#its a virus you get the Black Breath if you click | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

psychedelic-ink · 1 year

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𝑬𝑿𝑰𝑳𝑬 || 𝑭𝑼𝑳𝑳 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀

pairing: joel miller x ofc!june | written in reader format, no body descriptions but does have a personality

genre: dark cottagecore, horror, angst, explicit smut, hybrid au, minors dni

word count: 13.8k

summary: Runners. Stalkers. Clickers. Shamblers. Bloaters.

Domestics.

All infected. One unlike the other.

You expect the infection to eat you from the inside out, turning you into something horrid. But instead, you find yourself with leaf-shaped ears and antlers that belong to a deer. While you live out the rest of your days trying to adjust to your new features and survive, you meet Joel, a survivor just like you but with a more grim approach to life.

Both of you adopt the forest as your home. One wants the other gone, meanwhile the other will do anything to not be left alone.

warnings: canon typical violence, horror elements, horror imagery, a non-descripted attempt at suicide, blood, intense feelings of grief (joel), joel having anger issues, joel threatening to shoot you, intense feelings/descriptions of loneliness (reader), female masturbation, you get shot, mentions of reader having body hair, piv, oral (receiving and giving), emotional sex, possessive kink, praise kink, mild dirty talking, soft!joel, vaginal fingering, kitchen sex, mild choking, rough sex

a/n: Hello everyone! this is the whole story of Exile, if you want to read this chapter by chapter you can by clicking on the masterlist below. Enjoy!

I would like to thank @pedrorascal for reading this over and giving me insight about the story. And also thank you to @honestly-shite for answering my camera-related questions 💜💜💜

And lastly, once again thank you to @pedrito-friskito who listened to me bitch and moan about this fic for months and edited this entire thing. I love you so much brainwave twin ❤️

SERIES MLIST

PROLOGUE

(SEPTEMBER, 2013)

Runners. Stalkers. Clickers. Shamblers. Bloaters.

Domestics.

All infected. One unlike the other.

After getting infected, what happened to one’s body could be described as no less than horrid. The change could happen to anyone; your neighbors, your friends, your family. After the virus seeped into your skin and flooded your veins, your body morphed into something inhuman. The stench would be unbearable— Acidic and rotten. Regular faces now looked as if they’d been through a meat grinder, or exploded from the inside out.

And those were your exact thoughts as fear crept up your spine. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps as the feeling took hold of your spine, a cold hand clutched at your heart. The taste of bile was thick on your tongue, your nostrils filled with the cloying odor of decay. You could hear the clicking sound of the Infected drawing closer, a relentless, maddening sound that seemed to echo within your skull.

Click Click Click

The Clicker moved closer, its grotesque form illuminated by the flickering light of a nearby fire. Its eyes were blank, soulless orbs that seemed to stare into your very soul. Its twisted, mangled body was covered in pus and blood, the stench overpowering.

You managed to make your escape with an empty gun in your hand and your black boots caked with mud. The rain fell heavily from the sky, as if it were determined to wash away all traces of your existence. Despite the downpour, you had managed to evade the Infected and make it deep into the woods.

You collapsed under a tree with thick, leafy branches and you cried— Warm, salty tears mixed with cold, sweet rain. You felt your stomach, soft, warm, and incredibly wet.

Blood, you realized.

With shaky hands, you peeled the wet fabric off of your skin and mused to yourself that it actually did feel just like that—warm. Your tears dried out when you saw the violently red bite mark. It was deep. A chunk of your flesh gone.

You checked yourself for ammo, your hands trembling. You didn��t want to turn. You didn’t want to become a mindless creature hunting for untainted flesh.

You let your head slump against the trunk, the weight of your circumstances pressing down on you as you grasped the finality of your empty ammunition. Your body trembled. Blood continued to pour heavy and thick over your skin.

Life was so cruel that it didn’t even allow you to die. You would live the rest of your days as a mindless shell of what you once were—a disfigured monster— until someone shot you. And that was only if you were lucky.

The thought of living long enough to morph into a Bloater struck you to your core. You closed your eyes.

While raindrops slid down the leaves and dropped onto your shivering body, you were blessed with unplanned sleep. You hoped that you wouldn’t wake in the morning. If you were lucky, a hunter would come by and shoot you before you had the chance to turn, robbing you of all your belongings.

A new type of Infected was born that day— Domestics, they would be called. A type of infected that didn’t behave like the rest. Domestics could continue their lives as regular people (whatever regular meant in this bitter world) however, they still carried the signs of nature’s rebuttal across their bodies.

Some Domestics had claws, some had fur, some had eyes that could see through the pitch-black night.

Some could breathe underwater, some had scaly skin.

In your case, you had antlers and soft, leaf-shaped ears allowing you to detect even the faintest of sounds from miles away. But with these gifts also came the curse of being forever marked as one of the Infected, an outcast from an already broken society.

This infection was different. Some called it adaptation.

But to most, it was still the Infected, there was no difference.

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

(MAY, 2014)

The wet soil sinks as you bend on one knee. The squelch of earth prompts you to wrinkle your nose. Your ears fall flat over your head, and you point the lens of the polaroid camera to a fallen tree trunk. It’s covered in rich green moss, with a handful of small mushrooms grown within it. You press your eyes against the viewfinder. The rest of the forest is blurred, the mushroom being the focus of the shot. You click the shutter release, the sound of it louder than you expect. A picture soon follows.

You flinch at the sound of wings fluttering. You press your chin against your chest, only moving your eyes as you look up. Your ears are raised with alert, your muscles tense, and your body unbelievably still. You see a flock of white doves swarming in the air.

You slowly get up with an exhale of a breath. You feel more and more on edge every day. You know for a fact that the forest is empty except for the animals that already inhabited it and well…you.

After you were infected and before you decided to make the green your eternal home, you had scoured the area endlessly. There wasn’t much; a couple of abandoned cabins, and safehouses made from stone and metal. As far as you could tell, there weren’t many Infected living here. However, that didn’t mean there were none.

Getting used to your new body hadn’t been easy. At first glance, not much didn’t appear to be different. Your ears were now one of a deer, your antlers small and not really good for anything.

The latter surprised you because from what you’ve known, does did not have antlers.

Funnily enough, getting used to your new physical appearance had been easy. The hard part was the newly developed senses; you could hear better, see better, could pick up scents miles away from where you stood. The first day after being turned you were frozen with fear, hearing and smelling too much all at the same time. It paralyzed you, making you think that the threats loomed much closer than they actually were.

But days passed and the pack of wolves you heard days before never came. The hunters seeking out tourists never found you. Then you realized that no one had been after you this entire time. You got up, ready to find a home.

In one of the abandoned cabins, you found a dusty old polaroid camera. You fixed it, cleaned it, and now it was your only tool to remind yourself of what life used to be.

The camera loosely hangs from your neck, swaying from side to side as you walk back home. You tend to limit your time in the forest, not wanting to attract attention from anything—be it humans, infected or regular animals.

A gust of wind blows and you notice a tree stump. Without a second thought, you gather a couple of the rocks that lay idly nearby. Four, you count, and stack them on top of the stump. This had become a habit after the first week. You enjoy seeing them months later, still laying on top of one another, untouched. The ones that are knocked by the wind or something else, you don’t pick up again.

Joel doesn’t think much of the scenery. There’s no one to bother him, no one to look out for, and that’s enough for him. His rifle hangs warm on his back, a newly shot buck limp and thrown over his shoulder. A good hunt, is all he can think.

His pain is still fresh. The hole in his heart still pouring crimson blood— it causes his skin to itch constantly, and he does so hard enough to leave red marks dragged across his skin.

Joel doesn't think anymore, his mind consumed by the need to survive. It’s out of habit. He shoots first and never asks questions. But even as he fights for his own survival, it feels meaningless, a hollow victory in the face of the horror that surrounds him. He moves through the world like a ghost, haunted by the memories of those he has lost and the darkness that seems to follow him. The constant fear and desperation have turned him into a shell of his former self, a shadow of the man he once was.

The part of him that used to feel is long gone, the watch on his wrist telling him the exact time of death every single day.

His chest heaves and his knees buckle under the added weight of the animal. With a grunt, Joel catches himself before falling and looks ahead. He’s close, a break seemingly not needed.

Then he sees a soft shimmer of light, his eyes following it like a moth to a flame. Rocks, he sees, four of them stacked on top of a tree stump, shining under the afternoon sun. His mind draws blank as he thinks who might’ve stacked them. At first, he worries that it might be hunters, but then he realizes that nobody would come out this far without a good reason.

As the realization sinks in, his heart slows down, his breathing evening out. The tension eases out of his body.

Joel rolls his shoulders and pushes the dead animal further up.

He only stops when he sees another set of rocks stacked on another stump.

TWO MONTHS LATER

(JULY, 2014)

It happens when you’re trying to take a picture of dew on a big leaf.

You hear the click of a gun, silent steps, and an agitated grunt. A man, you guess, a man much stronger than you. The feeling of him lurking behind you makes a shudder trail up from your tailbone to your nape, a needle-like sensation that induces the need to run. He’s closer now, his breathing heavy. You know it’s too late to run when you hear the loud crunch of leaves.

“Hands in the air,” he says, voice gruff. “I swear, you make a sudden move and I’ll shoot.”

You tremble. Your hands slowly raise, the camera falls and the strap stings your neck when it does.

“Don’t shoot.”

You sound meek and afraid. A million thoughts swirl in your mind, the most prominent one being that you didn’t want to die. An irony considering how you felt when you first breached the border of the forest. When he speaks again he doesn’t address your plea for your life, which scares you more.

“Turn around then, let’s see what you are.”

You turn and his eyebrows rise with shock, mouth parting. His hands falter lightly, the barrel of the gun dropping to your neck. When he swallows, his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“Well, I’ll be… a Domestic.”

His shock gives you a brief moment to observe him as well. His hair sticks out from all directions, messy and unkempt. His patchy beard is peppered with a healthy amount of grays; so is his hair, you realize. You’re impressed by the broad width of his shoulders and strong jaw. He’s wearing a tattered brown jacket and a gray button-up underneath. His finger still rests on the trigger, the crease between his brows deep.

The watch on his wrist reflects the light into your eyes.

“I didn’t think your kind actually existed. A fairy tale, I always thought.” he huffs. “An Infected that can speak, think, and eat like one of us,”

“I am one of you,” you answer defensively.

“You have antlers growing out of your head, girl.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m any less of a human,”

“Maybe, but it sure does mean you ain't all human now, does it?"

The drawl of his words strikes a nerve. Blood pools underneath your fingernails and you think about the many others that think like him.

Rarely do you leave the protective bubble of the forest, but those scarce moments when you do have shown you what the masses thought of this new type of “Infected”. Most treated Domestics the same: shooting on sight. Some believed they could be the source of a cure—Whichever one they believed, it always ended in violence.

You have no reason to believe this man is any different from the rest. Hell, you can’t even rule out the possibility that he might be a hunter.

He takes a step closer. You inhale sharply, lips only slightly parted. The man doesn’t stop until you’re staring directly into the barrel of the gun, he cocks the weapon, his eyes glued to your ears and antlers. Saliva gathers in your mouth and you swallow thickly.

“What makes you different from the rest of’em— The rest of the Infected,” his voice drops, his tone threatening. “Give me a good reason not to blow your brains out right this second,”

Your ears straighten when he pushes the cool metal against your forehead. It’s cold yet it also burns. You’re hesitant to say anything, let alone convince him to let you live. Your lips are numb like a corpse, your throat seizes, the air caught in your throat.

Your gaze falls to his throat, and with a subtle snarl, he notches the gun under your chin, lifting your gaze back up.

“Speak,” he commands.

“I—I don’t crave to attack the uninfected,” you blurt out. He raises one eyebrow and looks you over, clearly not convinced. “I’m also scared of them. They attack me like they would any other survivor,”

“Is that so? Maybe we should try that theory out.”

You must’ve given him a look of utter horror— or one of a kicked puppy— because his eyes soften, brows relaxing along with the rest of his muscles. He finally lowers the gun and shakes his head.

“I won’t, don’t worry,” he holds the rifle with one hand and reaches out to touch your ear. It flinches at his touch. You take a tentative step back.

“Don’t do that,” you say with a frown. You feel incredibly warm and your ear continues to twitch. A sense of both comfort and fear rolls in your stomach. “I’m not a dog you know,”

“I guess not.” he also takes a step back and waves his hand. “Go along then—Scram,”

You scoff at his words, half smiling half surprised. “Scram?”

“I don’t want any sort of infected around me,” he answers, you notice his fingers curling tighter around the handle of the rifle. “I don’t care whether you can talk or shit gold, I want none of it.”

“I live here too, you know. You don’t own the forest—”

Suddenly, you find yourself staring into the muzzle again, you jump and goosebumps trace your skin. His hardened expression is back, he looks angry—furious almost, which surprises you. You didn’t expect him to offer you tea but you surely didn’t expect him to threaten you once more.

“We managed not to come across each other this far. Which tells me you must’ve been snooping outside of your regular path, am I right? Don’t come near here again.”

You’re wrong, is what you want to say since this actually was your regular path but seeing that he has no intention of backing down you decide to keep your thoughts to yourself.

“If I do find you snooping around again, I won’t be as kind. Now, go.”

Joel watches as the Domestic runs away, jumping above the branches and fallen trees. She didn’t say a word. She merely stared at his rifle one last time before fleeing.

Rightfully so, he would’ve shot her if she hadn’t.

For the longest time, he thought of the Domestics to be nothing more than a lie. He assumed it to be a weak attempt to spark hope within the people. A new type of Infected that didn’t behave like infected regularly did.

He remembers Tommy speaking of them, once, before Joel shut him down.

Supposedly they came in different forms, all of them having animal-like features. Joel never thought this of being the next step of human evolution —or an adaptation as many had told him— there was no use in having tiny antlers or other minuscule differences. They still would die just as easily as regular folk, so what was the point?

He turns and leaves. Joel would’ve shot her— hell, he probably should have. He doesn’t know nothing about this new type of infected, who was to say that the next day she wouldn’t come crawling back as a damn Clicker?

But, he still had some fraction of a conscience, and when she looked up at him, so afraid—the mere thought of him offering her up to the Infected making her tremble— he just couldn’t.

Joel is positive that this decision of his will cause him trouble. Hopefully, she’ll actually listen and never come near him again. But in this day and age, people rarely heed the warnings.

A fly lands on his shoulder and he swats it away. The thing you were doing had piqued his curiosity; you were taking pictures. He doesn’t remember the last time he’d taken a picture—

No. That’s a lie. He does.

It was when Sarah had won an award for playing on her youth soccer team. He remembers the picture well; Sarah holding her trophy with one hand and making a peace sign with the other with his arm thrown over her shoulder.

Joel stops, looks at the ground, and lets out a shaky breath. His eyes are wet, and his throat is so tight that it hurts.

Back when it all happened, he couldn’t even manage to go back to their home and bring a single picture with him. All he remembers of Sarah is from his memory—Not that he could ever forget what she looked like.

His chest stutters, anger boiling in the pits of his stomach. It’s unfair that he is still breathing and walking, it should’ve been him— Or he should’ve at least died along with her.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his voice loud within the silence of nature.

His anger festers in him like a disease. It never leaves. Whenever he thinks about his last moments with Sarah, his arms coiling around her as she stopped breathing, her blood warm against his skin. He feels a sharp pain in his chest and collapses. Most days, he wished that the pain would stop his heart, clog his veins, and leave him dead under the trees.

He jolts at the familiar pain growing in his chest. The sounds he makes come from his throat, an unattractive gurgling sound that reminds him of Runners. Joel stumbles forward and trips. Looking down he sees thick roots making their way out of the soil, his gaze follows the rotting limb, he sees a tree stump.

Again, he sees rocks.

The tightening of his chest subsides for a brief moment, his shock numbing the rest of his nerves. Joel looks back to where he came from. He observes the path the Domestic had escaped to, then he turns back to the rocks.

Joel isn’t sure what prompts him to do it— He’s angry, bitter, and the peaceful image of the Domestic happily taking pictures doesn’t leave his mind. Raising his foot from the ground, he kicks the stack violently with the sole of his boot.

He doesn’t care to look in which direction the rocks flew to. He walks away.

ONE WEEK LATER

(JULY, 2014)

Summer rain isn’t common, but very much appreciated.

You hear the soft pitter-patters of rain first. The light that filters through the clouds casts the room in a hazy, dreamlike quality. You slowly open your eyes. There it is again, that feeling of restlessness, accompanied by an itch that you just can’t scratch. You stretch your arms first, then your legs and your back—twisting and turning until you hear a satisfying crack.

Staring at the ceiling, you think of what to do. You’re low on supplies. Especially food. You have a handful of dried berries in the cupboard and freshly gathered rosemary to make tea. Not the most nutritious breakfast. Soon you will either have to travel to the city (which is never fun) or you will need to scavenge the woods, in hopes that maybe there is an empty cabin you haven’t sacked yet.

Thunder bellows and you close your eyes, your ears flat. Your heart races not only at the sound, but the memory of a rifle being pointed at you and the man who held the trigger. You remember the smell of gunpowder and fear, the taste of terror and sorrow. You think back to the man and the moment when it all could have gone wrong. But the thunder falls silent, and you’re still here. You’re still alive.

You’ve seen him once more since that encounter. For obvious reasons, you hadn’t come out to say hi. He seemed to be wearing a perpetual scowl on his face, which makes you uneasy near him.

The rain speeds up, the cold crawling through the gaps. Yet, you feel incredibly warm.

Human contact is something hard to come by and for some reason, the man behind the trigger awakened something inside you. Despite the imminent threat of death at the time, you realized he had a handsome face, a strong body. He’s clearly competent if he managed to survive this long.

You remember his hands, how large they had looked holding the grip of the rifle.

With a stuttering exhale, your hands move across your body, squeezing and touching parts of yourself you found that still enjoyed being squeezed and touched. Your breasts feel heavy and warm beneath your palms. One hand slides up as the other slides underneath your loose shirt; slowly you curl your own fingers around your throat, with the other you draw slow circles around your nipple.

The sensations are enough to make your eyes flutter closed as your mind drifts back to the man who had held you at gunpoint. His strong frame, his deep voice, and his intense gaze. You let out a soft sigh as you imagine what it would be like to feel his hands on your body. To feel his breath on your neck, the warmth of his body pressed against yours. It's a wonderful fantasy, but one you know will remain just that.

But then again, there is no harm in fantasizing. Especially in a world so bleak.

You imagine that it’s him. His thick fingers roughly squeezing your tit as he chokes you. Your breathing hitches. You spread your legs at the ghost of his cock. You can almost feel his breath on your skin—his growl deep and low in your ear. You imagine the stranger fucking you out of spite, bending you over until your body gives in, he’ll make your muscles twitch and ache, your name falling from his lips again and again as he fucks you senseless.

Another gasp drops from your lips, your jaw slack and eyes half-lidded, the hand that plays with your tit cheats under your shorts. You’re so wet. You shudder when you touch yourself, slow and sensual. You imagine that it’s his tongue, you imagine him praising you on how wet you are for him, and you keen at the whisper of his words. Your back arches off the bed, two of your fingers moving in unison as you draw quick, short circles around your clit.

Your moans fall freely from your lips. His mouth presses against that tender spot right below your jawline that you tend to touch when you want to feel good—the spot tingles at the thought and you hum with delight, your pussy fluttering and dripping around your fingers.

He'll bring you to the brink of pleasure, but won’t let you reach it—not until you surrender to him. You imagine his voice commanding you, his hands punishing you.

You feel yourself grow wetter and wetter, desperate for his touch. You imagine yourself screaming his name as he finally pushes you over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you as he slams into you with one last thrust. You’re left trembling and exhausted, your body aching and your mind reeling from the intensity of you imagination.

You come violently, shaking and trembling. You breathe heavily through your nose and your chin drops forward, slack with the need to say his name. Deep down, you wish you had asked when you met. He would’ve probably shot you if you did. You want to cry when you push your fingers inside of you, the feeling is pleasant and warm but not at all fulfilling. You thrust them a couple of times, warmth blossoms within your stomach, tears flow and your second orgasm shatters through you

Still crying, you wipe your fingers and rub your eyes. You do it in a childish way, the back of your hands going up and down your eyes again and again. You think of how he would console you.

You’re doing so well for me.

So beautiful.

Just you and me, nothing else matters.

You’re not alone.

You hug yourself when the last phrase passes through your mind. Within yourself, you accuse him of lying, you say that he’s far away and doesn’t even know who you are. The ghost of him shushes you and strokes your hair. You cry harder then.

A man that threatened you with your life becomes a source of comfort. It makes you sick, deep down, but you carry on by imagining him whispering sweet sayings into your ear, his hands stroking your body, his cock deep inside. You shudder at the thought. You know that you’re lonely but you never had quite known how lonely you truly were.

The rain sounds louder now, the thunder more menacing.

Your room now seems darker.

The rain lasts all day. You pour some hot water into a cracked mug with a bundle of rosemary inside. Steam flows out of the mug like a waterfall. You take a small bite out of one of the berries you dried yourself and chew it slowly. Your movements feel mechanic. You swallow and raise the mug to your lips, it’s hot, and a bit of tea slips through the cracks and burns your knuckles. You only wince a little bit, not really taking any immediate action to subside the pain.

Drops slide down the window. The inside is warm thanks to the old wood-burning stove you managed to salvage, most of the parts not matching one another. Soft crackles of fire accompany the sound of rain.

You take another sip of your tea. You don’t dare to think about the man that is probably staring at the same rain as you. You feel close to him, yet miles and miles apart.

The salty and earthy taste of rosemary mixes with the warm and comforting smell of the fire, providing a bit of solace in the midst of the storm.

It’s probably better not to think at all.

THREE MONTHS LATER

(OCTOBER, 2014)

Joel makes his way through the abandoned cabin, his eyes scanning the cluttered room for any supplies that might still be of use. The air is heavy and still, the only sound being the soft dripping of water from the leaky roof. The shadows seem to dance and shift around him, and he can't shake the sensation of being observed.

He still has food, luckily, but there was no harm in searching for more. Once a week, he scanned the forest from dawn to dusk, looking over every inch of the crowded forest. Most often than not, he came back empty-handed.

Joel ventures further into the cabin, his heart racing as he searches through the abandoned rooms. In the bedroom, he finds a torn and moldy mattress that he can use as a makeshift bed. In the bathroom, he discovers a sink and bathtub that are caked with grime and rust, but still functional.

As he gathers the supplies he needs from the kitchen, Joel thinks about the Domestic he’d met months ago. He saw her once more after that, camera dangling from her neck, a gun strapped to her back. He has an inkling that maybe it was her clearing out the abandoned cabins before he could.

Just as he’s emptying the cupboards, his blood freezes. He hears the creaking of the old steps and the familiar sound of staccato clicks. Beads of sweat flare across his dusty forehead and his lips tighten into a grim line. He slowly unwraps his fingers from around the can, crouching down slowly. His hand moves to his gun, which he pulls up to his chest.

He takes a deep breath and edges backward. He tries to stay hidden as he figures out the exact location the noise is coming from. Joel watches as the twisted, fungal body stalks down the stairs; it trips but is unbothered by it.

It moves around with a silent, deadly grace.

Its face is completely engulfed in the thick, black fungus that covered its entire being, its eyes long since rotted away. Swallowing, Joel crawls forward, wanting to reach the door before the Clicker finds him lurking about in the kitchen. He breathes out from his nose, as silently as he can. The Clicker turns to the living room, leaving the exit wide open. Joel’s skin tingles when he moves, like little needles poking into his skin.

Joel’s eyes frantically dart around, taking in every tiny detail just in case something goes wrong. He spots the wide windows, the coat rack, the couch—

His body shuts down entirely when he sees it. He stops breathing, moving, even the twitching of his right eye subsides within the minute.

Joel sees her. Antlers and all, crouched behind the couch, teeth deep into her bottom lip while breathing heavily from her nose.

And in that brief moment, their gazes meet.

Joel’s mouth is dry as sandpaper. He holds his gaze, eyebrows raise with shock, her confusion is quickly replaced with hope— A look he despises, yet can’t help but be drawn to.

The Clicker moves around the sofa, its head tilting from side to side as the horrid clicking sounds spurt from its open mouth. Without even thinking Joel motions with his head for her to sprint forward. He sees the still in her steps, strained and fearful but despite it all, she manages to reach him.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her gaze glued to the floor.

“It’s too early to give me thanks. We’ll talk when we’re out.”

He feels the way she breathes, hears the way her heart hammers in her chest. It reminds him of a caged baby bird. She inches closer to him. A movement driven by pure instinct. Joel thinks she trusts too quickly.

The Clicker stands by the door, head turned in their direction, taunting them.

It must have heard the two of them whispering. Joel feels his entire body tensing, his breathing nonexistent—

Without thought, Joel senses her nearly jumping with fear and his hand reaches for her. His fingers curl tightly around her neck, pushing her head down without his eyes ever leaving the creatures’ gruesome silhouette. It doesn't have eyes, but it sure looks like it's staring them down, its head tilting to the side as it listens for any sign of movement.

The Clicker turns its head, cracking its neck before heading deeper into the house.

He grinds his molars together and feels the sting of it in his gums. She lets out a breath of relief, it feels loud— Too loud. He squeezes her nape once more before letting go, and without a word, he heads for the door, not bothering to close it as he finally leaves the cursed cabin.

Her footsteps follow.

FIVE MINUTES LATER

(OCTOBER, 2014)

You follow the man deeper in to the woods as the two of you rush to put a reasonable distance between you and the cabin. He keeps looking over his shoulder. Every time he does, he looks more and more rageful. You’re sure that he wants you to leave.

Honestly, that is probably the more sensible thing to do.

But the skin of the back of your neck still stings from his grip and you can’t bring yourself to leave without at least learning his name. This forest is your home, and it’s his home as well. In a twisted way, you two are neighbors.

You hadn’t expected to come across an Infected when you went inside. The heavy rain made you walk inside with little care. It was terrifying, waiting for the threat to pass by yourself. But then there he was, a rugged angel, offering a way to salvation, and bringing you to safety.

You’ve seen him around; you even took a picture of him. To you, he was a perfect specimen to document someone who was both free and trapped. It was also nice to actually photograph a living, moving thing.

“When are you gonna quit chasing me around?” he suddenly snarls, turning on his heel with force. “How many times do I have to tell you— Scram.”

