#bullet the squirrel | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ipegchangbin · 5 months

Text

— not jisung’s, but yours

sub!jisung x dom!reader | 2.7k words

🏷️ cnc to dubcon. boypussy!jisung. smut. some fluff. porn, no plot. petnames “baby” and “mommy,” vibrators, squirting, dacryphilia, overstimulation, pain play, casual to intense sex, pretty boypussy. 📝 this is for @meivida, my fellow boypussy enjoyer! full and explicit version of header art is available on twitter. mwa mwa enjoy it mei ;))

18+ only. minors do not interact.

there are two things that you need to use and can’t simply let go to waste: your lonely little vibrator and your boyfriend’s pretty cunt.

it’s a boring afternoon and you think of which one to use first.

the longer you stare at jisung, whose legs are daintily crossed over the other as he sits beside you on the couch, you think harder and harder about how cute he looks.

he looks comically small against the wide frame of the couch, huddled in a corner, fiddling with his phone.

your bullet vibrator is in the drawer next to him. you figure that it’s best to play with what’s in front of you first, that the device can wait for you later.

it would be so fun to play with his pussy, right then and there, no pressure. so, that’s what you suggest, letting the words roll off your tongue with a cadence of nonchalance that catches jisung off guard.

“what?!” jisung asks with wide eyes, shocked beyond belief. “you want to what?”

you simply nod. “you can just stay on your phone if you’re busy, no need to moan or anything. i just want to touch it. may i?”

an audible gulp leaves jisung and he looks extra cute this way: blushing, unsure, cheeks puffed up like a squirrel in front of headlights.

you wait patiently for the response and that’s when your boyfriend notices a glint in your eyes. it’s sharp and intimidating compared to your relaxed body and neutral tone. he’s not shy of his pussy, you two have fucked many times before, but he’s extra shy of you now.

all you’ll do is touch his pussy here and there. lick it and tease it. he doesn’t have to respond. it’s nothing sexually serious.

“fine,” jisung mutters, but you can hear the slight curiosity in it.

a wide grin graces your face and it’s simultaneously the prettiest and hottest thing jisung has ever seen. it isn’t long before you inch forward, holding his milky smooth legs apart by his knees.

the simple action already makes jisung’s heart race. he’s free to react, free to not react, do anything while his pretty partner goes to town with his pussy. fortunately for him, his partner is you, but unfortunately for his cunt, it quivers easily at the prospect of being touched by you.

when your fingers grace his pretty panties with the most casual touch, he instinctively clenches, allowing his naturally wet cunt to coat itself more.

jisung shuts his eyes for a second before refocusing on his phone as a distraction — even if your delicate touch distracts him.

you push the body of his underwear to the side, revealing the sight you’ve been craving to see: his cunt is glistening, days fresh from a shave, clit peeking slightly out of his outer skin as if it’d been shy yet stimulated enough.

jisung seems to sink further into the sofa. you have to giggle at how adorable your boyfriend is.

you lean down to kiss his clit lightly, making him wiggle in his seat at the action. he’s still typing away at a document on his phone, no noise escaping his pursed lips, but he’s blushing like crazy and his legs habitually buckle inwards at the knees.

it doesn’t stop you from planting featherlight pecks on his pussy. his clit protrudes more and more, stiffening slightly from the stimulation, while his hole clenches to keep his wetness in.

you pull your face away and jisung looks down on you curiously.

he looks as if he’s about to ask a question and you can hear it in his small voice all before it turns into a yelp — you pulled away to pull his panties down, hooking your fingers around the fabric and yanking it downwards in a swift motion that shocks him.

“sorry ji,” you neutrally say as your cheek leans on his inner thigh, admiring his completely bare pussy. your finger finds its way running up and down his folds, feeling his pretty plump skin quivering under your light touch. you continue petting it at a pace that you don’t bother to keep up with. after all, you just want to touch it.

there’s nothing too sexual about this until one of your fingers is inside him and jisung moans.

it’s sudden yet it immediately puts your boyfriend into that familiar inescapable trance. you stretch him open ever so slightly that the touch leaves him in an unbreakable spell of just nothing but neediness — yet it’s just not enough. he knows that you didn’t have that much intent behind your actions initially but he can’t help it. he loses himself and moans loudly, lolling his head back and abandoning his phone at the side of the couch.

“b-baby, please, i’m so sensitive,” he pants, “so good…”

you kiss his inner thigh while admiring his fascinating burst of sensitivity. “i’m not doing anything though.”

“y-your finger’s inside, baby…you said you’d just touch.”

“can’t i touch you inside too?” you look up at him as you respond, and that’s when something dark hits you.

the only other sight that you find as pretty as his cunt is his blissed-out face, his slightly toned tummy and chest rising and falling from breathing heavily. he’s writhing slightly, hands settling on covering his face. his legs want to buckle in but he has to stop since you’re in between them, and you think it’s cute.

it’s adorable and it also touches something deep down in your dark mind. the intimidating glint in your eyes from earlier turns into a sinister gaze that pierces through jisung in the same way another finger penetrates his tight cunt.

“baby!” he moans again, this time sounding more like a cry, and it sparks something within you.

within the dark and greedy thoughts circle and come to a point, only illuminated by a lightbulb of an idea that pops in your head as jisung moans for you.

you could use your boyfriend’s cunt and your lonely little vibrator at the same time.

you curl your fingers against his sweet spot, locking him where he is as he shakes underneath you. his glazed eyes follow your free hand as it quickly pulls the drawer, skillfully finding the device as if it were force of habit.

a still-fully-charged vibrator in your hand was the least of your boyfriend’s expectations.

“baby…what are you doing?” he tightened his hole around your digits. perhaps you were going to use it on yourself.

memories of a few wild nights ago flashed before his mind, the memory teasing him as he remembered how fucking great it was to watch you play with yourself while he was restrained. you, his baby—no, his mommy, looked too good with the vibrator. seeing it again has him whining and drooling lightly.

excitement riled him up, the familiar feeling spreading through his tummy, making him gush wetness on your fingers.

until you turned it on and stuck it to his clit instead.

“a-ah—baby! fuck, holy shit, b-baby—” jisung writhed and twitched under you, jolting from the sudden vibrations. “baby, stop, not on me—”

you curled your fingers deep inside his tight little cunt.

“what do you mean ‘baby?’ address me properly or i won’t let you cum.”

panicked, jisung shook his head. “n-no…”

“no? no? do you think you have a choice, dumb boy?”

as he was about to protest, you dug the vibrator up against the grooves of his sensitive little clit, stimulating each and every single nerve at once while the toy sat at its highest and most consistent drilling speed.

“baby stop! stop, stop, stop, b-baby!”

“told you to stop calling me your baby.” this is all too much for him, the sensations leaving him a wiggling mess, fighting against the couch for some relief. no matter how much he shook, the sharp pains of your fast fingering and the bullet vibrator sent him into overdrive.

delirious as he is, the least he could do was to commit the mistake of calling you his “baby” over and over again. broken mantras recited in between moans yet you grew more and more impatient, drilling your digits in and out of his now-gushing pussy as he couldn’t seem to call you his “mommy.”

opposite of his baby, you were mommy — the one he always masturbates to, the one he finds mean, the one who punishes him, the one who is senseless to him. “baby” is the term of endearment, “mommy” is the name that breaks his spine from the icy chills that it gives him.

you’re far from his baby now.

“answer me,” you said.

“but—f-fuck, stop! stop! it—ah, ‘s not supposed to b-be there! ‘s yours!”

lightning strikes throughout your nervous system at his words. the toy is yours, so is he. jisung has to accept that he’s your toy too, and you can play with both.

just because it was your tiny machine doesn’t mean it could be lonely. you bought it not just for your own use, but you thought of using it on your pathetic, anime girl-like boyfriend and his juicy little pussy.

“i said answer me.”

“baby—b-b…fuck, mommy!” your fingers slid up to his limit, all the way past his sweet spot, abusing him with an immense physical hurt that makes him cry in a concerning fashion.

but fuck, you’re so addicted to his noises, his compliance, his submission, you can’t help but do it again.

“mommy, mommy, m-mommy! i’m sorry! please, mommy, p-please stop…”

“i’m not stopping.”

press his buttons like they were made to be hurt.

“stop…please…” jisung can feel himself wearing out from writhing so much, his body growing sore from trying to spread his legs apart — it doesn’t help that you pushed his knees down with strong elbows — and his arms felt useless from failed attempts at pushing you away.

he’s in pain but it’s so fucking good to him. his pussy grips your fingers as they slide in and out of him at a merciless pace. his cunt’s lips are glistening from an incoming orgasm that somehow hurts so sharply each time it pulses and makes itself known.

“th-that’s yours, mommy, it’s not—ahn! ‘s not mine!” jisung cries, “not on me, n-not on me—mommy! stop!”

again, he’s right; the toy’s not his. again, he’s wrong; it belongs to his pussy.

severe aches pulsate through his cunt yet it doesn’t stop gushing wetness with each thrust and curl of your fingers. the vibrator makes a heat pool in his belly that makes him want to release as he loses self control by the second.

“gonna cum…don’t want mommy…i don’t want mommy…”

something breaks in your brain as he mutters that quietly.

“why won’t you want me? want your pretty little ‘baby?’ even after you won’t fucking listen to me, you selfish boy?” each word leaves your lips as if arrows shot precisely out of a quick-slinging bow.

pathetic little jisung is unable to dodge your threats. “b-but this is yours, baby’s toy! not mine! it’s yours—“

“whose toy?” at his mistake, you press the vibrator against the peak of his clit and it audibly stings.

“b—mhmph! it’s mommy’s!”

“correct. and since it’s mine, i use it the way i want to, yeah?” you almost laugh at yourself and at your boyfriend’s wide, teary eyes. he’s genuinely crying from the pain and yet you can see the hearts in his pupils. he’s addicted to a vice called you and he’s all yours to be dealt with.

whines escape his lips as he starts gushing even more of a clear, sweet wetness. “oh fuck…y-yes, mommy…”

“good. i’ll play with both my toys if i want to.”

“i-i’m…so close…baby—” jisung gulps thickly at his mistake. “m-mommy, gonna cum, gonna cum, please stop, s-stop!”

there’s a real fear in his eyes from being punished for wanting to cum. from calling you his baby. from asking to stop.

“why would i stop?”

“i’ll cum! ‘m gonna squirt! it’s too much!”

giggles leave your chest that are as dark as thick smoke. “there’s no such thing as too much, dumb boy. need you to squirt all over me.”

“but it hurts! hurts so much, can’t take it anymore!”

eyes meet between the both of you and jisung’s wet cunt clenches hard at the sight if your grin. the overstimulation hurts, the usually warm orgasm suddenly feeling too hot inside him. you only have two digits inside him yet he’s already so fucking tight and the small lonely vibrator feels like a death trap on his unfolded clit.

“where does it hurt?” you curl and unravel your fingers at an incredibly fast rhythm for a moment, your nails intentionally digging at his limit. “here?”

“fuck!” jisung shrieks from the pain. “fuck, no! please stop!”

you abuse his cunt in every single way, kissing and biting the inner parts of his thighs at the points where they are most sensitive.

cries get stuck in your boyfriend’s throat. “i’m begging, mommy, m-mommy…” he sobs this time, letting tears roll down his face as his hardened nipples jiggle from his heaving chest. “g-gonna—ah—gonna…cum…”

“then cum. squirt, boy.”

pressure builds quick and, as if on command or by pure blissful accident, jisung starts screaming and squirting loads.

waves of sweet gushing roll one after the other as he bucks his hips upwards and shakes. his head is rolled all the way to the back of the couch. quick and harsh throbs radiate through his clit as his sloppy cunt squirts. the pressure is intense and you feel it against your skin, but your fingers never leave his tight hole even as he’s screaming your name and wetting your entire arm.

one last gush of his pussy leaves after what seems to be a minute straight of him losing all his senses to a harsh orgasm. it’s only then that you turn the vibrator off and set it down on his wet mess. his hips fall down on the couch with a loud thud and his body seems to shut off.

you lick his pussy and his entire body rattles. the rapid shaking subsides when jisung musters up the last of his energy to look at you, satisfied, licking the cum on your lips and arm.

he’s so fucking sweet.

“did you like it, sungie?”

jisung pants, unable to catch his breath. it takes him far too many seconds to process what you asked, his mind still hazy and cloudy from the massive orgasm. he literally can’t think of anything but you.

he nods his head and drops it to his side from exhaustion. “thank you mommy,” he weakly mutters. “i love you…”

you prop yourself up and away from his legs and watch them finally close daintily as you cuddle next to him. he nuzzles his head directly onto your chest and rubs his nose against your chin as an instinctive yearning for comfort.

“mhmm. i love you too sungie. don’t worry, your baby’s here.” as twisted as it is, your sweet smile returns as if nothing had happened.

as if you weren’t being a monster on his clit.

“my baby…” a relieved sigh escapes him. “i’m…’m scared of mommy…”

you chuckle. you’re his baby now as much as he is yours. “but you like my toys, right?”

