#or better yet become a zombie

[americanwh0resstuff]

-Good Side In-

Blaine DeBeers

(Human) Blaine DeBeers x reader one shot

Word count: 1,191

Kinda fluff ☁️ smut ❤️‍🔥

little bit of Blaine lore! Half boyfriend Blaine is back!!! Some more fluffy smut of human Blaine not knowing how to be in a healthy relationship works, trying his best to be affectionate...

-Good side in-

'I put up a fight, it's a light hit

I turned my good side in'

It was 10pm on a Friday night and Blaine and I had already gotten back to my apartment, now laying in comfy pjs and eating icecream while watching crappy horror movies. Earlier tonight we went on a date night to the local pub, but we soon realised that the loud music and chattering was too much. I guess my party girls days are truly already over...

We left after one drink and decided to spend the rest of the evening at home.

———

Home was a weird word for Blaine, he had always felt that it was more than just a house with his stuff in it, it was a feeling, or a place, he just hadn't found it yet.

He never had the best home life, an absent father and a dead mother, the only person around was his relentless nanny, which was somehow worse than being alone.

He had a few vague good memories, memories of his mother taking him to the park, holding him when he couldn't sleep, comforting him after his dad's outbursts. He was only 6 when she died, her face now a blank slate, all he could remember was her voice, and even that was becoming quieter and quieter each day.

His father was never a coddler, he told Blaine right from the start that she took her own life, simply explaining that she was ashamed to have a son like him, and that he drove her too it.

Sadly Blaine believed him, until he was about 13 years old, when he realised that it was most likely his dads doing.

From then on he never really felt safe, not wanting to call anywhere home, constantly looking over his shoulder, not trusting anyone.

That is until (Y/n) came into his life, the way she looked at him, not passed him, the way she listened to every word he spoke, actually interested and not just using him for his money. But nothing compared to her smile, that was home.

Blaine looked down at (y/n) the way she lay her head on his chest, her hand wrapped around his, this was safety, not just for him, but the way she felt safe with him, gave him pride and warmth he had never felt before...

———

I looked up at Blaine, smiling at him, he was obviously deep in thought, the way his eyebrows furrowed every so often, and how his eyes looked passed the television, he looked gorgeous, although he didn't take well to my compliments, as cocky as he was.

I pushed myself up, turning to face him. Still in his trance, i leaned in and kissed him, instantly making him smile.

"Why don't we go take a shower and get into bed?" i asked while smirking softly.

That seemed to snap him out of it, an immediate smile on his face.

he nodded and i stood from his lap, pulling him up and leading him to my small bathroom, i turned the water on and began undressing myself as it heated up.

When i was down to my underwear i turned to see Blaine staring, still in his pjs, i bit my lip and walked towards him, pulling his shirt over his head, kissing his neck and chest softly as i moved to his pants, my hand ghosted over his clothed member before stripping him completely, then turning back around for him to unhook my bra.

I slipped out of my panties and pulled Blaine under the hot water with me. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, letting the water wash over me.

"You're awfully quiet tonight?" i opened my eyes to see him scanning my body, still slightly out of it.

He shook his head and smiled  "Oh sorry... don't worry gorgeous... just, how am i this lucky?" The smirk was back, the look that made me weak in the knees, the way his eyes traced over me, how his hands grasped my hips, it drove me wild.

"Don't get all cheesy on me now, Debeers..."

i giggled softly as i stood on my toes to kiss him.

His kissed back fiercely, backing me up into the cool glass wall, a hard contrast to his warm hands and lips.

i groaned into the kiss, his right hand reaching between my legs, fingers slipping between my folds as I lean impossibly closer into him, my legs already shaking in anticipation.

I reached up and tangled my hands in his wet hair, two fingers then entering me, making me gasp and pull away.

"That's it (y/n)... so needy"

His voice was deep and whispered, his lips ghosting my earlobe before attaching to my jaw, biting and sucking along the way.

He removed his fingers and tapped the underside of my thighs, signalling for me to wrap my legs around his waist.

He lifted me with ease, grinding his hips against mine before lining himself up with me, with a swift thrust he entered my tight cunt, throwing his head back with a soft groan.

He holds my face in one hand, watching me in awe as I choke out a moan.

I struggle to hold eye contact, feeling like prey under his gaze.

I turned my head and closed my eyes, mouth falling open as he started moving, my legs tightening around him with every thrust, nails scratching his shoulders.

Our moans echoed off the shower walls, drowning out the sound of the water trickling down Blaines back, the steam building more and more, making our already heavy breathing even harder.

If I wasn’t already choking on the hot air around me, it was made worse (or better) by Blaines hand wrapping around my throat.

My eyes were clouded over, legs shaking and body weak, I was struggling to hold on, feeling so far removed from my body, I felt on fire at the same time, I didn’t even have time to warn him before I was coming around his cock, practically screaming his name.

If I wasn’t so out of it I’d have sworn I heard his low groans turn to high pitched whimpers as he too climaxed while gripping me tightly, his body pressing mine harder against the steamed up glass.

His head rested on my shoulder, laying soft kisses on my skin as he pulled out and let my feet finally touch the ground, he then pulled me back under the hot water, still dazed as he ran his hands through my hair, washing it as I stared at him completely in awe, the way he can be so demanding, dominant and cold, yet here he is, lovingly washing my hair, pressing soft kisses on my skin.

He was hiding something, though not anything bad, he was hiding his soft side, and I’m determined to bring it out.

[youaremysunshine-court]

give me 5 reasons not to jump out of my window

[astrowarr]

i just watched scott's session 7 and noticed a pattern: every single person forgot about grian.

grian hasn't been caught yet, cleo and scott establish. barely a minute later, scott is leading cleo and bigb by the hands to his secret spot and saying "i think we're the last three." like the name has slipped right out of his hands.

as etho tells the other zombies that no, actually, he doesn't want to kill cleo, it occurs to him suddenly. "actually, i kind of want grian to succeed on this, don't i? he's my teammate," he says, not like he doesn't care for grian, but like he's shocked he even forgot in the first place. (seconds later, he lifts his gaze to the sky, and he sees where grian is hiding. he's the only one who sees. he carries this secret with him as he watches grian run, an apology of sorts; sorry I forgot. I hope this makes it better.)

but it got me thinking: this is what grian does, isn't it? even since 3rd life, where he hid in the shadow of scar, whose face was always, always in the light, as he burrowed under doorways, covered in redstone and days-old blood. no one thinks of him as scar sells them the coffins grian will put them in.

grian has mastered the art of becoming nothing. he's so nothing, in fact, that his presence glances off the skin of even his friends. his name slips away from them. he disappears time and time again, falling through their fingers like sand. there are brief moments: "where's grian?" someone asks, but their blood is boiling and their fingers are itching. the image is a mirage and the sand crumbles at their fingertips. it's gone as soon as it comes; back to cleo, green cleo, uninfected cleo.

a reminder, perhaps from the universe itself. he is nothing but a ghost of a memory, a whisper of a promise. this is by design. the universe is telling him this, as it strings grian up limb by limb: you were only ever meant to watch.

[suiana]

(yandere! infected harem x gn! reader) (HEAVILY inspired by LT may's book 'infected' on wattpad, go read it!!!)

This was exactly like a zombie infection. No, it was worse.

You couldn't even remember how it all started. You were just sitting in class one day, listening to your tutor yap about something boring when all of a sudden you heard people screaming.

The once peaceful world you knew was suddenly turned upside down. Everyone had changed for the worse, or better, if you see it from their perspective.

The infected, that's what people are calling them.

They're insane, crazy, obsessive. The epitome of what people once called toxic. But now, it's becoming the norm. And it's all because of that crazy scientist who developed this infection and made it an airborne virus.

You see this as something like a zombie infection. The people who're infected... they're practically... dead. Well, not really. They turn alive once they see their darlings. Right, darlings. That's what the infected are calling the uninfected.

But anyway, these infected people are practically zombies now. Like, enhanced zombies? Maybe? Their physical abilities are no joke, not to mention how much smarter they've all become. And their emotions... God, they're like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

The worst part is, the love emotion has spiralled out of control. All their passion, love, intrusive thoughts... They've lost all sense of rationality when it comes to their beloved darlings. They've become crazy in love for anyone they've had their eyes on prior to the infection. That's why the infected turn alive when they see their darlings. That's why so many people are going missing. That's why you call this a zombie infection.

Because somehow, someway, if you're uninfected and you get caught by an infected... Chances are, you're likely to turn infected as well. Apparently everyone breathed in the infection virus, some just react to it faster than others, hence the huge outbreak of infecteds. Those who didn't turn yet are apparently stronger in health or simply can't react to the infection.

And that's what brings you to your current situation. As an uninfected with their morality and common sense still in-tact.

It's crazy how the people you once called your friends are acting like monsters for their lovers now. You still can't wrap your head around that fact. But to everyone else who got infected it's nothing but a small step to get their darlings.

You can't stand it.

Why is everyone acting like this is something normal? Just a few weeks ago they'd all call this act immoral and simply insane! And now they're doing the same exact thing they vowed to never do? God you absolutely despise that scientist who created this infection.

The same can't be said for the people who are infected though, especially... your admirers.

Look! There's one right now.

"Darling! Has your infection kicked in yet?"

A cheery voice hums, a cute boy coming into view as he stares at you with the most lovesick eyes you've ever seen. Oh, right, forgot to mention but the infection takes place differently in everyone. Apparently it takes form based on your true personality, or whatever the fuck that means.

Meaning that if you were shy prior to the infection, you'd be more shy with your love. Your true personality would either turn you into a clingy wet kitten desperate for your darling's love or to a crazy homicidal maniac that goes insane if their love is not reciprocated. The infected would still be obsessive and possessive to a certain extent. But the rest of the traits are completely dependent on how you really were before getting infected.

And this guy was your friend who was super fucking clingy before the infection. Turns out he was in love with you and the infection just made things a hundred times worse.

"Um, no-"

"Why not? I can't wait for your affection!"

"Uh-"

"Pipe down shorty. You're making them uncomfortable."

Ah, how could you have forgotten that you not only had one admirer, but another one? Actually, scratch that. You had more than 2. Everyday there would be more and more people confessing their love to you, so much that you began to lose count of how many people held you in their hearts.

But there were 4 prominent people who stood out with their affections. And these 2 were it. Unfortunately.

Because even though one was more clingy and the other was more aloof, they had murdered the other admirers ruthlessly in cold blood. At least the aloof one had the decency to wash off the blood before coming to you. This clingy one came to you, all wide eyed and smiley, thinking you'd hug him when he was drenched in blood.

The fact that laws had been changed too didn't help either. People could now openly commit crimes that were once deemed illegal as long as they were proven to be done in the name of love. How cruel.

"Can you both just leave me alone?"

You grumble, glaring at your two admirers as you hide your face in your hands. You were so fucking tired of it all. Not only were you constantly on edge because you were uninfected and could be killed because you looked at someone a little too long, but you also had to deal with the weight of being so many people's obsessions.

This cursed dystopian world that changed in the blink of an eye... Ah, you had only wished you treasured the sweet days of the old world a little more.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part eighteen —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3.3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Over the next four days, you find yourself panting in exhilaration each morning you spar with Ghost. Every slam of your hand into his ribs feels strangely better than the last. He goes harder on you. He'd been holding back, too, apparently— an unfortunate fact for your ribs. The pain seems to motivate you more, even if he is still beating the shit out of you.

Blue also motivates you. "Hit his nose again!"

Of course, that is the one part of him you purposely avoid.

The sun returns and sweat glides down your face. You knee his stomach. It's less vulnerable than swinging a kick, but still, he attempts to grab you by the waist. You quickly skirt away, the ground firmer beneath your feet, only for his hand to latch onto one of your braids, instead. A sting pulses through your scalp as he tugs hard, wrenching your ear close to his mouth.

"Quicker. Good. But don't get too cocky."

"I thought you wanted me to be more confident," you retort between ragged breaths. 

"Yes, but you can't forget who has the advantage here." There is the slightest bit of arrogance in his voice that makes your teeth grit.

"How could I ever forget?" Your head tilts and he releases the braid. Suddenly, the thought of smacking his nose again doesn’t seem so bad.

His eyebrow quirks. "Get some water, Twix. You need it."

The water caresses your tongue as you gulp it down without abandon. Unsurprisingly, Blue has disappeared somewhere in the treetops. The lack of more broken bones has waned her interest.

When Ghost lifts his mask to drink, you steal a glance at his nose, noticing that the swelling has gone down significantly. The fact he is still wearing that thing with a broken nose upholds your theory that he is at least slightly insane— as if the fact that he once shoved a gun into your fresh wound wasn’t already evidence of that.

Out of nowhere, he materializes beside you and places a hand on your stomach. Your sore muscles spasm under the surprise of his touch, his long fingers stretching from one side of your ribs to the other.

"Your strength starts here,” he explains in a hoarse murmur. “Keep it tight and you will deliver more damage."

You purse your lips to hide a wince and tap your nose. "Don’t I already deliver enough damage?"

"The nose is fragile. You may be landing more hits on me, but I still hardly feel a thing from them."

He allows you to pry his hand off, but the pressure of it seems to linger. Ghost studies you in a way that turns you translucent before demanding, "Lift your shirt, Twix."

Exhaling through your nose, you hesitate before peeling it up, revealing the collection of bruises you have earned from him. A myriad of pink, purple, and yellow skin flares up under his gaze. They have been giving you a hard time lacing your boots and tying your hair in the morning, but once you get moving, the ache becomes easier to ignore.

He has already seen your stomach and more, yet, your skin itches from the exposure. You shove the shirt back down.

His expression shifts. "You should have said something."

"They're just bruises. I'm not bleeding or anything."

"Still."

"Still what?"

He looks irritated. "You need to fucking communicate."

"I don't see why it matters. No coddling, right?"

"That doesn't mean I'm interested in breaking you."

You jerk your chin up to meet his stare. “You won't."

Blue swings down from a tree, plopping between the two of you and unintentionally—thankfully—putting an end to the subject. "I'm glad you two are finally getting along. It's good for the team." She nudges her dad. "But are you done with her yet? You can't just hog Twix all to yourself."

He clears his throat and the air between your bodies breathes wider. "If you're getting bored maybe we need to find something for you to practice."

"Nope!" she says quickly. "Not bored at all." 

He nods to a tree. "Go on. Practice your knives. You haven't done that in a while. Then, you can have her."

With a groan, she trudges away. 

The sparring continues.

Ghost's fists soften by a smidge.

"He annoys the shit out of me sometimes."

Blue rips up a tuft of grass as you inch back to admire the swipe of color on her eyelids. It was her idea to use the bold-colored flowers for makeup— just like the models in her magazines. You did your best to mash the petals and mix them with some creekwater, but the result is kind of patchy and not nearly as smooth as the stuff you used to put on years ago. 

"Hold still. I'm doing your cheeks next."

The sun highlights the splash of freckles on her cheeks and you try to recall if Ghost had them. Her nose is nothing like his. A dainty button. Another trait she must've gotten from her mom. 

"Did you used to wear makeup?" she asks curiously, eyelashes fluttering down. 

"Sometimes. Especially when I went out."

"Went out where?"

Concentration nudges between your brows. "To clubs and stuff. It's where people would... dance."

Her lips spread as she cocks her head to the side in a manner that emulates her dad. You have to remind her again to stop moving. “Oh. Sorry. You danced?"

"I mean, not good dancing. Just dancing for fun,” you murmur, shrugging at the faint memories of being sandwiched between strangers, alcohol flowing through your veins rather than fear and adrenaline. Back then, mornings were spent nursing a hangover before class rather than earning bruises from an ex-lieutenant. 

Humor dances in her eyes when they reopen. "I don't think Ghost ever went to a club. I cannot imagine him dancing."

The images in your mind morph into something utterly laughable— him standing there like an immovable tank as people try to dance around him. "No, probably not."

"He never really tells me about his life before shit happened," she says thoughtfully. 

This piques your curiosity, but you keep your voice light. "No?"

"Well, he tells me the simple stuff. Mostly about his job. But never... never the small things, you know? Like I have no idea what he used to do for fun or what his life was like when he was a kid." She pauses a moment before adding, "He had a brother. That much I know."

You glance up. "Had?"

"He died before the virus. His mom and dad, too. But every time I ask how they died, he just says," she deepens her voice, "'Doesn't matter how, kid. Dead is dead.'"

"Oh, um, yeah, that sounds like something he would say." You tap your fingers under her chin. "I can put some on your lips, too."

Her eyes close again as she puckers her lips out. When you're done, she continues. "He also never talks about my mom." Her face twists. “I think he thinks talking about her will hurt my feelings."

For a few seconds, you struggle to find a response. The rare mention of her mom always makes your heart stutter, but this time, your broken, callused hand reaches out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

"It's okay to feel hurt, you know."

Blue shrugs and looks up at the cobalt sky. "I don't think I remember her enough to feel that hurt anymore. She feels so... far away. I remember small things, like the sound of her voice and her old apartment where I lived, but sometimes I wonder if I am making up those memories, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean." A terrible urge sits on your tongue to ask her more about her mom, about what exactly her relationship was like with Ghost, but Blue changes the subject before you can.

"Does the makeup look good?" A shy blush clouds her cheeks.

You stand up with a faint smile. "I think I did pretty damn good. Come on. I want you to go look in the mirror."

Music.

It pounds so hard you feel it in your chest.

Neon walls enclose you as someone touches your backside, dancing against you. There is a man's voice in your ear that you think you recognize but it's hard to hear him through all the laughing and chatter. Your hair falls in loose curls down your back, free of braids, and you swipe it from your sweaty skin before excusing yourself to the bathroom.

You push through the people. The narrow hall is shrouded with different doors... so many doors. Where is the bathroom? It must be a Friday night on Oxford Street with how fucking crowded and stuffy this place is. Someone knocks into you roughly and your footsteps quicken. A sense of urgency drags you into the next door you come across, a large one made of grey oak.