“You’re really rude,” you answer, crossing your arms in defiance. “And you said we would talk after we got out. Well…we got out, now it’s time to talk,”

“Fine. Thank me and leave,”

The wind blows warm. The sound of leaves rustling scratches your ears. You try to make yourself seem bigger by straightening your back. It’s been so long since you wanted to talk to him—To get to know the other person who was in the same situation as you. Afraid, confused, hurt, lonely.

You just want to know his name. That’s all.

“My name is June,” you say with the exhale of your breath. “And thank you.”

He considers your not-so-subtle peace offering. His eyes are narrowed, lips tight. Briefly you fear he’s just going to turn and leave. But the fire crackling in his eyes dies down, his shoulders drop and the wind ruffles his hair.

“Joel.” he answers, “and you’re welcome.”

TWO WEEKS LATER

(OCTOBER,2014)

You never thought you would have another person in your house. Ever, really.

But here Joel is, walking up the steps of your humble cabin, taking in the details, assessing what he could take just in case. At the time, inviting him over seemed like a good idea. You wanted him to know where you lived, if something were to happen to where he lived, you wanted him to know where to come.

However, your good intentions were not reciprocated.

“I’m not telling an Infected where I live,” he had said. “Feel free to show me if you feel that’s the right thing to do, but don’t expect me to do the same. We are not the same.”

The words still echo in your head as you finally reach the top of the stairs. You don’t think it was wrong of him to think like that. Technically, you two aren’t the same, not even the same species. But it frustrates you a little bit to see that he’s still so reluctant about your intentions. All you want to do is make your life less miserable.

“This is the bathroom,” you point out. “However, there’s no real plumbing. I pull in water from the nearby river and wash directly there.”

He hums, eyes uncaringly looking inside. “What else?” he grunts, walking ahead.

You dart ahead, grinning as you make an effort of bowing and opening the door. It’s stupid maybe, being so excited about wanting to show him the photos you had taken—But you couldn’t help it. It feels like having a friend over after years, it’s…it’s nice.

“And here’s my bedroom slash office,”

“Office?” he scoffs. “What work are you doing?”

“I like taking pictures,”

You don’t miss the way his face falls, hands tightening into fists and loosening up again. Confusion crosses your face but you manage to erase it by shaking your head.

“Uh…anyway, do you want to see?”

“Do I have a choice?”

His voice is emotionless, so you have no way of telling if he’s annoyed or not. You only understand his intentions when you turn and see him smiling, the expression sprinkling relief over your heart. It’s a very small smile, something that wouldn’t be considered smiling before 2013, but now it’s the broadest smile in the world.

It’s odd, feeling this light when doing something. You feel your fingertips tingling as you pick up a medium sized box from your desk and place it on the bed. Before he moves closer, you snatch Joel’s picture from on top of the pile and place it facing down on the sheets.

“You really have been busy,” he remarks, picking up one of the photographs. It’s one of dandelions. “Not bad,”

“Thanks. It is hard to find polaroid films and the one’s I find are quite old, or expired, hence the reason why all the pictures look faint or discolored. But it’s better than doing nothing,”

Joel gives you a faint smile that makes your heart flutter, his eyes grow soft. “Guess so.”

You show him your favorite photographs, one by one, with insightful commentary on each. He nods, a man of few words, but you appreciate having someone to talk to, other than your own echoing voice.

As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting a golden light through the windows, warming your skin, you realize with a startle that hours have passed. You find yourself sitting on the bed, shoulder to shoulder with Joel, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. The light dances on your skin, and the colors come alive, and for a moment, all is right in the world. No virus, no loss, no grief. Just the two of you, smiling and talking.

It feels like a glimpse of another life, an alternate universe. The sudden urge to cry overwhelmes you. It’s so strong that you press your nails into your palm, the sting of pain forcing a hiss to stumble from your lips.

“You alright?”

The deep baritone of his voice makes you jump. Joel doesn't seem to notice, as he carefully places the photographs back into their box and slowly stands up. While you nod and open your mouth to say that you are, his eyes lingers on the backwards photograph sitting on the bed.

He reaches out before you can stop him, “It seems like we missed one,” he says, picking it up. Your fingertips touch the photograph as he pulls it away, slipping from your grasp before you can prevent what’s about to happen.

“Joel, wait—”

You watch him, transfixed as he studies the photograph, his eyes scanning every inch, his mind working furiously. First, his eyes go wide, then they narrow, brows scrunched angrily. His eyes snap up, his gaze hardened like the first time you met him.

“What the fuck is this?”

“I can explain.”

Joel doesn't pay attention to her explanations, his gaze glued on the photograph. It's like looking into one of those distorted mirrors at a theme park. In the picture, he's standing, gun strapped to his back, fingers curled around the straps of his backpack. He doesn't remember this moment, every day blending into one. It's hard to tell which day it is just from a single photograph.

He looks tired, cheeks hallowed and eyes sunken. His hair and beard has more grays than he remembers, and there's a scar above his right eyebrow that he hadn't noticed before. How could he? He doesn’t like to look at himself.

But what really sets him on edge is the sight of his own gaze. In retrospect, it's a beautiful picture, the setting sun casting a golden glow on his skin and eyes alight. But he knows what he used to look like, how he used to be tired but happy, content with the life he had built for Sarah and him. Now, he looks tortured, eyes lacking life and love.

This physical copy of his grief and pain is a stark reminder of all that he has lost. He turns the photograph over in his hands, tracing the edges with his fingers as the weight of his past presses down on him. He can't bring himself to look at it any longer and feels a heavy ache in his chest.

He rips the photograph into two pieces, then four—He tears it until the pieces slip from his fingers, fluttering to the wooden floors.

When he looks back at her, he feels anger. Nothing more nothing less. He never should have came here.

Her lips are pressed tight, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. She looks so small right now, ears pointed down, and her body curling in a way that makes him think she wants to disappear.

Maybe she should.

Or better yet, he should. Only if he wasn’t a damned coward.

“Why the fuck would you take my picture without asking?” he spits, venom behind ever word.

“We weren’t really on speaking terms at the time…”

He senses her need to lighten the mood, but it’s too late. The lid is popped wide open, and he’s not strong enough to close it back. The sickening part is that he doesn’t want to close it. Joel wants to lash out, he wants to scream and throw a glass at the wall, watch it shatter into a billion pieces. He wants it so bad in fact, it feels if he doesn’t his chest might explode, his breathing hitches, eyes darting around.

Joel spots the box of pictures, for a brief moment he imagines himself ripping it all to shreds. Pouring gasoline over them, watching it burn.

“You shouldn’t have taken it anyway,”

His gaze then falls upon the camera, sitting idly on the desk. She follows his gaze, noticing the way the air around him becomes tense when he picks it up. It’s hard to breathe. She starts begging him, her voice trembling, as his fingers tighten around the device.

"Look, calm down, please. I'm...I'm sorry, okay?" she says quickly adding. "I understand how you feel—"

"No, you don't," he snaps, the weight of his grief and pain pressing down on him. "You know nothing of my pain. You don't know what loss is."

With a snarl of anger and frustration, Joel throws the camera to the ground. It crashes with a loud sound of shattering glass and plastic. He watches as the pieces of the camera litter the floor, its once precious film now spilled out like entrails. His chest heaving with each breath, his anger slowly dissipating, leaving only the bitter aftertaste of regret. He stares at the broken camera, with a feeling of emptiness and a heavy weight on his chest, the feeling hadn’t gone away.

As a response, her anger starts to rise as well, competing with his own. Her gaze traces along the broken camera pieces, her hands balling into fists.

“You’re not the only one who lost people, Joel.” you say, eerily calm. He doesn’t like the way a chill has settled over the bottom of his spine. “I’ve lost people too. You don’t get to say who’s pain is bigger.”

Joel steps forward, then another, crowding her space. He expects her to cower in fear, but instead she glares at him, staring at him with an unwavering gaze he’s never seen before.

He’s so close that he can see the small flecks in her eyes.

“Yes, I do.” his voice drops. “You talk mighty big for someone who prances around and takes pictures all day. You can fool yourself and think that you’re in pain but you ain’t fooling me. You’re happy.”

She blinks away her tears quickly, her lips parting with shock. It’s too late for him to feel guilty now; he’s sure he’s run out of guilt.

Anger briefly flares in her eyes, and much to his surprise she attempts to push him away. Joel grabs her wrist, holding them tight as she thrashes around. She refuses to look at him, his words cutting too deep and into something that she fears might be true.

“That’s not fair,” she cries out managing to pull one hand away and slam the side of her fist into his chest. “Fuck you Joel. Fuck. You.”

“Good,” he replies cruelly. “That’s how you should be feeling.”

TWO MONTHS LATER

(DECEMBER, 2014)

Snow crunches under your boots and the wind chills your skin. Except for the pines, most trees are left bare, thick snow covering their branches. Ever since the infection you don’t feel that cold anymore. A simple jacket is all you need, unlike Joel, who seems as if he’s wearing a dozen sweaters underneath his coat.

He walks ahead, rifle hanging on his back.

After knowing one another, it was hard to truly part ways. The first week after he shattered the only joy you had left in your life, you two steered away from each other; both of you angry, both of you bitter.

But you two danced around each other like butterflies. One day, you met his gaze and he nodded. The next day you told him about the extra fish you managed to catch, and that you wouldn’t mind sharing. He seemed hesitant at first, but accepted your offer when his stomach ratted him out with a loud growl.

Neither of you talked about the incident. You swept the camera away, tucked the box of photographs under your bed. You didn’t enjoy looking at them anymore.

You watch his back, the way his coat seems tight around his shoulders, the dip from the rifle pronouncing his shoulder blades. He always walks in front. No matter what the situation might be, you find yourself staring at his broad back and beautiful neck. He doesn’t talk much anymore, and when he does, it’s in the form of short sentences.

You on the other hand, do whatever you can to fill the silence.

You don’t dive much into your past, but you tell him about your hobbies, what it’s been like being alone, and how you adapted to your new antlers and ears.

Then one day, as you were telling him the things you were afraid of most, he turned to you slowly, his one eyebrow raised and slack-jawed.

“Don’t you think you tell me too much about yourself?” he had asked and you were caught by surprise.

“Uh… no? Am I annoying you?”

“Not annoying—Well, maybe a bit, but I can live with that— you’re too… trusting. Aren’t you afraid?”

You shrugged, “I feel like if you wanted to kill me, I’d be dead already. No use in dwelling on something I can never be sure of.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Fine then, what do you mean? Do you want me to be afraid of you?”

He didn’t answer and you were grateful for it. The thought of reopening the wounds he caused you wasn’t something you particularly wanted to do.

You’re abruptly drawn away from the whispers of the past with a sting spreading from your nose to your forehead, you groan and stumble back, your hand immediately going up to touch your nose.

Your vision is blurry, but you see Joel standing as still as a tree in front of you. His one hand is raised to his side, fingers forming a fist. The command is silent but it reaches you loud and clear. You pull out your pistol, finger nestled against the trigger as your ears raise. You hear steps that you missed before, too entranced by your thoughts to hear them. A faint murmuring reaches your ears.

You take a slow breath to steady yourself and take a step closer to Joel.

“Three people,” you whisper. “They sound obnoxious and dangerous,”

He scoffs, “How can you tell they’re obnoxious all the way from here?”

“I just can. We should go,”

“No,” he says, fingers curling around your wrist just as you attempt to turn. “We should check who— or what— they are,”

“And after that?”

“We take care of it.”

There’s a stillness in the air and for the first time, you feel the sting of cold. You don’t share Joel’s coldness towards killing. Even killing the Infected is hard for you ever since you also became one by extension. You much rather let the threat simmer until it boiled and threatened to burn you.

Joel ignores your hesitation and releases his hold. “They’re close aren’t they? If I was able to hear them even a little they must be. Lead the way,”

“Joel…”

“Waiting around will get you killed,” he answers, his tone calm and collected. “You’re either with me or with them,”

“That’s cruel.”

“Is that your answer?”

Leaning slightly forward, he forcefully meets your gaze. He doesn’t blink and it feels as if he’s staring into your soul, which is ironic considering Joel probably doesn’t believe in such things. Closing your eyes you face the sky, the tips of your ears burn and your heart skips a beat. You already know what your answer is, and he knows it too.

“I’m with you.”

“Then lead the way, Bambi.”

It’s not a long walk. You’re surprised that they’re so close, so surprised in fact you shudder with each step. You’re not a fan of confrontation. Every nerve in your body screams at you to run. But you feel Joel’s presence near you, his ghost chokes out the screams, only litter whimpers left that are easier to ignore.

You and Joel take cover behind the thick trunk of a pine tree. Your guess is that the small group are hunters. They carry guns and they look the part. Your eyes move to Joel, his own gaze slowly turning to you. He pushes a finger to his lips, signaling you to be quiet. The three men talk about the tourists and the Domestics they managed to get a hold of, you bite back a whimper.

Joel leans in, the curve of his lips barely touching your ear. He doesn’t have to do that, you could’ve heard him just fine, but some habits are hard to break.

“I’ll take them out,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath prompting you to close your eyes. “You stay on lookout, shoot the ones that try to kill me.”

You nod. There isn’t much you can add to his plan anyway.

Joel moves out. As he slowly approaches the first one, you move, your steps feather-light. You find the best position to spot all three of them and crouch down, the snow melts under your knee and wets the fabric.

With one eye closed and finger on the trigger, you realize you’ve never actually seen Joel attacking another. You’ve seen him hunt, but that was as far as the violence went. Briefly, you admire his contrast to the white snow. His coat a dark green, stained, and his hair mussed.

His every move is calculated. He walks around the first target, wraps his arm around the man’s neck and pulls him away from the others until he faints. You expect him to fixate his gaze on the others, but instead, he raises his foot and slams it down with no shred of hesitation. Blood sprays against the snow, melting and hissing at the warmth of blood. A drop of red lands on Joel’s cuffs.

You let out a scream, clapping both hands over your mouth before you can stop yourself.

But it’s too late, the other two are already running toward Joel.

“Shit,” Joel hisses, eyes finding yours amidst the chaos. “Get out!”

You’re a deer in headlights, both literally and figuratively. The two men crowd Joel, one pressing a knife to the neck you admired many times while the other sets his gaze on you.

You hear the bullet first, and your body moves before you can process it. Joel manages to kick the man heading towards you in the back of the knee. He falls face first with a grunt. You hear the knife against Joel’s neck cutting skin.

You don’t blink when you raise the pistol and shoot your shot, the bullet sinks right between his eyebrows. He falls promptly. The other one still groans on top of the snow. Joel takes the knife that was still stained with his own blood and stabs the last of them in the heart. You collapse to the ground, pistol falling to the side as you cover your mouth.

Warm tears roll down your cheeks, eyes squeezing shut as your fingers tremble. You see black dots hovering across your vision. You feel incredibly sick. Your mind replays the scene over and over again until you feel his touch on your cheek.

You were aware of the violence growing in the world. Seen bits of it whenever you left the comfort of the forest. But you haven’t been aware of how bad it had gotten. How desperate everyone became to hurt others for the means of survival.

Bile rises up your throat and burns your tongue.

“Calm down— Calm down,” Joel cradles your face, thumbs moving over your cheekbones. “You’re good. We’re safe. You did it,”

“Did what exactly?” you snap, pushing him away and falling back. “Joel you—you kicked in his skull! You—You—” your voice breaks and you finally open your eyes accompanied by a deep breath. He looks broken and for the first time you truly understand what that means. “What the fuck, Joel?”

His eyes flit around your face. He slowly takes in every detail —the way you shudder, the way your ears are flat against your head, the way your breathing is uneven— but he doesn’t know what to make of it. Your words have underlined fear, uncertainty. You look at him as if it’s the first time you’re seeing him.

Joel’s gaze moves from your face to your shoulder, he reaches his hand out.

You jerk away without meaning to, his look softens, the tips of his fingers only an inch away from your shoulder.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he drawls, voice dropping, barely a whisper. “You’re bleeding.”

You look to the side, too tired to actually panic about it. Now that you were seeing the blood, you start to feel the sting of the bullet still being inside. You wince and Joel catches it.

“Your cabin is close by right? Let me patch you up.”

You’re strikingly aware that you won’t be saying no to him, not now and probably not ever, “Sure.”

Joel is surprisingly gentle.

He helps you out of your blood-soaked shirt, leaving you only in your bra. The chair creaks under your weight. You ignore the vulnerability of the situation. It’s been months since another person saw you bare, you didn’t have the means to groom yourself properly. The hairs on your arms and legs growing with time— Even though you’re blatantly aware of how stupid it is, you still wonder if he notices, or what he might think.

Joel returns with the first-aid kit and you refuse to look at him, turning your cheek when he kneels to your side. He dabs the cotton in alcohol, cleaning it first before taking the tweezers out of the box. You hear him sigh.

“I know you want nothin’ to do with me right now but you might want to bite down on something. It’s gonna hurt, Bambi.”

Hearing the nickname makes you feel lightheaded. Turning around, your gaze drops to Joel but he’s not looking up at you, instead, he’s staring at the wound caked with blood.

“Give me my shirt, I’ll bite into that.”

Joel nods and hands you your shirt. You take it begrudgingly, balling it up in your hands and biting down on the fabric. The pain is excruciating, sweat beads on your forehead. You close your eyes, trying to focus on anything but the searing agony in your shoulder.

Joel's gaze is fixed on you as he works, pulling out the bullet with steady hands. You try to focus on anything but the pain, your gaze drifting to the window. You see that it's started to snow, the flakes swirling in the air. You wince, the pain making it hard to think.

Joel's gentle touch brings you back to the present. His fingers are light and careful as he works, pulling out the bullet and cleaning the wound. You can hear the soft sound of his breathing, the occasional sigh or murmur as he focuses on the task at hand.

“You’re bleeding too,” you state, pointing to his neck. “We should get it cleaned,”

His fingers brush above the shallow wound, not even a small wince crossing his face.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.”

“I’m assuming you won’t tell me about those memories even if I asked,” you whisper, and his hands go still, fingertips feeling like hot iron against your skin. “I’m not even sure I want to know.”

“Believe me, you don’t.”

And that’s the most you get out of him. A tiny crumb of his past. His one hand slides down to your upper arm, fingers pressing into the muscle as if you’re a ghost that has just materialized in front of him. Briefly, you see scenes much more violent compared to the one you witnessed flashing before your eyes; a desperate Joel trying to survive, losing himself to the darkened world. His grief still consumes him, you can see it clearly now.

With a soft sigh, you cover his hand with your own. The moment is still, neither of you knowing what to say. He seems surprised by the fact you’re touching him, his eyes slowly lifting and meeting yours. You swallow, the sound of blood loud in your ears.

When you look into his eyes, his soft gaze is briefly replaced by the memory of rage-filled ones you saw outside. You don’t think you will ever be able to forget that look. You won’t be able to forget the way violence clutches at his heart. His need to protect himself and those around him clouds his better judgment— Or rather, he doesn’t care about what happens to others for the sake of his own people.

You know that this should most likely scare you, or that you should perceive him as something ugly and tainted.

But it doesn’t. In fact, you think it does the opposite. It’s like a moth to a flame. You’re drawn to him and his tainted light. You see him as nothing short of beautiful.

His breath hitches while yours stops completely. It warms the fresh wound, then you feel his lips, scarred yet soft, a soft kiss as an answer to your pain. The touch of his tongue forces a shiver up your spine, a soft sting blossoming across your shoulder.

Joel continues, mouth moving over the slope of your shoulder and to your neck. His patchy beard is a harsh contrast against your skin but you enjoy it all the same. He closes his mouth and presses his lips into the column of your neck. Your lips part with a soft moan. He kisses your neck again and again as if it’s a means to survive. With every press of his mouth, he becomes more sure of himself, the softness is accompanied with the sharpness of his teeth, goosebumps coat your skin.

Your hand hovers an inch away from his head, too afraid to dive your fingers in just in case he’ll turn into another ghost that your cruel imagination often creates.

Joel moves back, only an inch between your faces. There’s a new emotion you see that crosses his face but you can’t place what it is. He feels your hand at the back of his head, his eyes flutter closed and he lets out a deep, long breath. Joel’s fingers gingerly curl around your wrist, pushing your hand flush against his head.

“Touch me,” he says, his southern drawl deep. “I want to feel you.”

It’s like an experiment almost. Your fingers are touching new soil, getting used to the feeling of soft locks and the bumps of his scalp. You allow your fingers to explore, nails raking his skin. A soft hum rattles his throat and you look back down. You spot the vein meandering down his neck and with wide eyes your hand moves down his head, feels the warmth of his neck, and traces the thick vein. His jaw is locked tight, nostrils flaring with every touch.

“Joel, I—”

“Don’t.” his voice breaks, eyes falling away from your own. “Don’t. I don’t wanna hear anything of the sort, not now, not ever.”

“Tell me what you want to hear then,”

“The sound of your breathing is enough.”

Your body reacts before you do, forcing out the breath that was caught in your throat. An eternity later his lips move against yours. His tongue brushes the seam of your lips, your heart flares, your lips parting with the silent command.

How many times have you thought of Joel touching you like this? Kissing you like this?

He’ll never know what his mere presence means to you. How the sole image of him brought you back from the brink of not wanting to wake to such a daunting world again and again. Even before he knew what your name was, before you knew his, he was the only one keeping you company—Accompanying you during your every move. A phantom man, following you around and wrapping its arms around you whenever you needed.

Your body reawakens, his lips and tongue pulling you from somewhere dark. His large hands cup your cheeks, tilting your head as he slips his tongue into your mouth. You moan openly, your hands coming up to hold his wrists.

Words you want to whisper burn the tip of your tongue. His words echoing loud in your mind whenever they bubble to the surface.

The sound of your breathing is enough.

You have trouble swallowing them down, tears gathering in your lashlines, but Joel makes quick work of them, licking into your mouth forcefully as if he’s trying to erase the entire English vocabulary from your mind.

Your hands drop down from his wrist and awkwardly try to reach his belt. Joel smiles into your lips, calloused fingertips stilling your hands.

“Easy there, sweetheart. Show me to your bedroom,”

You give him a confused look, “You already know where my bedroom is,”

“I prefer this being the first time you lead me to your room.”

It’s been long since you moved the box of photographs and cleaned the broken pieces of your camera. The ache of your heart is hard to ignore but you do. You nod, also preferring for this to be the first time he’s seeing your room.

Neither of you touch the other until you’re confined into the smaller area. It’s much colder compared to the kitchen. Joel shivers, a puff of steam dancing from his lips.

Not wanting this moment to end, you close the distance. Your fingers find their way into his hair, tugging as his hands find your waist. He squeezes and pulls your hips close, forcing a grinding motion. The pleasure you feel is real. It’s overwhelming. Your whines are needy, made with short breaths and the sudden lack of air.

Joel swallows them all, he sucks your tongue, unbuttons your pants. Arousal pools between your legs, heat licks the bottom of your spine. Your entire world starts spinning when he gets on his knees, pulling down your pants along with him. Your eyes follow, another shudder overtaking you as his fingers move between your legs.

“J-Joel…”

“So wet already. Pretty thing,” your heart leaps at the way his eyes move up from your sex to your face. “I haven’t tasted a woman for so long.”

“Then go ahead,” you mutter, burying your anxiety deep into your heart.

Everything moves as if it’s in slow motion. The snow outside, the fading light, the way Joel tugs down your underwear. Pupils dilated, he licks his lips at the sight of your slick sticking to the net of your underwear. His thumb moves over your mound, nestling between the soft curls that reside. You suck in a sharp breath.

The sound is loud enough to prompt him to look up. “Most beautiful cunt I’ve ever seen.” Cupping himself over his dark jeans, a groan slips from his mouth.

Joel's tongue glides over your skin, you let out a soft moan. His lips velvet against your sensitive flesh. You grip his hair tighter as he expertly works his way over your aching clit. The fading light filters through the dusty window, casting a warm glow over your skin and creating shadows on Joel's face as he buries himself between your legs. His palms skim the back of your thighs, sending shivers up your spine. You let out a breathy moan as Joel's tongue delves deeper. He takes his time, the sharp edges of his face soften, the perpetual crease between his brows fading.

He must’ve looked beautiful before all was taken away from him. Joel never speaks about it, but you know. You have seen the same expression of grief in your eyes many times. You wonder if you two could’ve met if none of this had happened; the infection, the violence, the change. Another wave of pleasure washes over you with the swipe of Joel’s tongue. You moan and he mimics the sound, the reverberations making you curl over him, your arms wrapped around his head.

Every cloud has a silver lining, you don’t know who came up with the phrase but you find it cruel, haunting—yet also to be true.

Haunting is a perfect way to describe the moment. Hauntingly beautiful. A soft hue of light lingering in the darkness dances over your skin.

Any second can be your last, that’s what makes this moment truly memorable. It can be your last, and you choose to spend it together.

His gaze finds yours amidst the darkness, lips moving and tongue swirling around your clit. He sucks on it, watching you with a heavy gaze as your whine joins the sounds his tortuous tongue. Joel pulls away and your first instinct is to pull him back, chase the feeling of his skin against yours. His fingers squeezes the back of your thighs, soothing you like a scared animal. You feel his lips moving slowly over your mound, kissing the sensitive skin.

“I want you on the bed,” he says voice honeyed in a long drawl. “I’m gonna eat this pretty pussy out until you’re drunk on me. Then I’m going to feel the way you squeeze my cock—But I need you to get all nice and wet for me first,”

Your thighs clench together and he lays another kiss, hands roaming over your ass one more time before pulling you to the bed. He falls on top of you, his heavy presence proving not to be a figment of your imagination. Your entire body rings for him. You feel his breath fanning your face, he stares at you, you see the traces of regret and your stomach sinks.

“I’m sorry I frightened you,”

The apology takes you by surprise, you stare, unblinking, and swallow. His hand moves between your leg, two fingers slipping inside you with ease as his palm cups your sex.

“You still do,” you gasp before you can think. “But I would rather have you broken and bruised than be alone. Something inside me—A heart, a soul…it’s been seeking you out, Joel.” his fingers deftly move with a sharp thrust. Your back archs, body pressing into his touch. You close your eyes but you still feel his eyes boring into you. “You terrify me Joel. But not only because of the reasons you might be thinking.”

“What other reason is there?” he asks, curling his fingers and grinding the heel of his palm against your clit. You clench your teeth, swallowing down your moans.

You’re a whirlwind of emotions. His sadness, his grief…all of it resonates deep inside you, it joining the pleasure that builds up, your arousal thick around his fingers.