“y-yeah…but mommy’s so scary…” his cheeks puff up and he looks like the little squirrel boy that you fell in love with. “mommy’s a meanie. i like my baby more.”

his plump cheek plops on your chest and he reaches for your wet hand. the sight of his essence amazes him, but more so, every curve of your hand gives sparkles in his eyes.

“b-but i…” jisung clears his throat as it became scratchy from moaning endlessly. “i like every part of you. my baby, my m-mommy…you. you’re always so good to me.”

he licks his essence off your finger and his cheeks heat up at the taste. “i-i can’t stop loving you, baby.”

“can’t stop loving you either, ji. you’re my good boy.”

you lightly pet his pussy as a simple reassuring gesture, but instead, jisung’s entire lower half jolts. he lets out a dragged out whine as well.

maybe you forget how sensitive he is.

“sorry my sungie! couldn’t help it.”

jisung giggles lightly in response. “it’s okay, baby.”

playing with your two toys at once seemed worth it: your vibrator is a little less lonely now, and your boyfriend’s pretty cunt is well spent.

cleaning the wet couch is a worry for later.

taglist: @toastyseungmo @hobihearteu @biddes-enthusiast @snow-pegasus @subby-kpop @myrandomthoughtsandhobbies @eggielix @turnipfizzle @hanniecheesecake @hyunebunz @laylasbunbunny @ppiri-bahng @he-they-heathen @chriscentric @svintsandghosts @starryoong @bbyquokka @abiaswreck @suengmi @fun-fanfics @fairylouist + @compersian @fruitcakebin @jisvngc0re1

love u mei ^_^ again, explicit version of header art is now up on twt.

thank you for reading ! consider reblogging and leaving feedback if you loved my work 💗 artwork and writing © ipegchangbin. no reposts and translations.

#skz smut #sub!skz #sub!jisung #sub!han jisung #dom!reader #stray kids smut #jisung smut #han jisung smut #💬 z is writimg #🗯 z is drawimg

912 notes · View notes

thegnomelord · 7 months

Text

CH 1: With a Spark It Starts Just Like It Ended

CW: NSFW Blood, gore, cannon typical violence, M reader but can be read as GN, Mage reader, Monster 141 AU, reader is described as having thick fucked up arms.

AO3 3.7k words, more of an intro to what's to come lol.

Old man Abdul had lived a good life. A harsh one. But a good one.

He was amongst the first to grab a gun and raise the fight against the Russians, risking life and limb for the freedom of Urzikstan even as members of his pack bled and died to artillery fire and noxious gas. And he alone had survived to see his country set free of tyranny and chose to stay in the military long after his hair had greyed.

And how was he rewarded for his service?

With a 'promotion' to guard the basement of a conference hall. They even called it the 'Peace House' as if that made his position grander, though in his humble opinion the only peaceful thing happening within the halls above was the lack of physical violence.

"Hey, did you fall asleep on me old man?" Taim, a bright eyed and gap-toothed human private so young he could've been one of his grandsons, asks as he throws down five playing cards on the floor between them. Royal flush, again.

Old man Abdul's eyes are soft with a glare and he throws down his own cards, already knowing he'd lost. "Go fish." He huffs, leaning back into the chair they'd been able to squirrel away.

It was embarrassing to think that boredom could torture him more than the Russians did, but they were only a few hours into their shift and he was already thinking of biting a bullet. Chances were they'd stay down here long after the diplomats up top finished bickering about who knows what...

"Hey," Taim perks up, and from the few weeks he's known him, Abdul knows the glint in his brown eyes heralds something stupid. "How about whoever loses this round takes a shot from your leg?"

He is proven correct.

"How about I throw you into a minefield so we can match?" Old man Abdul responds, his tail wagging from side to side. His tail looks more at home on a rat than any werewolf, the fur there an accidental casualty of a Russian fire mage's spell that had taken his leg off. The prosthetic leg only fitting on his human body isn't nearly as insulting as the warding totem they'd given him to protect against lethal magic after his leg had gone flying.

Taim gulps and holds his hands up. "There's no need for that sir." He quickly adds, clearing his throat and reaching to the floor to pick up their cards and shuffle them.

Taim's warding totem slips out from beneath his jacket, but it's different from old man Abdul's. Not in appearance, with the same materials every mage will make theirs differently, but in feel. It feels different...wrong.

Eyes narrowing he reaches out and holds the piece of faintly glowing rock between his claws. Heat radiates into his fingers, the magic inside pulsing in a steady even thrum like a machine instead of beating like a heartbeat; like something not quite alive.

Abdul had been in combat long enough to know how good a warding totem is with how his body reacts to it.

The shit one he'd been given barely gets the remaining fur on his tail to bristle.

Taim's makes his skin want to melt off.

"Where did you get this?" Abdul asks, tail curling up as he lets go of the totem with disgust clear on his face. "That rock could probably protect you from L3 mage without cracking, maybe even L4." Call him paranoid, but a private getting a totem to protect him from mages rarer than unicorns doesn't make any sense.

"Oh, that-" The young man clears his throat, the totem laying flat against his chest like an insult to life. "Came from up top a few days ago, guess all those terror attacks spooked command and they want to keep us normal people safe." He realizes his words and quickly adds. "-not that I'm calling you not normal or anything sir, it's just that-"

"-You're squishier than me, yes, I know." Old man Abdul rolls his eyes, leaning back into his chair with a huff.

Taim gives a nervous little giggle, scratching at his curly dark hair. "No offence sir. It's just...you know."

"We all look out for our kinfolk first." Old man Abdul sighs, going to wave him off.

His pointy ear twitches and immediately he's jumping to his feet when his sensitive hearing picks up the sound of the elevator mechanism running. No one is supposed to come down at this time, and Abdul already has his rifle raised to point at the elevator doors by the time Taim is able to get to his own feet. The old werewolf doesn't even need to say anything for the young man to stand on opposite side of him, they work together well, both guns aimed at the person revealed by the opening elevator doors.

It's just the janitor.

Taim lets out a small breath and lowers his gun, relaxing as the janitor gives them a small greeting both of them have to strain their ears to hear as a face mask muffles their words.

"That was a bit embarrassing." Taim chuckles weakly, nodding his own greeting and taking a step back so the janitor can push the heavy cart past them. Abdul notes the janitor's hands are thick and large, the veins poking out beneath latex gloves. Murky water sloshes inside the mop bucket, the trash bag filled to the brim and budging.

It's just a janitor.

But like an annoying tick on his ass, something doesn't let old man Abdul relax.

There's a buzz in the back of his mind like the one he'd get when he was being watched, and when he catches sight of the janitor's eyes beneath the wide-brimmed cap that buzzing stops; Instead replaced with a flash sense of wrongness in his bones and the feeling of tar inside his heart and an indescribable scent — like stale beer and burnt grass and deep dark rot — it has his fingers moving to the trigger before the sight of magic melting through latex can make the short trip from his eyes to his brain—

Glowing lines spring into thin air to form magic circles before their eyes.

The warding totems shatter.

'Pop' goes a head.

Both bodies drop to the ground.

"Could have told me there was a dog." Your words scrape against your throat like shards of glass from the disuse, melted latex stretching into long strands as you take off the cleaner gloves and throw them away, your fingers steaming and glowing hot with mana before you hide them away in tactical gloves.

"I-" Taim tries to say but his voice fails him, eyes and mind still blinded by the harsh glare of magical fire.

"Save it." You cut him off, pulling open the lip of the trash bag to dig out your facemask helmet. It's both a full face helmet and a gasmask, scratched up from years of use but still able to protect your head while keeping you anonymous. A shame it can't filter out the stench of burnt flesh, but you've gotten used to it.

Taim's vision clears and the moment his eyes settle on the charred remains of Abdul's head— the hollowed out skull where concentrated flame had burned a hole straight through everything in it's path, the flesh and bone charred black —he's scrambling away as fast as his feet can push him, the shattered remains of your warding totem crumbling beneath his fingers. Bile rises in his throat and he coughs when he breaths in, but his stomach is thankfully empty so he ends up dry heaving.

"On your feet." Your words are hard to understand under your gasmask, but you don't need to raise your voice. The tone you use has him scrambling to his feet in seconds.

"I- I- yes sir!" Taim manages to stutter out, doesn't even have to fake his fear as he stands at attention. He watches you reach into the dirty water to pull out a Handheld Personal Computer and shake off the residual droplets to ensure it still works before putting it in your pocket.

"When is the next check in?" You ask, reaching further into the trash bag to grasp the handhold on the heavy gas canister hidden beneath office trash. You pull it out without much effort, setting it carefully on the ground so you can recheck that the release valve is intact.

"20 minutes sir." Taim responds and he doesn't need to know Arabic to know what's inside the canister when a grinning skull is printed on the metal.

You let out a low sound, and Taim tries not to peer too closely at you. Sometimes he wonders what face a person who burns people alive without a single second of hesitation could have, but then you look at him and he sees that unnatural glow of mana in your eyes behind the darkened lenses of the helmet and he's glad he's met with the emotionless visage of the mask rather than the one beneath it.

"You have 10 to get out before Hell opens up." You say, standing back up and picking up the canister without complaint. "Use the emergency tunnels, don't spook the VIPs."

Taim is human, not sensitive to magic like the monsters are, but even he can feel the latent mana in your veins that strengthens your body. Like maggots at the back of his skull. It makes a second round of bile rise to his throat. "Yes sir."

You pay close attention to him until he disappears down the corridor before going the opposite way. Alone, it is easier to calm the lingering heat in your veins until the eternal engine of mana in your chest fizzles down to embers like a sleeping beast. Can't have your mana mess with sensitive electronics, even if that does leave you exposed on the cams (as if there's anyone alive to watch them)

"Ifrit, status?" The small radio in your ear crackles.

"Moving to the target, encountered and neutralized a wolf." You answer, taking sharp turns as you follow a path you'd memorized beforehand. "No other monsters to report."

You were lucky to run into one down in the bowels of the conference hall instead of at the front gate. Otherwise your espionage mission would have turned into a frontal assault. Not that Khaled would have minded, you were getting paid to send a loud statement after all.

"Good." You don't need to see his face to know he's smirking, your employer wasn't a huge fan of subhumans. "Continue to the objective."

You respond in affirmative, coming to a heavy metal door, locked with a passcode and even a palm scanner; It's all a valiant effort to keep sensitive data safe, but it may as well be cardboard to you. You summon another circle, this time right on the door, biting your tongue. You're not good with 'subtle' but you haven't forgotten what Taurus or Sierra had taught you; first pushing a bit of loose ash magic between the large atoms making up the metal to disrupt the bonds, then a single pulse of fire ignites the volatile ash and has the entire bottom half crumbling into red hot shards.

Molten slag drips down to the floor when you duck down under the remaining half of the door to find yourself in the server room. Steam rises when the cold air meets your hot skin, but you hardly notice as you first head to the ventilation system at the back of the room. It's dark, but you don't bother turning on the lights, the subtle mana in your eyes enough to give you primitive night vision.

"Ifrit to Alpha-Actual, connecting the payload right now." You say, setting the canister down. The ventilation collects the air from the server room to push it through the entire building and then outside, so all you have to do is melt a hole through the exit pipe until it's big enough for the hose on the canister to fit snugly inside.

"And the files?" Khaled's voice sounds in your ear once you're finished.

"Going now." Standing back up you head to the central server. Taking out the HPC you hook it up to the mainframe, watching the screen until it shows 'connection secure'. "I'm connected."

"Copy that." Your eyes scan the cracked screen (which you broke less than a week after getting it), seeing the file transfer start before Khaled even finishes speaking and trying to read and memorize the names of dozens the files but they change too quickly. "File transfer ETA 5 minutes. Sit tight."

Giving confirmation you keep an eye on the doorway. Though you are positioned in such a way that you'd see the shadow of someone coming in before they see you, years of being behind enemy lines and acting as a friendly to your foes has taught you to be careful. Especially when you can't use more than a smidgeon of mana without frying the entire server system.

You are lucky that no-one comes, the remaining guards too busy guarding the diplomats above you to check what's beneath their noses. While waiting you access the public stream to watch the peace talks, setting the sound to the lowest possible setting so you can keep an eye on the diplomats in case you need a change of plan.

"Got the files, you're clear to finish." You're moving before Khaled can finish speaking, leaving the HPC to hang by the cord from the server. "Oh, and remember: Loud."

"You get what you pay for sir." Kneeling down next to the gas canister you check to ensure your gas mask is firmly on and breathing in deeply; It restricts your breathing and makes muscles work harder, but your body is so used to it that it feels like coming back home.

"Letting the gas out now." Even with the gas mask you still hold your breath when you open the valve, the gas hissing as it escapes the canister, the fan right next to you helping push it through the system. You know there's not enough gas to reach the diplomats on the top floor, it's part of the plan, so when the gas pitters out you cast another circle inside the pipe.

The servers around you flicker meekly and crackle with electricity when you use your mana fully; Something intense and suffocating burns behind your sternum for just a second before liquid mana is rushing down your veins into your hands and coming out through the magic circle as copious amounts of ash.

