#the scream i let out in the middle of the chapter

[svt-luna]

hi! i really adore each member’s dynamic with luna 🫶 can i request for a chapter where the group’s over protectiveness comes to action when it comes to luna? it can be any member you prefer. thank you!

(pls keep on writing i really love ur blog 🤗)

ᡴꪫ ⋆ All EYES ON HER: SEVENTEEN’S ULTIMATE PROTECTIVE MOMENTS ࣪ ! ˓ ౨ৎ ࣪˖ ─── now playing…

synopsis: A compilation on the countless times the members have fiercely protected Luna, proving that anyone who messes with her has an entire team to answer to.

hello!! I apologize for taking so long with this request, it took a long time for me to get to it but finally, it’s here now. you didn’t specify what kind I should do, so I decided on a youtube compilation instead, I hope you don’t mind! happy reading, my loves 🤍💛

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ youtube compilations

[added captions are in brackets] ᡣ𐭩

bold dialogues are spoken in english ᡣ𐭩

indented italics are additional voice overs ᡣ𐭩

Ah yes, folks, welcome to this episode of ‘How SEVENTEEN is Basically Luna’s Private Army at This Point.’

I mean, if you didn’t already know, our girl Luna isn’t just the 14th member of SEVENTEEN— no, no, she’s also the epitome of princess treatment.

Miss thing, is protected by her 13 bodyguards… I mean, bandmates.

I cannot stress this enough… the amount of times these guys circle around her like she’s made of glass is honestly a whole genre of content at this point.

You’d think they signed a secret contract that says, ‘Thou shalt not let Luna so much as trip on a pebble or breathe near a stalker without at least five of us nose-diving in front of her.’

I’m starting to think they all have a group chat where their one goal is: ‘Keep Luna safe. At all costs.’ I mean, the devotion is real, people.

Anyway, buckle up because we’re diving into SEVENTEEN’s ultimate protective moments over the years. From stage accidents to creepy fan encounters— these boys do it all. *swoons*

So grab your popcorn, maybe a tissue, and get ready to witness Luna being treated like the literal K-pop princess that she is.

LUNA’S AIRPORT SASAENG INCIDENT

I feel like this video itself just shows you how much the members are super protective of Luna.

On a side note, y’all weirdos really need to leave them the fuck alone

The airport was abuzz with the usual energy that seemed to follow SEVENTEEN everywhere they went. Fans had gathered on the other side of the barricades, screaming, phones flashing, as they tried to capture every moment of the members’ journey to the gate.

It was early— too early for most of the members to be anything but a little groggy. They had a long flight ahead to Seattle for their ‘Be the Sun’ tour concert, and it showed in the occasional yawn, tired smiles, and slow movements as they waited in line to enter their gate.

Luna stood in the middle of the line, nestled between Wonwoo, who was in front of her, and Seungcheol, who lingered protectively behind.

[In just a few seconds you guys would see how Choi Seungcheol became my bias]

[on a side note… look how hot he looks 😩 DADDY!]

Luna was chatting quietly with Wonwoo about the new show she was watching late last night, her voice calm as she ran through the reason why she got zero sleep.

Everything felt routine.

The members bowed and waved occasionally to the fans and cameras across the barricades, but it was all in the usual ebb and flow of their lives on tour. There was nothing unusual about the morning, just the soft hum of their conversations and the distant screams of their loyal Carats.

[I love how they still try their best to greet Carats despite being so tired 🥹]

And then it happened.

In the middle of her sentence, Luna was cut off by the sound of a man’s voice— a deep, rough yell from somewhere beyond the barricade. He was shouting her name, which wasn’t entirely strange. Fans often called out to her, but there was something different in the way this man shouted. It wasn’t the excited, breathless tone of a fan. It was urgent, desperate, and far too aggressive.

[guys I’m being so fr rn, this clip till this day pisses me the fuck off]

Before Luna or anyone else could process what was happening, there was a sudden movement from their side.

Out of nowhere, the man broke past security and somehow made it too close, far closer than any fan should’ve been allowed. He wasn’t behind the barricades anymore— he was there, within arm’s reach of the members.

[LOOK AT THIS FUCKING BUM]

[If I see him istg it’s on sight]

[I didn’t bother blurring his face cause… why should I?!]

The air around them shifted, the fans behind the barricades screaming in shock, but it was too late. Luna didn’t have time to turn and see him before she felt it.

A tight grip suddenly clamped down on her right arm.

It was jarring, a harsh pull that yanked her back, shocking her out of the moment. The man— eyes wild and frantic— was tugging her towards him, shouting about how much he loved her. “Luna, Jiyeon-ah! You don’t understand, I love you! I’m in love with you! I need you to know! I’m obsessed with you!”

[yeah we can tell, loser]

Luna’s breath hitched in her throat. The world around her blurred as the fans screamed louder, their voices tinged with panic. For a split second, her brain froze, and she couldn’t fully process what was happening. The man’s hand was too tight, too rough, and before she could pull away, she felt herself being dragged towards him.

[look at her face, motherfucker! look at how scared she looks]

[TWICE HER SIZE AND HE FUCKING YANKS HER]

But then, in an instant, everything shifted again.

Before Luna could even react, she felt a firm grip around her waist— a strong, grounding force pulling her back from the man’s grasp.

[IT’S THE SPEED!! IT WAS THE WAY HE REACTED!!]

[CHEOLIE’S REFLEXES ARE NEXT LEVEL]

[🫠🫠🫠]

Seungcheol, who had been just behind her, moved like a flash, his expression steely as his arm looped securely around her. His fingers pressed tightly against her waist, holding her in place, but his other hand wasn’t idle. With a swift, practiced motion, Seungcheol reached out and grabbed the man’s arm, yanking it away from Luna with more strength than the man had anticipated.

“Let go.” Seungcheol’s voice was firm, sharp with authority but calm, almost dangerously calm, as he shoved the man’s hand off her with little effort.

[GOODBYE WORLD]

[I– no words… there are no words]

[Honestly, if I were that sasaeng, I’d just tell my heart to stop right then and there]

[Choi Seungcheol is scary wbk]

At the same time, Wonwoo had spun around, his eyes dark with alarm. His hand immediately found Luna’s, grasping her left hand firmly as he pulled her back to safety, away from the chaos. The sudden switch from casual conversation to this whirlwind of confusion sent a surge of adrenaline through him. His usually stoic face was a mixture of concern and anger as he held Luna’s hand tighter, making sure she wasn’t being pulled any further.

[brb I’m gonna cry]

[Wonwoo was holding onto her for dear life]

The sasaeng stumbled backward as Seungcheol released him, but it wasn’t over yet.

The moment Seungcheol tore the man’s hand off Luna’s arm, the rest of the members immediately closed in, surrounding her like a protective shield.

[They look so worried 🥺]

[Jiyeon is so loved]

Security finally rushed in, grabbing the man and pulling him away from the members, the fans still screaming in horror and disbelief at what had just unfolded.

[Also what took y’all so fucking long 😠]

Seungcheol barely had time to check her well-being before he was pushed back into action, taking control of the situation as the leader.

As the fans continued to scream in both shock and confusion, Jeonghan was by Luna’s side in an instant, his face painted with worry. His hand hovered near her shoulder as he looked her over, asking softly, “Are you okay?” before Mingyu stepped up beside him, eyes scanning her for any sign of distress.

“I’m okay,” Luna nodded as she shook caressed the now red flesh of her right arm.

[MY PRONOUNS ARE J.E.O.N.G.N.A RAHHHH]

The members formed a tight circle around her, creating a barrier between Luna and the crowd as they took turns asking her if she was alright. Jeonghan, Mingyu, Seungkwan, Dino, Wonwoo, and Dokyeom stood close, their faces unusually serious, while Minghao, Joshua, and Vernon kept a vigilant eye on the situation, making sure no one else could get close. Even Woozi, Jun, and Hoshi, who had been half-asleep just moments ago, were now alert and focused, standing protectively near her.

[they baracaded her real fast]

[THIS IS HOW THE SECRET SERVICE REACTS WHEN THERE IS A THREAT TO THE FUCKING PRESIDENT]

[WE LOVE TO SEE IT]

Luna, is still in shock. Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind still trying to catch up with what had just happened. The touch of the man’s rough hand still lingered on her skin, but the warmth and safety of her members anchored her in the present, pulling her out of the chaos and fear.

Meanwhile, off to the side, fans caught a glimpse of Seungcheol in full leader mode, visibly angry as he appeared to scold their security team.

[HE IS SO FUCKING HOT FOR THIS 🥵]

[THIS👏 MAN 👏 DOESN’T 👏 PLAY 👏 WHEN 👏 IT 👏 COMES 👏 TO 👏 HIS 👏 MEMBERS]

Seungcheol’s body language was sharp and commanding, hands gesturing firmly as he instructed them on how to handle the situation. No one could hear exactly what he was saying, but it was clear from his tone and expression that he was furious. His jaw clenched, his eyes steely, he pointed toward the barricades and the area where the man had broken through, making sure there would be no more mistakes.

[blah, blah, blah, proper name, place name…]

[What I’d give to hear what he’s saying rn]

Fans watching from the other side couldn’t help but be struck by how protective and authoritative he was, silently appreciating the way SEVENTEEN took care of their own.

Once all that was taken care of, Seungcheol finally turned back and glanced down at Luna, his voice now softer but still firm. “You okay?” His eyes scanned her for any signs of distress or injury as he gently caressed her arm, his brows furrowed with concern.

[WHERE DO YOU GET A MAN LIKE THIS?!]

[I’m in love with him it’s not funny anymore 😔]

Luna nodded slowly, though her heart was still racing. “I’m okay, Cheolie… thank you,” she managed to whisper, her voice shaky but steadying.

“Thank you, Wonwoo oppa,” Luna turned to the man next to her who gave her a silent not, clearly still disturbed.

But Seungcheol wasn’t fully convinced she was fine… none of the members did. They could tell from how she twisted the rings on her fingers.

Seungcheol placed his arm around her shoulders, keeping her close as they moved forward, ensuring she was safe and that the man was well out of reach. Meanwhile, the rest of the members hovered around her. Jeonghan was beside her, now holding her hand, his grip tight and his presence still solid and reassuring.

[HAVE I MENTIONED I LOVE JEONGNA]

[the way Cheol and Han kept holding her till they entered their gate 🥹]

The fans, who had just witnessed the entire event, were still in a state of shock, but now their screams had shifted. Instead of panic, there were chants of Luna’s name, filled with concern and admiration for how the members especially Seungcheol and Wonwoo had handled the situation.

It was only then, as the adrenaline began to fade, that Luna realized just how much she had been relying on them. Without them, without their quick thinking and protective instincts, she didn’t want to think about what could’ve happened.

‘FEAR’ WARDROBE MALFUNCTION IN JAPAN

The concert in Japan was in full swing, the arena lights flashing to the heavy beat of SEVENTEEN’s ‘Fear’ as they performed for thousands of cheering fans.

[Another one of my favorite clips, ladies and gentlemen]

The energy in the air was electric, the members synchronized perfectly with their intense choreography and sharp vocals. Luna was in the center of the stage, dressed in a sleek black attire that matched the rest of the members— black leather pants that accentuated her legs accompanied by a black sleeveless top with a zipper running down the back.

[MOM LOOKS HOT BTW 🥵]

The moment was flawless— until it wasn’t.

In the midst of a spin, as she did the choreography with the rest of the members, Luna felt the distinct sensation of her zipper giving way.

A chill ran down her spine as the entire back of her top unzipped, fully exposing her skin. Her black top was now hanging loose, barely held together by the fabric at the front.

But Luna, ever the professional, didn’t miss a beat. Her face remained fierce and intense, completely matching the dark, brooding mood of the song. Not a flicker of panic crossed her expression as she continued to sing, her voice steady, her movements sharp. Her body flowed with the choreography as if nothing was wrong, even though her mind was racing.

[her top was literally hanging by a thread]

[I don’t know how she does it. I would have panicked]

[It’s a good thing the zipper was at her back 🫥]

Some of the members noticed almost immediately. Being behind her in the formation, they had a clear view of her exposed back. Hoshi, who was a few steps to the side, caught a glimpse of her loose top during a turn, his eyes widening slightly in realization— however, he was a few steps too far to do anything about it.

Just as they transitioned to another part of the routine, Luna shifted her glance to the side and locked eyes with Dokyeom, who was right behind her. His eyes were filled with concern, his expression subtle but clear— her back was fully exposed, and they needed to fix it.

Luna, ever so composed, gave him a single, almost imperceptible nod. The kind of nod only someone who knew her well could catch. It was all she needed to convey her understanding.

[Again, it amazes me how fast they pulled this off]

[it took me like five times to understand how DK did it]

[Watch Dokyeomie closely]

Dokyeom, without hesitation, stepped into action while maintaining the choreography flawlessly. As they moved through the next steps, their bodies swayed and spun in perfect sync with the music, but every move was calculated.

Luna, still dancing and keeping her facial expression strong, swept her long hair from the back to the front in one fluid motion, letting it cascade over her shoulder. She exposed her bare back fully to Dokyeom, who was quick to react.

[HOT 🥵 HOT 🥵 HOT 🥵]

[maybe that’s why it’s so hard to catch DK zipping her up… Jiyeonie is too distracting]

With the precision and speed that only a professional dancer could pull off, Dokyeom zipped up the back of her top as if it were part of the routine. His fingers worked fast, pulling the zipper up in one smooth, swift motion while simultaneously stepping to the side, his feet moving in perfect time with the beat.

To any fan watching from the crowd, it would have looked like just another part of the choreography, so seamless was their execution. Luna barely flinched, continuing to sing with full power, her movements never faltering as she danced across the stage. The members around them barely blinked; they had seen what happened and knew the situation was under control.

[LIKE— WHAT?!]

[one minute her back was fully exposed and the next no skin at all!!?]

[THAT’S TALENT RIGHT THERE 👏👏👏]

The arena was still filled with flashing lights and screaming fans, but among them, some of the more eagle-eyed fans caught the moment on their phones. Every angle of the stage showed Dokyeom's swift actions and Luna's incredible poise. Twitter was already lighting up with comments about how professional they were.

As the final chorus hit, Luna and Dokyeom made eye contact once more. Luna, still keeping in character, mouthed a soft, “Thank you,” barely visible to the cameras, but enough for Dokyeom to see. He gave her a quick wink and a nod, his lips curling up into a small, reassuring smile before they both turned their attention back to the performance, moving seamlessly into the final formation.

[I want to be so good at something that I am this casual on stage]

From that point forward, no one would have guessed anything had gone wrong. The performance continued flawlessly, but fans watching from the crowd and at home couldn't help but be amazed at how fast and professional they both were. It was a moment of pure teamwork, a quiet display of trust and coordination between members that reminded everyone just how close SEVENTEEN really was—onstage and off.

THE BLANKET BLOCK ™

Now, let me introduce to you ‘The Infamous Blocks’. There are three in total— ‘The Blanket’, ‘The Body’, and ‘The Bear’. I might sound like I am joking but I’m being so serious…

Lets start with the ‘Blanket Block’

The night was electric with excitement, the air buzzing with anticipation as fans lined the barricades of the red carpet at MAMA 2017 in Japan. The event was one of the most awaited of the year, and the energy surrounding the venue was palpable. Cameras flashed wildly, fans screamed with glee, and a sea of lightsticks waved as the SEVENTEEN van rolled to a slow stop at the edge of the carpet. The sleek black vehicle gleamed under the lights as if announcing the arrival of something grand. One by one, the members began to step out.

First came S.Coups, stepping confidently onto the red carpet, his sharp black suit catching the light just right. The fans erupted in cheers, phones already out and recording as each member made their way down the line. Mingyu followed, waving briefly to the crowd, and then Seungkwan, whose grin brightened as he acknowledged the fans’ excitement. Each member received their share of attention, but it wasn’t just for the boys the crowd was waiting.

[they looked too good to be true this night]

Inside the van, Luna sat, fixing her dress, her hands smoothing over the soft fabric nervously. She knew the moment she stepped out, all eyes would be on her. But more than the eyes, it was the cameras. The predatory gleam of lenses ready to snap her from every angle made her feel vulnerable, and exposed. Tonight, she was wearing an elegant, sleek black dress— classy but form-fitting— and she knew the moment she stepped out, the cameras wouldn’t be kind if they caught anything inappropriate.

Jeonghan, who had just stepped out of the van, paused at the door and leaned back inside. His pink hair gleamed under the overhead lights, but his gaze was focused entirely on Luna, not the crowd.

He noticed her slight hesitation and saw the way her hands twitched with uncertainty as she adjusted her dress. He leaned in closer, his voice soft and comforting, though the words were lost to the flashing lights and the fans’ endless chants. Whatever he said, it calmed her enough for her to take a deep breath and prepare to step out.

[I WANT TO KNOW WHAT HE SAID TO HER]

[I’m desperate, please]

But before she could fully exit the van, Jeonghan reached inside and swiftly grabbed a dark blanket that had been folded near the seats. With a smooth, practiced motion, he unfolded it and held it open in front of the door, shielding Luna from the prying eyes and flashing cameras that would’ve otherwise had a clear view of her legs and dress as she maneuvered out of the car.

[GOODBYE WORLD PT. 2]

[YOON JEONGHAN IS THE STANDARD]

He didn’t rush her, didn’t make a big deal of it; his movements were calm, unbothered as if this were second nature to him. The blanket draped in his hands, blocking the lower part of her from view.

[I WANT HIM]

[LORD HE’S PERFECT IN EVERY WAY POSSIBLE]

Luna, catching the gesture, couldn’t help but feel a wave of warmth and gratitude. Her face softened as she adjusted her dress under the cover of the blanket. She took a moment to gather herself, making sure every inch of fabric was in place, every crease smoothed out.

She met Jeonghan’s eyes for a brief second, and the silent exchange between them said more than words could have. A nod of reassurance. A small, grateful smile.

[she just swooned… don’t at me]

Jeonghan, still holding the blanket like a shield, waited for her signal. Only when Luna gave him the okay— a subtle but confident nod— did he let the blanket drop.

[HE– I– can’t. I need him in my life]

In a smooth motion, he tossed it back inside the van and extended his hand to her. Luna stepped out gracefully, her confidence restored as her feet touched the ground. The cameras immediately went into overdrive, capturing every inch of her, but Jeonghan remained beside her, his hand still on hers, helping her as they moved forward together.

[MOM AND DAD ARE SO FUCKING HOT]

[CAN I BE THE THIRD IN THIS RELATIONSHIP?!]

[please, I’m begging… I can be a pet… I can bark]

The cheers from the crowd doubled as Luna appeared. The fans, who had been screaming the members’ names, now turned their attention to the only female member of SEVENTEEN, and the energy shifted.

But Jeonghan never let go of her hand, guiding her with a quiet but firm presence. He knew how these events worked, how easily one wrong angle could lead to unnecessary scrutiny. And so, even as they posed together on the red carpet, his body was angled ever so slightly in her favor, offering her the subtle kind of protection that no one would notice but her.

[😩😩😩😩]

[look at them]

The fans closest to the barricades noticed it, though. They had seen the entire interaction, from the way Jeonghan covered her with the blanket to the way he never once let her fend for herself. And it didn’t go unnoticed how he tossed the blanket away only once he was certain she was completely comfortable. Luna's smile was as radiant as ever, but beneath it was the comfort of knowing that, even in a sea of flashing lights and camera lenses, someone always had her back.

[ICONIC. SIMPLY ICONIC.]

[one of the most iconic Jeongna moments]

THE BODY BLOCK ™

Next is my favorite out of the three… the ‘Body Block’

The night sky over Seoul was illuminated by the flashing lights of countless cameras, the red carpet stretching out like a sea of glamour and anticipation. It was the Cartier event of 2022, an evening that promised to bring together the city's most elegant and well-known figures.

Among them were Luna and Mingyu, two of Cartier’s most prominent models and brand ambassadors. Their presence alone was enough to send a ripple of excitement through the crowd, but the fact that they both wore red, in perfectly coordinated outfits, had the press buzzing.

[RED IS THEIR COLOR]

[I’m sorry– they looks so hot and intimidating]

Luna stepped out first, her heels clicking softly against the smooth surface of the red carpet. She was the embodiment of grace, her tall, slender frame draped in a stunning, floor-length red dress.

The dress was an exquisite piece— a bold, deep crimson that shimmered under the camera lights. It was strapless on one side, while the other featured a delicate, thin strap that wrapped over her shoulder, highlighting the gentle curve of her collarbone. The material clung to her figure in all the right ways, its fabric flowing down to her feet like liquid silk, pooling elegantly around her ankles. A daring slit along one side revealed a hint of her leg as she moved, but it was done tastefully, maintaining an air of sophistication and class.

[I WAS DROOLING WHEN I SAW HER]

[she doesn’t look real 😭]

[like– I’m convinced she’s a hologram]

Mingyu followed closely behind her, equally striking in his tailored red suit. The suit jacket was perfectly fitted to his broad shoulders, the crimson fabric complementing the sharp black of his shirt underneath.

[DOUBLE KILL]

[I AM SORRY— sir?!]

[I am loyal to Seungcheol… am I?]

Together, they made a captivating pair, their outfits harmonizing in a way that felt almost intentional, like they were meant to stand side by side on this particular night.

As they posed for the cameras, the flashes were relentless, a barrage of light capturing their every move. Luna stood tall, her chin slightly raised, one hand placed elegantly on her hip while her other arm hung loosely at her side. Beside her, Mingyu struck his own pose, the definition of cool confidence, his dark eyes locking with the cameras as they both stood center stage, an image of luxury and refinement.

[They’d be so hot together… I didn’t say that 😀]

And then it happened— so quickly that it could have been missed by anyone not paying attention. As Luna shifted her weight, turning her body slightly to change her angle, one of the thin straps of her dress slipped from her shoulder. The movement was subtle, barely noticeable at first, but as the strap fell, it revealed the bare skin of her shoulder.

[EVEN HER SHOULDER LOOKS PRETTIER THAN ME]

[DOES THAT MAKE SENSE!??]

Luna’s eyes flickered downward for a moment, a small crease of surprise appearing on her otherwise composed face.

Without missing a beat, she calmly reached up and tugged the strap back into place, her fingers grazing the cool fabric as she pulled it back over her shoulder. Her expression remained neutral, her movements composed— professional, as always. But Mingyu had seen it. The moment the strap fell, his attention snapped to her, eyes narrowing with concern for a fraction of a second.

[I’m convince every single member has spidey senses when it comes to her]

In a split-second decision, Mingyu moved. He stepped directly in front of Luna, his tall frame blocking her from the cameras with an easy, natural movement. His back was now facing the cameras, shielding her from their view as she adjusted the strap. His broad shoulders and the crimson jacket became a makeshift curtain, offering her privacy in an instant.

[🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️]

[LORD IT’S ME AGAIN]

[JEHUENDUWGYWGEJIWUDGUWBWKAIYWGUWB]

Luna looked up at him, her fingers still smoothing over the strap of her dress as she finished fixing it. Their eyes met, and for a moment, no words were needed. A small, appreciative smile touched her lips, her eyes softening as she gave him a simple nod of thanks.

Mingyu, always effortlessly cool, returned the gesture with a brief smile of his own, his eyes flickering with a silent understanding. Then, just as smoothly as he had positioned himself in front of her, he moved back to his original spot, turning to face the cameras once more, as if nothing had happened.

[THEY ALWAYS MAKE SURE SHE’S READY BEFORE THEY FUCKING STOP 🥹]

[they are so obedient too]

The photographers continued their frenzy, completely unaware of the quiet, protective exchange that had just taken place between the two. To them, it had been a seamless transition— nothing out of the ordinary. But to those paying close attention, the subtle moment of protection from Mingyu was not only graceful but instinctual, a sign of the quiet care he had for Luna, his fellow ambassador, and friend.

Together, they resumed their poses, their red outfits glowing under the lights, and once again, they became the perfect image of poise and elegance. But those who knew— who saw the quick flash of concern in Mingyu’s eyes and the gratitude in Luna’s smile— recognized the deeper connection between them, one that went beyond their roles on the red carpet.

The event continued, but that brief moment lingered, caught by the lucky fans who were watching closely enough to see the exchange, a testament to the unspoken bond shared by the two.

THE BEAR BLOCK ™

And finally, the ‘Bear Block’

The soft glow of the hotel room’s ambient lighting bathed the cozy space in a warm hue as Minghao and Luna sat side by side on the edge of her bed, engaging with fans in their casual Weverse live. Luna’s hotel room was comfortably minimalistic—soft cream-colored walls, sleek furniture, and the faint scent of lavender wafting through the air from a diffuser on the nightstand. Behind them, a plush teddy bear sat tucked into the pillows, a gift Luna had received from a fan earlier that day, its little beady eyes gleaming under the camera's light.

[IT’S THE OTHER SET OF TWINS OF SEVENTEEN]

[the 97 line twins]

It was a typical live stream for the two— comfortable and relaxed. Luna, in her soft oversized hoodie, was leaning back against the bedpost while Minghao, dressed in his usual stylish yet casual attire, lounged next to her. Their conversation flowed naturally as they laughed and answered fans’ questions. Minghao would occasionally break into Chinese, his voice smooth as he spoke in his mother tongue, and Luna, always eager to learn, would repeat his phrases with childlike excitement, though her pronunciation was less polished.

[they are so cute 🥺]

[I love this duo so much]

Minghao chuckled each time she got it wrong, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “No, no, like this,” he’d say, gently correcting her, the fondness in his tone unmistakable. He would then patiently translate the meaning into Korean for her and their fans, smiling as Luna exaggeratedly repeated the words again, determined to get it right.

[I am so soft for them]

The chat was buzzing with messages, and the number of viewers kept rising steadily as more fans joined in, thrilled by the duo’s easy-going dynamic. Luna, always full of energy, glanced at the screen, her sharp eyes catching one of the rapid comments. She leaned forward to get a better look, her long hair cascading down one side of her face as she brought her face closer to her phone.

"Wait, what does this say—" Luna began, her voice trailing off mid-sentence. Just as she was about to read the comment aloud, Minghao, who had been fiddling with the teddy bear on the bed, made a swift movement. In a fraction of a second, without a word, he gently but firmly pressed the soft bear against her chest, covering her entirely from view.

[this cracked me up 😂]

[the fact the Hao just shoved the bear in front of her was just hilarious]

Luna froze for a heartbeat, her eyes widening in surprise as she realized what had just happened. Her body had leaned forward just a little too far, and in her oversized hoodie, there had been a chance she might have inadvertently revealed something on camera that wasn’t meant to be seen. Minghao, with his ever-watchful eye and sharp instincts, had noticed it instantly.

[Hao really said: “not on my watch.” 🧸]

Her breath hitched for a moment as she glanced at him, her face a mix of shock and silent gratitude. Minghao, his expression calm and collected, simply nodded at her in a way that conveyed everything without words. He didn’t make a big deal of it; his actions were smooth and almost invisible to the casual observer. His nod was one of quiet understanding, a signal that she didn’t need to worry— he had her back.

[He’s also so fucking hot, lawd]

Luna’s heart swelled with appreciation, but she played it cool. With a soft exhale, she shot him a small, grateful smile. “Thank you,” she muttered under her breath, barely audible but enough for Minghao to hear.

He gave a subtle smile in return, his eyes crinkling slightly as he continued to idly hold the bear in place, casually moving it as though it were part of their lighthearted banter.

Luna straightened back up, her posture relaxed once more, and resumed the conversation as if nothing had happened.

Luna’s smile returned as she read through more comments, her face as calm and composed as ever, a professional through and through.

[CUTIESSSSSS 💕💕💕]

They continued answering fan questions as the live stretched on, but the silent gesture lingered in the air like an unspoken promise— proof that, no matter what, Minghao was always watching out for her, and Luna was never truly alone.

LUNA’S TRAINEE STORY IN GAME CATERERS 1-2

“It says here that you are known to cause fights.” PD Na said.

[THIS ENTIRE STORY RIGHT HERE]

The sudden statement caught everyone off guard. The members burst into laughter while Luna sat there, shocked and confused, unsure of how to respond.

“Me?” she asked, pointing to herself, her voice tinged with disbelief. “Fights? Where did you hear that?” She laughed, still trying to process the unexpected accusation.

[She’s just that bitch. She didn’t even know]

PD Na pointed at his paper, a teasing grin on his face. “We did our research. It says here that you caused a lot of fights when you were a trainee.”

A chorus of agreements erupted from the members, with many of them pointing at her and Jeonghan, nodding vigorously.

“That’s right!”

“He’s right!” they echoed, their voices overlapping as they teased her.

"This is amazing," Dokyeom laughed harder.

“What?” Luna turned to look at her members, her confusion deepening as she tried to piece together what they were talking about. "Huh? What are you guys talking about?"

Then her eyes landed on Jeonghan who was already watching her, and it all clicked. The realization dawned on her face, her expression shifting from confusion to understanding, and then to amusement. “Ah,” she laughed, finally catching on.

[SHE TOOK ONE LOOK AT JEONGHAN AND KNEW EXACTLY WHAT THEY WERE TALKING ABOUT]

Jeonghan, always the instigator, just grinned back at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

[he’s proud too]

As the memory clicked into place, Luna laughed harder, her laughter bubbling over as she covered her mouth with her hands. “This is amazing,” she marveled, still giggling. “How did you guys find out about that? I had completely forgotten about it.”

PD Na watched her with amusement, leaning forward slightly. “Can you tell us about it?” he asked, clearly intrigued.

Luna glanced at Jeonghan, who nodded in agreement, his smile knowing. She turned back to the group, preparing to recount the story. “It was when I was a trainee, and I was new at ‘PLEDIS’. This happened about five months after I joined,” Luna began, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke. “This one time, I just had the hardest day. The training was intense, I was sick at that time as well, and I remember stressing over my exams because I was still in school.”

Everyone listened carefully, their expressions a mix of curiosity and amusement. Her members, who knew the story well, giggled quietly, already anticipating where it was headed.

Luna continued, “I hadn’t eaten the entire day. I came to the practice room, and I had an apple. Then, one of the trainees came over, and he was teasing me.”

She paused, mimicking the boy’s actions by raising her hand as if holding something up high. “He took my apple, raised it up, and teased me to take it. He kept doing it and wouldn't give it to me up to the point that I just started crying,” Luna admitted, laughing at the memory of her younger, more vulnerable self.

“Aww,” the members and producers chorused, a mixture of sympathy and amusement in their voices.

[THEY ARE SO SOFT FOR HER WTF 🥺]

Luna pressed on, “Then, all of a sudden, Jeonghannie oppa came in.” She placed her hand on Jeonghan’s leg, and though he made no move, he continued listening to her, his smirk growing as he anticipated the end of the story. “He saw me crying, took one look at the apple, and then he went…”

Luna mimicked Jeonghan’s deep, angry voice and stern expression, saying, “‘Give it back'.”

The room exploded into shrieks. The members erupted in howls and laughter, some leaping out of their seats, while others covered their mouths in teasing disbelief. The laughter was contagious, filling the room. Luna and Jeonghan remained seated next to each other, smiling as the room buzzed with the chaotic energy of their shared memories.

[only same reaction]

As the laughter in the room finally began to die down, Luna continued the story, still smiling. “The trainee still wouldn’t give it back and thought Hannie oppa was joking with him,” she said, recalling the moment. “Then he went, ‘I said give it back,’ but the trainee just laughed at him. Oppa was one of the oldest, so it was a bit disrespectful…”

PD Na, fully invested in the story, leaned in slightly. “Then… what did he do?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

Jeonghan, his voice calm and deep, answered this time, his eyes still carrying that signature droopy look as he smirked lazily. “I cursed him out.”

The casual delivery of his words contrasted with the intensity of the moment, making the members erupt into a chorus of teasing.

"Ooh, he cursed!"

"He really cursed him out!"

"He cursed!" they repeated, pointing at Jeonghan and laughing even harder.

Luna nodded, trying to keep a straight face, before wrapping up the story. "Then after that, we left, and he bought me food."

[out of all the things PLEDIS could’ve fucking released in that training room it could have been this!]

Before PD Na could reply, Seungkwan jumped in with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "There was also this one time. Maybe a year after that incident."

PD Na raised his eyebrows, intrigued. "There's another one?"

Luna, confused, turned to look at Seungkwan, who was seated behind her. "What else is there?" she asked, genuinely puzzled.

[SHE’S LOST]

"It happened a year before we debuted," Seungkwan leaned forward, his voice carrying a nostalgic tone. "Noona is beautiful. She's really beautiful. Even back then when she was younger, she hasn't changed at all. Not once. She looks the exact same. The only thing that changed is her height." He emphasized each word to PD Na, while Luna listened quietly, her members nodding in agreement.

[I AGREE]

"She was an extremely popular trainee," Seungkwan continued. "A lot of boys liked her."

[SAME]

With that, a chorus of agreements spilled from the mouths of the members. "That's true," Mingyu said, nodding along with the others.

[GOOD. SO WE ALL AGREE.]

"There was a time when two trainees were literally arguing about her because they both liked her, and they decided to talk to her about it and make her decide," Seungkwan added, glancing over at Luna with a grin.

"I remember this," S.Coups chuckled, his eyes lighting up with the memory.

Luna’s eyes widened as she finally recalled the story. "Oh, right! Once they saw me, they started arguing in front of me," she nodded, using her hands to illustrate the scene.

[She explained that as if it’s the most normal thing in the world]

"Right. They were literally fighting in front of her," Seungkwan affirmed. "The members present tried to make them stop, but one thing led to another, and they both grabbed Luna by each hand," Seungkwan demonstrated the movement, grabbing Wonwoo’s arm to illustrate the point.

[WHAT I WOULD DO TO SEE THIS]

"Jeonghan… He was the angriest I've ever seen him in my life," Seungkwan said, raising his hand as if swearing to the truth.

[WHAT I WOULD DO TO SEE THIS PT. 2]

Seungkwan then stood up, pulling Wonwoo to his feet to act out the scene. "Jeonghan went up to them and just…" He mimicked Jeonghan’s aggressive stance, facing Wonwoo head-on, his expression fierce.

"Jeonghan had really long hair back then, so it was swaying like this," Seungkwan added, shaking his head from side to side, imitating the way Jeonghan’s hair had moved during the confrontation. "'Let go,'" he said in a deep, angry voice, perfectly mimicking Jeonghan.

[ANGRY JEONGHAN + LONG-HAIRED JEONGHAN = 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️]

Another chorus of amused, teasing "Oohs" erupted from the members, while Luna sat laughing, her shoulders shaking with mirth.

S.Coups, still seated, shook his head with a grin. "I had to get him off. It was the first time I saw Jeonghan angry as well," he confessed, looking at Jeonghan with a mixture of admiration and amusement.

[good lord. PLEDIS RELEASE THE FOOTAGE NOW. I KNOW YOU HAVE IT THERE SOMEWHERE]

PD Na directed his attention to Jeonghan, raising an eyebrow with an amused smile. "It seems like you're involved in a lot of these stories."

[He knows what’s up]

Before Jeonghan could respond, Dokyeom cut in with a knowing grin. "Jeonghan is the most protective of Luna."

[I BEG TO DIFFER BUT ACCURATE]

Luna quickly interjected, shaking her head with a smile. "No, it’s because he was the first person I became friends with when I joined. He was the person I was most comfortable with."

[🥹🥹🥹]

Jeonghan finally spoke up, his tone nonchalant as if the answer was obvious. "How else am I supposed to react during that situation?"

[right. right. right.]

Hoshi chimed in, nodding in agreement. "He’s cool."

"Very cool," Minghao said.

[He’s hot too]

Seungkwan, ever the dramatic one, couldn’t resist adding his flair. "I swear it was like a drama," he said, his voice filled with exaggerated emotion. "It was like you could hear the song play… 'Almost Paradise'…'" He sang the familiar tune, sending the room into another round of laughter.

[YESSSSSSSSSS]

PD Na, still chuckling, looked back at Jeonghan and Luna. "It’s because she’s your best friend. You two are the closest."

Both Luna and Jeonghan nodded, confirming the bond they shared.

"She's like your younger sister," PD Na added thoughtfully.

[sure]

Jeonghan, who had been nodding in agreement, suddenly faltered. "N– y–yes," he stuttered, quickly changing his answer.

[HE AINT SLICK AT ALL]

The subtle exchange of looks between Jeonghan and Luna that followed didn’t go unnoticed. Jeonghan's eyes lingered on her for just a moment, while Luna remained composed, though there was a fleeting glint of something unspoken in her eyes. It was a small, almost imperceptible moment, but the hesitation in Jeonghan’s response added a strange tension to the room that only the members noticed and understood as if there was more to the story than they were letting on.

[CALL ME INSANE BUT THERE WAS SOMETHING THERE]

[THE MEMBERS KNOW TOO]

PD Na, oblivious to the undercurrent, chuckled again. "I never thought you would be the type of person to fight," he remarked to Jeonghan, amused by the contrast between his usual calm demeanor and the stories being told.

The room burst into laughter again, and in perfect sync, both Luna and Jeonghan replied, "You’d think."

[GOD I LOVE THEM]

LUNA’S ALMOST FACE-PLANTING OFF THE STAGE

It was the encore stage of SEVENTEEN’s ‘Be The Sun’ concert in Los Angeles, the never-ending loop of ‘Very Nice’ ringing through the arena as the crowd screamed and chanted along. The energy was electric, and all fourteen members were spread across the stage, bouncing with uncontainable excitement.

[it’s always this song btw]

[shit always happens during this never-ending song]

They’d already run through what seemed like a dozen rounds of the song, yet the adrenaline kept them going, fueled by the roars of the fans.

Luna, like the rest, was in high spirits, hopping from side to side, her voice blending with the sea of cheers as she waved down to the fans in the pit.

[SPIT ON ME– w-what?!]

She had found herself at the very edge of the stage, close enough that she could see the eager faces reaching up toward her, arms outstretched and phones recording every moment. Luna smiled and waved, her fingers making heart signs as she interacted with the fans who screamed her name in delight.

[She’s adorable and hot at the same time]

[like– how does one achieve that skill]

Her hair was slightly damp from all the jumping, and she pushed it out of her face, not noticing the sheen of water accumulating by her feet. The other members had been throwing water bottles into the crowd moments earlier, and the puddles left behind were nearly invisible under the bright concert lights.

In the heat of the moment, Luna took a step forward, her foot catching the slick surface beneath her. Her sneakers slid out from under her, and for a brief, terrifying second, her body lurched forward, dangerously close to toppling off the stage. Her balance was gone, the crowd gasping in unison as they watched her stumble.

[SHE LITERALLY WAS THIS 🤏 CLOSE TO SEEING JESUS]

But before gravity could pull her down, two pairs of hands shot out— firm and fast. Dino, who had been dancing nearby, immediately grabbed her left arm with a firm grip, his reflexes kicking in as he sensed her falling. At the same moment, Vernon, who had been casually walking past on her right, caught her other arm, his hands locking around her elbow with precision. Together, the two maknaes stabilized her, each holding on tightly as she regained her footing.

[THEY BOTH LOOKED EQUALLY TERRIFIED]

[Someone bubble wrap Jiyeonie I’m so serious]

For a moment, everything seemed to pause. The three of them stood frozen, catching their breaths as the arena’s lights flashed around them.

[the way the three of them just froze]

Luna’s heart raced as she realized how close she had been to a disastrous fall, right in front of thousands of fans. She turned to look at Dino and Vernon, their hands still gripping her arms firmly. Their faces mirrored a mixture of concern and relief, and they exchanged a silent understanding in that brief, weighty second.

Luna, her chest heaving, mouthed the words, “Thank you… I almost died,” her eyes wide with mock dramatization.

Her words, though lost in the chaos of the concert, were picked up by eagle-eyed fans close enough to lip-read the exchange. Dino let out a relieved laugh, his lips quirking into a smile, while Vernon gave a subtle nod, eyes flicking toward her with a smirk, as if to say, “Yup, you almost died.”

In the span of a heartbeat, the moment passed. Dino and Vernon released their hold as she straightened herself, shaking off the near-incident. Luna turned back to the audience with a bright grin, as if nothing had happened, raising her arms and encouraging the crowd to scream even louder.

[SHE’S SO UNSERIOUS 😂]

The fans, unaware of just how close she’d been to falling, cheered even harder, oblivious to the small protective moment that had unfolded before their eyes.

As the three continued dancing, the members spread back out across the stage, the concert’s rhythm never missing a beat.

THIS LIVE THAT MAKES MY BLOOD BOIL

Hoshi’s live had started like any other, full of laughter, easy conversation, and the familiar warmth of interacting with fans. As he sat in front of the camera, casually talking about everything from the group’s upcoming schedules to his favorite food that day, the comments section filled with excitement, fans from all over the world typing out their love and admiration for SEVENTEEN's energetic tiger.

[AH YES, ANOTHER CLIP THAT PISSES ME THE FUCK OFF]

But then, the live took an unexpected turn as both Joshua and Luna suddenly appeared on screen. Joshua casually strolled into the room, his ever-present smile lighting up his face as he greeted the viewers. “Hey, everyone!” he said, settling down beside Hoshi.

Luna followed quietly, a soft, polite wave to the camera as she sat next to Joshua. Her presence, while usually met with joy from fans, always came with its fair share of negativity as well, something she’d long since come to terms with as the only female member of SEVENTEEN.

At first, the chat exploded with excitement.

“OMG Joshua!!”

“YAY, Jiyeonie is here too!!”

“Look at these visuals!!!”

But quickly, as always, the tide began to shift. Hidden between the floods of hearts and cheers, darker comments started appearing.

They always did.

“Why is she even here?”

“We only wanted Joshua and Hoshi, not her.”

“She ruins it as always.”

“Please leave, no one wants to see you.”

Luna sat quietly, her eyes flickering over the comments, her usual smile frozen on her face. She had grown used to this, a side effect of being the only girl in a thirteen-member male-dominated group.

[YOU MOTHERFUCKERS BETTER ROT IN HELL]

[look at her face!]

No matter how much love she received, there were always those who couldn't accept her presence.

Over the years, she had developed a thick skin.

She knew she didn’t need to prove herself to anyone, that she was just as much a part of SEVENTEEN as any of the others, but that didn’t make it any less uncomfortable to read such words over and over again. It was as though the hate was a dark cloud that hovered just beyond the warmth of the stage lights, waiting to seep in whenever she let her guard down.

Joshua, sitting next to her, immediately sensed the shift in her demeanor. His sharp eyes noticed how her usual bubbly chatter had quieted down, how she glanced at the screen but didn’t engage as much as she normally would.

[I am just happy she has them 🥺]

[she doesn’t deserve the hate]

Without a word, he gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders, his touch comforting and protective. His gaze met hers in a brief exchange, asking the question without saying a word: Are you okay?

[🥹🥹🥹]

Luna looked up at him and gave a small nod, her lips curving into a soft smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. It wasn’t the hate that bothered her, not anymore— it was how people could hold so much anger and vitriol for someone they didn’t even know. Still, she remained quiet, determined not to let the negative comments ruin the mood of the live.

[BAE JIYEON WE LOVE YOU ALWAYS AND FOREVER 💖💖💖]

But Hoshi, ever the observant one, wasn’t about to let it slide. His bright, playful expression faded as he leaned closer to the camera, his eyes scanning the comments section intently.

[ngl his shift in attitude gave me fucking chills]

[Hoshi really went from 🐹 to🐯]

Luna watched out of the corner of her eye as his fingers moved across the screen, quietly and deliberately reporting the hateful messages one by one. Only she and Joshua could see what he was doing, but fans started speculating in the chat as well, noticing the change in his expression and how his focus shifted from conversation to something else entirely.

[HE REALLY SAID “TRY ME BITCH”]

[he was mass reporting the shit out of them hoes]

Then, after a few moments of silence, Hoshi sat back, his face serious, his usually playful tone replaced with something much firmer, more resolute. His voice carried an edge that left no room for argument, yet he wasn’t aggressive— just calm, measured, and unwavering. He addressed the chat directly, his eyes staring straight into the camera.

[HELP— HE IS GENUINELY TERRIFYING ANGRY]

“If you don’t have anything nice to say, then you should just leave,” Hoshi said, his words clear and firm. “This live is for all of us to have fun and spend time together. I won’t tolerate disrespect toward any of my members. If you don’t like it, that’s fine— but I won’t have people being rude. That’s not what SEVENTEEN is about, and that’s not the kind of fans we want. So if you’re here to spread hate, you’re not welcome.”

[SHIT– I… 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️]

[RAWR! THAT’S THE TIGER IN HIM]

He paused, his expression softening just slightly, but his message was unmistakable. “Let’s all just be kind to each other, okay? That’s the kind of energy we need.”

[AMEN TO THAT!]

[YOU LOSERS HEAR HIM?!]

The chat exploded with a mix of reactions. Supportive fans immediately flooded the comments with love for Luna, agreeing with Hoshi’s words and calling out the haters who had been leaving negative comments. But there were still others who continued to protest, claiming they had a right to their opinions, or that they hadn’t said anything wrong.

Through it all, Luna stayed quiet. She occasionally responded to a few positive comments, forcing a smile here and there, but her heart wasn’t in it. Joshua and Hoshi tried their best to lighten the mood, playfully nudging her to join the conversation, but the damage had already been done— not because she was hurt by the hate, but because it confused her.

How could people carry so much anger, so much spite, for someone they didn’t even know? It was a question she couldn’t answer and one that weighed on her more than the comments themselves.

[she looked sad the entire time]

[I’m so sorry, baby 🥺]

As the live continued, the mood eventually lightened again, thanks to Hoshi’s relentless energy and Joshua’s calm, steady presence. But for Luna, the evening felt a little heavier, her mind drifting back to the reality of her position as SEVENTEEN's only female member. She would never let the hate break her, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t exhausting.

“BAE JIYEON MARRY ME!”

The air was buzzing with excitement inside the venue as fans eagerly waited for the fan sign event to begin. The members of SEVENTEEN sat in a line, comfortably seated behind a long table on the stage, each with their markers in hand, ready to greet their Carats up close. The stage lights cast a soft glow over the group as they casually chatted amongst themselves, waving occasionally to the fans in the audience, who were waiting for their turn.

Luna, seated between Joshua and Minghao, was twirling her marker absentmindedly, her attention drifting between the other members' conversations and the distant murmur of the crowd. The relaxed energy around her was something she always cherished at fan signs— a rare chance to connect with the fans on a more personal level.

[I HAVE SAID IT ONCE AND I’LL SAY IT AGAIN… SHE IS BEAUTIFUL… AND SMOKING HOT 😍🥵]

But just as Luna was about to engage in a conversation with Minghao, a loud, booming voice from the audience broke through the steady hum of the crowd.

“BAE JIYEON, MARRY ME!”

[Honestly… valid]

The sudden, bold declaration reverberated across the room, sending ripples of surprise and laughter through the fans. Luna, completely caught off guard, froze mid-spin, her eyes widening as she looked up toward the sea of fans. Her heart jumped in her chest, not from the proposal itself, but from the unexpected shock of it all.

[She’s adorable]

[She’s also concerned]

A chorus of laughter and amused giggles rose from the audience. Luna, still recovering from the jolt of surprise, reached for the mic in front of her, her lips curving into an amused smile.

She was about to reply, maybe tease the fan back, but before she could even bring the mic to her lips, the response came— not from her, but from the thirteen members seated beside her.

[And there they go…]

A resounding, collective, and very loud “NO!” erupted from her bandmates. The word shot across the room in unison, like a protective shield around her, each member adding their own flair to the rejection.

[THEY CRACK ME TF UP 😂]

Seungcheol was the first to react, playfully crossing his arms over his chest and giving a mock glare toward the fan as he leaned back in his seat. “Absolutely not,” he added, shaking his head as if to cement the point.

Dino and Jun, sitting a few seats down, followed suit, their arms shooting up into the air in exaggerated protest. “No, no, no!” They chanted, shaking their fingers dramatically, their expression both comical and stern.

Hoshi, always one to escalate things, leaned forward in his chair, his voice loud and booming as he pointed into the audience. “You’ve got some nerve!” he said playfully, though his eyes sparkled with mischief. “Jiyeon’s not going anywhere, you hear me?”

The fans roared with laughter, thoroughly entertained by the group’s immediate and united defense. Even Woozi, known for his quieter reactions, shook his head silently, his lips forming a firm, resolute “no” as he glanced down the line at Luna, his protective instincts subtly showing.

Mingyu, seated at the far end, leaned into his mic. “Good try, though,” he deadpanned, earning another round of chuckles from the audience.

[MENACES]

Luna couldn’t help but laugh, her shoulders shaking as the members continued their playful scolding. It was a chaotic chorus of no’s, some loud and exaggerated, others quiet but firm. The overwhelming display of protection from her members warmed her heart, and she could see the amusement spreading among the fans as well.