The smell is horrendous but you feel relieved to see urinals and stalls. Immediately, you press into the granite counter and grip the edge as you catch your breath. The scratched, warped mirror houses a face covered in makeup. Youthful eyes. Flushed cheeks. How much have you had to drink? You need to go home. You will pee and then go home, you tell yourself. Over and over, you repeat this as you relieve yourself in one of the graffiti-doused stalls where condom and tampon wrappers crinkle beneath your heels.

When you're done, you try for the large door you came through, but it doesn't budge. The muffled music outside has faded. Panic sears your chest. You press your back against the door. The bathroom has changed. The stalls are gone. The walls feel like they are closing in, and the smell of piss turns into something even worse. You are alone. Where is the man you came with? You look down. Dead bodies. Strewn limbs. You're standing on a pile of them.

You start screaming. Banging on the door. Digging your fingers into the wood until the flesh rubs down to bone. 

It's not a room anymore, but a box. The fluorescent lights replaced by sheer darkness.

The edges of the door disappear.

A sickening silence replaces your screams.

And then—

"Twix."

You sit up, wild-eyed. You grip onto something—fabric—and a foul taste travels up your throat without warning. You heave several times, your entire body shuddering. 

When awareness settles in, you wipe your mouth and blink up. Ghost. He is... here. Hovering over you. His shirt is tightly bunched between your fingers and you have just vomited into it. The realization smacks you awake and you recoil sharply, staring at his moonlit mask with an expression that must be just short of mortified.

"I... Fuck. I am so sorry. I don't know why— I just..."

When you dare to look at the mess you've left on him, you nearly vomit again. Hands shaking, you rub at your clammy face and begin to ramble unthinkingly as his stare flickers between you and his soiled shirt.

"I've been trying so hard not to hold back like you said, but I think it is fucking me up a little and letting out some things— memories, I guess. I was pretty good about keeping it all in my box because I've been too tired to even think about it, but now I just..." You trail off, realizing your words must make little sense. 

"You've certainly let something out," he rasps.

Your hands drop against the sofa and you cringe. "I'll wash it for you. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

You inhale. "I just fucking threw up on you."

"I'm aware."

Ghost straightens. He pinches the collar of his shirt and carefully hoists it over his head. Then, you're looking at his bare chest. Slivers of moonlight caress rigid brawn and mountainous scars that capture your gaze for a few heartbeats before you tear it away. 

"I'll, um, hang it outside and... wash it in the morning." 

Your legs are unnervingly steady when you stand up and take the shirt from him, carefully grabbing it by a dry spot. You are relieved to get away from him, draping it over the porch and swallowing gulps of fresh air before you go back inside, praying he's gone back to bed.

Luckily, he has. When the empty living room greets you, you sink to the sofa and palm your eyes. Then, you notice something left on the pillow. A cigarette. You pick it up and recall the few times you smoked whenever your friends offered one. The taste never sat well with you. 

You rummage for your lighter. The first inhale burns terribly, but you cough into the pillow and try again. It starts to calm you down after a few times, and only when you've gotten to the butt of it do you go back to sleep.

"No wonder you're not getting stronger if you throw up like that every night."

Not even five minutes into training the next morning he brings it up. The rest of your sleep ended abruptly when he got you up at an unearthly time, probably to avoid having Blue as an audience. You are too winded to even scowl, your fists held tight in front of your face as you try to predict where he will aim next.

"I told you. That was the first night in a while." 

"Right. Something about a box, huh?"

"Can we just forget about it, please?"

"Hard to forget when my shirt still smells."

"I washed it the best I could."

The next dodge has your head flying down fast enough to undo one of your braids. Hair slips over your face and you huff, holding your hand up. "Hold on. Give me a minute."

As you undo the other one and opt for shoving your hair into a tight bun instead, he watches you strangely. The feel of his stare ignites a spark of irritation and you flash him a sideways glance. "Look, thank you for the cigarette and everything else you have ever done for me, but you can stop looking at me like that. Like you... pity me. I'm not going to break, I'm not going to ask you to kill me again. Everyone left in this world has nightmares and mine probably aren't the worst of them."

"I don't pity you," he says. "I am just trying to understand you."

"Why?" You finish the bun and drop your arms awkwardly at your sides. 

"It's important to understand your ally."

"Oh. Is that what we are?"

His eyes narrow. "Obviously. I wouldn't bother wasting my time with this every day if we weren't."

"Good to know you aren't doing it because you owe me."

"You know what I mean, Twix," he growls. 

"No, I don't." You throw your arms up. "I don't know what you mean and I don't know why you never killed me because you had every reason to, and I definitely don't understand you, so I guess we make terrible allies, Ghost."

"What is with you?" He cocks his head to the side, tone mild with curiosity. "So talkative all of the sudden."

"I have no problem talking when the other person isn't blatantly ignoring me."

His brows lift. "Fair enough."

A deep inhale flares your nostrils before you spread your stance. "I'm ready now."

Despite your claim of readiness, he quickly backs you into a defensive position that has you frustrated once again. You don't understand why, but your progress slips. You keep having to adjust your stance and all of your attempts to hit him fail. It's not long before he locks you against a tree with a tattooed forearm against your neck. 

"You aren't focused today," he accuses.

"Damn, you're observant," you breathe out. 

"Jesus fucking Christ. If I wanted to listen to someone mouthing off, I'd get Blue out here." He presses a bit harder and your throat twitches. "I'm not going to threaten you anymore, but clearly, you think straighter when you channel your anger, so whatever you were dreaming about last night— get it out of your head."

He's right. You breathe deep and try sorting through everything in your head, focusing on just the anger, but it's like fishing in murky water. When he releases you, more of the same happens. This time, you end up on your butt. Ghost glares down at you, circling like a vulture.

"You were doing good the past few days. What the hell is this?"

"I told you," you say through your teeth, brushing off the dirt from your jeans. "Letting out my anger means letting everything else in the box out and it is... confusing me. Making my head fuzzy, I guess."

His chest expands with a deep breath and his pointed stare turns meticulous. "Explain this box to me."

You hesitate for a moment. "It's just... where I put away all of the shit that would otherwise make me insane."

"And what is wrong with being a little insane, Twix? This world is insane. Might as well match it."

Your mouth opens, then closes. You struggle for an answer and rub your temples. "I don't know. Being insane means losing myself completely. I mean, I have already changed so much in the past five years. Like I said, I was never meant to be this person."

"What person? A person who survives? A person who does what she has to?"

"A person who hurts others," you grit out. "A person who kills." 

"You've killed people, right?" he roughly asks and you nod. "Then you're a killer. You were always meant to be a killer. End of story." His words strike you, and you begin to shake your head defensively, but he continues before you can muster a reply. "The past five years haven't changed you, they have revealed who you are. Now—" he raises his fists, "—open the stupid box and turn everything you feel into anger. All of it. It is valuable fuel that will continue to keep you alive."

He swings.

A kaleidoscope of long-ignored memories flashes through your brain when he hits your sore stomach. Your family. Your friends. The life stolen from you. 

And then— you recover your footing and slam a boot into his knee. It loosens his stance just enough for you to throw yourself at him, effectively knocking him over. The ground welcomes your bodies again, but this time, you grip his shoulders and wind up on top, practically laying all of your weight on him. A few harsh breaths expel from your nose before you become fully aware of the position, the heat from his chest pressing into your breasts.

Quickly, you splay your hands flat against him and sit up straight, thighs spread over his narrow hips. Ghost could easily flip you over and pin you if he wanted. But instead, he crosses his arms behind his head. 

"Comfortable?" you ask him breathlessly, raising a brow.

"Quite. Though, if this were real, I suggest an elbow to the neck once you've got them down."

"So you admit it, then. I got you down."

"I allowed it."

"Sure." Your teeth snag on your lip and you lightly brush a finger over his masked nose, detecting a tick in the hinge of his jaw. "Then I will 'allow' you to keep this for now, but next time, I might do more than just break it."

His eyes widen imperceptibly before he quickly recovers. "Ah. So you are a person who hurts others, then. Someone was trying to tell me otherwise."

Your lips twitch at the corner on their own accord. "Shut the fuck up."

He simply stares at you for a pregnant pause before clearing his throat. "I did allow it, but that was good. You focused on the anger, didn't you?"

You nod. "Yeah, I did. Is that what you do all the time?" you ask curiously. "Just get angry and kill people?"

"Pretty much."

By the tone of his voice, a deep brass that reverberates through all the places your bodies touch, you are certain he's joking. Realizing that you are still on top of him, you push off his chest and swing a leg over, careful not to knee his face or let him see the deep flush that crawls over every inch of your skin. 

[phyrestartr]

Their Burning Bodies Keep Us Warm (1/2) | Sukuna x M!Reader

W/C: 3.4k #NSFW, top!Sukuna, bottom!Reader, ABO dynamics, cannibalism, mentions of sex trafficking, mentions of cults, questionable relationship, suggested Stockholm syndrome, post-apocalypse, enemies to friends to lovers, angst, drama, gore, typical zombie shite, not rlly edited kekw SORRY

tags: @flowersatwork @tr4nniez @kamote-kuneho @prettorett @better-imagination-9

You ran. Even when your lungs tore apart, your legs burned to ash, your mind split and ruptured, you ran. 

The destination was simple: anywhere. Anywhere away from the hell hole you'd been swept up into–a camp full of soldiers getting hopeful little bugs stuck in a honeypot with promises of safety and a life well-lived despite the end of the world. A colony. A chance to stop hoping to simply survive. 

But that wasn't what happened. You and so many others were victims of a breeding ring–a puppy mill, so to speak. One where those able to bear young were forced to. One where a hivemind fooled the naive into thinking this was all for the ultimate goal of repopulation, for a chance to reclaim the world should the infected finally fall.

Yet humans, as smart and powerful as the hive claimed, had already lost once, and now twice as they lit their humanity ablaze for the greater evil of satisfying twisted desires under the guise of necessity. You couldn't take it anymore. 

So, you ran. 

Then, you saw a light. Just faintly. It whispered promises of warmth in the cold deadness of Winter's night; you couldn't help but be drawn to it like a moth to a flame. 

But that meant someone was inside, too, which could be a blessing or a curse–if they found you, sidling up to the house, listening for signs of life or unlife, they could turn you in to the men chasing you; on the other hand, you might find a friend. A companion. A safe person to sleep by at night. To eat with. To talk to. That'd be nice. 

Your daydreams shattered when the voices of those soldiers echoed in the empty streets of the town you'd found yourself in. You peeked from your perch by the front door of the house, and ducked out of view when you saw two bobbing lights flicking and scanning over the snow. 

Shit, shit, shit. You swallowed thickly, trying to thick through the frost biting you and the snow melting on your bare arms. What were the odds they'd be able to follow your scent? All the way down to the spot where you hid beneath the front steps? It was hard to track another when it was raining, so snow had to be the same, right? So why were they coming closer and closer, why were their voices becoming hushed and their words rushed, why were they–

The door above you slammed open with the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. You covered your mouth with a shaky hand, hoping the boom coupled with your stalker's shocked, angry barking (just one voice?) stifled whatever pathetic squawk you garbled out. 

It must've. Because the person--the man--standing on the weather-worn deck above you laughed, and stepped down the creaky stairs with heavy, lazy steps before following that soldier's voice. 

Go, go, go. You forced yourself to move, pushing yourself up the steps under the cover of barked threats and the outbreak of a fight. You thought men like that stuck together. That they'd help each other out with delivering omegas back to one another. That they'd invite him to join their diabolic cult–especially when the thick scent of alpha filled your lungs.

You swallowed thickly, your inner omega going wild with curiosity and wonder and a need to curl up in the musk and laze in it all day, but your petrified self picked up the slack and kept you in motion, kept you scrambling for a place to hide. Staying the night was the plan–you wouldn't be able to survive outside, not like this. Not with a t-shirt, worn joggers and runners being your only defense against the cold. 

What happens in the morning? He'd no doubt catch your scent. He'd no doubt realize he had an unwelcome guest. What would he do with you? What would he do to you? 

“I don't care,” You breathed as you jammed yourself into the darkness of a bedroom closet and burrowed into whatever lay on the floor. “I don't care.”

And that was true; being a slave to one was better than being a slave to many. 

–

His eyes shone red.

You weren't sure if you woke in the night to find the demon. You didn't know if your dreamscape simply enjoyed tormenting you. But the burns left by that searing, glowing gaze were real. 

He stood there. Features melded with shadow. Body engulfing the snowy light of night. Staring down at you. Quiet. Still. Inhuman. 

Only your shaky breathing filled the thick, damp void of silence his presence brought. What were you supposed to do? What were you supposed to–

He closed the closet doors, and his lumbering footsteps sauntered away.

–

When morning came, the stranger was not so willing to leave you alone. 

You thought you were being quite crafty, quite sneaky with how you planned on escaping; you waited for sounds of his to stop in a far-off room, then you donned yourself in whatever gear and warm clothes you could find in the closet, and then you carefully, so so so carefully, opened the closet doors and–

“Leaving already, little omega?” A deep, playful voice taunted from the doorway of the room, just out of sight; if you pushed the doors all the way open, you'd see the man standing in the doorway to the left. 

But your hands fumbled alongside your heart. Your voice died in your throat. 

You were caught.

A large hand gripped the side of the closet door and pulled it open. You stumbled backwards, heart shattering from its frosted paralysis to jump into overdrive. 

Because the man, the alpha standing before you, was unlike anything you'd seen before. 

He was tall. His shoulders stretched wide and, judging from the strain of his shirt, his build was formidable and downright predatory. Muscle shifted and adjusted under an expanse of gilded skin everytime the beast moved, changing from looming over you to leaning against the doorframe. Maybe in an attempt to make himself smaller. More likely because of his cocky laziness. 

The smirk plastered on his face bore the same arrogance, too. As did the care in brushing back his hair and actually looking presentable in the guts of a fucking apocalypse. But maybe he relished in the anarchy. You could only assume so much from tattoos marking his skin and the mirth gleaming in hellborne eyes. 

“Go on,” the man drawled, hooking a thumb into his belt, bringing your attention to the thick knife strapped to his side, “Let's hear your pretty voice.” 

“I wasn't gonna stay,” you choked out, and the demon in front of you smiled wider. “I just–I saw your light, and–” 

“And you walked on in without even knocking.” He sighed and shook his head. “Kids these days.” 

“M'not a fucking kid,” You bit out, surprising the both of you with your venom. You thought you'd lost it long ago, but maybe not. 

The man laughed, showing off his brutal, jagged canines. You swore you saw red staining them. 

“You've got some bite, huh? Like that in a bitch.” He stepped closer, and you tried to meld into the wall of clothes behind you, but failed to escape the calloused hand that grabbed you by the jaw and forced your head up, down and around as he inspected you like a piece of meat.

You tried to pull away, tried to turn your head to break free from his grasp. “Don't fucking touch me–”

“Hah. This how you tried to get those alphas off of you?” He taunted, grinning at your sudden wide-eyed stare. “No wonder they used you up like a–” 

You headbutted him and kneed him in the dick before pushing past him and running. Your head pounded thanks to your stupid opener, but at least it worked. Now, you just had to get out of the damn house and–

“OMEGA.” 

–and escape from the devil chasing you. 

His growling voice ripped through your skull like a chainsaw revving to life as you threw yourself down the stairs and out the front door. You slipped and slid, nearly falling and breaking your fucking neck on the porch, but you caught yourself and made a break for the street as the thundering of footsteps clamoured after you. 

Churned snow painted in sour shades of rusted red greeted you. You could almost envision the struggle, the stabbing, the warmth bleeding from their bodies as they died for their selfish desires. It chilled you, gave you pause–and that's where you fucked up. 

The horizon reeled and spun when a heavy body crashed into you and pinned you to the ground. You gasped, straining to catch the breath that'd been punched from your lungs, failing to stop the burning in your chest as your face froze against the pavement. 

“Wily little cunt, huh?” The stranger breathed, rage and amusement fighting through his words. “You bring that much fight to the sack, omega? Hey?” 

You tried to rip free or push him off or something as he taunted you, but you couldn't. You were trapped. Again. Again.

“Fuck you,” you spat. “I'd rather fucking die than–”

You froze. The slow, stuttering shamble of footsteps pricked your ears before low, ungodly moaning and wheezing rattled through the streets. The noise was quiet, but so loud to a frightened deer. 

“Lookit that,” your captor whispered, leaning down to your ear, “Guess God heard your prayer.”

Your heart hammered. “Get off, get off.” Your voice quaked and broke as you thrashed beneath him. “Please.” 

“Thought you said you'd rather die.” His knee ground into your back and you bit back a yelp. 

“Please.” The diabolic gasping came closer, became more frantic as the thing saw you. You couldn't see it, but they always got so fucking excited and loud when they saw fresh, living meat. You knew it was coming. 

“Ah-ah, can't let you go. Your buddy won't be able to catch up and end things for ya.” The stranger cackled something hideous and unnerving. “That'd be a right fucking shame.” 

“Let me up,” You begged.

“Not yet.”

It got closer.

“Please!” 

“No.” 

Just a metre away, now.

“I'll stay.” 

The scent of alphan approval washed over you.

“Good pet.”

You were pulled up and off the snowy ground with ease as soon as you submitted. You even vaguely saw the man kick the undead back with ease, sending it toppling over into the snow and stuck on its back like a helpless turtle. Its motor functions were shot in this weather. It probably wouldn't be getting up for a while. 

You wondered if you were going to suffer the same fate: stuck on your back, unable to move, at the mercy of a sick freak you accidentally met while running away from other lunatics. You were doomed. But at least you were alive. At least you'd be warm.

