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wildechildwrites · 2 days

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Run, Rabbit

König/Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k

Warnings: 18+, Violence, Injury, Smut, lightly noncon but in the way that you're fighting it but are down, König being insane

No use of Y/N

Summary: You're on a solo mission in Romania, and König goes hunting

A/N: "Oh look another predator/prey coded Konig fic how original" SHUT UP I KNOW

AO3: Run, Rabbit

18+

You’re in the forests of Romania on a solo mission, snooping around an abandoned military base that’s been the location of some suspicious activity, according to your sources. You find the ghost of the for-hire group Kortac in rat-chewed maps and files, faint footprints in layers of dust, but the trail has long gone cold, the building slowly being reclaimed by nature. The trees show no sign of the changes of autumn, but it's in the air, the late summer whisper of a chill in the breeze. You take your time picking your way along the overgrown roads, enjoying the tranquility of the forest. The extraction point is ten clicks west of your position, but you’re content with your steady pace, the sun still high in the sky, shining brightly through the thick foliage, and the hike is an easy one. Your meager findings are carefully folded in your bag of gear, your gun snug on your hip. Ten meters to your right, a red deer raises its head up, watching you warily, before bolting away into the trees. You smile to yourself and raise your face to better feel the sun.

You hear the crack of the shot and drop, but not quickly enough. Your ears ring, your shoulder burning agonizingly, like someone’s pushing a hot poker against it. You fight against the nausea and pain, willing yourself to move, scrambling into the brush for cover. The shot came from your six, and you grapple for your binoculars, trying to locate the shooter on the hill above you. You recognize the mask first, the bleached tear tracks down an executioner's hood, the hulking form of the figure wearing it unfortunately familiar. König is standing casually, seemingly unafraid of any return of fire, staring down like he can see you through the trees. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle instinctually as he begins to move, a sauntering pace down the hill like the slow lope of a wolf. You drop down again, ignoring the pain in your shoulder as you crawl through the underbrush.

Nestled low on a hill, large body half buried in the underbrush, König watches you through the scope of his rifle, toying with the idea of killing you. He recognizes you from the files he’s seen on the 141, but there was nothing left at the base for you to find, no reason to draw suspicion and attention back here. You were harmless like this, and magnetic, head tilted towards the sun, your face lit up in a wash of gold light that plays up the color of your hair. His finger brushes lightly across the trigger as he contemplates his options. He rolls his neck loose before glancing through his scope again.

You stop behind a small boulder, pressing your back to it, breathing heavily, and pull your radio off of your hip. “Bravo Six, this is Bravo Seven Four, over.”

The crackle of the radio is a relief, Price’s voice faint but firm. “Go ahead Bravo Seven Four, over.”

“Enemies one; direction east of my grid two hundred meters, injury sustained, six clicks out of extraction point, over.” You peek out from behind the rock, but can't see anything, so you continue your crawl, waiting for a response. The birds have stopped singing, a deadly quiet that warns of danger.

“Stay calm Bravo Seven Four–” Price’s voice is cut off by the sound of another bullet whizzing near you. You can’t have your radio giving away your position, and the squad is too far away to reach you before König could. You grab your radio and quickly press the button.

“Bravo Six, silence, meet at extraction, over.” You turn it off, not waiting for a response, and tuck it back into your belt. Ignoring the growing burning in your shoulder, you move as quickly through the underbrush as you can. You need to cover more ground if you’re going to make it out of here, so you weigh your options, propping yourself into a low crouch, scanning the woods behind you. You can’t see or hear anything. You inhale deeply, then break into a sprint.

The cracking of branches is faint, but König is listening for it, his rifle slung over his shoulder as he searches for you. He immediately changes directions, moving towards the noise and quickening his pace. If you want to run, he’s more than happy to indulge you, relishing the adrenaline of the chase. Your trail is clear, broken branches like a beacon beckoning him closer. He spots blood on one of the low boulders, and swipes it up on his gloved hand, smiling under the mask.

You're hyper aware of your disadvantage, the sounds of snapping branches as your pursuer draws closer, the sluggish flow of blood down your shoulder from where the bullet grazed you. Your lungs burn, head woozy as you run hard, branches scraping at your form. You risk a look over your shoulder, searching for König behind you, and your heart drops when you miss a step.

All of a sudden, you're falling, hands stretched out in front of you as you tumble down a steep hill. You hear and feel the snap of your ankle in your boot, a whimpering sob yanked from your chest as you finally land heavily in some thorn covered bushes, branches scratching your body even through the thick fabric of your uniform. You pull yourself out, ignoring the pain as thorns drag against your face, drawing blood, then scan yourself quickly, the prognosis bleak. You can't run, not with what is definitely a broken ankle, and your shoulder is still oozing freely, but you won’t go down without a fight. You drag yourself through the dirt using your good arm, stopping periodically to listen to the sounds of König moving through the trees. Your entire body burns, and you fight against the growing fatigue that’s threatening to overwhelm you, trying to hold onto your quickly waning adrenaline.

The sound of breaking branches draws nearer. He’s moving faster, heavy footfalls that make your leg muscles twitch with the urge to run. König whistles, high and loud, and you reach for your gun, cocking it as quietly as you can, turning around to face the direction of the noise, crouching low. Your heart pounds in your chest, fear creeping in, the weight of your situation crashing down on you.

“I heard you cry out,” a voice rings through the trees. There's something light in König’s tone, like this has all been a game of tag. “You can't be too far.”

Then the only sound is the breeze, rustling in the leaves. Blood from a cut on your forehead drips into your eye, and you resist the urge to wipe it away, scanning your surroundings as best you can without moving.

The unwelcome feeling of the muzzle of a gun presses against the side of your head, and your body shudders involuntarily.

“Drop your weapon, Häschen,” König murmurs. You comply immediately, tossing it at his feet, unwilling to argue with a Beretta at your temple. The large man quickly kicks your gun into the bushes. “Sit up,” he commands, and you move slowly, trying not to aggravate your broken bone.

The small shack hasn’t been used in a while, the table in the center of the room is covered in dust, and spiders have made their home in the corners, spinning silvery streamers that hang down, brushing against his helmet. König places you lightly on the small bed in the corner, stooping over uncomfortably in the low room. Your hair is full of sticks and leaves, your face scraped and bleeding. He needs to look at your shoulder, and the ankle you’d been hovering over protectively, but work comes first. You’ve thrown him off, his fingers tingling where he held you to him, the phantom pressure of your head on his chest as he carried your unconscious body through the woods haunting him even now. He grabs your gear bag, dumping it unceremoniously onto the table, pulling your medkit to the side before rifling through the papers you’d found. The information was outdated, but he shoves the papers into one of the pockets of his pants for disposal later regardless.

You knew he was large, but kneeling at his feet he feels like a goliath, towering over you, the gun held in his grip looking comically small in his giant hands. He holsters it, and you get a stupid, moronic, brilliant idea. In a quick motion, you’ve ripped your radio off of your belt, pressing down on the button and bringing it to your lips. “MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY–” König slams the heel of his palm into the back of your head, and the world goes dark.

He doesn’t bother stripping you properly, just takes his knife and slices it up through the collar of your shirt, baring your shoulder to him. His eyes, unbidden, trace the line of the now exposed column of your throat, and he swallows loudly in the quiet of the room. König draws his attention back to your injury with some difficulty. He barely even grazed you, the puckered wound bleeding sluggishly, and he quietly gloats at his own aim. When he pours alcohol on it, you awaken with a hiss, throwing your arm out hard in his direction reflexively before your brain catches up with you. He deflects you easily, wrapping large fingers around your wrist, enjoying the feeling of the delicate bones, watching with silent smugness as your confusion reads clear on your face.

“Guten tag,” he says, pleasantly casual, as though you’ve run into him at the grocery store. Your head is pounding, and you’re thrown, trying to grasp your surroundings. Your shoulder is burning, and you’re suddenly aware of the air on your bare skin. You rip your hand out of his grasp, pulling yourself as far away from him on the small bed as you can manage. He tilts his head, studying you.

“What are you doing?” You ask, your voice hard.

König gestures with the alcohol he’s holding. “I’m patching up your injuries.” His voice is low, his accent curling around the syllables of his sentences like smoke.

You blink at him, utterly disarmed. “Why,” you pause, biting your cheek as a wave of pain radiates through your ankle, “Are you patching up my injuries?”

“Would you prefer it if I left them?” He volleys back lightly, tilting his head.

You don’t say anything, staring at him with suspicion. He’s got you cornered, quite literally, and there’s no way you can get away from him with your ankle like this unless you can get your hands on a weapon. There’s a knife tucked in your boot, but you can’t exactly pull it out subtly. His beretta is on his hip, his rifle is leaning against the table, but you’d be lying to yourself if you thought you had a chance in hell of reaching either before he could.

König takes your silence for compliance and goes back to dabbing your wound with alcohol. You flinch when he places his hand on you, and he makes a dissatisfied noise in the back of his throat. “Such a nervous little rabbit.” The mask conceals his expression from you, but you can hear the frown in his voice.

“You shot me,” you respond dryly. “Doesn’t exactly foster trust.”

“Just a scratch. I could’ve killed you, if I wanted to.” He shrugs, a casual movement that’s unintentionally intimidating, your eyes on the way his shoulder muscles move beneath the layers of clothing he wears.

You spend your time with large men, the boys of your team all averaging above six feet, but König is just startlingly gigantic. You scan his torso, eyes tracing across the wide planes of his chest, lingering too long to be decent. You catch yourself and drop your gaze down to your hands. “If you don’t want to kill me, what do you want?”

“I want to know what you are doing here.” His tone is still pleasant, but interrogative. His fingers are deliberate, surprisingly gentle as he bandages your shoulder, but there’s an unspoken thread of tension in the air.

You’re much more docile when he patches up your ankle, an uneasy truce between the two of you. You sit still as he splints it, legs draped almost intimately over his lap, his large fingers curled around your injured leg, gentle pressure holding you steady as he works. He adjusts his hold, squeezing lightly on the meat of your calf, and your breathing stutters. His eyes flick to yours, something dangerous in their expression, and you hold his gaze as you deliberately drag your uninjured leg closer to you, your boot trailing across König's upper thighs intentionally. His eyes slip close at the sensation, just for a moment, and that's when you act, yanking your knife out of your boot and sinking it into his thigh and launching yourself to the floor. He lets out a snarling cry, and you scramble up, your vision going white from the pain of your ankle, but you push through it, sprinting out of the shack.

“Chasing shadows.” You respond, your voice equally mild. You know he looked through your pack and probably found the papers. You wonder if he thought it was ironic that you came sniffing after KorTac, just to run right into him. You certainly did.

You can't run properly, reduced to a hobble that's made all the more difficult by the fact that you're on uneven terrain in the quickly growing dark. You need to figure out your location and find a way to contact your team, but you’re disoriented and disarmed. You haven’t made it more than a few meters when you hear the sound of the front door slam open. You pick up the pace, trying to put as much distance between you and the very angry Austrian hot on your trail.

“Häschen,” König’s voice rings through the trees, and a trickle of fear runs through you. You duck behind a tree, pressing yourself against it firmly, trying to blend in with the darkness.

