#those are some initial scrambled thoughts

[whentherewerebicycles]

@justinelark ok i don't have one clear, consistent take but i am just starting to collect some thoughts as we work through badging conversations at our institution.

first and foremost i think it is hard to have meaningful conversations about badging when people use the term to mean so many different things... even within our institution there are probably at least five competing definitions of what a badge or a microcredential is, maybe more. i think that if an institution is going to use them they should have an institution-level definition of what a badge is/means and clear criteria that people have to meet in order for their badge to be considered an official recognition of something within the institution.

relatedly it is not at ALL clear to me how badges are perceived outside the institution and i worry that we are just encouraging students to collect like, essentially meaningless girl/boy scout patches and sew them onto their linkedin profiles in hopes that this will help them get a job. but like how do different industries understand badges?? how do we know that a badge actually qualifies the student to do whatever it claims to certify? i just have questions!! and i think that most people who are using badges, at least here, do not have clear answers.

to me the main benefit of a badge or a microcredential is that it can make visible a pathway that might otherwise not have been visible or obvious to a student. for instance our institution is exploring offering badges that are tied to very specific entry-level careers in a very specific part of the tech industry. so a student might be like 'oh i didn't even know [insert job title] was a thing, and i would've had no idea how to prepare for that career. but now, because of this badging program, i see that i need to take these classes, pursue these experiences, and talk about my experiences in these ways to make myself more competitive for this specific job.' i think that is super useful! but that to me is more like, a pre-professional pathway that just happens to have a badge attached at the end. like the badge isn't the point, the point is helping students see and start down the pathway, and the badge is just the way you get their attention. so idk. there are probably other ways to do that.

to me the main DRAWBACK of a badge or microcredential is that i think (??) we have reasonably good scientific evidence (??) that 'you get a gold star for doing XYZ!' approach to teaching actually kills intrinsic motivation and makes people less curious, less observant, less motivated to go above and beyond, etc. idk this is the part that i feel most strongly about on an emotional level but also find most challenging to articulate. like in college i figured out around sophomore year that i wanted to get a phd in a humanities field and become a faculty member. but i had absolutely no idea how you did that. and i think if someone had been like "oh there's a badge for that. you need to do XYZ things and then you will earn the Aspiring PhD badge and that will make you more competitive for grad school" i would've just done those things. and it might not have occurred to me to do a bunch of other random, exploratory things i did in college - a mix of professional opportunities and purely 'i'm fascinated by this, i want to think about this idea and read everything i can about it' activities i engaged in on my own - that i think actually prepared me for thriving in grad school and pursuing a career in higher ed much more than taking a What To Expect In Grad School course might've been. i would have ALSO benefited from taking a course like that, fwiw! but i think that if everyone in my life told me there was an extremely clear path to my goal and a very clear checklist of things i had to do in order to earn a little credential that would make me more competitive for that goal, i probably would have seen those other activities i engaged in as like, not relevant, or not worth pursuing if i had to sacrifice time i could've spent on Items on the Checklist, or whatever.

so idk. i think this is all tied to larger fears i have about the career readiness arms race higher ed is involved in right now... like we want to funnel kids onto Career-Connected Pathways so early on (in our institution we obsessively target first-year students!!), so we can prove to them and everyone else that your higher education is worth it because it made you competitive for a very specific job in an industry that you learned about within like six months of arriving in college (because you were obsessively targeted by Career Services and all these other units lol). and we want to make everything Worth It so every activity has to be evaluated in terms of how it will directly lead to a career outcome, and every activity you engage in has to be part of a Pathway or a Credential that awards you a gold star which you can put on your LinkedIn profile at the end, and blah blah blah. i get that it is a privilege to get to experience college as a purely exploratory time where you get to try on different things and discover different pathways and pursue random interests. and i DO think that we need to be thinking carefully about whether higher education in its present form is preparing students for the world they will encounter beyond it. but i actually think, like, given the pace of technological change, most of the jobs we are preparing students for now will probably not exist in five or ten years. i worry that badging (as it employed by some people, in some places) may encourage increasingly rigid thinking about what the purpose of higher education is and how that education prepares us to succeed/thrive in life after formal education, in a time when we most need flexibility and adaptability and a willingness to explore/discover/not follow rigidly charted pathways. i guess i would boil all of this down to something like: badging seems to message to students that adult life - in and out of the workplace - is going to be about checking items and experiences off a clearly defined checklist that someone else provides for you. and my experience is that adult life is nothing like that at all. and the qualities i value most in myself are my flexibility, my curiosity, the delight i take in exploratory thinking, and my firm belief that pursuing a seemingly unrelated or unproductive detour is often what most enriches the project or work or pursuit i am engaged in, even if it seems at first like a distraction.

i have so many thoughts about "badges" and other forms of microcredentialing in higher ed. consider this a placeholder for a post on a subject no one cares about lol

[deardev0teddelicate]

bitchin'n'moanin' |

jmxf!reader

Pairing: post-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

Trekking west, walking all day, every day can get boring. You decide to entertain yourself, even if it pisses Joel off.

WC: 5.7k

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, female reader, no use of y/n, established relationship (of some sort) smut (oral [m receiving, mention of f receiving], brat/brat tamer dynamics, Joel is a little mean at times, dacryphilia [if you squint], choking, name calling, bondage, face fucking, manhandling, unprotected p in v [hearts before parts pls, don't be stupid like these idiots], creampie), mention of weapons, profanity, but of fluff at the end, no ellie au, personally i pictured pedro initially but then it got to the point where i started thinking about game joel so picture whoever you want ig

^if i missed anything lmk

Author's Note: it's done, thank god. i dedicate this to my handle of tito's.

Sexual content below, MDNI, 18+

It started when you woke up.

Your eyes fluttered open, the sky still soft and glowy from the sunrise over the horizon. Sitting up, you immediately noticed the rush of arousal that lay between your legs and the pang of need in your abdomen. You groaned knowing that the rest of the day was going to be hell, especially when you would be following behind Joel, watching his every step, his every move.

You turned to your side, bringing a hand up to your eyes to rub the sleep away. Sure enough, Joel was there. Awake.

He was already packing his equipment, rolling up his bed roll as tight as he could to optimize the limited space in his bag. Wearing the same denim button down he had on the night before, you noticed that he had haphazardly rolled up the sleeves past his elbows, exposing his very large forearms. The same very arms that would wrap around you when it was cold at night. The ones that would hold you in place as he buried himself deep into you.

Soft rays from the sun filtered through narrow spaces between the overlapping tree branches, caressing the contours of his face. His brow was furrowed in concentration, lips pressed together tightly. Darker bags than usual hung beneath his eyes. Must've not gotten the best sleep last night, you thought to yourself. Though, sleeping on the rough of the Earth every night left you tossing and turning too, when it was his turn to take watch.

You did feel guilty about that.

Joel planned out the shifts the two of you would take in the night, looking out for any signs of danger. You were well aware that the shifts were grossly uneven, no matter how many times you asked—pleaded—to take more. He would never let you, insistent on keeping the schedule consistent.

However, some nights, the two of you would stay up together, regardless of who was supposed to be watching. Those were the nights when your hands would be in his hair while he would kiss down your body, lapping between your folds drunkenly, sucking your clit, leaving your head spinning in pleasure. Those were the nights when you'd push him back and take him all at once, whether it be in your mouth or your pussy. You'd sit on his dick, riding him till he forgot his ow-

"Get up 'n pack. Gotta get movin'." His voice broke your train of thought, jolting you back into reality. Hyper aware of your too-loud, too-fast heart beat, you tried to reign yourself out of the memory of sharing body heat and passion, and into the present.

"Right," you muttered, looking away from him quickly, scrambling up to your feet, doing as he says. You suppressed a gasp that caught in your throat when the mid seam of your pants hiked up in a way that felt just right. Your panties were absolutely soaked with arousal. Back straightening, you looked over at Joel again. He had moved on to cleaning his gun with very precise, meticulous movements. He used a gentleness with it that you recognized from your late nights together. If only he would look over to you, see the intensifying need reflected in your eyes. You wished he would notice, that he would stride right over and ease the ache that pulsed in you. When he kept his focus on his own tasks, an idea popped into your head.

"Would you clean mine, too, while you're at it?" You asked him. He grumbled something.

"Thought I taught you how to do it."

"Well, yeah, but you're better at it," you looked over to him with a mischievous glint in your eye. He lifted his eyes up at you, finally, with irritation written on his lined face. Your heart fluttered at his gaze upon you. Could he be any more beautiful? "You also already have the supplies out, so might as well?"

His eyes narrowed, chin dropping down in annoyance before he turned back to his own gun. "Hand it over."

"Thank you," you said, walking over to him with your gun in hand. Leaning down to place it on the ground next to him, you stole a glance at him working. His focus was entirely on the gun, tunneling you out of his vision. The thought of taking him right then and there crossed your mind, get yourself off on him while you took his girthy cock all the way down your throat. But you knew that, if you did, precious daylight would be lost. There would be time for that later.

Instead you opted for something else. Reaching over, you placed your hand dangerously close to his dick, and licked one long stripe on the side of his neck, from the crook of his shoulder to beneath his ear. He stiffened under your touch and a muscle feathered in his jaw as he ground his teeth together. The sight of him about to lose control went right to your head, pride and confidence blooming in your chest.

He would never admit it, but you had him wrapped around your pinkie finger. If you knew Joel—which when you're crossing the entire length of the States on foot with only one other person for company, you learn that person like the back of your hand—he was seconds away from setting down his gun and pinning you under him. But before he could turn to you, you stood up, brushing the dirt off your knees.

Who says a girl can't have a little fun?

"I'm gonna go refill the canteens in that creek we saw last night." Turning on your heel, you left to go do just that. Joel watched as you walked away, his knuckles white and jaw clenched.

By the time you finished filling the canteens—gathering the water, boiling the water, letting the water cool and then pouring the water into the canteens—the sun was hanging above your head, warming your hair and face. You knew Joel would be more than done with his and your gun before you even finished your task, but that didn't stop you from lollygagging and stopping to look at a cool rock every once and a while. You weren't even at the campsite you and Joel had settled into the night before when he stepped into your line of sight.

He was carrying the bags and the guns, and a very unhappy look painted his features. Guilt washed through you, maybe you shouldn't have taken your sweet time. He dropped your bag at your feet and snatched his canteen from your hands, replacing it with your gun. The aggression that laced his movements should've diverted your antics, a not so subtle hint to cut it out.

You did not cut it out.

"Aw, thank you," you smiled at him. He scowled back, and turned to walk the direction that y'all were going in the night before. Your smile fell, and agitation wove into the back of your head. He wasn't playing with you. Shame. Frowning, you said, "You got dirt on my bag. You know you can just give it to me next time?"

It really didn't matter if he got dirt on it, though. The raggedy sack was covered in a film comprised of dirt and blood and soot. Your brows furrowed as he continued walked away, snapping at you by his thigh. Like you would a dog.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the way his attitude made butterflies of anticipation dance with snakes of vexation low in your gut. Jogging to catch up with him, you made it a personal goal to push every single hairline trigger of his throughout the day.

Time progressed, the sun beat down on your heads, causing sweat drip from your forehead. Sexual frustration and heat exhaustion stirred together, blurring the line between your intended playful teasing and genuine grievances that you were not afraid to let him know.

"Joel, lets take a break up here under that oak tree. It's really hot."

"We're not taking a break. Drink some water."

"But I already drank some earlier and I don't wanna run out."

"Swallow your spit then." You knew he's Texan, but where the fuck was this guy from?

"That won't do anything." You whined, dragging your feet. Under the relentless sun everything was too much. Your legs felt as though weights were tied to your joints, and your temples pulsed, your heart beat pounding in your skull.

Holy. Fuck.

"Joel, it's so hot, c'mon."

"Not even that hot. Keep up 'n stop complainin'." His southern drawl bit his words. If it were normal, and it weren't miserable, usually that southern twang would send you into a sick and twisted frenzy that could only be helped by his hands on you.

"It is that hot. And my legs are really hurting, can we please take a break?"

He never responded to you.

This back and forth went on for most of the day. At one point, you decided that kicking around a stone, about as large as your palm, while you walked would be entertaining. You tapped your foot against it, sending it tumbling forward a few feet. You would smile as it rolled, walking up to it and kicking it again. It drew your thoughts from everything, quieted the words in your head and the jittery nerves under your skin. Till Mr. Stick-Up-the-Ass turned around with a sharp 'stop it'. You huffed intentionally making it loud enough for him to hear your dismay. He didn't acknowledge you.

When the sun hung low in the sky, y'all stopped, setting up camp for the night. When he pulled out his rations and began to eat, your mouth dried up and your stomach sank. Dehydrated mystery meat—for whatever night in a row it was—sounded the very least bit appetizing.

"Can we hunt?" You asked Joel, hope filling your eyes. Every once in a while, Joel would go out with you to find some critter, usually a squirrel, or if you were lucky, a rabbit or something larger. Together, you would catch it, kill it, skin it, gut it, and cook it. Hunting was one of the rarer events in y'all's life, but the hearty, makeshift meal prepared and consumed in the comfort of each other's presence meant everything to you.

"No." He didn't even look at you when you started talking.

"But why not? We haven't in a while…could be fun," you tried to reason with him, your stomach beginning to grumble at the thought of food that hadn't been sitting in your bag for who knows how long.

"You have your rations," was all he responded. You just stared at him incredulously.

"Fine, whatever." You got up and walked out of the camp site. Most nights, he'd take first watch, but seeing him was making your blood boil and your head reel. Fuck his schedule. You needed some space to calm down.

You walked out a few yards, pacing as you rubbed your temples, trying to ease the dull ache that was ever growing behind your eyes. The whole goddamn day he was short with you, and in part it made your pussy throb with need, in another, it drove you up the wall, and not in the way you would prefer. He was driving you bat-shit crazy.

Huffing, you plopped down on a rock, trying to bring your heart rate down. You sat there, observing, breathing, trying to get rid of the thought of Joel, and this fuck ass day, and his shitty attitude. Tried to get rid of the thoughts of him slamming you down and fucking every thought from you. He captivated you, intoxicated you. God, dammit.

The inky, night sky arrived with your slow, careful breathing. It was only a matter of time before you'd have to go get Joel and swap out. Moving from your rock, you walked back to the camp site y'all set up earlier in the night. Surprisingly, Joel was asleep, leaning against his bag, arms crossed over his chest. He looked peaceful when he was asleep, despite his soft mutters and tensed shoulders. His face would relax, a state of tranquility washing over him.

Sighing, you trudged to your mat and thanked God he was getting rest. Man fucking needed it.

But when you sat down, he said with his eyes still closed, "You calm down yet, darlin'?"

The pet name rattled in your brain, your body suddenly on edge.

"I've been calm, thank you very much. I think you're the one who's not been." You replied calmly.

"That so?" He opened his eyes, moving to sit up and stand. "That why you've been complainin' all day?"

"I wasn't complaining all day. You were the one who was being short and rude to me." You shifted the blame to him, defending yourself.

"Short 'n rude? Wouldn't've had to be if you weren't whinin' every second." His voice rose a little, standing only a few feet from you.

"Maybe I wouldn't whine and complain if you weren't such a dick all the time."

"Name callin' now are we? Real mature, darlin'," his arms crossed over his broad chest, making his shirt stretch taught. Jesus Christ. You were about to say something in rebuttal, till you glanced down ever so slightly, to where you saw his cock hard against his jeans. Looking back up as fast as you looked down, you changed tactics. He was in the palm of your hand. You knew it, he knew it, though he tried to hide it.

You rolled your shoulders back, relaxed your face, and pointed down to his crotch, "You wanna take care of that before we keep going?"

Joel clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing down at you.

His lack of response only encouraged you further. Sighing, you said to him in mock condescension, "I would offer to help, but we both know that you'd finish before you even put it in me, and then I would complain because you would be spent before I could even get there myself, and then I would get bitchy, and you would get all pissy and, you know, it would be a whole ordeal."

A beat. And then, with a quiet firmness, he said, "Shut your damn mouth."

"I thought you liked it open," you taunted, trying to suppress the smirk that was tugging on your mouth.

Joel strode over to you till your chests were pressed up against each other.

"You wanna say that again?" He grumbled, looking down his nose into your eyes. Despite his words making your legs feel a bit weaker, you squared your shoulders, narrowed your eyes and didn't back down from his attempts to intimidate you.

"I said I thought you liked my mouth open, Miller," you made sure to punctuate the last few words and emphasize his name. You knew you were playing a dangerous game, but doesn't high risk yield high reward? Well, you were cashing in.

Joel lifted his hand to wrap around your throat , pushing you back against a nearby tree. "Fed up with your bitchin'n'moanin'," he hissed, reaching his other hand down to the apex of your thighs, palming you through your pants.

"And I'm tired of you bein' a grumpy old man all the fuckin' time," you retorted, working your fingers into the waistband of his pants. Two could play at this game. "You wanna boss me around? Fine, but some manners and a conversation every once in a while would be nice."

He leaned in close, so close you could feel the flickers of his breath on your lips, a ghost of a kiss. "Like you know what manners are. All day you been actin' like petulant child, throwin' a tantrum when y'don't get what you want."

You felt the hair on his stomach, signaling you were close to where you wanted to be. Opening your mouth to give a smart reply, he squeezed his hand ever so slightly on your neck, the pressure utterly euphoric. The words, once in your head, drained away and were reduced to nothing but a resigned whimper. All damn day, you were waiting for this all goddamned day.

"Nothing to say?" He asked, his hand now inside of your waistband, fingers resting at the top of your slit, a feather light touch. "Huh?" His grip on your neck released and blood rushed to your head, dizzyingly. In a swift movement, he pulled your hand from his pants and pinned it above your head, against the jagged bark of the tree. "Maybe if you weren't such a fuckin' brat all day, I'd let you touch me. All ya had to do was ask, darlin'."

You looked hungrily into his darkened eyes. Say, all you had to do was ask? You softened your gaze, and pouted your lips ever so slightly. "Will you fuck me?" And just in spite, you added, "Please? Pretty please, will you fuck me, Joel?"

He sneered, pulling his hand from your pants to grip your jaw, forcing it open. As he stuck his index and middle finger into your mouth, pushing down on your tongue, he said, "You ain't gonna say 'nother word, girl. And if you don't control yourself, I swear, 'm gonna fuck the brattiness from that mouth. Y'understand me?"

You nodded, as best as you could, your smirk subdued from his fingers filling your mouth. He pulled away, moving his hand to your throat once again, applying pressure, but not quite squeezing.

"Fucking say it."

"Yes," you whispered. Batting your eyelashes slowly, you held eye contact with him. You could tell he thought he had the upper hand. Hell, maybe he did have the upper hand on you, but you had him exactly where you wanted, so did it even really matter?

"'Yes' what?" He probed, shoving you further into the tree, bark biting into your skin through your shirt. You whined, from pain and pleasure deliciously chasing through your veins, making your heart jitter in excitement.

"Yes, sir." You whined, moving forward so your lips brushed his. How long could you tease him before he really broke?

"Attagirl," he murmured, the approval shooting straight to your core, before he attacked your lips with fervor. Excitement flipped in your stomach, coursing through your veins.

Your lips meshed together, tongue and teeth clashing against each other with the heat of desire. Your moans were captured by his mouth, and his by yours. He dragged his hand from your throat down to your clothed tit, squeezing gingerly. Goosebumps rose on your skin, a shiver shuddering through you, contrasting the sticky sweat that coated your skin. The juxtaposition of his soft touch on your breast to the fierce attack of his tongue and lips on yours made you feel exhilaration even the most intense drug couldn't replicate.

Your hand that was left unattended by him rested low on the tree beside you. While he was preoccupied, you slowly moved to palm him through his jeans. His eyes shot open at the feeling of your hand on his hardened cock. The pressure you had placed stimulated him in a way his nerves lit on fire. He let go of your tit, and within the blink of an eye, you were on your knees and both of your hands were locked in the grip of his right hand.

"You don't know when to fuckin' stop, do ya?" He began to unbuckle his pants, pulling them down just enough to free his cock from the confines of his clothes. "Since your insistent on getting my dick in your hands, let's see it in that mouth of yours."

His left hand gripped your lower jaw in a strong hold, thumb prying open your kiss swollen mouth. You could see the precum leaking from his tip, glistening in the moonlight, making your mouth water and your pussy ache with need for some sort of friction. Joel pushed his hips forward, his dick replacing his thumb. The change of weight in your mouth was a welcome difference.

He let out a hiss of pleasure as you sucked in your cheeks around him. You looked at him through your lashes, examining every twitch in his face, flutter of his eyelids, bob of his Adam's apple. He was a work of art, and when you had him like this, he deserved to be in a museum. After a moment of sliding your tongue under the velvety skin of him, he moved his free hand to the back of your head and pushed his cock further, down your throat. The tip of his cock squeezed itself into the narrow passage of your pharynx, drawing out a whimper from you. The sight of you must've been absolutely, utterly pathetic.

A guttural groan escaped from Joel's lips as his head tilted back in satisfaction, before he began to piston his hips. Saliva pooled on your tongue, lubricating his dick causing the lewd sound of him fucking your face echo in your ears. A particularly deep thrust sent his cock further down your throat, past where it would could settle comfortably, causing you to gag on his length. Tears brimmed your eyes while you focused on breathing through your nose. You moved your tongue to put pressure on a sweet spot of his, rubbing the spot with the movement of his hips, luring him closer and closer to finishing in your mouth.

"Fuck," His breathing faltered, but his grip on your hands and head tightened as his hips become to be more erratic. "Fuck!" You groaned at his words, sending vibrations up his dick that made him shudder. Tears began to overflow, running in single tracks through the dirt down your cheeks, muddling your sight and enhancing your hearing. The noises leaving him were practically pornographic. He was. So. Close. He was right there, just a little further and you had him.

Then, without warning, he pulled out from you completely, leaving you staring at him with half lidded, watery eyes, the feeling of him down your throat nothing but a phantom, now.

No, no, no, he was close, you were so close. A faint sob escaped from you in protest.

"Need to fuck you, darlin'. Need that pussy o' yours wrapped around me," he panted, chest heaving up and down rhythmically. He placed a hand on your cheek, smearing your tears with his thumb, gently. No matter how much you teased him, you had to admit that Joel's self-control was utterly ridiculous, and maddening for that matter. If he kept fucking your face, for even just two more seconds, he'd be cumming in your mouth by now. Whatever, you could still work with it.

You knew him, knew how close he was. And you could get him there. He just needed a little motivation.

"What's wrong, baby?" You rasped, panting, trying to catch your breath. "You feeling good?" Knowing your patronizing tone would just piss him off, you smiled sweetly.

"Brat," he snarled, pushing you to the ground, your face lying on the very edge of his bedroll.

Bingo.

"Think pissin' me off is cute?" You whined a hum of amusement. "Gonna look real cute takin' ev'ry inch of me."

You tilted your head, so your nose buried into the soft material of Joel's mat. It smelled just like him—fire, sweat 'n' dirt, and the softest hint of gunpowder 'n' leather. The clink of his belt buckle hitting the ground rang in your ears, and was followed by the feeling of smooth leather bind your wrists together, allowing for him to use both of his hands on you. He worked efficiently to roll off your pants and underwear, the night air kissing your now bare skin. More ruffling of fabric was heard, a few grunts from him as he maneuvered his own pants off of his body. A shiver ran down your spine, and Joel's hand came up and over the curve of your ass. Every touch of his, was heaven sent to you. You savored anything and everything he would offer you.

"Look at that, darlin'. You're drippin' f'me." His fingers moved down to your pussy, gathering up your arousal from your hole and meticulously tracing up to find your clit. The moment his fingers passed over it, you mewled in pleasure, the muscles in your legs growing weaker and weaker by the minute, becoming more pliant under his hands.

"That's right," he drawled, circling the bundle of nerves. You felt a low thrum in your lower abdomen as intense pleasure radiated from your core. Your back bowed further as you tried to push yourself harder on his fingers hoping for more pressure, more friction. A deep moan elicited from your vocal folds.

"Joel," your eyelids had begun to feel leaden, and your vision was starting to go foggy at the edges. "Joel."

His fingers circled faster, and you could feel a your muscles tighten, your orgasm drawing close and fast. You felt him adjust himself behind you, lining up with your entrance. God, he was right there, all it would take is one small movement.

"Need somethin', darlin'? Or you just like sayin' my name?" You could hear the wicked grin on his face as he teased you, dragging his cock in your slick. You played games with him, and he had taken the baton from you. It was his turn now, whether you liked it or not—you didn't just like it, you craved it.

"Joel," you repeated, an indirect, direct response. A smile painted your mouth when he reached up to grab the back of your neck and pull you just enough off of the ground. You whined at his hands on you, to which he simply tsked.

"I know, darlin'," he said, his tip teasing at your entrance still. God, what on Earth was he waiting for? "And as much as I love the way you say m'name, I think you still need to learn that lesson o'yours."

Your brow furrows slightly at his words not quiet comprehending what he said to you.

"Jo-"

As you were going to ask him what he meant, he shoved your panties in your mouth. Tasting yourself, you moaned, the sound now muffled. He leaned over your body, and you could feel his breath on the shell of your ear.

"There, got that mouth and those hands o'yours put away. Gonna be good, now?" His voice filled your ear, blocking out all everything that could be heard elsewhere. Joel was all consuming, taking up every nook and cranny in your mind, body, and soul . Letting go of your neck, his fingers traced down lightly to your hips. The delicate touches on your waist tormented you, making you squirm.

"Uh uh, darlin'. I asked you a question. You gonna be good f'me, now?" He tsked, moving his hands further to your hips, suddenly holding you hard enough to leave bruises in their wake. Looking over your shoulder, as best as you could, you eyed him sweetly and nodded a soft yes.

"Good."

Without a second to spare, he pushed into you in one, smooth movement. Your eyes rolled back and your body melted into the roll at the feeling of being suddenly so full. Yes, God, yes. He stilled, the base of his curls at the base of his cock brushing the soft skin of your ass. Together, you breathed deeply, relishing in the feeling of each other.

He didn't wait long, though, till he hiked your hips up, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix. The only thing your body could process was him. Nothing else mattered, nothing else existed. It was all him, and without him holding you together, you were certain that you would dissolve into thin air.

"Attagirl," you bit down on the fabric, preening at his praise. His hips began to move, his dick sliding oh so easily in and out of you, rubbing against all the right places. Out and in, in and out. His movements were slow at first, the pressure building up in your abdomen once again. Molten pleasure sparked from where you and Joel were connected, flowing through where his hands were on you, all the way to where his lips were now kissing just behind and under your jaw. The obscene noises of him slipping through your arousal only turned you on more, your wetness dewing his coarse hair, dampening y'all's skin. Your eyelids fluttered, whimpers sounding from you.

"Was this what you needed? You actin' up all day just 'cause you needed a good fuck?" You sighed, and nodded once more to him. You wriggled your ass further into him. He growled, pulling out of you completely, leaving you empty, exposed. You whined, objecting his rude abandon. Shivers ran down your spine at the chill of the air. You twisted to see what him.

His fingers were working to undo the belt around your wrists, skin burning from the friction, shoulders sore from the awkward positioning they had been resting in. Your newfound ability to move allowed for you to help him as he flipped you on your back. Together, you pulled your shirt up and over head. At the sight of your fraying bra, Joel reached around to unclasp it, revealing your tits to him in the cooled night air. His eyes raked over your body in admiration, taking in every ounce of your beauty. One thing you could say about Joel, he never failed to make you feel like the most gorgeous woman in the world. He would kiss, and worship every inch of your body. It made you feral.

Slowly, as if not to startle him like an untamed animal, you raised your hand to take the fabric from your mouth. He watched you do so and took your panties, stuffing them into his back pocket. Your eyes flashed at that. Taking his face into your hands, you pulled him down to you, initiating a hungry kiss. He took your offer, now fully hovering over you, your legs planted to the ground, knees by his waist.

Grinding into you, he reached down to pump his dick a few times in his fist and enter you again. A whole new feeling of euphoria blooming inside of you. He swallowed your moans, pressing you further and further into the bedroll.

Joel's lips left yours, ghosting down to your jaw, nipping along down to your clavicle. His teeth bit down on you skin, the heat from your blood pooling to the area. Letting go, his tongue washed over the bite, soothing the sting.

"Joel," you whispered, "please."

"'Please' what, darlin'," his lips left your chest, breathing heavily as he rested his forehead on yours.

"I," he thrusted out and into you, taking the breath from your lungs. "I want you to fuck me. Please fuck me, Joel."

And you didn't have to ask him twice.

He pressed your thighs up by your chest, stretching you even wider than you were, allowing him to spear into you deeper, hitting your cervix over and over and over with each thrust. Your eyes rolled back as he fucked you senseless. His thick cock filled your hole, splitting you open, spreading the juices from your pussy all over his dick and the inside of your thighs.

You found control of your body after a moment of getting used to being fucked like a toy. Snaking your hand down, you found where his was on your leg, holding them in place. Taking his hand from you, you brought it up to your neck, placing him where you wanted, letting the weight fall on you.

"Want me to choke you, darlin'? You like that?" He applied pressure, blood draining from your head. You simply nodded, your orgasm just within reach. His was too, his controlled movements in and out of you falling off rhythm, more sloppy.

"Yes, sir," you whimpered, shifting your hips to feel more of him.

"Attagirl," Joel muttered under his breath, coming down to kiss you. You could hear the wetness of the kiss, the wetness of your pussy pulsating around him. It was scandalous. "You just needed me to fuck the attitude outta you, ain't that right?" You hummed, the band in your abdomen tightening, your release imminent, now.

His rhythm picked up, and so did your breathing. You tapped a finger on his hand, and he released his grip on you, bringing it to the side of your face, holding you gently. His head fell to the crook of your shoulder, his lips fire on your sensitive skin.

"Joel, I'm right there. Please, Joel, please. Joel," you chanted, a sacred prayer on your lips, not caring however desperate you looked. Your walls were fluttering and clenching around him.

"Let go, darlin', been so good," his voice was breathy, but calm through his heavy breaths.

His words were the final blow of the hammer as you fell over the edge.

"Shit," he groaned, his motions falling to a stop as you felt him release, painting your walls white. Still riding your orgasm, your pussy milked him, pulling every last drop of him in you, his cum filling you to the brim.

He stayed in you, while your heavy breathing came to a slow. Beads of sweat dripped from his beard, falling on you and sliding down your sternum. When both him and you came down from your high, he pulled out of you, your arousal drenching him. His cum leaked out from you, sliding through your swollen folds.

He looked at you with a softness you hadn't seen on him in a while.

"You okay, baby?" You asked him, reaching for him to come back down close to you. He fell to your side, arm resting lazily on your waist pulling you to him.

"'M good. You okay?" He whispered into your neck while he rubbed your side up and down. You nodded, burying yourself into his chest. "Good. You did s'good f'me, darlin'." Your arm reached over to wrap around his neck, holding him tight.

"I love you," you said, just above a whisper.

"I love you, too, darlin'."

In the dark of the night, you laid there together. Just him and you listening to each other's heart beats and softened breathing.

You knew he didn't always say it, but he always would show you how much cared for you. And deep down you knew that you would always be his, just as he would always be yours.

[gloomunson]

The Set Up

Yeah, took me 11 months to post again, mind your business.

Smut bc of course it is. You and Eddie get set up on a blind date.

Word Count: 9847

You’d only really been told a few minor details about your date this evening.

He’s tall.

He’s loyal.

He’s easy-going.

He’s a lead singer in a band.

He’s tall.

Unsurprisingly, you were desperate enough to accept the date regardless of the brief description. He’d certainly matched some of it this far. He was tall all right. Towered over you in the brief moment he walked over to the table you’d already been seated at near the bar. He was pretty too. He was prettier than a bride on her wedding day. His lashes long and fluttering, lips full and glossy, eyelids glimmering with what looked like the remnants of eyeshadow that he must have second guessed and wiped off before he arrived. He had the hair of a rockstar, long, dirty, curly, windswept and effortlessly styled, though it must have taken him years of practice in his bathroom mirror to achieve that look, you were thankful he’d taken the time.