[JIYEON JUST SAT THERE LIKE: “YUP 😇”]

Even the fan who had shouted the proposal was laughing along, clearly enjoying the playful banter his boldness had sparked.

As the ruckus continued, Luna finally leaned back in her chair, shaking her head with a grin. The mic still rested in her hand, but there wasn’t much for her to say— her bandmates had already spoken loud and clear.

Then, amidst the fading echoes of laughter, Jeonghan, who had remained relatively quiet during the exchange, finally spoke up. His voice was calm and smooth as he brought his mic to his lips, his usual playful smirk replaced with something more composed.

“Sorry, but that question is sensitive for us,” he said nonchalantly, though there was a glint in his eyes that made it clear there was more truth to his words than his tone let on.

[Translation: “Only I get to ask her to marry me.”]

The laughter in the room softened, and for a split second, a quiet fell over the stage as Luna and the rest of the members registered the weight behind Jeonghan’s words. It was a joke, of course, but Luna knew Jeonghan better than most— and she could tell he was serious.

He always was when it came to her.

Luna’s laughter faded into a softer smile, a silent understanding passing between her and Jeonghan as their eyes briefly met across the table. He gave her a small, reassuring nod, and she returned it, appreciating the subtle way he always looked out for her. Even in moments like this, where the line between playfulness and sincerity blurred, Jeonghan’s protectiveness always shone through.

[STOP FLIRTING WITH MOM, DAD!]

The fans, blissfully unaware of the deeper meaning behind his words, erupted into laughter once again, the lighthearted atmosphere quickly returning. Luna, feeling the warmth of her members’ care, picked up the mic at last and shook her head, addressing the original fan who had proposed.

“I think you got your answer,” she said with a teasing smile, the laughter in her voice unmistakable.

[Translation: “Only Yoon Jeonghan gets to marry me.”]

The fans cheered, and the rest of the members continued to playfully banter as the fan sign officially began. But throughout the rest of the event, Luna couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for the family she had in SEVENTEEN— their protectiveness, their loyalty, and their unwavering support. It wasn’t always easy being the only female member, but in moments like this, she knew she wasn’t alone.

And there you have it, folks! Just a small glimpse into SEVENTEEN’s ultimate protective instincts when it comes to their one and only Luna. I mean, if you ever had any doubts about how loved this girl is, well… think again.

Thirteen men— yes, thirteen— willing to risk it all, fight the world, and probably even dive into traffic if it meant keeping her safe. So, a quick reminder to all: Never— and I mean NEVER— mess with Bae Jiyeon unless you want these maniacs after you.

But hey, can you really blame them? Luna’s got their backs, and they’ve got hers. It’s a whole family thing at this point.

Thanks for watching! Don’t forget to comment on more wholesome SEVENTEEN content you want to see next! See you next time— unless you’re out there trying to propose to Luna… in which case… good luck with that!”

comments…

@/lunababybae • 10 months ago ╰ Luna’s sasaeng attack pisses me off but angry and protective Cheol makes up for it 🥵

@/mimilyemily • 10 months ago ╰ DID YOU SEE HOW FAST CHOI SEUNGCHEOL AND JEON WONWOO REACTED AT 1:00 GOOD LORD

@/gyusshadow • 10 months ago ╰ OUR LEADER SCOLDING SECURITY FOR LUNA 🥺 MY MAN RIGHT THERE!!!

@/moonlight_1997 • 10 months ago ╰ Jeonghan caressing Luna’s red arm 1:25 idk if I am to feel soft over him touching her like that or pissed off that her arm is red because of that sasaeng 🙃

@/saythename • 8 months ago ╰ Seokminie zipping Jiyeonie up that quick during Fear is a skill and a hot skill at that!

@/jeonwoowonwoo • 7 months ago ╰ They are all so protective of her, it’s super endearing 💖🥺

@/mrsbaebae • 7 months ago ╰ THE THREE BLOCKS ARE ICONIC!!!

@/jeongnanana • 7 months ago ╰ THESE MEN ARE THE STANDARD WTF!? JUST THE WAY THEY TREAT LUNA IS PROOF ENOUGH 💕🤭

@/gyuuuuudaily • 6 months ago

╰ YOON JEONGHAN DEFENDING LUNA DURING THEIR TRAINEE DAYS IS STILL ONE OF THE BEST STORIES I HAVE EVER HEARD TILL THIS DAY!!!

@/bbbiiibbiii • 5 months ago ╰ That exchange of looks from Luna and Hannie at 19:57 😍😍😍

@/missbitchhhh • 3 months ago ╰ note to self: “How to get Svt to notice you = ask Luna to marry you.”

@/shadowmyshadow• 2 months ago ╰ I have completely erased that Hoshi live from my mind. Seeing Luna sad and quiet like that breaks me 🥺

@/kpppopieaddict • 1 week ago ╰ They are all down bad for her wbk (I am too).

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Taglist: @yeoberryx @minminghao @angie-x3 @jennwonwoo @k13endall @heeseungthel0ml @chisskaa @megumi2020 @yoonzzziino @lllucere @smh-anon @yveclipse @randomworker @bunnystrm @iamawkwardandshy @gratefulbunny1 @bmo-bri @syren-ash @megseungmin @multiplums @unlikelysublimekryptonite @night-storm7 @cookiearmy @seokqt @btskzfav

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⋆.˚ 𝐈'𝐦 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮 ⋆.˚

IN WHICH...a wallflower finds solace in her life thanks to a boy who gives her the will to live

WARNINGS...mentions of suicide and suicidal thoughts! depressive thoughts, alcohol, weed, IF I FORGOT ANYTHING PLEASE LET ME KNOW

BTW, the series playlist is linked in the title!

THIS SERIES IS NOT IN ANY WAY, SHAPE , OR FORM TRYING TO ROMANTICIZE DEPRESSION OR SUICIDE! THIS IS SIMPLY A FIC THAT IS SUPPOSED TO SHOW THE STRUGGLES OF MENTAL HEALTH AND HOW SOMETIMES WE JUST NEED TO FEEL LIKE WE BELONG TO FEEL BETTER! IF YOU SUFFER WITH ANY TYPE OF MENTAL HEALTH STRUGGLE, PLEASE REACH OUT FOR HELP! AT THE END OF EACH CHAPTER I WILL PROVIDE A PHONE NUMBER FOR THE SUICIDE HOTLINE!

Matilda.

A movie about a young girl who was ignored at times by her family, or simply just treated horribly for existing.

She related to that.

From a young age she was ignored by her parents, the adults constantly forgetting they even had a child to tend and take care of.

They would leave her home alone without even mumbling a goodbye, they wouldn't even leave a note. The birthdays she wished to celebrate every year were forgotten, the holidays she would see being celebrated on TV in grand and dramatic ways were never like that for her.

She thought it would be different at school.

She'd seen the TV shows of kids having big groups of friends, having nice and welcoming teachers, and having fun.

She was wrong.

In elementary school she was bullied, the kids making fun of her hair and clothes. They made fun of the fact she was soft-spoken and always reading the 'Magic Tree House' books. Her teachers never did anything about it, and she didn't want them to.

She would take bullying over being ignored any day.

Then, middle school happened.

The bullying had stopped, but not because the kids felt bad, they grew tired of her. They treated her like she was a nuisance making their lives unbearable. To make it worse, her teachers felt the same way. She would raise her hand to answer a question, and the teacher would roll their eyes while her classmates would mock her and call her a 'suck up' or 'annoying". Her peers would bump into her in the hallways and yell in her face to move.

A vivid memory of hers was when she bumped into Lacey Sanders in the lunchroom, spilling her lunch all over her brand-new white top. Lacey lost it, she pushed the girl to the floor, screaming in her face that she was a waste of space and should have never been born.

It was embarrassing.

So embarrassing that she raced out of the lunchroom and straight to the bathroom where she had her first panic attack.

She began to believe the callous words and actions around her.

Maybe she was annoying, maybe she was a suck-up, maybe she shouldn't have been born...

It seemed as the school year went on and people began to forget the lunchroom incident, they began to forget about her too.

High school soon came along, and that's when she realized how invisible she truly was.

No one would give her dirty looks anymore, they would bump into her in the hallways and continue to walk as if she were an inanimate object. Her teachers would either mark her absent or not even call her name during attendance.

It's like she didn't exist.

She blended into the crowd, but she wasn't a part of the crowd,

She was an empty shell, a ghost begging, screaming, pleading to be noticed,

Just like she's doing now.

It was a cold December night in Boston, a few days before Christmas. The streetlights illuminate the icy roads, showcasing the flurries of snow flying around. The streets were basically empty, the majority wanting to escape the cold, but not her.

She loved the cold.

She loved the way the crisp air pierced her skin, numbing her fingers and toes. She loved how when she breathed out, she could see the carbon dioxide, showing that she was in fact there and alive much to her dismay and others.

Her hands grip the cold railing tightly, her palms burning from the frost coating the metal. The murky water below was currently sloshing against the rocks violently, the noise so loud yet calming at the same time.

She couldn't help but wonder if her end would be the same,

Violent and loud, yet calming.

She takes a shakey breath and looks away from the water, looking behind her and watching as a few people walk by...Ignoring her.

They were dressed in their winter attire, laughing and talking about the holidays to come and how excited they were to spend time with family. They weren't worried about the 17-year-old girl on the bridge.

Why would they worry?

As much as she wanted someone to notice her, to stop her from ending it all and tell her it's ok, she knew they wouldn't

They don't care.

"They don't care," she murmurs to herself.

Her eyes began to burn, she wasn't sure if it was the cold air or the tears forming in her eyes, but she didn't care...Not anymore. She closes her eyes and faces forward once more, the noise around her beginning to soften as the rushing water grows louder in her ears. Her grip on the railing began to loosen, a faint smile gracing her face.

This is it.

She's finally going to be at peace.

Just as she begins to let go, a hand firmly grabs her shoulder and yanks her backward, her back hitting the railings harshly. Her eyes snap open and she whips her head around, coming face to face with a boy who looks out of breath. 

His eyes are wide and filled with genuine fear, but he has a smile on his face.

“Come to a party with me!”

She blinks in confusion, not sure if she heard him correctly. "w-what?"

" Come to a party with me. It's not a huge party really. It's just me, my brothers, and a few friends in Nate's basement. We're going to watch Christmas movies, play games, drink, smoke..."

Despite the tension in the air and his body, the boy keeps a smile on his face, begging internally for the girl to agree.

"You don't even know me..."

"Well I want to..."

He wants to know her.

Someone wants to know her.

Her grip on the railing tightens once more as she begins to feel conflicted. She wanted to end it, she was tired of hurting in silence, yet here he was, a stranger, inviting her to a party.

Was this the universe finally answering her wishes, or was she already dead and in her own version of heaven?

"Come on, it will be fun...We have pizza."

He was warm and inviting, the cheesy smile on his face and the crinkle by his eyes proving that much. It was a nice change compared to the coldness she felt in her life.

She hesitantly nods to his invitation, the action accruing before she even realizes she's doing it. He quickly drops his bags to the ground and yanks her over the railing, holding her close as he mutters a 'Thank God' to himself once he realizes she's now safe.

Once she's steady, she pulls away from him and looks away awkwardly, her nails digging into her palms.

He wants to confront her, tell her what she planned on doing was stupid and she would regret it, but he didn't.

He couldn't.

She didn't need a lecture right now, she needed a friend.

Noticing she's just in a flannel and sweatpants, he quickly takes off his jacket and throws it over her shoulders, "S'freezin kid, should have worn a jacket in this weather...Come on, let's head to Nates. It's not that far." He grabs her hand without a care in the world, grabbing his dropped bags in the other, and leading the way.

The walk to Nates is quiet for the most part, the only sound coming from the plastic bags and their feet crunching against the snow. She was lost deep in thought, her mind buzzing with the events within the past few minutes.

She's pulled out of her thoughts by the boy speaking, "I think I've seen you around school, I say I think 'cause I'm rarely there...What's y'name kid?"

He noticed her around school? She actually stood out for someone to notice her?

"Y/n..." She answers softly. He hums in response and gives her a big smile, "Well, I'm Chris. S'nice to meet you Y/n."

They soon make it to Nate's house and Chris waltzes right in, stomping his feet on the matt to get rid of the snow before kicking the boots off. "Come on, everyone's in the basement." He motions to the basement door, already walking towards it.

Y/n hesitantly follows, this was all new to her.

She's never been invited to parties or asked to hang out.

As Chris opens the basement door, she hears the sound of laughter and shouting.

"You cheated!"

"How the hell do you cheat in Candyland you dumb fuc-I'm back!" Chris's announcement of his arrival causes the group of four to look at the two teens standing at the bottom of the stairs.

"And you brought a stranger?" A boy who looks just like Chris asks, looking Y/n up and down.

She feels her face grow warm as the boy calls her a stranger, he wasn't lying though, she was a stranger. Chris rolls his eyes and drops the bag on the table before slapping the boy upside the head. "Shut the hell up Nick, Y/n's not a stranger... She's a friend."

She feels her heart skip a beat at his words.

Friends...She was a friend.

Chris plops down on the couch, immediately man-spreading and crossing his arms. Meanwhile, Y/n stands by the stairs awkwardly still wrapped in Chris's jacket. Chris notices and pats the spot next to him, urging her to sit down.

She shuffles over, her movements unsure as she sits down next to him.

She expected the group to jump back into what they were doing, to completely disregard her existence - that wasn't the case. They immediately begin to talk to her, asking all types of questions to get to know her better. It was different, it was scary, it was overwhelming, but she found herself relaxing in the warm atmosphere of the basement.

Despite Nick's hesitancy towards her earlier, everyone was so welcoming. They treated her like they had known her for years, like they grew up with her. It was comforting, for once in her life she felt like she belonged, like she was actually alive.

It was refreshing.

"S-so do you guys always hang down here?" She asks as she looks around the basement. It looked like the basement of an early 2-thousands teen movie. Posters of different bands and TV shows were thrown on the wall, the colorful Christmas lights were strung along the ceilings creating a serene atmosphere. There was a huge tv mounted on the wall - gaming systems on the stand below. Two couches, a recliner, and bean bags of different colors were scattered about.

"Yeah, my mom doesn't want us messing up her nice couches and she says we are too loud, so she and my dad let us use the basement as our hangout spot," Nate states as he sets the bong down on the table, Alahna immediately taking it. "A-and they let you guys smoke-" her eyes dart over to the alcohol in Nick's hand, "And drink?"

"Better here rather than out somewhere getting hurt....Are your parents really strict or something?"

The question makes her wonder, were her parents strict? They were never around or paid any attention to her for them to be. She could have been causing all types of trouble and doing god knows what without any type of repercussion, yet she never did

She gives a brief smile, "N-not really... I've just never done any of that stuff...." The group looks at her in shock. How could someone in their grade never dabble in any of these activities? "Well, that is going to change! Take your pick, what drink do you want?"

"Or do you want to smoke?"

The group begins to debate on what the girl should do first, two of them leaning towards drinking while the other two claim an edible would be better. Meanwhile, Chris is doing neither. His eyes land on the girl who looks frightened by the idea of ingesting any type of paraphernalia.

"Hey-" his hand finds its place on her knee, giving comfort. "You know you don't have to do anything if you don't want to right? Don't let them pressure you."

Conflicted feelings swarm in her mind. On one hand she's not completely keen on the idea of being intoxicated, worried about what she will say and or do while not being in the right state of mind. What if they find her weird, or they make her the butt end of a joke? However on the other hand, she wants to fit in, she wants them to like her, and she wants to belong.

"I-is there anything not...Strong?" She asks timidly. Chris nods and grabs an unopened can of Twisted Tea. "It's tea with vodka. Taste kind of funky but I like it." She examines the big can, a look of nervousness still on her face. " We could share if you want? I doubt you will drink the whole thing." He was mainly offering out of concern, he knew the drink wasn't strong, but he didn't want the girl throwing up everywhere because she couldn't handle alcohol.

“T-that sounds nice….” Chris nods and cracks open the can, handing it to her for the first sip. She takes it once again, smelling the liquid before taking a hesitant sip. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either. She shivers as she swallows, smacking her lips as the taste settles in her mouth. Chris laughs as she hands the can back to him, taking his own swig of the spiked tea.

“Alcohol virginity has been semi-taken! We’ll save the weed for a birthday or something,” Alahna cheers, the whole group joining in.

The night is a whirlwind of endless activities ranging from Just Dance, board games, Heads up, the girl learning how to play Fortnite, and karaoke.

Y/n was having fun. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t sad, she was happy. Even if it was a temporary happiness, she spent her whole life worrying, it wouldn't hurt her to live and enjoy her life for one night.

The night soon ends and everyone is getting ready to leave, “We can drive you home. S’pretty late and I uhh... I don't want you walking alone..." It was obvious Chris was worried, scared she would find her way to the bridge once more and disappear. He knew he couldn't do much to make whatever she was going through better, but he sure as hell was going to try.

"It's fine, I can wa-'' As she tries to turn down the offer of a ride, not wanting to be a burden, Chris turns to Matt - "You good with driving her home? She doesn't live far."

Matt's eyes drift over to the girl who is smiling awkwardly, shrugging his shoulder and grabbing his keys, "Yeah, let's go. "

After saying their goodbyes to Nate, Alahna, and Nate's family, the four pile into the black van. Y/n climbs into the car, sitting next to Nick in the backseat as Chris and Matt remain upfront. Matt suddenly hands her his phone, Google Maps opened- a clear sign to enter her address. She does so, handing him back the phone quietly. “ You live next door to us?” Matt questions as he puts the car in reverse, the tires crunching against the snow.

"I-I do?" She questions. She had never noticed the three boys - it's obvious they hadn't noticed her either. The car ride to their respective homes is pretty quiet, a song from Chris's playlist playing softly as the two boys upfront hold a whispered conversation. Nick was busy sleeping, all the alcohol finally catching up to him. Y/n looks out the window, her eyes focused on the blurry imagery passing her by.

It wasn't long before Matt pulled into their driveway - everyone piling out of the car and ready to go to bed. "You guys head inside, I'm going to walk her to her house." Chris moves toward Y/n, his hand resting on her back. Matt eyes the gesture and says nothing, grabbing a half-asleep Nick and walking him inside.

"Y-you didn't have to walk me back...."

"I want to...Come on."

The two begin the small walk toward the white house - silence being the conversation between the two.

"Well...This is you," Chris states as they arrive in front of the brown door. he shoves his hands into his pockets, his feet kicking at the snow on the ground. "Y-yeah..." Her hand rests on the doorknob, her eyes looking over Chris as she tries to figure out what to say next.

"Did you have- Thanks for," Soft laughter falls from both of them as they talk over each other, Chris running a hand through his hair as Y/n wraps her arms around herself. "You go ahead, what were you going to say?"

"I-I was going to say thanks...I-I needed this tonight." Chris smiles softly at her, the two coming to a mutual understanding of what she really means.

"S'no problem...Hopefully I- We get to see you more." The thought of this friend group - a group that has been friends forever, wanting to hang out with her again, fills her with excitement. She tries to hold back her giddiness, a Cheshire smile wanting to make its way onto her face. Chris notices it but decides not to say anything, not wanting to embarrass the girl.

"Well, I should head back. I'll see you soon alright?" She nods and watches as Chris walks back to his own home, their eyes meeting briefly before he goes inside. She smiles to herself and rushes inside, nothing but pure joy in her system.

It's not long before she's showered and laid in bed, her eyes trained on the ceiling covered in stars. She was thinking about her night, how it started off so shitty, and ended up being the best night of her life. She was seen, she was laughed with and not at, she felt like she belonged.

She turns on her side, pulling the blankets closer, a smile on her face.

Maybe things are getting better, her wishes being granted.

She could only hope it stays that way.

As she falls asleep, she fails to notice a body climbing out of a window next door, situating itself onto the roof. The person lights a cigarette between their lips, letting the mix of cancer and cold air enter their lungs. They take a big swig from the vodka bottle in their hand, the alcohol burning their throat. They stare off into the empty street, their eyes void of all emotion as they wonder-

What went wrong?

I hope you all like this. i did my best to articulate the words and feelings i have experienced into this. i want all of you to know you are loved, you're seen, and you're not alone! if any of you are struggling mentally i want you to know you're so strong and I'm proud of you for making it this far.

i believe this is a nationwide site that you can use to call and or text when it comes to mental health. if it is wrong, please let me know!

[something-tofightfor]

Liminality: Part 12

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Female Reader

Word Count: 8,426

Rating: R - for violence, injury, blood, fear etc... but there's also feelings.

Summary: In the aftermath of your attack by the Chaos Wolf, you and Frankie have a long - and important - heart to heart.

And when you meet up with all of his friends to recount your story and begin to plan for what will happen next, you realize that what you plan for may not always be possible.

Author’s note:

Happy full moon + partial eclipse. Tonight is the best possible night to release this chapter, and I'm so glad it all lined up.

I'm so excited for you to read this chapter. I have been waiting a long time to get to this point. Thank you for being patient, and for sticking around. Hope you enjoy this chapter. Wanna talk about Wolf Frankie or his friends? My inbox is always open.

Masterlist (for the journal entries and all of the other 'extras' + previous chapters)

You both slept most of the day, and when you woke up later, there were multiple missed messages on his phone from his friends. He answered them while the two of you waited for dinner to be delivered, and it gave you a chance to check your phone, too. 

There was a text from Alec, and with some hesitation, you decided to tell him the truth about what happened. You sent him a voice note outlining the previous night, and by the time you finished it, Frankie’s attention was back on you, his mouth set in a deep frown as he listened. At least I only have to explain once. 

“Can I see the video?” His voice was even, but you heard the unease in it, Frankie’s posture rigid. “See what it looks like?” 

“Yes.” Scooting closer to him on the couch, you opened your camera and then the video, hanging your phone over. “But you need to watch the beginning, too. Before the wolf. It’s important.” 

He pressed play, eyes on the screen and at the sound of your own voice, you looked away, staring out the window. You had no desire to watch your attack, and even though it was the truth, you were somewhat embarrassed at the way you’d bared your feelings to him before the wolf had found you. So I’ll just let him watch and listen. 

You stared out the window until you heard yourself scream for Will, and then you looked back at Frankie, watching his reaction to what he was seeing onscreen. It was subtle, but you saw the way his body stiffened, watched the color of his eyes briefly change again, flashing gold for a few seconds as his nostrils flared, your screaming and the wolf’s growling louder than you thought it would be through your phone’s speakers. 

The sound of a gunshot rang out, and for the second time, you heard the wolf react to getting shot, followed by the sound of Will’s voice and yours, the video ending abruptly and plunging the room into silence. Frankie didn’t speak right away, but when he did, it was to whisper your name and then pull you into his lap, his arms going around you before pulling you tight against his chest.

“You’re so fucking brave, do you know that?” He spoke into your ear, the tip of his nose grazing the shell of it. “Most people would have dropped the phone. Most people would have been too afraid to fight back. Most people would have run screaming when they saw what I go through every month.” Frankie pressed his lips to your cheek. “You didn’t. You weren’t. You stayed. You got the other wolf on video. I don’t even know how to…” His arms tightened around you. “Tell me what you were going to say.”

“What?” It took you by surprise, and you backed away, meeting his gaze. “What do -”

“You got cut off when the wolf showed up.” He swallowed hard, unblinking. “That’s the second time you’ve been in the middle of saying something to me and you got interrupted.” You’re not really doing this now, are you? “D’you want to finish that sentence?” 

“I do, but...” Pressing a hand to his chest, you could feel his heartbeat thrumming beneath your palm, though the rest of him gave almost nothing away. He’s anxious. He’s … why? What does he expect? You stared at him, thinking, and wondered what he saw in your expression. I already told Pope. “I’m scared, Francisco.” You spoke quietly, but didn’t look away. “It -”

“I’ve read up on a lot of shit over the past couple years.” He cleared his throat, the hand on your back moving in a slow circle. “Just to try and see how similar my behavior is to a regular wolf’s. I’ve seen videos of myself while I’m not human, and I remember what happens, so…” He shrugged. “And it’s pretty typical for both.” You nodded, unsure of where he was going. “But the more time that passed, I started noticing that I was doing … different things, even when I’m human.” He frowned, but quickly erased the expression from his face though the furrow in his brow didn’t lessen any. “My sense of smell’s better. My vision’s improved, even though it was damn good before. My reflexes are back to what they were when I first joined the Army, or better, maybe.” 

“That’s good for a pilot.” He nodded, still stroking your back.

“I figured that since it’s always in me, the longer it was there and the more used to it I got, the more … we’d mesh.” His other hand moved down to your hip and squeezed. “I’ve always been protective of my family, but when I came back, the first time I saw Carmen? I’d never felt anything like that before. It was like … I can’t explain it. And I thought that the same would be true for Becca, because even though we had problems, I still … we’d been together forever, y’know? Mother of my kid and everything, but it wasn’t like that. Ever. I didn’t have the same … drive when it came to her as I did for Carmen and even the guys. Losing any of them would have been fucking awful, but my relationship with Becca? It sucked when it ended but I wasn’t…” 

“Frankie, you don’t -”

“No, I do. Let me explain.” He swallowed hard, and then took a deep breath. “I want to protect you. I’ve told you that before, but it …” He closed his eyes, swearing under his breath. “The first night I met you. Do you remember what happened?’

“Yeah. You fucked me in front of your fireplace and we both pretended it was going to just be a casual hookup.” He smiled, his eyes flashing with amusement. 

“I bit you.” His gaze dropped, lingering on your neck for a few seconds before it rose again. “I bit your neck.” He smiled. “Actually, I paid a lot of attention to your neck, and -” Just like he did last night when he turned. Was that the wolf’s interest in me from the very beginning? Fuck. “And I didn’t want to go into the bedroom with you, I -”

“You wanted me on the floor.” Your eyes widened. “And it didn’t feel right until you were behind me, and…” It was all coming together for you, and you were stunned. It shouldn’t have taken this long. I should have realized. “It was a wolf’s instincts from the beginning. And you’re… it’s just… fuck, Frankie.” 

“Some part of me knew from the beginning how I’d… how important you were going to be to me. It doesn’t make sense. None of this does.” He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. “But if it’s the wolf and it’s making everything I already do and feel stronger, then…” He took another breath and let it out, the sound shaky. “I treated you like a mate from the very first night, and you reacted the way that I hoped you would, even if I didn’t realize I was doing it at first.”

“You scented me last night.” Your jaw dropped. “I thought you were trying to hug me, but when you put your paws on me, it was because …” You wanted me to smell like you. Oh, Frankie. 

“I asked you to stay.” His heartbeat had slowed and Frankie’s voice was steady, but you could feel his tension. “Everything else might be the wolf, but that was all -”

“No.” You leaned in, shaking your head. “It’s you, Frankie. The wolf, the man, all of it’s the same thing.” Are you really going to do this? “I don’t have friends. I don’t have people I can count on, except for Alec, and even that’s spotty.” Biting the inside of your lip, you narrowed your eyes. “But ever since I first got here, it felt different.” You’re going to do this. “I’ve never been as scared as I was last night. And yeah, I thought I was going to die for a second, but it was more than that.” 

“You didn’t, though. You did what you needed to do.” He squeezed your hip. “You were perfect.” 

“It’s too soon to say any of this, and I understand that.” You steadied yourself, closing your eyes and taking a breath . “But if I didn’t say it and I never got to, I’d regret it.” He hummed but didn’t interrupt, and so you continued, opening your eyes and meeting his. “I was scared I was going to die last night before I got to tell you I love you. I thought it days ago, but after last night, after seeing you in that clearing, I … I know it.” 

It felt good to say the words. Admitting to the truth was freeing, but Frankie’s silence unnerved you. He wasn’t expecting that. Why would he? It’s been two months. “Repeat that.” He wet his lips and then drew the lower one back and between his teeth. “Please.” 

“I love you, Francisco Morales. And believe it or not, I want to protect you just as much as -”

“The first time we met, when I sat next to you at the bar? I knew it was different.” He shook his head, looking down and then back up. “There was something about you, about the way you smelled, and because it was only a couple days after a full moon, it … there was no way I could miss it.”

“I missed it, though. I just thought you were shit at hiding being attracted to someone.” He laughed quietly, rolling his eyes. “We both tried pretty hard that night to play it cool, didn’t we.” Frankie nodded, the look in his eyes soft. “All I wanted to do that next morning was kiss you.” You looked down, nerves catching up to you as you registered the fact that he still hadn’t replied to the fact that you’d told him you loved him. “I just thought you should know. I -” 

He reached up and used one knuckle beneath your chin to urge you gaze back to his face. “You shouldn’t have stopped yourself the other night in bed.” Oh. really? “I didn’t think it was fair to put any of this shit on you before you saw everything, though, so I didn’t ask you about it.” He steadied himself with one deep breath, nodding as he said your name. “You still feel that way after yesterday? After … you got attacked?”

“Yes.” Your answer was immediate, eyes going wide as you spoke. “That had nothing to do with you, Frankie. Why would it change how I feel about you?”

“Because you know what one of us can do to someone. You’ve seen the way it changes me, and it’s not going to stop. This is my life for as long as I’m living, and if you love me, that means you accept that, and the chance that I might turn on you at some point.” 

“You won’t. If you were going to, you would have yesterday. I trust you.” He still hasn’t said anything back. All he’s done is try to talk me out of feeling this way. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, the look in his eyes sad. “It is, especially coming from you. You shouldn’t love me. You shouldn’t love someone like me, especially after you’ve been looking for wolves to -”

You stood abruptly, wincing as you put weight onto your leg - and distance between the two of you. “No, not just any wolves, Frankie. The Chaos wolves. You’re not one of them. You proved that.” You moved further away, your back to him to hide the fact that you were in pain. “And if you’ve been treating me like your mate since the beginning, you obviously would have noticed if I’d had any reservations about that, or about you or about being with you.” 

It hurt - not that he hadn’t immediately told you that he loved you, too, but that you’d bared your feelings to him, and all Frankie had done was question your admission. Especially after how he’s noticed he’s been treating me. Especially with what I thought he felt toward me. You stood in front of the fireplace, crossing your arms over your chest and blinking back tears.

The room was silent, thick with tension and almost uncomfortable, but moments later it was shattered by the ringing of the doorbell. Food’s here. Rubbing at the bridge of your nose, you lowered your head and closed your eyes. I’m not hungry. I should go. “Let me know what I owe you for dinner, Frankie. I think I’m going to go back to my -”

“Please don’t.” You heard the couch springs creak and then a few footsteps as he made his way to where you were, stopping before he got close enough to touch you. “Please don’t leave.” You turned slowly to face him, unsure of what to expect. 

It certainly wasn’t a look of unease on his face, or his lower lip trembling. And it also wasn’t his slumped shoulders or the nervous shuffling of his feet, Frankie shaking his head as he stared at you. “Why? I just bared my goddamn emotions to you, Frankie, and all I get in return is you telling me that I shouldn’t feel a certain way, or that I couldn’t possibly understand what I’m getting myself into with you. That’s what love is, right? Taking a chance and going into things unprepared and trusting yourself to navigate through it all with the person you’re with?”

“Yeah.” He nodded slowly. “But it’s not usually with someone like me.”

“Alec and Ashley seem to be perfectly happy together.” You swiped a hand over your face, the sadness turning into anger. “He was raised in the same damn way I was and he’s having a baby with a wolf. Fuck, Frankie, you’re not the only person in this world that -”

“We stole hundreds of millions of dollars from a drug lord.” He stepped even closer, straightening up. “So I’m also thinking of that when I consider how the fuck I feel about you, and how close it’s safe to let you get.” His lip curled, and Frankie’s head moved back and forth a few times. “It’s not just that I’m a wolf. I might also have a target on my back for a lot of other reasons, and bringing you into my life fully puts that on you, too.” 

You hadn’t considered that, and you knew that your expression gave it away. Fuck. He’s right. “Frankie, I -”

“I’m fucking in love with you, and every time I’ve thought about telling you that these past couple weeks, I’ve convinced myself not to for multiple reasons. And hearing you say it first, I … fuck.” You gasped, a shaky breath escaping you, and when Frankie took another step forward, you nodded, tears filling your eyes. “I wasn’t looking for this. I’m not ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready, but you’re right. It doesn’t matter. You need to know. You deserve to know.” 

“You’re in love with me?” He nodded, one large hand rising so that he could slide his fingers along your jaw, his thumb catching briefly on your lower lip. “Really?” He nodded again, unblinking. “Well that’s good to hear.” 

Silence hung between you for a few tense seconds and then he laughed, his other arm going around you. He took the final step and closed the distance completely, crushing you to his chest without forcing you to take a step on your injured leg. Your tears started falling when he lowered his head to speak into your ear, murmuring that he didn’t know what to fucking do with you, but you were too overwhelmed to speak. He’s in love with me. He’s in love with me but was scared to tell me because of everything he’s been through and done and … fuck. I shouldn’t have pushed. I shouldn’t have forced him to… “Hey.” 

“Yeah?” You backed off, meeting his gaze again. “Hmm?” 

“That’s not how I wanted to tell you any of this.” Frankie used one knuckle to brush tears from your cheeks. “I’m not happy I’m a wolf now, but I’ve made peace with it, y’know? I just sort of figured that I’d never really have anyone permanent in my life again, and then you …” He swore quietly, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “You showed up and just …” 

You understood immediately, Frankie’s desire to protect you winning out over his emotional detachment. And he doesn’t know what to be more worried about, the drug money or the wolf, which is …God, I can’t even imagine what he must be thinking. “We can start over.” Your voice low, you tightened your hold on him, fingers gripping the material of his shirt. “This conversation anyway. Start at the beginning, and -”

“I’m in love with you. I want you to stay here, in Florida with me. I want to find this wolf and get rid of it and then figure out what comes next, but …” Frankie took a deep breath, nodding. “I want to be with you. There’s so much shit I still need to tell you, that I want to tell you.” He paused, wetting his lips with a flash of his tongue. “If you’ll let me.” 

“I will.” Your heart was pounding in your chest, eyes locked with his. “If you’re honest with me, I’m more than happy to listen to whatever you’ve got to say.” Here goes nothing. “That’s what happens when you love someone, right?” He nodded slowly, never looking away from you. “Then yeah, Francisco. We’ll do that.” 

“Good.” He bit down on the inside of his lip, narrowing his eyes. “Do you actually want to go, or were you just trying to bow out because you thought I wasn’t going to say anything back to you?”

“I don’t want to go anywhere.” You looked up, eyes on the ceiling for a few seconds as you thought. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome, but the idea of being alone right now isn’t appealing, either.” 

He didn’t say anything right away, instead leaning in and kissing your forehead, his lips lingering. “Why don’t we eat dinner, and then we can decide what to do next, alright?” Frankie spoke quietly, sighing as he straightened up. “We’ve got a month to figure this shit out.” 

— 

“Frankie, we’re going to have to get out of this bed at some point.” You sighed, reaching down to drag your fingers through his damp curls. “We have plans tonight.” He was wrapped around you, cheek resting against your chest. “And to be honest, I need a couple hours of rest, because -”

“You weren’t complaining earlier.” Tightening his hold on you, he tipped his head back so that he could catch your eye. “Or this morning, or -” He wasn’t wrong. Since you’d admitted the truth to each other the night after the full moon, the two of you had barely been able to keep your hands off of each other when you were in the same room. 

You’d lost count of the number of times you’d been together, the hours slipping away as you spent them tangled up in his bed and shower. It was like a barrier had been broken down completely, freeing you to not only act on your true feelings, but to stop hiding them, too. He whispered that he loved you over and over between kisses, and hearing his voice repeat it at full volume before he left for work and when he got home in reply to your greeting made you feel at peace in a way that you’d never anticipated. 

But the truth was that you were tired, despite getting good sleep, and you knew that he was, too. “I’m still not complaining.” You sighed, pulling on a curl. “But we need to go and meet your friends, and I’d like to be alert for that conversation.” He laughed, finally letting go of you and sitting up to stretch. “Is this how it’s going to be every month after the moon? Because if it is, I might need to take some extra vitamins, or buy stock in electrolytes or -” 

“Might be.” He wrinkled his nose, reaching up to ruffle his own hair. “Donno yet.” He was joking, and the two of you laughed together, Frankie leaning down to kiss you softly on the mouth. “It’s just nice not to have to hide anything, and I know that when we go over there, it won’t be like that.” 

You sat up, too, leaning against his headboard and pulling the blankets up to cover your chest. “I get it.” You shrugged, nodding. “But I do think it’s for the best.” 

The two of you were meeting his friends for the first time since your attack to fill them in on all the details. You were going to be honest with them about everything - except for why you were in Florida. While in truth, it would only be Benny and Tom that didn’t know the whole story, widening the circle of trust even that much further seemed risky. It wasn’t because Frankie didn’t trust the two of them; instead, it was because he didn’t want to make you explain your entire family’s history, or bring Ashley and Alec into it without their permission. 

Will’s knowledge of the situation had been the result of circumstance, and though you were glad that he knew, part of you wished that you hadn’t slipped up in front of him. Because it feels like too many people know, and nothing’s changed as a result. “I’m gonna jump in the shower.” He stood up, giving you a lengthy opportunity to stare at his bare ass, and then headed for the bathroom. “You wanna come with me and conserve some water?” 

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” You grinned and got out of the bed, too. “Saving the environment?”

“It can be.” He waited at the door for you, reaching back so that you co uld take his hand. “Just for tonight.” Both of you were laughing as you entered the bathroom, Frankie flipping the lightswitch up before you shut the door behind you. 

— 

“Where’s Molly?” You looked out the window at Tom’s place, eyeing the well-kept lawn and pristine house. “You guys don’t come over here to meet up often, right?”

“She’s gone for a couple days with her friends, I think?” He pulled up to the curb, parking his truck. “And Tessa’s in college now, so she only comes home on weekends to do her laundry.” He laughed. “They moved her into her dorm a little while ago.” You hadn’t realized that - but you were thankful that there was a place that all of you could talk without interruptions. Not that Yovanna is an interruption, but … “And he’s always looking for an excuse to use his grill, so it worked out.” 

You made your way to the gate that led to the back yard, Frankie walking slower than usual to accommodate your injury. It felt much better, and he’d re-bandaged it for you twice, checking on the state of it and reporting back to Will, but it still hurt, and there was no reason to push it. 

The others were already there when you rounded the garage and made it to the back lawn, and you and Frankie were greeted with a chorus of hellos, Benny lifting his beer bottle in salute. But the smile on his face froze when he got a good look at you, his gaze going immediately to your bandaged leg. Here we go. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” He frowned, looking at Frankie. “‘Fish? Wh-”

“That’s her story to tell.” He pulled your chair out for you, waiting until you were seated to drop into the one next to it. “Figured it’d be better to do it in person.” You gave Benny a smile and then looked in Pope’s direction, nodding before letting your eyes move to Will and finally to Tom, who was standing next to the grill with one hand on his hip. He looked curious, holding your gaze for longer than he usually did before shaking his head and clearing his throat. 

“Well we’re all here and in person.” He stepped toward you. “And we’re listening.” You felt Frankie’s hand on your knee, the pressure welcome as he squeezed it. “What happened to you?” There was no way to sugarcoat it, and no real reason to, and so you didn’t, opening your mouth and letting the words tumble out. 

“I got attacked by the other wolf in the clearing outside the RV.” It sounded impossible, even by your standards, and that feeling only grew when you continued. “It didn’t bite me, though. It just clawed at me, and then Will shot it, and -” 

“WHAT?” Benny was on his feet, fingers balled into fists by his sides. “You what? My brother did what? And we’re just now hearing about -”

“Benjamin.” Frankie’s voice was quiet, but you heard the power behind it. “Calm down.” The younger Miller stilled, though his expression didn’t soften. “Nobody said anything because we wanted to tell the story once. And we took a few days to recover, but none of the three of us thought that a phone call or a text message was the right way to talk about this.” 

Benny finally nodded before dropping back into his chair, his gaze focused on your injury. It was Pope that spoke up next, reaching across the table to touch your hand before saying anything. “Are you alright?”

“I am. It was a little scary for a couple minutes, but as soon as Will scared it off, it was … better.” He nodded, leaning back. “No, you know what?” You closed your eyes, steeling yourself before you pressed your lips together and nodded. “It was really fucking scary for a few minutes. I thought … I didn’t think I was going to make it.” 

“But you did.” Tom crossed his arms low across his chest, tilting his head to the right. “It didn’t try to bite you? Really?”

“Really.” Flattening your hands on the tabletop, you looked between the four other guys again, taking a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “If you come and sit I’ll tell you all exactly what happened.” For a second, you didn’t think he’d join you - but then Tom crossed the patio and pulled out his own chair, dropping into it without looking away. 

It took a little while because they all interrupted you, but with Will and Frankie’s help, you recounted the events from the night you’d been attacked. And when you pulled your phone out, opening the cropped video and pressing play, they were all locked in, eyes on the tiny screen throughout the duration of it. It played once for all of them, and then each man took your phone in turn, the device held up close to their faces as they analyzed the other wolf’s attack. Benny’s response was anger, his lip curling while his head whipped back and forth. Pope just seemed sad, his large brown eyes filled with emotion as he winced at the sound of your screams. Will’s expression was full of intrigue, his brows knit as he used both fingers to zoom in on your screen toward the end, mumbling the words I should have aimed higher before he handed it to Tom. 

And Tom’s response shocked you most of all, his posture rigid as he stared at the screen, teeth digging into his lower lip. When he set your phone down and slid it toward you, he finally spoke, leaning in to lock eyes with you. “Don’t take this the wrong way, because it’s a good thing, but why the fuck didn’t it bite you?” 

Frankie growled from next to you, but you murmured his name, head moving slowly back and forth. “I don’t know. I’ve tried to figure that out for the last couple days, and all I’ve come up with is that maybe it didn’t want to? I don’t think it wanted to turn me the way the kid that bit Frankie did, I think it just … wanted to hurt me.” Lowering your eyes to where your fingers were linked on the scarred wood, you took a deep breath. “And it did. But not like it… he has hurt the other people he’s attacked.” The guys all nodded in agreement, but none of them spoke before you went on. “At least now you all know what it looks like. You know for a fact that it’s not Frankie attacking anyone. I don’t know what good that will do, but -”

“How did it know you’d be there?” Tom’s voice was soft, the the fingers of one hand rhythmically tapping the table. “That RV isn’t even in a real camping spot, we had to bribe them to approve the space for it.” He rubbed at his forehead. “It doesn’t make any fucking sense.” 

“It does.” Frankie spoke up, leaning forward so that he could look at Tom. “Based on the pattern.” He explained your theory about the other wolf working his way through local parks that had campsites, explaining that Richloam was one of the final ones in the area that hadn’t been an attack site in the past. “And I can smell people from miles away those nights, so he probably smelled all of us, maybe even me as a wolf, and came running.” 

Tom looked thoughtful, his attention moving between you and Frankie for long moments before he swiped a hand over his face. “Fuck.” 

“So what do we do now?” Pope leaned back in his chair, exhaling. “Frankie, you said there was a pattern to the places the other wolf’s been attacking? Do you think we can use that to figure out where he’ll be next month?”

“Maybe.” Frankie leaned in, nodding. “There were only two or three that were left that are similar to the ones he’s already been to, but Richloam was the most likely. I just didn’t think … I didn’t think our campsite would be where he went first.” Frankie looked over at you, wetting his lips and then lowering his gaze to the tabletop. “He’s either going to branch out and find places further away, or start the pattern again.” He looked up, meeting the eyes of each of his friends in turn. “It’s what I’d do.” 

“Makes sense.” Will agreed, scratching the side of his head. “To someone that’s not looking for a wolf, the attacks seem like random animals, and I’m sure at least a couple of the parks and swamps have had others since the first one we noticed that are just shit like big cats and things fucking with campsites.” You hadn’t looked into that, and made a mental note to do so when you got back to Frankie’s. I should have already thought of it. 

“But what the fuck do we do about it? One of us goes out to each of the most likely places, while ‘Fish picks one of us to come with?” Benny pointed at you, shaking his head. “Do we let you go out by yourself, or always pair you with Frankie because if this fuckin’ thing got your scent, he might be looking? Do we all stay at the camper every full moon so there’s five of us with guns and -”

“I can’t exactly leave my wife once a month on every full fuckin’ moon, Benny.” Tom gestured toward the house, his tone harsh. “She’s not dumb. She’d ask questions, and unlike Morales, I don’t exactly want to tell her wh-”

“Guys.” Will stood, holding his hands out. “Look, we don’t need to decide anything tonight. We know what happened. We know that we need to come up with something before the next full moon. When is that, by the way?” 

“October 28th.” You were the first to answer, certainty in your tone. “The Hunter’s Moon.” You reached for your phone and pulled it back toward you, fingers curling around the device. “And I have every intention of being a part of this plan - whatever it is, because the sooner we deal with this, the sooner Frankie and I can …” 

You trailed off, realizing that you’d just admitted to the fact that you and Frankie were considering a future together. Shit. Did he want that? Did - “The sooner we figure all of this out, the sooner we can figure out how her staying here works.” He reached over and put his hand on top of yours, slowly looking between each of the others. “Because that’s what’s happening. We’re -”

“Hell yeah, brother!” Benny jumped up and circled the table, first clapping Frankie on the shoulder before he put him in a loose headlock, the two of them laughing. When he let go, he moved to you, winding his arms around you from behind and ducking down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “And good for you too. There are plenty of worse guys out there than ‘Fish.”

It made you laugh - Benny lightening the mood significantly, and when you tipped your head back so that you could plant a kiss on his cheek, he grinned and winked before he backed away. “He’s alright.” That made the others laugh, too, and when Pope stood to go and get another drink, the conversation around the table resumed. 

You settled in, Frankie by your side with an arm around your shoulders as all of you caught up with each other. For the next hour, everything was normal, and when Tom stood to preheat the grill, you also pushed away from the table, excusing yourself to use the bathroom. 

“I’ll come with you.” Tom pointed at the grill. “This is ready, so I need to get dinner out of the fridge anyway.” 

There was a small bathroom off of the kitchen, which was bright and cheerful with lots of natural light and greenery. Molly, I’m sure. He was still inside when you finished, and when Tom turned in your direction, holding out a tray of skewered vegetables, you took them happily. “I’ll be honest. I never pictured you as a grill guy, Tom.” 

“Oh yeah?” He grinned at you and you nodded, eyes on him as he picked up a tray of hamburgers and hotdogs. “What did you think I was?” He gestured to the bags of buns before he grabbed a basket full of cutlery and condiments, and then the two of you headed back for the door. He pushed the screen to the side, waiting for you to walk through. 

“I don’t know. I just figured with as much time you spent enlisted, you never had time to learn to cook.” You jerked your chin forward. “Or grill.” He spoke as he followed you, his tone amused. 

“Molly’s the cook. And I’m decent with grilling, but I like it.” You set what you carried down and then turned to reach for the condiments, Tom reaching forward to hand them to you. You caught the wince he tried to hide - slight but still noticeable, his jaw tightening briefly before it relaxed and he spoke again. What did they say happened? Tess and volleyball? “And these assholes will eat just about anything, so as long as I don’t turn their burgers into fucking hockey pucks, it’s fine.” 

Benny snorted but agreed, and even Will nodded briefly, though there was an expression on his face you couldn’t read. You sat down next to Frankie again, and without hesitation he reached over and took your hand, squeezing after linking your fingers together. Ask later. “I’m also not a fan of eating hockey pucks, so…” Tom held up both hands after setting the meat down, muttering the word understood, and then pulled the top of the grill open. 

The conversation continued around you, and as the smell of cooking meat and vegetables filled the air, you fully relaxed. The weather was nice, the company was even nicer, and the fact that everyone was 90% on the same page was a relief. 

“Hey.” Frankie’s voice was quiet in your ear as he leaned in closer, his lips curved upward in a tiny smile. “Ironhead and I are going in to get another round of drinks. You need one?” You did - and told him as much, eyeing the two men as they stood from the table and left you, Pope, Benny and Tom in the back yard. 

When Benny stood to walk over to Tom, you turned your attention to Pope, beginning a conversation about him and Yovanna, and what they’d been up to. He answered enthusiastically, his face lightning up as he spoke, and you were so engrossed in what he was saying that you almost missed Frankie and Will coming back, setting down bottles and cans in front of where everyone was sitting. 

Dinner was ready only a few minutes later, and while you ate, there was none of the lingering tension from the beginning of the conversation, or even any of the uncertainty that you’d seen on Will’s face. You chalked it up as just a product of the situation you’d all found yourselves in, and once again let your guard down. 

It was stupid not to; you were surrounded by a retired Delta Force team and the full moon was weeks away. Nothing was going to happen to you in Tom’s back yard, and even the dull itch of your healing leg wasn’t enough to deter you from that line of thinking. 

As the night went on and dinner was cleared from the table, the six of you moved from the patio and into the yard, sitting in a circle around a small fire pit. You knew that you and Frankie would have to leave earlier than everyone else - he had flights the following morning, and needed to sleep - but the truth was that you didn’t want to leave. 