The pink-haired menace locked up the door before throwing you down onto the couch with little grace. You would have been more mad if the purring roil of the fireplace didn't breathe warm gusts of comfort over you. And, well, you weren't being dragged into a bedroom and tied down. Not yet, at least. 

The make matters worse, the man didn't really say much. Just closed the blinds and ensured the entrances and windows were secured while you sat still and quiet, patient lest you suffer a worse fate. 

He glanced at you over his shoulder before returning to the task at hand. “If I wanted to kill your sorry ass, I woulda done it last night,” he said into the quiet of the room. 

You remembered those eyes staring down at you. How inhuman and evil they were. How much fear they bred in you. And now, you had to accept how real that was. 

He sat down on the coffee table in front of you and leaned towards you, resting his elbows on his knees, holding your gaze with his own. 

“Here's what's gonna happen,” he said, low and dangerous. “I'm gonna let you stay. Real nice of me, yeah? I'll give you food, water. Keep you warm, keep you safe from all the bullshit going on outside. Sounds good, doesn't it?” 

You looked over his face, brows furrowed, heart pounding so loud you almost couldn't hear him. But you nodded for fear of what he'd do otherwise. 

He smiled, satisfied. “Good. And in return,” he started, letting a hand slip up to your knee, “You'll make like a good little whore and keep my bed warm. Fair deal, don't you think?” 

You nodded. It wasn’t like you had a choice, anyway.

–

Sex with the man–Sukuna, as you’d come to learn–wasn’t the worst thing imaginable; for one, he had some level of patience and tact when it came to stretching and lubing you up for your occasional “duties,” which put him in your “good book” right away (Christ, your standards had fallen so low). 

Secondly, he didn’t make you participate. He’d command you in the same way each time (“face down, ass up, don't bite”), and he'd have his way with you. He never made you kiss him. Never demanded you speak. Never bullied you. He seemed like he just wanted to stuff his cock somewhere warm and forget about the world for a bit.

And you didn't really mind it. Sometimes. you almost looked forward to it. Sometimes, you let little noises escape when he railed you into the bed with reckless abandon. Sometimes, you wanted his hands on you just a little longer. 

Because when he wasn't fucking you, he might disappear out of the blue and leave you all alone, only to return a week later with supplies and clothes, unperishable goods and other random odds and ends he found along the way. Once, he even found a retro game store and scooped up an endless supply of gameboy advance and colour games and consoles. Another time, he carried home a bag full of weather-worn books. 

What'll it be today? You wondered when you caught sight of the man wandering back up the steps. He cursed under his breath as he messed with the lock for an eternity, and you took the opportunity to scurry away from the living room to put some distance between the two of you just in case; at this point, you didn't expect him to hurt you, but wild animals were unpredictable, even when seemingly domesticated.

“Fuckin' shit-ass door,” Sukuna grumbled as he nudged it open before kicking it closed and locking up. “Need to fix that shit.” 

You peered down at him from your perch halfway up the stairs and watched him saunter around, heavy boots clunking on the floors you just washed as he looked around. You had to wonder who the hell had taught him shoes inside was okay. 

“Where the fuck is that little bitch,” he mumbled, walking out of your line of sight. He traipsed through the bottom floor thoroughly before walking past the stairs again, pausing, rewinding, and meeting your patient statre. “The fuck are you doing?”

I don't want you to bite me; I don't know if you'll randomly kill me if you're in a bad mood; I don't trust you like that, all ran through your head, but none felt like a good option to admit to. So, you shrugged.

Sukuna sighed, loud and laced with an aggravated growl. “Downstairs. Now. Need you to do something.” 

Your brows furrowed slightly. Normally, you weren't asked to do much. The sudden command had your skin itching. 

“Now.” 

“Coming.” You tried to control the quivering of your legs on your descent to him, and just prayed he didn't notice. 

He stared down at you with narrowed eyes and a bit of a sneer before he leaned over, sniffing for your scent, circling around you a few times, and finally rubbing his wrist against your neck to half-heartedly re-mark you. 

You cleared your throat. “Is that it?” 

Sukuna scoffed and turned away, grabbing the medical bag from the kitchen cabinet and dumping it on the counter. “You know how to sew, yeah?” 

“Well, yeah. I can sew.” You approached warily as he gestured you closer. 

“Hah. Good to know you're not completely fucking useless.” He sat down heavily onto a bar stool and shrugged off his jacket and shirt before turning his back to you; a long, jagged gash marred his skin with trails of dark, gooey ichor and scarlett smears. Whatever had happened was serious.

“Holy shit,” you breathed, scrambling to look through the medical bag to find something, anything, that seemed like it'd help. You found some essentials: gauze, tape, bandages, antibiotic cream, disinfectant wipes. But you'd definitely need more than a few dinky wipes to deal with his back.

You felt his eyes on you as you puttered around the kitchen, grabbing this and that and some other things before returning to his side with salt, bottled water, and booze in-hand. 

Sukuna quirked a brow. “The fuck is all that for?” 

You jumped a bit when his voice interrupted your whirling thoughts. “I–gonna, um, try to make some kinda…saline. To clean it.” You cleared your throat again and set the mostly-empty bottle of sake by him. “That's for…y'know.”

“Loud and clear,” Sukuna sighed, dreading what was to come, and took a long, long drink from the bottle.

You pursed your lips and nodded to yourself before starting to mix the salt and water together in the bottle. You weren't sure what the ratio should be, but you figured there wasn't necessarily a limit, not when you were lacking isopropyl alcohol and hydrogen peroxide. You'd be sure to mention it to him next time he went out. 

“So. This'll…suck,” you warned, voice nervous and weak. 

Sukuna sighed again. Took a swig again. Then ripped his belt from his waist, folded it a few times, and bit down. 

He gave you an unenthused thumbs-up, and you found the nerve to jab a hole in the plastic bottle cap before spraying your makeshift saline solution against the wound. 

You nearly shit yourself as Sukuna growled with the force of a jet turbine. Faintly, you heard the creaking groan of leather crackle from his mouth as his teeth sank in deep. His canines probably already pierced through the material. 

“I know,” you whispered, actually feeling badly for the animal keeping you prisoner. “I know.”

You took your time cleaning the wound out, being sure to remove any sort of gravel or shrapnel embedded into his flesh. Luckily, the gash looked worse than it actually ended up being. It bled a lot, but it didn't cut all the way through to his ribs or beyond. Talk about lucky. 

When a majority of his trembling and snarling ebbed, you hazarded the question: “So…how’d this happen?” 

Sukuna groaned, and you almost smiled. “Fell off a fucking roof. Hit a sign on the way down.” 

You cringed at the thought. “Well. It's…not that bad.” You drenched the wound with another round of salt water before patting it dry.

“Yeah? Then no stitches,” he half-declared, half-asked. 

You gave his back a pitying look before reaching for the needle. Sukuna scoffed and muttered colourful obscenities when he saw your fingers snatch up the tool before disappearing behind him again. 

“Fuck me.”

“Sorry,” you offered softly, trying not to laugh. 

You saw his knee bounce in trepidation as you wiped his skin and the needle down with those cute little towelettes. You kinda felt bad for him. Healthcare in the apocalypse was a bit lacklustre.

As carefully as you could, you pushed the needle through his skin, and tried not to gag at the obscene feeling. The sound of his fist hitting the countertop helped ground you, though, and helped keep you on task stitch, after stitch, after stitch, after–

You set aside the tools and cleaned off your trembling, crimson-stained hands as best as you could before applying whatever ointment you could under gauze, and finally bandaging his torso up. Sukuna's eyes followed you, but you couldn't bear to look at him, quietly afraid of what he might do if your unsteady gaze met his; but that wasn't acceptable, judging by how he grabbed your arm and stopped you from turning away to clean up the mess. 

You looked at him, then, eyes laser-focused. Every shift pumped your veins with ice. Every flick of his attention sent electricity down your spine. Every silent word his lips failed to commit to filled you with dread. 

“Thanks,” he said. And he let go. 

[thegnomelord]

if you write a thing about the creaming the zussy i will kiss ur boots

The boots better be shining when you're done.

How To Cure Zombies 101

CW:NSFW MDNI, crackfic obv PiV sex, TLOU Clicker trans Ghost, Top Male Reader, established relationship, happy ending, dub-con because Simon consented before he got bit but reader is apprehensive, zombie sex (does it count as necro?) how does this work? idk porn logic. Don't ask me how this happened, i hope this doesn't become what my blog becomes known for.

When the Cordyceps spread across the planet and turned millions of people into shambling mushroom infested undead, the world ended.

When Simon got bitten. . . your world ended.

You still remember it like it had been yesterday; He came back bloody, an empty look in his eyes as he showed you the bite on his arm. Your hands shook as he wrapped them around the grip of the gun and aimed it at his head. You both ended up on the floor with you crying into his chest, unable to pull the trigger.

You remember the resigned look in his eyes when he had agreed to let you do whatever you needed to him to cure him, but both of you knew there was no way, what made you immune to the fungus was as mysterious to the rest of the world as it was for you. His lips had been burning hot when he laid a soft kiss on your forehead, the last sense of warmth you've felt since the docs took him to where they kept the infected for study, your heart leaving with him.

And now?

Now the scientists that have been prodding you like a lab rat since Simon got bitten nearly a year ago say they have a way to bring his mind back, to get Simon back.

And the way to do it?

"So let me get this straight?" You begin, your voice tense, your body even tenser. "You want me to fuck the corpse of my lover? And that will cure him?"

That. You're not sure how the eggheads arrived to this conclusion, frankly all of their scientific jargons had flown over your head. All you understood was that the man you had fallen since the first time you met him could be brought back.

You sincerely hope you won't make some type of super fungus through this.

Words can't describe what you feel as you look at Simon's (is it even Simon?) bound body writhing on the gyno chair, naked and bare to you. You doubt you even know what you feel, hope and fear simultaneously curling in your stomach— You hadn't had the courage to look at him ever since the scientists took him away; The harsh laboratory lights make it easy to see the mycelium filling his veins beneath the ashy pale skin, mushroom caps growing beneath his pecs and across all other scars he has. Red and yellow mushrooms have eaten away his nose and spread out to follow the contours of his face, growing in a way that makes the mushroom caps blend together into a skull shape.

Your heart aches when you see his eyes haven't been eaten away yet, the once deep brown turned milky white and staring lifelessly past you, thrashing about in the bindings, rotten teeth gnawing on the ball gag in his mouth, small hisses and malformed muffled clicks echoing through the room.

You try to look down and you stop at his stomach, forcing yourself to breathe in and out slowly because your heart is beating so fast it feels like you'll have a panic attack. You have no idea if this will work and doing this to Simon only to find out it's as useless as all your previous attempts to cure him. . . you're sure it would break you. Closing your eyes and counting to ten you will yourself to focus, your eyes opening slowly and following the trail of little mushroom caps down to his groin.

It's not what you expected., but it's. . . a lot; Mushroom caps have replaced the lips of his cunt, similar to the hard growths on his head but these look thinner and longer, almost like flower petals framing his cunt, bright red at the corners and getting progressively lighter as it nears his hole. A sort of morbid curiosity compels you to reach out brushing your fingertips against the caps. They're surprisingly softer than you had expected, smooth and slick with some kind of slime. You can't help but notice how a longer stalked mushroom grows from what had been his clit.

You jerk your hand back when a second brush of your fingers makes his body to jerk back and attempt to fight against the restraints, more angry clicks vibrating his throat.

But you also notice a kind of… sweet scent in the air and it's coming from him. Cautiously you brush against the caps again, slowly dipping your fingers under to touch the gills underneath. You keep your hand where it is when he thrashes again, but you're certain that smell is stronger now, and you catch the glimpse of clear viscous slick slowly leak from his hole.

Carefully you push a finger into his hole in an attempt to stretch him out. Logically you know that he probably doesn't feel it, but it feels wrong to just stick your cock in him; He's cold. You know he's dead but you had held out some hope that he would be warmer, that there would be some signs of life despite how stupid that sounds.

He's dry right now, but more of that clear fluid seeps around your fingers and lubes the way as you experimentally push your finger all the way up to the last knuckle, and you felt his muscles flutter around you, clenching down as if trying to draw you in deeper. His head continued to thrash around, no change in the feral behavior, but you still try to be gentle, pushing one then two fingers in and slowly scissoring him open.

You pull your fingers out when his hole has relaxed enough to let you easily slide your fingers in and out, and he's produced enough slick to completely drench your hand. You try to look at him as you press your cock against his fluttering hole, but the sight of his milky eyes almost makes you soft on the spot so you screw your eyes closed and slowly slide in.

Despite how cold and wet his cunt is, you haven't felt anyone's touch, even your own, since he got infected, and a part of you feels disgusted at how a bit of pleasure traces up your spine. He continues to hiss and click as you bottom out, his hips bucking wildly you have to press them down. You set a slower pace than you're used to, keeping your thrusts even and consistent, afraid to tear anything but your fear is seemingly misplaced. He's so much wetter than he'd ever get before he got infected, slick wetly squelching as you bottom out over and over again, clicks and snarls accompanying every move you make.

You're ashamed to say you don't last long. Fuck, is he tight you've been ignoring your body for so long that when you accidentally brush against the stalk growing from his clit and his cunt suddenly tightens up like a vice you cum on the spot, your hips doing little minute twitches as you empty so much of your cum in his cunt that your balls hurt. You pull out just as slowly, both of your mixed fluids leaking out and almost getting caught by the soft mushrooms framing his hole.

You muster up the courage to look him in the eyes, and your heart breaks when his lifeless eyes blindly stare back at you.

You feel like a fool when the first time doesn't work, he's still just a body pupated by a fungus. And you feel like an even bigger fool when you agree to do this a second time.

But the third time. . .

You don't know if it's just wishful thinking but he seems more. . . alert. His head always follows you when you approach him but now his milky eyes almost seem to be looking at your face instead of staring straight through you. He's strangely still on the chair, teeth gnawing on the ball gag but he doesn't try to get out of the restraints.

He doesn't screech when you gently caress the soft outer mushroom caps framing his cunt, instead his chest vibrates with more deep clicks. Nor does he start to wildly writhe on the chair when you slowly sink a finger into his cunt, finding it's already wet with slick. If anything he almost seems to chase(more like stumble) after the sensation, his hips doing small little movements to push your finger deeper into him.

Emboldened by childish hope you do something you hadn't before and reach with your other hand to slowly trace the long stalk of the clitshroom (not a term you coined), before rubbing the base of the cap like you would your own cock.

You nearly jump out of your skin when the gentle pressure of your fingers makes him buck into your hands and let out an ear-piercing screech that the gag has trouble muffling. You pull your hands away and that worsens the problem, the shrieking turning into literal chest rumbling snarls as Simon starts to struggle against the bindings.

Panic rushing down your system you put your hands were they were, gently stroking the 2 inch long mushroom growing from his clit. His hips buck up to chase after your hand, the snarls reverting back into shrieks, but as you stroke him longer they gradually die down to low pitched clicks and whistles. You're stumped; the clicks sound a lot like a cat's puff, his hole fluttering and clenching around your fingers as you slowly push them inside.

He's warmer now, not quite how he was before, but not cold as a corpse either. You know that you've gone completely mad by the fact he starts to gyrate his hips— grinding down just as you get knuckles deep so your fingers can brush against the sensitive spots inside him — makes your mind think that it's a bit of your Simon coming back.

You shake your head and pull your hands away, taking hold of his trembling thighs. You're greeted with another deep snarl but he quiets down immediately when you start to slowly push into him. He feels even tighter now, and you watch how his head falls back on the headrest, a long series of low clicks and whistles squirming past the gag.

His hips move to meet your slow thrusts, tight warm walls squeezing down every time you attempt to pull out just like he used to do. And that thought has your body increasing the pace automatically, your balls slapping against his ass, every sharp thrust hitting something spongy inside him and drawing out a sharp click, the rough pace leaving you panting.

Mindlessly you look up, too caught up in the moment remembering how Simon loved eye contact to remember the situation you're in.

He's looking straight at you.

You halt mid thrust, the low hiss he lets out falling on deaf ears as you tilt your head to the side. You're not insane, his eyes follow you. They're still milky, but they don't look through you. He's looking at you.

Another rough clicking sound leaves him and he thrusts his hips down against yours with enough strength to bruise, almost impatient. Despite how stupid it is you reach out and quickly unbuckle the gag with trembling fingers. "Si?" You say, unable to hide the hope in your voice. "Are you there?" You lean over him, looking hopefully into his eyes. "Do you remember me?"

His jaw moves like he's munching on a survivor, but all that leaves his mouth are more clicks and rough grunts.

Fuck. You are a fool.

A sob tears through your chest before you can stop it, ducking your head down to lay it on his chest. You're unable to keep the fresh tears from falling on him, watering the damned mushrooms that had taken him from you. You can't stop the sobs from coming, your back bowed and shoulders shaking as you cry just as much as the day you first lost him.

His chest vibrates with another long series of clicks and whistles, just pouring salt on the gaping would in your chest.

Your name rights through the room.

It's scratchy, rough, almost incomprehensible to your ears, but it's your name.

You look up so quickly you almost snap his neck. "Simon?" You whisper, staying in him even as you feel yourself soften. "Are you in there?" You slowly reach out to hold his face, careful not to cut your hands on the sharp mushroom caps along his cheeks.

He looks at you back, jaw moving still, but he doesn't try to bite the flesh of your palms despite your hands being right there. "Ckckck-" He clicks, pupils going from pinpricks to blown out, "Ckckrkck- Mo- ckck-ve." He manages, a thrust of his hips accompanying the order.

Your heart leaps to your throat and you can do nothing but follow it, sliding one hand down to dig your nails into his thigh, looming over him as you pull out until only the head is inside and them slam into him that there's an audible clap of skin on skin as you bottom out. A half shriek half click half "Yes!" escapes him as he throws his head back, slack jawed.