“Always trying to run away,” he snarls, shoving his body against yours. He thrusts his uninjured thigh between your legs, pinning you further, and you let out an unintentional gasp at the sudden pressure of hard muscle against your core. König instantly pulls away, his eyes shooting down to your ankle with concern, before dragging slowly up your body, his gaze accusatory.

He can hear you breathing, light and quick, and he doesn’t even try to disguise the heavy sound of his footsteps as he closes in on you. He whips around the tree you’re cowering against, and you try to bolt, but he wraps his fingers around your bicep, yanking you back, slamming his hands above your head, trapping you against the tree.

“You like this,” he says, and you shake your head desperately.

“I don’t–” he interrupts any denials you might have, deliberately grinding his thigh in between your legs. You clench your teeth against the noise it draws from your throat.

He leans impossibly closer, your noses almost brushing through the hood he wears. “Did you like the chase as well?” His voice is a husky rumble, full of heat, and you have to bite back a whine. “I liked the chase.” You realize the hard length against your stomach isn't his Beretta, and an unwanted spike of arousal shoots through you in response.

“You’re insane,” you snap, grappling for some semblance of control over the building pleasure in your core. König pulls away from you abruptly, and you flush at how wet you are, soaking through your underwear.

“How about a game, Häschen?” his voice has lost its edge, back to the pleasant tone he used in the shack, and your head spins at the sudden change. “I'll give you five minutes to run or hide, and if you can make it ten minutes without me finding you, I’ll take you to your extraction point myself, safe and sound.”

Your heart races. You don’t trust him, but there's no way you'll get another chance to get away from him. “And if I can’t?” You ask.

You know you’re fucked, but you scramble through the darkness as quickly as you can, trying to find a good place to hide. If your ankle wasn’t broken, you’d climb a tree, but you’re stuck searching for ground cover, listening with mounting paranoia to the quiet noises of the forest. You’re a celestial body pulled unwillingly into König’s orbit; collision unavoidable.

He says nothing, just purposefully presses his hard cock against your center. Traitorous want flows through you.

You hear him coming, branches breaking as he stalks towards you. You stand as straight as you can, letting him approach you, his eyes bright in the dim of twilight. When he comes within range, you lunge for his gun, almost succeeding in yanking it out of the holster before he grabs you around the waist and pulls you to the ground, pinning you roughly beneath him.

Even as he manhandles you, you're hyper aware of the delicate way he avoids putting any weight near your injured shoulder. He's got your legs splayed around him, but he's careful, adjusting you just so, keeping your ankle tucked safely away, angled so he won't jostle it. His hips press obscenely against your ass, and you can't help arching your back into him, begging for his cock even as you swear at him.

“Get the fuck off of me,” you spit, and he just laughs, an off-putting, mean sound, before reaching around and ripping open your pants. The button pops off, and the zipper teeth split forcefully apart as he shoves a hand into your underwear.

“Complain all you want, Häschen, but you're soaked for me,” he coos into your ear, roughly rubbing your clit. You moan at the contact, and he moves his hand lower, pressing his palm against your clit before shoving a finger into your wet center, roughly splitting you open. You gasp at the sudden stretch, König giving you no time to adjust as he pulls his finger out for a moment and plunges it back in, moving in and out at a punishing pace.

“Tell the truth.” He orders, adding a second finger. He curls them, stroking your inner walls, bullying you open until he finds the spot that makes you see stars. “Say you want me to fuck you.”

You're beyond words, making a derisive noise that transforms into a whine as you move your hips back, driving König's fingers deeper, your ass rubbing against his clothed erection. All you can focus on is the press of his body against yours, his fingers unspooling you, pulling you apart as he pants along with you. The tension is building, the knot in your stomach tightening as König forces you closer to the edge.

He pulls his fingers out abruptly, leaving you devastatingly empty and unsatisfied, and you let out an anguished whimper despite yourself. He pushes your pants roughly down around your thighs, and the purr of his zipper opening makes you clench reflexively around nothing.

He presses right against your entrance, a breath away from splitting you open on his cock. You shove your hips back, trying to fuck yourself onto him, and he pulls back. “Say you want this,” he demands.

“Fuck. You.” You snarl, even as your thighs tremble. He drags the head of his cock up through your folds, coating himself in your wetness, and you gasp.

“Such spirit,” he murmurs. In a single motion, he sinks into you, splitting you in open, pulling the air from your lungs.

He thrusts into you fast and hard, like he wants to tear you open, and it hurts, even with how soaked you are. You cry out, trying to squirm away from the pain. His fingers find your clit again, his breath hot in your ear. He dwarfs you, your legs shaking from pleasure and the weight of him on top of you, pressing you into the dirt.

“You wanted this.” His voice is a panting snarl, his talented fingers stealing your senses as he forces you closer to your orgasm. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the forest air as he pounds into you without mercy. “Say it.”

“I want this,” you whimper. You feel the shocking whisper of his lips against the junction of your neck and shoulder and realize with a start that means he’s not wearing his hood. All thoughts are shoved out of your head as he sinks his teeth into your skin, and you wail as you snap, the sensation dragging you over the edge, your body trembling as you cum. His thrusts become sloppy, his cock twitching inside you as he shoves his hips against yours, filling you up. He stays like that, flush against you, as his dick softens, keeping you full and trapped under him.

You lay in the dirt panting, hollowed out and raw. There are pine needles prickling against your skin, soreness awakening in your limbs as you come back to yourself. König climbs off of you, still cognizant of your injuries, and pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you like a lover, the brutality melting into tenderness like watercolor. His hood is back in place, and the world comes crashing down around you as your senses return, the weight of your actions pulling you down as regret and shame bubble under your skin.

The walk to the extraction point is silent. König holds you cradled against his chest; your hand fisted in the front of the vest he wears. His thigh burns, his entire body consumed with exhaustion, but he clenches his jaw against the pain, focusing instead on your face, turnt up towards him, open and vulnerable, eyes rimmed with red. If he was a better man, he'd be sorry.

König notices your eyes glazing over, the warble of your chin, and reaches up a large hand to cradle your face, wiping away tears you didn't realize were threatening to fall. “Hush bunny, you did so well,” he croons down at you, his saccharine actions thrown in high relief against how violently he handled you before. “Such a good girl for me.”

He sets you down gently on a large rock, and pulls your knife out of a hidden pocket, his hand raised in a placating gesture as he slowly places it beside you. It’s still got his blood on it, dried to rust on the tip. You don’t reach for it, pulling your uninjured leg up and wrapping your arms around yourself. You look even smaller than you did before.

He straightens his spine against the odd sensation in his chest. “Tell your captain to keep a closer eye on his men,” He orders, then reaches out a hand, hovering just above your cheek bone. Neither of you bridge the gap.

You watch him disappear into the trees, the shadows swallowing him whole, the sound of a helicopter in the distance.

#konig: i showed minimal restraint when causing u bodily harm y wont u let me hit #part of me didnt want to post it because its simply so unoriginal but thats kind of how tropes work fun fact #I also just hate how it turned out eventually I'll rewrite everything but for now I'm just sorry #foreplay is actually shooting someone nonfatally btw #and reader has a pain tolerance like a mother fucker because this is poorly written fanfiction #I cannot write smut I literally wrote everything but the sex and then sat on it for weeks I have such a hard time with it #konig x reader #konig fanfiction #konig x reader smut #konig x you #cod konig #konig/reader #cod x reader #konig cod

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anonymous-dentist · 2 days

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Part Ten of the Catboy in the Village AU

Part One | Part Nine

The queen breaks the news to them at the breakfast table as soon as she's finished eating. She wipes her mouth daintily with a napkin, pushes her empty bowl away from her, snaps her fingers, and smiles as a guard pulls out a familiar-looking envelope from beneath his cloak and hands it to her.

Roier almost coughs up his eggs. His eyes go wide and his fork scrapes against his plate and he stops breathing and he suddenly breathes too hard while chewing and he doubles over and covers his mouth to keep himself from spitting his food up in shock.

Cellbit immediately drops his own silverware and raises a hand to rub Roier's back. Roier shrugs him off, getting himself under control pretty quickly, but Cellbit's hand remains on his back, and Roier lets it stay there.

Slowly, the queen opens the envelope; its seal has already been broken. She makes direct eye contact as she does so, her face perfectly flat.

That's Roier's handwriting on the envelope. And inside is the princess' notebook paper with a message written in Cellbit's messy scrawl. The message was coded, and the address was encrypted, so there shouldn't be anything to worry about.

...Right?

Unless-

The queen clears her throat, raises the letter so that she's looking at it, and reads: "'As someone experienced with the culinary nuances of human flesh, I have decided that it's absolute dogshit when cooked. I prefer to taste the blood, as it adds a bit of spice to what would otherwise be pretty bland.'"

Her nose wrinkles, her entire face screwing up in disgust. Good. Just as planned.

"'However'," she continues, "'I have discovered the value in different types of meats. Bear meat is still my favorite, but I have grown to like rabbit meat as of recent. Something about it reminds me of my childhood, I'm sure you know why. The taste of cooked rabbit paints a picture of warfare and bloodshed, and the nostalgia makes it taste even sweeter.

'Rabbit cooked in a mushroom sauce is better than you'd imagine, though I know that we both can't really do mushrooms anymore.

'Try it out and let me know how you like it. Was it good? Bad? I can adjust the recipe.'"

Lowering the letter, the queen folds it up and calmly places it on the table in front of her.

Cellbit glances at Roier out of the corner of his eye.

Roier just smiles, closed-mouthed, and gets himself another forkful of egg. The way he's holding his fork, though, and his knife is... dangerous. He's ready.

And then the queen smiles, leaning back in her seat with her hands clasped in her lap.

Cellbit picks up his fork and holds it just a bit too tightly. His knuckles go white.

Suddenly, the queen stands from her chair and picks up her bowl and chucks it clear across the table with a screamed, "What the fuck is wrong with you!?"

Cellbit yelps and falls to the side out of his chair, hand on his head to keep his hat on, the bowl whiffing past his face so close that bits of berries drag across his cheek and leave a mark behind.

He tries to get back up, but he's stopped by a guard rushing forward and putting a heavy armored foot on his back. He hisses and struggles and squirms, ears laying flat under his hat.

He fights twice as hard as he hears Roier shout. His head whips to the side just in time to watch Roier get manhandled out of his chair and forced to drop his makeshift weapons, his arms getting pinned behind his back by four entire armored guards.

"You attacked my daughter?" the queen demands.

On the floor, Cellbit can't see anything of her but her feet as she gets out of her chair and storms over to their side of the table.

Cellbit bares his teeth as she approaches. She does the same in return, ears twitching angrily.

"It was just a little blackmail," he taunts.

"She is a child!" she snaps.

"Yes, and?" Roier asks. "So what?"

Her gaze snaps towards him, and her face darkens.

"You," she spits.

A second guard has to run over and pin Cellbit as the queen storms towards Roier and slaps him across the face loud enough to echo throughout the room.

Roier just blinks and takes it. The side of his face is red and angry, and Cellbit feels red and angry.

"She cried because of you," the queen lowly says, body shaking in anger. "Did you really think that she would keep this from me?"

Roier shrugs. "I mean... yeah?"