You’d been to gatherings before, though none of them had been with actual friends. You’d attended bonfires and parties, scoring invites from people you’d met in previous cities in an attempt to strike up conversations with people as they drank or smoked more and let their guard down. But you’d never been to a night like the one that night, and even though you enjoyed yourself, it was also a reminder that no matter how close you got with Frankie and the others, they had true history together, something that you’d never had the opportunity to experience. 

“You alright?” Frankie leaned over, ducking his head to kiss your shoulder. “You’re quiet.” 

“I’m just glad to be here.” You gestured with your bottle, indicating his friends. “It’s a nice change of pace from my usual routine.” You could see that he understood, and while the two of you stared at each other, the firelight flickering in his eyes, you also understood how much the time with his friends in a casual setting meant. “We should probably go soon, though, right?” Chewing on your lip, you took a deep breath. “You’ve got a 10 am, right?” 

“Right.” He leaned back in his chair, stretching. “And that alarm goes off early.” Frankie groaned, reaching up to pull his hat off before using the back of his hand to rub at his eye. “We’re gonna get going.” The other conversation stopped, everyone’s attention going back to you. “We should probably figure out what we’re doing about next month pretty soon, just so we’re all on the same page.”

“Think it’s my turn to head out with you, ‘Fish.” Benny cleared his throat. “But I’m not opposed to turning it into an all play, just to cover our asses.” 

“Might be a good idea.” Pope sighed, rubbing at the space between his eyes. “I think it’s gonna come back and try to see if we’re back at the RV. It had to have smelled wolf-you, Frankie. It might even go back there as a human to scope it out, so -”

“I can head out there in the next couple days.” Tom leaned forward, the hand holding his beer dangling between his knees. “See if everything looks right. Check on the blind, replenish the first aid kit, all that.” Frankie nodded from next to you, and you opened your mouth to speak, but Will beat you to it. 

“Will you be able to get away with us next month, Redfly?” He sipped from his beer, gesturing to the rest of you with it. “Strength in numbers and all that shit?”

“No.” Tom shook his head, staring at the blonde. “There’s a realtor’s conference in Orlando that goes all weekend. Didn’t get to go to the one in August, so I thought this one was a good backup.” He cleared his throat. “I can do whatever you need me to until that Wednesday night, but I won’t be home for the full moon.” 

“Alright.” Will agreed, shrugging. “We’ll do it without you, then.” You could hear the annoyance in his tone, but everyone else ignored it - and so you did, too… at least outwardly. It’s bullshit that Tom hasn’t helped the same ways that the others do. You stood, reaching behind you to move the chair out of the way so that you could head for the fence gate. It seems like he’s just making excuses, and that’s… it’s fucking bullshit. 

It wasn’t your place to say anything, and even though part of you hoped that one of the others would, you didn’t know how likely it was. “Thanks for dinner, Redfly. See you around.” Frankie moved to stand next to you, extending the goodbyes to the rest of his friends. “Let me know what you find at the RV, alright?”

“Sure.” Tom stood, too, sticking one hand in his pocket and jerking his chin at you. “Take care of that leg, alright?” You assured him that you would, and then you started walking again, Frankie’s hand reaching over to take your bottle from you. He dropped them into the trash can next to the back door before you made it to the side of the house, and then he linked his fingers with yours, squeezing. 

“Do you want to go to the car? I need to use the bathroom.” You stopped, turning your head toward where he stood. “Or you can come inside with me, and we’ll go out the front.” 

“That.” You nodded. “Sitting in the car alone feels weird.” He grinned and then changed course, heading for the sliding door. You followed him, moving to lean against the dividing wall between the kitchen and the front hall. The lights were dimmed, but you used the time to look around the room, taking in the details. 

It was cozy and looked lived in in a way that Frankie’s house didn’t. Molly’s influence was all over the decor, and there were fresh flowers in vases scattered around the room, too. I bet Tom doesn’t give a shit about artwork or tile style or - 

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of breaking glass, and instinctively, you perked up, craning your neck toward the door leading outside. There was some commotion and then the sound of voices as they got closer to the screen door, and only a few seconds later, you watched as Tom entered, his face set into an angry scowl and one hand curled into a tight fist. “You alright? I -”

“Ironhead dropped a bottle.” He went toward the sink, using his other hand to turn the tap on. “Sliced my fucking finger open helping him pick up glass.” You winced in sympathy for him, watching as he unclenched his fist and stuck his flattened palm under the water, shoulders rising and falling as he rinsed the wound. 

A few seconds later, the bathroom door opened and your attention moved to Frankie, watching as he stepped back into the kitchen, wiping his hands on his jeans. He inhaled sharply and then paused, but he veered past Tom to get back to you, sliding an arm around your waist to pull you closer. Why is he so rigid? What is going on? “You cut yourself, Redfly?”

“Beer bottle. It’s fine.” He groaned and turned the water off, reaching for a paper towel. “Ironhead already offered to stitch me up if I need it.” You laughed quietly, but Frankie didn’t, instead pulling gently on you and leading you toward the door. “Have a good night, you two. Get home safe.” 

The further you got from the kitchen, the tighter Frankie’s hold on you became. And when you were finally inside the truck, he raised both hands to the wheel, gripping it tightly enough that you heard it creak. Ok, what the fuck. “Frankie? What’s -”

“I should have fucking seen it.” He nearly growled the words, squeezing the wheel one more time before letting go and starting the truck’s ignition. “I should have fucking known. It’s been right there, in front of my goddamn face.” What? What is … His hands were shaking as he put it into drive, and even in the low light from the streetlamps, you could see that he was breathing hard. Something happened, but what? 

“Frankie, you’re scaring me.” It was the truth. You hadn’t actually felt fear around him in the entire time you’d known him up to that point. “You were fine before you went into the bathroom, and then Tom -”

“FUCK!” He reached up, pulling his hat off and flinging it at the windshield, the truck jerking to a stop at the end of the block. “I can’t fucking believe that he … goddamn him. He’s lucky I didn’t fucking …” The truck started moving again as Frankie’s head whipped back and forth, the shadows sliding over his features as you headed away from the Davis residence. What the fuck is going on with him right now?  

“Frankie?” Your heart was pounding, and even though you were afraid, you knew that he wouldn’t hurt you. Not with the way that he got me out of that house. Not with the way he got me away from … “Tom.” 

The pieces fell into place in an instant, even though you didn’t know the details. Tom’s the other wolf. Somehow, he figured it out tonight, but what would have … “Take your phone out.” He was still angry, but there was a calm to the way he spoke, and you realized that Frankie had slipped into whatever mindset he’d used to get through each mission he’d been on. He’s in survival mode. And that means he really believes this is true. “Ironhead’s going to call you as soon as he gets into his car because he knows I’m driving.” 

You wanted to reach for him, but instead you did as he told you, digging your phone out and holding it - screen up - in one hand between you. “Where are we going?”

“Back to my place.” He was still holding the wheel with both hands, eyes on the road. “Because if we don’t go there, and he checks, he’ll know.” Before you could reply, your screen lit up, Will’s name and picture on it. “Speaker, please.” 

You answered, saying hello, but you didn’t get a chance to say anything else because Will’s voice filled the cab of the truck, his tone just as calm as Frankie’s. “Well?”

“It’s fucking him. I don’t know how, but it is.” He let out a shaky breath. “Good call on the glass, by the way. I can’t believe it worked.” He smelled the blood. He smelled it the other day, and then again today. 

“Are you sure?” He wasn’t outright questioning Frankie; he was confirming. “Because -”

“I smelled his blood all over that goddamn clearing, and even though my nose isn’t as good right now, I’d know it anywhere.” You covered your mouth with your other hand, turning your head to look out your window. “Tom is the other wolf, Will. He’s been hurting people for months, and he just tried to kill my girl a few days ago. I’m fucking sure.” 

There was a long silence as you and Frankie drove through the darkness, and your fingers tightened around your phone as you waited to see who would break it. You didn’t have long to wait. Before you and Frankie made it through another light, Will’s voice came though the speaker again - just as calm, but with a note of resolve in it. 

“I guess we’ve got to decide how you want to handle it then, don’t we ‘Fish?” 

The cab of the truck was silent for a few seconds longer, and then you watched as Frankie eased his grip on the wheel with his right hand. Tom? It’s Tom? He tried to … “Can you come to my place, Ironhead?” But you said he might check. How… how will this work? “This isn’t a conversation I want to have over the phone.” 

Frankie reached over, settling a hand on your thigh and moving his thumb against it in a slow, possessive arc. His touch was gentle, though, despite the rigidity of every other part of his body. “Yeah. Let me go home and get the bike. I’ll be there in thirty.” 

You hung up then, setting your phone down into one of the cupholders - but you stayed quiet. What is there to say? With both hands free, you moved to clasp them together in your lap, but Frankie didn’t let you, intercepting the movement and capturing one hand with his and bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles. 

“I meant it, by the way.” His voice was low but even, and when you turned your head toward him, Frankie’s gaze slid to the right and caught yours. It didn’t surprise you that his irises were golden, and you realized in those few moments just how hard he was fighting to hold himself together. 

 You didn’t pull away - and you didn’t flinch, either. “Meant what, Francisco?” He kissed your hand again and then lowered your hands to rest against his thigh, his grip tightening. 

“I’m going to rip his fucking throat out.” 

—

[motorsp0rt]

i have not known peace since reading the third chapter of schuvries’ ode to the dogs of war

[ants-personal]

i know i should just write the full fic but listen no djejsk so in the meantime i will type up the short hand of the lil snippets in time alright ejejej

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 35: Threads

Summary: Pack bonds are made up of delicate threads, small fibers webbing together the dynamics and relationships that make up each individual pack. The omega stands in the middle, holding the pieces together, keeping the pack from crumbling by clinging to those threads like a strongman holds pillars up with chains.

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 11,740 words

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, descriptions of physical pain, brief description of drowning, medical stuff, panic, crying, panic attacks, nightmares, PTSD, very heavy emotions, alcohol and brief mention of alcoholism, language, fighting (not physically), Kyle being the best boy, aftermath of trauma, brief mentions of the events of the previous chapter, guilt and shame, angst, and finally some comfort after the hurt (but not quite what you'd expect)

A/N: So I may have been slightly wrong, the angst isn't over, but it's not quite as intense as it has been. There are little tidbits of comfort in this one, though it's not like "okay it's over, let me wrap you in this blanket and everything is fine and happy now". It's...you'll see. If you're waiting for the fine and happy comfort then...you might want to wait a few chapters still. The comfort will come on slowly, but it has officially started.

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Screaming. 

Someone is screaming. 

It hurts your ears, high-pitched and ringing. Your hands cover them, but even that can’t block out the sound. 

It’s ringing in your own head. 

Your body hurts, every joint and muscle aching and throbbing. They’ve been locked in place too long, frozen in one position, a safe position. Safety. That’s what you’re seeking, that’s what you’re trying to find. That’s why you’re here. 

This isn’t a safe space anymore. 

The walls are crumbling, the darkness is fading. There’s light seeping in, threatening to pull you out, make you face whatever is waiting on the other side. It’s not a comforting light, it’s bright and piercing and threatening. You don’t want to leave the darkness. You don’t want to face the light. You want to stay there, stay frozen, stay safe. 

Your throat burns, raw and painful with every breath. 

It’s you. 

You’re screaming. 

Hands are flying, mouth open in a scream. It’s a horrible sound, grating and feral sounding. Your body twists and turns as they try to hold you down. No restraints. You’ll just hurt yourself more. 

Blood is flying, splattering on the gurney, the floor, the walls. Yours or someone else’s? It’s hard to tell. 

Simon. 

“Simon!” 

He snaps out of his daze, his eyes darting up to look at Dr. Keller across the gurney. Her hand is around his wrist, your elbow knocking against his forearm as you try to fight whatever it is you think you’re seeing. Maybe you’re seeing nothing at all. 

“I know.” Dr. Keller’s voice is soft despite the chaos of the moment. Her gaze is firm but comforting. She knows. “I need you to hold her still. She’s going to hurt herself further if she can’t calm down.” 

She’s going to hurt someone else too. 

The monitors are beeping and screaming. They managed to get a blood pressure cuff around your arm before you snapped out of the daze he’d put you in and started fighting. You’re like a wild animal, cornered and fighting for your life again with a renewed vigor. Renewed for now. If you don’t calm down again, something will give out. 

There won’t be any coming back from that. 

“Don’t be afraid if you hurt her.” Dr. Keller says, squeezing his wrist. “Bones can be fixed.” 

He catches your wrists in his hand, pinning them down against your chest. He uses his weight to his advantage, pushing his arm into you as he leans down so you’re face to face. You let out another scream, fighting against him but he has you beat. He’s bigger, stronger, calmer. 

“Look at me.” He says, his alpha rumbling low in his chest. It has even the beta nurses stopping in their tracks to look at him. The only one unaffected is Dr. Keller as she uses this moment to her advantage. 

You stop fighting him, breathing in heavy gasps as you stare right up into his eyes. Wild and untamed, pupils dilated in your aggressive state. Dilated out of aggression or dilated out of fear? Perhaps both. Beads of sweat slide down your face, your body hot under his. It mixes with the blood on your skin, blood from your own injuries and from the Shadows you killed. Your cheek is bruised, discolored from broken blood vessels. Your left eye will swell shut soon. He needs to get you calm before then. 

It’s almost cute, the way you bare your teeth up at him. He might have thought it cute in a different setting, if your life wasn’t dangling over a ledge right now. A low growl rumbles in your chest, a warning that has his own hackles raising. He bares his teeth back, an answering growl, deeper and angrier, rumbles in his own chest. The nurses take a step back. Even Dr. Keller pauses at the sound. 

Yet, despite the threat in his growl, it doesn’t deter you one bit. Your knee drives into his side, making him grunt from the impact, but he doesn’t let up. You’re fighting him again, trying to wiggle your way out of his hold. If he pushes any harder, he might break a rib. You’re going to break something if you don’t stop. 

You’re too far gone to recognize anything but fear and danger. You’re only going to fight, only going to attack anything you perceive as a threat. You won’t even recognise him. He has to get you to calm down before you have a heart attack. He considers getting one of the nurses to bring Johnny in, but there’s no guarantee that will work. You’ll just perceive him as another threat, another danger. More people in the room will only make you more aggressive...make your omega more aggressive. 

He’s not dealing with you. He’s dealing with your omega in her raw form, the animal deep underneath forced out of her hiding place. Whoever said omegas are weak never had to face one in this state. 

He stares down at you as you fight and scream, battering his side with your knees but he can hardly feel the pain. His arm is still throbbing where you bit him, but he can hardly see the blood streaked on his skin. 

He has to save you. 

He can’t let all of this go to waste. 

They’ll never recover if they lose you now. 

He moves almost seamlessly, time seeming to slow as he lets you go. He unclips his vest and rips it over his head in one movement, uncaring as it hits the floor with a heavy thud. You lunge up at him but he’s ready, catching you before your lower body can leave the gurney. It’s a risk. A huge risk, but it’s all he can think of doing. It’s hardly the worst place to be if things go wrong, if this fails. If he does fail, at least he’ll know he tried. 

He pushes his mask up to his chin, pressing your face right into his neck. 

Your nose pushes against his scent gland as he cups the back of your head, holding you there. He projects his scent as strong as he can, hoping it can reach some deep part of your mind, some glimmer of you that’s left in there. 

If this goes wrong, you’ll rip out skin and veins with your teeth. He’ll bleed out on the floor before they can even get him on a gurney. 

He wraps his other arm around you, holding you as still as he can. Tears prick his eyes as he holds you, shoving away the beeping machines, the panic still thrumming inside of him. Scruffing you was only round one of this fight. He should have held it longer, should have been brave enough to do it a second time. 

He can still feel it, your neck in his hand, the way you gave in so easily. You had no choice, he gave you none. It was necessary, it was vital that he did it. You wouldn’t have made it this far if he hadn’t. 

He should do it again. It would be easy, just slip his hand down and squeeze and you’ll be gone, lost in your head again and under his control. Maybe then he’d get you to calm down, get you out of this state and free from the danger looming closer and closer. 

Heart attack, stroke, organ failure. 

Why couldn’t Price be the one to go after you? Why couldn’t it be Price standing here making this decision. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispers before slipping his hand down, wrapping it around the back of your neck again. 

Pain. 

You’re in pain. 

You try to fade away again, try to push yourself back into the darkness to avoid the pain, but you can’t. 

There’s no escaping it. 

Your body hurts, every joint and muscle throbbing. Fire licks at your very cells, burning hot through your veins, scorching your skin. Safety. You want safety again. You want to retreat back into yourself, back into the comfort only the darkness can offer you. 

Nowhere is safe anymore. 

Tears are rolling down your cheeks, the light pressing closer and closer. It’s somewhere above you, shining down in offending shades of white. You can see it behind your eyelids no matter how hard you try to squeeze them together. There’s no escaping this light. There’s no retreating back into safety. There’s no safety anymore. 

You’re underwater, slowly rising to the surface. There’s sounds around you, muffled and dampened by the water. You need to breathe, you need to inhale precious oxygen but you can’t get to the surface fast enough. Lungs burning, your fingers claw at the water but you can’t reach it, you can’t swim fast enough. 

Your hands curl into soft fabric as you cough, choking on imaginary water. There’s warmth surrounding you, pressed in on all sides. You’re leaning against something, something hard and solid and warm. The sounds are louder now, mixing into a convoluted cocktail of constant noise. You hate it. 

Pain ripples through your throat as you let out a groan, the sound catching and cracking on the rough edges of your vocal chords. Another choked sound leaves your lips, pain rippling through your very nerves. The skin on your face is burning, simmering ashes being fanned by every tear sliding down your cheeks. 

You’re crying. 

There’s a deep sound coming from under you. It’s vibrating against your body, your pulsing ears focusing on that sound. It’s familiar. You’ve heard it before, somewhere back in the recesses of your mind. 

Your mind. 

It’s there. You can feel it beginning to take shape, thoughts beginning to form out of the fractured darkness. You’re not in your mind anymore, your mind is in you. You’re a being inside of a body, a body wracked with pain. The urge to retreat back is strong, but you can’t. That part of you has been closed off, sealed away by the light. 

Fingers and toes twitch, tingling and throbbing with the cold despite the fire blazing its way through your veins. It is cold, your hand pulling at the softness you’re clinging to. The low vibration begins again, rumbling through you, igniting something in the back of your mind. 

You know it. It’s familiar. 

Something tingles in the back of your mind, starting to come to life. Despite the agony there’s something in there, something warm and comforting. There’s no name for it, no thought flashing through the swirling mass of neurons slowly taking shape. It’s soft and warm and whispering to you. 

Wake up. 

Wake up. 

Wake up! 

Your eyes open before you can stop them. You’re immediately blinded, eyes throbbing from the bright white light above you, a high pitched whine leaving your lips. It rattles through your throat, broken and squeaking through your shredded trachea. You clench your eyes shut again, wincing away from the intrusive light, the movement sending a bolt of pain through your body like an electric shock. You let out another garbled sound, your fist tugging on the fabric it’s clenching. 

“I know, I’m sorry sweetie.” A voice says, the light disappearing before another takes its place, softer and lighter and less painful. 

Your eyes crack open again, still throbbing despite the light being removed. Your entire body is throbbing, pulsing like an exposed nerve. You feel like an exposed nerve, weak and vulnerable. It triggers something deep in your brain, the light starting to dim. Something is rising, something is coming. You want to lay back, let it take over, let it take control. You want to sink into the darkness again. The darkness is safe, the darkness is secure. 

The beeping is getting louder. Beeping, that’s what that sound is. There’s something beeping. It’s getting faster and faster. You’re starting to go numb, the tingling in your fingers and toes fading away. It’s not so cold anymore, the ache in your limbs fading into oblivion. You’re fading into oblivion. 

“Oi! None of that.” 

You’re awake. You let out a disgruntled sound as the warmth and comfort leaves you, deserting you in favor of retreating into the recesses of your mind again. A shiver runs down your spine, your very skin tingling with pinpricks of pain as it goes. 

“Open your eyes again for me, love.” 

Your body moves before you can tell it not to, your eyes fluttering open again. You’re squinting despite the bright light being gone. Any light is too much, your mind seeking out the comforting darkness once more. 

Darkness makes you vulnerable. 

In the dark, you’re blind to things that may be hiding there. 

No. 

No more darkness. 

You want the light. 

Scents flood your brain as your eyes fully open, slamming into you like a wave. It’s too much, nearly choking you again as you try to register everything. The burning scent of sterilizer, the soft scent of clean linens, the harsh scent of chemicals. There’s a soft scent mixing in with the others, something easing the turmoil in your mind just slightly. Above all else, though, is the intense smell of leather and something soft and fresh. It overpowers almost all of them, standing out distinctly. It makes your nose throb, something tickling in the back of your mind. You’re afraid of the scent, yet...there’s something else. Something...familiar. 

“Back with us yet?” The sound rumbles under you again. 

“Nearly there.” Another voice says. “Heart rate is coming down again. Still feverish, though.” 

You’re suddenly aware of your body again, the pains, the aches, the burning, the cold. You’re trembling, your skin prickling from how cold it is. You try to press forward against the warmth in front of you, but the movement has pain slashing through your very cells. Another pathetic whine tears through your throat, every movement sending stabbing pain through your very being. 

“C...C-Cold.” You manage to croak out, the word forming clumsily on your tongue. It feels heavy, like you’re relearning how to speak. 

“I know.” The softer voice says, something dragging across your skin. “We’re trying our best.” 

Something moves against your back, dragging against your skin. Whatever it is, it’s warm, but it’s rough. You push into it, something telling you to get closer, to wrap yourself in it and let it suffocate you. Somehow it’s comforting to you, somehow it’s familiar. 

Slowly thoughts and sensations begin to return to you, your mind dragging itself from the depths it had sunk into. 

It was purposeful. 

You did it to save yourself. 

You’re shaking for a different reason now, suddenly aware of the parts of your body that ache the most. Your shoulder, your cheek, your throat, your wrists. There’s a deep chill that has settled in your bones, sinking past the fever and the pain, past the memories beginning to resurface, past the hopelessness and the anger and the fear. 

“Simon?” You croak out, the name burning its way through your dry throat. You desperately want something to drink, anything to ease the burning desert in your mouth. 

“It’s me, love.” The sound rumbles under you again. 

Leather. Eucalyptus. Warmth. Alpha. 

You groan, trying to shift closer but the tensing of your muscles has pain screaming through your body. A shuddering breath leaves your lips, your body tensing until it passes. 

“Try not to move too much.” The other voice says, a hand coming to rest on your arm. You’re still clutching Simon’s sweatshirt in your hand like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this earthly plane. 

It might be. 

“Dr. Keller?” You croak out, recognizing that voice. 

“I’m here too sweetie.” She says somewhere behind you. “Take it easy, you’ve had a rough go of it.” 

She’s not wrong. 

The memories are coming back slowly, each one playing through your head like an episode of some fucked up television show. Except, it isn’t a television show. It’s your life. 

You hate it. 

“John?” You ask, trying to get your tongue to work, but you desperately need water. 

“Probably yelling at every person who crosses his path.” Simon says. “He was blazing a path to hell and back earlier trying to get ahold of anyone he could yell at involved in this.” He rubs your back. “He’ll be here as soon as he’s calmed down. Kyle and Johnny are working overtime trying to help restrain him.” 

You'll always be a second thought. 

“You?” You ask, unable to form the whole question you want to ask. Why are you here and not with your pack? 

He's quiet for a moment. “We got here before John and Kyle did.” His hand stills against your back, palm pressing below your shoulder blades. “You wouldn't let anyone close to you. The doc said it's normal, coming out of that state. I had to help keep you calm so you could get patched up. Then you wouldn't let me leave.” 

Your fingers ache from how hard they're gripping his sweatshirt. He stayed. He's the one here with you, not your alpha. 

You let out a groan, the pain starting to intensify. There’s a throbbing in your calf, and a deep ache starting to pulse in your joints. You’re almost glad for it, the turmoil in your mind starting to twist and fog your thoughts pushed aside in favor of the pain screaming at the forefront of your brain. 

“Time for more pain medicine.” Dr. Keller says somewhere behind you. “You’ll probably get sleepy, but rest is what you need right now.” 

You let out another groan, pressing your face back against Simon’s chest. Despite the pain in your body, there’s an even deeper ache in your chest. It’s not a physical one. Your alpha isn’t here. He’s left you again, abandoned you in favor of something else, something he deems more important. 

Tears are brimming in your eyes as they slip closed, the exhaustion and the drowsiness from the pain medicine taking over. 

It’s not quite so cold when you wake up next. It’s brighter in the room, the light not quite so artificial as it had been the first time. There’s no body against yours, no warmth seeping into your skin or scent in your nose. Your fingers twitch, almost like they want to seek it out again. 

You’re alone. 

You let out a quiet breath, your brows furrowing. Your shoulder aches, throbbing in time with the beep of the heart monitor. It hurts less to move as you shift your arm to itch the other. It’s horribly itchy, but your fingers meet gauze instead. 

Right. Phil had cut you there. Not very deep, but still deep enough to hurt. Just another injury to add to the list. 

You try to lift your arm but burning pain shoots through your shoulder. You wince, letting out a quiet moan of pain as you drop it back into the bed. You breathe as the pain shoots through you, swirling through your veins before it begins to settle. 

“You shouldn’t try to move too much.” A voice cuts through the silence. 

Your head whips to the side, your arm shooting out to grip the side rail as pain burns through your body like lava. It seeps slowly from your left shoulder down to your toes and into your very hair follicles. You let out another groan of pain, your eyes squeezing closed as you wait for it to pass. 

“Sorry.” The voice says softly. “I suppose that didn’t help any.” 

You open your eyes, still breathing heavily as the pain begins to fade. Your hand is still wrapped around the side rail as you stare at John. He’s seated next to the bed, his elbows on his knees as he stares at you. He looks tired, eyes puffy with dark circles around them. He’s in a simple green shirt and cargo pants, yet he’s not quite as put together as he normally is. His hair is sticking up in different directions, his beard scruffier than normal. There’s a faint pink line of what was probably once a cut on his cheek. 

It’s the first time you’ve seen him in weeks. 

You should be happy. 

You should be ecstatic. 

You should be relieved. 

Yet, all you can feel is pain and anger and betrayal. 

“There’s nothing I can say that will make this better.” He says, his voice rougher than usual, even after returning from a deployment. His eyes shine with emotion. You hate it. “There’s nothing I can say that will undo what happened.” He runs a hand over his mouth, letting out a breath through his nose. “This shouldn’t have happened in the first place. We should have known better, we should have questioned it.” He shakes his head. “We put too much trust in those above us, and we were all fooled.” 

Tears blur your eyes as you stare at him. He’s not just talking about Shepherd and the initiative. He’s talking about you too. 

“I regret it more than any decision I’ve ever made. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life,” He continues. “You put your trust in me, and I failed you. I let this happen to you because I got too caught up thinking about the greater good of the pack and I ignored what was right in front of me. You’re here because of me, because of the decisions I made. I had one job, and now you’re paying for my failure.” 

He pauses for a moment, tears shining in his own eyes. You should feel surprise, sympathy, something. All you can feel is hatred. He doesn’t deserve to cry over you. He doesn’t deserve this chance to try and explain himself to you, to try and give excuses for his actions. He made his choice. He made it very clear where his loyalties lie, where they’ve always been, where that line was laid before he even claimed you. It was never about you. Nothing was ever about you. It was always the initiative, and then when the initiative turned out to be false, it was about the ‘greater good’. You should have been the greater good. You should have been their focus. Instead they all betrayed you. 

They betrayed you in the end. 

“I made a bad call.” He continues on. “I shouldn’t have left you there. I shouldn’t have made that decision. It never would have played out how I thought it would in my head at that moment. Now you’re here, like this, because I made a stupid mistake.” 

He stares at you for a long moment, as if he’s waiting for you to say something, as if you  should have something to say in response. He’s waiting for an acceptance to his half-assed apology, as if his words can somehow undo the pain, the burning in your wrists, the throbbing in your shoulder, the agony every time you simply move a limb. As if his half-assed apology can somehow undo the weeks of depression and anguish and the worry and the fear. As if his half-assed apology can make up for the way they all cut you off, treating you like a traitor before abandoning you. As if his half-assed apology can undo the hours and hours of torment and pain the man you once thought of as a family friend unleashed on you all because of them. 

The hatred burns almost as hot as the lava in your veins, so hot you’re surprised the tear that slides down your cheek doesn’t start steaming. Your heart rate is picking up again, the monitor beeping with the sound of the anger simmering inside of you. The blood pressure cuff squeezes around your arm, a grunt of pain cracking in your throat. 

“Yeah,” You say, your voice hardly more than a whisper. You turn your head away from him, wincing as an electric shock of pain jolts through you from the motion. You drop your hand from the side rail before he can touch you, tucking your arm back under the rough blanket. “You did.” 

You have nothing more to say to him. 

John enters the room solemnly, the silence nearly palpable as they all wait in anticipation. They’re all looking at him, waiting patiently for their captain, their alpha, to speak. They always look to him, they always rely on him, they always trust him and now look where he’s led them. So rarely does he make the wrong decision, so rarely does he lead them astray. 

What happened this time? 

Why did he so easily turn them away from you? Why did he so easily turn his back on you? 

What words are there to say? He knew his words would do little to calm the raging storm inside of you, the hurt and the pain and the betrayal they put you through all because of him. 

The rejection still hurts, but it should. They all rejected you as soon as they left you behind. 

It’s only a fraction of the pain you must be feeling. 

“How is she?” Kyle asks, breaking the tense silence. 

“Upset.” He sighs, sinking down in a chair. 

“Fuckin’ sure she is.” Johnny snaps, anger radiating off of him in steaming waves. He’s been on edge, they all have, since the four of them were reunited. He had been there, stuck in the hall as you screamed and fought. He thought the worst when your screams cut off until he was finally updated by one of the nurses leaving the room. “Of course she doesnae want to see any of us! We just fucking left her, just like that, and it was your fuckin’ fault!” 

Simon grabs his beta before he can throw a fist at John, holding him back. Johnny lets out a string of curses none of them understand, fighting against his alpha. Simon holds him tightly, the image of your bloody form fighting against him still at the forefront of his mind. He grips Johnny tightly, muscles straining. Johnny is bigger. Johnny is stronger. 

He has half a mind to let him go. 

John doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch as Johnny yells and rages. He’d welcome a good beating right now. He could use some physical pain to distract from the ache in his chest. 

“Calm down,” Kyle says, getting in Johnny’s face. “I said calm down!” Kyle yells, Johnny stilling for a moment. It’s not often Kyle raises his voice at one of them. “We’re not doing any good being upset with each other. We all made mistakes over these last few weeks, especially these past few days. None of us are guilt free in this. We all have our omega’s blood on our hands. Fighting amongst ourselves will only fray the bonds more than they already have been.” 

Johnny deflates with a sigh, standing there in Simon’s arms for a moment. Kyle is right. They all can feel it, the way their bonds are fraying. Their pack is resting on a dangerous ledge, tipping back and forth with every strong emotion, every argument, every sour feeling. They’re all holding onto that bond, trying to pull it back to keep it from falling into the abyss. As angry as they are with each other, just one of them letting go will be the end of the pack. 

“There’s nothing we can do to change what happened.” John says, looking up at the other three. “Kyle’s right. I led us all in the wrong direction, but we can’t go back and change it. We can’t undo what happened to us, we can’t undo what we did, we can’t undo what we...” He lets out a breath. “What I let happen to our omega.” 

“She won’t trust us again.” Simon says, his hands still shaking as he releases Johnny. They haven’t stopped shaking since he scruffed you a second time. 

“She won’t.” John affirms, no matter how badly it hurts him. “She won’t forgive us either. The best we can do is to give her what she needs, what she wants. Right now that’s space. Dr. Keller will keep us updated as things develop.” He pushes himself up to stand, looking at each member of his team, of his pack. They all share the same guilty look on their faces, they all hold the same anger at themselves deep inside. “This may be the hardest mission we’ve ever had. No matter what we feel...none of that matters anymore. What matters is keeping our pack together. What matters is that we keep those bonds from fraying. We lose ourselves, we lose everything.” 

“Still sore?”

You nod, wincing as it sends a bolt of pain through your body. 

“I know.” Dr. Keller says, adjusting the ice pack on your shoulder. “Hurts like a bitch, but luckily it won’t cause any lasting damage.” 

You blink at Dr. Keller, staring at her for a beat. You don’t think you’ve ever heard her curse before. You’re not sure she was ever capable of it. 

“What? I use swear words. Sometimes.” She says, almost like she can read your thoughts. “Sometimes expletives fit the moment better than any flouncy, sophisticated words do. This feels like the proper situation to use some.” She lets out a sigh. “Your shoulder will be the worst of the pain, at least physically. The mental pain...well, that’s not something I can treat with pain medicine. Shouldn’t, would be the proper wording there.” 

Some people do use it to numb the pain. 

“We all made a lot of bad decisions these last few days. Your support system, those you were supposed to be able to trust, failed you.” She stares down at you, emotion shining in her eyes. It’s a mirror of John’s own stare when he’d looked at you, but this time there’s no anger burning inside of you. Dr. Keller didn’t betray you. Dr. Keller will mean her apology, because you know that’s what’s coming. “I know you’ve probably heard this a lot over the last few hours, but I am sorry too. I shouldn’t have left you alone like that. I shouldn’t have fallen for that phone call...I should have been there.” 

You stare up at her, tears pooling in your eyes. If she had stayed, things would have been worse. It was almost better she left you. You can’t lose her. You need her now more than you ever did. 

Tears streak a flaming path down your face, a choked sob tearing its way through your trachea up through your lips. It burns your throat, no amount of water you’ve had in the last few hours has been able to ease the ache that’s taken up permanent residence there. 

Graves choked you. It’s the bruising from his hand squeezing your windpipe making you ache. Your voice may never recover, may never go back to normal. Crying hurts, hurts more than just your mind, your chest. It hurts your whole body, yet you can’t stop. 

“I know, I know.” She says, petting your hair as you sob. “I’m not going anywhere this time. We’ll get through this, okay? It’ll be a long road, but you won’t be walking it alone. You’ve got me, and you’ve got your pack.” 

Your gaze hardens at the mention of your pack, the sob in your throat coming out almost as an angry grunt. The thought of them makes your chest ache, the pain of their betrayal burning hot in you. “I don’t want them.” You whisper. 

“I don’t blame you.” Dr. Keller says, leaning against the side rail of your bed. “They let you down. The betrayed your trust in a lot of ways. They made you feel abandoned, and then abandoned you when you needed them most, even if they thought they were doing the right thing at the time. You have every right to be angry at them, upset with them. They hurt you in the worst way they could.” She pulls the blanket higher over you, tucking you in. “You’ve gone through a lot these last few days. Some very traumatic events, on top of being injured and your body going through extreme stress. You’re exhausted in every way you can be. Rest first. Worry about everything else later. Doctor’s orders.” 

“I did it to myself.” You say before she can walk away. 

She turns back to look at you. “What?” 

“I made myself distress.” You say. “I made my omega come out.” 

“That was very brave of you.” She says, giving you a soft smile. “Sometimes we have to take drastic measures even knowing the risks. You did what you had to in the moment and I think it was the right choice. You didn’t know what was going to happen, what was happening. Things worked out and you’re still here. That’s all that matters.” 

You think about her words for a moment. You did make it out. The fact you’re here means someone found you, someone saved you. Someone scruffed you. 

“It was Simon, wasn’t it?” You ask, even though you already know the answer to that. 

You wouldn’t let him leave. 

“You’ll have to ask him for the whole story, but yes. He’s the one that rescued you.” She adjusts the blanket around you again. “Get some rest.” She moves the call button closer. “I’m on the other end of that button if you need me.” 

You stare up at the ceiling after she leaves, counting the tiles above you. It looks like every other ceiling you’ve ever seen in a doctor's office or clinic or hospital. It’s not all that different from the ceiling in the med center on base. 

Base. 

You don’t ever want to see that place again. You don’t want to step foot in the barracks, you don’t even want to think about the clinical sterility of the buildings and the cold comfortless spaces meant for nothing more than to serve their purpose. Just like you. You served your purpose. You proved their point, even if it was never the true point of the initiative. Packs will get stronger with an omega, but it will come at the detriment of that omega. 

The job always comes first. 

There was a time you thought perhaps it wouldn’t. Maybe they could put it all behind them  and put themselves first, put you first. Then they proved they can’t. They won’t even put you first when you’re at the threat of being tortured. You were hurt because they wouldn’t put you first. You are hurt because they wouldn’t put you first. 

You don’t care about them. You don’t care about their excuses. You don’t care about the bonds or the claims or the emotions. 

You’d be happy if they left you here. Just a few days ago you were panicking about them leaving you, about them deciding you weren’t enough and abandoning you. 

Now you wish they would. 

“Has she said anything?” 

“Not much.” He sighs. “She won’t see any of us. I can hardly blame her.” 

“You made a choice, John.” Kate says, hands wrapped around her cup of coffee. “Choices have consequences.” 

“You were right. Then again, you usually are.” He sips at his tea. Bitter without milk, but then again, he’d prefer a glass of whiskey right now over tea. “I don’t know how to fix this.” 

“I don’t think you can.” Kate takes a sip of her coffee. “She’s going to decide when she wants you to fix this, if she wants you to fix it.” 

John lets out a sigh. “We’re her pack, it’s our job-” 

“You’ve failed at your job.” Kate says, her gaze hardening as she stares at him. “You’re good at being a soldier, you’re good at being a leader, you’re good at saving the world, but that’s not your only job. You have a responsibility to take care of your omega, and you failed. You made your choice, and you turned your back on her. She’s not a soldier, John. She’s never been tortured, she’s never been left for dead, she’s never taken a life before and here she’s been through all of that in the span of two days. You made a choice, John. You made a choice knowing damn well what the consequences would be.” 

He sits in silence, staring at Kate. It’s not often she gets mad at him, the frustration evident on her face. It’s a mirror of the anger and disappointment on the faces of his packmates. They’re all feeling the weight of his decision, of his mistakes. They’re all feeling the weight of their rapidly fraying bonds. 

“You have a choice to make now, John.” She stares at him pointedly. “You pick up the pieces from this, you all take the time to recover and heal. Then what? Things aren’t as simple as we thought they were, John. None of us knew what was going to happen. We were all so focused on the potential benefits that we all overlooked just how much of a detriment this would be. Your omega hasn’t had a choice in anything in her entire life. Every decision has been made for her, whether or not she wanted it. She has had no say in any of this. She’s been nothing more than a variable in an experiment, a statistic, a number, a list of pros and cons. She’s been reduced down to nothing more than an object.” 

John winces at her words, the weight on his shoulders growing heavier and heavier. He’s treated you as nothing more than an object, even if not directly. Leaving you so easily, yelling at you when you made an innocent mistake, letting you be tortured because he couldn’t get his head out of his own arse. 

“We all know she’s more than that. Far more than that. But she will never have any say in anything, unless you let her. Outside of your pack, she has nothing. In your pack? She should have the loudest voice.” Kate leans her arms on the table, shifting closer to him. “Right now she has no voice because you’ve proven where your loyalties lie, and they’re not with her. You have one more decision to make, John. Do you keep standing where you are, put the job first and wear your omega down until she’s nothing but an empty shell? Or, do you take this chance while you have it and finally put her first?” 

Kate pushes herself up to stand, grabbing her cup of coffee. John’s not used to feeling small. He’s used to being in charge, being the captain, being in control. People look to him, they listen to him, he’s the one everyone turns to when things go to shit to lead them out. 

He’s not even capable of doing that anymore. 

“Your life as you knew it ended as soon as she was placed in your pack. It’s up to you to decide how it continues.” Kate leaves with those heavy parting words, the door clicking shut behind her. 

John stares down at his cup of tea, the cup half full, or perhaps half empty depending on how one looks at it. It feels more than half empty now, spilling slowly through some microscopic hole in the side. It’ll only be so long before that hole will widen, worn down by the weak paper the cup is made of, the liquid eating away at the cup until there’s nothing but a puddle of tea on the table, slowly rolling towards the edge to dip onto the floor. 

That microscopic hole started as soon as they left you alone for the first time, and none of them were aware enough to even notice it. 

That hole is a gaping wound now. The contents inside turned acidic as soon as he cut you off in his disappointment, as soon as he started digging into the belly of the initiative. That acid has been eating away slowly at the fragile bonds that were in place. Fragile. They really were. No matter how strong they all thought those bonds were growing to be, they were built with fear and anxiety and uncertainty. Uncertainty of the future and what it may hold, anxiety towards a new pack and an entirely new shift in lifestyle, and fear of one day losing a pack member. 

Bonds built upon such frailty can hold no weight should one piece fall. 

How strong can bonds really be when you live with that knowledge, that constant fear that someone could die at any time? Someone in the pack, someone you’ve bonded with, someone you’ve grown a relationship with, might leave and never return because of the risks of their job. How strong can those bonds be? Was that the point of the experiments all along, the 141 and the initiative? Testing the limits a pack could be pushed to, testing if bonds could be formed in such a high stress environment and if so, how strong they’d be? What limits would they have gone to, to test that theory? Would they have gone to the point of sacrificing one of them to test those theories, had the truth not come out when it did? One wrong decision, one wrong step in the field and everything can crumble. Would they have gone to that length to test just how a bonded pack would react, if they could still function after everything? 

The sacrifice was you. 

Kate is right. You’re not part of their world. You’re not a soldier, you haven’t been conditioned to live with that fear, you can’t be conditioned to live with that fear. You shouldn’t have to be conditioned to live with that fear. You had no choice in this. None of it. From the moment you presented, nothing in your life would be yours. From the moment you presented, you would never make a choice for yourself again. 

The sacrifice was you. 

And he played right into their hands. 

The cup is blurring as he stares at it, his eyes blinking rapidly. 

They say an omega is the balance that holds a pack together. It’s a delicate bond, a single thread coiled around the structure of the pack. Wear that thread down until it snaps and everything crumbles. How long have you been fraying? How long have you been silently screaming for help, desperately trying to hold the pieces of the pack together like a strongman holds two pillars up by chains? You never had chains, you’ve been holding everything together with sewing thread, fighting desperately to keep the pieces from crumbling at the risk of being torn in half. 

How long have you been silently screaming? 

It’s all his fault. He’s been wearing you down, he’s been fraying that bond fiber by fiber. He’s been standing there watching you fight to hold the pack together while screaming at him to help, screaming at him to take one of those threads and hold at least half of the weight for you. 

That’s what he’s supposed to do. 

The threads have snapped. You were torn in half by the weight and those threads are gone. They’re crumbling, the bonds coming undone, unraveling minute by minute, second by second. They’re losing each other because they lost you. 

He covers his face with his hands, not even bothering to try and silence his sobs. 

Something has pulled you from the sweet arms of sleep. 

It’s dark in the room, the only light coming from the one behind the bed. The curtains are drawn over the window, keeping you hidden from the darkness outside the window. It’s late, or at least you think it is. You can’t quite see the clock in the darkness with your one good eye. It’s fuzzy in the darkness, too far away for you to truly find where the hands lie. 

Shadows fill the corners of the room, oppressive and claustrophobic. The longer you stare, the bigger they seem to grow as if they might suck the light right out of the room and swallow you in darkness. The longer you stare, the more it seems like there’s something there, something hidden in the darkness. 

Something is staring at you from the shadows. There’s eyes on you, your skin prickling from the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. The more you stare into the darkness, the more the shadows begin to take shape, forming monstrous beasts just being held at bay by the light. 

“Hi, darlin’.” 

No. No, no, no, no. 

“Miss me? It’s been a long time.” 

You shake your head, your heart monitor starting to beep rapidly as your heart pounds in your chest. “N-No.” 

Phil sits forward in the chair in the corner, his face coming into the light. It is him, blonde hair, blue eyes, that disarming grin on his face. He can’t be here...unless he escaped before your pack could catch him. Did they manage to catch him? You don’t know. You hadn’t even thought to ask about Phil or his whereabouts. No one informed you either. 

“No? You didn’t miss me?” He tilts his head, his eyes shining with faux hurt and disappointment. “That’s not very nice of you to say. I thought your father taught you your manners. Have you forgotten them in the time you’ve been away.” He tsks, shaking his head. “Those boys have been letting you get lazy.” 

Your breathing is picking up, panic starting to fill you as you stare at him. It’s impossible. He shouldn’t be here. He can’t be here. He couldn’t have just walked onto base and walked into the medical center, could he? Corporal McKinney fooled everyone for months and drove right off base with you in his car and no one said anything. How much would the guards at the front entrance of the base take as a bribe to let him in? 

Why isn’t your pack outside your door? Why would they let him in? 

They had to have put out a warning. Someone should have put Phil’s face everywhere, sent out a message, something. 

He lets out a sigh, pushing himself to stand. “I guess I’ll have to teach you some manners myself.” 

The glint of metal catches your eye, the icepick catching the light as he steps closer. 

“No, no,” You shake your head, your fingers scrambling for the call button.

Not again. Please, not again. 

Your fingers close around the call button, your thumb pushing it over and over and over again. Someone has to hear it. 

He lifts the ice pick, reaching out for you...

You’re being shaken. A scream tears from your lips as you struggle, trying to get away from whoever is holding you. Your body is alight with pain but you wait for more, for the ice pick to drive into your scent gland again, open the wound and light your body on fire once more. You expect it to come down again and again, filling your body with holes so you bleed out on the floor. 

Where is your pack?

“Easy, easy. You’re alright.” 

You know that voice. 

You’re sobbing, your brain slowly beginning to come back into consciousness. You had been asleep. You were dreaming. The light is on in the room, the harsh fluorescent a welcome presence for once. The shadows are gone, dissipated by the bright light overhead. Phil is gone, wiped away with the rest of the shadows. 

He’s nowhere to be seen because he wasn’t there in the first place. 

It was just a dream. It was just a nightmare. 

There’s a hand on yours, gently easing your fingers from the call button. You’re still trying to press it, your thumb moving almost automatically. You started pressing it in your sleep. 

“You’re okay. Breathe for me.” 

It’s Dr. Keller’s voice. It’s her arms wrapped around you, trying to stop you from moving as much. Your body is screaming in pain, but the panic flooding your body makes you almost numb to it. The pain in your chest is screaming with every rapid inhale, tightening and tightening the more until your fingers and toes start to go numb. 

“Deep breaths.” Dr. Keller says, her own breaths slow as she holds you. “In and out.” 

The inhale catches, the air shuddering into your lungs before you hold it, trying to force your body to calm down, just like the two of you practiced so many times. The heart monitor is beeping rapidly, another thing that must have translated in your state between wakefulness and sleep when Phil had shown up. Your heart is beating rapidly, thudding in your chest almost violently. It’s been through a lot these last few days. You wouldn’t be surprised if it just gave out suddenly. 

“Phil.” You gasp out, still trying to slow your breathing. “Phil was here.” 

“It was just a nightmare.” Dr. Keller says calmly, keeping her arms wrapped around you. “No one has come in or out of this room besides me. The guard outside won’t let anyone else in.” 

Guard. There’s someone outside the door. Your pack? No. She would have said so.

Where is your pack?

Phil was never here. It was just a nightmare. 

The last two thoughts repeat over and over in your head like a mantra as you start to cry, sobs wracking your body. You hate it, the fear, the terror, the anguish you felt as he lifted that ice pick, ready to stab you with it. 

“I hate it.” You croak out, voicing your thoughts for the first time in a few hours. 

“I know.” Dr. Keller says. “It’s normal to have nightmares after a traumatic event.” She adjusts her hold on you, tucking you against her chest. “It’s your brain trying to process what happened, trying to work its way through the trauma of the last few days. It’s cruel, but it’s a necessary part of healing.” 

Healing. 

Are you healing? Can you heal after everything? The pain is intense, not just outside but inside as well. The hurt, the anger, the fear, the anxiety, the panic, the depression, the rage, the betrayal. It’s too much. It’s so much all at once. You hate it. You hate that this happened in the first place. You hate that you have to go through this, have to heal, have to live through more nightmares. 

You hate your pack. That’s why they’re not here. 

For all you know they’ve left you. For all you know they’re on a plane back to the UK. 

Why would they want a broken, angry omega?

“I just want to be okay.” You sob, face pressed against her shoulder. 

“I know.” She says, cradling the back of your head, keeping you tight in her arms. “I'm so sorry this happened to you. I know words can't change that it happened, words can't make it all better, but we'll get you to where you're as okay as you can be again. I promise you I’ll do everything I can to get you there.” She leans her chin on the top of your head, squeezing you against her chest. “We'll get there, no matter how long it takes.” 

