose twitches. 

The same scent as before. Soobin recognized it as the same scent that you were drenched in the moment you found him, shaken and face aghast— your coat and skin reeked of nothing but that scent, wanting nothing more than to take you inside and replace it with his own— but the most he could do in the moment was hold you close and hope that it would wash off. 

The owner of this scent must have brought you the basket back; Soobin’s head races to find meaning, to find reason, adrenaline coursing through his body that yells at him to take action; this must be a threat—you’ve been followed, they know where you live.

“It isn’t safe for you to stay there anymore,” Soobin proceeded to tell you, only confessing how he felt once you were far, far away from your home— from the woods. And you could only shake your head at that, the reassurances an automatic response in your head at this point. 

But Soobin wasn’t going to go down without a fight this time; knowing that the wolf was out there somewhere, that he knew where you lived and even went as far as to visit your home— it made Soobin tense with anger. 

“That wolf was at your doorstep without you knowing,” Soobin continued to reason, all throughout your walk back, “you don’t know who they are— what their intentions are.” 

It was only then that you decided to mull through his offer to stay, or for you to stay with his family— images of a bloodthirsty wolf at your doorstep filled your mind, and you couldn’t help but feel like your nine year old self again, sitting at a fireplace and telling each other scary stories about the forest only a few feet away from you— your young self would always be left shaken and paranoid, asking your parents if you could sleep in their bed. 

Maybe you’ve become too used to being independent; you’ve survived this long on your own— most lamb hybrids you knew couldn’t walk around at night without having a trusted predator around to protect them, just in case— yet you were so used to depending only on yourself that you seem to have forgotten how truly vulnerable your species is; Soobin made sure to remind you with a stern look and crossed arms. 

“I don’t see why you’re insisting so much, binnie— I promise nothing happens here, this place is dead,” you tell him as you make dinner for the two of you, the sun now long gone and the man still stuck to your side, leaning against the counter beside you and watching you cook dutifully— his eyes drift over to the window behind him, looking over his shoulder and at the dark, gloomy forest that obscures his view; his eyes can’t help but narrow and pick apart each shape he sees, nose keen and eager to sense any changes, any hint of that smoky smell— but he sees nothing, and he’s turning back around to catch the way you send him a slightly incredulous look. 

“I understand why you might feel this way— you’ve been on your own for longer than you can remember, after all,” Soobin says softly, taking in the way your eyes remain downcast and you shy away from his gaze. Hesitantly, he shifts to stand behind you, a gentle hand placing itself on your bicep before his head lowers to rest on your shoulder; his forehead rests against you, able to smell the restless, flowery notes of your scent— despite the strong front you put up, Soobin’s keen senses are still able to pick up on the tenseness of your body, the way you keep glancing out the window and into the forest unsurely. 

“You have to allow yourself to be helped— there’s nothing wrong with that, doll,” he coaxes softly, ears atop his head twitching at the sound of the shaky sigh you let out— the stove is turned off, and the food is done— but you don’t seem to care about that much. 

Carefully, Soobin nudges at your jaw with his head; allowing your neck to tilt slowly, to expose it to him as his nose runs along your skin delicately, until it’s pressed against your scent gland, inhaling slowly and taking in the intense mix of smells and emotions within you— and he presses his lips softly against it, a gentle kiss that turns your scent sweet and fresh like a blooming flower; your heart pounds against your chest for a second, then proceeds to relax against Soobin’s hold the moment his scent invades your senses. 

“I’m here to protect you.” 

His words stick to you for the rest of the night— as does he, his presence reassuring enough to make you forget of why he was here in the first place— enough to allow you to miss the glowing eyes that peek from the edge of the forest as you get a glass of water in the middle of the night, taking in your drowsy figure and eyes that are heavy with sleep; unaware of the pair of eyes that take you in hungrily, the tongue that runs along a sharp set of teeth, nose twitching to get another gust of your sweet, clean scent, the muddled vanilla that makes his mouth water. 

With Soobin lying in the guest bedroom, you’re almost able to forget that there are wolves in the forest. That there is one that has now set his sights on the cute little lamb that tended to him with wide eyes and an innocent heart. 

 ≪ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫  

It’s early in the morning when you bid Soobin goodbye; your cheeks are flushed and you’re barely able to look him in the eye, despite not having done anything more than talk the whole night. He finds your shyness nothing short of endearing, placing one last affectionate kiss on top of your head before he tells you to call him if you ever need anything— to never be afraid to ask for help. You nodded to his words with a soft smile. 

Watching him leave had left a bit of an empty feeling in your heart; you couldn’t seem to help but watch him leave pathetically, standing at your doorway even after he had long gone; his scent still drifted around in your senses, the warm and sturdy scent helping you remain calm as you finally went back inside— closing the door behind you, you were pleasantly surprised to see that your home still smelled strongly of him. 

You had over ten different orders you needed to work on; you were able to busy yourself with making medicine throughout the rest of the day, boiling herbs and making remedies for colds and illnesses and burns. It was a tedious and slow process, and as you finally began to reach the end of your list, you couldn’t help but frown. 

You ran out of two different herbs needed for these next three orders; without them, you wouldn’t be able to make the medications at all. 

Glancing out the window, you gulped; it wouldn’t be another thirty minutes before the sun set, but after your encounter a few days ago— paired with Soobin’s warning and harsh reality check— you were much more hesitant to go into the woods on your own. 

You could call Soobin— ask him if he’d like to accompany you, stay put until you finally had proper protection. You mulled over the idea for a moment, your traitorous mind whisperering encouraging words in order to see him again; it’s just for protection, you told yourself, walking over to your landline phone before you began to dial his number, tangling the long cord around your fingers absentmindedly as you did; you tried to dismiss the nervous pounding of your heart, the way you bit at your lips in anticipation of hearing his voice again.

“Hello?” you’re gulping slightly at the sound— part of you wasn’t expecting him to actually answer. Clearing your throat softly, you muster up the courage to do what you’ve been hesitant to for so long. 

“Hi Soobin,” you start softly, listening to the small hum of acknowledgement from the other side, “I— I’m sorry to bother, but I just wanted to ask; I have to make another trip to the forest— it’s urgent— and I… well, I was wondering if you’d be able to accompany me. For protection.” 

The shyness and hesitance in your voice is horribly apparent; it makes you face burn and your hands grow clammy, feeling as though there’s a lump in your throat as you wait for him to respond— it feels like eternity, but in reality, it’s merely seconds—- and you’re practically slumping against the wall in relief when he gives you a soft of course I can in response.

“Wait for me inside until I get there,” he says, and you nod, letting out a sound of affirmation as well, “I’ll be quick.” 

Soobin hangs up promptly after; you’re left to scurry around your home in preparation of your trip, changing out of your sullied work clothes and into something more comfortable— inevitably, the same coat from before finds itself wrapped around your form, and as you wait by the doorway with your wicker basket in hand, you realize with a smile that the item is practically drowned in Soobin’s scent— the item is wrapped around you tighter and your nose is burrowed deeply into the soft plush-like material, your senses spinning with the warm, earthy smells that belong to the man. 

The sun is setting— but he’ll be here soon, a fact only proved by the sound of footsteps your keen ears manage to pick up on; you’re practically racing to make it to your front door, only to pause at the sound of something else— more footsteps. 

Instinct brings your body to the floor and away from all windows; your back is pressed up against your door, ear pressed tightly against the wood as you remain alert, subconsciously holding your breath in fear of getting spotted in any way— but whoever is currently surrounding your home knows you’re here, judging by the way they take careful, calculated steps closer to your door— you will your heart to remain calm, to not alert them that you currently lean on the very item separating the two of you, but the fear that courses through your veins is simply too strong. 

Your mind is racing a mile a minute; you try to calculate who it could be, why they’re here— and you’re thinking back to Soobin’s warnings the night before, eyes widening as you scold yourself for being such a naive idiot— because as you pick up of the soft sounds of sniffing and low growls, you realize that you’ve managed to lead a pack of wolves right to your home. 

It all happens too quickly; you’re running from the door at the sudden spike of scents, like a dirty smoke that approaches your door in the blink of an eye— the wood practically flies off its hinges with the way it’s broken into, a scream involuntarily leaving you as you grab the nearest thing to you as a weapon— the fire pit poker is thin and old in your hands, but that’s the last thing on your mind as you back away slowly, taking in the wolves that make their way into your home with sheer terror. 

One, two, three— it’s only three of them, but it’s enough to have your limbs trembling and your ears pressed flat against your head; tall, broad figures, disheveled in appearance and looking at you with eyes dilated, filled with nothing but a carnal hunger that makes your stomach twist into knots. 

It’s a standstill. They watch you with coy smiles and blown out eyes, watching as you press yourself against the wall, wondering if you can make it to the back exit of your home if you try enough— but they’re perceptive to even the most miniscule movement, every twitch of your muscle garnering a step closer from any one of them; you remain still, and so do they. It’s silent, save for the ragged heavings of your chest and the low grumbles that resonate from theirs— they have yet to make a move, locking eyes with the tallest and watching as his lips quirk into a smile.

You feel nauseous. They’re toying with you.

They could easily take you— kill you— in a split second; the second you try to run, they’ll be hot on your heels, outmatched three to one and left at their mercy entirely. And judging by the way they practically salivate at the smell of fear that radiates from you, you don’t think your fate with them will end well.

You gulp. They watch you, keen eyes taking in the way your throat bobs, the tears that fill your eyes— the way your legs look as though they’ll give out on you any moment now, the flimsy poker in your hands nothing but a joke as you point it at them in warning— as though it would do anything, they muse. 

One of them, with a head of ginger hair and eyes sharp as a knife, begins to approach; you tense, bringing the poker forward more, inhaling sharply and taking a step back— but that only garners a sharp growl from another, with pitch black hair and a gaze so threatening it renders you pliant; hesitantly, you meet the eyes of the man who stands before you, narrowed eyes taking you in with amusement. 

He reaches towards you— again you tense, flinching at the movement and weakly yelling at the wolf to stay back—! But it can only come out as a breathless whisper, your entire being rendered useless, instincts doing nothing but telling you that this is it; accept your fate, it tells you, weakening your muscles and sending off waves of fear so thick the room reeks of death and rot; your figure shrinks the moment he grabs your poker, ignoring your clearly empty warning as he lowers it forcefully, fighting easily against any strength you had left. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he smiles, baring his teeth that only makes your blood run cold— sharp canines, strong and in great condition to bite and chew even the toughest of meats— “We’ll take good care of you.”

A sharp growling impedes the man before you from closing in on you, from taking away what little space was left between you— the sound is loud and furious, making the three wolves before you turn immediately in search of the source; including you, the foreign sound making your knees buckle and the poker fall from your hands as you paralyze with fear. 

Standing in the doorway is a figure you remember quite well— the sight of him makes your eyes widen and you heart flicker a dim light of hope, watching the way he sends the three wolves before you a pointed glare, enough to make the two nearest to him avert their eyes the moment his gaze lands on them. 

“Beomgyu,” the wolf near you sneers, “what the hell are you doing?”

He doesn’t bother answering the question; his eyes land on you, on your figure that visibly trembles with fear, nostrils flaring at the scent that radiates from you and fogs the room— and he growls. 

“Get out.” 

It’s a simple command given by the man— Beomgyu—  to the others, eyes filled with an unbridled rage that makes the others flinch; they’re confused, glancing to where you remain frozen before they’re turning back at the man, as though waiting for him to back down on his words— instead, he bares his teeth, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed with rage, and repeats himself. 

“I said, get. Out.”

Silence; you can hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears as you watch the two wolves glance at the man with the bright head of ginger hair— as though looking to him for their next move. The two remain in a standstill, refusing to look away from the other, as though silently communicating. And after what feels like eternity, the wolf near you scoffs, lips upturned in annoyance as he finally looks away— he turns back to you, eyes scanning your shaken figure, and he smiles the moment your eyes meet.

“Don’t expect any mercy from him.”

You’re sure you might be on the verge of fainting as you watch them all exit, one by one; tails practically tucked between their legs, only wolf to make a fuss being the orange-haired one from before; you watch the two of them bare their teeth and make comments you can’t quite pick up on, pressing yourself firmly against the wall and jumping the moment they snap warningly at each other— a threat to bite, the sight of their sharp fangs enough to have you retreating slowly to the exit of your backyard. 

The second his back is turned from you, watching the wolves retreat to the forest, is the second you make an attempt to escape— hurried steps leading you to the kitchen, walking backwards in order to keep an eye on him— your shaking hands remain pressed against the wall in an attempt to keep yourself upright, keen eyesight taking in any small movement from him, body alight with adrenaline as you wait for the moment you can book it. 

His ears, a dark auburn just like his hair, twitch; his head snaps over to where you stand, dilated eyes meeting yours in milliseconds. 

You’re turning around to make a run for it— the floorboards creak behind you from the very sound of Beomgyu running after you, a yelp leaving you involuntarily; your feet are falling harshly on the cool tile of your kitchen, but before you can so much as outstretch your hand and reach for the doorknob of the back exit, strong hands are wrapping around your middle and spinning you around, away from your last taste of freedom. 

“Please!” you cry out aimlessly, a pained groan falling from your lips as your back collides with the wood of your counter; you’re pinned into the very corner, tears pricking at your eyes and weak hands pressing against the strong chest of the wolf before you— your eyes remain glued to the floor, soft tail trembling with abandon and ears willing hopelessly to hide your face. 

“You’re running? After I just saved you?” is all you get in response, his voice gruff and genuine as he remains unfazed at the weak pushes against his chest; his arms cage you in, body impossibly close to yours as he looms over you, watching the way you cower and make yourself shrink with wide, interested eyes. “Why do you run from me, my flower?” 

The pet name makes your stomach lurch; a soft sob escapes you, eyes closing in defeat as your mind makes peace with your demise— your shoulders shake with every attempt of yours to breathe properly, every inhale only flooding your senses and clogging your mind with the scent of the wolf above you, like a thick smoke that burns your lungs and leaves your thoughts impaired.

Beomgyu is all but salivating at the sight of you; your soft, fragile body, the tremble of your limbs, your pure and fluffy ears that are pressed flat atop your head, hands subconsciously gripping onto his shirt in a feeble attempt to keep yourself upright— your heartbeat overwhelms him, quick and panicked just like your scent; it makes his brows pinch together and a confused pout form on his lips, the familiar, delicate flower no longer radiating from your figure.

“Are you scared of me?” he murmurs, ears twitching in curiosity as you remain silent; he leans down, willing to get close even after you continue to shrink away in response, curling into yourself and keeping your chin tucked in dutifully; his hand flies to your waist in attempts to prevent you from shifting away any further, rough claws digging in through your dress and making you jolt in surprise— a shaky breath leaves your lips, the wolf that continues to inch closer to you, cocking his head in fascination. His eyes all but burn through your skin. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispers, lips brushing against your temple as he speaks; you remain frozen, stiff, feeling the way he continues to wander down, nosing at you softly in search for a sign of that sweet, intoxicating smell you once gave off. 