A whole range of noises escapes him as you hammer into him with all you've got, one hand remaining always on his face. You can feel him getting hotter the longer you pound into him, body shaking as each thrust nails his sensitive spot. He gets progressively tighter and tighter as you fuck into him, and you let go of his thigh to carefully strike along the long shaft of the clitshroom.

He shrieks at the top of his lungs and his cunt clenches down on you like a vice, fluttering around you and gripping your cock like it doesn't want you to pull out. It pulls you into an orgasm,

"Simon?" You whisper, staying in him even as you feel yourself soften. He's too silent compared to how vocal he had been a few moments ago. "Are you in there?"

His head rolls a bit, peering at you through through his lashes, tongue moving heavily in his mouth and lips twitching up into a soft of barely-there grin. "Cckck- l- ckckc- love- ckrk-you -ckkckrkckck-"

Taglist: @dead-end-stuff

[caeunot]

johnnie guilbert x reader

johnnie writing zombie about you

idea by @beansnsoup !

➷ you and johnnie have known each other for almost two years now, you two hang out at least once a week, normally to do a video since everytime you two collab the video gets at least 100k more views.. but also because you guys get along so well. everytime your together you both laugh so hard there are tears and unlike jake you keep your space clean so videos don't need a whole cleaning crew to sort out the mess afterwards. either way you two have become pretty close, and when johnnie told you he was working on a new song you were so excited. you love all his music and you always try to watch every cover post he does on tiktok.

you showed up to jake and johnnies place to sleep over since you live an hour away and you are free both today and tomorrow so you might as well stay longer. you normally sleep in johnnies bed and johnnie sleeps on the couch since they don't have a spare room, you are fine sleeping on couch but johnnie insists everytime that you get his room.

the moment you came in the house something felt a little off, like as if there was an unusual energy in the air or that there's a secret between them that your not let into. you don't let it get to you since you were about to go on jake's live.

"jake no offence but why do you always make me eat the most unhealthy shit ever", you say as the live was ending. " okay y/n that's just mean, this is my diet your talking about ", " next time I'm on your live and you like faint from too much sugar ill refuse to drive you to the hospital, I'll just leave you there and take your room so johnnie doesn't have to sleep on the couch when I stay over" jake rolls his eyes. "so basically what your saying is that you want me dead so you could be roommates with johnnie instead.. I see how it is..." you shove him slightly and he screams dramatically and grabs his arm in fake pain. you laugh and the both of you say goodbye to chat.

"that was great, I think that was our best yet!" jake says cleaning up the mess he made. "I think so too! I wish johnnie could have joined though". you noticed how jake immediately got a massive smile on his face, " hey what's that smile for" you say giggling. "oh nothing" jake says winking before starting to drive you both back to the house.

a few minutes after coming back johnnie comes up to you, wanting to show you something. he leads you to his room and sits down on his bed. he starts petting the spot next to him, letting you know you can sit. as you sat he leaned behind and pulled out his guitar. "oh yay are you going to show me your new song!" you say doing a small clap. "yup! it's the one I've been talking about the past few weeks!" he says, you notice his voice is a little shakey but you figure it's normal when singing to a person alone. he cleared his throat and began singing.

Blood red sheets are my favorite

I could be your greatest weakness

'Cause she's got me so damn nervous

I'm a zombie, baby, what's my purpose?

you were enjoying the song so much you were barely taking note of the lyrics, at the end you gave him a massive hug. "johnnie that was great! I think this is my new favorite song of yours, you better be putting it on Spotify".

he blushed slightly, "I'm glad you like it! but I wana ask like.. what do you think of it". you tilt your head to the side a bit confused, "wait what do you mean?". " it's, uh, never mind don't worry" johnnie says putting his guitar away giving you a weak smile.

the energy was really weird now, the feeling you had before was 10x worse and you had no idea why.

a few hours later you said goodnight to the boys and got into bed, you had sat on your phone for a bit when the events of the day really started to sink in and you hated that there was unresolved issues, so you texted johnnie asking if he's awake. as you sent the text you saw a light flash on the bed. you check and it's johnnies phone

y/n 🧟‍♂️ ♥️:

heyy, i don't want to wake you just incase your asleep but if you aren't can we talk?

you laughed at the fact he put a zombie by your contact name, but as you were about to get out of bed to give him his phone it struck you. johnnies song is literally called zombie, maybe that has something to do with the emoji by your contact name. you immediately tried to recall the lyrics of his song,

I want your heart

I want your brain and that body

'Cause you got me going too insane

You can't control mе

I want your heart

I want your brain and that body

'Cause you got me acting likе a fucking zombie

y/n you absolute dumbass, johnnie wasn't just playing a song for you! he was singing his feelings. it all makes sense now, you know for a fact that johnnie gets really anxious when talking about his feelings and if he ever did want to ask you out he probably would be to shy to say it outright, jake probably knew and that's why the energy was so awkward today!

you immediately jump out of bed and go to the living room, you see johnnie typing something on his laptop but when he notices you he smiles closing his it, "you okay? it's pretty late" he asks as you sit down next to him. "johnnie can I ask you something?" you say biting your lip. "sure what's up".

"who was the person you wrote zombie about?" you said, ripping off the bandaid. at first he opened his mouth but then shut it again looking away, even in the dark you are noticing how he is getting flushed. "johnnie?", he didn't answer and instead put his arms under yours and held you for a soft hug, " it's you y/n, I wrote it about you" the hug lingered for awhile just like the silence in the air.

"johnnie I feel the same" you say after the hug finishes. "wait, really?", you take his hands in your own, "yes, really". he says nothing but then leans in for a soft kiss that you reciprocate, his hands gently fall onto your waist, as your kiss started turning more intense johnnie pulls away taking you off guard, "wait, before we carry on its my turn to ask a question" you make a confused face. "can I call you my girlfriend?" you let out a little laugh, "yes, yes yes yes!!" you say as you leaned in again, and this time you can feel his smile through each and every kiss.

❣

[eddieandbird]

Answer the Question—

You and Eddie get interviewed and talk about your relationship.

Part 1 | Part 2

tags/warnings: fluff | 2.9k words | f!reader | rockstar!eddie

———

Eddie’s crooked smile was illuminated by the dim yellow light of the hotel room and that was about the only thing you could see in your haze.

“To us getting hitched. Cheers, sweetheart,” He said, severely underestimating your lack of coordination.

Your distorted vision paired with your poor reaction time didn’t allow you to correctly tip your wine glass to his beer. He continued anyway, pushing the glass right out of your hand and onto your dress.

“Aw, dammit! Look what you did,” You whined, uselessly patting at the crimson stain.

“It’s not my fault you’ve got butterfingers,” He grumbled, unsteadily hovering as he pointed to you.

“You’re such a dick,” You huffed, rushing to the bathroom to assess the damage.

You were much more of a mess than you thought. The formal up-do you had was holding onto your hairpins for dear life and your mascara had morphed into dark circles around your eyes.

Despite the rough state you were in, Eddie refused to leave you alone, especially when he felt guilty for ruining your dress. You tried to push him away as he attempted to interrupt you studying your reflection, yet his hands still found a way to get to you.

“C’mon, let’s take this off, huh?” He took the top hem of your dress in between his fingers and tugged on it lightly.

“No, I feel so gross,” You slurred, stomping petulantly in place.

“That’s why we’re getting you out of this thing, you brat. Just let me help,” Eddie scoffed.

He slowly unzipped the back of your dress, revealing your back. He paused, a lump forming in his throat as he drank in the sight of you. He'd seen you in tank tops and even a bikini once before, but seeing you nearly naked in front of him made him nervous.

He swallowed as he took a step closer to you, gently nudging you away from the mirror. "You're not gross. Don’t be ridiculous," he whispered, his eyes glued to you protectively.

“Oh, please. You’re just saying that because you’re my wife, huh?” Your brows were knitted with your eyes barely peeking open.

“You’re my wife, stupid,” He snickered at your verbal mistake. He couldn’t tease you too much for the slip up considering he was the one struggling to get your dress off, a bathrobe on you, and lay you gently on the bed without dropping you.

“Whatever,” You stuck your tongue out at him.

All his drunken hard work was for nothing as you just as quickly shed the bathrobe, tossing it over the bedside lamp and climbing into the covers.

Eddie took a moment to take in the sight of you in just your underwear, his heartbeat quickening at the thought of being so close to your nearly naked body. He quickly stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed next to you, pulling the sheets up.

He moved closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer to him. "Go to sleep, idiot," he sighed affectionately.

“You suck,” You quipped, playfully biting his hand as you watched it hover over you and rest right at your collarbone.

”Um hello? Did I lose you somewhere?” Eddie waved his hand in front of your face, making you blink rapidly.

“What? No- I mean yes! Sorry, what are we talking about?” as always, you were frazzled when you woke up from your daydream.

“God, you’re impossible,” he scrubbed his face in his hand. “I was asking you if we should say we went on our first date before or after you became my manager,”

“After. I think it’ll sound better,”

He rolled his eyes. It was the right answer, however, he could just tell you were only halfway there physically. The amount of times Eddie has caught you completely spacing out since your wedding night was becoming concerning.

“You’re about to do your first televised appearance as my wife, could you please act a little less like a zombie?”

“Cut me some slack! I don’t typically do public speaking, I’m terrified!” You squeaked.

Eddie scoffed, readying a quip to give back to you, but quickly dropped it. Instead, he hooked his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into a hug. For a split second, you considered pushing the gesture away, but similarly to Eddie, you gave in and returned the embrace.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I guess I’m just a bit nervous too. I don’t want to embarrass you or whatever,” He muttered.

A pout crept up on your face as Eddie let himself slip into vulnerability again. “Hey, it’s alright. You’re really good at these interviews. You’re a pro at this point, I can’t imagine you letting me down,”

You applied a few comforting pats on his back. Eddie leaned into your embrace, taking comfort in the way you wrapped your arms around him.

"Thanks," he mumbled, his voice muffled in the crook of your neck. "You're right, I just..." He took a deep breath. "I don't want to screw this all up."

He pulled back slightly to look at you, his eyes flitting across your face. "But I know I can count on you to have my back, right?" he asked, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

“Always, rockstar,” You nodded before scooping his hand into yours.

“Mr. and Mrs. Munson, we’re ready for you now,” A stagehand popped into the green room to say.

In unison, you and Eddie both took a deep breath. Your hands remained linked as you stood up and began your journey to the back of the stage. Once there, the both of you instinctively got into your typical warm-up positions that you’d get into with the band; flicking out your wrists and articulating your faces to relax the muscles. Eddie couldn't help but feel reassured by the sight of your linked hands and your shared warm-up routine. He was grateful for the familiar ritual, something that felt like a small tether to the life he was used to.

“Break a leg, Munson,” You saluted him.

“You too, Munson,” He shot a smirk back.

With a final deep breath, he patted you on the shoulder before stepping on stage to the sound of applause and cheers. You and Eddie came out with your heads held high and your hands attached. With a few waves and blown kisses to the crowd, you sat on the set couch in front of the interview host, Jessica Terry.

Her first set of questions was pretty light. They were all surface-level and predictable; Where did you meet? How long you’ve known each other? You almost felt like it gave you a false sense of security because it wasn’t long until Jessica asked a harder-hitting question.

“Why did you wait so long to tell the world about your relationship?” The host asked.

That was the question that burned the hottest in the minds of spectators. Even though you and Eddie had spoken in great detail about how you wanted to answer this, you couldn’t help but feel like there wasn’t enough discussion to fully prepare each other. You swallowed your anxiety and let him take the lead.

Eddie was in his own head as you looked at him to answer. Even with a pre-made script in his head of how he should go about it, he still felt like something was missing. He had a strong desire to speak from his heart.

He cleared his throat before he said

“The obvious answer is for our privacy, but I think it might be deeper than that. When you have something special like love, you can’t help but want to keep it all to yourself, if only for a little while. I wanted to make sure what I felt wasn’t just a small rose bud, but a whole blooming garden before I got to make a whole bouquet out of it,”

Your jaw involuntarily dropped but you lacked any words to say. It was the most eloquent thing you’d ever heard him utter. An unfamiliar ache in your chest came crashing onto you in powerful waves. It now made sense why he refused to speak about his feelings for you before. He laid it out plainly for you and the whole room to hear. You startled yourself as you felt tears beginning to roll down your cheeks.

“Sorry, I um- I get really emotional when he talks like that,” Your voice strained through the tightness in your chest as you dabbed at your face with your knuckles.

Eddie's heart practically stopped as he saw the tears stream down your cheeks. He knew he was laying it on pretty thick when he spoke in such poetic terms, but he didn't expect it to impact you so deeply.

He reached over and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, gently squeezing it. "Hey, it’s alright," he whispered.

Jessica smiled at your apology, touched by the sight of a rockstar known for his wild antics getting all soft and sentimental in front of the cameras.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Mrs. Munson. We all find your guys’ story to be inspiring. It’s obvious that you love each other very much,” The host offered a sympathetic smile and claps to encourage applause from the audience.

She mentioned that dreaded four-letter word and for a moment you forgot to keep up the etiquette around speaking to the interviewer and the audience. Your eyes were set on Eddie, looking a bit vacant as more pieces began to connect in your mind. He nodded at you, silently communicating that you needed to continue.

“Yeah, you’re right, Jessica. I do love him. I love him a lot,” Saying it caused your voice to tremble subtly, but the nodding of your head reinforced it.

Your sickly sweet response was enough to fool everyone in that room except for Eddie. His brain felt like it was on fire. He couldn’t tell if you were being an amazing actress for the sake of your precious plan or if there was any truth to your words.

He knew you well enough to tell that something was off. Your words felt too genuine to be entirely fake, but at the same time, there was something else in your tone. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He was eager to ask why the hell you were crying and saying all these things, but for now, he was locked into this interview with no way out. He had to act like this was all some romantic moment between the two of you.

“I love you, too. More than anything, I love you,” Like a child would do with their favorite toy, he took your hand in his and pressed it to his chest. His heartbeat vibrated against your palm and it caused your own heartbeat to be just as erratic.

The audience let out a collective "aww" at his declaration. Eddie's heart skipped a beat at the feeling of your hand, the rapid beating of his heart almost as fast as the thoughts racing through his mind. The host, sensing the sincerity of the moment, wrapped up the interview quickly, leaving Eddie and you alone for the first time since you stepped on stage.

As soon as they called cut, Eddie practically dragged you behind the curtain, away from the prying eyes of the crew and cameras. Your legs struggled to keep up with his frantic movement.

“Hey! Slow down, you know I can barely walk in heels. You’re gonna make me break an ankle-”

“What the hell happened out there?” Eddie halted your half-hearted complaint with a more pointed question.

A shrug was accompanied by your sheepish, wide-eyed look. “What do you mean? I think it all went great. I mean the crowd was practically eating out of the palms of our hands,”

“Oh cut the shit, would ya?” he gave an exaggerated sigh. “You think I didn’t notice the way you looked at me out there? All smitten and shit while you said you loved me,”

You wanted to take a step back, but his arm snaked around your waist and yanked you to him.

“Please don’t make me feel crazy. That look meant something, right? Don’t tell me it was part of the act,”

“That look? I mean-” You stuttered.

This should have been easy to deny. You should have been able to laugh it off, but your inability to lie to him came in when you least expected it.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” You sighed, hanging your head in surrender.

"Don't give me that!" he snapped, pushing you closer to him. "I saw you crying out there, and don't think I didn't notice you spacing out in the green room before the interview.”

He took a deep breath, trying to keep his cool. “Just tell me. What the hell is going on with you?”

“I don’t know. I know that’s probably the last thing you want to hear, but that’s the truth,” Your eyes widened like a scolded child’s.

“You have to understand how confusing all this is for me. We got married one night and the next day you’re telling me I need to pretend I love you, so I do it. I do anything to be a good manager and a good friend, but now I also have to be your wife for the cameras and you tell me you have real feelings for me and I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel,”

You two were silent for a moment, the only noise to be heard was the chatter outside and your heaving breaths. What tethered you to this moment was his golden brown eyes locked onto yours, both of your faces now mere inches away from each other. Eddie took his hand and traced your collarbone to your shoulder before pushing your hair behind it. From your shoulder, he dragged his fingers down your arm and connected his hand to his.

“I don’t care about how you think you’re supposed to feel… What do you actually feel? How do you feel about me?”

His request hung in the air like thick smoke. You couldn’t escape those questions for much longer, not when he had his hands on you like this. You could feel the heat from the crimson flush blooming on your cheeks.

“Eddie, please don’t-”

“Answer the question,” He deflected your plea.

Your tea kettle of emotions was finally whistling with steam. “Fine! I’m in love with you, okay?!”

You shocked him with your outburst. His mind struggled to process your confession. He knew deep down that you couldn't have just been putting on an act during the interview. He searched your face for any sign of dishonesty, but the flush of your cheeks and the way your eyes flicked between his own told him everything he needed to know. You were telling the truth.

“Don’t just stand there, Eddie. Say something,” You demanded quietly. He stood motionless. He could hear you, but he couldn’t do anything.

“Hey… Hey!” You swatted at his arm repeatedly, desperately trying to get him to say something. “This is your fault. It’s all your fault,”

It was just to get a reaction out of him, but it still didn’t prevent Eddie from scoffing into a chuckle under his breath.

“It’s my fault? My fault that we got married?”

“It’s your fault that I fell in love with you,” You pushed his shoulder to create distance, but all he did was grab hold of your hand again.

He took a step closer, closing the gap between the two of you once again then ran a thumb over your bottom lip. "Let me get this straight. You're saying falling in love with me was entirely my fault?"

You nipped at his thumb to get him to move then stuck your tongue into your cheek.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. It’s your fault that you’re a pain in my ass but at the same time, the most incredible person I’ve ever met,” The fight in your voice died down as you finished your sentence. “You’re messy and annoying and charming and sweet and—“

“Mhm, mhm,” Eddie nodded almost condescendingly. “So when’s the part of your rant where you shut up and kiss me?”