You feel the brush of his hand on your ear, your eyes open with surprise, remembering the first time he had attempted to touch you—The Infected part of you. He had ignored it ever since he learned your name.

Joel leans in and presses his lips, the fur soft against his mouth. Your heart leaps as you flinch, your ear twitching uncontrollably.

“Tell me,” he says as you moan. “Tell me the other ways I frighten you.”

“I fear the way you make me feel alive.”

He curls his fingers, a shout rips from your throat. “Go on,” he prompts you.

“I’m scared that you’ll leave. That you’ll leave, and that you’ll become a ghost again.”

“Again?”

“Forget I said that,”

He hums, “I can’t promise you that I won’t ever leave. But right now, I'm here. You feel me, don’t you? I ain’t no ghost,”

To emphasize what he said, he circles your clit with his wet fingers, tongue moving down your neck. He draws your stiff nipple into his mouth, teeth sharp and pleasurable. You feel the wet streaks across your skin when he slides his other hand up your waist, he pries your mouth open by pressing his fingers into the hallows of your cheeks. He sneaks in two fingers, forcing you to taste yourself.

“I think I need to fuck you now, think you can take me, my little doe?”

You’re highly aware that the words are spoken without much thought. However, the endearment crackles across your skin, lighting a fire in your stomach, your body jerks, slick wetting your thighs and sheets. He holds your tongue with his fingers, feeling the way it moves with the muffled sounds you make. His mouth moves up the swell of your breast.

“You like it when I call you mine?” he groans out, breath wet and warm.

Joel pulls out his fingers so you can speak, his cock lays heavy between your legs.

Your chest heaves, “Yes.” you gasp, the pressure building starting to become overwhelming. “Say it again, please,”

“You’re mine,” he replies, sounding as if he’s just stating a fact. “Nothing will hurt you. No one will touch you…” the words sink into your skin, your hips stutter forward, searching for the stretch of his cock. Your breathing becomes heavy, shallow. “And since you’re mine, you’ll take whatever I have to give…won’t you?”

You hear the uncertainty that follows his hardened tone. Nodding, you catch yourself murmuring back, "I'm yours, and only yours."

Joel doesn’t give you any indication that he hears you, he presses forward, notching the head of his cock against your entrance. Your cunt flutters around him, begging him to move. He’s nothing like your vivid dreams; he takes his time, making you feel every inch. Your breath is caught in your throat, your lungs convulsing. The sudden regret of not touching him beforehand resonates inside, you wanted to feel how heavy and warm he was under your palm, wanted to hear his whimpers—if he makes any, that is.

“So damn tight,” he grunts. “So wet—fuck,”

He moves his hips forward then back, thrusting against the dampness that coats your entrance. A moan escapes your lips as he moves faster, each thrust pushing deeper than the last. Your hands grip the sheets as your body trembles. You gasp and bite your lip, the heavy drag of his cock sending waves of pleasure through your body. You can feel him, hard and thick, and it feels incredible.

Tears gather in your eyes when his lips find yours in the fog of pleasure. Sweat and sex clings to your skin, body on fire, he shoves his tongue into your mouth. The muffled sounds you both make seeps into the other’s lips. You’re both hungry to devour one another, both touch-starved. He parts away with a string of saliva following, he kisses the tear streaks, kisses your eyes.

You're left chanting his name like a prayer, his hands slide down, cup your ass and lift you from the bed.

His thrusts quicken, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You cling to him, your hands gripping his back, your nails digging into his skin. His warm breath tickles your neck, and your head spins. Every movement sounds wetter than the last, he splits you in half, cock moving all the way out before he slams into you again and again and again—

Your body shatters around him, pleasure bursting across your very being. The feeling pours into your veins, leaving a simmer and buzz in the pits of your stomach. Joel fucks himself deeper into you until you’re begging him to stop, your body overwhelmed both physically and emotionally.

“Where do you want me?” he asks, pulling out and fisting himself with little care.

The fog clouding your mind briefly lifts and you manage to push yourself up the bed. You push his hand away and wrap your numb fingers around his length. He’s so wet, glistening with your slick. Joel watches you as you lean down, wrapping your lips around his cock. His hand touches the back of your head, pushing you further.

Arousal pools between your legs once more, your tongue warm and wet as you eagerly lick down his shaft, feeling the soft curls tickling your nose, you swallow. Joel’s head falls back, exposing his tanned neck and small scars littered like a starry sky. A loud groan emits from the depths of his lungs, choked out and raspy. Your eyes roll back when he thrusts his hips, the head of his cock touching the back of your throat.

Your insides clench painfully, begging for more.

Your lips pop off, tender skin left wet and swollen. “Come down my throat,” you say, before swallowing him down again. Your tongue slides underneath his shaft, tracing the thick veins as you move up.

Joel’s nails bite into your skin, a string of curse words falling from his lips. Heat flares under your skin. He pushes and pulls, guiding you as you swallow around him again and again.

There’s something about the way his nails softly bite into your skin that makes your toes curl. It’s been a while since you sucked cock, and he’s showing you how to do it—

“Doing so good, little doe— Can you take me deeper?”

You moan your approval, your hand moving between your legs. Your fingers trace around your puffy clit, still sensitive, yet aching to be touched. He doesn’t seem to notice that you start to touch yourself, he holds your head between his palms, fucking your mouth until he feels his shaft begin to pulse before spilling into the warmth of your mouth.

You swallow every drop. He tastes bitter and you reel at the way the taste of him burns your throat. He keeps his cock buried in your throat as he rides out his orgasm. You run your fingers up the span of his stomach, feeling the dents and marks painted over his skin.

Joel is left breathless, his chest heaving and cock now soft. You tenderly pepper his skin with kisses, moving all the way up until you press one hurriedly onto his lips. Your fingers rub over the sweat-slick skin of his forehead. And as you move away he grips you by the shoulders and pulls you back, tasting himself on your tongue.

He licks the inside of your mouth and teases your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Why do you want me around?” he cups your jaw and rubs two thumbs down your cheeks. “I’m such a fucking mess. I’m not going to trick you into thinking that I’m something that I ain’t. I’m not a good man, June.”

“I said it earlier,” you say with a soft smile. “I would rather have you broken and bruised than be alone.”

NEXT MORNING

(DECEMBER, 2014)

The teapot whistles in the background, warm steam filling the kitchen. It’s still early, you’ve come downstairs to prepare a little breakfast where you would use your best supplies after a night spent in such delight. Joel was still there when you woke up, snoring with his arms wrapped around your waist. The warmth made you want to stay there forever.

Little did you know, Joel is a light sleeper.

Joel's hand covers your mouth and his weight presses you against the table. His hot breath fans over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer to him with every deep thrust. Your body runs hot when you think of how needy you must look spread open for him, so willing to take and give.

“Best thing to wake up to,” he groans, his teeth clenched.

You hiss at the way the wooden surface of the table rakes your skin, he must’ve heard your discomfort because he pulls you up, fingers that were on your mouth drop to your neck, holding you, feeling your erratic pulse.

“Is this alright?” he grinds his hips against yours. You gasp, keening at how deep he can reach.

“Yes,” you breathe out. “More, Joel, please.”

Every time his hips slap against your ass, you choke out a sound, and your walls spasm around him. His hand on your throat keeps you from moving far. Joel’s forehead drops between your shoulder blades, he licks a thick stripe up the middle to your nape.

You shudder, clenching around him tighter. He looks down to witness how wet you are, a slick ring coating the base of his cock. A groan that can only be described as animalistic rattles his throat, he nuzzles the mustache above his lips into the crook of your neck his teeth nipping at your skin.

His other hand moves between your legs, fingers drawing fast circles around your aching clit. You cry out as you rock your hips to meet the roll of his hips. There’s a live wire runs right under your skin, electrifying you from the inside out. Your legs clench together, your body quivering, breathing uneven as he furiously swipes two fingers over your clit again and again. Your eyes roll back, hands moving up to grab his forearm.

“Harder.”

You feel the mood swiftly changing, his calculated pace faltering and shifting into something more wild. His fingers around your throat tighten, his teeth sink into your skin deeper, the pain makes you smile, the pain makes you feel good. His hand cups your breast, pinching a puckered nipple between his fingers.

You gasp, eyes falling shut as he repeats the sharp movement.

Before you come, much to your disappointment, Joel pulls out. His shaft pressed against the curve of your ass, his breathing heavy, you feel him spilling over your skin, nose buried in the back of your neck, inhaling your scent like a wolf.

“Sorry,” he grunts. “Thought I would last longer,”

“It’s okay,” you say, albeit still unsatisfied.

The promise of your orgasm tickles your skin, sweat chilling your skin. You’re about to straighten up and clean yourself but he stops you, hands kneading your ass.

“Get on the table,” he orders. “Let me taste you.”

Joel helps you flip over to your back and you find comfort in the way his hands tilt you up your hips. The table isn’t the most sturdy, but you trust him. He kisses a trail down your stomach, opening his mouth wide when he reaches your sex. Catching the backs of both knees, he pushes your legs apart and licks into you. Joel’s tongue swirls around the bundle of nerves, he closes his lips over your clit and sucks—hard.

Pulling away, he spits, your back arches when he does.

And he dives back in, tasting you over and over. Tongue twisting itself deep inside, moving up and down languidly, rolling around your clit as his fingers make dents in your skin.

It doesn’t take you long.

Your entire body convulses, both legs pressing down against the frame of his face. You’re scared the table isn’t going to hold but Joel keeps you still—for the most part. He drags his mouth slowly, tasting you, swallowing you. His movements soon grow slower, the heat of your orgasm subsiding.

When you let out a bubble of laughter, you think that this is going to last forever. You and him against the world, living your days drowning in pleasure and each other—lifting two middle fingers at the crumbling world around them.

The next day he’s gone. You don’t see him until three months later.

EPILOGUE

(MARCH, 2015)

It’s excruciatingly warm. Your tank top sticks to you like second skin, it’s uncomfortable and all you want to do is go home, grab a spare pair of clothes and take a dip in the river.

You haven’t seen Joel for a while. But to be fair, you’ve been avoiding him. You know well that if you truly wanted to see him you could, you just didn’t.

He abandoned you without a word. Your heart threatens to shatter again when you remember the thing you admitted to him; your fear of loneliness, your fear of him leaving you to rot in your self-pity once again.

And that’s exactly what he did.

It was painful, too painful. You returned to entertaining yourself with ghosts, despite your best efforts, all of them looked like him. Three months had passed but you still feel his lips burning your skin, his cock dragging orgasm out of orgasm out of you.

Joel said he wasn't a ghost at the time; he never promised you that he wouldn’t be one in the future.

Life is cruel. You know this better than most. It was stupid of you to think anything could change. But the thing you had forgotten was that life thoroughly enjoyed making a mockery of your life.

You nearly drop to your knees when you see the state of the cabin you once called home. Infected, a multitude of them, moving around your house, a couple of them inside, lurking about.

You almost break down. Almost.

Joel never told you where he lived, but you know. And you have no choice. You need to go. You need a place to say. You need to survive despite the pain, the heartbreak, the loss.

The reasoning as to why still escapes you, maybe it’s just instinct.

You also need to warn him.

When you knock on the door you expect him not to open it. Much to your shock, he does at the first knock. Almost as he was waiting for you—You keep your gaze locked to his face, trying very hard to ignore the fact that he’s shirtless.

“June?”

“Joel,” you answer, your eyes fixated on his face. “I need a place to stay.”

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x ofc #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #tlou x reader #the last of us fanfiction #hbo the last of us #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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beanzfandoms · 2 years

Text

Present Silence

C̲l̲o̲c̲k̲w̲o̲r̲k̲ ̲x̲ ̲N̲o̲n̲-̲B̲i̲n̲a̲r̲y̲!̲ ̲r̲e̲a̲d̲e̲r̲

❥ Warnings: mentions of neglect, mental instability, hints to eating disorder, mentions of cancer, death of a parent

𝙿𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙴! 𝙸𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜.

⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

(Y/n) wasn’t much for silence, yet it was the exact thing that haunted them in the dead of night. You could say it rooted from a traumatic event from their childhood; an abandonment that made them become almost non-pellucid to the outside world. Not that they cared. They saw society in a fixed lens, seeing every little speckle of morality as if it was a blemish on their sketch book.

However, the white tiled halls outside their room didn’t even make any motion. No reverberation of heels clicking against the marble or the creaking of an old wheelchair rolling down the narrow walls. It’s as if the present became quietude itself. Static fills the emptiness inside (Y/n)’s head, spreading down throughout their body like a virus. It bleeds into their veins, leaving a heavy formication. Their fingers itch and claw at the ashen sheets below them, pulling at the restraints hung taut at the edge of the bed.

They wanted to scream, beg to the black figure standing in the corner to stop. It watches them with gaping eyes, its black irises widening with delegation. The creature wasn’t real, they knew this. The suppressed subjectivity of their mind was interesting. The morbidity that it plays with made (Y/n) want to laugh. To say that it all started with a drawing was much too simple.

The doctors liked to prescribe it as a disease; a disease that will slowly consume (Y/n) as they spiral into madness within these matted panels. (Y/n) thought of this ‘sickness’ as gospel. With their new pair of glasses, they could distinguish what was true and what was false. Who was for them and who was not. That power does come with a cost.

(Y/n) was quite bright as a child, finding new ways to express themselves as an upcoming member of a Utopia they thought existed. With a pencil and paper, they could abstract anything that popped into their young mind. They love to draw. It was an activity that allowed them to show others how they saw the world. Bright and opportunistic, with the sun shining over everyone in brand lighting.

‘That world doesn’t exist. Get over your stupid dreams of becoming something that’s unrealistic.’

Their mother had told them that a long time ago, when the colors they once saw turned bland. When their father left, life as they knew it flipped upside down. ‘You can be anything, and I’ll be there for you,’ he said. What a joke. He should have known that the cancer would get to him before (Y/n) would ever aspire in a work ethic. Their mother wasn’t much of an enthusiast, especially after her husband died. The one luminosity that ever dared to make her smile was the one that left her with a kid she didn’t even love.

Life wasn’t too bad. (Y/n) still had the gift of sight and vision that provided them with the love of drawing. As they woke up from the distant memory of a peachy story, they then realized their potential. No one understood their craft though, using the aphorism that grotesque and dark art did not aid in this world’s progression. (Y/n) did not adjure this type of thinking. Didn’t they see it wasn’t that of a pretentious display?

The school recommended that they be transferred in an institute during their third year of high school. (Y/n)’s mother was more than compliant for their requests. ‘They need medical help. A kid their age should not be thinking so deeply about these things.’ The nurses were nice enough. They had charming smiles and always made nice comments on (Y/n)’s latest projects. They were fake, sadly. Though, (Y/n) appreciated their efforts to perceive the meaning.

The crisp breath of the inky silhouette fans over (Y/n)’s face. A shudder goes down their spine, pricking their nerves like hot wax. It lies on their leaden body, grabbing at the muscles of their neck with a tight squeeze. (Y/n) was hyperventilating again, the edges of their field of vision spotting. It was a trick. Why was their mind going against them so?

They twist and turn against the restraints tied around their limbs, the leather rubbing into their skin harshly. The feeling of it burning at the pellicle of their wrists and ankles erupts another feeling inside the pit of their stomach. They needed to get out. They wanted out. The sudden anticipation to move ached in their joints and they struggle more against the phantasmal weight on them.

(Y/n)’s hands slip through the material, and they heave themselves upward. The darkness emitting their sight disperses into the shadows of the room, leaving them to gasp for air. Rubbing at the red pigmentation of their abused wrists, they kick off the belts holding their feet. The distant sound of a clock erupts the quiet void of the room.

The window adjacent to the door opens gradually, and the form of a girl crawls in. The constant ticking coming from the girl’s retina eases the density crawling at (Y/n) with vigor. The static falls into a pleasant buzz on their skin.

The girl pushes her brown locks out of her face, her one hazel orb almost glowing in the moonlight. Her sewn smile stifles one to reach (Y/n)’s blue-tinted lips. She reaches into the bag hanging over her shoulder, unzipping it with ease. She pulls out a black book and tosses it onto the thin bedding. Despite her not speaking, (Y/n) nods their head in appreciation.

“Thank you, Clocky…” (Y/n) huskily remarks. Their fingers graze over the rough fabric of the cover and they open it to see it was another sketch book. It was probably one she snatched from one of her 'jobs’. She would never say what she did, but that didn’t cause any frustration on (Y/n)’s part. “You always know how to make me feel better…”

“I saw you screaming again,” Clockwork replies, “Did you have another episode?” She sits down on the mattress, crossing her arms.

(Y/n) simply taps at their head, the pads pointing towards their left eye. They suddenly get up from their position, their malnourished body contorting with audible pops. Clockwork watches them with precise movements as they grab for a box under the furniture. (Y/n) opens it, grabbing some paper and two graphite pencils.

“Will you draw with me?” They ask sweetly.

Clockwork looks towards the door, before breathing out. “Alright, but only for a little bit. I’m not supposed to be here.” She places herself on the cold floor as (Y/n) positions the material.

“I’ll show you the new monster I saw tonight. I’ll call it Present Silence…” They muse as they begin to drag the charcoal tip over the clean sheet of paper with eager. Clockwork observes as they wind the black substance in circles. Normal people would call (Y/n)’s art as childish or rubbish, but she was fascinated with it. They drew the way she saw the world.

“Are you not in the mood to draw?” (Y/n) asks, stopping for a moment to look up.

Clockwork hums in response before grabbing the book from (Y/n)’s lap.

“I’m not finished-” They reply, but don’t fight with her as he looks over it.

“Present Silence, you say?”

They nod with a smile. “It suffocated me.”

She gathers her thoughts, before placing a hand on (Y/n)’s head. She brushes her fingers through their hair; these were the hands of a killer. Her hazel eye locks with (Y/n)’s as they wait for a response. She gives them back their art piece and picks herself off the ground.

“Where are you going?” (Y/n) says sadly, “Stay for a little longer?”

Clockwork climbs over the windowsill, her hand holding onto the glass. She glances back, a ghostly tender look veiling over her harsh looking demeanor. “The next time I visit, I’m bringing something special.”

“What you bring me is always special,” They answer.

“See you…” Clockwork says in response, closing the window back to where it was before she entered. Present Silence once again greets the lonely figure within the room.

⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

#creepypasta #creepypasta oneshot #clockwork #creepypasta imagines #creepypasta x y/n #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #clockwork x reader #gn!reader #gender neutral pronouns #genderneutral reader #non binary reader #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #imagines #new writer boost #serious topics #read at your own discretion

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slifarianhawk · 1 year

Text

Chapter 15: thanks but no

Dawn was encroaching upon the horizon and the wolf pack and agent hawk pulled back into the vehicle bay. Leaping from the ATV, I headed towards the medical wing. the leader of the ragtag bunch of deer huntsmen had fallen and was attacked by a wolf form of the Cerberus B.O.W. He needs the T virus vaccine as soon as possible. Thankful I had Archer trained to formulate one on call.

"Commander Tabitha." agent hawk ran over to me from his parking spot, " go to your guest I'll handle the idiots."

"Alright just follow Archer's orders regarding the treatment Pheonix corps true purpose must be

protected at all cost," I spoke casting light on how serious of a matter this was.

"Understood." he saluted and escorted the six individuals to the medical bay. Without a doubt, I was exhausted. The past few months were busy and the lack of rest was finally catching up. This is a major proving point to Wesker and the no-good she bitch that I was on their side. That I was a cause for destruction, not rehabilitation. This world was a merciless place for those who fought against the mess umbrella made. I need to make a call, he would be able to give some fun.

"ill be in my room," I spoke as I entered my elevator. The ride was short, all while my mind was with thoughts of worry. Once I arrived at my breath shuttered out as I had stepped out of a walk-in freezer.

"WHITE QUEEN!" I shouted in frustration.

"Yes, my lady," she spoke her voice monotone and electric.

"Scan this room for bugs!" I near shouted, "No make it the entire building."

"Understood, commencing scan of the Pheonix Corps headquarters..." White Queen stood silent.

I hooked up my webcam to my desktop and decided to report in but not as Alistar to Wesker, as Tabitha to Chris. I'm not on any side, my path is my own. I will break fates design.

" Scan complete, a single bug has been located in the room Ricardo Irving is staying in," White Queen stated before disappearing.

So they will be monitoring my actions from it more than likely. I turned on the VPN that was set up to mark me in Russia. It was time to call Chris. I clicked the link that reached out to his PDA. The next thing I heard was the dial tone. Such a small thing created immense dread in the bottom of my stomach. Fear was racing as I sweated bullets. I looked in the camera and saw my frantic reflection. my heartbeat flew through the roof and I started to panic.

"do you even know what time it is O'Brian!" Chris shouted, perfect.

"Chris I know it's dawn, but I need to inform you on som....mmmm...something." I studdered fear dripping like thick honey from my voice.

"T WHAT THE FUCK!!! WHERE ARE ARE YOU?!?" He shouted.

"Don't yell don't yell no time." I panted quickly," there is a black market deal today in south Pittsburgh! the connections will be there!"

"what wait T where in south Pittsburgh" Chris groaned out in exasperation.

BANG BANG

"come on it's time to leave" steve yelled through the door.

"I have no time. I'm sorry Chris," I said crushing the webcam, '' coming steve."I open the room door blood dripping from my hand onto the black porcelain tile. Steve stared back at me in horror.

"let me get dressed its been a long night for me." I chuckled.

" why is I leave you alone for any amount of time your injured when I return? That will need stitches!" steve nearly shouted at me.

"accidentally broke a webcam. I forget my strength in moments of panic, nightmares."

"oh yea I understand, come out to the lobby ill stitch you up out there." steve said motioning me out.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Chris Redfield pov

----------------------------------------------------------------------

"damn it, damn it, DAMN IT!." I threw on my uniform and boots. "again, AGAIN! Barry, T disappears without giving details. she is my elder sister why is she so avoidant of me."

" Chris, I get it. I'm frustrated with her but we did treat her like a monster. in both cases after the mansion incident and for a while after we found her dying in Russia. we saved her from Wesker then and she going out to find a pipe dream of finding him the man that nearly killed us including her from what she said." barry said trying to console his old friend.

letting out a massive sigh I spoke to barry exhausted, "I'm going to south Pittsburgh barry. I'm not joking. I'm going to find her. "

''Whoa whoa whoa, Chris! we don't even know if she will be there or not. think before you do something stupid!" barry snapped on the line and I stopped on a dime," look if you're this worried I'll call out and try to find her. I live like 40 minutes outside Pittsburgh anyway."

"thank you berry but no, I'm not leaving this. I lost jill, I've lost my mother and father, hell I thought she was dead after Raccoon city and I never did a funeral for her I was so pissed off. I am not abandoning her again when she is lost." I said staring off in a mirror and I swore I saw Tabitha standing behind me dressed in all black with blue shades. how she was last time I saw her, ready for war.

"CHRIS! DO NOT DO THIS!!!" with an audible click I hung up the phone.

"I'm sorry Barry but this is a Redfield matter" I spoke as morning draped into my Durham apartment.

This was going to be expensive but, I had paid rent ahead for a few months last week. so i had enough saved up for a three thousand dollar flight if it was necessary. nothing was going to stop me this time. i will save my older sister.

#wesker x reader #re wesker #resident evil #wesker #albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #albert wesker x oc #wesker x oc #chris redfield #barry burton

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real-kastek · 2 years

Text

Darkened Drabbles: Chapter 5

Pushing Buttons

(Prompt: Kris finds out Susie plays video games on old systems. They play a GTA bootleg.)

"Get off my bed, freak."

"Nah."

"I wasn't asking, gonna get your gross human slime all over it." Susie snorts.

You turn from the magazine in your hands, grimacing at the girl, "Skin flakes? Hair? Any other word would've worked." You turn the page, lazily glancing over the images of monster trucks equipped with flamethrowers, "Besides, you don't have any chairs. Where else am I supposed to be?"

The dragoness tears the magazine out of your hands, pages flapping off into the corner of the room, "Not my problem. Go sit in the beanbag chair or something."

You roll your eyes, stretching as you sidle off onto the side of the bed, "If it wasn't covered in toaster crumbs, maybe I would."

You groan, rolling your shoulder. You peer over at the speckled blue excuse for a chair, its seams patched with duct tape and…staples? You shake your head. Enticing.

The bed suddenly screams out from underneath you, the scaled girl slamming flat across the patchwork mattress. You're thrown an inch into the air, coming down atop the curl of a metal spring. Or spike. You really wouldn't be surprised either way.

"…wanna go beat up some Darkners?"

You brush a strand of hair out of your eyes, a bored look resting on your features, "Both fountains are closed. Darkners are our friends." You click your tongue, "…and the fight club shut down because you suplexed the owner."

"Oh come on! He set up the match!" Susie growls, grabbing up a pillow and squeezing it tight to her chest, "Not my fault he went down so fast..."

Your eyes continue to languidly examine the room, hopeful for any source of entertainment. The dragoness' bedroom was about what you expected at this point. Barely taped posters lined the walls, advertising upcoming metal concerts and blood-soaked move premieres, most of which were ancient at this point. Most of the room's contents were just as old, with a single wooden wardrobe collecting dust in the corner, bunny-eared television on the floor, and even a small collection of plates, thankfully picked clean from any equally aged food. You sigh, staring down at the near flat beanbag chair against the wall. You would've said being invited into the volatile dragoness' room was quite the honor a few weeks back. Now, you'd call it a health hazard.

"We could work on our group project." Susie mutters quietly.

Silence hangs in the room. You choke for a moment, the sides of your mouth squeaking from the laughter breaking through. Within moments, Susie begins to roar, shaking the bed with her own seizing laughter.

"O-Okay, okay, but seriously…" The dragoness sighs, catching her breath, "What'd you wanna do?"

You exhale sharply, collecting yourself, "…I don't know. Could see if there's something on television."

Throwing your legs off the side, you stumble from the bed, making your way to the tiny black box upon the floor. Ancient as it was, the device wasn't dissimilar from your own back home. Smaller, and more dented in spots, but still functional. You begin to reach for the power button, most of the symbols having faded over the years, stopping when your eyes trace along a number of cords tangled close by. You follow the cords, noting a dense brick of a laptop peeking out from under the wardrobe.

"Hey, I didn't know you had a computer." You tilt your head to the side, noting a dull green light on the device's side.