“You’re safe with me— remember?”

Your voice remains stuck inside you— all you can muster is another shaky breath as you feel his lips brush against your jaw, wandering along until he’s at your ear— then he trails down, forcing your head to tilt as his nose runs a soft line along the column; a weak whimper falls from your parted lips the moment he presses down against your pulse point, feeling him inhale slowly before he presses a soft kiss against your sensitive neck— like an automatic reaction, warmth blooms from the spot, spreading through your body, your heart telling you to calm down— but you refuse, and though Beomgyu is able to smell the sweet vanilla and the flowers that blooms from his action, it all dies into one muddled mess that leaves him to huff frustratedly. 

His hands have begun to wander— large and warm, sharp claws scratching at your garments and running up your sides before he hugs you tight, pressing your figure flush against his— and as have his lips, pressing soft kisses against your scent gland repeatedly, in search of the scent that he was only granted a mere glimpse of— soft, careful kisses at first, listening to the way you whimper and cry against him, trembling hands balling up his shirt in your fists— only to feel himself grow more desperate, out of control, his lips parted and harsh as he presses his kisses against one of the weakest points in your body. 

Beomgyu’s nose is sharp, is able to pick up on even the slightest changes within your scent— so when he picks up on the warm, subtle twinge of vanilla that peeks through everything else, he’s unable to find himself exhibiting restraint. Warm and wet, you feel his tongue press against your skin, the sharp, accidental scratch of his fangs following after— and you gasp, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling above you as your mind finally processes what his intentions truly are, feeling your instincts take over soon after— the moment of clarity passes, and your vision fogs; your body melts against Beomgyu’s.

You’ve been sandwiched between the counter and Beomgyu’s body; even more so now that Beomgyu’s felt you submit to him, head lolling to the side and displaying your most fragile part to him, a smell of vanilla, warm and sweet like a pastry, filling his lugs soon after— you’re presenting yourself to him, eyes glassy and lips parted as you simply let out a shaky exhale. 

Your legs are parted with every attempt Beomgyu makes to get closer to you, feeling him stand in between them as he continues to cage you in, continues to kiss and lick along your exposed skin, huffing and sighing in satisfaction with every soft keen you let out in response, your mind and soul still convinced that your time has come to an end. 

From a distance, Soobin senses it; he sees the dim lights of your cottage, the door that is left ajar, crooked on its hinges— most of all, he’s able to pick up on the intoxicating sweetness that escapes from the cottage, the innocent jasmine that’s intertwined with the scent that travels with the wind— and his ears stand straight, keen senses straining to hear the soft sob that leaves your delicate lips— his body reacts before he can, and he runs straight to you. 

The sharp call of your name is all Soobin can get out before he stumbles to a stop at the kitchen doorway— his eyes remain wide and focused on the sight before him, body on edge and tail stiff as he grits his teeth in rage. 

Your doe eyes meet his instantly— they’re shining and incoherent, and Soobin wonders if you’re even conscious of where you are, of the way you whine out his name in the most fragile tone he’s ever heard. The rest of you is covered— you’ve been pressed tightly against the kitchen counter, back arching backwards due to the sheer pressure of the body that weighs you down; ragged clothing covers your own, the pink coat obscured by a white flowing, dirtied white button up, falling off the owner’s shoulder and pooling at his elbow— Soobin’s eyes follow the line of movement, taking in his arms disappear behind your waist, forcing your lower halves to be glued together, your dress bunched up at your thighs from the crude way they’ve been forced open. 

“Soobin,” you whine again, taking his attention as he watches a hand of yours appear from where they were caged in, outstretching shakily toward him before it falls limp, hanging over the arm that pulls you closer against him. 

Dark, long hair covers the face that is buried in your neck— ears of the same color adorn the top, twitching with interest at the sound before they stand forward— roughly, the head emerges from its hiding place, eyes blown open with nothing short of hunger; the wolf before Soobin bares his teeth and growls, hugging you tighter against him, stepping back and shielding you away from the dog’s view. 

Soobin doesn’t hesitate to mimic the other’s threats— he means every bit of it and more, face alight with rage and body poised in an aggressive stance— and though your face has been tucked into the wolf’s chest, though the arms that wrap around your body attempt to prevent you from being seen at all, Soobin is still able to catch glimpse of your tail that quivers with fear, of your figure that shakes pathetically from instinct. 

Loud, angry growls and spiked scents fill your senses and leaves you docile; Soobin’s sharp, strong pine mixes with Beomgyu’s thick, intoxicating smoke, painting the scene of a burning forest as they continue to warn the other, narrowed gazes and sharp canines creating yet another standstill. 

Beomgyu’s eyes catch onto Soobin’s restlessness with ease— and before he’s able to make a move, Beomgyu is manipulating your body once more, spinning you around and pressing your back firmly against him, feeling the way you follow his every command without a second thought— and when you present yourself to him for a second time from pure instinct, Beomgyu grins; his eyes lock with Soobin’s and his head cranes down, dangerously close to your scent gland that continues to release its tempting smell.

“Stay.” is all Beomgyu growls out, eyeing the way Soobin freezes immediately, wide eyes watching the way Beomgyu’s mouth opens, tongue lolling out lazily before it’s running slowly against your shoulder, gliding along until it stops dutifully against the joint of your neck, pressing down to feel your pulse— Soobin flinches, undoubtedly wanting to lunge forward, but is stopped again by the wicked smile Beomgyu sends him, sharp canines meticulously on display. 

You’re all left frozen— Beomgyu’s arm that has been thrown around your waist toys with the hem of your cute coat, the other that presses against your heart feeling the quick pounding against his palm— and he laughs, inching his hand up slowly until it’s around your neck, his index and thumb exuding little effort to keep your head upright, watching your eyes slowly meet Soobin’s.

“Any sudden moves,” Beomgyu begins again, eyes flickering down to your neck, watching the quick rise and fall of your chest with fascination, feeling the way your throat constricts with every swallow against his palm— and he smiles, looking back at Soobin and allowing his tongue to run over the top row of his teeth leisurely, “and she’s mine to claim.”

Silence; Soobin takes a moment to weigh his options, to inspect the scenery before him— the wolf means it, Soobin is quick to realize, seeing the way he all but drools over your exposed neck and faint figure— and he meets your eyes again, attempting to decipher what you may be thinking, only to realize that you’re not composed at all; you’ve been stripped down to nothing but your basic survival instincts, and yet it seems as though your brain has told you that it’s best to give up any fight you have left inside you.

Soobin feels his jaw ache from the way his teeth grit together angrily— and with a soft huff, he becomes the first to look away from Beomgyu entirely, turning his head in defeat and forcing his body to back down. 

“Good dog,” Beomgyu coos mockingly, grinning unabashedly at the sight of Soobin’s face twisting up in anger; he turns to you, placing a slow, lingering kiss on your cheek before he murmurs softly into your ear. “My flower, don’t you want to show him how perfect you are for me?” 

Beomgyu doesn’t expect a response from you; the way you whine and shift restlessly against him is enough, having already felt him rutting against you the moment he had you caged against the counter— and he continues to do so, even now, the hand on your throat forcing you to tilt your head, allowing him access to suck and bite on the clean canvas of your skin; your eyes flutter shut, and you’re left to rely on his strength to hold you upright, body rocking gently with every thrust that is delivered from the wolf behind you. 

“So sweet for me,” Beomgyu groans, his hands letting go of their respective places before they begin getting busy; your legs feel shaky and you’re left to watch as he undoes the ties of your coat, slipping it off before he reaches to bunch your thin skirt at your waist— you gasp softly, face heating up at the feeling of being so exposed, hands flying to pull down your skirt on instinct— but you’re granted no such reprieve, stilling immediately as a growl leaves Beomgyu’s lips at your action.

Soobin’s head is snapping back at the two of you at the sound of the threat— his eyes widen and he inhales sharply, a clear mistake that only makes Beomgyu grin— your scent, thick and progressively needier, clouds Soobin’s mind, clouds his judgment, unable to do anything more than stare at the way Beomgyu has you in his arms, canines still glittering under the soft lights of your home as a constant warning. 

“You smell it too,” Beomgyu speaks, his words less of a question and more of a fact— Soobin’s eyes dilate and his nostrils flare that moment Beomgyu’s lithe fingers begin to wander around the hem of your panties, feeling your thighs press together and your hands grip at his forearm shyly; from Soobin’s distance, he’s able to pick up on the tears that hang on your waterline, the way your lip quivers from the humiliation of being exposed so crudely. 

“Innocent thing…” Beomgyu murmurs, dipping down to swipe the pad of his middle finger across your slit, listening to the yelp that escapes your lips, feeling your body buckle against him— and sure enough, a spike of your scent follows after, like an addicting toxin that only fuels the desire of the two canines before you, “So tempting. So good.” 

You’re crying softly at the way he continues to tease you, overwhelmed by the foreign sensation, mouth parting in shock as his hand sneaks past the waistband of your panties; you feel as though shocks of electricity flow through you the moment he brushes against your clit, teasingly at first, only to begin circling it steadily soon after— and you can only moan and whine for more, unknowingly bucking your hips forward in search for something else that can satisfy you. 

When your eyes meet Soobin’s, you can only feel a hot wave of shame flow through you— his expression is unreadable; is he embarrassed of you? Disgusted, ashamed that you have already given in to the simplest threats? You’re not remotely near as strong as he is, you defend yourself mentally, you’re sure that it was either this or— or…

“You filthy mutt,” Beomgyu spits out beside you, laughing softly at the way Soobin has yet to take his eyes off you, eyes narrowed meanly and brows tugged together, an expression that could be easily read as rage— but Beomgyu knows better, watching as the said man jumps at the sudden sound of the other’s voice, gaze hardening the moment they lock eyes; Beomgyu huffs out another mocking laugh. 

“You like this, don’t you?” Beomgyu asks, as though he were sharing a secret— behind you, you feel his hips buck against you, able to feel the hardness of his cock as he uses his free hand to press just below your navel, forcing you back on him— and you gasp, his ministrations against your clit never ceasing as he continues to fuck against you slowly, groaning breathlessly at the feeling of your warm body against him; Beomgyu’s eyes never leave Soobin’s, however, pupils filled with nothing but a mocking joy as he continues breathlessly.

“You want her.”

Another wave of arousal floods though you at his words, filling the room and reaching the two men before you with ease; you’re able to see and feel the way their chests rise slowly, the way they take in your essence before letting out pleased sighs, their own strong, heady scents filling your senses as you simply flutter your eyes shut and whine with need.

“No need to deny it,” Beomgyu grins, leaning his head against yours fondly, middle finger abandoning your clit to tease your entrance, your mouth falling open and hips twitching in surprise at the feeling— the man behind you simply watches with amusement, watches the way you meet Soobin’s gaze shyly, body heated up with embarrassment as you can only let out pathetic cries and breathless gasps with every new stimulation— and Beomgyu’s finger enters you slowly, meticulously, angling himself just right; your vision is fogging at the stretch, hands gripping onto the strong forearm that helps keep your upright as you merely beg for more. 

“I’m sure she’d love to give you a show,” he continues, palm pressing against your clit, other hand guiding your hips to roll steadily against his hand— he chuckles softly at the way you’re pliant for him, following his every command without a second thought, “filthy, greedy thing.” 

Though Beomgyu directs those comments at you with a voice of acid-like hatred, the way he stares at you is anything but; his eyes are just as keen as the rest of him, willing to not miss a single reaction you make for him, from the way your voice breaks with need to the way your fingers twitch helplessly against his skin— his body buzzes with a desperate energy, his cock pulsing and begging to be inside you the longer he feels you rock helplessly against him— lucky for him, you seem to be getting just as desperate. 

“Get your filthy hands off her,” Soobin seethes, though he’s unable to make a move to get you away— a single twitch of his tail enough to garner a harsh sneer from Beomgyu, teeth snapping together in warning— the idea of having you claimed, taken, and possibly killed by the monstrosity that holds you hostage is enough to keep Soobin complacent for now, undoubtedly waiting for the moment the wolf no longer has easy access to such a vital part of you to make his move.

Beomgyu doesn’t heed the other’s comment— if anything, he laughs, prodding a second finger at your entrance, forcing the other to listen to the way you perk up and cry in panic, poor inexperienced body not used to the stretch, to the curve of his fingers as he presses against your soaking, tightening walls, calloused skin making you shiver as he forces you to grind against him, to fuck yourself on his fingers. 

“Hmm? Don’t touch her?” Beomgyu asks, curious fingers stretching you open slowly, grinning at the way you throw your head back against his shoulder and whine, a hand slapping over the arm that currently fucks your slowly, pressing against it in feeble attempts of getting more, “What, does it upset you that you won’t be getting to her first?” 

With a particularly calculated thrust of Beomgyu’s fingers, you’re jolting up and letting out a broken moan; he proceeds to continue to abuse the weak spot within you cruelly, watching with an amused gaze as you continue to fall apart against him like clockwork. You’re getting wound up quite quickly, not used to the intense feeling of pleasure being provided to you— and Beomgyu takes in the sight eagerly, smiling in amusement before he’s stopping abruptly, watching your head hang and your chest heave from the sudden loss of stimulation. 

“Does it anger you?” his fingers slide out from your cunt slowly; you twitch at the feeling of emptiness, barely processing the way his hand slowly snakes its way back up, grabbing at your neck and forcing you to look forward again— his fingers, covered in your arousal, prod at your mouth, and in your dumbed state, you can only follow his commands and part your lips dutifully; your tongue circles around his digits and your lips close around them, flushed face painting a lewd scene that only makes Soobin tense; beside you, Beomgyu smiles wickedly. 

“Knowing that you’re about to watch her get fucked open— get knotted good— by a wolf?” 

Soobin thinks he might be seeing red at this point; his hands remain by his side, closed into a tight fist that has his nails threatening to break through his skin— but that’s the least of his worries, especially with the way your ears twitch and your body perks up at the wolf’s words— both of the men are able to pick up on your reaction with ease, one clearly much happier than the other at the sight. 

“You know, if you behave, I might give you a turn.” Beomgyu looks over at you, chuckling softly before he removes his fingers from your mouth, only to grab at your face and turn it roughly to look at him; his fingers dig into your cheeks and his forehead presses against yours, taking one glance at your hazy expression before he’s cooing softly. “I’m sure you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

All you can do is muster a broken whine in response. 