Cellbit accidentally lets out a pained yowl as the second guard on him digs their armor into an older wound on his lower back, one that never really healed after prison.

For whatever reason, the queen turns her head to glare at the guard.

"What are you doing?" she huffs. "Don't hurt him."

Cellbit blinks up at her in disbelief. "You just threw a bowl at me!"

"And you have a thick skull. It wouldn't have hurt you."

At that, Cellbit starts struggling even harder. He used to be able to fight off an entire gang of men at once, what happened? How are two people holding him down like this?

"Kids lie," Roier loudly says, trying to bring the attention back to him, the idiot. "Kids suck!"

And it works. The queen turns back to him, face slowly reddening.

"Empanada is an angel," she says.

"She's a fucking stalker!" Cellbit argues, trying to bring the attention back to him. "And you're making her do it. So what does that make you?"

And it works. The queen turns back to him, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"What?" she asks.

He rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on. She's been following me for weeks. Basically since we got here! Because you're making her."

He scoffs, "Child labor, really? Even I don't make my kids help in the store."

"I do," Roier comments.

Cellbit nods. "He does. But I don't, and I'm the cannibal here, so..."

The queen just shakes her head. "No... what? First, you aren't, and, second, I haven't told her to do anything but stay away from you, and-"

"Okay, fuck you," he interrupts, "I am a cannibal. Didn't you read the letter?"

"Yes, and that's how I know you're lying. But listen, I haven't told Empanada to do anything to you!"

"Yeah," Roier agrees, "except follow us!"

"Invisible," Cellbit adds. "And her potions aren't even properly mixed! Do you know how dangerous that can be? She's going to wake up dead one of these days, and it's going to be all your fault."

The queen groans and puts her face in her hands. She breathes, shoulders rising and falling dramatic with every breath.

"I told her to stay away from the cauldron," she murmurs, so quiet that it's likely that nobody but Cellbit can hear her. "She's too short. She hates the smells. She can't reach. What the fuck?"

Sensing a weak moment, Cellbit smirks and says, "I knew you think I'm the wrong person."

Lowering her hands, the queen frowns and asks, "What?"

He shrugs. "Why else would you be hiding your daughter, a-k-a my niece, from me unless you think I'm the wrong guy. If I'm supposed to be her long-lost uncle, wouldn't you have introduced me to her immediately? Unless you don't trust me, because you think I'm not your brother, because I'm not your brother."

Roier 'OOOOOOOOOH!'s. As does one of the guards holding him, who gets shut up immediately by another guard.

The queen just stares. She stares for a long moment before sighing and saying, "My daughter asked me to keep you away from her. She said that she didn't want to get cooties."

Roier blinks. "What the fuck is a cooties?"

The queen waves her hand dismissively. "It's a girl thing, you wouldn't get it. But-"

Cellbit cuts her off with a shake of his head: "No, no. She told us that you told her to stay away from us. We aren't supposed to know that she exists. Because you wanted her to spy on me!"

"Why would I want her to do that?" The queen throws her arms into the air in frustration. "Why would I even spy on you? I did that before you even came here!"

"Aha!" Cellbit shouts, wiggling an arm free so he can point at her. "You did spy on me!"

"And you still are!" Roier accuses. "You stole our mail, what the fuck?"

The queen rolls her eyes. "Because you blackmailed my daughter? If you wanted to send a letter, you could have asked."

"Uh, and then what?" Cellbit sneers. "You follow it until it gets to the other person and you kidnap them, too?"

"Oh, I don't need to follow it to do that," the queen simply replies.

She smirks slightly, arms crossing as she leans back against the table.

"Who do you think taught you encryption in the first place?" she asks. "And your code sucked. The cannibalism was a good distraction, but it was too ridiculous. Searching your home weeks ago showed that your youngest child's favorite animal is the rabbit and your other child likes cows. Your children were growing mushrooms in a window garden. There were art supplies throughout the apartment. It was all obvious."

Cellbit's heart clenches.

The queen just smiles.

Her attention quickly moves away from him, though, as a messenger runs into the room out of breath.

"An update, your highness," the messenger wheezes. "The team has completed its search of Mr. Halo's home."

Roier freezes.

Cellbit stops breathing.

No.

"And?" the queen asks, frowning.

After a moment, the messenger answers:

"There are no signs of the children there. Evidence shows that they had never even arrived."

Roier's knees buckle beneath him. The guards holding him all shout and rush to keep him upright as he faints in their arms.

The queen raises a hand to her mouth in shock. She immediately turns to Cellbit, pale, but he doesn't see her. Not really.

He stares blankly into the space ahead of him as the queen drops to her knees by his side and talks. He doesn't hear a thing besides the beating of his own heart.

They had never even arrived.

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#catboy in the village au

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myautisticpov · 2 days

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Gamerbros peppering in "DEI" where they used to pepper in "SJW" just sound like the most out-of-touch conspiracy theorists to anyone with, like, a regular office job

Because, like, SJW was, to anyone who knew anything about it, an obvious way to say "marginalised people I don't want to listen to", but to normal people, it did at least evoke an image of, like, the most annoying vegan they'd ever met or whatever

But "DEI" is such a boring corporate thing to anyone with an actual job with actual DEI policies that peppering it into a video on videogames makes it super obvious that you've fallen down a conspiracy theory rabbit hole

Like, if you say "DEI" to a regular fucking office worker, it just evokes an image of, like, meetings that end with "Yes, we will consider not putting meetings around school pick-up times so that staff members who are parents can utilize their flexi-hours more easily to do the school run"

And, like, at least with politicians, the obvious substitute they're trying to make is for affirmative action, which yeah, from my outside-the-US perspective, I can see how that's an easier substitute

But when you're complaining about there being too many women and POC in videogames, DEI is such an obviously nonsense thing that only someone deep in the conspiracy-theory rabbit-hole would say to anyone with, again, a normal fucking office job

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pandapetals · 2 days

Text

Runaway

old man logan x afab!reader - i guess angst, inspired by rihanna's song desperado, set from the film logan, logan being nice, no y/n used, no reader description, mutant reader but no powers mentioned

Logan sees you on the side of the road and decides to pick you up.

read on Ao3

Logan hadn’t planned on stopping, let alone picking anyone up. But there you were, standing alone on the side of a dirt highway, the heat shimmering off the asphalt like a mirage. He didn’t know what made him slow down, what made him pull over and let you climb into the passenger seat of his beat-up truck. Maybe it was the way you looked—exhausted, dirt streaked across your face, bag slung over your shoulder like you’d been walking for days. Your skin was burnt, the blazing sun having made its mark, and yet your eyes, though heavy with fatigue, were sharp. Watchful.

Something about you reminded him of himself.

He didn’t regret it, though. In his old age, Logan had learned to appreciate the silence of a long drive more than anything else, and it seemed like you did too. You’d only said three words to him— “Thanks for stopping” —and he’d replied with three of his own: “Don’t mention it.”

After that, the two of you had settled into a companionable quiet. No questions, no small talk. Just the hum of the engine and the endless stretch of desert before you.

You'd relaxed a bit when he'd glanced over at you and muttered, “Take it easy.” It wasn’t a command, more like permission. To breathe, to let go of whatever had weighed you down on that lonely highway. And for a moment, you did. Your shoulders softened, your eyes closed, the tension in your body unwinding bit by bit, like you hadn’t felt safe enough to let your guard down until now.

Logan noticed but didn’t say anything. He just kept driving, his eyes fixed on the horizon, the cigarette between his lips burning low, the smoke curling out the window.

It wasn’t until he pulled off the road at a dusty old gas station, the kind that barely had enough lights to flicker, that things shifted again. The limo rolled to a stop, and you opened the door, stepping out without a word. At first, he figured you were just stretching your legs, shaking off the miles. But then he saw the way your bag was slung back over your shoulder, the determined set of your jaw, that wild, lone-wolf glint in your eyes.

You weren’t planning on sticking around.

“Hey,” Logan called, his voice gravelly, rough from years of too much smoke and too little sleep.

You paused, your back to him, your body tense like a coiled spring. Slowly, you turned, eyes meeting his with a wariness that hadn’t left since the moment you’d climbed into his truck. “Yeah?”

He stared at you for a beat, trying to read you, trying to figure out why he cared whether or not you left. “Run in and get me a beer,” he said, flipping a couple of crumpled bills toward you. The cash hit the dirt, fluttering at your feet.

For a second, he thought you might bolt. He could see it in the way your body shifted, like a rabbit ready to dart from a predator. Part of him expected it—half of him even wanted you to run. It’d be easier that way. No good ever came from sticking around people too long.

But you didn’t run.

You just sighed, like the weight of the world was sitting on your shoulders, and bent down to pick up the bills. With a flicker of resignation, you shoved the money into your pocket and walked into the convenience store, your bag still hanging off your shoulder like it was always ready to be picked up at a moment’s notice.

Logan watched you disappear inside, the glass door swinging shut behind you, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He lit another cigarette, the paper crackling in the quiet, and leaned against the limo.

He didn’t know why he felt relieved you hadn’t taken off. It wasn’t like you owed him anything, and he sure as hell wasn’t used to people sticking around. But something about you... maybe it was the way you’d stood on that highway, all defiance and exhaustion, or maybe it was the silence you carried like a second skin. Whatever it was, it gnawed at him, like he could see a piece of himself in you—another drifter with nowhere to be and no one to answer to.

When you came back out, a cold beer in hand, you tossed it to him without a word. He caught it mid-air, popping the cap off with a flick of his thumb, the hiss of carbonation breaking the tension.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice gruff.

You nodded but didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, you stood there for a moment, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, like you were still trying to decide whether to stay or go.

“You know,” Logan began, his eyes fixed on the darkening horizon, “you don’t have to keep running.”

Your shoulders stiffened, but you didn’t say anything. The weight of his words hung between you both, thick and heavy like the dust that clung to the desert air.

“I’m not running,” you muttered finally, your voice low, almost too quiet for him to catch but he knew it was a lie.

Logan took a long swig of the beer, watching you carefully from the corner of his eye. “Yeah, you are,” he said after a moment, his tone even, almost resigned. “We all are.”

For the first time, you looked at him— really looked at him—and in that instant, something shifted. The walls you’d both built, the ones that kept you safe but alone, cracked just a little.

“Doesn’t mean you gotta keep doing it,” he added, voice softer this time like he wasn’t sure why he was even saying it.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you walked around to the back of the limo and climbed into the passenger seat, setting your bag down at your feet, the decision made. Logan didn’t ask where you were headed, didn’t push for answers you weren’t ready to give. He just slid back into the driver’s seat, turned the ignition, and let the old engine roar to life.

The two of you drove off, leaving the gas station behind, the sun dipping low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the desert.

For the first time in a long while, Logan didn’t feel the weight of solitude pressing down on him. Maybe it was the silence between you, or maybe it was just the comfort of knowing someone else was out there, wandering the same road.

Hours had slipped away, the sky outside now washed in soft hues of pink and orange as the sun began its slow descent. Logan kept his hands steady on the wheel, his eyes locked on the road ahead. He could keep driving—hell, he’d driven through worse—but the soft sound of your head bumping gently against the window caught his attention. You were fighting it, he could tell. Your head kept nodding forward, then jerking back up as you tried to resist the pull of sleep.