"Huh? Oh, yeah," The bed creaks behind you, "Got it for dirt cheap a couple years ago. I got a ton of music and games on it. There's a bunch of websites you can just download that crap for free, it's pretty sweet."

You freeze, hand still outstretched, "Uh…what kind of websites?"

"I dunno. I just type in 'free games' and grab whatever's on there."

You squint down at the worn device. You can't catch a computer virus…right?

"Here, move over." A clawed hand rests on your shoulder, "I'll show you what I got."

Susie quickly bends down, unplugging the device from its life support. Spinning back around, she flops back onto the bed, popping open the worn cover. You stare at the back of the laptop's surface, studying the various scratches and dents throughout. Squinting, you examine the indent on the computer's back.

"What kind of laptop is that even?" You continue eyeing the device's marks for a possible brand. Was that…a pear? Maybe an orange?

"Hell if I know. Now sit down already." The dragoness scootches back against the wall, the bed's frame creaking once more.

"…not supposed to be on the bed."

"Ugh…" Susie's gaze drifts from the computer screen, squinting back at you, "Preferred when you were the quiet kid. Now come on."

You raise your hands in surrender, shuffling back onto the mess of blankets and sheets. You push yourself up against the wall as a loud buzzing emanates from your side.

"Takes a second to turn on."

You watch as the laptop stutters to life, a roar of swelling air and heat surrounding the struggling machine. The device's screams seem to build and build, hitting a screeching peak before suddenly dying down in a last gasp of processing. You shake away from the dark screen, your hands releasing the bunched bedspread you held for dear life. A laptop explosion couldn't be that big anyway. Or it would, and you would've died instantly. You sigh. Not the most glamorous way to go.

"Agh…stupid thing freezes sometimes." Susie slams her palm against the side of the machine, a dull whirr sputtering forth, "Come on already."

"Uh…it's cool." You gulp, the laptop's fans surging to life once more, "M-Maybe we could do something else?" You bite the bottom of your lip, "Do you have any other games? Like, not on your laptop?"

Susie drags the computer's lid closed, tossing the device onto her pillow, "Man, I don't know. Don't really have all the new crap out there. I got an old console buried…somewhere. Probably don't wanna play that though."

You lean forward, meeting the dragoness' disgruntled gaze, "Why not? It isn't like I have any of the newer stuff either. Last system my mom bought was when my brother was still in middle school. It's probably like, six years old by now."

"Psh, thought you were spoiled." Susie grumbles, hopping from the bed.

You roll your eyes, silently watching as the scaled girl clumsily throws open her wardrobe's drawers, digging through each like a crazed scavenger. Wires begin to fly across the room's floor as Susie tosses multiple controllers and power cords off to the side. With a flourish, the dragoness soon pulls a dense black device from the drawer, blowing off a mass of dust from its surface.

Your eyes go wide, "Wait, is that an ET2?"

The girl shrugs, dragging a number of cords over to the television, "Think so. That what it's called?"

"Yeah, Entertainment Terminal 2. My brother was saving up for it for a while. He worked at my dad's shop for like, two months straight." You let out a huff, "Mom shut the idea down when she found out what kind of games were on it though."

You follow Susie as she struggles to plug each of the device's cords in, fumbling in her efforts to align each of the red, yellow, and white tipped wires into their respective slots. With a last grumble of frustration, she stands back to full, poking the television's power button with a single claw.

"Well," The dragoness chuckles, brushing dust from her hands, "You're mom would hate what I got then."

The television alights, a single blue cube dancing in the middle of the screen, awaiting further input.

"Hold up," The scaled girl turns back to the wardrobe, reaching up above and pulling a single disc from atop the cabinet's surface, "There. Got uh…Magnificent Larceny Motor 3."

You squint at the disc, the game's title notably misspelled and in two separate fonts.

"That one of the games you and your brother were gonna play?" Susie stares back at you, her head cocked to the side.

"U-Uh…" You stammer, "Y-Yeah! Always…wanted to try it."

The dragoness smiles back, her fangs creasing over her lips. You flash a pained grin back, the expression fading the moment she turns away, disc in hand. You didn't have the heart to tell her the game was some bootleg copy. You quietly click your tongue. Not that you were sure you could explain to her what a bootleg even was.

"Catch!" You break from your thought, snapping back in time to avoid a controller careening towards your face, "You know all this console stuff. Get us into the game or whatever you gotta do."

You groan, "Told you about aiming for my head…"

"Yeah yeah yeah, come on nerd, get it started."

The bed sinks back down as the dragoness flops onto the surface, quickly scrambling back up against the wall and at your side. She nudges you with her elbow, amber eyes reflecting back under her mane. You sigh, staring down at the smaller television. With a single button press, the disc begins to spin, a dull whir bringing the game to life.

"I…haven't played this one before so," You clear your throat, "Don't know if it's any good."

"Can you shoot people?"

"Uh…probably?"

"Sick." Susie sidles further against the wall, resting shoulder to shoulder with you.

You sigh dejectedly, staring back at the television. You're soon met with a vibrant title screen, multiple stock explosions flaring from the sides and obscuring much of the menu itself. You unconsciously press the start button, the game hanging for a number of seconds before properly responding. Without any further options of play, the game begins to load, another minute before the black screen is replaced with that of a barren cityscape. You glance down at the controller, experimenting with each button. The X button…or cross button? It seemed to make your character jump regardless. You watch as the blob-like character hops rigidly in place, the game stuttering for a short moment. You continue to trace your fingers over each button. The sticks didn't seem to do anything, but the directional buttons made them move like some kind of tank. Triangle opens a menu, the back shoulder buttons turn the camera, clicking the stick focuses the camera behind you…

"Hey, can you beat up that cop?"

You grimace, staring back up at the dragoness, "That seems…rude."

Susie grumbles loudly, sinking further down against the wall.

You return back to the game, a number of pedestrians awkwardly walking by, their faces a blur of pixels. Alright, so if triangle opened the menu and cross was to jump, maybe square was to interact? You look back down at the controller, placing your thumb atop the square button. Why couldn't companies make controllers with the same symbols and colors? Trying to remember where everything is didn't exactly help right now. You quietly sigh, pressing down on the square button.

You glance back up at the television, a spray of blood painting the screen as screams of terror ring out.

"HELL YEAH, YOU SEE THAT GUY'S HEAD EXPLODE?!"

You jump, nearly dropping the controller. That's not what you wanted! You just wanted to find the interact button! You wanted to say hello…

"Do it again! Come on, those cops are shooting you!" Susie leans forward, the bed creaking loudly.

"U-Uh…!" You panic, mashing buttons across the controller.

The room fills with further cries of citizenry, gunshots ringing out as bullets fly from your character's blocky firearm. Swathes of near texture-less characters are cut down in your rein of terror, further splashes of copy-pasted blood textures thrown against the screen. You just wanted to say hello! WHERE WAS THE HELLO BUTTON?!

"Nice! Hey, can you get the weird yellow dragon with the fedora? Screw that guy." Susie pokes you in the side.

Another bout of violence breaks out, your character seeming to lock on to each victim indiscriminately. You begin to sweat, the controller slipping in your hands. Maybe the circle button? You focus your attention on the controller, mashing the input quickly. Your eyes go wide as a revving sound begins, your character now wielding a chainsaw in both hands.

"SICK!" The dragoness balls her fists, eyes locked onto the screen.

No! Not sick! Well, yes sick. But the bad kind! You swallow sharply, continuing to fumble the controller.

"Look out! Come on, you're getting shot to sh-"

The controller stops vibrating, to your relief. You breathe out a sigh, leaning your head against the wall. No wonder your mother was hesitant about Asriel playing these games. He was bad enough when he lost in Super Smashing Brothers. You drag your gaze back down, your character now lying prone on the asphalt, a number of vaguely police-shaped beings surrounding them, barking continued threats over and over again.

"Damn, you got messed up." You peer over at your side, Susie resting her maw on her palm.

"U-Uh…yeah. Guess I'm not really good at this game." You shrug limply.

"Eh, it's cool. Never actually played this before, couldn't get past the main menu or whatever." The dragoness snorts quietly, "Thanks for trying."

You smile, a chuckle rising from your throat, "Glad you could see me die horribly."

"Least you died cool." Susie bumps into you, her scales bristling against your arm.

"Y-Yeah, well…" You scratch the back of your neck.

"But come on, says you can continue."

What.

"This time, keep switching weapons though. I think I saw a rocket launcher in the menu for a second!"

You swallow sharply.

Maybe one of the shoulder buttons was how you said hello…?

#fanfic #deltarune #krusie #friendship #romance #kris x susie #kris dreemurr #susie deltarune

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odysseywritings · 1 year

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Runoff - Retrieval

Sasha followed the black oily residue along the coastline as the blurred sky kept their sights near the ground. She noticed fish nearby were getting smaller, possibly resulting from the substance stunting their growth with malnutrition. Aubrey looked through a rifle’s scope to look for threats but found nothing threatening ahead. She was about to lower the scope until she saw a body still breathing by the coast.

Aubrey and Sasha suggested to ignore it as a dead body would be less troublesome to loot off of. Arie argued to check it out and help them, saying it could lead to the person giving something else of use. Sasha shrugged and accepted while Aubrey grumbled and took a look out for traps and ambushes. The flatter land looked like a safe bet as they pressed on.

The body belonged to a person bleeding out from a gunshot wound but was otherwise stable. The man, with his blonde beard unkempt and clothes ragged and full of holes, pleaded with them to help. Without a doctor around, Sasha’s medical knowledge came in handy, and she used sterile tools to repair the damage while avoiding the bullet.

The man could breathe easier and thanked her with a beaming grin. He explained he was a trader looking for a caravan when he was shot and had many of his valuables stolen. He did not have much on him and could only offer a strange electronic device.

“It’s not the most useful thing, I reckon,” the man admitted. “I just found it one day by the old abandoned electronics store out east. Not much use to me, but I figured I could find someone good with computers who’d take a liking. You’re a smart cookie, so you might have a better time cracking it than me. Not sure what a U S B is, but that’s not my issue to worry about now. Thanks again for the help!“

The man and Arie shook hands before the blonde survivor headed on. Sasha examined the foreign object.

“It’s definitely interesting. But I only have one computer left. If this has any data, though, it could seriously have vital information.”

Aubrey scoffed, “Or a virus.”

“Exactly. The man talked about a store, so there might be computers there we can use as dummies. Plus we’re low on supplies anyway.“

Arie guided them with a map where he compared the pathways with their location. Along the way they saw a building surrounded by nothing atop a hill. A brick oval with green windows, doors, and four small canopies each separated evenly in the cardinal directions. Aubrey steered them away thinking it might be a fort concealing marksmen.

They approached the plaza with buildings scattered across with rusting signs falling apart and people of different stripes setting up stores and bazaars. To the left, the trio could see vendors with meat from hawks to giant scorpions. On the right, a man selling flags to use as blankets and cloths. As tempting as those were, they did not intend to travel so far with little money, and they headed on to the electronics store.

Only one technician was present in the store as he led the three to a computer chugging along on its last legs. Aubrey was impressed at the designs and power the computers had, while Arie felt annoyed at the constant humming and buzzing. Sasha inserted the USB file into the computer and was pleased to see nothing malicious yet.

Arie helped translate the name of the files to Sasha, whereupon she clicked each one for anything insightful. The first was a map similar to Arie’s yet it stretched out further, with the west appearing to have more land until it hit an ocean, and dots with names of cities being circled in red. Each of them were intrigued by what was beyond their world and wanted to find out more. The next file was a collection of books, which Arie assumed to have been destroyed or otherwise unavailable, and broken links to videos.

The third file started with a flag or a banner with bright red, white, and blue colors. It resembled the flags being sold outside but with a white snake’s fangs replacing the stars in the top left. Underneath was paragraph upon paragraph that exhausted Arie.

“It seems like rambling, honestly. A lot of talk about an upcoming war, salvation for their souls, and a loss of values. There’s some words like oil and gold that are referenced a lot. I don’t think we’ll get much out of it, but the map looks important.”

Arie asked the tech permission for the map to be printed out and gave him a few coins. Aubrey meanwhile looked at the flag intently. She could not put it into words, but she stirred with emotion.

“What’s the deal,” Sasha asked. “It’s a graphic design made by someone who is history now. Or is it an artist’s temperament thing?”

“Would you get off my back,” Aubrey snapped. “I’m not like Arie where I can put it into words. But I’ll find out. Just give me some time.”

Arie and Sasha looked at each other and exited the building as Sasha took the USB and improved map back, with Aubrey tagging behind, mesmerized by the flag in her head. The idea of a catastrophe scratched her brain, instilling her with a need to do something about it, yet she was unsure what to do. Or what she was fighting against.

///

@jacquesfindswritingandadvice @pluttskutt @timisrecs

#writeblr #wip: runoff #post apocalypse #post-apocalyptic #sci fi #mywriting #njm

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babytaes · 3 years

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†hê Ðêmðñ (the beauty of sin)

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: You're a guardian angel who's never been tasked with protecting anyone. Since you've been here since Creation, sitting around in heaven hasn't brought you any rewards. You were looking forward to the day when you'd be assigned a human to look after. When that day finally arrives, things take an unexpected turn when you are assigned to Heeseung, a demon from the underworld.

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: heeseung x female reader

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: angst, suggestive/smut

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 4k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: profanity, smut scenes, bad boy heeseung (lol),

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖙𝖘: click me before reading!

➳ part of the drunk & dazed series

☆ ҉ ◢▅◣

Sin is a spiritual virus that invades the whole being. It makes you morally and spiritually weak. It’s a deadly disease that infects every part of you: your body, your mind, your emotions, and your motives—absolutely everything. Nobody has the strength on their own to overcome its power.

Nobody should ever commit sin, never giving in to their worldly and sinful impulses. It's unjust and wrong. However, what is it about sin that makes it so fascinating and enjoyable?

It gave you joy to see it in his smile or the way his hands caressed your body. What a lovely thing sin is!

Even though some sins are innocent and enjoyable, sometimes regulations are supposed to be broken. Everyone, after all, is a sinner.

“WHAT!?,?” You began to sweat as you worriedly communicated your concerns to your overseer, “You must be mistaken, High Lord.”

“I understand the protocol; angels are supposed to serve as "guardian angels" to beautiful or broken souls on Earth. You know we're expected to look after them and keep an eye on them to make sure they stay on track. With all due respect, ma'am, I don't believe I'm qualified for this position; at the very least, someone of level 10 would be ideal.”

Her cream-colored wings swept her off her feet as she chuckled and waved for you to follow her. You sighed as you flutter up and away with her, trailing behind her, feeling a twitch in yours.

As you eventually caught up to her, dodging angels left and right, you apologized to random angels in your path, uncomfortably smiled at the people you bumped into with your wings.

You retracted your wings closer to you and walked uneasily beside your overseer as you carefully stepped down on the golden road.

Before you could say anything, she quietly took your hand in hers and gently kissed it, assuring you that everything would be alright. As you approached the center of the commotion, you bit your lower lip and remained silent.

Looking around at the community, it warmed your heart to see so many people, young and old, out here. Some you've known since the beginning of time, while others were born only last week. Everyone had gathered to witness the masterpiece that would emerge in an instant.

“You know Y/N I have complete faith in you that this first expedition will be a breeze,” you smiled, looking up at her with excitement and a tinge of fear in your eyes. “We wouldn't have suggested you for the job unless we knew who you really are, and you've earned it.” Don't worry, you were expecting this; now have a look.”

With her finger pointing to the stage forward, you were treated to yet another spectacular show. They're known as the "Grand Turning" in Heaven. This is where a new or seasoned angel has completed his or her training with a human or demon and earned their proper place in the community.

It could be a badge, a ribbon, or something more unique, such as the opportunity to talk with the all-powerful, our God.

Despite the fact that you were assigned to him, you were determined to get those jobs because they were the only way for you to ever get that honor. You weren't going to allow Mr. Unperfect take away that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Nobody could and will ever be able to make you fail this assignment; you were meticulously prepped. You were taught the correct and only way to do things, and now was your opportunity to shine. You were not going to be a Lucifer, cast from Heaven

“I'll do it,” you said to your supervisor, a smile on your face and confidence in your eyes. She turned to face you and hugged you passionately, rubbing your wings with a motherly devotion.

“I knew you could do it; now it's time to get you ready.”

---

When people have a near-death experience, they always remark that life flashes before their eyes. Unfortunately for angels, it's the contrary; when we're approached with a high-alert danger or warning, it's more of a gentle whisper in our ears. Normally more attentive while traveling to Earth.

The best place to be humans say.. What is with these fickle minded words?

You take a deep breath and turn to face your overseer, who is polishing her wings to ensure that they are kept in order. When having wings, a routine is taught from the beginning to keep them in a good up do. Nobody wants to look simple when you can look stunning.

She took your hand in hers and walked toward the end of the route, issuing some documents to the Pearl City Gate guards. You noticed the circular orb while glancing around.

"How can some humans believe in the world being flat, we literally have an air-like view. To me, it's definitely round.” She chuckled as she pinched your cheeks and turned your puzzled face to her.

“When you get down to earth, you'll see a lot of that, people with a lot of opinions. But what did you learn in your training?”

Standing up and smoothing your wings, you calmly shouted out the words as if they were written on the back of your palm.

“Although humans are the destroyers of their own precious planet, everyone's opinion matters, regardless of race, gender, or identity.”

“Well, not all,” you began scratching your head, “I've seen some harsh individuals in our study books, God should strike them down-“

“Um no ma'am, let us put it aside for the time being and focus on what needs to be done.” She started going over a list of laws and regulations for your descent to Earth. As you gave her a thumbs up, you were attentively listening and mentally bookmarking everything in their designated area.

I believe I have a good understanding of everything, and I think I am prepared.” She offered you a short hug before letting you go, showing her affection for you. You were going to miss her, despite the fact that it was a mutually-surface relationship.

“Last but not least, this ordeal will be different in that people will be able to see you. But if you have to use your wings, the lad is the only one who can see you. When you arrive, he will be waiting for you. My child, best of luck and may God bless you.”

You let go of her and moved toward the road's edge, gripping your bag as you turned to face her and waved farewell as you stepped over the brink.

“Wait a minute, what if-“

When you felt a push from behind, you tumbled off the ledge and spun around in the sky, where you saw a smiling face as you glanced up. They didn't tell you that you'd have to be pushed. As you plunged to Earth, you closed your eyes, terrified. Oh, how nice.

Screaming, you descended into the atmosphere, your narrowed eyes seeing glimpses of land here and there. Not letting up you let your wings cover your whole body as you plopped down onto soft green grass.

You peered out from your wings, gasping for air, and glanced up.

“Oh, Heavens”

His physique was slender, active, and well-groomed, with a trace of bad boy behavior in his scent. The first thing that struck your eye were the rips in his jeans. How could a man-made mistake seem to be so appealing? As you raised your eyes, you noticed tattoos splattered across his arms and up to his neck. His black velvet-like wings fluttering in the breeze, he raised his palm to his hair and stroked through the old curls, deconstructing the pattern they had once formed.

“Did you just pull a Lucifer or was this all planned?” he coughed as he put out his hand to you, taking a good look at you.

Stuttering in your words you quickly got up and patted yourself off and finally looked him in the eyes, noticing his dark eyes.

“Well, that wasn't supposed to happen, I hoped to fly down here and appear more Angel-like, but I think my overseer had other ideas.”

He said, "Ah," with a bored expression on his face.

“My name is Heeseung, and if you don't mind, I assume you don't.” I guess my name is well-known in Heaven. You're probably the fifth Angel who has appeared in the last year to “assist me.” What a load of bullshit; you can't hide what's already there, you know.”

He made a pouty look as he smirked closer to you before covering his hand with his mouth and saying, “oh forgive me, I suppose I have a potty mouth.”

Panicking at this new light, you smiled and coughed loudly and suddenly, “Before you say anything else, I'd want to inform you that I'm not like those angels we don't talk about. I have a holy standard that I adhere to.

He rushed to your face, rolling his eyes at your innocence, and murmured to you, "well see about that little Ms. Purity."

As you moved back and shook your head, spurring out prayers, you tugged the strings of your bag close to you, seeming irritated. Looking up, you noticed him hovering in mid-air with his arms crossed, waiting for you.

“Whether you're coming or not, I'm in the mood for a cup of coffee. Allow me to go fetch you one so that this whole ordeal between us may be over soon and we can both return to our respective worlds.”

You instantly snap open your wings and shot up into the sky, scoffing at his rudeness, and dash by him, racing to the left.

“It's this way, dummy,” he cackled as he immediately shot out. Embarrassed and annoyed, you flipped over to his side and flew alongside him, praying to the Lord for peace as your rage subsided.

“Lord, so help me”

---

“So, what's on the agenda, Ms. Purity? There are a lot of things I'd want to do with you. You know, if you just ditch this whole act, we might be able to have some fun. He winked at you as he sipped his drink while peering across the table.

You shook your head and chuckled, gagging at his remark, "You must get all the girls, you appear really, what's the word, competent" I'm astonished since I assumed everyone down under was inept.”

He smirked and crossed his legs as he lay startled in his chair, cocking his head to the side. It's not that you were trying to be mean; it's just what you were taught. There are no hard feelings.

“Well, as much as I'd like to keep this delightful little date going, I have a commitment to fulfill. You know, duty calls.” You quickly got up and hurried after him, confused as to where he was going, as he shot up in the air and chuckled, waving farewell to you.

“Wait, Heeseung, you can't just go away like that. We need to figure out how I'm going to find you. You're being impolite by getting up and leaving.” You made yourself look insane since you didn't realize no one could see him. You wouldn't want to be labeled as one of these Earthlings.

You beckoned him down, mentally terrified, “Please can you just come down for a damn second.” Your jaw dropped as you hurriedly covered your mouth. Heeseung's jaw dropped when he appeared in front of you, stunned.

“Gasp, I'm hearing a term I'm sure they don't say in Heaven. Hmm, I suppose the Earth changes people.” He went closer to your ear, his warm arm bouncing on your skin as he giggled, his lips inches away from yours.

“I've already entered my phone number into your phone; you do understand what a phone is, right?” Doesn't matter, I have to get somewhere, and you can locate me later. Okay, I'll see you later.” He swept up in the air and rushed over to the bridge as he vanished into the horizon, rushing out in a haste once more.

You sat back in the coffee chair, wiped your brow, and focused mentally and spiritually, pleading with the Lord for help and forgiveness. You had a feeling this mission was going to be a disaster.

Whining, you threw your hands in the air and sat face down on the table, groaning as you realized this trek. It's no surprise that these honors are well-deserved; it takes a lot of effort.

You cautiously lifted your head and faced the barista after hearing a soft tap on your table. She smiled at you as she set down a piece of paper. You scowled as you inspected the weird set of paper.

“What a jerk, he didn't just leave me to pay for both drinks.” With a shake of your head, you reached inside your bag and drew out a wallet. Your overseer informed you that many people like flaunting and spending their money, so she provided some for you just in case.

As you cleaned up, you began to mentally map out your route through town, mentally picturing the locations and navigating your way home. As you walked over to the cashier, you handed her some money and thanked her before heading out the door.

At the very least, you landed in a fantastic location. It was in the heart of South Korea, and the city was called Seoul, a wonderful metropolis to be sure. You were taught to master specific languages for specific tasks, so communicating wasn't a problem. Despite the fact that you were new in a strange place, you were determined to make the most of it. The first step was to return home and examine the situation.

How to manage Lee Heeseung.

Arriving at your small abode was an adventure in itself; it didn't take long for you to connect your GPS and get going. It was actually fairly pleasant and provided a change of scenery to enjoy. It's not quite Heaven, but it's still lovely. When you finally arrive at your destination, you look up to see a little, charming apartment in front of you.

They really went all out for you, and it's very much in your style. You'd felt right at home as soon as you stepped inside, as it was more modern and sophisticated.

To be honest, you had no idea what you were doing, but it felt good to have your own little place to do anything you wanted. You could get used to this, no wonder why humans never leave their house. Who would want to leave when you have everything here. Food, entertainment, and a BALCONY!!

As you finished exploring the apartment and basked in its magnificence, you laughed to yourself as you made your way to the couch, sinking into its coziness as sleep took over your mind and body.

*Crunch, thud, bang*

As you lurched forward, you flew up your wings in defense mode, trying to understand what you'd heard.

“Who's there? I have a weapon, and I'm not afraid to use it.”

When you hear a familiar giggle, you look up and see the attractive intruder. Walking over to you and snatching the pillow from your grasp he took your hand and pulled you over to the island where he had prepared some food.

As you took it all in, you smelt familiar scents and smiled, completely forgetting about it until you were reminded again.

“Wait, what are you doing in my apartment, and how did you get in?”

He began to remove some pots and pans from the stove while he placed some food on a platter, saying, "I have my methods."

“I'm not sure what you eat up there in Heaven, but I'm guessing it's all healthy and nutritious food.” You laughed and shook your hand in disbelief while shaking your head.

“I don’t think out of all places we would be eating so strictly. It's basically whatever you can get your hands on.. It's guaranteed to be better food than what you'll find in Hell.”

Pulling the dish away from him, you began to pick at the fries, popping one into your mouth and savoring the flavor, “not bad.”

He bowed in front of you, wiped the sweets from his brow, and returned to sit next to you, grabbing a dish and feeding himself some. As the night progressed, you told him the rundown for the next three months.

“So, despite the fact that you're definitely one of the worst jerks I've ever encountered. For this to function, we'll need to create certain ground rules.” Aiming a finger between you and him. “I'm not sure whether you've ever had to do anything for anyone else in your life, but it's all about serving people around here, and that's why I accepted this assignment. Even if you don't want to help yourself, I want to help you.”

As Heeseung shuffled around in his chair, avoiding eye contact with you, the atmosphere became tense.

“Harsh, but keep going.”

Smiling you continued as you tried to wrap your head around this complex creature.

“I understand that we are supposed to protect and guide you to do good, but it appears that we have progressed far beyond that, and we need to start at the source of your problem, which is most likely your heart or mind. What's going on in both?

As his words danced across your lips, he smirked and drew you closer to him.

“Now there's a secret.”

Smirking as your face felt warm, you cocked your head to the side and touched his shoulder before getting up and setting your dish in the sink, cleaning up as piercing eyes stabbed your back.

“I understand what you're thinking, and I've got it all under control.”

He approached you and said, "If you say so," as he put his head against your ear.