Beomgyu is letting go of your face with a soft chuckle; slowly, you muster the courage to look forward once more, inevitably meeting Soobin’s gaze as a result— his expression is unreadable, and it makes your knees feel weak— your mind races to try and decipher what he may be thinking about, left unaware of the way Beomgyu has let go of your dress, letting the skirt fall slowly over your front as he busies himself in lifting it from the back instead, allowing himself access and grazing your skin curiously; it is only then that you’re coming back to your senses, heart rate picking up with a panic and body bristling the moment you feel the wolf’s hands wandering across the swell of your ass, muttering soft praise that doesn’t quite reach you— a firm hand grabs at your waist, keeping you in place the moment you tried to shift away from him shyly, tried to cover yourself with a weak protests that only garnered yet another growl; with wide eyes, you looked to Soobin, unaware of the helplessness that coated your glassy pupils. 

“Soobin,” you cry yet again, blood growing cold at the way he simply seems to stand and watch; his gaze seems to have wandered, seems to have been following Beomgyu’s every action, adam’s apple bobbing at the sudden sound of impact that filled the room, the sound of your yelp followed by the sight of your pathetic hands attempting to swat Beomgyu away, easily overpowered the moment the wolf gathers your wrists in his tight hold and scolds you to stay still, his claws digging threateningly into the soft skin— and again, your head whips back around to look at Soobin, ignoring the keen stance of his ears and the slow, interested sway of his tail as you simply call out to him again, “Soobin, please…”

You’re not sure what you’re begging for any more. All you know now is the feeling of Beomgyu’s broad chest pressed against yours, the muddy feeling of your brain as smoke fills your lungs, allowing your head to loll back against his shoulder, allowing your hips to begin to grind back against the hard bulge that has begun to tease you, shivering softly at the way Beomgyu’s head remains buried in your shoulder, pulling you back against him firmly— you barely register the way your voice whines in protest the moment you feel his lips pull away from your delicate skin, abandoning the gentle kisses and sucks to sneer triumphantly, his low voice a half-hearted replica of yours as he proceeds to parrot your words softly. 

“Soobin…” Beomgyu sing-songs, reaching his free hand down to tug at the waistband of your panties, soaked through with arousal that leaves your inner thighs shining pathetically; the said man is snapped out of his trance immediately, enticed gaze hardening the second his eyes find Beomgyu, chin perched on your shoulder leisurely as he continues to tug your panties down, feeling the way they slip down your hips ever-so slowly, “Soobin, come here.”

When Soobin refuses, Beomgyu scoffs— though, he doesn’t seem to be surprised in the slightest. 

“Come on Soobin,” Beomgyu repeats again, softly this time, eyes half-lidded as his mouth dips down to kiss your skin; right at your scent gland, tongue darting out before his eyes dart up to lock eyes with Soobin— you can feel goosebumps form on your skin as Beomgyu laughs breathily, mouth still open as he proceeds to nip at the spot gently; not enough to break skin, not enough to leave a mark, but enough to make you squeal and jolt in surprise. Soobin flinches. 

“Come.”

It takes a pleading look from your tear-brimmed eyes for him to move. A slow, hesitant step first, pausing momentarily to gauge Beomgyu’s reaction— the said man quirks a brow in amusement, a silent encouragement to continue— and Soobin finally finds himself looming over the two of you, eyes dark and narrowed as he watches you reach out for him with a trembling hand— curling his shirt into your fists, leaning forward and resting your forehead against his chest, body unintentionally arched forward and left in the perfect position for the man behind you— Beomgyu simply coos softly at the action, a false sense of endearment that makes Soobin’s teeth grit with rage; when their eyes meet, the wolf simply smiles. 

“Kiss her,” Beomgyu says, the words almost inaudible from how softly they were uttered— but then he’s grabbing at your head and forcing you to look back up, ignoring the sound of protest you make and holding you up by your jaw as he tilts your head to look at Soobin, fingers squeezing your cheeks and forcing them into a soft pout, “Go on. She’s dying for you to touch her.”

Beomgyu speaks as though he were the one in control of your body and mind— and perhaps he is, you find yourself thinking, teary eyes unable to communicate anything more than want as you feel your panties slowly dragging down your thighs, the wolf behind you hissing softly at the sight of the string of arousal that sticks to the fabric, your slick cunt tightening around nothing in response— Beomgyu’s fingers find themselves teasing your entrance again, three this time, dipping in and out of your cunt, stretching you yet leaving you craving for more.

“I…” Soobin breathes out, reaching out slowly for your face; Beomgyu’s rough hand retreats, and it’s replaced by Soobin’s large, gentle ones that cup your face and stroke your cheekbones, watching the way your eyes flutter up to look at him, tears clinging to your lashes like crystals; his eyes follow the path one makes as it falls, thumb wiping it away softly as he finds himself leaning closer, watches the way your lids fall and leave your eyes hazy and obedient.

This is it, Soobin realizes, eyes flickering back to where Beomgyu continues to tease you, much too lost in the sight of your cunt trying desperately to suck in his nimble fingers to pay much attention to the two of you, this is his chance— he can save you. 

You seem to catch onto Soobin’s calculative gaze quite quickly this time— and your heart flutters with a slight hope, your chest falling in quick, shallow breaths as your hands tighten against the fabric of his shirt— his eyes flicker back to yours from the action, taking in the way they hold that innocent light of yours he’s always adored— and his heart breaks. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

There’s nothing you can say to that; his lips are on yours before you can so much as let out another breath. They’re soft, hesitant, as though you could shatter if he touched you wrong. His hands shake slightly as he holds your face close to his, feels the way your mouth remains frozen for a second, only reciprocating once you’ve felt the soft pass of his tongue against you— and your overwhelmed mind blanks entirely. For the final time tonight, you submit. 

The kiss is slow, it’s deepening out of your control, and it’s everything you imagined many moons ago, when you first began to feel a spark of desire for the man before you— when you swooned and flustered at the comfort you found in him, the warm feeling that always settled in your chest when he was next to you, knowing you could always go to him for protection. 

So as you feel his hold on you become firmer, feel the way he sighs against your mouth with no intentions to let you go soon, you wonder what it is you feel now— trapped between the two canines, lungs burning and and mouth left open as you allow Soobin to venture inside, not allowed any reprieve from the man who keeps you close, a soft groan leaving your lips as your sensitive ears pick up on foreign, slick sounds behind you, hisses and sighs of pleasure from another— because the feeling that pools in your stomach isn’t remotely reminiscent of the gentle, delicate warmth you always felt around Soobin; it’s hotter, angrier, greedier— it begs to be satiated and throws away the last good sense of judgment you had within you. 

“Soobin— oh god, Soobin—” you hiccup suddenly, finally able to escape from the said man’s mouth that seems to chase endlessly after yours; even now, you still can’t help but cry for him, your body unprepared for the sudden feeling of a cockhead swiping at your slit, the wet noises that arise from the sheer arousal that continues to leak out of you. You cry and you beg with hot shame burning at your skin, unsure of whether you plead for mercy or for more— your body arches and your hips seek for more, cunt throbbing at the feeling of Beomgyu’s tip pressing at your entrance, his rough hands rubbing circles along your ass absentmindedly, but your heart twists and makes a thick lump build in your throat, wishing nothing more than to be experiencing this all differently, in the comfort of your room and in the secure, warm embrace of the man in front of you— you wish for something more intimate, something as gentle as the love you felt. 

But all Soobin does is watch. He strokes your hair with a slow hand and cups your cheek fondly, presses a lingering kiss to your forehead before wandering down to press another at the tip of your nose— and he soaks up the pitiful sounds that make your voice break, feeling your hands attempt to steady themselves against him as Beomgyu begins to enter you; slowly, salivating at the way he feels your walls stretch around him, struggling to adjust to merely the tip— he stares down at your dripping pussy with a parted mouth, letting out a slow breath at the sight of your legs that threaten to buckle and your fluffy tail that goes wild with every inch he eases in— and he finds himself having to take deep breaths to not take you as he wants then and there.

“It’s okay. I know, I know— I’m right here, I’m right here with you,” Soobin murmurs against your skin, placing slow kisses along your jaw, allowing you to duck into the crook of his neck for solace— and he smooths your hair as he feels you nuzzle into him, eyes hooking onto the sight over your shoulder of Beomgyu entering you, the feeling of his hips flush against your ass bringing about another shuddered sigh from your lips, nails digging into Soobin’s chest as you attempt to overcome the new sensations. 

“I got you, don’t worry my doll,” Soobin utters, a hand going to place itself on top of your own, intertwining his fingers with yours before he begins to weigh it down, to guide it down his chest— he lets out a shaky sigh, feeling you cry and squirm against him, “It’s okay… just relax and you’ll feel good, okay?” 

“Don’t you wanna feel good?” Soobin coos against your temple, eyes fluttering shut as he feels you nod against his shoulder, feels the way your hand has successfully breached past his underwear, pants already undone and still guided by his much larger hand as he brings you to palm him slowly, wrapping your shaky fingers around his length; you’re hesitant, unsure of your actions as you allow Soobin to show you what to do— though, you don’t think your brain has truly processed what he’s doing with you yet, preoccupied instead by the thick smoke along with another smell that leaves you feeling lightheaded, along with the feeling of hands groping and smoothing over your skin as a heavy cock continues to twitch inside you. 

Beomgyu isn’t quite fond by your sudden shift of attention; his lips remain upturned in distaste, watching intently as Soobin continues to use you however he likes, your face that remains hidden in his neck directly able to smell the calming, dizzying scent Soobin exudes, placating you and dumbing you down to nothing but a fuckdoll for him— his eyes trail down to where he has you jerking him off slowly, Soobin’s lips pressing kisses to the top of your head as he continues to murmur soft praises that have you melting against him— an unfamiliar, hot streak of rage courses through Beomgyu’s system at the sight. 

“So ungrateful,” Beomgyu scolds suddenly, reaching forward to grab a fistful of your hair and bring you back— he’s forceful, uncaring of the way you protest, an arm that’s wrapped around your stomach pressing you flush against him as he forces the two of you to move— and you’re left bent over the counter, face pressed against the wood and wrists secured behind your back as Beomgyu bunches the skirt of your dress at your hips and bottoms out inside you once again; you hiss at the feeling, looking to the side to see that Soobin is unfazed by the action— if anything, his eyes cloud with lust at the scene before him, taking in the way you’re stuffed full and arched prettily with a gulp. 

“Why won’t you pay attention to me?” Beomgyu asks breathlessly, looking down at your pliant figure with blown out eyes, tail whipping side to side in anger as he catches the way your gaze still seeks out Soobin’s, eyes unknowingly pleading for reassurance— and he growls, low and heavy in his throat, catching the attention of both of you successfully— but he only cares to have your eyes on him, fully engrossed in the way your mouth falls open and your eyes roll back the moment he ruts into you with rough, slow thrusts. 

“Look at me,” Beomgyu groans, pulling out slowly as he speaks, all the way out until the tip of his cock is the only thing catching at your entrance. You’re squirming, trying to move your hips back against him, but the brutal hold Beomgyu has on you keeps you in place; ears pressed flat against your head, you look over your shoulder, back at the wolf who continues to fuck his tip into you with subtle thrusts, sneering at your glassy eyes that continue to look at him with a jarring innocence. 

“That’s right,” he breathes, sinking into you oh so slowly, filling you up and laughing cruelly at the way your hands scramble to hold onto something for stability, for a simple comfort Beomgyu denies, “Eyes on me.” 

Beomgyu fucks you to prove a point; he fucks you so your eyes roll back and your mouth spills moans and whines dumbly, cock filling you to the brim and stretching you out in a way you never knew was possible— the sounds are lewd and has your skin burning, slick, wet sounds of skin against skin filling up the room and mixing along with your cries of pleasure. Beomgyu doesn’t seem to be doing any better than you, transfixed entirely on the sight of your cunt sucking him in eagerly, dripping with slick that makes his cock shine and falls to the floor in a mess, of your ass that ripples with every smack of his hips against you— this is all so new to you, he can tell, your body buzzing with an insatiable need that turns you into nothing more than a cock-hungry whore, your tail wiggling desperately with every harsh thrust of his, as though hypnotizing him to keep going.

The sight of you— a drooling, crying, moaning mess— is the polar opposite of your sweet, naive self, your trusting self that got you into this situation in the first place— and it makes Soobin’s cock twitch with raw lust, the spectacle of you becoming ruined so easily something he never thought he’d witness; such a pure thing, Soobin always felt as though you needed to be treated like glass— but Beomgyu is more than willing to prove that’s not the case with you, growling pure filth at you as he continues to fuck you into the counter, watching the way he hovers over you, practically caging you in with his body, as though wishing for the two of you to become one. And just like before, Soobin watches. He stands to the side and listens to every sweet mewl of yours attentively— after all, he’ll get his hands on you soon enough.

“Tight little cunt— fuckin’ takes me so well,” Beomgyu murmurs into your ear, panting and groaning at the way you tighten around him, “such a good girl for me— shit, you like that? Like it when I talk nice to you?”

Beomgyu is quick to catch onto every little reaction of yours, including the way you tighten hopelessly around him every time he sings soft praises into your ears; it makes you want to hide your face in shame and deny his questions, but you barely get a chance to speak with the way he fucks you— fat cock stretching you out, leaving you speechless as he continues to pound into you firmly, sloppy mouth nipping and marking all over your neck; feeling him on your shoulders and back, canines brutishly ripping at your clothes to get more access to your innocent skin, feeling the way your walls squeeze with every scratch of his sharp teeth against you, eager to get his lips onto any part of you he can. 

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck, you’re— shit– you’re squeezing me so tight, can barely fuck you,” he rambles off, hand letting go of your wrists so he can grab your hips and pull you back onto him— you’re wailing at the feeling, hands failing to stabilize you as you hold onto the counter, eyes screwed shut as you babble at Beomgyu to slow down— but of course, he doesn’t listen, too caught up in the feeling of you to pay any attention, “Oh, are you close, sweet thing? I can feel you— can feel you getting closer.”

“Do you wanna cum?” He asks you in that same, sweet voice laced with faux pity, smiling unabashedly at the way you immediately nod in response, giving in to his brutal pace, “tell me how bad you want it then.” 

“Please… please let me…” you trail off, unable to communicate properly with the way Beomgyu continues to fuck you, not granting you any mercy as he watches you struggle, “need– need t’cum, want it, feels so good.” 

Beomgyu laughs, the sound labored and breathy from the way you clench around him throughout it; he finds himself glancing over to where Soobin continues to watch, the sight of him focused entirely on your figure making him sneer— his eyes are hypnotized by you and his ears twitch at every weak word that spills from your mouth, lips parted as he all but drools for you— the drastic contrast in character has Beomgyu’s lips twitching in amusement, wondering just where that overprotective bodyguard of yours has gone.

“Yeah? Am I making you feel good?” he mocks, watching as your bowed head nods instantly; he huffs, glancing back at Soobin before he coos softly at you, “Who’s making you feel so nice? Tell me, pretty thing.”