“You really suck, you know that?” You shook your head with a wide grin of disbelief.

He began leaning toward you, his head dipping down to capture your lips with his. His teasing demeanor quickly faded as he kissed you. The initial soft pecks slowly turned into something deeper and more passionate as he held the back of your neck. He took a step forward, pressing you up against the wall and trapping your body with his.

Then the sudden sound of the curtain swooshing open startled you and Eddie, breaking your kiss.

“Ugh, gross. There you two are,” Gareth’s voice dripped in his disgust as he discovered the both of you.

“Dude, what the hell?” Eddie angrily gestured to his bandmate.

“I’ve been looking for you guys everywhere. We gotta get on the bus if we wanna make it to the next show. Let’s get out of here!” He lightly smacked Eddie’s cheek.

You could tell Eddie could beat the shit out of Gareth for interrupting the moment. You tugged on his arm and gave him a glare that said ‘Behave,’.

“He’s right, rockstar. We gotta go,” You smiled with your nose scrunched before leading him out.

[trillscienceofficer]

I would like to clarify that when I say that Seven's situation on Voyager is fucked up (like in this post I wrote yesterday) I don't mean that Janeway should've listened to her demands and let her go in “The Gift”, or that Janeway and the Doctor had no right to start removing her implants (leaving them would've killed her after all). What I mean is that the fucked-upness is in the whole situation that made Seven's reclamation from the Borg possible but also put her in an environment (the USS Voyager) where survival is guaranteed by the close collaboration of everyone on board, which also means concessions of personal freedom and privacy. Other crewmembers entered this pact voluntarily (we can discuss some other time what choice did the Maquis actually have other than join the crew), but Seven unequivocally did not. Yet it's the only way she could've been reclaimed because we know, and the show drives this point home multiple times, that she was so young when she was assimilated that Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One alone would always choose the Borg. She knew of no other alternative.

I don't think letting Seven go back to the Borg in “The Gift” would've been an actually ethical choice, even if it's true that that was what she wanted. She was undoubtedly a prisoner, but I think that we forget (well, I do sometimes at least) that Seven, outside of any metaphor, can be very dangerous. She is strong and quick, she has Borg weaponry and technology at her disposal, she is relentless when pursuing her goal, and even as a drone she knows how Voyager works inside and out. Janeway took the gamble of disconnecting her from the Collective in “Scorpion, part 2” because they were expecting her to try and assimilate Voyager on her own, which she promptly tried to do as soon as the Species 8472 was no longer the main threat. So imho the ethical question posed by “The Gift” is, what do you do when an extremely dangerous individual asks you to be freed so she can rejoin the genocidal alien army of brainwashed zombies that terrorizes the galaxy? They will likely pursue you afterwards, but even if by some lucky chance they don't, you'll still have given back both a weapon and cannon fodder to the genocidal alien army. In addition to that, there's the concrete possibility that your prisoner might one day start living a different life once the brainwashing loses its hold on her.

So no, I really don't think that Janeway made a bad or even questionable choice in “The Gift”, even if it's painful to see Seven struggle against it. The complication has only just started at that point, imho. The fucked-upness comes from her having to “become an individual” in a highly-regulated and closely-surveilled community, one she could've never chosen on her own. On one hand this allows Seven to develop skills she completely lacked in a somewhat safe environment, but on the other hand it limits quite severely what she can or can't do. And while at first she rails against those limitations (she spends the entirety of season 4 doing just that), with time she starts understanding the value of living on Voyager. She manages to resist the Borg Queen's threats in “Dark Frontier” because she has learned compassion in the meantime, eventually choosing voluntarily to return to Voyager. It's a turning point that definitely does a lot to compensate for her lack of agency in “The Gift”. She thinks of Voyager as her new collective, which is equally a testament of how far she's come as much as it is a worrying admission that her new group identity is not that far off the Borg, in her mind.

By season 7 Seven is outright grateful for everything Janeway has done for her, but it still doesn't make her arc learning to ‘fit in’ any less of an exercise in shaping herself into the mold she was given as her only possible future. Is it better than being a murderous, mind-controlled zombie? Yes, it absolutely still is. Seven's independent thoughts and actions now matter, even when they clash with the rules, which is just not comparable with being a Borg drone in any way. Yet it's easy to see why her role on Voyager is also stifling, and that again she can't choose differently because she knows of no other alternative, and none are available to her anyway.

The fucked-upness also comes from extra-diegetical, production reasons, of course. The stupid ideas about what a woman is and what Seven should do to really be one (does she even want to be one?), the fact that a medical practitioner could control so closely how she presents and what she eats, the lack of actual clothes in order to make her a sexy babe for the 90s Trek target audience (“males aged 16-40”), the lack of locks on Cargo Bay 2 where she regenerates, and many other aspects that I'm sure I'm forgetting now... Ignorant, ‘default’ assumptions on how things ‘are’ that the show simply refuses to acknowledge. I know they only seem so obvious now because more than twenty years have passed since Star Trek: Voyager was on the air and the culture (in the US) has changed so much since then. This, I agree, is the kind of fucked up that I could easily do without and Seven's story would be better for it.

So in conclusion, when I say that Seven's situation is fucked up it's not so much because I think Kathryn Janeway should have chosen differently when it came to her; it's more that Seven's arc on Voyager is very complicated, for the most part, by design. Even if I think Janeway could've handled some things in a different way, in most cases it makes sense for her character to have taken those decisions regarding Seven, and I don't always think it would've made for a better story if she hadn't. Obviously I wish the production-level assumptions weren't there, and I think part of what Star Trek: Picard did right in its first season was flipping a lot of those assumptions on their head in just a handful of episodes where Seven appears.

Personally I find it valuable to keep in mind that Seven's storyline on Voyager can be complicated and fucked up without necessarily wanting to make it ‘better’. It still is interesting and effective because it's far from perfect, because everyone tried the best they could given the very difficult circumstances, because we've never seen the whole crew, much less the Captain, outside of survival mode. Yet Seven is also a survivor of almost unimaginable violence and coercion and it makes sense, I think, that her presence regularly poses ethical challenges to what other characters and even the audience might consider ‘right choices’ or ‘right behavior’. Survivors in real life, I think, often challenge our societies (none of them perfect, and where many also live in survival mode) in precisely the same way.

[slayfics]

Unknown Pleasures Ch. 3

You’ve had a crush on Katsuki Bakugo since joining UA, but will another student change your mind?

1.3k words

Chapter links

The following day after your argument, Katsuki was sitting in the common room of the dorms, eating breakfast before classes. He saw you make your way down from the dorms and walk into the kitchen to grab some food.

Once you had grabbed your food you quickly scanned the room and made your way over to take a seat next to Hitoshi. Katsuki blinked, expecting the sight to disappear. Sure, you two had argued last night, but that wasn't an uncommon occurrence. Usually, these fights were forgotten the next day and you'd go back to prancing by Katsuki's side.

Katsuki heard your stunt last night, the way you raised your voice so he could clearly hear you talking to Hitoshi. He knew it was a stunt to try and make him jealous. Why were you still keeping this act up though, he wondered. It's not like he could believe you actually cared for that purple haired freak. The dude looked like a zombie, and he was far behind the rest of your class with hero work. There was nothing admirable about him at all.

Yet, there you sat having breakfast with him. Smiling about something. Katsuki grunted, and decided you'd get over your tantrum eventually and realize your act wasn't working. Katsuki almost felt bad for Hitoshi, who plainly had a crush on you. Didn't you realize it was cruel for you to use him that way?

Katsuki watched as you and Hitoshi finished up eating and made your way out of the dorms together. A sinking feeling hit his stomach when you didn't turn to glance at him even once. Didn't you want to see if your ruse was working? Wouldn't you want to check if Katsuki looked upset by you giving your attention to someone else?

"Hey man you alright?" Eijiro asked, snapping Katsuki out of his thoughts.

Katsuki clicked his tongue, "What the fuck was that about?" he asked, head bobbing in the direction of you and Hitoshi leaving the building.

"Oh, those two? I don't know but they were up late last night hanging out," Eijiro answered.

"Are you serious?" Katsuki snapped. He had heard your comment complimenting Hitoshi's room, but he hadn't heard you stayed to talk to him for any longer than that.

"Yeah, I was going downstairs to get some water when I saw her leave Shinso's room. I know you guys had a fight last night, everything ok?" Eijiro questioned.

"Everything is fine," he grunted.

Eijiro hummed unconvinced, "Ok if you say so, but if you're worried maybe you should talk to her. Apologize," he suggested.

"HAH? For what!?" Katsuki exclaimed.

"I don't know- whatever you two fought about. I’m just saying don’t you want to be on good terms with the person you like?” Eijiro asked.

“I didn’t say I like her!” Katsuki yelled.

“Oh... so you don’t like her?” Eijiro questioned, tilting his head confused. He knew Katsuki well by now and it was obvious to him Katsuki had some type of feelings for you.

“I didn’t say that either!” Katsuki barked, becoming even more frustrated.

“Relax man, but you should probably figure that out though… from what I heard she seemed to be getting along really well with Shinso…” Eijiro stated.

“Tch- whatever,” Katsuki mumbled, then quickly grabbed his bag to head off to class.

The rest of the day didn't go any better. Once he walked into class, he saw you sitting on Hitoshi's desk, idly playing with his lavender locks while you two chatted. Give it up already, Katsuki grunted to himself. Paying no attention to you or Hitoshi, Katsuki took his seat near the front of the class. The problem was, you didn't pay any mind to Katsuki either. Continuing your conversation with Hitoshi without a second thought to Katsuki entering the room.

Katsuki found himself letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding when Aizawa walked in causing you and Hitoshi to finally separate.

What the hell could eye bags even be talking to you about that was so interesting anyway. The useless shit he learned in general studies?

Throughout Aizawa's lecture, Katsuki found his thoughts wandering off.

Did you not care at all about your fight with him? Why hadn’t you said anything to him all day? Are you actually interested in Hitoshi?

Katsuki expected that by lunch time things would have gone back to normal. However, he couldn’t have been more wrong. When Aizawa dismissed the class for lunch, you bounced right over to Hitoshi. A wide grin adorned your face as you two walked to the cafeteria.

What the fuck?

Katsuki's grip on his bag tightened, and his knuckles whitened. Couldn’t you stop playing around and drop the act already?

Completely focused on watching you and Hitoshi disappear into the crowd, he didn’t hear the perky redhead sneak up behind him.

“You look pretty upset man,” Eijiro observed.

“I’M FINE!” Katsuki yelled, alerting some passing students to jump.

But he wasn’t fine. The pit in his stomach only grew as he watched you scoot closer to Hitoshi at lunch. The two of you laughed at something you showed him on your phone.

The way Hitoshi leaned into you to get a better view of your screen made Katsuki want to scream. Did you intend to keep this up until Katsuki gave in and said something? Or worse… was this real? Were you actually enjoying Hitoshi’s company?

As more time passed, Katsuki found it harder and harder to deny that this act was just a show. His ego argued with him that you couldn't actually be interested in another boy. Yet, there you sat laughing and smiling with someone else.

Then it all came to a head during the afternoon training session.

The training was simple sparing matches. A random drawing decided which two students would spar together. Comically so, Katsuki and Hitoshi were paired to spar.

You felt your breath catch in your throat when the match was announced. Why did it have to be Katsuki? Your nerves stood on end, as the two boys made their way to the designated sparring ground.

It's fine, you attempted to soothe yourself. Katsuki obviously didn't care about you or Hitoshi, right? If he did, he would have attempted to reconcile today after the nasty fight you two had last night.

The whole class was on edge as they waited for the spar to begin. As if everyone was wondering the same thing, Katsuki wouldn't go too hard on him right?

But just as Katsuki had underestimated your feelings for Hitoshi, everyone underestimated Katsuki's jealousy.

Within a few minutes of the spar, Katsuki had Hitoshi on the floor. The recent transfer to the hero course was no match for the experienced Katsuki. Attempting to hold his own, Hitoshi wrapped the capture scarf around Katsuki's wrists to no avail. A strong blast still came his way effectively knocking him out cold.

Katsuki's jealousy and rage getting the best of him, he let out another explosion directed at his classmate despite him being already knocked out on the floor. Aizawa quickly stepped in to stop the now one-sided beating.

Once the smoke and rubble had cleared the gruesome scene came into view. Hitoshi was on the floor, unconscious, fresh wounds across his face, dirtied from the soot of Katsuki's explosions.

The sight elicited a frenzy response from you. Your fists clenched, face hot, and ears ringing you trampled over to the sparing ground. Interrupting the lecture Katsuki was receiving from Aizawa, you broke in between and slapped Katsuki across the face.

Everyone froze, even Aizawa was caught off guard by your behavior.

Katsuki looked at you astonished, speechless for one of the first times in his life.

"YOU DIDN'T NEED TO GO THAT HARD!" You yelled.

The stinging on his cheek, the distraught look in your eyes, and the venom laced in your words made the realization finally hit. It wasn't an act.

"You really like him?" Katsuki mused almost to himself.

sinners: @unofficialmuilover @maddietries @fiannee @derangedmango @reneinii @peachsukii @abadbitchblogs @deluluforcarlos55 @that-one-fangirl69 @pinkpurpledreams

[koqabear]

till tomorrow comes [0]

♫: rises the moon, Liana Flores

“It’s official; the human life expectancy is now lower than it was ten years ago— and it’s expected to keep lowering in the future. Humans have become weak, feeble beings; with morale low and the human population lower, you find yourself clinging onto the last hope there is: the news of a new ongoing experiment, hoping to find the cause and restore human beings back to their prime— you’ve been told only good news about its progress. 

What you haven’t been told, however, is just how far they are willing to push the limits of humanity and science.”

ot5 x fem!reader. Beomgyu centric.

▹genre: Zombie Apocalypse!AU, interactive au!

▹chapter wc: 3.7K

▹about this chapter: beomgyu focus, fluff, a bit of angst if you really close your eyes and believe; the tension is there yet its not at all.. but no warnings otherwise. check masterlist for more information

notes: this is the prologue, so there’s no poll that will go along with this! that’ll happen… soon ! but for now, our characters are safe and sound :)

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[0]— There's Always Tomorrow.

“I don’t think I can keep doing this.”

A half-pitied, half-sympathetic look is all Beomgyu can muster to send your way. Your back aches and your eyes have begun to dry out from how long you’ve been sitting before your computer, continuing to tackle the workload that never seems to end. You find yourself pouting at your friend’s lack of response to your dramatics, straightening up and stretching your sore muscles as you glance back from your spot at the kitchen table; your eyes linger on his form, slouched and tired as he hovers over the stove, clearly lost in thought as he stares off into the distance, out the small window placed beside him— and you sigh. 

“Smells good,” you mutter quietly, breaking Beomgyu out of trance, the boy flinching at the sudden sound of your voice; he turns back to you, eyes lighting up playfully, examining your equally tired form, “d’you make enough for two by chance?” 

“As if,�� Beomgyu scoffs, but even so, he proceeds to reach into the cabinets to grab dishes— two bowls, two cups, two pairs of chopsticks— the sight garnering a roll of your eyes, choosing to bite your tongue as you turn back around in your seat, back to the essays and assignments that no longer seemed to make sense to you; behind you, a soft clatter sounds— you find yourself softly humming along to the playlist Beomgyu has put on in the background.

“You really should learn how to manage your time better,” Beomgyu scolds you softly, setting a bowl of ramen before you, followed by a glass of water— and he roughly takes a seat beside you, scooting his chair closer, your shoulders bumping as he looks over at your screen, “You’re always procrastinating for no reason.” 

“I know you’re not talking,” you sneer light-heartedly, shutting your laptop before placing it off to the side; you’re mixing the ramen around absentmindedly, watching the steam pour out as you speak, “you’re literally worse than me.”

He tries to refute you yet again— only this time, Beomgyu finds that he can’t say much to that; he’s had an impeccable track record of pushing things back until the very last minute, and the vice of his has burrowed its way into him since high school, much too late for him to be able to change his ways now. You laugh mockingly at his defeat. 

The rest of your meal is mostly spent in silence; it’s times like these where conversations with Beomgyu always seem to dwindle, having already spent so much of your day together to be able to talk about some new or interesting thing that happened— because by the time the sun has begun to set, you’ve already told Beomgyu everything that’s on your mind. But, with the way life has been going for the both of you recently, even that seems to be sparse. Your body deflates at the reminder of your painfully plain life; a sigh falls from you involuntarily. 

“What’s up with you recently?” Beomgyu asks, raising a brow at your sulking posture, “I’ve never seen you so depressed.”

You’re sending a sheepish smile his way, lips parting to give him some generic excuse, unsure of the real answer yourself— but you’re distracted by the sound of Beomgyu’s calm, quiet playlist switching to something much more drastic, the abrupt sound of nature and birds chirping making your brows knit together, glancing at the speaker that blares these noises to you both. 

“Ugh, I forgot you still have ads on your account,” you groan dramatically, leaning back in your chair to send your friend a judgemental look; Beomgyu seems unphased by it, muttering tiredly for you to be quiet; your comment is both predictable and repetitive, yet you never fail to send him a teasing smile after. 

“It’s okay, nothing wrong with being broke,” you tease further, the monologue of the advertisement practically memorized in your mind; you pause for a second to listen, the familiar preaches to take care of the Earth and the people in it swiftly transitioning to the real purpose of Beomgyu’s music break:

“BioGen seeks to bring back what once belonged to the beings of this planet, to bring forward hope, and develop brighter, stronger generations. Join the cause and…”

“This alone was enough to make me buy premium,” you say, standing from your seat to go wash your dishes, “I was so sick of having to hear that ad every five minutes.”

“You learn to block it out after enough times,” Beomgyu replies, coming up behind you and placing his dishes in the sink, just as you were about done— your eyes glare sharply at him yet your hands have already gotten to work, the boy only giving you a triumphant grin in return, “Guess I’m just better than you.”