A few decent looking guys rolled through the bar during your wait. Some tall, some short, some certainly rockstar adjacent, none of them would quite have made the same impact as he had. But at least they’d arrived more closely to the meeting time set. He arrived 36 minutes late. You tend to be pedantic like that when you’re anxious. You thought about going home. You thought about drinking alone. You thought about chatting to one of the other guys lingering around too, but then he arrived.

He arrived strolling in like he owned the place, and you’d forgiven him at first. The leather jacket and the ring clad fingers taking away some of the pain of both his lateness and then the initial first date awkwardness. The apology wasn’t half bad either, he looked genuinely embarrassed and he looked at you with those wet brown eyes if his, the slightest glimmer of glitter at his lash line and you’d somewhat succumb to his efforts. But 30 more minutes into it with a maximum of 8 sentences said between the two of you, you couldn’t fucking fathom how this man had lead a band or gotten anywhere so far in life. He had nothing to say. He had the personality of a plank of wood. If the cocktails didn’t kick in soon, it was a wasted journey. You were rooting for him too.

You’d been trying. Small talk was exhausting but you’d at least attempted to cover the bases. You knew he was late because he got the train tonight. That he’d somehow at 28 years old never gotten one before. That he didn’t quite understand the correct platforms, scrambling and missing the first train of his. That he should have looked it up beforehand. The only reason tonight was the night he lost his public transport virginity was because his friends had warned him to leave his ‘shitty’ van at home. You guessed that meant he either had poor taste in vehicles or poor hygiene in the maintenance of one. Perhaps even both which was also pretty dire and preventative of things escalating between you.

You also knew that he’d admittedly not been on a ‘real date’ for quite some time. Probably because in peak musician fashion, he’d tended to have more flings and hook ups either before, after or hell, maybe even during a show. You’d also spotted the giant hickey on his neck to further assist that theory, not so much the location but confirmation that he’d not been one to shy away from casual sex, neither should he. But it was quite amusing that he’d attempted to conceal it for the sake of this date. Unfortunately for him, the shade was warmer than his skin tone, you’d spotted it pretty early on. He’d also nervously rubbed off a large portion of it. It’s a wonder he’d bothered to hide it and go on a date at all, he clearly didn’t need the set up.

The only saving grace during the awkward silences was the tapping of his fingers against the sticky high table. His hands were pretty. Fingers long and slender, precisely beating a rhythm into the wood that had so thoroughly not been deserving of it. His pale skin almost translucent enough that the bluey green veins pumping and pulsing beneath his skin were practically begging for your attention and they’d caught it. If there was nothing else coming from tonight, you at least needed to consider the attention those digits could provide in the backseat of your car that you actually had bought with you. Shit. Maybe that was the rockstars effect right there. Those damn fingers.

Suddenly the motion had ceased, his fingers retreating from the table, instead wiggling around in the air in a peculiar manor. He’d caught you. “My eyes are up here sweetheart.” You followed his fingers all the way up to the upturned smirk on his lips. He gestured to it so helpfully with his index finger too. “So, they are.” You remain calm, cold even. As if you’d not been caught drooling over him. “Must have gotten lost searching for a reason to continue this date.” He gulps, his Adam’s apple fighting for its life. He withdraws his hands, sinking them under the table to rub the nervous sweat off his palms onto his jeans instead. “That bad?”

He’s not surprised that you thought it. It was abysmal. Through no fault of your own, it was all on him. But the fact you’d had the balls to say it out loud. Though truth be told, you weren’t actually intending to. He was both aroused and mortified and it wasn’t an entirely new sensation to him. You were so far out of his league you may as well have been on another continent, planet even. He was painfully aware he had nothing about him to keep a woman like you interested. You were bubbly and smart. You were pretty. The kind of pretty that makes him want to throw himself over a puddle in the street so that you might walk all over him instead of dirtying your shoes on the ground, fuck a jacket, like in the old movies, you deserved better than a jacket. He’d tried to come up with compliments, stories, anything about his life that could be considered interesting or mildly intelligent, he came up with nothing.

He started tapping the second he broke into the library of previous conversations with his friends, hoping to steal an anecdote of theirs that he could pass as his own instead. He’d set the bar for himself so low that literally anything would have done, would have filled the gap in conversation. Like that one time his friend Jeff fell right off the stage during a set. Or that other time when the same friend Jeff got hit with pyrotechnics accidentally. He was far too slow, and you were far too lovely for him to look at. There was no chance of him successfully escaping into his own head to pluck that material out in a timely fashion when he could get lost in your glare instead. He just wanted to be in the moment with you, romantic in his head but was the romance in the room with them at the dingy bar they’d somehow both found themselves in? No, he didn’t suppose it was. He was completely fucking this up.

“It’s not great.” You admitted. You probably could have been kinder. Okay, you definitely could have been kinder, but you were so fed up with dates heading south, may as well speed up the process. He suddenly perks up. “Do you smoke?” You furrowed your brow for a moment before responding. “Like cigarettes?” You cringed that you’d even asked, of course that was what he’d meant. “Like weed.” He deadpanned. Finally, you found yourself cracking a smile for the first time that night. He finally felt he did something right for the first time that week. His friends had also warned him not to mention his affliction for pot. It’s not like the date could have gotten any worse, it seemed like the opportune time to pull that one out. “I wouldn’t say no.” You may as well get something out of this. Free weed with a hot guy was not something you were strong willed enough to pass up. If it lead to the inevitable make out session with them knee deep in the passenger seat afterwards then so be it.

“This is gonna sound really fucking presumptuous of me and I promise it’s not like that but uh, ha, I uh I have a room at the motel across the street.” You waited for him to stop mentally cursing himself for mentioning it, but it didn’t seem likely to stop soon. “You wanna smoke there?” You complete the suggestion for him. He nodded. “Figured it’d save us stinking out your car, know how hard it is to get rid of that smell.” Speaking from a literal decade of experience. “Very considerate of you.” You were already hopping from the stool you’d been sat on; he finally got a look at you in full as you made your way to the exit in front of him. He literally pinched himself.

You were unbelievable. It was a sick joke that his friends thought he’d ever have a chance with you. The only information they’d given him about you was;

She’s hot.

She’s a little blunt and direct.

She’s really funny.

She’s sweet once you get to know her.

She’s hot.

Hot didn’t even come close. The skirt cut way above the knee, your thighs thick, juicy and jiggling as you walked. Your tights an opaque black you’d assumed boring but still doing unspeakable things to him with the way they hugged you. He was about to get on his knees and crawl after you if only to get a better look at them. The fact you’d paired it off with a corset top was insane to him. A sheer black top was layered beneath it, sure, but it did nothing to hide your cleavage squished together and pushed up to the heavens as god intended. It was the kind of outfit to make a man do shameful, disgusting things to himself alone at night. That paired with the makeup, flawless and yet so minimal he’d only really picked up on it because of the neat little flicks above your eyelids. The accentuation of your lashes mixed with your waterlines coated in a cool white liner was actively destroying him. He had absolutely no idea what he’d done to deserve a shot with a woman like you and from that moment on, he couldn’t afford to let his nerves get the better of him anymore.

He chased out after you with a new found energy, similarly to a puppy chasing its owner. You arched your brow as he caught up with you, bouncing on the balls of his doc marten covered feet. “You’re kinda cold you know that?” You wondered if there was anything else he wanted to add to that or if he was done offending you there. “It’s really fucking intimidating actually.” A breeze blows over them, his curls combing back in the wind, his side portrait revealing itself along with the baby pink blush coating his cheeks. The street lights glowing behind him made him look pretty fucking angelic from your perspective. You felt yourself soften. “I’m sorry for that.” You looked down at your shoes, platform trainers you never went without, with a genuine remorse. “I know I must be hard to talk to.” You did feel embarrassed about the way you’d acted. You’d never really given him a chance. You tended to throw up a wall pretty effortlessly around new people. From the second he was late, your preconceptions plummeted into the earth. Perhaps you were too hasty after all.

“Hey it’s okay. I’m a big boy I can handle it.” He gestured to his chest as they walked more in unison. “We all have our shit.” He continues, suddenly bubblier than ever. “I for one, am fucking terrified of pretty girls.” He grinned, big and cheesy when you laugh, finally feeling like he’s accomplishing some level of charm. You even went as far as to tucking some hair behind your ear before the wind pulled it back away again. He wanted so desperately to reach out and fix it for you, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet, he had some serious impressing to do before he could reach that level of intimacy.

“No, I’m serious. Hard to believe I know.” You rolled your eyes. “Even harder when they’re a little mean.” He nudges your arm playfully, and boldly really, considering he was really pushing himself out of his comfort zone now. “I am pretty mean aren’t I?” You cringed. You didn’t want to be. You were just closed off and with good reason too, though he’d never question it, he could see it was there and something you were working through. “I reckon I can get you out of that shell.” You couldn’t stop smiling now, it was infuriating. “Like you suddenly came out of yours.” You elbowed him this time. He checked off a mental tally of things you did that made him think he stood a chance, so far he had two, which wasn’t a lot, but certainly enough.

“Sweetheart I’m gonna be honest.” He paused walking, you too, stopping in front of him, short and sweet and giving him your undivided attention and he wanted to kiss you, but it was so far from the moment for it. “You get set up on a date by your friends you expect it to be a failure right? Like you’re a fucking mess so naturally whoever they choose for you is going to be just as bad right? Half the time someone you’d never look twice at. As shallow as that is to say. But then I walk in and see, well you.” He gestures to you with both hands excitedly. “Shit I couldn’t believe it.” You shook your head. “You know you’re hot right? You act like it’s me who’s the hot one here.” He literally dropped his jaw, your confession wasn’t a complete blinder, he’d known he wasn’t ugly. There were some questionable attributes and insecurities of his, but he wasn’t ugly. He just hadn’t expected you to see that too. “Are you serious? I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me.” They start walking again, mostly because you feel so embarrassed and hot under the collar at the confession that you needed to put some space between the two of you again.

“The hickey on your neck says you know I’m right.” Of course you’d seen it. He instinctively reached to cover it, as if to say ‘oh that’s what that is.’ “Would you believe me if I said I was attacked by an octopus or something?” You looked at him seriously. “Yeah, no fair enough.” He snorted. He cursed himself for it. You thought it was fucking adorable. “We all have our shit.” You repeat his earlier statement. He genuinely beamed at you. “That we do.” They finally reached the motel, he leads you to his room, hands shaking like crazy, it could be the cold, it could be the nerves, either way, he struggled to slot the key in the lock. You cover his hand with yours, taking the keys, unlocking the door yourself. You were so fucking cute. He was losing his mind.

“Love what you’ve done with the place.” You waltzed in. Letting the warmth of the room engulf you in a hug. It’s not as bad as you’d pictured. It’s actually pretty clean. The walls freshly coated in off white paint. The carpet outdated but hoovered and surprisingly unstained. The sheets also outdated but again, cleaner than you’d expect from a joint like this. Suddenly fooling around in your car didn’t seem as appealing. Not when the bed looked so inviting. But that was planning too far ahead for you. Not far enough for him. He was picturing marriage and kids by now.

“Shut the fuck up.” He reached into his bag, bringing out a pre-rolled joint. “My, my, you do come prepared.” Unfortunately, he failed to notice the tiny lube packets thrown on the desk right beside the bag. “Safety first.” He wanted shooting. You’d happily shoot him. Though the thought that he might be the slightest bit interested in fucking you was making all your insides gooey. It was also real hard not to squeeze your thighs together. “Where to?” He scrambles, placing the joint between his lips, heading to the back of the room, another door, leading out to a shitty pool area, probably one of the most depressing scenes. Even the bright fuck off blue tint of the chlorine overdosed pool couldn’t brighten up the grey paving and metal fencing around it. The deckchairs missing half their legs, material spliced with a knife weren’t much helping it either. “Absolutely not.” He agreed, closing the door, locking it, throwing the chain on the latch firmly for good measure. He didn’t feel like dying there tonight.

They instead decide to smoke in the room, the windows open wide, the lights dimmed, some music playing lowly and gravelly from the clock radio at his bedside. He’s laid with his head to the foot of the bed, knees bent up, socks digging under his pillows on his designated side. You opted for propping yourself up at the headboard, pillows supporting your back, legs lay out flat, thighs pushed together. He’d so badly wanted to lay on them.

They pass the joint between them till it was half way through, the motel room hazy, the air thick, he damns it for hiding you from him. He just wants to get closer. “Whatcha thinking there?” You leaned forward, elbows on your knees. “So many dangerous thoughts.” He lets slip with a smirk. “Care to share with the class.” He groans, but he doesn’t mean it. “I share my weed, my time, my beautiful room, and you still want more?” He tsked at you. “If you’re thinking about me, don’t I have the right to know?” You offered back. “You have ownership over thoughts now?” You nodded. “I do. Better get them out in the open before you get into trouble.” You giggle at your own bullshit and that’s exactly what it was, complete and utter, couldn’t handle your weed bullshit. “What if,” he sits up, leaning back on his elbows. “The thoughts themselves get me into trouble.” You ponder it for a moment. “Then I really, really wanna know.” Your eyes lit up with a genuine excitement. “You’re so high aren’t ya little one?” You fought the urge to whimper at the pet name. “Tell me.”

He sighed. This time he sat up fully. You shuffled around yourself, crossing your legs. Your skirt so short you were well aware you weren’t covered by anything but tights right now but at least they were opaque, ish. He begged himself not to look. “Well, I was just thinking maybe we could uh…” he leaned in closer, his nerves started eating away at him when you leaned too, “we could shot gun. Maybe.” You chuckled. “If that’s as dark as it gets in that little mind of yours then your little fling,” you reached out, prodding the fading hickey on his neck, “must have been pretty abysmal.” He clicked his tongue. “Well, you certainly got me there huh.”

He leans up on his knees, lighting up before instructing you, “open up.” You were practically gawping at him as he inhaled, mouth propping open while he inhaled enough for him to feel his lungs aching. He reached for your face, thumb on one side of your mouth the rest of his fingers on the other, stretching your mouth wider, pushing the smoke right out of his own and into yours. Your eyes were open, just barely, eyelids heavy, pretty lashes fluttering, you had the audacity to moan when his lips pulled away without even kissing you. He was already fisting the sheets. It was over way too fast.

“You are way too fucking hot right now.” He stubs out the joint momentarily, placing it in the ash tray he’d now deposited on the desk. “Then why aren’t you kissing me?” He breathed a shaky breath, running his fingers down his face frustratedly. “That’s, that’s a good fucking question actually.” He practically bounced back onto the bed, you giggling away so fucking sweet, finally relaxing around him. His friends were right, you were a real sweetie deep down. He liked you at your bitchiest, any other version of you was a blessing on top.

Your hands stroke his cheek, startling him, you begin to pull them away, maybe a step too far but he’s pulling you back in by the wrists, depositing your arms lazily around his neck instead. “Just caught me off guard is all.” He lets his forehead lean against yours, his heart thudding rapidly in his chest. You smelled so good. He’d never forget it. Bury himself in it. You were more intoxicating than any drug and he’d sampled his fair share. “Don’t want you to regret this sweetheart.” He says it honestly, vulnerably. “You need to stay out of your head.” You’re calmer than he is. It didn’t take much. “Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t wanna be.” He rubs his nose against yours, so close yet so far. “But do you even like me? Cause I swear, you were so out, now you’re all in I…” Usually it’s the guy who kisses the girl when they’re rambling on, but you threw the outdated stereotype right in the trash. You kissed him. The second you did, he cupped your cheeks, grateful you had.

It wasn’t the best kiss either of them had ever shared. It wasn’t electric or life changing or even passionate, despite the chemistry they clearly shared now. It was messy and miscalculated, and they clashed their teeth with a clanging sensation at least twice. “Okay stop, stop.” You pulled back, not too far but far enough for him to miss you. “What the fuck was that?” You were deadly serious. He was mortified. “I can do so much fucking better I swear to god.” He would beg on his knees for another shot immediately. “Just take it easy.” Your voice is so soothing, reassuring and encouraging, he leaned in again. “I really wanna kiss you too, Eddie.” His eyes pinged with tiny hearts. “You do?” He was so struck dumb by the sound of you saying his name. “Stay with me here.” He nods like a lovesick puppy. “Kiss me again.” You nudge him, this time he eased into it. It started as steady, gentle closed mouth kissing, before prying your lips open with his tongue kissing, which lead to him pulling you into his lap kissing. Then it was him raking his fingers through your hair kissing, elevating to softly whining into your mouth kissing and well, you can gather the rest, you were fucking kissing.

“That’s more like it.” You praised, tugging at his hair, his breath hot against your lips, a smirk befalling you when he pushed his hips right up into yours, forgetting the thin layer of fabric between them, hitting right at your core, a moan pouring from your mouth into his. You even felt his dick kick in his jeans. “Fuck baby.” He whimpered at you calling him that. “You gonna whimper and whine whenever I talk honey.” You stroked his chin, his lips chasing after yours, power going straight to your head. He was so far gone, be it the weed, be it you, he didn’t know and he sure as hell didn’t care.

“Can’t help myself princess.” Your turn to swoon. “Drive me fuckin crazy.” His hands run up your thighs. “This fucking outfit. Can’t believe I nearly bored you to death at the start. I deserve a world of suffering.” You just hummed and nodded, letting him mumble and mutter away. “Dressed so pretty for me. Shortest fucking skirt. Knew what you were doing.” He starts sucking on your neck, moving your hair out of the way to better bruise you. “Made so much fun of my neck, let’s see how much you like some marks of your own.” He teased. “You wouldn’t dare.” You fought back. “Already fucking there.” He bit down into the soft, warm flesh of your neck, soothing the toothmarks with a swipe of his tongue. You hissed at the sensation, all sorts of thoughts flickering through the space of your mind right now. Eddie’s tongue, Eddie’s tongue, Eddie’s fucking tongue.

His heart was fucking hammering in his chest, all senses heightened, craving you. Yours were just as bad, if not worse. You were notorious for becoming insatiable under the influence, so it was no surprise to you how quickly the pace had increased. His apparent and fairly large need for you too was enough to mean that he was swimming in a similar ocean. “Can we please take some clothes off, I feel like I’m scorching.” You pulled at your corset like it were made of flames. “Never gonna say no to that.” He leans in kissing you again. Hands reaching up your back to feel around the corset, trying to find the tie. It had to be there somewhere. You guide his wrists down to the bow which he carefully undoes. He tries to tug it off you, not understanding how exactly it worked, pulled at it, yanked it, unthreaded it, fiddling some more. He pulls from your lips, maximum concentration, head resting against your chest, muttering into it. “Why are you doing this to me?”

You stroke his head, flattening some of his untamed mane, soothingly kissing his crown. “An A for effort. Poor baby.” He hugged you tight, needy and clingy and so, so into you. “Definitely the least practical top for a hook up but they make my tits look great.” You offered as a consolation. He pulled back, not looking at you, but directly at your breasts, grinning like a fool. That was enough of an encouragement boost to keep him going. “They sure do.” By the time he rests back against them, you’ve unthreaded the corset enough to slip it off over your head, which he gladly jumps to help you do, chucking the wretched thing across the room once it was off.

“Holy shit, look at these fucking things.” You bit into your lip as he grabbed them, no gentle caress, just taking them in each of his massive hands, squeezing them, tugging them, bunching them together, pinching each nipple till you pushed your chest further into his grip. “Unbelievable.” He lifted the sheer top you’d had on beneath the corset. Watching them fall out bare, they were beautiful. They were big, not perfectly round, not in the least bit symmetrical, but full and hot and heavy in his hands. Your nipples hard and prodding at him with an unfamiliar shaped lump adoring them both. Metal. You’d pierced not one but both nipples. “You’re fucking kidding me.” He stares at them, no really, mouth open, gold fish popping, gawping at them. “You can still suck on them.” It was as if you’d read his mind, he was wondering it too and, thankful you’d said it. He feared he might never have left that moment otherwise.

The feeling was different. Nothing like he’d experienced before. Boobs were boobs to an extent sure but the metal bar adorning them both was so erotic, so delicious to him. He sucked them gently at first, too afraid to do too much in unfamiliar territory. Once you sighed softly in approval, encouraging his movements, he finally began to explore, licking, sucking gently pulling with his teeth, your breath hitching, sounds increasing, soft little moans that coursed right through his blood stream. His tongue tangling around the piercings were enough to alert you to any other skills he might have had in that department. You made a bold assumption that he’d knew his way around with few complaints.

“I need more Eddie.” You pushed your chest into him. “Fuck I need more.” You were so high, aching with need, bursting with lust. He managed to pull himself away, only to catch your eyes. “Need more what?” You scowled, less than impressed with his agender to torture you further. “Or should I ask where you need me, hmm?” You shuddered. “Where do you fucking think?” You snapped, agitated and unafraid to hide it. He lapped it up. This might be his one and only opportunity to have a woman of your calibre begging for his cock, you could bet your ass he was going to milk it.

“Where I’m fucking soaking you already.” You pouted, your thighs squeezing his, sweet little centre rubbing down onto the zipper of his jeans, catching just right. An entirely new tactic to get yourself what you wanted. He moved his hand down between them as if he didn’t already feel the dampness, low and behold, his jeans were fucking ruined. “Gonna do anything about it?” You urged him, pushing him further, you’d cross every line you had to if it made him act.

Finally, he grabbed your hips, ready to roll you both over throwing your back down into the mattress, his body lowering, slotting between your spread thighs. The weight of him pinning you down. “Yeah I’m gonna do several fucking things about it.” Your cunt fluttered around nothing, the tremors rising all the way up into the pit of your stomach. It was a flaming sensation, making you fidget and puff short little sighs of frustration into the room. You were pained by the lack of his touch even more so by the emptiness.

“That was hot.” You sighed; he smirked. “You’re hot.” His eyes rake over your body. “Look at you.” He ran his hands down your sides, he couldn’t decide what to play with first. So much choice, so much to devour. He was stalling. So nervous he couldn’t quite push himself to do anything at all. Just leaning back on his legs, not believing the sight before him. You reached out for his hand, not to bring it to touch you, even though you weren’t opposed to the idea. Instead, you just wanted to bring him back down to earth, offer him some solace. “You still with me?” You traced your thumb across the back of his hand. “We can hit pause.” He shakes his head, taking your other hand in his. “No fucking way princess.” He gulps. “I just needed to look at you, take it all in.” He pulls your hand to his lips, kissing it. “I might not get the chance again.” You sure hoped he would, as did he. “You have about 2 seconds to take a mental picture.” You mouthed “one, two,” before he leaned down, kissing you delicately on the mouth.

You tug at his hair, pulling his weight on top of you, wanting it actually. He grunts. “Please, take some damn clothes off.” He pauses for a moment. Shit. He couldn’t just keep his clothes on. He sits up, practically flying off the bed like an erratic little bat, flinging his jacket off, his shirt, struggling with his jeans too. “Shit, fuck, shit.” You’re leant up, arms behind you, watching him hop on one leg, trying to get his boots off whilst his jeans are halfway down his legs. You decide to show mercy, putting him out of his misery, slipping onto your knees, halting him.

He gulps, swallowing hard as he takes in the view of you there, topless, blushing, hair thrown over your shoulder, on your fucking knees. You unlace his boot, slipping it off his foot, one after the other, before tugging down his jeans, letting him step out of them. While you’re down there, you can’t help but peak, his sizeable bulge straining against his boxers, leaking. A sweet little wet patch calling to you. You move your face towards it, but he stops you. “Nuhuh sweetheart, no can do.” You pout, brows furrowing sweetly. He tilts your chin up toward him. “Want me to bust in 2 seconds flat? One more pout and I’m there sweetheart. Don’t test me on this one.” You roll your eyes before admitting defeat, effortlessly standing up again, sitting yourself on the edge of the bed.

“What do you suggest instead then?” He takes a deep, shuddering breath, trying to compose himself as he approaches you slowly. "Why don't you lie back for me, princess?" His voice is low and husky, dripping with barely restrained desire. He wasn’t fooling anyone. You shift higher up the bed, leaning into the pillows while his hands already work at tugging your skirt down your plump thighs.

He hooks his fingers in the waistband, tugging gently as he looks you dead in the eye. “Lift,” he commands, his voice firm yet gentle. It makes your stomach summersault. You comply, arching your back slightly as he slowly drags the short little thing down your legs, tossing it aside along with your tights, your panties left on.

Just as you ponder why he left them on at all, he pulls them up, between your lips, “for me?” You roll your eyes, mostly in hopes he doesn’t see the effect he’s having on you, “which part?” He takes a swipe, “the lace and the dampness.” You groan. He moves them to the side and pulls you apart, admiring you, sucking in a deep breath. “Stop staring.” You squirm. He ignores you, “I’m serious stop,” he looks at you, “shut the fuck up, I’m working here.” You face palm in embarrassment, he takes the win. He leans in, sucking at you, licking you, in all the wrong places almost as if he’s doing it on purpose. He cannot be serious. First the kiss now this.

You lean up on your elbows, watching him, as soon as your eyes meet his, he finds your clit, “oh there it is.” He smirks into it, you mumble, you’re not sure what. He hums. His breath is hot against you, you already felt like you were on fire and all he was doing was adding oxygen to it. But his tongue is so gorgeous and long, darting inside you. You forgive him. He’s fucking perfect and direct around your clit, plus his plump, pretty lips latched onto you, sending you to heaven. Felt so empty though, clenching down on nothing, needing more than what he was giving you. Maybe you were greedy, maybe you just wanted this man like no other. Maybe that was the same thing.

“More.” You sigh. He ignores you, purposely or accidentally you’re unsure. “Fuck more.” You repeat. He mumbles around you, lifting a hand to wave you off, nothing was stopping him now, “please.” His brow quirks up at that. “Pleaseee.” You say again. He rotates his finger as if to say, “keep going,” head still buried between your legs. “Please, babe, I need more, please, please.” The gesture continues. You groan, hips wiggling, his spare hand pins them. “Fuck, I need more, please, please more. Eddieeee.” He lifted his hand to gesture a chef’s kiss, and you wanted to crush his head with your thighs like a damn watermelon. He pissed you off even more when his mouth hesitated, leaving you with nothing for far too long, before he finally sucked on those same sarcastic fingers, pushing them inside you. He didn’t stop there; his lips were back at your clit. Your head was thrown back into the pillows beneath you, your back arching, hips bucking into him. “Fuck.”

Despite his theatrics, it was good, it was more than good. Everything increased by the weed of course but credit where credit is due and all that. You were drenched, whining, pushing your tits into your own hands. You were floating on a cloud. He was touching you so well. So, fucking well. You almost felt that band snap, stomach summersaulting with the realisation. Cumming, you were close to cumming. Fuck what if you sounded stupid? What if you made too much noise or fuss? What if he didn’t like the way you tasted? You psyched yourself out of it when you got too close, he furrows his brows, pulling away when you groan and mutter frustratedly. He came up for air like a diver who’d been underwater, hair pushed back, gasping for a breath. “What happened? Weren’t you there? Felt like you were there.” He’s not angry, not annoyed he’d failed, really he had only the look of concern.

“I was there.” You confirm. “What happened?” He still touches you, not to make you cum, just cause he wanted to, really wanted to, if you did though, that was a bonus. “I got in my head.” He nodded, understandingly. “Well, it’s a very nice head, I’d wanna be in there too.” He says it so comfortingly poking you. “But it’s kinda cruel to deny yourself, don’t ya think?” His fingers slip inside you again briefly, pulling out, seeing if you had any objection. “Think I think too much.” He laughs. “That’s what the weed was for.” You cover your face. “I don’t wanna force it, but I do want to try again, would you be okay with that?” The way he looks at you makes you want to trust him with your life. Eyes big and beautiful, soft for you. You agreed, the fact he wasn’t put off entirely was unfortunately a shock to you. “Okay.” You breathe, relaxing.

He builds you up again, much the same, consistency being key. “Close your eyes.” He talks you through it. You do so. He mumbles. “Just focus on how I feel, can you do that?” You nod but he doesn’t see, too busy, so you speak up. “Ye- yeah.” He continues. You focus, eyes closed, he feels good, wet, warm, “hmm,” his tongue licked a stripe up your cunt, torturously not dipping inside. “Oh.” Then his tongue licks at your clit, short, quick flickers, not overly exaggerated. “Shit.” His lips kiss and suck and hold the bundle with care, his finger pushes into you, slow and deliberate, gently hooking, as if tugging at that very string preventing you from getting there. “Fuck, baby.” He repeats, patiently drawing you near. Feeling you shuffle, feeling you tighten, hearing you whine as you near the edge, he tugs that string like it’s his fucking lifeline, and he needs it back in his possession, you crumble, back arching, moans loudening, he doesn’t let up until your thighs are shaking, breath laboured. “Fuck, fuck.” Your hips drop, body feeling like it’s plummeting from great heights, orgasm crashing over you in waves. He pulls away from you, he doesn’t grin like you thought he would, just wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stares at you like you hung the fucking moon.

He climbs up your body, peppering kisses along your stomach, your chest, your neck, your jaw. His face comes into view over you, and he smiles softly. His eyes are glazed, and his pupils are huge. He looks high and sated, happy. And its infectious. He leans in to kiss you but stops himself. “Do you… I mean… can I…” You try to finish for him. “Kiss me?” He flashes his teeth a little, before biting his bottom lip. “Yeah.” He says breathlessly. Your nod is the only permission he needs before he takes your mouth again, cupping your jaw. You kiss him passionately, enjoying the taste of yourself mixed with his sweet mouth as his tongue glides along your bottom lip, dipping inside to tangle with your own. You can feel his erection pressing against your hip, aching, no, throbbing. You hum against his tongue, face moving, moulded perfectly against his, body rocking too, grinding against him. Both of you getting carried away, feeling free now. Comfortable.

You wrap your arms around his neck and he slots between your legs, hands reaching down to grip the fat of your ass in his hands, groaning, hips bucking into you when he takes hold. “Fuck.” You gasp. He continues kissing you, sucking hard onto your lips, biting a little, licking a little, tongue deep inside your mouth. He tries to be quiet but you can feel him panting a little against your mouth, hips pushing at you in desperation.

It’s now just a case of who breaks first. Neither of you willing to pull away for even a second. Despite knowing how badly you needed each other. His hips start moving more intentionally, grinding against you, making his own frustrated sounds which get smothered against your lips. You can literally feel his struggle between wanting to maintain control and losing it completely. His hands squeeze your ass tighter, spreading you, pulling you closer. Slotting you directly against his clothed cock. Your fingers dig into his chest, scraping gently at his tattoos there. He sighs at the catch of your nails. You test him again, firmer. Scratching him as he shudders. You do it again, there’s a whimper against your lips this time but he’s pulling away, he’d reached boiling point.

"Fucking hell.” He pulls back, panting hard. His eyes are dark with lust, his hair tousled from your fingers running through it. He looks down at your breasts, rising and falling with each breath, then back up to your eyes. “I wanna… god I wanna fuck you baby, can I fuck you?” His hands stroke over your shoulder, up and down, a gentle, tickling touch. “God I wanna fuck you.” You lean up, nose brushing against his, his eyes flutter closed, you feel them long bambi lashes fan at your cheeks. You chase his lips. Kissing him harshly. Dragging him back down against your body.

He cups your cheeks, kissing you back, tongue slipping into your mouth, but he still tries to speak. “That a yes?” You groan against his mouth. “Tell me it’s a yes.” He’s kissing across to your jaw. You crane your neck to give him full access. He nips at you, teeth grazing then squeezing, a punishment for leaving him hanging. “Shit, yes, yes you can fuck me. Want you to fuck me, stop being a fuckin vampire.” He chuckles against your neck, his body relaxing. He bites again but softly this time, before sucking where your shoulder meets your neck soothing any injury. His hips push against you. His length sliding against your slick, throbbing cunt. He’s so hard it hurts, you, not him, though maybe him too. “Shit. Condom?” He pulls back to look at you.