How long will it take? How long will your pain and suffering drag on for? Your body will heal eventually, but will your mind? Are you going to be this way for the rest of your life? Will you ever know peace again? But...have you ever really known peace? Your home growing up certainly wasn’t peaceful. Your presentation wasn’t peaceful, and neither was life at the institute. Being chosen by the FBI for this initiative that never existed in the first place certainly wasn’t peaceful. Despite how happy you became with your pack, even that life wasn’t peaceful. What little peace you thought you had was upended in the blink of an eye. 

How easily everything crumbled. 

Will it be possible to put it all back together again? 

Do you want to put it back together again? 

Alcohol is easy to find in a place like this. Soldiers gravitate towards whatever crutch they can find to erase the nightmares they live in. It numbs the pain and the brain and keeps one sane, or at least that’s what his father used to say. 

Of course his father would drink himself into a stupor every Friday night, and he’d wake Saturday morning still in his chair with a full breakfast waiting for him. 

Much like his father, John has lost track of how many times he’s filled his glass. 

It’s been a long time since he’s gotten this drunk. He shook that habit after a shameful morning over ten years ago. He’d just gotten back from a bad deployment, one that gets labeled as a “mission gone wrong.” It failed under his command. He lost a lot of lives, not just his fellow soldiers. He’d drunk himself past a stupor and woke up passed out in a bush covered in vomit outside the gate with a rather angry CO over him. 

He shook the habit after that, easing himself to just a glass every so often on those days he needs to take the edge off, on those days he needs to numb the aches. 

Then Kyle came along. Kyle, his sweet beta with his ethical moral compass. His sweet beta who deserved a better life than what he was pulled into. Dutiful, loyal, principled. A good soldier, but a better man than John could ever be. He could fall into Kyle, bury himself under those soft touches, the soothing whispers, the comfort Kyle could offer him. The screaming in his head became less and less as he allowed Kyle to do what he was meant to do at his core. 

Comfort. 

Then you came along. 

He found himself turning to the liquid medicine less and less because he could bury himself in you. He had an omega, he had someone he could lean on, someone who understood without having to be told. The bond between alpha and omega is something so sacred and special, something to be cherished. 

And he threw it all away. 

He downs another glass, staring at the almost empty bottle. It had been sealed when he got it, brand new and fresh. He can feel it, the fogginess of alcohol clouding his brain. The world is swirling, melting together. He can’t feel much of anything anymore, yet that pain lingers deep in his chest. 

The bond. 

It’s like an open wound, gaping and pulsing. Eventually it’ll slow, eventually it’ll give out. That bond will be cut and everything will crumble. 

It’s all his fault. 

He ended things, he ended the pack, he ended the bond, he ended you. 

Would Graves have killed you? Would Shepherd have given those orders if they pushed onward, if they caught up to him? Graves would have done it slowly, taken his time, reveled in it. They would have gotten a video of it, hours long as you were tortured to death, zoomed in on your face as the life left your eyes. 

The thought makes his stomach churn. He wants to vomit at the mental picture of you laying there, covered in blood, those lifeless eyes staring at him. Eyes that once shone with life and happiness. Despite everything you had been happy. Despite everything that spark inside you was never extinguished. A fiery little thing that would give what they gave right back to them. 

Now you’re not even smoldering. 

You’ve been reduced to ashes, and it’s all his fault. It’s all his doing. 

He skips the glass this time, drinking straight from the bottle.

“Have you seen John recently?” Kyle asks, standing in the doorway to their temporary living quarters. It’s a single room with two bunk beds. Far too tight of a space for their quickly souring dynamics. 

“No, not recently.” Johnny says, lifting his head up from his pillow. He’s been crying again. “You, LT?”

LT. They argued earlier...more like yelled in each others’ faces until they had to be separated at the risk of things getting physical. Kyle’s not even sure what they had been arguing about in the first place. Probably something miniscule and unimportant. Everything seems to be setting them off like grenades. Pull the pin and watch them explode. They’re all on edge, all of them feeling the distance growing wider and wider despite their best efforts to stop it. 

“No.” Simon says simply, staring up at the bottom of the bunk over him. He’s flat on his back, hands folded on his stomach. He looks like a corpse, might have been mistaken for one if it hadn’t been for the slow rise and fall of his chest. He’s still in his mask. He hasn’t taken it off since he arrived in the field. 

It’s late, but none of them can sleep. None of them have been able to get much sleep since they arrived nearly two days ago. Weeks without good, decent sleep wears on the brain too. 

“If he comes back here, text me.” Kyle says before closing the door, resuming his search for their missing captain. 

John has been beating himself up for nearly two days now. Kyle’s never seen his captain quite so distraught and lost. He’s blaming himself, which in all fairness, he should be doing. It is his fault. Kyle will be the first to point blame in this situation, but none of them are truly blameless. None of them questioned it, none of them even argued with him on that decision. They followed blindly as they were supposed to for the first time in a long time. They didn’t question their captain, their alpha, their leader. 

He hates himself for it. 

Why didn’t he question it? Why didn’t he argue? Why didn’t he voice his opinion, fight back against that decision? He trusted his alpha when he shouldn’t have, and you paid for it. 

He’s glad he didn’t have to see you. He’s glad he didn’t have to face down the state Johnny and Simon found you in. He’s glad he didn’t have to see what you looked like even after the blood had been cleaned off and the true horror was revealed. 

He hasn’t gone to see you at all. 

He’s not sure he could handle it. You won’t care either way from the sound of it. You’ve been reduced to a shell, silent and empty. You’ve barely said a word since this morning, instead just lying there and staring at the ceiling according to the doctor when she’d updated them this afternoon.

Your body will heal slowly, but your mind will remain a battleground. 

He leaves the barracks, looking up at the dark sky. It’s clear tonight. He’d probably see the stars if there wasn’t constant light pollution around the base. What do the stars look like here? He’s stared up at the stars constantly in the last few weeks in places there was little light pollution. His only comfort about being away from you so long was the knowledge that you were under the same sky. Be it day or night, the stars were overhead. You wouldn’t be able to see them either way, but they were shining for you too. 

Now you’re both under the same stars, but you’re both still so far away.

He lets out a sigh, lowering his gaze. He has a job to do, a captain to find. 

“Where are you John?” He breathes, looking in all directions, trying to decide which way to go next. He had stopped in at the med center already, but he wasn’t there. No one had seen him, even the doctor. He’s searched everywhere he could think to search, but his captain is nowhere to be found. 

John will kill him if he requests a base-wide search. 

He walks around the side of the barracks, hoping maybe he’ll run into John coming back this way. Usually he wouldn’t bother searching for him, but with his mind how it has been, Kyle can’t help but be worried. Even with the bonds fraying between them, he still has that instinctual need to make sure his alpha is okay. Instincts can’t be ignored. No matter how much bonds between packs fray, instincts will always remain the same. 

That’s why he still feels that urge to go and see you. 

John will kill him if he requests a base-wide search. 

He knows how self-destructive John can be despite how composed he makes himself appear. He’s only seen his alpha in that state once, and he has a feeling he’s about to a second time. 

He leans against the wall with a sigh when he reaches the other side of the barracks. Nothing. No sign of him. No texts from Johnny or Simon either. He’d asked Dr. Keller to let him know if he shows up in the med center too, but there’s been nothing. No word. No signs. 

Maybe he should just give up looking. John will find his way back to the barracks eventually. Or he won’t. 

That could be tomorrow’s problem. A distraction, a mission, something to give them purpose and force them to unite again. 

Find their missing captain. Find their missing alpha.

He turns back around to follow the sidewalk back to the front of the barracks when he hears shuffling footsteps dragging on the concrete. He turns, squinting into the darkness between lamps as a figure stumbles through the shadows, muttering under its breath. He knows that voice, he knows that figure. 

John. 

John stumbles forward, nearly falling but Kyle reaches out, catching him. His mind is racing, silently checking for any blood, any sign of injury, but there’s nothing. 

Maybe everything is finally getting to him. Maybe his body has finally been pushed to the limit and it’s giving out. He’s having a medical emergency. 

“Easy, sir.” He says, trying to calm his panic as he fights to keep John upright despite John’s body wanting to fall the rest of the way onto the ground. Kyle takes a breath in, catching the sour scent of alcohol wafting off his captain. 

Not a medical emergency, then. 

He sought out some liquid comfort instead. 

The thought makes Kyle’s chest twinge still. 

“’S all over.” John slurs, his weight getting heavier and heavier. “Everything is over.” He turns his head, blinking slowly. “Kyle?” 

“It’s me, sir. I’ve got you.” He slings John’s arm over his shoulders, making his weight easier to hold. 

“Kyle.” He slurs again, the two syllables blurring together. “Too good to me, Kyle.” John pulls his arm free, stumbling forward. 

Kyle just manages to lessen his fall onto the concrete, making sure John doesn’t smack the back of his head at least. He’ll have some scrapes and bruises tomorrow, though. Right now he probably can’t even feel it. If he was responsible, he’d take John to the med center, let him sleep off the alcohol on the safety of a gurney, but that would probably just cause more problems for everyone. 

John would be pissed when he woke up. 

He lets out a sigh as he stands there, staring down at his captain. John’s on his back, eyes up and focused on the sky, hiccuping every so often. He’s never seen his captain quite this drunk before, though he has heard stories of when John was younger. 

“I’ve killed her.” John mumbles. “I’ve killed all of us.” 

Kyle drops to a knee beside John. “You haven’t killed anyone.” 

“She’s fading away. Soon she’ll be gone.” He murmurs. “We’ll go too.” John pushes himself up to sit. “It’s all over. Everything is over.” 

Kyle grips John’s arms before he can fall back again, holding him in place. “Nothing is over yet, sir. We can still do something. It’ll just take time.” 

John turns to look at him, his eyes hazy and far away. “Kyle.” John says his name softly, reaching out to brush his fingers across Kyle’s cheek. “Pretty boy.” He slumps against Kyle’s chest, his weight nearly making both of them topple over. “Too good to me, Kyle.” 

“I care about you a lot, sir.” Kyle says, rubbing his back. “More than I think you realize.” He murmurs the last bit more to himself than anything. Not that John will likely remember any of this in the morning. “We should get you in bed. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.” 

They do. They have to decide what to do next. 

“Come on.” He says, hauling John to his feet carefully. John lets him, letting Kyle wrap his arm around his shoulders. 

It’s slow going, Kyle half dragging John back to the barracks. He’s quiet at least, only the occasional scuffle of his footsteps as he stumbles breaking the quiet night. He gets John back to their room fairly easily, easing him into the other bottom bunk across from Simon. The room is still and silent aside from the occasional sniffle from one of the top bunks. 

He grabs the blanket from his own bunk, draping it across John instead. Maybe in his drunk state, the scent will bring him some comfort, help ease that ache inside of him.

He’s hoping John’s scent will do the same for him. 

“It’ll be alright, sir.” He says, making sure his captain is comfortable. He stands up, staring down at his Captain. “Everything will be fine.” 

He’s not sure who he’s trying to convince. 

John stares down into his tea as they sit around a table. His head is throbbing, pulsing heavily behind his eyes. It’s his own damn fault, going out and getting drunk like that. He hasn’t done it in years, yet he couldn’t stand the pain gnawing away at his chest. Alcohol hadn’t fixed it. It’s still there, still pulsing away. The alcohol had only numbed it at least for a few hours, and if anything, it made it worse. 

“Kate left this morning back to DC.” He says, glancing up at the other three members of his team. “They're still working on cleanup and helping Alex and Farah track Shepherd. I spoke with Dr. Keller this morning. We’ll be able to fly out soon.” 

The words hang heavy in the air. He hadn’t mentioned you at all, but he’s not sure he could without breaking down. You are improving slowly, Christine had said, giving him a sympathetic look as he squinted in the harsh fluorescents. She knew. She could tell just by looking at him. She’s that good at her job. 

He’s glad they have her. He’s glad you have her.  

“Where are we going tae go?” Johnny asks. 

“We can’t go back to base.” Simon says. 

“You’re right. Going back to base is too risky.” John says. “Shepherd could have eyes there already. And with her mind where it is...” Taking you back would be too much too soon, even without the risk. One of their own had already betrayed them once. They can’t trust anyone anymore. “We need somewhere secluded and quiet. Somewhere no one will know we’re going where we can lay low for a while.” Both out of necessity for their safety, but also for your sake. 

It falls silent between them. Shepherd knows all of their possible safehouses, all of the places they mind go to stay hidden. Those only they know off the record are hard to get to, requiring miles of hiking. You wouldn't be up for that even without the physical injuries, and they doubt you'd let one of them carry you. If they had to get out quickly...

“My parents have a place,” Kyle says, glancing up at them from his own cup of tea. “Out in Cornwall. A cottage near the cliffs. It’s quiet, secluded. No one knows about it but us. Tourist season is over too. There won't be many out there poking around this time of year.” Anyone wandering around out there that close would be suspicious.

“It’s a good option.” Johnny shrugs. 

“It’s our only option.” Simon says. 

“It’s exactly what we need.” Kyle says. “Trying to rent this time of year will only draw attention, and we can't trust we won't be ratted out. Shepherd likely still has allies. We were betrayed by one of our own before.” Kyle says. 

“You're sure no one else knows about it?” John asks, looking at his beta. 

“Just my parents and my siblings. They wouldn’t ask any questions if I told them it was being used.” Kyle shrugs. “It might be our best option.”

John looks around at them. It is their best option for now. He knows Kyle's family is just like the rest of theirs. They know they can't know and they won't ask questions. 

“We had a conversation once, months ago.” John says. “She told me she wanted to live next to the sea someday. She wants to be close enough that she can smell it and see it.” 

He pauses thinking back months ago after Simon left, after you were so affected by his absence. That conversation when you asked if he’d ever leave for you, when he told you if your life was ever in danger because of them he’d leave in a heartbeat. He’s made a liar out of himself. He broke his promise, so many promises, made not just to you. Not just to the pack. 

He glances at the other three, fighting back the lump in his throat, the endless threat of tears that has been rising like the tide and threatening to drown him at any moment. He’s made his decision, he’s made up his mind. 

You have to come first. 

His priorities have changed. There’s no initiative to follow, no orders to be given out. Kate was right. This is their moment to change things, this is his moment to change things. His pack will follow. Despite everything, they’ll trust him to make the right decision. They won’t hesitate to challenge him anymore, but there’s still that deeply ingrained trust in their alpha and captain. 

The alpha comes first. 

No, the omega comes first. 

He takes a sip of his tea, bitter without any milk, but it’ll do. “She wanted to be close to the sea.” He looks back up at the other three having made his decision. “Taking her there might just be what she needs.” 

NEXT ->

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[callsigns-haze]

i love your writing so much !!!! it’s kinda similar to another story you have but i was wondering if i could request your take on the twisters scene towards the end when tyler’s leg gets stuck under the debris in the town square ?? like reader is the one running over to him completely worried & stressed because her man is hurt 🥺

Not leaving

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: Y/N races to save Tyler, trapped under debris after a tornado, refusing to leave his side until he's safely rescued.

Chapter Warnings: Intense storm danger, injury, descriptions of pain, and emotional distress.

The town square was a scene of devastation, the aftermath of the tornado leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Buildings were reduced to rubble, cars overturned, and debris scattered everywhere. The air was thick with dust, the scent of rain and earth mingling with the acrid smell of smoke from a nearby fire.

Y/N’s heart pounded as she navigated through the wreckage, her eyes scanning the chaotic scene for any sign of Tyler. The last time she’d seen him, he had been trying to help a group of people take cover in a nearby building. But when the tornado hit, everything turned to chaos, and she’d lost sight of him.

“Tyler!” Y/N’s voice cracked as she called out, desperation lacing her tone. She clambered over a fallen tree, ignoring the sting of a cut on her leg, her only thought to find him, to make sure he was okay.

Suddenly, she spotted him—pinned under a massive piece of debris in the middle of the square. His face was pale, and he was struggling to move, pain etched across his features.

“Tyler!” Y/N screamed, rushing to his side. She dropped to her knees next to him, her hands shaking as she reached out to touch his face, to reassure herself that he was still there.

“Y/N…” Tyler’s voice was strained, his breath coming in short gasps. “I’m… I’m stuck.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears as she took in the sight of his leg trapped under the heavy debris. She could see the pain he was in, the way his hands clenched into fists as he tried to fight it.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” she promised, her voice trembling but determined. “Just hold on, okay? I’ll get help.”

She looked around frantically, but everyone else was either injured or already helping others. There was no time to wait for someone else. She had to do this herself.

“Stay with me, Tyler,” Y/N said, her voice tight with emotion as she crouched down and tried to lift the debris off his leg. It was heavy, far too heavy for her to move on her own, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to let him suffer, not for one more second.

Tyler groaned in pain as she strained against the weight, tears slipping down her cheeks as she gave it everything she had. But the debris barely budged, and she could see the anguish in his eyes.

“Y/N, stop…” Tyler managed to say, his voice hoarse. “You’ll hurt yourself. I… I’ll be okay. Just go get help.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Y/N choked out, shaking her head. “I’m not leaving you here, Tyler. I can’t.”

She tried again, her muscles burning with the effort, but the debris still wouldn’t move. Frustration and fear clawed at her, and she let out a sob, her hands trembling as she gripped his.

“Please, Tyler… just hold on a little longer,” she whispered, her tears falling onto his skin. “Help is coming, I promise.”

Tyler’s hand squeezed hers weakly, his eyes softening despite the pain. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. I promise.”

Finally, she heard the shouts of other rescuers approaching. Y/N turned to see a group of first responders rushing toward them, their faces grim as they took in the scene.

“Please, help him!” Y/N cried out, stepping back to let them work.

The rescuers quickly assessed the situation, then moved in with tools to lift the debris. It felt like an eternity as they carefully freed Tyler’s leg, Y/N watching with bated breath, her hands clenched tightly together.

When they finally managed to lift the debris, Tyler let out a pained groan, but Y/N was there in an instant, holding his hand and whispering reassurances. They quickly stabilized his leg and prepared to move him to safety.

“You did it, Y/N,” Tyler murmured as they lifted him onto a stretcher. His voice was weak, but there was a faint smile on his lips. “You saved me.”

Y/N leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead, her tears of relief mingling with the dirt and sweat on his skin. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I couldn’t lose you, Tyler. Not now, not ever.”

As they loaded him into the ambulance, Y/N climbed in beside him, never letting go of his hand. The storm had passed, but the fear of losing him still lingered, a shadow over the relief she felt at having him alive and safe.

“Just rest now,” she whispered, her thumb brushing over his knuckles gently. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Tyler’s eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion overtaking him, but his grip on her hand remained firm. And as they sped away from the wreckage of the town square, Y/N knew that no matter what storms they faced, they would face them together.

Requests for Tyler are open be free to send in as much as you wish!

tagging some:

@senawashere

@saviorcomplexrry

@cevansbaby-dove

@saynotononsense

@missdottie

@willowisp7

@taorislover94

@eloquenceinpurple

@86laura11

@rosiahills22

@jessicab1991

@kmc1989

@shanimallina87

@eternalsams

@teen-antisocial

@katiemcrae

[fangirl-dot-com]

Chapter 29 - Hydrate or Diedrate

this was a rollercoaster. so I wrote something for the Drive to Survive chapter before I even wrote this. So I based this off of what I already wrote and yeah, I got this. There is slight angst but nothing as extreme as I've done in the past!

Sorry for the wait! I love you all!

You hated it. 

The floaty feeling. 

The weightlessness that floating brought. 

The feeling of lack of control. 

Your legs wouldn’t move. Your arms were too heavy. Your head rested against the side of your car. Thoughts were muddles, sounds were far away. Your head felt as though it was stuffed with cotton. 

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see because of the sweat that saturated the inside of your helmet. 

You needed to get out. Get cooled off. Get your trophy. 

But the more you stayed in the seat, the better you felt. 

Oh, how sleep wanted to invade your mind. 

Just let go – it seemed to tell you. 

I’ll catch you – it promised. 

Give in – it demanded. 

Your eyelids blinked slowly as you tried to become just a bit aware of your surroundings. 

Where were you again? 

Oh, you were racing. 

What position? 

Second. 

Where was Max? 

Where was water? 

Where was…

It was all fading pretty fast. The lights hurt your head. The heat just clung to your body. Your arms felt as though someone tied weights to your wrists. Weights to your legs. 

There was suddenly pressure at your shoulder. Your body rocked back and forth, yet you had no strength to react further. The pressure deepened and you rocked harder. 

Where were you again? 

Oh, floating. 

Sleeping. 

Not breathing? 

That wasn’t it. It couldn’t be it. You needed to breathe to live silly. 

You knew that the noise around you got louder, but it was still so cloudy. Voices muddled together. You couldn’t tell where one voice started or where the other ended. 

Just let me sleep. 

So, that’s what you did. 

You’d be all right. 

Seems as though sleep won this time. 

Lando and Oscar watched in horror as Max’s facial features were wrought and pinched in worry. Like you, they couldn’t tell where the yells and screams started or where they ended. 

They hadn’t noticed at first. Too high strung on the race and race win to realize. They had smiles on their faces as Oscar won the race this year, as he had done the sprint last year. But this time it was a real race win. 

They congratulated the team, each other, their families who came to watch. Their smiles bright under the lights of Qatar. 

But the smiles dimmed as they watched Max strut up to your car. 

It was only then that they realized that you weren’t even out. What had it been? 2 minutes? 5 minutes? It shouldn’t have taken you that long to take the steering wheel off and get out. 

And then they watched Max rip his helmet off. They watched as he nudged your shoulder and your head weightlessly move side to side. 

The horror came next when the Dutchman started screaming at the team. Men and women jumped the little barriers and came running with medical supplies. Lando’s eyes wept as they had to haul your body out of the car. 

Oscar’s heart dropped when he realized that you weren’t moving. Right now, you were dead weight, just letting people finagle your body to how they saw fit. They watched as two men held you up by the arms, dragging you past everyone to hopefully somewhere you could be safe. 

When they were able to see your face, it gave them a haunted look. 

Your eyes were closed. Your mouth was hung open as your unconscious body tried to gulp in much needed air. They stepped forward, trying to see if their friend was ok. Yet, they were stopped by officials. Something about a podium? 

Oh, they had been racing. 

The race was over.

But you weren’t awake to see it.  

It finally broke through to them that they were still in the middle of the paddock. They could only nod numbly to questions being asked. The podium was no different. Oscar felt nothing as his anthem played. 

But how could he celebrate when you weren’t there. 

When you were supposed to be a papaya sandwich between them. 

When you were supposed to hold your trophy high. 

When you were supposed to be awake…and not sleeping. 

Max had followed the medical staff that was carefully hold you up as they walked. Both of his hands were full of helmet. He could feel the dampness of yours. It felt like someone had dunked it under the water before handing it to him. 

It wasn’t supposed to be this wet. 

Your physio had told him, told everyone, that you’d be much better than Singapore. That your diet finally brought your hydration levels up. That you were drinking proper amounts of water. 

That you shouldn’t be unconscious at this point. 

He watched as they propped you up. Something about getting blood to your heart. Max thought you should be lying down. Maybe then you’d look like you were really asleep. He knelt next to you when someone asked if he could hold you in that position. His knees would be sore, but it would be ok when you were ok. When your eyes were finally open. 

He watched your face and your eyelids flicker. 

Were you dreaming? 

The paramedics were quick to get cooling towels around your neck and head. One stuck an IV stuck in your arm. 

Ouch. 

Max wasn’t expecting your body to jerk so violently. His blue eyes quickly met yours when they opened suddenly. His hands steered your head so that you kept looking at him. Your mouth was once again dropped open as you tried to get precious air into your lungs. 

At the sight of your open eyes, more medics came over. They started to check your pupil dilation and then your blood pressure. Max could see that you were quickly becoming overwhelmed but his mouth stayed shut. 

They knew more about passed out drivers than he did. 

His heart rate skyrocketed once he saw your eyes start to flutter shut again. That’s when he knocked the hands away from your face and replaced them with his. 

As your eyes fluttered, the sounds were still jumbled in your mind. You just wanted to go back to sleep where it was quiet. The noises got louder, but it didn’t help your head. Hands poked and prodded at you, and all you wanted them to do was leave you alone. 

Yet, among the loud and the busy in your mind, you heard something soft. It was a voice. Kind, caring, quiet. 

You knew that voice. 

“Hey, you need to stay awake. Do not close your eyes.” 

Why did Max want you to stay awake? He knew how much you liked to sleep. You whined rather loudly, which drew a choked laugh from his lips. Max hadn’t realized that Charles had been there for a while. He also kneeled near and kept you steady. 

Charles knew a trick that worked with babies when they needed to steady their breathing. 

Max watched on as the Ferrari driver gently blew on your face. He wanted to comment, but kept his mouth shot when your eyes fluttered again, but struggled to stay open. But this time, it looked like you wanted to stay awake. 

Max kept talking to you. 

Told you about the race. 

“Kid, it was like you were flying.” 

“Oscar still kept P1, but you totally passed Lando.”

“Keep your eyes open kid. You can sleep later. Let me tell you about how Charles pushed me off.” 

You were finally conscious enough to understand what Max was saying. A squawk from Charles made you laugh a bit. Your lungs burned and protested, but you did it anyway. 

Max rested his head against the wall when you were finally moving around and talking to the medics. They finally deemed you strong enough to get you into a chair instead of the floor. The Dutchman was quick to keep the towels around your head soaking with ice cold water. Your race suit had been completely stripped away. Your shoes and socks were off as well, leaving you in thin fireproofs. Max took a longer towel and put it over your lap. 

A hand rested on Max’s shoulder, which caused him to look up. Christian stared back at him with a cold gaze. The blond knew what that meant. The Briton led Max a bit away so that he could talk to him in private. 

Max wanted to question him, but it seems as though Christian already knew what he wanted to say. 

“Next year we aren’t going to let you or Y/n drive if Qatar is back on the calendar.” 

Max was somber as he mulled over the statement. It was actually a good idea.

He replied, “I of course was fine with that. We should get the other teams to do it as well.” 

Christian nodded. 

“We had five retirements during the race. It was Sargeant, Zhou, Albon, Gasly, and Russell.” 

Max hadn’t known. He was too busy just trying to also stay conscious during the race. Yes, it was cooler than last year, but the cars seemed to get hotter as well. It was a fraction that couldn’t be balanced. 

Christian sighed. “Lance also had to be helped out of the car. He was taken to medical as well. Severe dehydration.” 

Max considered the protest. If everything went smoothly like this year, he could have already won the championship by now. He was still ahead of Charles. Abu Dhabi wouldn’t be a deciding factor. The Dutchman would have to finish in last place to lose. The margin was big enough. But, the race would be the deciding factor if you’d finish ahead of Charles in the championship. You’d have to win the race and get fastest lap. Charles would need to finish second with fastest lap to come out ahead of you. 

While he was thinking, two flashes of papaya orange almost ran into him. His head swerved to follow the two drivers as they sank to their knees in front of you, where you were still looking pretty exhausted. 

He said his goodbyes to Christian and walked over as well. Lando was latched rather tightly to your side as Oscar ran his hands over your face, double checking that you were still breathing. He hadn’t noticed that Arthur was now the one rewetting the towels on your body. Logan was sitting on the floor to your left.

He walked over and stood next to Charles. A smile made its way to his face at the sight of the younger drivers all taking care of you. His phone was buzzing like crazy. He pulled it out and made a face at all the missed text messages. The second grid group chat, one that not everyone was in, was blowing up. 

He sent a quick message telling everyone that you were ok and that they were allowed to come to your hotel room if you wanted to. 

Lewis said he was going to bring food with George. Daniel was on his way to get your room set up. The Aussie has seen heat exhaustion before and wanted to get the room cooling down before you even got there. Fernando messaged that he was going to get some cars ready to take them all back. He chose SUVs that had sufficient space for everyone. 

Max thanked them before closing his phone. 

When he saw your eyes flutter, his heart didn’t race. He knew that you had to be utterly exhausted by now. 

He stepped toward your physio and one of the medics. 

“Is she good to go?” he questioned, getting the attention of the two ladies. 

Your physio nodded. “She’s good. Just keep her cool and hydrated. Water and juice are preferred. Also, let her eat substantial things to get her weight back up. I know she likes McDonalds after races some times.” 

The lady smiled, remembering how many times you texted her asking if you could get chicken nuggets from your favorite fast food restaurant. After getting a list of things that they needed to do to make sure that you’d be just fine through the night, he walked back over to the group. Your eyes were very droopy as Lando talked to you about Quadrant’s latest drop of merchandise. 

He clapped his hands lightly, making everyone look his way. 

“Ok, so she is good to go. Fernando is waiting with the cars. Daniel went back to the room to cool it down and ask for extra pillows and blankets for anyone who wants to stay. Y/n you have to be monitored for the next 48 hours just in case. George is making Lewis buy chicken nuggets from McDonalds. And now we just have to get everything and head back.” 

Max could be a group leader when he wanted to be. 

Charles and Logan went back to your driver rooms to grab everything that you might need and or want. Lando and Oscar took it upon themselves to go around to the garages to let everyone know where they were going to be for the next couple of days. 

Arthur stayed with you while you had your IV removed, him letting you almost break his hand as it left your arm. You looked a bit nauseated at the sight, which made Max stand next to your seat to steady you. 

“Is it over?” you asked, voice hoarse from everything. Max thinks that’s the loudest you spoken since the race. 

Arthur gave a quick kiss to your head. “All over Cheri. You ready to go?” 

With a nod from you, the Monegasque crouched down to scoop you up. Your head rested against his chest as he and Max made the way to the car. 

“Max, can you ask Lewis to get me a sweet tea as well?” 

“On it kid.” 

Well, Max had already made sure that Lewis would get your favorite drink as well, along with fries and every type of sauce you could ever want. 

You hummed a thank you as you leaned your face against the cool window of the car. Fernando was in the front seat, classical music playing in the background. At that moment, you realized that your skin had goosebumps and you were shivering slightly. Your fire proofs were basically soaked and the air conditioning was cooling it down quickly. 

“Thur, do you have a hoodie or pull over?” 

The question made Max and Arthur raise an eyebrow. But the moment they saw you shaking like a leaf, they quickly looked for one. Logan pulled the passenger door open and sat in it. 

“Logan do you have a pull over or something?” Max asked once he realized that he nor Arthur had anything to cover you up. 

The American was silent as he leaned forward to dig through his back. 

“Aha!” 

Something fuzzy was put into your hands. Arthur noticed that your hands were still shaking and took the pullover from you. He immediately got it unraveled and put over your head, tugging down at the sides. A sigh escaped your lips as you relished in the warmth it brought. 

“Thanks Lo.” 

“No problem champ.” 

Arthur snorted. “So American.” 

Logan swerved around as Fernando started to pull away. 

“Well, no offense to Max, but Y/n is definitely going to be world champion one day. It’s only a matter of time.” 

Max shook his head. “No offense taken if we all think it.” 

“Thanks guys,” you muttered, head back against the window, eyes closed and close to sleep. Your boyfriend poked your arm, making you give him an astronomical side eye. He rolled his eyes at your glare. 

“You can sleep after you eat.” 

A grumble escaped your stomach, making everyone in the car laugh. 

“It wants chicken nuggets.” 

“Chicken nuggets is what it’ll get niña,” Fernando said from the front. The drive to the hotel was not long at all. This time, Arthur carried the stuff and Max carried you. Although, you did complain that you could have walked, but he didn’t want to take any chances. 

When the four of you got to your room, Daniel was ready with open arms to take you from Max. Daniel was always more cuddly anyway and you wanted to keep being warm. The room was pretty frigid but you liked the contrast of a cold room with a warm blanket. 

Lewis and George were in the little kitchenette pulling food out from the iconic brown bags. 

A shiver wracked your body which made you realize that you desperately needed to change.

“Arthur, can you grab my clothes from my suitcase? I want to change.” 

As the dutiful boyfriend, Arthur grabbed a pair of sweats, one of his pullovers, and the undergarments that you needed. He took you from Daniel and brought you into the bathroom for some privacy. You used the sink to keep steady as you stood. The Monegasque had a sad smile as he watched you try to use your legs that were shaking even more. 

You took one step and your knees collapsed. Thankfully, he was there to catch you. He cooed when you pouted once you were seated on the toilet. He was very respectful and kept his eyes on your face as he helped you change. You rolled your eyes. 

“You’ve seen me naked before,” you spoke quietly, not wanting anyone to overhear. 

This time, he rolled his eyes.

“Yes, but it was for something very different.” 

You could hear the smirk in his statement. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Race wins are very rewarding.” 

He gave you a quick kiss after he pulled the crewneck over your head. When the two of you finally emerged, the rest of the boys were already there and changed. Max and Charles were on the pullout eating what looked to be some burgers. 

Lewis was stabbing a salad as he talked to Daniel and Fernando. Your eyes lit up at the sight of the 20 piece nugget that was sitting on the counter. With Arthur’s help, you were able to take very small steps to get your own food. Lando and Oscar watched from the side as you got your hands on the container. Arthur then helped you over to the couch and sat you next to Max. He went to go get drinks and sat down on the other side of you. 

It was a Leclerc brother sandwich. 

You took a sip of your drink and grabbed the remote. 

“What are we watching.” 

Oscar piped up. “Please not Cars 2. And a pout won’t work this time.” 

“Certified Y/n-hater.” 

The Aussie laughed, but continued to let you pick a movie. 

You smirked as you selected one of your other favorites. 

“Black. All important movies start with a black screen.” 

“You did not choose Lego Batman.” 

“I chose Lego Batman.”   

mclaren has posted

mclaren congratulations to Oscar on his first win and to Lando for bringing in a 1-3! 🧡🐈

We are saddened to hear that Y/n L/n had to be transported to the on-site medical center tonight after severe heat exhaustion and could not make it to the podium. Thankfully, she is on the mend and will race in Abu Dhabi for the final Formula 1 race of the 2024 season.

liked by logansargeant, papaya_nation, oscAH, and 2,395,104 others

papaya_on_top OSCAR WIN - BUT Y/N I WAS CRYING

orange_bois i was so scared watching them haul her out of the car

y/n.89 can't get rid of me that easily 😤

landonorris dang it, thought I could get one more win in oscarpiastri don't listen to him, he was crying while he typed this landonorris YOU WERE TOO????

iamred_iamyellow oh gosh, I thought last year was bad

russellgeorge someone needs to get a protest started, this was too much

lanoscar proud of my boys, scared for everyone else

redbullracing has posted

redbullracing good P2 and P4 today 👊

Y/n L/n is currently recovering back at her hotel and will be monitored through the night. She has been cleared to race in Abu Dhabi if she continues to feel better. She was diagnosed with severe heat exhaustion that could have turned into a heat stroke if she wasn't treated immediately. Heatstroke is deadly if not treated immediately after the symptoms show up. We are thankful for Max, who alerted the team that something was wrong.

Because of this matter with our youngest driver, Red Bull Racing encourages the other teams to put in a protest of the Qatar Grand Prix. This year, five drivers had to retire due to health issues and two were hospitalized. Lance recovered quickly from severe dehydration. If the Qatar Grand Prix continues, our drivers will not race in 2025 at this circuit. Thank you.

liked by arthur_leclerc, y/n.89, maxverstappen1, lance_stroll, and 3,149,460 others

y/n.nation please, fans as well, start protesting and don't buy tickets for Qatar 2025. something is obviously wrong

formula_fan the cars are too hot for this circuit. they have no internal cooling and the drivers are so susceptible to the heat

y/n.89 thank you so much for taking care of me! I will be ready for Abu Dhabi!

redbullracing we missed seeing you on the podium 🥺 y/n.89 I'll be back!!

landonorris max is the man - what do we say?

charles_leclerc thank you max oscarpiastri is that how you thank the man that saved your future sister-in-law??? 🤨 charles_leclerc THANK YOU MAX 🥰😙🥹🫶 maxverstappen1 you're welcome Charles ☺️ charles_leclerc I will still punt you

rookie&co I'm thankful that Red Bull is taking the initiative about this

scuderiaferrari at ferrari, we put our drivers above everything else. we will be protesting along with Red Bull and whoever else and will not take part in the 2025 Qatar Grand Prix if it is still approved

williamsracing we will stand along with Red Bull and will not race at the 2025 Qatar Grand Prix if it continues mercedeamgf1 our drivers before the race, we stand as one. we will not partake in the 2025 Qatar Grand Prix mclaren after tonight, we see where priorities lie. we race as one. McLaren will not partake in the 2025 Qatar Grand Prix astonmartinf1 we race as one. we will be protesting the 2025 Qatar Grand Prix alpinef1team we will be joining the grid in the protest of the 2025 Qatar Grand Prix visacashapprb teams should never have to choose between a driver's health and a completed race. we will protest the 2025 Qatar Grand Prix haasf1team we will be participating in the Qatar 2025 protest for our drivers stakef1team our drivers will not be participating in the Qatar 2025 Grand Prix if it is held in the upcoming year

formula14ever the way that all the teams have gathered together after what happened with Y/n

wholesomef1 this comment section >>>>

seb&bees Sebastian would be so proud for all the teams and drivers standing up for this cause

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @glitterquadricorn @laura-naruto-fan1998 @treehouse-mouse @sam-is-lost @kagatinkita @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @myxticmoon @angsthology @cmleitora @fly-me-away @graciewrote @ashy-kit @slutofmultifandom @aexitizen-ln4 @sugarvibez @vellicora @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @33-81 @hoetel-manager @xcharlottemikaelsonx @jayda12 @ilove-tswizzle @justme2042 @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @stopeatread @cha-hot @sadg3 @iloveyou3000morgan @s4turnsl0ver @alessioayla @torchbearerkyle @leptitlu @awekbachira @shreks-sugar-daddy @v1naco @stan-josie @mellowarcadefun @badassturtle13 @beskardroids @callisposts @poppyalice2001 @juniper-july19 @lizzypiastri

[lovetei]

Can you write Their reaction to Sheep!MC turning into their human form, naked, in front of them but with side characters please ?

I knew people would request for the side characters sooner or later, glad I can write them again :b

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Their reaction to Sheep!MC turning into their human form, naked, in front of them

Warnings:

Versions: Demon brothers, Side Characters

Links: Masterlist

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DIAVOLO:

You were just giving your normal report to Diavolo after you got in the student council

You showed up in an empty hall where his throne is placed in the middle of the other end of it

And he's there

Sitting while looking oh so high and mighty

And you're there

Insisting to fulfill your duties even though you're feeling weird ever since this morning

"Greetings, Lord Diavolo-" You're not even done saying your greetings but you already dropped on your knees

The pain caused by the unnatural feeling of burning inside your body taking over your senses

"MC!" He called out before he stood up from his throne and come down to help you up

"I'm sorry, Dia... I'm just not feeling well-" And then again, you got cut off

But this time, you're not feeling weak

You're feeling all better

You're glowing like some light bulb though

"What happened..." You asked not noticing the once familiar feeling of being on your human knees

"How..." Diavolo just uttered a word and yet you felt a chill down your spine

Your spine?

"How disgraceful..." His voice seemed to grew more deep and husky and when you looked up

You saw yourself naked in the reflection of his eyes

His eyes that are looking at you like you're some prey

Your mind is hazy and your eyes are blurry from all the tears that are streaming out of it "Hmm?~ Are you alright, Honey?" His sickeningly sweet voice asked as he thrusted his hips even harder.

You let out a gasp before your hands gripped the hands of the throne even tighter, trying to spot yourself from falling forward because of his harsh movement "S-Slow downn!~" You whined.

But instead of him following your desires like how it usually works you felt his hand wrap around your neck "But I'm already as slow as I can get..." He dissapointedly whined before he thrusted one more time, releasing his seed inside of you.

BARBATOS:

You have informed everyone that you're not feeling your best today

And Barbatos insisted that he take care of you

Even going as far as to ask for a leave, which he never did back then.

And now he's here spoon feeding you the soup he cooked himself

"I can eat by myself..." You insisted but he just slapped your hand away when you tried to grab the spoon off of his hand

"You're an important guest MC... You need to have energy." He replied to you before he proceed to feed you.

Wait a minute, he never told you what this 'soup' is.

"What do you mean I need energy..? For what?" You asked, confused, by his choice of words.

But he didn't answer you.

Instead he put the bowl of 'soup' aside and loosened his tie.

"It's finally starting huh?" His voice lacked the formality, the modesty.

What's starting?

The unusual heat rising in your stomach?

Or this transformation?

You've lost everything, he blindfolded you, he stuffed your mouth with his tie and your hands cuffed to his own hands while your feet is tied to the headboard putting you in a sinful position.

Saliva dripped out of your mouth as you orgasmed again "How many was that already?" He asked before his hands gripped your waist, making you completely defenseless.

"MHM!" You screamed through the gag as you felt his dick grow larger "You should- stop squeezing me so much." He demanded before his tail ripped the tie off your mouth.

String of saliva flow down the side of your lips as your body submitted to his "T-Thank ywu..!-" Is what you managed mutter before his tail forced its way down your throat.

SIMEON:

You're simply keeping him company as he wrote another chapter for his new book

Sitting on the sofa next to his desk as you scroll through the internet

"MC..." He suddenly called out catching your attention

"What's up?" You tried, putting your phone down.

"Have you ever thought about... You know... Getting your human form back." He suddenly commented

His stands still tapping the key board

"Well... Having this sheep body sure is hard but it's bearable." You answered

"If it's what keeps me alive in this place then do I really have the luxury to choose what my body will be?"

He was shocked by your answer

Shocked enough that he stood up from his seat and grabbed your jaw "Your body is the temple of God... Yous should know how to love it." He suddenly lectured

"How about I show you how?" And with that your whole body glowed bright

You grabbed the edge of the sink as he harshly pounded you from behind "F-FUck, wait..!" You moaned, asking him to slow down for just a bit.

But instead he covered your mouth with his hand and fucked you even harder, his cock achingly hard because of the sight of your saliva seeping through the gaps between his fingers.

“I love you-! S-So much!” Is all he can come up with as his hand moved to your hips and gripped them before his thrusts turned harder, much more erratic. If only his white wings weren't out you would've suspected him as a succubus in disguise.

SOLOMON:

Solomon has been giddy all day.

Always smiling at you whenever or wherever he saw you.

And based on experience, this man is up to something.

And your suspicion is confirmed when he dragged you into an empty hallway and asked you to meet him tonight in the purgatory hall.

But when you arrived in it

You thought no one was home since every light is off

And the lights in Solomon’s lab are the only light brightening the hall through the gaps of the door.

You knocked and he immediately opened the door as if expecting it.

He should be anyways

He let you in and introduced you to a potion, a dark pink one.

“And what does this do?” You ask as you swirl it.

He smirked, his hands behind “It would give you your human body back.”

Your now spread wide on his desk his cock fucking into you, his balls hitting your ass as your soft please and request to slow down fall on deaf ears “Hmm?~ Slow down? But I gave you such a good potion, bringin back this slutty body back to me.” His eyes darkened as you felt him throb inside of you causing you to moan again knowing his cum will be in you again.

“Don’t I deserve a reward for being so useful to y-you?!” He asked, his hips thrusting one last time before he shoot another load of cum in you causing you to orgasm for the third time this night, your eyes rolling back “Fucking hell, ever since I had you in the human world…” Not even long after and he’s already pounding you.

“You’ve been teasing me everyday.” His voice is deep, something you wouldn’t hear from Solomon on a normal day “I-I, NOT!” You tried to object as tears fall from your eyes while you shake your head “Oh, really?~” He teased definitely not falling for it “Lying is bad, little sheep.” With one swift movement he flipped you up, now your back facing his chest “I heard spanking works the best for liars.”

MEPHISTOPHELES:

Mephistopheles have not seen your human form

And he does “not want to.”

That’s what he tells himself everyday.

But his curiosity is way too great to ignore.

Especially how the brothers are constantly searching for answers and ways to bring your human form back

Just what's about you that can make them so desperate?

But luckily

As he is the son of the greatest clan in the Devildom

Their family has a hidden heirloom that can just be of help in this situation

But he won’t tell the brothers about this

And at least, he won’t tell Diavolo yet.

And now he invited you in his mansion

You’re sitting on his bed as he conduct the ritual

And you must expect… This is not how you expect the ritual to end

“Slutty fucking human.” His words are laced with venom as his cock pushed your limits, threatening to tear you apart and yet you’re here, ass up in the air as he tried to push his cock all the way in “I T-T-OLD YOU!” You screamed as tears continuously roll down the side of your face “IT REALLY WON’T FIT IN ME!~” You moaned, still feeling him pushing it deeper.

“Are humans really this sensitive or you’re just an exemption?” He smirked as he pushed another inch in almost knocking the consciousness out of you “Stop fucking squeezing my cock so hard..!” He commanded as a harsh spank landed on your ass making you sob even more “S-Shit… So sorry!” He smirked as he noticed how he’s starting to take a toll on you.

“I’m barely balls deep in you and yet you’re already this reactive?” He mocked you as a distraction before he slammed himself all the way in and holy shit, he tried to not cum on the spot because he knows he��ll really break you if he does but fuck, the way you moan his name is not helping at all “Does it feel good, baby?” His voice is deep and husky as he leaned closer to your ear before biting it.

RAPHAEL:

Oh poor MC

This place does not even let you live comfortably with your own human body

He started assisting you more after he found out that the sheep form is not your original form

And that you actually have a real human body

And then one day

You’re in the back of the library trying to get this book

Diavolo insisted that its safe

For him

But definitely not for you

Considering how the book is starting to attack you

He, of course, defended you with his spear

Not until the book exploded

And you started glowing

“Oh wow… You have your human body back.” His expression does not express it well but he’s glad for you.

He’s glad really.

What do you mean your body feels cold?

Ah… It’s alright.

He knows the best way to make it warm.

Your legs are around his waist, trying to pull him, push him deeper “Patience MC… You’ll start bleeding if I push it all the way in.” He reasoned, making you whine even more. He’s still expressionless but you’ve caught a glimpse of a smirk “Y-You’re just teasing me…” You argued as his hips pushed his cock further in you.

“D-Do you want me to stop?” He looked so shy… You thought you made him feel bad but you can’t help it, you buried your head on his neck and nodded and just when you’re about to reassure him a chuckle left his mouth before his hips harshly slammed in you, not even giving you time to adjust to his length.

A gasp left your mouth as you covered it up, remembering you’re still in the library “W-What’s wrong?!” His words sounded like a taunt as his hips assaulted yours like you two are some animals in heat “You want it like this right..?” His voice darkened even more.

THIRTEEN:

You and Thirteen have developed this habit of hanging out in her cave

It was actually clean

It’s nice, quiet and the temperature is nice.

Though, as the two of you hang out

“MC is your skin really that… Glowy?” She asked

You looked down at yourself and you saw that

Shit

You really is glowing

You looked back at her in horror and you saw how her eyes darkened

“This can’t be happening… I’m death!” She voiced out as she turned to look at your candle

It was bruning flamboyantly, nothing was wrong…

SO WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING TO YOU?!

She looked at the other candles threatening to blow them all off

If you don’t get to live

They can’t also-

“Thirteen…” You muttered, catching her attention.

She turned around with tears brimming on the bottom of her eyes

It immediately disappeared as soon as your naked form laid before her eyes though.

You whimpered softly as her tongue slithered inside your entrance “T-Thirteen… Give me a break..!” You mumbled as your fingers gripped the covers for its dear life and yet she just lifted her head up a little, a mixture of her saliva and your cum dripping from her mouth before she chuckled “You need to make it up to me… You made me worry and all ya know.”

Her lips started abusing your hole once again as her hands forced your legs open “So be a good little human and compensate me okay?” She managed to say between moans and slurps as she devoured you for the whole night.

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

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Slip Into Me part 2: Crash Into Me✨

QZ! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: I really really love this Joel, and I love @alltheirdamn for letting me scream about these two with her 🩵 QZ! Joel is making me swoon 💕

Summary: After getting caught in the rain, Joel pulls you into his apartment. But you get much more than you bargained for from the brooding, broad man. You might’ve just fell for his chocolate eyes and soft Texas voice.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 12.2k

Chapter Tags: Tension, yearning, teasing, protective and soft Joel, no use y/n, teasing, oral (fem receiving), unprotected piv, cream pie, age gap (female late 20’s, Joel is 50), switching POVs, QZ! Joel

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

  As the weeks go by in the sweltering summer, you start to see Joel Miller everywhere. When you’re organizing and polishing weapons for FEDRA, you sometimes see him walk by. He always looks like he’s on a mission. Furrowed brows, a scowl across his sculpted face, a large hand running through his tousled greying locks, a bite to his words when he’s deep in conversation with one of the FEDRA soldiers. 

   He seems to command people around him, acts as if he is the one ordering them around. You see they listen to him as he bites out a snarl their way, see the way they almost cower and can’t seem to keep eye contact when he’s giving them valuable information. You should be afraid of him, you think, but you’re not. You’re only intrigued more and more every single time you see him snap demands and push people to the edge. 