The rotating fan right next to you spews some of your ash right back at you, flooding the server room in magic that has long since accepted your body enough not to hurt you. But even your seasoned stomach feels tight when you breathe in the mixture of ash and toxic gas, the chemicals turning your magic a nasty shade of green, and you make a mental note to change the filter when you're done with the op otherwise the toxified sediment collecting in there will poison you for months.

You can hear the diplomats begin to cough over the livestream in the HPC, but it all feels so distant when you shift and feel cold dog tags press against your burning chest. They're light like a noose around your neck, yet the absence of weight mocks you in a way their owners no longer can.

There's a familiar sting in your bones when your mana reservoir begins dwindling, but it's easy to push through it until the engine in your chest goes into overdrive from the stress the magic puts on your body. You only stop when the burning mana in your veins starts burning small holes in the sleeves of the janitor jacket, revealing bits of your mage marked skin.

Stopping the flow of ash your hands find themselves in your pocket, taking out a lighter. It's one of those old zippo lighters, the exterior is rusted from years of action and numerous initials are scratched into the metal, but somehow it still functions; It's the strange thing about it— the more you use it, the longer it lasts. Stop, and it dies.

"It's a bit like you, firebug."

Absentmindedly you trace the scratched initials in the metal, trying to ignore the hollowness in your chest when the screams beyond the smokescreen of ash start sounding familiar.

"Going dark." You say to them, flicking it open.

One spark is all it takes.

. . .

With Makarov having gone underground like a wanker after his escape from the gulag, Price and Laswell had been stuck with their heads in mountains of paperwork searching for the bastard. Price had known he'd be in for a headache the moment he agreed to let the boys watch a live football game between England and Scotland, but he reasoned they'd all been working hard enough to earn even a small break.

At the very least it gave them all a moment of reprieve from the stress of a possible world war.

It didn't stop Soap from being a bloody muppet.

"Oh fockin' 'ell!" Soap roars and jumps to his feet, growling at the teli where a ref held a red card above her head. "That should've been a yellow! Fock, one more eye and the ref's a right cyclops." He waves obscenities at the teli as if the ref can see them, his tail hitting Gaz every time it wagged.

"Soap!" Gaz groans and stretches one black wing to smack the werewolf over the head with his long flight feathers to stop him blocking the screen.

Though Gaz's wings are hollow, the smack still hurts. "Ow, what's that for?" Soap groans, rubbing the back of his head.

"At least take your defeat with a wee bit of dignity." Gaz smirks, folding his wings.

"Bold assumption he has any." Ghost mutters next to Price, making him chuckle.

“Oh ho! I’ll get me dignity when the bloody ref gets off 'er knees an’ stops blowing the entire game.” Soap turns to playfully snap his teeth at Gaz. "And what's tha-"

The football match cuts out, replaced with a news segment.

"-Oh, what the fock?" Soap grows quiet when the newscaster begins speaking.

"We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you breaking news. As we speak, the conference hall in Al Mazra, where diplomats from over 40 countries had come to discuss peace and trade agreements with the newly reinstated Urzikstan government, burns in the flames of another terrorist attack."

The footage shifts to a drone filming a bird's eye view shot of violent flames spewing from every hole and window to engulf the entire three story building in consuming fire, heavy plumes of smoke rising into the sky like a maw of a hungering beast to spew a storm of ash and cinders down to the ground. The clouds of ash have a sick green undertone to them.

"Shit." Gaz sucks in a breath.

"Mokarov's done hiding." Ghost notes, leaning in to look closely at the screen with narrowed eyes.

"How the fock did we miss this?" Soap asks the question in their minds, turning to look at Price. "This popped up like bloody whack-a-mole."

At that same time Price's phone rings. The dragon quickly fishes it out of his pocket, seeing Laswell's name as the caller ID before he picks it up while the reporter drawls on.

"Price, are you-"

"Yeah, I'm watching the teli." He cuts her off, knowing what she's going to say. Distantly he can hear the same news report sounding on her end.

"Authorities warn citizens to vacate the immediate area as toxic gas has been detected in the air. Military forces are already enroute, but the prospects for the diplomats survival are nonexistent."

Price's draconic eyes focus on the screen when the footage shifts to that inside the conference hall. Two diplomats argue about something Price can't begin to try and untangle, his focus on one man near the back who begins coughing. More follow suit, and even over the screen Price can tell the signs of toxic gas inhalation by the way more diplomats begin wheezing and coughing wetly.

"This isn't the Russians." Kate says after Price has put her on speaker.

"How come? Looks like some terrorist shite Makarov would pull." Johnny says, his tail curled up and the tip wagging occasionally as he pays attention to the screen.

Seconds later plumes of blackish-green smog erupt from the vents above the diplomats, spewing out with such force it knocks the the camera and the man behind it down to the ground. Ash Magic, Price realizes when he sees smoldering cinders drift almost peacefully in the all consuming fog. Seconds later something causes a spark and the volatile ash magic explodes.

"Ash mage." Ghost grunts, "Just great."

"Makarov doesn't use mages." Price says, scratching his beard.

"No, but Al-Asad does." Kate's voice drifts through the silent room as they watch several APC's arrive on the scene, armored soldiers exiting. But without any monsters who can stomach the heat like Price and with the fog of ash so thick it could be cut with a knife, the best they can do is secure the perimeter. "The CIA intercepted his broadcast before it went public, this is just the start."

Gaz hops off the couch, crossing the small distance to tap one claw at the screen. "What is that?" He asks. Seemingly hearing him, the drone camera focuses on where the main entrance of the building had been.

A dark silhouette of a person can be seen in the flames, growing darker and more refined until finally a featureless helmet emerges from the flames, a deep glow emanating from behind the lenses. It's followed by a body, clothes burnt away in some parts but the flesh beneath unharmed. Price can tell immediately it's a mage by the state of the arms — even from far away it's easy to tell the mage marks, the skin turned rough and dark like cooled magma, veins brimming with volatile mana.

Before the soldiers can fire a single bullet you lift one hand up, the dark mage marks turning to bright like fresh lava when mana flows from your chest to your fingers. A magic circle etches itself into the ground in an instant, so large the surrounding buildings fall into it's perimeter.

And with a second motion of your hand everything erupts into an all consuming cloud of ash.

Laswell's voice rings out. "That's Khaled's new attack dog."

Price and Ghost share a look, both know what will happen long before some nervous soldier caught in the ash cloud pulls the trigger. The cloud of ash explodes the second a spark is created in a weapon's chamber, plunging everything into chaos.

Great, a new wanker to worry about.

Price sighs, brows furrowing. "That's trouble all right."

Tag list: @resident-cryptid @diejager @lovingtyrantkitten @lieutnt

Masterlist <- Chapter 1 (you are here) -> Chapter 2

You can imagine the helmet however you want, but it's in the style of the Devtac Ronin helmet.

#centerpieces of the hoard #cod mw2 #x reader #male reader #top male reader #captain john price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #fanfiction #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #cod x male reader #cod x reader #monster 141 au #monster cod au #not betaed #next chapter coming soon

583 notes · View notes

rippersz · 1 month

Text

𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Zombie Apocalypse AU w/ Gwendoline Christie characters; (~9.2K words)

(Featuring: Larissa Weems, Brienne of Tarth, Jane Murdstone, Anna from WTM, Lucifer Morningstar, Miranda Hilmarson, Captain Phasma, and Jan Stevens) x Reader

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

It started about two months ago. Russia went down first, then Mongolia. China. India. And in the midst, Finland, Sweden, Norway, the United Kingdom, down to the very southern tip of Africa. The Ocean is no killer of disease, frozen or not, and encouraged it to ravage South and North America, then Canada and Greenland. Until every place was overrun by dead freaks. Stinking corpses and moving gore.

They traveled in herds, packs, whatever it was that people wanted to call them—murders, perhaps—and shuffled aimlessly across any land they could find. Eager for food, for sustenance, to fill the empty bellies that would never be full. Gorging themselves on creatures like you.

Officially ‘the other’. Officially ‘the enemy’. The sole survivor of a good group that was attacked some days ago because an idiot forgot to shoot one of the creatures in the head. And by sunrise, it was over. Screams echoed into the silence and you soon found yourself alone… running for your life with a duffle bag over your shoulder (slowing you down) and a gun in your hand (low on ammo). Trekking through thick woods in a heavily-infested Vermont town was not a good idea, but you had no choice. The house you were camping in was left behind, ravaged by bullets that you put into your friend’s heads, and every other spot nearby had been looted. You couldn’t move all of those bodies yourself. You couldn’t do much yourself. There was no army background attached to your name, no conspiracy theorist survival-obsessed gene in your body, and not much training in fighting either. All you could do was run. Run and run and run until you were miles away and your lungs started to burn. Not the most useful skill considering most people could run, but if you were quick enough to speed past the shuffling bastards, you were quick enough to make it to safety.

—

Safety…what a joke. A shit joke. A joke that was, quite honestly, the worst joke to ever exist. There was no safety. No place, nowhere. You’d been walking for a few hours, hearing nothing but the forest’s silence, and stumbling over leaves and branches. They ravaged the animals, took them into their mouths like they were people, and ate until there was nothing left. Not even a squirrel, or a fox, and the birds had grown weary of the vast number of hunters (both dead and undead) that found themselves in the woods looking for food. So no birds either. And no houses. And you were pretty sure, as you paused to catch your breath, that you were doomed.

Only a few bullets left and your aim was never perfect. One knife tucked into your waistband but it was getting uncomfortable, digging into your skin, and caked in blood. Creature blood. Everything smelled horrible. Like burning flesh or dirty meat, raw and soiled. You probably didn’t smell too good either. It wasn’t like the world still worked without the people; only a few places had running water and you couldn’t trust the creeks and rivers. The undead enjoyed walking through shallow water, knowing somehow that there’d probably be prey nearby.

But you hadn’t seen anything in a while. A long while. A suspiciously long while...

Everything was green and brown around you, whisked by wind and soil, and you stood out like blood against snow. The last thing you saw was yesterday. Ever since? Not a single flash of undead flesh.

You swallowed, throat embarrassingly dry, and tapped your fingers against your thigh.

It wasn’t good when everything was still. You were vulnerable, out in the open, and without a good few rounds of bullets to spare. Every muscle and organ in your body screamed for mercy, crying with the effort it took to keep surviving even when you didn’t want to.

You thought about it a few times; gave the gun in your hand a long look on several occasions, but ultimately decided that ‘opting out’ was only a last resort. Somehow, even amidst the chaos and hatred and swill of humanity’s nature, you managed to hold hope. And often wondered where it would get you. How it would get you. While you were sleeping? While you were already wounded? Fighting off the hands of a loved one? The twist of hope’s rope… would you feel it closing in around your neck? A literal metaphor for the eventual death you’d experience?

Thinking about it gave you a headache.

For where was the point in wondering?

You had no one else. Whatever form of death awaited, it would end up being your fault. Probably because you couldn’t run fast enough. Probably because-

Because-

Wait.

Somewhere behind you, on the right, was a low sound. A hum. The smooth whoosh of something quick. The parting of wind… the low growl of…

“Fuck.”

You shot off in that direction, bag smacking against your shoulder blades, and instantly felt the exhaustion pull at your body again. It lingered like a plague, like the undead disease, and you yearned to fall to your knees - to give in - but it wasn’t the time for that. You had to at least try. You had to at least make it over the hill. Right over the hill. So close but so far. You leaned forward, threw yourself at the ground, and grasped onto gnarled tree roots. The Earth smelled wet with decay, sweet with promise - you huffed against dry leaves. They crunched and scratched at your fingers, eventually crinkling into nothing when your arms worked to drag you up. You probably looked a little mad, scrambling up a steep hill to reach something that probably won’t save you, but there was no other option. The hum grew louder, the quiet was broken, and you only had a few moments to get this right.

“Help!” Your lungs caved around your scream, but the forest swallowed it instantly. Greedy trees with their greedy barks, wanting to keep you hidden from salvation. The hum grew louder. Your fingers grew clammy, sweating and slipping against rough wood.

You’d be bruised to high heaven later, and probably exhausted, but the hum and the growl of an engine meant a road and a road meant civilization and goddammit you just needed to get over the stupid fucking hill.

There was a loud ringing in your ears, nearly deafening, and making your voice sound fuzzy.

“Help! Help!”

Was that you? Were you the one screaming like that? Why couldn’t you be quiet? Those things could have been lurking… wandering nearby… coming up behind you, eager to grasp at your ankles and drag you back down to Hell.