Logan had lived long enough to master the art of sleeplessness. Nights on the run, nights on missions, nights spent haunted by things he couldn’t quite forget. Sleep was optional when you had the kind of past he did. But he could see it in you, the weariness sinking deep into your bones. He wondered how long it had been since you’d slept in a real bed—if you even remembered what that felt like.

Your exhaustion bothered him in a way he couldn’t quite name. So, with a quiet sigh, he pulled off the highway, easing the limo into the parking lot of a rundown roadside hotel. The flickering neon sign buzzed weakly in the evening air, casting an eerie glow over the mostly vacant lot. The engine rumbled to a stop, and the sudden silence jolted you awake.

“Why’d we stop?” Your voice was groggy, your eyes still hazy with sleep. You blinked, confused, disoriented, like you couldn’t quite understand why you were no longer in motion.

Logan’s chest tightened at the sound of your voice—how startled you were by something as simple as stopping. It reminded him of things he didn’t want to remember. “You need to rest,” he muttered, the words rough in his throat. “Can’t sleep sittin’ like that.”

He stepped out of the limo without waiting for your response, the night air cooler than he expected as it brushed against his skin. The neon light buzzed above him as he walked inside the hotel, the faint smell of old carpet and stale cigarette smoke hitting him the moment he opened the door. The place was barely a step above a motel, the kind of spot that wouldn’t ask too many questions, and that suited Logan just fine.

A few minutes later, he returned to the limo, the weight of a key card resting in his hand. He opened the door and slid back into the driver’s seat, holding the key out toward you.

You glanced at the key, then at him, an odd expression crossing your face as you squinted in the dimming light. “You got a room?” you asked, your voice tinged with confusion.

Logan nodded, but then shook his head slightly, grunting in frustration. “No... I mean, yeah, but it’s not for me. It’s for you.” He shoved the key into your hand, his calloused fingers brushing yours for just a second—enough to feel how rough and worn his hands were like they’d spent a lifetime in battles you couldn’t begin to imagine.

You stared at the key in your hand, then back up at him, shaking your head. “I can’t take this,” you murmured, a hint of something like guilt creeping into your voice. “I don’t need—”

“Hey,” Logan cut you off, his voice gruffer than usual, like he was uncomfortable with the whole situation. “I’m bein’ nice here. And I don’t do nice shit, so take it.” His eyes, though hard, had softened just a fraction, as if he was daring you to argue with him but hoping you wouldn’t.

For a moment, you didn’t move. The weight of his offer hung between you, heavier than it should’ve been. There was more to this than just a bed—it was an unspoken acknowledgment of something. Trust, maybe. Or the fact that Logan, in his own rough-around-the-edges way, saw that you needed something more than just a seat in his limo.

Your fingers curled around the key, accepting it with quiet resignation, but your gaze lingered on his. “Why are you doing this?” you asked, your voice low, the question carrying more than just curiosity. There was a vulnerability in it, a hint of something deeper, like you were trying to understand the man sitting next to you.

Logan looked away, his jaw clenching slightly as if the answer was something he didn’t want to say out loud. He exhaled through his nose, a heavy sound in the quiet cab of the limo. “Just get some rest,” he muttered, his tone clipped like he didn’t want to have this conversation. Not now. Maybe not ever.

You hesitated for a beat longer, then finally nodded, pushing open the door and stepping out into the cool night air. The pavement felt rough beneath your feet, a reminder of how far you'd come from wherever you started. The worn-down hotel loomed in front of you, the neon light casting strange shadows across the parking lot.

As you walked toward the door, you glanced back over your shoulder. Logan was still sitting there in the driver’s seat, his silhouette framed by the fading light. He didn’t move, didn’t watch you go—at least, not that you could tell. But something in the way he sat, rigid and tense, told you he was still paying attention. Always paying attention.

Inside the hotel room, the bed was lumpy, the sheets threadbare, and the faint smell of mildew lingered in the air. But it was a bed—a real bed. And that was something you hadn’t had in a while. You dropped your bag by the door, staring at the worn carpet for a moment, feeling the weight of everything settle onto your shoulders.

As you lay down not bothering to change, your body sank into the mattress, the tension slowly easing from your muscles. You closed your eyes, the hum of the highway distant now, Logan’s quiet gruffness still echoing in your head.

Outside, Logan leaned back in the limo, staring out into the fading dusk. The quiet between you wasn’t uncomfortable anymore—it felt like something else. Something that neither of you could name yet.

He stayed there, in the parking lot, engine off, his thoughts far away but still somehow with you, watching over you in a way he’d never admit to until he finally let sleep take him.

You awoke to the damp feeling of drool on your chin, blinking groggily as you wiped your face with the back of your hand. The unfamiliar room slowly came into focus—the peeling wallpaper, the dim light filtering through the blinds. You sat up, glancing around as your mind caught up with your body. For a moment, you weren’t sure what time it was, until you peeked outside, pulling the blinds open just enough to see the sky painted with streaks of orange and pink.

The sun was setting. Still early.

The limo was still parked in the lot, right where it had been when you’d gone inside. A part of you had half-expected it to be gone, leaving you behind with nothing but a vague memory of a quiet, brooding man who had given you a ride. But there it was.

You sighed, pushing yourself up from the bed, and stretching out the stiffness in your back. The bathroom mirror reflected a version of you that looked just as tired as you felt—hair tousled, eyes puffy from sleep. You splashed some water on your face, trying to freshen up, wondering just how long you’d been out.

As you towel-dried your face, a thought hit you: You didn’t even know the guy’s name.

You paused, staring at your reflection. Great. I got in a car with a complete stranger. A stranger who could’ve easily left you out there on the highway, or worse, done something while you were out cold. But he hadn’t. You knew instinctively that he wouldn’t. He could’ve hurt you, sure, but there was something about his demeanor that told you he wasn’t that kind of man. Reserved, gruff—yes—but not a threat.

Besides, there was something about the way he moved, the way he watched the world with an edge of suspicion like he was always prepared for the worst. It felt... familiar. Maybe that’s why you’d felt okay getting into the car with him. He was like you—a mutant. One of the few left in the world, just trying to survive.

You stepped outside into the cool evening air, pulling the door shut behind you. Logan sat in the limo, leaning back with his arms crossed, one hand tapping lightly against the worn leather of the steering wheel. His gaze lifted the moment you stepped into view, those sharp, unreadable eyes tracking your every move.

“Didn’t think you’d wait around,” you said as you approached, your voice carrying more uncertainty than you intended.

Logan shrugged. “Didn’t have anywhere else to be,” he replied, his tone casual, but there was a heaviness behind the words like maybe that had been true for a long time.

You opened the passenger door and slid in next to him. The limo smelled faintly of smoke and old leather, the scent oddly comforting now. You settled back into the seat, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

“What’s your name?” you asked suddenly, realizing how strange it was to have shared a car—and now a bit of trust—with someone you didn’t even know.

“Logan,” he answered, the name grating out of his throat like it wasn’t used to being said. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, his eyes staying on the horizon, but his grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly. “Yours?”

You hesitated for a second before giving it. It felt strange to be exchanging names after all this, but something in you wanted to fill the quiet between you with more than just silence.

Logan nodded once, letting your name hang in the air for a moment before glancing over at you. His gaze was hard to read—those deep, weathered eyes that had probably seen too much for too long. “How’d you end up out here?”

You shifted slightly, the question bringing a surge of memories to the surface—memories you weren’t sure you wanted to unpack right now. But there was something about the way he asked, so direct, so unflinching, that made it easier to answer.

“Been moving around,” you said simply. “Trying to stay off the radar, keep to myself.” You shrugged, glancing out the window at the fading light. “Guess I was just looking for somewhere quieter than the last place.”

Logan grunted like he understood more than he was letting on. “Not much quiet left these days.”

You both sat in the heavy silence that followed, the kind of silence that said more than words could. The world had become hostile to people like you—mutants, outcasts, whatever they wanted to call you now. It didn’t matter where you went; there was always a sense of being hunted, being watched like you were something dangerous to be kept in check.

“How long have you been running?” he asked after a while, his voice softer now, less gruff. There was something almost... knowing in it, like he’d been running, too for much longer than you could imagine.

You exhaled, the question hitting closer than you wanted it to. “Feels like forever,” you admitted quietly. “But really? Only a few years. Things started getting... bad.”

Logan’s jaw tightened at that, his fingers gripping the wheel until his knuckles whitened. “Yeah. They always get bad.”

You didn’t need to ask if he was speaking from experience. You could hear it in his voice, feel it in the air between you—the weight of survival, the cost of staying alive when the world seemed determined to tear you down.

“Why’d you pick me up?” you asked suddenly, surprising yourself with the question. It had been nagging at you since he’d stopped on that highway, and now, sitting here with him, it felt safe enough to ask.

Logan’s eyes flicked over to you, then back to the windshield. He was silent for a long moment like he wasn’t sure how to answer. Finally, he shrugged, the movement almost imperceptible. “Seemed like you needed it.”

That was it. No explanation, no deeper reasoning. Just a simple truth, spoken with a kind of raw honesty that made your chest tighten. He wasn’t the type to offer anything he didn’t mean, and for some reason, that made his answer hit harder.

You nodded, accepting the answer for what it was.

Logan cleared his throat, breaking the tension. “So, what’s the plan now? Where are you headed?”

You stared at him, then out the window focusing on the hotel neon sign, unsure how to respond.

You hadn’t thought about the future beyond getting through the next day. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “Keep moving, I guess. Same as always.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and distant. “Same as always.”

For a while, neither of you spoke, but the silence felt different this time—less heavy, more like a shared understanding between two people who’d been walking the same lonely road for too long.

Logan turned the key in the ignition, the engine rumbling to life beneath you both. “Where to, then?” he asked, glancing over at you with a look that said it didn’t really matter where you went. Not as long as you were both still breathing.

You met his gaze, feeling the unspoken question beneath it. You could keep running. Or maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to do it alone this time.

“Anywhere but here,” you said, a slight smile tugging at your lips.

Logan nodded, pulling the car into gear and easing back onto the road, the fading sun casting long shadows across the landscape as you drove toward whatever came next.

#wolverine #x men wolverine #james logan howlett #logan howlett #logan howlett x you #x men logan #logan x reader #old man!logan #old man logan #logan x you #wolverine x reader #logan xmen #marvel #mcu #female reader #mutant reader #rihanna

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asherraccoon · 3 days

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Camping- Radioapple- Human AU, Teeenager AU

Lucifer eagerly opened up the car door. He had been getting restless from the long drive and wanted to get out as fast as possible.

“Calm down, Luce, we're not even at the site yet,” Uriel said, climbing out after his brother.

“I've been stuck in that car for the past fifteen hours and only gotten out to use the bathroom, I think I have the right to be desperate for air,” Lucifer said, his eye twitching slightly. He wasn't good at sitting still and staying quiet if he didn't have anything to occupy himself with. He had read all the books he had brought with him during the drive and he didn't like drawing in cars because it was bumpy. His headphones had died and his phone made him carsick. He was just happy to finally be free.