The sudden mention of the pet name is enough to set you off unexpectedly; your mind goes blank entirely, save for a single thought that continues to roll of your tongue like a mantra: 

“Beomgyu,” you cry, sobs wracking at your body from the intense feeling, your voice interrupted with loud, uncontrollable moans, “You— it’s you– Beomgyu— please, please— too much…!”

Beomgyu continues to fuck you until your legs tremble and your body weight is placed entirely on the counter, hips held up entirely by the strength of the man behind you as he finally heeds your pleas; he slows until he’s bottomed out inside you, feeling the way your walls continue to pulse as you whimper quietly at the sensitivity— such a touchy thing, Beomgyu muses to himself, looking down at your messy cunt and feeling the way his cock twitches, still in need to fill you up properly.

“Can’t take anymore?” Beomgyu asks apathetically— and though you weakly let out a sound of affirmation, you can tell he doesn’t really care to hear your answer; not with the way he strokes at your skin in fascination, wandering hand pulling at the base of your tail and watching you squeal in surprise, body arching in an attempt to get away— you all but slump into a pool of overstimulation once he finally lets you go, foggy mind barely able to pick up the way he tsks. 

“Don’t lie— you can, I’m sure you can,” Beomgyu tuts, watching with amusement as you pout and petulantly shake your head, “you’re a good girl, you can take whatever we give you.” 

You don’t seem to process the meaning of his words to a full extent— you’re too far gone to do so, body turned weak as you continue to try and stabilize yourself, chest heaving with every breath you take. But it doesn’t matter if you’ve caught on to what’s happening around you, your every movement taken care of by the two men that cage you in— your shudder at the feeling of Beomgyu pulling out of you, the slick sound drowned out by the crude praises Beomgyu growls; two, strong hands are pulling you up next, proceeding to maneuver you so you sit on the counter— Soobin stands between your legs, looking at you with eyes filled with want and an undeniable pity; he takes in your worn, marked and messy figure intently, watching as his eyes linger on the rips of your dress and the marks all around your shoulders. His hands go up to the area, and your eyes flutter shut, body craving to be covered, to be coddled and tidied. 

“Such a perfect doll for me,” Soobin sighs out, beginning to tug down at what’s left of the material, watching the way you shudder and open your eyes with a slight shock— a whine bubble up at the back of your throat, but you can’t really find the strength to protest the way you’re slowly left undressed before the two pairs of hungry eyes before you, no longer able to find the energy to feel embarrassment from being left bare— Soobin’s voice is as gentle as his movements, feeling him lift your hips so he can slide the dress off you properly; it wasn’t very hard to do anyway, the fabric practically hanging together by a single thread, “It’s alright… I’ve got you.” 

When Soobin wraps your legs around his waist and hoists you off the counter, you can only wrap your arms around his shoulders and lean your forehead on his shoulder, seeking for more of the scent that calms you down and leaves you mindless; your grip tightens the moment you feel the head of his cock poking at your entrance, painfully hard as he sighs out shakily at the feeling of your sensitive walls fluttering at the feeling— he’s stretching you out slowly, filling you up, and all you can do is bury your head into his neck and try to calm your breathing, taking in the thick sage that fills your senses.

Soobin stays buried deep inside you for a moment, cursing at the tight embrace of your heat around him; you allow yourself to relax— it doesn’t last long though, body jolting with shocks as you feel another head poking at your already stuffed cunt. 

“Wait— wait– I can’t— too full, it won’t fit…!” you cry out, looking at Soobin in a panic; a broad chest pressed firmly against your back, familiar lips pressing a chaste kiss to your shoulder— Soobin’s eyes are dark as he takes you in, ears forward and twitching at your pleas; softly, he shakes his head in reassurance.

“You can,” is all Soobin murmurs, watching your face twist as Beomgyu begins to push into you— little by little, stretching you past your limits, resting his chin on your shoulder and shutting his eyes at the sensitive feeling— tears stream down your cheeks freely, soft hiccups escaping you as Beomgyu’s hips press flush against you from behind; Soobin reaches up to caress your head, to pet gently at your ears, and smiles. “See? You’re doing so well. You can take it.”

You shake your head to refute his claims— but it’s not as though that would change the way they’ve begun to slowly pull out, setting their individual paces that inevitably work together, leaving you full no matter what— and it has your head falling back, mouth falling open dumbly as they begin to fuck you; slowly at first, gently, only because your poor cunt has yet to adjust to the size of them. But once they feel the way you leak onto them, the way your cunt begins to clench as their tips ram into places that have your eyes rolling to the back of your head, they begin to find the confidence to use you how they want. 

Eventually, you’re nothing but putty in their arms; weakly grabbing onto anything you can for support, one finding a firm grip onto Soobin’s shoulder as the other ventured to tangle itself in Beomgyu’s hair— the said man continues to keep his head buried in your neck, lips having a mind of their own as he continues to nose at your scent gland; the action of him nuzzling against it, of him scenting you, is enough to have you a whining mess, fingers tugging at his hair desperately; it only serves to have him fuck into you harder, hips snapping ruthlessly against yours and rough groans escaping him from the pleasure. 

“Fuck, such a good cunt, so tight— ah,” Soobin groans, watching as your eyes flutter open to look at him, teary and catching the moonlight that shines down through the window; he cups your cheek, stroking at your cheekbone fondly as he speaks, “so pretty… you’re so pretty, all I’ve ever wanted— god, you’re perfect.”

The look of adoration Soobin gives you isn’t lost on you entirely— but there’s something else that rears its head within his gaze, hungry and desperate, threatening to swallow you whole— and you realize that, for the first time ever, Soobin seems to be staring at you as though you were nothing but prey; something for him to claim and own. 

But it seems as though he’s not the only one who possesses those particular feelings— Beomgyu’s pace seems to be growing erratic behind you, knocking you forward against Soobin’s chest and leaving you to wail at the feeling of his cock ruthlessly pounding into you, uncaring of the rhythm the other has set in place; he mumbles gruff words against your neck, but it’s all muffled and interrupted by huffed out moans he lets out in between— but your poor cunt seems to catch onto what he might be saying quite clearly. 

“C-close, oh shit, ‘m so close,” Beomgyu says, finally perking up from his place in the crook of your neck to speak directly into your ear, placing sloppy kisses at your jaw as he does, “Ah, d’you feel that? Yeah? Want me to cum inside you?”

You know what his question really entails— you know what your answer should be. But your body simply trembles and your brain short circuits at the thought, traitorous to the last bits of reasoning within you as you dumbly nod at his request; he lets out a moan at the sight. 

“Yeah, you do, don’t you? Want my knot, wanna be bred— ffffuck, I’ll give it to you, I’ll knot you, make you mine,” his every movement has become erratic; Soobin finds it hard to continue fucking you, undeniably sensitive to the harsh pace the other has set— but Beomgyu doesn’t care, leaning in close to your ear to whisper his next words. 

“I’ll claim you,” he breathes out, enjoying the way your little tail thrashes against him at the sound, panic filling your tone for a second before you melt into the idea, too fucked out to be able to refuse anymore— if anything, you tighten like a vice around the two, bringing out sensitive sounds from the two; Beomgyu continues to ramble into your ear, much bolder now that he’s taken control of the situation. 

“You want it— oh fuck, yeah, you’ll make such a pretty mate, all for me,” he growls, his words slipping to the other’s ears and alerting him, his eyes widening yet his pace not stopping, “all mine— mine, mine mine— o-oh, shit—!”

It all happens so fast. The swelling of a knot inside you, stretching you out to the point where you find yourself sobbing, pawing at whatever you can and begging for them to slow down, to be gentle— hot cum fills you, your cunt only able to handle so much as Soobin’s cock is pushed out, just enough so his own knot doesn’t catch, his orgasm triggering immediately after— it’s so much, yet it’s not enough, your whole being pulsing with desire for the final thing to push you to the edge— and it comes in the form of sharp canines digging deep into your neck. 

The right side of your neck stings— then, your left. Two sets of teeth have found their home within your skin, the last of your freedom stripped away as your orgasm swallows you whole— you tremble and you twitch within their hold, cunt filled and leaking with their cum, unable to do anything more than lie within their embrace and take what they give you. 

Your eyes feel heavy; you will yourself to stay awake, but your vision becomes spotted within moments— for the first time in a while, your mind is able to find peace.

 ≪ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫  

When you finally wake, you find yourself surrounded by warmth; with heavy blankets over your figure, you’re able to recognize the place as your room. You attempt to look around, but are immediately met with a searing pain— the night’s events flood through your mind all at once, and suddenly, you’re able to sense the presence of two others next to you; their arms wrap around you and they remain glued to your side, one embrace much more familiar than the other. 

Through your line of sight, you’re able to spot the moon that peaks through your window, hovering just above the dark, looming canopy of the forest. You stare and you stare, unsure of what to make of everything— of what you’re feeling, of the bodies that shift beside you, pulling you closer to them, as though it could never be enough. 

Your eyes sting, and after a second, you find yourself mourning. Mourning for your loss of freedom, for the overwhelming amount of sensations you were put through, and for this complex, dangerous situation you’ve been thrust into. 

You were warned of the forest; you were warned that nothing good came from venturing within. 

But even then, nothing could have saved you from the creatures that roamed beyond.

[grapejuicestyless]

We Can Run Away

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: She was everything he ever wanted, and she was clueless about everything he ever was. And somehow, they understood each other all because of the subway.

Harry usually wasn’t one to take the subway after a long night. Often, he was in some black van on his way to his bed minutes after he sang out the last note, the crowd still roaring with excitement from the set inside as he departed from the venue. But tonight, Harry was still wide awake after his set finished. Instead, he’d stayed behind, fixing things up backstage until the very last fan had left the arena, leaving Harry almost completely alone in the large space that was once filled with the love and laughter of anxious fans screaming his name.

So tonight, Harry decided to walk among the quiet folk and take the empty train back to where he was staying for the night. The subway only ran this late on nights like tonight. Nights where people were destined to be out late, living their young lives dancing in the pit and accompanying their children in the nosebleeds.

Harry hopped on the last train home, the emptiness of the car relaxing, his bag settled down beside him and a book on his lap. He found the atmosphere was a perfect place for him to wind down from his extended high, to tire him out and help him doze off peacefully tonight.

There was only one other person with him late at night. A young woman who wore frayed jeans shorts, boston clogs with bunched up socks, and the deepest red sweatshirt he’d ever seen. She looked like she wasn’t aware of the time, wide awake with a calm smile on her face as if the day was brand new.

The morning had just began to roll around, but darkness still covered the sky. Not even breaking three a.m. yet and still, she could have fooled him into believing it was nearly noon if not for the emptiness surrounding them.

She was no bother to Harry though, so he patiently flipped through his book, rereading some of the pages because his mind wandered off in the middle of the paragraphs and he couldn’t focus. But just before he decided to set the book down for the night and enjoy the rest of the ride, a soft voice spoke up.

“I love that book.”

Harry looked up to see the calm girl looking back at him. She had red lips and gentle eyes. The kind that pulled you in if you looked too deeply. The kind any person would trust blindly, and the kind that held a complex kind of innocence in them.

At first, he simply nodded, unaware of what he was supposed to say and not up for a conversation, but he couldn’t seem to pull his eyes from the captivating girl across from him.

“A Little Life, right?” The girl asked, persistently looking for a small conversation to fill the gaps of silence on the short ride across the city.

“Yeah.” Harry nodded, a small smile spreading across his face. “You have good taste.”

The girl simply shrugged.

“It’s a classic, right? I think everyone should read it at some point.”

“I don’t think everyone would enjoy it, it’s a little slow.” Harry commented, enjoying hearing the girls voice.

“Maybe.” The girl shrugged again, “But that’s what makes this one so good. It makes everything feel more real when it takes time for everything to crash down. The fall doesn’t happen overnight.” She defended.

“I take it you really love this book then.” Harry laughed quietly at the conversation.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

The train fell quiet again, but Harry couldn’t have gone back to reading if he tried. He placed the bookmark between the pages and instead took time to admire the way the book looked between his hands.

“I love the cover too. I wish I took that photo every day.”

Harry raised a brow, observing the cover more closely than he had before.

“I’m a photographer.” The girl added, and Harry hummed.

“What kinds of photos do you take?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“I mainly help with shoots for magazines. Vogue, Rolling Stone, Elle. I’ve been around the industry for as long as I can remember. Sometimes I help take photos for movies, which is cool, but mainly I just take photos for myself nowadays. You know, just letting my friends play dress up and creating the things I’ve been wanting to for a while.”

With the way she spoke about her job, Harry had not a single doubt that she held the most sincere love for the art she worked within. The kind girl talking quietly, but quickly about what she did and why she loved it, Harry wished she had kept rambling to him so he could have kept listening.

“What about you?” The girl asked suddenly, catching Harry off guard. He stumbled around for an answer before deciding on something vague.

“I work in music. I sing.” Harry nodded his head, watching how the girls eyes lit up in interest.

“That’s so cool, do you play shows ever?” The girl asked and Harry couldn’t help but bite back a laugh. He was sure he had glitter from his outfit he danced around stage in stuck to his face still and feathers from boas curled in his hair.

“Sometimes, yeah.” Harry smiled at the girls innocence.

“Do you play around here ever?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” Harry smiled.

“I’m just trying to pass time.” The girl responded quickly. “So do you?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, sometimes.”

The girl hummed.

“I’m Y/n, by the way.” She extended her hand, and Harry mouthed her name back to her after she’d spoken it. Just to see how it would feel on his tongue.

“I’m Harry.” She repeated his name softly like an echo as he took her hand in his to shake it.

The robotic voice announced the final stop, and Harry watched as Y/n stood in a way that mirrored his movements. He figured he didn’t mind the fact that his walk home wouldn’t be as lonely as he thought, and in fact, he found himself silently praying that she would walk the same way as him as they stepped onto the platform.

“I hope you’re not following me, Harry.” Y/n joked as their footsteps fell into sync, sweaty palms shoved into their front pockets and their eyes adverting each others.

“Maybe I just want to know more about you.” Harry smiled. He decided he liked the way Y/n made him feel. Like he was desperate for the next sentence to come out of her mouth. Like he needed to know what she had to say. But maybe he was just getting tired.

“There’s not much else to know. I live a pretty boring life, I think you’ll find.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I didn’t say there was.” Y/n smiled, and Harry found himself blushing.

“I think the quiet can be good.” Y/n stated softly, looking at the way her feet fell between the large squares on the sidewalk. “It can be lonely, and that can be sad sometimes, but I don’t really mind it if I get to keep my peace.” She explained thoughtfully.

“Do you think about this often?” Harry couldn’t help but ask.