Placing his dishes on the drying rack, you protest petulantly— he’s just as quick to mock your whiny tone and taunt you, body closing in on you as the two of you going back and forth like children— with no end to the bickering in sight, you go to flick water at him playfully; he yelps, and before either of you can really think things through, he goes to retaliate. 

The kitchen is filled with sounds of screams, curses, and laughter, the wooden floor becoming slippery and the reasoning behind your quarrel long forgotten; Beomgyu’s playlist queues back on in the background all the while.

The night ends with exhausted giggles and another round of cleaning; your shirt sticks to your body and Beomgyu’s hair drips, and you follow the boy back to the bathroom to get a towel to dry off— leaning back on your hands against the counter, you watch him with tired, heavy eyes. 

“Your hair’s getting longer,” you comment softly, watching Beomgyu fluff and dry his hair, his own gaze glued to the mirror in front of him; his eyes flicker over to you before they go back to himself, fingertips grazing the hair that’s begun to grow past the tops of his ears. 

“I’m getting it cut in a few weeks,” is all he says in return, lips twitching at the way you complain at the news.

“What? I thought you were gonna grow it out,” you pout, the sight of Beomgyu shaking his head softly only making you frown, “What happened to the guy that was so desperate to try and get that wolf cut look?”

“Well, that was when I was seventeen and wasn’t allowed to grow out my hair,” Beomgyu counters, raising a brow and throwing you a knowing look, “plus, I did grow my hair out that summer, remember? It was hell to take care of, I hated it.” 

“You were just lazy,” you mumble to yourself, yelping at the smack you receive on your bicep from the words, “It’s true! You barely tried to style it properly.”

Beomgyu simply smiles and rolls his eyes— he doesn’t bother to respond because he knows you’re right. 

“All of us loved it though,” you say quietly, staring down at your feet and tapping to an invisible rhythm— a song from Beomgyu’s playlist that got stuck in your head probably, he did have some catchy songs in there— “We always thought it made you look pretty.”

The boy huffs out a laugh; memories of your friend group cycle through his mind, all the days where they teased him and played with his hair playing like a movie— jabs and jokes followed with gentle hands that smoothed down his head, tucking stray hairs back and calling him a pretty princess with that annoying cooed tone— a small smile finds its way onto his face, a glance back at you showing that you must be reminiscing the same things, eyes alight and lips curved into a fond smile; feeling his gaze on you, you meet his eyes boldly, fuzzy memories of summers past fading from your mind, taking in how the scrawny boy you’ve known since birth has now turned into the man he is today— and your mind inevitably wanders off to the others.

“I wonder how they’re doing,” you confess, not needing to say any names to let Beomgyu know who you’re talking about; Beomgyu’s face softens, and he turns back to the mirror, squeezing out the last bits of water that remain in his hair as he hums softly, lost in thought.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” he reassures you, curious with the way your gaze remains downcast, “You act like we’ll never see them again.”

“Well, I haven’t heard from them in ages,” you complain, head tilting back to the ceiling, letting out a big sigh for dramatic effect, “the group chat is so dead, and everyone’s so busy these days.”

“I know; I almost miss Yeonjun spamming it,” Beomgyu jokes, bringing about a soft laugh from you; the atmosphere around you lightens up, and Beomgyu finishes up the final touches with his hair, fluffing it up before he throws the towel at you; it lands on your head and covers face unceremoniously, and you yelp indignantly, quick hands taking it off immediately.

“We just have to make it to Friday,” he says firmly, innocent grin an instinctive response to the glare you send his way, “Only a week till Friday and we’ll see everyone, right?”

“Right,” you murmur, narrowed eyes following his figure that backs out the door slowly, clearly trying to escape your silent wrath, “Just make it to Friday.”

“Exactly,” he chirps, your eyes trained on him as he starts to step out the doorway, “try not to be so depressed till then.” 

He jumps out of sight just as you throw the dirty towel right where he once stood; it lands with a sad, heavy plop, and Beomgyu’s victorious laugh rings out the hallway as he runs off to his bedroom, a loud goodnight! is the last thing you hear before his door closes. 

It’s silent; your eyes fall onto the towel that remains on the floor, the roll of your eyes contrasting the smile that grows on your lips. 

“Goodnight,” you call out to the empty hallway, throwing the towel into the hamper before you turn the lights off; the house is shrouded in complete darkness, and you make your way to your bedroom with slow, tired steps; Beomgyu’s words echo in your head without you realizing. 

Just make it to Friday.

Taehyun’s place has always been the ideal place for hangouts for three obvious reasons: it’s the most spacious, he lives alone, and of course, he’s the best cook. 

It’s a fact you’re reminded of as you lay back on the couch and glance over at the mess happening in the kitchen— because Hueningkai just had to insist on helping out, the clumsy boy resigned to dish duties after almost chopping off his finger— twice, all five of you practically jumping out your skins each time he let out an undignified screech, followed by the sound of the knife clattering on the cutting board. And though Taehyun had sent the youngest a scathing glare, the relief in his face was obvious by the way he clutched the fallen knife close to his body and shooed Hueningkai away to the sink filled with dirty pots and pans. 

A random drama drones off in the television; it was clear that the show was there for background noise and nothing more, seated next to Beomgyu on the couch as the two of you catch up with Soobin and Yeonjun, listening to them rant and complain about the heavy workload of their classes or angry customers they’ve encountered at their jobs. 

“Did you know the mall is closed down?” Yeonjun says, your surprised gasp and incredulous glance to the boy beside you enough to answer his question, “yeah, some pipes burst and flooded like half the place— they’re closing down for maintenance for the next two weeks.”

“But what about the workers?” you ask, watching as two of the said workers shrug their shoulders dismissively, clearly not as stressed about the situation as you expected them to be.

“We got an email from our supervisors that we’ll probably be paid for the days we were scheduled,” Soobin says, the undeniable twinkle in his eyes telling you that he didn’t really mind this whole situation, “Like PTO, I guess.”

“Wish that place got closed for a month instead,” Yeonjun huffs, a yawn ripping through him as he stretches his arms over his head, letting out a big sigh once they fall limp at his sides, “fucking hate that place.” 

“Same.”

When there’s nothing to complain about and they’ve seemed to have updated you on every miniscule detail of their life— how their finals are approaching, this new snack they’ve recently discovered at the gas station on the way home, apparently attempting to “put you on”— the three turn to you, not expecting the way you shift and shrink into the couch at all; they ask if there’s anything new or interesting going on in your life, and all you can do is clear your throat in nervous thought. 

“Not really,” you say with a sheepish smile, watching as Soobin and Yeonjun send you a curious look, as though they didn’t believe you, “Life’s just… been really boring recently. Nothing interesting has happened.”

Nothing? They echo, humming softly at the sight of your affirming nods; quite unlike you, they can’t help but think, always having something to do, something to say, a new story to tell— Hueningkai’s loud and projected voice calling you all to the kitchen seems to be your saving grace, the tension slipping off your muscles as you all rush to gather around. 

In a big, scary world like this, where your lives are in a liminal state and you couldn’t even bring yourself to confidently talk about how your days have been going, it was moments like these that mattered the most— because even if Taehyun lived on his own, with no family in town to constantly check up and dote on him, his kitchen said otherwise; the dining table was large and full, and his cabinets were packed with more dishes than he knew what to do with on most days— you all pretended you didn’t notice the fond smile on his face as he set down dish after dish, ramen and meat and enough side dishes to leave you all stuffed and drowsy.

“I’m gonna cry, I haven’t had a proper meal in so long,” Hueningkai was the first to cry out, his plate full to the brim yet his chopsticks still reaching out for more, unfazed at the way Soobin and Yeonjun continue to sneak meat onto his dish, “I’ve had to survive off reheat stuff ever since I got that stupid internship, I almost went insane.”

“Awh, you poor thing,” you coo out, a teasing smile on your face as you reach to place rolled omelets on his plate as well, already guessing he’d try to reach over for them anyway, “You gotta make sure you eat so you get big and strong, okay? Don’t skip out on meals.”

Hueningkai scoffs at your jabs— but before he can try to give your teasing a rebuttal, you’re craning your head to where Taehyun sits, on the other side of Beomgyu and completely lost in his own food; he visibly jumps when you call his name, wide eyes peeking up at you mid-bite.

“How is that internship going for you two so far, anyway?” you ask, glancing back at Hueningkai to make sure he was listening, “I keep hearing the stupid commercials about it when Beomgyu plays his music.”

“That’s for another division of the project,” Taehyun is quick to correct, Hueningkai nodding along at his words, “they’re looking for people to test on.”

“What?!” you exclaim, everyone else but Hueningkai as equally surprised as you are, “Is that… safe?”

“I mean, it’s legal,” Hueningkai slowly begins, a bit sheepish as the sight of your concerned frown that forms at his words, “everything is thoroughly discussed beforehand, but with a project like this, there’s obviously bound to be some risks.”

“And people still agree to it?” Soobin asks, his words muffled by the mouthful of food he chews through— he gets a slight jab on the side from Yeonjun because of it. 

Hueningkai nods. 

“We’ve already had a few hundreds go through testing already in groups; placebos, beta products, reactions to certain ingredients…”

“It probably pays good,” Beomgyu pipes up, looking at Taehyun for confirmation, “doesn’t it?”

Taehyun thinks the question through, humming in thought before he finally answers.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he says, “but I’m not exactly sure how much it is.”

“Woah, maybe I should volunteer,” you say, watching as Taehyun and Hueningkai turn to you in surprise; a coy smile tweaks at your lips, and you send them a wink with your next words. “But only if one of you is the one testing on me.”

The table erupts into laughs and groans; Taehyun’s grumble of don’t be weird, isn’t lost on you, but soon enough, everyone else finds themselves joining in.

“You should test on me too,” Yeonjun grins, reaching over to try and grab Taehyun’s hand; the said man recoils immediately, “maybe then I won’t be tired all the time.”

“Me too— c’mon, stop gatekeeping that BioGen stuff!”

“You should sneak some of the finished product over to us.”

“Yeah, that’s what true friends do!” 

“Pleaaase?”

“Hueningie!” 

Voices melt and stack in a loud cacophony— you don’t know who’s saying what anymore, or who’s talking to who, but you’ve all erupted in your own conversations, teasing the two smartest members in your group or choosing to talk about something else; it’s lively, it’s restless, and soon enough, all the food from the table has disappeared.

You play rock paper scissors to see who does the dishes; you and Soobin lose with loud cries of dismay. 

“Do you remember that ice cream truck that would always go around our neighborhood at this time?”

Spring must be near; you find yourself thinking that as you lean back against the porch fence, your legs spread haphazardly over Soobin’s lap— all the comfortable lawn chairs had already been taken by the others by the time the two of you finished cleaning up, leaving you to sit on the floor, not that you really minded— you got a better look at the few stars that were still visible in the sky this way, anyway.

“The one that never stopped for us?” Soobin asks, causing you to laugh with a soft nod, “I hated that truck.”

“But it had the best ice cream though,” Hueningkai says, you and Soobin craning your heads back to where the boy sat in the corner, curled up in his chair and staring back with drowsy eyes, “nothing could top it.”

“Maybe ‘cause we had to run down two blocks to catch it,” Yeonjun interjects, smiling at the laughter he gets in response, countless memories seemingly flooding into everyone’s minds— the coin purses or ziplock bags that were clenched in your hands, the relentless sun that shined in your faces as you tried to yell at the ice cream truck to stop— the music must’ve drowned you all out, you think to yourself, because each time the old lady driving stopped for you guys, she always seemed to have a genuine shock that would paint her face. 

Oh my, you guys look so tired!

“I miss that lady,” you find yourself blurting out, unable to stop the nostalgia that drips through your words, “I miss those times.”

The air grows a bit heavy— you gulp, mentally scolding yourself as your friends fall into deep thought.

“This place does look a bit sadder, huh?” Taehyun wonders aloud, eyes drifting along the neighborhood; the once lively streets and lit up houses now barren, now dark, “a lot emptier.”

Silence. Though no one says it, you know they all agree. 

“But hey, that’ll fix itself soon!” Yeonjun pipes up, throwing an arm over Taehyun’s shoulder, shaking him out of his reverie; Yeonjun only grins, sending Hueningkai a knowing look, “we got our two geniuses working on the magic cure. It’ll get finished in no time at this point.”

“I don’t know about that,” Taehyun scoffs lightheartedly, shrugging off Yeonjun’s arm, “it’s a lot more complicated than you think.”

You all recognize that little trail off in Taehyun’s sentence: there’s more to his words than he wants to tell. Beomgyu is curious enough to be the first to bite the bait.

“More complicated than we think?” Beomgyu echoes, cocking his head to the side and raising a brow, “what do you mean? Is there something weird going on behind the scenes?”

“No,” Taehyun quickly says, causing all of you to stare at him in clear disbelief, “Well, I can’t tell you anyway.”

“So there is?” Hueningkai asks— when you send him a confused look, the said man only shrugs. “Hey, I’m in a different department, I’m not directly involved in making the thing.”

All eyes are back on Taehyun in search of answers. 

“Well,” he sputters, actively avoiding all ten pairs of eyes that keep track of his every movement, “I… even I don’t know, honestly; they’re not letting me take too much of a direct part in making the solutions— I’ve never even seen the test subjects they gather.

“There’s like. A division of three people that are directly involved with the test subjects. The rest of us only receive vague feedback and instructions.”

“Creepy,” you shudder, Soobin nodding along at your exclamation, “sounds like they’re hiding something.”

Taehyun doesn’t refute your words; if anything, his brows knit together in thought. 

“They said they’re gonna release an update of the first test subjects tomorrow,” Yeonjun jumps up again, quick as always to relieve a tense mood, “they’re making it sound like it’s nothing but good news.

“This place will be back to normal before we know it,” Yeonjun smiles, eyes falling onto you knowingly, “the future will be better.”

You nod along to his statement, even if you don’t find yourself believing it. A silence falls shortly after, and you’re looking back up at the sky again.

“The stars look pretty tonight,” you mumble.

You hear a scoff behind you.

“What stars? There’s like two out.” 

“Do you always have to try to ruin my fun?”

The bickering is endless between you all— but it’s not malicious in the slightest. No, it feels normal, feels familiar, even as you make faces and gestures and call each other names. 

It feels like home, and it feels like the only thing that makes you hope for the future.

[taglist // bold usernames could not be tagged.] @0x11s @boba-beom @icouldntcareless22 @fairyofshampgyu @heeharmony @yunho-mp3 @yyeonzi @beomfrost @wolfytae-exe @basicallyanothernotebook @archoive @mapofthemazeinthemirror @kaisplushies @agustdiv1ne @matcha-binz @mwahvvis @marksluvr0

[luxaofhesperides]

Post-Apocalypse + Soulmate AU ; requested by @burr-burr!

When Danny was a kid, he used to imagine how the world would end. It was never a zombie apocalypse or the fallout of a nuclear war, but the death of the sun, the expansion of their star in death that would swallow their planet whole, leaving no survivors.

It would have been nicer than the post-apocalyptic world he stands in now, knowing that it’s his fault the world has ended. 

He’s still struggling to wrap his head around it. To understand that all of this is his fault because he cheated on one test, desperate to pass after being unable to study for it with how exhausting and time consuming fighting ghosts is. Everywhere he looks, there’s more destruction. His own home is rubble, with only the partially untouched Ops Center remaining to let him know that this is where he once lived.

The rest of Amity Park is in worse shape. Buildings are hollowed out, the skeletons of their foundations visible, if they still remain standing. Most homes have been burned to the ground, leaving blackened corners of walls and nothing else. The roads are cracked and difficult to walk through, as if an earthquake tore through the city. Cars are scattered along the road, overturned or left abandoned, doors still open.

Danny has yet to find any bodies. He doesn’t know if that’s a good sign or not. 

He’s only caught a few glimpses of his future self, the cause of all this, and can’t bring himself to chase after that monster. He feels sick to his stomach knowing what he’ll become. 

That monster has to be stopped. The world has already ended, but that doesn’t mean his future self can be allowed to go on like this. If there are any survivors, they need protection. They need to know they’ll be safe to try to start rebuilding, and that can only happen if his future self is dead.

Danny knows what he has to do; he has a responsibility to protect what little remains of Amity Park, and to do that, he needs to kill himself. 

But his head it spinning from the horror of the situation and his throat is tightening up the way it only does when he’s about to have a panic attack.

He needs to stop his future self, but he also can’t stay another second in the ruins of Amity Park without destroying himself.

The guilt sits heavy in his chest as he goes ghost and takes to the sky, flying blindly towards the setting sun. Danny doesn’t know where he’s going, and he doesn’t really care. He just needs to get away for a bit, until he can calm down and put together a plan of attack so he can take out his future self in one go.

He just…

He never thought he’d be a monster. But here they are.

Flying away from Amity Park reveals the truly harrowing extent to which this world has suffered under his future self’s hands. There are no intact cities or towns. Roads are broken beyond repair, highways littered with empty cars, most bridges crumbling into the rivers below them, and everything is covered in overgrowth. All signs of humanity’s careful cultivation of the world has been erased. The earth takes back what humans took from it, covering everything in green. 

There is no movement. No people. Barely any birds flying beneath him. 

What remains of the world is silence.

Danny is terrified that there’s no one left. That his future self has so thoroughly destroyed the earth that no human survivors remain. 

That gives his guidance, some idea of where to go: a big city. Any big city, really. 

He flies lower, searching for some sort of landmark, or a sign that will tell him where he’s going. A rusted over green sign farther down the road tells him that he’s 50 miles from Gotham.

Oh, Danny thinks, Maybe Batman can help me.