Michael yawned and stretched his arms. “Man, that was a long drive. Gabriel, wake up Az,”

Gabriel poked his brother sleeping on his shoulder. “Azrael,” he shook him. “Az,” he shoved the black-haired boy off of him and into the door. “Wake up!”

Azrael woke up with a snort. “WhA-huh?”

“We're here,” Gabriel told him before getting out of the car.

“Dad, do you want us to start heading over while you get the camping fee settled?” Michael asked, looking over at their dad.

“Yeah, go ahead. Just don't get into any trouble,” their dad grunted.

“C'mon, guys, let's get set up,” Michael told his brothers as he started getting the gear from the car.

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

Lucifer dug in his backpack and pulled out his sketchbook and pencil. “Dad, can I go to the woods?” He asked the man in the tent.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” the man said dismissively.

Lucifer's expression fell. He sighed. Dad never cared much for him. He didn't know why he bothered asking. He stood up and went to the woods that surrounded the camp site.

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

Lucifer sat on a log near a river he had found. He hummed to himself as he sketched out the scenery. He enjoyed this. The forest smell, the sound of the river, the cool air. It was calming. A good distraction from the chaos of his family. He continued to draw when he heard the snap of a stick. He snapped his head up and looked around. “Hello?” He called out.

Silence.

Lucifer shook his head. “Probably a rabbit or something,” he said to himself. He returned his attention to his drawing. A minute later he heard the rustle of a bush behind him. He turned around and looked at the bush. “Hello?” He called out again. He watched the bush for a moment before he sighed. He turned back around. He was met face-to-face with a brunette boy about his age.

“Hello!”

“AHH!” Lucifer shrieked and fell backwards off the log.

The other boy laughed as the blonde fell. “My apologies,” he apologized and held his hand out to help Lucifer up.

“Umm.. It-it's okay…” Lucifer took hold of the stranger's hand and let himself be pulled up. He brushed himself off and picked up his sketchbook and pencil off the ground, brushing the dirt off the page.

“What are you drawing?” The brunette asked, peering at the book.

“Er… just some scenery sketching… nothing special,” Lucifer held his book to his chest and blushed from embarrassment.

“Can I see?” The other boy asked.

“Uh… sure…” Lucifer looked at his drawing and then showed it to him.

“Wow,” the other boy was amazed. “You drew this? This is amazing!”

Lucifer blushed more. He hugged his sketchbook. “Um… th-thanks…” he avoided eye contact.

“Oh! Where are my manners?” The other boy laughed. He held out his hand. “The name's Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure!”

Lucifer took Alastor's hand. “Lucifer,” he introduced himself.

Alastor tilted his head. “Like the devil?”

Lucifer's expression fell slightly, seemingly upset by this. “Yeah. The devil,” he muttered.

Alastor was curious, but he remained silent. He let go of Lucifer's hand.

Lucifer sighed. “You're curious, aren't you?”

“I didn't want to seem rude…” Alastor gave a small laugh and a nervous smile.

Lucifer sat on the log and rested his elbow on his knee and head on his hand. “My family is very religious,” he began. “My dad's a priest, my mom was a pastor. So all of my siblings were named after angels. When I was born, I killed my mom,” Lucifer looked at the ground. “I guess I was too much for her to handle. My dad blamed me for the death and named me Lucifer,”

“Well, it wasn't your fault that she died,” Alastor sat down next to Lucifer. “Just because her body couldn't handle another child that doesn't make you evil,”

“I think there is something wrong with me, though,” Lucifer said. “I'm not good at sitting still and staying quiet unless I have something to keep me busy. I've always been seen as a troublemaker at school and at home for not understanding and following the rules. And when I think I'm doing something right, hey, the rules are different now and I was supposed to know even though no one told me,” he sighed in frustration. “My hobbies also aren't 'normal’ for boys my age,”

“What? Like drawing?” Alastor asked. “Drawing isn't really assigned to any specific gender or age,” he said. “I'm guessing you're around my age, 14?”

Lucifer nodded. “Yeah, I'm 14. I turn 15 in October,”

“You're older than me then, I turn 15 in December,” Alastor laughed. “But still, how are your hobbies not normal?”

“My dad thinks that art is more of a girl thing,” Lucifer sighed. “Same with singing and playing the violin,” he huffed in frustration.

“I sing and play piano,” Alastor said.

Lucifer looked at him. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Alastor stretched his legs out in front of him before crossing them.

Lucifer watched. “How can you sit like that?”

Alastor raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“With your legs crossed?” Lucifer clarified. “Whenever I sit like that my dad hits me and calls me a slur,” he said flatly.

Alastor blinked. “Jeez…” he whispered. “So I'm not the only one with an asshole of a dad then,” he tried to laugh it off.

Lucifer flinched at the 'asshole’ word. “You're allowed to curse?”

Alastor nodded. “Yeah, my mom doesn't mind. But that's besides the point. My dad was an ass. He'd get drunk and then beat me and my mom,” he looked over at the river. “Eventually, my mom had enough. She took me and left my dad. So now it's just me and her,”

Lucifer listened silently. “My dad usually just ignores me and gives my siblings more attention. Unless I do something bad, then he yells at me and hits me,” he tapped his pencil on his sketchbook.

“Alastor, allez, c'est l'heure du dîner !” (Alastor, come on, It's time for dinner!) A voice called out.

Alastor looked over. “J'arrive, maman !” (Coming, mom!) Alastor yelled back. “That's my mom, I've gotta head back to the campsite,” Alastor stood up. “It was nice meeting you though, Lucifer,”

Lucifer watched him stand. “Er… yeah, it was nice to meet you too…”

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Alastor asked.

Lucifer was a little surprised. This guy actually liked him? And wanted to see him tomorrow? “Uh- Y-yeah! I'll be here tomorrow…” he nodded.

“I'll see you then!” Alastor waved at Lucifer before he trotted off.

Lucifer waved. “Bye… Alastor…” he watched Alastor leave. “Did I just make a friend?” He asked himself.

(Should I do a part 2?)

#hazbin hotel #radioapple #alastor x lucifer #hazbin lucifer #duckiedeer #hazbin alastor #appleradio

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treecakes · 1 day

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Brief summary of this month’s chapter:

Natsume has a strange dream where he comes home and the house is different and completely empty of people. Natsume wakes up and thinks to himself that it’s been a while since he’s had a nightmare. He wonders if something is causing it, and tells Nyanko-sensei that sometimes something is off in the house. He runs into Touko downstairs, and they share their plans for the day. Natsume tells Touko that he’s going to a new store with his friends, and Touko tells him that she used to go visit a rabbit park frequently that was in that area, and that she’s always wanted a rabbit, but she’s happy now because, thanks to Takashi, she gets to live with a cute cat.

Natsume meets Tanuma and Taki at the store. Tanuma is there to pick up a bankers lamp for his father. While they look for one, Natsume sees two bunny figurines. He asks Tanuma and Taki if they think they’re cute, and Tanuma reassures him that whoever he is gifting them to will love them. Natsume plans to give one each to Touko and Shigeru. Walking home, Natsume thinks to himself that giving gifts is difficult.

When he’s home, he realizes that everyone else is still out, and notices a weird smell. He opens a door to (his?) room, and finds that it’s furnished completely differently than before. He shuts the door and opens it again, and it goes back to normal. He tells Nyanko-sensei about it, and the weird smell, which he describes as “nostalgic.” He says he also heard quiet footsteps, and tells Nyanko-sensei that he thought he was chasing a mouse, which annoys him to hear.

Later, Touko is going out again, and lets him know there’s food on the stove. Natsume tells Nyanko-sensei that he’s going to look around the house before Shigeru gets home. Nyanko-sensei runs ahead, and Natsume turns around to see a hazy humanoid figure.

Nyanko-sensei decides he’s going to take a nap in the storeroom, and opens the door to find a completely different room. He rubs his eyes, and it goes back to normal. Nyanko-sensei turns around to ask Natsume if he saw it, and Natsume is nowhere to be seen. Nyanko-sensei notices a small, poorly stitched plushie that looks like himself on the floor. The plushie calls his name, and Nyanko-sensei realizes it has Natsume’s voice.

Part 2 next month! Presumably.

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soobadnoonecanstopher · 16 hours

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Rat Bastard - Part 7

Pairing: You x Kyungsoo

Rating: M (Mature)

Word Count: 8900

Warnings: There were too many beds, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Idiots to Lovers

A/N: I wrote this in less than a day and none of it followed any of the plans I had for this story. This new laptop makes it too easy to write and it might end up adding extra chapters to this fic. Sorry and you’re welcome.

Tag: @ilovemyapopbaby

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

The silence that sat down atop both of your heads after that door closed tight, leaving you and him completely alone together for the first time in literally forever was about as loud as anything you’d ever experienced.

Kyungsoo stood just inside of the drab entryway and you had been lingering closer to the hallway that would take you further into the shelter. You watched his face for a while, trying to gauge the mood he would be in to find himself trapped in here with you for at least one night, maybe two if things got wild at the hospital and Mr. Chen wasn’t able to get away as he promised.

How would he feel about this? The relationship and you used that word strictly for lack of any other word to describe the you and the him, had been strained from the start, downright hostile at times, and only very recently kind of sort of settled into this civil agreement in which you did not antagonize him and he did not antagonize you -- much.

It wasn’t a friendly relationship for he himself had told you quite brutally last night that he had no interest in being your friend, but lately, with the interactions that had grown just a little bit softer, the chat you’d had with him out on the patio as he made you ramen and teased you about your sexual optimism, the silly time passing game of stating a personal preference between two completely inconsequential things and you found, much to your surprise that you and he shared more than a few minor tastes in common; the fright you had been triggered into with the spiders in the movie and the genuine comfort you felt from him; it felt almost as if something somewhere might be changing. Were you, just as you had been with the threat from the fake spiders, simply imagining the entire thing?

“Well, shit,” Kyungsoo whispered mostly to himself after the heavy door slammed shut and you looked up into his face to catch the smallest furrow of his brows and the frown of his lips.

Was this a worst case scenario for him? Trapped alone with the girl he never wanted to be trapped with? Having gone out of his way all those months ago to ditch her on that stupid blind date and she just had to be pathetic enough to pick a fight with him about it, and then about anything and everything she could find to fight about and just when he thought he’d escaped that nightmare of a person she shows up here and not only is she forced upon him by the staff here but now he’s somehow charged with feeding her and entertaining her? You could see it in his face. He looked disappointed as evidenced by the furrow and the frown.

You pulled your arms up and crossed them over your chest, pulling your eyes down and away from that disappointed look you saw in his eyes and you made a deal with yourself then and there; you would not be a burden. You would keep as good a distance as this situation allowed and behave yourself as far as your temper or your tangled feelings for the man were concerned. You wouldn't let it show just how far down this pathetic rabbit hole you’d fallen of uninvited attraction and unrequited love. You’d treat him with disinterest, maybe casual civility that a shop worker would get, or that old man at the grocery store who made a friendly joke about the price of eggs and you provided the required perfunctory laugh at exactly the right pitch and tone to be deemed socially acceptable. That was what you would do, you would perform as expected by society in such a situation.

It wasn’t his fault that you’d allowed this little crush to fester deep inside your stomach; and for a man who didn’t even desire friendship from you. It wasn’t the first time you’d let your heart run away with your mind. It didn’t have to happen with this man.