“When you live alone you have the time to think about a lot of things.” She responded, and Harry simply nodded.

“I like the quiet life too. It’s nice to step into the storm once in a while and see where you get dragged, but it’s nice to know where you’ll end up in the morning without a doubt.”

Y/n hummed at Harry’s response.

“I used to party a lot in college.” She laughed at herself. “Which is hard to believe now because I feel like my back was broken by a thousand bricks somewhere in my mid twenties but, I get what you mean. It was fun when it was cool, and when I had people I liked going out with. But I think I’d much rather prefer to know I’ll end up in my own bed in the morning.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at the girl beside him. Her toothy grin and her crinkles by her eyes. Harry imagined her a few years back, he imagined taking her to all the best spots in the city he could rack off in his mind. He figured she would be the life of the party. She made him feel like the subway was some first class plane ride and the trash rolling beneath his feet was golden.

“Are you always this talkative?” He laughed softly.

She shrugged.

“My mom would agree. She said when I was younger I would talk to anything that had ears. Sometimes she’d catch me pulling the grass outside because I liked to braid it, and she said I would be talking to myself. But I always told her I was talking to the butterflies.” She laughed at herself.

“What about you? Do you always entertain strangers on the subway?”

“Well, we aren’t really strangers anymore.” Harry argued. Y/n smiled at him.

“I guess not.” She shook her head thoughtfully.

“I don’t, usually, though.” Harry sighed. “But you’re nice enough. Easy to talk to, I guess.”

“Anyones easy to talk to when they can’t shut up.” She joked, and Harry simply laughed at her for the millionth time.

“I guess so.”

As their laughter fizzled out into giggles, a warm silence wrapped around them, the humidity of the summer air sticking to their skin like glue. Harry caught Y/n’s eye every few steps, swallowing repeatedly as if by doing so, he would think of something else to say.

“Are you from here?” She asked softly.

“Somewhat. What about you?”

She shook her head.

“I’m from the east coast. The United States.” She said softly.

“Why’d you leave?” Harry couldn’t help but ask.

“The city wasn’t for me. I wanted to live by a beach so I left to where I could find that. But then I guess that wasn’t what I wanted either. I think maybe I was made for the city, just not…that one.” She sighed in the middle of her sentence, like the memory of home was daunting to her.

“What about London? What drew you to it?” Harry asked softly.

Y/n shrugged, her eyes flickered to the ground.

“It reminded me of home without having to be there.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that, but she didn’t really seem sad when she said it. Almost like it was some kind of relief.

“My mom said there was something really wrong with me when I was a kid, but I’ve always liked who I am.” She smiled up at Harry honestly, holding her hands in her palms.

“You know, I like that I can talk for hours, I like that I apologize all the time, I like that I’ve lived out my twenties the way I should have. I like when my bangs grow past my ears, and I like running because it reminds me of running in the park, and I’m not sorry because I love the girl who looks back at me in the mirror because she’s a collection of everything she’s ever loved and I think thats neat.” She ranted, a smile on her face the whole time, and breathy laughter escaping her lips.

Harry wanted to say something, to smile and agree that he also enjoyed her sticking around, but she had stopped a few feet back, her shoes wiping against a small brown doormat with no welcoming message painted on it.

“This is my stop.”

“Will I ever see you again?” Harry asked desperately from afar, like he couldn’t enter her space if he tried.

“Maybe.”

“Well, I really like the person you are too, I’d like to see you again.” He added, his words quick and desperate.

“You know where I live, Harry.” She stated simply, a smile on her face.

And it was true, he did. But she wasn’t on his way home. He’d passed his house a few blocks back, and somehow he hadn’t even noticed.

“What if you leave again?” He couldn’t help but ask.

She simply smiled.

“We can run away together.”

[quickstappen]

track 001: when all hell breaks loose

A/N: this is my first one, it was supposed to be y/n BUT i just didn't like how it looked? idk, i needed to have a name so everyone meet Marceline ;))

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marcilazzaro1 new day, new city! explored zandvoort today before coming back for media duties ;)

(charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 i am watching you, do not make my life harder this week)

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carlandoo333 she's so mother i can't

pierregasly so i don't get credit for the photos?

↳ marcilazzaro1 everyone knows you're my personal photographer love

pierregasly belle, mon ange 🤍

↳ marcilazzaro1 grazie 🤍

↳ ilpredestinatox I JUST WANT EHAT THEY HAVE

babygirll oh no! i was at that caffè today, i can't believe i missed them!

maxverstappen1 they can't stop themselves, it's in their blood

↳ marcilazzaro1 maybe if you stopped distracting a certain someone during his interviews he'd actually do a good job

↳maxverstappen1 eh

lilymhe are we still on for drinks after FP2?

↳ marcilazzaro1 lily, love of my life, of course we are

↳ alexalbon excuse me? i'm the boyfriend here

↳ marcilazzaro1 not for long now albono ;)

sheilaxf1 I'm so here for lily and marci being the ultimate girlfriends

↳ landoscar814 they are iconic

charles_leclerc when have i ever made your life difficult

↳ marcilazzaro1 you want that alphabetically or chronologically??

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marcilazzaro1 added to their story!

liked by pierregasly, maxverstappen1 and others

marcilazzaro1 and that's another podium in the bag! bébé i am so proud of you, you have no idea. my heat speeds up every time i see your happy smile, every time i feel like i'm drunk on the champagne with you 🥂 here's to many more, i love you completely 🤍

see all comments...

pierregasly it's a pleasure to share this journey with you mon ange, i can't wait for the next chapter 🤍

↳ marcilazzaro1 🤍🥂

sundaylover okay whos cutting up onions and shit

hammertime_1 oh yeah she is in looooovee love

maxverstappen1 what about my podium?

↳ marcilazzaro1 redbull is spoiling you enough and j already texted you, stop fishing

↳ cuddlyxricc i absolutely love their friendship

↳ byelandoo right?? i feel like she's the only media person he doesn't automatically hate ↳ cuddlyxricc the fact that she's works for ferrari and not redbull makes it even funnier i swear ↳ byelandoo christian is having an aneurysm as we speak

danielricciardo see you at the after party (you have to convince him to do a shoey)

↳ marcilazzaro1 ah, i fear that i will not make it to the party, i still have work to do daniel ;) but you guys enjoy yourselves. and watch out for the hand please, will you?

elplanxincoming am i the only one or was Pierre's comment kinda weak after the WHOLE PARAGRAPH she wrote??

↳ sunshine_dr3 god i didn't want to say anything but yeah, it feels forced almost

ilpredestinatox the story is definitely working, Charles looks so good i don't even remember the race

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marci's messages

Marci: where are you? are you still at the party?

Esteban: No.

Esteban: Me, Lance and Mick are all in my room.

Marci: Can I come?

Esteban: Aren't you supposed to be surprising your boyfriend?

Marci: I guess I already did.

Marci: I already packed my stuff, I don't really have anywhere to go. Ferrari doesn't have the extra room for me this weekend and the hotel is packed.

Esteban: Merde, Marci. Of course you can come here, I'll even let you have the bed.

Marci: Thank you, Este.

PF: That's all I have.

PF: For what it's worth, I really am sorry that this hapened.

Marci: Still, you ALL lied to me and treated me like an idiot.

Marci: So really, your "sorry" doesn't mean shit now, does it?

PF: Why do you think I took those photos?

PF: I wanted to tell you. So many times.

Marci: Why didn't you then?

PF: I'm sorry.

Marci: You know what, fuck you.

Marci: You're lucky I didn't expose all of you. You all knew what he was doing and none of you said anything. That's fucked and you know it.

marcilazzaro1 added to their story!

marci's messages:

Pierre: Baby, what's going on?

Pierre: Where are you?

Marci: Why, is your friend already gone? What, didn't stay the night?

Pierre: What are you talking about?

Marci: Spare me, Pierre. You know exacly what I'm talking about.

Marci: If you need a reminder I'm sure that twitter's ready to jog your memory.

Pierre: What the fuck Marceline

Pierre: What the hell did you do?!

Pierre: Merde

Pierre: Are you actually insane?? This is a PR nightmare, you KNOW this

Pierre: You have to delete those

Marci: Oh yeah, I don't think so.

Marci: I already apologized to your media team for the chaos, I ain't deleting shit.

Pierre: You're a bitch, Marceline

Marci: Fuck you, you absolute scumbag.

Adam: You get a week of PTO

Adam: It's a non-negotiable order from upstairs so, yeah. See you next week. Go relax, wind down. Heal.

Adam: We're all sorry that this happened to you, the media team is standing with you.

Marci: Thank you, Adam.

Marci: Also, what does "upstairs" mean?

Adam: Fred's orders.

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marcilazzaro1 some much needed home time on the big boss' orders ;)) thank you for your kind words and support, see you soon everyone.

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charlies_sun we're all with you marci 🤍

scuderiaferrari Big boss says to rest up and come back stronger!

↳marcilazzaro1 got it 🤠

↳ilpredestinatox this is so sweet

sheilaxf1 i just don't understand how could he do this to her

↳hammertime_1 RIGHTT???

danielricciardo the personalised dart board and dr3 wine are already on their way

↳marcilazzaro1 thank you Daniel! it's much appreciated

danielricciardo everybody loves a farm girl 🤠

↳marcilazzaro1 do they now?

↳lestappen116 are they...... flirting?

↳ilpredestinatox GIRL, bfr her and pierre JUST broke up, besides idk, i've always had a feeling that he gives her the ick? idk

sundaylover how does she look so GOOD??

↳carlando333 she's so mother i can't-

michael_44 oh boo hoo, she's been cheated on. that's no reason to slack off on her work

↳elplanxincoming oh fuck off

maxverstappen1 there might be an incident at T1 at Monza, just say the word

↳marcilazzaro1 thank you maxie, but that won't ne nessecary 🧡

brunolazzaro03 good to have you home, even if you're stealing all my ice cream

↳marcilazzaro1 come on, mum said i can have them

redleclerc_ the fact that Charles hasn't commented is deeply upsetting to me

↳ quickstappen i meann.... not surprising considering it's his best friend we're talking about

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marci's message:

Claire: Hello, this is Claire. We spoke on instagram.

Marci: Yes, we did. Im Marceline.

Claire: I know.

Claire: Look, I'm sorry that this happened.

Claire: I really am.

Marci: Stop please

Marci: Can you just explain it to me from the beginning?

Claire: Yeah, sure. Of course.

Claire: I met Pierre at a party in Milan that I went to with my friends.

Marci: When was that?

Claire: Last June

Claire: I think.

Marci: Okay

Claire: I'm sorry.

Claire: Anyway, we met and he was really shocked that I didn't know who he was. And I really HAD no idea who he was.

Claire: He said he worked in motorsports, I've never qustioned it and never tried to search for him.

Marci: Why didn't you look for him?

Claire: Honestly? I didn't care enough. For me it was just sex.

Claire: I didn't even know his last name. Just had his phone number.

Marci: And you met up multiple times?

Claire: Yeah, whenever he was in Milan. I swear I didn't know he had a girlfriend. He said he was single when we first met.

Marci: Well, we started dating in 2019 so... he definitely wasn't.

Claire: I am so sorry Marceline.

Claire: I found out about you from twitter. There was this hashtag trending and suddenly there was this picture of me plastered all over my timeline.

Claire: I've tried to understand what's going on, and I found out I've been screwing someone's boyfriend for the last year. God I'm so disgusted with myself.

Marci: Don't be, please.

Claire: I swear I wouldn't get with him if I knew that he was taken.

Marci: I don't blame you Claire. Any of you. It's not like you MADE him do it.

Marci: Thank you for contacting me, serioulsy.

Claire: It's the least I could do, I didn't see another option.

Claire: Text me whenever you need and I'll try to shine some light on things.

madi's radio: hello, that's a first smau in a series, so if you want to be notified about the next parts just dm me, i'll set something more efficient up later ;))

click here to be added to the carved my name taglist!

DISCLAIMER: i do not know anything about this people, this is not real life, this is just something for fun, i do not know anythings about their life or personalities!

[carmenized-onions]

The Other Shoe | Consultation

logline; old wounds tend not to heal, if you don't let them. but, there is hot chocolate, and love. so perhaps that's enough.

[!!!] series history, this is the seventh; First, Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. Finally got Hozier on here. Don't know how that took me so long.

portion; 3.1k

possible allergies; two absolutely garbage mental states of people who are NOT over Mikey or the way they've been treated. Bunch of self-loathin, the whole lot.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (no pronouns!)

Took me a minute, new jobs goin' well though!! This one took a lot of stewing, lmao. Lot of staring and thinking. We'll talk after, but SO many alterations were made lmao.

It has been three weeks since you met Carmen in a freezer.

Six days since you were at his apartment. Ish.

Roughly forty-three weeks since the worst day of your life. Doesn’t feel like it.

In five days, you’ll have the second— Well, maybe third or fourth, worst day of your life.

But today is Monday, and you don’t know what’s coming yet.

It’s just after one in the morning, and you wake up to a phone call. Carmy. Yes, do not disturb was on. Yes, you’d set him on priority access— Which most people would find very cute and intimate, and it is— But he’s not the only one. It’s not a limited feature for people you want to kiss. There’s Syd, Richie, …Mikey…

Cause when is the right time to delete a dead friend’s contact info? It’s not right now. You know it’s not right now. And it probably won’t be tomorrow, either.

Phone call. You’re getting a phone call.

“Carm?”

“…”

You stir a little, bit, when there’s no reply, brain dehazing. “Carmy? Everything okay?”

You hear the beep of the phone call being ended. No way he butt-dialed you, right? You’re awake. You’re so awake. This feels all too familiar, and that's not a good thing. You immediately open your phone to text him, by the time you get to his contact, he’s already texted you. Actively texting you, in a rapid, manic succession.

‘fuck’

‘sorry’

‘you were supposed to be asleep’

Hm.

‘talking to a person hard right now?’

‘yes’

‘you’re so smart.’

‘easier to talk to robot you.’

‘wowwww’

It’s hard to write funny, right now. It’s hard to act like yourself, right now. You’re not sure how you’re doing it.

‘not what I meant’

‘I know. You’re you.’

‘you wanna send a voice message maybe?’

‘it’s fine. I’ll text.’

You give him time, you expect a paragraph since he’s taking so long, but instead you get,

‘can’t.’

‘carmen.’

‘I like you so much.’ Oh be still your stupid heart.

‘feeling is mutual.’

‘I can’t make my problems the only reason I talk to you’

Is that true? Fuck, that's kind of true, isn't it? But there's the puzzles! And there's been phone calls!

‘You talk to me for other reasons’

‘yeah. But it’s mostly problems’

‘with me.’

‘eh. Not really. Walk-in was you, toilet was Mikey, Nat had a baby, I’d consider the oven a shared problem of you and Syd’

‘oven was my fault’

He types for even longer this time. It’s hard not to interrupt him. When you start to type, he sends.