2 months later

Everything was certainly out of hand, and he was to blame. Your strategy not only failed, but it was only a matter of time until your overseer found out. And you didn’t want to end up like the last guy tossed from Heaven.

It wasn't all that bad, but who were you kidding, it was a disaster. It wasn't a major shift; rather, it was a series of modest changes. Things like accidentally cursing or hanging out with him at ungodly hours. You convinced yourself that everything was OK.

He drew you into your room and sat you down while hovering over you, gently caressing your body and kissing you.

You smiled and drew him closer to you, wrapping your legs around his waist and bringing him down on you, closing the distance between you.

Heeseung has been on a mission to damage your "innocent demeanor" for the past two weeks. He intended to show you that it was all a charade and that no one is actually perfect. Despite not knowing what he was going to do, you were up for the challenge. That core part of you didn't take long to succumb to his immoral impulses.

What was the problem as long as you were both happy?

“Heeseung,” you say as he draws you closer to him and unclasps your bra with his free hand. As you slowly rise to assist him, you toss the material to the ground and reach for his sweatpants.

“Someone a little needy, but we are not doing that today. Today is all about pampering my lovely angel. Is it all right?”

Nodding your head, you keep an eye on him as he goes between your legs, halting at the bottom as he eyes your breast and grasps softly as your body adjusts.

“Hurry up,” you grumble as you stare at his sinister grin. As you moan, he places gentle lips along your folds, leaning down to your core. As you twitch under his touch, his finger makes a fast dive between your folds, inciting dampness.

As you whine from the pressure, your eyes flutter shut as he switches his finger out with his tongue, softly licking up your surface.

“mm, close,” you exclaim, your lips wide open as he notices your clit, tongue flicking lustfully against it. As he presses harder on your sensitive region, he laughs as you break apart under his power.

“Oh God, right there.”

“Please don't involve Him in this.” He hits a place as your high comes crashing down on you, chuckling at your reaction. Heeseung is holding you down and watching you quiver wildly as you release juice, which causes him to swallow it before wiping his mouth. As you fall onto his body, overwhelmed and still sensitive to the sensation, he pulls you up.

He lays your exhausted body next to his and wipes any excess arousal from his mouth before kissing your lips.

You both lay in a comfortable stillness for the remainder of the night, your breathing slowly returning to normal as you sign into his arms.

“Perhaps you're right; we're all just horny, messed-up creatures; I mean, even though what we're doing is completely wrong, it was fun to break the rules. My entire life has been focused on doing the right thing and being this upstanding angel. It's fun to deviate from the norm.” As Heeseung witnessed you erupt in rage, you became agitated.

“You’re cute when you’re mad, also I told you.” You both chuckled as you pushed him to the side before coming to a halt in the middle of your conversation, looking concerned at him.

“However, I leave tomorrow and I don't think I'll be ready to see you off, and this was not in my plan.”

“Shhh, I figured it out; just stick to my plan and we'll both come out on top.”

You sat closer to him, nodding your head and clasping your hand in his as you allowed sleep to take over your body.

As you may know, angels and humans have quite distinct punishments; some humans are never punished for their wrongdoings, whereas angels' actions are usually discovered one way or another.

And you were terrified that they would find out. The person who fell from the edge was not the same person who was returning back and everyone was going to know it. Just not right now, you had to maintain your composure as you approached your overseer.

As you were greeted with the overseer and some guards, you held Heeseung by his chains and whispered something into his ear.

“I see you were having a good time?” You shook your head and looked down, worried. You looked up at her with sad eyes.

“Yes, High Lord, I am aware of my error and what needs to be done in order to be purified once more. I accept complete responsibility for this assignment, but I crack him first, and we have all the secrets we need.”

As he observed you return to the opposite side with the overseer, Heeseung's gaze shifted up in fright. Fearing for his life, he flailed his wings in an attempt to flee.

“What the hell, Y/N, I thought we were on the same team.” How could you betray me in such a way?” You walked over to his trembling body and pushed him down so you were above him, laughing loudly. You patted his shoulder as you cackled.

“And they said angels could be trustworthy. I know what I'm worth, and it has nothing to do with you. Heseeung, please accept my apologies. Get him out of here.” The guards grabbed his chains and dragged him to a chamber across the room from you.

As she began to compliment you on your efforts, the supervisor wrapped her arm around your shoulder.

“I'm proud of you, Y/N, even though you used some terrible techniques. I knew you'd be able to pull it off.”

You grinned joyously and thanked her for her faith in you as you looked up at her face. You cast another peek at Heeseung as she stepped forward, and he winked at you. Smirking before he disappeared into the room you chuckled at his behavior.

Everything was going swimmingly, and no one had a clue. I suppose taking over Heaven would be a simple task; if you can blow up the inside, everything will fall apart on its own.

"How could you hide this from all of us?" "Oh God, you underestimated me."

The Beauty of Sin.

☆ ҉ ◢▅◣

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#enhypen #enhypen writers #enhypen series #enhypen angst #enhypen suggestive #enhypen smut #lee heeseung #heeseung #enhypen heeseung #enhypen lee heeseung #enhypen reactions #en-#kpop au #enhypen au #enhypen x reader #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x y/n #enhypen masterlist #babytaes works

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allandoflimbo · 3 years

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Ashens (Part 22)

Summary: She falls in love with Bucky Barnes from the moment she sees him. Bucky, still in love with a woman from his past, hates Y/N and plans to make her life miserable. To both their dismay, they are assigned together to go undercover into The Capitol for six months. There, they develop a heartbreaking friend with benefits agreement. Dystopian.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 3,600

Rating: M for Mature, E for explicit. Enemies to lovers trope, sharing a bed trope, friends with benefits trope, temporarily unrequited love, heavy and angry sex, heavy on the angst, and very strong language.

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He’s been gone all morning. You don’t know where he went and you didn’t ask before he left. Whatever it was, you weren’t too concerned, anyway. It was about time you two had some space. It helped clear your mind and helped you move on. You were moving on.

There was another reason you were thankful he had left for the morning. You could feel the chills run up the sides of your arms, goosebumps appearing where your skin was once smooth.

You eyed the closet doors curiously. It was almost eerie how quiet it was around you. You dropped your eyes for only a moment before raising them up again.

You had to do this. You were going to do this.

You finally gather the balls to do something you’ve been wanting to for some time now. It had been eating away at you like mad.

Once in front of the closet, you crouch down. You raise your left hand slowly roll the doors open, your eyes immediately dart down to the little black box on the ground. Exactly where he’d left it.

Part of you was happy that it remained untouched.

Per Steve’s orders, you had both buried any of your weaponry about a mile before reaching the wall nearly three months ago. You weren’t supposed to be bring any inside with you. It was forbidden.

It had shocked you when you and Bucky had been arguing about going after Ashen and he had pulled out a G19, angrily strapping it onto his leg to prove a point. He obviously snuck it in. At the time, you hadn’t really given it much thought. You were more shocked that he ignored his best friend’s request.

Now, it concerned you for different reasons.

You sat criss cross in front of the box, staring at it for a few more long seconds. Taking in a deep breath, you opened it. It opened with a small click.

There it was.

Matte black. Subtle but deadly.

You eyed the gun like it was a ticking bomb. You’ve never held a fire arm before, but that wasn’t necessarily why you were nervous. You were nervous to know why the hell he had it stacked away in your bedroom when you knew he didn’t even have the intention of killing anyone on this mission. He made sure to make you aware of this, many times.

You also knew it wasn’t to be used on you. There was no way.

The only other plausible reason he had it, kept you on edge.

You didn’t want your thoughts going there.

You reached slowly for the gun until you felt it lay heavy in your right hand. It was heavier than it looked. It felt deadlier than it looked.

You swallowed thickly, allowing yourself to think the worst.

Was he going to use this on himself?

You suddenly wanted it as far away from you as possible.

Your hand trembled slightly as you put it back in its place, letting your fingers linger on the ridges for just a moment.

You let out a long breath realizing.

When you had eyed the closet, you didn’t really think it through.

What were you going to do once you had it in your hands? Were you going to get the gun and hide it? Were you just curious? Was there something about it that secretly terrified you and you weren’t going to believe you really saw him hold it until you held it yourself?

You shake your head, pushing the box back into its original place. You were over exaggerating.

He probably just brought it in case you both needed it for self protection.

You looked over at your black back pack right next to it and pulled it out.

You fished inside, looking at different things you forgot you still had. You had your grey sweater, scarf, and beat up boots at the bottom. It smelled dusty.

You stuck your hand into the front pocket of the backpack, pulling out a note. It wasn’t your first time reading it, but you need the gentle reminder.

Thank you again for doing this. Thank you for helping me out and for agreeing to our plan to help Bucky be happy again. We can do this together. That plan, to me, is the most important thing right now. Thank you for doing whatever it takes to mentally convince him he deserves happiness. What you’re doing means the world to me, y/n. See you both again very soon. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.

Steve

You felt small tears in your eyes at your promise. If only he knew how it wasn’t so easy. You closed your eyes tightly together, took a deep breath, and placed the note onto your chest.

I’ll keep trying.

+ +

You didn’t understand these jobs that came with your ID. You didn’t understand most of what you were being told to do, but you did it anyway.

At the end of the day, your number one plan was to still kill Ashen. So you went through with what Bucky ordered you to do until it was time.

Your first day at the tower started off better than how you thought it would. Mr. Hyde was a old gentleman in his late 50s. He had short white hair and a nicely trimmed white beard to compliment it. He knew you were learning and that this would be your first time working up to a secretary job, so he started you off with small assistant duties like transporting paper work around the building, scheduling, and grabbing anything personal he may need here and there.

The best part was when he gave you a tour of the building, the whole reason you even were excited about it. Maybe this was why this was written into the mission.

He explained to you what each floor was but never took you past floor 15. You eyed the buttons on the elevator suspiciously.

He said that wasn’t their area and that “we didn’t need to worry about it”. You needed a special code to access those floors anyway.

You quickly made a connection. You wondered how Bucky had gotten in the other day.

The atmosphere in the elevator went cold when you stopped somewhere on the seventh floor and a man dressed in black and gold walked in. It was a fitted suit, expensive looking, and he had a cold look in his eyes. You swallowed thickly, looking away from him. You pulled your scarf tighter around your neck, trying to conceal your tattoo as much as you could.

Something about this man was off.

You heard the term Coroner a lot when you worked serving drinks. They weren’t the coroner most people knew, they were cop meets bounty hunter.

There was just something about them that left you uneasy. He stood in front of you and you felt yourself shuffle back a few inches. You looked over at Mr. Hyde and he gave you a small smile.

You smiled back.

+ +

It wasn’t until your fourth day at the building when things finally took a turn.

Bucky was going to meet you at a stairwell for floor eleven. He was going to trace Silas down once and for all. The night after the ball, Bucky was went traced them down to see where they would take the new import. According to what he overheard, there had been some complications and it wouldn’t be administered until today.

You got up from your seat, pretending you were just looking for the restroom, when you turned down the narrow hallway and went for the door that led into the stairwell.

You had three floors to climb up to meet him.

You were on the ninth floor when you turned the corner of the stairs and your heart nearly jumped up into your throat.

His face, his hair, his eyes, and his damn voice.

It all hit you at once and you turned back the direction you came from, leaning back against the steal rods. You put a hand up to your head as you felt dizzy. You could feel your heart beating away like crazy and you felt that anger you harbored down for so long.

It was him. The face from the diner and the face of the man that killed your mom and dad.

Ashen.

And he was with another woman.

“He’s our child and he’s dying!” The woman shouted. You could hear the tears in her voice.

“I know but there’s not much else I can do,” the voice. It was deep and violent. You hated it. You hated him, “He woke up this morning, cured! Without us even giving him the dose of the chemical. It’s obvious his plasma contains some kind of fending off mechanism. It took years, but he obviously survived it and no longer has it.”

You took a deep breath as you processed what you were hearing.

Had the little boy been infected with the virus, but now was doing well?

“And?” The woman insisted.

“And?” An evil laugh came from within Ashen’s chest, “We need all his blood, goddamn it! We need it distributed to our men if we want our side to stay strong once we go out there!”

“You can’t possibly still think—“

“It’s our world —“

“But we are safe here. Our son is safe here!”

“You didn’t think we’d all stay stuck in here for all eternity, did you? Hydra and Sword is to control the world, not the city. These walls kept us safe long enough and our son is well now, and we might have the cure in our hands. It’s all we need to conquer.”

You could hear sniffling.

“You can’t kill our son.” The woman begged.

“No,” he said slowly, “Not yet at least. We need trial periods.”

“Ashen, please-“

“I sacrificed everything for him!” A shriek followed by a gruntled groan came from the woman and you wondered what he was doing to her, “I cut the plan short, of us taking the capitol, because of him! I was minding my own business that night before I got the call. I took the risks, I found the refuge, I found the goods, and I called an initiative, and now look at us, we’re all safe. And our son just also happens to be the possible cure for all of this. If Hydra completing this mission requires my son’s life, so be it.”

“I won’t let you hurt him! I won’t let you pick at him with needles and knives. He is my baby boy!”

“Was, honey, was.” You could hear a loud smack, “And after him, you’re next.”

“What?”

“Now let’s get back in there and congratulate him.”

You could still feel your heart beating away inside of your ears as you heard the shuffling of their feet, followed by the closing of a door.

This was way too much information for you to process. This was too much for you. Suddenly, you cursed Bucky for making you work intel. Intel was the worst part.

You knew this information and now you had to tell him without freaking out, or worst, freaking him out.

It didn’t take much longer for a familiar face to turn the corner of the stairwell.

His blue eyes met yours over his scarf.

“What the hell are you doing here, I said eleventh —-“ his voice faltered as he watched your stricken face. His own eyes fell and he raised a hand to the back of your head and caressed it softly, “Hey, hey, it’s okay. What’s going on?”

“I—“ you whimpered out. Bucky hushed you as he leaned his forehead against yours. He closed his eyes tightly together, “I—he—“

“Breathe. Breathe. Breath for me.”

You took in a deep breath and controlled your breathing.

When you opened your eyes he was staring straight down at you.

“I saw him.” Bucky’s eyes darted over your face, knowing exactly what you were talking about. Who you were talking about, “I saw him.” You repeat again. He nods, “I can’t stay here, Bucky. Not when he’s here. He killed mom and dad, Bucky.” You whimpered into a cry.

“Hey, shhhh,” he brought his hand to your jaw and ran his thumb there gently, “shhh. I’m sorry,” he straightens his head up over yours and places a kiss on the top of your head, “I’m sorry you saw him.”

You ran your hands up his chest and softly pushed him away from you. Bucky’s face fell, along with his hands at his sides. You looked away from him, running the back of your sweater-clothed hand underneath your nose.

You needed to create distance. You and him, whatever it was, was no more.

“I overheard them.”

“Them?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair.

“Yes, them. Him and what I can only imagine is maybe his wife? I don’t know, it was another woman. The little boy’s mother.”

Bucky took a deep breath.

“Okay, and what did they say?”

“He’s going to kill him. He can potentially save us, save all of us, but instead he’s going to kill him, I—I—“ you were freaking out as your ran both hands down your face.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The boy!” You shouted quietly, pointing to the direction where the stairs continued. “Ashen is after the boy. He’s going to kill the mom and he’s after the boy, too.”

“What? Why? Why is he after his own son?”

You took a deep breath and met Bucky’s gaze again. His jaw was tight and he looked apprehensive.

“They think the cure is in his plasma.” You say slowly and carefully, knowing how much weight the words held.

“The cure?”

“For the virus. The boy’s blood.”

Bucky let out a long breath, running a hand through his own hair now and pulling on it.

“And why does he want the child dead? Does he not want the cure?”

“No, no he does.”

“What? He wants it just for himself?” You whined as you looked away again, “Y/N, you came on this mission for this reason. It’s for you to give me the important information you have right at this moment. Tell me, why does he want the boy dead?”

“He says he wants to make enough just for Hydra and Sword,” Bucky’s face went pale, “I’m assuming it’s because he doesn’t want anyone else after that having access to it. He kills the boy, no more cure for anyone else.”

“That,” his tongue clicks, “That’s absurd. Hydra wants to recruit more bad, not kill off the remaining race. It defeats the purpose of world domination.”

“I think they have a change of plans. They said they want to control the rest of the world.”

“With a raging virus? How is that even possible?”

“I don’t know. That was all he said before I heard him choking his wife. I don’t know what they plan to do after they go out there, protected. I don’t know.”

“And in that vile? What was in the vile?”

“I don’t know, a trial drug. But nothing as good as the boy’s blood.”

Bucky lets out a long breath as he walks back and forth, clearly stressed and overwhelmed. You watched him, intrigued. You’ve never seen him worry like this before.

“Shit, shit, shit.” he mumbles under his breath, “What do we do? What do we do.”

You stare down at his feet as they continue to move across the floor.

“I think it’s obvious what we need to do.”

“What?”

“We need to take him.” You say seriously, looking Bucky dead in the eye.

“We need to take him.” He says back.

“We can’t let Hydra have access to the cure and let the rest of the world burn and we can’t get him get killed.” You place a hand on Bucky’s arm to stop him and he looks up at you. You could practically see the emotions in his eyes, “He’s just a little boy.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t just go in there and take the kid. I can’t just kidnap someone’s child.”

“Why not?” You ask simply.

Bucky lets out a scoff.

“What?”

“Bucky look at the stakes here. He wants him killed, he’ll build an army to dictate the rest of the world. Bucky we have no other option. This is the end of the world. There is no time for common courtesy.”

“Okay. Okay, just relax. We need to plan this through, okay? So far us two and his parents are the only ones who know about him right?”

“I mean his doctor probably knows too and also the scientist he’s working with. The man who probably sent in those viles.”

“Those viles can be good too, right? We need to take those, too. At least a few. There has to be a reason they brought them in. Maybe they aren’t timely useless. Trial drug or not.”

“So we take the boy, now—”

“We can’t, y/n.” Bucky says strictly. You don’t expect his hand to cup your cheek again. It takes your breath away. Why was he behaving this way? “He said he’ll wait anyway. They probably need to run tests first. We still have two and a half months left in here. If we take him now, they’ll notice he’s gone, and Hydra’s already suspecting there’s intruders inside the wall. It’s too risky. We need to wait,” he runs his hand over your chin and tilts his head slowly to the side. A pained look is in his eyes, “I know you want to, and I want to, too, but we need to do this carefully.”

“So what do you suggest?” Your voice comes out rough.

“I don’t know, maybe we can keep an eye on him or something.” He says. “His father works here, maybe you’ll see him around. Warm up to him. Make sure he’s safe.”

“Ashen knows what I look like.”

Bucky nods.

“I know that. Maybe there’s something we can do. Maybe I can find where he stays in the building. I’ll figure something out. And you’ll be safe, I promise. He won’t see you.”

You believe Bucky’s words and you nod.

“Okay.”

“What do you think? Should we risk him seeing me?” He says with a small smile on his face.

You look at him incredulously.

“Are you dumb?”

“What?” He asks like it’s nothing.

“You’re Captain America’s best fiend. If you really think he wouldn’t recognize you right away and run and tell his dad, you’re insane.”

___

It had been a successful day. It was exhausting and you and Bucky were both clearly burnt out, emotionally and mentally. A lot happened for both of you. You both took a shower, individually of course, you had dinner and you finally got him to watch the first half of Titanic. It was a long night.

But it wasn’t the end of the day yet.

You sat on the bed crisscross and in your PJs, looking out into the city, deep in thought.

Bucky moves over to you and across the bed and you close your eyes tightly together, feeling the bed dip down. You can feel him as he puts his hand on your shoulder.

“We’ll save him, okay? Imagine how much Steve will love us when you come back not only with a life saved, but with the cure.” His words are gentle and sweet, but hold so much weight over you.

You couldn’t do this. You made that promise a few days ago.

“Look, Bucky I don’t think we should do this anymore. Our agreement.” You say quietly, your voice breaking off at the end.

He went still and you felt a cold rush where he began to remove his hand from your skin.

“Oh, I didn’t realize that—“

“Bucky—“

“I didn’t know you weren’t in the mood. I’m sorry.”

“No,” you say quietly and so heartbreakingly slow that you know he can feel it too. Why did it feel this way? “It’s not that.” You slowly turn around to face him. He’s got both arms stretched down on the bed below him, palms down, and he’s staring at you like he was afraid you would hurt him again like you did the other night. You looked away from him and pushed yourself away to give you both more room to breathe

“Sweetheart—“

“I’ve decided to go out with Pietro again,” You watch as his eyes drop from your own to the spot just next to your arm. He swallows hard and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that isn’t necessarily jealously, “We want to see where it goes. I know we’ll only be here a little while longer, but who knows the future, right? What if I see him again?”

Bucky swallows again and clears his throat.

“It wouldn’t feel right doing that to him.”

“Oh.”

“So, uh,” he straightens himself out until he’s standing, and he pulls his shirt down in a sort of fidgety way you almost find adorable if it weren’t for the heartbroken look in his eyes, “you’re gonna date?”

You tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, feeling a tightness in your chest that you couldn’t bare.

Why did it feel like this?

“Yeah. I deserve someone that will take care of me like that, don’t you think?”

Bucky’s eyes are unreadable at that point. This was what he wanted, right? For you to move on and meet someone better for you?

“You’ll find a guy your age, you don’t want an old thing like me, anyway.”

“You do.” It hurt him to say it. It fucking destroyed him in the goddamn core.

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mudhornchronicles · 3 years

Text

sanguine | din djarin

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

warnings: mentions of violence, angst, yodito’s name spoiler, face reveal, sexual references but aren’t toooo explicit

a/n: this is part two for maroon.

i made up a planet because i couldn’t find a planet that wouldn’t be obvious to hiding Mandalorians, ya know? I’ve never written smut before and as much as I wanted to include it, I’d just ruin it BUT I’m learning lol. also, happy new year to everyone! I hope this year brings you joy, health, and happiness. please enjoy and let me know what you think!

masterlist

No matter how long it has been, you are always thrown back to the day you lost everything. Your necklace is a constant reminder of the death of you. No matter if you’re at the market buying the supplies you’re running dangerously low on or if you’re in the midst of stitching up a laceration - your hand always finds its way around the symbol of pain.

The gunfire. The screams. The tears. The loss.

The nightmares are a virus you cannot get rid of with medication. After all these years, the past plagues you even after you have tried your hardest to move on.

When you made it to the planet Alegoria, the emperor, Krusean, took you all as his own people. The warriors who were once faithful to the creed willingly relinquished their armor for civilian clothing in order to conceal their true heritage. You witnessed every brave soul you saw defeat Mandalore’s invaders once upon a time diminish to discomfited individual’s seeking purpose aside from duty. Alegoria gave you the opportunity to become the independent being your father always wanted you to be, but every time you took five steps ahead, the thought of him infiltrated your mind and you retreated into the shell of a person you arrive as.

Because of your skill set you found yourself excel with, Emperor Krusean found it ideal to have you stay in the palace as his assistant. You preferred not living in a home you did not earn, but you agreed to always carrying a commlink. An agreement that you felt safe with. You found yourself comfortable in the presence of the emperor, or Krusean as he liked to be called. He was an older gentleman, nearing his sixties, and he was a man with a heart of gold. You reminded him of his daughter, his army’s lieutenant, who gave her life for her father’s. You both had a connection, and he became your family as you did his.

So much, that he was only person on Alegoria, aside from your own people, who knew about your lost love.

The day was as every other with the exception of the sky being painted in rich reds and pretty pinks – something that happened every three to four months. You knew a sanguine palette awaited tonight’s night sky. Always a beautiful sight.

As you ran your daily errands, you began to note the people of Alegoria, the former Mandalorians to be exact, seemed on edge. You walked up to a few and they came across jumpy. You looked up and you caught sight of three ships and one of them gave you the fear you have not felt in a long time – a tie fighter.

As it appeared to be landing, chaos unfolded.

The screams and tears returned, but the gunfire was absent.

You felt sick. You could not move but were forced by one of the emperor’s guards. They barked out orders to shelter themselves and reminding them of the evacuation plans if needed. The guard escorted you back to the palace in a speeder made specifically for attaching life-boards. They were the evacuation plan.

Once through the palace walls, you ran straight to the emperor. As you ran, you could not help but to attach your hand on your signet and ring adorning your neck. You brought them up to your shaking lips, giving them both a kiss and whispering an apology to whoever was listening. You found the emperor barking orders at his general to secure the city’s perimeter – his people’s safety came first.

He spotted you and ran to you, bringing you into his arms and placing a kiss on the crown of your head. You could not stop shaking as he held you, telling you that everything would be okay. He informed you that the radars did not detect any other ships – just the three crafts and seven life forms. He asked you to go into the safe room underneath the palace while the situation get assessed and you oblige, knowing he must have thousands of thoughts running through his mind.

While you sat underneath the fortress, you thought back to him. You were able to move on from losing Mandalore, but you could never move on from him. You clutched his ring in your hand and let out the tears you had been suppressing for years. You never allowed yourself to vocalize his name, let out cry about him.

“I miss you so much, ner kar’ta. I have never given up on you, but I couldn’t wait around and do nothing.” you kiss his ring and continue to voice your ache. “The people I was with, my love, they aren’t you. They could not make me feel shielded from the galaxy’s wrath like you did. I’ve stayed here because I didn’t want to miss you when you came to find me, but I- I don’t know if I can go through life unknowing of what’s out there.” You jump as you hear the door of the safe room unlock and swing open. You see Emperor Kursean come in with this look on his face that you have never seen while in your presence – sympathy.

He refuses to answer your questions and protests of leaving the room. He leads you to the room you never made yours. He stops in front of the tall doors and brings you into his arms. You return his hug and ask a simple question before he leaves you.

“Krusean, am I going to die?”

He looks at you incredulous. Why would you ever ask him that question? How can you think that he would let you die?

“Sweet girl. What you will see through this door is the past you need to either close or welcome. You need to stop running away from what made you stronger.”

He places a single kiss on your forehead and leaves you.

Your hands begin to shake. You cannot help but to feel scared. You do not know who or what can be behind these doors and you do not know why they are here. You take a deep breath in and it comes out with a quiver. You place your trembling hand on the handle and push down. You hear the distinctive click and you lightly push. The room is pitch black except for the crimson light bleeding through the balcony. You step inside and close the door behind you. You feel the second being in the room, but you are not frightened. It is a friendly aura which eases you. A minute passes by and as you are about to leave you hear it. The sound that you have been longing to hear all these years.