A glance back over your shoulder, aching from the duffle bag, found nothing but blurred terrain and darkened leaves–a symptom of the setting sun. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. If the light went out, you’d be screwed. You couldn’t use the last of your matches and the world went black when evening struck. So there really was no choice. As the growl turned into a roar… there was no choice. Just a little higher- a little more. Your arms pushed, biceps straining against the cotton of your shirt, and your pants threatened to get caught on wayward sticks and tear into rags. The boots on your feet pressed hard against loose rocks, kicking them out of place, and gained just enough ground to push you up - over the ridge. The final stretch. Your chest pushed to the hard dirt and forced a grunt of effort from your tired body; the sound echoed through the woods, through the ground, and through the air that sat above the concrete road in front of you. Hard and vast, grey and long… you looked at it as though it were the holiest of grails, lying just beside it with your arms outstretched, your fingers still pulling at dirtied grass. Soil covered your skin, masked your features, caked beneath your fingernails, and when the roar of the speeding vehicle grew so close you had to close your eyes and wince, you knew raising a hand for help would not be enough. In the shade of the forest’s edge, half draped over the peak of the hill, you were inhuman to other survivors. Your dry mouth opened, your throat croaked, and your legs moved to push you up–closer–just short of the wind that caressed your hair when the car, the truck, ran past you with no second glance. You looked after it, watched it pass, and felt the burn in your heart grow into its own inferno. It licked at your insides, at your desperation, and had you hauling the duffle bag off of your shoulder and out onto the road. It rolled, a shuffling sound, and you followed after it with deep growls of effort and dwindling strength.

“Please,” you wheezed, panting for breath as soon as you staggered up to your feet.

In the distance, the car turned into a disappearing black spec. It drove and drove, out of sight, and you stood there, putting your arms in the air to wave it down and bring it back. To beckon it back. To beg and plead.

“Please please no-,” your voice was soft, weakened by days of rugged survival, “no…” rough and lost to the wind, it dissipated into nothing and you were forced to swallow again.

The thick smell of car exhaust settled against the steaming road. You watched the horizon, tracking the space in the atmosphere where the gold traced into a deep blue, and felt your bones quake beneath your skin. Their final cry. The last hurrah as you watched your future, the tatters of it, drive away from you.

Too late.

You were too late.

And you’d die there, on that road, and they may never come back and find you again in the morning. And your corpse would be chewed upon by undead bastards who would never give you a proper burial. And you’d be just another stupid human that found themselves trampled beneath the stinking feet of the walking dead.

Tears teased your eyes, burning the dry lands of your irises, and you felt the heart in your chest lurch against its cage.

Too late.

You were too late.

You had a duffle bag, a handgun somewhere off to the side, and the clothing on your back. One lasting water bottle, the knife you felt poking your side, and small bags of food that wouldn’t last you long at all. The tent, too, was destroyed by animals the night before. The most you could go was perhaps one more day, but your feet were aching so terribly that each step was a journey within itself. And you couldn’t push yourself to go further. There was no further. There was nothing in the woods and there was nothing beyond the road and you were running on fumes that no longer existed.

But you couldn’t just lie there and take it. You were about to reach over, bending at the waist, to grab your bag. To pull it up over your shoulder and trek on, even though it was pointless. But something stopped you.

Something–a sound–made you freeze.

It was faint. It didn’t sound like the undead, with their discordant groans and disgusting squelches, no… it was far. Getting closer. Closer. The hum and the growl. The purr of a motor. The hiss of pavement.

Your head snapped up, eyes bulging wide as you looked over the horizon to see…. Yes. Yes! Yes, it’s them! The car! A grin pulled at your lips. Halle-fucking-lujah! You felt the anxiety ebb, slowly falling away from your body, as they got closer. The black spec turned into a black blob, then a figure that took shape, and finally you could make out a Vermont license plate and the dirt that stuck to big wheels. Up close, it was a sleek thing, tall and well-built. Midnight black and aside from the splatter on the rubbered wheels, it was polished and clean. The dark paint reflected the bright world around you, turning it into weird warped versions of a faux-paradise. You swallowed at the feel of warmth against your legs, the exhaust from the truck flooding over the smallest sliver of skin around your ankles. Suddenly fearing a changed mind and bad intentions, you stumbled back until your heels pushed against your bag.

Tinted windows stared down at you, menacing and opaque. Not a thing to see behind them, even if you squinted. Nothing moved, nothing jumped, and you watched with bated breath for a window to roll down - until finally, it did.

The driver’s side. It went whirr-ing down, sliding for the shortest period of time in the world until only a shadow met you - and then a flicker of movement. And then-

“Oh my god! Jesus! Okay okay!” You flinched, not even hesitating to raise your hands above your head. You spread your fingers out, desperate to prove your innocence to the stranger in the car. And the gun they were holding, pointing at you, through the gap.

“Were you bit?” A rough voice, muted and deep, broke the atmosphere.

You shook your head.

“Words. Use them.”

“No,” you licked your lips, instantly deciding to turn around in a slow circle. “Not bitten. Not scratched.” You tried to ignore the way your hands shook, even as you shifted all the way back to face the gun’s muzzle.

“Ask where…” a voice, soft and feminine, came from somewhere beyond the driver’s seat. It was saying something, telling something, but faded into a whisper so quiet you couldn’t hear a thing. Your eyes shifted to the dark backseat windows, trying to see something- anything- and found no surprise in the lack of life.

“Any weapons?” The driver seemed to ignore the other person, and instead held the gun steady. You watched it with weary eyes.

“Yes.” And before they could ask, you tugged the knife out of your belt and the gun out of your pants pocket. They were held up in the air, another white flag, and you twitched the hand that held the firearm. “At least three bullets left, but that’s it.”

“And the others?”

You blinked. “Others? What oth-”

“Where is the rest of your ammunition? In the skull of a human or scum?” The stranger spat, and you detected the hints of an accent.

Scum… you’d never heard them referred to as that before. Your last group called them walkers, and some others claimed flesh-eaters. You were tempted to use ‘zombies’, but it felt rather silly. The world took that term too lightly, and the undead were nothing if not a very serious problem. But scum? Like they were beneath humanity and not its current destroyer? You’d ask about it later, you decided, if they deemed you well enough to take in.

“Both,” you breathed honestly, dropping your weapons to your sides with a heavy sigh. “They um- weren’t quite there yet. Got ambushed overnight.”

The gun still didn’t move.

“They don’t ambush. What really happened?”

Hm. They weren’t wrong. Animated corpses didn’t ‘ambush’, but when a herd of them went lurking about, it certainly felt that way. You didn’t think logistics were entirely necessary, but you understood the need for specifics. Trust among men was eviscerated in the face of danger, especially against those once living. You’d seen paranoia before, in others. Humans simply didn’t take each other in anymore… not without some level of severe mistrust. The second thought after seeing the truck drive off was that you probably wouldn’t be accepted anyway - you’d killed without technical reason. Could have just left. Run away.

But you didn’t.

You didn’t want to see them turn into those… creatures.

So what else was there to say? You stared at the gun, willing a click and the shot of a bullet, as you opened your mouth.

“A herd. A lot of them. Just… descended upon the place. Someone might’ve been walking around in the woods or something, and there was just not enough protection,” you paused, licking your lips, “...I was the last one alive. Had to shoot them and go.”

“How long since?”

“Few days, give or take,” you shrugged. The exhaustion only built as you stood there, trying not to sway and collapse in your spot. The truck was still running, hissing hot exhaust; it was the first genuinely warm thing you’d felt in so many days that you wanted to crawl underneath and take a nap. The world, turning to autumn, was growing chilly. There was no chance you could survive winter on your own.

“...Give or take,” you heard the driver scoff and laugh, bitter and mean. You frowned.

Then the window started going up, and you couldn’t help yourself. With a hard thunk, you pushed your shoulder hard against the car, and knocked on the thick glass with the butt of the knife. A look of utter desperation crossed your features, heavy and thick. Urgency, anxiety, fear forced any sense from your mind. There was no chance. There was no survival at all.

“No please- please I can’t be out here alone please- I’m smart and- and I can run fast and be an asset. Please,” you shook your head, searching with worried eyes, “please, please you can’t do this to me-”

Something dark spliced through the corner of your vision, dragging a shadow with it, and you just barely dodged the sudden swing of the truck’s backseat door. It bounced with force and you glanced back at the driver’s window once before stepping back and hastily swinging your bag over your shoulder. The knife and gun were slipped back into your clothing, concealed, and you held yourself strong as the black leathered interior bore itself to the world.

“-we can’t just leave them-”

“-on’t be stupid. They could be a liability-”

“-not stupid. We need more people-”

Voices, at least two, were rushed and tangled in an argument. You didn’t pay much attention to what you could hear, though the growing irritation was hard to ignore. It would be a hassle to be accepted, you knew, but you’d deal. There was no choice. The backseat door was open and there was a figure hustled back against the other window.

“The offer won’t last,” the stranger murmured, somehow louder than the two people in the front seats, and you decided not to take any chances in the world alone.

With a grunt, a push, and a final slam of the door, you found yourself in the truck. Your bag was pushed down by your feet, you tugged your knife out to rest it on your thigh, and you turned to say thank you- but was cut off by a cold blade at your throat. It grazed the soft dirty skin, less than a centimeter away from pushing, and you felt saliva pool in the back of your throat. Swallowing would have pressed you closer, so you fought the urge and only stared.

“Woah-”

“Try anything and you die. I don’t want a peep, not a shuffle. Do I make myself clear?”

The driver’s voice, clearer in such close quarters, was deep and mean. Accent, as you had clocked, from somewhere in the United Kingdom. It held a natural growl, a gruffness from years of smoking, perhaps, and you couldn’t help but sense the intimidation. It wasn’t fake confidence, you noticed, as you looked up and met the cool sharp grey gaze of a woman. Her hair, a deep blonde, was slicked back and short, ruffled slightly by the nape of her neck. A long neck… that led to strong looking shoulders. They were half covered by a jacket, but you could see the strength in the chords of her muscle. A force to be reckoned with. A leader, perhaps. She was pale, with a defined nose and lips twisted into a permanent sneer, and you probably would have thought she had some potential for post-apocalyptic modeling, if it weren’t for the scar that covered one half of her face. Slashed across the left eye, the wound was jagged and rough - it dragged from a point close to the exact middle of her forehead, right to the corner of her jaw. Thicker at parts and thinner at others, it split through a pale eyebrow and seemed to have permanently rendered her blind. The lid didn’t even move when one stormy eye shifted, and you suddenly felt extremely creeped out. Something about her was undeniably cold. Almost reckless, but her hand was so steady with control you knew not to make a move. She’d probably kill without hesitation, dump you back into the road, and drive off with the duffel. There was no choice but to answer, answer quickly, and do as told.

“Yes, clear.” Your head shifted half an inch up and half an inch down, still cautious of the blade.

But she didn’t move.

It was a battle of wills for just a moment, with your hands in your lap, empty and docile. You weren’t looking for a fight, or a staring contest, but the stranger didn’t let up until the figure to your right decided to sit up and speak.

“Ah they do not seem so bad. Look at them. Tired and scared, like sad city mouse,” another woman, one with a Russian accent and a voice a hint too loud, cooed.

Silence followed, persisted, for only a minute- and then the blade was tugged back so quickly you swear it nearly cut the air in two. The driver tsked as she twisted herself around, murmuring as she went.

“More like a rat.”

And then you were thrown to the side with a heavy wheeze as the truck lurched and began moving, working into a turn so you could go back the way they’d come.

You glared at the back of the headrest, not feeling above a little bit of irritation for some poor handling, but eventually grew bored. With some apprehension, your eyes flicked over to the person in the passenger seat. Their profile was strong, feminine, and you noted the unbelievably well-kept head of snowy hair. She looked clean, just like the driver, and a spark of hope welled up in your tired heart. Running water and food existed where they came from, wherever they were camped out, and if you played your cards right, you could finally indulge in some good hygiene. Unless the woman in the passenger seat was stingy with her water… god her skin was so clear, and she seemed to be wearing makeup. No one wore makeup anymore. Not the people in your old group and not the few stragglers you’d stumbled across. It simply wasn’t a necessary luxury anymore, but the woman sitting across from you, back straight and hands in her lap, seemed to think it was of the utmost importance. You wanted to speak, wanted to ask her name, but found yourself turning to your right - and catching the gaze of the person that opened the door for you.

“Anna,” your savior spoke, tilting her head to the left and regarding you with curious eyes. A pale hand, big and long-fingered, shot out and hovered above your lap. You glanced down at it, at the clean skin and the perfect fingernails, and knew that you hit the survivalist jackpot.

With a nod and a quick clasp of her hand, you whispered your name in reply. She nodded before leaning back against the door and crossing her arms; she seemed quite comfortable there, with a rather large gun resting across her lap. Her hair, blonde as well, fell in gentle waves to her shoulders. She saw with deep blue eyes - a contrast to the cold steel of the driver - and didn’t hesitate to flick them over your body in some sort of analytical search. Weapons, you figured, is what she was looking for. And the knife in your lap, which she eyed with some interest.

You wanted to say something, wanted to thank them, but it didn’t feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough those days. Asking something of someone was a risk every single time. And you’d asked—begged—them to take you in. You needed to pull your weight, no questions asked.

“Um- thank you for-”

“Shoot them.”

“What?!” You straightened up, eyes going wide as, in your peripherals, you saw Anna’s hand inch toward her gun. Through the rear-view mirror, you caught the way the driver’s brow twitched.

“You heard me. Shoot them.”

“Pha-”

“I said no talking,” the stranger growled, not even bothering to address the woman in the passenger seat. The white-haired woman looked frustrated, her red lips tugging into a frown, as she watched the driver double down on her focus. “Didn’t I say that?”