You felt a slight burning in your stomach, just below your breastplate and you placed a palm over the space where you felt the pain. You knew enough about your body to recognize that you were just feeling the aftereffects from the panic from earlier. It always came as an upset stomach that burned and ached usually for hours after your heightened emotions had run their course.

“What is it?” You hadn’t expected his attention but he must have seen your hand sink down hard just over the space at the top of your stomach. He must have noticed the look of discomfort on your face that you quickly blanked away with the drop of your hand.

“Nothing,” you said flatly dropping the subject entirely before he had a chance to probe or suspect more of you and you lifted a hand to half shrug into the air, “umm… did you want to finish the movie or … maybe play another game?”

His lips parted and he closed them up, his eyes briefly leaving your face and glancing behind you into the dark hallway from where you both had come.

When he didn’t answer you right away you inhaled to speak again, before you sounded like his own liability that he had to deal with, “you don’t have to do either, if you don’t want to. I don’t need you to entertain me or anything, I can figure something out for myself if you just want to be alone.”

You’d already spun on your heels, determined with your newfound resolve to be exactly as aloof and unaffected by anything he said or did as required by society to keep the peace; taking the first few steps away from him and turning back toward the dim light from the open kitchen door that you could barely make out as a direction in which you should travel.

“We could,” the first sounds of his voice stopped your steps and you turned your face in his direction, not committing to turning around the whole way, “play something, if you want.”

“Not Monopoly again, I swear to God,” you said with a finger lifted into the air and you heard the soft chuckle that came from behind you.

“Awww, my little Princess didn’t like the bitter taste of defeat?” You could hear the joking tone in his voice and weirdly that strong feeling of uncertainty you’d felt only moments earlier seemed to change with the teasing tone he used with you. Changed into what? You wouldn’t say, but it was only a slightly more comfortable feeling. There was a burning sensation just under the skin below your cheekbones and you thanked whatever god was responsible for putting you in this darkened hallway during this moment for the cover that would keep the blush from being noticed by him. You were imagining the softness you heard in that nickname. This man did not hold any affection for you.

Inside the kitchen you returned to the familiar set up that you had left, only it felt wildly different. Gone was the soft comfy feeling of the mattresses on the floor, the pillows set up at your back and the fluffy down winner’s blanket sat in a tangled clump on the floor beside the bed that you both had occupied. The briefest of thoughts flittered by -- would you be able to smell him in it now? That clean, crisp fragrance he seemed to carry with him, would those microscopic molecules be wound into the spaces in between your one thousand threads ready to drift inside of your nose, bringing you back to the moment below the blanket when his fingers intertwined between your own and he held your hand, keeping you grounded and still connected to this world. The comfort he had given you then, but why? To keep you from embarrassing yourself or maybe him? You couldn't find the reasoning for it anywhere inside of you, but this wouldn't be the first time that man did something you couldn't understand.

The burning was back. You had an absentminded hand running over the spot on your belly and your feet carried you to the spot beside the fridge where the water bottles sat. You ‘d seen an electric kettle there and you busied yourself grabbing a mug and heating the water. Behind you, Kyungsoo was looking through the games again, trying to find something that he could no doubt destroy you with again. Your heart wasn’t in the fight this time, you felt too distracted.

The water was heated and you poured some into a cup, finding that plain hot water always soothed your stomach the best and you returned to his side to peer over his shoulder holding your mug.

He glanced over at you and down at the mug, making no comment about either, and then he held up a game. It was your game. It was the first game, a word game you’d picked to play with a nostalgic and hopeful glint in your eye.

“We can play this one, if you want,” he said with a bit of a whisper as if you two weren’t the only ones in this entire building, “it’s still fun even with only two people.”

You nodded and took a seat near him but not close enough so he could cheat and look at your letters and he quietly set up the game, not once looking directly at your face for too long apart from the smallest of brushes with his eyes into yours as he handed you bits and pieces for the game.

You settled into your seat and took a good long look at the letters you had to pick from, picking a few up and shuffling them to see if you could come up with something good and after a few moments you settled on something that was actually pretty decent, especially for the first round. The realization pulled a small smile to your face and you grabbed the letters to place them on the board. He’d already told you that you could go first and as you began placing your tiles on the board you looked up to find that he was watching you, of course he was; you were playing the first word. This word would determine what he could or couldn’t play from his letters.

You played your word and did the math, giving yourself a nice start with 20 points and you wrote down the number on the pad of paper and looking up at him expectantly. You had expected him to be paying attention to the word, to be impressed by your intelligence. You had managed to spell that word on your very first go. You had expected him to feel thoroughly challenged by the force he had to reckon with.

He sat there though, his eyes watching you but something about his mind seemed disconnected from the game. Your smile at your own move slipped just a little bit, falling flat because he hadn’t even looked at the word you played yet. He just sat there with his shoulders relaxed, his unshuffled letters sitting there in front of him, he didn't even have his fingers on them, rearranging and thinking as you would have expected. He just sat there -- it was odd. You lifted your chin and wiggled your head, lifting your eyebrows and you heard an inhale as he took a deep breath and exhaled as he slowly pushed the air through his lips and when he was empty his eyes closed up. He gave his head a little shake back and forth and finally, finally his eyes left your face.

Finally he was looking down.

“Oh you played that, hmm,” you heard him mumble and he was back. All at once, his fingers were touching lightly over his letters, picking some up, moving them, shoving some aside, actually thinking about the game in front of him instead of whatever in the world he had been so distracted by.

You lifted your mug and took a sip, feeling the warmth of the hot water warm the inside of your stomach a little bit. The pain was still there even after another sip and you looked down at the mix of letters you had thinking of what word you might play next. You adjusted your posture some, lifting a hand to rub just below your breastplate again, wishing that knot would just go down and be done so you could win this game already.

Kyungsoo had played his word, counted out his points, and wrote a sad little 16 under his name. You were already winning. The self-satisfied smile was back, it had replaced the wince on your face when you realized you already had your next word. You played it quickly and tallied up your numbers. 24 -- He really didn’t stand a chance.

You heard the scrape of chair legs and the sound pulled your attention up to the man who was standing up and walking away from you toward the kitchen cabinets at the back wall.

“It’s your turn, Kyungsoo,” you called toward his retreating back.

“I know, I’m just getting something real quick,” he called without looking back at you and you heard him inside the fridge, heard him pulling something out and he was slicing something with a knife on a board. The kettle was going again and you heard a metal spoon hitting porcelain as he stirred something into a cup.

He was back quickly with two mugs in his hand and when he returned to your side he’d place one of the mugs in front of you.

The color of the water inside the cup was a pale yellow and you saw a single disc of sliced ginger floating on the surface. You could see the string and tab from a tea bag in his mug.

“Honey and ginger,” he said as he busied himself with playing a word on the board game, “for your stomach,” he added as if you’d made an announcement at the start of your game that your stomach was hurting and he was just responding to that.

You hadn’t said a single thing to him about it. In fact, you had thought you were doing a pretty good job hiding it from him. You hadn’t let him see you frown or groan or cry out in pain once. The worst you did was lightly massage the space where it hurt the most.

You lifted his offering to your lips and took a sip expecting it to be too hot for you to drink comfortably and finding the temperature rather mild actually. You took another bigger sip and felt the soothing warmth slip into you. It was sweet with the honey he added and slightly spicy from the fresh ginger he’d added. It was delicious. You’d never tried this for your stomach aches before but it seemed to actually be helping. You took another sip and swallowed, finding that the burning lessened with each sip you took.

Kyungsoo silently played a word and you watched his mouth moving as he added up his points and wrote down his score of 20.

You smiled widely. He had just played the letter you needed to play your next word and with the orientation of the word you would be able to get the bonus points. You were already laying your letters out on the board and counting out your points before he’d even had a chance to replace the letters he’d used on the last word.

“Oh come on, what? You gotta give me a chance to catch you,” he groaned in annoyance that didn’t really seem to sink too deep into him for him to really mean it. You could still see the smile on the edges of his mouth and in his eyes. You did a little victory wiggle in your seat, wrote down 50 points under your name, and even stuck your tongue out at him with a giggle. His eyes slipped down your face and his lips had been pulled into a smile, despite the fact that he was losing this game miserably.

He pulled his head back a little bit and looked up into the air above his head. A quick glance at his pieces told you he still needed to replace letters and so you held up the bag with the open end toward him. He was still sulking about the heavy blow and you had to reach out to touch your fingertips over the back of his warm hand to get his attention. You gave the bag a little shake and you had his eyes in yours again as he reached into the bag, pulling out tiles and groaning at the letters the universe had decided to give him.

“Ugh,” he was groaning with each new letter he pulled out. His eyes darted over the game board and occasionally slipped back up into yours, probably because you had been watching him for signs that he had something good to play. It didn’t seem like he did.

“Blegh,” he made a disgusted sound, complaining again. “What am I going to do? What do I do, what do I do?” he repeated to himself as he pondered his brand new fate as a loser of this game.

In his hand, he held only two tiles and he hovered lightly over a space on the board. You giggled when he set them down. It was the saddest word you’d seen in a while.

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to beat me, Kyungsoo,” you sing-songed playfully watching him spell out the word ‘SEE’ for only 5 points.

His hand moved and he spun his letters around, showing you very quickly the hand he had. You saw a slew of vowels, mostly the letter E and everyone’s least favorite burden a single solitary X.

You were openly laughing at him now. His cheeks were pink and he was reaching into the bag to select his replacement letters and when he pulled them out he tossed them in disgust. They both landed flat on the table, face up with a clatter. He had thrown them there. You looked down to see two more Es and the sight threw you back into a noisy fit of laughter that seemed to be catching. You could hear him giggling beside you and he gripped the Es in his fingertips and tried to put them back into the bag. You snatched it up quickly and held the bag of letters out of his reach so he couldn't cheat and put them back in.

“No no,” you gasped through the giggles, “Think of words with lots of Es like meet, umm, teeth, f-feet,” you said through a strained voice and you were laughing again at the look he shot you at the mention of the words that brought up a very recent sore memory for him.

“Teeth and feet?” He said with his eyes wide, “You really brought that up again?” He exhaled through his teeth, his lips pulled wide in frustration. He was leaning now, reaching desperately past your game pieces to where you still kept the bag of letters out of his reach to keep him from cheating, even though you were pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to catch up with you even if he replaced all of his letters now. He had scooted his chair closer to you and you reached for his desperate hand, gripping around his fingers and pulling his hand down into your lap, holding it tightly there and leaning into him to help you gain some leverage against him. He was quite strong when he wanted to be but he seemed to be letting you hold him back like this. He definitely wasn’t putting his all into this struggle against you. Something was off with him. Kyungsoo had never held back on that chance to be terrible with you before.

Instead, he had moved in too close to you and after the small playful struggle, you felt the warmth of him all over you. You had been giggling as he reached out with his other hand, reaching again for the bag of letters you held out of his reach and you felt the tips of his fingers wrap around your wrist and he pulled your arm down. It was a bit of a stalemate and you heard the soft laughter from him settle and go curiously still, when you opened your eyes you found his face in front of yours. You had his hand inside of yours down on your lap right over your thigh and he held your other hand with his fingers wrapped tightly around your wrist. You hadn’t expected this level of closeness from him, the shock you felt radiating through your chest had taken the laughter out of your voice and left you stunned in a frozen silence instead.