If anyone could survive the end of the world, it would be the superheroes, right? If anyone stands a chance at defeating his future self, it would be a superhero. Superman might have been a better choice, but Metropolis is the opposite direction and multiple states away; Danny’s not sure he can make it before his future self catches wind of him and hunts him down. 

Danny has no doubt about what would happen to him if he’s caught; there’s a reason he hasn’t seen any ghosts around, after all.

Gotham is a city of secrets and rumors. What little he’s heard of it is baffling and, frankly, insane. There’s no city in the country like it and Gothamites prefer it that way, stubbornly loving the home that will kill them. For all the manmade horrors they survive on the daily, they would be more prepared for the end of the world than anyone else. 

Gotham may be another casualty of his future self’s destruction, but it also offers him hope.

Danny follows the broken road towards Gotham, pushing himself to fly faster than he ever has before. What should have been a half hour flight is completed in fifteen minutes. 

As soon as the towering buildings of Gotham, dark and semi destroyed, come into view, Danny drops from the sky and returns to human form. The strain from pushing himself has exhausted him and he feels it like an ache in his chest, his heart twisting and trying to burst from how hard it’s beating. 

He collapses to his hands and knees and gasps for breath on the outskirts of Gotham. 

It takes a good few minutes to calm down and breathe normally, then another to gather his strength to stand up and begin walking. 

The world is eerily quiet as he enters the city, feeling the chill fall upon him as he is consumed by the shadows of tall buildings. It’s much more intact that Amity Park, but there’s no denying the destruction that still surrounds him. Buildings are empty and worn down, decaying and slowly being consumed by new growth. Burnt out husks of overturned cars fill the street, leaving Danny to carefully pick his way around them, unable to walk in a straight line. 

He feels like the only person in the world. He feels like he’s being watched by a hungry eyes. 

Danny shivers and walks faster. 

The deeper he goes into the city, the more he starts to hope that he’s not alone in this world. There’s small signs of life: the smell of smoke, recently burned, certain streets cleaned up, makeshift walls constructed from rubble to block access to certain areas of each block.

He swears he can see people move above his head, but anytime he looks up, the windows of every building are empty. 

“Batman,” he whispers to himself, “I just need to find Batman.”

He turns a corner and continues walking. Apartment buildings give way to stores and businesses, all with their windows broken and nothing on the shelves. Then the buildings end abruptly and he’s left staring at an overgrown park that resembles a jungle more than it does a part of the city.

The scent of something sweet lingers in the air. Fruit, perhaps, or flowers. 

If he was left in the aftermath of an apocalypse, he would go to where he could find growing food. If there’s anyone left in Gotham, he’s willing to bet they’re in here, surviving off of what food can be grown in the confines of the park. 

Danny crosses the road and takes three steps onto the grass before someone appears beside him and points an electrified baton at him.

“Who are you?” they demand, eyes hidden behind a cracked helmet, but the bottom half of their face is visible, revealing scars crossing on dark skin. 

Danny takes a step back, eyeing the electric baton warily, and lifts his hands to show he means no harm. “Danny. I came from out of town. I was hoping to find people here.”

“You don’t look like you’ve been traveling.”

His clothes are clean and intact and he has none of the world-weariness that weighs down this Gothamite. Danny winces, and says, “My situation is kinda complicated. But I did just get here. I’m looking for help, actually. Do you know where I could find Batman?”

There’s a long moment of tense silence, then he hears a quiet sigh and the helmet comes off. An exhausted looking man looks at him with one blind eye, turned a milky white, and his voice is low and stricken as he says, “Batman’s dead. But maybe I can help you.”

“Batman’s dead?!” Danny repeats, shocked.

“Yeah. Sacrificed himself in one of the last times Phantom attacked Gotham. Got me and Nightwing out of that encounter alive. We’re really the only heroes left in Gotham, not that there’s much need anymore with everyone trying to survive.”

Phantom killed Batman. His future self killed Batman. 

Danny feels sick to his stomach.

“Oh,” he manages to say. 

The man’s expression softens. “Don’t worry, we’ll help you as much as we can. Why don’t you come on in? Ivy can get you some food if you’re hungry.”

Danny nods numbly as he follows the man deeper into the park. He walks with ease, taking paths that only become visible when he walks them, leaving Danny to follow close behind. It takes some time before he realizes that the plants are moving out of their way just enough that they don’t trip, and when he looks back, the path is covered again, hidden from sight.

He’s taken to the heart of the forest, where the trees shift to the side to reveal a large encampment of survivors all living together. Beds are strung up as hammocks between trees and rope ladders dangle from branches to help people move up and down. The ground is full of small fire pits, a few in use to make make food, and sections in the back full of vegetable and herb patches, separated by berry bushes. 

The people here all look tired and worn down, but they still smile and speak in light voices, adjusted to a new life after surviving so much horror and destruction. He even spots a few people using powers, or just looking different, including one large man who looks like a crocodile. 

“Pick up another stray?” a raspy voice asks, humor lighting the tone. They both turn to see a woman with long red hair and a green tint to her skin be lowered to the ground by a vine. She’s also heavily scarred and her right arm is completely gone, replaced by a wooden limb covered in moss that moves as if it’s always been a part of her body.

“Hey Ivy,” the man greets, “I don’t think this one is staying. He came to Gotham looking for Batman.”

The words make Ivy’s gaze sharpen, and Danny feels a trickle of dread go down his spine. She’s dangerous and standing before her feels as if he’s in the mouth of a hungry beast.

“Is that so,” she says, voice flat. “How interesting. I’ll let you two talk somewhere more private.” Her gaze flicks to the side, and when Danny turns to look, he can see some of the people in the encampment observing them warily, bodies tense and poised to either flee or attack.

Ivy turns and the plants part for her. Danny waits for the man to begin walking before he follows, trying not to feel trapped as the plants close the path behind him. She takes them to a small pond full of water lilies, gives the man a careful look, then leaves, swallowed up by the plants.

“Is everything okay?” Danny asks hesitantly. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

“Nah, you’re good,” the man replies, “It’s just that people don’t trust me much.”

“Why? You’ve been really nice.”

The man shrugs. “My soulmate is Phantom. He’s the one responsible for doing all this and killing almost everyone we love. I didn’t know until the first time I fought him, but they hate anything to do with Phantom, including me.”

Danny’s heart stutters in his chest. This is his soulmate.

Most people don’t subscribe to the belief that they’re meant to be with their soulmate. Meeting your soulmate is rare enough that most people don’t try, and plenty of people have spoken of how important it is to have a variety of relationships, to not close yourself off for the slightest chance of meeting your soulmate. 

Danny never looked for his; he didn’t want to subject them to his parents, and then he became a halfa and gave up on all dreams of having a normal life or any relationship with someone who didn’t know he was Phantom.

And now he’s here, in a ruined future, standing before his soulmate who understandably hates him for destroying the world. 

“You’re Phantom’s soulmate,” Danny breathes. His hands are shaking. He wants to cry.

The man sighs. “Yeah. I am. Not that it’s stopped him from trying to kill me. Don’t worry, kid, I’m not working with him. I swear.”

“He’s your soulmate and he hurt you.”

“He hurt everyone,” he says, then gestures at his blind eye. “This is barely a thing compared to what he did to other heroes.”

Danny can’t find the words to expression his horror at seeing the damage he did to his own soulmate. His future self is heartless and cruel and bloodthirsty. He has to be stopped.

He doesn’t want to kill his soulmate. 

“I came here for Batman,” Danny says, “Because I thought he could help me stop Phantom.”

“That’s rough, kid. Batman couldn’t beat Phantom. I don’t think anyone can. We’ve tried, but most heroes are dead and we can’t just go out there and risk the lives of everyone here. We gotta focus on survival, not revenge.”

“I have to stop Phantom.”

“Sorry kid, but that’s a terrible idea. Don’t go out there trying to be a hero. You can stay here, alright? Ivy will get you set up and the others will help you settle in.”

Danny takes a step back and shakes his head. “No. I have to stop him. It has to be me.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I’m Phantom,” Danny whispers. 

The man immediately reaches for his electric batons again, taking a step back. “Not funny, kid,” he says with a tense voice. 

“I’m not joking. I am Phantom, just from the past. I’m not supposed to be here.”

“You’re Phantom?” the man repeats. “You. You’re just a kid, and you’re going to destroy the world one day?”

“I don’t want this to happen! That’s why I need to go back, so I can stop the event that will set me down this path. And to go back, I need to defeat the Phantom that exists here.”

“He’ll kill you, kid.”

“That still solves the problem, doesn’t it? If I die here, then he’ll never live long enough to destroy the world. He’ll die too.”

The man stares at him with cold eyes, then turns away, dropping his hands away from the batons. “Don’t turn this into a suicide mission, kid,” he says. “The Phantom who’s here isn’t you. You don’t have to pay for his crimes. Just… stay here and I’ll go fight Phantom.”

“He already hurt you,” Danny says. 

“What’s a little more hurt? I can handle it.”

“No,” Danny says firmly. He shoves away the fear and hurt in his heart and finds his strength in determination. No more running away. No more hiding. 

The timeline should not exist. He can’t hesitate at the thought of erasing this version of his soulmate from existence; he’s tired and injured and an outcast in the only community that still exists in Gotham. He deserves better. Everyone here does.

And to give them a better life, Danny needs to stop this one from ever happening.

“This is my future. It’s my responsibility. I’ll stop it and make sure this never happens. And… I’m sorry for everything I did.”

“It’s not your fault, Danny. You’re not this version of Phantom.”

That’s not at all true, since Danny’s actions lead to the end of the world, but he’s not going to argue when he’s preparing to fight a stronger, more ruthless version of himself. He takes a deep breath, then goes ghost and floats into the air. 

“Before I go,” he begins, hesitantly, “What’s your name? Since you’re apparently my soulmate.”

The man smiles sadly and answers, “Duke. If we ever meet in your time, tell that version of me to look for my mom’s favorite book.”

It’s an odd request, but if it’s important enough to be asked for, then Danny will do it. “Your mom’s favorite book,” he repeats, “Got it.”

“Take care, Danny. Good luck out there.”

Danny nods and takes one last look at his soulmate, older and worn down, stubbornly getting through each long day, and swears to make things better.

Then he flies off, ready to fight his future self and make things right again. 

. . .

He thinks of his soulmate for years after he’s back in the present. The timeline where his future self exists is gone and the world is safe, but he still remembers the pain he caused Duke. 

When the time comes to apply to universities, Danny sets his sights on Gotham. His parents take him on a trip during spring break to tour the campus, and it’s after the tour, as he wanders around on his own, that he bumps into a student walking out of a building.

“Sorry,” they both say at the same time, reaching for each other to help each other keep their balance. 

As soon as their hands meet, it’s as if lightning runs through him. From the look on the other guy’s face, he felt it to. 

This is his soulmate.

“Duke,” Danny says, amazed and disbelieving all at once. And the request crosses his mind, something he wondered about almost every night since he returned to his time. “Look for your mom’s favorite book.”

“How—?”

“I met you in the future. You asked me to take back a message for the you that’s here. So: look for your mom’s favorite book. What does that mean, by the way? I never asked.”

Duke blinks, then slowly retracts his hands from Danny’s. “My mom’s favorite book was a hand bound journal from my dad. They were soulmates and he wrote about their first year in a relationship together. It’s full of pictures, and she loved it more than anything. That message is to remind me to have faith in soulmates, to believe that something good can happen to me.”

“Oh! That’s… wow, sorry, I didn’t mean to pry into something so personal.”

Duke shrugs. “It’s fine. I needed the reminder. I would have already run away by now if you didn’t say that. You already know my name, but I think now’s a good time to introduce ourselves.”

“Right!” Danny says, flustered. He sticks his hand out, which Duke shakes with an amused smile. “I’m Danny. Fenton. I’m coming here next semester.”

“Duke Thomas. I’m a freshman here and I’d really love to get your number.”

He’s not hitting on Danny, not really, but it still makes him blush. The way Duke looks at him is full of light and laughter, so different from the exhausted and wary way he looked in the future now rewritten. 

This is what the future version of himself tried to kill. He doesn’t understand how anyone could ever hurt Duke when he’s so full of life. 

But he’s safe now. Everyone is; Danny changed the future and what lies ahead is wholly unknown to him.

The world is safe and full of promise. 

No matter what comes, Danny is sure he and Duke are going to be just fine.

[girliism]

arts mistress this patrick’s mistress that. what about tashi’s mistress???

what about the pretty girl she keeps up in a nice apartment. paying her bills and college tuition. tashi didn’t mean for it to go so far when she saw you at the bar.

you were there trying to clear your head after a long day at work when you saw tashi out the corner of your eye. she was drinking a glass of wine you were on your third shot. she brought you to an expensive hotel when most guys would have settled for fucking you in the alley.

every saturday you would meet her at that same bar then she’s take you to that same expensive hotel and make you cum all night.

that was months ago now you get to have her at her house when art’s away golfing with his friends and lily’s at her friends.

tashi always smelled good and she tasted even better. you could spend the rest of your days like this. in tashi’s huge bed your head between her thighs licking eagerly at her pussy tashi’s hands tugging on your hair as she makes the prettiest sounds. “so good baby.” she grinding into your face chasing her high.

you always let tashi be on top when scissoring cause she so good at it and cause she likes taking care of you. she’s moving her hips working her clit over yours and it’s got you whining and moaning like a whore. you cum with her fingers in her mouth swirling your tongue around them.

the two of you lay together for awhile lazily kissing before she’s checking the time. “you’ve got to go arts gonna be home soon with lily.”

art donaldson. her husband who you hate. yet you cyberstalk him constantly watching interview after interview match after match trying to see what tashi saw and still sees in him. i’d be so much better to her. you think.

your life was pretty good. your college tuition being taken care of your boss finally treating you better. and tashi. you’ve never loved anyone more than you love tashi. that’s why it hurt so bad when she came back from new rochelle with news.

“i wanna focus more on my marriage with art.” what. she’s sitting next to you explaining how she can’t see you anymore but you can keep the apartment and she’ll still pay your tuition. “but i thought you loved me.” you whisper. she grabs your face with her soft hands pulling you to face her. “of course i love you, you know that. but you also know this couldn’t last forever. you’re so young and i have a family a commit. i’m sorry.”

you spend one last night together but you wake up naked and alone.

you get super depressed after that becoming almost zombie like. ignoring friends never leaving your house except for work and school. how could she just leave me like that.

you knew how.

you’re at the park one day sitting on a bench when you see art. he’s getting ice cream with lily. if only he were out of way you could have tashi and lily. the three of you a perfect family.

it’s so tragic when lily’s nanny takes a really bad tumble down the stairs one day and the donaldsons have no one to watch their daughter.

you accidentally bump into art and lily at the bakery one day. you tell him what a cute daughter he has and he tells you how him and his wife recently lost their nanny. “she tripped and broke her neck. she’ll be ok but she won’t be able to watch lily for awhile if ever.”

“what a shame.” you pout faking your remorse before jumping to tell him how you use to babysit all the time and could use some extra cash. he says he’ll have to run it by his wife.

tashi ok’s it. so you show up at the big mansion you’ve been to hundreds of times for your test day with lily.

when tashi opens the door her heart drops. she hasn’t seen you in months and now you’re here to see if you’re a good fit to nanny her daughter. you’ve got an innocent smile pasted on your face as you introduced yourself to her and reintroduced yourself to art.

you and lily get along great as tashi and art watch from the kitchen. “so do you like her?” “what.” tashi is all jumpy and arts gives her a weird look. “do like her for lily? looks like she could be a good fit.” before tashi could answer you walk over asking where the bathroom is. “i’ll show her.” tashi insist.

tashi’s arm is brushing against yours as she walks next to you. butterflies erupt in your stomach. you’ve missed her so much. “what the hell do you think you’re doing.” tashi corners you. “what do you mean? i’m here for lily. your husband said she need a new nanny i wanted to help.” “cut the bullshit. i told you it was over. i want you say you changed your mind. that you don’t want the job anymore.” how can she talk to you this way when all you’ve ever done is love her?

you soft face hardens as you stand up straighter. “i can’t do that tash. cause then i’ll be forced to tell art about everything and ruin your marriage.” she squints her eyes at you. “i only did this is to show that we can still be together while you’re with him. i just i love you so much tash.” you smash your lips on to hers holding her face so she can’t move away.

like muscle memory tashi immediately starts kissing you back, hand holding your waist. your lips and tongues getting reacquainted after so much time apart. “this can’t happen.” tashi whispers against your mouth but makes no moves to stop.

your hand starts to slide into her pants when she rips away from you. “go to the bathroom and when you come out tell art you don’t think will work out.” with that’s she walks away from you leaving again.

you stand there for a moment before collecting yourself and going back into the main room.

“so, lily likes you a lot and from what we can see you’re really great with her it’s just a matter of do you still want the job.” art says to you while he and tashi lead you to the door as the end has ended. tashi gives you a look but you ignore it. smiling all big bright you say back. “of course i still want the job lily us amazing i can’t want become apart of this family.” your eyes flick over to tashi she does not look happy.

“great that’s great! isn’t it tash.” tashi just nods her head eyes never leaving your. what is your game here? “we’ll email you the schedule you can start on monday.” art smiles kindly at you. “oh thank you so much you won’t regret this.” you throw yourself into his arms nuzzling your face into his neck looking tashi dead in the eye. maybe i can get to her through her idiot husband.

they wish you good night as you walk to the car but you don’t leave. you sit in your car watching the house as the lights turn off one by one for the night.

(this was originally supposed to be cute and fun but who’s wants that when you can have obsessed mistress reader trying to single white female art. 😁)

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part sixteen —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3.2k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

"I can't believe I woke up early for this."

You loosen your muscles, turning to dead weight in Ghost's arms, before using the awkward position to slip away. 

"No one said you had to be here," Ghost throws over his shoulder before his gaze fleets back to yours. "Good. Again."