His voice.

You tense at the sound of his voice saying your name. It pleads for you to stay and so you do. You are not scared for your life, but now as you have heard it, you fear for your heart. You cannot take another heartbreak. You just would not survive turning around and this voice telling you goodbye for the final time, or worse it not being him at all.

The voice says your name one more time and you finally slowly turn. You feel as though your heart has stopped and splattered over the floor.

It is not him.

You have never seen this warrior before. The armor is not a design you recognized, but the color is what gives you a sliver of hope.

It is silver. Mourning a lost love.

You find yourself staring at the figure in front of you and your eyes catch the handle to the weapon of the Mand’alor.

As you have been taught to do by your father, you bow your head as a sign of respect.

“Su cuy'gar, ner Mand’alor.”

The Mand’alor says nothing; he only reaches out to stroke your cheek.

“Su cuy'gar, ner riduur.”

You felt as if time froze. This cannot be him. This cannot be your love. The di’kut you fell in love with could not have become the leader of Mandalore. You could not stop the tears any longer.

“I-I can’t… How did… is it really you?”

He placed your delicate hands into his and his helmet appeared to be nodding. He is shaking again. You can feel it once more.

“It is my love. I gave you my word. I promised I would find you. I never stopped looking for you. I just hope I’m not too late.”

You shook you head, giving him the answer he hoped to receive.

“Din,” you whispered just enough for it to kiss his ears.

You did not know what overcame your body, but you blinked and your arms were around his neck; his around you. You sobbed his name repeatedly into the small opening between the lip of his helmet and his broad shoulder and all he can do was cry with you.

He had finally found you. After years of searching every planet he was sent to, he finally found the person he gave his entire being to. He felt whole. You felt complete. He held you in his arms so tight, you felt as if you became stone. A statue carved to perfection with the two central pieces fitting together with a seamless union.

“I also promised you something else if I remember correctly.”

As much as you did not want to let go of him, you let your arms fall from his shoulders, but held his hand in yours. With your free hand, you fished out his ring, your engagement ring. He held his ring with both his first and second fingers and smiled in his helmet. You kept it, he thought.

“I promised you a proper riduurok, did I not?”

You genuinely smile for the first time in a long time and nod. “Yes, you did. Are you finally making me a part of your clan?” You take a glance at his shoulder to examine the signet gracing his pauldron. “You managed to kill a mudhorn, cabur?” Din looks over to his pauldron and tilts his helmet back to you.

“I had some help. You will be joining my clan and making it three.”

“Three?”

“My foundling, Grogu.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“He’s with his kind now. I promised him I’d see him again and I hope you would be by my side.”

You delicately place your hands on either side of his helmet and bring your foreheads together. “Make me your wife, Djarin.”

“We only had one more vow to recite if my memory serves me well.”

“I’ve waited to long – we’re starting over, my love.”

He leads you to the balcony and a minute later, you are officially a part of Clan Djarin.

“Riduur?”

You glance up to your husband and although his silver helmet sits upon his shoulders, all you see is him.

“Yes, riduur?”

He takes a step in front of you and kneels. He looks up to you and places both your hands on either side of his helmet. For as long as he can remember, Din Djarin perceived himself as this cold-blooded mercenary who only cared about the credits and reputation he would gain, but after finding the kid and learning how it was to feel human again, Din Djarin is vulnerable.

“I’ve dreamt about us for so long and as I stand here now, I feel as if we never each other – just time. As my wife, I want you to see the face that our children will resemble. I want to be able to make love to you without the tint of my visor. I kneel before you as I ask you to remove the helmet that conceals the identity of your husband.”

You grace his helmeted forehead with a chaste kiss as you press the button to unlatch Din’s helmet. You sluggardly lift his helmet up and away from his face – eyes still closed as if he would suddenly regret his decision. Once completely off, you hear his unmodulated voice speak your name and you feel your heart begin to race.

You open your eyes and a grin appears on your face from ear to ear.

“Ner riduur, I knew you’d be handsome, but it should be a crime for you to be hiding this face.” He smiles brightly at your compliment. “I also didn’t know you had a dimple! My love, you’re captivating!”

You stay mesmerized by his beauty as he furiously blushes at your gazing face.

“My husband, would it be too fast to ask for you to touch me?” you plead.

“Would it be too fast to admit that I want to toss you onto this bed and make love to my wife?”

“No. I’d be upset if you didn’t. That would mean you changed. You used to be inside me with my hands pinned against the wall every chance you got.”

His eyes filled with desires and before you knew, that is exactly where your hands were – pinned against the wall.

The sanguine night sky illumination was only a factor to your husband’s stamina – one that allowed you to rest several hours later.

mando’a translations:

ner kar’ta = my heart

Mand’alor = the sole leader of Mandalore; king of Mandalore

Su cuy’gar = Hello - lit. ‘You're still alive.’

ner Mand’alor = my King

ner riduur = my spouse

di’kut = idiot

cabur = protector

tags: @theocatkov

part 3 to maroon - brick

#din djarin #the mandalorian #mandalorian #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader #star wars #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #sanguine #maroon #maroon pt 2

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year

Text

𝑬𝑿𝑰𝑳𝑬 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬

Summary: Runners. Stalkers. Clickers. Shamblers. Bloaters.

Domestics.

All infected. One unlike the other.

Both of you adopt the forest as your home. One wants the other gone, meanwhile the other will do anything to not be left alone.

A few things to keep in mind; after the fallout with Tommy instead of heading to Boston Joel heads to the woods to escape it all, and the 20-year time jump doesn't happen. Which means, for now, no Tess, no Ellie. Joel is 32-33 here (since in the prologue he's around that age) and reader is in her mid-twenties

pairing: joel miller x ofc!june | written in reader format, no body descriptions but does have a personality

word count: 658

genre: dark cottagecore, horror, angst, explicit smut, hybrid au, minors dni

warnings: horror imagery, attempt at suicide, blood

SERIES MLIST || PREV CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

Runners. Stalkers. Clickers. Shamblers. Bloaters.

Domestics.

All infected. One unlike the other.

Click Click Click

You collapsed under a tree with thick, leafy branches and you cried— Warm, salty tears mixed with cold, sweet rain. You felt your stomach, soft, warm, and incredibly wet.

Blood, you realized.

You checked yourself for ammo, your hands trembling. You didn’t want to turn. You didn’t want to become a mindless creature hunting for untainted flesh.

The thought of living long enough to morph into a Bloater struck you to your core. You closed your eyes.

Some Domestics had claws, some had fur, some had eyes that could see through the pitch-black night.

Some could breathe underwater, some had scaly skin.

This infection was different. Some called it adaptation.

But to most, it was still the Infected, there was no difference.

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x ofc #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #hbo the last of us #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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fourfucksake · 3 years

Text

online meeting

pairing: chris evans x black!fem!reader

warnings: cursing, stripping, masturbation

word count: 4.2k

p.s this workpiece is set in an alternative reality. this is a professor!chris one shot + i imagined y/n as a black girl, but i hope every single one of you lovely people will read!

Heaps of new policies bombarded universities since the spread of the virus. The amount of preparation and paperwork that had to be completed due to the newest conditions in the teaching system made everyone stressed to the maximum level. Perhaps, that’s why teachers communicated more during those challenging times; only those who work in the same environment can relate to your work frustrations. Individuals whom before appeared almost invisible where now your online buddies. It was quite incredible though.

Chris enjoyed the feeling of this community being available for him whenever he feels like expressing his irritations and or simply desires to moan about his dislikes. Before, he has never considered himself to be a whiner, but since everyone has been constantly moaning and pouting, he thought this is the right time to join the club.

Taking into consideration the current state of the world he was assured that everyone is a complainer right about now. He was okay with that though. No doubt, he didn’t know much about psychology, however, it seemed only logical to allow people to talk about how they feel. Also, it appeared plausible people felt scared, confused, or worried. Hey, these were very surreal times. There was no reason to make others feel bad about having emotions.

Of course, there was some resentment towards certain members of University since all the teaching went online. Sometimes, Chris felt like most of his colleagues gave rats ass about regulations and procedures that were now put in place. Instead of trying to provide the best learning experience possible, they restricted themselves to slamming all the work materials online for students to figure everything out on their own.

Personally, he found online teaching unbearable and exhausting. He hated it; there were no words to describe how much he despised it. At first it was alright; it was tolerable and doable. In a way, it was nice. Being at home, able to wake up later than early morning hours. Being with his dog and going on long walks wherever he wished. Being able to take his time with cooking, exercising, reading. All of those mentioned were exceedingly pleasant.

However, Chris chose to be a teacher. He loved spreading his knowledge around. Since an early age he would teach his younger brother; he was much help when it came to revising, essay or exam tips. This was his passion, he loved it. This pandemic undeniably took this away from him. However, there was still room to provide students with knowledge this way, and he tried extremely hard to do so in most effective ways.

For example, he did not have to orchestrate his own online meetings to be this long. Half an hour, that was a long time slot. This was planned completely on purpose. Ultimately, his desire was to provide students with the time to talk to him, express their concerns, and ask questions. Maybe he took this job way too seriously, he thought, and it wasn't needed. However, there’s always this teacher everyone likes, and Chris wanted to be precisely that guy. It wasn't some stupid ego thing, not at all. He genuinely wanted people to feel like he is there for them and wants them to succeed. Every single individual had an ability to be successful, some just needed an extra push too keep them on track. Although his own schooling experiences where genuinely pleasant, he knew he would benefit more from University experience if he had a teacher like him. Not to lick his own ass, he thought, of course.

After years of working in the schooling system no errors have ever occurred. Until last year, when the last class prior to pandemic began their college journey. Back then and there a problem has arisen – you. It was no one else than little Miss Perfect, the girl who made him look twice when she entered the room. Oh, how tiring and fatiguing crushing on you really was. Chris was always collected and focused while working, but with you in his classes he found himself distracted. Often losing his train of thought, his mind shifted to dark places when your class sat in front of him. Chris was a perfectionist, so this was, in fact, greatly infuriating for him.

He did not feel this way since high school. Back in the day he was not the coolest kid you could walk past in the corridor. Thankfully, he has never had his head shoved in the toilet, but not being bullied did not necessarily mean there’s a successful high school experience behind an average American. In his own opinion, he was just a normal kid that had nothing to show for back then.

Precisely that, being average, was now the reason behind this familiar feeling. A pretty girl, a popular girl causing vivid emotions to flush down himself. Looking at her while she does the most ordinary things was the reason behind the uncomfortable state in his pants. His hormones went ill around her, reminding him of how tough being a teenage boy with no control over his erections was. It felt so familiar, craving her this badly, almost as if he’s done it before. Maybe, in a way, he compared you to someone he crushed on for the whole duration of high school. A beautiful skin complexion, addictive smile and those big, shiny eyes staring at his soul; those qualities of yours highly reminded him of her.

Chris remembered that girl very well. He recalled being fascinated by her presence, by her strong personality, and hypnotic prettiness. Her name did not pop up in his mind for years. Until he met you. Chris had Pearl, Pearl Bennett, tattooed on his brain back then. Needless to say, it was embarrassing how annoyingly beautiful she was. Just like you. Now, he didn’t even know if she was alive, he hasn’t seen her for years. It never really bugged him then, it didn’t bug him now. It was just a pleasant memory that he was able to recollect because of you.

He wasn’t sure about your feelings towards him. Mr. Novak, his colleague, often commented on the way some students would look at him. Chris regularly heard Novak claiming that Evans could get any of “that young pussy” if he only snapped his fingers. Whether it was true or not, he had no idea. Maybe, he was just humble. Or stupid, possibly very stupid.

The house was practically unoccupied now; his wife was dropping groceries off at her mum’s house and Dodger was nowhere to be found, most likely sleeping someplace in the house. Chris did not mind. In fact, he was relieved to have no other human being here. Since pandemic began his marriage decreased in its quality drastically. For quite some time existing relationship brought more annoyance than joy. He was not sure if it went both ways but noticing how regularly his wife exited their house in recent times it was healthy to assume the feeling was mutual.

How did he feel about his failed marriage? Weirdly, he was awfully okay with it. There was not a single part of him that cared enough to fight for this marriage any longer. Right now, all his thoughts were concentrated around another female. How she managed to look delicious without trying. How she smiled or laughed. How her faced twisted with grumpy expressions once she didn’t understand a certain concept of a lecture. Chris could go on, and on, and on.

It was not possible he could describe you in any other word than perfect. It was quite pathetic, he thought, it shouldn't be like that. Yes, you are a pretty girl and yes, no man can probably say no to you. There was just something about you, something so extraordinary that it took his breath away. What was this fascination? He wasn't sure. However, what he was positive about was that he enjoys looking at you. He enjoys listening to you. He enjoys thinking about you. He enjoys all those things way too much; he was aware of that. He was not ready to stop thinking about you just yet.

Now, sitting in front of his Mac, his eyes were focused on the screen. He wasn’t too up to date when it came to the modern technology, but he also wasn’t clueless to how to work a computer. Setting everything up, he glanced over at the previously printed list of names with time slots besides them. The list was not in alphabetical order, students had their half an hour available for the next eight hours of his life.

It would be a lie to say he was not thinking about you. He was looking forward to seeing your face, even if it’s only on the computer display. Your surname and student ID were somewhere halfway through the list. Naturally, he searched for your name straight away after the programme generated the list.

The ticking of the clock hanged on the nearby wall sounded out so clearly. Almost like a racing heart whenever one feels more strain than usual. He could feel the nervousness growing within him as the time passed. He almost felt bad for the kid who had his scheduled meeting right before you. Chris kept on stuttering, disconnecting, and asking for questions to be repeated. Unfortunately, there was no strength in him to think about the failed one-to-one since his brain was too concentrated on you. His favourite, little student.

His thought process was disrupted as a green dot appeared next to your surname, suggesting your online availability. Licking his lips and fixing his hair, his fingers position themselves on the mouse. One click and the signal began. Beep one, beep two, beep three.

“Hi, Mr. Evans!” Her bubbly voice caused Chris to smile. She waved and in response so did he. She seemed happy, her face expression indicated nothing but joy, he enjoyed it greatly. “Hi! How are you? How’s everything?” He asked with an honest curiosity, still smiling at his student. It’s been months since the last time they spoke without anyone else around. Of course, this was the first instance of them conversating in those settings, but he did not mind. Any type of physical interaction seemed impossible now and anytime soon. This was the best he could receive for a significant period for now.

Their faces didn’t shut for the first couple of minutes. Talking about the past months, Chris was quickly reminded of how smart and funny this girl infatuating really is. They seemed to be getting on well right from the first meeting. Weirdly, she had similar likes and dislikes as well as sense of humour. It was like talking to a long-term friend whom you haven’t seen in the longest time. He noticed her hair change, spotting the long knotless braids; in his opinion she looked completely stunning in this hairstyle. He was quick to comment on it and as a reply he was given a complement on his newest buzzcut.

Sadly, but still, he ended the chit chat to focus on discussing work material. Chris tried to stay on topic and somehow it was going well. For the next couple of minutes, he chatted about work. His hand travelled to the left side of his desk to glance at a list of things he wanted to mention, however, he got cut off by the voice emanating from the screen.

“Are those meetings being recorded, Mr. Evans?” She raised her eyebrows with interest spread across her face. Her back bent forward, causing her face to enlarge on his screen. “I mean like,” She continued and coughed. “Is anyone going to watch this later? Does anyone have access to this after we finish talking?” Her question expanded or rather multiplied, sounding out in Chris’ air pads. There was no denying he was conflicted about why she was asking this question. This was not his first online meeting and not a single individual showed any concern in this matter.

“Well, no, not really. If any of us wanted to report our meeting for any reason then I guess, um, I guess it is possible to reopen the video chat,” Slow nod was all he could do at this very moment. No doubt, he still was not able to understand the nature of her question. “If any of us found the other person’s behaviour concerning, rude or inappropriate then the IT services could recover this video chat.” He added in a robotic tone almost as if he were reading from the script.

“Would you want this meeting to get inappropriate, Sir?”

He chocked a little as his eyes widened. He wanted to slap himself across the face in response to his pathetic reaction. Shouldn’t the age gap mean something? Why was he behaving like he’s on her leash? Why was he this…nervous? Excited?

Assuredly, she should be the one who is intimidated, meanwhile it’s her making the first move. He wasn’t sure whether this simply comes from his politeness and gentles; obviously, momma Evans raised him to be a respectful man. It’s apparent, the fear of scaring you was blocking all his possible moves. Risk of being reported for improper behaviour in the workplace was also a worry of his, but it came nowhere near the terrifying theory of frightening you.

But here you were. Being indecent with him. And oh, how he loved it. How he enjoyed this single sentence leaving your pretty lips. Your remarks were more enjoyable and exciting than everything he has completed with the woman he married in the past year, if not longer.

Was he being delirious? Did your comment indicated what he thought it did? Possibility of his mind playing games on him was high. It’s so easy to assume things happened when you wish for them to happen.

“Do you want to make it inappropriate? Do you want me to be inappropriate with you, Sir?” A deep breath left his mouth and a shiver travelling down his spine followed. He was now sure; he did not misunderstand. This was not his imagination playing him, tricking him into believing there’s something here that does not exist. All of this was very real.

“Whatever you wanna be on this call — I’m happy with,” He managed to speak out loud, fixing himself on the chair. This was a bad idea, he thought once again, a horrible idea that could quite literally ruin his career. Was he going to stop? Prevent this from happening? No fucking way.

“Huh, you sure about that, Mr. Evans? I can get really filthy when I want. I am a naughty girl,” Your words hit him like a truck, and he couldn’t help the blood rush in his trousers. He licked his lips slowly and pressed his back onto the chair. He could say something, but he chose not to. Whatever you planned on doing suited him and there was not an ounce of interest in preventing you from doing so.

No further words were spoken. There was a moment of short silence that felt like forever. A moment for someone to back up, break this madness off. No one expressed a need nor a want to stop. She played with her nipples through her shirt before they journeyed up. The straps of her pale pink top slowly moved down her arm, his eyes patiently followed. To him, you were mesmerising. At this moment you had his whole attention.

Looking straight at him, her hands removed the top and carelessly dropped it on the floor. His eyes glued onto her as the soft material left her body completely. He tensed as his length twitched, reacting to her breasts and hard nipples. Her skin was complemented by the colour of a previously worn top but seeing her without it sent shivers down his spine.

Chris could feel the discomfort in his pants becoming unbearable, needing to expose himself immediately. With shame, but still, he slowly undid his zipper. For a while now the feeling downstairs was insufferable, pleading and begging to be uncovered by his hand. Chris gulped back the lump in his throat as he completely freed his member. The view on the screen made his dick ache, his length twitched, jumping again his tense stomach.

“Liking this?” She teased, firmly grabbing her breasts. His eyes darken when he took in all her naked presence. The way she touched herself, he wanted that too. He wanted to feel her nipples between his fingers. He ached to be close to her.

“I wanna see all of you,” His words escaped his mouth, hand firmly grabbing his cock. Without shame nor hesitation his member was stroked, slowly and decisively, as his back leaned on the chair comfortably.

She was quick to listen. So submissive, he though, hand still firmly hugging his man part. He observed as she stood up, taking a few steps back. Still looking at Chris, her body turned around in a circle. Her moves were slow, very captivating, making Chris feel like every single movement was in slow motion. He already adored her body.

Her hands roamed around her own body before she slipped her hand inside her shorts and panties. Subtle movements of her hands indicated she’s pleasuring herself right in front of him. By her expressions, he was able to conclude that she’s enjoying herself. She didn’t play with herself for too long. Pulling the defiant material down as her eyes travelled to his, she exposed herself completely. He felt his mouth dry at a sigh of her bare body. She gave him a sultry look, realising the power she now held over him.

“Is this how you like me, Mr. Evans?” She broke of the silence, still exposing her hot flesh. It took Chris a couple of second to even register the question, his imagination run too wild to focus now. “Do I like you naked? It’s certainly a more thought-provoking image than how I usually view you,” He teased, slightly raising the corner of his lips in a smug smile.

Licking his lips once again, he watched as she took a box from underneath her bed. It was a regular box, nothing fancy. Taking off the lid her hand searched inside for a short moment before pulling out a pink dildo. Suiting, he thought, always liking this colour on her. He admired how her skin tone was complemented by the shade.

“I love imagining it’s your cock fucking me instead of my dildo,” She said completely unprovoked, making Chris widen his eyes. They did something naughty, something filthy, yet this comment really threw him off. “I’m gonna show you how I play with myself when I think of you,” She added and waisted no time before sitting on the bed. Chris had to admit, he spotted the bed straight away when the call started. Picturing himself laying there, you next to him, he took some time imagining the wicked scene you two could create on that mattress.

“I will show you how much, how much I love picturing us together,” Her seductive voice reached Chris’ ears, his interest growing with every single second. There was this unexplainable fear within him at this very moment, fearing she is going to stop. He was helpless now, he needed her to entertain him long enough for him to reach satisfaction.

Licking his lips once again, he watched as she took a box from underneath her bed. It was a regular box, nothing fancy. Taking off the lid, her hand searched inside for a short moment before pulling out a pink dildo. Suiting, he thought, always liking this colour on her. He admired how her skin tone was complemented by the shade.

“I want you to watch,” His student said firmly, staring right at him. The sound of a dildo followed. Chris’ breath was caught in his throat straight from the anticipation of the next step she’s going to undertake. With hunger, Chris watched as she teased herself, rubbing her clit. The toy fondly slid inside of her, resulting in her lewd sounds and Chris’ silent moan.

Her nipples were hard, her unoccupied hand coming up to fondle them both whilst her bottom lip was taken hostage by her teeth. She was really enjoying herself; Chris could tell. The bed made a squeaky noise every time she moved. The call was so clear, thank God, he was able to enjoy every motion of hers. The moans, whimpers and groans escaping her pretty lips as she fucked herself with a toy. The quality of the video chat was good, but not great. He wanted to see her in full HD, he wanted to see the details. For now, though, viewing this was enough. This was damn good, so good. Those desperate hand movements, stuffing the length as deep as she could, it drove him insane. Oh, how he wanted to stretch her out like no one did before.

“Just like that, baby,” He groaned, squeezing his hard cock. He was conversating with you through moans, examining you as the vibrations caused tingles in your lower department. He couldn’t feel it, but he knew her pussy was throbbing and pulsing, desperate for more length to enter. His body parts were no different; his balls felt heavy and his dick was hard as a rock, begging for a dream release.

The heat began to grow within his body with each and every movements of hers. She kept him going, moaning his name, calling him daddy, reminding him who she’s pulling this show for. If only she had any idea what it did to him. A shaky hand wrapped around his length made rapid movements, fighting for his orgasm to arrive. Watching her, listening to her, it was magical. This craze he had within him, this fixation she caused – it was obsessive. A loud scream, her thighs closing on the pink toy and her eyes shut while she orgasmed was enough, it was everything.

The feeling of euphoria intensely swept through him as a creamy load exploded in his hand. She could not see it, but he knew she felt it. All that left his mouth was a silent “fuck” as he collected his breathe. Chris was in pieces, still processing previous events. It was now clear to him how he pleaded for that orgasm to happen, how he needed it. He was embarrassed to admit how strong, how intense, the load bursting onto his hand really was. Lucky for him, no one knew anything about it but him and himself.

„You liked this little show of mine, daddy?” Her voice awakened his senses, causing his mouth to water once again. She caught him looking at his crotch, now surely convinced what happened. She removed the toy from her body, a silent whimper followed. She threw it away on the bed like it was nothing, like it did not help them both cum just minutes ago.

“So much baby, so much. Can you show me s’more? One more time,” He breathed, looking at her with lust. She obeyed, without hesitation; her body rose from the bed and did a slow, full 360 to demonstrate her delectable features. Maybe, he was delusional, but he was sure her juices travelled down her leg. If he were right next to her, his tongue would have taken care of that.

“See you in a seminar, right, Mr. Evans?” Her sweet voice rang in his ears followed by his quick nodding. He had a chance to see her collecting the missing wardrobe that she then put on right before him. Chris could not help but notice her shaky legs. She sat down in the exact same position as before. She reached for a cup, drinking, and sipping the liquid through a straw. Now, she was back to her regular self, looking innocent once again. It slightly woke him up, brought half of him to reality.

“Yes, Miss. I will see you there. Be good, huh?” Chris said casually or at least he tried to do so. He was caught by surprise, convinced that he’s going to slur over his words more. He caught a glimpse of her eyes, forming as much of an eye contact as possible through the processor. Her current thoughts seemed impenetrable to him, although he always thought he’s amazing at reading facial cues.

“Me and you both know - I won’t.”

The last words of his current interest sounded from his Mac. Sending him a flirty wink before pressing the right button, she terminated the call. The intense orgasm left his hand still somewhat shaking. Eyes focused on the screen, he looked like he was awaiting another glimpse of her to come back.

Chris’ ecstatic state wasn’t quick to falter. It took another couple of minutes for him to do anything. Literally, anything. He was already late for the next meeting, which he felt absolutely no remorse for. His eyes lowered to look at the mess he produced; his mind displeased as he had realised, he needs to move to clean it.

Once again, it was just him and his usual surroundings. The call was over, just like that, almost as if it never happened. Despite his deepest longing, he could not go back to what just happened, he could not relive it. Your moans and whimpers performed in his head like a favourite song one would put on replay without a hesitation. He was craving more, his fingers curled into fists as he felt his cock hardening again. He was not sure what his next moves in this matter will be, but he was more than sure he needed to be inside this beautiful body.

#chris evans imagine #chris evans blurb #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagines #chris evans #professor!chris #imagine

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glassessence · 3 years

Text

PGR - OC

I got so inspired by everyone’s creativity that I created my own OC ^^” Even though she’s a member of the Purifying Force, I hope she’ll still be received warmly. Special thanks to @punishing-gray-raven-ocs for their detailed posts about character creation that really made me think about Lydias!

Warning: I may have gone a bit overboard with the detail. It’s a long read! Also, I threw in a not-so-subtle reference to the most traumatic Memory Rescue mission lmao. So proceed with caution, I guess HAHA

Name Lydias: Umbral

Type Offensive Support-type Construct

Service time 1 year

Psychological age 24

Activation date 15 March

Height 167 cm

Weight 59 kg

Vital fluid type O

Faction Purifying Force

Rank A

Weapon Chakrams (preferred) / Gun

Damage type 70% Dark, 30% Physical

Lydias is a support-type Construct modelled after Watanabe’s Astral frame. She has extreme stealth capabilities and excels at tracking, making her ideal for the execution of rogue and infected Constructs.