‘can I come over?’

‘I know it’s late’

‘I’ll come pick you up.’

‘no’

‘I’ll walk. I’ll be there in 20.’

‘it’s not a problem to pick you up.’ It's a problem if he doesn't let you pick him up.

‘I know.’

‘promise I just wanna walk. Get air.’

God, why are your fucking hands shaking he just wants to walk. He just wants to walk. Why can’t you bring yourself to believe people when they say that anymore?

Everything’s normal. It’s been a good six days for Carm, you know that it’s been a good six days. Everything's normal. You’ve kept a puzzle streak every morning, you’ve called him some nights, he’s called you some nights. He’s had a good week. He told you so. Everything's normal. You’ve vaguely flirted in that extremely sexual yet completely nonsensical way new situationships do, via text. People don’t do that when they’re on the brink of death, right? Everything's normal. Stop playing with your pendant. Relax. Put a shirt on. Stop being so fucking paranoid. Stop typing—!

‘can you do me a favour’

‘anything’

‘can you turn your location on for me’

‘not to be invasive. You can turn it off when you get here, I—’

Before you can even finish typing your explanation, let alone send it, he sends his location, trackable. He’s already walking.

‘be there in 18.’

You watch, with bated breath, his little contact photo bubble marching across Chicago to you. You make yourself mildly presentable and make hot chocolate on the stove—Gotta use milk, for Carmen— For when he comes to you, out of the cold. Because he’s going to come to you. He’s gonna be here. He’s gonna be here. You know that because you’ve been keeping your phone screen open and only look away to ensure you don’t pour milk on your stovetop and to blink.

He's here in eighteen minutes. You think if you had a stop watch going on, it’d be down to the millisecond. You open the door for him, before he can even knock. You watched his bubble walk up to your door. No point in waiting. You need to see him.

He’s breathing heavy. Held tight in his fist is a bundle of flowers— Importantly, not a bouquet, a bundle of flowers—Like, roots still on a few, visibly yanked out of the ground. Though seemingly from different gardens, since there's quite a variety. He looks at you, then down at the flowers, then back to you.

“I— I stole these.”

“Had a feeling.” You wave your hand for him to come inside, he does. “Are you okay?”

His steps falter, he seems downtrodden. You take the flowers, and then take his hand. He hesitates to speak, but he’s really trying to say fucking something. You squeeze his hand, it seems to help.

“I—” He swallows the spit caught in his throat. “I didn’t know— I— No. No, I did know— I knew the one place I had to come was, here. Had to go somewhere.”

You nod, you look over him. Silently doing a wellness check. You’re panicked. You’re so panicked. But he can’t know that. This is about him. You’re the one that takes care of people. He’s clean. He smells like Old Spice and you. He’s a little cold from the walk, he didn’t wear a jacket, but he’s warming up fast. He looks tired but not exhausted, which, for Carmy, is kind of as good as you’re going to get. He didn’t have the energy for a phone call, but he had the energy to come over and talk to your face; his social battery is wonky, but that’ll fix with time here. Is he hungry? That’s hard to tell on looks alone.

“You wanna talk about it, Bear?”

He nods, head down. Can’t look at you. You gently pull at his hand for him to follow you into the kitchen. “Made hot chocolate. You a marshmallow or whipped cream guy?”

His eyes are glassy, and his mood itself doesn’t change, but he does swiftly lift his head up to look at you with an incredulous, curious half smile. “You don’t do both?”

“I find it gets a lil’ busy. But I like the tiny marshmallows that come with the mix with whipped cream—”

“You gotta do actual cocoa.”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t like my hot chocolate to actually be rich. I want sweet.”

“You’re breaking my heart.”

“Good thing I’m a repairman, then.” You deadpan. He does actually seem to glow a little bit, at that. You repeat, hand full of flowers resting on your hip. “So both?”

“Both.”

He calms you down so easily, even when really, he was the oncoming stress— Or rather, your perceptions. He clears static for you, without effort. You nod, letting go of his hand— Slowly, withdrawing, like a silent promise that you will be back. You grab a paper towel and wrap the flowers in them, setting them down on the counter. You’ll plant them later. Honestly, kind of a better gift for you and your green thumb than a bouquet would be.

You turn to your oven to stir the pot of hot chocolate— Can’t have any fuckin’ clumps for Mr Michelin over here. Speaking of Michelin, he sidles up behind you and puts his head on your shoulder, hands hovering as if he’s going to hug your waist but simply cannot bring himself to.

He mumbles into your shoulder. “I lit my oven on fire.”

Ah. The oven was his fault. That's what he meant. When you pause and try to turn, that’s when he hugs you, holding you in place. “Please don’t look ‘t me.”

You take a deep breath, and continue to stir the pot. “Okay. I’m listening, not looking.”

“I did— I did it in my sleep. Not the first time. I think, I think they’re night terrors? But I don’t, don’t scream or nothin’— I don’t say shit actually. I don’t think.”

God, he’s insecure, even now, about how crazy you’ll think he is. Like telling your therapist everything that’s wrong with you except for the stuff that they might hospitalize you for. God, does he treat you like a fucking therapist? He’s awful. He’s awful for you. He’s awful for anyone. It doesn’t matter that you’re different— The common denominator is him. He’s a fucking piece of shit—

“I wake up screaming sometimes.” You reply, so softly. You feel his short nails dig into your sides just slightly for a second as he remembers where he is. He’s over your shoulder. No one’s over his. “Happens to the worst of us.”

You grab two mugs from the cupboard— Reaching with the arm he’s not leaning on. “Did you put it out or should I be calling my former C-F-D crew?”

“I put it out.” He notes your mugs. They’re mismatching. One is definitely handmade with messy floral patterns, the other a tourist trap Chicago mug.  They’re perfect. “I—I was cooking something, in my sleep— And then— Then the fire starts.”

You ladle the hot chocolate into the mugs— Usually you’d just pour it straight but you don’t want Carmen to watch you inevitably spill half of it on your counters. You nod, “Do you dream that you’re cooking?”

“K-Kinda? I’m not cooking, I’m the Head, the expediter— And, and my Exec is over my fucking shoulder and he’s— Just in my head.” He swallows, thinking of how to explain without explaining. “And then I wake up, and there’s a fire, and I watch it grow, and I think about what it would mean if I just let it, and how I’d want it to.”

“And then you put it out?”

“And then I put it out.”

“Do you wish you didn’t?”

“I don’t know. And it’s fucking with me. ‘Cause— ‘Cause things are really good right now.” You tense under him, and he knows it’s because you don’t believe him. “They are, they really really are. Sug bein’ away is… not easy, but, it’s, it’s okay—”

“Carm.” Your tone is so accusatory.

“It’s the same nightmare it used to be.” He doesn’t hesitate to correct as soon as you question it. He cannot lie to you. For one, you see right through him. For two, it’s you. You’d rather know he’s insane. For some reason. “It’s been hard. I— I know fuck all, about business, and, and we can’t afford to hire a fuckin’ replacement right now because we owe so much fucking money or the whole thing caves— But it’s— It’s been good.”

You grab a handful of mini marshmallows, splitting them between the two mugs. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nods into your shoulder. “Everyone is… happy, right now. It’s not always fuckin’ breezy but— Everyone’s, everyone’s okay. And I have somethin’ I can actually be proud of, right now. And I have— I — You’re around. N’ that, that has been good. For everyone.”

You hum. Heart full, at that. You awkwardly shift to your fridge, waddling like a penguin instead of turning, as not to disturb Carmen, he chuckles against your shoulder. “You can tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want you to.” You hug his arm to you. This makes him squeeze just a little tighter. You pull out a half-empty can of Reddi-Wip, shaking it violently, as instructed. “Say when.”

You hover the can over the tourist mug, he shakes his head. “Other one.”

He wants the handmade one. Your fingerprints are grooved into the handle. You ignore how insane this makes you feel, and spray whipped cream into the handmade mug. You’re waiting for him to say when.

It’s getting to a concerningly tall pile, at this point. You feel him swallow. He finally says the quiet thought out loud.

“I think I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Even in my sleep, I know it’s coming.”

You nod, you stop spraying. You think on it for a beat. You opt to be honest. “I am, too.” You nod. “I am, too.”

“What’d’you think it’s gonna be?”

You feel your neck flare red and hot, guilty. Horrifically guilty. Lifesaver. You spray whipped cream into your own mug. You don’t really want both whipped cream and marshmallows, but it’s a good way to disguise how shaky your hands are. You take a deep breath.

“Think you’re gonna realize I’m not as good as you think I am.”

He kind of, tugs at you, pulling you closer to him, as if to rebuke thee. “You’re very good, Tony.”

You just hum in reply, once again, the pile of whip cream grows— It sputters, and basically nothing is coming out, but you can’t bring yourself to move, so it continues to struggle. He lets you do this, for a moment, before softly, questioningly speaking your name.

You just hum, again. Everything’s fine. Everything’s normal. This isn’t even about you, this is about him. “I’m good.”

“You are.” He declares, like it’s law. He grabs the empty can from you hand and puts it on the counter, then turns you around to face him. You keep your head down, there’s every chance you throw up and die if you— “Look at me.”

“I know—” He does not give you the chance to excuse yourself, he grabs your chin, softly, but still, forces you to look at him.

“You’re very good.” Too much eye contact. Too close. Too sincere. Too much— “Too good, too good for anyone.”

Too good for him. You, of course, don’t think that. But that’s exactly why you’re too good. “I’m not gonna change my mind ‘bout that.”

“…Hope so.”

Carmen can see it, now. The way your jaw clenches, how you’re looking past him, not at him. The way you mirror how he imagines he looked in the walk-in, to you. He decides to take a page out of your book, and hugs you close. “Know so.”

Your chin hooks over his shoulder. You stare down the hall of your apartment, brain somewhere else. He stares over your shoulder at the hot chocolates, whipped cream slowly melting and overflowing onto the counters.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks, and you can’t help but smile at the ridiculousness of it.

“I—It’s not—This about you, not me—”

“It’s both. It can be both.” The shared burden.

You sigh, putting your arms around his shoulders. “…I’ll talk about it eventually, I promise. Just not… Ready—Right now.” You’re not ready to risk him no longer liking you. You need a little more time to be selfishly avoidant. “Eventually, though.”

He nods. He gets it. He does it.

“How do you think the other shoe’s gonna drop? If it does?”

This was the exact question he didn’t want, but you answered it, kind of, and that means he has to answer it, kind of. He relaxes his hold on you. “Think you’re gonna see me when I’m— When I’m not me— When I’m— I’m like, like my fuckin’ family.”

When he’s angry. When he yells. When he’s mean. When his crises don’t take the form of hibernation. When he’s frightening.

“Think once you realize, you’ll leave, and it’ll all leave with you.”

When he said that everyone’s happy at The Bear, he knows it’s because you’re back in the atmosphere. You bring a lightness that he never could, that he always envied in his brother. He honestly needs to break something at The Bear to get you to come in soon, because it’s been two weeks since you made everyone coffee, and your presence is only finally starting to wain in power. He really needs to start paying himself so you can get on bar.

“I don’t love being yelled at, certainly.”

You know what acting like his family means. Mikey used to do it. When things got bad. And while you got better and better at being understanding, still never managed to keep yourself from tearing up. “But it’s nothing that would make me leave. Nothing that’s not worth it.”

Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ. His bad side, his anger, his violence, his teeth, the parts of his functionality that he hates, you consider worth dealing with, for the sake of the rest of him.

It reminds him, of a question that’s been on his mind for a while now. His chin digs into your shoulder, a little bit. He swallows.

“Do you really not think taking care of people is a lot of work?”

You frown, thinking about it. It is a lot of work. It’s exhausting work, rotten work, to take care of people.

“It is a lot of work.” You tilt your head, kiss his clothed shoulder. “But it’s just pure instinct, to do. “I care therefore I care, or somethin’.”

“What a poet.”

“Fuck off.”

You both laugh; then comfortable silence. He’s the first to break it. “You’re good.”

“We’re both good.” You pull back to look at him. Nothing has truly been resolved, and yet he looks more at peace. Thank, God. You’re doing a good job. You’re not failing again. “You wanna go drink these barely warm hot chocolates in my bed and pass out?”

“Please.”

Carmen never turns off his location, and he never will. He doesn't ask why you want it. He takes advantage of the whipped cream on your nose and the severe lack of napkins in your bedroom when he can. He replaces the Cubs jersey wearing bear in your arms, that night. He hopes he will forever, he's pretty sure he won't.

In five days, this Friday will be the worst Friday of your lives.

But neither of you know that yet. The painting is still not finished, he hasn’t yelled at anyone around you yet, Carmen still doesn’t know about the necklace you’ve tucked under your shirt every day for the past year.

The other shoe still hangs in the air; but not in your bed.

You pray it’s fall will not wake the bear.

FUCK bro.

It was tough writing in a way that was coherently incoherent. Like, neither of these two want to talk about their problems, so they are vague, but I know what the fuck is going on-- And hopefully you kindddaaa get what's going on?? There's still a little mystery I'm holding on for myself, hehehe. I'm very curious if anyone has theories by now tbh. What's this hidden part of Tony's life!!! They're usually so open!!! So what's this shit!!!

I cut out like a WHOLE 300 words of them doin' a smooch because it just made no fuckin' sense. They're both in emotional hell, couldn't force it, even if I wanted it. But there was the cuddlin' and nose kissin' in bed. So I think that's a good caveat.

But the most insane part of this chapter for me, and you'll see later, THIS chapter and the next,,,,, 3 chapters? Were all gonna be ONE. I know. Nuts. I was essentially gonna format it like all snippets of this one week, because as we know, Fridays gonna be the worst friday! But I realized like a quarter way through writing this one, that it simply couldn't just be a snippet. It needed to breath as it's own full thing. As did the next 3 chaps. I think they'll be a lot more digestable this way and also it won't force me to hole away for a fuckin month writing it without giving you a single morsel of content.

Anyways, tell me what the fuck you THOUGHT!! I'm excited to hear thoughts, hopefully all good ones~~~

Next Part

[squarebracket-trickster]

Okay, sometimes advice that is good for a first draft does not work for later drafts.

Like, these are all things people have directly told me when I was talking about problems I was having in my 2nd and 3rd drafts.

Don't edit as you go. The whole point of later drafts is to make edits to the first draft...

You're spending too much time on this one section. Leave it and come back later. I uhhh... I did leave it. I left it and wrote my whole novel multiple times without touching it. Now is later.

Take a break. The inspiration will come. Actually, I don't need inspiration. I have written this entire novel multiple times. I think I have enough inspiration by now. What I need to do is problem solve. That means actively thinking about it, isolating the problem, brainstorming, and trying things. If I waited for inspiration I could be waiting years.