   He’s strong, broad, dominant. He likes to be in control, loves to push the soldiers to their breaking point like he did with Seth. He knows how to get his way, knows exactly how to play games with FEDRA. 

   He could snap the neck of any man that even tried to get their hands on him or order him around. His menacing gaze is all it takes for them to back off enough, drop whatever argument they try to start. You know this because you’ve been watching him on the streets when you work, stealing glances every second you can when you see the tall, broad man who saved you so many nights ago. Now you’re hooked. 

   You catch his dark brown eyes on you all the time, flicking amber shades your way when he catches you off guard while you’re working. You feel the heat in your cheeks burn hot when his eyes skate down your body, pretending like you don’t even notice. You notice, though. You always notice. 

   His looks aren’t harsh and threatening when he looks at you. His eyes are softer, jaw relaxed when he gazes your way. It calms you, like floating in a crystal clear lake in the middle of a quiet forest. Sometimes he nods your way, brushes against your shoulder as he passes you by on the busy streets, says a few words here and there in the dining hall. It’s like clockwork now, your favorite thing of every day is just to get your eyes on him. Even if it’s just a flicker of his broad shoulders disappearing in a sea of people or a brush of his fingertips in the dinner line.

   Sometimes when you’re focused on sorting through weapons, you can feel his eyes on you. He watches, stares with those hungry brown eyes. You’re not sure what exactly he’s hungry for, but you can tell he’s starving for something, begging for a taste of whatever that may be. 

   You feel his vision burn holes through your skin, feel the sweat glide down your skin when you look up and lock eyes with him. It makes you dizzy, makes you choke on a gasp when he focuses intently on you. He watches you day after day, this much you know. You don’t exactly know why, but maybe he’s trying to be protective, watching you from a distance to make sure you don’t get into any more trouble. You don’t mind. In fact, you prefer him to. Having a handsome, older man looking out for you is the last thing you expected here in the Boston QZ, but it made living here that much better. 

   He sees you shining FEDRA weapons day after day, watches the way you take careful attention to wipe every speck of grime off the sturdy edges of the guns. Sometimes you don’t look up, too busy working to notice him staring your way. 

   He tries not to look, careful to not stare too long, afraid he’ll awaken something he shouldn’t ever feel again. But when you lift your face and catch his eyes, he can’t help but stop and stare for just a few seconds too long. He thinks your eyes are the most beautiful shades of gemstones he’s ever seen, sparkling like glitter when they catch the rays of golden sunlight. 

   He sucks in a breath, clenching his jaw before he turns and gets back to work. He hates to admit that he finds you attractive, glowers at the fact that he cares what happens to you. 

   He shouldn’t dare start the cycle, shouldn’t walk the narrow ledge of developing feelings for a girl, especially a younger, absolutely gorgeous girl like yourself. He’d be a foolish man to even entertain the idea of thinking of you that way. But he’s fucked either way, so why not break his own rules. Hell, he already broke those rules when he fucking dreamt of you the other night. Your body splayed wide across his sheets, sweat collecting like rain over his skin every time he tasted the sweet jasmine scent of you, his lips crowding yours while your nails dragged down his back, your moans filling the shell of his ear with lust and want. 

   He snaps himself out of the moment and continues on with his day, giving you one more flick of his greedy eyes while you watch him walk the opposite way all wide-eyed and intrigued. He’s so fucking stupid for wanting you, but he can’t lie to himself that he’s not interested. Ever since he saved you from that piece of shit Seth, he’s wanted to take care of you. That’s the last thing he needs. Someone else to look after, but maybe he can keep himself away. 

   He chuckles to himself, scoffing at his own arrogance. Of course he can’t stay away, at least not for long. He’s fucking hooked off a girl that wandered into the QZ gates just a few months ago looking for a means to find a home. You didn’t come looking for him, but he sure as hell found you. 

   And now he’s fucked.

   The end of a long work day drags to a close when you scuff your feet over the warm pavement. The sky is murky, dark clouds collecting above you that threaten rain at any second. You make your way down the filthy streets, passing soldiers that brush past you and look you over as if you’re trouble. You just roll your eyes and huff, carrying yourself back to the warmth of your own falling apart apartment walls. At least there FEDRA can’t see you, can’t order you around like they do day after day.

   The humid air fills your lungs, the dark clouds opening up to patter rain down on your tired shoulders. Just a little longer, a few more feet and you’ll be inside. Almost there. Almost. 

   All of a sudden, you collide with a broad chest that feels like a thick brick wall. You gasp, thinking it’s a FEDRA soldier, eyes wide with fear until you look up and find familiar syrupy eyes, softer than the last time you saw them. Joel.

   He clasps a hand around your bicep and stops you dead in your tracks. “Well, look what we got here. In a hurry there, darlin’?” He smiles down at you, a crooked grin splayed across his plush lips, a trail of dust covering the top of his forehead, lines mapped out as he knits his thick eyebrows together. 

   Sheesh. He looks so good.

   “Just heading back home.” You give him a tight-lipped smile, not giving away the heat that builds underneath your warm cheeks. 

   “I see.” His eyes rake up and down your body, just a mere couple seconds. Enough to simmer heat low in your stomach. “You doin’ okay? Seth ain’t givin’ ya anymore trouble, is he?” His jaw ticks just the slightest, irises darkening as he thinks about the night he attacked Seth.

   You shake your head, crossing your arms to taper off the nerves running wildly through your veins. “I’m okay. Just getting by. And no, Seth hasn’t even crossed paths with me since that night he… since you…” Your voice falls off as you swallow the words. Since he saved you.

   He nods his head, a small smirk appearing like he might’ve said something else to Seth without you knowing. You can see him pushing Seth against the wall, his meaty hands wrapped tightly around Seth’s shirt, black eyes narrowing while he bites a sharp demand to stay away from you. And that’s exactly what you think he did. 

   Your eyes grow wide at the realization. He was like a protective watchdog, always ready to snarl his teeth and attack if someone messed with what was his. But you aren’t his, so why did he feel the need to even do that for you?

   His head cocks to the side, a lazy smile sliding across his lips, making his coffee colored eyes shine that much brighter. Jesus. He’s so fucking hot. 

   “Might’ve straightened him out. I’ve been keepin’ an eye on him. Don’t worry ‘bout him. It’s taken care of.”

   You stand there staring, mouth agape like you’ve got a speech impediment, words stumbling out of your mouth like you’re in front of a full gym giving a speech. “Oh. You didn’t have to… I mean, I could’ve handled it.”

   “Didn’t seem like it,” he mutters, dark eyes pooling in your vision as he shifts his weight, the tight denim button-up clinging to strong arms, biceps bulging with every moment he makes in the heat of the day. 

   You groan, biting the inside of your cheek before you say something stupid. He relaxes his jaw and gives you a smirk like he’s up to no good. When you don’t say anything else, he mutters another sentence. “FEDRA keepin’ you on your toes?”

   “How’d you guess?” you huff, eyes locked on his tightly.

   He chuckles and gives you a slight shrug of his broad shoulders. “I’ve seen you around. Workin’ on shining those weapons. See how miserable you look.”

   You gawk at him, unbelief in your wide eyes. “So you’ve been watching me?” You cross your arms and cock your hips, one eyebrow raising as you wait for his answer.

   He pushes his thick fingers through his sweat-filled tousled curls and stutters, ticking his jaw as he looks carefully at you. “No, that’s not… I’ve jus’ seen you around the QZ. That’s all.” He leaves it at that with a disgruntled huff.

   You take your tongue and run it along your bottom teeth, assessing the lie that falls right out of his mouth. You know he’s lying through his teeth. You’ve seen him watching you, day after day. He can’t fool you, but you play along with his little game. “Hmm. Okay then.” He gives you one more cautious look and flexes his fingers, pushing them deep inside his pockets. 

   Before he can say anything else, rain starts pelting down, soaking through your worn t-shirt as you try to cover your hair. “Shit. C’mon, let’s get out of the rain.” He grabs you by your bicep and leads you up his staircase, out of the drizzling rain. You mindlessly follow him, thankful to get out of the soon to be monsoon. And then there you are, standing in his quiet living room, just like that day he took care of you after the FEDRA incident.

   “You want some tea?” he asks as he slams the door, sliding past you as he stalks into the dimly lit kitchen.

   “Ummm yeah, sure,” you answer as you watch him get some tea bags and mugs out of the stained cabinet.

   “Tea ain’t my usual choice, but it sure beats havin’ nothin’. Shit, what I wouldn’t do for a fresh pot of coffee,” he sighs as he starts to boil hot water over the stove.

   You lean against the chipped kitchen counter, twiddling your thumbs nervously as you listen to the rain fall softly on the glass window, your eyes looking up through your long lashes as you watch Joel work. He paces impatiently, tapping his thumb against the worn-out fridge, his denim button-up straining against thick biceps every time he flexes his arms.

   How can he be so hot and dismantled at the same time? It shouldn’t be allowed.

   Gulping, you take a breath and say the first thing that comes to mind. “How did you like your coffee?”

   He turns his head quickly, his threaded eyebrows relaxing slightly, giving you a once over, a move that makes you shiver in place. “Jus’ black.”

   “No creamer?” you smile.

   “Does it look like I like creamer?” He gives you a stern look, but all you can do is shrug and give him a tight-lipped smile to try to alleviate his grumpiness.

   “I dunno. Guess a tough man like you doesn’t like sweet things in their life?” 

   He ticks his jaw and laughs, running a palm down his patchy beard slowly. “Ain’t nothin’ sweet in my life, darlin’.”

   “Would you want something sweet in your life?” Your eyes grow wide at the realization of what you just said. You were basically asking him if he wanted you. What the hell did you do that for?

   His chocolate eyes grow a shade darker as he assesses you, one eyebrow raising in curiosity while his mouth stays in a firm line. 

   Great, now he’s even more grumpy.

   But ever so slowly, he answers with a hint of amusement in his deep voice. “Depends on who’s askin’, I guess.” 

   The room grows silent as you look down at your dirt-covered boots mindlessly, nerves pounding through your skull. When you have the guts to look up again, his eyes are still fixed on you. And suddenly, the room grows ten degrees hotter. 

   You’re about to say something stupid, but he drops his gaze and tends to the tea. Apparently, it started to boil over when sweat pricked the back of your neck after he looked at you like there was fire licking his dark brown irises. 

   You wonder what it’d feel like to lick along his…

   “Here.” Joel interrupts your heated thoughts and hands you a ceramic mug, the warm tea steaming out of the top, surrounding your senses with a hint of citrus and honey. He nods to the table and demands you sit, his eyes swarming yours as he takes a place across from you, a blue mug of his own in his large hand, fingers curled over the sturdy handle.

   You carefully sit against the rickety wooden chair, gently blowing on your tea, cooling it down just like your body needs. Joel puts you on edge, and it’s terrifying that you feel this way about him. You should be very afraid of a man of his stature. He could kill a man in a split second but oddly, that just makes you feel at peace.

   An awkward silence falls over the room, the pelting rain against the window the only noise to save you from your racing thoughts. He saved you, took you in yet again, gave you a place to shelter from the rain, made you tea. You should thank him. You will thank him.

   Taking a generous sip from the citrus flavored tea, you clear your throat and meet his dark eyes with yours. “Umm, thank you, again.”

   “For what?” He sets his cup against the dusty table and shifts his eyes back to yours, something like surprise taking light.

   “For getting me out of the rain and for the tea.”

   He nods his head, and a faint smile shadows his plush mouth. “It was nothin’. Don’t mention it.” A slight grunt leaves his lips when he slides to the back of his chair, his tousled curls moving ever so faintly with the movement. Silver threads line his sandy hair, and you can’t help but to wonder what it’d feel like to run your fingers through it. It probably feels like silk. Smooth and velvety. 

   Rain continues pounding against the brick building, shades of muted greys lining the outside sky, night drawing near. Your eyes shift to the corner of the room, and you notice an old acoustic guitar with worn-out strings, still intact. 

   Leaning forward and nodding to the guitar, you say, “You play?”

   Joel whips his head around and huffs when his knee knocks against the leg of the wooden chair. “Mhm. Played a long time. Found it in an abandoned building out on a run. Figured it needed a new home.”

   Taking a second to assess his calm features, you pry just a little more, clearing the air. “Would you play something?”

   His jaw ticks, threading his eyebrows together in concentration. “You don’t wanna hear me play,” he laughs, shaking his tousled curls in return. 

   “Please?” you whisper gently, making puppy eyes at him, hoping the innocent look can convince him enough. 

   He looks at you intently, his eyes softening just the slightest, flexing his fingers like he’s trying to resist. He wants to resist but ultimately, he ends up giving in when you push him that much further with a small smile.

   “Oh, Christ. Fine. Why the hell not?” He grunts as he raises to his feet, heavy boots dragging over the thick flooring. Watching him grab the rustic guitar and bringing it back to his chair, he collapses and crosses one leg over his knee and positions the guitar securely in his arms. “Jus’ don’t give me a hard time. The guitar’s out of tune, and I’m out of practice,” he scoffs.

   “I would never,” you smile, feeling a blush creep along your cheeks as his eyes flick to yours for just a couple seconds, enough to make your stomach flutter from the contact. 

   He drops his head back down and hums, taking a moment to run his calloused fingers along the thin strings, dust blowing in the low lighting of the dining room. After a beat of silence, he starts strumming, a quiet melody flowing through the room, making a gentle lullaby that could put you to sleep.

   You can’t help but stare in awe as his thick fingers meticulously strum along the cords, each note more beautiful the longer he plays. He’s well experienced, probably played for years before the outbreak, and it makes a small smile curl against your mouth as you watch Joel lose himself to the song. 

   “Future Days” by Pearl Jam. It takes you seconds to recognize it. It’s a song your dad used to play you in his truck. A song that meant a lot to you because it reminded you of the good days. Days where there was no worrying about being killed or mauled by a clicker, only worrying about getting through the days that were filled with sunshine and laughter. Days that weren’t dark and ominous like today.

   But Joel? He seems to light up the room, even through his grumpy demeanor. He’s got a soft side. He’s got passion. And music was clearly a passion of his in a time before this. 

   You can’t describe it, but you love watching him. The slight pinch of his eyebrows, the crease of the deep wrinkles that map along his tanned forehead, and his eyes. Dark chocolate pits that seem to sparkle every once in a while. Like right now. They’re practically glowing and God, they look so beautiful. You wonder what it’s like to drown in those shades of brown. You might just float instead of sink. 

   “Future Days, yeah?” You let the words slip out, his eyes immediately shifting up to yours while his fingers still fluidly strum along the strings.

   His brows pinch together in speculation, his eyes flicking over you in deep assessment. Clearly surprised at the words that just came from your mouth. “You know Pearl Jam?”

   “Of course I do. They’re one of my favorites.”

   He lifts a brow quizzically and looks at you dumbfounded. “Didn’t take you to be the type to like rock music.”

   “Guess you don’t know enough about me to make that sort of judgment, huh?” you banter off, crossing your arms across your chest and giving him a snide smirk in return.

   “I reckon not…” He continues playing quietly, the soft melody floating through your ears like the rolling tides of the ocean, waves crashing through your chest. His deep brown eyes meet yours again and then he just stares, something forming in his glowing irises but yet still leery. He’s not sure about you, but he’s damn curious, that’s for sure. 

   But you’re not far off because you’re more than curious about him. You want to probe deep inside that locked up mind of his. Maybe take a key and pry it open so you can paint a pretty picture in there just so you can see what makes him tick. 

   After a beat of silence, except for the strumming of cords and the pelting of rain, Joel speaks again. “You ever play?”

   You shake your head and smile. “No, always wanted to, though. Never got the chance to before all hell broke loose in the world.”

   “Mmm. I see,” he hums, and then he goes silent again. His eyes still roam over you, maybe even trying to unlock a piece of your mind. That’s what it feels like when he stares at you like that. All deep and intense, like he just might swallow you whole one of these days.

   “You give lessons?” you ask quietly, hoping your question won’t send him pushing you out in the cold rain.

   “Depends on the day. Depends who’s askin.” That’s all you get from him. It’s neither a yes nor a no, but you have a feeling that tiny crack of a smile that’s blooming on his lips means it’s a yes. And you can’t help but feel all warm and tingly from the anticipation of those strong arms around you, guiding your fingers, lips brushing against your cheek, eliciting commands that you just have to obey. 

   Joel Miller is a menace on the streets of the QZ, but deep down he’s got a soft spot. And you think you just might find it. 

   Minutes go by, maybe even an hour. You don’t keep track. All you can focus on is the quiet strum of the guitar, his wandering brown eyes, his hidden smile that peeks out at just the right moments, the deft fingers that guide along the worn strings. You’re hypnotized by him, and you just can’t stop looking at the tall, broad man with pretty eyes. 

   It’s not until he stops playing and sets the guitar against the wall that you see the faint glow of the digital clock reflecting off the black stovetop. Your eyes grow wide, and it doesn’t take long for Joel to see what you’re staring at.

   “Shit. It’s after 7:45 p.m., past curfew,” he murmurs, pushing a hand roughly through his tousled curls like he fucked up big time.

   “Oh no. I completely lost track of time! I’m sorry, I should go.” You push yourself forcefully out of the wooden chair and rush toward the front door. Just as you’re trying to pry it open, Joel pushes hard against it and growls.

   “No!”

   “No?” you ask shocked, standing back to look into those focused dark eyes.

   He sighs and shakes his head. “Y’can’t be caught outside after curfew, remember? FEDRA would have your ass.”

   Taking a moment to compose yourself, you snake your arms across your chest and mewl. “Well, what am I supposed to do?”

   Joel flicks his eyes toward the leather couch and back at you, weighing his options carefully, and then he sighs. “Y’can stay here for the night.”

   Dropping your arms in disbelief, a soft awareness spreads over your surprised face. “Are you sure? I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

   “‘M’sure. And don’t worry ‘bout it, trouble,” he smirks with the flash of his teeth. “Got a spot right over on that couch with your name written on it.”

   You chew your bottom lip and smile. “Guess thanks are in order then.”

   He laughs and stammers out, “Jus’ promise me to try to stay out of trouble, but I know that’s hard for you since your nickname is trouble. Ain’t that right?” A sly smirk spreads across his plush mouth, and an eyebrow ticks up slowly, like he’s calling you trouble all over again. You think it’s your new favorite word when it comes from his mouth.

   “Guess so,” you giggle, flipping your hair behind your shoulder.

   “Umm. I got a spare blanket and pillow y’can use. Let me go grab ‘em.” He leaves the room and leaves you waiting, slowly removing yourself from the entryway and making your way toward the tiny living room. The one with the sunken couch and white curtains that hang loosely around the glass window that leads toward the FEDRA infested streets. You’d rather not look out to see your prisoners that hold you captive in this city, so you divert your attention to the hanging portrait of a painted herd of wild horses that sits above the leather couch. It’s prettier than facing the outside world where nothing but turmoil and death lay. 

   “Here ya go. Hope this’ll do,” Joel says, handing you a fluffy white pillow and a soft beige blanket, warm enough to keep you cozy tonight.

   “Thanks, Joel. Really, I appreciate this more than you know.”

   “It’s really nothin’, darlin’. It’s the least I can do.”

   When your hand brushes against his rough skin, you freeze, gasping at the electric spark that zaps through your fingers. You think he feels it too because he jumps back and stares at the back of his hand, like he just got burned by your touch. 

   Gently laying down the blanket and pillow on the couch, you watch him carefully, mulling about what just happened. It was nothing but yet, it was everything. All it took was one touch, and he fucking set your entire skin on complete fire. 

   Breaking the thick tension, you help deter the awkward silence away. “How long have you been here in the QZ?”

   He looks back up hesitantly, and the flames in his eyes immediately die out. “Too damn long.”

   “How long?” you press.

   “Close to twenty years. Too fuckin’ long,” he scowls, something like anger contorting on the edges of his sculpted jawline. And you get a sense that this was never a home for him. It was just his own personal hell.

   “Oh. That is quite a long time… I can’t imagine being inside these walls that long,” you mumble, afraid to raise your voice beyond a whisper, not wanting to stir up a concoction of grief.

   Was that sadness beyond those deep brown eyes, golden flecks that reflect a hint of sorrow, tragedy, heartbreak? You’d like to know. Maybe one day you can scratch that surface, see what’s really under Joel Miller’s brick walls.

   “Exactly. I can’t imagine anyone bein’ here for even a year, but here we are. Jus’ some slaves to FEDRA. But I won’t let them boss me around. Hell, I boss them around most days,” he growls, a storm of violence in those pools of autumn darkness. “Fuckers can only make me do so much. One of these days I’m jus’ gonna snap.” A crack of thunder makes you nearly jump out of your skin, adding to Joel’s wrath that makes him fume and tick his jaw. He’s angry, as he should be. 

   “I see that. You really don’t take shit from anyone, do you?” You give him a small smile and surprisingly, he gives you one right back.

   “Maybe from Tess, but not anyone else if I can help it,” he chuckles, huffing out a long sigh.

   You shift your weight on the wood beneath your feet and drag your tongue along the roof of your mouth, preparing to ask something you probably shouldn’t. He’ll shut you down, maybe kick you out, have Tess knock some common sense into you. But you just can’t get the fascination and curiosity of what he does out of your head. Smuggling is dangerous, but wouldn’t you be in good hands with Joel? 

   Here goes nothing.

   “So, the smuggling. How’d you get in it?” you press gently.

   His eyebrows raise in response, and a quizzical expression bleeds down his face. “Why do you wanna know?”

   You shrug in response. “Because I’m curious.” 

   Keen eyes stare you down, and his jaw clenches at the words. “Well, you don’t jus’ pick that field. They place you there. If they think you’re good, strong, slick. If you can show ‘em you’re trustworthy enough, jus’ like a fuckin’ watchdog, then they’ll be breathin’ down your neck for you to smuggle for them.”

   “Sounds… interesting.”

   He chuckles, shaking his head in agitation. “Ain’t really interestin’ to be under watch of those lowlife scums they call soldiers. What’s interestin’ is gettin’ the fuck out of these gates. Bein’ out there in nature away from their hateful glares is what’s fuckin’ interestin’. You stay in these gates too long and you start to go a little insane.” He huffs, scuffing his weathered boot along the wooden floor in irritation, his eyes lit up like onyx flames.

   Clearly, he isn’t a fan of his job, but that doesn’t deter you from wanting to learn a thing or two from him. “Could you teach me?”

   His jaw goes slack, and his eyes widen at the question. “What kind of question is that? Didn’t you hear what I jus’ said?”

   “I heard you just fine. But I’m being serious, Joel! I want to learn!” you mewl, crossing your arms and jutting out your bottom lip like you’re pouting. You’re being ridiculous, but how else are you going to show him you really want this?

   “Nah, sweetheart. You’re too—”

   “I’m too what?” you spit, turning your head and pursing your lips tightly together.

   “You’re weak and you’re slow,” he boldly states, not even caring if he thinks that’ll hurt your feelings. He obviously doesn’t care.

   “Then teach me!” you stomp, throwing your arms down at your sides and balling your fists, just like a child who wants their way.

   “Teach you? Are you high?” he chortles, pressing his fingers against his temples in frustration.

   You take two steps forward and curl your fingers against the bottom of his denim button-up, desperate for a yes. But he pries them off and pushes your hand away. “Joel, please! I want to know how to defend myself, how to fight, how to survive. Show me how to do that.”

   He scoffs and shakes his head no. “You don’t know what you’re askin’, sweetheart.”

   “Yes, I do. Come on, please?” you beg, putting on the big puppy dog eyes, hoping that’ll be enough to persuade him.

   “I said no. It’s too dangerous,” he states with finality in his deep tone.

   “And this entire world isn’t?”

   Joel flinches and gives you a stern look. “Jus’ quit askin’.”

   You sigh loudly and groan. “Fine. If I find myself pinned against a wall by a soldier again because I couldn’t defend myself then I—” That seems to get his attention, and something changes in the light of his dark eyes. Something snaps, and he stands a little taller, his spine fully straight. 

   “Take out your knife,” he murmurs lowly, his husky voice almost coming off as a growl.

   “What?” Your eyes widen, and you’re shocked he’s saying yes in his own way.

   “Take. Out. Your. Knife.” He accentuates every syllable, snarling the words like he’s giving you an order. 

   “How do you know I still have the knife you gave me?” you question him, your tongue prodding at the inside of your cheek, eyes slightly narrowed in challenge. You shouldn’t challenge the Joel Miller, but it could be fun.

   “Take out the goddamn knife if you want to learn so badly. I know you have it. I can see it in the outline of your jeans.” He nods to the curve of the small knife in your front right pocket. Of course he’d notice that. He has the eyes of a panther. 

   “Oh, right,” you mutter, digging the balls of your feet into the floor, your fingers hovering over the pocket.

   “Well, we ain’t got all night, trouble. C’mon then.” He curls his fingers, demanding the knife, dark eyebrows furrowed together and his plush lips in a tight line.

   “What do you want me to do with it?” you ask, grabbing the end of the bronze pocket knife and pulling it free.

   “I want you to take it from me,” he states simply, like it’s as easy as writing your name in pencil.

   “Take it from you?” you scrunch your forehead together in question. That’d be too easy, wouldn’t it? 

   “That’s right. Take. It. C’mon now. Don’t be shy. Show me what you got,” he beckons, egging you on. Before you know what’s coming, he snatches it out of your curled hand, not even giving you a moment to flinch. 

   Shit, he’s fast. Just like lightning. 

   “Hey!” you shout, sweeping your arm out in front of you to try to steal it back. He steps back and wags the blade in your face, grinning a mile wide as he taunts you on.

   “Gonna have to try harder than that, trouble,” he teases, smirking devilishly your way as if this will make you snap.

   You shake your head and scoff, laughing under your breath. “You want trouble?”

   “Yeah, I really do,” he chuckles, tossing the knife in the air and snatching it back in a second. 

   “I’ll give you trouble, Miller,” you glare with narrowed eyes.

   His eyes darken with fire flecks glinting in his eyes, and he’s practically smoldering. He curls a thick finger his way and coaxes you forward. “Oh, I know. I’m counting on it,” he muses.

   And that does it. Those fucking heated brown eyes send you forward, nearly barreling into him, but he moves out of the way effortlessly, leaving you to run into the chipped counter. 

   “Nice try, sweetheart. You can be quicker than that though,” he jostles, tapping the edge of the bronze blade against his dark jeans.

   You huff and jump at him, curling your fingers around the end of his denim button-up just as he moves away. You lose your grip and tumble forward, almost tripping on the blue rug by the broken coffee table. When you get your feet underneath you again, you let out a frustrated growl. “Give it, Joel,” you demand.

   “Come. Get. It,” he bites out, flashing his teeth as a smug grin cakes his face. He’s having so much fun with this that it starts to get under your skin. One more wicked smirk and you bare your teeth and go lunging for him. 

   Just as you reach out and skim the blade, his body collides with yours, and then he pushes you against the peeling white wall, locking his arms tightly around you and caging you in, to the point where there’s nowhere to go. You’re stuck, trapped against his heavy weight, and you suddenly feel so vulnerable and breathless.

   “That’s not fair,” you choke out, your meek voice betraying you.

   “Not fair, huh?” he chuckles, slipping his hands closer to you, skimming the outer edges of your shoulders, the heat penetrating past the cotton of your layers as he slides down to the curve of your hips, pressing just enough to make heat rise like a tidal wave in your chest. 

   Oh, God. He’s so warm, and the way his broad chest feels against yours sends sparks shooting down your nerve endings. He’s so close that you can practically taste the sweat of his tanned skin. His lips probably taste like sunshine and sweet tea. And as you breathe him in, you swear you can almost feel him inside you, right where you need him most. 

   “You’re not playing fair,” you pout, mesmerized by the curl of his smirk, his mustache shadowing over his plush lips. 

   Whiskey. That’s it. That is what you’d taste if his lips decided to meet yours. And you want it, the rush of him kissing you. You need it desperately. You might just die if you can’t have just one taste. 

   He chuckles and twirls the edge of the blade around a loose strand of hair, making you gulp at the slow motions of the bronze weapon. “You think a soldier is gonna play fair with you? You think a raider is gonna go easy on ya? You think anyone is gonna let you off jus’ like that?”

   His dark eyes bore into yours, and there’s nothing playful about his gaze. Not this time because he’s trying to teach you this world isn’t kind, and you can’t always take the easy route out. “No…” you whisper, letting your eyes drop to the ground, right by his leather boots. 

   “No, they ain’t.” He tips the cool bronze end of the blade under your chin and pulls your gaze up to his, his eyes lighter and full of onyx shards that nearly have your heart in your throat. “Now try again.”

   You push him off you with a huff, banging your fists on his broad chest like that’ll do you any good. He barely flinches, only chuckles in amusement.

   “You think this is funny?” you scoff.

   “Maybe,” he laughs, tossing the knife back and forth while he stares at you with humor glinting in those dark eyes of his. 

   “Oh? What’s so funny, tough guy?” You reach out and swipe through the air, barely missing the handle of the knife. 

   Shit. 

   Another chuckle leaves his lips, and he just shakes his head in enjoyment. “You,” he answers plainly with a smile.

   “Me?!” you scream, trying your best not to lose control.

   “Yes, you. Think you’re so tough, but you’re jus’ a feisty little pussycat, ain’t ya?” he teases, throwing the knife out of reach while you work to slip your fingers around it, but it’s too far away.

   “I’m not a pussycat,” you seethe, your lips pursed in anger at the crude name.

   “Sure act like one. All teeth and paws, but you can’t even get a lick of a mark on me. Can you, pussycat?” The flicker of amber crosses his irises as he smirks at you with trouble written all over the creases around his eyes. He wants to get under your skin because he thinks this is fun. But all it’s doing is making you mad as hell. 

   “I’m not a cat,” you spit with venom on your tongue. “I can take you,” you challenge.

   A smirk curls over his mouth and his eyes lace with darkness. “Show me what you got then, trouble. Show me those sharp claws you got. Come. Get. Me. Pussycat.” 

   The taunting words out of his mouth start a fire in you, and then you snap from irritation. You go full force on him, punching your arms and clawing right and left, but he averts from your advances each time. 

   “Y’can do better than that, pussycat. Don’t fuckin’ hold back when I know that feral cat is deep inside you,” he taunts, his strong body zipping around the little space between the dining room and living room.

   “Give it,” you growl, eyes slitting with anger fuming from your body. 

   “Then take it,” he barks.

   You lash out again, Joel ducking and reflecting off each movement you give him. It’s like he knows exactly what move you’ll make next, like he knows everything before you can even think. And it’s frustrating when you know you have no chance at getting your knife back, unless he hands it over, which he won’t. Joel Miller doesn’t give up but neither do you. 

   Thunder cracks against the gloomy sky. And when he turns his head to look out the foggy window, you see your opening right there. Your body moves, your leg kicking out, trying to make him topple to the ground, but you’re too slow. His head whips around and instead of him falling, it’s you. 

   His foot catches the inside of your ankle, and he smiles as victory flashes across those dark brown eyes. You tumble down, your body free falling for only a second until you’re met with the harsh kitchen table colliding against your back. You grunt, pain radiating through every bone in your body like you just got knocked off a horse. 

   Joel’s broad body crawls on top of you, his hands snaking their way around your wrists and pinning them high above your head, to where you can’t move. The bronze knife falls to the table with a loud clatter, but you can’t wiggle free to get it. You’re completely and utterly stuck because Joel’s entire weight is pressed firmly against yours.

   Your eyes widen into large domes, your mouth suddenly as dry as a desert because this beast of a man is hovering over you, and it shouldn’t be erotic at all, but it’s hot as hell. You’re equally terrified and turned on at the same time. 

   “Like I said, darlin’. Slow and weak. Gonna have to work on that, won’t we? Pussycat.” A devilish smirk curls against his lips, and his eyes are lit with fire. The kind that’s dangerous and tempting, that’ll maybe burn you alive.

   You try your best to kick him where it’ll hurt, but he pins your leg down with his knee, glueing you in place to his large body. “I’m not a cat,” you snarl, bucking your hips up, but you’re only met with the leather of his belt and something that feels a lot like his cock hardening. You gulp at the realization and cower back down.

   “Maybe not. But you could be. All cute and feisty tryin’ to fight. Shit, might jus’ be a new nickname for you. But I think trouble fits you better,” he smirks proudly at the name he branded just for you.

   “You think I’m… cute?”

   His jaw slackens and the smug smirk is gone in a flash. Maybe he didn’t realize what he was doing, but he was definitely flirting with you. And maybe you invited that, kept it going, but the way he’s looking at you all soft and lost, just like a homesick puppy, is almost swoon-worthy.

   “No. I uhhh… that’s not what I was tryin’ to say,” he stutters, licking his bottom lip slowly as his eyes swirl with hesitation.

   “But you just said…”

   “Enough. I was jus’ tryin’ to teach you a lesson. That’s all.”

   “I see…” A hint of a smile meets your lips because a red blush stains his cheeks at the question. He’s flustered, just like you are.

   His tight grip doesn’t let up on your wrists, his broad body still laying on top of yours, hovering like a buzzing bee, his heart racing a mile an hour. You know because his fast breaths are mixing with yours as thick tension fills the air like the fog clouding the outside of the living room window.

   His eyes flick down to your lips, his golden flecked irises swirling with something like desire. Maybe he wants to kiss you. You think you’d let him because the thought of having his plush lips melded to yours makes butterflies flit through your stomach and other places you don’t want to think about. 

   He shifts his eyes back to yours, and your body hums with need. Those syrupy brown eyes could bring you down to your knees. God, they’re so beautiful under the dim light of the dining room, making them look like molten lava and painted sunsets on the beach. You could just drown in them if he’d let you. 

   He’s struggling, his body tight and his breath ragged, fighting something he doesn’t understand. You almost think he’ll kiss you by the way his eyes flick back and forth undecidedly. Joel Miller may not be weak, but he’s got something in that thick head of his that’s weak for you. 

   “Joel?” you whisper, watching the way his eyes widen when they stare waveringly at your mouth.

   His jaw clenches into a tight fist and then he’s climbing off you, freeing your wrists from their restraints, leaving you feeling empty and breathless with a need that thirsts to be quenched. 

   “I uhhh, got a shower. Y’can use it if you want,” he murmurs quickly, like he’s in a hurry to get away from the heat of the room because it’s stifling in this moment. And the way he was looking at you just a few seconds ago? It was like he wanted you. And maybe he does. Maybe, just maybe…

   “Ummm, yeah. Thanks,” you mumble, collecting your bearings as you smooth your shirt out, the inside of your thighs burning with desire. Joel lit a spark in you, and it set your core ablaze like fire.

   “Towels are in the first cabinet on the left. Jus’ help yourself.” He threads his fingers through his disheveled hair, nervously pulling at the strands like he’s in pain, like he’s fighting something.

   “Joel?” you ask again, calling his name like it’s the only name you know.

   “Yeah?” His voice is deep, clipped, like he wants to run far far away from you.

   “So. Does this mean you’ll teach me?” 

   His eyes linger on you for just a second too long, and the tick in his jaw tightens as he thinks it through. Eventually, he nods with a tight-lipped smile. “Consider that your first lesson. We’ll go again tomorrow.”

   “Really?” A large smile covers your face, and your eyes light up with glee.

   “Mhm. Don’t make me regret it. Goodnight, trouble.” He disappears through the thresholds of his room, leaving you standing in the middle of the hall, waiting for what? Something, but his door stays shut tight.

   You sigh and make your way into the bathroom, flipping on the lights. It’s a simple layout. Cracked tiles in the shower, a tan shower curtain, a small ceramic sink with a fading countertop, stained white walls with small water leak marks on top of the ceiling, a rugged blue mat in front of the tub. Slightly better than your rundown bathroom. 

   After finding a folded white towel in the cabinet and turning the faucet of the shower, you strip your worn clothes and step in, letting the grime and sweat wash down the drain in a swirl of sudsy soap. It feels weird being in Joel’s shower, but you’re grateful anyways. He could’ve said no, could’ve kicked you out, but he didn’t. He did the unspeakable. 

   He let you stay. 

   After relaxing for several minutes under the warm spray of the shower head, you cut the water and dry off, squeezing all the leftover water droplets from your clean hair, brushing your fingers through the tangled mess. 

   When you take a step out of the shower and onto the now damp rug, you freeze. There, right on the edge of the counter, is a folded up navy colored t-shirt that wasn’t there before your shower. Your eyebrows pinch together, questions rolling through your wide eyes. You didn’t hear him open the door, not when you were under the noisy shower head. 

   As you pick it up, you see it’s long enough to fall past your knees, and it’s soft and smells like Joel. A hint of pinewood and smoke lathering in the cotton of the material. You inhale his scent, breathing deeply in before you slip it over your head, the cool cotton molding to your body like a weighted blanket. All warm and cozy and his. 

   But why did he leave this for you? He could’ve left you to throw on your sweat-drenched clothes from earlier, could’ve given you some old ratty thing. But he didn’t. 

   Shaking your head in disbelief, you let the door click open with the twist of the doorknob and step out, your eyes falling on his closed door like you could walk right through it, breaking every barrier down he had built against him. But instead, you decide to retreat to the couch and snuggle into the thick blanket, the worn leather sticking to your clean skin, your head hitting the pillow in just the right spot.

   Visions of Joel flood through your mind the moment you close your eyes, remembering the intense knife lesson, his broad body hovering over yours, his dark eyes staring directly into your soul, tempting you to mold your lips to his. He wanted to kiss you, at least you think. And maybe you should’ve helped him take that leap, but you didn’t. And that’s your downfall you’ll always regret. 

   Sighing deep against the fluffy pillow, you toss and turn until you fall asleep. The soft pitter patter of the rain lulling you into a deep sleep after a brutal day in the heat. The last thing you see before you slip into darkness is the color of mahogany eyes haunting your mind.

   Joel tosses and turns, letting the slick sheets wrap around his legs, groaning against the mixed feelings that swirl around his conflicted mind. You. You’re the reason he can’t sleep or think straight. All he sees are the flashes of your pretty eyes, eyelashes batting against the deep blush that painted your cheeks crimson when he was hovering over you on the kitchen table, your wrists constricted around his fingers, just a breath away from his mouth meeting your glossy lips.

   He groans and lets the palms of his hands dig into the socket of his eyes, muttering curses under his breath. He doesn’t get feelings, doesn’t get wrapped around pretty girls’ fingers, but you have him wrapped tight like a noose around his neck, one step away from tipping over the edge to his death. 

   He can’t help himself, can’t fight off the way he wants you so fucking badly that he can hardly stand it. He shouldn’t want you, but here he is like a whiny dog begging for attention. He wants you to want him like he wants you. And maybe you already do. He doesn’t fucking know anymore.

   He should’ve never saved you from Seth, but he’d never forgive himself if he let Seth lay one more finger on you. And then he invited you inside to shield you from the rain, offered to let you stay, kept you past curfew when he knew this would happen. He should’ve sent you off to Tess’s apartment, but he didn’t. He didn’t do one goddamn thing that he should’ve. 

   And now you’re trapped like a fly under his watch. Because now… he’s never going to let another man touch you. Not under his radar. Not ever. Unless it’s him…

   It’s only a few steps from his bedroom to the couch, would only take a second to brush his palm down your cheek, let his mouth envelop yours, only a breath away from wrapping you so tightly around his tired body that you’ll never be able to let go.

   He’s being selfish, but he can’t help it. He fucking wants you, but only time will tell if he’ll fully give in to what he truly needs.

   You…

   A loud clap of thunder stirs you from your deep sleep, nearly sending you tumbling off the edge of the sunken leather couch. Another big boom explodes across the dark night sky and has you tossing the blanket aside. Your stiff body shakes from the thrashing storm as you push yourself off the faded couch, rubbing the sleep from your tired eyes. 

   You pull back the torn curtain and fix your eyes on the blackness of the storm, large lightning strikes splitting across the sky, reflecting off the foggy glass. Your slow breaths fill the room, your finger sliding down the windowpane, condensation dripping down the clear glass. You never were a huge fan of thunderstorms, unless they were calm. Slow, gentle rain storms were always something you loved but this? Well, it certainly had you on edge. 

   You spend the next few minutes pacing across the wooden floors, taking caution not to be too loud, not wanting to wake Joel up. You can’t sleep, can’t process that you’re in his apartment, in his shirt. 

   God, you really hope he doesn’t walk through that closed door because the only thing you’re wearing right now is his shirt and your lacy panties. Even though the length of the shirt covers your thighs, you still feel completely vulnerable and bare. 

   Chewing the edges of your long nails, you pace back and forth nervously against the wooden floorboards, careful not to step on a creaky spot. The thunder claps through the sky, startling you once again. You jump back with a jolt and hit the side of the coffee table, catching yourself from falling face down to the floor. But before that happens, you step on a particularly noisy wooden plank and an ear-splitting groan carries through the entirety of the room, alarming anyone who’s mere feet away of your mistake. 

   Shit.

   And in less than ten seconds, Joel’s door pops open with a squeak and out slips Joel. Your eyes widen at the picturesque view that stands in front of you. You gulp and step back, taking in the broadness of his entire body, like it was being displayed in a fucking art gallery. 

   His tousled curls are disheveled and pushed back, making his deep brown eyes somehow brighter, like the midnight moon. A short sleeved white t-shirt clings to his bulky arms, the large veins cascading and spidering down the entirety of his tanned arms. His grey sweatpants hang low on his hips, one hand shoved deep inside his pocket, the other running smoothly through his greying locks. 

   You’d be lying to yourself if you said you felt nothing for him because right now, your heart is thundering loudly in your chest just by standing in his presence, wearing his t-shirt. And suddenly, you feel exposed and completely naked. 

   “Thought I heard something in here. You alright?” he asks carefully, eyes locking like a magnet with yours.

   You gulp and push a lock of hair behind your ear nervously. “I’m fine. Just the storm woke me up, and I couldn’t go back to sleep. I’m sorry if I woke you, I didn’t mean to,” you press, fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of his shirt that clings like static to your clammy skin. 

   He holds out a palm to silence you, but he only shakes his head and laughs quietly. The sound reverberates down your body like music. “S’alright, darlin’. Didn’t wake me up. Wasn’t having much luck sleepin’ anyways.”

   “Oh, I see.” Your hands clamp together behind your back in a nervous fit of jitters, your mouth suddenly as dry as a desert. 

   Why the fuck are you so nervous? He’s just a guy, but then again he’s not. He’s Joel Miller, and there’s nothing remotely average about him. 

   “The couch comfortable enough? I know it ain’t much, but it’s the best I got,” he drawls, flexing his bicep each time he runs his thick fingers through his soft curls, making you nearly pant at the sight of the ripped muscles pulling at the edges of his t-shirt. 

   “It’s perfect, Joel. Seriously, you didn’t have to let me stay.”

   He chuckles and sighs slowly. “Like I said, it’s no trouble.”

   “Thank you.”

   Shaking his head slowly, he replies, “Gotta stop thanking me, sweetheart.”

   “And for letting me shower and borrow your shirt. You really didn’t have to.” Your fingers pick at the frayed edges of the t-shirt, your eyes widening when you see his dark eyes roam the expanse of your body, flicking his gaze up and down your legs at an extremely slow pace, your cheeks burning with redness seeping in. 

   You don’t know why, but his smoldering stare sets your core completely on fire. 

   “Again, don’t mention it. And uhhh… it looks better on you.” You nearly choke on the words that just slipped free from his lips, like it was all casual and not a compliment. He basically just told you how good you look in his clothes. And that in itself makes your insides smother with need. 

   “You didn’t have to, you know,” you laugh, eyes peeling to the floor, a nervous flutter kicking inside your chest. 

   “But I really did…”

   Your eyes snap back up to his, tension forming like the thick fog that covers the windows. And suddenly, the room feels much hotter than it should be. Almost like a suffocating sauna.

   He takes a step forward, the floorboards creaking beneath him, and then he takes another, one step closer to you. His eyes flick down your legs once more, his golden brown irises glistening with something like mischief and fire igniting with every glimpse of your skin. 

   The scent of pine cones and autumn permeate throughout the still air, igniting your heightened senses, kicking them into overdrive the closer he gets to you. His smoldering eyes rake over your body, a smug smile tugging at his plush lips, and there’s trouble written all over that smug look. The kind of trouble you wouldn’t mind falling into. 

   Thunder crashes outside, making you jump at the sudden explosion of the raging storm, putting you on edge even more than when Joel walked into the room.

    “You scared of storms?” he asks quietly, eyeing you closely, eyes roaming down your bare legs in slow motion, lurching your heart in your throat.

   “No,” you barely mouth, gulping as you watch his hand rake down his patchy beard slowly, his eyes devouring your skin. Fire burns hot in your core the longer you watch him. Maybe he’ll pounce, put the fire out himself or make it burn ten times hotter.

   “You sure ‘bout that?” He smirks, lighting the fire into a full on inferno. You’re burning.

   Another step closer, thunder vibrating in the dark sky behind you, his breath fanning warmly across your face, conjuring feelings that shouldn’t even be blooming in the first place.

   “I said I’m not scared,” you mutter courageously, holding your breath, scared of what you might smell if he takes one step closer.

   “Then why are ya shakin’?” He takes two more slow steps toward you, prowling like a starving wolf, ready to sink his sharp teeth into the side of your neck. 

   “I’m not.” But that’s a damn lie. You might as well be shaking the entire floor with the way you’re shuddering violently in place.

   Another step and then he’s toe to toe with you, the smell of mahogany and pine trees invading your body, making you want to just melt into the fragrance of his scent. 

   He smells like honeydew and a warm summer’s day. And you’re fucking addicted.

   “You are. Fuckin’ tremblin’, sweetheart.” You audibly gasp when he brushes a lock of hair behind your ear, lingering his fingers slowly down your jawline, pulling out need and yearning like you’re dying for just a drop of his taste, his tongue.

   “I’m not scared of the storm…” you answer calmly, your voice giving away with how badly you need him. 

   God, you want him. Almost as badly as you want to be out of the QZ.

   “Then what? You afraid of me?” He cups your chin and lifts your eyes up to his, pulling out a sound that almost sounds like a moan. He chuckles at that. You’re so embarrassed.

   “No…” you murmur, your voice deceiving you once again. 

   “Well, ya should be,” he smiles, his honey eyes turning into deep black pits, making you want to drown in his dark pools of lust. 

   “Why’s that?” you whisper, voice cracking when his other hand pulls you by the waist, your body flush with his broad chest.

   “‘Cause you scare the hell out of me,” he states with a sharpness to his deep timbre. 

   “But I didn’t do anything…” you mewl, too scared to back up, not wanting to break the thick tension that permeates like fire around the room.

   Another crack of thunder makes you jump, but he only pulls you tighter, his warmth coursing through your entire body. 

   “‘Course you did. Comin’ around here with those big, beautiful eyes. Tryin’ to sweeten up my life. Causin’ a bunch of ruckus and trouble. Who gave you the right, huh?” he asks accusingly; his voice soft but ravenous.  

   Your eyes widen at the meaning of his words. He called you beautiful. “Joel… I’m not trying to...”

   “Ya are. And I won’t stand for it. Won’t stand a goddamn second of it. Now c’mere and fix the mess you started.” 

   Before you can say anything, he cups the back of your neck and pulls your mouth to his. He crashes his lips desperately against yours, knocking the breath clear out of your lungs. It’s not soft or slow, it’s reckless and electrifying as you match his energy and kiss him in the same starving-like way. 

   You part your lips and let him slot in. His tongue dances wildly with yours, a sultry tango that spins out of control. You wrap your arms tightly around the back of his neck and he picks you up and wraps your legs around his hips, pinning you against the crumbling walls while you moan desperately into his mouth. 

   He takes his lips off yours for just a breath, enough to pant out a series of serenaded words. “Christ, you taste better than a cold glass of whiskey. Might have to brand you as my new favorite flavor, trouble.” He clashes his mouth back on yours, moans bleeding into each other like the whiskey that burns through his bloodstream.

   “Joel, need—” you whine between thunderous kisses.

   “Know what you need, sweetheart. Don’t worry. Gonna take real good care of ya, babygirl.” You moan at the name babygirl and let him whisk you away to his bedroom. 

   The door crashes against the wall as he barrels through the room, throwing you on his large bed, your fingers brushing against the cool sheets. He hovers over your body, eyes marinated in complete darkness, dying to sink his teeth in your skin.

   “You look mighty pretty in my t-shirt, sweetheart. But you’re gonna look even better when you’re completely naked in my bed.” You pant as he rips the t-shirt over your head, tossing it on the floor in a heap, leaving you in nothing but your lacy panties that are completely ruined. 

   “Jesus Christ,” he groans, taking his large hand and slowly dragging his fingertips down your body, slowly making his way between your breasts, down to the waistband of your panties. “Fuckin’ beautiful.” 