Her missions mostly involve infiltration and spying, although she’s also been deployed on assassination missions. Those orders come straight from Nikola and their records are kept top-secret, inaccessible even to Bianca.

Her frame is designed for long-range sniping and comes equipped with visual accuracy enhancements and superb calculative powers. However, Lydias prefers to engage her targets in close combat. Killing Constructs from afar feels cruel and cold, like they really are meaningless machines instead of former comrades.

She truly believes in the good of the Purifying Force, but hates the things she has to do. She doesn’t feel like she belongs, but also can’t see a future for herself anywhere else.

Her fighting style is very graceful, featuring a lot of spins and flips that are reminiscent of a dance. Her signature move is called “Blade Dance.”

B A C K G R O U N D

Lydias was born to a wealthy family in Babylonia. Her mother joined the war effort as a Commandant shortly after she was born and is known as the leader of the elite task force, Cybele. Since then, Lydias has always wanted to follow in her mother’s famous footsteps.

Originally a Commandant of the Black Wolves, a certain incident caused her to give up the position and apply for reconstruction. Despite having low compatibility for Tantalum-193, her application was approved after negotiations with Nikola. Following her surgery, she was transferred to the Purifying Force.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

Shows affection through actions rather than words. Bakes cakes for the humans of Babylonia in her free time

Philosophical, often ponders on the nature of humans and of the war

Likes to make dirty jokes and tease others

Obedient to a fault because she doesn’t trust her own judgement

Comes across as cold, but is just awkward with introductions

Doesn't think very highly of herself. Ignores it when other Constructs call her "traitorous hunting dog" but secretly thinks they're right

Loves the sea and the fathomless depths yet to be explored. Likes to go swimming at every opportunity

Prefers to work alone, but overprotective of her comrades when in a team. Frequently throws herself in harm’s way to shield her teammates. Knows it’s not good, but is too haunted by her past

Trusts easily, but is very guarded with her heart

Knows how to dance a lot of old-school styles like ballroom and ballet, but is too shy to ask anyone to practice with her

S E C R E T S

Has memorised a lot of poetry from before the Punishing Virus outbreak

Gets intensely lonely and jealous when seeing close squad camaraderie like Gray Raven’s

Avoids Kamui because he reminds her of someone she’s lost

Has spied on Watanabe extensively under Babylonian orders and is deeply fascinated by him

Doesn’t trust Nikola, but is unable to disobey his commands

Secretly harbours doubts about Babylonia’s mission to reclaim Earth

Has obtained special permission to download the data of the Black Wolves and often reads the records to keep them alive in her heart

V O I C E L I N E S

“Team leader? No, I refuse. You’re making a grave mistake.”

“I’m not suited for protecting people.”

“My opinion on the Forsaken? They’re hardworking, loyal, and--Nevermind. We seem to share a similar goal.”

“The Black Wolves? Where did you hear of that name?! Don’t mention it again!”

“I baked a cake today. Would you like some?”

“Yes, I can dance. But I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell the others…”

“I can teach you to dance. Privately, if you’d like. Haha, just kidding.”

“Becoming a Construct was a decision I made rashly. I don’t necessarily regret it, but…”

“Are we really doing the right thing? This endless war… All these years… What have we really achieved?”

INTERLUDE

D U S K F A L L

A voice cracked over the intercom. “...dant…Com...ant...Commandant, do you hear me?!”

Lydias blinked. The urgency in his voice caught her off guard. Ferdinand kept his cool even in the most dire of situations. Something was very wrong. “Tell me, Ferdie.” Static. “Ferds? Come through!” Nothing. Communications had been poor ever since they’d entered this area, but they’d managed until now. For it to suddenly fail like that… it couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Shit,” she said, turning to the other two Constructs with her. “On guard, guys. Something’s coming and comms are down.”

Ilya grimaced. “Sure it’s not one of Ferdinand’s pranks again?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Flora offered, even as she tightened her grip on her lance. “Pesky little bastard would find it hilarious.” Lydias said nothing. She was too tense. There was a taste in the air, a metallic tang that churned in her belly. Sweat dripped into her eye. Suddenly, a hand slapped her on the back. “Relax, Commandant,” Ilya chuckled. “We’ll protect you like always. No need to be so scared all the time.”

Something in her loosened, just a bit. “Shouldn’t I be the one protecting you?” she retorted, trying to project confidence. “You guys with your fragile little M.I.N.Ds?” Flora laughed, a deep-belly rumble that Lydias loved. The knot in her stomach unravelled some more. “You do that, Commandant,” Flora said. “We’ll just twirl our pointy sticks at the bad guys.”

Lydias was just about to say something snarky when she caught movement in the corner of her eye. She swirled, gun at the ready. There was still no word from Ferdinand. “I’m sensing a large Corrupted force in our perimeter,” Ilya reported. His voice had lost its casual lilt. “They’ve got us surrounded.”

Lydias cursed. “How’s that Memory retrieval coming along?”

“Slowly,” Ilya replied unhappily. Flora clicked her tongue. The Corrupted were visible now. They weren’t like anything Lydias had seen before. They carried advanced weapons - chainsaws and spears and bows - and seemed to be organised into phalanxes. Dread coiled in her belly. “We’ve been ambushed,” she breathed in horror. “Ferdinand tried to warn us. They must have blocked off comms.”

“Well, shit,” Flora grunted. The Corrupted army was within gunshot range now. “When the fuck did they get so smart?”

“Someone must be leading them,” Ilya said. “How did the information leak?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lydias said. “We need to retreat. Now.” A bullet flew by her head, burning the shell of her ear as it passed. Her heart hammered. “Back off,” Flora growled. She twirled her spear, eyes flashing as she impaled the Corrupted soldier. Beside her, Ilya stepped forward, fast as a flash, and stabbed one through the neck. Lydias fired off three shots, watching in grim satisfaction as two buried themselves in the heads of two infected Constructs.

The scene descended into chaos just as Ferdinand’s broken voice sounded in her ear. “...n...way! Comm...ant!”

-----------

Flora stumbled back. She was breathing heavily. Vital fluid leaked steadily from several places, staining her coat a rich purple. Ilya was behind her, grimacing. His left arm was gone, torn away at the shoulder. Sparks flew from the exposed wires within. Beside them, Lydias swayed unsteadily. She clutched at her stomach. Red blood seeped through her fingers. All their attempts to break through had failed. Things were looking more hopeless by the minute.

“Commandant,” Ilya said, voice strained. “Turn off my pain receptors.” Flora nodded. “Same here.” Lydias coughed wetly. Her vision was growing dim. “It’s dangerous,” she admitted, wishing she could shut off her own terrible pain. “But there’s no other choice.” She authorised the command. Her team’s face relaxed immediately. She met their determined gazes and nodded. “We’re all gonna go home. Together.”

Ilya smiled. Flora grinned. But there was a sadness in their faces Lydias didn’t want to acknowledge. Her connection with Ferdinand was still blocked. He could be dead for all she knew. She turned away from the thought. Just survive, Lydias. And take the Wolves home.

Together, the Black Wolves rose. Ilya with his dagger and Flora with her spear. Unseen by Lydias, they nodded to each other. An agreement, a pact. A promise. Renewed, they threw themselves at the Corrupted like cornered animals. Slowly, inch by painful inch, an exit was being forced open. Corrupted weapons dug into their bodies, but they pushed on.

Lydias fought beside them, swinging her chakrams haphazardly. Her gun had run out of ammo long ago. She stumbled, half-blind, and almost skewered herself on the end of a Corrupted sword. She could hardly think straight; blood loss was making her weak. Suddenly, a voice crackled in her mind. “Commandant!” Ferdinand’s voice tumbled through her hazy thoughts. “The signal jammer is gone. What’s your status?!”

Her heart soared, bringing with it a brief burst of clarity. “Ferdie! It’s an ambush. We need support!”

“I’ve already informed Babylonia,” he said urgently. “Reinforcement is on the way. I’m coming to you, Commandant. Just hold on!” His signal blinked to life, moving rapidly towards their location. Lydias smiled grimly. Ferdinand was on his way. Support was coming. Surely, they would be okay. They would make it out of this. She just had to hold on for a little longer.

Flora’s signal pulsed unsteadily and Ilya’s grew fainter with every breath. Lydias clung with desperation to the unstable M.I.N.Ds of her Wolves. I will protect you.

-----------

“Coming through!” A ray of energy tore through the Corrupted wave. Lydias spied Ferdinand’s face through the sea of blades. She almost wept with relief. “Retreat,” she said hoarsely, struggling to stay conscious. “Black Wolves, retreat!”

On cue, Ilya and Flora rushed through the tunnel, half-carrying Lydias with them. Between one ferocious breath and the next, they’d broken through the Corrupted circle. She tumbled bonelessly into Ferdinand’s open arms. He took a brief moment to survey her and paled. “The meeting point isn’t far,” he said. “Support will be there.” He picked up Lydias and turned to run, but Ilya and Flora didn’t follow.

“Sorry, but this is the end of the road for me,” Flora said wryly. “Didn’t think it’d end like this.” She spat out a wad of purple fluid. “At least these fuckers will go down with me.”

“And you get the privilege of dying by my side,” Ilya said primly, readjusting his grip on his dagger. Flora laughed, an edge of sadness in her voice. “Yeah, old man, I guess I do.”

Lydias stirred in Ferdinand’s arms. “No,” she said, forcing herself to meet their gazes. “I won’t allow it.”

“Unfortunately, Commandant,” Ilya said. “This time it’s not up to you.” He raised his remaining hand in a salute. “It’s been a pleasure working with you.”

“Go on,” Flora growled. “We’ll make sure nobody pursues you.”

Ferdinand pursed his lips, but nodded tightly. Lydias fought in his grip. She hardly even felt the pain. “No!” she screamed, or tried to. It was hard to tell where her voice was. “Don’t! I forbid it! That’s an order!” He started running. She watched helplessly as the distance grew. “Stop! Go back, we have to help them! Stop!”

In the fading light, Ilya fell and was immediately consumed by a horde of Corrupted hands. His signal weakened then blinked out. A scream tore itself from her throat. She thrashed in Ferdinand’s grip and felt his hold on her loosen. White-hot pain shot through her body as she tumbled to the ground. Mad with grief, she crawled forward desperately, mind blank except for the desire to be with her Wolves.

Strong arms lifted her up. Ferdinand’s lively voice was dull. “Please don’t do this, Lydias.”

“Let go, Ferdie,” she said angrily. “We have to--” Flora’s signal flickered out. Lydias felt her spirit break. “No,” she cried. “Please, no.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. Words abandoned her. The world seemed to shrink, compacting to a single thought: she had failed.

-----------

She woke to white light. Something beeped steadily beside her. Tubes ran from her body to several machines like the tentacles of some deep sea creature. Her entire body hurt. Immediately, she reached for the Black Wolves, but their signals were absent, leaving her mind uncomfortably empty. Panic settled like ice in her veins. It couldn’t be. It was impossible.

Surely, they had recalled their consciousnesses. Surely, she’d simply woken up early. And where was Ferdie? Gasping, Lydias stood, dragging her broken body to the wall of windows. She brought a fist to the cool glass. Nikola watched her from the other side. “Where are they,” she croaked. “What happened?”

He shook his head sympathetically. “They didn’t recall their consciousness. According to our records, Ilya and Flora died protecting you from pursuit. Ferdinand was infected.” His eyes were grave. “He guarded you until reinforcements arrived.”

She didn’t know if she could bear the answer, but she asked anyway. “And then?”

Nikola studied her for a long moment before giving in. “And then the Punishing Virus took over his M.I.N.D. He escaped because we prioritised your survival.” A desperate hope sparked to life within her. “So he’s still alive? Then there’s still a chance! Please, let me find him!”

“You know it doesn’t work like that.”

“Please,” she begged. “Please.”

He turned away from her. “The Purifying Force has already been sent after him. I’m sorry, Lydias.”

-----------

Three weeks later

“Are you sure?” Nikola asked, studying her with intensity. “Your chances of success are only 47%.”

Lydias stared at him blankly. “I’m sure.”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow it. Commandants are valuable to Babylonia. Perhaps even more than Constructs. Few possess the will and compatibility to stabilize M.I.N.Ds. Someone as experienced as you is not expendable.”

“Then I quit being a Commandant. I refuse to lead another squad.” She looked away. “I couldn’t protect any of them. Not a single one.” Her voice broke. “I’m not… I don’t think I can--I just can’t.”

Nikola considered her with some pity. “What do you want then, Lydias?”

“You know what I want. I’m not afraid of dying.”

“I know you’re not afraid, but it seems to me like you seek it.”

She said nothing. Nikola sighed. “I’d rather not lose you completely. You have experience and ability. The Black Wolves were specifically chosen for that mission for your competence. Aife will increase our combat power significantly against the Corrupted.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s unfortunate, but these things happen at war.”

“Say whatever you want,” Lydias said stubbornly. “But this is my final decision.”

“Fine,” Nikola said. “Your attempt at redemption is admirable. I’ll grant your request, but if you survive, you’ll work directly under me. Is that acceptable?”

“Perfectly.”

INTERLUDE HIDDEN CHAPTER

F A D I N G L I G H T

Flora: Fairfrost - Voice Log

*sounds of fighting* I hope this reaches you, Commandant. I don’t think I’m gonna last much longer and… *grunting* I just wanna say goodbye. The old man’s already gone. I felt his signal die out a while ago. He went down taking a blade for me, can you believe it? Even though I’m the Attacker Construct. *panting* You know what his last words to me were? “It hurts.” As if our pain receptors weren’t turned off. I know what he means though. *blades clashing* After all, we all wanna go back home with you. But life’s a bit unfair, eh? For once, I don’t mind. Protecting your back… it almost makes me feel like a hero. That ain’t something you experience every day, y’know? *metal tearing* I guess what I’m trying to say is thank you. For being someone worthy of love. *crash, wet coughing* It’s been my honour and privilege to have been one of your Wolves, Commandant. You’ll remember me, won’t you?

-----------

Ferdinand: Aegis - Voice Log

Lydias… This will probably be my last communication with you. I never would have thought this would be how it ends, but… Well, I’m just glad that I get to spend my final moments with you. I can feel my M.I.N.D. slipping, but Babylonia will be here any second now. They’ll take care of you, the way I wish I could. *sigh* Ah, there are so many things I want to say. I have nothing to lose anymore, so I hope you’re ready to listen. *deep breath* I love you. The way you laugh at my jokes and tease me. The way you can talk about anything. Your smile, your lips. I love the way you kiss me. And of course, I love our late night activities… Such as you trying to teach me to dance. *short laughter* Were you expecting me to say something else, Commandant? You--*grunt, glitching* Looks like my time is running out. I should go, but promise me one thing, Lydias. Promise me you’ll keep your heart open, so that someone else can love you as you deserve. I--You--*glitches*

DATA CORRUPTED.

#pgr #punishing gray raven #pgr oc

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leon-scott-kennedy · 3 years

Text

So Covert, I Hardly Knew Him

Part I | Part II | Part IV

Part III: Growth

Locked in a laboratory bunker a few hundred feet below ground was not an ideal location for Leon to run into Ada, but he should have expected it. She tended to appear at the worst possible time and throw a wrench into his plans. Sometimes a bomb. “What are you doing here?”

Ada lowered her gun and inspected her fingernails as if checking for any chips in the bright red polish. “What? I can’t drop in to see an old friend?”

The thick honey of her voice sent a shiver down Leon’s spine. He tightened his grip. “A stop on your whirlwind Siberian vacation?”

Ada’s smile turned toxic. “Something like that,” she said, her elbow cocked on her hip and gun held limply in midair. As if Leon were no threat to her. She was probably right. But the low groan of the undead should have worried her.

“So, a job then.” Typical. “How the hell did you even get in here?”

“Back door.”

Leon groaned. Of course, there was an easier way in. He lowered his gun, checked his clip, and reloaded while he had a few seconds of respite. He strained to hear anything in the dark, attention never leaving the dangerous woman in front of him, but the low of zombies were still distant, for now.

Ada took a step forward. Glass crunched. Leon raised the Samurai Edge. She stopped; the corner of her lip quirked at his immediate reaction.

“That’s not yours,” Ada said. She eyed the gun curiously.

“Bit of a mix-up.”

“Hmmm...” Though Ada clearly didn’t believe him if her perfectly manicured raised eyebrow was anything to go by. “I need your help.”

“Doubtful. Try again.”

Ada smiled. “It’s a new strain,” she said, far too relaxed for a person held at gunpoint. “A modification of-”

“- the T-Veronica,” Leon finished. “I know. I did my homework.”

“So you know the virus can lay dormant for years before activation,” Ada said with a casual wave of the hand holding her gun. “And there’s no cure. Yet.”

Leon tensed because no, he hadn’t known that. That was new. That was dangerous. That meant - “anyone could be a carrier,” he said slowly. Then, the implications hit him full force. “They’d never know.”

“Give the boy a prize,” Ada added.

Leon wanted to wipe that smug smirk off her face. People’s lives were at stake. He knew there was a leak in the White House. That’s why his mission was unofficial - off the record. The only person who knew he was here was Hunnigan and the privately contracted pilot that had dropped him in the Siberian wilderness. He needed proof of American involvement in the bioterrorism weapons being created before he went directly to the President. But this was worse; a sleeper virus. This was deeper than he’d initially thought; premeditated. Years of planning.

“I need to get a sample to Dr. Chambers,” Leon said. He had never met her, but he knew of her work.

Dr. Rebecca Chambers was one of the survivors of the Arklay Mountains incident, the one that kicked off everything. And if Chris Redfield trusted her, that was good enough for Leon. She’d dedicated her life to the fight against bioterrorism like them, except she wasn’t throwing herself in front of rampaging BOWs. A choice that had proved hazardous to Leon’s health.

“See? An alliance would be mutually beneficial.”

Leon snorted. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Ada stepped closer, a seductive smile on her lips. Her heels echoed ominously off the concrete walls. Her hand curled behind Leon’s neck, fingertips teasing the short hairs, and pulled him down to her level. “Not even for old times’ sake?”

Her breath was hot against Leon’s cheek, her lips a soft glossy pink. She made contact with cool skin, but it wasn’t with his lips.

A split second before she connected, Leon slipped his finger between their mouths and forced her to kiss his grimy index finger. He smirked. “Ah ah ah,” he tutted. “You didn’t ask.”

Ada’s eyes narrowed as he pulled away, and her hand slipped uselessly from its inviting position. Her intended prey had escaped.

“I’m not that same naive rookie looking for approval. I’m a big boy now. You wanna play? I have my own rules.”

Ada scoffed. “Well, look who grew a pair.”

Leon turned his back on her and raised the Samurai Edge. Not the most brilliant idea, but he knew she wouldn’t shoot him in the back as long as she still needed him. “We need to get into the generator room. On me.”

“Really?” Ada reloaded her Blacktail and fell into step behind him. The echoing click of her heels was irritating. “And here I thought you didn’t want to help me.”

“I don’t,” Leon agreed. He pressed his side to the wall beside the door. “But it’s better to keep an eye on you. Make sure you don’t get into anything you shouldn’t.”

Ada’s laugh was short and humourless. “Fine. I’ll let you babysit. I do like the view.” Ada took her position, gun at the ready for anything that came through the door.

Cold storage had juice. Low power, but that was a good sign. Meant the big nasties were likely still snoozing, which made Leon’s job all that much easier. He pulled the nameplate out of his back pocket and pried the manual override panel off to find a nest of wires and blinking lights.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Leon grumbled.

“Problem?” Ada teased.

Leon gestured as if to say ‘go ahead’ and stepped back. He took guard, eyes surveying the dark while Ada fiddled. He could do it, sure, but he knew full well she was faster.

A shadow lumbered into his flashlight beam and out of the pitch-black as he swept the hall. Leon shot the zombie in the head twice. Then the one staggering right behind it.

“Any second would be great.”

Ada clucked her tongue. “We could always switch back.”

Glass crunched to Leon’s right. He spun in time to catch the zombie that lurched at him, unsheathed his knife, and drove it into the undead bastard’s chest, forcing the zombie back. Then he shot it in the head twice.

“Got it.” The door hissed as it slid open a crack. “What would you do without me?”

Leon grabbed the edge and hauled it open enough for Ada to slip in. He followed quickly and closed the door as far as he could until there was less than an inch of space left to wedge his fingers in to open it again.

The room hummed with low energy. A few lights blinked in the dark. Leon crept further into the room while Ada watched the door. His breath fogged in the air. Cryogenic storage tubes lined the room, six rows of twelve. Most appeared to be unfinished projects in various forms of horrific mutation until Leon found the last row.

“Jesus Christ,” Leon breathed. Behind him, he heard Ada’s sharp intake of air. Six Tyrants, like the one he’d fought his first day on the force in Racoon City, stood in identical storage tubes waiting for activation. He hadn’t a hope of defeating them himself with the firepower he had.

“Doesn’t this bring back memories,” Ada said, and Leon hated to agree. That many Tyrants would take massive firepower. He should have planned on it.

“Generator’s right through there,” Leon said and motioned to the door behind the final row of specimens. “Ladies first.”

“Always the gentleman,” Ada said. Leon rolled his eyes and followed the retreating click of her heels.

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#resident evil #leon kennedy #ada wong #resident evil fanfic #re fanfic #post infinite darkness #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy

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exodusmc · 4 years

Text

“Please stop moving so much..”

Genre: Smut(not too explicit)

Words: 1963

Paring: Sehun x Reader

Warning!: Mentions of horror movies and scens(nothing major), public dry humping, very light pet naming and dirty talk, swearing,

a/n: This one was requested :)

Gif is not mine

“Come on Y/n!”Chanyeol’s voice was loud over the phone and had always been, ever since you met a few months ago.

He was in one of your classes and he laughed the loudest out of everyone but he was a good guy, it wasn't hard to get to know him when you had a group project. You two clicked and he was like a brother to you, annoying and nice. Happy virus Chanyeol who moved a little too quick, figurative and literally. You can't count on one hand how many times you seen him trip over air, but he also thought it was a good idea to introduce you to all his friends when you’d known him for about three weeks.

It had been Sehun first, his roommate, a boy built like a skysharpe with wide shoulders and the deepest eyes you had seen. He was your age and the youngest out of them all. Maybe you had a teeny tiny crush on him, a crush you blamed on his god like features.

“I promise they want you to come and you have already met everyone, so I don't see why you are hesitant!”Chanyeol and his friends had a movie night every Sunday and he had begged you to come for the last two times, the only times you actually were glad you had work.

“I know, I know…”biting your lip, you knew you couldn't lie to him or he would send you the biggest puppy eyes and whine for about a month.”Fine, I’ll come..But who is picking the movie?”

“Yes!”you couldn't help at smile at his excitement, a dreading feeling creeping over your spine.”Jongin is...so expect a horror movie, by now!”

Just great..

Arriving at his apartment, you wondered if you overdressed or if you stank or if you had something between your teeth or if you should have brought something or if-

The door opened and your thoughts stopped, nothing was in your head, not even a cricket. Just empty..

“Oh, hi..”Sehun stood in the door, his hair pitch black and nothing like the orange you remember seeing on him when you first met him over four months ago.

Back then had it been short and colored like an orange but now was it long, so long that it fell down to his eyes, and black, so very black.

He moved from the doorway, showing you that you could come in and damn were you feeling your face slowly burning off. You had stared at him for far too long, ogled at the perfection of his face.

“A-ah, hello to you too..”taking of your shoes you wondered if your horrible gut feeling was telling you to run away or if you were just ill.”I like your hair..”

“Thanks..”Sehun smiled slightly, a twitch on his right upper lip which told you that he was not so comfortable.”I like your li-..hairpin..”

You couldn't marvel too long at what he was about to say since the thundering steppes of Chanyeol shook the ground and you.

“Y/n! You made it!” Sehun was pushed to the side as Chanyeol whisked you away the second your shoes landed on the floor.”See, I told you she would come!”

Waving slightly, you stared back at everyone, mouth feeling way too dry. This friend group had always made you a little confused since it doesn't seem likely that half of them would actually be friends but you guessed that was what made them so close.

“Yes yes, we see now come sit down so we can start the movie!”Jongin grinned to you, like he always did but you thought you saw something else, a glimpse of mischief that made you sweat. Something was going on, something everyone else knew.”Hurry hurry.”

The lights were already off but as you glanced around the room did you realize there was a small problem, a tiny problem that weren't actually a problem but still.

All the seats were occupied, Chanyeol literally squeezed himself between Jongdae and Baekhyun on the sofa, while Kyungsoo and Jongin shared the slightly smaller one. Junmyeon, Minseok and Yixing sat on the floor, while Sehun occupied the last chair.

You had nowhere to sit, all the floor spaces were taken if one wanted to see the Tv. Panic spread through your system and you scolded yourself for not listening to your gut.

“You can sit with Sehun..”Chanyeol smiled, rolling his eyes after.”He always takes the chair so everyone else has to sit on the floor..”

“I don't!” the younger whined, glancing at you for a second. He doesn't want to share the chair with you...You should have stayed home.

“Just go sit down Y/n so we can start!”Jongin once again usered everyone to settle down, so with defeat were you making you way to Sehun.

The sofa chair may be big but it wasn't big enough for two people and you contemplated running away when you locked eyes with Sehun. They were so dark but glowed due to the Tv and god had you just stared at his thighs as well.

You tried smiling slightly, standing still until Chanyeol kicked you from the sofa so you fell right on Sehun. Everyone laughed loudly while you face was bruied against his chest, never feeling the hammering of his heart since yours were flying away. This is going to be a long night.

The movie was playing and took away most of the tension with sitting on Sehun’s lap but you weren't sure if you liked looking at the screen.

Jongin’s choice was the silence of the lambs and you hated horror movies, feeling like your soul could jump out your body any second. Everytime Hannibal spoke were you waiting for something to go awfully wrong. And suddenly was he just biting of a cops face, which had you, Chanyeol and Baekhyun screaming.

You pushed yourself back, face turning until you could press your forehead towards Sehun’s neck, closing your eyes. Your breath fanned across his collarbones and you didn't know it but you had been squirming the whole time on his lap, so Sehun had a hard time concentrating on the film at all. Those fuckers knew exactly what they were doing, making you sit on his lap while they watched horror movies.