“You don’t have any? Mr wears a hickey on the first date.” You look at him in absolute awe. “How do you have lube and not condoms?” You dip in for another kiss. You couldn’t help it. “I uhh don’t have one on me no. And no comment on the uh other thing.” He mumbles against your lips. His heart pounding, stomach plummeting. He’d ruined everything. But your legs wrap around his waist. Sending him humming when your pussy grinds against him. His own hips matching yours. “You have any? Little miss perfect?” He asks quietly, sucking your bottom lip again. Your legs tighten around him. He whimpers. “Maybe.” His eyebrows arch. Fuck if you grind against him anymore you’re in for one hell of a sticky situation.

“Maybe?” He groans, face scrunching. “You wanna use me as a toy baby, just fuckin tease and never let me have you?” He doesn’t even hate the idea. There’s a sick part of him that wants it like that, but he pins it for a later date. He instead, kisses down your neck, sucking hard onto the same spot as before, in case you missed his warning. You hiss. “I’m on the pill if you even care.” His eyes widen. His pupils blowing out like that of a cat. Big, black, and impossible to ignore. He stops kissing you for a second, staring at your face in utter disbelief and perhaps even a hint of excitement, his Christmas coming early. Him too, potentially. “You’re on the pill? As in, I can come inside you? As in, I can fill you up? As in…”

“Offer expiring as we speak.” You rock your hips up against him, for something, anything. “No, nope, nuhuh, fuck no, no expiring, gonna just fuck you baby.” He kisses you back, practically tearing your panties just to get to you. His hands roaming over your body roughly. You part your legs wider like an invitation and he takes it. Breaking the kiss only to shuck off his boxers with ease before spreading your legs wide. You gawp at his cock, half sitting up just to get a better view. “Great, now you’re staring.” It twitches as he speaks, shy maybe. “Can’t help it.” You absentmindedly lick over your bottom lip, but he notices it, eyes locked on your face for any kind of negative reaction. “Big huh.” He huffs. “I’m serious.” You insist. “And the way you.. curve a little.” Your hands reach out to stroke him, but you pull your hand back as if you’d been bitten. No, you wouldn’t touch him yet.

He watches your hand pull back with amusement, frustration too. His own hand reaches for you, grabbing yours and guiding it to wrap firmly around him. “Go on, get a proper feel. Ain't gonna bite baby." His hips flex slightly, pushing his cock into your palm encouragingly. Smearing his precum against your palm. His voice was strained. “Spits though.” You swipe through the beading white droplets leaking from his slit. “Looks pretty dangerous to me.” He growls, his hips bucking into your hand, his own still over yours. “Woman," his face scrunches up, how he hadn’t cum, was a fucking miracle to him. “Want me to put it in?”

His hips jerk, he’s embarrassed by the whimper that leaves him when your wrist twists, experimentally touching him, torturing him. “Lie back, lie back and fucking move your hands.” He sounded pained. He was fucking pained. Your cheeks flush crimson. “Please.” He adds politely. Just in case he snapped a little too hard. But you liked it. You only blushed because the thought of squishing him inside you was enough to make you drip.

He watches you with barely restrained urgency as you lay back. The moment you do, he pounces, crawling over you like some kind of predator. Settling between your thighs with a relieved groan at the welcoming heat awaiting him. His cock jumps against you, and he can't help the frustrated grunt that escapes him. You rut your hips against him, and he just can’t get over it. Every fucking thing you do. Every little thing. You were so sexy. So incredibly hot without even trying. He takes himself in his hand, rubbing his thick, hot head against your pussy, swiping through, coating himself in your arousal and you both shudder. You grasp for his forearm, stopping him before he even has the chance to dip his needy tip into you. You were killing him.

“Let me in. Please baby you fuckin have to let me in.” He leaks some more precum against you, you like the way its feels, sticky and warm against your skin. “I will, I promise, just not like this.” He groans exasperated. “Then what? Like what baby?” He’s trying so hard to keep level headed here but you were testing him. He takes a new approach, pinching your lips around his length, fucking through them, head catching your clit, a sweet whine tumbles from your lips. He didn’t even need to be inside you to turn you to mush with his cock. “Just wanna wrap myself around you, you fucking idiot, want to touch you, hold you and fucking feel you properly not just lie here complicit in missionary.” It’s a wonder you manage to get it out at all, through laboured breath, his dick pulsing against you.

“He smirks down at you, his eyes glimmering, amused. “Then don't.” He leans down, pressing his lips to your neck, his hands sliding up your sides, around to your back then up to tangle in your hair. “Touch me.” He breathes, his voice low and husky. “Hold me. Wrap your fucking body around me.” He lifts you slightly. You wrap your arms tight around his neck, your legs hug around his waist, body clinging to his with all your strength. He lays you both on your side, the two of you sinking into the mattress, into each other, his cock lining up with you and you doing nothing to prevent him from slipping in, just letting his tongue catch yours as you moan for him, and he does too, the loudest you’d ever heard him, overwhelmed from plunging into your hot, wet little pussy. His hands rake over your ass, grabbing at it, pulling you further onto him, with no protest from you, just acceptance, just taking him and taking him so god damn perfectly.

His breath hitches as he feels you take every inch of him, your body moulding around his like some sort of fucked up puzzle piece. He groans, hands gripping your ass tighter, grinding you against him, him rocking his hips into your cunt, meeting you there. “Fuck," he gasps, his hips moving in a slow, deep grind as he slides in and out of you in this new position. "Feel so damn good around me baby." He mumbles against your neck. “So, fucking wet.” He ruts into you smiling against your neck. “Yes baby.” He moans softly; his voice muffled against your skin. “Like that.” He encourages, his hips snapping forward as he grips your thighs and pulls you closer. “Touch me.” He gasps, his breath hot against your neck. “Hold me.”

“Yes,” you tangled your fingers in his hair, he grunts as you tug. “I know, I know you like it baby.” You coo. "You god damn know it." He hisses, bucking his hips harder. "You pull my hair like that again." He warns darkly. "And I'll breed you." Your breath hitches, he feels you squirm, like you’re trying to get away from him. He curses himself mentally. “Too much? Way too fucking much?” He panics. “First fuckin date remember.” He rolls his eyes. “Already balls deep baby, too late for etiquette.” You huff. “Just maybe keep the whole breeding thing to a minimum.” He nods in agreement although he doesn’t miss the way you clenched around him as you said it, he took a mental note, not that it’d take, you had him scrambled.

Despite him nodding, he doesn’t really mean it. He’s already picturing you stuffed full of his cum. “Mmm.” He pushes those thoughts aside. “I won’t mention it again.” He promises, pushing his hips forward. “Pinky promise sweetheart.” Your hands lock in the promise, his forehead against yours, breath hot against your lips. “God can you… fuck can you move back a little, gimme some room.” He rolls his eyes but complies, shifting back slightly with a soft grunt, giving you a little more space between your bodies. His cock slips out partway, the new position allowing him to look down between you both, admiring the sight of himself disappearing inside you. "Better?" He huffs. Barely keeping it together. Feeling it was one thing, seeing it was another. The grip you had on him as he pulled back, far enough the tip caught your lips before pushing all the way back in, hugged tight by you, your hips bucking, back arching. You slip a hand down between your torsos, feeling your way down to rub at your clit, his eyes nearly bulge out of his skull, watching you rub yourself, fucking yourself on his cock, desperately humping at him. “Fuck, so much better, so much fucking better.”

"Jesus Christ." He curses under his breath. The sight of you touching yourself, fucking yourself on him, god it was enough to make him see heaven. He reaches down, his hand covering yours, pressing down harder as his hips begin to move, matching your rhythm. "So fucking pretty for me. Look at you go. Look at you taking it.” Your mouth parts, sweet little sounds coming out needy and desperate. Pathetic really. “Can I cum Eddie? Can I?” If you’d have told him at the beginning of the night that he’d end up here, with you begging to cum on his cock without him even pushing you to, he’d tell you to fuck off. Because there was no way in hell you’d ever stoop so low. But hell, was he glad you did.

He laughs in disbelief, his breath coming in short pants as he watches you writhe beneath him, utterly lost in pleasure, begging for it, for him. “Are you seriously asking permission right now?" He teases, hips never stopping their relentless grind against yours. "Fuck yes, cum for me. Never need my permission baby, you cum whenever you fucking want, however many times you want.” You sigh with relief, hand speeding up against your clit, his mouth comes crashing down against yours, hands squeezing at your hips. He kisses you till you can’t kiss back anymore. Till you can only moan and yell, and cum loudly, pussy squeezing him half to death. And when he spills, he spills hard, so hard he’s seeing white spots, head hazy, body engulfed in your flames.

You’re breathless, both run ragged. Trying hard to calm the racing beating of your hearts but to no avail. He collapses into you and you only hold him tighter, face buried in his neck, his hair drifting over you like a curtain and you don’t even care, too wrecked to give a damn but he does. He moves it away. He strokes your cheek, kissing it, soft, sweet, gentle blessings dotted across your face as he comes to. “Baby girl.” His hips shift a little, stirring his finish inside you, just checking it really happened, it really was in there, and it was. “You okay?” He pulls back to catch your eyes. Your makeup is a fucking state. mascara smudged, eyeliner gone entirely. “Define okay.” He smirks at your response, running his fingers through your hair to push it away from your face, better to see the mess he made of you. "I think I can answer that." He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Breathing, cracking jokes, looking at me like you wanna kiss me.” He pecks your lips again. “All signs of life are there.”

“Think I need the opinion of an actual medical professional.” Worry flickers over his face. “You serious?" He laughs softly, pulling back to look at you better, taking in your swollen lips, messy hair, red cheeks. "You feeling sick?" He asks seriously now. "Actual nausea? Headache?" He throws himself off the bed, ready to find his boxers and t-shirt. You whine at the loss of him inside you far too soon. “No, Jesus, come back. I was kidding.”

"Don't joke about shit like that." He crawls back on top of you, pressing his body against yours. "You're okay, right? Nothing hurts?" Your lips twitch into a smile. “Nothing hurts. You gave it your best go though.” He snorts, rubbing his face, his eye in particular. “Yeah well, gifted.” You shove him, playfully. “Where were you gonna go in boxers and a t-shirt hmm? Who were you tracking down like that without a car Ed?” Despite you making fun of him the only part he really focuses on is “Ed.” Sounds so pretty from your mouth.

He strokes his thumb over your bottom lip. He ignores the question, "say it again." He murmurs, leaning in closer. "Say my name." He whispers, his nose nudging yours. "Please?" He asks softly. “Not even listening to me are you?” You trace messy little patterns across his shoulder blades. “No ma’am. Not really." He admits. "You called me 'Ed' and fucked me up." He confesses, his face buried in the crook of your neck, breathing you in. "I like it." He mumbles. "I really like it." He pecks your neck. “Kinda pathetic Ed.” He squeezes you, smiling, lips catching your neck. “I can live with pathetic. Try besotted even.” He pulls from you to catch your eyes. “Besotted already? Should I be worried?”

"Maybe." He grins mischievously, his hips shifting slightly, making you suck in a breath. "Answer a question honestly." He speaks softly. His fingers carding through your hair again and again. "No bullshit." He adds. "No snark." He smirks. “No promises.” You respond, his face falls. “Fine, whatever. Go on.” He rolls his eyes, trying to hide the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Really fucking helpful." He mutters but presses on anyway. “Truth time. You think I'm annoying as hell, right? Like, offensively annoying?" You nod. “Incredibly so yeah.” He laughs softly, his body relaxing. "Honest answers. God bless." He hesitates. “Would you get to the point?” He nods, plodding on. “Too annoying for a second date?”

Your lips quirk up into a smile. “You wanna see me again?” He blinks at you like you were speaking a different language. "Duh." He says, his face deadpan for all of a second before he's grinning again, his lips pressing against yours. "Gimme your number." He commands softly, breath fanning across your mouth. "Let me take you out. Do this shit right. Maybe not turn up late this time.” You pretend to ponder it for a moment. You pretty much decided you liked him from the second he kissed you, even if it was one of the worst first kisses you’d ever had. Because when the second one came around, stealing your breath like it was nothing, yeah, you knew alright. “I’m so down for that.”

He grins widely, a playful glint in his eye as he leans in, his lips barely brushing yours. “Well, well, well, looks like I finally managed to impress a girl without fucking it up royally." He teases, his hands sliding down to grasp your hips gently. “Congratulations.” You whisper against his mouth; it does funny little things to him. His heart skips a beat at the sound of your voice so close, so soft and sweet for him. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, and before he can stop himself, he's smiling against your lips, a sweet, lazy smile that speaks volumes of the affection he's beginning to feel. “Think I’m in trouble here.” You kiss him gently. “Think I’m right there with you.”

[guksvault]

THE TIDES OF US | JJK

Oneshot

pairing: firstlove!jungkook x firstlove!(f.)reader

synopsis: returning to Busan was never meant to be anything more than temporary. but when you’re faced with the boy who shaped your heart and engraved his initials upon it, are you able to pick up where you left off or will the tides of Busan wash away everything you once knew?

w/c: 8.6k

warnings: first love reunited, angst, angst snd some more angst, coffeeshopowner!jk, two dummies who apparently can’t communicate!, eventual smut (just one scene!), titty appreciation, unprotected sex (dont be silly!!), yummy make outs, crying :(, actually no! sobbing!, so many questions, matchalover!reader, both 22!!!, um um um, jjk has a shaggy mullet bc i cant help myself!!!, too many emotions that both characters r overwhelmed by! i think thats it lol idk, enjoy pls <3 mwah

!minorsdni!

It had been a total of 1614 days since you last walked through the city of Busan. Four years and six long months since your parents had uprooted your lives and moved to London after an opportunity to expand your father’s company at the age of 18.

The sun warms your skin, the scent of sea salt lingers in the air. It's all familiar, yet somehow all so foreign.

Passing by street food stalls where you once spent your last bits of change, benches where you watched sunsets over the sea with your first love, and photobooth stands you’d drag them into at every chance. It was all so familiar, yet distant, flooding you with a wave of emotions—nostalgia, longing, and a twinge of sadness for how those days had slipped through your fingers, leaving only memories behind.

You find yourself frozen inside a beachfront café, convinced the sun has given you heatstroke and that this is just a hallucination. It couldn’t be him. There’s no way.

A tall, doe-eyed boy stands across from you, one arm adorned with intricate tattoos, a shaggy mullet framing his chiseled face. He’s frozen too, staring right back at you.

“Jungkook?”

Jungkook watches as you approach the counter hesitantly, his gaze fixed on you. He wants to reach out, to touch you, to see if you’re really here—or if you’re just an illusion his brain conjured up after that extra cup of coffee today.

“Shit- No fuckin’ way? What the fuck?” Is all his pretty little lips that were now adorned with a silver ring could say. His brain was racing, eyes darting back and forth between yours.

“You speak to all your customers like that?” you say playfully, a small laugh escaping your lips.

The smile that forms on Jungkook’s lips is almost painful to see—his old bunny-like teeth on display, the way his nose scrunches and forms those little wrinkles just like it used to, and that little dimple that peeks out, the one he used to say was from all the kisses you pressed to his cheek.

“Still a smartass, huh?” Jungkook teases, biting the corner of his lip and toying with the metal ring.

You hum in response, words getting lost. You’d forgotten you were standing in line, the sight of Jungkook in front of you after so long making you forget the patrons waiting behind you.

“I’ll just take a—”

“Iced Matcha, hm?” Jungkook finishes your sentence, not meaning to, just an instinct. Back when the two of you were inseparable, you’d always push him to try it, but it never worked. He still didn’t like it—at least, not until you left. Now, he ordered it on the days when loneliness got the best of him, or when anniversaries would roll around, the ones that you used to spend hand in hand.

You take a seat at a nearby table, staring out the glass windows that frame the view of the beach. Your thoughts are scrambled, knots forming in your stomach from the situation at hand. It had only been 15 hours since you’d returned to Busan, and already the world felt like it was playing some sick joke on you. Torn between wondering if this was fate or if the universe was rubbing everything you had lost in your face.

A takeaway cup, adorned with a sleeve that reads ‘Golden Hour,’ is placed in front of you.

Your eyes meet Jungkook’s as he stands there, a tight, closed-lip smile on his face. He looks down at you, half-thinking he might actually pass out if you keep looking at him like that—eyes round and innocent, like nothing has changed. When you stand up, only inches away from him now, there’s no counter between you. He could reach out, touch you, and see if this is real—or just another one of his recurring dreams. He decides not to, not wanting to risk it and find out this is all just his subconscious fantasies playing out.

Your lips wrap around the straw, the sweet liquid filling your taste buds—just how you always liked it. Sweet, not too bitter, with extra whipped cream.

“Pretty fucking good,” you say.

It’s silent for a moment, neither of you sure what to say or do next.

“When did you get ba—”

“I should get goi—”

An awkward laugh escapes from both of you, hands fiddling with the straw in an attempt to keep busy, while Jungkook rubs the back of his neck.

“Yeah, of course, I should get back to it. Coffee won’t make itself,” Jungkook rambles. You nod, he nods. You give an awkward smile, and he mirrors it back to you. It’s all a little juvenile, reminding you of when you were both in high school—too awkward to communicate, too caught up in the butterflies that fluttered in both of your stomachs.

You thank him again, turning to leave and heading back out into the heat of Busan’s air. Half of you thinks you should ditch the drink and dive headfirst into the ocean, trying to rid yourself of the emotions bubbling inside you.

“Hey—” Jungkook catches up with you just before your hand touches the door to leave. “Can we—like, catch up? I finish at 8:30? If you want… I know you’re probably busy. Could do it another time. If you want—”

Jungkook had always been a rambler—he’d ramble on and on whenever he was nervous, excited, or hiding something. It was a habit you picked up on early in your relationship, a tell that always gave him away. His words would get all jumbled and his speed of speech would increase, right before he’d admit something weighing on his mind.

“Did you change your hair? Did you curl it? Or is that more of a wave? Is your hair naturally like that? Did you have to wake up early to do that? Sorry—I mean, you look pretty.”

“The waves are big today, right? Wonder why. Probably something to do with the moon or something. Hey—did you know that sometimes female crabs eat their own babies if they get too stressed? Shit, sorry. I’m in love you.”

“You’re leaving? Okay, well, London is nice, apparently. Did you know Big Ben isn’t the name of the tower, just the bell inside? Weird, right? Fuck, please, stay.”

“8:30? By the benches?”

Jungkook lets out a small breath of relief. He doesn’t need to ask you to specify which benches—there were plenty along the beachfront, but he knows exactly which one you mean. The same one where he first told you he loved you.

“8:30. Benches. Perfect.”

Your fingers scrolled mindlessly over your phone as you sit on the bench, your foot tapping lightly against your other foot out of nervousness as you wait for Jungkook.

Two hands come to cover your eyes from behind you, skin cool against your warm cheeks, “Boo!”

Your own hand attempts to reach behind you, blindly trying to swat Jungkook, “Little shit.” You giggle.

Jungkook laughs, and the sound fills the air like a familiar melody you didn’t know you missed so much. He lets his hands fall away, stepping in front of you with that trademark half smirk.

“Wanna go sit on the beach?” Jungkook smiled, he was dressed in an oversized black tee, matching baggy jeans to match, his apron that was tied around his waist a few hours prior long gone now, dressed so casually yet, eyes from anyone passing by would automatically be drawn to him.

He’d always been that way—the main attraction in any room he entered. Girls would swoon over his doe eyes and pretty smile, boys would try to replicate his style and confidence, and grandmas would pinch his cheeks and slip in a good word for their granddaughters. You’re sure the attention’s only grown since then. He’d shed that baby face, swapped it for a bad-boy look with tattoos and piercings, and it only seemed to suit him more. You’d bet the creator of Jeon Jungkook had spent extra time perfecting him, as if to apologise for all the other men they had created. There was only one Jeon Jungkook, and he stood before you now, cocking his head towards the beach, waiting for you.

You find a spot on the sand to sit, the small waves washing onto the shore not too far from the two of you. Your hands dig into the sand beside you, letting the soft sand pour from between your fingers.

“Didn’t know you were back. Are you?,” Jungkook asks softly, his own fingers dragging back and forth through the sand in front of him, “Are you back?”

You let out a small laugh, “For a little I guess. Dad’s got a project in Seoul, so I decided to join him. Staying in a hotel just over there.” Your forefinger points to the side a little lazily.

“So, not back?”

“Back for a little.” You counter.

Jungkook lets out a small laugh, “Does anyone know? Surely Jimin or Hobes would have told me.”

“Nah, it was a last minute thing, just got here last night.”

Jungkook hums in response, was a little bummed that you weren’t here for good. He had secretly hoped that you had moved back, found his café, and came to find him.

“Can’t believe you own a fucking Cafè Kook.” You spoke with pride, he had always said he would open his own one day, and you knew he would, just didn’t expect it to be at the age of 22.

Kook. The nickname rolls off your tongue so easily. It fucking punches him in the gut. He could barely handle making eye contact with you, or how your hands brushed against his when you took the cup of Matcha from him. But that? No that was too much, he loved when you would call him that. It always sounded so delicate, so sweet. Memories of you calling out to him when you would spot him at the exit of the subway, how when the two of you would argue you would still say it with a tone so gentle, or when you used to whisper it into his ear late at night when he wasn’t being as gentle with you.

“You look good,” Jungkook almost whispers, his eyes moving towards you. When your eyes meet his, he physically cannot look away, locked in, whether he likes it or not.

“Yeah?” You smirk, a light warmth rushing to your cheeks. “You look like absolute shite.” You bite your lower lip, fighting the laugh threatening to escape.

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Was tryna have a moment, you fuckin’ idiot.” He laughs, tossing some sand onto your lap as he shakes his head.

An hour passes, then two, then three. The two of you sit on the beach, a place that once defined the bond between you—where you spent the majority of your free time together. Holding hands as you walked the shoreline, chasing each other down the beach after one of you kicked cold water at the other unexpectedly.

Three hours lost in conversation, answering questions about London, Jungkook filling you in on the latest drama with your old friend group, reminiscing about the times you both shared.

“Did you get to meet the queen?”

“Remember when you got dunked by that wave and your fuckin’ swim shorts fell off?”

“Jimin is still a slut. Hoseok is still dancing. Joon owns a fuckin’ reading café with Jin—pricks are heavy competition.”

“You didn’t have to walk me all the way here” you giggle, fidgeting with the swipe card for your hotel room.

Jungkook scoffs, playfully. “Always have walked you home.” The glow from the lobby lights highlights his face, and you can’t help but notice the way his tongue toys with his lip ring. You know you should turn around, but that small action stirs something, turning the butterflies in your stomach into something more chaotic.

You hum, a soft laugh escaping. “Night, Kook.” You walk backward toward the door.

“Tomorrow. Don’t forget. Benches. Lunch.” He smirks, raising a brow.

You stop in the doorway, hesitating. “Goodnight” doesn’t feel like enough. Turning back, you catch him watching you, hands buried in his pockets, looking as if he’s watching you leave again, back to a place where he can’t follow you.

You walk toward him without thinking, wrapping your arms around his neck in an embrace that feels like slipping back into a dream. His hands find your waist instantly, like they’ve been searching for this moment just as long as you have. He holds you tight—too tight—but you don’t mind. Isn’t letting you slip away again.

His head tucks into the crook of your neck, and you feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. The scent of his shampoo, the same one you used to lather into his hair during lazy mornings together, fills your senses. Your fingers tangle into the soft strands, and for a second, it’s like no time has passed at all.

It’s dangerous, how familiar this feels. How easily you could sink back into this, into him. The weight of four years, the ache of everything unsaid, presses against your chest. You’re not sure if this hug is healing you—or breaking you all over again. But right now, you don’t care. All that matters is him, here, holding you like he’s trying to rewrite the past.

Neither of you move. Neither of you speak. The silence feels fragile, like if one of you breathes too loudly, the moment will shatter. You close your eyes, trying to memorise the way this feels. The warmth. The safety.

“Fuck—I’ve missed you.” His voice is muffled, but you feel the words more than hear them. They vibrate against your skin, settling deep in your chest.

Your throat tightens. “Me too, Kook.” Your arms tighten around him, just for a moment. “So much.”

For a fleeting second, you allow yourself to believe that this could be enough—that holding him like this could somehow fix everything. But then his phone buzzes in his pocket, a sharp reminder that the world outside still exists. You feel him tense, the hesitation in his hold. And when you pull back, his hands linger for just a second too long, like he’s reluctant to let you go.

You meet his eyes, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. Just watch each other, silently wishing for the other to not leave.

“Goodnight,” you whisper.

It’s been 9 days of feeling the warmth of Busan’s sun kiss your skin. 9 days of savoring authentic food that you missed in London. 9 days of hearing the sound of Jungkook’s laughter fill your ears.

The last week has been nothing short of a dream you once wished for. Most of your days are spent beside Jungkook—revisiting your old hangout spots, splashing in the cool water of the beach, or even letting him try to teach you how to use his extremely overpriced coffee machine at his café.

Today was no different. You both left the café side by side, iced lattes in hand, no real destination in mind—just happy to be beside each other.

“Ah! Kook! Look! We have to go, we have to!” You beamed, your finger shaking toward a photobooth stand just a few meters away.

Jungkook doesn’t need to look to know exactly what you’re pointing at. He already knows—your excitement was always a dead giveaway whenever a photobooth was in sight. He’d let you drag him in, spend too much time taking way too many photos. Would never say no, he loved it too, capturing moments between the two of you, sometimes he would purposefully plan dates in locations he knew would have a photo booth close by.

He laughs softly, shaking his head, “You haven’t changed a single bit. You know that, right?”

“That’s not true,” you tease, “My tits have at least doubled in size.”

Jungkook’s face freezes for a moment, a slight heat creeping up his neck. He’d noticed. Hell, he’d caught himself staring more than once, but he always tried to focus on your eyes instead, failing most times, told himself you hadn’t noticed. You had.

You slap the brim of his black cap gently, snapping him out of his daze. “Hello? Stop thinking about my tits. Can we please?”

“Wasn’t thinking about your tits, freak,” he laughs, his cheeks flushed. “Go.”

You slide into the cramped photobooth after Jungkook, closing the curtain behind you. It was an older booth, no fancy filters or props for you to use. Two options; Colour or Black&White.

Jungkooks fingers pressed against the screen, knowing you preferred black and white.

The first few shots are a little awkward. A small space forcing you and Jungkook to enter one another’s space, you had one of your legs hooked over his thigh, one of his arms around your back to stop you from sliding off the metal seat of the booth.

“These are all ridiculous, my fuckin’ eyes are closed in half of them” Jungkook whines, flipping through the strips of photos. He wasn’t wrong, they mostly were of you both laughing or pulling some very unattractive face.

“Fine, one more. Proper one.” You smile, sitting a little straighter in the booth.

Jungkook presses the settings again. The countdown begins. Your head leans against his softly, both of you smiling.

Snap.

Jungkook looks at you, takes in your side profile, the way your hair falls so effortlessly around your face, the small lines that form around your eyes as you smile and laugh.

Your eyes turn to meet him, he almost looks pouty. Taking all of you in.

“What?”

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty. Still so fuckin’ gorgeous.” He whispers.

Your eyes widen slightly, lips resting ajar slightly ready to say something but no words form to escape. His teeth tug on his lower lip ever so slightly as his eyes search yours.

Snap.

It's silent, both of you searching in eachothers eyes for something, anything. You swallow lightly, your eyes dropping to his lips where his teeth tug slightly, his lip ring flipping and causing your stomach to flip in unison.

His hand around your back moves to the side of your jaw, his thumb caressing over your cheek so softly you can only just feel it. You move in closer, your lips inches from his. Need this. Need you. Kiss me please.

Jungkook’s eyes shift to your lips, and his breath hitches for just a second. The usual confidence he carries falters, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. His hand, resting near your cheek, twitches, as if torn between pulling you closer or pulling himself away. The silence between you stretches, heavy with unspoken words, but his eyes lock with yours again, and before either of you can think, his lips are on yours.

Snap.

Whatever thoughts had been running through his mind were quickly discarded. His lips crash against yours, you freeze for a moment, before your lips begin to work in partnership with his.

It doesn’t take long for Jungkook’s tongue to softly run against your lower lip, seeking entrance. When he’s met with your lips parting as an invitation he wastes no time. His tongue slides against yours, the way they work together makes it feel like no time has passed at all. So in tune with one another, knowing exactly what each other needs, exactly how one another like it.

The kiss grows heavier, soft grunts, light tugs of teeth against lips, pulling each other closer. No care for anyone passing by or if the curtain had moved. All either of you cared about was savouring this moment. Becoming one. Fuling eachothers fires.

Snap.

The faint sound of the photostrip being printed faded into the background, a distant reminder of the world outside. Neither of you moved, lips still entwined, reliving the taste of what once was. Touches so frantic yet familiar, hands grasping like they were afraid to let go, like holding tighter could stop time.

This was home.

Not a place, not a city—but this feeling. Safe, consuming, and so full of passion. London never offered that to you. And Jungkook lost the feeling of Busan being home as soon as you boarded that plane four years ago. But right here, in each other’s arms, it all made sense again. Like coming back to something that was always yours.

It isn’t until Jungkook’s phone starts to ring, the vibration rattling loudly in his pocket, that the moment shatters. His forehead rests against yours, as he lets out a quiet hiss of frustration.

“Fuck—sorry,” he mutters, eyes still half-lidded, voice low. “It’s probably work. I should take it.”

It’s not the first time his phone has stolen him away. You’d noticed it all week—calls that made him step aside, texts that pulled his attention mid-conversation. You told yourself it was just work, the demands of running a business.

Jungkook lingers a second longer, his hand brushing your knee as if reluctant to leave, before he finally slips out of the booth, leaving you alone with the aftertaste of a kiss that had ignited a fire that had been yearning for a flame for years.

You take the photos, pausing for a moment to flick through the dozen strips of memories captured on film.

Stepping outside, your eyes squint as they adjust to the bright sunlight above the beachfront. You scan the area, looking for any sign of Jungkook. It doesn’t take long before you spot him by a small gift shop, his fingers absentmindedly tracing over little beach-themed trinkets and keychains—miniature waves, seashells, and beach umbrellas.

“Everything okay?” you ask, stepping up beside him. Your fingers instinctively start to trace over the small ornaments, though your mind is still replaying the moments his lips were pressed against yours.

He slides his phone back into his pocket, offering you a soft glance before letting out a small sigh, which he quickly masks with a chuckle.

“Yeah, all good. Work,” he mutters, his lips tugging into a half smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sorry, again.”

You smile lightly, dismissing it with a wave of your hand. “It’s fine, Kook. Really.”

Then, with a small tilt of your head, you give him a silent cue to follow you. You turn and start making your way back along the strip.

He follows beside you, his usual confident, bubbly persona dulled slightly. His hands don’t reciprocate the small touches yours give him, and his laugh comes out flatter than usual.

It ties your stomach in knots. Maybe the kiss was a bad idea. Maybe he’d already come to regret it—scared of being left by you again, or maybe he’d come to the conclusion that you just weren’t his cup of coffee anymore.

His feet follow for a few steps, but then he falls behind again. “Shit, I’m sorry.” His eyes meet yours as you turn to face him, tilting your head slightly in confusion. “I gotta go take care of some stuff back at the café.”

“Oh. Yeah, no, of course,” you smile, though it feels strained. When Jungkook sees the corner of your lips upturn, he thinks he can physically feel his heart twist. “I get it, go.”

Jungkook goes to speak but bites down on his lower lip to stop himself. He lets out a quiet huff of breath through his nose before making his way toward you.

His long, muscular arms wrap around you, pulling you into his chest, his chin resting on the top of your head. “Tomorrow? We’ll go to that hotpot place you used to froth over.”