If you are struggling with the POV try changing it. Great advice if you can't seem to finish your first draft. Not so great if you have finished your novel and are just stuck editing a couple of paragraphs. Troubleshooting those paragraphs may take a while but I promise it is less work than rewriting the entire novel in a different POV. Besides, different stories work best in different POVs.

It doesn't have to be perfect. Yeah, uhhh, again, ever heard of the editing stage? Like okay, there are such things as impossible standards, but identifying a problem and trying to fix it is like, a normal part of writing...

Don't ever delete your writing. How else am I supposed to make cuts and edits??? I promise, my first draft (where I deleted nothing) is an untouched file saved in three different places and when I make edits I copy and paste sections into a new document. It's not gone forever. But be realistic. Most of that word vomit is not going to make it into the final manuscript. Believe it or not you do have to kill a few darlings in order for a book to be its best self.

Just write the dialogue. So uhhh... all the dialogue is already written. That's what a first draft is for. Maybe good advice for rewrites but uhhh... there does come a point when you have to write the rest of it.

And yeah...

Sometimes the only way out is through. Sometimes problem solving requires beating life into a dead horse. Sometimes inspiration isn't enough. Sometimes its not just okay but necessary to admit something isn't perfect and that it needs fixing. Sometimes its okay to struggle and be frustrated and that doesn't mean you should take a break. Sometimes there isn't a quick hack, change one thing, that will fix the problem. Sometimes writing is hard and there is no way around it. Takes breaks when you are tired yes, but if you're stuck for too long, I'm sorry but at some point you're going to have to face the problem and get yourself unstuck. You can't keep waiting for the problem to fix itself. It's not going to be fun though.

[amomentsescape]

Thank you for replying to my question! In that case could I request a Bruce Wayne imagine. One where the reader graduated college, bought a car & is now working a lot at her job. She’s been a bit stressed bec she hasn’t taken a break. Bruce surprises her at her job once her shift ends to take her on a date. & her coworkers & friends start teasing her. Basically Bruce wants her to destress and have fun. Then he expresses how proud he is of her. Just him being a supportive and loving boyfriend.

Also if you could throw in the reader’s friends asking if Bruce bought the car & if she’s gonna quit working bec he’s rich. But she says no to both bec she wants to make her own money & work hard. (Bruce ends up hearing this & it just confirms to him how she loves him for himself and not the money)

Sorry if it’s long lol!

More Than Riches

Gotham! Bruce Wayne x Reader

Summary: Even with Bruce as their partner, Reader still aims to do what they want with their life and love Bruce earnestly at the same time.

Warnings: Overall fluff with maybe one or two bad words

Word Count: 849

A/N: Thank you so much! Based on your request, I wrote it as more of a drabble since my version of an imagine usually only comes with about a paragraph of writing like this. But if you'd like a condensed version that's made into an imagine, let me know!

The past few months have become all blurred together in your mind. To be honest, you were certain that you've spent more time at work than you have at your own home.

Adulthood wasn't quite what you had expected it to be. Graduating college and jumping straight into the workforce seemed like everyone's ideal, but this meant that you hadn't gotten an opportunity to take a breather.

But you supposed this is what you signed up for. A car loan wasn't going to pay itself. But even then, there was something fulfilling about what you did. Being able to be independent on your own terms gave you a sense of security you never knew you desired.

With that being said, you still wished you had a little more time for yourself and your boyfriend.

The thought of him almost made you a little emotional. You two haven't had much quality time together recently and yet, Bruce had been nothing but supportive towards your ambitions.

He told you time and time again that if you ever needed help with anything, all you had to do was ask. It truly felt nice to have someone on your team for a change.

You looked up at the time and realized that your shift was finally over.

You sighed and wandered back to clock out and grab your things when you heard hushed whispers and giggles.

Your coworkers were all huddled together, talking to each other like they were sharing a secret.

"I can't believe- oh! (Y/N), get over here! The Bruce Wayne just walked in. I can't believe it!"

Your eyebrows furrowed together. "I thought I was supposed to see him tomorrow..." you said under your breath.

When you looked up, all eyes were on you.

"You know him?" one of your coworkers asked eagerly.

You gulped. "Well, yeah. He's my boyfriend..."

You suddenly felt hot.

Your coworkers were absolutely stunned at this.

"You're kidding. You're in a relationship with the city's rich boy?!"

You just nodded, not sure how to respond.

"Oh my God. Then why the hell are you working here? He could literally pay all of your bills and then some! I bet your car is already paid off because of him, huh?" they giggled.

You almost wanted to roll your eyes at this. You were your own person. You didn't need saving, and you didn't need the man you love paying for everything that you could have earned yourself. It just didn't feel right to you, but to each their own you supposed.

"I'm actually paying off the car myself. And why would I not want to work? I enjoy putting in this effort to support myself and see the impact I'm making. He can do what he wants with his money, and I'll do what I want with mine. Now, if you excuse me, I am going to clock out."

With that, you grabbed your bag and jacket and walked over to the entrance, finally seeing that familiar face you love so much.

The moment he caught sight of you, his eyes lit up, a soft smile spreading across his lips.

"There you are. I was starting to wonder if I came at a bad time."

He leaned down and gave you a gentle kiss on the cheek, taking your hand in his as you both exited the building.

"I'm sorry. I just wasn't expecting you today," you answered honestly.

His smile widened. "I wanted to surprise you. I know things have been busy and stressful for you recently, and I was hoping a date night would alleviate some of that."

You stopped walking and looked at him, your stomach doing a couple flips.

You just kept staring at him, taking in just how perfect he was for you. He knew how to make any bad moment better in an instant. It's like he always understood what you needed even when you didn't know it yourself.

"What is it?" he chuckled nervously, a little bit shy from your gaze.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you," you responded softly.

This made his cheeks go all rosy, causing your heart to speed up. He was perfect.

"I could say the same for you," he reasoned.

His hold on your hand tightened as he pulled you into him, holding your body close to his.

"I overheard what you said back there, about me."

Now it was your turn to blush.

"Yeah?" was all you could produce.

"Yeah." He placed a kiss on your forehead. "I'm so lucky to have found someone like you. You're one of the only people I know that makes me feel seen as me, not just by my last name."

Your eyes met his at this. "Bruce, I'd love you even if you were just an average person like me."

He leaned his face a little bit closer to yours.

"You're not average, (Y/N). Not to me."

He then pressed in a little further and joined his lips with yours, kissing you like it was the first time all over again.

[traegorn]

Okay. So I got a super long ask that is... a lot. And it's anon, so I can't respond privately -- but I want to address it.

Y'see, sometimes I get asks which I'm pretty sure get sent to me just because I'm a witch who happens to publicly exist on the internet. Like the person sending it to me doesn't seem to be someone who's familiar with the kind of stuff I say -- or else they probably wouldn't have sent it to me to begin with. And they ask me for advice or help though. So I feel like I want to give it still.

But it's probably not the advice they think they want.

Let's see how this one starts:

So this is how it starts. Now the first thing you might be asking yourself is "When has Trae ever talked about 'demons' online?"

The answer is never. This is not a thing Trae talks about. Frankly, I don't even like the word, because it frames the supernatural world in a very Christo-centric viewpoint. Like I believe in noncorporeal things and "energy-shit," and I believe those things can be malevolent -- but calling them "demons" invites a framework I literally do not believe exists.

(You can think whatever you want -- I'm not in charge of you. I do think plenty of witches need to unpack their Christian upbringings though)

The other problem with the "which demon" line is that it implies some sort of authoritative list exists that wasn't just some jackass occultist writing down everything he could think of to piss off some Christians -- or some Christian pissed at some non-Christians trying to other and villainize them. These two kinds of people are largely where 99% of those lists come from.

If a noncorporeal being exists, and if it's malevolent, and if it's "attached" to someone... it's just some guy, y'know? This isn't some grand story. When someone gets mauled by a bear, we don't say "But it was Lord Ursus! King of all Bears!"

Nah. It's just "that bear over there ate Bob's face." We might name it then -- "That Face-Eater" -- but it's not special.

Anyways. That's just the first paragraph. There's so much more, I'm going to put in a cut.

Okay. So... The person "Dabbles." You know I'm a witch, right? And that I literally promote people dabbling? Like I want folks to try stuff out. And like when y---wait, SUCCUBUS? I read that, right? You think she's a literal succubus.

Can she shape shift like in that Piers Anthony book?

This is where I kind of immediately fell off. Like, no ma'am -- she is not a succubus. She might be a shitty or manipulative person, I don't know - I just have your account of things, but she's not a literal succubus.

Human being. She is a human being. I don't even know what "creates deceit and deception" is supposed to mean. Are you saying she lies to them? Or are you saying she makes them want to lie? Because those are very different. If it's the former, okay -- liars lie. Got it. If it's the latter... nah. That is not happening. If they're lying, then it's their own damned fault.

And like... I don't want to dismiss the concept that a malevolent being can't attach itself to someone, because I've... seen shit I don't talk about. But, like, they don't make people do shit. People do shit all on their own.

If you're to be believed, it just sounds like you're dealing with a manipulative jackass. No external paranormal shit required.

But we continue:

So I dated this person for a while, and she was great when we were the only people in the room. Like when it was me and her, the person she acted like made me fall in love with her.

But the moment a third person entered the room, she would become someone else. She was sharper, meaner, and more defensive. She wasn't the same person.

We broke up for a lot of reasons, but this certainly made it easier.

You're right, this isn't DID. This is just normal, human shit. We become different people at different times. And sometimes the better version we think we see in someone else isn't the true version of them at all, or at least it's only a part of them.

And sometimes when someone changes in a way you don't like in a different context, it's not always the context's fault.

You need to define "portal." Different people use that word for different stuff.

And I see we're moralizing drug addiction. Great. Awesome. Horse is preeeeeeetty high there for someone going to random witches on the internet for advice.

And, like, ma'am (I've been assuming you use she/her from the context of this -- but I'm sorry if I'm wrong), you're asking a witch this and bringing up tarot and talking to spirits and... like... that stuff's normal for like 80% of the people I talk to on a daily basis. None of those people have "demons" attached to them.

It's a weird thing to bring up as "proof."

I feel like you've forgotten what community you've come to with your issue.

So, nothing affects them. Could it be, and I want you to consider this, that it's because nothing supernatural is happening.

There are so many details that I'm missing here, so I can't be sure of the actual dynamics at play, but what you're describing to me sounds like an incredibly mundane, human scenario.

Like, it literally just sounds like you're describing an incredibly unhealthy home -- and I'm not even sure if that's true since I just have your version of events. I don't even know the ages of the people involved. You have given zero indications of anything out of the ordinary happening that isn't explained by "one or more manipulative people are somehow involved in this story and it's unclear which ones they are."

This is not a "demon." What you've described is just dysfunction.

[venusxxlangdon]

Of Mice & Snakes - Part 3. The Snake

pairing: Michael Langdon x fem!reader x Tom Riddle 

warnings: crossover, third-person narration, smut (threesome, dp, spitting, dirty talk), angst, character death 

words: 3k  summary: AU where Michael Langdon, Tom Riddle, and fem!reader are caught in an intricate relationship where power and lust go hand in hand. Sometimes the only way to forget is to take the memories out of your head and store them in the Pensieve.

This is the final part. 

Part 1 Part 2 Chapter's soundtrack: Ludovico Einaudi - View From the Other Side 

“He had my back long enough to stab me right into it”  The snow was falling slowly, covering the roofs and the broad shoulders of the sleeping ogres that were supposed to keep the guard with the thick layer of silver blanket. Ever since the Dark Lord took the reigns, each village had ogres and werewolves as the night watchers in case any of the rebels decided to attack.

It was a deep night, and only a few lights in the giant mansion that sprawled out for several hectares were on. They were dim but more than enough to give a soft glow to this one particular spot in the living room.  

The spot by a fireplace. 

A big emerald-green velvet armchair was right in front of it. A huge pile of parchment paper was on the left-hand side. It was impossible to understand what was written on the notes because the handwriting was small, and most parts of the sentences were crossed out - it seemed as if whoever wrote them was in an incredibly frustrated state. Or furious. In life, very often these two feelings go hand in hand. 

The flames from the fireplace cast warm light onto the walls with intricate gobelens. One of them pictured a family tree titled “The Riddle Family”. Some of the spots were burnt out indicating that certain members were excluded for reasons only a pure-blood wizard would understand and consider fair. 

But nobody knew that the entire thing was fake. Tom Riddle came from a muggle family, and all these “excluded” members were nobody but imaginary people that he put on the wall to give the impression that he cared about the purity of his blood. 

He was sitting in the armchair with his long legs crossed. Pale, aristocratic hands rested neatly on the handles. His eyes were closed, his breath even. He was used to evenings like this. After all, he did not have anyone left. Death Eaters could not be counted on. They were just mere subjects, loyal to their Lord, but their loyalty was based on fear and, in some cases, pure insanity. They could not be trusted. But who could he ever trust? The one he considered his brother (not by blood, but by how close they were) betrayed him.

Tom squeezed his fingers around the handles, making his knuckles bleed white. No matter how many years passed, he could not forgive Langdon. He did not betray just Riddle. He betrayed their master plan, almost ruined everything, and over what? A fucking bitch. Just from the thought of it alone, he felt the burning rage boiling up in his stomach and rising to his throat, making him gulp heavily. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and sighed. As he stretched one of his arms, his fingers lightly brushed the pile of notes next to him. He pulled one. 

“Maybe you will wrap your mind around it one day, Tom. She loves both of us,” the scribed letters said. The rest of the paragraph faded with time, but Riddle knew it by heart. 

Y/N never loved any of them, and if Langdon had ever believed otherwise, he was a complete fool and had no right to be his ally in the first place, Riddle thought. She was scared like a little mouse that she was. It was her plan all along: to make them fall for her and then flee when the time came. She pretended to be by their side. Luckily Riddle made her give the unbreakable vow, and that was the only thing that saved his plan in the end. The little bitch could not escape the ancient magic and paid for her dishonesty. 

But she was useful. Thanks to Y/N, Michael and Tom did manage to access her father’s archive and find clues about the location of the Elder Wand. Riddle could feel the weight of it in his pocket. It was real and it brought him the power he had always lusted after. He did not even flinch when he had to point it at his friend, brother, and ally - Michael Langdon. By that point, he had already found out that Langdon was on Y/N’s side. 

He remembered vividly the animalistic roar “Avada Kedavra!” and how the green light coming from his wand pierced through the green flame of Langdon’s wand and then went straight to Michael’s heart. The blond wizard fell dead on the cold concrete of the Glenfinnan Viaduct that Hogwarts Express used to go over every year with the students on board. 

Only one Lord could exist. 