“Are you okay?”Sehun sounded like he was in pain but you were sitting on his things so you guessed he had every right to be.

“Y-yeah..”glancing up, you managed to get caught in those eyes again.”I’m fine thanks..”

He smiled for a second, gaze finding your lips. They looked too soft and tempting, alluring without you trying.

“I need water..”standing up on slightly shaking legs, you stumbled to the kitchen, trying to not think about the movie.

It left Sehun glaring at each and everyone of his friends, frown pulling down his mouth. They knew about his crush since Chanyeol couldn't keep a secret for his life and still forced him through this situation.

“Fuckers..”he muttered but his face brightened up when you came back, eyes slightly in a haze. Everything would be fine as long as you wouldn't feel the boner he had.

“Now it’s time for Annabelle!”your eyes widened, hands becoming clammy at the thought. You hated dolls with every fiber in your body and the wanted to watch a movie about them!

Sitting down on Sehun’s lap again, you didn't even want to face the Tv, shamelessly turning your body so you could easily hide. He was warm and the only thing you had in the moment. It’s going to be okay, the sentence repeated in your head over and over again as the film started, adrenaline racing through your system.

You didn't really know Jongin that well but sure as hell would you beat him for making you watch these movies, softly muttering to yourself a promise of hurt, which was extremely cute to Sehun.

An hour in and you were sitting facing the Tv, eyes locked on the screen as the music became more and more ominous. You leaned forward as Mia’s hand reaches for the window and then you screamed, making Baekhyun and Chanyeol shriek as well.

Your back pressed against Sehun but this time did he let out a groan and that’s when you felt it, the tent he had in his pants. Gasping, you tensed, forgetting the movie completely and drowning out the chatter of the others.

“P-please stop moving so much..”his whisper was strained in your ear, igniting fire through your body all the way to your core. Sehun’s hands came to rest on your hips, holding you but not sure in what way.”So-sorry..”

He muttered while you felt your cheeks heat up. Your mind wasn't paying attention to the film anymore but to the feeling of his jeans covered things, the fact that you wore thin pants didn't help at all.

“It’s okay..”your voice was low and innocent, however, your thoughts muddled into differents scenarios which had you screaming in another way.

You actions weren't nice to him but your body had a mind of its own, ignoring all logic and how you were not alone.

Moving your hips ever so lightly, you turned so you faced him, not looking in his eyes. This was it, you were too horny and didn't want to see Annabelle anymore. Leaning in, you placed your head between his neck and shoulder, legs on either side of his while your knees rested on the chair cushion.

“I don't mind Sehun..”he swallowed hard, hearing the change in your voice, your lips ghosting over his pulse point.”I...I like it..”

It was like a switch flipped inside his head, fingers digging into your skin while he started to move you across his thighs. Sehun nudged his head so you had to look at his eyes, stare right into cloudy and fiery orbs. A mere inch was left between the two of you and you wanted to kiss him, push your lips against his skin but just sat there, grinding on his lap as your breath came out in pants.

“Dirty dirty girl..”you tried to ignore the heat his voice spread through you, how the smirk dancing across his mouth made you want to jump him right then and there”Moving your hips so greedy over my thighs..Does it feel nice, hmm?”

Sehun forced you down harder and the denim rubbed against you aching pussy. The tv let out a scream in the exact second you moan softly, covering the sound so no one else heard, no on but Sehun. He was also greedy, greedy for the expression on your face, the pretty gasps from your lips. It was hard containing himself, surrounded by his unsuspecting friends. While you were on the brink of cumming did the end titles start playing and the lights turned on, giving Sehun the chance to see your burning face. Your body was tingling, desperate for release but you couldn't hid there anymore and you didn't know if you could ask him to go home with you. Another smirk spread all over his face and even if it was late, would he not let you go.

“I really hate when Jongin gets to choose the movies..”Chanyeol whine as everyone made their way out of the room. He sent a glance over his shoulder, seeing the two of you.”I have somethings I need to do with Kyungsoo so I’ll stay at his place. Night night.”

With that were you and Sehun alone, all alone.

“Now why don't we continue, baby?”

#sehun x reader #oh sehun #reader #exo #sehun smut #exo smut #exo imagines #exo senarios #sehun scenario #sehun imagine #oh sehun imagines #oh sehun scenario #sehun #Smut #kpop fanfic #exo fanfic #sehun fanfic #kpop scenarios #request

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mikwrites-archive · 3 years

Text

tango in the night

♜ pairing: kim mingyu x reader ♜ warnings: death, suicide, swearing, guns, slight suggestiveness ♜ genre: apocalypse au, friends to lovers ♜ wc: 4.3k

♜ a/n: inspired by fleetwood mac’s song and the photos of mingyu from this hit performance bc WHEW - it turned out way longer than i expected and i ran past the image limit hence the weird dividers HWJBSJD ALSO every other part is a flashback so i hope its not confusing!! enjoy <33 (ps. i hope theres no mistakes bc im posting before i go to bed n im sleepyyy)

The sky is a hazy purple when Kim Mingyu reappears in your life.

There’s streaks of red on the horizon, like a bitter reminder of what it has taken to slowly heal, and something restless inside you is able to settle at the sight for a few moments as you look on from your porch.

You can tell it’s him the minute his figure solidifies past the sunflower field, but still, you rest your hand on the rifle warily. He doesn’t see you until he’s staring down your barrel, and he slows significantly.

“Stop right there.” Unwavering, you cock your rifle, aiming it straight at him.

“It’s me.” Mingyu blinks, halting, holding his hands up. He seems taller than you remember, honeyed skin curving over firm muscles.

“I know who you are.”

Kim Mingyu. You flash back to the moonlit night, tinted in deep blue and black, silver highlighting itself across his back like a sculptor’s pride. You shake yourself out of it quickly.

No use in dwelling over dreams held too closely to the heart.

“Take off your clothes.”

“Huh?” Mingyu’s features draw together confusedly, with a tinge of embarrassment.

“I need to make sure you’re not marked. It’s not like I haven’t seen you without them before.” You add on, unimpressed at his pace, and Mingyu reluctantly obliges.

“I would have enjoyed a nice candlelit dinner or something before this, didn’t know you were so possessive-”

“Oh, shut up.” You bite back a choked laugh that you hate being unable to control at his words, and Mingyu grins.

He’s got a new scar rippling across his shoulder as he turns slowly in a circle, and the others are committed to memory, traced under your fingertips more than enough.

“I think you trust me enough to know I don’t have a mark down there.” Mingyu smirks amusedly, eyes flicking down to his boxers.

You glare at him, letting your aim drop. He puts on his clothes methodically, tilting his head at you.

“You do remember that the sunflowers repel marked ones right?”

“Evolution is a sneaky bitch.” You sigh, leaning the rifle back against the rail, and Mingyu steps up the rickety porch, standing in front of you.

I missed you. You want to say. I’m glad you’re alive.

“Why are you here?”

“I dunno.” I wanted to see you if you still were here. “Nowhere else I could have gone.”

“Didn’t you know?” You crack a sarcastic grin. “We have the entire world at our fingertips.”

♜ ♜ ♜

The Apocalypse is expected.

You’re taught about it in school, the news broadcasting daily updates about another storm, another decrease in air quality, another hole in the atmosphere. The sky bled further to red every day, until you and Mingyu barely remembered its true colour.

The Virus, however, throws the world further into tempestuous chaos.

Till this day, no one knows exactly what bacteria, what symptoms, anything, except that a sickly circle mark appears somewhere on your skin.

With governments already crumbling, the disease made them shrink further within themselves, the upper class secluding themselves, and the lower succumbing, while the middle struggled, and you and Mingyu were the very latter.

Being next door neighbours, it was predetermined fate to be close friends with one another, walking home from school together, swapping lunches, and sharing secrets. Maybe even sharing a life, a love, a bond, unbreakable unless by death.

“It’s morning.” Mingyu comments, peering out the curtain, judging the light in the sky. Neither of you had slept since the announcement on the news that the Virus was now in your city.

“They’re not coming back.” You state flatly. Mingyu knew it as well, and only sighed. “They’re probably walking around downtown, not even knowing their own names.”

“They’re still our parents.” Mingyu argues weakly.

“Not anymore.”

Grim silence falls.

“Hey.” Mingyu cracks a hesitant smile, nudging you in the side. “Y’know what this means?”

Your wary stare doesn’t betray your curiosity, but Mingyu knows you.

“We have the entire world at our fingertips.”

Some kind of world, you think bitterly as you recall the memory. Yet Mingyu has a half smile on his face at your repeated words of the past, as if the world and your memories in it were meant to be savoured.

You supposed he was somewhat right.

The sky is healing back to blue and something inside you slowly begins to mend with Mingyu at your side.

♜ ♜ ♜

“You haven’t changed anything.”

“Of course not.”

Mingyu trails his fingertips along the walls. The wallpaper is peeling now, showing the bones of the structure that held too many memories to change. It felt disrespectful to shift anything, and cleaning the rooms even if they weren’t used, gave you something to do.

“Any word from the others lately?”

“I get letters from ‘Cheol, ‘Hannie, and ‘Shua. By pigeon. Can you believe it? Leave it to ‘Shua to tame pigeons in his spare time.” You snort, and Mingyu laughs at the image of Joshua with a pigeon. “They tell me about the other when they get news.”

“So no one else has visited?”

You shake your head.

“You’ve been alone?”

“I’m never alone.”

Mingyu swallows the lump in his throat. You don’t need to elaborate. He understands.

“I’m scared of forgetting them though.” You whisper. “Jun. Soonyoung. Seungkwan. Hansol. Chan.”

Junhui. No one knows where he is, except Minghao. He wanted it that way, whispering in soft Mandarin to his friend, and Minghao had disappeared for hours after Jun closed his eyes forever.

It was Minghao who pulled the trigger too, Jun pressing the pistol into his hand trustingly, the circle mark creeping out from under his t-shirt collar.

Soonyoung. He’s in the sunflower field, the one who had told you all about their repelling abilities. The sunflower boy, quiet yet exuberant, always facing the light.

He went too soon towards it, getting the group of you out of an abandoned mall populated with marked ones, deep gashes bloodying his clothes. His last breath was in Jeonghan’s arms, in the second bedroom of your house now.

Seungkwan and Hansol. All that you found of them was torn tie-dye cloth, and a battered navy cap, after they didn’t come back from looking for supplies. The last thing they had said to you, you remember clearly. A crooked smile, a breathless laugh. See you later.

Chan.

It was too soon to think about Chan.

♜ ♜ ♜

It was a week later when you both agreed to venture out of your house, and to go to the school. It was eerily quiet in your neighbourhood, the red from the atmosphere elongating the shadows.

The school is dark, and you barely make it two steps in when you encounter others.

“Who’s there?” The voice is loud, demanding, and with the shuffling that follows, you can tell you’re outnumbered in the dim light.

There’s a click of a gun, and you and Mingyu freeze. He scrambles for your hand reassuringly. Squeezes it once.

“Names. Now. And why you’re here.”

“We wanted to see if anyone would be here. If anyone could help us.” You stammer after you state your names.

“They’re okay. They’re in my class.” Minghao steps into view solemnly, and suddenly you both feel like you can breathe again.

There’s twelve of them.

Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Joshua, Jun, Soonyoung, Wonwoo, Jihoon, Minghao, Seokmin, Seungkwan, Hansol, and Chan.

A tentative system is already set up in the days they’d arrived before you, and it’s easy to fit in. There’s a lot of travelling by foot until Jeonghan learns how to hotwire cars, tired of walking. There’s a lot of scavenging for weapons and food, competitions made out of it. There’s lots of soft singing, fooling around, and lots of quiet nights, holding each other.

The house is long abandoned by the time you all stumble across it, and it’s quickly shaped into a home.

You remember planting sunflower bulbs. Attempting numerous recipes to accommodate the scarce ingredients and everyone’s tastes. Sticky notes and knick-knacks everywhere. You couldn’t say it was broken when the group diminished in number, but the gaps left with each mourning never went away.

Soon enough, it was only you left in an empty house you still called home, despite lacking everything that once made it one. You, with the wispy dreams long gone, and the nightmares.

♜ ♜ ♜

The door slams open, and you wake up, the scream dying in your throat along with the night terror, and you forget you’re not alone anymore when your bedroom door bursts open.

Mingyu holds you close, soothing whispers falling from his lips, rocking you back and forth gently, and you shove him away like his touch scalds you, and in a way it does.

It’s burning, the evocation of the past, and once he relents, a shuddering chill falls over your body.

“Who was it?” Mingyu asks softly, and you can’t look at him. The moon shines too bright for your liking through your window.

You heave, eyes fluttering shut, shaking as a mix of sweat and tears drip down your cheeks.

“Chan.” You croak.

Mingyu imperceptibly flinches as if the gunshot reverberated just outside again.

♜ ♜ ♜

Chan was always clinging to you.

It was something the others all teased him about, picking favourites, and you remember his indignant response every time.

“If they don’t have a problem with it, why do you?”

And you never did have a problem. Chan was like your little brother, much like to everyone else in your ragtag team, doting on him in a world where loving care was scarce. You wished you could have shielded him from it all.

“I’m tired.”

“Then go to sleep.” You murmur with a teasing gleam of a smile, comfortingly smoothing his hair back. He’d been having nightmares more frequently since Soonyoung was laid down in the sunflowers, and it was common for one of you to stay up with him.

“Not that kind of tired. I keep… I keep seeing them. I want it to stop.” A tear rolls down his cheek, and you move to brush it away, but he beats you to it, struggling to sit up.

“Channie…”

His head falls to your shoulder, choking out sobs. You hold him close, praying to whatever higher being that may exist to spare him from further despair. And if no such thing existed, you’d swore to make one into life out of your own blood and tears.

“I’m not a baby anymore. You know that right?” He sniffles once he calms down.

“I know.” You blink, startled at his sudden statement.

“I know I’m the youngest… but I can take care of myself.”

“I know.” You nod, and Chan stares piercingly at you, before slumping down against his bed frame.

“I’m tired.”

You don’t say anything, unsettled at his sudden shift.

“Can you go get me a glass of water? I think it’ll help me sleep better.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you.” He calls out, and you pause, smiling at him. He returns it.

You drop the glass when the shot rings out, shattering across the floor, water cascading like the blood on the floorboards just above you.

You run up, uncaring of the glass shards, collapsing to your knees when the sight unfolds in front of you, thundering footsteps of the others hot on your heels.

They have to pry you away from his body, and you’re positive you’ve torn his shirt in your struggle, the blood on your hands unrecognizable from his or from your ripped off nails. The dark stain still lies on the wood under your feet when you dare to venture into the room painfully.

You sobbed for nights on end. You weep this night too. Mingyu sits by your side.

♜ ♜ ♜

“I think we should ask the others to come back again.” Mingyu clinks his spoon against the side of his cereal bowl, wincing when it resonates, as if increasing the severity of his suggestion. Yet it’s said in a tone of careful deliberation that has you knowing he’s thought it out.

So you pause in slathering butter on your toast. Setting down the knife and slice of bread, you lean your palms on the counter, thinking.

You wondered if Jeonghan still had trouble sleeping at times. You wondered if Jihoon still liked to write lyrics on whatever slips of paper he could find. You wonder if Minghao still stopped to look at the rain whenever it did. You wondered.

“Okay.” You nod finally, and Mingyu perks up.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Turning to stare out the window, you watch the sparrows swoop across the long abandoned telephone wires.

“I think it’s time.”

♜ ♜ ♜

Everyone leaves soon after that.

Everyone except Mingyu.

You don’t blame them. There’s promises to find ways to keep in touch. But it hurts all the same. And there’s no doubt it’s harder for you both to survive alone.

“Hey, wait, stop.” You grab Mingyu’s arm suddenly, nearly scaring the living daylights out of him as you make your way back to the house from scavenging for extra supplies and food, your voice hushed in the dark evening.

“My parents were wearing jackets like that the last time I saw them.”

Mingyu looks over at where your gaze lies, lost between the figures of two people undoubtedly victims of the Virus. Though Mingyu supposes he can’t call them people anymore.

“Let’s go.” Mingyu tugs at your arm. When you don’t move, he does it again, harsher.

“But…” You’re adamant, digging your heels in the dirt firmly, wistfully staring at the couple, staggering around a long abandoned car.

“Don’t you remember? They’re probably walking around downtown, not even knowing their own names.” Mingyu persuades, and you take a reluctant step with him.

“But what if it’s really them?” You persist, and Mingyu makes you stare into his eyes. The expression that meets his is chilling. Your gaze is clear, unmuddled, and somehow, that’s more terrifying to him than if they were glazed over by a lost delirium.

You pull out of his grip, and before he can stop you, you call over to them. A cold shiver runs down Mingyu’s spine as they look up at you both, ambling over, and he grabs you again.

“What are you doing?” He hisses.

“Aren’t you tired, ‘Gyu?” You state simply, helplessly. “Aren’t you tired of being alone?”

Something in Mingyu’s gaze hardens, like glowing tempered steel doused in water, and he yanks you back, pressing you to his chest, two shots firing off from his hand.

You squirm, shouting at him, and he claps a hand over your mouth, pulling you along with him. He drags you all the way back to the house, even after you stop resisting.

You disappear up the stairs the minute he lets go, and he watches you. He waits a few moments before following you, biting the inside of his cheek.

He finds you in Chan’s room, sitting on the bed cross legged, staring forlornly at the stained wooden boards.

“I know you’re hurting. It hurts for me too. But don’t take it out on me. Please.” Mingyu whispers from the doorway, and when you look up, he slowly walks over, sitting beside you carefully. “And I’m not tired of being alone.” He adds on quietly. “I’ve always had you.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m really glad to have you by my side. Honestly. I just… I miss Chan. I miss everyone.” You lean on his shoulder tiredly.

“I know.” Mingyu says softly. “I know.”

He interlocks his fingers with yours, squeezing once.

“But there’ll be a time when we can be back together again.”

♜ ♜ ♜

It’s late springtime when they start to come home.

The air is warm, a gentle breeze often caressing your cheeks, and the sun lingers longer, a telltale sign of the upcoming summer.

It was a long ideal, letters taking weeks to send and the whereabouts of each group or person completely in the hands, or wings, of Joshua’s pigeons.

You’re pinning laundry to the clothesline when Mingyu thunders down the stairs, flying past you from the hallway.

“What’s going on?” You call, eyebrows furrowed concernedly, and he skids back, a grin curving beautifully across his face.

“Someone’s here.”

Dropping whatever was in your hands, you race after him, and you can’t help but break into an identical grin as you see Wonwoo and Jihoon stepping onto the porch. You both stand opposite each other from the doorway, until Wonwoo speaks drily.

“Long time no see.”

“No shit.” Mingyu laughs, striding to give them both a hug, and you join them, cheeks hurting from your joy. Jihoon even returns the embrace.

Minghao shows up that night, seeing him in the dim distance as you light the lanterns on the porch, calling the rest of them who are catching up over the dinner table.

“Nice to see you again.” Minghao smiles warmly, genuinely happy, and you’re all eager to throw your arms around him. “Alright, alright.” He giggles softly, nodding as he pries you off, walking inside and joining the group.

Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and Joshua are the last, appearing the next morning, just before the sun rises, with Mingyu, Jihoon, and Wonwoo still sound asleep, Minghao making tea for you and him.

“You’re awake early.”

“So are you.” He states pointedly by the kettle, and you smile. “Dreams?”

Your expression turns solemn at that, and you nod. Minghao pours the steaming liquid carefully, sliding the cup to you before he speaks again.

“I see Junhui most nights. Sometimes it’s nice. A good memory. Like when he let the chickens fly away because he thought they couldn’t fly. Or just the sound of his laugh. And sometimes…” Minghao hesitates, swallowing harshly. “Sometimes it’s me pulling the trigger over and over.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until Minghao hands you a tissue, and you brush at the wetness on your cheeks gently.

“Thank you.”

He smiles, a bit melancholy, and rises, beckoning you to the porch to watch the sunrise, hands wrapped around the warm mugs. You sit and wait in comfortable silence until it’s broken by a rumble of an engine pulling up.

“Surprise!”

“Joshua Hong, what the fuck!” You yelp, standing incredulously as they step out of the car. “Is that really you?”

“The one and only.”

“I mean this in the most admirable way possible, your arms are huge.”

“Not bigger than me.” Seungcheol grins, and both of them flex, Seungcheol burying his head in his hands embarrassedly afterwards as everyone laughs.

“Yes, we get it, but without me, no matter how many muscles, you’d probably be dead.” Jeonghan drawls, slinging his arms around their shoulders. “Did you guys have breakfast yet?”

“Not even a hello?” You laugh, the others join you as bickering breaks out, and when the dawning sunlight floods through the windows, something inside you feels like the last piece has fitted in your soul, finally complete.

♜ ♜ ♜

“What would you say if I went away for a little bit?”

Mingyu brings it up over washing dishes, the rush of running tap water almost drowning out his nervous inquiry. You don’t pause in your drying of a plate, yet you wonder if he can see the way your hands tremble.

It’s been a few months since Chan was buried next to Soonyoung, and you were doing better. Slowly, like honey trickling down the beehive on the old maple in the backyard, the result of hard labour like the bustling bees.

“A little bit? Or a while?”

“I don’t know yet.” He admits, and you swallow.

“Will you be okay?”

“Will you?” He asks in response, and you exhale.

“I think so.”

Turning off the water, Mingyu flicks the water off his hands into the sink, and then taps your cheek to make you look at him.

“I want you to be sure that you’ll be okay.”

“I will be.” You say more strongly this time, almost like a resolution to yourself, and MIngyu’s gaze lingers, before it drops with a nod.

“Okay.”

“When will you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning probably.” He laughs, but it sounds forced. “I don’t have many things.”

You nod, smiling weakly.

“Okay.”

He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. You finish doing the dishes in silence.

♜ ♜ ♜

Noise becomes a constant in the house, or outside of it, as the days get warmer and more hours are spent in the sun.

Today was no different, Seungcheol, Wonwoo, Jihoon, and Mingyu washing the car, while Minghao and Jeonghan sat with you on the porch watching them.

“So.” Minghao starts, and you raise your eyebrows.

“So.”

“You and Mingyu?”

“What about me and Mingyu?”

“God, I’ve been waiting for years for you idiots to realize, and you’re telling me it still hasn’t happened?” Jeonghan sputters, and Minghao snorts.

“Something had to have happened.” Minghao agrees.

“I can't say if it was something or not.” You admit quietly.

“But it wasn’t nothing.” Minghao implores knowingly, and you lapse into silence.

♜ ♜ ♜

You’re awoken by a pounding at your bedroom door the same night. It ceases for a few seconds, making you think you’re dreaming until it starts up again.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” You shout, untangling your body from the mess of tossed covers, and you can’t help but feel irritated even if there was any threat of danger. You don’t bother turning on the lights, the moonlight bright enough. Throwing open the door, you glare at a disheveled Mingyu, as if he ran his hands through his hair too many times. “What?”

“I need to tell you something.”

“This couldn’t wait until the morning?” You gripe, and MIngyu’s face falls, and you realize it couldn’t wait till the last moment before he left. You soften, slightly ashamed. “What is it?”

“You’re my best friend. You know that right?”

The words sting, and you’re not entirely sure why, but you nod.

“I know.”

Mingyu swallows. His hands flutter at his sides, uncertain, and you can’t help but feel the same at his behaviour.

“Mingyu, what’s-”

His lips fall onto yours, you think that’s the only explanation, but they’re soft, gentle, in a way that encompasses you with warmth and you can’t help falling into the embrace.

“You’re my best friend.” He whispers between kisses, over and over, and the words take on a new meaning with the tender look in his eyes as you fall back onto your bed. “You know that right? Tell me you know.”

“I know ‘Gyu. I know.” You murmur breathlessly, cupping his face, and the moon seems to shine just for him.

You knew Kim Mingyu in the sun like it was his natural element. But Kim Mingyu in the moon was like the supernatural, silver stealing across his jaw, his biceps, shoulder blades, every sharp and smooth curve that had you in its deadly soft clutches.

But it was still Mingyu. Your Mingyu. Your best friend.

♜ ♜ ♜

“Morning.”

Mingyu chimes cheerily, ambling into your room and drawing the blinds back, sunlight blinding your groggy state.

“Mingyu, what the fuck?”

“Jeonghan said we can borrow the car for the day.” Mingyu swings the keys from his hand excitedly. “I may or may not have woken him up to ask so he didn’t care, but still.”

“To do what?”

“Roadtrip.” Mingyu shrugs, smiling, as if to say what else? “I’ll meet you downstairs in ten minutes.”

You use an old map from the dusty attic space, tracing a route to the beach, and packing some sandwiches along. It’s soothing, the wind flowing through the rolled down windows, Mingyu’s old sunglasses perched on his nose as he drives and sings to some random song that resurfaced in his memory.

He sets up the blanket and basket of food while you stand at the tip of where the tide came in, watching the lulling waves roll.

“What’re you thinking about?” He huffs, tucking his hands in his pockets as he stands next to you, glancing at your solemn features.

“Do you remember,” you start just as Mingyu’s about to repeat his question, “that night?”

“You’ve gotta be a little more specific there.”

“The night before you left.”

Mingyu stares out across the water, wind ruffling his hair.

“Yeah.” He answers simply.

“Why me?” You blurt.

“What?”

“You could have had anyone, so why me?”

Mingyu knows you’re not talking only about that night now, but the entirety of your existence together. Maybe it was the fate of next door neighbours. Maybe it was the fact of the Apocalypse that numbers had strength. Or maybe…

“Because you’re the only one I want, you always have been. Is that really so hard to believe?”

“A little.” You whisper, and Mingyu looks at you finally.

“I’ll be by your side as long as I can. You don’t have to return anything. Just let me do that and I’ll be happy.”

“Then why did you leave that time?”

“Because I was scared. I couldn’t help but think that one of us might get the Virus. Then… I don’t think I would have been able to do it.” He admits, kicking at the sand lightly.

“You’re stupid.”

“Thanks.” Mingyu snorts sarcastically, and you sigh.

“You’re stupid to think that I wouldn’t want you by my side always. You’re stupid to think I depend on you too much, because people need to depend on each other. And… and you’re stupid to think I don’t love you.”

“You don’t make any sense.” He shakes his head, but he’s chuckling softly.

“You’re my best friend. You know that right?”

You clasp his hand firmly, looking at him, and he returns your gaze, slowly tugging him close. You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and they curve upwards gently as he murmurs.

“I know.”

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