His lips are gentle as they press a kiss to your forehead, and his hand holds your cheek as he gives you one last look before turning to head back to the cafè.

You wandered through the city, your feet tracing the familiar paths, but nothing felt quite the same. Every turn you took, every glance you stole at the places you had once visited with Jungkook, only deepened the ache in your chest. The weight of the kiss—the heaviness of the aftermath.

Jungkook’s absence was noticeable. The way he’d distanced himself after the kiss, the way he’d pulled back, had left you questioning everything. Was it something you imagined? Maybe he didn’t feel the same. Maybe for him, it was just a fleeting moment, a mistake.

You’re overthinking this, you told yourself. Maybe he just needs time. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe I’m just reading too much into it. But deep down, you knew you couldn’t leave it like this.

The thought of leaving things unanswered felt wrong. You couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine when you felt like something wasn’t. You needed to know if he had regretted it, or if he had changed his mind. The idea of him slipping away without ever acknowledging what had passed between you was something you couldn’t stomach.

With a deep breath, you turned towards the café. You didn’t know what to expect, but you knew you had to go. For closure, for peace, or maybe just to hear his side. You told yourself it wasn’t about getting back what you once had, but about understanding what this all meant now.

The small bell above the door chimes as you step into the café. It’s lively, filled with groups of friends and couples, some snapping photos of their colorful drinks and beach themed pastries, others simply enjoying the ocean view that stretches out in front of them.

“Hi, welcome to Golden Hour! What can I get you started with?” A perky brunette greets you from behind the counter.

“Is Jungkook in?” you ask, trying to keep your voice casual, but there’s a slight tightness in your chest that you can’t shake.

The brunette tilts her head, brows furrowing. “Jungkook? He hasn’t been in since this morning. Can I leave a message for you or something?”

A sudden weight settles in your stomach.

“Oh, no. That’s alright. I’ll just… come back later. Thanks anyway.” You force a smile, but it feels off—like you’re holding your breath, not quite sure what to do with the information.

Your mind races as you leave the café, your brows furrowed in confusion. He said he was going back to the café… So why hasn’t he been here? The questions circle in your mind: Is he okay? Why would he lie? Was it just an excuse to create some space between you two? Maybe he has an office away from the café? The doubt gnaws at you, leaving an uncomfortable feeling as you head back to the hotel, your mind nowhere near settled.

You chose to spend the rest of your evening wrapped in blankets, munching on some takeaway watching terrible reality TV, desperate to escape your own.

It had been working, your eyes and ears were glued to the catfight playing on the flatscreen on the wall opposite your bed, until your phone had chimed beside you.

| 8:40pm

kook: u free? need to see u.

A simple straightforward message, one that you didn’t need to read into, but you did. Perhaps he had come to the conclusion that he needed his lips on yours again, or was ready to tell you that it was something he didn't want to partake in again.

| 8:42pm

You: level 7, room 613 :)

A simple straightforward reply. You wonder if Jungkook was reading into all your words and actions. Questioning them and romanticising them too.

A soft knock echoes from the opposite side of your door 20 minutes later. You’re quick to make your way towards the door, opening the door to see Jungkook, his hair messily falling around his face, dressed in sweats and a tee that was complimenting his figure a little too well.

“Hi stranger.” You tease, pushing the door to open wider to let him in, “Long time no see.”

He enters, his eyes darting around the room. It’s a decent-sized hotel suite, the soft light from the bedside lamp casting a warm glow over the cozy seating area. The hum of the TV buzzes through the room as it flickers softly in the dim room. His eyes flicker between the bed and the small chair in the corner, unsure where to take his seat.

“I’m currently way too invested in Khloe Kardashian going to jail, so bed it is.” You laugh as you make your way into the room, sitting back into your side of the bed.

He rolls his eyes playfully, letting out a soft chuckle as he makes his way to the opposite side of the bed.

You both let silence fall upon you, eyes glued to the TV but neither of you are really listening.

“You still watch this shit?”

“If ‘this shit’ means ‘incredibly addictive and entertaining cinema’, then yes. Absolutely.”

This was probably the 9th time you’d watched this season. You could probably (no, definitely) recite the dialogue of the scenes yourself.

It was a quirk of yours to rewatch the same shows, the same movies, over and over again. You liked knowing how things ended, hated the suspense of being in the dark about the things you enjoyed—just like now, not knowing where things stood with Jungkook. It was easier to replay the past than to deal with the uncertainty of the present.

“Was everything okay at work?” You muse softly, eyes still on the TV, your eyes avoid Jungkooks, don’t want to see him lie to you.

He hesitates for a moment, adverting his gaze back to the TV, “Yeah, yeah. Was a bit of a shitshow, but it's fine.” He mumbles, shifting against the bed.

You hum softly in response, silence falling upon the both of you again. Jungkook is the one to break it this time.

“I’m sorry,” He turns to face you, “For having to dip, know we had plans and all.”

Your eyes meet his, they take in the look that’s rested on his face. His hair falling around his face, his hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt, his eyes are locked on yours. All big and doe-eyed that you get lost in them, forget that he left, forget that he lied about going back to the cafè, forget that he had been standoffish after his lips crashed against yours.

“Do you regret it?” The words leave your lips before you can stop them, “The kiss, I mean.” You almost wince, your head inches back slightly as if you’re bracing yourself for the answer Jungkook could give you.

Jungkook’s brows furrow, his chest tightening slightly at the thought that you had been thinking that he had been avoiding you because of regret.

“Oh fuck— No! Fuck, no of course I don’t regret it,” He sits upright, turning his body towards you and runs his hand through his hair, he can see your eyes searching his own for any reason to not believe him, “Are you kidding? Do you know how long I’ve been wanting that? I fuckin’ dream about it, have since you left. No, fuck, I promise, I would never regret it.”

You let out a shaky breath, not sure what to say or do. The answer he gives you puts to rest any anxiety you had been harboring about him regretting the kiss, but a feeling of uncertainty still lingers in your chest. Why then?

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

When Jungkook’s gaze falls over your face, a sick feeling coils in his stomach. Sick to his stomach? Maybe love-sick too? You look so conflicted—your eyes darting back and forth between his. A small smile graces your lips, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes, and that sends a sharp jolt of self-hatred down his spine.

His hand reaches out, takes yours into his, “I promise you. I fuckin’ swear, I have never and will never regret you. Never.”

“That makes one of us.” You joke, a playful tone in your whisper, your own fingers intertwining with his, a perfect fit.

Jungkook laughs, shakes his head and squeezes your fingers between yours, “Fuckin’ idiot.”

The air between you feels lighter, hands staying locked together. There isn’t much conversation, not enough words that feel significant enough to truly convey how you both feel.

As the mood shifts, the air grows hotter. Tension rises between you, one that could rival the heat of Busan’s sun. You inch closer, your eyes flickering between his eyes and his lips, both of you subconsciously leaning in. Your hands grow bolder, silently roaming over each other.

"Kiss me," Jungkook whispers, his lips barely grazing yours. "Fuck-please."

No need to be told twice. You've heard him loud and clear. Your lips meet his, softly at first, applying just enough pressure to let him know you're all in. His hand quickly finds the back of your head, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss.

Your tongue slides gently into his mouth, tangling with his in a rhythm that feels like it's been building for ages. His hands move to your waist, tugging you closer, pulling you into him. Without hesitation, you straddle his lap, your lips never disconnecting. The feeling of your body pressed against his, the heat intensifying, sends him into overdrive. A soft grunt escapes his lips, muffled against yours, as his grip tightens.

Your hands move to the hem of his shirt, bundling the fabric into your palms and pulling it up and over his head. As your lips pull apart to help remove his shirt, your eyes connect, his normal doe eyed look replaced with his eyes narrowing, desperation and need shining from them.

Jungkook's lips leave a trail down your neck, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer as you straddle him. You can feel his breath against your skin, shallow and quick, as if he's trying to steady himself.

"Wait, I-" He pulls back for a moment, his eyes locked on yours. There's something in them. Something he wants to say. But before he can, you pull him back to you, your lips crashing against his again, desperate for the taste of his lips.

He groans against your mouth, his hands pulling you in closer . The words from before, the hesitation in his eyes, are forgotten as the moment swallows both of you whole.

You can feel the firmness in Jungkook's pants pressing up against you, your hips begin to slowly grind back and forth against him, desperate for friction, desperate for some kind of release.

"Fuck, Kook," you whisper breathlessly between kisses, "Want you. Need you." Your words stir something in him, a tension so thick it makes his chest tighten with need. He groans low in his throat, hands moving to your waist to pull you closer.

His hands move from your hips up to your back, roaming chaotically, they come forward, they press against your chest and squeeze lightly. He pulls his head back, watches as his hands slightly dig into your breasts.

“Shit- Look at you,” He hisses between his teeth, his hands coming to squeeze again. His eyes lift up to you, your cheeks flushed with a soft blush from the heat of it all, lips slightly ajar, thinks you look so perfect. Too perfect. It makes his stomach flip, “Fuck, I need to te-”

His words are cut off as you lift your own shirt over your head, revealing your bare chest to him, his hands immediately coming to cup them again. A low, raspy groan leaves his lips, squeezes them again, harder this time.

Any words that were threatening to leave his lips are long gone, washed away in the tsunami of desire and adoration he has for you. Forgotten, swept away by the tide. The only words he’s able to muster up now are whispered curses through his teeth as you pull his head softly towards your chest.

His lips press against your skin, hungrily. He simply can’t get enough. You, you, you. It’s all he hears. All he wants. His eyes peek up to look at you as his lips wrap around your nipple, softly sucking.

The feeling of his soft lips wrapped around you makes you whine softly, your fingers tugging slightly on the ends of his hair. When you look down to see his round eyes looking right back at you, you’re sure you’re going to melt. Happy to let the tide consume you, will become one with the waves if it means having Jungkook like this.

He sucks, kisses, tugs slightly over your sensitive nipple, going back and forth between each one. Can't get enough. Is all in, all for you.

Your hips lift slightly, a silent plea for him to rid himself of his sweatpants. He notices-of course, he notices-but for a split second, his hands falter at the waistband, a thought flickering in his mind. It vanishes almost as quickly as it comes, overpowered by the pull of you. His hands move quickly now, tugging his sweatpants down and kicking them off in one fluid motion.

Grabbing your hips, he pulls you back toward him, his grip firm yet tender, presses a soft kiss against your lips. With a soft grunt, he flips you onto your back. There’s urgency in the way Jungkook moves, showing you just how badly he needs you right now.

He watches as your hips lift slightly, your thumbs hooking under your waistband, sliding off the last barrier between you and him.

He swallows, hard. Is in awe of everything that is you. His eyes trace every curve, every detail he had once memorised. He almost marvels at how well he remembers your body-every point that makes you tremble, every spot that leaves you breathless. But is he really surprised?

How could he be? He has carried you with him in every way possible, mimicking how he used to love you with everyone after you, always chasing the high you had once given him. It's always been you, all he's known.

As your hand comes to rest against his cheek, your thumb gently ghosting over his lower lip, you send him a small nod. Please. Let’s do this. Need you now. You, you, you.

His eyes search yours for a brief moment, as if to confirm this is real, that this is really happening. Then, with a softness that contrasts the heat between you, he tilts his head, pressing a delicate kiss onto the pad of your thumb.

The warmth of his lips lingers there before he lowers his head into the crook of your neck, where he pauses. He inhales deeply, letting your scent ground him. His lips press against your skin.

Your legs part, as he slowly lets himself fall into you. A low, desperate moan leaving his lips. “Ah—Fuck.”

The whine that leaves your lips is made up of a thousand different reasons— The slight burn of Jungkook sliding inside you, the release of built up tension of waiting for this moment, and above all, the most powerful: Love. All the feelings you had sworn you had moved past during the distance are back, as if they had never left.

His hips slowly begin to rock back and forth, finding a steady rhythm as the familiarity of your walls tightens around him. Heavy breaths fill the room, and he feels your nails dig into his biceps, a soft yet desperate plea. He wants you to leave your mark, to scar him, so that he carries a permanent tattoo made from you.

His hand moves from beside you, to your chest, cupping onto your pillowed tit. Is brave enough to look at your face now, and when he does and see’s your lips parted, brows furrowed— He’s done for.

His hips slam into you, the pace quickening, desperate now. Your legs part wider, your back arching against the mattress as the rhythm shifts.

"Fuck, Kook. So good," you whimper, almost pathetically, your hands gripping his arms. “So, so good, Kook."

He curses through his teeth, lifting his upper body between your legs as he keeps thrusting into you. His hand moves down your stomach, his nails grazing lightly, making goosebumps rise on your skin.

He watches himself sink in and out of you, the new angle making his heartbeat race. His finger continues its journey down your torso, finally finding your clit.

Soft, delicate circles are drawn over your sensitive bud. He wants to push you to the edge, overstimulate you, but he's not sure how much longer he can last like this. He's overstimulated himself, finally feeling you wrapped around him again-and it hurts. It hurts because it's been so long, hurts because he knows nothing will ever compare to this, and it hurts knowing he might never have this again.

"So fuckin' pretty like this, my baby," he grunts, the pet name slipping from his lips so naturally, it only pushes you closer to the edge. "So, fuckin' perfect for me, aren't you?"

Baby. It shouldn't sting, but it does. It reminds you of the tattoo needle that had pierced your skin five years ago, a thin line replicating a wave on your ribcage. The kind of sting that leaves you sore, but somehow addicted to the pain.

"Fuck, Kook, you're gonna-Ah, shit. You're gonna make me cum." You moan, your elbows digging into the bed as you struggle to hold your weakening body up.

His free hand presses against your inner thigh, pulling it forward as his other continues to rub tight, precise circles over your clit. "Cum," he groans, his brows furrowing so deeply you swear they'll leave a mark. "Cum for me, baby. Show me. Let me feel you, hm?"

Your stomach tightens, your elbows giving out, sending your head crashing back against the mattress. You try to push his hand away from your overstimulated clit, want to stay like this forever but it's no use-he's never been one to lose.

Your moans grow louder, more desperate, mixing with the wet sound of his skin slapping against yours, each thrust desperate and bold.

He feels you tighten around him, your walls pulsing in small, desperate spasms. Soft whines of his name leaving your lips that send him into overdrive. The sensation drives him wild, completely lost in the sin that is you.

It doesn't take long before Jungkook follows suit, his teeth digging into his lower lip as his eyes squeeze shut, his orgasm washing over him, emptying deep inside you.

His hips rock slowly, still moving against you as he rides out the waves of pleasure, his lips pressing desperate kisses against yours, drinking in your whines.

Your hands wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, his face finding comfort in the crook of your neck once more. The room falls silent, filled only with the sound of both your heavy breaths, struggling to regain normalcy.

"Shower?" You whisper into his ear, pressing a soft kiss against his lobe. He doesn't answer, only nodding against your skin.

You start the shower, letting the warm water cascade over your body. It tries to wash away any trace of his lips on your skin, but it's no use-his marks are invisible now, etched into your memory, and ones that only you two will ever know are there.

You’ve washed your body, your hair, your face, but Jungkook still hasn’t joined you in the shower. You dry off, throwing on the oversized tee that was hanging in the bathroom, and make your way back to the bedroom.

Jungkook is sitting on the bed, his figure dimly lit by the changing flashes from the TV screen. His back is to you, but his head hangs slightly between his shoulders.

“Kook?”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t reply. You walk towards him, kneeling down in front of him, positioning yourself between his legs. Gently, your hands reach for his wrists, pulling them away from his hanging head.

“Kook? Hey—what’s going on?” Your voice is soft, barely above a whisper, the reassurance in it only making Jungkook feel worse.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “So, so fucking sorry, my baby. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Your brows pinch together in confusion, your face full of concern. “Hey, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. Kook—talk to me.”

He lifts his gaze to meet yours, letting his hands fall limply against his lap. His eyes are glassy, bloodshot, and his lower lip trembles as he tries to speak. “I fucked up,” he breathes out, almost choking on the words. “I’m so fucking sorry. You have to believe me, I’m so sorry.”

Your hand gently cradles his face, your thumb wiping away the stray tears as they fall. His face leans into your touch, a small kiss pressed into your palm, and that simple gesture sends him into a sob.

“What are you talking about, Jungkook? Talk to me— I can’t help you if I don’t understand.” Your voice is soft, trying to soothe his panic, but there’s a hint of fear to it.

“Kiss me. Please,” his voice cracks, eyes locked onto yours with a desperate plea. “Please, kiss me.” His words are broken by sobs.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure how to navigate this. He’s never been this vulnerable, and you’ve only seen him cry a handful of times—never like this. Gently, you kneel, brushing stray hairs from his forehead.

Your hand lifts his chin slightly, and you press your lips to his. It’s slow, painfully slow. Jungkook’s hands find their way to your face, gripping it with force, as though grounding himself. He tries to deepen the kiss, but all that escapes him is another sob.

You pull back slightly, sitting back on your knees, but just as you start to pull away, his hands catch yours, holding them gently before they can drop to your sides.

“Please, Kook.” You beg softly, your voice a mix of confusion and desperation.

“I didn’t mean to fuck this up. I really didn’t, my baby. I—fuck, everything just happened so fast. Everything’s been a mess, and then you showed up, and it just got even more fucked. I’m so fucking sorry.”

You’re still trying to make sense of what he’s so sorry for—kissing you? Sleeping with you? Regretting it? Not wanting this anymore? You have no fucking idea.

“Kook…I don’t know what the fuck you’re trying to say.”

His eyes meet yours briefly before they dart away, unable to hold your gaze. His lips part to speak, but another sob escapes him, followed by a curse that cuts through the air.

“I— I have,” his voice cracks, “Fuck, I have a girlfriend.”

Your body freezes, stone cold. Your hands go limp in his, your chest tightening as your breath quickens.

His eyes meet yours, tears falling down his face, lips trembling as he tries to find anything to say. “Please— I can explain, I swear. I— Fuck, you know that’s not who I am.”

Your hands rip away from his, standing up and stepping back, your brain completely void of thought, overwhelmed by a gut-wrenching scream that echoes through your mind.

“What?”

He stands up, his hands reaching for you again, but you take another step back. The small distance between you feels painfully familiar.

“Please— me and her, we were already on our last breath before you showed up. I just didn’t have the balls to do anything about it. But then you, you came, and I—”

“You’re fucking joking, right?” You almost laugh, tears brimming in your eyes. “Tell me you’re fucking joking.”

His head shakes as he searches for the right words, hating the sight of your tears, but feeling utterly helpless. Seeing you cry because of him makes him want to dig his own fucking grave.

“Is that why your phone’s been blowing up? Is that why you didn’t go back to the café today? Because she was waiting for you?”

“Stop— Please, baby, I promise. I was going to end it tonight, but I needed to see you first, and then— Fuck, I got lost in you again, in feeling you. I— Please, baby.”

“Oh, it’s my fault?” Your voice cracks, bitterness cutting through the air. “I’m the reason you cheated? I’m the reason you lied?”

“Baby, no. It’s all fucking mine. I fucked it up. I wanted to tell you, was going to when we first hung out. Fuck—I just got so caught up, seeing you again, then I kept pushing it back, avoiding it. Didn’t want to ruin us.”

“Get out.”

He sobs, his voice breaking, “Please—fuck, please. We can figure it out. Please, baby.”

“Stop fucking calling me that, Kook!” You push at his chest, feeling like you’re being suffocated by the weight of his presence. London doesn’t sound so bad now. In fact, maybe it’s even too close.

He lets you push him, knowing he deserves it. Knows this is probably the last time your hands will ever press against his body. He stumbles back, letting you shove him toward the door as his sobs echo, watching helplessly as your tears fall.

“Please, get the fuck out. Fuck off, go. Leave.” You spit between the shoves. His back presses against the door, your pushes no longer having the same effect. Instead, you let your head drop against his chest, your shoulders shaking as you cry.

Your hands grip the shirt that clings to his frame, your voice quiet but cracked, laced with sobs, “Why the fuck did you do this?” You’re barely holding it together. “Why fuck me over? Why did you fucking do this?”

Jungkook’s hands wrap around your wrists, his thumbs rubbing over them softly, but nothing can ease the hurt between you. He can’t say anything to make this right, can’t justify why he kept this secret, why he didn’t tell you sooner.

He wants to—God, how he wants to sit you down and explain everything. He wants to tell you that his relationship with her had been hanging by a thread long before you even walked into his life. That it was a ghost of what it had once been, both of them too scared to be the one to end it. They hardly spoke anymore, both just avoiding the inevitable end.

But he knows there’s no point now. He fucked up. He’s still in a relationship, even if it’s nothing but a shell, and that’s a reality he can’t escape. He knows what he did was wrong. And even though the feelings for you that had resurfaced swallowed him whole when you walked into his coffee shop, he was greedy. He let himself want you, even though he knew this situation cursed any chance of a future between you two.

“I love you.” He whispers, broken.

And you know he does. You’ve felt it, felt what it’s like to be loved by Jeon Jungkook.

His hand reaches for the door, twisting the handle. Your hands fall from his shirt, your arms hanging at your sides as your breath shakes in your chest. You take a step back.

His hand gently cups your face, brushing away the tears that keep falling. When you look up at him, his sob is painful, raw. It only grows louder when your own hand rests over his.

He presses his lips to yours one last time, desperate, consuming. He breathes you in, as if trying to make this moment last forever, but the kiss ends too soon.

“I love you,” you whisper, your voice barely a breath.

The only response is the sound of the door locking behind him, his departure sealing the silence of your suite.

[notsodailycake]

Part 3 for the fitclet I did for @keferon 's mecha pilot jazz au! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

For those who missed it:

Part 1 || Part 2

This is probably the longest out of all the 3 parts, dear god, I went all in. It came out bigger than I ever expected it to be. I was not expecting it to go this far honestly, but the parasites in me, they begged for more. So here we are! :D

Again tho, idk how in character they will be here, but I tried my best ＼(*T▽T*)／. Also, kinda bullshitted my way through in worldbuilding bc idk how things work exactly- and I had to come up with stuff on my own, even tho I'm not that good in mecha world stuff, so I'm sorry for any inaccuracies ^^;;

Now, to give credit to those who so desperately deserve it:

My sister @saltynsassy31 for helping me when I couldn't write out some of my ideas and doing it herself (so consider this as a bit of a frankenstein monster of both our writing styles, mainly during intense scenes. If there is any fancy words in this, it's cuz of her) and being my beta reader for this part. Seriously yall, this wouldn't have been as coherent and well written without her help!

Also huge thanks to my online sister @yayadrawsthingz for helping out when I hit a few road blocks during this!

And finally, a huge huge thanks to my honorary online uncle @hexyz09 for helping me finish off the final fight scene when I got stuck during some plot holes and road blocks, or generally just writing myself into a corner and having to help me leave it, despite not knowing jackshit about the au, let alone the ship and characters themselves, but was still willing to help me through in working on the plot, in this crazy obsession of mine XD

Yall have no idea how much help these guys were. Probably wouldn't be able to finish without either of their help ᕦ(òωóˇ)ᕤ

Oh and an honourable shoutout to the song "Headlock" by Imogen Heap! Kept listening to this on loop as it kept my drive up to write this.

Now onto the fic!

---

Prowl ignored Jazz's various attemps to push out his servo from the cockpit. Despite the mech being weak himself, the human was still no match against thousands of pounds of metal, especially in his own weakened state.

Which was a matter of its own at the moment. Prowl knew he had very little time to be able to run ahead before the other humans caught on to them, having noticed the alarm bells ringing through the facility.

So he ran towards the exit Jazz had initially pointed out, the only plan they had at the moment.

...

"Prowl! Prowler, hey! I know you can hear me! Prowl!" Jazz shouted as he slammed yet another fist in a failed attempt to nudge the bot's servo out of the way. He hasn't said a word since picking Jazz up, and he wasn't sure how long that was, maybe not that much, but it felt too long yet too little at the same time (what a headache).

Sliding down, he gently hit his forehead over the protective servo and let out a sigh of defeat. No way he could get him to move like this.

Why was he trying to anyways? Didn't he want to be with Prowl? He certainly did, but somehow, something in him made him feel like he shouldn't just be accepting this.

And maybe Prowl also knew this, which is why he took off and hasn’t said a word since. Both held conflicted feelings about the whole thing. If only things didn't feel so blurry right now!

Suddenly, a hard shift made Jazz stumble a bit, grasping at whatever he could so he didn't fall back, loud noises of metal scrapping metal could be heard as something got kicked open on the outside. Jazz scrambled over to the small crevice that opened between Prowl's digits, not enough for him to fit anything over other than his hand, but enough to get a glimpse of what was happening outside.

Prowl had kicked down the exit door to the lab ('not like he had the hands available to properly open the damn thing anyways' Jazz thought to himself). It was meant for mechas to exit the room after they finish off whatever it is they do in here, that Jazz knew, and if he was right, just down the hall there will be another exit leading to the backroom where they stockpiled the mech suits. No one but the technicians were usually supposed be there, it would be an easy fight to get to the big gate that lead to the outside training grounds, which is why Jazz had pointed for the mech to go down there in the first place.

There shouldn't have been a problem besides giving him time to leave unscathed. Which Jazz assumed would not be the case as he was currently inside Prowl and not buying him time to escape. But, to Jazz's surprise, nothing had come close to attacking them, yet.

The pilot did not have much time to contemplate it as suddenly he heard Prowl rumble an annoyed grunt.

"Don't move."

In shock, Jazz stumbled back as Prowl removed his hand and reached for the end of the overhead gate, seemingly alot harder to kick down than a two way door. The only thing it would really do would be to bend the metal a bit but it wouldn't give an open entrance. Jazz didn't dare leave, not like he could from this hight, but even if he could, Prowl would probably just pick him up again; it be a waste of energy really (just admit it, you don't want to leave him). But something about this felt wrong, so far they haven't had a single guard come down the hall, just this small pause would give them enough time to catch up to the two runaways, Jazz was sure that guards had been on his tail when he was under his rampage.

Unless...

Wait.

"Prowl! Wait don't open that gate!" But he was too late, the moment he uttered those words the mech had already been in motion and pushed the gate up with all his might and as quickly as he opened it a gun shot came through the otherside. They had been waiting for them, they knew where they were heading. The bastard he kicked down prior to this probably saw them and reported it, dammit.

Prowl let out a strangled cry of pain as the shot landed right on his left shoulder (like it wasn't damaged enough by the lack of arm), Jazz fell backwards with the harsh motions, hitting the back of the pilot's seat, the impact leaving his vision to go dark for a few seconds before he collected himself as quickly as he could. In an instant though, just as he tried to get back up to see what was outside, Prowl had put his hand back over the open cockpit.

No...he wouldn't be able to fight like this, protecting him as he is would only hinder the bot to more damage. And that's exactly what Jazz intended to express to the other. "Prowl! You won't be able to fight with your hand over me! Forget about holding me inside, I won't leave, I promise!"

"That's not the point!" Prowl growled, letting out another hiss of pain as more shots were loaded, someone shouting out for them to stand down.

Prowl couldn't risk leaving Jazz exposed. Unlike the human, Prowl could take a few shots, their weapons not being strong enough to inflict any serious damage to his plating (though perhaps a bit to his exposed protoform, though he could handle it for a little while longer). But it would take one lucky shot on Jazz to have him dead in an instant, and Prowl couldn't take that chance.

It seemed like Jazz got the message, not spitting back any sort of remark about Prowl's lack of explanation.

But the mech couldn't linger too much on those thoughts, he had to get out, and fast. He was losing too much energon, and his vision was starting to get blurry, which wasn't a good sign. It didn't help that his thoughts were a hazy mess, his usual ability to think logically overthrown by the panic of needing to get out of this place while ensuring Jazz's survival.

It's not like he had much to do, though. Any possible escape hindered by the fact he couldn't use his weapons unless he risks Jazz's life to one lucky shot. Perhaps he could make a run for it, knock through the mechas in front of him and let them tumble over as he reached the final exit; it wasn’t the best plan perhaps, with at least a 19% rate of success, given he isn't in the best physical state at the moment, he probably wouldn't be strong enough to knock them over. Added to the fact the exit wasn't shut by a gate he could simply knock over easily either, like the previous one. He'd have to push it open from the bottom, and there wasn’t enough time for him to act on it.

But he'd have his back turned to the shots, reassuring Jazz's own safety, so he could perhaps risk removing his servo to push the gate open once more.

With a quick warning from his HUD telling him his energon levels were getting dangerously low, Prowl decided to take the risk, with little time left, he took a step forward making a run for it.

The mechas seemed to ready themselves for his attack, quickly positioning their weapons to target him, closing any narrow space they had between each other.

What they didn't expect was for the mech to charge his whole body weight onto them. Despite not feeling any pain, they certainly could not fight against gravity itself. They all stumbled against each other as Prowl made a mad dash to the gate. He slid on his knees and made a quick reach for the bottom of the gate, anxiously removing his hand from over the cockpit, bending over protectively as to not have anything be able to aim inside.

He could feel his spark beating fast from anxiety, they were so close, they'll be able to leave soon enough. Jazz was most certainly having a good feel to Prowl's anxious beat, the loud thruming reaching the bot's own audials was most certainly deafening to the human sitting near it.

Then, a shot.

A pop.

A blinding light.

And the beat stops.

Jazz was curling in on himself as an instinct to protect himself from the sudden burst behind him. It only took a few seconds for him to realise what that was once he couldn't hear a single beat of a spark, or the burning sensation it left, feeling his own heart stop and drop to his gut.

It felt like the world around him suddenly stopped, everything going into slow motion, with no sounds to accompany the dread. Feeling as Prowl's body leaned foward to crash on the ground.

But just as quickly as the silance came, it left. Prowl catching himself from hitting the ground with a grunt, a slam could be heard as his arm and elbow made contact with the concrete floor. His spark beating, weakly, but beating nonetheless. What felt like hours of silance was only a quick few seconds of deafening dread.

"Prowl!" Jazz called out in desperation, reaching out to hold the edges of the cockpit, so not to fall out, but to also try and comfort his anxiousness as he tried to look up at the mech's face. The mech made a sound of acknowledgement, which came out more like broken static, but didn't make much effort to move, his face scrunched up in pain, optics shut. They shot him on his back, too close to where his spark would be, causing him to skip a beat, and busting a bit of his left doorwing, but it still seemed to function somewhat.

Suddenly, both of them picked up on the sound of something opening, giving no time for either to fully process what had just occurred. Prowl made a quick move to get his hand over the cockpit once more (with slight struggle as he stumbled and fell on his aft) as a thick metal slab emerged from above and beneath, right in front of the gate, shutting it close with a protective layer of metal. Guessing by the red alarm ringing around them, an emergency protocol to keep anyone from leaving. Slag.

The mechas surrounded them, guns all aimed to shoot at the alien mech if he didn't comply.

It was silent for a brief moment, in exception to Prowl's anxious beating spark (which wasn't a problem for Jazz at the moment, the burning warmth being somewhat comforting) and Jazz's own heart beating over his ears. Both catching their breaths.

"There's no point in fighting. So make this easy for all of us and surrender yourselves." A nobody pilot finally spoke out, weapon leaning a tad closer than the others.

The atmosphere felt heavy, they were pinned down. Really, the only thing they could do was surrender, but Jazz would sure as hell be reprimanded for his actions and Prowl.....he didn’t want to think about that. No, he wouldn't even allow that thought to become any sort of reality.

"Prowl" he whispered, knowing only the mech would hear him, leaning a gentle souch to his servo as if to beg, "I know you might not have alot of trust 'n me, but this might be our best shot." There was a tense shift, not too noticeble unless you could see the mechanisms from the inside, Prowl knew what he was about to suggest. "You need to let me pilot you." He cringed as he felt the other's servo stiffen, he wasn't pleased with the idea, and neither was Jazz, but he knew this place alot better than Prowl did, and knew how to properly defeat the mechas, knowing their weak spots. And Prowl was all too aware of that too, Jazz knew it. They both were very aware of it all.