“But I-,” you wanted to plead your case, wanted to defend yourself, but were cut off.

“I am not going to shoot,” Anna said before you could speak. “Why do you expect her to be quiet hah, Phasma? We just saved her жопa. No need for fighting.”

You glanced at her, picking up on the Native tongue. Fresh off the boat, or perhaps visiting, with the way she said it so easily. Zhopa? Given the context, it wasn’t hard to tell what she meant. Yes, they had just saved your ass. And yes, you wanted to say thank you. Even if that Phasma person wasn’t too keen on a bit of gratitude.

“I hardly think thanking us for a kind deed is worthy of execution, no matter how much silence you require,” the fair-haired woman across from you said smoothly, throwing a slight glare to the woman on her right. And finally, she took that moment to turn around in the seat and make eye contact.

Something that proved to be far more difficult than you thought it would. Good lord, she was gorgeous. Pale skin, deep admiral blue eyes, and lips redder than blood. Not even a scratch on her face, not even a single spec of dirt - as if the apocalypse never happened and there weren’t dead people roaming every street in the world. In fact, she didn’t seem incredibly worried about the predicament the human species found itself in, and was looking at you with kind eyes, a furrowed brow, and a smile that she hoped was welcoming.

“My name is Larissa,” her hand, gloved in white fabric as soft as silk, reached out as an olive branch. You wanted to take it, wanted to feel something so lovely for the first time in a long time and create some sort of bond, but your hands were very dirty. A part of you guessed that Larissa hadn’t put them on earlier that day with the hope to return to camp holding soft fabric smudged with dirt and dried blood, so you only looked down at your palm and then back at hers.

“Oh uh- I don’t wanna get your gloves dirty-”

“Oh,” she glanced down, realizing that she was, in fact, wearing hand-coverings. “Later, then,” a warm smile shone back at you - and you were helpless, instantly offering her a nod in return.

“Finished?” The driver piped up, eyes cold as she stared at you in the rear-view.

As if on cue, Larissa turned back around in her seat, rolling her eyes as she went, and you could only fall quiet. Introductions were over, you were warming up to the easy heat in the car, and Phasma–if you dared address her by name in your head–had a good handle of the wheel. You were safe. For now. And with one last suspended look at the gun on Anna’s lap, you reached over for the seatbelt, tucked yourself in with a click, and leaned back in the seat. It was so suddenly comfortable, such a huge contrast to the shit you’d dealt with recently, that you couldn’t help but close your eyes and revel. Even for a moment. Even for a second.

—

“Get up,” a mean grunt, paired with a quick rush of piercingly cold air, tugged you from the depths of sleep.

Before you could even open your eyes properly, a shiver set itself into your bones. Eager to escape it, and the confines of the car, you jolted and scrambled for your seatbelt. Leaning against the open door, watching you grab your things, was the driver. Phasma? Weird name, but there was no time to dwell - especially not when she was looking at you like that. Eyes sharper than the knife on your lap, holding a polished chrome pistol in one hand, and waiting with some tension for you to hurry up. The duffel was pulled up onto your shoulder, the knife was tucked into your belt, and your hands scratched at the leather as you looked around wildly for your gun.

“We took it. You’ll get it back when you prove you’re not a complete imbecile,” she spat, peering down her nose at you. Disgust danced in her expression, sparking flames of unwanted insecurity, and you felt compelled to look away. Her nostrils were flared, her pink lips curled into something disdainful and mean, and you couldn’t help but watch the way her jaw shifted as she tensed, watching you watch her. The hatred seemed a bit out of place, too strong for normal trust issues, and you briefly wondered if perhaps she’d always been that way - even before the end of civilization. She was clearly a bitch, and not interested in showing you kindness any time soon, so you decided to forgo a response, ignored her glaring, and slipped out of the car without a word.

Before your feet were completely on the ground, and your bag was out of the way, the door slammed closed behind you, quick and sharp. The speed of it nearly clipped your shirt, and you whirled around to face the stranger’s irritation. She seemed to have lost interest in you and side-stepped your figure without another glance. One finger on the trigger, a shit-ton of audacity-filled swagger in her walk, and a back broad and strong. She looked like an outlaw, tall, mean, wearing grey with a belt around her strong hips and a leather jacket over her shoulders. You wanted to throw your gun at her and watch it hit the back of her head, but there was no way in Hell you’d be able to run away faster than she could catch you.

“Come,” you heard Anna speak, interrupting your train of thought as she trudged up to your left. You turned, seeing the way she cocked her head. “I’ll introduce you.” The gun swayed in her grasp as she turned, making little shuffling sounds in the grass.

The grass.

You went to go forward, but stopped. The grass. It was… terribly neat. Very well maintained. Not like apocalypse grass, which was flat and bloodied and mudded and dusted, but like rich person grass. Striking green grass, healthy, it bounced back behind you when you stepped on it. And the air… you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. It was fresh. Pure. Free of the smell of death and free of gunpowder and spraying blood. Just where on Earth were y-

oh.

Oh.

You looked up, finally, and found yourself in a courtyard. On all sides was a wall, sections of it made of brick, others of stone, and the rest of wrought iron fence, bolted hard into the ground; and across the way, piercing the sky, was a manor. Or what looked like a manor. No - what was definitely a manor. Dark, illuminated slightly by the deep blue of the atmosphere and the torches that littered the ground in neat paths, splitting off into cobblestone sections. You swallowed. It was gorgeous. Untouched. A world that seemed to run on and on while the rest of the globe went to shit.

How fucking lucky were you?

“Come! I must say twice?!” Anna called, giving you an exasperated beckon as she started disappearing behind the dark stone brick of the main entrance.

Sparing a quick glance behind you, you found a fortified gate and short stone walls - reinforced and built upon with barbed wire, wood, and sheets of metal. It must have opened up for the truck when you were still asleep, but was very much firmly shut and impenetrable once closed. You wanted to explore it more, wanted to study the mechanism and the layout and come to understand just how they managed to get the place so protected, but you didn’t want to leave Anna waiting. And a low rumble of thunder, far but rolling quick, told you that rain was eager to make her appearance - and you did not want to get caught in that.

After adjusting your bag and patting the knife in your belt for reassurance, you set off after the Russian stranger.

—

“So I am Anna, this you know already,” she pointed to herself, tapped her chest twice, then rolled her hand over to gesture to the clearing ahead.

It was beautiful, outlined against a dark wood. Rocky paths led to a big circle in the middle, and the ruins of stone benches and statues littered the camp. You could definitely see what it used to be - a beautiful place for the elite to sit, to bask, to enjoy the nice air and the wind. But the end of the world had gotten to it, not with the bearings of total destruction, but with the promise of change. A big spruce shelter had been built to the far left, reinforced with four beams and no walls - clearly just meant to keep the rain at bay while they worked outside. Beneath it, there were wooden benches and designated spots for farming equipment, guns, and even a water purifying system from the looks of it. If you assumed that sleeping quarters and showers existed in the castle, then they seemed to be in the best shape anyone could be in.

Even the people, who were busy going about their evening and tending to their duties, while you watched by Anna’s side and felt your excitement grow.

“Phasma was woman driving. Not so kind,” she tsked, giving you a knowing look, and you found yourself unable to ask about the strange name. You figured she wouldn’t have known the answer anyway. Then her hand moved, stealing your attention. “That is Jane,” she pointed to a pale woman sitting on one of the large stone benches.

Her back was turned, but you could see the severity of her expression in the reflection of a hand mirror. She was handsome, free of makeup, with jet-black hair. The strands fell from between her fingertips, spilling like water, as she threaded them into a braid around her head. Her movements were slow, methodic, and you watched, sort of hypnotized, as the long sleeves of her hooded dress stretched across her slim back. Tight along her arms and resting over the black pants covering her thighs, leading down to knee-high leather boots. Fit for an apocalypse, but somehow still chic. You watched her hands for a moment more, and turned slightly to her right when Anna gestured to the woman beside her.

“Miranda. Good girl, but way too skinskie,” she nodded to herself while crossing her arms.

The stranger in question–Miranda–was holding up an antique hand mirror for Jane to look into while doing her hair. They seemed to be the same height, though Miranda’s build was lankier and toned. The sleeves of her white top had to have been torn off, leaving freckled shoulders free to the air, and around one wrist was a black watch. It nearly matched the same leather as her belt, which held an attached holster and a sleeve for a walkie-talkie. Its antenna stood out against the baby blue of her uniform pants; tight by the hips but baggier toward the ankles, tucked into dark laced boots. Her hair was styled into a fair blonde bob, probably recently cut by the sight of such clean edges. It looked unbearably soft kissing the back of her neck.

“She was policewoman. Strong.” Anna commented, gazing at her from your spot by the castle wall.

You nodded absentmindedly, looking over the two strangers and the chess board that sat between them on the bench. Jane had black and Miranda white. The latter seemed to be focusing quite hard on the game, holding a pawn loosely in one hand, as the dark-haired beauty tsked and adjusted the hand mirror that slowly slipped to the side. You watched Miranda jump and offer what you assumed was a sheepish apology, as she tried to multitask. Her small smile was pink and soft, warm and welcoming. A friend, perhaps.

“Very…domestic,” came your soft murmur, sparked by the surprise of such a peaceful camp. In the past group, everyone was too busy trying to sleep, find food, or talk themselves through panic attacks. Maintaining sanity with comfort was not a priority.

“Da. Comfortable,” your companion nodded. “Jan is there, washing.” And you turned, yet again, to find a figure standing in front of a clothesline.

The combat boots made her seem tall, though they were a bit out of place—not really matching the long white sleeved shirt and full red skirt combo. Immaculate and clean, you noticed, though that was to be expected from a woman trying her hardest to get blood out of a white blouse. Her hands were covered by blue rubber gloves, with one clutched around a sponge and the other around the neck of a bottle of white wine vinegar. On the ground by her feet was a large pale jug of hydrogen peroxide and a bucket of what you assumed was water. And the blouse in front of her, held up by wooden clothespins, rippled from the breeze. It seemed to get colder and windier the longer the night went on, probably bringing the rain with it at some point. With any luck, it would clear up the light splotches of pink that covered most of the shirt’s chest up to the collar, but ‘Jan’ didn’t seem too patient and satisfied with that. She got back to her scrubbing a moment later, the strict waves of her blonde hair bumping gently against her neck.

“Jan is very chic. You go to her for fashion advice, no?” Anna tilted her head at you, dragging dark blue eyes over your face. The lawn lamps stabbed into the grass lit everything up with a sweet warm glow, bringing out the flames in her expression as she peered at you curiously. Very handsome, in her own sharp-featured sort of way. You couldn’t help the snort that bubbled up.

“Respectfully, I think fashion is the least of my concerns right now, Anna.”

“Hm. Maybe,” she hummed, shrugged, and gave you a once-over that set your heart racing before turning her attention back to the group.

“Brienne!” You jumped, flinching away as Anna’s loud voice carried into your ear. In the distance, a hulking figure shifted and unfolded, moving to look up at the call. They were sitting on a big pile of cut logs, holding a stone cylindrical sharpener in one hand and a… sword… in the other. Anna waved, talking to you gently as you both watched the figure’s expression change into one of suspicion. She was handsome. Pale, with the lightest blonde lashes and brows, and eyes that sparkled even from that distance. They squinted, drawing frown lines across her face, as she straightened up in her spot. You tried desperately not to stare at her figure, but it was impossible. The deep blue ribbed shirt clung to her torso like a second skin, wrapping tightly around strong biceps and broad shoulders. It was tucked into muddy green cargo pants, offsetting the brightness of the steel that covered the toes of her dark boots. You tilted your head and watched as she glanced between you and Anna before she finally decided to shoot the woman a firm nod. Anna’s lips quirked up into a smile. “She was once soldier. Good woman - she will protect you if you’re in trouble. Saved me many many times.” Her blonde curls swished as she nodded to herself.

That was good to know, you reasoned. Everyone seemed quite strong. Tall, too. And pale. The camp was gorgeous, the people seemed mundane enough, and the company was… well. Your eyes drifted over to Anna’s side profile, a silhouette of soft dips and curves, and you couldn’t hide the attraction you felt even if you tried.

“Larissa, you know too. She is leader, xорошо?” You didn’t really know what ‘harasho’ meant, but the light intonation of her voice had you saying ‘Yeah’ anyway.

Then an arm was winding itself around yours, jostling the bag on your shoulder and the gun slung around Anna’s body. It rested against her back, hitting her thighs, and you were suddenly powerless to the way she steered you further down the gravel path. Toward the right, there was a makeshift driveway; a patch of land ripped up from the grass and replaced with gravel, soil, and rocks. The black truck made an appearance again, probably having been driven up from around the back, and you watched with curious eyes as Phasma busied herself with a few bags and boxes from the trunk. Jesus, she was fit… tall and lethal. A small grunt left her lips when she hauled two boxes up into her arms, never faltering or pausing. Damn. You found yourself getting lost in the sight of her legs in those cargo pants, filling them out, until Anna clicked her tongue.