   You buck your hips up to try to get friction, and he just chuckles as he leans over and hovers his large body over yours, slipping his white t-shirt off until his hairy, bare chest is flush with your skin, igniting your nerve endings like the lightning that strikes the dark sky outside. 

   His mouth suctions to your collarbone, sliding up to ravish your neck, sucking and biting till you pant his name out, his fingertips trailing over your core. You suck in a breath when he takes his thumb and slides it between your clothed folds, rubbing light circles over your clit. 

   “J—Joel,” you gasp, a fresh wave of slick covering the lace with the friction he’s giving you.

   “S’that right, darlin’? Haven’t even gotten these off you, and you’re already fuckin’ drippin’ for me,” he smirks, teasing his fingers beneath your waistband, making you practically beg with your wide eyes and open mouth. 

   “T—take them off, please,” you whine, thrashing beneath his hold, begging for more. You want more, need more. 

   “That what you want?” he smirks, lust-filled eyes black as midnight, feasting those deep pits right on you, threatening to swallow you whole.

   “Y—yes,” you choke out, gulping when he brushes over your clit again, eliciting more slick in your lace. 

   He smirks devilishly up at you while he drops to his knees on the rickety floor, pulling you to the edge of the bed. You gasp when he takes his time pulling your panties down, savoring your naked body under the moonlight, licking his lips when he sees you bare and writhing for him, your slick reflecting in his glassy irises. 

   “Goddamn it. You’re so wet for me, sweetheart. C’mere.” He gives you no time to comment back until his large tongue is flat against your slick core, slowly licking a thick strip up the entirety of you. 

   “Ohhh,” you moan while he meticulously circles your puffy bundle of nerves, eyes blown wide at the mere bliss he’s giving you. 

   “Taste so fuckin’ good. Like sweet, sticky honey. Fuck.” He growls as he slips two thick fingers inside your dripping hole, caking his fingers in slick while he makes out with your puffy clit.

   You thread your fingers through his tousled curls, hear him groan as you rake your fingernails against the crown of his head. And when he hits that spot, you arch your back as he repeatedly curls his fingers against the spongy, sweet spot inside that you can never reach yourself. Your eyes roll back into your head, your body humming with electricity. And soon you’re every single lightning strike that flashes in the cold, rainy night. He’s the thunder that crashes through your veins, bringing you to life with every flick of his tongue and motion of his experienced fingers. 

   You’re right on the edge of coming undone, your hips writhing beneath him, slick covering his thick beard. The sight makes you want to spill right there just by looking at the glistening slick sticking to his beard, his mustache, his lips. And God, you fucking love the sight of him covered in you. 

   “Joel, I’m gonna—”

   “C’mon, baby. Come for me. Cover me, spill for me. Wanna taste jus’ what I do to you,” he growls, releasing his fingers and filling you with his tongue instead. He tongue fucks you fast and hard, making you snap as the feeling takes you over the edge.

   “Joellll—” you cry out, feeling the white-hot heat slide down your body, releasing a flood of arousal and slick against his mouth, covering him in your orgasm. He slowly laps it up like it’s the breath of life, consuming all of you until there’s nothing left between your thighs except his thick fingers and warm tongue. And then you’re nothing more than the glistening raindrops that pelt the side of the bedroom window softly. 

   “That’s my good girl,” he praises, crawling over you, crowding his sweat-covered body with your own, slowly lifting your legs over his shoulders. You have no argument, can barely speak, but you need him like you need air to breathe. 

   “Joel—need you. Need you to…” He stops you right there, smirking when he starts to pull his grey sweatpants lower. Dark coarse hairs appear, and you choke on a gasp when you feel just how hard and big he is against your thigh. 

   “Shh. Save your breath, trouble. Gonna need it for what I’m about to do to you next.” He smirks like the handsome devil he is, his pupils blown as he stares at you like his next meal. 

   His grey sweatpants and black boxers fall to the floor, and your mouth drops open as his thick, hard cock springs free against his soft tummy. He’s massive. Deep veins twist around the underside of his cock, his tip angry, red, and leaking precum. He’s so fucking beautiful from his glowing dark eyes, to his disheveled hair, to his broad body, and to his giant cock. 

   He’s all just so fucking perfect, and you want him to be yours. 

   “You gonna keep starin’ with your mouth wide open, sweetheart?” he teases, taking his tip and smothering it over your folds, collecting more slick as you groan beneath his touch.

   “Maybe,” you giggle, grinding your pussy against his tip, begging him to take you. 

   “You want this, sweetheart? Want me?” he asks softly, staring down at you with vibrant chocolate eyes, golden flecks glittering bright under the moonlight from the window. 

   “Yes, want you, Joel. Please, take me. I’m yours.”

   He smiles  and then he crashes his lips down on yours, smothering you in him. He pushes inside you slowly, stretching you out like you’ve never been stretched, moaning into his open mouth as he starts to rock back and forth, thrusting as deep as he can go inside you until you feel him bottom out.

   Pretty soon Joel’s matching your moans, an exchange of pleasure coursing through your bloodstreams. He feels like heaven each time he claims you with his cock, rutting deeper and deeper until you can feel him everywhere inside you. It’s a euphoric bliss, thunder crashing outside the window, lightning tearing through your veins.

   Joel Joel Joel. He’s all you feel, all you see, all you hear. He’s everything all at once. The missing piece you’ve desperately been searching for your entire life.

   “You feel so perfect, sweetheart. Takin’ me so well. Want you to come again. Come for me, baby,” he coos, teeth clenching with every deep thrust he gives you.

   “Ohh,” you moan when he takes the pad of his thumb and starts circling your puffy clit, putting just the right amount of pressure where you feel it the most. 

   “Come on my cock, babygirl. Let me feel you. Fuck. Squeezin’ me so tight,” he grits out, your walls clenching tight around his thick length. You scream out his name as you come undone around him, your release drenching his cock as you squeeze him. 

   “Atta fuckin’ girl,” he praises, his dark eyebrows threading together as he concentrates to hold on. “Where do you want me, baby? Not gonna last much—longer,” he seethes, teeth clenched from his own building release.

   “Inside me,” you whine out, panting.

   He speeds up his thrusts faster and faster, and then he spills his warm seed inside you, both of your moans crescendoing together like a symphony of rolling thunder. He takes his time slipping out of you, dragging his release between your thighs. He grabs a towel from the bathroom and cleans you up, then pulls you toward the head of the bed until both of you are collapsed, panting breaths and glossy eyes staring back at one another.

   You both just lay there for minutes, bolts of lightning lighting up his beautiful, sweat-covered skin, igniting fire in his onyx eyes. He almost looks ethereal, so flawless that no one could touch him. But you touched him, and he lit you up like a thousand galaxies colliding straight into your heart. 

   Another moment passes and then he’s softly tracing the pads of his calloused fingertips across your cheek, mapping lines that connect right back to him. 

   “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers out, brushing a loose strand behind your ear as softly as the rain that patters lightly against the window. 

   “You think so?” you ask quietly, eyes wide and mouth dropped open the moment the word beautiful slipped off his tongue.

   He takes the pad of his thumb and runs it along your bottom lip, gently humming in response. “Yes, sweetheart. So beautiful,” he repeats, the words sounding like melodic music to your ears.

   “Joel, I—like you,” you say bravely, your fingers tracing the coarse hair on his broad chest.

   “And I like you. A lot,” he smiles, eyes melting into a warm, syrupy color. One you want to drown in.

   “Enough to be mine?” you whisper out meekly, afraid of what he’ll say.

   “Sweetheart… I’ve wanted you from the moment I set eyes on you. Wanted you the minute you stepped foot into my apartment that first time. Wanted you the second those beautiful eyes of yours tore open my soul.” His soft brown eyes are tearing your walls down, and you’re stunned in awe.

   “You… want me?” you breathe out, breathless.

   “Oh, sweetheart,” he chuckles, tracing heart shapes on your skin. “There’s not a second I don’t want you. You’re mine. Now c’mere.” He pulls you to him, his lips colliding with yours, and then you slip into the softness of him, tangling your body with his until you’re one.

   When the kiss ends, he keeps you against his warm chest, his hand running lazily through your hair, his lips brushing against your forehead. You get lost in his warmth, in his musk, in his woodsy scent that you revel in. He’s everywhere, surrounding you, melding into your soul. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. 

   You’re falling hard, fast, but he’ll catch you. Every brush against your skin just solidifies that, his lips making it official. You’re mine. His deep timbre lingers in your mind, and then you’re falling into a deep sleep in his arms while the rain soothes you into bliss.

[stabortega]

NO SURPRISES — CHAPTER ONE

Summary: Jenna never thought that she would be paying the bills of the videographer from her next movie.

Pairings: Jenna Ortega x Fem!G!P!Reader.

Warnings: NSFW, smut. Implied fem reader, she/her pronouns used. G!P reader. Mentions of: Sex, dirty talking, sexting. Top!Reader x Bottom!Jenna. MDNI.

Author's note: Meh. Don't know how I feel about this one yet, sorry for any typos. 💔

MASTERLIST.

Jenna considered herself a very busy woman. Having to shoot movies every couple of months, press circles, parties to attend, and taking care of her own mental health could be challenging sometimes. She didn't have a single second for herself for a very long time. God, she couldn't even remember when was the last time she even went out for a drink, watched a movie outside of her own home, or even kissed a stranger at some stupid nightclub. She was too busy to live, and that made her rethink about all of the stuff she's been building for herself. It made her sad, even.

Until Jasmin came along with some ideas, obviously.

"It's just a stupid website, Jen. You don't even need to leave your house or your bedroom. Masturbating in the comfort of your own home." Jasmin rambled while searching for the website name in her phone, Jenna looking at her with an apprehensive (and embarrassed) look on her face. I mean, the best place to have this conversation is definitely not in the middle of one of the Scream VII sets, which they just started filming. "Don't be such a prude, girl. Live a little."

"I'm not, it's just-" She took a deep breath. "I've been out of the market for a while now, I don't even know what to say, or do." She sighed, making Jasmine roll her eyes jokingly.

"Girl, that's bullshit. And plus, you don't even need to say anything. You choose a model, girl or guy, watch their livestream, and pay them to do anything you ask. It's wild." It was obvious that Jasmine was a loyal customer on that website.

"Anything?" Jenna regreted asking that the minute it came out of her mouth.

"Sis, last sunday, I was talking with this chick..." And then Jasmine went on rambling about how she made the poor girl squirt on her own laptop camera for mere $500 bucks.

Jenna looked aghast.

And yet she was interested enough to browse on that website at 11PM while everyone in that hotel floor was asleep. Obviously, she clicked almost immediately in her area of interest. It was minimalist, yet full of information at the same time. You could choose between all sorts of categories; MILFs, findoms, intersex, you name it. She browsed a little on each category, not finding anyone that really sparked her interest, untill she came across one certain page under the intersex category. @(Y/N)xz. A boring username, to say the very least. But when she clicked on your profile, you were just in the middle of your livestream. Without hesitation, she clicked right on top of it, and she could swear she almost felt the tip of your cock poke her face.

You were standing on top of your bed, on your knees while you stroked your cock very slowly. The camera position made it impossible for someone to see your head, which made Jenna curious on how you looked like. Then, a raspy moan drove Jenna out of her thoughts, looking at the screen one more time. You were massaging your breasts with one of your hands, while the other stroked your cock in the most erotic way Jenna has seen. She felt something the moment you started thrusting your dick on you hand, making the latina girl wish that you were pounding her instead.

She watched you for a couple of minutes, trying her best not to touch herself, let alone interact with you. She would not succumb into feeding that industry that sexualizes men and women, objectifying their bodies as if they were nothing but a piece of meat.

jenna2709: you look so hot fucking your hand like that.

jenna2709: wish you were fucking me instead.

You weren't the type of person to really respond the chat if they weren't paying or if they weren't loyal customers, but somehow, you felt like answering that one. You held down the base of your cock and slapped it on the palm of your hand a couple of times. "Wish I was fucking you too, Jen."

Oh, that drove Jenna to the edge. She immediately got up and closed the door, locking it behind her. She sat down on her bed, not taking her eyes off of you for a second. She knew her panties were already wet, but only when she touched her clit while laying on her bed, she realized that she would need to change her underwear as soon as possible. It amazed the actress that you made her pussy dripping wet and she didn't even knew your name. Her hand started to make slow and circular movements on her throbbing clit, and the fact that she felt so dirty and wrong for doing that made everything better.

She looked at the chat, seeing that some girl (with the most obnoxious username ever) sended you $100 asking you to moan her name. Which you proudly did, the sound of you saying that chick's name almost made Jenna close the laptop and go to sleep. Instead, she clicked on some keys on her keyboard and waited for the magic happen.

Wow! "jenna2709" donated $500 with the message: now, you moan my name.

You looked surprised, but thankfully the camera positioning made impossible to look at your face. That was probably the highest tip you've ever recieved live. "$500 bucks to only moan your name? Come on, baby... You can do better than that, huh?"

She was right, Jenna thought. I can do better that only asking for her to moan my name as if I were a hormone-filled teenager.

jenna2709: fine.

jenna2709: tell me what would you do if i were in front of you.

"Oh, you know what I'd do, baby." You laughed a little, holding down to the base of your cock and letting it hit your belly a couple of times. "Have you on all fours, holding your hair in a ponytail and railing you raw, until you couldn't function anymore. Until you forget your name. Just like this."

You started to thrust on your hand again, making it sure that your viewers (and her) could see your cock going in and out of your hand. Jenna felt overwhelmed, but in the best way possible. Right now she had completely lost all of her ideals. Fuck the rules, fuck the noises, fuck that stupid industry. She just wanted to feel you inside of her, filling her up with your cock and your cum. The actress never felt this dirty before, and she was loving every second of it. "You wished I was doing that to you, huh?"

jenna2709: you know i do.

Jenna couldn't stop looking at you and thinking about your face. The camera position made it impossible for someone to see your head, but there were a few things Jenna learned about your identity just by analyzing you & your room. It didn't seemed it were your own room, it felt more like a hotel room or something. Smart, she thought. Not a single hair strand falling from your head, which could mean you had short hair. A few random tattoos here and there, nothing specific. You had only the left nipple pierced, for some unknown reason. And a scar right on the palm of your right hand. She knew she would never find you with that little information, but it comforted her that you were out there, somewhere.

"Fuck, I'm almost there..." Again, your voice distracted Jenna from her thoughts, and this time, she was able to think more quickly.

Wow! "jenna2709" donated $1000 with the message: cum for me, will you?

"Shit, Jenna, you know it's all for you..." You started to thrust even more violently, every now and then slapping your own cock. Jenna felt close too, at that point her panties were pretty much ruined and her hand felt sore, but she wouldn't stop until she came with you.

And then you finally did. Thick ropes of cum fell right onto your white duvet, while you thrusted your member a little bit more to ride your climax out. Jenna's mouth watered, she couldn't stop imagining that thick cum inside of her, filling her up. And the thought of that made her cum as well, trying to be as silent as possible so no one could hear her moaning your name secretly. Little did she know that you were thinking about her too.

Jenna felt embarrassed after she was done, so she pretty much slammed her laptop shut, and got up to take a shower. She prefered to erase that moment out of her head, and erase you (and your delicious body) too. She was trying to figure out what excuses she would give to her accountant once he saw her bank statement for this month, when she fell asleep.

When she woke up, the next morning, she went on her day normally. Went through her routine and left her room, going to the set trying her best not to think about you and the way you moaned.

"Jenna!" The actress heard her name getting called the minute she stepped foot on that set. It was one of the videographers, Dave, who Jenna had been working since Scream V. "Let me introduce you my newest assistant. She's gonna work with you guys very closely this movie, so I thought I should introduce you two." Dave said, his accent making it clear that he was from NYC. "Ay, (Y/N)! Come here for a sec!"

(Y/N)? What a coincidence, Jenna thought, as she looked over Dave's shoulder and saw a girl walking towards them. Needless to say, she was gorgeous.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Jenna." The girl smiled, and Jenna swore she had the most beautiful smile she has ever seen. Then, she stretched out her right hand so Jenna could shake it. The actress almost had a heart attack when she looked at that familiar scar which she had seen the day before through her computer screen.

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights: 14

Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist

Rating: M (childbirth, PTSD, mentions of grief)

A/N: I tried to make this as non graphic as possible, focusing instead on the emotions of the characters. The entire reason I wrote this fic in the first place, I couldn't have made it through this chapter without the incredible suggestions, support and beta reading of @the-scandalorian and @the-ginger-hedge-witch. I truly hope you enjoy ❤❤

--

In the blue wash of time between the middle of the night and the dawn, he’s asleep next to you when the first pains start. 

Deep at the root of your spine, a low throb blooms. Fading in and out, you try to ignore the manageable ache and when you can’t, your first instinct is to curl in on yourself. So you do just that: rub the heel of your hand against your tailbone, letting your feet slide together in the same rhythmic figure eight you soothe yourself with when you’re really sick. 

That motion alone should have been a giveaway, but it doesn’t strike you until the sun is rising that this is something different. 

Still, you let him sleep. 

On an instinct to be alone, you slip from the bed to go sit out on the porch. Another swell of pain ripples across your back, the sensation still light enough to soothe with a steady rub, and a taut contraction stretches across your hips for a fleeting moment, then disappears. 

The sun peeking just above the horizon, you breath low and slow, watching as it makes a steady ascent. The peaceful setting seeps in, blanketing you in reassurance and comfort, and you’re remarkably calm when he comes out of the bedroom in search of you. 

Sleep mussed curls and a frown on his face, his arms are crossed tight over his chest as he wards off the morning chill. 

“What’s wrong?” His voice is husky and low, thick with sleep. 

“I think it’s gonna be today.”

—

He dresses immediately, setting his mind to tasks you’ve discussed for months beforehand in an attempt to calm his nerves. Still, his hands tremble when he walks down to the bank to fill pails with water. He balls them into fists and shakes them in frustration, willing them to stop. 

Hours, days: there is no way of knowing how long this is going to take. He hates the uncertainty of it, the edge of danger that you have to teeter upon while he is helpless to stop it. Anything, at any moment, could go wrong and he would have no way of knowing what or how to help you. 

He’d be fucking useless, just like he was before. 

The guilt he’s always felt creeps through his chest like the fungus that’s infected everything else, settling deep between his ribs. It branches up through his mind, invading his thoughts and the heavy weight of it pulls at him; his shoulders rounding in a slump. His eyes close tight, his fingers digging deep into the damp sand as he braces himself on the ground. 

The thick, suffocating terror he felt on Outbreak Day comes back to him easily, a different version of the same brand of helplessness he felt on the day Sarah was born. The same as what he feels now, he feels his chest tighten and constrict, his breathing getting shallower and shallower. 

No. 

Fighting against it, he shakes himself from the reverie of images: blood, pain, anguish, sobbing. An intensely feral need rises like bile; an urge to burn the world to the ground while screaming just to make sure nothing touches what is his. 

Useful to no one if he lets it take over, he pushes it all away. Practiced in remaining calm under pressure, he takes a deep breath, focusing on the water. 

In and out, in and out, timing each breath with the gentle lap of waves along the shore. 

He speaks silent affirmations to himself - prayers, if he was still a praying man. 

He can do this. He won’t fail. He can’t. 

Gathering himself, he stands. 

“You doin’ okay?” he asks, stepping back into the cabin. Shutting the door tight to keep out the spring chill, he sets the pails of water next to the wood stove and comes to sit next to you on the couch. 

“Yea, I’m good.” A grimace of pain flits across your face for a split second, and he shifts to make room for you as you recline on the couch. Grabbing the blanket from across the back, he settles it over you. 

“I think I should try to get some rest, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to sleep.” Even as you say the words, a yawn breaks through. 

“You’ll probably need it. Might not be a bad idea, ‘specially if you can sleep through some of the pain.” He rifles through the mix of bottles in front of you on the coffee table, placed there earlier by himself. “I don’t have anything stronger than ibuprofen,” he says apologetically. “But you can have some if you want?”

You wave it away, sliding down on the couch to try and get comfortable. “No, it’s okay. I can do without it for now. It’s not so bad.”

He moves to give you room, and your hand reaches for his, holding it tight. 

“Stay with me? I don’t want to be alone when I wake up.”

The open vulnerability on your face pulls him in, the small way in which you ask breaking open his chest, and he immediately sits back, tugging your feet onto his lap. 

“Of course, honey. I’m not goin’ anywhere.” 

He smoothes over the arches of your small socked feet, letting go when you curl them together, clearly a means to comfort yourself. He instead rests his hand on your shin in a reassuring hold, and watching your eyes flutter shut as your breathing deepens and slows, his veil of control stays in place while his mind begins to free fall. 

Panic, guilt, nervous anticipation, panic. 

Again he resists, using the warmth of your shin as an anchor. 

He’s quiet: sitting with you for a bit, reading a little before giving up, double checking the supplies on the table. Making sure the bed in your old room is covered with a tarp from the shed, some old quilts piled on top of it. 

Pacing until he wills himself to stop. 

His eyes flick over to you every time he sees you shift in your sleep: your hand coming to rest on your belly, rubbing the underside with a fleeting wince of pain. He watches, and wishes he could take this all from you: every twinge of pain, everything that’s about to come. 

The guilt he feels at being responsible for putting you in this position is something he thought he made peace with a while ago, but it flares bright with every small frown between your brows and when you wake with a soft whine of discomfort, he strides to your side immediately, helping you sit up. 

Your pained sound grows louder, both of your hands splaying over the source as you clench your jaw, and feeling helpless, he does what he can, rubbing broad circles over your back. 

“I’m right here, honey. I’m right here.”

You seem to give into his touch, leaning against it for strength and your fingers dig into the meat of his thigh as you ride it out. 

He keeps rubbing, and the next few hours pass much the same: waiting and pain. 

–

“Can you hand me that rag?”

The bed dips with his weight as he sits next to you, and wringing out the damp scrap of fabric in his hands, he runs it along your hairline. 

“I can do it,” you protest, no real fight in the words as your eyes slip shut.

“I got it.”

You feel as wrung out as that rag, exhausted yet unable to rest. Keyed up with adrenaline, you’re trying to let your body take over and not fight every single contraction, but it’s hard - so hard. Each one wracks your body with a tight, seemingly endless crest of pain that steals the air from your lungs and makes it hard to breathe, forcing you to struggle on instinct alone.

He swipes the fabric along the bridge of your nose, gently guiding your face to the side so he can collect the sweat dusted across your cheeks. You focus on the delicate drag of the cloth, letting your body relax. 

“Thank you.”

Not for the first time, he looks at his watch as if it still worked and then immediately away, directing his gaze out the window. 

“Seems like they’re getting closer,” he remarks, his hand coming to rest on the hard swell of your stomach. “Does it feel like it?”

“I honestly…I don’t know. It’s hard to keep track.”

He nods and then leaves the room, coming back with a pencil and paper. 

“It’s late. ‘Round four, I think, so you’ve been at it about twelve hours. Let me know when the next one starts, and I’ll count it out. I’ll keep track on here.”

He sets the paper down on the bedside table, his hand poised to begin making a chart and you rest your hold on top of his. 

“I think…” you lick your dry lips, swallowing. “I think we just go with it. I feel like I’ll know when it’s time?”

If you don’t officially keep track of the time between them, you won’t officially know when it’s time to push but…something about it seems right to you, given the way you’ve learned to live without structured time. 

That, and without an official “start time”, you can force your nerves to the bottom of your mind, delaying inevitable pain. Even if only for a little longer. 

The stern look he gives you in response tells you how he feels about that answer, and he shakes his head. 

“It’s not just about knowin’ when it’s time. It’s about knowin’ when it’s been too long.”

His logic wins over your fear, and a weighted silence lingers between the two of you. Not wanting to acknowledge what that would mean, you let his hand go and curl onto your side. Facing him, you let him know when the next contraction starts, and while he sets his pencil down to hold your hand, you watch his lips move with silent counts. 

–

You just… let your body take over. 

Existing in a plane of never ending cresting waves of crippling pain that come closer and closer together, you squeeze his hand just as tight as you squeeze your eyes shut with every single one. The fight inside of you fades, instinct ruling instead and needing to have faith in your body to do the right thing without any knowledge to guide you, you just…give in. 

You should be terrified at the prospect of it, but you can’t seem to find the strength to care. Your body was built for this, designed for this, has done this very thing billions of times over throughout human existence and giving yourself over to that idea, you find yourself comforted, in a way.

You do what it tells you to do: take deep breaths when you can, curl onto your side into a tight ball when you need to, let tears fall freely from your eyes without embarrassment. You writhe and shift on the bed into whatever position feels comfortable, giving into the instinctual need to seek comfort at whatever cost. 

Daylight shifts into twilight shifts into nightfall, and he’s with you throughout the whole thing, as steadfast as he’s always been. 

At your side, like he’s always been. 

There, like he’s always been. 

With his reassuring presence beside you, you descend into a base version of yourself with his hand an anchor. 

–

A quiet, formidable strength greater than the brute type he’s capable of emerges, and Joel watches as you close your eyes and draw on resources he didn’t know your body still had. 

Underrated and overlooked in terms of survival, you may not have the physical skills he has but your internal strength and will to survive through hope and optimism are more valuable than his skills right now. Awestruck by the shift that happens before him, he wonders if that’s what's always subconsciously drawn him to you: this innate sense that you’ll fill in his blanks, bringing him a sense of peace when his life has known anything but. 

You take his weaknesses and mold them into something good instead of a liability, meeting them with strengths of your own. He is responsible for so many things when it comes to you: your life, your well being, your survival. Seeing you now, taking charge of every one of those things with a fierce strength that outmatches anything he can provide in this situation, he not only understands that you have his back just as much, but also that you’ve always had it.  

Two halves of a whole, your faith and his competence.

An equal partner, whose qualities shine bright in their quiet, unassuming way. 

Your fingers twisted in the sheets, you prop yourself up against the headboard of the bed with a low groan and tell him when you’re ready. 

“I think it’s time.” 

You barely get the words out before you’re bearing down in taut silence, your jaw clenched and he shifts on the bed, his hands molding over your knees to gently pull them apart. 

“Come on, honey. I’ve got you.”

–

His voice calls to you from the depths of your pain, the sound of it muffled behind the blood rushing in your ears and you use it like a beacon, something to focus on. The contractions one on top of another, it’s well past dark outside the cabin when everything seems to happen all at once:

A dark, wet patch of hair emerging; Joel’s eyes widening as his fingers tentatively reach out to touch it. 

A sob catching in your throat; fluid soaking the blanket underneath you. 

Pain so fierce and overwhelming it makes you lightheaded; a pressure so blindingly sharp and heavy and full that you scream before it abruptly stops, everything sliding out in a slick rush. 

“You did it, honey,” he praises you, his head down as he cradles the baby in his hands. “You did it. She’s out.”

She. The sobs you let out are involuntary, a mixture of immense relief and joy paired with the crash of adrenaline and your limbs shake with exhaustion, your head falling back into the pillow he’s propped beneath your head.

It’s only then that the silence in the room comes to your attention. 

“Joel?” You wearily push yourself up, trying to see her. 

He’s looking down at the mattress with a deep frown of focus, his skin ashen and gray and your stomach bottoms out, panic flooding your chest. Limited as your knowledge is about babies, you know you should be hearing her make a sound right now. Any sound. 

“Why isn’t she crying?” you ask, a slight tremble catching the end of the sentence. 

He doesn’t answer you, instead staying focused on her, his hands smeared and glistening with blood as one splays over her impossibly tiny chest, his fingers rubbing along the dip of her sternum. 

“Come on. Come on.” 

His words have a frantic edge to them, one you can hear even with how he’s murmuring the near silent chant to himself and you mirror it, doing the same. 

“Come on, baby. Come on.”

A thin whimper breaks the tense silence, her limbs suddenly flaring out in a silent fight against the world, and her timid cry blooms into a bright wail that pierces the air. 

Relief floods out of you in sob, his own breaking free in the rush of a heavy exhale, and when he scoops her up, unshed tears glisten in his eyes. Handing her wet body to you, she’s matted and smeared with blood and slick, and she squirms on your bare chest for a moment, your arms automatically cradling her close. 

Impossible tiny, just like he said. 

“A she.” Your voice thick with tears, you look up at him and he grins down at you, his smile shining bright with pride. 

“A she.”

Your cheek comes to rest on the crown of her head when he bends to press a kiss to your forehead and his murmurs against the sweat damp skin there make you cry even more. 

“You did it, my girl. You did it.”

–

A slight tremble to his hands as he finishes tying off the umbilical cord, he gently hands her back to you and reaches for the bucket near the side of the bed. 

“I’m gonna go empty this, but I’ll be right back.”

You acknowledge him, your arms tightening in their hold on her as you scoot back in your bed. Tucked safely against your chest, she’s already sliding into sleep and you join her, closing your eyes. Fixing the blanket around you, he picks up the bucket and leaves the room. 

Night darkens the path as he makes his way down to the water, the setting around him awash in muted colors. Animals moving in their quest to hunt for the night, the fresh spring breeze rustles the new growth on the trees that surround him, but he sees and hears none of it, his vision beginning to tunnel. 

Black gathers around the edges of the world, the basin in his hands falling onto the grass. His boots sinking into the sand, he barely makes it to the bank before he’s buckling, knees hitting the soft ground. 

The image of the two of you sleeping flashes through his mind, and the pressure in his chest swells and overcomes him, emotion choking his airway. The intensity of the last twenty four hours seeps out of him, the image of her still body as he rubbed life into her fixed behind his clenched shut eyes and finally - finally - he lets it go with big, wracking sobs that pour out, a sound he tries to muffle with his hands. 

Relief, relief. 

–

June Miller. 

A basin of warm water between the two of you on the bed, you watch as he cradles her endlessly moving body in his large hands and bathes her. Her limbs stretch and flex slowly, testing their newfound boundaries and not being able to decide on which face you want to look at more, you shift your gaze back and forth between her scrunched one and his more focused, intent one. He’s careful yet steady with his movements, the gentle splash of water the backdrop to the tiny squawks of protest she lets out. 

The lantern illuminates them, a circle of light surrounding their figures in an intensely intimate way and you watch glistening drops of water slide down over his thick wrist as he cups some, pouring it over her hair. 

“I know you don’t like it. I know.”

It’s innate, his soothing. 

Second nature from the first time he held her and spoke to her, you could tell he’d done this before. His body curled protectively around her as he held her to his broad chest, his movements practiced and confident and you watched as it happened without him even realizing, like he didn’t have to think about caring for someone else - just doing it, as if he couldn’t help it. 

Finishing bathing her with the fresh basin of water he brought back from the river, she keeps her eyes closed against the light of the world as he sets her in her cradle, turning to help you from the bed. You brace your hand on his solid shoulder as he kneels, exhaustion thickly blanketing your body as you feel soothing, firm wipes of wet warmth on your skin. He’s just as careful and detailed with it as he was with her, and after he dries and settles you in the bedroom you share with him, he crawls in after you, closing his eyes. 

Dawn is breaking when you wake to the sound of a restless, small cry and you leave him sleeping when you go to grab her, bringing her back to bed. Brushing aside the soft blanket that covers her cheek, you look down and see two dark eyes blinking back up at you. Shaped just like his, they stay open. 

You want to wake him because it feels…significant, this moment. She’s tiny — dark eyes, a button nose, a dot of a mouth and full little cheeks. Her eyes are open and so are yours and the two of you sit there and just — look. Basking in the strange sensation of silently learning each other, yet knowing each other so well already. 

You remember what Joel said, about you and them and the peaceful stillness of sitting in the quiet and your vision waters, a tear slipping from the corner of your eye. More joy than you’ve felt in your whole life, the emotion is overwhelming - as if a beacon of pure, unfiltered light has flooded your entire body, lighting you from the inside out. 

She keeps looking, her tiny brow scrunching and you smile down at her, another tear sliding free. 

“Joel,” you whisper, and he’s up in an instant. 

“Yea?”

It takes you a minute to speak, and his face shifts into alarm.

“What’s the matter? She okay?”

He sits up quickly, scooting closer to see her more clearly. 

“Yea,” you reply, sniffing. “Look at her.”

She looks like you, like him, like her own self and you can’t stop looking at her, trying to find fleeting traces of every version. 

Mesmerized, he strokes the soft back of her tiny hand over and over with his thumb, and his voice is a low gravel, full of soothing adoration.

“Hey, baby girl.”

[barefoot-joker]

Snake in the Garden Pt 4~ Yandere!Lucifer X Reader

Hey, guys! Welcome to Snake in the Garden Part 4! In this chapter we meet a few new characters, so I hope I got their personalities right. I do hope you all like the new chapter as I had a lot of fun writing it. As always, enjoy and I hope you have a great day/night!

Words: 2395

Warnings: Swearing

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

I heaved as I ran through the streets of Hell. I couldn’t get enough air to my lungs and my legs were growing weary of the journey. However, I kept my eyes on the marquee and just kept going. You’re almost there, Y/n! Come on! Soon you’ll be free!

I didn’t take the time to look at the demons surrounding me but my ears caught all of the screams, moans and conversations as I passed. A couple of times I was grabbed at, but I just shoved them away and continued my trek. When I reached the gate of the hotel I stopped to catch a breather, my hand grasping the iron bars to steady myself. I looked back from where I came, the palace a tiny speck in the distance. I wanted to pat myself on the back but I knew I wasn’t in the clear. Until I was back home Lucifer could rear his head at any moment. Speaking of the Devil, I wondered how long it would be till he noticed I was gone.

Taking in a few more breaths, I walked up the cobblestoned hill to the front door. The marquee shone a bright red and I felt like I was bathed in blood. Stopping at the front door, I marveled at how intricate it was. The stained glass formed a circus tent pattern and the rim held a golden tint to it. Bringing my hand up, I knocked on the glass, a knot forming in my stomach. What if all this work was for nothing? Would the Princess even listen to my case?

I didn’t have much time to think when the door opened. In front of me stood a tall, lean man dressed all in red. Among his red and black hair, black deer antlers stood and what I assumed to be his ears straightened in surprise. His red eyes felt different compared to Lucifer’s, his feeling more sinister. His grin seemed to grow wider as he looked me up and down. “Hello, my dear. Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel. I’m Alastor, the hotel’s facility manager. How can I be of-”

I rushed past him and slammed the door shut, my nails digging into the golden wood. “-service to you?”

I spun around to face him, my eyes blown wide in panic. “I need to speak to Charlie! Please, it’s an emergency!”

I clasped my hands tight in prayer and tried to make myself look as vulnerable as possible. “Charlie isn’t here at the moment, I’m afraid. She’s out on some business with Vaggie. The two of them should be back soon though.”

I groaned and hung my head in despair. How long will she be gone?

I lifted my head back up and let out a slight shriek at how close the deer man was. He was practically on top of me, our noses almost touching. “Though I could speed along the process if I was told what constitutes an emergency.”

I hadn’t noticed it before but as the man spoke his voice held a static to it, almost like an old radio. “Listen, Alastor was it? I don’t feel comfortable sharing that with you.”

“Hmm. I guess you’ll just have to wait then. Husker, make this sinner feel at home.”

I looked to the left and saw a bar that looked way too out of place. Blue boards made up the walls and floor while the dark oak bar top sat in the middle. The cat demon, Husker, looked up from drying a glass and sighed. Alastor wrapped his arm around my shoulder and dragged me over to the bar, shoving me at a stool. I sat on top of it and gulped as the radio man kept eyeing me from his post nearby. “What’ll you be havin’?”

“Oh, um, a water is fine.”

“Not much of a drinker, eh?”

“No. Besides, I don’t really drink around strangers.”

Husker shrugged and turned his back to me. When he returned to my side, he placed a rocks glass in front of me on the bar top. I grabbed it and sipped my water. “So, I couldn’t help but overhear you’re in an emergency. Got some loan sharks after you or somethin’?”

“Oh no, much worse. It’s a long story.”

“I’ve heard my fair share of long stories as a bartender.”

“I just don’t feel comfortable sharing. I’d much rather wait for Charlie.”

“I can respect that. Hell is a rough place and if you’re not careful it can swallow you whole. I learned that the hard way.”

He sighed and continued to dry glasses. As I sipped my drink, I glanced over to see Alastor still staring at me. That maniacal grin never leaving his face and his eyes cool and calculating. “So um, what’s Alastor’s deal? Why does he keep staring at me like I’m fresh meat at the butchers?”

“He’s always like that, scoping out the new guests. But a word of advice, don’t make a deal with him whatever you do. You think your life is horrible now, you got another thing comin’ with him.”

“I see.”

Suddenly I felt something grazing my ankles. I peered down to see a very short woman with a red bob, a stripe of yellow hair in front of her one giant pink eye. My eyes widened upon seeing the silver blade in her hands. The female looked up and a giant grin spread across her thin lips. “You're not meant to be down here, are you?”

“Huh?”

“You smell…human. Sinners have a certain scent and you don’t have it. We’ve got a live one, guys!”

She hopped into my lap and grabbed the top of the nightgown. I gulped at how the knife was slightly pointed at my throat. “You’re pretty for a live one, not that I’ve seen many like you before.”

“T-thanks?”

“How rude of me! I’m Niffty! I clean.”

She shook me back and forth. “A live one, hmm?”

Suddenly I felt a hand tighten on my shoulder. I looked back to see Alastor, the end of his smile reaching well past his eyes. “You didn’t quite introduce yourself to us, did you, my dear?”

“Leave her alone, Alastor!”

“Tsk, tsk, Husker. I just want to know what I should call our newest arrival.”

“I, I, I-”

I stopped when I heard the front door open, two voices chatting as they came inside. I had never been more thankful for a door to open. “Oh, hey guys! What’s going on,” The tall blonde asked.

She looked so similar to Lucifer so she must be Charlie. “We’ve got a live one, Charlie! And to think she was trying to hide,” Nifty replied.

The Princess turned her red gaze to me and I quickly threw off the deer and housekeeper. I got down on my knees and looked up at the blonde. “Please Charlie, you have to help me! Your dad is fucking crazy-”

“Oh you must be Y/n!”

My heart dropped. No. No, no, no, no. How much does she already know?

Lucifer’s daughter scooped me up to my height and pet me on the head. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you! My dad has sent me several pictures but you look much prettier in real life. But what are you doing all the way out here? Shouldn’t you be planning a wedding?”

“That’s my problem! I don’t want to be here! Please, you’ve got to help! I’m begging you!”

I could feel tears come to my eyes as I pleaded my case. Charlie’s eyes softened and she placed her hands on my shoulders. “Here, let’s take a walk. Vaggie, can you put our shopping away?”

“Of course, honey.”

“Come on.”

The blonde took me by the shoulders and led me up the grand staircase. We went up a few floors before stopping in a room that resembled a library. Charlie ushered me to sit in one of the leather armchairs and then she followed my lead. “So tell me everything. I’m sure my dad left out a few key details.”

I did. I told her how the two of us had met up until I had been forced to say yes to marrying him. While I told my tale, she didn’t say anything. She just hummed at key parts. “So can you help me?”

“I want to, I really do. However, my dad-”

“Fucking kidnapped me, Charlie! Do you really want me to go back to that?!”

She opened her mouth to say something when suddenly her phone rang. She pulled it out of her red suit jacket and her eyes widened. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“It’s my dad.”

“Shit! I’m not here!”

“But…”

“You see the good in others don’t you, Charlie? Can’t you see the good in you helping me?”

She bit her lip before sighing. She clicked the answer button and held the phone to her ear. “Hey, dad. What’s up?”

Lucifer didn’t even need to be on speaker as I could hear him shouting from the phone. “Charlie dear, thank goodness you picked up! Look, I’m in serious trouble and need your assistance.”

“What can I do for you?”

“My darling bride Y/n is gone! Vanished! I left her to her own devices and when I came back she’s left me! I thought someone took her but then I found this rope hanging out the bathroom window and have you seen her? I don’t know how long she’s been gone for and I don’t want her out and about by herself. Hell’s too dangerous!”

Charlie and I made eye contact and I begged her to not give me up. Her grip tightened around her phone and I could see the battle going on in her head. 

“Sorry dad, I haven’t seen her. I’ll keep an eye out though.”

“If you do find her please make sure she’s unharmed. I want my dear apple to be in one piece after all.”

“You’ve got it. But, hey, I’ve got to go. Vaggie’s calling me. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay, thank you sweetie.”

“You’re welcome. Love you. Bye.”

She disconnected the call. I let out the breath I was holding. She did it. She actually was going to help me! 

“Okay, I know somebody who can get you back to Earth. But we’d better hurry. My dad sounds like he’s getting close.”

“Thank you so much, Charlie! I really do appreciate it!”

“Hurry now!”

She summoned a dark trenchcoat and fedora from thin air. I quickly put them on and out the front door we went. Our walk felt just as long as when I had run to the hotel, but this time demons didn’t seem to bother us. It was probably because the Princess of Hell was with me. We continued walking until we stopped at a very large mansion. Out front was a cobblestone drive and a fountain spraying water. Charlie and I walked up to the double set of dark blue doors and she knocked. They opened to reveal an imp butler, a small white mustache hiding his lips. “Hello, Princess! What can we do for you?”

“I need to speak with Stolas. It’s urgent, Pringles!”

“Follow me.”

We strutted inside and the little butler led us to a study. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”

“Thank you, Pringles.”

“Of course, Princess.”

The door shut behind him. The study was quite large with several bookcases housing thousands of novels near the walls. A desk with a tall, navy and gold chair sat behind a dark oak desk. The place seemed very fitting for a Prince. As we waited I found myself playing with my engagement ring. I willed myself to stop but my fingers kept rubbing it. Don’t get cold feet now, Y/n. You’re almost home free.

I heard the navy blue door open and I turned to see a very tall, skinny owl man. He wore a dark red jumpsuit with a wine red cape draped on his shoulders. White and black feathers made up the collar and they mingled with his own gray feathers. A smile found its way to his beak when he spotted us. “Charlie! It’s so good to see you, my dear!”

The two hugged and when he pulled away, he looked at me with his four red eyes. “Who might this be? A friend of yours?”

“Stolas, this is Y/n. My dad captured her and brought her down to Hell. We need to send her home to Earth.”

“Ah, so this is the infamous Y/n I’ve heard about. It’s a pleasure to be meeting you.”

He bowed. How many people has Lucifer told about me?

“But why would you want to go back to Earth? You’re getting married in a few months.”

“Because I don’t belong here! I was fucking kidnapped and am becoming a bride against my will! Please Mr Stolas, let me go home!”

“Have you and Lucifer made a contract together?”

“Huh?”

“I mean have you signed anything that he has given you?”

“No, I don’t believe so.”

He bowed his head. “Then I can help. Just let me get my Grimoire.”

He held up his hand and a blue and gold book came flying towards him. The book looked heavy as it floated in the air but the owl Prince paid it no mind. He flipped through each of the pages until he landed on one. “Y/n, if I do this for you I cannot guarantee your safety. I know Lucifer. He’ll be looking for you until you’re in his grasp again.”

“That’s fine. As long as I can go back.”

“Very well.”

He chanted out a spell and before I knew it a purple portal materialized before my very eyes. “Go quickly now. I can’t hold this open for long.”

“Thank you, both of you. I appreciate it!”

“Go!”

I walked through and not a minute later the portal closed behind me. I looked around and smiled. I was back in my house in the hallway. I laughed triumphantly and threw off my disguise, making my way to the living room. I stopped when I heard the crunching of what sounded like…chips? I looked over to my couch and I felt my eyes widen.