"Please," he begged, leaning his forehead on the mech's servo yet again, "I can't lose you again." There was slight shift, Jazz looked up, though he obviously couldn't see the mech's face, the sigh he let out was loud and clear. The controls on the pilot's seat shifted, Jazz got the message:

'Alright'

He couldn't help but let a small smirk creep over his face, making way to sit down and start piloting.

"Under one condition though," Prowl suddenly whispered to him, though it was alot louder to Jazz on the inside.

"And what would that be, partner?" The title flew out too fast for Jazz to stop himself, feeling so natural to call Prowl partner once more. The mech didn't seem against it though.

"No removing my hand."

Jazz was left stunned for a quick second, though it felt like a minute for Prowl as he waited for a reply eagerly.

"I can work with that." Prowl let out a sigh of relief at that, allowing the human, his partner, to take control of him again.

It took a moment for Jazz to adjust himself, in the meantime, the people waited outside anxiously for the other to make a move. When Prowl finally started to shift around to stand up with a small grunt, everyone raised their guns and loaded them up, but didn't shoot just yet. The mech looked up at them with a deadly glare, but made no move to attack, his remaining arm not leaving the open cockpit for a second, he simply stood up with a slight slump to his posture, doorwings drooping down slightly. In all possible ways, he looked weak and defeated, no signs of fighting back.

One of the mechas walked closer, gun still aiming at Prowl, but it was lowered slightly. They reached a hand out expectantly.

"The pilot, hand him over." They demanded, no sympathy whatsoever.

Prowl clutched his chasis, anger pooling over in his spark, doorwings twitching up slightly, but he made no move to attack. Not yet. He heard Jazz speak to him in a low tone so only he could hear it, with a sigh, he relaxed. He slowly, very slowly, drew out his hand from the cockpit, the action in itself having the other mecha have their body relax slightly as they approached the mech, weapon being put down slightly enough, and so did the others around them. Jackpot.

Before he fully removed his servo, the mech made move to crouch down and in a swift motion swung a peed over to the mechas own, catching them off balance and knocking them down. Jazz let out a small hiss to the action, forgetting his own injured leg, but pushed on regardless.

Using the thrusters of his doorwings, they were able to balance themselves back up, Prowl's servo going back into fully protecting it's pilot once more. With most weapons being aimed up and not down, it took a delayed second to aim correctly, but it was enough time for the human and cybertronian duo to twist themselves out of harms way.

Before the fallen pilot could attempt to get up, Jazz made move to aim over the weak spot of their mecha's knee and stepped hard enough to break its mechanisms so they couldn't stand back up easily. But the glory was short lived as more shots were fired their way.

Jazz's hand twitched to move and use its weapons, but he resisted the urge with a slight huff, "Man, 's hard to fight without an arm!"

"This is none negotiable, Jazz." Prowl hissed as they made move to avoid more shots.

"I know, I know! Don't mean it makes it easier!" Jazz tried to analyse their surroundings, though it was made difficult with the many HUD warnings from all the injuries (the pilot couldn't help but mutter a broken "I'm so sorry" to his partner, whether the mech heard him or not he wasn't sure), but pushing through it, he took note of a few key details. There was a metal catwalk grate near above the mechas' heads, running with a few on ground troops, the bastard of a boss being one of the few amongst them. Near a corner stood an elevator to go up and down the area.

How that could help, Jazz wasn't sure yet.

A shot hit Prowl's arm, pain flowed through the mech as he moved out of the way once more. Jazz looked around in a frenzy to find a place to shield themselves....the mechas! Making a run for to the lifeless husks, he swivelled around between them and hid behind the many rows of mechas knowing full well that they would not risk such precious resource and money just to reach them. At least he hoped not, because he just needed a little bit of time to figure something out.

Hearing the big man call out to hold their fire was good enough indication that his idea worked.

"Ok, now we just need somethin' to distract them long enough for us to make a jump to the ceiling." Jazz explained

"The ceiling?" Prowl inquired, not so certain about his partner's ability to properly think at the moment.

Jazz rolled his eyes, but didn't make mention of the mech's tone. "It's the weakest point here, plus" he made way for Prowl to look up to where he remembered the area to be at, "there's a trap door for flying mechas and emergencies. One quick press of a button will open it up, even under "safety protocols."" Prowl let out a hum in thought, seeming to analyse the situation.

"Possible, but where is this said button?"

"Behind the elevator, by the catwalk grating on top. There's a control panel, and one big red button, can't miss it."

"Would smashing it still get it to work?"

"Yes."

"Then I don't have any complaints."

"Good, now," Jazz went back to scanning the area, "how to cause a distraction?"

"Would that broken pipe be of any use?" Prowl made an effort to twitch his head over to the direction of what he wanted Jazz to see. And just as the mech stated, there, by the first floor of the elevator, stood a broken pipe, steam coming out of it.

Jazz smirked "it would actually. If we can get somethin' to shoot at it, we might cause an explosion, giving us time to jump up without being the target anymore."

"Sounds like a plan." Prowl shrugged.

"Don't have anything to add?" Jazz asked a bit surprised.

"No, I don't." The pilot didn't push.

"Okay. Well, let's get these bastards shootin." In quick motion, they made way to the elevator, already hearing the commands to shoot fire, 'but watch for the machines!' Weapons were loaded from above as well, shooting down at the two runaways once again.

Jazz made sure to move swiftly behind the mechas, making sure they were shielded properly. Any gaps they had to cross was a small risk they needed to take, scrapes and scratches being left in its wake, but tried not to do it too often, just enough that they could follow them. They eventually reached where the pipes were, Jazz took a deep breath.

"Ready, big guy?"

"Ready."

They stepped foward, making sure to call the attention towards where they were, but quickly retrieting back behind the mechas suits as they shot directly where they wanted to hit. "Bingo."

Quickly, activating Prowl's thrusters, they leaped over to the metal grates that stood above them as the pipes behind them burst, causing a huge commotion as empty mechas fell down and whatever machine near the crossfire tumbled down. Prowl let out a gasp as he felt the world around him spin, the grating beneath them not being of any help as it shook with his weight. Jazz was quick to hold on, helping the mech stablise himself before aiming with his left foot to kick the big red button with their ticket out of here, the motion causing his vision to flash in pain, but he bit his toung until he could taste iron and pushed forward.

Hearing the metal door above them open up, Jazz readied himself, but hesitated with the warning he'd received from Prowl's HUD from his low energon levels. He didn’t even get the chance to fully check on it though, Prowl quickly pushing them out of the way himself.

"I'll live, just one more push." The mech hastily reassured the human. Jazz wasn't inclined to belive it though, feeling the other's spark beat anxiously (and for some reason that made him feel slightly dizzy. Though he chalked it up to it being his possible concussion).

It took one shot to slip an inch away from Prowl's face for them to finally snap out of it and jump. One more push from his thrusters as they flew up through the trap door and landed on top of the roof with a grunt, the mech's left wing finally giving out.

But they weren’t in the clear yet. Looking out, a wasteland of a forest awaited them, with dense trees at the bottom.

"We'll have to make a jump for it. If we're lucky enough the trees will be big enough to hide us." Jazz supplied.

"45% of that happening. But we don't have much of another option at the moment." Prowl added

With all that being said, Jazz moved into action. With so much at stake, he had to, he couldn't waste another second in debating. Hefting Prowl up, he used all remaining strength to jump where they needed to go, but as the training grounds began to get closer than anticipated, Prowl knew they didn’t make the jump and that made the mech almost freeze.

Though Jazz had other plans, because as their impending flat doom approached in rapid speed, Prowl's remaining thruster burst to life and gave that final impusle they needed to reach the slope. They both braced themselves as they were thrown up and over to their intended destination, Prowl having half a mind to tighten his hold over his chest so none of the debris and impact could reach the fragile human still in his care.

They rolled down the slope, Prowl just barely being able to shift himself so that he was sliding on his back instead. The aggresive motion of going down a not so smooth path causing bigger cuts and slashes against his already damaged frame. But the only thing he could think of at the moment was that they made it.

Jazz was quick to let go of his control over Prowl, who in turn made an effort to sit properly. Though the sudden slamming to his servo made him look down worriedly, moving it slightly to see Jazz leaning on it desperately.

"Prowl-" he heaved, "Prowl put me down I'm feeling sick."

The mech panicked and quickly made move to help the human down, gently placing him on the grass below. Jazz made no effort in being graceful as he hurled over and puked his guts out, luckily avoiding Prowl in all of this.

Clutching his stomach in pain, his heaving and coughs agitating the injuries on his abdomen. Everything around him felt blurry and muffled as his body made sure to get everything he had eaten in the past day out of him.

What made him panic was the sudden taste of iron in his mouth as he coughed up whatever he had left inside. That's not good. And that definitely didn't escape the giant mech's notice, who kept a hovering servo near him.

"Jazz! Is that blood?!" His voice sounded so broken, static lacing over his words.

"Uh- Yeah. Yeah it is." He wasn't sure how to deny that really, and he felt too light-headed to try. But his attention diverted to the sudden pink glow that landed at the side of his vision.

Energon.

Quickly looking up, he finally got a glance at his partner's battered condition. Energon leaked from many different parts of his body, but the main source being from his missing arm. Jazz couldn't help but cringe at that.

But what hurt him the most to see was the weak light from the mech's optics, which still held visible concern on them. Despite being close to going into offline, he still looked at Jazz as if he's about the crumble into dust and leave him. Which he honestly, maybe, felt like. But seeing Prowl's optics flicker as they fought to stay online, Jazz panicked

"What 'bout you?!" He called back, catching the bot off guard. "You're losing too much energon! You look like you're about to go offline!"

Prowl cringed a little, not having anything to counter that. "Well that's because I-"

"No! I'm only a little bit dizzy, but I'll live. We need to patch you up right now!"

"I can help with that."

The new voice catches the duo off guard, Prowl immediately reaching out to Jazz, hand shielding the human from whoever that might be. Jazz looked down from where he was looking at Prowl and turned to see who it was that the voice came from.

There standing in front of them was a human carrying a simple tool box and a huge backpack strapped over one shoulder, filled with questionable things.

---

BEFORE YOU LEAVE, a little something I would like to point out for the fic, that some of yall with either like or not, during the process of writing this, I've seen a few posts keferon made about the spark being radioactive and such, and it sorta made me think a bit while developing Jazz's condition. So well, take Jazz's health in this as you will with this info :)

But anyways, yippie!! That's all for today folks! I hope yall enjoyed this one bc I definitely had a heck of a time writing this one XD

It got alot bigger than I anticipated and took much longer to finish than I originally planned (was supposed to be done 2 days ago).

Now, I know I keep saying "not sure if I'll make another part to this" but then proceed to do so anyways. But I mainly do so because everytime I shared it someone said something that added to the story somehow and gave me ideas to continue foward.

So like, if yall liked this and wanna see more, don't be shy to suggest/add anything to this as it may help inspire me to add more onto this, cuz honestly idk what the fuck I'm doing rn, I'm just going with the flow ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Also, a bit of note for the doodle, holy shit I did not expect it to look this good!! Tho I suffered with Jazz's suit, plz ignore any inaccuracies tee-hee. Prowl's knee and hands were hell too, especially his knee, but i could like, hide most of it lmao. Actually mainly struggled to not have his hand cover Jazz too much bc it kept covering the parts I actually wanted to show off lmao.

Oh and the guy at the end? Yall can take a good guess as to who it is :)

But since he doesn't have any official design, I kinda went with whatever felt right lol.

I also really wanted to draw out more scenes to add to the fic, but then it would take me a lot more time to actually post the fic as I figure out how to draw robots :'). But maybe I can try and doodle them out another time if I can, no promises tho-

[writtenbyan-aries]

matt sturniolo x preg!best friend reader. they had a drunk ons and reader got pregnant. she doesn’t know what to do so she tells bsf!nick and matt and chris overhear?

i love your writing btw!!!

PART ONE | PART TWO

Warnings: strong language, established friendships, pregnancy talk, pregnant!reader, dad!Matt, morning sickness, feelings of worry/being scared, kissing, mostly fluff

Word Count: 3.8 | unedited

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

After helping your friends film a truth or drink video for their channel, you found yourself in the hot tub.

You yourself were kind of tipsy, with the drink you were drinking, you were quickly working your way to being drunk along with Matt who sat across from you.

“Hey, uh. Thanks for helping us do this tonight.” He brings his glass up to take a drink, “I’m glad someone more sober was there to mediate.”

You laugh, “I wouldn’t say sober. Those shots Nick made me do kind of got to me a lot faster than I initially thought they would.” You bring your glass up to your lips, taking a sip as you glance over at Matt, “What?”

He shakes his head, “Nothing, you’re just…” he sighs, “So beautiful.”

You roll your eyes, leaning forward to sit up more, “You’re drunk.”

“I may be drunk, but come tomorrow.. when I’m sober, I’ll still think you’re beautiful.”

You smile slightly, leaning over to grab the bottle of alcohol.

“What are you doing?” Matt asks as he leans forward.

You glance over at him, “I’m just.. uh..” you laugh slightly as you pour some into your glass, “Getting some liquid courage.. because..” you set the bottle down and take the shot.

You take a deep breath, “What I’m about to might ruin our friendship and I really don’t want to think about that right now.”

You move over, straddling his lap and he drops his glass into the water, his hands instantly moving to your waist as he whispers, “It won’t ruin it.”

You grind down onto him as your lips connect with his, moving slowly with heat burning rapidly between the two or you.

He slides his hands down to your ass, bucking his hips up as he swallows your moans and groans lowly himself.

“Do you want to?” You whisper against his lips and he chuckles, “You have no idea.”

You jump, the timer on your phone ripping you from your thoughts and you scramble to turn it off. You drop it to the floor, reaching down with shaky hands to pick it back up and finally silence it.

You let out a slow breath, glancing at yourself in the mirror before you close your eyes and mentally count to three.

1..

2..

3..

You flip the test over and your knees go weak. You drop the test, gripping onto the counter and suddenly it feels harder to breathe.

“Oh god..” you gasp, “What do I do? What am I gonna do?” You turn the cold water on, shoving your hand under and bending down to splash some on your face.

You rest your forearm on the counter, leaning down to rest your face into the bend of your elbow and you can’t help but sob.

A few moments later, you stand up, taking another test out of the package and moving to sit down on the toilet.

Once the stick is ready. You lay it on the counter and finish up. You take your time, facing away from the counter as you pull your shorts up.

Reaching over to flush with a more unsteady hand. You close the lid and sit down.

You felt like you were in shock, but at the same time, it all makes sense.

Getting random urges to puke.

Avoiding food you know you love.

And let’s not forget the period that never showed up.

You reach over, flipping the test over and dropping it as soon as you see the second line. Tears instantly well up into your eyes and your mind is just bombarded with all things negative.

You take a deep breath, standing up to walk to the sink.

You avoid looking at the two tests while you wash your hands, you felt like you could puke just from looking at them.

You bend down, running cold water over your face before drying off with the towel.

You gathered up all the empty packaging and wrappers and stuffed them into your garbage can. You laid a few ravels and clean toilet paper on top to hide it and grabbed the two tests.

You walked out to the living room and sat down on the couch, your eyes glued to the two little window screens that both have a double line.

A part of you was in denial, trying to convince yourself they were false positives, but that’s rare, and to get two in a row, also rare.

You stood up, walking to your room to grab a sweatshirt. You threw it on and walked over to grab your phone before your bag and car keys.

You locked your door and quickly made it out to your car and to one of the furthest drug stores you could go to.

You threw your hood up before walking in, quickly making your way to the pregnancy test isle and grabbing one of each kind of test.

You walked up to the check out, thank god it was self scan.

You scanned each one, paid and bolted out to your car. You pushed your hood down and took a deep breath, jumping as your phone went off.

You searched your bag, pulling it out and your heart skips a beat when you see Nick’s name.

“Hello?”

“What the fuck have you been?” Nick asks, “Feels like forever since I’ve seen you.”

You force a laugh, “You saw me last week.”

“I know, but you’re literally more fun than these two idiots here, come over tonight, pleeeease!” he begs, “I’ll get your favorite pizza or whatever you want.”

“Oh gosh, no. No pizza please.”

“Why? What’s wrong with pizza?” He asks and you sigh, thinking of a lie on the spot, “I’ve had pizza these last two nights. Not really in a pizza kind of mood.”

“Oh, well then I guess it’s a good thing I said or whatever you want.” He laughs, “Just come over. We miss you over here.”

“Okay. I just have to run home quick and then I’ll come over.” You start to drive home, “It’ll probably be like an hour or so.”

He groans, “Fine, I’ll manage. Where are you at?”

“I uh, just had to drop some stuff off for my sister.”

Again, another lie.

“Why do you sound like you’ve been crying? You sound stuffy. Are you getting sick?”

Nick knows you way too well.

“Maybe? I know I was up coughing last night on and off so probably.”

“You weren’t crying?” Nick questions and you swallow, “No, Nick. I’m fine. Just..” you sigh, “Nevermind. I’ll see you in a little bit.”

You hang up before he can say anything else and you toss your phone back into your bag. As soon as you come to a stop at the red light, you burst into tears.

You quickly wipe your face before the light turns green and you get to your house as fast as you can.

Once inside, you go straight to the fridge to grab a water. You told Nick about an hour, and now you’re down to about twenty minutes.

You didn’t live far from them, so that’s not what you were worried about. You were worried about them knowing something was up, but with Nick, they probably already know.

You go to the bathroom, taking a plastic cup with you to pee in. You unwrap all of the tests and dip each one in before letting them sit on the counter.

It was shocking at how fast the non digital ones showed up, and of course, the digital ones said pregnant in bold black letters.

You gripped the counter, shaking your head as you took a few slow breathes. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest, your face also felt like it was on fire.

“Fuck, okay. Okay. I’ll just.. I’ll talk to Nick. He’ll know what to do.” You threw away the boxes and grabbed the tests, putting them back in the wrappers before walking out to your bag and tossing them in.

As you make your way out to your car, you text Nick, I’m on my way.

He quickly answers, About time. Drive safe.

You get into your car, sitting there for a second before starting it and beginning to drive.

The whole way there it felt like you were going to hurl.

Your nerves felt like they were about shot, you didn’t know how to even bring it up to Nick and especially Matt.

You are best friends.

Or, were.

The thought along wanted to make your curl up and bawl. Thinking about a life without Matt, or his brothers, was heart wrenching.

Your stomach felt like it dropped through the car floor as you pulled in right behind Matt’s car. You wanted to turn around and leave but Nick was already walking out the door to greet you.

He walks up to your window and you open the door to step out. You throw your bag on your shoulder and turn to face him.

His face falls when he finally sees you “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, y/n. Are you okay?”

“I need to talk to you about something, but I need it to be just you.”

“Create a diversion. Got it.” He gives you a thumbs up and you shake your head, “Not right away. Just hang out for a little bit then ask me to come with you for clothing advice or something? I don’t know.”

“Oh it’s bad isn’t it.” He shakes his head, “Girl, what are we going to do with you?”

You laugh slightly, fighting to hide the tears, “Oh you haven’t heard anything yet.”

He leads you in and you freeze when you see Matt walking out towards the door, “There she is.”

“Here I am.” You try not to sound nervous, squeezing your bag shut between your arm and body, “Sorry, I’ve just.. work has been hectic and I have a deadline to meet at the end of this week.”

Again, not a total lie, but still a lie.

“You’re good.” Matt smiles, “We’re figuring out what to get for dinner, you can come help us if you’re hungry.”

You nod, suddenly feeling like you’re starving, “Yeah, I could eat. I haven’t had anything all day.”

“Just no pizza.” Nick teases and you nod, “Yes, please no pizza.”

Matt furrows his brows and you laugh, “I’ve ate it the last two days. It was just what I had at the house.”

“Gotcha.” He laughs and turns around to walk away.

Nick looks at you but your focus is on Matt.

“I’m sure you have a picture of him that’ll last longer, y/n.”

You push his shoulder, “Shut up. Thats not- don’t do that.”

He laughs, “Whatever you say.” He walks past you and into the living room and Chris yells as soon as you walk in, “Ah, oh my gosh! It really is you!”

“Shut your mouth.” You laugh, “As I told Nick, you literally seen me last week.”

Chris mocks you, “You literally seen me last week, okay!? And!? That doesn’t make up for all the other days.”

You laugh and sit down in the chair, “Oh cry about it.”

“Maybe I will.” Chris pouts, “My feels are hurt.”

Matt and Nick laugh and you glance at Matt, looking away before he looks back at you, “So, y/n. What are you hungry for?”

“We can do chiplotle? If that’s okay with you guys?” You look around they all nod, “I haven’t had that in so long.” Nick groans, “See. This is why we needed you to come out of hiding.”

“I.. wasn’t in, hiding.” You roll your eyes, “I told you, I have a lot of work to do.”

“Like what?” Nick tilts his head and you sigh, “I have to design a dress for my boss and that is like.. a lot of pressure, okay?”

“What’s the design?” Matt asks and you tilt your head, “Something for the spring line. Floral, white lacy pastel flowers. I don’t know. That’s what she said she wanted incorporated with it, so..”

“I think it’ll turn out better than you think.” Matt nods, “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“I’m trying.” You swallow, “So, food?”

Ever since that night with you and Matt, it hasn’t been weird at all. It’s been literally normal, you both know what happened, you had one conversation about it, and that was that.

It wasn’t until you couldn’t wake up without wanting to barf that you started using work as an excuse for you being so extremely tired that you just slept most days.

You barely had any work, your boss has been on vacation the last few weeks.

“Oh, fuck. Y/n.” Nick snaps, “I need you to help me with something.”

“With what?” You look at him and he nods, “I need your opinion on these outfits I have picked out for my Space Camp photoshoot that I have coming up.”

“You don’t want our options?” Chris asks and Nick laughs sarcastically before giving him a harsh, “No.”

You stand up, your bag still in your hand, “Speaking of, I have those color swatches for you.”

“What the fuck are color swatches?” Chris asks and you bat the air, “If you don’t know, then it doesn’t concern you.”

Matt laughs at Chris and you follow Nick upstairs to his room. He closes the door behind you and you immediately start to hyperventilate.

“Whoa, whoa. Deep breathes, deep breathes.” Nick wraps his arms around you, squeezing you slightly, “in through your nose and out of your mouth.”

You do that a few times and nod, “Okay. I-I think.. I’m good.”

“What has gotten into you, y/n? I’ve never seen you-“

“I’m pregnant.”

His jaw drops, “Excuse me?”

You nod, opening your purse and pulling the tests out.

“Okay. I’m not going to lie, you having those in your bag is kinda gross.”

“Niiiick.” You whine, “I’m actually losing my shit over this.”

“How many..” he walks over, pulling your bag open, “Jesus fuck, y/n. How many are in there?”

“I don’t know, I took two and then when you called I just left the store with one box of each so maybe like eight or something.. I don’t know.”

You sit down on the bed and pull out two, “They’re all positive.”

“All of them?” He asks as he sits down next to you, “Did you call the doctor?”

You nod, “All of them.. and no. I didn’t know what to do, I just..”

“Panicked.”

You nod and he tilts his head, “Do you at least know who the father is?”

You nod and look at Nick, “Yep. Sure do.”

“Well who? Who is it?”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes and you sigh, “Matt.”

“Matt!?” He asks in a shocked and loud tone as he stands up, “as in, my brother, Matthew Bernard Sturniolo?”

“Shhh! I don’t want him to find out like this!” You pull him back down to sit, “Nothing is weird between us, but I know that we’re both young and he has the YouTube thing and I have my.. whatever going for me.”

“Y/n. You work for one of the biggest stylist in the country. You’re fine.” Nick assures, “But he needs to know.”

“No, no I know. I know. I just.. what if he doesn’t want me around anymore? It was one stupid drunken one night that’s turned into a lifetime of being around each other, and I know we’re all friends but-“

“Oh no, honey. You and Matt are not just friends.”

“What do you mean?” You furrow your brows and Nick laughs, “Are you joking? He looks at you like you’re his entire world. That one night stand was bound to happen at some point.”

You sit there stunned, “A-Are you.. what.. I-I..”

“Listen to me. Telling Matt is the best thing you can do for you and that little tiny thing growing right.. in.. there..” he pokes your stomach and you laugh, swatting his hand away, “I know. I just.. how do I tell him?”

“Maybe you can show him one of the five thousand tests sitting in the bottom of your purse.” Nick laughs, “I still can’t believe you just have them. Like, they make ziplocks, y/n.”

“I was panicking, Nick! You can’t blame me for that!” You laugh, wiping away your tears, “I didn’t know what else to do and you’re literally my best friend.”

“Aw.” He tilts his head, “And you are mine.”

He pulls you in for a hug and you sigh, “I just hope he doesn’t freak out and things go south.”

Nick shakes his head, resting his cheek on top of yours, “He might be shocked at first, but I don’t think it’ll go south. Plus..” he laughs and you lean back, “What…”

“I’m gonna be uncle Nick.” He smirks and you nod, “Yes. The best uncle Nick ever.”

“Do you want me to go get Matt, or..” Nick looks at you and you sigh, “Yeah, might as well get it done and over with.”

Nick nods, “Okay, just stay here and try not to panic.”

“Easier said than done.” You laugh nervously and take a deep breath. You watch as Nick opens the door and stops, “Um, it’s not polite to eavesdrop ya know.”

“Move.” Matt pushes past Nick and closes the door.

You stare at Matt, the tears burning as they make their way up to spill over your waterline. Along with that, word vomit spews from your lips, “A-Are you mad? Are we not friends anymore? I-I totally understand if that’s what you want, I just.. I thought you’d be mad so I went to Nick first to see what I should do and-“

Matt’s hands are cupping your face, “Shh, shh.. just, relax, y/n. I’m not mad. I promise.. I’m not mad.”

“You’re.. you’re not?” You look up at him and he shakes his head before resting his forehead on yours, “I knew it was a risk, doing what we did, but I didn’t care because I just love you so much.”

“You love me?”

He chuckles, “Are you going to question everything that I say?” He smiles as you shake your head and you smile slightly, “I love you.”

“You love me?” He teases and you roll your eyes, “Yes. I do.”

“Nick was right.” Matt sighs, “I look at you like you’re my whole world because you are.” His hand slides down to your stomach and he swallows, “And now we’re adding one to the solar system.”

You raise your brows and laugh through the tears, “Oh my god, Matt, that was so cheesy. I love it.” You press your lips to his and you hear Chris and Nick giggling outside the door.

Matt takes your hand into his and walks over, quickly opening the door.

Nick and Chris shoot up straight and stare at him.

“You know, it’s not nice to eavesdrop.” You raise your brows and Nick sighs, “You expected me to leave without knowing how this was going to go, please.” He rolls his eyes and Chris looks at you, “So it’s true? I’m going to be an uncle?”

You nod, “Yep.”

“And you..” he points to Matt, “Are going to be a dad?”

Matt nods, “That’s how it works Chris.”

“Woo! Daddy Matt. Oh everyone is going to love this.”

“No, now hang on. I’m not even sure what we want to do about that yet.” Matt looks at you, giving your hand a squeeze, “It’s up to y/n anyway.”

“Very respectful, I like it.” Nick nods, leaning up against the door, “You should probably call and schedule an ultrasound before anything.”

You snap, “Oh shit, right.” You walk over and grab your phone, “They’re closed now. I’ll have to call in the morning.”

“First thing, missy.” Nick points and you sigh, “Yes, Nick. I’ll make sure to wake you up as soon as they open.”

“Okay.” He shrugs and Matt laughs, “I hope you’re ready for nine months of mother hen Nick.”

“That’s not always a bad thing.” You smile, “At least I won’t have to set a reminder to take my prenatal.” You eyes go wide and you start to tear up, “I need to get prenatals.”

“I’m on it!” Nick lifts his finger into the air, “Just text me which kind.”

“You can’t drive!” Matt yells and Nick walks back in, “We’re all on it. Now let’s go!”

Him and Chris walk out of the room and Matt pulls you in for a hug, “I knew something was up with you. You never avoid us, especially me.”

“I didn’t- okay..” you laugh slightly, “I was feeling sick and then today I just had this gut feeling to test and I took like eight..”

“Eight!?” Matt laughs, “Holy fuck. One wasn’t enough?”

“Well, I took two at first, but then I was in denial so I went out and got one box of each test and here we are.”

He shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “It’s fine, ma. I’m just glad I know now.” He grabs your hand and squeezes it, “So when are you moving in?”

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

A few weeks later

“Oh look!” You point to the screen, “Are they the toes?”

The tech nods, “Yes, this is the foot, and oh! They’re a kicker.”

“That’s so weird, I don’t feel anything yet.” You look up at Matt and he smiles down at you.

“Babies start to really move between sixteen and twenty five weeks, some people may not feel anything until closer to the twenty five mark, but everyone is different.”

You nod, “Okay. We’re close to being fourteen weeks now.”

“Yeah, you probably have a little bit to go. If this is your first pregnancy, you might not feel it until around the twenty five week mark.” The tech clicks a few times and takes the wand from your belly, “Everything is looking good. If you want, we can do a blood test and get the gender back to you, or you can wait until the twenty week mark?”

You look at Matt, “What should we do?”

He shrugs, “That’s all your choice, babe. Whatever you want to do, I support.”

“I think we’ll wait until the twenty week scan.” You nod and look at the tech. She nods, “Alright. If you want, we can get you scheduled for another check in about four weeks and then another for twenty weeks. Okay?”

You nod, “Okay. Thank you.” You smile and wipe off your stomach before pulling down your sweatshirt, “This is real. This is actually happening.”

Matt helps you sit up and he presses a kiss to your temple, “It sure is.” He smiles, “I couldn’t picture doing this with anyone but you.”

You look up at him, reaching up to lay a hand on his cheek, “I love you.”

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! I love you so much! I’ll catch you in the next one! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[eringobragh420]

¡! ❞ can you hold me? (1/5)

➺ pairing — damian priest ♥︎ f!reader ➺ summary — damian’s fiancée receives a head injury during a match resulting in amnesia. ➺ links — one. two. three. four. five. ➺ words — 3.4k ➺ warnings — head injury, hospital setting ➺ notes — spanish translations are at the end of the story provided by google translate.  ➺ taglist — if you’d like to be added, please click here! 

➺ MASTERLIST ➺ DAMIAN PRIEST MASTERLIST

➺ if you enjoy my writing, please consider donating toward my IVF journey!

THE INJURY

The atmosphere in Gorilla was cool, calm, and collected, as that’s the way Triple H preferred to work. Everyone had a job, a place, and they were all in position for the upcoming match. Your match. Tyson Kidd was just getting seated at his spot in front of a monitor一as the producer of your segment with Liv Morgan, he would oversee the timing of the match and, through the headset he donned, prepare the cameramen for where you both would be and what shot would be best. Tyson gave you a thumbs up and a comforting smile, as he was quite familiar with the nerves you’d built up over the past several weeks of working with him and Liv. You were confident in your skill set, you were optimistic about your growing number of fans, and you deserved to be here.

That last sentiment had been drilled into your head by your fiancé, who stood before you now. Looking up into Damian’s sparkling eyes, you momentarily lost your edge and your fiery competitiveness, replaced by the melting of your heart and the softening of your soul. You stopped bouncing from one foot to the other when he cupped your face in his warm, rough hands and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he said, voice so deep it was almost inaudible over the various conversations being held around you.

You clutched his wrists, and your foreheads came together. “I love you, too,” you said.

Damian quickly kissed your lips, knowing if he lingered, neither of you would be able to pull away. “Be safe,” he told you. “You got this.” Pulling away, he initiated the intricate handshake known only to the two of you—the simple act giving you butterflies every single time—which ended with your pinky fingers wrapped around the other’s, and the two of you shared an intimate, knowing smile, saying everything, but speaking nothing.