“Lucifer is strange, but ultimately harmless. Do not worry, they are not naked under the robe.”

Lucifer? Naked under the what?

You were going to take a quick glance around, to find whatever the hell Anna was talking about, but there was no need. Some feet in front of you, lounging on a red and gold velvet chase, was a lithe figure. They were almost glowing in the reflection of the walkway lamps, with the deep crimson of a flowing silk robe offsetting the smooth pale planes of soft skin. One elbow was propped up on the arm of the chair, and you traced the folds of flowing sleeves up to a slim forearm, wrist, and a delicate hand. Slender fingers were curled under the curve of a pale cheek, and you felt your heartbeat speed up at the sight of soft features and crystal eyes. And their hair, curled so perfectly into handsome shining ringlets of spun golden-web… goodness, they were…

“Luxurious,” you murmured, tilting your head as you watched the stranger chat with Larissa. She was standing over them, in front of the chase, and even at that height, you had a feeling that the one laying down was somehow a little bit taller. “Is Lucifer their real name?”

“Da,” Anna nodded, “little strange, no?”

“Yeah,” you gave her an odd look. “Strange as fuck.”

“Don’t get comfortable,” a voice growled from behind you, making you slip away from Anna’s hold and turn around. Phasma was walking past, holding a big bag under each arm. Her muscle was impressive, but dear god she was an asshole. You had to sort out that situation as quick as possible.

“Hey what��s your problem, man?” You spread your hands out at your sides before letting them slap against your thighs. “You picked me up, and while I’m grateful for that, I am, you didn’t have to-”

“Exactly,” she bit out as she whirled around and marched right back to you. Her breath was cool, washing lightly over your face, and she stood so close that your foreheads nearly touched. From that angle, looking up, you could reach out and trace the jagged line of her scar. It was quite attractive actually, even if her eyes narrowed as she watched you look at her. They were cold. Not an ounce of care.

“Don’t. Get. Comfortable.” Her lips twitched, carrying a silent threat.

“Okay,” Larissa’s voice, sing-songy and weary, cut into the conversation. “Why don’t we all take a moment to calm down, hm?” Her smile was blinding as she turned to you. One gloved hand hovered above Phasma’s right shoulder, but was instantly shrugged off the second it made contact. Her sneer didn’t fade even when she stepped back, eyes still flaming with anger. Larissa cleared her throat. “Y/n, you’re new here. Why don’t you and I have a little chat?”

Her expression, although kind, hid a sharpness that you didn’t think was wise to fuck around with. If Larissa was the leader, according to Anna, then it was her you had to charm. You didn’t really know why she was the top dog, especially because some of the other group members seemed more… abrasive… but clearly something about her was good enough to be the one in charge. And pissing her off, messing around with her people, was a one-way ticket to possibly turning into those fuckers lurking in the woods. So you didn’t really have a choice - and you didn’t really want one. No matter what, you’d stay. You’d be of some help. You’d stay on the soft grass, smelling the clean air. You’d become best friends with Larissa, the group would learn to like you, and you’d try not to combust when any of them looked your way.

Easier said than done though, of course. Especially when Larissa’s smile knocked down all of your reservations at once, in one big swing, and coaxed an obedient nod from your body.

“Okay. Yes. Sure.”

“Perfect,” Larissa’s grin, somehow, grew even wider.

“It’s getting late,” were Phasma’s parting words before she turned away and headed off toward two big wooden double doors.

You watched her strut without much thought, and found yourself on the other end of a staring Larissa. Her eyes were utterly striking in the evening light, and the outline of her face… a sight to be seen for a person as weary as you.

“So… is your group considered women only?” You murmured, peering up at her through your eyelashes.

Red lips twitched.

“Not intentionally. Though we have had the discussion before,” she contemplated her next words carefully, looking all over your face before resuming, “and we think it’s best if it’s just women. And Lucifer.”

“And Lucifer?” You still can’t get over that being their real name. Probably just picked out in a moment of edginess when they were a teen. Lucifer did sound cool, sort of bully-worthy. Like they were emo kid once upon a time.

“Lucifer is what many would refer to as non-binary. Not a man and not a woman. I hope that won’t be a problem?” Something flashed behind her eyes. Not a threat, but a warning. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Not at all. They and I are… one and the same,” you shrugged and adjusted the bag on your shoulder.

“How lucky I must be…,” someone purred from over your shoulder.

You tensed up, surprised by the closeness, and felt yourself grow a little weak at the tone. Like spiced honey, their voice was intense and smooth. You wanted to lap it up.

“Ah right on time for a proper introduction,” Larissa, ever the most efficient woman from what you could tell so far, found herself a golden opportunity. One hand shot out and gestured over to you, then to the person slinking around to your right. “Y/n this is Lucifer, one of the strongest members of our group. Lucifer and I make most of the big decisions, with the necessary input from everyone else. And Lucifer,” Larissa’s grin relaxed into a smile, “this is Y/n. Depending on our discussion of the rules, they may become a familiar face, so I suggest you play nice.”

You found that you couldn’t look to the side without short-circuiting. There was something.. something… about their aura that had you wanting to shy away and cower. It wasn’t the explosive intensity of Phasma or the consuming strangeness of Anna, or even the gentle but strong hand of Larissa… but instead a subtle sort of consumption. Utterly intriguing and fascinating - like they were put on the Earth to confuse humans. You didn’t even look at them and you could feel that. Didn’t even know them and you could feel that. Standing so close. So much body heat.

“It’s a pleasure,” they murmured, turning to you fully.

You swallowed, braced yourself, and looked up to your right.

Sweet holy Jesus. They were even more handsome up close. Just absolutely soft and glorious. And carrying the faint scent of… firewood? You cleared your throat.

“Um yeah- likewise. Hi.”

A flash of black, followed by measured footsteps in the grass, had all three of you shifting to see Jane walking past. Miranda was not too far behind, taking her time to cross the yard.

“Dinner is being prepared. Show face in the next 20 minutes or go to bed hungry.” Jane didn’t even spare you a glance before she disappeared behind the same doors Phasma had gone through.

“Thank you, Jane,” Larissa managed to call just before they closed behind her with a dull bang.

“Three moves…,” Miranda was muttering, holding the box for the chess set in one hand. “She beat me in three moves.”

“Oh it’s not hard. I would’ve beaten you in two,” another voice entered the fray, polite but amused. Jan, you recognized, as she sidled up between you and Larissa with a small smile on her deep red lips.

Miranda scoffed and turned to look at Anna, only to find that she was gone. One glance behind you revealed that she’d wandered over to Brienne, probably prompting her to go inside for dinner. You hummed, hiding the amusement of friendly banter. It had been so long since you felt even the smallest sense of normalcy. If they were so comfortable with each other, then it must have been a bit since they were all alone out in the world. You’d probably ask Larissa about that later - once everything was said and done.

“I would’ve beaten you in one,” Lucifer smirked as they pulled away and went walking inside. Had they been barefoot the entire time?

“That’s not even possible!” Miranda yelled, but the door was already shut. “...Is it?” She turned to Larissa, then to you, then back to Larissa.

“I don’t think so, Miranda,” Larissa smiled before looking at you. “Any chance you’re good at chess?”

Dear lord, having two sets of beautiful blue eyes on you was nerve-wracking, but you ignored the flush building up on your cheeks and nodded.

“Um yeah- it’s possible to beat someone in two moves. But it’s only black, I think.” You gave Miranda an apologetic smile and a shrug as she pouted.

“You will beat her next time Miranda,” Anna returned with Brienne in her wake. The sword she was sharpening earlier was still in her hands. “She cannot win forever.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Brienne cut in, her voice strong and deep. Her mouth was pulled into a light frown, and you noticed the scar that cut through the upper lip on the right. From the time before, you suspected. Otherwise she’d be turned. “She beat me and Phasma one after the other.”

Miranda sighed, tsking beneath her breath.

“Then there’s no hope…” Goodness, she looked like a sad puppy.

“Why not?” It slipped out of your mouth before you could grab it.

And of course, all of the attention then dragged itself over to you. Five sets of sea-blue eyes, all gorgeous in the glow of the evening lamps, traced lines over your tired body. In comparison to them, you looked a sight. Obviously having been picked up from the side of the road, unclean and awkward, somewhat detached from society. In your bag? Not enough clothing and not enough supplies. In your belt, peeking out from beneath your shirt? A knife, dirty and growing dull. And in your eyes? Lurking sadness and horror - the same which probably lived in the women that were observing you.

Larissa, thank goodness, finally broke the lull of silence.

“Brienne and Phasma were in the military,” she said gently.

“Oh. That makes sense.” And it did - Jane must have been an intellectual force if she beat people that used to be in the military before the world ended. Though that made you wonder… “What branch?” You turned to Brienne, not really surprised that you had to look up to meet her eyes. It seemed you’d been adopted into a camp of skyscrapers. Though the sharpness of her eyes had you swallowing. “I mean- if you don’t mind me asking.”

She seemed to consider it, sizing you up, before saying, rather shortly, “SAS. Then Delta Force.”

You couldn’t hide the way your eyes widened.

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed,” Larissa hummed. “But I think now would be a good time to head in, wouldn’t you say?” She spared her smile for everyone, meeting the gaze of each woman, before finally looking at you and raising her eyebrow.

It wasn’t really up to you, so you just shrugged and waited for Anna to say ‘Da, da, xорошо’ before heading in. Brienne followed after her, then Miranda, who was studying the back of the chess box, and Larissa, who started taking off her gloves. Jan, meanwhile, stayed where she was and kept her eyes on you. They were curious and deep, never-ending, and lined with mascara and eyeliner. Mascara and eyeliner that… well it suited her, but goodness it was certainly intense. Dark and shadowed, but beautiful nevertheless. You couldn’t look away.

“Jan Stevens,” she breathed and gave you her hand, elegant and admittedly quite charming. Her nails were painted a deep cherry red. Utterly flawless.

At the sight of it, you weren’t entirely sure what to do. Your palms were still dirty, and sort of calloused, and you didn’t want to… ruin her. So you hesitated, stared at it, looked back up at her, and found her kind smile to be unwavering.

“Go on,” Jan finally whispered, giving her hand a pointed look, and you fell prey in an instant.

Quickly, you shot out to gently cup her hand into your own, and gave it a gentle shake. You felt strangely compelled to bring it up to your lips, but you weren’t sure that meeting a stranger in an apocalypse really called for such formalities. Even though you yearned to feel her skin beneath your mouth. It wasn’t proper; though you did think that Jan’s expression fell just a little bit. Like she was excited. Like she wanted you to kiss her hand.

“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she purred, looking you up and down, before turning toward the door. “Come quickly now. If we’re late, Jane will send us off to bed without dinner. And we wouldn’t want that.”

It probably would have been wise to consider and contemplate the fact that you were in a stranger’s camp, with a stranger’s group… but the saucy little wink that Jan threw over her shoulder sent a deep blush crawling up your cheeks. And just like that, without fail, you were one of the flesh-eaters… caught in the pretty paws of eight different beasts.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Please let me know if my characterization is okay and if you'd like to see more. Be safe, darlings. - Rip x

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Far too many names to tag. Find it as you come.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

216 notes · View notes

fountainpenguin · 5 months

Text

Secret Life finale highlights for me:

- "My strategy: Kill Skizz and Tango. Will happen at some point... Or, just maim them and watch them die in a corner." - Scar

- Scott on Grian's loyalty: "I have never seen a man drop a pair of sunglasses faster in my life [than last season after Joel died]."

- I think I reblogged someone's speculation weeks ago that at the dawn of final session, everyone's task book would just say "Win Secret Life." Congrats to them for Apollo's gift of prophecy.

- Martyn's beat of pause before saying to Joel "Welcome to the Out of Context video."

- At the start of the season, Etho said Joel was the first one he wanted to kill because "He's cheeky." When Joel is asked who he wants to kill, he says "Etho." Glad you're enjoying your rivalry, boys, smh...

- Joel, once again giving into his Shrek origins, watching Bdubs' wool globe go up in flames and chirping "My world's on fire; how 'bout yours?"

- Tango does not break his "pathetic death" curse. Just blipped out of existence. Love that for him.

- Spitting, crying... BigB panics and flees into his creepy backrooms for safety. Immediately vanishes into the tunnel maze. Scar pursues and skids to a halt because he hasn't seen it yet and is thoroughly creeped out.

- Scar coming up to surface and trying to describe how BigB disappeared. Martyn looks down at where they're standing and is just like "Oh, that's the backrooms." Mental image of Scar as that meme that goes "The. what."

- Scar describing BigB as a sneaky squirrel. "Squirrel" was the name of BigB's horse in Double Life.