“There you are! It took you long enough!”

~~~~~~~~

TAGLIST

@ladymothbeth @cosmic-spider @l0vedoe @stormz369 @strawberry-gothic @repostingmyfavs @purplechan9 @caniseethefourthsword @rl800 @froggybich @txpchhhhhhh @stayinguplate @theonlykawaiigod-blog @vash-yuu @musicb33nsstuff @zennylz @rosieposie005 @weirdgirlislonely @noxianwarmason @luksusowejachty234567 @nicky190i @flutistbyday2020 @insanepurplegrapes @rin22 @b-connie @yepperoniro @halparkebitch

[dwaekkilinos]

savior complex (pt. 1) | bang chan

summary: Your father had wielded you to become a machine; a weapon. And a machine you would become. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat. He taught you how to protect; specifically how to protect your family. But he never taught you how to survive with other groups, especially when their leader seems to have it out for you.

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | strangers/enemies to lovers + zombie apocalypse au, angst, fluff, smut word count: 19.9K chapter summary: you'd always known the end, and it had always known you. you just didn't know the beginning would be waiting for you when your time finally came. warnings/notes: zombie apocalypse au so . . . blood, guts, gore, sad, sad, sad. beware. lots of inspo from every zombie thing i've literally ever seen (twd, tlou, train to busan, etc.), typos probably, parental death, actions of violence and murder, religious TRAUMA, religious undertones, reader does not believe in god but she's deeply influence by it bc of her childhood and it haunts her, reader comes from a small toen and it's not explicitly stated where she's from but hollows are mentioned, hunting, reader wishes for death multiple times, chan goes by chris, no smut in this chapter but there will be in every chapter after, i think that's it but let me know if i missed anything, and enjoy! <3

chapter one: i know the end (and it knows me) ( series masterlist | next → )

Sometimes you felt like a ghost. It happened when the world was so silent that you could almost hear the beat of your unsteady heart pounding in your chest; when everyone else was asleep and you stayed up, eyes watchful and searching for threats. That was when you felt like the lost faces that haunted you.

It hadn't always been this way, at least not until the world ended. Most of the time you tried not to think about it. You tried not to think about much except survival these days.

Because that was smart. Surviving was smart. Anything else was stupid; anything else would get you killed.

Ironic, how you used to fear that very thing. Death. Now it was all you knew.

The apocalypse had come.

You knew how it sounded. Honestly, you didn't believe it when it first happened. You had been too afraid to admit it; too scared that if you did, you could never go back. There was no going back anyway. That was something you wished you had known back then. And as you sat on a log in the middle of those dark woods, overlooking your group who all slept silently while you stayed up, bloody knife in hand, and eyes watching for threats, it was hard to ignore the fact that this was your cruel reality.

Because the reality of it all was: you were living on borrowed time, trying your best to do right by your father and keep your family alive. You'd faltered that night, dotting the line between protection and predation.

And now . . . now you couldn't help but think about the beginning. How you would've never ended up like this if things had been different. But things hadn't been different. Things had happened exactly the way they had, and it'd left you with rot in your bloodstream and hate in your heart.

That was what made you clutch the knife closer, nearly cutting your own flesh. Because things hadn’t been different, but they also hadn’t always been this way. You hadn’t always been like . . . this.

You supposed it was because it was easy to kneel when you were just a girl. It was easy to ignore the ever-present scabs on your knees when you didn’t know any better. It was easy to tear yourself down the middle, pulling stitches from the back of your legs when you knew it’d all be re-sewn by morning. It was easy back then when the world hadn’t died.

From the moment you were brought into the world, barely kicking and silently screaming like it was a sin to voice your pain, you had been taught to be that girl; that easy, complacent girl with not so much as a rotten thought. From the moment you were born, you had been taught the foundation of the Church and its vocation, and it had carved its way into your rotten flesh even when the world was no more.

At age four, you were in the pews, listening to the words of God while creating imaginary friends in the statues. At age seven, communion. Then at age eight, you had begun to become an altar girl, fetching and carrying, ringing the altar bell, bringing up the gifts and the book, among other things—essentially being a servant to God. At age fourteen, confirmation. At fifteen, your mother doused you in holy water before your first date with a boy from school. Sixteen, heartbreak, praying to God and begging for him to help ease it all, only to be left with no response . . . even after all you had done for him.

Seventeen and the stitches down your legs remained undone, the scriptures now more of a question than a statement. Then . . . eighteen, the timer clicked into place, and you felt yourself begin to rot along with the world, forcing you to realize your entire life was just a cycle of kneeling before God, praying, and asking for forgiveness for your sins.

It had been easy to kneel when you were just a girl; when you didn’t know any better. And then it happened.

It.

Armageddon.

The Rapture.

The fucking apocalypse.

It didn’t matter what you called it. Doomsday was still doomsday even dressed up with fancy scriptures and sacred wine.

The apocalypse had come. Humans were deemed horrible creatures by some almighty who you didn't give a fuck to acknowledge. It didn't matter. Someone or something had deemed the human race unworthy.

The apocalypse had come, and you were deemed worthless. You were made to die. It was inevitable.

The apocalypse had come. There was talk that it had begun in the North. But much wasn’t known in your town. Now you realized they tried to keep it a secret. It was a way of controlling everyone, you supposed, but not like it mattered much now.

That was just how things were. Your mother refused to let you and your younger sister watch the news, refused to let you search anything about what was going on in the world, adamant that everything was lies and those lies would cloud your mind. A religious town bordering on a commune that resembled a cult perhaps just a tad too much. You realized all this now, of course, but back then your knees were still covered in scabs from kneeling before a God who would never come. Back then your mother kept you kneeling until the final bell tolled, her hand firmly clutching your shoulder to keep you in place.

You were only eighteen then. And while the outside world was torn apart month by month, its people haunted by death piled upon death, your town continued on as it always had. The whispers of a war that would end the world were just whispers, covered up by scriptures that the local preacher would sight every Sunday morning just after you’d collected the eggs from the chicken coop and put on your best dress like your mother had always taught you.

But it was different for you, even back then. Because while it had been easy to kneel when you were a girl, you had begun to grow. Eighteen then, but you had begun to see the flaws within the Church when you were sixteen. And by eighteen, you knew better.

By eighteen, you could see the sweat beading along the preacher’s forehead. By eighteen, you could hear wavering in your mother’s voice when she proclaimed that this was just a test. That this was meant to happen. That the Bible had always predicted this, and if you remained faithful, then you would be saved . . . spared.

But by eighteen, you knew better.

It took one quiet night and a hammering heart for you to sneak into your father’s study and head straight for this desktop. It took even less time to discover what had become of the world. One. Two. Three clicks and then . . .

You remembered the choking feeling bubbling up your chest as your eyes scanned the news articles. A virus. One so horrible and unforgiving that it could take a healthy vessel, and within twenty-four hours, the body would succumb to death. But, you’d seen stuff like this before, right? You knew there had been plenty of diseases and viruses and they all had cures. They all had to have cures. They had to.

That was just the thing: no matter how hard you looked, you couldn’t find any article that explained how this virus came about. It was unknown, deadly, spreading rapidly, and there was no way of telling when it’d reach your town. It was just . . . just . . . (It was the first time you truly felt helpless.)

You remembered staying up with the sun, looking for answers, only to come out empty-handed. And when your father discovered you in his study that morning, you nearly confessed right away, sobbing into his arms. But no shame was brought upon you that day.

Your father had been a good man. He had loved you so. He had loved his family, no matter the consequences or conditions.

This town, your town, was small. It consisted of around only three thousand people give or take, all of which were either Christian, secluded, or . . . your father. In all the years you had been alive, not once had your father stepped into the Church. You never asked. You never worried. Your mother just always told you your father was busy every single time, and you believed her because back then, you’d trusted her with all of you.

As you grew, your suspicions of him did, too, but you remained silent as you always had in life. And it was only until that morning when he wrapped you in his arms and let you cry into his shoulder, did you realize why he never entered the Church, why he never spoke the prayers your mother praised, why neighbors would talk of his name only in hushed conversations.

He didn’t believe.

No, he believed in something just not . . . this sacred word your town so desperately worshipped. And that morning, he told you the truth. From his childhood to how he ended up in a town like this. He told you it all, and then he told you the truth. He told you how your mother was scared (how she always had been) and how one day he hoped with enough trying, she’d see the world for what it was ( . . . she never did). And then he told you about the virus, and everything was so much clearer.

The town had everyone convinced this was some kind of test. There was no virus to them. This was the reaping. The scriptures were true to them. And so every Sunday, you were forced to acknowledge that Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death—the Four Horsemen of the apocalypse had come to earth with the power to destroy humanity.

That was how it had been explained to your town, and all its people believed. A sickness had struck the world, yes, they told that much truth, but they chalked it all up to being some kind of plot point in God’s plan. To top it off, it was said that if the townspeople all repented and did right by his name, then salvation would be given.

That was what was told, and that was what was believed.

You remembered the preacher’s voice even now.

Then I saw when the Lamb broke one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures saying as with a voice of thunder, "Come." I looked, and behold, a white horse, and he who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer.

— Revelation 6:1–2

That scripture haunted you just as your father’s face did, but back then you hadn’t realized the detriment it would have on you. Back then, you played your part. Back then, you dressed as your mother advised, went to church, and listened, and then, when all was said and done and your mother had gone to her room, you snuck off to accompany your father on his hunts. And during those times, you’d learn the truth.

While the two of you hunkered down, waiting for deer to pass through your side of the woods, he told you about what was going on with the rest of the world. He explained how the CDC had claimed this thing; Pestilence (as your town believed) was some kind of virus, yes, only they wouldn't release the survival rate except for a few things that stated it was deadly, spread rapidly, and anyone could have it, but by the time symptoms had started to kick in, it would be too late.

As the weeks went by, as the more hunting extravaganzas you went on with your father piled up, his news became more worrisome. At first, the virus was contained in the North of the world, but as it took more lives and less information about it was being provided to the public . . . people began to panic. Hysteria spread throughout the world. Cases of this unknown virus peaked, and the government released statement after statement informing the public that face masks would be required to prevent the virus from spreading and travel restrictions would soon be put into place.

Only by that time, it was too late.

Carriers of this unknown virus had already traveled far and near, spreading the disease throughout the world. This so-called Pestilence might have only been given reign to a quarter of the world, but his disease had spread farther than his radius.

And while you had been young, you realized that this virus had only one purpose: to kill. There was no survival rate. No hope.

The world shut down soon after more and more people started dropping like flies, succumbing to the miserable disease that left them with boils and blisters covering their skin. Hospitals became overrun. Schools were wiped out with kids coming home with this deadly virus. Workplaces were abandoned, the people wishing to stay at home with their families, too afraid to step outside without any real knowledge of how this virus worked.

Your town remained oblivious, too, as the region shut down, gates being made so no one could enter or leave. It was safer that way they claimed. All of those who could be saved would be saved and helping those seeking a refuge was against the rules. It all felt like some kind of sick plan if you had anything to say about it.

By the time your father had taught you how to shoot your first deer without you sniffling in fear, Vaccines were finally attempted, but nothing worked; the disease only spread, and more people died.

Then . . . it all just stopped.

But your town continued to spread its lies.

The story remained the same even all these years later. You remembered how while you had learned the virus was supposedly coming to an end, your town still painted the picture of the Horsemen. Tales of Pestilence’s reign still remained.

They went on and on about how he rose from the depths of Hell. Pestilence had come. He, who sat on his white steed, had a bow, a crown that had been gifted to him by his gods had come, and when he had, he went out conquering. And so he did.

Until he was put to rest; until his conquering had come to an end. You listened with half a heart as the preacher went on and on about how his time had ended, yes, but this was not the end. All you had to do was keep praying, keep repenting, keep . . . kneeling, and you’d be saved.

But you knew better.

While others would attend midnight mass in addition to morning, you claimed you had to pray on your own, and when your mother had left with your sister on her hip, you snuck off with your father to learn of the world. You snuck off to better your shooting arm, to seek comfort in the only person who seemed to have their head screwed on right, to shoot ducks and geese and deer and everything in order to keep your town fed while everyone else prayed to a God that wasn’t doing half your work. And yet, every time, every kill, your father knelt beside the animal and prayed, until you had begun to do the same.

You weren’t sure why he did it. You had never asked. You never thought you needed to. (Now you would’ve done anything to know the answer.)

And so . . . life went on like that. Completely cut off from the world without the help of the internet your father provided for the two of you, life went on.

The virus no longer spread further, and many believed it was all just some hoax. News stations came to life again, but not much else was restored. That was how everyone found out the virus had concluded. Hell, even you remember being twenty-one years old, having your first legal shot with your father in the middle of the woods while the two of you watched news reporter after news reporter claim the virus had mutated and mutated so much to the point our bodies had accumulated a natural resistance to it.

But you couldn't believe it.

Three whole years of this deadly disease taking out population upon population, and then it all ceased. It felt almost too good to be true.

Of course, the town believed this too. Pestilence had conquered, and that was just the problem.

Every day, day in and day out, words spread throughout the hollow, the word in the Church mutated each week, even your mother who had spent the last three years praying to Jesus, Joseph, and Mary; your mother who had gone through rosary after rosary begging for God to have mercy on your family; your mother who had always forced you to attend those days at church on Sunday went around the house, boarding up the windows and hiding the special silverware in the basement, claiming that he would come next.

He has conquered, she had hissed over your shoulder when you and your father came back from one of your hunts.

Pestilence's reign had ended (according to your mother, who you were almost certain had a few screws loose). You didn’t believe it for a second, ignoring your mother's desperate ramblings.

War will come, she warned.

War will come.

But . . . you knew if something did come, it wouldn’t be this War.

And then . . . then he did.

The first sighting of the dead coming back was spotted just months after the virus that had plagued millions had ceased. And this time . . . the town allowed its folk to see the reports. Even your mother had brought the television from the basement to witness the dead rise . . . or rather . . . War. The news stations had captured a recording of these . . . people; people who had suffered from the virus coming back, and then with only their teeth, tearing any live thing apart. The recording was aired all across the world, fear, and hysteria spreading like wildfire.

The government was still up and running at this point with only one mission: to shoot down these seemingly reanimated corpses before they could cause more harm. People believed this to be a fluke, but your mother's words had stuck with you.

War will come.

It was all a little hazy now, but you remembered bits and pieces of the world back then. War had been quick, ruthless, and determined.

This was no man. This was War.

And it all became clear soon after.

While Pestilence had been silent, War had wanted an audience.

The things he could do; the people he could hurt . . . it was all so gutting. Those lost to the virus kept coming back, all with one purpose: destruction. With one bite, their victims would soon fall ill to that same virus, and then once it had taken their body, they’d come back, reanimated with the same gruesome purpose.

The government finally fell when the dead could no longer be stopped. Quarantines dropped, people ran, and everything just . . . stopped. These creatures tore through cities, sinking their teeth into civilians. And you watched it all on the television, until that, too fell, leaving the rest of the world in the dark.

That was when you realized just how real all of this was. That was when you realized the past three years of hunting with your father was not just something the two of you would look back on and laugh about one day when this virus was over. No . . . it seemed . . . it seemed you couldn’t quite see the end or maybe . . . maybe you could and that was the problem all along.

Your father, the man he was, tried to remind you that this was not War; that this was not the supposed God’s plan everyone was convinced of in your godforsaken hollow. And you tried to hear him, but for a while, you wished to be like everyone else in the town. You wished you could believe this was some greater plan. You wished you could believe that this was all because of some Horseman . . . but you knew better, and your father seemed to know this as well.

(And yet, when you thought back on it now, the stages in which the world ended still presented themselves as the Horsemen in your troubled mind.)

Because, well, you supposed that was truly when the world had ended—the day War came.

War will come, your mother had warned, and you knew that to be true the day the electricity stopped working. War had come, and he'd taken civilization with him. And while he reigned over the quarter of the world he'd been gifted, the rest of the world lay in the dark, trying to navigate throughout this new world.

From time to time you had heard talk of distant wars. You, however, had never seen one.

But War's ruthless hand still reached your town.

There was no news or contact with the outside world other than the people you could see with your own eyes. No transportation, no government, no nothing. It was said that cars had even been abandoned on highways as people tried to leave town to find their families. But they never got far; not with this newfound order bestowed upon the earth.

Because truly . . . War did not need to come to earth to corrupt it.

The government had fallen, the world had ended, the apocalypse had begun and that was all it took for chaos to ensue. People became their worst selves at the end of the world, you'd been told all your life through media upon media. But you had to disagree. You thought, perhaps, the end of the world brought out who people truly were deep inside. It allowed people to let go of civility.

And you discovered people really were perhaps even worse than this supposed War himself. Or rather a product of War and his righteous hand.

(Although, how righteous could he truly be?)

While War reigned, the rest of the world scavenged. Your family stood stagnant in your childhood home, holding up there for as long as you could. It was still warm when the second wave hit. You knew you'd need to find a different shelter when the time came.

The cold wasn't your only problem either. People were at their worst. When the news broke out in your town, the scriptures they held so dear began to fall apart. A lot left, some stayed, and others turned on each other, leaving houses with bloodstained splatters and a fear of thy neighbor. Your family stayed, however. Your mother read scriptures every day. Your father recited the truth. And they argued, while you sat by the window, terrified out of your mind as you watched the empty streets.

That was when you realized another truth about yourself. You were just about to turn twenty-two, the world had gone to shit, and you had never been so scared. Pestilence. War. Famine. Death. Their names raged on inside your head and it was as if you were still just a young girl, kneeling in church despite the scabs. Except now, you were a girl who could no longer kneel in church, and yet you were still so scared.

It felt cruel. Perhaps even unreal.

The scriptures had predicted this—the four harbingers coming down to scorn the earth. But you hadn't believed it. You were forced to now.

It was War’s reign back then. But Death would come one day. He had come to kill you all; to finish off everything his brothers hadn't touched, and one day he would.

It had been predicted. The words stuck in your head even now.

When the Lamb broke the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying, "Come." I looked, and behold, a pale horse; and he who sat on it had the name Death; and Hades was following with him. Authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by the wild beasts of the earth.

— Revelation 6:7–8

Your mother told you long ago of these scriptures. When you were a child, you'd cover your head with your blankets, hiding from the mysteries of the night. Somewhere in your innocent mind, you'd convinced yourself the devil himself would find his way into your room, wrap his bony hand around your ankle, and drag you to the pits of Hell.

Back then you'd feared death. You'd done everything to steer far from its clutches.

She’s afraid of the world, your peers would hiss under their breath, not knowing you'd heard every word. And you knew they were right. You knew you had always been a scared kid, trying your hardest to keep the monsters at bay.

You wished you'd realized there had been no real monsters . . . yet. You would've lived more. Now you knew the consequences.

Now there was no more living, just surviving.

Still, sometimes you found yourself missing it; missing life. It was a bitter thought—what could've been had the world not ended all those years ago.

Back then—before the end—you'd feared death.

How far will this go? you remembered thinking back then when it was still War’s reign. How long until things are normal?

You didn't have the stomach back then to come to terms with the truth. You barely remembered it now.

But you did remember the day everything truly changed for you.

Up until that day, you'd been following your father's orders, huddling up in your home with your mother and little sister as the four of you survived day by day. Then . . . your house had been broken into, the intruder coming in through your window.

Back then you had feared death. You had thought you were going to die.

You'd thought this up until the very last scream ripped through your throat just as your father emerged from the shadows, a look on his face you’d never seen, moments before everything went red. You remembered that to this day. While everything else was blurry, that moment was clear. You could still feel the blood splatter on your face as you watched your father—the man who used to tie your shoes for you before you hopped on the school bus—kill a man before your very eyes, ripping out his jugular with his bare teeth.

Once a girl who could no longer kneel in church, became one painted with the blood from another. And you remembered a small part of you—the part that had once knelt so much her knees had turned to scabs—that this was all War’s fault.

You thought it until you watched the man pale, falling to your childhood bedroom floor with a thud. You remembered how his eyes stayed wide open, locked on you as he gurgled and choked on his blood, bleeding out onto your pink carpet. He didn't blink. Not once. Not even at all. They stayed cold and empty as your father breathed heavily above him.

And then you looked at him.

Your father was a good man. He was kind and just, despite the town. He believed in science and facts. He wanted the truth. But none of that mattered if his family was at stake.

Your father was a good man. He loved you, and he would’ve done anything for you.

Your father was a good man.

Your father had ripped out another man’s jugular in front of you.

Your father was a good man.

Your father had killed someone.

This was the end. You knew it, and it knew you, too.

(It wasn’t talked about, and you never brought it up again. He simply embraced you in a tight hug and kissed your forehead, leaving a smudge of blood from the man in doing so, and whispered apologies that would never sink deeper than your skin.

(Now you wished you would’ve told him you understood. Now you would’ve looked at him and seen an image of yourself staring right back. Now you would’ve hugged him back.))

That was all it took before your father took it upon himself to gather your mother and little sister, put all necessities in the car, and collect enough portable gasoline as he could before the four of you set off down the road. Where you were going was undetermined. There was no knowing . . . because there was nowhere to go.

The world had ended. There was nothing left. You just had to go.

You have to grow up. No more kid stuff, your father said to you that night on the road while your mother and little sister were fast asleep in the back of the car. One day I might not be here to protect you. You have to learn to protect yourself.

And you'd promised him you would. Because you had to. You had been old enough then, after all. You had been twenty-one . . . technically an adult.

(Now, however, you realized you had still been too young. Twenty-one wasn't old enough to face the end of the world.)

But . . . what happens when a scared young girl is forced to grow up too soon? She turns into a machine.

Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.

Your father had borne that burden back then, when you first set off on the road. The car hadn't lasted long. Not that it mattered. The world was a wasteland anyway. Walking from town to town on the vacant streets and highways was nothing new now.

You just have to survive, he kept telling you. Survive long enough to keep them alive.

And you always knew what he meant. He was training you for the day when he would be no more. Because when that day came, you would be the one left in charge. He'd turned you into a machine because that was the world you lived in. You were the oldest. Your sister was barely five years old back then. And your mother . . . your mother who once believed this was all some greater plan, was now convinced that if she prayed hard enough it'd stop Famine from following after his ruthless brother.

It was your job to remember what your father had taught you when Pestilence first came to reign—how to hunt, how to shoot a shotgun, and now . . . how to survive.

And when Famine came; when you caught sight of the words Famine has risen spray painted on a billboard on the side of a highway, reminding you of your sick home. It was then you finally learned how to survive. You didn't realize how hard it would be until a year after Famine's birth, your father had passed because of you (because of a stupid decision that you had made which you still couldn't bring yourself to acknowledge).

Survival became all that you knew after that.

Your father was gone. It was just like he had warned. You were in charge now, and you had one purpose: keep your family alive.

The burden became yours to bear.

This was your purgatory and you'd do well to repent for what you'd done; for the man you'd sent out to die; for the father you'd lost.

Survive, survive, survive. It was all you knew.

And when the final Horseman rose, you knew what you had to do. It didn’t matter if it killed you, you couldn’t let your family die at the hands of one of those . . . creatures.

Death had risen. The entire world was a wasteland filled with undead and wars made by man.

If you crossed paths with one of those creatures and let them lay a finger on your family, your oath to your father would be broken. Death would kill you all.

So you kept going, trying to outrun the inevitable.

Because you had to. For him. For your father. For the ghosts that haunted you.

Your father had wielded you to become a machine. And a machine you would become.

Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.

The routine was ingrained in your brain, going on and on like a mantra. You couldn't escape that. Not that it mattered. Survival mattered. Keeping your group, your sister, your mother, and your family alive mattered. They were all that mattered. You would skip as many meals as your body would let you if it meant they'd stay fed.

Sometimes you found yourself laughing at how naive you had been in the past. At twenty-five now, you were equal parts machine and woman, still oozing blood when wounded despite your protests. You didn't tremble at the sight of blood now. You didn't fear death.

When you were a kid, death was your greatest fear. Now, you envied it. Envied the fact you had to walk the earth; the same earth the dead destroyed. Because you couldn't die. That was the harsh truth: you couldn't die.

You'd feared death for so long and now as you sat awake, keeping watch while your group slept, you yearned for the clutches of death to drag you into nothingness. It was almost laughable.

In a world where people now fought for their lives, trying to outrun the dead, you wished to succumb to death. You knew it was wrong, and you'd never speak it aloud, but you yearned for it. This world was shit. Complete and utter shit, and you wanted to give up. Everything in you wanted to just wait like some brainless sitting duck and let Death or disease or even those wretched beasts you heard groaning in the dead of night have their way with your hollow body.

But you couldn't . . . not when you promised your father you'd protect them. He'd died for you, and it was your duty to keep your family safe. Your duty.

You couldn't die, not when you had to keep them alive.

So you let yourself turn into a machine.

And a ruthless machine you had watched yourself become.

That night had been enough evidence of this. Because that night as you sat on a log, slowly dragging yourself out of the past and into the present, you realized one thing. A bloody knife sat in your hand while you watched over your sleeping group, eyes searching for any sign of the dead, and that was when it dawned on you that you had been right all those years ago—the end of the world brought out who people truly were.

You were a machine. You didn't feel. You couldn't.

Glancing down at the bloody knife in your hand, you realized you hadn't felt anything that night.

That night you'd done something you never thought you would. That night your group was attacked by a man with a gun; a man who wanted to harm; a man who had put his hands on your little sister. She was only eight going on nine, and she was your responsibility, and as soon as his hand clamped down over her shoulder while he held a gun to her head, threatening to pull the trigger unless you gave up all your food, you lost it.

Everything went black. You couldn't see. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't even think. You just felt this pure blinding rage.

When you finally regained your sight, you realized what you'd done—you'd killed the man.

No, killed was too vague.

Like the true machine you had become, you had slaughtered him; the bloody knife in your hand was evidence enough of that.

The man was dead, a chunk of his jugular ripped out while he clutched the many stab wounds piercing his stomach. And you . . . you stood above him, eyes wide, bloody knife in hand, and the bitter taste of blood on your tongue.

You'd never killed anyone before. You'd put people out of their misery, but you'd never taken another life like this. You'd never had to.

But you had that night.

And now you paid the consequences.

It had been hours since then. No one had spoken a word since. And your sister . . . your little sister had only looked at you once since then, and you could see the utter terror her round eyes held. Normally she would sleep by your side, but she'd curled up next to your mother that night.

She was afraid of you, and you couldn't blame her. You had once given your father the same look.

So you sat alone on that damned log, bloody knife in hand as you thought back on how you managed to end up in this Hell. Sometimes you felt like a ghost, and now you knew why.

Your brows pinched together. You couldn't help but think: is this what your father had intended?

How much of a machine had he meant for you to become? Were you supposed to clutch onto the part of yourself that was still human? Or had becoming a monster been part of the deal when you'd signed off your soul for machine parts?

You weren't sure. You weren't really sure of anything anymore.

Your sister had looked at you like you were one of the monsters that plagued your earth, slowly destroying it region by region.

Were you no better than the dead to her?

You swallowed hard.

Had you become a monster?

“You did what you had to do,” you heard a deep voice from behind you, perhaps answering your thoughts.

But you didn't jump as you turned to see Felix sit down on the log beside you, exhaustion weaving through his delicate features. You didn't speak a word, just stared at the side of his face for a second before you glanced back down at the bloody knife in your hand.

You did what you had to do.

You nearly laughed. It was just like him to say such things.

You see: Lee Felix had joined your group around the same time Famine took his reign, and ever since then he'd been following you around like your own personal shadow. That was three years ago now. Your father had saved him, offering him to join your family on the road. Perhaps your father had seen something in him. Or maybe he had just saved him simply because that was just who your father was: a hero.

Not that it mattered. You'd taken a liking to Felix, too. He was kind.

Kind had been rare back then. It still was.

And Felix stayed kind.

When your father passed, Felix stuck by you. Your mother had begun to look at you as if you were a stranger, and your little sister still had been too young to understand much. Felix had made life easier.

You'd taught him everything you knew partly because you needed to and partly because you liked being around him as if he were the younger brother you’d never had. Little bird, you called him . . . because you'd taught him everything. You'd taught him how to survive. And sometimes you thought maybe you would've been friends outside of this. If things were different, if you'd met in a world where the apocalypse hadn't happened . . . then you'd like to think you could have met; that your paths would've crossed.

But things weren't different. You weren't even sure if you could let him in entirely. Your friendship would surely put him in some sort of jeopardy. Because, really, it all came down to survival, and you needed him to live. You didn't care what happened to yourself. You just needed to stay alive long enough to make sure they'd all make it.

That still didn't stop the feeling of relief that washed over you as soon as you felt him lean into you, arm touching yours. He was trying to comfort you in the way that he knew, and you couldn't help but lean against him further.

He was still just as kind as the day you'd crossed paths.

But you?

Well . . .

“I ripped his throat out . . . " you heard yourself roughly mutter before you felt the words tumble from your tongue. You lifted a hand to your blood-stained lips and swallowed. “I ripped . . . throat . . . his . . . with my teeth.” You swallowed once again, harder this time as your eyes drifted to your little sister's sleeping figure. She had been so scared. You had done that. You had scared her. “She looks at me like I’m a monster.”

”You’re not."

“Lix."

“You’re not,” he reiterated, his voice as harsh as he could manage (which was not harsh at all) while he clutched your blood-stained hand and took it into his. “You did what you had to do.”

Your eyes flicked down to your hands. But you didn't look at him. You couldn't. You just kept thinking and thinking and seeing that look on your sister's face. And then . . . then you felt yourself say. ”She says all life is precious. She cries when we have to put down a squirrel for Christ’s sake. I should’ve known. I should’ve—”

”She’s just a kid."

“I didn’t have to kill him,” you continued. “There was a point where I could’ve knocked him out. I thought about it. And I still killed him.” Your eyes finally snapped to his then. “I wanted to kill him, Lix.”

A muscle in Felix’s jaw twitched. ”It’s people like him that make me wonder if this world got it all right,” he admitted after a second. “I’m glad he’s dead. I just wish I could’ve been the one to do it.”

Your breath hitched at his words, not because they'd shocked you . . . but rather because you found yourself agreeing. But that wasn't . . . right. Felix was kind. You were not. He was good, and you . . .

”You don’t mean that,” you mumbled, squeezing his hand. “You’re not . . . “

”Not what?” Felix countered, eyes searching yours. “Hmm? Not what?”

You blinked, your throat constricting. ”Too far gone,” you choked out.

His brows twitched, his expression softening. ”Neither are you."

His hand touched your face a second later, his thumb wiping the dried blood from your chin. You weren't a monster in his eyes. You were just his friend. He didn't fear you, but you knew he should've.

But for a second, you let yourself forget this. Instead, you closed your eyes, allowing him to clean your face of the man's spilled blood. And when he was done, your eyes fluttered open just in time to see him try to reach for the knife in your hand, probably to release it from your tight hold.

However, you shifted it out of his grasp. His eyes snapped to yours then, questioning.

You offered a weak smile—something you didn't do often, but would for him. ”Sleep,” you hummed, patting his shoulder. “We need your brute strength in the morning.”

”We need your brain more,” he countered, tapping a finger to your forehead.

”Sleep, little bird."

He rolled those round brown eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."

Nevertheless, Felix listened to you. He shifted down onto the ground, resting his head on the log, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes closed. And you watched him until you were sure he was resting soundly. Then, your eyes went back to watching, making sure to keep your promise to your father.

But just as you were sure it was just you and the silence of the night again, you heard Felix’s voice filter through your ears, ”You’re not too far gone."

You swallowed hard but said nothing.

You're not too far gone.

Oh, how wrong he had been.

As if like some sort of phantom, your knees had begun to itch like they used to after mass all those years ago. For the first few days, you tried to ignore it, writing it off as poison ivy or not bathing for a few weeks, but even when you’d scratch, the itch would remain. You came to realize that this wasn’t something you could write off; this wasn’t something that hadn’t been caused by anything other than . . . you.

A few nights ago, you’d killed a man. You’d ripped out his throat with his teeth, and for a second too long, you’d enjoyed it. Now . . . now you wondered just how deep your guilt ran. Now you wondered if given the chance, would you do it again?

But you already knew the answer.

Your knees had begun to itch once again . . .

And you tried to ignore it. Honest, you did, but his screams; how easy it was to bite into his flesh; the bitter taste of metallic blood on your tongue which oddly tasted too similar to honey; the life in his eyes quickly dissipating as you towered over him like a predator to its prey; all of it kept playing in your head over and over again. You couldn’t escape it, not even when night came and you were forced to close your eyes.

His face was always there.

Sometimes you wondered if any of it had actually happened. Sometimes you wondered if none of this was real or if you even were. Sometimes you wondered if this man had been Death; if the tales your town preached had been real and this was your test.

Sometimes you wondered if you had failed.

And you knew you had.

At night, you could hear your mother whispering prayers under her breath, pleading to the heavens that she and her daughter would be spared. And every time, you knew which daughter she meant. Every time you knew she was praying to be spared from you. Every time you knew it was you who she feared the most in this world. And every time you wondered if one day he’d finally answer her prayers.

You couldn’t even blame her, because a few nights ago you’d done the one thing you’d never thought you’d have to do—kill a man. You knew you were some kind of fucked for that alone.

Then, last night, you began to wonder if this was how your father had felt. You began to wonder if this was why he was dead and not you. You wondered if he’d done it to save you, and to put himself out of his own misery.

And then you began to pray, too. You’d stopped believing in God years ago, but it was an old habit that you sometimes indulged in for some sick kind of comfort. And this time, in the dead of night, you’d shut your eyes and beg for your father’s ghost to return to you. You begged for just one more minute. One more minute and he could tell you how to deal with this; how to survive this, too, just as he had taught you how to endure everything else.

But no ghost ever came, only the perpetual darkness galloped in, consuming you whole.

Your father was gone, and it was all your fault. Guilt was your ghost, not him.

He would still be here if you hadn't—

"Mom thinks you've been possessed by the devil," your little sister's voice brought you out of your mind.

You blinked once. Then, you glanced down at her, taking note of her skeptical eyes and furrowed brows. It was almost as if she were inspecting your face, trying to decipher if you, her older sister, really were possessed as your mother had claimed.

It had been the first time your sister had spoken to you in the past week. The four of you had been walking through the woods, steering clear of the main roads ever since you’d come into contact with that man—the man whose blood you could still taste on your tongue.

She’d taken to walking hand-in-hand with your mother, just a few feet behind you and Felix as the two of you led the way into the unknown. You didn’t know where you were going. You never did. That was the thing about the end of the world—the only thing that mattered was surviving day by day. There was no end-point.

But today while you led the group through the woods, eyes searching for any rodents or small animals to capture for food, your head stuck in the past, your sister had taken the chance to walk into step with you. And those . . . those had been her choice of words.

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

And now with the world a ghost of itself, you thought perhaps maybe your mother could be right. You’d changed. The world had changed you. The old taste of blood on your tongue was evidence enough of that.

You’d killed a man. You’d ripped out a chunk of his jugular with your teeth and plunged the very knife in your belt into his flesh over and over again until you were sure he couldn’t do more harm.

Kill or be killed, sure, but . . .

. . . You’d still killed a man.

You’d actually taken a life.

(You weren’t expecting it to haunt you this much. But it had. You could still see his face, hear his voice, smell him, feel him. He was still very much alive in your mind, haunting you like a ghost.

It didn’t matter if he was more monster than man . . . you had still killed him. You had still taken a life without a second thought. His evils didn’t matter . . . guilt still seeped in.)

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

And maybe you had been.

That would’ve been easier to fathom.

But instead of voicing these thoughts aloud, you adjusted your backpack on your shoulders, touched a finger to the knife tucked into your belt to make sure it was still there and tightened your grip on your father’s shotgun in your hand before you finally spoke.

"Mom's off her meds," was all you offered. It was all you could say. And it hadn’t been what your sister was searching for.

Your sister stepped back, allowing you to walk alone. You knew you were losing her. You knew she barely trusted you now just as your mother stopped considering you a daughter.

And you couldn’t blame them.

The end of the world brought out who people truly were, and you were someone not worth saving.

The sun had begun to set when you finally declared you’d be stopping for the night. It wasn’t a solid resting place, which meant another night of no sleep on your part, but that didn’t bother you much anymore. All that mattered was there were no signs of the dead, no low groans in the distance, no immediate danger, and the small creek running just a few meters from your camp would provide just enough for you to wet your face and clean any dried blood from your skin. That was what mattered—a temporary sanctuary.

Felix had taken to accompanying your little sister to the creek, while your mother gathered small twigs and broken branches to add to the fire you had just started. But your eyes never stopped watching your little sister, keeping an eye on her to ensure no danger would reach her or Felix while you were occupied.

That was your only concern. Your second was food. There had to be some crawfish lingering in the creek that you could fry up. That was your second concern right after the fire was steady enough to last until nightfall.

With a soft sigh, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from your sister’s smiling face. You tried to ignore how she smiled at Felix while he splashed water at her. You tried to ignore the soft laughter you could still hear as you stabbed at the fire with a branch. You tried to ignore the thought that she’d never look at you like that; never laugh like that with you; never trust you like that again.

You tried to ignore how you had become more of a loose end your family needed to tie off, than a daughter or an older sister.

But you couldn’t. The thought was always there. There it would remain, you were sure of it.

Clenching your jaw, you added the branch in your hand to the fire, watching it crackle under the embers. And for a moment, you wondered what it would feel like if you were to reach forward and let the flames lick your fingertips.

Had he felt like this, too?

Had your father had these thoughts before he died for you?

Did he ever wonder if—

“You’re just like him, you know?” your mother nearly whispered, tearing you from your mind as she set down the pile of branches she had collected.

You glanced at her once, then glared into the fire. “Is that supposed to hurt me?”

She shook her head only once. “It should scare you,” she clarified, standing to her feet so she could tower over you once again. “God’s plan—”

“God’s plan?” you immediately spat out with a humorous scoff, now standing to your feet as well. You were taller than her now, unlike when you were a kid; unlike when you used to do everything she told you; unlike when she still considered you her daughter. “What does God’s plan have to do with my father?”

A muscle in her jaw twitched. “He has protected us this far. He couldn’t save your father. I’m worried if you continue down this path, he won’t be able to save you either,” she muttered back as she clutched the cross around her neck as if she thought it would ward you off like you had become one of the evils she’d warn you about when you were just a girl.

But you were no longer small; you were no longer moldable by her hand, and now, you were only made of anger. “You think God’s the reason we’re alive?” you questioned her, eyes narrowing into slits.

Your mother remained silent but clutched her cross harder. And you knew what that meant.

Your eyes flicked from her hand to her face. Then, you took a step forward, chin jutted out. “Is it God who kills so we can eat? Is it God who got us here, to this point? Is it God who holds dad’s gun?” you bit out as you touched a hand to your chest. “God doesn’t have a fucking plan.” You drilled a finger into your chest, your angry eyes never leaving hers. “I do. And God couldn’t save dad because it was supposed to be—”

But your words halted in your throat. You couldn’t admit it to her. You couldn’t tell her you were the reason behind your father’s death. It didn’t matter if she already knew. You just . . . you just couldn’t admit it to her face.

“God doesn't fucking exist,” you muttered out instead, turning away from her. “And if he did, he’s sure as hell dead now.”

“Your father filled your head with lies.”

You turned back to her, eyes glaring into hers. “Bullshit,” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “He was the only one who ever told me the truth.”

Ignoring your words, she took a step away from you, her hand remaining on the cross around her neck. "Your father . . . I knew he was deeply flawed when I married him, but I just figured he’d change. I figured he’d see the way, instead he only got worse, but he knew when to control it. He knew right from wrong,” she went on, her voice steady, but her eyes had begun to water. And you knew tears would come, and when they did, you’d leave to kill the crawfish. "But, you, honey . . . I don't know where we went wrong with you. It's like you came out of the womb defective. You got all the bad traits of your father and nothing else. I look at you and I see this angry little girl. And, you know, sometimes I ask myself how in the world we managed to raise a daughter who is even more deeply flawed than her bastard father, but I never seem to know the answer."

There were the tears now.

But along with it came a knife in your chest that kept twisting and twisting the more she spoke.

Twist the knife, and she did.

"There's something wrong with you,” she whispered again after a moment’s silence, the tears starting to roll down her cheeks. “You frighten me.”

Twist the knife, and you refused to pull it out.

This was what you deserved.

Still, you didn’t cry, not for yourself. Never for yourself. Instead, you continued to stare at her with no emotion in your eyes as you muttered, “Talking ill of the dead is a sin, remember?” And then you began to turn.

But your mother’s hand landed firmly around your arm. “Don’t you turn your back on me, girl,” she warned, her words sharper than the knife she’d twisted into your chest.

Swallowing hard, you sucked on your teeth. “What else do you want me to say?” you questioned, but didn’t bother to turn and face her. “I have nothing else to give you, mom.”

She released your arm as if you’d burned her and hissed, “Don’t call me that.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion for a mere second before you realized what she meant; before you realized what you’d said; what you’d done. It was an honest mistake, as well. You hadn’t called her that in so long, and yet it still came out. You hadn’t meant to say it, but it still came out as if you were still small and thought the whole world was in her arms.

“Then what do you want me to call you?” you asked, your voice quieter now as you took a step back. “If not mom, then what should your daughter call you? Hmm? Or is the answer nothing? Is that what we are to each other now? Will that make God come down from the heavens and give us salvation? . . . If you abandon me?”

Your mother remained silent.

And you knew her answer.

Sucking on your teeth, you nodded in acceptance. “What?” you spoke in a whisper as you took another step back. “Am I not being loud enough for him?” You outstretched your hands at your sides, gesturing to the heavens. “Should I scream it? Will he finally fucking answer then?”

“Stupid girl—” your mother quickly scolded, grabbing you firmly by the arm— “don’t you dare put this family in danger,”

But you only tilted your head in question. “Does that include me?”

Her eyes fluttered, taken back. “What?”

“This family,” you reiterated. “Am I a part of this family?”

Once again, she remained silent.

But you knew the truth.

“God’s plan as long as I’m out of the picture, right?” you muttered under your breath, swallowing hard once again. “At least we finally agree.”

Then, you were tearing your arm out of her grasp, but you didn’t move, you didn’t even look away from her. Instead, you kept still. You kept your eyes locked with hers as if breaking that eye contact would sever the final string holding the two of you together. She didn’t speak either, and she refused to move. She wouldn’t move first. You knew that. She’d always been that way. So had you . . .

And when you were sure the world had begun to rot around you, you could have sworn her bottom lip quivered as if she were on the verge of saying something . . . anything. Only, when her lips parted a mere sliver, a shrill scream sounded from behind, and the perpetual darkness of your world crept back in through your peripheral vision.

Beat. Your heart shot to your throat.

It happened too quickly for you to think.

Beat. Beat.

You heard the scream and you knew your sister was in trouble.

Beat.

Without a second thought, you dropped everything and ran toward the scream; toward the creek; toward your sister. It wasn’t far, but it was far enough for you to catch sight of two of the dead. One Felix fought off, while trying to grab his knife from his belt. The other had found its way to your sister, pinning her to the forest floor as she thrashed and screamed, her weak limbs desperately trying to keep the thing from sinking its teeth into her flesh.

And you knew what to do.

For a brief second longer, there was screaming. Then the squelch of a knife being plunged through a skull. Then nothing.

The world faded away. No noise. No people. No nothing.

One. Two. Three seconds, then the world started to return.

Breathing heavily, you watched carefully as your mother rushed past you, tearing the dead corpse off your sister and holding her closer . . . closer than she’d ever held you. Your nose twitched for a mere second as your gaze shifted from your mother and sister staring at you in shock ((?) no, maybe it was horror) to the stilled corpse, and finally to the bloodied knife gripped tightly in your hand.

You’d killed that thing, yes. But you hadn’t even thought about it. You hadn’t stopped to think that this thing was once a person. You hadn’t even seen it as such, unlike your mother; unlike what the town had tried to drill into your head during Pestilence’s reign. And . . . you could see that realization in your mother’s eyes.

. . . You were getting worse.

Your legs had begun to weaken at the thought, but you quickly stabled yourself, afraid they’d see it as another sign to put you down like the violent dog you knew they saw you to be. Instead, you tore your gaze from the knife in your hand and met your mother’s eyes once again (but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet your sister’s tearful stare). “Tell me, mo—” you quickly stopped the word from tumbling from your tongue, then went on— “is this still what God’s plan looks like to you?”

But your mother didn’t reply, and you didn’t wait for her to. You could barely stand to hold her gaze for a second longer. Instead, you wiped the blood from your knife on your pants, shoved it back into your belt, and turned, walking back to the fire you had begun to make minutes before.

And as you walked, you took note of the silence which followed you. You took note of how even Felix hesitated slightly before he followed after you. You took note of how your mother and sister sat near that creek for a few minutes longer and didn’t bother to wander after you as if you were no longer their blood.

The final string tying your family together had begun to wear thinner. You wondered when it would finally snap. You wondered how long it would take for a violent dog to succumb to its instincts; how long it would take you to become the lost cause you knew you were destined to be.

Would they make the decision to put you down then?

Four days. Two sleepless nights. And one squirrel shared between the four of you. You felt a fever coming on a couple days ago. You saw the infected cuts from the fight with that man. You knew your body was weakening day by day.

If you didn’t stop soon, you’d sure become one of the dead.

But you tried your best to ignore it. You had to.

Your mother; however, remained hopeful (of course). You could hear her chattering on to your sister throughout the day while you watched the world.

According to her, no one really knew why the Horsemen came to earth. She claimed the world needed saving from certain people (what you were sure she was leaving out was the fact that she was convinced you were one of these people). So, she went on and on and on, and you quietly listened, too, because you were still a girl who used to kneel in church, after all; because you could still feel the bruises on your knees; because you could still see the scars left behind from the scabs.

So, you listened, but you did not believe.

The world was fucked and needed cleansing. People were inherently bad and God saw no other way for salvation (apparently) than to send his four loyal Horsemen to destroy Earth and its people. . . . Well . . . supposedly. You knew the truth; however. There were no Horsemen. There was just death. Something had gone wrong and no one really knew what, so they blamed it on some higher power.

Whatever.

(Supposedly) Pestilence had been a shadow. War had wanted an audience. The world fell before you could get a proper grasp on Famine. And now Death was here. He’d been walking the earth for two years now, and still no one knew why.

Just like the town, your mother had her theories. And while she believed this God was still on your side, still searching for the good in humanity, you thought him fucked up. The human race was just his playthings.

He’d made sure there was nothing left.

Hell, you knew there wasn’t even a god. The world was just fucked. The end.

Point blank: it didn’t matter. Nothing did anymore.

Survival was all that mattered.

Everything else was fucked.

And as you continued to lead the way into nothingness, listening to your mother’s ramblings about the Bible, all you could do was ignore how your knees had begun to itch once again, while you focused on one thought: survive, survive, survive. But . . . not for yourself . . . for them.

Survive long enough for them.

For your father.

For your sister.

For your mother.

For Felix.

For them.

By sundown, Felix managed to find an abandoned warehouse for the night. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping out in the wild. Perhaps all of you could get some shuteye that night. Sure, luckily it was around Fall or maybe just before where it was still warm, but sleeping on logs wasn’t ideal. (Not that you could be picky. Not that you were.)

But, just your luck, sleep never found you.

Beside you, Felix softly snored, laying on his back with his arms crossed over his chest and his head resting in your lap. Your hand found its way to his dark waves, gently scratching his scalp as he slept. It brought you peace where you normally had none.

Sometimes you wondered when Felix would finally realize the monster you’d become. You wondered what it would take. How many more people would you kill for them in order for him to look at you as if you were a stranger?

You didn’t want to see that day come.

It’d already come for your mother the day your father died. Then for your sister when you’d butchered that man. You couldn’t bear living through Felix’s realization.

With a sigh, you glanced over your shoulder, eyes landing on your mother’s sleeping figure as your little sister curled up into her side, miles away in her dreams. You hoped it was better there; that her dreams were still pure and innocent despite the world.

You tore your eyes from them a second later, instead opting to glance out the large opening in the warehouse where a window used to be. The world was so bleak now. Even the sight of the empty lands before your eyes stirred nothing within you. It was just so . . . distant.

Nothing was left.

Truly.

Reluctantly, you shut your eyes, trying your hardest to drift off into sleep, but the pounding in your head and the scratch in your throat kept you up. You were getting worse. You squeezed your eyes tighter, hoping this fever would subside soon. The world was darker now, the nothingness intensifying. You weren’t even sure if you could sleep anymore. Had you been? You couldn’t remember.

But just when you were sure sleep wouldn’t greet you that night, forcing you to keep watch, you could’ve sworn you heard an inhuman howl echo throughout the darkness beyond.

Your eyes snapped open, heart hammering.

No.

It couldn’t be.

Another howl echoed throughout the air. But this was no howl from a wolf or even a beast.

You’d heard stories from survivors in the towns you’d passed through in the two years Death had taken his reign over your lands. You’d heard the stories of Death and his steed. His steed, pale in color similar to a corpse, was rumored to have this cry.

The cry was no ordinary cry. Death’s steed cried similar to a wolf or rather a beast, hungry for blood. It was a war cry—a warning sign.

Of course, Death was not real and there was no horse with their cry. No, you knew what this was. You’d heard these cries in smaller amounts. You’d heard these cries as you plunged your knife into each undead’s brain, killing the parasite living within. And a howl like this only meant one thing—a hoard.

You swallowed hard.

Death was near.

You’d thought the undead didn’t hoard unless . . .

The man.

Your eyes widened.

The night the man had attacked your group, you had managed to hotwire a car. That had been your plan. You were going to use that car to get your group farther and safer. But because of that man . . . because of what you’d done to him, you’d accidentally popped one of the tires in the process, forcing your group to stay the night in those woods when you should’ve been on the road.

And his screams . . .

You’d slowed down and made yourself known, and now they were following the noise.

And . . . it was all your fault.

You exhaled a shaky breath.

Death was coming.

Immediately, you swung into action, quietly waking Felix up. His eyes questioned yours before he, too, heard the war cry.

Death was coming. Felix knew this now, too.