Your music hit, the crowd cheered, and your heart began to pound. After a few deep breaths and the cue from production, you made your way through the curtain, revealing yourself to the sold out audience. The roar became even louder as you skipped down the ramp, slapping hands, high-fiving fans, and even snapping a few selfies with some of your younger fans. You promised to revisit the little girl dressed nearly identical to you, having it in your mind to gift her a souvenir of some sort from your gear at the end of the night. 

After rousing the crowd for a few more minutes, Liv’s music chimed through the speakers of the arena, and you thought the roof might come off. Liv was incredibly popular, heel or not, so you’d expected her reception to be much grander than yours, but you couldn’t help but imagine yourself standing in the middle of the ring, holding that beautiful Women’s World Championship title above your head proudly. Your star was on the rise, and those words had been spoken first by Shawn Michaels when you were on NXT, then by Triple H when you’d made your first main roster appearance on Raw. Unfortunately, you would take the pin tonight, and there was no way for you not to feel a little jealous, but, you were assured, it was all part of a bigger plan.

The first half of the match was flawless. You and Liv worked well together, anticipating each other’s moves without much need for whispering what the next run would be. As per the plan, you suplexed Liv onto the canvas before scrambling for the nearest ring post where you climbed to the top rope. This is where you were supposed to perform your finisher, which Liv would kick out of, but something went wrong, and suddenly you were falling. Falling wouldn’t be a big deal if you had landed on the canvas, but you fell backward, and your loss of equilibrium beforehand sent you head and neck first onto the padded floor. Your light blinked out, and the world was black and silent.

Damian watched you fall on the television monitor in Gorilla, and he uncrossed his arms to grab at his head. The entire arena became deadly quiet, and Damian waited barely two seconds for you to get up or move or do something, and when you only laid there, he started for the entrance ramp.

“Priest, wait,” Triple H commanded, standing and removing his glasses. Nearby Jey Uso slipped an arm around Damian’s waist to keep him from exiting Gorilla. “Just give her a second.”

“She looks fuckin’ dead, are you kidding me?” Damian shouted, making a second attempt at escaping. Jey held tight, and Damian looked down at him. “If it was your girl?” he rasped, brows knitted, fighting tears.

Jey tilted his head, offended Damian would bring up such a valid point, but he rolled his eyes and let the taller man go. 

Minutes later, when your eyes sluggishly opened, your vision was blurry and your head felt like it was in a vice. So many different voices were shouting around you, but they seemed far away. Were they yelling at you? What happened? You tried to sit up, but dizziness overwhelmed you, dropping you back to a floor that wasn’t as hard as it should have been, and your eyes closed in an effort to slow the spinning. 

“Baby, can you hear me?”

“Where’s the gurney?”

Gurney? Your eyes opened again, this time both a little less blurry and a little less dizzy, but the pain in your skull continued to worsen. So many people surrounded you, none of whom you recognized. One face, however, stood out—a handsome face, you noticed, despite the excruciating hammering in your brain, with the most concerned expression tugging at his tanned features. You didn’t know him, though, never seen him before in your life, so you weren’t sure what he was so upset about. And you weren’t sure why you cared, considering you knew exactly nothing else: why you were on your back, why your head threatened to explode, why you seemed to be the center of attention. And why were you dressed in a pretty costume, and why were there thousands of people staring at you from every direction of a crowded arena? Why?

“Can you tell me your name?”

You looked up at the man questioning you, and he shone a bright light directly into your sensitive eyes, which snapped shut as you shied away from it. “What?” you whispered.

“Your name,” he repeated. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Yeah, it’s …” You trailed off, eyes sluggishly searching everywhere, looking for nothing, and finding just that. Your name. One of the easiest questions in the world, if not the easiest, but you couldn’t answer. You opened your mouth, hoping the name would simply come spilling out, but nothing happened. Your name. Of course you know your name. “It’s …” The man looked at you expectantly, just as every single other person encircling you was doing, and it suddenly occurred to you that something was wrong. Really wrong. But then your eyes found those concerned ones, and they were still worried, even more so now, but they were lovely, dark and deep, and for some reason, you found comfort in this complete stranger’s gaze. “I—I don’t know …”

“Let’s get her strapped in.”

Strapped in? Your heart raced and you couldn’t catch your breath because you had no idea what that meant or who anyone was or where you were or who you were. Maybe if you looked into those chocolate pools again, everything would go away. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe you were dying. 

“Move! She doesn’t know what the hell is going on and she’s scared to death!”

Those ochre eyes suddenly found yours, and your sigh of relief was audible. He fell to his knees beside you and took your hand in his, and just a bit more relaxation dulled the edges of your nerves. You wished it could do the same for your pain, which was quickly becoming blinding. His skin was coarse and hot, his grip strong and soothing, and your own hand reflexively returned the squeeze.

“Hey there, pretty girl,” he said, and his voice was as rich as his irises, and his smile was like staring at the sun, and the pet name had to bear some significance, but for crying out loud, you didn’t know him from Adam. “You can hear me, right?” You nodded, wincing at the pain. “Good. Now listen—” He seemed hesitant to continue, and that ramped up your heart rate. “—you fell, okay? You hit your head, and it knocked you out for a few minutes. With me?” He spoke slowly and clearly, and the appreciation you felt for his patience was immeasurable. You nodded again. He went on to explain that you would be placed in a neck brace before being buckled to a backboard, which would then be lifted onto a gurney, and the gurney loaded onto an ambulance, because you were being taken to the nearest emergency room.

As each step took place, you were a lot less terrified now than you would have been had he not told you what was going to happen. The handsome man never let go of your hand, even when he was advised to by the medics, because your grip tightened every time you thought you might lose the connection. Once on the gurney and completely strapped down, you were wheeled through a narrow corridor between the crowd and the ramp, passing a crying little girl who was dressed similarly to you, the handsome man at your side.

“Priest, where are you going?” an older, bald man asked as they headed down a hallway toward a red exit sign. Priest. Now he had a name, but you didn’t recognize it.

“Where do you think I’m goin’?” Priest asked. “I’m goin’ to the hospital with her.”

“Come on, you can’t do that,” the bald man chuckled. “They’ll take great care of her, and you still have a promo to cut tonight.”

“You okay?” Priest asked you, his tone much softer than when he’d been speaking with the bald man, who clearly was a superior of some kind. You couldn’t nod or speak with the neck brace, so you squeezed his hand. He smiled. 

“Damian.” The bald man stepped in front of him, hand to his chest. Another name? Priest Damian? Or maybe Damian Priest? Neither rang any bells.

“Boss, fire me or get the hell outta my way, because I’m not leavin’ her alone!”

You certainly didn’t want anyone to lose their job over you, but you selfishly refused to release his hand, looking up at him with tears overflowing. Dozens of people, it seemed, surrounded you and apparently knew you, but Priest—or Damian—was the only one you felt like you should know. There had to be a reason he gave you such comfort, a reason he was fighting so hard for you. The bald man relented, however, offering his permission that Priest obviously didn’t need or want, and he and the medics lifted you onto the ambulance. After the medics climbed in after you, Priest followed, helping to close the doors, and he remained seated on the bench near the doors and out of the way of the men assisting you. He kept his hands on one of your glittering boots, though, never once breaking contact as the ambulance activated its lights and sirens feature. Your head felt like it was splitting apart right down the middle and the sudden loud sirens and flashing lights did nothing to help the situation.

Once at the hospital, you had to be separated from Priest in spite of your silent protestations. You held onto the hand of the only person in the world you felt even the slightest connection to, refusing to let go, until he bent down, lips to your ear.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he promised, “and I’ll get back there as soon as I possibly can.” You felt those lips press a warm kiss to the shell of your ear, your body relaxing just the tiniest bit, but it was relief just the same. “I love you, mi vida.”

Your eyes met his, unsure of how to respond. It was plain to see that you and Priest had an intimate relationship, but you didn’t feel a need to respond in kind to his declaration. You didn’t know him—how could you love him? Maybe it was even an unrequited love—maybe he had feelings for you, but you had none for him. That really didn’t seem likely, but the neurons in your brain were firing in every direction and you couldn’t control what kind of thoughts you had, or how many, and you certainly had no clue which ones were correct. If any were correct at all. Fuck, you were so confused.

You were taken to Radiology where they placed you inside the CT machine to assess what kind, if any, of head injury you had. The neck brace was eventually removed when it was determined your spine was intact from brain to base, and you were finally, finally, given medication to help with the pain. Your nerves were frayed, though, especially after all the questions the doctor asked you that you didn’t know the answer to. Like your name, or the year, or the President of the United States. The meds helped to relax you a bit, but you still found yourself looking for Priest. Every time the door opened, you hoped it was him, and every time you were let down when it was just another member of the medical team. You asked for him several times, for Priest, and at one point, an actual priest knocked on your door, ready to pray with you. The longer you were apart, the more anxious you became, and you couldn’t explain it. It was a strange sensation to miss a complete stranger. You sighed, resting your sore head against the uncomfortable pillow. 

Maybe they can’t find him because he left.

At the same time, down the hallway, Damian stood towering over your physician, sinewy, tattooed arms crossed in front of his chest, unintentionally intimidating anyone who laid eyes on him, the doctor included. All talent in the WWE signed paperwork for consent to be treated in the event of an emergency, as well as a form giving the facility permission to share your medical information with anyone you listed, provided that you were unable to do so. Damian Priest was the only name you’d written down. So after you were informed of your current condition, Damian was given the same report.

“She’s obviously severely concussed,” the doctor explained. Damian nodded, listening closely. “But there’s no brain damage, bleeding, or fractures, and when you take into account the height she fell from and the angle … she’s pretty lucky.” Your fall had already been plastered all over social media, so it hadn’t been difficult for Damian to show the doctor exactly how you’d come to be injured.

“She doesn’t know her own name, doc,” Damian snapped, stepping just a bit closer to the smaller man. “How’s that lucky?”

The doctor put up his hand, and Damian chewed his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. He sucked it into his mouth as he stepped back. “Yes, there’s amnesia. But it should resolve in a few days, maybe a few weeks.”

“Maybe a few months? A few years?” Damian was angry about the situation and taking it out on the wrong person. He should have been there to protect you, catch you when you tumbled off the turnbuckle—what the hell kind of husband would be if he couldn’t save you? And would he ever be a husband at all? What if you never regained your memories, despite the doctor’s confident assurance that it would take less than a month for you to recover? Damian put his own hands up in an effort to pause the conversation before it got out of control, and he scrubbed his hands over his face. “When can I take her home?”

“We’re gonna keep her overnight for observation, so probably tomorrow, possibly the next day.”

Maybe a week from now! Damian wanted to scream at the doctor who seemed to know precisely nothing for certain about your recovery. He bitterly thanked the small man before asking to be shown to your room. Taking a deep breath, he knocked gently, and your tiny voice granted him entrance. He stepped inside immediately, forgetting to take a moment to prepare himself for how you might look. You wore a generic hospital gown now, hair and makeup a mess compared to a couple of hours ago, and Damian’s heart sank like the Titanic, his stomach sloshing as if it were a half empty bottle of liquor held by a drunken sailor. He started toward you, fully prepared to gather you in his arms, tell you everything was going to be okay, that he would never stop loving you, and if you ended up like Drew Barrymore’s character in 50 First Dates, he’d love you and take care of you just the same as Adam Sandler did in one of your favorite movies.

“Hey,” he finally greeted you, closing the door behind him before pulling a nearby chair next to your bed. He slowly sat down with a sigh, smiling at you, but you could tell the gesture was forced. He looked exhausted, if you were being honest, and you wondered if that was because of you.

“Hey,” you softly replied, idly picking at your nails in your lap.

“The doctor told me … you got some memory loss.” You swallowed, nodding. “So then before, when I kissed you and told you I love you … that was probably weird.” Despite the situation, you smirked, but it was erased quickly by the anguish tugging at the beautiful man’s features. “Well—” He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “—my name is Damian Priest. You and I have been together almost four years, and we’re getting married in about five months.”

Surely that would jar loose some memories, you thought, closing your eyes and searching your brain’s files like a goddamn card catalog—dress shopping, cake-tasting, guest lists, invitations—but your investigation turned up nothing. You had no recollection of this man or any of the nearly four years you’d apparently been together, and all you could do at this point was cover your face with your hands and let loose all the tears and sobs you’d been holding inside since being strapped onto that backboard.

“Don’t do that,” Damian begged, “don’t cry.” Because he couldn’t fucking do anything about it! “Look at me.” The desperation in his voice had you taking several deep breaths, calming the hiccuping in your throat, and once you were sure the crying wouldn’t continue, you dropped your hands from your face. It took you a few moments to actually open your eyes and meet his gaze, though. Familiar, like an acquaintance from many years ago, is all you felt when you locked eyes, and you thought this was a fate worse than death. “Everything is gonna be okay. I swear to you, everything will be okay.” You wanted to believe him, but that was a tricky path to follow.

“I guess they’re keeping me here tonight,” you said, because everything was just too much and all you wanted to do was sleep. Surely when you woke up, all of your memories would be labeled and in their proper brain files and you and your fiancé would drive off into the sunset together. Damian looked at you for a moment before nodding. “Um—” you stammered. “Will you please stay with me?”

“Of course, querida,” Damian replied, instinctively reaching for your hand until he was reminded of the situation, and he locked his hands together between his knees. “I’ll be wherever you want me to be.”

When finally you fell asleep, and Damian clicked the light off, he sat back down, delicately taking your tiny hand into both of his where it disappeared between them. He leaned forward so he could kiss the back of your hand, one kiss after another, then he pressed his forehead there and closed his eyes. You would be okay, he told himself. You had to be—he’d sworn to you that you would be, and he wasn’t about to break his second promise to you.

➺ Mi vida — My life ➺ Querida — Beloved/dearest

[serumandsteel]

The Shape of Silence | pt 3

series masterlist

pairing: tfatws bucky x (f) reader

summary: after Walker blows the op, the team is left scrambling to pick up the pieces. But the real damage hits later. when you finally realise that years of running from Bucky didn’t erase the feelings, only buried them deeper. now, forced into close quarters and out of excuses, you have to face him… and everything you tried to forget. that one night in Wakanda. the night that changed everything finally comes crashing back. And this time, it just might break you.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: emotional trauma, ANGSTYY, unresolved tension, swearing... light themes of SMUTT 18+

a/n: ahhhh last chapter for my mini series! thankyouu for reading... also first time writing smut so go easy on me :) taking requests for inspo for thunderbolts bucky... im feeling I want to continue to explore this little world I have made. also would love a nickname for this reader in this series...so inbox is open!

But Bucky didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

He just stared at you.

And you stared right back, bracing for whatever came next, the confrontation, the anger, the past you hadn’t outrun.

Because nothing about this was going to go the way you wanted it to.

Footsteps thundered in the distance. Sam emerged through the dust, breath ragged, gun lowered at his side.

But Bucky didn’t look away. Not when Sam stopped. Not when the cold wind bit through the warehouse’s broken walls. Not when reality finally caught up to both of you.

He looked older, lines carved deeper across his brow, stubble clinging to his jaw like rest hadn’t touched him in days. But his eyes were the same.

God, those eyes. 

Still impossibly blue. Still heavy with the weight of too many lives. But now you could see the years behind them, the grief, the healing. The hurt.

And it hit you all over again.

They were the first thing you remembered clearly from the night it all changed. The night you stopped seeing him as Bucky Barnes and started seeing him as James. Just James. Not a mission. Not a ghost. Not Steve’s responsibility.

But a person.

Three years gone. Three years of silence, of hiding and now, here you were, standing in front of the one person you tried so hard to stay away from.

Not because you didn’t care.

But because you did. Too much.

“What the hell happened?”

Sam’s voice snapped both you and Bucky out of the thoughts that had locked you in place. His eyes swept the room, landing on Walker first, who was casually brushing dirt off his shoulders like he hadn’t nearly blown the entire operation.

“You’re late,” Walker muttered.

Sam stalked closer, voice sharp. “And you’re lucky you’re still upright.”

Walker scoffed. “I took initiative. There was a window. I made a call.”

“You made a mess,” Sam snapped. “You went in loud. No backup, no coordination. You compromised the mission and almost got the rest of us killed.”

“I handled it.”

You let out a dry laugh, wiping a smear of dried blood off your hand. “Handled it? You mean the part where you charged in without a plan and I had to clean it up?”

Walker’s eyes narrowed, like he’d only just remembered you existed. “Right. Her.”

He looked you up and down like you didn’t belong. Like you were just some stray who wandered into the wrong war zone.

“Still not sure who the hell you even are,” he said. “Some off-book tagalong Sam picked up? You were real quiet until you decided to play hero.”

You stepped forward, not aggressive.  Just unflinching. “Just because you call yourself Captain America doesn’t mean you are him.”

Walker stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” you said, voice cool. Controlled. “Steve earned that title. You bought it. There’s a difference.”

Bucky flinched slightly at the name, but his eyes stayed locked on Walker.

Walker took a step toward you, jaw tight. “I don’t take orders from you.”

“Good,” you said. “Because I’m not giving any. I’m just cleaning up the wreckage.”

Sam stepped in then, placing a hand on Walker’s chest. “Back off.”

But Walker didn’t. His eyes didn’t leave yours. “She thinks she’s better than the rest of us. Walks in like she knows everything. What—everyone’s just following her lead now? Because she’s good with a gun and knows how to give orders?”

His mouth curled. “Or is it something else?”

You didn’t say a word. But Bucky did.

He moved before he could stop himself.

“Shut your mouth.”

Walker turned toward him. “Or what?”

But the look in Bucky’s eyes wasn’t something Walker could hold. Wounded. Restrained. On the verge of something worse.

“Walk away,” Bucky said through clenched teeth. “Before you say something you can’t come back from.”

Walker’s mouth twisted into something smug. “Touchy.”

Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides. He didn’t swing. Didn’t raise his voice. He just stared Walker down for one long, agonising beat. Then turned and walked away, fast and stiff, like he was barely holding himself together.

Sam watched him go, exhaling hard. He shook his head and muttered under his breath, “Goddamn.”

You didn’t follow. You didn’t trust yourself to.

Instead, you stood in the rubble of a blown mission and an even more fucked-up reunion, your pulse still hammering, hands still shaking.

Walker huffed, rolled his eyes. “I’ll find my own transport.”

“Do that,” Sam said, not even sparing him a glance.

The car rumbled steadily along the broken road. Trees blurred past. Faded signage. Empty intersections. You didn’t see any of it.

You weren’t in the car. Not really.

You were floating somewhere above it, your body moving through the motions while your mind spun off into nothing. Not out of fear. Not even shock. Just… self-preservation.

You’d seen Bucky’s face. The way he’d looked at you. The way he hadn’t looked away and it had carved something open inside you that you weren’t ready to name.

So you let the world blur. Let the silence settle around your shoulders like smoke. You stayed in that space until—

“Hey.” Sam’s voice cut through the fog like a sharp edge. You blinked. Looked over. His eyes flicked back at you in the rearview mirror, concerned but casual.

“You good?” he asked. Not pushy. Just present.

You nodded once. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

He didn’t buy it, not really. But he let it slide. For now.

A few more miles passed in silence before he spoke again. Lighter this time.

“So… you gonna tell me where the hell you’ve been, or do I gotta guess?”

You smirked faintly. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

You leaned your head back against the seat, eyes fixed on the blur outside the window. “Greece. Mexico. Indonesia for a hot minute. Then some nowhere town in Canada. Mostly off-grid. Nothing stable. Just... running. Always moving.”

“Running from who?” Sam asked, one brow lifting.

Your gaze shifted to meet his in the rearview mirror. “From myself, I guess. The past. The present. I don’t even know anymore.”

You hesitated, the truth dragging itself up from somewhere raw. “I just… I can’t seem to stop. Can’t settle.” The confession sat heavy in the air.

Sam let out a low whistle. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“You keeping tabs on us all that time?” You shrugged. “Some. Enough.”

Sam nodded, casting a glance toward Bucky beside him, then back at you. “You know he was looking for you.” His head tilted subtly in Bucky’s direction.

That landed like a punch to the chest. You didn’t answer.

Sam exhaled quietly. “Just sayin’. He never stopped.”

More silence. Then:

“I thought it’d be easier,” you said, almost to yourself. “Staying away. Keeping the mess contained. But turns out ghosts follow you no matter how far you run.”

Sam chuckled softly. “Yeah, well. We’ve all got ghosts. Some louder than others.”

You offered a quiet smile. “Yours still nagging you?”

“Only when I try to get five minutes of peace,” he muttered. “And when Torres messes with my Spotify playlist.”

That earned a small laugh from you. Genuine.

From the passenger seat, Bucky stirred slightly - just a shift of his shoulders, a flicker of something like familiarity in his profile. Then, quietly, without turning around “Still listening to that god-awful Marvin Gaye remix?”

Your head snapped up. Bucky’s tone was dry. Flat. But there was a spark there, something wry and a little too familiar. Like it slipped out before he could stop it. Sam groaned. “Oh, come on. We’re not doing this again.”

You let out a surprised laugh. “You still hate that album?” Bucky finally looked over his shoulder at you, just for a second. “Wasn’t music. It was noise.”

You rolled your eyes. “It was funk. There's a difference.”

Bucky’s mouth twitched, just slightly. It wasn’t a smile, not really. But it was close. The air didn’t feel quite so heavy after that. Still tense. Still charged. But no longer choking.

And for the first time since the dust had settled in that warehouse, you let yourself believe maybe, just maybe this wasn’t unsalvageable after all.

The car rolled to a stop outside a sleek, unassuming house nestled at the edge of a quiet, tree-lined road. It was a far cry from the last safe house Sam had tucked you away in - this actually seemed to have a functioning heating system. This place was modern, updated. It would suffice for the night.

Sam was the first to speak, his tone low as he hauled his gear from the trunk. “We’ve all got rooms. One night. Wheels up at six.”

You didn’t respond. Just nodded and shouldered your duffel, every bone in your body aching as you followed them up the steps.

Inside, the house felt too clean. Too still. The kind of quiet that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed. Soft lighting. Hardwood floors. Real furniture. Like a home built for someone who didn’t wake up from nightmares or run away from their problems.

You moved through the space like a ghost. Detached. Weightless.

Sam mumbled something about grabbing a shower and disappeared down the hall. Bucky lingered. He always did.

He stood there in the low light, jaw tight, hands in his pockets. Close enough to feel the tension rolling off him, but still keeping his distance.

“We should talk,” he said, voice quiet.

You turned halfway. Exhaustion bled through your features. “Not tonight.”

“But—”

“Please, Bucky,” you cut him off, your voice flat. “Not tonight.”

He didn’t argue. Just watched you walk away. Again.

You felt the weight of his stare on your back all the way down the hall.

You knew you owed him a conversation. Hell, you owed him a thousand of them. But not like this. Not with your heart still in your throat and your thoughts scrambled beyond recognition.

You needed to get your head straight. You needed a goddamn shower. And you needed that pounding behind your eyes to ease up before you said something you couldn’t take back.

Seeing him again today had cracked something open in you.

It wasn’t just shock. It was grief. Guilt. Longing. And something else, something heavier. The slow, dawning realisation that maybe you were the one who broke what could’ve been fixed.

You hadn’t just left. You’d disappeared. Cut the cord and never looked back, or at least tried to convince yourself you hadn’t.

And now here he was. Looking at you like you were still the same. Like maybe, if you reached back, he’d still be there.

But you weren’t sure you deserved that anymore.

You weren’t sure you could even handle the fallout of what he’d say once you finally let him speak.

You shut the bedroom door behind you and leaned against it, eyes closed. Your pulse still hadn’t calmed.

You fucked up.

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure how to fix it.

Sleep never came easy anymore. But tonight, exhaustion didn’t just claim you, it dragged you under like a riptide, pulling you fast and deep into memory.

Back to Wakanda. Back to that night. The first and last night with him. The night before everything went to hell.

The night you let yourself forget. Forget the war looming at your doorstep. Forget what you’d both done. Forget the versions of yourselves that didn’t deserve this kind of softness.

You let it all fall away — and for once, you let yourself feel.

Years of tension, of glances and near-misses, of guilt and yearning, came crashing down to that single night. The one you never talk about. The one you can’t forget.

And he was there. Bucky.

Leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a thin white shirt clinging to him from the heat of the day. His hair was loose around his shoulders, wild and soft. And his eyes — God, those eyes fixed on you like you were something he still didn’t quite believe was real.

You knew this night.

You’d relived it a hundred times in your mind. Only now, in the pull of sleep, you were living it again. You’d been dancing around this for weeks. Months. Years, really.

And now you were close. Too close. Inches. Breaths. The space between you vibrated with tension, years of it, unspoken and coiled like a spring. His hand hovered near your jaw, hesitant, reverent — like touching you might make you vanish.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You gave him a sad, crooked smile. “You already have. So have I.”

Then he touched you. Rough, warm, grounding. You leaned into his palm like your body had been waiting for this. Like you were starving and this was the first real thing you’d tasted in months.

You didn’t remember who kissed who first. Only that it felt like falling. Like drowning.

It was desperate and aching — mouths crashing together, breaths stolen between kisses. Like you both knew it wouldn’t last. Like you’d already made peace with the fallout.

But for now, in this sliver of stolen time, you let yourselves fall.

His hands cupped your face, fingers slipping into your hair. The kiss deepened, messy and gasping, his tongue sliding against yours like he wanted to consume you. You tugged at his shirt, fingers skating over the scars across his chest, and he shuddered at the contact.

“Tell me you want this,” he rasped, thumb brushing your lower lip. There was fear in his voice. Like this was hope, and hope was dangerous.

“I do,” you whispered, the words falling from your mouth like truth. “I fucking do.”

That was all it took.

He stripped you down like a man on the edge — quick, trembling hands pulling fabric from skin. You yanked him close by the belt loops of his pants, grounding yourself in the hard lines of his body. You needed more. Needed him like air.

The bed creaked as your back hit the mattress, and he followed, crawling over you like gravity had its own pull.

“Bucky,” you breathed, and something in him broke.

He kissed you harder, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip, the cold press of vibranium anchoring you to the now. When he pushed inside, it was slow, deliberate. Thick and stretching, almost too much after the ache of waiting.

You gasped, body arching. He stilled instantly.

“You okay?” he murmured, forehead pressed to yours, voice so tender it burned.

You nodded, lips brushing his. “Move. Please.”

He obeyed, hips rolling, pace steady, deep. Every thrust was weighted, like he was memorizing the shape of you from the inside. You held onto him, arms wrapped tight, legs locking around his waist like you could keep him there if you just held on hard enough.

Every movement felt like goodbye. Every kiss like a memory in the making. Like you were both pretending this didn’t have to end.

“God, you feel like fucking heaven,” he groaned into your neck. His metal fingers slipped between your legs, circling your clit with practiced, focused pressure.

Your hips jerked. “Don’t stop—please, don’t stop—”

“I won’t,” he swore, voice tight with restraint. “Not until you come. Not until you fall apart for me.”

And you did. With a cry torn from your throat, you shattered, body clenching around him, mind blank with pleasure. You came hard, every nerve lit up, and he followed with a broken sound, hips stuttering as he spilled into you.

Then he held you. Just held you.

His breath was ragged against your neck. Your fingers threaded into his hair. His weight was solid over you, grounding, safe.

Neither of you said a word. You didn’t need to.

And then, it slipped away.

The heat of his skin. The weight of his body. The sound of his breath.

Gone.

You woke with a jolt, breath catching, chest heaving like you’d just been yanked from underwater.

The sheets were damp with sweat. The room was still dark, pre-dawn light barely filtering through the safehouse blinds. Your heart was pounding.

Too far. You’d let it go too far.

That dream, no, that memory — it wasn’t supposed to last that long. You always woke up before that part. Before the way he touched you made it impossible to lie to yourself. Before the sound of his voice made your ribs ache. Before your body reminded you how much it still wanted him. Before you remembered what it felt like to love him.

Because that’s what it was. That’s what it always was. Love.

And it broke you open like it was new.

You sat up fast, pressing the heel of your hand to your chest like you could shove the feeling back down. Like you could contain it this time. Like it wouldn’t ruin everything.

But it was already too late. Three years of running. Three years of silence. And still, you’d dreamt of him.

You had to get out. Now.

You were up and moving before your thoughts could catch up, shoving gear into your bag, hands shaking. No time for a plan. No message for Sam. You couldn’t stay. Not after this. Not when the truth was so loud it hurt.

You didn’t even notice the door open.

“Where are you going?” The voice behind you froze you mid-step.

Bucky.

You turned slowly, like your limbs were moving through sand. He was in the doorway, jaw tight, eyes dark and tired. He’d clearly just woken up, but one look at your face and he was wide awake.

“I—” you started, but the words got stuck.

He took a step forward. “You were leaving.”

Silence.

You didn’t deny it.

He let out a short, bitter breath and nodded. “Of course you were.”

“Don’t,” you said softly. “Don’t do that. You don’t understand.”

“Then help me.” His voice cracked on the edges. “Because I’ve been trying to for three fucking years.”

You closed your eyes, swallowing hard. “That night… I’ve tried so hard to forget it. I thought if I stayed away long enough, if I buried it deep enough, I’d stop feeling this way.”

“And did it work?” he asked, voice quieter now. Broken.

You met his eyes. “No. It didn’t.”

He took another step, like he was afraid you might bolt. “I looked for you. I thought maybe you were dead. Or that I’d imagined it all. I thought… maybe it hadn’t meant as much to you.”

“It meant too much,” you whispered. “That’s why I ran.”

“Then stop running.” His voice dropped, soft but certain. “I’m not asking for all of it. Not right now. I just want a chance. A real one. We can start over, slow, careful. However you need.”

Your lip trembled. You shook your head once, then twice, then stopped. He stepped closer. Close enough to touch. “I still want you,” he said. “Even after everything. Especially after everything.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to be with you and not fall apart.” His hand hovered at your side, not touching, but close enough to feel. “Then fall apart. I’ll be here when you do.”

You closed the distance.

Not with a kiss. Not with words. Just a lean. A small tilt of your body into his, like a truce. Like surrender.

His arms came around you, tentative at first, then tighter. He held you like you might slip away again, but this time, he wasn’t letting go.

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. But you didn’t move. And you didn’t run.

That would have to be enough, for now.

a/n: requests are open!! hope y'all enjoyed the absolute depression of a fic I wrote xx

Tag list: @inf4ntdeath @starfly-nicole @awkwardgiraffe726 @mcira @greatenthusiasttidalwave

[lintwriting]

I was here when mouthwashing was just a demo. here are some things I noticed.

I caught on to the fact that Curly was likely innocent and that Jimmy was an unreliable narrator based on the "Take Responsibility" word scramble and Jimmy's asshole behavior. Because of this, I also did not think there would be supernatural horror, I thought it’d be man-made and psychological, which I was right about.

What I did not expect was the subtle depiction of how workplaces fail victims of rape and misogyny.

What I did not expect was how backgrounded the late stage capitalism critique ended up being.

late stage capitalism: a red herring

From the Demo, you focus a lot on the corporation as the main antagonist, probably because Wrong Organ devs were hiding the villain protagonists.

Ominous posters, a Polle monster chasing you, those ominous TV commercials glorifying working for a corporation, the fact that all this horror was over fucking tooth-rotting mouthwash. Really paints the picture of a corporate horror or conspiracy a la “Time to Orbit: Unknown,” where every chapter unveils a new corporate conspiracy for money and power.

but instead, in mouthwashing, the capitalist aspects are merely plot devices to explore the horror surrounding mismanagement and its consequences.

A power tripping coworker and an enabling manager who got him the job. An eager-to-please kid and an established supervisor willing to take advantage. Flaws in how the hierarchy is decided, leading to the one person who shouldn’t have had power getting the power. Lack of sensitivity training (or whatever that’s called) surrounding things like Title IX concerns, such as the uneven gender dynamics or what to do in the event of a crime or the fact that the person doing the psych evals isn’t getting any evals.