Riddle crunched the piece of paper in his hand and threw it into the fire; the flames swallowed it immediately. He could hear the ticking of the ancient clock. He glanced at it quickly. Midnight. 

“Actio”, he commanded and immediately, a small coffee table with little glass bottles appeared in front of him. Tom sat straight in his armchair and took one of the tiny bottles in one hand. With the other hand, he dived into the folds of his gown and pulled out his wand. He closed his eyes. Let’s see what memory he could get rid of that night. Riddle pointed the tip of the want at his temple and whispered:

“Pensieve”*

A thin silver string started to appear at the end of the wand, stretching out from his head. He pulled a bit more letting it come out completely, and then he stored it right into the prepared bottle. The silver ribbon peacefully rested inside the glass. He knew what it was about. 

“Who are your Lords, darling?” he whispered in her ear while holding her by the neck as she lay atop him with her arms around his torso. Her hair was a mess, mouth hung open as she succumbed to the pleasure of two thick cocks stretching out her abused holes. Riddle was on his back, penetrating her throbbing pussy, and Langdon was behind her stretching her tight ass. He could tell Y/N was on the verge of crying from how overstimulated she felt.

“We can’t hear you”, Michael panted and reached out to her head to yank it and make her face Riddle’s smirk. She winced and looked at the man in front of her through hooded eyes. She was so full. 

“You,” she answered barely moving her spit-slick lips, and her eyes rolled back at the particular hard thrust of Michael’s hips. Tom slid his hands down her body to grab her thighs and brought her dipper onto his cock. He could feel Michael moving inside of her too. Both of their cocks were slipping in and out with a filthy, sloppy sound. 

“Good girl”, Michael’s colossal palm landed on the delicate skin of her asscheek, leaving a red print. She moaned and involuntarily, out of pure reflexes, pushed herself back onto him. “There you go,” he praised and spread her wider, admiring how her asshole was taking him. The beads of sweat were collecting on his forehead, blond locks sticking to it. 

Riddle’s hands were on her breasts that were bouncing in front of his face. He squeezed her nipples tightly eliciting another loud moan from her. He passionately attached his mouth to hers, savoring every sound she made. He kissed her hungrily, drinking in the power he had over her. They had. Y/N was their little puppet. He could feel how Michael pulled out of her just to fill her back up. The sound of his balls slapping against her ass and their low moans was bouncing off the walls of the room. 

Tom’s lips moved down her neck, stopping at the junction that connected her neck and the shoulder and giving it a harsh bite. Hard enough to leave a dark-purple mark. He wanted to claim her in every way. She already had a black snake imprinted on her arm, she had invisible strings of the vow around her wrists, and she had bite marks and hand prints all over her body. 

“C’mon let’s move her”, he commanded to Michael and the blond man moaned disapprovingly. “Sharing is caring, Langdon”.  

Michael gave her a few more thrusts to enjoy the tightness of her ass and complied. Before he moved her on her back, he proudly spread her gaping hole to see the result of his work which felt incredibly humiliating to Y/N. She whimpered when both of the men quickly flipped her over and she ended up on her back with her legs spread and Riddle between them. His eyes were black now, two abysses staring into her soul. Her head was spinning. 

“What do you think, love?” he cooed, bringing his thumb to her lips and tapping on them ordering her to open her mouth. He leaned closer. She could feel his hot breath fanning over her face and the pressure of the tip of his cock at the entrance of her wet pussy. Her eyelids flattered and her cheeks turned scarlet when Riddle let the string of his saliva land on her tongue. “Take it.” 

With that command he snapped his hips, thrusting deep inside of her, making her back arch. He was pinning her to the bed with the weight of his body and she did not have any other choice but to keep taking his big, hard cock moving ruthlessly inside her velvet walls. 

“T-T-Tom”, she whimpered spreading her legs wider. Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes and she extended her arms, sliding her palms down the silk sheets looking for Michael’s hand. She needed to squeeze it for support, to have something to hold onto. Langdon laced their fingers together and brought his face close to hers. 

“You look beautiful, darling”, he praised and reached his hand to her clit. His long fingers massaged firmly, sending bolts of pleasure down her spine. “Let him fuck you, be a good girl. You know you need to serve your Lords well, baby.” 

“Oh yes, such a good puppy,” Riddle muttered and closed his eyes, giving in to the pleasure of her pussy around him. So good. So tight. 

Michael’s plump lips met her parted mouth. He was kissing her lazily. He slid his tongue along her bottom lip and cupped her flushed cheeks. He brushed them with his thumbs almost lovingly. 

“Let him cum inside your pussy, baby”, he whispered, “and then I will fill your mouth, yeah?” 

As if she had a choice. She would do anything. She nodded and drew her knees to her chest allowing Riddle to go at a much deeper angle. He cussed and pushed onto her knees driving his cock in and out of her heat. His face was mere inches away from hers. He smelled like sweat and cologne. The suffocating smell of sex filled her nostrils. His hips moved at an animalistic pace, the muscles of his abdomen flexed with each thrust, and his groans indicated that he was close. 

“I’m gonna cum in her”, he panted and Y/N moaned at his words. Michael was still holding her hand, and when Riddle leaned closer and whispered, “Look at me”, all she could do was oblige. She looked at him with wide eyes feeling his cock twitching inside of her. She let out a long, low moan when after one last thrust a hot, sticky fluid spilled inside her pussy. She watched Riddle throw his head back in pure bliss, feeling his cock pulsing deep in her. She felt incredibly full. Everything was wet. When he pulled out, she winced at the stretch and from how messy it all felt. Thick drops of pearl-white cum leaked out of her folds right onto the silk sheets. 

“Keep your legs up”, Michael ordered. Y/N was in a trance. She could barely feel her legs, her heart was beating violently like a trapped bird in a cage, and her breath was still uneven. She saw Tom tiredly rolling over the other side of the bed leaving her at Langdon’s mercy. 

“Put your hands on your ass and spread your holes for me”, Langdon continued. She slowly cupped her asscheeks in her palms and very slowly parted them. It felt filthy. Her pussy quivered and pushed out another thick drop of cum. Good Lord. 

Michael reached his hand to gently tap her clit and collect some of the cum that Riddle left. He rubbed it between his long fingers and then smeared it around her tightened nipples. He grabbed his cock with his other hand and guided it into her mouth. 

“Make me cum”, his low voice sent shivers down her spine. Y/N did not have any energy in her left. She slightly turned her head, adjusting her position on the pillow to take his cock at a better angle. She parted her lips and took a deep breath. Michael did not have any patience for her to take her time and run the tip of her tongue along his head and then take it inch by inch. As soon as he felt the warmth of her mouth, he pushed his hips forward making her take it all. Y/N gasped and almost let her teeth scratch the sensitive skin. Langdon hissed and grabbed her by the hair, guiding her head. He held her in place while driving his cock in and out of her mouth. She could barely keep up with the pace, choking on the impressive length. 

“Just like that”, he approved. “Keep going.” He found particular pleasure in the noises her throat made each time he trusted into it. Her dripping saliva allowed his cock to glide easily. In and out. In and out. His eyes traveled down her body right to the spread pussy and ass that she still had on full display for him. With a low groan, Langdon pulled his cock out of her mouth and slapped her red cheeks with it. The girl was panting heavily. He was holding her by her neck as he kept rubbing the tip of his cock against her lips. 

“Good girl”, he murmured and slapped her one more time. “Stick your tongue out.”

He let go of her face but she still kept it close because she knew what was coming. Obeying to his request, Y/N took her tongue out and looked up at Michael. His nostrils flared, usually perfect locks were messy, and his broad chest was covered in sweat. She knew him so well by that time already. She could tell he was close just by the way his breath hitched. She watched him jerking himself off and the wild thought of how badly she actually wanted him to cum on her enveloped her mind. 

It was something in her eyes that could not be hidden. Something always about Michael that made her look at him in “that” particular way no matter what he and Riddle kept doing to her. Something Riddle never experienced. Something he hated the most and wanted to annihilate at its origin.

For a second, Tom Riddle wanted to break the glass with the string of memory inside of it. But instead, he squeezed it tightly in his palm and put it in the chest pocket of his gown. He will find a proper storage for this particular one. 

Suddenly a creaking sound of the door opening interrupted his thoughts. He smiled. He did not even need to turn his head to know what it was. 

“You are back my love,” Riddle smiled as the snake made its way to the armchair. Its long muscular body was strong and flexible. The snake wrapped its thick body around one of the legs and rested its giant scully head on Tom’s thigh. Its pitch-black eyes stared at him blankly. “Did you have a good hunt?”

The snake blinked. Tom’s fingers were drawing a lazy pattern on its head, it felt sleek and cool under his fingertips. How fascinating was the fact that once smart enough to come up with the plan to make fools out of the two most powerful wizards, this very head was now only capable of a primitive string of thoughts! It no longer had its identity, no recollection of the family she wanted to save so badly, no memory of Michael and him and what they used to do together, and most importantly, no memory of what she made Langdon feel. She was his loyal servant. 

“That is the price you paid, Nagini”, Riddle whispered, taking the snake’s head in his palms, his palms caressing the sides of it. He loved her new name. The name he picked for her many years ago. “Just like he paid his.” 

*In Harry Potter universe the memory extraction spell is unknown 

Author's note: I’d like to thank everyone who supported Part 1 and Part 2 of this series that I wrote 4 years ago (*whistling*). I read every single comment and ask you sent me.  Michael x reader x Tom pairing found its continuation in a plethora of drabbles and one-shots I wrote back in my active days on tumblr. The longer ones are included in my masterlist and the rest you can find in the tag #Michael x Tom x reader on my blog. Enjoy!

[whalesforhands]

hear me out: dyf!mc touching gojo AND geto too, but not only their muscles. what if she traced her fingers along where she remembers there being scars or injuries? what if she were to ask them what happened after she “died?” i feel like that would make for some rlly heart wrenching hurt/comfort and closure to the failed mission for the trio? :((

-omori anon

warnings: suggestive, but only in the first few paragraphs

“Does it ever… Hurt?” It’s a vulnerable moment, pillowtalk after a session of copulating that leaves you all sweaty, lying in between the both of them as you’re on your side, facing Satoru as you trace the scar on his chest.

You weren’t aware he had one too, not when you had just noticed the one on Suguru.

It catches your eyes, the mark on his chest as your hands trail down the skin as he’s on top of you, your passion no where near interrupted as your hands subconsciously move to trail over the ‘X’.

He’s so close, so warm… A shy tilt of your head upwards towards him has his hips coming to a slow, his neck craning down to meet you halfway— Only for your lips to map across the scarred skin, shyly leaving kisses before your twinkling eyes look back up to meet his widened gaze.

A breath sucked in, a hand grasping both of your wrists, before Suguru’s mouth is desperately slotting over yours, a muffled yelp is all that is able to escape you.

“…fuck, that was cute.”

“Not when you’re here.” Satoru’s voice is full of steady adoration as he watches the arm Suguru has draped over you, your waist cuddled into the black-haired man’s arm as Gojo himself settles a hand on your cheek.

“Shoko said that you both were the only ones to be able to fully heal anything.” So… Why didn’t they? Why keep this painful reminder?

There’s a beat of silence that passes; and the air changes, tenser, hesitatant and a swallow of doubt.

Did you say something wrong? You’re starting to upset yourself as your hands still on his chest. “You don’t have to answer if—“

“I suppose I lacked confidence.” His eyes close as he brings your hand up to his face, lightly kissing your fingers. It’s unusual; seeing the Gojo Satoru lying next to you quiet, shaken, with a trembling hand that goes to desperately clutch at yours.

“I didn’t believe in myself enough to remember.” It’s a bane, his existence. Something he’s realized at the mercy of time. There’s nothing fulfilling about being ‘the strongest’ if there’s no one beside you. Though, he will be able to handle it, to power through it all, through anything.

But at what cost? If he already lost you; if he lost Geto Suguru… What will become of him? Why does he keep this lowly mark on him that will only flay his mind with torture and distress?

Because it has you. It has you— Inscribed into the affliction, lived on through the searing burn it gives him sometimes.

He’s only human, even if born with power to rival the gods. Age will catch up to him, jamming his thoughts and evaporating the swirling blue of his youth away.

So even if his precious blue memories were broken beyond recognition with time, this unsightly scar that scalded his skin— As long as it was proof that you existed, he wouldn’t forget about it.

A novelty that had yet to wear off. It almost brings a tear to his eye how poetic he thinks he is; he wonders what Suguru thinks. It was never discussed between them; more like a silent contract they’ve subjected themselves to every night as they indulged in each other’s presence in the days without you.

A chuckle leaves his lips as he breathes out the next few words. It’s kind of funny, humorous to him that he gets to say them now, the words he had been trying to formulate for the nights that lost you.

“I love you.” And he’d say it for as many times as you want— As many lives as you and Suguru can continue to exist.

I love you I love you I love you I love you—

It’s in these moments that Gojo Satoru realizes how much weaker he is than he thinks, how the warmth of your blood sparks against your skin, how the distance of your pigments are finally gone. How the shine of your eyes still persist even after all this time.

So don’t leave again. Don’t.

“For me— I guess I didn’t want to change.” Suguru’s soothing voice is breathed into your ears as the soft whisper is audible enough for all three to hear. He finds it comparable to a brand, a morbid reminder of their failure, and at the same time— Of you. Would you call it selfish or nonsensical if he said this was only one such proof of their love?

Geto Suguru likes to think he took you for granted. To wallow in what he lost, what he failed to save, what he couldn’t do, even when struck with grief and anguish and terrible anger.

Is it an easy thing to say? Or is it a difficult thing to do? He can’t decide; Not when the act is to accept the fact that you had gone without them. The undefined and unknown seeped into him, a lack of words that only left him holding onto smoldering feelings.

He was lost, listless and blank, steeped in days that bloomed him into despair if it wasn’t for the glowing hope that allowed him to hang on in the form of Gojo Satoru.

“But it shouldn’t matter now, right?” His nose buries itself deeper into the crook of your neck as he feels you here. It almost scares him to get used to this.

In the time you were gone, it is painful how much things had been subject to change, how they all couldn’t stay the same as it was back in those nostalgic summers.

“I’m…” Speechless. You don’t know what to say as these two men nuzzle further into you, their holds getting tighter, wanting— Almost protectively. “Sorry…”

“Don’t be.”

“Whaddya apologizing for?”

You nearly want to cry at the way they’re so dismissive of their own past. “For making you think back to those times.”

“It’s really nothing,” Suguru closes his eyes as he breathes in the scent of your hair, the loveliness of your skin against his. “You’re here now.”

He answers for the both of them when he says that line.

There is no use for yesterday, no point of crying for what that was lost. So, let them love you and each other until the end of this time, and let them do it again in the next life all over again.

Because it’s odd, an enigma— With how your hands have always been warmer than theirs.

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