You suddenly felt hyper-aware of your own body. He was so close to you, that you wondered if he was able to hear how noisily your heart was pounding inside of your chest, or if he could hear the stuttered way your breathing moved in and out of your lungs.

God, he was beautiful up close. His skin was clear and he had a scattering of tiny moles all over. The small freckle in his upper lip seemed to have a presence all of its own and you struggled to look away from him. Your eyes roamed over the length of his face. He had long since stopped laughing and he had even stopped reaching for the bag, stopped struggling against your hands and he was watching you with slow blinking wandering eyes over your face that seemed to settle again heavy and deep inside of your eyes.

You exhaled a breath you had been holding through your parted mouth and his eyes slipped down to look at your mouth when you moved. This was something. Something was happening here. Something that shouldn’t exist with the intense animosity he’s always felt for you. Something between you and something between him. You could feel it in the way your skin flushed, the blood in your body seemed to seek refuge in some place that wasn’t in your veins. You found it difficult to breathe with him so close and those eyes of his didn’t let up, they didn’t let you go, you felt so much more trapped here in his eyes than ever before. Your ears picked up on the smallest grunt of effort from somewhere in the back of his throat, then the smallest inhale of breath lifted his lungs, and finally, finally, he closed his eyes.

“I think I’ve lost this game,” he whispered through closed eyes with a sudden tight clench of his jaw.

He was leaning. He was moving. You watched the sway of his balance and he moved closer to you, impossibly closer and the fingers he’d wrapped around your wrist released their hold, that hand was moving. You felt the first tiny touches of his fingertips as he moved his hand to touch your face lightly and achingly slowly along your jawline. You felt as if you could burst into flames at any second and judging by the heavy puffs of air that left his lungs, something similar was happening to him too.

He leaned into you, close enough for a kiss but something stopped him. You felt and saw the lean though. He pulled back half a centimeter and it felt like he was at war with himself.

You watched his face as he did it. His eyes, he kept them closed up as tightly as he could and the hard clench of his jaw did not let up.

He was touching you though. His hand had moved and his thumb brushed lightly over your bottom lip and his fingertips dug in behind your ear. His other hand, the one that you held in your lap had moved too and you felt a squeeze from his fingers as he clenched tightly around your hand.

Everything about him was tense. His jaw, his hands, his eyes squeezed shut tightly.

This man was very purposefully attempting to regain control of himself and resist whatever it was he was feeling by being this close to you, by you touching him, and by him touching you. Your own self-control felt thready. How easily you could snap in two. How flimsy your resolve had grown around him.

You’d long since dropped the bag of letters. You felt the need for the warmth of his soft skin under your fingertips. So you reached for his face, delighting in wonder at the smoothness your fingertips traveled over, even with the hard clench of his jaw he felt so warm and inviting and he was still so very close to you. He smelled so good, it was overwhelming. You wanted him.

He was so very close; close enough for you to feel every quick burst of air that came from his nose against your lips, close enough for you to so easily lean your face into his and press your lips up against the softness of his mouth.

So you did it, you did it -- you leaned into him and you kissed him on the lips, relishing in the softness you felt when his lips gave into yours so, so easily, it seemed to come like second nature when you had actually worked up the nerve to do it.

There were almost imperceivable changes in him when you did it; when you kissed him. The hard clench in his jaw let up with the soft grunt of surprise that came from the back of his throat and in his hands; the loosening of the tight grip he held you with on your face as he simply let go of you entirely for the first few seconds of this kiss from you.

The next change was less subtle, you felt the careful way he caved to your lips. The tilt of his head paired with the parting of his jaw and he leaned into you further, pulling your soft bottom lip into his mouth then pulling you again, your upper lip. When he moved again you felt the tip of his wet tongue guide along your teeth and reach for yours with that same suction he had pulled against you which you gave to him, giving him what he wanted, feeling very much out of control now with greedy the way he sucked on your tongue. The kiss was too much in an instant. The undeniable attraction you felt for this man had taken every bit of rational thought and tossed it out the window, carrying them all away with the wind outside.

His mouth and teeth and tongue nipped inside of your mouth, pulling at your lips and he was moving, peppering tiny kisses, bites, and nibbles along your jawline as he moved lower to taste the skin below your ear.

You reached for him again, reaching a hand forward for his waist and lower, you’d lost your mind when you touched near his belt, slipping the tips of your fingertips in between the denim fabric and feeling along the elastic waistband of his underwear. Feeling the very clear bump of his arousal and the warmth of his skin there.

His hand flew up to stop you and you heard the soft groan that came from his chest against his will. You could feel your labored breathing taking your chest and heaving it up and you shook your head back and forth at the nerve he had to stop you. You wanted him, you wanted the sex. You were beginning to feel desperate for him.

Kyungsoo leaned his forehead against yours and his hands now had a strong ironclad grip on your wandering hands. You felt the very slight movement of his face back and forth.

No.

He was telling you no.

You had to take a genuine moment to absorb it. He was telling you no. You closed your eyes and inhaled a deep breath and you inhaled the no, the refusal, the rejection took its time coming at you slowly in a big old sluggish wave and your breathing was beginning to calm down now.

“Kyungsoo?” You called out lightly, feeling just a bit upset and even more confused as to why he would have kissed you back so intensely if he didn’t want this.

“I,” he opened his mouth and pulled his head back, “I don’t—” his words were broken, staggered, and fractured, “I couldn’t live with myself.”

“You don’t want me like that.” It wasn’t a question. You weren’t asking him a damn thing. It was a stark realization that you had simply misread his actions as affection.

“I don’t mean that,” he began, his voice clearer and with slightly more urgency than the staggered speech from earlier, he inhaled and swallowed, licking his lips as his eyes searched over your face.

“I don’t do that lightly,” he exhaled and furrowed his brows, narrowing his eyes and looking into your face again, “I’ve never slept with someone outside of a relationship. I don’t do it. This can’t happen. We aren’t going to have sex.”

He had released his tight grip on your hands now that his reasoning was out and you sat there feeling just a little bit foolish for having jumped so quickly straight to sex. You felt the embarrassment hit you hard and you closed your eyes through it and shook your head, straightening your back and removing your hands from within his fingers and pulling them back toward you as you carefully busied yourself with straightening your shirt back out. This felt awful. You reached down for the mug with the now cold ginger honey water and you downed the remains quickly, hoping that some of that sweet honey might coat your insides and soothe your fractured ego while it was at it.

You felt the softness of his hand land over yours when you put the mug back down and you looked down at it, his hand covering over yours. You could feel it then, he was asking you to look at him. You had been embarrassed by the rejection and had been busying yourself with literally anything that wasn’t him. He’d given you time to process it and to get yourself under control before calling your attention again with the softest and most gentle pull of just the warmth of his hand on yours. You signed deeply, willing all of that oxygen to fill your lungs and power your brain well, and after what felt like several inescapable seconds passed you looked up into his face.

He was watching you, no words on his lips and a slow and steady blinking of his eyes.

You swallowed before you spoke, “I get it,” you said plainly, biting down on your lip once before you continued, “I understand. You don't sleep around. I sleep around. You and I aren’t the same.”

His lips parted and his eyes rolled over his face once before they sank back down heavy inside of yours. He inhaled a breath, clearly ready to counter your words. You knew you were misinterpreting his meaning. It wasn't even as if he’d called you a slut or anything, but goddammit that recent discovery of his. Him having found your 20-pack of condoms in your bag; you couldn't help but compare them to the single 5-pack he brought which he probably never even had any intention of using in the first place when you had every intention of using some of those condoms on this retreat. You would be goddamned if you didn’t get laid at least once on this trip. It had been so long for you, that you needed something from someone that made you feel desired and attractive to another human being.

“You know,” he was speaking, his eyes had drifted closed and he was having trouble getting the words out again. Maybe he was about to tell you he was on his way to pray for your forgiveness for being such a slut.

“You already know how I feel about you,” he whispered and pulled his eyes open.

You looked at his face for a moment before your eyes wandered over the space above his head; giving the smallest head shake as a reply. Not really. He hated you for one minute. He laughed at you and teased you another minute. He made you ramen and tasty honey tea to soothe your upset stomach and beat you mercilessly at Monopoly but his cold hard facade fell apart when you teased him back. He was a mystery to you, whenever you thought you had figured something out about him, he would pull out the rug from under you and swear that no matter how desperate you were for it he would specifically not ever sleep with you. You felt that same familiar pain in your stomach flare up again. You hissed through it and inhaled a small gasp, doing your best to keep your reaction under wraps.

His eyes narrowed and he dropped his chin, “you must know,” he said again, “you already know.”

You must have flinched somewhere in your face. Those knowing eyes of his caught it and his head ticked as his eyes moved over you again.

“How could I know anything?” You were beginning to feel like you should go lie down. You even felt a tiny bit dizzy the more you stayed here just withstanding this. Maybe a warm shower would help.

“Sara told you. You know everything.” he threw his head back and looked up at the ceiling above his head. He had a sort of exasperated expression on his face now and you tried to focus on this conversation but you’d already been through enough of it.

What had Sara told you? She had been so excited about every little interaction between the two of you that her words had been too exaggerated and overly dramatic to be able to trust what she said. Your mind flew through her words to you about him. About him saying how pretty you were. So what if you were pretty. The man hated you. He hated you. Her words, were a distant memory now even though it had only been a couple of hours since she said them.

‘The way he looks at you -- If I didn't know that he was desperately in love with you, I’d think he was trying to set you on fire with his eyes -- he was desperately in love with you -- he is desperately in love with you.’

It was impossible. Sara was wrong. This man did not love you. He couldn’t love someone like you.

Doh Kyungsoo had just rejected you for the third time now. The first when he stood you up on the date, leaving you to stew in the rejection, publicly calling you out amongst your best friends about it, basically ridiculing you again and again for your stupidity; how dare you really think someone like him could ever actually be interested in someone like you. The second rejection was shallower, the way he treated you when he found out you were here with him. You had the audacity to show up here and play pretend like you belonged here beside him; going so far as to reject even your offer of friendship, the lowest form of acquaintance and even that he didn't want. And now, reminding you of just how little he thought of you.

He didn’t sleep with people he wasn’t in a relationship with. You’d offered yourself so easily to the man, practically begged for it but again, you received another rejection.

Wasn't there a point in which you should give up on this?

“I don't know anything, Kyungsoo. I don't even know you, remember? We never really even met each other.” You said it with such finality that his lips closed up and he pulled his head back. He seemed taken aback by the force with which you said those words to him. You stood up, done with this. There was only so much you could take. That surprised look on his face from earlier had flattened out and he was staring ahead of himself, not looking up at you.

You stood there looking down at him for much longer than your pride should have allowed. Watching him staring ahead of himself with his silent lips and his bright red ears, his chest heaving up and down as if all of the emotions bubbling just below the surface of him could ever presume to break through that thick outer shell of a man who keeps everything inside when he should have just let it out. Goddammit Kyungsoo. But he wouldn’t move. He wouldn’t explain and he sure as hell wasn’t about to try any more than absolutely necessary with you. You’d been the one to put yourself out there again and again for this man. You felt let down.