Notice that none of these things are unique to capitalism, they’re issues you’d have to plan for in any workplace/organization, whether that be socialist or capitalist or whatever. The capitalism exacerbates the issues or catalyzes the consequences of them like a plot device, but the issues don’t originate from there.

For example: the lack of any woman other than Anya.

Yes, this was most likely exacerbated by late stage capitalism understaffing to cut corners, leading to skeleton crews, but that the crew we DO have is mostly male is more related to misogyny or gender roles.

Perhaps women don't want to work on these freighters because of the danger of being trapped in a confined space with men. Maybe the jobs required for these freighters, like mechanic or pilot, are male-dominated. Or maybe the hiring manager had a bias where they viewed men as more competent, etc. The fact of the matter is that the cause is the same when you dig down deep into it: misogyny.

Or the layoff. The laying off of the crew is its own form of evil, but its consequences aren’t the ones being explored within this story. Most of the crew die of the horrors within the ship before they ever have to face it. In fact, the horrors within the ship don't really even have anything to do with the layoff at all. It’s a bit of a red herring.

Rather, the actual cause of this game’s horror is the mismanaged fallout of Jimmy’s assault. Most obviously in that scene where we see Curly for the first time, wherein Curly doesn’t take Anya’s safety concerns seriously, even when Jimmy is actively threatening to make everyone disappear so neither of them have to face the consequences of the assault.

I initially misread that scene as Curly evilly conspiring to let Jimmy crash the ship so neither of them would take the fall, hence us finally seeing Curly's “true face.” Because I read what Jimmy said as inherently threatening and serious, I thought Curly had agreed to that awful plan and only got cold feet at the last minute.

It’s only from reading other comments that I realized Curly had most likely assumed Jimmy was blowing hot air and needed to cool down in that scene. Or that he was making an inappropriate joke akin to his 'sexually attracted to cartoon horses' thing and wasn't being serious. Curly didn’t realize Jimmy was actually talking about a real plan until it was too late stop it (makes me wonder if Jimmy was actually attracted to the horse, too).

Thus, it goes from a story about corner-cutting late stage capitalist megacorps to a story about cartoonishly evil, power-tripping men to a story about how we enable these men with failures in our system.

Much like how the beginning of the game, when Jimmy crashes the ship, a failure in the safety systems is what allows the crash to happen (Seriously? One pilfered key is all you need to send your ship into a crash?), a series of social safety nets had to have failed to let him into the cockpit in the first place. The true face is not Curly conspiring to crash the ship out of cowardice and greed, but his inability to face what his friend has done.

[nina-ya]

Patching up Sanjis Wounds

Zoro Law Sanji Shanks Ace Luffy Sabo Doflamingo Pairing: Sanji x Reader CW: Blood mentions, light wound descriptions, Sanji being a little flirty shit as usual. WC: 756

The chances that the love cook would take a huge hit for you and leave you to be the one to patch him up are high, and unfortunately this exact scenario just unfolded. Sanji is currently sprawled out in front of you after taking a major hit for you, bleeding from every place imaginable. The bleeding from his nose is most likely from the fact that you’re currently compressing some of the cuts on his chest so they can clot and those lovesick eyes he is directing towards you is practically confirming your suspicions. “Why did you do that?! Do you know how reckless that was?!” You practically yell at him as you scramble to help him. “I always help a lady in need, especially you~” he slurs out. You can’t tell if he’s love drunk or has lost too much blood based on the way he’s speaking. You roll your eyes at his response and start unbuttoning his shirt to take a better look at his wounds. He seems to light up at your touch. “Mademoiselle, I didn’t think this would be how our first time would go. I imagined preparing a lovely dinner fir-“ You groan loudly. “Sanji! With all due respect, this is not what you think it is. Get your mind out of the gutter and tell me where it hurts.”

He pouts when you shoot his advances down. “It hurts right here,” he says, guiding your your hand over his heart. Before you scold him again for his flirtation at this inappropriate time, you see the deep red that has enveloped his chest and you gasp softly. Sanji's injury is much worse than you initially thought, and the sight of the deep red seeping from his chest was enough to fill you with concern. You hold back your frustration and focus on the task at hand. "Sanji, where else does it hurt?" He winces and lets out a heavy sigh, his usual confident demeanor momentarily fading as he admits, "Everywhere, honestly." You fight back the pang of frustration and set your focus on treating him. "Alright, let's get you patched up. But seriously, Sanji, no more of your romantic fantasies right now. We need to stop this bleeding." As you work to remove his blood-soaked shirt, Sanji can't help but show his appreciation, although his pain is clear. "You have the gentle touch of an angel, ma belle." You can't help but let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. "Sanji, I'm trying to save your life here, not audition for a romance play." He manages a weak smile amidst his discomfort. "Sorry, it's just hard not to admire your beauty, even in the midst of all this." You smile slightly and focus on cleaning his wounds, and begin to wrap up some of the deeper gashes. Sanji winces and grits his teeth, but he doesn't complain about the pain. He seems to understand the gravity of the situation, and it has sobered him up, for the most part. “You know this was stupid, right?” You mutter softly, your voice filled with care. “Nothing is stupid when it comes to you.” he retorts. You let out a sigh. “Sanji, this was very stupid. If you had gotten more hurt than this, if you had… if you had died, I…” you trail off, suddenly becoming emotional. Your lip quivers as you try to focus on holding back tears so you can help him. Sanji sees your distress and lightly grabs your hand. “I will not die, not any time soon at least. I need to at least get a kiss from you before I can say I have lived a satisfied life.” You sniffle, your emotions still raw, but you manage a small laugh in response. “Yeah, well, I don't think ill be satisfied with just a kiss.” Sanjis' blue eyes sparkle with longing and a grin spreads across his face. “Oh? Do tell what it is you had in mind.” He says cheekily. Your laughter fills the air and affection floods your voice. “Hey, lets get you to Chopper first, okay?” You say, finalizing the wrapping of the wounds. “But for now, I will leave you with this.” Leaning in, you press a kiss to his lips. Its a tender and affectionate kiss, conveying all the emotions you had been suppressing: relief, gratitude, and an undeniable connection between you two. Sanjis' Lips were warm and warm and welcoming, and for that moment, you can forget about the chaos of the world around you two.

[carlsangel]

pure regret (g.i.t.w, ch.5)

carl grimes x fem!reader

warning: mentions of puking and fearing it? idk, gutting walkers, death.

masterlist here!

other chapters here! (plus a map of alexandria to make it make sense is here!)

Carl ran through Alexandria, doing what he could to protect the people around him while simultaneously scrambling to find his father. Meanwhile all that was going through his brain was you. He obviously wanted to be with his family but over the course of the week he’d spent with you he really connected with you. He genuinely cared for you. While running inside of Jessie’s house, he’d looked around the trees surrounding the walls for you. Just in case he’d see you. But he didn’t.

You were watching him the entire time, however. Every step he took, every walker he plunged his knife into. You tracked him the entire time. You lower your rifle once he disappears into the house and you take in your surroundings. Below you, there were walkers passing by to the open passage so you were trapped in your tree. You had to make do with what you had. You steadied yourself on the thick branch and silently opened your bag to find any ammo. You found a good amount of bullets and slid them into your jacket pocket, sinking the thin fabric down with the weight of the metal and gunpowder.

You sat there frustrated. You wish you weren’t so fucking stubborn. Maybe you could be down there with him and could help. No one there knows who you are, you’d just be a stranger. Probably wouldn’t be the best decision after the community was just invaded. Plus you’re safer outside the walls, but even then you want to protect him. You were filled with pure regret.

You lift your rifle back up to your eye and look through the community, seeing those you’ve observed over and over scramble to find shelter. Some made it, some didn’t. You look back to Jessie’s house, focusing in on the windows but it was a bit far to understand exactly what was going on. It wasn’t long until the windows were covered with sheets or whatever it was they were using in that house. You thought about it for a while, realize it’d probably be best to not shoot from your tree. You knew you’d have to leave the tree at some point.

You planned an escape, there weren’t many options. You could always just shoot from the tree, except with the amount of walkers surrounding the area and the incoming walkers as well, there was a good chance the tree wouldn’t withstand it. You needed something that wouldn’t break, something that could withstand the insane amount of walkers.

A house perhaps.

You wanted to rule out shooting from the community, although it’d make the most sense since it was already filled, but also you’d draw more. That’s when you heard a couple of ruckus’s from the houses. You knew they’d draw more and more regardless of the shots. It didn’t matter, you wanted to shield him. You knew he had a baby sister too, although you didn’t know her you wanted to protect her.

You hated the effect Carl had on you. Now you started to care for not just him but also his family.

─── ⋆⋅ ꒰ა 𐚁 ໒꒱ ⋅⋆ ───

Carl pushed back the white sheet that covered the window back every couple of minutes to look for you. He thought maybe you’d not actually left Alexandria and you were inside the walls looking for him. He knew you weren’t that stupid though. He just wanted to be around you, experience this with you. Everything he did that led up to this point didn’t matter. He wanted you.

“S’it bad out there?” Michonne approaches him as he gazes out the window. He turns back to glance at her then back out to the sea of the dead. He wasn’t paying attention initially. He was looking for you. “Yeah pretty bad.” He lets the sheet fall from his hands and he turns to look at Michonne. He looks distressed which is reasonable. “Hey don’t worry…we’re gonna get through this. We always do.” Michonne explains, doing her best to comfort him. He nods which led to him shaking his head. “No it’s not that. I know we’re gonna make it, it’s just…others i’m worried about.”

She had a sneaking suspicion there was some deeper reasoning. He’d been acting strange ever since he met you and everyone could notice except him. He’d been disappearing for hours, he recently brought home a broken rifle he was oddly obsessed with…Michonne had an inkling he’d found the ghost in the woods. That’s what the other kids told her he’d been out looking for. “You found her didn’t you?” She inquires amused. He furrows his eyebrows. “Found who?” Like Michonne was stupid.

“You know who I mean. The girl who lingers in the trees.” Carl catches himself almost smiling, but he knows it’s not the time. “Yeah. I found her.” He looks back out to the trees and Michonne gives him his space.

Meanwhile the area beneath your tree was clear, most of the walkers had gotten into Alexandria and the surrounding woods were empty (minus a few stragglers.) You slowly lower yourself to the woods floor. Over the amount of time you’ve been on your own, you know how to be quiet when walking through the forest. So, you use that to your advantage. You manage to sneak up on a lone walker.

You plunge your knife through its head and catch its body, laying it out on the floor. You look down at it and contemplate your life for a couple seconds, mentally preparing yourself for what comes ahead. You take in a deep breath and begin to slice open its torso, slicing it open to pull out its insides. The smell of rotted meat fills your nose and you struggle to keep it together. You spread its guts all over your jacket and jeans. You wiped your hands off and found a small bit of mud to spread on your face, anything to make you smell and look dead. You were praying to God that when this was all over you’d be able to shower at Alexandria, or at least wash your clothes.

“Oh fuck.” You mutter, feeling what you fear most. You feel like you’re going to puke. Growing up it was your worst nightmare, it always made you feel like shit. You look up to the orange sky as the sun was setting and you shut your eyes, breathing in deeply. You needed to do this, you needed to protect him. It’s not like you believed he couldn’t do it on his own, but you knew that if he had someone on the outside, he’d have better odds at escaping.

You slowly make your way to a different crate that was placed against Alexandria’s east wall and climb up, just to hear some commotion that somehow sounded over the entire sea of walkers. It comes from the direction of Carl’s house, which at this point is straight ahead. You aren’t sure what to do in this moment, your head is scrambled with what could be happening to him as you watch the walkers make their way over. You push through, however, and the only thing motivating you is that Carl could still be alive. However likely that is.

You jump down to the floor, catching the attention of some walkers, but you use the skills you built to find a way to climb up the nearest house onto its steep roof. This house is at the edge of Alexandria, you can see almost everything, except the large apartment building almost blocked the infirmary. What really matters, is that you can see Carl’s house. However, your shoes are so worn down you were sliding while climbing. You straddle the roof almost and lift the rifle back up to your eye to spot people standing at the porch of his house. They apparently had the same tactic that you learnt early on in the apocalypse.

You watch as they slowly make their way through.

Carl, however is incredibly annoyed. If it wasn’t for Ron, no one would be in this situation in the first place. But he takes this opportunity to look for you some more. He looks around while clutching Judith tightly underneath. He gives up when the group approaches to a stop. You’re confused as to why they might do that but you see Carl with a baby in his hands which makes you realize that’s his little sister. He hands her to a priest, the one you remember seeing from the gates but he wanders off. They all begin to walk again and the sun is setting which makes everything so much more difficult to see.

Not to mention they begin to walk past towards the gates, but you start to lose sight of them. Without getting killed, you slide onto the balcony, off the house and to a house further in the neighborhood. Just three houses over which was shorter and easier to climb onto. You still needed the high ground, and you didn’t want to draw attention by joining his group. You didn’t want to be seen, either.

─── ⋆⋅ ꒰ა 𐚁 ໒꒱ ⋅⋆ ───

You watched carefully as the group made its way out. You followed the line with your rifle and you could help but cringe whenever the little kid would call out for his mom. You couldn’t focus on that though, you train your scope back into Carl and continue to watch. That was until they came to a full stop.

Your eyebrows furrow as you watch Carl tug a bit and move to the small child who seems to be panicking. That kid was always so nosy. It wasn’t long before his screams overpowered those of the dead. You realized you could be doing something here, you could be helping but you didn’t want to kill anyone. Not a human. You wanted to save every human life you could, especially after your family passed. You notice the mother of the kid sobbing profusely, but you can see Carl tugging his wrist away.

There’s nothing you can do, but they’re being surrounded.

Carl scrambles to come up with any solution, so he calls out for his dad who isn’t all there. He’s distressed as he watches the walkers pile over the child and the woman. Carl calls out a couple times and he pulls out his axe to sever the woman’s arm. Carl topples over, you see Ron, the other boy grab something from the floor and get up quickly.

It all happens so fast, but for the both of you, only one moment slows down time.

The moon glares against your scope, it’s trained on him so he sees a gentle beam of light cross his eyes. His eyebrows furrow as he spots you on a roof in the distance. He can almost smile as relief fills his body. He hears his dad behind him, bringing him back down to the situation in front of him.

He looks down to see Ron, he’s holding a gun in his direction.

That’s the last thing he sees before the gun goes off.

a/n: ALMOST OVERRRRR i hope this was banger and it made sense, look to the link of the map if it doesn’t!!! if u have questions let me know i’m terrible at directions SHANBDBDND

tag list: @zomb-1-egutzz @lunarnightt @ilikestrawberriesandwomen @hiro--aoki @h00d-tr4sh @callsignwidow @lilyglasergrimes @smollbean42905 @deadgirlwalkingx @txrasbae @lalaloopsie12309 @crusadecherryblossom @violetashfall @zombiigrll @amanita-raine @prettylittlevampire12 @shadowybasementmiracle @junkyard-juno27 @th3-3d3n-g4rd3n @sophiaatwdluver @baileebear @tabathastan @sstar-ggirl

[covid-safer-hotties]

also preserved on our archive

by Rowan Walrath

Public and private funding is lacking, scrambling opportunities to develop treatments

In brief Long COVID is a difficult therapeutic area to work in. It’s a scientifically challenging condition, but perhaps more critically, few want to fund new treatments. Private investors, Big Pharma, and government agencies alike see long COVID as too risky as long as its underlying mechanisms are so poorly understood. This dynamic has hampered the few biotechnology and pharmaceutical companies trying to develop new medicines. The lack of funding has frustrated people with long COVID, who have few options available to them. And crucially, it has snarled research and development, cutting drug development short.

When COVID-19 hit, the biotechnology company Aim ImmunoTech was developing a drug for myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome, better known as ME/CFS. As more people came down with COVID-19, some began to describe lingering problems that sounded a lot like ME/CFS. In many cases, people who got sick simply never seemed to get better. In others, they recovered completely—or thought they had—only to be waylaid by new problems: fatigue that wouldn’t go away with any amount of rest, brain fog that got in the way of normal conversations, a sudden tendency toward dizziness and fainting, or all the above.

There was a clear overlap between the condition, which patients began calling long COVID, and ME/CFS. People with ME/CFS have a deep, debilitating fatigue. They cannot tolerate much, if any, exercise; walking up a slight incline can mean days of recovery. Those with the most severe cases are bedbound.

Aim’s leaders set out to test whether the company’s drug, Ampligen, which is approved for ME/CFS in Argentina but not yet in the US, might be a good fit for treating long COVID. They started with a tiny study, just 4 people. When most of those participants responded well, they scaled up to 80. While initial data were mixed, people taking Ampligen were generally able to walk farther in a 6 min walk test than those who took a placebo, indicating improvement in baseline fatigue. The company is now making plans for a follow-on study in long COVID.

Aim’s motivation for testing Ampligen in long COVID was twofold. Executives believed they could help people with the condition, given the significant overlap in symptoms with ME/CFS. But they also, plainly, thought there’d be money. They were wrong.

“When we first went out to do this study in long COVID, there was money from . . . RECOVER,” Aim scientific officer Chris McAleer says, referring to Researching COVID to Enhance Recovery (RECOVER), the National Institutes of Health’s $1.7 billion initiative to fund projects investigating causes of, and potential treatments for, long COVID. McAleer says Aim attempted to get RECOVER funds, “believing that we had a therapeutic for these individuals, and we get nothing.”

Instead of funding novel medicines like Ampligen, the NIH has directed most of its RECOVER resources to observational studies designed to learn more about the condition, not treat it. Only last year did the agency begin to fund clinical trials for long COVID treatments, and those investigate the repurposing of approved drugs. What RECOVER is not doing is funding new compounds.

RECOVER is the only federal funding mechanism aimed at long COVID research. Other initiatives, like the $5 billion Project NextGen and the $577 million Antiviral Drug Discovery (AViDD) Centers for Pathogens of Pandemic Concern, put grant money toward next-generation vaccines, monoclonal antibodies, and antivirals for COVID-19. They stop short of testing those compounds as long COVID treatments.

Private funding is even harder to come by. Large pharmaceutical companies have mostly stayed away from the condition. (Some RECOVER trials are testing Pfizer’s COVID-19 antiviral Paxlovid, but a Pfizer spokesperson confirms that Pfizer is not sponsoring those studies.) Most investors have also avoided long COVID: a senior analyst on PitchBook’s biotech team, which tracks industry financing closely, says he isn’t aware of any investment in the space.

“What you need is innovation on this front that’s not driven by profit motive, but impact on global human health,” says Sumit Chanda, an immunologist and microbiologist at Scripps Research who coleads one of the AViDD centers. “We could have been filling in the gaps for things like long COVID, where pharma doesn’t see that there’s a billion-dollar market.”

The few biotech companies that are developing potential treatments for long COVID, including Aim, are usually funding those efforts out of their own balance sheets. Experts warn that such a pattern is not sustainable. At least four companies that were developing long COVID treatments have shut down because of an apparent lack of finances. Others are evaluating a shift away from long COVID.

“It is seen by the industry and by investors as a shot in the dark,” says Radu Pislariu, cofounder and CEO of Laurent Pharmaceuticals, a start-up that’s developing an antiviral and anti-inflammatory for long COVID. “What I know is that nobody wants to hear about COVID. When you say the name COVID, it’s bad . . ., but long COVID is not going anywhere, because COVID-19 is endemic. It will stay. At some point, everyone will realize that we have to do more for it.”

‘Time and patience and money’ Much of the hesitancy to make new medicines stems from the evasive nature of long COVID itself. The condition is multisystemic, affecting the brain, heart, endocrine network, immune system, reproductive organs, and gastrointestinal tract. While researchers are finding increasing evidence for some of the disease’s mechanisms, like viral persistence, immune dysregulation, and mitochondrial dysfunction, they might not uncover a one-size-fits-all treatment.

“Until we have a better understanding of the underlying mechanisms of long COVID, I think physicians are doing the best they can with the information they have and the guidance that is available to them,” says Ian Simon, director of the US Department of Health and Human Services’ Office of Long COVID Research and Practice. The research taking place now will eventually guide new therapeutic development, he says.

Meanwhile, time marches on.

By the end of 2023, more than 409 million people worldwide had long COVID, according to a recent review coauthored by two cofounders of the Patient-Led Research Collaborative (PLRC) and several prominent long COVID researchers (Nat. Med. 2024; DOI: 10.1038/s41591-024-03173-6). Most of those 409 million contracted COVID-19 and then long COVID after vaccines and antivirals became available. That fact undercuts the notion that the condition results only from severe cases of COVID-19 contracted before those interventions existed. (Vaccination and treatment with antivirals do correlate with a lower incidence of long COVID but don’t prevent it outright.)

“There is that narrative that long COVID is over,” says Hannah Davis, cofounder of the PLRC and a coauthor of the review, who has had long COVID since 2020. “I think that’s fairly obviously not true.”

The few biotech companies that have taken matters into their own hands, like Aim, are often reduced to small study sizes with limited time frames because they can’t get outside funding.

InflammX Therapeutics, a Florida-based ophthalmology firm headed by former Bausch & Lomb executive Brian Levy, started testing an anti-inflammatory drug candidate called Xiflam after Levy’s daughter came down with long COVID. Xiflam is designed to close connexin 43 (Cx43) hemichannels when they become pathological. The hemichannels, which form in cell membranes, would otherwise allow intracellular adenosine triphosphate (ATP) to escape and signal the NLRP3 inflammasome to crank up its activity, causing pain and inflammation.

InflammX originally conceived of Xiflam as a treatment for inflammation in various eye disorders, but after Levy familiarized himself with the literature on long COVID, he figured the compound might be useful for people like his daughter.

InflammX set up a small Phase 2a study at a site just outside Boston. The trial will enroll just 20 participants, including Levy’s daughter and InflammX’s chief operating and financial officer, David Pool, who also has long COVID. The study is set up such that participants don’t know if they’re taking Xiflam or a placebo.

Levy says the company tried to communicate with NIH RECOVER staff multiple times but never heard back. “We couldn’t wait,” he says.

Larger firms are similarly disconnected from US federal efforts. COVID-19 vaccine maker Moderna appointed a vice president of long COVID last year. Bishoy Rizkalla now oversees a small team studying how the company’s messenger RNA shots could mitigate problems caused by new and latent viruses, including SARS-CoV-2. But Rizkalla says Moderna has no federally funded projects in long COVID.

Federal bureaucracy has slowed down research in other ways. When long COVID appeared, Tonix Pharmaceuticals was developing a possible drug called TNX-102 SL to treat fibromyalgia. The two conditions look similar: they’re painful, fatiguing, and multisystemic, and fibromyalgia can crop up after a viral infection.

But it wasn’t easy to design a study to test the compound in long COVID. Among other issues, the US Food and Drug Administration initially insisted that participants have a positive COVID-19 test confirmed by a laboratory, like a polymerase chain reaction test, to be included in the study. At-home diagnostics wouldn’t count.

“We spent a huge amount of money, and we couldn’t enroll people who had lab-confirmed COVID because no one was going to labs to confirm their COVID,” cofounder and CEO Seth Lederman says. “We just ran out of time and patience and money, frankly.”

Tonix had planned to enroll 450 participants. The company ultimately enrolled only 63. The study failed to meet its primary end point of reducing pain intensity, a result Lederman attributes to the smaller-than-expected sample size.

TNX-102 SL trended toward improvements in fatigue and other areas, like sleep quality and cognitive function, but Tonix is moving away from developing the compound as a long COVID treatment and focusing on developing it for fibromyalgia. If it’s approved, Lederman hopes that physicians will prescribe it to people who meet the clinical criteria for fibromyalgia regardless of whether their condition stems from COVID-19.

“I’m not saying we’re not going to do another study in long COVID, but for the short term, it’s deemphasized,” Lederman says.

Abandoned attempts Without more public or private investment, it’s unclear how research can proceed. The small corner of the private sector that has endeavored to take on long COVID is slowly becoming a graveyard.

Axcella Therapeutics made a big gamble in late 2022. The company pivoted from trying to treat nonalcoholic steatohepatitis, a liver disease, to addressing chronic fatigue in people with long COVID. In doing so, Axcella reoriented itself exclusively around long COVID, laying off most of its staff and abandoning other research activities. People in a 41-person Phase 2a trial of the drug candidate, AXA1125, showed improvement in fatigue scores based on a clinical questionnaire (eClinicalMedicine 2023, DOI: 10.1016/j.eclinm.2023.101946), but Axcella shut down before it could get its planned 300-person follow-on study up and running.

The fate of AXA1125 may be to gather dust. Axcella’s former executives have moved on to other pursuits. Erstwhile chief medical officer Margaret Koziel, once a champion of AXA1125, says by email that she is “not up to date on current research on long COVID.” Staff at the University of Oxford, which ran the Phase 2a study, were not able to procure information about the planned Phase 2b/3 trial. A spokesperson for Flagship Pioneering, the venture firm that founded Axcella in 2011, declined to comment to C&EN.

Other firms have met similar ends. Ampio Pharmaceuticals dissolved in August after completing only a Phase 1 study to evaluate an inhaled medication called Ampion in people with long COVID who have breathing issues. Biotech firm SolAeroMed shut down before even starting a trial of its bronchodilating medicine for people with long COVID. “Unfortunately we were unable to attract funding to support our clinical work for COVID,” CEO John Dennis says by email.

Another biotech company, Aerium Therapeutics, did manage to get just enough of its monoclonal antibody AER002 manufactured and in the hands of researchers at the University of California, San Francisco, before it ended operations. The researchers are now testing AER002 in a Phase 2 trial with people with long COVID. Michael Peluso, an infectious disease clinician and researcher at UCSF and principal investigator of the trial, says that while AER002 may not advance without a company behind it, the study could be valuable for validating long COVID’s mechanisms of disease and providing a proof of concept for monoclonal antibody treatment more generally.

“[Aerium] put a lot of effort into making sure that the study would not be impacted,” Peluso says. “Regardless of the results of this study, doing a follow-up study now that we’ve kind of learned the mechanics of it with modern monoclonals would be really, really interesting.”

‘A squandered opportunity’ In 2022, the NIH’s National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases (NIAID) put about $577 million toward nine research centers that would discover and develop antivirals for various pathogens. Called the Antiviral Drug Discovery (AViDD) Centers for Pathogens of Pandemic Concern, the centers were initially imagined as 5-year projects, enough time to ready multiple candidates for preclinical development. The NIH allocated money for the first 3 years and promised more funds to come later.

The prospect excited John Chodera, a computational chemist at the Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center and a principal investigator at an AViDD center called the AI-Driven Structure-Enabled Antiviral Platform. Chodera figured that if his team were able to develop a potent antiviral for SARS-CoV-2, it could potentially be used to treat long COVID as well. A predominant theory is that reservoirs of hidden virus in the body cause ongoing symptoms.

But Chodera says NIAID told him and other AViDD investigators that establishing long COVID models was out of scope. And last year, Congress clawed back unspent COVID-19 pandemic relief funds, including the pool of money intended for the AViDD centers’ last 2 years. Lawmakers were supposed to come through with additional funding, Chodera says, but it never materialized. All nine AViDD centers will run out of money come May 2025.

“When we do start to understand what the molecular targets for long COVID are going to be, it’d be very easy to pivot and train our fire on those targets,” says Chanda from Scripps’s AViDD center. “The problem is that it took us probably 2 years to get everything up and going. If you cut the funding after 3 years, we basically have to dismantle it. We don’t have an opportunity to say, ‘Hey, look, this is what we’ve done. We can now take this and train our fire on X, Y, and Z.’ ”

Researchers at multiple AViDD centers confirm that the NIH has offered a 1-year, no-cost extension, but it doesn’t come with additional funds. They now find themselves in the same position as many academic labs: seeking grant money to keep their projects going.

Worse, they say, is that applying for other grants will likely mean splitting up research teams, thus undoing the network effect that these centers were supposed to provide.

“Now what we’ve got is a bunch of half bridges with nowhere to fund the continuation of that work,” says Nathaniel Moorman, cofounder and scientific adviser of the Rapidly Emerging Antiviral Drug Development Initiative, which houses an AViDD center at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.

“This was a squandered opportunity, not just for pandemic preparedness but to tackle these unmet needs that are being neglected by biotech and pharma,” Chanda says.

Viral persistence Ann Kwong has been here before. The virologist was among the first industry scientists trying to develop antivirals for hepatitis C virus (HCV) back in the 1990s. Kwong led an antiviral discovery team at the Schering-Plough Research Institute for 6 years. In 1997, Vertex Pharmaceuticals recruited her to lead its new virology group.

Kwong and her team at Vertex developed a number of antivirals for HCV, HIV, and influenza viruses; one was the HCV protease inhibitor telaprevir. She recalls that a major challenge for the HCV antivirals was that scientists didn’t know where in the body the virus was hiding. Kwong says she had to fight to develop an antiviral that targeted the liver since it hadn’t yet been confirmed that HCV primarily resides there. People with chronic hepatitis C would in many cases eventually develop liver failure or cancer, but they presented with other issues too, like brain fog, fatigue, and inflammation.

She sees the same dynamic playing out in long COVID.

“This reminds me of HIV days and HCV days,” Kwong says. “This idea that pharma doesn’t want to work on this because we don’t know things about SARS-CoV-2 and long COVID is bullshit.”

Since January, Kwong has been cooking up something new. She’s approaching long COVID the way she did chronic hepatitis C: treating it as a chronic infection, through a start-up called Persistence Bio. Persistence is still in stealth; its name reflects its mission to create antivirals that can reach hidden reservoirs of persistent SARS-CoV-2, which many researchers believe to be a cause of long COVID.

“Long COVID is really interesting because there’s so many different symptoms,” Kwong says. “As a virologist, I am not surprised, because it’s an amazing virus. It infects every tissue in your body. . . . All the autopsy studies show that it’s in your brain. It’s in your gut. It’s in your lungs. It’s in your heart. To me, all the different symptoms are indicative of where the virus has gone when it infected you.”

Kwong has experienced some of these symptoms firsthand. She contracted COVID-19 while flying home to Massachusetts from Germany in 2020. For about a year afterward, she’d get caught off guard by sudden bouts of fatigue, bending over to catch her breath as she walked around the horse farm where she lives, her legs aching. Those symptoms went away with time and luck, but another round of symptoms roared to life this spring, including what Kwong describes as “partial blackouts.”

Kwong hasn’t been formally diagnosed with long COVID, but she says she “strongly suspects” she has it. Others among Persistence’s team of about 25 also have the condition.

“Long COVID patients have been involved with the founding of our company, and we work closely with them and know how awful the condition can be,” Kwong says. “It is a big motivator for our team.”

Persistence is in the process of fundraising. Kwong says she’s in conversations with private investors, but she and her cofounders are hoping to get public funding too.

On Sept. 23, the NIH is convening a 3-day workshop to review what RECOVER has accomplished and plan the next phase of the initiative. Crucially, that phase will include additional clinical trials. RECOVER’s $1.7 billion in funding includes a recent award of $515 million over the next 4 years. It’s not out of the question that this time, industry players might be invited to the table. Tonix Pharmaceuticals’ Lederman and Aim ImmunoTech’s McAleer will both speak during the workshop.

The US Senate Committee on Appropriations explicitly directed the NIH during an Aug. 1 meeting to prioritize research to understand, diagnose, and treat long COVID. It also recommended that Congress put $1.5 billion toward the Advanced Research Projects Agency for Health (ARPA-H), which often partners with industry players. The committee instructed ARPA-H to invest in “high-risk, high-reward research . . . focused on drug trials, development of biomarkers, and research that includes long COVID associated conditions.” Also last month, Sen. Bernie Sanders (I-VT) introduced the Long COVID Research Moonshot Act, which would give the NIH $1 billion a year for a decade to treat and monitor patients.

It’s these kinds of mechanisms that might make a difference for long COVID drug development.