- Joel's anxiety about entering a Nether portal on the final episode, specifically because of how he and Etho perma-died in Double Life

- Whatever was going on with Martyn flinging ender pearls up the ladder seconds before he died

- Additionally, people in the background commenting that they think Martyn's teamed up with Cleo and the only reason he was near them was an attempt to bear down and kill them

- Scar to Bdubs, watching Cleo and Etho from a distance: "Look at this- Mom and Dad are bringing their new ugly stepson to meet us, Bdubs." /camera pans to the warden chasing them

- Bdubs tells Scar that Cleo said he was her favorite son and Scar IMMEDIATELY, without responding or even waiting for Bdubs to finish his sentence, jumps a wall and books it to Cleo to confirm... Mental image of him swinging dramatically over it with one hand, his shawl billowing behind him

- Scar chases Cleo while they're both being pursued by a warden, asking her if he's her favorite son. Doesn't let up until she assures him she "just said it to keep Bdubs happy." what is wrong with the Clocker family.

- Joel somehow pulled off a beautiful PVP kill on Skizz despite having only 2.5 hearts

- In earlier episodes, Joel had people say "The florist sends his regards" on his behalf before striking. Before killing Skizz, he says "Scar sends his regards" since Scar really wanted to kill Skizz but bequeathed the fight to Joel instead.

- Scar trotting up to Etho and Cleo, who are watching him from a cliff, and announcing "I am not up to anything nefarious!"

- Scar's weird spiky wall design is really pretty

- slkdjfskldjfsklj?!?!?!? I had a bullet point on this list that said "Honorable non-finale mention to Scar getting both the Green and Yellow kill on Etho this season" but now I see I need to correct that:

- Shout-out to Scar killing Etho - in Etho's front yard - THREE TIMES this season. Etho rushing back to his base, tripping over his feet and saying "I'm going home, everybody- I'm dying at my home-"

- Scott to Scar: "I went down to BigB - to get him - and I see what you mean; he does just talk his way out of things so you feel bad; you just leave him." / Scar: "That's why you don't let him speak. You just inner monologue. You start talking about Star Wars so you can't hear his charms."

- As Scar drives his sword into Cleo, he says "Good-bye, Mom- This is for you telling Bdubs [he's your] favorite." Geez, dude. Scar killed both his parents; this family is a mess. Bonus points for Joel fumbling in the background like "Oh my gosh- Scar, you savage-"

- I watched multiple POVs until I was caught up to the standoff between Gem & The Scotts vs. The Mounders... So picking up from there with Scar's POV b/c his is the one I randomly started with today: I love how Joel basically went "I am once again throwing caution to the wind and charging into battle with a murderous Red rage in my eyes and no one behind me" like he ALWAYS does.

- Bdubs and Scar decide to back him up... Amazing.

- Scar has gotten 4 kills (Tango, Etho, Cleo, Impulse) and he was super close to getting BigB as well before Scott sniped the kill. Geez... The man is vicious today. During Limited Life, Grian made a comment that went something like "Of course Scar is only destructive / successful when I'm not on his team" and honestly? Yeah...

- Pearl begging Scar to kill her- Pearl warning Scar that if she perma-kills Gem, she'll go up 10 hearts- Scar refusing, insisting that he doesn't want to turn on her because it feels lame...

- Scar got Gem, he got Gem... GeminiSlay is DOWN!

- SCAR SWEEP WITH THE BOW!!

Oh my goodness, I saw his episode title ("Can Villain Scar Win?") and the words that went through my head were "Welp, that's a spoiler that he's dead." I see I was wrong.

GG, SCAR WIN!!! Man who wanted so desperately to have friends, only to trip and fail time and time again... GoodTimesWithVictor!!

My heart, Scar letting that zombie knock him down to half a heart... playing up like he didn't just watch the lightning bolt mark Pearl's demise. He wanders, calling out to Pearl, asking where she went... quietly giggling and muttering to himself as that zombie pushes at him... GG, Scar. GG.

My goodness, is this the only time we haven't seen the winner die in their perspective? Scar slams that success button for winning the game, gets 5 hearts, turns back, and that's it... That's the game. End scene.

What a LAD!!

307 notes · View notes

apdreadful · 16 days

Text

100% honest here.

If I were a writer for this show. I would definitely think twice about making buddie canon.

I’ve seen how the rabid fan-squirrels in other fandoms behave when they get their OTP. Making the lives of the actors a living hell with the relentless stalking and speculation on their IRL relationships.

So I’m going to get out in front of this bullet train of crazy right now.

This is a fucking television show. I understand, I love the stuffing out of most of the characters on 911. But when a professional actor says a specific fandom is getting overwhelming. Ya’ll need to sit tf down, shut tf up, and chill tf out for a really long minute.

I actually for the first time EVER had to filter/block some tags because you all were flooding social media with your special brand of unleaded crazy since Tommy Kinard has shown up.

And ya’ll are shookth. I get it. You wanted your soft white boys to kiss, and instead they brought in a grown ass man who does not have time for games, to tell an actual story.

The actors are being exceptionally good sports. And playing the media game adeptly. But you can start to see the slight fraying at the edges.

And the overwhelming opinion is some of ya’ll are Annie Wilkes level of crazy. And it ain’t cute.

#stop trying to make fetch happen #ya’ll are turning into a meme #about crazy fan squirrels #911 abc #evan buckley #tommy kinard #buck x tommy #evan x tommy #bucktommy #truth #kinley

146 notes · View notes

mizzyislost · 1 year

Text

just some observations about the different kinds of slugcat designs/drawings ive seen

where do you fall on the scale of scug??

(ID under cut, if you cant read my handwriting-)

[ ID: A chart depicting different variations of slugcat designs. the title reads “the scale of slugs” with the subtitle “where do you fall on it???”. furthest left on the scale is a very simple slugcat, most similar to the in-game sprites, above the words “more slug than cat”. underneath it is a bullet point with the words “very shaped”. in the center is a slightly more detailed slugcat, reminiscent of a squirrel?? kind of??, above the words “true neutral”, with the bullet point “yeah that sure is a slugcat” on the far right, there is a even more detailed slugcat, much closer to an actual cat, aptly captioned “more slug than cat”, with the bullet point “very creature” along the bottom, there is a disclaimer that reads: “there are, of course, a million different styles and design choices that could not possibly be contained in this silly little chart. unfortunately, i cannot convey the complex intricacies of art with 3 simple blanket design types. sorry if your design isn't like ay of these :)”. End ID ]

first time writing an image descriptions whoops-

#inspired by that one post about the different way people draw kirby i saw like forever ago #im probably around true neutral #but a little closer to more cat than slug #and NO anthro designs dont fit into this #thats a separate scale!#that i might make if people like this one-#rain world #slugcat #yeah this gets the slugcat tag #seeing as that all it is literally about

697 notes · View notes

junkdrawerfics · 1 year

Text

Swan Sisters (Part 1)

Jasper Whitlock X Reader

Bella Swan and Sister!Reader focus

Request: Hello :D, I did like to make a request where Jasper's mate is Bella's older sister that lived with Charlie instead of going with her mother, so she was turned into a vampire even before Bella comes back so when she moves to Forks the reader avoids Bella for some time.

Note: I have attempted, though it definitely ran away from me! Part 2 coming soon, because I felt like it was getting too long. I really loved this request, and I hope I'm doing it justice.

Word Count: 3962

Warnings: None that I can think of! Maybe a bit jumpy, also does not really follow the book timeline, so apologies to any hardcore fans out there! There's gonna be discrepancies.

---

“Bella’s gonna come live with us for a while.”

“What?”

Your head shoots up, eyes impossibly wide as you stare at Charlie, your father.

“Yup. Your mom’s hitting the road with Bill, so Bells is going to come stay here,” Charlie explains as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“His name is Phil, dad,” you snort, though you still can’t wrap your mind around the news.

“Close enough,” he grumbles as he goes back to his paper.

You let out a heavy sigh, an old habit, and wring your fingers together.

This is really not good. Really really not good.

You haven’t seen your younger sister since you were turned. It’s hard enough being around Charlie, you had to go on a month long “roadtrip” to adjust, which was actually just a month at the Cullen’s Alaskan home with Jasper. It’s easier when you’re with him, since he helps keep you in control. Everything is easier with Jasper by your side.

But you can’t have him at your side all the time here, in your home. Charlie wouldn’t like that. You cope for the most part, since you just graduated and work from home. Billy and Jake are the only ones who visit, and they don’t exactly smell all that great. Besides them, it’s still a struggle to be around other humans, and the thought that you might hurt Bella? It makes your chest hurt.

“I’m going for a run,” you mumble, throat tight, and you can’t tell if it’s thirst or anxiety. Either way, the buzzing under your skin is only getting worse the longer you do nothing.

“Take some mace with you, there’s been some weird animal activity in the woods recently,” Charlie calls as you head for the door.

“Sure thing.”

You tuck the canister of mace into your pocket despite knowing how pointless it is. You could handle anything in the woods with your bare hands, but if it helps Charlie feel at ease, you might as well.

You get a few paces from the house before you take off like a bullet. The forest whips by, blurry and focused all at once. Every deer, every squirrel, every spider, you can feel it, hear it as clearly as you can hear your feet pounding against the ground. And you can hear voices ahead of you as you near the glassy house tucked deep in the forest.

Alice must have seen you coming, because Jasper is waiting on the doorsteps, dark eyebrows set in concern, jaw tense. You come to a stuttering stop in front of him, practically falling into his arms when he opens them for you. The moment they wrap around you, all the anxiety, the worry, the fear, dims into a low hum, replaced with something warm and comforting and so Jasper.

His question rests heavily in the silent moment you take to compose yourself, to just breathe in his scent. Old books and gunpowder. He hasn’t touched a gun in ages, but somehow it lingers, and you love it. It reminds you that everything turns out for the better, just like you and him.

“Bella’s coming to stay with us,” you confide into his neck, fingers curling in his sweatshirt.

Jasper’s arms tighten just a fraction around you. “You’re scared.”

“More like terrified,” you breathe and pull back to look into his eyes, golden just like yours, like the sun. If you didn’t feel so much like crying, you’d bask in it, but you can’t do either now, and all that comes out is your voice, broken and shaky, “I don’t want to hurt her, Jas. She’s my little sister. I can’t hurt her.”

“You won’t,” Jasper insists softly, hands coming up to hold your face, fingers cool and smooth against your cheeks.

“How can you be sure?”

“Because, darlin’, you care too much. Under this fear, you’re all…stubbornness.” The corners of his lips quirk up. “But if you’d like, we could take another trip, jus’ you and me. I hear Brazil’s nice this time of year.”

You shake your head, “As much as I love the sound of that, cowboy, I don’t think my dad will be such a fan of me disappearing again.”

“That’s a shame, I sure wouldn’t mind seein’ you-”

“Jas.” You narrow your eyes, and the vampire smirks.

“Yes, darlin’?”

“Let’s stay on topic, shall we?” You chirp, resisting your own urge to smile.

“My apologies, ma’am.” Jasper gives you a mock bow and takes your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles, eyes dancing with mirth as he looks up at you.

This does get you to smile, “You are ridiculous, mister.”

“And you’ve calmed down.”

You pause, check in with yourself. Jasper always seems to be more aware of your feelings than you are thanks to his ability. And he’s right, you do feel calmer. Your mind is clearer and the urge to run has dimmed. The worry is still there though.

You can’t let her figure out what you’ve become, or what the Cullens are. You don’t want to leave Forks, after all, and you can’t leave Charlie behind. So you’ll just have to make sure she doesn’t figure it out. Shouldn’t be that hard, right?

---

The moment Bella steps into the house, you realize just how wrong you are.

The scent of fresh blood hits you like a truck, or perhaps something worse considering you could handle a truck now. A werewolf maybe. It makes you falter, chest completely freezing as you stop breathing all together.

You were very, very wrong.

“Hey, Tinkerbell,” you greet her, forcing every bit of warmth into your voice despite the pain creeping up your throat.

Bella rolls her eyes, but a smile pulls at her lips as she sets her suitcase down, “I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Sorry, but it’s a forever thing, hun,” you chirp and move to give her a quick hug. She accepts it far too awkwardly, which you’d tease her for any other day, but you’re more focused on putting some distance between you. “So, how was the trip?”

Your sister looks at you for a moment, something unreadable in her eyes, which makes you shuffle your feet out of habit. Did she notice the cold skin thing? You’d put on several layers though, and you’ve both always run cold. Maybe your eyes? No, no you’re wearing the contacts.

“You look different.”

Crap.

You feign innocence, casting her a confused glance, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know…”

“Your sister’s on a big health kick, she’s looked different since she started.”

Thank God for Charlie.

“Health kick?” Bella raises an eyebrow at you, far too smug for your liking.

“All you’re nagging finally paid off,” you huff, secretly relieved.

“Not on me,” Charlie points out, almost proudly.

This takes most of the attention off of you thankfully, as Bella turns to chastise your father and they fall into an all too familiar debate. She’s still the same Bella, and Charlie is still Charlie. You’re the only one who’s changed.

Something twinges in your long-still heart.

You don’t regret your decision, you could never regret choosing Jasper, but looking at your family, you can’t help but realize how temporary this will all be. While you will end up disappearing with some elaborate story, they’ll keep living, keep aging. They’re human and you’re not anymore.

Another breeze catches Bella’s scent, the fire in your throat flaring back to the front of your mind. You swallow dryly.

Focus, (Y/n), focus.