Blue groans as you reposition yourself for the basic defense maneuver. You can see why she'd find this boring— Ghost started you off with a move so basic it was almost insulting when he explained it. But you quickly realized his reasoning. Each time you do it, your pulse tampers down less and less while in his arms. He's had to remind you a few times to "Breathe, Twix"— the order so quietly uttered into the shell of your ear that Blue likely didn't even notice. Perhaps you have grown used to taking orders from him, or maybe having Blue close by is helping, because you've been able to ward off the threat of panic so far.

"Fine, I'm out of here," Blue rolls her eyes the second you've finished the move again. "Let me know when you—" she jabs a finger at Ghost, "—decide to make things more interesting." As she leaps off the log she'd been perched upon, she adds: "Oh, and don't get too close, Ghost. She might bite."

"So I've heard."

Heat rises to your cheeks. And then— you're alone with him. You take a swig of water from the canister Blue lent you to ignore the awkward feeling in your chest. "Again?" You wipe your mouth. "Or have I passed your test?"

"Test?" he repeats, the gravel in his voice rolling over the word as his brow lifts in question.

"Well, I haven't... had a repeat of last time, and it's been an hour. I think I've proved that I'm ready for something a little more..."

"More what?" 

More interesting.

"Hand-to-hand, I guess. Something harder."

He rubs his jaw, as if to feign consideration. "Right, then. Let's try another one."

The next one he shows you is still simple, except you fail every other time. Basically, he gets behind you and you have to sidestep to avoid the trap of his arms. Somehow, Ghost's movements are light as a feather even though he's built like a rock. 

But then you get better at it. The next two days pass in much the same manner until you start to react a bit faster. He teaches you a few more basic tactics. How to wriggle your wrist out of someone's hold. How to avoid being grabbed from the front by rolling to the ground. All defense. After hours spent with him, he doesn't even have to remind you to breathe anymore. Chopping wood in the evenings helps, too. You go to bed exhausted and wake up ready to practice before Ghost even touches your shoulder.

On the third day, he gets you up even earlier. You cram your wool-covered toes into boots, confine your hair in a hasty bun, and follow him to the clearing that has become your makeshift training ground. It takes you a moment to register that some things are different: his boots have been replaced by sneakers, and his jeans by loose, black gym shorts. The exposed skin is strange, making your eyes widen. If Blue were awake, she'd certainly comment. 

His calves mirror the strength of the rest of him, and on the left leg, swirling ink catches your eye, reminiscent of the tattoos you discovered when tending to his wound. Skulls and a dagger; perhaps corny, but fitting for him.

"Have you tried it?" His voice cuts through your thoughts.

"Tried what?"

"The bow."

A white cloud forms around your mouth as you nod. "Needed some getting used to, like you said."

Yesterday you had a hard time shooting a chipmunk you wanted for lunch, so you spent the early afternoon firing arrows at oaks until the new bow started to feel like an extension of your limbs again.

"Let me know if I need to adjust the string."

"Will do," you say, almost mumbling.

When you reach the familiar circle of trees, you bounce once on your toes and crack your knuckles. Ghost retrieves something from his pocket. A roll of gauze. It is tossed at you without warning, and your hands fumble to grab it. 

"Wrap up," he commands. "Your hands will thank you for it."

You look up at him, brows raised, but begin covering your palms and knuckles. When you're done, you throw the roll back to him. Ghost stretches his arms above his head and splays his feet into a firm stance, jerking his chin at you in a go-ahead motion. Your brows furrow as you try to understand what the fuck he's doing.

"Go on. Get ready."

"Um. Ready for what?"

"A little hand-to-hand."

Your mouth falls open. "What?"

He shrugs. "That's what you wanted, right? I think you're ready for it."

"That's not what I meant," you almost laugh, shaking your head. "I didn't mean I want to— to fight you. I just meant we don't have to stick to the basics."

"We won't." There is the slightest trace of amusement in his voice, so faint you wonder if it's even there. "You have ten seconds to get ready, Twix."

"I don't even—" you sputter, eyes flying open. If you weren't awake before, you are now. He seems completely serious, his hands in fists and his shoulders squared.

"Five."

"Oh, fuck me," you exhale, balling up your bandaged hands. Did he get you up at this hour so there was no chance of Blue joining? He didn't want her to watch him finally annihilate you? You don't think he would seriously hurt you, not after everything, but that doesn't mean your heart doesn't begin to thump wildly when the seconds are up. Neither of you makes the first move; you are focused on keeping yourself distant, and he is circling you like a predator, flicking his eyes along the length of you. 

"What the fuck is that stance? I could just tap you and you'd fall over." His amusement has faded. "Is that how I showed you to stand when chopping wood?"

You shake your head, teeth gritted, and fix it, spreading your boots against the soil. 

"Better."

Then, he's lunging. You forget everything about your stance and prance to the side like a skittish deer. There is a moment of relief when you successfully dodge him, only for it to abruptly end when he darts around your back and hooks an arm around your neck. Your heart skips over a beat. Holy shit is he fast. 

"Be aware of your surroundings at all times," he chastises against the top of your hair. His hold is not aiming to fully restrain you, so when you claw your nails into his arm, it loosens and you slip away, staggering three strides before facing him with your fists up.

"What's the point of raising your fists if you're not going to hit me?" Ghost circles you again, and you have to shift your feet to keep up with him. "Come on, nurse. Where should you aim?"

"You're too tall." Your chest heaves. "I... I can't reach your face or neck without you blocking."

"Use the height difference to your advantage. Reach places that I can't."

You pause to think about it, studying him.

Ghost almost growls. "Stop hesitating. I could have killed you by now."

A mix of annoyance and determination makes you leap forward, jabbing your knuckles at the part of him where you know his liver would be. He captures you by the elbow before the blow can land, and sends you stumbling to the side, a few wisps of hair cascading over your face.

"Liver. Not bad. I might've let you have it if you moved quicker."

A hiss leaves your lips as you whirl around and punch directly into his core this time. He allows the hit, but your knuckles ram into solid muscle instead of the vulnerable stomach you hoped for, and you recoil with a wave of your hand, cussing under your breath.

"You hurt yourself more than you hurt me."

"Well, should I just kick you in the dick then?" you retort without thinking, flexing your fingers. Luckily, the gauze absorbed most of the damage. 

"That's always an option."

His tone is serious, to the point that you almost give it a try, but then he's closing in on you again, sending you back to the defensive. He doesn't hold back. You run in circles and duck frantically, earning a few hits to your ribs. He doesn't use enough force to send you down to the ground, but enough to knock the wind out of you. Rapid breaths fire through your lungs and beads of sweat percolate your hairline. Ghost, on the other hand, appears unaffected.

"Fight back," he says in a mild voice; almost bored.

You nearly throw your arms up. "I would if you'd give me a fucking chance."

"You said not to coddle you."

"I'm aware. That doesn't mean you have to—"

Your spine suddenly meets something hard. A tree. He's backed you into it without you even realizing. When Ghost takes another swipe, you dip your head down and then use his recovery time to grab onto a branch and hoist yourself up.

You're barely perched upon it when a hand grips your ankle and drags you back down, an audible gasp reverberating in your chest as you land flat on your back with Ghost on top. His hand quickly cradles the back of your skull before it can crack on a hard tree root, while his other hand captures both of your wrists.

"You good?" Although he is the one who has you effectively pinned, his tone seems sincere. He scans your face from your forehead to your parted lips. 

"Just... peachy." 

His brows furrow. "What was your plan once you got up there?"

Labored breathing splinters your voice. "I didn't have much of a plan, really."

He speaks flatly. "I can tell."

"You had me cornered," you point out.

"You should have been—"

"Aware of my surroundings," you finish for him, exhaling deep through your nose. "I know."

Your eyes shift around, from his covered face to where his chest just barely presses into yours. It's all so close. Uncomfortably close. You can feel the steady pace of his heart against your sternum, and make out the faintest flecks of green in his eyes.

An ounce of fear and something else you can't quite discern balls up in your stomach, making you swallow. You've been pinned like this before and nearly had your face eaten. Ghost simply stares at you, as if waiting for you to make a move, but when you tug on your wrists, his grip doesn't relent.

"Could you... could you maybe get off of me?"

He shifts some weight off you, if only by a little. "Relax and think," he murmurs. "What are your options here?" The curve of his lips tightens before he adds, "Besides biting my nose off. I'd like to keep that for now."

With a sigh, your eyes slide up to the awakening sky. Hues of violet and orange stare down at you. "Do I... do I even have any options? You must weigh like a ton." The words are past your lips before you can shut your mouth. 

"You always have options." 

"Doesn't mean any of them will be effective," you say.

His eyes darken, and the green disappears. "Why do you do that?" 

"Um... do what?"

"Doubt yourself. After all that you have survived." He sounds irritated. 

"As if you haven't doubted me?" You can't help it; you scoff. "You told her I wouldn't come back that time I went on my own. I mean, I'm still weak, remember? No amount of chopping wood will make me as strong as you or those men who almost killed us."

"It's not about strength," he replies.

"That's easy for you to say," you wiggle your wrists for emphasis. "You have nothing to be afraid of. You were cut out for this shit from the start."

"I have everything to be afraid of." His eyes narrow, but his voice softens. "And so were you."

"Me?" Your voice slightly elevates, and a lick of anger curls within you. "I should be in grad school right now, or maybe I would've quit nursing and gone into something useless and hate my life, but I was never meant to kill anyone, let alone fight them. I was meant to be young and stupid and make mistakes. Now, if I make a fucking mistake, it will cost me my life." Your nostrils flare as you huff, sending a piece of hair flying up into his face, and you writhe beneath him. "Get off of me, Ghost."

But he doesn't.

Beats of silence linger in the small gap between your bodies.

You should feel embarrassed for saying all those things, but instead, you think about what he said:

Don't hesitate.

The ball inside you is a fiery mix of emotions that you usually try your damn hardest to ignore and break and shove away.

But now you let it spread through your body like a sizzling tide, from the tips of your fingers down to your toes and... to your knee. Before you can change your mind, you slam it upward as hard as you can into the apex of his groin. 

"Fuck," Ghost mutters, the only sign of any pain aside from the brief moment that he closes his eyes.

His hold loosens only by a little, but it's enough for you to slip out from under him and find your way back to your feet, your chest rising and falling.

He clears his throat after a moment and rises.

"Good." The two of you share a stare-off for a few seconds before he shakes his head, saying again: "Good, Twix. More of that."

You rip your gaze away from him, cheeks hot, and say nothing as you snatch the canister and bring it to your lips, but the water does little to cool you down. 

You shiver in the bitterness of twilight, your fingers red and numb, wishing for a pair of gloves. The fireflies are coming out, dots of luminescence darting around you. You swing the axe down again, throat raw as you grunt, and then you add the broken logs to the growing stack. Sudden light footsteps announce the end of your alone time. 

"It's me," Blue greets kindly. 

You drop the axe, hands feeling stiff, and turn to face her with a breathless smile. "Hey. What are you doing out here?"

"Checking on you. Ghost went hard on you this morning, huh?" she says with a sigh. "I could hear you guys. You were a bit... loud. Made it hard to sleep."

"Not too hard. I'm… I'm good." 

If she is unconvinced, she doesn't comment on it. Rather, she hugs you. A warm one. You return the embrace before she pulls away.

"I also came because I wanted to invite you to a bonfire."

"Bonfire?"

"Well, with all your..." her eyes flicker to the pile of logs you've conjured over the past hour. "...special workouts, we have a lot of wood now. I told Ghost to make a big fire outside and we can cook dinner over it. It'll be fun, come on. Ghost is making tea, too."

Soon enough, your sore fingers are tingling, holding a warm, ceramic mug of tea. Ghost chucks another bundle of wood into the fire, spitting out smoke and embers, and sits on a tree stump while Blue takes the folding chair. Your hair is down, tucked behind your ears, and a patchwork quilt Blue grabbed from her room lays across your lap. The mug burns pleasantly against your lips when you take a sip, the herbal taste sliding down your throat. Whatever plants he used to make it work together perfectly. It reminds you of the tea your mom used to make when you were sick.

"Do you like it more well-done or is this okay?" Blue asks, meticulously spinning the skewered squirrel meat over the fire.

"That's good, thank you."

Ghost cooks their dinner, and the three of you eat and sip in a comforting silence. You avoid looking at him, opting for the starry sky above your head, where bold stars beam even brighter than the fireflies. It's quite nice. When you're done, you toss the bones into the fire and listen to them splinter.

Blue breaks the silence. "Would you rather be burned alive or be attacked by a bunch of squirrels with rabies?"

You take another sip of tea. "How many squirrels, exactly?"

She taps her chin. "One hundred."

"I think if it were fifty, I could handle them. One hundred, probably not. I'll choose being burned."

She makes a face. "That is a terrible death."

"Most deaths are terrible."

"Fair enough. Ghost?"

For the first time since this morning, you steal a glance. His elbows rest upon his splayed knees, and the orange flames reflect in his eyes as if they were twin black, mirrors. "I could handle the squirrels."

She snorts a laugh. "Even you can't survive rabies, though."

He shrugs. "Takes some time to kill you."

"Let's play a different game," you interject. "Maybe something a little less... morbid tonight."

"Like what?" Blue chimes. 

You shrug indifferently. "What other ones do you know?"

"Not that many. You tell us one, Twix."

"Well, I know one good one. You have to act something out and then we'll guess what it is. But you can't talk."

"Oh, that's easy."

"Try it, then," you nod at her.

She leaps up from the chair, nearly spilling her tea in the process. Without hesitation, she puts on a stoic expression and begins shooting finger guns. Quiet laughter shakes your shoulders.

"Are you, um... Ghost?" you guess, making her throw her arms up.

"How did you guess so quickly?"

"It was a bit obvious."

"Not to me," Ghost murmurs. "Terrible impression, kid."

Across the fire, you glance at him again, and his eyes meet yours, reminding you of the events that took place and the words that you spat. Emotions pulse against your ribs, like a swarm of flickering fireflies, but you fail to catch and examine any of them. 

A tug on your arm ends the shared look. Tea splatters around the rim of your mug as Blue ushers you up. "Your turn now."

"Alright, alright."

You decide not to feel humiliated with both pairs of eyes on you. They've both seen much stranger things than you act out a squirrel, which must be a good impression because Ghost guesses it right away.

A sudden crack of lightning in the distance puts an end to the game before Ghost can have a turn, which you suspect he is pleased about. He puts out the fire just before clouds roll in, blocking out the stars, and a drizzle of rain begins. Back inside, you kick off your boots and sink to the sofa as Blue says goodnight. Once she’s in her room, Ghost pauses in the threshold of the hall and speaks over his shoulder.

"Get some sleep. You'll need it for tomorrow, even if it's raining.”

[blueishspace]

Double Life if everyone only had two lives*.

(*two lives instead of one because when I tried with the soulbound everyone died too early for anything interesting to happen)

Tango still dies in the cave, he and Jimmy are at one life almost immediately... Ranchers still happen making Flower Ranchers complete. (Reference to my version of Last Life)

Etho and Joel also die soon to the enderman, they are also left with one life.

Scott is a strategist first, abandoning Pearl is strategically viable with three lives but with only two It's a bigger risk, a risk he doesn't take... He lets Pearl base with him and Cleo.

Cleo is much more likely to put her own enjoying her time over strategy so she stills ditches Martyn at first... Martyn considers Pearl going with Cleo and Scott to be a betrayal.

Ren and BigB are still visited by Pearl...though the situation is different they still likely die because of the enderman and still kick out Pearl for bringing death to them.

Martyn still maths wrong and pushes Cleo to her death, Cleo being Pearls teammate in this timeline makes the wedge between Pearl and Martyn deeper.

BigB still jumps in front of a creeper causing him and Ren to be the first and second players to be out of the game permanently.

Etho and Joel truly believed they wouldn't die during the fishing rod accident so they still go trough it in this timeline and still die. They are out of the game, Joel is third out while Etho is fourth out.

Etho and Joel are out and never kill Pearl for stealing their stuff, she keeps her two lifes.

Impulse is still mobbed by mobs and dies bringing himself and Bdubs to one life left.

Tango still releases a Warden, because of course he does... Pearl is much less happy about it in this timeline.

Now everyone but 4 has one life left and this where things get interesting, Grian and Scar in this timeline are both much less threatening with Scar having been out first in Third Life and Grian in Last Life... On the other hand Scott and Pearl are both winners in this timeline so they become the main target instead meaning Scar and Grian never get stuck in a tower with the ranchers meaning the ranchers don't die yet... Also Grian and Scar never have to sneak around underground meaning Scar doesn't fall into the sea of zombies so they also don't die yet.

Moreover Scott and Pearl are likely better at evading the others which added to Joel and Etho not being in the game means they probably manage to survive the session too.

Ren and BigB are dead meaning they can't kill Bdubs and Impulse, they stay at one life.

Jimmy still gets killed by the enderman, the ranchers are out of the game. Jimmy is the fifth player out and Tango is the sixth.

Etho and Joel aren't there to put the tnt trap that in our Double Life Scar died to...so Scar and Grian avoid yet another death.

Etho and Joel are also not there to kill Scott so Scott and Pearl also avoid another death.

Scar still kills Martyn and Cleo in the deep dark putting them out of the game seventh and eighth

Grian still dies to the warden, putting Scar and himself to their last lives.

At the end 3 soulbound couples remain: Bdubs and Impulse, Grian and Scar and Pearl and Scott.

Bdubs and Impulse are kilked first becoming the ninth and tenth players to loose their last lives.

Scott and Pearl are both winners who have showed little to no interest in winning again, so here when they both have already won in the end they let Scar and Grian be the finalists.

In the end only Scar and Grian remain, no secret soulmates, no betrayals in the last stretch... despite wether Scar trows the fight or not Grian is more likely to come out on top.

The Sun is crowned the winner of Double Life.

(Third Life)

(Last Life.)

(Limited Life)