“What I’ve seen a lot is pharma being hesitant to get involved,” says Lisa McCorkell, a cofounder of the PLRC and a coauthor of the recent long COVID review. “Maybe they’ll invest if NIH also matches their investment or something like that. Having those public-private partnerships is really, at this stage, what will propel us forward.”

Chemical & Engineering News ISSN 0009-2347 Copyright © 2024 American Chemical Society

[libingan]

— the wolf’s den. (2)

summary: after finding yourself lost in the forest, you accidentally stumble across a wolf’s den. unfortunately for you, his intentions are dark and possessive—he's chosen you to be his mate, dragging you into a nightmarish world where escape seems impossible.

cw: kidnapping, power imbalance, dubious content (readers in heat so like she’s irrational n shit), dark content, wolf hybrid! ghost x bunny hybrid! reader

a/n: i’m trying to write this shit as fast as i can because my classes start next week and i will be too tired to get anything done

part one | part three

days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. your life had settled into a monotonous routine, each day blending into the next. as simon’s mate, you had learned to adapt, to survive in this new reality. the initial terror and resistance had faded, replaced by a dull acceptance.

every morning began the same way. the sun would rise, casting soft light into the den. simon’s deep voice would rouse you from sleep, his commands starting the day. “get up, and make breakfast,” he’d say, his tone leaving no room for defiance.

you moved through the motions mechanically, your mind often drifting as you prepared meals, cleaned the den, and tended to the small garden outside. the work kept your hands busy, but your thoughts were a tangled mess of longing and resignation. you missed your old life, the freedom you once had, but you had learned to push those thoughts aside.

despite being simon’s mate, the wolf hybrid barely touched you. his presence was a constant, looming shadow, his eyes always watching. he rarely spoke beyond giving orders, his silence a heavy weight that pressed down on you. it was as if his gaze alone was enough to keep you in line, a reminder of your place.

simon’s wolf tail would twitch occasionally, his wolf ears perked up and alert. he exuded an air of dominance and control, his every movement calculated and purposeful. in contrast, your bunny ears would droop with resignation, your fluffy tail a stark reminder of your own vulnerability.

you would catch him staring at you often, his eyes tracking your every move. it was unnerving, but you had grown accustomed to it. you had learned to avoid his gaze, focusing on your tasks to keep your mind occupied. it was easier that way, easier to pretend that this was just another day.

he kept you busy with chores. “clean the den,” he’d say, and you’d scrub the floors until your hands were raw. “cook dinner,” he’d command, and you’d prepare meals with trembling hands. “tend to the garden,” he’d instruct, and you’d spend hours pulling weeds and planting seeds.

the days were long and exhausting, but you found a strange comfort in the routine. it was predictable, and in a twisted way, it gave you a sense of purpose. you had learned to find small moments of peace in the chaos, moments where you could lose yourself in the simple tasks and forget about the wolf who owned you.

one day, while simon was out hunting, you felt an unusual heat spreading through your body. it was a strange, overwhelming sensation, one you had never experienced before. your skin felt flushed, your thoughts clouded with a desperate need.

you realized with growing dread that you were going into heat. the intensity of it was unlike anything you had ever felt, a primal urge taking over your senses. you tried to ignore it, to focus on your chores, but it was impossible.

you retreated to a secluded corner of the den, hoping to find some relief. your hands roamed over your body, trying to satisfy the burning desire within you. your fingers found your clit, rubbing circles over it, but it wasn’t enough. the need was too great, the emptiness too profound.

you were lost in the haze of your heat when you heard the den’s door creak open. panic surged through you as you scrambled to cover yourself, but it was too late. simon stood in the doorway, his eyes dark and intense.

his presence filled the room, his scent overwhelming your senses. he took in the scene before him, his nose twitching as he scented the air. “what the fuck are you doing?” his voice was a low growl, filled with a dangerous edge.

you stammered, your mind a fog of confusion and desire. “i-i’m sorry, i couldn’t help it.”

simon’s eyes narrowed, his pupils dilating as he took a step closer. “in heat, are you?” he murmured, his voice laced with a predatory edge.

you shook your head, trying to cover yourself, but simon’s hands were quick and firm. he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head. “don’t lie to me,” he growled, his breath hot against your skin. “i can smell it.”

you whimpered, your body trembling under his intense gaze. “please, let me go.”

his eyes darkened, and he inhaled deeply, his own body reacting to your scent. “you need help, huh?” he repeated, his voice a rough whisper.

without warning, he crossed the distance between you, his powerful hands gripping your shoulders. he pulled you close, his breath hot against your skin. “i can help you with that,” he murmured, his voice filled with dark promise.

his touch sent a jolt of electricity through your body, the intensity of your heat amplifying every sensation. you tried to push him away, but your strength was no match for his. “no, please,” you whimpered, but your protest was weak, your body betraying your desperate need.

simon’s tail twitched, his wolf ears perked up with interest. he sniffed you, his nose trailing along your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. “you smell so good,” he murmured, his voice filled with raw desire.

his hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch with possessive intent. his touch was both rough and tender, a mix of dominance and strange affection. “let me take care of you,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear.

you moaned softly, the sound escaping your lips before you could stop it. the heat was overwhelming, driving you to the brink of madness. you needed him, needed his touch, his presence. “please,” you begged, your voice a desperate plea.

simon’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, his tail swishing behind him. “that’s more like it,” he murmured. he pushed you down onto the bed, his hands firm but gentle. “spread your legs,” he commanded, and you obeyed without hesitation.

he knelt between your legs, his eyes locked onto yours. “look at you, so fucking needy,” he teased, his voice a low rumble. “you want me to help you, don’t you?”

you nodded, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps. “yes, please, simon.”

he grinned, a predatory smile that sent shivers down your spine. “good girl,” he murmured, his hands spreading your legs wider. he leaned in, his breath hot against your inner thigh, and you shivered in anticipation.

“so wet,” he murmured, his fingers trailing through your slick folds. “you’re ready for me, aren’t you?”

you moaned, your body arching towards his touch. “yes, please, i need you.”

simon’s eyes darkened with desire, and he positioned himself at your entrance. “you’re mine,” he growled, his voice filled with possessive intent. “and i’m going to make sure you know it.”

he leaned down, his tongue flicking out to taste you. the sensation was electric, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. you moaned, your hands gripping the sheets as he licked and sucked at your clit, his fingers teasing your entrance.

“s-simon,” you whimpered, your body trembling with need. he grinned against you, his tongue delving deeper, his fingers finally pushing inside. the combination was overwhelming, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

“you like that, don’t you?” he murmured against your skin, his voice vibrating through you. “you like it when i touch you.”

“yes, oh god, yes,” you cried, your body shaking with pleasure. he added another finger, stretching you, preparing you for him.

he took his time, bringing you to the edge again and again, only to pull back at the last moment. it was torture, but it was perfect. you needed him, needed his touch, his presence.

finally, when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he pulled away. you whimpered at the loss, but he quickly positioned himself over you, his cock hard and ready. “you’re mine,” he growled, his eyes locked onto yours. “and i’m going to fuck you so hard, everyone will know it.”

he pushed into you with a single, powerful thrust, filling you completely. you cried out, the sensation overwhelming, but it was exactly what you needed. he set a brutal pace, his movements rough and demanding, but it was perfect.

“simon, oh god,” you moaned, your body trembling with pleasure. he gripped your hips, pulling you closer with each thrust, his growls filling the room.

“you like that, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice a low, sensual growl. “you like being fucked by me.”

“yes, oh god, yes,” you cried, your nails digging into his back. he grinned, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

“good girl,” he whispered, his thrusts becoming even more intense. “you’re mine, and i’m never letting you go.”

he drove you to the edge, his movements relentless. every thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, your mind lost in the haze of your heat and his overwhelming presence.

"please, simon," you whimpered, your voice a desperate plea. "i need more."

he grinned, a predatory smile that sent shivers down your spine. "you want more, huh?" he growled, his breath hot against your ear. "i'll give you more."

his thrusts became even more forceful, his hips slamming against yours with a brutal intensity. you cried out, the pleasure almost too much to bear, but you couldn't get enough. you needed him, needed every touch, every thrust.

"simon, please," you begged, your voice trembling with desperation. "i need you to breed me. fill me with your pups."

his eyes darkened with desire, his pupils dilating as he took in your words. "you want me to breed you?" he growled, his voice filled with raw need. "you want me to fill you with my pups?"

you nodded, tears of frustration and need streaming down your face. "yes, please, i need it."

he gripped your hips even tighter, his claws digging into your skin. "then beg for it," he commanded, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "beg for me to breed you."

"please, simon," you sobbed, your body trembling with need. "please breed me. fill me with your pups. i need it so badly.

he growled, a deep, primal sound that sent shivers down your spine. "that's right," he murmured, his thrusts becoming even more intense. "you're mine, and i'm going to fill you with my pups."

his words sent a wave of pleasure through you, your body responding to his every touch, every thrust. you could feel yourself nearing the edge, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable intensity.

"who do you belong to?" he growled, his hands gripping your bunny ears and pulling them slightly, his eyes locked onto yours.

"you, simon," you gasped, your body arching towards him. "i belong to you."

"who owns you?" he demanded, his voice rough and commanding.

"you do," you cried, your voice a desperate plea. "you own me, simon."

he grinned, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "that's right," he growled, his thrusts becoming even more powerful. "you're mine, and i'm never letting you go."

with a final, powerful thrust, he drove you over the edge, the pleasure crashing over you like a wave. you cried out, your body trembling with the intensity of your release, your mind lost in the overwhelming sensation.

simon followed moments later, his own release powerful and consuming. he growled, his body tensing as he filled you with his seed, the sensation sending shivers through your already trembling form.

he held you close, his breath hot against your skin, his presence a comforting weight. "you're mine," he murmured, his voice a low, satisfied growl. "and i'm going to make sure you know it every single day."

you clung to him, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your release. you knew that this was your life now, and while a part of you longed for your old freedom, another part of you found a strange comfort in simon's possessive embrace. you were his, and he was never going to let you go.

[dubiousanon]

I crave more itanaru I BEG

At first, it's enough.

Nobody knows sacrifice better than Itachi does. He's given things up his whole life, knows how to let go better than he's ever known how to hold on. Watching Naruto leave after they meet— whether that be because Naruto sought him out or they happened to run across one another— seems like so natural a thing that Itachi hardly bats an eye at it.

Itachi is used to it. Itachi has walked away time and time again, and he's had people turn away from him all his life. Maybe he doesn't like it when Naruto goes, but there's never more than a faint bitterness left behind, something he can push away into some back corner of him mind.

Naruto leaves, and Itachi is fine. Naruto turns his smile and his attention elsewhere, and Itachi is fine. Itachi wonders when Naruto will finally get tired of him, and Itachi is fine. Naruto presses into his side when they weave through Konoha's crowded streets to try whatever new restaurant Naruto has scouted out, and Itachi is fine.

In the beginning, it's everything he could've asked for and more. It's the one light in his drab, ostracized life spent alone with his own thoughts, hated by the village he gave everything to save. Itachi is okay with just that.

At least, he was, anyway. Up until the point where he rather suddenly wasn't anymore.

Itachi isn't even sure how or when it happens. It could've been gradual and he'd been too blind to notice, or perhaps it really had been like a switch flipping. All he knows for certain is that one day, Naruto turns to leave and something in him twists.

A pit opens up in his stomach, this deep, nasty well of a thing. A new type of hunger hits Itachi with all the force of a typhoon, drowning him with its intensity. His eyes follow Naruto, and the want that's been gnawing at him intensifies tenfold for seemingly no particular reason at all.

Itachi's want for him isn't a new thing. Naruto has spent months of his time getting close to him, and Itachi's not immune. He's wondered what his lips would feel like against his own for almost as long as Naruto has graced him with his presence now. Itachi basks in receiving, but he's never felt the need to take until now.

Before he even knows what he's doing, he's reaching out. Like a flower into the sun, he feels a sudden, desperate want to get closer to the life and warmth Naruto seems to boast in spades. His throat goes tight, his shoulders tense, his heart clenches.

Naruto doesn't flinch when Itachi's hand finds his arm. It's the first time he's initiated first contact with him. It burns in the same way all their other touches do, and that feeling only intensifies when Naruto turns to peer up at him with those mystifying blue eyes of his.

Itachi doesn't want to let go. The realization is this dawning, heady thing that makes the world spin. He wants to drag Naruto closer. Their arms brushing, Naruto grabbing him to tug him along, smiling at him, talking to him— it's not enough. Itachi must've been lying to himself, because standing here nearly drunk with his own abrupt wave of desire, he isn't sure it ever really was.

He needs more.

"Yeah?" Naruto asks, head tilting slightly when Itachi fails to speak. There's no accusation in his tone or wariness in his expression. "Is something wrong?"

Itachi's throat bobs. Naruto has spent weeks visiting him. Nobody told him to. Nobody has made him. He made the choice to make a friend out of Itachi despite all the people who discouraged him against it. He let himself get close and never once feared that Itachi may hurt him.

Despite it all, Naruto had decided to trust him, and this is what Itachi does with that trust. Perhaps the villagers who whisper about him being scum are right, if not in the context they thought they were.

"No. Nothing is wrong." Itachi says. The words tumble out with less calmness than normal, which is enough to make Naruto pause and squint at him. Itachi clears his throat, scrambling for something to say. "I—"

He wants it, but he doesn't deserve it. He's a shell of a man, wrung out by life and stained by the blood of his own sins. He has done unforgivable things. Things that keep him up at night, that make his stomach turn. Perhaps there's redemption to be found in his disgust at his own doings, but guilt doesn't undo what's already been done.

It's wrong, him wanting this. Naruto chose to show him kindness, and here Itachi is, yearning to swallow it whole. He itches with the need to touch. The urge to monopolize as much of Naruto's time as he can get is nearly overwhelming.

What does Naruto taste like? What would the smooth skin of his hips feel like under Itachi's hands? What sounds would he make if Itachi put his teeth to the inside of his thigh and left his mark there?

"Do you want me to stay?" Naruto asked, blissfully unaware of Itachi's racing thoughts. Itachi's mouth went dry. Naruto smiled. "I can, if you want me to. Or you could come with me! I don't think you've ever seen my apartment before, have you?"

Naruto brightened at the notion. As if letting Itachi into his life, his home, was okay. Safe.

Itachi is toeing a dangerous line. Itachi can feel it coiling through him, and pretty soon, something will give. Naruto deserves better. He deserves the Hyuga heiress' sweet blushes, or the Nara boy's calm demeanor. Normality, and not someone who's going to lose control and wrap him up as soon as the chance arises.

"You don't have to do that, Naruto." Itachi's voice is weak even in his own ears. His hand aches as he removes it from Naruto's arm. "I'll see you in a few days."

If he does this, he'll never go back. Itachi knows this with certainty. If he lets himself finally follow Naruto this one time, he'll never stop. He will always be one step behind him. He will always be reaching, wanting for more, more, more.

If Itachi goes with him, nothing will be enough. Itachi will consume him until there's nothing left. He's always loved too deeply. He's always given too much. Never has this been a good thing, and yet—

"Come on, don't be silly. This is the first time you've reached out to me! I can't just ignore that." Naruto chirped, hand reaching out just as it had so many times before. "We can pick up dango on the way and everything. I can show you my seals, too, if you want! Man, I can already see it— it's gonna be totally awesome, believe it!"

Something in Itachi snaps.

Their fingers laced together, and this wasn't the first time. The only difference now was that Itachi— so enamored he could hardly think straight, heat rushing through him, want pumping through his veins like blood— didn't plan on ever letting go.

[cute-n-curious]

Monster Dating App [4]: Misadventures in Profile Preferences

[Author's note: you discover that not all monsters are beasts in bed, but variety is the spice of life right? Don't worry, the next story is really good if I do say so myself... ^_~ This is a little palate cleanser, a breather between all the fucking. As always, you don't have to have read other stories in this series (see pinned list for links). The premise of the series is that a mysterious phone app sends you monsters to "date", or more, if you're game...]

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman in want of sexual gratification from a dating app must get more bad offers than good. Your time spent on Tinder, Hinge, and even Bumble, had only reinforced the core warning you had received from other women: dick is abundant of low value, and for every virile stud capable of fucking you into a gratified stupor, there are three inadequate men convinced that they're studs, and five men with redeeming features who have been hollowed out into insecure shells because they know the studs are out there overshadowing them. A dehumanising meat grinder, to be sure, but where else can a lady hunting for meat go?

For some reason, you had hoped that perhaps this very human dynamic might not extend to the "monster dating app" that your best friend invited you to. By her initial description, it was a ticket to an all-you-can-fuck buffet of big, bizarre, and universally superior-to-normal inhuman cocks. An unending parade of mythical paramours who step straight out of the pages of folklore and leave her with curled toes and a tingling pussy. But your mileage has very much varied. The new app has certainly had higher highs than you’ve experienced on the human meat-market (especially your now lost first match), but the middles have been weirder and smellier, and the lows, well…

You once again sit slightly overdressed in your apartment, the scene of every monster date you’ve had so far, nervously waiting for your mysterious fifth match to arrive. You find your usual excitement replaced by tense reflections on just how poorly matches number three and four had recently gone. Your date with match number two, the shark-man, had gone well enough for you to invite another date based purely on the stated preferences “Limbs – Elongated” and “Phallus – Multiple”, but it is painfully clear in retrospect just how much your imagination had failed you in terms of what a male meeting those criteria could look like.

Your mistake, of course, had been assuming that any creature that had both the sapient mastery of language to use the app and a specific interest in having sex with a normal human woman, must be at least some flavour of humanoid. Talk about making an "ass" out of "u" and "me", because when you heard the tapping on your bedroom window on the fateful night of your third date, you naively felt a twinge of excitement that some man with Spider-Man-like agility was about to wall-crawl in and rock your world. But your breath caught in your throat when the window opened, and four tremendous hairy probes jutted through the opening, hauling behind them the hulking, nightmarish face of a full-fledged, pony-sized spider!

You thought you were going to die, either from a heart attack or being eaten alive, and you scrambled backwards across your floor, only registering the sound of your own screams when you heard the massive spider begging with you in raspy, spoken English to calm down.

"Please, don't be afraid! I'm your date! From the app!" it gurgled, its eight eyes reflecting your own horror back at you.

You were as apologetic as you could bring yourself to be while staring down something so viscerally frightening. You gently, but matter-of-factly, explained that you simply couldn’t ‘get in the mood’ for a partner so obviously non-human, and you hadn’t been aware of how wide the range of creatures on the app were. In a manner absurdly similar to every fugly man who’d ever tried to talk you into "giving him a chance", the colossal arachnid made some mildly pushy attempts to draw your attention to the engorged penile palps on either side of his head.

“You did say you like multiples, if you close your eyes, women say they feel amazing…” he had rasped, in a mockery of a coy upward inflection.

“No, sorry, but when I say I’m not into it, I mean it.” You replied, surprising yourself with how easily you were able to switch from "fearing for your life" to "read the room and put your dick(s) away".

At first you wanted to praise the monstrous bug’s respect for boundaries, as he immediately turned, crestfallen, and climbed straight back out your window, but then you remembered the intrusive observational power of the mysterious app. These monster boys had a keen understanding that these dates are invisibly chaperoned. You had previously cursed the app for exiling your amazing first date for the technical "rules breach" of creaming your insides after agreeing to the profile condition that he wouldn’t. But as the massive hairy spinnerets of a giant, horny tarantula disappeared out of your window, you suddenly felt grateful for the mysterious surveillant forces that these inhuman creatures seemed to fear and respect. If only Tinder had this kind of power to ensure women’s boundaries were being honoured.

As you let out a breath of relief watching the spider ambled away, you were back in the app deactivating your limbs and phalluses preference as fast as the lagging interface would let you. Recalling the little crosses you saw next to each entry on the drop-down list, you decided to take the reverse tactic. Playing around with the preferences and advanced settings, you landed on:

✓ Monster/Non-human - subtype: "surprise me"

☓ Arthropods: no

☓ Aquatic: no

You felt a little guilty about the latter one, that hunky shark-man had made you cum hard while briefly double-stuffing your pussy with his twin prongs. But it only took a single deep breath to remind you that you still hadn’t fully removed the briny odour of his fish-smelling salty cum out of your carpeting, from the section of your living room where he’d carry-fucked you and then let you drip his overflowing load all over everything. If you were going to continue to be a homebody AND a monster-slut, you had to consider the pounding your security deposit was going to take, as a side-effect of securing poundings for pussy.

---

It was less than a day before your re-shifted preferences had been processed and honoured, with a new date offer coming in from a fourth new match. You were still a bit rattled from your encounter with the big spider, and a wave of relief had washed over you when you heard your apartment intercom buzz, indicating that your chosen date was arriving on foot, at the front door, just like any sensible humanoid would. As you buzzed him into the building, your first verbal exchange has been a deep but nasally “it’s your date for tonight”. Nothing that sounded like puckering mandibles. Another low bar cleared.

The knock on your door had sounded strong and assertive, exciting you a little, so you were surprised to open the door and be greeted with the hunched over form of an elderly, overweight woman, wearing a thick jacket, a vaguely eastern-European head scarf, and dark glasses. He must had read the confusion on your face, because that deeper more masculine voice immediate insisted “sorry about the disguise, it was the only one left that fit”. Stepping into your living room, listening to sound of you closing and locking the door, he continued, “mind if I get straight out of it? It’s hot in here.”

You’d nodded, and watched the human suit roll back uncannily and expose the bold green skin underneath. A smooth scalp, pointed ears, taut ropey muscles around the shoulders and arms, and small sharp tusks at the corners of his mouth, framing his hooked ridgey nose. You being you, your eyes next immediately darted to his crotch, covered in a near tan pair of loin-cloth-like shorts cupped around his bulge. The movement of your eyes emboldened him a little, and he smiled when your eyes returned to his. “Never seen an orc in the flesh before?” he asked, puffing out his chest a bit and stretching up to his full height.

His full height, however, was only a few inches taller than the old woman disguise he’d arrived in. Not diminutive, really, but noticeably shorter than you. Perhaps you were too influenced by fictional depictions of massive, thick-muscled orcs, but your date struck you as much more closely fitting the description of a ‘goblin’, and those social connotations were a lot less favourable. You recalled that, at least by Tolkien lore, "goblins" and "orcs" really are the same kind of being, but this short, twitchy-fingered green fellow calling himself an "orc" had exactly the same vibe as men you’d met up with who swore up and down that they were "basically six feet when wearing the right shoes". The male tendency to imagine yourself wearing stilts runs deep, it seems.

While he was ugly, no question about it, there was a kind of charm to his ugliness that only a woman pretty desperate to finally get fucked again would be capable of seeing. Kind of like those odd-faced character actors whose uneven looks grow on you the more time their character spends on screen. The two of you had only chatted sitting on your couch for a few minutes before the obvious and impressive anticipatory bulge at his crotch caught your attention, and when he came at you with an unexpected raking of his long tongue up the side of your arm, you found your hand wrapped around his turgid manhood, guessing at the strange but enticing bumpy texture you felt through the cloth.

He proceeded to roll you back with your legs in the air, peeled off your panties in a smooth lifting gesture, and began putting his long rough tongue to use on your aching lips and clit. While you thought you’d cum in seconds, as he plunged his tongue deeper, the complication hit: the tusks. His curved little mouth-horns were as sharp as they looked, and while it was a little exciting feeling them jab at the outer edges of your pussy and the undersides of your thighs, as he gave it more force the scratches and pokes got worse and worse. This delayed, but thankfully didn’t completely prevent, your much-needed impending orgasm, and as soon as you’d gushed in his mouth, you were happy that he pulled back and yanked down his waistband for the main event. Or at least, you were momentarily glad, until his penis sprung into view.

Women like your best friend, who make a real sport of fucking monsters, must have pretty strong stomachs and pretty open minds. You broadly thought of yourself as possessing both, but you’ve recently been pushed to your own limits more than once. His dark green cock was clearly a point of pride for him, he brandished it from its base like a sword, its impressive length looking tremendous compared to his short goblin body. But that bumpy texture you had felt did not match how you had thought his dick would look. Each node was a bulbous, shiny round swelling, with a taut brownish outline and a bright yellow colouration across the top. They were irregularly positioned and varied in size, with the biggest of them bulging out like ancillary cock-heads surging out at odd angles. As he rubbed his red-purple tip up and down your labia, you knew, intellectually, that this was probably just part of his species anatomy, and that like a weird-looking dildo it would likely feel spectacular one it got to massaging your insides, but one haunting word stuck in your head and wouldn’t dislodge itself: pustules. His dick looked genuinely diseased, and there was no stopping the crushing sensation of arousal being replaced by disgust. There was no way you were letting that thing inside you.

“Wait, stop, I just..!” you blurted out, scuttling backwards with your hands press over your mouth, which was flooding with saliva as a wave of nausea hit you, “I’m so sorry, I know its probably supposed to look like that, but I don’t think I can…”

He rose up and reached his clawed fingertip is a shushing gesture, aiming for your lips but not quite reaching them as you slid to the corner of the couch, clamping your thighs together. “Look, I know orc cock is bigger than you’re used to with humans, but I can go slow, you just tell me how deep to go.”

You try to stifle a surprised burp of laughter, which thankfully sounded more like a whimper through your clamped hands. His revolting dick was pretty big, and looked huge on his small frame, but it was definitely shorter and thinner than the two biggest human cocks you’d ever taken. In this very living room less than a week ago, you’d been stuffed full of two shark-dicks at once, and EACH of them had dwarfed his goblin member. But you regained your composure quickly, seeing the opportunity.

“I’m sorry, I’m just too scared, your huge go-, uhm, huge "orc" cock would just split my little human pussy in half. I’ve struggled with dicks half that size, and it’s really freaking me out.” Rejecting the spider was one thing, but you couldn’t look this goblin in his horny little green face and tell him his cock is so disgusting you’d rather drip it in acid than your pussy. You didn’t have it in you to be that cruel, especially not to a short king who was clearly proud of his grotesque equipment and was hoping to share it with willing ladies. Thinking back to the spider, even his penile palps were bigger and nicer-looking that this lumpy monstrosity. You tried your damnedest to keep a straight face.

“I understand…” he said, somewhat dejectedly, pulling up his pants with the unpleasant tip of his penis jutting out, pressed up against his belly, “I don’t want to put any pressure on you. My contact will stay in your date history, hit me up again if you get some more non-human experience and get curious about how much better big and bumpy can feel.” He flashed a roguish smile before turning to pick up and re-fasten his old lady disguise. You felt bad for this aborted dated but you were not so talented an actress as to disguise your revulsion indefinitely, and the sooner that diseased-looking dong was out of your apartment, the better. You gave him a peck on the cheek goodbye, which also scratched the sides of your face unpleasantly with his tusks, and to your great relief, date number four was done. Your "blacklist" grew three items longer that night:

☓ Tusks: no

☓ Goblinoid: no

☓ Hobgoblinoid: no

You weren’t even sure what that last one referred to, but it seemed like a reasonable precaution.

[Don't worry, it gets better again. Next part released.]

[lemonwrap]

Imagine: Jackalope hybrid Ghost.

Except…nobody knows he’s a jackalope hybrid, because Roba sawed off his antlers. Everyone thinks Ghost is just a regular rabbit hybrid. Not even his captain, Price, knows.

Ghost doesn’t tell a soul what had happened to him all those years ago. Sure, Price knows he had been tortured, and Ghost has some nasty scars, but he wears the mask anyway, so it’s not as if they’re visible.

It had taken Ghost some time to get used to the lack of weight on his head after he killed Roba and escaped, for the stumps to stop leaking blood, and for the pain to fade. It left him feeling unbalanced and strange, but that wasn’t the worst part.

No, the worst part was the shame. He had been proud of his antlers, loved keeping them clean and polished, loved the way they looked, loved that they could be dangerous if he wanted them to be.

He started wearing the mask just to make sure nobody would ever glimpse the small stumps left on his head, hidden in his blonde hair, as well as to hide the deep Glasgow smile he had been given.

He doesn’t tell Soap about his lack of antlers, even when they grow closer, even when Ghost finally pulls his mask off his head and over his long brown ears to kiss Soap for the first time. The dog hybrid’s tail had been wagging madly when they parted.

Then, Soap, his hand on his cheek, had moved up to pet his ears, much too close to the stumps. Ghost had ducked away, and Soap’s tail had slowed, disheartened. Soap had attributed his skittishness to typical rabbit nature, and Ghost let him think that. Afterwards, Ghost had grown his hair out even longer, just to make absolutely sure that it covered the stumps on the rare occasion he took off his mask.

Soap was one of the only people he took the mask off for, but he was also the person Ghost definitely didn’t want finding out about his antlers. It was a risky game he played.

Sometimes, it took a slight strain on their relationship. Ghost is extremely testy about Soap touching his ears and hair, as it’s much too close to the stumps he’s trying to conceal. When they have sex, Ghost doesn’t let Soap too close to his hair, and he had once nearly bitten Soap’s dick off during a blowjob when Soap’s hand had instinctively gone for the blonde locks. He prefers to initiate contact, and usually doesn’t cuddle much with Soap or hug him, despite the other hybrid’s clear longing for physical contact.

It’s not that Ghost doesn’t want to, he just can’t. He can’t let Soap know. What would he think?

Soap doesn’t find out until years after they met. They’re sharing Ghost’s bed in his private quarters—the perks of being a lieutenant. Ghost is tired, having come home from a mission just hours earlier, and he’s drifting off next to Soap, not paying attention until absentminded fingers card through his hair. He flinches awake and scrambles into a sitting position, but it’s too late.

Soap had felt one of the stumps.

“What’s that?” Soap asks, worried and startled by Ghost’s sudden reaction. He sits up as well.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ghost deflects. He wants to be upset that Soap had touched him, but he knows Soap didn’t mean it in a bad way, knows Soap would never purposely hurt or upset him. Despite that, his chest burns with a hot, deep shame, and he isn’t sure if he wants to run or punch Soap’s teeth in.

He doesn’t do either. He freezes. He hasn’t done that in ages.

“You didn’t get hurt on the mission, did you?” Soap asks, leveling him with a searching gaze.

“No,” Ghost says. Soap is much too close, so close that he can probably see the microexpressions that tell him that Ghost is hiding something.

“Liar,” Soap says softly, and he reaches his hand up.

Ghost’s large ears flatten, and he feels that fear he thought he had trained out of himself so long ago rise in him when Soap’s hand meets his hair. He stiffens, wanting to push Soap away but knowing the sergeant never drops something if he thinks it’s important, and that he’ll just be delaying the inevitable discovery.

Soap’s hand finds one of the stumps, and his fingertips brush across the hard, flattened surface. His expression changes from slight worry, to confusion, and then to sadness, his own ears drooping slightly.

“Simon,” he says, “Are they—?”

“They’re antlers,” Ghost admits quietly. “Were antlers.”

Soap is silent for a moment. He lowers his hand.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Soap finally asks. Not accusing, exactly, just concerned, maybe a little hurt.

“I didn’t tell anybody,” Ghost replies.

“Oh, Si,” Soap whispers, taking his hand and squeezing it. “You could’ve. It doesn’t change anything.”

Ghost hadn’t slept for the rest of the night, and had fled the room before Soap woke up. He had avoided Soap for days, and when Soap finally caught him, Ghost had refused to take off his mask. It took some time before he felt confident enough to remove it, safe enough to let Soap near his head.

Soap apologized. He apologized again when Ghost accepted the original apology. Ghost accepted that one, too. He’s not overly upset with Soap, just mortified. But his fear of Soap being upset, mocking him, or being judgmental was unfounded, as Soap treats him nearly the same as before. Soap doesn’t ask him any questions about the stumps, nor does he tell anyone else about them.

He realizes that now that Soap knows, now that he’s not holding the stress of hiding it, it feels…nice. It’s a relief. It’s a relief to let Soap cuddle him and nuzzle into his hair without having to push him away, and it’s a relief to not have to lie to the person closest to him.

Ghost feels safer than he has in a long, long time.