The two of you silently awoke your mother and sister, Felix informing them of the matter they had on your hands, while you gathered your father’s shotgun, crouching near the window for a better look. If they were near . . . how near?

You swallowed hard.

Maybe you could still run. You could still get everyone out if you ran. It could work—

But then you saw it.

In the distance, you caught sight of the undead as they cried, following each other.

You checked the gun’s chamber, removing and reloading the cartridges just to make sure they were in place in case you were forced to fire. Your grip tightened and loosened, and you could hear Felix whispering your name, but your eyes were transfixed on the hoard up ahead.

Death was here. So close. Too close.

They couldn’t see you now, couldn’t hear you, but . . . if you ran, they’d catch sight of you. They’d kill your family. They’d kill Felix. They’d kill you all.

There was no way you could outrun the hoard. Not when they were this close; not when they could smell you; hear your every breath.

Fuck.

You wanted to scream.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Your father had trusted you. They all had. And now you were going to let another person down all because you’d been stupid one night. You’d fucked all of you.

“Snap out of it,” Felix whispered, his hand on your shoulder. “Ideas?”

You could only shake your head.

Felix swore, running his hands through his hair. "There's no way," he nearly gasped at his words. "Fuck."

You swore you felt your heart drop as you slumped against the wall. They were going to die. Because of you.

There was no way out; no way any of you would make it past the hoard without them noticing. The moment they saw any of you, they’d follow you until they could get their teeth into your flesh. And while you had no care for your own life, you still had care for theirs—the people you'd sworn to protect.

Your father had died for all of you. He knew it wasn't safe, and he still went out. He'd traded his life for yours. He'd made you swear to protect your mother and your little sister, and along the way, you'd sworn to not only keep them safe but to keep Felix from harm. You'd sworn that, and you were not one to fall back on your word.

There was no way out together. But . . . there was one way out.

You knew what that meant.

This was what your father would've wanted. This was what he would've done; what he had done.

It was always going to turn out this way. You'd known that.

And in that moment, you accepted that. After all, you'd always been told you were your father's daughter.

This was how you made things right.

You nodded at your thoughts.

Then, you felt your eyes burn, your brows scrunching in confusion. Wetness slipped down your cheek and you briefly touched a finger to the tear, finding you were crying. You hadn’t cried in so long.

Angrily, you wiped the tears away. You didn’t get to cry.

This had been your fault in the first place. This was how you made it right. You didn’t get to cry. You didn’t.

So you sent one last glare at the hoard up ahead, then turned to Felix. Fuck. He would be the one in charge now. You trusted him, yes, but you knew how heavy that burden was. That was what you would regret the most—putting Felix through this agony, too.

Still: "Little bird," you whispered.

Fearful tears were already in his eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."

"Can't help it. I taught you how to fly," you hummed, voice soft and unlike you.

You both knew what you meant. You'd taught Felix how to fire a gun, taught him how to gut a fish, you taught him how to survive—you taught him how to fly. But he didn't need any more teachings. Like a baby bird, he'd flown from the nest ages ago. He could fly without you. The thought brought a melancholic smile to your chapped lips as you fought back the burning in your eyes when they met his worried gaze once again.

"Makes me feel important." You touched a hand to his cheek. He felt soft under your calloused skin. "But . . . you don't need me anymore."

Felix exhaled with a strained choke, his eyes widening in realization. "No," he rushed out, shaking his head as his soft brown eyes searched yours. "No." His hand enclosed around the one you'd touched to his cheek. "Don't. Don't."

You knew what he meant. Don't be the hero.

But that wasn't his decision to make. You had debts to pay; people to protect.

Living had never been something you wanted in a world like this. Sometimes you felt like a ghost; when the world was quiet and your heart beat a little slower—you felt like one of the many corpses you'd passed by on the daily.

Years ago, you promised your father you'd take over his job and protect. You'd never wanted to live, but you had forced yourself. Back then, you made a promise to yourself—you had to stay alive, not for yourself, but for them; you had to stay alive for the one you had lost. And you'd upheld that promise, but now . . . in order to save them, you had to break it.

You knew this.

Felix did, too.

He rested his forehead against yours. "Please. Don't. It's supposed to be you and me."

Your eyes squeezed shut. "I'm the reason he's dead."

The two of you knew what you meant. This was how you repaid him; how you repaid your father.

"Then let me do it," Felix muttered, hand dropping from yours to grasp the shotgun in your other hand.

You were quick to rip it from his hold. "It was always going to turn out this way," was all you said, and he knew what you meant.

The sound of the cries coming closer made you spring back from him. Your head swiveled, taking in your surroundings as your hands found their rightful place on the shotgun. Your eyes briefly found your little sister's—her round eyes wide with fright, only furthering your decision. You knew doing this for them, for her.

"Fine," you heard Felix hiss in a quiet whisper. "But I'm coming with you."

Your head snapped to him. "Like hell you are."

"You don't get to die."

"Neither do you."

"Then I guess we have a predicament."

Your eyes softened. "Lix."

His brows pinched together. "You don't get to die."

And you almost felt yourself smile. "Little birds are meant to fly," you hummed. Little birds are meant to fly; they aren't meant to die.

He shook his head.

You swallowed hard.

The cries grew closer, and your heart raced. You were out of time. This was your last goodbye.

You gripped his hand. "Protect them."

He latched onto your shoulders. “No. No. I’m not ready. Don’t make me say goodbye to you.”

Against your will, your bottom lip trembled. “It’s not.”

But it was. You both knew that.

Felix could only shake his head. “Please.”

“See you later, little bird,” you hummed, weakly, kissing his forehead before you tore yourself from him. And he reached for you, begging you to stay.

But . . . no amount of pleas could change your mind. You were already moving before Felix could stop you. You didn’t have the heart to glance back at your sister or your mother. You never wanted to live in a world like this, but if you looked back, you feared you might’ve found salvation in their eyes. You couldn’t put them through that. You’d put them through enough.

You worked quickly. You had to. For them.

The quiet cries of the hoard approached, moving slowly. You kept your eyes on their figures, stealthily stepping down the creaky stairs to the bottom floor. From there, you moved to the woods surrounding the area. You quickly crouched down in the dark forest, clutching the shotgun even tighter. This was your father’s, now it was yours, and you were going to use it to save your family.

You weren’t naive enough to think that you could actually kill all of them. But that didn’t matter. You were solely supposed to be a distraction. You would fire that damned shotgun at those things over and over again, not caring if it even did any damage. You just needed to keep their attention long enough to get them to follow you in the opposite direction. That would allow your family to escape. That was all you intended to do.

You knew there was no surviving this. And you were fine with that.

Death didn’t scare you. Not yours, anyway.

So you hunkered down, hands clutched on the shotgun as you waited for the hoard to get near enough to strike.

You heard them before you saw them. The cries echoed throughout the dark night, making your heart pound faster. It became louder and louder, so loud you felt yourself start to tense, and then the first came into view.

It came to a gentle halt, almost as if it had been expecting you. But that couldn’t be. It hadn’t seen you. You were still in the clear.

Still, you watched, remembering the lessons on hunting that your father had taught you. This was how you hunted—quiet, hidden, and alert.

The creature tilted its head back, eyes closed as the moonlight cascaded across its pale face. Your brows scrunched in confusion as you watched it, tilting your head to the side. It was almost as if it were basking in the moonlight, soaking up the feeling of the satellite shining down on it. And then you realized what it was doing: sniffing you out.

Behind it, the world was bleak as the rest of those damned creatures sauntered forward. The trees seemed to sag, the grass stale, and it was quiet, so very quiet. Every step they took, decay followed.

And then they began to move . . . toward the warehouse where your family still resided.

Your jaw ticked as you raised the shotgun. Your father’s instructions rang through your ears and you lined up the barrel, aiming at one of the creature’s chests as it was perhaps the only part of it you had direct access to. You were certain the impact wouldn’t kill it, you were almost certain it wouldn’t even hurt it, but . . . it would distract it, and that was all you needed.

Last week, you killed a man. You ripped out his jugular with your teeth. You’d slaughtered him. So this, killing this entity shouldn’t have made your stomach churn, but it did.

Your world was gone. Death remained. And it was all his doing.

Still . . . still, your finger hesitated on the trigger.

You would die tonight . . . by its hand, no doubt. And perhaps that scared you. Perhaps a part of you truly didn’t want to die. But you dumbed down this hesitation to just pure fear.

Fear that those things would find your family after disposing of your body; fear they’d kill them; fear all of this would be for nothing.

You swallowed hard and adjusted your grip on the gun. You had to try. Your life for theirs. It was that or you all died tonight, and you wouldn’t have that, not after all you had done; all you had put them through.

All you had to do was pull the trigger. And yet . . . you still hesitated.

Fuck. You closed your eyes, clenching your jaw as your heart hammered in your chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And as your eyes remained closed, you heard their voices then.

You're not too far gone.

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

There’s something wrong with you. You frighten me.

You have to grow up. No more kid stuff.

Your breath hitched. You have to grow up. And you had. Too quickly you now realized. It was always going to end up this way.

This was the only way to save them. The only way.

Your eyes snapped open, catching sight of the creatures still sniffing the air like they could just smell your terror. You sucked in a breath, then pulled the trigger. Exhale.

The ringing in your ears was almost immediate and the explosive sound echoed throughout the silent night. You barely even noticed the shotgun’s kickback, too focused on the creatures before you, watching with wide eyes as the pellets hit one of the things, knocking it entirely to the ground.

The others cried out, their noses no longer needing to be depended on as their eyes searched for the origin of the noise. And then you caught the eye of one, and you knew it was the end.

You faltered at the sight, stumbling backward as you tripped on a root, causing your body to hit the ground. A low groan escaped you before you could stop yourself.

Fuck.

Had that been too loud?

Heart pounding in your chest, you slowly glanced up, eyes landing on the creatures. More eyes stared back at you, hungry with . . . something as a few had begun to make their way toward you.

You swallowed hard.

Death itself had seen you.

Acting fast, you hastily grabbed the shotgun. You weren’t sure how long you could keep this up, but you needed to buy your family more time. You needed to end this.

And end it you would.

You clutched the shotgun tightly in your hand and sat up, groaning slightly when you felt a sharp pain in your ankle. But still, you went on.

Remembering your father’s teachings, you knew what a machine was good for at the end of its reign: making a lot of fucking noise.

And so with a heavy heart and angry tears pricking your eyes . . . you belted out a loud yell.

There was no hiding now. They had all heard you. And that was all that mattered to them.

“Come on, you fuckers!” you took it a step further as you yelled at them, clanking the butt of your gun on a tree to make as much noise as you could. And then, when you heard their cries echo with yours; when you saw one turn to two turn to ten following you into the woods, you knew it was time.

With a fleeting look at the warehouse where your family still resided, you fought back the urge to crawl into yourself and let that anger you’d been holding inside yourself for years now finally just . . . snap. You didn’t know if you fired the shotgun at one of the creature’s heads first or ran off further into the woods, still screaming. You didn’t know the present from the past, but you did know you couldn’t look back.

And so, you let yourself be loud, screaming for yourself, for the people you’d lost, for the people you’d never see again, for your father. You yelled and yelled, racing through the woods as they all quickly followed after you, releasing cries of their own.

The world fell behind you in those moments, time moving in slow motion as you weaved through the dark woods, your feet bounding off the ground as if you were in zero gravity. Sound evaded your senses, only the muffled noises of your rapid breathing could be heard echoing in your ears.

But you just kept running, letting the world escape you. Even when you’d trip over hidden roots, your knees buckling as you fell to the ground, surely bruising and cutting up your skin, you persisted each time. Like your father’s daughter, you pulled yourself to your feet each time, sparing a glance over your shoulder only to be met with the sight of the hoard getting nearer and nearer. And every time, you’d force yourself to swallow the bile crawling up your throat before you cocked your shotgun and fired into the hoard, taking off screaming for them to follow after you.

This was the end, and you planned to gather as much of them away from the warehouse and closer to you. You knew it would hurt, but you didn’t care. Their teeth ripping into your flesh would never be a match for the sins you’d committed in this lifetime. That was why you met every dead that got in your path with a lethal hit from the butt of your shotgun and a silent prayer that your damned soul could be traded for the safety of your family.

You were sure you would have continued running had your foot not slammed into a divot in the ground, twisting your ankle with such force that you hit the ground instantly, crying out in pain. And this time when you tried to stand to your feet, you realized the pain was too much to stand.

It hit you then.

Beat.

This really was the end.

You couldn’t run.

Beat.

The hoard was gaining on you.

This was the end.

Beat.

Swallowing hard, you clenched your jaw, shutting your eyes as you realized what you needed to do. Clutching your father’s shotgun close to your chest, so close it nearly touched your heart, your lips parted, and a scream bubbled up your throat, ripping through your vocal cords as it echoed throughout the dead of night.

But before you could inhale and breathe out another war cry of your own to match theirs, a hand slapped over your mouth, muffling your screams. Another hand was gripping your arm the next second, pulling you off the ground and shoving your back against the nearest tree.

Your eyes shot open, dropping your shotgun as your hands instinctively clasped around the wrist of the hand covering your mouth. Deep dark eyes stared back at you, a sense of urgency in them as you realized what was going on.

It happened so fast, too fast for you to process. But you quickly realized the eyes belonged to a man not much older than you. Dark eyes. Full lips. Sculpted nose. It was your first time seeing a man other than Felix . . . other than the one you’d gutted . . . in a long time.

What was he doing?

But you couldn’t ponder long as his eyes twisted to the scene behind you, and you could’ve sworn you felt his heart beat faster against your lips where his hand still lay. And at that sight, he kicked into action.

“You listen to me. We have a few seconds before those fuckers are at our throats,” he spoke in a hushed tone, his voice deep and controlled, but you could sense the fear on him. It was different from yours. “When I tell you, you run as fast as you fucking can in that direction and you don’t stop. You follow me and you don’t get lost or you’re dead.” His hand fell from your mouth as he began hastily digging through the pack over his shoulder. “Got it?”

You skipped a beat, not answering.

His eyes were on you instantly, expectantly.

But you only blinked.

You didn’t want to be saved.

No, he couldn’t do this. It was your time. This was your punishment. He couldn’t—

Your thoughts were cut short as he pulled something out of his pack, and you quickly realized a grenade now sat in his hand. Your eyes widened. He was going to—

“Run,” he bit out, an order.

And it all happened so fast.

You stayed put.

He turned from you, quickly pulling the pin and chucking the grenade as fast and hard as he could from your location. You watched the weapon soar, your heartbeat stilling in your throat as the seconds of anticipation crept upon you.

Beat.

Beat.

Be—

A loud explosion sounded in the distance, the ground shaking beneath your feet as ringing in your ears commenced. Only then did you realize your feet had been moving on their own, carrying you farther and farther away from the scene as you caught a glimpse of the hoard following after the explosion. But you wouldn’t do this. You had accepted your death. You wouldn’t—

Your feet weren’t moving of your own volition. The world had fallen away from you, you realized, but as you turned your head away from the hoard you realized it was the man who was dragging you away from the scene. You realized in your daze, that he must have locked his grip onto your arm and took off running, dragging you along with him despite your injured ankle and dormant mind.

And for some reason, despite the urge to fall to the ground and let yourself fade away, you allowed him to drag you further and further into the woods. You didn’t realize just how much land you had covered until the sound of the hoard was so far, that he’d begun to slow down ever so slightly. You didn’t realize until the woods turned into sparse grassland, until the sight of what appeared to be a latched roof to an underground bunker of some sort. You’d heard of shelters like these, but you’d never seen one. You always just assumed the military had covered it all up, leaving people to die while they sat safely under the barren earth.

Your mind raced with a million thoughts, but you could barely see straight let alone think right as you allowed this man to drag you to the entrance. Hell, you allowed him to shove you inside, as you crawled down the ladder in the tunnel. It was a subconscious action, honest. Otherwise, you would’ve begged him to leave you outside to die. But there was no breath for begging as he followed in after you, shutting the hatch and twisting it closed to ensure it was tightly locked.

And when your feet finally met the metal flooring of the inside, you stepped back in shock.

As you had predicted, this was a government bunker. A rather large one at that. You swallowed hard. Fuck.

And when you turned around, your eyes searching the area, you were met with the scene of a group of survivors staring back at you in confusion. People. And they were alive. You hadn’t seen so many people since before Famine.

What the fuck?

But before you could react, something hard cracked over the back of your head, throbbing pain followed. The darkness seeped in instantly, your mind losing control of your body as you smacked the ground, eyes fluttering as you faded in and out of consciousness.

There it was, you realized.

Your punishment.

You were going to die.

And you couldn’t help but allow yourself one last selfish look because maybe there was still a small part of you that wanted to be alive. But that part could only live if things were normal again, if things were the way they had been before the world died. Still, that part of you took over and you watched silently, your vision fading in and out as you caught a glimpse of those dark eyes that had saved you, just moments before the world faded into darkness.

The next time your eyes fluttered open, a metal ceiling stared back at you.

There was a throbbing in your head, searing through your thoughts, and your shotgun was nowhere to be found. You released a soft groan, trying to shift in your spot, but you were met with resistance. You tugged and tugged, but your body didn’t budge.

In confusion, you glanced around, finding yourself on a medical bed, your hands tied together with rope, attaching you to the bed. This didn’t make sense. You hadn’t seen a bed in months maybe a year now. This didn’t make sense. Where were you? How did you—

And then . . . then the memories all faded in.

The warehouse. The man. The shots. The hoard.

This was Death’s doing.

The town had warned you of this and you’d denied it. You still didn’t believe. You couldn’t. God was dead and the Horsemen were just a figment of fearmongering. But for a second, you wanted to believe. For that second you were strapped to that bed, you wanted to believe that this was your purgatory and Death was punishing you. That would be easier: if you believed.

Death was an entity; one you had no idea about. There was no knowing what exactly he could and couldn’t do. And this . . . being bound to a medical bed with not even a soul to be heard felt utterly ordinary if he did exist, considering what you did know about this dark being.

But . . . why were you still alive?

Slowly, you lifted your head, groaning at the pain that followed as you assessed the rest of your body. You were alive. Cuts and bruises everywhere, but you could still inhale, exhale, breathe. You could still hear the beat of your heart if you closed your eyes and focused. You were alive.

You were alive.

Your jaw twitched. “I’m alive,” you whispered to yourself, a bitter taste left on your tongue. “I”m . . . alive.”

And for a second, you truly allowed yourself to believe Death existed. You allowed yourself that he had done this to you; that the two years he’d reigned all led up to this very moment. You allowed yourself to believe that he had kept you alive because suffering was for the living.

Was this his way of being kind? Sparing you?

Swallowing hard, you glared up at the unfamiliar ceiling. If you prayed, would he give in? Would he end this suffering? Would he finally give you your punishment?

Your mind wasn’t allowed much longer to ponder as the sound of a door opening brought you out of your repenting. Wearily, you watched with stern eyes as a man stepped in, carrying a bowl in one hand and a washcloth in the other. You watched as he let himself in, still not looking up while he closed the door behind him with a heavy sigh and finally . . . glanced up, meeting your gaze.

Him.

The man.

Slowly, your face softened as confusion consumed you. Him. He had done this to you. He had been the one to lead you here. (He’d also been the one to save you . . . ) He had knocked you out cold. And now . . . now here he was.

You clenched your jaw hard.

The man just stared a minute longer at you, his gaze stern, cold, calculating. Then, he was walking toward you, resting the bowl on the bedside table beside your head before he reached forward and tapped a finger to your chin, tilting your head so he could analyze the wounds on your face.

And you let him, analyzing his actions, preparing for his next.

“You’re awake,” was all he simply said as he dropped your chin and diverted his attention to the bowl on the bedside table. “Sorry about the blow and the rope . . . it’s . . . protocol.”

But you remained silent, watching.

"Your stunt back there . . . could’ve cost us this entire place," he muttered, his voice calm and controlled but you knew he was seething inside. He remained quiet as he dipped the washcloth into the bowl of what seemed to be warm water before he turned to you once again, his eyes lethal. "Screaming only attracts more of them, don’t you know? If you wanted to die, you should’ve just stayed put.”

You swallowed thickly.

There was something terrifying about a quiet rage.

"There's always someone like you," he continued, his eyes racking up and down your body in a menacing glare before the warm touch of a washcloth to your cheek startled a quiet gasp out of your lips. "Someone who ends up surviving longer than they should have." A scoff left him. "Someone who doesn’t care who dies for them as long as they get out unscathed. Did you even think there might be other survivors around before you took off attracting all of those things? If there were children? Families? People who survive together and want to stay alive without running into someone like you?”

And you hadn’t.

You never thought yourself to be stupid or any of the sort. You hadn’t been thinking. There hadn’t been enough time. You just needed to do something so your family could make it out alive. You hadn’t thought that there could be others. You hadn’t thought that saving your family could damn another.

Had your mother been right about you?

Were you really just a stupid girl? A stupid girl playing hero?

The man pulled a chair from the corner of the room, and placed it beside your bed, sitting on it as he dragged the washcloth down your arms now. His touch was somehow gentle despite his glare. Perhaps it was because no one had touched you so gently in so long. Perhaps it was because you had given up, but you let him clean the wounds on your body as you rested your head back onto the pillow, your muscles relaxing ever-so-slightly.

"No?" he questioned, reiterating his accusation. “In my experience, people like you don’t find themselves in trouble like that unless they’re planning something.”

You remained expressionless as you watched him, taking in his words. He thought you’d lured the dead here, and for what? Looting? Or just plain insanity?

Had you really become that corrupt even a stranger could sense it on you?

Slowly, you blinked, wondering if your father had ever felt this way before his death. And as you wondered, the man beside you continued cleaning your wounds, but this time, remained silent. Maybe he realized you wouldn’t answer. Or maybe he already knew the truth about you and your damned soul.

And as the minutes of silence ticked on, you did your own inspection.

Now, under the light, the man sat beside you, his eyes fixed on meticulously cleaning each wound with care despite his lethal words. It had been so long since you’d seen another man like this; a man that had to be around your age; a man so young yet so riddled with age. His dark hair was slightly curly, more tangled and messy than anything as if he hadn’t slept in days. The dark circles under his equally dark eyes were enough to show his evident sleep deprivation. And yet, he seemed almost too alert: his full lips were hidden as his teeth worried his bottom lip while he continued to clean the blood from your skin.

(You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t beautiful; so beautiful it almost made you believe in God once more.)

And for a second, you let yourself wonder what else your mother had been right about. You let yourself believe once again. You let yourself be a girl who could finally kneel in church without bruises being left behind. For a moment, you let yourself believe that she and the town had been right; that this whole thing was God’s plan; that the Horsemen had come; that they could be saved, but you would be condemned.

Then . . . you began to wonder if you had already been. Maybe it was the blow to the head you’d taken or the fever raging through your body or maybe it was the truth, but you began to believe that perhaps this was your purgatory; perhaps you had died in that hoard and you’d been sent here; perhaps the beautiful man beside you was Death himself.

Was this it then? Were you always meant to see him at the end?

Oddly enough, he reminded you of this small dog your sister had found near one of the abandoned houses your family had stayed in over the years. This was during Famine’s rule—when food became sparse, when lands became stale and yellowed; when the dead had only just begun to migrate south. This tiny dog found your younger sister then, and she’d brought it home, leaving you no choice but to care for the little thing.

Your sister had named her Berry. (A few months later you had to put her down; it was what we had to do to survive, you’d told your sister back then. You were sure it was then she first started to hate you.)

And as you stared at Death, taking note of how his eyes were a particular shade of brown, you realized they were the same shade that the silly dog had.

You tilted your head. Death somehow had eyes that were kind; eyes that were warm; eyes that reminded you of Felix. Was that how they planned to transfix you? Was Death meant to be this beautiful; this familiar so you’d go willingly? Had God forgotten you’d already condemned yourself? Had he forgotten you didn’t need to be tricked? Had he forgotten where your prayers resided?

Only a moment later, when you felt his hands running over your torso, did you snap out of your exhaust-ridden daze. You realized quickly he was cleaning the last of your wounds which resided on your ribs. And when he was done, he tossed the washcloth into the bowl without another care before he slowly leaned back, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched you with scrutinizing eyes.

Death narrowed his gaze, but it wasn’t menacing this time. Rather, he seemed almost perplexed. "Why aren’t you fighting?" he questioned. "You didn’t stop to run before. Why calm your fire now?"

Why aren’t you fighting?

The thing was: it was over. Your fight was over.

Sure, you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Death was painfully beautiful . . . but it went beyond that.

It was surely daylight by now.

Daylight had come, hours had passed, and Death had you in his hold.

By now, Felix had probably taken your mother and sister onto the road again. They’d escaped, and they were miles and miles away from you and Death. They were safe.

So . . . where was your fight?

You didn’t have one anymore. This was the end. Death would either kill you or make you suffer again and again and again, and your family would live. You’d once told yourself that you never wanted to live in a world like this, but you’d kept yourself alive to protect your family. Only now . . . you didn’t need to fight because there wasn’t anyone left for you to protect.

Your fight was over. Maybe you could rest now. Maybe he’d let you.

Death seemed to catch onto the shift in your demeanor as he narrowed his eyes. "Do you not speak?"

For a moment, you considered not replying. Until: "There's no point," you heard yourself say, voice dry and hoarse.

The look on Death’s face was unreadable as his eyes shifted across your face, his mouth slightly parted. "You smell of death," he muttered, gaze still searching your being.

And you almost laughed.

Because this was your end, and Death himself just told you that you smelled like shit or well . . . like him, you supposed . . . apparently.

It all felt a little unreal.

Death must not have liked your silence as he shot you one last glance before he pulled away and walked toward a table on the other side of the room. As he walked, you caught sight of the blood painting his body, his skin, him.

You swallowed hard. You’d brought that hoard to him. He’d fought his way out. You’d caused those wounds, and now he was more than likely going to do worse to you. He’d probably take that scythe you were told he carried and cut your head clean off.

But unlike what you thought, Death sifted through the miscellaneous items on the table before pausing and grabbing a small knife. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you watched him approach you, knife in hand.

There it was.

This was the end you were promised.

Was he going to slit your throat and leave you to bleed out? Or cut you open so you could see just how dark your heart had become? You wouldn’t put it past him. Hell, you might have even welcomed it. But as he approached you, your eyes closing in anticipation, he did not bring that knife down upon your body. No, instead, with a few quick motions and the sound of the rope being cut, you slowly opened your eyes just as your hands were released from the rope’s grip.

On instinct, you brought your hands close to your chest, rubbing your raw wrists. You couldn’t even speak, you just watched as he kept the knife in his hand but returned back to his position of leaning back against the chair with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes on you.

"You're human," you found yourself uttering as you watched him watch you.

His brows twitched in confusion. "Of course I am.”

But Death couldn’t bleed. . . . Could he?

"You bleed,” you spoke your thoughts, dumbly.

His eyes met yours, but only briefly. "Am I not meant to?" he bit out before his gaze fell back on your hand rubbing your wrist. "Even the dead bleed."

Your confusion only spiraled. This was your end; your purgatory. This was Death, was he not? Your mother had been right. She had to have been right otherwise you were still alive; otherwise, you had managed to escape death once again without so much as a punishment. That wouldn’t be fair. That wouldn’t be right. That wouldn’t be just.

This had to be Death. You had to be dead or somewhere in between. It didn’t matter, this just had to be your end.

So, why hadn’t he condemned you yet?

Why—

"Why—” Death interrupted your thoughts, once you finally dropped your hand from your wrist— “did you think I couldn’t bleed?"

You glanced his way, finding his eyes already on you.

His stare only unnerved you more.

Why couldn’t he just kill you? You deserved it.

Your brows furrowed. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to play with your food?" you found yourself spitting out, finally finding your voice despite his devasting beauty capturing your words. "I put your lives in danger. I lead them here like you said. I could be with anyone. Having me here could kill you all, so take your revenge. Kill me."

The crease between his brows deepened further. "I'm not letting you die," he simply said, his anger quiet and calm . . . still. “You put my group in harm's way. I won’t pardon you for that . . . but . . . we don’t kill the living.”

That only unnerved you further.

Was this truly Death?

Surely he had killed before.

Although . . . you supposed perhaps he’d only just ever waited. Was that his fault? Waiting for the dead to find him? Is that how he found you in those woods? Is that how he’d taken your arm and helped you crossover to the other side? But . . . if that were true . . . where was your father now? Surely, he would’ve come to see you. Surely, he would’ve been the first one knocking at your door. Surely, he’d be here.

As you briefly wet your lips, your eyes flicked up to meet his. “Where’s my dad?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

A look of deep confusion twisted onto Death’s face, and then he was leaning forward to feel your forehead with the back of his hand. “Fever,” he mumbled more to himself before he pushed himself to his feet, the chair screeching against the floor. “Get some rest. Someone will be in to bandage you up and . . . I’ll be back in a couple hours with medication.” His gaze dropped to the large gash on your arm from just a few nights ago. “When you’re healed, we’ll give you some supplies and then you’ll be on your way, understood?”

But you just stared at him, silently pleading. Pleading for what? You didn’t know. All you knew was if your father wasn’t here, you couldn’t be dead. And if you weren’t, you wanted to be. You’d be able to find him then, because although you were no longer a girl who could kneel in church, you could still feel the scabs on your knees from years ago; you could still remember what it was to believe so blindly; you could still feel that insistent desire for there to be something beyond this world . . . something after this world.

There just had to be. You had to see him again. You had to find him.

You could die now. You could find him now. You would find him.

“Great,” Death muttered under his breath, breaking you out of your own mind. And with one final glance at your exhausted body, he began to turn and head for the door.

Fear struck you then. You had to find your father. “Wait, please—” you hastily grabbed onto his arm, only being able to reach his hand enough to dig your nails into his skin to halt him— “I beg of you.”

His eyes snapped to yours, wide and cautious as if at any moment, one wrong move and he’d grant your wishes. And all you could do was hope.

“Kill me,” you weakly whispered, hopelessly searching his eyes.

His brows twitched, taken back.

“Death,” you begged in a whisper, your bottom lip trembling, “please.”

But Death only stared back at you with a perplexing look written across his face. It was as if he couldn’t believe your request. Had no one ever begged him to die?

A heavy beat of silence pounded in your ears.

Death only continued to stare, a world raging on behind his eyes as he took you in. His demeanor was still calm, still collected, but he seemed . . . perturbed by your request, by your presence, by you. And you watched as his eyes trickled across your face, searching for something until finally . . . his gaze zeroed in on your cheek, his brows furrowing.

Then . . . you felt it.

A tear had slowly begun to slip down your cheek as if your body knew it was a sin to cry. But you were . . . crying that was.

You nearly gasped.

Another tear trickled down your cheek. Guilt followed.

But just as you were about to angrily wipe it away, there was a sharp knock at the door, breaking both you and Death out of your spell. The door opened a second later, a man peaking his head in with a solemn look on his face.

The man didn’t spare you a glance, he only cleared his throat and said, “Chris?” His brows raised, a silent message passing between the two. “A minute.”

Death only nodded, and then the man was gone, the door shutting behind him. Silence followed, but Death stayed unmoving, his arm still in your tight grasp.

“You won’t run,” he slowly spoke, his words a statement, not an order, but he didn’t turn to look at you. He kept his eyes on the door. “I don’t kill the living. I won’t kill you.” He paused, audibly swallowing, and then his eyes were on you. “And I know you won’t kill us.”

And then he was gone before you could blink, quickly tearing his arm out of your grasp before he reached the door and closed it behind him. You were alone with yourself once again, your thoughts running wild as your hand remained outstretched, almost frozen in place.

I know you won’t kill us, he’d told you.

But how could you kill Death? How did he know you wouldn’t if he didn’t give you what you wanted? How could he be so sure that you weren’t a killer, when you so clearly were?

You had killed before, and if he didn’t take you to the other side, you’d surely kill again. That was who you had become. That was who you were. He should’ve known that.

And then as you slowly laid your head back onto the pillow and allowed the minutes to tick by, the throbbing in your head began to subside, and the world became a little clearer. You were no longer a girl who could kneel in church. You did not believe anymore. The world had gone to shit, and it wasn’t because of God’s plan. There were no Horsemen. Your family was gone. And that . . . that man had not been Death.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you swallowed thickly. What was happening to you?

It all hit you then.

These were a group of survivors. That man surely was their leader, and you had just led hundreds of the dead to their doorstep. They should’ve killed you for that alone. You would’ve. You wouldn’t even hesitate if this had been your family. You would’ve done everything to keep them safe, even if it meant killing others, and yet . . .

I won’t kill you.

But why? You deserved it. You could see it in his eyes that he knew.

These were good people. And you were their bad omen.

It wouldn’t be long before your presence brought misery upon them, too, just as it had to your family. And it’d be all your fault.

You’d live, only to see many die. You’d make it out unscathed just as you always had, while they’d suffer, just as he had said.

It was then you realized this was not your purgatory, it was your Hell.

taglist:

@amaranth-writing @binchanluvrr @dreamingsmile @eternalrajin

(i did post the teaser like a year ago, so if you want to be taken off, send me a lil message <3)

[rarepears]

Oh! MBJ "bridenapping" SQH, it sparked an ~idea~

What if instead of MBJ bringing his husband to rest, it's an INJURED MBJ, looking for his Qinghua because he always heals and protects him. But since he's injured, he doesn't really have the cognitive thought process to realize SQH's aura isn't in a safe spot in his internal GPS and doesn't think to go to SQH's house. Just straight to SQH. In the middle of a meeting with most of the Peak Lords, excluding LQG because I agree, nothing would be able to happen if he was there since he'd kill an injured MBJ in an instant.

SQH has a split second to think.

Save MBJ or himself?

SQH tears a reserve teleport talisman he had MBJ make for him so writers choice if anyone knows if SQH did it himself or if the injured Demon Lord did.

Anyways, MBJ tears open a portal, covered in blood and SQH doesn't have much time to think and catches his husband King and has a split second to choose.

EITHER WAY THE GOSSIP!! The An Ding Peak Lord was kidnapped out of a meeting with the Sect Leader and multiple Peak Lords present by a demon.

That'd be terrifying just at first thought. A demon made it past Cang Qiong's wards and Qiong Ding's, all the extra wards in that meeting room alone, faster than all present Peak Lords could react.

Then we have the 2 main gossip chains. Why was SQH taken? Logistics and Love

Logistics for all the info the An Ding Peak Lord has access to since he maintains it all. Prime target for a surefire way to do a lot of damage. If SQH talks, the Demon Lord can get past all the wards and kill, pillage and raze anything in a high profile area.

Love because if they hear he did this super injured, just to collapse onto SQH and spirit him away? The screams from the BL lovers. I bet LMY could belt out a few chapters pretty quick about it lol.

She writes the next love epic, countering HHP's propaganda by accident lol.

Prominently, both SQH and MBJ now know that SQH would save MBJ even when he might/is declared a traitor.

MBJ would feel so much more secure knowing that. Maybe even becomes forward enough that SQH can't mistake the interest.

And SQH just cut off his own path to safety by not letting his sect kill his King.

So now they both get to live with this neat bit of trivia.

Don't really have any other thoughts besides HHPM ends up dead and SQH is Queen in the North by the end. Maybe TLJ gets let out and hears a whisper about a child on the Luo River.

Would be hilarious if Cang Qiong found out that there's a loophole in the Cang Qiong wards to allow in demons that meet very specific conditions... like being a peak lord's spouse, so they don't even realize that Shang Qinghua modified the wards to let in Mobei Jun (and Shang Qinghua doesn't even realize that he could had hacked the wards by getting married instead of spending 6 months painstakingly learning the wards and then learning how to crack the wards.)

Somehow it doesn't even require the peak lord to know that they have a demonic spouse.

[libraryofloveletters]

chapter nine: secrets come back to haunt

Sebastian Vettel x Fem!Reader

Warnings: old faces return, seb's world is turned upside down, secrets are revealed, hidden relationship status so to speak, y/n is trying her best here, a bit of bashing, mentions of postpartum depression, a lot of back and forth, a small bit of crude/flirty humour from seb, dragging up the past, sadness - this is a really emo chapter sorry.

Word Count: 3.8k

Author’s Note: again, I'm sorry for disappearing. there's a lot going on lmao, but I'm back (for now) so take this :)

sugar and spice; all things nice masterlist

--

Sundays were reserved for racing, they always have been.

Since Sebastian was 3 years old, all he's known was the race track. He'd spend hours with his family, going round and round on the track until he was forced out of his kart. Even as a grown man, it was the same; fighting for race wins and championship titles, Sebastian Vettel found himself surrounded by mechanics, loud cars and screaming fans.

Sunday mornings were a bit different now.

The scent of oranges and peaches filled the air, the clattering of shopping cart wheels were a change in pace from the ones he was used to. Amelia tugged her father's hand, getting his attention.

"What about this one, papa?" She asked her dad, blonde curls unruly and framing her face. Sebastian looked at what she was showing him, an apple with no bruises or dents, and nods.

"Perfect."

Milly dropped the apple into the bag she was holding, looking for another one as her father watched her.

It was quiet in the store, a few people shopping as well as the workers chatting as they did their jobs. Sebastian's mind drifted to you as he watched Milly pick out apples. Never would he have envisioned his life this way after everything that happened; happy, content.

There was a feeling building in his chest, not one of happiness but as if he was being watched. He lived a normal life now that he's retired but it's not abnormal for him to be noticed. More often than not, the person would say hello and ask for a photo, then they're on their way.

Today, for some reason, Sebastian couldn't shake the feeling.

This was a bad feeling.

Sebastian tries to shake off the thought, thinking it was just his imagination playing tricks on him. But no matter where he went, that feeling stuck with him like a stubborn shadow.

Unable to shake it off, Seb glances over his shoulder and his heart stops, skips a beat, and drops to his stomach all in the matter of a second.

He wasn't certain if he was seeing right or if he was imagining things.

Brown hair cascaded over the woman's shoulders, her eyes scanning what was in front of her for a moment before she looked up - as if she felt him looking at her.

As he lived and breathed, he didn't think he'd ever see her again, let alone at the grocery store on a Sunday morning.

The woman smiles at him, Sebastian turns away and his attention is back on Amelia. "Sweetheart," he calls out to her, the little girl puts the bag with apples into the cart and looks at her dad.

"Hm?"

"We need to go," he grabs her hand and her brows furrow, confused by her father's sudden actions. "What? What's going on papa?" She asks, following her father as he walks towards the exit with her.

The shopping cart abandoned in the middle of the produce section, Milly's little legs moving as quick as they can as she follows her father out of the store.

"Papa," she calls out of him, the man helping her into the car.

"I think I left the oven on," he fibs, the concern on his face was enough to sell it. A small oh left her lips as he shuts the door and gets in himself, the two of them heading back to the house.

Sebastian lets her in, Milly stays by the front door as Sebastian walks to the kitchen. The girl follows behind her father, peeking from the doorway to see that the oven was in fact off.

"It's not on," she tells him, brows furrowed as they were before they left the store. Seb hums, shrugging. "Better safe than sorry, hm?"

She pouts, "can we go back to the store, papa? I wanna get cookies!"

"We're already home, love bug." He walks over to her, scooping her up in his arms. Sebastian twirls her around, her giggles settling his feelings - all the worries melting away. "How about we order something for lunch and then we can go over to y/n's? I'm sure Liv would love to make cookies with you."

She nods, a big grin on her face - granted a tooth or two that were missing. "Yeah!"

Sebastian puts her down, kissing the top of her head before she runs off to the living room, putting the tv on.

It takes Sebastian a minute to gather himself. All of the thoughts running wild and the most horrifying feeling passing through him when he saw her in the store today. A million different things happened at once and he wasn't sure what to do, or how to react, or if he should go up to her or not.

He couldn't think of putting Milly through that situation yet again, it was hard enough when she started growing up and asking for her.

The doorbell rings, and once again Sebastian is paralyzed with fear.

Fear of what's to come, what she could possibly want, what he would tell Milly if the situation were to escalade.

He never moved, the same house they started to build their life in was the same house she walked out of and never looked back. Why would she come back now?

There's a knock this time, small and gentle but loud enough for him to hear.

Walking to the door, he sees not one but two figures on the other side of the frosted panel. One taller and one smaller, he smiles when he realizes who it is.

"Hi Mr. Seb!" Liv smiled at the man, he smiled back at her. "Hi sweetheart, come in." He steps aside from her to come in and all the noise alerts Milly that someone was at the door.

"Hi Liv! Hi y/n!" The blonde girl waves to you, you wave back to her as she and Liv run upstairs to her room to play.

Sebastian pulls you into a hug after you shut the door, his hands slipping under the hem of your shirt - you're here, you're real, you're home.

"Are you okay?" Your question comes out quietly, your own fingers tangled in the unruly curls at the nape of his neck - you should remind him to get a haircut soon.

Sebastian hums, sighing as he lets you go. "I'm okay, just needed a hug." He says, now holding your hand as you two walk to the living room. He sits down, pulling you into his side and the sound of SpongeBob's laughter breaks the silence in the room.

Despite Seb assuring you that he's fine, you still felt as if he was hiding something from you. An arm stretched over the back of the couch, mindlessly twirling his hair.

"Seb?" You called.

"Yes honey?" He turns to look at you, a soft smile on his face.

"What's on your mind? You look.. tense."

"Nothing a good back rub won't fix," he says, suggestively wiggling his eyebrows.

"Sebastian.." You rolled your eyes playfully but your tone was enough to let him know you weren't fond of his change in topic.

He takes a deep breath, his eyes shifty and his chest rising and falling as if he had just finished a race. "I uh.." he starts, taking another deep breath. "I saw Lilly."

Your brows furrow; it takes a moment for you to connect the dots but when you do, your jaw hangs open, looking at your boyfriend. "You saw.. Lilly?"

"Yeah." He says, nonchalantly.

"Where- um.. did she.. where did you see her?"

Seb sinks back into the cushions, looking at you. "She was at the grocery store. Mils and I were shopping and I felt someone staring at me. I turned around and there she was, alive and well."

"Did you talk to her? Did she come over to you guys?"

"No, I grabbed Milly and left before she got a chance too. I don't even know if she really registered that it was me or if she was just looking in my direction."

You nodded, going quiet for a moment. "Do you think.. maybe she'll come looking for you guys? I mean, I know you looked for her after she left but, did she ever try to reach out to you guys?"

"No, never. After she left, she never looked back. I searched for her, hired PIs, called her family, I did everything I could but she was gone. I don't know why she's back, I didn't care to find out."

You understood where he was coming from. You felt the same way about Olivia's father but after all, Sebastian is his own person with his own feelings.

"Maybe she's got her reasons, and like you said, maybe she didn't even register that it was you. Perhaps she's back for something that has nothing to do with you and Milly." You say, squeezing his shoulder softly.

Sebastian nods, leaning into your touch. The two of you sat there in silence for a bit, not bothering to change the cartoons Milly had left on until Sebastian stood, announcing that he was off to take a shower.

You left him in the living room, off to make yourself some tea when he hugs you from behind. His chin on your shoulder, "wanna join me?"

"Join you where? In the shower?"

"Yeah," he whispers, kissing your neck softly.

You roll your eyes, "keep it in your pants, Sebastian. We've got children upstairs."

"It's okay, we can use the bathroom down here, and they won't hear anything over the water."

You laughed, "how sweet of you to come up with a solution. Go shower, I'll see you after." You turn, giving him a kiss before sending him off his way - begrudgingly if you asked him.

As he disappeared up the stairs, you made yourself busy and cleaned up the kitchen a bit. You loved Sebastian but between his affinity for trying new things and his messiness, the kitchen was a disaster zone. Something resembling pancake mix sat almost empty on the counter and there was a stack of plates in the sink, utensils sticking out between them.

If you cleaned up a bit, the four of you could head out for an early dinner with the girls and perhaps catch a movie afterwards.

Hands covered in soapy water when the doorbell rings, you didn't think Sebastian was expecting anyone. Perhaps it was his parents coming for a visit or a neighbour seeking out something. There's a knock, yet a few seconds after the bell rings. Well they're rather impatient, you think.

"Coming!" You shouted, wiping your hands on the hand towel, slinging it over your shoulder as you made your way to the door.

Upon opening the door, you're met with a woman. Slender and tall, brown hair tossed over her shoulders and brown eyes to match. Her face shows an expression of confusion as she tries to look past you into the house.

"Hi, can I help you?" You asked, shifting slightly to block her view of the entryway.

She looks you up and down, before making eye contact with you. "I'm looking for Sebastian."

"Sebastian.." You trailed off, not 100% sure if she meant your Sebastian or just any random man off the street named Sebastian. Well after all, she probably meant your Sebastian as she was at his house.

"Vettel," she says, her brows furrowed and her face seems displeased with your answer. "Sebastian Vettel, does he live here?"

You aren't sure how you're supposed to handle this. What if she was some stalker? You're not gonna tell her yes.

"Can I ask why you're looking for him?" Yet again, you're met with a look of displeasure and annoyance.

"I'm Lilly, his wife."

Your heart drops to your stomach; his wife. It was obvious to the woman standing outside that you knew who she was now, that you knew Sebastian and clearly you weren't aware he was married.

"I- give me a moment." You tell her, shutting the door and heading up the stairs.

You find the bathroom door unlocked and Sebastian turns to see who came in, towel wrapped around his waist. He smiles when he sees you.

"What? Decided you wanted a piece of this after all?" He gestures to himself, making an obscene face while wiggling his eyebrows.

You shook your head, "she's downstairs."

"What? Who's downstairs?"

"Lilly. Lilly's downstairs. She's outside, looking for you. She also said-" You shook your head, sighing. "Never mind."

Sebastian gives you a look, getting dressed as quickly as he can. "What? What did she say?"

"She said she's your wife."

His forehead wrinkled, clearly confused. "We weren't married. Engaged, yes, but she left. I haven't thought about that in years."

There was more to the story, you didn't want to press him, at least not right now. "Okay," you nodded. "What do I tell her?"

"I'll deal with her," he says, stepping past you.

You follow him down the stairs, Sebastian heading towards the front door and you were off to the living room, feeling slightly out of place. He grabs your hand, "where are you going?"

"I don't-" "No, I want you with me." He says, holding your hand as he leads you back to the front door.

He takes a deep breath, opening the door to see Lilly there. You're stood in the doorway, door pulled half way shut behind you and Sebastian steps out onto the porch with Lilly.

"Hi honey," she says to Sebastian, her words laced with sweetness. You swallowed, watching the exchange between the two of them. Sebastian was a few feet away from her, "hello Lilly."

"So formal," she smiles at him, almost teasingly. He doesn't react. "How are you?"

He's straight to the point. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to see you, and Milly."

"Amelia," he corrects her, "you don't get to call her that."

"Why not?" She asks, "she's my daughter, Sebastian."

He can't help but scoff, shaking his head at the woman. "You can't call yourself her mother if you haven't been in her life, Lilly. You've been gone 6 years, do I need to remind you of that?"

Lilly's eyes widened, feigning a look of surprise - as if she wasn't expecting Sebastian to say that, as if he'd just let her walk back into their lives.

"What do you need? Money?" He asks her, unsure as to what her actual motive was.

"No," she shook her head, huffing. "I'm here to see my daughter, and you."

"You can't see her."

"Why not?" She fought back, stepping closer to him. Sebastian takes a step back. "I need to see her, Sebastian."

"I'm not letting you see her, Lilly. You walked out of our lives, out of her life and you don't get to walk back in just because you feel like you're ready to be a mother."

Lilly rolled her eyes at the man. "I am her mother."

"Only biologically."

There's a noise from behind you, all three of you turning to see what it was. Milly and Liv were coming down the stairs, looking for you and Seb. You glance at your boyfriend and he nods towards the girls, you take that as you sign to leave them and head inside. The door shut behind you, the silhouettes of the two people on the porch seen through the panel of frosted glass.

"Who's outside?" Liv asks you, the girls look towards you for an answer.

You fib, "just a neighbour, they needed Seb's help with something. How about a snack ?" You ushered them towards the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder to the door before walking away with the girls.

The brown haired woman looked through the panel, seeing you with the two girls. "Is that her? Milly?"

Seb glances to see the blonde girl sharing something with her best friend and he nods.

"So who's the woman? My replacement?" Lilly looks towards him for an answer. Her tone ignited an anger in him but he bites his tongue.

"She's not a replacement, you've been gone for 6 years. I'm allowed to move on with my life. Don't speak about her that way."

Lilly raised her eyebrows, yet again surprised by Sebastian's feistiness. "Is that so?"

"She's my girlfriend, have some respect. She's been in Milly's life long before that, treating her as if she was her own. She's more of a mother to her than you are."

"You have another woman raising my child?"

"You didn't raise her, so frankly I don't think you have a say in that. She's been nothing but good to Milly, she loves her and cares for her. She's a good influence, and never has she ever done anything to make anyone think otherwise."

Lilly asks the question he knew was coming; "Do you love her ?"

It was a simple question, really. He didn't even need to think about the answer. It was instinct.

"Yes, I do."

It goes quiet for a moment, Sebastian can see the hurt on Lilly's face. A part of him feels bad but he also shouldn't feel bad as it's not his fault they're in their situation, is it?

"Why are you really here, Lilly?"

"I told you," she starts, "I want to be a family, Seb. I want you and mil- Amelia," she corrects herself, "back. I want us to be together again. I know I left, but you have to see with me, it was so hard. You were never there, Seb. It was me and Amelia by ourselves, it's so hard caring for a baby, especially one that cried and screamed all night. I was restless and tired, and upset that you weren't there for me, I couldn't do it anymore. I didn't know what else to do."

It breaks Seb's heart to see her like this, after all she is Amelia's mother and once his fiancée, but it's not fair to him or to Amelia either.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, I really am but I did the best I could, you have to understand my side of things too." He sighs. "I had a job, you knew how demanding it was, you knew I'd be away from home a lot. I didn't party, I didn't go on lavish trips with the team, I turned down events and brand ambassadors so I could have as much time as possible at home with you two. I tried, Lilly. You think I didn't want it to work? For us to be a family?"

She looks at him, it felt like it did 6 years ago, the two of them fighting over the things they can't change, the impossible circumstances in which life had dealt them.

"Had you told me you needed a break, that you needed to be alone for a bit, we would have figured it out but you didn't. You left, Lilly. Snuck off in the middle of the night without so much of a warning. I didn't know what else to do. I looked for you, for months, calling you, your family, begging for them to tell you to come home and you never did. I'm sorry but I can't let you walk back in after all of that. It's not only you that went through a rough time, so did we."

"We were engaged," she says, words coming out quietly. "Does that mean nothing to you?"

He looks at her, heart in his hands, the feeling weighing heavy on him. "No," he shakes his head, words just as soft and full of sorrow. "Not anymore."

She lets out a shaky breath, nodding. There's a feeling of despair, perhaps even disappointment lingering. The idea of what could have been, what life would have been like had she stayed, the good and the bad. Who's to know if they'd still be together after all of it if she had stayed or if they'd be on the same path they were on now.

That's the harsh reality of life.

"Tell her I love her," Lilly tells him, stepping off the porch. "I always have."

"I know," he nods, "she knows that too."

And with that, she's off. Much like the first time, yet so different. All the things that should have been said were out in the open and a weight was off of Sebastian.

He stepped back into the house as the girls were headed back upstairs. "What did the neighbour want, papa?" Milly asks her dad, her sweet face looking up at him.

"Nothing really, baby. Just needed my help to move something from the garage into their house."

She nods, she and Liv head back up to her room to play. Sebastian sees you leaning on the counter, arms folded over your chest as you watch him with your daughters. He smiles sweetly at the girls before making his way down the hallway to you.

"Everything okay?" You rub his back softly as the man collapses into you.

"Yeah," he whispers, holding you a little tighter. "Everything is okay."

"Has she left?" You let him go, he moves to stand beside you and mirrors your lean on the counter. "Mhm hm, I don't think she's coming back."

You hum, unsure what the right thing to say is. If you say good, it seems like you want her gone. If you say okay, it seems like you don't care. A hum is simple, an answer in itself.

Sebastian can see the wrinkles on your forehead, his finger pointed as he counts. "One, two, three, four.."

"What are you doing?"

"Counting your wrinkles," he says with a smile. You laugh, swatting his hand away. Sebastian pulls you into his side, an arm slung over your shoulder. "What's on your pretty ol' mind? Penny for your thoughts?"

"My thoughts cost more than a penny, Sebastian."

"Well, lucky for you y/n, money is no objective."

You give him a small smile, shifting to look at him. "Why did you never tell me you were engaged?"

He takes a moment, before shrugging. "It's not that I was hiding it from you but it was a long time ago, it's not something I like to talk about. It just reminds me of a bad time in my life, that's all."

It was a fair enough answer, you don't need to know everything about his life. He didn't know everything about your life.

He nudges your shoulder, "why? Do you have a secret engagement you're hiding from me?"

"Oops, did I forget to tell you?" You play a look of shock, a hand over your mouth. "The prince of Dubai and I are set to get married next weekend.

Sebastian smiles, "you know, I've met the prince of Dubai, he's a really nice guy. I think you'll be very happy in your marriage."

You laugh, swatting his arm. "I'm sure I will be."

---

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