Without a sound, you busy yourself grabbing Bella’s bags and taking them to her room. It’s all you can do to stop the hunger from taking you away. It’s like you didn’t just feed a few hours ago, like you haven’t fed in weeks. You haven’t felt this bad since you first turned.

If only Jasper was here. It’d be so much easier if you could just tuck yourself into his chest, forget the world for even a moment. But then he’d be struggling just as much as you are. You could never ask that of him.

So you tuck yourself into your room, shouting down the stairs that you have some work to do. Even when Billy and Jacob drive up in the truck Charlie bought for Bella, you merely perch at the window and watch on. Billy must feel your gaze because he glances up to you, his lips pinching into a thin line when your eyes meet.

Is it even possible for someone to look more disapproving? You can’t imagine it, looking down at Billy right now. To think, the man used to be like a second father to you. And then you turned, and suddenly you were on opposite sides of a longstanding war.

You miss him, and Jacob. So much.

All that’s left of that relationship is a curt nod, a small sign of respect, before Billy turns back to Charlie as if nothing happened. At least you know he won’t say anything. That would hurt Charlie more than you.

With a soft sigh, you watch as Bella hops into her truck. She leans forward, obviously looking for something in the house. You lift a hand, catching her attention. Bella sends you a relieved smile, waving back, before she shifts into gear and backs out of the driveway. Off to school, you guess.

You take a deep breath, letting the clean smell of your room fill your senses. It helps sooth the pain in your throat, enough that you can think a little clearer.

You need to stay as far away from Bella as possible. At least, for the time being, until you get used to her scent. She’ll probably notice, your sister has always been more perspective than you give her credit for. After all, it’s no diet that’s changed the way you look.

You’ll just have to be even more careful.

---

“What?”

You blink owlishly, glancing between Jasper and the rest of the coven to Edward, who looks more nervous than you’ve ever seen him look. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look nervous.

“She’s his singer,” Alice explains softly.

“Bella?”

“Yes.”

“My sister?”

“...Yes.”

An indescribable feeling burns in your chest as you cast another glare towards Edward.

I’m going to kill him.

“I didn’t do anything!” He exclaims, holding his hands up defensively.

“She’s my sister, Edward,” You growl, temper simpering.

“It’s not like I have a choice in the matter,” he snaps back.

You lunge for the man, only stopping when a pair of arms circle around your waist like iron bars. You snarl, struggling against the bonds, clinging to the anger burning in your chest when a flood of calm water rushes in to wipe it away.

“Let me go, Jasper,” you bite out, but his grip only tightens.

“Calm down.” His voice is firm, his ability cloaking you further with calm calm calm.

You grit your teeth, eyes clenching as you shake your head, as if that can rid you of his powers. You don’t want to be calm. You want to tear Edward limb from limb. Every morsel of your being is screaming at you to protect your sister, protect your family, even though you know Edward would never hurt someone.

It’s impossible to hold out long against Jasper’s ability though. You’re one of the few that actually can resist, if only for a short time. But eventually, you have to give in. You slump back into Jasper’s hold. The last strands of your fury melt away, soothed when your mate presses a kiss to your temple with a low hum.

With one final deep breath, you turn back to Edward, “So, what are you going to do?”

“I can’t stay here,” he murmurs, voice tight, “Not with what Alice has seen. I’ll go to the Denari, stay with them for a while.”

“For how long?”

“However long it takes.”

You purse your lips and nod, “Be safe. And don’t be long okay? I may want to kill you now, but I’ll miss you.”

Edward flashes a snarky grin your way before nodding to the rest of his family and disappearing to go tell Carlisle. The others disperse as well, probably wanting to occupy themselves after such a crazy day. You huff softly.

It must be difficult for all of them to be separated from him, since they’ve been together for so long. Even after just a few years, you’ve come to love Edward like the brother you never had, which makes you feel all the more conflicted about all of this.

Instead of facing it, you turn to Jasper and wrap your arms around his waist, chin propping against his chest as you gaze up at him,“How did you feel today? Everything okay?”

“Besides the constant concern from my siblings?” He sighs, and you brush your fingers comfortingly along his jaw. Jasper leans into your touch, kind of like a content cat. “I find myself still struggling with certain…urges.”

You hum softly, “I hope you’re not ashamed of that.”

Jasper perks a brow at you.

“I just mean that you should keep in mind how hard you’re working,” you elaborate, “Give yourself credit for that, Jas. You may have to work twice as hard as them, but you’re doing so well. I mean, look at us. You knew me for years as a human, and I know how hard that was for you, but you never, ever hurt me.”

The blond purses his lips, glancing between your eyes for a silent moment. It’s only when he feels your sincerity, a feeling akin to a warm blanket on a cold day, that the tension drips from his shoulders.

“You really are something, darlin’,” he murmurs, lips pulling into a slanted grin as he ducks down to press a kiss to your lips, “Worryin’ about me when you’re facin’ your own problems.”

“Well, I can always just come here when Bella’s home, you’re stuck in that school. I’m sure she’ll notice me avoiding her, but that’s better than her ending up dead, right?” The words send a pang through your chest.

“Based on today, I’d say your need to protect her far outweighs your thirst, sweetheart,” Jasper drawls, a touch of humor in his tone, “You looked this close to killing, Edward.”

“Oh, I would have. If he even touches her, I still might.” Jasper grins amusedly down at you, despite how serious you are trying to be. You set your lips into a stubborn frown to hide your own smile. “Seriously! I need you to keep an eye on him at the school when he comes back, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” You huff and stretch onto your toes to press a kiss to his curled lips. Jasper chases after you as you pull away, but you cover his mouth before he can draw you into anything more. A giggle breaks past your facade when his brows steeple, eyes narrowing at you. “Sorry! But I need to go home, mister. I may have to keep my distance, but goodness knows Charlie can’t cook, and we don’t have food to make anything, so I need to make sure that girl gets something good to eat.”

“You can get there in seconds,” Jasper grumbles through your fingers, grip tightening around your waist as he pulls you even closer.

“Yes, but we both know that I won’t be leaving anytime soon if you start something,” you point out, a teasing smile on your lips, “And it’s not like I’ll be gone long. I’ll come back tonight, okay?”

That’s when the sad puppy look comes out. For being the strong, southern hero type, Jasper is secretly a sucker for some soft attention, and he’s figured out exactly how to get it. He quickly mastered the puppy-eyes once he realized how they weaken your resolve. The little, conniving devil knows exactly how to get to you.

“Don’t give me that look,” you groan, squeezing your eyes shut, “Please, Jaz? I promise I’ll come back.”

“...fine.” Jasper relents, you can feel his grin under your fingers. “I’ll be waitin’ for you, darlin’.”

“I love you, Jazzy.”

His laughter fills you with a warmth you no longer have. You’d be a blushing mess if you could, especially when he kisses your palm, all gentle and soft, eyes alight with mischief.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“I already was.”

“I swear-”

---

The next week goes by miraculously, somehow, between you avoiding Bella and Edward being gone. You get away with a few lies whenever Bella tries to talk to you.

Oh, I have some work I need to finish tonight.

My boss is about to call, can we talk later?

Sorry Bells, work is just killing me this week.

Each time, when you have to watch her face fall, guilt claws viciously at your chest. It’s not like you want to avoid her. If anything, you wish you could just sit down, spend hours talking, about school, about boys, about everything. But everytime she gets close, the familiar burning feeling comes back. Weaker and weaker each time, thank the heavens, but you still can’t bring yourself to linger.

Bella doesn’t seem too keen on being patient though, as she corners you one evening while you’re cooking dinner.

“Do you know the Cullens?”

Every muscle in your body goes still, but only for a millisecond, before you force yourself to keep moving, breathing, blinking.

“Kind of! As well as most people, at least.” Not exactly a lie. “I knew of them while I was in school.”

“How about Edward?”

Ah. You recognize that tone. The slight interest, a touch of curiosity.

It’s exactly how you felt when you first learned about the Cullens, when you met Jasper.

“What, are you into him?” You cast her a glance, eyebrow raised teasingly.

“What? No!” Oh, she’s blushing. Now you really have to keep an eye on Edward. “He’s a total weirdo anyways.”

You snort, “Yah?”

“I have biology with him, and he just…I don’t know. He was so weird, and then I caught him trying to change classes after school. I think he hates me, but I don’t know why.” She looks so put out by the idea, an all too familiar pout on her lips.

“I doubt that’s the case, Bells,” you chime, “Edward’s not that kind of guy.”

“I thought you said you barely know him?”

Whoops.

You smile down at your soup nervously, “I don’t, I just meant that he doesn’t seem like that kind of guy. The Cullens are weird, but Dr. Cullen is a kind man. Dad likes him.”

Plus, you know exactly why Edward acted that way, not that you can tell her. It’s far from hatred, you think bemusedly.

“So you don’t think it’s a coincidence? Him asking to leave the class the day I start? Or that he hasn’t come back to school since?” Bella crosses her arms, staring you down with the stubbornness of a bull. She really is Charlie’s daughter.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Tinker Bell. Maybe he just got sick?” You force a smile, despite the pit opening in your stomach from the lie. “Boys are weird, take it from me.”

“Does that mean you have a boyfriend?”

“And dinner’s ready!” You squeak, dancing right past that question, “Could you go tell dad?”

“Sure.” Bella gives you a look that says this conversation definitely isn’t over, but does as you asked anyways.

You breathe a sigh of relief once she’s out of the room.

Of all the things to start talking about, of course she would pick the Cullens. You can’t blame her, you really can’t. When they first showed up in Forks, everyone was inexplicably drawn to the vampires. Not so inexplicably, you guess. You were drawn to Jasper the moment you laid eyes on him. His quiet, almost shy demeanor did you in, and the accent. To this day, you still swoon over that deep, southern drawl.

And now it’s like you’re watching it all from the start. The disappearing. The self-doubt. The intrigue. Except it’s Bella and Edward instead of you and Jasper.

“So, what’s for dinner, (Y/n)?” Charlie rubs his hands together as he shuffles into the kitchen.

“Tortellini soup, old man. Low sodium, but plenty of chicken, just for you,” You tease as you put a bowl in front of him.

“Dad, does (Y/n) have a boyfriend?” Bella follows close behind, and you can’t help but quawk at her.

“Bella!”

“She sure does,” Charlie snorts as he blows on his soup, “That Cullen boy.”

Bella shoots you a look, something between a glare and something smug. You cringe away, busying yourself with cleaning up. You’re screwed, you’re so screwed.

“Which Cullen boy?” She presses.

“The blond one. Not too bad, that kid.” And Charlie is completely oblivious! He’s supposed to be on your side here!

“I thought you said you barely know them?” Bella prompts, brow raised in accusation.

Think quick, (Y/n).

“They’re a private family, Bells, and you don’t understand how people are here.” You dig into old emotions, one’s you’ve long since buried. Hopefully it’ll make her uncomfortable enough to stop. “When it came out in school that Jasper and I were dating, people were horrible to me. I don’t like talking about it.”

It brings back every pain seeded in your heart. You faced it all. Jealousy, hateful notes shoved into your locker, obscene rumors whispered as you walked down the halls. Everyone you grew up with, everyone you loved, turned on you, just like that. You had no one except the Cullens and Charlie after that.

“I have work to do,” you mutter, grabbing a bowl of soup to pour down your sink later. “Enjoy the food.”

“(Y/n)-”

“I’m sure he’ll come back soon, Bells. Give him the benefit of the doubt when he does.” You give her a gentle, sad smile. “He is a good guy.”

And with that, you disappear upstairs, every step like a heavy weight, pulling you underwater.

It’s not supposed to be this hard. You’re supposed to be able to tell her everything. That’s how it’s always been. Even when your parents divorced, even when they moved to Arizona, you and Bella never drifted apart. You told her every tiny detail of your life.

Until high school.

When it all happened, you were just so…embarrassed. You’re the older sister, you were supposed to be strong, set a good example, show her that she could do anything. But you just ended up drowning, with Jasper as your only source of air.

So you’ll do anything for him, for the Cullens, even if that means lying to your sister. And it’s protecting her too, you remind yourself as you settle down at your desk. The less she and Charlie know, the safer they are from the Volturi.

You can do that, at least. Protect them. Both the Cullens and your family. No matter how many lies you have to tell, or creative answers you have to whip up for Bella’s sure to be unending number of questions, you will protect them.

And who knows! You perk up, trying your hardest to be positive. Maybe this won’t be exactly like you and Jasper. Maybe this is just a passing curiosity that will let up once Edward comes home, and you can forget it all in a week. Eventually you’ll be able to talk to her about Jasper, just without all the bloody details.

Yah. Once she’s safe, from you and the looming threat that comes with this truth, everything will go back to normal. Hopefully.

---

I'm struggling a bit with this one but I'm really enjoying the concept! There's just so many ideas to go with, and I want to write them all! Who knows how far it'll go haha.

Part 2

#reader insert #x reader #reader #twilight saga #twilight #jasper whitlock #jasper hale #jasper x reader #jasper hale x reader #jasper whitlock x reader #vampire reader #swan reader

890 notes · View notes