“I’m going to shower and lie down for a while.”

You took the first steps to leave, to walk past him and you’d made it three whole steps toward the door when you felt the warmth and strength of his hand wrapped tightly around your wrist, pulling you back. He pulled you back roughly. You had been moving forward with such a momentum that the break in your stride caused you to stumble backward and you yelped out in surprise finding yourself pulled into him, pulled to where he still sat uselessly in that chair and the rough yank on your wrist sent you moving until you collided with a resisting barrier.

You stumbled on your feet and you bounced against him and the second you collided with him you felt the strength of his arms wrapping tightly around your waist. You felt the push of his firm chest hit against your thighs and in your belly you felt the point of his nose as he buried his entire face within your shirt, just below your ribs deep, within the softness of your belly. It tickled uncomfortably but you felt too stunned to do anything. You looked down in shock, seeing only the top of his head, his soft black hair fell into the fabric of your shirt and from his mouth somewhere you heard the softest moan that reverberated through your body.

For lack of anywhere else to put them you rested your hands on his shoulders and you heard and felt him make another sound, a rough growl from his chest sounded out into your skin, buzzing into the skin of your stomach and his hands around your waist tightened to uncomfortable levels. He inhaled a deep breath from somewhere in the center of you and you found some semblance of some words to say.

“Kyungsoo, what,” you began but his hot exhale warmed you on the exit and sent goosebumps cascading down your spine, taking whatever words you thought you could speak. After several breaths he lifted his face, propping his chin right against your skin to look up into your stunned and confused face.

“What are you doing?” you managed. You felt too blindsided for more.

“Get to know me then,” he whispered up into the air and you wiggled against the tightness you felt in his arms matching the crazed look you saw in his eyes. He did not loosen them any, “get to know me, until you understand how I feel about you.”

This didn’t feel real. It was impossible that this was happening. Was he serious?

Your mind was spinning. You couldn’t reconcile the two versions of Doh Kyungsoo you were witnessing. The desperate way he clung to you told you one thing and yet, so much bad had already happened to tell you the complete opposite. This version clearly hadn't listened to a damn thing the other one had just told you. This one didn’t know about the no sex before commitment rule, the one that had his chance and squandered it, humiliating you in the process. But as tightly as you were wound here within his arms; you could feel your body responding to him all over again. You’d already been too affected by him before.

His eyes were looking up at you and you could just barely make out the tiny pout on his lips that was hiding within the fabric.

Maybe he was drunk. Maybe that mug he had been sipping from had been full of whiskey instead of tea and this man was off his head right now.

“What are you talking about?”

He was moving with the question you hung into the air above his head. You could feel the slow way he moved his face, pressing himself against the softness of your belly again, breathing you in slowly and deeply as if every bit of sanity had simply left his body and this was a madman whose only purpose was to drive you as crazy as he was.

“You know for someone who doesn’t want to fuck me, you are doing a terrible job of letting me leave this room.”

Your own bluntness surprised you but you’d expected him to wake the hell up and release you so you could go take care of this problem he’d caused.

“I never said I don’t want to fuck you.” He whispered it with his face hidden deep within the skin of your belly but the words echoed inside of you, hitting you hard with their heavy impact.

The man was a menace. He’d just turned you down only to do this to you? You felt so turned on you almost couldn’t keep upright.

You braced both of your hands on his shoulders and you pushed against him hard, pushing your hips backward too until he got the message and loosened his hold around you. The release allowed you to take a step back. His hands still lingered around you and you even felt one of his hot palms lying right over your ass, having slipped down from your waist he didn’t seem to be in too big of a hurry to take his wandering hands off of you.

“Sorry, sorry,” his immediate apology told you that he knew exactly what sins he had committed against you, “I’m not in my right mind.”

You reached behind you and grabbed his hand off of your ass and brought it back around, dropping it down on his own lap. It landed with a flop in his lap and his eyes pulled deservedly down as he took on a much more sheepish expression in his face. You couldn’t tell if it was genuine.

“You say one thing and do another, Doh Kyungsoo.”

You felt ready to snap. “You say we won’t have sex, and that’s fine. I’m fine with that,” you said through wild eyes and even though you managed to get the words out, it felt like a lie. You weren’t fine with that. This hot piece of ass needed to figure himself out and in a hurry because you weren’t sure how much more of his torture you could take.

“You seem fine with it,” you heard him mumble under his breath and your eyes widened as you lifted your eyebrows and looked at him. He lifted a hand and waved it lightly, “Sorry, continue.”

“I was fine with it until you,” you lifted your arms and wrapped them around your body, doing a speed-run pantomime of him grabbing you around the waist, hugging you tightly and you even ran your fingers over the entire length of his face lightly, jumping back in pure frustration, “did all that to me, Kyungsoo. What the fuck?”

The man who sat in front of you with his forearms crossed strategically over his lap ‘just so’ dared to smile at you. It was a tiny smile but you lifted a finger and pointed right at his face with a frustrated gasp. Again his smile, impossibly, widened.

“I am going to go take a shower. And I am going to lie down.” These words came out in a low growl. “I better not see you standing at that bathroom doorway.”

You’d spun on your heels for the second time to walk away from this man and you nearly screamed when you felt his hand reach for you again. This time he was standing up and you lifted your own hand in an 'I swear to god, give me a reason’ pose, enjoying how quickly he flinched away from you.

“Wait, wait” he quickly spoke, not wanting to get smacked. You decided then and there that you weren’t above doing it. The memory of last night's tit punch was still fresh in your mind and you were feeling almost crazy enough to do it.

“Just wait, goddammit,” he had the nerve to sound annoyed. He actually reached up and grabbed your raised hand and carefully brought it back down. “Come back later. Later tonight, give me like two hours maybe.”

“What happens in two hours?” your eyes narrowed and your lips pouted just a little bit with the suggestive tilt of your head as your mind whirled through the possibilities. Did he just need two hours to decide that maybe you were worth a round or 20 of pressing your back into your mattress, or maybe his mattress? Hell, four mattresses were lying over there on the floor where the movies had been showing, you were not that picky. Literally this table here would suffice. Your face must have betrayed your filthy thoughts because he squeezed your hand and you heard a tiny laugh break free from him.

He was laughing through his words, “Dinner. Just dinner with me. God, will you relax, please?”

His proposal sounded promising. Your eyebrows were lifted in curiosity without you even realizing it you eked out a tiny question for him.

“Like…a dinner date?” This sent a strange wave of panic through you. The tiny smile on his face and the little hum he made as a response sent butterflies flying. You felt at odds with the strange burst of nerves. The idea of having an actual date with this man was, well — you’d never once considered a re-do with him. Back then you’d been so offended, so humiliated, and so angry that the last thing you wanted was to give him a second chance. After a while, you’d even run out of any desire for him to explain himself for what he did back then.

Perhaps a make-up for that botched blind date all those months ago that started all of this trouble was the kind of thing your heart craved deep down inside. You suddenly felt nervous. Sex was one thing but a date with him? Sex was just physical but starting this over again, a date with Kyungsoo felt too vulnerable. Why was that so much scarier to you?

What if he didn’t show up?

Wait, he was trapped here and he was the one doing the cooking. Plus if he didn't show up, you knew where you could find him. You’d beat down the door and kick his ass as long as he was hiding away in one of the rooms here that didn't have any spiders.

His eyebrows lifted and the smile he was wearing on his lips was gone.

“You don’t want to?” He asked the question and left his lips hanging open. You could see on his face that despite the false bravado he wore when he proposed the date, to begin with, he also was feeling a lot of the same nerves about it that you felt. His focus on your face was flighty, not quite able to commit to solid eye contact with you with this heavy question handing in the air like this.

“Okay,” you finally answered in a whisper and you closed up your mouth and nodded your head up and down twice.

Kyungsoo’s eyes watched your face and you caught him mirroring the same head nod. “Okay,” he also whispered.

You nodded again and he was quiet as he looked at you, eventually looking away from you and looking around the kitchen space with a small exhale of air through his mouth. He didn’t move, but what was even worse was that you also did not move. You weren’t sure how to do it.

Oh. Oh no. Oh no this was awkward. Did you just say goodbye and walk away? Did you give him, like, a high five or maybe lean into him for a hug, God that would be terrible, Imagine? A hug, thanks buddy, thanks pal, thanks for letting me make out with you, sorry to freak you out when I got too into it and touched your boner because apparently that is a no-touchy zone, I did not get the memo about the boner. Should you lean in and give him a kiss on the cheek? How did you leave this situation with at least one-fourth of your dignity, an acceptable amount for someone with your history of humiliating yourself, still intact?

The kiss on the cheek might be okay, right? His cheeks were soft and his skin was smooth. You took the smallest step into him and you leaned in for it, but oh god, he was moving already. You leaned at the exact same moment that he spun around on his feet and began to walk away from you toward the doorway that led toward the bunk beds, which would have been completely fine except for the fact that he had seen you beginning to lean into him right before he moved. He had seen you move, he had seen you lean, but his feet had already stepped, his body had already begun the exit process and what resulted was a terrible, awful, awkward time in which he stopped walking abruptly and turned back around to face you, halfway toward the doorway, stuck somewhere in the middle of this kitchen with him again facing you and neither of you wanting to explain to each other with words why the journey to the exit had been halted so abruptly.

“No,” you shook your head back and forth. His face was pink again. “No, just go. You already ruined it.”

“What were you going to do?”

“Doesn't matter. It’s over.” You sidestepped him and moved quickly through the space, placing your handle on the kitchen door and pulling it open. You hurled yourself into the darkness of the hallway, feeling just a tiny bit of irritation at the realization that you could still hear the sound of his footsteps very clearly. He hadn’t stayed behind in that kitchen but he seemed to be following you down the hallway toward the room with your bunks.

“You were leaning, what were you leaning for?”

“Why are you following me? I have things to do. Alone, Kyungsoo.” You emphasized the last bit while looking directly into his eyes and he was fighting his smile a little but he didn’t seem to stop following you until you reached the door to the bunks and stopped to look at him with your hand on the door handle.

“I just need to get my bag. Then you can have the place to yourself.” He was already pushing past you, rushing through the room toward the bed in the back and he was grabbing a black duffel that he slung over his shoulder and he made quick work of the distance with his quick walking reaching the space in the doorway that you still occupied in no time.

When he was back at your side you moved inside the room to give him room for his exit but before he disappeared through the doorway you caught an abrupt shift in his balance. When he was close enough he leaned into you and pressed his soft lips against your cheek, lingering against your skin for one second too long before he pulled back again and looked into your eyes. Admittedly, you hadn’t expected that at all and you had closed your eyes halfway through the lingering part and you had to act quickly to open your eyes up in time so as not to miss the smoldering look part.

“Now, wouldn’t that have been awkward to do back in the kitchen when I was going to come all the way over here the whole time?”

You’d opened your mouth and inhaled a breath to respond to him. You would have lied and told him that you weren’t going to kiss him in the kitchen, or that he was imagining things again, or maybe you would lie and say you took it back and you didn’t want to have sex with him ever. He had already disappeared and the heavy door slammed shut before you had a chance to think of a clever comeback.

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

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